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Stanford Pines was a genius. A prodigy. A student who was only attending Backupsmore University and not West Coast Tech because his idiot brother broke his perpetual motion machine.
Stanley Pines was a screwup. A good for nothing moron who couldn’t get a single thing right in life. The only useful skill he possessed was scamming people, and even that only extended so far.
Ford attended classes, made at least a singular friend with which to share interests, and studied so hard it’s a wonder he got any sleep at all.
Stan stole gas money, booze money, and drug money, trying to stay afloat even during the times he lived solely in his car.
Ford earned degree after degree and never stopped to ask his mom how his brother was doing when she called. He was too busy for whatever drama Stan had gotten himself into, and he made that quite clear.
Stan made up identity after identity, always on the run. Made time at pay phones to call his mother when he had the coins for it, and never had the heart to tell her he didn’t really feel like listening to Ford’s list of latest successes when she started updating him on what his brother had been up to to fill the silence when Stan had no new stories he felt comfortable sharing.
Ford graduated college with enough degrees for each of his fingers, and took his grant money out to a town in Oregon to study anomalies. Found creatures that were a bit odd. Some that were straight out of his fantasy novels. Enough exciting new information to fill a journal. Maybe even several.
Stan drove from place to place, crossing out states on his dashboard map as he was banned from them. Started countless scams. Failed all of them. Stripped for edible flour in Tijuana.
There were just so many things to catalogue! Ford wanted to see it all.
Stan just wanted his clothes back.
Maybe some more sketches… He’s sure if he could capture one of these bugs in a container, he could get it to settle down long enough to draw the angle he’s missing.
At the end of it, Stan had lost any appetite that flour might have helped abate. He tucked the bag of flour into his passenger seat in case he changed his mind on making very poor bread later. But he severely doubted he would.
“Hi, Mom! Yes, I’ve been doing excellently—the grant has really been helping my research along, and I’m sure with a few more years’ work, I’ll have more than enough to publish several books full of research if not my theory for the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism centered in this town. I- No, I haven’t heard from Stanley. … Right. Well, I’m sure I can show you all my research when you have the time to come over—no need to go through it all on the phone now. Yes. Bye, Mom.”
“Hey, Ma. … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry ya sick. Just been traveling like usual! Heh… Couldn’t find a good pay phone for a while. Yeah, I’m fine. ‘Course I am, Ma. You know me—strong, resilient, too stubborn for my own good! Ha! Yeah. … Anyway. Been achin’ for a bit of family time. Ya think I could come up and s- … Right. No, I-I get it. Sorry, I shoulda kn- No, it ain’t your fault, Ma. I know. I know you wanna see me. … Yeah. Miss you too. Hey, uh… How’s Ford doin’? Still up in Oregon? … Yeah, I might. … Ya think? …I don’t know, Ma. Just ‘cuz he’s had a lot of good stuff goin’ for him recently doesn’t mean he ain’t still bitter about the project I wrecked. … Well… If you say so. … Maybe. I still have a lot to take care of out here in-... Okay, I’ll think about it. Love ya, Ma. Bye.”
Ford had been so wrapped up in his writing he hadn’t heard the knock at first. A visitor? From who? He hadn’t exactly had time to make any new friends up here in Gravity Falls. He gets up anyway. “Stanley?”
“Hey, Ford!... Long time no see.”
Ford eyes the car behind his brother and the large duffel bag hanging from his shoulders. Narrows his eyes. “Yes, it has been a long time. What are you doing up here, at my house?”
“Honestly? It’s getting too cold to stay in the old El Diablo full time. And Pa still won’t let me come home.”
“Stan, you were banned from the whole state of New Jersey.”
“Right. Yeah, that too.”
Ford pinches the bridge of his nose.
Stan sighs. “Listen, I don’t have any real way to pay ya back except to offer myself up for whatever kind of work you’re doing out here. Free help out in the science field and all that. I… I know you don’t want me here. I don’t really wanna be here either. But Ma’s been chewing on me to come see you and I figured… Two birds with one stone?” Not the best way he could’ve worded that.
“No. Apologies, Stanley. But the work I’m doing often requires too much delicate precision for you to be trusted with it. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”
Alright, forget dignity. Beg. “Ford, I got nowhere else to go! Please, I-”
“I’m not going to clean up your messes for you, Stan. I let you cheat off my papers when you couldn’t see the board and talk a big storm about sailing away from society when we were kids. It’s been years since then. Figure out how to hold yourself together on your own.” Ford misses when they were kids. But Stan really hadn’t grown up at all, had he? And Ford simply doesn’t have time for it anymore.
“...” Stan nods. Figure it out. Hold himself together. Stand straight. Kneel now. Get on the ground! Do as you’re told. Why can’t you just figure it out, Stanley? How stupid are you?! “Thanks.” Stan’s wounds burn, inside and out. They itch. He’ll find a way to stop the feelings. He turns back towards his car. He’ll need gas to get out of town. He doesn’t have money for gas.
Ford blinks. There was… no fight? Since when did his brother not fight? His brow furrows but he doesn’t have time for this, he reminds himself. He goes back inside.
Stan drives down forest trails that aren’t even roads anymore. Maybe never have been. Until they aren’t wide enough for his car to go any further. This is far enough, right? Well, he’s stuck now. It’ll have to be.
Something’s bothering Ford. Something about his conversation with Stan… It wasn’t right.
He wasn’t right. Couldn’t ever figure anything out. But he wouldn’t have to after this. He could stop getting things wrong. Stop being such a colossal fuck-up.
Stanley always fought back.
If he couldn’t have nice experiences or good people or even the promise of things getting better… What was the point of staying put?
Ford berates himself for indulging his worries. But he gets up all the same.
Stan smokes one last cigarette. Writes out on a card: “I’m sorry, Ma.”
He pulls his boots on, lacing them as quickly as he can-
Pulls his gloves off to get a better grip on the blade handle-
Pulls his coat on-
Pulls his sleeves down-
Walks out the door-
Locks the doors-
Thinks to himself-
…He should have done something about this a long time ago…
Ford finds Stan’s body in the driver seat of the old El Diablo when he finally catches up to the tire tracks he’d been following. His wrists are slick with red turning brown, and Ford knows that he would’ve been too late unless he followed Stan immediately after turning him away. He calls 911 anyway, sobbing when the person on the other end of the line asks him if the man in the car might be alive. Ford’s heart aches, calling out for a brother he won’t ever have again. A small part of him hopes Stan is still here somehow.
But he isn’t. Of course he isn’t.
Even if he was, Stan wouldn’t regret what he did. His only regret would be driving into the woods instead of trying to get out of town first. His only regret would be doing it close enough that Ford had to see him. Heh… Looks like he couldn’t even get this right in the end.
Well… He never was good for much of anything anyway.