the tall grass

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That night, after the kids have gone to bed in the broken shack, Stan looks at the memory gun.

He keeps it on his desk, unsure of where to put it. Next to it, he has placed the canister that Dipper had explained was filled with the memories that were taken.

Now, he's sitting on his bed, staring at the memory gun, staring back at him, and thinking.

It's never good when he was too much time to think.

He'll never forget that night in the second week in which he was kicked out. Seventeen, scared, starving, and homeless. Parking his car at 2 a.m. by the bridge by his school and just feeling so alone and worthless and stupid and sad and alone and just so alone. But what results is: a few broken bones, an idea that rears it's ugly head whenever Stan feels too alone, and a feeling that Stan can't do anything right.

Stan doubts he can forget the distrust in the kids's faces, a bitter hate before it's replaced with an unease they can't seem to shake. Stan knows they still don't trust him as much as before, as evident when they tucked themselves into bed, not needing Stan.

Stan feels like he can't do anything right.

He couldn't let Stanford leave to college, he couldn't help Stanford when it really mattered, and he couldn't fix his mistakes and bring Stanford back.

His string of fate was intertwined with failure.

He feels alone. Isolated. He's ruined his relationship with his family and he has no one left. He was vulnerable, desperate, not thinking straight.

He was so close to seeing his brother again and it was ripped away from him just as his fingertips were grasping it. Just as he got a taste for the enormity of what he could lose, he lost it. Lost it. Lost it. Lost it.

He's alone. Him versus the world.

Sometime around midnight, he falls asleep. He doesn't realize so until he's dreaming.

He's dreaming of the same room he is in now. He watches as the triangle window that's always been there comes to life with a, "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time, Stanley."

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