Spill It

Done

Night time in Gravity Falls was one of two extremes- either something big was happening or it was so deathly silent that the people who lived in the sleepy town worry about the wildlife count. Tonight, everything was still. No wind blew and disturbed the trees, and moonlight dusted its silver luminescence across the Mystery Shack. Nobody in the shack stirred sans one. The eldest of the Pines laid awake, staring at the flaking ceiling. He had long gained back the vast majority of his memory- the only hazy part was near the end of the decade that passed between being kicked out and unhappily reuniting with Ford. If what he did remember of that time served as clues, Stanley figured that it was probably for the best. Regaining his memory of the 30 years since Ford entered the portal, however, led him to an uncomfortable realization.

He had told himself that as soon as Ford was out of that damned device, he was done. That was it. Cut-and-dry, that was his final goal in life. Once this actually happened, however, he was made aware of this new threat to the entire universe. With that, he stiffly resigned himself to resolving this newest grand issue, and then he was done. All this was decided before his sacrifice, which was really too easy to make in the first place. It was two for the price of one, a deal that no conman worth his salt would pass up. It's been a week since then, and this strange, empty feeling has yet to go away.

He has nothing else to do with himself. The kids are safe and will be going home in four days. Stanford is back and alive and... still a bit angry with him, yes. Although Stanley had made an enormous sacrifice and literally saved the world, Ford still had perfectly viable reasons to be sour with him. It was he who had caused Ford the majority of his suffering through their lives, directly or indirectly. Despite knowing the treatment was justified, it still made his chest feel tight. Mabel and Dipper both caught onto the tension easily, and Stan was not blind to the way it made them uncomfortable as well.

What had he done recently that was completely good, with no ulterior motive or anything of the sort? He couldn't remember. He had been selfish to keep himself here for so long, hoping against hope that maybe Stanford would treat him a little warmer than he had been. Stupid to think that staying here would somehow make things better. Too worthless to really make that much of a positive impact.

Stanley had had enough.

With a popping in a majority of his joints- damn, he was getting old- he sat up in the bed that technically still belonged to his brother after 30 years. Pulling back the covers, he swung his legs out of the bed and immediately set them in the slippers that he had left there. He sat like that, hunched over for what could've been minutes or hours. He didn't know nor care. When he finally moved again, it was to glance at the digital clock. It read 3:00 a.m.

A bottle behind the clock caught his eye, standing a transparent orange that contrasted with the naturally dark tones of the wood and lighting that surrounded it. Reaching over and picking it up, he tried to see which one of his medicines it was. Usually, the various bottles were kept in the drawer of his nightstand, and he had no recollection of leaving any of his medicines out. He squinted at it, trying to avoid putting his glasses on, but eventually, he gave up and fit the large frames on his face. The label read 'hydrocodone' and the bottle was about half full of white oval tablets.

They were meant to help, to make his quality of life better or whatever the doctor had spewed. And they did. When his back pain got so bad that he literally could not leave the bed, this would help him get back on his feet. He tried not to take it too often, Pines men weren't weak, after all, and taking medicine because you couldn't handle a bit of pain spelled out 'wimp' in capital glowing letters. Now as he gazed at them, he didn't recognize them as little helping pills. He saw them as little keys to freedom.

Stanley Pines was no idiot, despite what his report cards said in high school. He could read people like a book and instantly make connections that would take others twice as long to realize. It was because of this that he knew with absolute certainty that if he decided to finally go through with it tonight, nobody would really miss him. The kids, he figured, would hardly be sad- he ruined their entire summer break with his lying and going behind their backs. He was no longer trustworthy to them, and Stan figured that was a logical and valid conclusion. Wendy and Soos only saw him as a taskmaster, stubborn and cold with a habit to penny-pinch on payday. And he would never forget the better half of himself- Ford.