Gravity Falls Twangst

Twinpathy

Yes, I am going to continue coming up with cheesy twin-based portmanteaus.  Deal with it, world!

I should have gone to bed, since I have to get up early for work in the morning and I might be developing a cold, but instead I followed my writer's instinct and stayed up late to write this.  So you better dang well appreciate it.

Partially inspired by the lovely work of RenConnor of AO3 and ArtsyMeShee of tumblr.

********

The night he was banished from his home and told not to come back without a fortune, Stanley Pines went down to the beach with a can of gasoline that he "liberated" from a nearby station and his trusty lighter, and he set the almost-completed Stan O'War on fire.

There was no way he could take it with him, and he sure as h_ll wasn't leaving it for that traitor to use.

Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone who would care.

It took hours for the flames to finish consuming it; he stood there the whole time, hands clenched in trembling fists at his sides, and forced himself to watch no matter how much it hurt. He barely even flinched when he got hit by stray sparks that burned his skin and made his damp eyes sting, as he literally watched all his dreams go up in smoke.

By the time it was reduced to dying embers it was almost dawn; Stan walked away to his car and curled up in the back seat, feeling more alone than he had in his entire life.

********

Ford barely slept.

For some reason he was just too hot; even if he kicked off all the blankets and sheets, he felt like he was burning up.

Even if he hadn't been experiencing an odd temperature problem, there was no way he could sleep with the cocktail of rage, betrayal, uncertainty and not-very-well-suppressed guilt brewing in his skull.

His room had never felt so empty before, or been so quiet during the night.

Parts of his skin were actually stinging a little; if he was having a fever, it was like nothing he'd ever had before. Not even cold water seemed to help much, but somehow he couldn't work up the will to wake up his parents. Not after they'd-

He shoved the thought away.

It wasn't until dawn that the heat rushing through his system finally died down a little, but even then Ford couldn't relax enough to sleep. He went to school looking and feeling like hell, and passed it in a dull haze.

A week later, when he went to the beach (he hadn't meant to go near the boat, he'd told himself that he wouldn't, that there was no reason to go near it, but somehow his footsteps took him there anyways), all he found was an enormous chunk of ash.

And his gut churned with that cocktail again, as he realized his brother really wasn't coming back anytime soon.

********

Stan was beginning to realize that making that deal with Archer had been a mistake.

Namely because he was chained up and dangling by his ankles in a slaughterhouse, and one of Archer's goons was approaching him with a cleaver in one hand and a meat hook in the other, and it wasn't because he was planning on giving him a fancy haircut.

"It's nothing personal, Pinowski," Archer said solemnly, staring down at him. "I like your moxie; really I do. But it's bad business if I don't make an example of you to anyone else with dumb ideas."