Memories don’t return all at once.

They are a slow puzzling-together. They are a name at first, then a face that looks as the name sounds, then a voice, a quote, an acquaintance, a vague concept of personality, a shared moment, a sentiment, and then finally, themselves.

Dipper was a name. Then he was the face with the scruffy brown hair and rounded cheeks. He was a squeaky, cracking voice which whined in a way Stanley somehow knew was endearing. “My mosquito bites spell out ‘BEWARE’!” which made him that nephew of his that came to stay the summer. Then he was bold, and courageous, and caring, and an egotistic weakling but one who tried hard and did what he knew what right. He was a cracked pitt cola and a shared lament about the fruitless chase of crushes. He was important, and loved, and special, and he was Dipper.

Mabel was a name. Then she was the dimpled face with the always-cracked smile and colorful braces. She was a loud endless stream of music and noise and gleeful announcements, an annoyance Stanley knew he adored. “You saved Waddles.” And that meant she was his great niece who’d showed up two months back with a suitcase full of sweaters. She was charming and loud and optimistic and cared too hard, too easily, but that was as much her strength as her weakness. She was her hand, rising away from the shut-down button with tears streaming and “I trust you” on her lips. She was important, and astounding, and one-of-a-kind, and she was Mabel.

Soos was a name. Then he was the heavy-jowled man with the bowling pin body. He was the flat, back-throat voice always whimsical, always intrigued, even just talking about the screw type needed to put the stairs back together, a noise Stanley trusted. “I have a new mission now Mr. Pines! Protecting these kids!” and it slotted him as the handy man, the little child who’d shown up at the Shack ten years back and worked ever since. He was innocent and trusting and honest and selfless, naïve in a way that made Stanley more concerned for him than he cared to admit. He was the face across the bar, pouring out expired apple cider and watching Stanley with sad eyes that knew they couldn’t help. He was important, and in need of protecting, and he was Soos.

Ford was a name. Then he was the spitting image of Stanley, with a darker jaw and tousled hair and trimmer figure. He was a wash of scientific garble, marvelously enunciated and yet nonsense all the same, meaningless mumbo-jumbo that somehow put Stanley in a wonderful mood. “He saved the world…He saved me.” which pinned him as Stanley’s twin brother, the one he’d loved, the one lost beyond the portal, his aggravating other half who tried his nerves more than anyone he’d ever known. He was dorky and scrawny and obnoxious and every bit the brother Stan had once lost. He was the flask of whiskey, handed over across the slash of blue bars trapping them in while the kids ran. He was important, and abnormal in the best way, and he was Ford.

And Ford was there across the table, extra fingers spinning along the rim of an open Pitt Cola. He kept his shoulders small and his eyes lowered, but the smile on his face spelled out sheepish contentment. He looked around the main level of the Shack with the same nostalgic investigation that Stanley now used to look at everything. “Somewhat astounding, all the things you’ve done in the Shack during my absence. Pterodactyls, zombie fights, escaping the Feds? If Filbrick only knew half of it, Stanley.”

Stanley sat up, gears churning out emptiness. He fixed his brother with a blank stare. “…Filbrick?”

Filbrick was a name.

“Oh,” Ford answered. He tipped the soda to his face and swallowed once. The can set back down on its coaster with a thock, and Ford shook his head. “Nah, never mind. He’s not anyone worth dwelling on. Tell me about the pterodactyl again. I believe I’m missing a few details.”

Stanley sat in his own head a few moments longer. Thoughts turned, but they found nothing, and drifted instead to the monster which had tried to take Mabel’s pig. It dragged a smile across his lips. “Ah. Okay. Well see best I remember it—first off, you gotta know that pig used to be a nuisance. No manners at all…”

Filbrick was a name. One bit of a puzzle that never pieced itself back together.

Filbrick was only a name.