Did you think I forgot my little ficlet series? Heck no! (For the uninformed, here are ficlets one, two, and three. They’re all in the same AU.)

Title: Hello to Widdle Ol’ Me

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: G

Characters: Stanford Pines, Gideon Gleeful, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, and Wendy Corduroy.

Description: They just wanted to go see a psychic. (AU.)

Word Count: 2840



When Ford overheard his niece getting worked up over a commercial for the so-called Tent of Telepathy, he called from the kitchen, “It’s nothing but smoke and mirrors, honey.”

He was struggling to make something a little more substantial than ramen or takeout, which was what he usually lived off of. Ford had promised himself he’d do right by the kids when he agreed to take them in, so now there was a raw chicken on his counter and he was glaring at the oven as if that alone would make it cook. How hard could it be to roast a bird, really?

“But Great Uncle Ford!” Mabel bounded into the kitchen, waving her arms like they had suddenly lost all their bones. Of course, she slipped on the linoleum and crashed into the cheap plastic countertop, but she bounced back like she was made of rubber, as usual. “How do you know that? What if Gideon really is psychic?”

“They’re never really psychic. My mother was a fake psychic. She showed me how she tricked people.” Ford flipped through his notepad full of recipes, chewing the inside of his cheek. He had not been very good about taking notes on roasting chicken. The preheat temperature was crossed out and rewritten over and over to illegibility.

Mabel gasped. He startled enough to almost throw the notepad. “Your mother was a fake psychic?”

“That’s so cool!” Dipper said, popping his head into the kitchen as well. The kitchen wasn’t too big. Should there be three people in there when he was trying to use the oven? Oh well, it’d be fine. “How did she do it?”

“Did she use crystal balls? Or, oh! Oh!” Mabel wiggled her fingers like she was telling a scary story. “Ouija boards?”

“No, people just called her over the phone, then she gave them psychic-sounding life advice and told them their lives would be great.” Ford just picked a number that sounded right to preheat and dumped salt on the bird. “She was a consummate liar, so it was a good job for her.”

“How do you convince people that you’re psychic over the phone?” Dipper said with a furrowed brow and a frown that carved too deep into his young face. Ford loved Dipper to pieces, but the boy frowned too much. It was good Mabel was around to curtail that.

(It reminded him of him and Stanley when they were young.)

“It’s easy to convince someone you’re psychic if they want to believe you are.” Ford shrugged, dumping half a container of pepper on the bird. “Tell them what they want to hear, and they’ll believe you have the authority to know for sure.”

“But what if Gideon really is psychic?” Mabel said, grabbing onto Ford’s sleeve and leaning on his arm. “What if there’s one real psychic in the whole wide world and he’s in Gravity Falls right now?”

“If a real psychic were anywhere, it’d be here,” Dipper added as Ford shoved the chicken in the oven, still with a pile of salt and pepper on top.

“I’ll tell you what: after dinner, we can go together. I’ll explain how he fools the crowd.”

“Oooooh thank you, thank you! This is going to be amazing!” Mabel swung from his arm, twirling around under his hand until he ruffled her hair.

“Uh, Great Uncle Ford? Is the chicken supposed to catch fire?” Dipper asked, frowning as smoke rose from the oven.

“Oh sh—shoot.” Ford turned off the oven with a wince. “Dipper, go get the takeout menus.”

Gideon Gleeful had a lot more glitz and glam than Ma Pines. Ma was good with people and just needed to listen to them a little before she could twirl them around her finger, but Gideon needed to distract them with a cute gimmick and a lot of flashy song numbers. In Ford’s opinion, it was just a sign of poor people skills. Gideon would grow out of his ability to manipulate people if he didn’t learn how to empathize with them like adult fake psychics did.

But the kids had fun, and that was all that really mattered. Spending time with people outside of work didn’t come naturally to Ford, but he learned the hard way how easy it was to miss out on relationships with family forever, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t do that with Dipper and Mabel.

Mabel was enamored with the spectacle of it all despite Ford explaining every trick pulled to her. Dipper constantly rolled his eyes after Gideon finished his phony opening number, seeing through the whole thing and maybe attempting to exude the aura of sophistication by refusing to enjoy himself too much. (It was the kind of thing Ford did when he was Dipper’s age.)

It was in all a harmless night, though Mabel kept humming that stupid opening number and Ford wanted to gouge his ears out after two hours.

And then the next day, someone knocked on the door.

The kids were out and Ford was in the workshop welding a new project together with full face protection gear, so he didn’t hear any knocking. He was nestled behind a shield to keep debris or excess light from shining out, and he bent over the metal slowly fusing together, sweat rolling down his face.

“Hey, Ford. Fordo. Fordmeister.” Wendy peeked her head over his welding shield with zero eye protection, and it was that more than what she was saying that made him immediately turn off his blowtorch.

“Wendy, one of these days, you’re going to blind yourself in here,” Ford said as he pulled his mask off. The metal hull of his newest design still glowed red. “I gave you goggles. Why don’t you wear them?”

“I dunno. Because they make me look like a dork?” She shrugged before jerking her head at the exit. “Someone’s knocking on the front door.”

“Did Dipper forget his keys again?” Ford peeked around the shield to look past Wendy, frowning at all the various projects strewn around the workshop. It looked more like a chop shop than anything else. He should be better about organizing. With assistants as safety-conscious as Wendy and Soos, someone was going to get maimed unless he cleaned up.

“Nah, it’s some super pale kid who wants to talk to you.” Wendy shrugged again. After working with her for so long, Ford was beginning to suspect that Wendy had a language made entirely of shrugs, and he was just too old to understand any of it. “And also, I found some charcoal in the kitchen when I totally wasn’t slacking off. I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be food. Do you need Soos to sign you up for a cooking class?”

“Possibly. Do me a favor and look up how long children can last on instant meals.” Ford tugged his custom gloves off and left them on the stool. “Soos, you can finish welding for me.”

“Sure thing Dr. Pines!” Soos called from the back of the workshop, where he was putting together another side project of Ford’s from a blueprint. Soos would never be a great inventor, but an engineer or mechanic? He was brilliant at fixing things that broke or putting something together from a plan.

Ford wiped the sweat from his brow and the grease from his hands before stepping out of the workshop. Someone patiently knocked on the front door again, and he maneuvered around the arts and crafts projects Mabel left on his floor (he supposed it added character, and he had replaced the boyband posters she put on his walls with family pictures).

“Who is it?” Ford called as he checked through the front door’s peep hole, the hairs in the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably.

“Why, it’s Gideon Gleeful! Might I have a word?” The albino boy was standing very patiently with a beatific smile on his face on his porch. Something in Ford squirmed at the idea of allowing a stranger in his house. He suspected the minor brain damage he sustained many years ago affected his risk assessment, as he had been fighting an unexplained sense of paranoia ever since then. Since he couldn’t think of any good reason why he should leave a small child on his porch, he undid all the locks and swung the door open.

“Gideon Gleeful?” Ford frowned down at the boy, noting how the child’s pupils dilated like Mabel’s when she saw a boyband come on TV. “What are you doing here?” Was this supposed to be a promotion? Maybe giving everyone who went to his show a follow up visit to lure them into a pay-for-reading scam?

“Oh, I just noticed your family in the crowd yesterday, and I knew ya’ll were special.” The boy clasped his tiny hands together, his pupils dilating even further if that were possible. He looked like a hopeful kitten. (Also, adorable. But that was a given with this child. He was very good at his cute schtick.) “May I come in?”

Ford didn’t stop frowning, but he stepped aside, ignoring the uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck. “I’m afraid my niece and nephew aren’t home, if you wanted to play with them.”

“Oh that’s fine, that’s fine. I met your niece earlier today. She’s sweeter than peach plum pie, isn’t she?” The southern charm dripped off the boy, but not quite the same way it did with Fiddleford, once upon a time. (Though Ford tried not to think too hard about Fiddleford unless he was visiting the dump to drop of clothes and food.) “No, I just wanted to talk to you!”

“With me.” Ford had trouble not sounding skeptical, choosing not to invite the boy to sit for now. He didn’t want to make the child get too comfortable when this sounded more and more like a sale pitch.

“Oh, I know you’re a busy man, Dr. Pines, so I promise not to take much of your time.” Southern charisma was different from the charisma of New Jersey. Gideon spoke softly and politely with a lilt of flattery and deference. It wasn’t like the other salesmen Ford knew—sweeping the crowd with loud confidence and talk so fast it made heads spin. “I just wanted to speak to you as a matter of personal interest.”

“If you’re wondering whether I’m interested in personal readings, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Ford said as politely as he could manage, but still hearing his voice come out brusquely. Gideon waved him off, looking no less happy to be in the house.

“Oh, nothing like that, nothing like that. I just think I might be familiar with some of your work.”

“My work?” Oh, this wasn’t what he expected. Ford glanced back at his workshop, frowning deeper. “My inventions haven’t been put on the public market for the most part.”

“No, I’m not talking about your inventions, though they’re brilliant as well.” The boy clasped his hands together. A strange glint came to his eye, something that didn’t quite mesh with his adorable exterior. “I’m talking about your research.”

The prickling spread from his neck to his back. “You mean my physics research? Aren’t you a little young to be reading physics journals?”

“No. No, I think you know what I mean, Dr. Pines.”

An ache started at the base of Ford’s head. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Let me tell you a story.” The glint was growing in the boy’s eyes. “When we moved here from Georgia, I had to start going to school with the common folk of Gravity Falls. The children here are pleasant enough… so long as you’re no different from them.”

For the first time during the whole exchange, Ford’s gut jerked in sympathy and his frown softened. He knew this story even before Gideon told it. He had lived it.

“As you can see, I’m quite a pale fellow.” Gideon gestured to his nearly white hair, his pale blue eyes, and his nearly translucent skin. “So you see, they didn’t take too kindly to me for a while. I’m sure you understand how that feels.”

Gideon’s eyes flicked to Ford’s hands. His first instinct was to hide them, but he resisted, letting them stay loose at his sides. The child wasn’t looking at his fingers to scorn.

“They mocked me.” A shadow passed over the boy, an edge of anger that Ford was all too familiar with, but then it was gone and the boy was looking at Ford’s face again, pupils dilated. “But then I found my salvation buried in the playground during recess. A journal full of the secrets of the world.”

The headache was getting worse. Ford’s gut clenched, and suddenly he wanted the boy to stop talking, to shut up and leave, and he didn’t know why. It must have been a spell of sickness. They happened sometimes.

“Any mention of the author’s name has been purged from the journal, but on its cover is a six-fingered hand.” The boy was looking up at him like he was Jesus Christ and Stanford had to fight to keep from covering his ears. “Your hand.”

Sweat beaded Ford’s hairline. His heart started to race without any real reason. It was definitely a spell, and talking was only making it worse.

“Now, I want you to know how much respect I have for you. You changed my life. I don’t have to ever feel weak again.” The boy was looking at him with too much intensity. It was more than love. It was worship. It made him squirm, nauseous. “Please teach me, Dr. Pines. I’ll do anything.”

The headache spread all over the back of his head, like someone brained him with a bat. Ford breathed deeply, fighting back the need to throw up before pinching the bridge of his nose, staring down at the boy.

“I’m glad that you found something so empowering. I know how hard it is to be different, and I promise it gets easier once you’ve grown up. Adults are better at dealing with minor differences than kids are.” Ford shook his head, and the boy’s face fell. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about with journals. You must be looking for someone else with polydactylism.”

There was an awkward silence. Something strange rippled over Gideon’s face, a twist to the mouth that put Ford on edge, but then he was beatific again.

“Of course I don’t expect you to share everything with me just like that. I’ll prove myself.” The boy took Ford’s hand too suddenly for Ford to step away, patting his knuckles gently. “Thank you so much for hearing me out, Dr. Pines. I admire your work so much.”

The boy let go of Ford’s hand, leaving it prickling uncomfortably. “I’ll show myself out.”

The child left as quickly as he came, but even when the front door swung shut, the sickness didn’t stop.

Ford braced himself on the wall and closed his eyes, riding the wave of nausea and anxiety washing over him. This wasn’t an uncommon feeling. It just happened sometimes ever since his accident years ago. He breathed, fighting down the irrational thoughts surging in his head.

Something happened in the woods.

You have to go back.

The thoughts were so strong that they felt like whispers in his ears. Go back.

Ford breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. The product of minor brain damage was all it was. He was lucky his intellect and day to day functions hadn’t been affected. If minor paranoia and periodic but brief spells of illness were all he had to deal with, he had to be grateful.

“Yo, Ford.” Wendy leaned out of the workshop, frowning at him. “You okay, boss man?”

“Yes, fine, Wendy. Just need some air, no worries.” But her voice helped pull him out of it. The headache broke, fading away with the impulse to run into the forest. As always, he was left with a distant ache and unexplained guilt. He would assign the feeling to how he had been unable to help a child he could relate to so well, but in reality, he always felt guilty after an attack. It was probably from some crossed wires in his brain. “Remind me what I was working on?”

“An upgrade for my cellphone.”

“That will never happen in a million years.” All the aches fled and Ford was back in the present. “You spend too much time on that thing as it is.”

Wendy snorted, trailing her way back into the mess of metal, wires, and paper that was his workshop. “Do you even hear how old you sound?”

“I’m pushing sixty. I have earned my right to sound old.” Ford followed Wendy, putting Gideon, journals, and the woods out of his mind. “You kids these days.”

Wendy laughed loud enough to banish any lingering nausea, and work could resume in peace.