Half an hour earlier
As he walked out of the gift shop, Stan briefly wondered if it was a good idea to leave it in the hands of a bunch of teenagers— he certainly knew that he would have never entrusted something like this to his teenage self. But they were good kids, and Soos had been working there for long enough that he could surely keep everything from getting too out of control. Besides, how much trouble could they get up to?
Right now, Stan had more pressing matters to attend to.
As Stan had suspected, Ford was in his room. It was a disaster, as usual, with Ford’s bed shoved into a corner to make room for the books, papers, and occasional conspiracy theory sprawled across any available surface. Ford sat at his desk, hunched over the same Journal he’d had at breakfast.
Stan crossed his arms and lounged against the doorframe. “Oy, Poindexter.”
There was no answer. Ford continued his scribbling, occasionally looking up to stare into space and mutter to himself.
Stan was undeterred— he’d seen Ford in this state more times than he could count. Normally he was fine with leaving his brother to his nerdiness, but Stan wanted this conversation over with sooner rather than later. “Sixer.”
Ford’s head snapped up, staring straight out the window in front of his desk. For a moment Stan thought he’d broken through the trance, but then Ford hunched back down, writing more furiously than ever.
Stan sighed. “Ford!” he yelled, and finally Ford whirled around.
“Stan! Don’t do that!”
Rolling his eyes, Stan pulled himself off the doorframe. “We need to talk.”
“That’s informative,” Ford said dryly. “Are you sure it can’t wait? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Stan shook his head. Ford sighed, but closed his book and rotated his chair to face Stan. “Considering that no good conversation ever began with the words ‘we need to talk,’ I’m guessing it’s bad news.” When Stan nodded, Ford frowned. “Stan, if this is about those pixies, I told you they were a bad idea. They aren’t fairies. They’re going to escape and infest the whole house— do you know how hard it is to get rid of a pixie infestation?”
“What? No, the pixies are doing fine. Wendy figured out that if you give ‘em a little bit of sugar, they’ll love ya’ and do just about anything you want them to.” Ford’s mouth opened, probably to tell Stan that giving sugar to pixies was a terrible idea, but Stan held up a hand to forestall him. “Ford, it’s—” Stan hesitated. He’d had this suspicion for a while, but saying it out loud made what had been a distant possibility seem all too real. “I think the Emporium is going out of business.”
Ford’s eyes widened, and anything he was going to say about the pixies vanished. “Stan, are you sure? I know business has been a little slow lately, but—”
“No customers whatsoever in two days is hardly ‘a little slow,’” Stan interrupted. “I know you don’t really handle much of the money and business side of things, but— we’ve been losing profit for a while now. Business is like that— sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse, but this is— not good.”
“If it’s been happening for a while, why didn’t you talk to me about it?” Ford asked, his tone hinting towards the accusatory. Stan’s shoulders slumped.
“I know, I know, I should have. It just— it was so gradual that it didn’t really seem like a big deal, and—” Stan dropped his gaze to the ground. “I guess I thought it was just a slump, that we’d pull out of it.” He sighed. “This is my fault.”
Ford shook his head. “No, I should have helped you more with the financial side of the business, instead of leaving it all on your shoulders. I do have a PhD, after all— I can handle a little math.”
“Hm… yeah, I’m probably willing to give you some of the blame,” Stan said, giving Ford a lopsided grin. “So now that we’ve agreed that we’re both idiots, what’re we gonna do about it? I dunno ‘bout you, but I am not going to let our business die.”
Ford stood up and pushed his chair under his desk, stroking his chin as he began pacing back and forth across the room. “Well, in order to find a solution, we first need to get to the root of the problem.”
“Hm. And what textbook did you pull that out of?” Stan asked, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall.
“It’s called common sense,” Ford said with a roll of his eyes. “I doubt you’ve heard of it. Anyway, my point is that we need to figure out why we’ve been losing business. Is it because of the attractions? Are there less tourists coming to Gravity Falls in general? Do we have too many competitors?”
“Try ‘all of the above,’” Stan grumbled. “People would rather waste their money at some dumb amusement park than come here and learn about the interesting stuff in the world.”
Ford gave him an amused look. “Stan, our attractions are fake. People would probably learn more at the amusement park.”
“Some of them are real— like the pixies,” Stan argued.
“Which, as I previously established, are a terrible idea.” Ford inhaled. “But that’s not the point. What can we do to make us seem more interesting to the general public?”
“Hm.” Stan frowned. “Well, advertising is always a good thing. I used to do TV commercials, back when I— you know.” He was referring to the ten years before he had come to Gravity Falls— a time that neither of the brothers liked to talk about. After a fight at the end of high school, the two had gone their separate ways: Ford graduated college and came to Gravity Falls to research its mysteries, while Stan became a travelling salesman. Eventually, the two brothers had come to their senses and decided to let bygones be bygones, but the shadow of those ten years still brought back the feelings of guilt and abandonment.
Stan pushed away the memory and continued. “We could try something like that— a lot of people watch TV these days. And maybe we could start messing with some kind of website? That’d be your territory— I don’t know squat about computers."
"I can do that." Ford hesitated. “Although... I do wish that Fiddleford were still around. He was the real computer expert.”
Stan bit his lip and nodded. Fidds was no longer in any condition to do much of anything, especially anything technology related. But like the ten dark years Stan had spent after high school, that was in the past. It couldn’t be changed now. “So we’ll do some more advertising, and— what else?”
“Perhaps if we spiced up some of the exhibit,” Ford mused. “A few of them are getting a little old.” He frowned. “Did you hear that?”
Stan had, in fact, heard a faint crash from downstairs, but decided to let it be. The kids knew where the broom was. “It’s fine. Anyways, we’ve already got the pixies! Boom— brand new exhibit, already practically ready. Wendy’s almost got ‘em trained.”
Ford rubbed his forehead. “Stan. For the last time, keeping pixies indoors is an absolutely horrible idea.”
“Can’t be much worse than your idea of keeping a Gremloblin inside was,” Stan shot back. “How much was it we got sued for, again?”
“We agreed that we wouldn’t speak of the Gremloblin incident!” Ford blew out a long stream of air. “But no, I was thinking more along the lines of a monster hunt— find something new for the museum that won’t infest the house or cause a lawsuit. It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper one, and it’d be fun. We could even bring Mason along, show him the ropes.”
At the prospect of a monster hunt, Stan couldn’t help but grin. Leading tours, keeping track of money… that was all part of the job, but the real fun came out in the woods. “I like your thinking, but I dunno if bringing Mason along is a good idea— I’d rather send him home to his parents in one piece.”
“We’d keep him back, out of the danger,” Ford said. “He would just be there to watch and observe. Besides, I’d like to see you try to keep him here.”
Stan laughed. “True that— the kid can be as stubborn as either of us when he wants to be. But there’s also the question of what we’d do about Mabel during the hunt, though.”
Ford hesitated, looking down. “Stan, about that… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Mabel. I just— I don’t know if it’s a good idea to just be letting her stay with us like this.”
“You’d rather she be out in the forest, alone?” Stan replied, raising an eyebrow.
Ford lifted his hands in surrender. “No, of course not! We just know nothing about her beyond her first name. Where did she come from? Why did she run away from home in the first place? I don’t think we should abandon her— of course I don’t think that, Stan, I’m not a monster! Just— don’t you think we should maybe be doing a bit more to figure out who she is?”
“She’s known us for less than a day, Sixer,” Stan said. “If we start bombarding her with questions now, that’s just gonna make her clam up. Have a little patience.”
“Yes, yes, you’re probably right,” Ford murmured. “I just don’t know how comfortable I am with a strange girl running around my house. That’s why I’m in here and not down behind the vending machine— I don’t know if I want her knowing all our secrets.”
“Oh yes, the top secret lab in the basement. Full of nerdy stuff that a thirteen-year-old girl will definitely be interested in,” Stan said. “I get where you’re coming from, Ford, but I don’t think we’re in any danger from Mabel. She’ll open up to us when she’s good and ready.”
Ford hesitated, but nodded. “Okay. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re probably more knowledgeable on this subject than I am.”
“Don’t worry— I’m sure this is the only topic you can say that about,” Stan said. “I doubt your ego could handle it if there were any more.”
“Ha, ha. I’ll have you know—” Ford’s voice cut off as a loud crash echoed through the house, much louder than the previous one.
Stan jerked his head toward the doorway. “What in the— did they set off a bomb down there?”
“Not unless they stole one from the secret part of the lab,” Ford said. Stan turned to him, eyes wide and ready to deliver a rant on why would you ever make bombs and leave them anywhere remotely near children Stanford Pines— “Joking, Stan, I was joking!”
“Very funny, smart guy.” Stan jerked his thumb to the door. “I should probably go make sure they didn’t obliterate the gift shop. We can get started on all the new advertising ideas tomorrow.” He paused. "Oh, and— Ford, don't tell the kids about this, okay? Not until we have to. I don't want them to worry."
Ford nodded. Stan turned to leave, but stopped to look back over his shoulder as Ford spoke again. “Stan— we’re going to get through this. We’ve been in worse scrapes before— we made it through those, we’ll make it through this. The Emporium isn’t going out of business.”
Stan smiled and gave a brief nod as he walked out, not wanting to voice the thoughts and doubts swirling in his head.
Ford was right about a lot of things— quantum physics, calculus, maybe even the fact that pixies shouldn’t be kept indoors. But there were some things Stan’s nerdy brother was wrong about, much as he hated to admit it. Stan hoped beyond hope that Ford was right about this, that they would pull through as they always had.
But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that their luck had finally run out.