Recoil - Chapter 1: Stopping Power
A little while ago, I reread the AMAZING fic “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga and remembered that about a year ago I got a prompt from an Anon to write basically that same situation, wherein de-aging happens during the big portal fight, but flip the script and have Ford be the one that is de-aged. And I got inspired by infriga’s awesome fic and decided to revisit and revamp that concept. So here is the project I’ve been working on and cryptically referencing lately. A multichap following that concept that is FiddStan endgame. A first for me. Expect a regular upload schedule, because this puppy is basically all done.
Summary: The fight was going as it always did for Stan and Ford. Hurtful words followed by clenched fists, no resolution, no quarter given. That is, until Ford turned eight.
Stopping power (noun): the ability of a weapon to incapacitate a target
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Stan sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on the back of the small child sleeping next to him. In the dark, he could only see dark curls standing out against the light pillowcase. Soft snoring filled the room. Satisfied, Stan began to stand up. He paused for a moment, then sat back down, watching the sleeping boy, thinking about the events that had led to this moment.
“You ruined my life!” Stan snarled, trying to pull Ford’s damn book from him. Ford’s attempt to hold onto the book failed. Stan stumbled backwards, the book clutched to his chest.
“I ruined nothing!” Ford shouted, shoving Stan. “You ruined your own life!” The small of Stan’s back hit something hard and metal, and Stan collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain and a wince. He looked up at Ford, a few feet away, bathed in the light of the machine Stan couldn’t remember the name of. Ford opened his mouth, probably to shout some more.
The glow emitted by the machine grew brighter and brighter, filling the basement room corner to corner. Ford looked at the machine, apparently shocked out of fighting mode by the change. Stan couldn’t interpret the expression with which Ford stared at the machine. Fear? Anticipation? Confusion? Before he could narrow down the emotion, a sudden bolt of electricity shot out from the center of the light, striking Ford square in the chest. Ford fell to his knees with a cry.
“Ford!” Stan threw aside the book and rushed over to his brother, crouching next to him. Ford’s body crackled with electricity, miniature bolts of lightning running up and down his skin. “Stanford, what’s-” Before Stan could get out the rest of his question, a high-pitched ring sounded from the machine. It rose in volume threateningly, making Stan watch the machine, bracing himself for some new horror. As abruptly as it started, the sound cut out. The light vanished.
Stan blinked away the spots dancing before his eyes. Once his vision cleared, his jaw dropped at the sight in front of him. Where moments ago, a man in his late twenties had knelt, now a young child crouched, shivering. Stan recognized the boy immediately.
“Stanford?” Stan said cautiously, reaching out a hand. Ford’s twelve fingers clenched, scraping against the dirt floor.
“Leave,” Ford said in a quaking voice, his eyes screwed shut. Stan swallowed.
“I- I don’t think I should.”
“Look at yourself,” Stan interrupted. Ford reluctantly opened his eyes. His gaze fell upon his now small hands. His breath hitched in his throat.
“What- what- how?” Ford whispered. The shivers from before intensified. With a fevered energy, Ford inspected rest of his body, rubbing his hands over his face and scrawny limbs. “No. No. This is- this can’t- what’s-” Ford looked up at Stan. His cherubic face was framed with thick brown curls that their mom would spend ages trying to tame before temple. Tears spilled from his wide, brown eyes onto his ruddy cheeks. Any doubt Stan had as to what had happened was instantly dashed.
Ford couldn’t be any older than ten, but Stan couldn’t quite tell his exact age in the dimly lit basement. A soft keening filled the air. Stan looked at the machine, worried it had turned on again, only to realize that the sound was coming from Ford. He looked back at his brother.
He’s in full breakdown mode. Every inch of Ford’s small body was wracked with sobs. Stan’s mind kicked into overdrive, remembering lessons from the few Boy Scout meetings he’d been to before Filbrick deemed it a waste of money. Crisis situation. Whattaya do first? Make sure that anyone who’s panicking stops. Then fix the problem.
“Ford, I’m gonna need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?” Stan said, forcing himself to remain calm. Ford shook his head. “C’mon. We’ll do it together.” Stan placed his hands on Ford’s shoulders. “One big breath in.” He took a deep breath. “One out.” He breathed out. It took a few cycles of this before Ford was actually doing it.
Not sure whether it’s because he’s actually listening or because he’s getting annoyed by me. But it doesn’t matter. Stan and Ford breathed out together.
“Good. Now, this part is gonna be tough, but don’t think about anything. Turn that big brain of yours off for a little bit. Just think about the breathing,” Stan said. Ford frowned at him. “Just trust me. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
After about five minutes, Ford had stopped shaking. Dried tear tracks shone on his chubby cheeks. He hurriedly attempted to scrub them away with his sleeve.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Sixer,” Stan said softly. “All I know is that you’re a kid again. Which shouldn’t be possible.”
“Yes, well, a fair number of things happen in Gravity Falls that shouldn’t be possible,” Ford said. He took off his glasses to better rub away the tear stains on his face. Stan’s heart sank. They had been mostly covered by his glasses, but Stan could now see dark circles under Ford’s eyes.
Ford would skip sleep a lot in high school, but it was never this bad. What the hell happened? Ford got to his feet shakily. He abruptly began to lean to the side.
“Whoa!” Stan grabbed Ford before he could completely collapse. “Okay, you need to sleep.”
“No, Stanley, Bill will-”
“I don’t care who the fuck Bill is. A slight breeze could knock you over. You’re gonna take a nap.”
“No buts,” Stan said briskly. He scooped Ford into his arms.
“Stanley!” Ford fought back but was too weak to do much of anything. “This is demeaning!”
“Yup.” Stan headed for the door to the basement. “I don’t care.”
“But Bill-” Ford started. Stan began to walk upstairs.
“I’m gonna find your bedroom, put your butt in bed, and then you’re gonna take a nap. We can talk after that.”
“I’ll keep watch,” Stan said. “I won’t leave your side. Just- you need to sleep.” Ford continued to protest as Stan wandered around the house, trying to find Ford’s bedroom. His protests grew fainter and attempts to wriggle free weaker as he became more tired. By the time Stan had located Ford’s bed, he was already fast asleep. Stan carefully tucked Ford into the bed and removed his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. Ford rolled over in his sleep and mumbled something blearily. Stan took a seat on the floor next to Ford’s bed, determined to keep his word. He watched Ford sleep, his mind going a mile a minute now that the immediate problem had been taken care of.
What the actual fuck just happened?
