Chapter Text
Ugh. Stan’s whole body felt like lead. The thin layer of straw beneath him was tickling his nose and poking in places he really didn’t like being poked, but he didn’t care enough to move. At least he had space to lay down. He’d spent enough nights crammed into his car, unable to stretch out or move his cramped legs, to appreciate having some actual space. Even if that space was covered in annoying straw.
He let out a heavy sigh and the room suddenly got quieter – he hadn’t noticed the soft, steady scraping of a pen on paper until it paused, and now his ears pricked up to search for it again. (Ears? He hadn’t slept while Shifted in ages). The scraping continued a moment later.
For a moment Stan was transported back to his teenaged years – flopping in his bed, exhausted after a tough boxing match, and being lulled to sleep by the sound of Ford quietly writing into all hours of the night. Except back then Stan wasn’t in the form of an oversized canine, and he’d been well-fed, and it was Ford there instead of some stranger, and Stan could actually remember where he was and how he’d gotten there-
Wait.
Stan cracked open one eye, a few motes of dust filling his vision before he blinked and they cleared, allowing him to see the stupid hay right next to his face. Hay – why was there hay? Where was he?
He forced his groggy head up to take stock of his surroundings – iron bars every which way. A cage. He was in a cage. It was in the middle of what looked like a dusty shed, smaller cages and other tools hanging on the walls and oh god he hoped they weren’t torture devices. Who would want to torture a wolf anyway? Evening, or maybe early-morning, light streamed through a high window and lit up a small square of floor, where a person was sitting cross-legged a safe distance from the cage.
Person – person, cage, danger. A low growl rumbled through Stan’s chest and he bared his teeth in a warning. The guy had better not get any closer, or he would be down an arm. And maybe a throat.
The person froze at his growl and looked up from writing in some book, glasses flashing in the weak sunlight and making Stan flinch – before he recognised the face behind them and his growl petered off into stunned silence.
Holy shit. Ford?
It couldn’t be Ford, but – but it had to be, with that undisguised curiosity written across his face, unruly brown curls, and – yep, that cinched it – the six-fingered hand holding his pen.
Ford was there, and Ford was staring at him, and Stan was still in wolf form in this stupid cage. He couldn’t help but stare back. It had been years since he’d seen his brother. Ford was less twiggy than he used to be. His shoulders had filled out and his jaw was squarer than it used to be.
Well, Stan reasoned, it had been… what, seven years? They had both changed. Some more than others.
“Morning.” Ford’s voice broke them out of their unintentional staring match. He recommenced writing in his journal – writing or sketching, Stan had no idea. “I suppose you’re a bit sore, which is understandable after the night you had. You’re lucky I convinced Dan not to beat you to death.”
Who the heck was Dan? And why was Ford talking to a wolf? Fuckin’ nerd. Stan opened his mouth to ask some of the questions burning on his tongue, but they came out as a doggish huff. Oh right, the whole wolf situation.
Stan carefully rose, testing out his bruised and battered body. He ached all over but he didn’t think anything was broken. Thanks, luck, for not totally screwing him over. His left shoulder, in particular, was burning – he must have strained something. Now Stan could vaguely remember the events of yesterday; mostly, his car breaking down in the middle of nowhere. He’d been starving, he had to eat something, had to hunt, so he’d Shifted and gone in search of prey. He’d hurt his shoulder making a sharp turn while trying to catch a deer.
He kept chasing it until he’d gotten kicked, ended up somewhere that wasn’t the forest – a barn house maybe, but all he could focus on was the tiny animal in the front yard. That tiny, stupid dog. It had been yapping at him furiously like it could take him in a fight and he’d been so hungry.
And then there was yelling, and steel-capped boots and a heavy stick (holy shit was that a shovel) and he was too weak to put up much of a fight.
Stan’s lip curled in disgust. He hadn’t even managed to take a bite out of that stupid Chihuahua. There was the good old Stanley Pines luck rearing its head again. Well, he wasn’t dead yet. He had that going for him.
Ford was glancing up at him occasionally with calculating eyes. Stan sighed and settled back onto the floor. He didn’t have the energy to force a Shift right now, and there was no use scaring the nerd. Ford blinked at him before mumbling to himself, pen never stilling.
“Hmm. I thought you would have been more… concerned, to be in captivity. Perhaps you’ve had contact with humans before. Of course, it’s illegal to keep wolves as pets, but this is Gravity Falls.”
Gravity what-now?
“And you’re certainly not an ordinary wolf.” Ford continued thoughtfully. “Far too large, and your proportions are off. I wonder if you’ve been affected by the natural weirdness of Gravity Falls? The size-changing crystals may have played a role in… hmm…” He went back to scribbling in his book.
Great. Now Stan was just another science experiment. The sooner he could Shift and tell Ford who he was, the sooner…
What? The sooner Ford could kick him out? Stan had ruined his entire future, there was no way Ford would be happy to see him.
In a twisted way, Stan might be safer as an object of study rather than a potential enemy. Besides, he didn’t think he could face Ford’s ire. And if there was a chance Ford would find out who he was and keep him trapped anyway… a specimen to study… no, he wouldn’t take that risk.
Stan would just have to escape when the chance presented itself. Until then, he could play the part of the wolf.
A nice wolf, obviously – no fucking way was he gonna attack his own brother. No matter how much of a dipshit the guy was being.
Mind made up, Stan went back to napping. Or pretending to nap, because he couldn’t exactly relax with Ford’s eyes constantly on him. He must have drifted off at some point though because he awoke with a start at a very close scrape. Immediately Stan’s fur stood on end.
Ford had slid something into the cage. Stan was resolved not to take any handouts until the scent of raw meat hit his nose and he forgot that he was supposed to be a human.
He snapped up the slab of meat in slavering jaws, shivering when the savoury-salty-metallic-food taste of blood burst across his tongue. He hadn’t eaten in so long.
All too soon the food was gone. Stan licked his chops and couldn’t hold back a pitiful whine.
“Still hungry?” Ford called from across the shed, where he was digging in a fridge Stan had missed before. “No wonder; I can see your ribs from here. You’ll have to wait for me to get more though.”
Ugh, Ford was taking so long. Stan nudged the food bowl with his nose, pushing it out of the cage with the hope that getting the dish back would speed things up. Ford sent him a weird look but Stan didn’t care as long as he got more food.
The creature was certainly not an ordinary wolf.
It didn’t take an expert eye to see, either. Its – his? – shaggy fur was matted and clumped, a far cry from the sleek coats Ford had seen in the wolves native to Oregon. Its claws were a little too long, its fangs a little too jagged, its form too barrel-chested and shoulders too hunched and hulking – and the creature itself was much larger than any wolf Ford had seen. When standing, its back might reach as high as his waist. Ford was sure that the only reason Dan had managed to subdue it was the pitiful state it was currently in. At peak health it would surely be a formidable beast.
And there was something intelligent in the gleam of those amber-yellow eyes. Something… considering.
However, the creature was was much more well-behaved than the usual specimens Ford managed to obtain. It lay quietly in its cage, occasionally getting up to stretch before lying back down. After the first incident it made no attempt to growl at, attack or otherwise threaten him. It had even returned the food dish every time he fed it.
Ford couldn’t make any conclusions until he had more evidence, but the data he currently had strongly suggested that the creature had once been domesticated. An escaped pet, perhaps? He decided to test his hypothesis.
Once Ford finished his sketch he stood by the cage, treats in his pocket (borrowed from Dan). The wolf cracked open one eye to watch him warily, as it had been doing when Ford moved.
Hmm, where to start… probably with the more common commands. If the wolf had been domesticated it would probably have been taught some basic commands at the least. Ford waited until both its eyes were on him before lifting a hand and saying clearly, “Sit.”
The wolf continued to look at him.
“Sit.” Ford tried again, with no luck. The wolf was paying attention to him but it made no attempt to follow his orders. He sighed. “Come on, work with me here.”
The wolf blinked slowly.
Ford reached into his pocket and pulled a treat out of his pocket, rolling it in his palm. The wolf’s gaze seemed to have a lot more weight behind it now. The creature seemed to be considering.
“Sit.” Ford said again and, with, a huff, the wolf picked itself up off the floor and sat on its haunches.
Ford gaped.
“You actually know the command. Oh gosh, you must be domesticated! I wonder how many of your kind there are. A whole new species of wolf? Wolf-mutt? What other commands do you know? Do you lay down too? Lay down!”
The wolf shot him an eerily intelligent look – a look that clearly said ‘you want me to cooperate, you’d better pay up’. Ford sighed and tossed the treat into the cage, where the wolf attempted to catch it, only to have it bounce off its snout and roll out of the cage again.
Ford picked it up and tried again. This time the wolf snapped it out of the air with an audible clack of teeth. Sated, the creature settled back onto its belly.
“Is… is that you obeying the previous command? Or just lying down?”
It put its head down and closed his eyes, so Ford assumed it was the latter. He sat back and picked up his journal, hands buzzing with excitement. So his initial hypothesis had been correct; the creature had belonged to someone. It evidently hadn’t been cared for for a long time though, given its current state. Was it a pet that escaped? But if it had run away from its owners, Ford doubted it would be listening to his commands – however reluctantly – as it was doing now.
A loyal pet, then, but one that had not been taken care of for a while. Had it belonged to one of Gravity Falls’ supernatural inhabitants? That would explain its… abnormalities.
A sudden thought hit Ford suddenly, and he squeezed his pen tight.
“I wonder… there are countless incidents of people adopting young pets, only to abandon them when they get bigger or… odder. Are you one of those?”
The animal’s ear twitched. Apart from that, it gave no sign that it was listening. Ford bit his lip.
“Maybe that’s why you have no home. You were good, and they still tossed you away because you weren’t normal.”
Now the wolf lifted its eyelids to gaze at him; a heavy, thoughtful stare. Ford sighed and chewed on the end of his pen.
“Well, wherever you come from, I can’t keep calling you ‘wolf’. You need a name. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”
The wolf yawned and stretched.
“I thought not. Let’s see.” Ford hummed to himself. “Something’s wolf-like? Lupus? Lupin? No, that’s silly.” The wolf was watching him judgmentally and Ford frowned. “I don’t see you offering anything better. Well… you are quite the mystery – an enigma, if you will. But that’s a bit too obvious, isn’t it? Not a very good name.”
The wolf snorted. Ford ignored it.
“A… a mystery, a puzzle, a… rebus!” He jumped up excitedly. “A rebus! It’s a puzzle! And it sounds similar to Remus, a figure from Roman mythology who was said to have been nursed by a wolf. See, it has layers!” He pointed out gleefully to the wolf, who did not react, because it was a wolf.
Ford deflated.
“Maybe Fiddleford is right and I should start talking to other people.” But… “I don’t have time right now, I have research to do! I’ll talk to people next week.”
The newly christened Rebus closed his eyes again, apparently content to ignore Ford’s presence when there wasn’t food or shouting involved. That was all right. Ford had plenty of time to win his trust! With the recent roadblock he’d hit in his studies Ford had been planning to hike to the caves in the nearby mountains, to see if they held any clues or answers. But he supposed that could wait until he figured out this new mystery.