Chapter Text
Ford squinted in the cold air as he scanned the horizon. A storm was coming, probably sometime tonight, and he could feel it tinglying the end of his tail as he soared through the sky, looking for something to eat.
It was harder now that it was colder, and all the farmers had left in the immediate area. When he’d first been cursed and found Fiddleford’s food too bland and inadequate for his taste, there had been plenty of nearby farms over the mountains for him to swing by and eat a few cows, sheep, or even pigs. Now everything was hidden away or taken closer to the cities, and with the storm incoming he didn’t want to go too far out to find something.
He turned back towards the valley, wings beating before he spread them and caught an air current. It might be better to try and find a deer or something, that way he’d be back home before night fall, and he could listen to Emma-May read something out to the boys.
It was all he could do now, his talons were too large and sharp to flip pages, and the writing too small to make out.
With another hard beat of his wings he pushed himself a little higher, then looked down at the forest below. Deer could be tricky to catch, and he’d have to be fast so he didn’t get caught in any branches. He looked up to see if there was anything near the old road, then perked up when he caught sight of the village, snuggled in the center of the valley.
It had been abandoned a month or two ago, one of the first ones after he was cursed. He’d felt awful about it (and he still did) but it wasn’t like there was anyone who could approach the townsfolk to let them know he meant no harm, especially after he’d started raiding the fields for their livestock. None of the residents of his den were exactly human friendly, not even Dan. The town had been terrified he was contagious when he’d stumbled out of the woods freshly cursed, and the poor boy hadn’t tried going once they’d chased him into the woods.
So the red wagon with the very alive and healthy looking horse was new. New, very close, and large enough to last him a day or so until the weather cleared up. Ford ducked low, eyes locked onto it as whoever was down there with it untied it and started leading it between the buildings. It was a fairly good idea, if Ford’s eyesight wasn’t magically enhanced. As it was, he tracked them as they went behind some of the buildings, mouth already salivating at the thought of his future dinner.
He pulled back once he got close enough (and learning to land had been ten times harder than learning to fly), then gently set down in the center of the village. The alley way the horse had disappeared to was too small for him to squeeze through, but that didn’t matter with how small the buildings were. It was easy enough to walk over to one of the houses and clamber onto the roof. It creaked ominously under his weight (unlike the castle, which he'd found he could clamber around with ease), and one of his back claws snagged on one of the windows and he briefly lost his balance as part of the front collapsed. He paused a moment to make sure the entire thing wouldn’t go with it, then continued on to peer over the back.
There it was.
It was brown and fairly plain looking, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was it was alive, not human, and therefore acceptable to eat. Its hooves tapped the ground nervously, and it whined as Ford slowly started leaning forwards, but the reigns were pulled and it settled down.
It could probably smell him, just as he was starting to smell it.
Delicious.
Ford opened his mouth, ready to pounce, when it suddenly bolted, the human in the wagon having pulled something that detached the horse from it entirely. Ford snarled and lunged, mouth closing on air as the horse quickly turned back towards the center of town. He was forced to climb back over the houses to chase after it.
Gravity Falls wasn’t a large town. The only reason it was paved was because it was built on the remnants of some long-forgotten outpost, back when Bill had actually been important enough for someone to keep an eye on his castle. Same with the walls, and some of the buildings.
That meant there weren’t a lot of places for the horse to go. It also meant it hadn’t been built with a dragon his size scrambling around chasing one.
Ford snarled as he followed it back and forth over and around buildings, cursing his huge size and the awkward way he had to bend to get his wings through some of the gaps. This was why he preferred to snatch things in fields, there were only so many places they could go, and Ford was the king of the open space.
Eventually it got the better of him, and Ford roared as the horse dashed out of the village gates and down the path. Horses were such a pain to hunt down once they got going, and he wasn't desperate enough to try.
He had something much more important to do right now.
Sniffing the air, he turned back towards the wagon the horse had been attached to. It had looked vaguely familiar, the red faded and chipped, and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t what he thought it was before trying to find something else to eat.
He turned the corner to where the wagon was sitting, thankfully in behind the buildings where there was more space for him to stand, and gave it a critical eye. It looked like Stan's Leewagon, with the same dirty white canvas and red paint job, if ten years older and more worn. Getting closer, he bent lower and examined the wagon set, eyeing the mechanism that had released the horse.
It looked exactly like what he'd made for Stan, all those years ago.
He could hear something breathing inside, but he didn’t get his hopes up as he got closer to peek . Just because this was the Leewagon, didn’t mean it had Lee inside. It would be more surprising if Stan hadn’t sold or lost the wagon in the last ten years, and the chances of his brother showing up here were slim to none.
Stan was still out there in the world, living wild and free. The thought of it made him want to snarl, but instead he made his way to the back of the wagon, used a talon to pull back the flap, and peered inside.
It looked the same as he remembered it, if messier. The chest he'd made was still there, looking worn and dingy as ever, and all of their carvings were right where he put them, plus a few he'd never seen. He looked around, taking in the clutter, before his gaze fell on the man, huddled in the back corner with his hand covering his mouth, staring back with wide eyes.
He recognized his brother instantly.
His twin. His little brother of fifteen minutes. His small, fragile human brother. His brother he hadn’t seen in a decade. His precious brother, who’d he’d missed so much these past few years.
His best friend.
His Stanley.
HIS
A small part of him rejoiced at seeing him, thinking about all the locked doors and how quickly they could get to work going through his books to find something that could undo a curse set by a being like Bill.
A larger, stronger part crushed that smaller part, filled with the need to put his Stan exactly where he belonged. Somewhere nice and safe, where no one could snatch him from Ford and he'd never go wandering off from home again.
Ford pulled away from the wagon, then stood on his hind legs and grabbed it by its side. His Stan was scared of heights, so he'd just take the whole thing so his brother wouldn’t freak out on the journey home. When his talons were nice and deep in the wood he spread his wings and started flapping as hard as he could, lifting it off the ground.
It was a good thing he'd been keeping his eye on the wagon to make sure it was staying in one piece, because he'd barely gotten off of the ground before he saw his Stan jump out. With a huff he dropped the wagon, making sure it wouldn’t land on his brother, then landed, using the nearby buildings to support himself as he examined his Stan for any injuries from the fall.
His Stan fell over and scrambled backwards, eyes wide. Ford rolled his own. What did his Stan have to be scared of! Ford was here to take him home after all, and the best way to do that was in the wagon. He reached down to pick up his brother off the ground, then put him back in the wagon, snatching it up and getting off the ground as fast as possible.
The castle wasn’t too far away, so Ford made sure to fly slowly so his Stan wouldn’t get knocked around. Once he was back home nice and safe, Ford would check him again, and then they’d sit around in his hoard, surrounded by all his magnificent treasures, and his Stan would be right in the middle of it, exactly where he should have been this whole time.
When they got back to the castle Ford flew over to the back entrance to the treasury (a black pit that Bills dragons used to fly in and out of, and Bill himself used to throw people into), and dived, careful to hold the wagon so Stan wouldn’t fall out.
It turned into a series of large tunnels, which Ford navigated as quickly as he could without jostling the wagon too much, then eventually opened up into the treasury. Ford flew until he was near the entrance, just in case he need to call to one of the knights to get his Stan something, then gently set the wagon down.
It crashed into a pile of coins and slid down, and Ford landed next to it. It took a moment to get his talons free, and he grimaced at all the holes he’d left behind, setting his claws down so he could bend down without falling over. Thankfully his Stan wouldn’t need it anymore, otherwise he’d have to get Fiddleford to fix both those and all the wheels he’d smashed when he’d dropped it earlier.
A small price to pay for his Stan, but he still felt bad about breaking his brothers things.
He eyed a few of them to access the damage, then peered back into the wagon to see how his Stan was doing. His poor brother was curled up next to their old chest, arms wrapped around it and eyes slammed shut. His shoulders were tense, and Fords heart ached with sympathy.
His poor Stan. If only there had been another way to get them both home. Unfortunately it’d take to long to walk his Stan back like this, meaning all kinds of other things could have tried to take him away.
Ford gently reached in and hooked a talon around his Stan’s and tugged at him, trying to get him to let go. Instead his Stan held on tighter, fingers going white with the effort of clutching the sides of the chest. Ford sighed, then tugged a little harder.
This time he was successful, and his Stan let go of the chest and was brought out into the light of the treasury. Ford set him down gently onto the coins on top of the pile, then chuckled as he watch his Stan cry out as he slipped and started rolling. He didn’t get very far, coming to a stop at one of Ford’s front legs.
Ford was captivated by his brother’s movements, watching him groan and sit up, then stare in awe at their home. It warmed his heart, filling him with pleasure as just the sight of this meager entrance was enough to stun his Stan speechless.
His hoard was very impressive after all, the perfect place for a Stan such as his.
Just as Ford was about to help his Stan back to his feet, his brother screamed, then started rolling again, this time crashing into one of Ford’s back legs. Ford made sure to grab the back of his Stan’s cloak before he could fall again, lifting him into the air and setting him back on top of the coin pile.
Where his Stan immediately slipped and fell again.
Ford huffed, then grabbed his Stan’s cloak again. He needed to practice picking up moving humans more if his Stan was going to be flailing all over the place. It didn’t matter when he was grabbing food, but his Stan was delicate, he needed to be more careful.
And Ford should have known the bare coins would be too slippery for his Stan to stand on right away. It had taken him and Fiddleford a few days to get used to after all. Thankfully there were all these chests lying around, and in no time at all he emptied one and set his brother inside it.
Once his Stan was settled, he leaned down and examined him, making sure his new home was nice and secure.
Much better, he chirped, moving to curl around the chest as tightly as he could, before resting his head on his front claws so he could admire his Stan in the light of the hoard. They stared at each other for a while, before his Stan swallowed and spoke.
"Uh," his brother began, and the spike of excitement that shot down his spine was so strong he couldn’t help but wiggle his head in happiness. This was his Stan! Speaking! That was the voice of his brother!
After a moment he composed himself, curling up tighter so he could get even closer.
After a cough, his Stan tried again. "So-"
Words! That was a word! Ford chirped, bobbing his head again. His Stan's voice sounded just as he remembered it, deep and husky like he'd grown up smoking and gargling rocks. Hearing it made him feel like he was on top of the world.
"I-"
Another word!
"Excuse-"
A two-syllable word!
Before he could listen to his brother say a tantalizing two words, a voice rang out across the treasury, and the need to hide his Stan gripped his heart so hard he slammed his wing over the chest, resting his head so he could look at his Stan and Fiddleford at the same time. Stan hunched further in his chest-home, making his heart ache in sympathy.
Why did Fiddleford have to barge in and ruin their brotherly bonding. His Stan was much more important than something like 'food' or 'being a human'. Really, Ford could look after him just fine, and no one else in the castle needed to know he was here. He'd just get Fiddleford to go away, then go back to admiring his Stan in the quiet of his hoard.
A perfect plan.
Nothing, Ford clicked, settling down further, just lounging.
“Thought you were out getting dinner?” Fiddleford asked, and Ford watched as his servant friend wandered in through the doors and climbed up the coins until he was standing just below the pile Ford was curled around.
I’m not that hungry, Ford lied, watching Fiddleford frown with one eye and his Stan hunch further in the other.
“Are you sure? Winter storms coming, you won’t be able to head out for a while.”
I’m sure
“What is-”his Stan said suddenly, and Ford quickly tried to cover the sound of his voice with a fake cough that came out more as a growl. His Stan slammed a hand over his mouth and scrambled away, making Ford’s heart ache. It took everything he had not to uncurl and soothe his Stan’s fear away, but unfortunately he couldn’t do that until Fiddleford left.
Fiddleford, who was giving him a suspicious look.
“Stanford.”
I’m not feeling too well, he grumbled quietly, closing his eyes, I think I’ll go to bed early.
Fiddleford was not convinced, eyes narrowing further as he stepped closer to Ford.
“Stanford, what do you have.”
I don’t have anything, Ford grumbled further, trying to give Fiddleford a sad look with his one eye. That didn’t work either, and in one fluid movement Fiddleford was there, grabbing the side of his wing and with a determined expression on his face.
“Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance to fess up.”
Ford moved, quickly uncurling and grabbing his Stan chest. The lid had fallen shut at the movement, and Ford opened it back up so he could make sure not to shake his brother around too much while protecting him from Fiddleford. Standing on his back legs, Ford held the chest and tried to ignore his poor Stan’s shouts as he lifted them out of Fiddleford’s reach.
“Stanford!” Fiddleford yelled as he walked closer, glaring up at him with his hands on his hips, “You give that to me right now!”
No! It’s mine! Ford snarled back. Fiddleford glared harder, then lifted his arm out and launched it towards the bottom of the chest, the thick cord connecting them going taunt once it smashed through his Stan’s chest and held on.
Let go! Ford snarled, trying to lift his Stan chest higher. Fiddleford just grunted and pulled in response, and before he knew what was happening it exploded in his claws, the bottom blasting apart while Ford’s arms jerked up and smashed the top of the chest into his neck.
His heart stopped for a moment, before he caught sight of his Stan below him. He was rolling back down the coins again, screaming. Fiddleford saw him first, already lunging forwards to snag the back of his Stan’s cloak and lift him into the air.
Then his servant friend paused, face going slack at his brothers ragged, splinter covered face. Understandable, as Stan’s this good were hard to find, and his Stan was particularly awe inspiring.
The moment Fiddleford dropped his Stan Ford lunged, snatching him up off the ground and holding him close to his chest. Why did Fiddleford have to be so rough with his Stan? Didn’t he know humans could bruise easily?
"Oh, my lord," Fiddleford said, staring at his Stan in wonder, the only correct response, "Where on earth did you find him at."
Ford puffed up his chest, proud to have found his Stan all on his own.
He was down in the village, he clicked, running a claw over his Stan's head, I saw his horse and went to eat it, and I found him when it ran off. Then I brought him back here immediately.
"And you were gonna, what, have him live in that box forever?" Ford didn’t like Fiddleford’s tone, "People can't live like that. What were you gonna feed him, huh?"
I'd figure it out eventually. he muttered, looking away.
"Uh huh, and what if he wanted to stretch his legs? Get some fresh air? Go to the bathroom? What then?"
Thats none of your concern. I can look after him just fine in here.
"Hey-"
All thoughts on how he'd keep his Stan safe and happy in his new chest-home fled his mind at his brothers voice. Instead, he squealed in happiness, shaking his neck in excitement over the fact that his Stan was here and talking.
"Can't you-"
Two words! Ford trilled, tail sweeping the coins behind him away as it swept through them. His Stan was here, in his hands, and talking to him.
This was the best day of his life.
“Stanford,” Fiddleford said, interrupting his moment, “he doesn’t look to happy there. Although I can see the resemblance even better like this.”
“What-” His Stan said, and Ford trilled, too bursting full of happiness to put it to words. His Stan was here, in his claws, alive and right at home in Fords hoard. He was talking, and breathing and-
Wiggling up?
Ford watched in confusion as his Stan pushed against his claws, then blinked in comprehension when his Stan brought his legs up and kicked off of him, falling to the ground below. His poor Stan was probably tired of being carried around and wanted to stretch his legs, just like Fiddleford said he would.
My Stanley? He chirped, tilting his head as his Stan rolled, then sprang to his feet. The comprehension went back to confusion as his Stan started running away, and that turned into a deep rage as he realized his brother was trying to leave.
Ford growled, filled with the need to snatch him, and followed after. His Stan wasn’t allowed to wander anymore, not now when he was already home. The coins underfoot shifted, but Ford was used to it and his Stan was small, much to small to take care of himself properly outside of their den.
It didn’t take long to catch up, his larger legs eating up the meager distance, just in time to see something shoot past him, latch onto the back of his Stan’s cloak, and pull. His Stan was jerked off his feet as he flew backwards, screaming all the while. The rage churning in his chest stuttered and died as he saw him dangling in Fiddleford grip, pale and confused.
It wasn’t as good as being in Fords claws, but it was better than letting his Stan loose while he was being difficult.
“What-” his brother said, and the joy flooding his system swept away any lingering irritation at his Stan trying to wander off. He trilled again, then eagerly made his way back, ready to listen to whatever else his brother had to say. Which was-
“IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP I’LL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!”
Ford stumbled, joy vanishing at his brother’s harsh words.
My Stanley! He growled, tail lashing out in agitation, what kind of-
“DON’T YOU START!” his Stan interrupted, face red with fury and pointing at him, “I haven’t been able to get a single word out this whole time! Because of you whole-” his Stan made weird trilling sound, which was very lovely and also nothing at all what Ford sounded like, then continued, “what even is that! What’s happening here! Who the hell is this guy!”
His Stan turned to wave a hand at Fiddleford, and Ford used that moment to dart in quickly, until he was as close as he could get without touching him. His Stan didn’t notice, too busy glaring at Fiddleford’s expression as his servant friend held him up in the air.
“Stop staring,” his Stan was saying, “It’s-”
Three words Ford trilled, then chuckled as his Stan whipped around and started batting at his snout with his tiny hands. They were too small and weak for Ford to feel more than the slightest taps, another reason for him to keep his Stan safe here, with him. After a moment he pulled away and stood on his hind legs, so his Stan couldn’t hurt himself on Ford’s hard scales.
“Stanford, stop antagonizing your brother,” Fiddleford said, frowning at them and shaking his head. Ford rolled his eyes, then looked over at his Stan when his flailing slowed, then stopped. His Stan’s expression went pinched, then he turned to Fiddleford in confusion.
“What?” his Stan asked, bewildered, “What are you talking about? What brother?”
The shock hit Ford so hard he stopped standing, front legs digging into the coins as he came down hard. How could his Stan not-
"Stanford, don’t tell me you snatched him and didn't tell him nothing'" Fiddleford said, sighing. Ford looked away from him, embarrassed. No wonder his Stan had been so mean, he'd forgotten to tell him who he was. Not only had it been ten years, the last time they’d seen each other he’d been very human.
"Typical, probably scared him half to death, didn’t you?"
Ford made a few circles in the coins with his talons, then perked up as he realized there was one easy way to tell his Stan exactly who he was.
He lifted up a claw and held it in front of his Stan, then wiggled his talons. His Stan flinched, making him want to curl up in a corner and die, but he kept at it. Once his Stan realized what he was trying to say, he could get back to figuring out the logistics of his new chest-home.
"What is this. What are you doing." his Stan said, looking at his talons in bewilderment. Ford rolled his eyes, then moved his claw a little further away and moved each talon down one at a time. There was no way-
"Nope!" His Stan yelled, crossing his arms and looking away, "I'm not seeing it! All dragons must have six claws. Just normal dragon things."
No, it isn’t! Ford growled; It’s me! Stanford! Your brother!
“Now Stanley-” Fiddleford said, and his Stan whipped around to stare at him in shock.
“How did you know my name?”
“Your brother told me,” Fiddleford said, sounding just as unimpressed as Ford felt, “If you would-”
“Nope! Not my brother!” Ford growled as his Stan shoved his fingers in his ears, then looked away from both of them, “Lalala! I can’t hear you-AAAHH!”
Ford shoved his snout into Stan’s stomach, cutting off his denial.
I am your brother, he clicked angrily, and you’re my Stanley! Stop being stubborn and listen!
His Stan bat at his snout again, tiny hands sending shivers of happiness down his spine, even as the rest of him felt nothing but irritation at his brother’s denial. Fiddleford sighed, then pulled him away and tucked him under an arm. It wasn’t the ideal way of carrying his Stan, but until he stopped flailing and trying to run off it’d have to do.
Ford followed them as they made their way to the treasury doors, watching his Stan kick and wiggle in his servants friends hold. His Stan was still yelling, but Ford was too focused on watching him in the light of the castle to pay too much attention.
This was a minor setback. Once Fiddleford explained everything then his Stan would realize he was Ford and then happily go back to living in a nice, lovely chest Ford would pick out for him. He was embarrassed by the other one, now that he had time to think about it. There hadn't been anything soft to sit on, and nothing to keep his brother warm. He'd make a better one before bed, something more comfortable.
Really, being turned into a dragon might have been the best thing that had ever happened to him.