Stanley Pines, Our Hero (TEOC series #1)

The Recovery

My eyes were closed. I could sense the brilliant sunlight just on the other side of my eyelids. I seemed to be kneeling somewhere; somewhere with lots of plants. The grass tickled my hands, resting on the warm ground at my side. There was a soft breeze, ruffling my hair and carrying birdsong to me in its gentle currents.

My head felt fuzzy. It was spinning, like it had been thrown against a brick wall. I opened my eyes.

I was kneeling in the clearing of an unfamiliar forest, with great pine trees towering above me on all sides. I couldn't remember how I had gotten there, or why I was there at all. In fact, I couldn't remember much anything. I couldn't even remember my own name. Everything in my head was just buzzing static. It was hard to focus on anything.

I reached up to wipe the accumulating sweat off my forehead, and then noticed the glove I was wearing. It was an ordinary black glove, aside from the fact that there was an extra finger on it. What glove would have six fingers on it?

I scanned the surrounding greenery. There wasn't another living soul anywhere. I was completely alone.

Then I realized that there were three figures running in my direction. It was difficult to make out much of them in the brightness of the daylight.

One of them ran right up to me, laughing. She was a little girl, probably about twelve or thirteen, wearing a battered-looking pink sweater. A young boy about her age and a much older, gray-haired man in a suit followed.

"Oh my gosh! Grunkle Stan, you did it!" she cried, running up and shoving a burgundy fez on my head, her hands resting on my shoulders.

I was even more confused. I had never seen these people before. Did this kid know me or something?

"Oh, uh - hey there . . . kiddo," I said awkwardly, taking hold of her wrists and gently guiding them away from me. I smiled politely. "What's your name?"

The girl's face fell, as did the boy's behind her. "Eheh - Grunkle Stan?" she asked tentatively.

"Heh." I looked around, wondering where this Grunkle Stan was that the girl was mentioning. "Who you talkin' to?"

"C-come on, it's me." The girl's voice broke. I gazed back at her, surprised.

"It's me, Grunkle Stan." The girl ran forward, as though to hug me, but the boy pulled her back. "Grunkle Stan, it's me!"

The girl's eyes were sparkling slightly. The boy holding her back from me looked as though doing so was the hardest thing he'd ever done. I felt so confused at these strangers' reactions to me. The old man in the suit then walked up to the little girl, who was still staring at me with that heartbroken expression on her face, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill," the man told her in a soft, soothing voice. "It's all gone."

For some reason, when the man said 'Bill', a weird image popped into my empty brain: a glowing yellow triangle, his single, slit-pupil eye widened in terror, arms outstretched as though trying to grab something just beyond his reach, as he was devoured by the pale blue flames all around him.

"Stan has no idea, but he did it." The man's voice seemed to come from a long way away. I looked up to see he had moved in front of the children and was staring down at me, his eyes full of a deep sadness and remorse. "He saved the world. He saved me."

The man knelt down in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. His eyes welled with tears. "You're our hero, Stanley."

He reached out and embraced me tightly. I could feel his entire body shaking with silent sobs. Behind him, the children had begun to cry as well. The girl was hunched over double, sobbing uncontrollably, while the boy comforted her with his own tears sliding down his cheeks.

I felt so lost. What had happened to these people? Why were they so upset over me? How could they possibly know me? I had never even seen them before today.

The four of us sat there, the three strangers crying, me kneeling in the grass, feeling dazed. Finally, when the sun was setting, the young boy looked up at the darkening sky.

"We better get going, Great Uncle Ford," he said. His voice was strong and steady, despite the misery clearly written on his face. He helped the girl straighten up; she took deep, steadying breaths, rubbing her eyes vigorously on her sleeve. It struck me how very similar the kids looked to each other. They must've been siblings. Maybe even twins.

The man hugging me sniffed, then leaned back and stared at me. He seemed to be searching for something in my face, though I had no clue what. This guy had clearly been going through something rough; there were scorch marks on his neck and bruises on his face, not to mention that it looked like some of his hair had been fried off.

His eyes seemed really familiar, though. I was pretty sure I had never seen this man in my life, but there was something about him that seemed oddly comforting.

He stood up suddenly. "You're right, Dipper. It's getting late. Maybe we can take Stan back to the Mystery Shack . . . " He looked back down at me. "But first we should switch back clothes."

The man held out a hand to me. As I took it, I noticed that it had six fingers, just like the gloves I was wearing. The man helped me to my feet. He took my hands in his and slowly slid the gloves off my fingers. Then he slipped his own hands into them, wriggling his fingers expertly.

"Wow," I said, gazing at his hands. "So you're like, some sort of polydactyl or somethin'?"

The man gazed at me sadly. "Yes," he said after a while, as he began to unbutton his tuxedo. "That's the name of my . . . disorder."

"I've never seen anyone with six fingers before," I admitted, studying them. "It looks so unnatural."

The man flinched. I didn't notice. "So why you takin' your clothes off?" I asked him.

He sighed slightly. "Because - these are your clothes, Stan." He nodded at my outfit. "And you're wearing mine."

I looked down. No wonder I had been sweating so badly earlier - I was dressed in a thick red sweater under a long, tan trench coat. I had mud-splattered boots over torn black pants.

"So, am I Stan?" I asked, pointing to my chest. "Is that why you're all saying Stan when you talk to me?"

"Y-yes," the boy said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Your name is Stan - Stanley, really."

"Huh," I said. The boy telling me this didn't ring any bells inside my head. "How do you guys know that? I've never even met you, any of you, until today."

"We - we've actually met before now," the man said, coming behind me and sliding my trench coat off. He had hung his tuxedo, polo shirt and red bowtie on a nearby branch.

"Really?" I said, allowing the man to take the coat off me. "Must've been a while back."

The man helped me take off the coat and sweater, then silently handed me the tux and shirt, as he began to dress.

Numbly I slid the shirt over my head, and it took me a while to arrange the bowtie. The man, who had already changed into his outfit, helped me into the tux. The he handed my the brown shoes he'd been wearing. I took off the boots and put the other shoes on.

My mind was full of questions. Had I really met these people before? How come they remember it, but I don't? Why did they all look so beaten up too?

The man, after putting the boots on, took off his glasses, then took off my glasses and put his on my face. I blinked as the man slid my glasses onto his nose.

Then the girl took my hand gingerly, and she began to lead me through the forest.