#Sure is convenient that Ford keeps saying that Stan 'left home'

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 7

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/ the topic of suicide.

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CH.7

“You really need to tidy this place up, Stanford. I know you live by yourself, but that’s no excuse to have papers and books scattered around like a dust devil came through.”

“It’s organized chaos, Fiddleford. I know where everything is.”

“And this pile of unwashed laundry?”

“I’ll get to it. Washing clothes is a waste of time, and I’m a busy man.”

“Uh huh, and this pile of unopened letters on your counter? What are all of these, Stanford?”

“Several of our colleagues started sending me letters en masse.”

“And you didn’t open or read them?”

“I received so many at once, it must have been an invitation for a convention. I wasn't interested in attending one at the time. I’ll get to them eventually.”

“These are dated over a year-.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule. At least wash your dishes. You’ve been categorizing your notes for the past hour - what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find the definitive event.”

“For Stan?”

“Yes. You said that something extremely traumatic caused the memory loss; if I can identify what event exactly caused this, maybe I can fix this. The problem is, however…”

“Is that you’ve handled the situation in the most extreme way you could think of?”

“No. That isn’t it- and that isn’t true.”

“Mhmmm.”

“The problem is there’s too much.”

“Too much?”

“Trauma. He’s offhandedly mentioned terrible things- even when I met him in town, he had three stab wounds and acted like it was no big deal. And the more we ask, the more we prod, there’s more. The ones we heard were just the ones he was comfortable enough to mention, there has to be worse things he will not or can not speak of. And that thought… scares me, Fiddleford. I knew he wasn’t doing fantastic, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“That’s not your fault Stanford - didn’t you say he left home? It is sad he was too stubborn to ask you or anyone else in your family for help, but I suppose you two have that in common yeah?”

“...”

“I’ll admit that might have been tactless of me- Stanford? What’s- Hey! Hey now, it’s okay! It’s okay- I’m here for you.”

“...Five.”

“What’re you whimpering into your hands, now?”

“Five times. He wrote me a list of people who have tried to kill him in the past. There were thirty names.”

“That’s terrible, but not entirely surprising from what he’s-.”

“He listed himself five times.”

(...)

“How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m a selfish guy, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Why do you only ever think of yourself?”

“Can’t afford not to. It’s dog eat dog out there, you know.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Will you tell me what you’re upset about this time? I can’t read minds, and I’ve known you for four days! Throw me a bone here, PhD.”

“You tried to- to take your own life?”

“Yeah. A couple times. Never succeeded, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you try something like-”

“Okay I’ve had enough of your judgemental bullshit. I’ve been playing along with your ‘missing twin’ narrative, the least you could do is not fucking go there. I’m a homeless criminal on the run all the time. You tell me why you think I’d want to die sometimes.

Use that big fucking brain of yours for two seconds and think statistics - homeless people kill themselves more than ‘regular’ people, so do prisoners and convicts. You’re both? Oooh boy you’re in for a time. You have to fight to survive all of the time, and sometimes… sometimes you just get so tired, you want to stop fighting you… you just want a break from it all. You want it to just end.”

“Stanley…”

“...”

“...Talk to me. Please. I’m not trying to judge you, I just want to understand.”

"...Let's say I am this mystery twin-"

"You are."

"I'm being hypothetical here, listen. Let's say I am this mystery twin of yours. Specs was saying he didn't even know you had a twin."

"How did-."

"You pressed the mute button, not deafen; I could still hear you. Anyways, your best friend didn't know you had a twin. So to your own best friend you never mentioned 'me' over what, at least 4 years or however long it took you to get a degree? Or in the years that followed? Not even once?

If I'm your twin, I can't have been that important for you to do all of this. I screwed something up, and you don't want me in your life."

"..."

"I don’t know what you're trying to prove here- if you’re going through some guilt or pity or whatever. I'm just some drifter! I don’t have anything, and I don’t have anyone. You shouldn't be wasting your time like this. I'm not worth any of the time or effort you’ve put into this. Even if I was who you think I am. Because that guy? That guy fucked up so badly you didn't think about him for ten years. And I'm just as big of a fuck up."

"Is that... is that what you think about yourself?"

"Stanford, that's all that I know about myself."

*Ford abruptly opens the barred door and walks through the forcefield into the cell*

"Woah woah, I'm not looking for a fight-."

*Ford hugs him, Stan just stands there*

"I wish you called, reached out to me, I-. I wish I reached out."

“...He probably wishes he reached out, too.”

To be continued...

[thelastspeecher]

Trouble in Paradise

Yes, even more Marriage of Convenience AU content!  This time, Ford’s lovely wife finally makes an appearance!

Once again, thank you to the folks on the Discord who have been helping me with the development of this AU, y’all rock something fierce.  c:

——————————————————————————————

              The front door opened.

              “What are we doin’ fer dinner?” a woman asked as she stepped inside.  She looked over.  Her mouth fell open in a small “o”.  “I get the feelin’ that ain’t the question I should be askin’,” she said slowly.  Stan raised an eyebrow at her thick southern accent. Orion and Iris, who had been playing with Stan and Ford on the floor, both got to their feet and toddled to the woman.

              “Mama!” Iris squealed happily.  The woman crouched down to embrace Orion and Iris.

              “Hello, my babies,” she cooed, stroking their hair. “Did yer Daddy take good care of you today?”

              “No, their Uncle Stan did,” Ford corrected tartly. The woman looked up, confused. “You mistook my twin for me and sent him to our home.”

              “I…”

              “Angie, do you have any clue how dangerous that is?” Ford demanded, getting up and stomping over to his wife.  Orion and Iris scampered to Stan as Angie straightened. “You sent a stranger here. Where our children were.”

              “Clearly, he’s not a stranger, if he’s yer twin,” Angie snapped.

              “He’s a stranger to you!”

              “It worked out, didn’t it?”

              “I know you’re smarter than this!  You have to understand why your actions were foolish!”

              “You were home, right?  It was fine!”

              “No, I wasn’t home!”

              “You-”

              “I had to work today.”

              “You were still sleeping when I left.  I thought that meant-”

              “Oh, god forbid I sleep in on the one day I don’t teach until the afternoon!” Ford shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. “It’s not like I stayed up late grading papers or anything!”

              “Forgive me fer assumin’ that ya wouldn’t leave our children home alone!” Angie screamed.  Stan grimaced, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

              “You didn’t check with me before you left to make sure I was watching the kids!”

              “I thought you wanted yer sleep!” Angie shouted. Orion and Iris buried their faces in Stan’s shirt, whimpering.

              Okay, that’s enough.

              “Both of you, shut the hell up,” Stan hissed fiercely.  Ford and Angie glared at him.  “Unless you wanna keep fighting in front of your kids.”  Ford’s face went slack.  Angie covered her mouth in horror.

              “Oh, no,” she whispered.  “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.”  She walked over to Stan and knelt next to him.  “Sweeties, it’s okay.”  Iris let go of Stan to latch onto her mother.  “I’m sorry Mama and Daddy were loud ‘n angry.  It’s okay, it’s okay.”  Ford crouched next to Stan as well and held out his arms.  Orion toddled over to him.  Ford embraced his son tightly.

              “It’s okay, Orion.  Everything’s fine,” Ford whispered.  He kissed the top of Orion’s head.

              “I can’t believe we fought in front of the kids,” Angie said in a quavering voice.

              “They’ll be fine.  Kids are pretty tough,” Stan said with a shrug.  Angie sat down and looked at him.  Her eyes were a bright blue, just like Orion’s.

              “I take it yer my brother-in-law.”

              “Yep.  Name’s Stan.”

              “I’m aware.”  Angie looked at Ford.  “Stanford told me ‘bout ya a few times ‘fore ya ran away.”

              “And your name’s Angie, right?”

              “Correct,” Angie said with a nod.  Her caramel-colored hair, cut into a short bob, danced from the movement.  Like Ford, she was dressed professionally, wearing slacks, a blouse, and a cardigan. “Thank you fer watchin’ our children today.”

              “Not a problem.  I like kids.  Always have.” Stan grinned at Angie.  “By the way, no offense to Ford, but you’re way outta his league.”  Ford sighed. Angie blinked in surprise.  A faint flush spread across her cheeks.

              “Ah, uh, thank you?” she stammered.

              “Stanley, please don’t hit on my wife,” Ford said wearily.

              “Fine.”  Stan looked at Orion and Iris, then at Angie.  Both the children had inherited Ford’s thick, ruddy nose, rather than Angie’s long, thin one.  “Maybe your third kid will have your nose, Angie.”  Angie’s eyes widened.  She glared at Ford, who held his hands up defensively.

              “I didn’t say anything, Angie, Stanley just likes to tease me.”

              “Hmph.”  Angie carefully deposited Iris in Stan’s lap and stood.  She brushed off her slacks.  “I reckon Stanford didn’t make dinner.”

              “I was busy catching up with my long-lost twin.”

              “I see.”  Angie sighed.  “I’ll try to whip somethin’ up.  In the meantime, Stanley, I’d like to repay ya fer watchin’ the kids today.”

              “When I was checking out the place, I saw a guest room,” Stan said idly.  “It’s got a nice, big bed.”  Angie managed a small smile.

              “Would ya care to stay the night?” she asked.

              “Well, since you offered, I can’t exactly turn it down,” Stan replied.  Angie laughed, a sound that made Stan’s stomach somersault.

              “I like yer sense of humor.”  She walked away.  In a few moments, the clattering of pots and pans sounded.

              “Yeah,” Stan said.  He looked at Ford.  “You really married up, Sixer.  She’s too good for you.”  He expected Ford to respond with bluster and frustration, but to his surprise, Ford merely sighed.

              “Yes,” he said softly.  “She is.”

-----

              “Yeesh.”  Stan grimaced at the apple juice that had spilled all over Orion.  “Guess the lid wasn’t on tight enough, huh?”  Orion giggled.  “Hey, Ford?”

              “Yes?” Ford called from the kitchen where he was making dinner.

              “Orion spilled his juice on him, so I’m gonna change his clothes.”

              “Okay, but be sure to use clothes from the dresser by his crib, not the one by Iris’s.”

              “You got it.”  Stan picked his nephew up and brought him down the hall.  It was his fourth day at Ford and Angie’s, and he was already considering just moving in.  He liked the consistency of things.  Ford and Angie woke up, took care of the kids, then went to work, leaving Stan to watch the kids.  In the evening, they had dinner, put the kids in bed, and then went to bed themselves.

              Having a proper roof over my head is pretty nice, too. I’ve been living in the Stanleymobile for way too long.  Stan pushed open the door to the nursery.  He set Orion on the floor and went to the dresser Ford had told him to use.

              “And…nothing,” Stan muttered after he had pulled open every drawer, only to find it completely empty.  “Hmm.”  Stan looked at Orion.  “It’s too cold to let you walk around in your diaper.”  He crouched down and winked at his nephew.  “I’ll get you one of your sister’s things, okay?  Don’t tell your Dada.”  Orion giggled and stuck his fist into his mouth.

              Stan grabbed a soft onesie from Iris’s dresser and brought it over to Orion.

              “Don’t fight me on this,” he instructed his nephew. He removed Orion’s onesie and carefully zipped on the fresh one.  “There! All done!”  Orion fussed loudly.  “What’s wrong?”  Orion began to wail at the top of his lungs.

              Shit!

              “Aw, it’s okay, Orion, it’s okay,” Stan said in a soothing tone, holding Orion close.  Orion thrashed in his arms, continuing to cry.  “C’mon, kid.”

              “No!  No!” Orion screamed.  He squirmed desperately.  “No!”

              “Hey, hey, you don’t gotta be so upset!”

              “No!”

              “Stanley, what in the world is going on?”  Stan spun around.  Ford stood in the doorway of the nursery.

              “I put him in new clothes and he lost his mind.”

              “Did you dress him in clothes from his dresser?”

              “No, but-”

              “Damn you, Stanley,” Ford hissed, snatching Orion from him.  Ford quickly unzipped the onesie, pulled it off Orion, and threw it onto the floor. “It’s okay, Orion.”  Ford gently rocked Orion until his sobs quieted to hiccups. “He can’t wear his sister’s clothes,” Ford whispered.

              “Why?  He’s not exactly macho.”

              “It has nothing to do with gender, it has to do with tactile sensitivity.”

              “Huh?”

              “Orion is extremely sensitive to certain fabrics. He can only wear clothing made of certain material.  Even then, he has to be awake.  He won’t fall asleep if he’s wearing anything more than his diaper.”

              “…Oh.”  Guilt began to spread throughout Stan.  “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

              “I did!”

              “You told me what not to do.  You didn’t tell me why,” Stan said.  Ford scowled.

              “I shouldn’t have to explain myself when it comes to matters involving my children.  I’m their father.  I know their needs best.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever, fine.”  Stan crossed his arms.  “I’ll only dress him in his clothes, then.”

              “Good.”  Ford carried Orion over to his crib and carefully set him down inside.  “He tired himself out from crying.  I hope it doesn’t throw off his schedule much.” Ford sighed.  “I need to get back to the kitchen.  Please watch over Iris until Angie comes home.”

              “You got it.”  Stan followed Ford out of the nursery, but veered into the living room instead of the kitchen.  Iris stood in the playpen, pouting at Stan.  “Hey there, sunshine.”

              “Unc,” Iris said in a tone that made it clear she was disappointed with him.  Stan laughed.

              “You sound just like your dad when you talk like that, you know.”

              “Unc.”

              “All right, all right.”  Stan lifted Iris from the playpen.  “I’ll rescue you from the baby jail.”  The front door opened.  Angie walked in.  “Hey, Ang.”

              “Stan,” Angie said with a nod.  She beamed at Iris.  “There’s my lil rainbow!”  Iris squealed happily.

              “Mama!”

              “I sure am,” Angie gushed.  Stan handed Iris over to her.  “Where’s Orion?”

              “In his crib.”

              “Already?”

              “He had a bit of a meltdown and wore himself out,” Stan explained.

              “Oh no.  Do ya know why?”

              “According to Ford, it’s ‘cause I put him in the wrong clothes.”

              “Ah.”  Angie nodded sagely.  “That’d do it.”

              “Really?”

              “Oh, yes.  He’s a sensitive little boy.”  Angie smiled. “But at least ya know now and ya won’t dress him wrong next time.”

              “Yeah…”  Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets.  “Look, Ang, I gotta ask you something.”

              “Shoot.”

              “Isn’t- isn’t it kinda coddling Orion?” Stan asked. Angie frowned.  “He should just deal with wearing clothes he’s not comfortable in.  That’s how life works.”

              “Stanley, Orion ain’t even two yet,” Angie said patiently.  “He’s supposed to be coddled.”

              “Well, yeah, but-”

              “When he gets older, if it’s still a problem, we’ll address it, try to ease him into other clothes.  But right now, he’s too little to understand what’s goin’ on. All he knows is that he’s uncomfortable, in pain, even.”

              “Fair enough,” Stan mumbled.  He looked down at his feet.

              “Stanley.”  Stan looked up.  Angie was watching him, not with sympathy, but with empathy.  “I understand.”

              “You do?”

              “Yes.”  Angie took a seat on the couch.  Stan sat down next to her.  “Stanford told me ‘bout how yer father was very into tough love.”

              “Yeah, he was.”

              “That was somethin’ I was worried ‘bout.  I was worried Stanford might slip into similar ways of parentin’.  But he didn’t.  He told me that the second he held Orion and Iris, he knew he couldn’t be harsh or tough on ‘em.”  Angie played with Iris’s six-fingered hands, her eyes soft.  “I understand that ya have that same instinctive urge to do as ya were raised.  But trust us when we say we know what we’re doin’, okay?”

              “…Okay.”

              “Good.”  Angie smiled at him.  “‘Cause Stanford ‘n I have been talkin’, and we think that, if yer willin’, we’d like to hire ya as a live-in nanny fer Orion and Iris.”

              “Huh?”

              “We’d pay ya and let ya stay in the guest room.” A twinkle appeared in her eye. “But only if ya do what we tell ya.”

              “Why?”

              “The kids love ya.  We need childcare, you need a job.”  Angie shrugged.  “Seems like a win-win sit’ation.”

              “You know I’m unemployed.”

              “Oh, sugar cube.”  Angie put a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  “We know ya ain’t just unemployed, we know yer homeless.”

              “…Great.”

              “But if ya take us up on this offer, ya won’t be.”

              Good point.

              “I’ll think about it,” Stan said after a moment, wanting to avoid seeming too eager.  Angie nodded.

              “Good.”  Crying sounded from down the hall.  Angie sighed. “I better go check on Orion.”  She handed Iris to Stan, then kissed his cheek. Stan watched her walk away, warmth spreading across his face.

[orangeoctopi7]

A Tale of Two Secrets

@stanuary  Week 2 is Secrets! Stan's been keeping major secrets from his family for years, but he never stopped to think maybe his family was keeping secrets from him too.

Author’s note:  This is a disjointed rambling mess and it ends up being more about Shermie towards the end, but hey, I need SOMETHING to post for week 2 of Stanuary, so here ya go!

To the people of Gravity Falls, Stan had been playing the part of his brother for almost a year. But now that he’d faked his own death, he was going to have to pull a much tougher con: posing as Ford to his own family. He’d already decided that he was not going to attend his own funeral, no matter how much flack he got from Ma about it. First of all, it would be way too depressing. Second of all, everyone who was most likely to see through his lie would be there. Ma, Shermie, maybe even Dad. No, better to play it off like he was too grief-stricken to show up, which, honestly, wasn’t that far from the truth.

He should have known that he wouldn’t get away with just a tear-stained letter explaining he couldn’t bear to sit through his own twin’s funeral. The same day the letter arrived in Glass Shard Beach, he got a call from Ma. As expected, she tried to convince Stan (Stanford, as far as she was concerned) to come to the funeral. Stan almost broke down and told her everything right then and there, and by the end of their phone conversation, he was sure she’d seen right through his imitation, sure she’d call back any minute demanding to know what happened to Ford, or worse, that she’d show up on his doorstep in the next few days. But instead, an hour later, he got a call he wasn’t expecting.

“Hello, this is Stanford Pines.” Stan recited. He’d heard it enough times in his own failures to reach out to Ford over the years that he could copy that answer flawlessly.

“Stanford, it’s… uh, it’s Sherman.” A deep voice answered.

“Shermie!?” Stan exclaimed before he could stop himself. Shermie’d been just a baby the last time Stan had seen him, just starting to walk, and now he sounded like a grown man! He hadn’t left home that long ago, had he?

Luckily, Shermie didn’t seem to notice how his voice changed, as he went right on talking “Ma wanted me to try and convince you to come to the funeral, but--but I get it if you don’t want to come. I know things were kinda… complicated between you two.”

Stan took a deep breath before returning to his Ford impression. “Thank you, Shermie, I appreciate it. You’re right, things were complicated, and that certainly doesn’t make his death any easier. Attending the funeral would be too much for me to handle while I’m still--still processing things.” Stan didn’t have to fake the waver in his voice.

“Then don’t come. We won’t think any less of you for it.”

Stan gave his best impression of Ford’s dry chuckle. “I doubt Mom would agree with that sentiment.”

“Yeah, well, give her some slack. She’s not taking it well. Probably doing even worse than you.”

Stan wanted to kick himself for doing this to his own mother. But, he reasoned, she’d probably take it even worse if she knew what really happened. That Ford had disappeared into some sci-fi portal thing and Stan, the leach and the failure, had taken his place.

“How are you doing, by the way?” Shermie asked, interrupting Stan’s thoughts.

“Uuuuh…” Stan hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Idiot, of course people would ask him that! What could he say that would sound convincing? What would Ford do if he was grieving? “I’m mostly just trying to concentrate on my work… sooo… so I don’t have to think about it.”

“Oh. Well, uh, I hope that works out for you…” Shermie said awkwardly. “There was something else Ma wanted me to tell you…”

Please don’t say you’re comin’ out to check on me, please don’t say you’re comin’ out to check on me!

“But… uh… You--you’ve already got so much on your plate right now. Don’t even worry about it.”

“What?” Stan asked, curious.

“It’s--it’s nothing really, I think she just wanted me to tell you because she thought it’d convince you to come.”

“Ok, I won’t ask then.” Stan said, and then instantly regretted it. Stanford “Curiosity killed the Cat but Satisfaction brought it back” Pines would never respond to Shermie’s cryptic statements with “Ok, I won’t ask then.” He knew he’d just blown his cover.

Except he hadn’t.

“OK well nice talking to you, Stanford, take care!” Shermie said quickly.

“Y-yeah, you too.” The word “too” wasn’t even halfway formed when Shermie hung up.

Well, that was weird. But if it meant Stan could pull off this con a little longer, just long enough to get that portal working and bring Ford back, then he wasn’t going to question it.

***

The next time Stan heard from Shermie was several years later, with news that almost gave him a heart attack.

“We’re moving to California.”

Crap, are they gonna want someplace to stay while they move in? Are they gonna want me to help them move in? They’re definitely gonna want to come visit, probably every major holiday. Mom’s gonna figure it out, for sure!

“That’s--that’s great news. Did Dad, uh… did Dad sell the pawn shop?”

“Oh, Mom and Dad aren’t moving!” Shermie clarified. “Just me… and Trudy and Micha.” he added two unfamiliar names at the end so quickly and quietly, Stan almost didn’t hear him.

“Who?”

Stan heard Shermie take a deep breath, like he was preparing to dive into the cold ocean. “Trudy and Micha. My wife and my son.”

“Wait, what!?” Stan exclaimed, completely forgetting his Ford voice. “Shermie, since when are you married?” He wanted to complain that he wasn’t invited to the wedding, but… he hadn’t invited anyone to his wedding to Marylyn, so he really wasn’t one to talk. Wait… no, that was what Stan would think. Ford would definitely complain about not being invited to the wedding. “Why didn’t I ever get a wedding invitation?”

“Nobody got a wedding invitation. We eloped.” Shermie explained. “It… it was right before we found out about Stanley, so… so it didn’t seem like the right time to tell you.”

That weird phone call with Shermie all those years ago suddenly made a lot more sense. 

“And, what, it just slipped your mind for the next few years that you hadn’t informed your own brother? And you just conveniently forgot to tell me when you two were expecting? And you were just too busy to let me know when your son was born!?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Shermie apologize, and to his credit, he did sound sincerely remorseful. “It’s just… it got to the point where it had been so long that I didn’t know how to tell you. So I just kept putting it off, and the longer I waited, the harder it was to tell you, and it just became a vicious cycle. And it’s not like you ever come out to visit, so I thought I could get away with it.”

Stan felt a stab of guilt at that last comment. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. If he showed himself in Glass Shard Beach, his charade would be finished. How could he ever explain himself to his mother, much less his father?

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been very busy with, uh… with my research, and I probably couldn’t have made it anyway.”

“Oh, phew.” Shermied sighed with relief. “See Trudy, he said it’s fine.” Stan heard faintly, as though he had turned away from the receiver. Then there was an “Oof” that Stan imagined was the sound of Shermie getting elbowed in the ribs. 

“But, uh, to make up for lost time, Trudy was thinking --oof-- Trudy and I were thinking maybe we could come up and visit you on our way out to Burbank?”

“No, I’m too busy.” Stan said automatically.

“Oh... yeah, that’s fair.” 

Stan’s heart sank. It wasn’t like he was holding a grudge against Shermie for never mentioning the marriage or the kid. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to meet his little brother’s family. He just had a huge secret to keep, and his relatives were the people who were most likely to figure it out. But Shermie… Shermie had still been a toddler when Stan left home, and by all accounts, Ford hadn’t come back to visit much, if at all, after he graduated. Maybe he could pull this off.

“But, uh, hey, maybe I could come visit once you’ve all settled in. That’ll give me time to make room in my, uh, busy, busy schedule.”

“Oh, uh, are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure.” Stan said firmly. The last thing he wanted was for Shermie to feel cut off from his family like Stan had.

“Greaaaaaaat. Just. Great. When, uh, when’re you coming?”

“Uh…” Stan looked at his calendar. Tourist season was in full swing now, and he didn’t want to miss that, but maybe towards the end of the summer. “Is your kid in school yet?”

“... Y-nnnno. Nope. Well I mean-- yes, technically. Uh, Kindergarten? He’s in Kindergarten.”

“Alright, then how about the week before school starts?”

“Y-yeah! We will be ready for you. The week before school starts.”

“Great, and, uh, I’ll be ready too. To, uh, see you. For the first time in years.”

***

Stan didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. After going through the trouble of coming up with an elaborate backstory of why he, Stanford Pines, had decided to undergo surgery to remove his extra fingers. After going so far as to apply what Stan thought was pretty convincing effects make-up to look like scars along the sides of his hands. After all that, Shermie hadn’t even said anything. Hadn’t even glanced at his hands, as far as Stan could tell. 

Maybe he had noticed, and was just being polite. Maybe he was waiting until his kid, Micha, had gone to bed. Maybe he was just really, really not paying attention. 

Did Shermie even remember Ford had six fingers? It seemed unlikely that he would have forgotten. Sure, Ford hadn’t gone home to visit often, but a physical abnormality like that tended to stick in the memory. Maybe… maybe Shermie was misremembering which twin had the weird hands? Well, whatever the case, Stan certainly wasn’t going to draw attention to it.

“Uncle Stan, catch me!” Micha demanded as he sprung off his mini-trampoline, abruptly tearing Stan from his thoughts. The con man barely had time to raise his arms before the boy crashed into them, nearly knocking them both over. Stan was pretty sure he felt a joint pop.

“Huf! Geez, careful, kiddo!” He set the boy down as gently as he could with his arm feeling out-of-socket. “He’s pretty big for a kindergartener, isn’t he?” Stan asked.

Shermie laughed nervously. “Is-isn’t he though?”

“Mhmm. He’s our big boy!” Trudy scooped her son up in a big hug.

Stan realized with a pang of guilt he couldn’t remember if Shermie had told him exactly when the boy was born. “How old are you, Micha?”

The boy glanced at his father. “Five!?” His answer sounded more like a disbelieving question.

Stan looked over at Shermie, who had suddenly hidden one hand behind his back.The young father simply shrugged and smiled. 

“Huh.” Stan didn’t know much about kids. They were bigger than he expected. He swore he’d felt smaller at that age.

"I thought you didn't like people to call you Stan." Shermie suddenly changed the topic.

"W-what?" Stan asked, a deer in the headlights.

"Just now, Micha called you Stan, and you didn't correct him."

"Well… I mean… he's just a kid."

"That didn't stop you when I was even y-- when I was his age."

Crap. "Yes, well… there's no longer a need to distinguish between two versions of the same name any more, is there?"

"I guess I you have a point." Shermie hummed.

***

The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful. Shermie still didn't ask about or comment on "Stanford's" hands, but this was honestly a relief. Stan was just miffed that he'd wasted all that fancy-pantsy make-up he'd stolen.

Meeting Shermie's family was like a breath of fresh air to Stan, after decades of being isolated from his family members. Trudy was quiet and unassuming, but also sweet and thoughtful. Stan could see why Shermie had married her. Micha was energetic as any small child, and had to be bigger than Stan had been at that age. He had the potential to grow up to be a great heavyweight boxer.

Now, Stan was facing a new dilemma. On the one hand, he didn't want to visit Shermie’s family too often, for fear of them figuring out he wasn’t who he said he was. On the other hand, he didn’t want to see them so infrequently that his visits seemed like a special event. If he did that, there’d be all the more chance that Shermie would call Ma about it, and they’d get to talking, and Ma would definitely figure it out. So, how to strike the right balance?

Once a year wasn’t enough. That made it seem like a holiday. Say, holidays! That could work! There were enough of those scattered throughout the year that Stan could drop by every so often without giving them enough time to really stop and start connecting all the dots. He’d just have to avoid the major family holidays, Passover, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah, because if he visited for those, Ma would absolutely ask Shermie all about it. And besides, he did decent business during the Christmas season and spring break. Speaking of which, Independence Day and Halloween were out too. Those were the Mystery Shack’s busiest days of the year. That left the likes of Labor Day and Presidents’ Day and all those other little 3-day weekend government holidays. Perfect!

***

With every year that passed, Stan felt a fresh new wave of guilt that he still hadn’t managed to reactivate the portal and bring Ford home. Every time he visited Shermie, every time he saw how fast Micha was growing, it was another reminder of what Ford was missing out on. The years just flew by. Stan swore the time between Micha starting Kindergarten and finishing 3rd grade felt like less than a year.

Before Stan knew it, he’d bluffed his way through both his parents’ funerals, he’d been running the Mystery Shack for almost two decades, and his rambunctious, chubby nephew had grown into a strapping young man.

Stan almost had a breakdown when he got the wedding invitation from Micha and his bride-to-be, a beautiful, button-nosed woman named Debborah. Time was slipping away too quickly. He’d already wasted so much of Ford’s life, and yet he was no closer to bringing his brother home now than he had been twelve years ago when he’d finished rebuilding the stupid machine from all the ruined scrap he’d been left with. 

“Gettin’ mad at yourself isn’t gonna do anyone any good.” He scolded his reflection, and then picked up the phone. He had a nephew to congratulate.

***

It wasn’t quite two years later when Stan arrived at the maternity ward of a hospital in Oakland, California. He’d closed down the gift shop for the first time since that flock of Hawktopi descended on the Shack all those years ago. He’d briefly considered leaving tatoo guy there to watch over things, but honestly between him and that pasty, gangly teenager he’d recently hired on as a handy-man, he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a Mystery Shack to return to if he did. He’d driven for seven hours straight to get here as soon as possible. He’d left the moment he got the phone call letting him know Debbs was going into labor. He’d been eagerly awaiting this moment from the time the ultrasound showed two tiny figures in the womb.

Another set of twins. Maybe there was something to the old wives’ tale of them skipping a generation after all.

He burst into the waiting room of the maternity ward, and everyone turned to stare at him. Stan vaguely recognized a short, skinny man standing next to the restrooms. Pretty sure he’d seen the guy at Micha and Debbs’ wedding. He was Debbs’ dad, if Stan remembered correctly.

“Are they here yet?” Stan asked him.

The skinny man nodded. Apparently he remembered Stan from the wedding too. “Yes, but the doctors have them at the moment. There was a bit of a complication with the boy.”

Stan paled. “I-is he alright?”

“Well, the umbilical cord got wrapped around his neck before he made it out the birth canal. He wasn’t breathing at first, but they cut the thing away and resuscitated him. Now they’re checking to make sure his brain didn’t go without oxygen long enough to do any lasting damage.” Stan’s worry must have shown on his face, because the skinny man continued. “But don’t worry! The doctor said this happens sometimes. He said it happened when his own daughter was born, and she’s grown up without a single hint that it ever happened.”

That, at least, gave Stan a bit of relief. “Where are Micha and Debbs?”

“Down that hall, third door on the left. It’s got a whiteboard with ‘Pines’ written on it.”

“Thanks!” Stan called over his shoulder, already moving down the hall.

He didn’t even bother to knock when he reached the door, just barged right in. The room was already a bit crowded, with Micha, Trudy, Debbs’ mother, a nurse, and Debbs herself. Stan had never seen someone look so tired and so peaceful at the same time. And in her arms was the loudest occupant in the room, an absolutely tiny baby with a pink bow stuck to her head, screaming louder than Stan thought possible with such small lungs. 

“Uncle Stan?” Micha asked, barely audible above his daughter’s cries, “My dad isn’t even here yet! How’d you get here so fast from Oregon!?”

“I can’t answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

“Hey, coming through!” A voice whispered loudly behind Stan. He turned to see another nurse, with the doctor in tow, and a clear hospital bassinet between them. Inside was an itty-bitty baby boy. Stan quickly got out of the doorway to let them through. 

“I’m happy to announce that he’ll be perfectly fine.” the Doctor said as he gently handed the second baby to Debbs. Miraculously, the girl in her arms stopped crying the second her brother was next to her.

“Oooh, did you just miss your brother?” Debbs cooed.

Stan couldn’t help it. He started crying.

By the time Stan got his emotions back under control, Micha had already had a chance to hold the babies, along with Debb’s mother and Trudy. 

“Would you like to hold them, Stanford?” Trudy asked.

“M-me?” Stan asked in surprise. “But… what about Grandpa, out there?” He motioned back towards the waiting room, where he’d met Debb’s dad.

“Tyson’s got a cold. He can’t even be in the same room as the babies for the time being.” Tyson’s wife explained.

“I got a text from my dad a few hours ago. He’s driving up from Burbank, I’m sure he’s just stuck in traffic.” Micha explained. 

And so Stan gently took the tiny twins, carefully cradling both their heads in either arm. They were squirmy, squishy little babies, their new-born skin as red as a sunburn. The girl grabbed one of his fingers with surprising strength, and the boy snuggled into his suit. Oh boy, here come the waterworks again…

“I’m here!” A voice called down the hall. Shermie burst in the door, breathless. “Is everything ok? Where are they?”

“Uncle Stan is holding them.” Micha gestured to his uncle.

Shermie stepped up to his brother and reached out to take the babies. Stan leaned back.

“I just barely got them! Wait your turn!”

“Come on, Stanford, they’re my grandkids!” 

“It’s your own fault for bein’ late!”

“That’s not my fault, I was stuck in traffic!”

Stan ended up leading Shermie on a chase around the small room before the nurse put her foot down and insisted they both stop or she would call security.

“What are you going to name them?” Trudy asked after things had calmed down later that day.

“We were thinking of themed twin names…” Debbs said. Stan groaned loudly. “Oh, nothing too obvious. Mabel and Mason. What do you all think?”

Everyone hummed in agreement.

“Good, cuz even if you didn’t, we’re set on those.” Micha grinned.

Within a few days, Mabel and Mason’s red skin cleared up, except for a few interestingly shaped blotches on Mason’s head that seemed to get more defined every day. That’s when he got the nickname Dipper.

***

Years passed. Dipper and Mabel came to visit. Stan finally activated the Portal. Ford came home. The world ended. And now, finally, Stan had some explaining to do. At least things would be easier with Ford by his side.

Dipper had suggested they get it all over with in one go, like ripping off a band-aide. He’d set up a conference call with his Grunkles, his parents, and his grandparents.

Honestly, it went over way better than Stan had been expecting. The story sounded crazy, but Ford being there was proof enough that it was true. Everyone just looked at them in shock as they explained the portal, Ford’s disappearance, Stan faking his death, Dipper finding the third Journal, Stan getting the second Journal from Gideon, reactivating the portal, Ford’s return, and their continued fighting until a common threat made them put aside their differences to help the kids. Sure, they glossed over the more dangerous stuff, like Bill and the end of the world, but Stan was still worried Micha and Debbs would freak out because of what he’d done and never let him near the kids again. Luckily, they seemed to be understanding, especially seeing how much the kids loved him.

The other one Stan was worried about was Shermie. How would he react, knowing the brother he’d finally gotten to know over the last three decades had been lying to him the whole time? He and Trudy hadn’t acted quite as surprised as the others by the revelation of a portal to another world. Shermie just stared at his brothers through the screen the whole time, the gears turning in his brain. Stan was about to ask if he was alright when Ford asked his own question.

“Micha, how old are you?”

“Uh, 34, why?”

“That… shouldn’t be possible.” Ford looked at Shermie pointedly. “When I left this dimension just 30 years ago, your father wasn’t even 16 yet.”

“Wait, what?” Stan asked.

“Sherman, what on earth have you been up to for the last 30 years?” Ford asked curiously.

“For the last 30 years? I’ve just been living a normal life!” Shermie said defensively. “It was just one time back in 1982 that everything went crazy.”

“What!?” Everyone asked, except for Trudy, who looked smug, and Micha, who looked like he’d just uncovered a repressed memory.

“Well now you have to tell them what happened.” Trudy elbowed her husband.

Shermie sighed. “Yes dear. Thank you for not saying ‘I told you so’.

“One day, when I was walking to school back in Glass Shard Beach, I ran into this strange bald man in a jump-suit. He kept babbling on about stopping someone’s parents from meeting, but he couldn’t stop the parents from meeting because he’d already said that in front of law enforcement, so he was going after their grandparents. Obviously, I thought he was just a nut-job, so I ran. I was so busy tryin’ to get away from the whacko that I wasn’t looking where I was goin’ and ran smack into Trudy.”

“I’d just moved in that fall. I was a grade above him.” Trudy chimed in.

“The crash slowed me down enough that baldy showed up again, and when he saw me with Trudy, he freaked out even more, complaining about us meeting somehow ruining his plans. Then he pulled out this tape measurer type thing, pulled it back, and then grabbed a hold of both of us. There was a flash of light, and then BAM, we were in 1922.”

Mabel gasped, “Oh my gosh, Dipper, it was Blendin!”

Dipper slapped a hand to his forehead. “Grandpa Shermie, I’m so sorry, this is sort of our fault. We kind of accidentally cost that guy his job and he swore revenge on us.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you two know Blendin? As in Blendin Blandin?” Shermie asked incredulously.

“I mean, is there any other Blendin?” Mabel replied. “Yeah, I remember him saying something about going back in time and making it so our parents never met, but nothing happened, so we figured he forgot.” She laughed. “Looks like instead of stopping us from being born, he kinda did the opposite. That’s so funny!”

“If by funny, you mean seriously messed up.” Dipper groaned. “Just… starting to think about it makes my head hurt.”

“Wait, so if Micha’s 34…” Stan started to do the math he’d never bothered to even think about before “Shermie, how long were you in the past?”

“Long enough to get married and have a kid.” He answered.

“Just over ten years.” Trudy clarified. “First, Blendin zapped away and left us stranded. Luckily we had all our school supplies with us, so we were able to sell most of it for a little money to get by on at first. I’d been learning to knit and crochet from my mom for years, so I bought some supplies and started selling hats, gloves, and sweaters on the street. I gained enough of a reputation than a local seamstress took me on as an apprentice.”

Mabel gasped. “Is that why you started to teach me to knit when I was little?”

Trudy nodded. “I think it’s never too early to start learning skills you can use if you’re ever lost in time.”

“I, on the other hand, had absolutely no skills that were useful in the 1920’s.” Shermie continued. “I probably would have starved if it wasn’t for Trudy helping me. I tried so many jobs. Running carnie games on the boardwalk, selling light bulbs, I even tried being a photographer for the local newspaper. But nothing ever worked out long-term. Eventually I got a job as a bricklayer, and that, thankfully, turned out to be a steady job, even if it was rough work. It was around that time that Trudy and I decided to get married.”

“We were all the other had, it just made sense.” Trudy added.

“By that point, we’d kinda just resigned ourselves to living out the rest of our lives in the past. And honestly, it wasn’t bad. We were our own people, living our own lives in an exciting, prosperous part of history, no expectations from our parents. And a little knowledge from the future sure helped too. While everyone else was investing in the stock market, we were playing it safe and carefully saving up our money and non-perishable food.”

“It was mostly rice and hard crackers.” Trudy made a face like the memory still left a stale taste in her mouth.

“While the rest of the world was plunged into financial chaos by the Depression, we had a new baby and enough money to last us into the next decade.”

“But, the Depression lasted until the start of World War II.” Dipper recalled from his history lessons. “What did you guys do once your savings ran out?”

“Well, the same stuff most people did at the time. We grew as much of our own food as we could. We re-mended and repaired our clothes and furniture instead of buying new things. We both took whatever odd jobs we could find. When things got really tight, we ate at the nearest food kitchen.”

Stan and Ford both grimaced. They both had their own experiences with hunger and making clothes last way past the point of being threadbare. At least Shermie always had enough to keep a roof over his family’s heads.

“But how did you return back to our time?” Ford asked.

“It was 1933. Things were starting to get really bad. All our savings had dried up. Nobody was buying new clothes, so Trudy couldn’t find work. Nobody was building new houses, so I couldn’t find work. Micha was growing so fast, we could barely keep clothes on him, and he was… an active child, so a lot of things were breaking. Just when I wasn’t quite sure if we were going to keep a roof over our heads, Blendin showed up again, this time with hair. 

“My first instinct was to punch him. Which I did. Then I tried to find that time travel tape he’d used on us before. The whole time he was blubbering on about how he was sorry, and he’d made his peace with the Pines family, and I was about to show him what I thought of his sorry and his peace when he said he wanted to put us back to the way things were before he stranded us.

“So I took him back home with me, and he explained to Trudy and I that he could go back in time and stop himself from ever taking us into the past in the first place. But the thing was… if he did that, we’d lose Micha. We’d lose all the time we’d spent together, the life we’d built together. And, well, we just weren’t willing to do that, even if it meant getting to go back to our own time. 

“I asked him if we could go back to our own time the way we were,” Trudy picked up the story, “At first, he was really opposed to the idea. Said it was against all the rules and regulations of time travel. But then he stopped mid thought and muttered something like ‘Well, what does it matter? Time’s dead, baby!’ and he agreed to it.”

“Time Baby’s dead.” Ford muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Shermie asked.

“Oh, nothing, just… theorizing what his words could have meant. Continue.”

“Our troubles weren’t over when we returned to our own time.” Shermie proceeded. “We couldn’t just go home. From our parents’ perspective, we’d just been gone for a day of school. They wouldn’t recognize a couple of adults showing up on their doorsteps. It took a lot of convincing. Handwriting tests, palm readings. Luckily I have a distinctive birthmark of my own.” Shermie pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a reddish-brown splotch that looked a little bit like a crescent moon if you squinted. “That seemed to finally convince them.”

“My parents believed me when I showed them where I’d hidden my pet turtle under the floorboards.” Trudy added, “But that didn’t stop them from paying for a DNA test a few years later just to make sure.”

“Blendin warned us we couldn’t tell anyone outside our own immediate families, or else we could get in trouble with the Time Police or something. I’m sorry I never told you…” Shermie pointed at Stan, “But I was afraid you… Well, actually I was afraid you” he pointed to Ford, “Would take us away to try and learn the secrets of time travel or something.”

Ford blushed “30 years ago, I very well may have.” He admitted sheepishly. “But now I probably know more about time travel than the two of you do.”

“I can’t believe Ma never said anything to me about it!” Stan complained.

“She always said I should be the one to tell you about it.” Shermie clarified. “And I told her that I did, right before… before your fake funeral, I guess, but I don’t think she believed my lie.”

“I always said he should have told you.” Trudy said smugly.

“Hon, you ok?” Debbs asked her husband, who had been sitting quietly with a blank expression the whole time. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“...Yeah… I think I’m ok… it’s just… I guess I convinced myself the whole thing was a game we used to play that my 4 year old imagination embellished into what seemed to be reality. But now I’m learning it really was reality. It’s… weird. I think I’m gonna need therapy now.”

“Join the club.” Stan grunted.

Ford shook his head. “I just can’t believe the two of you were so busy keeping secrets from each other that you never even stopped to think the other was keeping secrets from you!”

“Hey, I don’t know nothin’ about kids or how fast they grow, ok?” Stan defended himself.

“Yeah, and if you’d actually been around while I was growing up, I probably would have had an easier time seeing through Stan’s act.” Shermie added.

“Guys, guys, there’s no need to argue!” Mabel interrupted them. “Don’t you see? We have a great opportunity here! It’s like our family is getting to know each other again for the very first time!”

Stan’s heart sank. Would the rest of the family even want to get to know each other after all these secrets and lies being brought into the open?

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea, sweetie.” Micha patted her shoulder. “Mom, I know you’ve got to visit your sister this Christmas, but how about we all get together for Thanksgiving?”

Trudy nodded.

“Absolutely!” Shermie agreed. “Oh, that is… as long as you two are free. I imagine you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Well, Stanley and I are going to make an expedition to the Arctic Circle--”

“Ah, come on, Poindexter, we can delay it a little!” Stan insisted. “I’m gonna need time to train Soos on runnin’ the Shack anyway. And we’re gonna need time to find a boat and gather supplies and all that other stuff to get ready for an expedition.”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“That’s cuz you’re brain’s too busy thinkin’ about nerd stuff, genius.” Stan threw an arm around his brother affectionately before turning back to the video call. “You can count on us being there!”

Shermie gave a relieved smile. Maybe Stan wasn’t the only one who’d been worried how everyone would react to his lies.

“Great. We’ll see you then.”

[redwoodwrites]

Being There

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890179

Summary:  Stan and Ford stop for a drink while traveling the sea. Unfortunately, things do not go as planned.

A/N:  Hello! This is actually my first fanfiction ever, and of course I had to do it on two of my favorite characters. I hope you enjoy it!

“We're gonna get so drunk!” Stan shouted, fist-pumping the air.

“At least we won't have to drive home,” Ford said with a smile, stepping out of the boat. They'd been sailing for weeks, and Stan had made him promise they'd stop at the first port they came to – which just so happened to be lined with grungy-looking bars. Ford had never been indulgent of alcohol. The closest he'd come was the (probably spiked) punch at their high school prom. Stan hadn't done much drinking, either, but his whole face had lit up like a menorah as soon as he saw the bars. How could Ford turn him down?

Stan threw an arm around his shoulders. “This is gonna be great! We're gonna get drunker than a couple of college frat boys!”

“'Drunker'?”

“Yo, Ford, you know what happens to people who correct grammar...”

Ford winced, and Stanley grinned.

“THEY HAVE TO PAY THE TAB! WOOHOO!”

Stan led them straight to the first bar. It looked like Stan's kind of place: dark, dirty, with a sign out front that said Fish: $20.00. Beer: Almost free.

The bar was small. There was barely room for the four tables inside; to make up for it, they had stools instead of chairs. There were a couple of slope-shouldered fishermen in the corner, but otherwise they had the place to themselves.

Ford wrinkled his nose. The place smelled decidedly rank.

“Stan, maybe we should patronize a diff-”

“YO BAR GUY!” Stan yelled. “What's cheap and filled with alcohol?”

The bartender turned and squinted at Stan with rheumy eyes. “A vodka with extra rocks,” he said.

“Nope – THIS guy!” Stan laughed, pointing to himself. “Or I will be as soon as I get that vodka!”

“I'll have the same,” Ford added. “And a plate of fish, please.” He had, after all, done his reading. A full stomach slowed the intake of alcohol. He'd indulge his brother, but it always paid to keep one's wits about.

They sat at a table by the window. Ford set his hand on it and instantly regretted it; the table was sticky, and he pulled his fingers away with a slight sucking noise. He sincerely hoped his chair wouldn't do the same when he finally stood up.

“Aw, man, you ever see a place this dirty?” Stan said loudly.

“Stan!”

“And the lighting! Those bulbs are dimmer than a Mystery Shack tourist! I bet this guy pays squat for maintenance!”

Somehow while he was talking, the lightbulb in the lamp above their table mysteriously vanished. (Not that it was any dimmer or brighter than before; most of the light came from the sunshine glancing through the window.) Still, he was pretty sure he saw the bartender watching through slitted eyes.

Ford grinned, leaned over and plucked the bulb from his brother's sleeve. “Let's not steal more than we want to pay for. We still have to buy more supplies and rations tomorrow.”

“Aw, don't be such a spoilsport, Sixer!”

The bartender arrived before Ford could answer. He hastily replaced the bulb as the man slammed down their orders and stalked back to the counter, muttering about the quality of his clientele. Not that Ford could blame them – when Ford glanced down at the table, his fork had disappeared.

“Stan!”

His brother grinned, making no attempt to pretend innocence, and waved the fork under his brother's nose. “Missing something, Sixer?”

“Give me that,” Ford laughed, making a grab for it. Stan snatched it back and dangled it again, teasing him. “You're not even drunk yet!” Ford protested, making another grab. Stan kept it just out of reach and Ford leaned over to get it. Stan was laughing so hard he could barely keep a grip on it anymore, and Ford grabbed it and then pulled Stan's beanie and pulled it over his face for good measure.

“And let that be a lesson to you!” Ford joked. Stan roared with laughter. Ford had seldom seen him look so happy, and he hadn't even gotten drunk yet. He glanced at his cup, wondering what they'd be like when they became...inebriated. Well, he planned to keep from getting too drunk, and with that thought, he cut the fish with his fork and took a bite.

Fire!

Ford had never expected the fish to be spicy but it was instant, the ghost pepper sending pain like hot knives under his tongue, cutting the roof of his mouth, burning his eyes. He gagged and spat the fish into his hand.

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan started pounding on his back.

Ford's eyes dripped tears, but the pain wasn't alleviated in the slightest. In desperation, Ford grabbed the vodka and swallowed, holding a block of ice on his tongue. The fiery oil felt like it was searing the very jelly of his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, as if he could rub out the agony. It burned beyond belief, there was a roaring in his ears, his tongue felt swollen and his eye was stinging, it was burning, it was dripping blood –

He jerked back from the table and scrambled for the door, half-blind with tears and panic. Stan and the bartender were yelling and then there was a pressure on his arm and the bright light of the sunlight suddenly hit his face. The added pain made his bile rise and he gagged.

“Ford, Ford, just talk to me,” Stan was saying.

“My eyes are burning,” Ford gasped.

“That bad? Hang on, I got this –”

Stan half-dragged him towards a blurry building farther down the street. Ford grabbed his brother's shoulder, gripping it tightly in one hand while he scrubbed brutally at his eyes with the other. He wanted to claw them out, he wanted to end the burning, they're bleeding my eyes are bleeding he caught me again I can't fall asleep get out of my head get it out get it out –

Stan shoved something into his hands, but they shook too badly to hold it, and Stan guided it to his mouth. Some kind of bottle. Ford chugged whatever was in it until it was empty, and Stan handed him another one. He couldn't even taste it, but it was thicker than water, like a smoothie or a syrup. He drank the next bottle, and the next, and the next.

It wasn't until the sixth one that the agony began to ebb. He noticed they were sitting down, leaning against something hard that poked at his back. He tried to look around, but his eyes were still watering too badly.

“Tilt your head up a minute,” Stan said, and gently poured water onto his face, soothing his eyes. Ford hoped fleetingly that Stan used bottled water, but it was still so painful he couldn't hold onto the thought.

“It's okay, Ford...I know it hurts, but you'll be alright,” Stan murmured, his gravelly voice soft.

Ford realized that he was crying.  His shoulders were shaking less with pain than with fear. At least the continued production of tears would help wash out the spice, he thought distantly. It was as if his mind had divided into two: one half paralyzed with fear, the other a cold observer. He couldn't seem to stop crying. Stan handed him another drink, and another, and another. He drank them all and still the tears came. He hadn't expected to recall his experiences with Bill quite so strongly. He tried to catch his breath.

“That bartender can forget a tip,” Stan joked.

Ford managed a smile, more for Stan than anything else. He tried to talk but his voice cracked with a sob. He sank forward, covering his eyes with one hand.

“C'mon, Ford. This isn't just about the fish, is it?” Stan asked. Ford shook his head, still hiding his face.

He'd never gotten around to telling Stanley about the...events that happened before Stanley's arrival in Gravity Falls. It had just never come up. And now that it was finally relevant, Ford couldn't bring himself to find the words. Shock and shame burned in his throat.

There was a long pause.

“Alright,” Stan said finally. “Just...just tell me what you need.”

Ford held up the empty bottle with his free hand. Stan replaced it with a full one and Ford drank it down. When that was gone there was a new one in his hand before he could ask. Stan stayed right next to him, one arm resting on Ford's back, handing him drinks whenever he needed them.

After a long time, Ford felt the stinging spice begin to ebb. His eyes watered, but no longer dripped tears, and he could almost feel his tongue again. He took several deep breaths, wiped at his eyes, and straightened up.

It was some kind of convenience store. They were sitting on the floor in front of the soft drink section, over a dozen empty bottles littered in the aisle around them. The wrappers indicated he'd been drinking some kind of fruit smoothie. Looking left, Ford could see a part of the window at the front of the store; it was just down the street from where they'd started.

“Well,” Ford rasped, “so much for getting drunk.”

Stan laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder. “I dunno, I think one of us sure got a lot to drink!”

Ford chuckled a little. Based on the vacant spot in the shelf, they'd pretty much cleaned out the smoothies.

Stan was ready to put the empty bottles back and hide them behind the few remaining ones, but Ford insisted on paying. He didn't want to do anything to cause trouble, especially in a foreign country, or make them wanted men. He'd had enough of that sort of life on the other side of the portal.

The mood for drinking was thoroughly ruined, so they bought their supplies and headed back for the boat inside an hour. They decided to stay docked until tomorrow, in case they wanted to actually get drunk, but until then Ford had plenty of work to keep him occupied – several samples to check and compare against yesterday's observations, checking Dipper's homework on the spread and extinction of klatoblepones in Europe, assigning him work on the hypothetical introduction of supernatural species via airplanes, responding to the comments left by his scientific colleagues on his most recent essay eliminating narwhal as a relative of the unicorn...

Stan kept him company, playing paddleball, sleeping at the table and doing general puttering things. Ford wasn't really paying attention, but he was deeply grateful for the company. He knew he had to give Stanley attention tomorrow, maybe actually get to the 'drinking' part of the bar experience, but for now he needed the distraction of his work. He really didn't want to think about...

It didn't matter. He had work to do.

 It was well past 2 AM when Stan woke up, hunched awkwardly over the kitchen table. He blinked groggily, wiped the drool from his lip and groaned as he sat up straight. Being old was a real pain in the...

“Ford?” Stan said. Last thing Stan remembered, his brother was sitting across from him, clicking away on the computer. The laptop was exactly where he'd left it, but Ford was nowhere in sight.

Stan got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his joints popped and ached. This far north, the cold was not easy on his arthritis. He made a mental note to get some painkillers at the drugstore before they left. Make that two bottles, since Ford might need them, too.

He poked his head into the bunk room, but both beds were empty.

Great. The nerd was probably freezing his butt off on deck. Why didn't he just stay down below? Stan wouldn't care if Ford was still shaken up over what happened earlier.

Not that Stan really knew what happened in the first place. It obviously wasn't about some bad fish.

This wasn't the first time something like this happened, either. Once, they'd docked at a little town in Canada to get some supplies, and decided to check out the local tourist trap just for fun. Ford had taken one look at a little glass prism and practically bolted out of the shop. Or the nightmares – last week Stan had woken up to screaming in an alien language. He'd shaken Ford awake, but his brother wouldn't tell him what the dream had been about. It was like some part of him still thought he had to do the “lone wolf hero” thing.

It was driving Stanley crazy. Didn't his brother know how much Stan loved him by now? He wouldn't care if Ford was all shaken up. Heck, he wouldn't care if Ford cried on his shoulder like Dipper after a fairy bit him. Ford was his brother. They were supposed to stick together, to trust each other. Not that either one of them were good at the whole “sharing feelings” crap, but still...

“Stupid genius,” he muttered. Grabbing a jacket and a blanket from his bed, Stan headed out the hatch and onto the deck.

Ford was leaning against the rail, staring at the lightening sky. His back was to Stan, but his shoulders looked stiff and hunched.

“How long you been out here, Sixer?”

“Not – not long.”

He came up beside his brother and raised an eyebrow. “Ford, you got frost on your face.”

Ford scrubbed at his cheeks.

Stan stood next to him for a while, looking over the ocean. It felt good to be beside his brother, but he hated watching Sixer hurting. Whatever that spicy fish had triggered for him, it wasn't anything good.

This is driving me crazy! Why doesn't he ever just tell me what's wrong?

“Oh yeah – I brought a blanket,” Stan remembered suddenly, holding it up. It was one of Mabel's knitting creations, soft as kitten breath and pink as an embarrassed flamingo. “Let's go siddown and cover up, huh?”

They settled themselves on the bench nailed to the outside wall of the cabin. Stan spread the blanket over their legs and sat back. He was literally biting his tongue, trying to keep from bugging Ford. If he's not ready to talk then shut yer yap, he thought like a chant. Shut yer yap, shut yer yap, shut yer yap...

This was just killing him.

He thought of a question that felt safe to ask. “Are you...ok now?”

Ford sighed. “Yes.”

“Have you even slept? You look like you could really use the rest.”

Ford leaned back with a sigh.

Stan made himself let it go. “Hey, remember when we shared a bed at Aunt Sheila's as kids?” he said. “We always thought it was so awkward because she made us sleep in the living room...so we stayed up and built pillow fort mazes for hours.”

Ford smiled a little. “I do. Complete with booby traps. Remember the nacho chips?”

“Oh, man!” Stan laughed. “By the time we finally found 'em they'd gone way past green and hit purple mold!”

“Exactly the same color as her drapes,” Ford said.

“I guess the one good thing – after Dad chewed us out – was that we never had to go back after that. I hated being away from the Stan O' War.”

Ford didn't say anything for a moment. Then, to Stan's surprise, Ford leaned against him a little. He was sort of hunching, like he didn't quite know how to do it.

“Hey, Sixer?”

“It brought back memories of being possessed by Bill,” Ford said bluntly. “I know you've been trying not to ask. I'd rather...I'd rather not go into detail. But I wanted to tell you...I...appreciate your being there, and not pushing me for information. The smoothies were a great idea.”

The way Ford's head was angled, Stan couldn't see his face. He just stared at his hair for a minute. Appreciate? Did he really just say that? Was that nerd-talk for 'Thank you'?

“Well...sure, Sixer,” he said. “Anytime.”

“And I am sorry I ruined our drinks.”

“Come on. You see the state of that dump? Guy probably spits in a glass and calls it vodka.” Stan waved a hand. “There's a dozen other bars on the street. If you're up for it later, we can always grab a gin or something somewhere else.”

He wrapped an arm around his brother. In a few minutes, Ford started to nod, and then his head dropped softly onto Stan's shoulder. Stan leaned into him a little, balancing them. This could work, he thought. Ford liked that Stan had helped him. Ford trusted Stan to help him. Even if Ford wasn't ready to tell him everything, Stan could work with this. Just being there for his brother. It's what he'd wanted to do the whole time, anyway.

Stan smiled, listening to his brother's light snoring, and watched the sun rise.

[pines-troz]

Let’s Keep This Between Us Guys

Summary: Stan thinks he's alone in the Mystery Shack as he's watching The Duchess Approves. But once his nephew walks in and notices the movie playing on TV, the conman is going to have a difficult time keeping his guilty pleasure a secret. *written in honor of stanuary*

“Now Duchess-”

“No mother! I refuse to attend the cotillion with that haughty, boorish Count Lionel!”

“You tell ‘em Duchess!!” Stan cheered from the comfort of his plaid armchair.

If anyone was to ask Stanley Pines if he is interested in romantic period pieces such as The Duchess Approves, he would immediately deny it before forcibly changing the subject. But in the convenience of his own home, an underwear-clad Stanley Pines was on the edge of his seat as he watched the movie anyhow.

Clutching onto his half-eaten tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, the old codger remained in his armchair as he watched one of his favorite movies. Funny how I accidentally came across this cinematic masterpiece so recently. He thought. This movie looks like it was made in the forties. How is it that I haven’t discovered this movie earlier?

But Stan knew the answer to his own question: A childhood with a hard-to-please father who hammered with the impossible expectations brought upon by hyper-masculinity. His Pa expected him and his brother Ford to toughen up during their youth. Even though their Ma encouraged her boys in their artistic talents with their sketchbook drawings, their father was not too impressed with his children engaging in ‘feminine’ activities. After learning that Stan and Ford were being picked on by the local bullies, the pawnshop owner knew that enough was enough. He wouldn’t accept his boys acting emotional and focused on improving their physical strength.

When the boys were nine, their Pa forced them against their will to take up boxing. Stan thought that his father wanted to torture him at first, but he soon figured out that his Pa wanted him and his brother to learn how to fight back. This outlet worked with Stan too perfectly as he tried desperately to emulate the basic foundation of ‘manliness’ with his street smarts and his acquired skill of physical violence. Even though Stanley wanted to pursue his interests in the movie industry as a background designer, he knew his father would immediately dismiss the very idea. He needed to put on the facade of being a man’s man in the hopes that it would make his old man proud…

Come on Stan, the old fart is dead for cryin’ out loud! He reprimanded himself. You’re free to enjoy your old lady movie without him judgin’ ya!

Stan was alone in his own home and free from prying eyes. The con man was especially lucky to have the entire shack to himself for the day. Ford took Mabel on an expedition to find fire-breathing rabbits, Dipper was over at Wendy’s house, and the Ramirez clan went out for a picnic at the local park. As far as Stan was concerned, he was all alone. Free to indulge himself in his favorite guilty pleasure. He saw no reason to move from the couch.

“The Duchess Approves will return after these messages.”

“Ugh,” Stan groaned at the obnoxious non-corporeal voice what halted the movie. But there was a bright side to this temporary quandary. “Well, now’s probably the best time to use the john.”

Stan’s joints creaked as he slowly removed himself from the sofa. After stretching out his skinny legs, he swiftly paced to use the bathroom, hoping to complete his business before the commercials ended. When Stan arrived inside the john, he could have sworn he heard the front door open and shut. But after pondering for a moment, the elderly man shrugged it off. Eh, I must be hearin’ things. He thought.

Stan soon washed his hands under the sink, cleaning off the germs from his hands. Before he could approach the towel rack and dry his hands off, he heard a male pubescent voice calling for him.  

“Grunkle Stan?”  

Dipper! He panicked. He can’t find out that I was watchin’ my period piece!

Stan needed to change the channel before the movie comes back on! As he barged out of the john,  he stubbed his toe against the door. Stifling his pain, Stan continued to bolt down the hall in the hopes that the living room was empty and Dipper simply wandered up to the attic. But the truth of the matter worsened Stan’s predicament.

“We now return to our feature presentation.”

Stan froze in shock. It was too late to hide his guilty pleasure from Dipper. Curse you annoying disembodied voice!! Stan chided in thought. But instead of sneaking off to any other room in the shack, his morbid curiosity got the better of the conman and he proceeded to stealthily walk back to the living room.

When the old man approached the living room entrance, he witnessed his nephew sitting on the arm of the couch, silently watching the black-and-white period piece. If Stan didn’t know any better, Dipper seemed to be interested in the film. This sudden realization gave the former businessman a brilliant idea.

I could make my escape now and Dipper wouldn’t even know it!

Stan began to make his quiet exit by walking backwards. But on his first step, he heard a ear-piercing creak from the wooden floorboards. If Stan was able to perceive the sound of the high-pitched screech with his hearing-aid, then surely his nephew would have heard it as well.

Dipper whipped his head to the side to see his underwear-clad uncle at the living room entrance. The teen gave Stan a small smile. “Hey Grunkle Stan.” He greeted.  

“I wasn’t watching that.” Stan quickly fibbed. The con man began to feel uneasy. It wasn’t that Stan was a terrible liar. Heck, he made a living out of conning strangers into purchasing his cheaply-made junk when he ran the Mystery Shack. It was the thought of lying to Dipper again that made him perturbed. He remembered keeping the portal and his twin brother a secret from the kids, and as a result it almost shattered their uncle-nephew relationship. But at the same time, Stan’s pride was on the line. So his effort maintain his manly affront prompted him to continue his charade anyhow. “I, uh...I lost the remote again.”

“Oh…” Dipper sounded dejected, which flawlessly matched the disappointed expression on his face. “I guess you don’t wanna watch it then-”

“No!” Stan yelped.

Dipper silently stared at his Grunkle with calm skepticism for a few moments before questioning him. “Are you alright? Cause it’s not like you to be sweating more than I do, and that’s saying something.”

Stan felt the droplets of sweat beading his forehead as he figured out a way to cover-up his overreaction. He violently shook his head as he came up with a excuse on the fly. “I’m fine Dipper, I’m just going through a bit of a spell at the moment.”

“Do you not want to watch the movie?” Dipper inquired. The teen’s soft brown eyes pierced his conscience, or whatever’s left of it.

Okay Stanley, don’t screw this up! The elder Pines prepared. “No, not at all. In fact, I’m more than happy to watch it with ya!”

The boy’s eyes further scanned the old codger to see if there was any ulterior motives or malevolent intent. After assessing the con man, Dipper responded with a nod and a smile. “Sounds good Grunkle Stan.” The teen returned to his spot on the couch’s arm and continued to watch the movie.

Stan stood dumbfounded. He couldn’t wrap his head around the very idea that his nephew would be okay with his beefy, hard-knuckled uncle enjoying romantic period pieces.

“Aren’t you gonna sit down?” Dipper asked his uncle. “Cause I’m claiming territorial control over the whole couch if you’re not.” The boy began to migrate over to the seat of the couch.

“Oh no you don’t!” Stan bantered, quickly approaching the armchair. He playfully lifted Dipper up from the couch, causing the teen to laugh, before plopping down onto his rightful seat. Stan then lowered Dipper on his lap.

“Go an’ make yourself comfortable kiddo cause this is a looong movie.” Grunkle Stan muttered offhandedly. The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the eccentric antics of irascible coxswain Saunterblugget Hampterfuppinshire. Once it cut to commercials, Stan realized the mistake he had made. With widened eyes, he turned to face his nephew.

Dipper smiled slyly at his Grunkle. “So you have seen this movie before.” Part of Stanley knew that Dipper would have figured out his secret sooner. Even at the age of thirteen, the boy was very clever and possessed a keen sense of deduction.

Stanley’s cat was out of the bag. He could no longer deny the shameful truth of his guilty pleasure. His tough-guy image would be destroyed, Dipper would tell Mabel and Ford all about it, and his family would most likely tease him for it. With no other option available, he had to confess his secret love for overly-dramatic feminine historical dramas.

“Alright, so I watched this movie before, and I kinda sorta liked it...okay, I loved it. So much so that it’s one of my favorite movies!” The old codger stood up as he continued his erratic admission. Dipper hopped over to the arm of the chair as he stared at his uncle’s over-the-top explanation. “Is it so wrong for a man to like something feminine without bein’ judged an’ ridiculed for it?! Even eldery, hairy men such as myself can enjoy a decent chick flick every now and again, ya know! Your old Grunkle Stan loves to watch romantic old lady movies!! There, I said it! You happy?!”

In a grand and dramatic pose, Stan finished his explosive tirade. He expected his nephew to start mocking him for his cinematic preferences the same way he and his sister teased about his special cologne. What came afterward was not youthful mockery, but a strong silence from his one person audience. The exhausted old man looked at his nephew, who simply stared back at him with equal parts bafflement and sympathy.

“What’s wrong Grunkle Stan?”

Stanley gawked at the boy with immense confusion. “What’s wrong? Aren’t ya gonna laugh at me for likin’ old lady films?”

“No, not really.” Dipper answered. “If I really want to make fun of you, I could tease you for reading those weird, old man magazines of yours.”

Stan was miffed by the boy’s snarky comment. “Hey, I’ll have you know that Gold Chains for Old Men has some quality literature and stunning photography!”

Dipper chuckled at his Grunkle’s loud reaction. Once he calmed down, Dipper returned to the previous topic. “I digress. What I meant to say is that I’m not judging you for liking old period pieces because I, too, like to watch old period pieces as well.”

Stanley’s eyes softened upon hearing the sincerity of Dipper’s honest answer. “Really?”

Dipper nodded at Stan whilst giving him a gentle smile. “I’ve been doing some research on film history during my spare time, and I heard about how important The Duchess Approves was in the golden age of cinema. I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while since it was on my movie list. And when I noticed that it was playing on TV, I decided to take the opportunity to see it for myself.”

Stan was stunned. Sure he was well aware of his nephew was a self-proclaimed film buff. Dipper even surprised him with his knowledge of the complexities behind some of his favorite movies.

“So there’s no need to be ashamed of what other people think about your interests. You should be confident in the things you like because it makes you happy and fuels your passion.”

“That’s some wise stuff kid,” Stan commented. “Where the heck did you even learn that?”

Dipper looked up at his great uncle. “Well, let’s just say that you and Grunkle Ford provided me with a lot of insight on confidence and encouragement to pursue my interests.”

“Huh,” Stan was nearly at a loss for words. He remembered from last summer’s road trip how the disastrous dating advice he gave to Dipper actually bolstered the kid’s self-assurance. Perhaps I can influence the kid on more than just committing petty crimes. The old man felt his lips transform into a smile. “Thanks Dipper.”

“No problem Grunkle Stan.” The young teen responded with sincerity. But the tender Grunkle-nephew moment was interrupted by the melodious sound of sophisticated classical music. “Oh hey, the movie’s back on!” Dipper commented.

Stan comfortably plopped back on the couch. Dipper shortly climbed on the sofa shortly thereafter, taking his small spot next to his Grunkle. Both Pines watched in amazement as the Duchess waltzed her way through the crowd of attendees at the cotillion. Her dress was especially elegant, with its soft ruffles and intricate design.

“She looks beautiful…” Dipper awed, his eyes widened with wonder.

“She definitely does kiddo.” Stan replied, who was also enchanted by the Duchess’s gorgeous dress.

Over the next two hours, Stan and Dipper huddled together on the armchair as they watched The Duchess Approves. The two of them were almost quiet throughout the viewing, with the exceptions of subtle remarks at the movie or engaging in small banter. Once the final scene occurred, Dipper was just livid with the film’s conclusion as Stan was when he first saw it. Fortunately for Stan, Dipper didn’t take his rage out on the television and shouted at the screen instead.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!!” Dipper shouted uproariously as the cursive The End title card appeared. The teen stood up on the couch to express his discontent. “Seriously Duchess? You can’t go back to that lame Count Lionel, especially not after his stupid excuse to win you over! He doesn’t understand you like Saunterblugget Hampterfuppinshire does!!”

“Preach.” Stan agreed, raising his can of Pitt Cola.

Dipper’s cheeks turn pink as he realized that Stan was watching his animated tirade against the movie’s ending. “I got a little carried away there…”

“Don’t worry about it Dipper.” Stan assured his nephew. “I was also angry with the film’s ending. So much so that I threw the TV out the window!”

“I remember you doing that last year.” Dipper briefly reminisced. He returned his focus to Stan. “Glad to know that I’m the only one who gets incredibly emotional over movies.”

“Same here.” Grunkle Stan chuckled as he began to stretch out his legs from his sitting position. “Well if you’re interested in movies, I have a couple of books on film that I can give ya.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I got a few books on special effects written by Henry Claymore, a couple on film history and one on the history of horror cinema.” Grunkle Stan explained. “They’re a bit old, but they might catch your interest.”

“Thanks Grunkle Stan.” Dipper said happily.

“Sure thing kiddo.”

The two focused their attention on the television only to find an annoying infomercial selling shoes for pets, featuring none other than Bobby Renzobbi.

“Ugh, it’s the informercial hour.” Stan groaned.

Dipper, however, began to brainstorm ideas on how to alleviate the situation. “Grunkle Stan, do you have today’s newspaper on you?”

“Sure do, kiddo.” Stan handed the rolled up paper to his nephew. Dipper unrolled it and began to scan through the fragile pages. He soon came across the local TV listings and began to search for another program to watch.

“Hey Grunkle Stan,” Dipper held up the newspaper. “If you wanna watch more period pieces, EBS is marathoning the first season of Woburn Palace.”

“Woburn Palace?” The conman repeated. “What’s that?”

“It’s a show about the lives of a dysfunctional aristocratic family in Victorian England. The series has been praised by a majority of critics and it won a boatload of awards” Dipper explained.

“Does it have any romantic subplots and poor parent-child relationships?”

“Most likely.”

“Then I’m sold!” Stan exclaimed, beaming at his nephew.

The elder Pines grabbed the remote and changed it to the Educational Broadcast Services channel. Shots of lavish castles and stuffy aristocrats alongside title credits appeared on the screen.

“Nice, it’s starting.” Dipper observed. The teen jumped on the couch and settled himself next to Stan. The conman and his nephew exchanged eager grins as they were about to begin their fancy old lady TV show marathon.

Four hours had passed and the two were still seated on the couch, watching the daily dramas surrounding an illustrious British family.

“Man, that duke guy is really gonna get himself into some hot water if he gets caught smoochin' the maid.” Stan remarked. Dipper nodded in agreement as he sipped his can of Pitt Cola.

Suddenly, Dipper and Stan heard the front door open, crashing against the wall. There could only be one plausible clue as to who had barged into the shack.

“Stanley, we’re home!” Ford announced.

“And I have more scrapbook photos!” Mabel shouted.

Shoot! Stan panicked in his seat. If Ford sees what I’m watchin’, there’s no way he’s gonna let me live it down!

Dipper calmly reached for the remote and changed the channel. The steamy love affair between the young duke and the housemaid switched to the image of two testosterone-fueled wrestlers duking it out in an over-the-top cage match. Stan didn’t have time to react as his brother and niece entered the living room.

“Dipper! Grunkle Stan!” Mabel happily greeted as she ran towards the couch. “So how’s your day been so far?”

“Pretty well,” Dipper answered. “Grunkle Stan and I spent most of the day chilling out on the couch and channel surfing. I bet you and Grunkle Ford had a blast on that bunny expedition.”

“You bet we did bro-bro!”

“I was thinking we can talk about it more over lunch. I promised Mabel that we take the family out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant.” Ford explained.

“You mean Hermanos Brothers.” His brother assumed.

“Ah yes, that’s the name of the place.”

“Alright, lemme get changed first.” Stan announced as he got up from the couch. “Dipper, I need you to help me find something upstairs.” Dipper heeded his Grunkle and followed him up towards the second floor of the shack.

The two reached the second floor within seconds and they continued their walk towards Stan's room. Before the conman entered his bedroom, he knelt down and put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Okay kiddo, what happened today needs to be kept a secret. I don’t want Ford knowin’ that I like old lady media. If he ever finds out, I’m never gonna hear the end of it!”

Dipper looked at his uncle, seeing the apprehension in his eyes. The teen knew how to comfort the old man. “Don’t worry, we’ll just keep this between us guys.”

“Will you promise me that Dipper?” Stan asked, his voice slightly faltering.

“My lips are sealed.” He responded. The conman figured that the boy would be good at keeping his word.

Stanley smiled at his nephew, relieved to hear that the boy was willing to keep their feminine-drama marathon a secret. “So, would ya wanna watch some more period pieces again with your old man sometime, well, when it’s just the two of us?”

Dipper didn’t hesitate to give an answer.

“Of course Grunkle Stan.”

[thelastspeecher]

Wanted to reiterate my ask. Marriage of Convenience where Orion, Iris and Apollo are teens and one of them gets into a fight with another teen who was bullying one of them. Stan, Angie, Ford and Jimmy needing to sit one or all three kids down about what happened.

              Ford and Jimmy walked into the high school’s main office.

              “Hello, I’m here because my son got into a fight,” Ford said to the secretary.  The secretary frowned at him.

              “You’re Orion’s father?”

              “Yes.”

              “But Orion’s father is already here.”  The secretary pointed to the principal’s office.  Through the window in the door, Ford could see the principal talking to Stan and Angie.

              “No, he’s Orion’s stepfather.  I’m Orion’s biological father.  His mother and I share custody.”

              “He looks a lot like Orion.”

              “He’s my twin brother,” Ford said wearily.  The secretary didn’t seem convinced.  Jimmy leaned in.  “James, please, don’t try to help.”

              “James, huh?  All right, I’ll back off,” Jimmy said.

              “Look, just get the principal, he can vouch for me,” Ford said.  The door to the main office opened.  The school’s guidance counselor walked in.

              “Chloe, Dr. Pines is Orion’s biological father,” the guidance counselor said.  “He needs to be there for the conversation with the principal.”  The secretary, apparently named Chloe, nodded.  She got up from her desk and went to the principal’s office, knocking on the door before entering.  The guidance counselor turned to Ford and Jimmy.  “Sorry about that, Dr. Pines.  Chloe’s new.”

              “It’s not the first time that has happened,” Ford muttered.  “And it won’t be the last.”  The door to the principal’s office opened.  Stan and Chloe stepped out.

              “Ford, you’re up,” Stan said boisterously.

              “You don’t want to participate in the meeting?” Ford asked.  Stan shrugged.

              “There’s not enough room in the office for all of us.”

              “So I can’t sit in on it?” Jimmy asked.  Stan shook his head.  “Damn.  Guess I’ll have to find some other way to spend my afternoon.”

              “I’m gonna take Apollo out for some ice cream if you wanna come with,” Stan said.  Jimmy thought for a moment, then shrugged.

              “Sounds good to me.  Where’s the little hell-raiser?”

              “Still in class.”

              “We get to spring him, huh?” Jimmy asked, a glint in his eye.  “I like it.”  With that, he and Stan left the main office.

Ford entered the principal’s office.  Orion and Angie were sitting across from the principal, Angie keeping her face carefully neutral and Orion’s head bowed.  Ford took a seat in the empty chair next to Angie.

              “So, what exactly happened?” Ford asked.  “The message I received merely said that there was a fight involving my child.”  Angie looked at Orion.

              “Orion, care to share?” she asked.  Orion winced.  “Go on.”

              “Fine,” Orion mumbled.  He sighed.  “Someone messed with Apollo for his name and extra fingers.”

              “Messed with him in what way?”

              “Verbally,” Orion said.  Angie cleared her throat.  Orion scowled.  “The person made a snide lil comment as he walked past.”

              “That’s it?” Ford asked.  “That hardly qualifies as a fight.”

              “It wasn’t a fight,” Angie said.  She crossed her arms, glaring at Orion.  “Not until Orion turned it into one.”

              “I don’t think I quite understand.”

              “A student made a mean comment to Apollo in passing,” Angie explained, “and Orion decided the appropriate response to that was a left hook.”

              “Wait, what?”  Ford stared at Orion.  Orion looked down at his feet.  “You instigated a physical altercation over that?”

              “I had to defend him!”

              “I’m not faulting you for wanting to protect your younger brother.  I’m faulting you for the incredibly outsized response,” Ford said firmly.  Orion glared at him.  “What do Stanley and I tell you all the time?”

              “Only start a fight if there’s no other choice,” Orion mumbled.

              “There were many other choices here, Orion.  You know that.”

              “Uncle Dad said that bullies only speak one language.  Fists.”

              “And you believed him?” Ford asked.

              “He’s my stepfather and my uncle!  Why shouldn’t I?”

              “Stanley has a very patchwork history when it comes to…peaceful resolution,” Ford said carefully.  Orion rolled his eyes.

              “He took care of you when you were a kid.”

              “Orion…”

              “We can finish this conversation at home,” Angie interrupted.  She looked at the principal.  “What is Orion’s punishment?”

              “He’s been given an out-of-school suspension for the rest of the week,” the principal answered.

              “Out-of-school?” Ford asked.  “Doesn’t that amount to giving him the rest of the week off of school?”

              “Not unless you leave him to his own devices the entire time,” the principal said.  “I trust that the two of you will make sure Orion’s punishment is actually a punishment.”

              “Yes, we will,” Angie said.  She stood up.  “Thank you fer yer time.”  She looked at Orion and Ford.  “We need to go home.”  Ford stood up as well, frowning at Orion.

              “Yes, we most certainly do.”

-----

              Orion and Ford sat on the couch, watching Angie pace in front of them.  Ford glanced at his son.  He would have expected Orion to be visibly morose over his behavior, but if anything, he was becoming more indignant the more he was scolded.

              He has too much of Stan’s personality in him.

              “I can’t believe my own child would do somethin’ like this!” Angie ranted.  “To throw a punch over nothin’?”

              “I come by it honestly, Ma,” Orion said, crossing his arms.  “Uncle Lute told me about how he got into fights in school when he defended you and Uncle Fidds.  And Uncle Dad, well, I don’t need to explain that.”

              “Whether ya come by it honestly or not, ya shouldn’t do it!”

              “Why not?” Orion demanded.  “I guarantee that bully won’t say a word ‘bout Apollo again.”

              “That’s not the point!”  Angie stopped her pacing.  “Hon, yer developin’ a concernin’ pattern.  The first fight ya got in, it was ‘cause ya really had no other option.  But with each fight ya get in, it takes less and less to provoke ya into physical violence.”

              “I have to agree with your mother,” Ford said.  “This isn’t the first time you’ve thrown a punch with little to no provocation.”

              “I still don’t see the problem here.”

              “The problem is that you are picking fights unnecessarily.  I don’t want you to be so determined to handle bullies that you become one yourself.”

              “This is insane!”  Orion jumped to his feet.  “I protected my brother and that means I’m turning into a bully?”

              “You shouldn’t hit people!” Angie snapped.  “I mean, honestly, that’s somethin’ toddlers understand!”

              “Angie…” Ford said softly.

              “I can’t believe this!  How- how did I raise someone who is so willin’ to throw punches left ‘n right?  Maybe allowin’ Stan to give ya boxin’ lessons was a bad idea.”

              “Let’s not go that far,” Ford said.  Angie looked at him.  Her eyes shone with unshed tears.  Ford’s heart ached.  Back when the twins were born, Angie had worried that her anger management issues might be passed down to the kids.

              And now, she feels that she was right to worry.

              “The boxing lessons are necessary, to help Orion release his pent-up frustration,” Ford said, standing up.  “Pulling him out would only cause more problems.”  Orion looked back and forth between his parents.  “Orion, the next time something like this happens, don’t act on your impulses.  Take a moment to think and consider the appropriate course of action.  Do you understand?”  Orion nodded.  “Good.  Go to your room so that we can discuss how you’ll be spending your out-of-school suspension.”

              “Is- is it gonna be bad?” Orion asked.

              “We ain’t decided yet,” Angie said.  “Go upstairs and wait.”  Orion nodded sulkily.  Once they had heard his footsteps sound on the staircase, Angie covered her face with her hands.  “Oh, Lord above, what just happened?”

              “We had to deal with a difficult and stubborn teenager.”

              “I know, but-”  Angie wiped tears away from her eyes.  “I prefer Iris refusin’ to be ‘round Stan to this!  I mean, this ain’t even the first time we got called to school ‘cause he got in a fight!”

              “Give him time to mellow out,” Ford said gently.  He put a hand on Angie’s shoulder.  “All we can do is be consistent with how we parent him and hope that, like with Iris, this behavior is just a phase.”  Angie sighed.

              “Yer right.”  She groaned.  “I’m dreadin’ what Apollo will do when he gets this age.  Orion is the most mild-mannered one of the bunch!”

              “I wouldn’t worry about Apollo,” Ford said.  Angie raised an eyebrow.  “I would worry about the quadruplets.  Four teenagers going through difficult phases at the same time.”  Angie sighed heavily.

              “Don’t remind me.”