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The world is an unjust place, no two ways about it. Innocent animals get hit by cars, cheaters get A’s in class, slush soaks through boots and into socks no matter how much waterproof wax you rub on the leather.
Mothers die.
That’s perhaps the worst injustice in the world, in Stan’s opinion. Is he a grown man in his sixties? Yeah, but still, it’s unfair, there’s something that changes in you when you lose your mother. Serving time in Columbia didn’t change him as much as losing his mother did.
And perhaps nobody understands that as well as Wendy. Now that’s a real tragedy, a young mother with four little kids, gone in just a few hours because of faulty equipment. He’s got years worth of memories of his mother, those kids may not have any. Not to mention the strain on Manly Dan, who had gone from a thriving, involved father, their lives sustained on a two parent income, to a grieving man desperately picking up extra hours at work to make ends meet, to keep all his mouths fed and missing their childhoods in the process. He’d seen the broken family at the bar a few times, the three oldests sharing a plate of fish and chips while Dan nursed a soda with his youngest son, still bottle-fed, in his arms. The days when he’d been too exhausted to cook after a long day at work but too poor to get the kids their own kids meals when one adult meal was cheaper.
He’d heard the rumours around town, the spring before he hired her, that Dan was considering sending her up north to his brother’s logging camp. That money was so tight in the family that having one less mouth to feed for the summer would take a load off him, that the money she could bring back could keep them steady. And while he and Manly Dan may not be close, they aren’t unfriendly either, he invites Dan to every fair he hosts at the Shack, he gets his winter wood from the lumberjack, and they can carry on a conversation if they wind up sitting next to each other in the bar. He knows that man, he may struggle to connect with his daughter sometimes, but he loves her dearly, he was reluctant to send her to an overnight camp with her school, he sure as shit doesn’t want her hours away at a logging camp, doing the same job that killed her mother.
And it just so happens that he needs a cashier for the shack, especially now that Soos is moving more towards a full time job as his handyman/exhibit maker/substitute Mr. Mystery and he wants more freedom than just working the register. So he starts putting out little hints that he needs help at the shack, not to Manly Dan directly, because man to man, he knows that would embarrass him and he won’t do that to a man who’s been kicked so much these past few years. No, instead, he starts mentioning it to various people who know Dan so it’ll get back to him.
And three days later, Wendy Corduroy is standing in front of him, in her best green flannel with her hair freshly combed, and a resume held out to him in sweaty hands.
~~~
Some days are harder than others, some days it feels like the loss is barely there. Other days, it presses itself to the forefront of his mind and refuses to leave and he sees it in Wendy too. The days where, instead of being her usually snarky, witty self, with her feet up on his counter and a magazine in her hands, she’s flighty, shuffling between exhibits with her hands wrung in front of her. Those days, she’s almost painfully productive, polishing the snowglobes, tweaking the bobbleheads so that they’re all facing the same direction, arranging the bumper stickers so that they’re all in little piles rather than one big mess. She’s trying to distract herself, to give her mind literally anything except her mother to focus on, and he knows it, so those days, he lays off her. If she disappears to the roof for an extra few breaks, he doesn’t point it out, like he doesn’t point out the red eyes or wet spots on her sleeves.
Today is a weird day, even for Gravity Falls. Instead of coming in bored or hyper-productive, or a mix of the tow, Wendy had come in angry. Not the ‘my friends and I are fighting about something stupid’ angry or ‘my brother took the last of my snacks’ angry. No, Wendy comes in with bone deep anger, jaw clenched, shoulders tight, teeth grinding, physically painful anger. She does her best to hide it, but fourteen year olds are bad liars and both Stan and Soos notice.
~~~
She lasts until just past lunch when her fuse starts to fizzle down to the ends. Later, Stan won’t be able to determine whether it’s the rap music Soos is playing while putting up shelves or the sun being at just the right angle that it gets in her eyes at the register no matter how she sits, but she snaps hard.
She’d stood up abruptly, visibly shaking because she’s so angry, flicks her hair over her shoulder, and storms towards the front door.
“I’m going to put out some signs!” She shouts over her shoulder.
And then she just catches the door before it slams shut and storms across the lawn. Stan watches Soos slowly reach over and turn off his music, his gumdrop turning to look at him like a freaking tiger just stormed through the shack and may be back at any moment.
“Uh.” Soos says, taking off his cap to wring it between his hands. “Did-did we do something wrong?”
“No.” Stan assures, tilting to watch her viciously hammer an innocent sign into the grass like she’s trying to send it to China. “I think she just needed to blow off some steam.”
“Okay. Should we like, do anything to help or like, make her feel better?” He asks. “I think there’s still some candy axes in the snack cupboard, should I grab those?”
“Maybe later, let’s let her cool off first.” He nods.
Soos nods uncertainly but then goes back to putting up shelves, turning his music back on, some punk Stan’s never heard of rapping about his money with slang he’s fairly certain nobody but Soos understands. Really, he has to agree with Wendy on this, he’s not a huge fan of rap, especially not the stuff Soos plays, but it’s Soos’s day to pick the music, so that’s what they’re listening to. Tomorrow will Be Wendy’s day and the day after that will be his, that’s how they do things here. He’s not sure how he got roped into that arrangement but that’s what they do.
~~~
Stan waits for half an hour after Wendy’s stormed out the door to assault his signs, then he makes sure his will is up to date and goes to track her down. It’s pretty easy to follow her trail, she’s literally left a trail of signs for him to trace, and to give her extra time to cool off, he examines her handiwork. It’s good, the signs are sturdy in the ground and he’s mentally planning to rent a hydraulic lift in the fall to get them out.
He finds Wendy at the corner of Gopher Road and Pebble Lane, muttering under her breath while she slams the hammer into the post time and time again to drive it into the ground. She’s a lot more haggard now than she was this morning, her hair is messy, like she’s taken off her hat and run her hands through it multiple times, her clothes are wrinkled and look like they’ve also been worried at, and her face is red.
“Hey.” He greets. Approaching with the same amount of caution one would use when approaching a bear.
“Sup?” She returns, lifting the hammer and swinging it down like it’s an executioners axe.
Then they just work in silence for a moment, just kind of getting accustomed to each other’s presence. Wendy slams her hammer down onto the sign post four more times before deciding that it’s not going to move, and then gathers up the monstrous pile she’s collected and starts dragging it forward. Stan follows, picking up the signs that inevitably fall from her grasp.
“How’s your day going?” He asks.
That’s a useless question, it’s written all over her face. She’s literally throwing her whole body weight into hammering these signs into the ground, he can see blisters forming on her palms, she is not having a good day.
“It’s fine.” She shrugs tightly, then swings the hammer down again.
“Mhmm, just really wanted to put out some signs?” He asks, playing along.
“Thought there was a distinct lack of advertising around here.” She grunts, raising her arms again.
He feels a twinge of sympathy for the hammer as it’s swung down, the responding CRACK of the hammer against post echoing through the woods around them. He can see the force reverberating up her arms and into her shoulders, no doubt doing terrible things to her teeth with the way she’s got her jaw set.
“How was school?” He prods.
“Fine.” She snaps.
“Your brothers giving you trouble?” He pushes.
“No more than usual.” She grinds out.
She hits that sign post one more time, kicks it experimentally, and then snatches up her collection of next victims and stalks off further down the road. He follows, giving her plenty of space because he does not want to die via hammer to the head.
“How’s your weird little friend with the pink hair?” He asks.
“Tambry? She’s fine.” She says, starting in on her next sign.
Well, he’s not getting anywhere with this, granted, he’s keeping his questions vague but he’s starting to consider just asking her outright what’s wrong. Then again, it may very well be nothing and she’s just feeling angry, he was like that as a teenager, just randomly angry. Wendy’s never been like this before but she’s only fourteen, maybe this is a new phase she’s getting into.
Welp, only one way to find out?
“So if everything is so fine, what’s got you in such a twist?” He asks.
It’s not an accusation but it certainly looks like she’s taken it as one. She spins to glare at him, completely forgetting that she’s mid swing with her whole weight behind it, misses the post completely and sends herself spinning ass over teakettle into the grass. The sign tilts to the side and Wendy rights herself, snarling like a wolf.
“I’m not in a twist.” She snaps, swatting away his offered hand, clambering clumsily to her feet, and angrily brushing herself off.
“Yeah, you’re assaulting my signs out of happiness.” He scoffs. “You’re a shitty liar kid, come on, tell me what’s up.”
“The fuck do you care?” She demands, side eyeing him while she rights her sign and goes back to attacking it.
“Watch your mouth.” He warns.
“You swore first.” She mutters.
True.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you a pass on the cursing, you can swear as much as you want, if you tell me what pissed in your cheerios.” He bargains.
“I’m not mad.” She groans.
“You’re a bad liar.” He says.
“No I’m not!” She shouts, rounding on him. “I am not, I am not, I am not! You know how I know I’m not? Because I managed to not punch Gus in his stupid fucking face today and he didn’t even notice that I wanted to!”
Alright, now they’re getting somewhere. He’s found the crack in the dam, now he has to keep picking at it until it breaks.
“Why’d Gus deserve to be punched in the face?” He asks.
“He doesn’t, he was just annoying me. Everything is annoying me. I hate May!” She shouts, turning to throw her hands at the woods as if the trees are responsible.
‘What’s wrong with May?” He asks, “I think it’s a pretty nice month.”
Wendy seethes for a moment, kicking the hammer around as she gathers her thoughts. Stan gives her a second, lets her get her mind in order, letting the pressure build.
“I hate mother’s day.” She says quietly, no longer looking at him.
For a moment, it’s like the anger has drained and she’s gone quiet. Shoulders drawn in, eyes clenched tight.
“Yeah?” He asks gently.
So it’s about her mom. That explains it.
“In my woodworking class, we were working on carving flowers for mother’s day. And then stupid Mr. Andrews said that I could have a free period, since I probably didn’t celebrate mother’s day.” She recounts quietly. “Like, fuck you, maybe I do celebrate mother’s day! Maybe I celebrate it twice a year! What the hell does he know?”
“Yeah, he sounds like an idiot.” Stan agrees.
And really, what kind of moron just says that to a kid? It’s one thing to know that one of your students lost her mother and wanting to be gentle about it, and another thing entirely to make assumptions about how she handles it. How Wendy’s family deals with mother’s day is their business and it’s not something for a woodworking teacher to be trying to guess during a class.
“He is! He’s such a freaking dork!” She nods, bottom lip starting to tremble. “And that was just yesterday! And we’ve had to write stupid poems in English class, and my stupid principal pulled me out of maths, in the middle of the class, to tell me that the counsellor's room was open if I ever needed to talk! Do I look like I need to talk to a stupid counsellor?”
He wisely chooses to bite his tongue on that question. Again, he does not want to die via hammer to the head. Still, for a second, Wendy’s out of steam and she’s standing in front of him, chest heaving, while she tries to catch her breath.
“And then this morning, Gus was bugging dad.” She whispers, that tremble in her voice returning. “Because he’s been having to write the same stupid poems in his classes but he doesn’t have a mom to give them to, so he wants dad to get married so he can have a mom.”
Ouch. No wonder Wendy’s mad. That would be a sore topic, for both Dan and Wendy. Not that he blames Gus, the kids barely out of diapers and he probably doesn’t understand how hurtful that was to his dad and older sister, but it was hurtful.
“That made me so angry. Because we already /had/ a mom, and she was awesome. She loved us, she-she made us our bla-blankets and th-the dolls for my dollhouse, and she can’t just be replaced by some chick dad could pick up at the bar.” She gasps, starting to stutter around the tears she’s choking back. “And I hate Gus for wanting to replace her.”
“Oh kiddo.” He whispers, his own heart aching.
“I do! I do hate him! I hate Gus for wanting to replace her, and I hate my stupid teachers for all this mothers day stuff, and I hate Robbie for bitching about his mother when I would give /anything/ to have mine, and I hate dad for just going to work after, and I hate her for fucking dying and leaving me alone!”
By the end of her ramble, Wendy is crying so hard her shoulders are shaking, there’s tears and snot running down her face, and she’s choking, which is probably what cut her off, not running out of things to say.
“Wendy-” He starts, only for her to wrap her arms around herself and back away, shaking her head frantically.
“I do! I do hate her! I hate her for dying, I hate her for no-not being here when I need her! And I hate me for hating her!” She sobs, doubling over to hack up a lung and spit out a mouthful of phlegm.
Fuck, he’s out of his depth, he is WAYYY out of his depth. He can barely deal with his own shit, now he’s got this teenager having a clear breakdown and he’s the adult around.
“Deep breath.” He instructs, knowing that it’s useless while saying it. The poor girl is red in the face from the strain of her sobs and for how hard she’s fighting to breathe, if she could take a deep breath, she would have done it already.
“Arrrrgghhhh!” She shrieks, grabbing one of the spare signs and throwing it angrily into the woods.
Both of them watch it crash into the undergrowth and disappear, probably never to be seen again. The woods are thick here, and there are things in the woods that would love a sign, he’s never going to see it again. Not that he really cares about that, he’s more worried about Wendy. Now that she’s screamed and thrown the sign, it actually seems like she’s breathing a little better, she’s still upset but the tears are falling without the added choking so that’s a plus.
“Better? Got that out of your system?” He asks, stepping closer.
She shrugs, wipes her face roughly with her sleeve, and swallows hard.
“What if-if the only thing I can feel is hate?” She asks pitifully.
“You can feel things other than hate kid, don’t you worry your little red head about that.” He assures. “Come on, let's get you back to the shack, we’ll get you some water, wipe your face, and sort this out. We’re not getting anywhere on the side of the road.”
He’s expecting a fight but it doesn’t come, she just scoops up the extra signs and balances the hammer on top of it, and starts staggering off back the way they came. He steps forward to get ahead of her, taking some of the load, and the two walk back in relative silence. He walks on the road, blocking her from any cars that may pass to protect her dignity at least a little bit, and when they get back, he drops his signs on the ground and nods for her to do the same.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He instructs, chancing a hand on her shoulder that she doesn’t shrug off, and guides her into the house.
He has her sit at the kitchen table, watching her fold herself forward to rest her head on the old wood. Her hair dangles limply off the edge to pool on her knees, it’s weird how it seemingly reflects her mood.
“Small sips.” He says, handing her a tall glass of water.
In her defence, it does look like Wendy tries to follow his advice, but her throat probably hurts so badly from all that crying, not to mention how hard she was working hammering in those signs, she’s desperately thirsty. As soon as the first sip of water touches her tongue, it’s like a primal urge overtakes her and she’s chugging it, tipping back hard, water running down the sides of her face and onto the floor.
“Whoa whoa hey!” He shouts, snatching the glass away from her.
She makes a weird belching noise and then sways dangerously, prompting him to grab the trash can in case she’s about to puke. He holds the garbage under her with one hand and puts the other on her shoulder to keep her from falling and waits until she catches her breath.
“You good? Gonna puke?” She shakes her head slowly. “You sure?”
She nods, more confidently this time.
“Okay, let’s try this again. Small sips.” He says, handing her the water again.
Once bitten, twice shy, Wendy actually listens to him this time. Tipping the glass to get a mouthful of water, swallowing, and then waiting a moment to take another sip. She even swishes the water around, probably trying to clear up the cotton mouth, before swallowing. He grabs a damp cloth and starts wiping her face, cleaning off the tears and snot on her skin and hopefully making her feel a little better.
“Your feelings aren’t special.” He says.
She jerks, looking at him with an angry expression that has him stumbling for an explanation.
“That came out wrong, hold on, I’m not good with words.” He apologises, thinking. “What I mean is, everybody who’s lost someone has felt the way you do right now, it doesn’t make you evil or anything, it’s a totally normal thing to feel.”
“Do you feel like this?” She asks, sounding so incredibly small.
“Sometimes.” He nods. “When my ma died a few years ago, I felt like nothing meant anything for weeks. And then some days, I felt like I needed to be doing something, just so that she’d be a little proud of me. And some days, I felt so mad that I swear I felt it in my bones. You’re not alone kid, in fact, you’re in good company, everybody has felt this way.”
The two sit in silence for a minute. Wendy finishes her water and Stan refills her cup, grabbing some of Soos’s corn chips from the snack cupboard and scooping some into a bowl so she has something to pick at.
“Does it ever get better?” She asks.
She sounds scared, more than scared, terrified.
“In a way. You never stop missing them, they’re still important to you, but it stops hurting so much. You get to a point where you can remember them and it feels bittersweet rather than painful, and you can laugh at the fun moments you had without feeling guilty.” He says, pulling out a chair and sitting next to her. “And there are still bad days, I don’t think those ever go away. But they get less frequent and less intense.”
“What if- what if I don’t have any memories?” She whispers.
That breaks another dam, except instead of anger, this one holds a well of sadness.
“I-I can barely remember her!” She chokes. “I don’t remember what she sou-sounded like, I don’t-t remember what her favourite co-colour was! What happens when I can’t remember her at all?”
Then she buries her face in her hands and makes a noise of pain so intense Stan feels it in his own chest. And he’s not good with words or kids but he reaches out regardless, wraps one arm around her, and then she flings herself at him. He catches her and holds her as close as he can, feeling her ribs shake while she cries and rubs her back, not caring that he can feel her tears and probably other fluids soaking into his suit, and tries his best to be soothing. He hums some old tunes he remembers his mother singing when he was little, he rocks a little, and he doesn’t let go. That’s something he remembers from a Disney princess documentary that had been on the only channel of a motel he stayed in back in his early thirties and he’d been too drunk and depressed to turn it off, never be the first one to let go of a child, you never know how long they may need it. So he doesn’t let go.
“Okay. I’m okay.” She gasps, pulling away and wiping at her face and brushing her hair back.
“You’re okay.” He agrees, grabbing the cloth and wiping her face again.
“But what if I can’t remember?” She shudders.
“You’re young, it’s not surprising that those memories may be hard to recall. But she’s your mom, you’ve got pictures, you’ve got your dad, and you’ve got lots of people in town who knew her. You aren’t alone kid, I know it feels like you are but you aren’t. Reach out to people, ask for stories, that may give you a chance to know who she was other than just your mom.” He soothes, handing her the water. “And you can talk to her, I know it’s corny but you can. You can write letters, talk to her, however you feel most comfortable communicating with her, you can. It helps.”
“The counsellor at school said I shou-should go to her grave. But-but all I see there is a stupid rock.” She sniffles.
“Look kid, don’t tell anybody I told you this, but if those counsellors were any good, they’d have their own offices rather than being in a high school.” He shrugs. “What did you do with your mom, what do you remember?”
“We- we baked cookies.” She says. “And we’d play w-with the do-dolls she made me.”
“Have you tried baking cookies? I uh, I usually cook stuff my mom used to make when I miss her, makes me feel a little more connected to her.” He shares.
“I guess not.” She shrugs.
She sounds more hopeful, her eyes are brighter in a happier way, and there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. Good, he can work with this, he can work with hopeful Wendy, it was sobbing Wendy that freaked him out.
“Tell you what, grab your spare clothes, take a towel, and go shower. No offence, but you stink. And when you’re done that, why don’t you whip up some cookies, see if that helps.” He offers.
“I-I think I’m still on the clock.” She says.
“I’ve been thinking of selling mystery cookies, tourists love stuff they can eat.” He excuses. “And if you know how to bake, that’s one less person I have to hire.”
“Well when you put it that way.” She giggles, then reaches up to brush her hair back, wrinkling her nose when she catches a whiff of herself. “Ugh, you’re right. I reek.”
“I don’t lie to you.” He chuckles. “Go shower.”
~~~
For the rest of the afternoon, Soos and Stan take turns manning the cash register while Wendy cooks in the kitchen. When Stan peeks his head in to check on her, Wendy has not only made a batch of cookies that’s cooling on the table, but she’s also cleaned his kitchen within an inch of its life. He doesn’t think the place has ever been this clean ever, Ford certainly didn’t keep it clean, at least not that he saw.
When Wendy emerges from the kitchen, she’s carrying two plates and looks like she’s had a weight lifted off her shoulders. He and Soos gather around when she sets them down on the cash counter, waiting for her go ahead to touch them.
“They uh, they may be a little burned on the bottom.” She shrugs, “Sorry, I don’t know what happened.”
“The first few batches are always hard.” Stan waves off. “When my mother was trying to teach me to make latkes, I burned at least two pounds worth of potatoes trying to make them.”
“I accidentally served my Abuelita raw empanadas my first time.” Soos adds.
“See, part of learning to cook is making a lot of bad food until you start making good food.” Stan nods.
They don’t get a lot of work done after that, they mostly just stand around the counter eating the cookies and trading stories about cooking mishaps, which turn into stories about mishaps in general. Like the time Soos accidentally blew up a school toilet trying to flush the evidence of his falsified book report, or the time Stan had to push his car to the nearest gas station because he thought taking his foot off the gas going downhill would double his mileage.
When Soos and Wendy pack up to leave that night, she gives him a little nudge with her elbow and a shy smile and he knows she appreciates their little talks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s a Wednesday, not a particularly special one, but one that starts standing out the moment Soos walks in the door. His usually happy handyman is acting off, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes and he’s fidgety in an anxious way. Were it not for the fact that he’s already graduated, Stan would think something was up at school, like bullies or too much homework. Regardless, something is bugging him.
The day isn’t terribly busy, it’s way too early for tourist season to have hit, so there aren’t a lot of customers. What they’re mostly doing is preparing for tourist season, putting together exhibits, patching up parts of the shack that need repairing, and doing busy work. Stan focuses mostly on the books, making sure that their ends meet, while Soos shuffles around keeping busy.
The heat keeps going up on Soos’s pot, his mood dims more and more as the day goes on. He’s keeping a lid on it as best he can, occasionally muttering angrily under his breath when something isn’t going his way, or taking a few moments to go outside and pace around the shack to burn off steam, but it’s not really helping.
The pot boils over when Soos is trying to put up a piece of poster board and it’s just not working. His hands start to shake, he’s getting red in the face, whatever’s bugging him is starting to win.
“Damn it!” Soos snaps, fist shooting forward and punching right through the thin wood.
For a moment, both of them are silent. Stan looks up from his paperwork while Soos stands still as a statue, breathing hard. At least it looks like he isn’t hurt.
“Good form.” He praises.
“Thanks.” Soos replies. “Sorry about your board, I’ll grab a new one from the hardware store tomorrow.”
Stan nods, watching Soos grab the broken board and toss it aggressively off the porch. They still aren’t talking, he wants to give Soos a second to breathe before he starts asking questions.
“What’s going on?” He asks.
Soos looks up at the ceiling, biting his tongue and trying to steady himself. Then, without looking down, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out an envelope, and places it on the counter in front of Stan. A clear invitation if Stan’s ever seen one, and he takes it, pulling the letter out of the envelope and unfolding it.
”Dear Zeus,
I know it’s been a while since I wrote, I’ve been busy with my job lately. I’m camping out in Arizona right now, just outside of Sedona, working on some jobs for my boss. It’s been going pretty well, I should be able to make it for your birthday this year, 18s a big year after all.
I just need some help with some gas. Fuel’s pricey in Arizona right now and my trucks a real gas guzzler. If you could just send me $500, I’ll pay you back when I see you in July.
Dad.”
By the time he’s read the letter, Stan can literally feel his blood pressure rising. It’s taking every ounce of self control to not rip the damn letter to pieces and set them on fire, or to hop in the StanleyMobile to go down to Sedona and beat some freaking sense into this shithead. What kind of asshole misses every birthday their kid has ever had, doesn’t show up for decades, can’t spell his name right, and then has the audacity to ask for five hundred dollars? The nerve of this guy.
But this isn’t about him, this isn’t about his anger, it’s about Soos and what he needs. Obviously, this has been bothering him all fucking day, to the point where he just punched through a piece of wood. His normally peaceful gumdrop does not get that angry over nothing.
“Este hijo de puta.” He mutters, knowing Soos can understand him. “Where does he get the- never mind. What did your Abeulita say about this?”
“I haven’t told her and you can’t either.” Soos says shakily. “Please Mr. Pines, I’m finally grown up and she’s starting to relax now. If she knows about this, it’ll stress her out all over again, that’s not fair to her.”
“She’s your gran Soos, she’s gonna wanna know.” Stan points out, trying to be as gentle as he’s capable of.
“I know, and I’ll tell her I just-” Soos cuts himself off, dragging the step stool over to the counter to collapse onto it with his head in his hands. “I want to figure it out before I tell her, give her a solution rather than a problem, you know dude?”
Yeah that makes sense, he can follow that logic. If he were in Soos’s shoes, he’d do the same thing. Actually, he’d send back a sternly worded ‘fuck you’ to the man, but Soos is more forgiving than he is.
“Have-have you sent him any money?” He asks.
“No.” Soos shakes his head, sounding like he’s laughing a little. “I only got the letter last night.”
Stan nods, going back to keeping a lid on his own anger. This isn’t about him, this is about Soos, the little boy who used to follow him around looking at him like he hung the stars when Stan taught him how to change a lightbulb or hand a shelf. This is not about him, he cannot blow his top.
“I know it’s not the point, but I think it’s really funny that he thinks I’m turning eighteen.” Soos chuckles. “I mean, I’m turning twenty-one this year dude, he’s three years off. How do you not know how old your own son is?”
That last question feels way too pointed to be a joke, but Soos is trying to play it off as one, laughing again and fiddling with the edge of his cap. Stan’s inclined to agree, fuck, he know’s how old Shermie’s kid is and that’s his nephew not his son. He knows how old Wendy and Soos are, he knows how old his niece and nephew are, down in California, Soos’s dad not knowing how old his only son is speaks to a type of willful ignorance Stan finds particularly egregious.
“I mean, Wendy’s dad knows how old I am, how does that dude know and my own dad doesn’t?” Soos asks.
“Kid, if I had the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be living in Oregon.” Stan sighs, tempted to go find a cigar. “Nobody knows what goes on in the minds of people like that.”
They lapse back into silence, not their typical comfortable silence, but a long awkward one. For the first time in their entire relationship, Stan can’t get a read on Soos. Usually, he can read the kid like a book but he can’t right now, and he’d usually want to try and turn that into teaching him how to play poker, but right now he can’t think about anything except how awful it is for a man to not want to know his own kid.
“Are you-are you gonna send him the money?” He asks.
That’s the question of the hour, if Soos is going to give him the money. As silly as Soos can ask, he’s not stupid, he knows that Soos knows that if he sends his father the money, he’s never going to see it again. But he also knows that Soos is a kind, giving person with a big heart, and having his father ask him for money is going to be tugging at him.
“I don’t know.” He admits. “There’s a part of me that wants to because he’s family and doesn’t family help each other? But then there’s another part of me that wants to send him monopoly money and a picture of my ID so he can see what year I was actually born.”
If it were up to Stan, they’d be going with option two, with an added picture of Soos and his Abuelita flipping him the bird. He has to remind himself that it’s not his choice.
“I know it’s stupid, but there’s like, this idea in my head that if I give him the money he’ll want to actually spend time with me.” Soos says sadly. “And I know that it’s a stupid idea and it’s probably not true, but I can’t help but think about it.”
“Kid, take it from me, if the only reason someone wants to hang out with you is because of the money you have, that’s not a real friend. Or girlfriend. Or family member. That’s a leech.” Stan offers.
“What if I send him the money with the condition that he never contacts me again?” Soos asks. “Just like, he’s five hundred dollars, stay out of my life?”
“I’m no expert kid, but I don’t think that’ll work. Once guys like that know you’ve got money, they’ll keep coming for it.” Stan says, shaking his head. “He’s gonna get in a tight spot again and reach out again, he’ll always have a sob story. He’ll always have a reason why he can’t pay his own way.”
Soos grumbles in what might be agreement and shuffles his feet on the floor. Stan himself is feeling pretty defeated.
“Do I even respond?” Soos asks. “Like, if I let him know I got the letter, will this make him want to hit me up for cash more? If I ignore it, will he send another letter? I just- I don’t know what to do.”
Alright, they need to change places. The gift shop is not the place for this conversation, not that there really is an ideal place for it, but right here is not the place for it.
“Come on Soos, I think we both need a drink.” He sighs, clapping the boy on the shoulder and nodding for him to follow him to the breakroom, aka, the kitchen.
Soos trails him, like he always does, and mutters a ‘thanks’ when Stan hands him a cold can of Pitt Cola. Then, they sit at the table and Stan stares at the window while answering.
“You’re in a tough place kid, I think no matter what you do with this letter, he’s gonna try and ask for money again.” Stan admits, hating that he’s the one saying this. “Your father has made some bad choices in his life and he keeps making them, and he needs someone to bail him out. He knows you’re grown now, and he’s trying to exploit the blood relationship you two have to get you to bail him out. And that’s shitty of him.”
“Real shitty.” Soos agrees, sipping his pop. “Like, Main Street after the Pioneer Day Parade shitty.”
That makes him wince, Soos isn’t much of a curser. Stan swears on the regular, though he does make an effort to cut back around Soos and Wendy, while Wendy could curse a sailor into an early grave, but Soos doesn’t curse much. Sometimes, if he’s really feeling one of his rap songs, he’ll curse along with it, or if he and Wendy get into a scrap for the last chips in a bag, he’ll mutter some swears, but he isn’t habitual about it. It makes it funny when he does it as a joke and scary when he does it because he’s angry.
“Is it awful for me to think he doesn’t deserve any money?” Soos asks.
“No kid, it’s not evil. In fact, I think it’s pretty damn reasonable.” He nods.
“Is it awful to think he doesn’t deserve money because he was never around for me? Is it not cruel to tie aid to favours?” Soos asks, really showing off his knack for philosophy.
“I don’t think it’s awful to be reluctant to lend money to a father who couldn’t even be bothered to remember the year you were born. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money, that’s more than a month of gas in your truck and groceries, for a man that didn’t want to be around.” Stan sighs. “This isn’t someone who’s a few bucks short at the store or who needs bus money, this is a healthy chunk of cash. And if you’re okay lending it, you’ve gotta be okay never seeing it again. You okay with that?”
“No.” Soos mutters.
“I wouldn’t be either.” He nods. “And look, it’s your money, it’s your choice, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But, if you want my advice, I’d say that if you have five hundred dollars to spare, put it into your savings account, or open a retirement fund to make sure you’re taken care of when you’re old, or hell, squirrel four hundred dollars away and then use the other hundred to take your Abeulita out for a nice dinner.”
Soos nods, drumming his fingers on the table and stares out the window, like the forest holds all the answers. They’re both quiet while he thinks, Stan doesn’t want to push too hard in case it comes off as him telling the kid what to do. But he doesn’t want the kid to send this guy money and then constantly get hit up every time he needs to be bailed out, not when his Abeulita has worked so hard to make sure Soos goes down a different path.
“I think I’m just gonna ignore this letter.” Soos says quietly, still looking out the window. “Maybe if he doesn’t get a response, he’ll think I’ve moved and he won’t send anymore.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Stan nods.
And the silence returns, still uncomfortable, still awkward, and it’s clear they both hate it, he’s just not sure if there’s anything that can be done to fix it.
“It’s not your fault your dad wasn’t around.” He blurts out, and then immediately kicks himself.
“What?” Soos asks, snapping his gaze away from the window.
Damn it, he’s in too deep now to bail. How did he make it to this age and not learn how to bite his tongue?
“Your father made his own choices, there wasn’t anything you did to push him away. I just- I don’t want you walking away tonight thinking that you did anything to warrant him not being here for you.” He rambles, dragging a hand down his face.
Why is he even talking? Words aren’t his strong suit, they never have been. Why couldn’t he just offer to take the kid boxing? That’s been their thing since Soos was fourteen, it would be way better than him sticking his foot in his mouth.
“Look Soos, I’m not good with words. Never have been, never will be. But you’re a good kid.” He sighs, “You’re smart, you’re loyal, you’re a hard worker, and you don’t get into trouble, any dad worth his salt woulda been thrilled ta have you as their boy. If he didn’t want to be there, that’s his loss, not yers.”
Soos looks at him with a heartfelt expression, and while Stan would rather chew through the trunk of a car again than have hear to heart conversations, he’s glad to see that Soos’s shoulders are a little lighter, he’s holding his head a little higher. The younger man dips his head, wipes his face, and stands up so fast he knocks his chair against the wall.
“I’m gonna go make sure the gutters are cleaned out, s’posed ta rain this weekend, ya know dude?” Soos asks, hurrying for the door.
“Atta boy.” Stan nods, also standing and going back to his paperwork.
Soos lingers around at the end of his shift, staring intently at the metal garbage can at the register. Then, he takes the letter out of his pocket, lays it out on the counter to snap a picture, then he pushes it into the garbage with the envelope, and tosses a lit match in after it. Stan watches from the doorway, holding the door open so the smoke filters out the door instead of setting off the alarm, and watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as the paper burns.
When it fizzles out, only ash at the bottom of the bucket, Soos straightens out his cap, brushes off his hands like he’s trying to get all traces of the paper off his skin, and then turns to grab his keys. On the way out, Stan claps him on the shoulder and hands him a Pitt Cola for the road.
“See ya tomorrow Soos.” He wishes.
“See ya tomorrow Mr. Pines dude.” Soos returns. “Thanks.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One thing Stan had hated as a child was people assuming he and Ford were the same because they were twins. He hated being dressed in the same outfits as Ford so they’d match, he hated all the birthday and Christmas presents that only worked with a second person, like a stupid tandem bike, and he hated when people pretended it was so hard to tell them apart. Especially as they got older and became their own people. So when he had the twins come stay with him for the summer, he made sure to get to know them as individual people rather than as two halves of a whole.
Dipper is bookish, loves mysteries, and hates that he’s only twelve. Mabel is more artsy, she loves knitting, and she hates when her crafts are broken or pushed aside. Are the two thick as thieves and always getting into mischief together? Yes, but they’re still their own people and Stan refuses to let others treat them as if they’re one person split in two. When Dipper wants some alone time to read his books or go for a walk to clear his head, Stan asks Mabel to help him with exhibits in the gift shop or teaches her to play cards. When Mabel wants to hang out with Greta and Candy, Stan watches Ducktective with Dipper and they theorise about who did it, trying to solve it before the main character.
He prides himself in knowing the kids, and he likes to think that the kids appreciate that he respects them as individuals. While he may not have known the kids for long, he thinks he knows them well, so when Mabel starts losing interest in her yarn and becomes less energetic, he takes it as the warning sign it is.
Ford, for all his shortcomings in the realm of emotional intelligence, notices too. And Stan can see that he’s trying to get to the bottom of it too, asking her to help him draw some pictures of creatures he’d gotten grainy pictures of during his time in different dimensions, making snacks with dangerous amounts of glitter and then actually eating them, and playing cards with her and Waddles. It’s not working.
Stan’s trying too, he’s making her Stancakes in fun shapes the way she likes, turning a blind eye to Wendy ‘sneaking’ off to hang out with her, and offering to let her have Greta and Candy over from a sleepover. That’s not working either.
Ford confronts him after three days of both of them trying to clear up the dark cloud that’s settled over Mabel. Stan had been looking at pig costumes for Waddles online, hoping that dressing the pig up like Abraham Lincoln would finally cheer her up, when Ford loudly pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
“We need to do something about Mabel.” He’d said sternly.
“Way ahead of you.” Stan agreed, shutting down his computer.
And that’s how perhaps the two worst people for an emotional conversation decided to have an emotional conversation with their great niece. Ford gently makes sure Dipper is out of the house, sending him for some ‘leaf samples’ closer to town that will keep him out for a few hours, and then they go try and figure out what’s going on with Mabel.
They find her in the twins room, sitting cross legged on the floor with two of her stuffies on her lap, while Waddles lays on her bed with his head dangling over the edge and his nose resting on her shoulder. Truly, a sad sight.
“Hello.” Ford greets diplomatically.
“Hey Grunkle Ford.” Mabel greets, looking up and seeing Stan behind him. “Hey Grunkle Stan.”
“Hey Pumpkin.” Stan says, ruffling her hair and then sitting down on the floor across from her. “How’s your day going?”
“It’s okay, I guess.” Mabel shrugs, reaching up to scratch Waddles behind the ears.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite believe you.” Ford says as gently as he can, sitting down next to Stan. “You’ve been acting odd for a few days, we’re worried about you.”
Mabel’s mouth twitches but she just shrugs again. Clearly, whatever’s bothering her, she isn’t too keen on talking about it. Inwardly, Stan is wondering if they should have talked to Dipper first, the kids usually confide in each other, if somethings up with Mabel, her brother would probably know. Of course, that’s if Dipper would even tell them, because as close as they are, they keep each other’s secrets pretty well.
“It’s stupid.” Mabel whispers.
“If it’s making you this upset, it can’t be stupid.” Stan assures.
For a moment, nobody speaks, Mabel just stares at her toys in her lap while Ford looks like he’s trying very hard not to get distracted by all the stuff on Dipper's side of the room. Waddles grunts and tilts his head to nose at her neck, almost like he’s encouraging her to spill her guts. Mabel snickers and reaches up to pet his head and then looks at her uncles.
“I don’t love all my stuffed animals the same.” She confesses, with a tone that most people reserve for confessing to murder.
“Alright.” Ford nods, looking like he understands even when he absolutely doesn’t understand. “Well that makes sense, some of them are going to be more important to you probably depending on where and why you got them, what type of animals they are, and how-”
“If I can’t even love my stuffed animals the same, how can other people love each other?” Mabel asks, cutting Ford off from her weird rant. “How can our parents love us the same?”
Ah, so that’s the problem. He’s not sure where it’s coming from, his nephew and niece-in-law haven’t called much this summer, too busy with their impending divorce to worry much about what their kids are up to. Maybe somebody said something to the kids that have stuck with Mabel, maybe it’s something he or Ford have done without realising, or maybe it’s just been stewing for a while and it’s finally bubbled up, he doesn’t know.
“Well of course your parents can’t love you the same.” He says.
That’s the wrong thing to say, that was the complete wrong thing to say. He can see it in the way Mabel reels back like she’s been physically struck and in the way Ford reaches over and hits him hard in the gut.
“What is wrong with you?” Ford demands.
“That came out wrong, that came out wrong! Just let me-damn it Ford, stop smackin me!” Stan demands.
Ford had grabbed on of Dipper’s hardcover books from the boys side of the desk and had been beating Stan with it, he’s only stopped now when Stan grabs his wrist and pries the book out of his hand.
“Let me think! I’m not good with words.” He grumbles, tossing the book onto Dipper's bed. “Look, Sweetie, what I mean is; you and Dipper are two different people and while your parents love you equally, they can’t love you the same. You’re Mabel and he’s Dipper and you’re not the same people and that’s okay.”
Ford, finally realising that this was a clumsy attempt at comfort and not an insult directed at his beloved niece, pulls back from trying to wrestle Stan, takes off his trench coat, and wraps it around Mabel, his way at physically comforting the little girl. Mabel, who’s also realised that Stan wasn’t trying to insult her, softens a bit and Stan decides to continue.
“Mabel, you’re somebody who really enjoys crafts, you love animals, you’re outgoing, and you have a very bright sense of fashion. Dipper likes reading and science, he’s a bit more introverted, and he’s a total nerd. How could anybody love you the same when you aren’t the same person?” He asks. “That doesn’t mean your mom and dad don’t love you both. Who bought you your yarn?”
He knows what he’s doing. The brief synopsis of the twins he got from his nephew included some of the things their parents did with them, together and separately.
“My-my dad takes me to the farmers market on Saturdays so I can get it. It’s ou-our Daddy-Daughter Day.” Mabel says with a weak smile.
“Okay, and what does Dipper do while you’re with your dad?” He pushes.
Ford is looking at him with a confused expression, which he can’t blame, Ford did not get this information from their nephew.
“He and Mo-mom go to the library and get mystery books to read.” She says. “And sometimes they go to the game store and see if there are any deals on DD&MD stuff.”
“My niece-in-law likes Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?” Ford asks, perking up.
“Yeah, she taught Dipper how to play.” Mabel says.
Stan bites his tongue and makes a mental note to break the news to Ford that he may not get a chance to add her to a campaign any time soon, because of the aforementioned divorce. He’s not going to mention that in front of Mabel, because it’s not his news to tell her, their parents want to be the ones to tell them.
“Do you ever do anything with your mom?” He asks, keeping the line of thought going.
“Yeah, she and I go to the mall sometimes, and we do ‘girls nights’ where we watch silly movies and eat popcorn, and we build a fort to watch them in.” She smiles.
“What do dad and Dipper do during your girls' nights?” He asks.
“They have guys’ nights, where they go out for chicken wings and sometimes they go to the arcade.” Mabel says.
“So your parents spend time with you individually where they do things that you kids like to do. Sounds like they love ya a whole lot.” Stan shrugs. “And what do you do together?”
“Dad took us to an escape room when Mom had to work late, and before we left, Mom took us to the science museum.” Mabel recounts. “And we go to the zoo a lot, especially after school on Thursdays because that’s when they hand out leaves so you can feed the elephants and the giraffes and stuff.”
“And when they do stuff like that, do you feel like they love you?” He questions.
Mabel blushes, pulling the coat tighter around herself, and nods shyly.
“So let me ask you this, you’ve got a cat at home right? Do you love it?” Stan asks.
Now Ford is looking at him like he’s got three heads. The gears are turning so fast that Stan swears he can hear them.
“Yeah, Mittens is awesome.” Mabel says.
Right, ignoring the fact that they named their cat Mittens, that’s good.
“And obviously ya love Waddles.” Stan says, gesturing to the pig.
“Obviously.” Mabel snorts.
“Do you love them equally?”
“Yeah.” Mabel nods, then thinks about it. “But not for the same reasons.”
There it is, she’s starting to get it now. And Ford’s getting eager to play along too, nodding vigorously.
“It’s the notion of equity versus equality, where you give people what they need rather than exactly the same thing. Or the idea that different things can be of the same value while having different properties.” He says, in his professor's voice. “For example, you could have three bags, each capable of carrying five pounds, and I could have two bags each capable of carrying seven and a half pounds, but we can both carry fifteen pounds!”
Mabel and Stan both look at him, slightly confused, but Ford looks proud of himself and Stan knows that an analogy like that would do wonders with Dipper. As for his niece, she throws herself forward, coat fluttering behind her like a cape, and wraps her arms around his neck. He pulls her in closer, helping her settle herself in her lap and squeezes her tight.
“Thanks Grunkle Stan.” She mutters.
“Any time kiddo.” He replies, ruffling her hair.
When she’s done hugging him, she moves over to Ford, hugging him too. From the smile Ford gives him, it’s made his entire week.
Mabel keeps the coat for the day and Ford doesn’t complain. Dipper comes back from collecting leaves and hands them to Ford with pride, and then the two nerds spend the rest of the day looking at said leaves under their microscopes.
That night, when Stan and Ford trek up the stairs to the attic to say goodnight to the kids, Mabel is curled up under the trench coat with Waddles, both of them dead to the world, while Dipper reads in his own bed across the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stan can tell that fall is coming by the fact that it starts raining more often. Thankfully, the shack is patched up and dry, with hydro restored, so they aren’t wet and cold. The apocalypse has also been averted, thankfully, and he’s got his memories back, mostly. Some stuff is still odd and disjointed, it’s like looking at something underwater, where the general shape is there but it’s out of focus. Better than being a total blank slate though, at least now he remembers where the bathroom is.
Because it’s raining, they’re cooped up in the house watching television. Soos and Wendy have joined them, Soos because his Abeulita has invited a bunch of people over for cards and Wendy because she doesn’t want to have to deal with her brothers. It’s nice to see them again without the threat of the world ending, they’re all more relaxed, actually bathed, and having fun.
And then the commercial comes on, one for a divorce attorney in a different county but close enough that the ads play in Gravity Falls. The commercial is simple enough, two adults yelling at each other, comically timed bleeps to censor out what are obviously curse words that can’t be played on television. It’s not such a big deal, not to Stan at least, but Dipper stiffens on the floor, tucks his shoulders in, and then excuses himself to the porch for ‘some fresh air’ which would have been more believable if his teeth hadn’t chattered through it.
“Good poker face kid.” Stan mumbles under his breath, standing up to follow his nephew but waving the others back when they try to follow him.
When he steps out onto the porch, the first thing he notices is that the wind is pretty cold for late August. The second thing he notices is that Dipper has left the porch and is pacing around near the treeline, still in his socks, the hem of his shirt lifted to his mouth so he can chew on it while he walks.
Stan slips on his shoes, grabs the umbrella, and dodges as many puddles as he can while he picks his way across the lawn to his nephew. The closer he gets, the worse for wear Dipper looks, his eyes are red, he’s shivering, and he looks even smaller with the rain pelting down on him.
“C’mon kid, outta the rain.” He orders, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him back to the porch.
He won’t make the boy go back inside, if he wants his privacy while he works through whatever's on his mind, Stan can respect that. Instead, he sits the kid on the porch couch next to him and keeps his arm around him, trying to warm him up so the goosebumps on his arms go away. He also hooks his finger into a dry part of his shirt and pulls it out of his mouth, ignoring the unhappy noise Dipper makes.
“What’s going on Dip?” He asks.
“Nothing! Nothing is going on, everything is fine, I’m fine!” Dipper gasps, chewing on his fingers.
“Fingers out of your mouth.” Stan instructs quietly. “And don’t play poker kid, you’re a bad liar. I’m not dumb, I know somethings bitin ya.”
When Dipper doesn’t stop chewing on himself, he grabs his wrist and pulls his hand down to his side, checking to make sure he hasn’t broken the skin. That had been scary and it had made him look at Dipper’s chewing habit in a new light. It wasn’t just a hand to mouth fixation that he hadn’t grown out of yet, it was an unconscious stress response and it could cause the boy injury if somebody wasn’t around to call him out on it.
“Don’t tell Mabel.” Dipper breathes.
“Scouts honour.” Stan swears.
Not convinced, Dipper strains to look behind them, making sure his sister hasn’t followed them outside. When he’s sure that the two of them are alone, he shivers and deflates into the old sofa.
“Our parents are getting a divorce.” He whispers, eyes closed tight and entire body tense. “That’s why they sent us up here, so that they could, like, fight without us seeing.”
“Oh Dipper. I know, kid.” Stan mutters, running his hand down his face. “Your dad told me when he asked me to take you guys.”
Dipper sniffles, fingers twitching, and he chokes on a sob.
“You knew?” He asks.
“Yeah.”
“All summer?”
“Since late May, actually.” He confesses. “Your dad asked me not to tell you kids, they wanted to tell you themselves. I didn’t agree with it but I’m not you’re not my kids, it wasn’t my choice.”
He really, really doesn’t agree with their decision not to tell the kids before sending them off. He can understand not wanting the kids around during the legal proceedings and figuring out where everyone is going to live, but to send them away thinking everything’s fine and then have them come back to a split family? That’s cruel.
“Mabel doesn’t know.” Dipper whimpers, suddenly jerking his arm out of Stan’s grip to try and shove his fist into his mouth. His uncle sighs, pulls his hand away from his mouth, and pulls him closer.
“Between you and me Dipper, I think she does.” He sighs. “You and I both know your sister picks up on a lot more than she lets on, more than you and I can notice. I don’t think she’s as blind to it as you want her to be.”
That sends Dipper into a tailspin, if he’d been distressed before, he’s sliding into panic now. His shoulders shake violently and he’s pressed his heels uncomfortably into Stan’s legs, probably trying to ground himself.
“Don’t say that, don’t say that.” He begs. “She can’t know, she can’t.”
“Why not kiddo, what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” He asks, scooping him fully into his lap and holding him.
After the incident with Ford scaring the kids into the woods, he’d done some research on panic attacks. He’s by no means an expert but he has a vague idea of how to bring someone down from one, and thankfully, that’s one of the memories that have come back.
“Because they’re awful when they fight!” Dipper spits, gripping Stan’s sweater in his fists. “I-I heard them once and it was scary! Ma-if Mabel heard them, it would crush her!”
Damn it, he’d been aware of that, it had been the first thing his nephew had told him when he’d called.
~~~
“The missus and I have been fighting.” He’d whispered, voice low but shaking with anger nonetheless. “We’ve both been pulling extra hours to have an excuse to not be in the house but it’s not enough. And then we see each other and it’s like oil and water.”
“Sounds rough.” Stan had shrugged, half listening as he flipped through a magazine.
“We’ve pretty much decided that it isn’t working out, but my lawyer is pushing for counselling so her lawyer can’t try and say I abandoned the family, but I’m worried about what it’ll do to the kids.” His nephew continues, sounding tired.
“You’ve gotten lawyers involved already?” He asks, suddenly getting a lot more interested in the conversation.
“Well I’m not letting that bitch take half my shit without a fight!” He snarls and Stan swears his feels spit fly in his face through the phone.
“Oh-kay. Well sorry to hear that kid but I’m not really sure why you’re telling me about it.” He says uncertainly.
“Right, of course, that’s why I called. I was hoping you could take the twins for the summer.” His nephew asks.
“What?” He demands, dropping his magazine entirely. “Why me?”
“Cause Pop’s busy travelling with his new fling, I don’t trust her folks to not grind the kids up into sausage, and I’ll be damned if I let her crackhead brother get near my kids.” His nephew snarls.
Does he think that the kids will be safer up here? Stan’s a lifelong bachelor and he likes it like that, he smokes cigars, he has an appreciation for Columbian tequila that probably pushes the boundaries of what most would consider a healthy amount, and he’s got his own history with the law. He doesn’t really know much about his nephews in-laws but it’s not like he’s all that much better.
“Look kiddo, not that I don’t love the kids but I’ve barely met them. Last I saw em, they were five years old.” He points out. “Would they even want to come spend the summer with me?”
“This isn’t about what they want.” His nephew snaps, breathing heavily.
Right, that’s a healthy mentality to have towards your own kids. Forget about how stressful it may be for them to move them to a different state for the summer, forget about how weird it would be for a couple of city kids to adapt to a small town like Gravity Falls, and never mind the fact that it can be pretty stressful for two kids at that age to try and make friends in a new space when they’ll only be there for two months. No, this isn’t about them, it’s about their parents and the fact that they can’t get their shit together. Real mature.
While he’s been stewing in that annoyance, his nephew has calmed down enough to continue.
“Dipper heard us fight.” He rasps.
A jolt of fear goes up Stan’s spin, it’s like if the record scratch effect happened in his own brain. The stream of rude thoughts against his nephew and niece in law stops just as quickly as it started.
“What?” He asks, his mouth feeling dry.
“It uh, it was a nasty one too. He hasn’t really been himself since. His grades tanked, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d had A’s all through the year, he’d have to be doing summer school.” His nephew rants. “We didn’t even realise he was there until it was too late. Fuck, Uncle Stan, he was shivering when we saw him.”
Jesus Christ, they fought so badly that it caused the kid to nearly have to do summer school? He was shaking when they noticed he was there? How sneaky can one twelve year old be, when Soos was thirteen, he couldn’t sneak up on a dead mouse he was so prone to tripping over his own feet. Were they really that wrapped up in their own anger that they didn’t notice he was there?
“I’ll take the kids.” He sighs, resigning himself to an awkward summer.
Maybe he has no experience with kids, maybe he shouldn’t be a guardian for longer than a few hours, and maybe he has some unhealthy vices, but at least he can pull himself together enough to not give them serious issues fighting with his spouse.
~~~
And now here he is, Dipper in his arms, trying to soothe his great nephew while he cries about the fact that he’s about to go back to a broken home. Maybe he should have pushed his nephew to tell the kids before they got on the bus. And Dipper hasn’t even told Mabel, his closest confidant, which means he’s been dealing with this all summer, alone. Fuck, no wonder the kid chews on everything, he’s probably been going insane.
“Alright, you’re alright.” He whispers, rubbing his back. “Try and take some deep breaths, I’ve gotcha.”
“Dad said he’d cut moms breaks.” Dipper gasps, like the words physically hurt to say.
“He what?” Stan demands.
His nephew hadn’t told him that on the phone.
“H-he and Mama were-they were fighting bec-because Mama’s been flirting with her co-wo-worker. And Dad was mad. And he said-he said Mama was being-being a selfish bitch because th-that guy hat-hates kids, and Mom has me’nMabel.” Dipper stammers, eyes glassy and distant. “A-and Mom said th-that at least she was jus-just flirting, she wasn’t fu-fucking the intern. And that i-if her coworker became our stepdad, we may actually have a future!”
Jesus Christ. Stan can’t even scold the kid for repeating the language he’d heard, that’s just awful. That’s worse than he thought, that is way, /way/ worse than he thought. This goes beyond what you’d usually say to a soon to be ex, who the hell says stuff like that to the other parent of their kids? But that’s not all, Dipper had just been taking a breath and he’s still got more.
“And the-then, Dad said that Mabel’n’I stopped having a future as soon as the ru-rubber broke, cause we-we’ve got a crazy-crazy bitch for a mot-mother! And Mom said tha-that if that’s what he thought-t then she-she’d get full custody and he’d never see us again!” He sobs, “And Dad s-said that if she did that, he-he’d cut her breaks!”
If there was more after that, he doesn’t get to hear it because Dipper flings himself off his lap to puke off the edge of the porch. Stan follows behind him, rubbing his back and making sure he doesn’t fall into the mud and mess below. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’s shaking right now and he’s hearing this second hand as an adult, Dipper is twelve years old and heard it all first hand.
When he’s puked up all he can, Dipper leans back, crawling right into Stan’s arms and trembling with his face buried in his shoulder. He does his best to soothe him, rocking and humming until his breathing evens out.
“I’m so sorry kid, I’m so sorry. You should never have had to hear that.” He whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why did he say that?” Dipper asks, “Why did she say that?”
“Oh son, I wish I knew.” He sighs.
“What happens if-f they split and neither of them want us? What if they each only want one and I never see Mabel again? What if Mom does get full custody and D-dad kills her?” He asks, starting to shake again.
“No, nonono Dipper. Dipper! Look at me!” Stan orders, pulling back until he and his great nephew are sitting against the base of the porch furniture and out of the rain. “That is not going to happen, both of your parents want you both and no judge in this freaking country is going to split up siblings, especially not siblings as close as you and Mabel. And as much as it was wrong for him to say that, your dad is not going to kill your mom.”
“What if he does?” Dipper shivers. “Ma-Mabel and I will ha-have to go to an-an orphanage a-and we’ll never get into college and-”
“Dipper!” Stan says, cupping his face and forcing him to look at him. “You and Mabel are never going to end up in a flipping orphanage. You have me and Ford, and your Grandpa Shermie. Not to mention all the folks on your mom’s side that would literally be fighting to have you, you two are so, so loved, you will never be alone.”
Dipper looks at him, with his bright red nose and his trembling bottom lip, and he flops hard against Stan’s chest. He catches him and pulls him close, heartbeat to heartbeat and both of them are teary. Dipper’s weeping because he’s just lost his stable family and Stan has a few tears to shed for how hurt this poor kid must have been all summer. How many nights has Dipper been awake, pacing around the living room alone, because of this and Stan just brushed it off as insomnia?
“It’s going to be okay.” He promises.
“How?” Dipper asks, muffled from how closely he’s pressed against Stan’s chest.
“I’m not sure yet, but it’s going to be. I know it’s going to be hard, but your parents are going to sort their stuff out, you and Mabel are going to stay together, your parents are going to love and support you, even if they do it separated, and you’ve both got Ford, and Shermie, and me.” He promises. “You know you can always call me if you need anything or even if you just want to talk. And if you ever need an escape, even if Ford and I are in the middle of the Atlantic, we will come to Piedmont and get you two, take you both for an escape.”
“Promise?” Dipper asks.
“Promise on my dead mother’s grave.” Stan whispers into his hair.
“And promise you won’t tell Mabel?” Dipper asks.
“He doesn’t need to.”
“Holy Moses!” Stan gasps, he and Dipper startling and looking up, noticing Mabel for the first time hiding in the rafters. “How the hel-heck did you get up there?”
In response, Mabel holds up her grappling hook and Stan internally kicks himself for not thinking about that. While he’s doing that, Mabel drops down onto the couch and hops down beside Stan, falling to her knees and joining in on their hug.
“I already knew.” Mabel whispers, squirming her way onto Stan’s lap with Dipper.
“No.” Dipper moans, “How? I tried so hard to keep you away from it.”
“They’ve been fighting for a while. They-they forgot I was home once, when you were at Grandpa Shermie’s, and they started fighting.” Mabel sighs. “I heard Dad tell Mama to keep a lid on her bitch bottle until July when we were gone.”
Dipper is crying harder once she’s finished and Stan lifts them up to the sofa to be more comfortable, trying his hardest to settle the kid down before he pukes again. Mabel is somewhat more composed, she’s still crying but not as hard as Dipper.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dipper asks, grabbing his sister's hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mabel retorts with a shrug. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“You’re both too self-sacrificing.” Stan mutters, “We gotta work on that.”
“We’re gonna be together, no matter what happens.” Mabel promises. “If they try to separate us, I’ll sneak out the window and come get you and we’ll run away and live in the woods with the coyotes.”
“Nobody is going to separate you, no judge is going to let your mom and dad Parent Trap you.” Stan assures. “You two are going to stay together for as long as you want.”
“Do you think they’ll move us out of Piedmont?” Dipper asks and Stan isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or his sister.
“I don’t know. That’s where their jobs are, and Grandpa Shermie, why would they move?” Mabel sighs.
“Why do you think they didn’t call us this summer?” Dipper mutters.
“Cause lawyers are expensive and they knew you were safe with me.” Stan answers.
“We literally almost died.” Dipper snorts and Stan does a good job of ignoring the pooling snot on his sweater.
“Twice.” Mabel mutters.
“I would like to state, for the record, that the zombies were Dipper's fault and the apocalypse was Ford’s.” Stan says. “And I’d also like to point out that I protected you both during those incidents.”
“True.” Mabel and Dipper say at the same time.
“And I know it’s hard right now, but your parents do want what’s best for you both. No matter what you go home to at the end of the summer, you’re going home to two parents that love you very much and that will always be on your team.” He promises. “And you both have me, and Ford, and Shermie if you ever need us.”
“Thanks Grunkle Stan.” Mabel smiles.
“Yeah, thanks Grunkle Stan.” Dipper agrees.
“Don’t mention it. Now, anybody else have any pending fears they wanna get out?” Stan asks.
“Umm.”
Fucks sake, how did these kids get so good at being sneaky? Is it his hearing aid or did they just get really good at it during the apocalypse? Wendy creeps out from behind the couch and stands awkwardly behind them, one hand clasped on her opposite shoulder.
“How long have you been back there?” He asks, worried for Dipper’s privacy.
“Not long, just like, five minutes. You guys didn’t come back and I was worried that Stan had an episode and wandered off into the woods.” She shrugs.
“And ya got a fear ya wanna get off yer chest?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.
“Kinda.” Wendy nods, sitting down on the couch next to him. “But it’s like, really stupid.”
“Lay it on me.” Stan sighs.
“What happens when I graduate if I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life?” Wendy asks. “Cause like, my teachers were all talking about college and university and stuff before summer, and how important it is, but I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Then you take a gap year or two, work some odd jobs, and figure it out.” Stan says. “And maybe you don’t go to college, maybe you do an apprenticeship or find something else. It’s your life Carrot-Top, there isn’t much of a wrong way you can live it.”
“What if I go to college and I change my mind?” She follows up.
“Then you switch your majors or you take a gap year or two to figure it out.” He nods. “You’re fifteen Wendy, nobody expects you to have it all together right now. That’s why you aren’t allowed to vote, or enlist, or buy alcohol, society knows you’re too young.”
She hums at that and stares off into the rain, resting her head on his hand.
“Uh, Mr. Pines?”
Were it not for the fact that he’s got the twins in his lap, he’d drop his chin to his chest. Of course Soos is listening in too, why wouldn’t he be?
“Yes Soos?”
“I’ve got a fear.” he states.
“Well spit it out then, I’m not getting any younger.” He demands.
“I uh, well my Abeulita is kinda old, ya know dude, and I know she isn’t gonna be around forever. And I’m kinda scared that she’s gonna, ya know, pass on, and I’m gonna be alone.” Soos confesses. “And I’m not sure how to deal with that.”
Well damn, that’s pretty deep. Jeez, that’s heavy even for him. Everyone on the porch is quiet after that, the only sound being the rain on the roof.
“You’d have me.” Wendy offers.
“And us.” Mabel adds.
“And your girlfriend Melody.” Dipper pipes up.
“So there ya go Soos, there’s three people right here who’ll be there. Plus that poor little blind girl you met on the internet.” Stan says.
Wendy smacks him but Soos chuckles and sits down on the arm of the chair.
“And eh, you’ve got me too.” Stan says awkwardly. “Ya know, cause yer a good handy man.”
Wendy and the twins make cooing noises and Stan responds by teasingly knocking Dipper and Mabel’s heads together and flips Wendy’s hat off. Whatever, let them coo, they’re all brats. Soos too.
“Alright alright, that’s enough emotions for today. You kids ready to go back inside?” He asks.
“Not yet.” Dipper sighs, leaning back against Stan. “Still need some air.”
“Fine. Soos, go get us some blankets, it’s cold out here.” He orders.
Being the helpful young man he is, Soos grabs some blankets and throws two over Dipper, Mabel, and Stan, and then handing another two to Wendy, leaving his favourite fuzzy one for himself. Stan chooses to ignore the fact that all four of them are are touching him at least somewhat. Wendy’s got herself positioned in a way that lets her have her shoulder braced against his while Soos is more obvious about it, his arm resting against Stan’s.
~~~
It takes less than twenty minutes for all four of them to be asleep, either because the rain on the roof is soothing or, in Dipper’s case, because they cried themselves into exhaustion. And with all four of them leaning on him, he’s well and truly stuck. At least the view is nice.
“How did this even happen?” Ford asks, being completely unhelpful by standing beside the couch surveying the scene.
“Shut up Ford.” Stan retorts.
“You hated kids when we were younger? What happened?” Ford asks, not shutting up. “Now you have, like, eight.”
“That’s a gross exaggeration!” Stan snaps.
“No, it isn’t. You have these four, and that weird southern kid, and that weird emo kid, and that weird rich girl.” Ford counts, ticking them off on his fingers.
“Okay, so first of all, that southern kid is called Gideon and he’s not ‘my kid’ he’s like, this annoying termite that keeps trying to steal the shack.” Stan says. “And that emo kid is her ex.”
He tilts his head towards Wendy, who has her head resting on the headrest of the sofa but has her feet tangled in his.
“I notice you didn’t deny the rich girl.” Ford points out.
“Well, the way she and Dipper are going, she may be our great-niece-in-law someday, so let’s not be too hasty with her.” He admits.
“Dipper likes her?” Ford asks.
“Yes but don’t ask him about it, he’s in the denial phase.” Stan laughs. “And don’t ask her either, she’ll deny it.”
Ford hums and lightly pokes Soos, who has his head against his shoulder.
“I’ll need the story about these two someday.” He declares.
“There is no story! They’re employees who aren’t very good at going home after their shifts.” He scoffs, “I am very annoyed by this!”
“Then why don’t you make them stop?” Ford asks.
“Shut up Ford.” Stan sighs. “Why are you even out here?”
“Everyone left, I wanted to make sure everyone was okay.” He says.
“Then why are you still here?” He asks.
“Because I don’t understand how this happened.” He says.
“Ford.”
“Yes?”
“Go back inside if you aren’t going to be helpful.” He orders.
Ford humphfs and turns on his heels to retreat back inside, leaving Stan with all four of his monsters sleeping on him. Really, he can’t answer Ford’s question of ‘how did this happen’ because he isn’t sure how this happened himself. He swears, he just wanted some cheap damn labour and now he has a responsibility to ‘be a good role model’ or whatever. Damn it.