Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing about going to Grandpa Shermie’s house was that every trip was the same:

The family would leave the house at 10:00 AM. They’d drive up to Emeryville while Dipper prayed that Mom wouldn’t comment on Dad’s driving, or that Dad wouldn’t bring up the time she was late to Dipper’s orchestra recital again. (And if Dad did, that Mom didn’t bring up those other times Dad missed something of theirs for work.)

Dipper would watch his sister slowly turn up the volume of her music until he could hear Sev’ral Timez blaring through her headphones, knowing it still wouldn’t drown out Mom and Dad. He’d sigh, and watch out the window until he spied an amicable old man standing on his driveway waving hello.

He and his sister would hop out the car when it parked and hug their grandpa. Tell him about how school was going and what grades they were getting and what he was learning in Geometry that week, then get whisked away in his old Volkswagen while Mom and Dad kept quibbling on the driveway.

For the next two hours, he’d ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. Ignore the pitying look in Grandpa’s eyes as he tried his best to distract them with mall pretzels and Build-A-Bear’s and whatever the big hit movie that weekend was. Ignore the huffs Mom gave Dad while he thanks Grandpa for watching the kids.

They’d hit traffic on the way back to Piedmont, then pass a billboard saying something about jobs in California. He’d wince when Dad complained about how stressful work was (again) and know without looking that the irritation in Mom’s eyes had changed into real anger. Under their shouts, Sev’ral Timez would still be blasting. He’d consider telling Mabel that she was going to get tinnitus at this rate. He wouldn’t tell her. Instead, he’d sigh and watch out the window.

The cycle would repeat every two weeks without fail. After six months of observation, Dipper felt like there was enough evidence to reach a conclusion: that things wouldn’t change, at least not anytime soon.

So when Mom and Dad didn’t say anything to each other the entire ride today, Dipper immediately knew something was up. This never happened. Yeah, their parents had given each other the cold shoulder before, but never like this. For the past year, something about being in the same space together for more than ten minutes always seemed to set them off, yet here they were, as mute as… ok, Dipper couldn’t think of a good comparison right now, but that was beside the point.

“Psst.”

Dipper turned just in time to avoid a raisin aimed at his face. Mabel grinned and held up another.

“Wanna see who can catch the most raisins using just their mouths until we get to Grandpa’s?”

He couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes flicked down to his fingers, which were nervously tapping away at his leg. She was trying to distract him like Grandpa Shermie did. Of course she was.

Dipper leveled her a look. “Won’t those get stuck in your braces?”

“Yeah, but then I can fish them out later tonight! It’s like, future snacks before bedtime-”

“No throwing things in the car!” “Don’t forget to clean up the mess when we get there.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a look after they spoke at the same time. There was something left unsaid as Mom bit her cheek and Dad went back to staring at the road ahead. Calling the tension in the air thick would be an understatement - it felt closer to a volatile gas or a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Dipper was not a fan of that.

Tap-tap-tapping filled the car for the next few minutes until Mabel silently passed him the raisin box (he gladly accepted.) She’d seen enough chewed up pens in their lifetime to know where this is going, and everyone wanted to avoid another trip to the dentist. As soon as he passed back the empty box, she pressed three gummy koalas into his hand.

“Emergency candy.” Her voice was so low, Dipper could barely hear it over the engine’s rumble.

He just nodded. Of course, he thought.

The twins made their way through Mabel’s secret snack stash until they pulled up onto Grandpa’s driveway. Once again, the man was already there, waiting with open arms as the twins hopped out the car and barreled into him.

“Grandpa Shermie!” Mabel laughed into his shoulder. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d spent twelve years growing up alongside her, Dipper would’ve missed the way her laugh pitched just a touch too high (she was also nervous about Mom and Dad.)

Instead of dwelling on that, Dipper closed his eyes. Let his head knock into Mabel’s shoulder as they hugged their grandpa closer. Breathed in - Grandpa smelled like that old people lotion that was sharp and minty and would linger on his clothes for weeks. Dipper didn’t care. He thought about the mall instead, and the nice normal boring outing they would have, and-

“Kids,” Dad said behind them, and oh no. There was something in his voice.

Dipper immediately felt his stomach churn and he nearly kicked himself. Not now, c’mon man! The last thing Grandpa needed was for his grandson to anxiety-vomit all over his front lawn.

“Why don’t you head inside?” Dad continued. “Your mom and I have to discuss something with Grandpa Shermie real quick.”

The man hummed something in turn, confused but friendly. “Alright, but don’t make it too quick,” he joked; Dipper didn’t think it was a good time for jokes.

The twins were shepherded towards the front door. Before they could step through though, Grandpa tapped each sibling’s shoulder so they turned around. He smiled, eyes twinkling, as he leaned in like he was sharing a secret between them.

“Say, how about today, I let you two poke around in the attic?”

The twins blinked.

It wasn’t like there was anything special about the attic. It wasn’t some forbidden spot of the house, or some dark mysterious space that conjured up feelings of intrigue and discovery-lust (was that even a word?). In fact, as far as Dipper knew, it was just where Grandpa Shermie kept their late great grandparents’ junk.

“The… attic?” Mabel repeated slowly. Grandpa nodded as if that answered everything.

“Your parents and I are going to clean it out soon, and I figured you kids should take a look around in there and see if there’s anything from my old Ma and Pa you’d like to claim as your own before we sell it all off. I’d like to keep one or two things in the family from collecting dust, you know?” He laughed gently.

The twins didn’t laugh. Instead, Dipper crossed his arms and frowned.

“Grandpa Shermie, do you even know what’s in there?” Unsurprisingly, he shook his head.

“Not in the slightest. But you never know what kind of hidden treasures are waiting if you never look.”

Maybe he and Mabel didn’t know their great grandparents well- Filbrick had passed a few years before they were born, and Caryn not longer after -but what Dipper did know via Dad’s stories was that the couple seemed just as average and unobtrusive as Grandpa Shermie was. A bit unimpressive, even. Whatever they left behind was not going to be a treasure, that was for sure.

But then Dad cleared his throat at Grandpa, and Dipper saw something tighten in Mom’s eyes, and suddenly he wanted him and Mabel to be far, far away from the situation.

“Uh, sure Grandpa Shermie! C’mon Mabel, let’s go!”

He quickly grabbed her hand before she could get a word in, and the two of them stumbled into the house. Dipper made sure to kick the door shut behind them - it didn’t help the roiling in his stomach, or the twitching in his fingers, but at least it shut Mom and Dad out of view.

“Bro, what-” Mabel shut up when Dipper turned to her with big, wide eyes.

A nod in their parents’ general direction outside. A silent conversation. Her eyes flicked down.

Tap-tap-tap.

Mabel pursed her lips and grasped her brother’s hand just a little tighter. Yeah, sure, okay. The two of them could head into the attic for a bit.

———

Mabel knew what she expected when she hoisted herself up into that cramped space between the roof and living room. She just didn’t want to admit that what she expected was to be disappointed.

Of course she wanted the hidden treasure that Grandpa Shermie mentioned. The word “treasure” brought up daydreams of 90s fantasy movie plots, where children were entrusted with swords and dragons to save the world through the power of friendship. “Treasure” was also not what came to mind when talking about Dad’s side of the family. Filbrick Pines was an unimpressive man who thought cinder blocks were an appropriate birthday gift for children. Caryn Pines was a compulsive liar who insisted the cheap quartz ring she wore was real diamond. And Grandpa Shermie was, well, Grandpa Shermie.

So instead, she settled for hoping there was a slime mold she could name. Something classy, like Sabrina or Dr. Richard. It was no trip to the mall, but it would make Dipper snort, roll his eyes, and distract him from Mom and Dad.

(She didn’t want to think about Mom and Dad.)

Lo and behold, the attic was exactly as underwhelming as anticipated. Most of what she and Dipper combed through were cardboard boxes stuffed with old clothes. The few that weren’t instead housed Caryn’s kitchenware or Filbrick’s phone books. There were signs of Grandpa’s childhood life here and there, like the odd seashell or forgotten book report, but otherwise? Not much to throw a party over.

After the gazillionth box of clothing, Dipper groaned. “Mabel, this stinks. There’s literally nothing up here that’s worth taking home. I mean, look at this! This gold chain isn’t even gold, it’s just spray-painted plastic!”

“Aw, cheer up bro. I’m sure we’ll find something,” she lied. She grabbed a random piece of silverware and held it up to the light. "Like say, this spoon of Great Grandma Caryn’s! It has a rust spot on it that… sort of looks like a crying olive, if you hold it upside down. You have to admit that’s kind of cool!”

Dipper grumbled in a way that made it clear that it was, in fact, not cool, and Mabel deflated.

With a sigh, she set the spoon back down and scanned the room again. This girl had her work cut out for herself. If she and Dipper were going to be stuck in Grandpa’s stuffy old attic all afternoon, then she was going to find something to take home. Alright, eyes peeled. What did she spy?

Cardboard box, cardboard box, slip of yellow paper… aha! She was on it in an instant, excitedly sliding out the paper to reveal…

“... An expired coupon for free gull nuggets at Knuckle Sandwiches? Ugh!”

She crumpled up the coupon and tossed it over her shoulder with a huff. Guess it was time to start looking for a slime mold-

Thunk!

Mabel jumped. That… was not the sound a ball of paper was supposed to make.

“What was that?” Dipper asked. Mabel ignored his question and examined the room again.

Cardboard box… cardboard box… And then she saw it: a small metal briefcase, wrapped snugly in a chain and padlock. It sat wedged between two of Filbrick’s phone books, which was odd. Because Mabel was pretty sure she checked that spot a minute ago and saw nothing there.

A chitter sounded somewhere above, and her head snapped up.

There, a squirrel sat amidst the rafters, blinking its beady little eyes at her. It bared its teeth before scampering across a beam and squirreling away (ha, good one Mabel) into a hole in the wall with a flourish of its tail. … Did squirrels always have such yellow eyes?

Her gut twisted.

“We should tell Grandpa Shermie that he’s got a squirrel problem,” she said carefully, still staring at the hole where the critter had disappeared.

“Yeah, we… probably should.” Weirdly enough, Dipper sounded just as distracted. Mabel turned around to see her brother already holding the briefcase aloft. His eyes were fixed on the padlock, staring holes like if he gazed any harder it’d suddenly come undone and reveal its secrets to him.

Mabel almost teased him, until she stopped to think about the fact that there was a locked briefcase in her grandpa’s attic a little harder. The implications suddenly made her very, very uncomfortable.

“Kids!” Mom called from downstairs. Oh no.

Behind her, Dipper squeaked, which Mabel would’ve found hilarious if not for the fact that she was also panicking. Frantically, she looked around. She grabbed the first oversized piece of clothing she could find- a red turtleneck sweater -and stuffed it over her brother.

“H-hey!” he protested weakly. She shushed him.

“Just trust me.” She grabbed the hem and rolled it up into a hidden make-shift pouch. Then she took the briefcase and shoved it inside, hoping that the sweater was loose enough to disguise the lump. Finally, she snatched up what she assumed was Filbrick’s old fez, and plopped it on just as Mom poked her head into the room.

“Hi Mom! Look who I am!” She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. Please let this work.

“Howdy! Ever seen a talking dolphin wearing a trendy hat before? Well, now you have! Fashion Fish, at your service! And this guy over here-“ She jabbed a thumb at Dipper. “-looks like he had a bit of a clothing catastrophe. I mean, get a load of that turtleneck! Yikes!”

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Dipper’s eyes widen. He had caught on. Thank god, because he immediately replaced the look with a scowl.

“Ugh, Mom! Tell Mabel she’s being a big jerk! I’m just cold, and this stupid sweater was the only thing I could find up here. It’s not my fault Grandpa Shermie apparently dressed like Carl Sagan.” He crossed his arms, discreetly pressing the briefcase closer to his body. Mabel made a mental note to never make fun of his DD&MD roleplaying skills again.

“C’mon Dipper, just take it off already! You look like a freakin’ dweeb.”

“No, you’re a dweeb.”

“Your mom’s a dweeb.”

“Mabel, she’s right there! And she’s your mom too!”

The woman in question pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and inhaled, slowly. Mabel found she had no idea whether that was a good or bad sign.

“Mom?” Dipper tried again.

“Alright. Mason: you can keep the sweater on-” Good sign! Yes! “-as long as Grandpa says it’s okay. Mabel: apologize to your brother or no TV tonight.”

“Who’s Mabel?” she asked. She smiled sweetly and pointed at the fez.

A deep sigh. “Sorry - Fashion Fish. Now, I just wanted to let you two know that we’re heading out in about ten minutes. Grandpa and Dad still need to talk, so I’ll drop you off at home and pick him up later. We can get ice cream at Bay Street on the way there. My treat.”

And before they could read anything from the way Mom’s voice trembled halfway through, she abruptly turned and left the twins alone and slightly bewildered.

“... I can’t believe Fashion Fish actually worked,” Dipper murmured. Geez, yeah. Neither could she.

Mabel let out a single laugh. “What can I say?” She proudly placed two hands on her hips. “That’s the power of Mabel!”

“Oh yeah?”

With a grunt, Dipper pulled his arm out from under the sweater (when did he stick it under there in the first place?) and twirled two bobby pins between his fingers. A second later, the briefcase tumbled onto the floor with the lock undone.

Mabel’s jaw dropped.

“That’s the power of Dipper. Now c’mon, let’s crack this briefcase wide open!”

———

When he woke up, the first thing he thought was that he was dying.

Instincts honed from years on the streets immediately kicked in. The man clenched his fists and tore his gaze from his lap to the void out in front of him, scanning for any… danger…?

Wait. The void?

Oh. Right. It took a moment of him blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he remembered that he wasn’t dying. He was already dead.

Apparently, out-of-the-blue memories of what it felt like to die weren’t uncommon symptoms of his situation. Literal phantom sensations is what his brother called it. Speaking of…

“Stan?” The presence next to him shifted.

“Eh, good morning to ya too, Ford.”

“Yes, yes good morning. Bad dream again?”

Stan gave a noncommittal hum. The question sounded more like a statement at this point, so he considered leaving it there. “Would you even believe me if I said no?” he said instead.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then there you have it.” He stretched out and groaned, deeply, as several of his joints popped in succession. “Yeesh, I gotta stop falling asleep on ya. Being incorporeal should make things ache less, not more.”

Ford laughed wryly. “Believe it or not, most Category Fours don’t keep their tactile senses. Their powers of levitation are completely separate from their sense of touch. Yet here we are, able to remember every little ache and pain just as well as we did before our deaths. How lucky.” Something in his voice dripped dark, and memories of a six-fingered hand wrapped in bloody bandages and trembling in pain flashed through Stan’s mind.

“Hey, at least you had the smarts to not let your wounds get infected before you died.” Stan learned that lesson the hard way.

“A small win. I’ll take it.”

The two settled back into a comfortable silence as Stan continued working out the cricks in his arms and neck. Eventually, Stan let his head loll to the side and rest on his brother’s shoulder. Ford didn’t object.

“Hey, Ford.”

“Hm?”

In the silence of the void, he could make out Ford breathing softly, his shoulder dipping and rising in time. Stan closed his eyes.

“You think we’re ever gonna get out of here?” he finally asked. The shoulder paused.

“…Of course I do. Why are you asking?”

Because the two of them had been trapped in the void for nearly thirty years, is what he wanted to say. Because maybe the world had finally forgotten about them, the losers that they were, and it was time to admit that the late Pines Brothers were a lost cause.

Instead, what he said was, “Just thinking. It’s kinda hard not to think about it.”

“Well, stop it anyways.” Ford spoke with a finality that Stan wished he could say he shared. “Someone has to find us, and free us - it’s only a matter of time. Whether that’s five minutes or five years, we’ll never know. We just have to keep waiting.”

“Five minutes. Heh.” Stan cracked open an eye. “Since when did you become a comedian?”

“I’m serious, Stanley! And- wait a second.” An elbow caught Stan in the ribs. “Are you insinuating that I’m usually not funny?”

“You ain’t exactly Robin Williams, Mr. Kissbot 900.”

Ford spluttered. “Well, I can learn! Maybe I’ll take up a career in comedy!”

And the mental image of his brother on stage, doing standup in a stupid little bow tie, made Stan laugh so hard that he bowled over almost instantly. Despite his indignation, Ford couldn’t help but join in. Then the world shook, and they both stilled.

“What the hell was that.”

Ford sat up a little straighter. “Stan… I think-“

A deafening crack cut him off. Before he could react, the dark exploded into light and when Stan opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the void. Instead, he was floating in a room stuffed to the brim with… cardboard boxes? And- hold up, was that Pa’s phone book collection?

“Stanley?”

He whipped around. Floating a foot away was none other than his brother: pale blue, translucent, and just as confused as Stan was.

“Stanford? What’s going on?”

A pair of gasps answered his question.

Two kids, a boy and a girl who couldn’t be older than twelve, stood in front of them with an open briefcase. Each held one half of a broken compact mirror- the silver mirror, Stan realized, that he and Ford had been trapped in since 1982. And for some reason, the kids were staring at them both like they held the universe in their hands.

“Holy…” the boy started.

“Smokes…” finished the girl.

Then, in unison: “Are you two ghosts?!”

Chapter Text

”Are you two ghosts?!”

Now, Ford Pines had been through a lot of shit.

He had been almost kidnapped by gnomes, actually kidnapped by a Krampus, and literally tortured for a week before waking up in a dark, isolated hell with the ghost of his brother.

Yet despite his life experiences, the one thing he’d never gotten around to was learning how to talk to children. So of course the first thing Ford said was, “I was expecting a lot more running and screaming in terror.”

Stan elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow, son of a-“

“Easy, Poindexter. You talk to your ma with that mouth?”

Ford shot him a withering look. “Was that really necessary?”

He shrugged. “Nah, but it was funny.”

Rather than spend energy imagining how to theoretically strangle his brother, Ford returned his attention towards their rescuers - most notably, how…

 #1: They were children.

Now, Ford hadn’t considered himself particularly partial towards kids before. He found them sweet enough, and their curiosity endlessly endearing. 

But he had never given much thought to having any of his own; with his constant work (not to mention the last, ahem, project of his,) he never found time to settle down. The closest thing to an interaction with one were those times he talked briefly with Fiddleford’s son over the phone.

#2: The children were a girl and a boy.

The girl was an absolutely jubilant presence. She bounced on her heels, gazing at the brothers with such wonder that Ford could practically imagine rays of sunshine emanating off of her. She also appeared to release a faint cloud of glitter with every bounce, despite there being no clear visible source.

The boy, on the other hand, practically vibrated with nervous excitement, reminding Ford of an electron around the nucleus of an atom. He immediately clocked how the boy’s fingers twitched with a constant need to fidget, and how his eyes filled with stars every time he looked at the brothers. 

(Something itched in the back of Ford’s memory. It took a moment before an old, bitter, buried piece of him whispered: You used to look at someone just like that. )

Stan thankfully chose that moment to cough and draw Ford out of his head.

“So, uh…” Stan waved his hand in a vague gesture, clearly out of his depth. “You kids aren’t fazed by the fact that we’re ghosts and stuff?”

“ Are you kidding me?! ”

The boy’s sheer volume took him aback.

“Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to meet a ghost?” The boy laughed incredulously. “This is the best day of my life! I mean, here you two are, talking to me and I- I can’t believe it. I was right! Ghosts actually exist! The supernatural are real!”

“And it’s not just that - the guy over there has a thing like you, Dipper. Look!” The girl standing beside him pointed at Ford’s hand, and for a moment Ford wondered why she was making such a big deal over his bandages. Then he remembered his fingers.

For the briefest second, he was back in middle school: laughing classmates, odd looks from teachers, bullies competing to see who could catch the “freak” first. It was almost impressive how fast the heat rose to his cheeks.

But before he could explain, the girl grabbed his hand, completed a high five, and whooped. “Bam! High six!”

“Whoa… fully functional polydactyly!” The boy’s eyes sparkled again. “That’s so cool, man.”

Oh. Oh.

“Hey, does this mean that other magic stuff also exists?” the girl plowed on, like she and the boy hadn’t just rocked Ford’s entire world. “Like leprechauns, or fairies?” She suddenly gasped. “Are unicorns real?”

Oh, thank god; finally, a question Ford knew how to answer. He cleared his throat.

“You’d be correct; there are several anomalous phenomena that exist in our world aside from us,” he stated. ”As for unicorns specifically, I have encountered them before! But I can assure you that they’re much less virtuous than the stories make them sound. In fact, I have reason to believe that many modern unicorns take joy out of lying to the people who seek them out-”

“ What?! ” The girl gaped back at Ford like he had just spit on her mother’s grave.

Ah.

#3: Never tell children the truth about unicorns. 

“Alright,” Stan cut in. “I think that’s enough questions from you pipsqueaks.” He reached out and picked the girl up by the back of her sweater, much like how one would scruff a puppy. That was apparently the wrong move.

She immediately began to squirm, tossing tiny punches Stan’s way. “ Put me down!” she shouted, her voice tinged with panic. One fist nearly caught Stan in the face, and he jerked his head back.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there! I’m not gonna-“

“ Leave my sister alone!”

Something moved in the corner of Ford’s vision, and Ford grabbed the boy just before he could hurl his scrawny body at Stan. It seemed the kid’s mood had also done a one-eighty, the starry eyes replaced instead with a fierce, protective anger.

Unsure of what to do next, Ford wrapped his arms around the boy’s torso and lifted him off the ground.

“Now children,” he said in as calm of a voice as one could manage with a flailing pre-teen in their arms. “If we could all just settle down, I’m sure we can ow ow ow ow-“  

Within seconds, the girl had managed to grab a fistful of Ford’s hair - and it was painfully clear that she did not intend to let go.

“ Hey, no! Bad children!” Stan tried pulling the girl back, which obviously did not improve things.

“ Stanley, they’re not dogs, for crying out loud!”

The girl tugged again, hard , and Ford dropped the boy with a yelp. The kid proceeded to tackle Stan’s legs, which sent him toppling with the girl, who still had an iron grip on Ford’s hair. The four collapsed in a pile of ghostly and fleshy limbs.

“Mason? Mabel?” Floorboards creaked from outside the attic. “Is everything alright up there?” 

Ford internally groaned. That’s right - children did, in fact, usually have caretakers somewhere near them. 

“ Grandpa! ” they shouted. As they untangled themselves and raced away, Ford registered someone entering the room. He propped himself up with a wince, mentally preparing himself for another headache, and adjusted his glasses until his vision cleared.

His metaphysical stomach immediately dropped.

Beside him, Stan sat up with a curse. He opened his mouth to complain until he saw how still Ford was, and slowly followed his brother’s gaze. Stan made a noise like he’d been punched.

“Holy Moses...”

“Holy Moses indeed,” Ford breathed.

Because the man the children were frantically talking to couldn’t have been anyone other than-

———

Sherman Pines was a lot older than he had been forty years ago, but his wife said he aged well, so it wasn’t all that bad.

Despite that, age still didn’t prepare him for when his two beloved grandchildren came running to him, spouting about… something he didn’t quite understand. Mason and Mabel always did speak a little too fast for him.

”Grandpa Shermie, Grandpa Shermie, I didn’t mean to upset them! One of them picked me up like how those jerks in the high school next door always do, but then the other grabbed Dipper and I got really mad-“

“I started kicking as soon as he laid hands on Mabel, I-I thought they were friendly but I think we gotta go now!” His grandson grabbed at him with small, clammy hands and pulled him back towards the living room. “We need salt, a-and candles! Oh god, do you know how to perform an exorcism?”

Shermie made no move to exit. Instead, he peered at the empty space behind the kids. 

There were no signs of what could’ve spooked them; the only things he saw were Pa’s old fez and a red sweater discarded on the floor. Shermie maneuvered himself around the kids to walk over and pick the last item up.

“Were these lying around?” He chuckled as he held up the sweater. “It doesn’t look like my Auntie Darya’s make - she’d send us one of these every year!” Ah, darn - whose was this again? Ma’s? She liked sweaters; helped combat the Jersey winters with their home’s less-than-stellar heating. 

A sudden chill ran down Shermie’s back. He frowned, looking around the room. “Huh... thought I took care of all the cold drafts last year,” he murmured.

When he turned back to the kids, they were staring at him with their mouths wide open. It was a little funny how big their eyes got whenever they did that; made them kind of look like owls.

”What?” Shermie spread his arms out, amused. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“You… you don’t see them?” Mason asked in a small voice.

“See who?” 

“The actual ghosts! They’re standing right next to you!”

“Hm…” Shermie spun around in a little circle, mostly to entertain whatever game the kids were playing. “Looks pretty ghost-free to me.”

“B-but-”

Another chill pricked at his shoulders this time. Shermie shivered. Yeesh, maybe he actually needed a new heating guy if the last one did this bad of a job.

“They’re touching you right now! Don’t you feel it?” Mabel asked.

Shermie shook his head.

“This… this doesn’t make sense.” Mason ran over to Shermie’s right and started speaking to the air. “You! You were able to pick me up earlier, right? Here, try again!”

There was a pause as he waited for… something to happen.

“Why’s it not working anymore?” Mason asked no one. Shermie waved his hand through the space he was talking to.

“I thought you grew out of imaginary friends already?” Shermie asked.

Mason whipped his head around, looking almost offended. “It’s not- they’re not imaginary! They’re real! ”

“Wait!” Mabel fixed her gaze somewhere to Shermie’s left. “One of them is saying to tell you that their names are Stanley and Stanford! The-” Her hands flew up to her mouth. “The Pines Twins? Ohmygosh, wait! We’re also Pines Twins!”

(A faint, dull pressure pulsed on the side of Shermie’s head. Huh. He frowned and shook it out.)

Mabel cleared her throat. “Also, Stanford says he was the studious one and Stanley says he was the cooler one!”

Another pulse. Shermie ignored it and cocked his head. “Is that so? What else can you tell me about Stanley and Stanford?”

Mabel hesitated, as if she were listening to someone speak first. Her brow furrowed. “Stanford says… that your guys’ mom and dad were Caryn Romanoff Pines and Filbrick Pines. Ma was a phone psychic-”

“And Pa wasn’t easily impressed,” Mason cut in. He looked up at the empty space to the left like he was waiting for confirmation. “You all lived in Glass Shard Beach at the Pines Pawnshop, until you left when they were still in elementary school. They-” His eyes somehow got even bigger, and he swallowed. “They say they’re your younger brothers, Grandpa Shermie.”

Okay, now this was getting a little weird even for him. Shermie chuckled uncomfortably. “I think you’re taking this game a touch far, kids.”

“It’s not a game! Don’t you get it? Your dead brothers are actually here!” Mason cried.

“Mason, stop it please.”

“But-”

“ Mason. ” His grandson winced, and Shermie sighed. Lord, he hated having to use that tone of voice on them.

Carefully, he knelt down as far as his old joints allowed him and placed a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Listen,” he started. “I know from your dad that you’re going through your ghost hunter phase…”

“It’s not a phase.” The kid’s face flushed red as he looked away.

“And I also know your parents are… having a bit of a rough patch.”

(Behind him, Mabel made a face he didn’t catch.)

“But you and Mae are almost thirteen now - aren’t you a bit old to be playing with ghosts and made-up family members?” Something he said must’ve caught the kids’ attention, because both of them blinked. Mabel’s voice was considerably quieter when she spoke again.

“What do you mean ‘made up’…?”

The pressure in Shermie’s head pulsed once more, stronger this time, like something pushing against the confines of his skull waiting to be let out. 

“Kids, I’m an only child?” He laughed to a silent room. “I don’t have any brothers.”

———

“Now come on, your mom is waiting for you outside.”

Mabel didn’t move immediately; she was too busy thinking about how if she grabbed a glass jar from Grandma’s kitchen, threw it on the ground, then took a hammer and smashed the broken bits into even smaller pieces, it still wouldn’t come close to how shattered the ghosts looked.

So when Grandpa began to usher her and Dipper out of the room, she planted her feet on the ground and cried out: “Wait!” Then she snatched the sweater from Grandpa’s hands and wrapped it around her head like a babushka.

“Fashion Fish just had an outfit change, and this sea star still needs a minute to make the closing remarks for her new show, Who’s Best Dead Dressed! Right, Dipper?”

She locked eyes with him, and the slight shift in his posture told her that he got the message.

“Mabel, I told you: Fashion Fish is stupid, and she has no sense of practical styling either!” Okay, well- he didn’t need to push it that far.

Thankfully, Grandpa still bought the act. “Now Mason, there’s no reason for that kind of attitude towards your sister; if it’s just a minute more, then I don’t see the harm in it.” He gave a warm smile. “I’ll go let your mom know. But don’t keep her waiting in the car for too long!”

“I won’t!” she called out as Grandpa headed back downstairs.

“She probably will!” Dipper shouted after him. As soon as he was out of sight, Mabel punched Dipper on the shoulder.

“ Ow! Hey, what was that for?”

“ No sense of practical styling? ”

“... Alright, fair. But also, it’s definitely true.”

A soft thump sounded before they could bicker further. Behind them, one of the ghosts had collapsed onto his knees, staring distantly after Grandpa.

“I don’t understand,” he said, so quiet that Mabel had to strain to hear him.

“I think he made it pretty clear, Ford.” The other ghost placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. His expression was schooled into something neutral, but Mabel could see how his brother’s coat bunched up into tight, ugly folds under his grip. “Guy stopped having brothers as soon as they died and left the living world for good. Hell, maybe he even disowned us before that! Can’t say I blame him, but I figured that he’d at least be more tactful about it.” He let out a joyless laugh. “Guess Stanley Pines was wrong about yet another thing.”

“No, that’s…” Ford’s brow furrowed, voice lilting up in confusion. “That can’t be it.” 

“What else could it be? That he doesn’t remember us?” Stanley sighed. “C’mon Ford, Sherm’s not old enough for those sort of memory problems yet. You don’t just forget your own siblings outta nowhere-“

“Are you sure?”

Both ghosts snapped their heads up. For a moment, Mabel wondered why until she realized that she was the one who just spoke. She blinked, before doubling down.

“I mean, look at you!” She gestured towards the brothers. “Ghosts exist! And so do unicorns, and fairies, and a bajillion other magic monsters apparently. So maybe memory fudgery is a thing too!”

“She’s right . ”

Mabel whipped to her left. There, Dipper stood holding both halves of the compact mirror.

“Mabel brings up a really strong point. Because you’re saying Grandpa disowned you, but he’s not that kind of person. I mean, he’s Grandpa Shermie. He can’t even handle our mom and dad arguing in his driveway! Do you seriously think he’d hold a grudge long enough to do that to his own family?”

He wasn’t wrong; Grandpa was always a peacekeeper, even “to his detriment,” as Dad once said. (Mabel wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but based on his tone of voice it wasn’t a good thing.)

She watched as Dipper began to pace in a tight circle - investigator mode, as he called it. “And- and then there’s the fact that he probably didn’t even know you guys were locked up here in that mirror, and- wait, how did you guys get in there in the first place?” 

“Well, we… can’t really remember,” Stanley admitted. “But also, my brain’s been Swiss cheese ever since I hit my head on Mr. Mancinni’s mailbox in first grade, so that might be part of it for me.“

(“Wait, the dent in her mailbox wasn’t from a pelican?” asked Ford.)

“ See? ” Dipper pointed an accusing finger at no one in particular. “That’s weird! Neither of you can remember how you were trapped, and our grandpa- aka your brother -can’t remember you at all! You get how that’s really, really weird, right? ”

“Kid, not that I don’t appreciate it,” Stan interrupted. “But you don’t gotta work yourself up over this. I mean, as far as you know, we might not even be your uncles - it’s not like we got a way to prove it to you.”

And that last sentence stuck out to Mabel. Because as soon as Stanley had claimed that they were Pineses, earlier when they were playing telephone with an oblivious Grandpa Shermie, Mabel couldn’t unsee how he kept flicking his eyes down to his brother’s hand, keeping track of when those six fingers twitched. Kind of like…

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Dipper’s pinky tap-tap-tapping away on his leg.

“I believe you.”

Mabel squared her shoulders and stomped her little feet with a huff. “And even if you turn out not to be my uncles or whatever, I still want to help you.”

Stanley stared at her like she had just grown a second head (which, considering his brother’s fingers, actually might not have been that strange, so maybe this wasn’t a great comparison, but that was beside the point.)

“... Why?” he asked, and his voice took on the same broken confusion as his brother before.

Because whenever I look at you guys, I keep seeing shattered glass on the kitchen floor. 

“Because we’re the Pines Twins,” she said instead, slinging an arm around Dipper and flashing her sunniest, toothiest, most adorable-est smile. “Twelve-year old fashion extraordinaires, twin ghost hunters, and the best investigators Piedmont’s ever seen!”

Beep-beep!

“Kids!” someone called from outside. Oh, shoot! Mom!

Beside her, Dipper grasped Ford’s hand. “Come with us,” he pleaded. “If we work together, we can figure out what’s going on with you and Grandpa.” 

“But only if we stick together!” Mabel mirrored her brother, grabbing Stanley’s hand instead. “We only visit Grandpa Shermie every two weeks - that’s like, basically years already. That’s way too long!”

The brothers sat there, stunned, before sharing a look with each other. A silent conversation.

“Alright, fine,” Stanley finally conceded. “We’ll come with - but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

For the first time since he came out of the mirror, Stanley smiled. “Either of you know what a grunkle is?”

Chapter Text

SO hey, it’s been a while - unforch, I got COVID! Twice! Have not been writing much since then.

I just wanted to put out an update as a courtesy since it’s been WAY longer than four weeks. Things have gotten more hectic since, so this fic will now be updated intermittently (aka even I don’t know when the next chapter comes out. Maybe in a few months, if we’re lucky.) HOWEVER I will be posting silly drawings of this AU on my tumblr for those interested! Might post spoilers there too. (And in the off-chance I end up never updating this fic, I’m ending it on 3/3 chapters (for now) just so it wraps up as a nice little two-shot.)

Again, sorry to disappoint. But I didn’t want to keep everyone waiting without any word on what’s happened, so - thanks for reading, and thanks for your patience everyone!