Archive of Our Own ^beta

The house is silent for once, without even the ever-present buzzing from all the equipment downstairs. For the first time in thirty years, it’s all turned off – and for the first time in thirty years, Stan has no clue what to do with himself after the night falls.

He’s gone upstairs in an effort to avoid his brother, and now he’s just sitting on the window seat, staring out of a stupid triangle shaped window at the view he’s been looking at for the majority of his life. It’s crazy to think that he’s spent more years as Stanford than he ever did as Stanley – and that the life he’s built, founded on a lie as it may have been, is going to be ripped away from him. He rests his forehead against the cool glass, and with his eyes closed, he can almost pretend that everything is normal. That he hasn’t figured out how to work the portal yet, that he still has hope that he’ll find his brother… and they can be a family again.

But that’s not what happened. He saved Ford, and his cheek is still throbbing from the thanks he got. Stan’s going to be kicked out for screwing up again, the story of his damn life. Except this time there’s no ultimatum, no ‘come back once you’ve earned back what you’ve lost us’, just Stanley Pines, out on his own, kicked out of the best home he’s ever known.

All Stan wanted – all Stan’s been working for – was his brother back. And now he’s got Ford, but the man who walked out of that portal isn’t his brother, isn’t the Ford he knew. He certainly isn’t the boy who slapped plasters on Stan’s scrapes, who let him copy his notes in school, who agreed to go treasure hunting with him. Nor indeed is he the man who called Stan when he needed someone he could trust, much as Stan had denied his request. Somewhere along the way that trust got broken, whether it was threatening to burn the journal, or shoving Ford into the portal, or maybe he lost it back when he accidentally broke the science project. Maybe he’s been deluding himself for the past thirty years that he even still had a brother to save. Thirty years of sleepless nights and anguished working, and Stan’s reward is stone-cold proof that he’s not worth a family at all.

Then again, there’s a pair of kids in the room next door who might be the only family he’s got left, and he’s not about to lose them too.

Stan gently pushes the bedroom door open, giving the twins the sappiest smile he can, safe in the knowledge that no one can see him. Dipper seems dead to the world, sprawled across his bed, snoring softly. Somehow – probably with all the tossing and turning the kid does – his curls have flipped over, and his birthmark is picked out in the moonlight. Stan walks over and smooths his hair back down, hand resting on Dipper’s head a moment longer than necessary. The kid’s apology for not trusting him had… had really meant a lot. He can’t blame the kid for wanting to shut down the portal, not really, but to hear him actually apologise afterwards had melted something in Stan’s cold heart.

He turns to Mabel, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees that her eyes are wide open. She bites her lip like she would laugh – but she can’t even manage a smile, not really, not one that reaches her eyes. Her arms are crossed over her dad’s t-shirt like she’s hugging herself, and Stan perches on the side of her bed, offering her an arm. She crawls up immediately, tucking herself into his side, face hidden away.

“C’mon, pumpkin,” he says as softly as he can with his gravelly voice, trying not to wake Dipper up. “D’you wanna come downstairs with me and talk about it?”

From the wiggle of her head in his side, Stan figures that Mabel nods, so he scoops her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Mabel keeps her head buried in his chest the whole way downstairs and into the kitchen, mussed curls spilling down her back, until Stan sits down on one of the kitchen chairs and tugs her into his lap instead.

He inspects her face intently, wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. Puffy eyes, drawn expression, sniffly nose. Not the happy Mabel he’s been looking after all summer. Stan’s heart aches, knowing that he’s already been the one to make her cry tonight at least once, even if this latest wave of emotion isn’t his fault. Mabel looks back at him, and Stan can see misery in her eyes, so out of place.

“I think you need a hot chocolate,” Stan says firmly. Mabel nods, wiping her nose with her sleeve. He sets her down on the floor before standing up, and she quickly hops back into the chair he’s just vacated, pulling her knees into her chest and tugging her t-shirt over them. For a second it looks as though she’s going to bury her head in the neckline, too, but something stops her, and she watches him potter around the kitchen instead.

Ford has some nerve, calling it his house. It might be his name on the deed, but somehow Stan highly doubts that Ford knows where the hot chocolate mix is, or how to work the electric kettle, or how long he can trust the milk in the fridge beyond its supermarket due date. In fact, he’s pretty sure Ford wouldn’t even know where Stan keeps the mugs anymore, and wouldn’t recognise most of them – well, except the old BMU mug, chipped and faded, that’s been languishing in the back of a kitchen cupboard for thirty years.

Stan tips the hot chocolate powder into his own favourite mug, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for the kettle to boil. He pours out enough water to fill about half the mug, then fetches the milk from the fridge and tops it all the way up. The teaspoon comes from the cutlery drawer, and Stan hands the mug of hot chocolate, well-stirred, to Mabel.

“Should be cool enough to drink now if you want,” Stan says, thinking of the temperature of the fridge, “but if you wanna wait a bit, I can stick it in the microwave.”

“No, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel says, the first time he’s heard her talk tonight. Her voice is small, and a little bit raspy, and it’s immediately even more obvious that she’s been crying. “This is perfect.”

He sits back down, this time on the chair next to her, and rubs her back as Mabel sips at the hot chocolate. Stan can think of a hundred reasons for him to cry, but he’s struggling to put his finger on what’s making Mabel sad. It’d be narcissistic of him to think that his life-story upset her that much, but maybe she’s sad about all the life Ford missed out on. Maybe she’s mad at Dipper, for nearly accidentally condemning their new great-uncle to staying in a different dimension forever. Maybe she just feels guilty about using her attack glitter on Soos.

They sit in silence a while, Mabel drinking her hot chocolate, Stan staring off into space. It’s going to be hard for him to leave the shack, he’s sure. Stan wonders if the gnomes will miss him. If they’re even smart enough to know the difference between him and his brother. He’s pretty sure that Ford won’t want the gnomes rifling through the trash, but he’s also pretty sure that Ford doesn’t drive often enough to accidentally squish them when they’ve been hiding in his wheel wells, so maybe it’ll all even out in the end.

Stan’s about to give in and ask Mabel outright what’s wrong when she sets the mug down, twisting the handle to and fro as she works up the courage to speak. “Grunkle Stan, do you think Dipper is pretty similar to your brother?”

He can only stare at her, utterly baffled. “Where’s this coming from, sweetie?”

Mabel shrugs. She doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Well, I guess so,” Stan says slowly. “They’re both pretty darn smart, you’ve gotta consider that. And Ford is… well, he’s got that determination, y’know? Once he’s decided he’s gonna do something, he does it. Works at it, chips away at it, gets it done. And he never could resist a mystery.” Stan has to laugh, thinking about some of their adventures as kids, haring off across Glass Shard Beach in search of whatever the mystery of the week was. “So yeah, I can see him in Dipper. But I can also see him in you, I s’pose. He put… he puts so much love into his work. Everything he makes, it’s made with care. Everything has its place. And he’s pretty artsy too, don’tcha know? Has Dipper ever shown you some of the illustrations in the journal? Seems to me you’ve both got that creative spark.”

“Right,” Mabel says, mulling over what Stan’s said. What he doesn’t say is– Ford’s the prodigal son, and Stan’s the screw-up. Ford could never do wrong, and wrong is all Stan ever did. Between the two of them, there’s a mountain of difference. They were twins that couldn’t be more different. Mabel and Dipper are nothing like that. Mabel and Dipper are on equal footing, Stan’s pretty sure, without the well of inadequacy that’s been festering in Stan since he and Ford first realised that they might be twins, but they definitely weren’t the same. “And do you think I’m similar to you, Grunkle Stan?”

Stan laughs. “I don’t wanna insult you, kid!”

Mabel kicks him under the table, though it’s not as if her socked feet do any damage. “I’m serious, Grunkle Stan! Do you think we’re similar?”

There are tears shining in her eyes again, and Stan raises his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I guess I do. You’re sharp like me, kid. Canny. You’re a real charmer, you know that? What was it Mom always used to say… yeah, I’d say you’re like me. You’ve got personality. And hey, Ford said you were weird, that’s gotta count for something, too. I don’t want you thinking that means I don’t see Dipper’s in me too, though,” he warns, because he’s pretty sure Dipper doesn’t like it when Stan tries to draw links between them, but that doesn’t mean he loves the kid any less, and he doesn’t want Mabel thinking he doesn’t see himself in Dipper.

“You think I’m like you because Ford thinks I’m weird?” Mabel asks, huffing out a wet little laugh. “That’s stupid, Grunkle Stan. You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stan says, leaning back in his chair until he’s balancing on just the back two legs. “‘S not the only thing, though. You’d do anything for your brother, too.”

Mabel frowns, and Stan figures he’s probably said the wrong thing again. He often does, though this time he’s not a hundred percent sure as to why. “You think Great Uncle Ford wouldn’t do anything for you? Does… does that mean you think Dipper wouldn’t do anything for me?”

“No way!” Stan says sharply, chair landing back on all four feet with a thud. “Mabel, your brother cares so much about you. How many twelve year old boys d’you think there are that get along with their siblings half as well as Dipper does with you? Heck, it’s kinda freaky to see. Anyone with eyes can see how much you two care about each other.”

He must have said something right there, because Mabel sighs, but sinks back into her chair. He should probably encourage her to try and go back to sleep. It’s not exactly protocol to let twelve year old kids stay up late, and maybe if the twins are safe and happy, Stan can get to bed early for once. Maybe he’ll even have his first full night’s sleep in thirty years.

“I just can’t believe you spent so much of your life without your twin,” Mabel says at last, quiet, like she’s afraid to say it. “I don’t… I don’t want me and Dipper to be like that.”

“You won’t be,” Stan says with force, reaching out to Mabel. She happily wiggles into his arms, pressing one ear against his chest. “You won’t be, kid. The first time me an’ Ford were apart…”

It’s still hard to think about, remembering those years he’d spent entirely alone, living out of his car with the fear that every bad deal would be the last, that every winter was the one he wouldn’t make it through.

“The first time we were apart, it was kinda my fault,” Stan admits. “And I knew Ford was mad at me, for good reason! But I also knew that I could make it up – to him, to my mom and dad… I just had to make up for what I cost everybody, and then it would be okay. Then I could come back home.”

The weight of Mabel in his arms is comforting, like she’s anchoring him to reality. There’s no chance of him drifting off in his thoughts, no risk that he’ll get stuck in the past, when she’s there tethering him to his present, to his family.

“You should have been able to come home anyway,” Mabel murmurs. “They should have forgiven you. Like the prodigal son.”

Stan wrinkles his nose. “Thought we weren’t Christian,” he teases, poking Mabel until he gets a little laugh out of her. “Nah, Ford’s the one Dad loved most. He’s the family prodigy, right? He’s always been the prodigal son.”

Mabel huffs. “Maybe now he is,” she says, “‘cause he messed up, and now he’s back and we forgive him. But they should have forgiven you first, Grunkle Stan. It wasn’t your fault. People are stupid.” Stupid’s her favourite word tonight, it seems.

“Anyway,” Stan says, hoping to steer the conversation away from his own long-awaited, far-distant absolution, “the first time was okay. I had an end condition, I figured Sixer would forgive me… I figured I could come back. And I kind of did! I ended up here, at least.”

“But then you were apart again.”

He lets that hang in the air, taking a hot second to collect himself. “Yeah. Then we were apart again. And that was…” Thirty years of desperate hope. Thirty years of screwing his eyes tight shut and imagining what would happen when he got the portal working, and Ford stepped out, and and and – “That was worse, yeah. Part of me thought he’d never come back.”

Ford is downstairs, just feet away, and somehow Stan still misses him like a missing limb.

“Hey, Grunkle Stan, it’s okay,” Mabel says. Somehow the tables have turned, and he’s holding onto her for support, instead of the other way around. He should definitely take her up to bed, should let her get a good night’s sleep, but he finds that she’s clinging on to him just as hard as he’s clinging on to her. Maybe they’re more alike than he dares think. “He did come back! You did it! And maybe we can celebrate tomorrow, all together.”

“Maybe,” Stan says, holding Mabel in a tight hug. “Ah, you’re too good for this world, kid. Sorry you got stuck with an old fart like me. Hey, you feelin’ any better yet? If Dipper wakes up, he’ll be tearing the place up trying to find you.”

Mabel sighs, and laces her fingers with his. “I just don’t like the thought of twins being apart. I don’t want me and Dipper to be like you and Ford,” she whispers, like a confession.

Stan squeezes her hand. “Me neither, sweetie. But I think you two’re gonna be just fine.”

“Do you promise?” Mabel says, looking up at him.

It’s hard to look at that face of absolute trust, like staring into the sun. Stan can’t promise, of course he can’t – if someone had asked him at twelve if he’d ever envisioned being apart from Ford for so long, he’d have laughed in their face, and look how they turned out. But they didn’t have a Grunkle doing his best to make sure things were okay between them, just a dad who, Stan knows now, would never have welcomed Stan back after he jeopardised Filbrick’s own fantasies for Ford’s future. Stan’s here for Dipper and Mabel, and if he has any power left, he’ll pour it all into making sure the two of them never end up like him and Ford. “I promise, Mabel.”