Work Text:
Michael and Amy Pines were good parents. They really were. The twins’ wellbeing always took precedent; they supported Mabel's interest in crafts despite the trail of glitter that followed her everywhere she went, and they bought Dipper his mystery books and video games and let him fill up the TiVo with corny ghost hunting shows. Dipper and Mabel always came first, and at a certain point, Amy and Michael's marriage went by the wayside.
It was nothing major, no cheating or alcoholism or abuse. Somewhere down the line they just… fell out of love. Sweet words turned to business-like exchanges of information turned to passive-aggressive snipes turned to arguments.
They tried to keep their arguments away from the kids, and were usually successful, but after Amy overheard Dipper crying after a fight, it was a wake-up call. Something had to be done.
The two of them decided that it would be best if Dipper and Mabel left the house for a while. They needed space and time to work out their issues, away from the kids. School had just gotten out for the year, which gave Michael and Amy the perfect opportunity to attend marriage counseling and focus on reconnecting.
Unfortunately, all the sleepaway camps they could afford were booked out for the season, and neither Amy nor Michael had friends that would be able to take care of the kids, leaving only family.
That wasn't a very broad selection pool. Both of them were only children, Michael's mother had passed years ago, and Amy no longer spoke to her parents. Michael wasn't particularly close with his father, but he was a good man, and if there was even the slightest chance that he could take the twins…
Michael dialed his father's landline. The phone rang several times before anyone picked up, but eventually a gruff voice came on the other end with a click.
“Sherman Pines speaking.”
“Hey dad, it's Michael. How are you doing?” Michael fiddled with the phone cord.
“I'm watching Jeopardy,” Sherman said, “What’d’ya want? Is everyone okay?”
No small talk, ever the pragmatist, Michael thought. “No, no, everyone's fine. Or, well, mostly fine. Amy and I have been having some... issues, and we need time to work things out. Away from the kids. I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any way you could take the twins for a month or two?”
The line was quiet for a long, harrowing moment. “I'm an old man, Mike. I don't think they'd enjoy spending time with me, even if I was able to keep up with them.”
“Right, of course, sorry dad—”
“Do you remember my brother Stanford?” Sherman interrupted.
“Oh, yeah, I do.”
Michael had met Stan a handful of times. He ran some sort of tourist attraction in Oregon, if Michael remembered correctly, although he thought he recalled his grandmother saying something about how he was once a scientist. The first person in their family to go to college, and there was something else, something about his hands… but that was a long time ago. Uncle Stan had been on the outskirts of the family by the time Michael was a teenager, relegated to major events and the odd family reunion.
Filbrick's funeral had been the last time he saw him, close to a decade ago now. The both of them were pallbearers. Michael remembered the empty, haunted look on his face as they had lowered the casket into the ground. He stared blankly into the grave as the Rabbi gave the graveside prayers, his whole being seeming to sag.
He was quiet for the entirety of shiva afterwards, spending most of it sitting in the corner staring at his hands. When friends and family approached to give their condolences, he never spoke more than a couple words in response. After the first couple days, everyone more or less ignored him.
Michael only saw a spark in Stan when he approached as Michael supervised the twins' playtime. Stan stood next to him, following the kids with a warm gaze and a wistful smile.
"They're good kids." Stan had said. "I'm glad they get along."
Michael liked Stan.
“He'd take the kids,” Sherman stated.
“He would? How do you know?” Michael asked. Sherman sounded so confident, like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.
Sherman became quiet again, and then when he spoke his voice was soft. “Did you know that twins run in the family?”
That was news to Michael. He hadn't been aware of any other sets of twins in the Pines lineage. Granted, nobody seemed to like to talk about the family history at all. They were a remarkably tight-lipped bunch.
“No, I didn't.”
“I had another brother once. He died when you were a teenager— do you remember that?”
Michael tilted his head and hummed, surprised. “I remember you and mom going to a funeral, I think, for some family member I didn't know. I never realized.”
“We don't talk about him much. He was Stanford’s twin. Stanley. Stanford was never really the same after he passed. But he has a soft spot for your kids, I'll tell you that. We don't talk a whole lot but he's always asking about ‘em when we do,” Sherman said. Michael could hear the smile in his voice, a rarity. “He's a good guy, Mike. A little strange— he always was, but nowadays especially— but good. I bet he’d love to have the kids.”
“I'll talk about it with Amy,” Michael said, “but we'll probably give him a call. You're sure he could handle them?”
Sherman laughed. “Ha! Probably not. He never had any kids of his own, and kids are trouble. But he’ll definitely take good care of ‘em. He's always telling me about the strays he keeps an eye on in that town of his. He’s a softie.”
Michael wasn’t exactly sure what was meant by “strays”, but he did trust his father’s judgment. “Right. Thanks, dad.”
“No problem, kid. You'd better hope you didn't make me miss the daily double. Also, you should visit more.”
“Of course, dad.” Michael chuckled.
It took some convincing, but Amy agreed that they would give Stan a call. There was no guarantee he would say yes, despite Sherman's confidence, and it couldn't hurt to check. The two of them sent Dipper and Mabel out to a nearby park for the afternoon, dusted off an old address book, and located Stan's number.
The phone was picked up on the second ring, but the voice that came out of the speaker was not Stan's.
“Thank you for calling the Mystery Shack, the most mysterious place in the world! I am Soos, how can I assist you?”
Amy looked at Michael and mouthed do we have the right number? He shrugged.
“Hi, I'm calling for Stanford Pines— is he available?” Michael asked.
The man's— Soos's— previously friendly tone turned suspicious. “Who's asking?”
“I'm his nephew, Michael Pines, and I'm here with my wife, Amy. We just wanted to talk to him about some family stuff?”
Soos's tone flipped back to geniality as quickly as it had soured. “Whaaaat!? That's so cool, dawg. I'll get him for ya.” There was the soft thud of the receiver being set down and then the distant sound of Soos shouting, “Yo, mister Pines! Got a phone call for you!”
The line was quiet for a minute and then they heard the soft rustling of the phone being picked up.
“...Hello? What'd'ya want?” The voice was thick with the gravel of age and decades of cigarette smoke. It didn’t sound at all like how he’d remembered Stan’s voice at the funeral. Was he sick?
“Hey, Stan. It's Michael— Sherman's kid—”
He was cut off by a cough on the other end of the line, and when he spoke up again, the voice was suddenly the one he’d remembered, smoother and more enunciated. “I know who you are. What can I do for you?”
“I had a, um, favor to ask of you—” There was quiet grumbling on the other side, and Michael started to regret taking his father's advice, but he pushed on. “Do you remember my kids, Mabel and Mason?”
Stan’s voice perked up. “Oh, the twins! They were at my father’s funeral, right? They were sweet kids.”
“That’s them. This might be a lot to ask, but we’re looking to get them out of the house for a little while. There’s some personal stuff we’re working through, and it’s best if the kids aren’t around.” Michael hoped that Stan didn’t ask further questions. Telling his father about his marital issues had been embarrassing enough, but he really didn’t want to explain them to somebody he wasn’t particularly close with.
To his relief, Stan didn’t press. “Well, they can stay here for the summer! I’ve got plenty of room in the old shack, and I bet they’d like Oregon— kids like forests, right? I’d have to clean out the attic, but that wouldn’t be too bad…”
Towards the end of the sentence, his voice started to slip into that gravely pitch, but then he cleared his throat and it was back to normal. “I’d be happy to have them. There’s all sorts of things to do here, and they could help me out at the shack. I'm sure those city kids could use some time in the great outdoors, too.”
It was beginning to sound like Stan was the one trying to convince him. Michael smiled. “Alright, well, I’ve got to clear things with the wife, but I’ll get back to you. Thanks for offering.”
They exchanged goodbyes and Michael hung up the phone. He looked pointedly at his wife. “Well, there’s that problem solved.”
Amy looked more apprehensive. “Are you sure? I mean, you don’t know him very well, are you sure that he’ll actually be able to take good care of the kids?”
“Look, my dad says that he will, and I trust his opinions. He’s a good judge of character. The kids have our numbers; they know they can call us if they don’t feel safe. Besides, we don’t really have another option, do we?”
“I suppose,” Amy sighed, “He did seem really excited. Who am I to deny an old man happiness like that?”
Michael snorted. “That’s settled, then. The kids are going to Gravity Falls.”
Amy called Stan back a few hours later. He answered it himself this time, with a “hello?” in that same raspy voice he seemed to slip into on occasion.
She conversed with him, trying to suss out if he’d be able to properly watch over the kids, but Stan seemed perfectly fine. He said some odd things here and there, but never anything that suggested he was dangerous. Just a harmless, if a bit lonely, old man.
The two of them discussed logistics, agreeing to send the kids there the following week and staying through the end of August. It was sooner than Amy would have expected, and longer too, but Stan insisted it was no trouble. Perks of running your own business, he said, he could rearrange his schedule around the things that mattered.
The things that mattered, his exact words. Amy liked that.
Towards the end of the call, Stan took on a sincere tone. “I really appreciate you guys for doing this. I’m not a young man anymore; once you get to my age you start to really think about what’s important in life. I've spent a lot of time avoiding my family. Don’t take those things for granted, y’hear?”
Amy smiled. “I understand. I’m glad you’re happy to do this, it helps us out a lot.” She paused. “Sherman told Michael about Stanley. So we get it.”
The line went silent for a long time, long enough for Amy to start wondering if she shouldn't have mentioned him.
"Yeah. Stanley." Stan's voice went raspy once more.
The summer without the kids was everything Michael and Amy needed. Between the couples counseling and weekend trips the two of them took to reconnect, the relationship was stronger than ever. They had been worried that divorce was on the horizon, but it turned out that their differences were anything but irreconcilable.
They called with the kids at least once a week, listening to the fascinating tales of make-believe that they came up with. Their stories of ghosts, time travel, and magic never ceased to entertain. Amy and Michael had fun picking out the grains of truth in the stories, like new friends, time spent with their great-uncle, and the boy in town who bothered the kids. That Gideon sure seemed like a character.
Towards the end of the summer it started to seem like something was being left out, the stories still fantastical and enthusiastic, but feeling like there was a piece missing. Michael asserted that one of their children had gotten a boyfriend or girlfriend (probably Dipper, because Mabel would be shouting it from the rooftops), whereas Amy thought they might be getting into mischief that they didn't want to be scolded for.
The second to last week of the summer had no phone call. They called at the regular time, but the phone didn’t even ring. There was just this terrible dial tone, screechy and grating. It almost sounded like someone laughing.
Technical difficulties, they decided. Maybe maintenance.
They kept calling every day, until the call finally went through a couple days later. Downed phone lines, Dipper and Mabel said, from a summer storm.
On the Sunday after classes began, Dipper and Mabel insisted that everyone pile into the car and make the short drive to the Emeryville harbor. They refused to explain why, claiming only that it was a surprise. Mabel seemed to be vibrating with excitement and Dipper refused to sit still, tapping his fingers and fiddling with his new hat.
They arrived at the harbor and were surprised to see Sherman there as well.
“Dad! What are you doing here?” Michael asked, jogging over to him.
“Hell if I know. I got a call from Stanford a few days ago saying he had a surprise for me at the marina,” Sherman said, “Refused to tell me what for. It’d better be good.”
The five of them walked down the pier.
“I wonder…” Sherman said, “When Stanford and Stanley were kids, they used to talk about sailing the world. Maybe Stanford finally decided to make good on that.” He smiled wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be nice. A good way to carry on Stanley’s memory, I think.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Dipper and Mabel lock eyes, big goofy grins on their faces.
Not too much later, they spotted a figure walking towards them and waving them further down the dock. Mabel squealed in glee, taking off towards them with Dipper hot on her heels. Amy jogged after the twins, leaving Michael to accompany the much-slower Sherman.
“Kids, wait!” Amy shouted.
As she got closer, she recognised the contours of Stanford’s face. Older and grayer than he had been at the funeral, but definitely him. He wore a bucket hat and a button-up shirt with cargo shorts, looking ever the picture of an old man on a fishing day.
Stan opened his arms and Dipper and Mabel barreled into him, knocking him a few steps back with the force of their hugs. “Kids!” he said, “It’s so good to see you guys.”
“Ugh, Grunkle Stan, it’s been forever,” Mabel whined, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“It’s literally been two weeks,” Dipper scoffed, and Mabel detached one arm from Stan long enough to cuff him on the head.
“You missed him too, dumb-dumb.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Dipper said, “Maybe.”
“Aww, I missed you too, kids,” Stan responded. He sounded rough again, although this time he made no effort to clear his throat. He looked up at Amy and the still-approaching Michael and Sherman. Something in his face suddenly seemed insecure. “Hello, everybody”
“Stanford,” Sherman called out, “Good to see you made the trip down. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was getting to that! Gimme just a second to say hi to my niece and nephew, will ya?” Stan said, and then turned to lead them further down the dock. “C’mon.”
The five of them followed closely. While Dipper and Mabel chattered to Stan about their school schedules, Amy looked back at Sherman. His face had paled in consternation, eyebrows knitted. His lips were pressed together in a thin line.
Amy went ahead to walk next to Stan. “It’s really good to see you,” she said, “And I’m glad you and the kids had such a good summer. They won’t stop talking about all the ‘adventures’ they went on.” She punctuated the sentence with a wink.
“Oh yeah? Which one did you like best?” Stan asked, a teasing grin in his words.
“The one where you punched a pterodactyl was pretty good,” Amy responded, smiling. “But the secret society was a fun one, too. Kids and their stories, huh?”
Stan laughed. “Oh, yeah, their imaginations are wild. Where do they come up with these things?”
Dipper and Mabel laughed conspiratorially. Amy suddenly felt like there was a punchline she was missing. She changed the subject. “It's so weird— Your voice sounded way different on the phone. Are you feeling alright? It sounds a bit rough."
Mabel looked confused for a second and then gasped, scandalized. “Grunkle Stan!”
“You sounded different talking to my parents?” Dipper murmured, then his eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh, ‘I stole his life’ just clicked for me. I think I get why he was mad now, actually.”
Stan playfully pushed Dipper’s hat down on his head so that the sherpa covered his eyes. “Shaddup, I did what I had to do.”
“Wait, he has a criminal record now!” Dipper fretted.
At that, Amy shifted from confused (very, very confused) to concerned. “Who has a criminal record?”
In lieu of answering, Stan came to a stop in front of a docked trawler. Its fiberglass hull was painted to look like wood, and a variety of antenna and radar dishes poked up from the cabin. “Alright everybody! May I introduce you fine folks to the Stan O’ War! Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Ooh, very nice,” Michael said, “It’s a lovely boat. You going fishing in this thing?”
“Of a sort,” Stan said, “but that’s only half the surprise.”
It was then a that a muffled voice sounded from inside the cabin. “Do I come out now?”
“Man, sixer, where’s your sense of drama?” Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, come out now.”
The moment Stan had said ‘sixer’, Sherman flinched violently. His eyes bulged out of his skull, mouth agape, and he grabbed onto Michael’s shoulder so tightly that his grip bunched Michael's shirt.
The cabin door opened and a man stepped out into the California sunshine. Amy’s first thought was wow, he is not dressed for the weather— he was wearing a turtleneck and trenchcoat— and then the rest of her brain caught up. He… looked like Stan. Almost exactly like Stan.
Sherman gasped sharply and ran towards the boat with a speed that seemed nigh impossible for a man his age. His gaze swung between Stan and the other man over and over, before something finally seemed to click for him.
“Stan…ley?” He asked, staring at Stan.
“In the flesh,” Stan said softly, “I’m s— I’m, um, I wish things didn’t go the way they did.”
“What the fuck? Stanley!” Sherman approached Stan until he was basically toe-to-toe, inspecting his face closely. Stan tensed, as if he was expecting an attack, but Sherman only wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Why would you do this, you asshole? I get that you were involved in some shady business, but you could’ve at least let us know that you were still alive!”
Stan relaxed, hugging Sherman back for the barest of moments before clearing his throat and pulling back. “Look, Shermie, this is really sweet and all, but it’s a bit more complicated than that…” He gestured at the other man. “So, actually, Ford was the one who was gone this whole time. I, uh, kind of assumed his identity? Just a little bit.”
Sherman looked back at the man, Ford, who raised a hand in an awkward sort of greeting. It looked strange, but it took Amy a second to realize why. Ford had too many fingers.
“But.. how? You had it removed, didn’t you? A little while after Stanley…” Sherman grabbed one of Stan’s hands and rotated it so the thumb side was down. A thick white scar, long healed, ran down the length of the side.
“Surgery isn’t the only way to cause a scar, Sherm.” Stan chuckled uncomfortably. Sherman continued to flit his gaze between him and Ford, who stepped down off the boat.
“Hey, Sherman,” Ford said, “It’s been a while. Not that you’d know that.” His voice was deep and smooth, exactly like Stan’s had been over the phone.
Amy looked over to Michael, who was watching the ordeal with an incredulous stare. He turned to meet her gaze and mouthed what the fuck is going on? Amy shrugged, silently responding, I'm just as lost as you.
Dipper and Mabel watched the situation with bare glee. Amy felt like there was probably more cursing going on than they needed to hear, but she sure wasn’t leaving to get them out of here. And, well, they were teenagers now.
“Wait, if you were in Oregon, then where the hell were you? Why’d you help him fake his death? Couldn’t be bothered to tell your family about the whole scheme?” Sherman spun on Ford, appearing to have moved past denial and into anger.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, actually, but rest assured I had no part in the whole ordeal,” Ford said, “You’re probably not going to like the real answer though.”
Sherman looked Ford in the eye and cocked his head, as if to say “try me”.
“I was stuck traveling through different dimensions trying to obtain the necessary weaponry to defeat an ancient demon. Almost managed it, too, before someone brought me back here right as I was about to pull the trigger.” Ford glared over Sherman’s shoulder at Stan, but there was no real malice in it.
There was a long, long moment of silence, and then Sherman finally spoke. “That sounds like the kind of bullshit you’d get into.”
The tension broke so suddenly you could practically hear it snap. Mabel was the first to start laughing, and then Dipper, and then Stan, and Ford, and Amy, and Michael, and finally Sherman, who pulled Stanford into a hug.
Sherman smiled, his eyes glittering, into Ford’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, sixer. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”