So... This story, it's uh... Well a story with a random AU I came up with... Unlike Versability, I can guarantee that there are absolutely no triangles this time around. None. I promise. Not unnamed, not given names like Not A, Dee Man, Gene Uine, Norm Al, T. Rust-Worthy, Hugh Mann... I promise that there will be no triangle demons. Just regular demons. Also ghosts.
Which is the basic premise of this AU. Stanley and Stanford are perfectly happy twin brothers living in Gravity Falls and there are no triangle demons trying to ruin their lives with gateways to unimaginable power. Alright, I'll stop bringing up Bill, starting now. Anyway, they're running a business centered around ghosts. Stan has a funeral home, so vengeful spirits can finally be at peace. (You'd be surprised how many people hate their first funerals.) It's also for people, but it's really the ghosts who give him the business.
Stanford deals with all the objects possessed by ghosts and demons that people bring in. Sometimes they choose to stay attached, other times they go free, and the vast majority of the time, the ghosts choose to stick around the Pines family household because they like the twins. In addition to this, there is a small percentage of times when a ghost is too dangerous to be set free, and so they have to remain. Think Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends meets Wallace and Grommet: Curse of the Wererabbit.
If I were to summarize this AU in one sentence, it would be: Stans are happy twin brothers living happy lives with a bunch of ghosts, and then not-so ghostly twins are shoved into their lives.
I hope people like this idea as much as I do!
Alternate Chapter Title: Stanford Pines is an Owl (And I Wrote a Whole Paragraph to Explain Why that is.)
Read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.
The first storm of summer threatened to start as they walked to the diner. Thunder ominously rumbled, and distant flashes of lightning crackled. The stormy, grey clouds were mostly crowded around the western mountains. Their undersides almost seemed to scrape against the pointed tips, like they were barely squeezing by. The dark clouds were outlined in a bright, shining gold. The setting sun was behind them, rays were still sneaking through the open patches.
There was a bitterly cold edge to the usually humid summer wind. That meant hail was falling somewhere, not far off from them. While the thunder clouds were still distant, the sky above them was a solid, grey. It hid all of the sky from view, like one surface. The wind fiercely whipped at their hair. The twins found themselves leaning forwards against the gale, fighting to walk with their faces towards it. Neither of them was dressed for the coming weather.
Stanford was perhaps the better dressed of the two, but not by much with his red turtleneck and patchy, brown-yellow trench coat. The coat was not waterproof. It fluttered ridiculously in the wind, since the man refused to button it. But, instead of making him "look gritty and mysterious" like he insisted it did, the coat gave one the impression of a bird's wings, wildly flapping. His sweater and large glasses did not help diminish the idea. The turtleneck was puffy, like a bird's down, and his glasses made his eyes look larger than they were. One could not help but think of an owl when they looked at Stanford Pines. A large, flustered, and typically spaced-out owl.
The spaced-out owl was walking with his brother, Stanley. Stanley was as about as ready as Stanford for the coming thunderstorm. That was to say not at all. He was still wearing his work clothes. As a matter of fact, Stanford was as well, but he could show up naked to his work and it wouldn't make that big of a difference. People would raise more than a few questions if Stanley did so, and because of this, he wore business formal: a black blazer with matching pants, and white shirt in good need of a washing. Around his neck was an outdated maroon ribbon tie, so creased, it was obvious that the man had been wearing it for years.
And so, these twins, who were woefully unprepared for the weather walked their way to the town diner. They did so in silence. There was an unspoken understanding that they would not be allowed in the establishment if they were soaked to the bones, and so they needed to hurry. Stanley reached the door first. He held it open for his brother, and gave a mocking bow. Stanford scoffed at the gesture, only to run into the door that followed afterwards. Much like a bird (perhaps even an owl) that had run into a well-polished window.
One could not call the windows and doors of the diner well-polished however. Stanford had just looked away at the wrong place during the wrong time. The windows had spots of dirt and smudged fingerprints all along them. They were greasy from human contact, and some of the ledges had dead or squashed bugs sitting on them. Most of the diner was in a state similar to this.
The vinyl cushions in the booths were overstuffed in some places, and rock hard in others. The seats at the counter were loose, causing a person to spin out of control if their footing slipped. One of the tables had a raccoon living under it, making the gum on the underside the least of a person's problems. That was not the only one of the place's pest problems however. The building was elevated, and a pack of strange beavers had decided to make it their home, despite the fact that it was a solid mile from the lake. Perhaps it had to do with the building's definite resemblance to a large log.
The wooden walls and floors did not help keep them away. The beavers loved eating through the boards. They were scuffed from years of people treading over them. They were splintery, the heads of nails stuck up in the most inconvenient of places, waiting to trip someone up. It was no problem for the locals, all of whom frequented the place. The waitress expertly dodged them, swerving around the suspect floorboards and serving the nearest table.
The diner may have been a dilapidated mess of a greasy spoon, but it did have good coffee, and the service was the best. It was also one of the only places that let one run a high tab. Occasionally a bill would be presented, but the waitresses never really kept proper track of what everyone owed. It was sure to be less than expected. Perhaps this also had to do with Stanley's incessant flirting with the main waitress and cook. But the place remained open, and everyone was happy, so no one questioned it.
Stanford recovered from his fall, adjusting his glasses and blinking owlishly. Stanley hoisted him up by the arm. They took a seat by the window. Stanley caught the waitress' eye from over the counter, she gave a little nod in response. They would have the usual. Not a moment later, two cups of steaming hot coffee was brought over to them. Stanley flattened his fingers and pressed them to his lips, and then gestured towards the woman. She blushed, and fluttered her false eyelashes back at him.
"Oh you silly man! You know I don't understand your silly signs!"
Stanley had not even realized that he had signed his response. He cleared his throat. The man could not recall when he had last spoken, his line of work didn't involve that much speaking aloud. He was still thinking in signs after the latest repeat funeral. Tough crowd those guys had been, it was hard to joke around them with how seriously they were taking everything.
"Thanks." He gruffly replied.
"Oh it was nothing! Your food'll be ready soon! Wink!"
Stanford rolled his eyes when the waitresses turned her back. He rolled his hand forwards. Then he made a V-shape with his fingers, holding it up to his forehead. Stanley didn't need to see any more to know exactly what his brother was asking.
"How stupid can you get?"
"They're not interested in learning." He replied. "No one really is."
"Signs only." Stanford announced aloud. "No more flirting with the waitress. I want to be able to stomach my meal tonight."
Stanley rolled his eyes back at his brother and signed;
"I haven't said a single flattering thing to her yet."
"That's what you said last time. And look how that wound up!"
"You're just jealous. If the waitress liked you instead you would do the same."
The next gesture wasn't true American sign language, but it was a common symbol for something that anyone could recognize. Stanley chuckled at his brother's four-fingered flip-off. But before he could respond, their food arrived.
Both had hamburgers and golden-brown fries, cooked to perfection. Stanley had crisp bacon and melting cheese with his burger. With was smothered with sweet onions and mushrooms. It was dripping with ketchup and mustard. There was a large dill pickle skewered on top of the sesame bun. Stanford had the same as his brother, sans the mustard, and with the addition of mayonnaise.
Out of habit, they both checked underneath the top bun, to make sure there had not been a switch-around. Then, they sampled each other's fries. After a moment of deliberation, they picked up their burgers, and then swapped plates. Stanford liked vinegar with his fries, thus he didn't want them too salty. Stanley liked the combination of the salt with ketchup. Since Stanford's were "better" than his own, they swapped.
As they dug into their meals, it began to spit. Flecks of rain splashed against the windows, and dotted the ground. A clinking sound began, pattering on the roof and against the windows. The hail had arrived, the balls of ice were small, and did not last for long in the ground. They melted quickly. There was a large crash of thunder, the lights of the diner flickered, and there was an involuntary gasp of surprise from everyone. Then, the rain started to pelt down, a solid curtain of water. Steam rose from the sticky, hot ground. It pressed against the window, shrouding the view in white beads of moisture.
The rain went on like this for several minutes, and then suddenly ceased. During this point there was more lightning than ever. Every time there was a flash, the lights would flicker, and everyone would brace themselves for the tiny quakes that followed. Then the spitting started, the hail followed, and then the heavy rain returned. The storm followed this pattern throughout the time they ate their meal.
When they finished, they sat in a comfortable silence, full, and sleepy. There was no need for them to talk, with sign language or with words. The diner was warm and cozy in comparison to the stormy outdoors. It was easy to sit and enjoy the comfortable atmosphere. The twins drained the last drops of their coffee during this time, waiting for the effects to kick in, and the rain to let up. When it finally did, Stanley left a tip on the table, and they went on their way.
It was fully dark now. The streetlights formed organish hallos in the inky darkness, but they could not penetrate very far. Besides, their route took them through the forest, where there were no lights. The lightning would illuminate the area for the briefest of seconds. They would freeze during these times, wondering if it had stricken anything near them. But, they reached their home in once piece, if not a little soaked.
Stanley shook his head, successfully splashing more water at his brother. Stanford was fishing through his pocket for the keys, thus he could not defend himself. But he then took off his coat. He proceed to twist it over his brother's head, giving him a shower. In response, Stanley shoved him off the porch and into the rain. Even though it was pouring and the air snapped with electricity, the twins somehow found themselves slinging mud and water at each other on the front lawn.
Mud coated their glasses and got into their shoes. They sunk into the squishy ground, and their clothing stuck to their skin. Just as it seemed like they had washed off the mud, one of the twin would push another over, and they would be dragged down in revenge. They laughed, mud and grass got into their mouths, but neither of them cared. They couldn't beat the rain, so they may as well join it.
Their fighting stopped when a bright, white light was shone in their eyes. But unlike the lightning, it remained. They both hissed, and covered their eyes. They stood up, squinting at the source. It was a car. Two people got out. They were dressed in bright yellow rain slickers and matching boots.
Stanley looked at Stanford. Stanford looked at Stanley. They were both coated in mud and blades of grass. They may as well be a part of the lawn. They frantically tried to brush themselves off, not wanting to deter any sort of potential customer. The couple was walking up to them. It was impossible to see their faces with their backs to the light. They looked more like silhouettes than anything.
"Are you the Pines brothers?" A man's voice asked.
"That's us!"
"We heard that you take in... Demons?"
"Ghosts mostly. Demons are a little more tricky to-"
"Take them." A woman's voice said, shoving a box in Stanford's arms.
"Hold on, is this a willing situation? Do we have to want them?" Stanley asked.
"We think so." The man said.
"Please, just keep them! We can't-!"
Desperate, frightened people were nothing new when it came to their jobs. So neither was fazed by their scared reactions.
"Alright, we accept. Is there anything we can do for you-"
"Just don't put them together." The man commanded. "Whatever you do, keep them separate, and they can't hurt you."
"Will you want whatever these are-" Stanford shook the box. "Back once we've exorcised them?"
"NO!" They simultaneously yelled.
"Alright, just making sure. Sometimes people inherit heirlooms you know? You wanna' keep them in the family but there's an angry, vengeful demon attached and they decide to make your life miserable..."
They were not interested in hearing their story. The woman retreated to the car. There was another box in her arms, this one much larger than the one Stanford held, and there were holes poked in the side. There was a loud oinking coming from it.
"Is that a pig?"
"It'll placate her. She'll be restless without it if for some reason you put those mirrors together. Which you should never ever do under any circumstances. Even if they try to-"
"Wait is this thing a her or a them? Both? We're gonna' need some specifics here Buddy."
Stanford was more concerned about the fact that they had been given a live pig with their ghost-demon than the nitty-gritty technicalities.
"Hey! We're not qualified to take care of a pig!"
No answer. The couple ran back to the car, slipping and sliding over the mud. There was a screech of tires, and they retreated into the night. The thunder crashed for the umpteenth time, and the rain started to pour down. There was a frightened squeal, and a rustling sound. Stanley had to adjust his grip on the box, the pig was heavy and its squirming wasn't helping. They stared at the empty driveway, dumbstruck. After all, what kind of people dropped off a pig at a possessed object depository? That was just plain weird!
"Whelp, we better get this stuff inside."
They took the boxes to the den. They were both cardboard, hastily sealed over with masking tape. Stanford got the exacto knife, and rescued the pig first. It squealed in fright, and its head burst out of the box. Stanley caught the terrified thing before it could go anywhere. It squirmed and screamed at the top of its tiny lungs. They both cringed. They needed a place to keep the thing while they settled this all. They settled for the bathroom. Stanley placed it in the bath, where it could not climb out. The pig merely slipped along as it paced the length of the tub.
In the meantime, the twins dried off, and put their soaked clothes in the wash. The mysterious box awaited them downstairs. In this box, there were two more boxes. Cases actually, made of a smooth ebony. It was plain, and polished until it had shone. But there were clear dents and scratches on the glossy surfaces. Someone (no doubt the previous owners) had tried to destroy it. Stanford took one case, and Stanley took the other. On the count of three, they flipped the latches and opened them.
In Stanford's, there was a circular mirror. It was gold. He knew it was real because Stanley's eyes grew wide and he smiled when he saw it. His brother could tell these sort of things right away. All around the circular mirror, there was a pattern of vines and leaves. They curled around each other. He turned over the mirror. On the back of it, the vines served as a border for an intricate pine tree. The handle was made of more circles, chains. The leaves traveled down the chains and snaked back to the top again. Stanford hesitated to hold the handle, thinking that he might break the fragile gold leaves.
Stanley also held a mirror in his hands. At first it appeared to be silver, but judging by the excited grin on his face, it was actually platinum. His mirror was a crescent moon in shape. The edges had star patterns on them. There was a shooting star on the back, more little stars and planets glimmered on its tail. The handle of this mirror a twisted design, like two strings twirling around each other. It took a moment for him to think of the right word to describe the look, but it came to him: a French twist. There was some blood on the actual mirror part. Common enough not to worry about. Stanley wiped it off with his thumb, leaving a brown smear on the surface.
"It's a sun and a moon." "It's the air and the land."
The twins looked at each other. Both had spoken out at the same time, and both had their own conflicting opinions on what the mirrors were. They stared at each other for a tense moment, but laughed it off instead.
"Either way, they're definitely worth lot." Stanley said. "We just need to get rid of the ghost, demon, whatever the thing is and we're in the clear! We'll be rich I tell you! Rich!"
"Only if whoever is in here wants to be exorcised." Stanford patiently reminded. "Speaking of which, I'm not seeing anyone."
"Huh. Maybe they're only visible with the mirrors."
They both rose to their feet, and held up the mirrors. Slowly, they pivoted in a circle, trying to spot anyone in the room with them. But the room was empty, all except for the mirror ghosts that were playing cards at the table. They weren't disturbed by anything, so it was safe to assume that no one new had entered the room when they opened the boxes.
"See anything?" Stanford asked.
"Old Lady Sanchez has got a royal flush and all of her money's on the table!"
The other visibly ghosts groaned as Stanley said this. They could hear him after all, even if they could not make any sound in response. The elderly woman triumphantly spread her cards to the group and took their chips. The others started to complain. Their mouths were moving but no sound could be heard. One woman turned to Stanley and started to sign more complaints towards him. Stanley gave her a grin and shrugged, before signing back.
"He was the one who wanted to know."
"I meant the newcomer you Knucklehead!"
"Nope. Nothing." Stanley said aloud. "Besides, didn't that guy say we shouldn't put them together? It must need that to appear!"
"Hm, that's usually only common in powerful entities, as a safeguard to keep hellish forces from breaking free and wreaking havoc against the entire universe." Stanford said, rubbing his chin. "Fascinating isn't it? Anyway, let's put 'em together Stanley, and meet our new tenant!"
"Whelp, I don't see any safety issues with that!" Stanley said, completely serious. "On three then. One, two-"
"THREE!"
The circle mirror fit perfectly within the crescent moon, forming one, large circular mirror. Stanley and Stanford tensed, awaiting some sort enormous reaction. But nothing happened. They just held one large mirror made of two smaller ones in their hands. It was very anti-climatic given all the ominous signs surrounding the things. They held up the mirror, wondering if the demon-ghost (or whatever it was, they really needed to clear that up soon) would become visible. However, all they saw was Old Lady Sanchez killing the others in cards.
"Well that was lame."
They both let out the breath they had been holding, disappointed with their results.
"I was hoping there would be a lot more fire and intimidating imagery."
"Maybe it's not the lady's style."
"Lady?"
"They called them a she. It's her pig we got." Stanley explained.
"What if they're a them? Or a he?"
"It's usually the ladies that prefer to be subtle for a bit."
"How do you know they're not just shy?"
"We can sweat the ghost nomenclature later Poindexter."
"Didn't they say they are a demon?"
"Later." Stanley repeated. "Because I'm just about ready for bed after a disappointment like that."
"I'm sure they'll show up when they're feeling ready."
"'Course they will." Stanley yawned. "Night."
"Goodnight."
Stanley left, stretching and yawning as he did so. Stanford yawned too, it was contagious. He wondered if he should leave the mirrors together, or separate them. Perhaps the demon-ghost needed to regain some strength. Powerful entities usually had some sort of draining curse on them to prevent large amounts of destruction. So it was probably best to let whoever was in there recharge for a bit, so they could communicate. Stanford decided to lock up all the knives and flammables in the house, just in case they were in a destructive mood. They would show up when they wanted to, so they would just have to wait.
Stanford said goodnight to the ghosts in the room, and switched off the lights as he made his way to bed. That dinner and following mud-fight had tired him out. He needed a nice, long rest after everything today. Leaving so early for bed meant that no one saw the abandoned mirrors shine brightly on the table. Nor did anyone see the two ghostly figures that appeared from them.
