I do not own Gravity Falls.

This is an idea I had that wouldn't leave me alone, so I thought I'd give it a shot and see what you guys think about it. I've never written something like this before, so let's see how this goes.

Heads up, this story contains corporal punishment.

The Late-Night Fight

"Are you cray-cray?"

His right sneaker dangling in his hand, Dipper cast an annoyed glare at his sister. Mabel was watching him from her bed, a magazine resting in her lap and Waddles cuddled by her side. "No, I'm not. What's the big deal?"

Mabel arched an eyebrow. "It's enough of a struggle to get Grunkle Stan to let us use his car on any old day. But at midnight? You're dreaming."

"I'm only gonna be gone for a couple of hours."

"What are you doing again?"

"The arcade is hosting a midnight gamer bash," he replied, shoving his socked foot into his sneaker and tying up the laces. "The winner gets free games for a week. How can I miss this?"

"Easily," muttered Mabel.

Stepping to the floor, Dipper straightened up, adjusted his dark blue beanie and cast his sister a knowing look. "Because you totally wouldn't do the same thing if it happened to be a half-off sale at the Craft Barn."

Shifting her gaze back and forth, she could not come up with a proper rebuttal and conceded, "Fair point. But you shouldn't get your hopes up. There's no way Grunkle Stan is going to let you borrow his car."

"No harm in trying."

Shrugging on his orange hoodie, Dipper gave his sister a wave and left the attic, skipping down the stairs and entering the hallway. He could hear the sounds of the television coming from the living room, which meant his great-uncle was settled for the night. Picturing the keys to the Stanley Mobile, which hung on the hook by the front door, Dipper took a quick breath.

"Bye Grunkle Stan I'm gonna borrow your car and go to the arcade I'll be back okay bye!"

He was only five steps towards freedom when Stan shouted, "Whoa! Slow your roll slick, and get in here."

Frowning, Dipper reluctantly turned on his heel and walked into the living room. He knew his attempt at a quick escape was foolish, but he figured it had been worth a shot. Now he was going to have to try and argue with his stubborn guardian into letting him use his beloved car for the night.

Good thing he was just as stubborn.

"What?" asked Dipper innocently, pausing in the doorframe and leaning against the wood.

Stan muted the television and shifted in his armchair so he could glare at his nephew. "I heard 'borrow' and 'car'. Is my hearing aid busted again or did you just really have the gall to ask to use my car at midnight?"

"Come on, it's only for a few hours," protested Dipper. "I'm just going to the arcade."

"There is no way I'm letting you use my baby this late at night," snorted Stan. "Nice try, but no cigar."

"So what, am I supposed to walk?" he asked, irritation leaking into his tone. "You're going to be sorry if I get mugged on my way there."

"Watch your tone, buddy. First off, you're not gonna get mugged. You know everybody in this town. Second of all, who said you're going anywhere?"

It took a moment for Dipper to process these words. When he did his eyes widened in horror and he cried, "What? You can't be serious!"

"Does this face look like I'm joking?" countered Stan. "If you wanted to go to the arcade you should have done so sooner."

"You can't go to a midnight gamer-bash at five in the afternoon," said Dipper, fists clenching at his sides as he realized that his plans for the night were about to be ruined. "You never cared about a curfew before. Why start now?"

Stan frowned sharply at him. "There's a difference between a bedtime and a curfew, kiddo. Name one time I let you or your sister leave this place after dark with my permission."

Dipper frantically tried to think of an example, but he was frustrated to discover that Stan had a point. Though the twins were allowed to stay up relatively late, they had never been allowed to leave the Mystery Shack without Stan or Ford. Even when they had gone with Wendy and her friends to explore the abandoned convenience store when they were twelve, they still had been back by eight.

"Grunkle Stan, please, I've been looking forward to this! All the gamers in town and the surrounding area are going to be there. It's only for a few hours!"

"Do you know what happens at the arcade after hours?" asked Stan with a raised brow. "I know someone's gonna smuggle alcohol in there. I was young once. I know the tricks. You're sixteen. You don't need to be around people like that."

"So why don't you come with me, if you're so worried?" snapped Dipper.

"Because I'm not gonna spend my night surrounded by sweaty adolescents fighting over some games while getting drunk," said Stan coolly. "Discussion over. Go do something with your sister or Ford."

"No, the discussion is not over," said Dipper forcefully. "This isn't fair! You'd go if Mabel asked. You'd do whatever Mabel wanted. But you never want to do what I want to do! All I want is to borrow your car and chill for a few hours. I'm not asking the world. But no, apparently you don't trust me enough!"

Stan stood up abruptly, and Dipper was disgruntled to see that even after his growth spurt his great-uncle still loomed above him by several inches. But he did not heed this obvious warning sign. He stood straight-backed and only glared more fiercely.

"You're treading a fine line there squirt," growled Stan, eyes narrowing at the boy. "I said no. You're not going anywhere tonight, you sure as heck aren't going anywhere for the rest of the week. You're grounded."

Dipper's face fell in dismay. "For what?!"

"For back-talking," snapped Stan, fed up with his nephew's insolence.

"But that's not fair!"

"Life's not fair. Get upstairs."

Trembling with rage and indignation, Dipper glared up at Stan and hissed, "No."

Taking advantage of the wide-eyed shock crossing his great-uncle's face, Dipper took off in the direction of the front door. If he couldn't drive to the arcade, then he'd walk, or take the golf cart. He'd do whatever it took in order to get to where he wanted to go.

Or that was his plan, anyway.

But in hindsight, he could admit to being a fool for thinking he'd be able to escape. Stan may have been in his early seventies, but he was fitter and faster than most middle-aged people. Travelling the sea and fighting the supernatural could really keep you in shape. So instead of feeling surprise when a hand landed on his arm, he felt only a curl of dread in his gut.

"Let me go!" he cried, yanking his arm desperately.

Stan's grip was iron-clad, and his face was a thundercloud. Dipper flinched as he was hauled against his great-uncle's side. When the first smack landed sharply on his bottom, he knew better than to continue struggling.

He could not stop the yelp from leaving him as the next three swats hit in rapid succession. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to focus on his breathing as his bottom began to burn from the repetitive smacks.

Slap!

The noise seemed to echo throughout the kitchen as Stan's calloused hand connected against Dipper's jean-clad bottom for the seventh, and what felt like the hardest, smack. "Ow!" he cried out, wiggling madly as what felt like flames seemed to spread across the area. "Grunkle Stan!"

"Unless you want this to linger on I suggest you stand still, Mason," growled Stan, giving his nephew a slightly harder blow to emphasize his warning.

Dipper cringed, a well of shame rising within him. For Stan to use his real name, he had really crossed the line. He whimpered as more slaps struck his sore behind. Though he was wearing jeans and boxers, it didn't seem like they offered any protection from Stan's hand.

Deciding fifteen licks to be enough, Stan let go of the teen and Dipper hastily moved a few steps away. His face was red with humiliation, guilt and anger and he couldn't find it in himself to look his great-uncle in the eye. Staring at the tiles of the floor, he stood in stony silence, waiting for Stan to speak.

"Go to bed," ordered Stan. "I don't want to see you down here for the rest of the night and I don't want to hear a word from you."

The dismissal hurt more than Dipper cared to admit. Eyes wet, he walked quickly past Stan and darted up the stairs, only rubbing at his stinging backside when he was out of sight.

Mabel, who had just settled in for the night, looked up when her brother burst into the attic. Sympathy immediately flooded through her when Dipper threw himself into his bed, crying softly into his pillow. "Aw, Dipping-Dots," she said softly.

Waddles hopped up from her bed and went to comfort her distressed sibling. Knowing the punishment Dipper had received and not wanting to make it worse by trying to get him to talk, she tiptoed over to his bedside and sat beside him.

As she rubbed soothing circles into his back, she decided this was one moment where she wouldn't say 'I-told-you-so'.

…

"Rough night?"

Slowly opening his eyes, Stan tilted his head back to see his brother standing behind him, two sodas in hand. "You've no idea. Don't we have any beer?"

"Nope." Ford extended one of the cans and Stan sat up, accepting the beverage with lackluster movements. "You okay?"

"Not really," muttered Stan. His anger had sapped right out of him the second Dipper scampered out of sight. He was now exhausted and moody and subdued. "Dipper hates me now, so that's new."

Ford clicked his tongue and sat down beside his brother. "He does not."

"Alright, so he didn't say it, but I know he was thinking it."

"I didn't realize you could read minds."

"This family is full of wise-guys," grumbled Stan, taking a long chug from his drink. The caffeine buzz did little to comfort his frazzled nerves. "Kid wanted to borrow my car."

Ford's eyebrow flew upwards. "At this time? He couldn't have expected you to say yes."

"Oh, he did," snorted Stan. "But it wasn't so much the car that set him off. He was ticked that I wouldn't let him go to the stupid arcade in the first place." He stared at the black screen of the television, which he had turned off after his argument with Dipper. "He gave me lip, tried to storm off, and I spanked him. So yeah. Pretty sure he hates me."

"It's not the first time you've had to do that, Stanley," said Ford with a roll of his eyes. "The kids know our rules and they know the consequences. Dipper tried to walk out on you after you clearly told him no. He knows he deserved it."

"Still doesn't feel good," muttered Stan.

"Of course it doesn't," said Ford gently. "But in the end, it's for their own good. He'll get over it."

"Kids get over it," said Stan dubiously. "Teenagers build up resentment that they carry throughout their life."

Ford punched his brother lightly in the shoulder. "Not all teenagers were like you, Lee," he said in bemusement. "Though I can't say Dad didn't deserve it."

Letting out a long sigh, Stan took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. "Why'd we agree to take in teenagers?"

Ford's lips quirked upwards. "Simple. We love them."

"Huh. Good reason."

"Go to bed, Stanley." Ford clapped him on the shoulder and stood up. "Things will be better in the morning."

"Yeah. I hope so."

He could handle many things, but having his niece or nephew mad at him was not one of them.

…

Morning broke over the town of Gravity Falls, but Dipper was already wide awake. Sitting on the edge of his bed, in his green pajama pants and blue sleep shirt, he stared sadly at the wooden floor. He'd been replaying the fight with Stan in his mind for hours, and he couldn't stop kicking himself. He'd been rude and disrespectful and completely out of line.

"Hey, bro-bro."

Mabel scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and cast her sibling a smile. Dipper managed a weak one in return. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Well, my butt could be better," Dipper replied. He'd been trying to ignore the persistent, mild stinging in his backside, but it was difficult with the fabric rubbing against the tender area. "I really messed up."

"So you got into a fight. It's not the first time it's happened," reasoned Mabel.

"I know. But I never really stormed out on him before. He told me I was grounded and I pretty much tried to leave the house at the next second." Dipper tucked his knees against his chest. "I overreacted because he wouldn't let me use the car or go to the arcade."

"Hey, we're teenagers. Sometimes the little things make us go cuckoo-bananas," she returned. "Dipper, Stan's going to forgive you. His love isn't conditional."

A tiny smile formed on Dipper's face at that. "I know. But I still feel bad." He climbed out of his bed and nervously tugged on his beanie. "I haven't even apologized yet."

"Then onwards!" cried Mabel, pointing towards the attic door. "I'm gonna sleep some more. Probably forever."

With that, she promptly flopped back into her pillows and tugged her blankets over her body. Shaking his head fondly, Dipper left the attic and jogged down the stairs. He could hear someone puttering about in the kitchen, and the scent of coffee was beginning to permeate the air. Biting down on his bottom lip, Dipper veered towards the front door, not quite ready to go face-to-face with his great-uncle yet.

Maybe the newspaper is here.

Easing open the door, Dipper peeked outside and found the bundle on the porch. He snagged it and closed the door, his eyes landing on the front-page story.

'Fighting Gets Real at Midnight Gaming-Bash!'

Wide-eyed, Dipper read through the story, which detailed the events of a massive fist fight that had erupted between some drunk out-of-towners. The fight had caused quite a few injuries and arrests, and the entire gaming event had been shut down so the police could deal with the aftermath of the brawl.

He was right. Grunkle Stan was right.

If he had gone, there was a good chance he would have been a causality of that fight, or least been forced to be a witness for the investigation. Feeling worse than ever, Dipper hung his head and shuffled towards the kitchen.

Grunkle Stan had my best interests at heart, and I lashed out at him. Smart move, Dipper.

The sixteen-year-old paused in the kitchen entryway, his stomach a knot of nerves. Stan finished pouring his cup of coffee and turned around, startling slightly at the sight of his nephew.

"Geez, kid, make a sound or something!"

Slowly lifting his head, Dipper held out the newspaper silently. Confused, Stan accepted it, and realization quickly dawned when he read the headline. He lifted his eyes and met the gaze of his nephew, remorse and guilt clearly written across his face.

"I'm sorry," whispered Dipper. "I'm really, really sorry."

Setting the newspaper aside, Stan held out his arm with a warm, fond smile. "You little idiot. C'mere."

Heart lifting, Dipper crossed the kitchen and went into his great-uncle's tight, loving embrace. "I should have listened to you," he murmured, resting his head against Stan's chest. "But I kinda went a little crazy."

"Well, you're a teenager. Teenagers are pretty crazy and don't make a lot of sense." Stan tugged playfully on Dipper's beanie before easing back. Smirking, he teased, "How's your butt?"

Dipper wrinkled his nose, a flush of embarrassment blooming over his face. "Still stings. You've got a hard hand."

"Hmm. Apparently not hard enough, if you continue to do stupid things," said Stan in amusement. "Keep it up and you're gonna give me grey hair." When Dipper grinned at him, he poked the teen in the nose and warned, "No cracks, slick."

"I wasn't," returned Dipper with a laugh.

"Sure you weren't." Expression turning serious, he continued, "Kid, you know I trust you, right?"

Remembering the words he had thrown out during their fight, Dipper winced. "Yeah, I know. That wasn't fair of me."

"I wouldn't have given Mabel different treatment, either. She and I may have more in common, but that doesn't mean I love her more than you. Got it?"

Dipper smiled softly. "Got it."

Satisfied, he glanced behind him to check on the pancakes sizzling in the pan. "Speaking of your sister, go get her. Breakfast is almost ready. I'll see if I can wrangle Ford out of his dark lair."

"Okay. I love you."

Warmth and affection flooded through Stan at Dipper's sincere declaration. "Love you too, runt." He gave the teen a noogie and added with a knowing grin, "But you're still grounded."

"Aw, rats."