Stan let out a deep sigh as he watched three newborn babies contentedly sleep in their crib, their minds filled with warm dreams.
It had been almost two weeks (thirteen days, ten hours, six minutes, eighteen seconds-) since the triplets had been born, and Stan had done all he could to be with them every step of the way, to take care of these new family members (his great-grand-niblings, and wasn't that a kick in the pants), so small and weak and in need of protection. But there was only so much that he could be done, only so much that Mabel and Henry could give to keep him there, and eventually the payment had run dry, the deals ground to a halt.
And so he floated there, intangible, incorporeal, able to watch but not to interfere.
Acacia (fiery Acacia, eldest child) was the left-most in their makeshift heap, and she squirmed slightly in her sleep as her dream shifted from soft pink to a deep, vivid green. Her left arm dangled across the torso of Hank (middle child, firm and true), who was still as a statue save for his deep breathing, his mind engulfed in visions of bright yellow. On the other side of Hank lay Willow (Willow the youngest, Willow who wouldn't be here if not for Dipper and Henry's deal- but she was here, her breaths shallow but steady, and that was what mattered), her dreams swirling with shades of gray and blue and white.
For so long, he never thought he'd get this far. If not for the events of that one fateful August evening, maybe he never would have. But here he was, watching over his great-grand-niblings, the newest links in the Pines family chain, a chain that in his mind's eye he could see stretching on and on and on for millennia after long millennia...
But as Stan stretched his arms out towards the infants, he knew that they would pass right through.
As his hands settled into a rough circle around the triplets, Willow's eyes snapped open, and she began to cry, her shrieks surprisingly loud for one so small.
Stan quickly scanned the room in an attempt to divine what had prompted her awakening, but saw nothing until his gaze settled onto the children once more. Willow was wounded, a slight cut on her forehead leaving a drop of blood trickling down her face, and Stan let loose a number of colorful and multi-lingual obscenities as his mind raced to figure out how she had gotten hurt and what the hell he was supposed to do to help her given that he couldn't even touch the damn kid-
Stan suddenly noticed that the tip of one of his claws was stained a deep red. Brushing against the claw in question, his hand came back stained as well, having made contact with something warm and wet.
It didn't take long for him to put together the pieces.
Stan set his hands below the infants, then gradually raised them up, focusing on whether anything was stopping their progress.
Nothing nothing nothing something.
One hand was cupped around baby Willow now, and he could feel the weight and warmth of her small form resting against him. The other hand, underneath Acacia and Hank, felt nothing at all.
He pressed his other hand to Willow's side, and her cries turned to confused gurgles as he gently lifted her out of the crib.
He didn't know how it had happened (something to do with the deal that saved her life, it had to be- he had thought he might have overdone something along the way there- he could find out what exactly had happened- he wasn't sure he really wanted to know). But now there was someone else that Stan could interact with without having to go through the hassle of making a deal every time, someone else who he could be there for- literally, physically there for- no matter what.
Stan's face settled into a wide grin as he gazed down at Willow's deep eyes and thought of all that they would see in the years to come.
(When a sleep-deprived Mabel entered the room to locate the source of the crying, she was confronted with the sight of one of her newborn children floating in the middle of the room, being rocked back and forth by what looked like thin air.
After taking a moment to process the sight, she burst out laughing.
Life in the Pines family always was an adventure.