Author's Notes: (Reposted from AO3, Edited to suit )

Shermaine Pines is based on a bunch of head-canons I posted about the youngest Pines child, Shermy. This is essentially an AU where Shermy is the twins grandmother. That's it, everything else is canon compliant. She's 17 younger than the Stan twins (and yes she is the baby in ATOTS, slight timeline fuckery was needed. For time-lining reasons the current day is 2015 not 2012 as in the show canon. ) This fanfic started as a series of drabbles I wrote which show her and her brother(s) and the overall the state of her family at various ages. Later chapters include Mabel, Dipper and their father. Chapters are not in chronological order, that's intentional.

Also my head-canoned Pines family is hella Jewish, but I am not. I did my best to research the situations I wrote about but I apologies if I've inadvertently made any mistakes and would welcome corrections. I want to be respectful as possible here.

I track the tag 'shermaine pines tag' on tumblr if you want to ask me anything or tag me in anything related to this story. Here is an Extended Pines Family tree (with dates) and here is the 8tracks soundtrack that goes hand-in-in with this fic.

In case it's not made completely clear, any reference to Stanford "Ford" Pines in this chapter is actually his twin pretending to be him. This chapter takes place very very recently after the portal incident of '82, as"Ford" says less than two weeks. Yeah, Grunkle Stan is attending his own funeral. With a sister he's not seen since infancy. Good Job Stan.

Shermy Pines was fed up with her family.

Her father hadn't spoken a word of English to her in two whole days, instead communicating solely in nods and grunts. The shop was closed while they were away, but Pop hadn't spoken a word about money either despite his usual banter about profits and losses.

Her mom, on the other hand over spoke. She jabbered on and on about anything she could possibly think of: school, crystals, current events, work, stories anything that wasn't the issue that everyone was skirting around.

Her brother, Stanley was dead.

She'd heard her father on the phone to Ford, the night it happened. He'd been in an accident and crashed his car. The paramedics had pronounced him dead at the scene.

She'd never really heard much emotion in her Pop's voice apart from anger, disgust and his own brand of Fake Salesman Happiness. But, lying there in her own bed staring at Ford's old glow-in-the-dark constellations she had stuck to the ceiling, through the plywood-thin apartment walls 11-year-old Shermaine Pines heard her father cry.

She didn't know what to do with all these adults around her. Grownups had weird feelings with weird logic she couldn't understand. Her mom was sad and she kept crying, that at least seemed like a reasonable reaction but she only let herself cry when she thought no one was looking, and that was what confused her daughter.

She wasn't going to get in trouble for missing her son but still she was carrying on like she didn't miss him. To what end? Shermy couldn't see.

Perhaps it was some kind of competition? Her parents were competing who could show the least human emotion. It left a uncomfy feeling in her gut.

It was almost like her parents had been replaced by the golems from the creepy stories her Grandpa had told her. They moved around the house breathing earth and clay, and Sherm was the only Pines left made of flesh and blood, at least until her brother got there, that was.

"Hey Shermaine." Was all her brother had said to her when he got into the family car, at the airport.

He got in the backseat across from her, pushing his glasses up his nose like they were too small for him.

Six years and all she'd had was the odd phone call and a maybe a present or two for her birthdays or Hannukah. Six years and he'd left her an only child. He'd left her alone with Mom and Pop. She'd been alright, she'd created her own stories and fantasy worlds but Stanford was never there.

"It's been a long time, huh?" he added.

She didn't acknowledge him, instead watching the many paths of the raindrops dripping down the car window glass. Some drops mixed together into bigger ones others split and divided like crossroads leaving criss-cross sweater patterns in their trails.

Ford lapsed into silence, watching her. She glanced at him briefly, the brother she once idolised. There was a confusing degree of discomfort she felt when looking at him. Everything was tangled up and complicated.

Well, maybe Ford would understand what was going on but how could she explain it to him? He didn't even look like the big brother she remembered from when she was younger. He looked like a different person.

"Don't call me that. "she said, lips thin, her toes curled up tight inside her sneakers.

She spoke with far more bitterness than was probably ever expected from an eleven year old child, but bitterness that she had had plenty of chance to learn listening to her mother's pessimistic psychic patter on the phone.

He started, his tired smile dying on his lips.

"Oh. Okay. Sure. Whatever." He stared back at the headrest in front of him, his eyes all misty like they weren't actually seeing anything.

"Shermy! Don't be rude to your brother." Her mother scolded, glaring at her in the rear view mirror.

She stuck out her lip. She wasn't being rude, she thought. Still not brave enough to answer back to her mother. She just didn't like her full name. She preferred Shermy.

Okay, yes, that and she had yet to make up her mind if could stay mad at her brother.

They stopped at a gas station on the way home from the airport. She waited until her Pop got out to pay and her Mom went inside to use the bathroom.

Then she took her chance.

"Everyone's acting so weird, Ford. Ihate it."

She bunched her hands into fists and buried her knuckles in the fabric of her jeans. Staring at the white bumps of bone beneath her skin.

"Yeah, kid. I know." He sighed, shaking his head, "Family is weird."

"Pop acts like he's got no feelings but nobody's stopping him from having feelings." She laughed, a little nervous. "It's not like the feelings police are going to lock him up because he loved his son and he's sad that he never told him!"

Stanford's eyebrows shot up, but she kept talking.

"Ugh, and Mom is everywhere at once she's so fluttery, she's giving me butterflies. It's like she has to put on this big play about how okay she is when… when..." her voice gave out on her.

She looked up him, searching his face for something she could remember. Taking in his eyes the same brown as hers, the 'Pines family nose', something their father and grandfather shared. The bags under his eyes, the tiny cuts on his chin and his stubble, his beat up glasses.

Shermy shook her head, her little fists squeezed even tighter. A few darker spots appeared on her jeans diffusing out like ink blots into tissue.

Through measured, hiccuping tears, she tried hard to keep her voice understandable. Was this how her mother felt? Maybe she was in the right. Maybe she'd be better off a golem.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts.

"I'm not stupid. I know what's happening, Ford. I know he's dead."

Her voice came out sounding very pathetic in her own ears. Hands clenched tighter, she pushed them harder into her thighs.

"I never even got to meet Stanley… Mom and Pop wouldn't let me. Maybe if I had I'd be able to understand and maybe then I could feel sad too like a normal person but right now, I can't. Is that bad? Am I a bad sister?"

Stanford stared at her, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"H-Hey there. Shermy-Sherm. Don't cry, you'll just make this weirder, for both of us."

She smiled at the dumb nickname, but that just made her cry more. Ford sat there for a bit. She could hear him stammering in uncertainty about what to do.

There was a click. Shermy looked up, Ford had unbuckled his seat-belt and shuffled into the middle seat so she would look at him. His hand in a black six-fingered glove rested on her shoulder.

Six fingers. She remembered that. She remembered the six fingers from when she was tiny, the six fingered hands that would help her balance on fence posts so she could walk along the top: the queen of her domain. Six fingered hands that had bought her the best books for her birthdays, books with pictures; a book with full colour pages of galaxies and when she was older, an illustrated atlas that she used to help her come up with settings for the stories and plays she made up with her school friends.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind, that this man, staring right at her, was her Stanford.

Her brother sighed. "Look kid. If anyone needs to be questioning their attitude it's me. You're eleven, and I don't mean that you shouldn't be upset because you're eleven, I mean the argument that made I- Stan leave is almost older then you are, and it was between me and my brother only. You were an actual baby when I- Ah, when he left."

Something in his phrasing got on her nerves, lying in wait. A little niggle of doubt and frustration.

"Our brother, Ford. Stanley was our brother. Mom and Pop wouldn't let me be his sister. Please don't you do it too!"

There was a brief pause in their heart-to-heart. She wiped at her face and nose with the back of her hand, turning her her focus back to the patterns her tears had made on the denim of her jeans. Her brother cleared his throat but said nothing for a while.

"I'm sorry, Sherm. " he said finally, he looked so much older than he was, much more his father today than anytime she remembered. "No one should be leaving you out of this, you're right. You're my sister, you're our baby sister. You're not a bad sister either, you are not to blame and anyone who says otherwise is talking bull. We're not going to forget about you, kiddo." Ford wiped at her cheek with a the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

She didn't have any more words, just more very quiet tears. She buried her face into his padded shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her in response, a little uncomfortable, a lot unsure of himself.

They were still like that when their parents returned. Her Pop didn't even acknowledge it, merely straightened his hat in the rear mirror, but Ma Pines looked on the verge of tears herself.

"What's wrong?" her mother asked, soft-voiced and worried.

She felt Ford shake his head. With her ear so close to his chest his voice boomed straight into her head when he spoke.

"Nothing you can fix, Mom." He said "Just leave her be."

He shifted his arm slightly so he wrapped up in a tighter side hug, with one six-fingered hand resting on her shoulder.

They stayed like that for the duration of the car ride home.

Now in her uncomfortable best Black dress she felt like she should be the one to be give Ford a hug. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of the full length mirror in their parents room.

He threw his hands up in the air with a noise of frustration as, he went to change his tie for the fifth time that day, finally returning with an old tweed bow tie that was definitely not their father's.

Her dress was starched so much she was pretty sure it could wear itself. The blue and white ribbons in her hair were her mother's final concession to let her keep some colour in her. She wasn't going to let these monochrome vampires bleed her Shermyness dry, so she'd put some flowers from the planters in her ponytail when her Mom was preoccupied.

Her Pop had disappeared early this morning only just now having come back. He smelt like whiskey and cigar smoke, it followed him around like a sad cloud. It hung in the car on the way to the funeral service, it stained his fingers yellow when he stopped to pat his daughter's cheek before they entered the funeral home. Together as a family.

The funeral home, was three quarters full, surprising, Sherm thought, considering how many of her relatives had actively disliked her eldest brother. Her aunt Selma had started crying before the service had even began. The very same woman who at her cousin's bar mitzvah not even a year ago had been loudly proclaiming how:

"We're just glad we never raised a Stanley." A glass of wine too many and she was ready to throw her own nephew under the bus.

No, she didn't get to recover from that in Shermy's mind.

"Evil witch," she hissed into Ford's ear, trying to force as much contempt she could into her glare as her eleven-and-three-quarter-year-old self could muster. "-She couldn't be happier to be rid of him when he was alive. She's so fake. I hate her" Ford actually chuckled, surprising her and drawing attention from their surrounding relatives. He tried to disguise it as a solemn coughing fit, buried in the crook of his elbow. But when the others looked away he shot his sister a knowing wink.

Before the service they had to stand up, her Ford and their parents. They were each given black ribbon pinned to their clothes.

"Ford.." she hissed again in a panic, elbowing him in the ribs when he didn't react. "What's the ribbon for? I've never been to a funeral before."

"It's okay, I'll help you do it, basically wait Mom and Pop start and rip it as hard as you can." He paused, and then with a sad lopsided smile he added: "It might help if you think about Aunt Selma." Shermy frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

The rabbi gave the signal. Ancient words she didn't understand, came booming recited in her father's voice deep and rich. Then the, sound of ripping.

On Shermy's left, stood her mother shaking like a leaf, with tremory hands she made her precise little tear. Her legs thin and trembling like they couldn't support the weight of her loss. Seventeen years of love and care, and ten more of grief bearing down on her dainty shoulders.

There were some things that even the most together eleven-year-old could not handle. Seeing your parents – the ones who clothed and bathed you, who taught you everything, who despite their glaring flaws loved you to the best of their ability –seeing them so very broken up, their faces all crumpled paper bags crying in their best suit and dress. Their eyes like frosted glass.

It was terrifying to a little girl. She felt everything too keenly. The emotions built up and up in a crescendo of feelings.

Finally she got so overwhelmed she tore at the ribbon with all her pent-up anger and fear. She tore it hard, staring down at the ripped ribbon and her shoes. When the rabbi started talking she was swimming in her anger, it lodged in her throat like a metaphorical frog.

She returned to her seat, ribbon pinned to her dress. She was angry, thinking about a family who pretended to care for a ghost and she was hurt, thinking about what it meant when what had always been two was now left with one.

The service itself was painful, a lot of adults talking in the same tone of voice,, many who Shermy suspected hadn't cared the slightest bit about Stanley when he was alive. Her father made a short speech, as did Stanford. Both were uncomfortable and shaky. Both spent more time expressing regret than talking about the man himself.

After that there was a long bit in Hebrew she didn't understand at all. Then at the end, her mother took her hand, squeezing it tight like it was the only thing still keeping her on the ground as they left the funeral home, followed by the box that held what was left of the brother she never met.

It wasn't raining at the Cemetery. In fact it was pretty and green with decorative gardens of tulips kept in uniform coloured squares, that Shermy would have gone to inspect in any other situation but this one.

'The Addams Family' had lied to her again! There weren't any visible cobwebs or skeletons, just rows of raised marble headstones and markers.

And an open grave.

Her stomach started with a somersault and ended up doing a whole Olympic routine.

Stanley's grave.

"Son of a…." At her side, Ford froze mid-swear as he remembered her presence. He trailed off. "Uh. I mean this is just.."he shuddered, gesturing at the grave they stood beside.

"I can't believe … I mean two, three weeks ago if you told be I'd be burying my twin brother before me. I don't think I'd have believed you." He said, shaking his head.

Shermy's eyes began to prick. She looked from her brother to the grave, and back from the grave to her brother. She stared at her feet, her good leather shoes sprinkled with dust from the gravel driveway.

"It's not fair." She whispered, clinging with limp hands, to Ford's jacket at the hem.

"It never is, kiddo." He replied, watching the rest of the mourners arrive at the graveside in shades of black and gray. The hearse and pall-bearers visible from the parking lot. Shermy scrunched up her face, with all her righteous indignation at the universe.

"Bu-but it's like breaking up a pair!"she cried.

Something dark hurt, and angry passed over Stanford's face, but it didn't last more this a second.

He took a gloved hand from his pockets and clasped her hand in his.

"It is, sweetie. That's exactly what it is."

The graveside service was a lot less adults talking about things they knew nothing about and more, everyone reciting prayers she didn't know the words to. She didn't mind that so much, the sounds washed over her in waves of comfort.

Most of the words held no meaning for her, but still felt reassuring, with lilts and falls like a song from another time. Shermy shut her eyes tight. In her world there was nothing else but the peaks and crests of Hebrew and the warmth of Ford's gloved hand in hers.

Once the rabbi had read the final prayers, it was time for the burial. Sherm was grateful her mother had at least explained that bit to her before they got there.

The family waited til the extended network of cousins and aunts and uncles had all placed their handful or shovelful of dirt on to the casket, then it was their turn.

Her father took a while, shovel ling several lots of dirt then standing staring at it, his lips moving constantly. He looked a lot older, Shermy thought, without his hat on. Finally he looked back at his remaining son and daughter and nodded once solemnly. A man of few words as always

Her mother was up next, she stumbled forward like a baby giraffe. Where her Pop had used the back end if the shovel her mother used her hands, She fell down on both her knees, the ground scratching up her stockings. She knelt forward visibly sobbing emptying fistfuls of earth into the grave, her palms turned upwards facing the sky, dirt falling through her fingers until, she doubled over wailing. A primal screeching nose, that burned like bile at the back of Shermy's throat.

Filbrick Pines, rushed to his wife's side.

"Opal, Opal. Come on, darl." Her father's voice; usually hard as reinforced steel, was soft and full of a kindness Shermy never recalled hearing before.

He wiped his clay-stained hands on his suit pants first. Then gently he helped his wife up to stand, enveloping her in a bear hug. One hand on the small of her back another on the back of her head, pressing against the braid she wore her thick dark hair in.

"He's not there Opal. He's gone to another place now." Filbrick said gently, trying his darnedest to console her. He glanced back at Ford and Shermy once more before slowly helping her stumble forward.

Their mother's sobbing was still audible as their father led her away even when they were out of view.

Ford cleared his throat hurriedly, and gave her hand a long squeeze.

"Come on, Shermy-Sherm. Let's go together." he said, straining to keep his tone upbeat.
She nodded.

Her world was slowly spinning out of control and she didn't know how to fix it. The only constant thing to her right now was her brother's six-finger hand in her own.

They approached the grave together. It was so very underwhelming, a wooden box and a hole in the earth, she was at least hoping for some kind of ornate Scooby-Doo catacomb. But it couldn't be less conspicuous if it tried.

Shermy stood there deadly silent. She had to soak in every detail, this was an important thing, of that she was certain.

There was: A pile of dirt,a hole in the earth, and a box containing her dead brother.

In the muddy grass in front of the dirt pile there were the imprints of her mother's knees. A shiver ran down her was such a wrongness to today.

"Do you know what to do?" Ford asked, picking up the shovel from where their father had dropped it.

She nodded. "I do. It's just I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, kid. I'm sure he'd understand."

"But I want to!" she cried staring at Ford, her eyes wide and shining.

Her brother waved towards the dirt "Off you go then."

"Can you go first?" she asked "Please, Ford. You knew him better!"

Stanford sighed, running a hand back through his hair.

"Ah, fine sure. Move out the way a bit."

Ford stuck the shovel in and pulled up a huge mound of dirt, he held it over the edge of the hole, so the dirt showered down like raindrops.

He stepped back and wiped at his eyes and brow.

"Look F-f… brother….I'm sorry. I'm sorry for- what happened…I wish I'd never…. " He trailed off and kicked at a clod of earth with a guttural noise of frustration.

He tried to speak again and it came out in mumbles, "Look, what I mean is, you were right… I'm such an idiot."

He shoveled up another lump of earth and poured it on top of the box.

"I was just stuck in the past. I'm a selfish piece of…" he stopped, glancing at Shermy "Uh…piece of work. You didn't deserve all this. I- If I could tell you I was sorry face to face than I'd do it. In a heartbeat."

He lay down the shovel with a thump.

"But hey, instead here's me, talking to a great big hole in the ground."

He walked a little way off just to put space between himself and the grave, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

After a pause he nodded for his sister to step closer.

"Your turn now, kid", he said.

Shermy, who had listened to all of this with an angry confused weight in her chest growing bigger and bigger, nodded and stepped forward.

She lent down and picked up a big handful of dirt in each hand and peered over the edge into the expanse of the grave.

Her feelings felt to big for her body.

Too big for any sounds she could string into words to convey.

She wanted to go home, but even home didn't feel right just now

"Hi Stanley." She said, In a quivering voice, to the hole in the ground. "My name is Shermaine….I'm, um I'm your sister."

The hole did not talk back.

As she was talking she opened her hand slowly so some of the dirt slipped out, and kept opening it until the dirt was all gone.

Ford chuckled to himself, despite the situation. "I'm certain he knows who you are, kiddo"

Shermy shrugged. With 17 years between them she wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

"Yeah, okay. Well I wish I got to know you Stanley, I hope we would have been friends. We never got to meet but you were my brother and I love you. Mom, Pop and Ford love you too. it's just sad they couldn't say that when you were alive." Her voice was quivering, was that good enough?

She hoped he didn't mind, and that wherever Stanley was he wasn't angry at her or his twin.

As she relinquished the rest of the dirt it made a pattering noise, like rain on a tin roof. She stood there staring into the grave, frozen still. Wiping at her wet face.

Ford came up beside her and crouched himself down to her height, with his hands on her shoulders.

"That was good, Shermy." He said. "You did fine." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Feeling too heavy and too human for ten-and-three-quarter years life experience, Shermy leaned forward and her brother wrapped up in his arms.

He smelt like wet earth and dust.

She could still feel Ford's lips against her skin.

She thought once more of the golem, sent back to the grave with the word "dead" marked onto it's forehead.

She was cold. Her eyes hurt, but no more tears fell from them. Her chest was hollow.

How would she even know if she was dead herself?

Ford's voice jolted her out of the blackness in her head.

"Come on, then. Mom and Dad are waiting by the car. We better follow everyone else home for the shivah."

She nodded against his chest and he pulled away.

As they headed towards the path towards the other parking lot away from the graveside, a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks, startling her brother into stopping too.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked over his shoulder. "Did you drop something?"

Shermy shook her head. "I forgot to say goodbye." She said.

Ford crinkled up the bridge of his nose, like he didn't know what to say.

He smoothed down his lapels and turned around to face her.

"Well… okay, just say it now. We're still in the Cemetery. As far as I see it shouldn't matter if you say it over there or here, a hundred yards down the road."

Shermy looked at her brother, then back in the direction they had just come from.

"Goodbye, Stanley." She said to the air. Some of the weight on her chest, loosened and drifted off into the air.

Ford took her hand, dwarfed in his six-fingered grip.

And hand-in-hand the two remaining Pines siblings, kept on walking.