A/N: Welcome to our Gravity Falls story! Some things to know before reading: there are traces of non-tagged pairings but these will be extremely brief scenes, and period-typical homophobia is absent in this. There will be smut, but in adherence to the FFN guidelines, that content will only be available via this story's AO3 counterpart so check there if you're interested in the uncensored version. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!
"Mabel, I don't think this is working," Dipper said, his voice flat but containing an edge of anxiety as he pulled his soaked jacket into his shivering form even tighter. He and his twin sister had been waiting by the side of the road for what felt like hours, taking shelter from the downpour against a wooden welcome sign that announced they were just on the outskirts of a town named Gravity Falls.
"Don't be a downer, Dipper!" Mabel's voice was cheery, seemingly unfazed by the hours they had wasted near the road while pouring rain battered them. She reached over to ruffle her brother's wet hair affectionately, Dipper smoothing it down and moving the mussed strands away from his face while Mabel babbled on. "Someone has to show up soon. Why else would there be a road here? You know what they say, bro-bro! All roads lead to home!"
They had taken a gamble, sticking it out in hopes a vehicle would come roaring through and give them a ride to the city. Get to the city, get jobs, and blend in until they were able to recreate better lives for themselves. Under fake identities, if they absolutely had to, because law enforcement would be searching for the two teenage runaways that'd stolen away in the night, equipped with their wits and the bare necessities. That was their plan, and while it was a bit rough, it was better than living with their parents… if they could even be called that, considering how deeply they appeared to wish he and Mabel weren't bogging down their lives.
Leaving home at fifteen years old was no easy feat, much less one that Dipper thought he'd be taking a stab at during his lifetime, but there was only so much he could take from parents who didn't seem to care whether they were dead or alive.
However, there was an unmistakable flaw in Dipper's grand scheme. Not one vehicle had passed them in the time they'd been here. While he was aware the road was off the highway and slightly secluded, Dipper hadn't realized it'd be this difficult to catch another lift. The previous one had been alright, or at least it had been until the middle-aged driver started to make highly inappropriate passes at Mabel as they crossed the state line into Oregon. He had to have been three times her age, with a sinister smile that gave Dipper the heebie-jeebies. Witnessing how the driver's flirtatious behavior made his sister uncomfortable, Dipper had spoken for both of them in his sharp demand to be let out at the next stop. A risky move to make, as they could have been denied or simply stranded somewhere, the latter perhaps their actual reality. At the time, he hadn't understood why the driver had shrugged, chuckled knowingly, and did as asked without protest, but he was beginning to understand.
He stole a glance at the sign looming above them, the bolded letters offering a hearty sentiment that he couldn't share. The tagline, reading 'nothing to see here, folks', wasn't exactly reassuring, and almost mocking considering there'd been nobody to see them.
At first perplexed by Mabel's response, Dipper blinked at her. "What? I'm not sure that's how it works." But it wasn't the time to worry about that, they had a more pressing problem to contend with. It was getting dark, shadows sweeping the land and encasing the twins within the wilderness, the moonlight fighting to break through the thickness of the surrounding trees. It was eery, and he was beginning to feel claustrophobic with the woods closing in on them. "We might want to give up on the road for tonight. Nobody's coming." It was empty and had remained empty for hours.
Mabel wasn't sold, and he could see that in the way her eager eyes scanned the distance for movement. "Someone has to come," Mabel insisted. "Maybe we should go further down the road. There could be someone closer to this..." she squinted at the sign, "Gravity Falls! Wow, that's one dumb name. What does it even mean? Is it defying gravity? Ooh, do you think the town magically floats?"
"Mabel!" he strained, trying to grab her drifting attention. Although he wouldn't normally be irritated by Mabel's antics, Dipper's stress levels were peaking. He was scared, uncertain. His plan had gone awry, leaving him in a nervous state that was worsening as the woods grew darker since they were no better off than they were two hours ago in terms of shelter or reaching their destination. "We have to focus," he rose to his feet, wishing he had a pen to nibble on while he paced with his hands clasped behind his back. Struggling to formulate a backup plan, he recited the facts of the situation to himself. "It's getting dark, there are no cars, we still have our supplies..." he and Mabel both sported backpacks containing food and water, whatever clothing they could stuff inside, plus a couple personal keepsake items. "We can camp out nearby, just for this evening." Tomorrow, they could try the road again in what would preferably be better weather because he wasn't particularly fond of the drizzle that'd turned into a nonstop downpour less than an hour ago.
"That's a dumber idea than this town's name!" Mabel stomped her foot into the ground, sending droplets of mud and water flying, Dipper's hands rising to shield himself from the spray. "We don't even have shelter, Dipper. You'll go from being a downer to being a drowner in all this icky mud."
It wasn't the time for corny puns, but Dipper ignored it in favor of addressing the bigger issue. "We can't stay out here all night, not next to a road!" Not just foolish and impractical, it was downright dangerous despite the road's surprising lack of use… "And if we get going, we can gather some tree branches or brush or something, and make our own shelter." As far as Dipper was concerned, creating a makeshift campsite was their best option, the logical choice after taking their supplies into account. Remaining where they were was a risk he wasn't willing to bet on, and following the road would lead them into a town of questioning strangers who he didn't expect would be eager to usher in a set of runaways that'd shown up on their doorstep.
"I don't want to be stuck under some leaky shelter because you wanted to recreate something you read once in the paper."
"Hey, those were quality tips!" Dipper immediately protested, unwilling to let that slide without defending his favorite columnist. He never had cared for television much, usually opting to bury his nose deep into the printed word, and "The Manly Man's Guide to Outdoor Living" was the specific article Mabel was referring to as she doubted his ability as a rugged woodsman. Dipper puffed his chest in a lame attempt to appear more capable, but that minor adjustment didn't change his gangly beanpole figure, nor did it substitute for the inch-and-a-half that Mabel had on him.
Before he could add anything more, Mabel ignored him and continued, "I never said we had to stay here all night, Dipper!" Her pleading gaze was fixed on him, and Dipper suppressed a sigh, posture deflating — it was hard to resist Mabel like this. "We should go toward the town before it gets too dark. That way, we're bound to run into someone who can help us get to a real city."
At the thought of going into town, fear struck into his heart. "Hasn't it occurred to you that we don't know these people?! We don't know anything about them, or this town!" a wild motion toward the wooden sign, an indication he was referring to the townsfolk of this apparent Gravity Falls. "No one will take us in, and if they do, what if they call the cops on us? Or are creepy, like that other guy? Or act completely kooky?"
"You're the one acting all crazy!" Mabel's voice had raised.
"I am not! I'm being rational, there's a difference!"
"Yes you are! You're starting to sound like dad after drinking, all paranoid about people! I'm sure the good people of Groovity Falls will find it in their gentle, sweet hearts to take in a couple strays like us."
He rolled his eyes. "It's Gravity Falls, actually."
"Same difference!"
"The point is," he said with more insistence, antsy to return to the topic at hand, "we have to think this through calmly and because I've already done that, I can tell you the clear-headed course of action is to set up a camp for ourselves."
With exasperation, Mabel threw up her hands. "Fine! We can set up camp, but if mud soaks through my sweater it's your fault, Dipper."
He hadn't wanted the tension to come to this, the place of frustration where one of them was forced to angrily relented to the other's wishes. They were a team—partners in crime—on the run from an abusive household, and they had to work together if they were going to pull through successfully.
Guilt gnawing in the pit of his stomach, he squirmed to remove his jacket, grappling minimally with the straps of his backpack before he could slip the garment from his shoulders. Dipper offered it to Mabel with a small albeit sad half-smile on his lips. "Here, it sounds like you need it more than I do," he reasoned.
"I…" Mabel hesitated before she accepted the jacket, shuffling the backpack so she could slip into the relative warmth of the light coat. "Thanks, Dipper. You're the best."
Dipper let out a quiet laugh, using one hand to scratch self-consciously at the back of his neck, unsure how to respond to the genuine compliment. "I don't know about that, but uh, thanks."
As they walked, the stench of uneasiness hung in the air, suspended somewhere between panic and the disbelief that they were actually doing this. The severity of it hadn't set in yet, not for Dipper, since it felt like he should be returning home to squabbling parents any minute now. It wasn't the sort of squabbling that he and Mabel did as siblings; at the end of the day, they were still best friends. Contrastly, their parents' arguments were composed of seeking-to-emotionally-maim words launched at the other person, their sole intention to inflict as much hurt as possible.
Perhaps if he wasn't terribly distracted by the hopeless endeavor that was snagging a ride to the city and now hiking through the foreign wilderness of Gravity Falls, he'd ponder the question: have their parents noticed yet? And with a heavy heart, he'd use previous experiences as evidence to arrive at the conclusion that they hadn't.
After all, there'd been a slew of times he and Mabel had been forgotten at school and waited for hours for someone to pick them up just to trek the distance themselves in the dark, not to mention how many evenings their parents would rather go out together or with their own friends instead of their children. If repeated verbal reminders of their uselessness was icing on the cake, then being outright told they were unwanted was the cherry on top.
So if they had, by some miracle, noticed their disappearance, Dipper was certain they would have shrugged their shoulders and gone back to the television show they were watching, the activity that helped them float through life as if they had no dependents to begin with. They could pretend they hadn't accidentally gotten pregnant with twins, too early on in life to be financially or emotionally capable of caring for them. Television shows aided them in forgetting he and Mabel even existed, he imagined, and the proof that it worked astoundingly well was in front of them.
The crack of the twig beneath his foot startled him, making him jump and disrupting his thoughts. Faced once more by the present, he couldn't shake the haunted feeling that came with the looming, dark pine trees that surrounded them. In a way, it almost felt like they were being watched. Were woods always this creepy? He couldn't recall California ever giving him such chilling vibes.
Stealing a glance at Mabel, he noted how upbeat she looked with a starry-eyed gaze and beginnings of a grin, despite how she'd been less than thrilled to venture into the woods in search of a spot to take shelter. Instead of skirting the growing mud puddles as Dipper attempted to do, Mabel embraced the opportunity by jumping toward them with glee causing the dirty water to splash everywhere. Dodging the droplets was a pain, but not enough for Dipper to ask her to take it easy. It didn't matter when he was already soaked from head to toe from the rainwater. Always obsessed with plotting their next steps or fretting about the unknown, he wished he could be more like Mabel, carefree, optimistic—
"Dipper, watch out!"
Huh?
He hardly had time to react to her warning before his body came to a painful halt, colliding with something hard and wood-like and unyielding. While he was distracted by Mabel's war on puddles, he had failed to see the tree in his walking path. "Oww," he whined softly as he rubbed his head.
"Silly Dilly," Mabel chided playfully. "I told you to watch out!"
A shudder as he rubbed the new pain point on his forehead, "Please, never call me that again." The wound stung enough to imply it was going to be quite an impressive bump, if not a full blown bruise.
"No promises!"
They walked on in silence for several minutes, Dipper's eyes scanning for a suitable location to take shelter in. He was forced to squint since the darkness was impeding his vision, limiting how far they could see before whatever laid ahead was wholly consumed by the blackness of night. "Do you see anywhere we can stay for the night?" He asked, glancing around. The woods looked just as uninviting as they had before, but significantly darker. Thin, pale beams were the only source of light, filtering through the trees and shining on the undergrowth.
Mabel shook her head. "Weren't you the one who wanted to play Survivorboy and make a shelter out of sticks?"
"It's not that simple! We'll need sticks for the foundation, but we can make it moderately rain-proof with leaves and bushes." Dipper explained, rattling off bits of knowledge obtained from the newspaper article. "Then we can reinforce it with more sticks, and we'll have a solid shelter to sleep in." He could envision it perfectly: they would have a formidable, man-made shelter created from just the forest's resources. He could stand by his handiwork proudly, raise his chin, and gloat to Mabel, 'I told you so' as they took in the sight of their natural castle.
...It probably wouldn't be that good, but Dipper liked to believe it'd at least hold up under the pelting rain. "Once we have the supplies, it'll be a piece of cake. Maybe we should split up, grab anything useful that we find, and meet back here?"
"Okay..." Turning away from him, he watched as Mabel began to search for materials for his dream home.
Mabel's departure left Dipper alone with his thoughts, accompanied by his determination to make this work because he hated the thought of having dragged Mabel out here for it to be a catastrophic failure. His eyes narrowed to see in the darkness, collecting sticks that'd hold up their foundation whenever he saw one. It wasn't the most comfortable or easy process with his wet clothes clinging to him, and his shoes filled with water, but he was slowly building a decent pile of suitable twigs.
Careful not to stray far from their meeting place, Dipper remained nearby and listened for Mabel's footsteps; he didn't want her to wander off either. He knew Mabel could be distracted by the smallest of things, drawn away from the task at hand, and he wasn't going to lose her to the creepy woods. As runaways, the odds were already against them, and stacking extra challenges onto their plate wouldn't do them any good.
"Hey Dipper, I found something!" Mabel's excited voice rang through the trees, the sound of feet splashing through water alerting Dipper to her rapid approach. "It's a huge pile of sticks lumped together! Like someone already made a shelter, just for us!"
Startled, he followed the sound of her excited voice and watery footsteps. "What are you talking about? Is someone else living out here?" Encountering another person—a potentially dangerous stranger—in the middle of the woods on a dark, rainy night wasn't Dipper's idea of a nice time, and he was seconds away from telling Mabel they should return to the main road.
"Just look!" When he arrived by her side, she thrusted her arm out to point in the distance. Faintly, the silhouette of a shack could be seen, brightened by the ghostly moonlight. It formed the illusion that the cabin-like house was glowing with mysteriousness.
"Oh, that's great," his voice cracked, one hand running anxiously through his soaked hair as he surveyed the structure, "you've found a murder hut, Mabel." Lone cabin in the middle of the woods, located on the edge of a sleepy, small town. That screamed safe, and totally wasn't reminiscent of the fairytale that ended with two children being nearly devoured by a witch.
"It doesn't look so bad to me," Mabel said. "Maybe they'll take us in for the night! Or we can sneak in to get out of this storm!"
He made a face and shook his head, taking a cautionary step back, "Uh, no thanks. I would prefer to see the sunrise tomorrow." Whoever secluded themselves so far into the woods within a semi-broken down cabin couldn't be the friendliest or sanest sort, and Dipper didn't intend on meeting the owner tonight.
But by the time the words had left his mouth, Mabel was already running toward the building. She came to a stop beside one of the windows, her hands pushing against the window as she attempted to peer inside.
Eyes widening, he made a startled noise and bolted to eliminate the distance between them, grasping her shoulder urgently to stop his sister from advancing further. "What are you doing?!" it was a hiss of a whisper, keeping his voice down in fear of the cabin's inhabitant overhearing. "We can't just go inside!" He was desperate to change her mind, and he rambled, "What happened to making a shelter, or… or staying by the road? There's no need to break into someone's home!"
A short laugh escaped Mabel, batting his hand off her shoulder. "What are you, a chicken? Nothing's stopping us from going in… the place looks like no one's lived here for years. Besides, if we go in we'll get a real shelter and we won't be stranded outside in the storm."
"But, Mabel—!"
"Or are you too scared of being dry for once? I didn't know chickens liked being wet! Bawk! Bawk! Bawk! That's what you sound like, Dipper!"
"I don't sound anything like that!" Exasperation bubbled in Dipper at Mabel's impression of a chicken, pacing as he tried to organize his thoughts. His mind was spinning too fast to come up with a reason good enough for Mabel, one that would convince her to leave this murder hut alone and never look back.
"Please, Dipper! You're the one that wanted to go into the woods to begin with — why can't we try my idea for once?"
At that, his resolve crumbled with pitiful swiftness. Dipper remembered their brief bickering near the road and how Mabel had trusted him to venture into the wilderness, and now he realized he would be a terrible brother if he didn't do the same for her. He stopped pacing to look seriously at Mabel, concern and anxiety etched into his features. "Are you sure?"
The look he received was grave, surprising Dipper since she rarely displayed such soberness. "I have never been more sure in my life."
"Okay," he gave in with a sigh, working to muster a brave tone. "I.. I can go first." He could handle it, whatever was on the other side. A new plan was taking shape in his head, and he explained, "I'll go first, look around inside—hold on, let me get the flashlight out," he slipped the backpack from his shoulders, distracted by verbalizing the plan as he fished for the light, "and if it's safe, I'll call to you and then you can come—"
"Okay, but counter-plan: I beat you inside, and tell you if it's safe, and then my Little Dippy bro-bro is safe and sound."
He could hardly get a word in before she was pushing against the window. The frame lifted easily, as if nothing was keeping it in place, and a heartbeat later Mabel was pulling herself up and into the building. "Mabel!" No response, only silence – and after a moment or so of waiting, icy uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach, pulse skyrocketing as he debated calling for her again.
"Omygosh Dipper, you need to see this!" Mabel's voice was frantic. "There're bones! I think a witch boiled it in a pot so the skin melted off! It's so white!"
Horror latched onto Dipper immediately, but nagging at him was the urge to get beside Mabel; they could get out of this if they worked together, fight against whatever demon lived inside that cabin. Blood pounding in his ears as his body shook wildly in terror, he rushed to the window and carelessly launched himself through it, a singular thought repeating in his mind: get to Mabel and make sure she's safe. That was all that mattered. His own safety was secondary, fueling his impulsive moment of courageousness as he vaulted into the cabin without fretting over what was waiting for him on the other side.
The next thing he felt was his foot catching on the window's frame, a shrill and pained yelp escaping Dipper as his body gracelessly flopped forward, hands flailing, grasping for purchase but coming up short. Stumbling and struggling to regain his balance, he fell into something wooden and felt it give way a second later, a loud CLASH! resounding throughout the entire building. Although the noise suggested he'd broken something made of glass, he was more concerned with how he felt broken.
Dipper's lithe form was crumpled in a sad heap atop the wooden flooring, chest rising and falling erratically as he worked past the initial daze to conclude he was definitely hurt. "Ugh, I—" he began to groan, breaking off into a screech as he noticed a shrunken, ugly head mere inches away from his face. Its dead eyes stared into his very soul. Despite the throb of pain in his chest, he inhaled sharply, panicked, and scurried to sit upright, placing as much distance as he could between him and the disgustingly grotesque head. He was right: this was a murder hut, and he'd just made enough noise to wake the population of the town. "Please be abandoned, please be abandoned…"
He really didn't want to meet whoever lived here, not after coming face-to-face with a shrunken head and apparently, Mabel had seen bones. That was enough to lead him to believe they shouldn't hang around — that was the equivalent of waiting to be brutally slaughtered by some madman.
Across the room, he glimpsed the outline of a moving door opening. "Mabel?" his voice was a hushed whisper as he searched the pool of blackness for the outline of his sister. "Mabel!" He could see the beginnings of a shadowy figure, but something felt off. Why wasn't she talking…? Mabel was never one for few words.
Then it hit Dipper. The figure that approached him didn't seem human. Faintly he could make out the shape of the head, it was massive and a dull white, and almost looked bony.
Fear paralyzed him, but moments later his trembling hands searched desperately for the flashlight he'd pulled out of his backpack. Realizing it must have rolled somewhere, Dipper pawed around in the darkness and clicked on the light when he finally managed to locate it. The beam spotlighted the monstrosity looming over him, confirming his suspicions: it was a skull, the black holes of its eye sockets pumping an extra dose of terror-induced adrenaline throughout his body.
The light failed to impede the movements of the creature, and he brandished his flashlight in what he hoped appeared to be a semi-threatening manner, hands visibly shaking from his nerves. "Stay back, demon! I - I have a flashlight, and I'm not afraid to use it!"
Much to his relief, it seemed to have some effect on the monster. It stopped its approach, raising its arms to… remove its head? For a fleeting second, Dipper was baffled—what was this monster?—until he heard the sound of Mabel's laughter.
"Hahaha, I can't believe you fell for that!"
Disbelief sparked in him, and he gasped, " Mabel? That was you ?" It sunk in, and he buried his face in his hands, embarrassment and annoyance prickling at him. "I can't believe you. This is serious!"
"Yeah, this was seriously funny!"
He tried to stand to brush himself off, but a twinge of pain kept him seated. "And I think I'm hurt." Falling through a window clumsily might do that to a person.
Mabel made a tsking noise. "Maybe you shouldn't have flopped through the window like a fish out of water."
"Not the time," he wheezed. "We have to get out of here." A bit easier said than done with his body in the state that it was, but tripping and hurting himself was far less severe than the evils within this cabin — what normal person had an incredibly large animal skull lying around, and a shrunken head? Who knew what other gruesome oddities were hidden from view?
Awoken by a loud CRASH and a not-so-masculine scream, Stan's immediate reaction was to grab his bat. There weren't many things in the sleepy town of Gravity Falls that'd make such a racket at this hour, and he was prepared for anything from a rampaging Bigfoot to dumbass police officers goofing around. And he swore, if it was those damn troublemaking friends of Wendy's...
Leaving his bedroom behind as he headed down the hall toward the living room where he believed the ruckus originated, he could faintly hear the sound of a girl speaking. The closer he got, the more the voice seemed to be coming from the gift shop. It seemed they had a filthy, no-good thief afoot, eh? He'd teach them to steal from the Mystery Shack! Old Batsy would put them in their place – and that place was a bloodied pulp on the floor! Soos could scrape up the intruder with the spatulas tomorrow.
As he neared the gift shop, he could even make out a small portion of the discussion. Was there more than one? Fantastic! Another people pulp for Soos to scoop!
"Why are you–"
Without missing a beat, he threw open the door that led to the gift shop and stalked inside, his baseball bat raised in preparation for a good ol' whacking. At a glance, there seemed to be two intruders – a male and female teenager, and he didn't recognize them as part of Wendy's Crew. Or as residents of Gravity Falls, for that matter.
Flipping on the light switch to flood the Mystery Shack's gift shop with brightness and get a better look at the intruders, he noticed the male teenager was visibly intimidated by his bulky, muscular form—but really, who wouldn't be, Stan thought with a touch of arrogance—from the way he gulped and his teeth worried his bottom lip.
More importantly, his attention was captured by the damage done to his property. His display case was ruined, shards of glass and pieces of wood scattered on his floor, and the dinosaur skull from the living room was sitting near the wreckage. What the hell did these children do? They looked a little old to be playing T-Rex.
Even if his ultra-nerdy twin brother Ford might disagree.
Stan watched as the kid's eyes flicked between the shrunken head and the skull, and the male scrambled to step protectively in front of the other one—appearing to be in mild pain while doing so. In what Stan thought was an attempt to be threatening, he puffed his chest and growled, "Stay back, you… you witch doctor!" It was said with the amount of confidence Stan would expect from a self-conscious pre-teen kid, and this one was obviously older than that. Slightly.
"Witch doctor?" he barked. "You barge into my house, break my display case, and have the nerve to call me a witch doctor?" Stan glowered at the boy. "If you weren't some lousy kid, I'd have beat you over the head with my bat by now."
Blinking rapidly, the intruder seemed to be at a loss for words, sputtering out nothing but incoherent sounds. Stan raised an eyebrow. "Come on, kid, what do you got to say for yourself?" It was a demand, his voice gruff.
"We'll leave! Just please don't hurt us!" was the squeaky response that he finally was able to drag from him, his hands wringing together with apprehension. "...And—and we're not kids, we're teenagers."
That didn't answer his question, and he smacked his bat into his open palm in impatience. "I asked what you had to say. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what you were doing with my stuff, kid!" He made an effort to emphasis 'kid', as that seemed to agitate the lad.
"What do you want from us?!" he asked, sounding exasperated and stressed, a hand raking through his damp, brunet hair. They were both dripping wet, explained easily by the ongoing downpour outside, but it wasn't so obvious why they had backpacks — he was at a loss with that one. "And I already told you, we're teens!" The way he stole a glance at the window made Stan wonder if he was seriously going to make a run for it.
"I want to know why you broke into my house, ruined one of my display cases, and fucked with my skull!"
"I can explain the skull!" The girl piped in. "I made a scary costume out of it to mess with Dippy!" Dippy? His parents must've hated him. "Do you want to see it?"
"Mabel, shh!" he turned to face her, shaking his head to presumably encourage her to stay quiet. "This guy," his hand waved carelessly in Stan's direction, "is exactly the kind of kook I was referring to!"
"Who you callin' a kook, kid?"
The kid whipped around to meet his gaze, and Stan could see he wasn't expecting to be called out on it. "Who do you think? You're… a wacko, man!" He shouted back as his arms flapped wildly, motioning to the array of gift shop items. "I mean, look at all this!"
"'All 'this' is called my job, kiddo. Something you wouldn't know about, considering you look like you just came out of a pig pen."
The irritation was written across his face at that, and Stan felt a pinch of satisfaction from how simple it was to get under his skin. "You don't know anything about us!" his voice cracked on the words, and Stan snickered loudly. His laughter only seemed to agitate the kid further, leading him to let out a frustrated noise. Maybe Stan would've felt bad for him if his childishness wasn't so funny.
"You're intruding on and vandalized my property. That's all I need to know, kiddo. Now tell me what the hell you're doing before I use my bat and beat it out of you anyway!"
Dippy—apparently—reached for Mabel (was it?) and grabbed her wrist. "We don't have time for this, let's just go."
"No, Dipper – he never said if he wanted to see my costume!" Mabel yanked her wrist out of Dippy ... Dipper's … whatever the hell his name was' grip, and she ran over to where the skull was on the floor.
Stan watched in amusement as she placed the skull over her head. "I used this to scare him when the lights were off," the girl excitedly said. "He almost had a panic attack!"
"You just surprised me! I wasn't scared," Dipper protested hotly, blushing and folding his arms in defense. "I don't see why this is even important right now."
Stan let out a deep laugh, "That's great!" He knew he shouldn't indulge a home invader, but how could he not approve of the Dippy one being spooked? The boy was being difficult. Maybe they could scare the answer out of him…
The familiar noise of the vending machine redirected his attention to the hidden entrance of the basement; the machine moving aside to reveal his brother, still dressed in his standard laboratory attire. Ford appeared mildly startled after a cursory examination of the room. Stan could almost hear his mind whirring away, surely trying to make sense of what he was witnessing — it wasn't everyday that he emerged from his hidey-hole in the middle of the night to see two unfamiliar faces, both intruders, one of which sporting the huge skull. He looked puzzled and hesitant, as if mentally toying with the possibility of turning on his heels and scurrying back downstairs without a word. A clearing of his throat and an adjustment of his glasses later, Ford averted his gaze. "How… how long have I been down there?"
"Let's see…" Stan looked at Dippy (or whatever his name was.) "You're still a kid, I'd say twelve given how difficult you've decided to be, and since it takes around nine months for children to pop out … thirteen years?"
Stan stole a sideways glance at Ford. He looked utterly lost, but his eyebrows were furrowed together in deep contemplation. "Ah, I don't understand.. Stan, what is going on?" A pause as he seemed to fully take in the intruding teens. "Who are they, and… why is my dinosaur skull—?" It was a strange albeit refreshing change of pace for his genius brother to be thoroughly stumped, rendered unable to even suitably use words.
A haughty cough came from Dipper, his eyes on Stan. "We're fifteen. What are you, twenty?"
"These two hooligans broke into our house and wrecked one of our displays. Your skull was just used for a costume." Stan couldn't give less of a fuck about the skull. It wasn't damaged like his display case. That costed three, no – three hundred dollars, and he'd be damned if the kids didn't replace it. "I'm twenty-four, kiddo. You can say you're fifteen all you want, but all you've done is act like a pre-teen and fuck up my shit."
"Language — and how many times do I have to ask you to refrain from terrorizing children?" Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing for a second. When he opened them again, Stan could identify the uncertainty lingering there. "But that is rather… concerning. Would you like me to phone the police?"
"We're not children!" Dipper seemed to lose his restraint, but quickly recollected it. "Please don't call the cops, we'll leave. I already said we'd leave, but this guy wouldn't let us go!"
Stan shook his head. "Stop saying you're not a child, Dippy. You've been acting immature this entire time, fucking around my house and refusing to even explain yourself. You're not goinganywhere until you tell my why you broke into my home, and if you don't start talking in the next thirty seconds, I will have Poindexter here phone the cops while I beat the ever-living shit out of you!"
Ford snapped, "Stanley!" Stan already knew what he'd done wrong, but he didn't want to hear about it. Ford could bitch and moan about his colorful language all he wanted; as far as he was concerned, a home invasion was the perfect time to swear like a sailor and make brutal threats.
"My name is Dipper! We were just looking for shelter from the rain, okay? And… I may have sort of," the kid looked guilty, rubbing his elbow awkwardly as his pupils shifted, "fallen in."
Stan furrowed his eyebrows. "What, are you two on the run from somethin'? You piss off the pigs?" Dipper's eyes grew as large as saucers, but shook his head.
"Not everyone has a criminal history," was the mutter from Ford.
"Ya sure about that, Sixer? Two out of two of us does! Ain't you supposed to be the smart one, statistics an' all?"
If his attention wasn't solely on Ford, he would've taken great amusement and pleasure in the sudden panic that crossed Dipper's face at the revelation that he was trapped in a room with two self-identified criminals. Instead, all he witnessed was Ford's eyes narrowing at him. A pretentious hmmph. "Yes, well, that was because of you."
"It doesn't matter who's at fault, Brainiac. It's still in your name!" Stan had no shame. It wasn't his fault he just so happened to have Ford's license on hand when he got pulled over...
Ford gave another little huff, "We are not having this discussion right now."
"Anyway," Stan returned to their previous conversation. "How'd you fall in? You have arms, don'tcha? They look a bit noodly but I wouldn't have thought them weaker than a newborn kitten's."
"I don't know! I thought Mabel was in trouble and… I was trying to get to her."
"Falling through a window isn't the most efficient way to get to your girlfriend." The sudden, matching expressions of equal disgust and horror suggested he'd made a mistake in his assumption.
"Ew! Ew! Ew! No, we're siblings! He's my brother!" The girl spoke up once more, finally taking off the skull. He was surprised she kept it on so long – from experience, he knew it wasn't easy to talk in.
"Twins, actually," Dipper supplied.
He didn't understand why they seemed so repulsed by the thought of dating a sibling, but whatever. Maybe they were closeted. "Alright twinsies," Stan began. "Since you broke my display, you won't be leaving until you've replaced it. I'm–"
Dipper cut in, "You can't keep us here, that's kidnapping."
"Have it your way," he replied easily, looking to his own twin. "Ford, get the cops." How he saw it, they could either stay here or with those lunatic cops in the courthouse.
"Wait!" he squeaked, the panic dripping from his exclamation. "We'll stay."
"That's what I thought." Stan reached out to pat Dipper's head. "I'm a fair guy, Dippy, so here's what we'll do. You're going to go to bed – it's late, we're all tired. There's a couple beds upstairs in the attic you can use. Be up by 8 o'clock sharp in the morning and we'll discuss things during breakfast. Ya got that?"
With a glance to Mabel for confirmation, Dipper nodded. "Got it," he awkwardly trailed off, staring at Stan, "uh.. Stan, is it?"
"Yeah, it's Stan. Mr. Pines if you're feelin' fancy, or Stanley if you wanna be stuck-up like Poindexter here." He jabbed a thumb at Ford. "Now get to bed you two. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."
After the teenagers—Mabel and Dipper, Ford supposed—disappeared upstairs to go to bed, he had retreated into the basement laboratory where he informed his assistant-slash-boyfriend, Fiddleford, of everything that'd happened. He'd been just as perplexed by the sequence of events that'd befallen the Mystery Shack this evening.
Ford still didn't know what to make of it, but he wasn't personally in favor of housing them. Certainly, they were probably decent individuals, but did they have a place here? Especially after breaking in?
He had to speak with Stan about this, not that he had the slightest illusion he would get anywhere with his stubbornness, since it would be nothing short of a miracle if they didn't part in anger after the discussion.
Returning upstairs, he noticed the gift shop's door was ajar and approached, stepping onto the porch to be met with the sight of Stan lounging comfortably, cigarette hanging from his lips. It was no shock to Ford to find him there, and besides, he could admit it was a nice evening. The usually-hot weather of June was cooler with the storms that were passing through.
Joining him on the couch, Ford sat down beside his brother, leaving a fair bit of space between them. A sigh tumbled from him as he raised his head to the stars, noting how vibrant they appeared this evening even through the rainy haze. There was a sweet scent lingering in the air, but it was soon replaced by the stench of cigarette smoke, causing Ford's nose to wrinkle in distaste. "Do you really have to do that? Smoking is a horrendous health hazard."
"What?" Stan exhaled a cloud of smoke. "It's good for the stress. What're you doing out here anyway, Sixer? I figured you'd be holed up in the basement, with your ... gadgets n' stuff."
His eyebrows raised, all twelve fingers drumming gently against his slacks. "Is it too difficult for you to believe I've simply come to enjoy your company?"
"Yeah. You go to Diddleford if you wanna enjoy someone's company. And you give him the kisses. Whatever happened to giving those to me?"
Oh.
So Stan was in one of those moods this evening, and Ford wondered how adamant his brother was going to be about it, whether or not he should simply go back inside now to avoid wasting both of their time… No, he could handle this with patience and grace.
"Fiddleford," he corrected exhaustedly, but didn't know why he bothered. Stan knew his name, or at least he should know since they'd been a group of friends since childhood. Throat tightening, he merely shook his head, unwilling to talk about that when they had two strangers taking up residence in the Mystery Shack. The newcomers were the larger concern, in Ford's opinion.
"Tickleford, whatever. Close enough. You still go to him over me. You only go to me when you want something."
"How foolish of me," Ford said dryly, wanting to roll his eyes at Stan's antics. "Stan, would you like to assist me in building a quantum destabilizer gun?"
"Sounds hot. When can I start?"
"After you've completed eight years of collegiate-level work in a relevant field."
"Ehh, I'll just stick to my street smarts. You'll be thankful for them one day, Sixer."
Sensing this was his opportunity to talk about the real subject at hand, Ford asked, "And is it your street smarts that lead you to believe letting two home invaders stay here was a good idea?"
"What, you jealous they'll be taking your job?"
"Heavens, no," he scoffed, classifying the mere thought as absurd. He didn't miss his temporary position at the Mystery Shack and was glad to be conducting his research full-time. "If anything, I pity them — considering they'll have to work for you."
"They'll be grateful they're working for me," Stan responded. "It's me or the cops, and I'll at least provide them with Stancakes."
He made a face, shuddering. Stan's cooking was low on the list of things he missed, as he never could get over the scraggly hairs sticking out every-which-way. It had been repulsive. "Feeding them Stancakes is borderline cruel and unusual punishment. They might call the cops on themselves." While he said it seriously, it had a hint of playfulness; he never had been great at indicating he was joking.
Stan shook his head. "You're insulting my cookin' now, Poindexter? I should kick ya to the curb and let the nerdy kid take over the basement."
Was he referring to… Dippy? Dipper? That one had appeared to be on the nerdy side, as Stan put it. Knowing Stan was far from serious in his threat, Ford couldn't help but smile a little, crookedly. "Just make sure he remembers to feed Fiddleford three times per day." Or he'd have one grouchy assistant on his hands.
All amusement drained from Stan's face. "You know Fuckleford is only here because of you. Otherwise, I wouldn't let him hang around my house."
"Is Fiddleford not home-invader-y," he wanted to cringe at his own phrasing, "enough for you?"
"He's too brother-invadery for me. Your ass used to be mine, Sixer, before you ran off to college and got all … gay with him."
That caught him by surprise and Ford choked, a furious blush spreading over his cheeks. He hadn't expected their banter to turn so quickly, but he hoped he could steer their conversation back into the right direction while preventing the current topic from continuing. His love life—nor his… body parts—had nothing to do with this, and Stan's wishful thinking was no more than that, a fantasy that his brother entertained for some reason. Their previous relations, he supposed was the most appropriate term, had ended long ago during their teenage years.
"Stanley. That… that's—" he fidgeted to adjust his glasses, and settled on, "...irrelevant. We need to talk about those children."
"It's not irrelevant, Sixer!" Stan shuffled close to him, flicking his cigarette into the grass, and demolishing the space Ford had initially set between them on the couch. "Come on, you can't say you don't miss the good ol' days when we were fucking in the back of pa's car."
Muscles going stiff at the contact and gaze darting, he wasn't sure his face could get any hotter but was searching for an escape. He didn't want this, not any of it — Stan was uncomfortably close, uncomfortably brazen. "You're insufferable."
"You're stuffable."
Eyes going wide, Ford squeaked at the more-than-suggestive implication. He willed his mind to stop spinning one million miles per minute, it was already hard enough to focus when Stan was being like… this. They'd had this discussion many times over, too many times, and he didn't know what his brother was hoping to gain from it. Squirming to put more distance between them again, he ended up feeling squeezed, wedged between the armrest and Stan while leaning comically away from him. Most of his upper body was draped awkwardly over the armrest. "Could we return to the more pressing matter?" he asked, impatience leaking into his voice.
Stan shuffled back into his original spot, restoring some of the space between them. "You mean the kids? What about 'em?"
Why Stan didn't comprehend the glaring problem was a mystery to him. "We don't know them. They shouldn't be working at the Shack, much less living in it!" He fell quiet for a second, lips twisting into a bitter smile that lacked humor. "But it is fitting, I suppose, having criminals working for a criminal." If tonight was an indication, they were probably on the same level, morally, as Stan was.
"Ford," the voice of his brother had a slight edge to it. "This is my house. I make the rules, and I say these kids will be staying here and lending a hand, at least until they pay off the damage. You should just be thankful I let your sex buddy stay here too."
"I'll have you know our relationship is strictly professional, with the tiniest hint of romance." But now that he gave it some thought, he couldn't recall the last time he'd done anything remotely romantic with Fiddleford. Oh well, that was unimportant at the moment.
And Ford didn't have to be told it was technically Stan's house to do with as he pleased, but that was because he'd been on the run from the law basically ever since he'd been kicked out by their father. It was by a random stroke of luck that Stan managed to grab this land for dirt cheap. But he didn't appreciate Stan attempting to throw that in his face as some sort of power move, essentially threatening Fiddleford's residency as well. "Forgive me if I'm skeptical about your choice of housemates," he said coldly. A host of bad memories resurfaced as he recalled one particular guest...
Stan laughed as he pulled out another cigarette from the case and lit it, "Are you still pouting over Bill? I love that kid. It's not his fault you left your sciency garbage lying where he could get it. Think of it like this: if you didn't want it to be destroyed, ya shouldn't have left it lying around." He brought the cigarette to his lips. "Pretty dumb move to be so careless with your shit, Sixer. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."
Inhaling sharply, he felt a pinch of offense at how Stan referred to his belongings. Sciency garbage — why couldn't he at least attempt to be respectful? He didn't go around calling the Mystery Shack's souvenirs trashy or fake or fraudulent, but that was exactly what they were. A waste of space and money, and dancing on the edge of insulting to his career. Shaking the thought away, Ford's jaw set as he considered Bill. The same Bill who had lived with them for a while and acted atrociously. "He not only intentionally destroyed my belongings and projects, but he's stolen from me without showing a single shred of remorse." The disappearances of the memory gun's prototype and human anatomy textbook were not accidents, and that wasn't even topping the list of monstrously evil things Bill had done while staying here.
He didn't miss Bill's presence in the Shack at all, and he was glad his visits were contained to the times he and Stan went drinking or street racing together. Both were activities he disapproved of, but it was better than living with that delinquent.
Stan glanced at him, breathing out a cloud of smoke. "Look, I know you don't like it when people borrow your stuff, but if you ever bothered to ask for it back he'd be happy to oblige. I don't understand what all this fuss is about. The guy's a real gas to hang with – it's not either of our faults you just happened to dislike him with a passion."
"Borrow my stuff?" he questioned, contempt flickering within him. "Did you borrow my perpetual motion machine?" Stan and Bill had both destroyed projects incredibly dear to him with days of work and thought poured into them, going entirely down the drain due to their carelessness.
"That was an accident, Stanford." Stan's tone matched his in bitterness.
It'd been seven years, but he figured some part of him would always be upset about that because Stan's accident (ha, Ford thought) costed him his dream school. A potential future that now would never come to fruition thanks to Stan. "But it remains my dislike of Bill is entirely justified, and I wish you would take it upon yourself to surround yourselves with friends that won't inevitably land themselves in jail."
"Jail ain't so bad. You should give it a try sometime, Sixer."
Ford let out a heavy sigh. "I imagine that if I continue to associate with you, that's exactly where I'll end up."
"We can try an experiment," Stan offered. "Find out what happens when Stanford Pines drops the soap around Stanley Pines."
"Excuse me?" He had the faintest suspicion he knew what that meant, but...
"We'll have some raunchy sex, Poindexter."
And there it was. A strained noise escaped him, and he was back to blushing. Even the tips of his ears felt hot. It wasn't a result of any arousal, but a reaction to the discussion of sex and sexuality, amplified when that was referring to sex with him. "I… I hypothesize that won't go over well."
"It's the lack of lube, isn't it?"
Clearing his throat, Ford rose to his feet and said, "Goodnight, Stan." He'd had enough of Stan's incessant flirting and sexual passes at him, as it'd been more than plenty for one evening, perhaps for one lifetime, and he didn't know how else to convey to Stan that he was with Fiddleford. The fact that he was already in a relationship didn't seem to be sinking into his brother's thick skull, or maybe he simply didn't care — the latter was extremely probable, considering it was Stanley.
"Wait a second," Stan was quick to speak, bringing Ford to a pause near the screen door. He looked at him expectantly, head cocked to the side with curiosity. "You remember how those kids got all flustered when I told Dippy falling through the window wasn't the best way to get to his girlfriend? I wanted to follow that up by saying if they were into each other, they wouldn't be judged here. As, you know, siblings that're together. In the sexy way." Stan gave him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
"While I commend your rationality," since judgment from Stan would be calling the kettle black under these circumstances, "I don't believe you should be encouraging further illegal activities." They'd already broken into the Shack. "Isn't one crime enough for tonight?"
"Did I steal your heart?"
"Goodness, no. I have standards, a concept I presume you would know nothing about," Ford retorted tiredly, wishing his brother wouldn't be so obtuse or persistent about this. He didn't have feelings for Stan, not… the romantic sort, not the kind Stan wanted him to have. "Goodnight, Stan."
"Ah, I always knew you had standards. Dream of me, Sixer. I'm much more good looking than Dingleford." The sole response he received was the sound of the screen door slamming behind Ford.
Upstairs, the twins had found their attic room and were beginning to lightly unpack. Said unpacking was tentative in Dipper's case, at least. Mabel had already taken all the clothes from her bag and hung up some in their closet space, making herself thoroughly at home when they'd been here a grand total of about an hour. By the time she was done, he was sure there'd be room for nothing else with how much she insisted on bringing.
"Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to unpack everything," he suggested to her. "We're not planning on staying here for long, are we? Just until we pay off that display case?" He took comfort in sticking to the original plan of reaching a bigger city, since it would decrease their chances of being recognized by anybody. In small towns, as it seemed Gravity Falls was, everybody knew everyone else and could lead to them being dragged back to their negligent parents.
"I dunno," Mabel said. "I like it here!"
"We've been here for like, an hour. How could you possibly like it? I mean, there's Stan and he calls me Dippy—"
"You called him a witch doctor." Mabel reminded him with a giggle.
" — and he threatened to turn us over to the cops! Multiple times!" And honestly, Dipper was a little afraid of Stan because he was a hulking bundle of sheer muscle, and had a hardened look about him, like he could completely disassemble Dipper with a single, well-aimed punch.
The other one was less intimidating, not as bulky or broad-framed — Poindexter? Sixer? Ford? How many names could a person have? Probably aliases to commit crimes under, if Stan had been speaking seriously about that… But unlike Stan, he didn't appear to have the capacity to rip him seam from seam and then chew on the remains.
"Besides, you're very Dippy-like," she pointed out, completely ignoring his previous statement. "I'm surprised someone hasn't tried you with chips, especially when all those old ladies watched you do the Lamby-Lamby dance."
"You swore you wouldn't bring that up again!"
"You didn't make me pinky swear!"
"Just… don't mention it to anybody, okay?" Dipper begged, a shade of red creeping onto his face. The Lamby-Lamby dance was so very embarrassing and the less people knew of it, the better.
"Only if you agree my idea was better than camping out in those nasty woods tonight."
He began to protest, "If you would've given it a chance, I'm sure we could've had a viable fortress—"
"We would have been freezing in a storm!"
Dipper swallowed a sigh, letting her have this. It was true they did have shelter for the night and beyond, even if the other residents were questionable at best. "Your idea was better," he agreed sincerely, conceding, "but I want my jacket back."
"Fineee," Mabel shouldered the damp, muddied jacket off, and she tossed it to him.
Catching the garment and holding it out, he grimaced as he noticed the excessive grime coating the fabric, "What did you do? Go scuba diving in the mud?" His pants were muddy near the bottoms, but nothing like this.
"You watched me jump around in the puddles! What did you expect?"
He didn't reply right away, feeling drained from the day's events and now this, he was ready to collapse. "We can deal with it tomorrow." He stripped down to an undershirt and boxers in preparation for sleep, flopping onto one of the beds with a groan as the movement disturbed his injury.
Relaxing, he seized the opportunity to truly take in the bedroom Stan assigned to them. There were a few boxes laying around with miscellaneous, dusty and seemingly forgotten items in them, an array of books, and a large, framed painting of a sailboat hanging on the wall. The structural beams supported a pointed ceiling, and the only window—situated between his and Mabel's beds—was a triangular shape with an oval inside. Other than that, it was a standard room, almost too mundane to belong to a couple of criminals. It contained some furniture, shelves, nightstands, a lamp, a soft overhead light encased by a stained glass bowl, but the room still appeared to be generally untouched. More like a storage area, if Dipper had to guess.
Mabel sank into the other bed sometime after changing into a cleaner set of clothes, burrowing under the blankets. "Do you think we'll ever catch a car ride to the city?"
He hoped so, but he wasn't sure. The lack of success in his original plan was depressing, but he thought aloud, "We could always pay off our debt to Stan, and ask him for a ride." That was a stretch, but if the road was as severely underused as it seemed to be, their options were limited.
"You think he'd do that for us?" She asked.
"I wouldn't write it off so quickly," Dipper replied, turning his head to cast a slight smile in her direction. "He seemed to take a liking to that skull costume thing you were doing."
Mabel brightened up. "I can bring the skull with on the car trip! He'd love it!" She seemed to think for a moment. "...But would you even want to get a ride with a potential criminal?"
Although Dipper wasn't overly fond of the idea, he wasn't going to reject the minimal help they might be able to get. He reminded her, "We broke into his house, Mabel. That makes us criminals, too." He preferred to think they had a good reason for doing so and weren't among the likes of common criminals, but really there was little difference in the end.
"Nah," she disagreed with an air of dismissiveness, grinning. "We're not criminals, we're opportunists."
"You do realize that sounds like something a criminal would say," he pointed out.
"Nooo, it's something an opportunist would say!"
Dipper's smile widened, and he gave a soft laugh at her reply. Mabel always knew how to cheer him up, and he was thankful to have such a wonderful sister.
Mabel yawned. "We should sleep, Dippy."
"Stop that," he muttered, but wasn't truly annoyed by the nickname. Yawning as well, he shifted his weight to find a comfortable position on the mattress. "But we should. Stan did say we'd have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Dipper."
"Sleep well, Mabel."