It was late evening and the Arizona sun was dipping below the horizon to give the scorched sandstone a reprieve from its heat. The sky was a blend of dusky purple and orange, thin clouds shining pink. The rest area they'd stopped at was desolate, merely a weathered picnic bench covered with a tin roof and an unreadable sign.

At the moment Dipper and Mabel were kicking up dust as they ran, a smile twitching onto Stan's face as he watched them.

He tore his gaze from the playing children and shook out his crumpled map of the United States, states he was banned from marked with X's. That included most of the Northeast, Southeast, and Midwest. It was fortunate he wasn't banned from Oregon.

He squinted at the map, mentally planning the best route. They'd driven into Arizona that day, and while it would be faster to cut through Nevada Stan wasn't sure he wanted to risk being picked up. They still had that warrant for his arrest.

He had done the same thing multiple times in the past for quick cash, but the thought of being separated from Dipper and Mabel made him hesitant. Now that he had two children relying on him he realized how reckless his lifestyle was. Even if he switched his plates with someone else's his car was recognizable. Winning at poker wouldn't mean anything if he got arrested. The kids would surely be sent to child services if that happened, and he couldn't bare that thought.

Stan bit his tongue as he thought about their dwindling money reserves. He'd gotten non-perishable food and water for the kids, and with his car guzzling gas they wouldn't have much left. Praying for a miracle, he opened his wallet.

A little under a hundred dollars. He grimaced. If they only paid for gas that might be enough, but being stranded on the side of the highway with two kids wasn't how he wanted to spend his time. Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pressure of a headache forming behind his eyes. They were so close. A state away was his brother, unaware of the visitors heading for him.

He needed cash.

The man frowned, right leg bouncing restlessly. Gambling in casinos wasn't an option, and he didn't have many other ideas.

Despite not having a plan he was itching to start driving again. His mother had always called him a free spirit, her son with personality. At age seventeen an insensitive principal said, in not so many words, that he was the worthless son. Destined to scrape barnacles off the docks and rot in New Jersey while Ford was meant for greater. Stan had known he wanted to sail to strange, exotic places, Ford his co-captain in the search for treasure and adventure. He knew he'd run away from New Jersey one day, and since leaving his childhood home he hadn't stopped running.

Nowhere felt like home; so he drove. He drove searching for a place he didn't think existed anymore. He drove in hopes that mistakes could be left behind in miles of distance, but he never out drove his regret.

He'd grown up to early, these kids shouldn't have to. What was the harm in letting them be kids and have a few more minutes playing… tag? Mabel was shouting animatedly and chasing Dipper, his hat in her outstretched hands.

"Whatcha' got there, sweetie?" He asked, stretching his back as he stood from his perch on the hood.

"A lizard!" Mabel exclaimed, now eager to show him. He peered into the forcibly borrowed hat, which held an irritated looking horny toad. He laughed, slapping her back.

"Nice catch, kiddo. But I think he wants to go home."

"Okay!" Mabel dumped the lizard onto the gravel and it hastily scurried away. Dipper stalked over and snatched his hat from the girl. She grinned cheekily.

"Alright, everybody in. We have a detour to make."

"Where, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked curiously.

"Just someone who owes me a favor."

In another few hours, they'd entered the outskirts of Nevada. The target was a rundown bar, its parking lot packed. He twisted to look at the twins, cornes of his mouth falling when he saw their uneasy expressions.

"Hey, I have an idea," he grinned too widely. "There's a motel about a block over, let's get set-up there and then I'll come do what I need to do."

"T-that's okay, Grunkle Stan." Dipper said. "We can wait in the car."

Stan was ashamed that he considered the offer. The patrons of this bar hadn't been model citizens years ago and he doubted they were now. Intoxicated low lifes would be coming and going all night, passing his car. It only took one guy to make one bad decision and the kids could get hurt.

"No." He said firmly, putting the car in drive and leaving the roads shoulder.

The motel was more seedy than he cared for, but it was significantly better than the bars parking lot. The woman at the front desk was lazily chewing bright pink gum and holding a lit cigarette, gaze trained on a magazine.

Stan cleared his throat and she swung her dull eyes up to look at him, unimpressed. "Want a room?" She asked, gnashing the gum with her yellowed teeth.

"Yes, just for tonight."

She grabbed one of the keys dangling on the wall behind her and tossed it to him, popping a bubble before taking a long drag.

Lobby bell jangling behind them, Stan ushered the kids past withered shrubs and an out of order ice machine. Their room held two twin beds, the covers marred with stains he didn't want to know the origin of. A quick check revealed no bed bugs, which was honestly surprising given the ill-kept quality of the rest of the room.

Out of habit Stan peeked outside to ensure they had not been followed. No other cars had pulled in since he had and he closed the ash laden curtains, the hastily hung rod almost falling from the mild use.

"Okay, leave those closed. I want you to lock the door and use the chain. Don't answer for anyone except me."

"Where are you going?" Mabel asked, her usual enthusiasm dampened with worry.

Stan knelt and flicked her nose, grinning. "I need to visit an old friend, I'll be back in a few hours." He turned on the television for them and paused awkwardly in the doorway. "You kids be good."

"You're coming back, aren't you?" Dipper looked, in that moment, years more solemn than a boy his age should ever look. It was the same face Ford made when he was worried, tears glistening in his dark eyes after he found Stan beaten and bruised from fighting with bullies.

"'Course I'm comin' back." He knocked Dipper's hat from his head and ruffled the curly locks beneath. Dipper nodded, dour expression lightening.

"You're not going to do something illegal, are you, Grunkle Stan?"

"Anything's legal if there are no cops around." He gave his charming, conman grin. Dipper shook his head, now smiling, and sat cross legged on the floor in front of the television. Mabel lingered at Stan's side, conflicted. In a second her arms were constricting around his legs, and the next moment she'd joined Dipper on the floor.

Stan watched them, two kids in front of the television. And for a brief moment he saw the ghost of two young boys in a cramped New Jersey living room, squabbling over what channel to watch.

All of his memories of Ford had inevitably become tainted by sorrow, but this one came with a sense of nostalgia. There was longing, yes, but the hole that had been punched into his heart the day Filbrick kicked him out did not widen. In fact, over the past few days he'd hardly noticed the gnawing emptiness he carried inside him. The addition of Dipper and Mabel in his heart had filled it.

All the more reason he had to do this.

The bar was teeming with people, and just when he thought the trip was a bust he spotted a familiar cowlick. He waded through the drunken masses and elbowed the person playfully.

"What's going on, Richy-Rich?"

The man gasped. "Stetson Pinefeild, you son of a bitch, how the hell are you?"

Stan shrugged, "needin' some cash, you still do that boxing thing?"

"Yes, yes." Rich waved his hand dismissively. "Starts in a couple hours, c'mon. I'll buy you a drink."

Stan would normally leap at the chance for free booze, to forget life's problems on someone else's dime, but knowing Dipper and Mabel were waiting for him stopped him after one drink.

"What are you doing here? I thought they ran you out of town."

"Nay, that was Texas. Sucked, because they all had shotguns. I'm just passing through."

"Alright, alright. Well, if you don't get killed, winner gets three hundred bucks." Rich sniggered. "But I doubt you'll live."

"Still work like it used to?"

"Yup, any idiot from the audience can challenge the nights victor. And tonight, that idiot is you."

Stan nodded, gripping the beer bottles long neck.

For the kids, he told himself.

The impressive basement was filled with shouting and jeering people, all crowding a circular clearing where two bloodied men were throwing punches. The smaller man thudded as he hit the concrete, Rich counting him out.

All the scheduled opponents had fallen to the houses champion; a bald, six foot five man who looked like he could open a beer bottle with his teeth.

Rich held the brutes hand up, speedily yelling into his microphone.

"Bruce the Batterer wins again! Is there anyone brave or stupid enough to challenge him?"

Stan gulped, arms glued to his side. Fuck it. He'd be no good to the kids dead. He could get money some other way.

Rich scanned the unruly crowd and grinned when he saw Stan, desperately looking for an escape. "You, you sir. I saw your hand go up, get in here!" Stan's heavy legs dragged him into the makeshift arena. "My fine sir, have you done this before?" Rich shoved the microphone to Stan's mouth.

"Uh, no."

"No! Excellent! Alright, standard house rules. You two fight until one of you can't. Winner gets the cash." Rich backed away from the two men and slashed his hand through the air dramatically. "Fight!"

Stan dodged the first few swings, never more thankful for his childhood lessons and the year of bare knuckle boxing experience under his belt.

While Bruce had size and strength on him, he'd already gone through three other opponents. He was exhausted, visibly slower now than the start of his first battle. Stan just had to outlast him.

Bruce landed a hit on Stan's chest, knocking the air from him. He lunged in the moment of weakness, fist crashing into Stan's cheek. Stan felt his skin ripple, blood gushing into his mouth. His vision flickered, but the pain took a moment to register.

He staggered, miraculously staying on his feet. He spat out a mouthful of blood, relieved that the punch hadn't knocked any teeth out. What happened next was a blur. He wasn't aware of his arm pulling back or snapping forward, but he came to when Rich was waving his hand above his head, shouting over the crowds disapproving roar.

"Folks I don't believe this! Bruce the Batterer has been knocked out! Son, what's your name?"

Stan swayed, blood dribbling from his mouth as he mumbled a reply.

"Stetson! Congratulations, Stetson."

Rich led him away from the arena and angered patrons who'd lost bets. "Good job, Stet." He closed his office door behind them, clicking the lock. "Let's get you your cash." Rich licked his thumb and counted out the money.

"I can't believe I won." Stan said, awed.

"I can. I told Maurice to take a dive."

"I thought his name was Bruce-what do you mean he took a dive?!"

Rich cocked an eyebrow, handing him the money. "What do you care? House made a lot of money tonight, and you didn't get shorted, either."

Stan sighed. "Thanks, Rich."

"You're welcome. Now, as much as I'd love to keep looking at…" Rich gestured vaguely to Stan's face. "...That, I'd scram. Any fighting outside of organized-"

"Illegal."

He continued as if Stan hadn't interrupted. "-Boxing events is not often regulated."

"You're a real pal,"

"I'm wonderful, I'm aware. Now get lost." Rich's warm eyes sparkled, at odds with his harsh words.

Stan felt like he should do more to show his gratitude. Rich was one of the few friends he'd made in his journey across the states. Back in the day they'd gotten in and out of trouble together, but he was on a mission and did as he was told, leaving Rich and the bar behind him.

No new cars had appeared in the parking lot, and after stumbling to his room Stan rapped on the door. "Kids, it's Stan. Open up." The lights inside turned on and moments later Mabel cracked the door open. She yawned and stepped aside, rubbing her eyes.

She looked at him and shrieked.

Stan knew he must be quite the sight. His face would be swollen, bruises already forming and blood crusted on his lips.

"Grunkle Stan! Ohmygosh are you okay?"

"I'm fine, honey." A wave of exhaustion came over him, and a glance to the bedside clock told him it was four in the morning. "You two go back to bed, I'm going to take a shower."

He went to the bathroom quickly so he could wash himself, not to avoid the barrage of questions that surely awaited him.

The lukewarm water cascading down him was tinted pink and stung the split on his cheek. Stan ignored the pain and lathered his hair with shampoo, uncaring of the burning it caused. Sweat and blood swirled down the rusted drain, and when the water ran clean he shut it off.

He wiped the steam from the mirror, surprised to see the damage was not as bad as he'd expected it to be. His cheek was discolored and swollen, but he'd definitely had worse. His nose hadn't even broken. Not a bad trade for three hundred bucks.

Mabel and Dipper waited for him at the edge of the bed, tense and ready to spring into action. They got one look at him and did, the tension that had coiled in them snapping.

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Did you get mugged?

"Guys, guys I'm fine." Stan couldn't remember the last time someone besides his mother had sounded genuinely worried about him. "Trust me, I'm fine. Couple days and this will be gone."

"But what happened?" Mabel's fingers curled into his shirt.

"I…" Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "I fought a guy, for money. But now getting to Oregon won't be a problem." His zeal was little comfort to the kids, and he frowned. "Lose the long faces, I'll be fine." He stood. "Try and get some more sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to Gravity Falls."

Stan woke once during the night to find Mabel and Dipper nestled against him, sleeping soundly. His bed was cramped, and the other bed empty, but they all slept well that night.