A/N: Hey again, everyone. Sorry for not uploading in the last 2 weeks, but I was really busy with personal stuff (5 exams in one week :c) and I had to put off "AUA" for a little while. Interestingly enough, I planned this chapter to be a lot longer, but I decided against it in the end after seeing the length at which it was and my burning desire to deliver a good product to you guys. Anyway, next chapter might come out at 2 weeks maximum and will be a bit shorter in order to establish the new stuff and after that we begin with longer ones (this chapter's length + 1000/500 words; I'll try not to do 7k long ones lol.) Anyway, enjoy and thanks for the views and favs/follows!

Disclaimer: I own nooooothing.

Chapter IV - The Call

It was a productive day for the Mystery Shack, Stanley thought while making his way to the living room. Dusk had hit and his employees were already off for the day. He stopped himself at the vending machine after noticing it was a bit off. He adjusted its position accordingly so that it would be as inconspicuous as possible. Looking around himself and seeing the emptiness of the gift shop, he began to reminisce about today's experiences - the way he had managed to cooperate with Matthew, as well as Soos and, surprisingly, Wendy, made it so he'd get through tourist after tourist while still keeping up his effectiveness at snagging away more money, whilst of course maintaining lightning speed. Sadly, the work day didn't begin as well, with Matt waking up with a bad attitude for some reason unknown to him, which made working with him set off to a rocky start, not to mention his wound still hurting an annoyingly tiny bit. Nevertheless, Stanley negated the former issue by surprising Matthew in the morning with some new clothes he had bought for him the other day - he somehow managed to get his outfit correctly, although he had to search through most, if not all of the clothing shops in the mall. After delivering them and his wound coincidentally healing fully by the time the work day began, Stanley bore a positive vibe, which, although unlike his character, wasn't ruined nor stopped throughout the entire time. He attained the same pleasurable feeling from counting the large sum of money he had busted his butt off to earn as well. Before he got to relax fully, though, he knew he had to send Matthew to bed and to work in the lab after his eventual break. That didn't stop him from taking a short break nonetheless, as he finally positioned himself on the armchair he had grown to love all these years. After a good while of idly sitting by and trailing his mind process somewhere nonsensical, he swept back into reality and got up from his chair with a painful groan. As he was about to cross into the territory of the corridor, he suddenly heard the phone ring in the living room. Retreating back to his armchair, he picked it up.

"Err, hello? Who's this?"

"Oh Stanford, hello!" said a slightly distorted womanly voice.

Stan held his breath. He precisely knew that voice and to whom it belonged to. Hearing it again brought him mixed feelings, for it was the voice of his niece-in-law - Carol. He stood there, silent and bedazzled, but intrigued as well. Carol quickly caught up to his act.

"Stan?" asked Carol. "Are you there?"

"Ah," responded Stan, as if though he just grabbed the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. So, er, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much! Dan's doing alright, school's out for the kids and we're all good."

Stan slightly smiled at this, happy that there was still some real link to the Pines family left that was seemingly content with their lives.

"Good 'ta hear it. Anyway, you know me and I know you. I can tell ya didn't just call to tell me how great it is back in Piedmont."

"Well…" she began. "I did tell you that the kids are off school. And we really hate that they spend it all cooped up inside with their video games..."

Stan quietly sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, I get where you're goin' at. But, I'm sorry Carol, I think I gotta say no."

"Wait," ushered Carol with a slightly raised voice. "I know you aren't a children person, but trust me, Dipper and Mabel are good kids. You'll feel like they aren't even there! And…"

"And what?"

Carol remained eerily silent. After a while of enduring the said silence, Stan proceeded to actively check if the connection was still there - whether it was by calling for Carol herself or by checking his own phone. Suddenly, he heard a sharp grumbling noise pierce his ear, causing it to feel quite the moderate amount of pain. Nonetheless, he discerned that the noise had surely been Carol picking up the phone again.

"Carol? Ya there?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I'm here. I'm sorry I hung up for a bit, but I… had to deal with something."

Her unwillingness to name the problem she had piqued Stan's interest. It also made him feel as if though something was amiss with Carol and her household.

"Somethin' what?"

Carol sighed deeply again.

"Look, Stan, I'll be honest with you. We… aren't as well-off as I told you," she said with a hint of apprehension and sadness in her voice. "I just said that because the kids were there, but… our marriage… it..."

Stan sighed, now noticing her beginning to break her otherwise altruistic demeanor.

"And you're tellin' me the only way I can help you is by taking the kids in?"

Carol paused yet again.

"...Yes."

"And why's that?"

"We're going to be heading off to marriage counselling. I… just don't want to trouble the kids with it… and so we thought of you."

Stanley stopped himself before responding. He now finally took some time to assess the problem and think about it. What would it take to take care of three kids? He wasn't sure if he was up to the task or not, but considering that he strongly felt as if though he was holding their fates in his very palm, he knew he had to make a decision.

"Look, Carol…" began Stan. "I'm gonna think 'bout it for a bit. I'll call ya again after I… fix up the rest of the place."

"Yes, of course, Stan. I'm going to tell Dan that I called you, okay?"

"Sure, sure. Talk to ya soon."

He put the phone down. The click of the handset on the receiver put his soul at momentary ease, for he had made himself some time to think about his next move. Although he was rather indifferent to the situation regarding Carol and her husband, he couldn't help but wonder about the ones who would really suffer if he let complacency and indecisiveness take him over - the kids. He hadn't seen nor heard much from them, but one aspect about it struck him like lightning ever since he took his first leave of absence from work and travelled all the way to Piedmont itself to witness their birth: the fact that they were twins. It was something Stanley had always kept in mind and it was something that resonated with him much too strongly. Shaking that thought off and breathing one final sigh, as well as running his coarse hand over his glasses and face, he began trotting to the kitchen. All of the sound in the entire living room was limited to the muffled steps of Stan's slippers and humming of one of the lamps nearby. He was used to having the TV blur out some needless noise in order to distract himself, but the conversation he had with Carol and his intuition ignored that need and hence the entire room was eerily reticent. It was more uncomfortable that way, he thought, for with nothing to listen to or even watch, he was always left with his thoughts - and he never liked that feeling. From his unpleasantness, he found himself entering the vicinity of the kitchen with lightning speed and after turning the lights on through a flick of one of the switches, he began scanning the area. He established, in a matter of a few seconds no less, that Matt was not present in the room, which, although irking him at first, made him feel all the more curious as to his whereabouts. He knew so many places where one person could hide for ages in his brother's house - that is, without food or water and he was aware Matthew had neither. After deciding that there would be no point in looking for him, as he knew that he would turn up eventually and that he was surely in the area of the house, he went to the fridge to pick out some form of a snack. He decided on an ordinary Pitt Cola that was stationed on one of the lower rafts of the refrigerator. Proceeding to hastily pick it up, he heard some odd commotion behind him. Instantly, he turned around, nearly dropping the can bearing the cold beverage. Of course, it was none other than Matthew staring at him from behind.

"Yeesh, kid, I thought we settled on the scares," said Stan as he mentioned the first time he had frightened him only two days ago.

"Yeah… sorry about that," responded Matthew, emerging from the shadows and proceeding to rub the back of his head whilst bearing a giddy smile.

Stan found his attitude more than amusing and it garnered a smile in return, but his expression turned rather cold soon after as he remembered about the predicament he had to think about and deal with. Matt, on the other hand, remained indifferent - on the outside at least. He sat down on one of the chairs and so did Stan. They were faced with one another. Stanley sat quietly, lost in thought. He knew he had to call Carol as soon as possible, and he was aware that he could only do so after he was done with Matt, as he had originally intended before receiving Carol's request, and has made up his mind.

"Ya hungry, kid?"

"No… not really," replied Matt with an apathetic tone.

Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Either you ain't a picky eater or you're lyin' to me. And I think you haven't eaten since, what, morning?"

Matthew let out a slightly frustrated sigh.

"Look, I'm just not hungry, Mr. Pines... "

Stan was about to interject when he saw him gesturing to speak once more.

"I… I took a snack from the vending machine," he told him as he looked him in the eye. "I saw some tourist doing a trick with it and getting something, so… I wanted to try it for myself. To see what would happen."

Stanley admired his honesty, even if he had to get it out and even if it was for something as simple as a snack. He let out a small chuckle.

"Kid…" he began as he smiled at him. "I'm glad ya did somethin' like that on your own. Even if I was mad, I'd still be happy that ya actually took a risk. Not 'ta mention that this was all for some lousy snack."

Matthew felt at ease from his response, seeing as Stan's disciplinary methods weren't at all similar to the ones he had hitherto been used to from the various nutjobs he has had the misfortune of bearing with. As a matter of fact, he thought, Stan's ways seemed quite unorthodox and he further solidified his belief by noting a couple of glaring examples from the two-day experience he had living with him. He was definitely something different, and that spiked his intrigue by a huge amount.

"Say, Mr. Pines…" began Matt with an inquiring tone in his voice. "You, um, run a tourist trap sort of thingie, right?"

"Yeah. Where're ya getting at? And you can just call me Stan, kiddo."

"Well, I've seen the way you act with your customers… not that I have anything against it…" he told Stan with a hasty and defensive tone. "It's even a bit funny seeing them get tricked, but..."

"But what?" asked Stan as he took a sip from his cold can. Although he wasn't particularly in the mood to be seemingly interrogated, he knew he had to listen to his concerns - he was sure his life up until a few days ago was a living nightmare and he wanted to not let him continue going through the same experience as he himself once had, especially considering his age.

"They're just nobodies to you, right?" he asked yet again and Stan gave only a slight nod in reply.

Matt paused. He darted his eyes around, hesitant to say whatever he had in mind. He finally sighed and looked Stan in the eyes.

"Then… why did you take me in?"

Stan took a slow sip from his Pitt Cola. He slowly put it down on the table after refreshing himself yet again.

"Kid… have ya already forgotten what I told you when we-"

"I know what you told me," interrupted Matt. "It's just that… why did you do it then? That night? I… just…"

With a heavy sigh, Stan got up from his chair with his now empty can in hand. He walked to one of the nearby rubbish bins and disposed of it. He faced the mosaic glass window with hands behind his back and seemed to be contemplating something. Matt was now worried if he had done something to incur Stan's wrath.

"Matt… ya wanna know the truth?" he asked Matt as he turned to face him with a stern look.

"Yes…" he replied after slightly hesitating.

Stanley looked down at the poor wooden floor. He had made this correlation ever since he first saw him, but he never wanted to admit it to him.

"I… how do I say this..." he began. "That night when I first met ya, just by lookin' at you I saw a lot of myself in you. I'd be a bad businessman if I couldn't read faces and make up backstories from 'em. So I guess I went a bit soft on ya kid, heh. Just don't expect that when we're workin'."

Just as Stan had described in his little explanation, he instinctively read his face yet again. It emanated nothing short of pure awe and bewilderment. After realising he was surely weirding Stan out with his contemplative twitchings, he forced himself back into the dialogue.

"I… I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I had to make you say that, Stan… and also thank you."

"Eh, don't mention it, kiddo," he told Matt as he went to him and patted him on the shoulder. "Anyway, it's gotten pretty late, so you'd better start haulin' your butt up to your bed."

Matthew instinctively flinched at the mention of going to bed. He even started slightly fumbling and a part of Stan had wanted to ask what had been wrong, but he stood by his statement that it was quite late and knew that time was beginning to run short, unwilling to stall.

"Come on, kid, it ain't gonna bite," he assured. "So, yeah, shower or whatever before you go, but I'm gonna check on ya later, aight?"

Matt let out a painful sigh.

"Fine…" he murmured as he began going up the flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

After making sure that Matthew was truly gone and not attempting to spy on him from upstairs, he sat down yet again, but this time on the chair Matt had previously been on. Unease filled him as he twiddled his thumbs and darted his eyes to the clock - 9:49 PM. Midnight was not that far off and Carol was surely still waiting for his answer. He didn't even know why he felt so apprehensive - money definitely wasn't an issue, nor was his ability to act as a de-facto guardian for three seemingly temperate children, with two of them being his family. He looked at the clock again - 9:53 PM. Being alone with his thoughts - a practice he yet again thought how much he had grown to loathe - made time flow seamlessly. It was now or never, yes or no, help or don't help, save or don't save.

Stanley barely composed himself. He got up and turned on the nearly busted radio nearby. With a clear mind, he reasoned and debated with himself, only to finally make a choice - it was the one he knew he would have to make in the end.

After a few minutes, the telephone rang. There wasn't a doubt in his mind as to the identity of the caller. Stan walked over to the device that rested upon the end table left to the armchair and picked up the handset, just as he had done less than an hour ago with a clearer and calmer conscience - that association alone made him internally laugh, for only now did he realise how much a single phone call changed his evening plans. Hearing noise and ensuring that the connection was active, he readied himself to speak.

"Stan!" greeted Carol, as if she had a headstart on him. "I'm so glad you answered! I wanted to ask if you, um, you know...?"

"Yeah, I have decided," he told her and breathed a deep sigh. "I'll take 'em."

"Thank you so much, Stan! I'll tell them immediately! By tomorrow, right? We did some research and found that they'll get there by afternoon."

Yet another sigh escaped Stan's mouth.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great! And again, thanks a million! I'm so sorry we had to do this, but Dan said you were the best person to ask. Anyway, have a good night, Stan!"

"Yeah, you too."

It was done. Now all that was left was telling Matt and the rest of his employees about the arrival of the, unbeknownst to them, second generation of Pines twins, as well as the cleaning of the attic room and its consequential suiting for accommodation. He knew that tomorrow he'd have to put the finishing touches for their living quarters, which only meant that he'd have to clean out the room now instead of working in the lab for the night. Without a moment's hesitation, he went up the stairs and soon found himself in the perimeter of the second floor. He wandered off to the left where the attic room lay. His gaze diverted to the many doors beset on the right wall and highlighted that, even after thirty long and painful years of living here, he still mistook the purpose some rooms and was sure that there were some built-in that he wasn't even aware of. That was the consequence of living in someone's house and stealing his identity, he thought grimly. Now that he thought about his brother, only now did he realise that by taking two more kids he would have even less time on his hands to work on rescuing him - that is, unless some miracle blessed him, but his progress had been stagnant for thirty years anyway, so what difference would it or the addition of two preteens from his family make? He had grown to like Matthew as well, sure, but it wasn't as if though he could help him - no one could, not even his family, and only bringing in more mouths to feed would only slow his work down.

He stopped walking.

How could he even think something like that, he rhetorically asked. It's… it's what Ford would say if he were here. He wasn't his brother, he wasn't a person that cared more about pointless scientific work more than his family despite having to do so for thirty years in a vain attempt to try and save him with one of the journals and despite being called "Stanford" rather than "Stanley" for a gruelling half of his life.

He was Stanley.

But only he knew it. And he had to keep it that way.

He finally reached the door to the attic room. It was at the edge of the house itself and not far off from his own bedroom and the second bathroom. He extended his hand to the shaky wooden knob and began trying to pry it open. He eventually did manage to, but the door itself flung open out the effort he had put into barging in and he fell with his shoulder blade onto the dusty wooden floor. He got up and began patting and fixing himself up. Whilst doing so, he realised that in his hand he held the small, wooden knob. A grumble of frustration exited his lips as he looked at the state of the now knobless door and, as a matter of fact, the entire still-dark attic. He didn't know how or why he felt as if though an unpleasant aura had permeated the atmosphere - maybe it was his underlying fear of this room and the fact that it had always seemed rather peculiar for his taste. That, or a newly-developed fear of darkness, he jokingly thought. Leaving his thoughts and setting aside the door part, he began navigating through the darkness to find the light switch. After a fairly extensive search on the walls of the vacant room, he finally yielded a result and, after making sure that the switch he had found was indeed one for the lights, flicked it.

The entire room lit up out of the two functioning light bulbs that were mounted on the nearby support beams.

It wasn't that bad, Stanley thought, but there was surely work that had needed to be done. There were already two beds which were set amidst the corners at the end of the attic, yet there were still a couple of boxes filled with junk strewn around all over the floors and furniture - junk that comprised mostly out of Ford's outlandish experiments and other, more random stuff his brother had decided to store. Between the two parallel beds was a small, well-built wooden desk and near the edge of the right bed sat a small end table with a vase-shaped lamp on top. The glass triangle window that stood above Stanley and near the ceiling ushered in unnecessary and barely noticeable moonlight in the attic. Stanley continued examining the room, but his attention diverted to one of the boxes that held the so-called "junk" he had previously labelled as Ford's. From the information he had garnered in the now thirty years he had spent rigorously reading Stanford's journal, he quickly discerned that some of the things littered around in the many boxes weren't at all his brother's - among the things he dug through were a banjo and a pair of old leather sandals. There were also notes with illegible writing, as well as an entire computer in one of the others. It was strange, because as much as he had been away from Stanford, he knew that he would never buy nor use these items. That revelation made him wonder if his brother had ever written anything about someone else in his journal. He shrugged it off and decided that it'd be best if he started work on the hauling process and leave the speculations for later. The only problem that lingered on, though, was where exactly Stanley would have to haul them so they could be as inconspicuous as possible.

He looked around himself and the attic. Only after setting his sights upon a blue curtain did he remember how big the room really was, for the space behind that said blue curtain, he recalled, was enough to house double the amount of the four boxes he had to move currently.

"Perfect…" he muttered under his breath whilst bearing a mischievous grin and rubbing his hands together as if he had just struck the best deal of his life. "This will do fine…"

He'd be done with everything - the knob, the boxes and the entire room - in an hour or less, he thought with a smile on his wrinkled and tired face.

P.S. Special, and I mean really special thanks to Villicus (link - u/6923112/) for proofreading this chapters and supporting the fic! He's a great dude and you should check out his awesome stories!