HAT: It's 4:30 in the morning... Eff everything... I'm just that lazy I'm reusing the disclaimer below and I didn't even try on the bottom... enjoy.
Disclaimer: You know... if I owned Gravity Falls I probably would've had Dipper- for one episode- get turned into an old man or baby... hey, that's an idea!
It was noticeable to see that Stanley's in a foul mood.
The frown was something that was usual and his slouch was nearly always there, but the most notable thing was his hair.
The Pines men were an open book if one paid attention to how their hair is that day. If it is neat and they have taken at least ten minutes on their then they are in a good mood- usually the longer they take on their hair, the better- and the more disheveled it looks, the more foul the mood. Stanley's hair- under the fez- looked like it did when he woke up and the real tip off was the fact that even his sideburns looked like a mess.
"Are you alright, 'Lee?" Stanford asks after observing his brother's hair- or rather- sideburns.
Stanley glances at his brother and can tell just by looking that he's only spent five minutes on his hair. "Are you?"
"Yeah," Stanford grumbles while combing his fingers through his hair in hopes of making it presentable.
Mabel makes a confused look. "What is it with men and their hair?"
"I dunno about other men, but I know Pines men have a thing for their hair," Stanley informs and then smirks when he sees Dipper subconsciously patting down his hair. "Just like that. You're on your way to becoming a man, Dipper."
Dipper grins. "Yeah I am!"
Great, the attention's off me now, Stanley thinks as he slyly fixes his sideburns and then takes a long drink of his coffee. The rest of breakfast is spent too busy eating to do anything else but eat- and for Stanley to secretly fix his hair and think about how fortunate he is to not have nightmares for the past couple of nights- even though he's been forced to sleep in the same bed as his brother- and then turn around to everything that's been bugging him for the past several weeks.
There's the newest revelation that his goddaughter was being abused by her boyfriend- and he'll be sure to deal with that boy as soon as possible, rest assured- and also what he's going to do after the summer is over. That's a huge dilemma in multiple ways and he's rather not think about it, but it's been eating at him and helping fuel his foul mood. Despite his mask, it's obvious that he hadn't even wanted to get out of bed, but the drive to make as much money as he possibly can before he's kicked out of his home is enough to drive him to plunge through the day despite it.
"Sta-" Stanford starts, but stops when Stanley stands.
"I've gotta full day of work to do, so if you'll excuse me," Stanley snaps a bit more harshly than he had meant to, but he does nothing to even suggest that he is remotely apologetic and walks out of his- Stanford's- kitchen.
Shit my head hurts, he thinks while going into the gift shop and rubbing his forehead in hopes of easing the pain. He makes a mental note to down a bottle of water after the first tour and unlocks the doors so that his employees won't have to search for the key- he moves it constantly- and turns to the counter and grabs his eyepatch and 8-ball cane. His head pounds at the sound of of the door opening and he quietly groans and rests his head on his forearms. He might as well have gotten drunk the night before, his head hurt so bad.
"Whoa, dude, are you alright, Mr. Pines?"
"I'm fine, Soos," Stanley grunts while waving him off and standing straight up when his brother walks in to go into his lab through the vending machine.
Stanford glances at his brother to observe him, but when he finds nothing too off he continues to punch in the code. As soon as he's gone Stanley's composure becomes slightly less secure- no one else could really read him other than Mabel aside from his brother.
It's always been exhausting keeping a mask up all the time. From the time he was a child, he'd been the one that put on a mask of happiness so that his brother wouldn't feel bad anymore or later in life when he kept up the mask to keep people from getting in and hurting him after someone did when he finally opened up (*cough*Carla*cough*) and even to this day so that his family will stay happy knowing that he'll be fine. Nowadays he can't be using as much energy as he used to so he times his masks carefully- like when he's alone he doesn't even bother anymore- or around certain people he uses less energy than for others (people that know him like his brother, Mabel, even Wendy).
"You want me to get Dipper and Mabel to take over for the day?" Soos asks.
Stanley scoffs. "Please, I'm fine! Let them have their adventures!"
Just go with them, he wants to add.
They usually do just that anyway. It's him that does all the work around here anyway- aside from Soos' handiwork since he can't exactly fix everything like he did in his thirties and forties.
"Okay," Soos shrugs and goes to work on his unfinished project with repairing the hole in the ceiling in the bathroom.
Stanley puts on his eyepatch and tries to push the headache and negative thoughts away, but it doesn't work. It doesn't matter anymore- the first tour bus has made it's stop. Everything will have to be put aside for the next half hour at least.
"Welcome to the Mystery Shack!" Stanley shouts as he walks out to greet the wallets- er- tourists. "I'm Mr. Mystery and I'll be taking you into a world of splendor and enchantment, but be warned!... not everyone makes it out alive!"
Some reacted with fear- mostly children- others laughed- mostly adults- and others were disinterested- a good mixture of teenagers and adults. Just like he liked them- except the last reaction.
He leads them through while ignoring the headache and putting on his most decent mask to scam them out of their money- er... earn their money through scam- showmanship and honest work. He had to lie to himself otherwise he'll slip up- like he'd been doing for the past four decades, but that's besides the point.
By the time the tour ends he ends up in his bathroom taking medicine for his migraine and downing an entire bottle of water. For the next ten minutes he nurses his head and he wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and get a few more hours of sleep- is that too much to ask?
He leans heavily on his arms that are propped against the sink and rests his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and lets out a pain-filled groan while trying to talk himself into going back out to give tours to people. His body doesn't want to and his mind doesn't want to, but his wallet is something to make him do that... now if only his body would obey his mind and move from where it's resting.
"Grunkle Stan?"
He turns and finds Mabel standing there with a confused face while wearing a bright orange sweatshirt with a harp on it. "What is it sweetie?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine!"
She narrows her eyes and he tries his best to keep his mask up, but his energy is near drained and he doesn't know if he has the strength to do so much longer.
"Grunkle Stan, why're you lying to me?"
Shit. "What makes you say that?"
"Your sideburns and you're all sweaty and pale," she answers while gesturing to him.
"I'm trying for a new look, is it working?"
The girl pouts and crosses her arms over her chest. "Grunkle Stan, you shouldn't even be out of bed! You're sick!"
"No I'm-" Shit!
Not quite, but disgusting enough.
He ends up turning from the sink and rushing to the toilet and throwing up in a place that was never meant for his face.
It doesn't make sense! I haven't had a beer, tequila, or any alcohol all summer! I shouldn't be feeling like this! He thinks while using toilet paper to wipe his mouth before flushing the toilet. Stanley doesn't get sick often, but when he does it hits him hard and every time it feels like he's suffering from a massive hangover for every day until he starts feeling better.
"I told you!" Mabel shouts while running forward and feeling his forehead. "C'mon, you're not working today."
"But-"
"No buts!" She states as she pulls him to his room. "Dipper! Go tell Soos and Wendy that Grunkle Stan's not working today!"
Dipper makes a confused noise as Stanley sits on his bed. "Why?!"
"Kid, you're too loud," Stanley says as his great-niece takes a deep breath to shout an answer back.
"Sorry," she whispers. "I'll go tell him, you get in your pjs."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles and unbuttons his jacket and takes it off while she leaves the room.
Slowly he takes off his suit and ends up in his muscle shirt and boxers with his fez resting on the nightstand. His body shivers at the cold air hitting his body and he curls up in his blankets and buries his head in his pillows so that he won't have to see any light come into his room.
I should be making money- someone needs to run the Shack, he thinks and then with a sigh sits up only to be pushed back down by a strong hand- definitely not his niece's or nephew's. Soos, perhaps? He peeks despite his eyelids burning form the effort of opening his eyes and finds his twin sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Whaddoyouwant?" Stanley demands.
"You've gotta take better care of yourself," he grumbles.
Stanley can't help, but scoff. "You're one to talk..."
"Get some sleep," Stanford insists.
"Gotta make money," Stanley moans before- and he doesn't know whether to be mortified at what he did or entertained by his brother's reaction- throws up onto his brother's lap.
Stanley stands up immediately with a squeal. "Stanley! Gah, I should've expected this," he grumbles as he takes off his pants quickly before the liquid could seep and touch his skin. "You always threw up on me when you ever did get sick... Could I borrow your pants?"
"Ugh," Stanley grunts while waving his brother off and trying to get the taste out of his mouth with no water.
"Thanks... I'll get you some water and crackers."
"Money..."
"The kids are taking over for you, don't worry," he says and then walks out in his twin's pants- not something he has never done.
As soon as his brother's out of sight he gets up- despite how the small voice of common sense tries to talk him out of it- only to fall back into his bed when his body is too weak to hold his weight. His foul mood isn't getting any better. Now he's sick and he's stuck with his thoughts while his brother is gone to get things out of the kitchen he's never been in. Stanley gives Stanford ten minutes to find the crackers at least.
For now he's thinking of a plan for when summer's over. It's a bit delusional with living in the wild with a pack of gargoyles and watching the kids from a distance while they grow up to become the great man and woman that he knows that they'll be while dodging the cops on the gargoyle's backs. But still, that's the dilemma.
When he shuts down the Shack and gives his brother's identity back he'll be left with nothing. Stanley Pines has been dead for decades, there's no way to insert him back into society. There's also the drastic change in looks and personality that will get even the townsfolk's attention. Stanford Pines closing the Mystery Shack and being a law abiding citizen? That's not gonna go unnoticed. Then Stanley- well into the later stages of his life- will lose the only place that's come close to being his home and end up living in his car again and running from the law for the rest of his life while- most likely- never seeing his family again.
Sickness has this thing about making even grown men vulnerable and more open than they usually would be and make one completely reliant on others for a time. This fact is confirmed because at these thoughts and his stomach twisting, turning and churning bring tears of frustration and damn it all if part of that frustration isn't because he was crying.
"Okay, so I got com ginger ale and- 'Lee? Are you okay, what is it?" Stanford asks as he rushes over and places everything that's in his arms on the nightstand and puts a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Is it your stomach?"
Stanley moans and Stanford seems to take this as confirmation because he ends up rubbing Stanley's stomach soothingly.
"Stop!" Stanley groans and pushes his look-alike away from him, thoughts of his mother doing the same drifting upward.
Stanford rolls his eyes at his brother's antics. "C'mon, it worked before. Do you wanna throw up again?"
The silver haired man resigns to his fate since he has no energy to protest and his brother rubs his stomach in soothing circles. He won't admit it, but it makes him feel a bit better.
If he starts talking to me like a baby I'm punching him in the face, Stanley thinks with his mind being consumed with the thoughts of his mother. He misses her so much that it aches. She was the only one that saw any good in him having personality and supported him. She was the one that was there when he was sick and even when he was in his last years of high school when he got sick she would do this same thing to him when his stomach ached. He never really got to say goodbye- he couldn't even go to her funeral.
"'Lee?" Stanley can't stop himself from all out sobbing. "Stanley, what is it? C'mon, talk to me."
Stanley shakes his head and ends up being turned over so that he can throw up in the trashcan. His back is rubbed until he's done and a cup of water is held to his lips so he can gulp down one-third of the contents before it's taken away.
Stanford focuses on rubbing his brother's back with worry blossoming in his chest. It's bad enough his brother hardly ever cries, but it's another when he cries himself sicker than he already is. He wonders what is torturing his twin so bad to get him like this.
"I-I'm sorry, mom," Stanley whimpers (A/N: Crap... I'm tearing up a little at the thought of this...).
And suddenly Stanford wanted nothing more than to break down and cry himself. He hadn't taken any time to think about his deceased parents at all. He knew that they'd most likely be dead, but he never really thought about it. It hurts to know that he missed their funerals. He feels a little anger that Stanley was the reason that he missed every important event that's ever happened, but he refuses to let that get in the way of making his brother feel better.
"Calm down, you're gonna make yourself sick again," Stanford murmurs while moving hair from the other man's brow to try and see his eyes, but they're squeezed shut with tears seeping out of them. "'Lee, please, calm down."
"I-I didn't mean to miss your funeral... I'm sorry," he sobs and soon hiccups.
"Stanley, stop! You're making yourself sick!" Stanford shouts while shaking his delusional brother before sighing and taking out a needle and sticking it into his brother's neck and emptying the contents into his brother's body. Almost immediately the sick man goes quiet and his breathing evens out. Stanford shakes his head and repeatedly runs his fingers through silver locks. "Always so damn difficult..."
HAT: ... I dunno why, but when I first imagined Stanford's personality I thought: indifferent, doesn't care who he's around when he curses, can be a butt, but often caring and such. Y'know... the works!... the way he is now is not exactly how I pictured him. What about you?
Shmebulock... Sr.: Shmebulock.
HAT: Really? That's different from anything else I've ever seen.
Shmebulock... Sr.: *shrugs* Shmebulock.
HAT: Would you say it for me, oh impressive one?
Shmebulock... Sr.: Shmebulock.
HAT: Welp, you heard him.