Ren was fourteen years old, which meant he was halfway through the sour end of puberty, just old enough to be five-foot-eight but still too young to have any measurable muscle mass. He was scrawny and angular with not much talent to speak of, his grade reports consistently turning out B's and C's and his sense of humor decent but unspectacular. The best thing he had going for him was the ability to speak smoothly in articulated sentences (albeit in a cracking mid-pubescent voice) and the five years of baritone horn lessons he had under his belt.

He was walking home from said lessons now, horn case in hand as he headed through the dusky evening. There was a cool nip in the late summer air as the sun lowered over the horizon and the teenager felt himself shiver.

There was something… eerie about the walk home tonight. Ren couldn't quite put his finger on it…

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared before him, a stern, solid, square silhouette against the setting sun that loomed over him. He jumped in surprise and regarded the stranger; it was an old man in a dark coat with a stony face framed by charcoal tufts of hair. He stood firmly, hands behind his back, and seemed to tower over Ren despite only being a few inches taller.

He looked… weirdly familiar.

Wait, this guy looked like that old kook that ran the Mystery Shack place.

"Uh- Stan Pines?"

A dark laugh sounded from behind Ren, and the teen spun around with a small, frightened yelp to find a second stranger standing behind him.

"Nope. That'd be me, kid." He was standing arrogantly, hands on his hips, his thick, silver eyebrows lowered sinisterly over vindictive eyes. "I'm surprised ya know who I am, actually. With my reputation, I wouldn't think anyone with half a workin' brain would dare to hurt my niece. But maybe you're just that dumb, huh?"

Ren's sweaty palms were starting to really make it difficult to keep a good grip on his instrument's case. "Y-your niece?"

"Ya know. The prettiest gal in the world? The one ya made cry because ya got some sort of… I dunno. Some sort of weird desire to get yer ass kicked by an old man?"

The baritone case dropped to the ground, a loud echo sounding through a nearby alley. "M-Mabel is your niece?!"

Local scheister Stan Pines, infamous town confidence man known to have violent disregard for the law, was related to Mabel.

Local scheister Stan Pines knew that Ren made Mabel cry.

The conman chuckled at the fear written all over the teenager's face. "There we go. That's the fear I'm used to seein'."

"I didn't mean to make her cry!" The words spilled from Ren's mouth as he desperately looked for an out of the situation. "She's really sweet, honest! We were just hanging out as friends, and I didn't know what to do when she tried to kiss me! I panicked and I didn't know what to say, I just didn't wanna kiss her, she's so young and hyper and weird and-"

"What's wrong with being weird?"

Ren spun back around, eyes blown wide open. He'd completely forgotten that there was a second person there; the streetlamps were creating a glare in the old man's glasses that hid his eyes, but the teenager didn't need to see his eyes to feel the icy glare boring into him. "N-nothing! I'm sorry, no, nothing, I just-"

"Listen, kid," Stan interrupted. He slapped a heavy hand down on Ren's shoulder, making him jump, and leaned forward to talk in his ear. "I try to keep my head down and be a good citizen, y'know? When people screw me over, I just let karma do its job. But in my family, we've always lived by one gold rule: screw over family, and we become karma."

The teenager was shaking now, the open plastic case and now-damaged horn at his feet long forgotten.

The old man who looked like Stan, the one Ren was facing, took a step forward. He spoke softly, something close to kindest in his voice despite the cold, hardened expression on his face. "Don't worry about my brother, Ren. He's hot-tempered and capable of talking up a storm, but he's truly harmless." Ren sighed with momentary relief, but his muscles tensed right back up when Stan's brother added, "Of course, though, that's only relatively speaking."

"R-relatively?"

"Of course. I mean, I suppose he's actually capable of dealing a fair amount of damage—but despite his criminal record and violent reputation, he's really not the one that you need to worry about."

Ren could hear his heart pounding in his ears. "He's n-not?"

"Don't worry; it's a common mistake. My brother is so notorious that most people assume that between the two of us, he's the more nefarious one. I suppose it is logical to conclude that the members of a pair would be good and bad, as opposed to bad and worse."

"Wh-what are you s-saying?"

The man leaned forward, a sinister smirk on his face. The shift in angle removed the glare from his glasses, allowing Ren to get a good look into his eyes, and they were steely and vindictive, angry and cruel. "It's quite simple, boy:

"I'm the evil twin."

Mabel looked up from her scrapbook, bits of multicolored washi tape stuck to her hair, when the front door opened and both of her grunkles entered the house. She frowned. "Grunkle Ford? I thought you were downstairs. And Grunkle Stan, you said you were gonna be out all night." She widened her eyes, clapping her hands to her cheeks. "Are you planning a party for me?! Oh my god, there better be cupcakes!"

"Hey—no more parties in this house. Already made that rule," Stan answered, pointing at Mabel to punctuate his point. "Now go to sleep. It's past bedtime, kid."

The girl crossed her arms in a full pout. "I'm not tired!"

"Where's your brother, dear?" Ford inquired.

"Asleep, like a nerd."

"So why aren't you asleep?"

"Nuh uh, no way!" Mabel protested, jabbing an accusatory finger at her grunkles. "My turn to ask a question! What are you two doing out so late, huh?"

Stan waved a hand dismissively, walking past his niece and ruffling her hair as he did. "Don't worry 'bout it, pun'kin. Just takin' care of business."

Mabel widened her eyes, looking at her Grunkle Ford in disbelief. "You didn't!"

Stan grabbed a Pitt Cola out of the cooler. "Didn't what?"

The old codger's attempts at playing dumb were rendered ineffective when his twin floundered under the twelve-year-old's stare, a guilty blush coloring his cheeks.

The girl gasped, jumping to her feet. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him!"

"We didn't," Ford defended, playing with his fingers. "We merely… talked some sense into him."

"With a gun pointed to his head," Stan chuckled, earning a glare from his niece. "What? It wasn't my idea, or my gun! It was Poindexter's weird sci-fi laser. He said the kid would know we meant business that way."

This time, Ford was the one to shoot a glare the conman's way. "Stanley!"

"What? It was a good idea! Kid almost wet his pants!"

"What did you say to him?!" Mabel demanded, stomping a foot down.

Ford sighed and approached his niece, kneeling in front of her and placing his large hand gently on her shoulder. "I told him not to bother you anymore, and I told him to never bother any beautiful young girls again."

Mabel blushed, looking up at her uncle with a shy smile. "Thank you, Grunkle Ford."

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" Stan scooped Mabel up in his arms and proceeded to give her an affectionate noogie. She squealed in false protest, squirming in his tight hug.

"Thank you, Grunkle Stan!" she giggled, hoping that acknowledging his role in the confrontation would end the ruthless noogie-ing.

"Hey, don't mention it, squirt." He put the girl down, smiling fondly. "Let me know next time anyone tries to get under your skin, alright?"

"Nobody hurts Mabel Pines; not while we're around," Ford smiled.

"Just hope your brother doesn't find out about that little brat. He won't go so easy on 'im, I'm sure."

Mabel grinned and forced the two old men into one more heartfelt hug, kissing each of them on the cheek.

They were right—as long as Mabel had her boys, she'd never have to worry about getting hurt again.