I do not own Gravity Falls.

Prompt: Joy

Joy of the Season

For a long time, Stan spent the holidays holed up in the Mystery Shack, wallowing in darkness, grief and self-loathing. The exterior of his house were void of any lights, and the interior was just as bare, with the exception of the gift shop. He grudgingly allowed Soos to go crazy with the decorations, for the sake of it attracting more tourists in the already-sparse winter season.

As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to celebrate anymore. His brother was lost who-knows-where and it was his fault. Well, partly his fault, anyway—he wasn't willing to take all the blame, but didn't like to dwell on the matter too much. The holidays would have been nonexistent if weren't for the reminders that popped up whenever he was in town. The Christmas tree near town hall, decked out with plastic baubles and white lights, the garland draped in store windows and the smell of peppermint seemed to permeate the air. The most gut-wrenching reminder, however, were the clusters of families beaming brightly at one another, delighting in the joys of the holidays.

He would return to an empty house, miserable and depressed. He would think about the boxes of Christmas decorations stuffed in the crawlspace, dusty and untouched. He didn't think Ford got much use out of them either, when he was around. For decades Christmas was just another day. As Stan worked away on the portal, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he would ever celebrate the holidays again.

Then came the summer that changed everything. Dipper and Mabel charmed their way through his rough exterior, seizing his heart and never letting go. He finally got his brother back, and though it was a tumultuous road, they finally reconciled. His days of loneliness and darkness were over as he learned to love again, to open up to the people in his life.

Reclining in his favourite armchair, Stan took a sip of his eggnog, watching the Christmas movie unfold on his television set. The Christmas tree glimmered and sparkled, a few presents resting comfortably beneath the crisp pine branches. Bells glittered from the ceiling, from atop the television, from the tree limbs and every available surface. Occasionally Stan would take a look around, hardly believing that this festively-adorned home belonged to him.

PWISH!

He was taken from his thoughts by an odd hissing noise and his niece's startled shriek. Not surprised that it was coming from the kitchen, he shouted, "Mabel! What the heck are you doing in there, kid?"

The brunette hurried into the living room, covered in sticky pinkish liquid. "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "I think I broke your blender."

Stan motioned for her to come closer and she did. When she was within reach, he gently removed a piece of candy cane from her dark green elf sweater. "By doing what, exactly?"

"I was trying to make a peppermint milkshake. I think I added too many candy canes. They didn't chop up so good and then the blender started smoking…" Contrite, she added, "I can buy you a new one."

"It's just an appliance, pumpkin," dismissed Stan. "Ford could probably build one in his sleep."

"A turbo one," Mabel agreed, relieved that her great-uncle wasn't mad at her.

"Let's pass on the turbo part," said Stan in amusement. "Go wash your hair." He tugged on a strand playfully. "If that stuff hardens I'm gonna have to cut it off. I'd rather not do that."

"Me either," said Mabel feelingly. She pulled a plastic-wrapped peppermint candy cane from her sweater pocket and offered it to Stan. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek before skipping off to take a shower.

"Crazy runt," said Stan with affection.

As he was chewing on the holiday candy, the front door slammed open and soon Dipper and Ford came trapaising into the living room. Stan stared at the fourteen-year-old, who had a snowball pressed to his right eye.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"Fine," assured Ford, squeezing Dipper's shoulder. "We just had a little mishap."

"Don't wander into fairy territory during Christmas," said Dipper seriously. "They'll think you've come to steal their trinkets and throw acorns at you."

Stan's eyebrows flew upwards. "I thought Christmas fairies were nice."

"They are. We ran into regular fairies. Regular fairies can be mean."

"And they apparently have a good arm." Patting Dipper on the back, Ford directed, "Go put the snow in a sandwich bag with some more ice. Lay down and rest with it over your eye."

"Got it."

As Dipper went to complete the task, Stan eyed his brother. "I would like to send them back home in one piece and relatively unscathed."

"It was my fault. I should have known better." Ford shrugged off his trench coat and eased onto the armrest of the chair, attention turning to the movie on the television.

Stan glanced at him, the coloured Christmas lights reflecting off of his glasses. He could hear the running water coming from the bathroom as Mabel worked shampoo through her sticky strands of hair. He pictured Dipper sprawled out in his bed, nursing his black eye, probably on the brink of falling asleep. The atmosphere hummed with warmth and contentment, enhanced by the glittery Christmas decorations and gentle snowfall outside.

Stan smiled.

For a long time, he thought he would never celebrate the holidays again. He thought joy would never truly return to his life. In this one case, he was extraordinarily glad he was wrong.