Grunkle Stan claimed the big yellow armchair, of course, and Great Uncle Ford brought his chair from the kitchen and set it on the other side of the dinosaur skull coffee table.

They didn't seem to realize that they were sitting in near-identical postures, with arms folded and jaws clenched as they stared at Mabel, who was standing in front of them with hands behind her back and a very unamused expression.

Soos and Dipper perched side by side on the skull, looking between the two old men uncomfortably, and Wendy leaned against the doorway, ready for the entertainment to start. Dipper was a little surprised she hadn't brought popcorn or something.

Finally Mabel produced a long stick from behind her back, and wielded it over her head like a sword.

"Do you see this?" she demanded. "This is a talking stick. It's like a fun stick, except instead of poking other people with it, the person who's holding it is the only one allowed to talk, without anyone interrupting, arguing with or insulting you."

Dipper already had a sinking feeling that this was not going to work as well as she thought it would; Mabel, however, turned to Grunkle Stan and offered him the stick.

"Grunkle Stan, how about you go first? Start with the words: I feel…"

After a moment he reluctantly accepted it, and said in a flat tone, "I feel like an idiot holding this stick."

Mabel looked somewhere between disappointed and annoyed. "But how do you feel about Great Uncle Ford?"

Grunkle Stan glanced at his brother, and shrugged. "He'd look like an even bigger idiot holdin' this stick."

"That's a matter of debate-" Great Uncle Ford started to snipe back, before Mabel swatted him.

"No interrupting!" she scolded, unmoved by the indignant look he gave her. Then she turned and poked Grunkle Stan's belly. "And you, no insults. This is supposed to be a healthy, hostility-free conversation."

"He started it."

Great Uncle Ford leaned over and snatched the stick from Grunkle Stan's hand in one swift motion. "Oh, yes, of course. Of course it's my fault that you're being childish."

"Hey, no fair taking the stick before he's done talking!"

Mabel's protest was ignored, as Grunkle Stan snatched the stick back. "You're the one throwing a tantrum. Who's childish now?"

Great Uncle Ford grabbed the other end of the stick, leading to a brief tug-of-war, with Soos and Dipper trying desperately not to be squashed in the middle, before he managed to pull it back. "I think I have every right to be angry that you are refusing to give me back my home or even my identity!"

Dipper blinked, and stared at Grunkle Stan in shock. "You what?"

Grunkle Stan flinched, and shrank back into his own chair, eyes darting guiltily from Dipper to Mabel…before his hands tightened on the arms of the chair and his glare came running back. "Well, excuse me for not wanting you ta take away my house and my job by shutting down the Mystery Shack!"

This time everyone gasped, especially Soos and Wendy.

"He what?!"

"Dude, you can't do that! This is like my home away from home!"

A muscle in Ford's cheek twitched, and his anger eroded a little bit into what Dipper thought might be embarrassment. "...I'm-I'm sure that you are both perfectly capable of finding more honest lines of work elsewhere." He lifted the talking stick. "And let me remind all of you that I still hold this, so it's still my turn to speak."

Stan snatched the stick, and smashed it over his head. "And now it's my turn."


…The negotiations broke down from there.

Despite Mabel's best efforts to restore order and remind them that this was not promoting positive family values, soon enough both old men were on their feet, yelling at each other at the top of their lungs.

Dipper couldn't even understand most of what they were shouting, but it was even more uncomfortable than all the passive aggressive growling they'd been doing at each other over the last three days. It was way worse than his and Mabel's worst squabbles…and he had no idea how to make it stop.

And then Wendy rolled up her sleeves and stepped forward.

Crack!

Their uncles staggered apart, rubbing their foreheads and groaning as they tried not to trip on the carpet.

When he recovered from his dazedness a little bit, Grunkle Stan glared at his cashier and growled, "You're fired."

Wendy was unrepentant. "And you're both being a-holes."

Mabel gasped, and clamped her hands over her mouth; Dipper felt Soos clap his hands over his ears, and tried to shove him off.

"She didn't even say the actual word!"

"Better safe than sorry, dude."

The struggle finished in time for Dipper to hear Great Uncle Ford saying in annoyance, "Young lady, I don't think you understand-"

"Oh, trust me, dude, I understand just fine. You'd both rather waste your time on a stupid grudge instead of just sitting down and talking this out like adults." She folded her arms. "And the fact that you need us-" she waved to indicate herself and the others- "to point that out to you is honestly kinda sad."

"Yeah!" Mabel chimed in. "You need to stop fighting and being jerks to each other and hug it out and apologize!"

She didn't seem to notice the way Grunkle Stan's hands had clenched into fists again, but Dipper did. He didn't think his grunkle would ever actually hurt any of them, especially not her, but he still got up and tried to pull her back.

Mabel shook him off and went on scolding. "If nothing else, you gotta do it cuz you two fighting all the time is making everyone else miserable-!"

"THEN LEAVE!"


He doesn't mean that, right?

He's just upset, he doesn't really want us to-

Dipper felt his sister trembling, and a quick glance at her showed him that tears were rapidly forming in her eyes.

He could tell that Stan saw them too, since the fury slowly faded into discomfort…before he turned away and stomped towards his office.

"...Mabel…" Dipper reached out to touch her shoulder, but before he could actually make contact, she fled for the stairs, sobbing, forcing him to chase after her.

He didn't see Great Uncle Ford tug the lapels on his trench coat in irritation and head for the gift shop.

Or Soos and Wendy look at each other and nod, before each of them chasing after an old man.


Stan had almost reached the door of his office, when something grabbed his shoulder and forcibly spun him around to a sight he never thought he'd live to see: a visibly angry Soos. The normally mild-mannered face was flushed, and his mouth and eyebrows drawn together tight and hard.

"Y'know, it's one thing making tourist kids cry, but doin' it to your own family really isn't cool, dude."

"Drop it, Soos." Stan tried to turn away, only to be pulled back again by his surprisingly strong grip.

"No, Mr. Pines! They didn't do anything wrong, and you don't get to make them feel bad!"

In any other situation, Stan might've been impressed to have Soos standing up to him like this. Honestly, he kinda was through his anger. But that was still his predominant emotion: anger.

Walking away from the intervention thingy felt too much like backing down, and he was angry about that.

Mabel was upset, and it was his fault, and he was angry about that.

He wasn't any closer to figuring out the whole situation with Ford, and he was angry about that.

And if Soos didn't let him go in his office and blow off some steam by filling out a couple dozen fraudulent tax forms or something, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

But Soos showed no signs of letting him leave; instead he was giving him a long, unusually intense stare…before he set his jaw, stepped forward, fists clenching at his sides-

And threw his arms around Stan.

"Hey! Get off!"

Stan reeled, arms waving like windmills as he tried to escape, or at least process what the heck his handyman thought he was doing.

Soos just tightened his hold, and then said softly against his shoulder, "...I'm sorry you're hurting so badly, Mr. Pines. I'm not gonna let you lash out at the kids over it, but I am here for you."

Slowly, reluctantly, Stan felt his shoulders relaxing into the hold, especially as he processed the gentle sentence.

After a minute one of his arms lifted, and gave Soos an awkward pat on the back.

"...You're a good kid, Soos."


Before Ford could reach the vending machine, Dan Corduroy's daughter-Andy? No, Wendy-stepped into his path and leaned against it, arms folded.

"Nope. You've spent enough time hiding in the basement."

Ford bristled. "I have important work to do." Which wasn't exactly untrue, even if he had contained the rift and dismantled most of the portal, since he still needed to figure out what to do about Bill should he manifest himself in this dimension.

Wendy didn't budge. "It can wait."

Ford had to remind himself that if he physically lifted her out of his path she might retaliate, and she seemed to have inherited her father's strength, if not his build, and he wasn't in the mood for a potential black eye. "It's been made clear to me that I am not welcome in my own home, so it hardly behooves me to stay up here."

Wendy did not appear impressed. "You know, that's probably because of your charming personality."

Like when she'd 'complimented' his turtleneck, he suspected that her words were not meant to be taken at face value.

Before he could point out, once again, that he didn't exactly have a lot of reasons right now to be his usual genial self, she went on, "It might not physically kill you if you could stop attacking Stan every time you open your mouth around him."

Of course she takes his side. Maybe it's because he pays her.

"I was willing to cooperate with the talking stick, Stanley is the one who chose to escalate." Of course, he'd had a brief slip-up at the beginning of the exercise, but that was because Stan had felt the need to insult him again; after Mabel reminded them of the rules he'd been perfectly in line with them.

"You didn't have to retaliate, though. That was on you."

Ford scoffed. "I am no longer in the habit of caving in to bullying."

At that, some emotion finally came into her face as she barked out a harsh laugh, which slowly faded into a glare. "Sorry, it's just that's kinda funny coming from you, since you wanna throw him out in the street just like your piece of garbage dad."

"I said no such thing!" Ford spluttered.

"You might as well have!"

After a moment of letting that sink in, Wendy took a deep breath and sighed. "Look. I know your situation's really messed up. And you've probably gone through some pretty heavy junk out in the multiverse, and you wanna be home again. But I think the reason why Stan's acting up so much, is cuz this is his home too. If you take it away, he's got nowhere else to go." She glared again. "He might also be mad about you wanting to take away our jobs, because I'm sure as heck still mad about that."

"...But it's my house." Ford hated the note of pleading that entered his tone, and hoped fervently that he didn't sound as much like a six-year-old whining over a toy as it felt like he did. "He doesn't have to leave, but-but I want my identity back!"

She gave a small 'can't really argue with that' kind of nod and shrug, before saying, "Then you gotta talk to him, not me."

"He's not listening to me!"

"That's because you can't even have breakfast without getting in a fight over salt."

Ford gave a small, frustrated growl.

"Just think about it, man." She finally moved away from the vending machine. "I'm gonna check on the kids."


Once she was gone, Ford dialed the combination, and stomped down the stairs.


I tried to portray both the Stan's arguments as objectively as possible; hopefully I did a semi-decent job.

It's really not as easy as it sounds.