Chapter Text
Sinking deep in his chair, Stan mutters to himself about “putting his mind on other stuff.” And how he should check the expiration dates more often; really shouldn’t have chugged that milk.
Some cheesy, trash movie is playing on the TV; he's not really interested in it but good background noise. Awful trash noise, but it keeps the place from feeling quiet and keeps himself from thinking too much. Geeze he feels so tired from overthinking all day.
He's so dang worn out he wouldn't mind passing out; he could use sleep. But he’s been lying here with his eyes closed for a while now, so it isn’t working out as fast as he wants it to be.
It’s been what, fifteen or twenty minutes? Speaking of which, where the heck are the kids?
They should have been down here by now, and he hasn't heard a peep. Either they're passed out in bed, or something else is going on up there. Dipper does hang out in a place a little while after turning since the kiddo did mention he's pretty drained after, though it seems to vary since he's seen him perk up faster than this.
“Hey you two still kicking up there? I haven’t heard from ya since the howling!” Stan raises his voice.
A clear growling bark erupts from above, not even harsh sounding.
He grumbles to himself, yeah, like he can understand that.
“Mabel I still can’t understand your brother!”
A much more coherent voice replies
“I can’t break free; he’s got me Grunkle Stan!” His niece giggles softly. “Dipper’s holding me hostage with his fluff. I’m going to suffocate in his fur!”
Making her point in overdramatic fashion, she lets out a series of extremely obvious fake dying noises and coughs, loud enough for her Grunkle to hear.
A smirk forms on Stan's lips.
“Chokehold him and call it a hug!”
Among the giggling, an unamused snarl responds to his niece.
“Oh hush. A little play won’t make you snappy.”
Stan snickers.
“Dipper giving ya trouble?”
“Nah, he’s good. He’s just a nervous pupper worried about losing control. He’s being a baby and rather stay here all snuggled and comfy.”
Another louder snarl responds.
“It’s a compliment; how can I just ignore your adorable puppy werewolf-ness?"
Growls and snorts come from the wolf boy but nothing too concerning.
Stan chuckles to himself; even with his Great-Niece bickering with the werewolf boy, that's all he needs for a good sign. Dipper isn’t a snarling mess and Mabel is still acting cheerful around him, and this kid is worried about turning dangerous again? Sure it’s better to play safe after nearly turning his sister when he made her arm into a chew toy, but even before, he’s been handling his curse really well.
At least with the kids’ new approach he doesn’t have to worry about Dipper mauling someone again, possibly.
Nah, he has faith in Dipper. He’s been a good kid through this, gone through a lot recently. Dipper’s definitely handling it way better than he did when first bitten.
“Still got your sister to comfort ya. At least you’re covered you nerd.” Stan chuckles.
Had Dipper been out of control every night, the kid would be an emotional wreck, a good thing he's smart and short. His soft personality probably helps as well, though maybe too soft in Stan’s opinion. And literally with that fur. Kid just doesn't want to hurt anyone like that; he freaks out even if he lightly scratches you.
“You’re too nice kid…that’s why you don’t lose it every night.” muttering to himself.
He closes his eyes, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.
“Besides at your short size you’re easy to handle if you lose it. Besides the biting and clawing…yeah he’d be a problem if he were around my size.”
His eyes drift off and his smile fades.
“Would do far worse than just hurt his family, could tear anyone apart easily if something goes even a little wrong…harder to restrain, might have a harder time control my…himself. If him being soft helps his control I guess a guy like me can end up a mons-”
He grasps his forehead as he clenches his teeth, shaking his head.
Shoot, he got himself in a funk again.
“There you go again Stan, freaking yourself out over stuff you know better about.”
He sinks in his seat with an annoyed sigh, closing his eyes, his fez slides slightly down his face.
His eyes jump open and dart to the ceiling as a loud thud hits the floor; his Great niece’s laughter follows.
“Haha, you passed out from the ear scritches!”
Stan may be unable to understand the wolf boy's speech but he can tell the kid is responding with an excuse, with stutters and nervous laughter and all. Funny how he can make that out with only whines, growls and groans.
Stan chuckles, closing his eyes again.
“Ah he’s getting enjoyment out of the petting stuff. Nah I’m not as soft as you kid, heh. I can tough it out.”
With his mind starting to ease again, his thoughts drift off steadily. The TV's sounds would earn a peek from the tired man to figure out what the heck was going on. Sounds like the movie is getting real weird at some points but not enough to wake him; he rather let himself sleep. Too dang exhausted from today, who knew that worrying about nothing would wear him out? His eyelids are quite heavy as well; if only he can start dreaming soon.
He doesn't remember most of his dreams but a nice dream would be good by now, would be better than what he had last night.
His hand flinches at the touch of something moist trail down his hand, practically felt ice cold compared to the rest of his own body heat.
The cold sensation is pushing down on his skin, moving as it twitches.
Stan’s eyes snap open, recoiling from the cold touch.
“Gah!”
He jolts as he tears his hand away, crawling backwards up the chair as his feet kick. His eyes wide as he grits his teeth; the old man stands on his seat as he freezes. The chair slightly falls back but thankfully settles back in place before taking Stan down with it. He flinches at the close call; he doesn't need any more back problems, that's for sure.
His brows rise, his attention glued to the very tense and startled-looking wolf. It stares back, tail tucking slightly between stiff legs, and its fur stands on end as it leans away from him like a scolded dog.
The wolf boy gives a whine.
Stan frowns, giving an annoyed groan as he glares at the kid.
Great, that’s embarrassing.
“That’s the best way of getting my attention? Putting your wet nose on me?”
The young werewolf looks off to his left as he sits on the floor, licking his nose.
Stan carefully lowers himself back in his chair and slides slowly into his seat, scowling.
“I was sleepin’ just fine till you started sniffing with that cold thing.” Stan adjusts himself in his spot slightly. He eyes the floor, then back to the wolf.
“Does it even bother you having your nose freezing every night? Or do you not even notice? I figure you shouldn’t notice, probably be bad on the sinuses if you did.”
Dipper only stares, remaining still.
Stan remains silent, raising an eyebrow.
“No comment?” he pauses, his eyes looking above past the wolf. “You…you really can’t answer that with just a yes or no, never mind then.”
Dipper only blinks.
Stan grimaces; sheesh, not very expressive tonight is he?
He seems to be waiting for something but he could at least try to make any sound.
“Uh…er…well do you want something? You got any good reason for waking me up, anything important?”
Dipper shuffles his front paws…or hands? Looking sheepish, well from what Stan can make out, definitely looks sheepish. The kid isn’t giving him much to work with. Usually the wolf's expressions and body language made him easy to figure out, with some trouble still granted. But Dipper is barely giving him any hints. He's just kind of spacing out.
“You’re-you’re making this real awkward you know? Apparently you wanted my attention because you’re sittin here waiting, you just wanted to hang out with your Grunkle?” His confused expression turns to a frustrated glare “...Real tired of speaking to you through questions kid.”
Dipper’s ears flatten and his head leans back by an inch.
“You haven’t given me anything resembling a response; I’m probably just talking to myself at this point. Might as well be talking to an actual wolf! You haven’t done a thing to help me out with this; you’re just sitting there holding still. Giving me those weird, kinda adorable wolf…puppy eyes.”
The werewolf’s ears perk, facing Stan.
“Ok that’s something but it doesn’t say a whole lot.”
This is why he prefers Mabel playing translator, speaking of which…
“Say where’s your sister anyway? She’s not in danger or anything is she? Nah you would actually be moving around and barking.”
Dipper remains still and silent.
Stan’s face forms a nervous appearance. The wolf boy is actually starting to creep him out.
He hasn't done a thing since waking him up. What's his problem?
“Dipper…what’s bothering you?”
His eyes lock onto the young werewolf’s, hoping for some reaction from the nerdy kid.
But the werewolf only stares back.
“Is this a staring contest?” he shakes his head in annoyance. “Mabel you still here? Your brother is acting weird!”
“I’m finishing something up Grunkle Stan; I’ll be there in a sec! He should be fine; he was ok with me a minute ago!”
He remains still in his chair, clenching his teeth as his annoyed look mixes with puzzlement.
Another waiting game, really?
He's not in the mood for this. He just got done with this nonsense in the bathroom.
But he can't turn his eyes away from Dipper for a reason he doesn’t understand himself. No, he doesn’t believe the kid is trying to wait for him to put his guard down so he can jump him and make a meal out of him.
That’s ridiculous.
But there’s definitely something wrong with the way Dipper is acting. His eyes are still normal, but his stare is blank, emotionless. It’s kind of giving him that appearance of a regular wild wolf. He’s probably overthinking it. But just the way the kid is staying so silent and still with that unchanging expression.
It’s unsettling.
There’s little movement, blinking, and slight nose twitching as smells probably catch his attention but not much else. Not even his tail moves. The wolf boy's ears are facing Stan's direction, and he knows how well those ears work. The kid is definitely paying close attention. Heck, the ears even moved when Mabel was talking earlier.
What if he's sensing something he doesn't with those wolf senses like he knows something Stan doesn’t? What if…why is he staring at him like that?
“Stop staring at me with those wolf eyes, you’re weirding me out!”
The werewolf tilts his head.
“Finally something!”
Despite hardly responding, Dipper is paying adequate attention to his Grunkle's irritated and uneasy words, and he has two good reasons for his lack of response.
One being that something he senses feels…wrong.
The other being he can’t really figure a way to respond to Stan.
It’s all because of a scent.
Dipper never really pays much attention to the smells in this form, he doesn’t even understand them that well and it’s more annoying than helpful. He does use it in emergencies, but it’s been rare so far. His understanding at best is basic beginner level; that smell belongs to that, and figuring out another's scent means he has to practice the difference between others. He has to know what the thing or person’s scent smells like to begin with; otherwise he just gets 'this spot smells.' He's not going to figure out what random scent belongs to who or what by sniffing one thing.
However, he's pretty familiar with the scents of those he holds close around the shack by now, as creepy as it sounds.
Stan doesn't have the best scent, that's to say.
But his Grunkle’s scent…it’s…it’s hard to say how but somehow he can tell something is…different.
Usually scents he’s familiar with would only flash an image in his head of who it belongs to or if it's food. And it doesn’t really tell him how he should feel other than ‘this smells terrible’ or ‘smells tasty.' The scent might relax him or give a sense of relief. Basically nothing too complicated and it never made him think something was dangerous or wrong unless it's an injury or such.
This one did. It's giving Dipper a foreboding sensation.
That something is very wrong with his Great Uncle.
He can’t understand why; it doesn't smell like he's hurt and there's no bleeding.
Definitely not an imposter or some weird creature that assimilated his form. Would he even notice the difference in the scent if it’s the latter?
Never mind, he’s getting sidetracked.
His Grunkle’s scent isn't different because there's another scent attached to him; after a frustrating amount of time, he can separate the smells.
“Dipper?”
This is exactly why he barely uses his nose. He can hardly make sense (ugh) of it a majority of the time.
The smell isn’t separate from Stan though, no his own scent seems to be changing rapidly, switching back and forth between familiar to something he’s never picked up before. His instincts tell him that Stan is becoming extremely dangerous; it's insistent on letting him know. But Stan isn't doing anything that can be considered threatening. Maybe his curse is acting up again, but the lack of the urges for tearing things apart tells him otherwise.
And his gut, figuratively, his own manner of thinking says that there is something weird, well, weirder about Stan lately. Since this morning, he's been on edge; he isn't sure what caused his Grunkle to get like this.
He can’t think of anything else that should give suspicion that something is wrong, so it should be ok right, just overthinking again.
But with his actions lately, it might not be just Dipper's instincts and gut telling him something is wrong. He’s not the only one feeling that way.
Grunkle Stan might be aware of something he isn’t.
“Hey kid, Dipper!”
His hands on the wolf’s shoulders, he shakes the pup.
Dipper jolts, throwing his head back with a yelp. An expression resembling surprise forms on the werewolf's face; he's reacting as if Stan snapped him out of a trance. The wolf thrashes his head about as he squirms out of his Grunkle’s grasp.
“Dipper hey hey, relax kid. I’m not hurting you.”
Stan frowns with concern. The kid is real jumpy tonight. What's with him?
His rough fingers instinctively rub the back of the wolf’s neck at a steady pace.
“Kid it’s ok, you’re fine…”
Dipper’s ears lower, his body easing feeling the back of his furry neck rubbed.
The wolf’s eyes grow wide; he places a clawed hand on his Grunkle’s left arm carefully. He pushes himself away from Stan, slipping out of his hands frantically. Shaking and startled, the skittish pup checks his surroundings as if he’s searching for a threat.
His eyes land on Stan’s.
Grunkle Stan recoils from the wolf Dipper, visibly confused and slightly offended by Dipper’s reaction. His frown turns into a frustrated scowl.
“What I thought you liked that stuff?”
Dipper blinks, recollecting his thoughts. He lowers his head with a whine, attempting to apologize. While the scent is making him pretty nervous, he isn't distrusting him because of it. It’s his Grunkle; of course he still trusts him, family-wise technically. Anything relating to money or con-man tricks is still sketchy, but he’s not going to purposely hurt him. It's only the scent he's wary about; it bothers him that he can't figure it out, and Stan's weird and tense reactions sure aren't helping.
He shakes his head.
Man, he’s been deep thinking for a while if Stan is worried for him.
Panting, Dipper stares at the floor between his paw-hands. The werewolf appears irritated in Stan's eyes and a bit puzzled and anxious. He's definitely thinking to himself, guess he's not the only one who's been thinking too much. It's expected from Dipper however.
Probably scared him by just grabbing the kid; ah he just wanted to ease him up.
Stan reaches out the werewolf kid again, fingers outstretched.
The wolf Dipper lifts his head, spotting the large fingers over his snout. The whiff of the scent smells stronger now, more intense. It's actually overwhelming, and the fear built by his gut instincts is making the fur stand on his back.
The fact he can’t pinpoint it only increases his dread of what it might be.
Out of reflex and uncertainty of the situation, he steps back away from Stan’s hand. The werewolf’s body turns stiff as he can only stare back at his Grunkle, letting out a whimper.
Stan curls his fingers slightly as he pulls his hand back. His hurt expression turns to nervous suspicion. The kid definitely senses something about him. His nose was twitching before backing away from him. The color appears to drain from Stan's face; what did he smell off him to make him so timid?
And that nagging thought that kept him in the bathroom is coming back.
His eyes locking on the werewolf's, Stan forces himself to ask.
“What’s bugging ya?”
Dipper wishes Stan can hear him say the same.
‘What’s bugging you?’
“What are you goofballs doing?” Her smile wide, she scampers into the room cheerfully.
The two turn their attention to her, Dipper’s tail slightly wagging in relief.
“You guys ok? What are you doing to spook Grunkle Stan you fuzzy goofball?”
None of them answer; both stare at her uneasy.
Dipper curls his tail around him as he sits back down.
Her smile turns sheepish, picking up the tense vibes.
“Whoa h-hey, everything feels pretty tense in here. What I miss?”
Stan’s anxious look fades as he shuts his eyes, shaking his head.
“N-not much, just the kid being a weirdo.” Stan turns his head away from them, and his eyes go to the floor.
Mabel smirks, plopping down by Dipper. Her hand messing her brother’s fur as Dipper leans into her. His eyes close with a relaxed whine. He doesn’t form a smile but his tail slightly taps the floor. The wolf pup lowers himself to the ground, curling around her.
“Aww, don’t be embarrassed Grunkle Stan, I won’t tell anyone a tiny werewolf scared you!”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then why did ya call me and start calling Dipper’s name like he’s acting weirder? He has to be acting real freaky around you if he got that out of you!” she smirks at her Grunkle.
Stan looks the other way, still avoiding the kids' gaze.
“He was spacing out and just staring at me, I don’t even think he blinked.”
“Really?” She looks back at Dipper, smirking as she rubs the sides of his furry face.
“Why are you so quiet bro bro? What do you gotta say about spooking Grunkle Stan?”
Dipper blinks; his head slightly flinches as he focuses his gaze on Mabel. He turns his head away with a grunt, speaking.
“Sorry? Aww don’t feel bad...”
A harsh snarl interrupts her, his expression resembling annoyance, his ears flatten.
Mabel flinches away in shock, confused.
Stan’s eyes dart back to the twins, slightly flinching as the air gets stuck in his throat.
He did not expect Dipper's snarl to be so nasty sounding; it’s normally softer. Of course it has to happen on a night where Stan himself feels so darn skittish. Doesn't look like the kid lost control; his eyes are still normal. But that werepup has visible frustration on his face.
“I’m letting you finish, sheesh! I’m just updating Grunkle Stan!”
He gives another response made of growls.
“Because he’s been getting crabby waiting to get what you’re saying. And it gets a little annoying when I have to repeat everything.”
He responds with another low growl.
“Baby talk is instinctive, sorry.”
He sighs, growling lowly as he appears to mumble to himself.
He eyes Stan briefly, his Grunkle raising an eyebrow in response.
The werewolf turns his attention back to his sister, speaking to her with growl grunts and trailing off with a whine.
Mabel appears dumbfounded.
“Weird smell? What does a smell have to smell like to be considered weird to a wolf?”
“I’m not sure, but it gives me this weird feeling that something is wrong with Grunkle Stan, like it keeps changing.”
“So he’s starting to get stinky.” She laughs.
Dipper spots Stan scowling at him.
“Who?” Stan asks in irritation.
The wolf boy grabs Mabel’s arm.
“No no!” his ears lying flat.
“Hold on, he’s still talking.” Mabel says, looking up from her wolf twin briefly.
“I mean…” Dipper exhales, “I mean he doesn’t smell bad…but…it’s like…”
His eyes go to the floor, his mouth slightly open as he tries to find the right words.
“Sorry, it’s hard to explain it, I’m trying to figure out how to say it.”
She rubs his head.
“Come on, explain something about it. You’re the only one who can pick up weird things with that nose.”
His tone lowers to a whisper.
“I still don’t know a lot of things about being a werewolf. I rarely use my nose; I don’t understand a lot of the things my nose picks up. The scents I do know are the stuff that smells like food and everyone in the shack; like you, Soos’, Great Uncle Ford…” his expression turns to embarrassment “Wendy’s…” then to disgust “Stan’s.”
“Ew, did you forget privacy as a wolf?”
“I’m being serious about this! I wasn’t trying to find those out…you kind of learn over time. You can’t really ignore everyone’s scent with the nose of a wolf. It does help when looking for you guys.
When I said his scent is changing…I mean like his usual scent. Not like he's covered in sweat or other weird unknown fluids. Like his…like his regular scent that tells me that it’s our Grunkle, it’s changing.”
“Meaning?”
“It tells me it’s him…but that he’s becoming dangerous, like a threat to us, as in he’s not going to be the Grunkle Stan we know.”
“Really?” She chuckles to herself, "What makes you think it’s telling you that?”
“I don’t know! I never had a feeling like this before. Not even when I lost control.”
“Bro I think you’re still stressed out after changing.”
“I’m not…at least I think so.”
“Then can you think of any reason why you got that feeling?”
“N-no…unless something happened that we don’t know of. I didn’t pick up any other scent on him last night. He smelled normal…nothing that smelled like he was hurt or ran into someone else.”
“Then ignore it, maybe you’re overthinking it? If you don’t know why then chill.”
“That’s…going to be hard in this form.”
Stan can’t make a lick of sense of the context, other than they’re flat out saying he smells like trash.
Seems like they’re done with whatever the heck they were talking about.
About time; he was going to ask the wolfboy to get to the point already.
He leans forward slightly to the twins.
“So what’s the translation?”
Mabel eyes Dipper then back to her Grunkle.
“It’s nothing, Dipper says he just smelled something weird from you, I think he’s overthinking. He’s always such a stressed werewolf.”
Stan falls back in his chair with an annoyed groan.
He knew it.
He presses his back against the chair as his head faces the ceiling with closed eyes.
His head drops down, sighing, and he forms a scowl, eyes on the werewolf Dipper.
“You know kid, if you had a problem with my stench you can leave the room. You didn’t need to make an act out of it by being ominous or whatever the heck you were doing. Could of at least barked or do something with those weird hands.”
The wolf Dipper raises his head by an inch, lifting his brows as he forms an expression that’s somewhere between annoyance and discomfort. The werewolf only gives a frustrated snort in response.
Stan’s eyes narrow, Dipper definitely made a retort with that snort…heh, it rhymes. Anyway, guess the kid's sensitive nose is making him moody tonight.
But he’s not going to take this from Dipper; he’s dealt with enough from today already. He keeps his glare on the wolf; a quiet laugh from Mabel catches his attention.
Stan swings his head to Mabel, raising an eyebrow.
“Reminds me, Mabel?”
“Huh?”
“What about you? What took you so long up there? I’ve been sleeping for an hour after I heard your brother howling after changin’!”
“An hour? Uh Grunkle Stan, it’s only been twenty minutes since Dipper changed.”
“Eh, it felt longer passed out.”
“I was working on the Scrapnel, what else?”
“Being you, I can guess a list of things.” Stan grumbles.
Mabel slowly gets to her feet, her head tilting slightly.
She sprints to the right side of the chair, stopping to shove the T-Rex skull. Mabel grunts as she struggles to push the heavy object. The skull squeaks against the shack's floor.
Stan lifts a single brow in wonder.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s in the way.” Mabel states.
“Of what?”
“You.”
With the skull out of the way, she heads back to the chair's right side.
Mabel’s hands lightly grasp his arm.
“That’s a lot of extra work just for you to do that.”
“Hey…you’re not still stressed are you?”
Stan turns his head, frowning as he poorly hides his embarrassment.
“Meh…”
“Aww you’ve been nervous all day.”
Stan turns his gaze away from her again, grumbling.
“No.”
“Grunkle Stan.”
She tugs at his sleeve, smiling warmly. She sets her chin down on his arm, her head leaning to the right while staring at him with curious eyes.
Stan, showing a bit of tired irritation, hesitates for a moment. His head turns to face her, and he raises his brows in wonder.
“What?”
Mabel pokes his nose.
“Boop.” She says quietly.
A small smile forms on his lips.
“We’re not going to get invaded if that’s what you’re thinking; Ford’s keeping us safe out there. Maybe he won’t get too hurt?” her tone uncertain.
Stan gives a silent laugh.
“Not what I’m thinking. Ford’s more likely gonna get hurt trying to babysit his team since most of them are morons.”
“It might be ok, they got Grunkle Ford in charge and he probably has everyone safe and ready.”
“Sure…” his voice is a mixture of sarcasm and worried exhaustion.
Mabel’s eyes look down, then back to Stan, keeping silent as she appears to be thinking. A giggle escapes her and she forms a tiny smirk. Her hands grip the arm of the chair tightly.
Stan leans back, grimacing, and pulls his arm away; he knows that look.
She ducks down below the arm with her fingers digging into the fabric.
“Mabel no, don’t-”
A wheeze escapes out of him as weight hits his lap.
She could have been gentle or tried anything else but jumping over the chair’s arm. She’s probably in a good mood that she didn’t even bother to think it over.
Now he’s aching again, great.
He coughs as his bulging eyes go to the ceiling, his right hand clutching his chest. Mabel, oblivious or probably not seeing this as an issue, curls up.
“Could…” he hacks as his eyes go back to her, sneering, “Couldn’t have done that any softer?”
She pulls his arm back down, leaning against him tightly.
“Nope.” she snickers.
He grumbles, wincing.
“I wasn’t that rough, I was play rough!” She exclaims.
“Y-you really knocked the wind out of me kid, agh I’m hurtin.”
“Does it hurt that bad?” sounding a bit concerned.
“Sore, I’m feeling it all over.”
“My bad.”
“I’m fine, as long as I don’t move...at all.”
Mabel can pick up his irritation; he’s trying to hide it but he’s not good at it.
She wraps her arms around his own left.
“Having a Mabel in your lap can fix that.” She presses her head against his chest.
“Ehhh.” His eyes look off to his side with an annoyed look.
“Aww Grunkle Stan.” She coos with a sweet smile.
“Ah I can't stay mad at you, you knucklehead.” His arms wrap around her in a quick, tight hug.
She buries herself under his arms, going deeper into his chest with a large grin.
Dipper’s head leans to his left, his ears lowering as a tired sigh comes out of his nose, the tip of his tail tapping the floor. The small werewolf stumbles closer with his wagging picking up speed. He plops down by the foot of the chair, curling up.
“Finally eased up have ya?” Stan remarks, raising an eyebrow.
The wolf eyes him without lifting his head.
“Uh so, you’re still in your suit?” Mabel asks.
“Oh you noticed?” He messes her hair.
“I’ve noticed since I stepped in, I didn’t have the chance to bring it up till now.”
“Look I’m too comfortable in my spot. And now I’m stuck here because of you two.” He smiles slyly, placing a hand on her back, stroking her affectionately.
“Good.”
“Heh, surprised you two aren’t exhausted from constantly staying up late.”
“It’s not too bad when you sleep in or take naps in between.” Mabel’s eyes light up. “Hey…”
“Now what?” Stan asks with a slight chuckle.
“Earlier today you mentioned about meeting some merpeople when you were sailing with Grunkle Ford? Something about sirens? You never shared that one with us.”
“Oh that?” Stan looks away with a playful smile. “I was just saying things, maybe another -”
“Don’t taunt me, what happened?” she laughs.
“Guess we forgot about sharing that story. Huh…it did happen on a day where a lot more crazy stuff was going on...”
“Well now you gotta share.”
“Maybe…”
“Stop that.”
“Ok, the sirens, so these good-looking fish ladies come up to the boat and I’m thinking ladies please, there’s enough hunkle to go around. Your brother mentioned something to Sixer on a call before this about dating a siren. So I thought, if poindexter can do it, it’s gonna be a piece of cake.”
“Didn’t go well did it?”
“They took that as an offer to eat my flesh, never heard of man-eating mermaids. Or maybe I did and I don’t care. I tried charming those gals that eating me would be a waste.”
“Did you fight them or did Ford have to save your butt?”
“What did you think I did? You think I took it lying down?”
“Ford saved your butt.”
“You know me, I fought back-”
“Ford had to save your butt.”
“Ok, Sixer did help out towards the end.”
“Where he saved your butt.”
“Ok enough of that.”
“But he had to get you out of there right?”
“Hey, you asked me about it and who’s tellin this story?”
Mabel shoves him lightly with a smirk.
“You keep dodging the question, did he have to save you or not?” she giggles.
The small werewolf’s ears flick, lifting his head slightly off the ground with a blank expression.
“Alright cut that out.” His hand picks up speed as he playfully rubs her back. “You gonna let me finish?” He briefly looks off to the side. “I get it, harassing your Grunkle so he lightens up.”
Her eyes light up as she tries to answer through her laughing.
“I-heh, what else-”
She yelps, her expression changes to shock, and her eyes squeeze shut.
“Ow, hey Grunkle Stan!”
Stan flinches, leaning back away from her.
There’s confusion in his eyes.
“What, what I do?”
“Ack…ahh…I think you scratched me by accident.”
She groans, leaning forward as she sinks into her stomach. She sucks the air through her teeth while wincing.
“Through that thick sweater? It can’t hurt that much.”
“You were rubbing my back pretty hard.” she gives a small nervous laugh; it’s sincere. A soft smile forms on her face to ease her Grunkle’s worry.
“I think your gross nails got me.”
“You think I don’t least keep them short? I forget but I’m not that bad, they’re fine today.”
“I’ve seen them get bad!”
Stan drops his hand in his lap.
“With the smiling and laughing, I think you’re playing this up.”
“It did sting at first, it's good. Just surprised me, that’s all!”
Stan clicks his lounge.
“Let me see how bad it is you dramatic.” Stan remarks.
He blinks as Mabel dives into his chest, wrapping her arms around him.
Dang his body hurts again; maybe he did pull a muscle earlier.
“Ow, come on kid what did I tell you, now you’re trying too hard.” He peers down at her with an annoyed look.
Her head pops up, resting her chin on his chest as she cuddles close.
“I’m not doing enough!”
“…Feeling mischievous tonight, aren't ya?”
“I’m just messing with you; not about the cut, I wasn’t messing with you about the cut but I mean-”
Mabel’s voice fades into silence. Her lips are still moving and she's even animated as if she’s mid-conversation, but none of the words make it to his ears.
The world around him is silent, but it’s not his hearing going bad. Nah, he’s not going deaf, and this isn’t some prank Mabel is pulling either. It’s because Stan’s brain instinctively put her on mute. He just stopped paying attention. Her words aren’t registering to him anymore; they’re coming out as gibberish or nothing at all. It’s not like he’s annoyed or bored with her, not in the slightest.
He’s just noticed that there’s something wrong with his hand.
His eyes widen, and his body goes stiff. He wonders if he’s seeing things.
He hopes he’s seeing things.
His brain is taking this information relatively slow, mainly because he refuses to believe what he sees is real.
It's out of the corner of his eyes, course his sight isn't what it used to be, but this is stretching it.
Well, literally with his nails in this case.
He expected his nails to look awful but not...this.
He inches his hand closer; his body feels a chill as despair sinks in.
At this point he can only wish what he’s seeing isn’t real.
Because those are his nails unmistakably lengthening. They’re already round in shape as their pale color darkens to black.
Those are claws; those are his claws.
His hand is shaking as he tilts it slightly. He extends his index finger; the claw's pointed end is stained in a fresh coat of red. It trickles down to the tip, dripping.
His eyes, his focus staying on the blood-covered claw. He feels his throat tightening.
That's Mabel's blood. He drew blood from her. And judging by the blood flowing down his claw, she’s bleeding quite a bit for a scratch.
As Mabel buries herself further into his chest affectionately, his eyes go to the thin line of torn fabric on the back of her sweater. There’s a visible long slim red cut of several inches on her skin.
He was just messing with the kid, playing with her, and he scratched her like…
No, a scratch is an understatement.
It looks more like he dug into her, sliced her to cause bleeding like that.
And those dang claws weren’t even fully formed then. They’re still not formed yet.
His razor claws are still growing, they just started to change, and it did that to his great-niece…
His eyes stare out into the distance.
Changing, he’s changing.
He is changing.
And he’s not hallucinating from that bad milk.
And if that's how bad an accidental cut can be, then as an out-of-control monster, he can…
Dipper couldn’t control his form during the first change from what he was told.
Even a small werewolf such as Dipper gave him trouble when he lost control.
If Dipper is that bad at that size, then Stan's own transformation…
“Grunkle Stan?”
Snapping out of his daze, he blinks, flinching. His body trembles as his heart pounds in his chest.
H-how long did he space out for?
His eyes dart around in confusion, landing on Mabel’s own large eyes.
She’s leaning away, staring back at him with a disturbed expression, and she’s not only surprised…but terrified of him.
And her left arm is reaching out with a cautious hand to his deformed one.
Her eyes dart briefly to his hand then back to his gaze.
She’s already noticed.
Stan’s blood turns cold, and a painful form of guilt fills his being. Looking hurt by her frightened appearance. His eyes are apologetic, remorseful for his current state.
His lips twist as if to say something, but not a word leaves them.
He turns his head to Dipper; the small werewolf is no longer curled up but alert. Ears up, hackles rising, wide-eyed, the werewolf appears to be bracing himself. A nervous growl leaves Dipper. While Stan can’t read the werewolf’s expression entirely, he can see that Dipper shares the same amount of shock as his sister. There’s also disbelief and rather hurt-looking frustration in his eyes.
He can't blame the kid. He's supposed to be keeping these two safe and now…
Because Stan had been careless, he was careless. No he wasn’t, he's not, he wanted them safe, and he knows how dangerous everything is lately, and he really did make sure…
If he knew, he wouldn't be anywhere near…
The kids…
He’s transforming near the kids.
And they’re going to want to help him.
That’s not a good thing.
Mabel stutters quietly.
“You’re…”
He shoves himself out of his seat, breaking away in a sprint from the chair as Mabel slips from his lap. Rushing towards his room, he can hear Mabel cry out for him and panicked barks and growls from Dipper. He skids across the floor and crashes into the hallway.
His hands cushion the impact and his knees buckle. Hands scramble against the wall as he struggles to keep going. His claws dig into the wood, dragging them across them and leaving fresh long tear marks like that of a wild beast.
A harsh wheeze escapes him as pressure builds up within; his skin, his bones, everything is burning.
The kids are probably chasing after him, but he can’t dwell on it. All that’s on his mind is getting far away from them.
He has to lock himself in his room; he has to be locked away from them. He doesn’t fear the change or what he’ll become.
What he does fear is what he might do. He doesn’t trust himself well enough. More than anything, he fears for the kids' safety.
Because he knows himself, he knows how terrible he can be.
And if this curse wants to make a monster out of anyone in this family, it’ll be him. He’s already a crabby jerk as it is.
But if he's going to turn into some man-eating mutt, please, just don’t let him put a hand on those kids.