Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“T… tad… Tad! Grunkle Tad wake up!”

Wha… why’s everything sound like it’s underwater? Who was… wazat Mabel? Hehe, I like Mabel, real wildcard she is. Sounds kinda worried though…? Wait- MABEL?!

Tad shot upright, nearly bashing his head into Ford’s on the way. He looked around frantically for Mabel - who sounded pretty distraught while he was… why was he passed out? Not important- the kid he was looking for had just thrown herself into his arms.

“Mabes, sweetie, are you okay?” Tad asked, one hand coming to rest on her back, and the other reaching to cradle her face in a palm.

The poor girl was sniffling, eyes still watery from tearing up - her tears must’ve stopped before any could fall. “Grunkle Tad, we thought you died!”

Tad almost wants to laugh - death? Him? Don’t be ridiculous! - but the sincerity in her eyes stops him. Suddenly, Ford - who he’d forgotten was next to him the whole time - cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both him and Mabel.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Tad,” the man said, the genuine nature of it coming through his gaze more than tone. “And that you’re um… adjusting well.”

Tad quirked his brow at that- wait… wait that’s not right. That- two of them just moved. And wait a minute, his hands- holy carbuncle he has HUMAN HANDS-

Uh oh.

The last thing he heard before everything went fuzzy was Ford shouting his name.

By the second… okay, third time Tad had recovered from his fainting spell, he’d been relatively caught up with the situation:

Ford and Mabel - and himself, of course - went on a little mini adventure to collect some things in the secret bunker. Ford also apparently wanted to make sure that the shapeshifter was still frozen, and make sure that it wouldn’t ever be not frozen again. Mabel insisted she tag along - she’d defeated it before, after all - and with a wildly impressive “puppy dog eyes” maneuver, she got her way.

Tad, well, he came along for moral support - and backup, if things got real dire.

Long story very, very short, Tad found and touched something he shouldn’t have, and now he was stuck as a human for a few days. What was he going to do while he was trapped like this? Well, the only thing he ever found worth doing, messing with Stanley Pines.

As they were leaving the bunker, Tad made sure to clue Mabel in on the scheme - she was more than happy to help. Ford took little convincing - something about needing to be honest about the situation first and foremost - before Mabel’s eyes worked their magic a second time. It also probably helped that messing with one’s sibling was written into a brother's blood m, genius or no.

With the plan set, the three excitedly made their way back to the Shack, ready to prank the pants off of Grunkle Stan (Mabel’s words, not mine).

It was a dry spell at the Shack, and everyone minus Soos was bored because of it. Dipper was frantically writing something in his own journal - a gift from Ford - and muttering to himself. Boring. Wendy was out today, her old man was taking her and her brothers camping again. Again, boring. And Soos? Eh, Soos was around somewhere, Soos-ing the place up as per usual. 

Boring.

“We’re back!” Mabel shouted, smiling wide as can be as she flung the door open.

Stan, Dipper, and Ford cringed as the door slammed against the wall. “Ya don’t say…”

“What did you guys get?” Dipper said, hopping down from the barrel he’d been sitting on. “And where’s Great Uncle Tad?”

“Nothing important, Dipper,” Ford said, closing the door behind himself after Mabel skipped in. “Just some notes I thought I’d lost long ago.”

“And Grunkle Tad’s taking a nature walk!” Mabel grinned, “Said the bunker was too cramped, so he needs some outside time!”

Stan chose to ignore the pang of hurt that explanation brought. Instead, he tossed out a half hearted, “Hah! Wuss.”

If any of the other Pines present heard, they ignored him. Mabel was already debriefing about their adventure to a diligently writing Dipper, and Ford was shuffling through his coat pockets to find whatever he’d gone out for in the first place.

Domestic? Yes. Boring… also a little bit, yes. 

Stan sighed, leaning an arm on the desk to prop up his chin, and his free hand coming up to drum against the well worn wood.

A few minutes - seconds? Who knows, he’s not countin! - pass before Stan hears the bell above the door chime. Snapping out of his staring spell, he quickly puts on the Mister Mystery act.

“Welcome, dear customer, to the Mystery Shack!” he’s all smiles and customer service before he even looks at who just walked in. “What can I do for you- Holy Moses…

If Stan had any brain function right now, he’d be embarrassed by how he’d whispered out the unplanned part of his spiel. But right now? Every neuron in his brain was either shut down or rapidly firing, because a beautiful man had just walked in. That’s beautiful with a capital B, folks!

The guy was tall - maybe a good three inches taller than him - broad shouldered, and judging by his face, was probably in his late fifties. His skin reminded Stan of the sand back in Jersey, with a squarish face and nose that he could tell fit the man without hearing him speak. And that hair- talk about a silver fox! The guy was rocking a relatively laid back pompadour, a couple of strands that refused to stay back dangling over his face. If Stan squinted, he could swear there were thin streaks of blue broken up into the gray, but maybe it was just the light? And call him crazy, but the dude hasn’t opened his left eye at all since he walked in.

Ah shit- how long has he been staring?

“Mystery Shack, eh? Seems like a scam, if ya ask me,” the man chuckled to himself - it sounded eerily familiar. “You run this joint?”

Stan - sensing a challenge - squared his shoulders back, hands now perched on his cane. “Maybe, who’s askin’?”

The guy smirked - and Stan was briefly distracted by how good it looked. “Just a curious tourist,” he drawled, leaning forward and placing his relatively large hands on the table. “Vagabond passing through, y’know?”

Stan swallowed, and prayed the guy didn’t see or hear it.

“Cat got your tongue, boss man?” the man tilted his head in question, but the amusement in his eye didn’t wane. 

Stan was quick to wave his hand dismissively - knowing damn well he’d been caught. “As if! You just uh… remind me of someone, that’s all.”

Guy’s voice is almost too close. But it’s not him, it can’t be. There’s literally no way it could be!

The guy lifted one hand up, taking one finger to tilt Stan’s chin up to coax their eyes to meet. He smiled slowly, “Do I sound like your husband?”

What? What?

The guy- no, fucking Tad’s hand dropped back to the counter, a well suppressed fit of laughter now freely flowing.

“Yes! Oh man, I got you, got you!” he turned on his heels to grin at Mabel, who was bouncing on her heels. “Nice plan, Mabes!”

She preened at the praise before settling her hands on her hips, and nodding to herself. “My work here is done.”

Stan - absolutely fucking dumbfounded - just looked between Tad, and every other person in the room, but mainly Ford.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Stan asked, not quite angry, but definitely not calm.

Ford immediately held his hands up, “I didn’t do anything! He did this to himself!”

Stan’s gaze flicked back to Tad, who smiled sheepishly in response. He sighed, long and weary, before straightening up, and taking a steadying breath.

“I’m gonna need everyone-” Stan jabbed a finger towards Tad, “not you- to get out of this room in about five seconds. One…”

Ford quickly ushered the children away, Mabel throwing double thumbs up, and Dipper sputtering syllables that desperately wanted to be questions. Once Stan heard the door to the actual house shut, he sighed again.

“Turn the sign on the door, wouldja?” he asked. “Blinds too, if ya don’t mind.”

Tad - suddenly losing any and all upper hand he might’ve had in this situation - did just that. What was he supposed to do? He… he didn’t know. But holy dungarees was this human heart thing hammering-

“Oi, square eye,” Stan said, much softer than he had any right to. “C’mere, I wanna get a good look at ya.”

Tad silently obliged, making his way over and around the desk Stan stood behind. He stood there, waiting for his next order - Stan simply leant his cane against the wall, and set his fez down on the desk.

His eyes ran over Tad appraisingly, and sweet grilled cheese, did all human bodies feel like this when someone looked at them? His hands were trembling at his sides, and he almost cringed at how his breath hitched when Stan met his eyes.

“You come up with this yourself?”

“Huh?”

“The body,” Stan said, “Threads too.”

“Oh! I uh- yeah, yeah I did,” Tad chuckled nervously. “Not too shabby for a first timer, eh?”

Tad saw something flash in Stan’s eye at the phrasing, but the human laughed all the same. “It looks nice. You look nice.”

He was dying. Stanley Pines was going to kill him with compliments and Tad couldn’t be happier about it.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” Tad admitted. “Made sure I looked more your dating range.”

Stan snorted at that. “I’d call that a low blow if you weren’t right.”

The two fell silent again, Stan looking over Tad while the other squirmed from the attention.

Stan wasn’t lying when he said Tad looked nice - his internal dialogue earlier made that very clear - but gosh, knowing it was Tad made it so much better. It’s like he’d modeled himself off the guys Stan privately appreciated in passing when he was young. There were clearly parts inspired by Dean or Presley, but it was all buried under the fact that this body was so uniquely Tad.

“I like to think I got the clothes pretty spot on,” Tad said, more to break the silence than anything else. “Tried to get as close to “random sleazy schmuck” as I could.”

A slightly unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and some khakis? Yep, that’s about right… wait-

“Are you makin’ fun of me?” Stan asked, holding back a laugh at the scandalized sound Tad made.

“What? No- I would never!” Tad huffed, his tone sarcastic as all get. “I’d never copy an outfit you’ve worn before, call it slutty to your face, then deny I ever said it.”

“Ya just did, bud.”

Tad’s face took on a confused look, “Did what?”

The two stared at each other for about three seconds before cackling in chorus. Tad was - as he tended to be - less raucous than the human, letting him appreciate the genuine laughter he could bring out of Stan.

Sweet sarsaparilla, I’m so fucking gone for this man…

As their laughter peters out, Stan mimics the  chin move Tad did minutes ago, only now he’s gently coaxing him to lean down. Tad oblibliges, pointedly ignoring that damn human heart trying to escape his rib cage - it’s not his fault they were nearly nose to nose!

Stan’s eyes dart to Tad’s mouth for a split second before flicking back to the other’s eye. 

Suddenly, and without warning, Stanley Pines kisses Tad Strange’s cheek.

Tad feels his entire body lock up, and it’s suddenly too hot, but he also feels like if he looked at an ice cube it would melt instantly, but that has nothing to do with the fact he can’t move-

“Thought so,” Stan chuckles. “You blush blue like this.”

Tad just blinks, his jaw - metaphorically, of course - on the floor. He’s left bluescreening as Stan leaves the desk to rejoin the rest of his family. Tad follows the movement, still speechless.

The man stops in the doorway, turning his head to look over his shoulder. 

“Gonna get Greasy’s for dinner,” he said casually, “Wanna come with?”

“I uh… yeah- yeah! Yeah, sounds fun!”

As embarrassing as his inability to speak was, the snort Stan gave in response to it almost made it okay.

“Then get your ass over here, big guy.”

Chapter Text

Dinner last night was - to put it simply - downright delightful. Minus the initial stares from the diner’s regulars, Tad was welcomed into the joint with open arms. He’d say it was all because of his natural charisma, but having the collective support of the Pines family certainly helped his case.

When they got back to the shack, everyone began settling into their nightly routines. The kids started getting ready for bed, Ford retired to the basement for Ax only knows how long, and Stan parked himself in his chair to watch TV for a bit.

Tad - on most days - would flit about the Shack as a whole. He’d stop by the kids to say goodnight, see what Ford was up to - and maybe help if he could, then crash on Stan’s armrest to watch some trashy human television. However, with the whole being human thing, magically slipping in and out of human perception got much harder. He wasn’t used to having to glamor so much… him before! According to Ford, the more strain he put on this faux human body, the quicker this trial run would run out. 

Despite the fact he much preferred - and likely always will - being in his true, square glory, he wasn’t ready to quit playing with this form. There were still so many human-adjacent activities he hadn't tried, getting food in a public space was just the tip of the iceberg!

…and he may want to get Stan as - if not more - flustered as he was when this first started - but that’s besides the point!

What was all this about again? Oh right, routine! Well, forget about that, cause now Tad was faced with a far more pressing issue.

His clothes weren’t real. If he tried to take them off, they would dissipate. He had no tangible, permanent clothing.

After discovering that the clothes he was wearing were essentially part of him, he decided to square- no, man up and ask Stan to borrow some of his.

The man stared at Tad for a moment or two before laughing. “If you wanted to steal my clothes, you coulda just done it!”

Tad rolled his eye, “Please, like I’d choose to wear anything of yours outside of necessity.”

Stan takes a sip of his soda, “Ya basically did earlier, y’know.”

“You don’t own the retired grandpa look, Stanley,” Tad scoffed. “You’re just mad I wear it better than you.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever makes ya happy, princess,” Stan said dismissively. “But really, what do you need my clothes for? You can just… I don’t know, make ‘em?”

Tad sighed - but to be fair, the fact that all the clothes he’s currently wearing are not actually clothes, and instead a weird facsimile of clothes * was hard to grasp. 

“Okay, number one, you’re probably the only person in this house with clothes that could potentially fit me. And two…”

Tad began unbuttoning his shirt, much to Stan’s audible surprise. The other being swore he heard the human mutter “Jesus Christ” under his breath when he shucked off the shirt, but he chose to pocket that reaction for later. Right now, he had the offending article of clothing in his hand, and the second Stan stopped looking at his torso, Tad dropped the “shirt” to the floor.

The second it left Tad’s hand was the second it began to rapidly decay. It was like watching an ember pop before fizzling out into nothing. The only evidence it ever existed was the fact that Tad was now naked from the waist up.

“ That happens if I try and take them off,” Tad continued, hoping Stan was still listening enough to connect the sentences.

Stan - Ax love him - looked like he was in heaven. He was soaking up everything . The neatly groomed chest hair, the “hits the gym, but never says no to a stack of pancake” body, and the criminally visible happy trail-

“Stanley?” Tad said questioningly. “You uh, you still with me, high roller?”

Stan shook his head before hurriedly throwing out “yep”s and “yeah”s like he was an auctioneer. After a moment or two, he cleared his throat, an seemingly regained the ability to speak coherently.

“I got your point, ya freak,” the human turned his face away, propping it up with one hand while the other vaguely waved towards Tad. “Just- take what fits, I don’t care!”

Tad studied the blush slowly gaining on Stan’s cheeks, and decided to really turn the tables on the guy.

He planted a hand on the armrest he’d normally occupy, and gently pulled Stan's face back towards him with the other. He delivered a soft kiss to the man’s forehead before swiftly making a break for it. Stan’s shocked sputtering made him stop in the doorway - much like what had happened to him only hours earlier. 

“Thank ya, doll!” Tad threw Stan his most award winning smile before disappearing around the doorframe. If you ignored how he immediately lost his bravado the second the human wouldn’t hear or see him, you’d think he was the smoothest man shaped being in this reality! The only thing that kept his illusion from shattering completely were the assorted “Grunkle sounds” - as the kids described them - audible over the TV. Those disgruntled grumbles and indiscernible flustered noises were proof whatever game Tad was playing was paying off. 

He’d get better, and Stan would too, upping the ante like they always do. Two professional con men attempting to schmooze each other shouldn’t work, but they do. They were playing a game of their own making, each move more bold than the rest. It started as a little prank, but that first day changed it all. This was a game, and the best part? 

No one loses.