Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wendy was cool. Wendy was chill. She was somehow considered the chillest and calmest person during the apocalypse last year. She had just turned 16, and was heading into her junior year of high school. She could manage her rowdy brothers – Marcus, Kevin, and Gus –  and her annoying (affectionate) friends. The world was her playground and she was ready to conquer it.  She could handle anything.

Unfortunately, that did not cover what was currently happening at the mystery shack. The first Saturday of June, right before the summer season was about to start, just as schools were letting out. Right before both sets of twins came home for the summer. Nothing that she had faced last summer or even during the longer than usual school year could have prepared her for today.

Today should have been any ordinary Saturday. Sleep in. Get to the shack an hour late. Annoy Soos until she has something to fix — she’d gotten an additional set of responsibilities when Stan retired, and was now in charge of maintenance when necessary as well as running the front — then finally actually do her job in the gift shop before heading home to deal with her brothers. That and ignore the text from Tambry on just about every gross thing she and Robby had planned for the summer. God did those two really just need to get a room with a lock on it. 

Today? She’d gotten to the gift shop on time, which was the first problem. The second problem was who greeted her when she unlocked the door — Soos hadn’t even opened up apparently — a tall stranger with a heavy build, a bright shining head, and the most comically twirled mustache possible. He was wearing an outfit that was most certainly not seasonally appropriate for the time of year, and there was a look in his eyes that caused Wendy to stop in her tracks, boots squeaking against the freshly polished floors of the Mystery Shack. 

Soos always polished the floors on big days, even when Stan has been in charge. Today was an extremely big day. The Mystery Shack's first full season under the new management, with an expected inflow of customers and what should honestly just be called cultists at this point. The shack had to be perfect for big days. 

“Parden mois madam, is this la casa of uh, Ramirez? Jesus Ramirez?” The stranger gave Wendy a blinding smile, revealing a set of obviously fake white teeth with how bright the smile was.

The amount of alarms going off in Wendy's head would have concerned even Dipper. Questions she couldn't even put into words, concerns that were piling on top of one another as her un-caffeinated brain tried to figure out what was happening. Everything inside her was telling her to run, that this was extremely bad, something had to have happened to Soos. These were the alarms that honestly, probably only now exist because she spent one singular summer with the world's most anxious – not technically a teen – teen ever. 

“How the hell did you get in?” Wendy snapped, balling her hands into fists, wishing she had brought her axe with her, the heavy handle of it a usual comfort when she was anxious or stressed, but the desire to try her best to respect Abuelita’s distaste of weapons in the house overcoming that comfort today.

“The back door was open,” the man turned slightly and pointed towards the residence itself, past the employees only sign, and into the living room, the lights still dark. 

Soos really needed to start locking the door at night. With the new found popularity of the Mystery Shack, it had started becoming more and more common that they’d have late night visitors. That and the irritating following – no, cult – of stinky sweaty basement dwellers that kept showing up. 

“That’s not for guests.” Wendy said flatly, “and the museum doesn’t open till 10.” She glanced past the stranger, towards the cuckoo clock behind him. It was 9:52. Wendy really was early, which was honestly so much worse than on time. The cuckoo clock in the gift shop was always dead right on time. Never slow, despite the numerous times he had needed repaired because it somehow had managed to ‘fall off the wall’ once again. 

“Oh excuse moi, je n’pas aware of that.” The man was trying to look apologetic, hunching his shoulders, wringing his hands, his eyes darting around the room with an evil glint in them.

Wendy could see the gears turning in his pea sized head, the thoughts trying to form as he tried to make some sort of an excuse as to why he was breaking and entering. “You’re gonna have to leave till tours start. I can put you down for the first available opening, but we got reservations. First day of the season.” Wendy knew immediately she was going to regret not sending this asshole packing, but somehow Soos’s soft side had rubbed off, and she was now willing to give people who break and enter a second chance apparently. 

Oh was Stan gonna skin her alive when he got back. 

“Oh, that would be magnificent. Quelle heure est your first tour?” He took a step towards Wendy, blocking her path to the desk and herding her towards the entrance.

“Dunno.” she shrugged. “Gotta look at the book.” She squared her shoulders and marched past him, doing the best that her still lean frame could to push him to the side on ’accident’. 

“Excuse voux!” The man said, obviously insulted by the brashness of Wendy’s action. 

She had one goal. Find the furthest possible tour reservation possible and warn Soos. She didn’t know who this man was or why he had deemed it so necessary to break into a private residence and business, but he wasn’t gonna make it back. Wendy pulled out a large print, glittery planner, and flipped to the last page of may, running her finger down the list for the 7th, looking at bookings and party sizes. The bigger the tour scheduled, the less likely this jerk face would be able to harass Soos. “Looks like the first one with an opening is the 12:10 tour, 3 spots left. $15 deposit.” She looked up towards the stranger, her hand still on the planner.

The man stepped towards the desk, towering over Wendy as he leaned forward to look at the planner himself.

That wasn’t going to fly. Wendy slammed the book shut, dust and glitter creating a cloud around her. She whipped out an equally glittery sheet of paper, with a perforation near the bottom, titled ‘Reservation for Mystery Shack Tours.’ Dipper hand designed them and they were well implemented, including a QR code for additional activities in the town, in an attempt to boost tourism and income for the community.

“Fill this in and keep the bottom part. We’ll see you at 12:10” Wendy said, placing a cheap, blue plastic pen on-top of the sheet, the security chain rattling as it rolled towards the stranger. Wendy watched as the stranger filled out the form, paying attention as he filled out what she could have sworn was one of the worst fake names in the history of names. 

Flaviano Alexander Ramirez-Tibor. Talk about having parents that really just hated you. 

Flaviano slid the sheet back towards Wendy, who mechanically took the bottom section, folded it twice, and ripped it at the perforation with well practiced precision, and then writing the time on both sides before giving the smaller sheet back. 

“While you wait for your tour time please feel free to explore the rest of Gravity Falls Oregon, and we’ll be here at 12:10 for your tour.” Wendy gave him the closest she could to a sneer, attempting to disguise it in a smile that she’d seen Stan do a thousand times over, hoping this meat head would get the hint that it was, in fact, time to leave. 

“Wonderful! I cannot wait to see how much my little champ has grown!” Flaviano gave a heart chuckle, and then turned on his heel, heading out the gift shop entrance thankfully, and leaving Wendy alone. 

The entire interaction felt like a fever dream. Stan was gonna kill her once he found out what she’d done. Her thoughts drifted from the possibility of her untimely demise and instead to the final comment the stranger, Flaviano, had given. ‘My little champ.’ What the hell was that supposed to mean? For someone from out of town he had tried his best to be chummy. 

Wendy quickly reopened the planner, scribbling in the new tour member to the 12;10 slot, followed by his last name. Ramirez-Tibor. Writing that atrocity down herself is the action that finally clicked the puzzle pieces together. 

And this was the worst fucking possibility ever. 

Wendy’s phone was to her ear, ringing loudly before she even had a chance to think, to figure out anything other than pure panic now. This was both the first and last person she should be calling in this situation, and the second she heard the gruff voice on the other end, she knew she should have already started digging her own grave.

“Who the hell is this and how did you get this number?” Someone obviously woke up on the wrong side of the bed

“Mr. Pines! We’ve got a problem!” 

“Is this the corduroy kid?” Stan grumbled, his voice staticky as it came back through the phone. 

“Jesus Christ old man, I thought you knew how to use the phone!” Wendy rubbed the bridge of her nose. She knew Soos had shown him how to create contacts. She knew she had been saved on that stupid iPhone. Still, Stan could never be bothered to read the damn screen when it popped up. “Never mind. Bigger issue. We got Flight Ban.”

“Kid I am not going to try and solve another cryptic puzzle right now I dealt wit-“

“Stan! It’s Soos's dad!” 

The silence that responded from the other end was deafening. It had been ages since the bastard had last tried to show his face, back when Soos and Abuelita had gone on a cruise while he was still in middle school courtesy of a mysterious contest that had been unannounced until Abuelita won two tickets. The summer after Soos had started helping around the shack. 

“Stan?”

“Where’s Soos?” 

“Dunno. I unlocked the shop today. Haven’t seen him yet.”

“And dead beat?”

“Scheduled for the 12:10 tour. Sent him off to waste money in town.”

“Smart kid. Find Melody. Make sure she keeps Soos occupied on tours and out of sight, INSIDE!” Stan almost yelled that last bit. “Keep that asshole off my property. Keep him away from my family. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. We’re on our way. Keep Soos safe.” The line went dead. 

Wendy sank into the chair behind the desk, gaze locked on the ceiling. She had two hours to figure out what to do before shit really hit the fan. And then the inevitable grave she still needed to dig herself.

Chapter Text

Stan slammed open the doors, rattling the walls of the car rental building, causing the clerk behind the counter to jump. He pushed Ford to the side, slapping his credit card on the counter, staring at the skinny man across from him. 

“I need the fastest thing you guys can offer.” Stan snapped, narrowing his eyes in a poor attempt to intimidate the clerk. 

“I have this under control.” Ford said, glaring at Stan from behind his cracked glasses. “I thought you were securing the boat?”

Stan waved aside the last comment. He’d finished that 30 minutes ago with practiced ease. He was just buying time for one last cigar before he was surrounded by impressionable youngsters for the summer. “Stop wasting time, poindexter.” He glared at the clerk. “I need it fast. I need a stick. I need it red.”

The attendant blinked, looking down at the credit card before looking back up at Stan. “We will need to see license and insurance information first before we can-“

Ford already had the wallet with Stan- no, Stetson Pinefields – license and insurance information, an unfortunately necessity after the last time they attempted a rental under Stanley’s name. That had resulted in a very close call with the FBI that in all honesty? They still weren’t quite sure how they escaped. 

“Excellent! Let me get these processed and you’ll be out the door in 15 minutes! Any other vehicle specifications?” 

“Seatbelts.” Ford glared at Stan. “And airbags.”

The attendant raised his eyebrow at Ford, before very slowly turning around and doing his best to run the paperwork through the system before anything else unnecessary happened to him that day. God did he hate weekends. Who invented the weekend?

-

13 minutes later saw a bright red Mazda 3 peeling out of the parking lot, ignoring the singular car coming down south 7th street as it headed for the 101 East towards Portland. The Mazda flew through the intersection, not even pretending to stop at the stop sign, receiving a loud honk as it skidded along the road, the heavy stench of sulfur and burning metal following them as Stan finally let the poor clutch out. The engine roared as they sped down the 101, Stan determined to get to Gravity Falls now . 

Ford was bracing himself against the arm rest and the window, cursing loudly as Stan simply laughed, dropping the car from fourth the second as he jerked left at a red light, the engine roaring angrily as he maintained his terrifying speed of almost 50 despite the oncoming traffic. The tachometer jumped to over 3,000 rpm as the car accelerated again, Stan refusing to switch gears as he swerved between traffic.

“Getting us killed will not help Soos at all!” Ford said, his knuckles white against the center console as he stared dead ahead, waiting for their inevitable doom as Stan flew down the road. 

“God, you act like a grandmother sometimes!” Stan said with a chuckle, shifting into third as the Mazda dove between a semi truck and a mini van that was driving well below the speed limit already.

They’d already made it out of Garibaldi proper, and miraculously Stan had managed to not get them t-boned or rear-end someone else in the effort to get them onto the OR-6 E, despite the best efforts from other drivers. 

Once Ford was confident that Stan could keep them on the road for more than 5 minutes before the possibility of an accident showed its face again – or as Stan liked to call it, ‘driving’ – Ford managed to unclench his fists from the center console and door, digging in his pockets for Stan’s phone.

The twins had managed to convince Soos to purchase Stan one of those convoluted smart phones before they had left for the Arctic in the late fall. Ford refused, claiming he wouldn't need his own as they would most likely be on the Stan o' War II the majority of the time anyway. Besides, he hated the interface of the thing. The children all claimed it was the latest and greatest in technology, but where were the buttons? The keyboard? The cursor? How was one supposed to use the glass rectangle in any reasonable way?

Stan always enjoyed making fun of Ford’s inability to handle a touch screen for someone who had travelled untold dimensions and had probably seen and interacted with technology beyond human comprehension, to which Ford simply reminded Stan that he too, had been bested by the convoluted iPhone 6. The amount of ‘selfies’ featuring Stan’s own nose hair was an excellent reminder of his defeat. 

Thankfully for everyone, Ford was adept at locating the GPS ‘app’ on the confounded device, as well as managing to actually put the correct address in. 130ish miles out from Gravity falls, just over 2 hours left.

While Ford was also capable of using the device for its original purpose – making phone calls – it did take him longer than he was willing to admit to locate the contact for Wendy on the phone, attempting to decipher the brightly colored emoticons and images that were sprinkled throughout the address book. Or contacts app as it was now referred to. 

The line was soon ringing loudly, the sound echoing in the tiny cabin of the Mazda 3, Stan avoiding looking anywhere except the road in front of him, and Ford regretting looking at the speedometer and the tachometer, sitting at a scary 110mph and almost 6,000 rpm, approaching the ever-so discouraged Red Zone of the tachometer. Stan had the car in 6th gear, and was pushing the poor rental to its limits that their insurance was not going to be willing to pay out for if they died in a fiery explosion on the US-26 E. 

–

The shack was honestly less of a catastrophe than it should have been, all things considering. Wendy still hadn't seen Soos, but she had been cornered by Melody, who was back from Portland for the summer, having decided to take a mid-degree gap year to spend time working on herself. And by working on herself, she was mainly trying to stay far away from family drama and exes for the summer, hoping that hiding and working for the summer would keep her hidden well enough.

Thankfully the last tour had made their souvenir decisions rather quickly, leaving the gift shop empty for the time being as Wendy sat on the counter, trying to look anywhere but at Melody’s rage filled face.

Wendy’s phone rang, and began to vibrate itself off the counter and towards the floor before Melody snatched it up, snapping the phone open and hollering into the speaker. “You were supposed to be here two days ago!” 

“Ah, good morning, Melody.” Ford sounded taken aback by the sheer volume that Melody had managed to exude. “Is Mx. Corduroy available?” Ford knew that Wendy was the one who had informed Stan of this, what were the exact words he had used? ‘El hijo de perra’ sounded right in Ford’s mind.

“Are you on speaker phone? You better be on speaker phone.” Melody was seething, her knuckles turning white as the flip phone squeaked in her clutch, threatening to snap under the stress.

Wendy had gotten used to working with Melody. Having someone as equally calm and collected and nonchalant in the shack had been such a life saver. Having someone else young in the building also off-set the fact that the shack had been run by an ancient con artist who should have probably been retired but refused to admit his age. The only things that ever changed Melody’s behavior were those few and far between instances where someone was either trying to hurt Soos, insult Soos, or con Soos. Even when she had interacted in phone calls or messages to her own family members in Wendy’s presence, Melody barely reacted, let alone lost her cool.

So when it came to Soos's father, her rage was more than justified. The amount of information she did have on Soos’s absent father could fill a singular dollar bill, if Stan had left any laying around for them to write on. The amount of emotional damage that dead beat had left on Soos on the other hand could fill an ocean liner, and it still wouldn’t be big enough. This man had pissed off the one person in the world who could and would make him regret being alive. He was already both feet in the grave in her book, and the grave diggers were shoveling dirt on top of him daily. 

“Stan is currently driving.” Ford said matter of factly.

“I can hear ya just fine kid. What’s the status?” Stan yelled through the phone. 

“First of all I’m gonna make you regret being late.” Melody snapped.

The twins were supposed to have arrived Wednesday – the second to last day of school for most of the Oregon school system – so not a too busy travel or museum day. Soos was going to make a trip out to the marina in Garibaldi, taking the Stanmobile with him for its first long distance drive since the twins had set off for the arctic. Unfortunately, a small storm had sent the brothers the wrong direction long enough that they were now 3 days late, and having to drive a less than ideal rental car back to Gravity Falls. 

“We cannot control the weather!” Ford yelled, obviously insulted by the suggestion that they would purposefully delay their own return home.

“Second of all, it’s 10:55, Soos just finished up his second tour, and now I have 15 minutes before he starts the next one to figure out how to keep this no good dead beat jack ass out of my house.” Melody was fuming. Her face was turning red, and her forehead had more lines on it than Stan’s itself.  

If it had been any hotter, Wendy would have sworn she could see the steam rising off of the significantly messier than usual bun Melody had her hair up in, her rage about to boil over, drowning everyone else at the Mystery Shack. Melody was not one to be quick to anger, but once she was angry, you were better off dead honestly.

“Put Wendy on!” Stan shouted. 

“Watch the damn road!” Ford snapped. There was the ever terrifying sound of tires squealing, followed by Ford shouting at Stan with words nobody in this or the closest 17 dimensions would be able to recognize before any actual English was spoken again.

“Wendy had a plan.” Stan shouted.

“I did not!” Wendy finally spoke up, originally waiting for the adults to finish talking while she allowed herself to brood over her oftentimes terrible decisions and options on what she could be doing in the current circumstances. “I bought us time! Which we are now running out of!”

“Where are you pendejos now?” Melody snapped.

“¡Vete a la mierda!” Stan snapped.

“¡Ojo con lo que dices!” Melody snapped back, her free hand shaking as she gripped the counter. 

“I think we are going around Portland shortly.” Ford said, and the sound of Stan now swearing was getting muffled as he must have moved the phone further away. “I do not know how we have not been pulled over.” he muttered, obviously trying to keep Stan from hearing him despite being trapped beside each other in the car. 

“Gimmie that!” Stan’s voice was clearer now. “If that hijo de perra shows his goddamn face again before I get there he better pray to whatever dios he believes in that Wendy doesn’t get un tiro at him cause she knows where i keep at least 3 of my guns!”

“En absoluto! Wendy, do not listen to this pendejo!” Melody pointed at Wendy, who was still simply sitting in the chair at the counter. 

Wendy was eternally grateful that no one had come in during this argument, but slightly more concerned that no one had come in during this argument. 

“The map says we are 2 hours and 15 minutes away.” Wendy could almost picture the adjustment Ford was making to his glasses.

“The map’s a perra mentirosa,” Stan snapped. “Wendy. Guns. If he comes back before we get there, call your dad. And your brothers.”

“They’re younger than me!” Wendy squeaked. “My dad barely let me learn how to shoot!” 

It had taken much more bribery and convincing to get Manly Dan to teach Wendy over the fall, but being stuck using a flip phone just so she could learn proper gun safety was something she was more than capable of accepting. It also ensured Tambry couldn't send excessive amounts of texts.

“Never a better time to learn,” Stan said with a chuckle. The phone was filled with the sounds of car horns.

“Watch the road!” Ford yelled.

“I’ve got my glasses on!” 

“Just get here!” Melody said, snapping the phone shut.

Melody glared at Wendy, who was more than prepared to receive the chewing out of a lifetime, and started mentally digging her second grave for the day.

“You’re on thin fucking ice too” Melody gestured pointedly. 

“Please tell me Soos started the next tour.” Wendy prayed this would distract Melody just enough to prevent further emotional destruction. It was 11:01 now. 9 more minutes. The cuckoo clock chime was broken again, as neither of them had heard it go off 11. 

“Don’t you dare move.” Melody pointed at Wendy, then down at the counter. “If he shows his face, call me. I’m gonna keep Soos busy.”

“Eww gross,” Wendy said with a gag, “I don’t need to know what gross couple crap you two are into.”

Melody smacked the pine tree hat off of Wendy’s head, sending it smacking into the wall. “Grow up.” She quickly turned and rushed towards the museum, hunting for her partner in a desperate attempt to protect him from harm he couldn’t even see coming. 

Wendy scooped the quickly fading blue and white hat off of the floor where it had landed, followed by the snap of her phone opening as she went to dial the twins.

Chapter Text

Sherman H. Pines was a man of mystery. 

At least that’s what his two grandkids used to say every time they’d stay for the summer. He’d talk about their grandmother in a way that would confuse them, he’d mention his second wife with a far-off look in his eyes, and he’d embarrass them while around his third wife, giggling like a schoolboy while the twins gagged at the public displays of affection. 

He tried his best to be open and honest with his family, refusing to become anything like the man that had raised him. Filbrick Pines had been a tough, unimpressed man raised during one of the most traumatic wars in modern history and had become tough as bricks because of it. 

Sherman had been through a different war, crawling through the jungles of Vietnam while missing the birth of his firstborn daughter. He’d grown up seeing the war unfold in front of him, but never thought he’d end up halfway across the globe as a pawn in some messed-up game. 

Those had been the worst years of his life. Not only had he gone straight from high school graduation to basic training, then halfway across the world. The one time he did get leave to visit his family and high school sweetheart-turned-military wife, he'd managed to get her knocked up, resulting in missing his daughter's birth.

But deep down inside, the thing that had made those years from 1965 through 1970 the worst was the unknown. He barely got letters from home, and when he did, it seemed that everything was fine, dandy, even stellar! His mother wrote about the beaches, the holidays, and the little things he missed around the pawn shop. His brothers wrote about their project, the old boat they’d found at the beach and were convinced they could fix. His father simply signed his name at the bottom of his mother’s letters, with a blocky ‘Stand Firm’ etched in front of it. His wife sent him the thickest letters, filled with tidbits on their former classmates, the tiniest of photos she could print of the goings-on around Glass Shard Beach, and after Teresa had been born, as many pictures of their daughter as she could take.

Eventually, the letters from the twins stopped altogether, and his mother had begun filling her letters with twisted tales that he could tell were off in some way, but never truly knew just how off they were until he returned home in early 1970.

That’s when the news about Stan had been broken to him. Shermie had received a medical discharge at the end of 1969, and they had shipped him home just after Valentine's Day in 1970. He was finally able to hold his already two-year-old daughter for the first time, his heart aching for the years he had already missed with her, when his wife told him about the science fair, the colleges, and Filbrick’s harsh decision that had torn the family apart. 

Shermie hadn’t spoken to his father after finding out about that. He called some war buddies in California, and within a week of returning home, the next generation of the Pines family was heading west, as far away from the reminder of his childhood as possible. 

Finding Stan became an almost obsession for Shermie, despite the dead ends he kept running into and the lack of answers he received from his mother about Stan's well-being and whereabouts. The guilt of not being there for his own brother ate at Shermie, who tried his best to remain in contact with Ford while he was still enrolled at Backupsmore, as well as once he’d moved to Gravity Falls, Oregon. 

1984 was the second worst time of Shermie’s life. 

Not only had he lost his wife, he’d finally found Stan. In a Road Kill County Oregon newspaper obituary.

Sherman couldn’t even go to the service. His wife’s was the same day.

–

Freshly retired, recently divorced, and looking forward to making up for last summer when he couldn’t watch Mason and Mabel, he had asked – no, insisted –  on joining them in Gravity Falls, Oregon, for the summer. He’d heard about all the fun they’d had with Stanford, and Shermie figured it was about time he spent some quality time with his younger brother.

Now had he told his remaining brother this?

It might have slipped his mind. He was getting up there in age, and things were so hard to remember anymore. Who was to blame him? That and the sparse line of communication he did manage to hold onto with his brother had nothing to do with it. Just because you live in the neighboring state – even if he is almost all the way to Los Angeles - doesn’t mean you should just never visit. 

Shermie had managed to convince his son, Jason, to let him take the kids up to Oregon for the summer so Jason could get a chance to get the rest of his own divorce settled. After making the drive up from Morro Bay to Piedmont, Shermie and the twins were well on their way to Oregon by three that Friday afternoon. 

Now, to his own credit, Shermie hadn’t asked Jason about the trip till the week before, but the relief he saw on Jason's face as soon as he had asked was more than enough of an answer for him. And it’s not his fault that Jason didn’t tell Mason and Mabel that Sherman was taking them up until Wednesday night. That was just a fun little surprise. The second surprise was the pig.

Shermie knew about Waddles. Mabel had been texting him pictures of the round, pink creature ever since she had gotten her phone for Christmas, and as soon as Jason had told her about the trip to Gravity Falls, she told Shermie the pig was coming. It was home for him! He deserved fresh air too! Shermie was never able to argue against Mabel. 

Sherman had never had pets. Well, besides the cat his parents had owned while the twins were still in middle school. But that was so long ago. He wasn’t sure what all he’d have to do to keep the thing alive while they were on the way up, but he was just about willing to do anything for his granddaughter. 

The first leg of the drive with the twins was full of 80s karaoke blasting from the tiny Bluetooth speaker Mabel had brought along, having bought it with the knitting money she’d earned by selling some of her projects to classmates that honestly should not have had access to the money they were spending. Shermie’s car was not equipped with a stereo system that could handle Mabel’s phone, nor could it handle the CDs she had also grabbed. But his 1986 AMC Eagle had never done him wrong, serving him through both of his own divorces, a wonderful testament to American-made four-wheel-drive hatchbacks. It did come equipped with a tape deck, but unfortunately it did not provide the ease of use Mabel so enjoyed with her smartphone.

Mabel called it a grandpa car. Dipper called it a road hazard. Shermie called it Arnie. Waddles simply chewed on the loose leather of the back seat.

–

They spent the night in a motel in Fairhaven, with Shermie forcing the twins into the two double beds while he took the pull-out couch. Mabel had managed to convince Shermie that Waddles was always allowed in bed with her, and honestly? Shermie hadn’t the heart to argue anyways. It was a battle getting them to calm down, trying to get Mabel to put her phone down and then trying to get Mason to turn off the fire hazard of a laptop he had dragged out of his dad's closet, a good 4-inch-thick behemoth of solid computer hardware with a well-installed carrying handle at the front. 

Shermie ended up threatening to drag the twins out of bed before dawn if they didn’t get in bed soon, and that had both the phone down and the laptop snapped shut and on the nightstand before he could say another word. 

While the twins had had more than enough time to explore the Mystery Shack the previous summer, Sherman had still neglected to go. So he had done what any good older brother – who was certainly not planning on surprising his younger brother – would do, and set up a tour under a fake name, Herman Todd, for their anticipated arrival time in order to surprise his brother. He figured noon would give them plenty of time to drive the last leg up and eat beforehand and had gotten a 12:10 tour scheduled. 

–

The dusty alarm clock on the nightstand went off at 7:15 am. Mabel called it sunrise. Dipper called it the butt crack of dawn. Shermie called it sleeping in. Waddles simply determined he needed to be taken outside immediately.

Somehow over the school year, Mabel had managed to train the now almost 150-pound pig to not only wear a harness, but walk surprisingly well on a leash as well. So that’s where Sherman found himself at 7:16, wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt, waiting for the pig to finish sniffing out every damn bug and blade of grass available behind the motel.

Waddles finally determined he was done almost 15 minutes later, allowing Shermie back into the motel room to find a still-sleeping Dipper and the sound of Mabel singing in the bathroom.

“C’mon kiddo, don’t leave your old man on his own for breakfast.” Shermie said, poking at the bundle of blankets on the still-occupied bed.

Dipper groaned, rolling over under the bundle and pulling the second pillow over his head. Sherman could hear something more coming from under the pillow, but it was so muffled that it was incomprehensible. 

“Zayde, Dipper can’t come out now. He’s in pillow town.” Mabel yelled from the bathroom, leaning her head out and staring at her Zayde. 

An affirmative grunt came from the pillow. 

“Please inform the residents of pillow town that pancakes are only for those who can continue our road trip at this fine hour,” Shermie said in the most matter-of-fact tone possible, looking at Mabel as if she was an interpreter for the fine citizens of pillow town. 

“I’m a congresswoman! Not a foreign delegate! God, didn’t you listen at all, Zayde?” Mabel groaned, slamming the bathroom door. 

Dipper shot out from under the pillow, almost hitting Shermie with the speed he ended up throwing it at. “Pancakes? Wait for me! I want pancakes! I’m coming, I'm coming!” The blankets, on the other hand, were not so willing to give up their victim, sending Dipper tumbling to the floor as he clumsily attempted to escape. 

“Easy there, vontz, we still got a whole day ahead of us for you to get yourself in trouble.” Shermie pulled at one end of the blanket as Dipper managed to free his legs from its grasp. 

“Sorry, Zayde,” Dipper said, “lemme change, and I’ll be ready.”

“And brush your teeth!” Mabel screamed from the bathroom. “You don’t wanna get braces too!”

“That’s not how,” Dipper said angrily, before taking a breath and pausing. “That’s not – that's not how that works, but whatever.” 

15 minutes saw both teens changed and overnight bags packed again, loading the car up while arguing over who was gonna get to ride shotgun – and who was going to ride in the back with Waddles –  the rest of the way to Gravity Falls. 

Shermie was now sporting a pair of brown hiking boots, khaki cargo shorts, a half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt worn over a white t-shirt, an ugly orange fanny pack slung across his chest, plus a large pair of aviator sunglasses perched on his head. Mabel said fanny packs were coming back in style soon. Dipper called it atrocious. Shermie thought it was very functional for a trip. Waddles simply kept looking for treats in it.

Trusting the twins to not steal his trusty car, Shermie had headed to the lobby – grabbing a couple pre-wrapped pastries from the motel’s complimentary breakfast nook and a small black coffee – and was asking the clerk for restaurant recommendations on the way up to gravity falls. 

By the time the bill was paid, Sherman had been given information on a dozen restaurants that offered pancakes, a phone number on the back of a scribbled over business card, plus a map to a good rest stop closer to Gravity Falls with a very detailed hand drawn map located inside, as Gravity Fall was near impossible to find on any larger atlas and some GPS maps. 

Mabel had won the battle for the front seat, insisting that since she had a smart phone – and Dipper had wanted a flip phone – she needed to be able to help Zayde with directions in case he got lost. 

Dipper was arguing that the paper maps were just as accurate if not more so if you could simply read street signs and mile markers. 

Shermie was shaking his head, forgetting just how rambunctious children could be once they hit puberty.

Waddles simply continued his endeavor to chew at the ripped leather seat in the back. 

Chapter Text

“Have you heard from Grunkle Stan yet?” Dipper whispered in the dinner booth, leaning in close to Mabel as she was busy typing on her phone. 

“No!” She wailed, slamming her phone on the table. “He hasn’t even opened them yet and it’s been HOURS.” She slammed her head against the booth and went limp, sliding down as gravity took over her body.

“It’s been two days actually.” Dipper corrected, playing with the syrup covered set of utensils in front of him. Waddles had been fighting him for the last of the syrup, and Dipper wasn’t about to challenge the pig again. 

“Which is WORSE!” Mabel sat up, grabbing Dipper by his — for once clean — vest. “What if they capsized? What if they’ve died?” Mabel was screaming, and about to scare the entire dinner at this point. 

“Keep your voice down!” Dipper hissed, grabbing onto his trapper hat as it tried to fly off. “You’re lucky Zayde is in the bathroom!” 

“Why aren’t they answering though?” Mabel groaned. “I gotta tell them somehow!”

Now there was one last surprise that even Shermie wouldn’t be prepared for. Somehow for the entire school year, multiple holiday visits, and constant stream of adorable Waddle pictures, neither of the kids had manged to inform Shermie – or even their own parents – about Great Uncle Ford.

And to be completely fair, who would have believed a set of now thirteen year olds that their long dead uncle was actually alive and well, and living under the name of his twin brother who had been accidentally sent into the multiverse for the last thirty years, resulting in a high school drop out learning physics and rebuilding an inter dimensional portal with duct tape, dreams, and a third of the instructions necessary? Yeah, they couldn't really think of anyone who would believe them either. 

Now in the twins' defense, it had been a busy school year, plus there had been a lot happening with Shermie’s divorce and then their own parents divorce. Their mom was also dealing with what could be classified as a descent into madness by some, but the twins could tell she had joined a cult. It had been a very very long school year.

“Tell who?” Shermie said, sliding into the booth across from the twins. 

“Candy and Grenda!” Dipper shouted much louder than he should have, his voice squeaking. “We haven’t gotten a chance to tell them we’re coming back for the summer!”

“Don’t forget Pacifica!” Mabel said, elbowing Dipper harshly in the ribs. 

“Hey!” Dipper rubbed his side. “Lay off! She just needed help with the math assignment now that she doesn’t have a tutor.”

Mabel stuck her tongue out, knowing full and well that the line of communication between the two had been more than just math homework. Mabel could smell it.

“That’s everyone who’s expecting you back in gravity falls right?”

Mabel nodded enthusiastically. “Plus Wendy and Soos and Melody and Mr. McGucket and Susan and Grunkle Stan and great un-”

“Great underdog!” Dipper shouted, once again louder than he should have, slapping his hand over Mabel’s entire face, a poor effort to make her shut up. “We’re gonna be late!”

It was barely after 11 am. They’d ended up stopping closer to gravity falls than they had originally planned, but that meant the last leg of the trip would be barely over an hour. While Stan was the primary reckless driver in the family, Shermie wasn’t completely against driving a little over the speed limit on an empty road. When there’s no cops around, anything’s legal.

“We’ve got enough time.” Shermie ruffled Mabel’s hair. “Now both of you hit the can while I pay up, and I'll see if they’ve got a map behind the counter we can take a picture of. Last stop till Gravity Falls!”

Mabel cheered, jumping up from the booth, and shoving Dipper out of her way as she booked it to the rest room. Dipper peeled himself from the warm leather booth seat, following after Mabel to wash up and relieve himself. Waddles put his stubby legs on the table, reaching across to grab the syrupy utensil, trying to clean the last of the syrup off.

Sherman sighed. It was honestly a miracle the employees of the dinner hadn’t asked them to keep the pig outside. It’s almost as if this was some sort of normal occurrence for them, having farm animals sitting in booths and cleaning utensils, and now the pig was licking the plates too. 

The table started vibrating. Sherman looked at his phone, the lock screen showing a somewhat blurry image of the twins and Waddles, before he realized it was Mabel’s own phone, still on the table, and slowly moving towards the edge.

Shermie scooped it up, the phone identifying the caller was a Wendy Cool-Dude, so he answered it.

“Mabel Pines phone, Sherman speaking.” He’d been answering phones for decades professionally, having to work between desk jobs and eventually being a car salesman in Morro Bay. 

“Excuse you? Where's Mabel?" Came a feminine voice.

“This is Sherman Pines, her grandfather. Can I help you?” He immediately decided he was not a fan of this individual.

“Yeah I need Mabel where’s she at?”

“I’m sorry I don’t even know who you are, why do you need to talk to my granddaughter?” Shermie was defensive now. Nobody was allowed to speak to him like that, nor demand to speak to his granddaughter.

“Dude I need her advice. I'm freaking out here, everything is a mess!” The girl sounded distressed now.

“And how is she going to be able to help you?” Sherman was now on edge.

“Dude she’s got a big creative brain and she can think of stuff better than anyone!” The girl huffed, and the phone beeped, the call ending.

Shermie held the phone away from his face, staring at the lock screen. It was a picture of Waddles, dressed in an adorable little suit and bowtie combination. The pinnacle of refinement.

Shermie shrugged, putting the phone back on the table before heading to the counter to settle the bill and finally ask for that map if possible.

Waddles continued licking the empty plates, cleaning off the remaining syrup and pancake crumbs the twins had failed to scrape up while they were inhaling their late breakfast. 

11:08 found them buckled up in Arnie again, this time with Dipper in the front seat, proudly holding his copy of a local map so he could help Shermie navigate the backroads to Gravity Falls. Shermie had also gotten a napkin with some more specific navigation instructions, followed by a phone number from the poor diner employee that had to deal with them. 

Mabel's phone had lost service, leaving them listening to some of the same songs her dad had ripped from his CD collection for her over and over again. Which could have been worse, at least they were catchy. Shermie marveled at just how far technology had come in his day, especially considering just how much information was now stored on that little device Mabel carried around constantly. It was fascinating. 

Shermie was determined to make it to the Mystery Shack with time to spare, so he might have been going just a smidge of the speed limit. Arnie was not a fan of going fast, and the hills did not help with that problem at all. Shermie was pushing Arnie into the 70s, laying off when they were going up hills and around bends, avoiding the all too concerning shimmy that had started coming from the front end. This was way out of Arnie’s comfort zone, as he’d mainly been used for trips around town and the occasional trip to Piedmont for the last 20 odd years. 

–

Stan and Ford were still flying down the highway, back on the US-26 E after detouring around Portland, avoiding the worst of the mid-day traffic in the city, now just shy of an hour and a half left according to the GPS and 82 more miles to go.

Stan was gonna make it there in half that time if it killed him.

Ford was terrified it would kill them.

It was 11:19 am. Ford had attempted to call Mabel and Dipper about seven times in the last two minutes, each one going straight to voicemail regardless of which phone number he tried.

“Still nothin?” Stan asked, swerving between the already speeding traffic as the Mazda continued at its break neck pace.

“Precisely. They must be in a dead zone on the bus.” Ford sighed. “I did get a few messages from Mabel but it simply read ‘SOS’, which must just be a misspelling of Soos. Wendy must have informed them about the situation at hand.”

“Like all one word or are there periods?” Stan asked, reaching blindly for the phone, trying to get a look himself.

Ford smacked the wayward hand away. “Stanley! Focus on driving!” Ford held the phone as far away as he could. “And yes, there are periods. Why?”

Stan managed to smack Ford upside the head without looking, sending his already cracked glasses tumbling to the floor.

“You dumbass! It’s fucking morse code! That’s an S.O.S. Something else is wrong!” Stan leaned over, reaching for the phone again, “Knows how to speak in a bazillion languages but can’t remember morse code.” The steering wheel and Mazda followed as Stan leaned over, the tires hitting the rumble strips along the side of the road. 

Ford shoved the wheel left again, along with Stan. “WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD!”

“I know how t’drive!”

“ACT LIKE IT!” 

Somehow the Mazda hand miraculously missed being hit by the semi truck beside them, hitting the mini van in front of them, as well as benign rear-ended by the lifted pick up truck that was attempting to match speed with them.The truck’s overly large tires weighed it down as Stan straightened the Mazda out, tires squealing as he dropped a gear, sending the RPMS back up to 6,000 as the engine road, the car zipping down the highway, outpacing the truck. He swerved past the minivan, cutting in front of the semi-truck – a terribly stupid thing to do – and speeding down the highway. 

“Jesus Christ stop being a back seat driver.” Stan rolled his eyes, shifting into 6th gear again as they continued flying past traffic.

“I would not have to be such a backseat driver if you were not endangering our lives so recklessly.” Ford leaned forward, feeling for his glasses on the floor in front of him.

“Yeah yeah. When did the kids first send the distress message?”

Ford studied his glasses before placing them back on, satisfied that they had not been damaged anymore than previously. He felt around the floor for the phone this time, pulling up the message app and looking at the very colorful emoticons that Mabel would send almost daily.

“It looks like it started Wednesday.” He scrolled back down, studying each almost identical message. “No details, and no voicemails either. I assume they did not want anyone else to hear whatever it is that they wanted to inform us of.”

“God damned kids,” Stan mumbled. “They better have a real good reason for this. See if you can get them again.”

–

It was Dipper's phone that was ringing now, the flip phone vibrating in the cupholder while it played out the theme from one of his favorite 80s movies, Apparition Demolishers.

“Is there something odd? In the town? Who you gonna buzz?” Dipper flipped the phone open, cutting off the rest of the song.

“Dipper Pines,” his voice cracked, “What paranormal entity can I assist you with today?”

He’d spent the last couple months doing his best at creating his own paranormal investigation company, but unfortunately, no one in Piedmont had much faith in a 13 year old with a flip phone and an ancient laptop.

The reply was staticky, impossible to hear.

“Who is this?”

“Dipper!” Came a gruff shout from the phone.

“Grunkle Stan?” 

“I ca-” the phone cut out. “Where -” more static “Soos!” again with the static.

“I’m in a dead zone!” dipper hollered. “I’ll call you when we get to the shack!”

“Danger?” was the last thing that came through before the signal was lost completely, the line beeping as the call was dropped.

“Grunkle Stan?” Sherman asked, raising an eyebrow and giving a quick glance at his grandson.

Dipper nodded. “I couldn’t really hear him though. This part of Oregon has really bad service.”

“Hmm,” Shermie hummed, looking back at the road. “Never thought that Stanford would ever go by Stan, but time does change people I suppose.”

Dipper felt his heart stop. He glanced up in the rearview mirror, and saw Mabel staring right back at him, the same look of abject terror on her face as Waddles continued to chew on the torn leather, this time on the back of the passenger seat.

–

“Fucking Oregon cell service.” Stan grumbled as the line died. 

“Well at least we know they are on their way.” Ford shrugged, attempting to look on a possible bright side.

“They’re walking from the bus stop on their own. I got a dead beat, no good pendejo to beat the daylights out of.” 

Chapter Text

Soos had dreamed about running the Mystery Shack since that fateful 12th birthday, the day Stan had hired him on as the handyman, the day he brought that lone red screwdriver back to where it belonged, the day he decided he was done waiting for his father to return.

Last summer had seen that dream come to fruition. 

Now for complete transparency, last summer had also come with a good deal of blood, sweat, tears, and somehow other bodily fluids that had been ignored at the time and were still being ignored, which everyone was thankful for. Unfortunately, it also changed the entire canon of the fanfic that Soos had been working on based off of Stan’s past based on the off-the-cuff stories he would mention once and never acknowledge again. Soos held those tales near and dear to his heart, and began writing what he thought had really happened during those stories, especially the ones that Stan never embellished on.  

The truth ended up being even wilder than Soos could have ever anticipated. Not only had Stan been hiding an entire doomsday device in the basement – which was most certainly NOT in Soos’s fanfiction – there had also been an entire twin brother from another dimension emerge from said doomsday device. Soos had an inkling that there was a twin since an off-hand comment back in 2008 about pranking teachers with outfit changes – which would have been impossible with Stan’s older brother Sherman – but Soos hadn’t gotten hard evidence of a twin until he walked out of the doomsday device and socked Stan directly in the face.

Considering how much Soos had head-canoned about this mysterious twin and had in fact been correct about, getting  their names wrong was a mistake he could brush off, continuing with the tales of Soos’s Stan Fiction, now with the Author of the Journals!

The Pines had become Soos’s second family, especially given how he couldn’t even remember the face of his father, and had never met his mother. Soos only knew about his father because Abuelita spent much of his childhood muttering under her breath about the ‘muerto de cansancio’ assuming wrongly that soos still had not learned any of those words yet. He didn’t have any memories of his father, and not for lack of trying on Soos’s part, but for the fact that his father had gone on a business trip when Soos had turned 4 and still had not come back. After that Abuelita had burned all of the pictures with him, cutting her own daughter from any picture he was in to save the memory of her while removing that muerto de cansancio from her abode. The years after that birthday had seen a postcard arrive for his birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and occasionally the fourth of july as well. The battered shoe box under his bed was almost to the point of overflowing with the amount of half attempted apologies scribbled on post cards from every corner of the globe but the one Soos lived in.

The pictures of his mother were kept in a well loved and maintained photo album, with titles and captions in Abuelita’s ever precise picture perfect cursive, with the dates next to them as well. She looked so much like Abuelita,  soft caring face with kind eyes and curly brown hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail or bun that was struggling to maintain control. Soos was always told he looked just like her. He wished with every ounce of his being he had been able to meet her, knowing that she had died when he had been born, a result of complications and inability to make it to the hospital in a timely manner, something that Abuelita had refused to elaborate on. He wished she could have been around to raise him, to relieve Abuelita of the responsibility of raising a child instead of enjoying her years. He carried around a photo of her in his wallet, one of the few that showed her pregnant before Soos had been born. 

Last summer he had added the pictures of the Pines family to his wallet. His emergency salami was no longer needed, as he now had an ever growing family close by that would keep him safe and secure when he felt alone. The Pines had made themselves Soos’s family in the absence that his own parents had left him. He would be the first to admit that Stan was basically a father to him, a role model that had raised him to be the man he was. Of course he wouldn’t admit it in front of abuelita. She’d have his hide if he ever said something like that. Melody had been encouraging Soos to get Stan not only a welcome home present, but a fathers day gift as well to show Stan just how much he really meant to Soos. 

Now of the circumstances of last summer, his favorite and current biggest life saver was Melody. He’d been thriving as a single well versed nerd living a content life until his cousin Reggie decided to go and get engaged and gave Soos an entire plus one to the engagement party, so knew he couldn’t go alone. Having to deal with his cousin was already a pain in the behind let alone going by himself. Thankfully the Power of Mabel had taken care of the issue, and Soos had been dating Melody ever since. 

Now that wasn’t to say they didn’t have their ups and downs, especially when she went home to Portland for the second half of summer last year for an internship, but they had made it work and the look on Reggie’s face at the engagement party was a memory Soos would never forget. 

Melody had come back to gravity falls during winter break, and decided she was going to stick around for a bit to recover from her previous semester of classes and other  issues that had been happening in Portland over the fall. Melody still had all the resources from her business classes under her belt, and had managed to do a complete 180 on the mystery shack’s public image, having created one of the fastest growing cult followings of a tourist trap ever. 

Soos would be the first to admit that he was very much not social media savvy. He spent most of his time on livejournal – he had to share his fanfiction somewhere – as well as the UnFiction forums trying to understand ARGs during his breaks at the Shack, plus his LARP site and the FFYEWATB forum that he had started and was surprisingly active for such a niche group. 

Now the amazing thing about having a business major girlfriend – outside of the unconditional support and what not – was having someone who knew how to leverage all of the current and up and coming social media sites to build a following for the shack. The downside was the fact it was bringing in an increasing amount of customers to the point Soos had to hire on another full time employee, as Wendy had not been able to convince her father to let her drop out of high school. In the end they hired Grey on for additional weekend and evening help, as well as Sergei for help during the weekdays.

Soos was surprised to see Grey come in for an interview, as her time working at the Summerween Superstore last summer had been, well, less than peaceful considering the terror that Stan and the rest of the family had been, as well as the almost ban the entire family had received after the uh, incident, with the Summerween Trickster. But Grey needed a second job after she finished at the Ton’s Grocery for the day, and Soos wasn’t about to turn his back on another hard working individual. Grey had goals and Soos was not about to stand in the way of a very rage filled individual and their financial dreams.

Sergei, on the other hand, had come to the Mystery Shack about two whole days after the Stan twins had headed north for the attic anomalies, practically on his hands and knees begging for a job after the downfall of the Northwest family fortune, resulting in Sergei losing his job. Gravity Falls did not have a large market for personal golf trainers, and Sergei was more than willing to work the gift shop and whatever else Soos needed help with during the weekdays.   

The additional help ended up doing wonders for Soos’s stress levels, as Sergei was someone an excellent sales person and managed to boost in Shack merchandise sales by almost 20% during off peak seasons, and Grey was an absolute menace to every singular rude and confrontational customer that tried to get around the ‘No Refunds’ policy or attempt to haggle the price of gift shop merch. 

The first day of the Mystery Shack’s Summer Season had always been a big deal while Stan had been in charge. Soos didn’t plan on changing any of that, and made sure the shack was ready for the first unofficial day of summer, the first weekend of June. Just because the summer solstice wasn’t until the 20th didn’t stop parents from dragging their just outta school kids across the pacific northwest in search of family memories and cheap souvenirs to take to their family members back home. 

Wendy was the one to usually get tours set up on the weekends, ensuring any last minute reservations that had happened were logged in the book, wrist bands were ready, and pamphlets laid out for anyone who was much too early for their tour and had plenty of money to spend out and about on the town. That was the case this morning, and Soos was proud of the structure that he and Melody had created to keep the Shack running like the ever so well loved Stanley Mobile. 

Soos had snuck out the back door early this morning, making a quick run down to Greasey’s for some first day of the season pancakes, as well as a coffee omelette for Abuelita, which Soos could never understand just how she liked that thing, but the woman was well set on her ways, so one overcooked coffee omelette was what she received that fine not quite summer morning. 

Grey usually ran the first tour on Saturday mornings, allowing Soos, Melody, and Wendy to get any issues settled before any larger tour groups showed their face. Today was no different, as Soos arrived at the tail end of the first tour, greeted by a grunt from Wendy, and hasty kiss on the cheek from Melody, and Abuelita shuffling into the gift shop, picking through the to-go containers for her omelette, and shuffling back into the living room to watch the taped movie The Duchess Approves that had been left by Stan.

Soos ran the second tour, putting on the Mr. Mystery iconic hat and eyepatch, leading a small group through the ever changing halls of the Mystery Shack, past displays that had been created by Stan, and new ones created by Soos and Grey. A couple from out of state, a group of college students who were probably stuck in the ARG Grey had been helping Melody with, and some locals who wanted to see the fuss for the first day of the summer season. 

Soos hadn’t noticed the tense looks that Wendy and Melody had been giving each other, or the obscene amount of times Wendy had been attempting to call someone instead of simply texting them. Melody had insisted they work on inventory between tours. Inventory? On the first Saturday of the season? What was she even thinking? It had kept him busy after the 10:40 tour and between the 11:10 and the 11:40 tours, leaving little time to wonder about much else.

Dipper had helped design the tour schedule times for the summer. Having a 20 minute tour with an extra 10 minutes between tours allowed for any questions to be asked, any pictures to be taken, and the Sack of Mystery to make its appearance – where if one puts money in it, it mysteriously disappears!

The 11:40 tour had been a doozy, with a group of not twins but quadruplets in that wonderful question asking phase that 5 year olds have, running circles around Soos, their parents, and the other guests in the group, asking questions faster than anyone could possibly be capable of answering. 

The gift shop was now packed, with Melody, Grey, and Wendy all helping customers with their purchases, the quadruplets from the tour running circles around the Mystery Shack gift shop and staff, giving Soos just enough time to step out for a quick Pitt-Cola and a breath of fresh air before the 12:10 tour was supposed to start. 

He really didn’t know how Stan had managed to wear a suit all summer long, especially with the fact that the air conditioner in the museum itself was very much not reliable and honestly should be replaced before the year got any busier. But that was a problem for a less busy day, where they could find a reasonably priced HVAC guy to take care of it. That or call up Old Man McGucket, who could fix, build, or replace anything with about a 45 minute notice, but that possibility scared the crap out of Soos and was usually a last resort phone call.

The back porch still had the old couch on it, the one Stan had dragged out back in 2006 when the living room of the shack had flooded from the fish tank, or was it a salamander tank? Soos had never been sure. They had to replace the carpet, Stan grumbling about the cost of flooring the entire time and just leaving the couch outside, either forgetting to call the municipality to come haul it off, or just deciding that's where it lived now. And honestly, the couch had held up pretty damn well despite living outside for the last 8 or so years. Nothing had started growing out of it surprisingly, and it wasn’t getting that same funky smell that the inside of the shack had been curating for the last few decades, which was honestly a surprise considering how long it had been living in the shack before being abandoned on the back porch.

Soos was looking forward to sitting in his usual spot on the left side of the couch, furthest from the door as Stan always sat next to the door, ready for the soft breeze that usually came around the back of the shack from the woods. Soos had his hands full as he backed out of the shack, the Pitt cola in one hand, fez tucked under his arm, and his cell phone in his other hand. He needed to check on the FFYEWATB forum real quick to see if anyone else had joined since last night. It had slowly been picking up, and by slowly more specifically there were like, 6 total people on the forum. It was a work in progress.

The screen door creaked as Soos turned around, freezing when he saw a stranger sitting in Stan’s spot on the couch, flipping through last week's Gravity Falls Gossiper, almost nonchalant as if it was a regular occurrence for him to be sitting on a stranger's back porch, messing with their property without permission.

The clatter of the screen door is what finally made them look up at Soos, a comically twirled mustache topping a row of artificially white teeth that were far too straight for anyone to have maintained naturally. A smile grew on their face, one that failed to meet his eyes, something hidden deep underneath. The newspaper was discarded on the other spot of the couch as the stranger stood up, arms spread as he acknowledged Soos.

“Ahh! Mon fils! Hello!” He sounded far too jovial for someone Soos had never met, and for someone who was absolutely trespassing on private property. “Je suis de retour!”