Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Stanley, are you even LISTENING to me!” Don huffed, looking up from the documents at the man across the desk from him, who was currently staring at the clock on the wall with his knee bouncing, like a highschooler counting the minutes until school ended. Don rolled his eyes, setting down the papers. Half of him wondered why he even kept agreeing to do cases for Stan if he wasn’t even going to pay attention in any fashion.

“’M listening, Donnie!” He said, finally looking at the man in front of him. His hair combed back, though a few strands of his graying brown hair always fell in front of his face.

“Oh really. Then what did I just tell you.” Don practically sneered, sounding rather annoyed. Only Stan Pines could make his blood boil this much.

“Something about needing to have a court case?”

Don sighed, pinching his brow. “Stan- You know what, since you seem so distracted today, why don’t we take a break.” He leered, his eye practically twitching as he clicked his pen.

“Wh- No, I don’t need a break!” Stan said defensively, frowning a bit. He just had plans, you know! And was trying to wait for them. Which- made it a twinge hard to focus on anything but the time. Don frowned at him more. “You might need one, though. Look like you’re going to gouge my eyes out with that pen, Don.” He said, cocking his head to the side a twinge. I’m very tempted to, Stan. Don thought in reply, clicking the pen one more time before placing it down. He pinched the bridge of his sharp nose, rubbing the point where his nose met his brows.

“No. I just- You gave me a case far above my pay grade so. I’m just a little annoyed.”

“cause I know ya can do it, smart guy!” Stan quipped with fake charisma practically OOZING off of his voice as he leaned on one arm against the desk. Don was not amused by this.

“No, it cause you know I’m cheap. And owe you…”

“No yeah that’s entirely why I hired you.” Stan said bluntly, earning yet another unamused look from the lawyer.

Don sighed once more, muttering something about Stan being an idiot in Italian under his breath, before pushing back from his hair, standing up to stretch his legs and prance around the room. Stan eyed him as he did. “What are you doing now…” He questioned, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly.

“You’re right, I do need a break. And you obviously don’t care about this legal case so.” He shrugged, walking to the coat hanger where the old, twinge to large peacock coat hung. He carefully took it off the rack, dusting off the shoulders despite having no dust accumulated on there.

“I do care! Just- not today.” How articulate, Stan. Don thought impulsively.

“Righttt- Look, I get you just got back a week ago, but Stanley, dear- old friend, vecchio amico! I’m BEGGIN’ ya. And I don’t beg often!” He started, slipping the coat onto himself, shrugging so it would sit just right with the extra weight inside it.

“Well-“ Stan started, a grin cracking to his face before Don shot him a very bitter glare. “Why are ya actin so short with me!” Stan huffed, standing up and starting towards Don. “Not just durin this meeting, all week!”

“I’m not acting short with you! You’re just- you won’t understand!” Don rolled his eyes, glaring up at Stan. Even in the heels, he was still an inch shorter than Stan. It bothered him, too, because Stan wasn’t even that tall, 5’8 at the most, which is rather average. If you couldn’t tell, Don is not a very tall man.

Stan snorted “Try me, feathers!” he replied snarkily, flicking the feathers on Don’s coat, making the smaller man practically fume. Okay, so maybe Stan found it a little funny to piss Don off. Who didn’t enjoy pissing off their friend!

“Stan, you’re incredibly lucky I respect the law enough NOT to strangle you!”

“Respect the law is a stretch, looking at this business.”

“Okay, NOT necessary!”

“Ya also didn’t answer my question.”

“My god, Stan, just DROP it!” Don said walking to the window to close the blinds when he saw someone starting to pass by. Stan followed.

“Not gonna drop it till ya tell me.” Stan said, knowing he was pressing Don’s buttons. He saw the rise and fall of Don’s chest, how he attempted to stay calm enough to think rationally.

“Giuro che sei sul mio ULTIMO STRAMALCIO NERVOSO-“ Don started, hissing through his teeth as he turned on his heel to look at the smug old man. Damnit. Stan already WELL knew he won. Don rolled his eyes with a huff, shoving Stan away by the shoulder as he made a beeline back to his desk.

“And here I thought you were gonna leave me alone in here.”

“Leaving you alone ANYWHERE is a legal death wish, Pines.” Don replied, not having the heart to stay mad at Stan. Known him too long to bet pissed about something as petty as this, especially because he knew Stan was just trying to mess with him. Don was 90 percent sure Stan was the kinda kid that messed with others to get under their skin. He was ALSO sure that Don fell straight into that category of people in high school.

“ouch, I’m hurt ya don’t think I can be a law-abiding citizen!”

“Friend, you already lost that.” Don said, sitting at his desk and flicking through… Stan’s wallet. He knew it was his from the silly stickers Mabel had put on it the summer before. Stan blinked, before patting his pockets, making sure it was HIS wallet Don had slipped from his pocket. “Another fake ID? And here I thought you knew better.” He cooed, flicking the Id onto the desk. Standrew Pinington- it was one he had made for a while, just didn’t have an image for.

Stan huffed, snatching the ID up “Well, I didn’t exactly have one I could use legally.” He said, circling around the desk towards Don.

“No excuse, un mio amico~” Don cooed, spinning in the chair while flicking through the wallet. Cash, a card or two, and a stolen gold ring. Before he could pick the ring out of the wallet, though, his spinning was suddenly forced to a stop, putting him face to face with Stan, who’s face was close enough to feel his breath against his nose.

“What?” He added with a little grin to his face. Now it was HIS turn to get under Stan’s skin.

“I forgot how annoying you were.” Stan said, snatching back his wallet from Don’s hand, earning a slight giggle. Don eyed him as he shoved the ID back into the wallet, quickly flicking through to make sure everything was in place still. Don only grinned at him with half lidded eyes.

“And yet you keep coming back here, and requesting my services!” he chuckled, starting to spin in the chair again.

“That’s just cause you’re cheap. Ya said it yourself.”

“I’m not talking about THOSE services.” He cooed, coming to a slow halt to look at Stan. Stan looked back, putting two and two together.

“Ohhh, is that why you’ve been so snippy today” He finally returned Don’s grin. “You’re just jealous I haven’t given ya attention.”

“I never said that.” Don batted his eyes innocently, despite entirely knowing every little thing his words implied. Stan leaned on one arm against the desk, looking at Don.

“You’re a shit liar, crooks.”

“And yet you still rely on me to get your ass out of jail…” He teased as he stood once more, leaving the peacock coat behind on the chair. He waltzed up to Stan, a familiar dance that’s played out too many times to count.

“Nah, that’s just cause you’re good with your hands” He replied salaciously, his hands taking that all too familiar place on the small of Don’s back and waist. Don’s hand’s found their place on Stan’s shoulders. Stan gave his waist a little squeeze.

“Well, it comes with the job” he chuckled, his deep olive hands creeping up to hold around Stan’s face and neck.

“..I’ve missed you, Pines. You were gone too long.” He added, quieter than before.

Stan definitely hesitated, the words getting… caught, in his throat. Words are overrated, anyway.

He swiftly caught Don in a kiss, too deep to be platonic, and a bit too passion filled to be romantic. Least in the context of them, anyway. Romance was practically foreign. Well, that’s what they told themselves, anyway.

Don heaved, gasping for breath as he flopped back on the shabby bed. In the… scuffle, he had dragged Stan to the little off shoot room to the office that sort of acted like a bedroom. That went rather unused how seeing years prior he was usually at the shack doing important legal work with Stan, or at some seedy motel after they decided to rob someone blind that night.

Stan grumbled something about his back as he adjusted against the wall, earning a chuckle from Don below. “Don’t laugh cause I’m old” he huffed. Don only laughed more. Stan pushed his face away.

“Sai che lo ami~” He cooed, sitting up and leaning his head on Stan’s shoulder, his combed back hair now fallen out of place and hanging around his shoulders.

“Ya say that like I understand a lick of that, Donnie.” Stan replied, looking at Don from the corner of his eye.

“You’re smart, you can piece it together.” He said, patting his chest demandingly.

“…I wasn’t… lying.” Don finally started again.

“Ya need to be more specific, Donnie.”

“…that I missed you. This is- nice.” He started, started to feel that familiar pressure in his chest, feeling like it was slowly pressing the air out of his lungs. “I mean- I know how that sounds. I meant I missed you in-“ He started to sputter, folding in on himself under the weight of Stan’s gaze.

Stan frowned a little. He’d missed Don too, a lot. But… he wouldn’t admit it. He couldn’t admit it. He hated how his chest tightened. How he WANTED to say it back but… just couldn’t.

“Nah, I get it.” Stan said with a shrug. This stuff was better unsaid between them. Swept under the rug like it wasn’t there. That is, until someone starts asking why the place smells like rot, in which you spin some crazy story that adds to the tourist trap lore. Or maybe that was just Stan himself, he couldn’t tell. Not that he really cared to.

“….you do this too much.” Don sighed, taking his head off of his shoulder, leaning back onto the wall behind his bed.

“…do what, if I get to ask?” Stan shifted, just enough to be more pointed towards Don.

“…Rob someone, give me a case, fuck me like it means something and then… ya know. Dust me off.” He shrugged. Don himself knew why, it was easier this way. It was safe but- it didn’t stop the sharp squeeze his heart always felt.

Stan sighed “Ya know why, Donnie…” he sighed, finally slipping out of the bed, only in his boxers. He huffed, seeing his clothes strewn about the floor. He got up with a groan, and went to pick up his pants. “Its just easier this way” he shrugged, pulling the jeans up.

“…yeah. I know.” Don grabbed his pants as well, the tan leather always feeling odd in his hands. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back up, only for it to fall back in his face. He would need to comb it back.

“Anyway-“ Stan started, pulling his shirt over his head and chest, frowning a twinge at his gut. He had lost a bit of weight on the Stan o war but… ya know… “I’ll be seeing ya.”

“Wh-! But we haven’t even-“ Don huffed, his time basically having been wasted. “Damnit Stan-“ he frowned, pulling his pants back up.

“Whatt? I promise I’ll actually get to it! At some point”

“Pines, if you don’t have the documents signed the next time I see you I will kill you.”

“Ouch” Stan said, flipping his jacket over his shoulder, starting out of the bedroom door. “See ya, Donnie.”

“…Ciao, Stan.” Don sighed, muttering to himself as he grabbed his shirt, rebuttoning it.

Sometimes, he wished he could quit this. Quit Stan.

Chapter Text

Don hummed, adjusting the reading glasses on his face. Stan still hadn't come in to actually do the paperwork yet, hell, he hadn't even brought in the signed papers. It was annoying, at the very least. Then again, why would he expect Stan to commit to even paper work. The man doesn't even do taxes!

The tap of his pen against the desk filled the otherwise silent office space. The blinds were partially open, allowing for him to see the people who passed by his simple little office. He was practically the only 'lawyer' in gravity falls, and for good reason. Gravity falls was so small it rarely had a legal case, beyond whatever new scandal Stan would find himself in when he still ran the mystery shack. Stan wasn’t his only client — just the main one. Bud Gleeful kept him busy too, especially since his son’s arrest the year prior. Said son was technically only on house arrest and probation now thanks to some alterations in Gravity falls' law system, but still.

Finally, after one too many moment's of silence, Don shoved back from the desk, the chair he was in rolling back as he did. This was painfully boring, and he hated the silence. It felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. Part of him regretted making sure the building had some level of noise cancelation, making him bounce his knee for a solid few moments.  He then slipped the reading glasses off, tossing them onto the desk.

He stared up at the ceiling, silently counting the dots of the popcorn like look it had. He connected the dots like stars as well, making tiny constellations in his mind. Quite a few were horse shaped, he noted. Part of him wanted to get up, and simply head to the shack himself. He knew the Pines' were still staying there, despite the place belonging to Soos now. Or rather, they were staying in the RV in the lot of the shack, and often stayed in the shack itself during the day. Stan often helping Soos with alot of the shack work. As it was to be his first summer running the place, and as much as Stanley refused to admit it, he cared alot about the kid. Enough to want to make sure this first summer went right.

The other part of Don, though, wanted to wait and see if Stan would show. Then again, Don wasn't sure if he even wanted him to show. He wasn't sure about most things, now that he thought about it. The thought, as simple as it was, made his brain feel a bit more panicked. Like it was starting to run faster than the rest of him. His knee bounced, and he picked at his arms, which already had marks on them from prior picking.

He winced a bit, feeling his nail stab into his flesh just enough to snap him out of his own head. Finally he sighed, running his hand through his hair before standing up, staggering a twinge as he did. He couldn't stay in here, he might go insane from the boredom alone. Might as well be productive with this outing as well. He thought about dropping by the shack to ask about Stan. Where he might be at, if he wasn't there already.

Though, part of him did worry it would only be Stanford there, Stanley's twin brother. Don knew Stan had a brother years prior, at least since the 90s, but Stan had told him he had died in an accident. That never explained why Stan had taken Ford's name at the time, but Don had never pried. It seemed too personal to ask about, and him and stan didn't do personal. Not in the emotionally vulnerable way, at least. 

Don looked at his slightly messy desk, papers here, a pen there. The most colorful thing on the gray desk was a tiny little brown plush horse Stan had randomly placed on his desk one day. Don was pretty sure he had seen the doodle's of horses he always had on scrap papers. It wasn't his fault he liked them! But either way, Stan had insisted he had 'accidentally' stolen it from another tourist trap. Don looked at the horse, the smallest smile creeping onto his face as his gaze lingered on it. It was cute, even if a little lopsided from being crammed in Stan's pocket for who knew how long.

He stayed there for a good few moments, recalling the moment Stan had placed it on his desk a few years back. It was quick, and simple. Stan said something along the lines of "accidentally picked this up. Know ya like horses so.. here.". The entire time Stan avoided looking at him, a quirk he had when he lied. He didn't look at Don, and he fidgeted with the button of his coat. But... he did look back when he saw Don looking at the horse. Don obviously loved it. As cool and suave as Don presented himself, he couldn't contain himself with one thing. That thing being horses.

Finally he tore himself away from both the memories, and the desk, walking to the coat hanger. He reached out for his coat, which hung heavily. He hitched, his hand halting when it brushed against the coat. He bit the inside of his cheek, standing and looking at the blue coat for an uncomfortably long amount of time. It was a pretty hue of blueish cyan, except for a small, square patch on the center of the back, which was a greener hue of blue, making it stand out painfully. He practically shoved his hand to grab the coat, putting it over his shoulders just right.

Swiftly he pat the pockets, making sure the gun's he kept in there were still there. Only one was actually loaded, and it was only for self defense. The other was an old revolver with D.B engrained on the barrel. He couldn't push himself to get rid of it, even though he never even loaded it. It was practically for show at this point. He threaded his hand through his hair again, the annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights above starting to get on his nerves.

After another moment or two of silent hesitation, He finally opened the glass door out, the heels of his boots tapping on the concrete. He shut the door behind himself, taking out his key to lock the door. It took him a few moments, flicking through the key ring. Car keys, safe keys, spare key to the shack... He needed to give that to Soos. He;ll do that if he catches him there. He found the key to his office building, locking the door. 

He stuffed the keys back into his pocket, patting them gently before turning to the side walk to head in the general direction of his car. 

The car itself was a slick, although older, blue mustang. A gift from an old associate that was reliable. Probably helped that Stan was well familiar with cars, allowing a trade off of services when Don had car troubles, or Stan with his legal ones. Course, it wasn't a substantial trade off. Just one that happened every so often. He slid his hand against the hood as he walked to the drivers side, feeling how ever so slightly grimy it was from Gravity falls' odd weather.

He slipped into the car, which shockingly, was rather unused, most of the time he would walk to the shack, or Stan would come to him. Or he would hitch a ride WITH Stan to the shack. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he looked at the passengers seat. There were multiple speeding tickets on the chair and- oh dea,r was that what he thought it was? Don's face went hot as he quickly dusted the condom off of the seat, pretending he didn't just see it.

The car gave a loud rumble as it came to life, the radio cracking on. It sounded like a older advertisement for the Mystery shack, because he specifically heard Stan's voice. Not just his voice, but that slightly stiff, showman voice he put on for tours and shack guests. Don's brow furrowed in mild annoyance. Even when he was alone, that man would not leave him. Literally and mentally.

He shut the radio off before pulling out of where he was parked, starting on the road up to the shack.

The trip was less than a ten minute drive as he pulled up into the lot of the mystery shack, specifically around the back where staff more parked, rather than tourists. He hummed to himself, some old song he was sure he heard at the bar once and never got the name of. Something like wham-bam, shang-a-lang-  that was the only part Don actually remembered. Now he kinda wished he asked for the name of the song, seeing how it was still in his head years later.

The mustang came to a smooth halt, practically sighing as Don shut it off and pulled the key out. He traced the door handle for a moment, before opening the door and stepping out onto the gravel. He wobbled a bit, just enough to be annoyed. Heels, gravel, and him did not get along very well. Once he regained his balance, he stood up straight again, and started for the back door of the shack. He rather not enter in through the giftshop if he didn't need too. He got enough funny looks thanks to the, although soft, rumors about him and Stan being a little more than client-lawyer, or 'good friends'. Please, what says you can't be good friends and also have sex? It's 2013!

He tried the door, before realizing it was locked. He groaned, looking up at the sky in annoyance before pulling the keys from his pocket, flipping through them for the shack key. He slipped it into the lock, turning it just enough to hear it click. Thank god, they hadn't changed the locks yet. He was afraid he would need to pick it again...

He slipped into the shack, breathing in the familiar smell of old wood and moldy rugs as he walked through. He was mostly looking for Stan, or even Soos to push him in the right direction. As he veered to the left, and into the old kitchen/dining room area, he was met with a familiar face.

Well, a face he thought he was familiar, before he quickly realized this wasn't Stan, this was Ford. He was too tall to be Stan. His hair was too fluffy, his form too fit, and his face less scruffy than Stan's.

He had only met Ford twice prior. Once when Stan introduced him as his lawyer to Ford, and another time when Ford had just barely caught them at the end of one of his and Stan's office scuffles, when they were trying to put on a facade of normalcy as if Don didn't have a hickie under the collar of his coat. And both times Ford seemed to dislike him.

Ford looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide what the next best thing was. Ford's hand twitched like he was resisting a specific itch. "...Donovan." Ford said flatly, making Don practically wince. He hated when people used his full name like that. It always reminded him of-

"Stanford! Just the man I've been looking for." Don said, a smile coming up with the lie. Ford's brow raised up. "Oh, well. Stan and yours legal case, remember? you know, trying to clear your name of HIS legal record, yadda yadda?" Don started, his mind already reeling. He shifted from foot to foot, and despite the relaxed expression, his body told a different story.

"Ah, yes, sorry." Ford nodded. There was an obvious tension in his shoulders. He didn't like Don. He felt fake. TOO fake, with the same fake charisma Bill had to charm Ford himself. "Stanley told me you two... had it under control.." He said, tucking his hands behind his back out of habit.

"Ah, well- we did. We were supposed to meet today, actually, but- annoyingly, he's set me up yet again" Don said with a dramatic drawl on the end, a hand to his heart. Ford didn't seem very amused. Don cleared his throat awkwardly. "I-I mean- Do you... know where he's at?" Don asked, his voice cracking a twinge at the end.

"...No, I don't, apologies. I do know he should be here in roughly an hour, though." 

"Ah, is that right? How lovely. well- I suppose I could leave you be-"

"...Before you do, may I ask a few questions?" Ford said, a slight hesitation to his voice. He wanted, nay, needed to know how this man whom who seemed shadier than Stan himself got in kahoots with Stan.

Don doesn't answer for a short while, letting the silence hang in the air. "...Sure, I can spare some time for my favorite client's brother!" He said with a grin. Ford noted how the corner twitched a bit, like he was forcing the tired muscles to work against their will.

Ford gestured for Don to come inside the kitchen. He obliged, the click of his heels against the wood. Ford didn't like the odd familiarity Don brought with him, as if he had been in this room hundreds of times before. Perhaps his and Stanley's history ran deeper than he initially believed.

"..Ive been meaning to ask. How DO you know my brother. How did he manage to get wrapped up with man like you, Crooks." Ford said, Don's last name slipping out with a hint of venom too it despite the calm expression. He didn't like Don. He just wanted answers. Ford kept his hands firmly behind his back, but his eyes were practically staring through Don.

It made him sweat uncomfortably. He adjusted his coat, just enough so it feel a smidge off his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the heat. "Oh, well, known him since 83. When the mystery shack, or the then 'murder' hut had its first big legal issue." Don shrugged as if he wasn't trembling under Ford's gaze. Ford, despite looking similar to stan in many ways, was so very different. Ford’s gaze felt cold and clinical — the way Stan never looked at him, not even after they’d stumbled back into bed, pretending it didn’t mean anything.

It was those little moments of genuinety from Stan that made Don like him. The way he looked at Don when he thought he couldn't notice.

But this wasn't Stan. It was cold calculated... copy of him.

Ford nodded, looking at Don for an uncomfortably long moment. "Well, I know my brother. He's not exactly one to actually pay someone. Why do you keep working with him?" He finally pried.

Don felt uncomfortable, standing so still for so long, only able to hear the clock on the wall. He decided to move, going to circle the dining table. "He's an old pal, that's all! sides, its too late for me to run out now."

Ford frowned at that. Don knew he was seeing straight through his charades and theatrics, and he didn't like it. His whole thing was convincing people to LIKE him, even love him! and yet here Stanford fucking Pines was, messing that up and making Don feel unstable in his own skin. 

"Who are you, Donovan. You obviously aren't... this." Ford said, gesturing to Don. Not just a part. ALL of him.

It made the lawyer's blood start to boil. Who did this guy think he was! Sure, he had 12 phds and Don didn't even have one legally, but that didn't give him the RIGHT to call HIM, Don Crooks, fake. 

"You carry yourself like a con artist. But you also talk about my brother like a partner. Which is it?” Ford continued, pacing like a predator around prey. He had only heard rumors about Stan and Don, the softest whispers. But with the way Don so easily let himself in, to the way he leaned against Stan's shoulder when Ford first formally met the lawyer. He was not one to believe unsubstantiated rumors but... perhaps this one was different.

Ford noted the man's hesitation. The look of almost fear of being so exposed. It wasn't Stanford's fault the rest of the town's folk were too big of dolts to see just how truly fake Don was. "...Just as i suspected.." Ford sighed.

Don cracked the most fake grin he could muster, trying to quell the emotions underneath. His eye gave a twitch, his brow was knitted. "I would love to continue this conversation, but I'm afraid i have some legal work to do, so i truly must be on my way! arrivederci, stronzo!-" He started, noting at how Ford frowned at his little insult at the end. Don circled back around the table, attempting to leave the room as swiftly as he could. He pulled his coat over his shoulders, it providing an odd sense of comfort and safety despite its old memories.

Chapter Text

Ford's encounter stuck like the smoke from his cigarettes, the kind that sticks to clothes and walls with a hazy look about it. Most people didn't see through him like that, or when they did they stayed silent about it. Stan was a special case to this, of course, but that's because they're both cut from the same crooked, gritty cloth. Both criminals, both shady. Fate, if you believe that sham.

Don ran his hands through his hair as he found himself in the giftshop, which was surprisingly empty. Only Wendy sat in there, leaning back in her chair reading the same 3 magazines like she usually did. She looked up, raising her brow at him. "Hey Mr. Crooks." She said, brow arching as she clocked him slipping out of the ‘staff only’ door without Stan. After all, he was usually only here when Stan was. She completely knew why, even had dirt for when the 'she beat stan in a arm wrestle' stuff finally wore off.

"Ah- Wendy-" Don stared, quickly trying to clean himself up, pausing as he searched for more articulate words. "I'm looking for- Have you seen Stan? He hasn't come to my office yet..." He said, putting his hands behind his back, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat.

"He's busy getting a free ride to the station in the back of a cop car. Shocker, huh?" She said dryly, eyes flicking to the magazine once more. Don sighed, not too surprised. Looks like this entire... outing, was completely pointless. Though, he was surprised Stan hadn't called him yet. That... worried him, just a twinge. Usually, he was the first person Stan would call when he got thrown in the slammer. Mostly because Don was his lawyer, but also because he was a friend. The lack of call, both to his work and personal phones, made him nervous, making him pick at the skin on his hand. "Weird he didn't tell you yet. Thought you two were, y'know, inseparable." She added with a nonchalant shrug. Don pursed his lips at the back handed comment from her. This reminded him why he hated teenagers...

Despite the sarcastic comment though, it didn't quell Don's worry, fiddling with the button of his coat. He gave a hard swallow before speaking. "Well, Grazie Wendy, but i need to get going. Make sure Stan doesn't do something even more stupid than get thrown in jail." He said with a playful airiness to his words, despite the boiling worry. He hated how his voice sounded tight when he spoke like this. Wendy nodded dismissively, now fully engrossed in the magazine once more. The blatant ignoring made Don roll his eyes, before he quickly thought about how to get back to his car. He couldn't go back the way he came; Ford was still back there. but on the other hand, he didn't want to leave out of the giftshop door and circle around the shack to get to his car. He exhaled, adjusting his coat as he did before deciding the giftshop door was the best way, even if he had to circle around the shack.

The door's bell gave a little ring as he opened it to step outside, the pine's in the woods swaying gently with the breeze. His heels softly tapped against the wooden patio as he made his way down the small stair threshold onto the gravel, being careful not to slip like he usually did. The trek to his car was uneventful, unless you count a painfully boring squirrel crossing his path. Very soon however, the blue car came into view, the windshield reflecting sunlight off of it, being near blinding to look at properly.

He made his way to it, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. The woods felt too silent, and it made him uneasy, like his intestine was twisting into a tight knot. His keys accidentally scratched the surface of his car, making a new mark to join the rest of the little key marks on his car as he slipped it into the keyhole. 

First, he'd go to the station. Make sure Stan isnt dead. Then, he would probably scold for the man for being an absolute idiot, getting arrested and NOT telling him at all. No wonder Stan was a no show, the dumbass managed to get arrested again for who knows how long.  Once he was driving, his finger tapped mindlessly on the steering whell, the music from the radio providing background sound for an otherwise silent trip. 

Stan's knee bounced, looking at the cell wall he had seen at least 12 times within the past 3 years. What had he done this time, you ask? Well, it had something to do with disturbing the peace enough to cause yet another stir. Usually by this point he would've called Don, who usually would reason with them. Which wasn't hard, seeing how, although kind police officers, were complete dolts. That is, he would usually call Don if he didn't talk himself out of it already. Apparently, he was being annoying this time around.

But either way, he still hadn't been allowed to call Don, not even when he used the 'i need to call my lawyer' excuse. That excuse kind of fell flat when your lawyer is also the only lawyer in town and works on half of the town's cases. Even cases outside of town. Apparently, he did one for gnomes which Don had described as 'very surreal, and much more violent than expected.' So- Don definitely gets around, that's for sure.

Stan kinda felt bad, not being able to meet with Don like he said he would. He knew he hadn't exactly been... helping with the case, which had Don a bit more wound up than usual. This probably wouldn't help at all. Hey, but this time it isn't his fault! He was actually planning on going before he got taken into the cell. He had already busted his spare bobby pin, too, making trying to pick the lock a bust. 

Still, it hung on his shoulders like a dark cloud. Don was right, he DID do this too much. Made him wonder why Don kept sticking around for him, and kept dealing with his bullshit. The thought made him frown, that quickly deepened at the idea of Don finally getting tired of him and leaving. Stan would be fine, sure, but- ya know, him and Donnie had been thick as thieves for... years! There was a sinking sensation in his gut, one that partly made him want to throw up. 

He sat on the concrete chair bed thing, rubbing his knuckles together mindlessly. He needed something to do with his hands, anything. His train of thought was broken though, by the sound of the door into the cell hall opened. He stood up, looking through the white bars to see who came in. He then grinned, seeing that familiar peacock coat.

"Donnie!" He said through his grin, watching as Don approached his cell, closer to the wall than the bars. His grin faltered at Don's expression, before it morphed into a small, shameful frown. 

"Stanley." Don said stiffly. Stan couldn't tell if Don was glaring at him or looking at him with worry. It made his stomach churn when he couldn't read people right. He'd always been good at knowing what they want, so when he couldn't- well, it reminded him of his father, with that always stone stern expression. Stan shoved his hands in the pockets of the jeans he was wearing to keep himself from fiddling. 

"...Look, I know this looks bad-" Stan started, looking away from Don and at the wall behind him. "But it ain't even my fault this time, promise!" 

"You're a damn liar, Pines!" Don huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Despite the stern, even annoyed expression Don had, you could see it in his eyes. He was worried. Worried something worse had happened that he couldn't talk his way through. Don sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sei così frustrante..." Don muttered in annoyance. Stan frowned. He didn't understand too much of what Don was saying, but he understood he was frustrated. Stan felt bad, sure, but at least if Don gave up on him he woulda left it on a mildly amusing note. 

"You know you're not my only client, Stan! I have better things to be doing right now!" Don frowned. He really did have better things to be doing.

"Then why don't ya! I didn't even call you to come here." Stan retorted, a bit annoyed. His arms crossed as well.

"Because I still have another case FROM YOU to do!" Don replied, his cheeks flushing a bit red at being called out so bluntly. "In case you forgot, you STILL haven't given me any of your documents, let alone Stanford's!" 

"Well why didn't ya just find Ford." Stan scowled. Don frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. Stan noticed the way his eyes darted away, the indent in his cheek that happened when he bit it.

"I couldn't find him." Don lied, before finally approaching the bars. He was lucky no one came in to watch him, really. Probably because he was here so much. He put his hand on one of the bars, far closer to the cell than legally needed. "You're a damn idiot, Stan." he sighed, his frown relaxing a twinge. He couldn't stay mad at him, even if he tried. 

"You know you love me." Stan grinned at his lawyer through the bars, his own hands on the bars. Don rolled his eyes.

"You're annoying." Was all he said in reply, before something slipped out from between his fingers, and softly hit the floor. Stan looked down at it, immediately knowing its shape. A bobby pin. 

Don's eyes stayed trained on Stan as he carefully picked up the pin, a slightly smug smile on his face. Stan finally looked up at him again, noticing Don's stare. The soft look in those brown eyes. Don cleared his throat, looking away and at the floor. Stan raised his brow, but decided it was best not to think on it any longer, instead turning his attention to fiddling with the lock of the door. 

Don excused himself to the side, just out of Stan's view but still in the cell hall. Stan still fiddled with the lock, his tongue between his teeth as he tried to find that sweet spot. 

Don ran his hand through his hair, silently scolding himself for still being so soft on Stan when he was supposed to be his lawyer currently. So what if they've had sex a few... many times. Right now he was supposed to be Stan's lawyer, not lover. It made him worried. They've been at this game for so long, and the rumors were already rather thick.

His train of thought was broken by the sound of the cell lock clicking open, though. He turned, watching as the cell door creaked open. Stan adjusted his coat, and stepped out, "Voila!" Stan grinned, Don snorted, shaking his head. Leave it to Stan to break his train of thought.

"Ah, there's that face I'm used to." Don cooed, regaining some of that playfulness. "...though I must ask, why didn't you... call me earlier?" Don asked hesitantly, the worry lacing his voice a bit more obviously.

"Eh, they didn't let me." Stan shrugged, stretching his arms above his head, grunting as his back popped loudly. Don watched. Like a pervert. 

"Ah that... makes more sense."

"...MORE sense?" Stan raised a brow.

"Well- I... sort of..." Don bit his lip. "...I thought you had done something MORE stupid than normal, and I'd have even MORE paperwork!" He spoke with a fake annoyance. Still, his theatrics were enough to make Stan chuckle. Stan walked up next to him, their shoulder's brushing against each other.

"I thought ya liked paperwork!" Stan teased, earning an unamused scowl from Don.

"I like it when it gets me paid." Don said, his eyes shutting and his brows raising, the blue eye shadow he always wore out visible. Stan liked it. The color, at least. He's always liked the color blue; it reminds him of the oceans when he still lived in New Jersey. 

After a few moments, Don's eyes opened again, and Stan turned his attention to the door into the main station. "So... how much do ya think they'll like me just waltzin' out with ya." Stan said, his brow raising a bit.

"We have a 50/50 chance they don't even realize its you. I'd say those are good odds." Stan snorted at that.

"Good odds? For a man like me, those are great odds." Stan said with a chuckle. Don smiled a twinge. "Question is, if we DO get found out, how's you're back."

"Still sore from the last time I was shoved into a mattress, why?"

"No reason. Just askin' incase we gotta run." Stan shrugged.

"Oh, going to leave me behind? I'm hurt." Don said, a hand to his heart, which was on is right side, rather than his left.

Stan smiled, his shoulder brushing against Don's again. Don didn’t pull away, the feel familiar. For all his promises to stay professional, he always ended up falling back in step with Stan, like the two of them had never learned how to move apart.

Chapter Text

The smile that lingered on Don's face quickly washed away as they both started for the door out. This could go one of two ways, one being they're caught, and BOTH tossed in the slammer, or they get out scot-free. Not that Stan seemed all that worried about it, his demeanor seeming very calm and collected. Outwardly, so was Don. But inwardly, everything that could go wrong rushed in his brain, and he was ready to counteract that wrong as well.

Still, they made their way to the metal door. Don reached for it first, holding it open. "Ladies first," he cooed at Stan, trying to ease his own anxiety. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Very funny, Donnie," he replied, walking through. Gravity Falls had more police than just Blubs and Durland, of course, but half the time it felt like those two were the only ones actually on duty. It would be rather unsafe if Gravity Falls wasn't a town where nothing ever happened, usually.

The smell of stale coffee snapped him out of his mental commentary on the town, though. It was a terrible smell, one that made his nose scrunch up in mild disgust.

Don followed behind Stan, adjusting the peacock coat on his shoulders. He looked around, seeing... practically no one in the station. Of course. He mentally scolded himself for being so worried about it. He could deal with the legal repercussions later; for now they just ought to get out of here. And, hopefully, Don could actually get Stan to work on the papers. Perhaps he'd be more willing to at the shack, or the RV, which was where he and his brother had been staying after they got back from being at sea for roughly six months.

The way out was painfully boring, waltzing past the front desk and out the door like one of them wasn't just locked up less than a few minutes ago. Don's blue Mustang sat in front of the station, a bit askew.

"Eesh, still can't park, Donnie?" Stan snorted, walking over to the passenger side of the old car.

"I was in a rush, thank you very much," Don retorted, opening the door to the driver's side and slipping into the crusty, leather seat.

Stan tsked playfully. "And here I thought you played it straight!" He grinned.

Don rolled his eyes, twisting the key as the car sparked to life. "I'm more law-abiding than you ever will be, Pines."

"Says the one who DEFINITELY wasn't five feet from the bars." With that, Stan got a playful smack to the shoulders.

"Sei così irritante..." Don muttered with annoyance, only earning a bigger grin from the smug conman next to him.

As the drive back up to the shack started, there was only the quiet rumble of the car. Don noticed how Stan fidgeted, plucking strings from his jeans absentmindedly. Don tried to keep his eyes trained more on the road than Stan but—he kept looking at the slightly older man.

Stan finally piped up, adjusting in the chair, which made Don realize he did not have his seat belt on, much to his annoyance. "Man, whaddya bet they were doing that the place was empty?"

"Hopefully not something dumber than what you did."

"Hey!" Stan frowned, and Don laughed a bit, a soft smile returning to his worn face. "You're just jealous."

"Of being arrested? I doubt that," Don retorted, looking at Stan, who had a mild pout. He probably didn't even realize he was pouting. It was sort of amusing, in a backhanded sort of way. He then realized he just thought that, and quickly looked back at the road. How stupid of a thought...

"I—.." Stan bit his tongue, holding what he was gonna say. "Shut up." He huffed, still picking at his jeans.

"You're gonna give your jeans a hole if you keep picking them like that," Don said flatly, trying to change the tone before he said something stupid.

Stan picked at his jeans more vigorously, just to bug Don. "Maybe I want that."

"You're such a child, Stan." Don rolled his eyes, looking at the asphalt ahead.

"And you don't know howta have fun, what's your point."

Don grimaced at that. As dear as Stanley was to him, the man knew how to get under his skin in indescribable ways. "How am I friends with you..." Don muttered to himself.

In fact, he wondered it himself. The memory was foggy, but he recalled about 29 years ago meeting a much younger Stan, a shabby Mystery Shack, and a lawsuit that should've just been a quick cash grab before he ditched the place entirely. For some reason, he stayed though.

That same question Stan asked constantly. Why did Donnie stick around? He only paid him half of the time and almost made a point to be annoying to him. He's annoying to a lot of people, but he specifically knows how to get under Don's skin. And yet here Don was, slipping him a bobby pin or helping him bust out. It never really made sense...

"Cause 'm just so great." Stan finally replied to Don's rhetorical question, snapping himself from his own thoughts. 

"Says the one that needed to be broken out of jail~" Don cooed, knowing exactly how this would mess with Stan.

Stan grimaced "Hey! Aint my fault my last pin broke on me."

"Exxxxcuses." Don drawled in a sing song voice before it cracked, right at the end. He hacked a bit, a hand coming off the steering wheel to cover it a bit. Stan's grimace morphed into one of more concern. Don used to sing. Alot, apparently, but that was before Stan knew him.

When Don finally stopped, his hand trembled at his throat, a rare vulnerability crossing his face. Stan noticed, concern flickering in his expression.

"..Ya good?" Stan finally asked, his brow furrowed. 

"Y-yeah. Sorry.." Don said, not looking at Stan. He hated how his throat felt after, the calm hum of the car broken, feeling all too loud now.

"...don't apologize.  'S stupid." 

"...right." Don kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. He always hated it, when his voice cracked like that. It constantly reminded him of things he didn't want to remember.

The rest of the drive was painfully silent, although luckily quite short. There was an odd tension in the air, one that both men refused to acknowledge. They didn't DO feelings, after all. Just not the kinda bond they had, I suppose.

The car came to a halt on the gravel, the door unlocking with a click. "...Get those papers signed and to me by tomorrow, Stan." Don said flatly, still not looking at the man, even has he left the car.

"Yeah yeah. Will do." Stan mumbled, waving his hand dismissively. Don only grimaced, wanting to say more before biting down on his tongue, and starting the car again. Stan's gaze lingered on him for as long as it could before the car started to move away, leaving Stan standing in the Mystery Shack lot. Alone. 

He didn't know what he expected, and he silently cursed himself for wishing that lasted... longer. He frowned, turning on his heel and walking towards the RV in the lot.