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“Oi, knucklehead! What’s up?”
Stan tossed one of the crumpled paper airplanes that littered the floor over at his brother, who didn’t move even when the nose crunched into the side of his face.
Ford had been sitting and staring at his journal for what felt like forever, not even turning the pages or clicking his pen like he normally did. He closed the book and lay back with a sigh. “I was just thinking about what ‘Ria said,” he mumbled, looking across the attic at his brother.
Stan had gone back to practicing paddleball and was sticking his tongue out as he stared at the toy. “What, that we were the most awesome dudes ever?”
“No, about … how family is the people who care about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Stan … does Dad care about us?”
The noise of the paddle ball stopped, and Stan furrowed his brow. “Sure he does, Sixer. What’re ya talking about?”
Ford waved his small arms as he tried to find the right words. “I mean, I was just thinking. We fought, like, a zillion monsters today, just to make ‘Ria happy, but her dad wouldn’t even visit her.”
“Well, there ya go. Dad sees us all the time, air go he cares about us.”
Ford winced. “It’s ‘ergo,’ Stan.”
“That’s what I said!”
“No it’s not—” Ford sighed as Stan flashed him a huge grin. “Just … it’s not like Dad would fight monsters for us.”
Stan rolled his eyes. “Nah, he’d have us fight ‘em ourselves, cause the world is tough and we gotta be tougher!” He rolled on to his back, punching at the air and making explosion noises, but when he turned to look at his brother, Ford was huddled in his bed morosely, chewing on his right thumbnail. “Ah, come on, ya can’t say that everybody’s gotta fight monsters ta prove they care about ya. There’s plenty a people that like us but that doesn’t mean they’d be willin’ ta punch a time cyclops.”
“Grauntie Mabel would.”
Stan remembered the crunch of a rolling pin against zombie skulls, the growl of his aunt’s voice as she rushed them upstairs, her glasses and hair askew, the way she’d bellowed when she took on a dinosaur with nothing but her bare fists.
“Yeah, well, she’s special. She just likes punchin’ monsters to begin with.”
Ford sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right!” Stan puffed out his chest to make his brother laugh, “I’m me! You just worry too much.”
Ford smiled. “Yeah, yeah. G’night, knucklehead.”
“G’night, nerd.”
Stan lay back and stared at the ceiling, listening to his brother’s breathing slow and even out.
Ford had been right, though. They were getting too used to this. When Filbrick dropped the twins off at the bus station, he had warned them that Mabel would spoil them, and now that summer was more than halfway over, Stan was worried that he was getting too soft. Mabel talked tough but she baked them cookies and swept him up in her big strong arms when he was upset and told him it was all right when she found him crying, and the one time she’d really yelled at them, after that zombie incident, Stan had stepped in front of his brother to take the blow he was certain was coming and instead Mabel had sunk to the ground and hugged them.
Stan bit his inner lip to keep his face blank, a trick he hadn’t needed to use since he arrived in Gravity Falls. Soon the summer would be over and they’d be back in Glass Shard Beach. There’d be no one around to coddle him then. He’d have to toughen up like he was supposed to. Filbrick was only looking out for him, after all. Stan remembered one time he’d dared to talk back, when his father had laughed said, “I’m no crueler than the rest of the world, kid. Get used to it.”
And that was normal.
Wasn’t it?