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It’s been almost a month since the last time the two sets of Pines twins have seen each other in person, and it’s killing them.
Of course, none of them will admit it to one another--not even their own sibling. They’re making do with video calls, near constant flurries of text messages, and an elaborate chain of snail mail between Mabel and Ford. Every time a letter arrives there’s more pizazz involved. Stan’s sure that if Ford purchases one more rubber stamp, he’ll lose his mind, and Dipper is very, very tired of pulling his clothes out of the wash to still be covered in glitter. These grievances are aired over phone calls lasting late into the night, sometimes even early in the morning.
Dipper was surprised to find out just how late his Grunkle Stan is used to staying up. He doesn't say anything the first few times they sign off closer to regular waking hours than sleeping ones--but near the end of the month, he finally gathers up the courage.
“Grunkle Stan, how come you stay up so late?”
“What, a geezer like me can’t enjoy a bout of insomnia now and again?”
Dipper laughs. “I just thought...well, you slept in your chair a whole lot over the summer. I guess I just thought you...like, slept all the time like an old man.” He ducks his chin nervously into his t-shirt, even though he knows Stan can’t see him.
“Ya wound me, kid.” There’s a moment of silence. “Well, I guess ya saw me sleepin’ in the den all the time since I was workin’ all night in the basement.”
The logic of it hits Dipper like a freight train. Stan didn’t put that portal together between tours during the day--and that one video he and Mabel saw of him with the waste vats, that was taken from something like seven PM to five AM. And he got up early with them the next day--or...geez, maybe he never even went to sleep! How often did Grunkle Stan just skip sleeping altogether?!
“Dozin’ off on me again?”
“No, no. Uh. I guess I just never thought about that. I’m sorry Grunkle Stan.”
“Nah, don’t feel sorry champ. It paid off, didn’t it? All thanks to you and Mabel and yer crazy shenanigans.”
“...Yeah, I guess so. Hey Grunkle Stan?”
“Hm?”
“T-thanks for taking care of us this Summer. And for not giving up on Great Uncle Ford. And for saving us from B--”
“All right, all right. Sheesh, first you’re sorry, now you won't stop thanking me. Whatcha trying to butter me up for?”
Dipper smiles, cradling the phone to his cheek. He’d kill to hug Stan right now. “Well there’s this book coming out next month--”
“ Ugggghhh !”
“Just kidding,” he says with a little nervous laugh.
Stan laughs too. “Ah, you know I’d give ya the moon if you asked for it, kid.” There’s the sound of Grunkle Stan’s “stretch scream” over the phone. He sort of closed-mouth yells when he stretches and gets those discs in his lower back to pop, and Mabel loved it so much that she named it. “Speakin’ of sleep, you should get to bed. Don’t you have school in the morning?”
“You don’t know me, you don’t know my life.”
“Mhm.”
“When are you and Great Uncle Ford sailing out again?”
“Next Tuesday. We’re stayin’ in a hotel Sunday night, then loadin’ up the boat on Monday, and sailing out Tuesday morning.”
“Are you excited?”
“You’re stalling,” Stan says firmly, but continues, “but yeah, duh. Poindexter’s getting real into it with the charts and maps and stuff.”
“...Are you nervous?”
There’s a pause just long enough to invalidate everything Stan says after it. “You ever known me to be nervous? ‘Course I ain’t nervous. Now get to bed, or else I’ll tell your mom.”
Dipper rolls his eyes. “Okay. Goodnight Grunkle Stan.”
“Night kiddo.”
The rest of the week comes and goes before Stan has a chance to blink. He sleeps less and less as the day approaches when he’ll get in a rental car with Ford and drive to the San Francisco Bay, where their boat is waiting for them.
Their boat. Stan didn’t think he’d ever speak those words again as long as he lived, but here he is, packing dry rations and snowshoes and compasses and enough whiskey to last him at least the first month of arguments he and Ford are bound to have. Hey, with as much as they've gone through, there’s no escaping close quarters without a little squabble here and there. Stan is a realist, not an idealist.
Is he sleeping? No. Is he nervous? No, of course not. Is he lying to himself? Always.
He’s so nervous he feels on the verge of throwing up every time he’s in the same room as his brother. Which, when they live in the same house and have coffee at the same table and pack for the same life-changing arctic field trip, is very often. If Ford knows something is up, he doesn’t say anything. He’s still walking on eggshells around Stan, constantly asking not-so-sly questions about how his scrambled-up brain is doing and giving not-so-subtle hints that he’s very very sorry for how he’s treated him in the past and dropping not-so-subtle promises about how he’s going to make up for it. It’s nice, sure, but it’s not doing anything to make that gnawing anxiety monster in his stomach go away.
Finally the day comes, and they get in the car, and they talk all the way to San Francisco until they’re hoarse and exhausted. Stan is sure that this first outing is just beginner’s luck that they haven’t fought yet, and it’s still only a matter of time before the illusion ends. He’s knocked over many houses of cards in his time, this will be no exception.
Dipper calls just before they tuck in for the night. Ford’s still in the shower, so Stan answers the video call alone. Mabel and Dipper scream a hello that makes his hearing aid screech and puts a wincing smile on his face.
“Grunkle Stan you’re gonna get your boat tomorrow!” Mabel shouts. “Are you so super excited?!”
“Sure am, pumpkin! How are you two doin’?
Dipper opens his mouth to reply, but it’s drowned out in Mabel’s quick-draw answer. “Spectacularly,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I slept over with my new friend last night and we gave each other the best make-overs. And she likes Waddles! Mom said she can sleep over here this weekend, then we’ll give Dipper a makeover.”
The brother in question gives his sister a withering glare.
Stan barks a laugh. “That’s great. I’m glad ya found a friend.”
“She’s not as fantabulous as Candy and Grenda, but I think she might get there with my guidance. Geez Dip, aren’t ya gonna say anything?”
Mabel’s grin says she knows the answer to her own question, but Dipper turns a little red anyway. “Sure, maybe if you ever paused to breathe .” He waits a moment, and when Mabel stays silent, turns to the camera. “What time are you going to the dock in the morning?”
“Eh, Sixer'll probably have us going bright and early.”
“Yeah but, like...how early?”
Stan frowns at the twins. “‘Round seven or so. Is that a detailed enough schedule, or you want me to give you the scheduled bathroom breaks, too?”
Their faces both twist up in disgust. “No thank you!” Mabel shouts.
Ford comes out of the bathroom in his pajamas, tousling a towel over his hair. He smiles right away at the sound of the twins’ voices. He ducks down beside Stan to get into the frame, then waves. “Hello, children!”
They greet him in unison with smiles and air hugs.
“Alright,” Stan grunts. “You two get to bed so we can do the same.”
There are exchanges of goodbyes and I love yous, and then Stan puts the phone down to stare at the ceiling.
“Are you alright?”
Stan turns to Ford. “Psht, course I am.” He pauses. “I think Dip is a little sad we’re leaving. The kid’s just a ball of sweat and anxiety.”
Ford muses over this, staring unnervingly directly at his brother. Stan’s used to it though, Ford’s done this ever since they were little. Finally he says, “He does seem rather anxious at times, but he’s also incredibly courageous when the situation calls for it.”
Stan turns back to the ceiling. “Nothin’ courage can do in the face of missin’ your family.”
Rental car stuffed with supplies, the Pines twins head out from the hotel just after seven. The complimentary breakfast didn’t begin until six, you see, and Stan steadfastly refused to pass up a free meal.
They park at the dock thirty minutes later. The haze of mist hasn’t been dissolved by the sun yet, giving the ships bobbing in the water a sort of eerie ambiance. The Stan O’War II is right at the front of the dock, in perfect view against the bright morning sky.
Stan gets out of the car and just stares at her. The Stan O’War II , his home for the coming months, his dream come true, his second chance. The giddy bubble of anxiety that’s lived in his chest for weeks finally pops, releasing such a rush of excitement that he feels lightheaded for a moment. Following the most eventful, most emotional Summer of his life, he’s well on his way to the best Winter he’s ever seen.
The thought of Summer and the kids sends an ache through his heart. He looks over at Ford over the hood of the car. “Let’s call the kids when we’re done unloading, we can show ‘em around with the camera.”
Ford nods, smiling. “Sounds like a plan.”
From the spacious hatchback of the car, Stan pulls out two vacuum sealed bags containing all their bedding. Ford pulls out a hefty cardboard box of dry rations, and they start up the ramp to the ship. It’s not the first time they’ve been aboard--they saw her before they bought her, then visited last night too. It’s every bit as magical now as it was the first two times as Stan puts his feet on the deck and feels the gentle, calming sway of the boat beneath him. If he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the hazy sea air, he can pretend he’s sixteen years old, standing on the deck of the original Stan O’War with his twin behind him and his future ahead of him. That poor kid had no idea what was coming, but neither did that sad old man talking to his reflection in a rowboat and wishing it was his brother. All’s well that ends well, after all.
He follows Ford down below deck, flipping light switches as he goes. Down a narrow, rounded hallway, turn through the first door on the left, and there’s the galley. It has a tiny window above the tiny sink, letting them see out just above the waves. Ford sets down the dry rations and they turn back to put the bedding in their bunks when something clatters somewhere in the boat.
Both brothers freeze, making eye contact that asks did you hear that too? Ford reaches for his waist, where Stan knows he’s stored some kind of weapon or another. His own brass knuckles are in his coat, which is in the car--but he’s never been dependent on them to kick a little bit of ass. Still, he lets Ford take the lead down the hallway.
They catch faint whispers as they get closer to the bunk rooms. Ford glances over his shoulder to make sure Stan’s ready, then whips around into the dark room shouting. Stan’s one step behind him, flicking on the lights.
Dipper and Mabel, sitting on an unmade bunk against the wall, freeze like deer in the headlights.
“Surprise!” Mabel shouts, throwing up her arms.
Dipper, even though he’s sitting down, props his fists on his hips and says, “You said you’d be here at seven.”
Both parties are silent for a moment.
“YOU!” Stan shouts, elbowing past Ford. “You two could have gotten hurt! Isn’t it a school day? Where are your parents?” Before giving them a chance to give any reply, He drops on his knees beside the bed and wraps his arms around both of the twins. “You little hellions!” He ruffles their hair and knocks their heads together gently.
“We wanted to see you off!” Dipper says.
“Yeah! We thought it’d be a good surprise to have hugs for the road. Err, the ocean.”
Ford moves in for his hugs, catching Stan up in the middle. “Well, you succeeded in surprising us,” he laughs.
Stan holds up a hand to Ford, then levels a serious gaze at the kids. “Be straight with me: are you gonna get in trouble for being here?”
Dipper and Mabel look between each other nervously, then speak at the same time.
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
“Probably.”
Stan pulls them in close again. “I knew I was doin’ somethin’ right with you little delinquents!”
Ford, standing above the three, rolls his eyes at length. “Well Stanley, I suppose the tour will have to happen in real-time,” he fake-sighs.
Stan’s eyes light up. “You two wanna see the place?”
Both of the twins, in perfect time, clasp their hands together in front of their chest.
One impressive Mr. Mystery-style tour later, the kids trot out to the car to help. Stan can’t stop smiling, even though he knows it makes him look like an old sap, even though there’s still a little bit of lingering anxiety clouding his happiness.
The sun’s high overhead by the time they’re done. The galley below deck is filled with laughter and the clatter of utensils as Mable and Ford assemble lunch together. Ford insists it’s a science, but Mabel says cooking is a heart thing.
“Now baking,” she says, dead serious, “that’s another matter.”
Stan slides out of the little booth table against the wall and quietly slips out of the room. Up above deck, he checks over his shoulder before plucking a crumbled box of cigarettes out of his pants pocket. He’s just picked it up a little since after the kids left--he smoked like a building up in flames when he was young, but he stopped when he could no longer afford the habit. Well, when his money needed to go toward more important things, like building a business and a secret portal in the basement. Now he’s just smoking once or twice a day to ease his anxiety. He’ll quit when this pack is out, because he won’t have any more to smoke once they’re underway.
“Grunkle Stan,” admonishes a small voice with an exaggerated gasp.
He nearly jumps out of his skin, almost fumbling the cigarette as he turns. It’s Dipper, who’s removed Wendy’s hat to let the breeze rustle his haphazard curls. He smiles wickedly up at Stan.
“Y’determined to give me a heart attack or somethin’, kid? Geez.”
Dipper throws his arms over the railing and looks down into the water. “I hope you and Great Uncle Ford don’t mind that we came today,” he says quietly.
Stan puts his cigarette out and carefully tucks the remainder of it back into the box, then leans against the railing beside the kid. “Course we don’t mind. Yer Mom can't catch us out in the ocean, you’re the one who should be scared.”
Dipper grins. “Yeah. Hopefully we can convince her we skipped school for the arcade or something, not a bus ride three hours away.”
“Good luck.”
They stand in silence for a long moment, listening to the lapping of water against the hull, crying gulls, and the groan of ropes holding boats to the dock. Dipper edges sideways a few steps until he’s leaning up against Stan’s side. One of his little hands grabs a fistful of Stan’s coat and he lets it hang there.
Stan looks down at the kid who’s so entirely relaxed against him. Despite his every effort to ward it off, another wave of sympathy washes over him. Dipper is never like this, never so openly seeking affection. He must really be affected by their leaving to be acting like this.
“You alright, sport?”
Dipper tilts his head up, a little confused. “Yeah, are you?”
Stan scoffs. “Yeah. What--what’s goin’ on here?”
Dipper looks back out over the water, but not before Stan catches the pink tinting his cheeks. “You seemed kinda nervous about your trip.” His voice is so small and quiet, the wind almost carries it away before it reaches Stan’s ears. “I wanted to give you something.”
Dipper turns around and grabs his backpack--he must have dumped it there when he snuck up. He pulls a small box out, just about the size of a coffee mug, and gives it to Stan.
He turns it over in his hands a few times. There’s no identifying marks on it, it’s just a black cardboard. He glances to Dipper, who nods encouragingly. The only thing in the box is a hunk of white, mushroom-shaped plastic and a little wall plug-in cord. Stan looks between it and Dipper.
The confusion must be obvious, because Dipper immediately takes it in his hands and explains. “So you plug it in to the wall, and then it’s touch sensitive, so whenever you touch it, it’ll light up. And there’s two of them, the other one is in mine and Mabel’s room back home. When you touch yours, or we touch ours, they both light up. That way, you can kind of...always be with us,” he says shyly. “Even when you're not really.” He shoves it back into Stan’s hands and looks down at the deck. “And don’t forget to take your medication, and don’t skimp on the vitamins. Brains are tricky and sometimes...sometimes they make you feel like things aren’t okay even when they are. And things are okay.” He finally stops, still staring downward and wringing his hands together.
Stan blinks once, twice, then kneels with a grunt right where he’s standing. The hard planks aren’t easy on his knees, but it’s worth it as he draws the kid into the tightest hug he’s probably ever given him. He tries so hard not to cry, but his eyes just keep misting over, so he holds Dipper tighter.
“Here I was worried about you ,” Stan grumbles.
Dipper laughs. “What? I’m fine, Grunkle Stan.”
He releases the kid from the hug, but keeps a hold on his shoulders. “Thanks, kiddo. I’m sure Ford's gonna like it as much as I do.”
Dipper beams for a moment, then looks down again. A second later, there’s a wet sniffle.
“Hey! What’s that for?”
He looks up at Stan with tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes. “I’m just really glad you’re okay. If you hadn’t--if the memory gun had--I’m just glad you’re okay. I know you and Great Uncle Ford are gonna have a great time sailing, so...just be safe.”
Oh, so he was worried. Stan gives him the most confident smile he can muster and gives him a little shake. “Hey, we fought off the apocalypse. Living with Ford can’t be that much worse, right?”
“I heard that.”
Both of their heads snap around to Ford, leaning against the doorway down into the cabin. He’s smirking, too--the smug bastard.
“Lunch is ready,” he says breezily, then turns right around and goes back down the stairs.
Dipper scrubs his eyes clear of tears and smiles big at Stan. “I hope he’s worse at keeping grudges than Mabel is, or else you're in trouble.”
Stan gets up with no small amount of creaky bones, laughing breathlessly. He and Dipper both know just how long Ford can hold a grudge, but he has a feeling he doesn’t need to be worried about it this time.
“You know what kid, I think it’s gonna work out.”