Work Text:
Ford’s house was not his house anymore. There was the obvious: all of his research and equipment relocated to the spare room and the basement, the entire section of the house dedicated to Stanley’s frankly insulting tourist trap, but then there was also the less obvious. He didn’t know where anything was kept. Everything in the spare room where he slept was all out of order, nothing kept in it’s intended spot, bath towels and blankets were no longer kept in the same closet he had them before (and he needed to have a word with Stanley about the stash of what were definitely illegal fireworks that he found in their place), it was all starting to get more than a little maddening. It all came to a head in the kitchen that morning.
Ford had opened three cabinets now and was no closer to finding where the coffee mugs were kept. Why on earth would they not be in the cabinet just above the coffee maker? But no, in that cabinet were the dinner plates and Ford had to open two more cabinets before he finally found them. Why on earth would they be in the cabinet over the sink?
He went to grab a spoon, opening the drawer to find- cooking utensils. He slammed it shut with a muttered curse and decided he would just pour his cereal straight into his mouth.
“Yeesh, what’s your problem?” Stan’s voice pulled Ford out of his muttering. He whipped around to face his brother who was looking at him over his newspaper with an expression so unimpressed it rivaled their father’s.
“My problem is that nothing in my kitchen is kept where it should be,” Ford practically hissed, distantly he thought that perhaps the placement of household objects didn’t necessarily warrant such hostility, but then his brother raised an eyebrow incredulously and Ford’s anger bubbled over, “Nothing in this house is as it should be! This is my house but I don’t know where anything is, all of my research is jumbled and unorganized, I’m still trying to hunt down several pieces of my equipment, and I don’t know where the spoons are! You’ve upended my entire living space!”
“Well then, I guess it’s lucky for you that you only have to put up with the horror of not knowing where the silverware is for a couple more weeks.” Stan folded his newspaper, he wore a bitter frown on his face and was no longer making eye contact. “You’ll never have to see me again and you can reorganize however you want!”
“Fine by me!” Ford said with a huff. “I’ll also get to take down that mockery you call a museum!”
And then of course both of them moved to storm out of the kitchen at the same time. They paused and had a momentary stare down. Finally Stan broke the tense silence.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Yes, well, I’m going outside.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Both walked out into the hallway, but as Stan moved to go upstairs and Ford moved towards the front door, there came a loud thump from the living room, and both men stopped short when they heard Dipper’s voice.
“Oh boy, are they fighting again?” He sounded a bit exasperated. Mabel made an affirmative noise that sounded strangely muffled. Dipper sighed, “Mabel, you really gotta stop eavesdropping on them, it just makes you all sad and floppy.”
Mabel responded, or at least she sounded like she was trying to, it came out garbled and muffled again. Ford strained his ears but couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“You know I can’t understand you when your face is buried in the couch cushions.” Dipper’s exasperation sounded more fond this time.
“I just wanna be there to hear it when they have their big emotional breakthrough!” Mabel exclaimed, sounding crestfallen and clearly having lifted her face from the couch.
“I know, but I think… it’s all too complicated for them to solve in just one conversation.”
“But they’re twins! They have to make up, it’s what twins are supposed to do!” Mabel was starting to sound more desperate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw Stan turn slightly to look at him.
Ford kept his gaze stubbornly on the wall in front of him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was now growing in his chest.
“I mean, maybe they will eventually, but there’s a lot going on right now. If they do make up, it’s gonna take a lot of time and… well they’re both going to actually have to want to talk to each other.” There was a beat of silence. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”
Mabel didn’t answer, instead posing her own question, “Dipper, can we make a promise right now?”
“I mean we already had that whole ‘promise not to grow up and get stupid like our grunkles’ thing, but sure? What is it?”
“Yeah I know we already made that promise, this one’s just more specific… If one of us does something that makes the other one mad, like really really mad, can we promise that we won’t… hate each other forever?”
Ford felt his heart seize at the words, and it was his turn to spare a glance over at Stan. The hand his brother had propped on the wall had curled into a white knuckled fist, he was staring at the floor and the expression on his face… Ford could only describe it as anguished. Surely Stanley didn’t think he hated him… did he? But what evidence had he been given of that since Ford’s return? A punch to the jaw and a promise to kick him out in a few weeks? That feeling in his chest had now settled heavily in his gut.
The sudden stern certainty of Dipper’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“We’re not going to end up like them.”
“But-”
“No, we’re not. I’ll make the promise if it’ll make you feel better, but I really don’t think I need to because it would never happen to us.”
“How do you know?” Mabel sounded utterly despondent, and though Ford had only known her for a short while, hearing the usually bubbly girl sound so heartbroken made him want to rush in there and scoop her into his arms and make it so that she’d never sound so sad again.
“Well for one, we’re basically living with two walking, talking blueprints of What Not To Do As Siblings. And two, I know because we’re not them. I mean I get it, I’ve got some similarities to Great Uncle Ford and you’re similar to Grunkle Stan, but we’re still different people.”
“What do you mean?” Mabel sniffled, but sounded a bit more hopeful.
“I mean… look they clearly had some issues growing up, Great Grandpa kinda sounds like he was…”
“A poop head?”
“Yeah that,” Dipper laughed, “and it sounds like they were, um, what’s that word Wendy used about those kids she went to school with? They never went anywhere without each other?”
“Codependent?”
“Yeah that! I feel like Grunkle Stan and Ford had some serious identity issues around each other, and we don’t. We always have each other, but we also have different friends and we can go off and do our own thing without each other, you know?”
Mabel made an unconvinced noise.
“And I mean, on top of all that, they’re both… really bad at talking to each other. Like, neither of them wanna talk about their feelings ever,” Dipper continued talking, Ford and Stan continued to intently avoid eye contact. “And you’re like, the queen of heart-to-heart talks and open communication!”
“I do believe a good heart-to-heart could solve most major world issues…” Mabel considered.
“You see! Okay, how about this:” Dipper started, “We both promise to keep each other from acting stupid. You let me know if you feel like maybe I’m getting too in my head and pushing you away. And I’ll let you know if I think you might just be starting to overthink things and catastrophize. Which I do think you’re doing right now, by the way.”
“Yeah, maybe I am.” Mabel sighed, then quieter she said, “I heard Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford saying that Stan’s getting kicked out at the end of summer. And that the Shack’s gonna be closed down.”
“What?” Dipper sounded horrified, “But Grunkle Stan loves the shack! That’s- this is his home! What- where’s he gonna go?”
The uncomfortable feeling in his gut was growing exponentially, and Ford decided that he could safely conclude that the feeling was guilt.
“I mean, we could ask him to come with us? He took us for the summer, I’m sure mom and dad would be willing to repay the favor.” Mabel suggested, trying to sound upbeat.
“Yeah… or he could maybe go stay with Grandpa-” Dipper was cut off by a dramatic gasp from Mabel.
“Oh my gosh! Have they even called Grandpa yet to tell him that they’re both alive?”
Both brothers turned to face each other, wearing matching expressions of panic. Stan opened his mouth to say something, and Ford hoped it was some sort of a plan or even just a reassurance, but the only thing that came out of Stan’s mouth was a whisper of “Nose goes!” And then he was pressing his finger to the tip of his nose in an instant. Ford gaped at him, shaking his head in muted horror, and placed his fist solidly in his palm, suggesting instead a game of Rock Paper Scissors.
“Best two out of three.” He insisted, whispering as well.
“Nuh-uh, I won Nose Goes, you gotta do it.”
“The person who says ‘Nose Goes’ is always the first one to actually do it, it doesn’t work with only two people!” Ford hissed, were they really still having this same childish argument nearly fifty years later?
“Well I’m not playing Rock Paper Scissors, you always cheat!” Stanley whispered back.
“How many times do I have to say it, having six fingers does not give me an advantage at Rock Paper Scissors!”
“Then why do you always win?”
“Because you always choose rock! Stanley, I haven’t been in this dimension for 30 years, how on earth would I explain everything that’s been happening to Shermie when you’re the one that’s been here impersontating-”
“Were you eavesdropping on us?”
Both men startled, turning to see Mabel standing in the door frame, Dipper standing over her shoulder.
“Yes.” Said Stanford.
“No.” Said Stanley at the same time. They turned to glare at one another, then Stan turned back to Mabel. “You know I think I could ask the same of you.”
Mabel narrowed her eyes at them both.
“Touché, Grunkle Stan, touché.” She began to walk backwards away from them while maintaining eye contact and immediately ran into Dipper, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They jumped up and began to race back into the living room shoving each other and giggling as they went.
“Shermie’s going to kill you.” Ford hissed.
“I think you mean Shermie’s going to kill us.” Stan shot back with an agitating grin.
“I’m not the one who faked my own death and stole his twin's identity!”
“And I’m not the one who’s been back in our dimension for nearly a week and never even thought to call his brother and let him know!”
“You didn’t think to call him either!”
“Well-”
Suddenly Mabel’s voice drifted down into the hall from the living room.
“Hello? Grandpa? I’ve got some super exciting news!”
“MABEL WAIT!” Ford and Stan both made a mad dash for the living room.