What Happened Last Summer (18+) Chapter 7

What Happened Last Summer (18+) Chapter 7

Another shorter one, but I think it's important. As always, the series is 18+ for mild sexual content, although this chapter is really just some angst.

New to the series? Start at Chapter 1

Read Chapter 8 next!

Enjoy! Press 'keep reading'

18+ [Minors do not interact]

“Stanley, we can’t keep doing this.” Ford’s voice cut through the tranquility of the night. The two brothers sat on the roof, watching the stars – a regular habit they carried over from nights on the boat. 

“I know, I know, you’re gettin’ too old to keep climbing that ladder.” Stan playfully punched his twin in the arm.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stan. It was fine when we all just got dinner or played minigolf, but if Kathy’s going to be at the house regularly, we can’t keep up this charade.”

“I know I gotta tell her, Sixer, there just hasn’t been a good time.”

“How long are you going to wait? It isn’t going to get any better – you see how the kids are around her, Dipper has nothing to talk about. And I can’t keep dodging the question of what I was doing for thirty years.” 

Stan peered at the ground below. He could feel his face getting hot.

“Stanley, the longer you wait the more suspicious she’ll be. I was there the other night when she said it – she may have been drunk, but she loves you. She won’t for much longer if you keep lying to her.”

Stan got to his feet and towered over Ford. He practically yelled, “And what would you know about love, Stanford? All you ever loved was your precious research.”

Ford returned the gesture, and they were face-to-face once more. He pointed at the Dipper and Mabel’s window. “I know I love those kids, Stan, and I’m not going to make them hide the truth all summer after a year of hiding it from their parents. If you don’t get this situation handled soon, I will.” He made his way toward the ladder, before turning around.

“Stanley?”

“What now? Still not done yellin’ at me?” Stanley clenched his fists. “I’ll do it, Stanford. Just go.”

“Stan, I love you.”

Stan’s fists relaxed and he found himself looking at his feet.

Ford continued, “I just want you to be happy.”

Stan made his way back to the edge of the roof and sat down. He gestured for Ford to follow, and his brother obliged. 

After a few moments, Stan said quietly, “I love ya too. And you’re right y’know, I gotta tell her the truth." He laughed, trying to hide the anxiety welling up inside him. "I think Mabel might explode if she goes another day without pullin’ out that scrapbook.”

“stan had it worse” “ford had it worse” stan got pushed deeper and deeper into rock bottom until he had to start digging and ford got pushed higher and higher towards the stars until he became an icarus. they are two ends of the same rope, tied to form a circle connected by the knot of a living hell

what are y'all talking about Stan is a perfectly good cook. newly kicked out, sleeping in his car, you KNOW that boy is washing dishes at some dirtbag diner. now maybe he can't keep a gig for long, he's got a problem with authority and steals out of the register on a daily basis, but while they last it's better than working at a bar cause you get free meals, and you can always drive a few miles out and find another hole in the wall that's never heard of the last one that fired you. so he picks it up here and there, nothing fancy, pancakes and eggs and burgers, stuff that's cheap and filling. he definitely considers ketchup a vegetable, but also eats enough beans and potatoes that he probably doesn't have any serious vitamin deficiencies, even when the sales money pit gets real deep and he ends up dumpstering behind restaurants to scrounge up a semi decent meal. he never has a real kitchen until the shack, and he stocks up on canned food, and saves his bacon grease, and if he burns the hashbrowns he has to eat them anyway so he makes sure not to burn them. maybe he picked up a handful of special dishes on the road, dirty rice, Colombian arepas, fried fish. he certainly doesn't have cash to spare for a lot of fresh ingredients and seasonings, and he keeps insisting that he doesn't need that stuff anyway. but it helps break up the monotony of 50 easy recipes for brown meat.

I desperately need someone to animate the Bluey themesong with the Pines family instead. It would go Ford (Mum), Stan (Dad), Dipper (Bingo), then Mabel (Bluey) and I will fight you on that order

Maybe someone has already done this, please send me a link if someone has!

I have a personal headcannon about why Stan (post-portal incident) really only wears button-up shirts:

The first is that, even when he was homeless, he always had to keep a few on hand for court appearances. Whenever he seemed to have finally gotten his hands on a decent amount of money for some new clothes, he'd get a subpoena and have to buy another suit. Besides his car, they were the only nice things he had.

The other reason is that, for the first several months after the shoulder burn, it was pretty painful to pull regular shirts over his head - the way the fabric had to slide down over the burn, but also having to reach his arms overhead which would stretch the skin. He decided that button-ups were easier, and after a while, he liked the look and decided to keep it.

His casual wear is usually a hawaiian shirt or something similar, and even while fishing, he wears a short sleeve button-up and a vest. And he looks damn good with that second button open anyway, so I'm not complaining

What Happened Last Summer (18+) Chapter 11

This is the last chapter I have written for now - I'll probably keep writing stuff for this fic but it will be more spraced out and hey, if not, I'm pretty happy with this as an ending

As always, the whole series is 18+ for mild sexual content, but this is just a little angst

Find the beginning here: Chapter 1

Enjoy!

18+ [minors do not interact]

“Thanks again for closing up for me, dudes.”

“Yeah yeah, Soos, go home before I change my mind.” Stan began counting the cash in the register. Kathy picked up a broom, and Soos was out the door. 

“How’s business at the motel? Are you makin’ enough just bein’ open on the weekends?”

“Oh yeah, it’s been great. We’re always full.”

He continued to flick through the cash, "And you’re putin’ money away for the off season, right?”

“As much as I can. I’ve heard winters here can be pretty slow.”

Stan chuckled, “Not just slow – dead. I’m sure Greasy’s does fine with the locals, but for places like ours, it’s not even worth payin’ to keep the lights on.”

Kathy paused her sweeping, “Stanley, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, toots.”

“What did you do all those winters up here by yourself, if the shack was closed?”

Stan shrugged, “Well I had the portal to work on, of course. Had to learn all that math stuff, and needed all the time I could get. Still get nightmares about doin’ derivatives.” He chuckled, but Kathy stayed quiet. She knew better than to interrupt Stan when he talked about this – it didn’t happen very often. When the time came around to let her in on the family’s past, Dipper and Ford had done most of the talking. 

Stan continued, “If the snow wasn’t too bad I’d go out to get firewood and look for the other journals. Always told myself I should get away for a few weeks and go somewhere warm. Went to Vegas a few times but it never lasted, guess I felt guilty for leaving Ford behind too long. Felt weird spending all that money too. Livin’ in your car for a couple years will do that – you just never feel like you have enough.” He continued to focus on the money in front of him. She wondered if he could really count and talk at the same time, or if he was just keeping his hands busy. “I guess the only time that was really hard was the… y’know, anniversary.” Stan coughed, “And the holidays. ‘Course I was already used to spendin’ them alone, even before comin’ to–” 

The broom slipped from Kathy's grasp and clattered to the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, hoping Stan wouldn’t notice the tears starting to form in her eyes – but to no avail. He dropped the money half-hazardly and hurried over to her.

“Hey, why’re you cryin’?” He gently lifted her chin, bringing her eyes to meet his. With the other hand, he pulled the broom away and let it fall back to the floor. 

He pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, pumpkin. It’s all okay now,” he reassured her. But at the same time, he squeezed her tighter, like she might run away if he let go. “I’m okay now, don’t cry.”

They held each other for a long, quiet moment. Finally, Stan loosened his grasp around her and wiped a few tears from her cheek. 

“Hey, did I ever tell you about where Ford ‘n I docked on Christmas?” 

Kathy shook her head with a few sniffles and they both resumed their tasks.

Stan made a slow, dramatic sweep of his hands overhead, “Picture it: the beautiful little seaside town of Sitka, Alaska, white with snow…”

Author's note: I know Stan was raised Jewish, so I tried to be vague and just say "the holidays" and "on Christmas" instead of "for Christmas." but y'know...