Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Late August of 1998

The bags were slipping. Kate mentally cursed herself for not grabbing a shopping cart. She had not expected to buy too many groceries, yet from her arms clung several bags, as she juggled another couple in her arms, having to peer through to see where she was going. Pushing the door open with her shoulder, she waddled her way towards the parking lot. She tried orienting herself, trying to distinguish the rows of cars from in-between the bags. As she walked towards the right direction, she almost missed a small step, panicked, muttering to herself. Deep in her inner monologue she crashed into a local. The bags in her hands flying to the ground.

“Watch it” the stranger called out gruffly.

“Sorry” she said apologetically and embarrassed, looking at the mess on the ground.

The bags had ripped, a large portion of the food scattered on the floor. She wanted to cry. With a groan, she loosened the bags digging into her forearms and hoped she could at least cram everything in there. She crouched, started to retrieve what she could.

Stan was walking towards the entrance when he spotted a wallet on the floor.

Money, he thought.

Trying to act as casually as he could he approached, picking it up. Instinctually, going to look at the cash inside. He startled when he heard a stranger holler something in the distance. He watched a man walk away and a woman scrambling to pick up groceries from the floor.

Jerk.

As he played with the wallet in his hand, he went to look to see who it was from. Katherine Claire Arthur.

He adjusted his glasses as his eyes snapped to the woman kneeling on the parking. It was hers. A pang of guilt ran through him, he had yet to take the cash, it had been his intention.  He sighed, closing the wallet and approaching the woman.

“Hey, lady!” Kate heard a gruff voice call out. She looked up and into the distance.

“Ya’ dropped your wallet” Stan announced as he approached “Among other things it seems” his tone amused.

Kate flushed slightly “Oh- Thank you. I must’ve dropped it on my way here” she muttered embarrassed. She extended her hand for the stranger to give her here wallet back.

“D’you need help with that?” Stan found himself asking before he could really help himself.

“I- it’s ok. If I could ask you to watch this. I have some bags in the trunk of my car, I can go run and get them” her voice still uncertain but her expression pleading.

Stan looked amused, he crossed his arms “Sure thing, doll” he said gruffly. Kate nodded appreciatively, grasping some of the intact bags and heading quickly to her car.

Stan watched her go, he had been in Gravity Falls for about 18 years by now, not once had he seen her. She must be new, he thought. Or at least this was an urgent pit stop. He watched her get to her battered car, as she opened the trunk, a bunch of furniture sprung out and onto the pavement. He could see her grumble, taking out suitcases and rummaging further into the trunk. With a distressed gesture she tried cramming the suitcases and everything that flew out back in, closing the trunk and now heading to the passenger side. Much the same as the trunk, objects flew out and onto the pavement. Her car was crammed. She was clearly in the midst of moving.

Stan sighed, the strange woman was clearly struggling, he looked at what was left on the ground, which was plenty and began picking some things up. Not much later he heard Kate jog towards him.

“Oh, that’s so kind, you shouldn’t have” she panted lightly, offering an open duffle bag for him to put everything in.

“T’s no issue, doll. Rough day huh?” He still sounded amused.

She sighed “Yeah” her tone clearly stressed. “I’m just moving in, it’s all still very chaotic at the moment” she dismissed, not going into much detail.

“I figured” Stan said as he crouched to grab a last remaining can. “Your car practically exploded with things” he added.

She chuckled a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, still got a few things to get into the house” she explained closing the duffle bag and struggling slightly to pick it up.

“I’ll take it” he found himself offering.

“No, it’s ok, you’ve done more than-”

“I insist, doll” he interrupted her and began walking to her car.

She jogged slightly to catch up to him. “You can leave it in the front, on the passenger seat” she opened the door for him as he placed the bag with a big ‘thunk’.

“Thank you…?”

“Stan” he said gruffly with a mischievous grin, his hand extended.

“Thank you, Stan” she said appreciatively, his hand engulfing hers. “Kate” she offered her name back.

“I know, police’s been looking for ya’” he kept shaking her hand and saw her face pale.

He barked out a laugh, dropping her hand to clutch his stomach “Gotcha!”

She chuckled nervously, clearly taken aback.

He finished chuckling “Relax, saw it in your wallet, doll” he took her wallet from his pocket and gave it to her, a grin on his face.

“Right” she chuckled awkwardly.

“Well, thanks again Stan” she gave him a small cautious smile.

“I’ll see ya’ around, doll. I’m right at the outskirts of town. The proud owner of The Mystery Shack. You’re speaking with Mr. Mystery himself” he said charmingly, wiggling an eyebrow.

She nodded a bit amused at his theatrics. Not too sure to disclose where she had moved into just yet. “I’m on the opposite end” she said vaguely.

Stan put two and two together “The old Greensburg house?”

“Uh- yeah” she confirmed a bit thrown off.

“That house’s a mess, doll. It’s been untouched the eighteen years I’ve lived here” he looked a bit bewildered “It’s only bones by now” he added.

“You- know the place?”

“Ha! Yeah, I’ve broken in- I mean” he corrected himself a hand going to rub the back of his head. He huffed “I’ve been to that old thing a couple times” he confessed.

She nodded. “Well, I live there now. Used to be a relative’s house” she explained.

“Ya’ got your work cut out for you” he mused.

“I’m a bit of a handy man myself, if ya’ need help” he tried charming her. “It’ll come with a price of course” he grinned.

“Oh um- that’s very kind of you” she said a bit awkwardly. “I’ll have you in mind, if I see something’s out of my hands” she said politely, not really actually considering it.

“Ya’ got a land line?” his question seemingly out of nowhere.

“I do, it’s not working at the moment, but it’s on the top of my list”.

Without much warning Stan peered into Kate’s car, grabbing a spare pen he had spotted. He took her hand and began to clumsily write his number down.

“There ya’ have it, doll” he grinned.

The gesture made her a bit flustered. She huffed an amused laugh “Thanks”

“Don’t worry about giving me yours, I know where ya’ live!” the statement earned a wary look from Kate. “Not- not in a creepy way of course” he corrected himself a bit awkwardly.

“Right-um…I’ll leave you to your own errands” she began excusing herself “It was nice meeting you and thank you again” she said politely.

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart” he boasted closing the passenger door.

She gave him an amused chuckle as she walked around to the driver’s side. She got in the car and started the engine. Stan slapped the hood of the car for good measure before stepping back and allowing her to drive off.

---

Just when things had mellowed down, he thought as he watched her car get farther and farther away. Hands in his pockets he distractedly made his way into the supermarket, Kate in his mind. She was thirty, he had clocked that when he checked for an ID in the wallet. A significant age gap as he was now forty-three. But that did not take away from the fact that he found her attractive. Black, layered, shoulder-length hair, fair skin, freckles, hazel eyes and pink lips. Short and somewhat stout.

A pretty little thing, he thought with a chuckle. Don’t get too ahead of yourself Stan, he chastised himself.

Though he had seen better days, his boxing days had kept his overall broad body in shape. Though he had gone softer in certain places, he hid it well when he wanted to. He had long gone left the mullet behind, his hair short and sprinkled with some greys here and there, as did his stubble. He could pull women off quite easily, he thought. His looks definitely helped. A good combination for this knack for charm. It had been a while since he allowed any women in his life, at least in a meaningful way.

But he wasn’t one to let a pretty face slip past him. He grinned; he’d find a way to worm into Kate.

---

Kate drove off somewhat stunned and confused over the turn of events. She checked her hand as she drove back towards her battered house. The numbers clumsy and crooked, she huffed a small chuckle. 

What a guy.

She knew better than to trust the strange man she just met. She had seen her fair share of charmers, whose main goal was to into your pants as soon as they can. Stan, seemed like one of them.

Her assumptions about him were cautious, he was still a stranger to her. His eagerness to help and loud, welcoming persona a bit comforting in comparison to what starting a new life felt like.

She had just arrived yesterday, though it had been a welcome change from what her previous life was like, she was still ridden with anxiety. Stan was right, what was now her house, was a mess. Electricity, water, everything was semi broken and diminished from the passing of time and desolation. Her mom had taught her enough to be semi decent to fix things, but a helping hand was needed. She was yet to step foot at her new job. She groaned. She had kept her life-long occupation, teaching. There was a certain lure to a quaint small-town school, where the pressure seemed to ease up a bit. She took a right into the gravel path to her house. She wanted a quiet life; she hoped Gravity Falls was one to give her that. Little did she know, it would not.

Chapter Text

Kate woke up, a comfortable temperature, the summer slowly dwindling late August. She sighed, at least that gave her some time to fix the heating before temperatures went down. Showering was chaotic; the water and piping system were faulty as well. It either barely came out or it sprayed everywhere aggressively, the temperature impossible to adjust. She was to head out to school and situate herself before the start of school next week.

The weight of it all was beginning to catch up to her; the new job, fixing the house, all the change that came with moving, making new friends, acquaintances, getting to know the town. A knot formed in her stomach. She was not one for change, at the moment so much uncertainty made her doubt coming to Gravity Falls altogether. Grabbing her car keys, she left the house, started the engine and headed towards the town school.

The day had been good, the staff welcoming and the overall establishment, though a bit old and worn, was quaint and comforting. She had been able to organize the lesson plans and look through the student’s files. The prospect of having smaller classes a relief. It seemed like her job and academic year was off to a good start, a tranquil change from her previous teaching job. It felt like the day had flown by, she was on her way to the car, about to organize her Friday afternoon and night.

She was making a mental list of what she wanted to do, what she’d work on around the house as she approached. Her attention turned to a car on her driveway, she frowned confused. As she got closer, she saw yesterday’s strange man leaning against the car, arms crossed over his broad chest. He smiled and waved as he saw her car approach. She cut off the engine, a bit cautious, giving him a small wave.

“Hey…Stan, what brings you here?” She asked, getting out of the car.

“Hey doll. Thought you’d need some tools for this old thing” he threw a thumb behind him, signaling the house.

“Oh- that’s so thoughtful, I have a few but I do definitely need to head out to the hardware store” she explained a bit taken aback over his gesture. He waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m not using them right now” he shrugged “I was honest when I told ya’ I’d help.”

She nodded a bit wary “How long have you been waiting?” she felt a bit bad for making him wait.

His hand went to the back of his neck, a small embarrassed gesture “A bit” he tried sounding nonchalant “I wasn’t quite sure where you were or when ya’d get here” he explained.

“You’ve been here a while then” she sounded somewhat humored “Today was my first day at my job” she saw him nod.

“Whatcha work as?” he cocked his head intrigued.

“I’m a teacher, I’ll be with fifth graders this year”

“Ah! A brainiac. Ya’ remind me of someone I knew” he said before he could stop himself.

He cleared his throat and began to move to the trunk of his car before she could question anything. “I brought ya a couple of things, essentials, ya know?” He gestured for her to come look.

“I’m guessing that old thing needs all sort of fixin’” he rummaged through everything he brought.

“A bit of everythin’ here” he began taking the bag out with an array of tools and other materials.

He had spent most of the day rummaging through the Mystery Shack finding everything he had been using to turn the Shack into his tourist attraction throughout the years. He knew the work that came with renovations and the complications that would always arise. It could be a never-ending project.

Kate peered, taking in everything he had brought, she was impressed at the display of tools. “These will be of a lot of help, thank you” she said appreciatively and bit shy.

“Not-a problem, doll. Where d’ya want these?” He began pulling the bags out of the trunk.

“Right” she began to look through her purse for the keys and gestured him to follow her.

Opening the door, it was revealed to Stan how bad the house was. He whistled lowly, she was going to need help, a lot of it.

“Geez, I’ve crashed in better places than this and that’s something” he commented, taking in his surroundings. He did not remember the house being so worn-out years back when he had broken in.

She went a bit self-conscious “It just needs a bit of love” she tried sounding nonchalant.

“A lotta love, doll. A lotta of it” his mouth agape taking in the ceiling.

She chuckled “Alright alright. This place is falling to pieces” she conceded.

“You do need to go the hardware store” he mused “Do you know what you need?” he asked.

“Well... kind of? The basics but I’m sure I’ll need a couple trips before I land with everything I truly need” she confessed.

“I can go with ya” he offered, still inspecting the house.

“That’s ok” she tried placating his offer. She had just met this man yesterday on a whim.

“Oh, come on doll, we can hop on the ol’ El Diablo, I can already tell what ya need” he insisted. “Just speedin’ up the process, ya know? Ya’ can’t be livin’ like this” He added.

Kate sighed, knowing he was right, but still unsure. Stan sensed her hesitancy at his insistence. “Here, how about you show me around and I’ll make a list for ya?” he offered.

She seemed a bit receptive and nodded “Kitchen’s through here” she gestured.

“The entire house has issues with the piping, the water will come out in spurts or barely at all, temperature graduation is none existent” she explained as he walked to check under the sink.

“The electricity is faulty, it’s a bit of a game to see how many times it will take to hit the switch of it to turn on or off, and it’ll flicker. Carpentry wise, there’s walls and floors that need to be fixed, I’m sure the roof is not great either, the upstairs bathroom’s leaking onto the ceiling and the doors either creek or get stuck, there’s old and layers of wallpaper that are impossible to pull off...” all her concerns over the house tumbled out, frustration and desperation evident in her voice.

Stan was now standing, arms crossed, watching her pace and listing everything wrong with the house. “Alright alright. Take a breather there, doll. We’ll fix this” he reassured here.

We’ll. The word registering in her mind.

“I’m- I’m sorry” she sighed, going to rub her face. “It seems I’ve bitten more than I could chew. I’m just- overwhelmed” her eyes roaming around the room.

“Then let me help ya” he offered sincerely with a shrug.

She worked her jaw, debating with herself, arms still around herself. “I can’t ask you to give up your spare time for this crap” she said lightly, defeated.

“Look I don’t wanna sound crass, but money’s money” for once, he did not sound too enthusiastic at the prospect of cash, his sense of compassion at her situation tugging at his heart.

“The Mystery Shack will be low on tourists as summer wraps up, I’ll have the spare time for this” he rationalized “It’ll be more profitable anyways” he muttered a bit embarrassed at his half failing business.

She was still silent, which prompted him to keep on blabbering nervously.

“I’m not gonna bleed ya dry doll, I’ll give ya a good price. I’ve got experience in these things, lived in crap places, had to renovate things myself. I understand the magnitude of this” he patted the kitchen island, trying to make a point.

She studied him for a moment, pushing the small thought that bubbled in her about how she found him attractive. Another moment of silence went by “Alright” she conceded still not too convinced.

Stan’s face lit up, he walked to her with a charming smile, hand extended “Ya’ got yourself a deal” shaking her hand. His enthusiasm amused her.

“You better not let me down, Stan” her tone cautious but laced with amusement.

“Never” he gave her a wink. “Now, show me the rest of this garbage will ya? Gotta know what I’m getting myself into before we go to the hardware store”.

There it was again. We.

She nodded, guiding him to the living room. She continued the house tour, guiding him through the rooms, pointing out all that had to be done and what supplies they would need. They found themselves back in the kitchen.

“Let’s organize this by rooms” Kate began writing down the different rooms and then the lists of supplies for each.

“We’ll do water and electricity first, to at least give ya that commodity. We’ll have to come back to it as we work on the rooms, but, just so ya can have the essentials taken care of” he explained. She nodded in agreement.

After going over the list a couple times it seemed they had come to a consensus of what they needed. “Great” Stan stretched; he had been leaning over the kitchen island as they had discussed everything.

“Let’s go then, they’ll be closin’ soon” he gestured towards the door. She was still hesitant but she had already agreed to his help, she began walking to the door.

“Ya ready to acquaint ya self with my Stanmobile?” He boasted, she chuckled lightly as she locked her door.

“Ya think it’s funny? She’s a 1965 Diablo, convertible, 4 door sedan, a total beauty” he bragged as they approached.

“Better than that beat up Chevy of yours” he elbowed her lightly, trying to coax a laugh out of her.

“It’s only a couple years old” she fought back lightheartedly.

He chuckled “Who woulda thunk. They just don’t make them like they used to, doll” he opened the passenger for her.

“Thanks” she watched him walk to the other side of the car.

Her eyes then took in the vintage car, it was in immaculate condition. She took in the faint smell of cigarettes and aftershave. He got in, the car rocking slightly, stopping to eye her briefly.

“Ready doll?” Stan grinned, she nodded, still unconvinced of what exactly she was getting herself into.

---

Kate did not fail to notice the glances from the town people as she arrived with Stan to the hardware store. It was obvious enough that the town knew who he was. The bell on the door rang as they walked in.

“Heya’ Frank” Stan greeted, walking straight in.

“You better not make me check your pockets” the owner called out after him, only half joking. His eyes fell on Kate.

“You with the con man?” he asked amused. 

Con man?

She stilled ever so slightly. The owner huffed in amusement, busying himself with some things on the counter.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? Don’t let that showman rope you in. He’s trouble” his tone indiscernible for Kate to know if he was joking or not.

“Alright Frank, stop scarin’ her, will ya?” Stan called from an aisle nearby.

Kate saw Frank look in the direction of Stan’s voice and then back to her, the amusement in his eyes slowly dwindling.

“I’m serious ma’am. He’s a hustler, biggest scammer in town, a loud, good-for-nothing brute. Don’t let his charm stir you” his tone quiet enough for Stan not to hear.

Kate’s heart dropped, her stomach knotting nervously, she could only nod.

“If you don’t believe me, ask the cops. They know him plenty, he always finds himself in the county jail” he added with a shrug, warning her.

“I-um-thanks” she said politely, the pit in her stomach only growing.

“Hey doll! Come here, let me show ya something” Stan’s loud voice cut through her internal monologue.

Reluctantly, she approached.

“Look at this, it always gotta be water proof, ya never know when it might leak” he explained the tube he had in his hand, but Kate’s mind was elsewhere. Stan was too busy with looking and going through everything they needed to realize her switch in demeanor.

It was on the way back, when Stan felt a tension in the car. He wracked his brain for some conversation, impatient fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Let me know your availability. I know ya said you’re busy and all, but I can work while you’re out. Ya know, so I’m out of your hair by the time ya get home” the silence stretched.

Kate hated to admit that the hardware store owner had gotten to her. Ask the cops. That was irrefutable proof. She played with her hands before looking out the window.

“I appreciate that you’ve helped me with this but… I think I’ll work on it myself; I’ll reach out if anything too big comes up” her tone cautious.

Stan looked at her for a second before his eyes went back to the road. He mentally cursed to himself. Had he said anything? Had he been too pushy? Was he coming off as a creep? It seemed they had established he’d be there to help before heading out for supplies. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel again.

“Well... if that’s what ya’ want doll, I gotta respect that” his voice clearly deflated and slightly disappointed. She muttered a quiet thanks. She felt guilty, but she had to be cautious.

The rest of the ride was awkward, despite Stan turning on the radio to not be in complete silence. It was dusk by the time Stan rolled to her house. “Home sweet home huh?” He attempted to put a nonchalant front, as they got out of the car.

“Lemme bring these to your house and I’ll leave” he announced, making sure she knew he wasn’t going to overstay his welcome. He took the bags from the trunk.

Kate could not shake the feeling, that he was not as bad as she had been told. He’s a stranger. You do not know him. A local told you to beware.

“I appreciate it” she began walking towards the doorstep and unlocking the door.

“Not a problem, doll. Ya know where to find me” he placed the bags and gave her a charming grin.

“I’ll call if anything” she said politely.

He nodded. “Well... uh, have a good one” his confident persona wavering slightly.

“You too” she gave him a tight lip smile.

Stan took that as his cue to leave, turning and heading to his car, his ego taking more of a blow that he’d care to admit. Kate closed the door with a soft click and sighed, her eyes went to the bags and then to her surroundings, she did need the help.

Chapter Text

Kate spent the later portion of her Friday evening with Stan on her mind. After discussing in depth all that was to be done in the house with him, the supplies he brought and the ones bought together, he seemed the only thing swimming in her mind. Everywhere she looked, he popped up. Whether from guilt of he was really the only person she had half acquainted herself with, she wasn’t sure. He had been kind enough.

But that’s how they get you, don’t they. If they had a half a brain anyways. The gain trust and then they get you.

She sighed, shaking her head, walking to the living room, and went to turn off the kitchen lights, several attempts until it turned off. She sat on the old couch her eyes going to the lamp that flickered in the corner. The static resonating. Eventually, with a spark and a crack it burst leaving her in almost complete darkness. Great.

Her eyes turned to the book that was sitting on the coffee table, she had planned to read, but there was no light. She should’ve written down his number. She had washed it off when she got home yesterday, not planning to follow through with getting back to him. Now, though doubtful, she wished she had it.

Give the guy a chance.

She knew she needed the help. He offered. Who would she go to? Would there be any contractors here? Maybe if she went and asked at the hardware store they would help her out. Would they be more trustworthy? They most likely didn’t have a criminal record. It seemed like the most sensible thing. She decided right then and there that that would be her plan of action. She grabbed the book and headed upstairs, hoping her bedside lamp would not give out as well.

---

The next morning Kate found herself at the hardware store.

“You’re from last night” the owner mused “You’ve come back. Alone” he observed.

She decided not to address his comment, skipping to what she had come for. “Do you guys have or know of anyone who is a contractor?” She asked a bit bashfully, evident that she was ditching Stan.

“You’re a wise woman” the owner cracked a smile.

“My nephew’s a contractor, best and only one in town. He’s in the back. Let me grab him for you”. Before Kate could thank him, the owner began hollering.

“Nathan!” He whistled loudly “Nathan! Get your ass here! Someone needs your help!” He called out loudly.

A man close to Kate’s age walked through the staff door, “Alright, alright, geez how can you be yelling at this hour” he complained.

“It’s 10 am, buddy” the owner countered “This lady over here needs a contractor, lo and behold, that’s you”.

The man scoffed, his eyes registering Kate. “What can I do for you ma’am?” He approached the counter.

“I just moved in-”

“The Greensburg house?” He interrupted.

Gosh her house was popular, she thought. She nodded.

“Yeah, we heard someone was moving there, we expected whoever it was to show up here sooner or later”

Ok, cocky.

“That house is in ruins” he kept talking, not allowing her to speak.

“It sure is” her feigned a touch of humor.

“I was hoping you’d be able to take a look, and give me an estimate or a budget for the house?”

“Sure thing, let me grab my keys, I’ll follow” he agreed, giving his uncle a sly grin as he turned to leave. Kate registered the small gesture, not liking how it made her feel.

Kate waited in her car, soon enough “Nathan” showed up in his pick-up, gesturing for her to lead the way. On her way there she only hoped Stan would not be there or showed up altogether, to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation. Thankfully, he wasn’t. She sighed, relieved, as she cut off the engine.

“Worse than I remembered” was what Kate was met with as she got out her car. The comment bothering her slightly, he hadn’t had the decency to even formally introduce himself.

“I’m Kate, by the way” she said politely as she approached, hand stretched out in front of her. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m Nathan, you heard my uncle” he did not even bother looking at her, his eyes on the large country house. Kate retracted her hand, getting increasingly annoyed at his attitude. 

“By the looks of the outside, including landscaping, exterior and roof I’d say about 15-20k” Nathan informed her, not having arrived two minutes ago or getting a closer look.

That is a hefty amount of money, she thought.

“Let me look inside, I haven’t got all day, especially if I need to order all the supplies to get working on this ASAP” he demanded.

Kate clenched her jaw and bit down her tongue, the venomous remark died in her mouth. “Of course” she guided him to the door and opened it for him.

It had been an excruciating thirty minutes later that Kate had been done guiding him around the house and had been standing his standoffish and arrogant remarks. The way he had talked about repairing and renovating vastly different from how Stan did. Nathan was clearly catastrophizing the repairs and renovations in hopes of increasing the budget.

“Adding to what I said before, that would come to a total of anywhere between 65 to 70 thousand” he concluded.

Kate’s blood ran cold at the number. She had a small amount of savings but that was way out of budget.

“I’m giving you a great price here” Nathan insisted “It should be around 100 to 120k at least, I’m doing it for almost half of that” he tried enticing her.

“I’m afraid that it’s out of my price range” Kate said feeling a bit embarrassed.

“This house is crap, I’m sure you bought it for nothing, you must have a hefty amount to restore it” he pressed.

“I inherited it” she corrected him. “I’ve got a small saving account but nothing close to this budget” she explained.

“Then you should sell this shit” he shrugged “They’ll give you next to nothing but it might give you a head start to rent” he offered coldly.

“I doubt you’ll find anyone that will fix this for cheaper” he paused, eyeing her.

“You’re pretty and I’m one for favors, I can keep the budget tight and you could always-”

“Enough” Kate interrupted him, her tone now harsher than the previous meeker one.

“Please get out of my house, now” she crossed her arms, cocking her head to one side, asking him to leave.

“You won’t go anywhere or too far like that” he threw at her annoyed as he left.

Kate was livid, her nails digging at her sides, her jaw hurt from keeping her mouth shut. She watched him leave from the kitchen window, her restless energy making her scream silently and jiggle around angrily. The only contractor in town and he had tried scamming her and then tried sealing a deal by trying to get into her pants. Great.

This was a small remote town; it wasn’t worth the trouble to look for someone outside of it. She knew his estimates were not that far off if she truly wanted to leave the house in immaculate conditions. Perhaps the guy was right, the house was too big of a problem. But she didn’t want shiny and new, she wanted livable. She liked the old-timey charm the house had. It needed a small do over not a whole 180.

Her mind drifted to Stan again.

They had not talked about the specifics of his fees for helping her out, she knew it must be cheaper. More so if she really committed to do the bulk of the work.

The biggest scammer in town. The words came back to her again.

Would he even be able to do a decent job, or just enough until she had paid him and then bolted with her money?

Geez, give the man a chance, Kate.

---

Reluctantly, she convinced herself to at least go ask and hear him out. She grabbed her car keys, hoping to be able to find The Mystery Shack at the other side of town. A short fifteen minutes later, she found it, almost driving past it, off to one side of the road. Yet, as she made her way through the driveway, it was unmissable. The sign in big letters on the roof, a bunch of poorly crafter signs nailed to some wooden posts. Stan’s car parked to one side.

She cut off the engine, a wave of nerves, or perhaps guilt, rushed through her. She took in the Shack, there was an entrance to once side to the attraction another door at the other side for the gift shop, she wasn’t too sure where she’d find him. Gathering the courage, she got out and headed towards the gift shop, the entrance to the attraction place was desolate, she assumed he wouldn’t be there and the shop would at least find someone to talk to.

She entered, a small bell ringing as she crossed the threshold.

“Welcome to The Mystery Shack a place of wonder-” Stan welcomed loudly by instinct as he turned around, the words dying on his mouth as he saw Kate. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face before he recovered.

“Kate!” he barked out, attempting, quite poorly, to conceal his mortification.

“I know ya couldn’t resist yourself to see the world’s famous Mystery Shack” he regained his charm, flashing a smile.

She took him in, dressed in a suit, hugging him just right, stark contrast from the casual attire he had worn before.

“Like whatcha see?” Stan’s amused voice pulled her back. She tried suppressing the creeping blush.

“How much will fixing the house cost?” She blurted out, throwing him off.

“Ya sure know how to get to the point, huh?” He said with no malice.

She chuckled a bit nervously “Sorry”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s see” he went behind the counter to take a piece of paper and pen, and began jotting down numbers.

Her eyes briefly wandered around the gift shop; snow globes, shirts, figures, post cards, the standards, a lot of other things semi-crafted by him.

On the flip side, Stan was pulled in different directions. On one side he knew this could be hefty about of money, the prospect tugged at his greedier side. He had been just barely making it by for too long now. On the other side, there was something about Kate that stopped him from fully taking advantage of the situation she was in. He knew what it was to be alone, a mess in hand, and no one to truly turn to. Leaning against the counter, he blinked from the numbers on the paper to her, seeing how she eyed the shop curiously. He didn’t have the purest of intentions but he had been here long enough to know how some of the people in town would thrive on bleeding foreigners dry.

He cleared his throat trying to get her attention she turned. “Ya crafty and ready to work?” He masked his uncertainty with an overly enthusiastic tone.

“Of course” she approached him.

“It won’t be no palace or resort, but we can manage something livable for 25 grand” his voice wavering slightly with uncertainty. “If we split the labor in half, I’ll be around twelve grand richer” he tried adding humorously.

That was a whole lot less, she thought. It was about what Nathan offered and purely for landscaping and the exterior. The quality of the repairs and renovations was what worried her.

“We’ve got the tools and the spirit” he cut through her internal monologue again.

She breathed in, looking at the numbers on the paper then to him, what looked like an earnest expression on his face. “I uh-” she hesitated.

“What that dim-wit Frank said yesterday got to ya, didn’t it?” Stan pulled himself to his full height. He was not stupid; he had noticed her reluctance yesterday. He had not made out what Frank had said but he had heard him murmuring.

“I admit it, I ain’t no saint, doll. Don’t think a single person could vouch for it. But, I ain’t that big of an ass either. I’ve been where ya are, I can show you around, you can see my work. Granted it’s not as shiny and new as when it was done, but it’s lasted the better part of a decade. It’ll give ya time to retouch in the future, but I can assure you that we’ll be able to give ya something comfortable enough for the time bein’” he tried reasoning.

He wasn’t proud of his past, hell, he’s not proud of his present, he was planning on trespassing a house on the nicer part of town tomorrow, but he was being honest about this. He just wasn’t sure how to convince her. He saw how conflicted she seemed, he wouldn’t really trust himself, if he was being honest.

“Ya can report me to the cops” he offered, the words stumbling out his mouth, a clumsy attempt to reassure her.

She winced slightly at his comment, he’d had to go to far extremes for her to resort to that. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that” her tone light, yet indiscernible.

“So watcha say, doll? Let’s make a deal? For real this time?” Sounding less confident than he’d like to.

She needed some reassurance. And he had offered. “Would you mind showing me around?” She asked cautiously. Arguably, on a second thought, all she could do was believe him, trust that he had actually done any repairs or renovations and if he did, that he did them himself.

“Sure thing. A private tour with Mr. Mystery himself it is” he flashed a charming grin. “Right this way, doll” he waved a hand for her to follow him.

“I built and renovated this attraction from the ground up” they entered the main room of the Mystery Shack “well, and I tweaked the living area too” he added.

“Floors, lights, walls and other gadgets” he explained.

Kate glanced around, it wasn’t much, a bunch of phony statues and other displays. Yet, the space was packed to a brim, decorated to fit the theme. The lightning well thought out, to illuminate the pertinent things, he had some displays that would have some water running, moving parts. If he had done this himself, he knew some engineering or at least the basics.

“Left ya’ stunned huh?” Stan’s voice chimed in.

“Do people believe this stuff?” Her attention now on the amalgam of made-up creatures, though some things looked eerily real.

“Watcha talkin’ about doll? These things are ad real as life itself” he showman persona taking over.

“In Gravity Falls you can find anomalies like no other; mystery, terror, adventure and I’m the only man with the proof right here” he gestured, arms open wide. Kate gave him a half unamused look, clearly not buying it.

“Alright, alright. Maybe it’s not all as obscure and cryptic, but it sure is good fun!” He conceded.

Kate eventually dug into the in and out of all the handy work he had done, testing his knowledge and allowing him to explain how he had worked on everything. She was not a complete rookie in the subject matter and by what he had been saying, he knew what he had been doing too. The smallest spark of trust beginning to grow. They were back in the gift shop.

“You’d be in charge of everything” he reassured “When you’d want me to show, or leave, what to work on, everything. I want ya to feel like you have a say and control in all’a this” he added, hoping he had come across as honest and honorable as he could. She played with some of the keychains on the counter, still considering.

“Here, how about ya give me a trial period, a week or ten days or somethin’” he suggested.

Her eyes snapped to him, considering. He saw her eyes travel his face; he took a moment to study hers as well.

“Fine, deal” she said. He took a second to respond, too busy looking at her. He registered her words and expectant gaze. He blushed lightly.

“Uh-yeah. I mean, yes, great! Deal!” He recovered offering his hand, she took it.

“Celebratory Pitt” he announced, walking to the vending machine and pushing it forcefully, two cans fell.

She thought she saw the vending machine move weirdly not much bouncing off the wall but sliding, before she could question it Stan was tossing the can to her.

“Catch!” She caught it with ease, earning an amused and impressed smile from him.

“So when do you wanna have me over?” He asked, his tone suggestive.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, I’d like to get that day of rest in, I’ll officially start work on Monday” she mused, playing with the can in her hands.

“Sure thing” he shrugged.

“Would Monday afternoon work? Just as a day to actually look at whatever we want to tackle first?” She suggested.

“That would work” he agreed, walking closer to her.

He raised his can to hers “To success” he toasted.

“To success” she said back, hopeful yet cautious. This was a big leap of faith.

Chapter Text

Monday afternoon rolled around quicker than expected. Kate’s first day at work was good. She seemed to have connected with the kids, the smaller sized class, far more manageable and personable. There had been an easy-going energy and receptiveness gave her a good feeling about how the academic year could go. 

She had arrived not that long ago and found herself looking at the fuse box when loud banging came from the door. Stan.

She jogged over, opening the door “Hey there doll, I rang the doorbell, but that’s good-for-nothin’” he greeted her.

“Yeah, that’s broken too” she said a bit bashfully, an arm extended gesturing him to come in.

“We were going to look at the electricity, right?” He confirmed, taking off his jacket, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt, his arms exposed, tight at the seams and the beginning of a softy tummy protruding slightly at his belt. Kate turned, hiding the blush that creeped on her at the sight.

“Yeah, I was just checking the fuse box” she announced, walking towards the kitchen. “I dismounted the casing and was checking the wires” she added.

 “Let’s have-a look then” he pulled a duffle bag on the kitchen counter, looking for some tools.

Stan had been messing around, trying to get Ford’s portal to work for years now, it came with a lot of self-taught engineering and other handy-work skills that made basic electric circuits other wiring procedures look like child’s play.

“D’ya know which fuse is what?” He approached the fuse box.

“Umm- I’ve been testing them out, there’s a cheat sheet on the inside of the casing but the water and time has blurred everything.” He went to check, she was right, it was useless by now.

“Here let’s make a new one, let’s start with the fuses to the rooms you’ll be using the most” he went to stand next to her at the kitchen island, leaning in, elbows on the marble, shoulders touching. “You tell me, boss” he added looking over, now at eye level.

She huffed a small chuckle. “Well-uh, that would be kitchen, bedroom and upstairs bathroom, for now”

“Alright, go kill the lights in here, I’ll stick my hand and see which one electrocutes me first” she looked equal parts amused and concerned at his statement.

He let out a loud bark of laughter “Kiddin’! I’m kidding, doll.” He reassured; his voice still laced with humor.

She hesitantly went to try switching off the kitchen lights, as per usual it took several tries. Yet, now that the wires were exposed, it was clear that one of them would short-circuit. Sparks coming out that followed the movement of the switch.

“Ha! Easy!” Stan said loudly, going to grab a tool to strip the wire.

With the power cut out, he went cut the wires and began stripping them to have a better point of access to merge them back. Two minutes later, with the general power line back up, he asked Kate to try switching the kitchen light again. The light turned on first try, flickering slightly.

“The flickers’ most likely from the lightbulb itself” he acknowledged before she could say anything. “We bought some right?” He recalled, she nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve got a bunch of the stuff in the hall, let me go get it” as she walked away, he turned off the light and jumped on the kitchen island and began taking off the ceiling light cover to get to the lightbulb. When she came back, she was slightly taken aback at the scene, she huffed amused.

“Easy there, tiger”

“It withstands my weight, doll. Besides, you wouldn’t reach” he teased with a grin. He was right of course. Kate stood around 5’2, he towered over her.

She walked up to the island, exchanging the faulty lightbulb for the new one, their hands brushing. When it was all set in place, he jumped off and gestured for her to turn on the light. With a simple flick, the kitchen basked in a warm glow, no flickering or insisting on the switch. Kate sighed, relieved, looking around, he smiled, watching her.

“Let’s tackle the rest shall we, doll?”

They repeated the process on the other main rooms, Kate stayed upstairs as Stan stayed in the kitchen beside the fuse box.

“Going!” She called out.

Stan soon identified the wire “Got it!” He called back. “I’ll be cutting the power entirely now!” He called out again.

He repeated the wiring process, stripping and securing the wires. Soon enough her bedroom was checked off the list. They found a good working rhythm, moving onto the upstairs bathroom, and then checking lamps and other lights in the pertinent rooms.

They were now back on the kitchen.

“Better make ya’self one of those flashcards and put in the casing” he slid the piece of paper and a pen. “We got no colors, so I suggest to just redraw the switches” he explained and she nodded, beginning to draw a rectangle on the piece of paper.

“There’s the general one that cuts the power entirely of all, to the left, then out of the other twelve; kitchen is one in second place, your bedroom is the fifth and upstairs bathroom the eighth” he explained.

She proceeded to label accordingly. “Thank you” she acknowledged lightly as she finished writing.

“Not ‘a problem, doll. That’s what I’m here for” he threw a charming grin. She held his gaze for a second or two before clearing her throat.

“Well, I think you’ve done more than enough for today” she announced. “I’ll let you rest” she added.

“I was thinking about checking out the landline, so it’s easier to keep in touch, ya’ know? If we need to reschedule or you have a question or somethin’” he explained. She nodded.

“Sounds like a plan” she guided him to the living room. “I would have no idea where to start” she admitted.

She went to move the armchair out of the way to expose the outlet, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder before lifting it with ease and out of the way.

“Let’s have ‘a look” he knelt down beginning to unscrew the casing, as he did the very thin wire completely came undone.

“That’s less than ideal” Kate mused behind him, he chuckled.

“Could ya bring me the toolbox from the kitchen, doll?” He called over his shoulder, inspecting the wire. Kate left the toolbox beside him, crouching as well.

“Here, hold” he handed her the wire, he rummaged through the box and began working on the wire. “Great” he muttered taking the wire from her and working where the rest of the electric circuit was on the wall, after a minute or so he went to put the casing back on.

“That should do it” he announced, tightening the last screw. He was about to announce to try it out, but that only would work if someone called. Kate seem to come to the same conclusion.

“You can call me when you get home, to see if it works” she suggested.

“You gotta give me ya’ number then, doll” he winked playfully.

She let out a small humorous scoff “Right” she straightened “I’d have to look, I think the number was written down somewhere in the kitchen, I don’t know it yet” she explained.

“You can always call me” he mused, following her.

“So you don’t want my number?” She glanced behind her, a small playful smile.

He chuckled “That’s not what I’m sayin’ doll” he grinned.

Kate rummaged through a pile of paper and discarded mail, finding the right one. She took another miscellaneous paper and began copying the number into that one, and then writing her full name on reflex.

“Here” she handed it to him “How about to rewrite yours down too” she gave him the paper that originally had the landline down.

“What? Already misplaced mine?” He teased but acquiesced.

She chuckled, not willing to admit that she had not kept it at all. His hand faltered slightly but managed to hide the hesitancy when writing his name, then pushing the paper across the counter to her.

“Stan is short for Stanford?” She seemed mildly amused. His hand went to rub the back of his head.

“Yeah, that’s me. But just call me Stan will ya, doll?”  He requested.

She nodded “Of course” she shrugged noncommittally.

“Thanks” he said a bit pensive, taking her in, she suppressed a blush, his gaze making her feel nervous.

He patted the counter “Well, I’ll get out ‘a your hair, I’ll give ya a call when I get home” he announced going to retrieve his jacket.

“Thank you for today” she said sincerely.

“It’s the first day of many” he mused, fixing the collar.

She shrugged “Still” she walked to the hallway towards the entrance, he followed.

She opened the door “I’ll call ya” he seemed to act on instinct, he paused mid-step bending down to kiss her. He caught himself halfway, his autopilot halting, looking rather embarrassed, as his eyes met hers, she looked confused and flustered.

“Heh, Sorry about that” he chuckled nervously, he straightened and shook his head to clear.

“R-right, well, drive safe” she heard herself say, still a bit bewildered at the small moment. He nodded, gladly taking a leave, mortified. She watched him a moment longer as he headed towards his car, processing, eventually she closed the door.

Stan got in the car and sighed, he mentally slapped himself for the slip up. It had happened so naturally, instinctually. To just bend down for a quick kiss goodbye, as any couple would have done. He did not know what had taken over him, it had not been his conscious intention at all. It hadn’t been ill intended nor had he some secret motive behind it, it had just happened, just like one does not think to blink.

“She now must think I’m some degenerate salivatin’ over her” he muttered under his breath as he began to drive away.

He shook his head again, elbow perched against the window, his hand going to his forehead as the other stayed on the steering wheel. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he expected something from her, though his attraction towards her was there.

“Way to screw things up, idiot” he spoke to himself as he parked in the Shack’s driveway. He entered still muttering to himself, unsure to address and apologize again over the phone, that is if he had fixed it properly.

Kate was deep in thought when the ringing of the phone scared her to death. In the dimness of the living room, that was yet to be fixed, the sound of the phone was ominous. It could only be him, she told herself.

She picked up “Stan?”

Stan stood playing with the cord, hearing each passing ring, and startled as her voice came through. “Uh yeah heh, it’s me, doll” he chuckled a bit nervously.

“Well, it seems you fixed this too, thanks again” she said appreciatively, she needed the landline to work, even if it was to be able to call in case of an emergency.

“It’s nothin’ really” his hand reflexively going to run through his nape “Listen uh-” he paused “I wanna’ apologize again about before... I’m not like that” the silence at the other end, making him nervous.

“I’m not some creep, I wouldn’t- wouldn’t throw myself at ya’ like that. I- I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry” he finished, waiting nervously for her response.

Kate had been listening quietly, surprised but appreciatively that he decided to address the small awkward moment from before. She had been left a bit too stunned, the small amount of trust she had held towards him slightly dwindling.

It was when she heard him clear his throat that she blinked out of her inner monologue. “I- thank you, I appreciate that you talked that out with me” she said cautiously, unsure what else to say.

He let out a nervous chuckle “Uh- yeah, of course. Well…uh- have a good one, doll” he mentally slapped himself at his awkwardness.

“Yeah, you too” she replied letting a small silence go by, making sure he was done talking, eventually she hung up.

She went to the kitchen, the light turned on the first try, a small comforting thing. She glanced at the small drawing of the fuse box switches, she had still to tape it to the inside of the casing. Grabbing a screwdriver, she mindlessly did the task, content with today’s small progress.

Meanwhile, Stan plopped himself on the couch, a bit more relieved at her response but still ruminating over his slip up, he glanced around. He had somewhat fixed up the place after losing Ford, but there were many things he had left intact, unable to fully erase his brother out of the house. It had been some time since he had truly gone downstairs and had a look at Ford’s strange portal work. It seemed that helping out Kate had sparked a gnawing feeling to try again, see if after a few months of not looking at it, some lightbulb inside him would light-up. It had been eighteen long years and it seemed his work had been in vain. With a new wave of perseverance, he made his way to the gift shop, entering the code and headed down.

Chapter Text

Kate spent the rest night with her mind preoccupied, her thoughts lingered on Stan's apology, the small moment, his intentions. By morning, she decided to push aside her doubts and focused on everything that was left to be fixed. The kitchen was now somewhat functional, the small change gave her a sliver of hope.

It had been a busy week for both of them. Kate had been swamped at work, which gave Stan the time to work with new determination on the portal. She had called him on Thursday night for him to swing by Friday afternoon. They had planned to crank as much work in Friday afternoon through the weekend.

The afternoon’s task was the kitchen sink—a leaking faucet and a floorboard that groaned ominously when stepped on. She hoped, if it was an easy fix, they’d move on to the rest of the plumbing in the house. The supplies from the hardware store sat waiting, and Kate figured she could at least try her hand at patching things up before Stan came by later in the afternoon.

Stan arrived as promised, the sound of his convertible pulling into the driveway breaking the silence. Kate opened the door before he could knock, catching him mid-reach.

“Well, someone’s eager,” he teased, flashing her a grin.

“Just didn’t want you messing with the doorbell again,” she replied somewhat amused. Glad the traces of the awkward moment on Monday had been lost. She still reminded herself to be cautious.

He held up a toolbox. “Ready to wrestle with some plumbin’, doll?”

Kate led him to the kitchen, pointing out the faucet. The water dripped steadily into the cracked sink, as did all of the faucets in the house. Stan crouched to examine it, tools clinking as he sifted through his box.

“This should be simple enough,” he said, but his tone wasn’t convincing.

Stan peered underneath at the mess of rusted pipes. “Well, there’s your problem,” he muttered, tapping one of the joints. It wobbled unsteadily. “Looks like whoever installed this didn’t know a wrench from a hammer.”

Kate stood nearby; arms crossed. “Can you fix it, or is it one of those ‘burn it down and start over’ situations?”

Stan chuckled, pulling out a pair of pliers. “Nah, this is easy stuff. Just gotta tighten the joint and replace a washer or two. Hand me that blue case, will ya?”

She passed him the case, watching as he expertly dismantled the faucet. The old washers crumbled in his hands, and he made a face. “Yeesh. These are older than me—and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

Kate suppressed a smile. “They probably installed them when the house was built. You think the pipes are salvageable?”

“Most of ’em, yeah,” Stan replied, threading in a new washer. “But you’ll wanna replace the whole system eventually. If you don’t, this house’ll keep springin’ leaks like a damn strainer.”

He grunted as he stood “Gonna need to shut off the water first. Where’s the main valve?”

Kate hesitated, thinking “There must be one in the basement, I haven’t seen any in the house perse. But I’ve avoided going down there, it’s quite creepy.”

Stan perked up; his interest piqued. “Creepy’s my middle name, doll.” He joked, his chuckling becoming a bit awkward as he saw Kate’s guarded but polite reaction.

She gestured toward the basement door. “I’ve been putting this off, but the main water valve is down there, the place gives me a weird feeling”

Stan raised an eyebrow, amused. “A spooky basement? Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Kate shot him a look. “Don’t make it worse. Come on.” She said with no malice.

They descended the narrow staircase together, towards the basement. The single overhead bulb flickering ominously. Stan scanned the space, his sharp eyes taking in the cluttered shelves, crumbling walls, and layers of dust.

“Well, this is cozy,” he said, his voice echoing slightly.

“Real homey” Kate muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

The single lightbulb above cast long shadows across the damp concrete floor. The walls were lined with shelves of dusty jars, their contents murky and unrecognizable. A faint musty odor hung in the air.

“Charming,” Stan muttered, stepping carefully around a spiderweb that stretched across. Kate followed; her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

They found the valve tucked behind a wooden panel-like door near the far wall, but as Stan turned it, his foot scraped against something on the floor. He looked down, frowning. “Huh. What’s this?”

Kate leaned in. A small metal ring protruded from the floorboards; its edges worn smooth. “Is that… a handle?”

Stan gave it a tug. The ring lifted easily, revealing a hidden hatch. Dust billowed up, making Kate cough as Stan peered inside.

“Well, look at that,” he said, more curious than concerned. “Didn’t know you were sittin’ on buried treasure.”

Kate grabbed a flashlight from a nearby shelf and shone it into the opening. A steep staircase descended into darkness; the faint outline of stone walls visible.

“Probably just an old root cellar,” she said, though her voice betrayed her unease.

Stan grinned, clearly more intrigued than she was. “Or a murder dungeon. Want to check it out?”

Kate hesitated. The thought of going down there alone made her stomach twist, but leaving it unexplored felt worse. “Fine, but be careful,” she said, handing him the flashlight.

Stan descended, his footsteps echoing on the stone steps. Kate stayed a bit further behind, her heart thudding. “See anything?” she called ahead.

“Not much,” he replied. “Just old walls and… wait, hang on.” His voice trailed off, followed by the sound of shifting debris.

Kate edged closer to the opening. “Stan?”

“Relax, doll. I’m fine,” he said, though his tone held a note of tension. Kate reached the bottom as well, looking in the opposite direction “There’s something weird carved into the wall here. Looks like some kind of symbol.” Kate observed.

Stan frowned. “A symbol? What does it look like?” He looked in her direction.

“Hard to describe… kind of like a triangle with an eye in the center. That’s—cryptic” she commented. Stan stilled; he’d seen a similar thing in Ford’s journal.

A sudden, sharp noise—like a distant knock—echoed through the cellar, and Kate froze.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Yeah…” Stan’s voice was quieter now. “Came from further down.”

“Further down? How deep does this thing go?”

“Not sure,” he admitted. “But I don’t think I wanna find out just yet. This house has more secrets than ya’ thought, doll.” He tried sounding humorous, though the place was giving him a bad feeling. She ascended quickly, he followed.

They closed the hatch and replaced the wooden panel, deciding to leave further exploration for another day, or hopefully ever, she thought.

They went back to repairing the plumbing in the kitchen. After a couple minutes he tightened the joint with a satisfying click and twisted the faucet knob. The water flowed smoothly, no drip in sight. Stan leaned back with a grin. “There ya go, doll. Leak-free living.”

Kate tested it herself, turning the knob on and off. “Not bad, Mr. Mystery. I might actually have running water now.”

“Hold your applause,” he quipped, a grin spreading at the nicknamed she had assigned him. “We still gotta tackle that shower.”

They continued with the bathrooms, checking faucets, replacing the pertinent parts.

The shower was a disaster. The head sprayed water in every direction but down, and the temperature knob spun uselessly, unable to settle on a consistent setting. Stan examined it with a raised brow.

“Well, this is a real piece of work,” he said. “Lemme guess—cold water’s a guessing game, and hot water scalds ya?”

“Exactly,” Kate said.

He unscrewed the showerhead, muttering under his breath about “half-assed plumbing jobs” as rusty water dribbled out. “Got a wrench handy?”

Kate dug through the toolbox and handed it to him, careful not to let their hands brush. He tightened the fittings and replaced the showerhead with one they’d bought during their hardware store trip. Afterward, he turned his attention to the temperature knob, inspecting its internal mechanism.

“Was the house the only thing that brought ya’ to Gravity Falls?” Stan asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Kate nodded. “Mostly yeah. I’ve been looking for a change of scenery, and the opportunity popped up. Founded myself owner of this thing” she gestured vaguely to the house “And it seemed like just what I needed.”

Stan nodded in acknowledgment as he preoccupied himself untightening the bolts. She didn’t seem to know what lay in the town, but the matching symbol was a bizarre coincidence. He wasn’t sure if she knew what she’d signed up for, Gravity Falls was a strange place, that triangle felt like a bad omen. The symbol just popped up as he had begun working on Ford’s portal too. He shook the thought out of his head.

“This little guy’s the problem,” he said, redirecting the conversation, holding up a corroded valve. “Good thing we brought spares.”

He swapped the old valve for a new one, testing the knob until it turned smoothly. “Alright, give it a go.”

Kate reached in and turned the knob. Water streamed out in a steady flow, the temperature adjusting perfectly. “It works!” she said, surprised.

“’Course it does,” Stan said, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “I know my way around pipes, doll.”

Kate chuckled. “You’re actually good at this.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he teased.

“You make this look easy. How’d you learn all this, anyway?”

Stan chuckled. “Let’s just say when you’re broke and livin’ in dumps, you figure things out real fast. Can’t afford a plumber when your only income’s nickels from a busted vending machine.”

Kate leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. “Well, I’m impressed. You’ve saved me a fortune already.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, tightening a bolt. “This gasket’s tricky. Hand me that screwdriver, would ya?”

She passed it to him, and he worked in silence for a moment before the pipe gave a metallic groan. “Gotcha,” he muttered, fitting the new gasket in place. He reconnected the pipe, wiped his hands on a rag, and gave the faucet a test.

It sputtered before water flowed cleanly. No leaks, no drips.

Stan turned to Kate with a triumphant smile. “And that, doll, is how it’s done.”

Kate clapped sardonically. “You’ve earned your paycheck.”

Stan laughed, tossing the rag into his toolbox. “Guess that makes me your handyman now, huh?”

“Something like that,” Kate replied, unable to hide her amusement. “Thanks, Stan. Really.”

“Anytime,” he said, his grin softening. For a moment, their eyes met, and Kate felt a flicker of warmth in his gaze.

The whole ordeal had taken several hours, it was already dark outside.

“Well,” she cleared her throat “I think we should call it a day” she announced.

Stan stood a bit straighter, cracking his back. “Yeah, you’ve had me rollin’ all over the floor today” he teased playfully, rolling his shoulders.

She chuckled lightly “At least I can use the sinks and my shower without fighting them, that’s a welcome thought” she commented lightly.

Stan grinned, going to pick up some of the tools and setting them into the box. His gaze going to the bathroom floor. “We should look at the floors” he commented. “With all that leakin’ and faulty plumbin’, there must be a whole lotta mold and other crap under these the tiles” he explained.

She nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Bathrooms will be easier to retile but the floor in the kitchen will be a whole ordeal” she trailed off, a hand going to pinch the bridge of her nose, overwhelmed.

“One step atta time” he reminded her. “Tomorrow we can measure the bathrooms and approximate how many tiles we’d need, we can then go to the hardware store and check out which one’s you’d like” he offered.

Her eyes scanned the bathroom floor momentarily before looking at him “Sounds like a plan” she confirmed halfheartedly.

“Great” he announced “We’ve earned our rest” he went to pick up the tool box and followed her downstairs towards the entrance. Stan went to grab his jacket, leaving the toolbox in a corner and out of the way for tomorrow. She watched him, though she seemed deep in thought.

He smiled lightly, seeing her deep in thought. “We’ve half sorted out plumbin’ and electricity in a question of days, doll. We’re doing good” he took her out of her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped to him, giving him a gentle smile “Yeah” she said quietly, still overwhelmed at the prospect of fixing floors, and tearing wallpapers and painting, fixing the roof and ceilings, unexpected surprises that could arise from everything and whatnot.

“We’re in this together” he tried cheering her up. “You’ll have the house functional and to yourself in no time” he winked, flashing a grin, trying to get a small smile out of her. He did.

“Alright alright” she caved, a small amused smile as she reached for the door. “Thanks again, Stan. For everything.” Her tone was sincere, a bit cautious.

“Don’t mention it, doll” he said, tipping an imaginary hat as he left. And began walking down the driveway towards the car as his heart swelled slightly as the last time he had left.

Chapter Text

Stan arrived the next morning with his toolbox and a cup of coffee in hand, parking his convertible in Kate’s driveway. The early autumn air was crisp, and the sun filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow over the house. Despite its worn appearance, there was a certain charm to it, Stan thought. There was plenty of work in store for them.

He stepped up to the front door, pausing to adjust his jacket before knocking. Kate opened the door a moment later, a clipboard in hand and a determined look on her face.

“Mornin’, doll,” he said with a grin. “You look ready to conquer the world.”

Kate chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Not quite the world—just two bathrooms and, maybe, a kitchen.”

Stan followed her inside, setting his toolbox near the staircase. “That’s the spirit. So, where do we start? Tilin’, measurin’, or you tellin’ me where I can sneak a coffee break?”

Kate shook her head with a smile. “Let’s start with the bathrooms. I measured the upstairs one last night. I figured we could do the downstairs bathroom together and then head to the hardware store to pick out tiles.”

“Efficient,” Stan said, impressed. “You’re already a pro at this renovation stuff.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied, flipping through her notes. “But I like having a plan. Keeps things from feeling overwhelming.”

Stan nodded, sensing the weight she was still carrying from yesterday. “One step at a time, doll. Let’s see what this floor’s got hiding under it.”

In the upstairs bathroom, they started by peeling back the corner of the old tiles. Kate knelt next to Stan, prying a loose tile up with a flathead screwdriver. The adhesive was brittle, and pieces of tile crumbled easily.

“Looks like these have been here since the dawn of time,” Stan muttered, tossing a broken tile into a bucket.

Kate laughed softly. “Yeah, I half-expected to find ancient hieroglyphics under here.”

As they continued removing tiles, their hands worked in tandem. Stan noticed how focused Kate was, her brow furrowed as she pried at the stubborn adhesive.

“You’ve got some fight in ya,” Stan said, his tone light. “I like that.”

Kate glanced at him, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re just saying that because I haven’t thrown the tile at you yet.”

He chuckled, brushing a hand over his stubble. “Fair point.”

They worked quietly for a while, the only sounds the scrape of tools against the floor and the occasional clink of broken tiles hitting the bucket.

“Alright,” Kate said, standing and stretching. “That’s one corner cleared. Now we just have… the rest of the room.”

Stan stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Take a break, boss. You’ve earned it.”

Kate hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine. Five minutes.”

She sat on the edge of the bathtub, sipping from her water bottle. Stan leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a soft smile.

“You’re good at this, ya know?” he said after a moment.

Kate looked up, her brow furrowing. “At what?”

“Taking this all on,” Stan replied. “The house, the move, the job. Most people would’ve cracked by now.”

Kate shrugged, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. “I don’t know… sometimes it feels like I’m just barely holding it together.”

Stan stepped closer; his voice quiet but steady. “You’re doin’ better than ya think. And you’re not doin’ it alone.” He added a wink, lessening the weight of his words.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavier. Kate’s heart skipped, but she quickly stood, breaking the tension. “We should get back to work. Those tiles aren’t going to remove themselves.”

Stan nodded, clearing his throat. “Right. Back to it.”

---

By early afternoon, they had cleared most of the upstairs bathroom. The floor was ready for new tiles, and both of them were covered in dust and grime.

Kate wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been this dirty in my life.”

Stan grinned, tossing the last of the broken tiles into the bucket. “You wear it well.” She rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Ready for the next one?” Stan prompted.

They made their way down, Kate stood in the doorway, surveying the small space. The second bathroom was in worse shape than the first. The pale yellow tiles on the floor were cracked, and the wall tiles were loose, some barely clinging to the adhesive beneath.

Stan let out a low whistle. “Well, I’d say this one’s seen better days.”

Kate nodded, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. “Yeah. The first bathroom was a walk in the park compared to this.”

Stan crouched near the sink, tapping one of the wall tiles. It fell off with a dull clunk, landing in a pile of dust. “Well, at least it’s enthusiastic about coming off.”

Kate laughed, grabbing a flathead screwdriver. “Let’s get started. The sooner we strip this, the sooner we can make it look like something out of this decade.”

They worked in sync, each taking a section of the bathroom. Stan focused on removing the wall tiles while Kate tackled the floor. The sound of tiles cracking and adhesive scraping filled the air, along with the occasional groan from one of them as they hit a stubborn patch.

“So,” Stan said, prying a tile loose from the wall, “what’s the vision for this one? More of the classic look like the first bathroom, or are you thinkin’ of somethin’ different?”

Kate paused, brushing dust off her knees. “I was thinking something lighter. Maybe whites and soft blues to brighten it up. It’s such a small space—it needs to feel bigger.”

---

By late afternoon, they had stripped most of the tiles from the second bathroom. The walls were bare, and the floor was almost cleared, leaving behind only patches of old adhesive. Kate leaned back on her heels, stretching her arms over her head.

“We did it,” she said, breathless but satisfied. “This place is finally starting to look like it has potential.”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaning against the sink. Kate wiped her hands on her jeans, staring down at the newly cleared bathroom floor. The old tiles were gone, leaving behind a bare, uneven surface that was finally ready for something new. She let out a breath of relief, feeling a surprising sense of accomplishment despite how much work still lay ahead.

Stan leaned on the doorframe, grinning. “See? Told you we’d get through it.”

Kate shot him a mock glare, still catching her breath. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to be sore tomorrow.”

Stan chuckled. “Hey, I’m sore too. I just hide it better.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a rag at him. “Come on. Let’s go pick out tiles before we lose the whole day.”

Stan caught the rag mid-air, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s do it. But I’m warning you, if you make me look at more than five different shades of white, I’m out.”

Kate smirked. “Deal. Five shades max. Maybe six if I’m feeling generous.”

---

The bell above the door chimed as Kate and Stan stepped into the hardware store. The familiar smell of sawdust, fresh paint, and industrial cleaner greeted them. Rows of neatly arranged supplies stretched ahead, but it was the tile section in the back that caught Kate’s attention after sneaking a small glance to see I Frank was working at the moment or another employee. He wasn’t, to her relief.

As they reached the display, Kate’s eyes scanned the racks of tiles, a dizzying array of colors, patterns, and finishes. She grabbed a sample of a soft gray tile and held it up. “What do you think? Neutral enough?”

Stan tilted his head, considering it. “Not bad. But it’s kinda… safe, don’t you think?”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you an interior designer?”

“Hey,” Stan said, crossing his arms. “I’ve got opinions. You’re just lucky I’m sharin’ them” he said humorously. He grabbed a deep blue tile from the rack and held it next to hers. “Now this? This has character.”

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “Character? For a bathroom?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Ya’ fixin’ this place up to be something special. Might as well make it interesting.”

She considered it, then held the two tiles side by side. “You might be onto something,” she admitted. “Gray for the main floor, blue for an accent wall?”

Stan grinned. “Look at you. Already thinking outside the box.”

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Alright, let’s grab some samples and see how they look at home.”

They spent the next twenty minutes debating everything from grout colors to tile patterns. Stan had a surprising number of opinions, most of which leaned toward anything “bold” and “unexpected,” while Kate leaned toward clean, simple designs.

“What about this one?” Stan held up a black-and-white mosaic tile. “Adds a little flair” he grinned.

Kate wrinkled her nose. “For a bathroom? It feels… loud.”

Stan gave her a mock-serious look. “Bathrooms can be loud. Ever been in a diner bathroom with neon lights? It's unforgettable.”

Kate laughed. “That’s not exactly the vibe I’m going for, Stan.”

“Well,” he said, placing the tile back with a shrug, “you’re the boss. But don’t blame me when your bathroom looks like every other bathroom in the world.”

She smiled, grabbing a pale blue tile that shimmered slightly under the store’s fluorescent lights. “How about a compromise? Simple, but with a little texture.”

Stan took it, running his thumb across the surface. “I can work with that. Looks classy.”

“Classy,” Kate echoed, laughing. “I never thought I’d hear you say that word.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he said, giving her a wink.

---

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the driveway as Kate and Stan unloaded the final box of tiles from the trunk. They worked in comfortable silence, the hum of the day still buzzing between them. Kate felt a subtle exhaustion settle in—though it wasn’t the kind that weighed her down. It was the kind that came after progress, after accomplishing something worthwhile.

Stan closed the trunk with a satisfying thud, brushing the dust off his hands. “Alright, doll. Tiles are in, grout’s ready, and tomorrow’s gonna be one heck of a day.”

Kate smirked, grabbing the last bag of grout. “You say that like you’re excited about it.”

Stan shrugged, walking beside her toward the house. “Hey, I’m just here for the fun. And, you know, making sure you don’t end up covered in grout.”

She shot him a playful glare. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of handling grout without making a mess.”

“Sure,” Stan teased, holding the door open for her. “And I’m perfectly capable of not making sarcastic comments.”

Kate laughed softly as she walked inside, the warmth of their banter settling over her. They set the supplies down in the entryway, their earlier energy fading into a comfortable lull.

Kate stretched her arms, letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Tomorrow, we tackle the upstairs bathroom first. Get the tiles laid, let them set, then move on to the downstairs. If we keep a steady pace, we should be done with both by the end of the week.”

Stan leaned against the wall, watching her with a faint smile. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”

Kate shrugged, a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “Well, someone’s got to keep things organized.”

“I like it,” Stan said, his voice quieter now. “You’re good at seeing the big picture.”

She glanced at him, her heart giving an unexpected flutter. “I guess I have to be. Otherwise, I’d get stuck in the details.”

Stan nodded, stepping a little closer. “Still… it’s impressive. Not everyone can juggle all this.”

Kate suppressed a blush, “We should, um… we should call it a night,” she murmured, though she didn’t move.

Stan didn’t either. “Yeah. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Stan cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to ease the tension but not completely break it. “I’ll grab the tools from the truck. You… get some rest. We’ve got a lot of tiling to mess up tomorrow.”

Kate smiled, grateful for the break in tension but still feeling the lingering warmth of his presence. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Stan gave her a wink. “Goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight, Stan,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

As he walked out the door, Kate exhaled slowly, tomorrow would be another long day of renovations.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Kate woke early, eager to tackle the day’s work. After the progress they made on the bathrooms yesterday, she felt the first hint of hope that the house was beginning to transform. She expected Stan to show up any minute with his usual grin and cup of coffee in hand, ready to dive back into renovations.

She paced the living room, glancing out the window every few minutes. An hour passed. Then two.

“He’s probably just running late,” she muttered, trying to shake off the gnawing unease creeping up her spine as she silently worked on the first bathroom herself.

By midmorning, she was cleaning up the tools when the phone rang, startling her. She wiped her hands and rushed to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Doll? It’s me.”

Stan’s voice was low, strained, and distant. Something was wrong.

“Stan? Where are you? I’ve been waiting.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then his voice came through, low and tense. “Yeah, it’s me. Uh… listen, doll, I’m in a bit of trouble.”

Her stomach dropped. “What kind of trouble?”

“I’m at county jail,” he admitted. “It’s not a big deal. Just… trespassin’. And maybe some other stuff. Can you come bail me out?”

Kate’s grip tightened on the phone. “Trespassing? What the hell were you doing, Stan?”

There was a long silence before he sighed. “I… I took some tiles and other stuff from Frank’s hardware store. From the storage out back. Thought I could resell ’em for some quick cash. Frank caught me, called the cops.”

Kate felt the blood drain from her face. “You stole tiles? From Frank?”

“I know it looks bad,” he said quickly, his voice pleading. “I swear, I wasn’t trynna’ to screw you over. Just—just come get me out, and I’ll explain... Just… please, doll.” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

She hesitated, a flood of conflicting emotions washing over her. He sounded genuine, but the warning from Frank at the hardware store replayed in her mind. He’s trouble. The biggest scammer in town. Kate closed her eyes, anger and disappointment stirring in her chest. “Fine. I’ll be there.” She hung up before he could say another word.

---

Kate drove in silence, her thoughts racing. Doubts gnawed at her. She had trusted Stan had given him a chance, let him into her life—and her house—but now? She wasn’t so sure.

When she arrived at the county jail, the clerk directed her to a side room where Stan waited. He sat on a bench, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. His flannel shirt was rumpled, and there was a scrape on his cheek.

She stopped in the doorway, crossing her arms. The fluorescent lights of the county jail felt too bright, making everything seem harsher. Kate then went to the counter, signing the necessary forms to post Stan’s bail. Her stomach churned with a mix of anger and dread.

When Stan emerged from the back, he looked different—his usual confident demeanor replaced with something quieter, almost ashamed.

“Doll,” he started, his voice low.

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her tone sharp. “Not here.”

The drive back was tense, the silence between them heavy. Stan fidgeted in the passenger seat, his eyes flicking toward her every few seconds, but she kept her gaze on the road. The silence between them louder than any argument. Kate’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, her jaw clenched as she stared straight ahead. She drove him to the Shack, parked and got out of the car, needing some air. She paced lightly.

“Look, doll…” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at her.

Kate stood still for a moment, watching him. Her caution resurfaced, but beneath it was the memory of all the work they’d done together, the easy banter, the quiet support. She felt stupid, she felt played.

Stan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “I made a mistake, alright? I didn’t think I’d get caught. I was just trynna’ make a little money, doll. That’s all.”

Her chest tightened, anger and hurt swirling together. She exhaled, she was not about to argue outside, she gestured to the giftshop.

---

As soon as they stepped inside, Kate rounded on him. “What were you thinking, Stan? Stealing tiles? From Frank, of all people?”

Stan ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I wasn’t thinkin’, okay? I wanted some extra cash. The Shack’s been slow, and bills are pilin’ up. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“You saw an opportunity?” Kate repeated, her voice incredulous. “You mean you decided to take what didn’t belong to you and risk everything? Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?”

“I didn’t think it would blow back on ya,” Stan said, his voice desperate. “I swear, Kate, I wasn’t tryin’ to drag you into this.”

“But you did drag me into it,” she shot back. “I trusted you, Stan. I let you into my life, my house. And now? Now I’m wondering if Frank was right about you.”

Stan flinched, her words hitting harder than he expected. “Frank doesn’t know me,” he muttered. “He’s always had it out for me.”

“Maybe for good reason,” Kate said coldly.

Stan flinched again, the words hitting harder than he’d expected. “I didn’t mean for it to go down like this. I just… I’ve been tryin’ to make things work, doll. For a long time. Sometimes that means takin’ risks.”

“Risks?” Kate laughed bitterly, throwing her hands in the air. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t about some harmless risk. It’s about who you are, Stan. If this is what you do, then how am I supposed to trust you? To count on you?”

Stan straightened, his frustration boiling over. “I’ve been bustin’ my ass trying to help ya! Every damn day, I’m here, workin’ on this house, doin’ whatever ya need. And now one screw-up means I’m just… what? Not good enough?”

Kate’s chest tightened, but she refused to back down. “This isn’t about the house, Stan! This is about you! You’ve been great—when you’re here. When you’re reliable. But then something like this happens, and I’m left wondering when the next shoe’s going to drop.”

Stan clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not perfect, alright? I’ve made mistakes. But I’m tryin’, Kate. Can’t that count for somethin’?”

Her voice softened, but her walls stayed up. “It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being honest. About not making me feel like I can’t depend on you” she sounded disappointed.

Stan looked at her, the fight in his shoulders slowly giving way to something heavier. “You can depend on me. I swear you can.”

Kate shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I believe that right now. You have no idea what you’ve done,” Kate said finally, her voice low but trembling with restrained anger.

Stan shifted uncomfortably; his hands clasped in front of him. “Doll, I—”

“No,” she cut him off, her voice rising. “You called me to bail you out of jail. Me. And now? Now Frank probably thinks I’m in on whatever scheme you were pulling. Are you stealing and reselling from me? The things I bought?”

Stan looked extremely hurt, he opened his mouth to respond, but the look on her face made him stop.

“You think Frank’s just going to forget about this?” she continued, pacing the length of the room. “This is a small town, Stan. People talk. It doesn’t matter if I had nothing to do with it—my name is tied to yours now. And if Frank thinks I’m a con artist or a criminal?” She stopped, turning to face him. “That could ruin me.”

Stan frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Ruin you? How?”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I’m a teacher, Stan. A teacher. My whole job depends on people trusting me. Parents, colleagues, the school board—they all have to believe that I’m responsible, reliable, someone they can count on. If they hear that I bailed you out of jail for stealing tiles—tiles you took from Frank, someone I’ve been buying supplies from for weeks—what do you think they’re going to believe?”

Stan looked down at the table, his hands tightening into fists. “I didn’t think it would get to that.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Kate said, her tone biting. “And then you turned around and stole from the one place I can’t afford to lose trust with,” Kate tone was frustrated and exasperated. “What am I supposed to say to Frank now? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Frank, I’m just helping out a guy who got arrested for robbing you’? What if he refuses to sell me anything else? What if he tells people not to trust me because I’ve associated myself with you?”

Stan inhaled sharply. “I get it, alright? I screwed up!” His voice was louder now, frustration and shame bubbling to the surface. “I wasn’t thinkin’. I was desperate.”

Kate’s jaw tightened. “And now I’m paying for it.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words settling between them.

Stan ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this, doll. I didn’t think I’d get caught and for Frank to connect it to you.”

“Well, he most likely has,” she said flatly.

He hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t have an excuse. I was tryin’ to make a quick buck because… I’m drownin’. The Shack’s barely holdin’ on, bills keep pilin’ up, and I thought… if I could just flip those tiles, maybe I’d get a little breathin’ room” he reiterated.

Kate stared at him, her expression hard. “You didn’t think to ask for help? To be honest with me?”

Stan looked away; guilt etched into his face. “I didn’t wanna drag you into my problems. Guess I did that anyway.”

Kate leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She sighed. “Do you even understand how much harder you’ve made this for me? I’m already stretched thin, trying to rebuild this house, rebuild my life. And now I have to worry about whether my reputation in this town is shot because of you” she sounded defeated.

Stan’s voice was quiet, almost pleading. “I’ll fix it, doll. I’ll talk to Frank, explain everythin’. I’ll make it right.”

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “And what’s that going to do? Frank doesn’t want to hear excuses. He wants to know he can trust the people he does business with. And thanks to you, I’m not sure he’ll ever trust me again.”

Stan took a step closer, his hands outstretched. “Please, just… tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything.” She didn’t respond, her gaze cast to the floor.

He tried again, using her name. “Kate,” he said quietly. “I know I screwed up. And I know ya’ve got every right to be mad. But I’m not just some guy lookin’ to get by on scams and shortcuts. I’m tryin’ to do better. To be better.”

She turned to face him; her expression tired and saddened. “It’s not just about this, Stan. It’s about everything. You say you’re trying, but how do I know this isn’t just who you are?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Stan flinched but didn’t look away.

“I can’t change overnight,” he said finally. “But I can prove to ya that I’m more than this. If you’ll let me.”

Kate stared at him, her emotions warring between anger and something softer—hurt, disappointment, maybe even a sliver of hope. “You can start by proving to me that I didn’t make a mistake letting you into my life. Because right now, I’m not sure if I can trust you at all. But most of all, I need time”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. Stan nodded slowly, his face pale. “I’ll prove it to ya. I swear.”

Kate didn’t respond. She turned away, towards the door, her arms tightening around herself as if to keep her emotions from spilling over. She didn’t have the energy to deal with his promises right now.

Kate stayed where she was, staring at the floor. Her chest ached with the weight of everything that had happened. She wanted to believe Stan could change, that he meant what he said. But trust wasn’t something she could hand out freely anymore. She wanted to leave; she was done talking to him.

“I think I’m going to go now” she announced as she sighed.

He nodded, though the defeat in his eyes was clear. Without another word, her back still to him and walked toward the door. She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, as if waiting for him to say something more. But he didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Stan stood alone in the giftshop, his heart heavy with a mix of anger, sadness and guilt. He punched the counter as he made his way through the hallways until he reached the living room. He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Stupid stupid stupid” he repeated quietly as he hit his forehead against his closed fist.

---

Kate exhaled slowly, the anger in her chest giving way to exhaustion as she drove home. Her eyes reluctantly filling with tears, feeling frustrated and stupid.

She got home, the sight of it a taunting reminder of Stan, what they had been working on and the empty promise of all they had yet to finish. She glanced at the boxes of tiles by the entryway, her jaw tightening. If she was going to rebuild her life, she needed people she could count on. And she wasn’t sure if Stan was one of them anymore. She wanted to believe in him—wanted to believe he could be the person she needed. But the doubts were louder now, clawing at the edges of her resolve.

---

Last night:

Stanley Pines had a complicated relationship with the concept of rules. Growing up with Ford, he’d always been the one to bend them, stretch them, or outright ignore them. Ford, the genius with the bright future, followed every rule to the letter, while Stan, the charming underachiever, learned early that the world rewarded quick thinking and a silver tongue more than playing by the book. But Stan’s brush with the law that led to his stint in county jail was a product of desperation as much as old habits.

Stan had been scraping by, living out of his car and hustling odd jobs wherever he could find them. It had become second nature to take whatever opportunity to make some extra cash.

Last night, before his arrest, Stan had scoped out the hardware store, taking note of the doors leading to the storage room. He had encouraged Kate to check the availability of the chosen tiles checked. The employee hadn’t given much thought as Stan insisted for them to accompany him to the back to check.

He took in all the materials, what would be easier to take on the spot and what could profit him the most. The store had been in town forever, and had not added much measures of security throughout the years. The shop had their small alarm system but the storage room didn’t and had an exit to the street. He took in the garage door, it seemed easy enough to break in with the tricks and lock picking he had learned throughout the years. He came to from his scheming as Kate drew him back, asking if he could help carry the boxes of tiles they needed. They then paid and left.

By the time he had helped Kate get all the boxes inside her house he had convinced himself his plan was harmless. Stan returned that night with a crowbar, a flashlight among another assortment of tools he might need. The plan was simple: grab a few boxes of tiles, some tools from the racks further in the back and resell them off to one of his contacts in town.

But things went sideways fast.

As Stan was stuffing a bunch of tools into a duffle bag, he heard the unmistakable creak of floorboards from the second story. He froze, his heart pounding. Frank lived above the store; he was sure he should have been asleep by now. Not long after, his heart stopped momentarily.

“Who’s down there?” a voice shouted, sharp and authoritative.

Stan’s gut sank. He slung the duffle bag over his shoulder as he went to pick up some of the tile boxes and bolted, only to find himself face-to-face with Frank, who had been hearing a lot of noise and had gone down to check.

“Drop my materials Stan” Frank barked, shining a flashlight in Stan’s face.

Stan raised his hands, dropping the boxes with a loud thunk. “Hey, it’s not what it looks like!” he’d said, his grin failing to mask his panic.

“Yeah?” the Frank replied. “Because it looks like breaking and entering.”

---

Stan was arrested on the spot and brought to the county jail. The charge: trespassing and attempting to steal property from the hardware store. Though technically “minor”, it was enough to land him in trouble—and to confirm to Frank and the local authorities, once again, that Stanley Pines wasn’t someone to trust.­­­

Chapter Text

It had been a long week since she had walked out the Shack’s giftshop and had spoken or even heard of Stan. Kate had battled the storm of emotions in her. Her anger had turned out to be an ugly mixture of disappointment and regret. She had slowly made progress in the bathrooms throughout the weekend. Stan in the back of her mind, whether because he was no longer there helping or because they had chosen the tiles together or because he had dragged her into one of his messes.

Kate now stood in the kitchen, staring at the steaming mug of tea in front of her, her hands clutching it like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Late morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, glinting off the some of tiles they had spent hours picking out just days before. Now, they sat in a neat stack by the wall, waiting for installation—just like her trust in Stan seemed to wait for a reason to take root again.

The weight of Frank’s words when he first saw her hung over her like a storm cloud: “You’re new here, Kate. People don’t forget things like this. They’ll start wondering if you’re a con too.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line, her stomach twisting. Her entire career as a teacher depended on trust. Parents, colleagues, even the small-town school board—they all had to believe in her integrity. The mere suggestion that she was involved in Stan’s theft, or crimes in general, could unravel everything she’d worked for.

“How did I let it get this far?” she thought, gripping the mug tighter.

---

The bathroom was silent except for the faint scrape of her trowel against the tiles. Kate crouched on the floor, her knees cushioned by a folded towel, as she worked to grout the last section of the shower wall. A golden autumn light filtered through the cracked window, highlighting the painstaking effort she had poured into every inch of the project.

She exhaled sharply, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. The bucket of grout next to her was alarmingly low. With each scoop, the mixture grew thinner, barely enough to fill the gaps between the tiles.

“No, no, no…” she muttered, staring into the near-empty bucket.

The idea of going back to the hardware store made her chest tighten. Frank’s sharp eyes and cutting remarks haunted her thoughts. She could almost hear him saying, “What’s next, Kate? Are you stealing grout now too?”

Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and she pushed herself up, pacing in the small bathroom. “I can’t go back there. Not yet,” she murmured.

Kate went to search for a box of papers. She found the folder where she had written down a bunch of tips and tricks regarding carpentry, plumbing and topics of the sort from her mother. Sifting through the pages, she found what she needed, DIY grout recipes. Baking soda, cornstarch, white glue… She ran through the ingredients, relieved to find that she had most of them in the kitchen.

She started with the improvised solution. The mixing bowl on the counter wobbled slightly as Kate stirred the thick, lumpy paste. The smell of glue mixed with the tang of vinegar filled the kitchen, but she kept going, determined to make it work.

“This will have to do,” she said under her breath, pouring the mixture into an empty grout bucket.

Back in the bathroom, she knelt once more and began spreading the improvised grout. It was thicker than she wanted and dried faster, but it was better than nothing.

With every swipe of the trowel, her thoughts circled back to Stan. His absence weighed on her—an irritating ache she tried to ignore.

He should be here, she thought bitterly, her frustration pushing the trowel harder against the tile. But he’s not, and I don’t know if I want him to and now, I’m the one stuck fixing everything.

She paused, resting the trowel on the rim of the bucket. Part of her missed his sarcastic remarks, the way he’d whistle off-key as he worked. She hated that she missed him at all.

---

Kate was halfway through the last section when she heard a knock at the front door. Her stomach dropped. What if it’s Frank?

She wiped her hands on her jeans and hesitated before opening the door.

It wasn’t Frank. It was Mrs. Lowry from next door, holding a tray of cookies and wearing her usual warm smile.

“Kate, dear, I saw your car. You’ve been looking a bit glum this week, thought you might need a little pick-me-up,” Mrs. Lowry said, offering the tray.

Kate forced a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Lowry. That’s really sweet of you.”

As Mrs. Lowry chattered about the weather and her garden, Kate felt a flicker of guilt. The older woman was kind and welcoming, like so many others in town. They didn’t deserve the rumors that might spread because of her connection to Stan.

She thanked Mrs. Lowry again and closed the door, the smell of the cookies mingling with the acrid scent of DIY grout.

Back in the bathroom, she sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the half-finished wall. For the first time since Stan’s arrest, frustrated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“Gosh, I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t want for him to be here” she whispered, her voice cracking.

But she wasn’t sure she could trust him to help, either.

The day stretched on, and Kate found herself wandering the house aimlessly, her thoughts circling the same question: could she forgive him?

She paused in the living room, her eyes falling on the blueprint spread across the coffee table. It represented so much more than renovations—it was her fresh start, her attempt to rebuild a life she could be proud of. Stan had been part of that, and now, she wasn’t sure if he deserved to be.

Her mind replayed their conversations, his charm and humor slowly peeling back layers of her own defenses. But charm couldn’t fix what he had done.

Kate sank onto the couch, running a hand through her hair. “What if Frank’s right?” she whispered.

---

It was the start of the second week since Stan’s incident. It seemed like Kate’s job had gone as smoothly as ever. No conversations, no looks or rumors. So far, she had been unscathed by her involvement in Stan’s debacle.

The buzz of chatter and clinking trays filled the school cafeteria as Kate descended the stairs. It was lunchtime, and the smell of reheated chicken nuggets wafted through the air. She held her clipboard close, intending to do a quick sweep of the room before heading back to her classroom.

She didn’t expect to see Mrs. Beauregard, the head lunch lady, waiting for her by the serving line. The older woman had her arms crossed, her apron slightly askew, and her eyes narrowed in what Kate could only describe as quiet judgment.

“Kate,” Mrs. Beauregard said, her voice low but firm. “Got a minute?”

Kate froze, her heart skipping a beat. “Of course,” she said, forcing a smile and stepping closer.

Mrs. Beauregard motioned for her to come around the counter, away from the students. The air felt heavier as Kate complied, her grip tightening on the clipboard.

“I’ve been hearing things,” Mrs. Beauregard began, wiping her hands on her apron. “Things about that man you’ve been spending time with. Stan, isn’t it?”

Kate’s stomach dropped. She knew this was coming eventually, but not here, not today.

“I… I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Kate said carefully, her voice wavering just slightly.

Mrs. Beauregard raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ve heard enough. County jail, for one. Word gets around in a town like this, you know that. And you, bailing him out?”

Kate’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Beauregard held up a hand.

“Listen, I’ve known Stan since he first rolled into Gravity Falls. Troublemaker, that one. Always scheming, always looking for the easy way out. I don’t mean to meddle, Kate, but you’ve got a reputation to think about. You’re a teacher. People trust you with their kids. What do you think they’ll say if they find out you’re tied up with someone like him?”

Kate felt like the floor was tilting beneath her. She glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot.

“It’s not like that,” she said finally, though the words felt weak even to her own ears. “I was just… helping him out. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Mrs. Beauregard sighed, her expression softening slightly but still tinged with concern. “Mistakes are one thing, Kate. Patterns are another. I’ve seen men like him before. They don’t change unless they really want to, and even then… it’s a long road.”

Kate nodded mutely, her mind racing. Mrs. Beauregard wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part. Every doubt Kate had been trying to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Look,” Mrs. Beauregard said, her tone gentler now. “You’re a good person, Kate. But good people get taken advantage of all the time. Just… be careful, alright? You’ve worked too hard to let someone else drag you down.”

Kate swallowed hard and managed a small nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Beauregard. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The older woman patted her shoulder and returned to the serving line, leaving Kate standing there with her clipboard clutched to her chest.

As she made her way back to her classroom, her thoughts swirled. She didn’t regret helping Stan per se—at least, she didn’t think she did—but Mrs. Beauregard’s words lingered like an unwanted echo.

What if she’s right?

---

Meanwhile, Stan sat slumped on a battered couch in The Mystery Shack, staring at a pile of crumpled dollar bills and loose change on the coffee table. It wasn’t nearly enough to cover what he owed Frank, and it wouldn’t make up for the damage his actions had caused Kate.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “How the hell did I screw this up so bad?”

The image of Kate’s face—the way she had looked at him when he admitted what he had done—burned in his mind. She had trusted him, let him into her life, her house. And he’d repaid her by dragging her into his mess.

Stan rubbed his stubbled jaw, letting out a heavy sigh. He had spent years skirting responsibility, living by his wits and charm, and it had always worked. But this time? This time it wasn’t enough.

“If I don’t fix this, I’ll lose the only person who’s ever given me a real chance,” he thought grimly.

By late afternoon, Stan found himself back at the hardware store. The last place he wanted to be, but he had to face Frank.

The bell above the door jingled as he walked in. Frank glanced up from the counter, his expression immediately souring. “What do you want, Pines? Here to swipe more tiles?”

Stan ignored the jab, stepping closer. “I’m here to set the record straight.”

Frank snorted. “Oh, this should be good.”

Stan took a deep breath. “Kate had nothin’ to do with what I did. She didn’t even know about it until I got caught. She’s got a lot ridin’ on her reputation in this town, and I won’t let you drag her name through the mud because of me.”

Frank leaned back, crossing his arms. “You think people are gonna believe that? You’ve got a rap sheet a mile long, Pines. Your word doesn’t mean squat.”

“Then let me prove it,” Stan shot back, his voice steady. “I’ll pay ya’ back every cent for the tiles I took. And I’ll stay outta your store from now on. But you leave Kate outta this.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, studying Stan for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “You’re a piece of work, Pines. But fine. You pay up, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about her. But you’re on thin ice. She’s either not too smart or gullible or partakes in your schemes if she’s always around you.” The hardware owner countered sharply, warningly.

Stan nodded, biting back a response. He forced some decorum “Thanks, Frank.”

“Don’t thank me,” Frank said gruffly. “Just don’t screw it up again.”

---

Later that evening, Kate heard the hesitant knock on her front door and froze, her heart catching in her chest. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but something in the rhythm of the knock told her it was him. Stan.

With a sigh, she set down the grading she’d been working on and crossed the living room, hesitating, she had not seen him in two weeks. With one deep breath she opened the door.

There he was, looking as though he’d been standing there for a while, gathering the courage to knock. His shoulders slumped slightly; his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. There was a certain softness in his expression, a tentative look she didn’t see often.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet.

Kate crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey.”

An awkward silence hung between them, thick with unspoken words.

“Can I come in?” Stan asked eventually, nodding toward the interior of her house.

Kate hesitated but stepped aside, letting him through.

Stan paced a little, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh… I talked to Frank,” he started.

Kate folded her arms again, watching him closely she hummed in acknowledgment.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at her briefly before looking away. “I told him you had nothin’ to do with… what happened. I told him it was all on me. And I’m payin’ him back. Every damn penny. And, uh, I’m pretty sure he believed me.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure?”

Stan winced. “He’s still mad. But I think he gets it now.”

She didn’t respond right away, her gaze steady but unreadable.

“I’m tryin’, doll,” he said, his voice rough with sincerity. “I know I screwed up—again. I just… I don’t want’ya to get caught in the fallout from my mistakes. That’s not fair to you.”

Kate let out a slow breath, her expression softening just a fraction. “I appreciate that, Stan. But it’s not just about what Frank thinks.”

Stan frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Kate hesitated, biting her lip. She wasn’t sure if she should bring it up, but the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“I had a conversation with Mrs. Beauregard,” she said carefully, watching his reaction. “She knows about what happened. She warned me about you.”

Stan’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked like she’d punched him. “Warned you?”

“She’s known you for a long time, Stan,” Kate continued, her tone even. “She said you have a reputation, that you’ve been like this for years. And she’s worried about what it could mean for me, being associated with you.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair, pacing again. “Of course she thinks that,” he muttered. “Everyone in this town thinks they’ve got me figured out.”

“Do they?” Kate asked softly, her voice laced with something between doubt.

Stan stopped pacing, turning to look at her. “I’m not that guy anymore, doll. Or at least… I don’t wanna be. But it’s not exactly easy to outrun a past like mine.”

Kate nodded slowly, her arms dropping to her sides. “I get that. I really do. But you have to understand, this isn’t just about you anymore. People like Mrs. Beauregard are connecting the dots, and it’s my reputation on the line too. I’m a teacher, Stan. If people think I’m involved in… whatever you’re doing, it could cost me everything.”

The weight of her words hit Stan like a freight train. He opened his mouth to argue, to promise it wasn’t that bad, but he stopped himself. She was right.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I hate that I’ve put ya’ in this position. You don’t deserve that.”

Kate’s expression softened again, but she didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m tryin’, doll,” he insisted, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I don’t want to keep screwing things up—for you or for me. I just… I need ya’ to believe me.”

Kate sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not that simple, Stan. Trust isn’t something you can just ask for. It’s something you earn.”

“I know,” he said again, his jaw tightening. “And I’m goin’ to. I’ll prove it to you. To Mrs. Beauregard. To everyone. I don’t wanna be the guy who screws up everythin’ he touches. Not anymore.”

For the first time in a long while, Kate saw something in his eyes that looked like resolve. It wasn’t a promise she could trust yet, but it was a start. She looked away, her arms tightening around herself again.

Stan stepped closer, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on the back of one of her dining chairs. “I don’t know what’s next, doll. But I know I don’t want to lose what we have—whatever it is.”

Kate’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, but she forced herself to stay grounded. “You’ve got a lot of work to do, Stan. And I can’t promise you anything until I see it.”

He nodded; his gaze steady. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable but not as heavy as before.

“I should go,” Stan said finally, stepping back toward the door.

Kate didn’t stop him, but as he turned to leave, she spoke softly. “Stan?”

He paused, looking back at her.

“Thank you for talking to Frank,” she said.

A small, almost imperceptible smile, though sad, crossed his lips. “Yeah. See ya’ around, doll.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kate standing in her living room, her emotions a tangled mess of doubt, hope, and something she wasn’t ready to name just yet.

Chapter Text

It had been almost another week since Kate last spoke to Stan. She had not had it in her to reach out. Things still felt awkward and tense and she was yet to figure out if she wanted to trust Stan again. A weird nagging feeling of missing him and not quite wanting him out of her life, a confusing notion. The upstairs bathroom had finally started to resemble the vision Kate had held in her mind for weeks. The new tiles gleamed under the light, and the freshly grouted walls gave the space a clean, polished look. She stood back, hands on her hips, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Almost there,” she murmured to herself.

The last task of the day was sealing the grout around the tub. She had chosen a day she knew Frank was not working at the store to make a quick trip and by some actual grout to finish up her work. Kneeling down, she opened the bucket of sealer and grabbed a brush. The repetitive motion of painting the sealant into the grooves was almost meditative, and for a while, she lost herself in the work.

Then she heard it.

A loud crash, glass breaking, a sound ‘thunk’ of something hitting the floor with quite some weight.

Kate froze, the brush halted mid-stroke. She tilted her head, listening. The new sound again—loud—like claws scraping against wood.

Her chest tightened. The noise shifted, now accompanied by a faint, clicking sound. It was coming from downstairs.

Kate set the brush down carefully, wiping her hands on her jeans as she stood. Grabbing one of the heavy tools that sat in the toolbox.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice steady despite the unease prickling her skin.

No answer.

The house was relatively dark except for the glow of the bathroom light behind her. She hesitated at the top of the stairs; the living room was quite dim expect for the light at the far corner. She reached the bottom, her eyes catching the broken window, glass shattered all over the floor, the curtains moving gently from the brand-new airflow.

The scratching came again, this time directly beside her, near the kitchen.

Kate gripped the tool tighter, reluctant to move, but she had to check. Each creak of the steps under her feet felt impossibly loud. She grabbed a flashlight from the coffee table and turned. Her heart pounded as she stepped forward, towards the kitchen.

And then she saw it.

Two glowing yellow eyes stared back at her from the far corner of the room.

Kate froze, at first, her brain refused to process what she was seeing. her breath catching in her throat. The creature crouched low, its angular body barely visible except for the gleam of its eyes and the faint outline of its spindly limbs. It was about the size of a large cat, but its proportions were all wrong—too long, too thin. Its skin—or was it fur?—was a mottled greenish-gray, blending seamlessly with the dim light. Two large, glowing yellow eyes stared at her, unblinking, set in a face that was neither animal nor human.

“What the…” she whispered, her voice trailing off as the creature tilted its head, its movements sharp and birdlike.

The flashlight beam wavered as her hand trembled. The creature didn’t flinch, its eyes locked onto hers with unnerving intensity. It let out a low, chittering sound, almost like laughter, and took a step closer.

Kate stumbled back, her shoulder hitting the wall. The creature stopped, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.

The Shade, as it would later be called, darted forward suddenly, its claws scraping against the tile floor. Kate yelped, swinging the flashlight in its direction, but the creature was too fast. It skittered onto the counter, knocking over a ceramic jar that shattered on the floor.

She let out a startled scream again. The Shade froze again, crouching low as its glowing eyes narrowed. It reached out with one clawed hand, grabbing a stray spoon from the counter and holding it up like a prize.

Kate blinked. “A spoon?”

The creature let out another chittering laugh, the sound sending a chill down her spine. Then, with a sudden leap, it bounded off the counter and into the hallway.

Kate didn’t think. She chased after it, her flashlight beam bouncing wildly as she sprinted.

The creature darted into the living room, its claws clicking against the hardwood floor. Kate skidded to a halt, scanning the room.

“Fuck!” she muttered, sweeping the flashlight around.

The beam caught a flash of movement near the bookshelf. The Shade had climbed to the top, perched like a gargoyle. It let out another mocking laugh, dropping the spoon onto the shelf as if to taunt her.

Kate grabbed a nearby pillow and hurled it at the creature. It missed, hitting the bookshelf with a dull thud. The Shade hissed, leaping from the shelf to the chandelier above, its claws digging into the metal frame.

“Shit shit shit” Kate cursed, staring up at it and ducking, fearing it’ll jump on her.

The creature swayed slightly, the chandelier creaking under its weight. It let out a low, guttural growl, its eyes glowing brighter as it stared down at her.

Fear rooted her in place. She could handle raccoons or stray cats, but this? This thing wasn’t natural. She fumbled towards the landline, her fingers hovering over the numbers, weighing her options.

---

Kate had no logical reason to believe the cops couldn’t help her. After all, when something strange happens, that’s who most people would call, right? But standing there in her living room, broom still in hand and heart pounding from the encounter with the bizarre creature, she hesitated.

The Shade's glowing eyes and the eerie laugh that echoed in her ears made it abundantly clear—this wasn’t just a raccoon or a wild animal that had gotten inside. It was something…different. Something that didn’t fit into the world as she knew it.

Her first thought had been to reach for the phone and dial the sheriff’s department. But then she imagined trying to explain it.

"Hi, Officer. There’s…a thing in my house. No, it’s not a person. It’s small, kind of greenish-gray, with glowing yellow eyes, and it can climb walls. Yes, I know how that sounds, but I swear I’m not imagining it."

She could almost hear the laughter on the other end of the line, the skepticism dripping from every response. Even if they did take her seriously, what would they do? Animal control would come in with tranquilizer darts and traps, but this wasn’t an animal. It had intelligence—she’d seen it in the way it looked at her.

That’s when she thought of Stan.

She hated the idea of asking him for help. It felt like giving in, and she wasn’t ready to forgive him entirely for the mess he’d caused. Her pride screamed at her to call someone else, anyone else, but deep down, she knew the truth. It’s not like she really had anyone else to call anyway. Stan wasn’t the person she wanted to call, but it seemed like he was the most viable option.

Kate’s hands were still trembling when she dialed his number. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“Stan,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I need you to come over. Right now.”

“Doll?” he answered, his voice groggy but alert.

“There’s something in my house,” she said, glancing nervously toward the ceiling. The creature jumped off and across the living room. Kate yelped.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone sharpening immediately.

“Something is here! It’s not…normal. It’s a creature or a- a cryptid or something. Just—just get here, okay?”

Stan exhaled sharply. It was only a question of time Kate would run into an anomaly or other creature from the Gravity Falls woods. “Okay, don’t panic. Just—don’t corner it, whatever you do. I’m sure whatever it is, it’s harmless if you don’t provoke them. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry,” she said, glancing back around the living room only hearing a creepy laugh come within some corner.

“I’ll be there in ten,” Stan promised before hanging up.

Kate stared at the shattered window in her living room, her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her eyes darted between the pieces of glass and the shadow that seemed to be rustling through the room.

She went to clutch a broom tightly in her hands, gripping it like a weapon. Hoping it’d give her more distance between her and whatever it was, over the tool she had grabbed initially. She could still hear the faint scrape of claws against the hardwood floor, the echo of a low, guttural sound that didn’t belong to anything she could name. Her skin prickled with a cold sweat, but she forced herself to stay rooted. This was her house—her space—and whatever that thing was, it didn’t get to take that from her.

---

True to his word, Stan arrived within minutes, his old car screeching to a halt outside and bursting through the front door with a flashlight in one hand and a net in the other.

“Where is it?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

Kate pointed to the top of the bookshelf, where the Shade had climbed. Its glowing eyes narrowed as it hissed at the intrusion.

Stan whistled low. “Yep. Definitely a Shade. Ugly little thing, isn’t it?”

“Stan, this is not the time for commentary!” Kate hissed, backing away as the creature shifted its position, its claws clicking against the wood.

“Right. Let’s catch it,” he said, adjusting his grip on the net.

Stan moved carefully toward the bookshelf, his steps slow and deliberate. Kate stood a few feet behind him, broom still in hand, ready to swat if the Shade made a break for it.

“Easy, little guy,” Stan said, his voice calm and coaxing. “We’re not gonna hurt you. Just need you outta here, okay?”

The Shade let out a high-pitched chittering noise, an eerie like laughter. Then, with alarming speed, it leapt from the bookshelf to the chandelier, swinging precariously as the light fixture creaked under its weight.

“Stan!” Kate shouted.

“I see it!” he replied, already moving to intercept.

The Shade leapt again, this time landing on the dining table. It grabbed a shiny spoon and waved it in the air like a trophy before darting toward the hallway.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Kate said, chasing after it.

The two of them scrambled after the creature, their footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor. The Shade was fast, darting into the bedroom and diving under the bed.

Stan dropped to his knees, peering under the bed with his flashlight. “Come on out, buddy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

The Shade responded by throwing a stray sock at his face.

Kate couldn’t help it—she laughed.

Stan shot her a look. “Ya’ think this is funny?”

“A little,” she admitted, though her heart was still racing.

“Great. Glad one of us is having fun,” Stan muttered, repositioning the net.

Finally, after several minutes of chaos, they cornered the Shade in the laundry room. The creature hissed, its eyes darting between Stan and Kate as if calculating an escape route.

“On three,” Stan said, holding the net ready.

Kate nodded, gripping her broom like a baseball bat.

“One…two…three!”

Stan lunged with the net, and Kate swung the broom, blocking the Shade’s attempt to dart past her. With a sharp cry, the creature was caught, wriggling and hissing inside the net.

“Gotcha!” Stan said triumphantly, holding the net tightly as the Shade thrashed.

Kate leaned against the wall, panting. “Is it always this much of a circus?”

Stan grinned. “You’re catching on fast.”

---

They carried the trapped Shade out to Kate’s backyard that extended into the nearby forest. Stan crouched, adjusting the net so it could run out. The creature struggle briefly before darting out. “They don’t usually stick around houses unless something shiny caught their eye.” Stan said brushing his hands off.

Kate breathed in deeply, trying to process what had just happened. “Well, it can keep the spoon. I’m not going through that again.” She breathed.

Stan chuckled, leaning against the truck. “You handled that pretty well, ya’ know. For a first-timer.”

“Don’t make me regret calling you,” she said, though her tone was teasing.

His grin softened into something more genuine. “I’m glad ya’ did.”

Kate looked at him for a second, without the threat of The Shade, the reality of their broken dynamic dawned on her. She looked away and towards the woods where the creature had disappeared. “So, are you going to explain what the hell that thing was, or...?”

Stan sighed, seeing how she had closed up again. “Alright, fine. But you gotta promise not to freak out.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You just chased a glowing-eyed monster out of my house, Stan. My freak-out threshold is pretty high right now.”

“Fair enough,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, so here’s the deal. Gravity Falls…isn’t exactly a normal place.”

Kate snorted. “Yeah, I figured that much. Care to elaborate?”

Stan hesitated, glancing at the ground. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, alright? But this town’s always been…weird. Stuff happens here that doesn’t happen anywhere else. Creatures, strange phenomena, things ya’d think were outta bad sci-fi movie. And that thing you saw? That was just one of the tamer ones.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Tamer? That thing sounded like it was laughing at me, Stan.”

Stan shrugged, his mouth quirking into a small smile. “Yeah, they do that. Shades are harmless, though. They’re like magpies—just want shiny stuff. There’s worse out there.”

“Worse?” she repeated, her voice rising.

He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, relax. It’s not like there’s monsters runnin’ through the streets every day. Most of ‘em stick to the woods. But every now and then, one gets curious and wanders into town.”

Kate stared at him, her mind racing. “And you’ve…known about this? This has been happening the whole time I’ve lived here?”

“Pretty much,” Stan admitted. “I mean, it’s not exactly somethin’ you bring up in casual conversation. ‘Hey, by the way, did you know your town’s got a weirdness quota?’”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, let me get this straight. Gravity Falls is some kind of…hotspot for the bizarre, and everyone just pretends it’s not happening?”

“More or less,” Stan said, leaning back in his chair. “Most people write it off as ‘quirks’ or ‘urban legends.’ Denial’s a hell of a drug.”

Kate let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Unbelievable. And you just…deal with it? Like it’s no big deal?”

Stan’s face grew serious. “It’s not that simple. Look, I’ve been here long enough to know how to handle most of it. You keep your head down, don’t poke the weird stuff, and it usually leaves you alone.”

“Usually?”

“Okay, fine, sometimes you gotta chase a Shade out of someone’s living room,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the house. “But trust me, it could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t a Gremlin Pack or a Pinetree Mimic.”

Kate blinked. “A what now?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said quickly. “Point is, you’re safe. For now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “For now?”

Stan winced. “I mean, there’s always a chance something else might pop up, but that’s just how this town works. You get used to it.”

Kate let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t even know what to say to that, Stan. This is…a lot to take in.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer. “It’s not exactly a sellin’ point for the place. But it’s home. And if anythin’ else weird happens, you call me. I mean it.”

Kate studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re leaving out something,” she said finally.

Stan’s stomach twisted. The image of Ford flashed through his mind. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “But you’re holding back. I can tell.”

He forced a laugh, waving her off. “Me? Holdin’ back? Nah, you’re imaginin’ things. That’s the whole story, I swear.”

Kate didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she looked out into the woods her gaze distant.

“This town,” she murmured. “What did I get myself into?”

Stan grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Welcome to Gravity Falls, doll.”

She went to rub her face, turning to look at the house, her eyes going to the broken window. “I guess, I’ll have to add that to the never-ending list” she muttered. Stan followed her gaze, his mouth twitched wanting to say something.

His gaze dropped to the ground. He shuffled his feet, then looked back up at her, his brown eyes filled with something that looked a lot like regret. He took a deep breath in “I owe you an apology, doll.”

Kate blinked turning to look at him “You’ve already apologized, Stan” her voice tired and slightly resigned, her arms dripping to her side.

“I wanna apologize again, doll. For everything” he said, stepping back as though giving her space. “For the tiles, for dragging you into my mess with Frank, for making you doubt me. I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you, and I hate that I made you look bad in front of —anyone, really.”

Kate’s stomach twisted at his words, the vulnerability in them cutting through her defenses. “You did,” she said quietly, her voice quiet with the weight of disappointment and hurt. “Stan, I stuck my neck out for you. I believed in you. And then you went and—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice cracking. “I messed it all up. And I’ve been kicking myself ever since.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t blame you for being mad. I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Hell, I don’t even trust me sometimes.”

Kate studied him for a long moment. She could see the guilt written across his face, the way he avoided her gaze and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. This wasn’t the cocky, self-assured Stan who’d first come into her life. This was a man who was genuinely trying, even if he didn’t know how to make things right.

“Why did you do it?” she asked finally. “Why did you take those tiles, Stan? Was it just greed, or—”

“It wasn’t greed,” Stan said, his voice heavy. “It was stupid, is what it was. I thought I could make some quick cash to cover a few debts, keep things afloat. I didn’t think about how it would affect you, or anyone else. I just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I wasn’t thinking. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I never think.”

Kate’s lingering anger softened slightly at his admission. She stepped forward and towards the house “Come in,” she said.

Stan hesitated, then walked after her, his shoulders hunched as though he expected her to kick him out any second. He sat at the edge of the couch; his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Kate sat across from him.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said after a long silence.

Stan flinched but nodded. “I get that. And I don’t expect you to just…forget everythin’. But I’m tryin’, doll. I swear I am. I told ya’, I went to Frank. Told him you weren’t involved in any of it. He’s still pissed at me, but at least he knows you’re not to blame. I think he wanted to throw me through a window, but I told him the truth. I wasn’t gonna let him think you had anything to do with my mess.”

She leaned back in her chair, considering his words. “What about the next time?” she asked. “What happens when you get yourself into another mess, Stan? How do I know you won’t drag me down with you again?”

Stan looked at her, his expression earnest. “Because I don’t want to let you down, not like that.” he said simply. “Not again.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the raw sincerity in his voice. She looked away, trying to gather her thoughts.

“I’m not saying I’m perfect,” Stan continued. “I’ve got a lot of crap to figure out, and I’m probably gonna screw up again. But I promise you, doll, I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you or your reputation. Not if I can help it.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words hanging between them. Finally, Kate let out a long sigh.

“This will take time, Stan” she said. “But…I guess we could try. Start small. See where it goes.”

Stan’s face lit up with a tentative smile. “I can work with that.”

She nodded, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Good. Because if you screw up again, Stan Pines, you’ll be dealing with more than just Frank.”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Fair enough.”

For the first time in weeks, Kate felt a small spark of hope. It wasn’t trust—not yet. But it was a start.

“How about I help ya’ patch up the window?” he offered as he stood. “Actually, let’s measure it and I’ll personally go to Frank to get the glass done. I’ll reiterate ya’ve got nothin’ to do with my mess?” his tone was almost jittery, as if talking to himself, approaching the window and scratching his chin.

Kate watched him, a small bubble of amusement and relief surged up. The crazy event of the day and revelations somehow fell to the back burner. Perhaps this was just a hiccup. She hoped that’s all it would. If this place was a strange as he said, she’d need someone to trust.

Chapter Text

The weeks following Stan and Kate’s fallout had been a gradual process of rebuilding what had been broken. It had been cautious and clumsy. Stan had been apologetic. The banter and interactions guarded, often hidden beneath layers of light sarcasm or casual remarks that seemed to say, “Let’s just move on.”

At first, they kept their distance, each unsure of how to go back to how they were. Kate had taken the lead in renovating the house. He was over less often, trying to shoulder tasks herself. She was a lot slower in comparison and arguably missed the company but the lingering awkwardness of the few times he had helped since was a bit too much. Yet, as if the house was set on pulling them together, she found seeking his help more often. Slowly, those small moments became opportunities—short conversations that carried a bit more warmth, shared jokes that cut through the lingering tension.

Stan, to his credit, behaved himself more than usual. He had been up to smaller scams and schemes but strayed away from theft, some habits were hard to break. When it came to Kate, he had been trying to shift into someone she could rely on, someone that could be there, he craved the careful friendship blooming between them, especially after so many years alone. Kate, on her part, began to see glimpses of the man beneath the bravado—the one who, in his own awkward way, was trying to make amends. They had had their moments as the weeks went by which mended their relationship;

The front door

The front door had seen better days. The wood was warped, the paint chipped, and the lock was starting to fail. It wasn’t the first thing Kate wanted to tackle, but it was necessary for security. She wanted to fix it as well as it could be done, she had opted to call Stan. He had easily agreed and arrived not much later.

“We’re gonna to need to completely replace the lock and probably the door frame,” Stan said as he inspected it. “But I think we can salvage the door itself.”

Kate sighed. “I don’t want to get rid of it completely. I need a front door, a secure one, at least until I decide if I’m willing to chuck it and a new one arrives.”

Stan gave her a knowing look. “I get it. We can work with it. Let’s just take it apart and see what we can do.”

The two of them spent the next few hours sanding down the door, fixing the cracks in the frame, and reinforcing the lock. Throughout the process, their conversations were comfortable and easy, filled with some laughter and small talk. At one point, they paused for a moment to catch their breath, sitting on the porch steps and looking at the nearly finished door.

Kate smiled, feeling a sense of pride. “It’s hard to believe it’s the same door.”

Stan chuckled. “It’s funny how somethin’ so worn out can come back to life with a little effort.”

Kate turned to him, the air between them charged with something unspoken. “Thank you, Stan.” She said a bit shyly, appreciating him jumping to the occasion every time. He had been slowly proving himself.

Stan met her eyes for a moment, his expression softening. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doin’ what friends do.”

The words hung in the air, Stan cringed slightly, unsure if Kate would consider him such, or if she had fully forgiven or trusted him.

Kate stilled slightly, his words sitting weird in her stomach. Casting her gaze down she breathed in before nodded slowly “Friends” she repeated quietly, in acknowledgement.

An Attic Cleanup

The attic had always been an afterthought for Kate. It was full of old furniture, boxes of forgotten things, and bits of her parents’ past she hadn’t quite been able to part with. The house had a couple generation’s worth of stuff and she had not been too sure of how to the get it out all by herself. That afternoon, she decided it was time to go through the space, and as usual, Stan showed up upon her request.

“Attic time?” Stan asked, stepping up the creaky stairs with a concerned look. “Not sure if I’m ready to face the ghosts of ya’ childhood.”

Kate rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “There’s no childhood ghosts up here, just dust and a lot of things I’ve been meaning to get rid of.”

Stan gave her a mock salute. “Ya’ve got my help. What’s the plan?”

Kate hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know. Just clean it up. Sort through what’s worth keeping and what needs to go.”

They spent the next few hours sorting through the mess in the attic, lifting heavy boxes, and uncovering old keepsakes. Kate found her father’s toolbox, rusted but still functional, and her mother’s old sewing machine, which had been stowed away for years. Stan, though not one for sentimentality, didn’t comment as Kate lingered over certain items, lost in her memories.

At one point, Kate found an old letter from her mother, written in a script that seemed to belong to another time. She sat down on the dusty floor, reading it slowly.

Stan noticed her distance and knelt beside her. “Everything okay?”

Kate glanced up, blinking away a tear. “Just... a letter from my mom. She was always writing notes like this. I guess I forgot how much I missed hearing from her like that.”

Stan said nothing for a while, just crouching beside her. Finally, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to say. But I’m here.”

Kate nodded, appreciating the quiet support. When she was ready, she folded the letter and tucked it away, standing up with a sigh. “Let’s keep going.”

As they worked, there was less talking and more shared glances. Kate didn’t feel as alone with him around. It felt... different, as if the space between them had narrowed. And with every broken box they opened and every piece of their shared past they uncovered, she felt a quiet shift in herself—realizing that maybe she didn’t need to carry the weight of everything all along, maybe Stan could be a friend.

Fixing the Porch Steps

The first time Kate noticed the broken steps on her front porch, she was halfway out the door to grab some groceries. She nearly tripped over the cracked wood and realized that it had gotten worse over time. The wood had split in places, and the railing was barely hanging on.

Stan appeared later that morning, arms loaded with wood planks and tools. He had taken it upon himself to bring supplies, knowing that Kate needed the extra strength to replace the heavy steps alone.

“Thought I’d get here early,” Stan said, grinning as he set the wood down. “Porch steps have always been a pain. I’ve got the materials; we just need to fix it.”

Kate stood on the porch, eyeing the damage and then looking at Stan. “I should’ve noticed this sooner. It’s been like this for weeks. I’ve just been ignoring it.”

Stan shook his head, squatting down to start measuring the wood. “We all get busy. It’s easy to put off the small stuff when bigger things are always in the way. Let me get to it.”

Kate watched him, her arms crossed as she leaned against the door frame. There was a familiarity in the way Stan worked—focused, efficient, and yet somehow relaxed.

“So,” Kate said after a moment of watching him work. “I guess this is your way of saying ‘I told you so’ about the house” alluding to when she had first brushed off his help about two months ago.

Stan glanced up, smirking. “I’m not one to gloat. But ya’ did say you could handle everythin’, and yet here I am.”

Kate laughed lightly, the sound warm and comfortable. “True. I may have underestimated how much work this place needed. But you’ve been a lot of help. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve taken to make any progress without you.”

Stan paused, wiping his brow. “It’s no problem. Ya’re not the only one who needs help from time to time.”

Kate felt a small flicker of something stir in her chest at his words. Maybe he wasn’t just helping her with the house. Maybe he was helping her with something else too—something she hadn’t been able to put into words. But before she could dwell on it, Stan finished securing the final plank.

“Well, looks like the porch is good to go,” he said, standing and stretching. “I’d say it’s ready for a test run.”

Kate stepped onto the new steps, testing them with her weight. “Much better,” she said, a small genuine smile lighting up her face. “Thank you, Stan. Really.”

Stan shrugged casually, though his smile seemed more sincere than usual. “Anytime, doll. Anytime.”

Repainting the Living Room

It was a sunny Saturday morning when Kate and Stan tackled the living room walls. Kate had spent a good portion of the last couple weeks picking at the wallpaper whenever she had time and sanding the walls down. Today was finally the day she could paint. She had called Stan over to speed up the process. The wood panels were discolored and indented and splintered unevenly, it had long since lost its vibrancy, but it was an improvement already. The new color she had chosen—a soft, muted, green—seemed like it would lighten up the space, but it was going to take work.

Stan set down his paint roller and looked around, clearly impressed with the space. “I think this place has potential. Not sure how much of it ya’ want to keep, but there’s somethin’ nice about the old look.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Are you saying my house is outdated?”

Stan raised his hands in defense. “Not outdated—charmin’.”

Kate gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Charming? Sure, if you’re into dusty furniture and fading paint.”

They worked together for the next few hours, but there was something about painting with Stan that felt less like a chore and more like a shared experience. Their laughter filled the room as they teased each other over who had made the biggest mess, and when Stan accidentally dripped paint on the floor, Kate was the first to grab a rag to clean it up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll add it to the list of things you owe me,” she said with a grin, wiping up the paint. Stan grinned back.

When the walls were finally coated and drying, Stan stepped back and admired their work. “Looks good. You’ve got a real talent for this.”

Kate shrugged, looking down at the paint-splattered clothes she wore. “I’ve had to get used to fixing things myself.”

Stan was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice a little softer. “You know, you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Kate looked up at him, unsure of how to respond. Instead of pushing the sentiment, she nodded slowly. “Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it.”

He met her eyes, a small moment passing between them. He didn’t say anything more, but there was an understanding in the air—a silent agreement that they were both there, and that was enough. It seemed the last couple weeks had settled into a tentative truce. It wasn’t quite what they’d had before, but it was familiar enough to feel like they were back at the start. And maybe, Kate thought, that wasn’t such a bad place to begin again.

---

The air had grown colder as November long had settled over Gravity Falls. Leaves swirled along the streets, a golden reminder of autumn’s slow departure. It was late-November now, the crisp air carrying the scent of pine and frost. The last leaves clung stubbornly to the trees, and the promise of winter loomed just around the corner. At the small school where Kate worked, the children’s chatter filled the hallways as Thanksgiving approached.

Kate stood at the blackboard, writing in bold letters: “The History of Thanksgiving”. The fifth-graders listened—or pretended to—as she began her lesson. She spoke about the Pilgrims and Native Americans, their early interactions, and the feast that had become tradition. Yet, as she explained the history, her mind wandered to her own plans—or lack thereof—for the holiday. Kate stood holding up a poster depicting the Pilgrims and Native Americans at the first Thanksgiving, wrapping up the lesson.

“And that’s how the tradition began,” she said, glancing at the curious faces of her students. “But remember, history is complicated. This story is just one version of what happened.”

A hand shot up in the back row. “Miss Arthur, do you have a favorite Thanksgiving food?”

Kate laughed lightly. “Stuffing, definitely. What about you, Danny?”

“Pumpkin pie!” the boy exclaimed, prompting a chorus of agreements and a few opposing votes for turkey.

Kate smiled, her mind drifting as the children debated. Thanksgiving had always been bittersweet for her. Growing up, it had been a day of family and laughter, but in recent years, it had become a quieter affair, one she spent mostly alone.

Later that afternoon, as the bell rang and the students filed out, Kate was tidying her desk when a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Hey, doll.”

She looked up to see Stan leaning casually against the doorframe, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Stan? What are you doing here?” she asked, genuinely confused and surprised.

“Thought I’d check in, see how the future leaders of America are holdin’ up,” he said, stepping into the classroom. “Place looks cozy.”

Kate rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re not here to talk about education.”

“Guilty,” he admitted with a shrug. “Figured I’d ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving.”

Kate hesitated, her hands pausing over a stack of papers. “I haven’t really thought about it. I usually just… cook something small and call it a day.”

Stan frowned. “Sounds kinda lonely.”

She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s fine. What about you?”

“Eh, nothin’ special,” Stan said, scratching the back of his neck. “Shack’s quiet this time of year. Figured I’d heat up a frozen dinner and call it a feast.”

Kate gave him a look. “That’s sadder than my plan.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here,” he said, grinning. “What d’ya say we team up? Two lonely people are better than one, right?”

Kate hesitated, studying his expression. There was something earnest in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely showed. “I guess that could work,” she said slowly. “But you’re not allowed to bring anything pre-packaged.”

Stan held up his hands in mock surrender. “You drive a hard bargain, doll, but deal.”

---

Mid-morning of Thanksgiving, Kate busied herself in the kitchen. The smell of roasting turkey filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon from the pie she’d baked earlier. She checked the clock, noting that Stan was due any minute.

True to his word, Stan arrived on time, carrying a box filled with fresh vegetables and a bottle of wine.

“Look at you, all domestic,” Kate teased as he stepped inside.

“Don’t get used to it,” Stan quipped, setting the box on the counter. “What’s the game plan?”

“You’re in charge of the green bean casserole,” Kate said, handing him an apron.

Stan groaned but put it on anyway. “You’re lucky I like you, doll.”

As they worked side by side, the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Stan’s jokes and Kate’s exasperated laughter. The tension that had once hung between them was gone, replaced by a growing comfort that neither could ignore.

The small kitchen was a flurry of activity. Steam rose from a pot of boiling potatoes, the aroma of roasting turkey filled the air, and the counters were littered with bowls, utensils, and half-prepped dishes. Stan stood by the stove, poking at a pan of stuffing with a wooden spoon, while Kate diced vegetables with precision at the counter.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Kate asked, glancing over her shoulder at Stan’s pan.

Stan scoffed, waving the spoon in mock offense. “What, you don’t trust me? I’ve been cookin’ for myself since I was a kid. This is child’s play.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Cooking what? Instant noodles and canned soup?”

“Hey,” Stan shot back, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know my mac and cheese is a local legend. People come from miles around to—”

“To avoid it, I’m guessing,” Kate interrupted, laughing.

Stan feigned a wounded expression, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Fine, doll. Let’s see you do better.”

Kate handed him a cutting board piled with vegetables. “Alright, Mr. Mystery. Think you can handle chopping onions without crying?”

Stan rolled up his sleeves dramatically, taking the knife with exaggerated confidence. “Watch and learn.”

He started chopping, but within seconds, his eyes began to water. He blinked rapidly, his cutting slowing as he sniffled.

Kate stifled a laugh, trying to look serious. “You’re doing great.”

Stan glared at her through teary eyes. “Laugh it up, doll. These onions are just extra… emotional, alright?”

“Sure they are,” Kate said, shaking her head as she returned to her own task.

Despite the teasing, they worked well together, each falling into a rhythm. Kate prepared what they needed for gravy while Stan peeled potatoes, their banter filling the air as they moved around each other in the tight space.

At one point, Stan reached for a spice jar at the same time Kate turned to grab a bowl. They collided, Kate stumbling back with a startled laugh as Stan steadied her with one hand.

“Careful there, doll,” he said, his voice warm. “Don’t want you takin’ a tumble on my watch.”

Kate felt her cheeks warm but quickly brushed it off. “Just watch where you’re going, Stan.”

He grinned, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. “After you, Your Majesty.”

They returned to their cooking, the moment passing but leaving a faint buzz in the air.

When the stuffing was finally in the oven, Stan leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Alright, what’s next, boss?”

Kate glanced at the clock. “Gravy. Think you can handle whisking without breaking anything?”

“Piece of cake,” Stan replied, grabbing the whisk.

Kate poured the drippings into a saucepan, adding a bit of flour and broth. Stan took over, stirring with an almost comical intensity.

“Slow down,” Kate said, laughing. “You’re going to splash it everywhere.”

Stan eased up, giving her a sheepish grin. “Can’t help it. I’m a man of passion.”

Kate rolled her eyes but smiled, nudging him with her elbow as she passed to check on the turkey.

By the time the food was ready, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour dusted the counters, and there was a mysterious smear of cranberry sauce on the fridge door.

Kate surveyed the mess with a sigh, her hands on her hips. “Well, we’ve successfully destroyed my kitchen.”

Stan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but look at this spread. We’re basically gourmet chefs.”

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously talented,” Stan shot back, winking.

They set the dishes on the table, the mismatched plates and utensils giving the meal a casual charm. The turkey sat at the center, its golden skin glistening, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, roasted vegetables, and a precariously leaning apple pie.

Kate lit a couple of candles, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“It’s not bad,” she admitted.

“Not bad?” Stan repeated, feigning offense. “Doll, this is a masterpiece.”

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. As they sat down to eat, the warmth of the food—and the company—made the chaos of the kitchen worth it.

---

Kate poured a bit of wine into each of their glasses and raised hers with a small smile. “To… surviving the chaos of the kitchen.”

Stan clinked his glass against hers, grinning. “And to my world-famous stuffin’.”

“World-famous? You mean the stuff you burned a little in the corner?” Kate teased, her eyes twinkling.

“Hey, I call that flavor,” Stan shot back, taking a sip of wine. “Adds character.”

Kate shook her head, laughing softly as she passed him the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Alright, let’s see if this ‘character’ tastes as good as you claim.”

They filled their plates, the quiet clinking of utensils filling the space as they each took their first bites.

“This is… actually good,” Kate admitted, a note of surprise in her voice as she tasted the turkey.

Stan feigned indignation, his fork pausing mid-air. “What’dya expect? You’re dealin’ with a guy who’s been runnin’ a business for years. You think I don’t know my way around a stove?”

Kate smirked. “I thought your skills stopped at conning tourists and dodging parking tickets.”

Stan laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Fair enough. But see? I’ve got layers, doll. Like an onion. Or a really good pie.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the slightly tilted apple pie. “Speaking of pie, you sure that’s not going to collapse under its own weight?” She eyes the pie Stan had insisted on making apart from her own.

“Only one way to find out,” Stan said, pointing his fork at her before digging into his mashed potatoes.

The conversation ebbed and flowed as they ate, touching on lighter topics—Stan’s outrageous Mystery Shack stories, Kate’s fifth-graders and their antics, and their mutual thoughts on the odd charm of Gravity Falls.

“You know,” Kate said, spearing a piece of roasted carrot, “this is probably the most unconventional Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

“Good unconventional or bad unconventional?” Stan asked, his tone casual, though his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

Kate smiled, setting down her fork. “Good, I think. Definitely better than awkward family dinners where no one really wants to be there.”

Stan chuckled, swirling his wine. “Yeah, I hear that. I’ve had my share of Thanksgivin’s like that. Always feels like you’re waitin’ for the other shoe to drop, y’know?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah. But this? This is… nice.”

Stan’s grin widened, and he raised his glass again. “To nice.”

“To nice,” Kate echoed, their glasses clinking softly in the warm glow of the candles.

As the meal wound down, they leaned back in their chairs, content and slightly stuffed. Stan reached for the pie, cutting two uneven slices and handing one to Kate with a flourish.

“Moment of truth,” he said, watching as she took a bite.

Kate chewed thoughtfully before nodding. “Not bad, Pines. I’ll even let the lopsided shape slide.”

“High praise,” Stan said with mock seriousness, taking a bite of his own slice.

They lingered at the table, the conversation growing softer as the evening wore on. The candles burned low, and the chill of the night crept in, but neither seemed in a hurry to end the moment.

As they sat down to eat, the mismatched feast laid out before them, Kate felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the food. For the first time in years, Thanksgiving didn’t feel lonely for either of them.

Chapter Text

The bell above the door jingled as Kate stepped into the Gravity Falls General Store, a gust of cold air trailing behind her. The holiday season had arrived in full swing, and the store had leaned into it. Rows of fake Christmas trees twinkled with multicolored lights, and garlands hung from the shelves, their glitter catching the overhead fluorescent lights.

Kate tucked her gloves into her coat pockets and headed toward the craft supplies aisle. The fifth-graders had been buzzing about their class holiday art project, and she needed to pick up a few things to prepare.

As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with someone standing in front of a rack of glitter glue and paint sets.

“Stan?” she said, startled.

Stan turned, holding up a pack of snow globe figurines in one hand and a bag of fake snow in the other. His expression lit up when he saw her. “Fancy meetin’ ya’ here sweetheart. What brings ya’ to the land of overpriced glitter?”

Kate smirked, gesturing to the shelf. “Class project. What about you? Don’t tell me you’re here for arts and crafts.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Stan said, grinning. “Winter edition gifts for the Shack. Gotta keep the tourists spendin’, y’know?”

Kate raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “You’re making your own merch? I didn’t think that was a year-round thing.”

“Desperate times, doll,” Stan said with a shrug. “Turns out the wholesalers jacked up their prices, so I’m improvisin’. DIY snow globes, ornaments, maybe even some candles if I can figure out how not to burn the place down.”

Kate chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s… actually kind of impressive. Do you need help?”

Stan blinked at her, surprised. “You wanna help me make tourist junk?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It sounds like fun, and I’m pretty good with crafts. Besides, you’re going to need all the help you can get if you’re planning to put glitter anywhere near the Shack. You help me all the time, let me help you.”

Stan laughed, holding up the bag of fake snow. “Alright, deal. But don’t blame me if you end up with glue stuck to your hands for a week.”

---

The kitchen table of the Mystery Shack had transformed into a chaotic yet oddly festive workshop. The long table was covered in brown paper to protect its surface, but that hadn’t stopped Stan from spilling paint on the edges. Supplies were piled high—glitter jars, tiny figurines of snowmen and pine trees, bags of fake snow, glue guns, and rows of empty jars ready to become snow globes.

Kate sat at one end, meticulously painting a tiny wooden reindeer in soft shades of brown. Across from her, Stan was hunched over a jar, squinting as he tried to position a tiny Mystery Shack figurine in the center of the snow globe base.

“You know,” Kate said, dipping her brush into a tiny pot of white paint, “the trick is to plan the layout before you glue everything down.”

Stan glanced up, holding the jar at arm’s length. “Oh, sure. Planning. That’s for amateurs. Real geniuses work on instinct.”

Kate smirked. “Is that why your last snow globe had a snowman sitting on the roof of the Shack?”

Stan grinned, shaking the jar to watch the glitter swirl inside. “The tourists’ll eat it up. It’s called whimsy. It adds charm, doll.”

Kate chuckled, setting down the reindeer and reaching for another blank ornament. She picked up a round wooden disc and began sketching out a design in pencil—a snowy cabin surrounded by pine trees.

“This paint’s way too runny,” he grumbled not too long after starting a new craft. “Why can’t they make this stuff foolproof?”

Kate glanced up, smirking. “Because they assume the people using it know what they’re doing.”

Stan shot her a mock-glare. “Ha ha. Very funny. How’s your fancy little tree comin’ along?”

Kate held up the snow globe, turning it so he could see. “Better than your sad little reindeer over there.”

Stan looked at the reindeer he’d painted, its silver coat streaky and uneven. “It’s abstract,” he said defensively.

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “Abstract, huh? That’s one way to spin it.”

They fell into an easy rhythm as they worked, the time slipping by unnoticed.

At one point, Stan leaned back in his chair, holding up a finished snow globe. It featured a tiny, glitter-covered Mystery Shack surrounded by fake snow.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, grinning.

Kate inspected it, nodding. “It’s actually really cute. I think the tourists are going to love it.”

“Ya’ think?” Stan said, his grin widening. Stan chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for another jar. “Y’know, you’re not half bad at this. Maybe I should hire you full-time.”

“Tempting,” Kate said, “but I think I’ll stick to teaching.”

---

It had been an hour or two and the kitchen table was now a mess. glue guns sitting on top of scraps, half empty jars of glitter, paint-streaked brushes had rolled onto the floor, and stacks of tiny figurines were now airdrying on the kitchen counter. Kate carefully glued a miniature snowman to the base of a snow globe, her brow scrunched in light concentration.

Across from her, Stan was hunched over an ornament, his brow furrowed as he painted what looked like a cartoon version of the Mystery Shack.

“Okay,” Kate said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I have to ask. Are all your Shack souvenirs this… handmade?”

Stan glanced up, smirking. “What, you don’t think my stuff looks professional?”

Kate raised an eyebrow, holding up the snow globe she’d just finished. “I mean, this is cute, but it’s not exactly factory-made.”

Stan chuckled, leaning back in his chair and wiping a streak of paint off his arm. “Nah, most of the stuff I sell comes from wholesalers. Bulk buys, cheap and easy. But the custom stuff? That’s what keeps the tourists comin’ back. Gotta give ‘em something they can’t find anywhere else.”

“Like what?” Kate asked, genuinely curious.

Stan set down his paintbrush and grinned. “Well, let’s see. We’ve got your standard Mystery Shack mugs, t-shirts, and keychains. But the real money-makers? Glow-in-the-dark ‘Cursed Skull’ paperweights, psychic crystal balls—those are just glass balls with glitter in ‘em, by the way—and my personal favorite, the ‘World’s Most Haunted’ birdhouses.”

Kate laughed, nearly spilling the glitter she was sprinkling into her snow globe. “Haunted birdhouses? You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious,” Stan said, his grin widening. “It’s just a regular birdhouse, but I slap a spooky face on it, throw in some fake cobwebs, and bam—instant collector’s item.”

Kate shook her head, laughing. “And people actually buy this stuff?”

“Doll, people eat it up,” Stan said, leaning forward. “You’d be amazed at what folks’ll pay for if you sell it with a good story. Like the Shack itself—it’s a tourist trap, sure, but people love the mystery. Makes ‘em feel like they’re part of somethin’ special.”

Kate nodded, her laughter fading into a thoughtful expression. “You know, I used to think all that was just… well, nonsense. But the more time I spend here, the more I get it. This place is special.”

Stan’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Yeah. Guess it is. And hey, now you’re part of the operation, too” she missed the way his gaze had gone soft, almost wistful for a second.

As they continued working, Kate couldn’t help but prod a little further.

“So, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever sold?”

Stan paused, his brush hovering over an ornament. “Weirdest? Oh, that’s tough. There was this one time I sold a ‘real’ werewolf pelt. It was just an old rug I found in the attic, but I told the guy it came from a ‘legendary forest beast.’ He ate it up.”

Kate gave him an incredulous look, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re terrible” she shook her head.

“Terribly brilliant,” Stan corrected, grinning. “And hey, I’ve got a whole shelf of ‘Mystery Shack-exclusive’ oddities. Pickled eyeballs—actually just peeled grapes in vinegar—shrunken heads made outta dried apples, and let’s not forget the ‘Love Potion No. 9’ that’s really just soda in a fancy bottle.”

Kate shook her head, still laughing. “You are a con artist.” There was no malice in her statement more than actual understanding of his schemes.

“Guilty as charged,” Stan said, unbothered. “But people walk outta there with a smile on their face, so I figure it evens out.”

Kate hummed, now pensive. Though not the most honorable way of earning a life, she had to give Stan the credit to try to make something of himself. She was yet to truly know a lot of things about him, he clearly had a troubled past and she assumed his shortcuts and other scams were something he had picked up as a necessity. He had been proving himself to be a decent guy, just misguided and perhaps at his wits end. Stan had since been consistent and kind, a reliable presence, someone that knew how to lift her spirits.

“Got an idea! Doll, mind helping me carry some things to the exhibition area” he pulled her out of her inner monologue. She looked at him and saw him grin, she nodded “Of course.”

---

She had helped Stan take a box of the decorations and other ornaments to the actual attraction area of the Mystery Shack. He had explained they could decorate the exhibition to make it more festive, they each tackled one side and began to work.

Kate now stood in the Shack’s main exhibit area; her arms crossed as she eyed a display case labeled “The Horrifying Hand of the Wendigo” Inside was a gnarled, skeletal hand mounted on a velvet pillow.

Her mind went to the afternoon of The Shade, she had neatly tucked away the incident not truly wanting to believe what Stan had told her. Apart from that afternoon, she had yet to encounter with anything else. She had tried convincing herself it had all been a fever dream, her mind not quite wrapping around what the veracity of the cryptids could mean. Yet, as it happened back then, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that Stan knew more than he led on. They were closer and in better terms now, she decided to discretely probe for more information.

“Alright, Stan,” Kate said, tilting her head toward the exhibit. “You’ve got to tell me. Is this real, or did you glue chicken bones together and call it a day?”

Stan, who was hanging a wreath from a faux bigfoot statue, chuckled without looking up. “What do you think?”

Kate smirked, tapping the glass. “Knowing you, I’m guessing chicken bones. Or maybe leftover ribs from the diner.”

Stan finally looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Actually, that one’s from an old Halloween prop. Bought it at a garage sale for ten bucks. Told you—tourists love a good story.”

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “I figured as much. But you’ve got so many of these. The ‘Cyclops Skull,’ the ‘Mermaid’s Comb,’ the ‘Three-Headed Jackalope’... Did you make all of them up?”

Stan walked over, rubbing his chin as he surveyed the room. “Nah, not all. Some of the stuff’s legit.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Stan hesitated, his usual bluster dimming slightly. “Well… let’s just say Gravity Falls has its share of weirdness. You saw it yourself, with the Shade. Some of the things in this town? You don’t have to make ‘em up.”

Kate’s expression went thoughtful glancing around trying to deciphers fake from real, a weird feeling sitting in her stomach. “Okay,” she said, giving him a look, he had gone a bit cautious. “So which ones are real? The Hand of the Wendigo’s a fake, but what about that Cyclops Skull?”

Stan snorted. “Fake. Took a cow skull, added an eye socket with a power drill, and painted it up nice.”

Kate gestured toward the corner where a taxidermy creature labeled “Chupacabra Cub” stood under a spotlight. Its snarling face looked like a mix between a wild dog and a boar.

“Please don’t tell me you made that,” she said.

“Swear to you, I didn’t,” Stan replied, crossing his heart with a grin. “Found it in the woods near town. Don’t ask me what it really is, but it looked creepy enough, so here it is.”

Kate studied the creature, her skepticism giving way to curiosity. “Alright, that one’s got potential. What about the ‘Mermaid’s Comb’?”

Stan waved a hand dismissively. “Found it in a junk shop. Real pretty, though, so I threw it in a case and slapped on a legend about a lovesick mermaid who traded it for legs.”

Kate chuckled, shaking her head. “You really do know how to spin a tale.”

She glanced around, her gaze lingering on a framed map pinned to the wall labeled “Hotspots of the Supernatural.”

“You know,” she said after a moment, “after everything with the Shade, I’m starting to wonder how much of this town is real and how much is just… stories.”

Stan leaned against one of the displays, his usual grin fading into something more thoughtful. “More than you’d think, doll. The Shack’s mostly a scam—gotta keep the tourists happy—but Gravity Falls? It’s got secrets. Real ones.”

Kate crossed her arms, frowning. “Like that weird thing”

Stan nodded. “And a whole lot more. Weird lights in the woods, whispers from the lake at night. Sometimes it feels like this place completely different from the rest of the world, y’know?”

Kate shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the memory of encountering the Shade, the strange feeling it had given her. “And you’ve been living here long enough to know or document these… creatures?”

Stan stilled slightly, Ford’s journals had helped, thanks to them he had been able to navigate the crazy that haunted Gravity falls. He shrugged, feigning aloofness and grinned softly. “They show up often enough and you get used to it. Besides, it’s good for business.”

Kate rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Of course it is. Do you ever worry it’ll catch up to you? That some… thing might be too much to handle?”

Stan tilted his head, considering her question. “Nah. If it does, I’ll deal with it when it comes. That’s just how it works around here. You stick with me, and you’ll figure it out, too.”

Kate chuckled, shaking her head. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Always,” Stan replied, winking.

As they moved on to another display—this one featuring a jar labeled “Giant’s Tear”—Kate felt a strange mix of amusement and unease. The Mystery Shack might have been a tourist trap, but Gravity Falls had proven it was much more than that.

They got back to decoration the exhibition, Stan telling stories—half-truths and all—she found herself wondering where the line between legend and reality truly lay, and was she in actual danger.

---

Despite the detour of decorating the exhibition, Kate and Stan now found themselves in the kitchen again. Kate groaned lightly at the mess that had been made, mainly on Stan’s side of the table. They began cleaning and organizing the crafts they had made. Rows of completed snow globes on the windowsill, each one was unique—some had tiny snow-covered cabins, others featured reindeer, and one had an entire miniature town nestled among glittering white hills.

Kate picked up one of the globes, turning it in her hands to watch the snow swirl around the scene. “This one’s my favorite,” she said, showing it to Stan.

He leaned over to look. “Not bad. But wait till you see this.”

Stan held up an ornament he’d been working on—a wooden disc painted with a cartoonish version of the Mystery Shack, complete with a little sign that read, “World’s Best Tourist Trap!”

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve got a theme going, I’ll give you that.”

“Hey, you stick to your artsy stuff, and I’ll stick to what I know,” Stan said, grinning.

As they surveyed their work Kate shook her head, smiling lightly, “You know, this was actually… fun.”

Stan glanced at her, his grin softening. “Yeah. Guess it was” Stan turned to Kate, a rare note of sincerity in his voice. “Thanks for helpin’ out. I know I joke around a lot, but… this meant a lot. It’s been a while since the Shack’s felt this… lively.”

Kate smiled, brushing a bit of glitter from her sleeve. “Anytime, Stan. It’s nice to take a break from the usual chaos and just… create something.”

Stan nodded, his grin softening. Kate smiled, holding up her latest ornament for him to see. “I’d say we did a pretty good job.”

Stan nodded, his grin returning. “Yeah. Not bad for a couple of amateurs.”

“Speak for yourself Mr. Mystery” she said playfully “I think we’ve cleaned up as much as we were able to considering the amount of glitter everywhere” she gestured around as she went for her coat.

“Meh, I’ve made bigger messes at your place, I’ll give ya’ a pass” he teased.

She feigned relief “Ever so grateful” she gave him a look and he chuckled.

“Thanks again, doll” he said sincerely, as he watched her put the scarf around her neck, and hat.

“My pleasure” she gave him small smile as she walked towards him where he waited by the door.

A small moment went by as they looked at each other. He lifted up a hand and pulled the hat over her eyes, a playful gesture. “Drive safe, sweetheart.”

She chuckled, readjusting the hat and slapping him on the chest lightly “I will” she confirmed. As Kate headed out into the cold night, she glanced back at the Shack, its windows glowing warmly against the dark. For all its quirks—and Stan’s antics—she had to admit that Gravity Falls was starting to feel like home.

Chapter Text

The week leading up to Christmas weas colder than Kate expected. Gravity Falls had transitioned from crisp autumn mornings to frost-covered windows, the scent of woodsmoke lingering in the air. It was a race against time to prepare her house for the winter chill. Despite their progress, the house was still far from finished. Every corner of the house bore some evidence of their work: stacks of tiles waiting to be laid, walls stripped bare in preparation for fresh paint, and a growing pile of discarded junk by the back door.

One late December afternoon, the snow began falling, softening the edges of the landscape and blanketing Kate’s yard in white. She stood at the window, sipping a mug of cocoa, watching the flakes drift down lazily. The sound of a familiar car rumbling up her driveway pulled her from her thoughts. Stan’s convertible, somehow still running in the biting cold, came to a stop with a groan.

Kate opened the door before he could knock, smiling at the sight of him bundled in a thick coat and a scarf that didn’t quite fit his broad frame, the coat too tight and small. He was a light shade of pink, not only from the cold outside but most likely from the current lack of heating in his car.

“You’re going freeze to death in that thing,” she teased, nodding toward his car.

Stan waved a dismissive hand, his breath fogging in the air. “This ol’ beauty’s tougher than she looks. Anyway, you called, so here I am.”

She stepped aside to let him in, the warmth of the house enveloping them both. “Thanks for coming. I hate to admit it, but I’m stuck.”

“What’s the problem this time?” he asked, setting his toolbox down by the door and rubbing his hands together.

“The heating,” Kate said, leading him to the ancient furnace in the basement. “It’s been making these horrible noises. I’m worried it’ll give out any second.”

Stan crouched in front of the furnace, inspecting it with a practiced eye. “Looks like this beast hasn’t been serviced in, oh, a century or so.” He glanced back at her with a grin. “Good thing you’ve got me, huh?”

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Lucky me.”

As Stan worked, Kate knelt beside him, holding the flashlight steady while he adjusted bolts and tightened connections. The proximity was familiar now, but every so often, their hands brushed, or his shoulder bumped hers, sending a tiny spark through the air.

“Alright, let’s take a look at this pilot light,” Stan muttered, leaning closer to the furnace. He opened a small access panel and peered inside. “Yup, just as I thought. It’s clogged up with gunk.”

Kate leaned over his shoulder to get a better view. “Can you clean it?”

Stan smirked, pulling a small wire brush from his toolbox. “Piece of cake. Hand me that screwdriver, will ya?”

Kate passed him the tool, watching as he carefully scraped away the buildup around the pilot light. “You’ve done this before,” she observed.

“Plenty of times,” Stan replied. “Back in the day, I couldn’t afford to call a repairman every time somethin’ broke. Had to learn how to fix things myself.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Kate said, her tone light. “Otherwise, I’d probably be sitting in a freezing house right now.”

Stan chuckled. “Don’t sell ya’self short, doll. You’ve got the brains and the guts for this stuff. Just takes practice.”

Once the pilot light was clean, Stan carefully reignited it, the small flame flickering to life. He closed the panel and stood, brushing off his hands. “There. That’ll keep it runnin’ smoother for now. But these filters—” he tapped a grimy panel on the side of the furnace. “They’re filthy. We’ll need to replace ‘em.”

Kate frowned. “Do you think we can find replacements in town?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Stan said. “But until then, I’ll give these a quick rinse. It’ll buy us some time.”

He removed the filters and headed to the utility sink in the corner of the basement. As he rinsed them under the faucet, Kate leaned against the wall, watching him. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and his focus was entirely on the task at hand.

“You really know your stuff,” she said after a moment.

Stan glanced over his shoulder, water dripping from the filters. “You sayin’ that now? Wait ‘til I fix the radiator. Then you’ll be really impressed.”

Kate laughed softly. “You’ve got a way of turning everything into a show, don’t you?”

“What can I say? I’m a natural entertainer,” he replied, flashing her a grin.

Once the filters were clean and back in place, Stan tested the furnace again. The rumbling noise it had been making earlier was gone, replaced by a steady hum. He turned to Kate, looking pleased with himself. “There ya go. Good as new. Well, almost.”

Kate let out a relieved breath. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Stan smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “I dunno, probably freeze to death in this drafty old place.”

Kate playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps callin’ me,” he shot back, his grin softening. “Guess I’m growin’ on ya.”

She didn’t respond right away, and when she looked at him, there was something unreadable in her expression. “Yeah, maybe you are.”

For a moment, the air felt heavier, the basement’s dim light casting long shadows. Then Kate broke the spell, standing abruptly. “Come on,” she said, her tone lighter. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Taking him upstairs, she showed him to room that Stan had yet to have seen.

“I’ve been meaning to get this set up,” she explained, gesturing to the stove. “Figured it might help keep the house warmer, at least this floor, but I have no idea where to start.”

Stan walked over, inspecting the stove and the stack of firewood. “This thing’s a beauty,” he said, running a hand over the cast iron surface. “Bet it’ll heat up the second floor nice and toasty once we get it goin’.”

The wood-burning stove stood in the corner of the room, an old but sturdy relic of the past. The room smelled faintly of dust and soot, remnants of its long dormancy. Stan crouched in front of it, tools spread out on the floor, sleeves rolled up, and a determined look on his face. Kate sat nearby, perched on the arm of the couch with her arms crossed, watching him.

“So? What’s the plan, Mr. Mystery?”

Stan grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “First, we clean out the flue. Then we’ll stack this wood properly so it doesn’t topple over and crush someone. And then,” he added, lighting a match with a flourish, “we make fire.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, her tone a mix of skepticism and teasing.

Stan shot her a sidelong glance. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen your version of ‘fixing things’ before,” Kate replied with a smirk.

“Hey, I’m a pro,” Stan said, grabbing a screwdriver. He knelt closer to the stove’s front panel, inspecting its rusted hinges. “This old girl just needs a little TLC, that’s all. Trust me, by the time I’m done, you’ll have this place warmer than Florida in July.”

Kate rolled her eyes but stayed quiet, her gaze flicking to his hands as he worked. Stan loosened a few screws, wincing as one of them resisted.

“Careful,” she said, leaning forward slightly. Kate crossed her arms, watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“You sure you don’t want gloves?” Kate asked, eyeing his bare hands as they maneuvered the stubborn metal.

“Gloves just get in the way,” Stan replied, grunting as he wrenched the flue open. A cloud of soot burst out, catching him off guard. He leaned back, coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “Okay, maybe I should’ve expected that.”

Kate smirked, tossing him a rag from the workbench nearby. “Told you this thing’s a relic.”

“Relic or not, it’ll warm this place up better than any furnace,” Stan said, wiping his hands and leaning back in for another look. He reached inside with a small wire brush, scraping away layers of built-up soot and debris.

“Careful,” Kate said, her tone teasing but with an edge of concern. “You’re gonna end up wearing half of that.”

“If it means getting this thing working, I’ll take my chances,” Stan shot back, his voice muffled as he worked. The stubborn buildup inside the flue resisted his efforts, and with a muttered curse, he grabbed a larger tool from his kit.

“Don’t force it,” Kate warned, stepping a bit closer.

Stan didn’t reply immediately, too focused on loosening the block of soot lodged deep in the flue. He gave one final, forceful push—and that’s when it happened. The block came loose all at once, sending a cascade of soot and debris falling directly onto his hands. Among the mess was a jagged shard of rusted metal, dislodged from the inner workings of the stove. It caught him across the back of his hand as it fell, leaving a deep gash in its wake.

“Ah, damn it!” Stan exclaimed, pulling his hand back sharply. He clutched it to his chest, his face contorted in pain.

“Stan!” Kate dropped the kindling and rushed to his side. “Let me see!”

“It’s fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, though the blood seeping between his fingers said otherwise.

“Fine? You’re bleeding everywhere!” Kate shot back, her voice rising. She reached for his hand, but he instinctively pulled it away. “Stan, stop being stubborn and let me look at it!”

After a tense moment, he relented, holding his injured hand out toward her. The gash was worse than she’d thought—a jagged line running across the back of his hand, the edges already swelling. Blood oozed from the wound, staining his skin and the cuff of his shirt.

“Jesus, Stan,” Kate breathed, her face paling slightly. “Why didn’t you…” She shook her head, grabbing the rag again and pressing it gently against the cut to slow the bleeding.

“It’s nothin’,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.

“Yeah, tell that to your hand,” she sounded a bit panicked.

“Doll—”

“Let’s go” she said firmly, cutting him off. “You’re not arguing with me on this one.”

Stan gave her a long look, and for a moment, she thought he might argue anyway. But then he sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Fine. Lead the way, boss.”

Kate began walking quickly to only bathroom in the upper floor which was in her bedroom. Stan cradled his injured hand, stopping at the door of her bedroom, uncertain. She shot him a sideways glance. “Sit on the bed. I told you not to force it” she hustled him along a bit distractedly disappearing into the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, wincing as he adjusted his grip. He sank a bit deeper on the bed, his usual swagger dimmed by the pain in his hand. Kate could be heard rummaging through the cabinets for the first-aid kit.

“This isn’t how I planned to spend the afternoon,” Stan muttered, his tone somewhere between annoyance and resignation.

Kate turned back to him, the first-aid kit in hand. “Yeah, well, I didn’t plan on playing nurse, but here we are” her tone resigned. She set the kit on the bed where he sat and opened it with a snap.

“Alright,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “Let’s take a proper look at that hand” she knelt in front of him, pulling out antiseptic wipes and gauze. She set to work without hesitation, peeling the blood-soaked rag away from his hand. The wound was deeper than it had first appeared, and she winced as she saw it up close.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Stan tried, but his wince as she unwrapped the makeshift towel told a different story.

“Sure, tough guy,” Kate muttered, leaning in closer, “This is going to sting.”

Stan smirked faintly. “Do your worst.”

Kate gave him a look before carefully dabbing at the wound. He hissed in pain, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. “I told you to be careful,” she said, her voice softer now.

“Yeah, well, you were right,” he admitted. “Ya’ happy?”

“Not really,” Kate replied, wrapping gauze around his hand. Her fingers brushed against his as she worked, and for a moment, their eyes met. The room felt smaller, the air heavier.

Stan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, does this mean I get hazard pay?”

Kate let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“But ya’ like me anyway,” he quipped, the grin returning to his face.

Kate didn’t respond immediately, focused on taking care of his hand. She finally looked up at him briefly with a small, reluctant smile. “Perhaps I do. But don’t let it go to your head.”

Stan leaned back, poking her shoulder with his uninjured hand. “Too late.”

A charged couple of seconds went by “You’re lucky it’s not worse” she tried steering back the conversation. Stan gave her a crooked smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Guess I’m a lucky guy.”

Kate was too concentrated in cleaning the wound, though her lips moved slightly upward. He stayed quiet for a moment, watching her. The sharp sting made him flinch, and Kate immediately adjusted the angle of his hand, her fingers brushing against his wrist.

“I’m fine,” he said, but it came out less convincing than he’d hoped.

“Sure you are,” Kate replied, her tone skeptical but without malice. She grabbed a small, clean towel and patted his hand dry. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she was afraid any sudden motion might cause him pain.

As she worked, the room grew quieter, the only sound the occasional rustle of the bandages or the distant creak of the old house settling in the cold. Kate pulled out a tube of ointment, carefully squeezing a small amount onto her fingers.

“This might sting a little,” she warned, glancing up at him.

Stan nodded, his gaze fixed on her face rather than his injured hand. “Again, do ya’ worst, doll.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Kate said with a faint smile, finally allowing herself a small joke as she smoothed the ointment over the burn. Stan flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Her touch was gentle, almost too gentle, as if she were holding back.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “I’m not made outta glass.”

Kate paused, her fingers still hovering over his hand. “Maybe not,” she said softly, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going let you walk around half-broken, either.”

Stan blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t often someone looked out for him like this, let alone with the kind of care Kate was showing. He’d grown used to patching himself up, shrugging off injuries like they didn’t matter. But now, sitting in her bedroom of all places, her hands tending to his, it felt... different.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he said finally, his voice laced with a quiet warmth that hadn’t been there earlier.

Kate raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from her work. “How so?”

“I dunno,” he said, his grin faint but genuine. “You’re sittin’ here, playin’ nurse. Didn’t see that comin’.”

Kate chuckled softly, shaking her head as she reached for the gauze. “You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Stan, but even you don’t deserve to go around with a mauled hand. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you in one piece.”

“Oh, so it’s out of obligation?” he teased, the sparkle in his eyes returning.

“Something like that,” she replied, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone—something neither of them was quite ready to name.

She began wrapping the gauze around his hand, her fingers brushing against his skin with each pass. The closeness between them felt heavier now, the air thick with unspoken words. When she finished tying off the bandage, she didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she rested her hand lightly over his, her eyes meeting his.

“There,” she said softly. “All patched up.”

Stan’s grin faded into something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks, doll.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly. She quickly stood, breaking the moment. “Now, no more horsing around for the sake of shortcuts.”

Stan leaned back a bit to properly look at her face, his cocky demeanor slipping back into place. “Yes, ma’am.” But as she moved to tidy up the supplies, he found himself watching her more closely than he’d meant to, the weight of her earlier words lingering in his mind. The boundary between them had shifted, just a little. They both felt it, even if neither of them said it out loud.

Once she had packed everything she came out of the bathroom “Hot cocoa?” she offered. Stan shook the weird feeling in his chest and winked at her “Ya’ bet, doll.”

---

They stood leaning on the kitchen island, a hot mug in hand, his newly bandaged hand gingerly resting to one side. Outside, snow continued to fall, a soft white blanket muffling the world beyond the frosted windows.

Kate sipped her cocoa, the warmth of the mug a welcome comfort in her hands. She glanced sideways at Stan, who was staring at nowhere in particular, just lost in thought. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a rare stillness that made her wonder what he was thinking.

“You okay?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

Stan turned to her, his grin returning, albeit smaller than usual. “I’ve survived worse,” he said with a shrug.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kate said, her tone a little more serious. Her eyes searched his face, trying to read the flickers of emotion there.

For a moment, he looked like he might deflect, like he always did, but then he sighed and leaned back, his posture relaxing. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

Kate smiled, her shoulders easing. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice quieter now. “But you know, you’re allowed to let people take care of you every once in a while. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Stan let her words hang in the air for a moment, his gaze on the window watching the snow. “Guess I’m still getting’ used to the idea of not being on my own,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Kate’s smile grew faintly. “Well, you’re not. Not here, anyway.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with things unspoken. Kate stared into her mug, her cheeks warming for reasons that had nothing to do with the cocoa, while Stan tapped his uninjured fingers against the marble of the kitchen island in an absent rhythm.

Finally, Stan broke the silence, his grin sharpening just a little. “So, how long do you think it’ll take for me to finish fixing this place up for you? Another two? Three months?”

Kate laughed, the sound breaking the tension like a breath of fresh air. “Fixing this place up for me? Pretty sure I’m doing at least half the work here.”

“Half?” Stan said, mock outrage in his tone. “Doll, you hold the flashlight. I do all the heavy lifting.”

“Oh, is that right?” Kate shot back, her smile widening. “You’re lucky I don’t kick you out and finish the job myself.”

Stan chuckled, shifting to bump his shoulder against hers. “You’d miss me too much.”

Kate rolled her eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The soft hum from the kitchen light filled the space between their words. Outside, the snow kept falling, and inside, for the first time in a long time, Kate felt a warmth she hadn’t realized she was missing. She glanced at Stan again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about what it meant to have someone like him here, in this place, at this time.

She didn’t say anything else, though. Instead, she leaned back into the island, her shoulder brushing his. He didn’t move away, and neither did she. Together, they watched the snow fall, letting the quiet linger, letting the moment breathe.

“You should get a TV all this window watchin’ makes me feel old” he grumbled playfully.

Kate chuckled, bumping her shoulder to his “You’re here to work, not to watch TV” she joked, “but you’re right” she conceded, making him grin.

Chapter Text

The snow had barely let up since dawn, blanketing Gravity Falls in thick white drifts that softened the sharp lines of rooftops and tree branches. From her kitchen window, Kate could see faint plumes of smoke rising from neighboring chimneys. The sight was oddly picturesque, even comforting, if she allowed herself to feel it. But there was work to do—there was always work to do on the house.

She wiped her hands on a towel, glancing toward the living room where Stan was sprawled on the couch, boots kicked off, reading a beat-up magazine he must have found in some forgotten corner of the house.

“What’s your excuse for loafing today?” she called.

Stan didn’t even look up. “It’s a holiday, doll.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Kate pointed out, crossing her arms.

He finally lowered the magazine, giving her a lopsided grin. “It’s the Gravity Falls Winter Festival tonight. Big deal around here. Lights, games, food stalls—the whole shebang. You ever been?”

Kate shook her head. “No, I always skipped it when I came back to visit. Too much work on the house.”

Stan snorted. “Figures. Well, you’re not skippin’ it this year. We’re goin’.”

She blinked. “Are we?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yup. And before you start complainin’, lemme tell ya—you need it. Been cooped up in this house too long.” He stood, stretching. “Besides, I’m not missin’ out on free cider and funnel cakes.”

Kate hesitated. The idea of mingling with the townspeople, many of whom likely still saw her as the outsider trying to resurrect a dilapidated house, didn’t exactly thrill her. But Stan’s enthusiasm was infectious, and there was something oddly reassuring about the idea of not going alone.

“Fine,” she relented, “but if it’s terrible, I’m blaming you.”

Stan grinned. “Deal.”

---

By the time they arrived at the town square, the festival was in full swing. Strings of colorful lights crisscrossed above the booths, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered ground. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider filled the air, mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional crackle of fireworks.

Kate tugged her coat tighter around herself, her breath visible in the frigid air. Stan walked beside her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“See?” he said, nudging her shoulder. “Not so bad, right?”

Kate couldn’t help but smile. “It’s... festive,” she admitted.

The Gravity Falls Winter Festival was nothing short of magical. The entire town square had transformed into a bustling wonderland, each booth adorned with twinkling lights and garlands of evergreen. Snow blanketed the ground in a thick, pristine layer, muffling the footsteps of festival-goers as they moved from stall to stall. A massive Christmas tree stood in the center, its branches heavy with shimmering ornaments and topped with a glowing star that seemed to radiate warmth through the cold night.

The scent of freshly baked gingerbread wafted through the air, mingling with the sharp tang of pine and the sweet promise of hot cocoa. Laughter bubbled up from the crowd as children darted between booths, their cheeks flushed from the cold.

Kate and Stan wandered through the festival; their breath visible in the crisp air. Stan’s eyes gleaming with curiosity as he scanned the scene.

He grinned, watching her from the corner of his eye. “They really go all out, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kate admitted, her voice softer. “It’s... a lot more alive than I expected.”

They passed a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one crafted with intricate designs and glittering in the warm light of lanterns. An elderly woman behind the counter smiled at them, her hands deftly tying ribbons onto freshly painted ornaments.

“Care to buy a keepsake for the season?” she offered, holding up a beautiful red ornament painted with swirling gold patterns.

Kate paused, her fingers brushing the delicate surface. “It’s lovely,” she said.

“You should get it,” Stan said, nudging her. “A little reminder of your first festival here.”

Kate glanced at him, surprised by the suggestion. Before she could overthink it, she handed the woman some bills and accepted the ornament with a smile.

“Good choice,” Stan said as they moved on. “Gotta have somethin’ shiny for the tree, right?”

Kate chuckled. “Guess you’re right.”

Further down the row, a booth decorated with candy-striped banners caught Stan’s attention. Large jars filled with colorful sweets lined the counter, and the vendor—a rotund man with a bushy mustache—was enthusiastically handing out samples.

“Step right up! Try our famous peppermint bark or gingerbread truffles!” he bellowed.

“Now we’re talkin’,” Stan said, practically dragging Kate toward the booth.

The man grinned widely as they approached. “What can I tempt you with, folks?”

“One of each,” Stan declared, earning a laugh from Kate.

The man handed them samples wrapped in festive paper. Kate bit into a gingerbread truffle, the rich spices warming her from the inside out. Stan, meanwhile, had a piece of peppermint bark and was chewing with a look of bliss.

“This might be the best decision I’ve made all year,” he said through a mouthful.

Kate laughed. “You have low standards.”

They moved on to a booth where a group of children was gathered around a storyteller dressed in a red cloak. He gestured animatedly as he spun a tale of winter magic, his voice rising and falling dramatically.

“...And as the snow queen’s icy grip threatened the forest, brave little Lucy held up the enchanted lantern—”

The children gasped, their eyes wide with wonder. Kate and Stan lingered at the edge of the crowd, drawn in by the storyteller’s energy.

“Gotta say, he’s got a talent,” Stan remarked.

“You jealous?” Kate teased.

“A little,” Stan admitted. “Bet I could tell a story that’d knock their socks off, though.”

Kate smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

As they continued through the festival, the sound of music drew them toward a stage where a small band was playing lively holiday tunes. Couples twirled on a makeshift dance floor, their laughter mingling with the cheerful melody. A group of teenagers cheered as one of their friends attempted a clumsy spin and nearly toppled over.

---

The festival was alive with laughter, music, and the mingling scents, the colorful lights, a quaint winter-wonderland. Stan charmed the vendors with his rough humor, earning free samples of cider and cookies. They both moved through the crowd, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. Despite the festive atmosphere, Kate couldn't shake the prickling sensation that they were being watched.

She noticed it first at the cider stall. A woman with silver-streaked hair whispered to her friend, eyes darting toward Stan and Kate before quickly looking away. Kate stiffened, pretending not to notice, but the murmurs followed them.

“Look what the cat dragged in, Stan Pines?” someone muttered from behind a row of holiday wreaths.

“Yup. And with that school teacher, of all people,” another voice added, laced with disbelief.

Kate’s face burned, but Stan seemed oblivious as he sipped his cider, grinning at a passing vendor.

Near the crafts booth, two older women stood bundled in heavy coats, their conversation loud enough to carry over the festive noise.

“Did you see them walk in together?” the taller one asked, her tone dripping with curiosity.

“I did,” the shorter woman replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “And if you ask me, it’s a little suspicious.” The woman lowered her voice dramatically. “Stan Pines isn’t exactly known for his... respectable company, can’t help but wonder if she’s into the same hustle.”

Kate clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the warm cup in her hands. Stan caught the tension and gave her a sidelong glance.

“You okay, doll?” he asked, voice low.

“Fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just cold.”

He seemed to buy it, nudging her toward another booth where brightly colored scarves and knitted hats were displayed. But the whispers continued to follow them like stubborn shadows.

“Didn’t expect her to take up with him,” a burly man said to his friend as they passed by the firepit.

“She’s braver than most,” the friend replied with a chuckle. “Or dumber,” the first man added, shaking his head.

Kate’s steps faltered, her breath hitching. She glanced at Stan, who was examining a pair of gloves at the booth, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny. How could he be so calm when everyone was talking about them?

A younger couple near the candy stall wasn’t as subtle.

“Isn’t he the guy who was always in some kind of trouble?” the woman asked, popping a peppermint into her mouth.

“Yeah,” her partner confirmed. “Kinda weird seeing him with someone like that teacher. Thought she was all about fixing up that old house and keeping her nose clean.”

Kate’s pulse quickened. Her throat tightened as the weight of the gossip pressed down on her. It was one thing to know Stan had a reputation; it was another to hear it broadcast across the festival like some holiday special.

As they moved past another booth, the gossip seemed louder, though Kate knew it was probably in her head.

“Maybe she’s just being nice. You know, charity or whatever.”

“Charity? Please. Look at the way she’s laughing with him.”

Her heart squeezed. She wanted to shout back that they didn’t know Stan, that he wasn’t just some troublemaker or charity case. But part of her knew it wouldn’t matter. People believed what they wanted to believe.

They always had.

And yet... a quieter, more defiant part of her asked: Why do you care? Stan had been nothing but helpful, funny, and surprisingly decent. Maybe he had a past, but so what? Didn’t everyone? He was here, in the cold, carrying on with her like it didn’t matter that people were whispering.

Maybe it didn’t.

Stan returned to her side, holding up a knitted hat with a playful grin. “What do you think? Too flashy for me?”

Despite the heat of embarrassment burning in her chest, Kate managed a laugh. “It’s perfect. You’ll be the talk of the festival.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Aren’t we already?”

Kate’s forced smile faltered. Stan caught it, his expression turning serious.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

She hesitated, then sighed. “People are talking about us,” she admitted. “And not in a good way.”

Stan’s eyes flicked over the crowd, his grin fading. He took a long breath before shrugging. “Let ‘em talk.”

“It’s not that easy,” Kate muttered.

He turned to face her fully, his voice steady. “Look, I’ve been on the wrong side of town gossip my whole life. People are always gonna say what they want. But it don’t mean squat unless you let it.”

Kate bit her lip, his words sinking in. She wanted to be as unaffected as he was, to brush off the whispers like snowflakes. But it wasn’t that simple for her. Reputation had always mattered..

Stan seemed to sense her struggle. He nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Tell you what. How ‘bout we give ‘em somethin’ real to gossip about? Like you beatin’ me at one of these dumb festival games?”

Despite herself, Kate laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You really think I could take you down?”

Stan grinned, his swagger back in full force. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

As they moved toward the nearest game booth, Kate felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Maybe Stan was right. People would always talk, but she didn’t have to let it define her, or them.

---

The booth was decorated with bright red and white banners, and large wooden targets shaped like reindeer stood at the back wall. Neatly stacked piles of snowballs sat on the counter, glistening slightly in the cold light of the lanterns overhead. The teenage attendant leaned against the booth with a bored expression until Stan slapped some bills down on the counter.

“We’re in,” Stan declared, rolling up his sleeves despite the freezing temperature.

Kate raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You realize you’re going down, right?”

Stan barked a laugh. “Big talk for someone who holds a flashlight for a livin’.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Kate said, her competitive streak flaring. She grabbed a snowball, testing its weight in her hand.

The attendant perked up, clearly sensing that this was going to be more entertaining than his usual shift. “Alright, folks, you know the rules—hit as many targets as you can in one minute. Winner gets bragging rights and a free hot cocoa.”

“Hot cocoa? Now we’re talkin’,” Stan said with a grin.

The attendant raised his hand. “Ready... set... go!”

Kate and Stan launched into the game with reckless enthusiasm. Snowballs flew through the air, some hitting their targets with satisfying thuds, others sailing wildly off course. Kate nailed two reindeer in quick succession, her aim surprisingly accurate.

“Not bad,” Stan admitted, hurling a snowball that struck a target square in the middle. “But can you keep up?”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Watch me.”

She lobbed another snowball, narrowly missing a reindeer’s antlers. Stan, meanwhile, had found his rhythm, taking down three targets in rapid succession. The crowd around the booth began to grow, drawn by the fierce competition. Kate felt her competitive spirit ignite.

She grabbed two snowballs at once and hurled them in quick succession, grinning triumphantly as both found their marks.

“Double points,” she said smugly.

“Show-off,” Stan grumbled, but there was a spark of admiration in his eyes.

The attendant’s voice rang out over the commotion. “Ten seconds left!”

Kate and Stan both redoubled their efforts, snowballs flying faster than ever. Kate managed one more hit, but in her excitement, she slipped on a patch of ice and nearly went down.

“Whoa!” Stan lunged forward, grabbing her arm to steady her.

“Thanks,” she panted, regaining her balance.

“No problem,” he said, though his focus was already back on the targets.

“Time!” the attendant called.

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. Kate and Stan both stood panting, their breath visible in the cold air.

“And the winner is...” The attendant paused dramatically, glancing at the score tally. “It’s a tie!”

The crowd groaned in mock disappointment.

“A tie?” Stan said, shaking his head. “No way. I definitely hit more targets.”

“Yeah right,” Kate shot back. “I had you beat.”

The attendant held up his hands. “Hey, rules are rules. You both get hot cocoa. Call it a win-win.”

Stan grinned, nudging Kate with his elbow. “Guess that’s fair.”

She laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

As they walked away from the booth, steaming cups of cocoa in hand, Kate couldn’t help but feel lighter. The festival lights glowed warmly around them, and the sound of laughter filled the air.

“You know,” Stan said, taking a sip of his drink, “I’m gonna need a rematch.”

Kate smirked. “Anytime, Pines. But next time, I’m definitely winning.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said with a laugh, their footsteps crunching in the snow as they headed back into the heart of the festival.

“You know,” Stan said eventually, “I ain’t really a holiday kinda guy.”

Kate glanced at him. “Why not?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the falling snow. “Dunno. Just never had much reason to celebrate, I guess.”

Kate’s chest tightened. She thought about the past few weeks, the laughter, the hard work, and the quiet moments they’d shared. “Maybe this year will be different,” she said quietly.

Stan looked at her then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The moment stretched, heavy with things unsaid. Kate felt her heart race, but she wasn’t sure why. Before she could dwell on it, Stan broke the silence with a grin. “C’mon, doll. Let’s find some funnel cake.”

Kate laughed, the tension easing. “You and your stomach.”

“Hey, priorities,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they headed back toward the heart of the festival.

As they walked, Kate couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was truly the beginning of a real friendship for them. She pushed back the afterthought of their small tension sometimes.

---

The snow continued to fall in soft, swirling patterns, dusting their hair and shoulders. Kate tugged Stan’s scarf tighter around her neck, the wool scratchy but warm against her skin. She looked away blushing slightly.

“Thanks” she muttered.

He grinned, catching her “Not a problem, doll” he winked.

The faint glow from the festival lights reflected in the snow, casting a golden hue over everything. The towering Christmas tree in the center of the square stood as a beacon of warmth and joy, its lights shimmering like captured stars. People danced and laughed beneath it, their faces bright with the kind of happiness that only the holiday season seemed to bring.

Kate felt a pang of longing—not for the bustling crowd, but for the rare, fleeting sense of peace that moments like this carried. She glanced at Stan, who walked beside her, sipping his hot cocoa. He looked oddly content, his usual cocky demeanor softened by the festive atmosphere.

“You know,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I didn’t think this would this be fun.”

Stan smiled. “What, ya’ saying I was right?”

Kate snorted. “Let’s not get carried away” she said sarcastically.

They shared a laugh, their breath mingling in the cold air. The weight of the whispers from earlier had lifted, replaced by a warmth that seemed to settle between them like an unspoken promise.

As they neared the edge of the square, a sudden burst of fireworks lit up the sky. Bright streaks of red, blue, and gold arced above them, shimmering against the dark canvas of night. The crowd cheered, their voices rising in unison.

Kate tilted her head back, mesmerized by the display. The colors danced in her eyes, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the worries about the house, the judgments from the townspeople, even the nagging uncertainty about her future, her house.

Stan’s voice broke through her reverie. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You okay?”

She turned to him, surprised by the genuine concern in his eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think I am.”

He smiled, a rare, sincere expression that made something inside her chest tighten. “Good.”

Another firework exploded above them, showering the sky with golden sparks. Kate felt the warmth of Stan’s presence beside her, steady and reassuring.

“Thanks for dragging me out here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stan shrugged, his grin returning. “What can I say? I got good instincts.”

Kate laughed, the sound light and free. “Don’t let that get to your head.”

“Ya’ listen to me anyways” he teased.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. As the final firework exploded in a brilliant cascade of light, Kate realized that, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t thinking about what was broken or unfinished. She was simply present, standing beside someone who had become an unexpected but welcome part of her life.

The snow continued to fall as they stood there, side by side, letting the magic of the night settle over them.

Chapter Text

Only a couple of days had gone by since the festival when Stan and Kate found themselves out and about in town again for some errands. Kate for her house to insulate the ever-breaking and unsteady roof. Stan needed some new materials for his new “creatures of winter at Gravity Falls” he was planning on making for The Mystery Shack. Kate promised to help him craft if he helped her navigate the ins and outs of insulating materials and installing them.

These back and forth ‘favors’ for each other became just excuses to spend time with each other. They knew this, but it just seemed like they were at a point in their friendship where they still needed an excuse to be around each other instead of just meeting up.

The cold air bit at Kate’s face as she walked through the town square, the remnants of the winter festival still lingering in twinkling lights and half-melted decorations. The snow from the previous night crunched beneath her boots, and she pulled her scarf tighter against the wind. Stan walked beside her, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his breath curling into the cold air.

She had barely noticed the way people glanced at them before, but now, it felt like every conversation halted when they walked by.

Near the bakery, two older women stood huddled together, their heads tilting just slightly in her direction.

"Never thought I’d see her keeping company with him," one murmured, just loud enough for Kate to hear.

"Her grandmother would roll in her grave," the other tsked.

Kate felt her jaw tighten.

Stan must have heard too, because he let out a dry chuckle. "Subtle, ain’t they?"

"Ignore it," Kate muttered, though her fingers curled into fists inside her gloves.

They made it another block before another voice, this time from a man leaning against the general store, carried over the quiet.

"Didn’t figure her for the type," he said, shaking his head.

"Wonder what she sees in him?" his friend added, laughing under his breath.

Kate exhaled sharply, stopping in her tracks, she blushed at the implication that they might be together but she pushed that away. She had grown tired. Tired that she was not able to step a foot outside before the same comments were made over and over again. "You got something to say?" she called out before she could think better of it.

The men blinked, as if surprised she had heard them.

Stan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head toward her. "Doll—"

"No, really," she continued, turning to face them fully. "Since you’re all so interested, maybe you’d like to say it to my face?"

The general store worker hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "Wasn’t meanin’ anything by it," he muttered, suddenly focused on the ground.

"Right. That’s why you made sure I heard you," Kate shot back, her voice firm.

The silence stretched for a moment before the men muttered something else under their breath and disappeared inside the store.

Kate’s heart was pounding, her breath still heavy in the cold air.

Stan let out a low whistle. "Didn’t take ya’ for one to start a public scene, doll."

She exhaled, shaking her head, she felt her cheeks burn. "I’m not. I’m just tired of people acting like you’re some kind of cautionary tale."

Stan studied her for a beat, his usual smirk softened into something else. "You care too much what they think."

"Yeah, well," she muttered, adjusting her scarf. "Maybe I do, because it’s not fair."

They walked in silence for a moment before Stan chuckled. "If you’re done carin’, I’d love to see what happens when ya’ really stop holdin’ back."

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Let’s just get out of here before someone else decides to share their opinion."

Stan tipped an imaginary hat. "After you."

As they walked away, Kate could still feel eyes on them, but pushed the uncomfortable feeling down.

---

By the time they had reached Stan’s car, the snow had started coming down and fast. The radio had been warning about an incoming blizzard, asking for caution and for people to stay at home.

“You can just drop me off” Kate insisted as she watched the snow come down.

“And leave ya’ with half a roof caving in? No way in hell, doll” he countered, his eyes on the road.

“I don’t want you wandering off and stranded Stan, I’ll stick to the ground level and sleep on the couch if the roof finally gives in” she responded.

“Or, I help you seal it and, if, it’s too dangerous to get back, I’m the one stuck on your couch” he argued back playfully, grinning.

“And if it caves anyway?” she egged him on, just to test him.

“If there’s no debris or snow on your bed, I’ll move the mattress downstairs and we’ll have’a sleepover party” he came up with a silly solution on the spot, earning an eyeroll from Kate.

“The man of a thousand and one solutions” she muttered playfully.

“That’s me doll, take a picture” he teased and she snorted slightly.

The amount of snow was still quite manageable by the time they arrived to Kate’s house. As they opened the door, the unmistakable sound of dripping water pulled Kate from her thoughts. At first, she ignored it, assuming it was just the melting snow outside. But when another drop landed with a sharp plop onto the hardwood floor, her stomach clenched.

"No, no, no..." she muttered, already moving toward the sound.

Stan looked up from where he had been fiddling with the bags of materials. "That didn’t sound good."

Kate didn’t respond, already climbing the stairs two at a time. The air grew noticeably colder as she reached the second floor. The moment she stepped into her bedroom, she spotted it: a dark stain spreading across the ceiling, and just below it, water trailing down in slow, cruel drips.

Stan appeared behind her, hands on his hips. "Hate to say I told ya, but—"

Kate shot him a tired glare. "Don’t."

He held up his hands in surrender, but the smirk on his face didn’t disappear. "Alright, alright. But we gotta do somethin’ before this turns into an indoor pool."

Kate ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. "There’s a tarp in the basement. If we can cover the worst of it, we might buy ourselves some time. I’ll get it."

Stan frowned the image of that carving on the wall of that triangle with an eye haunted him. He had seen it one too many times in Ford’s journal. "Yeah, ‘cause sendin’ you down into a creepy basement alone is a great idea. I’ll come with."

Kate wanted to argue, but she was too frustrated to fight him on this one. Together, they made their way downstairs, bracing against the cold drafts sneaking through the old walls.

The basement was as unwelcoming as ever, the air damp and cool. Kate grabbed the tarp while Stan rummaged through some old supplies. "We should reinforce the attic insulation while we’re at it," he said.

"We’re going to need more than just patchwork fixes to get through this winter" Kate groaned.

"Then let’s move before the whole ceiling gives out." Stan hurried them out, a weird feeling creeping on him whilst in the basement.

They worked quickly, bracing against the draft as they secured the tarp in place. It wasn’t a perfect fix, but at least it would slowdown the damage. By the time they were done, Kate was leaning against the wall, exhausted.

Stan plopped down onto the floor beside her. "Coulda been worse."

Kate let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? How?"

"Roof coulda caved in while we— you were sleepin’. Now that would’ve been a real nightmare." He blushed slightly at the slip of the tongue.

Kate shook her head, rubbing her temples. "This house is testing me. I swear, every time I fix one thing, another problem shows up."

Stan leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. "That’s how it goes, doll. Ain’t about fixin’ it all at once. It’s about makin’ it livable, piece by piece."

Kate glanced at him, his words settling deeper than she expected. "And what if it’s never done?"

Stan smirked. "Then you just keep goin’. What else is there?"

She sighed, letting the words roll over her. The house still needed more work than she could handle, and tonight had been another reminder of how fragile it all was. They had yet to tackle the actual problem.

---

Kate stared up at the attic door, the old pull-down ladder looking even more rickety than she remembered. The cold drafts sneaking in through the ceiling made it clear they couldn't put this off any longer.

"You sure this thing's not gonna collapse under us with the state of tha’ roof?" Stan asked, giving the ladder a cautious tug.

"Only one way to find out," Kate muttered, unfolding it with a creak that set her teeth on edge.

Stan gestured grandly. "Ladies first."

Kate shot him a look. "Nice try. You're the one who claimed he was an expert at this."

He sighed dramatically but climbed up first, the wood groaning under his weight. "If this thing snaps, tell my story, will ya?"

Kate rolled her eyes and followed, her breath misting in the icy air as she reached the top. The attic was still as unwelcoming as when they had gone through it months ago. Dusty, dimly lit by a single bulb, and freezing. A few old boxes sat forgotten in the corners, and the insulation, or what remained of it, was practically falling apart.

"Well, this is depressing," Stan muttered, poking at a sagging section of insulation with his boot. "No wonder you’re freezin’ downstairs This place is a damn icebox," he grumbled, rubbing his gloved hands together before flicking on the small flashlight he’d brought up. The weak yellow glow barely cut through the shadows, illuminating dust particles swirling in the stale air.

Kate exhaled; her breath visible in the dim light. "No kidding. If we don’t get this insulation up soon, the whole house is going to feel like this, in spite of everything we’ve worked on."

Stan surveyed the space, stepping cautiously along the exposed beams while Kate tested their weight with a hesitant foot. The attic was unfinished—patchy insulation dangled from between the rafters, chunks of the old material falling apart from years of neglect. In some places, gaps revealed the roof’s wooden skeleton, where cold air seeped through.

"Alright, let’s get to it," Stan said, grabbing one of the thick insulation rolls they’d dragged up. "Hold this steady while I staple it in."

Kate braced the material against the wooden beams, keeping a firm grip as Stan pulled out an industrial staple gun. With a sharp clack, he drove the first staple into place, securing the thick layer of insulation.

"You ever done this before?" Kate asked, watching him work.

"More times than I can count," Stan replied, shifting to drive another staple in. "Lotta folks don’t realize how much heat they’re losin’ ‘til winter rolls around. Used to do odd jobs like this back in the day."

Kate arched an eyebrow, watching him work. She always liked watching him work. Oh stop, that. Now’s not the time. She shook her head to clear it. She decided to put her attention on his worn, torn and small coat, that could not be comfortable or warm. He spoke again, bringing her to.

He grinned as he saw her lost in thought staring at him. "You’re gonna make me blush doll. It’s not that hard to believe, I contain multitudes, sweetheart. Now quit distractin’ me and hold that side up."

Kate rolled her eyes but did as she was told, pressing the insulation firmly into place as Stan moved along the rafter, securing it every few inches. Dust and loose fibers floated in the air, clinging to their clothes. The work was slow and tedious, every shift sent splinters raining down from the old wood, and every gust of wind outside reminded them just how much more needed to be done.

"Alright, next section," Stan said, reaching for another roll. "Let’s try to cover that big gap over there before my fingers freeze off."

Kate hesitated, eyeing the rafters ahead. "That part looks less... stable."

Stan followed her gaze and frowned. "Yeah... we’ll take it slow. You hold the board steady while I get this in place."

Moving cautiously, Kate crouched low, pressing her weight against one of the crossbeams to anchor it while Stan maneuvered the insulation into place. Every creak beneath them sent her pulse racing, but she focused on the task at hand.

"Hold it tight—just a sec—there!" Stan fired another staple, sealing the edge securely. "See? Easy."

She lost her footing panicking “Shit­— Stan!” she yelped.

He acted on instinct, quickly. His hands flying to her arms and shoving her against his chest, arms then tightly wrapped around her middle. For a moment everything was silent, just their panting, small puffs of air visible in the freezing attic. He had bent down, their foreheads together and noses brushing, breaths mingling, still startled.

Oh, he’s warm and solid and big and here when I need him and…

“You ok, doll?” his voice was quiet and raspy in-between breaths. They had yet to move from their very close proximity.

Kate looked up, in doing so bringing their faces even closer together. She cleared her throat "Yes, thank you" she muttered, exhaling as she shifted back onto more solid footing, feeling his arms give some resistance before letting her go.

After the small moment, both a bit flushed, they worked methodically, moving across the attic one section at a time. The insulation was thicker and heavier than Kate expected, making each roll an awkward challenge to maneuver. The air smelled faintly of old wood and musty fabric, and more than once, she had to bat away cobwebs from forgotten corners.

"This house better appreciate this," she grumbled, tugging the final roll into place.

Stan smirked. "Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll send you a thank-you note."

"It better. With a bottle of wine, too."

He let out a short laugh, securing the last section of insulation with a satisfying clack of the staple gun. They both sat back on their heels, surveying their work. The attic still wasn’t perfect, but the biggest gaps were patched, and the biting wind had lessened. Already, it felt like the house was holding onto its warmth a little better.

Kate flexed her stiff fingers, sighing. "That should help."

Stan stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Not bad, doll. Think we should become contractors ourselves” he teased.

Kate laughed lightly. "Don’t let it go to your head."

He grinned, tossing his gloves down. "Too late. Now let’s get outta here before I start growin’ icicles."

With one last glance around the attic, they climbed back down the rickety ladder, leaving behind a slightly warmer house and another problem crossed off the list, for now

---

The storm hit harder than either of them expected. The wind howled against the house, rattling the windows with each powerful gust. Snow whipped through the air outside, swirling in frantic, chaotic patterns beneath the glow of the porch light. Kate stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the whiteout consume the world beyond her front yard. The roads were already buried, and the trees bent under the weight of the growing drifts.

Behind her, Stan stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Welp, looks like I'm stayin'," he said casually, though the corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. "Unless you wanna send me out into that blizzard."

Kate turned, arching an eyebrow. "Tempting."

He smirked. "You'd miss me too much."

She shook her head but didn't deny it. Truth be told, the idea of weathering the storm alone wasn't appealing. The house, despite all the work they’d put into it, still felt empty on nights like this.

A sudden crack from above made them both jump.

Kate shot to her feet. "What now?"

Stan peered out the window. "Ah, hell. That old pine by the fence just dropped a branch. Looks like it took down part of the power line."

The house flickered, and then, just like that, half the lights cut out.

Kate groaned. "Perfect."

Stan grinned in the dim firelight. "Guess that means we’re roughin’ it tonight. Hope you weren’t too attached to modern conveniences."

She let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. "This house is cursed."

Stan smirked. "Nah. Just keeps things interesting."

Kate rolled her eyes, but as she looked around at the candlelit room, the fire casting a warm glow over the worn furniture, she realized something—despite the chaos, she didn’t feel alone. Not really.

Stan, sitting on the couch with his boots kicked up onto the coffee table, let out a low whistle. Kate turned, giving him a look.

"Relax, doll. It ain’t like I’m high-maintenance." He stretched his arms behind his head. "Besides, what kinda gentleman would I be if I left a lady all alone in the middle of a snowstorm?"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why you’re still here."

Stan just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. Despite the howling wind outside, the house felt strangely warm, insulated not just by the fire but by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

She moved toward the kitchen, shaking her head. "Fine. If you’re staying, at least help me make some food."

"Now you’re talkin’," Stan said, hopping up. "Got anything good?"

---

Kate rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, frowning at the pitiful selection of ingredients she had on hand. She had yet to stop by the grocery store, for the lonely Christmas dinner for one.

"Alright, chef," Stan’s voice came from behind her, laced with amusement. "What’s on the menu?"

Kate shot him a look over her shoulder. "Unless you’ve got a hidden stash of gourmet ingredients, we’re working with pasta, canned tomatoes, and..." she paused, lifting a can skeptically, "probably expired beans and some herbs."

Stan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "Sounds like a feast. You want me to run outside, wrestle a deer for somethin’ fresher?"

She snorted. "You’d slip on the ice before you even got to the tree line."

"Rude," he muttered, but she could see the smirk tugging at his lips. He grabbed the can of tomatoes from her hand and rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, let’s get to it. What do we do first?"

She shook her head but handed him a knife. "Fine. Chop those tomatoes while I get the water boiling. Try not to lose a finger."

"No promises," he said, giving an exaggerated flourish before starting to chop rather swiftly.

Kate busied herself at the stove, filling a pot with water and setting it to boil. The kitchen was small, and with Stan moving around, it felt even smaller. Every time she turned, she bumped into him, their shoulders brushing, their hands grazing as they reached for the same spoon.

"Ever heard of personal space?" she muttered after the third time he got in her way.

"Nah," Stan replied, completely unbothered. "Besides, you’d be lost without me" he nudged her. It seemed he had been putting himself in the way more than usual.

"Oh, absolutely," she said dryly, pouring the chopped tomatoes into a pan. "Because opening cans and stirring sauce is truly a rare skill."

Stan leaned closer, peering into the pot as if it held the secrets of the universe. "Hey, I bring moral support. That’s important."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips, ignoring his chest grazing her back. The sauce simmered, filling the kitchen with the rich scent of tomatoes and garlic. Stan gave it a stir, then dipped a spoon in, blowing on it dramatically before taking a taste.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Needs more salt, though."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you’re a food critic?"

"I got high standards."

She huffed but handed him the salt. "Fine. But if you ruin it, you’re eating it all by yourself."

They moved in sync, a rhythm forming between them as they finished the meal. When the pasta was ready, Kate dished out two bowls, handing one to Stan before leaning against the counter to eat.

Stan took a bite, nodded approvingly, then looked at her. "See? Told ya we make a good team."

Kate smirked. "I did most of the work."

"Details," he said with a shrug.

“So, you’re saying we become chefs now instead of contractors?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever pays best, sweetheart” he winked.

---

They finally opted to get comfortable instead, carrying their bowls into the living room, settling onto the couch near the fire. Stan leaned back, stretching out one leg while balancing his bowl in his lap, his fork twirling idly through the pasta. Kate took a slow bite, savoring the warmth of the food after a long, cold day.

"Not bad," she admitted, giving him a sidelong glance. "For a guy whose cooking experience consists mostly of takeout."

Stan smirked. "Hey, don’t knock takeout. It’s an art form."

She shook her head with a small laugh, letting the quiet settle around them. The fire crackled, casting soft, flickering shadows across the walls. Outside, the wind let out a long, mournful wail.

Stan’s voice was quieter, the words out of his mouth before he could process what he was saying. "This kinda reminds me of when I was younger. Me and my brother—when we were on our own, we’d scrape together whatever food we could, make somethin’ outta nothin’. It wasn’t much, but it was ours."

He regretted what he said as soon as he had finished. It had only been recently, given how close he and Kate were getting, that guilt stirred in him. She was yet another person he’d have to hide the truth from, another person he’d never be able to tell who he really was and what was happening. Or even face the reality of ever get Ford back, someone to grieve that with.

Kate looked over at him, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. He now looked deeply uncomfortable. "You don’t talk about your family much" she said cautiously.

He shrugged, stabbing at a piece of pasta. "Not much to talk about. Just two dumb kids tryin’ to figure things out."

She considered that for a moment, then said, "Still. It must’ve been nice, having someone."

Stan met her eyes, something unspoken flickering there. "Yeah. It was."

The quiet stretched between them, she decided to change the subject as she had never seem him as quiet and vulnerable before. It also just did not seem like the appropriate time either. She wracked her brain to change the subject.

Kate glanced down at her half-empty bowl, then back at him. "You know, for all your complaining, you did a pretty good job with dinner."

He smirked, the moment of vulnerability slipping away like smoke. He also noted how she had not offered anything information from her family either. "Told ya I was a man of many talents."

Kate rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, she leaned back in her chair and stretched. "Well, we’re officially snowed in. Got any brilliant ideas for passing the time?"

Stan smirked, tapping his fingers on the table. "Ever try whittling?"

Kate blinked. "Whittling? Like… carving wood?"

"Yeah, what else?" Stan stood up and rummaged through his bag near the door, pulling out a small pocketknife. "Figured we could carve somethin’. Pass the time."

Kate raised an eyebrow but followed his lead as he grabbed a couple of old firewood scraps from the basket near the hearth. They settled by the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow over the room.

Stan handed her a piece of wood and his extra knife. "Alright, just don’t cut your fingers off. I don’t do first aid."

Kate smirked. "I know” she gave him a knowing glance “Good to know I’m in safe hands" she muttered playfully.

They started carving, the rhythmic scrape of the blades filling the room. Stan worked effortlessly, shaping his piece into what vaguely resembled an animal. Kate, on the other hand, frowned at the splintered mess in her hands.

"What is that supposed to be?" Stan asked, barely holding back laughter.

Kate huffed. "It was going to be a fox, but now it’s… abstract."

Stan chuckled. "Hey, art is subjective. Maybe it’s a very modern take on a fox."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. They continued carving, trading stories and teasing each other over their lack of artistic skill. Eventually, Kate sat back, holding up her barely recognizable carving. "Alright, be honest. How bad is it?"

Stan examined it, then nodded solemnly. "Looks like a potato that lost a fight."

Kate burst out laughing, tossing a wood chip at him. "You’re the worst."

He grinned, twirling his finished carving between his fingers. "But hey, we killed an hour. Could be worse. Let show you.”

He shifted closer to her, setting his figure down and in exchange taking hers from her hands. He sat close enough their thighs and shoulders touched. Without much warning he slid an arm behind her to settle on top of her arm, grasping her hand, he did the same with the side closest to him. He felt a bit awkward once he realized the proximity and the weird hug-like position they were in.

“Heh, sorry” he muttered.

“T’s alright” she mumbled back. Kate was grateful that the living room was relatively dimly lit to hide the redness of her cheeks, she could feel her ears burn.

Stan shifted a bit, his chest pressed now halfway across her back. “It’s alla’bout pressure and control, that will give you the ability to carve the depth or the length ya’ want” he explained gently, guiding her hands in his carving a couple controlled scrapes at the piece of wood. Kate could only nod, too distracted by his proximity, his warmth, his gentleness. After a couple more seconds the moment was gone, he shifted back and away, but not too far.

“Practice makes perfect, doll” he tried nudging her, his voice taking a teasing tone to lessen the charged moment.

---

They had gotten tired of the woodcarving and now were sprawled on the couch. Stan leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "Ever play ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "What, like some kind of icebreaker game?"

"Nah, more like a test of skill." He smirked. "You think you know people? Let’s see how good you are at tellin’ when someone’s full of it."

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. You go first."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Alright, here we go. One—I once won a hot dog eating contest in under five minutes. Two—I almost got arrested for smuggling fireworks across state lines. Three—I used to take ballroom dance lessons."

Kate studied him, narrowing her eyes. "Okay, the fireworks one is definitely true. That sounds exactly like something you’d do."

Stan grinned but said nothing.

She tapped her chin. "The hot dog contest... I could see it, you seem like the kind of guy who’d willingly eat that much that fast. And ballroom dancing? No way."

She pointed at him triumphantly. "The ballroom dancing one is the lie."

Stan threw his head back and laughed. "Wrong, doll. That one’s true."

Kate’s jaw dropped. "No way."

"Way." He grinned. "Back in the day, I was tryin’ to impress a girl, so I took a few lessons. Turns out I wasn’t half bad."

Kate shook her head in disbelief. "So which one was the lie?"

"The hot dog contest. Five minutes? Please. I’d need at least ten."

Kate groaned, laughing despite herself. "Okay, my turn. Let’s see... One—I once jumped out of a moving car for one of my dogs. Two—I have been a three-time swimming champion in college. Three—I had a pet bearded dragon named Pog as a kid."

Stan scratched his stubbly chin, eyeing her. "We’ve never talked about animals but ya seem like ya’d care about your pets. But to jump outta moving car, I don’t know, doll. The college thing? Yeah, I can see that. Though it may be to too bland, maybe it’s a lie" He squinted. "But a bearded dragon as a pet? I dunno, doll. After how you reacted with the Shade, I don’t think you’d manage ya’self around something so.. exotic. That one’s gotta be the lie."

Kate grinned. "Wrong. I did have a bearded dragon named Pog. The lie was the swimming champion thing—I actually never learned how to swim" she admitted bashfully.

Stan let out a laugh, shaking his head, his reaction held no malice. "Now that, I can’t picture. I’ll have to show ya’ on the lake someday"

They kept going, trading ridiculous truths and outrageous lies, each round revealing little pieces of their pasts. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the space between them felt warmer, filled with laughter and the kind of stories that only got shared when there was nowhere to run. Hoping to let the hours pass by, not knowing what else the night will bring.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled steadily, filling Kate’s house with much-needed warmth as the wind outside howled through the trees. Snow pelted against the windows, a relentless white blur beyond the glass. Despite their best efforts, Kate and Stan had a long night ahead, even with the occasional distractions.

The clock on the mantel chimed softly, drawing Kate’s attention. "Huh. Didn’t realize it was already past midnight. That makes it... Christmas Eve."

Stan’s smirk faded slightly, his expression turning unreadable as he stared into the fire. "Guess it does."

Kate glanced at him, sensing the shift in his mood. "Not a big holiday guy?"

Stan exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Eh, never really celebrated much. Grew up Jewish, y’know? Hanukkah and all that. But that was a long time ago." He waved a dismissive hand. "Not really religious now, so Christmas is just another day."

Kate nodded, choosing her words carefully. "That makes sense. But... even if it’s just another day, we might as well make the most of it."

Stan chuckled. "And how do you suggest we do that, doll?"

She tapped her fingers against her mug thoughtfully. "Well, just like I promised, before the blizzard hit, if it stops snowing by tomorrow, we’ll head to the Shack and I’ll help you make some winter creatures for your new exhibition?"

Stan raised an eyebrow. "You’ll give up your Christmas eve plans for that?”

"It’s not like a really have anyone to celebrate with” she tried sounding nonchalant, though the reality did sadden her.

He scoffed playfully, not quite believing how casual she was making herself sound "Ya’want me to go outside in the snow tomorrow, shovel and then on top of that work even more creatin’ things?" he teased.

Kate smirked. "You afraid of a little frostbite, old man?"

Stan huffed and grumbled something about being ‘old’, "Fine, but if I lose a toe, I’m billing you."

Kate grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Deal."

---

The fire cast flickering shadows across the walls, Kate sat back in her chair and stretched. "Alright, what do we do now?"

Stan leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Ya’ got any paper and a pen?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "What for? You planning to write your memoirs?"

"Nah, I was thinkin’ we play a game. Name That Tune."

She gave him a skeptical look. "And how exactly do we do that without any music?"

Stan smirked, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "Simple. One of us writes down a song and hums it. The other has to guess."

Kate let out a laugh. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"Oh, come on. Ya’ scared you’ll lose?"

Kate rolled her eyes but grabbed an old notebook and tore out a few pages, handing one to Stan along with a pen. "Fine. But if you butcher the melody, I’m not responsible for calling you out on it."

Stan grinned. "Ya’ have yourself a deal, doll."

He scribbled something down, then cleared his throat dramatically before launching into an exaggerated, off-key hum of a song. Kate squinted, tilting her head.

"Is that... supposed to be ‘Jailhouse Rock’?" she asked.

Stan snapped his fingers. "Bingo."

Kate snorted. "That was painful. My turn."

She jotted down a song, then hummed the first few bars. Stan immediately pulled a face. "What is that? A funeral march?"

"It’s ‘Moon River’!" Kate exclaimed. "Classic film, classic song. Come on."

Stan blinked at her. "You think I sit around listenin’ to fancy movie songs? Try hummin’ somethin’ people actually know."

She smirked. "Fine. Let’s see if this is more your speed."

She started humming again, and after a few notes, Stan’s eyes lit up. "Oh! That’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’!"

Kate laughed, nodding. "There you go. See? You’re not completely hopeless."

They kept going, humming out ridiculous and sometimes completely unrecognizable tunes, throwing in exaggerated performances just to mess with each other. More than once, Stan deliberately hummed off-key, making Kate groan in frustration, and Kate, in return, picked obscure songs just to make him suffer.

By the time they were both laughing too hard to continue, the storm outside had become nothing more than background noise.

---

Stan leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh.

"Alright, doll, how ‘bout I show ya’ somethin’ useful?" he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a well-worn deck of playing cards.

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you’re about to hustle me at poker?"

Stan smirked. "Wouldn’t be fair to take all ya’ money. But nah, I was thinkin’ somethin’ a little flashier. You ever see real card tricks?"

She folded her arms, intrigued despite herself. "You mean like street magician stuff?"

"More like ‘impress your friends at a bar’ stuff," Stan corrected, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. The cards blurred between his fingers, his movements effortless. "Used to make a few extra bucks with this back in the day."

Kate watched as he fanned the deck out in one smooth motion, then made it vanish with a quick flick of his wrist. "Alright, that was actually cool."

Stan grinned. "Oh, we’re just gettin’ started. Pick a card. Any card."

Kate sighed dramatically but pulled one from the deck, glancing at it before tucking it back in. "Okay, now what?"

Stan shuffled again, cutting the deck multiple times, flipping a few cards theatrically. Then, with a flourish, he flicked a single card out of the deck and into the air—Kate’s card.

She blinked. "How did you—?"

"Trade secret," he said, tapping the side of his nose smugly. "Wanna learn, or just sit there bein’ amazed?"

Kate smirked. "Teach me. But if you’re trying to trick me, I will throw you out into the snow."

Stan laughed, handing her the deck. "Alright, first rule of card tricks: make ‘em think they know what’s happenin’, then flip the script. Watch closely."

They spent the next hour hunched over the small coffee table, Kate fumbling through shuffles while Stan corrected her grip, occasionally demonstrating new tricks. Some more time went by, filled with laughter and the occasional frustrated groan as Kate struggled with sleight of hand.

"I swear, you’ve rigged this deck," she muttered after dropping the cards for the third time.

"Nah, you just got butterfingers," Stan teased, leaning back with a smirk.

Kate huffed, gathering the cards again. "Fine. One more round. But if I get this right, you owe me hot cocoa."

Stan chuckled. "Deal. But if you mess up? You gotta admit I’m a genius."

Kate rolled her eyes but accepted the wager. As she shuffled the deck and attempted her first real trick.

---

They had once again grown tired of their previous activity and were now looking to do something else. Kate pulled an old, dust-covered wooden box from the bookshelf and set it between them on the coffee table.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "What’s this, some kinda cursed relic?"

She smirked, brushing dust off the lid. "Close. It’s a game my grandmother used to play—questions and dares. No board, just cards with prompts."

Stan leaned forward with interest. "Lemme guess. ‘What’s your biggest fear?’ ‘Tell a secret?’ That kinda stuff?"

"Pretty much. Unless you’re too scared?"

Stan scoffed, grabbing a card. "Please. I’ve faced down loan sharks, highway cops, and angry tourists. This’ll be a walk in the park."

Kate smirked, taking a card for herself. "Alright, let’s see what we got."

She read hers aloud. "‘Describe a moment you let your guard down with someone.’"

Her fingers toyed with the edge of the card as she thought. "Probably when I first moved back here. I had this idea that I could fix everything about this place on my own. But... I couldn’t. And I had to let people in, even when I didn’t want to."

Stan studied her, the humor in his expression softening just a fraction. "Huh."

Kate cleared her throat and nodded toward him. "Your turn."

Stan flipped his card and squinted. "‘What’s something you don’t let most people see about you?’"

His smirk faltered for a second before he leaned back, crossing his arms. "That’s a little personal, don’t ya think?"

Kate shrugged. "That’s the game."

He sighed, running a hand over his stubble. "Alright, fine. I guess... people don’t realize I actually like stickin’ around. Y’know, bein’ part of somethin’. Never figured I’d admit that."

Kate tilted her head, watching him. The moment stretched between them, the fire crackling in the silence.

"Your turn," Stan said, voice quieter now.

Kate pulled another card. "‘Close your eyes and let the other person touch your face.’"

She blinked. "Wow. That… escalated."

Stan snorted. "You callin’ quits, doll?"

Kate met his gaze, something unreadable passing between them before she set the card down. "No."

She closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt the warmth of his fingertips graze her cheek, calloused but careful. Her breath hitched slightly as he traced the curve of her jaw, his touch lingering just long enough to send something electric humming between them.

He took a moment to look at her, it had been hard for him to push away what he felt around her, something he arguably had not felt before. He allowed himself to look at her, examine her features, take in the softness of her skin. For a brief moment the thought of perhaps leaning in a kissing her forehead lingered in his mind but he decided against it. Don’t be an idiot and ruin it, she’s only being nice, she’s your friend. He chastised himself.

When she opened her eyes, Stan was closer than before, his own expression unreadable. Neither of them moved. The storm raged outside, but inside, everything was suddenly very still.

Kate swallowed, turning slightly pink "Your turn." Stan’s lips quirked up in a slow, knowing smirk.

Kate cleared her throat, “Actually, I think there’s something else in here” she rummaged through. "Here we go," she said, pulling out a battered deck of tarot cards. "You may know cards tricks but, have you ever had your fortune told?"

Stan snorted, leaning back against the couch. "Oh sure, all the time. You know me, big believer in fate and destiny."

She smiled, clumsily shuffling the cards. "C’mon, it’s something to do. Sit still and let me see your future."

He rolled his eyes but held out his hands as she began dealing out the cards onto the coffee table. The firelight flickered over the worn illustrations as she studied them with mock seriousness.

"Alright," she mused, pointing to one. "This card here means you’re stubborn, big shocker. And this one... hmm. Mystery. You’re hiding something."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "That so?" His heart jolted slightly but he kept it together.

Kate glanced up at him, her teasing smile faltering just a little at the intensity in his gaze. "Yeah. Something important."

For a moment, the wind outside seemed to quiet, leaving only the crackling of the fire between them. Stan leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. "And what’s your expert readin’ say I should do about it?" Wanting to tell her, to let her in, but at the same time unable to.

Kate swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the space between them. "Depends," she murmured. "Maybe you should stop hiding."

Neither of them moved. The fire burned low, shadows stretching across the walls, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist at all.

She finally exhaled, breaking the moment with a nervous chuckle. "Alright, let’s see what else we’ve got here."

She flipped over another card, tilting her head. "The Lovers. Huh."

Stan let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Now that’s gotta be a mistake."

Kate gave him a small smile, but there was something uncertain in her eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe the cards know something we don’t."

Stan drummed his fingers against the table, his usual bravado faltering just slightly. "So, what’s the great tarot expert’s interpretation?"

Kate hesitated, then met his gaze, she huffed lightly "I think it means... It means these are some silly cards that’s all” she dismissed. The air between them grew heavier, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. The fire crackled again, sending a warm glow over their faces, but neither of them reached for another card. The moment lingered, unspoken.

“How about a tell you about the cards themselves” she veered the conversation “The cards can be split into major and minor arcana…”

---

They had now moved on from tarot, Kate wrapped herself in a thick blanket, stretching out on the couch.

"Alright, we need something to do before we both go crazy," she said, glancing over at Stan, who was once again poking at the fire.

He huffed. "Got any bright ideas? ‘Cause I’m fresh out."

Kate scanned the room, her gaze landing on a small, dusty stack of books on the old wooden shelf. She got up and ran her fingers along the spines, then pulled one free, examining the cover with a small, pleased smile.

"How about a story?" she suggested, holding it up. "We take turns reading. No cheating, no skipping ahead."

Stan gave her a skeptical look. "You want me to read you a bedtime story, doll?"

Kate smirked. "Unless you’re scared you’ll mess up the words."

That was all it took. Stan rolled his eyes but leaned back against the arm of the couch, arms crossed. "Fine. But if this is some sappy romance novel, I’m out."

Kate flipped open the book and started reading, her voice steady but light. The words filled the space between them, and despite his grumbling, Stan seemed to listen, his eyes flicking toward her every so often. Once again allowing himself to watch her, his gaze turning soft. When she reached the end of the first chapter, she held the book out. "Your turn."

He scoffed but took it, clearing his throat dramatically before beginning. His voice was rougher, lower, but it carried through the room, filling the silence in a way that made Kate feel strangely aware of the space between them. He read with an exaggerated flair at first, but as the story pulled them in, his tone grew softer, more natural.

At some point, Kate found herself leaning in slightly, drawn to the cadence of his voice, the flicker of firelight catching in his eyes. The room felt smaller, the storm outside forgotten. When he reached the end of the chapter, his voice trailed off, and neither of them moved right away.

"See? Not so bad," Kate murmured.

Stan glanced at her, his usual smirk absent. "Yeah. Guess not."

For a long moment, they just looked at each other, the firelight dancing between them. Then, as if snapping back to reality, Stan cleared his throat and handed the book back. "Your turn, doll. Don’t put me to sleep."

Kate smiled, but her hands felt unsteady as she took the book, so much had happened tonight and it finally felt like they were wrapping up for the night.

---

They each had gone through one more chapter each before tiredness had come over them. They now had lapsed into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the fire warding off the storm outside. Kate let out a sigh, exhaustion creeping in, and rested her head against the back of the couch. "You know, for all your complaining, I think you've enjoyed yourself."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You caught me. A blizzard, a half-finished house, and a holiday I don’t celebrate—livin’ the dream."

Kate chuckled sleepily, eyes half-lidded. "Glad you’re seeing the bright side, Stanford" she joked.

Stan stiffened slightly, his relaxed posture faltering. Kate, noticing the shift, blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

He quickly schooled his expression, shaking his head. "Nothin’. Just... nobody calls me that."

Kate straightened slightly, intrigued. "Not even family?"

Stan hesitated before shrugging. "Not for a long time. Just ‘Stan’ now."

Kate studied him for a moment before offering a small, understanding smile. "Alright. Just Stan, then."

He seemed to relax at that, nodding slightly before reaching for the blanket draped over the couch. "I’m gonna get some shut-eye before you rope me into more nonsense" he teased, attempting to move on from the awkward moment.

Kate chuckled and nodded. She stood from the couch gathering a couple more blankets and leaving them close to him. "Smart move. See you in the morning" she said softly before heading upstairs.

---

The morning after the storm was eerily quiet, the thick blanket of snow absorbing most of the usual sounds of the woods. Kate stood on her porch, arms crossed, her eyes went to the sky, it still looked like it was going to snow at any given moment. She then stared at the mound of white that had completely swallowed Stan’s car. Only the faintest hint of the side mirror peeked through the heavy drift.

Stan, standing beside her, let out a long sigh. "Well. That’s a problem."

Kate chuckled. "Told you parking under the tree wasn’t a great idea."

Stan shot her a look. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s get to work before we freeze solid."

They grabbed a pair of shovels from Kate’s shed and started digging. The snow was dense, packed hard from the wind, and each scoop felt heavier than the last. Stan took the lead on unburying his car while Kate focused on clearing a path down the driveway. Despite their best efforts, progress was slow.

"Remind me again why I don’t live somewhere warm?" Stan muttered, tossing a heavy pile of snow off to the side.

Kate grinned. "Because then you wouldn’t have an excuse to complain."

"Ya’ think I need snow to complain?" he shot back with a smirk.

After nearly an hour of shoveling, the shape of Stan’s car finally emerged from beneath the snow. He brushed the remaining frost from the windshield while Kate surveyed the still-buried road leading to the main highway.

"Even if we get your car out, we’re not going anywhere until we clear the road," she said, nodding toward the untouched stretch of snow covering the only way out.

Stan groaned, resting against his shovel. "Ya’ ever think about investing in a snowplow?"

"You ever think about investing in a car that can handle a blizzard?"

They shared a tired chuckle before resigning themselves to another round of digging. Bit by bit, they worked their way toward the main road, taking turns so neither completely burned out. The occasional gust of wind sent loose flurries swirling around them.

By the time they finally reached the open road, both of them were breathless, their faces pink from the cold. Stan leaned against the hood of his car, catching his breath. "Well, we made it."

Kate stretched, wincing at the soreness settling into her arms. "Next time, we wait for the snow to melt."

Stan scoffed. "Yeah, sure. See you in June."

With the road finally cleared and Stan’s car unearthed from the snow, Kate leaned against her shovel, catching her breath. "Alright, moment of truth. Think she’ll start?"

Stan wiped his hands on his coat and gave the vehicle an assessing look. "Only one way to find out."

He yanked open the driver’s side door, after some forceful tugging against the ice sealing it shut, and slid inside. Kate stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as he jammed the key into the ignition and twisted.

The engine groaned. Spluttered. Then…nothing.

Stan muttered a curse under his breath and tried again. This time, the car made an ugly choking noise before reluctantly sputtering to life, the muffler coughing out a weak puff of exhaust.

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Sounds healthy."

"She’s fine," Stan shot back, giving the dashboard a pat. "Just needs a second."

Kate walked over and peered inside. "You got enough gas to make it?"

"If I don’t, we’re about to find out the hard way," Stan muttered, shifting the car into gear. "Hop in. Let’s see if we can actually get to the Shack."

Kate didn’t need to be told twice. She climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut against the cold. Making sure Stan was distracted, she tossed a bag towards the back. Eventually, the car lurched forward, tires spinning for a few seconds before finally catching traction on the uneven, icy road.

They drove cautiously, the world outside a vast stretch of white, the occasional fallen branch breaking the otherwise untouched landscape. The roads were still slick, and more than once, Stan had to wrestle the steering wheel to keep them steady.

Kate tightened her grip on the door handle. "You do know how to drive in snow, right?"

Stan scoffed. "Relax. This ain’t my first blizzard."

As if to mock him, the car slid slightly to the side as they rounded a bend. Kate let out a sharp breath, gripping the edge of her seat, while Stan quickly corrected the wheel, grumbling something about "damn ice."

Eventually, the Shack’s familiar outline emerged from the snowy haze, looking just as weather-worn and strange as ever. Stan pulled off to one side, tires crunching against the packed snow, and shut off the engine. The car let out a final, shuddering cough before falling silent.

Kate let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Well, we made it." Her eyes went to the yet to be shoveled driveway towards the Shack, Stan’s car parked right on the side of the road.

Stan leaned back against the headrest with a smirk. "Told ya she’d get us here. And she has to take ya’ back” he reasoned.

Kate shook her head but smiled anyway. "Let’s just get inside before the car changes its mind."

Kate rolled her eyes but climbed out of the passenger seat going to grab some bags from behind, she glanced at him. "So, still up for making some weird winter creatures?"

Stan smirked. "After all that? Oh, absolutely. Let’s make ‘em terrifying."

Kate chuckled as they headed toward the Mystery Shack, snow covering most of their legs.

“At least my driveway is already shoveled” she mused humorously.

“Shut up” he teased, trying to hide a smile.

---

Stan unlocked the door and waved her in. "Alright, let’s see what kind of junk we can turn into ‘art’."

Kate snorted, rubbing her gloved hands together. "You really sell the idea of creativity."

Inside, the Shack was dimly lit, the smell of old wood and dust thick in the air. Stan flipped on a few lights, revealing the mismatched collection of oddities stacked haphazardly across the shelves.

"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles, "we got old mannequin parts, broken lawn ornaments, some abandoned taxidermy projects—"

Kate held up a hand. "Hard pass on the taxidermy."

Stan shrugged. "Your loss. What about this?" He hoisted up a chipped garden gnome statue, its face frozen mid-scowl. "We could turn this guy into somethin’."

Kate tilted her head. "I like the idea of giving him a new life. Maybe we could add some... mechanical features? Make him wave?"

Stan grinned. "Now you’re speakin’ my language."

They rummaged deeper into the Shack’s storage, gathering an assortment of mismatched parts: a rusted weather vane, an old cuckoo clock, some neon tubing from a busted sign. Kate found a dented tin star and held it up. "We could give one of them a little holiday flair."

Over the next few hours, they worked side by side, piecing together their odd winter creatures. Stan repurposed an old mannequin torso and affixed mismatched arms, securing a wooden reindeer head on top. "Meet ‘The Cryptid of Christmas Present’," he announced proudly, adjusting the glowing neon tubing around its neck like a scarf.

Kate was busy assembling her own creation, a towering patchwork figure made from an old coat rack, pieces of a weathered rocking horse, and a broken snow globe mounted where the head should be. "I think I’ll call this one ‘Wintergeist’."

Stan laughed, leaning against the workbench. "Y’know, doll, you got a knack for makin’ weird stuff look kinda cool."

Kate smirked. "High praise, coming from the king of weird."

They tested out the mechanics, wiring a few moving parts together—Stan’s reindeer figure now bobbed its head stiffly when tapped, while Kate’s eerie snow globe-headed creature had tiny bells inside that jingled ominously when shaken.

"This is the best use of a workday I’ve had in years," Stan admitted, crossing his arms as he admired their handywork.

"I don’t know whether people will love these or be mildly horrified," Kate mused, stepping back to examine their creations.

"Eh, that’s the sweet spot," Stan said with a shrug. "Creepy but festive. It’s an art."

By the time they were finished, the front of the Shack had been transformed into a bizarre winter display, less traditional snowmen, more avant-garde holiday monstrosities. As they stepped back to admire their handywork, Stan nudged Kate with his elbow. "This might be the best holiday decor this place has ever had."

Kate tucked her hands into her coat pockets, smiling as she surveyed their creations. "It’s definitely unique."

The sky was starting to darken again, but the neon tubing from Stan’s creation glowed faintly, casting a strange but inviting light over the snow. Even though their winter creatures were mismatched and a little chaotic, Kate thought they might be her favorite decorations yet.

---

Kate disappeared for a moment and returned with a wrapped package in a bag.

Stan blinked. "Presents?"

She shrugged a bit bashfully, handing him one. He stared at it for a beat before chuckling. "Guess I shoulda thought ahead."

Kate waved him off. "You’re off the hook."

But Stan smirked, reaching into his coat pocket. "Not entirely. I might’ve had something planned. But you first."

Kate rolled her eyes but reached into her bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped package and handing it over. "Alright, but don’t make a big deal out of it."

Stan tore at the wrapping, revealing a heavy winter coat, the kind built to withstand brutal weather. He lifted it, inspecting the sturdy material, the reinforced seams. He turned it over, noticing a small patch sewn inside near the collar—nothing flashy, just a subtle stitched emblem of a pine tree.

"Figured you needed something better than that sad excuse for a jacket," Kate said, crossing her arms. "And don’t try to act like you’re sentimental, but I know you like the stupid tree motif, so—"

"It’s not stupid," Stan said, voice quieter than usual. He ran his fingers over the patch, then huffed a laugh. "Damn. You actually put thought into this."

Kate chuckled a bit bashfully. "Of course I did."

Stan pulled the coat on, rolling his shoulders. "Feels good."

Kate smiled, allowing her eyes to take in his figure. "Looks better than your usual ‘disheveled conman’ aesthetic."

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, smartass. Your turn."

He popped open the cigar box, revealing a small, hand-carved wooden box inside. The lid had been etched with an image of her house, every detail precise; the slanted roof, the worn porch, the lone tree standing beside it. He handed it to her with a shrug. "Figured you could use somethin’ to put all your junk in."

Kate traced the carving with her fingertips. "You made this?"

"Had help," Stan admitted. "I ain’t exactly a master woodworker, but... I figured you’ve been bustin’ your ass fixin’ that place up. Now you got somethin’ to keep."

Kate swallowed, feeling something tighten in her chest. "This is—" She exhaled, shaking her head with a small laugh. "This is really nice, Stan."

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I appreciate your present too”

Kate hesitated for a second before shifting forward, closing the space between them. Before she could overthink it, she wrapped her arms around him in a quick, firm hug. Stan stiffened slightly—like he wasn’t used to it—but after a beat, she felt him relax just enough to return the embrace.

"You didn’t have to do this," she murmured against his shoulder.

Stan cleared his throat, patting her back once before she pulled away. "Yeah, well... figured you’d like it."

As she stepped back, she hesitated just a moment longer before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. It was barely more than a brush, but it was warm, deliberate. Stan froze, his eyes widening slightly, and for once, he had no immediate comeback.

Kate smiled a bit amused, but there was something softer beneath it. "I do."

Stan exhaled, a short chuckle, but it lacked his usual sarcasm. "Good."

The moment hovered between them, waiting, before Kate finally glanced away, hugging the box a little closer to her chest. But even as she turned, he could still feel the ghost of her lips against his cheek, the weight of something shifting between them.

Chapter Text

Kate pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she made her way up the slippery, unshoveled path to the Mystery Shack. The storm had buried everything under thick layers of snow, and judging by the fact that Stan’s driveway was still completely untouched, he hadn’t bothered to deal with it yet. Figures, she muttered amused to herself.

It still had been snowing since the blizzard, the snow had just kept on piling up. She glanced at the sky, by the looks of it, they were yet to expect another cold cloudy day.

She spotted movement up ahead, Stan, already outside, leaning against his shovel with a familiar look of reluctance. The moment he saw her, his lips quirked into a smirk. "Well, well. Didn’t take ya’ for the volunteer labor type."

Kate rolled her eyes. "I figured if I didn’t come help, you’d still be standing here an hour from now, pretending to work."

Stan scoffed but didn’t deny it. As she stepped closer, her gaze flickered over him, and she couldn’t help but grin. "Nice coat."

He glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what he was wearing the thick, warm winter coat she had given him. "Oh, this? Yeah, some sucker gave it to me. Guess I’m stuck wearin’ it now."

Kate snorted. "Right. That’s the only reason."

Stan didn’t respond, just smirked as he handed her a spare shovel. "If you’re so eager to work, don’t let me stop ya."

They fell into an easy rhythm, clearing the driveway one section at a time. The snow was heavy, but the sun had finally broken through the clouds, making everything glisten. Kate had just started making some real progress when, out of nowhere, something cold and wet smacked against her shoulder.

She turned slowly, narrowing her eyes. Stan stood there, looking way too innocent, his shovel held in front of him like a shield. "Did you just throw snow at me?"

"Pfft, no. Must’ve been gravity or somethin’."

Kate arched an eyebrow. "Gravity, huh?" Before he could react, she scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at him, hitting him square in the chest.

Stan sputtered, brushing snow off his coat. "Oh, you’re askin’ for it now, sweetheart."

Before she could make a run for it, he was already retaliating, and within seconds, their so-called work had devolved into a full-fledged snowball fight. Laughter echoed through the empty yard as they dodged and aimed, neither willing to surrender.

At one point, Kate slipped on an icy patch, landing with a muffled thud in the snow. Stan, mid-throw, hesitated just long enough for her to take advantage, grabbing a handful of snow and launching it straight at his face.

He staggered back, brushing the snow from his scruff with an exaggerated groan. "Alright, alright, truce!"

Kate grinned victoriously, but her triumph was short-lived as Stan extended a hand to help her up. As soon as her fingers wrapped around his, he gave a sudden tug, sending her tumbling forward into him.

For a moment, they were too close, panting, her hands braced against his chest, his arms still half-raised like he wasn’t sure whether to steady her or let go. The cold air curled around them, but the warmth in that tiny space between them made it hard to notice.

Kate swallowed; her breath visible in the space between them. "You did that on purpose."

Stan smirked, but it was softer than usual. "Guess you’ll never know."

The moment stretched, something unspoken lingering between them, until Stan cleared his throat and stepped back, gesturing toward the Shack. "C’mon, before we freeze to death. I got coffee inside."

---

Kate followed Stan into the Shack, shaking the lingering cold from her limbs as the warmth of inside seeped into her. She peeled off her gloves, stuffing them into her coat pocket before, shrugging it off and stepping toward the kitchen.

"Alright, where do you keep the coffee?" she asked, rolling up her sleeves like she was preparing for a grand undertaking.

Stan grunted as he rummaged through a cabinet. "Somewhere in here. Might be a little old, but caffeine’s caffeine."

Kate peeked over his shoulder, watching as he pulled out a half-empty tin that looked like it had seen better days. "How long have you had that?"

He frowned at the label, shrugged, then started tapping it against the counter like that would bring it back to life. "Eh, still smells alright."

Kate snorted. "That’s not exactly the highest standard of quality. What else you got?"

Stan jerked his thumb toward the fridge. "Knock yourself out."

Curious, Kate pulled the door open and immediately let out a dramatic gasp. "Stanfor- Stan Pines. What is this?"

Stan, now fiddling with the old coffeemaker, barely looked up. "A fridge."

Kate turned to him, holding up a lone bottle of mustard like it was evidence of a crime. "No, seriously, do you eat? Because this is just sad."

Stan rolled his eyes. "I eat just fine. I got canned stuff in the pantry."

Kate shook her head, placing the mustard back before scanning the shelves. "Two half-drunk bottles of soda, a block of cheese that looks vaguely suspicious, and—oh wow, congratulations, three eggs."

"See? Perfectly stocked," Stan said smugly.

Kate shut the fridge, crossing her arms. "You need an intervention. I’m taking you grocery shopping before you drop dead from malnutrition."

Stan scoffed. "What, so you can make me buy overpriced organic vegetables? No thanks."

Kate smirked. "No, I was thinking more along the lines of actual food. You know, things that aren’t just condiments and questionable dairy."

Stan waved a hand dismissively. "I survive just fine."

Kate grabbed a mug from the cabinet, giving him a pointed look. "Barely. Next time I come over, I’m dragging you to the store, and you’re going learn how to buy groceries like a functioning adult."

Stan muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further. Instead, he handed her a steaming mug of coffee, his way of conceding, for now.

Kate took the mug, inhaling the rich, slightly burnt aroma. "You ever clean this machine?"

Stan shrugged as he scooped another spoonful of coffee into the filter. "Define 'clean.'"

Kate groaned, grabbing the water pitcher and filling up the reservoir. "I swear, you live like a raccoon in a trench coat."

Stan chuckled, hitting the brew button.

As the coffee began to drip, filling the kitchen with its deep, familiar scent, Kate leaned against the counter. "Alright, so do we just stand here and stare at it, or do you have some secret Pines method for making it better?"

Stan smirked, pulling a small flask from his coat pocket and giving it a shake. "Enhancement."

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. "Of course you do."

The coffee finished brewing, and Stan poured two cups, pausing to splash a bit from the flask into his own. He raised his mug in a mock toast. "To survival."

Kate clinked hers against his. "To basic nutrition."

She took a sip, humming in satisfaction. "Alright, this isn’t bad. But the fridge situation? That’s still happening."

Stan sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if ya’ try to sneak tofu into my cart, we’re done."

Kate laughed. "Deal."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their coffee. The warmth of the Shack, the scent of coffee in the air, and the easy banter between them made the moment stretch longer than either of them expected. It felt… easy. Familiar.

Kate tapped her fingers against her mug. "You know, this is probably the most domestic thing I’ve ever seen you do."

Stan snorted. "What, makin’ coffee?"

She grinned. "Yep. Next thing I know, you’ll be knitting scarves and baking bread."

Stan scoffed. "Don’t push your luck, doll."

Kate chuckled, taking another sip. "One step at a time, then."

---

Kate wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her fingers as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. She took a sip of her coffee before glancing at Stan, who had settled into his chair, looking more relaxed than she was used to seeing him.

"So, what's New Year's like around here? Anything special?" she asked, curiosity piqued. New Year’s Eve was just a couple days away.

Stan took a long sip of his coffee before shrugging. "Eh, depends who you ask. The town’s got their big fireworks show at the lake, kinda the main event. Tourists love it. Local vendors set up food stalls, and half the town gathers by the docks to watch the fireworks light up the water. Pretty standard small-town celebration."

Kate nodded. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah, if ya’ like standing in the cold while people yell 'Happy New Year' with their mouths full of fried dough," Stan muttered, but there was an undeniable fondness in his voice.

Kate smirked. "And you? You’re saying you never got roped into it?"

Stan huffed. "I used to. Back in the day, me and a few folks had our own traditions. Nothin’ fancy. Sometimes just a few drinks, bad poker hands, and seein’ who could stay up the longest without passin’ out. Once or twice, we got into some firework-related mischief. Turns out, launchin’ them from a moving vehicle is ‘frowned upon’ by local authorities."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "I feel like there's a story there."

Stan smirked but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Course, there’s the weirder stuff, too. Gravity Falls always had its... unique take on celebrations. Some folks swear if you make a wish at midnight while standing under the old pine next to the lake, it'll come true. Other people say if you listen close, you can hear voices on the wind as the year changes, people claim it's echoes of the past tryin’ to talk to the future."

Kate tilted her head. "You believe in that stuff?"

Stan hesitated for a second before shaking his head. "Nah. But I've seen enough weird crap in this town that I wouldn’t bet against it, either."

Kate smiled into her cup, watching the fire flicker. "Sounds like New Year's here is a mix of normal and completely unhinged."

Stan chuckled. "That’s Gravity Falls for ya. A little tradition, a little chaos, and a whole lotta questionable decision-making."

Kate thought for a moment, then nudged him with her foot. "So, what’s the plan this year? Going drag me into some firework-related crimes, or are we keeping it tame?"

Stan smirked. "C’mon, sweetheart. What else you got planned? Sittin’ here alone, sippin’ coffee, listenin’ to the wind?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Sounds peaceful."

Stan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Lemme put it this way—New Year’s ain’t just about watchin’ fireworks. It’s about endin’ the year with somethin’ good. Somethin’ fun. And let’s be real, I’ve seen ya’ version of ‘fun,’ and it’s mostly just you mutterin’ about home repairs and yellin’ at stubborn pipes."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me, but that is a completely valid pastime."

Stan smirked. "Sure, if your idea of a party is arguin’ with your own plumbin’. But trust me, you’ll have a better time at the celebration. Even if ya’ don’t care about the fireworks, there’s good food, weird town traditions, and plenty of people actin’ dumb enough to keep you entertained."

Kate hesitated, glancing at him over the rim of her mug. "And what, you just want company?"

He scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Pfft. Please. I just wanna see you try to handle Gravity Falls in full ‘holiday madness’ mode. It’s worth it for the entertainment alone."

Kate sighed dramatically, setting her cup down. "Fine. But if I freeze to death out there, I’m haunting you."

Stan smirked. "Wouldn’t expect anything less."

---

Their coffee break soon ended and returned to the half-completed chore of shoveling Stan’s driveway. They had once again found a working rhythm for a while.

Kate leaned against her shovel, wiping her forehead with the back of her glove as she surveyed the half-cleared driveway. The snow was packed thick, stubborn, and heavy, more of a workout than she’d anticipated. Across from her, Stan was leaning on his own shovel, looking suspiciously like he’d done more supervising than actual work.

She looked amused. "You tired already? Or are you just waiting for me to finish your half, too?"

Stan scoffed. "Please. I’m just pacin’ myself. Gotta conserve energy."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Sure, that’s what you’re doing."

He eyed her for a moment before his smirk deepened. "Alright, smartass. How ‘bout we make this interesting?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Race to finish our side first. Loser buys dinner."

Kate pretended to consider. "So let me get this straight. You, a man who has spent the last twenty minutes pretending to work, think you can beat me?"

Stan shrugged. "What can I say? I’m motivated now."

Kate chuckled, adjusting her grip on her shovel. "Fine. But when I win, I’m making you buy me actual food."

Stan scowled and she grinned. "No backing out now, Mr. Mystery."

Stan rolled his shoulders, bending slightly at the knees like he was preparing for a sprint. "Alright, on three."

Kate nodded, digging her shovel into the snow. "One… two…"

Before she could say three, Stan suddenly lunged forward and started shoveling at full speed.

"Hey!" she barked. "That’s cheating!"

"What?" Stan chuckled, tossing a pile of snow over his shoulder. "You were takin’ too long!"

Kate huffed a laugh but immediately went to work, scooping and flinging snow with renewed determination.

At first, she tried to keep pace, but it became immediately clear that Stan, despite all his grumbling and shortcuts, had some kind of hidden strength when it came to shoveling. He worked in quick, efficient movements, clearing his side much faster than she expected.

Kate narrowed her eyes. "Have you been secretly training for this?"

Stan barked a laugh. "You think this is my first snowstorm? Back in the day, I had to shovel my own driveway just to get to school. Uphill. Both ways."

"Oh, here we go." Kate shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile.

Despite her best efforts, Stan finished first, shoving his shovel down into the snow with a triumphant grin. "Victory!"

Kate let out an exhausted sigh, planting her hands on her hips. "Alright, fine. You win."

Stan smirked. They stood there for a moment, catching their breath, the cold air making their exhales visible in the fading daylight. Then Stan gestured toward the Shack. "C’mon. We earned a warm-up."

---

The warmth of the Shack’s heater and the lingering exhaustion from their snow-shoveling competition had settled into something comfortable. She glanced over at Stan, who was already halfway through dialing the pizza place.

"So what’re we getting?" she asked, resting her shoulder against the doorframe.

"Large with everythin’. And extra cheese," Stan replied without hesitation. "You don’t got any weird food restrictions, do ya?"

Kate snorted. "I draw the line at anchovies."

"Good. That means you’ve still got some dignity," Stan muttered as he placed the order. "Oh, and two sodas." He hung up and turned to her. "Thirty minutes."

Kate sighed, staring at the old TV across the room. "I can’t even remember the last time I actually sat down and watched something. I haven’t gotten around to buying a TV yet."

Stan let out a dramatic groan. "Unbelievable. You been missin’ out on quality entertainment, sweetheart."

Kate smirked. "Oh yeah? And what qualifies as ‘quality entertainment’ in your book?"

Stan grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, the screen flickering to life with a static buzz before settling on a grainy news channel. "Lemme introduce you to the finest selections TV has to offer."

Over the next half-hour, Stan gave her a summarized crash course in what he deemed ‘must-watch television.’ First, an old cop drama, complete with cheesy one-liners and absurd car chases. Then he switched to a late-night infomercial that he insisted was ‘pure comedy gold.’ Kate had to admit, watching an overly enthusiastic guy try to sell a blender that clearly wasn’t working was pretty entertaining.

"I swear, these guys are geniuses," Stan said, gesturing to the screen. "They could sell air if they put the right spin on it."

Kate chuckled. "Is that what you aspire to? Scamming people with faulty kitchen appliances?"

Stan smirked. "Hey, don’t knock a good hustle."

Just as they were settling into a rerun of some classic slapstick comedy, the doorbell rang.

"Pizza’s here," Stan announced, getting up with a grunt. Kate tossed her wallet to him, as he grinned. He exchanged a few words with the delivery guy, then returned with the steaming box in hand.

Kate glanced at the large armchair. "So, uh… you got another chair hiding somewhere, or am I supposed to sit on the floor?"

Stan, already taking up more most of the armchair, shrugged. "You can squeeze in here, if you don’t mind a little friendly discomfort."

Kate rolled her eyes but took the challenge, shifting onto the armrest first to assess the space. The problem wasn’t just Stan’s size in comparison to the small armchair, it was the massive dinosaur skull-turned-light-stand awkwardly taking up room beside the chair. She eyed it warily. "You ever think about maybe... not using an ancient fossil as furniture?"

Stan grinned. "Nope. It adds character. And a mild threat of injury. Keeps guests on their toes."

Kate sighed but maneuvered carefully, planting herself on armrest of the armchair and a bit of the back cushion. Her thigh brushed against Stan, and she quickly shifted, trying to fold her legs up without toppling onto him, or the dinosaur skull.

Stan, meanwhile, grabbed the pizza box and set it across both their laps, effectively trapping them in place. "Problem solved. Now we got a table."

Kate huffed a laugh. "A terrible table. If this thing falls, I’m blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah," Stan said, reaching for a slice. "Just don’t elbow me, or we’ll both end up wearin’ this pizza."

Kate wiggled her foot into a more comfortable spot against the side of the armchair, bumping against his leg in the process. "No promises."

Between the ridiculous seating arrangement, the looming dinosaur skull, and the overly crowded armchair, they had little choice but to lean into each other slightly. At first, Kate tensed, but after a few minutes, she stopped thinking about it, especially once the cheesy pizza and stupid TV shows became more interesting than their limited personal space.

Stan nudged her with his elbow. "See? Cozy."

Kate suppressed a smile. "This is not cozy. This is a hazard."

"Eh, six of one, half a dozen of the other. Now pass me a napkin before we make this chair a permanent pizza stain."

Kate shook her head, but as she shifted to grab one, she thought, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the worst way to spend a night. She grabbed her soda as Stan went to grab another slice. The two of them dug in, the warm, cheesy slices hitting just right after their long day.

"So, what’s the verdict?" Stan asked through a mouthful of food.

Kate wiped her fingers on a napkin. "I’ll admit, it beats canned soup."

Stan snorted. "High praise."

---

Stan leaned back against the armchair, pizza in one hand, remote in the other, as he flipped through the channels. "Alright, listen up, sweetheart. You’ve been outta the loop for way too long, so let me educate you on the best that television has to offer."

Kate sighed dramatically yet looked amused. "Round two, this should be good."

Stan stopped on a rerun of an old detective show, where a grizzled PI in a trench coat stood dramatically in the rain, cigarette dangling from his lips. "This right here, this is real TV. None of that fancy, high-definition garbage. Back when television had grit. Back when guys could solve crimes with nothin’ but a bad attitude and a fedora."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And what’s the appeal? The unrealistic car chases? The fact that no one ever reloads their guns?"

Stan scoffed. "Details. It’s the attitude that sells it! These guys don’t need backup or fancy tech. Just a stiff drink, a monologue about how ‘the city never sleeps,’ and a punch that knocks a guy out in one hit."

Kate chuckled as Stan flipped to the next channel. This time, it was an old black-and-white monster movie, complete with a guy in a rubber suit stomping on a tiny model city. "Ah, now this, this is art," Stan said, eyes gleaming. "Practical effects, sweetheart. None of that CGI nonsense. You believe this guy is a fifty-foot lizard, don’t you?"

Kate squinted at the obviously fake costume. "Uh… sure."

Stan jabbed a finger at the screen. "See, you don’t get movies like this anymore. Back in the day, they knew how to tell a story. Mad scientists, giant monsters, unnecessary explosions, it’s got everything!"

Kate smirked. "You just like watching stuff explode, don’t you?"

Stan shrugged. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

The next channel he landed again on another a late-night infomercial. Stan perked up immediately. "Oh ho! Now this is where the real entertainment is. Watch this one guy try to sell you something you don’t need. It’s art, I’m tellin’ ya."

Kate gave him a skeptical look. "You're serious?"

Stan gestured wildly at the screen, where a man was trying, and failing, to slice a tomato with a flimsy-looking knife. "Look at that! Look at that technique! You see how he completely messes up the first try? That’s on purpose! It’s all part of the sales pitch."

Kate leaned back, crossing her arms. "You’ve clearly thought way too much about this."

Stan smirked. "Hey, I respect a good con when I see one."

Kate shook her head, laughing. "So, your top three TV choices are grumpy detectives, ridiculous monster flicks, and watching people fail at basic kitchen skills?"

Stan grinned. "What can I say, doll? I got taste."

---

The credits rolled on the final show of the night, the soft hum of the TV filling the quiet Shack. Kate stretched her arms above her head, stifling a yawn, careful not to hit Stan, that was practically glued to her side. "Alright, I think that’s enough classic television for one night."

Stan, who had been lounging comfortably with his feet propped up, glanced at the clock. "Huh. Didn’t even realize how late it got."

Kate let out a small amused chuckle. She stood and went to grab her coat. "Guess that’s what happens when you get lost in the magic of bad infomercials."

Stan scoffed, pushing himself up with a grunt. "Don’t disrespect the fine art of salesmanship, doll."

She rolled her eyes, slipping on her gloves. The warmth of the Shack had made her forget just how cold it was outside, and the thought of stepping into the freezing night air wasn’t exactly appealing. But she had to admit, the evening had been... nice.

Stan grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and motioned toward the door. "C’mon. I’ll walk you to your car."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Chivalry’s not dead after all."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before you start thinkin’ I’m gettin’ soft."

They stepped outside, their breath immediately turning to mist in the freezing air. It has started to snow lightly, everything that they had shoveled was coated in a light, silvery sheen under the glow of the porch light. Kate shoved her hands into her coat pockets, crunching through the snow toward her car with Stan beside her.

For a moment, they walked in comfortable silence, the cold air making everything feel sharper, clearer. When they reached her car, she turned back to him, rocking on her heels slightly. "Well, thanks for the pizza, I guess. And the… unique TV experience."

Stan smirked, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "You’re welcome for the education. Glad I could be the one to teach for once"

Kate chuckled, then hesitated, glancing at him. The light from the Shack illuminated the edges of his face, making the lines by his eyes look softer somehow. "This was nice."

Stan exhaled, his breath curling in the cold. "Yeah. Guess it was."

The quiet stretched between them, not awkward, but heavy in a way that neither of them seemed to want to address. Kate tapped her fingers against the roof of her car, debating whether to say something else, but Stan beat her to it.

"Drive safe, alright? Roads are still icy." His voice was softer than she had ever heard it.

Kate nodded. "Yeah. You too—wait, you’re not driving anywhere."

Stan snorted. "Force of habit."

Kate lingered by her car door, fingers resting on the handle, but she didn’t open it right away. The night was still, the only sound the faint crunch of ice beneath her boots as she shifted her weight. She could feel Stan’s eyes on her, that unreadable expression of his that she was starting to think wasn’t as unreadable as he liked to pretend.

She knew she should say goodnight, get in the car, and drive home, but something about the moment made her hesitate. Maybe it was the way the cold had turned their breath into soft clouds between them, or the fact that, for once, Stan wasn’t filling the silence with some offhand remark or joke. He was just… standing there, watching her like he was waiting for something he couldn’t quite name.

Kate swallowed, willing herself to act normal. It was just Stan. Grumpy, sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass Stan. Except… she was starting to realize she didn’t mind having him around as much as she used to. And that was dangerous.

Stan, on the other hand, was trying not to think too much. He’d always been good at avoiding things—problems, responsibilities, emotions. But standing here, watching Kate hesitate like she was debating something in her head, he felt something unfamiliar creeping up on him.

Affection.

Damn it.

She was just a friend, right? Just someone who happened to be around. But then why did he keep catching himself noticing things about her? Like the way she tucked her hands into her pockets when she got nervous (just like he did), or how her eyes crinkled when she smirked at him. How he couldn’t help hope something happened between them right now.

He should say something. Crack a joke, break the tension. That’s what he was good at. But for some reason, his mouth wasn’t cooperating.

She cleared her throat, finally breaking the quiet. "Alright. I should go." She smiled, lingering for just a second longer before finally opening her car door.

Kate hesitated for a half-second longer, then, before she could talk herself out of it, reached out and gave his sleeve a light squeeze. Not quite a touch, not quite nothing " Thanks again. Night, Stan."

Stan nodded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "Night sweetheart. Drive slow."

She got into her car, and tucked away the thought that he kept on calling her ‘sweetheart’ instead of doll lately. He stepped back, watching as her taillights disappeared down the road. He told himself he was just making sure she got out of the driveway safely.

Yeah. That was it.

Chapter Text

"Ya’ ready for a night by the lake?" Stan grinned as Kate stepped into the car, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Don’t get me into too much trouble, alright?" she raised an eyebrow at him as she fastened her seatbelt.

"Only the good kind," Stan replied with a smirk, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest when she laughed. Huh that was new.

Stan’s car bumped along the gravel path, crunching under the weight of the tires as they neared the gathering spot. The New Year’s Eve celebration was already in full swing, Gravity Falls Lake shimmered beneath the cold night sky, its frozen surface reflecting the flickering bonfires scattered along the shore, sounds of music and voices muffled in the background.

“Alright,” Stan said, turning of the engine. “I’m gonna show you something real impressive. Ya’ ready, doll?”

Kate turned toward him, amused by his enthusiasm. “You mean besides the fireworks and the massive crowd?”

He swung open the door, already halfway out. “Come on, this’ll knock your socks off” he joked.

Kate laughed as she followed him out of the car. Stan led her through the crowd and toward a little clearing at the far end of the gathering. As they walked, the lights from the bonfire illuminated the snow-covered ground, and she could make out the shadows of large, looming figures ahead of them.

They stepped into the heart of it, and Kate’s breath caught in surprise. It was a small snow sculpture contest that had become a local tradition. The snow and ice sculptures were a combination of intricacy and humor, ranging from towering figures to quirky abstract shapes. Some were delicate, others exaggerated, but all of them were clearly crafted with care.

“Welcome to the annual Snow Sculpture Showdown,” Stan said with a flourish, gesturing at the series of strange and beautiful creations. “Every year, people from all over town get together and make these masterpieces. Some are impressive, others are... well, a little out there.”

Kate’s eyes immediately landed on a giant, overly ambitious sculpture in the shape of a spaceship with snowmen standing guard at the entrance. “That’s...something,” she said, tilting her head in amusement.

Stan followed her gaze, shaking his head with a grin. “Hey, people try. But honestly, that one was still cooler than some of the others. Years ago, someone made a snow sculpture of a ‘snowman’, but instead of a carrot nose, it had a hot dog. Legend has it that it was a ‘commentary on consumerism.’” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “That hot dog was the talk of the town for weeks.”

Kate snickered at the absurdity, her shoulders shaking with laughter, face rosy in the cold of the night. Stan grinned, pleased with her reaction.

"Alright, explain the rules again," Kate said, her breath clouding in front of her.

Stan smirked. "Biggest, weirdest sculpture wins. Bonus points if it doesn’t collapse before midnight. Town’s been doin’ it for decades. Used to be just snowmen, but people started gettin’ competitive, like the year someone made a snow portrait of the mayor.”

Stan looked over at her, Kate looked incredulous, his grin widened.

“Let’s just say that the attempt looked more like a snow blob with a hat. People still joke about it.” He shook his head, as if reliving the chaos. “But hey, it was the effort that counted.”

Kate chuckled, clearly enjoying Stan’s playful recounting of the yearly mishaps. As they moved from one sculpture to the next, they found themselves laughing more and more, as if the contest itself was secondary to their enjoyment of the little things: the joking commentary, the silly competition, the way each creation had its own quirks.

“So, out of all of these,” Stan asked “which one would you pick as your favorite?”

Kate paused, taking in the array of sculptures before her. There was an owl that was impressive, but there was something about the oddity of the spaceship with the snowmen that kept pulling her in. “I mean... the spaceship is definitely the weirdest, but the owl’s got some serious craftsmanship.” She turned to him with a playful look. “What about you?”

Stan scratched his chin in mock thought. “Well, ya’ know, I’ve got a soft spot for the absurd,” he elbowed her, gesturing toward the spaceship. “But... if I’m being honest, I’ve always had a soft spot for the classics. There’s somethin’ about the simple, elegant sculptures. Like that one over there, the tree,” he pointed to a towering sculpture of a snow-covered evergreen. “It’s subtle, but it’s impressive. Almost too perfect.”

Kate looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, a genuine appreciation flickering in her eyes. “Yeah... I get what you mean. It’s like it doesn’t try too hard, but it works.”

Stan leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “Exactly. It’s like... sometimes the best things aren’t the loudest, you know?”

Kate nodded, feeling the warmth of the conversation and his presence. They had moved from simple banter to something a little deeper, something unspoken.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply standing side by side, taking in the sculptures around them. The atmosphere felt comfortable and familiar.

Finally, Stan cleared his throat, breaking the silence with a playful grin. “Alright, enough of me gettin’ all philosophical about snow trees,” he said. “I think we’ve seen enough of this madness. What do you say we go see the actual wishing tree I told you about?”

Kate laughed, nodding in agreement.

---

By the time they reached the old pine at the edge of the lake, the crowd had thinned out, leaving behind a hushed stillness beneath the snow-laden branches. The towering tree stretched its limbs wide, its bark rough and gnarled with age. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting fractured shadows onto the snow below. The world around them felt smaller here, tucked away from the noise and lights of the festival.

Kate glanced up at the pine, the stories Stan had told flickering through her mind. The wind stirred faintly, making the branches creak. Stan shifted beside her, the snow crunching softly beneath his boots. His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets, his breath curling in the cold air. Uncharacteristically quiet, he just stood there, looking up at the tree like it might actually be worth believing in, if only for tonight.

Kate swallowed, her fingers curling tighter in her pockets.

"Alright, sweetheart," Stan muttered, breaking the quiet. "You gonna make a wish, or just stand there freezin’ to death?"

Kate huffed a small laugh, but her voice was softer than usual. "What if I don’t have a wish ready?"

Stan glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Doesn’t have to be ready. Doesn’t have to make sense either. Just... whatever’s rattlin’ around in your head."

Kate's gaze flicked back to the tree, its branches stretching wide and dark against the stars. The idea of making a wish felt strange, childish, almost. But something about the quiet wrapped around them made her want to believe, just a little.

She shut her eyes, drawing in a slow breath. Beneath the surface of her thoughts, she felt something shifting, things she hadn't quite admitted to herself yet. How Gravity Falls had started to feel more like home. How the man standing next to her had gone from a grumpy stranger to… something else. A friend. Right, yeah, a friend.

Stan stood perfectly still beside her; his eyes fixed on the lake. If he was making a wish, he wasn't saying it out loud.

Kate opened her eyes, glancing sideways at him. His profile was lit by the moonlight, lines softened, eyes distant. He looked more like someone trying not to hope for something than someone who didn't believe at all.

"Guess we’ll find out if these old stories are true," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stan’s eyes stayed on the lake, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.

"Yeah... guess we will."

The silence between them stretched out, heavier than the cold. The wind stirred again, the faintest echo dancing through the branches above, like something unseen was listening. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Whatever they'd wished for stayed tucked inside them, wrapped tight beneath the weight of the moment.

Stan breathed in and then clap his hands “Alright, ya’ ready for a show?” he forced himself to boast loudly, breaking the moment, a grin taking over his face.

---

Stan led Kate through the bustling crowd, ushering her off into the woods.

“You’re not planning on murdering me, are you?” Kate chuckled nervously

Stan grinned, his eyes twinkling with that signature blend of mischievousness and playfulness "Relax doll."

They walked along a narrow trail that wound through the trees, the deeper they went, the more distant the crowd’s noise became, until it was only the sound of their own footsteps.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Kate tried again, trying to peer around the trees.

He led her further into the woods, where the trail ended in a small clearing, tucked away from the lights of the gathering. It was perfect. But there was something about this spot that felt private, secluded, the perfect place to pull off his little surprise.

Stan stopped at a hidden stash he’d prepared earlier in the day, a small, well-camouflaged area with several fireworks he had set up in a perfect line. He grinned and pulled a lighter from his jacket pocket, already knowing what was about to happen. “Alright, sweetheart, time for a little fun.”

Kate’s eyes widened in surprise, her stomach dropped “Stan, you didn’t...”

He winked, his hands already lighting the first fuse. “You gotta live a little, doll. Don’t worry, it’s all perfectly safe.”

The first firework shot up into the sky, exploding into a shower of color. Kate gasped, stepping back in awe.

Stan’s grin only widened, the satisfaction of pulling off the surprise evident in the way his eyes gleamed in the dim light. One by one, he lit the fuses. Each firework burst into the night sky; red, blue, green, gold painting the sky in a wondrous, fleeting display of light. The flashes illuminated their faces, and for a moment, they were both caught in the magic of it.

Kate couldn’t help but laugh in amazement, mouth agape, gaze glued to the sky.

He lit the final fuse and, with a flourish, gestured toward the display. A sudden wave of excitement and nerves washed over him. The night felt alive with energy, but it was more than just the fireworks. It was the fact that he was standing here with Kate; someone he’d only gotten to know the past couple of months, but who had become someone important to him.

Before he could dwell on it too long, the faint sound of approaching footsteps broke through his thoughts. He immediately turned to Kate, his expression shifting from playful to urgent.

Kate raised an eyebrow, but before she could protest, Stan grabbed her hand with surprising speed, pulling her toward the edge of the clearing. “Come on, let’s get outta here before someone figures it was us”

The next few moments were a blur of adrenaline as they dashed hand in hand through the trees, moving swiftly and silently, heading towards the crowd that was still gathering near the bonfires. They reached the crowd just as the final explosion of fireworks lit up the night sky. Stan pulled Kate towards him and into the crowd to blend them, stopping momentarily to catch their breath. Stan’s heart was pounding, not only from the sprint, but from the feeling of having Kate’s hand in his.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Kate whispered, her face flushed from the run and the excitement.

Stan peered through the crowd, pretending to adjust his jacket, trying to blend in with the other townspeople. He glanced down at Kate, her hair tousled from the wind, her cheeks flushed. The sight of her, so close to him, sent a rush through him that was entirely unrelated to the fireworks.

“Doubt it,” he said, his voice low.

Kate laughed softly, her fingers still lightly holding his, though she seemed to realize it too, and she quickly withdrew her hand, as if to give them both a moment to recalibrate.

“You sure know how to make an exit, Stan Pines.”

Stan smirked, “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

They both watched the crowd for a few moments, pretending to be just another couple of people caught up in the excitement of the evening. Midnight was approaching.

---

The countdown to midnight was imminent, Kate and Stan found themselves standing in the crowd, feeling the weight of the moment settling around them, the New Year’s kiss an elephant in the room. The final seconds ticked away; Stan found himself instinctively glancing at Kate.

As the countdown to midnight began, the energy of the crowd began to swell, the excitement building in the cold night air.

Kate had grown accustomed to the warmth of Stan’s company over the months, but now, with the clock ticking closer to midnight, something else was lingering between them. They both felt it, but neither of them had said anything about it.

The crowd around them began to cheer as the seconds counted down.

"Five... four..." The loud voice of a nearby reveler echoed in the air. The tension between them grew, but neither knew how to break it.

Stan shifted uncomfortably. He had always had a way of hiding his feelings, of pushing them aside in favor of a joke or sarcasm. But now, standing next to Kate as the seconds drew nearer to the new year, all he wanted to do was close the distance between them, just a little more.

Kate, noticing his unease, looked over at him, her breath catching in her chest. She could feel the same pull, the strange combination of nervousness and excitement, and she didn’t know how to navigate it either

"Three... two..."

Stan glanced at Kate, his hand twitching by his side, unsure whether to make a move or to let the moment pass. His mind raced with possibilities; what if it was too soon, too much? What if it ruined everything? He thought of how comfortable he had felt around her, how much fun they’d had, and how, in this strange little town, Kate had become someone who felt... important to him.

At the last second, he looked back at her. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of thick tension, something unspoken that felt too big for words. Kate’s lips parted, her pulse racing as she met his gaze.

One last second.

"One! Happy New Year!" The crowd erupted in cheers, and as everyone around them cheered and began to kiss.

Stan and Kate found themselves swept up in the tradition. The moment felt almost surreal, but it also felt inevitable.

The fireworks had lit up the sky, but Stan and Kate still stood there, the final echoes of celebration fading into the background. Midnight had passed, the world around them alive with the familiar joy of a new year, but they remained frozen in place, still and uncertain. The kiss had been expected, part of the tradition, but it hadn’t happened. Both of them had hesitated at the last moment, unsure whether the moment they shared was a spark or just the pulse of the crowd's energy.

Stan could feel the heat in his chest, his mind was clouded, racing, and his body felt... awkward. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but there was no denying the tension between him and Kate. It was palpable now, in the stillness between them.

She had looked up at him in those final seconds before midnight, her eyes a little wide, a little unsure. He had felt the pull toward her, the desire to close the space between them, but something had held him back. He’d wanted to kiss her, but the uncertainty in her eyes mirrored his own. Was it the tradition? Was it just the fireworks? Or was there something deeper? He couldn’t tell. And now, standing there in the aftermath of the crowd’s excitement, the weight of it all hung between them.

Kate, for her part, was wrestling with the same feelings. There had been a moment, a brief but electric moment, and she had felt it. She had wanted to lean in, let it happen, but then the countdown had come, the pressure of it, and she had hesitated. She didn’t know if it was because of the tradition or something more, but the kiss hadn’t come, and the tension now felt like an invisible thread that stretched between them.

The sound of the crowd around them continued, people laughing, yelling, celebrating, but it felt so distant, like the world had muted itself in favor of the two of them. She shifted from one foot to the other, nervously brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her hands fidgeting with the zipper of her coat.

Stan stood next to her, unsure whether to step closer or give her space. He could feel her energy, her quiet hesitation, mirroring his own. Neither of them knew how to break the tension, how to make the next move. They were friends, right? Friends didn’t have this kind of tension, did they?

 “Wanna, uh... hug it out?” He chuckled awkwardly, a feeble attempt to pull them out of the moment.

Kate blinked, the offer surprising her for a moment, but then she looked at him, and in his eyes, she saw something she didn’t expect: vulnerability. It wasn’t the usual guarded Stan, always teasing, always hiding behind some loud and crass comment. This was... something different.

Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded, her lips curving into a soft, shy smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

Stan exhaled, almost relieved, and then he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a careful embrace. He hesitated for a moment, but he then allowed himself to hold her. He felt her warmth against him, the softness of her presence, and for a brief second, it felt like everything had slowed down. There was no pressure to do anything else, no expectation, no weight of the tradition. Just them, in that moment.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart" Stan muttered, his voice low and steady as he hugged her. “Happy New Year Stan” Kate whispered back.

Kate rested her head against his chest, her arms gently wrapping around his torso, a quiet contentment settling over her. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her ear, thundering wildly. She smiled softly; she could now confirm he was just as nervous as her. There was a tenderness to this, a softness in his embrace that made her feel safe, as if everything would be okay.

Stan, on the other hand, felt something he couldn’t quite name as he held her close. His breath hitched slightly, but it was the weight of the moment, the quiet intimacy of it, that caught him off guard. His face was still close to her head, and without thinking, he leaned down, the tip of his nose brushing the top of her head as he breathed her in. It wasn’t an intentional gesture, but it felt right in the moment, like he couldn’t believe she was right there with him.

His lips, still unaware of what they were doing, pressed gently against her hair, the softest of kisses, just a brief touch. He didn’t mean it to be anything more than instinct, but when it happened, something inside him shifted. He felt a tenderness rise in his chest; an overwhelming rush of affection that made his pulse quicken.

When he pulled back, a rush of heat flooded his face. What the heck was that?

Stan cleared his throat, awkwardly pulling back a little, his arms dropping from around her as he looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered, almost immediately, "I didn’t mean to—"

Kate pulled back slightly too, looking up at him with a surprised but not unwelcome expression. There was something warm in her chest, a sense of closeness that she hadn’t expected. "It’s okay," she said softly, smiling a little as she shook her head, her hand went to find his and squeezed in gently.

Stan met her eyes for a moment, it felt like they had taken a step closer to something. They still didn’t know what it was, but they were both in it now, trying to make sense of everything without rushing forward.

Stan cleared his throat awkwardly, his heart still racing. "Well, uh, you know what they say about Gravity Falls... one of the more mysterious traditions is listening to the voices in the wind."

They stood still, listening intently as the chilly night air carried a voice.

"Come on, kiss!"

Both of them froze. Stan’s head whipped toward the direction of the sound, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Kate’s face flushed, her expression shifting from curiosity to realization in the blink of an eye.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze darted around the crowd, trying to figure out where it had come from, but no one seemed to be paying attention.

Stan’s face turned crimson, his heart hammering in his chest. His mind raced. “What the heck was that?” he muttered under his breath, his stomach flipping with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

They both looked around, their eyes scanning the crowd, trying to piece together what had just happened. Kate shifted awkwardly, her eyes wide as she looked at Stan, then back at the crowd. "It sounded like—" She cut herself off, her words hanging in the air.

Stan’s brow furrowed in disbelief, his face a mixture of bewilderment and awkwardness. "You think it’s a prank?" he asked, his voice thick with unease, they had been the talk of the town lately anyways. He could feel the blood rush to his cheeks, and he instinctively took a step back, feeling as though every eye in the crowd was on him now.

Kate bit her lip, her eyes flickering nervously. "I mean, it did sound like someone was telling us to…" she said, her voice cracking slightly. She let out a nervous laugh, though it was more for show than amusement.

For a moment, they both stood there, their hearts pounding, neither of them knowing how to move forward. The awkwardness of the situation suddenly became palpable, hanging between them like a heavy fog. They’d both just shared a private, almost intimate moment, but now they were faced with the realization that the wind had spoken—at least, that’s what they thought—and now they were left unsure how to respond.

Stan’s face was redder than a lobster as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to brush it off. "Well, uh, that’s... I mean, this town’s full of weird stuff," his voice a little too loud to be natural, tinged with fake bravado. He forced a laugh, but it came out more nervous than anything.

Kate’s gaze darted to him, her cheeks pink as she shrugged. "Yeah... weird, right? So weird." She laughed too, but it was strained, almost too fast, as if she was trying to deflect the awkward tension growing between them.

For a moment, neither of them knew what to do. Should they pretend it hadn’t happened? But before either of them could say anything else, the voice came again, louder this time, more insistent.

"Come on, kiss! It’s tradition!"

Both of them turned at the same time, eyes wide. The voice was unmistakable now. It wasn’t just a random shout, it was a deliberate call, a teasing, persistent invitation. It wasn’t from the wind, as they’d initially thought, but from someone in the crowd.

Kate’s hand flew up to her mouth in realization. "Oh my God," she whispered, her face going bright red. "It’s... it’s someone else. It’s one of the couples. They’re—"

Stan’s eyes widened, and he let out a strangled laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again awkwardly. “Oh. Oh, boy.” His shoulders sagged with embarrassment, and he could feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Kate, now fully aware of what had happened, let out a nervous, almost embarrassed laugh of her own. "I—I thought—" She stopped herself, looking down, still flustered. “I thought we were... part of some weird Gravity Falls woodland spirit’s prank, or something.”

Stan couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the awkwardness.

They both stood there for a moment, just staring at each other. The realization that they had just overreacted to what was, in the end, a prank on a couple made them both feel like complete fools.

Stan took a deep breath, still trying to smooth over the awkwardness, but there was a small spark in his eyes as he offered her a playful grin. “Well, now that that’s cleared up... how about some Marionberry pie? Best way to recover from a weird Gravity Falls tradition.”

Kate laughed, her shoulders relaxing a little. "I’m definitely in for that."

As they walked away from the spot, both of them felt the tension begin to melt away, though, for the rest of the night, they couldn’t quite shake the memory of the voice in the wind, and the embarrassed, charged, and almost expectant, look they had exchanged in the moments after.

---

They spent the rest of the evening chatting lightheartedly about the pie and other inconsequential things, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that the night had been more than just a typical New Year's Eve. As they walked back toward the car, the quietness between them was comfortable, but the air was charged with the weight of unspoken words.

As the car slowly rolled to a stop in front of Kate's house, the soft hum of the engine seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the chill of the late-night air seeped in through the cracks of the window. Stan shifted awkwardly in his seat, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel, but his eyes never quite meeting hers.

Kate unbuckled her seatbelt, but she hesitated, her hand resting on the door handle. "Well," she said, breaking the silence, her voice soft, "Thanks for tonight. It was... a lot of fun."

Stan gave a half-hearted chuckle, trying to hide the warmth creeping up his neck. "Yeah, it was" his voice was tinged with something softer, something less guarded.

Kate smiled, but there was something lingering in her gaze as she looked at him, something unspoken hanging in the air between them. "It was a really good night," she repeated, her voice almost too quiet.

Stan shifted uncomfortably, his heart was racing again, the warmth of her presence, the closeness they'd shared, suddenly feeling like too much to process all at once.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It was, uh... it was nice havin' you there. You, uh, you make things... better. Ya' know?"

Kate blinked, her breath catching in her throat for a brief moment. Her heart fluttered, and she forced a light chuckle, as if to dismiss the intensity of the moment. "I... make things better, huh?" She glanced at him, a hint of teasing in her voice, but there was also something vulnerable in her eyes.

"Yeah," Stan said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, like the words weren’t something he usually said out loud. "You do."

The silence stretched between them for a beat. Stan could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his hand still resting on the gearshift. He wasn’t sure why the words felt so heavy now, why everything felt like it had suddenly shifted.

Kate reached for the door handle again, but before she could open it, she spoke, “Thanks again Stan, drive safe” her voice now softer, wanting to have said more.

For a moment, Stan just stared at her, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. His gaze flickered briefly to her lips, and his chest tightened, he forced himself to nod, letting her know he heard her.

Kate’s expression softened, a gentle smile curling on her lips before she got out of the car.

Stan watched her walk toward her house, his hands still clutching the wheel tightly, as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer. He sat there, his thoughts running wild, before finally slumping back in his seat with a long exhale.

Kate paused at her front door and turned back once more; her face illuminated by the porch light. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then, she smiled softly, her cheeks flushed, and turned away to disappear inside.

Stan sat there for another few seconds, still lost in the feeling of her presence, before he finally pulled away, the empty road ahead. One thing was certain: no matter how much he tried to brush it off, this felt different. And whether he was ready to face it or not, Stan Pines knew the next time he saw Kate, things wouldn’t be quite the same.

Chapter Text

The next couple of days passed like nothing had happened.

Kate found herself at the diner, sitting across from Stan in their usual booth, a cup of coffee warming her hands. He was grumbling about the weather, about the tourists who had clogged up the roads, about some ridiculous sale at the hardware store that was “an absolute scam,” and she found herself nodding along, responding when necessary, but mostly just watching him.

It was like they had silently agreed not to acknowledge anything. Not New Year's, not the weird tension, not whatever had been simmering between them since that night.

And that was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Except it wasn’t, because every time he glanced up at her, every time their hands brushed when reaching for the sugar, every time he huffed like he was about to say something real and then didn’t, something inside her curled tighter.

She stirred her coffee, pretending she didn’t notice the way he was watching her over the rim of his mug. “I need you to take a look at something for me.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, grateful for the change in subject. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, forcing herself to sound casual. “The attic beams. I think they might need a look.”

He scoffed. “We’ve been to the attic several times, they seemed fine, at least for now”

Kate shrugged. “They aren’t in the best shape, just want to be sure they’ll last before the next big snowstorm.”

He studied her for a second longer than necessary, but if he suspected there was more to it, he didn’t say. Instead, he downed the last of his coffee, setting the mug down with a small clink.

“Sounds like a plan, doll. I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

And just like that, everything settled back into place. Pretending. Avoiding.

And yet, as they left the diner together, walking side by side toward their cars, neither of them could shake the feeling that something was waiting, just beneath the surface, just out of reach.

---

Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Sleep should have come easily after the exhausting past few days, but her mind wouldn’t quiet down. It kept replaying New Year’s night; how the town gathered by the lake, the warm food stalls, the laughter, the way Stan stood beside her, watching the fireworks explode in brilliant color over the water.

She turned onto her side, gripping the blanket a little tighter. Something had changed that night. It wasn’t anything big, no declarations, no dramatic moments, but it was there. In the way Stan had looked at her under the glow of the fireworks. In the way she had felt something in her chest tighten at the anticipation of kissing or not. In the silence that stretched between them, heavier than usual, filled with something neither of them acknowledged.

And then there was that stupid, lingering feeling that she should have said something. Done something. But what? What would she have even said? That she caught herself looking at him longer than she should? That sometimes she wondered what would happen if she reached and… instead of letting the moment slip by?

She sighed, pressing a hand over her eyes. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. This wasn’t some fairy tale. This was Stan. And yet…

Kate groaned into her pillow. She needed to sleep before she drove herself crazy.

***

Stan sat in his recliner; an untouched glass of whiskey balanced on the armrest. The room was dark except for the dull glow of the TV, playing something he wasn’t paying attention to.

His mind was still stuck on that damn night.

It had started normal enough, food, music, people crowding the lake. He wasn’t even sure why he had invited her. Just figured she’d want to see what the big deal was about. But then there was the ice sculpture contest, the stupid town traditions, the damn fireworks. And somewhere between all of that, something shifted.

Maybe it was the way she laughed at his commentary no matter how stupid, or the way her breath curled in the cold air as she made a wish under that old pine tree. Maybe it was the way she looked at him when the clock struck midnight, like she was waiting for something, like maybe he was supposed to do something.

But he didn’t. Because what the hell was he supposed to do? Kiss her? Pfft, like she would’ve wanted that. He was him, and she was her, and it wasn’t like he had any business thinking otherwise.

And yet… he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

Stan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

Whatever this was—whatever this thing between them was—it was getting harder to ignore.

And that was dangerous.

---

Kate shined her flashlight over the exposed beams of the attic, her breath visible in the cold air. The wood groaned under even the slightest touch, some parts darker and crumbling, while others slumped threateningly under their own weight.

Stan stood beside her, hands planted on his hips, scowling at the damage like it had personally insulted him. "Well, that ain’t good. How did we not see this weeks ago when we were up here?"

Kate let out a long sigh, rubbing her temple. "You think? I was hoping to finish insulating properly up here before the next snowstorm, but now..."

Stan crouched, poking at the wood with his gloved finger. A small chunk of damp, decayed material crumbled off, landing in the also unstable beams of the floor. "Yup. Definitely rotted through. This whole section’s gonna need replacin’. And by ‘section,’ I mean most of it."

Kate chewed the inside of her cheek. "Can we fix it ourselves?"

Stan rolled shook his head, standing up with a grunt. "Unless you gotta secret stash of heavy-duty support beams and a magic spell for instant carpentry, we’re gonna need help. This is structural. Can’t just slap some nails in and hope for the best."

Kate sighed again, folding her arms bracing herself from the cold in the attic. "Okay, so who do we call? I’m not calling Frank’s nephew, Nathan” she pulled a face “There’s got to be someone else in town who does this kind of thing."

Stan frowned slightly “When did you meet that ass?”

Kate waved a dismissive hand, keeping to herself how she had run to Nathan first before deciding to go to Stan a second option.

Stan didn’t press, he scratched at his chin. "Eh, there’s people. But it ain’t gonna be cheap, and most guys ‘round here are probably booked solid. Winter ain’t exactly the best time for repairs."

Kate hesitated before shifting her weight. "I might know someone." Stan shot her a look, she added, "One of my student’s dad is a contractor. He mostly works in the next town over, but from what I’ve heard he’s good. Reliable. He might be willing to come take a look."

Stan frowned, crossing his arms. "Next town over, huh?" There was something in his tone, just a little too casual. "Ya’ know him well?"

Kate caught the edge in his voice but decided to ignore it. "Well enough. I was told he helped rebuild part of the school last year after some huge storm damaged some of the classrooms. He’s been doing this for a good number of years."

Stan scoffed lightly, kicking at a loose nail with his boot, muttering. "Yeah, sure. Bet he’s real eager to drop everything for ya."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin’." Stan waved a dismissive hand but didn’t meet her gaze. "Just sayin’—we don’t even know if we need some fancy professional guy. These kinda guys are also hustlers, they charm ya’ an’ stuff." Might be able to come up somethin’ ourselves.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So now you’re an expert in structural integrity?"

Stan muttered something under his breath again before sighing. "Fine. Talk your guy. But if he starts throwin’ out crazy prices, we’re tellin’ him to get lost."

Kate fought back a smirk. "Right. Strictly business."

Stan grumbled but didn’t argue further. She swore she caught him shifting uncomfortably, his jaw set just a little too tight. He wasn’t thrilled about this idea. And she had a feeling it had nothing to do with the price.

---

Kate had first met Adam Carter at the beginning of the school year, just like she had met every other parent, standing in front of her classroom door on orientation night, shaking hands with nervous or distracted adults who wanted to know if she was going to be the teacher that "got" their kid.

But Adam had been different.

Unlike some of the parents, who either rushed in and out or barely looked her in the eye, he had lingered, taking in the classroom, the setup, the details. Dylan, his son, had already been bouncing around the room, investigating every inch of his new environment, while Adam stood back, hands in his pockets, an easy grin on his face as he watched.

"Looks like you’ve got quite the setup here, Miss Arthur," he had said, offering his hand after the initial wave of introductions.

Kate had smiled, shaking it. "Took me a while, but I think it’s finally how I want it."

"Well, if it keeps this one engaged," Adam had nodded toward Dylan, who was already flipping through a book in the reading nook, "then I’d say you’ve done a pretty good job. He’s a hard one to impress."

Kate had laughed. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll win him over eventually."

And she had. Dylan had quickly become one of the more energetic but bright students in her class. He had an insatiable curiosity, always asking questions, sometimes completely unrelated to the lesson, and always finding a way to make her laugh.

And Adam? He had been just as easygoing every time he showed up to pick up his son.

"So, did he finally stop insisting that the moon landing was staged?" Adam had asked one afternoon as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Kate let out a small chuckle, shaking her head lightly. "We’ve made progress. He’s at least considering that maybe, just maybe, NASA didn’t go through all that effort just for a Hollywood special."

Adam had chuckled. "I swear, he gets that from my brother. I told him one conspiracy theory once, and suddenly, he’s got a whole collection. Sorry if he’s been a handful."

Kate shook her head. "Not at all. Honestly, I wish more kids asked questions like he does. Even if they do derail my lesson plans."

After weeks of small exchanges like that, Kate had found herself genuinely enjoying the conversations. Adam was easy to talk to; witty, charming, and never overstepping. It wasn’t long before she learned more about him. That he worked as a contractor, primarily taking on restoration projects in the next town over. That he had grown up in Gravity Falls but left for a while before returning when Dylan’s mom decided small-town life wasn’t for her.

And, somewhere along the way, Kate had found out he was single.

She hadn’t pried; it had just come up naturally. A casual remark about how Dylan’s mom had moved on, how co-parenting had its challenges, but how he was making the most of it. It had been said without any bitterness, just the kind of acceptance that comes from someone who has already processed the past and moved forward.

Maybe that was what had made her comfortable enough to ask him for help.

He seemed trustworthy, responsible. And in Gravity Falls, that wasn’t something she could say about many people in his line of work.

So, when she discovered the attic beams were rotting, and when Stan grumbled that they were out of their depth, Adam had been the first person to come to mind. Because he was good at what he did. Because she knew he’d do the job right.

And maybe, just maybe, because it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t have her doing mental gymnastics.

---

The last of the students had filtered out of the classroom, their voices echoing down the hall as parents picked them up one by one. Kate busied herself tidying up some stray papers, but her attention drifted toward the door as Adam Carter stepped inside, scanning the room before his gaze landed on her.

A man on his way into his late thirties, light brown colored hair, almost mousy blond, kind but twinkling blue eyes, tall but leaner build stepped inside. His signature cap, plaid shirt, outdoor vest and working boots slightly disheveled from the day’s work.

"Ms.Arthur," he greeted with a warm smile under his trimmed beard, shifting his weight as his son, Dylan, ran up to grab his backpack. "Hope he didn’t cause too much trouble today."

Kate chuckled, leaning against her desk. "Not at all. Though he did insist that squirrels are secretly running the government during our science lesson."

Adam sighed dramatically, ruffling Dylan’s hair. "That’s on me. We watched a documentary last week. Should’ve known he’d absorb all the weirdest parts."

Kate grinned. "Well, at least he’s got an imagination."

She turned fully to him, her face falling slightly, awkwardly taking him in for a moment her mouth opening and closing, hesitating to ask, not knowing how to bring it up.

Adam returned her smile before tilting his head slightly. "Something on your mind? You look like something’s got you tongue tied."

Kate exhaled, crossing her arms. "You got me. I actually need a favor, and you’re probably the only person I know who can hopefully help me in a pinch."

Adam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That so?"

She nodded. "Turns out my attic beams are rotting. I was hoping to finish insulating before the next snowstorm, but after seeing the damage… let’s just say it’s way beyond a quick fix."

Adam let out a low whistle. "That’s not good. You know how bad it is?"

"Bad enough that in the last five months I’ve been renovating I can’t solve it with duct tape and stubbornness, I need professional help" she joked lightly to lighten up the favor.

Adam chuckled. "Well, if tape and stubbornness can’t help, then yeah, you’re in trouble."

Kate smiled, amused. "Exactly why I was wondering if you’d be willing to take a look. I know you mostly work in the next town over, but I figured I’d ask."

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, considering. "You’re in luck. I just wrapped up a big project, so my schedule’s a little more open. When were you thinking?"

Kate perked up. "Whenever you’re free, honestly. The sooner, the better."

Adam glanced down at Dylan, who was busy zipping up his coat. "Tell you what, I can come by Thursday afternoon, after I wrap up some paperwork. That work for you?"

Kate sighed in relief. "That would be perfect. You’re a lifesaver."

"Don’t say that yet. You might not like my estimate," he teased, flashing an easy grin.

Kate chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else beneath the lighthearted exchange. Adam was charming in a way that felt effortless, like he knew exactly how to make someone feel at ease. It had been a while since she’d had an interaction that wasn’t loaded with either sarcasm or innuendos. And, if she was being honest, it was kind of nice.

"Fair point. But still, I appreciate it," she said, trying to sound casual, though the way Adam’s gaze lingered made her stomach flip in a way she hadn’t expected.

"Alright, Ms.Arthur. See you Thursday," he said, and there was something in the way he said her name that made it sound less like a formality and more like an invitation to something else.

Dylan tugged at his father’s sleeve, ready to go, and Adam gave her one last grin before leading him out. Kate watched them leave, a strange warmth lingering. It wasn’t anything, she told herself. Just nice conversation. But even as she returned to her desk, her fingers brushed absently at the collar of her sweater, and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this repair job might come with more complications than just fixing the attic.

---

Stan wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing a bit of dust as he straightened up from where he’d been hammering a stubborn board into place. Kate, crouched beside him, tightened the last bolt on the shelving unit they had been reinforcing.

"Well, that oughta hold," he said, rocking back onto his heels. "Not bad for a couple of amateurs" she quipped.

Stan scoffed, ignoring how close they were to each other, brushing sawdust from his sleeves. "Speak for yourself. I’ve been fixin’ things longer than you’ve been drinkin’ coffee."

Kate grinned, standing up and stretching her arms. "Uh-huh. And yet, somehow, half your ‘fixes’ involve some shortcut."

Stan muttered something about "perfectly good shorcuts" under his breath before reaching for a rag. As he wiped down his hands, his tone turned casual, too casual. "So, uh… ya’ ever get ahold of that contractor guy?"

Kate glanced at him, eyebrows lifting slightly. "Adam? Yeah, I talked to him yesterday. He’s coming by Thursday to check out the attic."

Stan made a noncommittal noise, tossing the rag onto the workbench. "Huh. Thursday."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "What’s with the face?"

"What face?" Stan asked, feigning innocence as he picked up a screwdriver that didn’t need picking up.

"That face." She crossed her arms. "You look like you just bit into a lemon."

"I’m not." Stan huffed, fiddling with the screwdriver. "Just makin’ sure he actually knows what he’s doin’. You don’t wanna let just anyone mess with your house."

Kate bit back a smirk, had she not done the same thing with him? "Adam’s been doing this for years. I told you he rebuilt part of the school after that storm last year."

"Yeah, yeah." Stan waved a hand. "Bet he’s real great at smooth talkin’ his way into jobs."

Kate tilted her head. "Smooth talking?"

"You know the type," Stan muttered. "The kinda guy who always has a perfect answer, always smilin’, probably calls people ‘ma’am’ just to be charming."

Kate laughed. "Stan, are you jealous?"

"What? Pfft. No." He scoffed, turning back to the workbench like it suddenly held the most interesting tools in the world. "I just got a healthy suspicion of guys who flash too many teeth."

Kate grinned, shaking her head as she grabbed her coat. "Right. Healthy suspicion. Not jealousy at all."

Stan grumbled something unintelligible as she patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, Pines. He’s just helping with the attic. Not stealing your parking spot. You know your way around repairs, no need to get worked up about it"

"Yeah, yeah," Stan muttered, still refusing to meet her gaze as she headed for the door. Right, that’s what he was upset about, being replaced as her handy man, not because he was feeling some sort of way about another man waltzing into Kate’s life.

She watched him for a second before walking out, she swore she saw him scowl just a little harder than necessary at the screwdriver in his hand.

---

The crunch of tires on the snow-covered driveway pulled Stan’s attention away from the attic beams. He straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall, rolling his shoulders as Kate headed down the stairs to greet the newcomer.

Adam Carter stepped out of his truck, flashing that easy grin of his as he met Kate on the front porch. "Kate, always a pleasure. Hope you’re staying warm."

Kate smiled, shaking his offered hand. "Trying my best. Thanks for coming out so quickly."

Stan scowled from the top of the stairs, muttering under his breath as he made his way to the entrance, standing closer to Kate than usual. "Yeah, yeah, real urgent hero work we got here."

Adam glanced up at him as he stepped into the house, taking off his gloves and tucking them into his coat pocket. "And you must be Stan."

"Depends who’s askin’," Stan shot back, crossing his arms.

Adam chuckled, clearly unfazed. "The guy trying to fix this place up before it collapses."

"That makes two of us," Stan muttered, watching as Adam clapped his hands together and looked around.

Kate led them up to the attic, where the deteriorating beams cast long, concerning shadows across the wooden floorboards. Adam let out a low whistle as he ran a hand along the nearest beam, testing the integrity.

"Yeah, this is worse than I thought. You weren’t kidding."

Stan huffed. "That’s what I said."

Adam smirked, amused. "Smart guy."

Kate sighed. "So, what do you think? Salvageable?"

Adam hummed, tilting his head. "It’s going to take some work, but yeah, we can fix it. Going to need to reinforce the whole structure first, replace the compromised beams, and check the surrounding framework to make sure nothing else is about to give. I’ve got some guys I can bring in, or if you’re up for it, we can knock some of this out ourselves."

Kate nodded. "I’m fine with that. Whatever gets it done right."

Adam grinned. "That’s what I like about you, Arthur. Not afraid to get your hands dirty" he teased.

Stan cleared his throat loudly. "She’s had plenty of practice. House was already fallin’ apart before this."

Adam chuckled, glancing at Stan. "Well, good thing she’s got some help then."

Kate, oblivious to the way Stan’s shoulders stiffened, asked, "When do you think you can start?"

Adam took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "I can come by Saturday morning, bring some supplies. We’ll at least get the worst of it stabilized. If we get started this weekend, I could probably have the worst of it secured by Sunday. Full repairs might take longer, depending on what else we find."

Kate nodded. "That works."

Adam shot her an easy grin. "Good. I’ll bring the supplies, and if you’re up for it, you can learn to use something fancy."

Kate chuckled lightly. "You sure you trust me with your power tools?"

Adam laughed. "I’ve seen you handle a stubborn classroom. Pretty sure you can handle a bigger grade drill."

Stan, who had been watching the exchange with growing irritation, cleared his throat loudly. "Yeah, well, don’t go handin’ her anything too fancy. Wouldn’t want her gettin’ distracted, and hurt."

Adam raised a brow, amused. "Distracted?"

Stan shrugged. "Just sayin’. Some people like to talk more than work."

Kate shot him a look. "Stan."

"What?" Stan muttered, kicking at a loose nail. "Just makin’ sure the job gets done right and no one’s hurt."

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "Don’t worry, Stan. I promise not to keep her distracted during the hard labor."

Stan’s frown deepened. "Great. Fantastic."

Kate sighed, rubbing her temple. "Alright, let’s get back on track. Adam, Saturday morning works for me. I’ll have coffee ready."

Adam grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

Kate smiled. "Perfect. Thanks, Adam."

Adam tipped his head, hand on the brim of his cap. "Anything for you."

Stan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Great. Fantastic. A real hero. You need me to roll out a red carpet, or we good here?"

Adam raised an amused eyebrow, but Kate just sighed, giving Stan a warning look. "Stan."

"What? I’m just real excited about all the savin’ goin’ on here," Stan muttered, pushing off the wall. "I’ll be downstairs."

He stomped off before Kate could say anything, the stairs creaking under his weight.

Adam let out a soft chuckle. "Does he always act like that, or is it just when I’m around?"

Kate sighed, shaking her head. "Don’t take it personally. He’s just... Stan."

Adam wore a knowing smile, "uh-huh. If you say so." Kate exhaled, and gestured for them to make their way down the stairs.

Stan muttered something under his breath again, as they walked by him but Kate chose to ignore it.

As Adam packed up and left through the door, Stan shot one last glance at him before grumbling something unintelligible.

With the door closed and turning back to Stan, Kate smirked, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Jealous?"

Stan scoffed. "Of what? A truck and a toolbelt? Please."

Kate just shook her head. Saturday was going to be interesting.

---

The rumble of Adam’s truck echoed down Kate’s driveway early Saturday morning, kicking up a light dusting of snow as he pulled up beside Stan’s old car. Stan, who had already been outside stacking firewood, straightened, rolling his shoulders as he watched Adam hop out of the truck like he owned the place.

"Morning, Kate," Adam greeted, flashing that easy grin as he stepped onto the porch. "Hope you’re ready for a day of heavy lifting."

Kate smiled lightly. "Ready as I’ll ever be. You sure you brought enough equipment?"

Adam patted the side of his truck. "Got everything we’ll need; jack, bracing beams, power tools. Should be a smooth job if everything goes as planned."

Stan stomped up the steps, dusting snow off his gloves. "Yeah, yeah. Problem is, things never go as planned."

Adam turned toward him, nodding. "Stan."

"Contractor." Stan shot back, before jerking his thumb toward the house. "Well, since you’re here, let’s see if you actually know what you’re doing."

"Brought everything we need. Should be able to reinforce the frame and swap out the worst of the beams today."

"Or, we could do this the smart way," Stan cut in, "ya’ ever work on a place this old? ‘Cause this ain’t some cookie-cutter build from the last twenty years."

Adam arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I’ve worked on worse. I’m guessing you got a plan?"

Stan folded his arms. "Damn right I do. These beams are weak ‘cause of moisture buildup over decades. If we don’t brace ‘em right before lifting, you’ll crack the supports before you even get to the replacements."

Adam nodded, clearly entertained. "Brought a beam lift, a few extra braces, and some industrial sealant to keep the moisture out."

Stan let out a huff. "Sealant’s just a band-aid. You don’t fix what’s causin’ the moisture, and you’ll be back here in a year doin’ the same thing."

Adam grinned. "You got a better idea?"

"Damn right I do. But we’ll get to that once we’re up there."

Kate sighed, already sensing the day would be full of this. "Alright, boys. Let’s focus on fixing the attic before we start throwing tool belts at each other."

Inside, Adam laid out the plans while Stan hovered over his shoulder, arms still crossed. "You measured this out ya’self?" Stan asked, squinting at the sketches.

"Yup," Adam replied without missing a beat. "Double-checked the frame load and adjusted for the weight shift once we remove the bad beams."

Stan snorted. "Hmph. Not bad. But you’re forgettin’ about the way these old houses settle. You cut too fast, and the whole thing’s prone to shift on ya’."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "You suggesting we reinforce more than just the planned sections?"

Stan shrugged. "I’m just sayin’ if it were me, I’d brace both sides before takin’ anything out. Avoids surprises."

Adam considered, then nodded. "Alright, fair point."

Kate sighed, mildly amused at their back and forth.

Inside the attic, Adam got to work assessing the beams again, double-checking his measurements. "Alright, first step is getting these old beams out without compromising the structure. We’ll brace the frame first and then—"

"—And then we lift with the jack before taking anythin’ out," Stan cut in, arms crossed "Otherwise, you’re askin’ for a collapse."

Adam gave him a slow nod. "Exactly."

Stan scoffed. "Took you long enough to get there."

Kate threw him a look, but Adam just chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright, Stan. You got a preference on how we set up the bracing? Since you seem to be the expert."

Stan narrowed his eyes, like Adam had just thrown down a challenge. "Yeah, I do, actually. If we brace along just the two main beams, we risk puttin’ too much stress on ‘em. Should run extra support across the middle section so we’re not dependin’ on just one point."

Adam tilted his head, considering. "Not a bad idea. Would add more stability."

Stan smirked. "Damn right it would."

Kate shook her head, watching as the two of them, trying to get the last word in as they debated the best way to go about the repairs.

When it came time to set up the jack, Adam stepped back and gestured toward Stan. "You want to do the honors, old man?"

Stan huffed “We’re not that far apart in age” giving him a look but went for the jack anyway, positioning it under the frame with a practiced hand.

“Careful, sweetheart” he gestured to Kate that was standing too close and within a danger zone. Adam took a mental note of the term of endearment, tucked it away, piecing things together.

Stan cranked the jack a few times before glancing at Adam. Though Stan was a bit shorter, he was definitely stronger than Adam. "Ya’ keepin’ up, or you need me to slow down?"

Adam smirked. "I think I’ll manage."

Adam knelt beside one of the beams, knocking on the wood before shaking his head. "This one’s just about gone. We’re going have to cut it out entirely."

Stan crouched next to him, inspecting the damage. "Ya’ got the right tools for that? ‘Cause if you’re plannin’ on hackin’ through that with a handsaw, we’ll be here ‘til next winter."

Adam smirked. "Relax, I brought a reciprocating saw. Thought even you would approve."

Stan huffed. "At least you got one thing right."

Kate leaned against the attic entryway; arms crossed as she watched the two of them bicker through every step of the process. Every time Adam suggested something, Stan had an alternative, or, as he called it, a "better" way to do it.

"You sure about that angle?" Stan asked as Adam lined up the first cut.

"Positive."

"Looks a little off to me."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Stan, do you want to do it?"

"Nah, just makin’ sure you don’t mess it up."

Despite the bickering, the work got done. The beams were replaced, the supports reinforced, and by the time they broke for lunch, the attic already felt sturdier.

As they packed up, Adam clapped Stan on the shoulder. "Gotta say, you know your stuff."

Stan grunted. "Course I do. What, you thought I was just some guy with a makeshift toolbox?"

Kate sighed. "You two realize you worked together, right?"

Neither of them responded.

Kate watched them finish the last couple of details, biting back a smile. They were both too stubborn to admit they were working towards getting along, but at least the attic was getting fixed in the process.

She had a feeling that by the end of the day, one of them was going to be just a little bit sorer than the other, and one of them, Mr. Mystery, would ever admit it.

Chapter Text

Over the next two weekends and several after-work evenings, the attic came together beam by beam, but not without Kate finding herself squarely in the middle of the tension.

On the second Saturday, it been clearly established that this job wasn’t just about wood and nails. Stan hovered while Adam measured and marked, arms crossed, brows knit.

“That’s off by a hair,” Stan muttered.

Kate sighed, leaning over to glance at the chalk line. “It looks fine to me.”

Adam smirked at her. “See? Voice of reason.”

Stan grumbled under his breath and stomped off to “check supplies.”

By midweek, Kate found herself refereeing between them as much as she was sanding beams. When Adam chose stainless steel screws, Stan loudly insisted on specialized bolts.

Kate tried to mediate. “Guys, either one will hold just fine.”

Stan’s eyes flicked to Adam. “Yeah, well, one’s just more reliable.”

Adam shot her a wink. “Guess we know who’s not.”

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose and sent each one to work on a separate corner like she was breaking up toddlers.

Later that week, while the three of them lifted a new crossbeam, Stan shouldered his way in closer to Kate.

“You’re standing too far left, doll,” Stan said curtly.

Before Kate could adjust, Adam smoothly shifted next to her. “I think she’s got it.”

Stan’s grip on the beam tightened noticeably, his knuckles whitening.

By the final weekend, Kate was finding it harder to ignore. Every time she asked Adam to help with a lift, Stan was already there. Every time Adam cracked a joke that made her smile, Stan’s eyes hardened.

And when Adam casually brushed sawdust from her sleeve, Stan nearly snapped a pencil in half.

Still, Kate pretended not to notice. She kept things light, redirecting conversations, calling more frequent breaks, and focusing harder on the actual work.

It had been their second to last day, Stan climbed the ladder, muttering to himself as he drove a nail into the beam with more force than necessary. “Been hammerin’ since before this guy could spell ‘contractor,’” he grumbled under his breath.

Kate tilted her head, clearly picking up on Stan’s mood. “You alright up there?”

“Oh yeah, peachy,” Stan said, nailing the board in place. “I just like a little cardio with my carpentry.”

Adam stood below, calm as ever. “Hey, Stan, you sure you don’t want me to drill that in? Might be quicker.”

Stan scoffed. “Quicker, sure, but where’s the integrity in that? I don’t take shortcuts.”

Kate crossed her arms, amused. “Stan, you duct-taped a pipe last week.”

“Temporary fix!” Stan fired back. “I was just... testin’ the plumbin’.”

Adam hid a grin, adjusting his work gloves. “No judgment. Just offering.”

Stan descended the ladder, puffing slightly but trying to look like it was no big deal. “I’m good, I’m good. Still got all my fingers”

Kate chuckled, but Stan could see how at ease she seemed with Adam. The guy was polite, helpful, probably had a sparkling résumé and a perfectly organized toolbox to boot. Meanwhile, Stan was winging it, patching beams and rewiring light fixtures with half a roll of tape and pure persistence.

Adam, looked amused, still smiling. “Well, you’ve clearly got grit, Stan.”

Stan narrowed his eyes slightly. “Yeah, I’ve got grit. Loads of grit. Practically bathing in it.”

Kate chuckled, shaking her head. “Boys…”

For the next stretch, Stan hovered around like a hawk, beating Adam to every loose board or stray nail, tossing out stories like he was on a stage at the Mystery Shack. He even climbed the ladder twice as much, just to prove a point, even though his knees were starting to hate him for it.

Finally, Kate excused herself to grab water.

Adam leaned against a beam and gave Stan a knowing smirk. “You’re really bad at playing it cool, you know.”

Stan frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

Adam nodded toward the stairs where Kate had just left. “You like her.”

Stan’s heart lurched. “Wha—nah, nah, get outta here with that sentimental crap... we’ve been workin’ on this house for months. I’m just, uh, protective of the craftsmanship.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Before Stan could come up with a better excuse, Kate returned, tossing Stan a water bottle.

“You okay?” she asked softly, noticing the slight edge to his voice.

Stan grinned, trying to shake it off. “Yeah, I’m great. Could hammer beams all day.”

Kate gave him a look that said, ‘sure you could.’

As Stan took a swig of water, he caught Adam watching him with that same amused expression. Stan glared, muttering under his breath, “Don’t ya’ got some bolts to tighten or somethin’, Mr. Fix-It?”

Stan knew this wasn’t just about the attic beams, it was about the cracks starting to show in the walls he’d built around himself.

---

It was a Sunday night when the final beam was secured and the attic finally felt whole, Kate stepped back with both men at her sides.

Adam grinned and nudged her shoulder lightly, “Team effort, right?” Stan just gave a sharp nod, jaw set tight, but Kate could feel the storm brewing beside her, they all headed downstairs.

Kate could feel the weight of the project lifting off her shoulders. She leaned against the porch railing, watching as Adam packed up his tools, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the yard.

"I really appreciate all your help, Adam," she said sincerely. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to figure all that out on my own."

Adam wiped his hands on a rag and grinned. "Happy to help. Besides, any excuse to swing a hammer and play hero for the day."

Kate chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, consider yourself a lifesaver."

Adam hesitated for a moment, then glanced toward the house before turning back to her. "So… you and Stan. You two got a thing, or…?"

Kate blinked, caught completely off guard. "What? No!" She laughed, a little too quickly. "Me and Stan? No, no, we’re not… anything."

Adam smirked, as if her flustered response told him everything he needed to know. "You sure about that? Because he spent most of the past two weeks looking’ like he wanted to throw me off the roof. Just had to ask.”

Kate rolled her eyes, brushing off the weird twist in her stomach. "That’s just Stan being Stan. He’s like that with everyone" she insisted again like two weeks ago.

Adam hummed like he didn’t quite buy it. "If you say so."

Adam studied her for a moment, then took a small step closer. "Well, in that case… how about dinner sometime?"

Kate blinked again, her brain scrambling to catch up. "Dinner?"

Adam chuckled. "Yeah. You know, that thing where two people sit across from each other, eat food, and maybe have a good time, crack a bad joke or two? Nothing complicated"

Kate hesitated. "I…" she started, her opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Dinner.

She should say yes; Adam was easygoing, attractive, and clearly interested. It wasn’t an unreasonable offer. He was kind, funny, and easy to talk to. There was an effortless charm about him, the kind that made people feel comfortable. And yet, something inside her hesitated, like an invisible rope was keeping her tethered to something—or someone—else.

Stan.

Stan Pines, with his gruff exterior and sharp remarks that somehow always held a layer of warmth underneath. Stan, who rolled his eyes at her but always showed up when she needed help. Stan, who drove her up the wall half the time but had carved out a space in her life before she’d even realized it.

And the way he had been acting the past couple of weeks? Watching Adam like he was expecting him to mess up, undercutting every little thing he did, acting like he had some claim over how she spent her time? That wasn’t just Stan being his usual self.

Or was it?

Stan was… difficult. Infuriating, even. But at the same time, by now, she knew him better than most. He wasn’t just some grumpy ‘ex’ conman, he was smart, loyal in his own way, and when he let his guard down, he was good company. She’d never met anyone who could get under her skin so easily, but at the same time, she liked that he did.

Still, whatever this was between them—if it was anything—he had never said a word about it. And she wasn’t about to sit around waiting for something that might not even be there.

Kate swallowed, suddenly aware that she had been quiet for too long. She cleared her throat, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

"Adam," she started, her voice steadier than she felt. "You're Dylan's dad."

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. "Uh… yeah. Last I checked."

Kate exhaled, trying to sort out her thoughts. "You're the parent of one of my students. That… makes this kind of complicated, don’t you think?"

Adam tilted his head, watching her carefully. "Complicated how?"

She hesitated again, her fingers curling against the fabric of her coat. "I mean, you know how small towns are. People talk. And I just—I don’t want Dylan to feel weird about anything. I don't want things to get… messy."

Adam studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment before a slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "That’s a real polite way of dodging the question, Katherine."

Kate stiffened slightly. "It’s not—"

"It is," Adam interrupted gently. "And that’s fine. But if this was just about Dylan, you wouldn’t be hesitating like this."

Kate opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Adam exhaled, his smirk softening into something more understanding. "Look, I get it. I do. And I’m not trying to push you into anything. But if you’re hesitating because of someone else…" He let the words hang in the air, letting her fill in the blanks herself.

Kate swallowed, glancing toward the house without meaning to.

Adam caught it immediately. "Right," he said, nodding slightly. "Thought so."

Kate sighed, shaking her head. "It’s not—"

Adam leaned against the truck, watching her carefully. "Hey, I’m not trying to make this awkward. But I am saying that if you ever want to spend time with someone who doesn’t need three layers of sarcasm to cover up how he feels, I’d be more than happy to take you out."

Kate sucked in a breath, startled by the way his words hit a little too close.

Her stomach twisted. Adam must have caught the flicker of something in her expression, because he smiled knowingly and stepped back. "No pressure. Just think about it."

Kate nodded slowly. "I will."

Adam gave her one last lingering grin before climbing into his truck, rolling down the window as he started the engine. "See you around, Kate."

As he drove off, Kate stayed frozen in place, the cold biting at her fingers.

Then, slowly, she turned toward the house, eyes landing on the window.

The curtain had moved.

Kate let out a breath and ran a hand through her hair.

This was getting way too complicated.

---

Stan hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

That was the thing about old houses; thin walls, weird acoustics. One second, he was in the kitchen, wiping off the counter, minding his own business, and the next, Adam’s voice drifted through the slightly cracked window, low and casual.

He heard Adam ask her about them. Them being a thing.

Stan froze, rag clutched in his hand. His pulse jumped in a way he didn’t like, a way that made something coil tight in his chest. He told himself to walk away, to stop listening, but his feet stayed planted.

Then Kate laughed and denied it, it wasn’t just a no, it was a dismissive no.

Stan exhaled sharply through his nose. He wasn’t sure why he expected a different answer. Of course she’d say no. What was she supposed to say? Oh, yeah, me and the conman who’s been fixing up my house? We’re soulmates, obviously. But she denied it. That was good, right? That’s what he wanted. It meant things weren’t weird between them, that he hadn’t been imagining things, that he hadn’t—

That he hadn’t been hoping for something?

He scowled, shaking the thought away. Don’t be stupid, Pines.

Of course, she didn’t think of him that way. Why would she? He was him. A washed-up conman, cranky, rough around the edges, not exactly the kind of guy someone like Kate would—

He cut himself off, shaking his head. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter one bit.

He should’ve left then. Should’ve drowned it all out. But then Adam spoke again. Claiming how he had been acting jealous entire time.

Stan clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t. Not really. Sure, he’d been a little irritated, a little. But that was because Adam was waltzing in with his stupid confident grin, acting like he was Gravity Falls’ answer to a rom-com lead, like he was supposed to be here.

Stan had been helping Kate since day one. He was the one who patched the roof before the first snow, he was the one who got the heating to work, he was the one who had spent weeks in this house with her, sweating through repairs, working side by side. Adam shows up for one job, and suddenly, they’re laughing on the porch like it’s the start of something?

He was just making sure the job was done right. That’s all it was. Making sure Adam wasn’t screwing things up, making sure Kate wasn’t getting ripped off, making sure—

Making sure Adam didn’t get too comfortable with her?

Then he asked her out.

Stan rubbed a hand down his face, scowling. He really hated that guy. He hated the thought. Hated how easy Adam made everything look. Hated that Kate wasn’t immediately brushing him off.

But she had hesitated at his offer. He braced himself for her answer, but when it finally came, it wasn’t the kind of rejection he wanted to hear.

She said things would be complicated. Not a no. Not a not interested. Complicated.

Stan swallowed hard. That meant something. He swallowed hard; heart thudding too loud in his chest.

But Adam didn’t back off. Of course he didn’t. Of course Adam would ask her out. He’d seen the way he looked at her all day, flashing that dumb, easy grin. Guys like Adam didn’t hesitate. Guys like Adam saw something they wanted and just went for it.

Meanwhile, Stan was just—what? Standing in the damn kitchen, listening like an idiot? What the hell was he even doing? He wasn’t asking her out. He wasn’t saying a damn thing.

And now Adam had beaten him to it. Well… had he wanted to? Of course not, he wouldn’t embarrass himself like that—stand correct, he didn’t see Kate like that.

He turned away, muttering a curse under his breath. He didn’t need to hear the answer. He already knew it. She’d say yes. And he’d—

His stomach churned. He didn’t know what he’d do.

But whatever it was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand here and listen to it happen. Yet, for the first time in a long time, he had the sinking feeling that he’d let something slip through his fingers before he even realized he was holding onto it.

---

Kate stood in the doorway; arms crossed against the chill creeping into the house as Stan pulled on his coat. He’d been quiet—too quiet—since Adam left, and now he seemed almost eager to get out the door, which was not like him. Normally, he’d find some excuse to linger, to crack a joke, to dig at her for something. But tonight, he was just... off.

She tilted her head. "You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet."

Stan huffed, tugging his collar up higher against the cold. "Yeah. Fine. Just tired. Long day."

Kate frowned. "Uh-huh. And that weird, broody thing you’re doing right now? That’s just ‘tired’?"

Stan scowled. "I don’t brood."

She arched an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me."

He let out a breath, glancing toward the darkened driveway. "I should get goin’. Roads might be icy."

Kate watched him for a second longer, that nagging feeling in her gut refusing to go away. Normally, she’d just let it drop, Stan wasn’t exactly a guy you pried too hard with, but something about this felt different.

“Hey” he didn’t turn so she reached out tugging his arm. “Hey, look at me. You’re still my guy. We’re the ones fixing this, Adam won’t take your spot” she tried comforting him. Thinking that that was what was bothering him.

Stan’s jaw clenched, looking at her momentarily and then past her, her words making him feel weird, conflicted, but eventually he just nodded.

She waited a moment longer but he didn’t speak, eyeing him. "Alright," she said finally, stepping aside to let him through. "I’ll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

He hesitated, lingering just a little too long in the doorway, his hands tightening into fists in his coat pockets before he forced himself to move.

Kate followed him onto the porch, watching as he made his way toward his car. He stopped by the driver’s side, one hand on the door handle, and for a second, she thought he might say something—something real, something important. But instead, he just let out a breath, shook his head slightly, and muttered, "G’night, doll."

Kate exhaled, wrapping her arms around herself. "Goodnight, Stan."

She didn’t go inside until his taillights had disappeared down the road. And even then, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just changed between them, something about Adam’s presence.

---

Stan was fixing the latch on the Mystery Shack’s side door when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow behind him. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“I thought you rang a bell. I just didn’t know you were owner of this” Adam gestured vaguely at the Mystery Shack.

"If you’re here to talk about the attic beams again, I swear—"

"Relax, Pines," Adam interrupted, smirking as he leaned against the wall beside him. "I’m here about something else."

Stan grunted, twisting the screwdriver harder than necessary. "Don’t care."

"Sure you do," Adam said easily. "Especially since it’s about Kate."

Stan stilled, just for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for Adam’s smirk to deepen.

Stan scowled. “What about her?”

Adam tilted his head. “Look, Pines, I know you think you’ve got everyone fooled with the whole tough-guy routine, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize when a guy’s got it bad.”

Stan scoffed. “Ya’ really came all the way out here just to play matchmaker?”

Adam chuckled. “Nah. Just wanted to make sure I’m not stepping on any toes before I really start pursuing her.”

Stan felt a sharp pang in his chest, but his face didn’t move. He forced out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Ya’ need my permission?”

Adam shrugged. “Not exactly. Just figured I’d give you a shot to be honest about it first.”

Stan rolled his eyes, picking up the crate again to avoid looking at him. “There ain’t nothin’ to be honest about.”

Adam hummed. “That so? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure looked like you wanted to throw me off a roof every day we worked on those beams.”

Stan grunted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Adam studied him for a beat before smirking. “You know, I was expecting you to deny it completely. But you’re not, are you?”

Stan tightened his grip on the crate. “I just think Kate deserves better than some guy who works a room like he’s sellin’ used cars.”

Adam laughed. “Cute. But let’s be real, this isn’t about me. It’s about you not wanting to admit you give a damn.”

Stan finally looked up; his expression unreadable. “She’s her own person. She can do whatever she wants.”

Adam nodded slowly. “Alright. If that’s your stance, then I won’t feel ‘bad’ about actually dating her.”

Stan clenched his jaw but gave a nonchalant shrug. “Do what you want.”

Adam let out a breath, watching him for a moment. He tilted his head slightly. "Then what is the deal with you and Kate?"

Stan stiffened just a fraction, "Ain’t no ‘deal.’ She needed help with the house, I helped. End of story."

Adam snorted. "Right. And that’s why you acted like a guard dog the whole time I was there? Why you couldn’t let me so much as hammer a nail without your input?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don’t like amateurs messin’ up perfectly good work."

Adam smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure.

Stan scoffed. "You’re imaginin’ things, pal. Kate’s a grown woman. Again, she can do whatever she wants."

Adam studied him for a long moment, then shook his head with an amused chuckle. "Man, you’re really bad at this."

Stan frowned, his temper beginning to be difficult to contain. "Bad at what?"

Adam took a step closer. "At pretending you don’t care. You might’ve fooled her, but you sure as hell ain’t fooling me."

Stan rolled his shoulders, turning back to the woodpile. "Think whatever ya want. Ain’t my business who she dates."

Adam let out a low laugh. "Yeah? Then why haven’t you asked her out yourself?"

Stan’s jaw tightened. "Not interested."

Adam gave him a knowing look. "And I’m the King of England."

Stan exhaled sharply, finally looking at him. "Look, Kate’s got her own life, alright? She don’t need—"

"She don’t need what?" Adam challenged. "Someone who actually gives a damn about her? Someone who doesn’t pretend he doesn’t care? Face it, Stan, your feelings are slipping, hell, she probably sees it—she’s just waitin’ on you to figure it out."

Stan scowled. "Yeah, well, she’s gonna be waitin’ a long time. Because. I’m. Not. Interested."

Adam studied him for another beat before shaking his head with a grin. "You really are a stubborn ass."

Stan smirked. "Took ya this long to figure that out?"

Adam let out a laugh and took a step back. "Alright, have it your way. I came here to talk it out, to be a man about it. We talked. You’re not interested in Kate, then the door’s wide open.”

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving Stan gripping a log a little too tight, his jaw clenched, his thoughts a mess he didn’t want to untangle.

---

Kate stacked the last of her graded papers into a neat pile, stretching her arms behind her chair when a familiar voice broke her focus.

"You got a minute?"

She looked up to see Adam leaning against the doorframe of her classroom, his usual easy grin in place.

Kate smiled. "Yeah, of course. What’s up? Everything ok with Dylan?"

Adam chuckled. "Yeah." He stepped into the room, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "Actually, I wanted to follow up on something from the other night. About why I asked you about Stan, about… dinner."

Kate felt her shoulders tense slightly, but she kept her expression neutral. "Alright."

Adam exhaled, tilting his head. "Look, I didn’t ask just to be nosy. I asked because, well… people talk."

Kate blinked. "Talk?"

"Yeah." Adam scratched the back of his neck. "The whole town’s been watching you two, Arthur. You show up everywhere together, you bicker like an old married couple, and from the outside, it looks like something’s going on."

Kate let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You’re kidding."

Adam smirked. "Nope. And if I’m being honest, that’s why I asked before I asked you out. Didn’t want to step on any toes."

Kate shook her head, crossing her arms. "Me and Stan are not—that’s not what’s happening."

Adam gave her a look. "If you say so."

She groaned. "I do say so. He’s just—" She hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "He’s just Stan. We help each other out. That’s all."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And does Stan know that?"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Come on, Adam."

Adam grinned. "Hey, now you know why people are talking’. And why I had to ask." He took a step towards her. "So… what’s your take on all that?"

Kate hesitated for half a second too long. Then, forcing a smirk, she waved a dismissive hand. "I think this town needs better gossip."

He nodded, hesitating briefly but speaking again “So you insist there’s nothing, and so did does he. Where does that leave us?” his voice cautious.

Kate frowned slightly. Stan had denied it too? “When- how- Did you speak to Stan?”

He nodded “Yeah just the other day, he said there was nothing going on and that you were your own person and could do whatever you wanted, that he wasn’t interested” he shrugged nonchalantly, feeling a bit guilty as he saw Kate’s face fall slightly.

Kate felt like someone had knocked the air out of her, but mostly she felt stupid. She felt stupid for having misread Stan and her friendship and small moments.

She recovered quickly “Well, we’ll call a meeting at the town hall, make sure to spread the word” she tried joking.

Adam laughed, but as he left, Kate sat back in her chair, staring down at her papers without really seeing them. She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple.

Stan had actually just been upset over Adam taking over his work. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that it hadn’t been something more.

Kate clenched her jaw and pushed the thought away.

She had work to do.

---

Later that evening, Kate sat on her couch that night, nursing a glass of wine, staring at the flicker of the fireplace. Her mind was still tangled up in Stan’s words, passed along by Adam, repeating like a bitter echo.

“Stan said there’s nothing going on.”

She blinked hard, like she could will the sting behind her eyes to disappear. The knot in her stomach tightened, a sense of stupidity and embarrassment warring inside her.

How could she have been so foolish? All those little moments; the look in his eyes sometimes, standing too close, softening when no one was looking, had felt like something. Like maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

But she’d been wrong.

Dead wrong.

You misread it, she thought bitterly. He was just being… Stan.

A gruff, frustrating, infuriating man who didn’t want her. Not like that.

She felt her cheeks flush with heat as flashes of their interactions played on a loop in her mind. The way her heart always beat faster around him, how she’d find excuses to keep him around.

All of it—just wishful thinking.

And now, sitting here alone, she felt like a fool for ever believing otherwise.

Adam’s words had been gentle, almost apologetic, but they cut deep all the same. Stan didn’t want more. Maybe he never did.

Kate swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, but the ache in her chest lingered.

You should’ve known better.

She let her mind race until she was sick of it. Enough.

If Stan didn’t want her, if he could be so cavalier about it after everything they’d shared; the lingering glances, the late nights working side by side, the tension she could have sworn was there, then it was time to move on.

Adam wasn’t Stan. Adam was steady, open, kind. He made things feel simple. No mind games, no guarded silences.

That’s what I need, she thought. Someone who makes things easy.

She sipped her wine and stared at the flames. Adam had been nothing but patient and clear about how he felt. And he wasn’t carrying the weight of the past the way Stan was.

Kate rubbed at her temples. "You’re an adult," she whispered to herself. "Time to act like it."

It didn’t matter how Stan made her heart stutter or how he could make her laugh with just a glance. If he didn’t want her, then it was time to stop waiting around for him.

Kate took another sip and nodded to herself.

Adam deserves a real shot.

And with that, she made a silent vow, to push down whatever feelings she still carried for Stan and give Adam a chance.

Whether or not her heart was ready to follow along.

Chapter Text

The last school bell of the day echoed through the quiet, pine-lined campus of Gravity Falls Elementary, signaling the end of classes. The winter sun hung low, casting long golden shadows across the schoolyard as parents lingered about, waiting for their kids.

Kate stood near the front steps, clutching a folder tightly to her chest, unsure of the decision she was about to make. Across the lot, she spotted Adam leaning against the rusted hood of his truck, hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he watched the playground. Dylan, was busy kicking up patches of snow with a group of classmates.

Kate inhaled sharply, summoning her courage. The tension with Stan had been thick lately, unresolved and quietly pressing at her. And while she didn’t want to think of this as an escape, maybe Adam really could be a fresh breath of air.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, she made her way toward Adam before she could talk herself out of it.

Adam noticed her halfway there, his expression brightening slightly. “Hey,” he greeted with a warm, easy smile. “Long day?”

Kate nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. But good.”

There was a brief pause before she cleared her throat. “Actually, I wanted to catch you before you left.”

Adam straightened slightly, attentive. “What’s up?”

Kate shuffled her weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward under the weight of his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about your offer. For dinner.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose with faint surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She managed a small but genuine smile. “I’d like to go. Friday? If you’re still free” she shrugged casually.

Adam’s grin widened, the kind that warmed his whole face. “I’m definitely free.”

Kate exhaled a little, some of the tightness in her chest easing. “Great,” she said. “I could use a night away from home renovations and flickering lightbulbs.”

He chuckled. “I’ll make sure it’s drywall-free.”

Kate let out a quiet laugh, and for the first time that week, the air between them felt light. Familiar. Easy.

Before Adam could say more, Dylan sprinted over, cheeks flushed from playing. “Dad, can we go get milkshakes?”

Adam ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hey, bud. How about we can get milkshakes another day? Ms. Arthur here was telling me about how much homework you have” he winked at Kate.

Dylan, oblivious to the subtext, shrugged. “Okay,” before running back to his friends.

Kate smiled softly at the exchange, still feeling unsure about her decision and how Dylan may take it if ended up working out.

“I have your number around from the attic restoration, I’ll call you” Adam said, voice gentler now.

“Sounds good,” Kate replied, giving him a hesitant smile.

---

It was Friday night, late January had ushered in a soft blanket of snow across Gravity Falls, giving the town a serene stillness. Kate found herself making her way to the warmly lit entrance of a small, rustic café nestled between the main street shops. The windowpanes fogged with the heat inside, casting a glow into the wintry street where Adam stood waiting, bundled in a well-worn flannel and jacket.

“You sure you’re up for this, Ms. New-in-town?” Adam teased gently as Kate approached.

Kate gave a light laugh, cheeks pink from the cold. “It’s just dinner, not survival training.”

They stepped inside, the cozy warmth immediately easing the tension in her shoulders. The café buzzed softly with the clinking of mugs and the murmur of locals. The night unfolded effortlessly, Adam’s easygoing humor smoothing over the nerves that usually knotted in Kate’s stomach on first dates.

They talked about small-town quirks, her chaotic house renovations, and the school. Adam shared stories about growing up in Gravity Falls, pointing out local legends and weird town lore with an amused skepticism that made Kate chuckle. Lore, she knew was true, because of Stan. She tried pushing the thought of him away. He did not see her like that anyway.

By the end of the night, as they stood outside beneath a soft dusting of falling snow, Adam gently brushed a stray hair from her face. “I’d like to see you again,” he said softly.

Kate smiled. She had had a pleasant evening. It had been good date. Better than the last couple she had a long time ago. She breathed in, deciding to further explore the connection “I’d like that too.”

The second date followed a week later, an impromptu walk through the Gravity Falls Market. They sipped hot cocoa, browsed handmade trinkets, and Kate found herself laughing more than she had the last couple of weeks. She pushed down how eerily familiar the plan was, how she had done this with Stan.

Toward the end of the evening, Adam bought her a small, handmade wooden flower ornament. “For your house,” he said, “something to remember tonight by… or just to make it feel less empty.”

Kate’s heart warmed without her wanting to. There was something so steady about Adam. So different.

---

Another week had gone by, it was a quiet Tuesday afternoon when Adam called.

Kate was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by renovation supply receipts and scattered lesson plans. The house creaked faintly as the wind stirred outside, the landline rang.

She answered, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear while scribbling down a to-do list. Expecting Stan to be at the other end to inform her about the new supplies they needed.

“Hey,” Adam greeted, his voice easy and warm. “Got a second?”

“Hey? Hi! Yes.” Kate recomposed herself, glancing at the floor she and Stan had been meaning to replace. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Adam cleared his throat, “I know we’ve only been out twice, but I was wondering if you’d be up for a third round.”

Kate raised a brow. “Third time’s the charm?”

He chuckled. “Something like that, at least I hope so.”

She leaned back, twirling a pen between her fingers. “What’d you have in mind?”

There was a pause on the other end. “I was thinking... Valentine’s Day. I know it’s kind of a cliché, but there’s this small place outside town, quiet, cozy. Nothing too flashy.”

Kate’s heart skipped, the mention of Valentine’s bringing with it a rush of discomfort... and hesitation. Valentine’s Day. A date with weight behind it. Commitment.

For a second, her mind flickered to Stan. His half-jokes, the way he filled a room with laughter, even when it had been strained lately. He had been back to ‘normal’ though he still seemed slightly off. The way he’s offered helped even more than usual without his usual remarks. The look in his eyes these past weeks they worked together did not go unnoticed.

She then thought of Adam, how he made things feel simple, steady, uncomplicated. How things have been technically good.

She shifted in her chair. “Valentine’s, huh?”

Adam picked up on her hesitation. “Hey, no pressure. It’s just a date on the calendar.”

Kate exhaled softly, biting back her hesitation “No, no. I’d like that. Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” His voice brightened.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, fighting down the nervous flutter rising in her chest.

---

The restaurant was tucked away in a corner almost at the end of town. Inside, soft amber lighting bounced off the rustic wooden beams and cast a warm glow over the small dining room. The smell of fresh herbs and slow-cooked food lingered in the air, comforting and rich. The candlelight flickered on their table, and the air carried a quiet intimacy.

Kate sat across from Adam at a corner table, a candle flickering between them. She wore a simple black dress beneath her coat, nothing extravagant but enough to make her feel just a little outside her usual element. Adam, for his part, had swapped his usual work flannel for a crisp shirt under a gray sweater.

“I’m impressed,” Kate teased, taking a sip of her wine. “No grease stains on your sleeves tonight.”

Adam chuckled, easing back in his chair. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

The conversation was easy, if slightly tinged with a layer of nervousness. They talked about childhood stories, the weirdness of Gravity Falls, and even a little about Dylan. But in the back of Kate’s mind, there was always a pull—like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

About halfway through the meal, Adam leaned forward, voice quieter now. “Can I be honest?”

Kate set down her fork, intrigued. “Of course.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t ask you out tonight just because it’s Valentine’s. I like you, Kate. I like what we’ve been doing here, and… I’d like to see where this could go.”

Kate’s breath caught. His words weren’t pushy or overbearing, just sincere.

“You’re easy to be around,” he added, voice soft. “I feel like we get each other.”

Kate’s heart softened. He wasn’t wrong. With Adam, there was a calm she hadn’t realized she needed. And still, deep down, there was that nagging echo of uncertainty, of someone else.

She studied Adam’s face, the earnestness in his expression. Slowly, her walls loosened.

“I like you too,” she admitted, quietly but firmly. Because she did, maybe not as strongly as for someone else. At least not yet.

He reached across the table, gently taking her hand. And though the contact was gentle, there was something grounding about it, like a decision had been made and had cleared some space in her chest that had felt heavy for weeks. The conversation shifted afterward, light and playful.

They finished their meal just as the streets outside emptied, leaving only the glow of old lampposts and the muffled crunch of boots on the now dissipating snow. As they stepped out into the cool night, Adam hesitated by her side.

“Kate,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering slightly. “I, uh… as I said, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. I want to see where this goes. I was wondering if maybe we could make this more… official?”

Kate blinked, warmth rising to her cheeks. “I think I’d like that” a hesitant statement but unnoticed by him.

Adam smiled, relieved, and before either could second-guess it, he leaned in and kissed her—a soft, deliberate kiss that deepened as the tension they’d carefully danced around finally broke.

What neither of them noticed was the old, convertible parked across the street.

Inside, Stan sat slouched behind the wheel, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other frozen mid-reach for the glovebox. His chest tightened at the sight of them. He hadn’t intended to see this; he was running a late-night errand after locking up the Shack when he spotted Kate and Adam outside the restaurant.

Stan let out a slow, resigned exhale. “Guess ya’ got yourself a Valentine after all, doll,” he muttered to no one but the windshield.

His eyes followed them as they disappeared down the road, lips pressed into a thin line. He let out a breath and started the car again, voice gruff but quiet. “Guess the universe made its call.”

---

The Mystery Shack was quiet that night. Too quiet.

Stan sat alone at the cluttered kitchen table, a cold cup of coffee in front of him and a mostly untouched bowl of soup pushed to the side. He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper, the image of Kate and Adam’s kiss replaying in his mind like a loop. The way Kate had smiled afterward, soft, relaxed, as she tucked herself under Adam’s arm had twisted something deep in his gut.

Stan rubbed his temples. “What were you expectin’, huh?” he mumbled to himself.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming. Adam had been hanging around more, always lingering when Kate was nearby. And Stan? He’d been playing the part of the friend, the handyman, the guy who hides every thought behind a joke. He'd let himself think maybe there was still time, still a chance. But tonight made it clear; there wasn’t.

He sighed heavily and slouched lower in his seat.

“You’re not that guy,” he muttered, staring down at the rings forming under his coffee mug. “You don’t get the girl with the white-picket-fence dreams.”

He thought of Kate; how she always talked about wanting quiet stability, about fixing this broken house not just with nails and screws but with the hope of making it into a home. Stan couldn’t offer that. He’d been flying by the seat of his pants for most of his life, hustling, scraping by, half-living in a mystery shack filled with half-truths and dollar-store monsters.

“She’s better off,” he grumbled, but even as the words left his mouth, they felt like sandpaper in his throat.

His gaze drifted to the corner of the kitchen where Kate’s handwriting still marked on a piece of paper. A shopping list, “for actual food”.  It was taped on the fridge door. Little pieces of her had crept into his world, inside this shack, inside his routine, and now it felt like they’d been quietly pulled away without warning.

Stan stood abruptly, scraping the chair back against the floor. He grabbed his coffee and wandered toward the living room, and old box he found in one of the rooms sat on the floor.

He stared at an old picture of himself and Ford from years ago, when they were just kids. Both young and scrappy, grinning like they had all the time in the world.

“You never were the settling-down type,” he murmured to his reflection in the glass. “That was always Ford’s thing.”

But even as he said it, the lie tasted bitter. Because with Kate, for once, the idea of settling down hadn’t felt like a cage. Ever since new year’s, a month and a half ago, he couldn’t help but picture what being with her would look like.

Stan’s thumb absentmindedly brushed over the glass. “Should’ve known better.”

The silence stretched around him, heavy and oppressive. For a guy who’d always claimed he didn’t mind his own company, tonight felt... hollow.

Eventually, Stan pulled his coat off a hook and headed for the front door. The wind outside bit into his skin as he stepped onto the porch, cigarette already between his lips, though unlit.

He stood there, staring out at the tree line beyond the shack, the crisp smell of pine and damp cold heavy in the air. The night was as quiet, it felt empty.

After a long pause, he finally whispered, “Missed your shot, Stan.”

The wind howled in reply, offering no comfort. His cigarette tasting particularly bitter.

Stan shook his head, pulling his coat tighter as he turned back toward the door. “Guess it’s time to let go.” Deep down, as he stepped back inside, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

He decided to lock himself downstairs where he went for some solace, to try for the millionth time to get his brother back. Piles and piles of books and heavy machinery waited for him.

---

The days that followed were awkward at best. Unbeknownst to Kate that Stan had seen her the night of her and Adam’s first kiss.

Back at Kate’s house, where renovations were still ongoing, she and Stan worked side by side patching up drywall in the kitchen, their usual banter now stilted.

“Pass me that—” Stan started.

“—screwdriver?” Kate finished, handing it to him with a faint smile.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

The silence stretched a little too long.

Finally, Stan spoke again, forcing his voice into its usual gruff confidence. “So... Adam, huh?”

Kate’s stomach flipped, but she kept her tone light. “Yeah. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Stan nodded; eyes fixed on the drywall. “Even after all the fightin’, he seems like a stand-up guy.”

“He is,” she said softly.

There was a beat.

“That’s great, doll. I mean it.” He flashed a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ya’ deserve someone solid. No funny business.”

Kate chuckled nervously. “I appreciate that.”

The silence returned, this time heavier, like something unspoken hung between them. Every time their shoulders brushed or they exchanged a look, Kate felt it, the ghosts of their earlier closeness.

Stan tried his best to push past it. He peppered their work sessions with his usual wisecracks, exaggerated gestures, and occasional boasts about the Mystery Shack’s newest and definitely fake cryptid attraction.

But no matter how much he tried to mask it, his jokes landed a little flatter, his grins flickered out a little too soon.

At one point, as they worked on reattaching an old cabinet door, Kate accidentally dropped a screwdriver, and they both knelt to pick it up, bumping heads. They laughed awkwardly, but when their eyes met, something lingered. A shared memory. A closeness that still buzzed beneath the surface.

Kate cleared her throat and stood quickly. “So, uh… next project is the living room floor, right?”

“Yeah,” Stan replied, voice rougher than before. “Let’s keep busy.”

Kate couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Stan had been there, tirelessly helping her fix this house. Helping her feel rooted in a place where she’d otherwise feel completely out of step. And yet here she was, moving forward with Adam, while something unresolved simmered between her and Stan. She felt it, that’s why she couldn’t quite shake how indifferent Adam had painted him.

Later, as they packed up for the day, Stan slung his coat over one shoulder and forced a casual tone. “If you two need a special Mr. Mystery blessing or somethin’, ya’ know where to find me. I’ll give ya’ half’a price”

Kate let out a soft laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Stan’s smirk faltered just enough for her to notice. “Nah, but seriously, I’m glad for ya.”

Kate nodded; her heart heavier than expected. “Thanks, Stan.”

As Stan made his way to the door, he paused and glanced back, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Hey, that’s what friends are for” the statement tasting bitter in his mouth.

And with that, he slipped outside, leaving Kate standing in the middle of the half-finished kitchen, staring after him. Despite the support in his words, it left a knot in her stomach.

That evening after they finished the kitchen repairs, Kate sat curled up on her battered couch. Her eyes stayed fixed on the barely-lit room, illuminated only by the faint flickering light from the lamp overhead. The steady dripping from a loose kitchen faucet was the only sound, yet her mind buzzed noisily.

Her fingers absently traced patterns on the blanket she had thrown on, as she replayed the day’s awkwardness. How Stan had smiled too hard, how she’d found herself overly conscious of the distance between them. And how, when they’d bumped into each other under the cabinet, she’d felt that familiar flutter in her chest, the one she thought she’d locked away weeks ago.

Adam was a good man. He was steady, reliable, uncomplicated.

So why did Stan’s lingering looks and quiet jokes still leave knots in her stomach?

Kate let out a breath, heavy with frustration, her eyes roaming the partially fixed walls. The truth was, this house hadn’t just been her project, it had become their project. Every repaired board, every rewired switch carried traces of Stan’s handiwork… and memories of laughter and teamwork that were becoming harder to file under “just friends.”

“I shouldn’t be thinking like this,” she muttered aloud, rubbing her temples.

But even as she said it, her mind betrayed her with flashes of Stan and their several tension-filled moments, the way his voice softened when he called her “doll,” (no longer sweetheart) and the rare, vulnerable looks that sometimes slipped past his gruff exterior.

She felt the urge to call him, talk to him, to be able to have him around like before. She shook her head to clear it.

“Get it together, Kate,” she whispered.

---

Meanwhile, across town, Stan sat slumped at his cluttered checkout desk inside the dimly lit Mystery Shack. The neon “CLOSED” sign buzzed faintly against the window, and a stack of half-sorted tourist trinkets sat ignored beside him.

He absently rolled a screwdriver back and forth between his calloused fingers, lost in thought.

Kate and Adam. That goddamn kiss, that still plagued him. The weird tension he and Kate had that he could not seem to break.

He groaned under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t the jealous type, not anymore, he told himself, but something about seeing her with Adam gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t easily shake. He could not stop comparing himself with Adam; normal job, normal life. He didn’t come with a rap sheet and a scam artist résumé, like he did.

But even as he joked bitterly, he knew the truth ran deeper.

When Kate arrived in Gravity Falls, she’d been a whirlwind of frustration and resilience, trying to fix a house that no one in town would touch. Stan had told himself he was just helping out, lending a hand. Yet somewhere between rewiring outlets and patching floors, her stubbornness and sharp wit had burrowed under his skin.

He wasn’t used to wanting something, or someone, who wasn’t part of some scheme or passing fling. With Kate, it had become... real. And messy.

Stan leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

But even as he said it, all he could picture was her laugh, soft, genuine, the way she smiled at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He sighed heavily, pushing the screwdriver aside. He wished to go back to before knowing her. Back when everything was simpler, in a weird, convoluted way. Yet tonight, nothing about the tangle of feelings in his chest felt simple.

***

Kate lay awake in bed, staring at the cracks in her ceiling.

Stan sat in his shack’s living room, staring at the static-filled television.

Both were a couple miles apart, but in their own quiet spaces, they were both wrestling with the same truth:

They hadn’t been “just fixing a house.” They’d been building something else entirely. Something neither of them wanted to name out loud, but couldn’t stop feeling. Didn’t know how to.

---

It was late one overcast afternoon, Kate and Stan found themselves at the back of the house. They had spent the better part of the day repainting a battered back door and replacing rotted door frames, that were letting in too big of a draft for the still lingering cold from early March.

“Pass me that paintbrush, doll,” Stan said, his tone attempting lightheartedness. His fingers brushed hers as she handed over the brush, and both shared a brief, knowing smile before shifting back to the work at hand. They had been trying so hard to slip back into their familiar dynamic, but every so often a stray glance or a hesitant laugh reminded them that nothing was quite the same as before.

After a long silence, Stan finally broke the quiet, voice lighter than it should have been. “So, how’s Adam? Still gotcha running off to candle-lit dinners and cozy restaurants?”

Kate paused mid-swing, forcing a smile. “He’s... good. We’re planning something for next week.”

“Romantic,” Stan muttered, eyes glued to the spot he was painting.

Just then, the sound of a engine pulling into the driveway interrupted their quiet concentration. Adam stepped out of his truck, his presence as steady and calm as ever, and offered a stiff, polite nod from across the yard.

“G’Afternoon, Kate. Stan,” he greeted, eyeing the progress on the house with a sardonic smile that hinted he, remembered the tension from month and a half before. His arrival, though innocent, deepened the underlying awkwardness.

Stan’s return nod was tight. “Adam.”

Kate hopped down from the ladder, brushing dust from her jeans. “I thought you were working late.”

Adam shrugged; tone casual but with an edge. “Job finished early. Figured I’d check in, maybe help out.”

Stan gestured toward the half-done back door. “We’ve got it covered.”

Kate shifted uncomfortably, feeling the quiet friction radiating between them. “It’s fine, Stan,” she said quickly. “An extra hand wouldn’t hurt.”

Adam approached, standing closer to Kate than usual, his arm going around one of her shoulders briefly for a small side hug. Stan caught it. His jaw tensed.

“Lot of work left to do on this place,” Adam remarked, looking at Stan. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” Stan replied, voice flat. “Keeping busy’s kind of my thing.”

Kate sighed. “Okay, boys…”

But before the bickering could go any further, the air suddenly grew colder. A sharp breeze rattled the loose boards on the house, and a faint, odd loud clicking echoed from the woods.

The three of them froze.

Adam furrowed his brow. “You heard that?”

Kate stepped back instinctively. “That’s the same sound from before” she glanced at Stan. They had heard it a couple times as they had been working outside.

Stan dropped his crowbar to his side. “Frightfoot,” he muttered. 

From the tree line, the creature materialized. Its shadow-like body stretched unnaturally long, limbs twitching an unsettling face with three dark eyes.

Adam, standing a few feet away, momentarily frozen by the surreal display, took a hesitant step back and in front of Kate. “What the hell is that?!”

Stan grabbed Kate’s wrist and pulled her behind him instead. “Something that doesn’t like uninvited guests.”

The Frightfoot lunged, tendrils whipping through the air like liquid shadows. One lashed out, narrowly missing Adam but slicing the porch railing clean off.

Adam staggered back. “What the—?!”

Stan, without hesitation, tossed a small pouch from his jacket—salt poured onto the ground, forming a shaky barrier that briefly slowed the creature’s approach.

“Stay behind the line!” Stan barked.

Kate and Adam huddled behind him, as the Frightfoot circled, snarling.

“Do you carry salt everywhere?” Adam asked, wide-eyed.

“Welcome to Gravity Falls,” Stan growled.

The Frightfoot recoiled for a second, then shifted tactics, sending a tendril up through the air, lashing down at Kate. Adam stepped forward, but Stan yanked her back first, throwing both of them to the ground as the shadowy limb smashed into the dirt where she’d been standing.

Kate clung to Stan’s arm, pulse racing. Their faces were inches apart, eyes locked. She had fallen on top of him, chest to toe in complete contact.

“Always gotta make things difficult,” Stan muttered, half to himself, half to no one in particular.

Before the tension could settle, the creature whirled around and lunged at Adam, who grabbed a shovel and tried to deflect it. The blow sent Adam skidding across the yard, crashing into a pile of lumber.

“Adam!” Kate shouted, scrambling to her feet.

Stan cursed under his breath, positioning himself between Kate and the Frightfoot again. “It’s targeting ya’,” he hissed. “Get inside.”

“I’m not leaving Adam!” Kate snapped.

Stan gritted his teeth, debating, before finally taking the crowbar. “Then stay close.”

Together, they jogged toward Adam as the Frightfoot screeched. Kate helped Adam up while Stan swung the crowbar at the creature’s tendrils, forcing it to retreat momentarily.

The Frightfoot shrieked, backing into the shadows just as headlights from a passing car briefly illuminated the woods, disrupting its form.

Stan stood between the house and the woods, shoulders tense, panting slightly, watching for movement.

Adam, winded, leaned against Kate. “What the hell was that thing?”

Kate tried supporting Adam’s weight but couldn’t stop glancing at Stan, who remained several feet away, scanning the trees with a determined expression.

Adam followed Kate’s gaze, her eyes on Stan, how she instinctively checked on him before himself. His jaw tightened.

Without warning the Frightfoot leaped from the woods and towards Stan, tangling around him. Stan began to wrestle the creature off of him.

“STAN!” Kate called out, untangling herself from Adam and sprinting towards him.

Adam blinked and began to clumsily run after her, still rattled from the fall “Kate! Come back!”

By the time Kate got to Stan the Frightfoot was back on the ground, its eyes piercing, calculating its next move.

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his protective instincts surging. “Stay back,” he warned, though his tone betrayed his uncertainty.

Adam reached them stepping forward as if to take control of the situation, startling the creature. The Frightfoot’s attention snapped toward Kate again, its body contorting in an irking way, she staggered backward in alarm. In an instant, before Adam could even reach her, Stan lunged forward. With swift precision from years of unexpected scrapes in Gravity Falls, he scooped Kate into his arms, catching her as she nearly fell.

For a suspended heartbeat, for a second time, the world narrowed down to the warmth of Stan’s arms and the rapid beat of her heart. Kate’s eyes met his, wide with both relief and a dawning realization: in that moment, she needed, wanted, Stan. Adam became an afterthought.

The creature paused, enough for Stan to throw another handful of salt to its face. It let out one final echoing screech before melting back into the tree line, leaving the clearing eerily still. His hold on Kate tightened involuntarily as he watched the creature’s form disappear in the distance. He sighed in relief, “I’ve got you, sweetheart” he promised, even his voice low and resolute.

Kate exhaled in relief as well. Leaning into Stan’s steady embrace Kate remained frozen, held securely against Stan’s chest, her heartbeat thunderous in her ears. Stan’s grip was firm, his focus on keeping her steady as much as calming his own pulse. She found solace in the familiarity of his warmth; a silent acknowledgment that, despite the awkwardness and the lingering, it was his arms that felt right when danger was near.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft and sincere.

Stan’s eyes softened with unspoken understanding. “Anytime, doll,” he replied.

The clearing behind Kate’s house was left in tension as the last remnants of the cryptic creature dissolved into the dense woods. Kate slowly exhaled, but the adrenaline refused to fade. Not too far away, Adam stood stiffly, his eyes locked on Kate, not with anger, but with something quieter: concern laced with doubt.

When her gaze flickered past Stan to Adam, standing there watching, the weight of reality came crashing back. But she felt it. The shift. The lingering question in Adam’s eyes. She reminded herself that regardless of what she felt, Stan did not reciprocate.

“I—” Kate pulled back abruptly, stepping out of Stan’s embrace. The absence of his touch was instant.

Adam’s brow furrowed as he crossed the remaining distance toward them, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Everything alright?” His tone was calm but edged with skepticism.

“Yeah,” Kate replied quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “That thing… it just caught me off guard” she tried to explain.

Adam’s eyes darted between her and Stan, picking up on the residual closeness, the flush still on Kate’s cheeks. His jaw tensed as he addressed Stan directly. “Looks like you got it handled.”

Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, adopting a neutral, unreadable expression. “Someone had to.”

The silence that followed was thick and awkward.

Stan broke the silence first, voice gruff. “That thing won’t be back tonight. Probably slipped back to whatever crack of hell it crawled out off.”

Kate nodded absently but felt Adam’s eyes burning into her. When she finally turned to him, his expression was cautious but edged with something more: doubt.

“You okay?” Adam asked her quietly, stepping forward.

Kate nodded, though it felt stiff. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Adam’s lips thinned. “You sure? Back there, it... you went to Stan.”

Stan stiffened, clearly listening but pretending not to, as he had taken a couple of steps into the tree line to give them some privacy.

The words weren’t accusatory, but they landed like a sharp edge.

Kate’s heart sank. “It was instinct,” she said quickly. “We’ve been working together for months he’s helped with this place, with everything.”

Adam exhaled through his nose. “I get that. I do.” His tone softened, but his gaze remained sharp. “But when that thing came at you, you didn’t even look for me.”

Kate’s mouth went dry. She opened it to respond but hesitated.

Adam shook his head gently. “Look, I’m not mad. I just... I need to know where your head’s at.”

From where he stood, Stan finally turned around, his voice neutral but edged with steel. “Don’t put this on her, Adam.”

Kate flinched, but Adam kept his voice calm. “I’m not. I just saw how fast she went to you.”

Kate ran a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling the weight of both men watching her.

“It was chaotic, Adam,” she finally said. “Stan’s been through weirder stuff in this town than either of us. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Were you?” Adam asked gently, eyes searching hers.

Kate bit the inside of her cheek. There it was—that gnawing truth that she didn’t want to confront. Because while it had been instinct, it wasn’t just about who was closer or who reacted faster. It was about who she subconsciously trusted to keep her safe, even when logic told her she should be standing beside Adam.

Kate, sensing the tension, stepped toward Adam, placing a hand on his arm. “Can we talk? Alone?” her tone soft.

Adam hesitated but gave a small nod. “Sure.”

Stan’s gaze flickered, masking disappointment under a gruff nod as he stepped aside. “I’ll just… check the perimeter,” he muttered, already moving toward the shed, leaving them alone in the clearing.

Kate and Adam walked toward the edge of the driveway, far enough to speak privately but still within view of the house.

Kate exhaled. “Adam…”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to make you feel cornered.”

“You’re not,” she said quickly. “I’m just—there’s a lot going on. This place is a mess, the town is weirder than I imagined, and I’m... sorting through a lot.”

Adam nodded slowly. “I like you, Kate. But if there’s something unresolved between you and Stan—”

“There isn’t,” she interrupted, but the words felt fragile even to her. Kate’s heart clenched, the unspoken truth lingering on her lips. “He’s a good friend, Adam, that’s all”

Adam raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Alright. Let’s just take us one step at a time, okay?”

Kate nodded, though the uncertainty still gnawed at her. “Okay.”

Adam reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. The warmth was comforting, but not electric.

Kate allowed him to guide her toward her house, throwing one last glance over her shoulder. From the far corner of the yard, Stan stood watching them quietly beneath the shadow of the towering pines. His expression wasn’t angry, just quietly resigned.

Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and in that glance, Kate felt the weight of every of everything.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the glow above the stove. The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional creak of wood settling. Kate stood by the table, arms crossed, watching as Adam leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to make sense of everything she’d just told him.

“Say that again,” he said finally, voice edged with disbelief.

Kate sighed. “I don’t know how else to explain it, Adam. What we saw tonight wasn’t just some animal or some guy in a suit. Gravity Falls is actually different. There are things here that—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “That aren’t supposed to exist. But they do.”

Adam scoffed. “Okay, come on, Kate.”

Kate’s expression didn’t waver. “I’m serious.”

“You’re serious about this?” Adam finally said, turning to face her. His voice wasn’t mocking, it wasn’t even angry, not yet, but there was something cautious in the way he was looking at her, like he was trying to measure just how far gone she was.

Kate exhaled, pressing her palms against the wood at her sides. “Adam. You saw it.”

“I saw something,” he admitted. “Something freaky. Something I don’t have an explanation for. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to throw all logic out the window and start believing in monsters.”

Kate let out a short laugh, not amused in the slightest. “You’ve lived in Gravity Falls your whole life. You’ve heard the stories, same as I have.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard them,” Adam shot back. “Doesn’t mean I believed them.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “And what about now?”

Adam hesitated, which was something, at least.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe it was just an animal with some kind of deformity. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe we just—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kate snapped slightly. “This isn’t a campfire story, Adam! This isn’t just some weird animal with rabies!”

He frowned. “I’m just trying to be rational.”

“Rational,” Kate repeated bitterly. “Right.”

Adam sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, I get that this place has a… reputation. But just because something doesn’t make immediate sense doesn’t mean we have to jump to supernatural explanations.”

Kate clenched her jaw. “Then what would convince you? If that thing had gotten any closer? It attacked us!”

“Because even then we don’t know what it actually was” Adam insisted.

Kate threw up her hands. “You don’t want to believe it.”

He let out a frustrated sound. “Because it doesn’t make sense, Kate!”

Her heart was hammering now, anger mixing with something that felt dangerously close to disappointment.

“You’re telling me that this town is full of monsters and nobody talks about it? That sounds—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “That sounds insane.”

“Then what do you think it was?” Kate challenged.

Adam sighed. “I know it was weird. But that doesn’t mean it was some cryptid.”

“Then what does it mean?”

He hesitated.

Kate shook her head. “You don’t have an answer.”

Adam exhaled sharply. “There is an answer! There always is! You don’t have to jump to ‘monsters are real.’”

Kate frowned and sighed, going to rub her face. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

Adam face changed, something uncertain in his expression. “This isn’t you, Kate. You’re logical. Rational. You wouldn’t believe in fairytales.”

Kate’s voice was quiet, but firm. “This isn’t a fairytale.”

Adam gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right. So, what? You’re telling me Bigfoot is out there? Vampires? Aliens?”

Kate held his gaze, silent, stories of what Stan had told her replaying. Adam stared at her; expression unreadable.

Then, suddenly, he scoffed and shook his head. “Jesus. This is because of him, isn’t it?”

Kate stiffened. “Who?”

Adam looked at her like the answer should be obvious. Adam folded his arms. “Come on. Stan. He’s the one feeding you all of this. And you listen to him like he’s the damn gospel.”

Kate’s pulse spiked. “What? Stan has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, come on, Kate.” Adam gestured vaguely, frustration creeping into his tone. “You spend all this time with him, working on this place, and now suddenly you’re talking about monsters like they’re real?”

Her stomach twisted. “This has nothing to do with Stan.”

“Hasn’t it, though?” Adam pressed. “You didn’t talk about any of this before.”

Kate’s jaw locked. Adam let out a sharp breath.

Kate took a step forward. “Because unless you’ve seen something just casually talking about it makes you seem like a crazy person! You think he’s putting ideas in my head?”

Adam met her gaze, unyielding. “I think he’s influencing you.”

Kate’s hands clenched into fists. “Stan didn’t make me believe in this stuff. Gravity Falls did.”

Adam crossed his arms. “Right. And yet, he’s always at the center of it, isn’t he?”

Kate could feel anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Stan’s been in this town for years. Of course, he’s seen things. I don’t know how you haven’t.” Kate took a step closer, her voice low. “Stan has been through things you wouldn’t believe. He knows this town better than anyone. He—”

Adam cut her off. “And you trust him. Just like that?”

Kate’s hands curled into fists. “Yes, Adam! I do!

“Convenient.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Adam shot back. “How do you know he’s not just playing into all of this? How do you know he’s not making things seem weirder than they are? He’s got quite the reputation.”

Kate felt something inside her crack. Not you as well, she thought. “Do you really think that was just Stan messing with me?”

Adam hesitated, but his expression didn’t soften. “I think Stan’s been in your head since day one.”

Kate inhaled sharply. “That’s not true.”

Adam sighed, looking at her like she was slipping away from him.

“He runs a business built on scamming people over this!” his voice rising in frustration. A beat. “You’re too smart for this,” he said quietly, something close to disappointment in his tone.

Kate exhaled slowly, feeling something heavy settle in her chest. “And you’re too stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Adam rubbed his face, looking exhausted. “I need some air.”

Kate didn’t stop him as he turned and walked away and out her house.

---

Kate had tried to distract herself.

After Adam left, she spent the first hour cleaning the kitchen, wiping down already clean counters, stacking and restacking the same set of dishes, scrubbing at a nonexistent stain on the sink. But eventually, there was nothing left to do but sit with the weight of their last conversation.

He didn’t believe her.

No matter how much she had tried, no matter what logic she had laid out, he had refused to see it. And worse, he had blamed Stan.

She told herself she wouldn’t dwell on that part, that it didn’t matter. But it did.

A sharp knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.

She hesitated, then wiped her hands on a towel and walked over, opening it.

Adam stood on the other side, shoulders tense, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He looked like he had spent the last hour pacing just as much as she had.

“Hey,” he said.

Kate crossed her arms. “Hey.”

He shifted, exhaling. “Can I come in?”

Kate studied him for a moment, then stepped aside.

Adam walked in but didn’t sit down, instead pacing a little before finally stopping near the table. “Look, I—I messed up.”

Kate arched a brow, but didn’t say anything.

Adam exhaled. “I was a jerk earlier. I got frustrated, and instead of actually listening to you, I just… shut down.”

Kate leaned against the counter. “Yeah. You did.”

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I—I don’t know how to make this right. I still don’t know what to believe, but I do know that I don’t want to lose you over it.”

Kate’s arms stayed crossed. “So, what are you saying?”

Adam met her gaze. “I’m saying I want to understand.”

Kate blinked.

Adam sighed. “Look, I may not believe in all this supernatural stuff, but I believe you believe it. And if it’s that important to you, then I want to try to see it from your side.”

Kate studied him for a long moment, unconvinced if him just accepting her ‘crazy’ beliefs made things right. “You mean that?”

Adam nodded. “Yeah.”

Kate exhaled slowly. “It’s not just stories, Adam. Gravity Falls isn’t like anywhere else. There are things here that don’t make sense, I told you what I already know. You’ve heard the stories” she reiterated.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not saying I’ll be convinced overnight. But… I’ll try.”

Kate was quiet, watching him carefully.

Finally, he stepped forward, reaching out to take her hand and gave her a small smile. Kate squeezed his hand.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still things left unsaid, uncertainties lingering between them.

But for now, it was enough.

---

The back porch was a mess.

Planks splintered, nails scattered, and the once-sturdy beams had been reduced to cracked remains, all thanks to the Frighfoot’s little rampage. Kate had surveyed the damage the morning after, arms crossed, trying to piece together how she was supposed to fix it.

Stan, to no one’s surprise, had shown up with a toolbox before she even asked.

Now, as the afternoon sun stretched across the yard, the two of them worked side by side. Kate planted her foot on the wooden beam, holding it steady as Stan grumbled under his breath, fumbling with his tool belt.

“Hand me the drill, would ya?” he muttered.

Kate grabbed it off the porch railing and passed it over, watching as he lined up the next board. With their steady work the basic structure of the new porch was starting to take shape.

Kate wiped her brow, exhaling. “You know, this isn’t bad. If the whole con-man thing didn’t work out, you could’ve gone into construction.”

Stan snorted. “Ya’ called me the man of a thousand one solutions once” he teased, then drilled the board into place, the whirring sound filling the space between them.

“Alright, hold that steady,” Stan grunted, bracing one of the wooden beams against the frame.

Kate pressed her weight against it, keeping it in place as Stan lined up a new nail. With a practiced motion, he drilled it in place, the sound echoing through the quiet air.

“Think we should be worried about any more of those things crawling back out of the woods?” Kate asked, squinting toward the tree line.

Stan snorted. “Nah. Cryptids are like in-laws, once you chase ‘em off, they don’t come back unless you really piss ‘em off.”

Kate smirked. “Good to know.”

They worked in a steady rhythm. Kate lined up planks, Stan secured them. The afternoon sun beat down. Kate let the quiet settle for a bit before finally speaking again.

“I can’t help but think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there” she mused.

Stan frowned. “Don’t go worryin’ ya head with hypotheticals, doll”

She shrugged. “I just mean… you didn’t have to jump in. Not like that.”

Stan sighed, resting his arms on the plank in front of him. “Look, doll, you keep acting like I did somethin’ special. I just did what anyone with half a spine woulda done.”

Kate gave him a look. “Stan.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Maybe not everyone woulda done it. But let’s just say I’m not real keen on letting people I—” He hesitated. “—people get eaten by nightmare monsters.”

Kate smirked at the half-save but didn’t press it.

Kate exhaled, pushing stray hair from her face. “I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you.”

Stan waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, don’t mention it.”

“No, I mean it.” She adjusted her grip on the beam. “That thing—whatever it was—it could’ve done a lot worse. And you…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “You looked out for me.”

Stan cleared his throat, focusing really hard on the nail he was placing to drill in. “Yeah, well… somebody’s gotta.”

Kate smiled slightly. “Still. Thanks.”

Stan just grunted in response, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

For a few minutes, they worked in comfortable silence again, securing more of the frame into place. But eventually, Stan gave her a sideways glance.

Another few moments passed before Stan straightened, dusting his hands off. “Speakin’ of people, where’s loverboy? Ain’t this the kinda thing he should be helpin’ out with?”

Kate paused mid-motion. “He’s… busy.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “That so? Ain’t too busy to show up when it counts.”

Kate frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “He just… he didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Stan made a noise in the back of his throat. Something between a scoff and a knowing grunt.

Kate’s jaw tightened. “Say it.”

Stan lifted his hands. “Didn’t say nothin’.”

“You thought it.”

Stan grabbed another plank, shaking his head. “All I’m sayin’ is, if some monster tore through my girl’s backyard, I’d be out here fixin’ it before she even had to ask.”

Kate exhaled sharply. “It’s not like that.”

Stan gave her a look.

Kate rubbed her forehead. “Okay. Maybe it’s a little like that.”

Stan sighed, shaking his head as he lined up another board. “Doll, lemme give you a piece of advice. If the guy ain’t willin’ to pick up a hammer when you need him to, what’s he gonna do when things really go south?”

Kate pressed her lips together but didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure.

Stan studied her for a moment before going back to drilling. “You tell him how this town really is?”

Kate hesitated. “Yeah. He, uh… he didn’t really take it well.”

Stan didn’t look up. “Didn’t believe you, huh?”

Kate exhaled. “Not exactly.”

Stan muttered something under his breath but didn’t push. Instead, he gave the newly secured frame a solid pat. “Well, good news is, we got the hard part done. Just gotta lay down the new boards, and you’ll have ya’self a brand-new porch.”

Kate nodded, grateful for the subject change. “Good. ‘Cause I was starting to think I’d have to invest in a trampoline just to get to my back door.”

Stan chuckled. “Ha! Now that I’d pay to see.”

They fell back into their steady work, the conversation lingering in the air.

Kate knew Stan wasn’t going to press her about Adam.

But the question still sat there, unspoken.

Why hadn’t Adam offered to help?

---

It had been a couple of days. Kate had spent an hour cleaning up before Adam arrived, not that it made much of a difference. The place was still half-finished, walls partially painted, the scent of paint and old wood lingering in the air. But she wanted to make it feel inviting, like a home. She told herself he had been to her house for the attic and briefly a couple handful of times, he knew the state of her half-renovated house.

When Adam finally knocked at the door, flashing his usual easy smile, she felt a small, warm relief. After everything that had happened with the Frightfoot, the weird energy lingering between them, this felt like a step toward normalcy. He looked relaxed, comfortable in his usual jacket and jeans; his presence solid in a way that should have put her at ease.

“Welcome to the construction zone,” she said lightly, stepping aside.

Adam chuckled as he walked in, glancing around. “You weren’t kidding. Still a work in progress, huh?”

Kate smiled, but it faltered slightly when he stepped further inside, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the uneven trim along the baseboards, the slightly misaligned cabinet doors in the kitchen, the way some of the paint strokes on the walls weren’t quite even.

Yet, they settled into a surprisingly comfortable evening. Kate put together a simple dinner, nothing fancy, but warm and homemade. They ate at the kitchen table, talking about work, and Dylan. The awkward weight of their last conversation seemed lighter.

It felt good. It felt easy. And Kate was grateful for that.

After dinner, Adam leaned back as they sat on the couch, stretching an arm along the back of the worn cushions, sipping his drink.

“You’ve put in a lot of work,” he remarked, looking up at the ceiling.

Kate nodded. “Yeah. It’s been…a lot.”

Adam smirked slightly. “I can tell.” His tone tinged with sarcasm.

Kate frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestured toward the room. “Just… some of the work is kind of rough. Like, the trim’s uneven, the cabinets don’t line up, and that paint job…” He let out a low whistle.

Kate set down her glass, her jaw tightening. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I know,” Adam said. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to put in all this effort, you should make sure it’s done right.”

Kate scoffed, crossing her arms. “We are doing it right. Considering our budget”

Adam chuckled, but there was something dismissive in it. “Kate, I do this for a living. I’m not trying to be a jerk, but some of this stuff? It looks like it was thrown together by—” He hesitated for a second, but she already knew what he was going to say.

“By Stan?”

Adam exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I know he’s been helping, but let’s be real, he’s not a contractor. Half of this is guesswork.”

Kate’s temper flared but she kept it cool. “Stan has been a huge help. He’s the only reason this place isn’t falling apart right now.”

Adam let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s real invested in making sure you’re comfortable.”

Kate’s stomach turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Adam met her gaze, his expression sharper now. “It means every time I bring him up, you get defensive.”

“Because you’re being unfair,” Kate shot back. “Stan has done nothing but help me, no questions asked. Just because he doesn’t do things your way doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Adam shook his head. “Kate, come on. You don’t have to defend him every time. It’s like, you can’t even admit that maybe he doesn’t belong in your life the way he used to.”

Kate’s breath hitched.

Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I just… I need to know where your head’s at. Do you even like me?”

Her stomach twisted. “Of course I do.”

“Then say it,” Adam said, voice lower now. “Say that there’s nothing between you and Stan. That you never thought about it.”

Kate opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

Adam’s face fell, his jaw tightening. “That’s what I thought.”

Kate’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Adam—You know there’s nothing!” Conveniently leaving out that she had thought about it quite extensively.

“I should go,” he said abruptly, pushing up from the couch.

Panic flickered in her chest. “Wait—” She reached for his arm, but he stepped back.

“I’ll call you,” he muttered, but they both knew it wasn’t a promise.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Kate stood there, her breath unsteady, staring at the space where he’d just been.

---

It had been a couple long days since, the morning light filtered through the window. Kate sat curled on the couch, staring at nothing in particular.

Stan walked in, a big duffle bag slung over one shoulder, pausing when he spotted her.

“Alright, what’s on today’s list, boss?” he asked, setting his tools down with a thud.

Kate forced a small smile. “Uh, flooring, I think.”

Stan narrowed his eyes slightly. Something was off. Her posture was stiff, her gaze distant.

He dropped onto the armrest beside her, nudging her knee lightly with his own. “Alright. Spill.”

Kate blinked. “What?”

Stan gave her a look. “Come on, doll. I know when ya’ holdin’ somethin’ back. What’s wrong?”

Kate hesitated. Adam’s voice echoed in her head, the fight replaying over and over.

She forced a shrug. “Just tired. Work’s been a lot.”

Stan didn’t call her out on the lie. He knew better than believe her.

“Well,” he said, standing, “guess we better hammer some sense into these floorboards. Get your mind off things.”

Kate let out a small laugh, and for the first time in days, it felt real.

She sighed and stood up as she scanned the living room, hands on her hips. The hardwood floor needed refinishing, which meant moving every piece of furniture to the side; couch, coffee table, the heavy bookshelf in the corner, everything.

Stan stood beside her, arms crossed, surveying the task ahead. “Alright, what’s the plan, professor?” He tried teasing her.

She huffed a laugh. “I thought you were the one with all the experience.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but you’re the one who insists on doin’ things your way.”

Kate rolled her eyes, but the teasing tone in his voice loosened something in her chest. After days of feeling off, it was nice to have this—the easy, familiar banter that had once defined their dynamic.

Stan clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s start with the couch. You grab one end; I’ll grab the other.”

Kate bent down, gripping the armrest. “Ready?”

“Three, two, one—lift.”

They both groaned as they hoisted the heavy couch off the floor, shuffling awkwardly toward the far wall.

Stan gritted his teeth. “Jeez, what the hell’s in this thing? Bricks?”

Kate laughed. “No, just years of bad decisions”

He chuckled. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

They managed to set it down with minimal disaster, though Stan did knock into the side table, sending a lamp wobbling dangerously.

Kate caught it just in time, shooting him a look.

Stan held up his hands. “Hey, I said I was a builder, not a mover.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Alright, next, the bookshelf.”

Stan eyed it warily. “Y’know, maybe loverboy coulda helped ya’ get a head start with this”

Kate stiffened slightly but forced a casual tone. “I can do things myself, y’know.”

Stan, registered her tone and watched her for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.” His voice was softer than she expected.

They moved on, maneuvering the bookshelf with less struggle than the couch. As they set it in place, Kate realized she hadn’t felt this light in days.

Stan must’ve noticed because he nudged her shoulder. “See? Not so bad, huh?”

Kate exhaled, wiping her hands on her jeans. “No. It’s not.”

He smirked. “Told ya. Nothin’ like some hard labor to make ya forget your problems.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Temporarily at least.”

He shrugged. “Hey, I take what I can get.”

Kate glanced at him, at the easy way he carried himself, the familiar way he looked at her like she was just Kate, not a mess of complicated emotions. And for the first time in a while, she let herself fall back into that.

She rolled her shoulders. “Alright, Mr. Mystery, let’s finish this floor.”

Stan grinned. “Now that’s the attitude.”

And just like that, they were back.

At least for now.

It had been about an hour. The living room was officially a disaster zone. Furniture shoved against the far wall, dust floating in the air, and the first layer of old varnish scraped unevenly across the wooden planks beneath their feet.

Kate sat back on her heels, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her arm. “You sure this was a good idea?”

Stan, standing a few feet away with a paint scraper in one hand, let out a scoff. “Too late to back out now, sweetheart.”

She felt her heart jolt at the nickname but pushed it down. Truth be told, it was nice hearing it again, the easy way he said it, like things hadn’t shifted between them over the past few months.

Stan crouched down beside her, examining their progress. “Alright, so we got two options. We either sand this sucker down the slow way, or we use the industrial sander and pray it doesn’t take a chunk out of the floor.”

Kate gave him a deadpan look. “You mean the sander you nearly sent through the wall last time?”

Stan smirked. “Ah, so you do remember my finer moments.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I think we’ll stick to the slow way.”

“Figures.” He pushed himself up with a groan, stretching out his back. “Guess I’ll start haulin’ in the sandpaper.”

Kate watched as he walked off, and for a brief second, she let herself think how Stan fit in perfectly at her house.

---

By the time they got into a rhythm, the sun had started dipping. The scent of sawdust overtook the air, the repetitive motion of sanding oddly meditative. Stan worked a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as he smoothed out a stubborn section of the floor.

“You alright over there?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Kate blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re quiet. Makes me nervous.”

She snorted. “You’re nervous? That’s a first.”

Stan grinned. “Yeah, well. You’re usually runnin’ your mouth about everythin’ that’s left to do. What we need to do next, this feels unnatural.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to think about what’s next.”

“Oh, so now you’re too tired.” He shook his head with mock disappointment. “Guess I’ll have to carry this conversation all on my own.”

Kate huffed. “Oh, please. Like you don’t love hearing yourself talk.”

Stan gave her a dramatic gasp. “Doll. I am offended.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll bite. What’s on your mind, Stanford?”

His nose scrunched. A small pang to the chest, “Now you’re just bein’ mean” he dismissed playfully.

Kate smirked but softened a little. “But really… thanks for helping with this.”

Stan glanced at her, his expression shifting just enough for her to notice.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice a little quieter. “Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t wear yourself down.”

Kate hesitated, feeling the warmth in his words settle deep in her chest.

They worked chatting lightly, Stan seemingly trying to make her laugh more than usual. For a while after that; sanding, clearing away dust, they shifted closer to something that felt like the way things used to be.And for a while, the tension in her chest loosened. Stan kept up his usual rhythm of half-serious complaints and exaggerated sighs, making faces every time he had to bend down too long.

At one point, Kate struggled to fit a stubborn plank into place. “Ugh, this isn’t working.”

Stan stepped beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. “Lemme see.”

His hands covered hers, guiding the board into place. The moment stretched.

Kate inhaled slowly. Stan hesitated before pulling away, clearing his throat.

“See?” he muttered. “Easy.”

Kate exhaled. “Thanks.”

Stan glanced at her, cautious but soft. “Anytime.”

For a moment, she thought about telling him. About Adam. About what he’d said.

But instead, she just nodded.

Stan didn’t push. Didn’t pry.

But later, when he left for the day, he hesitated at the door.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ya’ know where to find me, yeah?”

Kate smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.”

And as the door shut behind him, Kate wondered, if Adam had called, if he had come back, why did it feel like she would’ve still been waiting for this moment instead?

---

Kate sat at the kitchen table, staring at the grain of the wood as she traced idle patterns against the worn surface. The scent of sawdust still lingered in the air, mixed with the faintest hint of Stan’s aftershave. She could still hear the echo of his voice, the low rumble of laughter as they worked, the easy way they slipped back into something normal.

The house was still now, the only sound coming from the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.

She should be getting ready for bed.

Instead, she sat there, fingers drumming absently against the table, waiting for something she couldn’t quite name. By the time Kate showered and changed into fresh clothes, the house was quiet.

The evening had been good. Easy. Familiar.

With Stan, things just… clicked.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed the rhythm of working with him, the shorthand they had, the teasing that came naturally, the unspoken understanding.

With Adam, it wasn’t like that.

Not that it was bad. Adam was thoughtful, steady. He made her feel wanted in a way she wasn’t used to. He always planned their dates, picked up little details she hadn’t even noticed about herself.

But being with him felt like… effort.

Again, not in a bad way. Just in a way that made her aware of herself, of how she was coming across, what she was saying, what she wasn’t saying.

With Stan, she never had to think about any of that.

She exhaled; it wasn’t fair to compare.

Adam wasn’t Stan, and he wasn’t supposed to be.

She liked Adam. She chose Adam.

And yet, when she’d been covered in dust, sitting on the floor next to Stan, laughing at something ridiculous, she hadn’t felt like she had to choose anything at all.

Yet, Stan didn’t see her any kind of way.

She shook her head, almost as if on cue, the phone rang. The sharp sound made her flinch slightly in the quiet, and she reached for it without thinking, bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Adam.

Her fingers tightened around the phone cord, winding it around her knuckles.

“Hey,” she said, shifting in her chair. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering how things went today. Did you ever get around to doing the floors?”

He had not addressed how things had ended between them a couple days ago. Kate hesitated. “We got most of the sanding done. Still needs staining, but… it’s getting there.”

“We?” There was a slight pause. “Stan helped, I’m guessing?”

Her stomach twisted, not because she had done anything wrong, but because something about the way he said it made her feel like she had.

“Yeah,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “That’s been our deal, ever since late August, and… well, we’ve been doing a good job.”

Another pause.

Adam let out a short breath, not quite a sigh, but something close to it.

“You know,” he said, his tone careful, “I could’ve helped too.”

Kate rubbed her temple. “I know.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again.

How was she supposed to answer that?

Because it had been easier to just let Stan do it? Because she hadn’t wanted to bring Adam into this part of her life? Because deep down, she knew that working with Adam wouldn’t have felt the same, wouldn’t have filled the space inside her the way working with Stan did?

Instead, she said, “I didn’t think you’d want to spend your day off doing more work. He was going to come over and help anyways.”

Adam let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Kate, I fix things for a living. You ever think I’d mind helping you?”

Guilt settled uncomfortably in her chest.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I wasn’t trying to leave you out, Adam. It’s just Stan and I’s agreement.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

Then, softer, “Kate… do you even want me to be a part of this? Of your life? Outside casual dates?”

She swallowed.

“That’s not fair.” she said, for what felt the millionth time the last couple times they spoke. Her voice quieter now.

“I don’t know if it is,” Adam admitted. “But it’s how it feels.”

Kate closed her eyes.

She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t like that. That she did want him in her life, that she cared about him, that of course he mattered.

But the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she said, “I’m just tired, Adam.”

Another pause.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Goodnight.”

She hung up before she could hear him say it back.

And yet, despite the exhaustion pressing in on her, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Entering late march, it had been a couple days from the awkward phone call. Kate had distanced herself, trying to be professional and cordial whenever Adam came to pick up Dylan from school, but otherwise, she had pulled back from him. She would end the conversation at school abruptly if he tried mentioning anything about them, under the premise that she didn’t want Dylan to overhear. She had found herself ignoring the phone whenever the landline rang, she assumed if it was Stan, and not Adam, he’d show up. She had gone out of her way to try to not meet up with Adam. And the guilt was catching up to her.

Inevitably, a late Friday night she heard a knock at her door, gentle, almost hesitant. Kate didn’t get up at first. She sat still on the living room floor, half-surrounded by scrap paper, paint swatches, and an array of supplies.

Another knock. Then, “Kate? It’s me.”

Adam.

She stood reluctantly and opened the door. He looked tired, his coat slightly damp from the foggy afternoon, a dusting of drywall on his jeans like he’d come straight from a job. His hands were jammed in his pockets.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft.

“Can I come in?”

Kate nodded and stepped aside. He walked in, glancing at the mess of design samples on the floor before looking back at her.

She shut the door. The silence stretched.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to start this,” he said finally, voice low. “So I guess I’ll just ask. What are we doing, Kate?”

She sighed. Not too sure what to say.

“This.” He motioned between them. “Us. It’s been… weird. You’ve been pulling away. And I—It’s been a month and a half and I keep feeling like I’m showing up for a relationship I’m the only one fighting to keep.”

Kate folded her arms over her chest, more for self-protection than argument. “My head’s everywhere Adam”

“Then help me understand,” he said. “Because every time I try to get close, you drift. You change the subject. You disappear into work or the house or that weird little shop with—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, eyes flashing. “Don’t drag Stan into this again.”

Adam let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. I ask about us, and you jump to defend him. Why?”

Kate opened her mouth, but the answer didn’t come. Because it was complicated. Because it wasn’t really about Stan, and yet it always somehow was.

“He’s my friend,” she said, a little too defensively. “He’s been helping with the house since the beginning. You knew that.”

“I did,” Adam nodded. “But somewhere along the line, it stopped being just work. And I’m not stupid, Kate. I’ve seen how you look at him. Hell, I saw how you didn’t look at me when we kissed for the first time. That look wasn’t there.”

She flinched.

He stepped closer. Not threatening, just… tired. “Look, I’ve tried to understand the weirdness, the stories, the creature—hell, I saw that thing. I still don’t know what it was. But I tried. For you. I tried being understanding of you and Stan’s dynamic. I tried giving you space. I tried getting your mind off of things. Because I wanted to be with you. But every time I step in that direction, it feels like you’re already halfway gone.”

Kate felt the sting of his words. Her fingers clenched into the hem of her sweater.

“I wanted it to work,” she said, voice tight. “I really did.”

“I know.” Adam’s voice was softer now. “But wanting it isn’t enough, is it?”

She didn’t answer.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is a sketch I made had for the back porch. I was going surprise you with a custom railing design.”

Kate took it, unfolding it slowly. The design was beautiful; clean lines, soft curves, a little swirl motif that mirrored the wallpaper she’d picked out a couple months ago.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

He smiled faintly. “I’m glad. You should still use it.”

They stood in silence for another beat, both knowing where this was going.

Finally, Adam said, “I think we’re two people who care about each other… but ultimately care most about different things.”

Kate felt her throat tighten. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” He stepped back, gave her one last look. “You just didn’t like me the way I wanted you to. And that’s no one’s fault. It just… is.”

He turned toward the door.

Kate found herself reaching for him, hesitating. “Adam—”

He looked over his shoulder.

“I did like you,” she said softly. “You’re this amazing guy, I just didn’t know how to… care for you in the way you deserved.”

A sad, understanding smile tugged at his mouth. “I think part of me always knew.”

He left without another word. The door shut gently behind him.

Kate stood in the quiet, surrounded by her unfinished house and all the plans that wouldn’t happen now. She pressed the paper to her chest and closed her eyes.

The stillness felt more like grief than tension. Regret. Guilt.

---

The living room smelled like lemon cleaner and wood polish, the floors gleaming under the late spring afternoon sun. Kate was on her knees near the baseboard, using a rag to buff out a stubborn smudge of varnish when she heard the knock.

“Door’s open,” she called, brushing her sleeve across her forehead.

Stan stepped in with the familiar sound of heavy boots and the faint jingle of keys in his jacket pocket.

“Looks like ya’ finished without me,” he said, nodding at the floor. “Tryin’ to steal all the credit?”

“You were late,” Kate said, standing and stretching her arms. “You snooze, you lose.”

Stan let out a dry chuckle and set the toolbox down by the door. “What can I say? I operate on Mystery Shack time. That means if I show up at all, I’m technically early.”

But something was off.

Kate smiled, but her laugh was softer than usual. Stan noticed it. He also noticed the slight redness around her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping right. But he didn’t bring it up directly.

“You good?” he asked casually, pretending to rummage through his usual duffle bag.

Kate glanced at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Huh,” he said, not quite believing it. “Ya’ usually get a lotta work done on your own when you’ve got a lot on your mind” he pressed lightly, still a hint of humor for her to let it slide if she wanted to.

That earned a soft smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nah, guess it’s spring, the nice weather makes me want to be more productive.”

Another lie. He let it be. For now.

“Got coffee?” he asked instead.

“In the kitchen,” she said. “Still hot. Help yourself.”

By the time he returned, she had moved to the couch, a deep green corduroy hand-me-down with patched arms and a dented cushion where she clearly always sat. She looked comfortable but a little stiff, like she hadn’t quite figured out how to relax in the space yet.

Stan lowered himself onto the opposite end. “So. We done with the floors?”

“Finally,” she said, stretching her legs out with a small groan. “I might actually walk barefoot in here now.”

“Luxury livin’,” Stan said, raising his mug. “Next you’ll be tellin’ me ya’ bought a lava lamp.”

“No lava lamp,” she said. Then, with a slight grin, “But I did get something else.”

She straightened up and brushing dust off her jeans, “I have a surprise.”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Surprise like… cake? Or surprise like I gotta help with somethin’ heavy?”

She smiled slyly and pointed toward a large, unopened box leaning against the wall, half-covered in a tarp. She got and up walked behind the couch and dragged out a squat, bulky CRT television in a box that had clearly seen better days.

“No way,” he said, impressed. “You finally joined the 20th century.”

“Picked it up from the Sears clearance section yesterday. Twenty-five-inch, wood panel sides, built-in VCR. Fancy, huh?”

Stan leaned over to inspect it. “That thing’s a beast. Practically furniture.”

Kate grinned. “I figured I’ve earned the right to rot my brain a little. Besides, now that the living room doesn’t feel like a construction site, I might actually sit down and watch something.”

Stan gave her a playful nudge with his elbow. “Took ya’ long enough. I was startin’ to worry you were allergic to leisure.”

She pulled the tape off the box flaps and revealed the machine inside. Together, they hoisted it out, not without effort, and shuffled it across the room to the low stand she had already cleared off near the wall. They had to adjust the angle a few times to avoid the glare from the window, but once it was plugged in and humming with a faint static buzz, Kate looked pleased.

“I think that’s the first electronic thing in this house that isn’t threatening to explode,” she said.

Stan crossed his arms and gave the screen a critical squint. “Channel three’s the sweet spot for old tapes. You got any?”

She reached under the coffee table and pulled out a small stack of VHS tapes in worn cardboard sleeves. Sleepless in Seattle, Apollo 13, and Wayne’s World 2.

“Well, ya’ clearly a woman of taste,” he said. “Though Wayne’s World 1 is the superior installment.”

Kate gave him a look. “You’re really going to critique my collection before you even help me program the channels?”

He shrugged. “It’s the 90s. Critique is love.”

They shared a small laugh. The moment stretched, then settled.

Stan watched her as she fussed with the remote and adjusted the rabbit ear antenna. She was quieter again, eyes focused but far away. He wanted to ask, wanted to say something, but he held it back.

Instead, he took a sip of his now-cold coffee and said lightly, “Not bad. Living room’s finally looking like a living room.”

Kate nodded. “Yeah. It’s coming together.”

Another pause.

“You ever think about what it’ll feel like when it’s done?” she asked suddenly.

Stan blinked. “The house?”

She nodded.

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I dunno. Kinda feels like it’ll never be done done, ya’ know? There’s always another squeaky hinge or drafty corner.”

Kate smiled faintly. “That’s oddly comforting.”

He took the remote from her hand and clicked on the TV. The screen buzzed to life with a flicker and a faint whine.

“Wanna rot our brains with some Tom Hanks?”

“God, yes.”

They leaned back into the couch, side by side. Not touching, not talking, just sitting with the glow of the screen and the silence between them that, for now, felt okay.

---

Kate wasn’t laughing like she normally would at his snide commentary. Wasn’t elbowing him or rolling her eyes when he quoted full lines ahead of the actors. She was watching, but not really watching. Eyes on the screen, but miles away.

Stan noticed, stealing a glance at her. Didn’t say anything about Adam. Could be the guy’s just busy. Or maybe not.

He hated speculating. Stan Pines wasn’t exactly known for picking up on emotional nuance, but when it came to her, he tried. Damn if he didn’t try.

She shifted beside him, tucking one leg up on the couch and running her fingers around the rim of her mug, there was a faint crease between her brows. But he didn’t want to push. Not yet. Not when she looked like she was trying to keep something from falling apart inside.

Kate’s mind too was busy thinking about something else, not quite focused on the new screen in front of her. She had broken up with Adam nearly a week ago, and though she knew it was the right decision, the emotions tangled inside her still hadn’t smoothed out. It wasn’t heartbreak, exactly, just a nagging guilt. The exhaustion of pretending to be okay whenever he’d show up at school.

And the knowledge that she hadn’t told Stan yet made it worse. Like she was keeping a secret, even if it wasn’t for the wrong reasons.

He’ll ask soon, she thought. Or maybe he won’t. He’s careful like that.

She appreciated his patience more than she could admit. The way he let her be quiet without acting like it was strange. He didn’t press. Didn’t try to “fix” it. He just sat with her. Like it was enough.

She still wasn’t ready to talk about Adam, not all the way. Not yet. Because the part she couldn’t admit aloud, not to him, not even to herself, was that the end of that relationship had less to do with what went wrong, and more to do with what had been quietly growing between her and Stan all along. Even if it wasn’t requited, she mentally kicked herself.

Her gaze flicked sideways to him, he was watching the screen but not really focused, mouth twitching like he had something on the tip of his tongue. He looked tired. She knew he worked too much. Knew he’d brushed off the creaks in his knees and the long hours of bending to install floors. But he never once complained.

He was always there.

That’s the difference, she realized. That’s what I didn’t have with Adam. This. Or perhaps she didn’t allow Adam that side of her.

She didn’t know what this was exactly. But it settled in her chest with a quiet kind of certainty.

The movie crackled on, but neither was really paying attention.

Kate reached across him to grab the bowl of popcorn from the side table. Her hand grazed his forearm, and neither pulled away right away. The touch lingered warm, unintentional, but somehow grounding.

Stan cleared his throat. “Popcorn’s gone stale” he tried commenting a bit pathetically.

Kate gave a faint smile. “Still edible.”

Stan suppressed a smile “Sounds like somethin’ I’d say” he teased.

“Yeah, well, you might be rubbing off on me” a slight playfulness in her tone.

They sat like that a while longer, both lost in their inner monologues and before they knew it, the movie had ended. Stan began to pack his stuff, whilst she brought their mugs and left over popcorn to the kitchen. Kate’s mood still nagging at him.

“What’s next on the list, doll?” he leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“I was thinking about taking a look at the basement. Now that the weather’s getting nicer, we should probably do something about the mold and other crap that’s gathering there” she mused distractedly as she finished clearing up a few things.

“Sounds like a plan” he agreed, still trying to pick up details from her.

Eventually Kate walked him to the door, Stan gave her a sidelong glance. “Ya’ sure you’re okay?”

She hesitated. “I’m just… figuring stuff out. But yeah. I’m okay.”

He didn’t believe her entirely, but he nodded. “Well, you know. If you ever wanna talk about squeaky hinges. Or people who are squeaky hinges…”

That got a real laugh from her, small, but genuine.

“Thanks,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

---

Despite the warmth that came with the first of April brought to the town, the cold still hung in the walls of the basement. Kate shoved her sleeves up as she made her way down the narrow basement steps, arms full of paint cans and a flashlight tucked under her chin.

“I still don’t know how this place hasn’t collapsed,” she muttered as she kicked aside a warped cardboard box. “Or why anyone thought mold-green shag carpet was a right choice for a basement.”

Behind her, Stan grunted as he descended with a duffle bag in one hand and a crowbar in the other. “Because people in the ‘70s were clinically insane,” he said. “Color blindness and bad decisions, the whole decade.”

Kate laughed despite herself, the first easy laugh in days. “Well, I’m glad I have an expert here now.”

Stan gave her a sideways look. “I thought that’s what Adam was.”

The humor died almost instantly from her expression.

Stan immediately kicked himself internally. “Hey—sorry. Shitty joke.” She had not mentioned anything about Adam in almost two weeks, neither good nor bad, but the lack of update was telling enough.

“No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, picking up a box of cracked tiles. “Let’s just figure out how to tear up this death trap first, I don’t want to imagine the state of the floor under it.”

They spent the next half hour moving junk aside; old trunks filled with crumbling Christmas ornaments, a moth-eaten cot, several paint-chipped wooden chairs. Sorting through the cluttered basement with the usual rhythm, Stan hauled heavier junk, Kate wiped grime off boxes, both of them cracking half-hearted jokes to fill the space.

Eventually, Stan fiddled with the floor to one side trying to pull at the carpeted floor whilst Kate meandered through the last couple of items to throw away or keep. She shoved aside an old shelving unit that wobbled precariously and clunked against the wall, harder than she meant to.

Something hollow echoed.

She froze. “That didn’t sound right.”

Stan looked up from the carpeted. “What didn’t?”

“This part of the wall. It’s not solid.” She knocked again. Hollow.

Curious now, she pried at the wood panel. Before he could stop her, she gave the wall a light jab. A panel gave way, snapping open to reveal a small hollow space about the size of a small cupboard. Inside was a rusted metal tin, the kind that might have once held cookies or tools. Now it rattled faintly with something inside.

As she opened the tin, Stan recognized what it was. Panic shot through him.

Kate reached in before Stan could protest.

“What the hell…”

She pulled out a clump of papers first; half-torn, sketch-covered pages in handwriting too neat and deliberate to be Stan’s. A few hand drawn diagrams of creatures, one that looked like a badger with horns, another like a two-headed deer, and detailed notes, fragmented descriptions, theories, and odd notations in the margins. A few newspaper clippings, too, brittle and faded, talking about cryptid sightings, electromagnetic surges, strange disappearances. At the bottom of the pile sat a photo of two young men in college. Kate’s breath caught.

“Local Genius Duo Wins Science Fair at Backup Academy,” read one. The picture was of two younger men in college jackets, one with a familiar squared jaw and cocky smile, the other a thin man with glasses and a wild mess of curls. One of them was, unmistakably, Stan… or at least someone who looked just like him, only sharper, more refined.

Kate squinted. “This… this looks like you.”

Stan’s entire body stiffened. Ford.

“Stan, what is this?”

“Old junk,” he said a little too quickly, trying to snatch the photo away. She kept her grip tight.

“No, this—this can’t be just junk. You said you never went to college. You said science wasn't your thing. And these drawings—are these cryptids? Why are they here? Why were they hidden in my house?”

“It’s nothin’. Just garbage,” Stan said, waving a dismissive hand.

“But it was in my house,” she said, voice insistent. “In a hidden compartment behind a basement wall! You expect me not to be curious?”

“I expect you to drop it.”

The silence that followed was thick, strained. Kate stared at the photo again, brows furrowed.

Kate slowly turned toward him. “Stan?”

He took the photo and studied it for a beat too long.

Kate gave Stan a look. “What is this, Stan?”

Stan exhaled slowly, some of the bravado bleeding out of him He frowned, stepping closer. “No. I— sorry. I mean—yeah. That’s—uh…”

“This,” he finally said, voice casual, but his smile was tight. “Yeah. That’s me. And the other guy— that’s… Mike—  Brad—” he fumbled trying to discreetly read the name on the newspaper cutout “Fiddleford. He was my college roommate.”

Kate blinked. “So you… did go to college?”

Stan scoffed. “Sure I did. Briefly. Got kicked out. But not before I met ol’ Fidsy. Real kook. Brilliant, but kinda nuts. He was always drawin’ weird stuff like this. Kept sayin' there were creatures hidin’ in the woods, alternate dimensions, magnets that could mess with your memories, that kind of thing” he made up something reasonable on the spot.

Kate pulled out a sketch of a creature with too many teeth and too little symmetry. “But this is detailed. Like, someone studied these things.”

“Yeah, well. Fidsy was nothin’ if not thorough.” He waved a hand. “He must’ve hidden this junk whenever he’d go cuckoo back in the day. I didn’t even know it was here” he wove the story of the man he did not know.

Kate studied his face. Something was off. His delivery was smooth, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“So you’re saying this whole box is his? These are his drawings?”

“Who else would it be?” Stan shrugged. “Guy saw conspiracies in his cereal. Loved Gravity Falls. Said the town was a ‘nexus of the unexplained.’” He threw finger quotes around the phrase, that conveniently was in one of the newspaper cutouts.

Kate folded the photo carefully and set it aside. “You never mentioned knowing someone like that.”

“Didn’t think it’d matter,” Stan said, more softly this time. “We lost touch years ago” he continued crafting the lie.

Kate glanced back at the wall, then at the papers. “This still doesn’t explain why someone hid it here. Why the secrecy?”

Stan fumbled, then pulled on his most exaggerated grin. “It’s Gravity Falls, doll. Everyone’s gotta secret stash of crazy somewhere. He’d go crazy. He just happened to hide in what was an abandoned house at the time and next to your water heater.” He made up effortlessly on the spot.

She laughed despite herself, but it was faint. Her brow stayed furrowed, like she was filing something away for later.

Stan clapped his hands together. “Anyway. You want this cleaned out, or should we pretend it never existed and re-seal the wall?”

Kate smiled, trying to match his lightness. “Let’s keep it out for now. I want to read through some of it later.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, moving back to the corner he had been corning on, but not before sneaking one last glance at the photo, his jaw tight.

Kate didn’t press further. But her mind was racing. Because while Stan might’ve shrugged it all off with a smile and a story… something told her he wasn’t being completely honest.

---

The box sat on the edge of the workbench, its contents carefully spread out; cryptid sketches, pages with near-scientific field notes, newspaper clippings, and the one photo that had made Kate’s heart stutter.

She hadn’t said anything in a while.

Stan, standing a few feet away, was pretending not to look at her as she hovered near the bench. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, glanced toward the basement carpet, then cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, a little too briskly, “we were gonna tear this carpet out anyway. Might as well get started.”

Kate looked up, eyes lingering for a second longer on the photograph, but she didn’t question it. She did not press; he had gotten really defensive and then spat out something rather convincing.

She just nodded.

“Alright,” she said quietly, walking over to the corner of the room. “Let’s pull it up.”

The air between them was charged, but neither acknowledged it. They knelt side by side, tugging at the stubborn carpet, revealing patchy concrete beneath. The occasional ripping sound echoed through the basement, sharp and uneven.

Stan worked with focused urgency, like each foot of torn carpet might bury the conversation deeper. He avoided her eyes, kept his voice light.

“Not the worst floor I’ve seen,” he muttered. “Still better than that summer I helped rebuild a bait shop in Tahoe. Found a dead eel under the linoleum. Slippery bastard.”

Kate gave a soft huff of air, the closest thing to a laugh he’d heard since they started.

He glanced at her, brief, careful, but her face was distant again, her gaze fixed on the floor. She wasn’t frowning, just... thinking. He couldn’t tell if it was about the tin box or something else. Probably the box.

But she wasn’t asking.

And that made him more nervous than if she had. Could lie his pants off, distract her that way. Put other ideas in her head.

“Watch the nails on that corner,” he said quickly, pointing as she pulled back another strip. “The tacks are loose. Wouldn’t want a tetanus situation on top of everythin’ else.”

She nodded without looking up. “Got it.”

They fell into a rhythm; pull, rip, roll. Dust floated up in lazy spirals from the bare concrete, mixing with the faint smell of old glue and forgotten years.

Kate worked in silence, but her mind was busy. He always had said he hadn’t gone to college. Always said he wasn’t one for books or notes.

Her eyes flicked sideways to him.

He was sweating a little from the work, sleeves rolled up, jaw set. Focused. Steady.

He couldn’t possibly be lying to her at this point, at least she hoped. He had opened up about the strange creatures in Gravity Falls, in couldn’t get stranger than that. Right? It was him in the picture, he just looked slight off because it was from twenty years ago. Perhaps his past was more complicated than she thought, if they had treated him as a mad man too, he just didn’t want to relive it. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being insincere.

They finished one strip, then another, the sound of old carpet tearing keeping their silence company.

Eventually, Stan leaned back on his heels and exhaled. “We’ll get this done today, easy.”

Kate nodded again, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Yeah.”

Still no questions. No accusations.

But her silence filled the room louder than anything else.

And Stan knew—he knew—that she hadn’t completely believed him.

That she’d ask sooner or later.

---

The box sat heavy on Stan’s mind long after he’d gone home. He couldn’t sleep, not with the image of those sketches, the photo, the journal scraps burned into his memory. They were too close. Too risky.

That damn box, tucked away in the basement wall, stuffed with pages from Ford’s journal, cryptid sketches, clippings, and that photo—that photo. Ford and Fiddleford McGucket, whoever he was, back in their college days, arms around each other, smiling like fools.

And there he was. Himself. A version of him she wasn’t supposed to know existed.

He waited until well past midnight.

The woods around Kate’s house were quiet that night, a silence broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through pine needles. The full moon filtered through the branches, casting strips of silver light onto the damp grass and gravel driveway.

Stan crouched low behind a large pine tree, the outline of the house just ahead. He pulled his coat tighter around him, his breath fogging faintly in the cold night air. Every instinct in his body told him this was wrong—creeping into a woman’s house while she slept, like some cheap cartoon villain.

Stan scrubbed a hand down his face, then slipped silently across the yard, ducking below the kitchen window. He’d done this sort of thing before, plenty of times. Smuggling. Smokescreens. Faking identities. But this felt different. This was Kate.

And she trusted him.

He shook off the thought. Now wasn’t the time to get sentimental.

The back door creaked open under his hand—she still hadn’t fixed the hinges—and he froze, every muscle locked as he listened for movement upstairs. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the wall clock.

He made his way down to the basement, his boots silent on the worn wooden steps. The air was cool and damp, and the smell of paint thinner lingered faintly from their earlier work.

The hidden compartment was still ajar. She hadn’t come back down here. Probably still mulling it over, trying to piece things together. Trying to trust him.

Stan swallowed. His heart pounded the entire time.

He found the tin box behind the stack of old paint cans where Kate had left it after they'd cleared the hidden compartment. She’d said she wanted to read through it, probably already had. That made his chest tighten.

The photo of Ford, and what he assumed was his friend, stared back up at him when he cracked the lid open. Ford, with that know-it-all smirk. Damn if he didn’t miss him.

He stared at it for a long moment.

She wasn’t supposed to find this. No one was. Not her. Not here. Who put it here? Why here? What had been the odds that someone had placed it here. Had it actually been that Fiddleford guy?

You’re doing this to protect her, he told himself, slipping the photo and papers back into the box. She doesn’t need to get dragged into all that weirdness. She’s had enough. You’re keeping her safe.

But another voice gnawed at the edge of that thought—one he couldn’t ignore:

Or are you just trying to protect yourself?

Stan’s jaw clenched.

If she found out who he really was… that he’d been lying about being Stanford this whole time… that the man she trusted, leaned on, her friend—wasn’t who he claimed to be—what would happen?

He stood in the dark basement a while longer, conflicted, the box tucked under his arm. The weight of it was heavier than it should’ve been.

Finally, he backed away, brushed dust and paint flakes back into place, put the paint cans as he found them. It wasn’t perfect, but it would pass a casual glance.

Then he crept back upstairs and let himself out as quietly as he came in.

“Sorry, sixer,” he muttered under his breath, stuffing the box into a duffel. “Just buying us a little more time.”

He started the car and drove off into the woods, carrying the truth with him into the dark.

By the time the sun rose, it was like the box had never existed.

Chapter Text

The stairs to the basement groaned under Stan’s weight, the dim light from the swinging bulb above on his way to Ford’s lab.

He flicked on the second switch, the wall panels humming faintly as the hidden door to the lab creaked open. The cold metal and stale air of the old control room greeted him, still a memory he wasn’t ready to face.

Stan stepped into the lab, the edges of his boots echoing against steel and tile. The portal sat silent at the far end of the chamber, dormant now, but still pulsing with that strange weight.

He set the box on a steel table beside the old console and slowly opened the lid.

The papers inside rustled faintly as he thumbed through them, brittle, water-stained notes scribbled in a familiar hand, diagrams of creatures he half-recognized from Ford’s studies. None of it made sense out of context, but it all smelled of his brother: that obsessive precision, the scientific shorthand, the cryptic notations.

But it was the photo that tugged at him.

He lifted it again, holding it closer to the soft hum of the nearby monitor. There he was, Ford, young and scruff-less, wearing a jacket he barely remembered owning.

And beside him… someone else.

Not anyone he recognized.

The man had wild, unkempt hair and thick glasses, a goofy smile tugging at his mouth. His arm was slung around Ford’s shoulders like they’d known each other for years.

Stan frowned.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.

He didn’t know Ford had worked with someone, he assumed the ‘F’ that had been scribbled here and there was Ford’s initial, not someone else. Fiddleford McGucket, he read. A local inventor. Eccentric. Brilliant. But were these his memories? Where they Ford’s? Why hide it, why there, what for?

His fingers tightened on the edge of the picture. “Did someone plant this? Is someone messing with me?”

But he didn’t believe that. The box had been too well-hidden. Too personal. The dust, the decay, it had been in that wall for a long time.

He set the photo down gently, eyes drifting back to the faded “F + F” scribbled on one of the journal pages. Ford and Fiddleford.

A strange cold crept up his spine.

Something was off. Something was missing. And whoever Fiddleford was… he knew, he had worked with his brother on all of this. A weird wave of relief and dread washed over him. It was a lead, which was far more than what he had in eighteen years.

Stan stepped back from the table, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Okay, Ford,” he muttered under his breath. “Looks like your past ain’t done screwin’ with me.”

He gave the box one last look, then shut it and locked it with the other two journal he had. To protect it until he could figure out what the hell was going on. To look into the Fiddleford guy.

---

Kate stood in the basement; confusion written all over her face.

She rifled through the storage shelves again, slower this time, checking every corner. Then she knelt, feeling behind the paint cans and old tarps.

Nothing.

Stan came down a while later, ready for the day, to continue working on the basement. “Hey, doll—” he stopped as soon as he saw the agitated look on her face, he felt a pang of guilt. “Everything okay?”

Kate straightened up. “Did you… move the box?”

He blinked. “What box?”

Kate motioned sharply to the far corner. “The box. From the wall. It’s gone, Stan. Completely gone. I looked everywhere. Upstairs, the storage closet, the shed. Nowhere.”

Stan's brow furrowed, like he was genuinely puzzled. “Didn’t you say you were gonna look through it?”

“I did. But now it’s gone. You didn’t take it?”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “Nope. Haven’t touched it. Maybe it… vanished.”

Kate crossed her arms. “Stan.”

He gave her a half-shrug, half-grin. “It’s Gravity Falls, doll. Things go missin’ all the time around here. Could’ve slipped into another dimension for all we know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be” he shrugged.

Kate hesitated. The disappearance, it felt deliberate.

She stared at the empty space where the box had been. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Stan softened, stepping closer. “Look… maybe it’s for the best. That thing gave you the creeps. You said yourself it raised more questions than answers.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted it gone.”

Stan looked away, just for a second. “Trust me, some things are better off staying hidden. That box was just another piece of Gravity Falls weirdness. Nothing more.”

Kate didn’t respond right away. She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to decide whether to believe him or not.

“Maybe you moved it and forgot?” He tried stirring her suspicions away from him.

“I didn’t move it.” Her tone sharpened. “You saw me put it right there on the bench. After we opened it. I haven’t touched it since.”

Stan raised a brow, feigning confusion. “Okay, weird. Maybe the cleaning lady’s secretly part of a government agency.”

“I don’t have a cleaning lady,” Kate snapped. “Stan, this isn’t funny.”

He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not saying it’s not strange, but again, in this town, things disappear. Things show up where they don’t belong. Sometimes they grow teeth.”

She didn’t laugh. “Did you take it?”

Stan blinked. “What?”

Kate stepped closer, folding her arms tighter. “The box. The papers. The photo of you, next to that guy. You didn’t want to talk about it when we found it. Then the next time we come down here—it’s just gone.”

Stan kept his voice calm, just a little incredulous. “You think I stole some ol’ box of scribbles and spooky drawings? What would I want with that?”

“I don’t know,” she said, but her voice dropped. “That’s the thing. You’ve been weird about it. Cryptic. Defensive. Dismissive of that friend. And honestly? You were a little too eager to sweep it under the rug, no pun intended.”

Stan forced a chuckle. “Sorry for trynna to save ya from all this black mold.”

Kate didn’t smile. She studied him closely, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to catch a flicker of truth he hadn’t meant to show. Stan looked back, steady, knowing if he flinched, it was over.

“I didn’t take the box,” he insisted casually.

Not technically a lie, he reasoned. He removed it. For her safety. For his.

Kate exhaled slowly through her nose and looked away, rubbing her arm.

“Okay,” she said finally, though her tone didn’t match the word. “If you say so.”

Stan watched her a moment longer. “Look, doll… this town’s weird. Always has been. Stuff like that?” He gestured vaguely to where the box once sat. “It’s like bait. Lures people in, makes ‘em obsess. And it never ends well. Sometimes it’s better not to chase it.”

She didn’t answer. Just nodded once and walked over to the other end of the room where a toolbox waited.

But she didn’t ask again.

He knew he couldn’t keep the truth buried forever. But for now… it was still safe.

He knew she didn’t believe him. Not entirely.

---

The rest of the carpet came up in long, reluctant strips, each tug releasing clouds of dust and the sour scent of time. The concrete beneath was stained and blemished, but solid. Stan knelt at one corner, yanking at a stubborn tack strip with a flathead screwdriver while Kate worked in sharp silence a few feet away, her back tense, her breath tight.

They hadn’t spoken much since the box conversation.

And that silence had a shape now. Heavy. Waiting.

Stan grunted as the final strip came free, tossing it into the growing pile near the stairs. “Well. That’s it. Carpet’s dead. Long live the moldy concrete.”

Kate didn’t laugh.

She pulled off her gloves and stood, brushing her jeans with fast, irritated swipes. “Let’s get it outside before it stinks up the whole house.”

Stan hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said shortly, already grabbing one end of a rolled-up section.

He moved to the other side and helped lift. They hauled the heavy roll up the stairs together, the awkward silence stretching between grunts and scuffed boots.

Outside, the late afternoon sun warmed up the day, the grass rustled as they dropped the carpet near the back fence with a dusty thud.

Kate turned and headed back inside without waiting.

By the second trip, she was tossing foam padding into the wheelbarrow like it had personally offended her.

Stan finally exhaled and broke the silence. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Doll—”

“I’m not mad, Stan,” she snapped, spinning on him. “I’m just tired. And annoyed. And trying not to read into things that maybe I shouldn’t be reading into.”

Stan straightened up slowly, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “I told ya, I didn’t take it.”

“I know what you said.”

Her voice wasn’t raised, but it was sharp—quietly accusatory, wrapped in hurt more than anger.

He looked at her, trying to hold her gaze. “You really think I’d lie to you?”

“I think you’re good at hiding things,” she said after a beat. “You always have been.”

That stung.

She turned away, grabbed another piece of padding. Stan stepped forward; his tone gentler now.

“I’m just trynna’ help. You’ve got enough going on without some creepy old box dragging you down” a convoluted truth.

“You didn’t even ask me what I thought about it,” she said without turning. “You just made the choice. If you did take it.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t.”

She gave a tight nod, lips pressed thin.

They worked in silence again, loading the last of the foam and scrap into the wheelbarrow. As they moved toward the yard one last time, the air between them was hot and buzzing—not from the sun, but from everything unsaid.

At the edge of the property, Kate finally stopped and turned to face him again.

“I don’t care if you think you were protecting me. I can handle weird. What I can’t handle is feeling like I’m being shut out of something that clearly matters.”

Stan didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her, jaw clenched, arms crossed, heart thudding too loud in his chest.

“I hear you,” he said finally, voice low.

Kate stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once and turned back toward the house, her footsteps slow but steady.

He watched her go, hands dropping to his sides, gravel crunching faintly under his boots.

He wished he could tell her everything.

---

They had worked in relative silence for a couple hours, tension thick before they decided to take a small break. Kate sat at the table with her back to the door, shoulders hunched, her look distant. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards as Stan stepped in from the back porch.

He didn’t say anything at first, just took her in from the doorway. The stiff set of her spine, the way her thumb rubbed the rim of the mug in slow, distracted circles. She hadn’t spoken much since they hauled the last of the carpet out. Just said she needed to clean up.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, unsure if he should say anything at all.

Then she sniffed, just barely, and he saw her swipe at the corner of her eye.

That cracked something open in his chest.

“Doll?” he said softly.

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I don’t need to look fine,” she muttered, not turning around. “I just need to stop feeling like I’m losing my mind.”

Stan took a few slow steps into the room. “You’re not.”

Kate finally looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed but fierce. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who cares that something weird happened? That there was a box full of things I saw with my own eyes and now it’s just... gone? Like it never existed?”

He stared at her.

She shook her head, a laugh bubbling up that wasn’t happy. “I don’t even know what’s worse; that it disappeared, or that you won’t even admit you had something to do with it.”

Stan opened his mouth, then closed it. His heart was pounding. The words—It was my brother’s. I’m not who you think I am. I took it to protect you—sat on the edge of his tongue.

She looked at him like she was daring him to break her heart.

And in the silence, panic hit him like a truck.

So instead, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“…What was yesterday?”

Kate blinked. “What?”

“Just—humor me. What day was yesterday?”

She furrowed her brow. “April first.”

Stan winced, rubbing the back of his neck. Another lie, a bad one at that. “Yeah. Uh. About that.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Wait…are you seriously saying it was a prank?”

He winced harder but scrambled to elaborated it. “It wasn’t meant to be. Not like that. It was supposed to be a little joke, y’know? I had this whole idea about plantin’ fake ‘cryptid hunter lore’ in the wall, like something out of a Scooby-Doo episode.”

She stared at him.

“And then you found it” he went on, “and your face—look, it got outta hand. I didn’t want it to upset ya, so I just… got rid of it.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

He gave a weak, half-hearted grin. “April Fool’s.”

Kate sat back slowly in her chair, the tension draining from her like air from a balloon. Her expression was unreadable, somewhere between disbelief and cautious relief.

“I feel like an idiot,” she whispered.

“No—no, you’re not,” Stan said quickly, moving toward the table. “You were right to ask questions. I just… picked a really stupid time to be clever.”

She let out half a laugh, more like a huff of a air, bitter this time. “Yeah. You really did.”

He didn’t know what to do, so he sat across from her and reached for the tea kettle. “Let me warm that up for ya.”

Kate didn’t answer. She just looked at the table, jaw tight.

Stan turned toward the stove, guilt roiling low in his stomach. He’d dodged the moment. Lied clean through his teeth.

But when she looked up at him again, her eyes a little softer, he told himself it was worth it. If it gave her peace, if it stopped her from digging further, then maybe that lie had bought them both time.

Time will figure out what the truth would cost.

---

Kate didn’t say much as Stan poured hot water into her mug. The kitchen had settled into a strange kind of quiet; not peaceful, not tense, just suspended, like the pause before a coin lands heads or tails.

She stirred her tea slowly, eyes on the swirling motion, then finally looked up at him as he sat back down.

“So…” she said, tone almost casual, “how exactly did you pull that prank off?”

Stan blinked, mid-sip of his own mug. “Huh?”

“The box,” she said, like it was a harmless curiosity now. “The fake cryptid notes. The old photo. It was really detailed. It just seems like… it was a lot of effort for a prank.”

Stan hesitated, then leaned back in his chair, trying to look relaxed while his brain scrambled behind the scenes.

“Well, y’know,” he said, shrugging, “I’ve had time to collect weird stuff over the years. Some of that junk I found in an old trunk at the Shack, some I doodled myself back in the '80s. Figured I’d recycle it.”

Kate raised a brow. “The handwriting looked old. Ink was faded. Some of those notes had water damage.”

“Exactly!” he said, pointing like that was part of the plan. “It’s called commitment. I brewed tea and soaked the pages, then left ‘em in the attic for a few months to get that ‘just discovered in the wild’ look. Had them layin’ around for an exhibition but thought I’d use them for this”

She looked at him, skeptical.

She tilted her head. “The guy in the photo with you… that wasn’t your old friend, was it?”

He forced a grin and shrugged, working hard not to visibly sweat. “You should’ve seen how long it took me to make that picture. Took me three tries at the library copier to get the age just right. It was from one of my brilliant scams back then, he was an associate at the time. Cheap costume, bad lighting, boom. Instant fake nostalgia.”

Kate gave a small, tight smile and took another sip of tea.

Stan hoped she wouldn’t press further. Every second felt like walking a tightrope over lava.

Kate looked down at her mug, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she gave a small huff of air, not quite a laugh. More like she was letting something go… or choosing to.

“Huh,” she said. “Well. You really went all in.”

Stan nodded once, slowly. “That’s me. All in.”

She didn’t say anything more. Just stood, stretched slightly, and moved toward the sink to rinse her cup. Stan remained seated, watching her movements carefully. She wasn’t confronting him anymore. But she wasn’t convinced, either.

She dried her hands on a dish towel, then turned back to him, her voice calm.

“Next time you pull a prank like that,” she said, eyes lingering on his face, “maybe try one that doesn’t make me question reality” her tone was light but still carried some anger.

Stan offered a sheepish smile. “Duly noted.”

Kate left the room quietly.

Stan let out a slow, rattled breath and leaned back in the chair.

He’d dodged again.

But barely.

---

It was late. Stan had only come back to grab the socket wrench he’d left behind in the kitchen earlier that afternoon. The front door had been unlocked, the lights low, the house still.

But something felt off.

He heard it before he saw her, a soft, muffled sound from the living room. Not talking. Not the TV.

Crying.

Stan paused in the doorway.

Kate sat on the floor in front of the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, shoulders hunched, her face buried in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her breath hitched unevenly, a sound she was clearly trying to stifle.

Stan’s chest tightened.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, stunned by how small she looked, usually so sharp, so grounded, now unraveled by something he couldn’t name. Not entirely.

She didn’t quite know what had gotten to her. It had all caught up to her, all the guilt from how her and Adam ended up. The feeling that Stan was still being insincere, that she had to navigate her feelings towards him and how the small pit in her stomach said that he was hiding something, that she couldn’t quite trust him. If it had in fact been a prank, then maybe Adam was right, Stan was conning her more than she thought about all the weirdness in this place and that made her feel extra stupid and gullible.

“Doll?” he said gently.

She jumped slightly, breaking from her inner monologue, brushing her face with her sleeve, blinking fast as she tried to wipe away the tears. She clearly wasn’t expecting him.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words coming too quickly, too automatic.

“You’re clearly not.”

She gave a shaky laugh, not looking at him. “Nice detective work.”

He stepped in, hesitating only a moment before crouching next to her.

“Ya don’t have to talk about it,” he said. “But you don’t have to sit here alone, either.”

Kate pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to catch her breath. “It’s just—everything. It’s too much. This week’s been—hell.”

Stan nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

She didn’t move for a long moment, but then her voice cracked just a little. “I broke up with Adam. A bit over two weeks ago.”

Stan’s heart gave a jolt, but he kept his voice level. “Oh.”

She still didn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I feel awful. I said things I didn’t mean, and he said things he probably did, and I kept defending you, and I don’t even know why I was so—angry.” Her voice trembled, and she wiped her face again.

“I think we both knew it was coming. Things had been off for a while.”

Stan finally sat beside her, careful to not invade much of her personal space. “What happened?”

Kate shrugged, lips pulling into a thin, bitter line. “We wanted different things, I guess. Or we weren’t really hearing each other anymore. There was a lot of arguing near the end.”

She paused, carefully choosing her next words.

“He didn’t like how much time I spent here. With the house. With you.” She smiled wryly, as if laughing at herself. “He thought I was prioritizing the wrong things.”

Stan’s breath hitched, but he kept his tone casual. “Well, fixin’ a collapsin’ porch is kind of a priority.”

Kate smiled again, softer this time. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

He didn’t push further, even though his mind was buzzing with quiet, unspoken questions. Did she miss Adam? Was she okay? Was this about him? But she hadn’t said anything about feelings. Hadn’t said that he was the reason.

He nodded. “Sorry it ended like that.”

“Me too,” she said. “It just… wasn’t working.”

Stan didn’t know what to say to that, so he offered the only thing he could: quiet company.

They sat there on the floor a while, sorting the scattered hardware into little piles, like it gave them something to focus on. Eventually, she leaned her head lightly on his shoulder.

Stan swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, sweetheart” he said again, not quite knowing what he was apologizing for anymore, everything, he supposed.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “For a lot of things.”

He moved gently carefully, resting his arms on his knees, feeling the weight of her head on his shoulder shift slightly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean for that dumb prank to go that far. I thought maybe it’d give you a weird little laugh. I didn’t think you’d start questionin’ the universe over it.”

Kate gave a bitter smile through her tears. “Yeah, well… turns out I was already questioning a lot of things.”

Stan looked down at the floor, voice quieter now. “I hate that I made it worse.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly, then sighed. “Not just you. Everything. I was overwhelmed, I was confused, and I—I think I just needed something to blame.”

A long pause.

“You ever get so tired of pretending everything is fine all the time that you just... fall apart?” she asked.

Stan nodded slowly and exhaled slowly. “Every damn day.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments, the weight between them familiar now, but softened.

Then, he moved his hand to squeeze her leg. “Hey.”

Kate looked at him, eyes red and tired.

“You’re one of the toughest people I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to carry it all. Not alone.”

Her lip quivered again, and she nodded, pressing the sleeve to her face once more. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Well, tonight,” he said, “you’re gonna sit here, finish that tea, and let me tell you about the time I got chased out of a bingo hall by three grandmas with canes. And maybe tomorrow? We’ll pretend life makes sense again. Just for a minute.”

Kate let out a watery laugh. “Okay.”

He smiled, warm and crooked. “There she is.”

She couldn’t help it, despite everything, the fondness growing in her heart made her nuzzle a bit closer to him resting her head more firmly against his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

And neither of them said the one thing they were both still holding back.

---

It had been a while, Kate now was curled into one corner of the couch, knees pulled close, her blanket forgotten at her side. Stan still sat on the floor his back against the couch, one arm braced on his knee, finishing his third story with that gravel-edged voice she was growing too used to.

“—and I swear, I didn’t realize there was someone under the table until a guy crawled outta there and clocked me with a prop shovel. Turns out, the sleazebag was cheatin’ at poker.”

Kate’s laugh broke out before she could stop it, breathy and real. It surprised even her.

Stan grinned, watching her. “See? You’re smiling again.”

“I’m not,” she lied, dabbing at her eye as though it might undo the moment.

“You are. Don’t fight it.” He shifted, leaning his arm against the couch cushion near her legs. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

Her smile faded, but not from discomfort. Her gaze lingered on him a beat too long. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make everything easier than it should be.”

He tilted his head, sensing the shift. “That a complaint?”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s just...more often than not, I forget I’m upset when you’re around. And then I remember again when you’re not.”

Stan didn’t say anything at first. The room was too quiet. Too close.

“I guess that means I should stick around more,” he said eventually, his voice quieter, rougher.

Kate’s breath caught in her throat.

He was close now, still on the floor but turned toward her. Their knees brushed as she set her legs off of the couch and onto the floor. His hand was still resting on the cushion near her hip, and she didn’t move away.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re not always honest with me.”

That landed between them like a match waiting to be struck.

Stan’s jaw twitched. “I know” he whispered back.

They stared at each other. A flicker passed through Kate’s eyes; pain, confusion, something she didn’t want to name. But she didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, without thinking, she reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her fingertips soft, lingering longer than necessary. His breath hitched, and he instinctively turned toward her touch.

The air between them shifted.

Without meaning to, Stan reached up and caught her wrist; gently, as if grounding himself. His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the distance between them wasn’t emotional. It was physical. Measurable.

And dissolving.

Kate didn’t pull away.

His head turned where he held her wrist in place, hesitantly, gently he placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist, warm and careful.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

But he stopped. “I don’t ever want to hurt ya’, sweetheart, I hope you know that” his voice was the softest she’s heard it since he’s known him, his stubble pricking her skin.

God, he wanted to kiss her. But if he did, there’d be no taking it back. It wasn’t the time or the place or was he sure she felt something for him.

Her heart fluttered at his statement. She nodded and opened her eyes and looked at him, openly, finally. “I know” her voice equally quiet, emotional.

He let out a shaky breath and dropped his hand, letting her free.

She didn’t speak again. Just sat there, still and quiet, heart pounding. He leaned back, just enough to give her space. But not enough to break whatever it was that had just passed between them.

After a couple more beats Stan eventually cleared his throat, making himself grin playfully before starting to tell her another crazy anecdote, trying to move on from the charged moment. His heart tugging each time he got a smile or laugh out of her.

---

Back at the Shack, Stan paced the living room, the floor creaking beneath him, his head spinning from the moment they had, the news about Adam.

She didn’t say it was me. Didn’t say it wasn’t, either.

Part of him felt relieved. He didn’t want to make her heartbreak over Adam about him. Didn’t want to be the cause of someone else’s pain, he’d done enough damage in his life.

But part of him... couldn’t help wondering.

She’d told him Adam didn’t like how much time she spent with him. That he thought she cared too much about the house, about what they were building.

Was that her way of telling me something?

No. Probably not. Kate was smart. She’d tell him if she wanted him to know.

Still, something about the way she’d leaned into him lingered in his mind, soft and unguarded. It made something ache in his chest.

He sighed and poured himself a drink. He was too old to be mooning over someone. Too grizzled and gruff and set in his ways. She needed someone stable. Someone like—

No, he told himself. No point in going down that road. She just needs a friend right now.

And that, he could be.

Even if it meant biting his tongue when she smiled like that. Even if it meant pretending it didn’t feel like something had shifted between them again.

This is getting harder.

He didn’t know when being around her had shifted from fun to familiar to being able to read her so well, to something else entirely. But it had. And whatever was happening inside him, it wasn’t going away.

He liked seeing her smile, really smile. He had been trying and it eventually reached her eyes today. He liked watching her focus when she painted trim or made lists in her weird little handwriting. He liked the way she called him out when he grumbled about small things, and how she always brewed his coffee just slightly too sweet.

He didn’t want to ruin this. Didn’t want to say anything and mess it all up.

But if she told me she felt something… he paused. God help me, I’d probably fall all the way.

His mind then drifted to the inevitable. His lies. All of them. How much he was hiding from her and how little she seemed to believe him lately. He meant what he said, he didn’t want to hurt her. Too late, he thought. But today, seeing her crying on the living room floor, he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not if he could help it. She needed a friend, and he needed to distance her from everything that had come up with that tin box. So he crafted a plan, something to keep her mind off of things. All of them.

Chapter Text

The Mystery Shack looked unusually quiet when Kate pulled into the gravel driveway, the afternoon sun hitting the front steps in a warm, hazy glow. She parked under the crooked “NO REFUNDS” sign and stepped out, squinting toward the porch.

She was already suspicious. Stan had given no real explanation, just told her, “Come by around four, wear somethin’ you can move in, and bring that look ya’ get when you’re fed up with the world.” She had raised an eyebrow over the phone.

Stan was already waiting, leaning against the doorframe with a toothpick between his teeth and an almost smug look on his face.

“You made it,” he said.

Kate gestured to her outfit; sneakers, sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie. “I followed instructions.”

“Perfect,” he said, giving her a once-over. “You look just annoyed enough.”

“I debated throwing a wrench at you just to complete the mood,” Kate deadpanned, stepping inside and shrugging off her hoodie. “So, what is this? Fixing shelves? Tug-of-war with a cursed taxidermy bear?”

“Better,” he said with a crooked smile. He straightened, motioning for her to follow him around the back of the Shack. “Follow me.”

“Thought you could use somethin’ to burn off that storm cloud mood of yours. Y’know, punch your way out of it a little.”

He led her down the hall and turned into one of the spare rooms near the back, usually a storage space for broken vending machines and off-season Mystery Shack props.

But now?

The clutter had been pushed to the edges, and in the center stood a punching bag, suspended from the ceiling beam with chain and tape and at least one coat hanger. A folded mat lay beneath it. A crate with gloves and wraps sat nearby, along with a space heater humming faintly in the corner.

Kate blinked. “You made me a gym?”

“I made you a place to punch stuff,” Stan corrected. “I figured after the weeks you’ve had… the breakup, the box, me being me— you needed an outlet.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. “You set this up?”

He shrugged, trying to downplay the effort. “Didn’t want you takin’ your frustration out on your poor walls. Or me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, but there was a faint, grateful smile tugging at her lips.

Kate raised a brow. “You’re going to let me punch you?”

“No,” he said flatly, and then smirked. “I’m gonna teach you how to punch properly.”

Kate stopped in her tracks, blinking. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Stan said proudly. “Took the gloves out of storage. Figured, hey, nothin’ gets out frustration like swingin’ at somethin’ that won’t swing back.”

Kate turned to him slowly, she huffed amused “This is ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the smallest tug at her mouth, the beginning of a smile.

Stan picked up a roll of hand wraps and motioned for her to sit. “C’mon. I’ll show ya’ how to wrap up.”

---

The spare room of the Mystery Shack was quiet, save for the faint hum of the old space heater and the creak of the ceiling where the punching bag hung suspended. The light filtering through the dusty window gave everything a soft, golden hue, catching on the motes of dust floating lazily in the air.

Kate sat on the edge of the old wooden crate, sleeves pushed up, legs slightly apart for balance. Stan knelt in front of her, half in-between her legs. He began wrapping her hand with deliberate care. He started with her wrist. His fingers were rough, callused in all the places someone’s would be after years of working with tools, but there was a care in his grip, a quiet precision. He wrapped the cloth slowly, anchoring it with a loop before circling around the delicate bones at the base of her palm.

Kate didn’t speak. She watched him instead, his concentration, the way his eyebrows pinched slightly as he worked. He wasn’t cracking jokes. Not yet. Not this close.

Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, the memory of two nights ago flashed in her mind, just for a second. He, too, hesitated, ever so slightly. Just enough for her to notice. Perhaps he had thought of it too.

He didn’t look up.

“I used to do this for myself in front of a bathroom mirror,” he murmured. “Bad lightin’, worse form. I’d end up redoin’ it twice every time.”

His voice was low, rumbling, like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be heard, like he was fighting away memories.

She swallowed. “You’re good at it now.”

He smirked faintly at the compliment but kept his focus on the cloth. “Ya’ learn when it hurts enough times.”

He looped between her fingers next, sliding the wrap carefully between her knuckles, fitting it snug but not tight. Her hand flexed under his. She didn’t mean to. It just happened.

“You okay?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes for a second.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “Just… not used to being handled like I’m fragile.”

“You’re not,” he said, almost too quickly. “But if ya’ don’t wrap right, even the strong parts can snap.”

The sentence landed with more weight than he probably meant it to. Or maybe he meant every word.

Kate looked at him a little longer than she needed to. Stan kept working.

He was slower with her left hand, maybe because it was her dominant, maybe because they were both more aware now of how close he had to be. When he leaned forward to loop the wrap around the base of her thumb, his chest brushed her knee. She didn’t move.

She swallowed, scrambling for conversation. “You’ve done this a lot then.”

Stan didn’t look up. “Used to. When I was younger. Before my joints decided to turn into sandpaper.”

He paused, as if contemplating how to speak about the subject without brining much up.

“Back in the day,” he said, his voice lower now. “Had some trainin’ in the beginnin’ but I mostly taught myself. Couple underground gyms, some old trainin’ manuals later. Got into a few fights that didn’t happen in a ring, too...”

The room dipped into silence again. Not uncomfortable, but thick. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the wraps, the slow pressure of him adjusting the fabric just right. He was kneeling close, and she could smell the faint trace of his cologne; old-school and faintly spicy, something worn-in and familiar.

He cleared his throat. “Ya’ know, another thing I learned the hard way was, not to wrap up too tight either. Always figured the tighter the better. But that just cuts off circulation. Numbs you out.”

Kate looked down at her hands, now half-wrapped like armor.

“And now?”

“Now I aim for balance,” he said, pulling the last of the fabric snug. “Strong. Secure. But breathable.”

His voice was softer now.

Kate didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “That sounds like a metaphor.”

He glanced up then, brief but sharp. “Maybe.”

Her lips curled. “You always get philosophical when you’re five inches from someone’s hand?” Her tone playful.

Stan smirked. “Only when I’m nervous” he matched her tone.

Their eyes met.

And held.

Too long.

Her smiled slowly faltered, taking him in. Her lips parted slightly, like she might say something else.

He let go of her hands gently, fingertips brushing over her knuckles like he didn’t quite want to. “Alright,” he said, standing, brushing his palms off on his jeans. “Now you’re dangerous.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he just tightened the end of the wrap and gave her a quick pat on the hand.

She flexed her fingers, testing the wrap, then looked back up at him.

She let out a deep, long, exhale “I’m ready.”

She stood a few feet from the punching bag, her hands clenched loosely in her gloves, her shoulders a little too stiff. Stan stood beside her, arms folded, watching with a quiet amusement.

“Alright,” he said, nodding toward her stance. “Show me what you got.”

She threw a jab, a little off center, slightly off balance. It hit the bag with a soft thud and an apologetic shrug.

“I never said I knew what I was doing,” she muttered.

---

It had been about half an hour, the spare room was warm now, the heater humming in the corner and Kate already flushed from a few rounds of basic drills. The punching bag swayed slightly from her last hit; a crooked jab that left her arm a little awkward.

“Okay,” Stan said, walking over with a half-grin, “you’re officially a threat to any moderately-sized pillow.”

Kate smirked, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “That bad, huh?”

Stan chuckled under his breath. “Not bad. But you’re leadin’ with your elbow. You’ll wear your shoulder out before the bag even notices.”

He stepped in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up slightly to look at him.

“You’re tense. Shoulders are locked up like you’re expectin’ a pop quiz,” he explained. “We gotta loosen you up a little.”

Before she could respond, Stan moved behind her; slow, deliberate, his hands settling lightly on her upper arms. His touch was warm, firm but gentle, and he guided her arms downward with a quiet expertise.

“Let these hang a bit more. You’re holdin’ tension ya’ don’t need.”

Kate didn’t speak. She just breathed a little shallowly as his hands slid down to adjust her elbows, brushing against her ribs.

His voice came closer, quieter near her ear. “Now shift your weight. You want to feel grounded, not like you’re about to fall forward.”

He placed one hand at her waist and the other at the small of her back, nudging her subtly into place. His hand moved to her side, pressing lightly as he shifted her posture just a few degrees. His other hand came back to rest at her waist, more firmly, adjusting her hips into the correct stance.

Kate froze. Not from discomfort, but from awareness.

His touch wasn’t forceful. It was… careful. Confident. Familiar, but not invasive.

His hands lingered for just a moment longer, his thumb grazing the edge of her shirt as he adjusted her hips slightly again. She felt the full heat of his body behind her now, close enough that his chest brushed her shoulder when he inhaled.

“Okay,” he said, finally stepping around to face her again. “Now let’s get your stance cleaned up. You’re not gonna punch anythin’ worth hittin’ from a crooked angle.”

Kate rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off how warm her skin felt. “Right. Okay. Crooked is bad.”

Stan crouched slightly in front of her, his hands gently touching the outside of her knees, nudging her stance wider. His eyes flicked up to hers. “You’re allowed to breathe while doing this, y’know.”

“I’m breathing,” she lied.

He smirked but didn’t call her out. Instead, he stood and stepped closer again, bringing her gloved hands up gently with his.

Then his hands moved to her arms, lightly guiding her elbows down. “Tuck these in. You’re not flappin’ at a mosquito; you’re protectin’ your ribs.”

Kate let out a breath that was half laugh, half exhale of tension. “Protect the ribs. Got it.”

“Keep ‘em here. Chin tucked. Elbows close. Think of it like building a wall; tight, no gaps.”

She nodded, watching him. He was focused again, fingers adjusting the position of her glove, brushing over her wrist, curling her fingers properly around the padding.

His voice came a little lower when he continued as he moved around her. “Feet just a bit wider. You want to feel solid, like a tree. Not like you’re about to trip over your own shoelace.” He was still close, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his chest at her back again. When he stepped to her side again, his hand lingered for just a second too long near her wrist before falling away.

She did as he instructed, her breath caught slightly in her chest.

“Try again,” he said.

She jabbed the bag.

Thud.

Better.

She threw another, then a cross. The rhythm felt sharper now, more grounded. Like she was actually punching through something, not just at it.

Stan stepped back, arms crossed, watching her.

“That’s more like it.”

She turned to glance at him, brow raised. “Was that an actual compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Kate smirked, cheeks flushed, from the workout, or from the closeness, she wasn’t sure. “You going to teach me the fancy footwork next?”

He gave her a look. “One miracle at a time, sweetheart” not quite being able to keep the fondness out of his eyes.

The moment stretched, not uncomfortable, but charged. Her muscles still hummed where his fingers had rested.

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then, without quite meaning to, she said softly, “You know, you’re a better teacher than I expected.”

His expression softened. “You’re a better student than you think.”

And for a second, they just looked at each other. The bag swayed gently behind her, forgotten.

---

Kate’s breathing had evened into a determined rhythm. Her fists landed steadily against the punching bag now, each thud more confident than the last. The wrap on her hands tightened with the repeated impact, sweat glistening lightly along her brow and collarbone.

Stan stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching.

“Nice,” he said, nodding. “Now you’re startin’ to scare me.”

Kate didn’t glance back. She threw another jab, then a cross. “I should’ve been doing this weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well. We all have our own way of keepin’ it together. Yours just happens to involve a mean right hook.”

Another thud. This one echoed, stronger than the last.

She was in it now; moving to the rhythm he’d taught her. Jab. Cross. Pivot. Breath. His voice had faded to the background and it was just her body now, moving like she was working something loose from inside her chest.

Stan watched her with something more than pride. Something tighter in his throat.

“You’re droppin’ your back foot,” he said gently, stepping in closer. “Just a bit. Keep it planted—you’ll have more control when you pivot.”

“Like this?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

She adjusted mid-motion. And on her next cross, her foot slipped.

The momentum threw her off balance, not dangerously, but just enough to send her stumbling forward.

Before she could react, Stan was already there.

His hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her upright, fast and steady. Her back hit his chest. Her hands, still in gloves, instinctively clutched his forearms. She let out a breath—more surprise than anything—and froze.

So did he.

They stayed like that, suspended in a moment they hadn’t expected.

Stan’s hands didn’t drop immediately. They stayed at her waist, steady and warm.

Kate’s breathing slowed, but her heart thudded louder. She could feel the press of his chest behind her. The slight hitch in his breath. The way his fingers had stilled, not gripping her, just holding.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low near her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispered, not trusting her voice for anything else.

But she didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The bag rocked gently beside them, forgotten.

Kate turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back. Their faces were close. Too close.

“Thanks,” she said.

Stan swallowed. “For catching ya’?” He asked stupidly, pushing down how flustered he felt.

She nodded.

His hands slipped away slowly, brushing along her sides as he stepped back just enough to let her turn around.

And there is t was again, something not spoken, something still tangled in the space between their bodies. Her cheeks were flushed, but not just from the workout.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor.

“You were doin’ good,” he said, quieter now. “Really.”

Kate gave a small smile, still catching her breath.

---

Kate had taken a long sip of water, paced the length of the room twice, and now stood once more in front of the swaying punching bag, rolling her shoulders back.

Stan watched from his place near the wall, one boot hooked casually behind the other, towel draped over his shoulder. His brow was furrowed; not with worry, exactly. Something quieter. Something close to awe.

“Ya’ sure you wanna go again?” he asked.

Kate flexed her gloved fingers and set her feet with more certainty than before. “I didn’t come here to flinch at a setback.”

Stan gave a faint grin. “Didn’t think ya’ did.”

She jabbed again. Then again. And again.

Each hit was tighter. Cleaner. The thud of the bag felt more solid, less like a tap, more like a statement.

She slipped into rhythm; jab, cross, pivot, breathe. Her movements were sharp now, but not angry. Controlled. Intentional. There was no outburst in her swings, no flailing need to release. This was focus. This was power with direction.

Stan tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching. She was locked in, stubborn in the way he always liked about her, even when it frustrated him. He tried steering his mind away from, what were less than chaste thoughts, that flooded his mind. Her body, how she moved, how she looked, everything. The attraction tugged at him more than he was comfortable with but a sense of admiration still prevailed. This was Kate. This was different. You don’t get to think of her like that.

He didn’t call out corrections anymore. She didn’t need them.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Her breathing deepened, sweat dampening her temples, the back of her neck, the line down her spine beneath her shirt. But she didn’t slow. If anything, she hit harder.

Stan shifted on his feet and finally stepped forward, his voice a little louder this time. “Alright, Rocky. Let’s not break the bag.”

Kate hit once more—a deep crack—then pulled back, panting slightly. “You think I’m done?”

He smirked, reaching out to gently still the bag with one gloved hand. “I think you’ve got more grit than most of the guys I ever trained with. And I also think your legs are about two minutes from working against ya’.”

She huffed a laugh, brushing her damp hair back from her face. “I’m fine.”

Stan stepped a bit closer. “You are. That’s why I’m tellin’ you to stop.”

Kate gave him a sideways look, cocking an eyebrow. “Since when do you get to tell me when to quit?” Her tone light yet a but insistent.

He shrugged. “Since I started watchin’ you do everythin’ except take care of yourself for the past weeks.”

That caught her.

The room quieted for a second, the heater humming in the corner again.

Kate looked down, then to the bag, then finally back at him. “This helped,” she said. “More than I thought it would.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I dragged ya’ in here in the first place. But you’re not gonna fix everythin’ in one day, Sugar.”

The nickname slipped out before he could stop it. She didn’t call him out on it.

She just gave him a small, tired smile and nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “Coach. Call it.”

Stan reached out and tapped on one of her gloves. “Let’s get these off you before you decide to spar with a wall or somethin’.”

Kate chuckled, lifting her hands obediently for him to help her out of them. Instead, he just held them, briefly. He crouched slightly to be level with her face, his face sincere mixed with something that was becoming hard to conceal.

“You did good, sweetheart” he said, quietly, taking her face in.

“So did you,” she replied, a bit breathless, thankful that her flushed state camouflaged her blush.

---

The sweat had cooled on Kate’s skin, leaving a pleasant ache in her limbs and a fuzziness in her brain that only came after good exertion. She sat back on the old crate near the corner of the room, flexing her hands slightly inside the gloves, her breathing finally slowing to something close to normal.

Stan knelt in front of her again, already reaching for the hand wraps with practiced ease. His touch was light, careful. Reverent, but not dramatic. Just steady. Familiar.

He peeled back the velcro on the first glove and tugged it off slowly, exposing her damp hand. Then the wrap, unwinding it gently around her wrist and across the back of her palm, loop by loop.

Kate watched his hands, the way his knuckles brushed against hers, the occasional graze of a fingertip. The contact still making her stomach flip, though today he had been pretty ‘hands-on’.

The silence was full, not awkward, just thick with something they were both dancing around.

“You’ve got a good grip,” Stan muttered, inspecting her knuckles like a coach might. “Tense, but not locked. Controlled.”

She gave a breathy laugh. “All that secret anger, carefully channeled.”

He looked up briefly, gave her a crooked smile. “Better in gloves than in drywall.”

“Tell that to the hole in my hallway.”

Stan’s grin widened but didn’t last long. He was focused again, now working on her left hand, slower this time. The wrap slipped free and coiled at his feet. His fingers moved across the inside of her wrist, brushing where her pulse beat steadily beneath the surface.

Kate swallowed.

“You always this gentle?” she asked, voice quieter now.

Stan didn’t look up. “Only when I don’t wanna screw it up.”

That hung in the air between them, more honest than either of them was ready for.

He slipped the last of the wrap off and set it beside the gloves on the floor. Then he sat back on his heels, exhaling slowly.

“Alright,” he said, tone shifting ever so slightly, like the air had gotten too thick and he needed to cut through it. “Ya’ earned a break. Whatcha say we grab a couple sodas and sit out back before the sun’s gone?”

Kate blinked, caught off guard by the shift, but grateful for it.

“That sounds… really good, actually.”

He stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated, then took it. The pull of his grip was solid and warm as he helped her up.

As they walked out of the spare room together, her unwrapped hands swinging slightly at her sides, the tension didn’t vanish.

It just folded into something quieter.

Still wishing and waiting.

---

The back porch creaked beneath their weight as they settled into mismatched lawn chairs, each holding a cold glass bottle pulled from Stan’s old garage fridge. The Mystery Shack’s backyard stretched into a tangle of trees and rusting roadside oddities, but in this light, everything looked soft. Almost peaceful.

Kate took a long drink of her soda and exhaled. “God, I forgot how good this kind of cold tastes after sweating your soul out.”

Stan popped the cap off his bottle with a keychain opener and leaned back, his free arm draped across the back of the chair. “There’s nothin’ like it. That and a peanut butter sandwich after a fight? Heaven.”

Kate looked over at him, amused by his choice of food. “Is that how you got into boxing? Fighting over sandwiches?”

He chuckled. “Not quite. Though I did once clock a guy who tried to steal my bagged lunch in ninth grade. He had it comin’, to be fair.”

She smiled into her bottle. “That sounds about right.”

Stan squinted toward the treeline, his tone turning thoughtful. “Nah. I started messin’ with boxin’ in high school. Needed something to keep me from doing dumb stuff after school. Had a gym run by a guy named Leo who didn’t care that I forged the waiver. All he asked was that I showed up, shut up, and didn’t bleed on the mats.”

Kate grinned. “Sounds like a wholesome mentorship.”

“I mean, it worked,” he said with a shrug. “Taught me discipline. Control. How to aim when you hit somethin’. How not to hit when you don’t have to.”

He glanced at her, something quiet in his expression. “That stuff sticks with you. Even when you think you’ve forgotten it.”

A silence fell between them. For the first time in a while, just comfortable. The air was cooling around them now, shadows stretching longer across the gravel and grass. The soda fizzed softly in their hands.

Kate took a breath, her gaze still out toward the trees. “Thanks, Stan.”

He glanced at her sideways.

She looked at him, earnest. “For today. For all of it. I didn’t realize how much I needed something like this. Just… to move. To feel strong again.”

He looked down at the bottle in his hand, gave a short shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it was.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Anytime. You’re not bad at it, either. Got a decent hook. Real natural rage behind it.”

Kate laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He smirked, but she caught the slight pink coloring his ears.

“And just so you know,” he added, pointing a finger at her playfully, “you’re gonna be so sore tomorrow. Like, stairs-will-be-your-enemy sore.”

Kate groaned. “You mean this pain was the intro?”

“Welcome to the club, champ.”

She shook her head, still smiling, still flushed from exertion and something quieter. The soda in her hand had started to lose its fizz, but neither of them moved to get up.

They just sat there, side by side, watching the sun dip toward the trees.

And for a moment, it felt like the kind of quiet neither of them needed to fill.

---

The last light of day stretched across the gravel, long and low. Kate walked beside Stan toward her car, the air between them still warm from the warm late-spring afternoon. It had been the kind of day that stayed with you; in your bones, in your muscles, in your chest.

Neither of them said much. Like they had unlocked some new state of comfortableness between them, beyond the constant tension the last couple weeks, maybe months.

At her car, she paused, digging her keys out of her hoodie pocket, but didn’t unlock it right away. She looked back at him, her expression relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in days.

“This was… exactly what I needed,” she said again.

Stan tilted his head, trying—and failing—to hide the fond smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah?”

Kate nodded. “Best day I’ve had in a long time.”

His ears flushed a little, like her words had hit someplace he didn’t expect. “Glad I didn’t totally mess up.”

“You didn’t.”

A beat passed. The cicadas had started their slow chorus in the trees beyond the Shack, the distant hint of the weather to come sounded lazily overhead.

She hesitated for a moment longer.

Then stepped in—carefully, but surely—and wrapped her arms around him, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she stood on her toes to hug him. Her fingers linked lightly behind his neck.

Stan tensed, just for a second. Like he hadn’t quite expected it, or maybe like he wasn’t sure what to do with the warmth that suddenly filled the space between them. Feeling her body completely pressed with his.

But he eased into it quickly. His arms came around her slowly, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades, the other resting low at her back. He held her like someone who didn’t do this often, but meant it when he did.

Kate let out a soft, breathy groan against his shoulder. “Oh God, I can already feel my ribs yelling at me.”

Stan gave a low chuckle near her ear. “Told ya. Boxin’s all fun and games ‘til you try to reach for the cereal the next mornin’.”

Kate gave a small laugh, then reached up and gently tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck in mock punishment, “And who do I have to blame?”

“Geez watch it, doll” he warned playfully.

She pulled back, just enough to look at him, but not far. Her arms loosened but didn’t fall right away, they were now on his broad shoulders.

“Seriously, though,” she said, voice quieter now, eyes searching his face. “Today has been amazing. You gave me something I did not know I needed. You gave me space to hit something and not think.”

Stan looked at her, eyes a little softer than he probably meant to let on. “You’re welcome.”

She smiled faintly, squeezed his shoulders once and then finally stepped back, her arms falling away. He let her go just a second later, reluctantly.

“Go easy tomorrow,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re gonna feel like you went through a minor car crash.”

“Good,” Kate said dryly as she opened the car door. “That way I can blame you for everything when I can’t turn my neck.”

He smirked. “I’ll bring ya’ ice packs and a sympathy sandwich.”

Kate paused, smiled again, warm and real, then slid into her car.

“Thanks again, Stan,” she said again, not quite wanting to leave, to not lose the moment, voice softer now, eyes searching his. “Really.”

He gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth still lifted. “Yeah. Anytime.”

As the engine started and the headlights flared on, Stan lifted one hand in a lazy wave.

She waved back, slower, eyes holding on his for a second too long before pulling away.

And he stood in the driveway just a little longer than he needed to, watching the road where her car disappeared, the ghost of her hug still clinging to his shirt like something he wasn’t ready to shake off.

Chapter Text

The moon was high when Kate finally closed the door behind her, locking up for the night. The house was quiet, dark, in comparison to the bright, loud day she had had.

She leaned her forehead against the door for a moment, breathing out slowly.

Today had been... good.

Better than good.

For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter, like something had unknotted inside her. The soreness in her muscles was sharp but earned, a tangible reminder that she was still here, still moving.

And Stan, damn him, had known exactly what she needed.

The memory of his hands steadying her, the way he'd caught her laugh against his chest, the way he'd looked at her, that had stuck to her skin even more stubbornly than the dust and sweat.

But beneath the warmth of it all, the nagging whisper still lingered.

The box.

The secret he'd clumsily buried with that rushed April Fool's excuse. The way he’d pretended, not very convincingly, that nothing strange had happened.

Kate straightened, took a shower and now slowly made her way to the living room. She dropped into the armchair by the window, tugging the blanket around her shoulders and staring into the dark.

She wasn't stupid.

Something about the box hadn't added up. The photo, the newspaper clippings, all of it smelled wrong.

Stan had lied. He had covered something.

And it wasn't the first time Gravity Falls had handed her something strange, only to shrug and say, don't worry about it.

Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying edge of the blanket.

She had every reason to stay cautious. To keep him at a distance where he couldn’t mess with her heart or her trust.

But...

Today hadn’t felt like a con.

Today had felt real.

Stan’s laugh, his steady hands, the way he looked when he thought she wasn’t watching— tired, stubborn, fiercely protective— none of that was fake.

Kate let her head fall back against the chair, eyes closing.

Maybe he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

Maybe he was scared to.

Maybe he thought he was protecting her from something bigger.

Maybe he didn’t trust himself enough to trust her with it.

She opened her eyes again, staring at the faint reflection of herself in the dark window.

Stan wasn’t perfect.

Hell, he was messy, and secretive, and stubborn as a mule.

But he’d been there when it mattered.

And right now, that counted for more than the questions she didn’t have answers to. Kate tugged the blanket tighter around herself, exhaling a slow breath that carried some of the lingering doubt with it.

She would be cautious. She would be careful. But she wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. Not even close.

He had become her friend. Friend, a bitter reminder of what she was warring inside her.

And maybe, maybe, he was telling the truth. A prank gone wrong. He had been so earnest in everything else, maybe that’s all it was.

Tomorrow, she'd see him again.

And she'd choose to keep trusting him.

---

The sound that escaped Kate as she tried to sit up was something between a groan and a muffled curse.

She winced, pressing a palm to her shoulder as she slowly slid her legs off the couch. Muscles she didn’t know she had were stiff, sore. Her neck, her arms, even her back… everything hurt.

"Okay,” she muttered to herself, wincing as she stood. “He definitely wasn’t kidding.”

The doorbell rang just as she hobbled toward the kitchen.

She opened the door to find Stan, coffee cup in one hand, brown paper bag in the other.

“Well look who’s alive,” he greeted with a lopsided grin. “I half expected to find ya’ in traction.”

“I am in traction,” she said, moving stiffly aside to let him in. “I’m just vertical out of spite.”

Stan chuckled and handed her the bag. “Brought caffeine and cinnamon rolls. Figured it was a peace offerin’… since your body hates me now.”

Kate took the coffee with a grateful groan. “My body hates me for listening to you.”

“Means you did it right,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “Soreness is like a sad, sweaty badge of honor.”

She leaned on the counter and let her head tip back with a dramatic sigh. “Everything hurts. I think even my eyelashes are sore.”

He smirked and popped open the pastry bag, pulling out one of the rolls and biting into it.

They sat down at the small table, the morning light pouring in across the floor. Kate sipped her coffee slowly, both hands cupped around the mug, wincing with every movement.

Stan watched her for a second longer than he meant to. Then, with a small cough, he cleared his throat.

“So…,” he said, more casual than he felt, “I could… y’know. Help. If ya’ want.”

Kate glanced up, eyebrow raised, half amusement, half humor. “Help how?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish now. “I mean—I've picked up a few tricks over the years. You’re all tight through the shoulders, right?”

She blinked, her eyebrows knitting in disbelief, suppressing how her stomach had flipped at the thought. “You’re offering to give me a massage?”

“I’m not offering a spa day,” he said quickly, “just… practical. Functional. For recovery.”

Kate tilted her head, half-smirking. “Stan Pines. The masseur.”

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “I’m just sayin’. Ya’ look like you lost a fight with a vending machine.”

There was a pause. Kate set down her coffee.

“You actually… know how, properly?”

“I boxed for years,” he said, a little more seriously. “Ya’ think I didn’t learn how to keep my arms from lockin’ up afterward?”

She looked at him for a long beat. She felt warmth creep up her spine. Then nodded once.

“Alright,” she said, straightening and suppressing a groan. “But if you pull a vertebrae, you’re buying me dinner.”

He rolled his eyes and followed her into the living room, chuckling under his breath. “If I pull a vertebrae, I’ll be dinner. Given your skill yesterday.”

She sat on the edge of the couch and peeled her hoodie off with some effort, revealing a plain tank top.

Stan behind her slowly, not too close. Hands hovering in the air like he was asking permission.

“You okay if I—?”

“Go ahead,” she said, a little quieter now.

When his hands touched her shoulders, she tried not to flinch, not from pain, but from how warm his palms felt against her skin.

He started slow, thumbs working through the knots along her shoulder blades. The first press made her hiss through her teeth, but then melt with a low exhale.

“Damn,” she muttered. “That’s… not bad.” She sighed into the statement.

“I told ya’,” he said softly, voice close to her ear now. “I’ve had practice.”

The room fell quiet again, the only sound the occasional hum of the heater and the soft rhythm of his hands across her skin; steady, grounding, just a whisper of tender.

And neither of them quite knew how to talk over it.

---

Stan’s thumbs moved slowly, working deep into the muscles between Kate’s shoulder blades, where tension seemed to live like an old friend. His touch was firm but measured, and for a man who often carried himself like a walking grumble, he was surprisingly gentle with her.

Kate sat more firmly on the couch, head bowed slightly, breath slowing, her lashes brushing her cheeks each time her eyes fluttered closed.

Neither of them had spoken in a minute or two.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because everything they weren’t saying was already thick in the space between them.

His hand drifted to the curve of her neck, fingers tracing the tendons with a kind of absentminded reverence. She tilted her head slightly in response, not pulling away. If anything, leaning in.

Stan swallowed hard. His voice, when it came, was low. Careful. “Ya’ always carry your stress right here.”

Kate gave a small, breathy laugh. “You noticed?”

“Hard not to,” he murmured. “It’s like you hold everythin’ in your shoulders. Like if you let go, something might fall apart.”

She didn’t answer right away. But her voice, when it came, was quieter. “Yeah. Well. Maybe I’m just used to holding things that don’t belong to me.”

That stilled his hands for just a second.

Kate felt it— the pause— and wondered if she’d said too much. Her breath caught, just for a moment. And her fingers, resting in her lap, curled slightly.

He resumed, slower now, more thoughtful in his movements. The room felt warmer than it had minutes ago. Or maybe just closer.

Stan's fingers grazed the base of her neck again. His voice came out softer, almost too soft.

“I, uh… I’m glad ya’ enjoyed yourself yesterday.”

Kate turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him over her shoulder. His hands paused again, hovering.

“I’m glad too,” she said. And then, almost on instinct, added, “You’re the only one who’s made me feel like myself lately.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, something, but the words stuck.

For a second, it hung there.

Whatever it was.

Whatever it almost was.

But then Stan blinked, and his hands slipped away gently from her shoulders. He cleared his throat, too loudly. “Alright. That should keep ya’ from walkin’ like a question mark.”

Kate turned forward again, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You trying to say I’m a posture disaster?”

He smirked, grateful for the shift. “Just sayin’ you’ll owe me when ya’ wake up tomorrow not swearin’ at your cereal box.”

She scoffed humorously, reaching for her hoodie, slipping it back over her shoulders. But her hands lingered briefly at the collar, fingers brushing the skin his hands had touched.

---

Post coffee, they headed down the basement, still a dusty monument of bad decisions and worse flooring.

Kate stood back, surveying the cracked basement floor with a critical eye. It was rough, uneven in places, but it was a start. A blank canvas.

Stan leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed, watching her with that familiar mix of amusement and something softer she didn’t dare name.

“Well, doll,” he said, tipping his head, “it ain’t exactly the Ritz, but at least ya won't trip and break your neck down here anymore.”

Kate smiled. “Progress.”

Stan grinned. “If we keep this up, you’ll have a house fit for royalty by... oh, 2037.”

She laughed, a real laugh, the last of her lingering tension easing out of her shoulders.

The boxing session from yesterday flooded her mind now that he was here with her again—how easily he’d made her laugh, how careful he’d been, how he’d grinned at her like she was something brilliant.

It made it easier to forgive the things he wasn’t telling her. The box still hovered at the edges of her thoughts, now that she was in the basement. She couldn’t shake it. She doubted she ever really would.

But watching him now, joking, working beside her without complaint, she made a decision:

She would let it go. For now.

Because people weren’t perfect, and sometimes trust wasn’t something you handed over—it was something you chose, over and over, until it was real.

Kate grabbed a broom, tossing it lightly toward Stan. He caught it with a raised eyebrow.

“Put those muscles to use, Mr. Mystery.”

Stan gave an exaggerated groan but started sweeping anyway, muttering about “union violations” and “unpaid overtime” under his breath.

They worked in comfortable tandem, patching the worst of the cracks with sealant and planning out the next steps: primer, maybe a new floor if the budget allowed.

Every now and then, Kate caught Stan glancing at her—quick, almost sheepish looks, as if checking to see if the ground was still steady between them.

She let him see her smile. Small. Genuine.

It seemed to relax him, the tension slipping from his shoulders.

“Y’know,” Stan said as he smoothed a line of sealant along the wall, “when I first saw this place, I figured you were outta your mind.”

Kate huffed. “Thanks.”

He chuckled. “No, I mean it. You got guts, doll. You saw somethin’ worth saving when most folks woulda turned tail.”

Kate paused, wiping dust from her palms. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”

Stan straightened, tossing the empty sealant cartridge into the trash pile. “Takes a little stubborn to build a life. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Their eyes met—steady, unguarded.

Kate felt something shift again. A thread of understanding pulling taut between them.

“Like with the shack?” she asked before she could stop herself, tone lighthearted.

Stan quirked a brow.

“Building something. Staying in one place.” She added.

The question hung there, heavier than the dust in the air.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face. The Mystery Shack had come to existence out of necessity. For Ford. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave Gravity Falls until he had exhausted everything to get him back.

“Eh, had to make my connin’ skills into somethin’ half commendable” he shrugged clearly trying to seem nonchalant.

Kate didn’t press.

Instead, she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “You’re doing a decent job of it now.”

Stan barked a surprised laugh. He had kept a low enough profile ever since Kate was in his life, but his scamming and stealing and other treachery happened on the daily. He just kept that to himself. “Yeah, with a shack held together by duct tape and lies.”

“Hey, duct tape’s reliable,” she teased.

“So’s a good lie, sometimes,” he muttered, almost too low for her to hear.

Kate froze for a half second, feeling the weight of those words.

But then she smiled, bumping his arm again. “Guess I’m lucky you’re good at both.”

Stan blinked, as if unsure whether it was forgiveness or something softer, she was offering him.

Maybe it was both.

They finished sealing the floor by late afternoon, exhaustion pulling at Kate’s limbs but leaving her oddly content. As they climbed the stairs together, she didn’t look back at the corner where the tin box had once been.

She didn’t have to.

She was choosing to trust him, to believe him.

---

Mid-April crept into Gravity Falls in slow, the weather steadying into warmth and bright lights.

Kate and Stan fell back into an easy rhythm without even realizing it. Something that had seemed off the last couple months.

Weekend mornings he’d show up at her door with a roll of blueprints under one arm and coffee in the other, begrudgingly mumbling something about “finishing what they started” with the basement. She’d roll her eyes, but the smile always tugged at her lips anyway. Casual conversations about everything and nothing: school, the shack, terrible TV shows, weird Gravity Falls townsfolk, the best brand of duct tape for “emergency situations.”

The casual touches, a hand brushing her elbow when passing tools, a nudge to her shoulder when he made a joke, stopped feeling accidental.

And between all of it, there was boxing.

Twice a week, Stan would clear a room at the Shack, tap the heavy bag, and say, “Alright, champ. Let’s see what you got.”

Kate improved quickly. Her jabs were sharper, her balance steadier. She still cursed under her breath when she missed, still laughed when Stan demonstrated a combo with exaggerated, clumsy slaps.

Sometimes, after a session, they’d sit outside on the steps of the Shack with two sweating soda bottles, bruises blooming under the wraps on her knuckles and a flush across both their faces from the workout.

The first thing they tackled after finishing the flooring in the basement, was the walls.

Kate balanced precariously on a step stool, roller dripping with thick white primer, while Stan manned the lower half, humming off-key to some ancient rock song rattling from an old portable radio.

"You sure you know what you’re doing?" Kate called down, squinting at the uneven patches of drywall.

Stan looked up, a big, cocky grin on his face. "Sweetheart, I once painted an entire car with a broom. This? This is art."

Kate laughed so hard she almost dropped the roller.

By the end of the first day, they were both splattered in white flecks, looking like they'd lost a snowball fight. Stan, naturally, blamed "poor managerial oversight."

"Ya gotta keep a tighter ship, doll," he said, smirking as he plopped down onto an old milk crate.

Kate tossed a rag at him. "You're fired."

"Can't fire me. I'm practically workin' pro bono," he shot back.

---

They continued the following weekend, the basement smelled like fresh paint and faint mildew, a weirdly satisfying combination of new and old. Kate had cracked open one of the ground-level windows to let the air circulate, though it didn’t do much to stop the light haze that clung to the ceiling.

She stood on an old sheet, one paint roller in hand, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a stripe of gray smeared across her cheek without her realizing. Rolling on a second layer of paint.

Across from her, Stan was fiddling with the rusted fuse box near the utility wall, cursing softly under his breath.

“So… which breaker do I not touch if I want to keep my eyebrows?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“None of ‘em,” he muttered, tapping something with the butt of a screwdriver. “This thing’s a death trap. Pretty sure it predates the moon landin’.”

Kate smirked and returned to her roller. “Great. So if the house burns down, I can sue myself?”

“Only if you wanna argue with yourself in court. Which, honestly, I’d pay to see.”

She chuckled under her breath, rolling a fresh coat of paint over the last unpainted section of wall. “I’ll call it Arthur v. Arthur: The Electrical Reckoning.”

Stan pulled a panel loose and squinted inside. “Sounds like a hit daytime drama.”

The banter settled into comfortable quiet, the room filled with the steady sound of the roller brushing over cinderblock and the occasional click of Stan’s tools. Outside, the sky was starting to dim, throwing a soft blue light down the narrow basement steps.

Kate stepped back from the wall and exhaled, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead with her wrist.

Stan looked over from the fuse box and frowned slightly. “You’ve got paint on your face.”

She blinked. “Where?”

He set the screwdriver down and walked over, pulling a rag from his back pocket. “Hold still.”

She did.

He reached up and gently wiped at her cheek, the cloth brushing warm against her skin. His other hand hovered near her chin to steady her, but didn’t quite touch.

Her breath hitched.

Stan didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t say anything.

“There,” he said, voice low. “Now ya’ look only slightly like a Victorian ghost hauntin’ her own renovation.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Was that your version of a compliment?”

“Hey, I said slightly.”

She grinned, but didn’t move. He was still standing close, not too close, but just enough that the air between them shifted. Slowed.

Stan seemed to realize it at the same moment and stepped back, clearing his throat.

“So,” he said, returning to the fuse box, “you feel like installin’ real lighting down here or just paintin’ by flashlight forever?”

Kate turned back to her roller, hiding her smile. “Depends. Do I get to keep you as a flashlight holder?”

“Only if you keep feeding me cinnamon rolls.”

“Deal.”

They kept working, the hum of old circuits and soft swipes of paint filling the room. After an hour or so the second layer of paint was done. Kate stood near the far outlet, twisting a bulb into one of the newly installed overhead fixtures. “Alright,” she called over her shoulder, “moment of truth.”

Up near the breaker box, Stan flipped the final switch.

Click.

For a beat, nothing.

Then—a flicker, a flick— a warm glow filled the room from above. The new fixtures buzzed softly, then steadied into quiet life.

Kate blinked up at them, stunned. “That… actually worked?”

Stan raised both hands like a showman. “Behold: the miracle of modern, 1970s-adjacent wiring.”

Kate laughed and leaned her back against one of the walls that had already dried, admiring their work. “You’re going to make someone’s grandmother very proud.”

Stan grinned. “Hey, don’t knock it. This place has officially entered the late 20th century.”

The space looked like a completely different room now. The pale gray walls bounced back the warm light, and the once-cluttered corners were finally cleared. The old warped shelves had been taken down, replaced with two sturdy ones Stan had built himself. Plastic tubs labeled in Kate’s handwriting were stacked neatly, no longer threatening to avalanche at the slightest tremor.

Kate walked over to the workbench in the corner; the one they’d salvaged, sanded, and repainted. She ran her hand across the smooth wood.

“This actually looks… good,” she said, surprised. “Functional. Organized. Not haunted.”

Stan smirked. “Don’t jinx it, doll. Gravity Falls might take that as a challenge.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder. “We’ve earned a few normal weeks, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, setting the last of the toolbox contents back in place. “Let’s not push our luck.”

They worked in silence for a few more minutes, Kate sweeping up the last of the debris, Stan labeling the fuse box with a sharpie and a squint, until the space was finally done.

Not perfect.

But theirs.

Kate leaned on the broom and looked around with a soft smile. “Kind of hard to believe this is the same basement we started with.”

Stan stepped beside her, arms crossed, surveying the space like it was a finished puzzle. “You’ve got a real place down here now. Not just a creepy pit for spiders and regrets.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “You’re such a poet.”

He chuckled. “I try.”

They stood there for a while longer in the soft light, the air cooled and quiet around them, the tools tucked away, the boxes labeled, and the job, for once, feeling complete.

Kate glanced sideways at him. “Thanks, Stan. For sticking through this whole mess with me.”

He looked at her, expression warm. “Wouldn’t have been the same without gettin’ to burn all of the crap that was in here first”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

And he was too.

---

At some point in the boxing lessons, Stan had fully joined in into the action.

"Not bad for an amateur," he said, as he watched her warm up as he taped his hands.

Kate smirked, tossing him a pair of worn gloves. "Speak for yourself, Mr. Mystery. Some of us are professionals now."

Stan chuckled, slipping the gloves on. "Oh yeah? Let’s see whatcha got”

She took a second to remind herself to concentrate on the boxing, not him. Not the way the shirt clung to him. His shoulders, his back, his arms, the soft of his stomach. Shaking her head, Kate grinned, slipping into her stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet like he’d shown her. She wasn’t perfect—still a little stiff in the shoulders, still forgot to guard sometimes—but she was getting better.

She could feel it.

Stan held up the mitts, bracing himself. "Alright, doll. Gimme a quick one-two."

Kate jabbed twice—quick, sharp punches that made a satisfying thwack against the mitts.

Stan grinned wide. "Look at’cha! Natural born brawler."

"Don't sound so surprised," Kate teased, already resetting her stance.

They moved through a short routine: jab, cross, hook. Stan’s instructions were steady, peppered with jokes and exaggerated flinches whenever she landed a particularly good hit.

"Ya’ sure you ain’t hidin' a criminal record?" he asked after a strong uppercut. "You got the swing of a street fighter."

Kate laughed, pulling off the gloves for a breather. "Fifth graders toughen you up. You learn quick when dodgeball turns into a blood sport."

Stan barked a laugh, the sound bouncing off the basement walls.

They slumped onto the old couch they'd dragged down weeks ago, both a little breathless from exertion and laughter.

For a moment, Kate just sat there, listening to the hum of the new fluorescent lights overhead, the faint creak of the heavy bag swinging lazily.

It felt easy. Safe.

Stan leaned back, arms stretched over the back of the couch, casual but not invasive. His knuckles were bruised from holding the mitts wrong—again—and there was a streak of dust across his jaw he hadn't noticed.

Kate turned her head slightly to look at him, and for a second, she thought he was going to say something. Instead, he gave her a lopsided grin and said, "Y’know, if you keep this up, you’re gonna start scarin’ the locals."

Kate bumped her knee lightly against his. "Good. About time Gravity Falls had a new town menace."

Stan laughed, tipping his head back against the couch with a contented sigh.

They sat there a while longer.

No rush.

No pressure.

---

By the weekend after that, May was soon to roll over. The air in the spare room was thick with late spring heat and effort, the windows cracked open but doing little to chase out the heavy heat of late afternoon.

Kate was flushed, sweating, brow furrowed in fierce concentration as she faced down the battered heavy bag. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, glancing toward Stan, who stood off to the side; arms crossed, towel slung over his shoulder, watching her like a hawk.

“Alright,” he called. “Combo we practiced. Jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Keep your core tight. Watch your footing.”

Kate blew out a shaky breath and nodded, setting herself.

This wasn’t a simple one-two. It was a flow, a rhythm of body and breath, fast and precise.

She struck.

Jab: quick and clean.

Cross: sharper, heavier.

Hook : her body turning with the motion, pivoting off her back foot.

And then the hardest part, the uppercut, driving her fist upward into the bottom of the bag.

CRACK.

The bag rocked violently, swinging high enough that the chains above let out a rattling groan.

Kate froze, breathing hard, blinking.

She’d done it.

She’d finally done it.

Stan’s face lit up with pure, stunned pride. "That was it!" he barked, grinning wide. "Holy—! Doll, that was perfect!"

Without thinking, riding a wave of triumph, exhaustion, Kate turned and ran straight to him.

Stan barely had time to react before she collided into him, arms throwing themselves around his shoulders, laughing breathlessly.

He stumbled back a half-step from the force of her momentum but caught her easily, hands gripping her waist, steadying her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her forehead pressed lightly against his collarbone, her body trembling slightly from exertion and adrenaline.

Stan tightened his arms around her instinctively, holding her close.

He could feel her heartbeat hammering against him.

His wasn’t much steadier.

“You nailed it, sweetheart," he said low, his voice rough in a way it rarely was. "You really did.”

She looked up at him then; her face flushed, her eyes bright, and the space between them shrank to nothing.

For a second, the world outside the room disappeared.

Stan’s hands slid from her waist to her back, the press of his palms steady.

Kate’s hands, free of gloves now, curled lightly around the back of his neck, fingers threading through the hair there without thinking.

Their breaths tangled between them.

Stan’s eyes dropped to her mouth.

Hers to his.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

It would take nothing, a tilt of the head, a slip forward, and they’d close the distance completely.

Stan leaned in a fraction, his thumb brushing the small of her back.

Kate tipped her chin up, meeting him halfway without thinking.

The moment crackled: hot, breathless.

But at the last possible second, Stan pulled in a rough breath and pressed his forehead lightly against hers instead.

Not a kiss.

But close enough to taste the possibility of it.

Kate closed her eyes, letting herself linger there, neither pulling away nor pushing forward.

They stayed like that; bodies pressed together, breaths mingling, until the ache of not acting became too loud.

Slowly, Stan stepped back, hands sliding reluctantly from her back to her arms, squeezing once before letting go.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, voice too soft, too raw.

Kate gave a quiet, shaking laugh, blinking up at him.

“So are you,” she said, just as soft.

Stan cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck like he could brush the moment off his skin.

“C’mon,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “Let’s grab some water before we pass out.”

Kate nodded, still feeling the heat of him against her even after he stepped away.

She bent down to grab her towel, keeping her face turned away just long enough to steady herself.

Neither of them said another word about it.

But neither could quite stop feeling it either.

---

The living room was dark except for the dim flicker of the muted television, cycling through an old sitcom she wasn’t really watching.

Kate sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked up, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her legs. The bottled-up energy from earlier; the workout, the victory, the way she had thrown herself into Stan’s arms, had long since bled out into something more raw.

More aching.

She pressed the side of her head against the couch cushion and stared blankly at the screen.

She could still feel him.

The warmth of his hands at her waist. The hitch in his breath when she looked up at him.
The way they hovered there, suspended, like the slightest movement would’ve tipped them into something they couldn’t undo.

Her fingers curled lightly against the fabric of the blanket.

And yet... she reminded herself firmly, Adam said Stan told him there was nothing there.

Nothing.

That he wasn’t interested. That he didn’t see her that way.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut.

Maybe Stan was just caught in the moment. Caught up in the heat, the adrenaline. Maybe he had just gotten carried away.

Or maybe... maybe he had been about to kiss her. Maybe he had started feeling something towards her.

And maybe it terrified her even more how badly she wanted him to.

She pressed the heel of her hand lightly against her forehead and breathed out, long and shaky.

She couldn’t afford to read too much into it. She couldn’t risk making a fool of herself again, getting burned again.

So she shoved it all down, the memory of his hands, his eyes, the way the air between them had gone molten—and tucked it away with everything else she wasn't ready to face.

Back at the shack, Stan sat outside on the couch on the porch, cigarette slowly burning in his hand. He leaned back, one arm slung over the backrest, the other hand running over his face. He sighed deeply.

Kate.

Her laugh, her breath against his chest when she crashed into him. The way she looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like she was about to pull him in.

And the way he almost—almost—let it happen.

Stan blew out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck.

He couldn’t do it.

Not now.

She had just gotten out of something with Adam— because of him it seemed, whether she admitted it or not. She needed a friend. Someone steady. Not some washed-up idiot who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself when she smiled at him like that.

And besides... maybe she didn't even want him like that. Maybe she was just grateful. Overwhelmed.

He couldn’t risk screwing up what they had. Couldn’t risk losing her just because he didn’t know how to keep his heart from showing on his damn face.

Stan leaned forward, folding his arms on his knees and resting his forehead in his hands for a long moment.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend he didn’t want more.

But for now—for her— he would.

He had to.

Chapter Text

The school year was barreling toward its end, and with it came the chaos Kate knew all too well. Testing weeks, performances, parent-teacher meetings, and paperwork that never seemed to end. Her evenings were spent hunched over lesson plans and last-minute grading; her weekends swallowed by rehearsals for the Spring Dance Festival. The boxing lessons fell quietly off her calendar—not out of want, but out of sheer lack of time.

She hadn't said anything to Stan about not coming back for now. It wasn’t like there had been a schedule. Just… a rhythm. One that had begun to feel dangerous.

That nearly-kiss still haunted her thoughts more than she wanted to admit. The ghost of his breath close to hers. The warmth of his hands guiding her stance. The way she swayed toward him before they both pulled back. She needed space. Time. Clarity.

The quiet distance had helped—somewhat. But it hadn't erased anything.

Stan still stopped by, though. They had shifted their focus to the roof now. Spring rain had started creeping in through a rotted corner of the shingles, and neither of them trusted it to hold through May.

They worked in mostly comfortable silence. Stan on a ladder, hammer in hand, while Kate handed him tools from the porch and occasionally climbed up to help with the heavier sections. Her body still remembered the boxing stances, the way she used to throw her weight into each punch—but she hadn’t needed that kind of outlet lately. There just hadn’t been room in her schedule for that kind of release.

“So, school stuff’s been nuts, huh?” Stan asked as he tugged at a stubborn nail, breaking the quiet.

Kate looked up from the tarp she was folding. “Yeah. End-of-year chaos. Dance festival, testing, portfolio reviews. Feels like everything’s trying to happen at once.”

He nodded, glancing down at her. “You’ve been MIA. Figured it was somethin’ like that.”

There was no bitterness in his voice. Just a soft understanding.

She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to stop the boxing. Just… had to shift gears.”

“Hey,” Stan said, setting the hammer down. “No sweat. I get it. Life happens.”

There was a pause. The spring breeze tousled Kate’s hair, and she squinted up at him in the sunlight, shielding her eyes.

The unspoken was still there. The tension. That quiet thread of something neither of them wanted to tug on just yet. The reminder of close they had been to crossing the line.

“I’m glad you’re still helping with the house,” she said after a moment, looking away. “Even with everything.”

Stan gave her a small smile. “Well, I didn’t come all-a this way to leave a leaky roof behind.”

They both laughed, and just like that, the heaviness passed.

The shingles clattered into the bin below as they got back to work.

---

The sun was hot given the time of the year, warmth filtered through the ground in the wide patch of schoolyard where Kate stood in the grass. A portable speaker crackled from a nearby chair, its soft static giving way to the opening notes of a gentle folk tune.

“Alright, from the top!” she called, clapping her hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Remember, this is the last part of the final dance, so it should feel like a celebration. Light, loose. You’re not soldiers, you’re sunbeams. Got it?”

A few of the kids giggled at her metaphor, but they nodded all the same.

Kate stepped back, hands on her hips, as the students began to move in rhythm. The sequence they’d been working on for weeks now came to life across the grass; a swirl of small arms, hops, twirls, and the occasional stumble. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And they were getting better.

She walked among them, gently adjusting a foot here, guiding a spin there.

“As soon as we hit that final pose,” she continued, raising her voice just a little over the music, “hold it until the music fades. Then the audience claps, you bow, and you all beam like you just won a gold medal, okay? Your parents are going to love it.”

“The town Spring Festival is all about community. So everyone will be there; your parents, your grandparents, probably some people from the diner. You’ll get funnel cake after. Deal?”

A resounding cheer came from the group. Some of the kids started improvising flourishes into their steps, laughing. Kate shook her head fondly. “Rein it in, showoffs.”

Across the street, a familiar rumble echoed from a passing car.

Stan’s old sedan rolled slowly by, the window down. He wasn’t in his usual flannel—just a plain black tee and sunglasses perched on his face. When he saw her, standing in the sun with a crowd of dancing kids, his foot eased off the gas. He pulled into the lot across the way and parked.

He didn’t get out.

He leaned on the wheel and watched.

There was something about seeing her in her element like this—confident, encouraging, alive—that punched the wind out of him in a way that no sparring session ever had.

Kate clapped at the end of the run, nodding as the music faded. “Much better! Alright, five-minute water break, then we run it twice more before the school day ends.”

The kids scattered toward their backpacks and water bottles. Kate turned slightly, brushing a hand through her hair, only then noticing the familiar car parked nearby.

Her brow lifted, but Stan didn’t wave.

He just gave her a small nod, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he shifted gears and rolled slowly away.

Kate watched the car disappear back toward the winding streets of town, lips parting in thought. She didn’t realize she’d been smiling back until one of her students tugged her sleeve.

“Ms. Arthur, can we do the bow again?”

She blinked and looked down. “Of course. Let’s make it count.”

As she turned back to the music, a warmth lingered in her chest she didn’t quite know how to place.

---

The rhythmic tap-tap of a hammer echoed into the sky as Kate adjusted the sun-bleached brim of her ball cap and squinted down the slope of her roof. A light breeze lifted strands of hair from her ponytail as she crouched by the bundle of replacement shingles, sweat beginning to collect at the back of her neck.

“Gotta say,” Stan called from the other side of the roof, “you’re gettin’ suspiciously good at this. If the whole school gig ever falls through, I might just hire ya’ full-time if the Shack falls apart.”

Kate scoffed without looking up. “Only if you offer dental.”

He chuckled, adjusting the tool belt around his waist before shuffling toward her side. “Fair. But you’d have to put up with my endless charm.”

Kate rolled her eyes with a faint smile. “I already do.”

Stan glanced down at the patch they’d just finished reinforcing. He gave it a gentle stomp, testing the stability, then nodded approvingly. “Not bad. This’ll hold through ‘nother Gravity Falls monsoon.”

“High praise from the master roofer,” Kate said sarcastically, wiping her brow. “Next you’ll tell me I should enter one of those home reno shows.”

Stan tapped his hammer against his thigh. “Eh, you’d need more drama. Or a tragic backstory.”

She smirked. “I teach public school. I am the tragic backstory.”

He barked a laugh, but then his tone softened just slightly. “I saw your rehearsal the other day. The kids dancin’. You looked… like you belonged there.”

Kate looked up, momentarily caught off guard. “Yeah? Saw you creeping from your car.”

“Hey, creepin’ is a strong word. I was loiterin’ respectfully,” Stan said, raising his hands. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

She gave him a look, but the corner of her mouth tugged up. “What’d you think?”

“I think it was cute,” he admitted. “Little chaotic. Lotta flailing arms. But—” he glanced at her with a quieter smile “—they looked happy. You looked happy.”

The compliment caught her off guard in the heat of the sun, and she busied herself adjusting the tape measure at her hip. “Well, apparently the festival’s a big deal. Whole town shows up. Some of the parents really go all out. Even the mayor's promised to be there.”

Stan nodded, knowing how big the festival was from years prior. “So, ya’ performin’ too? Maybe jugglin’? Fire breathin’?”

Kate shot him a look. “You wish.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for hopin’.”

After a beat, she tilted her head. “You planning to go?”

Stan scratched the back of his neck, eyes sweeping the horizon briefly. “I dunno. June’s comin’ in fast, I gotta prepare the Shack.”

Kate didn’t push, but her voice was warm. “You should come. I won’t be busy the entire time” she shrugged. “Besides, we’ve had fun in town events before, you’re not one to pass free food” she quirked an eyebrow.

A beat passed. He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Guess I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long,” she said, nailing in another shingle. “I need someone to judge the town’s annual ‘Best Dressed Goat’ competition. Apparently, that’s a thing.”

Stan barked another laugh. “Okay, now you’re talkin’.”

Their eyes met in the quiet that followed, the air hanging somewhere between warmth and uncertainty. Then a distant crack of thunder reminded them both of the roof beneath their feet.

“Alright,” Kate said, straightening up. “We finish this row, and I’ve got some homemade lemonade waiting in the fridge.”

They now sat at wooden patio table. An old oscillating fan hummed lazily from the back doorway, barely stirring the heavy spring air. Two mismatched lawn chairs creaked as Stan leaned back in one, sipping from a tall glass of lemonade that dripped condensation onto his lap.

Kate plopped down beside him, flushed from the afternoon’s roof work, her own glass half empty already. She lifted it toward him in a half-hearted toast.

“To roofs that don’t leak,” she said.

“And to lemonade that isn’t powdered garbage,” Stan replied, clinking his glass lightly against hers.

They both drank. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—just companionable.

“So,” Kate said after a while, stretching her legs across the chair beside her, “what’s the game plan for the Mystery Shack this summer? I assume it involves more than just scaring tourists with plastic bats?”

Stan smirked, tipping his head back. “Summer’s the big time. Peak tourist season. Gotta keep the show fresh. I’ve been thinkin’ about cookin’ up some new creatures for the woods—y’know, like a glow-in-the-dark possum or a two-headed mole. Maybe a cursed swing set that whispers your darkest secrets.”

Kate laughed into her glass. “Please, let the cursed swing set happen.”

“Only if I can borrow your voice to record it.”

“I’ll charge you per dramatic gasp.”

He chuckled, then shifted slightly, his tone softening as he stared out at the sky turning golden. “Honestly, I’ve been meanin’ to overhaul some of the displays, clean out the attic. There’s a bunch of old junk and blueprints. Might be something good in there.”

Kate took a slow sip. “That sounds like a summer project and a half.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, squinting a little. “Kind of dreadin’ it, honestly. But hey, gimmicks don’t invent themselves.”

She turned slightly toward him, thoughtful. “You know, I could probably help. The school tosses out a bunch of weird odds and ends at the end of the year. Broken props, busted electronics, art supplies, paper mache skeletons. I could start setting stuff aside for you.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You’re offering me trash?”

She grinned. “I’m offering you free trash. There’s a difference.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “Alright. I’ll admit, free trash is my favorite kind of trash.”

They shared a quiet smile, the ease between them resting gently in the open space of the backyard.

“Seriously,” Kate added, her voice soft, “let me help. I think we made the winter creatures work just fine.”

Stan looked at her for a beat longer than he meant to, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah… okay. Thanks, doll. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

They clinked their glasses again, the light catching just right between them.

From the distance came the sound of kids riding bikes and a dog barking somewhere down the street, a sleepy small-town rhythm settling around them.

---

The whole town had bloomed with color.

Streamers in shades of spring pink, yellow, and lime green fluttered from telephone poles, and hand-painted signs welcomed families, friends, and tourists into the festival square. Booths lined the sidewalks, each overflowing with homemade jam jars, mystery meat on sticks, glittery face paint stations, and local crafts shaped like questionable forest creatures. Music drifted through the air from a small stage where a folk duo tuned their instruments under a string of pastel paper lanterns.

The sky glowed golden-orange, the sun stretching toward the treetops as if reluctant to set. Kate stood near the edge of the town hall lawn, clipboard in hand, her eyes scanning for missing sneakers and errant students. She was wearing a soft green, loose romper paired with a denim jacket—half spring, half professional wrangler of children—and her hair was tied up in a loose bun that already threatened to unravel with the rush of the day.

“Lily! Henry! You need to be in line, not at the churro stand!” she called, waving an arm toward the group of kids huddled behind the small festival stage. “And no more powdered sugar on your costumes, please, we talked about this!”

Behind her, a cluster of fifth-graders in handmade flower crowns and paper-butterfly wings buzzed with pre-performance energy, giggling and poking at each other. A tall fifth-grader, dressed as the Spring Spirit, looked moments away from a dramatic monologue—or a panic attack.

Kate crouched next to him. “Breathe, Milo. It’s just like rehearsal, remember? You're a spirit of spring, not a deer in headlights.”

Milo nodded stiffly; eyes wide. “Right. Flowers. Warmth. Rebirth. No throwing up.”

“Exactly,” she said with a calming smile, standing up just as a loud cheer went up from the other side of the square.

The festival was fully in swing. People milled about in woven hats adorned with feathers and felted fox ears. Someone in a full-on cryptid costume was posing for photos. The smell of grilled corn, candied apples, and maple popcorn swirled in the breeze, mixed with bursts of laughter and the hum of conversation.

Kate shaded her eyes and looked around for her cue. The small band was wrapping up, and a festival volunteer gave her a thumbs up from the stage wing. Showtime was in five minutes.

“Alright everyone!” she clapped her hands, her voice rising above the chatter, “Butterflies to stage left! Garden sprites with Ms. Luna, you’re in the wings. Milo—you’re with me.”

The students scrambled into place, excited and chaotic, but unmistakably ready.

Kate felt her heart pound—not out of nerves, but out of pride. They’d practiced hard for this, some of them for weeks. She’d made half the props herself; hot glue burns and all. And now the whole town would get to see it. She pressed a hand lightly to her chest, willing herself to stay focused.

Behind the stage, the narrow path buzzed with hushed voices, rustling wings, and the last-minute chaos that came with coordinating a dozen overexcited schoolchildren in elaborate spring-themed costumes.

Kate moved swiftly between them, adjusting wings, smoothing skirts, reminding Milo (again) not to touch his face paint. The pastel-gold light of the setting sun filtered through hanging fabric streamers, casting soft glows over the rehearsal area. The kids were seconds away from lining up.

“Olivia, hold your basket with both hands. Jules, no gum, please—seriously, spit it out. We do not dance with gum.”

She crouched to fix a safety pin on a fairy’s belt, and as she stood, her eyes reflexively scanned the festival grounds beyond the stage.

The crowd had thickened, music floating from a nearby booth. Laughter erupted from the pie-eating contest. Families wandered with drinks in hand, toddlers on shoulders.

And then she saw him.

Stan stood just past the lemonade vendor, half-lit by the soft glow of paper lanterns strung overhead. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, his stance was relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily holding a drink.

Next to him was a woman.

She was laughing, leaning in a bit too close, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke. Stan didn’t move away, didn’t exactly flirt back either—but he was smiling, amused. Comfortable.

Kate froze for a second too long.

A loud squeal snapped her out of it—two kids had tangled themselves in a streamer. She rushed to help, but her stomach twisted, her pulse uneven.

Why does it bother me? she thought, jaw tight as she re-pinned a flower crown. It shouldn’t. He’s free to talk to whoever he wants.

And yet, she felt it anyway. A pang. That heat behind her ribs she didn’t want to name.

She wiped her palms on the bottom half of her romper, forcing her attention back to the students. They needed her right now.

“Alright everyone,” she said, voice a touch tighter than before, “final check. When we’re up there, remember—eyes up, big smiles, and if you forget your step, just keep moving. Got it?”

A chorus of excited “yes, Ms. Arthur!” followed, and she nodded, holding her clipboard to her chest a little tighter than she needed to.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught one last glimpse of the woman still standing beside Stan.

Kate swallowed hard.

It’s just a dance festival. A few more minutes. Focus.

She took a deep breath and turned toward the stage, guiding the first group into position, even as the flicker of something unspoken smoldered quietly in the back of her mind.

---

The applause was still echoing in Kate’s ears as she stepped off the stage. Her face was flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer adrenaline of making it through the show. The kids had nailed it. Their twirls, their lines, even the final formation—close enough to perfect. A few stumbles here and there, but the crowd hadn’t seemed to notice. The cheers had been warm, loud, genuine.

She exhaled deeply as she watched parents gather their kids in swirls of hugs and chatter. Glitter trailed off costumes, and little wings bounced with pride. It was a beautiful mess.

“You made my Daisy look like a real butterfly!”

“Can’t wait for the next one!”

Kate thanked them all, smiling as she patted a few heads and waved at families moving toward the food stalls. The sun was low now, casting long golden rays between the booths, catching on the streamers that still floated lazily in the air.

She was gathering the last of the props into a crate when she felt a presence near her—familiar in a way that sent a ripple through her chest.

“Hey.” Stan’s voice was casual, but something in it made her turn quicker than she meant to.

He was standing just a few feet away, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. His eyes, took a half-second too long to meet hers, and when they did, they held something unspoken. Something tight. Admiring.

“You clean up nice,” he said—then immediately backtracked, stumbling. “I mean—ya’ always do. But you looked… uh, they looked good. The kids. I mean. The show.”

Kate tilted her head, lips twitching. “That might’ve been the worst save I’ve ever witnessed.”

Stan groaned, scrubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I didn’t come here for public speaking points.”

She smiled then, softened. “Thank you. For the compliment. And for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” he said honestly. “They were great, doll. Really. You could tell they’ve been workin’ hard. You’ve been workin’ hard.”

She nodded, eyes drifting to where the stage still glowed from the warm lantern light. “It was worth it. They really pulled through.” A pause, then softer, “I wasn’t sure I could get them there.”

Stan looked at her more closely then, the kind of look that didn’t just skim the surface. “Ya’ did it, doll. Above and beyond.”

Kate smiled softly, before she could respond, another kid ran past them, shrieking with laughter, a glowing stick sword waving overhead.

Kate laughed lightly, the moment diffusing just enough to keep them both breathing.

“So,” she said, lifting a brow, teasing, “you come here often?”

Stan chuckled, grateful for the shift. “Only when the butterflies do interpretive dance.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “It was technically a celebration of seasonal change and natural cycles.”

“Right. Interpretive butterflies.”

They shared a quiet laugh, standing side by side as the night hummed around them—music swelling, lights flickering above, the chaos of the festival swirling just beyond their little bubble of calm.

---

The festival had bloomed into a new sense chaos and color as the sun had almost set completely. Paper lanterns swung in the evening breeze, strung between trees and vendor booths. The smells of caramel corn, barbecue, and cotton candy fought for attention while laughter and music spilled from every corner of the town square.

Kate and Stan had migrated toward the edges of the crowd, past the stage where the kids had performed. She was sipping from a plastic cup of lemonade, her sneakers dusted from the gravel path, cheeks still slightly flushed from the whirlwind of the earlier performance.

They stood beside a booth selling handmade candles, out of the main bustle but still within earshot of the music. The town’s makeshift dance floor had filled with people—teenagers bouncing around, older couples swaying together, kids darting between them like minnows.

Stan nudged her elbow lightly. “So... ya’ gonna dance?”

Kate turned, caught mid-sip. She nearly choked. “What?”

“Dance. With me.” His tone was casual, but the glint in his eye made her stomach dip in a way that was anything but.

She blinked, stammered. “I—no. I don’t dance.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said firmly. “I’m terrible. It’s just… never been my thing.”

He raised a brow, tilting his head. “C’mon. Ya’ wrangle a dozen kids into synchronized butterfly formation and you’re afraid of two steps and a sway?”

“That was choreography,” she said, laughing. “And I practiced it for weeks.”

“I’ve got you.” He held out a hand. “I even know how to ballroom dance. Believe it or not.”

Kate looked at his hand like it was a live wire. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve wanted to impress the girls.” He grinned, “thought I’d ‘make a good impression someday.’” He shrugged. “Haven’t used it much down the line.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re making that up.”

“Cross my heart.” He traced an ‘x’ over his chest. “I’ve got basic steps and decent rhythm. You’ll be fine.”

Kate hesitated, the music shifting into something with a gentle lilt, mid-tempo and inviting. Couples were twirling now, laughing as the breeze tugged on skirts and jackets.

Stan waited, hand still out. Not pushing—just, there.

With a theatrical sigh, Kate finally took it. “Fine. But if I step on your foot, that’s on you.”

“Deal.”

They wove toward the crowd, his hand steady on hers, the warmth of it grounding. But just as they reached the edge of the dance floor, the song faded and transitioned into a slower, softer one—strings and piano floating over the crowd like something from a movie.

Kate stopped in her tracks. “Oh no. Nope.”

Stan felt the tug and turned to her, already amused. “What?”

“This is not what I signed up for.”

He stepped closer, offering a cheeky smile. “Ya’ said you couldn’t dance. You didn’t say ya’ couldn’t slow dance.”

She laughed, nervous. “That’s worse. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Lucky for you,” he said, gently sliding one hand to her waist, “I do.”

Kate froze—just for a breath—then let her hand settle on his shoulder as he guided her other hand into his.

Their bodies adjusted, and the tension settled in their bones like static. Close—but not too close. His hand rested warm and steady on her lower back. Her fingers twitched once against his shoulder, then stayed.

They moved in slow circles, swaying with the music, surrounded by a blur of couples. Kate tried not to think about how easily he held her, or how her heart was definitely not keeping to the beat.

It was tentative at first. She was stiff, out of rhythm, like her body couldn’t quite trust what it was doing. Stan's hand settled at her back—warm, steady—while his other guided hers with surprising care.

“Relax sweetheart, it’s not a performance,” he said quietly, “just movement. Follow me.”

So, she did.

As the music carried them, her steps grew smoother, their pace settling into something effortless. She relaxed. Just enough to look up at him.

“See, you’ve got this,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

“You’re a good liar,” she murmured back, lips curving.

His hand tightened slightly at her back, and she noticed.

They swayed—close, too close now to ignore the way their bodies fit together. The music moved them, but it was barely needed. They were moving on something else entirely.

Kate sucked in a breath. There it was again. That quiet thing between them. The thing that had hummed in the background since the day in the boxing room; when she ran into his arms in celebration, and felt like they were about to kiss. Her breath had hitched. So had his. They hadn’t talk about it. They just… let it pass. They pretended.

It seemed like they inevitably found themselves in the same proximity.

Stan swallowed thickly. It was happening again. That damn feeling, rising in his chest like pressure under glass. He remembered the way she’d looked up at him that afternoon—her mouth slightly open, eyes wide. He could’ve closed the distance. He didn’t. He wasn’t supposed to. She had just broken up with Adam. She’d needed space.

But now… Now she was looking at him like she wasn’t sure if she wanted space anymore.

To break the silence, Stan cleared his throat. “So... ya’ said you could help with summer supplies?”

She blinked, grateful for the lifeline of normal conversation. “Yeah. The art supply closet at school always gets cleared out at the end of the year. Paper, glitter, fabric, weirdly shaped foam—it’s a goldmine.”

“Perfect for fake monsters and taxidermy gags,” Stan said, nodding thoughtfully.

“You going for terrifying or hilarious this year?”

“A mix. Got a few things in mind.”

She smiled, her fingers absently brushing against the lapel of his jacket as they turned. The music stretched on.

Silence returned—not awkward, just heavy. Like they both knew how easily this could tip.

Kate finally looked up at him, her voice softer. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, gaze warm, “it is.”

They swayed a little longer, unspeaking. Each pulse of the song filled with words left unsaid, things too fragile to voice.

The slow song lingered, soft and stretched like honey, the last notes pulling them further into the quiet space between their bodies. Stan's hand had barely shifted—his thumb now lightly brushing against her waist through the fabric. Kate’s hand had migrated, fingers curling slightly at the back of his neck, dangerously close to his hairline.

Their eyes met.

The air between them seemed to still.

No more movement, just the rhythm of their breaths syncing, the outside world dulling to a hum around them. Kate’s heart thundered, her gaze dropping to his mouth for a split second before snapping back up. Stan tilted his head slightly, as if testing the air, the smallest lean inward, as if he were to speak into her ear.

His face was so close she could feel his breath—warm and steady, just barely brushing her cheek.

The crowd faded; the music dimmed.

Her fingers curled against his shoulder.

He leaned in another fraction, eyes dropping just once to her lips. Her eyes watched his mouth as hers fell slightly open—

And then the music stopped.

Applause burst around them like a bucket of cold water. Kate blinked. They both pulled back, hands parting too fast, the spell shattering like glass on pavement. A nervous breath caught in Kate’s throat. Stan stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck and looking like he had something to say.

Then:

“Kate?” a voice called.

She turned—just barely.

Adam.

Stan stepped back further, face unreadable.

Her ex stood at the edge of the crowd, hands in the pockets of a slightly wrinkled button-up, a polite smile on his face. “Didn’t want to leave without saying hi.”

Kate blinked, caught between adrenaline and confusion. “Oh—hi, yeah. Hi, Adam.”

Stan gave Adam a brief glance and a flat smile, the kind that never reached his eyes. His hand fell casually into his jacket pocket, but his posture had already changed—less open, more guarded.

Adam glanced between them, clearly noting the tension. “The kids did great up there,” he said to Kate, then added with mild surprise, “Didn’t know you danced.”

“She doesn’t,” Stan muttered, mostly to himself.

Kate smiled thinly. “Tonight’s full of surprises.”

"That was great," he nodded toward the now-dispersing stage area. "The kids looked like they were having the time of their lives. You really pulled it off."

"Thanks." She folded her arms over her chest. “Took a lot of rehearsal. And corralling. And snacks.”

Adam chuckled softly. “You always were good at juggling chaos.”

A beat passed—familiar, but not quite comfortable.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, a little more gently.

Kate shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Busy. School’s been nonstop. I haven’t had a lot of time to… think about anything else.”

Adam nodded, his eyes scanning her face. “That’s probably for the best.”

Another pause. Though awkward, out of courtesy, they spoke for a couple more minutes. Eventually the conversation was naturally fading to an end.

“I should—” she gestured vaguely, eyes already drifting toward the crowd.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, taking the hint with a small smile, his eyes began scanning for Dylan. “It was good to see you, Kate.”

“You too.”

Adam melted back into the crowd, and just like that, the hollow ache returned.

Kate glanced around, scanning the flood of townsfolk—the music had picked up again, the energy bright and chaotic. She caught a glimpse of other parents and town people she had slowly mingling with throughout the months.

Yet, no Stan.

She checked the edges of the festival square, near the game booths. Not there. She circled back toward the dance floor, half-expecting to see him lingering, maybe waiting—but nothing.

He was gone.

Her chest pinched slightly, breath catching as she turned one more time through the crowd, standing up on her toes in search.

Still nothing.

Kate swallowed, smoothed her hands on her romper, and turned toward the parking lot with a forced breath and a quiet, practiced smile.

---

The next morning Kate nudged the Shack’s kitchen door open with her elbow, cradling a bag full of construction paper, glitter glue, and a tangle of pipe cleaners against her chest. A rather big box balancing on her other arm. She let herself in without knocking, she always did, ever since the first creature project.

“Stan?” she called casually, balancing the bag against the doorframe as it swung shut behind her. “I got the—”

She stopped. Her words stalled mid-sentence.

There was a woman in the kitchen. Mid-thirties, maybe, well-dressed but sleep-rumpled, standing at the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. The one from the festival. She turned slightly, clearly surprised, but not startled; she smiled, friendly and unaware.

“Oh! Hi. You must be the friend that was coming over,” she said cheerily.

Kate blinked. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Stan mentioned you.”

Before Kate could decide what part of that to unpack, footsteps echoed from the hallway—heavy, familiar.

Stan appeared in the kitchen entryway, pulling on a shirt, clearly mid-motion, his hair damp and tousled in a way that didn’t come from a shower. His expression dropped when he saw Kate standing there. He stopped halfway into the room, arms tensing slightly as he took in the bag on her shoulder, the box, the look on her face, and the woman beside her mug.

“Doll,” he said, caught.

Kate didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The situation was loud enough without her. She watched him. He looked sleep-heavy. Not the usual tired, the other kind of tired.

The woman placed her mug down and stepped toward him, completely at ease. “Thanks for breakfast,” she murmured, fingers brushing his arm.

Stan barely moved.

Kate’s throat tightened, but she held her expression flat, carefully neutral, willing herself not to show the sting twisting somewhere beneath her ribs.

Then the woman leaned up and gave him a kiss—slow, lingering, clearly not their first. Stan didn’t stop her, but his eyes flicked to Kate during it, full of something unreadable.

“See you later,” the woman said, grabbing her bag and heading toward the door, waving politely at Kate on the way out. “Nice meeting you!”

Kate gave her a small nod and a tight smile. “You too.” Something in her stomach sank like a stone.

The door shut.

A beat.

Kate adjusted the bag of craft supplies, balancing the box, to not look at Stan.

“She seems… fun,” she said, her tone light but far too even.

Stan opened his mouth. “Doll—”

She cut him off with a laugh, too quick. “Hey, no judgment. You're a grown man. You can have… late-night company.” She flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hope you had fun last night.”

Stan stared at her, jaw twitching, clearly trying to find the right words.

Kate shifted her box onto the counter with a soft thud. “Anyway, I brought the monster guts. Should be enough glitter to traumatize a generation.”

Stan still didn’t speak.

Kate finally looked at him; just a glance, quick and unreadable. “Come on, don’t look at me like that. You can have guests. I’m not your mother.” She raised her eyebrows, playful, deflecting.

Stan flinched slightly, just a twitch around his jaw.

She dropped the bag on the counter as well with a bit more force than necessary, the contents rattling inside, pretending to look through them.

“Anyway,” she said briskly, “I brought a whole ecosystem’s worth of googly eyes and pipe cleaners. Enough glitter to induce a full-blown crisis.”

Still, he did not speak, he just stood there, wanting the earth to swallow him whole.

“You look like a dear in headlights, Mr. Mystery” she teased as she pushed herself to sound nonchalant.

“Let’s go and rummage through this” she added and began picking everything up and headed towards the living room.

He didn’t follow at first.

She paused just past the doorway and finally looked back at him; expression pleasant but clearly awkward.

“Coming?” she asked, tone casual, as if her heart wasn’t quietly breaking under the weight of her own indifference.

Stan gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Stan stood for a moment, staring at the space where she'd been, then exhaled and followed.

Chapter Text

Earlier the previous afternoon at the festival grounds

Stan had only meant to swing by the popcorn stand. One churro, maybe a hot dog, and then hang back to catch Kate’s students without making it too obvious he was only there for her. He wasn't dressed to stand out—worn jeans, jacket open, sunglasses perched on his nose.

He was just scanning the game booths when he heard it. A voice behind him. Sweet, smoky, and unmistakably amused.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the ‘Pine Tree of The West’.”

Stan froze.

Then groaned, without turning around. “Only one person calls me that.”

He turned.

There she was.

“Spice.”

Spice—real name still unknown to most who knew her—stood before him in a pair of sleek red sunglasses, her dark curls pinned loosely back and a ridiculous feathered festival hat on her head like a trophy. The smirk on her lips was exactly the same as it had been years ago.

“Hot-shot,” she purred. “Still vertical, still grumpy. That’s comforting.”

Stan chuckled despite himself, crossing his arms. “Didn’t think Gravity Falls was your kinda crowd. Too wholesome. Not enough wallets to lift.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” She stepped closer, casually plucking a loose thread from his sleeve. “These small-town events are a goldmine. Sentimentality makes people careless. Especially rich ones.”

Stan tilted his head. “You’re not seriously workin’ this place.”

“Oh, I’m not working.” She grinned. “I’m stealing.”

He blinked.

Spice gestured with her chin toward one of the larger booths across the lawn—the lavishly decorated one with elegant calligraphy signs and overpriced jars of artisan honey and locally-sourced face cream.

“The Northwest family booth,” she said. “Apparently all profits go to some obscure preservation fund.” She leaned in. “I’m preserving my vacation budget.”

Stan laughed. “Ya’ gonna rob the Northwest’s family? Bold.”

“Bold’s my thing.” Her sunglasses slid down her nose slightly as she peeked over them. “You in?”

Stan snorted. “Ya’ really think I came here to work a grift?”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You live for this stuff. You’re probably bored out of your mind pretending to be some ‘angel’. Thought maybe you were here to sell keychains and stare longingly at the schoolteacher.”

His brows rose. “You been watchin’ me?”

“A little,” she said, unbothered. “Old habits. Plus, it was easy. You were the only one loitering near the arts and crafts booth who looked like he might actually be casing the lemonade stand.”

Stan shook his head, trying not to grin. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “C’mon. One last dance? You distract the booth lady with your whole ‘charming man’ thing, I sneak behind the tent and relieve them of their lockbox.”

“Temptin’,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I was actually trynna to play it straight this weekend. Besides, Northwest’s, been there, done that, doesn’t go well.”

She raised a brow. “You? Playing it straight? Not taking a chance?”

He shrugged. “Things are different.”

Her smile faltered for half a second before returning, wider this time. “Sure. Alright. Keep your halo. But if you change your mind... I’ll be behind the face-painting booth at sunset.”

She leaned in close, brushing a quick, familiar kiss to his cheek. “Just like old times.”

And with that, she walked off into the crowd, hips swaying, leaving the smell of citrus perfume and unfinished trouble behind her.

Stan watched her go, sunglasses slipping lower on his nose, a quiet sigh passing his lips.

“Why do the ghosts from my past always wear lip gloss?” he muttered.

And then, shaking his head, he turned toward the stage.

Kate’s students were lining up.

---

Stan leaned against one of the booths, arms folded, chewing the edge of a toothpick and pretending like Spice’s idea hadn’t gotten to him. But his eyes kept drifting toward the far edge of the festival, past the crowds and lanterns to the corner near the face-painting booth.

Spice was leaning against a wooden support beam, sunglasses perched atop her head now, revealing sharp, mischievous eyes. She was toying with a lollipop like it was a prop in a magic act, flipping it between her fingers.

He watched her a moment longer.

Then sighed.

Then moved.

She spotted him coming and didn’t smile—not right away. She just tilted her head, taking him in like she already knew what his answer was.

“I knew you’d show up,” she said.

“You always say that.”

“I’m always right.”

Stan reached into his jacket and pulled out a small notebook. “Alright, Hot-shot. I’m in. But we’re doin’ this smart.”

Spice grinned wide, tucking the lollipop behind her ear like a hairpin. “There he is.”

They stepped off to the side, away from the heavier foot traffic and festival-goers, ducking behind one of the supply sheds lined with crates of extra string lights and sound equipment. It felt like old times; secret corners, scribbled notes, and the rustle of a shared plan.

“Booth has two staffers,” she began, “and a big locked case under the front table. One of the Northwest cousins brought the take from their tent sales in earlier; no less than six hundred in change, and a few bills thicker than that.”

Stan nodded. “Ya’ got the timin’?”

“They swap out staff around 9:45. Thirty-second window when both will be distracted.” Spice leaned in, her voice dropping to a purr. “So, what’s your play?”

“You distract,” Stan said, nodding toward the booth. “You’ve got the smile, the flirty thing, the... lollipop. I’ll come around the back dressed like one of the event volunteers. There’s boxes with extra vests around here. I’ll swap the box for one of the empty donation props while you keep ‘em lookin’ the other way.”

“And then?”

“We meet behind the gazebo, cut through the side woods, then take my car.”

They both grinned.

Spice leaned against him slightly, playful. “You missed this.”

“I missed havin’ knees that didn’t creak when I crouch,” he muttered.

“How do you wanna split it?” she asked casually, popping the lollipop into her mouth.

“60-40,” he replied without blinking.

“Please,” she scoffed, pulling it out with a dramatic flourish. “You’re barely doing half the work. It was my idea.”

He chuckled. “Fine. 50-50.”

Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the lanterns glowing brighter as the sun dipped. Somewhere nearby, a kid screamed with laughter, a dog barked, and the local band tuned their guitars for the night set.

“9:45,” he said. “Be sharp.”

“I always am,” she said, tossing the lollipop stick into a trash bin as she walked backward into the crowd. “Don’t be late, Hot-shot.”

Stan lingered in the shadows a moment longer. He then went to look for Kate.

---

The festival still pulsed with life behind him; music echoing over laughter, lanterns glowing like stars caught in string. But Stan was already weaving away from it all, head down,  collar pulled up, the warmth of Kate’s hand still ghosting against his own.

He hadn't said anything, just walked away as soon as goddamn Adam showed up, he had to make his way over to Spice anyway.

Spice was already waiting by the far edge of the square, leaning against the supply shed with her arms crossed, her expression cocky, expectant. She tossed him a volunteer’s windbreaker without a word.

“Right on time,” she said.

“Let’s just get it done.”

Spice grinned, turning on her heel. A weird gut feeling in his stomach, guilt, from disappearing on Kate.

They moved like clockwork. Two ghosts in a crowd. Spice sauntered toward the Northwest booth in a sundress now, clutching a gift bag in one hand, putting on her best festival-face. Stan peeled off into the shadows, pulling on the jacket, slipping behind the tent like it was 1988 all over again.

A giggle. A distracted vendor.

He ducked low, switching the real cash lockbox with the fake prop donation box in one swift motion. His fingers remembered every move, even after all these years.

Thirty seconds.

He was gone before the volunteer even turned back around.

They met behind the gazebo.

No words. Just adrenaline and the shared beat of their pulse pounding through mischief-thick silence. Spice gave him a sharp grin as she hoisted the stolen box under her arm.

They walked fast, half a block to where Stan’s car was parked behind a grove of trees. By the time the festival’s fireworks went off, they were already peeling out of town, headlights cutting through the dark road toward the Shack.

---

The front door creaked open and slammed shut with the familiar thump. The main room was dark except for a dim light in the corner; one of the old desk lamps near the gift shop register.

They dumped the lockbox onto the dining table.

Pop. Clink. The lid swung open.

Cash—mostly small bills and rolls of change—spilled out.

“Ha!” Spice let out a low whistle, thumbing through the stacks. “These folks are generous. Guess honey soap sells better than I thought.”

Stan chuckled, though the humor didn’t quite reach his chest. “Small-town charities got its perks.”

They counted in near-silence, the occasional joke passed between them, hands moving fast and familiar. Years of experience between them; in cons, in tension, in whatever it was they used to be.

After they split the final stack and each took their cut, Spice leaned back in her chair and grinned. “So, Pines. You going to just kick me out now that the job’s done?”

Stan raised a brow. “I should. You nearly blew the swap with that lollipop.”

“Flair sells it,” she said with a wink. “You’ve gotten rusty.”

He stood to put the money away, but she caught his wrist before he moved.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s have a drink. For old times.”

Stan paused, then sighed. “Fine. One.”

She was already up, digging around in the back cabinet like she owned the place. She pulled out an old bottle of whiskey. She poured two short glasses, slid one across the table, and raised hers.

“To the cons that still work,” she said.

He tapped his against hers. “And to not getting’ caught.”

They drank.

And for a few minutes, it felt easy. Familiar. Like slipping into an old jacket that still kind of fit.

Spice leaned her elbow on the table, swirling the last of her whiskey. “You ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“Us. What we were.”

Stan exhaled through his nose. “We were trouble.”

“We were fun.”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned closer. “You never did tell me why you quit all this. Settled down in a weird little town like this. You hiding from something… or someone?”

Stan looked down into his glass, then away toward the front door.

Ford. That was an entire mess. Then, not for the first time that night, his mind went to Kate. The slow dance. Her eyes when she looked up at him. The almost-kiss that still made his stomach turn.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say… the timing’s never been great.”

Spice gave a quiet smile, not pushing. “Fair enough.”

They drank in silence for a while after that, two ghosts of old lives, lit by lamplight and things better left unsaid.

---

The second drink became a third. Then a fourth.

They had long since stopped talking about the heist. The cash sat in its divided stacks on the kitchen table, forgotten under the low glow of the lamp. The whiskey was smoother than either of them remembered. Or maybe they’d just stopped tasting it.

Spice sat languidly, legs tucked up, glass dangling from one hand. Her laugh had grown softer, her edges less sharp.

Stan sat opposite her, one boot off, one sock half-slid down his ankle, glass resting against his stomach.

“Remember that job in Reno?” she slurred, eyes sparkling with memory.

“The one with the poker chips and the fake bishop?” he asked, laughing hoarsely. “Yeah. You almost got us arrested with that fake cryin’ bit.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Barely.”

She leaned forward, her glass clinking on the table. “You used to trust me more.”

Stan glanced at her, half-lidded, voice rough. “That was before ya’ took off with all the winnings our second time in Vegas.”

“You got them back.”

“Still,” he muttered.

There was a long pause. The kind that stretches out when neither person really wants to say what they’re thinking.

Spice leaned in, her elbow on the table, chin resting in her hand as she studied him.

"You really did change, huh?” she said, voice rough with liquor and history. “A shack in the woods? Local folklore? Helping schoolteachers?”

Stan didn’t answer. He just reached for the bottle, refilled her glass, then his own.

She clinked her drink against his. “To simpler times.”

He didn’t toast back.

But he drank.

She watched him. That part of her never changed—she was always watching, reading. She could spot a crack before it split open. And tonight, Stan was full of them.

“You miss it,” she said, her voice softer now. “The rush. The mess. You miss not feeling things so damn deeply.”

He looked at her then, tired, his defenses frayed.

“I miss not thinkin’ so damn much,” he muttered.

Spice moved closer. Slowly. Testing.

And he let her.

One kiss, warm and slow. One breath. Then another. And suddenly, they weren’t talking anymore. She was all over him, in his drunken haze he picked her up and headed to his room.

They didn’t undress each other quickly. There was no urgency. No hunger. Just muscle memory. Familiar motions. An old rhythm between two people who had once known each other better than they should have; and didn’t want to remember why that had ended.

She kissed his jaw, his shoulder. He closed his eyes and let the weight of someone else carry his for a little while.

When it was over, they lay tangled in silence, still catching their breath. The lamp cast a soft glow across the room, barely illuminating the mess they’d made.

Spice turned onto her side, propped up on one elbow, grinning faintly as she looked down at him.

“Well,” she said, brushing his hair back in a teasing gesture, “you still know what you’re doing.”

Stan let out a breath—something between a huff and a laugh—and covered his eyes with one hand.

He didn’t answer. Hi head pounded.

She rolled over and pulled the blanket higher, already drifting.

But Stan stayed awake a little longer, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the praise ringing hollow. Eventually the buzz made him drift into sleep.

---

The sun was already crawling in through the slats of the blinds, sharp and unwelcome. Stan blinked at the ceiling, the pounding in his head dragging in behind his thoughts.

His arm was warm—too warm.

A breath, slow and even, tickled his shoulder. Then a hand draped lazily across his chest.

Right.

He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Spice.

She was curled beside him, blanket kicked half off, one leg tangled over his. Her hair smelled like faint perfume and cheap whiskey. Her fingers absently traced something on his chest—a rhythm that once might’ve meant something.

Now it just made his stomach twist.

He closed his eyes again, trying to make it feel less real. Less recent.

It didn’t help.

You’re an idiot, he thought. A selfish, tired, idiot.

Spice stirred beside him, letting out a long breath before rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow.

“Still brooding?” she murmured, voice scratchy with sleep and amusement.

Stan didn’t answer.

She reached out and tapped his nose. “You’re cute when you hate yourself. Tragic, but cute.”

He sighed, rubbing the heel of his palm over his brow. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, please,” she groaned, stretching her arms overhead. “It was fun. You used to remember how to have fun.”

“I used to know when to stop, too.”

Spice slid out from under the blanket with zero shame, padding barefoot across the room in one of his shirts—left unbuttoned at the top like she’d done it on purpose.

Then she turned to him, a sly grin curving her lips.

“You always get this tense after a good time, or is this just a me thing?”

Stan rubbed his jaw, avoiding her eyes. “You know damn well it’s not about that.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, stepping closer, still playful. “We drank, we laughed, we did what we always do. No need to make it heavier than it is. Unless you’re catching feelings, Pines.”

He scoffed, not because it was funny—but because it wasn’t.

She tilted her head, sensing the shift in him. “You going to tell me what this is really about? Or should I guess it rhymes with 'Miss Slate'?”

His jaw tightened.

She yawned dramatically. “Well, I’m making coffee. Unless you’ve gone full ascetic on me since I last saw you.”

He sat up, running both hands over his face as the bedsprings groaned beneath him.

She paused at the bedroom door, glancing back with a grin. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Stan muttered something unintelligible and reached for the closest shirt.

He could hear her footsteps in the hall, the cupboard opening, the creak of the Shack’s ancient coffeepot settling in.

He stared down at the wrinkled blanket, the indentation she’d left behind. His stomach still churned. His mouth was dry. His hands were tight.

He’d thought—no, hoped—that last night would feel like a blip. A forgettable mistake wrapped in nostalgia.

But now that the sun was up, it just felt like proof.

Proof he hadn’t changed. That no matter how much he told himself otherwise, he still ran from the real stuff. From the people who mattered. From the truth.

And Kate…

His gut dropped like a stone. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Kate.

He didn’t even want to imagine what she’d think. Not after last night. Not after the look in her eyes when they danced—like she was finally letting herself trust something. She doesn’t need to know. She probably didn’t even see me with her. Just a drunken mistake to keep to himself.

He eventually got up, lazily heading to the kitchen, his head buzzing, he was pulling on his shirt he hadn’t noticed that Spice was talking with someone in the kitchen.

Stan’s heart leapt into his throat as he walked in then dropped right to his stomach.

Kate.

---

Now

He came to from his inner monologue, still feeling like he had to explain himself, justify. What exactly? He didn’t know, but the feeling that sat at the pit of his stomach was awful, guilt, regret, even though him and Kate were not together in any shape way or form.

He lingered in the kitchen longer than he needed to, watching the back door from where Spice had disappeared minutes before. Her mug still sat on the counter, half-full, lipstick smudged faintly on the rim.

Now he stood there, dumb, shoes scuffing the floor, shoulders stiff.

He wanted to say something.

He should say something.

But what was he supposed to do? Justify why he slept with someone hours after nearly kissing her? After the tension between them lately? That he was drunk and didn’t quite know why he let it happen?

His stomach twisted. He hated this part. The fallout. The silence after a selfish decision.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then finally moved, walking slowly down the hallway into the living room.

Kate had the tote spilled open on the floor; rolls of felt, feathers, plastic eyeballs, even a bag of dried moss from the school nature corner. She was kneeling, sorting things into piles, her back to him.

She looked composed.

That made it worse.

Stan stopped a few feet behind her and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Say something.

Say something, you damn coward.

But nothing came. Because anything he said would unravel it all. If he tried to explain last night, he’d have to explain why he’d done it; and he didn’t have a good answer. Not one that didn’t make him look smaller. Lonelier. More afraid of her than he’d ever let on.

He couldn’t tell her about the heist either—not unless he wanted to drag her into a lie. Not unless he wanted to become someone she couldn’t trust.

So he stood there, useless.

It was nothing, he told himself. I’m not dating Kate. You didn’t make promises. You didn’t cross any lines.

But it felt like a betrayal anyway.

Because he knew—deep down—that what was growing between them had been real. Maybe. Maybe she didn’t see him that way, and she truly was unbothered. But something inside him told him it was otherwise.

And he’d gone and sabotaged it. Because that’s what he did.

Because that’s what he’d always done.

Kate turned halfway, not quite meeting his eyes, and held up a strip of blue fur. “This look cryptid enough?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh—yeah. Looks good.”

She nodded once and turned back to the pile.

Stan moved to sit beside her on the rug, knees popping slightly as he lowered himself down.

The air between them felt heavy. Brittle.

He hated that, too.

And all he could do was pretend he didn’t notice.

Pretend this glitter-covered project was just another morning, and not the wreckage of something he didn’t even know how to name.

“Didn’t realize we were gonna be buildin’ an army,” he offered lightly, trying for something resembling his usual tone.

“They never tend to keep much once the year is ending” she replied without looking at him, particularly interested with the supplies. “I figured we could use the excess.”

He nodded slowly, though she couldn’t see it. “Smart.”

Kate picked up a pair of scissors and started trimming fake moss. “We’ll need to start with the base frames. I was thinking cardboard and chicken wire again.”

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Whatever works.”

His hands stayed on his knees, still.

It wasn’t like we were anything, he told himself again, voice sharp in his own head. Just. Friends.

But that didn’t matter, and he knew it.

Because she wasn’t mad.

She was disappointed.

And that sat worse in his chest than any outburst would have.

He looked at her—really looked. At the line in her jaw, just a little too tight. At the way she avoided even glancing his way. At the way her hands moved quickly, as if busyness could fill the space where something else used to live.

Stan wanted to say something—anything. A joke. A non-apology. Something that could blur the edges and shift them back to the place where things weren’t so fragile.

But every word tasted wrong in his mouth.

You don’t owe her anything, the worse part of him muttered.

But another part, the part that remembered how her eyes had softened when he adjusted her boxing stance, how she’d looked at him during that slow dance like he was safe, that part knew better.

Kate finally set the scissors down and glanced at him for a brief moment, just long enough to notice that he hadn’t moved.

“You okay?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re just… quiet.” Her voice wasn’t harsh, just observational.

Stan cleared his throat. “Didn’t sleep much.”

A lie. A half-truth.

She chuckled “No need to brag, big guy” she teased.

He forced a chuckle as he went to scratch his stubble.

Silence stretched again, the kind that came not from comfort, but from two people pretending they didn’t feel what they felt.

And Stan sat there in it, surrounded by glitter, fur, and fake monster parts, wishing—not for the first time—that he’d made a different choice the night before.

---

Kate had tried to brush past it, she really did. Joking, suggesting things, she was keeping it together until she felt like she could head back home. Coax him into some normality.

They were both adults for Godsakes.

Eventually, though still a bit forced, they were back to their light banter.

“I mean,” Kate said as she held up a wad of pipe cleaners and a handful of fur, “if we glue these together and throw on a googly eye, technically it qualifies as a creature, right?”

Stan, already halfway through jabbing pipe cleaner arms into a sponge, grinned. “Absolutely. And if it looks terrible, we just call it 'experimental.' The kids’ll eat it up.”

She chuckled. “The more it looks like it’s held together with despair and duct tape, the more authentic it feels.”

“Hey, that’s basically how the Shack runs.”

They laughed; just a little too loud, too sharp.

Kate handed him a hot glue gun, “okay, you’re in charge of limbs. I’ll do the eyes. Let’s make this sucker horrifying.”

Stan grabbed the glue gun, brandishing it like a power tool. “Finally. My true callin’.”

They worked fast, the sound of scissors and the crinkle of felt filled the space between words. When they talked, both trying to find any topic of conversation that veered from the moment in the kitchen.

“Name for this guy?” Kate asked, pointing to a green blob of foam with a tuft of tinsel hair.

“Trash Golem.”

“Already taken.”

“Swamp Cousin?”

“Too regional.”

“Sir Glitterscream.”

Kate laughed. “There it is.”

Stan beamed, too much, forced. “Told ya I was back in the game.”

They didn’t look at each other much. Just the supplies. The pieces. The process. Every second spent gluing, snipping, and joking was one more second of not addressing what sat just beneath the surface.

Kate twisted a pipe cleaner into a spiral. “This one’s definitely cursed.”

“Like in a fun way, or in a ‘whispers to you in your sleep’ kinda way?”

“Why not both?”

Stan snorted and dropped another leg onto the pile. “We should sell these in the gift shop. Throw in a tag that says ‘may bite.’”

“They do belong more so in the gift shop that in the exhibition” she mused.

They kept on working, like they were trying to fill a hole with glitter and banter. Kate wiped her hands on a cloth and smiled again, too fast.

“See?” she said, voice light, but her knuckles tense. “We just needed some time to get the creative juices flowing.” She cringed at her wording.

Stan chuckled, slightly amused, slightly uncomfortable. “Yep. Nailed it. Weird monster-making day. Totally normal.”

They both paused.

For half a second, the laughter drained. The air thinned. Their eyes almost met briefly, Stan swallowed thickly, before beginning to open his mouth, like he was finally going to try to address something.

But then Kate looked away, grabbed another googly eye and slapped it onto a creature’s forehead.

Stan coughed. “Anyway. We’re gonna need a bigger shelf.”

“Or a containment chamber.”

“Or a priest.”

They laughed again. But this time, the edges frayed.

And still, neither of them said what they were thinking.

Because pretending it was nothing was so much easier than admitting it was something.

---

They continued. They were ankle-deep in shredded felt and bad ideas when the knock came.

Kate was twisting two pipe cleaners into something vaguely tail-shaped. Stan had just christened their latest monstrosity “Sir Pustule the Dreaded” when the sound interrupted them.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

They both looked up.

Stan set down the glue gun, already tensing. “Probably just some tourist lost trynna find the world’s third-largest badger trap.”

Another knock. Firmer.

He stood up quickly, brushing glitter off his jeans, and moved to the door. He opened it, posture squared with performative ease.

Two deputies stood there in full Gravity Falls PD uniform; Deputy Pulaski, stern and heavy-set, and the younger Deputy Lane, eyes already scanning the interior over Stan’s shoulder.

Pulaski got right to it. “Stanford Pines?”

Stan grimaced, another bitter reminder he stole his brother’s identity. “Ya’ know who I am, Pul-ass-ki.”

Pulaski raised a brow but bit down his comment. “We’re asking around about the incident at last night’s Spring Festival. Someone made off with the Northwest family’s earnings, cash box disappeared from their booth just after closing.”

Lane spoke next. “Several witnesses noticed a woman hanging around just before the handoff. Not a local. Mid to late 30s, dark hair. Left in a vehicle that fits the description of your car.”

Stan didn’t flinch; outwardly. “And ya’ think I gave her a ride to the great honey heist?”

“We think she might’ve had help,” Pulaski said. “And your name came up.”

Kate, now standing quietly in the background, watched them from behind, her eyes sharp despite the soft bend of her brow.

Stan gave a dry chuckle. “Wish I could say I saw anythin’ interestin’ last night. But I was here. All night. Watchin’ TV, stuffin’ my face with pork rinds. Nobody else was around.”

Lane tilted his head. “No guests? Visitors?”

“Nope,” Stan said simply. “Just me and bad cable.”

Pulaski didn’t look entirely convinced, but he scribbled something on his notepad. “If you remember anything, you know where to find us.”

“Sure do.”

They stepped away. Stan shut the door with a slow exhale.

He turned.

Kate was still holding a glue-covered popsicle stick in one hand.

She raised an eyebrow, neutral.

“TV and pork rinds?”

“Don’t knock it,” he said, voice too upbeat. “They go great with reruns of Dog the Bounty Hunter.”

Kate gave a short breath of laughter, shaking her head, knowing it was far from true and sighed. “What did you do Stan?” her tone wasn’t angry; just tried, disappointed, slightly amused.

He froze. It was inevitable.

Kate carefully stuck the popsicle stick it onto the creature’s side.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

“So... listen,” he started, voice low. “About last night.”

Kate didn’t look up. “Mmhm?”

He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. She didn’t say anything. Just waited. Stan looked down at the unfinished creature between them.

“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “But... she showed up. Spice. She’s someone I used to run with. Haven’t seen her in years. She’s still—well, she’s still herself. Saw an opportunity. Wanted in on it.”

Kate nodded slowly. “So you helped her steal from the Northwests?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly—too quickly. “I mean—yeah. Technically. But it’s not like they were going to miss it.”

She gave him a look. Cool. Quiet. Steady.

Stan rushed on. “It was a couple hundred bucks at most. Rich family. Sellin’ overpriced organic honey soap to a bunch of tourists. The booth probably made more than that just on guilt tips.”

Kate didn’t respond.

“I mean, come on,” he said, trying for a grin. “It’s the Northwests. If anyone in this town deserves to lose a little profit, it’s them. It’s practically tradition.”

Still, silence.

Kate finally looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “You really thought, I wouldn’t hear of it and that the cops would believe the ‘fell asleep watching documentaries’ excuse?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Worth a shot.”

She gave him a look; not angry, just Kate. That sharp, tired sort of look people gave when someone borrowed their stapler and never gave it back.

“Look,” he said, rushing to fill the space. “It wasn’t even a good booth!” he restated again, trying to convince himself almost. “They were selling soaps and syrups and 'preserved air' for thirty bucks a jar!”

Kate blinked again, deadpan. “So that makes it okay?”

Stan gestured helplessly. “They’re the Northwests. They have gold-plated bird feeders.”

A light amused smile played on her face despite herself. “And yet you still let a woman named Spice talk you into a petty crime like a high schooler skipping algebra.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up a finger, “there were disguises. And I’ll have you know it was a very sophisticated swap job. Classic misdirection.”

Kate stared.

Stan deflated. “...And it was stupid.”

She exhaled, leaning back on her hands. “Yup.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to screw anybody. I just...” He waved a hand vaguely. “Fell into old habits. It’s easier to screw up sometimes than to actually feel stuff.”

There was a beat.

Then Kate held up the mangled foam creature they’d been building. “Well, if that’s your emotional growth metaphor, you’re making real progress.”

He chuckled. “Think it needs a tail.”

“Desperately.”

She passed him a strip of neon felt.

As they got back to work, Kate added, without looking up, “You’re not a bad guy, Stan. You’re just very... practiced at being a dumb one” she sighed into the statement.

She tucked her disappointment about ‘Spice’ and their theft somewhere inside her. She’d wallow about it later.

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

She smiled—small, but real.

And for now, that was more than he deserved.

Chapter Text

The Swamp Leech King leaned precariously on the windowsill, its glued-on tentacles catching what little sunlight filtered through the dusty glass. Around it: three other half-done cryptids, a mound of glitter on the floor, and a growing army of abandoned pipe cleaners.

Stan stretched his back with a groan. “If I glue one more eyeball to a foam skull, I’m gonna start seein’ spots for real.”

Kate let out a tired laugh as she leaned back on her hands. “I think we’ve successfully created at least six abominations against nature.”

“And that’s just the prototypes.”

They both looked around at the mess they'd made. A quiet moment passed.

Kate offered, lightly, “You know… not all of them are bad. Some could sell.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Ya’ think so?”

“Well,” she said, nudging the bug-eyed creature with her toe, “this one might traumatize small children. But the others? Gift shop gold.”

He smirked. “And we say it’s inspired by local legend; they’ll eat it up.”

Kate stood and dusted off her jeans. “We’ll need more materials, though. Stuff that looks like it could’ve come from a forest and not... a preschool art closet.”

“Ah,” Stan said. “You mean ‘authentic.’”

“Exactly. For it to match the rest of the exhibition.”

They packed up in mostly comfortable silence—mostly. But every time their hands brushed or their eyes met, the tension from the morning still hung there, quiet but sharp-edged.

Kate was still smiling. Still joking. Still being… Kate.

But it felt like she had to work for it now.

As Stan gathered the mess into a bin, he asked, “Wanna head into the woods once you officially end school? Look for good materials? Weird bark, moss, maybe a pinecone shaped like Abe Lincoln?”

Kate hesitated. Then nodded. “Sure. Sounds good.”

He grinned. “Backwoods treasure hunt. We’ll take thermoses. Maybe bribe some raccoons.”

But her smile this time didn’t quite reach her eyes.

A few minutes later, she grabbed her bag from the entryway. “Alright. I’m going to head home, get this glitter out of my hair before it becomes a permanent fixture.”

Stan called after her. “No promises—some of that stuff’s molecular.”

She laughed politely.

But it faded as soon as she stepped outside.

---

The door thudded shut behind her, muffling the sound of birds and distant tourist chatter. Inside the car, it was still. Too still.

Kate sat there, her bag beside her on the passenger seat, hands gripping the steering wheel without turning the key. The engine stayed silent. Her pulse, however, was loud in her ears.

She stared out the windshield at nothing in particular; just the trees beyond the gravel lot, the way the light fell in long, lazy stripes across the hood.

Her throat tightened.

Then, slowly, her hand lifted, wiped at the corner of one eye.

She swallowed hard. Her jaw clenched.

And finally, she let her head fall back against the seat with a soft thud, blinking rapidly.

He’s still him. Still charming. Still funny. Still impossible. Still blind. He is kind, and patient in the ways that mattered. He’s fixed my house, saved me from monsters. He’s made me laugh. He remembered how I take my coffee. He showed me how to box just so I could get out of my own head.

Her jaw clenched as she rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

And somewhere along the way, I started hoping he’d see me the way I was starting to see him.

God, I’m an idiot.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, short and dry.

But she wasn’t angry.

She just… hurt. She felt… stupid, again.

She blinked, hard, and let her grip loosen.

Yet. I felt something. That almost-kiss both when boxing and then again whilst dancing. The way we were building something, slowly, like we were both trying not to admit what it meant.

Her eyes stung. She didn’t wipe them yet.

And then I walk in, and she’s there. In his shirt. With coffee. Like she’s always belonged.

And I didn’t.

She exhaled sharply, brushing a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand. The movement was impatient, almost angry.

It wasn’t about her, not really. Even though part of it was. It was the lie. The fact that he just left her hanging her in the festival. The way he made it sound like nothing. Like she was a blip. Like I should just keep pretending that the last few months were...

She swallowed hard.

That I was just someone he liked having around.

Someone convenient. Not someone real.

A few more tears slipped free—silent and hot. She didn’t fight them this time. She let them fall.

Because it wasn’t rage, she felt.

It was grief. Slow and familiar.

I let myself believe, just for a little while, that maybe I wasn’t imagining it. That maybe this time, someone saw me. Chose me.

But he hadn’t.

And she couldn’t bring herself to blame him, not fully. Because deep down, she’d known.

Stan never promised her anything.

She was the one who started hoping.

After a long moment, she sat up, wiped her face again, and stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror, eyes red-rimmed but calm now.

It had taken her this long to admit to herself that she felt something real; and now, after seeing him with Spice, hearing him justify the heist like it was nothing, watching him brush past what had almost been something between them...

It was clear: she wasn’t someone he saw that way.

Maybe she never had been. Maybe in was purely physical for him, the way most men never quite close doors with female friendships.

Kate sat there for a while, letting it pass through her; the ache, the embarrassment, the letdown.

Then she wiped her face, sniffed once, and started the car.

Summer was knocking at the door, she just needed to redirect her energy to the couple weeks left of school.

Because that’s what you do when you're trying to move on from someone who doesn’t even know you’re in love with them.

---

It had been a week, the classroom was a war zone of glitter glue, crumpled permission slips, and half-packed boxes of construction paper animals.

Kate stood at her desk with a clipboard in one hand and a half-finished Popsicle-stick sculpture in the other. Behind her, her students buzzed, hyped from year-end parties, field trips, and the promise of no bedtime for three months.

“Tommy, that’s not how you play a recorder,” she said without looking up.

“But it’s a harmonica now!”

“Okay, but—no.”

Her coworker popped her head in the door. “You ready for tomorrow’s assembly?”

Kate stared blankly. “There’s an assembly tomorrow?”

The other teacher gave her a sympathetic smile and walked away.

Kate groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Just ten more days. Ten more days.

Now early summer sun was starting to claim its stake over Gravity Falls, stretching long rays over the rooftops and stirring up the scent of fresh-cut grass and sawdust. Kate’s house stood at the end of the gravel road, wrapped in the buzz of cicadas and the steady scritch scritch scritch of sandpaper against old siding. It had been another week; Kate was just three days away from summer vacations.

Stan leaned back from the wall, sweat already sticking his shirt to his back. “Y’know, when I said I’d help ya’ fix up the place, I didn’t mean exfoliate your whole house.”

Kate, two feet away and balanced on a short ladder, smirked without looking down. “You’re just mad because the house is putting up more of a fight than you thought.”

“Yeah, well, the sidin’s practically ancient. Feels like it’s gonna file me down before I finish.”

She chuckled softly and kept working. The air between them was easy… almost.

It had been like this for two weeks now since that morning.

Polite. Productive. Almost normal.

They didn’t talk about that morning. Or the knock on the door. Or the woman in the kitchen in his shirt.

They hadn’t brought it up. Not once.

Kate had told herself she was being mature, that she was compartmentalizing. Stan told himself the same.

In reality, they were both dodging landmines.

But still, they worked. He kept showing up, toolbox in one hand, stubborn streak in the other. And she kept letting him.

School kept her busy. Her students were frayed at the edges with end-of-year energy, and Kate barely had time to catch her breath between big end-of-the-year projects, report cards, and field trip forms.

The chaos helped.

So did sanding.

“I’m just sayin’,” Stan grunted, switching arms, “maybe we fake it. Just slap some paint on and call it rustic.”

Kate glanced down from the ladder. “I thought you were the king of ‘do it right or don’t do it at all.’”

“I’m the king of shortcuts that look like you did it right.”

“That explains the Mystery Shack.”

He shot her a look—playful, not defensive. “Hey. That place has personality.”

Kate stepped down from the ladder to grab the water bottle sitting on the porch. She wiped her forehead with the hem of her shirt and handed Stan the second bottle without a word.

Their fingers brushed.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But Stan looked at her for just a second too long, and Kate turned away just a second too fast.

Still.

No one said anything.

He cracked the bottle open and took a long sip.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “if we finish sanding this week, we could start painting before the break. That buys us time before summer hits full force.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stan said, though his voice had dipped a little lower. Not sad, just... quieter.

Kate nodded and returned to the ladder, climbing up like they hadn’t almost leaned into something again. Like it didn’t ache behind her ribs.

And Stan turned back to the siding, dragging the sandpaper down with long, deliberate strokes.

They worked like that all afternoon.

Side by side. Sweating, sanding, bantering. Pretending the worst parts were behind them.

Both of them knowing better.

---

The sun was high, it was getting hotter than the past few days—not unbearable, but enough that the air felt thick and slow.

Stan was already outside when Kate pulled up in her car, a rag tucked into his back pocket, a sanding pole in one hand, and a small portable radio playing some scratchy doo-wop track on the windowsill.

She stepped out, still wearing a loose shirt and cargo shorts, her hair piled messily on her head. The heat had flushed her cheeks.

“Long day?” Stan asked, handing her a bottle of cold water.

“Kids were feral. I’m covered in five different kinds of glue. But school’s officially out.”

He smiled dumbly at her, she was beaming, clearly infinitely more relax now she was going to be on vacation.

Kate took a long sip, then glanced at the house. “I’m going to change. Ready to keep fighting the siding?”

Stan tapped the sanding pole like a weapon. “Let’s make this place shed its skin.”

It had been about two hours, the sunlight bounced off the exposed wood of the house. Sweat slicked Kate’s collarbone, and she’d rolled the hem of her tank top just a bit to stay cool. Stan had long since ditched his usual flannel for a faded undershirt that clung to his back and shoulders, speckled with sawdust and heat.

They worked in tandem; Kate on the ladder, Stan below, dragging his sandpaper in long, steady arcs. Their movements were rhythmic. Familiar. The radio playing softly in the background.

Kate reached for a higher corner of the window frame, her tank top riding up slightly higher. She didn’t notice the way Stan’s eyes flicked up—quickly, briefly—before darting back to his work. His stomach flipped in a way he did not want to.

She glanced down a moment later, just as Stan stepped forward to reposition his grip. Letting her eyes take him in briefly, it had not been easy to ignore how his undershirt enhanced his upper body.

Definitely not looking.

Neither of them said anything about it.

Stan cleared his throat, leaning his weight into the next pass. “So, what’s your plan for the paint job? Barn red? Shockin’ pink? Somethin’ to make the tourists cry?”

Kate smiled without turning. “I was thinking soft cedar. Something classic. Grown-up. Unlike some people I know.”

“Hey, I’m an icon,” he replied. “This chest hair doesn’t scream ‘adult responsibility’ to ya?”

Kate shot him a sideways look, sweat sticking strands of hair to her temple. “I think it screams 1976.”

He chuckled. “Bold of you to assume I wasn’t peaking then.”

The sun kept sinking. Their arms worked on autopilot. Neither of them mentioned the way their shirts clung to their backs or the way they both kept finding excuses to shift closer.

At one point, Kate crouched to pick up a dropped tool, and Stan instinctively reached for it at the same time. Stan accidentally grasped her hand instead.

They froze for a beat too long.

Then both pulled back.

Kate cleared her throat. “Got it.”

Stan nodded. “Right. All yours.”

They turned back to their respective tasks without comment.

Eventually, the whir of cicadas filled the late afternoon air as Kate ran one last pass of the sanding pole across the side panel near the porch.

“Done,” she said, dropping the pole with a dramatic flair and throwing her arms out. “This house has been sanded within an inch of its life.”

Stan, nearby with dust streaked across his temple and arms, leaned on the handle of his own sander like a cane. “I think it whispered mercy somewhere around the second window.”

Kate laughed, grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat off her neck. “Honestly, if I never see another strip of flaking paint again, it’ll be too soon.”

Stan straightened up with a stretch and exaggerated groan. “Alright, doll. What’s next? We finally put some color back on this skeleton?”

She nodded, pleased. “Yeah. I think I’m going to go with a denim blue color actually, have the frames and shutters in white” she confirmed.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Sounds suspiciously tasteful.”

Kate shrugged. “Can’t all be Mystery Shack brown.”

He smirked. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

She turned toward the house, squinting at it in the golden light. “I was going to run into town tomorrow to pick up the paint. You know—brushes, rollers, probably end up forgetting the one thing I actually need.”

Stan rubbed his neck. “You want backup? I’m a seasoned hardware store guy. I speak fluent aisle confusion.”

Kate glanced at him, a smile creeping in. “You sure?”

“Hey, I’ve survived six tourist seasons with duct tape and two paint buckets. I gotcha.”

---

The store was cooled by a loud ceiling fan and smelled like sawdust, fertilizer, and old receipts. Stan leaned on the cart while Kate wandered the paint swatches, eyes scanning the wall like she was making a life-or-death decision.

“Here it is,” she said, plucking the small square labeled Denim Blue from the middle row. A muted blue with the faintest tint of green. Calm. Familiar.

Stan leaned in. “It’s got... integrity. Real ‘this house has stories’ kinda energy.”

Kate rolled her eyes playfully. “Something like that”

They tossed three gallons into the cart, added rollers, tape, a couple brushes, and a tarp they probably wouldn’t use correctly.

As they rolled past the garden section, Stan grabbed a cheap pair of plastic sunglasses and plopped them on. “How do I look?”

“Like you own a jet ski you never use.”

“Perfect.”

The next afternoon brought the kind of summer heat that clung to your skin and made lemonade feel like medicine.

Kate wore an old tank top and cutoff jeans, her hair pulled up and streaked with sweat and flecks of paint. Stan had abandoned his overshirt an hour ago and was in a white undershirt, blotched with blue-colored splatters and sunburn blooming on the back of his neck.

They worked side by side along the east-facing wall, brush strokes moving in rhythm.

“Okay,” Kate said, standing back, “this color looks even better on the house than on the swatch.”

Stan wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Yeah. It’s got charm. Makes this place look less like it might fall over.”

Kate gave him a look. “Excuse you—this house is sturdy. It just has... character.”

“Sure,” he teased. “Haunted character.”

They both suppressed a smile as they looked at each other.

A breeze passed by, stirring the tarp at their feet and fluttering the edge of Kate’s shirt. Stan handed her the roller tray without being asked. She took it with a simple, “Thanks.”

And just like that, somewhere between the brushstrokes, the banter, the rhythm of shared work, it was easy again.

No tension. No pretending.

Just... them.

As they worked, Stan added casually, “Y’know, if this whole school gig ever dries up, you could start a paintin’ business as a side job. Your cuttin’-in game is disturbingly precise.”

Kate glanced at her corner line. “I had to do theater sets in college. You learn fast when your professor threatens to fail you for crooked castle walls.”

“That’s... strangely specific.”

“Freshman year. It was a whole thing.”

He chuckled. “Remind me never to argue with your brushwork.”

They kept painting.

By late afternoon, one full side of the house glowed with fresh color, catching the golden sun like it belonged there all along. Kate set her brush down, stepping back with her hands on her hips. “We actually made progress.”

Stan nodded, arms crossed, a streak of paint on his cheek. “Look at us. Functional adults.”

“Scary thought.”

And for the first time in weeks, the quiet between them was just that, quiet.

No substantial ache. No overwhelming lingering doubt.

Just the hum of summer, the smell of paint, and something steady starting to rebuild.

---

Later that evening Kate had settled into one of the arm chairs in the living room, the house smelled faintly of sawdust and sun-warmed paint. Kate sat curled in, reading, freshly showered and wrapped in a loose cotton tee. A fan hummed softly in the corner. The muscles in her arms and back ached from sanding and lifting, but it was a clean sort of tired; physical, grounding.

And yet, her mind refused to rest.

She had laughed with Stan today. Really laughed. Their rhythm was back; the sarcasm, the teasing, the shoulder nudges. It felt good. Familiar.

But underneath it, a slow ache still sat in her chest, like something unresolved.

She took a sip of water and stared blankly at the lamp across the room.

I’m doing the right thing, she told herself.

He made his choice. Maybe not explicitly, but still. Spice happened. And I saw it. I can’t un-see it.

She swallowed hard, resting her head against the back of the chair.

And it’s not like we ever were a thing. I just... thought maybe we could be. The way he looked at me, the way we worked together, that almost—

She cut the thought off.

Almosts didn’t matter.

Kate clenched her jaw, then let it go.

He doesn’t owe me anything. He was never mine.

She glanced toward the window, where the sky had gone navy, stars barely beginning to blink into view.

So I’ll keep showing up. I’ll finish the house. I’ll laugh at his dumb jokes. I’ll keep pretending that being around him doesn’t make my chest twist.

Because if he can live with it... I can too.

She closed her eyes.

I’ll be an adult.

And somehow, that felt harder than anything else.

Stan lay flat on his back atop the covers, still in his paint-stained undershirt, one arm flung over his forehead. A single light glowed in the corner of the room, illuminating a messy pile of receipts, brochures, and a coffee mug filled with mismatched screws.

The day had been long; hot, sticky, productive.

And Kate had been there. Her usual self. Teasing. Capable. Easy to be around.

But not quite the same.

Not since that morning. Not since Spice. Which had disappeared again into the nothingness since that morning.

Stan let out a slow breath.

She’s still hurt, he thought. Even if she won’t say it. I see it in the way she doesn’t quite meet my eyes sometimes.

He turned his head toward the window. The stars over Gravity Falls were clearer tonight, sharp.

I shouldn’t have let that happen.

Spice was a mistake. Not because of he —she’s always been what she is. But because I knew what I was doing. I felt like Kate and I were dancing around something. And I still did it anyway. I went for the quick fix.

He shifted his arm off his face and stared at the ceiling.

But there’s a part I can’t shake.

When she laughed at something I said today—really laughed—it felt like the first time I could breathe all week.

His hand clenched slightly.

I don’t think I’ve let anyone in like this before. Not really. Not like her.

And now...

He closed his eyes.

Now I’ve boxed myself in. I can’t go confessing feelings like some lovesick idiot. I’ll be an adult. I’ll keep things light. I’ll give her space.

He exhaled again, longer this time.

It’s fine. It has to be. She’ll be okay. And I’ll be fine.

A beat.

Even if I’m not.

---

By the second day, with a second coat, the house was slowly transforming from tired and weathered to something grounded, warm, and lived-in. Stan stood on a short ladder, dabbing paint into the tight corners beneath the gutter while Kate focused on the lower trim, her brushstrokes crisp and methodical.

A slight breeze rustled the trees behind the house, the late afternoon sun baking the front porch in a golden wash.

“So,” Stan said, adjusting his stance, “tourist season’s about to kick off.”

Kate glanced up. “That’s right. Summer break plus Gravity Falls equals cryptid chaos, right?”

“Exactly. End of June’s when it really starts; caravans of families with too much sunscreen, confused Canadians, teenagers trynna summon spirits in the outhouse... y’know. Classic wholesome American fun.”

Kate laughed. “Sounds deeply cursed.”

“Oh, it is,” Stan replied, stepping off the ladder to stretch his back. “The gift shop will triple in sales. The tour lines will wrap around the side of the Shack” he boasted, as he exaggerated slightly.

Kate wiped a smudge of paint from her cheek with the back of her wrist. “And let me guess, you double the prices and convince them the moss on the side of the building is a ghost stain.”

“You’re catchin’ on.”

There was a short, easy silence between them before Stan tilted his head slightly, squinting at her.

“Y’know... it just hit me.”

“What?”

“I never actually gave you the real Mystery Shack tour.”

Kate paused, arching a brow. “You sort of did when we first met, remember? When I came to ask for help with the house and you marched me around half the building bragging about your ability to fix leaky pipes and electric circuits.”

Stan waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t count. That was handyman propaganda. I mean a real tour. Theatrical. Full volume. Maybe even some fog machine action.”

Kate smirked. “You want to give me the same spiel you use on terrified fourth graders and gullible couples from Wisconsin?”

“It’s a Shack rite of passage,” Stan said dramatically. “It would be a crime not to.”

She leaned on her paintbrush, clearly amused. “Is it... included with the handyman package or does this fall under the extended warranty?”

“Oh, this one’s premium. Free of charge, though. For VIPs.”

Kate pretended to consider. “Hm. What if I say no?”

“Then you’ll be the only person in Gravity Falls who hasn’t seen the legendary Jackalope Skull Room.”

“I thought that was just the men’s bathroom.”

“It is.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. I’m in. But I expect dramatic lighting, haunted anecdotes, and at least one animatronic failure.”

Stan grinned. “Ya’ won’t be disappointed.”

And for the rest of the afternoon, as they painted the final stretch of siding shoulder to shoulder, something buzzed quietly between them. Not the tension of before, but something lighter.

Like the space between them was narrowing again.

---

Kate wasn’t sure what she expected when Stan flung the creaky front doors of the Mystery Shack open with a grand sweep of his arm; but it definitely wasn’t the sudden screech of a warped cassette tape blasting circus music from an ancient speaker above the doorframe.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome,” Stan announced in his best carnival-barker voice, “to the Mystery Shack, home of the strange, the unexplained, and the mildly overpriced!”

Kate, standing just behind him, blinked. She vaguely noticed him in a suit, like she had seen him for the first time many months back, she tucked away how good he looked in it. Amusement crept as he went to take off his fake eye patch.

“You really had intro music ready?” She was more than amused.

Stan smirked and adjusted the stubby plastic microphone clipped to his shirt collar. “Of course, I did. What kind of operation do you think I’m running here?”

“Chaotic.”

“Exactly.”

The music screeched to a stop with a wheeze. Stan cleared his throat.

They moved inside, and though Kate had been in the Shack dozens of times now; through side doors, work areas, and the back halls, this time Stan made her go through the front. Like a first-time tourist.

“Here,” he said, leading her past a glass case, “we have the preserved remains of the Fearsome Flat-Footed Wallaroo—half kangaroo, half tragic taxidermy.”

Kate leaned in to inspect the creature, its glassy eyes staring in two slightly different directions. “This one looks like it regrets its entire existence.”

Stan nodded solemnly. “As do most visitors.”

He continued the tour, theatrically throwing open curtains and gesturing to grotesque exhibits with exaggerated flair.

The Sasquatch Toenail Collection, the World’s Most Haunted Mop, the Shapeshifter Detection Mirror (“Cracked due to budget cuts,” he explained), and, of course, the infamous Jackalope Skull Room; which, to Kate’s dismay, was absolutely just a bathroom with antlers glued to the wall above the mirror.

Through it all, Kate grinned, played along, and occasionally offered commentary in the style of a very unimpressed documentary narrator.

“I rate this sighting three shivers and a mild sense of betrayal,” she said in the Wax Figure Hall. “That Abraham Lincoln looks like he lost a fight with a hot glue gun.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t hear that,” Stan said, deadpan. “He remembers insults.”

Eventually, they made it toward the back of the Shack, into the dimly lit Odditorium. The room was filled with odd shadows, the hum of an old vending machine, and the faint scent of aged sawdust.

By the time they reached the back of the Shack, Kate’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

They stood near one of the older exhibits; a crooked wooden display for the “Moss-Covered Gravestone of the Legendary Lurking Larry,” complete with a rubber claw poking out of the fake dirt.

Kate stared down at it, arms crossed, still grinning. “So... was Larry real?”

Stan leaned on the railing beside her. “Absolutely. Ate twelve tourists back in ’78. Only reason they stopped was because he got a stomachache from a fanny pack.”

“Ah. Local legend and fashion critic.”

They both laughed again, a little quieter this time, the kind of laughter that softened around the edges. The Shack was quiet now, the music from the front long gone. It was just them, in the low light of flickering overhead bulbs, the occasional creak of old wood settling around them.

Kate glanced around the room. “This place really is something, you know.”

Stan looked at her, less theatrically now. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Weird, sure. But it’s got... charm. Personality. Like it’s been stitched together out of old stories and obstinacy.”

Stan chuckled. “Funny. That’s how people describe me.”

They shared a smile, and for a moment neither looked away.

Kate’s voice dropped just slightly. “Thanks. For the tour. And the dumb creatures. And the paint. All of it.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly a little too aware of how close they were standing. “Yeah, well... it’s not a bad way to spend a summer. And ya’ make a good paintin’ partner. Even if you judge my roller technique.”

“I absolutely judge your roller technique, it’s not practical” she teased.

“Rude.”

Their banter faded into a hush.

The light above them buzzed once, then steadied.

Kate looked up toward it, breaking eye contact. “Do you ever think about where this end?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This. The Shack. The mystery. The tours. Do you think you’ll just keep doing it forever?”

Stan shrugged, quiet now. Until he could get Ford back. If he could get Ford back. A big ‘if’. Still, he pushed a smile, “I don’t know. Probably. I’ve tried doin’ other things. Never really stuck.”

Kate nodded, still facing the wall. “Yeah. I get that.”

A beat passed.

“I didn’t think I’d staying in Gravity Falls would stick,” she added. “But something about this place pulls at you. Even when you’re tired. Even when it’s messy.”

Stan nodded, very slowly. “Yeah. It does that.”

They stood there in the low light, the flicker of the neon “EXIT” sign casting a soft glow across the floorboards. No longer tourists. No longer teasing.

Just them.

And something building again, inch by inch.

Finally, Stan looked toward the back door. “You want a soda?”

Kate smiled. “The Mystery Flavor you keep bragging about concocting?”

“Oh, it’s good, it’s just grape with a fear of commitment.”

She laughed as he led her toward the giftshop.

---

The small cuisine section of the gift shop wasn’t much; a retro fridge humming in the corner, two mismatched chairs, and a scratched laminate table covered with an old road map of Oregon. But it had a certain charm, especially with the window open and the breeze carrying in the smell of pine and warm dirt.

Stan handed Kate a glass bottle with a peeling label that read: “Mystery Shack Mystery Soda– flavor unknown.” It was purple.

Kate raised a brow. “You sure this isn’t motor oil?”

He smirked, cracking open his own. “Only one way to find out.”

They clinked bottles. Kate took a sip and immediately winced. “Oh god. Is this—licorice?”

Stan laughed. “Better than last week’s batch. That one tasted like regret and mouthwash.”

She coughed lightly and grinned. “You should put that on the label.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, sipping their weird sodas, both still a little sun-warmed from the day and worn out in that satisfied, end-of-good-day kind of way.

Then Stan cleared his throat and reached into the cabinet beside him.

“I, uh...” he started, awkwardly rummaging behind a stack of expired marshmallows, “found somethin’ the other day. Meant to give it to you sooner, but... well, timing’s never been my strong suit.”

Kate turned toward him curiously. “What is it?”

He pulled out a small cardboard box and placed it in front of her.

“From the gift shop,” he muttered, almost gruff. “Well, technically.”

Kate opened it slowly.

Inside was a small, hand-carved wooden cryptid figure—a sort of half-sasquatch, half-chicken hybrid, with googly eyes glued crookedly onto its face. It was ridiculous. And surprisingly detailed. On the bottom, burned in with a soldering pen, was the label: “The Kate-bird. endangered. one of a kind.”

She stared at it for a moment.

Then laughed—soft and sudden, covering her mouth as she grinned wide.

“You made this?”

“It’s ‘bout my third attempt, but yeah,” Stan said, trying to seem nonchalant. “look at the wobbly eye, that screams me.”

Kate was quiet again. Touched. The kind of touched you don’t make a big deal out of because you’re afraid you’ll mess it up.

Stan scratched his temple. “I know it’s dumb. I just thought… y’know. I never really said sorry, ‘bout leavin’ you behind to rob the Northwests” he paused a bit uncertain “About uh… about not what you saw, but about makin’ it weird. Lettin’ it get weird. I didn’t mean to make you feel like—like I didn’t care.”

Kate looked at the little creature again, still smiling.

“It’s not dumb,” she said. “It’s actually... kind of perfect.”

They sat there for another long second.

Then Kate stood—slow, deliberate—and stepped toward him.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. Not quick. Not polite. Just warm and real and lingering.

Stan froze for a second, just a second, before his arms settled around her waist. His head falling to the crook of her neck.

It lasted a few heartbeats longer than it should have. They hadn’t let themselves be this close in almost a month, since the dance.

He pulled back first, just enough to say something—anything—before the weight of it got too real.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and gently easing out of the hug, “ya’ ever think about joinin’ the glamorous world of tourist scammin’?”

Kate blinked, still smiling, her voice soft. “You trying to hire me?”

“Tryin’?” Stan said, putting a hand over his heart. “Ma’am, I’m offerin’ you a legacy.”

Kate leaned against the counter. “And what would my role be in this fine establishment?”

“You,” Stan said, pointing a finger dramatically, “would be Mrs. Mystery.” waving his arms above him like a showman.

Kate stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Cape, top hat, dramatic monologue. The works.”

She raised a brow. “I get a cut of the ticket sales?” She deadpanned.

Stan leaned closer. “Ya’ get free glitter glue and first pick of the haunted mop closet.”

Kate snorted. “Tempting.”

Stan gave her a look, part smirk, part dare. “C’mon. You know you’d love it.”

And despite herself—despite everything—Kate laughed again. Real. Easy.

Maybe not quite ready to fall in love with the idea, but she could work around it.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t fully committed to the day yet, but the sky was bright and the air already warming. Birds chirped enthusiastically, she stood in the middle of her overgrown yard, hands on her hips, chewing the inside of her cheek. The grass was patchy and overgrown, the flower beds bare except for a few weeds. One tree leaned toward the driveway, its branches shaggy and wild.

Stan, stood beside her. “Okay. So. What exactly are we lookin’ at here? Yard... or low-level jungle reclamation?”

Kate exhaled through her nose. “Honestly? Somewhere between ‘neglected garden’ and ‘local cryptid feeding ground.’”

Stan nodded solemnly. “Good. We’ll feel a real sense of accomplishment when we only mildly fail.”

She turned to him, smirking. “Don’t make me hand you hedge clippers.”

“Doll, I’ve wrangled tourists, re-wired a vendin’ machine with a fork, and wrestled an animatronic goat mid-tour. I fear no foliage.”

Kate handed him the clippers, raising an eyebrow.

He blinked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

Two hours later, the sun was higher, their shirts were sweat-soaked, and neither of them had made much of a dent.

Kate had managed to clear a section of weeds under the kitchen window and trimmed back the rose bush that had begun reaching de windowsill. Stan had been locked in a prolonged battle with the lawnmower which kept coughing up.

He stood over it now, glaring. “This thing has one job.”

“You skipped maintenance, didn’t you?” Kate asked from the porch, sipping water.

Stan shrugged. “Thought I’d ride the ‘if it ain’t broke’ principle.”

“It’s definitely broke.”

He grunted and gave it one last desperate yank—the engine sputtered, then roared to life, sending a brief puff of smoke into the air.

“Ha! See? Faith.”

“You mean luck and a little verbal abuse.”

“Same difference.”

Kate shook her head, amused.

He grumbled, but kept mowing, the uneven engine stuttering as it chewed through wild tufts of crabgrass.

Kate, meanwhile, worked methodically, clipping back overgrown branches and dragging them into a pile near the porch. She’d already cleared the base of the maple tree, unearthing a few sun-bleached garden gnomes she didn’t remember buying.

Stan paused to lean on the mower. “Hey, what are those? Lawn goblins?”

Kate held up a dirt-stained ceramic gnome. “Apparently I’ve been harboring an entire village.”

He squinted; thought he saw one of gnomes pull a face at him. “That one looks like it’s judgin’ me.”

 Kate, oblivious to it, laughed. “Probably earned it.”

They kept working, sweat gathering at their brows and backs, but neither complained. The sun was warm but forgiving, a light breeze keeping the air moving.

At one point, Kate tossed a trimmed branch a little too hard and hit Stan’s boot.

“Oi!”

“Oops,” she said, not sounding sorry.

“You’re violent today.”

“You’re chatty today.”

He grinned through the sweat. “You’re lucky I like banterin’ while I’m being attacked by aggressive flora.”

They kept moving. The grass got shorter. The flower beds cleared. The shade of the trimmed trees changed the way the front of the house looked lighter. Less tired.

They worked side by side for a while; pruning branches, clearing low brush, trying to untangle what used to be a vegetable patch. But by late afternoon, the sun started dipping and both of them were dragging.

Kate collapsed onto the porch steps with a sigh, pulling her gloves off with her teeth. “Okay. We’re not finishing this in one day.”

Stan flopped beside her, a low grunt escaping him. “What gave it away? The still-uncut half-lawn or the patch of poison ivy I may have just mowed over?”

Kate blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He didn’t answer.

She groaned. “Fantastic.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sweat cooling, dirt under their fingernails, and the faint hum of evening bugs beginning to stir.

Then Stan nudged her lightly with his knee. “Alright. You survived yard work. Now it’s time to proceed.”

Kate side-eyed him. “To what, exactly?”

“To performin’,” he said, turning toward her with a grin. “Tour season’s startin’. I need backup. You’ve got sass, presence, great posture. And tourists love a woman with strong opinions.”

She gave him a side-eye. “Don’t start.”

But he grinned. “I’m just sayin’... you're handy, you're scary organized, you know how to handle tourists, especially the small, sticky ones.”

Kate snorted. “That’s not a skill. That’s stubborness.”

Stan nudged her elbow. “C’mon. Just a couple tours a week. You already know the exhibits. You’re charmin’ in a sarcastic, mildly threatenin’ kinda way. People eat that up.”

She shook her head. “I am not becoming Mrs. Mystery.”

He held up a hand. “Fine, fine. No cape. No sparkle gloves. But think about it. Just a helper. Backup. Emergency tour guide. I’m not asking for a weddin’ ring. Just some crowd wranglin’. Maybe a little light scarin’ of small children.”

Kate tilted her head. “What’s in it for me?”

“Fifty percent of any souvenirs you upsell.”

She pretended to think. “I want the back-room key and the ability to ban customers for using the phrase ‘Is this stuff real?’”

Stan grinned. “Now you’re thinkin’ like a Shack employee.”

Kate leaned back, letting the quiet settle between them. “I’ll help. But I want it on record that this is under protest.”

He raised his palm solemnly. “Noted and respected.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. Stan grinned.

---

The Mystery Shack was unusually crowded for a Tuesday.

A cluster of tourists huddled inside the dim, musty Odditorium, wide-eyed and sweat-dappled, some clutching plastic souvenir mugs, others peering suspiciously at the cracked animatronics and faded exhibits.

Kate stood off to the side near a black curtain, flashlight in hand. Her official role? “Light assistant.” Real job? Prevent children from climbing into displays and make sure no one stole the cursed snow globe.

Stan stood at center stage, atop a slightly warped platform made from repurposed fence wood. His voice boomed in full showman form:

“Step right up, folks, and witness the incredible—the inconceivable—the unlicensed wonders of the known and unknown! Creatures, cryptids, and curiosities so strange, they can only be explained by one thing…”

He paused dramatically, letting the audience lean in.

“…a government cover-up and at least one bad science experiment!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Kate rolled her eyes behind her flashlight beam. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little impressed. He really did know how to sell nonsense.

Stan moved into the next exhibit: “The Three-Eyed Raccoon Skull.” He waved his arm theatrically toward a glass case.

“And now, direct from the ruins of a top-secret trash heap—”

A little boy tried to poke it.

Kate swooped in with the flashlight, “Hey, no touching.”

The kid jumped.

Then, right as he launched into the climax of his spiel, Stan’s voice shifted into something more grandiose.

“And now,” he declared, “for a rare treat… a once-in-a-lifetime encounter… with the enigmatic, the elusive, the psychically gifted—Mrs. Mystery!”

Kate froze. Her flashlight beam wavered.

Stan looked right at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

The crowd turned to her, gasping, curious.

She mouthed you traitor.

He winked.

For a second, she stood rooted to the spot, considering a dramatic exit through the side curtain. But the expectant faces of the tourists—kids wide-eyed, adults smirking—left her with little choice.

With a long sigh and the world’s most forced smile, she stepped forward and raised the flashlight under her chin.

In a gravelly, mysterious voice, she said, “I’ve foreseen a lot of things. Like this betrayal.”

The crowd laughed. Stan beamed.

Kate continued, now slipping into a full mock-performance. “Welcome to the Shack. I’m here to reveal deep secrets, unnecessary warnings, and vague discomfort. Ask me anything.”

A woman near the front raised her hand. “Is Bigfoot real?”

Kate blinked. “That depends. Are you ready to meet your long-lost uncle at a family reunion and suddenly know?”

The woman gasped. Stan cackled.

Kate raised the flashlight. “Let this be a warning. Some things… are best left unknown.”

The last group filtered out through the souvenir hallway, buzzing with stories about Mrs. Mystery’s predictions and how she might actually be real.

Kate stood with her arms crossed, still in the same spot behind the curtain, Stan leaning casually against a filing cabinet with a huge grin.

 “That was absurd,” she sighed.

“You were brilliant,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “Natural showman.”

“I hate you a little bit right now,” Kate mumbled half-heartedly.

Stan raised both hands, unbothered. “They loved you.”

“You said I wouldn’t have to perform.”

“I said ya’ wouldn’t become Mrs. Mystery. Didn’t say ya’ wouldn’t channel her for a few minutes.”

“That’s a distinction only you would make.”

“And it holds up in court.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “I should quit.”

“You should cash in,” he shot back, tossing her a rolled-up bill. “Tips. One guy gave me twenty bucks just because ya’ warned him about his future mother-in-law.”

Kate unrolled it. Blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“He said you had ‘a dark, hauntin’ wisdom.’ I think it was the way you stared into his soul.”

Kate huffed, fighting a smile. “I had to improvise!”

“And ya’ nailed it,” Stan said, stepping forward. “I’m just sayin’… maybe the cape’s not such a bad idea.”

“No cape.”

“Hat?”

“No hat.”

“Cryptid communicator badge?”

Kate paused. “…maybe.”

He grinned. “So what I’m hearing is: Welcome aboard.”

She groaned. “I’ll help,” she went to massage her temple, suppressing a smile.

They walked back toward the front counter, shoulders brushing, the easy rhythm between them settling back in place, now with a little glitter, a little dust, and something that felt suspiciously like home.

---

By late June, the yard was nearly unrecognizable. The sun hung low and heavy, casting gold across the lawn, which now, finally looked more like a proper yard and less like something the local wildlife had claimed. The mulch was down, the last of the weeds pulled, and the trimmed hedges gave the house a tidy, proud look it hadn’t seen in years. What once looked like an overgrown patch of wilderness now resembled something pulled from a small-town garden catalog; trimmed grass, tamed trees, fresh mulch in the beds, and two stubborn humans sweating in the midsummer sun to get it there.

Kate crouched beside the flower bed, tucking a final marigold into place. The sun caught the edges of her hair, her tank top darkened with sweat across the back. Stan leaned on the rake like it was a cane, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt.

“Well,” she said, glancing around with a tired but satisfied breath, “it doesn’t look like it wants to bite anyone anymore. That’s progress.”

“Give it time,” Stan muttered, flicking a leaf off his arm. “Gravity Falls vegetation’s got opinions.”

Kate chuckled, then leaned back on her hands, face tipped toward the sky. “God, it’s hot.”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Stan said, stretching his back with an audible crack. “We’ve transformed this jungle. I say we officially reward ourselves. Cold drinks. Sandwiches. And eventually—pool.”

Kate looked up. “Pool?”

“Community pool,” he said, nodding. “Gravity Falls Municipal. Cracked tile, over-chlorinated, and swarmin’ with kids on sugar highs. It’s basically a swamp with lifeguards.”

She raised a brow. “Sounds... serene.”

Stan smirked. “Eh, it’s not that bad if you go early or really late. I’m tellin’ you, after workin’ in this kind of heat, nothin’ beats jumpin’ in.”

Kate’s smile dimmed just slightly.

She reached for another bag of soil. “Yeah. It’s scorching.”

Stan picked up on the tone shift. “You alright?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s silly, remember when we got snowed in? We played—Two Truths and a Lie”

He frowned slightly, trying to recall and piece where she was going with it. “Uh… Sure. You said you… jumped outta movin’ car… had a bearded dragon… and... oh.” He paused. “You said you couldn’t swim.”

Kate gave a sheepish smile, still focused on the bag in front of her. “Yeah” she shrugged lightly.

Stan straightened a bit.

She kept herself busy, not quite meeting his eyes. “I mean, I never learned. I’ve always been slightly intimidated by water as a kid. By the time I had friends who could swim, I was too embarrassed to admit it. So I just... avoided it.”

There was a beat of quiet. Stan watched her quietly.

Then, in a softer voice than usual: “That ever bother you?”

She hesitated. “Sometimes. Feels like one of those things I should’ve learned by now. But I guess I just accepted it. Stayed dry.”

Stan leaned his rake against the porch railing and dusted off his hands. “Well,” he said, “ya’ know I’ve taught a lot of people to do stupid things over the years. Faked CPR for a tour gag. Helped tourists escape from sentient vendin’ machines. But actual swimmin’? That I can do.” Then, carefully, “You wanna learn?”

Kate looked over her shoulder at him. “What?”

He stepped forward, more serious than usual. “I could teach ya’. We go early, or late, avoid the kid rush. Nobody needs to know. No pressure.”

Kate blinked, surprised by his tone, gentle, not teasing. “I don’t know...”

“C’mon,” he said, grinning again, trying to ease her nerves. “It’s like boxin’ but with less punching and more floating.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m a great swim teacher,” he added. “Ask anyone who didn’t almost drown.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “That’s... concerning.”

He laughed. “I’m serious. You already trust me with power tools and local children.”

“Debatable.”

He softened again, voice quieter. “You don’t have to, doll. But I mean it. If you ever wanted to try, I’d help.”

Kate looked at him for a long moment, searching for the usual smirk, the deflection, but there wasn’t one.

Then, to break the quiet, she stood and brushed dirt from her hands. “Well, technically, I can’t say no to you this week.”

He blinked. “You can’t?”

“I already said yes to being your fake tour co-host.”

He grinned. “Right. Speaking of which…”

Kate reached for her water bottle, then leaned casually against the fence. “I caved.”

Stan squinted. “Caved how?”

“I planned out a Mrs. Mystery outfit.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “No!”

“Oh yes.”

“What are we talkin’ here? Cloak? Cane? Giant amulet of questionable origin?”

She took a long sip. “Long black skirt. Dramatic sleeves. I might have incorporated glitter. And I may have found red lenses for my reading glasses.”

Stan looked genuinely touched. “You’re a genius, sweetheart.”

Kate shrugged. “The character demanded it.”

“You’re really leanin’ into this whole spooky oracle persona.”

“I figure if I’m going to play along, I might as well do it right.”

They shared a smile; easy, real.

Then Stan cleared his throat, circling back. “So. Pool. Lessons”

Kate raised a brow. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“I’m insisting,” he said. “Look, you already let me rope you into Shack nonsense, you let me take over your yard, and you’re somehow still speakin’ to me. Let me return the favor.”

She smirked. “A swim lesson is your idea of a favor?”

“It’s also an excuse to make you wear ridiculous goggles,” he added. “But mostly, yeah. It’s time.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Dead.”

A pause.

She exhaled. “Fine. But if I drown, you’re finishing the garden by yourself.”

He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“I was once briefly banned from a scout event, which is basically the same thing.”

Kate rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “Thanks,” she said, quieter now.

“For what?”

“For all of it.”

Stan gave her a look, warm, surprised, unspoken things in his eyes. But instead of replying, he gave her a lopsided grin.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m gonna make you float by the end of tomorrow or die tryin’.”

“Comforting.”

And as they stood side by side in the garden they’d slowly built together, the air warm around them and the sun dipping behind the trees, it felt—again—like something unspoken was starting to bloom.

---

Late afternoon the next day they found themselves at the public pool. The parking lot was half-empty, the buzz of insects louder than the idle hum of streetlights as the summer heat began to settle into a heavy, amber dusk. The Gravity Falls Community Pool stood quiet, chlorine lingered in the air, crisp and sharp, and the place was empty, just one lifeguard half-asleep on a chair far away and the lazy lap of water against the tile.

Kate stood just inside the locker room exit, towel in hand, trying not to think too hard. Her loose shirt and lightweight cotton shorts clung to her skin from the heat of the day, but that wasn’t what made her anxious.

It was Stan.

“Alright,” he said, cracking his neck and tugging off his shirt in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the bench with a casual flick of his wrist. “Time to turn back into a fish.”

Kate blinked.

Then blinked again.

And there it was.

Just skin and muscle; a man built from years of labor, not the gym. Broad shoulders, strong arms, freckled forearms and chest, sun-touched skin and the faintest hint of silver at his sideburns. A faded scar crossed his ribs. She hadn't seen him like this. And now that she had, it short-circuited something quietly, stupidly buried in her.

Stan was shirtless.

She did her best not to stare.

Did her best... and failed slightly.

Before she could say anything, he jogged to the edge of the deep end and dove in with a clean, practiced arc Stan dove in without warning, smooth, barely a splash. Disappeared beneath the surface.

Kate swallowed and looked down at her own feet.

“Just water,” she whispered. “Just water.”

The water rippled.

He resurfaced a few strokes later, slicking back his hair and grinning up at her, “Ready?”

“Ready to watch,” she joked half-heartedly still a bit flustered.

“C’mon, doll!” he called, shaking his head like a golden retriever. “You’re gonna regret it if you don’t.”

Kate hesitated, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s colder than you said it’d be, isn’t it?”

“It’s refreshing,” he corrected. “And empty, prime time. We’ve got the place to ourselves. Not even a lifeguard on duty.”

That should’ve made her less nervous, but it didn’t.

She hovered near the shallow steps, tugging her T-shirt hem between her fingers. “I told you I’ve never really done this. It’s not just not knowing how. It’s... the water. I was scared of it as a kid. Almost got pulled under at a lake once.”

Stan treaded closer, his voice gentler now. “You never mentioned that part.”

Kate shrugged. “I don’t love bringing it up.”

Stan was quiet for a beat. “Then we go slow, sweetheart. No pressure. You stay in the shallow end. We just stand in water and make fun of my pruney hands.”

She chuckled faintly but didn’t move.

He didn’t tease her.

Didn’t smirk.

Instead, he nodded slowly, treaded closer to the wall, voice gentler now. “We take it slow. No cannonballs. No pressure. Just water. You’re the boss.”

Kate let out a slow breath.

Then came the second hurdle—the swimsuit.

She gave him a brief, tight look, then turned slightly away and slowly pulled off her shirt, then her shorts, folding them neatly onto the bench. Her black one-piece bathing suit was modest, practical, but she still felt the chill of air on her skin as if she were standing there in far less. It fit snugly, nothing too revealing but still enough to make her feel slightly... exposed.

She was suddenly aware of every inch of skin the air touched.

Behind her, she heard silence.

Too much silence.

His brain just… stalled.

For a second, everything else in the world took a back seat— His breath caught in a way he’d never admit.

Oh.

She was beautiful; not in some airbrushed magazine kind of way, but in a real, knock-the-air-out-of-you way. Strong shoulders, bare skin flushed with nerves and hesitation. She crossed her arms reflexively, not meeting his eyes, and for some reason that almost floored him more than the swimsuit itself.

Because it wasn’t just that she looked good, she did, more than he knew how to process, it was that she was letting him see her like this. Vulnerable. Unmasked. Still trying.

Trying for him.

He made himself swallow. Look casual. Say something stupid.

Get a grip, Pines, he told himself. She’s just your friend. A friend. In a swimsuit. Who trusts you. A lot.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Stan wasn’t staring—not outright—but he definitely wasn’t not looking. His face was carefully neutral, but the slightly parted lips, the brief flick of his gaze to the side… it said everything.

But when she fully turned towards him, he wasn’t leering. He was biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying very hard not to show anything at all.

He cleared his throat quickly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You, uh... look good.”

Kate gave him a wary look.

He raised his hands. “That’s not a line. You do, sweetheart.”

She pushed down how he had begun calling her ‘sweetheart’ more often again. She muttered a quiet thanks.

Still, she hesitated at the pool’s edge, toes curling over the tile.

“I’ll stay where I can stand,” she said, voice softer now.

“Good call,” Stan said, backing toward the shallow end with his hands up. “No funny business. I’m just the helpful fish.”

She stepped in, gasping a little at the cold.

Stan watched her closely but didn’t make a move toward her. He let her come in at her own pace.

Kate slowly walked until the water reached her waist, then chest. Her arms stayed slightly rigid, eyes darting to the edges of the pool.

“You’re okay,” Stan said gently. “Just breathe. You’re in charge here.”

She nodded, taking a slow breath. Then another.

After a few moments, she looked at him.

Stan moved toward her carefully. “Still good?”

Kate nodded. “Still skeptical.”

He chuckled lightly, “ya’ ready for your first floatin’ lesson?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Stan shrugged. “Not really. But I’ll make it seem like you do.”

She moved to the center of the shallow end, the water just brushing the top of her chest. Stan drifted closer, not touching her yet, just watching.

“Alright,” she said. “What’s step one?”

He approached slowly, hands still up like he was taming a skittish deer. “Step one is just let yourself float naturally. Easiest way is to let me hold you. I’ll keep your back supported. You’ll do nothin’ but breathe. Just lean back when you’re ready. I won’t let go.”

Kate’s breath hitched slightly.

This wasn’t boxing gloves or sanding beams. This was water, skin, vulnerability, and Stan, now just inches from her, his hands gently lifting to hover near her back.

She looked up at him, almost sheepish. “I’m going to be awful at this.”

“You’re allowed,” he said, softer than she expected. “But you’re not gonna drown, sweetheart. I promise.”

With a slow breath, she leaned back.

His hands found her waist first, then the middle of her back, spreading wide to support her. Her arms instinctively reached out to his arm, then hovered, palms skimming the surface of the water.

“Okay,” he murmured. “That’s it. Breathe. Just let it hold you.”

Kate focused on the feel of his hands. One resting flat between her shoulder blades, warm even in the cool water. The other curved around the back of her ribs, fingers steady, secure.

“Just lean back into it,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

She did very slowly, trying to relax her body feeling it try to drift to the surface. Kate exhaled, letting herself tilt slightly, water lapping at her ears, her eyes closing.

They didn’t move.

Kate closed her eyes, trying not to think about how close her face was to his bare chest, how her hip occasionally bumped his in the gentle ripple of the water. Her breath slowed, not because she was calm, but because she had to make herself.

“You’re floating,” he said eventually, with something like pride in his voice. “Look at you. You’re halfway to Olympic gold.”

There was a second—maybe two—where she felt it. And for a few moments, she floated, her breath shallow, her heartbeat loud in her ears, but her body buoyed by the water and his quiet steadiness.

Weightless.

Held.

Her mind drifted to the sensation of his hands drifting slightly, surprisingly gentle. One hand supported the base of her spine, the other hovered near her shoulder blades.

Then she startled herself with a sudden twitch of her leg and gasped, instinctively she panicked, upright again with a splash.

“I—sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, hands still near but not touching now. “That was more than half the work.”

Stan smiled, brushing his hair back again. “That was progress.”

She gave him a look. “That was barely progress.”

“It counts,” he said. “We’ll take the win.”

Kate moved to the edge, lifting herself to sit on the side, feet still in the water. “Alright. I’m calling it for today. I think that’s enough emotional vulnerability for one day,” she said lightly.

 Stan didn’t argue. He smiled, watching her. “You did good,” then sank under the water with a lazy roll and emerged again, floating lazily on his back.

Kate watched as he let the water carry him, limbs stretched, the evening sun casting gold on the ripples. She watched him splash water from his face and fall into a lazy back-float.

“I’m starting to believe you were a fish in a past life,” she called.

“I was a con man in a pond,” he replied. “Scammed goldfish out of their crackers.”

She laughed again, swirling her legs lazily in the pool, watching him glide, weightless and unbothered.

They didn’t say anything for a while.

Just let the sound of water and silence fill the space.

---

Her legs in the water, toes gently swaying back and forth. She kept her gaze fixed forward, on the ripples, the reflections, the trees— anywhere but on Stan.

She could feel him.

Swimming. Floating. Occasionally sending a spray of droplets into the air as he shook out his hair like a mutt at a beach. She resisted the urge to look every time he surfaced, slick and bare chest, a mix of sun-touched muscle and laugh lines.

She was doing a terrible job not ogling him.

“You okay over there?” Stan’s voice floated over, casual, teasing.

Kate didn’t look. “Fine. Just hoping no one shows up and ruins the very exclusive pool rental we apparently scored.”

“Mm. Yeah, don’t jinx it. Some kid with floaties always shows up right when you’re startin’ to feel cool.”

She smiled faintly, finally letting herself glance over.

He was leaning against the far wall now, chest half-submerged, arms hooked behind him, face tipped toward the sky. His hair was wet, clinging to his temples. The relaxed line of his throat, the curve of his smile, it was all very… distracting.

She cleared her throat. “You come here a lot?”

Stan looked at her then, brow quirking. “Ya’ tryin’ to scope out my routine, sweetheart?”

“Just making conversation,” she said, shrugging. “Gotta fill the silence before you inevitably start telling me some ghost story.”

He grinned, pushing off the wall with a lazy kick. “Oh, I’ve got stories. You know me.”

She raised a brow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He swam over slowly, just under the surface, until he was a few feet from where she sat.

Neither of them said anything right away.

He floated there, arms out, then gave a small shake of his head, half amused, half shy, taking her in. Her posture was relaxed, but he knew her well enough by now to see the tension just beneath it, the way her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, her gaze fixed a little too intently on the ripples at her feet.

She looked... different out of her usual layers. Still Kate—sharp-eyed, sardonic—but softer now, somehow. Her hair was a little damp from where he’d splashed her earlier, a few strands sticking to her neck. Her one-piece suit was modest, sure, but on her, it made his throat dry out a little anyway.

It hit him in waves, not just attraction, though that was definitely there, it was everything else too. The fact that she’d shown up today despite how uncomfortable she’d said she was. The way she’d floated, just for a few seconds, because he’d said he had her. The fact that she was here now, kicking her feet in the pool like she did this every week.

He let himself look for a moment longer, keeping still in the water.

She glanced up at him suddenly and he looked away like he hadn’t been staring, adjusting the way he floated, casual, like he’d been studying the sky the whole time.

“Your brain’s loud over there,” she said lightly.

“Yeah, well. Don’t trust the acoustics in this place,” he replied, tossing a small splash toward the far end of the pool.

But he smiled to himself, just a little, and didn’t look back until her eyes turned away again. And in that private, unspoken beat between them, Stan knew—he was in deeper than he meant to.

“So,” Stan said, swimming a wide circle, “ya’ ever hear the story of the Old Ditch Boy?”

Kate squinted. “Is this going to end with someone’s spleen being used as a paddle?”

“Worse,” he grinned, face lit with that storyteller gleam. “Late ’70s. Some kids used to dare each other to swim in this dried-out irrigation ditch. Nothin’ fancy—just stagnant water, old tractor tires, and probably thirty kinds of bacteria. The kind of place parents told you not to go to, so obviously, that’s where everyone went.”

Kate smirked. “Naturally.”

“So legend goes,” Stan continued, paddling closer with a dramatic flair, “this kid, Billy or Ricky or... something ending in ‘y,’ dives in, tryin’ to impress a girl. Then, bam. He hits somethin’. Somethin’ soft. Like a body.”

Kate made a face. “Gross.”

“Oh it gets better,” Stan said, circling in. “He says this hand grabs his ankle, pulls him under, and he comes up screamin’ about some ghost kid in the muck, pale-eyed and soaked. Swears it tried to trade places with him. Like a drownin’ body-swap.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “What is it with this town and swamp ghosts?”

“Gravity Falls: now with more haunted water per square mile than New Jersey.”

As he spoke, Stan edged closer, getting animated; grinning, pantomiming the ghost with wiggly fingers and spooky voices. Kate laughed despite herself, swatting water toward him.

“And so,” he finished, voice dropping theatrically, “they say the Old Ditch Boy still waits in that muddy corner, hoping the next dumb teen takes a wrong step, grabs their leg, and—boom—”

He surged forward suddenly, grabbing the pool edge beside her hips to land the dramatic beat of the story.

Kate yelped at the surprise—and then went completely still.

Stan didn’t pull back.

His arms were braced on either side of her thighs, his stomach brushing against her knees where they bent into the water. She sat frozen, towel slipping slightly from her shoulders, breath catching.

His grin faded.

He blinked.

The story died on his tongue.

He realized the proximity too late. Or maybe just in time.

They were close—absurdly so. His chin level with her sternum. Her legs all but framing his torso. He didn’t move. Neither did she.

His gaze flicked up to hers. Something tightened in his jaw, something unreadable.

She could feel the heat of him, the scent of chlorine and sunblock, the steady inhale of his breath just inches from her.

The moment stretched—quiet, pulsing.

Then—

Kate scooped up a handful of water and splashed it straight into his face.

Stan jerked, blinking furiously. “What the hell?!”

She smirked. “You were monologuing into my cleavage. Had to do something.”

He sputtered, shaking water from his hair. “You ruined the dramatic endin’.”

“You boxed me in mid-ghost story!”

“That’s classic tension buildin’!”

She laughed, grabbing her towel again as he splashed back, less aggressively now, more like a truce. They giggled like kids, water dripping down their arms, the echo of it bouncing through the empty pool.

Eventually, he leaned against the wall again, arms folded, grin crooked.

Kate looked down at him, smile still twitching at her mouth. “That story was entirely made up, wasn’t it?”

“Fifty-fifty,” he admitted. “There was a kid who got ringworm in that ditch. Which, honestly, is worse than a ghost.”

She laughed again, and this time it lingered, soft and content.

The sun outside had dipped fully behind the trees.

---

The quiet inside the pool echoed differently now, less playful, more subdued. The sun had almost set, the sky still relatively light as the dusk settled.

Kate’s legs trailed through the pool from where she sat, her towel abandoned beside her, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. The air was cooler now, her skin prickling slightly in the breeze drifting in through the propped open door.

Across the water, Stan let out a low exhale and floated upright. “Alright,” he said, his voice low, soft from the echo, “I think we’ve officially become prunes.”

Kate let a small smile tug at her mouth. “Speak for yourself.”

She stood slowly, water dripping from her as she rose. Her suit clung more than she expected—pressed to her hips, her thighs, across her back—and she instinctively tugged her towel off the bench, wrapping it around her waist.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stan pause. She felt his glance, the way it lingered too long for either of them to call it casual.

Just briefly.

Not openly staring—he was better than that but his eyes swept across her in a way that told her he hadn’t meant to linger. Shoulders, waist, the curve of her legs. He blinked and shifted, wiping water from his face like that might cool something more than his skin.

She didn’t say anything.

But she noticed.

And she looked too, maybe for the first time without guilt. His arms flexed subtly as he pushed himself up out of the pool, water sliding down his chest, catching on faint freckles and the trail of hair that disappeared below the band of his swim trunks. His shirt still sat on the bench, untouched. For a moment, the sight of him like this; real, strong, a little scarred and sun-worn, sent a quiet stir through her chest she didn’t know what to do with.

His swim trunks sagged slightly under the weight of water, and for a moment he hesitated near the bench, as if unsure where to start. He grabbed the towel off the bench and raked it over his hair, glancing at her under his lashes.

“You’re quiet,” he said, not teasing—just noticing.

Kate tucked damp strands behind her ear. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She gave him a small look. “Says the guy who told me about swamp ghosts.”

Stan smirked, but it softened fast. He glanced away, then down—adjusting the edge of the towel around his neck—and she caught the faintest flicker of something like nerves in him.

They moved in quiet sync, both reaching for their bags. Both watching each other in brief, mirrored flashes. Both pretending the silence was ordinary.

As Kate bent to slip her sandals on, she felt the shift in his posture, a small stillness that told her he was looking again. Maybe just for a second too long. Maybe just at the way her back curved or the dampness of her swimming suit slightly soaking through her shorts, enhancing her ass.

When she rose and turned, she let her eyes sweep up his frame once more—less subtle now, but no less measured.

Neither of them said a word about it.

They both moved in quiet tandem, reaching for their things, not quite looking at each other, but not not looking, either.

Kate ran a hand through her damp hair. “That was... better than I expected.”

Stan nodded; towel slung over one shoulder. “You were better than you expected.”

She glanced sideways at him, his grin was discreet, but warm. Sincere.

She smiled. “Thanks. For being patient.”

He shrugged one shoulder, ducking his head a little as he busied himself with his shirt. “Didn’t feel like patience.”

Kate blinked at that, heart giving a small, unnecessary skip, but said nothing.

She caught him stealing another glance—quick, almost guilty—before he pulled his T-shirt on and reached for his keys.

She adjusted her towel again and turned toward the door. “I’ll drive behind you.”

He nodded. “We’ll grab somethin’ on the way if ya’ want. I know a place that does halfway-decent sandwiches after seven.”

Kate smiled softly. “That sounds perfect.”

They walked out into the cooling air, not touching, not talking for a few seconds, but hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of arms, every breath of space between them.

---

The front doors of the Mystery Shack creaked open with their usual dramatics—hinges moaning like they were cursed—just as Kate stepped inside in full costume, holding her breath.

“Okay,” she said, spreading her arms with a touch of self-deprecating pride. “Behold: Mrs. Mystery.”

Stan, who was leaning over the front counter arranging shoddily printed brochures that read ‘Are you cursed?’ turned and froze.

She stood framed in the doorway, cloaked in a deep plum velvet wrap she’d found at a thrift store. Dramatic flared sleeves, layered black and red skirt, and a wide leather belt cinched at her waist. She’d lined her eyes just enough to look half-mystic, half-menacing. Her hair was pinned up messily, with an ornamental fake bird feather tucked in.

Stan blinked. “Whoa.”

Kate raised a brow. “Good whoa?”

He coughed. “You’re definitely not underdressed.”

“I did promise flair.”

He approached and circled her slowly, nodding as if inspecting a fine antique. “Alright, alright. Needs somethin’. Here—hold still.”

He ducked behind the counter and came back with a gaudy beaded necklace made of plastic pearls and a giant “mystic eye” pendant dangling from the center.

He draped it over her head with all the care of a man bestowing a sacred artifact. “There. Now ya’ look cursed and authoritative.”

He grinned again, “Mrs. Mystery in the flesh. We’re ‘bout to traumatize some very gullible families.”

Kate smirked. “That’s the goal, right?”

“Welcome aboard.”

The crowd shuffled through the main hall; mostly families, a few curious teenagers, and one woman in full tie-dye dragging a nervous-looking boyfriend. Stan led the group with booming voice and exaggerated arm gestures, while Kate swept behind in full character.

“Behold!” Stan shouted, waving toward a display of cracked jars and murky liquids. “The preserved eyeballs of the Oregon Eyebat! Said to blink once a year, on the anniversary of your greatest regret!”

“I wouldn’t get too close,” Kate added, voice lower, smoky. “Last time a skeptic leaned in, he walked away with an eyepatch and a very confusing stain on his pants.”

The crowd laughed. The kids were hanging on every word.

They moved to the “Cryptid Courtyard”, a room of cobbled-together animatronics and cardboard cutouts bathed in dim, flickering green light. Kate swept her hand over a dusty-looking skull.

“This one belonged to the two-headed raccoon of Echo Canyon. Mr. Mystery won it in a poker game. Against the raccoon.”

Stan didn’t miss a beat. “It was a tough bluff. I almost folded.”

They were in full sync, playing off each other’s jokes, their chemistry electric. It felt... natural.

Too natural.

The midday tour was in full swing.

Stan strutted ahead of the group with a cane topped by a rubber snake head. Kate followed behind him with an exaggerated limp with now a bag full of fake bones that clacked with every step.

“Here we are, folks!” Stan bellowed. “The Room of Unnatural Love!”

The group oohed.

Stan opened a creaky curtain and gestured to an exhibit featuring two taxidermied chipmunks dressed in wedding attire, posed atop a hollowed-out beehive. Families clustered around the exhibit, clearly entertained by the bizarre setup.

“Once cursed to feud for generations, the Chipmunk Montague and the Squirrel Capulet found love in the bark of a forbidden cedar,” Kate intoned. “Their vows were sealed under the light of a lunar eclipse and six cans of raccoon-fermented soda.”

Stan stepped forward, twirling his snake-headed cane like he was about to pitch a very haunted timeshare.

“And now,” he announced, “the tragic tale of forbidden forest romance—featuring wedding squirrels, misused taxidermy, and... fate.”

As the group chuckled, a girl near the front, no more than ten, raised her hand.

Stan paused. “Uh... yes, small inquisitor?”

She tilted her head. “How did you two meet and fall in love?”

Kate blinked.

Stan made a noise like someone had dropped a wrench into a blender.

The crowd laughed. Waiting.

Kate looked sideways at him.

He looked at her.

The air hung still.

Then Stan turned slowly to face her, eyes narrowed, one brow raised in a silent you ready for this?

Kate caught the glint in his eye. Fine. If they were going to fake it, they might as well sell it.

And then, they turned dramatically to face the crowd.

She stepped closer to him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. She rested her gloved hand lightly against his chest, just above the amulet he wore for the tour.

“It started on the day of the Blood Moon,” she said darkly. “I was wandering the woods, lured by the cries of the will-o’-the-wisps.”

Voice dripping with drama. “There was a thunderstorm.”

“Friday,” Stan added, “the 13th.”

“She wandered into the Shack seekin’ shelter from the rain... and the hauntin’ presence that chased her through the woods.”

Stan slid an arm around her waist with dramatic flair, tugging her gently against his side. “I thought she was a banshee. She had a glow about her, and I was tired and mildly concussed. Almost hit her with a broom.”

“Which made me curse his plumbing,” Kate replied with a casual shrug.

The group broke into laughter.

Kate leaned into him just slightly, voice low and ominous. “Then, he offered me a ride in his rusted-out station wagon. I accepted, because the trees whispered that our fates were tangled... like headphone cords.”

Stan looked out at the tourists. “We were chased by raccoons. Twice. One of them spoke in Latin. By the end of the night, I’d given her half my sandwich, and she’d stolen half my heart.”

The crowd awwed. Even the teens in the back stopped pretending they weren’t listening.

Kate turned her head toward Stan and rested her temple just barely against his shoulder. “Ever since then, we’ve wandered the trails of the supernatural... side by side.”

Stan, to his own surprise, found his voice a little softer, he leaned in slightly. “And I knew she was meant to be the other half of the Mystery.”

Kate barely looked at him, but her cheeks flushed beneath the makeup.

“And that,” he said, reaching to dramatically gesture between them, “was the beginnin’ of the legend of Mrs. and Mr. Mystery.”

Applause.

The little girl’s mother raised her pink Polaroid camera. “You two are adorable. You have to let me take a picture, you’re perfect.”

Kate hesitated, heart jumping just a little.

Stan pulled her gently into place, placing both hands lightly around her waist now. Kate instinctively rested her hand on his chest again. Their bodies were warm against each other, flush through costume layers. His breath slowed. Hers matched it.

The Polaroid clicked. The flash went off.

The moment lingered longer than the click of the camera.

They didn’t immediately move.

A few seconds passed.

The photo whirred out with a mechanical hiss, slowly developing in the woman’s hand. She waved it and smiled as the image formed.

“Here,” she said, handing it to Kate. “For the lovebirds. It’ll finish developing in a minute. You’ll want to keep that one.”

Her stomach twisted, but she smiled. “Thanks.”

The group moved on.

Kate stared down at it in her hands. The image slowly faded in—Stan holding her a little too comfortably. Her leaning into him with a faint, unplanned smile. Something in both their eyes looked too real to be theater. It was a bit washed out. Her red lenses glowed slightly from the flash. They looked like some strange couple out of a haunted attraction flyer. But... they looked like a couple.

Stan saw it, too.

“We look like we met durin’ a séance and never left the basement.”

Kate smiled faintly. “Kind of works for us.”

“You’re not gonna burn that, are you?” he joked, a little rougher than usual.

Kate glanced up at him, eyes unreadable. “No. I think I’ll keep it.”

She slipped the photo into her coat pocket—close to her heart.

And the tour moved on, but neither of them quite remembered what came next.

---

The click of the front doors echoed through the building like the final act of a performance. A few flyers stirred in the gust of the departing crowd, then settled again. Quiet returned to the Shack.

Kate leaned back against the wood-paneled hallway wall, letting out a long breath, still clutching the ridiculous wooden scepter she’d been brandishing as part of her “mystic act.”

“Okay,” she said, winded but smiling. “That was... deranged.”

Stan dropped the ratty top hat he’d worn onto a chair and laughed, still riding the high of the crowd. “I don’t know, I think we might’ve convinced a couple tourists we’re actually married and live in a tree.”

He passed by her on his way to dump the tour tip jar into the lockbox. He paused mid-step when he glanced over and saw her fiddling with the back of her hair, fingers tugging at a stubborn pin.

“Here,” he said, before she could protest.

He stepped in and gently reached around, brushing her hand aside. His fingers threaded carefully through her hair, locating the pin tangled near the base of her neck.

Kate stilled.

The gesture was nothing dramatic—not romantic in any obvious way—but his touch was warm and careful, slower than it needed to be. She could feel the soft scrape of his knuckles against her neck as he worked.

“There,” he murmured after a beat, pulling the pin loose and holding it up like a tiny prize.

She turned to look at him, only to find they were much closer than she realized.

Her chest was inches from his. Their eyes locked. Neither moved.

There was nothing overt in their expressions, not a smile, not a smirk. Just a quiet stillness, and the mutual realization that something had passed between them.

And then—

Stan cleared his throat and took a small step back. “That thing was like a bear trap.”

Kate exhaled, tension she hadn’t noticed bleeding out of her shoulders. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He gave a half-nod, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh… you were good today, doll. Really sold it.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself, Mr. Mystery.”

A soft beat passed. Something almost settled. Then Kate tucked the pin into her pocket and tilted her head.

“That might’ve been the weirdest performance I’ve ever given,” Kate mused distractedly pretending to be deeply interested in something around her.

“Aw, come on,” he chuckled. “You’ve worked with elementary school kids. You’ve definitely seen worse.”

Kate smirked. “Fair point.”

Stan clapped his hands together “I think we deserve a good ol’ break. You wanna grab somethin’ from the kitchen? I think there’s still soda in the back fridge.”

 “Yeah. That’d be good.” Kate nudged his elbow gently with his as she passed him, brushing close.

“You’ve got a little glitter on your neck, by the way,” she added over her shoulder.

Stan blinked. “I—wait, what? From your cape?”

“From your performance,” she called, disappearing toward the back stairs. “Full of sparkle.”

He touched his neck, grumbled something under his breath, and then—despite himself—smiled.

Chapter Text

Tourist season had settled now in July. The hand-painted ‘Tours this way!’ sign squeaked as the front door creaked open and the latest group of tourists funneled in; camera straps around necks, sunscreen still streaking arms, kids tugging at their parents’ sleeves and already eyeing the “Cursed Corn Dog” stand out back.

Stan adjusted his bolo tie in the dusty reflection of the front window and cracked his knuckles. “Showtime.”

Behind him, Kate tightened her makeshift Mrs. Mystery shawl and lowered her tinted glasses dramatically.

“I’ll do the whispery forest voice this time,” she said. “You start with the taxidermy lie.”

“Y’mean the truth,” Stan corrected with a wink, pushing open the door to the main room with an exaggerated bow. “Step right in, folks, and prepare to question everythin’ you thought you knew about science, nature, and personal hygiene!”

Kate trailed after him, her voice dropping to a theatrical hush. “Some doors only open if you scream the name of your first crush backwards, any volunteers?”

The crowd laughed.

Over the course of the week, something shifted.

At first, they’d stumbled, Kate missing her cue, Stan rushing punchlines. But tour by tour, they hit a rhythm.

She knew when to lean into his ridiculous claims with a deadpan curse or fake backstory. He knew how to loop her into setups for gags and build their shared mystique. Their banter sharpened, the stories got weirder, and the performances tighter.

Stan’s favorite routine became the “Haunted Love” tale they made up on the fly, now retold daily with new embellishments. Today’s version included a gnome duel, matching tattoos that moved when you blinked, and a forest spirit named Steve who officiated their cryptic wedding.

By the end of every tour, someone always asked for a photo with them.

Kate would roll her eyes, but she’d pose beside Stan anyway, one hand resting between his shoulder blades, the other resting lightly on his arm. Stan would beam, arms crossed proudly, looking every bit the shameless salesman, as he had had the idea to charge for the pictures.

And people loved it.

So much so that by the second week of July, the front counter had to add a second cash box.

Stan whistled as he stacked thick rolls of bills into the register behind the counter one evening. “I haven’t seen this much green since that time I tried to sell bottled lake fog in Oregon.”

Kate leaned on the counter beside him, sipping a soda. “Did that actually work?”

“Only until someone got ringworm. Details.”

She laughed, nudging his elbow. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Stan tapped the locked drawer beneath the register with a grin. “You hear that, bills? You have her to thank.”

He grinned, glancing over at her. “You’re not bad at this sideshow stuff, sweetheart. Might have to start printin’ ya on the brochures.”

She smirked. “Only if I get final photo approval.”

Kate chuckled softly, as she flopped onto one of the wooden benches near the exit, shrugging off her shawl and stretching out her arms. “My voice is going on strike by the end of the week.”

Stan snorted, cleaned beside the counter as he counted the last roll of cash. “Ya’ get used to the hoarse bark eventually. Builds character. Mine’s all gravel and glory now.”

“Right. You’ve evolved.”

He stood straight and leaned back with a soft groan, twisting at the waist until something cracked. Kate winced.

“You alright there, Mr. Mystery?”

“Fine. Just a spine realignin’ itself with the universe.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Should we start listing your vertebrae as part of the supernatural exhibit?”

Stan chuckled and tossed the day’s take into the safe. “Might as well. People’ll believe anythin’ if ya’ add glowin’ paint and a sad backstory. Y’know... the shack’s finally lookin’ decent these days. Might be time to add some new weird crap to the display. Remember we rain-checked our visit to the woods a couple weeks back?”

She looked down and nodded, twisting the empty soda cap between her fingers, it had been the morning she had ‘walked in on’ him and Spice.

He stepped closer now, voice thoughtful. “Thought it might be time. The weirder, the better. We got all summer ahead, and tourists love crap that looks like it might curse their dog.”

She laughed under her breath.

“I was thinkin’,” he added, “we could head into the woods. Do some diggin’. Maybe grab stuff that looks authentic. You know... the real Gravity Falls stuff.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You want to go scavenge the woods with me for haunted junk?”

Stan shrugged. “Unless you got somethin’ better to do with your weekend.”

She considered him, tapping the bottle cap against the wood of the bench. “I’m in. But only if we bring snacks. I’m not trekking into cryptid territory on an empty stomach.”

He gave her a small grin. “Deal.”

For a while, they stood in silence again. Not uncomfortable, just tired, the kind of tired that comes from doing something worthwhile. The last light of day filtered in through the crooked blinds.

Stan leaned against the opposite wall, looking at her with a softness he didn’t bother to hide. Something swelled in his chest, something he knew was being hard to ignore.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said, simply.

Kate blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Doin’ this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the whole room. “All of it. Wouldn’t work with anyone else.”

Her expression softened. “Thanks, Stan.”

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary; and then, as if on cue, the taxidermy owl behind them let out a mechanical hoot and spun its head violently to the left.

They both jumped slightly, then burst into laughter.

“Alright,” Kate said, pushing up from the bench, brushing dust off her skirt. “Let’s call it before that thing tries to gain sentience.”

Stan chuckled. “Tomorrow we hike, Mrs. Mystery. Wear boots that can outrun a rabid squirrel.”

Kate chuckled on her way out.

---

By late night, the Mystery Shack had gone quiet.

Upstairs, the floorboards creaked in slow intervals as the building settled into its nighttime groan. Outside, frogs croaked lazily, the occasional rustle of leaves against the windows.

Stan stood in front of the vending machine.

He paused.

Then entered the code, the heavy machine moved, opening to the stairwell. The basement always felt a little colder than the rest of the Shack. The smell of dust and machine oil clung to everything, like time had decided to pause just slightly below the surface.

He crossed the concrete floor and knelt by the small cabinet tucked behind a set of crates. Pulling back the tarp, he reached for the thick red journal tucked beneath a layer of older papers and scavenged items.

Ford’s handwriting still lined the spine in crisp black ink, neat and meticulous. Stan ran a thumb along the edge of the pages, then exhaled and opened it.

Just a precaution, he told himself.

He sat back on an old stool, flipping through faded pages, sketches of beastly silhouettes, field notes, warnings. Names half-scratched out, some with symbols that still made no sense to him.

A page caught his eye.

Lurebeak: Nocturnal. Camouflaged. Attracted to reflective surfaces and the scent of sugar. Non-lethal unless startled. Sharp beak. Poor vision.

He snorted. “Well, we’ll just leave the soda at home.”

He flipped past a few more sketches of gnarled tree-stalkers, root-dwelling mimic wasps, the infamous Gophergeist. All of them weird, most of them rare.

He knew their odds of seeing anything were slim. Half the stuff in the journal hadn’t been spotted in years. But still...

Kate’s gonna be out there with me.

She’d handled herself fine before, when faced down with the Gravity Falls weirdness with him, but the idea of something happening while she was out there on his suggestion made his chest tighten in that quiet, private way he didn’t let anyone see.

He paused on a worn page near the back; a sketch of a low, crawling shape with too many eyes.

Then closed the journal, thumb holding the spot.

“Just a walk in the woods,” he muttered.

But he tucked the journal back into place.

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Stan looked up, exhaled again, then flipped the basement light off and climbed the stairs.

He wasn’t worried.

But he’d rather be ready.

---

The sun was barely past the treetops when Kate pulled into the gravel lot outside the Shack, her trunk already loaded with a backpack, gloves, and a thermos of coffee. The air still held that early morning crispness, the kind that burned off by noon but made the world feel fresh and wide.

Stan was already out front, crouched near the porch in a flannel shirt and jeans, tying up a lumpy duffel bag.

Kate climbed out of her car, slinging her pack over one shoulder. “Morning. You pack snacks or are we foraging for cryptid berries today?”

Stan grunted as he stood. “Trail mix, jerky, and one apple I’m pretty sure has seen the Nixon administration. We’ll be fine.”

“Great. Nothing like expired produce to fend off cursed forest spirits.”

He grinned and gave her a once-over. “Ya’ ready, sweetheart?”

She held up one leg, showing off her sturdy, very broken-in hiking boots. “Ready.”

“Good. The squirrels get territorial.”

They made their way around to the side trail behind the Shack, the familiar woods opening up like a long, quiet path lined with thick green and filtered light. Stan led the way, Kate followed, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch.

“So,” she asked as they hit the dirt trail, “what exactly are we hoping to find today?”

“Oddities,” he replied with a smirk. “Weird junk. Skull fragments. Bark with a face in it. Rocks that look like celebrity noses.”

Kate raised a brow. “Stan…”

He held up a hand. “I’m serious. Last summer I found a stone that looked exactly like Danny DeVito in profile. Sold it for thirty bucks.”

Kate shook her head, laughing. “So bones, weird trash, and potentially haunted sticks?”

“Exactly. The real Gravity Falls flair.”

They continued deeper into the trees, the sounds of birds chirping overhead, branches crunching underfoot. Their pace was easy, unhurried, the kind of quiet that comes from two people who’ve learned how to be around each other without always needing to fill the space.

Kate scanned the underbrush. “You ever think some of this stuff actually is supernatural?”

Stan shrugged. “Some of it probably is. Most of it’s just ugly in a way that makes people feel special.”

“Sounds like modern art.”

“Exactly.”

They reached a small clearing with a fallen tree arching over a patch of mushrooms and ferns. Stan paused, kneeling to inspect something near the base of the log, a jagged bone half-buried in moss.

Kate crouched beside him. “Animal?”

“Could be,” he said, brushing dirt away. “Could be part of the Skeleton Man of Junction Hollow.”

She gave him a look.

“...Okay, it’s probably a deer.”

Still, she helped him bag it.

They moved on, laughing occasionally, pointing out twisted branches and weird bark growths that looked like faces. At one point, Kate stopped to inspect a tangled knot of vines with something shiny caught inside, a cracked porcelain doll eye.

She held it up, brow arched. “Worth keeping?”

Stan nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. Stick it in a jar and tell people it blinks when liars walk by.”

Kate slipped it into her bag with a chuckle. “Done.”

The woods stretched on around them, calm and green and ancient, and beneath the jokes and collecting, there was something steadying about it, something grounding. But both of them felt it; the comfort, the rhythm, and how it felt to be doing something that belonged only to them.

They’d been wandering for over an hour now.

Kate’s backpack was growing heavier with odd bits and finds: twisted sticks, bits of bone, lichen-covered stones, a glass marble embedded in tree sap. Stan was two paces ahead, swinging a stick like a cane, whacking at overgrown ferns and muttering to himself about the uphill incline.

“Tell me again why we didn’t just hit the dump behind the Dusk 2 Dawn?” Kate asked, stepping around a thorny bush.

“Because the woods have authenticity,” Stan called over his shoulder. “Besides, no one questions a shack full of garbage if half of it’s forest garbage.”

Kate chuckled, then paused to take a sip from her water bottle. The trees had thickened around them, older there. The canopy above shaded the forest floor in a mossy haze. There was a stillness in the air now, not tense, but watchful. The kind of silence that made the birds stop singing.

She looked ahead and noticed that Stan had gone still.

“Find something?”

“...Maybe,” he said, crouched by a thicket of low brush.

Kate made her way over.

The leaves were parted in front of him, revealing a small clearing. In its center sat a circle of stones, smooth, clean, too evenly spaced to be natural. In the middle of the circle was an object.

A wooden mask.

About the size of a dinner plate, carved with exaggerated features: bulging eyes, sharp teeth, long curling horns. It was half-buried in the moss, but its shape was intact. Around it, faint scratches dug into the earth, old, but deliberate.

Stan didn’t speak right away.

Kate knelt beside him. “That doesn’t look like junk.”

“Nope.”

She reached forward, but he gently caught her wrist.

“I wouldn’t,” he said.

They both stared at it for another moment. There was something off about the air, like it was pressing slightly against their skin, colder than it had been just minutes ago.

Kate spoke quietly. “What do you think it is?”

Stan straightened slowly. “Could be a totem. Maybe somethin’ from one of those backwoods rituals people talk about.”

Kate stepped back. “So… we’re not touching it.”

“Not today.”

She nodded. “Good plan.”

They both fell quiet again.

The woods listened.

And somewhere far off, a single bird finally called out.

They left the clearing slowly, careful not to disturb anything, the weight of the mask’s empty eyes still on their backs as the woods folded quietly in behind them.

---

The woods had thickened again, closing in overhead. The air was denser now, the sun dappled in small patches across mossy logs and crooked tree roots.

Kate followed close behind as Stan led the way uphill along a narrow deer trail. Both were a little quieter than usual, their earlier rhythm dampened by the discovery of the mask. Every once in a while, Kate glanced over her shoulder, something felt off.

“Been a while since we saw a good piece of junk,” she said, trying to sound casual.

Stan grunted. “Mask kind of killed the fun, huh?”

She nodded, wiping her brow with her sleeve. “Maybe we should start heading back soon.”

But before he could answer, a shadow passed overhead.

Quick. Wide.

They both stopped and looked up.

Nothing.

Stan squinted toward the light breaking through the canopy. “Big bird?”

Kate frowned. “That didn’t flap like a bird.”

They kept walking. Another fifteen steps.

The shadow crossed over them again—closer this time. The leaves rustled overhead. Something creaked in the trees.

Kate turned sharply. “Okay, that was definitely something.”

Stan glanced up again, his jaw tight. “Could be a buzzard. Big ones hang around here. If we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone.”

Kate didn’t answer, her hand tightening slightly on the strap of her backpack.

They walked faster.

The third time it came, they heard it first: a low screech, almost like tires squealing underwater, followed by a burst of wings through leaves. This time the shadow dove.

Kate yelped as wind whipped past her, something huge and leathery soared over them, clipping a tree branch so hard it snapped and crashed nearby.

Stan shoved her sideways behind a fallen log.

“DOWN!”

They ducked as the thing—whatever it was— circled back up into the air and disappeared beyond the treetops.

“Did you see it?!” Kate gasped.

Stan exhaled hard. “Not all of it. Big. Fast. Kinda… prehistoric.”

Kate gave him a wide-eyed look. “You’re not seriously about to say—”

“I’m not sayin’ anythin’. I’m just sayin’ let’s get to thicker cover.”

They ran. Not far, just enough to slip deeper into a cluster of low-branching fir trees.

A gust of air swept down again, the creature dipping low, claws nearly catching a branch above them.

They hit the ground hard.

Kate hissed, “What the hell is that thing?!”

“I’ve got ideas, but none of ‘em comfortin’.”

“It keeps coming back.”

Stan panted, eyes scanning the canopy. “Yeah, it’s huntin’. Or curious.”

“Or territorial,” Kate added, voice low.

The creature shrieked again, distant now, but circling.

Stan looked at her. “Alright. We move fast, we stay low, we aim for the edge of the woods. We stick together. Got it?”

Kate nodded quickly.

They made a break for it, weaving through underbrush, ducking behind logs and stone outcroppings. The creature passed overhead twice more, closer each time, never quite touching down.

By the time they stumbled into a ditch thick with brush and fallen branches, both were out of breath and smeared with dirt.

They crouched behind a boulder, trying not to move.

Above, the wings passed again, slower now. Like it was looking for them.

Kate’s breath shook. “Is it... gone?”

Stan didn’t answer for a moment.

Then, “Not yet.”

The creature cried again in the distance.

Kate leaned against the rock. “You sure you don’t want to admit that we just got chased by a dinosaur?”

Stan wiped his brow. “We didn’t get chased. We... exited rapidly.”

She gave him a look.

“I’ve had worse days,” he added, then sighed. “We wait five minutes. If it doesn’t circle back, we move. Sound good?”

Kate nodded again, noticing she was gripping his arm, just a little tighter than she realized.

---

They waited around silently for five minutes. Nothing. Eventually they slowly began making their way, shocked and doubtful of where the creature must’ve gone. They had not been trekking back for ten minutes when the dark shape swept across the filtered sunlight above again; fast, massive, silent except for the sudden hush of the wind it displaced.

She paused. “There it is again.”

Stan stopped beside her, his brow tightening. “That ain’t no buzzard.”

A moment passed. But then came a shriek.

The shadow cut across them again; closer, now clearly something winged and wrong, its movement somewhere between a glide and a lunge. As it swooped low, they saw the span of leathery wings, a long tail, and something sharp glinting in the light.

Stan grabbed Kate’s wrist instinctively. “Run.”

They bolted.

Branches whipped past them; roots twisted beneath their boots. Kate stumbled once and Stan caught her by the elbow, steadying her as they kept going.

Behind them, the wings beat again, louder now. Closer.

Kate pulled her bag tighter to her back. “It’s circling!”

“Good! Means it hasn’t picked a landin’ yet!”

She shot him a glare mid-sprint. “That’s comforting?!”

Stan grabbed her hand, guiding her down a steep incline into denser brush. “Left! Through there—go!”

They ducked under low branches, past gnarled trees, thorns scraping at their sleeves. Kate’s hand squeezed his tighter as another shriek split the air, and something clipped a branch overhead, sending it crashing behind them.

They skidded into a shallow ravine, the foliage thicker here, damp and rich with the smell of earth and old stone.

Stan yanked her behind a boulder and crouched, his arm pressing against hers, his hand still clasped tight around hers.

Kate tried to steady her breath. “What is that thing?”

Stan shook his head. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Not plannin’ on interviewin’ it.”

The creature’s shadow passed again, dragging across the rocks. It let out another guttural call, less a shriek this time, more like a long, rattling hiss.

They both ducked lower.

Kate whispered, “It’s hunting us.”

Another pass overhead.

Kate leaned close; her shoulder pressed to Stan’s chest now. “What do we do?”

“We move again. Quiet. Back toward the riverbend trail. That path’s tighter, too narrow for it to fly through.”

She nodded, her forehead briefly brushing his jaw as she turned.

Stan stilled.

Kate blinked and started to pull away, but he gently pulled her back by the wrist, nodding up the path. “Stay close.”

They ran again, weaving through trees, low branches snapping against their arms, the sound of wings slicing through air just behind them.

At one point, as they rounded a bend, Stan yanked Kate to the side, pinning her momentarily against a thick tree trunk as the creature dove again, claws raking low enough to grab at leaves above their heads. Body completely pressed to hers.

Kate’s free hand gripped the front of his shirt, her knuckles white. “We are being hunted.”

Stan didn’t argue this time.

They took another chance to sprint; hand-in-hand, their steps frantic, too loud now, adrenaline drowning out everything else.

Eventually, they reached the edge of an old, rocky rise overlooking the creek. Stan pointed down. “That’s it. That trail cuts past the valley, it’s narrow. Let’s go.”

One final push.

They tumbled down the last few feet, boots sliding in dirt, crashing behind a thicket of low pines just as the creature shrieked again, circling high now but no longer diving.

It had lost its window.

They collapsed in the shadows, lungs heaving, foreheads damp with sweat and nerves.

Kate kept gripping Stan’s hand, neither of them seeming to notice. Her hair was a mess, leaves caught in her braid. His under-shirt was half-untucked, dirt smeared along one sleeve of his flannel.

They were breathless, scratched, rattled, and way too close to laugh it off.

But Kate did anyway. Just a short breath of disbelief. “That wasn’t a bird.”

Stan leaned against the tree behind him, shaking his head. “Nope. That was somethin’ from a very bad fossil record.”

She looked at him, unamused, still clinging to his hand, he gave a dry chuckle. A silence fell.

And then Kate, voice still shaky but trying to re-center, added, “You never said hikes would include aerial monster evasion.”

Stan gave her hand a light squeeze before letting go. “You’re lucky. Some tours pay extra for that.”

They sat a moment longer, the world around them slowly calming again.

---

The creature had not given up. The sky above had taken on a slate-gray hue, heavy with the promise of rain. A storm was brewing. Trees swayed in uneasy silence as Stan and Kate pushed their way through the underbrush, breathless and tense.

The forest blurred past in streaks of green and brown. Branches clawed at their arms. Thorns bit at their ankles. The heavy flap of leathery wings echoed overhead, closer every time. The creature let out another shrill, unnatural cry that rattled leaves from the canopy.

Stan yanked Kate down behind a rock. They hit the dirt hard, both panting, soaked with sweat. Kate gripped her knees, trying not to hyperventilate.

“It’s... still circling,” she managed, gasping.

They stayed still for a full minute. Then another. Just long enough for their limbs to start aching.

Then—whoosh. The creature shrieked again and dove through the trees. Closer. Again.

Stan cursed. “Move!”

“We can’t outrun it forever!” Kate’s voice broke, beginning to be at wits end.

“Not plannin’ to.”

They bolted again, ducking under another low ridge, stumbling into a shallow ravine. They pressed into the narrow space, breathing hard, waiting. The creature let out another screech, but didn’t dive.

Not yet.

Kate’s chest heaved. “I thought this was going to be a fun hike.”

Stan huffed. “I never promised fun. I promised weird.”

They bolted from cover, crashing through ferns and over fallen logs. The ground sloped sharply downward, and they skidded down, half-tripping, half-sliding. Kate stumbled, and Stan grabbed her hand, pulling her upright.

“C’mon, c’mon!”

Up ahead, a narrow path led toward the edge of a valley.

“We need to lose it!” Kate shouted. “It’s tracking us!”

Stan didn’t respond. He was thinking, calculating. They ducked into another thicket. This time, the creature swooped so low that its claw grazed Kate’s shoulder, tearing a gash through her sleeve.

She yelped and fell.

Stan turned and fired a rock at the beast with a grunt, it clipped the creature’s side, making it shriek in surprise but not in pain. Now, crouched behind the twisted base of a fallen redwood, Kate clutched at her ribs, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Stan, just a few feet away, leaned his back against the tree, gripping a broken branch like a bat. His knuckles were white.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “We can’t keep this up.”

She was trembling now, a soft, involuntary shake running through her shoulders. Her breath came too fast, too shallow.

They had been running for too long. Hiding. Sprinting. Dodging. The thing—whatever it was—wasn’t just chasing them. It was relentless.

He looked at her; flushed, scraped, her eyes wide with barely contained panic. The kind of panic that didn’t just sit in your chest, it crawled under your skin and took root.

She whispered, “We’re not getting out of here, are we?”

“Hey.” He shifted toward her, one knee in the dirt, reaching out. “Sweetheart—look at me.”

She didn’t.

He gently touched her face, palm cupping her cheek, thumb brushing beneath her eye. Her skin was damp with sweat, and just beneath it, tears.

“I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen to you,” he said, low and firm. “Okay? You hear me?”

Her eyes finally met his; glassy, afraid.

Kate looked at him, eyes wide. “What do we do?!”

Stan helped her up. “We split.”

“No.”

“It’s the only way.”

“No, Stan.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You run. You take the path by the ridge, circle back to the Shack. It’s narrow, it won’t be able to follow.”

“And you?!”

“I’ll get its attention. Lead it the other way.”

Kate’s voice rose. “That’s insane! You don’t even know what this thing is!”

“I don’t have to! I just have to be loud, ugly, and annoyin’ enough to make it forget you exist!”

“That’s not a plan!”

Stan’s jaw tensed. “It’s called buyin’ you time.”

Kate shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “No. I’m not leaving you out here to be—”

“Kate.” His voice was firm now. “You’ve got to trust me. I can do this.”

The use of her name shocked her, he never called her by her name. Her eyes brimmed. “You don’t have to. We can come up with something else—set a trap, climb a tree—”

“It flies,” he countered. “It’s stronger. It’s faster. It doesn’t sleep. We don’t get another shot.”

“Then we stay together!”

“No.”

“Stan, you don’t even have a weapon!”

He shook the branch. “This is a weapon. If you use your imagination.”

“Stop,” Kate said, her voice breaking. “I’m not letting you stay out here and get hurt. You can’t just throw yourself at it—”

Kate stepped closer, breath shaking. “I’m not leaving you, Stan.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but something in her voice stopped him. Her eyes were bright, frightened, and full of something she hadn’t said out loud before.

He reached up, cupped her cheek instinctively, his hand dusty and rough against her skin. She leaned into it, just barely.

Stan stared at her.

“Hey. Look at me.” His voice was low, gentle. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Kate’s eyes welled up, frustration and fear catching up with her all at once. “I can’t just leave you.”

“Yeah, you can,” Stan said, more softly now. “And you will. Because that thing wants somethin’ to chase, and I’m gonna give it a show.”

She shook her head, tears spilling now. “Stan, please—”

Without thinking, his thumb brushed away a tear, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes were warm and searching, brow furrowed in a mix of concern and… something else. Protective. Close.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered.

Then, without a plan, without thinking, without meaning to, he leaned in and pressed a soft, instinctive kiss to her lips. Barely there—just a brush. Comfort. A promise, full of everything he hadn’t let himself say.

It was brief. Soft. Shockingly gentle for someone who’d just survived a monster chase. Her lips parted against his, not from anticipation, but surprise.

Her hands clutched his wrists, not pulling away. Just still.

And just as quickly, he pulled back.

They stared at each other.

Both stunned.

He had just kissed her.

For a beat, the woods were silent.

Then Stan pulled back slightly, blinking. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to force a cocky smirk through the flush rising in his ears. His voice, hoarse and unsure, tried to play it off.

“Uh—sorry. That was… nothin’. Heat of the moment,” he said quickly. “Don’t read into it.”

She stared at him, stunned, mouth slightly parted, still feeling the ghost of it.

Stan cleared his throat again and began turning away. “Go. Take the ridge trail. I’ll lead it the other way.”

“Stan—”

The creature screeched again. Louder now.

Stan maneuvered the pack on his back and tossed it to her. “Take it. Go.”

She didn’t move, torn. “Go, Kate.”

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away. Her name had never felt more like a dagger to the chest, tears still slipping silently down her cheeks.

She still didn’t move. “Stan—”

He backed away a few steps. “Please,” he said again, gently. “I’ll be okay.”

She stood there another second, heart pounding. Then nodded—reluctantly—and turned to run.

As she darted into the trees, Stan took off in the opposite direction, yelling, banging his fists on a tree trunk, throwing rocks, howling like a madman.

“Hey! Ya’ overgrown chicken-lizard freak! Ya’ want weird? I’ll give ya’ weird!”

The wings beat low.

The creature followed the sound.

And behind it, in the trees, Kate didn’t look back, but her hand clenched the strap of Stan’s bag like it was a lifeline.

Drawing the thing away. For her.

---

The trees blurred past in streaks of green and gold. Kate’s feet pounded the forest floor, lungs burning, heart racing in her ears louder than the flapping of wings she prayed she wouldn’t hear behind her.

She didn’t know how long she had been running.

Minutes? Hours?

Time had folded in on itself the moment Stan turned away.

Her fists were clenched around the straps of his bag, still slung across her chest like a lifeline. Every few steps she looked back, but saw only trees, shadows, and her own guilt chasing her.

She had not started crying again. Not yet.

But her chest ached.

The kiss. God, the kiss.

So sudden, so brief. It hadn’t even had time to mean something. And then he brushed it off like it was nothing.

She nearly tripped over a root.

Branches slapped at her arms. Her legs were cramping. Her lungs burned.

Kate didn’t care.

All she knew was that she had to run; fast, straight, keep moving, because Stan was still somewhere behind her in those woods with that… thing.

She couldn’t think. Not properly. Her thoughts were fragmented, overtaken by one pounding refrain: He stayed behind. He stayed behind. He stayed behind.

Her foot snagged on a root, she stumbled, caught herself on her hands, scraped her palm open. Still didn’t stop.

No time to think about the sting. Or the tear in her shirt. Or the fact that her breath was ragged and her hands were shaking.

Just the sound of her feet pounding the forest floor. Just get to the Shack.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She was furious at him for staying. Angry at herself for running. Terrified that she might not ever see him again. And underneath it all, that soft thrum of he kissed me pulsed in time with every frantic step.

Finally, the woods thinned. She pushed through the brush, stumbled out onto gravel, and saw the crooked silhouette of the Mystery Shack in the distance.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the porch.

Bursting through the side door, she slammed it shut behind her and locked the deadbolt. The stillness inside the Shack pressed around her like a wave.

She leaned against the door, breath catching, sweat and dirt streaking her arms.

Then she froze.

The room was still. Quiet. Her breath echoed loud in her chest.

She stood there for a moment, disoriented, sweat dripping down her temple. Her mind raced with all the worst possible outcomes.

Was he okay? Did the creature get him? Was he still out there? Injured? Hiding?

She paced.

Back and forth. Then to the phone. Dead line.

“Damn it.”

She tried the radio on the front desk. Static.

What on earth was I going to actually say to the authorities anyways, but why does it sees like there isn’t any sign of power, she thought.

Her fingers fumbled through the bag, maybe he had a flashlight, something useful, anything. Like she could do something with it. But her hand brushed something familiar. A Polaroid from one of their tours. The one where they’d had to pose like a couple.

She swallowed and set it aside, too focused to feel much.

Do something. Think.

She opened the supply drawer. Flashlight. Pocketknife. Duct tape. Nothing helpful. Nothing that would tell her where Stan was.

And then finally, finally, after the buzzing in her ears began to fade and her heart rate slowed, it hit her like a train.

The kiss.

He had kissed her.

Her fingers froze mid-search.

She stood up straight, heart knocking into her ribs all over again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

It had happened so fast. Right before he told her to run. His hand on her cheek. Her fingers gripping his wrist. That jolt of heat between them.

The panic that had been all about losing him now tangled into something else, something heavier.

Had it meant something? Was it a mistake? Did he think it was?

She didn’t know what to do with any of it. She sat down heavily on the bench by the gift shop counter, one hand pressed to her forehead.

The silence of the Shack felt unbearable now.

Her thoughts kept spinning back.

He said “You have to go now.” He said “I’ll be okay.” He kissed her. He let her go.

She buried her face in her hands, and for the first time since she had run away, she let herself cry.

Not just fear.

Grief. Confusion. Love.

---

Stan ran until he couldn’t.

His lungs were screaming, his knees ached, and the shouts he’d used to lure the creature had dulled into hoarse, broken gasps.

The canopy above blurred as he ducked between trees and slid down a ravine. The creature shrieked somewhere behind him, its wingbeats growing more erratic.

He hit the bottom of the slope and landed hard on one shoulder, rolled, and came up again, coughing dirt.

His voice rasped. “Come on, ya’ overgrown nightmare... I’m still here.”

No response.

He paused, pressed his back to a moss-covered boulder, and listened.

The trees rustled.

But the air felt different now.

Quieter.

The bird-thing—whatever it was—had either lost his trail or lost interest. The last few dives it made had been halfhearted. Not attacking. Just observing. Like it had been testing them.

Stan didn’t trust it.

He sat there a moment, catching his breath, still listening for wings. He reached up and touched the edge of his temple, it came away wet with sweat and something darker. A scrape. Nothing serious.

“She better’ve made it,” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet.

And despite everything—despite the ache in his legs, the sting in his hands, the lingering echo of something terrifying above him—Stan’s mind drifted back to the only thing he hadn’t been able to shake off:

Her face right before he kissed her.

That look, like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or yell or stay forever.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

He really hadn’t.

It had just... happened.

He hadn’t even let himself feel the full weight of it yet. Not with the creature screaming overhead and Kate running the other way with his bag clutched to her chest.

He should’ve said something. After. Instead of brushing it off. But there hadn’t been the time.

Stan leaned on a crooked pine, hands on his knees, chest heaving. His shirt was torn, one elbow scraped raw, and there was pine sap in his hair.

But the creature was gone.

He didn’t know why, maybe it lost interest. Maybe it wasn’t hunting. Maybe it just wanted to assert itself.

Didn’t matter now.

He glanced toward the rough direction of the Shack and started walking, slowly, every muscle aching. The storm was rolling in, it began to drizzle lightly. He sighed.

And in the quiet that followed, in that strange post-adrenaline haze, he finally let himself think about it.

He had actually kissed her.

Just a second. Just a moment. But it was real.

And now he had to figure out how to face her again.

---

It had been hours.

The sun had long vanished behind a wall of thick storm clouds, the storm had rolled in gradually the drizzle that had started not long after Kate reached the Shack had bloomed into a full summer downpour.

Kate sat on the front steps of the Mystery Shack porch, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her clothes were soaked through, the denim of her jeans clinging cold to her skin, her shirt heavy with rain. Every few minutes she would brush the dripping strands of hair out of her face, only for them to fall back again, plastered to her cheeks and neck.

The rain thudded steadily onto the roof above her head, sheets of water cascading off the eaves. The gutters overflowed. Thunder murmured in the distance like a warning.

She didn’t flinch.

She couldn’t remember how long she’d been out there. Long enough that the adrenaline had finally faded, leaving her hollow and aching. Long enough that the panic had dulled into something worse: helplessness. She hadn’t moved from the porch since she ran back from the forest, too terrified to leave, too paralyzed to go looking for him, too afraid she’d return to silence.

Her fingers were clenched around the strap of his bag, which still sat beside her like a weighted presence.

The wind kicked up again, pushing a spray of cold rain across the porch, but she barely reacted. Her body shivered on instinct, but her mind was somewhere deeper, chewing itself apart.

Why did I run? Why did he stay?

She kept trying to replay his face as he turned to leave her in the woods; the certainty in his voice, the stupid, brave smile.

The forest was dark behind her now, ominous, but quiet. No sign of movement. No snarling. No cracking branches. Just the low hum of cicadas and distant thunder.

Every minute dragged longer than the last. She tried to tell herself he was fine—that he’d done this sort of thing before. That he knew the woods better than anyone. But the panic still swirled under her ribs like a storm cloud.

She had stopped checking the treeline an hour ago.

But she hadn’t moved.

Her mind was a tangle. Worry, fear, the unresolved adrenaline that still hadn’t let her eat, or warm up, or breathe right, and threaded through all of it, looping quietly, was the memory of his lips on hers.

The kiss.

She hadn’t let herself really think about it, not in the sprint through the forest, not during the first hour of panic. But now, sitting in the echo of that moment, soaked to the bone and wound tight with dread, it hung heavy in her chest. Not warm. Not reassuring. Just... confusing.

Her heart thudded.

And yet he’d pulled back so fast. Called it nothing. Told her not to read into it. Typical Stan. Always deflecting, always making her guess. But she knew that look in his eyes before he did it. Something had cracked open.

It hadn’t felt like a joke, or a spur-of-the-moment adrenaline thing. It felt… different. Gentle. Intentional. But then again—had she only imagined it? It had all happened so fast. His face so close, the scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his hand on her cheek—

She hadn’t been able to breathe right since.

She pulled her knees closer to her chest, resting her chin on them, trying to blink away the sting in her eyes.

The storm rumbled again, louder this time. Somewhere far off, a branch cracked under its own weight and collapsed with a hollow crash.

Kate’s hands flexed. Her body itched to do something—pace, yell, scream, fix it—but she just sat there.

Until—

Footsteps. Not loud. But solid. Coming from the woods.

She blinked. Then again.

Through the blur of rain at the edge of the woods, a figure stumbled forward; muddy, hunched, soaked.

Her breath caught. She was on her feet in an instant.

“Stan!”

From between the shadows of two trees, soaked from head to toe, muddy, scraped, and utterly real, Stan emerged.

He was limping slightly, a long gash on his forearm, hair plastered to his forehead. But his eyes were sharp. Still alive. Still him.

He didn’t answer right away, just trudged toward the Shack, one hand braced against his side, the other shielding his eyes from the rain. His flannel was soaked through, sleeves torn. A streak of dried blood ran along one temple, mixing with rainwater.

He paused when he saw her there, like he hadn’t expected her to be waiting.

Then he gave her that crooked, worn-down grin.

“Man,” he rasped. “Nature really knows how to lay out the welcome mat, huh?”

Kate didn’t laugh

“Hey,” he said, almost casually, his voice scratchy. “Miss me?”

Kate exhaled a shaky breath that turned into a short, embarrassed laugh

She stumbled a little as her knees nearly buckled from being still too long. Then she was in front of him, hands hovering near his chest and shoulders, not quite touching.

“You’re—you're okay?”

Stan nodded. “Yeah. Took the scenic route.”

She exhaled. “Stan—God. I thought—” her voice cracked, but she stopped herself.

He looked tired—banged up—but alive.

“I’m alright,” he said, easing down onto the porch steps with a quiet grunt. “It didn’t follow me for long. Lost interest after a bit. Maybe I’m too stringy.”

He tried to joke, but she could see the strain in his eyes. He wasn’t completely fine. Not physically. And definitely not emotionally. She sat beside him.

He glanced down, awkward now. “Sorry. I would’ve been faster, but... you know. Giant flying death pigeon.”

She shook her head, that did not matter, because he was here, alive.

Kate still didn’t smile. But her hands touched his arms now, lightly, checking the worst of the scrapes, like she needed to confirm he was real.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, reaching toward his scraped arm.

They sat close. The rain still falling around them.

He waved her off. “It’s just a scratch. You okay?”

Kate looked at him, brows drawing together. “You’re seriously asking me that? After what you probably just went through?”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Stan, rubbing the back of his neck with a damp hand, said, “So... listen. About earlier.”

Kate stiffened.

He shifted uncomfortably, his usual swagger nowhere in sight. Silence stretched between them.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he added quickly, voice low. “I just—it felt like you needed somethin’. Comfort, I guess. And I panicked. My brain doesn’t exactly run on logic in life-or-death situations.”

Kate gave him a small skeptical side glance. “So that was just panic?”

He hesitated. “I mean... it wasn’t not panic.”

Another long silence.

Kate stared at the trees. “I thought you might not come back.”

“I always come back,” he said, voice surprisingly serious now.

Kate looked down, fiddling with the fraying edge of her sleeve. “I didn’t want to leave you behind. I hated that I had to.”

Stan turned his head slightly to look at her, rain dripping all over.

“You did the smart thing,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it was easy. But you did good, sweetheart.”

Something unspoken passed between them.

Kate’s heart twisted, confused and aching. She was supposed to be getting her head together these past couple months. Figuring out who she was again. But here was Stan, always showing up when she needed him—even when she didn’t realize it. Her feelings undeniable.

And now… that kiss…

“I’m not gonna press,” he said suddenly, reading her expression. “I won’t make this a thing if you don’t want it to be.”

A long beat passed.

Kate nodded. Just once.

Her face gave nothing away.

Stan rubbed his neck again, clearly unsure if he’d said too much or not enough.

Then, after a moment too long, he cleared his throat and got up and headed further into the porch. “Alright. Let’s get inside. You’re shiverin’ and I probably look like I lost a fight to a raccoon with a chainsaw.”

She still didn’t move, just sat there for a moment more, rain dripping down her back, heart heavier than ever, not from sadness, but from something far more complicated.

He reached back and gently pulled her up. “C’mon. We’ve got a first aid kit and a bottle of somethin’ somewhere in there. Let’s patch up and forget the part where we almost became cryptid chow.”

Kate looked up at him, something unreadable behind her eyes.

But she followed.

Chapter Text

The inside of the Mystery Shack was dim and humid, the storm outside pressing against the windows in waves of wind and rain. The old wood groaned in rhythm with the thunder, the smell of damp clothes and pine-soaked dust settling around them.

Kate and Stan squelched into the hallway, dripping water onto the crooked floorboards as they passed the kitchen. Neither spoke as he led her down toward the side bathroom. The overhead bulb flickered faintly as he nudged open the bathroom door with his shoulder and gestured to the cabinet under the sink.

“Emergency kit’s in here. Probably expired, like most things in this place.”

Stan opened the cabinet with a grunt and pulled out the battered red tin box, its latch barely holding. “Still here,” he muttered. pulling it out and flipping it open on the sink. Inside were antiseptic wipes, gauze, a half-used roll of tape, and a tube of antibiotic ointment he gave a suspicious sniff before deciding it was still usable.

Kate stood behind him, arms crossed tightly around herself. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, cold starting to seep into her bones now that the adrenaline had burned off.

She noticed the way he winced when he shifted. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

Stan shrugged. “It’s nothin’.”

“You’re limping.”

“Forest terrain’s dramatic.”

She gave him a look. “You’re bleeding.”

He sighed and set the kit down. “You paint a real pretty picture.”

“Stan.”

Kate stepped forward. “Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit on the lid. I’ve patched you up before.”

Stan scoffed, but didn’t move.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re dripping all over the tile and your arm’s got a gash the size of my thumb. Sit down.” Her voice was soft but firm, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument.

He opened his mouth like he might argue, but the painful pulsing beat in his side clearly won. He grumbled and lowered himself with a grunt onto the toilet seat, bracing his good hand against the wall.

Kate dug out antiseptic wipes, gauze, a bandage wrap, and the roll of medical tape that had just enough left for a couple more uses.

“Off with the flannel, undershirt too” she said without looking.

Stan groaned. “If ya’ wanted to get me shirtless you could’ve just said so.”

Kate’s face didn’t flinch. “I’m holding rubbing alcohol. Keep talking.”

That shut him up.

He held her gaze for a second, then muttered, “Alright, alright...” and began peeling off the flannel. The white undershirt beneath clung to him like a second skin, dirt streaked across the fabric, the left sleeve torn. He then tugged the soaked undershirt over his head with a grunt. The motion made him wince and clutch his ribs again. Bruises were already blooming across his ribs, and a long, angry scrape curved down his upper arm.

Once it was off, he tossed it to the floor with a wet slap.

Kate glanced down, and froze for just a moment.

This wasn’t like the pool.

There was no sunlight, no laughter, no teasing splashes. Just dim, flickering light. Bare skin streaked with dirt and sweat. The deep bruises forming across his side and ribs. The long, raw scrape on his arm. And beneath all of that, a kind of quiet vulnerability in the way he sat there, slightly hunched, jaw clenched more from fatigue than pain.

Kate inhaled slowly and stepped forward, trying to stay focused.

Her brows drew together. “You said it was nothing.”

Stan glanced down. “It looked smaller in the woods.”

“Stan—”

“I’ve had worse,” he said. Then, after a pause, quieter: “Just didn’t want you to freak out more.”

He saw the concern in her eyes and looked away.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need help,” she mused quietly.

She crouched in front of him, tore open an antiseptic wipe. Stan inhaled, already imagining how much it would sting.

“Ya’ do this to everyone who gets mauled in the woods with you?”

Kate didn’t smile. “Only the ones who throw themselves in front of flying cryptids. You have to stay still” she added, nudging his knee with her leg for her to step closer to him.

He chuckled, softly. “You’re bossier when you’re worried.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so bossy if you weren’t so reckless,” she muttered quietly.

He met her eyes, and for a moment, something passed between them. The storm outside muffled everything, the wind pressing against the windows. Inside, it was only breath and silence and soaked clothes and too many things neither of them wanted to say.

She let the moment pass. “Okay,” she said gently. “Let’s start with your arm.”

Stan raised his left arm as she leaned in, her brow furrowed in concentration.

The scrape ran jagged across the outside of his bicep, raw, streaked with dirt, shallow but painful-looking. Bruises bloomed violet and green near the joint. She worked in silence for a moment, gently wiping the dirt and blood away. Her fingers were steady, but every now and then, she’d glance up at his face—how he kept looking anywhere but at her. His eyes were distant, his brow furrowed like he was somewhere else entirely.

She wet a cloth and dabbed at the grime again. Stan hissed.

“Sorry,” she said immediately, glancing up.

“’Have felt worse,” he muttered, jaw tight.

Still, he didn’t pull away. He let her work.

She cleaned the cut with slow, deliberate movements, her fingers brushing his skin. Her eyes followed the lines of the scrape, her free hand holding him steady just below the shoulder. As she wrapped the gauze around it, her fingers grazed the inside of his arm, warm and corded with age-earned strength. A map of old scars and sun.

When the arm was done, she stepped back slightly, eyes sweeping down.

“Other arm?”

Stan extended it wordlessly. It wasn’t as bad, just smaller scrapes along the forearm, where he'd likely broken his fall. He dared to take her in for a moment. Her face was focused, jaw tight, but her eyes—her eyes were tender, sweeping slowly over him as if each injury hurt her, too.

“Turn a little toward the light,” she said.

He shifted. The bulb above the mirror caught the angles of him; his collarbones, the shallow slope of his chest, the faint silvering of old scars across his sternum. One of his legs bounced slightly, not from nerves, but from the effort of pretending he wasn’t uncomfortable.

Kate worked quietly, cleaning and tending the marks on his right arm. The silence between them deepened, not awkward, but close. Contained.

Kate reached for the antibiotic ointment. “Let me see your ribs.”

Stan hesitated for a second; then shifted slightly, arms somewhat extended, giving her access to the angry bruise across his side.

He followed her gaze.

A massive bruise bloomed over his right side, deep and dark, already turning green at the edges. The discoloration curved under his ribs and toward his back.

Kate knelt in front of him now, her eyes level with the damage. “Can you lift your arm?”

He tried—winced—then nodded. “Yeah. Barely.”

She helped him lift it slowly, her fingers brushing under his arm as she slid closer, bracing her palm flat against his lower back for support.

The skin was hot. Angry.

Her hand hovered for a second, then moved carefully across the bruised area, pressing lightly at the ribs.

He inhaled sharply.

Kate’s eyes flicked up to his. “That hurt?”

He grunted. “Little bit.”

She gave him a look. “Be honest.”

He cracked a smile, but it was tired. “Hurts like hell.”

She exhaled through her nose, not in exasperation, but in concern. She stood back up and reached for the ointment. Then, with slow, steady care, she dabbed it on with the soft pad of her fingers. Her touch was feather-light, tracing the bruise with the quiet reverence of someone treating an ancient map.

As she worked, her gaze wandered, not inappropriately, but thoroughly. Taking in the subtle muscles along his chest, the old scars, the smudge of dirt still faintly clinging to his side. She was memorizing the landscape of him. Not because she meant to—because she couldn’t help it.

Stan watched her, too. Eyes heavy, lids half-lowered.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

“Nothing feels cracked?”

“Just tender,” he said through gritted teeth.

She studied his face—drawn, but composed—and nodded. Then, she resumed gently rubbing it in. Her hand moved in long, slow strokes across his side. The touch was careful, clinical. Her eyes scanned the swelling, the discoloration.

He was quiet.

After a beat, her voice came through, soft. “You really scared me, you know.”

Stan didn’t answer.

She didn’t push.

Kate could feel his breath against her temple, his chest rising and falling under her hand. She swallowed.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“You keep sayin’ that,” he said, voice lower now. “But you’re the only one keepin’ me in one piece.”

She smiled, barely.

“Just don’t breathe too hard for a few days.”

“Good thing I never do,” a small attempt at humor.

She moved around behind him now, checking the bruises at his back. As she touched the swelling forming near his spine, he flinched — not from pain, but from the contact.

“You okay?” she asked, stepping around to meet his eyes again.

Stan looked at her, really looked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I need to wrap your ribs,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes at first.

Stan nodded once. “I figured.”

He winced slightly as he moved, lifting his left arm to give her access to his side.

Kate stepped in closer. Her brows knit tightly, mouth drawn in a line as her eyes scanned the bruising, the places where he’d taken the fall to shield her, where the creature’s talons had nearly caught him.

Her fingers brushed his side lightly, testing where the worst of it was. Stan sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” she said immediately.

“No, it’s okay.” His voice was rough. “Just cold fingers.”

She gave a weak smile. “Better than clumsy ones.”

With practiced movements, she slipped behind him and began to thread the gauze around his torso, guiding it carefully under his raised arm. Her front brushed against his back as she looped the first band.

Stan closed his eyes.

She moved around to face him again, gently pulling the gauze across his ribs with both hands. Her fingers pressed near the bruise as she secured the tension.

“How tight is this?” she asked.

His voice came out low. “Feels like a boa constrictor. But, ya’ know... in a comfortin’ way.”

Kate huffed a soft laugh under her breath.

She looped the bandage again, this time slower. Her fingertips traced over the muscles just beneath the bruising, adjusting her placement. Her hand slid lightly along his ribcage to secure the wrap, and for a breath—one long, still breath—she paused.

Stan watched her, his gaze dropping from her eyes to the curve of her lips, her hair tucked behind one ear. Her focus was so intense, so close, and her fingers didn’t tremble, but they had softened, almost like she couldn’t bear to hurt him further.

He swallowed, hard.

Kate realized, suddenly, how much of him was exposed, how her palm had rested against the bare plane of his chest for more than a few seconds, how close her body was to his, how his skin was warm beneath her hand.

She tried not to react. Tried to keep her breath steady.

But her eyes flicked up and met his, and something tightened in the air between them. She resumed the wrap, stepping closer as she passed the bandage around his back again. This time, the brush of her knuckles against his ribs made his stomach flinch, though he tried to hide it. She secured the gauze with a final pin, her hands lingering for a second more than they needed to.

Then she stepped back, exhaling.

“Alright,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “That should hold for the night.”

Stan didn’t say anything at first. His hand absently moved to where she’d wrapped him, fingers grazing the bandage.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Kate gave him a look—soft, steady. “Of course I did.”

Their eyes met again.

The air felt thick. Not heavy, just full. Full of things unsaid. Full of everything in her hands and his silence. Full of something tender, just under the surface.

Stan shifted slightly, clearing his throat.

Kate paused, then reached up, fingertips brushing across his temple where a faint line of blood had dried into his hairline. “You’ve got one here, too.”

His eyes dropped to his hands, her tenderness making his stomach flip.

Her hand stilled, cupping his jaw gently as she wiped the cut. Her thumb moved across his cheek, slow, the stubble prickling her finger.

He didn’t pull away.

A scrape near his temple. A faint bruise forming at his cheekbone. Smudges of dirt in the creases near his jaw and beneath his eyes. There was something worn in his expression. Not just exhaustion. Not just pain.

Just... exposed.

A beat passed. His eyes lingered on her face, and for a moment, everything in the room narrowed down to breath and skin and proximity.

But then she stepped back slightly, clearing her throat. “Let me just finish patching this up.”

She reached for a fresh cloth and moved to wipe away the last of the blood at his temple.

He closed his eyes at her touch. Her fingers ghosted across his face; temples, cheekbones, hairline, gently mapping the pain, the closeness, the history he wore on his skin.

She saw all of it.

And for once, he let her.

Stan tensed but didn’t interrupt the moment.

Then Kate stood, lifting a damp cloth again. She stepped between his knees, close now, her hips brushing his thigh. She reached for the cut at his brow; a shallow nick, that had been bleeding earlier. Stan flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away. He let her do it, gaze low, hands resting on his thighs.

“Hold still.”

He did.

Her left hand came up to steady his face, palm resting just below his jaw. Her fingers curled slightly against his cheek as she tilted his head toward the light. Her other hand dabbed gently at the wound.

Stan’s eyes drifted shut.

“You’ve got a thick skull,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised how many people have tested that theory.”

When she finished wiping the cut, she didn’t immediately step away.

Her fingers lingered at his temple, the pad of her thumb brushing gently across his brow, sweeping a stray bit of hair aside. The cloth fell to the counter, forgotten.

He opened his eyes.

She was still holding his face.

The air shifted.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

She took a breath—small, steadying—and tilted her head, just slightly.

Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth. Then back again.

The space between them filled with heat and the quiet hush of storm wind.

She gently touched the swelling along his temple, thumb grazing his hairline.

“Still got your head,” she murmured.

Stan’s breath caught faintly. “Most days.”

Her hand moved without thinking; up into his hair, brushing it back, smoothing it gently. Her fingers lingered at the base of his neck, thumb absently stroking the back of his scalp.

Stan’s eyes fell shut.

He didn’t move. Just sat there, legs loose around her, head tilted slightly toward her hand like it grounded him.

Kate studied his face; the lines, the shadows, the place where his armor had slipped.

And she leaned in.

A kiss.

Just a peck. Soft. Lingering. Warm, like a second thought that had always been there.

She pulled back just a little, barely an inch.

He opened his eyes.

A beat passed.

Stan’s fingers twitched against his thigh. His mouth opened like he might say something, but then his brow furrowed and he gave a short, almost nervous huff.

She smiled softly. “It’s ‘comfort’. Remember?”

He blinked, visibly startled; not by the kiss, but by the echo of his own words. His ‘excuse’.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air was thick with something unsaid, a tension that wasn’t fear or hesitation anymore, just weight.

Then Stan exhaled and chuckled weakly, eyes flicking to the tile. “Well... if all comfort felt like that, I might start collectin’ injuries on purpose.”

Kate gave a breath of a laugh, but the weight remained between them.

Still... it was a sign. The moment had changed.

She didn’t step back. Not yet. Just stood there, her fingers still ghosting through his damp hair, like she hadn’t quite decided to let go.

He glanced up at her again, softer now, but still hiding behind the joke.

Kate gave him a half-smile, then withdrew slowly; the moment, like the storm, passing but not forgotten.

She turned, slowly gathering the used gauze and rinsing out the cloth. Her hands moved automatically. Her heart did not.

Behind her, Stan sat quietly, jaw clenched just a little tighter, like he was trying to keep something from rising.

Neither of them said what they were thinking.

But they both felt it.

“Let’s get you dried off,” she said, voice quiet.

Stan nodded.

---

The storm had weakened to a whisper, distant thunder rolling low behind the pines. The Shack creaked softly with the return of calm, the air still smelling of wet moss and old wood.

Kate stood just inside the hallway, soaked clothes clinging to her skin, her shoulders tight from everything they'd just endured.

Stan passed her quietly, limping slightly but trying not to show it. He paused halfway down the hall, scratched the back of his neck, then said, voice low, “Hang on.”

He disappeared into his room, rummaging audibly through drawers. A few muted curses later, he reemerged, holding a small bundle in both hands.

“I—uh. I figured ya’ wouldn’t wanna go back home like that,” he said, nodding toward her soaked shirt and jeans. “Unless you’re trynna’ catch pneumonia, in which case, hey, no judgment.”

Kate gave a tired smile.

Stan extended the clothes toward her, a faded navy T-shirt that looked like it might’ve been part of a car garage uniform once, and a pair of gray drawstring sweatpants, worn soft and loose from age.

“I’ve got an old towel too. Bathroom’s yours.”

Kate took the bundle, their fingers brushing briefly. The clothes were warm from his hands.

“Thanks,” she said.

He nodded, suddenly awkward. “They might, uh—fit weird. You’re... not exactly built like me.”

“I’ll survive.”

Stan gave a lopsided grin, then stepped back toward his room. “I’ll change too. Give a holler if you pass out or get eaten by the medicine cabinet.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She looked at the large T-shirt, faded from age and dozens of washes, then at the pair of drawstring sweatpants that would likely hang on her, but were warm and soft.

She closed the door and peeled off her damp clothes slowly, wincing slightly as the wet fabric tugged across a scrape at her side. Bruises she hadn’t noticed bloomed across her arms and knees. She dried off carefully, hair towel-damp and skin pink from the warmth.

The shirt slipped over her like a dress, loose in the shoulders, soft at the seams. The sweatpants sagged, but she rolled the waistband and cinched the drawstring. His clothes smelled like cedar, old cotton, and faintly—unmistakably—like him.

Stan, in the meantime, changed in his room. The door didn’t fully latch, and the hallway was quiet enough that he could hear the sounds of shifting fabric. He stood in his bedroom in nothing but flannel pajama pants, wet clothes dumped in a heap near his boots. He pulled a fresh undershirt from the top drawer, paused, and stared at it without moving.

His body ached. The ribs were the worst, but it wasn’t the soreness that had him standing there, unmoving.

His mouth still tingled.

Not from pain. Not from one of the creature’s hits.

But from her.

The kiss had been brief, a soft press of her lips to his, unexpected, warm, and quiet. No hesitation. No wind-up. Just… close, close, and then—

“Comfort,” she’d explained, echoing what he’d said about an hour earlier.

That word had hit harder than the kiss.

And he’d stood there, stunned, throat thick, ribs tight, not from the bandages.

And maybe he’d needed it. The comfort.

That’s what threw him.

He’d needed it.

He hadn’t realized how much.

His heart had stuttered like he was some teenager. He hadn’t known what to say, so he cracked a joke. Classic Stan Pines. A wall of deflection, thick as brick.

But even after she smiled and turned away, that moment lingered.

And now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft her mouth had been. How natural it had felt. How dangerous.

Because if that was “comfort,” then he was in more trouble than he thought.

He ran a hand through his damp hair and muttered to the room, “You’re gettin’ soft, Pines.”

But there was no bite behind the words, just resignation.

Something quietly afraid to hope.

He finally slipped the undershirt on, careful of his ribs, and stared at himself in the mirror across the room, hair still a mess, bruised up, eyes older than he felt.

He looked like a man who’d just been kissed by someone he wasn’t supposed to want, but couldn’t stop thinking about anyway.

And there was no wrapping that up in gauze.

When she stepped out, the hallway was lit in soft gold. Stan was there, leaning against the wall, dark socks and freshly changed into a clean shirt and flannel pajama pants that looked older than the house.

He straightened when he saw her.

His eyes scanned her quickly, not inappropriately, but with a kind of quiet reverence. The shirt hung mid-thigh, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her hair was still damp and slightly curled from the rain.

“Ya’ clean up alright,” he said softly.

“You’re not limping anymore,” she replied.

“I’m fakin’ it better.”

A beat of silence passed. Kate shifted, winced faintly, and looked down at her hand, her palm scraped raw from the fall earlier. She hadn’t even realized how bad it stung until now.

Stan noticed immediately. “You’re hurt.”

Kate shrugged. “It’s just a scrape.”

He stepped closer. “Let me see.”

Before she could object, his rough fingers gently cradled her hand, turning it palm-up in the dim hallway light.

She held still, watching him.

He examined it, frowning slightly, then glanced up before tugging her by the wrist to the bathroom. They quietly moved where the first aid kit had been set down earlier.

Stan nudged her to sit on the closed toilet sit as he did. He carefully opened the kit.

He opened a wipe and held her hand steady in his own. As the cold antiseptic touched her skin, she hissed slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s okay.”

He worked with slow, deliberate care; first cleaning the wound, then dabbing it dry. His hands were steady, even though she could feel the calluses along his fingers. When he wrapped the gauze, it was snug but gentle, like she was something worth protecting. Reminiscent of their boxing lessons.

Kate watched his face as he worked; brow furrowed; lips pressed together in focus.

“So you do actually know what you’re doing,” she tried joking quietly.

“Had a lot of practice. Most of it on myself.”

“So you could’ve patched up yourself?” her tone humorous.

“You insisted, sweetheart” his lips twitch slightly, a hint of a smile.

When he was done, he lowered his lips to her hand.

And kissed it.

Right at the knuckles, soft and warm.

Kate’s breath caught.

The moment was quiet, fragile. Not a performance. Not flirtation.

Just... care.

By the time he realized what he’d done, it was already done.

Kate blinked. Her breath hitched, just barely.

He didn’t look at her, embarrassed. Just placed her hand gently back in her lap and turned and busied himself repacking the kit.

When he looked up again, and frowned softly at her cheek. A thin, reddish line ran along her cheekbone, almost hidden beneath the curve of her damp hair.

Stan reached out, hesitated, then cupped her chin with surprising gentleness, turning her face toward the light.

“Hold still,” he said.

Kate didn’t move.

His thumb brushed just beneath her eye. The cloth swept the scrape clean, slow and careful. She didn’t flinch.

His hand lingered after. His thumb trailed down the edge of her jaw, and for a breath—just one—he held her there. Looking at her. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with what he felt.

“Alright,” he muttered. “We’re officially held together with tape and borrowed clothing. Classic Mystery Shack protocol.”

Kate smiled at that.

---

The kitchen light hummed, casting a gentle amber glow over the cracked linoleum and cluttered counters. The air smelled of antiseptic, damp wood, and a trace of old coffee grounds. The storm had finally fizzled into distant thunder, leaving only the occasional drip from the gutters outside. It was already dark by now.

Stan stood at the pantry, pulling out one mystery can after another.

“Alright, let’s see what culinary miracles we’re workin’ with here,” he announced, holding up a label-less can like it was a cursed artifact. “This one’s either peaches or beans. Place your bets.”

Kate, looked over at him from where the stood at the fridge.

Stan shook the can lightly. “It’s got slosh. That’s a good sign, right?”

She grimaced lightly and looked over the fridge. It was mostly empty.

“You know... with the way the Mystery Shack’s been pulling in tourists lately, you could technically afford groceries.”

Stan waved a dismissive hand as he looked through the cupboards. “Don’t start soundin’ like an adult now. You’ll ruin my streak.”

She snorted, closing the door and went to pull a pan from under the sink. “Fine. Then we’re eating whatever passes as edible in here.”

He cracked open the can with his pocketknife, it was beans. “We’ve got a winner.”

Kate chuckled. The tension had been thick after the first aid, and now they were both working hard to push back against it. To find their footing again.

Kate had found a couple of eggs in the fridge and an onion that wasn’t entirely on its way out. She tapped the eggs against the counter and muttered, “Bet you a fiver one of these is green inside.”

Stan peeked over her shoulder. “If it’s glowin’, we’re sellin’ it to NASA.”

They cooked in that strange harmony; not graceful, not particularly efficient, but intuitive. Stan grabbed a diner butter packet from a drawer (“I stole like, fifteen of these from Greasy’s,” he admitted proudly), while Kate toasted the heel of bread directly over the burner.

They worked in unspoken tandem. Kate cut up half of the onion, and mixed some condiments to whip up a sauce. The meal was strange, but warm, enough to settle something in their stomachs after a long, rattling day.

They didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. The clinks of the spatula and the soft hiss of the burner filled the kitchen.

Stan passed her a plate. “Not bad for post-apocalypse rations.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever eaten scrambled eggs and beans at midnight in someone else’s pajama pants.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “You’re welcome.”

Once everything was ready—beans, onion-scrambled eggs, and slightly scorched toast—they each grabbed a plate and migrated toward the living room. The big armchair, lumpy and old, was clearly built for one and a half people at best.

They both stared at it. They had made it work once, when they had ordered pizza way back.

Stan cleared his throat. “Uh… left side’s less stabby.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You make a compelling offer.”

He sat first, settling into the side with the least suspicious springs. Kate lowered herself beside him, their shoulders brushing immediately. There was no way not to sit close. Her thigh pressed gently against his. His arm rested near hers on the cushion.

Neither of them shifted.

Stan grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. The screen buzzed slightly before finding a local late-night rerun, something old and grainy, a sitcom from the 70s neither of them had any real interest in.

Still, they watched.

The food was warm. The couch was narrow. Their plates balanced on their knees.

For a while, they didn’t talk. Just ate in comfortable silence, chuckling at the laugh track or commenting idly about the terrible effects on screen.

Kate leaned slightly into him as she chuckled at a particularly awful joke. “That armchair looks worse than this one.”

Stan tilted his head. “I take offense. This armchair has history.”

Kate glanced at him. “That is a nice way of saying you’re emotionally attached to it.”

“Only mildly.”

They both laughed, softer now.

Her smile lingered as she returned her gaze to the TV.

Stan’s eyes stayed on her for just another second— her messy hair, worn sleeves pulled over her hands, the pink fading from her cheeks where he’d cleaned the scrapes earlier. She was wearing his clothes, curled into his armchair, hair still a little damp from the storm, and despite the bruises and fatigue, smiling. With him.

His heart did something funny in his chest.

He looked away again, focusing on the TV. “Still think the armchair has a little charm.”

Kate leaned lightly into his shoulder. “Prehistoric charm.”

“That’s just character.”

---

The old sitcom’s credits rolled in the background, the TV casting a soft blue light across the living room. The plates now empty and balanced carefully on top of the dinosaur skull. Neither of them had moved in a while.

But eventually, the spell had to break.

Kate stretched her legs slightly, then sighed as she stood, careful not to disturb Stan’s injured side. “Alright,” she said quietly, “I should head home.”

Stan stood, slower, rubbing a hand over one of his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s late.”

They gathered the plates and brought them to the kitchen in silence. The sound of running water, the clink of dishes in the sink, filled the space between them.

Kate dried her hands on the towel, then gave him a small smile, soft, tired.

He walked her to the front door.

The Shack creaked around them as the house settled, post-storm. Outside, the air was thick and cool with the scent of wet pine and damp earth. The porch was still slightly slick with rain.

They stood just inside the door for a beat too long.

Kate shifted her weight. “Thanks... for the clothes. And, you know, not dying.”

Stan gave a wry smile. “Thanks for the patch job. And for runnin’ when I told you to.”

“You can thank me by not doing anything stupid next time.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

Her laugh was small, but real.

Then came the silence again. That edge of something between them.

Kate looked up at him. He looked back. The memory of the two short kisses they shared seemed to flash in their minds.

And wordlessly, she stepped into his arms.

He didn’t hesitate. Just folded her in, gently, one arm resting at the small of her back, the other across her shoulder. She pressed her cheek to his chest, careful of his ribs. His chin brushed the top of her head.

They held each other like it wasn’t just for goodnight.

It was quiet.

Not tight. Not brief. Just... long.

A real hug.

His fingers curled slightly against her shirt—his shirt, now worn by her—and hers pressed lightly into his back. The warmth between them was steady, patient, and unspoken.

Eventually, Kate pulled back just enough to look up at him, their arms still loosely wrapped around each other.

Her lips parted slightly, like she might say something.

But she didn’t.

Neither did he.

She stepped back, letting go, eyes soft.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stan nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She stepped down the first step of the porch, paused , then turned and glanced at him once more.

He stood in the doorway, lit by the golden light from inside, one hand on the frame.

That moment lingered.

Then she gave him the smallest smile; not quite shy, not quite bold and turned.

Stan stood there, not quite wanting to let the moment go, let the quiet afternoon-night go.

Kate had just fully stepped down from the porch, the night air cool and damp around her ankles. Her shoes made a soft sound on the wet boards, and the glow from the Shack’s windows spilled faint light around her like a halo.

She was halfway to the gravel path when she heard it:

“Doll—wait.”

She turned.

Stan had stepped out onto the porch, one hand braced on the porch column. His face was half-lit in shadow, unreadable for a moment.

Then he stepped forward and reached out, gently catching her hand before she could take another step.

She paused.

He held her hand like he wasn’t sure he should. Like he was giving her time to pull away.

“I was just thinkin’...” he started, then scratched the back of his neck, visibly nervous. “Would ya' maybe... stay a little longer?”

Kate blinked. “Stan—”

“I mean, just for a bit. Just... to hang out. No big thing.” He cleared his throat. “For comfort.”

She stared at him.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “You started it earlier, might as well milk the excuse.”

Kate arched an eyebrow. “So now you’re using the words I used against you now as words against me?”

“I’m just sayin’, comfort’s a two-way street.”

She gave a small exhale, a half-laugh, half-sigh, her fingers still curled loosely in his.

Then, softly, “Why?”

Stan hesitated. Then he dropped the act, just for a second. His voice went quiet. Real.

“’Cause today was a lot. And even though I’m pretendin’ it wasn’t, I’d just... I’d rather not sit in all that alone.”

Kate’s expression shifted. Her hand tightened gently in his.

He added, almost too fast, “Not in a weird way or anythin’. Just... talk, or TV, or somethin’. Nothin’ big.”

Kate looked at him for a long moment.

She was tired. Her body ached. Her head was a mess.

But still—she nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Just for a bit.”

Stan let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and smiled; not smug, not playful, just grateful.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

They turned back toward the porch together, their hands brushing once more before parting. The door creaked as he opened it again, and she stepped inside after him.

The Shack was dim and quiet and full of ghosts they weren’t ready to face yet.

But for now, they had an armchair, a blanket, a too-late hour, and the simple comfort of not being alone.

---

The glow of the TV cast soft flickers across the wood-paneled walls, the screen filled with muffled dialogue and retro music. Whatever show it was, neither of them was paying attention.

Stan flopped back onto the armchair with a quiet grunt, his arm draped over a throw pillow like he was trying not to acknowledge the bruises pulling at his side. Kate followed more slowly, hesitating as she looked at the narrow space beside him. She tucked herself beside him, one knee bent up onto the cushion, curled in on herself, trying not to take up too much space.

They sat.

Close again.

Too close for the tension to completely disappear.

Her thigh brushed his.

Their arms rested side by side.

A tension lived there, small, quiet, but humming gently under the surface.

They both kept their eyes on the TV. But their bodies were already starting to lean. Stan didn’t say anything, just kept his gaze forward, occasionally grunting at the show like it actually held his attention.

A few minutes passed.

Then slowly—almost imperceptibly—Kate leaned a little.

He shifted in response.

Neither said anything.

But the gap between them dissolved; piece by piece, touch by touch. Her shoulder found his upper arm. His knee bumped hers. Her head, after a long exhale, tilted lightly onto his shoulder.

And still, nothing was said.

Another few minutes ticked by, the laugh track on the television filled the room again.

Eventually, Kate’s legs pulled up, curling gently sideways. She let her weight settle against him more fully, fatigue finally outweighing caution.

Her head drifted lower, settling near his chest.

She didn’t even realize how much she’d moved, until her knee was across his thigh, one arm loosely draped across his stomach.

Then it hit her; suddenly, fully, that she was halfway on top of him.

“Oh—sorry—” she whispered, already trying to move, lifting herself on one elbow.

But Stan’s hand caught her gently at the waist.

“Hey. No,” he said softly, almost sheepishly. “It’s... it’s fine.”

She paused, hovering above him. “I don’t want to hurt you—your ribs—”

“You’re not.”

“I’m basically lying on your side.”

“You’re not that heavy.”

She gave him a dry look. He shrugged, a little more bashfully now.

“Comfort, right?” he added, his voice low.

Kate blinked, she searched his face for a sign he was just deflecting again, but he wasn’t smiling. Not joking. Just... there. Soft around the edges in a way she rarely saw.

She hesitated one last time.

He had already looked away. Yet without looking, he carefully—gently—adjusted her weight, guiding her back down, this time more intentionally. His arm settled across her back, the palm of his hand smoothed her hair, allowing her head to fully on his chest before resting flat between her shoulder blades. His other hand reached for her arm, draping it across is stomach again.

She relaxed slowly. Let herself mold back into him.

Her ear pressed lightly against his chest. The thump of his heart under her cheek was steady. Real. Human.

She let out a long sigh, the kind that made her realize how tired she was.

Stan shifted once, adjusting the throw blanket over them both. His fingers didn’t move much, just a quiet, grounding presence resting across her spine.

The TV kept playing. Neither of them noticed the episode.

In the quiet hum of the Shack, with storm clouds still retreating beyond the hills and the smell of pine lingering in the floorboards, Kate stayed half-draped across him, warm and folded into something that felt too natural to question. Kate’s fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Stan’s hand rose once, hovered, then settled on her waist. Not tight. Just enough to say: stay.

There was still tension, but not the kind that needed to be solved. Not yet. Just the kind that told them something was changing.

And Stan—battered, bruised, still unsure of what any of this meant—closed his eyes and let it happen.

---

The first light of morning filtered in through the crooked blinds, slanting pale gold across the cluttered living room.

The TV had long since gone quiet, reduced to a soft hum of static. The thin blanket was still half-draped over them, having shifted sometime during the night.

Kate stirred first.

Her eyes fluttered open, eyes heavy with sleep. For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t even think.

Then she blinked.

Her head was resting on a chest, not a pillow.

The rise and fall beneath her was slow, steady. Warm.

Her hand, loosely fisted, was curled near his collarbone.

Her leg, definitely, was between his, hips completely against each other.

Oh.

Stan’s arm was still around her waist, fingers lightly palming her under the hem of the shirt, his hand big and warm on her soft skin. His head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, snoring faintly. His hair was sticking up on one side.

She closed her eyes again for a second. Not to sleep—just to process.

Everything came back in pieces: the creature, the storm, the injuries, the patching-up, the dinner, the late-night show, the way they just sort of... drifted into each other like it had always been that way. The kiss. Well, kisses. Just brushes under the excuse of ‘comfort’.

And they hadn’t talked about it. Not really.

They still hadn’t.

She didn’t move yet. But she was acutely aware of every place her body touched his. Like two puzzle pieces nudged together.

Still together.

Still tangled.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t want to.

But the logical part of her brain started whispering things about boundaries and muddled signals and what if he thinks you meant something by this?

Which, maybe she did.

What if he didn’t mean anything by this?

But still—

A low groan finally rumbled in Stan’s chest. A deep breath rose under her palm.

Then—a shift.

Stan stirred beneath her, a quiet grunt in his throat. His head moved slightly, brushing against her hair. She didn’t move, pretending to still be asleep.

And then, without much thought, still more dream than awake, he tightened his arm around her.

His hand slid gently up her back, not possessive, just grounding. Protective. Rough against her skin.

And then, lips grazed her hairline.

A kiss. Soft. Natural.

His voice—low, rough with sleep—murmured against her temple:

“Mm... my angel.”

Kate froze.

Not visibly. Not enough for him to notice.

But inside, her breath caught.

Not doll. Not sweetheart.