Chapter Text
Dipper walked through the rundown streets of Chicago, his mind felt numb and his heart hung heavy with disbelief. He was a killer. The brunette stood before the all too familiar rundown shack. He reminded himself that this his was his one and only shot at finding out if he had any remaining family. He'd donned his navy pinstripe suit so he'd be a bit more recognisable.
This time when he entered the bar was pretty much empty except for a few, probably unemployed, regulars who practically lived there. Behind the counter, talking to the cashier, was an elderly man with an uncanny resemblance to Ford. A knot of guilt twisted painfully in his stomach. As he got closer he got a snippet of conversation. "Hey Wendy, get this bar shining!" He said gruffly, "the health inspectors coming next week and I can only bribe him so much until he shuts this place down!"
"Yesir!" The redhead,Wendy, said dryly with a mock salute. Suddenly the presumed manager noticed the brunette's presence. "Ah, customer!" He called, "Welcome to the Mystery Shack! Whaddya wan't?"
"Got any whiskey?" The teen sighed. The man raised an eyebrow "Wanting some under the counter stuff? I can help you with that," He said swiftly ducking behind the counter. Dipper caught the glass as it slid across the bar, "Um, this isn't whiskey..." He said, looking bewildered at the sparkling water. "Oh I know kid, can't have you getting drunk this early in the morning," He chuckled sitting down next to him, "Plus I wanted to have a little chat, call me Stan,"
"Alright...Stan, do you know a Stanford Pines?" Stan's eyes widened, "What? You mean my deadbeat mess of a brother?" He muttered gruffly, quickly regaining composure. "What about him?"
"Look this is gonna sound crazy but I think we're related. I mean I used to live with Stanford and this place is the only ties I have with any remaining family..." The brunette rambled. Stan pursed his lips and and stayed silent for a long time. "Dipp...er?" He asked uncertainly. The teen leaned forward, shocked "Y-You know me?!" He stammered.
"Hot Belgian waffles it really is you! I can't believe this!" Stan exclaimed. Dipper paused, "W-wait how come the cashier didn't recognise me?"
"Okay, I'll start from the beginning," Stan huffed, taking a swig from the flask in his waistcoat. "About 30 years ago I came to the shack to help my brother, he wasn't taking Ma's death too well and had bouts of Paranoia. Then in 1907 we had to take you and your twin sister Mabel under our wing. I'm sorry to break it to you but your parents aren't around here anymore," Dipper took a moment to absorb the information. So Stan and Mabel were his only living relatives? "By the time you were three Ford's illness was getting worse," He continued, "I tried getting him help but there's no way he'dve survived in an asylum," Stan paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "A-and when you were 5, he took you. Sayin something bout how you two were 'the same'. I think it was because of your birthmark..." The elder man met the teen's eyes.
"Tell me the truth Dipper, is Ford ok?" The brunette's sea blue eyes tore away from the other's tired brown ones. "N-no... He's not ok," He stuttered, praying his voice wouldn't betray him. Stan slumped slightly, "Thought as much," he muttered, "Do you know how...?" Dipper shook his head quickly, not trusting himself to speak. He sighed, "Thanks for telling me kid, sorry but I'm gonna need a bit of time to myself... See ya round Dipper," He mumbled, slowly getting off the stool, not meeting the boy's eyes. Dipper's features fell "I'm really sorry Grunkle Stan. Bye for now,"
~~~~~
Bill watched the brunette leave the Mystery Shack and sighed in annoyance. Why'd the kid always cause himself so much pain?
He cocked his rifle.
Guess I'll have to find a guy strong enough to carry a 170 pound man...