Chapter Text
Stan was nervously standing over his twin brother, who was nearly crawling underneath the hood of his car (that was suspiciously emitting thick black smoke). One of his arms was folded over his chest, and he was chewing his nails on the hand of the other arm. His eyebrows were furrowed, his frown digging deep into the skin of his face. He could hear the parts under the hood clinking and Ford muttering to himself in annoyance.
“Grunkle Stan, has this coffee been sitting out on the counter since your trip with great uncle Ford?” Mabel walked out the Mystery Shack in her socks and the same sleep shirt she has been wearing for two years straight. Stan turned to her, and as soon as he noticed the mud-stained socks on her feet, moved his hand from his lips to the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply at the nearly comical morning he’s been having, “Mabel, you’re too young to be drinking that, for one, and where are your shoes, even?”
She laughed to herself, putting one hand on her hip, the cold pot of coffee raised high in the other, “Hah, silly grunkle Stan, I'm a high schooler now! I basically run on this thing. Also, it’s too sunny for me to wearing shoes today, obviously,” she paused her laughter for a moment, raising an eyebrow, “Why is great uncle Ford trying to go inside your car?”
Just as she was finishing her sentence, Dipper also walked out behind her, barely looking up from the notebook he was scribbling something in, “Hey guys- Why has Stan’s car suddenly become even bigger of a safety hazard?” he asked, stepping up next to his sister.
Stan groaned as he pressed his fingers harder between his eyes, but he wasn’t about to question the weird behavior of his niece and nephew, “Well, kids, I thought it was a phenomenal idea to let Poindexter over there,” he pointed to Ford over his shoulder, “have my car for his ‘morning errands’. Should’ve known it was a bad idea, the man couldn’t drive even before he was sucked into another dimension for thirty years. And now, he’s struggling to fix it because he “doesn’t understand the primitive technology of the sixties”. We’ve been out here like this for an hour now,” he explained, utilizing air quotes heavily to convey his inconvenience.
“Why don’t you fix it, then, Stanley?” Ford called out from the car, frustrated with his own failure to locate the issue. Stan shrugged, “The principle of it, Poindexter.”
Dipper put his hand on his chin, and with a puzzled look asked, “Why don’t you just take it to the mechanic?”
Mabel nodded at this suggestion, by now very concerned about Ford’s oxygen levels under that hood.
“Do I look like I’m made out of money to you?” Stan asked, raising his voice, completely over the entire situation. He crossed his arms and looked down to the ground, sighing deeply yet again. Just then, Ford emerged from the smoke, dusting his pants off and clearing his throat, he announced, “I’ll pay for it to get fixed. It was,” he furrowed his eyebrows, looking away from Stan and avoiding eye contact at all costs, “My fault after all.” Stan looked up at hearing this, with a suspicious look on his face. Then, he looked over at the car, now somehow smoking even harder, and groaned, “Fine. Whatever. But I’m gonna take it to the shops. You all idiots would get scammed with ‘blinker fluid’ or whatever it was mechanics made up these days to cheat you out of your money.”
“Should we call the towing services?” Dipper asked, pulling his phone out of his back pocket immediately. Stan put his hand up, quickly, “No. That’s another unnecessary expense. I know a guy with a truck who could get it there for free. SOOS!” he called out, walking towards the door of the Shack.
You were just finishing up with changing the oil and filter for a man that introduced himself to you as ‘Bodacious T’. Cleaning the grime off your hands, you squeezed your eyes shut and internally cringed at the array of customers you’ve had since you came to this town. Other than their (at times unsettling) personalities, you also thought about who was selling them these shitty cars. You stood there, staring at the Volvo XC90, a car with an engine doomed to fail from the get-go, the SUV already scratched up and miles behind on brake maintenance, even though the man claimed to ‘just had bought it downtown’. You sighed, tossing the dirty rag over your shoulder, not phased by the black stains it would leave on your work suit. You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning onto your work bench. You scanned the ground to see if you’ve left any safety hazards on the concrete floor. You were biting the inside of your cheek, now basically looking through the SUV at this point, rearranging your errands for the day in your head. You still needed to get the necessary documentation to register your workshop.
Registering your business was such a scam. But you were not about to be chased out of Oregon by the IRS. You pushed yourself off the bench, leaning over your notebook, scanning over the list of things you needed to do until the end of the week. You tapped your pen against the wood a few times, before throwing it to the side, picking up your phone as to let… ‘Bodacious T’ know that his oil change went smoothly.
Just as you were wrapping up the phone call, you saw a rusty Dodge Dakota pulling up in your yard towing a smoking… Seventh generation Cadillac Eldorado from 1965? You gawked at the car for a second, before you noticed two men walking out and towards your garage. You examined the two carefully, squinting a little to get a head start. One of them was about your age, the other… looked older than the Cadillac. Respectfully. You set your phone down and walked up to meet them.
The older man didn’t seem to pay much mind to your presence as he spoke up, “Soos? Seriously? You brought the Stanmobile to some kid in overalls? Are you trying to sabotage me?” he complained. Soos looked at you, awkwardly laughing to ease the tension, “Mr. Pines, I’m telling you, McGucket told me she had the junk from the junkyard up and running in a week,” he leaned in, whispering, terribly so, as you heard every single world loud and clear, “And that’s after he… Regained his mind stuff or whatever.”
You coughed to get the attention of the old man rolling his eyes and frowning at this information. When you had their attention to yourself, you spoke up, “Yeah, Fiddleford from down the street always seems to have a new project for me. But, I’m guessing you came here for,” you pointed at the mass of black smoke coming from the vehicle, “that.”
The younger guy spoke up again, extending his hand, “Yeah, dude. I’m Soos, this is Mr. Pines. He, like, totally messed his car up earlier today, or something. Do you think you could take a look at it?”
You sighed, puffing your chest out, before taking his hand, shaking it, “Hello, Soos, I’m Y/N,” you shot the older man a polite nod, “I’ll see what could be up. Though by the looks of it,” you paused, getting a better look at the smoking hood, “The fuel pressure regulator is busted. Your car might be burning raw fuel. I highly doubt that there’s an electrical mishap in that old lady,” you laughed, but it seemed that nobody, but you, got it. To avoid the awkwardness, you quickly got into the Volvo that was sitting in your garage, and drove it out to the front so Bodacious T could pick it up once he gets there. You were sure he wouldn’t mind. You then signaled Soos to get the Cadillac into the garage. Walking back towards the door, you shook a cigarette out of your pack and lit it, not paying mind to the disapproving face of Mr. Pines, “Should you really be smoking near the busted engine, kid?” he asked, arms still folded and eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m not going near the car yet,” you stated, not looking up from the books on your bench, scanning over the instructions you got about registering your garage. You could tell Soos was getting nervous and Mr. Pines was getting impatient, so you left your cigarette in an ashtray and went to take a look under the hood. A huge mass of thick black smoke hit you right across the face, and you coughed a bit, unprepared for the sudden attack of the vehicle. You looked around for a minute before speaking up, “Good news. With how old this fuckin’ thing is, it doesn’t even have a pressure regulator. Bad news, I have no idea what’s up with this. This car is older than my father, so this might take a while. Another good news, I’m not registered to work yet, so you can’t sue me,” you said, closing the hood again, “You can turn the ignition off now.”
You picked your cigarette back up and looked at the men in your workshop. “I have to go take care of the Mystery shack, dude. Mr. Pines, think you’ll be okay talking this over on your own?” Soos asked, collecting his things he left on your work bench. The older man huffed and snapped back at him, “I’m not a child, Soos, I can handle my own affairs.”
You rolled your eyes at his short temper, but waved Soos off politely, sitting down on the chairs out on the lawn and motioning the remaining man to join you. He reluctantly does, and without a word, grabs one of your cigarettes from your pack. You raise your eyebrows at this, but ultimately shrug your shoulders before speaking up, “So, Mr. Pines, I may not be able to tell you much about what is up with your car yet, but I can assume that the old thing won’t have great gas mileage even after it’s fixed. I’m obligated to tell you that, in case you opt for getting a new car instead of shouting at the devil here,” you explained, motioning over at the scratched up red beauty parked inside the garage, “Also, the rebuild kit for the engine costs up to 2,500 dollars. And that’s not including labor,” you explained.
He pressed his fingers against his temples and sighed, overwhelmed with information already, “Just call me Stan, kid, I don’t need any of you scammers ‘Mr. Pines’ -ing me to get into my wallet easier,” you laughed at this comment, not taking it to the heart, "So, you’re telling me my car was fine last night, and it magically broke down completely this morning?”
You looked at him, puzzled, before asking, “When’s the last time you had a routine checkup?”
He waved this question off, and you knew he has, most likely, never taken that car to the mechanic. You clicked your tongue at this, becoming more aware of the damage that has been done to the Cadillac. Given the state of Stan next to you, he was too.
The two of you smoked in silence for a while, before you spoke up again, “I’ll keep the Cadillac here. But, since you look like a busy man, I can lend you one of the cars I just got done fixing for Fiddleford yesterday, if you promise not to tell him. Y’know, I could just tell you I’m going to have to rebuild the whole engine, blindly, but I don’t have anything to gain by making enemies in this town already. So, if you agree, I’ll send you on your way with a fully functional Ford Focus for now, free of charge.”
Unfortunately you knew what it was like to have an ol’ reliable break down on you.
Stan frowned at this proposition, already complaining, “A Ford Focus? Do I look like a high schooler to you?” You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows at him, and his angry expression dropped instantly, folding his arms over his chest yet again, “Fine. But what’s the catch?”
“No catch,” you assured, “I’m still not registered and I don’t want you going and ratting me out to the IRS. I won’t charge you a dime if I deem myself unfit for the job halfway through. Come on, let’s shake on it before I change my mind.”
Stan visibly cheered up after this speech, extending his hand. You shake on it, settling the deal. He suddenly became serious yet again, and warned, “Just so you know, the only reason I came here is to avoid those bastards at ‘Gleeful’s Auto Sale’,” he said, rolling his eyes. You giggled at the honesty and nodded your head, “Yeah, they’re not too fond of me either.”
Stan got up to leave, and as he was about to walk off, you whistled, tossing his temporary car keys to him and pointed at the Ford Focus parked out the front. He caught them and gave you a half-assed thumbs up as he got into the car and drove away.
You turned back to look at the car parked in your garage and sighed. Old men and their cars.