A/N: Because there's no way Stan wouldn't have been feeling it the morning after The Stanchurian Candidate. He may be able to do things like climb up towers and punch out eagles and jump across platforms and carry twelve-year olds, but he's still an old guy.

To say Stan Pines was in pain was a complete understatement.

No, it was more like every cell in his body had been doused in kerosene, lit aflame, and was now sending shocks of hot lightning directly to his nerves. Like his back had been pulled and stretched like putty, muscles screaming in agony as they tore. Like his thighs had taken one too many hits from a hammer and were now throbbing their discontent at him.

Or something like that. Stan wasn't a writer.

In hindsight he really should've anticipated this happening the night before, but after such a long, grueling day the thought hadn't occurred to him. Stan remembered feeling completely spent the moment he and the kids had returned from vandalizing Mayor Cutebiker's mansion and vaguely recalled the way he had been out like a light the moment his head had hit his pillow, but everything else was a blur.

The bone-deep exhaustion and some lingering endorphins had shielded him from feeling most of the pain, he mused, but now that all of the adrenaline had been flushed out of his system he was definitely paying the price of scaling towers and jumping down rafters with two roughly one-hundred pound children in his grasp.

So this is what I get for savin' my family from plunging to their deaths, huh? Stan thought sourly. Well curse him for doing one good thing his life. Curse him for being the responsible guardian he should have been and sacrificing his chance at becoming mayor of Gravity Falls for hiskids. Stan could feel anger blossoming beneath the fog in his brain. Meanwhile, where had Ford been when everything had went down yesterday? Shut away in the stuffy basement working on some dumb invention to win over his family's hearts, not a concern in the world? He couldn't have been bothered to even watch the election on television, no less actually show up in person, and although Stan didn't want to admit it, it stung a bit.

Well, not like he wasn't used to the feeling. These were just the kind of things that came with being him, he supposed.

The thought of medication was what finally roused Stan up. Good thing too, stopping before his thoughts could turn down an even darker road. Stan shoved on his slippers and began his slow depart from the room and into the hallway. He just about threw open the cabinet above the bathroom sink when he reached it, blindly pulling out item after item – half a box of Band-Aids, no, old crusty toothbrush, no, aha! Stan's hand locked around a small bottle, and he popped two of the pills inside without bothering to read the label, swallowing them dry and slamming the container down.

Well, time to get a move on.

By the time Stan made it into the foyer, with ten times more grunting and groaning than usual, the sound of voices hit his ears. It was 7:00, after all. The twins were bound to be up and about. Stan entered the kitchen doorway, and sure enough, the sight of his great-niece and nephew greeted him, as well as a pleasantly sweet aroma of pancakes and coffee.

"Morning Grunkle Stan," Dipper said around a mouthful of apple, sitting at the kitchen table with the journal propped open in front of him. "How'd you sleep?"

Stan blinked sluggishly, leaning against the doorframe. "…Like a baby."

Stan's eyes slid away from his nephew and over to where the pancake smell was originating from. Sure enough, Mabel stood at the stove with her back to him, perched on the little stepstool he'd spent probably too much time rummaging around the Shack for one day for her. Before Stan could say anything, she whipped away from the pan she was hunched over, spatula in hand and a bright smile plastered across her face. "Good morning, Grunkle Stan!" she chirped, hopping to the ground. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Stan groaned. "Like I said, slept like a baby." He took a chance and pushed himself off of the doorframe, shuffling over to the table and all but flopping down onto a chair. "Say, sweetie, s'that coffee just about done brewin' over there?"

"I'm on it!" Mabel scurried over to the pot, carefully pulling it off of its holder and bringing it to him. She then scurried back over to grab the mug that had been set out beside it, placing it down next to the pot for Stan to pour as much into it as he wanted.

Stan didn't have an eye for a cup. Instead he completely ignored it and carefully rose the pot to his lips, taking slow sips from it at first before guzzling it down. The bitter liquid scorched his tongue and burned his throat as it went down, but he could feel it reaching the still fuzzed-out parts of his brain already. It really didn't really occur to him that what he was doing made him look more than a bit suspicious until he realized how silent the room had gotten.

"Uh…" Dipper tried after a few seconds, eyebrow raised, "are you sure you slept alright, Stan?"

"'Eh, 'slept like a baby' might not have been the exact words to describe it," Stan admitted after setting the pot down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "M'still a little out of it, is all."

"Oh…yeah," Dipper said, wincing. "Sorry again about…you know…controlling your mind yesterday and everything..."

Stan waved a hand at him. "Eh, water under the bridge, kid. M'just glad you two are safe and not dangling a hundred feet up from the deceased mayor's statue's nose anymore."

"Well, I'm sure one bite of my special pancakes will really wake you up!" Mabel interrupted their exchange, and with a wiggle of her hips she bounced back over to the stove. "Just got finished, too! Now, they're no Stancakes, those can never be replicated…but I like to think that they have their own bit of creative flair to them…"

The 'creative flair', of course, was glitter. Edible glitter, to be exact. Mabel tended to use copious amounts of the stuff on art projects and on food, and it wasn't like Stan was just going to let her consume the regular stuff and run the risk of having to call the poison control center.

Mabel carried the pan over and slid two pancakes onto the plate set out in front of Stan, and he immediately snatched the top one up. The moment glitter burst into his mouth he tried hard not to gag at the texture, and he beat a fist against his chest as coughs began wracking his body.

"Uhhh, I think I'll pass on those," Dipper said, grimacing as he watched the pitiful display. Stan just rolled his eyes and gagged down another bite of the glittery dough. All he wanted was to forget about everything that had happened yesterday, but his current physical state was making it very, very hard to let any of the memories slip away.

Listen, to whoever's up there watching me, I know I'm not a perfect man. M'far from it, actually. But if you could please just cut me some slack…

…

He never should have kept his hopes up. After all, fate had never been kind to Stanley Pines.

These freakin' pills must be made for babies, he thought to himself as he popped the last two into his mouth, washing them down with a swig from the tap. It probably wasn't wise to be taking more so soon, but dang it, these tours were getting harder and harder to lead with his back as screwed up as it was. Call him impatient, but Stan had yet to receive any sort of relief from the aching, throbbing pain in his joints, and just the thought of having to go back out and do his usual flouncing about as "Mr. Mystery" for another dozen tours made his head spin.

This whole thing was spirit-dampening, really. Stan knew he wasn't in the best shape for his age; he'd never eaten healthy, and his noticeable gut spoke for itself. It was just that after everything that had happened, he hadn't been expecting…well, this in the slightest. To be so worn down after a little bit of cardio and, well…a jump of about fifty feet into a huge pile of birdseed, which actually wasn't as soft as one would think it'd be, but that was beside the point.

"Mr. Pines!" Soos' voice suddenly rang out from the gift shop, shaking Stan from his self-deprecating thoughts. "There's another bus comin' up the front drive at eleven-thirty! Oh man, those tourists are starting to look a little ravenous. Wendy, you might wanna stay back for this one…"

Stan sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long day.

…

Stan had seen it coming from about a mile away, but that still didn't stop him from wincing when the sound of glass shattering against the wood floor hit his ears. Now the entire group of tourists were turned to face the source of the commotion, a bouncy little boy who Stan had been watching out of the corner of his eye for the last five minutes now. An accidental jab of his elbow had sent a snow globe flying off of the shelf, and now pieces of it were strewn everywhere, creating the perfect set-up for a lawsuit lest someone happened to cut themselves on any of them.

"Stand back, folks," Stan commanded, all business, making his way over to the mess. He set his eight-ball cane to the side and leaned down to inspect it.

Little did he know that doing so was going to be one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

"Shiiiiii-oot," he grit out, catching himself before he could say something too vulgar for the likes of the group made up of mostly parents and children. His back screeched in agony and his thighs felt like they were on fire as he kneeled down close to the ground, and a very real fear struck him after a few seconds of staring dazedly at the glass shards.

Sweet Moses, he thought, I don't think I can get back up.

Luckily Stan could hear the patter of footsteps coming from the next room, and when he looked up both Dipper and Mabel were standing in the gift shop doorway, one wielding a broom and the other a dust pan. Stan silently thanked his stars for ever giving their parents permission to send them up here for the summer.

"Hey kids," he said, gesturing them over. "Come over here and help clean this up." As they drew closer, he spoke in a low voice, "And help me up, huh? I think m'stuck."

They nodded, and discreetly (which Stan appreciated), they pulled him up enough for him to stand on his own. Stan immediately put on a smile when he was upright, grabbing for his cane again and swiveling back around to face the slightly confused tourists. "Don't worry folks, we have everything under control here!" he assured, resisting the urge to rub his sore back. "Let's move onto the next part of the exhibit. By the way, that snow globe your kid broke is gonna cost ya ten bucks lady…"

The group obediently followed Stan into the next room as he began blabbering on about ancient this and magical that, and he let what just happened slip from his mind as he immersed himself in what he did best. He chose to ignore the twins' hushed whispering when they thought he had left, and pretended he didn't overhear things like "weirder than usual" and "feel bad" and "should do something".

…

By the time seven-thirty finally rolled around, Stan wanted to do nothing more than flop down onto his bed and never get up again.

"Oy…" he mumbled, ambling out of the gift shop the moment the little bell above the door sounded for the final time that night. He didn't even have it in himself to plop down at the table and count the day's earnings like he usually did, opting to instead leave the register and living room be and shuffling down the darkened hallway toward the stairs.

If that doesn't say somethin' about how I'm feelin', then I don't know what'll say it.

Around mid-afternoon Stan had reached a breaking point with the soreness. Having taken all the pills in the Mystery Shack at that point, he'd shoved a random sum of cash in Wendy's hands and ordered her to go out and buy some more, pronto. She'd even gotten the name-brand stuff too, not the generic crud Stan always bought (if he bothered to buy anything at all). They'd quickly been added to the cocktail of pills still rumbling around in his gut, but fast-forward to now and he still felt the ever-present ache in his bones. Wasn't medicine supposed to get rid of it?

"Oh Grunkle Staaaaaan," a voice came from somewhere to his left. Stan jack-knifed upwards and groaned as his back audibly popped, swearing that he'd been completely alone in the hallway a second ago, he knew he'd been.

Turning, he craned his neck downward to stare at Mabel, who'd somehow in just a few seconds managed to sidle her way up next to him. Hands clasped behind her back and smile all gums like it was picture day and not just a typical hallway run-in, Stan couldn't help but be little creeped out. "Uhhh, yeah kid?" he said. "Ya got somethin' to tell me?"

"Dipper and I may or may not have something to show you." Stan's eyebrow shot up. "In the living room. Right now. At this very second."

"Augh, kid…" Stan sighed, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He really wasn't in the mood for whatever the twins had planned for him right now, and he hoped his body language showed it. "Do you think it can wait for a sec while I-"

"Nope!"

The next few moments were a blur. Mabel snatched Stan's hand and pulled him forward, causing him to yelp in what could've either passed pain or alarm (or both). "Hey, watch it! My spine is actually gonna snap in half if you keep draggin' me around like this! Mabel!"

Stan's shouting proved to be futile, and he stopped resisting about halfway to their destination, resigned to his fate of being dragged around like a toy. When the two finally came to a stop in the threshold of the living room Stan didn't see anything out of the ordinary with the place, and he opened his mouth to voice it.

And then he saw it.

Pillows. More pillows then Stan could count, all piled on and around his chair. He could pick out his orthopedic back pillow among the mix, and when he stepped closer, he found himself almost tripping over a tub of water with what appeared to be…flower petals floating across the surface? From there Stan's eyes were drawn to the dinosaur skull-made side table, where a bowl of popcorn was precariously balanced, as well as a can of Pitt Cola. And were those…candles too?

Stan blinked as Dipper popped up from behind the chair. "So…what do you think?" he asked, grinning sheepishly. He held something out to him, and it took a moment for Stan to register that it was his bathrobe.

"What do I think?" he began, slowly taking it and plopping down. "What in the heck is all this? Some kind of a…a spa or somethin'?"

"Well, sorta," Mabel said. She flounced away from him and gestured around, grinning. "Consider this like your own little relaxation center complete with your favorite snacks - " To emphasize she stuck a hand into the bowl of popcorn and brought it her mouth, "maximum comfortability - " She patted a few of the pillows, "and your most favorite soap opera in the world…"

Dipper grabbed the remote and flicked the television on. Immediately, a woman's voice sounded through the tinny speakers.

"Why, Count Lionel, whatever are you doing here on the day of our wedding?"

"Okay wait," Stan said, still in disbelief. "I'm still tryin' to wrap my head around this. You two set this all up? For me?" He narrowed his eyes. "…What's the catch?"

Mabel gasped. "Grunkle Stan! I'm shocked you would even think Dipper and I did this out of anything other than the goodness of our hearts!"

"Well, actually, we had a little help," Dipper confessed, turning to the doorway. Out of nowhere (why was everyone just randomly popping up out of nowhere today?), someone stepped into the room, and Stan's eyes widened at the familiar face.

"…Ford?" he said, not even bothering to mask the look of disbelief on his face. The words Dipper had just said were quickly forgotten, and the low ripple of anger Stan had felt toward his brother earlier in the morning flared. His brother, the guy who hadn't had any idea about what went on yesterday because he'd been locked in the basement all day. His brother, the guy who'd created and supplied the twins with those darn mind-control ties and had somehow found it okay for them to use them on him in the first place! Stan's blood pressure was already rising.

"We noticed that you've been feeling really bleh all day…" Mabel explained, frowning.

"And we know it's because of yesterday," Dipper continued for her, "so after what happened in the gift shop earlier we went to see Great Uncle Ford and told him about what happened. We sorta thought he deserved to know, and, well, thought we could do something to make you feel better."

"Hello Stanley." Ford raised his hand in a small wave, then swiftly brought it back to his side. He looked a little uncomfortable if the stiffness in his posture was anything to go by, and Stan raised an eyebrow. "I...I'm not even sure where I should begin. A lot of things are going through my head at the moment."

Oh…Stan was pretty sure he knew where this conversation was heading. Ford had finally risen from the depths of his secret laboratory to chew Stan out for being irresponsible and letting the kids nearly die on his watch. Yup, he was probably just about to kick Stan to the curb with nothing but the clothes on his back. All of this was some sort of an elaborate scheme to make him feel secure before he got booted out and somehow Ford had roped the kids into it. Stan knew it had to be (and that wasn't the paranoid part of his brain speaking, no). He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, hummed.

"I'm immensely relieved to hear that you and the kids are alright," Ford began. "When I handed those mind control ties off to Dipper I didn't put much thought into what could have gone wrong if they were used improperly and-"

Stan's eyes snapped open, and he found himself snarling despite himself, "Yeah, you didn't. How could you have ever thought it'd be okay to use those things on me?"

"Now, now!" Ford raised his hands up. "They're harmless, or at the very least don't do any major damage to the brain. Did you really think I'd allow Dipper and Mabel to use them if they hurt either of you? I'm not evil, Stanley!" He took a deep breath and shook his head. "But there's actually something else I'd like to tell you, if you're up to hearing it."

Stan remained silent, and if he wasn't clueless as to where this conversation was heading before, he was now.

"Listen Stanley, I know we have our fair share of differences," Ford started, gaze falling to the side before drifting back to him. "But the amount of bravery it took for you to do what you did yesterday and your quick action in response to danger was remarkable. Admirable, even. I almost wish I'd been able to see it myself." His eyes widened and he blurted, "Not that I'd ever want to witness Dipper and Mabel in such danger, but…I'm sure you get the idea."

Stan felt like he had been run over by a train, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The last thing he'd been expecting out of Ford's mouth was praise, and it took a second for him to wrap his head around it. "I," he began, at a loss for words. "I…wow, Poindexter. I didn't think…thanks, I guess? You're really not angry at me or anything?"

Ford stepped closer to Stan, put a hand on his arm and squeezed it lightly. "You saved the children, Stan," he spoke softly. "How could I ever be angry at you for that? If anything I should be thanking you, not the other way around. If Dipper and Mabel were to have been seriously injured, I…well, I wouldn't even know what to do with myself."

"Uhhh, and actually, when it comes to blaming," Dipper piped up, "I'm pretty sure besides what Mabel and I did to Stan, everything that happened at the end was all Gideon's fault."

Ford nodded. "Ah yes, that Gleeful child. I'm curious and a bit befuddled as to where he could've obtained a spell to possess his father…"

"Eh," Mabel said, shrugging. "I don't think that's super important now. All that really matters is that it's his fault, and no one else's but his."

They all murmured in agreement. Stan could feel a smile pull at his lips, and what could only be described as warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. Suddenly re-charged, he lunged forward to wrap an arm around the back of his brother's neck, nearly pulling him down on the chair with him as he rubbed his knuckles into his scalp. "All of that's really sappy comin' from you, Sixer!" he said between chuckles. Ford yelped and squirmed, but Stan could hear him laugh a little too. "What you just said actually made me forget about the fact that you couldn't even have been bothered to show up at the election yesterday. And the fact that you were so absorbed in your nerd work you weren't even aware of our lives being in danger. But I guess some things never change, eh?"

One second of silence, two…

"Oh ow, this hurts…"

"Stan."

…

Twenty minutes and a bizarre plot twist involving The Duchess and Count Lionel later, Stan lifted his head to look around. The light from the TV bathed the darkened living room in a soft glow, and around him on the floor, the twins sat, Mabel to his right and Dipper in front of him to his left. The living room smelled from the candles, and it had a strangely calming effect on him; Ford had explained that the scent of lavender helped to promote relaxation and relieve aches and pains, which, of course, was much appreciated in his current situation.

He had long since returned to the basement, but for once his exit didn't leave Stan with a bad taste in his mouth and his blood boiling beneath his skin.

"How're you feeling, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel murmured, turning to look at him. Dipper did the same, gazing at him expectantly.

Stan wiggled his toes in the now-lukewarm tub of water and thought. "Doesn't feel like my body's trying to riot against me anymore," he said, and he left it at that.

He was pretty sure he didn't deserve his family members nor all the pampering they were giving him, but he didn't voice the thought. With a satisfied sigh, Stan slunk back further into his chair, feeling the last of his ails drain away from both his body and mind.

Maybe it wasn't so bad being him after all.