I do not own Gravity Falls.

This is a one-shot sequel to a fic I wrote several years ago, Double Dose. But you don't need to read it before you read this.

Single Dose

Swiping at the sweat beading on his forehead, Dipper let out a sigh mixed with relief and exhaustion. Dropping the hammer into the red steel toolbox by his sneaker-clad feet, he declared, "It's finished!"

"And we didn't even have to call professionals!" said Mabel cheerfully, studying the repaired living room wall, which looked as if nothing had ever happened to it. "We are the professionals!"

There was the solid sound of the front door opening and closing and a minute later Soos appeared in the room, a toolbelt strapped around his waist. "There we go, hambones! All fixed up. And I didn't bring down the whole wall this time."

"Do you think you could take a look at the golf cart next?" asked Dipper, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm pretty sure we messed it up slamming it through the living room wall. Accidentally."

"Sure thing. I could fix that thing in my sleep!"

"You're a lifesaver, Soos!" said Mabel, running over to give him a grateful hug.

"I can't believe we patched up that big a hole in a day," marvelled Dipper.

"It's the power of teamwork!" said Mabel, pumping her fist triumphantly. "Just wait until Grunkle Stan hears we finished already."

"I wonder what he's been up to," said Dipper, brow furrowing. "He hasn't even stopped in to check on us."

"Ah, I'm sure he knew we had it covered. I am an expert handyman," said Soos. "I'll check out the golf cart for you dudes."

"Thanks again, Soos!" said Dipper as the man departed, waving over his shoulder. Turning to his sister, he said, "Come on. Let's find Grunkle Stan."

They left the living room and stepped into the gift shop, where Wendy had her feet propped against the counter, reading a magazine. "Wendy, is Grunkle Stan out doing a tour?" asked Mabel as she skipped up to the counter.

"He hasn't been here for a couple of days, which I thought was weird. But hasn't he been helping you guys fix that hole you made?"

"Technically the hole Mabel made," corrected Dipper. "It's her fault."

"It's in the past, let's move on," said Mabel, shoving his shoulder. Turning to Wendy with a small frown, she said, "No, he hasn't been helping us. So if he hasn't been here and we haven't seen him, where's he been?"

"Let's find out," said Dipper determinedly.

They hurried back into the house and almost immediately heard a loud, harsh sneeze. Realizing it was coming from Stan's room, they made a beeline down the hall and Mabel knocked on the wooden door. "Grunkle Stan? Are you in there?"

"No," said Dipper with a roll of his eyes. "The sneeze came from the Invisible Wizard."

When they didn't receive an answer, Dipper boldly pushed open the door. They were greeted with the sight of their great-uncle buried under the covers, the trashcan next to his bed overflowing with used tissues. Mabel gasped in concern and went to stand at the edge of his bed, reaching out to clasp his hand.

"He's cold! Oh no, Dipper, we gave him our flu!"

"Darn runts," grumbled Stan hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling and trying to keep his vision from spinning. "You infected me."

"You haven't been here alone for a whole day, have you?" asked Dipper in worry.

"Haven't felt like movin'. My head might split apart if I do."

"Why didn't you come get us? There's no way you could rest with all the noise we've been making!"

Stan managed to lift his head from his pillows, sending a weary glare at his nephew. "Because I knew you'd stop workin', and I don't need a hole in my living room. I'm fine, kids. Just need a few days to recover."

"And we're gonna help," declared Mabel.

"No, you're not. You're gonna work in the Mystery Shack as punishment for driving my golf cart through the house."

"We can do that after," dismissed Dipper. "You're more important."

Rubbing a hand down his face, Stan said stubbornly, "I don't need to be taken care of. I'm the adult here. My job is to take care of you."

"And now you're sick, so we're gonna take care of you, like you did for us when we were sick," returned Mabel, equally as stubborn. She hoisted herself over the edge of Stan's mattress and rested her wrist against his forehead. Feeling the heat against her skin, she turned her head slightly and said, "He's got a fever!"

"I'll grab the thermometer and a cold cloth," said Dipper.

He departed the room and Mabel leaned her head against Stan's chest, listening to the soft, steady thumping of his heart. Settling her hand overtop Stan's cold and clammy one, she said forlornly, "I wish you would have told us sooner. Then you wouldn't have had to suffer alone."

Guilt stirring in his gut at the genuine sadness in her usually upbeat voice, Stan shifted his position against his stack of pillows, so he was sitting slightly upright and Mabel was in a more comfortable position. Threading his fingers through her hair, he said softly, "Sorry, kiddo. I've been taking care of myself for so long that I don't think much of it. And I wasn't sufferin'. It's just the flu."

Mabel tilted her chin upwards to squint suspiciously up at him. "How's your tummy?"

"Nauseous, but I haven't felt the need to upchuck yet, so I take that as a good sign."

Mabel wriggled her way out of Stan's bed and grabbed the full trashcan. "I'll go empty this."

"Sweetie, you don't need to do that."

"Sure I do. You cleaned out all our snot rags when we were sick."

Stan could not help but grin at Mabel's choice of words. "And it was pretty gross, so I guess it's fair you have the same experience."

Mabel lugged the steel bin out of the room, squeezing past Dipper in the hallway. Dipper approached Stan and carefully set the sopping wet cloth against his burning forehead. When he went to stick the thermometer in Stan's mouth, he snatched it from him.

"Thanks, but I think I got this part covered."

"If you did, you would have taken your temperature a day ago." But Dipper let his great-uncle take the glass instrument. Knowing it would take a couple of minutes to get an accurate reading, he took the time to grab some more supplies, quickly returning with a bottle of aspirin and a tall glass of orange juice.

"Well?" Dipper asked, noticing Stan holding the thermometer between two fingers.

"One hundred. You runts definitely infected me."

"I thought it was already obvious by now," said Dipper, though he offered an apologetic smile. He handed Stan the glass and half of the orange liquid was immediately consumed, along with an aspirin, before being placed on the nightstand.

"I told Wendy and Soos you wouldn't be in today," spoke Dipper, beginning to tuck the covers around Stan more securely. "They said to get well soon, and they'll take care of everything."

"That instills me with confidence," muttered Stan warily. But he reached a hand out to briefly rub the top of Dipper's hand. "Thanks."

"No problem." Spotting a folded-up wool blanket sitting at the end of the bed, Dipper snagged it. When he caught Stan's raised brow, he said innocently, "Just in case you get tempted. You have to cool down a fever, you know. Can't do that smothered in a blanket."

"You're a regular comedian, you little hypocrite," said Stan with a short laugh, which then turned into a brief coughing fit. "Ugh," he grumped when it subsided, "ow, that hurt."

Mabel returned, a trashcan in each hand. "I got an extra one for you!" she announced, setting them beside the bed. "One for your tissues and the other in case you gotta throw up."

"I'm going to get Stan some cough drops," informed Dipper. "Where do we keep them, again?"

"In the drawer near the kitchen sink," answered Mabel. "I'll come with you. Grunkle Stan needs soup!"

The idea of Mabel near the stove did not set Stan's already-turning stomach at ease. "Er, I'm not hungry, so—"

"You haven't eaten in a day, you got to have something," said Dipper, setting his hands on his hips. "I'll help her, don't worry."

At Dipper's stern expression, Stan smirked. "So when I get sick, you two turn into the authority figures, huh?"

"Yup!" said Mabel cheerfully. "Because even though you won't take proper care of yourself, we will!"

Stan let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the mattress, letting his eyes fall shut. "All right. Soup sounds good, kids."

"You rest," encouraged Dipper. "We'll be back."

Dipper left the bedroom door slightly ajar, so that they would be able to hear their great-uncle if he called for them. They went to the kitchen, where Mabel grabbed hold of a wooden chair and dragged it over to the cupboards. She climbed onto the seat and stood on her tiptoes, reaching for a pot stashed on one of the higher shelves.

"We've got tomato soup and vegetable soup," said Dipper, rifling through the cans stocked in the bottom cupboard. "I think we used up all the chicken noodle when we were sick. Which one should we make Grunkle Stan?"

"Neither!" Mabel dropped the pot haphazardly onto the stove, the resulting clanging noise making Dipper jump. "We'll make him homemade chicken noodle soup!"

"Mabel, we don't have anything for homemade chicken noodle soup." To prove his point, Dipper crossed the dusty kitchen tiles and opened up the fridge, which was half-full. He knelt down to open the crisper, immediately placing a hand over his nose to block the stench of rotting vegetables. He gingerly lifted a rotting carrot and said, "These aren't for human consumption."

"We'll buy the ingredients," said Mabel airily.

"How? With what money?"

Mabel faltered at that, her posture drooping in disappointment. "I guess Grunkle Stan probably wouldn't loan us the money, huh?"

"Most likely."

"Hey, hambones!" greeted Soos, entering the kitchen. He leaned over Dipper, resting one hand against the boy's hat while the other reached into the fridge to grab a can of soda. "I heard Mr. Pines is sick. Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so, but thanks for the offer," said Dipper, lightly batting Soos' hand off of his head so he could stand up.

Spotting Mabel staring moodily at a can of soup, Soos asked, "Why the long face?"

"I wanted to make Grunkle Stan homemade soup, but we don't have the ingredients for it," she said with a sigh.

"Oh, psh, no problem," dismissed Soos. "What do you need? I'll pick it up for you."

Brightening at that, Mabel said hopefully, "Really?"

"But we don't have any money to give you," said Dipper with a frown.

"Ah, I can pay for it."

"We can't let you pay for all of it." Dipper patted his pockets, as if simply wishing for money would cause it to materialize.

Soos patted Dipper on the back and said cheerfully, "Seriously, don't worry about it. I'd love to help Mr. Pines get better and homemade soup is definitely the best."

"Yay! Thanks, Soos! You're our hero!" squealed Mabel, hopping from her chair and racing to give Soos a hug. "We can make the soup Mom and Dad always cooked when we were sick back home."

It took some recollection, but eventually Dipper and Mabel remembered all the ingredients needed for their parents' homemade soup. They didn't know exact measurements, but they figured their estimations were close enough.

Mabel went with Soos to do the shopping and Dipper tiptoed to Stan's room, where he was snoring away. He deposited the cough drops onto the nightstand in case he woke up and crept back out. He decided to see if Wendy needed any help in the Shack while he waited for his sister to return.

He was surprised to see Wendy in full action in the gift shop, directing customers to bobbleheads and bumper stickers and ringing them up with a speed she normally didn't possess once her shift started. "Gee, Wendy, you're working hard," remarked Dipper, coming to stand by the register. "Are you sick too?"

Wendy laughed, slinging a plastic bag towards a lanky tourist and sliding his change across the counter. "Nah. Stan hardly ever gets sick, so when he does I figure I might as well do what I barely get paid to do. Guy basically does everything around here, so the least I can do is pick up the slack when he's not feeling so hot."

"That's really nice of you."

"Don't tell him I said that," said Wendy, wagging her finger mock-threateningly in Dipper's face. "I don't need him thinking I'm soft."

"I don't think Grunkle Stan would ever think you're soft," said Dipper with a smile. "Is there anything I can do? I'm waiting for Mabel to get back with Soos so we can make soup."

"Sure. If you could dust the shelves and junk, that'd be great. It's been pretty crazy today, which means your uncle will be in a good mood when he comes to check the profit when he gets better."

For half an hour Dipper swiped a rag across the wooden shelves lining the gift shop, coughing as clouds of dust rose in his face. Eventually the business slowed down enough for Wendy to help him, and they had a dusting race to see who would finish a shelf first.

Crash!

Dipper paused his hurried cleaning to glance over his shoulder, letting out a laugh when he discovered Wendy standing over a broken bobblehead. Making a face, she kicked the pieces beneath the shelf. "Remind me to alter the inventory sheet."

The door connecting the gift shop to the main house slammed open and Mabel hovered in the entryway. "Ready, Dipper!"

"I'll take that, dude." Soos moved past Mabel and towards Dipper, where he took the rag.

"Thanks again, Soos," said Dipper appreciatively.

"Any time."

Dipper entered the house and found Mabel in the kitchen, the pot already having a fire lit beneath it. "Soos washed the chicken and vegetables, so we just have to let this boil for a bit."

They went to check on Grunkle Stan, finding him awake. Stan stretched his arms over his head and glanced over at the kids when they approached him. "What happened to the soup?"

"We're waiting for it to boil."

Stan's eyebrows flew upwards. "You don't boil canned soup, runts."

"We're making homemade soup," explained Mabel. "It's gonna be great!"

"Homemade soup?" echoed Stan. "We don't even have the junk for that."

"Soos went to get us ingredients," replied Dipper. "It's the soup Mom and Dad make us whenever we're sick, so we wanted to make it for you too."

The sudden constricting of Stan's throat had nothing to do with his illness. Giving a harsh cough to try and clear the emotion away, he said gruffly, "You're going to too much trouble runts."

"That's okay. We don't mind." Mabel grabbed his empty glass. "I'll get you some more orange juice."

Dipper plucked the dry cloth from where it fell into the blanket during Stan's slumber. "I'll soak this and clean the thermometer."

They left, leaving Stan to recline against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His clogged sinuses, sore throat and aching head did little to distract him from his thoughts. He had forgotten what it felt like to be taken care of. In the past, whenever he fell sick, he took a day or two in bed before straggling back to work.

He didn't need Dipper and Mabel to take care of him. But that didn't mean he didn't want them to. To see them peer at him with concern, to insist that he rest while they looked after him, caused a strong warmth to swell within him. It was his job to take care of the kids, sure, but he loved them deeply. And to know they were willing to go to great lengths to comfort him…

He cursed quietly when his eyes misted over and he hastily scrubbed at them. That's it. This illness is making me to darn emotional.

Dipper and Mabel returned and she handed him a fresh glass of juice. Stan took a gulp, the cold liquid soothing his scratchy throat. Dipper set the thermometer on the nightstand for when they'd need it again and put the cloth back on Stan's forehead.

"How are you feeling?" asked Mabel.

Stan reached out to tussle her hair. "Better," he said sincerely.

"Good!" Mabel beamed. "Some more rest and soup and you should feel even better!"

She climbed into bed, moving to cuddle against Stan's side. Dipper moved to lay against Stan's opposite side, his head resting against his shoulder. Stan curled his arms around them even as he said, "You runts are going to get sick again."

"I don't think it works like that," replied Dipper. "Besides, we have to wait a while for the soup to boil."

"Don't you have anything you'd rather do?"

"Nope," said Mabel, nuzzling into his forearm.

Stan sagged against the pillows, intense affection and warmth bubbling within him. With his niece and nephew close, he once again dozed off, the weight of their small bodies against his own a great comfort.

It was over an hour later when he awoke, roused from Mabel poking her finger against his cheek. "Psst, Grunkle Stan! Your soup is ready!"

"Huh?" asked Stan with a yawn.

"Your soup."

When the blurriness disappeared from his vision, it was to see Mabel holding out a wooden tray, containing a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, along with a glass of water. He carefully took the tray from her and picked up the spoon, stirring the contents of the soup. "Uh…there aren't any secret ingredients in here, right?"

"No," assured Dipper, who was carrying two smaller trays, each containing a bowl of soup.

Mabel took a tray from Dipper and the pair retook their positions by Stan's side, snuggling under the blankets. Stan blew on the liquid and took a cautious sip, the savoury flavour exploding against his tongue. Though his tongue burned from the heat, Stan paid it no mind as he took another sip.

"This is great, kiddos." Stan felt a twinge of guilt. "Sorry I didn't do the same when you were sick."

Dipper waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. Canned soup is good too. Besides, you're not a great cook. And that's okay too."

"Yeah," agreed Mabel. "You did a bunch of other stuff when we were sick. You told us a story."

"And you cleaned up my puke," said Dipper, blushing slightly from embarrassment. "Again, sorry about that."

"You held me when I had that bad headache," recalled Mabel.

"You did so much when we were sick. This is the least we can do for you."

Stan wrapped an arm around Dipper's shoulders and squeezed. "You're good kids. But you're still a pain in my butt."

"We love you too," chorused Mabel and Dipper, flashing their great-uncle wide, knowing smiles.

Stan only huffed and returned to his soup, trying hard to suppress his own smile. "Lemme eat. I'm starved."

With Dipper and Mabel pressed securely against him, Stan's contentment made it easier to ignore the symptoms of his illness. He idly rubbed at his leaking nose as he remarked, "Hey, you runts are still going to owe me double-shifts at the Shack when I'm cured. Don't think I forgot your punishment from bashing a golf cart through my wall. I'm sick, not senile."

"That's up for debate," returned Dipper, who then yelped and hastened to keep his soup from spilling when Stan jabbed him in the side. "Grunkle Stan!"

As Mabel laughed, Stan's smile broke through. It would be relief when he recovered from his summer flu, but for now, he was perfectly fine for living in the moment, with his loving niece and nephew to watch over him.