#this is the sequel to deja vu for explanation of the time loop stuff

[bombshellsandbluebells]

sometimes I just write a scene I really like and want to share it right away before the rest of the chapter is ready to post, so have a sneak peak of the next chapter of Baby Steps, featuring good ol' Stan Twins bantering:

Stanley, for his part, suggests convincing the town that he's a fortune teller and charging for readings no less than three times. Apparently, he'd done it more than once during the loop. 

"And now most of the town knows you," Stanford argues. "Ignoring the fact that you would have had a limited amount of "predictions" before you ran out of what you'd learned during the loop, you've definitely missed your window now." 

"Eh," Stan says, twisting Fiddleford's abandoned Cubix Cube in his hands. Stanford doesn't think he's ever seen him actually solving it; he thinks he just likes having something to do with his hands. "I could get people to buy it. Ma did it all the time without a time loop, and that was Jersey schmucks! Gravity Falls schmucks are even more gullible. I'd fleece 'em dry, Six!"

"Until they figure out the con and run you out of town. Like every other con you've told me about." Stanley winces. He appears to focus harder on the Cubix Cube to avoid looking him in the eye. "This is why all your cons fail. You never think far enough ahead."

"You never think far enough ahead," Stanley mumbles to the Cube, twisting it roughly. Then he blinks down at it and lifts it triumphantly with a shout. By chance, he's managed to line up the entire green side; Stanford will hold his awe until he manages to do the same with the other sides.

He rolls his eyes. "You've already been banned from most of the country, Stanley. I'd prefer not to get run out of my own house because you add Oregon to the list. By trying to fake a supernatural ability in perhaps the most supernatural town in America."

"Have more faith in me, geez," Stanley argues, turning the Cubix Cube again. He frowns down at it when the move breaks up the green again. "Wait" — he glances up at Stanford — "why would you have to leave your house?"

"Because obviously I'd be going with you."

He watches the grin build on his brother's face and runs the sentence back in his head, recognizes how utterly saccharine it sounds, and hurriedly cuts off the mocking before it can begin. 

"Not like that! Because you'd drag me into it somehow, I know you would. You always dragged me into your schemes."

Stanley snorts. He gives up on the Cube, tossing it on the table. "My schemes, huh? Wasn't me who came up with the homework ring in fifth grade."

Stanford flushes. He shoves a forkful of roast in his mouth to give himself time to think of a retort. Stanley waits patiently—the way he only does when he knows Stanford's walked himself into a corner. 

"I might have come up with the initial idea—" 

"Might?"

"But you were the mastermind!" Stanford insists, pointing the fork at him. "You're the one who got us our clients!"

His brother just grins, looking far too satisfied with himself. "Yeah, I was, wasn't I?"

Stanford had forgotten all about the homework ring, in the same way he'd erased most of his own willing participation in their antics from his memory—the same way he'd adopted, for a while there, his father's way of thinking and pretended Stanley had been the troublemaker and Stanford himself above such things, as if it hadn't been him who'd suggested dropping one of the dissection frogs in Crampelter's locker on a Friday so it had the full weekend to marinate.

As if he hadn't always been right there beside his brother even when it wasn't his own idea.

Still, he doesn't want their reputation in town to get any worse, what with most of the town thinking Stanford's a drunk menace at worst and a paranoid recluse at best and Corduroy Lumber already warning other businesses off hiring Stanley. His brother has even complained that most the stores are cracking down on his shoplifting, suspicious enough now to keep a closer eye on him.

They're certainly a pair. Made for each other, he supposes. Trouble whether they're with each other or not.

The thought is weirdly reassuring. 

"I could call Ma and ask for tips," Stanley considers.

"Please don't."