#my tinny little goober

[slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea]

How long do you think it would take before he forcefully shakes himself awake?

[oscaronthegloryroad]

Do you wanna read a story about weird musicians? Do you like stories with queer characters? Well I am working on something that has both!

Enjoy! And let me know what you think, please.

Bennie looked down at the Squier Mustang on their workbench and sighed. Broken headstock, pushed in pickups, and a litany of scrapes and dings told a story of a hard life. It had been painted black, and before that white, and hiding under all of that was the classic Fender two tone burst. It had gone to every Foulwater Birds show, survived a dozen stage dives, knocked over stands, and half empty beer bottles chucked at it’s player. But the Fall of Civilization Fest finally ended it’s career, Hank Hewlett dove off the stage at the end of the Foulwater Birds’ set and his strap broke, so he bit the bullet and bought another guitar.

But it’s hard to let go of beloved old things, particularly when they have been at your side through hard times. Thats why it was sitting on Bennie’s workbench with a replacement neck, pickguard, and pickups waiting in the wings. It had taken a little while for all the parts to get here and Hank had been antsy, which made Bennie antsy too. And as if on queue the doorbell buzzed.

“Hey Bennie.”, Timbo the Himbo’s chest vibrating bass voice was converted to a tinny baritone by the terrible mic and speaker, “I brought lunch. And a kitten.”.

“What the fuck, Tim.”, Bennie threw open the door to find a giant at the bottom of their stairs holding a small cooler and tiny cat, “Why and how.”.

“She was hiding under my van this morning.”, Tim held out the little ginger kitten in a cat carrier as Bennie sighed and shook their head, “And Miranda says that I can’t adopt another kitten.”.

“It’s probably a he, and you want me to adopt him for you.”, Bennie raised an eyebrow at the big goober in front of them, “I don’t have any supplies.”.

“Oh, I brought food!”, Tim beamed triumphantly at his best friend and held up the cooler, before blinking and looking down at it in his hand, “Oh, wait, I think I left it in the van. Let me grab it real quick.”.

“Why am I not surprised you thought to bring food,”, Bennie sighed and resigned them self to adopting the kitten. There are worse fates, after all. “what did you name him?”.

“Oh, I haven’t yet.”, Tim smiled as he handed the cat carrier off to Bennie and set the cooler down, “I figured that I should leave that to you.”.

“Alright.”, Bennie peaked into the cat carrier at the little guy within, he was curled up in the corner and wearily watching the opening, “what should you be called?”.

“So, Hannamal sent me to check in on you.”, Tim and Bennie were sat on the floor flanking the coffee table that Bennie found in the apartment complex dumpster corral and dragged into their little basement dwelling. “I figured you just forgot about texts, everybody does. Right?”.

“I just get into the zone doing whatever.”, Bennie shrugged and grabbed an onion ring off of Tim’s plate, “Good call of food though, I haven’t eaten in a while so I owe you one.”.

“Don’t even think about it,”, Tim grunted as he wolfed down a fist full of fries, “Miranda has been working out a new menu for the restaurant and so we’ve been sharing all sorts of food with folks to see what they think, and we finally got to the pub lunch section of the menu.”.

“Ah ha!”, Bennie laughed and looked at the sticky note off of the wrapper that held the sandwich they picked, “But corned beef, avocado reduction, Swiss cheese, and garlic butter is kind of a strange combination and a little bit upscale for a pub lunch. Don’t you think?”.

“I have no idea.”, Tim shrugged, “Miranda makes it, and I eat it. We have a pretty good arrangement in that I can eat anything and I can wash dishes.”.

“And play bass!”, Bennie interjected as they snagged another onion ring and peeked into the cooler, “But I suppose that has nothing to do with food.”.

“Oh, that reminds me.”, Tim wiped his hands on his jeans and rummaged in his pockets for a moment, “I found a bass that needs a little TLC, and since you gave that Thunderbird to Rob I figured you might need another.”.

“Eh,”, Bennie shrugged and looked over at the pile of cases against the wall, there were two basses in the mix already, but one of them was a complete basket case, “what sort of TLC does it require? I’ve got a few things to put back together.”.

“Oh, it’s pretty beat up and it needs a tuning machine,”, Tim finally produced is keys from his pocket, “HAH, but otherwise it should be good.”.

“Ah, is it a stingray?”, Bennie shook their head with a wry smile, “they always have bad tuning machines, and cheap bridges.”.

“It is.”, Tim laughed, “The drummer from irritants had it and I traded him that dented old Tama copper snare Hannamal traded to me for that nice Pork Pie I found.”.

“How do you do that Tim?”, Bennie shook their head and reached for some fries, “I’ll take a look at it if you leave it with me, but I’ve got to finish fixing Hank’s Mustang and at least one of the broken guitars I’ve had floating around for a while.”.

“Oh yeah, no problem with that. No hurry!”, Tim pushed the fries toward his friend and stood up, “Miranda thinks that the ones I have are enough for me, she also thinks that I don’t need more than one amp.”.

“I mean, you don’t want to end up with all the clutter I’ve got.”, Bennie sighed and patted the pile of busted amps that took up the space that probably should have been occupied by a chair or something, “On the other hand having stuff to work on is a good way to keep your mind and hands occupied. And out of trouble.”.

“Heh, I’ll be right back.”, Tim disappeared out of the door and Bennie surveyed their domain, piles of instrument cases and boxes of parts littered one half of the one room, basement apartment. Their lovely Bianca hung on the wall with a burnt Squier Strat they pieced together from the remnants of three guitars, an old 12 string Takamine they found at a rummage sale that still had the shadows of stickers they had peeled off of it’s face, and an almost ruined Epiphone ES-339 in sunburst that had a pretty nasty crack in the face and a headstock repair. Music had been their love for years, but having the ability to do fix just about any instrument had cemented their place in the local scene as the go to person for repairs. It also meant that lots of people just gave them busted gear that they found, even if it was beyond repair. Luckily Tim was back before they could think too much about it. “You okay?”.

“Yeah, I’m just ruminating on the nature of life and stagnation.”, Bennie leaned back against the pile of amps, noticed the look of concern and smiled, “Or about what to name the kitten.”.

“Ooh, what are you thinking?”, Tim set down the Sterling bass bag and thumped to the floor, leaning forward in the direction of their friend.

“Catly West? Eric Catton?”, Bennie frowned and scratched their chin, “I’ve been thinking about musician puns, with cat twists.”.

“Of course,”, Tim reached over and scratched the kitten between the ears as it poked it’s head out from under the coffee table, “how about Kitty Ray Vaughn? Or Ritchie Catmore?”.

“Ooh, Ritchie Catmore is good!”, Bennie laughed and looked over at the kitten as he sneaked his way around the coffee table leg and pounced on Tim’s wiggling fingers, “What do you think little guy? Are you Ritchie Catmore?”.

[thelastspeecher]

Stan Pines, Farmhand - Chapter 10: Welcome to Gravity Falls

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6 Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11   Chapter 12 Chapter 13   Chapter 14   Chapter 15   Chapter 16   AO3

This chapter was a lot of fun to write!  A lot of fun character interactions, and writing Stan and Angie as a couple is just really enjoyable.  They are the Grossly Adorable Couple and no one can convince me otherwise.  Anyways, in this chapter, people visit Gravity Falls, and Ford has a mishap in the lab.

May 22, 1976 – Gumption

“Oof!  Angie, did ya have to jump on my back like that?” Stan asked.  

“Yeah,” Angie replied.  “Otherwise, I couldn’t do this.”  She gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Stan grinned.

“Ya make a good point.”  

“Gross,” Lute muttered.

“No one asked for yer opinion, McGucket,” Stan said.  

“Stan, Angie, could ya tone down the affection?” Ma McGucket asked.  “Yer relatives didn’t come all this way to watch ya bein’ all over each other.” Angie reluctantly slid off Stan’s back.

“They’re not my relatives,” Stan said, putting an arm around Angie’s shoulders.  Ma McGucket shook her head at him.

“Stanley, don’t start,” she said in a warning tone.

“Okay, Sally.  I’ll play nice.”  Ma McGucket reached out and pinched his cheek.

“Thank ya, son.”

“…Yeah,” Stan mumbled, rubbing his cheek. Ma McGucket walked away.  Stan looked over at Angie.  “The house isn’t as crowded as I thought it would be.”

“That’s ‘cause my relatives are comin’ in spurts,” Angie explained.  She took a seat on the couch and fanned the skirts of her new dress around her. “If’n they came all at once, this place’d be fit to explode.”

“They were really careful ‘bout it this time,” Lute agreed, sitting next to his little sister.  “After what happened before.  Remember?  Durin’ my graduation party, they told everyone to bring an instrument, so that we could have live entertainment.”

“I remember,” Stan said.  He joined the youngest two McGuckets on the couch. “That was a disaster.”

“Only if ya have ears that are sensitive to cacophonies,” Lute said idly.  Stan snorted.  “Havin’ the radio in the kitchen playin’ is a better idea.”  He looked at Angie.  “I’m still surprised ya ain’t upset that ya have to share the party with Fidds an’ his new master’s degree.”  Angie shrugged.

“It means folks don’t focus on me as much, which I ‘ppreciate.”  She sighed. “But I can’t avoid all the attention.  Uncle Bassett keeps askin’ me when I’m goin’ to get married.”  She looked at Stan, whose eyes were now the size of saucers.  “Relax, Stan. There ain’t any pressure on the either of us.  My fam’ly asks that sort of question all the time, and it means nothin’.”  

“Don’t believe her,” Lute told Stan.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” Stan said.  Angie rolled her eyes.  Lute looked at Stan carefully.

“All jokin’ aside,” he began.  

“That’s never a good thing to hear,” Stan said.

“Lute…” Angie warned.  

“Banjolina, get yourself over here and hug yer grannie!” someone called.  

“Comin’!”  Angie cast Stan an apologetic look before leaving.

“When are ya goin’ to pop the question?” Lute asked Stan.  Stan groaned.

“Lute.  C’mon, man.”

“Hey, I need to know,” Lute said defensively.

“No, ya don’t.”

“Yes, I do.  Ya promised to do the right thing with my baby sister.”

“Look, we’ve only been datin’ for-”

“Two years,” Lute interrupted. Stan blinked.

“Holy shit, that long?  No wonder people are askin’.”  Stan rubbed his neck uncomfortably.  “But most of it’s been long-distance.  We ain’t at that marriage place yet.”  Lute nodded.

“Sounds reasonable.  See, was that so difficult?”  

“…Yes,” Stan said stubbornly.  Lute punched him on the arm.

“Ya goon.”  A strange look crossed his face.  “Will ya ever get there if ya keep stayin’ long-distance?”

“I didn’t think about that,” Stan said slowly.  “Huh. I’ve been meanin’ to leave Gumption, anyways.”

“Uh, what?”

“Just thinkin’ out loud.”

“Ya want to leave Gumption?”

“Well, I might like bein’ a farmhand, but I’m a city boy at heart.  And Angie lives in a decently sized city.”  He looked at Lute.  “An’ you’re here all the time, so you can do the farm work.”  Lute looked back at Stan with a cautious expression.

“Where are ya goin’ with this, Stanley?”

“You’ll see.”  Stan stood up and made his way through the crowd of cheerful McGuckets.  “Hey, Angie!” he called.  

“Yeah?” a voice responded from the kitchen.  Stan poked his head in.  Angie was sitting at the table, deep in conversation with her grandparents. He walked over to her.  She looked up at him.  “Whattaya need, Stan?”

“Do ya wanna move in together?” he asked bluntly.  The amicable chatter filling the kitchen stopped suddenly; the only sound was the tinny music from the beat-up radio on the counter.  Stan ignored the looks he was getting from the McGucket extended family.  Angie blinked.

“What brought this on?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really…”

“So, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Angie said quickly.  Stan grinned.

“Sweet.”  He kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the kitchen.  Fiddleford had taken his spot on the couch, but there was still room for him.  He sat down.

“What was that ‘bout?” Lute asked Stan.  

“I just asked Angie to move in with me.”

“What?!” Fiddleford and Lute said together, staring at him.  Stan shrugged.

“I’ve been meanin’ to talk to her, I just couldn’t find the right moment.”

“An’ a graduation party is the right moment?” Fiddleford asked, aghast.

“I mean, it worked out pretty well,” Stan said.  Fiddleford groaned.  

“Ya don’t have a romantic bone in yer body, Stanley Pines.”

----- 

August 10, 1976 – Gravity Falls

“All right, we lasted three months livin’ together.  Cough it up,” Angie said briskly, holding out a hand.  Grumbling, Lute and Harper rummaged in their pockets for money.

“How much do we owe ya?” Harper asked.

“Twenty bucks each.”

“Ugh, remind me to never make a bet with you again,” Lute muttered, slapping a twenty-dollar bill in Angie’s outstretched hand.  After the brothers had left, Stan approached Angie.

“Did ya place bets with yer brothers on how long we’d last livin’ together?” he asked.  Angie nodded.  “I love ya,” Stan enthused, lifting her in an intense embrace.  

“Stanley, if yer goin’ to lift somethin’, could it at least be furniture or equipment?  Not my lil sister?” Fiddleford asked.  Stan set Angie down again.  

“Fine,” he said, walking over to the pickup truck.  He took a large box out of the bed of the truck.  “Geez, what’s in this?  Rocks?”

“No, spare parts,” Fiddleford supplied. “But they are made of osmium alloy.”  Stan grunted and set the box down on the ground.

“Okay?”

“Osmium is the heaviest metal,” Angie supplied, sitting on another box and swinging her legs idly.  

“Thanks.”

“Yup.  Got to use my chemistry minor fer somethin’.”  She winked at Stan.  “Even if it’s just to explain the periodic table.”  Stan grinned back.

“Hey, works for me.”

“Angie, get off yer butt and help out!” Lute shouted, only the top of his head visible behind the box he was carrying.

“I don’t know.  Seems like you fellers got it handled,” Angie said, examining her fingernails with a vested interest.  

“If yer not goin’ to help, why’d ya come along?” Harper asked.

“‘Cause Stan was comin’.  And all my older siblings, too.  At least, they’re all supposed to be here.  Where’s Violynn?”

“She had to take Mason to the doctor,” Basstian supplied, joining the others outside.  

“Oh, no, is he all right?” Angie asked.

“He’ll be fine.  Just ate somethin’ he shouldn’t have.”

“That boy’s definitely a McGucket,” Lute said appreciatively.  “Hey, Stanford, where do ya want this box?  Inside or outside?” he shouted.

“Inside, please!” Ford shouted back, from inside the house.

“Where inside?”

“The second floor.”  Lute groaned.  Angie laughed.

“That’s what ya get fer agreein’ to help move Ford and Fidds,” she said snidely.  Lute glared at her and walked inside.

“What is all this, anyways?” Harper asked Fiddleford.

“Equipment fer research, mostly,” Fiddleford replied.  He nodded at the box Harper was holding.  “That’s got pots ‘n pans, though.”

“Why it so heavy, then?”

“Cast-iron.”

“That explains it.”  Harper walked inside.  Basstian took another box from the truck, this one labeled “Sparkplugs”.

“Fiddleford, why do ya have a box that’s just of sparkplugs?” Basstian asked.  

“I need them.”

“Fer whatever research yer goin’ to be doin’ with Stanford?”

“Yes,” Fiddleford said.  He turned to Angie.  “Angie, get off that box so’s someone else can take it in, if all yer goin’ to do is sit ‘round and look pretty.”  Angie hopped off of the box so that Fiddleford could pick it up.  

“What sort of research are ya plannin’ on doin’?” she asked her older brother.  

“Studyin’ the paranormal.  There’s a lot of weird stuff here in Gravity Falls, and Stanford’s pretty interested in all of it.”

“But you aren’t,” Stan said slowly. Fiddleford shrugged.

“It’s interestin’ enough.  An’ Ford got a research grant fer it.  It’ll fund his weird research and my robotics work, too.” He pursed his lips.  “My only concern is that some of it seems a bit dangerous.”

“Please, it’s just nature,” Angie said.

“Ya almost got bit by rattlers ten times growin’ up,” Basstian said.  

“An’ I’m still ‘round.”  Angie turned back to Fiddleford.  “What sort of weird things are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Don’t tell me you’re goin’ to want to do research here, too,” Fiddleford said.  

“It depends on what the weird stuff here is.”  Fiddleford sighed.

“Ya can ask Ford all ‘bout it.”

“Will do!”  Angie bounded up the stairs and inside.

“Ya might end up followin’ Stanford and Fiddleford to Gravity Falls, Stan,” Basstian said with a chuckle. Stan shrugged.

“Seems like a decent place.”

----- 

March, 1977 – Gravity Falls

The phone picked up on the second ring.

“Pines-McGucket residence, Stan speakin’.”

“Gimme that!”  Fiddleford waited patiently as his younger sister and Stan apparently had a mock fight over the phone.  There was a rustle.  “Sorry, he misspoke.  It’s the McGucket-Pines residence, ‘cause I lived here first, ya goober!” Angie shouted playfully, thankfully not into the receiver.

“Angie, it don’t matter,” Fiddleford said briskly.

“Oh!  Fidds!”  

“Who is it?” Stan asked, his voice muffled.  

“I just said his name.”

“Tell Fidds I say hi.”

“Stan says hi,” Angie dutifully reported.

“I say hi back.”  Angie relayed Fiddleford’s message to Stan.  “So, how’s livin’ together?” Fiddleford asked.

“Goin’ pretty well.  It ain’t as crowded as it was before.  A few months ago, my roommate went back to Palo Alto. Last I heard, Marley’s got two boyfriends.”

“That’s…interestin’.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to the Christmas cards.  Whatchya callin’ fer?”

“Just checkin’ on my baby sister and my future brother-in-law.”

“Fidds, we ain’t engaged.”

“Did I say ya were engaged right now?” Angie sighed.

“What’s the real reason yer callin’?”

“I was wonderin’ if’n you and Stan might want to visit Ford and me.”  Fiddleford felt another bout of nausea and frantically forced it down.  “Y’know, in Gravity Falls?  See the house, the wildlife, the two of us?”

“I don’t know, Fidds, it’s an awful long drive.”

“I miss y’all,” Fiddleford said, playing the pity card.

“I miss ya, too.” Angie paused. “But I still ain’t sure…”

“You’ll love it here, we’ve got all sortsa weird stuff in the woods.”  

“Weird stuff?  Well, why didn’t ya say so earlier?  We’ll be there tomorrow.  What’s the address, again?  I forgot to write it down when we helped ya move in.”

“618 Gopher Road.”

“Got it.”

“See ya soon, lil sis.”

“See ya soon!” Angie chirped.  Fiddleford hung up the phone.

“Well?” Ford asked.  Fiddleford nodded.  

“They’re comin’.”  He looked at his boyfriend.  “An’ not a moment too soon.”

----- 

“Okay, but seriously,” Stan said, getting out of the Stanleymobile, “what happened?”  They had just pulled up to the house at the address 618 Gopher Road, Gravity Falls, Oregon.  They were having markedly different reactions to the trip: while Angie had been enamored by the lush forests immediately, Stan found himself getting gradually more and more agitated.  

“I don’t know, Stan,” Angie said. She opened the trunk and tossed Stan his bag.  “Maybe ya can stop by a mechanic, see what happened with the brakes.”

“We stopped at a gas station for five minutes, ran inside to get some chips and a pack of smokes-”

“You ran inside fer cigarettes,” Angie said under her breath.

“-and when we got back, the brakes were basic’ly shot!  What the hell happened?”  Angie took her bag out of the trunk.

“Stanley, relax.  We’ll get it checked, after we say hello.  I just want to make sure Fidds and Ford know we’re here.”  She walked over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Stan grinned at her.  

“…Okay.”  Angie grinned back.

“I’ve got ya wrapped ‘round my finger, don’t I?”

“Maybe.”  They walked up to the front door.  Stan knocked.  

“I’ll get it!” a voice said.  Angie looked at Stan.

“Who was that?” she asked.  Stan frowned.

“It sounded familiar,” he said slowly. The door opened.  Stan and Angie looked in front of them, then down.  

“I thought that was a child’s voice,” Angie said, bemused.  The child, roughly six years old, looked away nervously.  Angie crouched down and smiled at him.  “Howdy there, lil feller.  Does a Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket live here?”  The child frowned at her, clearly upset.  

“Holy shit,” Stan said suddenly. Angie gave Stan a look.  

“Don’t swear in front of lil ones!” she hissed.

“He ain’t lil,” Stan said.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“That’s Ford.”  Angie looked back at the child, focusing on his hands.  He had twelve fingers.  Her eyes widened.

“Cheese and crackers,” she said softly. “Stanford?”

“Y-yes,” Ford mumbled, looking down at his feet.  Stan began to laugh.  

“This is the best thing I’ve seen in days!” he cackled.  Angie continued to look Ford over with a concerned expression.

“Stanford, how- what-”  She stopped herself.  “First off.  Where’s Fidds?”

“Right here,” Fiddleford said, appearing in the doorway.  

“Hey, Fidds,” Stan said, breaking off his laughter.

“Howdy, Stan,” Fiddleford said.  Angie stood and embraced her big brother.

“Howdy, Fidds!”

“Hey there, Angie.  Could ya maybe not squeeze me so tight?” Fiddleford said, gently removing her.  “I ain’t been feelin’ too good in the tum region lately.”

“Oh, no!” Angie said.  She clucked her tongue.  “Ya do look awful pale.  Do ya want me to make ya some tea or somethin’?”

“N-no.  I’m fine, thank ya.  But, uh, please, come in!  We’ll explain what happened.”  Angie and Stan followed Fiddleford into the house.  Stan ruffled Ford’s hair as he passed.  Ford pouted at him, making Stan laugh again.  In the living room, Fiddleford took the only chair, a comfy if slightly worn armchair.  Angie balanced herself on a dinosaur skull that was serving as an end table, Stan stood next to her, and Ford took a prompt seat on the ground.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I’m approximately six years old,” Ford said, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt nervously.

“Yeah,” Angie and Stan said together.

“It was a lab accident.”  Angie quirked an eyebrow.

“Dang, must’ve been some lab accident,” she said idly.  Ford waved a diminutive hand.

“Not really.  I’ve had much worse, and suffered much more serious side effects,” he said matter-of-factly.  Stan grinned.

“You’ve had worse than gettin’ turned into a kid?  Now that, I’ve gotta hear.”

“Ford can tell ya those stories while ya help watch him,” Fiddleford said.  

“Whoa, whoa, I did not agree to be a babysitter!” Stan said immediately. Ford pouted.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”  He sighed.  “I do need some form of supervision, however, just to assist me with accessing things.”

“…Ya need someone to get things from tall places,” Stan translated.  Ford sighed.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“We were callin’ y’all fer assistance,” Fiddleford began to explain.  “We need to re-age Ford, but neither of us can spend any time in the lab right now. Angie, I was wonderin’ if you could help us out.”  Angie blinked.

“Me?  I mean, I can try.  I don’t have any clue what sort of nonsense yer gettin’ up to here, though.”  She tapped her chin with a thoughtful air. “Actually, never mind.  It’s pretty obvious yer messin’ with witchcraft or demons or somethin’.”

“Witchcraft, yes.  Demons, no,” Ford said shortly.  “I may sometimes make foolhardy decisions, but I know better than to seek out explicitly dark forces.”

“Fidds won’t let ya?” Stan asked.  

“No, he won’t,” Ford confirmed. Angie frowned as a thought occurred to her.  

“Wait.  I understand why Ford shouldn’t be doin’ lab work, but Fidds, why can’t you?” Fiddleford rubbed his neck nervously.

“It ain’t quite safe.”

“Why?”

“I’m expectin’.”

“Expectin’ what?” Stan asked. Angie gasped.

“Really?  How far along are ya?” she asked eagerly.  Stan looked back and forth between Angie and Fiddleford.

“Wait.  Fidds, did my twin knock ya up?”  Fiddleford sighed.

“I wish ya wouldn’t say it so crass, but yes.”

“Oh, wow.  Congrats, man,” Stan said.  

“Thanks.  And to answer yer question, Angie, I’m only a coupla months along.”  Angie nodded.

“So ya really shouldn’t be in the lab.”

“Yessir.”

“I’ll help ya out.  I’d be glad to,” she gushed.  She stifled a squeal.  “I’m goin’ to have a new lil niece or nephew!  An’ there’s a fifty percent chance the lil baby’ll be a polydactyl!”  Ford immediately developed an anxious expression.

“I- I’d hate to pass on my deformity to my child,” he said slowly.  Fiddleford shook his head.

“Ford, ya know my fam’ly.  If this young’un is a polydactyl, he or she won’t ever feel like it’s a bad thing.  We won’t let that happen.”  Ford nodded, assuaged.

“Not gonna lie, hearing a kid say ‘my child’ is really weird,” Stan said.  Angie hopped off of her seat and walked over to Ford, grabbing one of his small hands and pulling him up.

“Wha- hey!” Ford protested.

“Show me the lab,” Angie said.  She grinned at him.  “Ya lil cutie-pie.”  Grumbling, Ford led her away.  Fiddleford looked at Stan.

“Y’know, helpin’ to watch Ford, and later yer lil niece or nephew, why, that’ll be some good practice fer bein’ a parent.”  Stan squinted at him.

“Uh, what?”

“When ya have kids of yer own, it’ll be nice to have the experience under yer belt.  That’s all I’m sayin’,” Fiddleford said.  Stan shook his head.

“No, man, Angie told me what ya said about ‘future brother-in-law’ yesterday.  We’re takin’ this step by step.  No talkin’ ‘bout kids or marriage.  Not yet.”  Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

“‘Not yet’?” he inquired.  Stan shrugged.

“I mean, who can tell what’ll happen in the future?  All I know right now is that, I dunno, I’m not against those things,” Stan said.  Fiddleford nodded.

“You’ll get there.  Yer meant to be a McGucket.  I can tell.”