“We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.”
Sybil x Tom 1920s!Mansfield Park AU
Tom Branson’s world is turned upside down when he learns that he is distantly related to the Crawley family. He arrives at Downton Abbey, hoping to learn a bit more about his departed mother (Cora Levinson’s 4th cousin) and is ultimately taken under the Crawley family’s wing, though more so as a “glorified servant” than a “true member of the family”. The only person who treats Tom as an equal is Sybil, with whom he develops a deep friendship (and to whom he gives his heart).
But the quiet days of Downton’s past are shattered by the arrival of the Crawley’s newest neighbors: the Crawford siblings, Larry and Mabel. Both are modern, flirtatious, and over-indulgent when it comes hedonistic pleasure. Mabel fixes her eyes on Tom, while Larry is determined to woo Sybil.
The Crawley’s think Mabel is doing Tom a favor by setting her cap on him, but Tom knows his heart, knows it’s for Sybil alone, and while Larry works hard to convince Sybil to give up her dream of nursing, Tom promises to devote every waking minute to her happiness...
It's a little late, but better late than never, right? Dipper and Stan deal with Wendy's concern for the events of "Stan's Choice". And hey, look, it's an under-the-cut!
Wendy's curious.
Dipper knows this, and he does his best to avoid her questioning glances and leading comments. Stan does his best, trying to redirect her, but Stan's not exactly subtle in the best of times, and this is far from the best of times. Their secret is out.
Their secret is out.
It's something Dipper can barely wrap his head around. It's not all the way out; only Stan knows, and the old man's proven himself more than capable of hiding something this big- cough cough portal anybody?- but this is something that's beyond groundbreaking. It could ruin his and Mabel's life forever.
The twins had been pretty good at keeping the relationship a secret. The elder Pines were clueless, they hoped. Stan had only figured out because they had overslept, forgetting to set their alarms in a brief and ill-conceived moment of intimacy.
Memories of that moment- Mabel's lips pressed to his own, their bodies joined, forgetting everything but each other- warm Dipper's heart for a second, before he remembers what came after. An alarm clock they forgot to set, clothes they forgot to replace, beds they forgot to return to. In the afterglow, none of that seemed to matter.
And it didn't, until Stan had come barging in. Still, the old man had handled their incestuous relationship about as well as could be expected. It wasn't quite how Dipper had wanted to let his Grunkle know (not that he had wanted his Grunkle to know at all) but it could have gone a lot worse.
Images of boarding schools flash through his head. Boarding schools, empty lives spent apart, and Mabel's face as they leave each other for the last time. It's not something he ever wants to experience, being separated from his other half.
Still, he couldn't realistically hope for a better outcome.
Just because it had worked out in their favor so far, though, didn't mean it would continue to do so. Wendy was the first major hurdle they had to clear. Dipper knew there would be more, although he held out hope that was just his paranoia talking.
Wendy catches his eye for the umpteenth time, and he studiously ignores it, focusing on selling more of Mabel's fake paranormal artifacts to unsuspecting tourists. Despite himself, he's taken a liking to Stan's suit and cane combo, although he's currently refusing to accept the eye-patch, no matter how 'rakish' Mabel claims it makes him.
He twirls the cane lightly, focusing on the tourists. “And this, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, laying his hand on the sheet-covered glass case, patting it fondly, “is a fearsome and haunted relic of Fakus Guyllibus, the infamous sorcerer of Gravity Falls!”
He whips the sheet off, struggling to hide a grin as the tourists gasp. Mabel's bedazzled skull- a fake one, bought at the local dollar store- captivates them for a second, and a camera flashes close to the back of the crowd.
“Now now, folks,” Dipper says lightly, one hand palm up before him, patting at the audience as if he's air-petting a dog, “no flash photography. Guyllibus used his skull of farsight to spy on his enemies and make dark pacts with demons.” Dipper leans forwards, almost as hunched as Stan, and grins. “In fact, it's said, even a century after Guyllibus' death, a man or woman with a strong soul can use this artifact to gain an advantage over their opponents.”
Dipper can practically see the dollar signs in some of the tourist's eyes, and he groans internally. How the hell do you get rich enough to take a vacation if you're this gullible? Not that he's complaining. He gets a small percentage of everything he sells, and it's enough to keep him and Mabel wealthy enough to spend cash on some fairly lavish dates.
Dipper grins at the crowd. “It's a hard-won artifact, to be sure, one that I had to pry out of the ground with my own two hands after months of back-breaking research... But, I suppose the Shack could be persuaded to part with it for a modest price!” He grins sheepishly. “No refunds, of course!”
They eat it up, and barely a minute later, the Mystery Shack is roughly 500 bucks richer. Dipper almost feels bad for taking advantage of them like that, but that 50 dollar bonus is enough to keep his mouth shut.
Wendy snickers from behind the counter, gives Dipper a knowing look, and he waits until the crowd has turned their back before he sticks his tongue out at her. Since she's started college, she's been around the Shack less and less, but it's still nice to see her manning the counter. It's like a fixture of Dipper's life has been placed in exactly the right location.
Come to think of it, most of the Shack feels like that to Dipper. His parents are barely there, honestly, and Stan, for all his rough edges, is a pretty good parental substitute. Not someone he'd want to leave in charge of a five-year-old, but there's only so much damage he can do to a teenager.
Granted, Dipper's currently wearing a suit, complete with a smaller replica of Stan's cane, so there might be some holes in that argument, but all and all he feels like he's grown a lot under Stan's tutelage.
He sweeps the crowd over to an etching of Bill in hardened clay, the eye of the triangle scoured away. Bill's gone, but there's no point in being risky. Besides, the malevolent triangle gives him the creeps anyways, even if there's no power behind it anymore.
“And this, my friends, is Bill Cipher. Bill was the nastiest creature ever to haunt Gravity Falls.” Dipper shuddered. “An interdimensional dream demon from the nightmare realm, Bill was nastiness personified. I had him in my head, once. Not a fun time.”
Dipper grins humorlessly at the looks from his audience. “Come on, now! How else do you think a sixteen year old boy becomes the tour guide for a respected institution like the Mystery Shack?” It's all he can do not to laugh out loud at that line. Wendy ducks behind the counter, face red. Evidently she found it as absurd as he did.
“Bill entered my mind once,” Dipper says, growing serious, “And threatened my sister. But we beat him- not just once, but several times, and we found a way to make it stick.” He shuddered, and despite himself, real pain entered his voice. “Enie, meanie, miney, you!” He cries, pointing the end of the cane at his audience. They jump with surprise at his outburst. “A born trickster, Bill loved nothing more than a deal. And that's the weakness we ended up using against him. Still, not a fun time. This artifact isn't for sale.
He marches around the rest of the Shack, pointing to various fixtures like Old Goldie and the face-rock-face, barely keeping his amusement in check. Stan wouldn't be happy if he ran off a group of customers.
“Not a bad haul today, Stan,” Dipper says, tallying up the profits for the day. “Comfortably in the black. I do a good job, if I do say so myself. And I do.”
Stan snorts. “Don't get overconfident, kid,” he grunts, eyeing the spreadsheets. “Let's see... put this much in the Cayman account, put this much into repair and renovation, some for Mabel's art supplies, just a bit towards salaries...” He gives Dipper a steely look. “It's not bad, kid. You've got a natural talent for conning. You may even get to my level of mastery, given enough time.” He preens, tugging on the collar of his suit.
Dipper shudders. “Jeez, Stan, that's an image to give me nightmares.” He laughs. “Grunkle Dipper, running the Shack, searching... for...” He trails off, suddenly self conscious. Some wounds don't ever heal, no matter how long it's been.
“Let's hope you're not searching for Mabel, kid,” Stan says, with a tired little smile. “It's not nearly as fun as you'd think.”
Dipper shudders again. “It doesn't sound fun at all.”
Stan grins humorlessly. “Exactly.” He turns back to his spreadsheets again, making various noises of approval and disapproval. “This should tide us over until the end of the slow season,” he says quietly. He looks up and gives Dipper a powerful stare. “How's our little Wendy situation?”
Dipper shuffles his feet, embarrassed. “She knows something's up. I've been trying to ignore it, but... it's only a matter of time until she starts making educated guesses.”
Stan shakes his head. “You couldn't have decided to fall in love with anyone else, could you?” he asks ruefully. He chuckles, a low and gravely sound. “Oi vey. Always making my life difficult. Well, we have options.”
“Really?” Dipper asks, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Stan says nonchalantly. “We could always kill her and bury the body deep. It works, trust me.”
“Stan!” Dipper yelped, concerned.
Stan gives him a little grin. “Just checking to see how far you're willing to go, kid. Beyond that, if she's this curious, she's bound to hit the truth at some point or another. It may be best if one of us it there to coach it in as favorable a light as is possible.”
Dipper tugs at the collar of his suit jacket, uncomfortable. “So you want to send...”
“You! Holy cripes, kid, stop acting like it's the end of the world.” Stan fixes him with another steely look. “You got us in this situation, it's up to you to get us out. Besides, I know you work best under pressure.” Since fucking when? Dipper wonders bemusedly. Stan checks his watch. “There's an hour before her shift is up. You have until then to broach the topic.”
“Stan!” Dipper protests. “Couldn't Mabel do it? She's closer to Wendy anyways!”
Stan shakes his head. “Mabel would spin a tale that would make Wendy even more suspicious,” he said. “You're a straight shooter. She'll be more likely to buy any... ah...” Stan waves his hand in a vague manner. “airbrushes... from you.”
Dipper shakes his head. “You're asking me to lie to Wendy.”
Stan shrugs. “It's your relationship, Dipper. Do what you think you can handle.” He pauses, glances over the spreadsheets again. “I, ah, I wish you luck. Really. But there's not much I can do here.”
Dipper swallows, not looking at anything in particular. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Stan.” He blows out a shaky breath. “I hope this works.”
Dipper approaches this conversation with shaky palms and butterflies in his stomach. He hasn't felt this nervous around Wendy since he was nursing a crush that was a bit more than just a crush. His pulse hammers, a physical beat he can feel spasming in his neck. He adjusts the collar of the suit, grimacing.
Wendy's taking care of the last customer in the shop, idly flipping through a magazine as she hands the tourist back his change. When the man vacates the shop, just two minutes from closing time, Dipper walks over and flips the sign on the front door to 'closed'.
“Not a bad haul today,” he says nervously, looking at nothing in particular as he gives a weak chuckle. “Few more days like that should keep us comfortably in the black.”
Wendy looks at him for a moment, and Dipper shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “Just saying. I don't want this place to go bankrupt. It's how I get my- whoa!”
Wendy's all but leaped over the counter, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards the door. “Outside, Dipper!” She orders. It's a touch embarrassing to be manhandled so easily by Wendy- four summers at the Shack have toughened him up quite a bit- but Wendy is a good two inches taller than him, still, and whipcord lean from doing lumber work with her father.
She sits them both down on the stairs of the front porch, half-turned towards Dipper. Her green eyes glint with determination. “What the hell happened with you and Mabel?” she demands, forgoing any sort of subtlety. “You oversleep once and Stan damn near has a heart attack! Wouldn't let me see you guys, kicked everyone out of the Shack, gave me a week off with full pay!”
Her eyes bore into Dipper's. “A week off with full pay, man! I didn't think the old man had it in him! I thought I was tripping on some Mabel Juice!” She shakes her head. “And now, since I've come back, you've all been on eggshells around me. It's a big mystery.”
Dipper coughed. “Maybe it's just embarrassing?”
Wendy punches him lightly in the arm. “Come on, man, it can't be that bad.” She gives a little gasp. “Dipper, you two weren't doing drugs, were you? I mean, come on, I'm not exactly one to be arguing you should toe the line, but that's all sorts of bad news.”
Dipper coughs in surprise, eyes wide, but Wendy's on a roll. “Please tell me it's something soft like weed. Please tell me it's something like that and you're not snorting coke or trying some unfiltered Mabel Juice or something.” Wendy shudders. “That stuff will mess you up.”
“It's not-” Dipper starts to protest, then he stops. He looks at Wendy, heart racing. A drug problem would account for all the weirdness, he knew. It would be an easy lie to sell, given that she had already half-bought it without any help from him. The consequences would end there.
Can he lie to Wendy? She's been nothing but a loyal friend. She saved Mabel and Dipper more times than he cared to think about. He wished Mabel was here, so he could run it past her, ask her, if she wanted to risk telling the truth, but it's all on him.
It's all on him. Stan had said he worked best under pressure. He doesn't want to lie to Wendy, and he doesn't want to risk losing Mabel. There's no right answer.
He swallows, mouth dry, and mutters quietly, “Mabel and I are a couple.”
For a long second, Wendy doesn't react. He glances up at her, wondering if she hadn't heard what he had said, hoping that maybe she had missed that little confession.
No dice. Her eyes are wide, mouth agape. She blinks a few times and coughs in surprise. “Um... did you just...?”
Dipper looks at the ground and closes his eyes. “Admit that Mabel and I are in the middle of a crazy-taboo relationship?” He gives an insane sort of giggle. “Yeah, I think I did.” His voice is an octave or two higher than he'd like.
“Wow. And Stan...” She asks quietly, incredulous.
Dipper nods. “We, ah... distracted each other the night before. Forgot to set our alarm clocks.” He shakes his head. “It was a stupid mistake.”
Wendy starts laughing, hard. Dipper glances at her, almost fearful. His future- Mabel's future- hinges on Wendy's reaction, and he can't make heads or tails it. Wendy's almost on her side, leaning against the porch, laughing so hard tears are running down her face.
Dipper coughs. “It's not that funny.”
Between fits of hysterical laughter, Wendy gasps, “Just the image... of waking up... to Stan... seeing you in your birthday suit.”
Dipper's throat jumps a little, and he struggles to keep a smile off his face. “It's really not that funny.”
Wendy's laugh subsides, leaving her wiping tears off her face and struggling to contain her giggles. She gives Dipper a long look. He struggles to keep the smile off his face. “You flashed Stan,” Wendy mutters, stone faced, and then they're both gone, struggling to draw breath between deep belly laughs. She's back to leaning against the porch again, and he's leaning his elbows against his knees, arms crossed, head in his lap, trying to control himself.
When they manage to act like reasonable quasi-adults again, wiping their faces and struggling to control their breathing, Dipper decides to ask the important question. “So we're good?”
She punches his shoulder again. “Always, dude. Just, you know, be careful with all that bizznizz.” She waved her hand in a vaguely Stan-ish way. “And don't hurt Mabel.”
Dipper spreads his palms. “Of course not. And you know me, I'm Mr. Paranoid.” He grins sheepishly. “We cool.” He puts his fist out.
It's not a question anymore. Wendy bumps his fist, smiling. “Yeah, we cool.” She shakes her head. “Always an adventure with you guys.” She gives Dipper a wry look. “Stan-flasher.”
When the giggles subside, she stands, offering Dipper a hand. “Come on, dude, let's get Mabel and get some pizza or something.” She furrows her brow in mock-anger. “She's been holding on me. I expected saucy details, damnit!”
Dipper takes her hand, grateful, and follows her back into the Shack. “Not too many details, I hope.”
Wendy sticks her tongue out at him. “Nope! A girlfriend has the prerogative to tell her girlfriends about the saucy details.” She gave a teasing wink. “All of the saucy details.” She took off into a jog, headed for the attic room.
“No, no wait Wendy!” Dipper shouts, taking off after her. Their laughter rings through the nearly-empty Shack.
In his office, Stan leans back in his swivel chair and puts his hands on the back of his head. “Sounds like you did good out there, kiddo.” He sighs. “Knew you could do it. One problem down.... a thousand more to go.”
*looks down at her uninterestedly* I assume that those barbarians of your northern lands who seek to call themselves men are as pitiful in stature as you are, or you would not venture such a mindless exclamation.
