Stan stepped into the living room, dark except for the light of the TV.
On the couch, Mabel snored like a train engine, the sound familiar to Stan after years of living with his grandniece. She leaned against Henry, who’s head was leaning against the wall. On Henry’s other side was Dipper, mouth leaking golden drool onto Henry’s shoulder. On top of the adults like puppies were the triplets. Henry’s arms were around Willow, who had curled up in a ball on his lap. Hank was half on the arm of the couch and half on his mother. By his hand on the floor sat the TV remote, long forgotten. Acacia was on the floor, cradled between Dipper’s legs, one of which she was clinging to like a sloth in her sleep.
Stan couldn’t remember the last time everyone had looked so…. peaceful. Relaxed. Safe.
He sighed, and went to the kitchen to grab a chair.
Someone had to watch over them after all.