couragefights said: I♥the triplets & I think there should b some Henry triplet bonding. They seem 2 bond more with Dipper than him.Maybe have him reading a bead time story?How dose he deal?He’s a father of triplets!There has to have been stress.No matter how chill he is
I took this and then I super ran with it and then this came out and I hope you still like it? :) Two is thanks to the wonderful clockworksinger and Five is based off of a line from a great fic written by reddpenn
At five and a few months, the kids still got scared by thunderstorms.
The smaller ones they were sleeping through now, but the triplets still had the attic, complete with leaky roof patched with tin and massive window that rattled at the slightest touch of breeze.
On nights like these, when the lightning rent the sky every other second, and the thunder shook the Shack to the foundation, if the kids couldn’t corral Dipper into cuddling with them, they would all run to Henry and Mabel’s room, to sleep out the storm sandwiched between their parents.
And yes, there was Hank somehow at the foot of the bed, and Willow was on half of his pillow and Acacia….
Where was Acacia?
Slowly, Henry disentangled himself from his wife and children, and surprise Dipper, and quietly made his way upstairs to the triplet’s room.
There was the triple decker bunk bead they had just put in two weeks ago when they were sure the kids would be able to sleep in it without falling out or hurting themselves, and there in the corner of the top bunk was a shaking blanket ball.
Henry padded over and walked up to Acacia. He reached over the little ‘bumper bar’ on the bed and put an arm around the pile of blankets.
“Acacia honey, why don’t you come downstairs? Even Uncle Dipper is there.”
A little head covered in an explosion of red curls popped out and shook back and forth violently before pulling back into the blankets.
“I’m not scared,” a little voice emitted from the cloth pile. “I’m okay here.”
Oh that was what this was about.
“Mind if I lift you up and give you a hug?”
Henry hefted his daughter up and over the bed and into his arms, blankets and all. He carried her downstairs and sat on the couch together.
“Acacia, it’s okay to be scared.”
“No, I’m not scared, I can’t be scared.”
Acacia’s head came back out again. “I’m…I’m sposed to be the brave one! I’m the biggest!”
Henry gave Acacia a big squeeze.
“First off, there is no one saying you have to be brave. And if anyone ever does, you just point them my way, okay?”
“Secondly, being brave…honey, you can be brave and still be scared.”
“Yes really. Being brave is doing something even though you’re scared. And being brave doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help or admit you’re scared.”
Acacia sniffed, and Henry wiped a tear from her eye.
“And you never, ever, have to hide your fear from me. Ready to come to bed? Or do you want to watch the storm?”
Acacia snorted some snot back in.
“I…I wanna watch.”
Henry smiled. “Okay honey.”
(in the morning, Stan walked into the living room to find Acacia drooling on top of Henry on the couch.
He took a picture. For Mabel).
There were things in the Gravity Falls library that Henry couldn’t believe that they had.
On the outside, it was….
Well, it looked like a complete dump. Mainly because it was. Cinderblock construction from the sixties, leaky roof, windows that let raccoons and gnomes in, and a smell of mold, leftover macaroni and cheese, and more mold.
But there were first person accounts of the supernatural extending back to even before the town’s founding, journals of explorers into the vast forests surrounding Gravity Falls and what they found there, one or two grimoires that people had donated over the years because the Library seemed like a good place to put them, a book in what looked to Henry to be written in 13th century Old German….
Things, in short, that were not at the Stanley Pines Memorial Library of the Supernatural.
Things that a certain Stan Pines wanted for the Stanley Pines Memorial Library of the Supernatural.
Things that a certain Stan Pines would get caught trying to get because he got stuck in the one bum window that had also trapped three raccoons and an opossum before.
Henry stood in the library at 3:45am, having gotten a call from the police, and looked at his…great-uncle-in-law? (to be honest he was more like a father-in-law)
Any way, looked at Stan dangling from the window and with a look on his face that would be more at home on a twelve year old rather than a man in his early sixties.
“Stan, what the fuck?”
“Henry, no one else is using them here and you know I can take better care of them at home!”
Henry put his face in his hands.
“Stan, for the love of Christ, have you never heard of ‘interlibrary loans’?”
The look on Stan’s face said not only that he had not, but he wouldn’t understand the concept any way because it ultimately involved returning the thing and Stan would much rather keep the thing, thank you very much.
Henry sighed, and went over to help Stan out the window.
Third time this month.
Henry was making dinner when he heard a sound from under the sink where he was doing dishes.
He knelt down as best he could (even sitting on the floor his head was still even with the counter), and opened the cabinet drawer.
There was Willow, still in her school clothes, a small blue fire flicking out of her fingers.
She was watching the flames off of her fingers and had tears down her face.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Henry asked, wiping his hands on his apron.
Henry smiled a bit. “It must be something if you’re having Sink Time.”
Willow huffed out a breath. “I don’t need help Daddy.”
Henry nodded. “Okay sweetie, I’ll leave you alone.” He closed the cabinet door, stood up, and went back to doing dishes.
A minute later he felt the slight bop of the cabinet opening against his leg, and heard a voice coming out.
“Mrs. Martin doesn’t like Mommy.”
“Oh?” Henry asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
“I…I saw her colors when Mommy picked us up today and they were…they were bad and angry and….and…”
He heard sniffling, grabbed a cookie from the jar next to the sink, and went back down on the floor, opening the cabinet again.
Willow launched herself out and on to his lap. She wasn’t one for loud sobbing, but she wept into his shirt.
“Daddy, I don’t want to see colors any more. I don’t like all the bad colors I see.”
Henry froze. Oh god. How the fuck could he respond to that? “Sorry, your Uncle freaked out saving your life?”
There was nothing he or Dipper could do to keep his daughter from sobbing at the ugliness of the world around her.
She was only six.
Henry gathered Willow into his arms and let her cry herself out.
Once or twice a month, on accident or at a summoning (though Henry suspected sometimes it was “accident” rather than actual accident) Dipper would fall under the influence of Yggdrasil or as they called it at the Shack, dipnip.
Usually, this resulted in Dipper latching on to someone, purring, and refusing to let them go.
Over the years Henry had come up with a coping mechanism.
Like today, for example, when he had taken the day off of work to clean the gutters before Mabel came home from visiting the girls in Eugene.
Henry had sat on the couch for all of two seconds to put his shoes on before Dipper blipped into existence next to him, pupils blown, tip of his tongue out, and rumbling hard enough to make the couch shake.
Henry waited until Dipper had settled himself in on his lap, then began to wiggle and move his brother around.
Five minutes later Henry got off the couch triumphant, having successfully maneuvered Dipper into clinging on to his back like a backpack.
A rumbly backpack that had claws pricked on his scalp and drooled gold spit on his shirt but it was still better than getting stuck on the couch until Dipper snapped out of it.
Chuckling slightly to himself, Henry stepped out of the house and went to the workshed.
If there was one thing that Henry Pines had learned early on in his relationship with Mabel it was that Mabel was more than capable of kicking butt and standing up for herself on her own.
Actually, Henry was damn sure that Mabel could kick more ass than he ever could. Sure he had over a foot on her, but Mabel had been hunting demons and getting into supernatural shenanigans for over twenty years and boxed every day, and also still had enough energy to go on spontaneous jogs in the forest that lasted for an hour or two regularly.
But it was one thing to know that your wife could kick ass…
And another thing to turn around the corner after leaving the con suite on the second day of the 15th Annual Conference for Paranormal Researchers and Professionals and find that a heckler from Mabel’s keynote speech (“Think Before Reacting: Better Situational Awareness While ‘Hunting’”) currently had his wife in a corner.
Correction, his wife in a corner, a hand around her throat, and since like Henry he was tall, Mabel’s arms and legs couldn’t quite reach to kick, to punch, to defend.
The man was almost Henry’s height, and was probably twice his weight, all muscle. He smelt like alcohol, even from twenty feet away. He was swaying slightly but still had a tight enough hold on his wife’s throat (easy Henry, patience) that she was having a hard time breathing.
As Henry got closer (and Mabel quickly saw him but made sure to not let her gaze linger, to give away his presence), the man slurred at Mabel, “What are you, some kind of preter-fucker? Too…too good for a real man?”
Henry didn’t feel red or shaky with anger.
He just felt cold. Very cold.
Calmly, Henry picked up a metal folding chair that was in the foyer outside one of the smaller panel rooms. It was folded up from disuse which was great for Henry.
Great because it let him bring it down on the waste of space that dared, that dared to touch Mabel that much quicker.
Henry hit the man over the head hard enough to dent the chair.
The intoxicated man turned, fists up, ready to kill, but that gave Mabel enough time to gather her breath and-
“YOU’RE GOING DOWN SUCKER!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, and launched herself at him, where she proceeded to beat her attacker into not quite a bloody pulp but enough to make con security freak out when they arrived.
(“My hero,” Mabel beamed at him in the con suite cum makeshift holding cell until the police arrived. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and Henry blushed day glo read. It wasn’t the first convention they were probably going to get banned from, but Henry wouldn’t have it any other way.)
Hank lifted his bow from the body of his violin and gave a gap toothed beam at Henry.
“What do you think Daddy?”
Henry felt like his ears were about to bleed, and would have had no idea that that was supposed to be “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” if it weren’t for Hank telling him beforehand.
But of course he wasn’t going to tell Hank that.
Oh god, what to say, how to strike that balance between honesty and encouragement, between blunt and overpraising. It was awful and Hank needed a lot more work but god was he proud of his son for learning the violin, so very proud…
“I think you still need some practice,” Henry finally said, watching Hank’s face carefully. “But I think you tried hard and did a great job.”
“Yes really! Hank, when I was your age, your grandmother tried to teach me how to play the piano. I didn’t even last ten minutes.”
Hank was practically glowing and Henry didn’t even say that much? He meant it, he truly did, but sometimes the effect his words had on his children frightened him because what if he messed up?
This was usually when Henry’s inner Mabel came in and smacked him on the head for being goofy.
That’s what inner Mabel was doing now, so Henry decided to listen to her.
“All that playing, I bet you’re hungry. Want some ice cream?”
Hank beamed and after carefully putting his violin down on the kitchen table where Henry had been working, threw himself at Henry and gave him a big hug.
Being a dad was hard work, Henry thought as he scooped two small bowls of strawberry ice cream, but it was completely worth it.