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Stan lowers his glasses on his nose, peering down at the tiny screen in his hand, eyes narrowed.
“‘Ey, Sixer! Come in here and look at this!”
Mabel, who’s sprawled out on the other side of the couch, raises her head up from the cushions in sudden interest.
“What is it, Grunkle Stan?” She rights herself, scrambling over to squint at his phone.
Stan waves a hand, beckoning her closer. “Look, found some guy with six fingers on the internet, figured I’d show Ford. I don’t think he’s met another person with ‘em—well, not in this dimension, at least—”
To his surprise, Mabel wrinkles her forehead and frowns. “Grunkle Stan, that’s AI.”
Stan looks at her quizzically. “AI don’t make pictures, kid. It’s for probability machines and crap. Ask McGucket about it—but come up with an escape route, first. Guy can talk for forever.”
Mabel giggles. “No, this is something new! Kids at school use it to cheat all the time—and to, like, make weird pictures of themselves. Dipper says we shouldn’t use it, he showed me how to tell if the pictures are fake or not, but I sometimes still—”
“What is it, Stanley?” Ford pokes his head into the living room, Dipper at his heels.
“Found some guy with six fingers online, wanted to show you, but Mabel says a robot made the picture.”
“AI,” Dipper says, nodding sagely, “Happens all the time.”
“An AI assigning people extra fingers?” Ford questions. “Why on Earth would it do that?”
Stan’s eyebrows lower a bit. “What’s wrong with it? Probably just thinks it’s cool.”
Dipper shakes its head. “AI doesn’t think anything, Grunkle Stan. It’s just pulling from such a big database of images to create a fake one, that it sometimes ends up with the wrong details. Like, it’ll be copying hand positions from a couple pictures, and just end up putting in an extra finger.”
Stanley hums in interest. “So, you can use it to cheat, and make fake stuff? This seems like a profitable business model!”
Dipper makes a face, and Ford mirrors it.
“Well, except—”
“I think I find that rather offensive!” Ford interjects. “Stanley, you would generate fake images of six-fingered people, rather than use the authentic six-fingered person you have at your disposal?”
Stan scowls. “No, that’s not what I said, I was talkin’ hypothetical. Besides, you’re not exactly eager to pose for my posters now. I’ve been telling you we could put on a real good magic exhibit, if you’d do the Stan voice again, but for some reason—”
“The result of our last attempt at impersonating each other—”
“You’re not interested! So maybe I’ll use an AI Sixer, hmm?”
“Well, you probably shouldn’t—” Dipper tries, but Mabel cuts him off with a gasp.
“Grunkle Ford, what if you’re AI right now?”
“What does that even mean?” Dipper asks.
Stan looks slightly offended, now. “Hey, he ain’t AI. He’s real!”
Ford looks pensive, for a moment, then says, “I suppose I have been called a robot before,” a small grin, “But I’d say my intelligence is anything but artificial!”
Mabel and Dipper groan, and Stan makes a disgusted expression.
“Shut up, Poindexter.”
“See!” Mabel insists, “That seems like a joke an AI would make!”
Ford’s brows furrow. “Well, that was actually an attempt to humanize myself—”
“—would hate to see your robot impression,” Stan cuts in, but Ford powers forward.
“—though it was clearly unsuccessful. I assure you, I’m no AI, and frankly, I shouldn’t like to be one, either—even if all the people it creates do have six fingers.”
“Plus, it’s like, really bad for the environment,” Dipper adds.
Stan scoffs. “What’s the environment ever done for me?”
Ford rolls his eyes. “Only kept you alive, you knucklehead.”
“The data collection centers for it use a ton of water,” Dipper continues, “And they pollute the water in areas that really need it. Plus, shouldn’t we leave making art to actual artists—”
“Probably caused some ‘o that with toxic waste runoff from the portal,” Stan muses. “I was stealing the stuff, an’ a whole barrel burst. Fell into the lake. Hope nothing happened.” He looks back down at his phone.
“It what?” Ford’s face goes red. “Did you actually—”
“He’s just joking, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel insists, glaring daggers at Stanley.
“No, I’m being serious. I really—ow!” Mabel’s fist connects with his upper arm, and Stan jumps back.
“So funny!” She laughs exaggeratedly.
“Anyway,” Dipper sighs, “You shouldn’t use that stuff, Grunkle Stan. It’s bad for your brain, makes you think less. Plus, it’s putting artists out of work!”
“More artists should be out of work,” Stan grumbles.
“He can’t possibly think any less,” Ford adds. Stan makes a lewd gesture at him.
“Shut up, would you?”
“—now, really, is that any way to—”
“This is devolving quickly,” Dipper mutters. “Hey—” He tries to get in between the older twins, who’re full-on squabbling now. “Hey! Just promise you won’t use that thing, Grunkle Stan.”
“—but all of a sudden, my language is a problem?” He waves a hand at Dipper, half-listening. “Don’t even know where to find it, kid,” he grunts, focused on his argument. “You’re bein’ a hypocrite, like usual!”
“I am not—”
Dipper and Mabel lock eyes, share a tired expression, and leave their great-uncles to fight it out on their own.
The subject doesn’t come up again until two weeks later, when things take a turn for the worse.
Dipper and Mabel are sitting at the kitchen table, Dipper’s face buried in a dusty-looking old book, Mabel’s knitting needles clacking away, when the front door slams shut so hard the whole house shakes.
“It’s unbelievable! Honestly, you should’a let me go after them, Sixer! Where do they get off, saying a thing like that?!”
“It’s only to be expected at their age, Stan. Were we any better?”
“If I remember correctly—which I do—we were the ones gettin’ picked on! We only talked bad about people who deserved it!”
“Well, they did see us sort of end the world two years ago,” Ford muses, “So…”
“Oh bullshit, we fixed that! If anythin’, they should be treating us with respect!” Stan harrumphs.
“You sound like Pa,” Ford says, putting on a deep voice and a false Jersey accent and continuing, “Quit correcting me! Show your elders some goddamned respect, Stanford!”
It’s an obvious joke, but Stanley doesn’t laugh. “Well, Pa never did anything worth respecting! You, at the very least, haven’t done anything to warrant…that!”
Ford sighs. “It wasn’t personal, Lee.”
“You don’t have to act like it doesn’t bother you, Ford! I can’t believe we’re sixty-one years old and you’re still dealing with this bullshit! It just takes on a new form, and it gets less and less acceptable to knock out a fifteen-year-old’s teeth!” Stan’s audibly agitated as they approach the kitchen. “I swear, if Dipper and Mabel ever get like that—”
“They won’t,” Ford replies, as they cross the threshold onto the room.
“Get like what?” Mabel asks, interested piqued.
“A snot-nosed bastard, is what!” Stan declares.
“Really, Stanley!” Ford exclaims in offense, hiding the smirk on his face.
“Geez, Grunkle Stan, what happened today?” Dipper questions, putting down his book.
“I thought you’d never ask!” Stanley replies. “You’ll never believe this, Dip!”
“I’d bet he will,” Ford murmurs, but allows Stan to proceed.
“Six and I were in town, walking past the park to the hardware store, when we see that kid with the tight pants and his whole group of friends.” Stan gripes. “Wendy wasn’t there, obviously, because she was running point at the Shack for Soos. But anyway, we’re passing by, and guess what we hear this little blonde shithead saying about Ford?”
Dipper’s forehead scrunches. “What?”
“I believe it was along the lines of,” Ford clears his throat, “‘Yo, this dude’s AI-generated.’” He purses his lips in disapproval. “In reference to my hands.”
“Well, they didn’t say it like an old nerd would say it, but yeah! Can you believe that? They called Ford an AI!” Stanley’s heated, waving a hand through the air expressively.
“Well, a false image created by an AI, but more or less.” Ford confirms.
“Robbie’s such a jerk,” Dipper mutters. “After everything from a couple years ago, really?”
“And here’s the real kicker! Ford wouldn’t let me go over there and knock their lights out! It’s like you can’t beat up teenagers anymore—I thought this was a free country!” Stan cries.
“It’s like taking a fighting dog on a stroll through the park,” Ford says with a sigh, exasperated. “I don’t know why you think it would be okay to assault a random fifteen-year old—”
“Hey, they’re seventeen!” Mabel interrupts. “We’re fifteen!”
“See, exactly!” Stan gestures at Mabel in agreement. “I got beat up all the time when I was seventeen! It was barely even a thing, after a while! I mean, I remember one time—”
Ford clears his throat pointedly, tilting his head towards the children. “I believe you had some extenuating circumstances, Stanley.”
“Wait, I want to hear the story!” Mabel protests.
“You probably don’t,” Dipper and Stan say simultaneously. Ford just pinches the space between his brows, as if he has a headache.
“That doesn’t matter, though! Ford, they said you were made-up! They said you weren’t real! That’s what an AI does, right? Makes up fake crap to trick people?” The younger twins nod. “Yeah, well, my brother’s not some fake, imaginary thing I’d put up in the Mystery Shack! A-and even if he was, he’d be made way better than anything those robots could ever think of! It’s like—like they’re saying he’s not a real person! Hasn’t anybody ever seen a guy with six fingers before? It ain’t revolutionary!” Stan is visibly agitated, now. “The Corn-Icorn? That’s a real idea! A six-fingered guy? That’s just a guy! He’s not even wearing a costume! It’s—”
“Stanley,” Ford placates, “take a breath, would you? They didn’t mean any of that by what they said.”
“Yeah, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper offers, “I mean, they’re just dumb kids. Mabel basically made the same joke last week!”
“Hey, that’s different! I was insulting his personality, not his fingers!” Mabel argues.
“Exactly!” Stan cries. “They don’t even know him! And I don’t care what they meant, it’s the implication!” He sucks in a deep breath, frustrated. “Ford is right here! Ford is real! He’s—my brother is not fake! I—I spent enough years reminding myself of that!”
A sudden silence falls over the room, leaving only the sound of Stanley’s ragged breath.
“Grunkle Stan—” Mabel starts.
Ford frowns, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Lee…”
Stan’s shoulders slump, the fervor gone. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “Don’t, uh, don’t know what came over me, there.”
“That’s okay, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel chirps.
“Quite alright,” Ford echoes, and Dipper nods.
Another quiet moment passes, before Ford speaks again. “You know, I’ve had my own problems distinguishing reality from farce in the past.”
“Six, you don’t gotta—”
“No, just listen. There were times where I wasn’t sure what I had conjured in my head and what had actually happened—he was good at blurring that line. And, of course, before Bill, after—I let my own perception distort reality plenty. In the multiverse, I didn’t know if home existed for me to come back to.” Ford takes a deep breath. “But, you know, when those teenagers said that, it didn't bother me. Do you know why?”
The younger twins stare at Stan, watching as he shrugs his shoulders minutely, expression tense and pitying.
“Because I’m one-hundred percent sure what I have now is real.” He grins. “It’s certainly not a situation I would have imagined for myself—having this unique, wonderful family, the adventures I’ve gone on with my brother…maybe someone more creative than me could have, I don’t know, but Bill couldn’t have. I couldn’t’ve thought up this kind of perfect in my head, nor the way we achieved it. Therefore…it must be real. You all must be here, and I must be here with you all.” Ford wraps his arm fully around Stan’s shoulder, now. “Anyone who proposes otherwise is just…wrong.”
Stan’s face is unreadable, for a second—and then he wraps an arm around Ford in response, sniffling and clearing his throat.
“Well,” he says gruffly, “No robot could’a come up with us four knuckleheads, anyway.” A smirk. “‘S all just authentic Pines family weirdness.”
“Can’t generate that,” Dipper adds.
“I’d like to see it try!” Mabel cheers. The younger twins high-five, giggling.
Stan looks at his brother, eyes twinkling. “Sappy old nerd,” he accuses heatlessly.
“Soft-hearted codger,” Ford shoots back, beaming.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stan replies, then breaks the hold, clapping his hands to catch the twins’ attention.
“Now,” he declares, “What’s the plan to take revenge on those chumps, huh?!”
Mabel’s grin is ear-splitting as she replies. “We’ve already got a list of ideas. You remember when we shrunk his pants with hot water?”
The room devolves into a scheming, Pines-family sort of laughter, after that.