To Catch A Con Man - Stanley Pines x Reader (female)

The sunlight filtered weakly through the windows of my room, the golden light mingling with the faint smell of pinewood and dust that always seemed to cling to the Mystery Shack. I stretched with a groan, my back cracking in protest as I rolled out of bed. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I made my way downstairs, my bare feet padding softly against the creaky floorboards.

Yawning, I stretched again as I reached the bottom of the stairs, the faint murmur of the morning filling the quiet house. Through the living room window, I caught sight of Stan outside in the yard, grumbling as he bent over to pick up something from the ground. He straightened with visible effort, placing a hand on his lower back as he let out a string of muttered curses.

Curious, I stepped into my boots, grabbed my jacket, and headed outside. The chilly morning air nipped at my skin as I approached him, the crunch of the gravel under my feet catching his attention. He turned his head slightly, squinting at me from beneath his cap.

"You're up early.", he said gruffly, straightening up with a grimace. "Didn't peg you for a morning person."

I shrugged, crossing my arms as I stopped a few feet away. "Couldn't sleep. What're you doing out here?"

"Cleaning up after those no-good government stooges." He gestured to the ground with a tired wave of his hand. Scattered around the yard were bits and pieces of equipment—small gadgets, wires, and tools likely left behind in the chaos. "Memory gun or no, they still managed to leave their crap everywhere. Typical government. Can't clean up after themselves."

I glanced at the mess, then back at him. "You didn't have to do it alone, you know. You could've asked for help."

He snorted, crouching down with a groan to pick up what looked like part of a broken headset. "Help? Yeah, right. Like anyone around here's gonna pitch in without me twisting their arm. Besides, I can handle it. I've dealt with worse."

"Maybe.", I said, crouching beside him to grab a stray cable. "But you don't look like you're handling it well. You okay? You've been holding your back like an old man."

He shot me a look, somewhere between offended and amused. "Old man? Watch it, toots. I could still outwork you any day of the week."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Sure, Stan. You looked real spry a second ago when you were cursing at your spine."

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he straightened up again, this time much slower. "Back's just a little stiff, alright? Happens when you've spent decades running cons, fixing broken-down machines, and dodging weirdos in the woods. You think hauling crates and dealing with all this junk is good for your back? Trust me, it ain't."

"Uh-huh." I stood, dusting my hands off. "Well, lucky for you, I'm here now. Let me help."

He waved me off. "You don't gotta do that. Go inside, have your coffee or whatever it is you do in the morning. This ain't your mess to clean up. Not anymore."

"Maybe not.", I said, stooping to grab another stray wire before he could protest. "But I'm here, and I'm helping. Besides, if you throw your back out completely, who's gonna keep the Shack running?"

Stan paused, as if weighing his options, then grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "Fine. But don't expect me to pay you."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

We worked in silence for a while, the morning air gradually warming as the sun rose higher. Every now and then, I'd glance at Stan as he shuffled from one pile to another, his movements slower than usual. Despite his complaints, he didn't seem to resent the help. If anything, I thought I caught the faintest hint of relief in his expression when he didn't think I was looking.