Grunkle Stan cracked his knuckles, the noise of the crowd covering the sound, and got his heisting hand good and ready.
Ahead, his target walked on unaware, braying into his cell phone. Out of the back pocket of his stupid three hundred dollar jeans was his wallet, practically hanging out for everyone to see and anyone to take. It looked nice and fat too, bulging with plastic and paper.
Cut Stan off in traffic would he? Flip his car off with impressionable young children inside? Oh Stan was going to show him alright. No one flipped off Stan Pines and got away with it!
Stan’s hand began to casually reach forward as he got closer to the asshole- and then a tiny hand grabbed one of his fingers.
Stan looked down, to see Hank staring back up at him, hazel eyes big and wide.
“Grunkle Stan, what’re you doing?” Hank asked. “Are you saying hi to people?”
Fuck.
Fuck goddamnit shit fuck crap fuck it all to hell damnit
Mabel and Dipper actually had these kids believing he was a… a…
Stan shuddered slightly with disgust.
-good person.
Hank smiled at him, gap toothed as he lost two teeth in a row last Saturday. His little overalls had monkeys on them.
Stan blew out his breath, and with only slight pain, bent over to pick Hank up in his arms, causing his nephew to giggle.
“Yeah buddy, I am. I think they’ll be more likely to say hi to you.”
Who the kids thought he was? That wasn’t true.
But they thought so, so he should probably try and live up to it, damnit.
(That being said, he did get close enough to trip that douchebag on his way to the cotton candy booth. There was only so much goodness Stan could manage in a day.)