Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet. 

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me." 

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers.  In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes. 

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

GF & MvsM - Wanna Talk About Dinos?

This crossover was inevitable. It just works too well. Maybe one day i’ll write a fic about how the folks at Gravity Falls handled the robot-apocalypse. Probably shrugged it off. “Eh. We’ve had worse.” Haha! What if Stan and Ford, cuz they were out sailing, had no clue what happened and when they came back they were like, “Wait, what?”

For now, please enjoy this fic of Aaron making a new friend...

(credit goes to @stephreynaart for her OC Jacob) ~~~~~~~~~~ “Hi, would you like to talk to me about dinosaurs?”

Aaron asked this question more times than he could keep track of, but that wasn’t going to stop him from asking it. It started as a dare from his big sister two years ago, but now it’s a fun hobby. When fifth grade isn’t overwhelming him, scaring him with mountains of homework and horror stories about how hard middle school is going to be, and when he’s run out of YouTube videos to catch up on, he is on the hunt for fellow giant-lizard-lovers like a hungry Ceratosaurus.

“No, okay bye.” But it did get a little tiring to always cross out names and phone-numbers on the phone book with red ink. Hey, a dinosaur of a way to find phone-numbers was appropriate. He read the next number, dialed it, and after a ring or two he asked, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs? No, okay thank you.”

Aaron crossed out another name and sighed, taking a break since he reached the end of a line of numbers. Maybe he should just be grateful for Abbey and accept that no one else wants to talk about the Jurassic Period. Or the Cretaceous Period. Or the Triassic Period. But then a big, old, gray-tinted ad distracted him. He grinned, thinking it would at least be fun to give them a call, and he dialed the number.

Private home phone-numbers were fun, but businesses were also fun! Poor, bored workers would gladly talk to him rather than crabby Karens, and they got paid for it! So Aaron smiled as the phone rang, and he grinned when someone picked up.

“Thanks for calling the Mystery Shack, you’re talking to Mr. Mystery himself! How may I befuddle or bewilder you?”

“Hi! How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

“Oh, dude! I’d love to, but I’m scheduled for a tour of the Oddity Museum in three minutes.” The man said, and Aaron grinned continuously, because it sounded like Mr. Mystery really wanted to talk with him about dinosaurs. “But hey! Can you hold on for one minute, I think I know a guy!”

“Yeah, sure mister!” And Aaron was greeted by the sound of a catchy jingle about buying t-shirts and mugs and snowglobes. He smiled and wiggled his feet along to the music as he looked outside at the beautiful late-fall afternoon, entertained while he waited.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soos was on the hunt. He planned out the house in his head. Abuelita was taking a nap upstairs, Melody was organizing the upcoming tour, and Stan took Jacob out for ice cream, so he might be…

The owner of the Shack grinned when he stopped at the doorway and saw the man he was looking for, sitting in Stan’s chair, reading a book.

“Uncle Ford!”

The old sailor smiled up at the young man. “Yes, wh-...”

“Do you think you could answer the phone for me? I have a tour and I think this customer’s request is right up your alley.”

“Uh… sure, but w-...”

“Thanks, you’re the best!” And Soos was gone before he could address Ford’s confusion.

Ford was a bit lost, having little to no business with business, but he had learned at this point to trust Soos, so he picked up the phone beside him and was immediately greeted with a sweet, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

Ford grinned and closed his book. “I would love to! All three periods are equally as fascinating to study, but the Triassic contains some of my favorite dinosaurs!”

A young voice gasped on the other line. “Mine, too! Everyone thinks the Jurassic period is so great, and it’s pretty cool, but the Triassic gave us Plateosaurus and the Brachiosaurus!”

“That’s very true! You know, it’s very interesting, maybe depictions don’t include feathers at all, which is a bit frustrating, but perhaps after the news has spread they will incorporate more feathers on merchandise and textbooks.”

“YES! That’s what I wanna do when I grow up, help draw better-accurate dinosaurs!”

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rang on Sunday. The Shack was closed today, so Stan lazily answered it and was greeted with, “Wanna talk about dinosaurs?”

“Sixer, phone for you!”

Ford ran into the living room, elbowed his twin out of the chair, and took the phone. “Hello again, Aaron! Now, where were we? Right, so Australopithecus. … No, I don’t think… Oh! No, homo habilis was erect, Australopithecus was never fully erect.”

“Maybe he was nervous.” Stan groaned, getting to his feet.

Ford shot him a look as thankfully the young boy on the other end didn’t catch that and happily shared some more fun-facts about homo habilis.

~~~~~~~~~~

While most college students were excited for Spring Break so they could get drunk or lose their virginity, Katie was excited because her family had planned a special secret roadtrip. She was careful to keep up with her family and talk to her parents and brother frequently, but Aaron had a hobby he wasn’t talking about that his parents found out and were thrilled about. Aaron had made another friend.

Rick and Katie did some research and the tourist attraction sounded right up their alley! In the middle of the woods, tons of weird stuff, and a fun roadtrip filled with diners and attractions. They decided to surprise Aaron, and they made up a lie that they would spend Spring Break in California with Katie so she could show her family around San Francisco, when in actuality they would be traveling up the state to the Redwood Highway and see the oddity place, and maybe even allow Aaron to meet his new pen-pal. Or, um, phone-pal.

So after bombarding Katie with hugs the Mitchells threw her luggage into the car and drove off. Aaron turned to Katie and excitingly asked, “So where are we going first? Can we go fix the Golden Gate bridge by painting it gold?”

Katie laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe later, right now I wanna show you guys this fun store right outside of town. Here, check out the videos I made for my classes!” And she pulled out some airpods and gave one to Aaron.

“Cool!”

Rick and Linda smirked at each other as they drove north. By the time they reached a little diner in Redding, CA, it was very clear to Aaron that they weren’t in San Francisco anymore. “Come on, just tell me where we’re going!” The boy begged as he fed Monchi a fry.

“The best kind of prizes are the surprises.” Linda quoted.

“Eric, Deborahbot5000, where are we going?”

“Sorry, Aaron, we cannot give that information.” Eric said, he and the other robot sitting politely in their seats, happy to be a part of the social interaction.

“Yes, Mother will bury us if we disobey.” Deborahbot said matter-of-factly.

“What?! No I won’t, sweeties.”

“Won’t you ground us?”

The family laughed and Aaron let the topic go; if he was honest, he loved a good surprise. The big family stopped in a motel just at the California-Oregon border, and the next morning after muffins and coffee and orange juice they were on the road again, passing dozens of trees that made Rick feel at home. Katie happily recorded the trip, trusted to be the documenter for another fun roadtrip, with hopefully not as much mortal peril.

Aaron watched as they left the highway for a simple road, and they passed a big sign. The boy gasped and caught what was happening. “No WAY! Really?!”

“You know, I hear this Mystery Shack even has a Sasquatch.” Rick commented while Linda pulled out a pamphlet from the glove box.

“It says here it’s full of odd things you’ll never see anywhere else, even a dinosaur footprint…”

“Wasn’t there a rumor of there being a Bottomless Pit?” Katie asked, pointing her camera at Aaron to get his reaction.

“Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!” Aaron cheered, hugging his Dad’s neck and kissing his Mom’s cheek.

“Hey, no worries, buddy.” Rick eased, fixing his shewed glasses. “We wanted to see this place, too!”

“Why don’t we eat a quick lunch and then we’ll take the backroad for the attraction? There’s a coupon in here for a diner made from a giant log!”

And so after being served by a pretty blonde teenager at Greasy’s, they drove through town to get to the backroad. Signs made them confident that they were going the correct way, as well as Eric and Deborahbot5000’s GPS. Then as they turned a corner, a big triangle-shaped building came into view. Aaron grinned at the giant sign with a missing letter. People were already leaving, arms full of souvenirs and one or two already wearing their new hats or t-shirts. Once Rick parked in the Free Parking Lot, Aaron spilled out of the car and ran for the shack, but he stopped.

Katie caught up to him and patted his back. “You cool, man?”

Aaron shrugged, holding his hands in front of him and his shoulders up to hide his face a bit. “I-I dunno… What if… What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Hey, I get it.” Katie admitted. “When I first met my friends I was really nervous. I had talked to them online for weeks and I was worried it wasn’t gonna be what it was all cracked up to be, but it was. Your system worked! You found another dino-lover! You earned this moment. Just take in a deep breath and be yourself, cuz you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Aaron smiled up at his big sister. “Thanks.”

Trusting Eric and Deborahbot5000 to watch Monchi and make sure he used the bathroom, the Mitchells went inside the shack. On the porch there was an ice cooler, a sign reading schedule times for tours of the Oddity Museum, a Help Wanted sign, and two rocking chairs with a game of checkers between them.

Inside the store a few customers filled up the gift shop, alongside t-shirts, snowglobes, a vending machine, a door beside ti that read Employees Only, a bookshelf full of comic on one side and old newspapers claiming alien sightings on the other, a fish tank holding a monkey-mermaid, and barrels full of spaceship keychains and dino claws. A new section called Camping Stuff caught Rick’s eye, selling backpacks, lanterns, flashlights, batteries, canteens, and compasses. Katie opened a comic called Lil’Stanley and laughed at the swears, taking a pic and sending it to her friends’ group chat. Linda looked into the barrel full of patches and grinned at all the fun designs, while Aaron stared happily at the mer-monkey.

The Employees Only door opened and closed and Rick watched as a man in a suit, fez, and eyepatch walked up to the lady at the register and kissed her cheek. The woman smiled lovingly and left while the guy who resembled a gopher checked a customer out. Rick waited until the buyer left to approach the register, leaning an arm on the counter.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, dude!”

“Thanks! So, this is gonna sound weird, but my son Aaron talks to a guy here about dinosaurs…”

“No way!” The owner interrupted excitedly. “Good to see you, dudes! I’m Mr. Mystery! Wow, you guys came a long way, huh?”

“Nah, only from California. My daughter is attending art school there.”

While the men chit-chatted and Linda joined them, Katie noticed a guy walking up to Aaron and looking at the mer-monkey. She smiled and tried to read the comic without being too nosy, but she kept her senses on her brother.

“Hm, quite fascinating, isn’t it?” The man in the blue hoodie said. “But I think my favorite is the fossilized footprint. Could be Nanuqsaurus hoglundi.”

“The Polar Bear Lizard?” Aaron clarified, touching his chin as he looked at the dino-print, his back to the man he was talking to. “Maybe, but they’re from Alaska. It’s possible plate tectonics did cause some fossils to be relocated here, but it could also be a Nanotyrannosaurus lancensis footprint.”

“The Dwarf Tyrant? Could very well be. Would you like to talk about dinosaurs after your tour?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as the voice was finally familiar to him. He turned and looked up to find an old man smiling up at him. He had fluffy gray hair with a white stripe running around his scalp, wrinkles by his eyes due to smiling, a cleft chin, glasses, and wore a blue hoodie with a maroon sweater underneath. His hands were behind his back and he smiled down at Aaron warmly, while the boy was jittery and overly-excited. He took in a sharp breath and had to fight every muscle to keep from leaping through the screen door. 

“H-H-Hi…” He peeped. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Y-Yeah, sure! I’d love to! I’m Aaron! Er, wait, you already knew that.” And he held out a hand to shake.

His phone-pal, Ford, chuckled and got on one knee to be eye-level. “Greeting, Aaron! It’s nice to formally meet you.”

Aaron shook his hand and noticed something. He had six fingers on his right hand. A quick glance told Aaron he also had six fingers on his left hand. Aaron grinned with sparkling eyes at his new friend, while the old sailor smiled warmly at the boy that reminds him of his niece and nephew when they were young.

I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well.  That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right?  Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately.  He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now.  Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup.  No sense of fashion.  So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six.  Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find.  Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now.  Old-man glasses, at six.  But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up.  The twin thing sucks, sometimes.  

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now?  Is his hair going silver?  It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen?  Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been.  He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive?  Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him.  Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!”  Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph.  “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking.  “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old!  Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls.  He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit.  “Grunkle Stan?  Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says.  He smiles and ruffles her hair.  “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine.  That’s his name.  That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles.  Lays it on thick.  “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does.  His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say.  “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more.  Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst.  Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it.  They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words?  But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really?  What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response?  Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now.  He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned.  Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts.  “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes.  “Being me.”

Stan shrugs.  “Wasn’t hard.  We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts.  A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges.  “Very funny.  I saw your lease renewal.  You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap.  You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.”  Stan grimaces.  That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine.  “Yes, well.  That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut.  They’re both too comfortable to argue right now.  “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.”  Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going.  “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t.  I didn’t want to be.”  Stan shrugs.  “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him.  “I understand.  I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.”  Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair.  More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs.  “Yeah?  Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked.  “Fair enough.”  Ford stretches, rolls his neck again.  “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.”  A wry look.  “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch.  Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take.  “Yeah, yeah.  Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet.  “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open.  He didn’t realize he closed them.  “What, learnin’ physics?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes.  “For saving me.”

“Hm.”  Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one.  “I dunno.  Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right.  Thank you for saving me.  You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford.  He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.”  Stan’s eyes are closed again.  He figures he’ll just leave them closed.  “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

Every Little Past Frustration

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 :

Bill watched through the eyes of a hundred eye-bats as the truck carrying his quarry barreled down the wooded back roads of Gravity Falls. The flock was closing in, despite Sixer's erratic blaster fire and manic driving. Of course, just as soon as it looked like Bill’s victory was in the bag, the Mystery Shack came into view on the horizon through the trees. The demonic triangle growled with rage and willed the flock to fly faster. He was not letting his bargaining chip get away! 

The cloud of eye bats descended on the truck. Maybe Bill’s luck was changing. The idiots had just left Four-Eyes lying in the truck bed unprotected. Bill didn’t know much about humans and the protection laws they used to try and keep themselves alive a little longer, but he was pretty sure that was a stupid thing to do even if you didn’t have otherworldly forces chasing after you.

Unfortunately, the eye-bats weren’t strong enough to turn someone to stone yet. They still hadn’t absorbed enough of the Nightmare Realm’s power. But they did have this nifty tractor beam ability, which came in handy since they didn’t have any hands or claws to speak of. A few of the eye-bats got in close enough to start lifting the scruffy hillbilly out of the back of the truck. He started thrashing and yowling in panic. 

“I TOLD YOU, YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT!” Bill crowed triumphantly. True, since he was back in the Nightmare Realm instead of possessing that time traveling loser, the only one who could hear him was Four-Eyes, but it wasn’t any fun if Bill couldn’t brag to someone.

“!Votmzrig ivskrx oory! Taht rebmemer ot tnaw t’nod I! Niaga ti ees ot tnaw t’nod I! Gnimoc si mlaer eramthgin eht…” McGucket howled.

Of course, every time Bill spoke directly to Fiddleford’s mind, the nerd had to go and be a drama queen about it! It was honestly the main reason the demon had continued tormenting the guy over the years. It wasn’t like Bill got anything out of it, he couldn’t possess the old coot or coerce him into helping the rift along. It was just hilarious to see how he reacted. Some mortals and the Nightmare Realm just didn’t mix.

Four-Eyes’s clamoring got the attention of the rescue team sitting in the truck cab. Shooting Star fired her grappling hook out the back window and snagged onto the old inventor’s overalls. Meanwhile, Sixer leaned almost half-way out the driver’s side window, blasting down the eye-bats that had been carrying off his friend; Question Mark struggled to keep them on the road while the driver was otherwise occupied.

Bill roared with volcanic rage as the truck veered around the corner, into the long driveway leading up to the Mystery Shack. They were almost to the barrier! He was not going to lose this bargaining chip, not after everything else that had gone wrong over the past few days.

The remaining eye-bats clustered around the open windows, trying to squeeze inside and block the view of the road. The truck careened through a few advertising signs, but stayed on course for the Mystery Shack. Maybe, if he blocked their view long enough, he could make them crash into the wall of the Shack and break the line of unicorn hair, disabling the shield spell.

But luck was not with Bill this week. The breaks squealed, and the truck skidded to a stop just inches away from the gift shop entrance. Sixer threw his door open and laid down some blaster fire to cover Shooting Star and Question Mark as they carried Four-Eyes inside. They were within the barrier.

“GGGGRAAAAAH! COME ON!” Bill conjured a glass just to throw it at the wall in frustration. “WHAT IS WITH THIS TIMELINE!? DECADES OF PLANNING, AND IT’S JUST ALL THROWN OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE WHAT? PINETREE AND SHOOTING STAR ACTUALLY TALKED ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS!? EUGCH!” 

“DiD tHeY gEt AwAy, BoSs?” Hectorgon asked, noticing his boss’ temper tantrum.

“THE ONLY REASON THEY GOT AWAY IS BECAUSE I’M STUCK WORKING WITH SUB-PAR LACKEYS!!” Bill steamed. Hectorgon took the hint, scurrying away.

It really was a shame that good pawns were so hard to come by in Gravity Falls. Since the original plan of taking the rift from Shooting Star didn’t pan out, Bill had to start improvising. And hey, he was an ageless being of pure energy. He could do that. But the mortals available to him in Gravity Falls were just so lame!

Wendy, the Cool Girl, had seemed promising. She was smart and strong, and best of all, the Pines trusted her. Unfortunately she was a little too smart. Bill had known convincing her to smash the rift was a long shot, but she would have been a real asset, had things worked out. As it was, she was a nice distraction.

Toby Determined had definitely just been a distraction. The guy was about as competent as a leaky paper cup. But he’d actually gotten most of the Pines family out of the house, so that part of the plan, at least, had worked. They’d even left the Big Mackerel in charge of guarding the place! It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out his new pawn, Preston Northwest. Bill had been sure Stan would take the bait, but no! Everyone in the Pines family had to do the opposite of what was expected this week. And Preston was such a priss, he’d rather just make vague threats and drive off than actually do what Bill asked him to and get his hands dirty! 

Unfortunately, possessing Preston wasn’t possible quite yet. The guy was too business savvy to make a deal on a handshake. It all had to be in writing with him.

The only other viable pawn in town was Lil’ Gideon, but he didn’t exactly have easy access to the Shack right now. Sure, Bill could break him out of prison, but it’d take a lot of effort, and it’d draw a lot of attention. Not just from the Pines, but from the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad. There were a lot of perks to possessing a time traveler, but they came with the inconvenience of having to watch his step whenever he used them.

Bill sighed as he watched Sixer through one of his effigies still left in the Mystery Shack. Now there had been a good pawn! That rare balance of competence and gullibility, of intelligence and naivety, really did only come around once in a generation! So eager to please, so desperate to prove himself, so willing to just go along with things and not ask too many questions. Too bad Four-Eyes had to blunder his way into the portal on the test run. If Bill hadn’t had to tip his hand early, he might have brought the party to Earth thirty years ago. Ah well. Fighting Sixer all these years certainly kept him entertained.

For now, Bill was going to have to make due with his current pawns. Speaking of which, his latest puppet was trying to make a break for it. Bill popped out of the Nightmare Realm and into Blendin’s mindscape. The bumbling time traveler was about to pull out his time tape and jump into the future.

“AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” 

“Y-y-you can’t do this to me!” Blendin stammered. “I-I’m a time officer! I h-have rights!”

“OH, SORRY, MY MISTAKE!” Bill said sarcastically. “WHY DON’T YOU HURRY BACK TO THOSE JERKS WHO CONSTANTLY MOCKED YOU FOR LOSING GLOBNAR TO TWO CHILDREN. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU’D BE EAGER TO ADD ‘GOT POSSESSED BY MY BOSS’S WORST ENEMY’ TO THE INSULT LIST. THAT IS, IF THEY DON’T LOCK YOU UP FOR AIDING IN THE END OF THE WORLD!”

“I-I’ve escaped the infinitentiary before!” the time traveler protested.

“YEAH, SURE, THEN IT’LL JUST BE LIFE ON THE RUN WHILE TIME-BABY PUTS OUT A DIMENSION-WIDE MANHUNT FOR YOU! FACE IT, BLENDO, YOUR BEST CHANCE OF SURVIVAL IS WITH ME!”

Blendin opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with a good comeback, or rebuttal, or any reason to refuse Bill’s offer, but he apparently couldn’t think of one. Finally, he just hung his head in defeat and held out his hand. Bill smiled with his one eye and grabbed it, taking possession of the time traveler once again.

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT! NOW, LET’S GO FIND A LADDER AND AN AK-47!”

* * *

The flock of eye-bats dispersed once Mabel and Soos got McGucket within the barrier. Ford breathed a sigh of relief. That had been too close. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Bill had tried to bargain with Fiddleford’s life for the rift.

Thankfully, McGucket’s incoherent screams had stopped once he was safely inside. The old inventor looked exhausted, but relieved, like he’d just outrun a raging wild animal. Ford locked eyes with him, and for a moment, he could have sworn a hint of recognition flickered on Fiddleford’s face. But then, the fatigue caught up with his old friend, and he passed out in Soos’s arms. 

Dipper, who had been keeping watch from the window, rushed over to them. “Oh my gosh, are you guys ok?” He asked, taking in everyone’s battered appearance. 

“I think I might’ve cracked a rib.” Soos said nonchalantly, as though he was talking about a paper cut and not one of the most painful injuries he could still walk on. 

“Come bring Fiddleford into my room; I’ll examine you both.” Ford instructed.

Dipper followed them in as they laid Fiddleford on the couch. A quick glance over found no serious injuries that needed immediate attention, although the old inventor definitely looked like he needed a few good meals in him. Next, Ford had Soos pull his shirt off, so he could properly check his ribs.

“Luckily they’re not cracked, just badly bruised.” Ford assured the handyman after a few moments of careful prodding. He handed Soos a small packet of some medicinal cream. “This cellular-regeneration optimizing salv should allow you to heal within the hour. I assume you can apply it yourself.”

“You got it, dawg.” Soos took the packet with a salute and left for the bathroom.

“Er, alright…” Ford wasn’t quite sure what that response meant, but it sounded like an affirmative. 

“What happened?” Dipper asked once Ford finished his examinations and just sat down, watching his friend anxiously.

“Your sister was there for it all. You can ask her.” Ford replied simply. He was trying to let the boy down gently, but the kids really were better off without him.

“Oh, O-ok…” Dipper left reluctantly, casting a glance over his shoulder as he closed the door.

* * *

“And so we skidded into the parking lot next to the gift shop like something out of Nagoya Burnout!” Mabel concluded her dramatic retelling of their rescue mission.

“Aw man, I wish I was there!” Dipper complained. “Although, I did get to see Stan psych out Preston Northwest. That was pretty gratifying.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Mabel pulled out her cell phone. “Pacifica called me while we were at the dump, but it wasn’t a good time, so I hung up on her.”

“Huh. We got a call just before her dad showed up, but Grunkle Stan told me to just let it go to voicemail.”

Mabel checked her inbox to find several missed messages from Pacifica.

“Hey you asked if my parents were acting weird earlier?” The rich girl’s voice crackled from the voicemail. “Well, my dad just asked the chauffeur to take him to your shack. Last time he wouldn’t even ride there himself, he made ME go! ...Omg he’s packing a briefcase of money. I’m gonna have to call you back.”

The next message continued Pacifica’s panic, “When I asked him what he was doing he just said he was going to make a ‘business transaction’. Mabel seriously, call me back! I am freaking out!”

“I think he’s going to try and buy your house? Either that or maybe your uncle deals drugs? None of this makes sense to me. Just call me back already!”

“Mabel! Pick up! Why aren’t you answering!?”

“Uugh, fine! I’m calling your house!!”

“Oops.” Mabel grimaced. “I guess I should call her back.”

“Do you think her dad is actually working with Bill?” Dipper asked worriedly.

“I mean, I know he’s a shady rich guy and a bad parent, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make a deal with a demon.” Mabel reasoned. “But maybe Bill came to him disguised as Blendin, like he did to Toby, and offered him technology from the future or something?”

“Maybe.” Dipper agreed. “I can’t think of any other reason the Northwests would try to buy out this place. I know Stan’s made enough to support himself and run the portal, but the Shack can’t be that successful compared to all the Northwest’s businesses. I’m just worried about Pacifica. Her parents are already the worst. If Bill is controlling them, who knows what they’d do to her?”

Mabel pulled up Pacifica’s contact and started calling. Her crazy rich rival picked up on the second ring. “Now you pick up!? What happened!? My dad said Stan pulled a gun on him!”

“Sorry!” Mabel apologized, “I was on a rescue mission, I had to be stealthy!”

“And Stan only pulled a gun on him after he made it clear calling the cops wasn’t an option!” Dipper defended.

“Why didn’t you just text me?” Mabel asked.

“And leave a written record that I was trying to warn you guys?” Pacifica scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“...Your parents go through your texts?” Dipper asked warily.

“Yeah, don’t yours?” Pacifica asked, clearly not seeing anything wrong with the practice. 

“Nevermind all that!” Mabel interrupted, “We wanted to make sure you’re alright!”

"What? I'm fine. You two are the ones living with the guy who pulled a gun on my dad!"

"After he threatened us!" Dipper repeated.

“Not in any way that would hold up in court, I’m sure.” Pacifica said, and Dipper swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, we called because we’re worried about you!” Mabel broke up the argument.

“Why would you be worried?” Pacifica asked. “Guys, I’m just grounded. It’s not like my parents have me locked up in a dungeon or something.”

“We have reason to believe your parents are fraternizing with a dream demon.” Dipper explained. “Or at least your dad is.”

“Um… you’re joking, right?” the rich girl huffed a weak laugh.

“Don’t freak her out, Dipper!” Mabel elbowed her brother.

“But it’s true!”

“Hey Pacifica, sorry, Dipper’s being crazy paranoid.” Mabel forced a laugh, “But seriously though, you should keep an eye on your dad. And like, if he gets yellow eyes or something, you should just leave.”

“What!? What the heck is going on, you two? Is this another ghost thing?”

“Well I mean, it does seem like Bill’s main way of getting things done in our world is possessing people, so that’s kind of like a ghost…” Dipper answered.

“Who the heck is Bill!?”

“He’s a dream demon who wants to end the world.” Dipper explained bluntly. “But he needs something in our house to do it.”

“Are-are you serious?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “You’d better be serious right now, because if you’re messing with me I’ll come over there and buy your uncle’s filthy tourist trap myself!”

“I’m dead serious.” Dipper assured her. “What do you know about that creepy tapestry in the alcove just to the left of the grand staircase in the main dining hall? The one with the triangle eye on it?”

“Ugh, that ugly thing?” Pacifica groaned. “Mom can’t talk dad into throwing it out because it’s a family heirloom or whatever. Once I inherit this mansion, it’s going in the trash where it belongs!”

“Haha, Bill belongs in the trash!” Mabel giggled.

“So what, is Bill the guy who made the tapestry or something?”

“He’s the one on the tapestry.” Dipper corrected. “He’s the triangle eye.”

“I told you, if you’re messing with me--”

“I’m not messing with you! I know it sounds crazy, but this is a matter of life and death!” Dipper said earnestly.

“Ok, ok!” Pacifica backed off, surprised by Dipper’s sincerity. “I honestly don’t know anything else about it, though. Just that apparently it was a gift to Nathaniel Northwest when he founded the town.”

“Which we all know he didn’t do.” Dipper reasoned. “So where did it actually come from?”

“How the heck should I know?” Pacifica retorted.

“Could you maybe ask your dad about it?” Mabel proposed.

“I guess. He might find it a little suspicious if I suddenly seem interested in it though.”

“Could you at least take a picture of it and text it to us?” Dipper asked. “I didn’t think to take a good look at it while I was there, and I only remember a few vague details.”

“Ugh, ok, but you’d better help me find a good way to explain why I sent it to you once my parents find out.”

* * *

Dinnertime rolled around, and Ford still hadn’t left his room since the rescue party returned earlier that afternoon. Dipper was beginning to worry. Despite his insistence that he could live off of his nutrition pills for another three years, Ford always made a point to join the family for dinner. Even though the old researcher wouldn't admit it, Dipper was pretty sure it was because he got lonely spending all his time in the basement. The fact that Ford was absent as they dug into a plate of Mac'n'Cheese left Dipper wondering if something was wrong.

"Hey, uh, Mabel? Did Great Uncle Ford seem upset when you guys found McGucket?"

"He did seem pretty sad, but I don't think he really had time to be upset. We were busy running from Bill."

"Of course he's upset. He's finally seen first-hand how his old college buddy has become the self-proclaimed local kook." Stan said without looking up from his dinner. "Just give him some space, kid, he'll be fine."

Dipper wasn't in the habit of listening to Stan, so as soon as he finished eating he dropped his plate in the sink and snuck down the hall to Ford's room. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.

Ford looked up at him with such a dead-eyed stare when he stepped in that the boy suddenly wished he had listened to Stan.

"H-hey… um… we, uh, missed you at dinner… heh…"

"I'm otherwise occupied." Ford said quietly, not looking the boy in the eye. "Don't worry about me, I still have plenty of nutrition pills."

"Oh, uh, yeah…." Dipper scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "... That's not what I'm really worried about though."

Ford tensed. "Has there been a new development with Bill?"

"Uh… I mean, Preston Northwest did come by here and try to buy the Shack, but Stan scared him off, for now…. Oh! And Wendy wanted to know if you would help put up a barrier around her family’s house if she got some more unicorn hair.”

The old researcher nodded. “It will take time. It would be safer for her to stay here until I’m able to assemble another barrier spell.” 

“Oh, ok, I’ll let her know.” Dipper shuffled his feet. “So, uh, how’s McGucket?”

“He needs rest.” Ford watched his friend’s sleeping form carefully, still refusing to meet Dipper’s gaze.

“Um, are you ok?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Ford reiterated shortly. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your sister about now?”

“...Mabel told you we weren’t going to stay, didn’t she?” Dipper fretted. “...Are you mad at me?”

Ford finally turned to face him. “Of course not, my boy! If anything, you should be mad at me.”

“What, why?” Dipper asked in confusion.

“I came between you and your family. I got you involved in my problems. I put you in danger. I shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t-- you’d be safer if you kept your distance from me.”

“But you are my family!” Dipper insisted. “And I was involved with Bill before I even knew who you were!”

“Because you found my journal. I still started you on that path.”

“Well, technically, I guess.” Dipper admitted grudgingly. “But that wasn’t your fault!”

Ford scoffed and looked away again, obviously not convinced.

“If you and Mabel already came to your own decision to return home, then you must have realized on some level that I am a toxic influence. I don’t understand the thoughts and feelings of other people. I’ve hurt every person I’ve ever been close to.” The old researcher watched the slow rise and fall of Fiddleford’s far-too-thin chest. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than me.”

Dipper was dumbstruck for a moment. He never would have guessed that his Great Uncle Ford, the Author of the Journals, would feel this way. And it felt so wrong, because this wasn’t the way he viewed his uncle at all. Didn’t he know he was Dipper’s hero? Deserve better? Ford being Dipper’s uncle, and actually liking him and spending time with him, was better than the boy had dared to hope for.

“That’s not why we decided to go home!” Dipper insisted. How had Mabel put it? She made it sound so simple. “It’s not like we don’t want to stay with you. Now just isn’t the right time.”

“Not now… and not ever.” Ford said glumly. “It’s… it’s for the best.”

“No it’s not!” the boy blurted. “I know a lot of the people you care about end up hurt, and I know you have a hard time understanding why other people do things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t understand other people’s thoughts and feelings at all! That doesn’t mean all you do is hurt other people! I know because you were the first person this summer who understood me! 

“I love Mabel, but we don’t see the world in the same way. That’s a good thing most of the time, but sometimes when I try to talk to her about the paranormal, she just dismisses it as me being paranoid, or ‘dumb nerd stuff’. And don’t even get me started on how hard it is to talk to Stan about that stuff. 

“When I found your Journal in the woods, it wasn’t just an exciting mystery that fell into my lap. It was like finding validation that all the weird things I saw actually mattered. I think that Journal helped me get out of trouble just as often as it got me into trouble. And as the summer went on and I read more and saw more, it was like I was getting to know you, even though I still didn't have any idea who you were. I knew I felt a connection with whoever wrote it, so I started trying to figure out who it was. 

“Yeah, I got in a little too deep and got in trouble at a few points, but that just made it all the more amazing when I finally found out that the Author was you, and you were my family, and I wasn’t just imagining that we had something in common! And somehow, impossibly, you’re even cooler than I ever imagined because you’re more than just paranormal mysteries and cryptograms that take me ages to decode! You like to play the same games I do, and you actually take my theories and stuff seriously instead of just laughing it off or telling me I’m paranoid! And… and…” Dipper slowly became painfully aware of how long he’d been talking without any response from Ford, who was still turned away from him. “And you’re really important to me, ok? I know we’ve known each other for less than a month, but I just can’t accept a future where we can’t hang out anymore, ok?”

Ford didn’t answer for a long time. He just stared down at McGucket’s sleeping form. But if Dipper watched closely, he could see his uncle just barely keeping his breathing under control.

“You’re a very intelligent boy, Dipper.” The old researcher finally croaked. “Why can’t you see the evidence lying right before you?”

Dipper looked down on McGucket's prone form, then to his uncle, who was just barely containing his grief.

“You may have hurt McGucket, but you can’t completely blame yourself for the state he’s in now. And you obviously still feel bad about what happened, and you’re doing everything you can to help now. If you ask me, that’s not toxic. 

“I know you’re scared of hurting the people you love again, but just cutting yourself off from everyone isn’t gonna help, even if it seems like the easiest option. I think you just need some people who love you back and are willing to help you learn to be better.”

Dipper decided to take a risk and stepped forward, tentatively hugging Ford around the waist. His uncle tensed for a second at the unexpected contact, but his rigidity crumbled after a moment. The old researcher dropped to his knees and hugged his nephew tightly. 

“Thank you, my boy. I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear that.”

For the unique writing asks: 7, 8, 24, 25, 28 💕

7. Favorite description in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

Description? Don’t know her.

Like, literally, I’m pretty lazy when it comes to describing characters, I rely on the fact that people have (probably) watched whatever I’m writing about and that people know what they look like. And as far as like describing space where people are? I’m a little better, mostly because I write a lot of aus, and there’s no reason for Eddie and Stan to be in a Ford F-150 (which apparently I didn’t even specify in the fic), so I have to mention it, but I mention it badly. And, again, assume people have some idea of what I’m describing.

I’d rather write dialogue.

8. Favorite dialogue in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

It will be a cold day in hell before I fuck someone in a public bathroom, Eddie told the voice.

(Hands down. May even be some of my favorite dialogue I’ve written in a minute. Just makes me giggle every time I think about it.)

24. Do you let your story evolve as you write or do you meticulously plan everything prior to writing the first draft?

Oh, I have no idea what I’m writing half the time. Like I’m working on a piece for my bff for our friendaversy (16 years!! half our lives!!!!!!) and like. I doubt I’ll get it finished cause randomly a character has showed up, and I’m like. Oh hai, why are you here? Lol

That being said, I usually do draw up a calendar at some point, just so I can kind of remember what happens, but I mostly add as I go.

25. Do you start your novels with dialogue or description? Do you end your novels with dialogue or description?

I prefer to start with some sort of dialogue, or the character is woken suddenly, and immediately begins talking.

I usually end with some vague description (maybe I do describe things? I don’t know, I’m probably over thinking the question) of how the characters are feeling about the future but I keep it so vague, it doesn’t feel like description?.

28. Do you need background noise to write? If so, what do you listen to?

Yes, absolutely. I hate the silence in general, lol. It depends on where I am in the writing process and what I’m watching. I usually put something on I’ve seen and go from there, but I’ve found that watching Spongebob is not conducive to writing smug bahahaha!

Lately, early in a new project, I’ve been mostly listening to music that reminds me of the characters, that has the vibes that I think I want for the fic. Once I get a good flow, I can write to TV tho.

I can usually write to TV if if it’s a smaller piece too, but I can never tell how long/short something is going to be, so fun times lol.

Birthday Surprise

This was a request by an anon and I was happy to tackle my favorite gravity falls ship. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope that you enjoy it!

~

“Do I even want to know where this came from?” Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, already suspecting that this enormous pastry was Mabel’s doing. 

Before him was a multi-tiered cake that towered a foot or so above him with a circumference wide enough to feed the denizens of Gravity Falls. The colors were primarily red and blue blending into purple with other interspersed shades. Inspecting it closer, he quickly found that the pattern was hastily frosted on with no rhythm or rhyme to it. Almost as if it was designed by someone obsessed with spontaneity. However, the frosting looked like it came from a fine French bakery. Almost as if only someone with some affluence could afford this. . .

“Wait a minute. . .”

Not a moment later did he hear a smothered click!, a brief sizzle, and in an instant the cake bursted into a million gooey fragments. Nothing in the backyard was untainted by the explosive pastry, from the windows of the house to Dipper’s socks. Sucking in a breath, Dipper attempted to keep some semblance of dignity intact as he drew his hand upwards and swiped away a large glob of cake off of his cheek. 

Looking up, Dipper realized that where the cake once stood was a mess of poster board and firework shells. The structure soon gave way, and Dipper’s peeved expression fell away as the fallen poster board revealed a cheeky looking Pacifica Northwest. That alone nearly made Dipper’s jaw drop. He couldn’t believe that she had come all the way to California. And on such short notice before classes started again. She looked dazzling in her lavender knee-length dress with off the shoulder straps and a ribbon draped around her waist, all accentuated by her loose platinum hair and confident smile. And. . . was that a cigar clenched between her teeth? A lit cigar?!

“Not that I’m not absolutely thrilled to see you, but why do you have a cigar? I thought you didn’t like those,” Dipper began, not entirely sure what to believe. 

“It was my dad’s birthday gift to me. I figured the best way to get back at him was to use it for my peasant boyfriend’s birthday surprise so he couldn’t get mad at me for ‘not appreciating his generosity’,” Pacifica responded mischievously. “And while I’m using this. . .” Taking a drag, she let out a perfectly crafted smoke ring. She then gracefully lifted her hand and snapped her fingers at the top of the ring, causing it to collapse into a smoky heart shape. Dipper felt a mixture of pride for his rebellious girlfriend and distaste for her father’s lack of consideration. 

“How long did it take you to perfect that smoke form?” was the only thing Dipper could manage.

“Just now. I wasn’t about to let this puppy go to waste with practice.” With that, Pacifica dug the butt of the cigar and drove it into the platform under her feet to put out the flame. “Now with that out of the way, let’s celebrate your birthday, Dipper.” 

Pacifica drew a case out of her purse, tucked the cigar into it, and stashed the gift away into her purse. Popping a breath mint into her mouth, she then held out her hand to Dipper.

“Come on, I’ve got the whole day planned out,” she smiled softly.

Snapping out of his stupor, Dipper eagerly took her hand, then wrapped his other arm around her to give her a much needed hug. 

“I can’t wait.”

~

To start off, Pacifica treated Dipper to lunch at the nearby diner that he always mentioned to her. 

“I see your point, this does look a lot like Greasy’s. Except this place probably actually has an inspector come through every so often,” Pacifica commented upon stepping into the busy restaurant. 

“I haven’t gotten food poisoning here yet,” Dipper said, referring to a certain incident from last summer when he visited Gravity Falls. “Plus, everything’s affordable here.”

“Good. I wasn’t planning on spending the fortune I no longer have on one meal,” Pacifica snarked, as she thumbed through the menu. Dipper took the moment to admire her. Despite the shock of losing her family’s inheritance, she clearly rose to the occasion and worked to build a savings for herself. And she was taking what she was able to earn to give Dipper an awesome day. He couldn’t appreciate that more.  

Pacifica noticed her boyfriend’s loving stare and raised an eyebrow knowingly.

“Yes?”

“I’ve told you how awesome you are right?” Dipper toed his foot to brush her leg.

“Only every other Skype call. But you could always stand to say it more.” Pacifica responded by gently rubbing her leg against his.

Dipper reached his hand across the table and gently took her hand and rested it on the table. 

“Then maybe I’ll say it later,” he said cheekily. Pacifica let out a fake scoff of indignity. 

“And after all I’ve done for you!” she said dramatically. 

“I mean, you haven’t paid for dinner yet.”

“We’ll see if I still feel like paying after you’ve actually ordered something.” 

The two parted hands once their food arrived, but continued playing footsie throughout their meal. Pacifica smiled deviously to herself, reveling in getting away with being publicly affectionately with her boyfriend with her parents in the next state over. 

~

“Remind me again why you asked Mabel to arrange the scavenger hunt?” Dipper asked as he did his best to hold steady. This task was growing increasingly difficult as Pacifica, who was sitting on his shoulders, pushed harder on the top of his head to reach for the next clue sitting precariously on the tree branch. 

“I don’t live here, so how would I know where to actually put the clues. Aha!” she laughed triumphantly as she finally caught the slip of paper between her fingers. “And would this be nearly as fun if you didn’t get to lift up your gorgeous girlfriend?”

“I’m just more afraid of what my parents would say to your parents if they saw you scandalously exposing to much leg in front of me,” Dipper joked, referring to her hiked up dress so Dipper could lift her up. He lowered himself to the ground in a crouching position. Pacifica gracefully swung off of him and straightened out her dress. 

“You’ve seen me in a bathing suit before,” she pointed out. 

“That’s different. But I’m glad I can lift you up like the princess you are.”

“Darn right you are. Now let’s figure out where Mabel will send us next.”

~

“Okay! Glad we’re out of that mess!” Dipper wheezed. Attempting to climb through the various attractions at Mr. Fuzzbert’s Arcadia past all of the clearly unsanitary tunnels was difficult enough, but digging around in the perfume department where half of the employees recognized Pacifica as a Northwest and viciously attempting to upsell her their products was a place they never thought they’d get through. 

“So help me if one more girl sprays me with a free sample. . .” Pacifica started, but stopped short. “Wait, there’s the fountain!”

The two joyfully rushed to, what was hopefully, their final destination: the water fountain in the middle of the mall. They immediately scrambled to find the right carved in pattern on the outer ring. 

“The clue said the unicorn, right?” Pacifica asked frantically, hoping their nightmare would soon come to an end.

“When Mabel says a sparkly, violent horse, she definitely means unicorn,” Dipper answered, still circling the fountain. “Here it is!”

He pushed on the pattern. The stone slid backwards, then sideways to reveal a secret compartment as Pacifica hurried to his side. Reaching his hand inside cautiously, Dipper pulled out a package wrapped in tinfoil.

“This is a weird wrapping for Mabel to use,” Dipper wondered aloud.

“That’s actually mine,” Pacifica said.

“Really? I would have thought you would have used hot pink or something.”

“I used it to protect your gift from the aliens.”

“I found an actual spaceship with Ford, you know.”

“But you never showed me, so it’s still a conspiracy theory.”

“Oh har har, very funny. . .” Dipper trailed off as he ripped apart the foil to reveal his gift. He then proceeded to let out a very girly shriek, causing passerby to look on in concern. 

“Nowayisthisreally-” 

“The Tome of the Truskian civilization, yes.” Pacifica had remembered Dipper grumbling about one of the items that the Stans had found on their world-touring adventures, but they refused to let their great-nephew look at it for fear of a curse on it. However, from what Soos reported from spending time around them upon their return was that the curse seemed to have been suppressed once more by Ford’s quick thinking. So long as Dipper didn’t stain the paper with the blood of royalty from the ruling class of the Truskian empire, he would probably be fine.

“How did you get this away from Ford and Grunkle Stan?! They banned me from ever even touching this!”

“Let’s just say it took a little sweet talking and breaking and entering,” Pacifica said cryptically. “I distracted them with a cheesy song and dance at Greasy’s while Wendy swiped it from the Shack and planted a fake.”

“You really do love me,” Dipper teared up, holding the book to his chest and drawing Pacifica close with his free arm.

“The things I do for you,” Pacifica sighed contently as she wrapped her arms around Dipper’s shoulders.

~

The pair finally arrived at the beach at sunset and located the tucked away corner that Mabel had secured for them earlier. The setup was complete with a large towel, a cooler, and a flashlight for the two to read the tome together. Mabel had also taken the liberty to surround the area with pink rose petals.

“I didn’t ask for the petals, but I’ll accept them,” Pacifica resigned, hoping that Dipper wouldn’t get too flustered by the romantic additions. 

“At least she didn’t cover them in glitter,” Dipper joked, trying to suppress a certain evening that Mabel had stuck her creative hands into. 

Cozying up together, the couple watched the sunset fade into a fiery gold color. With no company other than the ebb and flow of the ocean, it didn’t take long for the two to start making out. In between the desperate kisses, they whispered ‘I missed you’ and “I love you’ over and over again. Knowing that it wouldn’t be long until they were separated again, they held each other tightly. In the midst of the haze, Pacifica remembered her final surprise for Dipper. 

“Mason,” she whispered. 

“Hmm,” Dipper hummed, knowing that the use of his name always meant that she was being serious.

“There’s still one last gift left,” she gestured toward the cooler.

“Can’t it wait a little longer?” he whined, unwilling to let her go.

“Normally, I would want to kiss you longer. But I’m pretty sure the beach closes after sunset and I don’t want to get chased out by cops before the grand finale.”

“I suppose so,” Dipper sighed, releasing her. “So what do you have in there?”

“Just a little something I picked up outside the county.” Pacifica proceeded to pull a massive heap of fireworks out of the cooler and placed in carefully on the beach, angling it upwards towards the sky. 

“I’ll. . . pack everything up. We’ll need to run after setting that thing off,” Dipper noted, as fireworks were highly illegal in his county. As he neatly folded the blanket, Pacifica pulled out a lighter and the remainder of the cigar from her purse. Lighting up the cigar, she gave it a quick puff to ensure that it would stay heated for the moment. Popping a final breath mint into her mouth, she turned to the eager Dipper. 

“Ready?”

“Let’s see what firepower this thing has.”

Pressing the cigar to the fuse, Pacifica watched as her father’s precious gift gave flame to her boyfriend’s final gift of the evening. The fuse began to spark and the two ran a few meters away, both plugging their ears and giggling hysterically. The fireworks shot up into the air all at once, breaking off into two segments. One firework exploded, letting out a bang! and formed the shape of a constellation very familiar to Dipper. The other popped and sizzled immediately afterwards and formed a purple heart.

“Whoa! Pacifica that was. . .” Dipper started, a dopey grin on his face. He turned to Pacifica, who raised her eyebrow expectantly. Dipper threw his arms around her.

“Incredible. You really are the best girlfriend.” Dipper kissed her cheek affectionately, hoping he could demonstrate just how grateful he was that she would take the time to track down a Big Dipper firework just for him.

“For you, it was more than worth it,” Pacifica smiled, burying her face into his chest. Dipper had brought so much adventure and joy into her life. The least she could do for him was to give him a special day. Pulling back, she said, “Now let’s book it before we get into trouble. But first. . .” 

Digging the cigar into the sand to put it out, Pacifica gracefully tossed it into the nearby garbage can as the two ran hand in hand from the now crime scene.

“Thanks, Dad. Your gift came in handy after all.”

BillDip Week, Birthday Week, Day 1: Planning

Hello! A new BillDip Week? Sign me the fuck up! I’m so excited to see everything the fandom has prepared, yeah! Unlike previous weeks, I think this time I’ll use the Post-Canon scenario – That’s right, I’m going to use only one AU for this week ~ Also, let’s celebrate because exactly three years ago I started participating in these OTPs Weeks.

Notes and Warnings: Post-Canon. Plot Twist?

Birthday?

The door of the Shack was lashed with such force that it could possibly be destroyed.

“It arrived!” Mabel announced, her voice louder than usual. “Finally it arrived! Dipper, come down at this moment, I need you!”

The twin male walked down the stairs, watching his sister sit on the couch and throw everything on the coffee table to put on a medium-sized box. Mabel vibrated with emotion.

“What has arrived?” Dipper asked, sitting next to Mabel. His sister stopped trembling.

Mabel pulled out a book smaller than the box – Dipper must have assumed that, because they were a conman’s relatives, they must have known when they were being scammed. “The Kit Plan Your Own Party 18.8!”

“Mabel, you’ve bought that book since I can remember and are always the same steps.” Dipper said exhausted.

“This time the drawings are different.” Mabel opened the book and leafed through the pages as quickly as possible, “And it comes with magnetic stickers.”

Dipper rolled his eyes.

It was two weeks before their nineteenth birthday, and it wasn’t that Dipper wasn’t excited to celebrate his birthday with his friends and family – The problem was that this birthday would be normal. Stan and Ford wouldn’t arrive in time (the Shack was running at Mabel’s hands, who preferred the business over the university), their parents had a business trip (they had already sent their gifts, though), Mabel had an order for sweaters for the next winter season, Dipper had finally sent his book Gravity Vortex: A Mysterious Summer to the publisher and he was just waiting to hear their answer, Soos and Melody were waiting for the moment when their baby was born (which would be soon), Pacifica’s had to return to Norway for her new semester, Candy had a concert with her music camp, and Grenda was still in Austria.

Even so Mabel had said that the two of them could celebrate their birthday together – Or wait for everyone to be together.

That left only one person in all Gravity Falls –

“Does Shooting Star have rabies?”

“Nope.” Dipper answered him.

It was bad enough that the Zodiac plan had failed, but everything got worse when he and Bill were bonded, and whoever could have been the Supreme Overlord became a weak demon that over time regained his powers, but never broke the bond... And even more horrible that both ended up developing feelings for each other. A confession that didn’t happen until a year ago.

“I’m planning my and Dipper’s birthday!”

“Why? Nobody will come.” Bill crossed his arms. “Also, why is it so important? It’s to celebrate another year closer to your end.”

Mabel booed.

“Let her have fun. By the way, Bill, where were you all morning? Ford didn’t stop scolding me for letting you run free.”

“I can’t reveal it, yet.” Bill winked, at least that’s what it looks like, Dipper often detested when Bill was in his triangular form – As cute as he was, it was the only way when it was impossible to know what kind of expression Bill had.

“So,” Mabel attracted their attention, “Are we going to celebrate our birthday?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Bill, we’ll just be Mabel, me – And you, if you feel like wanting to eat something.”

“As if I wanted to come to your celebration – You should have let me have mine six years ago.” Bill complained, “I may change my mind if you tell me what we’ll eat.”

“The souls of our enemies!” Mabel played along.

“Finally the revenge will be mine. A feast worthy of the gods.” Bill said and in a poof his human form was present. “Who says patience doesn’t bear fruit.”

“Everyone.” Dipper pointed out, why of all the people in the world, he had to fall for the craziest of all?

“We’ll see in six more years.”

“What will happen in 2022?”

“Not a new Weirdmageddon, that’s for sure.” Bill said, “Then, I’m going to continue doing my business, and I checked that you’re well, for the time being.”

“You’ve to be here at five o’clock, or otherwise – ”

“Sixer will get me back into that bubble. Roger that!” Bill disappeared in a second, and as every time he did, a faint smell of smoke was present.

Mabel turned her eyes to her party planner book, then she noticed that Dipper had that thoughtful look in his eyes. “What has gotten into your head, Dipstick?” Mabel asked, dropping her head over her brother’s shoulder, “And don’t lie to me, our tastes are different, but we’re twins, and we’ve the same face...”

“I was thinking about what – If I should give Bill a birthday party.” Dipper confessed quickly, but to his misfortune, Mabel had caught what he had said.

“That’s amazing, Dipper! Very romantic. Let me see if I’ve some ideas – ”

“No,” Dipper interrupted her, “I don’t want to do something very big – ”

“Do you want a party for you two alone?” Mabel waggled her eyebrows. She couldn’t ask for someone else for Dipper, not when her twin looked happy next to the Dream Demon.

“It’s nothing of what you’re imagining!” Dipper said with a face even redder than Wendy’s hair.

Was it a bad time to retract?

Crossroads: Part II

A Gravity Falls/Over the Garden Wall fanfiction

Happy birthday, @paperhoodie! Thanks again for drawing this lovely cover (also on deviantart).

Part I: Mabel and Dipper have dealt with a demon before, so when they wind up lost in the woods and are given two choices by a creepy kid with a lantern, they make sure to pick the third option—but every choice has consequences, even when you don’t play by the rules.

Part II: How much do you dare trust something that might not even be real? Memories, people...even reality itself?  (FFnet | AO3)

He became aware of the steady beeping first, and then aware of the fact that he was aware of it. More sounds and sensations swirled over him—the high-pitched whine of machinery, a firm mattress beneath him, the sharp smell of some sort of antiseptic, inconsistent waves of suffocating heat, a mouth that seemed completely deprived of saliva, and—childish babble?

Greg?

Greg!

Wirt tried to say something. He tried to move. He didn’t manage either. Not coherently, anyway. He managed to pry open his eyes—why was it so bright?—and lift a finger, but he felt stiff and exhausted. He wasn’t entirely sure he had actually managed to make a sound, either. If he had, it hadn’t been heard over Greg.

Greg was perched on the end of his bed in the hospital room—when had he ended up in the hospital?—and Wirt could feel the steady swinging of Greg’s feet through the mattress. Greg didn’t notice that he was awake; instead, Greg stared up at the ceiling, counting the dots on the tiles.

Greg’s voice—every sound, really—was distorted, as if Wirt were listening to it from underwater, but he could still make out the words. “Six hundred and forty-two, six hundred and forty-three, six hundred—”

A shrill series of beeps went off elsewhere, an alarm, but Greg continued unfazed.

The hum in the background grew louder, like someone had turned downed the volume on the rest of the world so that only the hum remained. Wirt shut his eyes again and tried to focus solely on Greg’s voice, but it was getting harder and harder to make out. He needed something to ground him. He needed…he needed….

The next time Wirt woke, Greg was gone. There was a nurse, doing…something…. Why couldn’t he think clearly? A syringe and an IV and—was that connected to his arm?

He tried to say something again and managed a sort of grunt that caught her attention. She smiled at him and said something, but there was water rushing in his ears, and he was just so tired….

Wirt lost track of time. Even once he became more lucid, everything seemed to blur together. Nothing made any sense, ether.

Greg came by daily, sometimes on his own but usually with at least one of their parents in tow. A couple of his friends stopped in, but never for very long; they’d all try to make small talk and then, when uncomfortable silence swelled too often for too long, invent an excuse to leave. No one really knew what to say.

He’d been in the hospital. He knew that much. He still wasn’t sure why. Until he’d caught sight of green leaves on the trees outside, he’d feared that it had never been summer at all, that it was still shortly after Halloween, that he’d never woken up until now and that everything he remembered—because he did still remember that, at least most of it—was just something invented by his subconscious.

Greg was the one who finally told him the story. No months’ long coma or anything terrible like that, just a horrible fever. Admittedly, it had been a fever that had stubbornly stayed upwards of a hundred and three for days, and with him eating nothing and sweating out or vomiting the little he did drink, his parents had bundled him up and taken him in, and there he had stayed.

Wirt remembered none of that.

“You weren’t acting like yourself,” Greg informed him the night Wirt was finally released. He sat on his bed, swinging his legs much like he had at the hospital; Wirt stood in front of him, desperate for answers. He had thought it was safer to ask questions in Greg’s room than in his; in here, their parents might think they were merely playing and not bother to listen in. “You kept saying weird things. Mom says you were delicious.”

Wirt frowned. “You mean delirious?”

Greg hummed and nodded. “But then the fever broke and you got better. I think it was because Jason Funderburker kissed you.” Wirt stared at him, but as Greg continued, blithely unaware of Wirt’s unease, Wirt realized he had been talking about his frog. “I wasn’t supposed to bring him in but he wanted to come visit you, too.”

Wirt swallowed and glanced at the table where the pet frog’s giant habitat sat, but it was empty. “I’ll have to thank him, then. Where is he?”

“In your room. He missed you.”

Right. He should have guessed. “How long was I gone?”

Greg’s legs stopped swinging. “Forever,” he said. Somehow, it didn’t sound like an exaggeration. “I’m glad you’re back now. Promise not to leave again?”

Wirt forced a smile on his face. “What makes you think I’m going to leave?” he asked instead, reaching over to ruffle Greg’s hair and diving to tickle him as he dodged.

The distraction worked. Wirt was glad; he couldn’t make that promise. Not yet. He didn’t think he could keep it yet.

It hadn’t been delirium. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been too real for that.

Mabel and Dipper, whoever they were, had helped him. Had freed him. He had to at least try to help them in return. He wasn’t sure how yet, wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to find them, but he was going to try.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, no. He’d hoped to get away before Greg found him. He turned as Greg trotted into his room and smiled. He didn’t want to lie to his brother; Greg didn’t deserve that. “I need to help a couple of friends.”

Greg was silent for a few seconds, taking in the duffel bag that was already stuffed full of clothes and toiletries and survival supplies and everything else Wirt thought he might need. Wirt braced himself for the inevitable questions: Why are you leaving? Where are you going?

Instead, he got, “Why are you packing your Halloween costume?”

“Because Summerween’s next week,” Wirt answered automatically, but even as he said it, he didn’t know if that was true. It was practically next week already, and he wasn’t sure when he’d met the twins (he was convinced they were twins, not just siblings). Time in the Unknown was different than it was here. Days there could be minutes here, so days here…. Mabel and Dipper were probably home by now.

Or they might never have made it back.

Then again, if time did pass so differently, it didn’t make sense that he’d lived two lives. Even if he couldn’t remember any more of his time in the Unknown than when he’d been with the twins, the lantern had been burning brightly; he’d been there for a while, or at least regularly. There wouldn’t have been time for years to pass between his visits. Something didn’t add up.

But they had been real. He knew that. He’d even gone to the library to do as much research on them and the little he knew about them as he could. He could recall everything from then clearly, much more vividly than if it had just been a dream. The names they had given him were Dipper and Mabel. They had a pet pig named Waddles and great-uncles named Stan and Ford. They had fought someone called Bill Cipher.

The names hadn’t proven useful, especially when the only one with a last name he knew was supposed to be a demon. But some of the other odd things they’d mentioned—Summerween and Weirdmageddon—had helped him narrow it down. He wasn’t sure how reliable the information was, of course, but every mention of those words—however sketchy—seemed to lead him to one place, and by combing through online newspapers, he’d been able to put some people with those names in that town.

It was a crazy idea, but he didn’t know what else to do.

So he was packing a bag, and he’d used his money to buy a bus ticket to Gravity Falls, and he hoped his parents wouldn’t kill him once they read the note he was planning to leave behind.

He had twenty minutes.

“That sounds fun. I’ll pack mine, too.”

“You’re not coming, Greg.”

“Why not?”

Wirt’s hands shook, so he stuffed the old army cloak into his suitcase to cover up his body’s betrayal. “Because I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Well, maybe I can protect you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. Wirt didn’t want Greg to try to sacrifice himself like that again. He took a slow breath. “I need you to take care of Mom and Dad.”

“They can take care of themselves. They have each other. Who will you have if you don’t have me?”

Wirt dearly hoped the answer to that question wasn’t the Beast or any other demon, including this Bill Cipher, but he couldn’t explain anything. He couldn’t explain how he had seemingly been in two places at once, living two different lives. He couldn’t explain his lost time there or even his lost time here. What if none of it been real after all, and he’d simply imagined meeting Dipper and Mabel and pulled out some tidbits of information from his subconscious while in a feverish state?

Or was this the life which wasn’t real?

Wirt swallowed. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure who he could trust. If that had been real and this wasn’t….

Nice illusions make the best traps. That’s what Mabel had said. And wasn’t she right?

You can be shown what you want to see. If you think everything is fine, you’re never going to fight it. How was he supposed to know what this was if illusions could be so convincing?

No. He had to trust that it was all real, somehow. As real as his previous trip over the garden wall and into those woods with Greg on Halloween. He didn’t have Dipper’s apparent understanding of deals with demons, but he could understand the gist of it. If Dipper had been right—partially right, considering this life was real, too—and he had still belonged to the Beast, then maybe he had been more useful to the Beast as a puppet. And maybe he had stopped the Woodsman from blowing out the lantern. But maybe he had still followed Greg back to this world, had still been able to live his life here….

Until the Beast needed him again. Until he was called back. To guard the woods. Keep watch for lost souls. Ferry people across the lake.

Keep the lantern burning.

And as long as that happened, the Beast didn’t need him the entire time. The lantern could have burned without its guardian in that quiet corner of the woods as long as he returned regularly to harvest Edelwood to feed it—and to keep children from finding their way out of the woods so that their souls could be claimed by the Beast, too.

He couldn’t remember falling ill at all this year, didn’t know if it had happened with any regularity or if this last fever had been mere coincidence. He doubted it, though. Fever, flame…. It had to be connected.

Especially since he couldn’t remember what had happened before he’d woken in the hospital.

Not really.

Dipper had said something about keeping the lantern lit, about being more useful as a puppet than as a tree, and then….

And then nothing, not even a blur or the vague sense of a fading dream.

That scared him.

Even more terrifying was the fact that he didn’t know if it was over.

This was the first time he was aware of it, but that was because Mabel and Dipper had snapped him out of it while he’d still been there. That didn’t mean he was free. It didn’t mean the Beast was gone, that the lantern had gone out, or even that Dipper had been right in thinking it a loophole. It didn’t mean the Beast couldn’t pull him back there and use him again.

“Wirt?”

He couldn’t remember what Greg had said, if he’d even asked a question.

“I’m going to go pack. You need me.”

Wirt turned, but Greg was already disappearing. No, he wanted to say. Don’t. What if I can’t protect you? I don’t want you mixed up in this. Not again. Please, just stay here.

But the words didn’t come. Greg was right: Wirt did need him. He was terrified. He didn’t know what he was getting into. Having Greg’s unshakable faith by his side would be a comfort.

But losing it, and knowing it was his fault? Could he really risk that? Again?

Wirt sighed, pulled out his wallet, and began counting his money; if this was going to be a trip for two, he needed to make sure he had enough to cover everything. Greg was not going to suffer because of him. Not again. Not in this. “I’m going to protect you, Greg. I swear, this time, I’ll keep you safe.”

The bus stop in Gravity Falls was nothing more than a sign and a bench on the outskirts of town. Wirt stepped off the bus and looked around uncertainly, carrying both his bag and Greg’s. Greg was humming as he followed Wirt. He didn’t feel…whatever this was. If he did, it didn’t bother him.

It wasn’t something Wirt could put his finger on. It felt like he’d stepped into an electrical field, like the hairs on his arms should be standing up even though they lay flat. He couldn’t hear anything, but there was still…something. Not a hum, exactly, but a…a….

There was a small pop. Wirt turned, spotting the redheaded girl leaning against a tree on the other side of the road as she asked, “So, who are you two attached to?”

“Um….”

“I’m Greg,” Greg said, bounding across the road to the girl as she blew another pink bubble. “That’s my brother, Wirt. We’re on an adventure!”

The girl popped this bubble, too, and cracked a smile. She uncrossed her arms and crouched down to Greg’s level. “Nice to meet ya, Greg. Now, what makes you think you and Wirt are going to find an adventure in boring old Gravity Falls?”

“Not sure I’d call it boring,” Wirt muttered, because if this place had demons, too, it couldn’t be. And Mabel may not have explained what she meant by Weirdmageddon, but if half of what he’d found online had even a smidgeon of truth….

The girl’s eyebrows shot up and she looked over at Wirt. “Sounds like you’d enjoy a trip to the Mystery Shack.”

“What’s the Mystery Shack?” Greg asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” The girl winked. “It also happens to be where I’m headed; my break’s over. I brought the golf cart if you’d care for a ride. I’m Wendy, by the way.”

Wirt had no idea where he should start looking, and he vaguely recalled something about the Mystery Shack, so he smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”

“Follow me. I’m just parked over here,” Wendy said, pointing, “and it’s not far. If Greg doesn’t mind squishing in the middle or sitting on your lap, Wirt, you can toss your bags into the back.”

“What brings you out here if you’re just on your break?” Wirt asked, glancing over at Wendy. She looked like she was about his age, but she didn’t seem the type to just hang out at a bus stop for no reason. “You can’t have very long.”

He saw the smile drop from her face, and her expression became more guarded. “I like the fresh air,” was all she said. He couldn’t bring himself to believe her, but he didn’t push it.

Once they were all settled in the golf cart, their luggage safely stowed in the rack at the back, the trip wasn’t very long. Wirt suspected Wendy had driven carefully for Greg’s sake, and he was grateful for that; the cart certainly looked battered enough to have been rolled at some point. He was already regretting allowing Greg to come along. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing here anymore.

Wendy stopped around back and told them they were free to bring their bags inside for now—“Safer than leaving them out in the open.”—although Wirt had no idea who would steal their luggage here. He wasn’t even sure they had followed a road into the place; the main road looked to come from the other direction.

That’s not to say the trail wasn’t well signed; it seemed like every few trees, there was a sign declaring the Mystery Shack, with an arrow pointing the way. But he couldn’t understand why these people would be advertising for it from anywhere but the main road. No one would be coming towards it from the woods.

Granted, from the looks of the place, he wasn’t sure too many people would be coming towards it from the road, either. It looked barely a step above the place where Lorna and Auntie Whispers had lived. Ramshackle, though not abandoned. Falling apart despite a patchwork of repairs, though clean enough to be loved.

The chime above the door went as Wendy led them in, and Wirt heard, “Wendy, did they c— Oh, welcome, newcomers! Behold the Mystery Shack, where all—”

The spiel continued, but Wirt stopped listening in favour of staring. He’d had his doubts just seeing this place from the outside, but now…. It was all so obviously fake. He could see the stitches holding the mermaid together, the antlers on that jackalope were much too large to even be plausible, the merchandise looked cheap and corny…. The missing S from the giant sign on the roof seemed to make the name true. This was more hack than anything else. Why else would there a wax head of Larry King just sitting on a shelf, glaring at them all from behind the counter? This place was one which was too confusing for people to make sense of it, not somewhere that offered a real sense of mystery.

“Wirt, Wirt, look at this! It’s just like that painting at Unkie Endicott’s! Of the ghost lady who wasn’t a ghost! And I think her eyes are moving.” Greg was grinning as he walked back and forth in front of the painting, staring at the canvas.

“You’ll have to pay if you want to see more than just the shop,” Wendy added as she plucked their bags from Wirt’s grip and slid behind the counter with them. “We might have a new Mr. Mystery, but the rules of the business haven’t changed.”

Mr. Mystery smiled rather sheepishly. “We have added a family discount now.”

“They got off the bus themselves,” Wendy said before Wirt could come up with some excuse as to why their parents weren’t around. “Apparently, they’re looking for an adventure. I figured this would be a good place to start.”

“Come on, Wirt.” Greg tugged on his arm. “Let’s go inside!”

“I don’t think….” This was the wrong place to start, but Greg was looking at him that way, and how much could he deny him? He was only here because of Wirt. He’d volunteered to go headlong into danger because of Wirt. Didn’t he deserve a bit of fun before that? “Um, you can go ahead of me, okay?”

He expected Greg to say something in protest, but he just chirped, “Okay!” and bounded through the door to the rest of the building. (Wirt wasn’t sure if it could properly be called a museum when it just looked like a tourist trap.) Mr. Mystery laughed and followed him, presumably to give whatever passed as a tour or maybe to make sure Greg didn’t break anything, which left Wirt with Wendy.

“Five bucks for kids,” she said. “Are you going in, too?”

“Um.” Wirt fumbled with his wallet for a moment before pulling out a bill and passing it to Wendy. “No. I can’t. I…geez, I didn’t think this through enough. Is there a good hotel in town? Or any hotel in town?” Now that he’d seen the size of this place—or rather, the size of the bus stop and one of the main tourist attractions—he was beginning to understand why there had been so little information about it in general. “I need to figure out where we’re going to stay.”

Wendy blew another bubble of gum and managed to answer without popping it. “Hotel’s not rebuilt yet. It wasn’t a priority, I guess; we don’t get a lot of people through here. But I can put in a good word with the guy who lives alone in the mansion on the hill if you don’t mind doing a few chores to earn your keep. That’ll mean more to him than money.”

Wirt was in no position to be picky, and it couldn’t be worse than what they’d encountered in the Unknown. “That would be great.”

Wendy sucked the bubble back into her mouth and then put her hands on the counter and leaned across towards him. “Consider it done, then. But really, Wirt, you wanna tell me why you’re here?”

He offered her a smile, though it probably wasn’t very believable. “We’re going on an adventure.”

“In Gravity Falls?”

He’d expected her to question why he and Greg were alone, not doubt their choice of destination. “Yes?” It came out sounding like a question, even to his ears.

“Why here?”

Wirt swallowed. “Why does the hotel need to be rebuilt?”

“Burned down,” Wendy answered without missing a beat. “But you, you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Gravity Falls isn’t exactly a place you’d just pick off a map. So why come here?”

The truth was crazy. Wendy might have lived crazy, too, but Wirt didn’t know that for sure, so he settled on a piece of it. “A friend told me about it. She was going to be visiting here, too. She’s looking forward to Summerween.”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Summerween’s tonight,” she said, “and you can’t really expect me to believe that you’re following a girl out here when you came with your little brother.”

“It’s not like that,” Wirt insisted, his cheeks burning as if to give lie to his statement. He was kinda sorta dating Sara, if he could believe the life he’d been living here, and he hardly even knew Mabel. “I just owe her and her brother a favour.” They’d saved him, but Wendy wasn’t going to understand that, and saying it would invite more questions than he could answer. He was having enough trouble with this impromptu interrogation as it was.

Wendy’s eyes narrowed, but the next second, she was leaning back in her chair as if nothing was wrong. “Maybe I can help you then, kid. Who are you looking for?”

“Mabel,” Wirt answered, a little annoyed at being called a kid (he wasn’t even that much shorter than her; she didn’t need to treat him like he was Greg’s age) but not annoyed enough to make a big deal out of it when he could use her help.

Wendy sat up. “Mabel. You’re looking for Mabel? Mabel Pines?”

Pines sounded right, but he’d never been sure if that really was her last name. “Mabel and Dipper.” Wendy could take it as either confirmation or denial, depending on the truth. “They helped me with something.”

“When?”

The question was earnest, but Wirt wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered. “Last week.”

“Last Tuesday?”

That was oddly specific. “I don’t remember.”

Wendy sighed. “Look, I’ll be honest with you here, okay? You’re right. Mabel and Dipper are supposed to be here. But they’re not. They’ve gone missing. Their parents thought they might have run away to come here a bit early, but they never turned up, and if it’s a kidnapping, there’s been no ransom. When Stan and Ford caught wind of this, they started searching everywhere, but even they can’t find them.” She said this as if Stan and Ford were far more likely to find the twins than the police, who were undoubtedly also looking for them if they were missing.

But maybe they weren’t really missing.

He’d met them in the Unknown, after all.

Except that didn’t make sense. No matter how many times he tried to reconcile it, it didn’t add up. He and Greg had hardly been gone any time at all. They’d returned the same night despite spending more than one night in the Unknown. But then he’d woken up in the hospital again after being back in the Unknown. He remembered months of this reality, months he wasn’t even sure he’d really lived if he’d been in the Unknown all along. But it was summer now, just as it should be, and it had been summer for Mabel and Dipper, too…. But then again, the lantern had been burning brightly, the same lantern that the Woodsman had worked so tirelessly to keep lit. Left alone for too long, it should have gone out.

Something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t real.

Or something was blurring the lines.

“I know that look.” Wendy again. “You know something. Please, tell me. They’re my friends, too.”

Why put signs in the woods, advertising where there was no road for them to be seen?

Wirt took a step back.

He never should have let Greg go off on his own. The Mystery Shack was small; that was to his advantage. If he yelled, Greg would hear him. But if he yelled, they would know—

Wendy vaulted over the counter, somehow easily clearing the various knickknacks and the jar of fake eyeballs for sale on the side. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. A hollow thud. There was a basement under here. He wondered whether this place, with all its fake attractions, hid its secrets below or above or in plain sight.

“Wirt. What do you know? Tell me. It’s important.”

Always doing what you’re told. Beatrice’s voice, sounding through his head. He hadn’t imagined meeting her any more than he had imagined meeting the twins, but if this wasn’t imagination, either….

If neither was imagination, then something was fabrication, and he didn’t know which. Not the twins, surely, if Wendy seemed to know them, but….

“Darkened dreams where demons run,” Wirt whispered as he took another step back, “twisting truth till all is done.”

Nice illusions make the best traps.

Just because he was free of the Unknown, it didn’t mean he was free of the Beast. This might be a trick, part of some plan he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what had happened. Dipper and Mabel must have done something, but what if he wasn’t really back? What if this was just the dream world? Did that mean that the Beast was controlling him back in the Unknown?

He stepped back against something—the vending machine, his memory supplied—and Wendy’s hand shot out to catch his arm. “Wirt! What’s going on? What demons are running around?”

He shook his head even as her grip tightened. That was just a snatch of poetry that seemed to fit his situation. Everything felt twisted, sculpted to suit the Beast, and he didn’t know—

Wendy pulled him up by his shirt and looked him in the eye. “Spill,” she hissed as he yelped and then found himself struggling for air, feet kicking uselessly against smooth plastic in an effort to find purchase and maybe help him get free. “Now. Dipper and Mabel are in trouble, and if you don’t tell me what you know—”

“Wirt!” came Greg’s cry, barely overrode by Mr. Mystery’s, “Wendy, what are you doing?”

Wendy dropped him, but one hand was closed around his wrist before he could run. “Soos, he knows what happened to Dipper and Mabel.”

Mr. Mystery—Soos—looked startled and put one of his hands on Greg’s head. It was meant to keep him from running as much as to calm him, Wirt suspected bitterly. “How could they know?”

“Don’t know. The squirt might be clueless, but this one definitely isn’t.”

“Wirt?” Greg asked slowly, giving truth to Wendy’s words. “What is she talking about?”

Wirt, not convinced he could break free of Wendy’s grip, just shook his head.

“I thought we came here for an adventure,” Greg said. “To help your friends. Like we helped Beatrice and she helped us.”

Wirt closed his eyes. “I wasn’t lying. I am trying to help them. But I need to figure out how first.” He looked at Greg, knowing he was the only one who was going to understand the significance of the next statement. “I met them in the Unknown.”

Wirt saw Soos and Wendy exchange glances as Greg tilted his head. “I don’t remember them.”

“That’s because you weren’t there.”

“But we got back together.”

Wirt shook his head again. “No. We didn’t. Or maybe we did and I…. I don’t know. I just know I was back there. And they helped me get back here. I think. I don’t know. I don’t know anything for sure. I can’t remember exactly what happened.” He turned to Wendy. “I think they might still be there.”

“And where exactly is there?” demanded Wendy.

“The Unknown,” Wirt repeated, knowing from Wendy’s narrowed eyes that she wasn’t impressed with that answer. “It’s…. I don’t know. It’s another place. People can get lost there, but things aren’t…. It’s not like here.”

“Another dimension?” asked Soos.

Wirt shrugged helplessly, but Wendy must have agreed because she finally released him. “Sounds like it. So how do we go there and bring them back?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember. When I was with Greg, we got lost trying to find our way back to the main road. We didn’t even realize we’d crossed anything, let alone ended up in a different dimension if that’s really what it is.”

“Then how did you get out of there?”

Wirt hesitated, not sure how much he could trust his memories, and Greg said, “I just remember being cold and wet. Was that from the snow?”

“No, we’d fallen into the water. I managed to get us ashore.” If that memory was real. Maybe it had just been the snow. Or maybe…. But he didn’t want to think that this world was the fabrication. “That’s not what happened to me last time. I don’t know how I got back here. I didn’t even realize I’d left here and was back in the Unknown until I met Mabel and Dipper. I…. It’s like I woke up and they were there.”

Wendy crossed her arms. “So what do you know?”

Wirt spread his hands. “I don’t know how much of this is accurate. The Beast…. The Beast is a demon, I guess. He haunts the forest and feeds on lost souls, and he was….” Wirt stopped. There was no good way to say this. “Dipper thought the Beast had been controlling me—”

“But he had to let you go!” Greg cried. “He promised. You could go home if I stayed with him instead.”

Wirt’s chest tightened as Greg confirmed the twins’ theory. He hadn’t wanted that part to be right. He didn’t want to think that Greg would ever feel obliged to give up so much for him. He was the little brother; it was Wirt’s job to protect him, not the other way around. He’d done a terrible job of it.

“You’re not there now, kiddo,” Wendy said, “which might explain some of this.” She had taken up a defensive stance and didn’t take her eyes off Wirt.

Soos held up one finger. “Um, quick thing, but had been controlling you? As in not any longer or not currently? That seems like an important distinction.”

Wirt sighed. “I’m not sure about that, either,” he admitted. “Dipper thought he could find a loophole so that it would be over, and maybe that’s what happened. Maybe that’s why I’m back here now.” Hopefully.

“But you never left,” Greg said in a small voice.

Wirt swallowed. “I was in the hospital last Tuesday, wasn’t I?”

Greg nodded. “The fever wouldn’t break. Mom took you in the night before.”

Wendy looked from Wirt to Greg and back again before stating the obvious. “So you don’t know if you’re really safe. All you know is that you’re back here. Without the Beast, as far as you can tell.” From her tone, she could guess a number of the things he hadn’t explicitly said. Wirt nodded anyway. “And he’s haunting your dreams?”

“Not…. Well, maybe? I…. I’m not actually sure. It’s complicated. I think…. I think he’s been pulling me back into the Unknown somehow.” It made his stomach twist to think about it. If neither world was a fabrication, then maybe he had been living in two different realities. Maybe the reason he never seemed to lose much time was because he was back under the Beast’s control whenever he was close enough to the In Between for the Beast to reach out and pull him through to the Unknown.

Whenever he slept. Whenever he dreamed. If he’d left a piece of himself back in the Unknown—

“Is this my fault?” whispered Greg.

“No, it’s not.” Wirt stared at Wendy, daring her to contradict him. She didn’t. Maybe she had a little brother, too. He hesitated and looked over at Greg. “You escaped. You’re free. That’s the important part. So try not to blame yourself for my mistakes. Can you do that?”

Greg nodded.

Wirt bit his lip. “I wish I understood this better. I’d give anythi—”

Wendy’s hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth. “Don’t finish that thought. Don’t even think it. That’s too dangerous, even in here. He’s too close.”

Who’s too close? But Wirt knew the answer to that, now that he knew the Beast wasn’t the only demon to roam the realms. Mabel and Dipper had been worried about Bill Cipher. He, too, was supposed to be gone, just like the Beast, but—

It’s usually not that easy to get rid of a demon.

Since Dipper had evidently been talking from experience, he should know. But they wouldn’t have told Wirt about their demon unless they suspected he could still get to them despite whatever they had done. Hadn’t they thought this Bill Cipher was the one who had trapped them in the Unknown? Maybe demons liked deals enough to strike them with each other and this one ensured the Pines twins were lost in the woods so the Beast could claim them.

In all fairness, Wirt wasn’t exactly sure someone like Mabel could ever be claimed by the Beast—she was entirely too much like Greg for that to happen any way but deliberately—but it wasn’t likely that demons actually struck fair deals.

Whatever had been between him and the Beast…. He had to hope that it was over, that Dipper had successfully found a loophole. Except it couldn’t be over, not if Mabel and Dipper were still in there. He’d…he’d have to find a way back. Not with Greg; he wouldn’t risk Greg again. And he might not know Wendy or Soos, but he didn’t really want to risk them, either.

If…if he didn’t come back, someone would have to see Greg home, and Wirt was sure they’d do that.

“I’m calling Stan,” Wendy said, putting her cell phone up to her ear. “He and Ford need to hear everything you can tell them. Until they get here, stay at Old Man McGucket’s. No exploring. We can’t risk that.”

“Risk what?” Greg asked, looking up at Soos.

No one answered.

Wirt had no idea where Stan and Ford had been coming from, but the Pines brothers arrived at Gravity Falls within two hours. Wendy had insisted on babysitting them in the meantime, even though Greg had spent much of that time happily chatting with Fiddleford McGucket, the man who owned the mansion Wendy had mentioned. Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how someone like Fiddleford could afford to live here, but he knew better than to ask. He was just grateful to have a roof over their heads while they were here.

Wirt had half-hoped that Greg would set off exploring the mansion before everyone else arrived, but he listened very attentively as Wirt recounted what he remembered. Soos had closed up shop for the occasion, but even with Greg counting among Wirt’s audience of six, it felt like there were too many people here. This was his story. His mistake. Did they really all need to bear witness to it?

Wirt knew that was silly; it just meant he had six more people who could help him figure this out. And as reluctant as he had been to involve Greg, having his brother here helped to ground him. Of course, Greg would occasionally chime in with questions Wirt couldn’t answer—Was the lake near where we took the ferry to Adelaide’s? So what happened to the Woodsman? Couldn’t you have wished on a star and visited Cloud City, too?—which invariably led to a discussion of the first time they’d ended up in the Unknown. Greg remembered that time with far more fondness than Wirt did. To him, it really had just been an adventure.

Not a nightmare.

The discussion invariably turned to ways to get Dipper and Mabel back safely. While the others started arguing over different tactics and possible strategies, Ford pulled Wirt into another room. Wirt might not have been able to figure out who was who right after meeting Stan and Ford, but it became very clear that Ford was the more serious of the two, for all that everyone seemed to care deeply about the younger Pines twins. Stan liked to joke, coming up with crazy ideas that must have some hope of working since they weren’t immediately dismissed by the others, while Ford….

Ford had a look in his eye Wirt recognized from the face that had been haunting him in the mirror since he’d woken up in that hospital room. There was grim determination in there, sure, but it was touched by fear. Not just fear of the unknown, of not knowing what had happened, but fear born of the intimate knowledge of what may have happened.

It made Wirt think there had been far more going on in this town than the newspapers had ever reported, even the columns that seemed at first glance to be fanciful stories written merely for entertainment.

The door shut on the others, closing them off, and Ford turned to Wirt. “I’m not going to leave those kids to the mercy of another demon,” he said quietly, “but I’m not about to dismiss the possibility that this is a trick, either. I’ve been tricked too many times to blindly believe anything anymore.”

Wirt didn’t know what to say to that—he still didn’t know if this was a trick, either—so he just nodded.

“If Dipper was right, and I have no reason to believe he wasn’t, you were possessed by the Beast. Whether or not Dipper truly found a loophole in your deal with him is a moot point as long as that connection is still there. We’ll need to break that to prevent further interpretations of your contract, especially if you aren’t sure of the terms.”

Wirt opened his mouth to ask how he was supposed to do that when Ford added, “But until then, we can use that connection to our advantage.”

“How?”

Ford smiled, but it was far from reassuring. “Meet me at the Mystery Shack in three hours, and I’ll show you.”

Soos apparently had to go out for a family dinner at the local café—Wirt didn’t ask, though there was obviously more to the story judging by the looks he’d received—and Stan had muttered about seeing to a few things so they could mount the rescue mission. Fiddleford had gotten excited about this prospect and stuck to Stan like glue, which he hadn’t looked thrilled about. Ford had obviously been expected to join them, but he’d said something about splitting up in order to have enough time to cover everything. The argument had still been going on when Wendy had pulled them away and told them to find costumes to wear.

She had agreed to take them out for Summerween before she met up with her friends, though she did say it would be fine if they decided to stick around. When Wendy had handed them both pails for candy, Wirt hadn’t argued. He didn’t mind the implication that he needed a babysitter this time; now, it worked to his advantage. It meant he could be sure Greg was sufficiently distracted.

Ford had never told him to come alone, but if Wirt was going to keep Greg out of this, he had to be sneaky about it. When they were passing the edge of town nearest the Mystery Shack, Wirt bent down to tie his shoe and waved the others ahead, promising that he’d catch up soon. By some stroke of luck, Greg believed him, and Wendy—if she had any doubts—didn’t call him on it.

Wirt fiddled with his shoelace for a few moments, waiting for them to get farther ahead before running into the woods. This time, the random signage was to his advantage, and he’d smuggled a flashlight along with a first aid kit under his cloak, so he could see where he was going without depending on the light of the (admittedly waxing) moon now that the sun had set.

Despite that, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice said, “That disguise won’t fool anyone.”

Wirt scrambled for the fallen flashlight before climbing back to his feet and brushing at his clothes. He swung the flashlight around wildly, looking for the source of the voice. The beam bounced off tree trunks and broken branches, leafy shrubs and spider webs, but nothing— “Who’s there?”

“Little lower there, Stretch. We ain’t all as tall as you.”

Wirt swallowed but lowered the flashlight. If he weren’t already acquainted with talking frogs, pumpkin-wearing skeletons, or bluebirds that had once been people, he would have found the idea of gnomes more disconcerting. Self-consciously, he straightened his hat. “Um…can I help you?”

“More me that’s helping you, unless you’re going to take over my post. I pulled the short straw when Shmebulock overindulged again.” The gnome squinted at Wirt and scratched at his grey beard. “No, you’re not from here. You’re one of those that’ve been drawn here.”

Wirt blinked. “What?”

The gnome pointed in the direction Wirt had been running. “The statue. It calls some of ‘em. Like you. ‘Smy job to make sure you don’t get where you’re going. So turn around or I’ll raise the alarm.”

“What?”

“Go on. Turn. Go back wherever you came from.”

“But…. I can’t.”

“Suit yourself,” said the gnome, and then he whistled, a shrill piercing thing that had Wirt wincing and reaching to cover his ears.

The whistle cut off abruptly. Wirt lowered his hands slowly, noticing an increased rustling in the underbrush that he wasn’t naïve enough to attribute to wind or the usual forest wildlife. And then his sweeping flashlight beam caught a second gnome, and a third, and then he started seeing them by the dozens.

He took a step back. “You don’t understand.”

“We understand plenty,” the first gnome said, grinning in a feral way that showed off rows of sharp teeth. He didn’t advance, but Wirt had no illusions about what would happen if he tried to continue in this direction. He didn’t want to get mobbed.

Wirt took another step back and shook his head, for all the good that would do. “I don’t care about whatever statue thing you’re talking about. I just need to get to the Mystery Shack.”

More gnomes had appeared, every eye tracking him. It was unnerving.

Wirt didn’t know what else to do, so he kept talking. “I’m—I’m trying to help my friends. Maybe you know them. Mabel and Dipper Pines?”

The hushed silence erupted into chatter, and finally a different gnome stepped forward, this one looking younger than most of the others. “You are acting on behalf of Mabel?”

“Um…I guess?”

“Or for Mabel?”

“Uh.” Wirt didn’t know why this mattered. “For her? She and Dipper—”

“We could tie him up,” a third gnome suggested.

“Throw him in the lake,” said another.

“—gag him—”

“—leave ‘im for the Manotaurs—”

“—the Multi-Bear—”

Wirt didn’t understand half of the snippets of conversation he caught, but he didn’t need to. “She needs my help!” he yelled over the din. “They both do. And they won’t get that if I can’t get to the Mystery Shack.”

The gnome who had been questioning him held up a hand, and with some grumblings, the others quieted. “Carson, escort him to the Mystery Shack. Don’t show him any mercy if he tries to lose you and double back. Steve and Jason, take his shift. Looks like this is an extra security night.” There were a few more mutterings, but no one challenged the arrangement, and Wirt soon found himself with the first gnome as his escort.

The others—except, presumably, for Steve and Jason, and the brown-bearded one who had been giving orders—vanished with unsettling stealth, quite different from the show they’d made in appearing.

Wirt, happy enough to leave behind whatever that had been, followed Carson in silence for a moment before finally asking, “What statue?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

“But I don’t know what it is!”

“That’s the way to keep it.”

“But what did you mean when you said I was drawn to it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“No one’ll tell you differently.” Carson picked up his pace, moving much faster than something with such short legs should. Wirt ended up practically jogging after him and spending all his energy trying to keep the gnome in sight and not eating a mouthful of dirt, which effectively put an end to the questioning.

He panicked when he finally lost sight of Carson entirely, only to hear, “Thanks for the candy, Stretch!” and realize that he could see the Mystery Shack through the trees—and remember that his candy pail had been left behind in the forest.

It was a good trade, as far as Wirt was concerned. He would’ve ended up giving most of his candy to Greg anyway.

Barring a few flickering lights, the Mystery Shack was mostly dark when Wirt approached. The steps creaked under his weight, and he suddenly found its name much more fitting in this atmosphere. He knocked twice and tried the door. It was unlocked, but all he saw inside was a lava lamp set up on the counter by the cash register and the glow of the vending machine on the opposite wall.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Wirt shrieked and spun. That hadn’t been Carson’s voice, nor Ford’s. It had almost sounded like—

His flashlight beam caught the wax head of Larry King.

It winked at him.

He turned away quickly, sliding down to sit with his back against the counter. Maybe this was all a mistake. Surely this place was just proof that he wasn’t really back in the real world yet, that this was all just another fabrication—

The vending machine’s buttons suddenly lit up in a particular pattern. As he watched, it silently swung forward as if it were on a hinge to reveal a gaping hole. Somewhere below, light pulsed. Wirt could just make out stairs before darkness ate away at them again.

In for a penny, in for a pound?

He climbed back to his feet and aimed his flashlight at the stairs. They looked sturdy enough, and obviously someone was already down there….

He went carefully, keeping one hand along the wall above what looked to be the remains of a missing railing. The other hand held the flashlight so it illuminated both his feet and the stairs before him. Very quickly, however, he didn’t need it; the light from below grew stronger, and as he put his flashlight away, he found himself in a laboratory of some sort.

Correction: what had once been a laboratory of some sort and had since been abandoned.

Wirt’s eyes swept over a number of exposed wires and clearly cobbled-together circuitry that were visible under the flickering lights. More than one screen had odd stripes of colour across it, and a couple were even cracked. He bit his lip and edged away from the nearest shower of sparks coming from a thick cable connected to a lever sticking out of the floor. The movement didn’t take him any nearer Ford, who was bending over some kind of key panel. “Is this…safe?”

Ford didn’t even turn around. “No.”

“Then why are we even down here? This place looks like a fire waiting to happen!”

This time, Ford did look at Wirt. “We don’t have a choice. We need to rip a hole into another dimension. I’ve done what repairs I can in the time we have, but I don’t want to leave Dipper and Mabel in another nightmare for any longer than I have to. Now come here. I need to analyze your brainwaves if I’m going to find the right dimension.”

“You…what?”

Ford sighed. “That Unknown of yours isn’t the only dimension. If the Beast is tied to it and you’re tied to the Beast, then you’re the best option for finding the right place. We’re much safer if we aren’t doing this blind, and from the sounds of it, you’ve been there frequently.” He held up his hands, which contained what looked like suction cups on the end of wires. “Come here.”

Wirt swallowed but allowed Ford to attach him to the machine. “What happens if this goes wrong?”

“Depending on what happens, you might not even know.”

“Comforting,” Wirt muttered. His fingers tightened their grip on his hat and twisted. “What, uh, are you hoping is going to happen?”

“Something I never wanted to see again.” Ford handed him a length of rope and a clip, pointed to a metal grip attached to the console, and added, “Tie yourself on.”

Wirt did as he was told, trying his best to mimic Ford’s own makeshift harness as the man fiddled with something on the console. The numbers on the nearest screen looked specific, but they weren’t coordinates. If it was part of a code, it seemed too complicated to be easily broken, even by someone like Ford who talked as if he’d done this sort of thing before. The numbers changed even when Ford seemed to barely touch a dial, and it all looked a little too much like guesswork for Wirt’s comfort. Needing a rope didn’t exactly fill him with confidence, either. “What’s this for?”

In answer, Ford walked over to a giant lever on the floor and threw his weight into pushing it forward.

Light exploded.

Wirt squawked and instinctively closed his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Colours danced against his eyelids, red shining through, and then—

Darkness began eating away at the light, a tiny solar eclipse.

Gravity decided to stop working properly.

Wirt’s hat was torn from his grip. He saw it fly through the portal, there and gone in the blink of an eye. He was already feet first towards it, so he twisted in a futile attempt to reach the tiny metal handle he’d attached himself to. He could see the knot of his harness slipping, weaker than the pull of the portal.

The wires tore loose from his head.

Behind him, the portal flickered.

“Just hold on!” Ford yelled. “I’m going to bring them back.” He was reaching to unclip his own harness, to let the portal drag him in. “Just keep the doorway open!”

The knot worked itself free.

Rope burned through his grip as he flew backwards.

Wirt’s scream was torn from his throat, and then the lab—Ford—everything—was gone.

Next or see more fics

Universe Falls Chapter 53

Oy, finally I get around to posting this chapter on here. I feel like this one sucked my life essence away from me, but oh well it still has some really good moments to it so I digress. Either way, hope ya enjoy this massive nerd fest, filled with references to things I don’t understand as well as jokes making fun of all of us for reading/writing UF. Have fun!

Previous: http://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/173944483439/universe-falls-chapter-51

Chapter 53: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons

QVTA IEV NNE TLAIL, FHBXLL NNE WHZVX, GHXBR YHETX DSEFY BX MHMVR KYDE VYJAKW BCG WIIY ELY TAFX IA FAJH LYH XBNX T MWEE EMCP SHR HTL NWJ BFKFY

Though several days had passed since the portal’s opening had effectively raised the Mystery Shack and damaged it’s interior and exterior immensely, the tourist trap was still closed for repairs that were at last nearing their completion. Even so, its continued closure gave the Pines family a good enough excuse to take a day off and spend it however they pleased, which meant that it was being used for some proper rest and relaxation. Things that were more than welcome after the upheaval and drama of the past few days alone.

So Stan, Mabel, and Dipper had taken to hanging around the otherwise unoccupied gift shop, knowing that no business would be coming through it. While Dipper intently read journal 2 and Stan broadly leafed through the newspaper, Mabel lay sprawled on the floor, an empty bag of cheesy snacks by her side and the orange dust of their remains smeared across her face.

“I just ate an entire bag of Cheese Boodles without using my hands!” she announced with a wide, contented grin. “Lazy Tuesday, you are delivering in a big way! Almost makes me forget about all that crazy drama with the portal, and the Gems memories, and Sardonyx, and-” Mabel stopped short as she briefly glanced over at Dipper, who peered over the top of the journal to give her a staunch look of disapproval for even bringing such tension-ridden matters at all. Fortunately enough though, Stan didn’t bother to comment on any of them, despite the look of concern that briefly flashed across his face before he spoke up.

“Heh, yeah,” the conman reclined back in his seat with a casual enough smile. “Its nice to finally have a day where nothing interesting happens whatsoever.”

Of course, no sooner had Stan said this than the vending machine door leading to the portal room in the basement suddenly burst open. Ford boldly stepped out of it amidst the smoke pouring out around him, his manner fierce and resilient as he tried to subdue the small, strange, octopus like creature entangled around his wrist.

“Get down!” the author ordered above the startled gasps of his family members, especially as the creature launched itself off his arm. “Don’t let it taste human flesh!”

The kids were quick to comply, narrowly dodging the bizarre creature as it scurried around the gift shop frantically, angrily hissing all the while. “W-what is it?” Dipper asked as he climbed onto a chair, both alarmed and curious by such a strange sight.

“Can we keep it?” Mabel asked with a genuinely fascinated grin.

“Kill it! Kill it!” Stan shouted, swatting the monster with his newspaper as it skittered past him.

Ford paid none of them much mind as he deftly pursued the creature, electricity sparking from the futuristic gauntlet on his right hand as he finally managed to corner the beast. “Patience… and…” the author muttered, his movements slow and calculated as he made his approach on the still-growling monster. When it finally seemed like the monster was about to make a move, however, Ford countered it first, pouncing at the beast and easily shocking it into submission using his gauntlet. “Gotcha!” he proclaimed with a triumphant grin as he held the monster’s limp, tentacled form up for the others to see. “Haha! Now that I’m back in this dimension, I’ll have to thank Garnet for inspiring the design of the design of my electro-gauntlet. It works even better than I expected it to!”

“Great, now get that thing outta here,” Stan remarked with an impatient scowl as Ford passed him. “It smells like if death could barf.”

“Wait! Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper hurried up to the author with an eager smile, still holding onto journal 2. “Do you need any help with that? I’ve read all about these creatures in your journal and I think I know how to-”

“No!” Ford quickly interupted, his manner firm but fair as he addressed his nephew. “I’m sorry, Dipper, but the weird, dark road I travel, I’m afraid you cannot follow.” A beat of stark, rather ominous silence followed this, though the author was quick to break it a moment later with an upbeat smile as he retreated back into the basement. “Well, call me for dinner!”

“Oh, maybe next time then?” Dipper offered, though his smile quickly faltered as the vending machine closed up once more, Ford disappearing behind it. “O-or not. Or never…”

“Aw, Dipper, don’t take it so hard,” Mabel attempted to comfort her brother by placing a hand on his shoulder, only for Stan to callously interject.

“No, do take it hard!” the conman snapped coldly. “Take it hard and serious. My brother is a dangerous know-it-all, and the stuff he’s messing with is even worse. I’ve been pretty lenient about letting you kids hang around the Gems all summer, but Ford is where I draw the line. Do yourself a favor and stay away from him, ya hear me?”

“But Grunkle Stan,” Dipper protested intently, not about to let himself be deterred from asking Ford his abundance of accumulating questions any longer. “All summer long I’ve wanted to know who the author of the journals was. Now the guy lives in our basement and I can’t even talk to him. How is that fair?”

“Life’s not fair, kid,” Stan remarked, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about what’s in the basement. I’d say you saw more than enough of it the other day… A-anyway, you belong up here with me and Mabel.”

“Yeah! Besides, this Friday is the epic made-for-TV movie crossover event of the century,” Mabel smiled brightly as she held up the TV guide ad for said crossover. “Dogcopter Meets Ducktective! Steven’s coming over to watch it with us, we’re all gonna wear our official Dogcopter propeller hats, its gonna be great! It’ll be all the mystery and adventure you’ll need this week!”

“You bet it will be!” Stan remarked, just as eager for the special as his niece was. “For years we’ve been wanting to see that duck and that dog cross paths and now our dreams are finally about to come true! It better live up to our expectations or else I’ll… I, uh… huh. What do kids nowadays do when they wanna complain about something?”

“Usually they just do it online and make long whiny posts about how things didn’t turn out the way they wanted to and why the writers are wrong for not doing things their way,” Mabel noted with a shrug.

“Really? Geez, how pathetic.”

As Stan and Mabel continued commiserating over their excitement about the upcoming crossover, Dipper had all but checked out of the conversation entirely in favor of turning his attention back towards the vending machine. Unknown, but intriguing light sparked through the cracks behind it, no doubt part of whatever mysterious invention or project Ford was likely working on down in the basement below. Whatever was going on on the other side of that door, Dipper couldn’t help but want to be a part of it, or at the very least finally get the chance to finally ask Ford the questions he had been asking all summer. To finally be on the same level with someone who understood just how important and vital it was to ask those questions in the first place. To finally have the opportunity to get perspective on the elusive and exciting mysteries of Gravity Falls from someone who had spent years studying them firsthand and was enthralled by their bizarre uniqueness as much as he was.

And yet… as it stood, he couldn’t. Because just as he had been all summer, the author of the journals, or rather, his very own great uncle, was still so close but so far out of his reach.

Whenever Mabel wrote a letter home to her and Dipper’s parents, she made sure to spare no expense when it came to the finer details of their fantastical, often rather harrowing summer escapades in Gravity Falls. Of course, given Mabel’s infamously active imagination and how bizarre and flowery her accounts of such misadventures usually were, their parents never showed any signs of taking too much stock in believing her stories in their responses. Even so, that didn’t stop her from writing about them all the same, and in her latest letter to them, she had much to tell indeed.

“Dear Mom and Dad,” Mabel began, dictating the letter aloud as she sat on the living room floor to write it out. “We’ve been in Gravity Falls for the few months and so much has happened! Just the other day, gravity reversed itself, almost destroying the whole universe and wrecking the whole town!”

At that moment, Mabel happened to glance up at the TV, which was playing a fitting report on the damage the portal’s opening had caused throughout Gravity Falls as a whole. “Well, they say it was just an earthquake,” Lazy Susan said as she stood outside of Greasy’s Diner as a crane was attempting to set it back into its normal position. “But you know what I think? I think I’m gonna have to start serving pineapple upside-right cake! Haha, am I right? …Am I right?”

As the crane ended up clumsily dropping the diner, the shot cut to Mayor Dewey giving a speech downtown. “Good people of Gravity Falls!” the mayor addressed the crowd before him somewhat anxiously. “I-I know that throughout this summer, our fair town here has been plagued by a serious of, er… uh, mishaps. Like this recent mysterious earthquake… or that giant hand-shaped spaceship coming a few weeks ago… or that giant robot ordeal a few weeks before that… or the lake being stolen a few weeks before that… or that scary red eyeball appearing in the sky a few weeks before that…” Dewey paused, a concerned frown crossing his features as a beat of awkward silence passed through the crowd in light of this derailment off topic. “Wait, what was I talking about again?”

As the news report continued, Mabel turned her attention back to her letter, eager to detail the most recent happenings to her parents. “But the coolest part of the summer was when Grunkle Stan’s twin brother came out of this portal-thingy. Now we have two grunkles for the price of one! And they are adorable together!” Upon finishing her letter, Mabel drew a sketch of both Stan and Ford, their expressions surly and grumpy though they were still peacefully holding hands all the same.

“Hi, Mabel!” Steven greeted with a smile as he entered the shack a moment later. “What are you up to?”

“Hiya, Steven! I was just finishing up a letter to my parents about all the stuff that’s been going on around here,” Mabel explained, holding said letter up. “Though at this rate, with so many huge things going on lately, I think its gonna be longer than I anticipated…”

“Yeah, things have been… pretty intense lately…” Steven noted, his smile dissipating as he rubbed his arm and looked to the side. “Garnet and Pearl still haven’t talked to each other after the whole… ya know, Sardonyx thing, and I’m pretty sure none of the Gems are still really over getting their memories back… I just hope that everything will sort itself out and things can finally get back to normal again soon…”

“I’m sure they will,” Mabel reassured with a bright smile, one that was soon accompanied by a newfound rush of warmth in her cheeks as she glanced down at the young Gem’s hand, which happened to be right within her reach as he stood not too far away from her. Really, it would have been so very easy to reach out and take it in an act of solace and comfort given his downcast manner. And perhaps she would have worked up the nerve to do so too… if her brother hadn’t ended up rushing in right before she could get the chance.

“Mabel! Steven!” Dipper exclaimed as he entered the room, carrying a rather large box. “You’ll never guess what I found at the store today!”

“It looks like… a box,” Steven ventured, his small smile returning.

“Dogs!” Mabel exclaimed, forcing herself to perk up. “Dogs with hats!”

“No,” Dipper shook his head, opening the box up only to reveal another, much more decorated box inside of it, which he held up for the pair to see. “It’s my favorite fantasy-talking, level-counting, statistics and graph-paper involving game of all time: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons! Do you guys wanna play it with me?”

“Well… I do like unicorns,” Mabel noted as she looked over the game’s intricate fantastical box art. “And that hot elf looks promising.”

“Yeah, it looks like it’s a lot of fun, like Sugar Country, or Hint!” Steven chimed in. “How do you play?”

“The rules are super simple,” Dipper assured as he opened the game’s surprisingly large instruction booklet. “First you roll a 38-sided die to determine the level of each player’s statistical analysis poweroid. These orbs relate directly to the amount of quadrants your team as dominion over, which is inverse to the anti-quadrants in your quadrant satchel.”

A beat of stilted silence passed in the aftermath of this rather daunting explanation as Steven and Mabel exchanged an equally bewildered look, neither of them needing to communicate to each other that they had next to no idea what Dipper was talking about. “Uh… w-well that… that sounds, uh…” Steven’s uncertain stumbling soon devolved into exactly what he really felt. “…I’ll be honest, I have no idea what any of that meant…”

“Ok, ok, so after we do all that confusing stuff,” Mabel interjected with a wave of her hand. “Then so we get to ride unicorns?”

“Yes!” Dipper nodded, much to his sister’s excitement, which dissipated almost immediately after he continued. “And… no. First, we make a graph.”

“Ugh, this is like Homework the Game…” Mabel groaned, any interest she might have had in the game completely gone upon hearing this.

“Oh come on, you guys, its not that bad,” Dipper retorted. “Just try it for a round or two. You never know, you might have fun.”

“Ew, how can you even mention fun in the same sentence as all that gross math you gotta do just to play the dang game?” Mabel asked, sticking her tongue out in disdain.

“Well, I’d try it, Dipper, but I think it’s just a little too… complicated for me,” Steven said with sincerity. “And by complicated I mean I’d probably get a headache just trying to figure out how to set the game up…”

“I think most normal people would, Steven,” Mabel remarked, crossing her arms.

Dipper let out a small huff of aggravation at this slight, but even so, he persisted in trying to convince them. “W-well once you get going, its easy,” he assured, even if that wasn’t exactly the truth. After all, Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons was notorious for taking an extensive amount of time and dedication to learn how to play properly, but as far as Dipper was concerned, neither Steven nor Mabel needed to know that. “Besides, I need at least two people to play, so could one of you just-”

“Oh, would you look at that!” Mabel exclaimed with faux surprise as Soos happened to enter the room, giving her leeway to flee to the other side of the den. “Two people!”

“Well wait, with Steven standing here, doesn’t that technically make three?” Soos asked, unaware of the previously unfolding conversation. “Or are we using some kind of new counting system here that I don’t know about.”

“Uh, no…” Dipper frowned, slightly confused before getting back to the matter at hand. “But anyway, Soos, is there any way you’d be up for a little game of D, D, and More D?”

“Aw, sorry, Dipper,” the handyman said, truthfully apologetic. “But I don’t really go for that pen and paper kind of stuff. I’m more of an FCLORPer.”

“…A what?”

“FCLORP,” Soos reiterated with a proud grin. “Foam and Cardboard Legitimate Outdoor Role Play. It is where a passionate brethren of craftsman bring their dreams to magical reality!”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of that,” Steven spoke up, intrigued. “Isn’t that where everyone dresses up in cardboard costumes and fights each other with foam swords? Now that sounds like fun!”

“It totally is, dude,” Soos readily agreed. “You should see us when we break the plastic ball pit balls out. That’s when things really get intense!”

“Uh… well, thanks anyway, Soos,” Dipper said, still rather disappointed that he had no one to play with. Or so it seemed, until Stan walked in.

“Say,” the conman began with an already goading smirk as he noticed the game box his nephew was holding. “Is that the game that’s mostly math and writing and isn’t anything like the picture on the box?”

“Yes, it is!” Dipper said with newfound excitement. “You wanna play it with me, Grunkle Stan?”

“Ha, as if!” Stan laughed rather mockingly as he grabbed the rule book. “Look, kid, I prefer to do my dice rolling in Vegas. Besides, only a game designed by nerds would have ‘charisma’ as a fantasy power. Heh, and check this out,” he turned to a random page in the rule book and began reading out loud callously. “When facing yon adversaries, shield thyself under an elfin buttress.”

“Ha!” Mabel chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Say it again!”

“Buttress!” Stan repeated before both him and Mabel broke down into a round of teasing laughter over the game’s rather self-indulgent manner.

“Hey!” Dipper protested petulantly, taking the rule book back amidst his somewhat flustered embarrassment.

“Aw, come on, you guys,” Steven interjected, clearly sympathetic for Dipper, though he still didn’t really get the jist of the game himself. “Just because this game isn’t really for us, doesn’t mean you have to be so mean about it.”

“Yeah, what Steven said,” Dipper staunchly and crossly agreed. “Heck, maybe you guys just aren’t smart enough to understand it.”

“Uh… actually I think that kinda undermined what I was just trying to say…” Steven noted, though both him and Dipper were overpowered by more bemused laughter from Stan and Mabel.

“Heh, sorry, dude,” Soos remarked to Dipper, somewhat caught up in the round of levity himself. “But it is kind of nerdy. Well, I’m off to lay siege to a goblin fortress.” At this, the handyman girded himself with a sloppily made cardboard helmet and sword before boldly running off to begin his FCLORPing quest. “To my grandma’s backyard!”

Since Dipper had been unable to find any human opponents to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with, he decided to resort to the next best thing he could think of. Which was how he ended up setting the game board up outside the shack facing off in a less than exciting round of the game against Gompers the goat.

“Oh nice! You rolled a 17!” Dipper said with something of a forced grin after he himself rolled the die for the goat, who only let out a dull bleat in response. “Aaaand… this is sad. Maybe I should just go back to obsessing over Wendy again…”

Dipper let out something of a defeated sigh as he leaned back away from the board, unable to keep himself from feeling just the slightest bit lonely. True, he had reconciled with Mabel and Steven following the portal incident and they were all once again on even ground with each other, as they should have been. And yet, for whatever reason, he still felt somewhat distanced from the pair, almost as if remnants of that unsavory tension were lingering behind even still. Their unanimous rejection of his invitation to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with him did make sense; after all, Dipper knew just how complicated the game must come across to the outsider looking in. And yet, the fact that neither of them really seemed very interested in learning how to play it, even if for nothing more than his sake, spoke volumes to him about exactly how much support they were willing to give him. It was abundant in times of tribulation, when they all found that they needed to lean on each other to remain standing strong; but in the smaller, quieter moments, that solidarity was, disappointingly enough, nowhere to be found.

As lost in pensive thought as he was, Dipper didn’t even notice that Gompers had gotten ahold of his 38-sided die until the goat attempted to munch down on it, much to his sudden alarm. “Hey! Give that back!” Dipper ordered, attempting to retrieve the die only for Gompers to maintain his surprisingly firm hold on it. “C’mon, Gompers, let go!” With another heavy pull back, the goat finally released the die, only for it to go flinging back past Dipper and roll under the nearby porch instead. “Ugh, seriously?” Dipper muttered to himself in exasperation as he crawled over to retrieve it. However, right after he had slipped under the porch and began reaching around for the die, the loose soil near the base of the house unexpectedly shifted, crumbling apart right underneath him. Before he could even think to catch himself, Dipper suddenly found himself falling through the newly created opening, passing through several beams and cobwebs before roughly hitting the basement floor. While somewhat shaken, fortunately he didn’t seem to be injured as he began to slowly pick himself up and finally reclaim the elusive 32-sided die, which just so happened to be sitting right next to the now-contained monster Ford had defeated in the gift shop earlier. Even so, Dipper made sure to take care in reaching for the die, lest he aggravate the dangerous creature, only to be abruptly halted right before he could reach it.

“Dipper! Stop!”

“G-Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper exclaimed, startled as he spun around to face the author, who looked far from pleased to see his nephew down in his off-limits lab.

“What did I say about coming down here?” Ford admonished, hands on his hips. “My work is far too dangerous for a single living soul to spend even one second—Wait! Is that a 38-sided die from Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”

“Uh, yeah…” Dipper frowned, somewhat bewildered as he reclaimed the die and held it up for the author to see. “You know that game?”

Ford briefly smirked at this, his manner turning bold as he began to recite the game’s iconic tagline. “With pen and paper, shield and sword-”

“Our quest shall be our just reward!” Dipper joined in just as excitably before joining his uncle in a bout of bemused laughter.

“This is my favorite game in the whole multiverse!” Ford exclaimed, still grinning brightly. “I can’t believe they still make it!”

“They do! And I’ve been looking all day for someone to play it with me,” Dipper said, though his enthusiasm briefly turned to hesitation out of fear of pressing his luck with the author like he had a few days ago. “But uh, i-if you’re too busy to, I totally understand. In fact, I should probably just-”

“Dipper, my boy,” Ford interjected, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder before he could depart. “Do you know what this means? We must stop everything I’ve been working on at once… and play!”

Upon hearing this, Dipper couldn’t hold back a small gasp of excited surprise, knowing that the last person he had expected to gain as a welcome opponent for Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons was the author of the journals himself. However, before the pair could get to playing, the octopus creature suddenly broke free from its containment unit, launching itself at Ford and latching onto his face. The author upheld his chipper smile though as he simply tore the creature off is face, which had received a rather alarming series of burns from the monster’s somewhat toxic touch. “That’s… going to leave a mark.”

Seeing as how Steven was just as big of a fan of both Ducktective and Dogcopter as Mabel and Stan were, he eagerly joined them in preparing for the long-awaited crossover between the two properties the following day. All three of them wanted to make sure that they had the ultimate viewing experience; after all, it wasn’t every day that two such incredibly loved characters and universes came together in such a unique and exciting way.

“Ok, so it looks like we’ve got everything we need to watch the Ducktective/Dogcopter crossover tomorrow,” Mabel said as her and Steven looked over the massive mountain of snacks they had accumulate. “I even made mouth-ramps so we can pour food into our mouths without taking our eyes off the screen!” She showed one of the mouth ramps she had created off, a cardboard box filled to the brim with food with a small ramp stuck onto the side, before readily demonstrating how it worked, which was surprisingly well.

“I brought my Ducktective and Dogcopter collectable figurines down here with me so they can be part of this historic event!” Steven proclaimed as he held the figures up. “Ironically enough, I already had these two sitting next to each other on my shelf, so in a way its kinda like I almost predicted them meeting up for real like this!”

“And I used some spare taxidermied parts to mash the two of them up together the flying mystery solver: Dogtectuckcopter!” Stan proclaimed, holding the rather nightmarish amalgamation of fake duck and fake dog he had created up.

“Whoa! Its like a fusion…” Steven mused in amazement.

“Only a super messed up one!” Mabel laughed, amused. “Dipper would love that!”

“Heh, yeah, where is the little squirt anyway?” Stan asked, briefly glancing around for his apparently missing nephew. “I haven’t seen him all afternoon.”

Completely unbeknownst to the group upstairs, Dipper was merely in the basement below them with Ford, just as he had been ever since he had accidentally fallen down there. Since both of them were very well acquainted with the intricate rules of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, they had wasted no time in setting the game up and getting their campaign started. And as was usually the case with the fast-paced high fantasy game, it didn’t take very long for said campaign to build up to the epic (albeit imaginary) intensity it was known for.

“Alright,” Ford began, deftly passing the 38-sided die between his fingers as he laid out the ongoing scenario for his nephew. “You’ve entered the chamber. Princess Unattainabelle beckons you. But wait! It’s a trap! An illusion cast by Probabilitor the Annoying.”

“You know his weakness, right?” Dipper asked with a knowing smirk before they both proclaimed said weakness in unison.

“Prime statistical anomalies over 37 but not exceeding 51!” The pair exclaimed in unison as Dipper rolled the die, fortunately landing on exactly that.

“Aha! Yes!” he cheered brightly as he progressed along in the game past Probabilitor. “Take that, you cardboard wizard!”

“Hm. The old boy looks quite a bit different than he did back in my day,” Ford noted with a nostalgic smile as he looked over the wizard’s in-game artwork.

“Yeah, they change the art every few years,” Dipper said. “Thankfully you missed the period when the creators of the game tried to make it ‘cooler’ by painting everything neon and making the characters rap spells instead of just saying them. It must have been dark times, those 90s.”

“Yeesh,” Ford remarked with a bemused grin as he rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a good time to be stuck between dimensions.”

Upon hearing this, Dipper took pause, his focus on the ongoing game waning somewhat in favor of something he hadn’t really thought much about since him and Ford had begun playing. Something that was admittedly a good deal more important than scouring fake dungeons and defeating fictional wizards. “Great Uncle Ford,” he began evenly enough, hoping that would help him finally answers this time. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Where were you before you came out of that machine? And… what have you been doing down here these past few days? Are you working on something behind that curtain?” he nodded towards the curtain covering the window that led to the portal’s cavernous chamber, which was now intentionally kept out of sight for whatever reason.

A bout of uneasy hesitation crossed the author’s expression at such pertinent inquiries, and upon that alone, Dipper’s hopes for getting any concrete answers abruptly sank. Of course, they only ended up sinking even further when Ford all but confirmed he had no intentions of giving any. “Dipper, its best if you and the family stay away from that subject…” he replied, casting a brief, somewhat worried glance behind him. “Honestly, I’m not sure any of you could handle the real answer.”

For a moment, Dipper wanted to argue that he could handle it. That, based on everything he had been through during the past several months alone, he could understand and comprehend whatever was lying in wait beyond that curtain. That he wasn’t just the naive, innocent kid that Ford no doubt took him for upon a first glance. But in the end, he knew that arguing the opposite would likely prove exactly that, which was why he decided to pursue an entirely different tangent instead. “Well… what about the Gems?” he asked, glancing aside. “You guys did used to work together way back when, right? Does that mean you’re gonna let them in on, um… everything?”

Once again, Ford hesitated, his manner clearly remorseful and conflicted even as he answered, despite his relative discomfort with the topic in general. “Under normal circumstances, I… might have, but my current relationship with the Gems is somewhat… uneasy, so to speak,” he explained as eloquently as he could. “It’ll take some time before things between all of us will even remotely resemble how they used to be, especially since Rose is… no longer around. In a way, I suppose that the falling out between us all was my fault…” The author paused, his expression sad as he let out a small sigh before shaking his head to clear it. “B-but even if everything was smooth sailing between myself and the Gems, to my understanding, now really wouldn’t be the best time to bother them with external affairs. I hear they’ve been having plenty of problems all their own lately…”

“Oh yeah…” Dipper agreed with a concerned frown. “Things have been pretty tense between the Gems ever since they got their memories back, but Pearl lying to Garnet so they could fuse into Sardonyx really didn’t help anything.”

“So that’s what happened,” Ford mused thoughtfully. “To be perfectly honest, I can’t really blame Pearl for going to such… extensive lengths. I can only imagine how losing Rose might have effected her in particular.”

“From the way she always talks about Rose, it seems like the two of them were pretty close,” Dipper noted.

“They were very close,” the author smirked somewhat nostalgically at this. “It’s part of the reason why Pearl didn’t really care for me too much for me when Rose and I first became research partners. That is, until…” Ford trailed off as he glanced down at the gameboard still sitting between them, a small, brief chuckle escaping him before he diverted away from it. “Well, never mind. I’ll save that story for another time. Certainly things between the Gems will work themselves out in the end.”

Though it seemed as though Ford intended on getting back to the game, Dipper didn’t exactly want to leave it at that, especially as he happened to remember something, or rather someone, that he had regrettably not thought too much about since before the portal opened. And now, given that he was sitting right across from the wise author of the journals himself, he figured now was a good a time as any to finally, hopefully, get some help with it. “Uh… speaking of things working out…” he began rather tentatively. “Great Uncle Ford, you’ve studied a lot of Gem stuff, right?”

“But of course,” Ford said with a somewhat proud grin. “The mysteries of Gemkind were always a highlight of my research. In fact, if I had had the time, I would have started a fourth journal completely dedicated to Gem-related topics. And… depending on how things turn out, I might still run with that idea in the future perhaps… hm…”

“Um, yeah, s-so… did you ever figure out a way to, uh… split a really unhealthy, really dangerous fusion up?” Dipper asked anxiously, trying his best to mask how desperate he really was for a ‘yes’ to this longtime question.

Yet a ‘yes’ wasn’t what Ford gave him, at least not right away as he instead looked to his nephew with slight concern. “Why do you ask?”

“W-well….” Dipper began, unsure of how to really explain this story in a way that wouldn’t remind him of how painful it really was. But upon realizing that was nigh impossible, he decided to just get on with it anyway, knowing that if Ford really did hold a solution, then that pain would be more than worth it in the end. “Near the beginning of the summer, Steven, Mabel, and I met this Gem named Lapis Lazuli. We helped her out and then she went away for a while, but when she came back, me and her hung out a lot and… w-well I guess you could say we became pretty close friends. But then… these two Gems from Homeworld showed up: Peridot and Jasper. They tried to take Steven and the Gems back with them, but we ended up stopping them and crashing their ship near the lake, and it seemed like everything was going to be ok, until…” Dipper trailed, off hesitating as he stared at the ground in front of him as he realized that, even though weeks had passed since that fateful, awful dawn on the lake’s shores, the reality of what had happened there still hadn’t gotten any easier to swallow. “U-until Jasper… forced Lapis to fuse with her so she could take all of us out. So they fused into this huge, powerful monster of a fusion named Malachite, b-but before they could attack us, Lapis took control and dragged them both into the lake, a-and… and she’s been stuck down there ever since. She’s keeping herself trapped down there and fighting Jasper pretty much every second of every day just to keep us safe… to keep me safe…”

Though Ford had been silent for the sake of intently listening to his nephew’s solemn tale up until this point, upon noticing the tears just starting to well up in Dipper’s eyes, he found he could keep quiet no longer. “Dipper…” he began gently, only to be quickly interupted.

“It’s all my fault…” Dipper muttered, the guilt in his tone palpable as he wiped his eyes dry. “And the worst part of it is, I have no idea how to save her, but I have to. I owe it to her, and e-even besides that, she doesn’t deserve to be trapped again. And that’s why… I-I was hoping maybe you could maybe help me with that?” he asked, looking to Ford with almost pleading sincerity. “The Gems have been too busy with trying to track Peridot down to do anything about this, b-but if you know how to split a fusion like Malachite up, then we could finally free Lapis!”

Ford’s expression was already full of both sympathy and remorse before he even said anything. And when he speak up on the matter as his nephew eagerly awaited his response, he decided to be completely honest; after all, there was really no point in being anything else on a subject as sensitive as this. “Dipper, I… I’m sorry,” the author began evenly, yet sincerely. “Most of my research concerning Gem fusions tended to focus more on how they were formed and functioned rather than how they fell apart. So… suffice to say my knowledge on the topic is rather… limited, at best.”

“O-oh…” Dipper was unable to hold back a disappointed sigh upon hearing this, knowing that, as usual, he was right back to square one when it came to freeing Lapis from her watery prison. “Ok, I understand… thanks anywa-”

“However,” Ford interjected with a small smile of reassurance. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to figure the solution to such a complicated problem out. After all, I’d like to think that working through the impossible is something I have a certain knack for.”

“So… you’ll help?” Dipper asked, a sense of rising hope filling him.

“Yes,” the author confirmed, his smile widening. “It might not be an easy task, but I promise, I’ll do anything I can to help you rescue her.”

“Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper caught Ford quite off guard with an unexpected hug, one that the author awkwardly returned as he realized just how important this matter apparently was to his nephew. Which was why, for whatever reason, he felt a strong obligation to keep the promise he had just made, no matter how difficult doing so might prove to be. “Oh! Uh, s-sorry!” Dipper exclaimed, clearly flustered as he broke away from the hug.

“Don’t be,” Ford assured with a small laugh. Even so, the author paused for a beat, knowing that while they couldn’t exactly do much to save Lapis at that very moment, there was perhaps something he could do to help raise his nephew’s no doubt still lowered spirits, even if it would be a rather small attempt at best. “You know… while I can’t tell you much about where I’ve been the past 30 years, I can show you something I brought back with me.” The author’s grin turned wry as he reached into a small pouch tied to his belt and fished out a tiny, unassuming black box, which he opened to reveal something quite incredible. Upon a first glance, it seemed to be a many-sided die, the same kind that was often used in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, yet this one was quite different in many ways. Firstly, its crystalline surface emitted a faint, almost magical glow, but even more fascinating was the fact that the various cryptic symbols on its many sides seemed to be in a state of continual flux, constantly shifting and changing on their own accord to the point that the same symbol rarely ever appeared twice. “An infinity-sided die,” Ford proclaimed, quite proud of such a rare interdimensional find.

“Whoa…” Dipper gasped, his eyes wide with amazement as he looked to the special game piece. “That’s so cool! And… impossible!”

“These things are outlawed in 9,000 dimensions,” Ford explained, clearly just as excited as his nephew was. “You wanna know why? Look at those symbols. Infinite sides means infinite outcomes. If I rolled it, anything could happen. Our faces could melt into jelly, the world could turn into an egg, or… you could just roll an 8. Who knows? That’s why I have to keep it in this protective cheap plastic case. Now, let’s get back to the game! You’ve got Probabilitor on the ropes, though his power level ranks far above yours. You’d need to be accompanied by a level 19 paladin at least in order to get past him.”

“Ugh, of course,” Dipper groaned in exasperation. “If only we had one more player. That would make this so easy!”

“Hm…. Another player, you say?” the author mused, glancing down to the game board, or more particularly, an image of a knight in the background of its artwork. He had considered this idea earlier, when Dipper had first invited him to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with him, in fact, but the author had put the thought aside for obvious reasons. Though now, after giving it a little more thought and with the opportunity that had just presented itself, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. “I think I know just the Gem…”

Pearl let out a small, sad sigh as she sat on the living room couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared down at them solemnly. Only about a day had passed since Garnet had discovered her deception, and as far as the white Gem knew, nothing had changed concerning her leader’s disposition concerning the situation. Or rather, concerning the massive, rather inexcusable mistake she herself had committed against her. A mistake that, despite Pearl’s best efforts, she had been completely unable to distract herself from. Not that she thought she really deserved to have a break from the memory of her wrongdoing anyway; as far as she was concerned, she deserved to carry the oppressive weight of this guilt around with her. After all, it was only fair after she had absolutely betrayed the trust of someone she respected and cared for as much as Garnet.

And so, in light of the unsteady relations between the team and a lack of any pressing missions, Pearl expected that her day would be rather uneventful as a whole. What she hadn’t been expecting, however, was for both Dipper and Ford to suddenly show up at the temple quite out of nowhere.

“Uh, hey, Pearl,” Dipper greeted somewhat tentatively as he entered the temple first.

“Oh, hello, Dipper!” Pearl replied with a warm smile that quickly fell as Ford followed in after him. “And… Stanford… What a surprise…”

“G-greetings, Pearl,” Ford offered a somewhat awkward smile and wave, one that Pearl met rather coldly, as he had honestly been expecting she would. “I simply came by to—I mean, we came by to see if you wanted to… o-or rather, if you had the time to join us in… I mean-”

“We wanted to see if you were up to playing a game with us,” Dipper interjected, getting the point across much more concisely than Ford could in his apparent discomfort in interacting with the white Gem in light of recent events.

“A game?” Pearl tilted her head in confusion as she looked between the pair skeptically. “… What kind of game?”

Ford was quick to properly collect himself at this, a small grin crossing his features as he took a small step forward and presented Pearl with a 38-sided die. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to remember Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, would you?”

Pearl was unable to contain a gasp of surprise at this, a brief smile of excitement coming along with it, though she was quick to press it away. “I-I… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she claimed, crossing her arms as she sharply glanced away. “I’ve never even heard of… what was it again? Dungeons—something? W-well, whatever it is, I’m sure its completely ludicrous and not at all engaging or immersive or anything of the like.”

“Oh, but don’t you remember, Pearl?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “30 years ago, you and used to spend many a night embroiled in epic rounds of slaying ogres and challenging each other with labyrinthine dungeons and quadratic equations. I always used to think it was a treasured pastime between the two of us. You know, after you stopped thinking I was competing against you for Rose.”

Upon hearing this lightly teasing jab, Pearl let out an appalled scoff, her cheeks lighting up in a blue blush as she glared away hotly. Dipper on the other hand, was quite surprised to hear this news. “You guys used to play D, D, and More D together?” he asked curiously.

“N-no!” Pearl exclaimed, though at the very same time, Ford offered his own enthusiastic response.

“All the time!” the author assured brightly.

“W-well, I certainly don’t remember anything of the sort!” the white Gem protested crossly.

“Perhaps you just haven’t managed to recall those memories yet?” Ford theorized thoughtfully.

“Yeah! Maybe playing the game will end up jogging your memory of it!” Dipper suggested, offering the white Gem a hopeful smile.

“I… don’t think so, Dipper,” Pearl denied gently enough, not wanting to upset her pupil, though it seemed as though she didn’t have the same consideration for the author. “After all, I have much more… important matters to attend to… You can see yourselves out.” And with that, the white Gem abruptly turned on her heel to head towards the temple gate, her arms still folded as she resisted the urge to turn back around, even as Dipper and Ford continued conversing.

“Aw man… how am I gonna get past Probabilitor now?” Dipper asked, clearly disappointed by Pearl’s rejection.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Ford reassured, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Still, it really is a shame… Pearl is one of the best players I’ve ever met. After only a few hours of me explaining the game to her, she had already managed to catch up to me in almost all of her categories. And don’t even get me started on her incredible strategic abilities! One time, we were cornered against four ice dragons with essentially no magic left between either of us, and she managed to beat them back and get us out of that dungeon in only seven rolls! It was spectacular!”

“If I recall correctly…” Pearl suddenly interjected, glancing over her shoulder with a hint of a wry expression on her face. “It was five ice dragons in six rolls… Though of course,” the white Gem turned fully, finally cracking a bit of a sardonic smile. “I could be wrong. After all, my memory might still be a little hazy…”

“Well, regardless of the specifics, your tactics still were always very impressive back in the day,” Ford professed with a fond, genuine smile.

“But of course they were,” the white Gem shrugged, smirking. “After all, I learned such tactics in the uproarious intensity of an actual battlefield thousands of years ago. Applying those strategies to theoretical monsters and warlocks really isn’t that different when you think about it.”

At this, neither Pearl nor Ford could hold back a shared warm laugh, one that seemed to spark up the playful camaraderie they used to share in the past, one that they now both fully seemed to remember. And upon seeing things starting to repair themselves between the pair, Dipper felt inspired enough to present his initial offer to the white Gem yet again. “So… does this mean you’ll play with us?” he asked, hopeful.

Pearl took pause, hesitating briefly as she remembered that she deserved no such distraction from the mistake she had made against Garnet. Which meant that she didn’t deserve to enjoy herself in a pastime that she now remembered she really did enjoy quite a bit. And yet… upon meeting her young pupil’s expectant glance, she found that it was just about impossible for her to say no. “Oh, alright,” she chuckled softly. “I suppose I can join you two for a little while… “

“Pearl, I think we all know that a ‘little’ while is rarely ever little when it comes to Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons,” Ford remarked rather coyly.

The white Gem let out a genuine laugh at this, rather happy to follow after Dipper and Ford as they lead the way down to the Mystery Shack for what was bound to be an intense afternoon of dungeon spelunking and equation solving. “I can’t argue with you there.”

Sure enough, a little while had turned into an all-day campaign as Dipper, Ford, and Pearl hypothetically set out on their grandiose, mathematical quest. True to the author’s recounting, the white Gem was surprisingly skilled at the game, her recollection of its intricate rules returning to her memory practically the moment she sat down to play it. And with that recollection came a renewed enthusiasm for the playful pastime her and Ford used to share, one that showed itself in every roll of the die and move across the board she made. Seeing as how both Ford and Dipper already had plenty of enthusiasm towards the game themselves even before Pearl had joined them, this made for an air of genuine excitement as they all congregated in the basement lab to carve out their intrepid victory.

“Excellent work, Dipper! You finally managed to defeat that troublesome fire golem!” Pearl proclaimed with a congratulatory grin.

“Yeah,” Dipper said with a slightly exasperated sigh. “Now if only I could have stopped those woodland imps from stealing all my healing potions…”

“Heh, speaking of imps,” Ford remarked, sending Pearl a wry, reminiscent smirk. “That reminds me of the time Amethyst snuck down here and attempted to steal just about every morsel of food I had in the house.”

“Oh, that was a mess,” Pearl chuckled heartily upon hearing the familiar tale. “I remember there was a trail of food leading all the way between here and the temple! No wonder that horrific moth man creature attacked us that night when we were trying to clean it up!”

“A moth man?” Dipper asked, quite intrigued. “Like the one in the journal?”

“The very one,” Ford nodded in confirmation. “It was so dark that we barely even saw him coming until he jumped at me out of nowhere to try and get my lantern.”

“Oh, you should have seen it, Dipper!” Pearl laughed openly. “The bold, brazen ‘author of the journals’, cowered in fear against a tree, crying for mercy against a cloud of moths, of all things. It was hilarious!”

“I-in my defense, that ‘cloud of moths’ just so happened to be in the shape of a man, and a very intimidating one at that!” Ford protested, clearly flustered.

“Ah yes, so intimidating that it only took one toss of Rose’s shield to completely dispel it and save you, yet again,” the white Gem remarked, her tone still coy and playful. “Then again, I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault, Stanford. After all, you were rather danger prone back in those days.”

“Well, if I was, then I suppose I was able to consider myself lucky to have such reliable friends like you, Rose, and the others,” Ford remarked with a warm, genuine smile, one that seemed to carry an underlying layer of unspoken remorse to it as well.

Pearl seemed to mirror this, her own expression somewhat sad and hesitant before shifting into a soft, nostalgic smile, a smile that she didn’t try to chase away this time. “Friends… right…” she muttered, glancing away briefly before quickly perking up and returning her attention back to the game once more. “Now, where were we? Ah yes! Chasing down those pesky imps…”

At this sudden change of gears, Dipper and Ford exchanged a brief glance of confusion, but even so, they were quick to follow Pearl’s lead and get their heads back into the game. After all, from where they stood now, they were bound to have an entire untold adventure ahead of them.

While Mabel knew from over 12 years of firsthand experience that Dipper usually kept rather late hours, most of the time that fact didn’t upset her own normal sleeping routine too much. However, this particular night was an exception to that, as she was finding it just about impossible to fall asleep with her brother intently plotting out his ongoing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons strategy only a few feet away from her.

“Ok, so if I had a dragon here…” Dipper muttered to himself as he sketched out his plans amidst several pieces of graph paper. “Oh, and then a plus the fire mode over here-”

“Dipper, are you ever going to sleep?” Mabel asked as she rolled over in bed to face him, finally exasperated to the point that she couldn’t keep silent on it any longer. “You’ve been saying dork words for hours…”

“Sorry, Mabel, but I’ve got to finish this dungeon,” Dipper countered, not even bothering to glance up as he continued working. “It’s gonna totally stump Pearl and Great Uncle Ford tomorrow, I can’t wait to see the look on their faces!”

Mabel took pause upon hearing this, her already present frown deepening as she sat up. “You’ve, uh… been spending a lot of time with old Fordsy lately, huh?” she asked, her tone innocently curious enough. She didn’t see much of a reason to mention Pearl in her question, namely because she knew that Dipper already spent a good deal of time with the white Gem through his sword lessons, which meant that this was nothing really new. His recently developed comradery with Ford, on the other hand was. And for whatever reason, Mabel wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“You have no idea,” Dipper said with an enthusiastic smile. “I knew the author must have been cool, but he’s better than I imagined! And… he doesn’t make fun of me like you and Grunkle Stan do.”

“Ha! Give him time!” Mabel teased, though she instantly wished she hadn’t upon seeing her brother’s expression sour at this remark. “Nah, you got me,” she faked playfulness, though once more Dipper offered her no response. Her own brief smile faded as she lay back down, letting out a small, worried sigh while staring up at the ceiling. True, the painful gap between them torn asunder by the portal had been mostly repaired, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still holes left behind all the same. Holes that she was only now starting to notice and had essentially no idea how to fix. “You got me…”

The Mystery Shack was abuzz with excitement the following day, all in anticipation of the long-awaited, massively hyped-up Ducktective/Dogcopter crossover that was set to air that evening. Steven had already arrived about an hour ago, and in that span of time, him and Mabel had gone through just about every theory and wish they had for the special, both of them more than eager to finally get a chance to see it. It was easy to say that they had sufficiently prepared themselves emotionally and mentally for this grand crossover by the time Grenda arrived to view it with them.

“Thanks for coming over to watch the crossover with us tonight, Grenda,” Mabel smiled as her and Steven greeted the larger girl at the door.

“Of course!” Grenda exclaimed in her usual boisterous way as she held up her Ducktective and Dogcopter flags. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for these two characters to meet my entire life!”

“Same here,” Steven nodded in agreement. “Or, ya know, at least ever since they announced the crossover last month.”

“Hey hey, look at you!” Mabel smirked as she noticed Stan coming downstairs, wearing his finest suit and tie. “Someone’s all dressed up.”

“It’s a big night,” Stan remarked as he adjusted his tie. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where a dog with a propeller on its back meets a duck who solves murder mysteries for a living. It really is a wonderful time to be alive.”

No sooner had the conman finished speaking than the alarm on Steven’s phone suddenly went off, eliciting an excited gasp from everyone. “It’s time!” the young Gem announced happily.

“Viewing positions, everyone!” Mabel ordered, pointing to the living room as they all began making a mad dash towards it. However, the entire group stopped short just as they passed into its threshold, surprise and disappointment hitting all of them as they caught sight of the graph paper and extensive notes regarding Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons strewn about all over the room. And, sitting in the very center of the den, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl were all completely engrossed in their ongoing game, all three of them clearly having a fun time as they were all but oblivious to the group that had just walked in on them.

“Ah! Graph paper! Kill it!” Grenda shouted, furiously stomping on the nearest piece of it.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” Steven asked, much more calmly. “And wait, Pearl? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know…” Pearl began, sending her young ward a casual smile. “Just completely decimating these two in a duel for the mystical forbidden treasure of old.”

“Not for long, you won’t,” Dipper challenged brazenly as he rolled the die, though Mabel interupted before the game could go any further.

“Uh, Dipper? Could you guys maybe move this to another room?” she asked, only thinly veiling her annoyance.

“No dice!” Ford said. “We ran out of room in the basement and we’re going for a world record. Now… dice!” And with that, the author rolled, landing exactly the number he had been hoping for to advance. “Ha! 32, yes! 7,000 points damage!”

“Oh man! You got me!” Dipper laughed, accepting this setback gracefully.

“Hm… lucky roll…” Pearl mused, offering Ford a coy grin of defeat.

“Ugh, why? Why with this?” Stan groaned, not bothering to hide his aggravation with the trio as he sent Ford and Pearl an irritated glare in particular. “You two wanna break some records? You’ve already broken two for world’s nerdiest old man and world’s nerdiest… rock person?”

“Ugh… why am I not surprised that you don’t understand, Stan?” Pearl crossed her arms. “Amethyst used to crack her sarcastic little remarks about myself and Ford back in the day when we used to play this game together, just like you are now. You and her really are two of a kind.”

“Yeah, I can’t say I really blame her,” Stan retorted just as dryly, though he did briefly glance away at the remembrance of how much things had soured between him and Amethyst recently. “It’s not like you two don’t have it coming.”

“Hey, at least we’re not all keyed up to watch some kid’s show,” Ford countered, meeting his brother’s unimpressed expression evenly.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that this Ductective/Dogcopter crossover is gonna be legendary!” Stan snapped defensively. “People will be talking about how hilarious and tragic it is for decades! Or at least for like, a week or something.”

“I don’t get a lot of either of them, but I like animals in human situations,” Grenda pointed out.

“Plus, the music is really good,” Steven added. “And don’t even get me started on those crazy plot twists in both shows! They have so much in common, its like they were made to be together!”

“A-and its starting soon!” Mabel urged fretfully. “Grunkle Stan, do something!”

Stan complied, letting out an exasperated huff as he reached to remove the graph paper covering the television, only for Ford to intercept him by suddenly grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Move that and pay the price,” the author warned, his tone surprisingly grave. Startled, Stan took pause for a moment, only to instantly regain his previously sardonic attitude.

“Oh what? Fifty magical elf dollars?” the conman deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t mock our fantastical monetary system!” Ford snapped fiercely.

“Honestly, Stan, you’re just being childish about this whole thing!” Pearl said just as sharply.

“Yeah, I’m the one being childish, not you guys and your game about knights and fairy princesses and unicorns,” the conman remarked coldly. “And you know what? I’ll mock it all I want; it’s my TV room.”

“It’s my house!” the author argued, clearly angry by this point. However, he did make something of an attempt to calm down by letting out an evening sigh as he relinquished his brother’s hand and instead pulled his bag of many-sided die out instead. “Listen, Stanley, did it ever occur to you that if you joined us, you might have fun?”

“What?” Stan scoffed, clearly caught off guard by this offer. Despite his brief surprise regarding it however, he was quick to reject it, refusing to let his brother have his way, which, as far as he was concerned, always seemed to be the case. “Now you listen to me!” the conman began, snatching the bag right out of the author’s hand. The bag that, as both Ford and Dipper knew, contained something potentially very dangerous inside. “As long as I live I will never-”

“G-Grunkle Stan!” Dipper attempted to warn, though by this point Stan was far too incensed to really listen.

“Ever-”

“Stanley! Don’t!” Ford gasped in alarm as he saw the conman raise the bag up high.

“Play your smartypants nerd game!” Stan finished his harsh proclamation by throwing the bag down onto the ground hard. Unfortunately, out of it rolled a plastic black box, and out of that rolled a glowing die with ever-changing sides.

The infinity-sided die.

For a single, anxious moment, the die was still in motion as it rolled across the carpeted floor, but once it finally came to a stop, it did so on a symbol that had only just appeared: the outline of a powerful wizard. And, just as Ford had said would happen, the die’s power instantly brought its outcome to life. In a flash of blinding light, four mystical figures materialized right out of the box art of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, brought to life and to reality in front of the shocked group who could do nothing more than watch as this impossibility unfolded right before their eyes. The assemblage of characters consisted of a massive golden griffon, a lumbering, bulky ogre, a attractive, bow-wielding elf, and finally, a cackling, bearded magician, clearly the leader of the crew as he spoke up first.

“Mortals of dimension 514÷Y! Kneel before me and-” the wizard interupted himself to roll his own die to see what threat he should dole out. “Snivel! I am Probabilitor! The greatest wizard in all of mathology! Give or take an error of 0.4.”

“Eh? Is this… normal?” Stan asked, aptly confused.

“Probabilitor?” Pearl also questioned, bewildered in a different way. “As in the one from the game? How is this even possible? Stanford, what did that die of yours do?!”

“That’s a… long story that there may or may not be time to explain all the details of later,” Ford said, his manner stiff and defensive as he kept a hand tucked away inside his trench coat. Just in case.

“Uh, are you here to send us on the quest of a lifetime because we’re the smartest players you’ve ever met?” Dipper asked the intruding wizard, hoping that his intentions weren’t as sinister as his sudden appearance came across.

“You are the smartest players I’ve ever met!” Probabilitor acknowledged with a sinister grin. “That’s why I’m going to eat your brains to gain your intelligence! Its what I do.”

“It’s his thing,” the wizard’s ogre companion added pointedly.

As everyone reacted to this news with alarmed surprise, Probabilitor took advantage of the moment as he ordered his mythical cohorts into action. “By the power of math, seize them!”

“Your math is no match for me gun, you idiot!” Ford retorted, finally pulling out the powerful laser gun he kept tucked away inside his coat. The author readily took aim, paying no mind to Pearl as she summoned her spear beside him or Dipper as he discreetly slipped away to retrieve something, fortunately without the wizard taking notice.

“Math ray!” Probabilitor shouted, a burst of mathematical power shooting out from his staff. The blast was more than enough to knock the gun clean out of Ford’s hands, leaving him essentially defenseless and opening things up for Pearl to take charge.

“Looks like I have to come to your rescue yet again, Stanford,” the white Gem remarked confidently as she rushed forward. She swung her spear widely, aiming for Probabilitor, though before her strike could land, Pearl suddenly found herself heavily pushed to the ground and pinned there by the griffon and its large, sharp talons. Her spear fell out of her hand and disappeared in its usual burst of sparkles, and with her arms as restrained as they were, summoning another one was nigh impossible.

“You were saying?” Ford remarked much more harshly than he had intended to, though given the circumstances, such stress was reasonable enough.

However, before either the author, the white Gem, or anyone else for that matter could try to thwart Probabilitor’s intentions, Dipper suddenly dashed forward seemingly out of nowhere, the Ancient Sea Blade tight in his grip. Ford in particular was rather startled to see his young nephew not only wielding such a weapon, but to see him running headfirst into obvious danger with a fearless battle cry. Unfortunately, much like Pearl, Dipper’s valiant attempt to cut the hostile wizard was ultimately put to a swift end as Probabilitor lashed out, a burst of his mysterious, dangerous magic spiraling right towards the sword-wielding boy.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried fearfully, though luckily, her brother reacted accordingly. At just the right moment, Dipper twisted his sword in front of him, pulling off a rather risky block that only worked to partially protect him. The Ancient Sea Blade took the brunt of the hit as Dipper was knocked back, and in practically an instant, the wizard’s magic destroyed the elegant sword, causing it to explode in an array of sparkles and mathematical symbols until nothing was left of it at all.

“Enough of this!” Probabilitor exclaimed hotly, pointing his staff in a commanding gesture as the griffon spread its wings and quickly worked to gather Pearl, Ford, and Dipper in hits talons. “I’m not here to play games!” With this, the wizard sent another blast of magic out, this one towards the nearest wall of the shack, which he easily blew a massive hole into. With an insane cackle, Probabilitor flew out through the hole, his band of companions following right behind with their captive trio in tow. “Now to the forest, for the ultimate game!”

“Oh no! Dipper! Pearl! Mr. Ford!” Steven cried worriedly as he rushed up to the hole along with Mabel as they both watched in dismay as they all disappeared into the forest, out of sight and out of reach.

“So…” Grenda spoke up after a beat of worried silence. “The room’s free now. Who wants to watch Ducktective and Dogcopter?” Another moment passed, this one much more awkward as Steven and Mabel looked to her in appalled disbelief at such a callous suggestion. “Nobody? Oh well! More couch for Grenda!”

“Oh, this is really bad,” Mabel said, both her tone and expression very fretful. “That crazy wizard is gonna eat Dipper and Ford’s brains! And… Pearl’s? I think? Isn’t that technically her gem?”

“W-we have to save them!” Steven interjected with a much more pertinent concern.

“Eh, maybe let ‘em get a couple of bites in Ford’s brain first,” Stan remarked, leaning against the side of the hole casually. “Even things out smart-wise.”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel scolded, nowhere near as accepting of this alarming kidnapping as he seemed to be.

“Alright, alright,” the conman quickly folded upon meeting his niece’s troubled manner. “I guess if we have no other choice, we’ll go on a… ugh, epic wizard quest.”

“Yay!” the trio of kids exclaimed in unified excitement, all more than ready for such a harrowing adventure if it meant saving their family and friends.

“Now before we hit the road, everyone grab a weapon,” Stan said, still far from enthused from having to go on this journey. After all, he wasn’t particularly excited about having to rescue Ford again, only to no doubt be denied proper thanks once more.

Everyone easily found whatever they had on hand to use as a weapon in their quest. Steven already had one on hand in his shield, as did Stan as he pulled out the baseball bat he kept tucked away in the porch couch’s cushions. On impulse, Mabel grabbed a rake, though Grenda was by far the most heavily equipped as she hoisted a recliner up, more than ready to use it as a weapon if needed.

“We’re coming for you, Dipper!” Mabel boldly proclaimed as everyone prepared to set off on their daring, magical rescue mission. “And Grunkle Ford! And Pearl! And possibly that hot elf, if he’s got anything to do with this.”

“Let’s go!” Steven exclaimed, leading the way as they all rushed headlong into the forest, unsure of what they’d encounter on their journey, but ready to face it all the same.

Probabilitor and his companions had wasted no time at all in setting up a camp deep in the magical forests of Gravity Falls. While the elf and the griffon stood guard in the event of any unwanted intruders, the wizard took the time to taunt his three captives, all of whom were attempting to struggle out of the rather tight bonds that kept them restrained to the large tree in the middle of the clearing.

“With each brain I eat, I shall increase my enchantelligence!” Probabilitor chortled as he used a magical tape measurer to get a count on Ford, Dipper, and Pearl’s heads.

“If my hands were free, I’d break every part of your face!” the author threatened fiercely.

“Not if I get to it first!” Pearl added just as sharply as she sent the wizard a cold glare.

“Squabble all you want,” Probabilitor chuckled darkly. “Either way, the time has come! Hot elf! Ready the brain-cooking pot!”

The elf let out an exasperated sigh, flipping his hood off to reveal his luminous silver hair. “Yes, Probabilitor,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as he took aim at the nearby caldron and ignited it with a flaming arrow.

“Haha! According to my calculations, your brains shall be a delicious part of my balanced wizard breakfast,” the wizard concluded to his captives with a triumphant smirk. “Or lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever mealtime it currently is.”

“Hmph, then clearly it seems that you’ve miscalculated,” Pearl retorted, turning her nose up haughtily. “Even if your ridiculous plan succeeded, you’d only have two brains to snack on anyway since I’m a Gem. Which means, I don’t have a brain.” A beat of curious silence passed at this as both Ford and Dipper sent Pearl questioning looks before she realized what she had just said. “Wait… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh believe me, I’m well aware of your relative brainlessness,” Probabilitor remarked with a knowing grin.

“Again, not what I meant!”

“Which is why I plan on grinding up that pretty little gemstone of yours into the perfect seasoning for brains à la carte!” the wizard finished before breaking down into yet another round of wild laughter.

“Well that’s… dark,” Dipper noted exchanging a concerned look with Pearl.

“You know, I’d almost rather be back at the temple, moping about how upset Garnet is with me…” the white Gem groaned, slumping against the ropes restraining her to the tree. That is, until she remembered just how unbearably tense things actually were between her and the Gem leader in light of what she had done. “Then again… maybe not…”

Though the mystical forest was quite dense, Mabel, Steven, Stan, and Grenda didn’t have a particularly hard time finding their way through it, mostly since they were easily able to follow the trail of griffon feathers that had unintentionally been left behind. So far, the group hadn’t encountered any obstacles or threats along the way, but even so, they were all still on high alert in the event that they did, their makeshift weapons at the ready to defend themselves from any dangers Probabilitor might put in their path.

“We must be getting close,” Stan noted, flinching as he slapped a past on his back. “These fairy bites are getting more frequent.”

“H-hey! Look! Listen!” the now squished fairy cried in pain as she lay crushed against the conman’s shoulder in a pile of glitter.

“I hope we’re not too late,” Steven said fretfully. “I’m not really sure how I’d be able to go back to the temple and explain to Garnet and Amethyst that Pearl got eaten by a crazy board game wizard. A lot of bad things have been happening lately, but I have a feeling that would probably take the cake…”

“Halt!” The group came to an abrupt stop as the massive, threatening ogre suddenly emerged from the nearby greenery, stomping down in front of them and barring the path ahead. “Yon interlopers are trespassing on the ancient forest of Probabilitor the wizard! If ye wish to pass, first, ye must complete seven unworldly quests, each more difficult than the-”

“NO!” Grenda suddenly shouted, brutally hitting the unsuspecting ogre with her heavy chair. The monster fell to the ground with a mighty thud, easily defeated and apparently unconscious, though based on his lack of breathing, he could have possibly been worse off than that.

“Is he… dead?” Mabel asked, poking the downed ogre with her rake.

“He’s magic, sweetie, I’m sure he’s fine,” Stan assured casually enough before turning to Grenda with a serious whisper. “There are no cops in the forest, we take this to our graves.”

Grenda nodded in agreement with this resolve, but even so, Steven and Mabel pressed onward, still clearly worried about their primary mission. “Well… I guess that’s one way to clear a path,” the young Gem noted as they passed by the supposedly unconscious ogre. “Maybe not the best way, but still, a way.”

It was clear from the increasing frequency of Probabilitor’s manic chuckles that his preparations for cooking his captives’ brains were nearly complete. Unfortunately though, despite their skill in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl had yet to think of a way out of their very real plight, one that could very well cost them all their lives if they didn’t escape from it soon.

“W-what do we do? What do we do?!” Dipper asked in a sharp, panicked whisper, hating how relatively defenseless all three of them were in this situation.

“Stop thinking, Dipper!” Ford retorted, trying to be as calm as possible, something that Pearl also tried to maintain, despite her own dread in this tight spot. “The more wrinkly your brain gets, the more he’ll want to eat it!”

“And now, a little math problem,” Probabilitor said as he stepped up to his trio of captives, a hungry grin claiming his face. “When I subtract your brains from your skulls,” he began, tapping both Dipper and Ford’s heads with his staff. “Add salt,” he lightly poked Pearl’s gemstone at this, causing the white Gem to cringe from the unexpected vibration. “And divide your families, what’s the remainder?”

“Your butt!”

“What?” the wizard asked, startled as he turned to face this unexpected voice. “My butt isn’t part of this particular equation!”

“And neither are we!” Mabel boldly proclaimed as her, Steven, Stan, and Grenda suddenly jumped out of the bushes, all of them still wielding their makeshift weapons brazenly.

“But here we are!” Steven chimed in before waving to the trio tied to the tree. “Hi, Dipper! Hi, Pearl! Hi, Mr. Ford!”

“Well, at least someone came to rescue us…” Pearl noted, though her tone alone conveyed her uncertainty about the group’s effectiveness in actually saving them.

“Drat! How did you get past my one guard?!” Probabilitor scowled, gripping his staff tightly. “Very well… There is one way you can save your family. You must defeat me in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons: Real Life Edition!”

With a wild cackle, the wizard raised his staff, magic pouring out of it as a large, ornate game board, one that floated just a few feet off the ground just as Probabilitor himself had begun to.

“What? Oh come on!” Stan groaned, knowing that him trying to avoid having to play the complicated, rather boring game was what started this mess in the first place.

“I choose my characters…” Probabilitor continued, snapping his fingers to create three miniaturized, identical ogres on the game board. “Vs… yours!” Upon another burst of mathematical magic, the wizard pointed to his trio of captives, all of whom disappeared from their spot against the tree as he did. They reappeared an instant later, shrunken down themselves as they stood upon Probabilitor’s outstretched palm, unanimously startled by this unexpected shift. However, their size hadn’t been the only thing to change; each of them was now clad in the archaic attire befitting Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons characters, with Dipper and Ford both dressed in earthy adventuring clothes while Pearl had received something of a sparse knight’s armor.

“Ah! My ears! They’re so pointy!” Ford exclaimed, flicking his now elfish ears.

“T-there better be something protective under this tunic,” Dipper remarked before briefly turning around to check. “Oh no, there isn’t!”

“I don’t know what you two are complaining about,” Pearl smirked as she looked over the crimson cape her armor came equipped with. “I could get used to this…”

“Aw, you guys look so adorable!” Steven gasped with delight upon seeing the tiny trio.

“I know, right?” Mabel agreed just as brightly. “Makes me wish I had me camera on me to get a pic of how cute you guys are in your little fantasy outfits!”

“Ok, seriously, you guys, now is not the time!” Dipper scolded, sending a petulant look up at them.

“I’m with the kid, can’t we just arm wrestle or something?” Stan asked, far from enthused.

“Come on, this game is a lot of fun!” Probabilitor urged. “I even had my mom pack me a lunch,” he continued, pulling some apple slices out of his paper bag lunch. “Ew, apple slices? I’ll eat you last.”

“Ugh, just make with the rules already, ugly,” the conman rolled his eyes as him, Mabel, and Steven took a seat on the other side of the game board.

“The game is a battle royale,” the wizard began to explain. “We help out characters by casting spells determined by rolls of the dice. If you win, I’ll go back to my own dimension.”

“Hooray!” Steven and Mabel chimed in unison, hoping for such a peaceful outcome.

“But if I win, I eat their brains/gem!” Probabilitor grinned as he let Dipper, Ford, and Pearl down into the game board itself.

“Well,” Pearl remarked, crossing her arms. “That certainly seems like a risky gamble that only an absolute fool would-”

“Deal!” Stan exclaimed daringly.

“Oh boy…” Dipper sighed as Ford and Pearl shook their heads, all three of them quite concerned about their fate in what would no doubt be a dangerous game.

“Then let the game… BEGIN!” Probabilitor proclaimed, raising his hand before bringing it down and letting his dice roll out of it. The wizard landed a 13, giving him the perfect opportunity to dole out his first move. “Attack!” he ordered his trio of ogres as large, spiked clubs appeared in each of their hands. The creatures rushed towards Dipper, Ford, and Pearl, more than happy to swing their weapons at the group as they narrowly managed to dodge the heavy strikes.

“Oh come on!” Pearl exclaimed in severe annoyance as she tried to summon her spear, only for nothing to emerge from her Gem as a result of Probabilitor’s spell. “As if this entire thing couldn’t get any more aggravating!”

“Oh no!” Steven exclaimed worriedly as he watched this chaos unfold across the game board. “We have to help them!”

“W-what do we do? What are our moves?” Stan asked just as frantically.

“There are no moves!” Dipper shouted up to them as he barely managed to jump out of the way of one of the ogre’s bats. “You make them up!”

“What? Really?” the conman asked, surprised.

“But wait, isn’t this game super complicated?” Mabel asked, just as confused.

“No!” Pearl informed as though it was obvious. “Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons is actually quite simple once you get the hang of it!”

“That’s what I tried to tell you!” Ford added just as intently. “This game involves math, yes, but also risk, enthusiasm, and imagination!”

“Risk?” Stan asked as a smile slowly started to spread across his face.

“Enthusiasm?!” Steven asked, already quite pumped up.

“Imagination?” Mabel finished with a cheerful gasp. “Grunkle Stan, make something up! It’s just like lying!”

“Uh, then I cast, um… shield of… shielding?” Stan ventured, rolling the die and miraculously getting a 14. It was just enough to counter Probabilitor’s roll, and as such, a large, magical shield materialized in front of Dipper, Pearl, and Ford. The ogres’ clubs bounced cleanly off its sturdy surface as the trio crowded behind it, fully protected from any and all harm. “Ha! We’re doing it!” the conman exclaimed in triumph.

That triumph was short lived, however, as Probabilitor quickly made his next roll to cancel Stan’s out. “Shield of shielding reversal spell!” he shouted, and just like that, the magical shield disappeared into thin air, leaving the trio defenseless yet again. They scattered as one of the ogres brought his club down, but fortunately, Steven wasn’t about to leave them unprotected for long.

“I cast, uh… Crazy Fast Lightning Roller Skates!” the young Gem exclaimed, coming up with something off the top of his head as he rolled. Almost as soon as he did, Dipper, Pearl, and Ford all received their own pairs of electrically charged skates, ones that instantly propelled them forward at lighting-fast speeds. The skates were more than enough to get them past the slow, lumbering ogres and their bulky weapons, giving them ample space to prepare themselves to go on the offence as opposed to defense.

“Hot Flamey Sword!” Mabel proclaimed as sharp, fiery swords materialized in the trio’s hands. “Super Hot Flamey Sword!” she added a moment later, and each of the blades extended and the flames surrounding them grew even hotter and brighter.

As the swords solidified themselves, the trio skidded to a stop, their electrified skates still at the ready to send them zooming forward once more. The ogres charged towards them, their expressions fierce as they raised their clubs once again, ready to attack. Only this time, their assault would not go encountered.

“Dipper, stay behind me and Pearl!” Ford ordered his nephew, concerned for his safety amidst this massive beasts. “We’ll handle-” The author was cut off by Dipper’s own battle cry as he swiftly skated forward, flames bursting from his blade as he lashed out in a bold, fast move as he zoomed past one of the ogres. His attack struck true as the creature let out a sharp cry, disappearing into a puff of smoke mere seconds after the flaming sword sliced through it.

“Excellent form, Dipper!” Pearl exclaimed to her pupil brightly. “I can see you’ve been practicing!”

“Thanks!” Dipper called back as he prepared to take on one of the othe ogres. “I have!”

“H-how… where did he learn how to fight like that?” Ford asked, rather amazed at his nephew’s impressive skill with a blade.

“Where do you think?” Pearl asked with a proud smile. “I taught him everything he knows. Now, come on. Dipper can certainly handle himself against those brutes, but it just wouldn’t be fair to let him have all the fun, now would it?”

The author didn’t get much of a chance to respond as the white Gem hurried on ahead, jumping into the fray alongside her pupil. Ford wasn’t far behind and Steven, Mabel, and Stan cheered them on as they worked together to take out the remaining two ogres in record time, much to Probabilitor’s fury.

“No! Drat you! You’ll never outrun my-” the wizard paused as he rolled the dice, grinning wickedly as he made his next move. “Ogre-nado!” With this spell, a massive, spiraling tornado struck up, disembodied ogre heads flying around it as it chased after the trio and blew their swords away. “Ha! It is what it sounds like!” Probabilitor guffawed, watching with twisted delight as the trio ran from the monstrous storm.

“I cast: CENTAURTAUR!” Mabel shouted out of the blue, tossing the dice down onto the board to conjure up a rather nightmarish creature: a centaur with another horse for its head.

“G-goodness! That’s… alarming…” Pearl remarked, rather put off by such a bizarre amalgamation.

“Mabel, I am so confused and so proud right now,” Stan said, sending his niece a bewildered, but warm smile.

“Come on!” Dipper shouted to Pearl and Ford as they all ran for the centaurtaur. Though it was a bit awkward getting onto its double backs, they managed to get a good hold onto the creature long enough for it to carry them away from the approaching ogre-nado as Stan, Mabel, and Steven cheered them on all the while. As the centaurtaur passed into a smaller chamber on the board, both it and the ogre-nado abruptly fell apart, leaving Dipper, Ford, and Pearl safe once more. Or so they thought.

No sooner had the trio picked themselves up off the ground than they suddenly found themselves all pinned to the wall once more, this time by a large, grotesque winged creature with several limbs, tentacles, and two intensely fanged mouths. “Haha, yes!” Probabilitor laughed over his latest move. “I was saving the worst for last!”

“The Impossibeast!” Ford exclaimed in apt surprise. “Hey, I thought they banned this character!”

“Think again!” the wizard grinned deviously. “I’m playing the controversial 1991-1992 edition!”

“W-well this is ok!” Steven reassured as he prepared to roll the dice again. “We’ll just come up with some new weapons and-”

“It’s not that simple,” Pearl interjected fretfully, struggling to break free from the Impossibeast’s iron grip. “From what I remember, this monster is the most powerful creature in the entire game!”

“He can only be defeated by rolling a perfect 38,” Ford added, his tone just as grave. “But the odds of that are-”

“Hey, long odds are what you want when you’re a world class gambler,” Stan cut in with a sly smirk as he took the dice and shook them in his hands. “Alright, Stan, you can do this… Papa needs a new pair of… twins!” Wirth this, the conman tossed the die onto the board, the others taking in a collective deep breath as they hoped that luck would be with him, as the entire game depended on this one singular roll. In an instant that seemed like ages, the die struck the board, rolling across it before finally, fortunately landing on that sought after 38.

“NO!” Probabilitor cried, dumbfounded by disbelief over this effective turn of the tide.

“Ha! Sorry, nerd wizard!” Stan laughed in triumph as Dipper, Pearl, and Ford all let out a shared sigh of relief. “But all your smarts are no match for dumb luck!”

“We cast DEATH MUFFINS!” Mabel and Steven proclaimed in excitable unison, knowing that this move would certainly be for the win. At this, glimmering muffins with an explosive edge to them appeared in each of the trios’ free hands. They didn’t even have to think twice about what to do with them as they simultaneously launched them into the Impossibeast’s wide-open maw, watching with anticipation as the creature swallowed all three of them whole. The effect was almost immediate, for mere seconds later, the death muffins exploded, taking the Impossibeast out along with them in a blinding flash of light.

“Yes!” Stan, Mabel, and Steven cheered in elated unison at this hard-earned win as the game concluded. In a flash, the board disappeared and in its place, Dipper, Ford, and Pearl all reappeared, restored to their normal sizes and clothing with only non-explosive death muffins remaining. An air of celebration rang throughout the group, especially as Steven and Mabel both caught Dipper off guard in a sudden, but welcome hug, glad to have finally rescued him as well as Pearl and Ford.

“The game is, like, over,” the hot elf remarked, shutting the rule book amidst Grenda hugging him tightly, as she had been doing for most of the game. “Excelci-whatever.”

“No!” Probabilitor cried in defeat as him and his companions began to dematerialize. “I’m returning to my own realm! I’m turning into pure math! What are the ooooooooddds?!” The wizard’s final cry hung on the air as he disappeared into equations and grids until nothing remained of him or his wicked intent at all.

“Hmph, serves him right,” Pearl remarked with a satisfied smirk as Steven caught her legs in a sudden embrace, which she gladly returned. “Wanting to crush my gem is one thing, but wanting to use it as a mere seasoning? That was simply absurd.”

“Grunkle Stan, that was amazing!” Dipper exclaimed with a wide smile. “How’d you know you would win?”

“Heh, a gambler never reveals his secrets,” then conman winked as he retrieved the 38 sided die, which he had happened to stick a bit of gum to the side of in order to ensure his perfect 38 roll.

“Man, that really was fun for ages 8 to 80!” Mabel noted with a grin. “Or a million. Or however old you guys are.”

“Yeah, I wish we had tried actually playing the game earlier,” Steven agreed. “I didn’t know what we were missing out on! Electric skates and centaurtaurs and death muffins… What more could anyone want?!”

“Indeed…” Pearl chuckled, though her smile faded somewhat as she turned to Ford. “Er, um… Stanford? I, uh… well I just wanted to say… thank you. Things have been rather… difficult for me lately, but… your offer to pick up our old past time again gave me a much-needed distraction and a reminder of how much fun we used to have together back in the day. I have to admit… I missed this.”

“As did I,” Ford returned her warm grin with complete sincerity. “By the way… I’ve heard about… what happened between you and Garnet. And if there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, then please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The white Gem sighed somewhat sadly at this, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked down briefly. “I’m not sure if there’s anything anyone can do but… I appreciate the thought.”

“Uh, hey, Pearl?” Dipper cut in after this exchange, somewhat hesitant as he averted his teacher’s gaze. “I’m, uh… sorry about the Ancient Sea Blade. I know I promised I’d be carefully with it, but I guess I was kinda reckless back at the shack, and I did what you always tell me not to do in a fight and I acted too quickly and… well, you saw what happened to it…”

“Oh, Dipper,” Pearl laughed once more, her tone gentle and reassuring as she placed a hand on her young pupil’s shoulder. “I’m not angry about the Ancient Sea Blade. I’m just that you’re safe. And that you managed to fend off those ogres as skillfully as you did.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” Dipper shrugged, glad that the white Gem didn’t take the loss of her sword harshly whatsoever.

“You certainly did,” Pearl smiled proudly. “Though of course, this means we’ll have to outfit you with a new sword at some point, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, right?”

Dipper happily nodded in agreement with this, though unbeknownst to him or Pearl, Ford was already busy at work pondering on what the white Gem had just said. “A new sword…” the author muttered to himself, an idea striking him as he thought of what would be an excellent way to show his nephew his genuine appreciation.

“Y’know…” Stan began somewhat sheepishly as he garnished his nephew’s attention next. “I’m sorry to you too, kiddo, for making fun of your game. Sure, it might be too nerdy for me, but its just the right amount of nerdy for you and my brother. And Pearl, I guess, but we all already knew she was a huge nerd.”

“Oh wow, thank you, Stan,” Pearl deadpanned, though all the same, she had a smile on her face.

“Anyway,” the conman continued after sending the white Gem a brief cursory look. “If you wanna hang out with Ford sometimes, I won’t get in your way.”

“Actually, after all that, I think I could use a little mindless fun,” Dipper remarked with a small laugh, more than ready to rest after such a harrowing adventure.

“Guys! We can still watch the second showing of the Dogcopter/Ducktective crossover!” Grenda interjected boisterously. “It’s not too late! Now let’s GO!”

Sure enough, everyone made it back to the Mystery Shack just in time to catch the start of the crossover’s second airing. Steven, Mabel, Grenda, Dipper, Stan, and Soos all crowded into the den, disregarding the hole still present in the wall as they watched Ducktective and Dogcopter get into a heated argument as the third act of the special began.

“Oh no! Dogcopter and Ducktective shouldn’t fight!” Steven cried fretfully as he watched the animals’ subtitled quarrel. “They were getting along so well, what happened?!”

“The usual late in the game misunderstanding,” Soos shook his head disapprovingly. “Ya see it all the time in just about everything these days.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe they’d do something so cliché and predictable!” Mabel huffed, unwittingly spilling her snacks all over Stan’s lap. “We waited so long for this?!”

“What a rip off!” Grenda exclaimed, far from pleased.

“Seriously, what kinda two-bit hack wrote this junk?” Stan asked, though even despite the collective anger in the room, they all still watched the rest of the special intently, all of them secretly curious to see where it might lead.

Later that evening, after the thoughts of insane mathematical wizards and zany animal crossovers had been put to rest, Dipper ended up finding himself down in the basement lab once more as per Ford’s request. While everyone else had been watching the crossover, the author had apparently been collaborating with Pearl on something, but whatever it was seemed to be a surprise that Ford didn’t reveal, at least not immediately. Instead, he greeted his nephew warmly and presented him with the infinity sided die once more before sealing it tight in its case and locking it away in one of the many compartments of the basement’s large glass cabinet.

“Well, this ought to be safe and sound now,” Ford concluded with a satisfied grin. “It’ll be here if you ever need it.”

“Really?” Dipper asked with a frown. “Even after it got us into that huge mess earlier?”

“Eh, we both got carried away,” the author remarked with a hint of warmth in his tone. “I guess we’d both gone a while without a friend.”

Dipper couldn’t help but smile upon hearing this, feeling genuinely grateful for the solidarity and camaraderie that had been unexpectedly given to him by none other than the author of the journals himself. In light of the apparent hints of distance he had been feeling between himself and Mabel and Steven as of late, he appreciated the chance to be in the company of someone who not only shared similar interests to him, but truly respected him for his intelligence and verve. And in the end, not only had he gotten what he had wanted in finding a place for himself under the author’s wizened wing, but he had managed to form a solid, comfortable bond with his newfound great uncle. A bond that he had no intentions of every trying to break any time soon.

“Speaking of which…” Ford continued after a beat of silence, a small, sly smile spreading across his face. “I must say I was quite impressed with your surprising ability with a blade that you demonstrated earlier.”

“Oh, w-well, its nothing,” Dipper remarked somewhat bashfully, not really liking to play up those aforementioned abilities too frequently. “I’m still sort of a beginner after all…”

“Well, from what Pearl told me, you’ve progressed marvelously,” the author said, now holding something he had retrieved from his desk behind his back. “Which is why I asked her to help me put a little… something together for you. And the result of our craftsmanship is something I think you just might like.” Ford could no longer contain his full smile as he held out what he had been hiding for his nephew to finally see. Even upon a first glance, Dipper let out a surprised gasp at the sight of the beautiful falchion sword laid across the author’s outstretched hands, its blade covered by a simple sheath as its hilt presented a comfortable-looking grip and a curvaceous, well-designed guard. Ford noticed his nephew’s hesitance in taking such an exquisite gift, which was why he let out a small chuckle before nodding him on ahead. “Go on, my boy, take it. It is yours after all.”

Dipper mostly let go of his hesitance at this, finally taking the sword and carefully unsheathing it to find that its sharp, metallic blade contained hints of intricate technology to it, with bright lines of circuitry running across it in neat, organized lines. “Whoa…” he mused, his eyes wide with amazement as he looked over it. “It’s… amazing…”

“It certainly is, and in more than just looks too,” Ford remarked proudly, his hands behind his back. “Do you see that small dial on the pommel?” He pointed to said dial, which was divided between four vibrant colors: red, blue, yellow, and green, with the first of those being the one it was apparently set on. “Press down on it and see what happens.”

Curious, Dipper did so, only to gasp in alarm as the circuitry on the sword suddenly lit up, the blade igniting itself in bright, hot flames. “W-whoa!” he exclaimed, holding the fiery sword far out from him. “I-is this supposed to be happening?!”

“Yes, it works exactly as intended!” Ford chimed as he reached to turn the knob to the next setting. As soon as he did, the fire quelled itself, the blade glowing blue as its heat was replaced with a bitterly cold aura of misty frost. “You could say that I was a bit inspired by our rather… fantastical adventure earlier today when designing this. Those ‘flamey swords’ Mabel came up with in particular helped me envision the direction I wanted to go in with this invention. As did Steven’s ‘electric skates’.” With another turn of the dial, the sword burst into bright yellow sparks, lightning cackling from it, but fortunately never leaving the immediate surface of the blade itself. Ford turned the dial one last time, shifting the sword’s color to green as a powerful gust of wind, almost akin to a controlled tornado, struck up around the blade before it ultimately dissipated into nothing as the author pressed the pommel again, shutting the sword down. “It was quite an interesting project to take on in such a short notice, but I think I did a rather exemplary job, if I do say so myself,” Ford continued brightly. “The modifications were entirely of my design, but I do have Pearl to thank for giving me the base sword, as well as thinking up a name for it: the Sword of Seasons. Fitting, isn’t it?”

“The Sword of Seasons…” Dipper repeated with a smile as he looked to his new blade with immense satisfaction before properly sheathing it. “Yes, it is. And thank you so much, Great Uncle Ford. This thing is seriously so cool!”

“Yes, well, I’m glad I could equip you with a new one after what happened today,” Ford said, still beaming. “And of course, I’m sure you’ll use it wisely, so it was more than worth the trouble.” A beat of warmth passed between the pair, one that the author felt was far too short lived as he took the smallest glance at the curtain-covered window behind him. Behind which were secrets that he knew he finally had to come clean about, at least to someone. “Dipper… can I tell you something?” he ventured, his manner turning serious, almost grave even.

“Y-yeah, of course,” Dipper nodded, noting the author’s sudden shift in behavior, his own shifting right along with it.

“You asked me what I was working on earlier. Well…” Ford began, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling back the curtain to reveal the portal on the other side of it. Or rather, what little now remained of it. “I dismantled the portal. To be honest, I should have done this from the very moment Rose told me to years ago… An interdimensional gateway is too dangerous for the world it feeds into. That’s why I was mad at Stan for using it. He saved me, but as I feared, the instability of the machine created this:” The author pulled out a small, spherical glass globe, its appearance fortified but rather unassuming. What was contained within the globe, however, was much more fascinating: a formless, shapeless cloud of what almost looked to be the radiant depths of space itself, swirling within its petite containment unit without any sort of rhyme or reason. It was in a state of constant change, its glow casting light throughout the dimly lit basement as it seemed to pulsate with an unknown power. A power that felt both intriguing and catastrophic all at once. “Its an interdimensional rift,” Ford explained, keeping his voice low as he held onto the base of the glob tightly. “I’ve contained it for now, but its incredibly dangerous, which means it must remain safe and secure and most of all, secret. Dipper, I don’t want you to tell anyone about this. Not Stan, not the Gems, not even your sister. Understand?”

For a moment, the most Dipper could do was remain silent in light of the incredibly heavy weight Ford had just unexpectedly put upon his shoulders. Sure enough, the author had let him in on an incredibly guarded secret, one that could, as far as he knew, put the town, maybe even the entire world at risk if not well kept. But to keep such a secret from those he trusted most, to hide something so monumental and so important from his family, his friends, his sister? If he was perfectly honest with himself, Dipper wasn’t sure if he could withstand that kind of pressure to uphold such a vow of untold silence. And yet… he knew that he would ultimately have to. The amount of genuine trust and reliance Ford was placing in him, to tell him and no one else, not even his old research partners, the Gems, about this rift could not be betrayed. In fact, Dipper refused to let himself betray that trust out of sheer conviction alone. It wasn’t a matter of trying to prove to the author that he could handle this; it was a matter of protecting this incredible important, incredibly fragile object before him. And as far as he knew, the only way he could really protect it, was to remain silent about it, just as Ford had said.

“I—uh, o-of course,” Dipper nodded a moment later, putting as much resolve into his tone as he could as he met the author’s expectant gaze squarely.

Ford nodded in acceptance at this, letting out a small sigh of relief as he pulled the rift a bit closer to him. “Thank you,” he said with genuine gratitude. “In my time, I’ve made many powerful enemies, but I trust you with this secret. Now, get to bed. I have much research to do. And as I said before, take care with that new sword of yours!”

“I will,” Dipper promised just as sincerely, gripping the Sword of Seasons tight to his chest as he turned to head back upstairs, as if it alone could protect the immense secret he had just sworn to keep. “Goodnight, Great Uncle Ford.”

“Goodnight, Dipper,” Ford called back with a warm smile, one that disappeared as soon as his nephew left the room. The author let out a tired sigh, looking down to the rift in his hands once again, its relative weightlessness seemingly making it feel all the more heavy in a way. He knew he ran a risk telling just about anyone at all about this dimensional tear that could just as easily rip its way through existence itself, but he firmly did believe that Dipper would keep this secret well. Just as he readily believed Rose could have if she were still around today, though Ford figured he’d just have to make to with whom he had.

So, the author put the rift away, tucking it safely back in its hidden place in the compartment at his desk, hoping to get some peace of mind with it put out of his sight. But even so, the rift continued radiating its hauntingly beautiful glow, its ever-shifting clusters of stars carrying the fate of existence itself upon them. An existence that could just as easily come to a violent, destructive end if it ever fell into the wrong hands…

Next: 

The Cipher Conspiracy (7)

Phase 1: Collection Phase 2: Construction (this one!)

There's a bit of a time jump in this one, so if you find yourself wondering, "Wait, what's Stan doing here?" then that's your answer. It's only, like, a day, so don't freak out. This will only make sense after you finish reading the chapter, but, when we get to Ford's perspective right at the end, it's like we're going back in time a day to see what happened to him when the bros parted ways. Before that, it’s focused on what happened with the others. Things are going to be slightly out of sync until Chapter 9. :)

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s OC, and I love her. So much. Honestly.

The Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63 (not much of that in this one, sorry!)

Madeline McGucket a fun character from @missinspi.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 7: A Dream Come True

Chicago, Illinois (USA)    ∆

No matter what Ford did, he could not seem to move fast enough. It was the ice on the road, the people in the way, the very air in front of him that slowed him down. Something unspeakable was happening to his brother, he could practically feel it, and if Addi was with him . . .

He and Fiddleford burst into the bar, barrelling past the doorman like he was non-existent. They stopped.

Too slow, too slow!

Back room. Ford saw it instantly.

Move!

People blocked his path. Drawing his gun solved that problem.

Faster!

His ears were roaring and he did not think it was all to do with the blood rushing through his veins. The look on his face cleared the crowd quicker than his weapon. Ten steps to the door, five, zero, Fiddleford slammed it open before him, two men, backs exposed, blocking the view beyond, God help them if either of their captives were hurt, strike that, not taking any chances. Or prisoners.

He fired two silent gunshots and he saw the bodies fall to the floor. There was no need to worry about them anymore, so they dissipated. The only important thing was that Stan and Addi were safe now –

On the floor. Shape on the floor. Lying.

Blood on his shoes.

He was too late.

There was already a round little hole in Stan’s head, and his skin was cold, so cold, colder than the outside air. Red trickled down his face, pooled on the floor, lapped against Ford’s knees as he fell, fisting his hands into his brother’s shirt and yelling into his chest while that same muted sensation continued to crash down, muffling everything.

There was another bloodless hand lying next to Stan’s – smaller. Addi’s. The hair splayed underneath her elbow was matted with darkness. He could not bear to look any further and reached out to touch her.

Footsteps. He looked up. Bill stood above him, looking viciously delighted at the shining memory gun in his hand.

“ALRIGHT SIXER, LET’S GET TO WORK!”

Everything flashed yellow.

∆

It was an hour past midnight. Stan really shouldn’t be awake. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he was going to get to sleep anyway, so he might as well do something productive.

The apartment lights cast a soft glow on the scene. He had been rooting carefully through Ford’s bags, looking for some evidence of whatever all these machines and materials were going to be used for. It wasn’t like he could stop Ford: they were at the end of their collaboration, as he would put it. He was just trying to settle his own fears about his brother going back to whatever situation he was in.

“STAN!”

The door on the left side of the entrance hallway banged open, Ford hurtling out in his shirt and boxers, ruffle-haired and wild-eyed, half-asleep. He crashed into the door opposite, knocked frantically for a fraction of a second, then fell through into Stan’s room. There was a moment of silence, then –

“STAN!”

“Whoa, I’m right here bro,” Stan said from the living room, hurriedly shutting a bag full of machinery. He stood and went to see what was wrong.

Ford stumbled out again, letting out a shuddering breath when he saw him.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” he muttered. Stan winced in understanding, patting his brother’s shoulder soothingly. He didn’t think it would be too far out of field to think Russia was no longer part of either of their preferred holiday destinations.

Ford raised both hands to rub his face tiredly. One had a gun in it.

“Okay, whoa, no, let’s get you back to bed.” Stan said, snatching the firearm away as Ford looked at it in bleary confusion. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m not tired,” Ford protested, swaying.

“Load of crap,”

He steered Ford back into his room, the man falling asleep as soon as he flopped on top of the sheets. Good enough, Stan supposed.

His search was getting nowhere. He should head back to his own bed and try to sleep, unlikely as it was to happen. He was turning to go when a shine caught his eye.

That journal of Ford’s was lying on his bedside table, hallway light bouncing off the gold six-fingered hand on the cover. He hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed, picking it up, and flipping through. Starting with the most recent entry, he began to translate and read the code inside.

Russia was . . . not ideal. B changed the plans so that S and I would be split up, which was only the start of the problems we would eventually face. Quite apart from anything else, I do not have much time with my brother left before we part ways, and I am feeling now more urgently than ever how every second counts.

I cannot help but feel as though B was wrong to set up the meeting with the Mafia, regardless of how beneficial it was – we did retrieve the filament. Far be it from me to second-guess him, nevertheless, I am unable to say with any sort of confidence that I have complete faith in his wisdom now. On the other hand, I expect that the incident would not have rattled me so badly had I been alone. Alone, I do not stand to lose the people close to me, and nor can anyone be tempted to take them. Perhaps this is why B is so adamant about having solitary operatives.

One of the agents we have encountered on previous missions, F, proved to be a great help in refining the design for the device. Conversely, A and S found themselves in a situation no one should ever have to face. I swear I have never been more scared in my life. I cannot understand why either of them were able to look me in the eye afterwards. After all, I was responsible for what they had to endure. That being said, I am also immensely grateful that they seemed to place not even the slightest blame on me. They deserve a much better friend than myself. Hopefully I will be able to live up to that one day.

The writing continued, detailing the events of the night. Stan didn’t read any further.

“Sixer, you knucklehead . . .” he said softly, shaking his head at Ford’s lightly snoring form.

∆

Chicago DuPage County Airport was busy. An unbelievable amount of people crowded the waiting area.

“Must be winter holidays,” Stan said.

“What?” called Ford.

“I said it must be winter holidays!”

“What?!”

Stan waved a hand, dismissing the comment. They attempted to move further away from the crowds. At this rate, they wouldn’t hear the calls for their flights.

Not flight. Flights. Here was where they parted ways. Stan to California, Ford to Oregon. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to them after this. Would it be another five years of silence? Longer? Would he never get another postcard in the mail? He could always drive up to Gravity Falls. He knew where Ford lived now. But would Ford want to stay in contact? Would he decide that his work was too important again, or – especially after Russia – would he decide it was too dangerous for anyone else?

A three-tone dial sounded loudly over the speakers. Ford’s flight was boarding.

“I guess this is it,” Ford said, distinctly dispirited.

“Yeah,” Stan said, trying to convince himself that no, his throat was not closing up.

“I’ll, um, have someone get the Stanmobile back to you,”

“Oh yeah! Right.” He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about his car.

A silence bloomed, where neither of them were sure what to say. Ford cleared his throat and frowned at the ground.

“Goodbye, Stan,”

Stan looked at the ceiling. “Seeya rou – I mean, bye, Ford.”

Ford nodded shortly, then spun on his heel and left. Stan sighed. Good one. He looked for somewhere to sit down –

- and Ford crashed into him, hugging him tightly. Stan responded gladly.

“Don’t get too caught up in your work, nerd,” he said thickly.

“I won’t. Would it – would it be okay if I came to see you after it’s finished?”

He did not sniff, he did not just sniff. “Yeah. Yeah that would be – be good,”

With a lot more throat-clearing and gruff pats on the back, they both pulled away and gave each other smiles that were definitely not watery. Then Ford went off to find his plane for real.

Another announcement was made over the speaker.

“-to Sacramento, California has been delayed. Approximate waiting time is thirty hours. The next available flight to Sacramento is in twenty hours. We are not that sorry for the inconvenience. It’s not our flight, after all,”

Unbelievable.

He might as well head back to the hotel, then. Glumly, he realised that this time he’d have to pay for a room himself, since Ford had taken all his money with him. Well, it had only been two flipping weeks without seeing Carla, what was one more day? A damn mess, that’s what.

A jewellery store caught his eye as he passed.

He supposed if he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

“Agent Marks, come in,”

Addi entered Jheselbraum’s office, still stretching out her muscles after the flight from Atlanta and the drive from LaGuardia. It was very early in the morning, and she was still recovering from the jet lag hanging around after the Russia flight.

“How are you?”

“Happy to be back,” Addi said firmly, approaching the desk and sitting in the chair opposite the director.

Jheselbraum examined her closely. “You don’t look like you slept well,”

From past experience, Addi knew that deflecting the question or outright lying would not do her any favours. Once, Jheselbraum had gone so far as to drive her home herself when she had kept insisting she was fine after a particularly rough mission.

Russia had been a new kind of rough. Things had never gotten that close before. Addi didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even herself, but at the moment fieldwork . . . didn’t seem as fun as it used to. She bet that the most danger the building’s analysts had been in lately was of a stapler fight if someone forgot to unjam the printer.

“We had a couple close calls on this one,” she eventually said, avoiding Jheselbraum’s eyes.

The other woman stood up and walked around to her side, signalling that it wasn’t necessary for Addi to stand. She leaned against the desk and placed her hand lightly on Addi’s shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” she said plainly, “and you’ll have a rest from dangerous missions for a few weeks.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and frankly, Addi wouldn’t have protested anyway.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Jheselbraum added, “have a warm bath, do what you want for a change. Put high-stakes chance games out of your mind.”

Addi started. She hadn’t included Russia in her report or debrief, for the obvious reason that it hadn’t been a sanctioned operation, and the not-so-obvious reason that there were only a few people she was willing to talk about it with – four, to be exact, including the woman in front of her.

“How did you know about that?”

“About what?” Jheselbraum smiled. Then she sat back down behind her desk as Addi took her leave.

San Jose, California (USA)    ∆

“It’s about dang time,” Fiddleford sighed longingly, when he had retrieved his luggage from the baggage claim. He was finally getting to go home. It had been far too long since he’d seen Tate’s drawings stuck on the fridge, heard Madeline singing as she moved around the house, and held them both in his arms as they settled down to watch TV. Just a few more hours, and after that a few more months, and then he wouldn’t have to leave home at all.

His phone rang.

“I sure hope this isn’t Jheselbraum about to tell me Ah can’t go home yet.” He looked at the caller ID. “That ain’t a good sign. Yes ma’am?”

“Agent McGucket, I’m sorry to do this to you, but you can’t go home yet,”

It wasn’t a surprise, but it still chafed. However, it was not like he was going to ignore whatever assignment Jheselbraum had for him; the work they did was important, even if he was tiring of it.

“What is it? And is it at all nearby?”

“Indeed it is. If there was anyone else in the area, I would have asked them, but unfortunately you are the only agent in several organisations who is close,” Jheselbraum said, genuine regret in her voice.

“Aren’t I lucky,”

“Do you recall our FBI contact, Carla McCorkle? I’ve decided it’s time to unite our investigations. I need you to head over there immediately and give her a copy of our findings. She’s at the FBI field office in Sacramento,”

Fiddleford sighed again. Nothing like a few hours driving after a few hours flying.

“You got it,”

“I promise that you’re free to spend a few days off as soon as you’re done. Again, I am so sorry,”

“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Fiddleford said with only the barest trace of acerbity, which he simultaneously regretted and did not.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Carla tried not to feel like she was being watched. It was something she was fighting more and more lately.

There was a spy in the FBI, specifically assigned to her and her work. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, because that would draw their attention. She didn’t know who it was, and she couldn’t investigate, because the spy might find out. Everyone was a suspect. The janitor had surprised her the other day and she’d almost punched him in the face.

When she received a text from Jheselbraum, she breathed more easily than she had in days. With no word from her, no one to confide in, and no one to take her mind off the situation, she’d been feeling extremely cut-off and isolated, not to mention simultaneously anxious and bored. She’d swept her office for bugs four times.

Carla’s fingers were busy tapping a tattoo on the desk until the office phone rang. She scrambled to pick it up.

“Agent McCorkle, there’s someone here to see you. Says his director sent him here for a meeting with you?”

“Send him up!” She tried not to sound too eager.

A minute later, a weary-looking man with glasses and a green suit stepped into her office and closed the door behind him.

“Hi, I’m Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle,” Carla said, holding out her hand.

“Agent Fiddleford McGucket. Jheselbraum sent me,” Fiddleford said, shaking it.

“Please,” Carla beseeched as they sat, “tell me you have something good. Our case has gone so stale that yesterday Agent Wexler tried to get the Special Agent-in-Charge to tell me to give it up.”

Fiddleford frowned slightly and handed over a thumb drive. “Ah can’t say whether this’ll do ya much good, but it’s worth a try. That there’s everything we’ve managed to collect on the Cipher Wheel,”

Anticipation stirred in her as she took the drive and inserted it into her computer. It contained a single file. Okay, so that’s a little unexpected, but this is the work of an entire agency here. It must be good.

She downloaded the document.

“Symbols?” she said blankly, scrolling through. The document contained pictures of maybe ten symbols, the locations said symbols had been found, and underneath each a detailed report of any unlawful, suspicious or just plain unusual activity in the area at the time it had been discovered.

Fiddleford grimaced. “Yep. Just symbols. Ah expect it doesn’t help much?”

“Oh no, no,” said Carla hurriedly.

“It’s alright if ya say so,”

“No, no, I’m sure it will be . . . of some use . . . maybe. I’ll have to go over what we have again, see if any crop up,”

“Good luck.” Fiddleford said. “We think those symbols are a kind of signature for Cipher Wheel operatives. If they contact someone, this is how they show they’re workin’ for Bill Cipher, or maybe it’s just to show who they are without giving away their names. We’ve only managed to get these from reconstructin’ burned documents. They’re thorough, whoever they are,”

“Tell me about it,” Carla muttered. She ejected the USB and put it safely in a pocket. “I suppose all that’s left now is to-”

The door banged open.

“Hey darl’, guess who’s back!”

Stan practically leapt into the room, motormouth running at full speed. “We are finally in the same place after two weeks and three days, so grab your coat because I’m taking you out-” He spotted Fiddleford and slammed on the figurative brakes, an astonished look on his face. Fiddleford’s mouth dropped open. Carla noticed everything.

Funnily enough, the first question she voiced was not “How do you two know each other?” because something more surprising had occurred to her.

“Did you cut your hair?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan touched his shortened locks quite vulnerably, looking more like a deer in headlights with every passing moment.

Not only had Stan foregone the mullet, he looked like he was wearing some new clothes, too. He’d really neatened up while he was away.

Wait.

A thrill went through her.

He was back! He was finally back!

“You work for the FBI?” asked Fiddleford finally, looking baffled, but there was a faint grin appearing on his face which showed he was pleased to see Stan. Not enemies then.

“With the FBI,” Carla and Stan corrected at the same time.

“So what were ya doin’ overseas?”

“Actually, I’d quite like to know that as well. And why you two have met,” added Carla.

“Can’t say,” said Stan and Fiddleford quickly.

“Mission secrecy,” elaborated Fiddleford.

Stan addressed the Oracle agent. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s classified,” responded Carla and Fiddleford together. A strange mixture of emotions swirled around inside her. There was irritation and curiosity about what these two had gotten up to overseas, but they were quickly dissipating in an onslaught of sheer joy – she might just refrain from interrogating the men! For a maximum of two hours and thirty minutes!

Fiddleford suppressed a laugh at the way their inquiries were going. “Well, nice ta meet ya, Agent McCorkle, and it was good seein’ ya again, Stan.” He said, getting up to leave. “I doubt this’s the last time, either.”

“At the rate this is going, we’ll probably end up working together,” agreed Stan, shaking Fiddleford’s hand.

The agent went to the door, with a last amazed look in Stan’s direction.

“Oh! Wait!” Carla exclaimed before he could leave, her responsibility to her job shining through despite her excitement to spend some time with Stan. “Don’t you need the FBI’s informa-”

“Lalalala!” said Fiddleford loudly, sticking his fingers in his ears. “NolalalalalaI’mgoin’homelalalalahere’smanumberifyaneeditandonlyifyouneeditmindyoulalala!”

He tossed her a card that was blank except from a phone number in the centre, then hurried away, presumably before anyone could call him back and delay his departure.

“I like him,” Carla decided. Then she vaulted over her desk and flung herself at Stan, wrapping him in her arms and not wanting to let go.

“Whoa!” Stan laughed as he caught her and hugged her tightly. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Missed you too,”

Stan let go. “Do you have work to do?”

Carla’s answer was a frown.

“Well, not anymore! We’re going out!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door, snagging her coat and bag on the way. Carla didn’t complain.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

Addi could feel tension that she hadn’t even been aware of draining out of her. She was curled up in a blanket, sitting in her pyjamas, watching her favourite movie, and eating snacks. She was free to do what she liked for the first time in a long, long while, and as a result her head was beginning to droop with the peace of it all. She felt completely safe.

The phone seemed to blare into the silence, shocking her out of drowsiness. She tripped over her blanket as she shot off the couch towards the kitchen, stumbling over it and using an athletic manoeuvre to roll when she hit the ground and come up right where the phone was.

“Yes? Hello?” she said through uneven breaths.

“Agent Marks,” said an unfamiliar voice, “these are your superiors,”

Addi was quiet. “You mean . . . as in Jheselbraum’s overseers?”

“Yes,”

“The in-charge people?”

"Yes,”

“The head honchos?”

“Yes,”

“The-”

“Yes. We are contacting you for a very important reason,”

“Why directly? Why not through Jheselbraum? That’s how missions are usually assigned,”

“This is a one-time scenario. Rest assured, it will not happen again. To you, or any of Oracle Division, for that matter. It is for the best that we . . . shake things up. For good,”

Addi decided not to press any of her questions yet. The person on the other end of the line seemed rather preoccupied.

“We are giving you a mission. It is essential that you start immediately,”

The last of Addi’s good mood evaporated. “Understood,” she said, containing her frustration.

“At the FBI field office in Sacramento, an investigation is being undertaken to an unacceptable end. Efforts to derail it have failed.”

“What’s being investigated?”

There was a pause, during which Addi became certain that she was asking questions the other person did not know the answers to. She wondered if the superiors had superiors.

“That is not of your concern,” was the eventual reply. “All you need to know is that drastic action is required. Something that will put all investigations on hold while the case in question is altered to reflect more suitable facts.”

Something was knotting in the pit of Addi’s stomach.

“An assassination,”

“Who?” she managed.

“Start with the Special Agent-in-Charge. The Senior Special Agent leading the investigation may also be necessary if she continues to pursue this. You are expected in Sacramento immediately,”

The only thing able to permeate Addi’s numb mind was the thought that this flight would be a muscle-cramping six hours long. It was only eight in the morning, so plenty of time to get there.

She would be thankful for that, but really it depended on whose perspective it was considered from.

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford sighed and dumped his bags in his living room. Over two weeks away, and the only thing different about the place was the fine layer of dust covering everything.

Although . . .

Perhaps it was just the strangeness of actually being at home. Yes, it must be. It was bordering on superstitious to think that abiotic surroundings could be imbibed with emotional qualities.

Nevertheless . . .

It did seem to be missing a certain vibrancy he had become accustomed to of late. He surely had not felt this alone when he had left Gravity Falls.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the basement door opening.

“Welcome back, smart guy!” Bill grinned, spreading his arms grandly as he walked into the living room.

“Bill,” Ford greeted, shoving away thoughts about how alike the smile of the man in front of him was to the one he had seen in last night’s dream.

“Got everything we need, I see. Alright Sixer, let’s get to work!”

Fiddauthor “Post-Weirdmaggedon”

Alrighty and here’s my last official prompt from Fiddauthor week! I’ve had so much fun with this week and even while it’s nearing its end I can’t wait to see everything made till the 4th and after too! We may be small but you’re all so talented and I love seeing everything you all draw and reading everything you write!

And just so you folks know I’m taking requests too until the 4th!

You can read this story under the cut or over on my AO3!

word count: 1429

It was the kids’s birthday. They were now officially teenagers. Even while Stanford had known them for only a short time he still found himself surprised as he watched them unwrap their presents from the whole town.

He remembered when he and Stan were their age. It was almost funny how polar opposite their birthday party seemed to go. Out all day in the summer sun, a gigantic party with friends and family. When Stanley and he had turned 13 a snowstorm had blown through town so the only person to come to their party was their grandmother. It honestly hadn’t been that bad. He and Stanley had stayed up watching the snow bury the street outside and writing their own pirate-explorer stories. But he was happy Mabel and Dipper got to celebrate with something a bit more special. Especially after the hell they all just went through.

Most of the festivities had died down now. Stanford was sitting outside on the back porch, Stan and the kids and all their friends were further out into the woods lighting up sparklers and glow sticks. And if Ford didn’t know better he would have sworn there were some extra lights trailing behind them. Fairies no doubt, innocuous cave fairies from the shades of chartreuse.

He saw someone coming back up towards the house. As they got closer, Ford recognized their bearded face clear as day.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford called out, waving.

Fiddleford seemed shocked at first, looking around wildly, but when he squinted and saw Stanford in front of the house he started waving back. Walking towards the shack a lot faster than before and bounding up the stairs.

“Well howdy Stanford!” Fiddleford said with a wide smile that seemed to brighten his whole face. And Stanford couldn’t help but smile back. Probably looked like a big dork.

Dammit! It’d been 30 years and neither of them had really changed much, had they?

There had been some changes, Stanford tried to reason with himself. A lot of changes for the better.

He skootched to the side and offered Fidds a spot on the sofa, which Fiddleford happily took plopping down next to him.

“Today’s been quite the day, huh?”

“You could say that.” Stanford said with a little laugh. “I’m happy the kids enjoyed themselves.”

“Yeah, they deserve something nice after all that unpleasantness.” Fiddleford agreed.

Stanford sighed. “You know I’m still shocked. Everything… It all ended up ok. Cause you know there were a few points then when-“

“But it all worked out.” Fiddleford said, skootching a little closer and setting his hand on Stanford’s arm, then sliding it down till they were holding hands. “It all worked out in the end, right?”

Fiddleford’s hand on his made him relax again. But he still couldn’t stop thinking about everything. “It did. But none of it would have been possible, without Stanley and you, and the kids.”

“They’re real sweet kids. You and Stan should be very proud… Kind to a fault, lord knows they’ve helped me this summer. And they’re awfully bright. Both of em’.”

“They are.” Stanford said wistfully. “You know what Mabel said to me the first time we met? Right after I came out of the portal?”

“What?” Fiddleford asked.

“That’s one finger more friendlily than normal.”

That made Fiddleford laugh. It was a quiet sort of laugh. And Stanford was suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two were sitting now. He almost moved back when he saw Stan and all the kids but thought better of it. Everything was fine. Things were different. And even if they weren’t he and Stan had each other’s backs. Stanford greeted them as they came in. And watched as they all piled into the kitchen for cocoa. Mabel ran in first with her two friends in tow and talking about the possibility of making purple hot chocolate with blue sparkles. And Dipper tagged a just a little bit behind with all his older friends and the Pacifica girl.

It was nice, knowing the two of them had so many friends. Even if you only ever needed just one it made Stanford feel better to know they had a stronger support then he or Stanley had at that age.

As he passed Stanley said nothing but gave him a wink and smirk. And Stanford for his part glowered at his brother as he closed the door.

Then it was just him and Fiddleford again. Siting in near-silence, appreciating one of the last summers in Gravity Falls this year.

All at once it really began to hit Stanford. Summer was over. He and Stan would be going on their expedition in a few months. But Dipper and Mabel…

“They head home tomorrow morning.” Ford said, his whole body seemed to rise and fall as he took a deep breath. God dammit it was really starting to set in now. He’d barely gotten to meet them and they’d be leaving so soon.

Fiddleford patted Stanford’s arm. “Oh, that’s a shame to see them leave so soon. So they’re gonna be in middle school or start high school?”

“Last year of middle school. They said they can come back here next summer.” When Stanford spoke again Fiddleford heard a wetness growing that wasn’t there before. “I… I’m really going to miss them still.”

Fiddleford turned to look at him directly he saw unshed tears pricking the man’s eyes. He squeezed his hand tighter. And he pulled him into a warm hug. “Come here, come on over here. I’m sure they’ll be fine Stanford.”

He felt Stanford wrap his arms around him after some slight hesitation. His voice was shaky. “I know, Fidds, I really do. Dipper and Mabel, they’re good kids. Smart kids. And they have each other. It’s just… I never thought I’d ever have a great niece and nephew.”

“Oh Stanford…” Fiddleford murmured, rubbing at his back a little.

“At least any family I’d ever meet in person… Even before the portal when I was living out here on my own. No one in my family was ever that close. And I’d become such a recluse. And then after I was gone, I sorta accepted that fact that- I really never expected this. Any of this!”

Fiddleford didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never dreamed of any of this happening either. And yet everything that had gone wrong had miraculously come back together again. Even If it had taken a few extra years, decades actually, things had been made right in the end. He was still trying to figure out exactly how he felt about it all. So in the meantime he just kept hugging Stanford, rubbing at his back lightly and humming.

And while Stanford never actually cried he never stopped hugging Fiddleford either. And after a while his breath stopped feeling so body-wracking. He kept forcing himself to take forced deep breaths until he was breathing steady and calm. But he never stopped holding onto Fiddleford.

It was a nice feeling, even as foreign as it felt to him. Being held onto like this. Wrapped up tight and surrounded by warmth. It made Fiddleford feel safe even when he knew nothing was wrong. He’d even forgotten how Stanford smelled. And breathing in that pine-needle, achingly-familiar scent nearly jogged his memory all on its own. Not specific moments yet. But it filled Fiddleford with a resolve. They’d done this before. They’d held each other like this many times in their past. And doing it again now almost felt like coming home.

Eventually he felt Stanford shift, arms loosening from around him.

“I’m sorry Fidds. It’s been a while since I was on earth but most hugs are awkward after 15 seconds are more, right?” He asked uncertainly.

But Fiddleford just shook his head and hugged him a little tighter. “Not a problem to me. ‘Sides, weren’t we always a lil’awkward? Course we can always stop if you like…”

“No, no. I just didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. This… this is nice.” Stanford said. Then those warm arms wrapped back around him and held him close. “Then again, I have been touch-starved for at least the last decade of my travels, so I still need to adjust to ordinary human-customs.”

Fiddleford laughed and snuggled closer to his chest. “Heh, me too Stanford. I might of never left these back-woods but you could say I fell out of society too. After making my own mistakes.”

“Ah. Maybe we can figure things out together then.” Stanford said.

“I’d love that.”

Ace on Deck

AO3

Rating: T

Summary: (Ace Stan) Ford makes an assumption about his brother based on the way he acts around people, and realises belatedly that perhaps they really do still need to communicate more. 

AN: Part one in a possible series of Ace headcanons. (and Aro? I’ll let you decide that for yourselves, Ace Ford too to me, in this one but focuses on Stan). If I do make it a series ‘Ace on Deck’ will be the series name. But I didn’t want to not use it if I didn’t write more. ^^   Pinging @fexiled cause we rambled a long time ago about this I feel ♥

.

Ford couldn’t help the smile winging across his face as he glanced up from his book at the bar, a boisterous laugh capturing his attention and drawing him away from his studies.

It was their first night at the new port and whilst he felt they had only been at that particular pub for a short amount of time, having spent most of it writing out the journal entry from the day before and nursing a drink, his brother had already found someone new to talk to.

It was almost fascinating watching his brother in these instances. He seemed able to sit beside someone at the bar, strike up some small semblance of banter and hold a conversation with a complete stranger without any trouble. Ford was always shocked by just how easy he made it look, how much fun he could have by chatting to people he’d most likely never meet again and get information out of them Ford couldn’t fathom them telling a complete stranger.

For instance, this particular technique had given them more than one lead to potential cryptid sightings. Who on earth told a complete stranger a heartfelt story that no one who wasn’t in their line of ‘work’ would ever believe?

Though Ford surmised, perhaps that was the point.

No one else believed them, perhaps a stranger might at least pretend to be sympathetic.

But it wasn’t just that. Stan came away with names, jokes, stories- things that Ford wouldn’t dream of telling people he hadn’t grown to trust. Even now there was a lot unsaid about his time in the portal and the 10 years between Stan being kicked out of the house and them meeting again.

But then again, from what he could tell, Stan didn’t exactly give much information back to these people about himself, always skimming questions he didn’t want to answer. Ready to deflect with a word and a smile. And Ford knew just as easily as Stan’s charm could gain him friends, such as now, it had also got them into more trouble than it was worth sometimes.

He’d always tease Stan for the particular incident that had for once seen them running from port from humans rather than being chased by a cryptid that Ford had accidentally aggravated.

He just didn’t know when to throw in the towel when it came to a fight and his mouth continued to run away with him if Ford didn’t keep an eye and pull him back from the brink.

It probably didn’t help at all that Stan was always up for a fight if one occurred. He wouldn’t necessarily go looking for one but if someone challenged him, he wasn’t about to shy away or back down.

Though there was no need for concern this time. Ford shook his head as another belt of laughter floated towards him, a higher pitch chuckle intertwined as Stan leant against the bar not far from him and flirted with a lady sat alone at the bar, who seemed quite happy with the interaction.

He rolled his eyes, back to his journal without another thought. No matter where they landed, Stan always had to try a pick up line on somebody, a cheeky grin on his face as if he hadn’t used that same pick up line three ports away. Ford was almost close to keeping a tally of how many times he’d heard certain ones. Most times he was met with laughter for his efforts, giving a cheeky wink as he left the person to it, but he always seemed cheerful about the interactions as he came to sit back down next to Ford regardless of his success at striking up a conversation.

Other nights like this, Ford might wonder where Stan was, for all of two seconds that is, before he heard some cheesy remark that made him groan or heard that laughter that had him shaking his head endearingly.

It was all just so Stan. On solid ground for all of a few hours, with a boat that may or may not need a few repairs before they set sail again from the rather eventful cryptid encounter the day before and Stan’s first port of call was to find someone to flirt with at the bar.

Ford, couldn’t see how that was relaxing. He’d much rather sit with his books and a drink, maybe take a walk around and explore the area quietly at some point, and be grateful they’d managed to get to port without making too many emergency repairs.

He blinked, realising he hadn’t made any headway in his journal entry as he mulled over their differences. He flicked a few pages of the other book beside him, trying to find any reference similar to the large aquatic beast that had attacked their ship seemingly unprovoked as he tutted to himself and got absorbed back into the moment.

“Found out what hit us yesterday, Sixer?”

Ford blinked, glancing up from his book as Stan looked over at him, smiling brightly. It felt like it had been seconds since he’d looked back down at his book but then again, he really couldn’t be sure with how quickly time passed while he was reading. They weren’t too far apart that Stan had to raise his voice and the wave from his twin’s newfound friend, the only other occupant in the vicinity, had him smiling awkwardly. “Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll find something before the end of the night.”

“Well, you better. I don’t want you dragging me back out towards it under the guise of researching a previously unknown species like the last time.”

Ford let himself smirk, playful mischief taking over as he saw Stan’s teasing expression, glad that they could banter like this again after all those years apart. “Oh, I’ll be dragging you back out there either way. You never know what new data we might be able to gather. That and I never did get a photo.”

Stan rolled his eyes, knowing the answer already but still up for the challenge. “You didn’t get any photos cause we were a little bit busy if I’m remembering right.”

Ford’s smirk grew wider, knowing when he’d won an argument before the response had even left his lips. “Dipper would be disappointed if I didn’t have a photo for him when we next have our video call.” He knew deep down that a sketch would be sufficient and that Dipper would rather they didn’t get hurt, but that was the fun of the teasing. Stan didn’t really mind a bit of recklessness in their adventure and both were always up for a challenge. As long as neither of them got too badly hurt they were always up for pushing the limits.

If the kids knew that, however, they’d probably be in for more than a little scolding.

Stan huffed, mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a witty remark before shrugging in defeat. “Well, you got me there. Guess we can’t disappoint the little nerd.” And before Ford could make a response, Stan had waved and turned back to his friend, coy smile back on his lips as Ford wondered what exactly they were talking about.

He shook his head, watching as Stan’s absorbed audience raised an eyebrow at his story, a small disbelieving smile on her face as Ford only assumed he regaled her with what must sound like a rather tall tale about their exploits the day before. Not that Stan seemed to mind that she didn’t believe a word of it and, if other instances were to be believed, later on he’d chuckle to his brother about whatever remark she made in regards to his story, considering at that very moment it was making him give that bark of genuine glee again.

He went back to his research, relaxing in his own way as he heard small snippets of the conversations around him. The warm atmosphere surrounding him kept him invigorated. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t find the exact creature in the number of books he had on hand, if anything it left him more intrigued, taking down note after note of everything he recalled about the creature just in case it hadn’t been seen before.

He tapped at his page, eyebrows furrowing as he opened his mouth to ask Stan a question and remembered late that he wasn’t sat next to him. He looked up again, seeing the conversation still in full swing and frowned almost exasperated, wondering what they could even still be discussing. He tapped his page again with his pen, curiosity piqued as to whether Stan had seen just how the creature had left a particularly odd scorch mark on the side of the boat, but also hesitant to ask him when he looked so content where he was.

He sighed, deciding against disturbing him and pushed the curiosity down. He made a note in his journal to ask Stan the next day, along with a few other questions that were now bubbling up to the forefront as he went to sip his drink. His frown deepened, a small noise of annoyance taking over as he realised belatedly that he’d already finished it at some point, his mind thoroughly distracted as he debated another drink or leaving entirely. He glanced again to his brother, mouth twisting thoughtfully as he took in how obviously he wouldn’t be missed if he went and spent the rest of the evening with his research back on the boat and saw no point in staying for another round when it’d be just as comfortable there.

With that decided, he stood up, starting to bundle the books back into his bag without another thought.

“Ready to go, Sixer? You could have given me some warning.”

Ford grinned back up as Stan walked closer to him, slightly sheepishly. “I thought I’d leave you two to it.” His smile turned playful again, his own turn to tease forming as he saw Stan’s face falter. “Don’t worry, I won’t wait up.”

“Nah, that’s alright. We were just having a conversation.” Stan coughed, turning back to his friend with a wink and a wave. “I’ve already said goodbye.”

“You don’t need to, Stan. Honestly.” Ford frowned as something dawned on him, eyes going between the two of them before lowering his voice. “Oh- I mean- unless you’d… I can get out of your hair for a bit in any case.”

“No, that’s not- Jesus, Sixer.” Stan gave him a slight shove, nudging him towards the door. “Let’s just go before you embarrass us both.”

“I’m just saying-” Ford chuckled, amused that he’d flustered his brother quite so much with such an innocuous comment. He hadn’t expected him to get that embarrassed. “I can give you two some privacy, that’s all.”

“Stanford, please stop talking.”

Ford’s mouth shut with an audible snap at Stan’s almost anxious response through gritted teeth. It was the use of his full name that really struck a nerve.

Something about the exchange had gone from playful sibling teasing to a territory Stan was not OK with and Ford was lost in the stream, not entirely sure where or when it had happened.

He looked over curiously as Stan continued to nudge them to the door, gathering what vital clues he could. He was far more sober than he usually was when they left, no wobble to his gait and eyes clear and slightly sharp, alert. The twist of his mouth was also a little less genuine and a little more forced as he nodded and smiled at the now slightly concerned friend he was leaving behind at the bar.

Ford watched out of his peripheral as they walked down the cold street, Stan’s posture uncertain and tense, his steps quick, until they were a ways away and he took a deep breath, slowing down marginally.

Even with the observations, Ford was still clueless as to what exactly had happened.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

Stan snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, not really.”

“Did I- was I too loud? Was that it? I didn’t mean to ruin your chances with her if you liked her. She seemed nice. I just thought I’d leave you two to it.”

“Ruin my- that’s the point, Sixer. I didn’t have a chance.”

Ford frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Nonsense, you both seemed to like one another. Why would you think-?”

“Alright, let me rephrase that. I didn’t want a chance, Sixer.”

Ford balked, stopping in his tracks as he paled. “Oh- I didn’t mean chance like- just if you do find someone, we could always stay a bit longer in town for once. You could- oh, I don’t know…” He frowned, his words tying themselves up in knots as Stan paused ahead of him, his face warring with itself. “I’m digging a hole, aren’t I?”

“Wow, self-aware today, that’s new.”

Ford rolled his eyes, huffing in irritation but at least glad his brother was making snide comments back at him now. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back and carry on talking to her?”

“Oh, for the love of- yes, Sixer. I am sure. Can we get back to the boat now?”

Before Ford could reply, Stan was already walking away without him, hands deep in his pockets and head down, leaving him to jog to catch up again and still out of the loop as to what was going on. He opened his mouth, ready to ask more but before he could say a word, Stan beat him to it.

“Will you drop it?”

Ford frowned, not liking the worried hesitant tone in Stan’s voice. “OK.”

Stan gave a heavy relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

The walk back to the boat went in relative silence after that, until they had left the inner part of the town far behind. The peaceful serene docks, the sails ringing in the slight breeze and the soft ebb and flow of water, did wonders it seemed for Stan’s still rigid posture as his shoulders finally slumped back from their defensive positive near his ears. Ford didn’t know what had caused the reaction though, nor why his brother seemed so affronted by it all, and as much as he had agreed to drop it, the words fizzled out before he could stop them. “Did you not like her?”

Stan froze for a second, his eyes darting away from Ford’s searching ones. “Not like that. She was nice though, had a good sense of humour.” His frown fell away, replaced by a small smile as he went to do what he would usually at this point and tell Ford about the silly jovial conversation and what he’d learnt about the area they’d found themselves in.

Ford beat him to it however, frowning deeply, not understanding his trail of logic at all. “But you were flirting with her. Surely-”

“For the love of- that’s all it was, Sixer, some flirting!” Stan bit out, stomping on to the boat with little else to say and leaving Ford scrambling to follow.

“I- I’m not trying to start a fight, Stan, why are you getting so defensive?” Ford raised his hands placatingly, hoping he didn’t seem argumentative. He just wanted to understand.

“Cause its- I dunno.” Stan scrubbed at the back of his neck, not looking at Ford. “Just that it doesn’t make sense to me so how would it make sense to anyone else?”

“Try me.”

Stan snorted dejectedly, obviously accepting that he couldn’t get out of this conversation easily, and Ford felt his heart pang at the noise. He really hadn’t meant to start a fight or make Stan that uncomfortable, it was just meant to be one of their usual back and forths. “Don’t… don’t worry. Forget it, I was only trying to tease you at the bar. It was none of my business, sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to- I’m just struggling to word it. And we did say we’d communicate more. Just worried that…”

Stan looked up at Ford, his eyes filled with an emotion that made something curdle deep in Ford’s stomach. “Stan, whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you if that’s what it is. You know that, don’t you?”

Stan wavered for a second, his hesitance showing the truth before he straightened up with a nod. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Just always been worried if I tried to explain it to anyone it would sound weird so I’ve just- never done it before?”

“OK.” Ford nodded towards the cabin, letting Stan sit down and gather his thoughts as he poured them another drink, hoping to give him some time to figure it out or put a stop to the conversation. Whatever he chose Ford would be OK with it, not really knowing where this was leading.

He sat down opposite him when he was done, staying quiet so as not to press him but he hoped at the same time still showing that he was ready to listen whenever Stan was ready to talk.

Stan looked over at him with a small chuckle, sliding into a more comfortable position as he took a sip of his drink. “What can I say? I like to flirt.”

Ford snorted, glad that his laughter seemed to relax Stan further. “I’ve noticed.”

Stan grinned with him before looking down, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration as his smile slipped. “But that’s all it is. Some harmless flirting? Does that make sense?” He shook his head before Ford could answer, his expression twisting thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that’s not quite right either. It’s just fun? Maybe? We make port, we explore a bit, and we leave again. What’s the harm in some small flirting while we’re here, you know?”

“I… guess that makes sense. I guess I just don’t see the point?”

Stan laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Ford, you don’t see the point in chatting to new people when we land somewhere new let alone flirting, so that really doesn’t surprise me.”

Ford huffed out a small laugh. “I guess that’s fair.” It all made sense, when put down logically. What still didn’t, however, was Stan’s reaction to his questions. He mused quietly to himself, staring over at Stan. Something they hadn’t spoken about was relationships since he’d returned. He hadn’t thought about Stan’s lack of a partner, only that he had been busy on the portal and therefore just hadn’t had time. It was usually how he thought about himself. There was always something else far more important to think about than a relationship- research, his studies, plus he’d just never met someone who had made him think otherwise.

Stan on the other hand always seemed able to find someone to at the very least flirt with, someone who reciprocated his advances. And now a small swell of guilt bubbled up in his chest as he wondered whether the portal and his disappearance had seemed too big a secret to let someone in on or keep from someone that would be so important. “Have you never thought about it though?”

“Hmm?”

“A relationship? Because I meant it, Stan, don’t ever think that any of this should hold any bearing on stopping you-”

Stan groaned, running a hand down his face. Once his eyes were covered, his voice came out annoyed, as if disappointed that Ford didn’t get it without him saying anything. “No. No, I haven’t thought about it.”

“Never?”

“Neve-” Stan sighed, finally dropping his hand as he cut himself off. “Alright. Yeah, I have. Of course I’ve wondered about it but, it never… it’s not what I want. Have ever wanted if I’m honest.” He scrunched up his face, his eyes doubtful. “I’m not sure I’ve ever really understood the appeal.”

Ford’s brain floundered, images of their younger years bouncing behind his eyelids. “But you- when we were teenagers-”

“I pretended.” Stan’s gaze turned doleful, his fingers fidgeting together. “Everyone always asking if you liked someone- or more ‘who’ you liked cause you had to like someone otherwise you were lying.” He scratched at his face, sheepish. “Thing was, I never did actually like anyone, not like that anyway.”

“Oh.” Ford blinked and suddenly a new trail of thought unlocked that he’d never before considered. He remembered those moments, when their Ma had twittered away about if there were any girls they liked and to bring them around. When there would be jokes about his head being too far in any books to notice and the questions fell to Stan instead.

He’d never thought that Stan had been lying back then when he took his place in the limelight and played coy, or laughed the questions off.

“Why didn’t you just say no?”

“I- teenage boys are meant to think about girls, amirite?” Stan coughed, squirming in his seat, refusing to look over at Ford, gaze flicking out the window, over the water, instead. “Everyone else in the class, it felt like most of the time that’s all they ever wanted to talk about… I thought something was wrong with me.”

“There was- is nothing wrong with you, Stan.”

Stan gave another small laugh, eyebrow raised as he looked at Ford. “There’s a lot of things wrong with me.”

Ford gave a wry smile. “Ehh, nobody’s perfect. But in this instance, nothing is wrong with you.”

Stan gave him a grateful smile, sitting back more relaxed, as if there was a weight lifted that Ford had never expected him to feel in the first place. “It felt like there was though. All these messages on how we were meant to be and how we were meant to feel. What’s the saying? ‘One track minds’ and ‘only one thing teenage boys think about’ and I- just didn’t feel it. So, I pretended.” His voice went quieter, a small slip that Ford wasn’t sure he was meant to hear. “Didn’t want to add another reason for Pa to be disappointed with me.”

“Stan-”

“Hah, look at me. Made a big deal out of nothing, didn’t I? Sorry for getting short with you, Sixer.”

Ford sighed, resting his elbows on the table as he gave Stan a sharp look. “It meant a lot to you so I’m sorry for not realising, or asking first.”

Stan shrugged, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I mean, it’s not like you’d- I’m not exactly shying away from the attention, am I? But it’s just- fun, that’s all. There’s nothing to it and it’s nice.” He smiled brightly. “That lovely lady back there? She’d been stood up, I was just making sure she knew it was on him not her. And even if my pick-up lines are dumb and she’d never have fallen for them if I was serious, I hope I at least gave her a laugh on what could have been a rough night out otherwise.”

Ford smiled softly. “I’m sure you did.”

“It’s been useful through the years too.” Stan gave a playful wink. “People are always more likely to buy things at the Shack if you flatter them a bit first.”

Ford choked on his drink, coughing as he laughed. “Trust you to use flirting to make money.”

“Flattery will get you a lot of places in life.”

“I’ve heard- I think the last place it got you was in a spider’s web, wasn’t it?”

Stan jokingly winced as Ford chuckled to himself. “Yup, it’s got me into trouble just as many times.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, no, more when I didn’t realise I was flirting.”

“Ahh.”

Stan looked up as Ford nodded along, unable to resist the disbelieving lilt to his voice. “You know that one, huh?”

Ford seemed to flush slightly at the thought. “Quite- On my travels the other side of the portal, that is. I didn’t realise interest in scientific conversations could be seen as… flirtatious.”

There was silence for a few moments as Stan stared at him, Ford’s flush growing darker by the second before a roar of laughter escaped him. “Oh jeez- trust, trust you to find aliens that flirted using nerd talk!”

“I didn’t-” Ford spluttered, eyes darting to side as he pouted, voice offended. “To tell you the truth it was quite… disheartening. I didn’t realise they thought I wasn’t actually interested in their scientific pursuits.” His screwed up his face distastefully. “Nor were they impressed by my response to their advances.”

Stan sobered up quickly, his laughter quietening instantly at Ford’s obvious discomfort. “What dimension was this in?”

Ford shrugged, frowning. “I don’t know, I left kind of quickly after that. Why does that matter?”

Stan hummed. “Shame. Can’t go punch them for making my bro uncomfortable if I don’t know where they are.”

Ford spluttered again, thrown for a loop once again. “Yes, or the fact that the portal was dismantled for obvious reasons.”

Stan shrugged, his face still serious. “That too, but I’m sure there are means and ways, Sixer. Besides, we don’t have Bill to worry about anymore, do we?” He tapped at his head, grin widening at the kick to his shin. “What? Too soon?”

“You know it.” Ford took a sip, derailing whatever Stan was about to say next. “So, what about you? My ‘nerd’ talk got me into trouble, what about you?”

Stan’s actions were suddenly nonchalant, though his eyes held a different story. “I guess it was more not realising people were flirting with me. Just thought people were being nice. Bit naïve really and didn’t realise it seemed like I was flirting back. You kind of accept any kindness on offer when you’re living out of your car.” He twirled the glass in his hands a few times, watching the liquid swirl, his face sombre for a split second. “…Learnt quickly though.” His gaze lifted, a sparkle to his eyes as he grinned mischievously, though Ford could see it wasn’t completely genuine. “Like I said you can get far with flirting, once you know how to do it. Lay on the charm and hope no one takes you too seriously.”

Ford tried not to let it show how much Stan’s dismissal and brush off of that time had an effect on him. It left a sour taste in his mouth even as he tried to innocently smile along with his brother. “Any names?”

“Hmm? Names?”

“Of people I can go punch.” Ford’s grin turned vicious. “It’s a lot easier for me to do that, unlike you… if you’ve got names, that is.”

Stan choked of a laugh. “No. No, I don’t.”

“…Pity.”

For the first time all night Ford saw a genuine relieved smile on Stan’s face at his honest disappointment.

The protective streak went both ways and now knowing what he did, he might be a little sharper eyed when it came to Stan making friends, just in case.

And he was glad that Stan seemed to warm to that knowledge as well.

“And for the record you didn’t do anything wrong tonight.” Stan held up a hand to Ford, stopping whatever rebuttal he had. “You don’t have to- this is just me being honest and I don’t really want to explain but- it just made me nervous. Flirting is fun, but that’s all there is to it. I just, you made me worry that maybe she thought there was more to it than that and what if she heard you and did want something more or-” His words stuttered to a halt as he shook his head, a flicker of doubt and nerves on his face. “I dunno, there was nothing to it and nothing was meant to come of it-”

“You just like making friends.”

“Yes!” Stan paused, before his face split into a wide smile. “Yeah, it’s just sometimes people are more friendly when you compliment them. And it’s nice to make people feel good about themselves. Plus it’s always nice to get some attention back too, even if you don’t want anything more from it.”

“You are a showman, I guess. Must be odd not to have eyes on you.”

Stan bit his lip at that comment, a small nod of agreement. “I can’t disagree with that.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously as Ford seemed to settle, done with his questions now that his curiosity was sated and everything made sense again.

“Plus, laying on the charm really made picking pockets easier back in the day.”

“Stan.”

Any aghast rebuttal he had, or questions seemed to get absorbed into Stan’s loud peals of laughter at his balking.

Though really, he didn’t know why he was so shocked for a split second and instead gave an endearing exasperated shake of his head as Stan continued to chuckle away to himself.

Plus, he had to admit, as much as he was filled with questions about the ten years Stan lived in his car, he was much happier to leave the conversation there, with his brother finally happy again and the tension completely absent from his shoulders.

The room fell into a companionable silence, broken only by Stan’s stilted giggles every so often that he couldn’t seem to hold in. Ford wondered whether it was partly in relief at how the conversation had gone, wondered how many alternatives Stan had gone through in his head, especially when they were kids if his words about their father were anything to go by.

He tried not to dwell on it, glad that the tension had leeched from the room and his brother seemed to be back in as high a spirits as he had been before Ford had opened his mouth and changed everything.

But at least he had learnt something new about his brother in the long run, and maybe one conversation of opening up would make it easier for both of them in the future.

He yawned, hand going for the nearest book without thinking as his mind started to go back to his earlier research. But just as he was about to give in to the call, another thought crossed his mind, his head tilting as a new worrying bout of realisation hit him.

“What about Carla?”

“Hmm?”

“Carla Mccorkle. What about her?”

“Carla? Oh, worried that was another lie?” Stan winced as Ford nodded, his own expression shameful. “That one’s on me. I thought- I don’t know, maybe? Maybe I liked her like I was meant to like her? She was fun, great to talk to, to listen to and she liked to dance…” His gaze grew wistful, a soft nostalgia permeating his smile as he leant his head on his hand. “She was just great, you know? And for a while I was hopeful that I finally got what everyone was talking about but…” The smile dropped back to guilty shame. “Once we started dating I didn’t get why things had to change at all? I dunno, she wanted more than I could give her and I couldn’t explain it and it all just went… wrong.” He scrunched up his nose distastefully. “And then after getting kicked out there was Jimmy Snakes, but that ended almost as quickly as it started- boy, was that a bad idea. I think that was when I really realised I wasn’t interested at all in anything other than flirting… though it took a while to get him to get the hint.”

“Oh, so you do have a name.”

Stan blinked, almost forgetting Ford was there. “Wha-?” The world seemed to snap back into place as he shook his head, a huff of amused air escaping him as he regarded Ford’s hawk like expression, his hand twitching as if itching to write the words down. “You are not going on a man hunt for Jimmy.”

“Well, hardly- I assume ‘Snakes’ is not his real name? But it’s a start… Then I’ll go on a manhunt.” Ford gave a sickly sweet smile that had Stan shuddering with the darker intent behind it.

“No, and no. Besides, I’m sure it was my own fault, I probably led him on a bit without meaning to, didn’t make myself clear.” Stan’s voice turned guilty again, a tone of irritation at himself that Ford wouldn’t stand for.

“But you made it clear you weren’t interested at that point?”

Stan snorted. “I pushed him away in a bit of a blind panic if that’s what you mean. Tried to keep my distance after that.”

“And he still took a while to get the hint?”

“I guess? He came to the Shack once or twice to see if he could change my mind. Still don’t know how he knew I was there, guess there was a newspaper article or something that had my picture in.”

Ford’s face turned stony, his mouth a thin line. “I think you made yourself clear enough. Are you sure I can’t go hunt him down?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

Ford gave a long suffering sigh. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“It’d be a bit harder now but if he comes calling I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Good, I’d like a word with him.” Ford held up a hand, as Stan stared him down, eyes gleaming. “Hey, you got to punch Bill, I think I get to punch someone from your past who messed with you.”

Stan stared at him again before another hysterical bout of giggles took over. “I think ‘dimensional demon’ tops ‘persistent suitor’ any day. It’s not that important, honest.”

“It is to me.”

Stan coughed, embarrassed but obviously happy at the sentiment. “How about instead, we just try to help each other out of uncomfortable situations? I think that’s better- who knows, one day my charm might get me in trouble again.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You did after all get us chased out of that one town…”

“Hey, that was not my fault!”

Ford smiled into his drink. “Of course not.”

“Anyway, I still want to hear more on these aliens.” Stan grinned as Ford choked on his drink. “You hardly ever talk about your travels on the other side of the portal.”

Ford shuffled awkwardly, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the spotlight. “Stan…”

“Doesn’t have to be that one, or a bad one. But hey, I’ve been honest tonight, it’s only fair you tell me something to make us even now.”

Ford rolled his eyes at the childish expression, knowing full well that Stan wouldn’t push if he refused. But there was a much larger part that did feel like he owed Stan something after the evening’s events.

Besides, maybe he could get this to work in his favour as well.

“Alright. I guess that’s fair. But how about I get us another drink and we both share a few stories instead of just the one?” Ford raised his glass as he spoke, a cheeky smile on his face. “I’ll be next as you’ve already started tonight off.”

Stan chinked their glasses together after a small thoughtful moment with a nod, smile coiling on his face as he relaxed into the seat cushions.

“I think that sounds like the best idea you’ve had all night, Sixer.”

.

AN: Affectionate ace headcanon ♥! I hope you liked it ♥ I’m debating a headcanon focusing on Ace Ford, maybe another... who knows~ We’ll see I guess c:

GF - Beauty Within the Fallen ch.V

Summary: Two misfit twins come across an enchanted castle, home of a mysterious beast, and slowly begin to form a strong bond that just might survive through anything. Even evil demons.

AU and artwork belong to the beautiful and very talented @artsycrapfromsai​. Go give her some love, guys!!!

ch.IV - ch.VI

~~~~~~~~~~

When the children arrived back with the master of the castle and a pig, Soos was a horrid mess and Wendy took charge. The servants of the castle helped to bring the old beast up to the West Wing and back into his bedroom. The journal watched, uncovered by glass, and listened to the children working together to take care of Stan. Mabel was soft, Dipper was strong, and they were both kind. Once Mabel made sure Stan was comfortable in his bed, Dipper accepted the large supply of bandages and washcloths with hot water and began to work on his injuries. It turned out that Stan had several bad scratches and bites on his back as well as his arm; one bite on his right shoulder was particularly nasty and probably hurt a lot.

All while the boy cleaned the wounds, the beast growled in his throat, almost like purring from an angry cat. He tried to mask his pain, but Mabel sat by his head and held his claw, telling him that if he wanted he could squeeze her hand when he was hurt. Stan gave her a funny look as Mabel petted the back of his paw, feeling the soft texture of his gray fur and smiling. “I can take care of myself.” He growled. “I’ve been doing it this long.” “We know.” Dipper said firmly, free to roll his eyes since Stan’s back was to him. “But we kinda owe you.” “You’re darn right you do.” Stan sneered. “I’ve got a long list of disgusting chores that’ll give my face a run for its money, and it’s got your names on it.” He sighed and added in a softer tone. “Guess it’s not all your fault, though.” Mabel shook her head. “It’s okay, Monsieur Stan, we shouldn’t have come into your room. We’re sorry.” Dipper nodded. “I’ll admit, I suck at knowing when to quit.” Stan snorted a laugh. “Wanna call it even?” “Deal.” Mabel accepted happily and squeezed his paw. As Dipper continued to work, Stan’s tired old body, comforted by the girl’s petting and the boy’s care, started to lose its strength again and he soon fell asleep. Mabel giggled, listening to his deep breathing, and turned to look at the journal. It was closed, so Monsieur Ford had no way to talk if he wanted to. Pitying him, Mabel got down from Stan’s bed and went to the journal. She opened it and sat it on the table, touching as little as she could. Dipper paused bandaging an injury and watched with a skeptical look. “There you go, Monsieur Ford.” Mabel said kindly. Words soon appeared on the page. Thank you, my dear. Thank you so very much for bringing my brother home. “You’re brother?!” Mabel gasped, but then covered her mouth with both hands, afraid of waking Stan, but he was too exhausted to be stirred right now. Yes. The master of this castle, my brother Stanley. “Monsieur Ford,” Dipper said, finished helping Stan, and he walked towards the journal and his sister. “You weren’t always a journal, and Stan wasn’t always a beast, right?” And he looked back at the portrait of the twin boys. That is correct. We were once human, like you, but we were cursed. “S'il vous plaît, Monsieur.” Mabel pleaded. “Will you tell us what happened?” Since you two seem to enjoy stories, I shall. You will have to help me along, reading. Ford’s tone seemed to be warm and inviting. Despite this, Mabel’s face turned red and she rubbed an arm nervously. “I don’t read very good.” “That’s not true, Mabel.” Dipper said quickly and side-hugged her. “Don’t worry, I’ll read out-loud.” I am sure a bright girl like yourself is a fine reader, Mabel. The journal wrote. </i>You remind me so much of Stanley; he too often thought little of his intelligence, but he is way smarter than others (and he) gave him credit for.</i> Mabel smiled, still red, and sat on her knees, looking up at the book. An armchair scurried up to the kids and spoke. “AH! Mi precioso, do not sit on the cold floor! Come, come! Have a seat, both of you, and relax.” Kids, this is Abuelita, as she prefers to be called by everyone. Soos’ grandmother. Ford explained as Mabel sat in the cozy chair. “Thanks!” She said to Abuelita. Dipper joined her with the journal in his hands. He laid the book on their laps and said, “We’re ready, Monsieur Ford.” Very well. Thirty years ago, shortly after our parents’ death, we became entangled in something we shouldn’t have. It was my fault. While Stanley was as strong as five men and more witty than any professor, I excelled academically and held a lot of promise. Father and so many others unfairly showed favor in me and I was ignorant to how it must have hurt my twin. I also felt out of place, alone. Notice the six-fingered hand on the cover; as a human I have six fingers on each hand. As a child I was bullied and made fun of, but Stanley was always there and told me it made me special. It became my mark as I began to investigate the strange mysteries of the woods and the wonders of the world. Intrigued, I soon met a golden triangle with one eye and formal attire. When the words slowly disappeared, they were replaced with a drawing. The kids looked to indeed find a triangle with a top hat and a bowtie and a cane, having only one eye and two stick arms and two stick legs. Bill Cipher. A dangerous demon of nightmares and a master of the mind. Ford went on. I was a fool, blinded by his flattery and games. I was falling down a very deep hole, but I was lucky to have Stanley there, like always, and he managed to con the ultimate conman. This angered Bill, and as revenge he cursed us. “How?” Dipper asked. “What exactly did he do to you?” He turned Stanley into a beast and me into a journal, and all of the servants turned as well, as we are now. I cannot walk or talk like the staff can, only communicate through writing, and I slowly lose my pages. With each page, I lose part of my memory and a part of myself. When the last page falls, I will be nothing more than an empty shell, and everyone will remain cursed forever. “This story's so sad!” Mabel exclaimed. “There’s gotta be a way to get a happy ending!” “Mabel’s right,” Dipper said. “Is there a way to undo the curse?” The journal was blank for a moment, but then these words seeped onto the page: After he cursed us, Bill only said that when Stanley loves someone and earns their love in return can the curse be undone. Mabel lit up. “Love? We can help! There’s tons of cute single ladies in our village who would love to go out with a nice, smart, strong guy like Stan!” “I dunno, Mabel,” Dipper said hesitantly. “Everyone in our town thinks we’re weirdos and make fun of us. How do you think they’ll react to Stan?” “But once they got to know him…” Your people think you are weird? The journal wrote. How come? Dipper crossed his arms over his chest. “They think we’re ‘odd’ because Mabel’s learning how to read, I don’t wanna join the army, and we like to invent things.” They make fun of you over that? I’m sorry. I think reading and inventing is no reason to be made fun of, nor is a lack in desire to fight. “Oh, I still wanna learn how to fight, I just don’t wanna be anyone’s tool.” Dipper then suddenly turned bright red. “No offense.” Ford, however, quivered ever so slightly and big capital letters spilled over the page. HAHAHAHAHA! No offense taken, my boy! Holy Moses, I haven’t… well, I wouldn’t call that laughing, but thank you for making me almost laugh for the first time in thirty years. “Thirty years.” Mabel repeated with a small moan. “Don’t you worry, Monsieur Ford, we’ll help Stan fall in love so everyone will be free.” It is not for you to worry about. “Yes it is!” Mabel insisted. “You’re our friends. We wanna help you.” “Yeah, man,” Dipper said, actually gradually siding with Mabel on this one. “Once Fiddleford finds this place we’ll go home and help find someone for Stan.” “He’s a great guy,” Mabel said. “And I’m the best matchmaker in the world! I bet together we can end this curse and kick Bill’s butt!” “Mabel,” Dipper hushed as she became overly passionate and was a bit too loud. Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated and valued, kids, but do not fret over it. We have time. “How much time?” Dipper asked, eyeing how many pages Ford had. If I absolutely had to make a guess of how long we have left… ten years. “Oh.” Dipper said, freed from the sense of urgency. He yawned into his hand. “Still, we’ll do what we can for you guys.” The journal was blank again, like he was doing some thinking, but then he wrote, Thank you, again, but now is not the time to worry about all that. You two should get to bed. It’s late. Mabel shook her head. “Nuh, uh. What if Stan needs our help with his boo-boos? We’ll just have a sleepover right here, won’t we, Abuelita?” “Si, niña.” The armchair said and used her unusual arms to throw a blanket over the twins. Dipper took off his hat, finding Abuelita quite comfortable, and he wrapped an arm around his sister. After the scare he had earlier, he had to admit he liked the idea of sleeping by her side tonight. “Good idea, sis.” “I’m full of good ideas.” Mabel joked. “G’night, Monsieur Ford.” Goodnight, Dipper and Mabel. Sweet dreams. Mabel hugged Dipper around his waist, his arm still around her, and she smiled as she closed her eyes. She could hear his heartbeat. It was faster than it should be for sleep. Knowing just what to do, she began to quietly sing a lullaby. “Days in the sun, though your life has barely begun, not until my own life is done will I ever leave you.” Dipper chuckled, remembering the song Fiddleford and Shermie used to sing, and he muttered sleepily, “Oh, I’ll tremble again to my dear one's gorgeous refrain. You will not forever remain out of reach of my arms.” His eyes, which had been open, found Ford’s open pages spilling a poem missing it’s tune. All those days in the sun, What I'd give to give you them all, All to my love, And sing out my call. “You know that song?” Dipper asked and Mabel opened her eyes to find it on Ford’s pages. Our mother used to sing it to us when we were children, every night. Please, continue and ignore me. “You should sleep, too, Monsieur Ford.” Mabel said sleepily. She took the journal in her arms, hugged the closed book, and held him as she leaned on her brother. Ford didn’t get a chance to explain that he did not sleep, but as he could ghostly feel the girl’s warmth, he was beyond happy to be in her embrace for the night. Dipper smiled, gave Mabel a squeeze, and closed his eyes for sleep as he uttered under his breath. “Days in the sun will return, we must believe. As lovers do, that days in the sun will come shining through.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Despite the wolves, despite the darkness, despite the freezing cold and the falling snow, Fiddleford trudged on. He held his casted, broken arm close to his chest for warmth, crushing a few inches of snow with his boots. The snow was coming down hard, blinding him and making it feel like a hundred tiny knives were cutting his face, but he forced himself to keep going. The idea of his children somewhere in this snow terrified him. “Dipper!” He called out. “Mabel!” Fiddleford brought his scarf up to his nose so his breath would warm the bottom-half of his face. The familiar scents of family and love came to his schnoz. Mabel had knitted him this green scarf. In fact, she knitted him his sweater and gloves, too, but this scarf, tangled and elementary, had been Mabel’s first scarf and once Shermie’s, but when he died and left it back to Mabel, she insisted that Fiddleford have it. Every time Fiddleford went to Paris to sell the clocks and music boxes in the past, he always asked the twins what they wanted, as a way to help handle his absence better. Every time, Dipper asked for a book everyone would want to hear him read and Mabel hesitantly asked for yarn. Yarn was usually very expensive, and she knew that, but she had a raw talent for knitting and sewing. No one had taught her how to knit or sew, but the minute the materials were in her hands, as young as four, she knew what to do. She was amazing like that. Better yet, with her gift of yarn, if lucky enough to have some, she always made clothes for others before herself, knitting Dipper, Fiddleford, and Shermie sweaters and gloves and scarfs and hats to keep them warm during long winters. The first time she surprised Fiddleford with a blue sweater, she smiled at him and said, “Now you can have me wherever you go.” Fiddleford wiped his eyes dry; he couldn’t afford to cry, his tears would freeze on his face. Mabel needed him, Dipper needed him, so he continued to call out their names as the rest of the village searched behind him, much slower than the old man. ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan woke up to the sound of giggling. He opened his eyes, facing the window and Ford’s table, and he found Mabel standing there with a quill in her hand and playing tic-tac-toe with Ford. She was Xs and Ford was Os. Most of the time Mabel won, but occasionally (whether to keep her humble or because Brainiac couldn’t help himself) Ford would win, but Mabel seemed just as delighted by Ford’s wins as her own. “Yay! Good job, Monsieur Ford! Okay, you go first.” Stan smiled and slowly sat up. Dipper was by his side and smiled. “Morning, Stan. How are you feeling?” “M’fine, kid.” Stan said, popping his old back and stretching his arms. He ruffled his fur loose and gave the boy an impressed smile. “Good job fixin’ me up, I feel good as new.” “Thanks.” Dipper said. “Monsieur Stan!” Mabel called, turning away from her game with Ford for a moment. “Did you see?! IT SNOWED! We should all play outside!” “C’mon, Mabel,” Dipper said easily. “Stan’s just a hurt old man, he should take it easy.” And he gave the beast a smirk. “Old man?!” Stan barked and stood tall and strong. “That’s it, you just earned yourself a huge snowball to the face!” “And don’t worry, Monsieur Ford,” Mabel said, setting her quill down and scooting the table with Ford on it closer to the window. “This way you can watch us. If you want to.” Thank you, Mabel. The words read. Waddles oinked happily and showed his belly to Stan, lying on the floor. He glared at the animal. “And what is that?” “That’s my pet pig, Waddles!” Mabel joyfully introduced. “He found us in the woods last night.” “No,” Stan said firmly and shook his head. “No pigs allowed in this castle. They’re nothing but fat, naked jerks.” “Aw, come on,” The girl cooed and hugged her pig with big brown eyes. “Just for a few days?” Stan winced. Sacrebleu, that girl was just very manipulated. He ignored the painful reminder that the kids were only here for a little while and growled, “Fine, just make sure he doesn’t eat any of Sixer’s pages or I’m eating him for lunch.” “Don’t worry, we keep books around him all the time.” Dipper said as he petted the pig’s head. “He knows not to bother them.” Dipper and Mabel dragged Stan out by his paws and for the outdoors. Waddles climbed up on Abuelita the armchair and curled up for a nap. The kids admired the beautiful garden covered in the late autumn snow. A soft blanket coated the whole world, fluffy but not delicate. Everyone was warmly dressed and ready to play. The twins took in deep breaths and then slowly counted to three. On three, they simultaneously jumped off the short balcony and landed on their faces. Stan watched, confused, but then they both rolled on their fronts and laughed, their breath visible, and they began to make snowangels on the ground. “Come on, Stan!” Mabel called. “Yeah, c’mon, man!” Dipper shouted happily. Stan smiled mischievously, took a step back, and then launched himself into the air. He landed with his beefy arms over each kid and his head in the middle, and when he turned on his back with the kids in his hold, all three were laughing like mad. Mabel swiftly made a snowball and threw it at Dipper’s face. He scrambled up after his running sister and threw one at her. Stan sat in the snow, watching the kids play, throwing snowballs at each other and running around the yard. His tail wagged against the sparkling snow. Dipper threw one and Mabel ran around Stan, resorting to the ball hitting him right in the face. Stan shook the snow out of his eyes as Mabel laughed and Dipper paled, but wearing a kind smirk on his face, Stan gathered a snowball in his paw and threw it at Dipper, who was hit in the chest and ran. Stan scurried to his feet and ran around with the kids, throwing slightly bigger snowballs that the kids enjoyed. Stan soon made a huge snowball with his strong arms, the ball almost as big as one child, but when Mabel threw one at Stan’s face he accidentally dropped the huge ball that was held over his head and he was covered in snow. Dipper and Mabel laughed so hard they had no choice but to stop running, leaning on each other for support. Stan found their laugh more contagious than the plague and roared with joy as he shook off the snow like a dog on all fours. Mabel ran into his arms and Dipper soon followed, hugging him to warm him up and apologize without words for winning the war. Stan was surprised by their desire to hug him, but he hugged them back gently and rubbed their backs, finding their clothes soaked. “Alright, gremlins, let’s get you dry and warm.” Stan said and picked them up to go back into the castle. “We can play again later.” “Okay,” Mabel cooed as she snuggled against Stan’s chest, holding onto his gray fur. “Hm, you’re so warm.” Stan’s own face suddenly felt a little warmer. “Yeah, well, there’s some benefits to being a big ugly monster, I guess.” That didn’t sit right with the twins. From each of his arms, they exchanged looks, but an idea came to Dipper that distracted him from Stan’s comment. “Hey, can we read with Ford while we dry off? He says he’s got lots of great stories to tell.” Stan smiled down at him. “You like him, don’t you?” “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” Dipper said, glancing away. “I thought you would. You’re both nerds.” Stan teased. Dipper shrugged in a whatcha-gonna-do-about-it style. Mabel hopped down and said, “I’ll go get him so we can read together!” And she ran up the stairs. Dipper got down from Stan’s hold, too, and was about to go to the living room, but Stan spoke and stopped him in his tracks. “Kid, wait. You really like books, right?” Dipper turned and responded with a dip of his head. “Yeah, I do. I was pretty much the only one that read the library in town, and by library I mean one bookshelf.” Stan waved a paw towards himself. “Follow me. I got something for you.” Dipper casually followed Stan down a hallway and they stopped at the double doors. The beast turned to the boy and gave him a cunning smile. “Ah, ah. Close your eyes.” Dipper crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at him with a smile. “Is this a prank?” “No, just do it.” Stan chuckled. “It’s a surprise.” Dipper gave in and closed his eyes. After testing that he truly was blind by waving a paw in front of his face, Stan opened the doors and put a hand on his back to help him walk. “Okay, okay, here we go… okay, stop.” “Can I see?” “Hold it, squirt, gimme a sec.” Stan hurried to pull back curtains and brighten the room. Candles magically came to life. “Okay, okay… open ‘em up!” Dipper opened his eyes, blinked to adjust to the newfound light, and then his jaw dropped. Towering over him, a room arguably bigger than the ballroom held thousands if not hundreds of thousands of books. Rich mahogany desks sat filled with parchment and quills and ink, globes and atlas took up some desk space, but Dipper couldn’t tear his eyes away from all of the books. Stairways and ladders could reach the books up at the very top and giant windows seeped in beautiful sunlight to ease the eyes. “Shut. Up.” Dipper said hoarsely. “I’ve never seen so many books! Look at this place!” He went to a bookshelf and gently ran a hand over the dozens of spines exposed to him. “You like it?” Stan asked, leaning by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “I love it!” “Then it’s all yours.” Dipper’s jaw was nearly on the floor when he turned to look at the master of the castle. “You really mean it?” “Sure do, Smart Guy.” Stan smiled at him. “Go nuts.” Dipper, trembling, ran to a shelf and began to pick books to read. Mabel came in, carrying Ford carefully like he was a baby, and she gasped joyfully. “Wowie, zowie! A whole library!” She gave Ford to Stan to hold and joined her brother, helping him by holding his stack of books. Stan smiled and opened Ford to talk to him. Immediately words appeared before him. That was ingenious, Stanley. Dipper will surely make good use out of the library. “Thanks, Sixer.” Stan watched the kids from across the vast room, his smile dropping. As a twin, he knew that it was rare to have something done only for you and not you and your twin. He wanted to do something special for each of them, but each of them separately. The library was Dipper’s, though Mabel was free to use it since she obviously liked stories (Stan noticed that Dipper liked “books” and Mabel liked “stories”), but she needed something of her own. “I wanna do something for Mabel.” He whispered. “But I know nothing about what girls like. Make-up? Dolls?” My knowledge on girls is also very limited. Ford admitted. But I do know that you should consider something that sparks her interests and not something exclusively femanine. You didn’t give Dipper a gun or a sword. Stan shrugged. “Okay, good point. So, what? What does Mabel like?” Well, I can recall her saying this morning that she loves sweaters. When I asked her about it, she said she loves to knit but could rarely afford the yarn. “That’s it!” Stan closed Ford gently and held him against his chest one-armed. “Mabel, sweetie, can you come with me? I got something for you, too.” Mabel shoved the twenty-plus books in her brother’s arms and ran up to Stan. He smiled at her huge grin and walked with her down the hall. He led her to a single door. Mabel instantly took off her pink headband and tied it over her eyes so she wouldn’t be tempted to peek. “I wanna be surprised!” She squealed. Stan chuckled. “Give me your hand, kid.” Mabel did and Stan led her into the room. He opened a curtain and let go of the girl’s little hand. “Alright, you can look now.” Mabel pulled her blindfold down onto her neck and she gasped so big her lungs filled quickly. It was like a grand supply closet. There was a wall full of rolls of different patterns of fabric and silk, figurines to make clothes on, drawers full of supplies, desks full of paints and canvases and brushes, and an odd shelf of some kind, squares that held bundles of yarn, all in rainbow order. What was better yet, this room may have been only twenty feet wide, but it was forty feet tall, like a tower, and a rolling ladder helped to reach the higher fabrics and yarns. A window as tall as the room let in bright sunlight to make crafting easy. “OH MY GOSH!” Mabel cried out and looked around the room. “It’s like arts-n’-crafts heaven!” “It was Ma’s room.” Stan shared as he chuckled over Mabel’s joy. “She used to come down here and spend hours painting and drawing and making clothes. Pa used to get on her case about it. Said she didn't give the seamstresses enough to do.” “Your dad sounds like a stupid jerk.” Mabel added quickly before resuming her cheerful attitude. “This is wonderful! I love it! LOOK at all the COLORS!” “If you like it so much, then it’s yours.” Stan said. Mabel turned and Stan was clutched to find her crying. Well, not really crying, but there were tears in her eyes and one escaped each eye, rolling down her cheeks. “THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!” Mabel cheered and ran to him. One arm busy holding Ford, Stan fell on his butt by the impact of the girl and she hugged him around his big neck, nuzzling her face into his fur. He stared ahead in astonishment and wrapped an arm around her, petting her soft brown hair and admiring her warmth. Too soon she skipped away and climbed up the ladder for some red yarn. “I’m gonna make you a sweater first! Then I’ll make Ford one, a little book-holder to keep him warm.” “I don’t think he really gets cold anymore.” Stan said as he stood again. “Well then, I’ll go ahead and make him a sweater to wear when he’s human again.” Mabel reasoned. Stan was distracted by that statement. When he was human again. When they were human again. He had lost all hope for so long of someone ever loving him that it seemed foolish to think of the curse ever being broken, but Mabel and Dipper seemed to like him, and Ford probably loved him (for some odd reason) so maybe it was possible for him to find a beautiful mademoiselle to love and have her love him back. Stan shook his train of thought away as Dipper now joined them, six books stacked in his arms and making his limbs quiver, but he didn’t seem to care. “Mabel, what’s… whoa-oh!” Dipper awed at the room. “No way! Cool art supplies.” “Thanks!” Mabel said and climbed down with red and orange yarn in her arms and she opened a drawer full of different size knitting needles and pulled out a pair she liked. “Wanna read to us by the fire?” “Sure.” In the lounge, Stan sat in front of the huge fireplace, making plenty of room for Ford to be safe. Dipper and Mabel sat in his lap, the boy at his left and the girl at his right, and Dipper opened Ford and the journal began to tell a story. Dipper read the words out-loud, occasionally having Mabel give reading a try, only needing assistance a handful of times for bigger words, but Ford seemed to purposely use smaller words when it was her turn to read. Stan, without realizing it, was purring. The children noticed, but said nothing. Mabel nuzzled closer to him, grateful for his large body and fluffy gray fur. She thought he was wonderful in every aspect and Dipper full-heartedly agreed. The biggest mystery of them all was how Dipper didn’t see this all before.

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: This… this is where, in my humble opinion, the story actually becomes worth reading. I feel like the patience we, the audience, must have with the BatB story - seeing the Beast as he is before his change of heart, seeing Belle run away and all the obstacles before them both - make the bonding scenes even better. Gives a FINALLY sort of feeling. I wanted to carry that over here, making the beginning a little slow (though I probably lost some readers that way), but making it even more rewarding for those who read on. Or maybe I’m just making an excuse for a suck-ish beginning. Who knows. Okay, so Waddles NOT being a footstool is so that it ties in more to the canon GF storyline. I didn’t want Waddles to be some pet Stan didn’t like and only tolerated for someone else’s sake or a farm-animal that was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Rather, I had him always be Mabel’s and I also left him at home in the beginning to better parallel the show’s canon (even though Waddles is in the intro, he isn’t introduced until S1E9). I also, mainly, just really wanted Stan to only allow Waddles in the castle to make Mabel happy, cuz Imma sap that’s why. Moving on, I put both Days in the Sun and a hint of Something There at the end. When writing the snow scene, I listened to Wolf Children’s Snow soundtrack; I personally thought it fit so well. Not much else to say except Mabel’s craft-room is my idea and I love love LOVE the library scene (both in this fic and in the animated BatB movie; the live-action movie RUINED the scene!) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope y’all enjoy it!

Political Climate

Set around July 2017. Warning for antisemitism, light swearing, and minor violence.

Kike [kyke]- antisemitic slur, a corrupted reference to the circle marks illiterate Jewish immigrants made on immigration documents.

Putz [puhts]- an American Jewish slang term meaning a jerk or fool; taken more vulgarly (as in this story) it stands in for “dickhead”.

Schmuck [shmuk]- an American Jewish slang term meaning penis, used to refer to someone who’s a dick.

---------------------------

The offender was down before he knew what had hit him --literally. His stick dropped with a clack, and his knees hit the pavement hard as he cupped his nose, blood burbling out from behind his black bandanna. Uncontrollable screaming flooded their ears, followed by a rough and rushed getaway from under the noses of the quickly gathering police force.

This was not the way the day was supposed to go. This was not the way it was supposed to have gone at all.

-----

It was decided that a family trip to Portland was in order. With all the years of the kids coming up to visit from Piedmont, they had never really left Gravity Falls. Sure, there was the occasional road trip to the other tourist traps, but Dipper and Mabel had never been to the City of Roses. Dipper had read articles about the old Lone Fir cemetery being a major paranormal hot spot, and Mabel had seen a food show about the local Black Magic Donuts serving pastries the size of her head. She had grabbed Stan by his shoulders and shook him, crying,

"THE SIZE OF MY HEAD GRUNKLE STAN! THE SIZE OF MY HEAAAAAD!!"

It really hadn't taken much to convince the old men to give into the two teenagers wishes. Portland was a nice city, in Stan's opinion. He didn't go often, but he had always had a pleasant experience, and Ford hadn't been in quite a while. It would be nice to just have a slow family day, and wander around town, taking in the sights. Get some good eats, maybe sit in a park by the river, or go to one of the museums. A restful day: just what they all needed.

So, everyone piled into the twins' well worn sedan, and waved goodbye to Soos and Melody, who holding Waddles and waving furiously, calling out a reminder to visit the farmer's market. Once the tires hit the main highway, the time on the road passed quickly, considering how far they had to drive. It was filled the with laughter, stories, and song, and before they knew it, they were pulling into a parking garage in downtown, and filing out into the hot day.

"Man," Dipper said, stretching, "this is a nice looking place. Looks a lot easier to navigate than the Bay Area, but I don't want to chance it. I'm glad we can walk where we want to get to."

"Yeah, or call a 'Frendz-With-Carz'." Mabel said absently, as she fiddled with her map app.

"Mabel, I'm not using a rideshare if we have the car."

"Yeah, I know, but maybe we'll be really far away and tired at the end of the day, bro-bro. Hey, did you know there's a two story arcade a few blocks away?"

Dipper excitedly turned to ask about it, but was beat to the punch by Ford's questions. "So, what exactly are we doing, kids? You're leading today, so where are we going?"

"That way, Grunkle Ford!!" Mabel cried loudly, pointing into the distance with a dramatic pose. "To DONUTS!!" Thoroughly enchanted with the idea of finally devouring a donut the size of her own head, she bounded off down the block, leaving the rest of her family calling after her and following along.

The line to the shop was starting to get pretty long by the time that they arrived, but it turned out to be well worth the wait. The people were nice and the exterior of the building was fun and funky, but inside the shop, the kistch inside reminded them all of the Mystery Shack: lots of little occult symbols and themed merch all over the walls. Both of the older men were as intrigued by the interior as the two teens --Ford by symbols and mystical doodads that he was sure he recognized, and Stan by the sheer overbearingness of it all. He loved it, and said that it gave him a few ideas to pass along to Soos to try in the Shack.

The family left with hands holding jelly-filled screaming voodoo-dollnuts, and a signature pink box full of some of the other unique pastries the shop sold --including Mabel's prized giant donut, half eaten.

"So where to now, you two?" Stan asked, hefting the box in one hand and finishing off his screaming victim in the other. "As long as it's not more food, I'm good."

"Well," Dipper said, checking his own phone, "It sort of is. The road we take to get over to the cemetery passes right through the Farmer's Market that Melody mentioned this morning." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry Grunkle Stan, but look at it this way, we can pick up something to take along for later."

The day was gorgeous and sunny as they walked. It was also unfortunately sticky and humid, as they soon discovered, but they weren't letting it get them down. Dipper pulled out his camera that he had brought along for hopeful sightings and EVPs, and started recording his family. It was a good excuse to play with his settings, but an even better one to record some memories. Time with these two old men were precious. They wouldn't be around forever, and there was no telling when something...

He shook his head, focusing on his camera. No. Today wasn't for thoughts like that. He knew what reality was and what it entailed --he wasn't naive-- but today was for fun, and family. Not inevitability. Lifting the camera up higher, he adjusted the display screen and started panning around the area. The crowds were getting far thicker, and there were starting to be a lot more movement and sound.

"Hey Mabel," he asked, "are we at the market?"

"What? No, I don't think so." She replied, frowning. "I think we've still got a couple blocks."

Ford looked out and around at everyone. "I wonder what could be going on, then. There's beginning to be quite a lot of people. Far more than there has been on these busy metropolitan streets...."

They walked a bit further before they came upon the thick of the crowd, seething and yelling. It was some form of protest against a recent piece of legislature passed by the new President. Signs were being waved in the crowd, mostly against what had been done, marked with caricatures and satirical images of the orange-colored Commander-in- Chief. Across from those protesters, however, were a growing number of signs of a much more... intolerant nature. The words themselves were angry and hateful, and very clearly mocking the people that had come to protest what they felt was harmful and unnecessary.

The Pines slowed as they surveyed the crowd, until all at once they stopped on the outskirts. No one wanted to get any nearer to this mess than they had to.

"I don't--"

"None of us do."

"We should--"

"Yeah."

"Why don't we--"

"Affirmative."

Dipper looked around as he got jostled by the crowd and saw something in the nearby distance. "Look, there's the bridge we take to get over to Lone Fir. If we go back a block, we can go around this whole mess and get on with our day."

"Sounds good to me, kid." Stan said, shifting around, trying hard not to drop the donut box or step on someone. "Let's get out of here, quick. Things like these bring back some bad memories."  As they all turned to leave, a protester wearing a bandanna over his face shoved through the group roughly, pushing Dipper into Mabel and knocking Ford down entirely.

"Hey, you lil shit!" Stan yelled as he pulled his brother up with his free hand. "Just 'cause you're wearing a mask doesn't give you the right to be a complete putz!"

The man stopped, turned and walked back slowly, gripping a rather thick stick with a puny American flag tacked to the end. He gave the evil eye to the whole family, Dipper and Mabel pulling themselves together just a hair, bracing themselves for the worst. The bandanna wearing man stopped in front of them, and looked Stan up and down critically. "In this country, I have the right to do whatever I want." He slapped the box of Black Magic donuts out of Stan's hand and stomped on them.

"HEY!!"

"We're back on top, and nothing is going to stop us, especially not an old, hooknose KIKE!! With Trump in charge, we're gonna get rid of all of the fucking worthless pieces of shit from this country, and you fucking Jews are gonna go back in the ovens!!!" The two brothers, about to spring into action stopped like they'd been slapped. Stan been called a lot of things over through his life, but Ford had spent decades away from those words. For the two of them, however, it was a shock to hear something so full of unadulterated hate followed by such giddy, maniacal laughter. "HA HA HA HA HAHAHAH--!!!!"

The hand came out of nowhere, reaching past Stan's shoulder and straight into the protester's face. It wasn't a fist, but the hard heel of the palm, and it crunched into the hidden nose with anger filled accuracy. Mabel drew her hand back and lunged forward as the man fell to his knees swearing, kicking her foot as hard as she could into his ribs. "How dare you?! HOW DARE YOU?!" She shrieked. "I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!!"

Ford grabbed her by her shirt collar and yanked her back before she could make another kick, pulling her down to hide her out of view as Stan scanned the crowd for the nearby police officers. He swore under his breath, and quickly shooed the family away from the enclosing law enforcement, but not before spitting on the injured and still-swearing white supremacist. Dipper stuffed his camera into his pocket, taking Mabel's hand as the family scampered away. Ford quickly dug into his coat and pulled out a device that he flipped a couple switches on and dropped. Stan growled in pain and shot his brother a dirty look as he pulled out his hearing aid as fast as he could. Tugging on sleeves, he got group to slow down as they rounded a corner onto an emptier street. You want to walk, he told them knowingly, not run. Running draws suspicion if you're the only ones doing it.

Mabel was breathing hard through clenched teeth as they walked in the direction of where Dipper had parked the car just a short time ago. She was obviously still seething over the encounter, her shoulders square and tense, but her hands were shaking. The one in Dipper's hand was trembling hard, and was starting to become clammy, but he gripped it tighter, giving her a reassuring squeeze. No one really spoke until they got to the car, and even then, only the radio could be heard until they were making their way out of Portland's center. Mabel kept glancing out the side mirrors as Dipper drove, and tensing up hard whenever they passed a cop car.

From the back seat, a rough old hand reached out and laid on her shoulder, and the tension dropped. "It's going to be okay, Mabel."

Placing her hand on top of her Grunkle's, the girl turned in her seat to look back at the old man. "Grunkle Ford, how do you know? There were police everywhere, and street cams, and people with phones--! I'm sure someone saw me!"

"Do you remember the little black box I dropped?" Mabel nodded. "That device scrambled the previous 10 minutes of video on any active camera in two block radius, and produces a feedback whine into any headset as a distraction."

Dipper nodded as he drove. "That's pretty cool, Grunkle Ford, but that's a pretty specific thing to carry around. Why did you have it? None of us were expecting anything like this to happen."

"Well, my boy, over our voyages I've had to use them a few times, so they're alway something handy to carry around." With a wry smile, he reached over with his other hand and gave his brother a shove. "That, and I figured with Stanley being around, it wouldn't hurt to have one. No telling what trouble he would get into."

Everyone in the car got a much needed laugh out of that, but Mabel's smile was the first to slip. "Yeah, I guess I was the problem child this time..." she trailed off,not wanting to look at anyone, but tensed up and gripped Ford's hand tight as Highway Patrol passed them on the road.

"Mabel, sweetie," Stan said from the seat directly behind her. "It's okay. We're heading out of town now, there's no sirens, and Ford an' me are gonna get everything taken care of." He reached around and put his hand on her other shoulder. "Even if we hadn't been able to duck the cops, you know I would have posted bail for you. And after what happened, how could I not! I mean, I woulda anyway, but you got that schmuck good. I'm proud of you!"

"But Grunkle Stan, I lost it! I hurt a complete stranger! I know he was an awful person, but I just couldn't help it. I wanted to hurt him so much for saying those things to you. About you. About us." She paused and bit her lip, frowning as tears started to form. "If you guys hadn't pulled me off of him.... I don't think I would have stopped." She sniffed hard and started to cry, gripping the comforting hands of her Grunkles. "Oh god..."

Dipper glanced over at his sister as he shifted the car towards the onramp that would take them home. Reaching out, he put his hand on her arm and gave it a good squeeze. There wasn't much he could do right now, and he knew that there wasn't much that could be done right now, anyway. His sister was in turmoil, and needed to cry. So, being the good brother he was, he would be there to support her, and wait until she was ready.

He wasn't looking forward to the next three and a half years if this is what was going to happen. The intolerance, the anger, the hate... Especially since UC Berkeley seemed to be a hot spot for political protests to turn into violent clashes. He had his own opinions and ideals, but he the last thing he wanted was to get into a fist fight over them. But, he knew that as long as he had Mabel, they would watch each other's backs and keep each other going. As long as he had his sister, his parents, and his Grunkles, he would have a support system to keep the world from getting to be too much. They all would.

Glancing to the side, and into the rearview, he saw the faces of those he loved and smiled a bit. After all, they had already faced the literal end of the world, so they could handle the stress of dipshits with bandannas and grudges. Life in this political climate was going to be rough, but with his family, they could get through the grind, one day at a time.

-----------------------------------

A/N: Man, this was both one of the hardest and easiest fics I’ve written.

If any of you have seen the news lately, there was a big fight between white supremacist protesters and anti-Trump protesters in Berkeley on April 15th that got nasty. Berkeley is not too far from Piedmont. Dipper and Mabel turn 18 this year, meaning they probably graduate from high school this June and start college shortly after their birthday, and they’re probably going to go to a close one, and UC Berkeley is, again, not all that far of a commute.

I hope you all see where my train of thought went.

Now, see, I love these kids. Gravity Falls is my nightlight in these dark times, and these two pure, wonderful kids --that are growing up to be pure and wonderful young adults-- well, they just deserve all the best in the world. They’ve already been through so much, so would it be too much to ask that they didn’t have to go through the same shit we are?

Yes, apparently, because my brain gave me solid bones for this story in about an hour and a half, and I was able to spit it out over two nights. This is why it was the easiest thing.

What makes it the hardest is the fact that I put these kids, and their great uncles through something I never want people to go through. I have a surprising number of my close friends that are Jewish,or of descent, so antisemitism is something that I really despise. I just don’t get it, and this resurgence in Naziism is really upsetting. I really didn’t want to drag this family into this sort of thing, but let’s face it: in this administration, no one is really safe anymore, not even the Pines.

Stan might have left Judaism, but white supremacists don’t care about your religious alignment, all they care about is your ancestry.

It gave me a really sick feeling in my stomach that not even these beloved characters --were they real-- would be safe from this horrifying mess of anger and hate. So, to rectify it, I made this. It’s painful but comforting, angering yet cathartic. It’s not pretty. It’s not nice. It’s terribly skewed by my own political leanings, but here it is.

Whole Again - Chapter 6

Whole Again on AO3

Stan woke in a haze, confused at why he was in the RV and not the Stan O’War and why Ford was currently tucked in to his side. His arm was being held captive. His brother had always been snuggaly. He’d woken up a number of times when they were young with Ford pressed up against his back or draped over his chest. They’d both sought comfort in one another; being isolated kinds did that. It never bothered him that he didn’t have friends. He had his brother.

He knew Stanford was bothered by it though; Ford always assumed that Stan would have been more popular if it wasn’t for his extra fingers. It was part of the problem, but truth be told, Stan was not really good with people. Sure, Stan was a world class scam artist, always had been even in the second dimension, but he’d always had trouble opening up to people. Stanford was the first in a long chain that had actually broken through to see him as vulnerable. It was embarrassing how much he wanted Stanford Pines to himself. But Sixer Poindexter was haunted by him, the past him, and he needed to do something about it.

Ford woke some short time later and they ate cold beans and brown meat, water and checked on Ford’s wounds. He was healing well, heavily bruised ribs and a swollen hand that hand lost its ability to grip things (though it didn’t look all that swollen), but healthy, infection free, and beautifully alive.  

He’d spent part of the night crafting a simple pleasant dram for his brother; just a short jaunt down a river in the Stan O’War I, looking for Waddles. He’d let Stanford’s subconscious take it from there. It had been worth it when Ford woke up all smiles, albeit a bit sore.

Thankfully the environment had been kind, and no new snow had fallen in the night. They packed up, Stan shrinking the RV, and they made their way back out of the valley; stopping briefly in Aðalstræti to let them know to not send out a search party (they wouldn’t have, not worth it to try and rescue two stupid tourists bent on getting themselves in danger, but Ford insisted).

Stan drove the six hours home. Ford had offered to take over half way, but Stan could see him fighting to stay awake. He, too, felt tired, but he only had to stop for twenty minutes to get through a dizzy spell, Ford napping in the passenger seat. He really needed to get a reign on this burst of magic. It was taking a too much energy from him. He felt punch drunk like after an extended cage a fight, or after he’d entered into someone's mind.

That was one thing he never let on before; entertaining someone's mind was his specialty, but it was taxing and a draw on his powers. That's why he'd preferred making deals. The deal allowed him into people’s minds willingly; he didn't have to fight their mental defenses because there were none. It was similar to the vampire thing where a vampire can’t enter a person’s house unless invited, except it really was nothing like that.  

His human body was much weaker and much more limited. Magic was significantly tiring, it’s really no wonder he’d never tapped into it before; with no memory of magic, his body lacked the energy for spontaneous releases. Well, the magical kind anyway; human hormones were weird, and he should know having been one for sixty years.

Time passed strangely for Stan, the minutes dragging by like hours and yet the six-hour drive ended rather abruptly when he passed the city limits of Reykjavik. He pulled off on a deserted road and shrank everything, excluding their day packs, to make unpacking easier on both of their backs. Ford woke when he got back in the car and was perturbed that he had napped the whole way.

Ford had insisted on taking the rental car back that night. Stan had protested, saying they could pay the extra for dropping it off late and Ford didn’t need to aggravate his injuries, but there was really no arguing. Ford had sweetened the deal by suggesting they eat out that night; find a local pub, get fed and get drunk. “And maybe you can find someone to flirt with” Ford had suggested with a sly smirk. Stan was sold. He liked flirting, and he was kinda terrible at it. Ok, he was abysmal, but it was fun to see the girls (and some guys) play it off or laugh hysterically at his attempts. And Ford needed a reason to laugh. He’d seemed…off. Stan assumed that it was just from the exertion, but Ford had been shooting him sideways looks (when he’d been awake). He’d done it last night too, staring at Stan when he thought that Stan wasn’t looking. Stan felt guilty for not feeling guilty about manipulating Ford’s dreams. Man, If I went to a psych, they’d need a therapist.

He’d messed with Ford’s dreams and mind before, hell he’d freely entered it and possessed his body before, but…this was different. It was more…….intimate? Sort of. Maybe? Stan didn’t know. It just felt strangely different now than it had before. Maybe it was because he was physically here now, rather than just a mental projection through Ford’s mind. Or maybe it’s because I’m his brother and I shouldn’t be messin’ with his dreams. But he wanted to. He wanted to see what Ford thought about, what he dreamed about. Stan wanted to be able to influence that, be integral to it, and that was steering way too close to other issues that would drive his hypothetical therapist to the loony bin.

They dropped the car off (paying slightly more for the dings to under carriage) and Ford asked the clerk if he could recommend a place to grab a bite and a pint. Stan played dumb as Ford and the Clerk spoke in Gaelic.

“Do you have any suggestions where we could get some good food and good alcohol?” The counter attendant paused, assessing both Ford and Stan with a bewildered frown. He spoke slowly, as if Stan and Ford would dislike the answer.

“Aie, there’re a few places ‘round here. Depending on what’re ya lookin’ fer? There’s a club that makes good chips if yer lookin’ to go on the lash, but I suspect ye might be a bit…uncomfortable with the club scene.” Stan can see Ford’s face twitch in confusion at the regional slang, but pick up on its general meaning. This youngin thinks we’re too old. HA! Should taking him out partyin’ with me.

“If’n yer lookin’ fer somthin’ a bit quieter, I suggest The Drunk Rabbit off’a main street. It’s usually hoppin’ on the weekends, but you should be alright. I think a game’s on tonight, so it might be a bit rowdy.”

Ford just held up his hand to stop the guy, wincing slightly as the man’s eyes widened at his six fingers “Thanks for the tip. We’ll check it out.” They both ignored the muttering “Wot, Jesus, freak man has six fingers” as they left. Ford rubbed at one of his extra fingers shamefully. Stan wanted to wring the fucker’s neck, but he’d learned to let Ford deal with his own battles. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to know Gaelic, right?

“Wha’d he say?” Stan tried to force a smile. Ford gave him a sidelong hairy eyeball that lasted too long for Stan’s comfort before responding.    

“He said the Drunken Rabbit is a good place. It’s off main street. Though it might be loud tonight; apparently there is a sporting event being televised.” Ford’s voice took on a slight condescending tone, as if Stan should know what the guy had said. Wait….

SHIT!

He’d read…fuck!

Stan scrambled for an excuse, anything, anything at all. Ah…ah…shit, um…

“Hey, I said I could read it, not that I spoke it.” Ok, so that was kinda believable, now how was he gonna explain how he could read it. Think, stupid, how’re ya gonna play this?

“And how did you come to learn how to read an ancient form of Gaelic anyway? I don’t recall you taking an interest in foreign languages before.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “¿Entonces soy estúpido?”

Stanford looked understandably speechless. “¿Qué te hace pensar que nunca tuve otros intereses?”

“Stanley, I’m sorry. That was rude. I just didn’t understand why Gaelic of all languages. My apologies.”

Stan smirked and flung his arm around Stanford’s shoulders, “Está bien, Sixer. Puedes pagar por las bebidas como una disculpa.” Ford rolled his eyes. “Don’t I always pay?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After getting lost a few times, and Ford making him try asking directions (Stan had done so, but asking for the “Small Rodent has intoxication” purposefully, had gotten him a few weird looks and continuous laughter from Ford), they found the pub a street over from the park. The place had a mid-sized crowd, mostly locals there for the game. They sat at the end of the bar away from the TV screen with a pint of Guinness each. Stan wasn’t a fan, and he could tell Ford was having a rough go of it, but it was the local favorite so why not? While his Sixer picked at an order of Fish and chips, Stan had to stop himself from inhaling a burger. About halfway through their meal, Ford pushed his half-finished glass towards Stan with a wrinkled nose.

“I always preferred vodka, myself. Or…” Ford looked around subtly, checking to see if anyone was watching before pulling out a small flask from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Can I tempt you?” He said, shaking the flask slightly at Stan.

Stan raised an eyebrow over the glass Ford had given him and downed the last of the beer in a few quick gulps before asking, “What is it?”

Ford smirked, “You’ve had it before. I haven’t got much left, but I think we earned a sip or two.” Ford unscrewed the cap and quickly took a sip before hiding it under the counter from the bartender. A tiny trickle of black, blue and pink with sparkles of white running from his lip.

When Ford turned back to Stan, he was discernibly affected by whatever it was in the flask. His pupils had blown wide and his skin was flushed. Sixer was more drunk than he was and Stan had downed twice as much as Ford. What they heck was in that thing?

When the bartender was again distracted with another customer, Ford brought the flask back onto the bar and gestured it towards Stan with an expectant look. Stan grumbled and snagged the flask, taking a large gulp, and choking slightly at the burn, barely getting the flask out of sight as the bartender came and collected their glasses.  

Stan carefully (and rather failingly) kept a straight face as Ford ordered two shots of Whisky and a glass of flavored vodka for them both. As soon as the bartender left, Stan brought the flask back up, pressing it into Ford’s chest and coughing into his arm.

It did taste familiar. It was the same stuff Ford had offered him in the Fearamid. It had hurt then too, but now he knew what it was. Cosmic Sand?! Where in the multiverse did he get that? But of course, Stan had to play dumb. He just gave Ford a pained look, eyes watering, “Never took you for a fan of the strong stuff.”

Sixer looked smug, smug and predatory. It was a good look on him in Stan’s opinion. “You could fill whole books with the things you don’t know about me. Ten, by my last estimation.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Alright, smart-guy, how’s about you start by tellin’ me what that stuff is and where you got it.”

Stanford took a second sip before tucking the flask away and began recounting his adventure in Dimension fifty-two and Jeheselbraum the Unswerving. They didn’t even notice the bartender dropping off their drink order until Stan nearly knocked his over.

“You liked her.” Stan gestured with his glass of vodka, sloshing a bit over the side.

Ford blushed, “No I didn’t. Well, yes, I did, but not amorously. She was intellectually stimulating and she knew so much about so many topics. I would love to see her again and pick her brain.” He smiled wistfully while twirling his glass.  

“That’s not all you wanna do” Stan chuckled.

“Stanley, you are impossible!” Ford glanced at Stan from the corner of his eye.

“Did you kiss her?” Ford nearly choked on his drink

“Stanley!” Stan thought scandalized and red was a better look on Ford than smug and predatory.

“Did you?” He wasn’t gonna let this go.

“No” Ford’s tone suggested he’d thought about it though.  

“Did you want to?” Stan really wasn’t gonna let this go.

Ford didn’t respond, just averted eye contact and blushed even harder.

“You did, didn’t you?” Stan arched an eyebrow.

“If I answer in the affirmative, will you shut up please!” Sixer looked like he wanted to fall into another portal or anything to get away from the conversation. Stan just let out a sound of affectionate ridicule.  

“Damn! Wish I’d gotten to talk to the gal that took my brother’s fancy. You were up in a monastery with her, just her for weeks and you didn’t put the moves on her? Not once? Poindexter, common! You gotta do better than that! And she was a party-gal too! Ah! What a wasted opportunity.” Stan lamented his brother’s loss. He couldn’t say why, but he wasn’t going to explore any ideas that involved rebound crushes and one-eyed triangle dream daemons.      

“I was more interested in ending Bill Cipher at the time and recovering from brain surgery. Besides, she knew everything about me. If she’d been interested, then she would have said something.” Stan thought Ford sounded unsure.

“Yer just tellin’ yerself that to lessen the blow that you missed yer chance. Man, Nerd, do I gotta give ya pointers on how to talk to women?”

“I do not need pointers, Stanley. I charmed my way into interdimensional courts, lead rebellions, spoke with professors and scientists that are centuries beyond our understanding of science, and was a speaker at the intergalactic Senate as a representative from Earth 46’\.”

“Ok, but were any of them women?”

“Some, yes.”

Stan looked surprised. “Of those species that reproduced sexually and defined their species by distinctions between those sexes, yes, many of them were ‘women’.”

Stan just sighed. Sixer was so frustratingly accurate and precise about things that didn’t matter. “Ok, check out that one there. She’s sittin’ by herself, but she wasn’t that long ago. Her friend, the blonde over two booths down, went to flirt with some guy and has been over there awhile. She looked lonely and disappointed that the guy flirted with her friend. All you gotta do is go talk to her. Pretend yer a tourist and ask her somthin’ funny, like ya don’t know the language that well.”

“Stan, she’s too young. She looks in her thirties. She won’t respond well to me.”  

“And you look a hell of a lot younger than you are, so just go.” Ford really didn’t look Sixty. He’d aged remarkably well, Stan was jealous.

“What about these?” Ford held out his hands before him, fingers spread to draw attention to his extra pinkies

“Believe it or not Sixer, most people don’t give a flyin’ fuck. They might think it’s weird at first, but tha’s it.”  

Ford took a breath, downed the rest of his glass, and took the shot of whiskey for good measure before walking over to the brunette sitting by herself.

Stan watched his brother make a circuit around the room, weaving in and out of people standing around and coming up to the woman’s side. Stan could tell Sixer was nervous. He opened and closed his hands a few times, gearing himself up to make the opening line.

Stan’s phone beeped. He blinked, attention truing to his pocket. Mabel had sent him a picture text. She and Dipper were shopping for Thanksgiving with their mom. The cart seemed to be overloaded and Mabel was squishing her cheeks with glee at the size of the turkey and the number of pumpkin pie crusts dipper was stacking. Stan could see a bit of Rebecca Pines pushing the cart, but she was mostly out of frame. He grinned and sent a quick text back saying where they were. He and Sixer had agreed that they would call the kids via video chat on Thanksgiving Day; the time difference allowing them to talk to the kids early enough so they didn’t interrupt dinner. Stan also had plans to call Soos and the Mystery Shack. Melody had made arrangements to stay in Gravity Falls and the relationship seemed serious. Stan was overjoyed; Soos deserved to have someone special in his life. He’d just finished typing out a “Goodnight” to Mabel when he noticed Ford approaching him, looking a little awkward and put out.  

“So, it turns out that she’s homosexual and has a crush on her friend who is undeniably heterosexual and was not disappointed that she wasn’t on the receiving end of an unwanted attempt at flirting but rather that her friend didn’t pick up on her own attempts.” Ford said in one breath, slumping down on the stool and burying his face in the empty glass.

“Oh”. Stan knew that, but there was a chance she would flirt with Ford in a desperate attempt to make her friend jealous.  

“Yeah, ‘Oh’”. Ford mumbled dejectedly, running his finger on the damp lip of the glass. Stan tried to signaled for a refill, but the bartender was facing away from him.

“Wha’dya say to her?”

“’Hello, do you have knowing the resting room in the ceiling?’”

Stan spat out his drink. No wonder she’d laughed. Sixer had just about as much charm as he had back in high school. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to stifle a chuckle.  

“’Do you have knowing’, I gotta remember that one. What else?”

“She spoke English, and said that it was probably the funniest openers she had heard. I asked her name, Lisa, and if she would like to sit and talk. She told me about what happened and I said I understood. Unrequited affection is rough.”

“What did she say about yer hands?”

“She didn’t.” Ford seemed reluctant to admit the fact. Stan smiled to himself, glad to be proven right.

“Why did you pick her anyway?” Ford asked, gesturing to the woman whose friend had returned looking annoyed. Apparently, her bout of flirting with the mystery man had not gone well.

“I figured she would be easy for you to approach? Less likely to wave you off if you fumbled-up” Stan had thought it was obvious.

Ford rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, why a woman?” Ford looked shocked at himself for speaking so candidly and looked skeptically at his empty glass.

Stan himself looked a bit surprised, but recovered quickly when Ford showed signs of discontent. “Sorry, I guess I assumed, ya’know, with what I remembered. My bad.” Ford pulled the flask back out, took a quick sip and returned it to his pocket.

“Since I know you are going to ask; that one.” Ford pointed subtly. Stan’s mind had not caught up other than to helpfully supply ‘blue-grey tweed’. He shook his head, “Sorry?”

“My type, in men, I mean. The one leaning against the wall in a blue-grey tweed jacket.”

Stan’s eyes cast around the room before landing on the man in question. The man was tall, about six and a half feet, had salt and pepper hair, looked in his mid-forties, maybe early fifties. The man had a great body. Stan could tell the man was fit and had a tapered triangle shape to him; wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He was wearing the blue-grey tweed jacket, a light blue shirt with a dark blue tie and white pants. The guy was dripping Oxford Professor. Stan could imagine why Sixer would like that.

“So…” Stan prompted

“So?” God Sixer was dense.

“So, go talk to him. And you call me ‘knucklehead’.”

But he didn’t go. Stanford just blushed impossibly redder and hailed the bartender (loudly) for another round of drinks. When Stan prompted him again, Ford just shook his head and avoided making eye contact. When the bartender returned, he pulled the glass to him and chugged like a dying man and his first taste of water.    

“How’d you get there anyway?” Ford looked confused at the non-sequitur.

“You said you’d passed out and woke up in a mountain monastery with tall, dark, and seven-eyed hovering over you. Why’d you pass out?” A soft ‘ah’ escaped Ford’s lips.

“In my travels, I somehow found my way to a second dimension. A flat world from my own perspective, where everything looked like line segments bobbing around. I’d thought it was Bill Cipher’s home-world. After speaking with Jeheselbraum, I learned it was just one of infinite versions of the world Cipher burned. I may have even come across a version of Bill there, and just didn’t know it because of my third-dimensional eyes.”

Ford seemed to go into himself at his next statement, eyes downcast and full of repressed longing. “A dimension where he hadn’t burned his home, where he hadn’t committed such atrocities…where he hadn’t tricked me.”

Stan really should address that. He should. He should also tell Sixer who he was and had been. He should tell Sixer about his feelings and…he should do a lot of things. But he was a coward, always had been, even back then when he was invading people’s minds. The difference now was, he was man enough to admit he was running.

Time to regale Sixer with a round of my misadventures then.

“You said you wanted me to tell you the story of how I chewed my way out of a car trunk, right?”

Sixer perked up, “Yeah, how did you wind up in like that?”

Stan had recounted the tale of getting into a fist fight with a gang member in a bar in Arizona along the border. The guy had lost, but he went and got some buddies. They had cornered him in an alley, beat him and stuffed him in a trunk. Thankfully they were sluggish and uncoordinated and drunk off their asses and had left the car unattended that night. Stan woke up with plenty of time to eat and tear through the cushioning separating the trunk from the backseat and was able to get away. A jagged piece of glass from a broken bottle was enough to cut through the ropes.

Seeing his brother’s expression at his more dangerous misadventures, Stan moved onto funnier tales about running the Murder Hut/Mystery Shack. About finding gnomes breaking into the shack and trying to give him as an offering to their queen which prompted him to use his football skill to punt them out, about going toe to…hoof with one of the manitaurs and losing (he was man enough to admit he’d been no match), about the guy who tried to pay admission fee with a baby goat and the goat just stayed (It kept the gnomes away), and trying to get rid of a Hawktopus that had found its way into the crawl space.

Stan then moved onto stories with the kids. His poor attempt at engaging with the kids at the lake (So then I just found some random kid to show how to tie a barrel knot). Mabel’s endeavor to match him up with Susan Wentworth at the diner (She had soooo many cats. I think I dodged a bullet with that one). His rivalry with Gideon and getting glued to a chair and stuck in the Pioneer Day stocks (I had tomato juice in my underwear). The kids fighting over Ford’s old room (they’d switched bodies and I ended up telling Mabel all about male puberty). Terrifying the attendees of Woodstick with a hot air balloon that unintentionally said ‘I Eat Kids’ (Stan, please tell me you didn’t actually shoot at anyone). His adventure in the cavers under the town and punching a pterodactyl in the face while it was flying (You, WHAT!? But you’re afraid of heights!). And their terrifying zombie escapade that ended in a horrid musical number (Wait, HOW did you break their skulls? You just…just stepped on it? How…how strong are you?). Ford had laughed himself sore and they’d gone through so many rounds of dinks they’d lost count.        

Stan had just recounted his purchase of Summerween props with ‘Stanbucks’. "If I'm not walking out of the store with a great deal, then I'm walking out of there at speed." Besides, it was for the kids. And he knew that fake blood was just going to get tossed after the season was over anyway. He was just offering charity to take it off their hands. They should be thanking him. Ford seemed to disagree.

"Stanley, you can't just steal your way through life."

"Why not, done an ok job of it so far. Its either that or sittin' on a street corner, and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I still got the body fer that". Well shit. He'd gone and said it, hadn't he? He really was drunk. Now would come the guilt and the water works and god knows what else. Damnit, he'd been trying to keep that tidbit of information from Ford, spare his feelings. It wasn't like he had done it all the time, and he was real choosy about his clients. Only had to get rough a few times and he never let himself get drunk or get messed up with any shitty powders. Only got roofied once, and the guy who did it got the shit beat out of him by Jimmy Snakes. They crashed in some chick's hotel room while she gave an eye witness account that the guy had fallen across some chairs. She had been a sweet gal. Didn't remember her name, though.

He could see the wheels grinding to a halt in Ford's head, lips puckered to take a sip form his drink. The astonishment was clear as day. Then his expression changed, his eyes drooping and mouth twisting up in revile. There's the guilt. Damnit, Poindexter, it does no good to worry now. I'm fine.

To his credit, all Ford did was sigh and run a hand over his face. "I wish I'd have had the maturity enough to pull my head out of my ass long enough to realize you might have needed help." He slid his left hand across the bar and placed it over Stan's. "But we're here now. Doing what we always wanted to do. I'm studding anomalies and you pulled some solid artifacts from that crypt." He chuckled, eyes full of quiet exhilaration. He paused for a moment, grip tightening on Stan's hand. Trepidation creeping onto his face as he swallowed. "That is,...are you....you want to be out here with me,...right?" In that moment, Ford looked like the nervous preteen that clung to Stan's arms after being ridiculed by a classmate; begging Stan to tell him that he wanted to be with him, not just because they were brothers, but because he wanted to be. That used to be Ford's biggest fear, that people were nice to him because they had to be or were supposed to be, rather than because they actually liked him. Stan wouldn't have teased him even if he wanted to (and he did kind of want to). He flipped his hand over and interlaced his fingers with Ford's He took a sip from his drink and flashed a flirty smirk, "Always, Sixer. And forever"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They stumbled the whole way back to the ship, laughing and grappling at each other’s shoulders. He’d shown Sixer the text from Mabel and they both agreed to pick up a souvenir or something that said ‘Reykjavik’ on it for them. Sixer also agreed to start working on a set of portal mirrors he had scribbled about in his journals and sending one to the kids. It would make communication easier, and depending on the size of a stable set, would allot them to meet their hug quota. Both brothers craved physical affection, having been denied it for so long.

They unsteadily made their way on board the Stan O’War and below decks before Stan collapsed in a heap on his tiny cot. Feebly attempting to kick his boots off.  

“Oy. Beds 're too small. Should'a gotten a double.” He mumbled, arm and leg hanging off the side of the bed.

“This is a double, Stan.” Ford sat on his own bunk to properly remove his boots and undress for bed. Stan just rolled slightly, untangled himself from his trench coat and threw it to the end of the bed.  

“You know wha' I mean.” They had contemplated on installing a queen, but it wouldn’t fit. They’d opted for the current arrangement. Ford just laughed.

Stan was starting to love hearing that sound. Hell of a lot better than screaming. No wait, screaming was good, it was sneezing that he couldn’t stand. He remembered being in Ford's body when it was overtaken with a sneezing fit. He had refused to inhabit Ford's body for weeks after that. Pain was interesting (well it wasn't anymore now that he had become intimate with it, but at the time it had been so strange), but the involuntary spasms irritated his molecules. Ford screaming had been nice to listen to once, he isn't sure if it still was though; more recent memories reminded him that it wasn’t. He might have to ask Ford to scream for him sometime to see if he still liked it.

“And get kicked in the middle of the night on a regular basis? Not likely, not to mention your shedding. And you put out heat like a furnace. We didn’t need to worry about heat in the RV.”

Stan snorted. “You like it though. Crawled inta my bed often enough when we were younger. Think my silver medal boxing match was the last time.” He missed it. There were a number of times he rolled over in the back seat of his car or a shity motel bed expecting his brother to be curled up beside him.

“Stan, we were in high school by then.” Ford had removed his jacket and undershirt, opting for a white sleeveless similar to the one Stan used to sport. Stan eyed the star tattoo on Sixer’s neck. He’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to play that song and tease his brother relentlessly. For now, he just closed his eyes and hummed.  

“Yup. An'you were so worried 'bout my eye, you slept next ta me to check on it through the night.”  

“It did look terrible.” Ford agreed, sliding under the covers, not bothering to worry about his nightly routine. They’d even forgot to reset the coffee pot. Eh, fuck it.

“Yeah, but I woke up the next mornin' with you all nuzzled up in my armpit.” Stan couldn’t help but needle Sixer. It was too fun to get him riled up.

“I was not!”

“Were to!”

“Oh, enough.” Ford dissolved in to another fit of giggles. Ok, yeah, laughter was definitely a winner. He could listen to it all night. He hummed in contentment, eye closed and arm draped over his face. He was almost asleep when he heard Ford's tentative call. "Stan?"

"Hnmm?" The bed shifted slightly where the mattresses met and Stan felt something fluffy press into the back of his head. He felt the vibrations of Ford's voice travel through his crania to his gums.

"Goodnight"

Previous

Next

Chapter 1