Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The nightmares never really stopped. 

Even after the curse had been lifted and the little town of Blithe Hollow was settling into its “new normal”, something always felt off, at least to him. The bad dreams and general unease hadn't been noticeable right away. For almost a year after Agatha Prenderghast had finally returned to sleep, there was a period of time that was probably the most normal his life had ever felt, supernaturally speaking. Gone were the visions and omens and nightmares. He no longer had to worry about inconvenient hallucinations in class, and the feeling of always being watched had lifted. It had been a relatively peaceful year. The only nuisances had to be the sparse reporters, the horror junkies, and the occasional self-proclaimed paranormal investigators knocking at his door. But even they were hardly a problem, fizzling out as the story was continually glossed over by the media.

No silly interview was stressful compared to everything that brought him there. For a while, he almost thought that this was the end. The Prenderghast line was free of its supernatural duties. Having the sight was just another useful gift now, nothing that determined the fate of the world or anything. For a while, he could rest easy. 

But they came back. Slowly, and over the length of many months, but they were back. This time, he seldom had any sort of hallucinations, and the nightmares weren’t as blatant, having an almost empty, smothering quality to them. It was a different kind of premonition, and the best way he could describe it was the unmistakable feeling of a tug . After a while, staying in one place for too long gave him headaches and outbursts, and they only seemed to settle down when he headed west. Some nights he would wake up to find he had sleep walked across the house. He seemed to venture further every time, once even waking up in the Witchy Wieners parking lot. While the Babcocks had made sure to lock their doors and windows after that, it hadn't solved the problem, or even given them clues. He didn’t know why, or how, but it felt as if there was a knot in his chest, a knot at the end of a rope he was meant to follow. The feeling persisted through various counseling, therapy sessions, and even cleanses from practical witches, simmering inside him over the course of two long years. It got to the point where he was fighting it daily, unable to focus on hardly anything else with no end in sight. 

And then, he gave in. 

“Here, little leprechauns, come on out and give Grunkle Stan’s stuff back…” 

This was ridiculous. Not only had Grunkle Stan accused Dipper of stealing, but the items that had mysteriously gone missing hadn't even been anything of monetary value. A half-melted plastic ashtray here, a pair of off-brand flip flops there. Nothing worth mentioning. But his great uncle had noticed, and he’d had a good laugh when Dipper blamed it on imaginary little men from the woods. So, the only logical thing to do, of course, was to get evidence. If he could prove it, then this would be over, and Stan would stop passive-aggressively piling up his chores. 

Which was why Dipper found himself wandering deep in the woods on a Saturday morning when he should’ve been at home, sleeping, dreaming of cool stuff like manotaur bar fights, and Wendy. But he wasn't. It was dawn, and he was here, trekking through the damp, misty forest, probably lost and no sign of anything remotely resembling a leprechaun.

“Oh, no, don’t even think of blaming Mabel ,” he huffed quietly, scowling at everything. “Because she’s just an angel compared to me, isn't she. God, why am I even doing this?” 

Dipper paused, sneakers crushing wet undergrowth. A shiver ran through him as he reached for the journal in his vest pocket. Flipping to the pages on leprechauns, he squinted in the dim sun. “What if it isn't even a leprechaun I’m looking for? Anything could be stealing that stuff.” 

He sighed and tucked the book back in his pocket, using his voice to fill the unnatural stillness of early morning. “Maybe it was one of those other things, I forget what they’re called. Borrowers? Or was that just a book Mabel read years ago? I think they lived in houses, though, not in the middle of the-” 

There was a voice in the distance. Dipper froze, holding as still as he could, listening. It was too far away to distinguish what was being said, but the cadence seemed human enough. Even so, there was no way to tell whether it belonged to an actual person or something else; Dipper had learned that lesson the hard way. Experimentally, foolishly, he called out. 

“H-Hello? Anybody there?” 

There was no response. The chances of another person being this far out in the woods at this hour were incredibly slim, he reasoned. It could be anything. Fear made his muscles stiff, but Dipper pressed on, partially out of curiosity and partially out of hope that it was the tasteless thief. He had no plan, but he didn't intend on staying long enough to get eaten. Maybe the constant summer downpour that had been hammering Gravity Falls for the past week would stay on hold, just for now, to make this easier. The last thing he wanted was to try and fight a monster alone, much less in the rain. But just one look could be so valuable… 

There was a small clearing, the area dappled with dewy bushes and trees that had long since toppled over. Dipper crouched behind the tallest bush he could spot and tried to peer through the leaves. The voice was clear now. And loud. 

“No, Neil, for the last time, I’m not telling you where I am." A pause. "I've already told you why! I don’t know ! I just…honest, I really don’t know. So could you quit asking and give Salma the phone?” 

Dipper shifted his weight, peering past the sprigs until the speaker came into view. It seemed to be someone about Dipper’s age, pacing around the clearing with an outdated cell phone glued to one of his oversized ears. He looked weird, and not only as a (potentially) lone (potentially) human in a magic forest. His shock of hair seemed to defy laws of gravity, and everything about him was unkempt, from the dark circles below his eyes, to his damp, grey hoodie, which looked like it had braved an earlier storm. It was just him, and a backpack that hung on a branch jutting out of a nearby log. The boy continued to stomp and pace, growing visibly angrier by the second.

“No, there aren't any landmarks! I’m in the middle of a forest, and that’s it! There’s nothing else! All I know is that it feels familiar. Can’t you track my phone, or hack it or something? You have to do it fast, it's almost dead...ugh, no, it’s not a special model, I don’t know what it is. Just hurry!”

He felt familiar too, somehow. Subconsciously letting his guard down, Dipper leaned back and winced, feeling a branch snap beneath his foot. It hadn't been loud enough for anyone to hear, but the unusual kid still turned and paused, looking at something in a completely different direction.

“Look, I’m gonna have to let you go. If you can’t help, then it’s not your problem. Just…just cover for me, as long as you can. Yeah, I will. I’ll try. See you, Salma.”

As soon as the boy clicked the device off, he turned on his heel and kicked at a rock, glowering at a nearby tree with startling animosity. “Would you shut up? It’s none of your business! You’re just wasting my time. Leave me alone!” His expression softened slightly a moment later, fear and confusion flashing over his face. “What do you mean? What ‘company’?”

Immediately, the boy turned to where Dipper was hiding. “Who’s there?”

Dipper’s mind went blank. He scrabbled to compose himself. There was no sense in hiding anymore, and the stranger didn't seem to pose much of threat. Really, he reasoned, Dipper could take him down without any trouble. He looked about as menacing as a twig, albeit a twig with a bad attitude and a lot going on.

Slowly, he stood up from behind the bush, raising his hands in peace. “Uhh. Well. Hi. You’re not a leprechaun.” He tilted his head as he got a better look, squinting. “Do I…know you from somewhere?”

The kid stepped back, his glare burning with suspicion. “Were you spying?”

Dipper flapped his still-raised hands. “Me? Uh, no! No, I was just, just, uhh…” He swallowed, eyes darting to the ground and back up again. “Well, you probably wouldn't believe me on that one. Sooo…what are you doing out here? Who are you?”

The boy was unmoving. His scowl didn't falter, small hands curled into fists at his sides. His measly frame trembled, as if a breeze would knock him right over, but there was strength to his stare. “It’s none of your business. Go away.”

“Aww, look, don’t be like that. Okay, so, maybe I overheard some stuff! You can’t blame me, you were pretty loud. Can’t we just, like, talk? It looks like you’re lost.”

For a moment, it looked as if the boy was considering the offer, a curl of hopelessness passing over his face. It left as quickly as it came, and he was frowning again, standing his ground. “I’m not lost. I’m right where I need to be, and I don’t need your help. So go. Away.”

Dipper stared back in an uneasy silence. He didn't know who this guy was, but he was going to get himself killed out here if he didn't move. No amount of convincing looked like it was going to work, though, and Dipper couldn't just force him back to civilization. He sighed. “Fine, fine! I know you’re lying, but if that’s what you want. Have fun getting eaten. I’ll just be on my merry way, then.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Go.”

As soon as he was alone, Norman Babcock began to cry. The woods pressed in from all around, endless and suffocating. The air here only grew colder as time passed, although it was still early summer. A dark grey overcast smothered the sky, making it feel later in the day than it was. The wind rose and he shivered, pointlessly hoping it wouldn't rain again. As of now, his only resting place was that little clearing, where he remained huddled next to a fallen tree. Thunder rumbled overhead, bits of lightning flickering behind heavy clouds.

Why was he so stubborn? Help had arrived in one of the most convenient and peaceful ways it could, and he had rudely turned it down. Not only that, but he’d blown up at his only other resource. Norman wouldn't blame his friends if they stopped trying to help him, if they were even considered friends anymore. Now the tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried to make them. Crying was exhausting.

To add insult to injury, a wandering ghost wouldn't stop pestering him. The spirit of a lumberjack, annoyed at dying from slipping over the edge of a nearby cliff, had nothing better to do with his afterlife, choosing to spend it bugging the only person who could see him.

“Tough luck, sonny.” He shook the head atop his broken neck. “Shoulda gone with that other feller when ye had the chance.”

Norman sniffled and hugged his knees to his chest, refusing to meet the ghost's gaze. “I got that, thanks.”

“You best be followin’ after ‘im. Storm’s brewin’ right above yer head.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

The ghost hooted, the thick shape of his torso shimmering. “’Fine!’ Yer dyin’, kid. I would know.”

“Whatever.”

“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn ye.” The spirit sighed, descending until his oddly-bent legs had vanished beneath the ground. “Won’t be stickin’ ‘round much longer, I reckon. Rain makes these old bones ache.”

Norman’s heart sank somewhere in the pit of his stomach. “Then good riddance.”

The ghost was finally gone, and there was the unearthly quiet before the storm. The wind was steadily picking up speed, shoving past the pines and rolling into a howl. Norman shook, knowing he should take the ghost’s advice but unsure whether he could stand anymore, much less walk. He had ran out of food over a day ago, and spending a night out in the rain was taking its toll. His nose wouldn’t stop running. He was cold and weak and feverish, and wanted nothing more than to be back at home in bed.

Maybe it’s better like this, Norman thought. Where he was now, he couldn’t upset anyone. No one had to face the constant anger that was boiling just below the surface. He didn’t know why he was always so angry lately, and he didn’t know why he was here. The weird tugging sensation had stopped, at least, though he wasn’t sure if his recent hallucinations were from the strange properties of the area or his own waning health. Maybe everyone was better off this way, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to hurt.

Norman tried to convince himself that this was the only option, but he was still very scared, very sick, and very lost.

Dying might just make things worse, he thought, and quietly nodded off into the arms of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Dipper walked back to the Mystery Shack empty-handed, but his purpose for leaving was long since forgotten, replaced with nothing but thoughts of the strange encounter in the woods. He’d tried to ignore it at first, telling himself there was nothing he could have done in that situation. He’d tried his best. Of course he had.

Then the wind picked up, and the first drops of rain plopped onto his hat. The sky let loose an angry torrent, leaving Dipper scrambling for shelter and sopping wet by the time he got home. Still, as he stood dripping freezing water onto the tacky lake monster welcome mat, all he could think of was the weird kid in the forest.

He shouldn't have left him. He knew that. But for all intents and purposes, he willed himself to forget. It wasn't any of his business. To meddle in someone else’s affairs like that in a place like this would be unbelievably nosy, not to mention dangerous. He wasn't wanted. What he thought didn't matter. He should just leave the whole thing up to the grown ups, or something.

Which was exactly why he went straight to looking for Mabel, eager to tell her everything that had happened and already forming a plan about how to deal with it. The problem was finding her. The Mystery Shack felt hollow and quiet, the only noticeable sounds being the soft drumming of rain and faint snatches of thunder from outside.

It was a bit quieter here these days, at least with Wendy not around. Dipper found himself staring at the counter where she used to work before she’d left for college. It had been a rough summer without her there, and he was only recently learning to stop sulking whenever he remembered. Dipper shook the thought from his head, walking past the counter without another glance. That wasn't important right now.

Soos wasn't around either, so Dipper assumed he was running errands or at his grandmother’s on his day off. Soos was one of the biggest mysteries Gravity Falls had to offer, sometimes. A supermarket, a church, a cave. He could be anywhere.

Grunkle Stan’s car was gone, too, so it looked like it was just the twins and Waddles. Now that they were older and more than familiar with the area, Grunkle Stan didn't fuss as much about leaving them home alone. He’d never really fussed in the first place, but now he didn't have to make up excuses or lie about their ages, so he left more often. (“The pig’s as good as a guard dog,” he’d say. “You kids aren't gonna get any help from an old man like me if someone kidnaps you, anyway. I could throw out my back or die or something.”) So as far as adults went, it looked like they were home free. And that he could work with.

Dipper roamed around the Shack until he caught sight of Mabel. She was sitting on the living room rug next to Waddles, one arm draped over her soul mate and her eyes fixed to the ancient wooden television console. She’d probably been watching cartoon reruns all morning, like she did sometimes when it rained, passing time until the sun decided to come out again.

Too frazzled to wait, Dipper rushed his twin, spouting what he’d seen and what he planned to do before she’d even had time to say hello.

“Dipper! Stop talking for a minute!” Mabel saw her drenched sibling and switched off her cartoons to give him her full attention. “You look awful! You need to dry off before you get a cold or magic measles or something. Then you can talk about whatever it is you just said. Got it?”

“But Mabel, this is important!” Dipper had been trying to get a word in edgewise, too distressed to care about catching a cold or magic measles or something. “I was out in the woods, and-”

Mabel jammed her fingers in her ears and started to yell. “Nope, not listening! La la la la la!”

“C’mon, Mabel, what are you, five? I–ugh, fine.” Dipper crossed his arms, keeping his mouth shut long enough for Mabel to get the hint.

She grinned, uncovering her ears. “Good. Just go make sure you’re not dripping on everything and I’ll listen.”

Groaning, Dipper stomped to the bathroom to fetch a towel as fast as possible. He went as far as to toss his hat aside and dry his hair to make her happy. By the time he was done, he looked like a damp, disgruntled Pomeranian, plopping on the rug next to Mabel and waiting for permission to speak.

“Okay, shoot.”

“I was out in the woods looking for leprechauns, you know, because of reasons.” (She’d heard the whole tirade several times.) “I was pretty far from the Shack when there was, just, this kid! Out in the middle of nowhere!”

“Huh?!” Mabel's hands flew to her face. “What was he even doing out there? What happened?”

“That’s just it! I tried talking to him, but he just told me to get lost. He was actually pretty pissed. Ugh, I wish I knew why.” Dipper rubbed at his eyes. He still couldn't make sense of that part, but whatever way he looked at it, there wasn't much sense there at all. “He was pretty weird, though, Mabel. Like, talking-to-thin-air weird. He wasn't from around here, either. Something was up.”

“Really?” Her face brightened, and he could tell her mind was already reeling. They’d been in the business of solving puzzles like these together for over three summers now, so this wasn't even close to the strangest things they’d seen. Maybe that’s what made it all the more suspicious. “But why was he in the middle of nowhere?”

“I don’t know. It looked like he’d been out there for days.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face grow hot. “He, uh…he didn't look like he was going to last much longer.”

Mabel gawked at him as if he’d grown another head. “And you just left him?!”

“I know, I know!” Dipper raised his hands, knowing that was coming. “It was really bad, I know. I feel awful about it, and I need to go help him, whether he wants me to or not. I need someone to cover for me, though, in case Stan gets back. He might be fine with leaving us home by ourselves, but there’s no way he’ll let me go during a storm.”

Mabel nodded, her gaze becoming official and serious. “We've got your back, partner. Me ‘n Waddles will make sure he doesn't know a thing.”

They were so genuine. There was always something a little bit threatening about her promises. Dipper smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Mabel. I owe you one.”

“Ehhh, you can give me a week’s worth of your ice cream money and we’ll call it even.”

“Aww, what?”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m just kidding! Maybe. Make sure you wear one of those ponchos Soos gave us so you don’t get soaked this time.”

“Oh, right. Almost forgot we had those.” Dipper rose to his feet and glanced at the window, watching the rain cover the glass in thick, weepy sheets. He puffed out his chest, at least mimicking an action of bravery. “Well, here goes nothing...wish me luck!”

Mabel snorted. “You’re a huge dork. Good luck, and be careful! Get back soon!”

The storm was worse than he’d thought. The thin plastic poncho clung to Dipper’s skin, keeping him dry but hardly retaining heat. His teeth chattered as wind whistled in his ears. Lightning briefly split the sky, causing thunder that quickly shook the ground beneath his feet.  The journey to the forest looked bleak, the clouds growing thicker towards this wilderness, but Dipper convinced himself that he wasn't scared. It was just some bad weather, no big deal. He could handle it. Of course he could, at this point.

Traversing the slick mixture of mud and leaves, Dipper stumbled through the woods, trying to remember where it was he’d been last. He’d been a good ways in when he’d found the kid earlier, so it looked like the hike could take even longer this time. That was, if he found him at all.

The boy really could be anywhere, and if he’d had any chances of finding him before, they were even slimmer this time around. At least there was the likelihood that he wasn't moving anywhere fast. Maybe the kid was even sitting snugly under some shelter somewhere. It was a long shot (a really long shot), but there was honestly no way to tell, and he clung to that possibility.

Dipper pushed through brambles and branches, ignoring how cold and scraped his hands were becoming. This path seemed familiar enough. Scanning the area, he smiled, recognizing the unusually large rock he’d passed by earlier. (The same one he’d thought was a sleeping giant and had spent a good fifteen minutes hiding from before realizing his mistake.) Scrounging up what little tracking skills he had, Dipper attempted to follow his own path, now that he was mostly sure he was heading in the right direction.

Maybe it was just the wind, but as he felt himself nearing where the clearing had been, the temperature seemed to keep dropping. Dipper shivered and swore under his breath, wishing he’d brought heavier clothing. It was summer now; it wasn't supposed to be this cold. The rain he could understand, but the increasingly frigid air that surrounded him didn't make sense. He hoped it wasn't anything related to anything weird and tried to stop shivering.

Dipper became so preoccupied with keeping warm that he nearly overlooked the body lying in the mud. He gasped, freezing in place as he processed the initial shock. It was the boy, collapsed on the ground. He showed no obvious signs of life.

“H-Hey!” Dipper broke away from his shock and staggered to his side, kneeling down next to the figure and wracking his brain for instructions. “Oh, god, what do I–hey, are you all right?”

When he received no response, Dipper did the first thing he could think of and grabbed the boy’s wrist, checking for a pulse. He could still feel blood flowing beneath his fingers and allowed himself a half second of relief. Forcing down panic, he gripped one of the kid’s arms and tried pulling it over his shoulder. When he stood, the weight simply lifted from the earth. Through trial and error, he found a relatively gentle way to carry the body, limp arms strung around his neck. So far, so good.

Dipper had to yell so he could hear himself over the rain. “Okay, I don’t know if you’re getting this, but everything’s gonna be fine. J-Just, try to hang on, all right?”

He bit his lip. The boy didn't look good. He was filthy and seemed paler than people should be, his skin so cold that any heat nearby felt as if it were evaporating. Dipper tried not to look and focused on getting home, half-carrying, half-dragging the kid along with him. It would have been more difficult, but the extra weight was, unsurprisingly, not much of a burden. That, plus the fact that Dipper actually was a bit stronger than he looked, made it possible at all.

The storm was letting up slightly, even if it was brief. After a good half hour of struggling, Dipper could no longer feel his toes, and the Mystery Shack was within sight. With a grunt, he tried to rush through the last stretch, almost dropping the boy in the process. Dipper hardly paused to catch his breath before he was knocking on the entrance as hard as he could. “Open the door, open the door!”

He heard the plethora of locks and chains being undone from the other side, and it took nearly half a minute before the door swung open. Mabel stood on the other side, her jaw dropping as she processed the situation before her.

Dipper hurried inside, thankful for the air conditioner’s warm embrace. “Mabel! I need you to get out that old cot Grunkle Stan has stashed away in case we have company. He’s not around, is he? I didn't see his car.”

Mabel stared at the stranger, chewing her lower lip and shaking her head. “No, he’s still out. I’m on it.” Holding a breath, she turned and headed for the closet.

Dipper kicked off his sneakers, resting the smaller form against the wall so he could pull off his poncho. He emerged relatively dry, but the other boy wasn't as lucky. He was soaked through, though the weather hadn't seemed to faze his wild block of hair. Dipper began to fumble with the boy’s sneakers, trying to remember what to do for hypothermia, removing any wet clothing in an attempt to keep the body warm. He was able to awkwardly remove the boy’s socks, backpack, and hoodie by the time Mabel came rushing back.

“It’s all set up in our room,” she informed anxiously. “Are you sure he still breathing?”

“No, Mabel, I don’t know anything right now!” Dipper bit his tongue, shoving down the urge to crumble. He took a slower breath. “Did you get a lot of blankets? He feels like ice. Come help me get him up there.”

Mabel looped the boy’s other arm over her shoulder, and they carried him to their room together. The old cot was rickety and smelled of dust, but it held out under the boy’s weight. As soon as they had him arranged in what they assumed was a comfortable position, they piled on every blanket and quilt they could find. Mabel even dug up the electric blanket they used whenever they got sick. At one point, she checked to see if he was still breathing, sighing loudly when the result was positive.

“Do y’think that’s all he needs?” Mabel couldn't take her eyes from the cot near the foot of her bed, hands constantly pulling her frayed sweater sleeves. At least from a distance, she could tell his lungs were working.

Dipper was sitting on his bed, searching his mind for answers and finding nothing. There wasn't a hospital anywhere nearby, and the internet was down, so he couldn't look for help there. He felt worse than useless. “This is all I can think of. We're not doctors. Let’s just keep him warm till he wakes up, and then we’ll see what else we can do.”If he wakes up.

Mabel sat perched on the floor between their beds and rocked on her heels. “I really...I really hope he’s gonna be okay. He’s gonna be okay, isn't he? What if he isn't? If he dies, wouldn't that make you, like, a murderer?”

“W-What–no! Mabel! Don’t even say that.” Dipper glanced at the cot, feeling a hard knot tying his stomach to pieces. “If anything happens, it’s not our fault. We did what we could.”

He really hoped that was true.

Chapter Text

Norman woke to ghosts of fleeting nightmares, empty images and voices still slipping in and out of his memory. He blinked several times before his eyes would focus. Instead of the dismal surroundings of the forest, there was a low wood paneled wall, plastered with stickers of farm animals and glitzy posters of pop singers he didn't recognize. After absorbing this, he found he was very awake, even if his body wasn’t. He was drenched with sweat, weighed down under a colorful mountain of blankets. Nothing seemed to be real yet, the bright pinks and purples swimming in his vision, light bouncing off of glitter and causing his head to ache. Norman almost drifted off again, but the obnoxious hues reminded him of Courtney, which reminded him that he was probably still very, very far from home, and that he should attempt to identify his location. 

Groaning like the undead, he tried to roll over and face something that wasn’t a wall, a feat not easily accomplished when buried in musty quilts. As soon as he did, two faces filled his entire range of vision, looking down on him raptly. Teenagers, probably twins, and most certainly living. They stayed frozen for a moment in stunned silence, Norman’s wide eyes taking it all in. Despite himself, words fell out, although they came out more like croaking. 

“D-Did I die?” 

One of them, the glittery one, let out a burst of nervous laughter. Her ridiculously large, ridiculously saturated sweater almost hurt to look at, shifting the color of the entire room. “No, silly! And thank goodness! We thought you were a goner.” 

“Mabel!” her twin hissed. “I don’t think that’s what he wants to hear right now.” 

The other voice sounded startlingly familiar, but Norman’s mind felt like mush, a puddle of soup sloshing around in his skull. Trying to remember brought up a flare of pain, so he decided to question it later. Instead, he tried to keep speaking, but that didn’t go so well, either, his tongue dry and heavy behind his teeth. In a mix of slurred words, he said something like “WhherrmI?” 

Despite his lack of coherency, the girl understood. “Where are you?” She laughed again, like he'd arrived at some kind of renowned magic universe in the night. “Gravity Falls, silly!” 

“Ssshh! Not so loud, he’s clearly out of it right now. It’ll take him a while to talk.” 

He knew that voice; he’d heard it not too long ago. At least, it seemed like it hadn’t been that long. Norman’s perception of time had been out of whack for weeks now, hours and days and minutes all blurring together in his head. Not being able to identify the speaker was vexing, and he knew there was some sort of negative connotation attached to it, but he didn’t have the energy to put the pieces together. He squeezed his eyes shut to soothe the throbbing in his head. There was too much noise, too much to look at, too many people who weren’t dead yet. 

While the girl remained rambling about how glad she was to see him alive, the other boy caught on to his exhaustion. She calmed down as he led her elsewhere, and the two left the room, mentioning something about sitting tight and pigs and hot chocolate. 

Norman sighed through his nose, relieved to be alone. He’d have time to thank whoever these people were later, but for now, he focused on recovering. His limbs felt cold and numb, and everything was painfully stiff, even small movements feeling insurmountable. His jeans were still damp from the downpour, the rough, itchy fabric clinging to his legs. Having something warm to drink sounded like the best thing in the world right now, next to a hot shower and change of clothes. But he had to take things one step at a time. 

Then he could get out of here. 

Before the twins could return, Norman had fallen asleep again, waking to the loud creak of the door. They were quieter this time. Calmer. Even if it had only been maybe half an hour, drifting off had helped ease away some of the pain of in Norman’s head. He felt more welcoming of their presence now, especially since they’d brought hot chocolate. The warm, homey smell made his stomach churn, and he tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d eaten last. 

“You awake?” The boy stood next to the cot with a tray in his hands, towering over him. “We made the hot cocoa, but you looked like you needed a minute. Feel like you can, uh, sit up?” 

Norman swallowed. He didn’t, but he nodded, willing to try. He felt the weight of the bedding lift as the other teen removed most of the mountain, leaving two quilts and the electric blanket. Across the room, his twin grabbed pillows off from the beds. 

Gritting his teeth, Norman gripped the sides of the cot and gingerly lifted himself upright, muscles searing. The girl piled the pillows high behind him for support, and he leaned back, successfully sitting up. It was only a small accomplishment, but it felt better. Now he could see eye-to-eye with his rescuers. 

They were nearly identical, even sharing small things, their little lilts and gestures matching seamlessly at times. The girl was slightly taller, though the boy wasn’t especially tall himself (Norman guessed he had at least an inch on him, excluding hair and hats). Though they shared the same face and curly mess of hair, there was a stark contrast between how they dressed, the girl sporting many colors while the boy opted for a more plain and practical approach. They did, however, share the same weird, familiar gleam in their eyes, staring at him as if he were some kind of intriguing attraction. 

Their stares made him uncomfortable, but he paid less attention to it as the girl handed him a mug of hot chocolate. “Here! Careful, it’s hot.” 

Norman cupped the mug tightly in his hands, just savoring the feeling of hot ceramic. (“World’s #1 Rich Great-Uncle” was painted and chipping on the side, for some reason.) After a moment, he tried a sip, burning his tongue but revived as heat began to flow back through him. He continued hesitantly sipping until the mug was half-empty, and it was only then when he felt he could put it down and talk. 

“Boy, you sure were thirsty,” the girl observed with a broad smile. “We have a lot more where that came from. Grunkle Stan gets it on sale during summer for us. We don’t ever really end up drinking it.” 

“Yeah, have as much as you want,” her twin chimed in. “You were looking pretty bad there for a while, but hot drinks are supposed to help. Well, I think they’re supposed to help…” 

Norman chewed at his singed lips, all of the attention converting to awkwardness on his end. At least talking didn’t seem so hard anymore. “Um, thanks. C-Could you tell me where I am, though?” 

The other boy blinked. “Oh! Yeah, uh, forgot about that. You’re in Gravity Falls. It’s just a little town in the middle of nowhere, really. A weird little town, yeah, but-” 

“No, no, I mean-” Norman paused and winced, feeling his headache begin to reemerge. “I mean where am I. What state?” 

“Oregon! Gone to Gravity Fa-alls, gone to Or-e-gon?” the girl sang. “We made up a song about it once. Maybe we could teach it to you later, so it’s easier to remember. Hey, kid, you okay?” 

Oregon. Norman couldn’t believe it. He almost spilled the remaining contents of his mug, just barely catching himself. The rich drink settled heavily in his stomach, no longer as comforting as before. Oregon. That was all the way across the country. Somewhere far away, he felt his hands start to tremble. It took effort to stay rooted in the conversation, his mind reeling. 

“A-Are you sure? Oregon?” Norman heard his voice crack. 

“Yee-eah, you’re in Oregon. Is that a bad thing?” The boy frowned and leaned in. “Where are you from, anyway? You look familiar, but you’re not from around here.” 

“Mm-” Norman fought to keep his breathing steady. “M-Massachusetts.” 

“What?!” the twins cried in unison.

The boy’s jaw hung open in bewilderment. “B-But, how did you get here? You were just camping somewhere nearby and got lost, right? On vacation with your family, seeing the sights! Right?” 

Norman set the mug down, fearing he'd drop it. He shook his head, trying to comprehend the fact himself. “I’m alone. And I don’t…I don’t know how. I don’t know how I got here.” 

And that was the scariest part. Not knowing. 

“I-I mean, I remember taking the train, and being on a lot of buses, a-and maybe...walking…for a long time. But I don’t actually remember it.” 

“No way,” the girl breathed. “You came all this way by yourself?” 

“Wait, wait, hold on a second.” The boy gestured for his twin to stay quiet, looking Norman dead in the eye. “You’re saying you ran away from home and mysteriously crossed the entire country? And you don’t even know why?” 

“No!” Norman flinched, not intending to shout. “N-No, I didn’t run away. I’m not lying, I don’t want to be here. There was just, this, this-” He trailed off, unsure whether he should try to explain. Might as well give it a shot. There was some part of him that wanted to remain secretive, if only to make leaving this place behind easier. But the way things were going, it couldn’t hurt to try and get some information, even if the chances were slim. Any clues at all. Besides, it wasn’t like he had to tell them the whole truth. 

Norman fidgeted with the corner of a blanket, trying to stay calm. “Well, you probably won’t believe me, but…I’ve just felt…drawn? To somewhere. I’d try to walk there in my sleep sometimes. I didn’t know where it was, but I guess…” He looked around the room, eyes skimming over the messily-made beds and crumpled-up notes littering the floor. “I guess this was it. I-It’s kind of complicated. I don’t know why, but I need to be here. Something’s not right with it. What was it called?” 

“Gravity Falls,” the other boy repeated quietly. His expression had shifted after hearing that last statement. “Who did you say you were again?” 

“Uh, Norman. Norman…Babcock?” 

“You!” The boy slapped a palm to his forehead, his face lighting up. “I’ve read about you! You’re the one from Massachusetts! That kid from that one town—what was it—Sleepy Hollow? But you’re, like, psychic! It all makes sense now!” 

His twin didn't have any idea what he was going on about. “Psychic? Whadda you mean? Like, Gideon psychic?” 

The boy hopped off his bed in excitement, gesturing wildly with his hands and beginning to pace. “Mabel, this kid can see ghosts! I remember finding articles on the internet about him years ago, but I never thought–I mean, I never knew he might end up here.” 

The boy turned to Norman with a bashful grin. “Uh, geez, now this is kind of embarrassing. I’m Dipper, and this is my twin sister, Mabel. Sorry about skipping introductions. I guess I got carried away." Dipper averted his eyes with a nervous laugh. Then the question came. “So you can see ghosts, right? Sorry, you probably get that a lot. I’m just, uh, sort of a fan. Did you really get rid of a witch and, like, save the entire world from a zombie attack?” 

Norman winced. “Get rid of” was a bad way of putting it, not to mention “witch” and “zombie”. But he ignored the statement, knowing Dipper probably hadn’t heard everything. Mabel noticed his expression and began poking her brother in the arm. “Hey, if I have to use my inside voice for him, you can’t be bombing him with all this stuff! He’s probably exhausted.” 

“No, it’s okay.” Norman found himself smiling, if just a bit. “All of that’s kind of, technically true, yeah.” 

“That’s awesome!” Dipper was almost hopping in place, eyes alight. “Gosh, I have so many questions. We’ve run into some ghosts before, but they’ve never been anything that powerful.” 

Norman’s smile vanished. “What? You-You’ve seen ghosts? Really?” His first thought was that he was being mocked, but that didn’t make sense. He’d never met anyone outside of his scattered relatives who’d had his ability. He supposed it wouldn’t be entirely impossible that there were more. 

“Yeah! But only when they were, like, showing themselves in a temporary space, you know? We hardly ever see them for real, though. Not like you can.” 

“Uh, huh…” Norman felt skeptical, but then again, he got the feeling that anything could happen here. “So none of this is, um, weird, to you guys? Have you seen other stuff before or something?” 

“Oh, sure!” Mabel chirped, counting off the creatures on her fingers. “Ghosts, manotaurs, fairies, gnomes, giants, half-presidents, you name it! I don’t think we’ve seen any actual witches or zombies yet, though, so you got us beat there, pal.” 

Dipper signaled for his twin to slow down. “Um, yeah, this is probably a lot to take in. Especially since you’re not fully recovered yet. You might not believe us, but I have something that might work as proof.” The boy reached into his vest, pulling out a large, leatherbound book from the inner pocket. The sight of the tome gave off a peculiar vibe, the six-fingered hand on the cover gleaming oddly in the lamplight. Norman's grip on the surrounding quilts instinctively tightened.

“Three years ago, I found this in a secret compartment in the woods. Someone wrote down all of the weird things they found in Gravity Falls and hid it there. We don’t really know why, but it’s supposed to help uncover all of the strange stuff that goes on around here. It has documents on all kinds of things, even stuff like ghosts.” 

Norman listened patiently, an idea swelling in his mind. Whatever reason he was here, he had the strong feeling that it had to do with that book. Still, he wasn’t entirely sold. “Let me see.” 

Dipper flipped to the passage on spirits, crossing the room to sit by Norman. He ran a finger down the page, showing him the details. “See? It says here that ghosts are always there for a reason.” 

“I guess that’s true,” Norman agreed, “even if the reason is that there wasn't one before.” 

“It might not be totally accurate. I mean, if you read all of it, you can tell the guy who wrote this couldn’t see ghosts all the time or anything. So his knowledge was probably pretty limited, compared to yours.” 

“Yeah! With what you can see, we could probably all combine our brains and make a better journal. I can see it now!” Mabel spread her arms out wide. “’Amazing Mystery Gang Trumps Existing Theories with New Rad Bestseller!’” 

Norman let out a small laugh, excitement building in his chest. He had a lead. The more he found out about Gravity Falls, the less lost he felt, and that had to mean something. Maybe the reason why he was brought here was just around the corner, and all he had to do was look. The realization sent blood rushing to his head, and he leaned back on the pillows, dizzy and fatigued. 

“I think I need to let this sit for awhile,” Norman interjected. “I’m, um. I’m still pretty tired.” 

“No problem.” Dipper shut the journal, tucking it back in his vest pocket and rising to his feet. “If you need anything, just yell. Uh, well, actually, our great-uncle doesn’t know you’re here yet, so maybe we’ll save yelling for later. The bathroom’s just down the hall if you need to shower or anything. My clothes are probably too big, but you can borrow some if you need to.” 

“And we have plenty more hot chocolate!” Mabel added. “Or snacks, if you want. Just don’t eat animal crackers around Waddles, I think it scares him.” 

Norman had no idea who Waddles was, but he hardly cared at this point. “Okay, thanks.” 

“We’ll leave you alone, then,” Dipper said, giving him a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you, Norman. Just, uh, try to relax, okay? Everything’s fine now.” 

“Yeah.” Norman smiled grimly as they left. “Everything’s fine.”

Chapter Text

Norman opened his eyes to see nothing but a black expanse stretched out around him, a starless space. He blinked, once, twice, hoping it was just a trick, that maybe he just wasn't fully awake yet. That he would blink once more and find himself safe, back in bed again. It didn't work, and a familiar, nauseating dread started pressing down on him. 

He was dreaming. 

Norman had never been subjected to a normal pattern of dreams. They were constantly flipping between common nightmares that most everyone had, to visions so impacting that they had to be of some importance. A wider range of visions had been presenting themselves to him lately, and their new inclination was usually nothing short of miserable, causing him to relive moments he'd rather forget. 

This felt like one of those dreams. Norman cautiously stood up, noting how awake he felt. The dark backdrop of the expanse began to chip away at an entirely different scene, sunlight spilling through the cracks, temporarily blinding. By the time he could see again, Norman was standing on a bed of crabgrass, the smell of dead leaves smacking him from out of nowhere. Everything was startlingly hyper-realistic, the nature of the dream hardly distinguishable from reality. The sounds of crows and vehicles and migrating geese split the silence like a radio being turned on, and a chilly breeze even clipped at Norman’s ears. The setting continued to unfold as lawn ornaments began to sprout on the lawn, growing in clumps at a time. He swallowed, nails digging into his palms, knowing what this was and wishing he didn't. 

It had been just like any other day after school. Norman had said he’d wanted to go straight home, and Neil had coerced him into stopping by for a while to play with his dead dog. That had become their routine; even though Norman always insisted he needed to leave, they both knew he would stay. It was one of his happier memories, perhaps even the happiest. But those afternoons were gone now, something he’d never be able to cherish the same way. 

Figments of Norman and Neil materialized before him, the two sitting on the garden bench and occasionally tossing a stick to Bub as they talked. The actual, dreaming Norman was only a few yards away, observing the recollection in horror. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to move, his feet glued to the ground. Even the ability to blink was gone. All he could do was watch. 

“C’mon, boy, c’mere!” Neil cooed loudly, stroking at the air beside him. “Am I petting him yet?” 

A younger Norman smiled and nodded. He hadn't changed much from last fall, the biggest difference being the few inches he’d gained seemingly overnight later that spring. A pang of grief bloomed in Norman’s chest, and his dread was almost, almost outweighed by longing. 

“So, do y’think Bub will always be here in my backyard, or will he move on someday? I mean, it’s great to have him here, but it would kinda suck for him if he had to stay here forever after we’re gone.” 

“I dunno,” Norman said, swinging his legs. “It’s hard to say. Maybe…maybe he’ll pass on once you’re gone, or maybe he’ll go off on his own and play with other ghosts after a while. I mean, I don't know for sure, I can't follow them all the time. Sometimes they just aren't there anymore. But dog ghosts probably have different priorities than human ghosts.” 

“Huh.” Silent, Neil mulled over the information in earnest, tugging at his too-small letterman jacket. While Norman had stayed more or less the same, Neil was beginning to look more like his brother, his frame shifting a little over the months to match his newfound height. It had been a bit unsettling at first, seeing his best friend look like someone who still didn't care that much for Norman. But at this point, Neil's comforting presence far outweighed any complaints he'd had with the Downe household. 

“Wherever you end up going, boy, I hope there’s plenty of squirrels for you to chase. You’d like that, wouldn't you?” Neil giggled and tossed a stick to the other end of the lawn, Bub’s ghost whipping around for the chase. “I guess he can chase all the cars he wants now, huh? Dogs have it good, even when they die.” 

“Heh, yeah, they do.” The other Norman watched the dog with a fond and faraway look in his eyes. 

If only things stayed that way. Norman felt tears beginning to prick at his eyes. He tried to drown out what he was hearing, tried to stare at an unrelated object, but it was no use. The younger version of himself continued to talk casually with Neil when his face suddenly contorted in fury, some tiny, inconsequential comment from the other boy setting him off. He remembered feeling white-hot and unforgiving and so strong, some ancient monster waking up inside of him and completely taking over. 

“No,” Norman breathed, watching himself rise from the bench and grab Neil’s wrist. “No, stop it! Please!” 

They couldn't hear him. Then came the scream and the sickening crunch. Seconds later, Neil was on the ground, his left arm bent at an wrong angle. Breathing hard, the other Norman slowly regained control, his expression shifting from rage, to shock, to horror. 

“N-Neil, I–…no, oh no, are you-” 

“Oww…” Neil tried moving and winced, stunned, trying extremely hard not to cry. “Norman, ahh...what did—w-what was that for? I don’t…” 

“No, I didn’t–I didn’t mean to! I don’t know what happened! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” 

“Hey, it’s okay, man, chill out! Y-You probably just sprained it, or something.” They both knew that wasn't true. “And hey, it’s not like I’m left-handed or anything! I’ll be okay! I just…why did...hey! Norman, wait!” 

The other Norman ran. 

The present Norman woke up crying. 

Finally awake. He didn't ever want to have to fall asleep again, not if that was all he had to look forward to anymore. Norman buried his face into Mabel's worn Sev'ral Times pillow and pulled the blankets over his head, curling up to make himself as small as possible. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…” 

He’d avoided Neil for weeks, after the accident. Though they eventually began to communicate again, things wouldn't be the same, not with Neil, not with Salma, not with anyone. Neil had lied about what had happened ("I just fell out of a tree, that's all!"), and while Blithe Hollow finally gave him a single, pitiful pass, Salma had seen it hurting him, had gotten the truth out of him. Even if she hadn't told anyone, she knew, and she’d acted differently around Norman ever since. Only a little, gazing at something just below the surface of every interaction. But it was too much. They were all he had.

Not that he’d hung out with either of them much after that. He couldn't. Norman confined himself to solitude, refusing to spend any more time around people than was absolutely necessary. The flashes of anger grew more frequent as time passed, but he made sure he wasn't around anyone living, even if it meant taking it out on one of his mother’s favorite ceramic cats or yelling things at his grandma he could never take back. Norman was scared, and he knew nothing, not even a clue of why any of this was happening. There wasn't another Prenderghast around to inform him why he felt like a bomb ready to go off at any given moment. 

The closest thing to a solution he could find was when he thought back to Aggie. Aggie, little Aggie, she was only another vengeful ghost, and she shouldn't have been able to hurt anyone. A dead kid shouldn't have been capable of raising corpses, or causing a huge tornado, or nearly frying him to a crisp with blasts of condensed lightning. 

But she had. The possibility of becoming the monster that was angry Aggie terrified him beyond words. Norman didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he did what he could. The thought of hurting Neil or Salma or anyone was too much to face, and if breaking ties with them kept them safe, then he would do it. 

Truthfully, that had been the deciding factor. The supernatural tug that was pulling Norman towards Gravity Falls had been strong, but he was stronger. Then the incidents happened, and continued to happen. Sooner or later, he was going to wind up trapped in another situation, and there was no telling what he might do after that. It was this fear that finally pushed him to throw all of his savings into a backpack, sneak out in the middle of the night, and bike away as fast as he could. 

He had ran away. It had been a week since then, maybe more, maybe less. His parents had gone on vacation and Courtney was off on her own business, working a summer job and keeping up with her active social life. They’d supposedly left him at the Downe’s for the week. It had been the perfect time to move. As far as Norman knew, no one had bothered to check in on him, aside from Neil and Salma. They knew he’d run away, and they knew why, but even then, they still worried. Norman had occasionally turned on his dying cell phone during his journey and found nothing but unread texts and missed calls. He hated himself for it, but he was scared and alone, unable to resist sending them scattered messages and requests for support. 

Now he was where he was meant to be, but things weren't much better. He was sick. There was the risk of him lashing out at the kind people who were helping him. His parents would be finding out he was gone any day now. He had no plan. Norman wasn't even sure if his phone was in working condition, after having been left in the rain. At this rate, nothing looked very promising. Norman poked his head out from underneath the covers for air, seeing the clothes the boy named Dipper had laid out for him. 

Whatever he did, he couldn't stay here. 

“Sandra, I highly doubt anything happened while we were gone, so stop worrying. I’m sure he just wanted some time to himself, that’s all. He’s never been much of a talker, anyway.” 

Sandra and Perry Babcock were driving back home from what they had hoped would be a relaxing, if brief, summer vacation. Their children were older now and more than capable of handling themselves (aside from a few attributes beyond their control, at least), so they’d finally decided to allow themselves a nice, child-free week by the seashore. Neither Courtney nor Norman were fond of the “crummy old beach” they’d been forced to visit as kids, but it was still a lovely place in their parents’ eyes. Perry could fish, Sandra could read, and neither of them had to worry about anything. 

Or so they thought. Norman’s mother began to grow anxious three days in. She’d called the Downes’ residence several times, and Neil always answered, just Neil, assuring her everything was fine. But he never passed the phone to Norman, and not being able to wish her little man “good night” bothered her more than she knew it should. Mrs. Babcock dismissed her feelings for the most part, but her husband eventually caught on and noticed her discontent. He had agreed to leave a little earlier than they’d planned, but he saw nothing to worry about. 

“I’m just saying, Perry,” Sandra sighed as they pulled in the driveway. “It’s odd that he didn't call. He knows I worry, and he knows to check in with us when we’re gone. I don’t know, maybe I am just crowding him, but it feels like one of those motherly instinct things. Does that make any sense to you?” 

“Uhh.” Mr. Babcock parked the car and removed his seat belt. “Look, whatever the issue is, I’m sure it’s no big deal. We’ll just make sure he calls next time. How’s that?” 

Mrs. Babcock slowly got out of the car, not yet convinced. “I suppose.” 

The house was eerily quiet when they arrived, as if everything had been frozen in time. Flecks of dust floated in the orange light streaming through the half-closed blinds. Paper plates and mugs littered the coffee table, no doubt left behind by Courtney. She was still working at the diner down the street, and she wouldn't be stopping by the house till later that evening.

The stillness wasn't a pleasant thing to come home to. Sandra worried all the more, knowing now should be the time when she could hug and greet her children. She’d never left them for so long before on their own, even if it had only been a week. Their absence made the house feel dead, for lack of a better word. 

“Looks like no one’s home,” Perry said, mostly to break the silence. Then he caught himself, remembering Norman’s frequent reminders. “Well, except for Mom, I guess, but you know what I mean.” 

“I could run by the Downes’ to pick Norman up,” Sandra suggested, absentmindedly wandering through the house. “We’re home a bit early, though. Maybe I should call and go later. No, I’ll just call now and tell him we’re here.” 

“Sounds good. I’m going to get the luggage.” 

Mrs. Babcock sighed as the door shut and made her way to the living room, sinking into the couch and picking up the phone. Dialing the Downes’s number by memory, she waited, gripping the phone a little tighter with every ring. 

“Downes’ residence! Hello?” 

“Deena, hi!” 

“Oh, Sandra!” The voice on the other end seemed a bit surprised. “Wasn't expecting you to call yet. I thought you two were still on that lovely vacation of yours. You’ll have to tell me all about it, I bet it was absolutely tremendous. Why, I haven’t been on a proper vacation in years-” 

“Yes, well-” 

“Hush, Neil! I’m on the phone!” 

A small struggle could be heard from Mrs. Downe’s end, snatches of her younger son’s voice drifting over the phone. “No, Mom, i-it’s for me! I was gonna answer it!”

“Neil, you've been hogging the phone for days! Go on and play, this one is for me.” Mrs. Downe sighed. “Sorry about that, Sandra. My boy’s been acting a bit odd lately. I swear, Mitch wasn't like this when he was going through puberty…” 

“Um, actually, I was calling about that, sort of. Is Norman around? I wanted to tell him that we’re home. I haven’t gotten to talk to him for the past week.” 

“Norman?” Mrs. Downe asked, confused. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen him since you left. I assumed Courtney was looking after him. I hadn't thought to ask. But he certainly hasn't been here, at least, not as far as I know. Isn't he with–Sandra, are you there?” 

Mrs. Babcock almost hung up right there, unable to continue. Her heart began to hammer as her dread was justified, and she gritted her teeth to keep from making a sound. 

“Oh, no, Sandra! You don’t mean–Neil! Get down here this instant! What have you been up to? Where’s Norman?” 

“I-I’m sorry, Deena, I’m going to have to let you go. I’ll call you back in a minute.” 

Mrs. Babcock lowered the phone from her ear and hung up. She sat in silence, the world reeling around her while remaining agonizingly still. The sound of the trunk slamming shut outside shook her from her stupor, and she gave a panicked cry for her husband. 

“Perry! Come quick! It’s about Norman! He’s-he’s gone!” 

“Okay, okay, you can do this, Dipper. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

Dipper stood with his back to the wall and let out a slow, controlled breath, fingering the scrap of paper in his shorts pocket. Mabel could step in whenever he needed her, and he had a list for backup. There was nothing to worry about, really, but his overactive imagination begged to differ. “Just ask him! If he says no, you've mapped out all of your arguments. You literally can’t lose. All right, here goes…” 

Stepping out of the hallway and slipping into the living room, Dipper sidled next to his great uncle, who was slouched over in his armchair. His eyes were set on the television, a groggy scowl plastered on his unshaven face. Even though it was nearly ten in the morning, he still deemed it too early to be awake on a weekend. 

“Heeey, Grunkle Stan! How’s it goin’?” 

Stan hardly acknowledged him, flipping through the channels with more than a little irritation. “What is it, kid? If you’re asking for cash, the answer’s no. Seriously, we've been over this. I’m not that kind of uncle.” 

“No, no, of course not!” Dipper laughed, waving off the statement. “I just, uhh…c-could you turn that off for a second? Please?” 

His uncle let out an exaggerated sigh, slowly reaching for the mute button as if it were the most difficult task he’d ever faced. “I’m all ears. Hurry it up, I’m missing my show.” 

“Okay, so, I met this kid the other day and, uh, it turns out he’s kiiind of homeless. B-But just for a little while! I mean–he just–he needs a place to stay for a bit, so I thought he could stay here. It wouldn't be for long. Is that…okay? With you?” Dipper grinned hopefully, fully prepared to be disappointed and whip out his list for further discussion. 

Grunkle Stan was stunned for a moment, staring down at his nephew in surprise. “Well, geez, kid, you don’t have to act like you’re asking for the keys to my car or something. Sure, if your friend’s got nowhere else to go, he can hang around for a while. Heck, he can even help with your chores to earn his keep! He’d probably do a better job, anyway. I just got one rule.” 

Dipper decided to ignore that last comment. “And that is…?” 

“Just lemme see him first. I gotta make sure he won’t run off with all of my merchandise while I’m asleep.” His eyes narrowed. “Believe me, I know the type.” 

“Sure, you got it!” Dipper rocked back on his heels with relief. “He should be up in our room by now. Hey, Mabel, come on! Grunkle Stan wants to meet Norman!” 

Footsteps carried through the whole house as Mabel came rushing to the sound of his voice, Waddles tottering close behind. She skidded to a halt when she reached the living room, her face alight. “Really?! So that means it’s a yes!” Mabel did a little jig before continuing. “Let’s go check and see if he’s up yet!” 

The three Pines made their way to the twins’ room, Mabel babbling about future sleepovers and adventures the entire way. “After we hunt ghosts and stuff we could come home and watch movies, and eat snacks, and do our nails, and play with Waddles, and—oh! I wonder if he likes BABBA? Then you two would have more to geek out over, hehee. Or maybe he’s into crafting!” 

It took Dipper nearly a whole minute to get her to calm down and also inform her that liking BABBA had just been a phase (it wasn't). Dipper didn't want to startle Norman with a lot of noise, so he pushed aside the bedroom door as quietly as he could. 

“Hey, Norman? You awake?” 

The door opened wide with a creak, revealing the whole room. Everything was as it usually was, with two unmade beds and a general dash of clutter strewn around, from abandoned, scribbled-over lists to sweaters that needed to be finished knitting. The cot was new, as was the hill of blankets piled next to it.

Norman was nowhere to be found. 

Grunkle Stan shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not seein’ any kid in here. This isn't some kind of prank, is it? I mean, I know you two don’t have a lot of friends, but this is just sad.” 

“Maybe he’s still in the shower,” Dipper concluded, confused. “It looks like he used that outfit I gave him, anyway.” 

Mabel shook her head, her brow furrowing. “I was in there just a minute ago and he’d already gotten out. Do y’think he got lost on his way back?” 

Somehow, he didn't think that was the case. The Shack felt empty, aside from the three of them. Maybe Norman had just gone out to get some fresh air, or found the old secret door and got curious, or- 

Dipper’s mind blanked as the pieces clicked together, hands flying to his vest. “No! How did he–when-” 

“Whoa, chill out, kid!” 

Mabel grabbed her twin’s arm before his panic could fully settle in. “What is it?” 

“We’ve gotta go find Norman. Now. He ran off again, I know it! And he, he-” Dipper felt the empty pocket, still comprehending the fact. 

“Mabel, he took the journal.”

Chapter Text

That evening, the Babcocks rushed straight to the Downes’, only pausing to shoot a quick call to Courtney about what was going on. It slowed them down, but it was better than having her panic later. There didn’t seem to be time for even the smallest of things, now. Sandra couldn’t force her hands to stop shaking, unable to take her mind off of finding her son as soon as possible. Perry didn’t seem convinced that Norman had completely run off, thinking he might just be somewhere sulking around town like usual and that they were getting all worked up for nothing. But, whether they wanted to admit it or not, they knew that couldn’t be the case. A week, Sandra kept thinking. He could’ve been gone for a whole week. 

As soon as they arrived, Mrs. Babcock asked if they could speak directly with Neil, knowing Mrs. Downe would only hold them back with needless noise. She would try to apologize or sympathize or continue to scold Neil for keeping secrets, but there would be time for that later. Mrs. Downe let them talk alone after telling what she knew herself, which wasn’t very much at all. Her son had done an exceptional job at keeping the whole ordeal covered up. She eventually left the living room, leaving the Babcocks sitting on the couch and Neil standing awkwardly in the center of the garish rug. 

“Um,” the boy started, unable to look them in the eyes. “Before you hate me and ban me from talking to Norman again and stuff, I just wanted to say I’m sor-” 

“That’s not what’s important right now,” Perry interrupted, surprising Sandra. For once, they were nearly seeing eye-to-eye. “Where is Norman?” 

“You can tell us about that later, Neil. Right now, all we want to know is what’s been going on,” Mrs. Babcock said slowly. “Can you just do that, please?” 

Neil let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Well, Norman left when you guys went on vacation. H-He, uh, didn’t really tell anyone but me. He said it was another one of those ghost duty things he had to do, you know, like before. A-And I tried to go with him! To stop him! ‘Cause that was super dangerous, at least all on his own. But he left before I could do it.” 

Mr. Babcock was growing impatient. “Look, Neil, that’s nice and all, but we need to know where he is.” 

“Calm down, Perry. Everything is important.” 

“Uhh, well. I don’t know where Norman went. I’ve tried to call him loads of times, but…” Right then, Neil looked almost as worried as they were, a shadow passing over his face. “Most of the time there wasn’t any service, or his phone was dead, or he just…didn’t pick up.” 

Neil paused before suddenly brightening. “I got a hold of him about two days ago, though! The thing is, Norman doesn’t know where he is, either. He said it was somewhere pretty far away, and that it was kinda familiar, but that was it. I think he found the place he was looking for, anyway, so that’s a good thing.” 

“A good thing would be if you’d told us this as soon as it happened,” Mr. Babcock fumed, his face starting to redden. “’Kind of familiar’? How’s that supposed to help us? He could be anywhere!” 

“Perry,” Sandra scolded, trying to save Neil from any more wrath. “Getting angry isn’t going to solve anything. What’s done is done. We’ll work with what we’ve got.” 

“I’m sorry, Sandra, it’s just-!” Mr. Babcock bit his tongue and blew off steam, leaning back on the couch while pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re motherly instincts or whatever were right for once, and this is a big deal. We need a plan or something so we can take action now. If he’s been gone for that long and we don’t know where he went, the police probably can’t even help us here.” 

“I-I could keep trying to call him!” Neil offered. “And I could, uh, ask Salma, too. She’s sort of a genius, so she’d figure out how to find him, I bet. Um, and Norman might not want to answer if it’s you guys on the phone, so maybe we'd better try not to tell him the secret’s out, okay?” 

“If that’s what we can do, let’s do it,” Sandra said with a nod. 

Neil gave them a hopeful grin and went to get the phone, dialing Norman’s number that night for the first time of many. Sandra bit her lip, trying to push down the panic that kept threatening to rise. She fought to keep a clear mind so she could steadily work towards their goal. Besides, if Neil had spoken with Norman that recently, there was a good chance that he was still okay. He was a smart kid, she knew that, but that didn’t keep her from worrying. 

Where could he be? 

Norman was running through the woods as fast as his legs could carry him, putting more and more distance between himself and living civilization. His lungs burned and his throat ached and he hadn’t regained much of his strength, but the thought of someone coming after him kept pushing him forward. He’d been running for ten minutes, or maybe fifteen minutes, or even twenty. He couldn’t be positive. But however much time has passed, Norman wasn’t going to last much longer, his legs starting to collapse beneath him. Swallowing large gulps of air, he eventually stopped at a clearing, falling to his knees and ending up lying in a heap on the ground. He waited several minutes before he tried to move again, panting and clutching the book to his stomach as if his life depended on it. 

After he’d nearly caught his breath, Norman sat up and took a look around. There was the fallen tree, and the familiar clump of bushes to the side. It was the same clearing he’d been in before, but he had to struggle to remember what had happened there. Everything he could think of was only a daze by now, clouded over with brief, fevered dreams and things he wasn’t sure had really happened. 

The first thing to come to mind was Neil, a bright thought in the otherwise gloomy atmosphere that surrounded the clearing. Norman remembered he’d been able to get service on his phone and jumped at the chance to try and call his friends again. He picked himself up off the ground, sitting on a log nearby and rummaging through his backpack for his phone. The old device had survived the rain, but that almost wasn’t surprising, considering everything else it had been through. (Norman swore Courtney had accidentally forgotten it in the wash once, but it still functioned, for the most part.)

The real trouble was the dying battery. He hadn’t thought to charge it while he was at that place before, so he would have to make it quick. Norman dialed Neil’s number as fast as he could, gritting his teeth as a tone gurgled out of the speaker. 

“Come on, come on, pick up…” 

“H-Hello?” 

“Neil!” Norman couldn’t help but shout happily, his friend’s voice washing over him like a warm tide. “You answered!” 

“Well, yeah, I’ve been trying to call for ages now.” Neil seemed to be trying to come off as weirdly passive to hide his emotions, but there was a relieved laugh in his tone. 

“I didn’t think you would. I-I think I might have yelled, last time I called…” 

“Yyyeah, you did. But hey, who cares, right? I’m just glad to hear you’re still alive and stuff, buddy.” 

“S-Sorry. About that. Um.” Norman fiddled with the wet tree bark uncomfortably, the information putting their current conversation into perspective. He wasn’t sure if he should act as if it never happened, unable to recall exactly what he’d said before. Brightening, he settled on a change of subject. “H-Hey, but you know what? I got a lead! And I know where I am now!” 

“Really?!” Neil sounded just as ecstatic. “Where-” 

“I found this book, and I think it can tell me why I need to be here. And it looks like it’s actually the helpful kind of book, not just some collection of useless bedtime stories.” Norman still held the tome close, being sure to keep it out of harm’s way. “I’m so close, it feels like I just need to-” 

“Norman, wait! Where did you say you were?” 

“Oh. Uh. Gravity Falls. It’s some place over in, over in…” Norman said the last part too quietly to hear. 

“What? C’mon, you know I can’t hear when you mumble on the phone.” 

“Over in…Oregon.” 

Neil was quiet for a moment. “What?” 

“Ore-” 

“No, no, I meant what. Like, really? Oregon? Isn’t that on the other side of the world or something?” 

“Country.” 

“Same difference. Man, that’s-that’s unbelievable. Uh, where was it in Oregon you said you were?” 

“Gravity Fa-” 

An arm shot out and wrapped around his neck just before something slammed into his back at full force. The phone flew from his hand, landing several feet away, Neil’s voice still shouting his name over the line. Norman hit the ground hard as his breath flew from his lungs, the attacker pinning him down and putting more force on the choke hold. Norman’s left hand still clung to the book, clasping it to his chest as tightly as he could. The phone, he could lose. The backpack too. But not the book. 

The hold grew stronger. “Sorry about this, but I’m gonna need that ba-” 

Norman rammed his elbow into the other person’s ribs in a fit of desperation, making them loosen their grip. It gave Norman just enough time to wriggle away, and he staggered to his feet, gasping for air. The other figure displayed little pain, righting themselves without much trouble. That sort of move had worked on most bullies who’d ambushed Norman in the past, but this one managed to hold their ground. 

Norman didn’t stick around to get a good look at who it was. He turned on his heel and fell into a run the best he could. The attempt failed, something large hitting him with such force that it felt like he’d ran right into a solid wall. Norman was knocked to the ground again, the assailant looming above. He felt someone gripping his shirt and saw a clenched fist overhead, readied to throw a punch. 

“Look, I don’t want to have to do this! Just give me back the journal!” 

Norman paused for only a moment, the attacker’s face registering in his mind. When he tried to struggle free again, a burst of pain exploded on his face, the fist colliding with his cheekbone. Stunned, Norman didn’t move, just staring at the other boy in surprise. 

“You-you actually-” 

“Yeah, and there’s more where that came from. I am not about to let some kid just run off with that journal, got it? Hand it over, and I’ll leave you alone.” 

Norman decided to fall back on instinct again, and instinct decided it was a good idea to throw a punch straight at Dipper’s face. The other boy released his grip and reeled back with a cry, allowing Norman to scramble away. He wasn’t about to try running again, but stood with his back to a tree, grasping the book to himself in a vise-like hold. 

Dipper was still recovering, a trickle of blood flowing from one nostril. “Oww, what was that for?” 

“What do you think?” Norman’s voice was still hoarse, the protest coming out as more of a squeak. “Y-You don’t understand! I need this.” 

Dipper sniffed and frowned, not advancing but refusing to step down. “Yeah, well, so do I! Maybe if you stopped to think for a minute, you’d realize we might even need it for the same reason.” 

Norman didn’t loosen his hold, his bitten fingernails digging into the leather. “What do you mean?” 

Dipper gave up nursing his wound, messily wiping the blood off with his arm and getting red everywhere. “I can see it. You know something’s up with this place, just like we do. Mabel and I have been trying to figure out what it is for years, and that’s not something I’m about to just hand over to anyone who wants it. You don’t even know what you’re looking for, do you?” 

Norman remained silent. 

“I thought so.” Dipper gave him a somber, apologetic stare and stiffly held out a bloody hand. “Let’s not make this a repeat of the other day, okay, Norman? We can help each other.” 

Maybe it was the way he stood in the backdrop of the clearing or the tone of his voice, but Norman felt his chest tighten, a hot streak of anger flushing through his veins as his memory came rushing back. It was him, the same boy who’d found him there earlier and had tried to help. It hadn’t been a dream. 

In the end, Norman hadn’t wanted to run from the twins, or steal their property, or blatantly refuse their kindness, but he knew why he had. He wasn’t even angry about how Dipper had been spying before; it didn’t matter, he was thankful now, but a strong ire still surged through him, pulsing and hot. 

No, no, no. Before he knew it, he took a step toward Dipper, glaring at him viciously. “You.” 

“H-Hey, man, we don’t have to fight anymo-” 

“I told you to leave me alone.” Norman heard his voice seethe with a hatred he’d forgotten he possessed. A warmth beyond what he’d felt in his fevered haze flowed to his limbs, the lingering adrenaline from the scuffle before only feeding the flames. It was a terrifyingly familiar heat, the feeling of over a century’s worth of power thrumming at his fingertips, threatening to burst, and it was completely out of his control. Norman took another step forward. 

“N-Norman-” 

He came within a foot of Dipper’s face, the air around them starting to crackle with electricity. Their eyes were locked, Norman’s growing unnaturally bright as his scowl deepened. “I’m only saying this one. More. Time. 

I 

don’t 

want 

your 

hel-”

“H’ya!” 

Norman was knocked off-balance as a fist was hurled at the bruising area on his cheek. Before he could even think of reacting, someone was uncomfortably close to his face, stunning him into silence. 

“Listen up, buster! I saw enough of that scene to say you’re being a really big jerk right now! Look, for all we knew, we found you dead in the woods less than two days ago! And you’d be really dead right now, if Dipper hadn’t gone back to get you. And he didn’t have to, either! You can go ahead leave and get into the same mess all over again, or you can be smart and stay where you are. You don’t have a choice, though, ‘cause I’m not about to let you go and get yourself killed again, and I’m not letting you hurt my brother. Got it?” 

Norman stared as Mabel took a few steps back, her rant finished. Something inside of him was slowly being quelled, retreating back from whence it came, leaving him trembling and not yet able to properly verbalize. 

“O-Oh. Huh. About time you caught up,” Dipper said, almost casual. “I thought you’d gotten lost or something when I ran ahead. Uh, sorry, about that.” Remembering his appearance, he attempted to cover his nose, but Mabel had seen everything. 

“Really, Dipper? I was gone for like ten minutes and you get in a fistfight? Psshhh, amateur.” 

“Hey, I didn’t have a choice, he was running away! A-And you just punched him, too!” 

“Of course I punched him! He looked like he was about to punch you!” 

The unknown strength fully left Norman’s body and he felt near fainting, immensely weaker than before. As the twins argued, what he’d nearly done registered in his mind, the memory almost dreamlike in they way that he’d been watching himself act, unable to control anything. Norman glanced at the book in his hands and then at the twins, feeling unforgivable in every way. “No! G-God no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean-I just-” 

“Hey. Okay, look. Stop right there.” Dipper stared him right in the eye. “If it were up to me, I’d say you’ve worn out your welcome. I’d say you can either join us, or make me take the journal by force, which would pretty much leave you without answers and dying of exposure somewhere in the woods.” 

“Dipper!” 

“Listen, Mabel! But it’s not totally up to me. Either way, I need the journal. You’re not the first person who tried to take it, Norman. Chances are, you’ll be hunted down for it by bigger enemies than just us. You have a better chance if we group up, anyway. You don’t know what’s going on, and, really? Neither do we. Maybe we can find out, but we have to work together, all right? Emphasis on together.” 

Norman stood shakily, a long pause passing between them as he forced himself to come to grips with the overwhelming fear and relief. He couldn’t describe how thankful he was for Mabel stepping in and stopping him before he’d done something awful. Without a word, he staggered over to the twins, handing them the journal. There didn’t seem to be any other option now but to stay, no matter how risky it was. Either way, Norman didn’t have the strength to try and run again. 

Dipper briskly took it back without even a hint of hesitation. A strong look of distrust settled in his eyes. Norman’s stomach twisted with guilt, and he knew no amount of apologies would suffice if they knew what he’d nearly done. 

“I-I-” 

Before he could go on, Dipper simply held out a hand again, offering a truce. “Together?” 

Norman stared for a moment before cautiously shaking it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. 

Together.”

Chapter Text

Norman used the last bit of his own strength gathering up his things, and, the Pines twins, seeing that he could barely stand, each looped one of his arms around their shoulders to support him as they made their way back to the Mystery Shack. That’s what that place was called, apparently, though the huge sign on the roof should have made that obvious. Upon closer inspection, the Shack was just that – a run-down cabin that seemed to be falling apart at the seams, only dolled up to show a cheesy sort of grandeur. If he was to name its good points, Norman supposed it was still pretty sizable for being called a shack, and it wasn't like it was entirely uninhabitable. Whoever owned it knew how to keep the place running juuust as much as it needed to be, trimming corners in every possible area and constructing illusions so that things at least looked like they were in working condition. Norman wasn't sure if he liked what he saw, but it was some much needed shelter, either way. 

The twins assisted him onto the porch, politely stepping back when Norman said he’d had enough help walking. Dipper chuckled to himself grimly. “The last time I was helping you get here, you were nearly half dead.” 

“Glad that’s not the case this time around!” Mabel said happily, brushing off her yellow dinosaur sweater. “Now you can meet our Grunkle Stan. He’s a pretty cool guy, sometimes.” 

Dipper gave his sister a look. 

“Okay, so maybe he’s a penny-pinching phony with about as much understanding of hygiene as Dipper. But he has his moments.” 

Before her sibling could make another comment, Mabel darted forward and opened the door to the Shack (which was, strangely enough, still unlocked from earlier). A television could be heard from inside, sounds from what Norman guessed was some terrible soap opera welcoming them. 

Mabel made no move to keep quiet, shouting over the noise as she skipped through the doorway. “Hey, Grunkle Stan! We found that kid again, so you can meet him for real now! No pranks!” 

Norman stepped inside before Dipper closed the door behind them. Just standing there felt odd. He’d been in such a hurry to leave before that he’d hardly taken a look at where he was. Before, all that had mattered was an exit, but this is where he would be staying, for now. It smelled funny, like a strange mix of pine needles, unwashed socks, and the food aisle at a forgettable dollar store. 

The sound of daytime TV cut off suddenly, leaving the Shack weirdly quiet for a few moments. Floorboards creaked as someone approached, and an unexplained anxiety started to creep over Norman, his heartbeat quickening. He wrote it off as just social jitters (he still wasn't the best with meeting new people, especially living adults), but it felt like it was something more, this time. Something bad. 

The dread died down a bit as an older man came into view. He sported an unshaven mug, was still in his boxers, and had unruly chest hair poking over what probably was once a white tank. Norman wasn’t sure if this made him any less nervous, but the stranger didn’t look like he merited the sort of supernatural anxiety he felt. He just seemed like an old bum, albeit a fairly grandparent-ish one, with his thick-rimmed glasses and goofy pink pig slippers. The boy had been expecting a more imposing figure, but even if the man didn't look it, something about him still made Norman tense. 

The twins, on the other hand, didn't seem to feel that anything might be off. Mabel grabbed Norman’s hand and dragged him near their uncle, almost as if she were showing a parent a lost dog she’d found in the woods. “See? Not made up at all! Norman, this is our Grunkle Stan. Grunkle Stan, Norman.” 

Stan looked somewhat bewildered, though Norman wasn't sure if it was because their “made-up friend” actually existed or if he himself just looked funny. (That happened, too. It wasn't fun.) The man just stared, scratching his beer gut and looking unsure what to think. “Uh, hey there, kid. Norman, was it? I haven’t had too many good experiences with Normans. He’s not your new boyfriend, is he, Mabel? I thought you were into other things now.” 

“Psshhh, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel snorted, elbowing him. "Always a charmer. Norman’s just a friend! Right, Norman?” 

“Uhh…” 

“Ha ha! Wooow…” Dipper let out an awkward laugh, gracelessly shoving himself into the conversation. “Norman’s definitely not anyone’s boyfriend. W-Wait, I mean-! Ugh, you get what I’m saying. He’s just a new friend of ours, Grunkle Stan, that’s all.” 

Norman shifted uncomfortably at “friend”, hearing the reluctance to use the term in Dipper’s voice. Their uncle didn't seem to notice. 

“Hah, sure thing, kid. Uh, anyway, you seem alright, Norman. I mean, I’m not psychic or anything, but you don’t look like the type to turn in a poor guy to the cops, you get what I mean? You can hang here, if you carry your weight and keep everything under wraps. Can’t ruin the magic for any of my potentially naive customers. Running a tourist attraction is tough work.” 

Norman eyed Stan’s comfortable attire and lack of muscle. “Seems like it.” 

“That’s what I’m talking about! Good appreciation for hard labor. I like you, kid.” The old man gave a raspy laugh that dissolved into a small fit of coughing. “Anyway, glad we got that cleared up. I’ll see you kids around. Gotta go see what The Duchess said to Hampterfuppinshire…” 

Just like that, Grunkle Stan was gone as soon as he’d arrived. Norman came to the conclusion that he wasn't fond of the Shack or its owner, but they both seemed to hold their own cozy, enigmatic charm, somehow. 

“Whew, glad that’s over with. I was pretty sure he’d say no, but I guess he wouldn't really care, as long as you don’t make a mess or anything,” Dipper explained. “So I guess we’re sharing some chores now, too, but we can deal with that later.” 

“For now, how ‘bout a little tour?” Mabel suggested, hopping around excitedly. 

Norman wasn't too eager to examine the neglected corners of the Shack in-depth, but he figured he’d have to do it sooner or later. “Okay. Where do we start?” 

Mabel’s “little tour” ended up taking nearly an hour as she went over every little nook and cranny there was to see in the Mystery Shack, giving long, bubbly narratives on each subject, from the height charts she and Dipper had carved into their bedroom’s door frame to the story of why Grunkle Stan had a “haunted” mechanical lungfish on display. It was all fairly exhausting for Norman, who, despite knowing her good intentions, wasn't used to so much talking. Even particularly chatty ghosts and Neil were never this verbose. He soon came to the conclusion he couldn’t slip away without either of them noticing, then debated whether or not he should just excuse himself and continue this later. All of the conversation combined with a headache and possible fever was making him dizzy. 

Norman couldn't find it in him to stop her, though, and Mabel eventually came to the conclusion of her tour. She was about to launch into another discussion when she remembered she’d been neglecting Waddles (who was apparently her pet pig) for hours. Mabel darted off to tend to him, leaving Norman and Dipper standing alone near one of the exhibits. An awkward silence settled over the room, and Norman stealthily avoided eye contact by pretending to be interested in the large, stuffed figure of the Sascrotch. It was a laughably fake display, fenced in with flimsy guard rails and decorated with big “DO NOT TOUCH” and “WATCH YOUR BRATS” signs. It took Norman about two seconds to spot the zipper on the so-called “guaranteed 100% real” beast. 

Hands shoved in his pockets, Dipper sidled closer to Norman and glanced at the Sascrotch, possibly trying to figure out what might be so interesting about it. “Sooo...what’chya think of the Shack?”

Norman didn't have the energy to be polite and let out whatever came to mind. “It’s kinda tacky. Well, no, it’s-” He frowned at the obviously false exhibit, too annoyed and ill to stop there. “It’s ridiculous. It reminds me of where I live. Just some tourist attraction for a lot of ignorant people to spend their money on and hurt whatever truth might be behind it. It’s disgusting.” 

“Huh.” Dipper paused, adjusting his hat so the quiet wouldn't seem so uncomfortable. “I’m glad you think that, actually. The whole shtick is kind of an insult to the real dangers in Gravity Falls. It makes me kinda mad sometimes, seeing what people will fall for when the actual thing could be waiting outside the door. No one ever listens to me, though, so tourists keep vanishing.” Dipper looked up at the Sascrotch and gave a rueful little shrug. “Well, I warned them.” 

Norman was a bit unsettled by his apathy on the subject, but those sort of things just seemed to be daily occurrences here, and according to what he’d been told, Dipper had been around it for years. It almost sounded like something out of an old crime show, where everyone was a little bit mysterious and no one was to be trusted. (All it needed now was aliens, he thought grimly.) 

“Your uncle seems, uh, odd, though. Like he’s hiding something. If there is anything real here, it’s probably locked up,” Norman guessed. Aside from that journal, anyway. 

“Haha, Stan? Really? I doubt it. Sorry to break it to you, but he’s probably just as sad as he looks. Uh, also,” Dipper added grudgingly, rubbing one arm, “sorry if I was too harsh, back there. A-And for, you know. Punching you.” 

Norman could tell the apology wasn't entirely genuine; he’d seen Mabel pull her twin aside earlier, probably pressuring him to mend things between them. Hardly a word sounded as if Dipper really meant it, which was somewhat understandable, but it still didn't sit well with Norman. He frowned, his face still smarting where he’d been hit twice over. If that was how it was, his reply didn't have to be completely unquestionable, either. 

“It’s fine.” 

After their small and bluntly-finished conversation, Norman had excused himself to go lie down, leaving Dipper to his own devices. His attempt to apologize had failed, more or less, but that was the last thing on his mind right now. Something had wormed its way into his thoughts, as things often did. And once the notion stuck, it wouldn’t stop pestering him until he took action. 

There was something off about Norman. Other times when things like this had happened, even that one time where it had to do with someone under the same name, things had quickly gotten dangerous. Dipper wasn’t about to let anything like that happen again, not when he could do something about it this time around. If there was someone who wasn’t to be trusted in Gravity Falls, it was Norman. Not only because of the journal incident (when had he swiped it? Was it when they were asleep?), but some aspect about his behavior in the woods didn’t fit with everything else. Back there, Dipper had seen something in him, something old and unsettling and filled with wrath. He couldn’t say what it was, but he knew Norman was keeping something from them. 

As always, he confronted the journal first. Or, he would have, if it had been on hand. Dipper panicked as he felt the empty pocket in his vest, only to remember he’d thought better about carrying around earlier. If it was so easy for someone to steal, he’d taken to hiding it in their bedroom, at least for the time being. After waiting for a bit, he made his way upstairs to fetch it. 

Dipper gently pushed the bedroom door aside, slipping through the crack to make the least amount of noise possible. Once he was in, he stayed frozen in place for a few moments before attempting to move again, eyes glued to the lump of blankets that was Norman. The cot on the other side of the room was still, the only movement being the rise and fall of the other boy's breath. Dipper had been worried about him still being awake, but he’d gone out like a light. Not wanting to disturb him (or have to explain why he was there, mostly), Dipper slowly and steadily inched his way over to his own bed. 

Kneeling by the bedside, he stuck a hand underneath the frame and quietly pulled out a cardboard box. It was covered in newspaper clippings and album art of the group BABBA, and other embarrassing bands he liked, being the main place where he hid his tapes and CDs. Just looking at it made his face grow hot, but he’d found a way to redeem himself by using it as a hiding place. No one would look for the journal there, he figured (though his plan was somewhat flawed, seeing as anyone could snoop through it with the intention of demeaning him). It was well-hid, at least. Dipper wasn't about to let anyone find either of the items, musical or not. 

Trying not to make any more noise, he took out the journal, shoved the box back into place, and turned to sit on the floor, pulling his knees toward his chest before silently lifting the cover. Dipper began to forget where he was, his mind fully immersed in the problem at hand. He knew he’d seen an entry on something like this before, but it had never been applicable in the past, or even made much sense. Fortunetellers, psychics, and amulet-induced powers didn't seem to fit the description, all lacking the strange, natural glow he’d seen shifting around Norman. Even if the cases seemed similar, the light had been an unfamiliar, unmistakable shade of green. As far has he knew, that sort of power had to do with something different altogether. 

Finally, he came across it. “Mediums,” he whispered, muttering the lines underneath his breath out of habit. “’These people are fairly normal, compared to others I've come across, but I've come to discover that they have a unique gift dealing with the supernatural’…ghosts, talking to the dead, yeah, I've got all that…” Dipper frowned and scanned the entry closer, trailing a finger over the paragraphs until something jumped out at him. “’I haven’t had a chance to study this subject in-depth, as mediums are very rare. Strange incidents have been said to happen upon their birth, from things as small as blown fuses to the stranger sightings of oddly-shaped rainbows appearing well after dark…their gifts seem to be hereditary, passing on from generation to generation, appearing in certain families around the world, such as the one I've come to learn from in Gravity Falls…’” 

“There!” His finger stopped under a particular section. “’Mediums,’” he murmured, “’are also rumored to be much more dangerous than they appear. They seem to possess a unique power that they are seldom able to tap into. The signature trait is a vivid yellow-green glow, happening first in the eyes.’ That’s it!” Dipper paused for a small moment of triumph before continuing. It was a brief sense of accomplishment, soon replaced with a greater dread. “‘Most occurrences have happened when…the subject was dealing with great amounts of stress, emotional turmoil, hormonal imbalance, fatal illnesses or wounds, the threat of death, or any combination of the above. Though the worst has been avoided, mediums are claimed be a danger to themselves and, possibly, to the entire universe. It may only be my own educated guess, but I believe that…mediums can upset the very balance of the magical plane if not properly monitored…causing catastrophes and opening doors to things unknown…’” 

The last few paragraphs made little sense, but they all warned of perils far beyond what Dipper had dealt with before, his past experiences in Gravity Falls only skimming the surface. There was always the chance that whoever authored the journal was simply writing down their own opinions, and none of it had to be actual fact; there wasn't even historical evidence for that kind of claim, as far as he knew.

But the journal had never been wrong before. 

Chewing on his lower lip, Dipper shut the book, casting a worried glance at Norman before quietly slipping back out of the bedroom. There was always a point where things seemed too big to handle alone, and it was then when Dipper would team up with Mabel, two mystery twins always being better than one. He found her in the kitchen with Waddles, sitting at the table and sharing her cheese crackers with her pet as she flipped through a knitting magazine. Rain gently pattered against the window, the reason for why the two were still inside at the moment. 

“Mabel.” Dipper didn't try to hide his concern, immediately signaling to his twin that something serious was going on. “We need to talk.” 

Mabel froze in the middle of giving Waddles a cracker. “What’s up?” 

Dipper sat on the chair across from her and laid the journal out on the table, the pages still turned to where he’d been before. “I found out some stuff about what Norman is. It’s–well, it’s…here.” He pushed it closer towards her. “Just read through it first.” 

Mabel turned the journal around and started to read, her frown of concentration deepening as she took in the information. Absentmindedly, she passed a few more crackers to the begging Waddles as she neared the end of the entry. Once she was finished, his twin leaned back in her chair, eyes wide. 

“Whoa.” 

“Yeah. I think we've gotten ourselves into something bigger than we thought. If all of that is true, this is probably the most risky thing we've dealt with yet. And, well, I’m scared, Mabel. Norman could be set off at any time, and I think that’s more dangerous than we realize.” Dipper bit his lip, his brow furrowing. He didn't want to say it first, but he knew it was coming. 

“I don’t think he should stay here.” 

A look of disbelief passed over Mabel’s face, her mouth opening and closing with words she was too frustrated to form. “I–you–no! Dipper, how is that supposed to make things any better? Have you even–augh!” She raised her hands angrily, barely restraining herself from slamming them back down on the table. 

“What? I’m serious! He’s already mad at me, and if I do anything else, it could mean the end of the–the friggin’ universe if he blows up again! You saw it, he was about to do something back there in the woods. Something worse than punching. You saw it!” 

Mabel crossed her arms, glaring at him. “I don’t care what I saw! Haven’t you even thought about putting yourself in Norman’s shoes? He’s probably terrified! He might not even know all this stuff about himself. Can you imagine being in that situation? Did you even stop to think about that, Dipper? If Norman did run away from home, it might have had something to do with this, and abandoning him again would only make things worse. The best thing to do would be to try and help.” 

Dipper wanted to argue, but the words fell flat in his mouth, his point weighed down by guilt. “Look, I see where you’re coming from, but I still don’t trust him.” 

“You don’t have to trust him. You need to stop worrying about us and the journal and focus on him. Norman doesn't know what’s going on, but with all this stuff we know, I bet we could do something about that. He said he’s here for a reason, so I think we need to help him figure that out. And hey! Maybe you’re usually the one to think up better plans! But I really think that’s what we should do right now. Okay?” 

Dipper sighed and slumped back in his chair, knowing his argument was rendered ineffective. And she was right. He’d overlooked things only she had thought to see. That’s why they were a team. “Okay. Let’s just be more careful, alright?” 

Mabel snorted, prodding his arm. “I think I've got that covered. You and Norman need to get along better first, but we can deal with that as we go along. Don’t sweat it." She grew quieter, staring straight through Waddles, a small smile spreading across her face. "This is our thing, right? Solving mysteries, discovering magical things, figuring out Gravity Falls. It isn't any different, even if there's a little more danger involved than usual.” 

“I get it, you’re right, you’re right.” Dipper grinned reluctantly, hardly any less worried about the situation that he was before. Dealing with monstrous creatures was much more of his forte than dealing with, say...people. But he had to try to cooperate, at least if it was for Mabel. “And about that. The book mentioned there was a family of mediums once in Gravity Falls. I kinda doubt they’re still around, or else we probably would have heard about them by now. It’s still somewhere to start, though.” 

Mabel's grin widened. “That’s more like it.”

Chapter Text

Norman woke to the unfamiliar chorus of birdsong, their melodies replacing the usual passing cars and Courtney shouting at him to get up. He squinted, a bright strip of sunlight poking through the trees outside the window and falling over his face. Sitting up, Norman yawned, stretched, and rubbed at his eyes before sleepily staring out into space.

Waking up in the Mystery Shack was still a bit disorientating, but, oddly enough, he felt somewhat lighthearted today. His headache had let him be, he wasn’t nearly as filthy or hungry as he’d been a few days ago, and, he realized after a bit of thought, he’d just slept soundly and nightmare-free for nearly a day. That alone was enough to put him in a better mood than usual. There was also the quiet, gentler lull of noise that came with being in the middle of the woods, the muffled chirping of the birds being one of the few things breaking the soft silence.

If things weren’t as hectic as they were, (and, seeing as Norman wasn’t quite awake enough to acknowledge how hectic things were,) he’d admit that he sort of liked Gravity Falls. Other than running into the occasional dead lumberjack in the forest and the foreboding sense of doom, he thought he wouldn’t mind vacationing here too much. Then again, he still had a lot of it to see, and vacations were the last thing to be wondering about now. 

Thinking for sure he smelled pancakes, Norman followed the call of his stomach, shivering with the initial chill as his bare feet connected with the hardwood floor. He padded down the stairs and, upon reaching the bottom, suddenly felt the specific apprehension of being alone in a stranger’s house. The idea of running into the twins’ uncle unaccompanied was just the sort of situation he was desperate to avoid. Thankfully, after a bit of cautious tip-toeing around, Norman stumbled upon the kitchen. 

It was difficult to tell what room it was at first, the now-overpowering smell of pancakes being what gave it away. The kitchen looked nothing like his own back at home, where his mom would either be preparing meals or his other relatives would be heating up microwave dinners when she wasn't (and sometimes when she was). He doubted anyone usually cooked in this room, with leftover newspapers piled nearly as tall as he was and boxes of random junk strewn about. A broken jackalope head sat on the counter next to cheap, off-brand groceries that hadn't been put away and had probably expired by now. He thought it was dust at first, but the closest thing Norman saw to any actual cooking-related activity going on in the kitchen was the fine layer of flour that rested over everything. 

Almost as soon as he stepped in the room, Mabel’s head poked over the kitchen counter. Norman took a step back in surprise, seeing her grinning face and bedhead hair smeared with flour. “Boo! Haha, it’s funny ‘cause I look like a ghost. Morning, Norman! Wait just a minute and we’ll have breakfast ready.” And with that, she ducked back down out of sight. 

“Morning. Uhh…what are you-?” 

Norman moved to peek over the counter and yelped when Dipper, his face just as unnaturally white, popped up from behind it. Frowning, the other twin fought to brush the powder off his t-shirt with little success. “Ugh, it really did get everywhere. Sorry about the mess, uh. Grunkle Stan kept the flour up in the top cupboard, and-” 

A snort from behind the counter interrupted him. “And you were too high and mighty to get a stool-” 

“-and it fell when we tried to get it down,” Dipper finished through clenched teeth. He huffed, sending a cloud of white into the air. “Anyway, I don’t know why we’re going through all this to make stuff from scratch when all of Stan’s stuff probably expired months ago.” 

Norman laughed gently. “The flour seems fresh enough.” 

Mabel appeared next to her brother, wiping her brow and getting even more of the powdery substance everywhere. “Whew, I think I got most of it off the floor. The batter’s done, so we just need to put it on the griddle, I think. Maybe we should have looked up how to make pancakes first…” 

Dipper casually waved a hand to the side smugly. “Psshh, nah, I remember how it’s done. Don’t worry about it. Oh, and you can go get ready or something while we’re busy, Norman, if you want. Your clothes should be clean by now, so you can find them in the laundry room next to the stairs.” 

“Assuming you’re better at remembering how to wash clothes than making pancakes,” Mabel quipped. 

Before they could launch into a bigger quarrel, Norman took the offer to go and prepare, slipping out of the kitchen and making sure not to bump into anyone else. 

Once he’d fetched his clothes and showered, Norman headed back into the kitchen, sock feet almost slipping on where the twins had tried to mop up the mess. They’d cleared a space on the table with four places set and one big platter of stale-tasting, crumbly things resembling pancakes sitting in the middle. Norman sat down to eat with them, the small, pleasant feeling of togetherness surprising him a bit. Even though the pancakes weren't entirely edible (Grunkle Stan had lumbered into the kitchen out of curiosity and immediately left when he saw the disastrous things), it was the thought that counted, and he appreciated them nonetheless. 

Norman tried not to feel the least bit betrayed when he found the breakfast was mostly happening so they could talk over more serious things and not just to enjoy the morning together. The feeling didn't last for long, his curiosity taking up all of his attention as soon as the topic of discussion was introduced. 

“We found out some pretty wild things yesterday,” Mabel started, “about your abilities and stuff. Do you know what mediums are, Norman?” 

“Um. Not exactly? Not the definition or anything, just the idea. If we’re talking about the same kind of mediums, at least. Why?” 

“Well, you’re one of them.” Dipper took out the journal and pushed the pancake platter aside so there would be room for it. There was a stiffness to his movements, as if he was trying too hard to distance himself and hide his own thoughts. “Go ahead and read that entry.” 

Norman hesitated, feeling the atmosphere in the room grow tense as the journal was offered to him. Trying to ignore it, he carefully took it into his lap, the awkwardness subsiding as he immersed himself in the words. He said nothing, his eyes widening as he drank in the information. Head starting to spin from the weight of the topic, he could feel Mabel and Dipper’s eyes on him but was too focused to care. In his hands was an actual article about people like him, people that really existed, people that the author of this book hadn't doubted or been too fearful of to hear their story. And, Norman knew, most of the facts were spot-on, even down to the little things, such as the presence of disturbingly realistic nightmares or the occasional small premonition that turned out to be true. 

So, when he reached the passage on what the full extent of his powers might be, Norman didn't have much of a reason to doubt what it said. He felt his hands start to tremble ever so slightly and forced himself to put the journal down for a moment, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just…a lot to take in.” 

“It’s okay,” Mabel said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to read the rest if you don’t want to. We could just-” 

“No! N-No, I want to read it. All of it. This is the first time I've ever heard about this stuff, at least where someone actually studied it. I didn't even know more people were like…like this. This is really important to me.” And the whole reason I stole the journal in the first place. 

Mabel nodded and let him finish. Norman felt a lump form in his throat with the more he read, clinging to the pathetic hope that the author’s last hypothesis was false. (But how could he, someone who felt that sort of power in his blood and bones, deny such a plausible statement? It was his own fear trying to preserve him, but it wasn't going to make the fact any less real.) The journal was only telling him what he’d worried in the past, so reading about it was less of a shock and more of a dull dread that continued to fester in the pit of his stomach. 

Once he had read over everything twice, tucking every last word into his brain, Norman reluctantly shut the book and slid it back onto the table. There was a long pause, everyone avoiding each other’s gazes uncomfortably, but all still dwelling on the weight of the situation. Norman felt even more out of place, almost sensing the familiar, dividing, dangerous sort of fear radiating from the twins, but with no sure way of knowing what they really thought. At the same time, he felt immensely more sure of himself, finally able to place a term on what he was that wasn't “freak”. It was a confusing conglomeration of feelings twisting in his chest, and he hoped to be able to untangle at least a few of them as the discussion continued. 

“Sooo,” Dipper started awkwardly, scratching at his hair, “with all that in mind, whatever brought you here must be pretty important, and we’re–uh, we’re…” 

“We’re here to help,” Mabel finished earnestly. “It might be by listening or talking or digging up more information, but I just want you to know that. We want you to know that.” 

After receiving a small nudge from his twin, Dipper slowly nodded in agreement before getting to what he wanted to say. “We have a sort of a lead, too. There was a family of mediums who used to live around here, before they died for whatever reason. You caught that part, right? About that family, the Grimwalds? I’m pretty sure they’re who this guy was learning from. We’re not sure how to get there, but finding where they used to live sounds like a good place to start.” 

Norman bit the inside of his cheek, sensing what they were implying. “So you’re hoping their ghosts might be there, right? So I can talk to them.” 

“Well, yeah.” 

He didn't blame them. Norman was sort of excited at the idea himself, being able to talk to more people like himself. Then again, the last time that happened wasn't the happiest of situations. There was no telling how something like this would go; mediums sounded as if they were still just as dangerous to be around in death as they were in life, or perhaps even more so. Still, it did seem like their only lead available. 

“Okay. Let’s give it a try.” 

The Pines twins were more than prepared when it came to going on woodland expeditions, possessing large backpacks filled with essential and emergency supplies for the more important missions. Norman would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little impressed with it all, and he began to doubt their claims of monsters less and less as more evidence kept revealing itself through their lifestyles. Mabel concluded that, since this wasn’t supposed to be a particularly dangerous outing, they would only need to bring one backpack, just in case something went wrong. (Then she immediately and cheerfully saddled Dipper with the job of carrying it, much to his dismay. The luggage had to weigh a ton.) 

And then they were off. Sunlight was scattered everywhere, the seemingly endless flock of rainclouds having finally dissipated. Now Gravity Falls was slowly drying out, the forest steaming as the water on the foliage began to evaporate. The weather wasn't as unbearably sticky here, though, the feeling more akin to the sensation of pores being rinsed clean, flushing out the dust and grime without any uncomfortable residue. Norman felt revitalized, and more alert and content than he’d been in a long while. There was even a small sense of excitement, a feeling of purpose putting a firmness in his steps. He wasn't so lost anymore. 

That didn't mean they knew where they were going, though. Dipper and Mabel bickered with their heads buried an old map as they travelled, nearly walking into trees on several occasions. Norman didn't want to intrude, as he understood his knowledge of this place was infinitely less than their own. He began to notice something, though, a small, familiar feeling slowly taking root in his chest. It hadn't been detectable before, but now that he possessed a clear mind and the strength to act, he recognized it. 

It was the tug. Not nearly as strong as before, but still present, still calling. And Norman suddenly felt he knew exactly where to go. “H-Hey, guys?” 

The twins, still shooting irritated remarks back and forth, paused with exasperated groans. “What?” 

Norman raised his hands defensively at their heated response, shrinking back a little. “Um, I think I know where we’re going. I’ll just…” Trying to avoid entering their argument, he stepped around the twins and walked ahead, taking a deep breath to focus. And with that, he started off to the right, motioning for them to follow. “It’s this way. C’mon.” 

Mabel glanced at Dipper and shrugged, following behind obediently. Her twin wasn't as sure. 

“Hey!” Dipper protested, swaying in place as he debated whether to go or stay. “You think you can get there better than we can? Because I’m pretty sure we totally got this. I’m also pretty sure you have no idea where you’re going. Again.” 

“Ugh, c’mon, Dipper, we don’t have time for this,” Mabel complained. “Norman totes knows about how to find ghosts better than we do. It’s a medium thing, right, Norman?” 

“Y-Yeah.” Norman frowned. “I don’t know how I know where to go. I just do.” 

“That’s probably the least logical statement I've heard all week. I've seen people explain the existence of Bigfoot better than this.” Despite his stance, Dipper joined them, making sure they heard his long, defiant sigh as he did. 

Norman swallowed his annoyance, hoping he wasn't just thinking things and making them even more lost than before. But he held some extent of confidence in that tugging sensation, seeing as it had brought him this far. True to the facts, the three teens soon found their way to a large, open clearing. Before them was an abandoned house, reminding Norman more than a little of where his own great-uncle used to live. The roof sagged inward and moss covered the rotting wood in large patches, the whole building in a state of ongoing ruin. The forest had continued to grow around it, plants steadily working to engulf that which wasn't their own. A near-unrecognizable sign was posted next to the door, deteriorated carvings making out the words “GRIMWALD RESIDENCE”. Butterflies hovered around the lawn, dancing in the dust and disrepair. Norman felt that this was where he had to be, and yet the tug, though not as urgent, still persisted. He didn't think much of it, taking what accomplishments he could. All the same, he would admit that he was more than a little proud at proving he’d really known the way. 

“You did it!” Mabel cheered, slapping him hard on the back. “What a pad! I bet there’s tons of ghosts and spiders in there. And bats, and mice, and-” 

“It looks terrible,” Dipper interrupted, making a face. “It looks like it'd just crumble if we stepped in. I wouldn't get your hopes up.” 

His twin rolled her eyes. Norman huffed, saying, “Well, either way, this is the place. I don’t need a five-star hotel to be able talk to whoever lived there.” 

Mabel skipped over to the porch and Norman followed, leaving Dipper to sulkily pull up the rear. Norman supposed he had a point, as the structure did seem near to collapsing, but Mabel hopped up the steps without a care. The wood creaked and moaned, fibers straining from disuse, but they still supported her weight. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled smugly down at Dipper, who took his turn rolling his eyes. 

Forgetting to be nervous about entering what was possibly a haunted house, Norman twisted the doorknob and let the unlocked door swing open. The movement kicked up a cloud of dust, most of it fading into the pitch-black darkness inside. Mabel wasn't deterred, taking a heavy duty flashlight from their luggage and switching it on. She was the first to march inside, the boys cautiously falling in behind. 

The strong beam of light illuminated several large chunks of space at a time as Mabel swung it around, trying to piece together an idea of their surroundings. The powerful stench of dust, mildew, and rotting wood hit Norman as he stepped inside, and he covered the lower half of his face with the sleeve of his hoodie until he grew accustomed to it. The house seemed much bigger on the inside, the entrance leading immediately to a spacious lobby. The room was covered in dust and completely empty, as if someone had taken all of the furniture out and left the place to fester. The effect was a bit unsettling, and Norman felt a dull anxiety spring up in the back of his mind, though he knew he’d had enough experience to be used to these sorts of things. 

He was the first to speak in the new environment, calling out in the dead silence. “Hello? Is anybody there?” 

“Wow, really? That’s probably the worst way to start out this kind of conversation,” Dipper hissed, keeping close to Mabel and the light. “Don’t walk so far ahead. Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie?” 

Norman sighed, getting fed up. “Well, guess what? This isn't a movie. Just calm down, I know what I’m doing.” 

He wasn't one-hundred percent sure that was true, but he had more experience with ghosts whatever way he looked at it. Even this fact didn't stop him from shivering violently when the temperature suddenly dropped, an unpleasant, familiar chill sweeping throughout the entire room. The twins instinctively huddled closer together, but Norman stayed rooted in place, standing several feet away from the living. His breath quickened as he felt a presence grow closer, the dark making it nigh-impossible to tell where it was coming from or what it looked like. 

After nearly a minute of no response, Norman saw a soft, green glow in the corner of his eye, his body going rigid as he felt a deceased soul pass through him. 

“Prenderghaaaaaassst…” 

The voice was drawn-out and grating, sending chills down Norman’s spine. He fought away panic, reminding himself that it was just another ghost. (But it was more than that, he knew. The air was charged with a similar energy he’d only felt before when dealing with Aggie. It was fainter, older, but it was still there.) 

“Um, Babcock, actually. Norman Babcock. And you are…?” 

“Is the ghost here? Are you talking to them?” Mabel whispered loudly, still clinging to her twin (or, really, the other way around). “What’s their name?” 

“My name…she wants to know…” The scattered glow began to collect in front of Norman, a green mass of particles trying to recall its original shape. “It’s been so long since I've heard my name…” 

“Well, you’re a Grimwald, right? This is where they used to live.” 

“Grimwald!” The mass grew brighter, morphing into a more definite form. Slowly, it transformed into what looked to be an elderly woman. She was small and hunched over, her wrinkles faded and glimmering. Wild, vaguely white hair flowed in matted tangles down to her waist. There was something abnormal and inhuman about this ghost, as if she were so old that the smaller details of her appearance were forgotten, replaced with a frightening shell of half-stitched memories. Her plain, tattered garments were severely outdated, though Norman couldn’t immediately name what era they were from. All he could tell was that the woman was very, very old.

“That’s who I was. A Grimwald…Beatrice Grimwald.” 

“That’s a pretty name.” Norman almost wished he had somewhere to sit so he could relax as he spoke, but he doubted he would either way. Even though she was just another ghost, she still put him on edge, and he chose his words with care. It was difficult, though; this woman was a medium, too, and he had a plethora of questions ricocheting around in his head, constantly fighting to be asked. “Are you the only one still here?” 

Beatrice’s stare was milky and blank, the long-forgotten idea of pupils replacing what would be her eyes. Her expression turned slightly somber, and she drifted in small circles as she pieced together the past. “Only one left here. All of the others are dead and gone. But I had to stay, oh, I had to!” 

Norman flinched as her voice heightened to a wail but kept pushing forward. “W-Why did you choose to stay? Where have the others gone?” 

“You!” Beatrice’s face was suddenly inches from his own, glassy eyes wide and angry. “You can see me! Why are you here, boy? Nooo, oh, no, they've come to take another, and so young!” 

Norman felt the urge to step back but kept still, somewhat used to having his personal space invaded by the dead. Maybe not standing down would get him more answers. “What are you talking about? Who’s-” 

The ghost flew back several feet, floating in slow, worried patterns as she spoke. “This place is cursed! Those who can peer through the veil are endangered, and failure to heed our words could bring forth the end of all things. Can’t you feel it? I had to stay, child, to warn you!” 

“Are you the one that’s been calling me here? Or is it another Grimwald? Maybe they aren't all gone, maybe-” 

“It’s a trap! Flee, boy, unless you desire a fate worse than death!” 

“No, wait,” Norman argued, “that can’t be it. I can feel it, there has to be others like us around here somewhere. They could need our help!” 

“Oh, child, no, no, we all felt that way once, and see where I am now? I was lucky to die as I did, but everyone else fell for the same trick, in the end. Don’t you see? You must run! Go far away from this place and never return!” 

“N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head, “no, that has to be why I’m here. I can’t turn back now, I have to help them, I have to stop whatever killed your family. Isn't that what you need, to pass on and be with them?” 

“You aren't listening!” Beatrice howled, the air snapping with electricity and making the Pines twins yelp. The ghost’s features began to contort slightly, doubling and jerking as her frustration boiled below the surface, making her appearance even more unearthly. “Fool! Get out of my sight! You’re just like them! It’s too late for you! Leave me to suffer in peace!” 

Despite being unable to witness what was going on, the twins could feel the danger in the atmosphere heighten. Mabel swung the flashlight around, seeing the house start to tremble and creak. “Norman-” 

“Get out!” Norman turned away from the ghost, waving his arms. Risking another dangerous confrontation with a medium when more lives were at stake than his own was hardly worth any more information he might be able to glean from conversation. “You have to get out!” 

With Mabel grasping Dipper’s hand, the siblings ran out the front door on their own, leaving the entrance open. Once outside, the silhouette of Mabel against the daylight paused, motioning for Norman to follow. “Come on!” 

“Leeeeeaaave!” 

His legs felt like dead weight, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth with all of the questions he still had to ask. He didn't know when he’d get a chance like this again. Norman turned one last time to Beatrice, wishing he knew what was the most helpful thing to inquire among the several he had lined up. But there would never be time for that, not when she was dead-set on getting him to leave. Still, he had to try. 

“Beatrice, wait, I have to know! Who brought me here?” 

The ghost stopped her tirade just long enough to glare at him wildly, leaning in close to his ear with a too-wide grin splashed across her face and whispering as if sharing a private joke.

“You’re not going to live to find out!” 

With something between a cackle and a sob, Beatrice shuddered and flew up high, the quaking of the house increasing. A beam came crashing down near Norman, snapping him out of his stunned daze. With the weight of missed opportunity pressing down on his shoulders, he found the resolve to leave, encouraged by the snapping of other structures overhead. 

Turning towards the entrance and back into the daylight, Norman burst outside, the door slamming shut behind him on its own accord. He leapt off the porch and collapsed in the grass, hearing the whole house shake as if it were disgusted, dispelling unwanted contents. While catching his breath and anxiously watching for any further reactions from the building, Norman hardly noticed the presence of the twins looming over him. 

Dipper’s complaints came first, his face flushed and eyes flashing. “You’re unbelievable! The house was about to collapse and you just–just stood there! You could’ve been killed!” 

“I hate to agree with the party pooper, but that wasn’t the smartest, Norman,” Mabel added, not making any attempt to hide her concern. “Why didn't you move?” 

Norman was only half-listening, preoccupied with making sure Beatrice wasn't about to set off some kind of explosion in her fury. Once it seemed safe to say that a dangerous outburst had been avoided, he let out a shaky sigh of relief. “What? Oh, I just wasn't finished talking yet, that’s all.” 

Dipper fumed, too frustrated to spit out words and turning away from the conversation. Mabel shot him a look before moving her focus back to Norman. “It was still too dangerous. Did the ghost say anything helpful, at least? I wish I could’ve seen them! Did you learn anything?” 

“I…” Giving it a bit of thought, Norman realized he hadn't, not really. “I think the family that lived here was killed, and that one ghost was only there to warn people to stay out of it. It could be that they were all found guilty of witchcraft a long time ago. We wouldn't have to worry about that as much now.” 

Dipper stood with his arms crossed. “Then why are we going through all of this trouble if everything is said and done? You probably don’t need us if all you have to do is give a few traumatized ghosts some magic counseling.” 

Norman glared at the other boy for his choice of words, but he knew something was off, too. If it was simply a matter of being accused of witchcraft, there wasn't much he could do. That was all in the past, and Beatrice herself didn't seem inclined to move on. There was something about her own choice of words that had suggested something more that he was missing, something too horrible to speak of. 

“Well, while you were having pointless conversations-” 

“God, Dipper, what is with you today-” 

“-I found something that was actually useful.” With an exaggerated flourish, Dipper pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket, letting it unfold by itself. 

Norman scanned the faded sheet of paper. It was covered in odd markings, almost seeming to belong to another language altogether. “What is it?” 

“It’s a map. Coded, of course. It probably leads right to whatever that ghost was warning you about, so I’ll have to figure it out first. Which should be easy, y’know.” Dipper shrugged casually. “I've decoded tons of things.” 

Mabel sighed. “He has, actually.” She pulled her twin aside for a moment and spoke in a hushed tone, but still remained fairly audible. “Could you quit being such a jerk to Norman? You’re really starting to piss me off.” 

“Hey, so maybe I’m not the one who nearly got us all killed, okay? It’s the stress talking.” 

As they continued to argue, Norman stopped paying attention, letting out a long sigh through his nose and staring at the Grimwald house. What happened next seemed to matter less and less to him as he tried to comprehend what he’d just seen. Whatever else happened, he knew he was extremely grateful, thrilled to have communicated with another medium. Sure, she was dead, but even so, he felt less alone. He hadn't had proper contact with a realized medium since he’d last spoken with Uncle Prenderghast, though he hadn't gained much from those interactions, either. It was reassuring, knowing there were others out there, and Norman made a private note to begin searching for them as soon as he solved the situation here in Gravity Falls. 

Well, he thought with a shiver, remembering Beatrice’s strange warning, if I make it that far.

Chapter Text

After taking a more extensive look at the map he had found, Dipper knew he was in for an intense night of decoding. It was an old, stained sheet of parchment, covered in symbols scribbled in red, green, and black ink. Many of the markings had nearly faded completely, which wasn’t surprising. He would just have to hope his eyesight was as good as he thought it was and the map might be salvageable.

Instead of grimly acknowledging the challenge as he usually would, Dipper was fired up with a new determination, mostly born out of wanting to show off and gain the upper hand. Even though no sort of contest between Norman and him had been spoken of, he felt a competitive spirit rising that he couldn’t ignore, especially after their excursion at the Grimwald house. Norman hadn’t been in Gravity Falls but for a day or two, while Dipper knew the place like the back of his hand. He wasn’t about to be bested at his own game. Besides, Norman still wasn’t to be trusted, and there was no way he was going to let him “accidentally” lead them into any sort of trap.

That’s what he told himself, at least. So it was with dark bags under his eyes that Dipper finally finished cracking the code, pulling a rough all-nighter for the sake of dignity. About four dozen sheets of paper were scattered about his room, though only around eight of them had the final translations and were of any significance. Mabel and Norman had camped out in the living room downstairs for the night, seeing as there was no way anyone could sleep with Dipper furiously pacing, planning, jotting, and muttering to himself as he worked out line after line of gibberish. Taking a lazy, confident stretch, he gathered up the relevant papers with ink-stained fingers and headed downstairs to boast of his triumph.

After checking the empty living room, Dipper found Mabel and Norman already awake and in the kitchen, eating bowls of stale cereal, still in their pajamas. He deflated, disappointed that he wouldn’t get to wake them up himself and accuse them of laziness while he was putting in long hours of work.

“Mornin’, Dips,” Mabel greeted him through a mouthful of Overly Sensitive Owl. “What’chya got there?”

Dipper straightened and tapped the stack of papers professionally. “Oh, nothing. Just the entire translation of an ancient, heavily coded map someone found the other day. No biggie.”

Norman paused to stare mid-chew. “You’re done?”

“You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” Mabel groaned. “Every time you do that you’re a huge grump the next day. You could’ve slept and saved it for now.”

“No time like the present,” Dipper said, trying to exert a cocky sense of victory that said he did this sort of work all the time. He grabbed a (hopefully clean) bowl and joined them for breakfast, itching to go on about his accomplishment but deciding to save it; there was still a whole day ahead of them.

“So, now that the map’s decoded, we just follow wherever it tells us to go? And that’s it?” Norman asked. The question, to Dipper’s annoyance, was aimed at Mabel. “I thought maybe there was more we had to do first.”

“Nope, that should be everything. Right, Dipper? There weren’t any side notes or special instructions or anything?”

“Well, not unless ‘keep away’, ‘beware’, and ‘turn back now’ mean anything special. The hardest part of cracking that thing was figuring out what were directions and what were eloquently written warnings.” (Hours of work could have been avoided if he’d been more awake and realized that only the warnings were written in red, but he left that part out.)

“Sounds like the Grimwalds put a lot of work into making sure no one looked into their lives, whether they were alive or not,” Mabel mused. “I wonder what they’re hiding…”

“Well, whatever it is,” Dipper said, quickly finishing his cereal and pushing his chair away from the table, “we’re gonna find out today. Be ready to go in an hour.”

Once again, the Pines twins unearthed their adventuring backpacks, bringing both of them this time and preparing them for the road ahead. The map wasn’t very specific about their destination’s appearance, so they made sure to be prepared for anything. The twins explained this to Norman as they checked over their supplies, but this didn’t quite tell him what the portable game consoles, puffy stickers, and balls of yarn were for. Norman himself didn’t have much on his person to bring along, but Mabel assured him that they were well equipped enough for a company of three, if the situation came down to it. The visible weight of their packs when they got ready to leave told him as much.

The map may not have been very detailed, but it was straightforward enough, now that it was translated. For the first half of the trek, it looked as if they were headed straight back to the Grimwald mansion, coming within a few meters of its location before the trail veered off in a slightly different direction. Before long, they’d arrived at the first notable landmark on the map, marked by some sort of dark rectangular shape housing a smaller rectangle inside of it.

When they peered up from the map, there didn’t appear to be anything of great significance ahead. The area looked exactly like all of others they had passed before: wooded, desolate, and generally uninteresting.

“Hmm.” Dipper scratched his head with the back end of his pencil, jostling his hat. “There should be some difference in the scenery right around here that we need to find before moving on. Let’s split up and search.”

Mabel was quick to act, as if she was plenty used to this sort of thing, even throwing in a “you got it, Fred,” before darting off. Within seconds, Norman stood alone, unsure as to what he was supposed to be looking for and a bit intimidated by the task. No ghosts were in sight, and though his first thought was to simply follow Mabel around, he decided on diving in without any outside advice.

The area looked entirely normal. Recalling that the Grimwalds had no desire for others getting caught up in their mess, Norman figured that whatever they were supposed to find wasn't going to be easy to spot. Was it on the ground, some difference in the earth that would tell them something? Or maybe there was some kind of weird bush? He started to feel ridiculous, shuffling his sneakers through the wet undergrowth and testing for odd branches. The twin’s approach to this made it seem as if there was some sort of obvious answer you’d see in a cartoon, like a rotating bookshelf or a funny-looking rock, and he felt silly for buying into their antics. Not that those things were impossible, but it all felt childish, unfitting to the situation.

It came to him again, though, that helpful, quiet tug. Before he could realize what he was doing, Norman was feeling the rough bark of a tree beneath his fingertips, the slightest notch in the wood revealing a well-camouflaged shape etched into its surface. He blinked, realizing what he was looking at, and called Dipper and Mabel over to see.

Dipper’s reaction was immediate, his face lighting up with recognition. “Hey, that’s just like-! Yeah, I’ve seen this before! Of course that’s what the map meant. Here, let me-”

Handing the map to Mabel, he dug his fingernails into the indented bark, getting a grip on something before pulling hard. A small panel swung open wide with an unnatural clang, revealing that the tree was not, in fact, made of wood, but was actually some sort of metal cylinder. Inside the panel was an enticing red button, warnings in several different languages posted alongside it.

After they’d all stared at it for an adequate amount of time, Mabel whispered, “What d’ya think will happen?”

“I dunno, but don’t just-”

“Boop!”

Upon the button being pressed, a muffled clunk resonated throughout the tree, several smaller mechanical sounds following soon after. The panel sunk inward slowly, and more bark and metal moved out of the way to reveal a staircase descending into an underground tunnel. As old of a family as the Grimwalds seemed, such advanced technology didn’t make sense. But there it was.

“-go and press it. Pffssh, and you call me impulsive.”

“We’re both impulsive,” Mabel said, grinning wide. “Flashlights!”

Unfazed by the recent development, the Pines twins reached for their lights, handing Norman the spare they kept on them at all times. (“Fresh batteries and everything,” Mabel went on, flicking his light on and off before handing it to him. “Gotta always have a light source on hand. We learned that the hard way.”)

Even with three impressive beams of light reaching out down the staircase, there was still nothing to be seen except impenetrable darkness and a lot of dust. The strong smell of fresh, damp earth wafted up to greet them, and Norman suddenly wished he had more ample protection against whatever insects and small animals might be below. (He briefly considered that those creatures might be the least of his worries in a place like this, but he tried not to think too hard about it.)

The cobweb-laced tunnel was so narrow that they could only continue in a single-file line, with Mabel in front and Norman bringing up the back. The path was dark and cramped, and along with the growing feeling of claustrophobia, Norman feared he would slip and fall any moment now. The stairs seemed to be fashioned out of the earth, only a mixture of rocks and dirt keeping them from slipping down to who-knows-where. He steadied himself with his free hand, keeping it glued to the wall at all times.

The stairs seemed to go down for ages, until the entrance was just a small, squarish blot of white light in the distance. Norman’s discomfort skyrocketed when he looked back, and he took several slow, deep breaths, trying hard not to think about earthquakes or being buried alive. Finally, they made it to the bottom, relieved to be on level ground once again. Flashlight beams scanned the area, and Mabel’s stopped on something hanging on the wall.

“Lanterns!” she exclaimed. “Thank goodness. Gimme the lighter, Dip.”

Her twin obliged, and soon a sizable pool of warm light filled the tunnel, revealing the big picture that their thin flashlight beams couldn't. They were in a small dirt room that branched off into several dark, daunting tunnels. Each tunnel seemed to be lined with a fair amount of lanterns for as far as they could see, and some fear in the atmosphere lifted. Every bit of light was something to be thankful for, as nerves were running high in even the more experienced explorers.

Norman wondered what these tunnels could’ve been used for back when the Grimwalds were alive. Maybe a shelter, or an escape route? They’d ventured down here because it was their only lead, and there had to be something left behind that would point to what had happened. Norman was intrigued, wondering if he’d discover any more information on the Grimwald’s personal experiences as mediums. He wasn't entirely sure what they were looking for, anyway, so it couldn't hurt to get his hopes up. If they had to go this far, whatever there was to find had to be something valuable.

“The map gets a lot more confusing from here on out,” Dipper explained, sliding his flashlight beam over from one tunnel’s entrance to the next. “These tunnels all lead into the same maze. It’s not a labyrinth or anything, but there all symbols marked in lots of places where something might be.”

Norman shifted uncomfortably. “’Might?’”

“Yeah, they tell you there’s something there, but they don’t tell you if it’s what you’re looking for. Most of these are probably decoys meant to confuse and discourage trespassers. It’s not that big of a maze, but you’d have to check all of the landmarks until you found what you were looking for. It would take weeks for someone to search through them all.”

“Sooo we split up?” Mabel offered. “I bet we can totally handle this maze, easy. I knew this stuff would come in handy.” Removing her backpack and rifling through its contents, she pulled out a couple balls of yarn. “We can use these to mark where we've been and get back to the entrance, Hansel-and-Gretel style.”

Dipper frowned, pointing to the yarn in her hands. “That’ll work, but how come you only pulled out two? There are three of us.”

Mabel shuffled through the contents of her backpack again before replying, whipping out an expensive-looking walkie-talkie. “Bam! We can use these. Gosh, it’s been a while since we've had to pulls these babies out. Yours should be in your backpack, but we only have two, so we’re, uh. Well. Two of us will have to go together, is what it’s looking like.”

"Wait, what? Seriously? No!"

"Oh, c’mon, Dipper, it’s not that bad. It’s not a big maze, remember?"

After that last statement, she gave her brother an intense stare, eyebrows raised expectantly. An unspoken argument passed between them, both twins’ expressions growing more obstinate and indignant by the second. Norman noticed whether he was supposed to or not, and Dipper groaned, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. “Fiiine. This would've gone by so much faster if we'd brought three.” He snatched up one of the balls of yarn, the end of which Mabel had already tied to roots protruding from the base of the staircase. “There’s only one map, so just keep an eye out for anything suspicious that might be a landmark.”

"How come you guys get to hold the map?"

"We’ll, uh, probably need it more. You’re better with directions."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, good luck!"

Dipper started down a tunnel to the far right, his call coming out as more of a loud grumble. “Let’s go, Norman.”

With one last nervous wave to Mabel, Norman trailed behind as Dipper walked on ahead. The strong sense of being unwanted hung around his shoulders. He would have preferred pairing up with Mabel, as she seemed more pleasant (along with just simply being better company). But it looked like she was still set on seeing that the two boys get along better, and the only way to do that was, at this point, to use force.

His twin had been right when she’d said all-nighters put Dipper in a sour mood, and Norman began to doubt Mabel’s plan for them to bond was thought through very well. The other boy was all but stomping down the tunnel, eyes only occasionally leaving his map. The pathway was wide enough for the two of them to walk alongside each other now, but Norman didn't hurry to take advantage of this. He tried imagining what else could be making the other teen so angry. True, he was running on little sleep, and they were several feet underground in a crudely fashioned maze, but there had to be something else. Norman shrugged to himself, figuring it was just the reaction his presence generally received.

After a while, Norman decided it was about time someone said something and went with the first thing he could think of. “So…how close are we to the first landmark?”

Dipper breathed out sharply through his nose, his apparent hopes of doing this in silence dashed. “Close. Actually, we already passed one, but it was pretty obvious that nothing was there.”

Norman frowned. “You mean, you didn't need to stop and take a closer look? What if it was hidden, like the button?”

“Look, I've been at this whole exploring business for a while now. I think I know what I’m talking about. Besides, it’s never the first one you see.”

“But what if that’s what the map maker thought, too? Shouldn't we-”

Dipper stopped in place, rolling his eyes in what was probably the most exaggerated way he could. “Ooookay, hot shot, if you’re so great, why don’t you be the leader? It’s not like we’re pressed for time or anything, nooo! You could blow up the universe at any moment, so I should totally just take my time and make sure we’re stuck together with nowhere to run. Sounds like a great plan!”

Norman froze up, unable to put together words. “You-I-” Failing to put together a suitably biting comeback, he scoffed and went with a more neutral response. “I’m not going to blow up the universe, god. And really? We don’t have time to deal with your leadership issues. What, do you think I’m trying to take your place?”

“N-No!” Dipper reddened. “I’m just saying that you’re in no place to, to-augh! Fine, if you think you’re so good at this, you hold the map. Not that you need it with your magical ghost intuition or whatever anyway.”

Norman gave him an incredulous look before taking the offered roll of parchment. He flourished it, making a show of pinpointing their location. “Happy now?”

“No. You’re holding it wrong. Give me that.”

Proving to be even more childish than Norman had originally thought, Dipper snatched the map back with no intention of returning it. “You've got to be kidding me. You should have slept last night. You didn't think this through at all.” Thoroughly annoyed, Norman huffed and left the flustered boy behind, continuing down the tunnel.

“Oho, I’m the one who didn't think this through?” Dipper hurried behind, map flailing as he gestured frantically with his hands. “You've proven to be a great planner there yourself, Mr. I Left Home On A Mysterious Impulse. Got a lot going for ya there!”

Norman walked faster, chewing his lip and trying to ignore him. At this point, he was just flinging every pointless insult into the mix he could think of, and it was hardly worth arguing about. Norman even wished Dipper had been the one to go with Mabel, at this point. At least then it would be quiet.

“And then you just waltz up to a powerful ghost without a second thought, nearly taking down a building, putting all of our lives in danger, no biggie! You do know how dangerous restless spirits can be, don’t you? Or maybe you didn't think of that, either. Well, we've nearly gotten killed by an angry ghost before, and believe me, they’re nothing to mess around with! You have no idea how-”

Norman halted abruptly, giving him such an intense look of barely-withheld anger that Dipper stopped in his tracks. “This isn't some kind of contest!” Managing to stay calm, he attempted to maintain a low, controlled tone. “If you were really worried about me ‘blowing up’, maybe you’d try keeping it to yourself. You’re just making things worse and dragging everyone down for your own selfish reasons. A lot is at stake here, for all of us.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Despite needing to have the last word in, Dipper actually quieted down after that, avoiding eye contact and no longer attempting to argue. Maybe something he’d said had actually gotten through.

Norman felt the beginnings of exhaustion in his bones, his feet growing achy and his emotions nearly spent. There was too much at risk to get angry, and though he’d done a fair job at keeping the problem under control, he could feel the resentment festering in his chest, threatening to spread.

After a short while of silence, Dipper, who had been pointedly ignoring the previous conversation, announced, “We’re coming up to the next landmark.” A few more paces onward and he stopped, lighting the nearest lantern with the matches Mabel has given him earlier. “Right here.”

Norman walked up beside him. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Just as featureless as the first one. We should keep going.”

Just as he was about to walk off, Norman grabbed Dipper’s sleeve. “Wait! I hear something.”

A sound almost too muffled to catch reached their ears, small metallic clicking noises from somewhere inside the walls. Norman was about to go and investigate when the ground vanished beneath his feet.

The two fell hard, landing in a painful jumble of stony dirt clods and scraped joints. Stunned, it took Norman a moment before he could blink away the falling dust and get a grip on his surroundings. There was a light above them, and he realized they hadn't gone far. By the time the two had untangled themselves (neither hiding their own discomfort), they could easily see what had happened.

Dipper peered up at the ceiling, hands planted firmly on his hips. “A pitfall trap.Great.”

Norman evaluated his surroundings. Only the floor consisted of dirt now, the walls made of smooth metal to make it harder to escape. The hole was fairly wide as well, too wide to use the walls to climb back up, and it was deep enough so that the average adult wouldn't have been able to jump and lift themselves out. It didn't look entirely inescapable, but at the end of things, they were still stuck in a pit.

The walkie-talkie on Dipper’s belt crackled to life for the first time, Mabel’s fuzzy voice filling the small space. “Watch out, guys, I just had a run-in with a trap door. Nothing my grappling hook couldn't handle, but I just thought I’d warn you.”

Dipper unhooked the device and raised it to his mouth, unamused in every sense of the word. “Yeah, we figured that out, thanks.”

“Do you have a grappling hook?” Norman asked.

Dipper frowned deeply. “No. Mabel has all the equipment we’d need to get out of something like this.” He raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth once again. “Hey, Mabel, about the trap door. You need to come and help us out. Go back to the beginning and follow our string.”

“Aw, really, Dipper? I taught you better.”

“I wasn't the one who decided to stick around on top of it. Try to hurry.”

“Roger that. Play nice till I get there. Got it?”

Silence.

“Got it?”

Dipper let her hear his drawn-out sigh. “Whatever.”

“Good. Over.”

Crossing his arms, Dipper plopped down onto the dirt floor with a scowl. The tension in the air was exhausting, and Norman soon followed his example, taking a seat in the dirt. Might as well get comfortable; this was likely to take a while. Now he just had to last through it with as few casualties as possible.

The easy route seemed to be simply waiting quietly, but this soon proved to be just as awkward as it sounded. Dipper rooted around through his backpack once or twice, possibly looking for something to keep himself occupied, but he came up with nothing. Norman fidgeted with the drawstrings on his jacket, having nothing else on hand to keep him distracted. Once or twice, he thought he saw the telltale green, wispy aura of a ghost at the edge of his vision, but nothing was ever there. It would have made sense if there were spirits down here, but none of them seemed willing to show their faces. Norman wished they would. It almost felt as if ghosts had been avoiding him for the past few days. It was a strange thing to miss, but he missed them.

Until he decided to speak, the only thing punctuating the quiet were Dipper’s jaw-splitting yawns. Eventually, he broke the silence with the least amount of grace Norman thought physically possible. “Sooo…have you ever ran into any other restless ghosts before? Not that you handled that last one very professionally, or anything.”

Norman’s brow raised in question, but he answered. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but…yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“Well, what happened? We’ll be here for a while, so…might as well make it interesting.” Dipper yawned again. “Was the ghost as bad as that witch you faced that one time? Or were the zombies worse?”

Norman felt a surge of contempt rise in his chest. It must’ve taken a lot of gall to ask about something personal with so little right. He almost had no desire to share anything, not with him. But Dipper’s painful ignorance needed to be remedied, at least for Norman’s own peace of mind. Who knew? Maybe sharing something would make him kinder in turn. 

It was weird enough that he cared to know in the first place, but, as Norman recalled, Dipper was probably only interested in the information on the paranormal he could gain. Whatever the case, he decided to give an honest answer, and he wasn't going to sugarcoat it.

“For your information, all of those things are tied together. She wasn't a witch. The news may have called her that, and I guess that was a little better than the 'freak tornado' cover, but it’s still inaccurate.” Norman hugged his knees to his chest. “Her name was Aggie. Agatha Prenderghast. She was a medium like me, only she’d died centuries ago. Aggie was put on trial for witchcraft because of her powers and murdered. She was eleven years old when she died.”

He paused there, letting that sit between them for a moment. Dipper didn't speak, and Norman continued.

“Right before she died, she put a curse over the town. Her ghost still retained her powers, and every year she’d attempt to raise the corpses of her murderers, preventing them from passing on and having them live in eternal pain. They were never ‘zombies’, by the way. They were fully conscious the whole time and hardly any different from a regular person, besides being dead. Basically ghosts inhabiting physical shells. Anyway.”

He shuffled his feet, straightening up some. “I had a great-uncle who was a medium, too, and up until he died, he would read Aggie a bedtime story every year on the anniversary of her death to put her back to sleep and keep her from carrying out her curse. When he died, that task fell onto me, and…y’know. Everything happened. I didn't know what was going on, but when I figured it all out, I knew something had to change. So, yeah, I have faced a restless ghost before, to put it lightly.”

“But, like, what did you have to do?” Dipper was trying to mask his interest and failing spectacularly, all but reaching for a pen and paper. “I mean, the ghost we faced was, uh, pretty specific in what we needed to do.”

“I talked to her, calmed her down, and did my best to help her pass on. Aggie just needed someone to listen and remind her of who she used to be. The hardest part was dealing with her powers, though. Other than that, it was just like…talking to a kid.”

“Whoa, wait, like what? What was she capable of? I know about the storm, but, did she like, possess something? Turn you into anything?”

He scowled. Dipper was clearly desensitized to stories like these and only listening for what information he could garner, uncaring if he sounded disrespectful. Norman gave the deserved response, feeling a familiar edge creep into his voice. “Along with being able to control the weather, she would have been considered a high-level poltergeist and had the ability to alter reality. She harnessed lighting bolts and shot them at me. Do you want to see the scars? Or do you want to see the tree she was hanged by, too?”

“Jesus, okay, I get the picture.” He flushed, seeming to realize himself. “Sorry. So…mediums can do all that, even when they’re ghosts? It’s hard to think that you were able to defeat her alone.”

“I didn’t defeat anyone! God. Dead people are still people. Don’t you get that? All I did was talk to her. That’s all you can do. It might get you killed, and yeah, it’s dangerous! But sometimes you don’t have a choice. I didn't then, and I don’t now. Maybe things are just naturally harder for people like me, I don’t know. But I try to get through them and help the best I can. That’s all there is to do.”

“Okay, I got it, geez. I was just asking.”

“Well, then, don’t.”

Norman finished his explanation feeling as if he’d given one of Salma’s verbose rants, only with more resigned emotion and less righteous anger. He felt spent, losing any desire he might have had to continue semi-polite conversation. Luckily, Dipper fell silent again, so things didn't have to get any worse. He rested his head back on the metal wall, feeling a familiar melancholy stirring. He hadn't thought about the past in detail in a long, long time. Sometimes it was hard to believe it even happened, or that he was somehow still alive. Maybe he wasn't. Nothing seemed entirely for certain anymore. Norman felt very tired and very old.

Without warning, a rope dropped down the side of the pit, partially snapping him out of his daze. Peering down from the top of the pit was Mabel, her familiar smile gleaming in the lamplight. “Hi.”

Norman let loose a relieved sigh. “Thank god.”

The quiet hum of the plane had a similar effect as the sound of a soothing air conditioner kicking to life, and Perry Babcock had quickly fallen into a deep sleep. His droning snores kept up most other people on the plane, earning him a good round of muttered insults he couldn't hear, but his wife wasn't deterred by the noise in the least.

Sandra Babcock was not asleep. If she had gotten any sleep over the past few days, she'd hardly noticed it. Every time she felt herself beginning to tire, some minuscule detail from the past would jump out at her, and she would wonder why she hadn't remembered it earlier. She was awake now for this very reason, her lips pursed nervously as she stared blankly out the window.

When Neil had told them that Norman was in Gravity Falls, it hadn't meant much to Sandra at the time. But, her mind scrabbling for answers to their situation, she soon remembered why the name was vaguely familiar, and why it left such an aura of unease behind it. Back when Great-uncle Prenderghast was still alive, and their relationship still somewhat stable, their odd relative had miraculously roped the Babcock family into going on a vacation he explained would be worth their while. One unforgettable road trip later, they’d arrived in Gravity Falls; a cute town, if a bit strange.

Back then, Sandra had found it appealing. Uncle Prenderghast’s motives seemed to shift from trying to get everyone to enjoy themselves to attempting to get them to memorize the exact geography of the town, even pushing that they go and visit supposedly haunted houses in the middle of the woods. They had to commit it to memory, he’d said, because there might come a day where Norman could be in grave danger in this place. Uncle Prenderghast himself hadn't been affected, saying it was slightly random, a “chicken pox for people like us”, only infinitely more serious. The more he pushed this, the more uncomfortable the Babcocks grew. After that, they barely made any further attempts to interact with the man, and made sure to keep Norman far away from him.

Sandra shook her head. The warnings had been right there, but no one had believed them. She wracked her brain for any more information she had chosen to forget, remembering bits about Norman having “a greater purpose” there, along with “terrible danger” and “needing to know the location” in case anything were to happen in the future. She was close to tears with the effort, cursing her own faults. Maybe none of this would have happened if she’d just listened to Uncle Prenderghast, all those years ago. Maybe they’d know exactly where Norman was and why he was there.

But now wasn't the time for regrets, Sandra reminded herself. At least she had remembered as much as she had, even if all it did was increase the stress. She couldn't help that she hadn't realized what was important at that time, but now, every lasting detail mattered. She had to at least have some idea where to search when their plane landed. She had to.

She was going to find her son.

Chapter Text

Though it seemed as if she’d taken her sweet time, the reason Mabel found and rescued them so much later was more than valid enough. Once she’d pulled them up out of the pit, she waved a large folder under the boys’ noses.

“Took a little detour when I happened to see this,” she gloated, keeping her findings far out of Dipper’s reach. “I’m pretty sure it’s what we were meant to find here.”

“No way!” Her twin’s jaw dropped. “You weren't gone nearly long enough to solve the maze. Where did you find it?”

Mabel shrugged. “Looked like you guys didn't check the tunnel enough. It’s almost like they hid it in plain sight.” She chuckled. “Those sure were some smart mediums. I almost missed it. We would've been here forever, otherwise. What?”

Dipper’s face had gotten considerably redder, and he attempted to hide his embarrassment. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Never mind. So, what is it? How do you know it’s what we’re looking for and not some encoded decoy?”

“Well, I dunno. I just figured, hey! Norman’s been pretty handy with this case so far, we could just let him be the one to decide. It’s like he’s a solution magnet or something, hehe.”

Dipper’s face only grew darker at the suggestion, and he threw up his hands in frustration. “Mabel, that isn't scientific at all! He’s just been lucky this whole time. We can’t possibly spend hours decoding whatever’s in that folder because some kid had a feeling.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go again. Yeah, Dipper, I’m sure it was just luck that led him straight to Gravity Falls. Weren't you the one who said that there’s no such thing as coincidence?”

“Ugh, just-! Just, whatever. Fine, do what you want. But if you’re wrong, it’s going to take us eons to come back here and find the real information, and I’m not going to let this slide twice.”

“Fine by me.” Mabel bounced over to Norman’s side and plopped the folder into his hands, nearly spilling its contents onto the floor. “Okay, Norm, just skim over what’s in there and tell us if it seems useful.”

Norman didn't reply, his exhaustion and discomfort still prevalent and the added stress of their expectations only worsening things. One of the most terrible feelings in the world had to be the one he got when people were arguing over him, even if the people in question were only acquaintances. There was no way to help that his situation wasn't “scientific”, but he attempted to oblige, flipping through the nearly stuffed folder.

It was a wonder everything was still in one piece, the papers so yellowed and faded that he felt they would crumble any second. What he could read of the aged ink was coded, entirely illegible to him. Norman was about to tell them to give up here and keep searching, but his eyes caught a strange sketch on the edge of one page, almost like some kind of hieroglyphic symbol. It was a drawing of an eye, and when he took the page out of the stack, he found that the parchment was covered in them, all staring right at the viewer. He felt a small jump in his chest.

“I can’t read any of this, but…yeah, I think this is what we’re looking for. I’m sure of it.”

“And why is that?” Dipper huffed, his arms folded tightly against his chest. “Another feeling?”

“That’s part of it.” Norman displayed the eye-riddled page, and the twins’ expressions fell slack.

“That’s got bad news written all over it,” Mabel breathed. “Seems kinda familiar, too. It’s gotta be the right one.”

Dipper wasn't convinced. “And what if it’s just a trick? Are we still going to base this solely on a hunch?”

Norman stood his ground, tired of the all quarreling. “I did say we should’ve gone back and searched over the first landmark. I know it doesn't seem reasonable, but do you really need more any proof?”

With Norman and Mabel’s expectant gazes locked on him, Dipper seemed to acknowledge when he was beaten. “You’d better hope you’re right about this.”

Once the trio had returned to the Mystery Shack, Dipper was set on taking charge again, insisting that he take the entire folder up to their room to decode alone as he had done the time before. This led to more arguing, to Norman’s dismay, but Mabel’s voice in the matter more or less canceled out Dipper’s own. In the end, she made sure that everyone was going to work on decoding it, but only after they were all cleaned up and rested. Having them all work on the decoding process at once would significantly cut down the time it would take to complete the task anyway, she’d claimed, so they should all use that extra time to freshen their minds and make their work more efficient and accurate.

Norman was exceedingly grateful for this. They’d spent the whole afternoon searching and returning from finding that folder, and by the time they were all done showering, packing and organizing, it was past dinnertime. Norman met a break from adventuring with open arms, and by the time they had to get to work, his headache had nearly faded and he felt ready to take on something with a clean slate. He was surprised by his own enthusiasm, his hopes of finding more information on the mediums themselves still strong on his list of priorities.

When Mabel and Norman made it upstairs to the twins’ room, Dipper had already set everything up, practically forming little stations for each of them to work at.  (A sign he’d posted on the door had made it clear that Waddles was strictly not allowed to enter, in case the pig messed it all up.) Mabel had had to force her twin to shower earlier, and he’d loudly protested, insisting he get right to work. He’d refrained from starting, though, and was pacing, clean(er) and sock-footed around the room as he waited.

Dipper stopped, looking up from the floorboards at their arrival. “Finally. You guys were taking way too long.”

“That’s because we were eating, goober,” Mabel said, tossing him a microwaved Hot Pocket, a bag of Corncornos, and a can of Pitt Cola. “You aren't going to get any good work done on an empty stomach. What if you translate a letter wrong and it takes us too long to notice? We could be halfway done and realize that ‘dick’ is supposed to be ‘sick’ and have to start all over again.”

“That was a one time thing.” Dipper snatched up the snacks, grudgingly beginning to wolf them down. “Besides, I’m used to this. I got us to the tunnel, didn't I?”

“Partially. Slow down or you’ll get indigestion. Again.”

Dipper shot his twin a look, but he followed her advice, more or less. Once he was finished eating, he pointed to two different spots he’d set up in the room apart from his own, each with its own stack of encrypted papers. 

“While you guys were busy wasting time-”

“-eating and actually putting on clean clothes-”

“-I went ahead and found out the basic gist of the cipher. This one was a little easier, since it’s pretty similar to the code used on the map I translated before. A little suspicious, if you ask me. Almost like it could be a decoy, or something. Just a hunch.”

“Well, we’ll figure that out, won’t we? Let’s get to work.” Mabel plopped down into her station, already absorbing the information in the key Dipper had pinned to the wall, where they could all see and use it as reference.

Norman looked around the room and rubbed at his arm, which was still sore from the falling into the trap door. He shuffled across the room and sat cross-legged next to his designated stack of papers, noticing that Dipper had set up their “stations” in a sort of triangle shape, with Dipper at the top and Norman and Mabel across from each other.

He’d never attempted to decode anything before himself, aside from a few zombie-themed word scramblers on the backs of the boxes of his favorite cereal brand. The task seemed intimidating, but with part of the key already there for him to draw from, it couldn't be too difficult. Mabel was already jotting down words with great speed, getting up occasionally to add to the key before returning to her station. With a deep breath, Norman opened the separate note pad he’d been given and began to decode his section of the folder’s contents.

For a long time, they all worked without speaking, the only noises being the sounds of pencils against paper, yawns (most belonging to Dipper), and someone walking across the room from time to time to add to the key. Once Norman paused when he heard a door slam downstairs, a shout from the twins’ uncle rudely breaking the silence. Neither of the siblings stopped working, yelling right back at him to assure him that yes, they were still alive, and yes, they’d eaten something, and yes, of course you’re a good uncle, nothing happened while you were gone, good night. This was all routine for them, and Norman found it about as hard to keep up with the work as it was to get used to the way everything here functioned. The Pines had this down to a science.

Eventually, Dipper stopped to stretch and crack his knuckles, the other two noticing and taking the opportunity to rest themselves. When it was clear that no one wanted to work anymore without seeing what they’d uncovered so far, Dipper spoke.

“So, what’ve we got?”

Mabel yawned. “We’re still missing a few letters, but it looks like most of these are like reports you’d find in a newspaper, only written down as a journal entry. Lots of stuff about the Grimwalds’ deaths and witchcraft. Kinda boring, really. I don’t really get how it’s useful, so it might just be to throw us off of the good stuff in here. What about you?”

“My stack seemed pretty similar, but there are more breaks here and there where things start sounding less like newspaper articles and more like something you’d find in the journal. Things like recordings of the freakish storms that happened around their deaths and odd increases of paranormal activity. It’s almost like these are all warnings about what’s to come, aside from being a pretty reliable source of historic information. It’s all matching up with the author, as far as I can tell.”

Dipper rubbed at his bloodshot eyes and turned to Norman. “How about you?”

“I, uh.” Norman shifted nervously. “I’m done.”

“Huh?” The twins’ responses were simultaneous. “But that’s impossible!”

“I-I only finished so quickly because I had less to do,” he explained. “Most of it ended up sounding just like what you guys found, but, um. A lot of the pages were just these.” Norman had sorted his piles, one stack for things he could decode and another for the things he couldn't. He spread out the untranslated papers in the middle of their formation.

There’d been more than just one, page after page showing up in his stack, consisting of nothing but the same sketch of an eye drawn countless times over in black charcoal. There had been so many that they had outnumbered the amount of translatable material he’d been given, making his job somewhat easier, but also a great deal more unsettling. The twins gaped.

“I thought I wouldn't bother you with it till later, um.” Norman grew uneasy at their responses. “D-Didn’t you guys find any pages like these?”

The twins shook their heads. Mabel slumped against Dipper’s bed. “Not even one.”

“This can’t be right.” Dipper gathered some of the drawings, examining them as if they’d reveal some hidden clue. “I’m sure there weren't this many of these when I was putting them into stacks. I shuffled! I’m sure of it! I even made sure that each stack had some, not just one. There weren't nearly this many…”

Norman attempted to change the subject with another important detail. “I also found what looks like part of the map.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, both twins zeroed in on the paper he was holding. “Really?”

Dipper got out the main map, laying it down over the layer of mysterious drawings in the center of the room. Norman compared the two before laying his part down next to it, making sure the trails all lined up. It fit perfectly with everything else, revealing that the path went beyond the mansion and the tunnels to some further destination.

“This is it,” Dipper breathed in awe, “this has to be what we've been searching for. I mean, sure, all of this eye stuff is kinda questionable, and it could be a false trail, but-”

“Uh, did you happen to find anything specifically about the mediums?” Norman interjected. “Like, anything beyond what was in the book? Personal accounts, maybe, or descriptions?”

Both twins considered the question and shook their heads. Norman’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Not unless you consider the addition to the map to be a clue,” Mabel added, pointing to it. “See? There’s gotta be something in that huge red circle they marked. It wasn't surrounded by warnings for nothing. I bet this’ll lead us to tons of answers!”

“I’d write it off as a trap,” Dipper said reluctantly, “but there are just too many warnings for that. Pretty much every clue we've found had been swamped with them, so it lines up with everything else.”

Mabel grinned. “So you admit you were wrong?”

“I guess so, whatever. I’m too tired to care at this point.” Dipper gave a painfully wide yawn.

“You should be, it’s like one in the morning by now. We should call it a night.” Mabel stood and brushed herself off, stretching out a hand to Norman. “I dunno if there’s a hidden message in the eyes or not, but it looks like we’re done decrypting for now. You can borrow some of my PJs, if you don’t mind sporting some pink. I don’t think anyone here can guarantee that Dipper’s have been washed in the past month.”

“They have!”

Norman smiled dimly and took the offered hand, hoisting himself up and tottering in place a little. Sleep sounded nice. “Sure.”

Soon afterwards, the three decoders cleaned up all of the scattered papers and got into their pajamas (Norman’s being the least glittery pair of pink sweatpants Mabel owned and a t-shirt with the Mystery Shack logo on it). Dipper had gone out like a light as soon as he hit the mattress, with Mabel and Norman soon to follow. 

It had been a stressful, aggravating day, and Norman felt disappointment weigh in the pit of his stomach upon finding no further information on the Grimwald’s lives. He cursed himself for getting his hopes up. What had he been expecting? A personal diary containing every detail of their daily lives? It would have been nice, but he’d been silly to hope for something like that. Despite his failure to learn what he wanted, there was still some hope, and he was too exhausted to dwell on it further, quickly drifting off into a deep sleep.

Everything was so quiet. Dim light wormed its way through his eyelids, some nameless force dragging Norman out of near-dreamless sleep where he could recall nothing but an unblinking eye. He opened his eyes a crack, slowly coming to consciousness and beginning to realize, with no small amount of annoyance, that he’d woken up hours before everyone else. It happened, sometimes, especially when he was in an unfamiliar environment or anticipating something happening the next day. Everything was hazy and light grey, the atmosphere still cloudy even after he’d rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Blearily giving up sleep and sitting upright, Norman found that his stomach had become a yawning, painfully empty pit and that he really needed to pee. Essential needs sealing the deal, he crawled off of his cot as quietly as he could manage, taking wobbly steps past the sleeping figures of the Pines twins and out the half-open door.

After relieving himself and waking up a bit more, Norman stood in the silent, empty hallway, suddenly incredibly aware of the morning and everything around him. A vintage cuckoo clock told him it was nearly seven o’ clock, and the lingering chill of dawn ate away at Norman’s still-warm limbs. Snapping himself out of a daze, he wandered over to the kitchen, absentmindedly hoping Stan wasn't awake yet (and realizing it was probably much too early for that, anyway).

Too sleep-dazed to care much about if something had expired or not, Norman quietly rooted around the tiny pantry until he found a box of something resembling granola bars and took three. Intending to eat them and wander back upstairs to try and go back to sleep, he shuffled into the Shack’s lobby out of absent curiosity, finishing off two bars in the process (he nearly got lost in the exhibits trying to remember the way).

Everything was eerily still. Without the constant circulation of tourists, the Shack felt purposeless, lifeless, and lonely. It was a lot prettier this way, though, Norman thought, when there were no distractions taking away from what the Shack was all on its own. Without all the gimmicks, it wasn't that bad. He wondered how old the cabin-like structure was. Had Stan built it himself? It didn't seem likely.

Lost in a maze of meaningless, half-thought questions, Norman almost didn't see the car driving up the dirt road outside. Blinking, he got a better look, squinting in the bright sunlight that was just peeking over the trees.

Norman’s grip on the last half-eaten granola bar loosened, and it fell to the floor. His eyes grew wide, and he was alarmingly awake, frozen in place for several seconds. There was the strange urge to run, to back away, to hide, but he stepped forward, pushing open the screen door and standing out on the porch, cold and exposed. He stared the visitors right in the face, unmoving, basking in the surreal situation.

His parents were here.

How quickly a house could go from being dead silent to obnoxiously noisy was amazing. He’d been fine with the initial hugs, having missed home and his parents’ embrace to some extent. But then came the questions (“Are you okay?”) (“What are you wearing?”) (Where did you get that bruise?”) and the outbursts (“Why didn’t you call?”) (“What is wrong with you?!”) (“What were you thinking?!”) and Norman began to think he’d regret running away, if he ever did for real, if only for the backlash he’d get in that situation. All of the commotion quickly woke up the rest of the household, and what was already a messy situation turned outright chaotic. His parents (mostly his dad) went from yelling at just Norman to everyone,  especially the half-dressed Stan, demanding to know who they were, if they were his kidnappers, and why they hadn't bothered to call this entire time while housing a missing child. It was all incredibly taxing, and even though Norman knew this would happen sooner or later, they were earlier than expected, and all he wanted to do was to go back to sleep.

After a long hour or so of bickering and accusations and threats leading to both sides nearly calling the police, the Pines and the Babcocks had calmed down enough to let everyone get dressed before all gathering in the living room, prepared to get answers. While the Pines were more confused than anything, his parents didn't make any attempts to hide their emotions. His dad had sat Norman down in the chair intended for Stan, both parents looking down on him with grim faces, a mixture of anger, relief, and confusion in their eyes.

His dad was the first to speak, his tone making Norman flinch involuntarily. “Why didn't you call?”

“I-I couldn't-”

“Oh, what, you couldn't find a single phone in the entire town? Did you even think to call? You could’ve been dead, for all we knew! Do you know how much we went through to get here? We were lucky we found out at all, learning where you were from your little friend instead of-”

“Perry.” Norman’s mother gave her husband a look he recognized, but it didn't help quell her partner’s temper any more than it usually did. “Let me do the talking here, you’re only going to make things worse right now.”

Despite himself, his dad seemed to back down, his beet-red face giving away that he hadn't calmed down at all. Norman’s mother crouched down to meet her son, her eyes pleading for some kind of explanation. “This wasn't because of something at home, was it? Did this have anything to do with your episodes? Why didn't you ask for help? Our help?”

Norman tried to forget that the Pines were still in the room, none of them allowed to leave of his father’s sight. He felt cornered in an already vulnerable situation, their eyes all boring into him. “I-I didn't run away, but I couldn't tell you where I was. I don’t know how I got here, Mom, but I had to go. Me, specifically, just like with Aggie. It was too dangerous to get you involved. I was…getting worse.”

“So it was because of your gifts?” This probably should have relieved his mother somewhat, but she only seemed more concerned than before. “Norman, you never should have gone without telling us. Especially not here.”

“W-What do you mean?”

She heaved a long sigh, breaking eye contact briefly. “We’d all been to this town before, back when you were just a baby. It was Uncle Prenderghast’s idea. The whole time we were here, he never stopped talking about how you might come back here someday, and that we were supposed to stop you, no matter what.”

“What? Why? How come you never told me?”

“I’d nearly forgotten, honey, I’m sorry. We hadn't believed him at the time, and I didn't think much of it until now. He was very cryptic about why it was dangerous, though. Almost like he didn't know the reason himself.”

“Well, I’m going to find out. Mom, this place is a magnet for people like me, and something here is killing them! I need to figure out what it is and make sure it doesn't hurt anyone else.”

His father was quick to jump back into the conversation, just short of exploding. “Oho, I don’t think so, young man. What makes you think you have the right to make the decisions here? You’re coming home with us, now.”

“Perry-”

Norman got up from the chair in protest, his palms facing upward to convey his own helplessness. “Haven’t you learning anything this whole time? I physically can’t stay away from this place. Whatever I have to do here, I don’t have a choice!”

“I don’t care! We’re not letting you risk your life on something that’s clearly a bad idea! This isn't like before!”

“Perry! Just calm-”

“No, I’m not going to be calm about this! Being calm is the reason we’re in this mess!”

“Um, Mr. Babcock, we've been investigating what’s going on here, and-”

“Yeah, it really isn't that dangerous, probably! We promise we can-”

“We don’t even know you kids! Much less you-”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Perry!”

Too many voices, too many people arguing instead of listening, too much of a negative response due to something he couldn't control. Norman wanted to cover his ears, his breathing growing panicked as the living room seemed to keep shrinking in size, overcrowded and noisy and bright. Time was running out. This wasn't going to end well. None one was going to help, and he could feel the fear kicking in, several causes likely to lead to an unwanted effect if he didn't do something fast. Trembling, he screwed his eyes shut and bolted, slipping past the crowd in the confusion and aiming for the door.

“Norman!”

A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, jerking him into a stop. He turned to see Dipper, something that may have been genuine concern glinting in his eyes. “Where-”

“Don’t follow me!”

“But-!”

“Stay away!”

He felt a charge snake down his arm, zipping through his veins and connecting with the unwanted grip. There was a loud pop and a flash, Dipper crying out as he was thrown backwards, knocking against a table on the far side of the room. Norman felt an instant surge of shock, guilt, and power, but didn't stick around to examine the aftermath, sprinting out the front door before he could entirely process what had happened.

Once he started, there didn't seem to be any way to stop. Norman never paused, running until his lungs screamed and his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He didn't look back, leaving the Pines’ property and heading directly into the forest. The dark woods seemed to welcome him, absorbing his presence as soon as he arrived and creating a safe space far away from authority. But safety wasn't what he was after.

It was still burned into his mind, that map. He’d never been amazing at geography or memorization unless it was something he really cared about, and whatever was circled in red on the new section of the map was his last foothold, the final clue to unraveling this entire ordeal. After having been through the way twice, Norman already had some idea of where he was going, and whenever he felt unsure of the path, the tug filled in the gaps and led the way. It was so close, he could nearly touch whatever had summoned him on the tips of his fingers, the pull towards his destination almost tangible. He sped along the way in significantly less time than before, only occasionally halting to rest when he couldn't take it any longer. Once, he thought he saw the Grimwald mansion through the overlapping trees and pressed on. What he was looking for was past the mansion and even further than the metal tree. He was nearly there.

Between breaks and running at a speed he didn't know he possessed, it felt like over an hour had passed, but he had no way to tell. He hadn't seen the metal tree, as it was still well-camouflaged, but Norman had some idea that he had passed it. The tug in his chest felt close to bursting, the way a metal detector would react to being just a few inches from its find. After having suffered from its effects for so long, it felt nothing short of exhilarating, the knowledge that he was almost at the end of his destined trail charging his steps when he should have tired long ago.

And then, he’d made it. Norman burst into a fairly large clearing without warning, the change of scenery jarring. He instantly slowed to a stop, breathing hard and examining everything at once.

There was nothing here. Norman caught his breath and wandered around the area, seeing no structures, no sign, no proverbial treasure chest there to meet him. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Perhaps a monster, luring mediums out into the middle of nowhere before finishing them off, or one of the surviving Grimwalds themselves, attempting to summon someone with similar skills. But not this. Uncle Prenderghast had jumped through hoops to make sure he never stood here, and that knowledge was unsettling, but he’d only had limited information on Aggie’s case, too. Maybe this was just another situation where he had to try where his predecessors had failed. Maybe there wasn't really anything to fear at all.

Still, the tug remained, never letting up and growing stronger by the minute. It wasn't until Norman had nearly tripped over one that he more or less found what he was searching for. A small gravestone was embedded in the ground, so faded it was difficult to make out who it belonged to and impossible to tell when they had died. The “Grim” was visible enough, though. After a bit more inspection, he found that the clearing was filled with several more unassuming, decaying headstones. It was the Grimwalds resting place, to be sure, but there wasn't a single ghost in sight. Come to think of it, there hadn't been a single one the entire way there. 

Norman froze, trembling, the now ice-cold tug within suddenly rising to more of a yank. Wincing, he fell to his knees, hugging at his chest as his breaths grew ragged. It felt like some unseen pair of hands was trying to force his rib cage out, prying and tearing and worming its fingers through the bones. Norman cringed, doubled-over and powerless and burning. But the tug persisted.

He could see transparent images all around him, dark figures rising from the graves and flocking around him, reaching out with their rotted, half-solid hands. He felt limb after limb join the tug, trying to drag him down below the earth, packing in so tightly around him that he couldn't breathe.

"What’s going on? What do you want?" he screamed, tears welling in his eyes and blurring his vision. "Why did you bring me here?!"

No reply came. Panicking, he felt the painful pricking in his veins, his instincts attempting to take over and defend. He couldn't give in now, not without answers, not when he was so close. But the animalistic figures didn't let up, their hands scraping and pulling and bruising at every angle. There was no escape.

And then, when he couldn't stand it any longer, his powers emerged.

Chapter Text

Norman’s disappearance was a source of great distress, but no one in the Mystery Shack was entirely sure what steps should be taken to recover him.

“He just needs some space,” Perry Babcock was quick to conclude. “It’s not like this is an uncommon thing for him. He’s walked out on a lot of our conversations.”

“I wonder why,” Dipper muttered. Norman’s parents seemed a bit calmer, now that the arguing had reduced to a somewhat manageable level. For now, they sat together on the couch across from Grunkle Stan’s chair. Their uncle himself wasn’t incredibly concerned about the situation, now that no one was throwing around threats to turn him into the cops. He’d turned on the television, even, and all of the adults stared blankly at it, some considerably more worried than others.

Some of what had quieted the Babcocks down might have been that they were partially in the wrong, having been unable to control their son, who was now guilty of injuring Dipper (again). The blow hadn’t been too serious, but he still sported a nasty bump beneath his hat and a blistered hand. Mabel had been quick to see to his wounds, and the two sat biding their time at the small card table away from the adults.

“But Perry, he isn’t safe here,” Norman’s mother insisted for what was probably the fifth time. “Uncle Prenderghast said-”

“That old man was hardly reliable, Sandra. He had issues.”

“He was right about the curse, so who’s to say he’s not right about this? I’m telling you, we should-”

Dipper stopped listening, having heard the same conversation several times over in the past hour. Mrs. Babcock had a point, though. If Norman had just wanted to be alone and clear his head, he probably would have shut himself in the bathroom or something.  Dipper cradled his singed hand close to his chest, thinking over what had to be done.

Mabel was halfheartedly knitting a work-in-progress for Waddles when she sighed, setting down her needles and meeting Dipper’s gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That Norman didn’t just go outside to cool down and went after the new spot on the map?”

“Yup.”

“What do you think we should-”

“Breaking news!” The familiar statement from Shandra Jimenez came out of the television, the unusual urgency in her voice catching the attention of everyone in the room. “It seems that some kind of freak storm has appeared out of nowhere, defying all of our local weather predictions. The storm seems to be forming rapidly towards the north edge of town, and all residents are warned to be alert and stay inside. This storm is highly irregular and could possibly form into a-”

“Norman!” The parents’ reactions were immediate, both rising from the couch in alarm.

“No, you don’t think—it can’t—Perry, that has to be him! It’s just like-”

“I know, I know!”

Dipper quickly hopped off his chair and peered out the closest window, his eyes widening at what he saw. A heavy, wrathful sort of overcast hung dark over the sky, blotting out the sun to the point where it might has well have been nighttime. Wind whipped at the trees with a frightening strength, taking every loose object that was left outside the Shack with it. Even from here, he could still get an idea where the storm was originating, a funnel of clouds whirling downwards to a specific spot. The lump in Dipper’s throat sunk down somewhere into his stomach.

“Mabel, h-he must have—Norman must have-”

“No, no, no!” His twin paced in circles, glancing out the window and tugging at her hair. “Dipper, we’ve gotta try and stop him! Before–before he-”

“We can’t stop that!” Dipper exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder and gesturing wildly to the storm. “How do we—where do we even start? It’s too late for us to do anything!”

Mabel frowned at him, thinking hard before realization dawned in her eyes. “It’s not too late. We know where he is. We just have to get there and stop him.”

“But we could get ourselves killed! Look at it! There’s no way-”

Mabel had already turned to leave, but she paused, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “So you’re just going to sit here while the whole universe might be in danger?! What’s better, Dipper? Waiting to be killed here, or risk dying while trying to do something about it? Huh? Huh? Are you a mystery twin, or aren’t you?”

His response coming out as more of a long, anxious yell, Dipper hesitantly floundered around before joined her by her side. “Okay, okay, we can do this, breathe. Uh. Packs! We need the packs.”

Mabel shook her head, earrings clinking. “Too heavy. We’ve gotta be as fast as we can, so just the good ol' bare necessities, got it? Ready, and–go!”

This was only one of dozens of emergency rushes they’d gone through, but it was possibly the most dire situation they faced yet. The twins bolted, gathering their supplies in the same hurried, precise manner of a practiced fire drill. In under a minute, the two met at the front door, both bundled up and adequately equipped.

“Wait, did we always write down your grappling hook as a necessity? And what’s with the bat?”

“Weapons are essential. Who knows what sort of supernatural scum that storm’s attracting.” Resting the slightly stained, sticker-adorned bat on her shoulder, Mabel did a final inventory check. “You got the map?”

“Right here.”

“Good. The storm’s making it pretty obvious where to go, but it’s good to have, just in case. Let’s head out.”

“Hey, wait!” Just as Mabel was twisting the doorknob, Norman’s parents burst into the lobby, looking just as prepared as they were to leave. 

“You’re going after Norman, aren’t you?” Sandra stared them down with an unshakable determination. “He might need me—us. We’re going, too.”

The twins shared a glance and a shrug, knowing there was no stopping parents. “Okay, sure. You might know more about this than we do, anyway. C’mon.”

The four left the Mystery Shack and were greeted with strong winds buffeting them at every angle, making it difficult to walk and even more difficult to hear. The was a certain abnormality to the surrounding gusts, what would normally be referred to as a whistle or howl coming across as something more like a faint, constant screaming.  The sky seemed to convulse, thick clouds rolling and crowding and bruising as far as the eye could see. Jimenez hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d called the weather conditions irregular; unlike a typical storm, the lighting zipping up among the clouds let off strange hues, tinging the overcast an odd purple with occasional streaks of lime.

The twins and Norman’s parents pressed on towards the woods, dodging small branches and plastic bags caught in the wind. The storm seemed to be pressing down upon them, pushing them away in every manner possible, but they persisted. Dipper held tightly to his hat, and he and Mabel finally breached the forest, engulfed in the swaying vegetation.

“Wait!”

The Babcocks were close behind, just a couple feet away from meeting them, when the ground began to tremble. The twins gasped, hundreds upon hundreds of gnarled tree roots erupting from the earth and shooting upwards between them. All entrance to and from the forest was instantly blocked, the vine-like structure creating a wall too tall and tangled to pass.

The sound of feeble hands tearing at the roots drifted through the massive barrier. It was Norman’s mother. “No, no, not again! Are you all right? Can you two hear me?”

“We’re fine!”

“Listen! I-It looks like this is as far as we go. Tell Norman—tell him he’s not in any trouble! Can you do that for me? Can-Can I trust you to get there in time? Please...”

Dipper bit his lip as Mabel shouted back a reply. “We've got it covered, Mrs. Babcock! You don’t have to worry! We’ll-We’ll do everything we can!”

“Bring him back!”

If Norman’s parents said anything else, the storm drowned out their voices. The Pines looked to one another with worried expressions, sharing a solemn nod before venturing onward, one helping the other to stay anchored and fearless.

Mabel and Dipper hurried to the best of their abilities, the combination of wind and shifting branches dissuading them from making any quick progress. After gaining a number of scratches and scrapes, the two found new ways to weave through the trees in the fastest, most harmless ways possible, holding hands to keep together. Learning to work with their obstacles, they were soon moving ahead at a swift, fixed pace.

“We’re on the right track!” Mabel yelled, pointing to what small portion of the Grimwald mansion was visible from their location.

“Great! Now we just need to-wwaaaahhh!”

The twins cried out in panic, clinging to each other as a flurry of green figures came into view, rushing at them with alarming speed. It was almost like a swarm, the wispy shapes whizzing through the forest and phasing through the surrounding trees. The apparitions appeared to be just as panicked as they were, some sobbing, some screaming. All hurrying in the opposite direction.

Dipper slowly pried Mabel’s arm from his own white-knuckled grip, seeing there was no immediate threat. “Are-Are those ghosts?”

“They’ve gotta be! All of the energy from the storm must be making them visible!” Mabel let go of Dipper and started to flap her arms. “Hey! Heeey! What are you all running from?”

“Mabel!” Dipper hissed, grabbing her sleeve. “You don’t exactly have the best history with ghosts! Let’s just-”

“Bewareee!” A weeping, mutilated spirit passed straight through Dipper’s torso, sending an unearthly chill down his spine and leaving tears pricking at his eyes. “Fire and brimstone is upon us! Nary even the dead are exempt from this punishment! He is here!”

When the ghost left, Mabel caught her coughing twin from falling over. “Whoa, are you okay? Ghosts you can see aren't fun to touch, believe me.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Dipper assured her, shivering and regaining his footing. It felt like he’d been suffering from a bad cold, but only for a moment. He wiped at his running nose. “Let’s keep going.”

The siblings regained their positions, trying to wade through the crowd of ghosts without coming in close contact of their glowing auras. They didn't have to worry about them for long, the flock of spirits waning until they’d all seemed to have passed, only their distressed warnings of damnation lingering in the air.

A short time later, Dipper and Mabel were close enough to the eye of the storm where the wind wasn't quite as harsh, making it easier to focus and continue. Unfortunately, several trees had fallen since they’d been here last, each log in the path proving to slow their pace. There were, however, less obstacles blocking their vision, and a vivid green light permeated the woods up ahead, flashes of what might have been lightning flickering outwards from the source every few seconds.

“That’s gotta be him,” Mabel said. “We’re almost there.”

“What do we do when—ohhh no, what now-”

With little warning, the ground shook once again, harder this time, nearly knocking the two off their feet. It stopped as abruptly as it started, the sudden shift in the earth seeming to lead to no immediate ill effects.

“What was that? This storm is wicked intense! I mean, first the roots and then-”

Dipper’s gasp cut her off, and he grabbed Mabel’s sleeve excitedly, pointing ahead. “Look!”

A small silhouette stood against the green light, slowly making its way towards them. Dipper began to wave. “It’s him! It’s Norman! Hey, Nor-!”

In a single movement, Mabel had wrapped a hand around Dipper’s mouth and dragged him down behind a fallen tree, restraining him in a viselike grip. He managed to wriggle loose only to the point where he could speak in a whisper, indignant.

“What was that for?! Mabel, he was right-”

“That wasn't Norman.”

She made a motion for him to keep quiet, and they sat as still as possible, frozen as the slow footsteps edged closer. It took everything in him not to cry out, the two huddling closer as the figure shuffled into view.

A bona fide walking corpse, the first real one he’d ever set eyes on, shambled by with painfully slow, lurching movements. The most human thing about it were the remaining scraps of ancient cloth clinging to its form, the rest of it barely recognizable. It looked nothing like the description from the journal, hardly more than a shrunken structure of rotted skin and bones, somehow animated and possibly out for blood. Fortunately, Dipper never found out, allowing himself to breathe once it was a good distance away.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmyg-”

“Shh!” Mabel peered over the log, her brow furrowed. “There are more of them. Lots more.”

“What? Are they—are they violent?”

“I don’t know!” she whispered exasperatedly. “Are we going to wait and find out, or are we just gonna take our chances and charge through there as fast as possible?”

“Charging. No, no, waiting. Norman said they-”

“Look out!”

Mabel grabbed Dipper’s hand, ushering him away from their hiding spot as decayed hands swiped at where they'd been sitting. The corpse followed their movements, staring with eyeless sockets before uttering a low, raspy groan and shuffling towards them, arms outstretched.

“Yeah, violent, that looks pretty violent, what do we do now?!”

“Don’t panic, that’s what!” Mabel unstrapped her bat from her backpack, gripping the handle tight and pulling it back behind her shoulder. With a well-practiced battle cry, she charged forward, bringing the bat down on the creature’s head with everything she had. There was a fleshy crunch and the monster was instantly decapitated, whatever was left of its brains flying in all different directions, its body falling still.

Mabel threw a triumphant fist into the air. “Yooou’re out! Haha, okay, that was pretty bad, even for me.”

“Mabel, what the hell!” Dipper crouched down behind her, seeing the other corpses remaining eyes swivel towards their location. “Now they’re all after us!”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, shaking bits of gore from the bat and pulling it back for another swing. “That was the plan.”

“What plan?!”

“The plan where I hold off these guys and you go and try to talk to Norman.”

“What?! But, but, no! You’re the one he likes better! I don’t do the—the talking-about-feelings thing, and god knows I’m not on his good side, why do I have t-”

“Who has the bat?”

“That doesn't-”

“Who always beats you at baseball?”

“Mabel, I can’t-”

“And who has a better chance out here? C’mon, Dipping Sauce.” She gave him a hard look. “I wouldn't have set it up this way if I didn't think you had it in you.”

“But I…don’t…ugh, fine…but you’re probably killing both of us,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his jacket to hide the waver in his voice. “You know that, right?”

Mabel pulled out her grappling hook, holding it in one hand and the bat in the other. She gave Dipper a disconcerting, tight-lipped smile, her eyes glistening. He realized it might be the last time he saw her alive. “Yeah.”

“So go on, get outta here before I change my mind,” Mabel snapped, aiming the grappling hook at his head. “Hurry up! You’re in the way!”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

Dipper took a deep breath, turned on his heel, and began to run. He didn't look back, hearing the consecutive zing and thunk of a hook that had found its target some ways behind him. The wandering corpses were drawn to the scene, though whether they wanted to join the brawl or desired to help their hopelessly injured kin was unclear. Whatever the case, there was no longer anything standing between between Dipper and the storm that was Norman.

Nothing but himself. Dipper felt the urge to turn back, to wait and see if Mabel could join him, but he felt the earth shift beneath his feet once again, roots beginning to sprout behind him as he reached the edge of the circle of piercing green light.

Panicking, he attempted to retrace his steps, but the vines spread rapidly and formed a thick, impenetrable barrier identical to the one that had trapped them in the forest. Dipper scrabbled at the growth, heart hammering in his chest. “Mabel! Mabel!”

After a moment, he gave up, trying to control his breathing as he faced the fact that he wasn't going anywhere.

It was just him and Norman now.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dipper puffed out his chest to try and inspire courage, slowly turning around to face what he feared most and hoping Norman hadn't transformed into some sort of gigantic monster corpse himself.

He opened his eyes to find the unexpected, thinking he would find something large and menacing and discovering he couldn't have been more wrong. The roots trapping him had formed into a tall, large dome, a violent, yellow-green light seeming to originate from everywhere and nowhere. In the center of the room was a small form, doubled over and writhing. It took Dipper a moment to realize it was Norman.

Balling his hands into fists, the boy slowly inched his way towards the medium, everything in him screaming to run. “Uh, h-hey, Norman, buddy? Are you oka-”

Dipper recoiled with a cry as Norman’s body arced, the boy retching and coughing up a steaming gold liquid that quickly cooled into an oily black. His eyes were a solid chartreuse, glowing and sparking in their sockets like live wires. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his body rocking back and forth as he whimpered and pleaded repeatedly to some unknown force.

“Get out, get out, get out, get out-”

Dipper backed away, his mind reeling, clueless as to what he should do. Backing away was just what was needed right then, however. With a cry and a crack of thunder, Norman heaved again, a web of gold lightning bolts erupting from his mouth and filling the area, knocking him back near the far end of the dome. The bolts shifted and wavered, not so much lighting as inexplicable charges of magical energy settling into some kind of shape. Before Dipper could tell what it was, Norman choked, the bolts returning from whence they came.

Curled into a ball on the ground, the boy managed to force out halting words. “Dipper…h-help-”

“Uhh, okay, just hang tight! I’ll-I’ll-” Dipper ran shaky, sweaty palms through his hair, eyes darting around the dome. “Ahhh! There’s nothing here! What am I—what am I supposed to do?!”

“T-Talk—remind me, anyth-” Norman gagged and spat, expelling more gold before croaking out one last word. “Aggie-”

After that, the medium went still. Dipper trembled in place, eyes fixed on the unmoving body. “Oh, god, oh, god-”

There was a brief flash, as if someone has taken a picture, and a tremor wracked Norman’s frame before falling still once again. Then, with a sort of miraculous flourish, Norman was standing, wobbling and lilting until he regained his balance.

“Norman? You’re all ri-”

A bolt of gold lightning connected with Dipper’s shoulder, launching him backwards into the dome’s wall. Pain blossoming throughout his upper body, he groaned, cracking his eyes open to see Norman approaching. Something about his steps were off, as if he were attempting to be suspenseful and menacing but hadn't quite gotten used to the action of walking. Taking a closer look, he saw the rigidness of Norman’s limbs and the unnatural twinge to his movements, an unwilling slave to some invisible puppeteer. Raw energy crackled and popped around him, burning through the surrounding air, beginning to distort reality.

“You've caused me a lot of trouble, you know!” A voice bounced around the dome, high and wheedling, its source vaguely connecting back to Norman. It was distant, but loud, as if the speaker had to shout over from another plane of existence to be heard. “I've tried to get rid of you since the moment you showed up, but it looks like you can’t help sticking your nose into whatever I get my hands on!”

Norman stooped down, grabbing Dipper by the collar and lifting him with impossible ease. “Good thing I can fix that pretty easily! If only I had to remove the nose, huh? But the rest of you will have to go, too, if I want any peace. Oh well! More fun for me. This body is great!”

With another searing crackle of electricity, Dipper was tossed back with a cry, a hole burning into his jacket and singeing the flesh below. He curled into a defensive lump, gripping his shoulder and gritting his teeth.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. Alone, at the hands of something he couldn't even name, heat eating away at his skin. He’d imagined it better than this. Whenever he saw himself looking death in the eye, he always pictured someone beside him, never giving in, not even up until her final moments. Maybe, Dipper realized, maybe he wasn't so alone in this. She wasn't that far away. She hadn't stopped fighting. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

So he couldn't, either. Imagining the verbal lashing Mabel would've given him if she’d saw him ready to give in, Dipper gingerly picking himself up off the ground. He gave the person who wasn't Norman the most smug look he possessed, grinning through the scrapes and blood. “Is that all you've got?”

“Ha ha, look at that! A fighter! Cute! I was hoping this wasn't going to be too quick, if you get what I mean.”

When the next bolt of lightning was hurled his way, Dipper did his best to dodge, rolling out of the way just in time. The smell of singed hair filled his nostrils. Before the next attack could come, he found his opening.

“Hey, Norman! I know you’re in there! Don’t give in to this creep!”

“Psh, get a load of this kid. Thinks he can—hey, what gives?”

Norman was poised to throw another attack, but something was stopping him, his raised arm trembling.

“You aren't dead already, are you? Kinda stiff there, pal. Get on with it.”

He didn't move.

“I said,” the voice warned, Norman’s gold eyes flashing, “get on with it!”

Dipper was too slow, thunder filling his ears as the bolt nicked his foot, burning through his sneaker. He stumbled and yelled; it was going to be a lot harder to dodge now.

“I’m getting a little angry,” Norman’s possessor stated casually. “It’s been rough, finally getting this far. Do you know how many times I've tried this? You’d think I’d learn, but these bodies really are something, huh?”

Another bolt, another reaction. Dipper got lucky, tripping out of the way due to his newly acquired limp.

“Not that I’ll be needing a physical form after I’m through here, ha ha! Soon I’ll be free as a bird. I guess I have you to thank for it! Both of you. But especially you.” Norman pointed to Dipper, sparks flying from the extended digit. “Sure, you've been more of a nuisance than a help, but let’s look on the bright side! I probably couldn't have made it this far without you fucking up all the time, so thanks, kid! I had fun messing with you! It’s been real.”

Ducking under the next flash, Dipper just barely avoided getting his head blown off, using the momentum of his fall to make a dash at Norman. He tackled the medium, throwing him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground. Struggling to keep him in a headlock, Dipper held nothing back, tightening his grip as much as possible. There was the danger of killing Norman, and the medium was already in a delicate position, his possessor keeping him just on the edge of death and life to unlock his powers. It was a long shot, but if he could trigger Norman’s stifled defenses, maybe...

“Hey! Get off my beautiful vessel!”

“Just like old times, huh, Norman?” Dipper hissed through clenched teeth, grinning despite himself. “Ready to start fighting back for real?”

His grip didn't last, the energy surrounding Norman too much to take for an extended period of time. Dipper threw himself back, every part of him prickling painfully. The medium wasn't deterred, regaining his footing and turned back to his target to strike. But something was different.

“No, no, no!” the voice shrieked.

Norman’s wide eyes shifted briefly, their color flickering from gold to green in rapid succession. He cringed, thin, overlapping images of himself and another figure glinted in the surrounding air, their figures jerking and twisting in a struggle Dipper couldn't entirely see.

Something he’d said must have gotten through. Sputtering, Dipper tried again. “Don’t give up! A-Are you just going to keep letting that thing control you? It’s using you, Norman! It has been all along!”

Norman’s body shook, the ground trembling with him, stripes of lightning emanating from his being and striking around the dome haphazardly. The possessor’s voice became fainter and garbled, its words drowned out by the crackle of electricity.

Dipper floundered to try and find the right words. “D-Don’t stop fighting it! It’s that thing’s fault that you had to go through all of this. Well, I-I guess it might be my fault, too, a little, b-but, indirectly! Indirectly!”

The strain on Norman became visibly greater, and Dipper couldn't dodge in time, an aimless beam of energy striking his leg. He yelled and stumbled, kneeling, ignoring the pain to the best of his abilities and putting all of his focus on talking for his life. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No more excuses. I-I’m sorry I didn't listen, I’m sorry I was such an asshole, I’m sorry I couldn't stop this! I’m sorry for everything! I like to pretend I know what I’m talking about, but, I…”

Wincing, Dipper managed to stand to his feet, dragging his injured leg as he approached the trembling figure. “The truth is, I don’t know anything! All I do is screw things up, and this wasn't any different. I should have tried harder to understand you, and now it–it might have cost us everything. But we've still got a chance! We-”

A bolt of energy connected with Dipper’s side and he crumpled in a heap on the ground, just inches from Norman. He fought to regain his breath and stay conscious, crawling the rest of the way in the dirt if he had to. The medium was floating just off the ground, and Dipper reached out, struggling to grip his hand.

“I-I know I haven’t left the, hah, best of impressions, these past few days,” he gasped, “and I’m really, really sorry for that. You don’t have any reason to believe me, but I’m—I’m ready to listen. I want to learn and help, even if it’s dangerous. Please…please…”

Black spots filled Dipper’s vision, and he felt himself beginning to pass out. With the last of his strength, he held tight to Norman’s shimmering hand, ignoring the surge of pain that coursed down his arm, praying with all that he had that this wasn't the end.

And Norman gripped back.

Looking back, he was unsure if it had been part of a dream. In those last few seconds, Dipper could recall a blinding, encompassing flash, fading away to absolute darkness and leaving nothing but the afterimage of an eye seared into his vision.

Chapter Text

When Dipper came to, the first thing he noticed was the immense, heavy pain weighing down his limbs, every inch of him stinging and aching. He felt too stiff to move and figured he’d faint again if he tried, but the second thing that came to his attention gave him some motivation.

Someone was crying. It was difficult to tell who, the sound completely unfamiliar to him. With a pained grunt, Dipper managed to turn himself on his side and crack open his eyes, waiting for his vision to settle. Every part of him throbbed sorely, but he tried his hardest to ignore his condition and focus on the situation at hand.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet, literally or figuratively. Dipper was still inside the dome, the walls around him still standing, gnarled roots still packed tightly together to ensure no one could escape. The green light remained enveloping the area, but it had a clearer source this time. Dippers eyes trailed down to the center of the dome, his gaze falling upon a small figure doubled over in the dirt.

The cries belonged to Norman, who was no longer making any attempt to fight. All traces of the magical aura that had surrounded him seemed to have vanished, aside from the fading light, and Dipper allowed himself a small sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about. The medium didn’t seem to be possessed any longer, but that didn’t mean his condition was even close to being stable. The haltered sobs reverberating throughout the dome told him as much. Dipper had to act, or risk things descending back into something ugly.

Using whatever scraps of strength he has left, Dipper pulled himself upright, the blisters and scabs riddling his skin grating and reopening. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out his breath in a hiss, manuvering himself as gently as possible. So far, so good. Now for the hard part.

"Uhh," he said, testing his voice more than anything. At least he could still talk, for what it was worth. "Hey, Norman? Are…are you hurt? Is everything all r-"

"Stay away!" Norman cried, his voice low and warning like the gutteral cry of a cat. "Leave me alone!"

"Wait, what’s wrong?" Dipper tried to approach him and moved too quickly, wincing. "Are you still…I mean, is it still-"

He couldn’t spit the words out, and Norman continued to be unresponsive, his back to Dipper signalling that he was unwilling to communicate any further. Maybe, Dipper thought, this was one of those times where words just wouldn’t cut it. It was a long shot, but it didn’t look like Norman was going to calm down anytime soon without some intervention. Slowly, the boy used one hand to grip the surrounding soil and one foot to steady himself, awkwardly pulling himself forward into a crawl with whatever limbs felt the least damaged. He dragged himself towards the medium at a snail’s pace, thankful he hadn’t been thrown back further away than he already was.

Eventually, he came to rest beside Norman, waiting until he caught his breath before interacting. Dipper felt something tighten in his chest at the sound of the other boy’s cries and tentatively reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

Norman instantly shyed away from the outstretched palm, shifting out of arm’s length with a snarl. “Don’t touch me!”

"Okay, okay! I won’t. But you gotta say something. Give me a sign, anything. What’s the matter? Are you still being…influenced?"

"I might as well be," he whimpered, drawing closer in on himself.

"So…is that a ‘no’?”

“Nothing’s the matter, okay? Nothing you’d understand.”

Dipper huffed impatiently. “C’mon, Norman, don’t be like that. Gimme some feedback, I just wanna help.”

"No, you don’t.” Venom crept into the medium’s trembling tone. “All you’ve done is lie to save your own skin. The only reason you’d help me is so I wouldn’t be a problem anymore. You’re–You’re just as selfish and insensitive as everyone else. Thanks, but I don’t want your help.”

"W-Well, I can’t change that!" Dipper sputtered, lamenting his poor communicative abilities. “I mean, what did you expect? Did you think I was going trust you, just like that? That’s not the way things work around here. Doing that could get you killed, or worse. If you expected me to help you without any bumps down the road, you were asking for something I couldn’t give, Norman.”

Norman still refused to look him in the eye, what Dipper could see of his face set in a deep frown. “I’m sick of excuses. Just leave me alone.”

"Ugh, fine. Whatever, okay? I said I’m sor-"

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it.”

"Well, what would?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, maybe if you’d actually thought about someone else and paid attention-”

“Okay, okay, I get it, just…okay.” Dipper blew out of puff of breath through his nose, swallowing his pride as he sheepishly rubbed at the nape of his neck. He could feel his face burning, but there was no avoiding the topic now. "Look, I-I know I was a jerk to you, and I know I didn’t help you nearly as much as I could’ve. You’re right, okay? I was too worried about losing what I had to even start considering what was going on with you. And, yeah! I was wrong! I was told to try harder to understand and I didn’t listen. But I’m listening now, Norman!” Dipper spread his arms wide, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. “Go ahead! Tell me what’s wrong! Say whatever you want!”

Dipper had been as honest with himself as could find it in himself to be, and thankfully, something must have driven home. Norman finally looked at him, his tear-stained face contorting into a scowl. For a second, it looked as if he was going to continue arguing, but the medium abandoned words and went for Dipper with surprising speed. Dipper could do nothing but watch as Norman grabbed his collar, raising a fist to strike, his eyes a burning luminescent green. Knowing it would only make things worse, he made no move to talk himself out of this one and waited for the punch.

But it never came. They stayed frozen like that for several seconds, Norman starting to tremble as he seemed to become aware of what he was doing. He let go of Dipper, slumping to the ground as the tears resurfaced.

"Sorry. I’m sorry," he whispered, repeating the phrase several times over. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean…"

"Hey, hey," said Dipper softly, awkwardly trying to mimic the tone Mabel used on him when he was upset. "It’s okay. I know that wasn’t you."

"No, it was me,” Norman spat, his scowl returning briefly before melting back to hopelessness. “Part of it, at least…I-I was able to fight him off, but I’m still…I’m still like this. I’m still so angry, I still don’t know what’s going on, I still…”

 Dipper’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean you freed yourself from being possessed? All by yourself?”

Norman nodded, wiping at his nose. “It was strong, but…well, it was after my gifts in the first place, so it made sense that I could defeat it. I just needed to make sure I didn’t lose track of myself in the process.”

"Whoa, really? So you killed it?”

"N-No, not really. I just sent it back where it came from. It was barely able to stay in our plane of existence as it was, so I just," Norman halfheartedly shoved at the air in front of him, "gave it a push."

"What’re you talking about?" Dipper didn’t attempt to hide his awe. "That’samazing, Norman! You’re acting like you didn’t do anything, but you just–you probably just stopped the whole universe from collapsing!”

Norman sniffled and smiled ever so slightly. “I had some help. Having you there, hearing you talk about the past couple of days, well, uh…it was just provoking enough to remind me what was going on.”

Dipper stared at him for a moment before breaking into a fit of giggles, trying to get a hold of himself once he discovered how painful his bruises made laughing. “Ohhh man, are you serious? I helped you save everything because I was annoying?” He chuckled and wiped at his eyes. “Well, I’ll take what I can get.”

Norman didn’t laugh, his tired eyes trained on the ground. “It was horrible, though…watching myself do all of that. I need to apologize, to everyone.”

"Whaaat? It wasn’t even you, man. You don’t have to do that. We get it."

"But if I’d just been stronger, or held out a little longer, I could’ve-"

"I wouldn’t start with that," Dipper warned. "You did your best, okay? If Mabel heard you saying that, she would-"

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his mind, Dipper’s train of thought shifting instantly. “Mabel! Ohh man, I gotta—I need to see if she’s okay! I-” He tried to stand and immediately crashed back to the ground, his own physical limitations breached. “Owww…”

“You aren’t okay.” Norman scrubbed at his face with his hands, sighed, and stood to his feet. He didn’t seem very well himself, wobbling weakly before he managed to hold his footing. Regardless, he offered a hand to Dipper. “C’mon. Let’s go find her.”

It took some maneuvering, but the two were able to find a position that allowed them both to walk, arms over each other’s shoulders with Dipper leaning heavily on Norman. His own strength surprised him, Norman’s limbs unexpectedly wirey for as small as he looked, enabling him to do a fair job at dragging the other boy along. They eventually shuffled towards the edge of the dome, the barrier of roots withering and creating an exit as Norman drew close to it.

The forest appeared startlingly different from before. What Norman had seen of the storm had disapated, leaving nothing but fallen trees and the sort of calm that comes after a heavy rain. Warm light enveloped them as they stepped out of the dome, the setting sun shining freely through a cloudless sky.

Everything was so quiet. Norman couldn’t help but look on the aftermath with guilt, knowing none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. He’d endangered so many lives, and the fact that everyone seemed to have come out of it relatively unscathed didn’t do much to console him. After all, they had yet to find Mabel. His heart sunk somewhere into his gut at the thought, hoping against hope that he wasn’t the one responsible for her disappearance, indirectly or otherwise.

At first, there didn’t seem to be any sign of her, and Norman could feel Dipper’s heart beating close to his own, the boy’s eyes darting about in search for his twin. “She should be somewhere close. She was right around here when I saw her last. She was right here.”

They both knew that didn’t mean much. Neither of them allowed themselves to rest until they saw her, saw her in her violently pink sweater and jukebox earrings, sitting casually on a fallen log not far from the dome.

Dipper started to call out to her. “Mabel! Ma-“

They halted when they came close enough to see the entire picture. Norman’s heart skipped a beat when saw who was next to her. A corpse, the first real-life, animated one he’d seen since that night three years ago, sat on the log just a few inches away. Upon hearing her twin’s voice, the girl and the body glanced at them, and Mabel grinned, motioning for them to come closer.

Dipper was dead weight, still too shocked to react, but with rekindled motivation, Norman managed to drag him along at a pace faster than before. Soon they stood before the living dead, close enough to smell the dirt and rot. Norman could hardly do anything but stare, his mind spinning and taking the world with it.

"Norman, Dipper," said Mabel, "this is Elmer Grimwald."

Norman blinked. “Wh—you mean, you can—you’ve talked?”

Mabel snickered, waving her hand. “No, silly. Elmer here knows how to write in English, so we could chat a little, sort of. Once I realized he wasn’t violent, anyway.” She pointed to the ground. “See?”

Off to the side of the log were shaky letters written into the dirt, Mabel’s loopy, concise handwriting contrasting drastically with the corpse’s own barely legible script. All he’d written was “ELMER GRIMWALD”, followed by the phrase “SEND ME BACK” scrawled about a dozen times underneath.

“Huh.” Norman tried to gather his wits, hardly more coherent than the slack-jawed Dipper. “B-But, how did he—where did he come from? I didn’t…he’s not here because of something to do with me, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Mabel guessed, chewing on her lip. “Unless you did it on accident, somehow…?”

“Oh…” Norman met the corpse’s somber eyes and returned the expression, guilt clawing inside his chest. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Grimwald, about all of this. You were brought back here because of…because of me. But I’ll do everything I can to fix that.”

“No…I know it was not your doing,” Elmer said after some time, his voice quiet and hollow and old. “But I am the one who wrote them. I am the one who wrote the warnings. And you, boy, were the one who paid them no heed. For that, you are guilty.”

“I know.” Norman heaved a shaky, watery sigh. “I know.”

“But,” the corpse continued, “it would be irrational of me to place all the blame on a single party. In this case, it would be like persecuting the pawn, rather than the mind behind it. I know that more than anything. Most of this situation was completely out of your control, and to leave this plane and continue to be at peace, I must explain why that is. Listen closely, child, for it is of utmost importance.”

Elmer straightened a little, taking an instinctive breath he no longer needed. “We mediums are always at risk, in this place. Where you are standing right this very moment is one of the most unpredictable locations on earth. Here, the border between our world and worlds unknown is severely weakened. It breeds peculiarities and attracts creatures once unknown to man, and that is part of the reason why you and I stand here now. Except, for us, this place functions as more of a trap than a magnet.”

Norman clung to every word. “A trap?”

“There is something present here, something that knows what we are and seeks to manipulate us for its own ends. I see you’ve crossed paths with it already,” Elmer sighed, “but it is fortunate, indeed, that you were able to slip through its grasp. Please, pay careful attention. It is vital that you never, ever let that creature take hold of you, boy. This, this demon seeks to use our abilities to alter reality and create a bridge between the planes, and if it were to succeed, well…it would be the end of our world as we know it. Horrors beyond your imagination would invade and the damage caused would be irreversible. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Norman swallowed, his throat dry. “I think so.”

“Then my work here is done.” Elmer rose stiffly from the log, his deteriorated joints creaking and popping. His gaze never left Norman. “Heed our warnings, and do everything in your power to prevent this monster from accomplishing its goals. My family has spent many years keeping others from this place, some even in death, and I could rest knowing our efforts were not in vain. Now, some of the task is passed onto you. Tell me, child, what is your name?”

“N-Norman Babcock, sir.”

The remaining skin around the corpse’s mouth twisted into a small smile. “Well, then, Norman, you’ve done an excellent job thus far. You are far stronger than anyone from my linage, to my knowledge, and though that heightens the risk, it also protects you. Use your gifts wisely. I know firsthand that what you are dealing with is difficult, but don’t lose heart.”

“I-I won’t. I think I’ll have some help, too. I’ll make sure you have nothing to worry about.”

Elmer smiled again, and his flesh cracked and melted away, revealing his glowing spirit beneath. He looked down on them with weary eyes, content. “I will always worry. But now, perhaps, a bit less. Thank you, Norman Babcock.”

Norman smiled, blinking back tears. “N-No problem.”

With a sound that was a mix between a gust of wind and a sigh, Elmer Grimwald’s soul departed from the living plane, passing on into worlds unknown.

The walk back to the Mystery Shack was much less of a struggle with Mabel there to help, her physical strength easily surpassing Norman’s own as she took over the task of helping Dipper walk. She’d taken some hits herself, having battled a few corpses before they were freed from the demon’s control, but she was still in better shape than the rest. Neither of the boys got off without an interrogation, Mabel forcing them to say what hurt where and whether or not she needed to get out her needles for stitches. It was only when she was sure they were both still in one piece that they were able to move on.

They all took their time, the twins listening as Norman repeated everything Elmer Grimwald had said during the conversation they hadn’t been able to understand. He nearly had it memorized to the letter, making sure that every word was imprinted on his brain. It was a sign of his own success; Norman’s spirits were raised considerably, most of his yearning for answers finally quenched. With the added thrill of speaking to a realized medium, he might as well have skipped back to the Shack, still coming to grips with how things had ended up working out so well.

After his explanation was complete, Dipper immediately said, “We have to add that all to the journal.”

Norman nodded. “It needs to be preserved in any way it can. That way if—if we ever meet more people like me down the road, we’ll know for sure what we have to do.”

Mabel shot him a sly smile. “’We’?”

“I-uh-” Norman squirmed, forgetting to catch himself. “Well, I thought…I feel like it’s kinda my duty to stay here and prevent this from happening again, so I figured…maybe we could team up, or something.”

“A combined effort for a bigger threat,” Dipper mused. “I like it.”

“Whaaat?” Mabel elbowed her twin in the ribs, forgetting his injuries. “It almost sounds like you two are getting along now. You’re gonna have to tell me everything that happened while I was busy kicking undead ass.”

Dipper let out a short, nervous laugh. “I’ll tell you later.”

The trio soon emerged from the woods, the last of the wall of roots burrowing back into the earth at their arrival. The Mystery Shack was in a pitiful state, the wind from the storm having stripped away whatever trinkets and baubles had made it appear mysterious in the first place. At least three more letters had fallen off the sign on the roof, along with a good number of shingles and an odd weather vane. A large branch had even fallen atop Stanford Pines’s car, shattering a window and denting the hood.

The twins sucked in their breath at the sight. “Looks like we and Soos have a lot of work to do,” Mabel groaned.

“Don’t let Stan know you had anything to do with the storm,” Dipper was sure to add. “He might try to sue you or something. Or worse.”

Norman caught sight of his parents on the porch and sighed, seeing them begin to take notice of his presence. He expected quite the lecture after this, and he knew it was going to take a good deal of convincing if he ever planned on coming back to Gravity Falls. For some reason, though, he wasn’t all that worried about the situation. Things were winding down now, and it felt like an immense weight was slowly being lifted from his lungs, allowing him to breathe easy for the first time in months. Whatever challenge came after this would be small in comparison. Norman was weary, but the prospect of finally getting some rest gave him strength enough.

The next few hours were a flurry of joy and commotion, the Babcocks being so relieved to see their son unharmed that, for a while, there was no squabbling amongst them. Norman had given his parents the short, understandable version of what had happened since he’d left home, and they seemed to take it well enough, believing him at least part of the way. The Pines twins were supportive as well, which may have made his case more convincing. (Their uncle was, however, entirely clueless about the whole ordeal and no help whatsoever, despite being the only adult that had been present.) There were still some provocative questions and comments from his dad, but even he seemed to be acting agreeable, for the most part.

Overall, the family aftermath went by smoothly, which had surprised Norman. He was thankful, though; by now he was well past exhausted from the day’s events, still feeling a bit nauseous and lightheaded from the possession on top of everything else. When his parents were aptly distracted by Mabel showing off what tricks Waddles could do, the medium managed to slip outside on the porch for some fresh air,  a chorus of crickets filling his ears.

He hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten, the orange porch light and the moon the only things illuminating the Shack’s front lawn. Breathing in the night air, Norman lowered himself to the edge of the porch and sat, staring out into the darkness. Ghosts were gradually starting to reappear, their telltale glows conspicuous as they cautiously poked out from behind trees. Many of the apparitions were well aware that the danger had passed, continuing to go about their daily deaths like nothing had happened. It was a good sign.

Once he got tired of watching them, Norman’s eyes eventually drifted upwards. There were so many stars in Gravity Falls, the outskirts of the town revealing all of the celestial bodies that were normally hidden by modern civilization. With the croaking of frogs in the distance and the slight breeze drifting through the pines, Norman felt a sense of peace he couldn’t have gotten back home.

That peace was soon threatened when he heard the front door creak open, someone coming to join him outside. Having wanted some time alone, Norman sighed, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t be bent on disturbing the silence.

It took some time, but Dipper, of all people, eventually came to sit beside him, gingerly taking the time to get himself situated in a comfortable position. The boy was covered in an ample amount of Mabel-administered bandages, using an old crutch they’d had lying around the Shack to help him get around. Norman felt a stir of guilt, forcing himself to remember that he hadn’t been the one who’d inflicted the wounds. Dipper didn’t seem to mind that Norman had been part of the cause for his injuries, at least.

“I was wondering where you went,” he said. “Feeling okay? Today was pretty rough on you.”

“You’re one to talk. Yeah, I’ll be fine. And…you?”

Dipper laughed quietly. “I’ll heal. I’ve gotten busted up a lot before, so it’s not like I’m not used to it by now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Norman replied, but he smiled anyway. It didn’t stick for long. “So you don’t…god, you don’t blame me for any of that? Not even, like, partially?”

“Weeell, I’m not gonna act like I didn’t have it coming. If any of that really was your fault, then I guess we have our equal share of being dicks to each other,” Dipper shrugged, “and that’s that.”

Norman sighed through his nose, wishing he was as convinced. “If you say so.”

“So, what did your parents say about staying here for the summer? They seem like a tough crowd.”

“I haven’t really introduced the idea yet,” Norman answered, “but…something tells me they’ll go through with it. I spent long enough trying to get here, anyway. I’m not even sure if I can leave.”

“Oh, that’s good. Well, I-I mean, it’s not good, it’s just. Convenient. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

The two sat in silence, Norman absently gazing at the ghost of a deer on the lawn and Dipper staring out into space. For once, the quiet between them wasn’t awkward. Not anywhere near comfortable, but definitely tolerable. Norman glanced at Dipper, who looked very tired, his brow furrowed as he seemed lost in thought. He didn’t stare long enough to be noticed, quickly shifting his gaze back to the lawn.

Eventually, Dipper sighed, scratching at the back of his head. “Y’know…”

“Mm?”

“This whole thing could’ve turned out a lot worse. We were pretty lucky, crossing paths like we did. Too lucky.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Norman’s mind before. It all had been fairly convenient. If it weren’t for finding the Pines twins, he remembered, he might as well have been dead. “You’re right.”

“All of this stuff that’s happened, meeting you, learning all these new things…you made me realize something. I’ve spent every summer over the past few years trying to figure out Gravity Falls with Mabel. But…after today, it feels like all of that was worthless. Gravity Falls isn’t some kind of puzzle we need to solve, it’s like–like-”

“Like the weather,” Norman finished. “Like a force of nature.”

“Yeah! It’s something you just can’t stop, no matter how hard you try. There’s no source to the problem. It just is. I mean, sure, it has its mysteries, but it’s never going to change. What we do here will add up to nothing.”

“You’re starting to sound like the dead,” said Norman. "And you’re wrong.”

“Huh?”

“You and Mabel are prepared for anything that happens here. You were prepared for me, and because of that, everything turned out okay. Maybe Gravity Falls is something you can’t fix, but that means it’s dangerous, and it’s not going to stop being dangerous. All you can do is keep taking things as they come at you. That’s life.”

“But is there any way to make it all stop?” Dipper couldn’t be satisfied with the truth, still reaching for some nonexistent answer. “Couldn’t there be something to make it so the barrier here isn’t as weak?”

“Maybe. But if there was, you’d think someone would have found it out by now.”

“Well, that’ll just have to be the next mystery we solve,” Dipper concluded, unwavering. “Maybe it’s what we’ve been after all along, without even realizing it.”

“Sounds pretty convenient. I’d be careful.” Norman frowned. "There’s no telling if that’s what some evil spirit wants you to do or not. Something out there is really good at pulling the strings. You could be playing right into its hands.”

Dipper nodded slowly. “’Trust no one’…that’s what the journal said. I didn’t forget that. I can’t forget that. But…” he continued, “I think…I think there are some people you can trust. Maybe not total strangers, and maybe not even yourself, but…I trust Mabel. Nothing’s going to change that. And, Norman? I think I could—god, no, that sounds cheesy…I mean, it wouldn't be too out there if-”

“If what?”

“If I could start trusting you, too.” A blush spread across Dipper’s face, and his attempts at hiding it only made it more noticeable. “I know we kinda got off on the wrong foot, but if I've learned anything it’s that you’re…you’re okay. You’re cool. And I’m not asking you to forget what’s happened, but maybe–maybe we could, I dunno…”

Norman chuckled softly. “What?”

Dipper tried to spit the words out and couldn't. Flustered, he simply held out his hand. “Do over? I want a clean slate between us. You ‘n me. Please?”

Norman thought about it. “How about a slightly dingy slate?”

“Good enough for me.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it. Dipper hand was rough and clammy and alive, what was probably their first willing act of physical contact sealing the promise.

Norman would have been lying if he’d said he wasn't hesitant on making that move, but if he knew one thing, it was that he didn't have to be alone in this. Time and time again, it had been proven to him that being friends with the living could and had been worth it. He’d spent so long relying on only himself that he still struggled with the issue, but after everything that had happened, Norman knew exactly how powerless he was on his own. Even if it meant putting trust in someone he thought would break it, gaining willing supporters in this maze of mysteries was an invaluable opportunity.

And, even with Dipper there beside him, Norman realized he still felt a sense of peace. All traces of the tug had vanished.

He wasn't lost anymore.