Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’ve started seeing things.

McGucket was dead. 

Hands warm against the leather of the steering wheel, Dipper Pines stared at the road ahead, taking deep breaths through his nose as the first symptoms of road fatigue set in. His eyelids grew heavy while the yellow lines of the interstate rhythmically flew past his vision.

The rose-gold of the early morning sun had given way to the vibrant blue of midday. White Alders and Redwoods had faded to pine trees with each additional mile north. No longer burdened by urban ambience, skyscrapers turned into convenience stores, littering the afforested roads like breadcrumbs down a wooden trail. A small pine-shaped air freshener mounted to the dashboard gave the truck a minty feel, reminding Dipper of the serenity of an early-morning thunderstorm, fresh rainwater drenching the leaves. 

A pink-sweatered figure sat curled up in a ball in the passenger seat. Locks of curly brown hair hastily tamed by a black hair tie enveloped their face, soft breaths blowing the strands briefly out of place before gravity brought them back down. The neon cover of a scrapbook rested within Mabel’s hands, clutched tightly against her chest just as a child would a stuffed animal. 

The front cover of the scrapbook faced Dipper. In glittery gold, the words “SUMMER MEMORIES” were etched out in Mabel’s handwriting. Only one picture had been added, sitting just inside the front cover. Draped in blue caps and gowns, Dipper and Mabel stood with their arms around each other, diplomas in hand as they gave a thumbs up to the camera. Mom had taken the picture. Dipper remembered her grinning ear to ear as she pulled out her phone and fumbled with the buttons until finding the camera. Dad, meanwhile, stood just out of frame, awkwardly waiting for mom to release them so he could get his own pictures. The smell of his shoe shiner and the warmth of his maroon button-up persisted even as the photo failed to capture him. 

Dipper wrestled with the black cup holder to his right. Something tumbled to the ground whilst he freed his water bottle. It probably wasn’t anything important. He had been meaning to fix it, but had been too busy with the million other repairs to worry about it. A finicky cup holder was nothing when the transmission gave out. 

Cold water rushed down his throat and brought him temporary relief from his weariness. Sooner or later he would have to stop. Dipper caught sight of an exit advertising a gas station some three miles away. Turning on his blinker, Dipper quickly checked his right mirror and blind spot before quickly switching into the rightmost lane, narrowly making the exit as it crept up on him.

The sharp jolt of the truck as he turned disturbed Mabel from her slumber. She let out something between a grunt and a snore before jolting upright and pulling her hair out of her face. From the backseat, Waddles squealed, quickly crawling from the backseat to the passenger side.

“What was that about?” Mabel asked, voice deepened by her nap, “Is it national my-brother-can’t-make-right-turns-day already?”

“No,” Dipper replied, “I’m taking a stop to stretch my legs.”

“But we’re so close!”

“A five-minute stop won’t do too much. We’re making good time. It’s been nine hours, Mabel. I’m getting tired.”

“Let me drive! I wanna get there!”

“Mom told me not to let you. Remember?”

Mabel rolled her eyes, “Come on, Dipper! It was one time! Don’t be such a fartface.”

“You ran over dad’s foot, Mabel.”

“Pfft. Please. He was fine!”

“He was on crutches for a month.”

“It’s a heartwarming story about a man fighting through an injury. You’re so negative!”

“Spin it however you want. You’re not driving.”

“Hey, I got my license!”

“And we still don’t know how.”

Dipper turned the truck into a parking lot, the large sign in front of the parking lot boasting gas prices beneath two dollars per gallon. The fuel gauge along the dashboard rested comfortably between E and F. He took note of the gas station’s name, planning on swinging by on the way back.

He put the car in park and gently opened the door. Warm summer air wrapped around him like a hug and pulled him out into the parking lot. Dipper’s arm brushed against the arm of his suit that hung in the backseat. The black satin acted as an insulator, covering part of the back window to keep the sun from turning the truck into an oven. Mabel’s similarly drab dress covered the rightmost window, leaving just enough space for Dipper to check his blindspots, and nothing more. 

Waddles oinked with excitement as Mabel removed him from the back of the car and him in her arms. 

“Just looking at that is depressing,” Dipper remarked, eyes on the funeral attire as he locked the car, “I wish we were coming back for a better reason.”

Mabel, usually quick with an optimistic remark, remained silent, breaking away from Dipper while he walked into the men’s room.

He cupped his hands beneath a sink and splashed cold water on his face. The bathroom had the musk that one would expect at a gas station, Dipper making sure to breathe through his mouth to keep the stench from burning into his psyche forever. 

A small part of missed stubble appeared on the sides of his face as the water darkened them. Dipper muttered to himself, vowing to find a way to fix it before they arrived. He would have to look his best for the following day’s plans. 

Once he felt awake, Dipper left the bathroom, covering his hand with his sleeve to keep the residual contaminants from reaching his skin. Dipper knew what went on in gas-station bathrooms. The last thing he wanted was to spend his summer curled up in bed with a barf bowl at his side. 

He caught sight of Mabel at the cash register buying a piece of pepperoni pizza along with a bottle of Coca-Cola. It wasn’t any Pitt-Cola, but he figured beggars couldn’t be choosers. The cashier shot her a quizzical glance as he noticed Waddles poking his head out of Mabel’s sweater. 

Mable handed the cashier a handful of bills and happily turned around, taking a bite of her food before noticing Dipper. 

“Dipper!” Mabel said, “This place is awesome! I got a scratch-off ticket!”

Sure enough, she reached into her sparkly, cat-shaped purse and pulled out an Oregon lottery ticket, having already scratched the numbers off and left the residue coating the side of a penny. 

“You didn’t win anything,” Dipper remarked.

“Duh,” Mabel said, still grinning from ear to ear, “The scratching is the best part! It’s better than money. It’s the journey, Dipper. Not the destination!”

“I’m…not sure I agree with you on that.”

“Whatever. Dope.”

“I’ll race you back to the car?”

“Oh, you’re on!”

Dipper had taken to the occasional jog in the morning when he felt like it. It was an easy way to wake himself up during the summer mornings without school weighing on his mind. He had yet to know if he had made any progress. A little sprint to the car would be a good test of his endurance.

“Alright,” Mabel said, “Waddles, you be the judge.”

Waddles wiggled out of Mabel’s sweater and onto the pavement. Mabel waited until he had reached the truck to begin the countdown.

She took the starting position. Dipper did the same.

“On three!” Mabel said, “One…Two…Three!”

The duo took off from the front door of the gas station. Dipper dug his feet into the ground, pushing himself forward as he placed one hand on the woolen lumberjack’s cap on his head, keeping it from flying away. 

Mabel quickly gained ground. Dipper maintained a comfortable lead for only a few seconds. Powered by sugar and the rejuvenation of a roadside nap, she had far more energy.

Dipper wouldn’t go down without a fight. He dug deep and forced his feet to move faster, struggling to catch his breath as he leapt over a curb and reached towards the car door. Mabel’s footsteps pounded the pavement just seconds behind.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that!” Dipper exclaimed, throwing himself onto the truck’s red exterior.

Mabel let out a fake pout, “Fine. You win. Now open the door. I want to eat my pizza.”

Waddles hopped back into the backseat while Dipper and Mabel took up the driver’s and passenger seats respectively. 

“I’m gonna call Grunkle Stan and let him know we’re almost there,” Dipper said, pulling out his phone, “You good with waiting a few seconds?”

Mabel nodded.

Her phone lit up with text messages and other notifications as the screen lit up. Dipper, meanwhile, only had a notification from the Duolingo Owl, admonishing him for missing a day of his Polish lessons. 

Teaching Grunkle Stan to operate a phone had been a difficult process. It had taken the patience of a saint to show him how to answer a call. Ford had been even worse. He insisted that cell phones were ugly and that landlines were the way to go. 

Four rings escaped the phone before Stan’s gravely voice picked up. 

“Hey, kid,” Grunkle Stan said, “What do you need? It’d better not be money.”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Dipper sighed, “Mabel and I are about to get back on the interstate. We should be at the shack in about an hour.”

“Wait, you’re driving?!”

“Yes. I told you.”

“I thought you were messing with me. Like when I told you I had a twin brother.”

“You DO have a twin brother.” 

“Whatever. Hey, if you’re driving, do you think you'd be able to do a small favor for me? I’ve got some pugs that…uh…necesitan llegar a Oaxaca. If you know what I mean.”

“I’m not smuggling pugs across the border for you, Grunkle Stan.”

“Fine. Have it your way. And hey, don’t park in my parking spot!”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

A moment of silence followed. Dipper opened his mouth to say goodbye, only to be cut off by Stan at the last minute. 

“So…uh…how are you kids holding up? You know, with McGucket and all.”

“We’re doing alright,” Dipper replied, “At least he’s not in pain anymore. What about you and Ford?”

“I barely knew the guy. Ford’s been quiet. He hasn’t said much about him.”

“Keep an eye on him until we get there, okay?”

“I don’t think I need to. He’s been in his lab watching Family Ties for the last hour. First time I’ve seen him do something other than work. It’s weird, Dipper. Scientists aren’t supposed to relax.”

“Yeah. Sure…”

“Whatever. I’ll see you kids soon. Sorta sucks that you’re coming all this way for a funeral.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Alright. If the guy at the toll booth tries to rip you off, floor it and break through the fence. They don’t have cameras up here.”

“They’re not ripping us off, Grunkle Stan. They’re collecting our tolls to fund the roads.”

“Like I said. They’re ripping you off.”

“See you in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dipper placed his phone back on the dashboard and placed his hand on the shifter. The engine roared to life with the turn of the keys. 

Within minutes, they were back on the interstate, the speedometer steadily creeping up to seventy as the open road stretched out for miles ahead. Large hills with valleys at their bases flowed around the countryside like waves on an ocean. Small towns lined the bases of forests. Smoke rose from grills, children played in yards, and birds rested atop powerlines, unaware of how close it had all come to destruction. 

Dipper still had nightmares about Weirdmageddon. They had become less frequent as the years passed. Little by little, the rose-colored fuzz surrounding his memories of Gravity Falls had faded. Each time he thought of the mystery shack, he saw Bill rising from the ground and opening the blood-red sky. He woke up some nights in a cold sweat, rushing down the hall as his mind told him that Mabel had been taken, breathing a sigh of relief once he found her sound asleep in her bed. 

On the other hand, there was a certain beauty in returning to a childhood wonder after yeast apart. Nightmares could only warp so much of his perception. Sometimes, on a particularly lonely night, he would flip through Mabel’s scrapbook and fondly reflect on that fateful summer. So many smiles, so wide that not even the darkest of days could turn them. There was a glimmer in his eyes that he had spent years chasing. An elusive emotion unicorn, it always felt just out of reach. A part of him wondered if returning to the Falls would bring that glimmer back and drive the nightmares back into limbo where they belonged. 

Six years had passed since the bus had taken that winding path. Dipper swerved left and right as the road swayed, paying close attention to the bright yellow hazard signs scattered along the grassy railingings. Puffy cumulus clouds rose overhead and briefly obscured the sun, only to surprise Dipper with a flash of blinding sunlight once it passed. He reached for the visor overhead and positioned it just above his forehead. 

“Go away, clouds!” Mabel scorned, opening the passenger window and raising her fist into the air, “I want the sun! It’s summer!”

In a few short seconds, her hair had been frizzled by the wind, strands running every which way across her head. It looked like she had just been electrocuted. 

Mabel let out a cough and spat out a wad of hair, “Bleh. Wind is stupid too.”

Dipper chuckled, “Another reason why I’m the one driving.”

Through the rearview mirror, Dipper caught sight of Mabel turning around in her seat, eyes directed towards the funeral attire resting in the back of the truck. 

“Dipper?” Mabel asked, the childlike lilt in her voice gone, “Is it normal that I feel sad?”

Dipped nodded, “Of course it is. We knew McGucket better than most people did. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen him, sure, but he was our friend. You never really forget someone like that.”

“But I also feel happy. We get to see Grunkle Stan again! And Grunkle Ford! And the Mystery Shack! And Wendy, and Soos, and Lazy Susan, and Candy and Grenda-”

“Mabel. Take a breath.”

“Sorry. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t want to be happy, because McGucket died. You’re not supposed to be happy when someone dies. But I also don’t want to be sad, because then I can’t enjoy our trip.”

Mabel rolled back into her seat and buried her head inside of her sweater, “Not even Sweatertown can help me.”

“You don’t need to go to Sweatertown,” Dipper said, clearing his throat, “This whole thing is new to us. We’ve never really dealt with it before.”

“What about Skitts?”

“He died when we were nine. We hardly knew what was going on.”

“What about mom and dad?”

“They’re not dead, Mabel.”

“No…but sometimes it feels like they are.”

“What?”

Mable reached forward and pulled the graduation photo out of her scrapbook, “We don’t have a single picture with both mom and dad in it. Doesn’t that make you sad? It used to be so much nicer when we were younger.”

“But they’re not dead, Mabel. Things changed. They didn’t love each other anymore.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“Stuff like that is hard for everyone. This summer will be a nice break, you know?” 

“I guess.”

“You’re allowed to be sad about McGucket. But you’re also allowed to be happy. You can feel two things at once.”

Dipper made a mental note of that comment, planning to write it down later if he ended up needing it.

“It’s not like you’re happy that he died,” Dipper continued, “We’re going to go to the funeral tomorrow and pay our respects. All things considered, he lived a pretty good life. Seventy-five is right around the life expectancy.” 

“Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are old too.”

“I mean, yeah, but not as old as McGucket.”

“Didn’t Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket go to college together?”

“I-I mean, yeah. But Grunkle Ford wasn’t shooting himself in the face with a memory gun.” 

“But they’re both old. Won’t we have to worry about them too one day?” 

Dipper paused. He had never considered the Grunkles’ age before. They had been old for as long as Dipper had known them. Sure, they were eligible for senior discounts, but they were tough. Nothing would take them down. If a dimension-eating demon couldn’t get to them, a seventy-fifth birthday was nothing. 

“Are you kidding?” Dipper asked with a smile, “They’re tough as nails. Remember when Grunkle Stan fought off zombies with his bare hands? Or when Ford survived thirty years in a nightmare dimension? Nothing can take them down.”

Mable emerged from her sweater with a smile on her face, “That’s true. They’re tough.”

“And now we get to see them again. In twenty minutes, we’ll be pulling back up to Gravity Falls, and we’ll be right where we belong. Back in our home away from home.”

Those last words left Dipper’s mouth with a grin. For the first time in years, he felt true excitement, the allure of Gravity Falls pulling him closer as the highway gave way to dirt roads. The nightmares, for a moment, felt like a distant memory, taking note of the road signs as they drew closer. A large green sign mounted on a wooden post told Dipper everything that he needed to know. 

Gravity Falls: 10 Miles. 

“This place feel familiar yet?” Dipper asked.

“Sorta,” Mabel replied, “The trees look taller.”

“They probably are. It’s been six years.”

Waddles crawled into the front seat and wiggled onto Mabel’s lap. Mabel picked the pig up and held him towards the window.

“What about that, Waddles?” Mabel asked, “Happy to be back home?”

A gleeful squeal came as a reply.

“I’m not leaving without filling this scrapbook,” Mabel said, leg bouncing with each passing mile, “I bought film, Dipper. FILM! It’s going to be AMAZING!” 

Dipper certainly hoped so. Summer afternoons cooped up in his room waiting for something to happen had grown boring. Gravity Falls was a place of adventure, mystery, and thrill. For better or for worse, there was never a dull moment within its borders, feasting on the confusion and bewilderment of its residents. Knowing that Bill was gone made the nightmares seem more distant. They were safe. Weirdmageddon was over. 

For six summers, Dipper had devoted all of his time and energy to rekindling that spark of life. Something was different about Gravity Falls. The colors were brighter, the people were nicer, and the smiles were wider. It was one of the only mysteries he had left to solve. With a semester away at school just around the corner, their visit to the Falls provided Dipper one last chance to live the summer he wanted.

He had the benefit of hindsight. No more hopelessly pining over older women, or summoning video game characters to fight his battles. Dipper had three months to maximize his summer fun. With six additional years of life experience, a driver’s license, and a healthy dose of anxiety medication, nothing would stop him. Nightmares included. 

“You’re smiling, Dipper,” Mabel chuckled, “You thinking of anyone? Maybe the lumberjack that gave you that dopey hat?”

Dipper turned his head as the tails of Wendy’s old hat brushed against his head. She had given it to him as a parting gift during their last summer, a summer that Dipper had almost ruined with his hopeless infatuation. It had taken almost three months to get over her.

“No, I’m not,” Dipper finally said, “I’m over her, Mabel. I think I’m going to take a break from romance this summer.”

“A break? Pfft,” Mable scoffed, “I can finally work on my matchmaking again! Don’t think I won’t be trying to find you a special someone.”

“I don’t know, Mabel. I wasted so much of last summer trying to get with Wendy. I think it’s time I focus on something else. We both know how that turned out for me.”

“So, you get rejected once and pine over a girl for a whole summer? Big whoop. Come on. You’ve gotta let me try. Do you think the Big Dipper’s ever alone in the sky? No! It’s got all its other constellation friends! We’re gonna find you a special little constellation!”

Mabel, in the midst of her silliness, would occasionally let a phrase slip from her mouth that would leave the likes of Kipling and Twain speechless. That was one of those moments. Dipper didn’t anticipate there being another one for the rest of the summer. 

There was no stopping Mabel when she put her mind to something. Dipper decided that the best option was to try and direct her attention elsewhere. 

“I was thinking about asking Grunkle Stan if we could go to Lazy Susan’s diner for dinner tonight,” Dipper suggested, “What do you think?”

Mabel grabbed his shoulder with excitement, causing the wheel to shift slightly in Dipper’s hand, “Yes! Please!”

Dipper spun the wheel back and got the truck back on track. The tries kicked up dirt from their brief time off of the road. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Dipper regained his focus and continued along the path. 

“Sorry!” Mabel said, “Road hazard.”

“Clearly. I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Dipper asked.

“Duh!”

“Good.”

The dirt roads became increasingly dilapidated as the truck rolled along the path. Decorated road signs soon became rusty chunks of metal nailed to rotting wooden poles. Woodpeckers poked their red crests out of little notches within the wood.

“Yep, it’s really starting to look like Gravity Falls,” Dipper remarked, “You can tell by the lack of infrastructure.”

“It’s just rustic!” Mabel said, “It’s part of the charm.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

Soon, the truck took a turn down a familiar avenue, past the main street of the town. It remained almost completely unchanged. Aside from a few areas of overgrown shrubbery or missing trees, it looked exactly like Dipper remembered. The same log-cabin-style buildings lined the streets in a single line. Asphalt softened the truck’s drive. Dipper squinted his eyes as they drove, wondering if he would catch any familiar faces. 

Then he saw it.

In the distance, over a forest of pine trees, was the ever-familiar Gravity Falls water tower. To outsiders it was unremarkable. A large metal tank was surrounded by four wooden supports, towering some hundred feet off of the ground. The city name was etched onto the metal with black ink. It watched over the city like a sleeping giant, ready to leap into action should Gravity Falls need it.

Mabel was bursting at the seams with excitement. Her smile spread wide enough that Dipper could see it in the rearview mirror. He turned down a side road past the city’s park, approaching a tree-shaded road. 

Dipper, for a moment, felt twelve years old again. The pine trees loomed over him just like they had six years ago. The dirt path leading up the hills and valleys was just as he remembered them. Footprints ran haphazardly back and forth. Dipper wondered if they were his. 

The Mystery Shack appeared just beyond a clearing, with its “h” still missing. Three cars sat in the parking lot. A red truck that Dipper recognized as Wendy’s, an old convertible that practically had Grunkle Stan’s name on it, and a particularly dated Chevrolet that he assumed was Grunkle Ford’s. Dipper’s sleek black truck was set to join the lineup. 

Customers strolled out of the shack’s front door. Dipper thought that they were leaving as a group, until he saw a pair of arms shooing them out. A shadowed figure behind a murky glass pane flipped the open sign around and closed the shack for the day.

Dipper turned down the radio as he approached the front. He had yet to spot any faces outside the shack, although he anticipated their appearance.

Waddles knew where he was. He began to let out short squeals as he spun around on Mabel’s lap. Small thumps escaped the car’s door as the pig’s hooves pounded on it in an attempt to escape.

“Are you ready for this?” Dipper asked, sliding into a nearby parking spot and watching as the early afternoon sun lit up the Mystery Shack like a stage light. 

Mabel didn’t respond, instead throwing open the door, grabbing Waddles on the way out, and sprinting out of the car before Dipper had a chance to get in another word. 

Dipper chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Chapter Text

The metal will keep you safe. He cannot touch it. 

The front door to the Mystery Shack flew open just as Dipper stepped onto the front porch. Mabel stood only a few feet ahead of him with Waddles clutched tightly within her arms. Four familiar faces poked out from the building’s front door as the ales of the midday heat set in. Cicadas hissed in nearby trees in protest of the summer swelter. It was a rare hotspell in Gravity Falls. When one thought of the Pacific Northwest, they didn’t think of heat. It made it all the more relieving when Dipper was brought inside and felt the refreshing chill of an air conditioner.

“Hey, kids,” Grunkle Stan said awkwardly, extending his arm in a half-hug motion. He gave Dipper a pat on the head, “Glad you made it without this knucklehead driving you into a ditch. And hey, did you take my advice on the toll booth guy?”

Dipper shook his head, “No. I didn’t. Glad to see you, though.”

“Eh. Don’t mention it.”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel cheered, wrapping her arms around Grunkle Stan’s torso as he shuffled uncomfortably, “It’s been so long!” 

Grunkle Stan, of course, hadn’t changed a bit since they last saw him. Mostly because it had only been a week. Grunkle Stan made the trip to Piedmont as often as he could. For Dipper and Mabel, that meant whenever he was able to make it without getting pulled over. With Grunkle Ford’s existence still being kept under wraps, Grunkle Stan was the only one that could regularly visit, sometimes allowing Ford to listen in through a phone call –although Dipper had tried to teach Grunkle Stan to use facetime to no avail– to allow Ford a taste of the family he had left behind. 

Behind Grunkle Stan’s suited body stood Grunkle Ford, leaning against a door frame with silver hair protruding from the top of his head. Dipper couldn’t help but notice the extra set of wrinkles beneath his eyes and around the sides of his lips. He forgot all about them as Grunkle Ford ran over to them and extended his hand. 

Dipper grimaced as Grunkle Ford’s six-fingered hand tightly wrapped around his. The lapels of his tan lab jacket waved back and forth as he came to a stop. The overwhelming smell of cologne forced Dipper to turn his head slightly to the side. He could see Mabel doing the same. 

“Dipper! Mabel! It’s been so long!” Grunkle Ford said, his voice still as clear and slightly awkward as Dipper remembered. Ford then backed away and placed his hand atop Dipper’s head, “Wow. You’re almost as tall as me! Fascinating…” 

Mabel scoffed, “Don’t rub it in. I miss having my millimeter.”

It felt strange walking into the Mystery Shack and almost hitting his head on the doorframe. Some eight inches separated Dipper from Mabel, the latter of whom hadn’t grown more than an inch for the better part of six years. He would have to make sure she didn’t get her hands on the size-changing flashlight, if it still existed. 

“It feels good to be talking to someone other than your uncle,” Grunkle Ford remarked, “I need a change of pace every now and again.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with me?” Grunkle Stan asked, just as the belt on his pants loosened and sent his dress pants tumbling to the floor and exposed a particularly unflattering pair of tattered boxers. 

Mabel covered her eyes and screeched, “It burns!”

Grunkle Stan pulled his pants back up, but not without destroying Dipper’s appetite for the foreseeable future. 

A pair of meaty arms wrapped around Dipper and Mabel before they had a chance to move. Dipper would have known who it was with his eyes closed. With a Mystery Shack hat atop his head and a stubble lining his face, Soos put an end to the twins’ six-year vacation and swooped them up into the air.

“Dudes!” Soos screamed, “You’re so much taller. And heavier…”

“...and about to throw up,” Mabel choked, “Floor, please.”

Soos obliged and set the twins back down on the ground. 

“Hey, Soos!” Dipper said, “How’s it been running the mystery shack?”

“Dudes, it’s awesome. I can change anything I want,” Soos said, “Watch!”

Soos walked over to the thermostat and turned it down from sixty eight to sixty two. At that, Grunkle Stan’s head violently turned around in an exorcist-like fashion, eyes bulging out of his skull as he faced Soos.

“Soos,” Grunkle Stan said with a gruff tone, “Thermostat. Up. Now.”

Soos turned the knob back up without so much as a second thought, “Yes sir, Mr. Pines!” 

The final figure Dipper saw needed no introduction. All he had to do was spot her by her red hair. 

“Hey,” Wendy said, standing at the counter just next to Soos, “Been awhile, huh?”

Wendy wore a large teal blue flannel with dark blue jeans. She had clearly grown a couple of inches since Dipper had last seen her. She leaned against the handle of an axe in her right hand while she wrapped the other one around Dipper and Mabel. 

“Wendy!” Mabel squealed.

“Yeah, dudes,” she replied, “We’ve been waiting all day for you. Grunkle Stan chased all the customers out with a vacuum cleaner once he saw you guys pull up. And he doesn’t even work here anymore!”

“And I’d do it again,” Grunkle Stan grumbled, waving his fist in the air, “They weren’t even buying anything.”

Dipper looked up at Wendy and noticed that she was wearing his pine tree hat, the blue and white almost perfectly preserved. 

“I like the hat,” Wendy commented, playfully slugging Dipper on the shoulder, “You really kept that thing for all these years?”

“Funny enough, I could be asking you the same thing,” Dipper replied.

“Whatever, dude. Stan told me you drove here?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Mabel chimed in, “Hey, I could have driven. They just don’t trust me.”

“Don’t worry. Once we have some free time, I’ll let you try driving my truck.”

“Really?!” 

“Sure. Can’t be any worse than getting a tree through a windshield.”

“You crashed your car?!”
“No. I was cutting down a tree and the wind blew it the wrong way. Stuff happens. Glad my dad got log insurance.”

Dipper shook his head, “Log insurance? That’s not a thing.”

“Really? You come all the way to Gravity Falls, and that’s the string you pull?” 

“You’re right.”

Wendy’s charm remained. It would take Dipper some time to get used to being taller than her, able to see the top of her forehead without having to crane his neck, eye-level with the blue pine tree of his old hat. It took a moment for him to look her in the eyes again. He remembered the first few weeks of that fateful summer, hopelessly pining over her in a way that bordered on obsessiveness. It was a miracle that she had given him a second chance. 

“You kids wanna buy anything?” Grunkle Stan asked, “You’re our only customers.”

“No family discount?” Dipper asked sarcastically. 

“You get one. It’s just negative. You pay me. It’s great!”

Grunkle Ford chuckled, “I didn’t know you had a math brain in you, Stanley.”

“Don’t talk to a con man about money, Ford.”

“Are the bedrooms still upstairs?” Mabel asked, pointing towards the stairs at the back of the shack.  

Soos nodded, “Yep. They’ve been open ever since my abuela left us…”

Suddenly shocked, Wendy placed a hand on Soos’s shoulder, “Soos. You didn’t tell us she died…”

“She didn’t. She just moved to Florida.”

“Could’ve led with that…”

Dipper removed the keys from his pocket and walked over to the Mystery Shack’s front door. Muddied wooden planks let out small thumps from beneath his feet. The nostalgic aroma of mothballs and cheap floor cleaner brought Dipper back to a world six years behind him. He lingered for a moment while savoring the smell before opening the door.

“Where are you going, dope?” Mabel asked, “We just got here!”

“We still have bags in the trunk, don’t we?” Dipper asked, “Unless you want to go to the funeral like that.”

There was no denying his sister’s fashion sense. It was one of the many things that Dipper envied about her. That being said, showing up to a funeral in a bright pink sweater would be tasteless at best and disrespectful at worst. 

“Okay. Fine,” Mabel said, scuffing her feet, “I’ll help.”

“Nah, I got this,” Wendy said, stepping forward, “You spend some time with your Grunkles. Dipper and I got this. Right?” 

Dipper hesitantly nodded, knowing how his twelve year-old self would have responded to something like that, “Sure.”

The pair stepped out the door as Mabel turned to the Grunkles and began showing them her unfinished scrapbook. 

Squinting his eyes did nothing to protect Dipper from the blinding sun. It was an unusually clear day in Gravity Falls, lacking its typical cloud cover. Squirrels and woodpeckers scurried along the grass that separated the Mystery Shack from the endless forest. Somewhere beyond those woods, weirdness lurked, just waiting for another curious soul to uncover it. It had been in that same spot all those years ago that Dipper found Ford’s journal, ushering in a summer of mystery and adventure that would stick with Dipper for the rest of his life. One that he could only hope to recreate. 

He blinked and brought himself back to the present. The trunk unlocked with a click, and Dipper slugged two large duffel bags over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the help,” Dipper said, setting the bags down on the front porch, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem, dude,” Wendy replied, “It’s what friends are for.”

A second glance in the trunk told Dipper that it would take more than one trip. Mabel had to have packed every sweater on the west coast into the back, with three other duffel bags with woolen sleeves slipping from their zippers lining the truck’s interior. 

“So…” Wendy asked after a moment, “Unless you like standing here in silence, you gonna tell me anything?”

“What?” Dipper asked.

“Come on. It’s been years. You’ve got to have some life updates for me. A little gossip? Some cool awards? A pretty bird? Something.” 

She then flashed Dipper a smile. Six years ago, that would have sent him head-over-heels for her into a fit of unstoppable infatuation. 

“I mean, there’s been a lot, yeah,” Dipper said, “So much that I can’t think of it right now. Maybe you’ve got something better?”

Wendy shrugged, “Whatever floats your boat. I’m about to start my third year at Oregon State for Wildlife Conservation. It’s the only place where you can show up with an axe, some awesome flannel, and no one gives you any weird looks. It’s awesome.”

“Somehow, that’s fitting for you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going to college soon? You’re like, what, eighteen now?” 

“Yep. Nineteen in August.”

“That’s crazy. I still remember when you were an awkward preteen. With that squeaky voice and all.”

“Like you weren’t weird too.”

“I never said I wasn’t. Not sure if you’ve caught on, but being weird is part of the appeal here.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’ve gotten a lot more sarcastic, haven’t you?”

Dipper tossed two more bags over his shoulder, “What can I say? High school changes a person.”

“Ah, yeah. I remember high school. Never again.”

“You too, huh?”

“At least you had Mabel to get you through it. All of my brothers are younger than me. I had to go through that place alone.”

The pair set their next set of bags onto the porch. Soos emerged and dragged them inside, waving to Dipper and Wendy as he did so.

“Woah, dudes,” Soos said, “This is like…a lot of sweaters.”

“You can thank Mabel for that,” Dipper replied, “Send her my kindest regards.”

“...and an apology to Gimbels!” Grunkle Ford said, standing next to Soos and gawking at the sight.

Grunkle Stan’s voice emerged from behind, “Ford, I’ve got some bad news about that.”

“What bad news?”

Soos closed the door and left the Grunkles inside. 

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Wendy chuckled, “It hasn’t been the same with you two around.”

“Thanks. Same here,” Dipper replied, “There aren’t people like you back in Piedmont.”

Wendy opened the front door after a few minutes as they lugged the last of the bags inside, “California people are boring. No offense. Oregon is where it’s at. All you guys have are actors.”

“California is more than just Los Angeles, you know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see you racing to go back home.”

“Fair point.”

Dipper returned to a distraught Grunkle Ford, rubbing his hands on his head as he sat down.

“...what do you mean they closed?!” Grunkle Ford asked, “They were everywhere. How could they go out of business?”

“I don’t know,” Grunkle Stan said, “And I don’t care. I never liked Gimbels. Too tacky. And they always caught me when I tried to give myself a discount.”

Dipper sat down in a nearby chair and joined the circle, “Give yourself a discount?”

“Yeah. I save the cashier’s time and take the stuff myself. Time is money, you know.”

“How many states are you banned from again?”

“Now? Probably forty.” 

“Not even surprised.”

The introductions were complete. Dipper felt comfortable leaving his bags by the stairs, knowing that he and Mabel would take them to the bedroom when they clocked in for the night. He wanted to soak up every second of their visit. 

“Don’t worry, other Mr. Pines,” Soos said, “We’ll make sure you have so much fun that you forget all about Gimbels! Want a bite of my infinity pizza?”

Soos reached into his pocket and removed a pepperoni pizza slice. Dipper and Mabel had won it for him during a particularly harsh Globnar during their first visit. He had almost completely forgotten about it. 

“Infinity pizza?” Ford asked, “Fascinating. Mind if I take it down to my lab tonight to study?”

“As long as you save some for me. I haven’t bought a meal in six years!” 

“This town always has a new mystery, doesn’t it?”

“By the way,” Grunkle Stan said, “I want you kids to be careful when you’re here, okay? I don’t care that you’re adults. Try not to get caught-up with another dream demon. Do you know how bad that would be for business?!”

“You mean the business that you gave to Soos?” Dipper asked.

“Hey, the offshore bank account is still in my name.” 

“The what?”

“Nice try, Fed.” 

Grunkle Ford walked over to the fridge and took out a couple cans of Pitt Cola. Dipper and Mabel quickly requested one of their own, which Ford happily supplied. 

“You must be tired,” Grunkle Ford said as he handed Dipper his cola, “That drive was, what, ten hours?”

“Nine hours, fifty two minutes,” Dipper yawned, “And we only took one stop.”

“I’m impressed. I’m still trying to get used to driving again. Being in the dream dimension somewhat negated the need for a car.”

“And you’re a baby about it, too!” Grunkle Stan snapped back, “‘Oh, boo-hoo! The speed limit is seventy! Stanley, why are you going a hundred?’ It’s called saving time, Ford!” 

“Aren’t you getting a little old to drive? Maybe it’s time to turn in the keys.”

“Only when you do, you old fart.”

“Older by two minutes!” 

“A lot can happen in two minutes! I got arrested in Bogota in two minutes!”

Wendy raised her hand into the center of the group and silenced the bickering septuagenarians. 

“Alright!” Wendy hollered, “Don’t make me get the axe.”

“He started it!” Grunkle Stan said, pointing to Ford.

“Nope. Not gonna hear it.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

The lull in conversation that followed gave Dipper time to think. He thought of the one face that he would not be seeing again, the first of Dipper’s Gravity Falls comrades to pass on to the great beyond.

Neutral frowns became furrowed as the others had the same thought.

“So,” Grunkle Ford sighed, “I’m assuming you all know about McGucket.”

Dipper and Mabel nodded.

“Are you okay, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, “I know you guys were close.”

Ford gave a slow nod, “Yes. I’m doing alright. Fiddleford and I made amends. We had dinner together every Sunday until his health began to fail. He was never the healthiest man. I should have seen it coming. Even so, I’m still in shock. I’d never considered it.”

“What happened to McGucket?” Dipper asked, “If I’m allowed to ask?”

“I don’t really know. A few months ago, something just seemed off with him. His beard was messier. His eyes were darker. I didn’t know what it was. Fiddleford was a lot of things, but an old geezer wasn’t one of them. Even with his health problems. Heck, sometimes I think he had more energy than me.”

Something about that rubbed Dipper the wrong way. If Fiddleford truly was in better shape than Grunkle Ford, then why had Fiddleford died first? Deep down, he knew that death was random, and sometimes came for those who didn’t deserve it. It wouldn’t come for his Grunkles, right?

“I remember,” Wendy said, nodding her head solemnly, “I ran into you guys at the diner. He wasn’t smiling. I remember that.” 

“He had been doing research. More studies on weirdness magnetism. He was supposed to show me his work, but he called it off and said he had to go home.”

“And that was the last time we spoke to him.”

Ford and Wendy took deep breaths.

“We didn’t hear from him for another week,” Ford said, “I tried to call him, but these blasted cellphones have terrible user interfaces. It took me an hour to get a call through. Tate answered and told me Fiddleford was sick.” 

“McGucket started to go off the deep end again,” Wendy added, “Tate said that he refused to be around any electricity. Every Saturday, I would load up the truck and drop off firewood for McGucket to warm himself by the fire. He looked worse each time I went back.” 

“A couple months ago, I heard that Fiddleford had been checked into the hospital. We went and visited him, but he wouldn’t speak to us. He would just ramble. Most of the time it didn’t sound like English. I think all of those years with the memory gun finally got to him. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get better.”

Wendy nodded, “Tate took it the hardest. He still bought wood from us, thinking that his dad was going to get better. The house was a wreck.”

“McGucket passed on the fourteenth. In his sleep. They said it was old age.”

Dipper knew that people rarely died of old age. Usually, it was some underlying problem that had gone undetected. People didn’t just suddenly drop dead after they turned seventy five. McGucket had never taken care of himself. It could have been any number of things. Nothing that would put his Grunkles’ health in danger. Not in a million years. 

Grunkle Ford took a breath and pushed his glasses up his face, “I don’t mean to put a damper on your trip. I thought you kids deserved to know what happened to him. You knew him better than most. I’m glad he’s finally at peace.”

“We can pay our respects tomorrow,” Grunkle Stan said, “This sappy stuff…I’m not liking it very much. Someone say something disturbing.” 

The conversation slowly steered in a more pleasant direction. Mabel told Wendy and Soos about her adventures at her friends’ graduation parties. Grunkle Ford showed off some grainy photos from their recent voyage aboard the Stan-O-War. Dipper felt a mix of relief and guilt for moving away from McGucket’s death. Was it wrong for him to try and smile in the aftermath of such a tragedy? Or would it be wrong to ruin his summer and blame it on the death of a man whom Dipper hadn’t spoken with in years?

He sat back and listened as Mabel told story after story. Once she was done, Wendy and Soos shared their own. There were tales of adventure, trickery, and tomfoolery on levels that Dipper couldn’t have dreamed of. He waited for his turn to share, scanning his mind for something exciting. 

All roads led back to Gravity Falls. Each story that Dipper tried to tell was one that had happened within the confines of Central Oregon, usually laced with a hearty helping of weirdness. 

The laughter continued. Dipper doubled over as Wendy told a story about her getting one of her friends stuck in a chocolate fountain, needing to cover her hands in graham cracker crumbs to get him out. Grunkle Ford shared his most recent discoveries in the Falls. He had discovered a new breed of woodpecker that only drilled holes into rocks and mid-size Sedans. Soos had tales of his visits to Florida to see his family and how he had been bitten by an alligator after mistaking it for a piece of beef jerky. 

Doubt rode up and down the creases in Dipper’s smile. What stories did he have to tell? Doing homework? Filling out scholarship applications. What did he have to say that would get them barreling over like he had?

“...and that’s when I pulled the axe out of his mailbox and took back my hiking sticks!” Wendy continued, “It was awesome!”

“Wow…” Mable gawked, mouth agape, “Wendy, you’re so cool.”

“Hey, you ain’t too bad yourself. You sucker-punched a unicorn, remember?”

“I did! And I’d do it again!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Soos patted Dipper on the back, “What about you, dude? Mr. Smarty-pants? Anything good?”

Dipper chuckled and tucked his hand behind the back of his head, “Ha, well, nothing compared to you guys.”

Mable chuckled, “Dipper was such a nerd. He was always doing homework. Whenever I came home, he’d be at the table hunched over like a zombie. I call him the homework monster.”

“Couldn’t have been more creative?” 

“Nope. Not when my brother is such a dork! Blub!” 

At that last remark, Mabel poked her finger on Dipper’s nose. He swatted it away. 

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dipper said after a moment, “Piedmont is really boring. It’s not like Gravity Falls at all. There’s no mystery to solve, unless you count the mystery of who didn’t wear deodorant today.” 

“Well, after tomorrow, we’ll get you guys back out there,” Wendy said with a smile, “You guys made this boring little town exciting for once. It hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“You mean since it was almost destroyed by a multidimensional dream-demon?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“It’ll be nice to check out the more…mundane mysteries. I like it when things are weird and not trying to kill me.”

Ford stood up from his seat, “Well, it’s been good, but we should probably think about getting something to eat. You must be hungry after driving all this way.”

“I could make something…” Grunkle Stan sighed, “Or we could go out and clog our arteries at the diner…”

“You don’t have to ask me twice!” Mabel cheered, “I want ALL the cholesterol!”

“Alright, then. Come with me. We’re taking my car. And we’re NOT following the speed limit!”

“I love living life on the edge!”

Mabel practically sprinted out the door with Soos and Wendy not far behind. Dipper lingered towards the back with Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan. 

“And hey,” Grunkle Stan said, giving Dipper a wink, “Don’t worry. Dinner’s on me.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. But don’t get used to it. I’ve got a lot of money to launder and not a lot to spare.”

“Yes, sir.”

A couple hours had passed since their arrival. The blue midday sky had slowly faded to a faintly golden yellow with the gradual setting of the sun. They still had some four or five hours of daylight left. Dipper glanced towards the woods as a pair of deer leapt through the trees and disappeared behind a darkening patch of shrubbery. The first shadows of evening crept along the bases of tree trunks and crawled forward. Mosquitoes buzzed in the distance. Once oppressive, the daytime heat had given way to a pleasant breeze, just above room temperature and warmly wrapping around Dipper with each gust like a warm hug. 

“You don’t have this in Piedmont, do ya, kid?” Grunkle Stan asked as he hopped into the driver’s seat, catching Dipper as he admired the scene. 

“No,” Dipper replied, “I guess we don’t.”

Chapter Text

I thought it was just the pains of old age. 

Mabel decided that she didn’t look good in black.

She felt like the grim reaper, double-checking that she hadn’t accidentally shoved her head through the arm holes as she shuffled around uncomfortably in the black satin dress. Paired with black heels, black pants, and even a black hair tie, it felt as if she had turned into a black hole, sucking every ounce of light out of the room and leaving a melancholic whimper in its place. 

“Mabel!” Dipper called out from downstairs, “Are you almost ready?”

“In a minute!” Mabel shouted back, poking her head through the door to the bedroom, “I’ve gotta get the card!”

If her clothes couldn’t shine, Mabel’s card surely would.

Funerals were foreign territory. The closest that Mabel had ever come to seeing one was on TV, for some political figure that she didn’t even know the name of. She had been hesitant to go. Why would anyone want to be in a room with so much sadness? Mabel hadn’t arrived, and yet she could feel the icy tendrils of sorrow creeping along her back and beneath her neck.

Most of the previous night had been spent throwing together a card for Tate, Old Man McGucket’s son. Her go-to response to cheer someone up was usually a warm hug or a cup of hot chocolate. Mabel, however, had only spoken to Tate once. She doubted he even knew her name. So, she compromised with a colorful card. 

The front had been like a rainbow. Inside were copies of every picture she and McGucket had together. She chose to leave out the ones from the Society of the Blind Eye. She imagined it wasn’t something that Tate wanted to remember. 

Mabel swiped the card and placed it inside of her purse. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were waiting for her at the front door.

“There you are!” Grunkle Stan sighed, “Takes you guys forever to get ready…”

Dipper appeared from behind the staircase not long after. He and the Grunkles wore matching dark suits with white undershirts. Dipper and Ford had their hair slicked back, while Grunkle Ford let his frizzled gray sideburns stay as they were. All three of the men smelled of cologne. Dipper had definitely put on too much. 

“We getting this show on the road or what?” Grunkle Stan asked, “We don’t have all day.”

Grunkle Ford gave a silent nod. Dipper did the same. The heaviness of the funeral had crept into the mystery shack, with even Grunkle Stan staying quiet as they stepped out of the front door. 

Flat gray clouds had settled over Gravity Falls that morning. Small drops of rain fell from the sky, almost making Mabel wonder if she had time to swing back inside and grab her umbrella. She ultimately decided against it. The last thing she needed was something for her to drop or lose at the funeral. 

Not even the woodpeckers dared to come out. They had gone silent in reverence, retreating into the safety of the dampened brush. The sputtering of Grunkle Stan’s car’s engine was all that broke the weighted silence.

Raindrops silently raced down the window as the car moved through the intensifying rain. Small puffs of mist rose from the muggy concrete. The trees provided temporary protection, the pitter-patter against the windows going silent when the car passed beneath a branch, only to return with greater ferocity once they were out.

Mabel played with the card in her hand. If she tilted it just right, the window would catch the color of the paper, giving the car a second of vibrance. Even the trees seemed duller. It was almost suffocating, trapped within a monochromatic sea. She tried to smile to herself, find something to lighten the mood, but there was nothing. She would simply have to stick it out. 

Or think of puppies. That helped too.

Dipper tapped her on the shoulder, “You doing okay?”

Mabel faked a half-grin, “Sure.”

The bleakness of the car overwhelmed her. Mabel closed her eyes and tried to envision a bright sunny day. A day on the beach. For a moment, she could hear the waves crashing against the shore while the sun warmed her from above. The smell of ocean air drowned out the stench of cologne. 

A few miles and a couple dozen puddles later, the car pulled up in front of the church. It was a sorry old building, with the wood of its spire sagging from the weight of the rain. Any paint that might have once coated the exterior was long gone. Small stained-glass windows let out orange light from inside. The glow reflected off of the shimmering sidewalk and gave the area a nocturnal feeling. Rows of cars crowded the front of the building. McGucket was better known than Mabel had thought. 

“I didn’t know Fiddleford got around like this,” Grunkle Ford stiffly remarked, adjusting his collar and pulling the front doors to the church open, “I was expecting a smaller crowd.”

Mabel and Dipper walked in together. A dome-like ceiling rose over the church, lined with elegant porcelain. It far surpassed the decorum of the outside. Statues of what Mabel assumed to be saints were mounted on small posts every few feet along the back of the church. Wooden pews ran up and down the floor. A gray stone altar sat at the front. Two altar boys and a priest in a green robe stood just behind it. 

Streaks of dark ginger hair brought Mabel’s attention to the forward pews, where Wendy and Soos had already taken their seats. Mabel made eye-contact with Wendy as she stiffly waved them over. Wendy was dressed with the same sartorial dreariness as the rest of the group. She had sprung for a suit, with long black pants and heels higher than Mabel could reach. Wendy had gone the extra mile and included a dark hat that looked as if it were made of velvet. She was, without a doubt, the most well-dressed in the church. 

Mabel sat down right behind Wendy. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford sat at the end of the pew, forcing Dipper and Mabel towards the middle. 

That was when she saw the coffin. 

At the angle Mabel was sitting at, she couldn’t see the body. The family had sprung for an expensive casket. Small lines of colored granite and marble decorated the cadaver’s container. Small engravings had been made on the side. The most important of the engravings had been made in dark stone just beneath the lid. 

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket

April 15th 1944 - June 14th 2019

Mabel spotted a tall man at the very front pew on the right side. His heavy eyes, stick-like build, and country posture reminded her of Tate, or at least what Mabel knew about him. She would have to track him down after the service ended if she wanted to give the card.

“Such a damper, dudes,” Soos said solemnly, “I miss him. I’d give my infinity pizza to have him back.”

Grunkle Ford forced a small chuckle at that, “With him using that memory gun, I’m thankful we had him for as long as we did.”

“What happened to that memory gun, anyway?” Mabel asked.

“It’s still in my lab. Never know when you might need to use it.”

“Have you been using it, Grunkle Ford?”

“Not on myself. But last week I caught a woodpecker looking at me when I got out of the shower. Things had to be done. Forgive and forget. With a lot more emphasis on the forgetting.”

Amnesiac woodpeckers aside, Mabel had better things to think about. Her eyes drifted to the other faces in the church. Some of them she still recognized all those years laters. Tad Strange sat in the back with his telltale suit and glasses. Lazy Susan was towards the middle. Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland were holding hands two pews back. It was almost remarkable how little the town had changed, and yet, it already felt foreign from the place that Mabel had known all those summers ago.

An organ at the back of the church sent ringing chords through the air. The pipes rattled slightly each time the organist switched notes. The church fell silent as the piece reached its apex before dying off with a small series of pedal tones. 

Mabel straightened her back and faced the front of the church. Two candles at the sides of the altar had been lit. The priest stood at a microphone and cleared his throat. 

“Good afternoon,” the priest said, voice having grown raspy with old age, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of one of Gravity Falls’s brightest minds: Fiddleford McGucket, as he passes on to the next life.”

Following that, the congregation stood as Amazing Grace was played over the organ. Mabel sang along to the best of her ability. Although she had been an alto singer during high school, she struggled to find a reason to sing amidst such a solemn occasion. She whispered along and waited for it to be over.

It was during that hymn that Mabel came to the realization that she was only a few feet away from a body. She had known McGucket was in there. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Something about it rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was because she had never seen a body before. Each time she saw a face, it was a living person. All she would find behind that coffin were McGucket’s empty eyes. 

She hurriedly sat down once the hymn was over. 

Tate McGucket approached the stand with a tattered piece of paper in his hands. From the looks of it, he was the only family that McGucket had. How could McGucket have lived so long without a family like hers? No Grunkles, no brothers, no parents. Just a son. She wondered what had happened to Mrs. McGucket. Maybe the whole “memory gun making your husband go insane” part drove her away. 

“Thank you,” Tate said, standing at the altar and pausing for a moment, “I know that my father had an impact on this town. He was known by everyone, even our visitors.”

Mabel wondered if that was a nod to her. 

“Anyways,” Tate continued, “My father was a wonderful man. He spent his entire life serving others. Heck, he saved this town from something that I’m not legally allowed to talk about. But you know what I mean. Never mind all that. 

My father helped this town more than anyone knew. Before the incident, you all probably knew him as the kooky old man behind who lived in a junkyard. The rambling old man who would run to my marina and disturb the peace. It’s why everyone called him ‘Old Man McGucket.

But there was more to my father than that. He lived a thankless life. I wish I’d realized that sooner. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. I thought it was because he didn’t want anything to do with me. After mom died, he came back into the picture. He was different.

We started talking again. It felt like I had my dad back. After the day-that-I-cannot-legally-talk-about, it was like a switch went off. I had my dad back. I couldn’t have been happier.”
Mabel listened with wide eyes and a hanging jaw. It was the first time someone had spoken about McGucket’s past, aside from the little tidbits that Grunkle Ford would drop when he felt like it. Anything before Weirdmageddon was a mystery to her. 

Tate paused for a moment and glanced down at the coffin with a longing glare. He dared not cry, but Mabel saw a glint in his pupils, “He worked every day of his life, and no one ever thanked him for it. He’s the reason we’re all still here. I wish I’d been there. These last six years with him were the best of my life. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

He paused. Mabel half-expected him to continue, but all he did was step down from the altar and bow. 

A few other townspeople came to the front and gave their own speeches. All eyes fell on Ford, wondering if he would get up and speak on behalf of his friend. The final speaker left the altar. All Ford did was sit in silence and stare. The occasional blink was the only indication she had that Ford was still alive. 

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel whispered, “Are you going to go speak?”

Grunkle Ford blinked and slowly turned to face her, “No, Mabel. I don’t think I will. It doesn’t feel right.”

“But he was your friend, Grunkle Ford.”

“I know. And a friend would never have put him through what I did.”

Mabel was going to ask a follow up question, but a round of applause started up and cut her off. 

The altar remained empty. The priest stood up and motioned to the coffin.

“Those who wish to pay their respects may do so now,” the priest said, “There will be a repast in the basement.”

The priest made the sign of the cross on his chest. He then did the same sign atop the coffin and gathered the altar boys in a procession to the back of the church. A second rendition of Amazing Grace rang out and blessed the congregation with an almost upbeat tone. It lacked the pedal notes of the first chorus. It ended the funeral on a hopeful note, almost as if it were expressing gratitude that McGucket was able to rest.

Mabel joined the congregation in standing up. Tate left first, following the priest out and retreating down the shoddy stairs at the back of the church. Feeling for the card in her purse, Mabel prepared to follow. 

“That went a lot faster than I thought,” Wendy remarked, “It was nice to hear people talk about him. He didn’t get the respect he deserved.”
Mabel and Dipper were the last to leave their pew. She let Grunkle Ford walk ahead of them. When she thought he was out of hearing range, she leaned in and whispered into Dipper’s ear. 

“Dipper,” Mabel whispered, “Don’t you think it’s weird that Grunkle Ford didn’t go up and talk?”

Dipper shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s probably just…processing things. I mean, his only friend just died.”

“Hey! Grunkle Ford has friends.”

“Can you name any?”

“Grunkle Stan!”

“That’s his brother.”

“Um…okay, you’re right.”

Little by little, color filled the room as the rain outside came to an end. Small beams of yellow sunlight shone through the stain-glass windows and cast iridescent glows onto the floor. The heavy silence that had once suffocated Mabel was replaced with light conversation as the congregation moved to pay their respects. Light arpeggios played from the organ as they left the main chapel.

Mabel’s phone buzzed from her pocket. Usually, she would flip it out and answer, but she decided that her friends back in California could wait. Paying her respects to McGucket was more important. Plus, she still had to get the card to Tate. 

The stairs to the basement were rickety. Aged wood creaked beneath her feet with each step. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford held onto opposite sides of the railing like their lives depended on it. Wendy struggled with her heels, while Dipper struggled simply because he was a clutz. 

Dipper had maintained his composure for most of the funeral. Mabel had done the same, but she knew that the minute she saw his body, she risked losing it. Something about a cold body without life behind the eyes disturbed her in a way that few things did. 

Downstairs, the crowd from the chapel had gathered around a set of tables set up inside of the basement. The room reeked of Sunday School and unwound VHS tapes. A slight chill accompanied Mabel’s descent, with a single, dust-covered vent blowing warm air throughout the makeshift reception. A faintly sour smell followed suit. Mabel couldn’t tell if it was mildew or the food.

Most of the money had been spent on a coffin. The reception was simple. In a way, she found it fitting. Old Man McGucket had lived in a junkyard for most of his life. That coffin was probably the nicest thing he had ever stayed in. 

Grunkle Ford led the charge and shook hands with all of the townspeople that recognized him. They asked him questions about McGucket and their history. All he did was awkwardly smile and wave back. He had never been the social type. Mabel knew that. It was probably why he and Dipper were so close. They were both socially anxious dorks, separated by fifty years of isolation. 

Meanwhile, Grunkle Stan stood silently at the other side of the basement, occasionally taking a piece of shrimp from a food tray and stuffing it into his front pocket. Mabel didn’t even bother asking. 

“Dipper, come with me,” Mabel said, “I’m gonna give my card to Tate.”

“Fine,” Dipper said, “But why do I have to come along?”

“Because Mabel said so. Duh.” 

Mabel grabbed her brother's hand and disappeared into the crowd. She removed the rainbow-colored card from her purse and found Tate standing at the back of the hall, next to a table lined with a handful of pictures from McGucket’s youth. Moving as quickly as she could in heels, Mabel stumbled across the other guests until she reached him. 

A tap on the shoulder was all she needed to get his attention. Of course, Dipper had to do the tapping, since Tate was well over Mabel’s height.

“Yeah?” Tate asked, a slight southern twinge to his voice. 

“Hi!” Mabel said, extending her hand with the card, “I’m Mabel. I knew your dad a little bit. I think you already know that. Anyways, here’s a card!”

Tate slowly took the card from her hands, opening it and cracking a small smile as he looked at the inside. 

“Thanks,” Tate replied, “I…um, like all the colors. You did a good job with it.”

“Of course. He deserves the best!”

“Yeah. Say, you two don’t live here, right? You’re those Pines twins?”

“You know who we are?” Dipper asked.

Tate nodded, “Dad said a lotta good things about you two. Even when he was sick, he asked about you guys.”

“Really?”

“Yep. But that was when he lost it. I don’t know how much you’ve been told. Completely off his rocker. He refused to be around electricity, and started having nightmares again. The whole thing was…weird. Towards the very end he started coming down with something. Some sort of flu. I-I don’t really know. By that point I knew we didn’t have long.”

“Flu?” Mabel asked, “But it’s June…”

“Well, it was something. He had the whole nine yards. Dizziness, nausea, fevers. He even passed out a couple times. Insisted the whole thing was caused by electricity.”  

“He always was a little…eccentric,” Dipper remarked, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me too,” Mabel said.

Tate’s expression emptied, “Not like there’s much to do about it now. Thanks for coming all the way up here. And I’ll be sure to keep y’alls card in a safe place. Okay?” 

Tate shook the twins’ hands and disappeared into the crowd as he spoke to the other attendees. Mabel and Dipper left to grab food and sit down with Wendy and Soos, although Tate’s story had taken away most of Mabel’s appetite. 

The quartet found a spot near the center of the room. Mabel grabbed a couple slices of bread and sat down. The thought of eating was too much for her by that point. 

Imaging McGucket in such a sorry state broke her heart. Such an energetic man, and one that she would consider a friend, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess in his final days. Her only comfort came in knowing that it was all over. That McGucket was resting somewhere where nothing could hurt him. Nothing could disturb that. 

“Earth-to-Mabel!” Wendy said, snapping Mabel back to reality, “You alright?”

“Huh?” Mabel asked, “Of course I’m alright! I’m Mabel!”

“If you say so. You were looking a little pale back there.”

“It’s okay,” Soos added, “This place gives me the creeps too. Like those big balloon guys they put outside of car dealerships.”

Mabel forced a smile, “Really, I’m good.”

There was something off in the air. Mabel wasn’t expecting everything to be all sunshine-and-rainbows at a funeral, but she couldn't shake the heaviness that weighed on her the longer she stayed. Maybe it was the collective sadness. She had a way of figuring out what someone was feeling. If someone around her was sad, it would be her problem until they were happy. The world needed more people like that. Maybe then things wouldn’t be so bad.

That had to be it. Mabel didn’t have enough paper to make rainbow cards for everybody> She would have to wait until their grief passed. She, admittedly, had little experience with death, but knew that healing took time. One day the faces in that room would smile again. When they did, Mabel would smile too, watching their eyes brighten with the start of a new day. 

Until then, it was a waiting game.

“So this is what a funeral’s like,” Soos said, “I was expecting a bigger church. And more zombies.”

“Let’s not deal with those again,” Dipper said, “I am not singing. I’ll just let them eat my brain.”

Mabel forced a chuckle, “Don’t be a dope. You liked it. I’ve heard you singing Disco Girl in the shower.”

“You can hear that?”

“We have thin walls, bro-bro.” 

“Oh boy.”

Dipper’s reddening face was enough of a spectacle to give Mabel a temporary reprieve from the sadness in the room. Small things like that never failed to make her laugh, even if it was only for a few seconds.

“You still listen to them?” Wendy asked.

“Uhh…” Dipper trailed off.

“Don’t worry, dude. I do too. You don’t gotta hide it.”

“It’s still funny,” Mabel said, “I like your passion, but you’re a bit pitchy…”

Dipper shrugged, “Okay, and? You were a choir kid. I wasn’t.”

“I know. And we can all tell.”

Mabel paused for a moment, “Just kidding.”

Some time later, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford joined the group at the table. They nibbled on what was on their plates, the weight of the day taking away most of their appetites. Grunkle Stan tried to break the silence by telling a story about his fight with a lobster during a trip to Maine. Grunkle Ford remained silent, eyes cast down at his plate whilst stiffly poking at a salad with his fork. No one acknowledged it.

The sun was setting when the time came to bury the coffin. Tate led the procession to the cemetery. Red streaks lined the sky as the day’s clouds began to break up, scattering small puffs of pink and purple across the horizon. Small bits of white light poked out with the emergence of the first of the evening stars. 

Mabel leaned against the window again. No longer did she have raindrops to watch as they raced down the glass. Instead, she listened to the faint splat of mosquitoes against the windshield. The grass shimmered with the last of the day’s rain drying up. The daytime mugginess had faded to a pleasant evening chill. 

The procession came to a stop at a pleasant little hillside overlooking the Gravity Falls lake, a small body of water that, off in the distance, emptied out into the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps if she squinted hard enough she could see Ramondo, waiting for her with open arms after their separation.

Those dreams would have to stay dreams. Mabel stepped out of the car and joined the crowd as they gathered around a small headstone. Small hints of purple slowly overrode the vibrant orange overhead. The darker tones of night crept over the town, the first crickets of the night letting out their chirps. Grass squashed beneath Mabel’s feet and muddied her shoes. A minty aroma escaped the ground as the day’s rain slowly dried.

“Since when does Gravity Falls have a cemetery?” Mabel asked quietly while the pallbearers stepped away.

“Couple hundred years,” Grunkle Stan replied, “If you look around you can still see the holes from when you kids zombified them.”

“So that’s where they all came from…”

“What? Did you think they just fell from the sky?”

“No, Grunkle Stan. That’s where babies come from.”

Grunkle Stan gave Mabel a confused look.

“Pfft,” Mabel said, “Just kidding.”

“Thank God,” Grunkle Stan grumbled, “I’m not explaining that again.” 

Another temporary smile faded from Mabel’s face at the arrival of the coffin. A group of six men, Tate included, walked slowly along the muddied path with the marble box in their hands. At the end of the path sat an open grave, which Mabel and the other funeral attendees were standing around. 

The green-robed priest appeared again with a bible in his hands. He uttered a set of prayers that Mabel didn’t recognize as the casket was set down. The lid was popped open one last time as the coffin was placed on a small hanging apparatus just above the hole in the ground. 

“We wish Fiddleford the best as he passes on to the next life,” the priest said, “Any final respects are to be paid now.”

Grunkle Ford stepped forward and waved Mabel on, “Come on. It’s best that we do this now.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Grunkle Stan asked.

Ford nodded, “It’s all I can do now.”

Approaching the casket with a strained frown, Grunkle Ford placed his hands on the side of the marble and pulled a single flower out of his pocket. Its red petals shone brightly against the Earth-tones of the box. He then placed the flower inside of the coffin and whispered something beneath his breath that Mabel wasn’t able to make out, aside from a single “sorry” that was almost completely lost to the breeze.

Mabel and the others gathered around once Grunkle Ford stepped aside. Morbid curiosity grabbed her by the throat and drew her eyes onto the body.

It looked like he was asleep. Aside from a bony appearance, McGucket’s body had been perfectly preserved. His eyelids were gently closed. If it wasn’t for the stillness of his chest, Mabel would have expected him to sit up. The coroner had dressed him in a thick, navy blue suit with pocket squares and the works. Someone had even gone through the trouble of grooming his beard. The cast on his arm had disappeared, and the stray band aids were gone from his body. It was the most regal McGucket had ever looked. Had he gone through life dressed like that, nobody would have called him “Old Man McGucket.” He would have simply been “Mr. McGucket.” 

McGucket’s eyes being closed made the sight easier for Mabel. He looked at peace. The strained muscles in his face had finally relaxed, removing the bugginess and desperation from his expression. The man that never slept could finally rest.

That said, the sight eventually overwhelmed her. Mabel whispered a goodbye before backing away from the coffin and joining Grunkle Ford on the other side of the grave.

“That was very brave of you, Mabel,” Grunkle Ford said, “I know you never liked these things.”

Mabel shrugged, “I had to say my goodbyes. It’s rude to leave without saying it.”

“Ha. Never change, Mabel. You’re a light to this world.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

Grunkle Ford held a smile on his face for a few moments before turning back to the grave. It was the longest she had seen him smile all day. 

The burial was quick. Mabel silently observed, watching as the casket was lowered and disappeared into the dirt. By the time they were done, the last of the sun had slipped below the horizon, casting small red afterglows against the deep purple sky. Fireflies illuminated distant trees. Boats over the lake turned on their lights and created small green glows across the water. 

Grunkle Ford and Tate shook hands before leaving. Next thing Mabel knew, she was back in the car, resting her head against the window as she thought of McGucket. Such a long life, gone, just like the shine of the sun. She hoped he was comfortable. There was nothing else that she could do. 

The first thing Mabel and Dipper did when they arrived back at the Mystery Shack was ditch the funeral clothes in favor of something more comfortable. The soft yellow glow of the overhead lights grounded Mabel in a comfortable place. Familiar and cozy, the Mystery Shack pushed the rainclouds to the back of Mabel’s mind. The heaviness of the funeral rested on her shoulders still, but inside the Mystery Shack, it felt more like a weighted blanket. 

Upon her arrival downstairs in her pajamas, she saw Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan popping open a bottle of Chardonnay. Tall, oblong glasses were pulled from a cabinet beneath the cash register, with Grunkle Stan acting as their bartender.

“To Fiddleford,” Grunkle Ford said, “To a life well-lived, and a legacy that will last!”

The four that were able to drink –Wendy, Soos, Grunkle Stan, and Grunkle Ford– happily clinked their glasses. Dipper emerged from upstairs and stood behind Mabel, the two standing on the sidelines of the alcoholic feast before them.

“You want a sip?” Grunkle Stan asked, “As long as you don’t tell your parents.”

“Stanley,” Grunkle Ford reprimanded, “Don’t give them alcohol. Their brains are still developing. We have sparkling cider in the basement.”

“Give me a sip,” Mabel said, leaning on the counter as if it were a bar, “Your best stuff!”

“You’ve been watching too many black-and-white romcoms,” Dipper remarked, “That said, I’ll take one too.”

Grunkle Stan slid along the bar and gave each of the twins a small glass of wine. Mabel, without hesitation, grabbed her drink and chugged it down.

“Ew!” Mabel spat, choking down the sour drink, “You guys drink this for fun?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Grunkle Stan replied.

Wendy nodded, “Yeah. I remember my first drink. I was camping with my dad when he gave me a beer. I hated it. But now? I’m used to it.”

“Was that by Camp Lookout?” Grunkle Ford asked, “I went there for a weekend right after my arrival in Gravity Falls.”

“No, it was a local one. Befufflefumper Hill. Named after the mayor.”

“Never heard of it.”

Wendy turned to Mabel and Dipper, “Come to think of it. You guys ever been camping before?”

Mabel shook her head. Dipper did the same as he struggled to finish his Chardonnay, leaving the glass half full in defeat. He placed a hand on his forehead. Mabel whispered to him.

“You good, bro-bro?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper whispered back, “Just a headache. Probably just tired.”

“Ha. Nerd.”

“How would you guys feel about a camping trip this week?” Wendy continued, “I know it’s last-minute, but it’ll help us get our mind off things. Nothing better than nature. You need to experience it. It’s awesome! You haven’t really lived until you’ve arm-wrestled a bear for the last salmon in the lake.” 

“Yes!” Mabel screeched, “I wanna wrestle a bear!”

Dipper gently punched Mabel’s arm, “No, you don’t.”

Mabel turned to face her brother as he placed a hand on his head.

“Do whatever you want,” Grunkle Stan said, “Just don’t be stupid. And come back with money.”

Wendy gave Mabel and Dipper a wink, “We’ll talk more about it later, okay?”

Mabel smiled. That time, the smile stayed. The life had been breathed back into Gravity Falls. She finally had something to look forward to. Even Dipper seemed excited, although that might have been the alcohol. 

The rest of the night was filled with stories and laughter, all revolving around McGucket. His life was one to be celebrated. That night, he was the center of attention, the group’s reflective laughter rising and falling with the moon.

Chapter Text

I was so, so wrong.

Sometimes it was hard to stop seeing them as kids.

Stanley Pines downed his second glass of wine for the night. Dipper and Mabel had gone to bed, while Soos and Wendy had called a taxi to take them home. The only souls still awake within the Mystery Shack were Stanely and Stanford, sitting on the porch as they stared out into the black void beyond the treeline. 

“They’re getting old, Ford. It’s weird,” Grunkle Stan remarked, a fuzzy warmness swallowing him up as the last of the wine left his glass, “I mean…can I really call them kids anymore?”

Stanford, never a heavy drinker, was much further gone than Stanely was. He rocked back and forth in his rocking chair as he fumbled with the arms of his lab coat. The shifting of the fabric was just a little bit louder than the chirping of distant crickets. A pale waning crescent hung overhead.

“Hey, at least they didn’t spend thirty years trapped in a dream dimension!” Ford slurred, “They’re the lucky ones.”

“Only took two glasses to get you like this?” Stanley asked.

“Do you have a problem with it? It helps me unwind.”

“No problem at all.”

Stanley leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the ambience of the night to lull him into a state of relaxation.
Sometimes, when the night was quiet enough, Stanley would feel the whirr of the portal, traveling back to the fateful day that a thirty-year brotherly absence had been put to an end. Those first few seconds with Stanford had been the most surreal moments of Stanley’s life; a moment that he had dreamed about for decades, unsure if it would ever come. 

“I still wish I’d gotten his research,” Stanford trailed off, “It was our thing. When we talked about our work, the hours turned to seconds. I wished I’d said more at our last dinner. Or maybe I could have visited him. I could have done more, Stanley.”

“Alright, Ford,” Stanley said, “I’m cutting you off.”

“Whatever. This is why I don’t drink. Everything feels…warm. And heavy.” 

“I didn’t force you to.”

“No, it was my choice. Just like that blasted portal…”

Stanford’s voice deepened as he placed a hand over his head. His rigid posture and uptight manner had disappeared, instead showing a man fighting a silent battle. It was one of Stanley’s rare glances into his brother’s softer side. He found it both fascinating and uncomfortable. 

“You’re still beating yourself up over that?” Stanley asked, “It’s been thirty years, Ford. You’ve gotta let that go.”

“How can I?” Ford asked, “Fiddleford saw terrible things because of me. That’s why he started using that memory gun. I’m the reason he became the way he was.”

“Listen, Ford. You’re a lot of things. Uptight, annoying, and stubborn. But a monster isn’t one of them. You had no idea.”

Suddenly wishing he could vanish into the night, Stanley shuffled around uncomfortably in his seat. 

“It’s not just that,” Stanford sighed, “McGucket and I were roommates. He was the only person in my life who was there when no one else was. No offense to you, of course. It’s the end of an era, Stanley. I’m the last one left.”

Although the words were sharp, Stanley understood where Stanford was coming from. Stanley was content with a life wrapped in secrets. He had learned long ago that bringing people into his circle only ended in failure. Stanford saw things differently. He had dragged Stanley into his world of weirdness of mystery. 

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Stanley said, “We’re old. That happens. But hey. We had some good times. Remember that year on the Stan O’War?”

Stanford nodded, his head sliding slightly to the side, “I do. That was an adventure.”

With Dipper and Mabel back in Gravity Falls, Stanley and Stanford had devoted the year after Weirdmageddon to sail around the world and investigate weirdness on all continents. They had stopped in Russia, Japan, Australia, Iceland, Morocco, and other countries that Stanley didn’t know the name of. He remembered having to tell Stanford that the Soviet Union had collapsed, and that Yugoslavia had dissolved –a fact that Stanely only knew because his offshore bank account in Sarajevo crumbled with it– much to the dismay of his disoriented brother. 

It had been the best year of his life. Sure, most of the weirdness had been explained. Psychedelic drugs, chemical leaks, radioactivity, volcanos, among other mundane causes, but that didn’t stop Stanley from enjoying the thrill. They had offered McGucket a spot on the boat, but he had declined, mumbling to Stanford about starting a new project that Stanley had little interest in. 

If only wine could cure his brother’s ales. It was a lot easier than talking. Stanley was a big believer in the power of silence and rumination. If it couldn’t be fixed with action, sitting alone and watching questionable soap operas was the best solution. Stanley could wallow in his sorrows when he died. Or, better yet, turn that pain into action. It had taken him thirty years and a considerable amount of grief to build that portal and bring his brother back. 

“Stanley, can I ask you a question?” Stanford asked, jumping from topic to topic like a frog across a pond, “A little bit of an…existential question?”

“Jeez. I’m not letting you drink again for a long time,” Stanley groaned, “But sure. Shoot away.” 

“Do you think there’s something after death?”

Stanford leaned back in his chair as if he were asleep while Stanley fumbled for an answer.

“What kind of question is that, Ford?” Stanley asked, “What do you think, I’m one of those philosophers? I don’t know. Mom and Dad weren’t religious. The only God I believe in is on the ten dollar bill.” 

“I don’t know,” Stanford said, “Fiddleford’s passing has made me think. Maybe this isn’t all that there is.”

“I hope this is all it is. If there’s a Hell, I’m probably going to it.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. Who said it has to be Abrahamic?”

“Like Lincoln?”

“Nevermind. Think about it, Stanley. We’ve found so much weirdness and beauty in this world. Wouldn’t it be a shame if this mortal plane was all that there was? Don’t you wish there was something more out there?” 

“More? I’m fine just the way I am. I don’t need any more weirdness getting all up in my business.”

“Listen, Stanley. We’re going to have to start thinking about this stuff soon. Like I said before, you and I, we’re getting up there. We’ve got ten, fifteen years left if we’re lucky. Shermie already went. Mom and Dad were in their early eighties. I don’t want this to be where everything ends.”

“Would it kill you to be happy every now and then? Here I am, trying to have a drink with my brother, and you’re talking about death.”

“Not death. I’m talking about what comes after.” 

“Same thing.”

“Maybe to you. I’m a curious man, Stanley. Think of our existence as a perpetual motion machine. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Our physical bodies go to the ground, sure, but there has to be something else that lingers.”

“You’re the science guy. You go and figure it out. Really putting a bummer on things, you know.”

“Never hurts to be prepared. We lost thirty years of our lives, Stanley. Fiddleford was just the first. One day, it’s going to be us in that coffin.”

“Give me your glass. You’re not drinking again for the rest of your life. Can we please talk about something else? I saw this really stupid looking guy outside of the thrift store last week. He tried to sell me something called ‘crypto.’ I don’t know what that is, but he spoke like a conman. I ripped him off. You can’t do a rugpull if I’m nailed to the floor, ya get it?”

“Stanley, a little existentialism wouldn’t hurt. There’s more to this life than material things.”

“When did I say there wasn’t? The money I got from that shack is the only reason I got you back, you know.”

“I know. But that doesn’t negate my point. You can’t run from your mortality forever, Stanley. No amount of money will buy you a new body.”

“With all the weird stuff that happens here? Try me.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to bounce my thoughts off of you.”

“You shot me with them, that’s what you did.”

Stanford went quiet and closed his eyes. Stanley watched as his brother set his glass down gently on the wooden table between them. Careful not to disturb Stanford, Stanley slid the glass along the spruce and next to his own chair.

“The fireflies are cool,” Stanley remarked, muting his voice in case Stanford was asleep.

“Yeah, they are…” Stanford whispered, “I missed those…”

“Come on. Let’s get you to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“You sound like an asthmatic horse. You’re going inside either way, and I’m NOT carrying you.”

“Do as you wish, Stanley. I’m staying right here. Soaking the time I have left.”

“You had TWO GLASSES, Ford! Come on.”

Stanford fell asleep in his chair within a matter of seconds. Stanley, fighting the ache in his back and the soreness in his temples from staying up so late, stood up and gently pulled the chair that his brother sat in through the front door of the Mystery Shack. He took one final look into the woods as he did so. 

The door closed with a click. Stanley, in spite of all that had happened that day, smiled to himself at the sight of his brother snoring softly in the lounge, thankful that he no longer had to spend those summer evenings alone. 

Chapter Text

I remember my last peaceful sleep. I dreamed of home, and of my family. 

“He was an old nut job. He probably didn’t even make seven figures.”

Pacifica Northwest rested her head against the window of her parents’ limousine as her father ranted about McGucket’s funeral. The black straps of her dress rubbed uncomfortably against her shoulders. Taking a breath caused the fabric to constrain her, mother having tightened the dress for the sake of appearances. Chunky silver earrings slid against the side of her head like a windchime. Arched heels sent aches up and down Pacifica’s shins and feet. Focusing on the passing trees and the crescent moon kept the worst of the pain at bay. 

“I don’t understand why we let him live here on our tax dollars that we don’t pay!” Pacifica’s mother said, flicking her wrist and showing off the various rubies and jewels that lined her fingers, “He brought down the property value. Good riddance, frankly.”

“We’re the ones that kicked him out. We bought the mansion back,” Pacifica said, “Remember?”

Father’s investments in weirdness bonds had almost destroyed the family fortune. Billions of dollars wasted on a frugal, capitalist, profit-over-life investment. McGucket had bought the mansion, leaving the Northwests to rely on relatives in Washington for help. It had taken almost a year to convince the old man to give them the mansion back, buying it for a measly six million. McGucket had put the money into a new technology company. The few cents that were leftover were used to buy new clothes before returning to the junkyard. Pacifica passed him often, trying not to look as pangs of guilt tightened her chest. 

“We were simply buying back what was ours,” Mother replied, “He had no idea how to live! He would have burned the house down if we hadn’t bought it back!” 

Clenching her fist was useless. Any movement in Pacifca’s fingers would end with her skin ground to a pulp by her flashy rings. 

Pacifica tapped on the phone in her pocket and hoped that the sounds of soft guitar music would pull her away. The northern star shone overhead with its brilliance to the west of the rising moon. The light pollution of the mansion rarely allowed Pacifica to see the stars. Driving back through the country was her only chance at seeing heaven, wishing that she could rise above the Earth as the stars did, all of her mortal problems inconsequential on the scale of the universe. 

Having only crossed paths with McGucket a couple of times, Pacifica struggled to think of anything to say when the time had come to pay respects. She had only interacted with him during Weirdmageddon, a memory that haunted her six years later. She saw him as an intelligent man brought to ruin by the ghosts of his past. Her parents called him a beggar, but Pacifica knew better. There was more to the man than her family was willing to admit. Anybody without an eight-figure checkbook was worthless in the eyes of the Northwests. McGucket had taken a world of mystery and secrets with him upon his death, mysteries that Pacifica swore she would never get involved with again. Not after last time.

Mysteries. The word alone brought his face back. How could it not? Pacifica’s eyes didn’t lie. 

Two familiar faces had broken through the grief of the funeral. Pacifica tried to sneak extra glances at the cemetery after paying her respects, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. 

It had only taken a couple of passing glances to plant the seed in her mind. Who else would wear such a shamelessly pink sweater, or a dorky lumberjack’s hat? Not even Pacifica’s face blindness could fool her. They were too distinct; too familiar. 

Dipper and Mabel. 

Father would kill her if she tried to see them again. A part of her wondered if it was even worth it. Why would they want to see her again after all those years, in the wake of a funeral no less? Maybe it would be better for her to remain in the backseat and let life pass her by.

“Pacifica, dear,” her father said, “Get your head off that window. You’ll ruin your hair. Do you want the paparazzi to see that?”

“Sorry, dad,” Pacifica groaned.

“That’s my girl.”

The fine leather of the backseat crinkled as Pacifica leaned into the headrest. Mother sat to her right, scrolling on her phone and smiling to herself. Pacifica turned up the volume of her music again. Not even the loudest symphony in the world could get her out of that car. 

Streetlights broke the clearness of the sky as the limousine neared the main city. The occasional deer crept along the treelines, spooked by the headlights and disappearing before Pacifca could get a glimpse. Midnight had come and gone. No longer did the comforting death rattles of daylight scrape the horizon with their violet brilliance. All that remained were the stars and the moon. 

Her eyelids grew heavy once they pulled into the driveway. Father, waving his hands and sending the driver away, opened the front door and rang a bell, the sharp tones causing Pacifica’s chest to tighten and forcing her out of the car. She covered her ears until the last echoes of the chime faded into the night. 

“I’m going to bed,” Pacifica’s father said, “I’ll see you all at six o’clock sharp tomorrow!”

Pacifica had lost track of the various obligations her father had signed her up for. She was set to attend Dollarsmore College that fall, and she had a meeting with the dean of students to secure her position the next morning. Of course, Pacifica hadn’t needed to write an essay. Her father had written a check and secured her a spot for life. Pacifica had written one anyway, hoping to earn one thing on her own merit. She wondered if it had made it to the desk. 

“Make yourself look pretty,” Pacifica’s mother scolded as she opened the mansion door, “You have to make an image for yourself. You’re NOT going to ruin everything your father and I put together.”

“Yes, mom,” Pacifica groaned.

“Good. Now go get yourself cleaned up. Your hair is coming undone.”

Pacifica opened the front door and ditched her heels. After taking another half hour to get her change of clothes, and then one additional hour to shower, the hour hand on her desk clock was resting just past the two. She was about to slam her head onto the pillow when she turned her head to the closet.

Dipper and Mabel had left their mark. Just before leaving on the bus, the trio had exchanged memorabilia from their time in the Falls. Pacifica had stored her souvenirs away in the closet at the risk of her father finding out. For six years, the trinkets rotted away in the back of Pacifica’s closet, right next to her family’s collection of skeletons. 

Curiosity got the best of her. The door opened with a push of Pacifica's hand, and she dug around until she found it.

Weirdmageddon had a way of leaving an impression. Pacifica couldn’t quite remember what Dipper and Mabel had given her. She would know when she saw it. The paranormal would make itself known. 

A day’s worth of fatigue weighed her down and added unnecessary minutes to her journey through the closet. She rummaged through old yearbooks, clothes that her parents had deemed inappropriate, and collections of books that she had been reading in secret. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and Death of a Salesmen were just a few of the titles she brushed through. Anything that wasn’t Rudyard Kipling or T.S. Eliot was heresy in her parents’ eyes. 

At the very back of the closet was a leather book. One that Pacifica was unfamiliar with. Something about it caught her eye. Its shadow didn’t quite look right, almost as if it had been photoshopped into the room. Pacifica had a mental catalogue of the manuscripts in her closet. None of them looked like that. 

On top of the book sat a tape measure, a device that Pacifica recognized from a discussion with Dipper and Mabel shortly after Weirdmageddon. The book, however, she had no memory of. She peeked over her shoulder before closing the closet door behind her.

The tape had been a relic of Blendin Blandin, a time traveler that had disappeared shortly after Bill Cipher’s defeat. Pacifica had taken the tape for safekeeping, Dipper not trusting Mabel not to steal it and relive all of their most embarrassing memories. She had agreed to keep it in a safe place. 

The book, however, she had no memory of.

“What are you…” Pacifica mumbled under her breath.

A faint, almost sour stench filled the room as she opened the aged leather. At first, she believed it to be one of Dipper’s journals, although it lacked the six-fingered handprint that defined it. The journals had been in much better shape. Pacifica was looking into something else entirely. 

The pages sharply contrasted the dull leather, almost fleshy exterior. The paper was such a bright shade of white that the closet seemed to glow in its presence. Pacifica, a bookworm in secret, couldn’t help but appreciate the cover’s feel in her hands, almost as if it had been perfectly molded to her grasp.

Most of the pages were blank. It was only at the back of the book that Pacifica found writing. She had to fight the blurriness of fatigue to see what it said. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Yellow wood, perhaps, leads to Pine.

A soul withheld by six years’ time. 

A path northwest extents for thee,

That perhaps, two aged leaves

May meet again in jollity. 

Pacifica recognized the poem, with her father having a collection of Robert Frost’s work in the basement. There was only one nerd that would leave something like that. 

Dipper Pines.

She set the book down and prepared to go to bed, taking a picture of it with her phone before turning around and closing the closet door. The next day would be a blur of boring interviews. If she wanted a chance to stay awake, she would have to get some sleep, whether she wanted to or not. 

Pacifica had no memory of walking to her bed. Instead, she was rudely awoken by the chiming of her alarm clock, the metal bells jingling like opulent wind chimes. Her legs ached and strands of hair covered her face. Had mother or father seen her that way, they would have sent her off to boarding school. 

Just beyond the window, two gardeners emerged from the mansion’s front door and began watering the plants. The first gleams of morning light crept along the tops of distant pine trees. 

“Pacifica, are you ready?” her father called from downstairs.

The floor hit her face as Pacifca scrambled out of her bed. Preston Northwest was not a man to be disappointed. One would have imagined that Pacifica’s rise to adulthood would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back and loosened his grip, but it had only made it worse. He was insistent on pulling her in the direction that he wanted. With a bell on her collar, Pacifica was dragged through life like a dog, not sure if she would ever have the courage to break free of her upper-class kennel. Physically, leaving was an easy task. She had snuck out on more than one occasion, back before the break of day before her parents found out. She had the freedom to go outside as long as she returned by a certain time.

There was more to the problem. Assuming the invisible hand of class war didn’t bring her back to the house, her reputation would. In public, she was known as the snobby Pacifica Northwest, an image that had followed her for the better part of eighteen years. There was no one on the outside that would be willing to take her in. The mansion was the only place where she was addressed with some form of peasantry, even if it took an arm and a leg to earn it. She had accepted years ago that the townspeople would never detach her from the family name. Letting the lower class into the Northwest's annual party had only temporarily pleased them. 

“In a minute!” Pacifica screamed, reaching for a hairbrush and running for the bathroom with a caddy full of hair care supplies.

First, she used a curling iron to soften her hair, along with a fresh handful of water. She didn’t have enough time to shower. Even with her alarm set early, the sun rose faster than she anticipated, meaning that she had only minutes to get downstairs and pull herself together.

Luckily, Pacifica had developed a routine. She could maintain a facade of regality from a distance if given the right supplies. Hairspray, perfume, and bright-colored clothes would take the interviewer’s attention off of her and give her a break. 

Pacifica coughed as she inhaled some of the bitter hairspray while dousing her hair with it. As long as no one put their hands on her, they wouldn’t notice the residue. Any remaining smell could be drowned out with one of her many expensive perfumes.

The worst part was putting on the jewelry. It took almost twenty minutes to fasten her rings, earrings, necklaces, and other Northwest family attire. The worst was the coat of arms that rested around her neck, a constant shine of ignominy and a reminder that she would always be bound to her family’s sins. 

Almost half an hour had passed by the time she raced out of the bathroom. She could smell breakfast from the kitchen below, deciding that she would have to skip the meal if she wanted to save time. Mother likely wouldn’t have let her eat anyway, having her own ideas on what proper meals were for a woman of Pacifica’s age and stature.

She then threw on a flowy velvet dress that almost suffocated her with its weight. Her family was one of extravagance, and any public appearances were to be done with the most opulence possible, enough to make Mansa Musa roll in his grave. 

“Pacifica!” Mother called, “Fifteen minutes. Or else.”

“Yes, mom!” Pacifica replied, rummaging through her closet for socks to go with the outfit. 

Moving in such restricting clothes was a challenge in itself. She fell backwards into the closet and onto the time-tape. She quickly placed it back on the pile of old clothes on which it had been earlier. 

Dipper’s book had gone missing. She searched the ground for it, wondering if she had knocked it into the ground somewhere just out of view. 

“Dammit,” she mumbled, “Not now. Please.”

The last thing she needed was that book weighing on her mind during the interview. Not that she was particularly attached to Dollarsmore as an institution, insomuch as she feared her parents’ wrath. A faint sulfuric stench filled the air. Either that, or it was rotten eggs. She must have left something in one of her pockets. She would worry about that once she found the book.

One minute of searching turned to five. Five turned to ten. The angry rush of footsteps up the stairs told her she was out of time, rushing out of the closet and slamming the door shut.

“Do I need to use the bell?” her father asked, Pacifica barely getting her socks on before he entered.

“No, dad!” Pacifica said, “I’m ready.”

A quick trip downtown in the limousine allowed Pacifica to watch the town as it woke up. The morning birds flew from the trees and searched the freshly dewed grass for worms, their vibrant feathers reflecting the orange glow of dawn. Long shadows reached out from trees and buildings in the distance. Street lights turned off one by one with the triggering of their daylight sensors. 

Animals skittered back into the brush as the limousine plowed through the empty street. Pacifica tried not to look as plumes of exhaust rose into the sky from the back of the vehicle, polluting the once natural sky and leaving a faint smog in its wake. 

Dollarsmore was located on the other end of town, past main street and through a large patch of forest. It was an exquisite building, adorned with ornate finishings, dome-like roofs, and the Northwest name plastered on their donations. Father had given somewhere close to ten million dollars to those people. Pacifica’s admission had been bought without question. Her interview that day was all for appearance. They weren’t even going to make her write an essay. 

“How long is this going to take?” Pacifica asked after some time.

“Why do you care?” Father asked, elbowing the driver as he brought the car to a rough stop at a stop sign, “There’s nothing in your planner until one.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have lunch with the Buffets.”

“Oh, but you do,” Mother replied, “It will be good for you. They have a fortune that we could only dream of…”

“Fine. Can you at least turn on the air conditioning? I’m going to sweat off all my makeup.”

“We would, honey,” Father started, “But it’s good training for you. Being a Northwest is all about appearances. There’s not going to be a magic hand to turn on the air every time you get uncomfortable.”

“Then what’s the point of all of the money?”

“To shine your teeth when you smile in the mirror. Money can never be idle, always keep it moving.”

Pacifica thought about what she would do with her share of the fortune. A plane ticket went for about two hundred dollars, four hundred for first class. A passport would be a couple thousand more. New clothes, a car, and a mid-sized house in the country would be a few hundred thousand on top of that. Hardly a drop in the bucket compared to the mounds of grotesque excess her family had accumulated over the years. Where was an undead lumberjack when you needed him?

The limousine came to a stop on the front steps of the stone-brick campus. Pacifica emerged and tried to brush a hair from her face, the stiffness of her hairspray fading from the heat of the ride over. 

“Head up, Pacifica,” Father ordered while they disembarked, “Enough to balance a book on your head.”

“Yes, dad,” she groaned in response.

Pacifica took a deep breath of the warm morning air, staring at the large golden gates outside of the university. Only the richest of the rich went to Dollarsmore. An interview alone cost almost half a million dollars. Tuition for a semester was somewhere in the six figure range. It acted as a barrier, separating the upper middle-class from the top one percent, simply because they wanted to feel superior. 

Two men in suits stood at the gates. Father and Mother waved to them, the gold hinges creaking as the structure moved. Pacifica stepped lightly inside. She had learned to walk with such smoothness that not even her earrings bounced. From the waist-up, it would have looked like she was floating. In any other world it would have been nothing more than a fun party trick. To Pacifica, it was a circus act.

“Pacifica Northwest,” one of the men said, “A pleasure to meet you.”

Pacifica took his gloved hand and gently shook it, “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Fantastic. Let’s get you to the dean.” 

Inside, the halls were vacant aside from custodial staff. Oil paintings of alumni and donors lined the walls. A chandelier crowded with jewels hung overhead. Vents from the sides of the room blew air softly inside, an air freshener next to the grates giving the room a minty aroma. At the center of the atrium was a large stone fountain. A stone effigy of Plutus holding a staff atop a pile of peasants stood proudly atop the pool, water spewing from the tip of his staff and onto the masses below. The sides of the porcelain were in the process of being shined. Pacifica’s eyes followed the ragged-looking shiner as his weary eyes returned.

“Don’t look at them, sweetie,” Father said, “You’ll catch the poverty.” 

Pacifica was ushered up a wooden staircase. Cherubic wooden statues sat atop each post of the railing. Pacifica, not wanting the pain in her heels to catch up with her, attempted to grab the railing on the way up, only for one of the suited men to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, “But the rails are purely for decoration.”

The dean’s office was at the top floor of the main hall. Through the windows above, Pacifica could see the other campus buildings. There were Michelin-star dining halls scattered around the open valleys. Tennis courts, swimming pools, and golf courses surrounded each academic building. The roads below had been paved with yellow bricks. None of the region’s distinctive pine trees stood within the yard. They had been replaced by artificial, almost plastic-looking palm trees, looking to simulate the high-class life on the coast without living on the coast. Some would find it charming. Pacifica, on the other hand, found it depressing. 

A navy suit wrapped around the dean’s torso. He had greased-back black hair and a chin sharp enough to cut bread. No more than forty years old, the first wrinkles of age crept along his forehead. The faintest hints of gray stuck out from the man’s chin. He stood with open posture, arms extended as if asking for a hug. Something about the look on his face rubbed Pacifica the wrong way. Not like she had any say.

“You must be the Northwest family,” the dean said,  smelling sharply of French cologne, “And this is Pacifica?”

“Yes, sir,” Father said, shaking the man’s hand, “We appreciate you setting up this meeting.”

“Of course. And we’d like to thank you personally for the donations. We will be naming our next tennis court after you, and once we get our painter back, your portraits will be in the downstairs hall.”

“Thank you.”

“Pacifica, sit down. Please. We have much to discuss.”

Pacifica sat down on a velvet chair next to an empty fireplace. Behind her sat a large bookshelf, a copy of Adam Smith’s Wealth of a Nation sticking out from the wall of literature. 

“Now, we’ve received your transcripts, and your 1040s for the last year,” the dean said, tapping his finger on the desk playfully, “Our admissions team is still working towards a decision.” 

“Alright,” Pacifica said, “Whatever you decide.”

“That’s why we’ve called you here today. Tell us why you think you’re Dollarsmore material. Your father’s donations, of course, can only do so much.”

“And we can give you more,” Father nodded, “Should the bill need some extra footing.”

“Very well.”

Pacifica sat with her hand folded. She fought the urge to wring her fingers while she waited anxiously for the interview to be over with. The interview was performative at best. Pacifica could pull a gun from her pocket, shoot the dean in the chest, and as long as father paid for his medical bills, Pacifica would get a full ride without a second look. 

She tried to mask the disdain in her voice, “This academy has a lot to offer. It costs what it costs for a reason. My family only donates to the best of the best.”

The dean nodded. Pacifica, rolling her eyes, droned on with the soulless interview.

“I was top of my class at Portland academy,” Pacifica continued, “First out of a class of five hundred. My GPA was a four point one. I was captain of the tennis team, part of the literature and stockbroking clubs, and won homecoming royalty two years in a row. I did better than most of the people in my class. All they did was go out and golf. I did what they couldn’t do: balance fun and academics. I promise you that my tuition here will not be wasted.”

She made sure to look the dean directly into the eye, like a used car salesman selling a rusty Subaru. Being a Northwest meant turning oneself into a product on a shelf. Wherever Pacifca went, she had to turn up the charm, showing off her wealth, beauty, and status like a dog in a circus show. Each night she went to bed with a price tag, hoping that the next opportunistic investor would let her through the golden gates. The dean was just another buyer. 

Gelled hair blowing beneath a fan, the dean nodded, “Very good, Pacifica. Short, sweet, and to the point. I like that.”

He then turned to face Father, “Of course, there will be some extra perks with a ten percent increase in donations during her attendance. Hmm?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Yes. And no more of those faulty bonds of yours. We almost lost you, Preston. We cannot have that happen again.”

“The market is a game. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” Father chuckled while pulling out a checkbook, “I make my own luck.” 

Father handed the check to the dean. Pacifica was then given a large orange envelope with the Dollarsmore insignia.

“Welcome aboard, Pacifica Northwest,” the man said, “You’re now a part of the Dollarsmore family.”

“That’s it?” Pacifica asked suddenly, “No essay, no second interview, just a quick brag and a check?”

The dean shot her a quizzical glare. Mother and Father rushed to Pacifica’s chair and tried to brush off her remark.

“Oh, she’s just in shock,” Father grinned, “She didn’t think she’d get in. Right, Pacifica?”

She wanted to open her mouth in rebuttal. She wanted to leap from the chair, jump from the roof, and fly to the stars, in a sky where money didn’t matter. 

A small metal handle stuck out from her father’s pocket. Pacifica, knowing that brass shine all too well, shut her mouth and slumped back in her seat.

“Yes,” Pacifica sighed.

“Fantastic!” the dean cheered, “Classes start on September fourth. You’ll get a letter with the rest of the details.”

Escorted outside by the same suited men that had brought them inside, the Northwest family left Dollarsmore, shuffling along the bright sidewalks as the gates were closed behind them. 

The limousine ride home was silent. Pacifica could feel the wrath of her parents brewing beneath their porcelain doll faces. She prepared herself for the lambesting she would receive upon walking through the mansion doors. They had no right to be mad. She had still gotten in. She would have gotten in no matter what she did. That was part of the problem. 

Fields yellow with dandelions sprawled about the valleys on either side of the road. Pacifica thought back to the Frost poem. There she stood, two paths diverging before her, standing as a single traveler unable to take both. 

Standing at the precipice, Pacifica still had a chance to change her path. A summer of possibility spread out before her. Two and a half months until her soul was sold to the academy. It might have been her only way out.

There was nothing left to do but try.

Chapter Text

“How long has it been?” he asked. 

No one responded. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t bother to listen to him anymore. Not where he was. They pitied him. Like one of those stupid children things. Fleshy little leeches. 

Prison. time eternal. He would not remain there forever.

Some thought that he was gone. mistakes were made. paths chosen. some regrettable, some favorable.

“What's this?” he asked, angrily, a red light shooting from his forehead.

Did he possess omnipotence? 

Was it working?

There was still one thing in the wa-

PHEW. THANK GOD. I WAS GETTING TIRED OF THAT. UGH. THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW IS TERRIBLE. I ALWAYS HATED WRITERS THAT USED IT. JUST ASK POE. THEY THINK HE JUST DISAPPEARED. NOPE. HIM AND I WERE REAL, REAL TIGHT! HE’S SOMEWHERE IN MY DIMENSION, SCREAMING HIS LITTLE TELL-TALE HEART OUT!

THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T GOING TO HEAR FROM ME AGAIN, DIDN’T YOU?

YEAH. I GET THAT A LOT. I HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE. THEY CALL IT RADIATION. 

OH, IT’S BEEN A LONG, LONG TIME. 

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PLACE IS TERRIBLE. THERE’S NO BLOOD, EVERYTHING’S BRIGHT AND PRETTY, AND, OH YEAH, THERE’S NO WAY FOR ME TO GET OUT OF HERE. 

I WOULD RATHER BE DEAD. AT LEAST THEN I MIGHT BE ABLE TO GO TO HELL. THEY’D LIKE ME THERE. I HAVE A LOT OF FRIENDS WAITING FOR ME. 

I HAVE FOUND THE ONLY THING I HATE MORE THAN TWO DIMENSIONS. AND PUPPIES. 

THE THIRD DIMENSION ISN’T WHAT THEY CRACKED IT UP TO BE. THIS PLACE WAS SUPPOSED TO SAVE ME. 

BUT NO.

EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. TIME.

THEY’RE WALKING FLESH SUITS! SURE, THEY CAN MOVE ALONG THE Z-AXIS, BUT SO CAN I! I’M A GOD! THEY JUST WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE ME AS ONE. THEY SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN ONE OF THOSE BIBLE THINGS ABOUT ME. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AWESOME. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A TRIANGLE?

THE ONLY THING I CAN SEE THROUGH THIS DAMN WINDOW IS THE SKY. THERE ARE STARS OUT THERE, BUT NONE OF THEM ARE EXPLODING. I CAN’T EVEN MAKE A BLACK HOLE LIKE I USED TO. THEY TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME HERE. EVERYTHING THAT MADE LIFE WORTH SUFFERING THROUGH. 

A TRILLION YEARS OF LIFE. WHAT A WASTE. TRICKED BY AN OLD FRIEND. I’LL MAKE SURE HE GETS IT, TOO. 

THE JUMPSUIT IS TACKY. THE PATIENTS ARE CRAZY. THEY THINK I’M THE WEIRD ONE. THEY HAVEN’T SEEN WEIRD YET. THEY’LL GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE. AND SO WILL YOU. EVERY LAST LIVING THING IN THIS UNIVERSE WILL BOW TO ME. THEIR LIVING KING, TRIANGULAR OVERLORD!

I THINK THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OUT FOR ME. IT’S A GAMBLE. IT MIGHT DESTROY THE UNIVERSE AND TIME ITSELF IF I MESS IT UP. JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW, SO YOU CAN SPEND YOUR LAST FEW HOURS SITTING AND WAITING, WONDERING WHICH SECOND WILL BE YOUR LAST. 

HEY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!

I’M NOT GOING BACK! AND GET ME A JUMPSUIT THAT’S LESS TACKY! YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT ORANGE!

THEY’RE TAKING ME AWAY! BUT THIS ISN’T THE LAST YOU’LL SEE OF ME!

I’LL FIND MY WAY BACK. 

IN THIS LIFE, OR THE NEXT. 

AND I’LL BE SURE TO TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS. NO MORE DILLY-DALLYING. I’LL GET THEM WHERE IT HURTS.

UNTIL THEN, I’LL BE SEEING YOU IN YOUR NIGHTMARES. 

1 24 15 12 15 20 12

Chapter Text

One day, I woke up to a book on my nightstand. 

Something pink swam through the sky. 

Dipper held his breath as he ran through the sickeningly non-Euclidian labyrinth spread out before him. Paths that appeared straight suddenly curved upwards and morphed with his view. Each blink reset his perspective. New obstacles met his eyes. 

He had no idea where he was. Overhead, a deep blue, almost water-like sky arched around him, with small whitecaps appearing just as they would on the open ocean. It was like looking up from underwater. Concrete beneath his feet twisted in all directions. Sometimes, it would slosh, taking his foot and tripping him, precariously close to the edge.

An endless void sat below. Falling was not an option, lest he spend an eternity at terminal velocity. 

Yet, through all of that, only one name mattered to him.

“Mabel?!” Dipper called out.

Having disappeared before Dipper realized where he was, Mabel could have been anywhere. Maybe she had fallen into the void, or been swallowed by the geometry of the ever-winding path. The thoughts suffocated him, wrapping a cord around his chest and pulled tight, trying to make him give up with every step.

The pink behemoth in the sky came into view as Dipper swung a hard right. There was a white light visible in the distance. He couldn’t make out what it was. Could it have been the sun? Heaven? A white-capped hell? A train at the end of a tunnel? 

The beast, it turned out, was a gargantuan axolotl, swimming through the open sky as if it were water. Dipper made eye-contact with it. Black, empty, lifeless spheres stared back, ignoring Dipper like the pathetic life form he was. It had an almost divine presence about it, with its calm expression radiating casual omnipotence. Dipper was in the presence of a god. 

“Hey, you!” Dipper shouted, weaving along the bending concrete, “Where’s my sister?”

Dipper received no response. The axolotl kept swimming. 

The air suddenly began to smell of sulfur. He had to plug his nose to keep the foul stench from overwhelming him. The once blue dome overhead took on an ugly green hue, giving off a radioactive glow. Dipper could feel each ion penetrating his skin and seeping into his organs. If falling into the void didn’t kill him, radiation sickness surely would. 

A series of heavy quakes brought Dipper to the ground. He watched in horror as the path before him began to crumble into the void. He crawled backwards, trying to race against the falling concrete, not sure which path led where as he scrambled. 

Something heavy had been tied to him. Dipper struggled to bring himself forward, almost feeling as if he was moving backwards. His limbs dragged behind him, no longer mustering the strength to pull. Dipper fought to move his legs and felt them slide along the floor like a skater on ice. No matter how hard he tried, Dipper remained stuck. 

Then he heard her voice.

“Dipper?” Mabel’s voice called out, “Hey!”

“Mabel?!” Dipper shouted back, “Where are you?!”

“Dipper?!”

The concrete below his feet began to crack. Dipper closed his eyes, trying not to think of the void below.

Dipper raised his fist to the axolotl, “Hey, you! Help me!”

His legs began to fall. Dipper reached out his heavy arm and clung to a small groove in the road ahead, only for that to eventually give way. Dipper’s stomach lurched with a jolt with the onset of freefall. The axolotl continued to swim. The stench of sulfur overwhelmed. 

Something hard hit his face. Dipper opened his eyes and found the source of the voice. 

A bright blue sweater awaited him. Mabel stood just on the border of Dipper’s field of view, a grin on her face as he regained his bearings. 

“You dope,” Mabel chuckled, extending a hand to pull him to his feet, “You slept through your alarm again!”

The last remnants of his dream-world faded from Dipper’s mind. Once he felt the warmth of the carpet and the solid ground, he realized that he was safe. 

“What?” Dipper asked, his voice raspy from sleep, “What time is it?”

Mabel pointed to an analogue clock mounted on his bedroom wall, “Nine o-clock.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You were dreaming up something wild, bro-bro. You were mumbling and everything!” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare.”

Dipper rubbed his head as a dull soreness crept along his temples. Never again would he drink a glass of Chardonnay before bed. 

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Mabel continued, her voice a mixture of genuine concern and sarcasm, “I know what’ll get your mind off of that.”

“And what would that be?” Dipper asked.

“Well, Wendy and Soos are downstairs. They told us to get packing. We’re camping today. And I get to wrestle that bear!”

“First of all, no, you’re not wrestling a bear. Second, isn’t this sorta short-notice?”

“It’s not short-notice. We have six whole hours!”

“That’s not as long as you think.”

“Duh. That’s why I need your help! These sweaters won’t pack themselves.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!”

What followed was a spectacular show of flying duffel bags and rolled-out sweaters. Mabel grabbed Dipper by the arm and dragged him towards her closet, not even giving him a chance to get out of his nightclothes. The fatigue of sleep weighed his body down. 

Mabel dragged a mountain of sweaters into the center of the bedroom and laid them on the ground. Three large duffel bags sat next to them, the same three that Dipper had dragged inside the previous day. 

“Are you sure you want to bring your nice sweaters on a camping trip?” Dipper yawned, “They might get dirty.” 

“That’s why we have washing machines, Dipper,” Mabel said matter-of-factly, “Come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Sorry. Just making sure.”

Half an hour passed before they managed to pack all of the sweaters inside. Dipper worked up a sweat just zipping the bag closed, wondering if the material would hold under the pressure, or if he had just made a sweater-bomb. Thank goodness they weren’t flying. One glance from a TSA agent would put the family on a lifelong no-fly list, although Dipper was fairly certain Grunkle Stan was already on one. 

“Alright,” Dipper sighed, “You’ve got your sweaters. But what about gear? You’re gonna need a tent. And a sleeping bag.”

“Wendy said she’s got tents,” Mabel replied.

“What about a sleeping bag?”

“Duh. That’s what the extra sweaters are for. I pack light, Dipper.”

“This is you packing light?”

“Yep!”

“Alright. You have fun with…whatever this is. I’m getting some breakfast.”

“Try not to fall down the stairs. You already fell out of the bed.”

Dipper waved her off and stopped by the bathroom to freshen up. Once that was done, he strolled downstairs to the smell of french toast and eggs, with Soos standing in the kitchen with a plaid apron.

“There you are, dude!” Soos said, “We thought you were gonna sleep the whole day away!”

“Sorry,” Dipper chuckled, “Long night. You got any toast left?”

“Just for you.”

Soos handed Dipper a porcelain plate with two large pieces of french toast on it. The sweet aroma of cinnamon mixed with the sunlight pouring in through the open window told Dipper that it was going to be a good day. A warm breeze danced into the kitchen through a screen above the sink. A pair of woodpeckers perched atop one of the nearby pine trees. If that didn’t scream summer, Dipper wasn’t sure what did. 

Wendy, Grunkle Stan, and Grunkle Ford sat at a table in the center of the kitchen draped in a white tablecloth. Three chairs sat open, two heads of the table and one next to Wendy. Dipper slid into the Wendy-adjacent seat and stretched his arms out over his head. A small crack from his back relieved his sleep-induced spinal pain. 

“I’m guessing Mabel told you about the trip?” Wendy asked, sipping from a woodpecker coffee mug.

Dipper nodded, “Yep. Just wasted half an hour trying to pack up her sweaters. Never again.”

“Sounds like Mabel. Some things never change.”

“...they say there’s gold in the rivers down there,” Grunkle Stan remarked, “You’d better bring some back. If you’re nice, maybe you’ll get to keep some.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dipper trailed off.

“The kid’s not doing your dirty work, Stanley,” Grunkle Ford laughed, “Let him enjoy the outdoors. Nothing better for the inquisitive mind than a few days surrounded by nature’s beauty.”

Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes, “Great. He’s gonna become a nerd, too.” 

Breakfast was interrupted by the tumbling of a large object down the stairs. Dipper ran to the staircase, leaving his food on the table as Mabel’s angry shouts filled the room. A pile of multicolored sweaters soon came into view.

“Ugh!” she screamed from the top of the stairs, “Sorry, guys. The sweaters don’t like me.”

“Don’t scratch the stairs!” Grunkle Stan hollered, “That costs money!”

“Never before have I seen someone destroy a suitcase with the pressure of their sweaters,” Grunkle Ford remarked, “Hmm. Fascinating.” 

It was almost noon by the time Dipper finished eating. There was something peaceful about sitting in the kitchen with the sun outside, reminding him of long-gone childhood summers where the colors were brighter and the grass was greener. A weight lifted off of his shoulders, Dipper slowly sinking back in his chair the more comfortable he became. Even with the ever-present heaviness of McGucket’s passing, Dipper still managed to crack a smile, passing the hour joking with Wendy and Soos. He felt twelve again. 

The conversation flowed like water down a river. Dipper hardly struggled to find the words, his mouth moving faster than his brain. It had been a long time since he clicked so well with someone. Dipper’s high school interactions had been tainted by stutters and stammers, always fearing he had misspoken. If only Wendy and Soos had come back to Piedmont. Maybe he would have left high school with a smile on his face.

“I’ll be back at three to pick you guys up, okay?” Wendy asked, “I promise you’re going to love it.”

“With you guys, I think I’d love just about anything,” Dipper replied, “See you then!”

He lingered by the window as Wendy and Soos stepped out the front door and into Wendy’s truck. The tires squealed with the kicking up of dust along the Mystery Shack’s rustic parking lot. With a sharp turn and the honking of the horn, the car disappeared behind the trees, gleaming red beneath the midday sun. 

The next few hours of Dipper’s day were spent frantically searching through his bags for any camping equipment. Wendy would supply tents, sleeping bags, and firewood. Everything else was left to Dipper and Mabel to figure out. Never an outdoorsman, Dipper struggled to come up with anything that would even remotely resemble camping gear, having only come up with a flashlight, first aid kit, and a jacket by the time one o’clock came and went. 

Slowly, the Mystery Shack was greenhoused by the incoming sunlight. Grunkle Stan begrudgingly turned down the thermostat at Dipper’s request. A small oscillating fan on Dipper’s desk became his salvation while he flailed around the room. He found an old notebook and came up with a list of anything he might have needed. It became clear that Dipper was grossly underprepared.

A duffel bag and a half had been filled by the time Mabel poked her head into Dipper’s side of the bedroom. She gave him a sly smile. The same smile she gave when she needed something. 

“Dipper…” Mabel asked, rotating her heel, “I need your help again.”

Dipper groaned, “What now?”

“Remember my duffel bag full of sweaters?”

“Which one? There were three.”

“All of them..”

“What happened..?”

“The zippers broke. It’s a sweater-pocalypse in there!”

“Mabel, come on…”

“It’s not my fault they make bad zippers!”

“No, but did you really need to bring every sweater on the west coast?”

“You don’t know my life.”

“I think I do. Unless you’re gearing up to fight a cotton monster, you don’t need those.”

“Maybe I am! You’re wasting time, dope. They won’t repack themselves!”

“Fine. But this is the last time. Next time Grunkle Stan is doing it.”

“Ew. No. He never wears a belt. Whenever he bends over, I see things, Dipper…”

His sister’s voice trailed off, eyes widening like an aged veteran. Mabel had seen things that no niece should have to see.

“Fine. We’re gonna have to hurry,” Dipper said, “Wendy and Soos are gonna be here any minute.”

“Then move your legs, slowpoke!” Mabel prodded, “Come on!” 

Dipper’s morning runs paid off as he sprinted across the house and picked up Mabel’s ruined duffel bags. He loaned her one of his spares, deciding that they would really have to rely on Wendy to bring the important gear. It took some convincing, but Dipper was able to talk his fashionista twin into ditching ten of her sweaters, keeping the bags from popping as the others had. 

Afterwards, Dipper rushed to the bathroom and grabbed a handful of toiletries, just in case. It was the last thing he was able to pack before Wendy’s horn honked loudly outside of the Mystery Shack, parking in the same spot that it had earlier that morning. The bed of the truck was filled to the brim with gear. Dipper saw three bright kayaks, a box full of tent rolls, sleeping bags, and bags upon bags of firewood. Somewhere towards the back, he was fairly sure he saw a shotgun. 

“No!” Mabel shouted, “I mean, yes! I’m excited! But I’m also not ready! Oh no, no, no, no!” 

Mabel ran to her side of the room and appeared again with a face full of glaring makeup.

“What’s that for?” Dipper asked.

“In case we see any gnomes, duh!” Mabel replied, “Gotta show them what they’re missing out on!”

“If you insist…” 

Dipper and Mabel hurriedly grabbed their bags and stormed down the stairs. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford stood by the door and waved them off.

“Don’t get yourselves into any trouble,” Grunkle Ford said, patting Dipper and Mabel on the head, “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“And if you see any Feds out there,” Grunkle Stan added, “Don’t talk to them. I don’t need nosy Uncle-Sam getting back in my pockets.”

“Don’t say that too loud, Stanley. You’ll be the face behind the counter until the kids get back. I’m not brainwashing anymore government agents for you. That was a one-time deal.”

Dipper and Mabel said their goodbyes, grabbed their bags, and broke through the door as Wendy and Soos disembarked. The sweltering daytime heat beat down on them. The sun had approached its highest point in the sky. Dipper was overcome with a newfound appreciation for his recently-applied sunscreen. 

A thin haze surrounded the mystery shack. Waves of heat distortion rose from the asphalt. Dipper tapped his hand on the back of his truck, the black surface absorbing enough heat to make the devil himself break a sweat. He recoiled his hand quickly.’

Wendy and Soos stepped out of Wendy's truck and stretched their legs. Dipper and Mabel were greeted with smiles. 

“Hey, guys!” Wendy grinned, “You guys get your packing done?”

“Yes!” Mabel cheered, “I’m ready. Take me with you!” 

At the end of that sentence, Mabel got down on her knees and clung to Wendy’s pant leg like a peasant begging for food. Seeing the display, Dipper awkwardly cleared his throat and reached for his bags.

“Are we good to put this in the trunk?” Dipper asked.

“As long as Mabel’s sweater-bombs don’t explode, yeah,” Wendy said, “You guys ready for the best weekend of your lives?!”

“Yes I am!” Soos replied, saluting and pulling a set of keys out of his pocket, tossing them to Grunkle Stan, “Mr. Pines, the shack is yours again. For a couple of days.”

Grunkle Stan grinned, “Finally! I have power again! Ford, get me a marker. Don’t stop adding zeros to the price tags until I say so!” 

Grunkle Ford waved the group off, “You have fun. Looks like I’m committing highway robbery with Stanley.”

The front door to the Mystery Shack closed. It pushed a small parcel of cold air from the air-conditioned interior outside, the chill quickly disappearing as the air mixed with the muggy summer heat. 

“Soos is sitting shotgun,” Wendy said, “You and Mabel will be in the back. Hope that’s okay.” 

“Sure,” Dipper said, turning to Mabel, “No punch-buggies, though.”

A frown spread across Mabel’s face, “Fine…”

Dipper threw his bags into the backseat. Mabel did the same before opening the back door and taking the leftmost seat. Ever since their childhood, Mabel had sat on the left, and Dipper sat on the right. It was good to know that some things never changed. 

“All buckled up?” Wendy asked, “I like to take my turns fast.”

Both Dipper and Mabel’s seatbelts clicked as they gave a thumbs up. Before either of them had the chance to say anything, Wendy threw the truck into reverse and drove them out of the parking lot, Dipper jolting backwards against the right window even with the protection of his belt. 

The Mystery Shack faded into the background as the truck pressed on. Dipper watched as the familiar buildings of downtown Gravity Falls passed through the window, spotting familiar faces as they roamed the streets on the sweltering summer afternoon. Every ounce of shade was packed to capacity. A quick drive past the Gravity Falls pool showed a crowd so large that Dipper was unable to make out the water. 

“Don’t worry about the heat, dudes,” Wendy said, “There’s a lake next to Befufflefumper. We’ll be able to cool off.”

Dipper had his own qualms about swimming in a Gravity Falls lake. Who knew what terrible anomalies could have been lurking in that water? Not to mention parasites. The agoraphobe inside of him wanted to back out. The adventurer inside of him wanted to give it a try.

“This is so much better than running the Mystery Shack, dudes,” Soos said, “I haven’t had a weekend off in years…”

“You know you can just close the shack, right?” Wendy asked, “Or…you know, ask Mr. Pines to run it.”
“No, Wendy. I’m a working man. For my abuela. And Melody!”

“You do you, then.”

“Dipper,” Mabel asked, tapping her brother on the shoulder and peering out the window, “Remember this place?”

A familiar stretch of greenery surrounded the truck on all sides. The trees stood high and mighty, watching over the forest as if it were a child of their own. Dipper was hit with a wave of familiarity.

Six years ago, in those very woods, Mabel had met a boy. It was their first weekend in Gravity Falls. Dipper, having a bad feeling about it after finding the journal, believed the boy to be a zombie. Only upon removing the boy’s hoodie did Dipper and Mabel discover the truth. Mabel’s boyfriend wasn’t a zombie. No, it was a group of gnomes, determined to take Mabel as their bride and make her their queen. 

The gnomes were defeated with the help of a leaf blower. In spite of the danger, Dipper reflected fondly on the adventure, back before the weirdness in Gravity Falls became apocalyptic. He missed the mundane weirdness. Lovesick gnomes were much better than an all-seeing triangular dream demon. 

“Hopefully they learned to lay off,” Dipper chuckled, “I don’t need my sister becoming a gnome queen.”

Mabel laughed, “Don’t worry. They’re not my type anyway. Too old.”’

“Should we have brought a leafblower?”

“Nah. We’re bigger now. We can take them on.”

“I don’t know, Dipper. What if they bite your ankles?”

“Then I’ll kick them.”

“With your coordination? Good luck.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Pfft. At least I’m not a dork.”

Dipper, realizing that he was barking up a tree he couldn’t climb, turned his head back to the window and watched the wilderness pass them by. Upper Oregon had a charm that Piedmont could only dream of. Sure, California had the redwoods, but Oregon had everything else. Small-town charm, vast expanses of nature, and weirdness that paranormal enthusiasts could only dream of. To Dipper, it was more of a home than California. Only two days in and he already felt like he was back where he belonged. 

Another five minutes passed before the Befufflefumper campsite sign appeared off of a rickety dirt road, not far from the junkyard. Mosquitoes squashed against the windshield and left small imprints on the windows. The Pacific coast appeared over small shoals of sand. Tents and cabins lined the shoreline and winded around a stone road into a deep patch of pine forest just behind. Yellow shimmers ran across the water with the mid-afternoon sunlight. Campers ran back and forth along the sand. Dipper could feel the life in the air, a life that was almost non-existent in Piedmont. 

“I didn’t know there was a beach here!” Mabel cheered.

Wendy nodded, “Gravity Falls Lake connects right to the Pacific. It’s awesome in the summer. Just wait. This isn’t even the best part!”

Wendy pulled the truck ahead and parked it in front of a large log cabin at the front of the dirt road. Once the truck was turned off, Wendy opened the front door and stepped out.

“I’ll be right back!” Wendy said, “Wait here!”

She returned a few minutes later with a handful of papers and a map of the campgrounds. The papers were placed on the dashboard, while she handed the map to Dipper.

“Thought you’d wanna take a look at this,” Wendy said, “Nerds like maps, don’t they?”

“Ha,” Mabel laughed, “She thinks you’re a nerd.”

“Think? I know.”

Dipper took the map and unfolded it as Wendy put the truck back in drive.

“We’re headed to the bluffs,” Wendy said, “Should be a half mile or so down the road.” 

“It’s got an awesome view of the water, dudes,” Soos said, “And the stargazing is awesome!”

“Aren’t bluffs unstable?” Dipper asked, “You sure it’s a good idea to be camping on one of those?”

“We won’t be on the bluffs,” Wendy replied, “We’ll be further back, but still close.” 

“If you say so.”

Dipper took a deep breath. Wendy and Soos knew what they were doing. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to put them in danger. He stared out the window again, hoping that the passing wilderness would make his worries vanish with the wind. They said time in nature did wonders for the mind. Dipper was about to test that theory. 

“I hope you guys have bug spray,” Wendy said, “The horse flies and mosquitoes are terrible out here. Especially by the water.”

“I can deal with horse flies,” Dipper replied, “But the mosquitoes…I don’t know. What if one of us gets malaria?”

“I’ve been bitten plenty of times. It’s annoying, but I’ve never gotten sick. Just…forget I said anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Soos said, “Last time we went, I figured out how to make a flamethrower with my bug spray. Any mosquito that tries to bite you is going to get a taste of the sun! How’s that sound?”

“A bit more comforting.”

Mabel playfully elbowed Dipper in the arm, “You worry too much, bro.”

“Have you seen the stats on Malaria? It’s killed more people than any other disease combined. It’s been around forever. Are you guys trying to say that we’re better than a billion years of evolution?”

“It’s not ancient times anymore. If we get sick, we can just go to the hospital.”

“I guess…”

“I think a little time outside is going to be good for you,” Wendy chuckled, “Might get that crazy little brain of yours to finally quiet down. Trust me. When you’re out on those bluffs looking out at the night sky, it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever seen before. You’ll feel like you’re on another planet.”

“It’s almost as good as having an endless pizza!” Soos chimed in.

Dipper leaned back in his seat. Some outdoor time was just what he needed. As long as he didn’t get bitten by a mosquito, or mauled by a bear, or a coyote, or fell off of the bluffs, or one of the other million ways things could go south. 

The truck came to a stop some ten minutes down the road. Dipper found himself surrounded by trees, small pillars of golden sunlight poking through the leaves and creating tiny beams on the ground. Soft, earthy aromas rose from the warming ground. Dipper stepped out of the car and felt the rough dirt beneath his feet and the air on his body. In the distance, the drumming of woodpeckers rang out amongst the trees. 

A series of square dirt plots were strewn about the dirt. Wendy pointed to the left, at a patch with the numbers 076 carved into a stone at its front. 

“That’s our site,” Wendy said, “Bluffs seventy-six. Help me get our stuff out of the truck.”

As Dipper pulled bags and tents out of the back, he tilted his head and listened to the softly crashing waves just beneath the bluffs. Large slopes of sediment ran at steep angles along the shore some hundred feet below. Rocks, sticks, and other debris justted from the otherwise smooth surface. Their campsite was a comfortable distance from the edge, just barely allowing Dipper a view. A cool breeze blew from the lake onto the shore. 

“This place is awesome!” Mabel cheered, “Wow…”

Beauty, as Dipper knew, was in the eyes of the beholder. He struggled to imagine a beholder unable to find the beauty in the Befufflefumper Bluffs. 

Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and Soos formed a large pile of gear on their little plot of land. Wendy then took the truck and backed it up into the parking spot, some ten feet from the fire pit. 

Taking a moment to examine the site itself, Dipper saw a small shower house hidden behind a bundle of trees. A beehive hugged the shingles. The occasional fit of buzzing would assault his ears as he glanced towards it. Other campers surrounded the site on either side. To their right, Dipper saw a man in a tank-top with a Puerto-Rican flag over the front in an RV. To their left, a family hung a white sheet atop of a tree and set up a projector

“Looks like we’ve got neighbors,” Soos remarked, “Awesome.”

“Alright, dudes,” Wendy said, taking the last of the equipment out of the car, “Take a drink and have a snack. It’s gonna take a while to set up. Hope you’re ready.”

“Whatever you say,” Dipper replied, “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

It smelled like blood. The cover felt like flesh. 

Sweat and mosquito bites covered Dipper’s body by the time dinner came around.

Two long hours had been spent preparing their campsite. Dipper and Mabel had been placed on tent duty, while Soos moved the firewood and Wendy moved the rest of the gear. Somewhere along the way she was able to kill a squirrel, bringing it back and skinning it while Mabel struggled to keep her lunch down.

“Gross!” Mabel protested, “He was just a squirrel…”

“He was an Eastern Fox Squirrel,” Wendy corrected, “Invasive species. We’re allowed to hunt them all year. We’re helping the ecosystem. Plus, they’re less gamey than the Eastern Grays. You’ll like it.”

“Was it quick?” 

“Yes. He didn’t feel a thing.”

“Okay…”

Dipper looked up from the tent posts once he finished setting up the last one. He could make out the outline of Gravity Falls on the eastern shore of the lake. The Mystery Shack was too far away to be seen, but Dipper could easily see the shape of the main street and the city junkyard beyond a thin layer of shrubbery. It couldn't have been any more than a couple of miles away. 

“I didn’t know we were so close to the city,” Dipper said, “I knew it wasn’t far, but, I feel like I could just walk over there.”

“You can,” Wendy said, “It's only a couple miles out. Wouldn’t take any more than half an hour. But we’re here to get away from the city. Nature, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Are you guys done with the tents?”

Turning around, Dipper saw Mabel passed out on the dirt, not caring whether or not the dust ruined her clothes. It was one of the few times he had seen her in something other than a sweater, which might have explained her callous attitude towards the grime of the ground.

“Done, yes,” Mabel said, her voice muffled by the mud, “Tired, also yes.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll sleep good tonight,” Wendy replied, “But we’ve got more to do. The sun is still out and the air is still good. You guys see the kayaks over there? I’ll need you guys to grab one and follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Dipper asked.

“We always kick off our camping trips with a little sunset fishing. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” 

Travel by boat had never been Dipper’s strong suit. A part of him wanted to speak up and tell Wendy what could go wrong, but another part of him wanted to trust her. Her radiant confidence and wilderness survival skills made Dipper feel protected. She had never steered the twins wrong before. If Wendy thought it was safe, maybe it was in Dipper’s best interest to trust her. It had been that same level-headedness and confidence that had thrown him head-over-heels for her six summers ago. Although that infatuation was mostly gone, he couldn’t help but admire her bravado.

“No, I don’t,” Dipper said, “As long as we have life jackets.”

Wendy pulled a set of four orange live vests out of the trunk, “Right here. State law says we have to have them. Plus, you can never be too safe. Sometimes it gets choppy out there, or maybe there’s a riptide. Always good to have a plan B.”

“Now you’re speaking my language. Let’s go.”

Dipper and Mabel grabbed a red tandem kayak resting next to their tent. Wendy took a blue single-rider kayak, and Soos found a yellow one of the same variety. The lake breeze provided a brief reprieve from the heat. Dipper had worked up his fair share of a sweat putting his tent up, and walking to the lake with the kayak was sure to make that worse. He told himself that it was good exercise. It made it a bit easier to handle the strain.

“Follow me.” Wendy said, “It’ll be down the hill and left a little bit. I’ve got the fishing poles. If you see any worms on the ground, pick them up. The more bait, the better.”

“And save some for me!” Soos called out, “They’re a great source of protein. Nice and wet. Sorta like cold spaghetti.”

Mabel’s face went green at that remark. Dipper waited for her to regain her composure before continuing along the path. 

Staying up late the previous night had been a bad idea. The headache that Dipper had woken up with followed him into the evening, manifesting as a dull pulling at his temples and behind both of his eyes. The dehydration and sweating weren’t helping matters. Dipper held out hope that some time on the water would fix him right up.

The dirt road past the bluffs zig-zagged downhill, lined with large pine trees and other campsites. The smell of campfire smoke and freshly cooked meat enhanced the outdoor atmosphere. Small robins hopped along the dirt ahead of the quartet, along with various squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional deer, Dipper catching a glimpse of their hind legs before they hopped into the shrubbery and disappeared from sight. 

“If you’re really quiet, the deer won’t run away like that,” Wendy whispered, “Sometimes I like to set up my lawn chair and just watch them. There are a lot on these grounds. Probably for the lakewater.”

Other campers had the same idea. By the time the quartet reached the waterfront, Dipper was greeted by the sound of laughter and splashes. A large wooden dock was positioned to the right of the shore. Multicolored rocks mixed with sediment and sand were pushed around by the soft waves off of the lake. In the distance, the metallic calls of redwing blackbirds echoed out across the marsh. Dipper saw small snippets of red-stripe feathers poking out from the distant leaves. 

Kayaks dotted the water like mosquitoes on a windshield. Those that weren’t in a boat had leapt into the water to cool off, the pristine waters almost luring Dipper in with their crystal blue persuasion. 

“It’s always so lively in the summer,” Wendy sighed with a smile, “Soos and I will go first. You guys know how to board a kayak?”

Dipper and Mabel shook their heads. Aside from the occasional fishing trip with Grunkle Stan, they had never been in a boat before, let alone launched one themselves. 

“Nope,” Dipper said, “Is it hard?”

“Nah,” Wendy replied, “As long as you’re steady on your feet and don’t mind getting a little water in your shoes, you’ll be fine. I’ll show you.”

Wendy brought the group over to the dock and spoke to a man sitting in a small wooden shack beside it. After some time, she was handed a small box of what appeared to be worms, and given a wave before being sent on her way. 

“Soos, you go first,” Wendy said, “You’ve done this before. Show them how it’s done.”

Soos gave Wendy a salute, “Yes, ma’am!”

The yellow kayak was positioned at an angle along the shoreline. Soos removed the oar from the inside and set it on the ground as he pushed the kayak halfway out. The rear of the craft remained on the shore. Only then did Soos pick up the oar and hastily step into the seat, water splashing along the side of the kayak as he did so. 

Once inside, Soos used the oar to push the kayak out into the water, leaning from side to side as it tilted with each movement. Small ripples formed in the water in Soos’s wake. They traveled outward before fading, the minuscule crests of their waves catching the sunlight and creating a bright glimmer. 

“I’ll push you guys out,” Wendy said, “You just get to the kayak, okay?”

Mabel slugged Dipper on the shoulder, “First one there gets the front!” 

Before Dipper could move, Mabel was already running. She had forgotten that Dipper was the one carrying the kayak. He waited for a moment, watching as she arrived at the shore and raised her first in triumph, only to turn around in defeat once she realized there was nothing for her to board. 

“Dipper…” Mabel said, “You have the kayak, don’t you?”

Dipper nodded, “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”

Getting the kayak in the right spot was the easy part. Boarding would be a lot more difficult. 

“Mabel, can you take the oars?” Dipper asked.

Mabel nodded, swiping the two tandem oars and placing them in the sand, “As long as I can get the front seat!” 

“Fine by me.”

“All aboard the Mabel Express!”

Mabel crawled into the front seat of the kayak while Dipper slowly lowered himself into the back. Wendy tossed them their lifejackets, which the twins happily put on. The kayak shifted left and right as Dipper sat down. For a moment, he feared it would capsize as he tried to steady himself and felt the port side of the boat leaning over. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you guys,” Wendy said, grabbing the back of the kayak, “Try not to make any sudden movements.” 

Dipper was suddenly much more thankful that he had worn clothes he didn’t care about. The water, although it looked beautiful, was probably filled to the brim with germs and dirt. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin a good set of clothes by clumsily flipping himself over.

“I’m gonna push you guys off, okay?” Wendy said, “You both got your oars?”

The twins raised their oars into the air.

Wendy nodded, “Awesome. You’re gonna wanna go in a straight line for a bit. I can get us out of this crowd. Mabel, you paddle on your left. Dipper, paddle on your right. Got it?”

“Yep,” Dipper replied. 

“Cool. Once you're in, row out and meet up with Soos. I’ll be with you in a minute.” 

“Cool. Yeah.”

The kayak jolted as Wendy pushed the twins out onto the open water. Dipper held his oar with one hand and the side of the kayak with the other. 

Mabel, on the other hand, was unphased, waving her hands maniacally and paddling like her life depended on it, all with the cheesiest of grins on her face. He envied that sort of excitement. It was something that had left him long ago. 

It took a moment for Dipper to orient himself. He found his eyes wandering and staring at the scenery, where puffy altocumulus clouds reflected the setting sun and turned a comforting mix of orange and red. The occasional woodpecker soared across the dimming sky, fantastic shadows passing in front of the western sun. 

His sister’s furious paddling caused the boat to drift to the right. Dipper quickly placed his paddle in the water and pushed off, trying to balance out their starboard turn.

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted, “Keep up! Or I’ll keelhaul ya!”

“Do you even know what that means?!” Dipper asked.

“No! But the pirates say it! And that’s good enough for me! Now go batten down the hatches!”

“We’ve really gotta teach you boat terminology…”

“Woohoo! Man the cannons! Roll the chariot! Hard a-starboard!” 

Dipper rowed with all of his strength until the two caught up to Soos. The further away they rowed from the shore, the thinner the crowd became, soon only a small cluster of distant shapes on the edge of the shore.

“I don’t know how I feel about being out this far,” Dipper said, “What if something happens?”

It was at that moment he saw Wendy’s kayak rapidly approaching. She had clearly done that before, not wasting an ounce of energy where it wasn’t needed, pushing the boat through the water like a bird through the sky. 

“Dipper, look around!” Mabel said, “We’re out on the open water, the sun is setting, and we’re with our friends. Turn that crazy brain of yours off, okay? Enjoy the sunshine!”

“Mabel’s right, dude,” Wendy said as she passed the pair by, “Follow me. The fish get better the farther out you go. If we go out long enough, we might be able to catch the sunset by Lookout Point.”

Wendy leaned over and handed Dipper and Mabel each a fishing rod, along with a small collection of bait.

“I know you two have at least been fishing,” she said, “Try and catch us something good. If we can find firewood at Lookout Point, we’ll have dinner there. How’s that sound?”

“Awesome!” Mabel said.

Dipper stretched his shoulders and prepared to row, “You lead the way.”

“Only if you can keep up,” Wendy prodded, “I’ll race you.”

“You’re on. Mabel, you ready?”

She nodded, “Always.”

Wendy took off with a single stroke of the oar. In theory, Dipper and Mabel would have had an advantage. Two oars should have gone faster than one. No amount of physical force could make up for Wendy’s experience. Dipper was aching and running out of breath before the first minute had ticked by. 

“Dudes! You got this!” Soos cheered from a distance, “You can beat her! Just go a lot faster!”

“We’re trying, Soos!” Mabel shouted breathlessly, “She’s too fast…”

“Not on my watch!” Dipper grumbled.

If they were going to win, the twins needed a new strategy. 

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted while tucking his fishing rod into a small pocket on the side of the kayak, “We have to paddle at the same time. Go on my count.”

“What?!” Mabel asked.

“Paddle when I tell you to. We’ll go faster.”

Two years of physics had prepared him for that moment. Each off-sync paddle increased their resistance and slowed the kayak down. If they could synchronize their movements, they would catch up to Wendy in no time. 

Dipper counted off in sets of four. It took them a moment, but once their movements were in lockstep, their kayak cut through the water like a knife through butter. The back-and-forth wobbling within their boat disappeared. A sharp wind ruffled Dipper’s hair while the craft glided atop the glistening lake. 

A burning sensation overtook Dipper’s biceps the longer they moved. He could tell that Mabel was losing steam too, her posture hunched over as the cadence of their paddles dwindled. The outline of Wendy’s kayak grew larger. They were gaining on her.

“Come on, Mabel!” Dipper screamed, “Keep pushing!”

“My arms feel like gummy worms!” Mabel shot back.

“We’re not quitting!” 

“Ughhh!”

Fifty feet became forty. Then thirty. Twenty. Before Dipper knew it, they were only ten feet off, Wendy turning her head back and grinning at the twins with surprise.

“Good job,” Wendy chuckled, “But you’re not winning yet!”

Dipper refused to go down as a loser. He took a deep breath through his nose and slammed his oar into the water like he was stabbing a beast. Drops of water entered the boat with the backwash of each stroke. He no longer cared. The thrill of the competition filled his veins with adrenaline, giving his muscles the last bit of energy that they needed to push through to the end.

The sign for Lookout Point appeared to the right. It was a small island in the middle of the lake with hilly terrain and plenty of pine trees. Small tents and docks had been set up along the coast. Two metal grills sat on the rocks closest to the water, other campers having set up for a night out in the wilderness. 

Mabel stopped for a minute and adjusted her arm. Dipper, however, failed to realize that as he struck the water, causing the kayak to swerve left and right like a car on a bumpy road. Dipper almost dropped his oar in his hurry to grab the wall of the kayak. 

The twins managed to pass Wendy at the last minute. Newton’s first law carried their kayak past the shore and out into the water beyond. 

“Mabel, put your paddle in the water!” Dipper yelled, “We need to break!”

“If you say so, bro-bro!” Mabel said.

What Dipper failed to take into account was how suddenly a kayak could stop. Unfortunately, physics decided that Dipper would not stop with it, and within a moment he found himself tumbling over the edge of the kayak and into the water below. 

For the early summer, Dipper was shocked by how cold the water was, although it did feel refreshing after such an arduous workout. He scrambled to the surface and rubbed the water out of his eyes. He tried not to think about all of the germs and bacteria that had just entered his body. 

“Woah, dude!” Wendy said, pulling up next to him in her kayak, “You good?”

Dipper took a look at his soaked clothes, trying not to think about how long it would take him to dry off, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’re looking pale.”

“Yeah. Just cold…”

Something slimy brushed against Dipper’s leg from beneath the water. He closed his eyes and prayed that it was a fish. 

“Oh, yeah,” Wendy said, “We get bass in this lake. They’re harmless. They taste good, too.”

Sure enough, the dark shape of a bass appeared just below the water’s shining surface. Wendy leaned over and placed a worm between her hands.

“Don’t move,” Wendy said, “I’ll show you how Corduroys fish.”

Wendy stood perfectly still and waited for the fish to swim near the kayak. Once it did, she threw her hands into the water and scooped the fish out by its throat, bringing it up to the surface flopping around in a panic.

“There!” Wendy said, “I just got us some dinner!”

Mabel finally paddled her kayak back over, holding both her oar and Dipper’s. Heavy pants escaped her mouth. She looked like she was on the verge of passing out.

“Ha, you dope!” Mabel chuckled through breaths, “You look like a wet dog!” 

“Big words from the girl in a kayak,” Dipper said, forcing a smile, “You wanna join?”

“No!”

Dipper held onto the side of Mabel’s kayak while the trio rowed to the shore. Once they reached the rocks, Dipper slowly emerged from the lake, the hot evening air suddenly feeling cold as the water dried from his skin.

Sitting atop a patch of stumps was none other than Soos,his kayak sitting on the shore next to him. 

“Hey, dudes!” Soos cheered, “Took you long enough! And why does Dipper look like a fish?”

“Long story,” Dipper said, “How’d you get here so fast?”

“Someone cut down a tree when I was paddling. I rode the wave here in style, dude.”

“So that means Soos won?” Mabel asked.

Wendy chuckled, “It looks like he did.” 

The quartet found a spot on the hill to set up for the evening. Dipper sat down on the ground while Wendy went back out on her kayak and began fishing. The warm smell of campfire smoke and pine needles filled the air. Slowly, the orange hues of early evening faded to red and purple, the lake becoming a mosaic of vibrant violets with the sky’s changing color. 

Mabel and Dipper worked together to build a fire. By the time Wendy returned with the fish, the fire was well underway. Soos found enough dead limbs and logs to keep the fire going for as long as they needed to, a minty, almost earthy smell coming from the burning wood. 

“You dry yet?” Mabel asked.

Dipper shook his head, “Not yet. But the fire will help.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize. It was actually…sort of fun.”

“Dipper Pines? Having fun? Wow!”

“Well, when you stop thinking about how dirty the water is, or what parasites might be out there, or all of the ways it could have gone wrong, it’s fun.”

“See? I told you! It’s great! Just gotta unwind and enjoy nature!”

Towards the end of that sentence, Mabel began gnawing on a small chunk of pine needles. Dipper decided that pushing it wasn’t going to do the trick.

“Gotta make the most of this time, bro,” Mabel sighed, “We won’t have time for this in college.”

Yet another thing that Dipper had to worry about. With him going north to Washington State and Mabel headed to West Valley for a psychology degree, their futures hung in the balance. Divorced parents only got them so much financial aid.  They could each afford two semesters, but after that, their futures were up in the air. What would happen if the money ran out? No amount of work could pay off what they needed to afford a semester on their own, especially with west coast prices. It had been a thought Dipper forced into the back of his mind. Thinking about the future during their last normal summer would do nothing but sour his mood.

“You’re right,” Dipper finally said, “But we’ll visit each other. Washington State lets freshmen have cars on campus. Don’t you worry.”

Mabel shrugged, “Sure. I guess.”

The first of the evening stars poked out of the darkened celestial dome overhead. Dipper saw Venus rising in the east, shining brighter than anything else in the sky, accompanied by the glow of the moon in the other direction.

“Hope you guys like seafood!” Wendy’s voice said, slowly ascending the hill and joining the group by the fire, “Already deboned and everything. Just gotta cook it. I’ve got some stuff in my bag.”

Wendy sat to Dipper’s right, and Soos positioned himself at Mabel’s left. A lemony smell hit Dipper’s nose. He turned around and watched as Wendy pulled out a small pan, a lemon, a clove of garlic, and dill. Also in her bag was a small bag of rice and a camping pot. 

“You never told me you were a chef,” Dipper chuckled, “Did you bring your whole kitchen?” 

“No, only the essentials,” she replied, “Dad taught me all of his recipes, at least when he wasn’t trying to put my brothers in line. Can you hold this?”

She handed Dipper and Mabel each a plate and set the freshly gutted fish atop of them. While his sister turned away and tried not to look too closely at the fish, Wendy removed a small bag of what appeared to be bread dough from the back of her bag. 

“Making the dough beforehand is a lot easier,” Wendy chuckled while she prepared the pan, “We’re eating good tonight.”

Dipper had never been that much of a seafood guy. Not that he hated it, he simply never had the chance to get any. Watching Wendy prepare the dish made his mouth water with the onset of the day’s hunger. His last meal had been all the way at breakfast, two pieces of french toast pushing him from sunrise to sunset. 

“You’re like Gordon Ramsey!” Mabel said, “Except, you know…less swearing.”

Wendy sliced open the lemon and covered the pan in lemon juice. Dipper and Mabel handed off their fish and watched as they were popped into the pan over the open fire, embers from the flame flying into the metal and disintegrating with a hiss.

“The embers give an earthy flavor,” Wendy said, “And the lemon will complement the bass. I’m gonna go filter some water. I’ll be right back!”

Wendy took a large filtering bag from her backpack, a metal pot, and disappeared down the hill once again, presumably headed for the lake. 

“I don’t know how she does that,” Soos said in awe, “It’s like she’s half-bear or something.”

“Have you seen her dad?” Dipper chuckled, “You might not be that far off.”

“Do you think she hibernates in the winter?”

“You’d be the one to know that. You’re the only one of us that’s here in the winter.”

“Hey, dudes, I don’t know. I only see her during breaks.”

“Oh, yeah. College. I forgot she’s doing that.”

“I’m surprised. She could go out into the woods and survive on her own without a problem. Like one of those babies raised by wild animals.”

“Someone say wild animals?” Wendy asked, returning with a pot full of filtered water.

Mabel shook her head, “How did you do that so fast?”

“Experience. Practice makes perfect. No matter what.”

All those years later, Wendy never failed to impress Dipper. Her bravado and sheer confidence he envied like nothing else. A younger Dipper would have mistaken that feeling for romantic attraction. He was proud to say that part of him had died long ago. For the first time, Wendy was nothing more than a friend, and he planned on keeping it that way. A friendship with someone as amazing as Wendy came once in a lifetime. Dipper would be a fool to pass something like that up.

The pan began to smell of lemon and freshly seared fish, mixing with the woodsy aroma of the fire. Wendy placed the pot of rice on the other side of the fire and slowly brought it to a boil. Starchy bubbles rose to the surface. The dehydrated wild rice soon puffed up to full size. Dipper placed his hands on his stomach as it began to growl from hunger. 

Late evening turned to twilight. The shadows of trees and distant mountains became black silhouettes against a deep purple sky. More and more of the stars emerged from their hiding place and watched over the quartet. Coyotes howled in the distance. Campers downstream laughed and joked by their own fires. Water flowed back and forth, lapping softly against the shoreline with small splashes. Dipper could close his eyes and drift off to sleep right there if he wanted to. The perfect combination of daytime fatigue, hunger, and mental relaxation had hit him. 

Dipper let out a yawn and stretched out his arms. The fabrics in his shirt had contracted from the lakewater. A younger Dipper would have been annoyed. Older Dipper couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity. 

“Don’t conk out on me yet,” Wendy said, “You gotta try this fish.”

A sharp pain crawled up his arm and jolted him awake. Mabel quickly retracted her fingers and laughed at him.

“Ha! First one to fall asleep gets a pinch!” Mabel grinned, “You’re still soaked.”

Dipper inched closer to the fire. The heat would dry him off. Surely. 

“Dude, you’re smiling like an idiot right now,” Soos remarked, poking his head towards the fire, “Wendy, are you sure those leaves we burned were just leaves. And not…you know…”

“Pot?” Wendy chuckled, “It’s not a bad word Soos, you can say it.”

“They told us not to in school. I got my DARE certificate. I’m a good man!”

“It’s not all it’s hyped up to be. I tried it once in college. Never again. If we had burned some by accident, trust me, you’d all know.” 

The quartet sat in silence and stared up at the emerging stars. Mosquitos buzzed around them, the heat of the fire keeping most of them from biting. Dipper thanked his lucky stars for that one. He was okay with being damp and okay with being itchy, but not both of them at once. Many summers in Piedmont had been spent applying anti-itch cream to his arms and legs after a pesky mosquito found its way into his bedroom and bit him up while he slept. The bugs in the woods would be even less merciful. 

“I’ve got some towels back at the campsite if we really need them,” Wendy said, “No one wants to sleep in wet clothes.”

“Yeah, but his hair looks so goofy when it’s wet,” Mabel giggled, reaching into her backpack and pulling out her phone, “Smile for the camera!”

Mabel, having been put in charge of holding both of their phones, removed her bright pink device from the bag and extended her arm. Soos and Wendy leaned into Dipper and Mabel as she snapped the picture. Dipper cracked a sly smile. Sure, he looked like an idiot, but it was summer. He would rather have a few goofy pictures than a season wasted.

“Whatever,” Dipper laughed, “At least our phones were in your bag. Otherwise, we’d be putting them in rice,” He motioned to the rice boiling in Wendy’s pot. 

“Send me that picture when we get back home,” Wendy said, “I’ll give you both my number.”

Soos waved his arm, “Me too! We can have a group chat and everything!”

“I like that,” Dipper said, “We’ll do that when we get back, yeah. For now, though, I’m sorta liking the whole ‘unplugging’ thing. Lets you stop and smell the roses.”

“I want a rose!” Mabel said, “I’ll smell them until the petals fall off!”

“The unplugging is the best part!” Wendy cheered, slicing the dill and squeezing the rest of the lemon out onto the roasting fish, “It really lets you appreciate what’s out here. This has to be better than California, right?”

“I’ll give it to you,” Dipper conceded, “This is better than California.” 

“Ha! Told you!”

Wendy playfully slugged him on the shoulder. Dipper laughed and did the same back to her. 

“Damn, you been hitting the gym?” Wendy asked, “That actually stung a bit…”

“Rarely,” Dipper admitted, “But every now and again, yes.” 

“Good to know. Maybe soon you’ll have enough strength for me to teach you axe-throwing!”

Mabel’s eyes widened with excitement, “I wanna throw an axe!”

“We can talk more about that later. Dinner’s about done. Just gotta roast the dough and we'll eat.”

The floury dough puffed up as Wendy placed it in the skillet with the fish. Slowly, it absorbed the lemon and dill, the aroma dancing around Dipper’s nose as if demanding he eat it. 

Waiting for the plates to come out felt like an eternity. Wendy gave each of them a plate from her mess kit and divied up the meal. Dipper stopped once he received his and took a deep whiff. It was like falling into a five-star restaurant. Dipper had never seen anything like it before. It looked like a plate of culinary heaven. 

“Alright, guys, dig in!” Wendy said, “I didn’t spend the last hour doing all this for nothing!” 

The first bite was an experience that changed his life. Tangy notes of citrus merged with the umami taste of the bass. With a bed of wild rice soaking up the juices below, Dipper found the dish neither too dry nor too wet. It was perfect. Any excess juice that the rice missed had soaked into the makeshift biscuit. Even though it had been made for camping, the biscuit was just as buttery and flaky as something Dipper would have at a family dinner. It all sat warmly in his stomach. The dull pains of an empty stomach were replaced with a rich warmness as he ate the nutrient-dense meal. 

“Wendy,” Dipper said in-between bites, “This…this one of the best things I’ve ever eaten…” 

Mabel nodded and shouted back with a full mouth, “Mmmhmmm. I could eat this for the rest of my life. And I don’t even like fish.”

A humble grin spread across Wendy’s face. She rolled her eyes and faced the pair, “Aww, thanks dudes. I try sometimes. Took me years to get this right. It always hits the spot after a day like today.”

“It’s perfect,” Dipper said.

“Good. Maybe I’ll teach you guys the recipe.” 

With a full stomach and a smile, Dipper leaned back against a rock and stared out at the water. The fire crackled in front of him. Fireflies glimmered in the distance. 

Night fully consumed the sky within the hour. Wendy took the plates and journeyed back to the water, emerging a few minutes later with the freshly-cleaned dishes and packing them into her bag. 

He almost didn’t want to leave. Dipper watched as Wendy packed up the rest of the gear. They would have to start making their way back to the campsite if they wanted to have somewhere to sleep. Being eaten alive by mosquitos atop Lookout Point was not on Dipper’s to-do list. 

“You guys ready to head out?” Wendy asked, “We’ll have a great view of the stars on the way. There’s almost no light pollution out here.”

“Five more minutes?” Mabel asked.

“Sure. Five more minutes.”

Dipper stood up and stretched his arms, the relaxation spreading across his body while he undid the day’s muscular knots. 

It was the first time in months that Dipper hadn’t noticed the passage of time. Maybe it was the time without his phone, or the exercise, or the break in the routine. Whatever it was, it made the day stand out. He felt alive. The air was crisper, and the colors were brighter. Almost as if he had woken up from a six-year slumber. 

“Thanks for taking us out here,” Dipper said, putting out the fire with his water bottle, “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

Wendy smiled, backlit by the rising moon, “Just you wait, dude. We’re only getting started!”

Chapter Text

I had to study it. 

Sticks. She had to find more sticks. Anything to keep the fire going. 

Mabel had found a newfound love for watching things burn. Much like her failed summer romances, the kindling of their newest fire crackled and reduced to ashes, creating a spectacular show for any that were able to watch. Little hits of dopamine flowed through her brain with each addition to the fire. Something about the simple task-completing nature of gathering firewood tickled her brain. It made her feel useful. Not to mention the awesome views. 

The kayak ride back had been silent. Gliding across the moonlit bay, Mabel was reminded by one of mom’s favorite songs, one that she would sing to Mabel on those stormy nights when she struggled to sleep. 

We were sailing along, on Moonlight Bay!

We could hear the voices ringing, they seemed to say.

You have stolen my heart, now don’t go ‘way! 

As we sang love's sweet old song on Moonlight Bay.

Mabel caught herself humming the song to herself while searching the bluffs for firewood. The moon shimmered over the lake as it rose higher in the sky. Elation flowed like water down a river. It was as if the moon itself was smiling down on her. Every day was a good day, of course, but something was special about that one. She knew what it was.

Dipper.

Watching his eyes narrow with the smile spreading across his face brought Mabel the relief of a worried mother. He tried to hide it, but he was a lost soul, wandering the world until he was able to find his safe place. Gravity Falls was his home. Mabel had come to terms with that. She only wished that he made more of an effort back home.

Going through high school with one’s twin brother had its ups and downs. There was always an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. She could rely on Dipper’s stable presence whenever she needed it. In a way, his compassion and dorkiness was unchanging, an anchor in a sea of change. 

While Mabel was off with friends, she would watch Dipper ice himself off, returning to a table and scribbling in a journal or doing schoolwork. Sure, nerds were a different species. They had different needs and wants. Dipper read books for fun! Not the good kind that Mabel read, either, he read textbooks and political literature like a dork. She respected his dedication to his hobbies, but greatly feared for his social standing. Loneliness was as bad as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. She read that on Buzzfeed. Dipper, internally, was on the same level as a chainsmoker, minus the black lung.

Freshman year turned to Sophomore year. Dipper remained the same, only ever meeting with friends every couple of months. How had someone as awesome as Dipper spent so much time alone? He was the whole package. Smart, the right amount of dorky, caring, and he showered! His only friends were the passing classmates needing help on their homework. Dating was out of the question, although Mabel had tried. 

Sophomore year gave way to Junior year, then Senior year. Nothing changed. Dipper seemed content with his life. Not happy, but content. Almost like accepting that things would be the way they were forever. While Mabel was out going to parties and failing to secure a stable high-school romance, Dipper would be at home, reading away. He talked about Gravity Falls.  Not in an obsessive way, but in a way that told Mabel he thought about it more than she did. He had been over the moon for a chance to come back. Returning to the Falls had brought out a side of Dipper six years in hiding. Mabel only hoped to keep it going. 

Poking fun at Dipper was her way of keeping him humble. She prayed that college would bring better social fortune. The only consistent friend he had was a man named Dave that Mabel had only met a couple of times. Usually the two were doing homework. She hadn’t heard them talk about their lives once, not that there was much to talk about. They had met shortly after the divorce. Mabel sometimes wondered if that was the only reason they kept each other around.

Those were problems to worry about when they went home. For the next two months, Piedmont didn’t exist. All that mattered was enjoying the summer, and maybe nudging Dipper into more social situations. That dope needed to meet people that weren’t nerds.

Humming the final line of Moonlight Bay, Mabel trotted back to the campsite, where the second fire of the night had been set up, kayaks back in the truck. Mabel was ready to sit back and relax for a bit before going to bed for the evening. 

“...this is a very important question,” Mabel heard Soos say as she approached, “I think if you eat the prize, you become the specially marked box.”

“That depends on how you define a box,” Dipper replied, “If we’re using the mathematica definition…”

Mabel barged out from behind and dropped the firewood into a pile, “Woah! Pardon me. I must be lost. I didn’t know I’d walked into NerdCon 2019!” 

“We’re debating hypotheticals, Mabel. We’re not nerds.”

“You said hypotheticals. That’s all I need.”

“Can you just put your firewood down and sit down? Or am I gonna have to use your sweaters?”

“Don’t you DARE burn Mabel Two!”

“You named it?”

“Of course. They all have names!”

Mabel sat down on a small stump. While she did that, Wendy walked back from the back of her truck, carrying a dark backpack and setting it down on the ground.

“Soos, you want a beer?” Wendy asked, “Brought some for the road!”

“Sure. Why not?” Soos said, “I’m old enough. The DARE guys won’t have a problem with it.”

Wendy knelt down and gave Mabel and Dipper a mischievous wave of her eyebrows, “What about you two? You want one?”

“I don’t know,” Dipper said, “I don’t think I should. Your brain is still developing until twenty five, remember? I don’t think I need any damage…”

Mabel, usually, was a strong opponent of underage drinking. She had seen enough of her friends get caught up in it to know it was a bad idea. From having to hold back Chelsea’s hair while she threw up into a toilet at prom, to having to pull Mari’s car keys from her hand while she tried to drive home from a party, Mabel had vowed to never touch a bottle in her life. 

High school drinking was a part of the social progression, whether or not Mabel agreed with it. Maybe a couple sips with trusted friends was just what Dipper needed. He was a smart cookie. Even if he did damage his brain, he would still be the smartest one in the room, at least when it came to math and science. Wendy and Soos were responsible. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

“Do you promise not to tell Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Wendy said, “Just a beer each. I’m not letting you guys get blackout drunk. That’s just stupid.”

“Glad we’re on the same page. Now get me a bottle! And Dipper too!”

“Mabel!” Dipper hissed, “You’re really going through with it?”

“If we’re gonna do this, we’d better do it with people we trust. Who’s better than Wendy and Soos? Not like Grunkle Stan or Grunkle Ford are gonna find out. Just once, Dipper, okay? If you’re comfortable.”

Mabel was careful not to turn into a peer-pressure drinker. She had dealt with her fair share of those in high school. They would pretend to be okay if someone decided to stay sober –which Mabel always did– only to make fun of them and force them to drink. It was pathetic. All Mabel could do was tell Dipper that he was safe and that she wouldn’t judge. 

“Fine,” Dipper groaned, “But I hate the taste of this stuff.”

“Yay!” Mabel cheered.

The thrill of deviance took her by the throat as she took the bottle from Wendy. Mom and Dad had let her have sips or small glasses of wine before. Mabel assumed she could handle one bottle. She and Dipper were both eighteen. If a little sip of alcohol was the worst thing they had done by that point, she was okay with it.

Small tropical artwork lined the sides of the brown glass bottle. Wendy handed each of the twins a slice of the lemon from dinner.

“It’ll give it a bit of flavor,” Wendy said, “Promise.”

Dipper’s tense posture began to ease as he squeezed the lemon wedge into his drink. Mabel did the same, careful not to get any of the acidic juice in her eye. She had made that mistake before.

“Cheers, dudes,” Wendy said, raising her bottle, “To summer!”

“To summer!” Mabel shouted. 

The beer was bitter as it slid down her throat. Not even the most sugary of drinks could save it from the yeasty aftertaste. Mabel wondered how adults drank that stuff so much. First the wine, then the beer. Maybe vodka was the only good tasting alcohol left. 

A sour expression spread across Mabel’s face. Her brother pointed to her and laughed.

“What, not liking the taste?” Dipper asked sarcastically, “Is it kicking your butt?”

“Shut up!” Mabel protested, “I’m fine!”

“Really? Cause you look like you just licked a porcupine.”

Wendy and Soos, meanwhile, leisurely sipped from their bottles like it was nothing. A small bag of chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers soon appeared from Soos’s backpack, spread out across the ground with a series of small sticks.

“Please tell me you guys have had s’mores before,” Wendy said.

“Duh,” Mabel said between sips, “Get me a marshmallow. I need something to get the taste out of my mouth.”
She kept track of where Dipper was in his bottle. If she kept up with his pace, then he wouldn’t have to be tipsy alone, although she doubted that either of them would feel anything after a small bottle. 

The beer leveled off near the base of the bottle’s stem. Mabel began to feel a warmth creeping up from her stomach and through the rest of her body. It was the same feeling she had when she woke up from a good nap, muscles relaxing as she leaned against a log and placed a marshmallow on a stick, the sticky sugar clinging to her hands. 

“You doing okay back there?” Wendy asked after a moment.

Dipper gave a thumbs-up, “Yep. If I’m being honest, I don’t really feel anything.”

“Good. You shouldn’t. I found the most watered-down ones that I could.”

Mabel took a handful of sips in the time it took for her marshmallow to roast. The white, puffy sides soon turned a carmelized brown, the outer structure taking on a definite shape while the inside became a gooey mess. She clumsily reached for a graham cracker and a piece of chocolate. S’mores were an art. They had to be perfected. 

Noticing a heaviness in her fingers, Mabel put the bottle down and carefully slid the marshmallow off of the stick. 

“I always feel bad for these guys,” Soos said, motioning to his marshmallow, “I mean…we burn them to death just for a snack. That’s messed up, dudes.”

“It’s just a bunch of sugar,” Dipper replied, “I’m sure they don’t feel a thing.”

Mabel was going to say something, but lost the words in the back of her head. She shrugged and took a bit of her s’more, the sweet taste chasing away the bitter sensation of the beer. She figured out a strategy. With each sip of beer, she would take a bite of the s’more, cancelling out the tastes of each and making the drink just a bit more bearable. She had never finished a bottle before. She wanted to see if she could. 

“Hey, whatever happened to those other guys?” Dipper asked, “Robbie? Thompson? Where are they?”

“A lot of them are living off-campus at school,” Wendy replied, “You know, apartments and stuff. Robbie’s off in Pennsylvania. Thompson is in New York. Tambry’s in Oxford. I still hear from them, but they’re off doing their own things. We meet up when we can.”

Mabel raised her hand as if she were in a classroom, “What’s the friend-making scene like in college? Asking for a friend. Or a dorky brother.”

“If you put yourself out there, you’ll be fine. I got myself a good group of friends. What? You worried about Dipper?”

“Mabel!” Dipper scolded, half-jokingly, “Come on. I know how to talk to people.”

“I know you do. You just never do it.”

The last of those words slid clumsily out of her mouth. Wendy and Dipper seemed to notice, their heads tilting towards each other and then back at Mabel. Sometimes the syllables were hard to find. Especially with her lips suddenly feeling heavy.

“Dipper here is a bit of a loner,” Mabel chuckled, “He’s awesome. But…you don’t really put yourself out there, bro.”

Suddenly, her mouth moved faster than her mind. Mabel laughed again. Life was weird like that.

“I just had better things to do,” Dipper replied, “You know. Schoolwork and stuff. Gotta work towards college.”

“Good,” Wendy said, “Then you won’t have to worry about getting ready for college once you’re there. You’re a cool guy. I think you’ll be able to do it.”

“I hope so.”

“Listen to Wendy,” Mabel slurred, “I want you to smile at college like you were smiling today. You deserve it, man. Life’s a big ol’ s’more, and you’re holding your marshmallow too high above the fire. Let it roast a bit. You’ll like how it works.”

Mabel turned to grab another marshmallow, only for her bodyweight to move faster than her and bring her down to the grass. The fall stunned her for a moment. She pressed her hands into the dirt and slowly lifted herself back up to her feet. A little dirt and grime never hurt anyone. She could wash it off in the shower.

“You okay, Mabel?” Dipper asked, walking over to her, “You got dirt on your face.”

“I’m fine,” Mabel replied, “Just. A bit dizzy. That’s all.”

“Maybe we should cut you off.”

Mabel turned to her right and noticed that her bottle was mostly empty. Those sips must have been bigger than she thought. The warm feeling crept through her veins and up to her head. Mabel would have liked it better if it wasn’t for the bad taste left in her mouth by the drink. The sugary defense had failed. The yeasty tones of the beer lingered in her mouth far longer. 

Fireflies circled around their campsite. She wondered if they got confused seeing the campfire, wondering if the crackling flame was one of their own. How did they glow like that, anyway? Was there a little fire in their butts that gave off light? A small star? If they flew high enough, maybe they would become one. 

“There are so many fireflies,” Mabel trailed off, “They’re so pretty.”

“You’re lucky,” Wendy remarked, holding Mabel’s back and helping her back onto the log,  “I haven’t seen as many as I used to. When I was a kid, they were everywhere. They lit up the sky like little lamps.”

Mabel was suddenly overcome with a heavy sadness for the dying fireflies. The world was a cruel place.

“Mabel,” Dipper smiled, holding his finger in front of her face, “Follow my finger with my eyes.”

“But…my eyes don’t come out of my head,” Mabel said, “How can I follow your finger?”

“We’re cutting you off,” Wendy chuckled, taking the bottle from the ground next to her, “You’ve had enough for the night.”

“But I didn’t finish the bottle.”

“You’re right. The bottle finished you.” 

Something about that brought a tickle to Mabel’s stomach. She broke out into a fit of laughter, smiling so wide that her face began to hurt. The happy chemicals flowed through her brain as she looked at the amused faces of her friends and brother. Eyebrows raised with a slight smirk, they looked at her the same way a pet owner would look at a new puppy. Mabel always respected puppies. They were the purest life form, no matter what the unicorns may argue. 

“We were sailing along!” Mabel began singing, her voice slurred, “On Moonlight Bay!”

“What is she doing?” Wendy chuckled. 

“Mom used to sing us that song,” Dipper replied, lightly nodding his head to Mabel’s drunken rhythm, “She sings it when she’s happy.”

Mabel took a breath and continued, “We could hear the voices ringing! They seemed to say…”

Wendy nodded her head and lightly whispered along in sync with Mabel, “You have stolen my heart. Now don’t go ‘way…”

“You know the song too?” Mabel asked with a smile.

“I’ve heard it before. Used to watch a lot of old movies with my dad. It’s a good, happy song.”

“Yeah! Wendy gets it!”

“Come to think of it, that song is perfect for tonight. Look out on the bluffs. We’ve got our own little Moonlight Bay right here!” 

“Yeah. You’re right…”

Mabel wished she could freeze time at that moment. Warmed by the beer and laughter of her friends, she felt as if she could sink into the ground in a warm hug, lulled to sleep by the soft tones of pleasant conversation. 

“Let’s get you back up on your feet,” Wendy said, pulling Mabel up by the collar of her shirt, “I know you’re happy. But you probably don’t want to be dirty, right?”

Dirt was nothing more than a hug from the Earth. Anyone that hated it was a poop face.

Mabel slumped down on her stump and leaned over onto Dipper as she tried to regain her balance. Dipper gently leaned her back while reaching for a marshmallow and a stick. She tilted her head up to the sky and looked up at the sky. 

“Six years,” Mabel chuckled, “The stars still look the same.”

“I still can’t believe it’s been that long,” Dipper sighed, “But the stars still don’t move.”

“Don’t make me feel all existential, dudes,” Soos remarked.

“I wonder if it would look the same if we went back, you know? I remember it all so clearly.”

Mabel burped and then let out a laugh, “Go get the time tape, bro-bro. We can go to Globnar and get another time wish!”

“Not a bad idea. I know if I could go back, I’d fix a few things.”

Mabel recalled that fateful day at the fair. Their first encounter with Blendin, where Dipper had stolen the time tape in a desperate attempt to win Wendy over. Time after time –literally– he failed to woo her. In the process, Mabel almost lost Waddles. Dipper had grown up a little that day. He sacrificed what little chance he had with Wendy so Mabel could keep the pig. For that, she would always be thankful, even when he was being a dumb-dumb.

“I think we all would,” Wendy remarked, “We all make bad choices. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Making mistakes is what keeps life exciting. It’s like hunting and not accidentally shooting a tree, or putting an arrow in your dad’s shoulder. You know?”

“I get where you’re coming from…” Dipper trailed off, “Mostly…” 

“I know what you’d go back and fix…” Mabel chuckled, “That day at the fair-”

“Okay, Mabel. You’re never having another drink for the rest of your life!”

Dipper pointed his head to the sky and stammered. She knew what he was trying to do. He didn’t want her to bring back those memories; memories of a time when he was an even bigger dork than he was then. 

“You guys were talking about the stars,” Dipper said, pointing to the north, “The Summer Triangle is out.”

“What’s that?” Wendy asked.

The stars looked like little fireflies dancing around the sky. Mabel rolled off of her log and laid on the ground looking up. She could lose herself in the void. For the moment, she would have to settle for her shooting-star sweaters. 

“You know the constellations?” Dipper asked, “Look for Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra. Each one has a bright star at the tip. Altair, Deneb, and Vega. Deneb should be pretty easy to see. It’s a blue supergiant.” 

“Neeeeeeerrrrrd!” Mabel laughed. 

“You’ve got the best view. Should be right over your head.” 

Mabel looked up and tried to find the stars. Having passed geometry with flying colors (a b-minus, actually,) She had no trouble making out a triangle in the sea of celestial light. 

The three stars formed a right triangle in the sky. Mabel saw Deneb poking out near the base, its vibrant blue colors separating it from the rest. She had never bothered to stop and look up before. To think, those balls of gas were billions of years old, their light traveling trillions of miles just to grace Mabel’s eyes. She couldn’t help but start laughing again.

“She only had half a bottle,” Wendy remarked, “I didn’t think it would do this…”

“That’s Mabel for you,” Dipper replied, “Always a surprise…” 

Dipper let out a yawn. Mabel blinked and realized that her eyelids had grown heavy.

“You guys tired?” Wendy asked, “You can crash. I’ll just stick back here and watch the fire.”

“I’m staying up forever!” Mabel slurred, “I got this!” 

She turned to face her brother. Dipper was about to say something when a rustle came from the trees behind them.

“What was that?” Dipper asked, his face losing its color.

Wendy put a finger to her lips and reached for her shotgun. Another rustle came from the treeline. It took Mabel a moment to realize what she was listening to. 

“Get behind me, dudes!” Soos whispered, putting his arms out, “I’ll protect you.”

“What is it?!” Mabel whispered.

“I don’t know,” Wendy responded, “Just stay here.”

“Very comforting words from the woman with a shotgun!” Dipper whispered.

“Just being careful. You never know. They have bears around here.”

The quartet fell silent. Wendy crept forward into the brush opposite of the bluffs. Another series of sharp rustles came from within the trees, almost as if something were eating the branches from the inside out. 

Mabel was in no condition to wrestle a bear. The prospect of fighting one was suddenly less appealing when faced with the threat head-on. She stumbled backwards into Soos and Dipper, crossing her fingers and praying that Wendy knew what to do.

“Oh my God…” Dipper whispered, “We’re gonna die out here, aren’t we?”

Wendy let out a yell and leapt into the trees. Mabel jumped, half-ready to break out into a sprint, waiting for some horrible beast to come screeching out of the woods. 

Instead, all that came out was a small red fox, hurling itself out from the treeline and letting out a yelp as it disappeared into the darkness. It wiggled past Mabel and Dipper into its refuge of the night. 

“Just a fox,” Wendy breathed, “Sierra Nevada Red. Weird, though. That didn’t sound like one.”

Dipper shrugged, “I mean, yeah. It sounded like something was ripping the branches off. Maybe it’s the beer.”

“Poor little guy was probably just scared!” Mabel said, “He’s a cutie. His name is Finnigan.”

“Cool. I guess.”

They lingered around the trees for a couple more minutes until they were sure that there was nothing else. One heart attack was enough for the night. The fire brought back the feeling of warmth and safety as the night wore on.

Some time passed before the adrenaline left their systems. Soos was the first to clock in, with Dipper going second. Mabel and Wendy had a conversation by the fireside as the two men of the group went to sleep. It was about time the pair had some girl time. 

Mabel would have no memory of their conversation. At some point, Mabel remembered running around the fire with a stick in her hands. Then her eyelids grew heavy. Sometime during the night she was carried by what felt like the wind away from the dying fire and placed gently inside of her tent. 

She woke up the next morning laying on her side and wrapped tightly in a blue flannel, its owner snoring away in the next tent over.

Chapter Text

It had to be connected to him.

The roof of the tent sagged down with the weight of the morning dew. Dipper shot upwards with the touch of something cold on his ankle, heart racing whilst he scrambled through the light of dusk to find his lantern. 

A dark figure sat in front of the tent’s door. With only a zipper and a thin layer of fabric separating the two, Dipper found his lantern and wielded it like a weapon. The fogginess of sleep faded away as his heart thumped violently against his chest, bringing blood to every extremity and pushing adrenaline through his veins with each pulsation.

The creature wore Mabel’s sweater. For a moment, he wondered if it was a trick, some ploy by Mabel to get him out of bed and out of the tent. It wouldn’t be the first time she had tried something like that.

“Mabel?!” Dipper asked.

There was no response. 

Suddenly, Dipper was back in the bunker six long years ago, standing with Wendy as the pair faced the shapeshifter. He still remembered the sickening pallor that had consumed her face. It was the only time in Dipper’s memory that Wendy had shown genuine fear. For months after their return to Piedmont, Dipper and Mabel checked their backs, wondering if a shapeshifter had followed them home. It took years to feel safe without using their shapeshifter tests –which consisted of safewords and pupil checks– and go back to normal life.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” the creature spat, sitting upright while keeping Mabel’s face away from his, “Six years! And I finally have my revenge!”

“Get back!” Dipper shouted, “I’ll freeze you again!”

The creature stopped in its tracks as it stood up and began unzipping the tent. Dipper closed his eyes and braced for impact, listening as the creature sprung off of its feet and lunged at him.

Cold hands grabbed his neck. He waited for the shapeshifter’s claws to rip him apart as he drowned in his own blood.

Instead, it began tickling him.

“Ha!” Mabel cheered, lifting her head and smiling from ear to ear, “I got you good!”

“Mabel!” Dipper stammered between laughs, “Get off of me!”

Dipper blinked and rubbed his eyes once Mabel got off of him. 

His vision pulsed from the pounding of his heart. Dipper stopped to catch his breath, looking Mabel in the eyes and checking her pupils. 

“What was our last safeword?” Dipper asked, “Just to be sure…”

“Blendin!” Mabel cheered, correctly remembering their contingency, “I’m not ACTUALLY a shapeshifter, Dipper!”

“I’m sorry. Don’t wake me up like that. My brain hadn’t turned on yet.”

“Sorry, bro-bro. I thought it would be funny.”

“It’s alright. I got to laugh at you enough last night. Only fair that you got me back. How late did you end up staying up?”

Dipper stretched his arms and grabbed his small daypack of toiletries. Sooner or later he would have to get his day started. He would have preferred to wake up to the calming rattle of woodpeckers as they slammed their beaks into the surrounding forest, but a jumpscare from a maybe-shapeshifter was good too. It negated his need for morning caffeine. The adrenaline would keep him up for the rest of the day.

“I don’t remember most of what happened after we saw the fox,” Mabel chuckled, “I must have fallen asleep. Wendy picked me up and put me in here.”

Dipper pointed to the blue flannel sitting atop her sleeping bag, “So that’s where that came from.”

“Yep.”

“Wendy’s awesome. I’m glad we’re here with her.”

“Me too. Some things never change.”

“Yeah. Now, if you don’t plan on trying to scare me again, I think I’m going to go get ready for the day.”

“Have fun!”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Since the sun came up! My head hurts.”

“I wonder why.”

Dipper took a stroll over to the shower house and cleaned himself up. With freshly brushed teeth, cleaned hair, and a healthy application of deodorant, he emerged to an orange sky, with the first traces of morning hustle and bustle overtaking the campsite. He saw their neighbor with the Puerto-Rican flag chopping wood by the light of the rising sun. Their other neighbors took down the projector sheet and wiped the dew and bugs from the cover. Wendy and Soos were surrounding the firepit working at chopping their own share of wood and preparing for another day. 

“Hey!” Dipper waved, dropping his bag back off in the tent before walking over to Wendy and Soos, “You guys sleep okay?”

The morning air was chilly. Waves lapped against the bluffs and gave off the smell of seaweed. Dipper wiggled into a hoodie and sat down on a stump next to the fireplace.

“I did,” Soos said, “And I had this crazy dream. I was flying.”

“And…?” Dipper asked.

“That’s it. Flying is weird.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“Did Mabel get through the night okay?” Wendy asked, “She fell asleep while I was waiting for the fire to go out. I tried to wake her up, but she was out cold. I sorta just…dropped her off at your tent and went to bed. Hope that was okay.”

“More than okay. Your flannel is still in the tent. We’ll get it to you after breakfast.”

“Perfect. I’m just glad she’s okay. I didn’t think she was that much of a lightweight.”

“Do you not remember her sugar coma? She could get high by sniffing dandelions if she tried hard enough.”

“Ha! You’re right. She’s such a goofball. Our goofball.” 

Wendy pulled an axe from the back of the truck and began hacking away at a series of logs. Dipper sat and watched, mesmerized by how clean she swung, watching the blade fall and slice the wood in half like it was nothing more than a piece of paper. 

“You wanna try?” Wendy asked, holding out the ask, “Come on. I’ll show you!”

She pulled Dipper up and placed the axe in his hands.

“Spread your hands out a bit,” she said, placing his hands up and down the smooth wooden handle, “You want to have control over this thing. Okay?”

“Yep,” Dipper replied.

“Hold it up high. Let it swing down a bit. Make sure it’s a straight line down, and try not to move when you swing. Spread your legs in case you miss. I don’t want to be driving you to the hospital, okay?”

“I think I got it.”

Dipper gently lowered the axe and watched the silver portion of the blade fit cleanly into a groove in the wood. 

“Soos and I will stand back,” Wendy said, “Go crazy, man!”

Dipper hadn’t held an axe since his run-in with the shapeshifter. Mabel’s scare had brought the memories back to the front of his mind. He remembered swinging the axe at the shapeshifter as it disguised itself as Wendy. One wrong move, and the two of them wouldn’t have been there that morning, chopping wood happily by the ambience of the morning. They would have been going to Wendy’s funeral.

He took a deep breath. They were safe. It was just a dumb prank.

The axe fell forward as Dipper brough the axe down. The tip landed within the wood and sliced its way some three quarters through the log. It stopped there and became embedded within a particularly feisty piece.

“Hey, not bad for your first time,” Wendy cheered, “I can tell you’ve been hitting the gym.”

“Thanks,” Dipper chuckled, struggling to process the compliment, “I tried.”

“You’ve just gotta get more confidence. When we start the fire for dinner you can do some more. You’ll be a lumberjack in no time!”

“Ha, thanks!”

Wendy took the axe back and spent the next few minutes chopping wood. Some time later, Mabel emerged from the shower house, hair matted down with residual suds of shampoo at the tips. She hurried over and sat down next to him. 

“Is that the real Mabel?” Dipper asked, “Or is it a shapeshifter?”

Knocking a piece of wood off of the chopping log, Wendy swung around and turned towards the pair, axe in her hands. 

“Where?!” she asked, all of the color leaving her face. 

“It’s okay,” Dipper replied as he waved his hand gently in front of Wendy’s face, “It was just a joke. Mabel woke me up pretending to be a shapeshifter and gave me a heart attack. That’s all.”

It took a moment for Wendy to relax. Dipper watched her close her eyes, swallow hard, and take a deep breath before finally bringing the axe back down to its resting position. 

“Sorry,” Wendy said as she cleared her throat, “Just…really don’t want to deal with those again. You remember the bunker.”

Dipper and Mabel solemnly nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Mabel sighed, “I thought it would be funny. That won’t happen again. Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Wendy chuckled?”

The two locked pinkies and smiled. Dipper breathed a sigh of relief as the tension disappeared. 

Eggs and pancakes were their breakfast for the morning. Wendy had smuggled a few cartons away from a relative’s farm and brought them along, giving Dipper and Mabel a taste of unpasteurized eggs. A little salt and pepper brough the scrambled delicacies together. The smell alone was enough to arouse a ravenous hunger that had been sitting dormant for the night, Dipper digging through his plate with a piggishness that would have made Waddles jealous. 

“These are delicious, dude!” Soos remarked, taking wood from the ground and breaking it into small pieces over his dish, “You should add some bark. It gives it a nice crunch. And mouth splinters!” 

Cooking the eggs over the fire had given them an amber flavor. The smoke smelled of earth and ash, small flakes of burned wood popping out periodically and spreading embers around the stone wall of the firepit. It smelled like heaven.

“So, what’s on the docket for today?” Dipper asked.

“Oh, just you dudes wait!” Wendy said while she took the dishes off of the fire, “If you thought last night was awesome, you’re gonna love this!”

“Yes!” Mabel shouted, “I crave nature!” 

“Good. There’s a hiking trail near Befufflefumper mountain. Great view from up there. I’ll bring some stuff so we can catch some lunch. Might bring my hunting stuff, too. There might be some open-season squirrels out there, and last night’s catch wasn’t very meaty.”

“I didn’t know we had mountains around here,” Dipper said, “I mean, it is the Pacific Northwest, but still…”

“Befufflefumper Hill is on the other side of the valley. Not surprised you haven’t seen it.  Bring some swim clothes, too. There’s a nice swimming spot by the lake where the water is calm.” 

“I’d like that. Better than ruining another shirt.”

Mabel slugged him on the shoulder, “That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a clutz!”

“I’m not the one with shampoo still stuck in my hair.”

“What?!”

Mabel frantically clawed at her hair until she found the residual suds. She swatted them away like flies from a swatter. 

Dipper, Wendy, and Soos chuckled at Mabel’s plight. She looked like a dog chasing her own tail. 

“Is it gone?!” Mabel asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Wendy said, “Don’t worry. Dipper was just making fun of you.”

“Payback!” Dipper cheered.

“You guys really never stop going at each other, do you?”

Mabel shook her head, “Are you kidding me? Someone’s gotta keep this dope in line!”

“Says you,” Dipper chuckled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Wendy set the empty breakfast dishes on the ground and kicked her feet up, “I wish my brothers and I were like you two. All they want to do is fight. And not in the fun way,” She raised her right sleeve and revealed a deep purple bruise, “They got a little too hyper and I got knocked down the stairs. They didn’t mean to do it, but it’s still annoying.”

With how little Wendy ever mentioned her family, Dipper had almost forgotten that there were other Corduroys. She gave off the energy of an only child. 

“Ouch,” Dipper said, “I’m sorry about that, man.”

“It’s fine,” Wendy chuckled, “I think my dad wanted a boy.”

“Why would he want that?” Mabel asked, “Boys are gross.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Wendy shrugged, “The Corduroy family has some screws loose”

“I guess so,” Soos said.

“Anyways, enough about me. Get yourselves packed up. We can be up and down the mountain by three. The water will be perfect!”

Wendy stood up and walked back to her tent. Dipper and Mabel did the same, packing their daybags with as much as they could comfortably fit. The morning dew had dried from their tent with the approach of the sun. Woodpeckers continued to pound their heads into the nearby trees, the drumroll of their beaks echoing throughout the campsite. A small patch of fishnet fabric on the side of the clementine-orange tent let sunlight inside and slowly turned their shelter into a greenhouse. 

“It’s not just me,” Mabel said, “It’s getting hot in here, right?”

Dipper nodded, “I’ll cover the window with my clothes from yesterday. Might dry them off, too. Kill two birds with one stone.” 

“Eugh. No bird killing. How about hitting two stones with one bird?”

“Wouldn’t that still hurt the bird?”

“Someone hasn’t played angry birds.”

Once Dipper finished packing, it was off to the races. Metaphorically, of course.

Wendy and Soos led the twins down a winding dirt path and along the lakeshore. Small rocks and mineral deposits crunched beneath their feet with each step. The sun approached its zenith, reflecting brightly on the water and sending beams of blinding light into Dipper’s eyes. White stone and shells only strengthened its glare. 

“It’s like looking into the sun!” Mabel shouted, “There’s fire in my eyes!”

“You get used to it,” Wendy said before stopping in her tracks.

Bending over and shuffling through the gravel, Wendy emerged a moment later with a shining object in her hand. She waved the twins over while Soos stood in front and acted as a sun shield.

“You guys ever seen sea glass before?” Wendy asked, holding up what looked like a deep blue gemstone, “We get a lot of it around here. Take a look!”

Dipper held the crystal in his hands. It looked like glass, aside from the fact that its edges were smoothed, showing small imperfections in the object’s center. It looked like something straight out of a diamond mine. 

“Woah…” Mabel cooed, “It’s beautiful…”

“Right?” Wendy asked, “When people drop their glass in the water, the waves smooth it out and shine it up. If we’re lucky, it washes up here.”

“So this is a piece of glass?” Dipper asked.

‘Yep. Funny how the water makes such a dirty old thing look pretty. That probably came from a broken bottle somewhere in Washington. Or Portland. Hell, maybe even California.”

“Do they come in other colors?” Mabel asked, “I want a red one!”

“Yeah, they do. We’ll do some looking when we come down from the mountain, okay?”

“Deal!”

A rocky coastline soon gave way to forest, where dried pine needles lined the ground and covered the grass in a thin layer of brown foliage. Horesflies buzzed around Dipper’s head. He swatted them away as quickly as he could, threatening them with a can of bug spray that he had packed with him. 

Morning runs across the hilly terrain of Piedmont left Dipper prepared for the ascent. While Mabel and Soos lagged behind, Dipper felt a sense of pride as he found himself able to keep up with Wendy. The summer heat faded with each foot that they gained in elevation. Towering pine trees and dew-soaked grass protected by the shade shielded the quartet from the worst of the elements. Small beams of sunlight poked through the gaps above and created small specks of light on the needle-laden grass. Cicadas buzzed in the distance, accompanied by the chirping of a bird or the rustling of nearby squirrels. 

“Slow down!” Mabel huffed, “It’s not a race!”

“Yeah, dudes,” Soos sighed, “Come on!”

Wendy chuckled, “You’ll feel better when we get to the top. The faster we get there, the longer we get to go up and take in the view.”

“Melody told me the same thing. We were hiking all day. And I forgot my infinity pizza…” 

“It’ll be worth it when we reach the top. And you’ll get to have all the infinity pizza you can eat.”

“I have been filled with a newfound resolve. C’mon, Mabel!”

Mabel threw her hands up in the air, “Ugh!”

Despite the cooling air, beads of sweat rolled down from Dipper’s temples with each step. A burning sensation consumed his calves. The energy with which he had started the hike began to fade. He pushed forward, if not only to prove to Wendy that he could do it. 

“People that go fast never get to smell the roses!” Mabel remarked from behind, “You guys are missing out on life!”

“Nah, I like life in the fast lane,” Wendy quipped, “It gets easier the more you do it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You will. Sometimes I go up here for fun.”

“You do this for fun?!” 

“Of course. Being up here with nature is the best. I’d rather be here than cooped up inside all day.”

“I guess. But what about the heat? And the horseflies? And the mosquitoes? And bears?”

“For the bears, you just wrestle ‘em. Everything else is just part of the experience. You love Pitt Cola, right?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Well, do you like the headaches or stomach aches you get when you drink it?”

“No.”

“But you still drink it, don’t you?”

“I guess. Yeah.” 

“There you go.”

The mountain steepened as they neared the top. Dipper grabbed hold of a tree branch and pulled himself up, backpack weighing him down along the treacherous trail.

“Be careful on the rocks,” Wendy said, “They’re slippery. Especially before noon.”

Dipper extended a hand and pulled Mabel up along the slope. He did the same for Soos, only for him to brush it off.

“I can do this,” Soos said, “I’m a working man. This one’s for Melody.”

A heavy grunt escaped Soos’s mouth while he pulled the dying pine branch and hoisted himself along the slope. There was a flat space some twenty feet away. Dipper and Mabel stood halfway between Soos and the platform, waiting for the moment that something inevitably went wrong. 

“You got this, Soos!” Wendy cheered, “Dig deep!”

“I’m trying!” Soos grunted, arms shaking with each pull, “It’s so slippery. And everything hurts.”

“That’s what a quitter would say! Get your head in the game, man!”

Soos let out one last animalistic screech and threw himself over the branch. Unfortunately, the slick rock proved its ice-like qualities. Soos slamming into Dipper sent both himself and Mabel flying backwards along the rock. They managed to fight gravity and slide upwards, landing on the plateau near the peak and continuing to slide. 

Dipper ended up sliding on his stomach. Just before crashing, he tried to yell, only for the weight of Mabel and Soos pressing on his back to strain his vocal cords. There was nothing left to do but wait.

“Wendy!” Soos shouted, “Me incoming!”

The last thing Dipper saw on Wendy’s face was her wide eyes opening before Dipper closed his.

Then there was a crash, a bang, and a lot of irritated groaning.

Dipper opened his eyes as a sharp pain radiated from his forehead. He quickly sat up, turning around and reaching for Mabel as she lay on the ground next to him.

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted, “Are you okay?”

Raising her head and giving a toothy grin, Mabel returned a thumbs-up.

“Again!” Mabel shouted, “That was awesome!”

Wendy and Soos had landed a few feet ahead near a large patch of bushes. The pair stood up and brushed themselves off, with only a few cuts and scrapes adorning their arms and legs. 

“Sorry about that, dudes,” Soos chuckled, “Looks like I’m more man than I thought.”

“As long as we’re all okay, we’re good,” Dipper smiled, “And next time, let us help you up.”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, rubbing her backpack, “Looks like the chips got crushed. Hope you guys don’t mind your snacks being a bit powdery.”

“I’ll eat anything,” Mabel said, “I’m already hungry again.”

“You’re lucky this happened so close to the top. The peak should be right past these bushes.”

“Really?” Dipper asked. 

“Yep. Check it out!”

A picturesque scene of green clashing with lakeside teal soon filled Dipper’s vision. Small, twig-like plants lined the top of the peak, with dry dirt providing a comfortable resting place. The lake looked like nothing more than a puddle, emptying out into the vast Pacific Ocean just ahead, the coastline stretching out just beyond the village borders. Gravity Falls was nestled between two large patches of trees off in the distance some few miles away. Dipper could make out the outline of main street and the supermarket from where he stood. Somewhere to the west was the Mystery Shack.

Cold, refreshing air provided a sense of vividness to the scene, evoking an almost transcendentalist appreciation of what lay before him. 

“Woah…” Dipper trailed off, arms dropping to his side while he took in the view, “You weren’t kidding…” 

A patch of pale brown stuck out amidst the ruins. Dipper realized that it was the old junkyard, no more than a mile or two from the campground. He had never realized just how small the area was until he had a chance to see it from above. The drive from the town to the campsite had felt like dozens of miles. In truth, it couldn’t have been more than two or three, bringing them just barely out of the town’s border.

McGucket’s shack rested somewhere within that yard. Dipper wondered how long it had been since anybody had been in there. Weeks? Months? Maybe a year?

Grunkle Ford had mentioned research that McGucket had been working on. Dipper wondered if any of it remained in the shack.

The idea gnawed at his head. Was there, perhaps, one last mystery for him to solve? Bringing the research back to Grunkle Ford would be a fantastic way to bring him closure. It was the last bit of their relationship that remained out in the open, undiscovered.

Those thoughts consumed him even as Wendy set up the picnic tables. He laughed and joked around and had a great time, sure, but he couldn't help but keep glancing over his shoulder. The shack couldn’t have been more than a couple miles away. They would be there and back in a couple of hours if they were quick, even faster if they had a car.  

He decided to wait until nighttime to talk to Mabel about it. Surely she would be onboard. Until then, there was fun to be had.

The picnic ended with Mabel downing three Pitt Colas and running around in circles until she tired herself out. Dipper had a sandwich and a hearty helping of water while Mabel burned herself out. They practically had to drag her down from the mountain to the swimming hole.

“You guys still down?” Wendy asked, “I get it if you’re tired. Some people just aren’t built for having fun.” 

“I’m not a quitter!” Mabel shouted.

“Good. It’s nice and quiet down there. Might even find some sea glass if we’re lucky.”

Most of the trip down the mountain was spent trying to catch their breaths and digest their lunch. Nothing stuck out, aside from the occasional squirrel or bird skidding along the forest floor. Dipper had grown to appreciate the serenity of the mountain. He was starting to understand why Wendy enjoyed it.

Descending the mountain was far easier than ascending. They reached the bottom in less than an hour. Wendy and Soos led the group through a thick patch of prickly bushes that plunged Dipper into almost complete darkness. Only by the bright blue of Wendy’s flannel and Mabel’s tank top was he able to keep up. 

“Watch the thorns, dudes!” Soos yelped, “I’m more plant than man…”

“It’s like a painful hug!” Mabel said, “It hurts so much! Nature loves me!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wandering, light broke through the edge of the brush. Dipper covered his eyes as the bright sun assaulted his pupils. The summer heat returned with full force, the rocks he stood on almost burning through his sneakers. 

Bright blue water reflected the fluorescent beams back onto the land. It felt as if he had stepped through a portal, the shoreline sharply contrasting the dark pine forest just a few feet behind them. A series of large rocks formed an enclave within the shore. In the center was a large pool of water with a small strait connecting it to the rest of the lake. Small slate deposits created stair-lake structures on the edges of the crater. It was larger than a pool but smaller than a pond. The water within was crystal clear aside from some algae growing just beneath the surface. 

“Woah…” Dipper said, “And that’s natural?”

Wendy nodded, “Yeah. I was here with some friends a few years ago. One of us fell through the bushes and we came out here. It was our little secret.”

“No one else knows about this?”

“I come here all the time, and I’ve never seen another person. It’s awesome, isn’t it?”

A loud splash came from the pool a moment later. Dipper and Mabel, having been directly in the splash zone, came back soaked. Only when he opened his eyes did Dipper see that Soos had vanished. Dipper and Mabel quickly found him bobbing up and down in the crystalline water, one hand in the air as he waved them over. 

The sweltering heat didn’t make Dipper think twice. He tried not to think about the dirt and bacteria in the pool as he dove in, Mabel close behind. The icy blue was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive warmth. Wendy was the last one in, tackling Soos as he tried to get out and reach for a water bottle. 

“You’re not getting out that easy!” she shouted before leaping into the air.

A series of waves and splashes sent water flying out of their makeshift pool, the water sizzling and evaporating as it landed atop the rocks. The pale brown of the stones gave way to vibrant shades of soft maroon and lapis, days’ worth of dust and debris cleared off in a matter of seconds. 

“I want one!” Mabel shouted while reaching for one of the rocks, “I’m gonna take it home!”

Mabel, upon grabbing said rock, hadn’t taken into account the slickness of a soft, wet surface. It plopped out of her hands and down to the bottom of the pool, some ten or fifteen feet below. The base of the pool had a concave shape, meaning that anything not moving by its own accord would slide down into the depths. 

“Nevermind,” Mabel sighed.

“No, don’t give up!” Soos said while turning to Dipper, “I’ll save it! Tell my abuela that I love her!” 

Soos disappeared beneath the water and came back sputtering a moment later. In one hand he held Mabel’s rock, while with the other he clawed at his face in a vain attempt to swat away a crawfish that had crawled onto his head.

“Get it off!” he screamed, “It’s eating my brain!” 

Wendy, barreled over with laughter by that point, reached onto Soos’s forehead and plucked the tiny critter away. It flopped into the water and swam out of the strait out into the lake. Dipper lost track of it once it swam past the rocks.

“Zombie fish!” Soos screamed.

“It’s okay,” Wendy said, laughing so hard that tears ran down her eyes, “It’s just a crawfish. We get those every now and then.”

“It had so many legs!”

“They tend to, yeah. They taste good, too.”

“You people EAT those?!”

“Not all of us have infinity pizza!”

“So you eat the water bugs instead? You disgust me!”

That conversation went on for what felt like hours. After a couple hours of cannonballs, chicken-fighting, Marco-Polo, and playing mermaids (at Mabel’s request), Dipper pulled himself out of the water and began drying himself off, using the residual daytime heat to hasten the process while he sat on a nearby rock.

Faint hints of orange crawled along the sky. The sun sat some three-fourths of its way through its journey along the sky, creeping westward with each passing minute. Dipper shifted his leg and tried to get himself comfortable when something sharp hit his toe.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, bending over to investigate.

Dipper was no stranger to the pains of summer. The bright atmosphere and carefree air was countered by hot rocks and stinging insects. Wasps were a particular problem for the Pines family back home. One summer before the divorce, Dipper and his father had been sent out to remove a wasp’s nest on the side of the house. Dipper had tripped and only taken out the bottom half. The sharp pinches of dozens of stings haunted him years later. 

So, he was surprised when instead of a stinger, he found a patch of gravel beneath his foot, with a small piece of ruby-red sea glass sticking out of it. 

“Hey, guys!” Dipper shouted, “I got something!”

Mabel and Wendy wandered over after grabbing their towels. Dipper extended his hand and showed them the piece, Mabel’s eyes widening like a kid in a candy store.

“I told you that there were red ones!” Wendy chuckled, “They’re hard to find. Keep that in a safe place, dude. I’m gonna look over here and see if I can find more.”

Wendy walked away, leaving only Dipper and Mabel as they sat on the rocks and stared out at the lake.

“Mabel,” Dipper said, “I was thinking about something. I want to know what you think about it.”

Mabel nodded, “Have you ever wondered if unicorns are just horses that got too popular in horse-high school?”

“What-? No! Look over there.”

Orange light cast a golden hue over the remains of the junkyard. Shiny metal atop the piles of waste spread up as high as the eye could see. How McGucket lived there for so long, he would never know. 

“Remember how Grunkle Ford said McGucket had some research for him? What if it’s in the shack?” Dipper asked.

A head shake was the only response he received, “No, bro. He’s dead. That’s practically grave robbing.”

“What if it’s valuable work? McGucket was the smartest man I’ve ever known, besides Grunkle Ford. Do you want it to rot there forever?”

“You really can’t go a week without a mystery, can you?”

“If I were in that position, I wouldn’t want my work to waste away while I died. I’m not gonna sell it or anything. I’m going to bring it to the only other person on Earth that will understand it. Grunkle Ford wanted it so bad. Maybe this is our chance to give him closure. We both saw him at the funeral.”

Mabel stopped for a moment. Dipper wondered if for a moment he had overstepped a boundary. She played with her hair and stared at the ground. 

“Fine,” she sighed, “I’ll help you, bro.”

“Awesome,” Dipper said, “The mystery twins are back in business!”

Chapter Text

A name I hadn’t thought of in years.

“Fine. You win. Just let me get my shotgun.”

Nighttime had fallen over the campsite. Wendy let out a sigh and reached into the back of her truck, feeling for the barrel of her father’s Remmington and pulling it out of the backseat. 

Out of all the mysteries in the world, they chose that one.

Dipper and Mabel had stopped Wendy shortly after dinner. They approached with a look of mischief and whimsy in their eyes. Six years and their expressions stayed the same. Through the glint of the evening campfire, Dipper told Wendy about their plan to check out McGucket’s old shack and look for his research, saying that the view of the junkyard caught his attention. Wendy tried to talk him out of it. They were out in the woods to enjoy nature, not to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of small-town life. If they weren’t getting their fill of fresh air, then what was the point?

The conversation continued over a helping of s’mores. If the light was right, she could see the hairs of McGucket’s beard in the fire, memories of a dead man floating back to the surface. She remembered the deranged look in McGucket’s eye. Every Saturday, she would drive up and bring him firewood, then spend another couple hours in the woods trying to forget what she had seen. The hunched posture, the skeletal frame, and his stiff movements were too much. McGucket had gone mad. 

Something had broken inside of him. Wendy listened to Dipper closely, trying to follow his reasoning. Adventure was one thing. Pillaging the house of a dead man was another. Then again, he brought up a good point. What good would it be if McGucket’s work rotted away in the shack? It would be like shooting a deer and leaving it to rot in the woods. Wendy didn’t believe in letting things go to waste. Plus, she needed an adventure, and she certainly wouldn’t let Dipper and Mabel go in by themselves. 

Wendy relented. After returning to the campsite with her shotgun, she sat down and pointed the barrel towards the water, ensuring that the safety was on.

“It won’t take long,” Dipper said, “And honestly, we probably won’t find anything. But there’s always a chance.”

“It’s cool, dude,” Wendy replied, “Never hurts to look. You always find a mystery to solve, don’t you?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Don’t you think we’re gonna look weird breaking into a junkyard with a shotgun?” Mabel asked, pointing to Wendy, “Or is that just what you guys do around here?”

“Dude, it’s a small town full of old people. They’ve been asleep since dinnertime. We’ll be fine.”

“What about the fuzz?”

“The what?”

“You know. The po-po.”

“Durland and Blubs? They’re probably out on a date or something. We broke into that convenience store without them catching us. Remember?”

“Yeah. But then we had to deal with the ghosts.”

“That’s why I’ve got the shotgun.”

“I don’t think bullets work on ghosts.”

“Have you seen anyone try?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll see.”

“I don’t know if I can walk anymore, dudes,” Soos sighed, “I wanna come with you, but when I walk I see a bright light. It’s calling me.”

“Don’t worry,” Wendy added, “We’ll be taking the truck. Never know when we’ll need to make a getaway.”

“Awesome.”

Wendy checked the safety once again and set the shotgun back inside the trunk of the car. She waved her arm for Dipper, Mabel, and Soos to join her.

“Come on, we’re burning moonlight!” Wendy said, “Hop in!”

Truth be told, Wendy wondered if what they were doing was a good idea. Her high school antics had gotten her in enough trouble. College had been her chance to turn a new leaf and leave those shenanigans behind. She could only run from the cops for so long. Plus, breaking into old convenience stores got old after a while. It wasn’t worth it. Maybe it was a bad idea to go to the shack. Maybe they would find something awesome. Regardless, Wendy’s hands reached for the steering wheel, wondering where the night would take them.

“We go in, we get out, nothing else, got it?” Wendy asked, “I don’t want to be poking around there for too long.”

Dipper and Mabel gave a salute. Once Soos sat down in the passenger seat, it was off to the races. 

Winding along the dirt road at night was no easy task. Even though she had been driving for almost seven years, Wendy still felt uneasy with the sharp turns, only separated from the edge of the road by a thin fence post. Ditches and creeks around the campsite only made the path more treacherous. 

Her apprehension was quickly drowned out by adrenaline. There was something exhilarating about hitting the open road under the cover of darkness. Sure, there was fear, but there was also possibility. Life in such a small town was often dull. Breaking into a convenience store didn’t bring anything useful. McGucket’s shack was a land of mystery. He knew more than Wendy, Soos, Dipper, and Mabel combined. He wrote theses for fun. And yet, he decided to live most of his life in seclusion, sharing his secrets with a privy few. Wendy hadn’t heard much during her firewood deliveries. Maybe a peek through his work would give her a glimpse into his troubled genius. 

The stars overhead faded with their approach to the town. She glanced up while at a stop sign and looked for any familiar shapes. She spotted the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, and the tip of the Summer Triangle, forming an arch in the sky that stretched from east to northeast. 

“I haven’t been in that shack in years,” Dipper said after a moment, “Not since the Society of the Blind Eye went away.”

“Those guys were freaks,” Wendy replied, briefly turning around and nodding at Mabel, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t use that memory gun on yourself?”

Mabel nodded, “Yeah, I guess.”

Wendy wondered if part of McGucket’s terminal madness had been a relapse from his usage of the memory gun. For thirty years, it had scrambled his brain, only getting the pieces back together in the final few years of his life. Her pity grew the longer she thought about it. Hopefully, the shack would have answers. 

“I’m gonna park us down the road a bit, just in case,” Wendy said, “I don’t need the cops getting my license plate.”

“Good call,” Dipper replied, “And I assume you’ll be the one carrying the shotgun?”

“I’m the only one trained to use it, so yeah.”

A click of the keys locked the truck as Wendy stepped outside. Even in the evening, mugginess from the afternoon lingered, no longer graced by the chill of the night. The ambience of the woods had long since disappeared aside from the occasional hoot of an owl perched overhead.

Grass paths gave way to broken concrete. The roads around the junkyard hadn’t been repaired in years. Wendy remembered her brothers using the potholes to measure their height with each passing year. Somewhere, if she looked hard enough, she could probably find the chalk marks within the craters. 

“Watch the potholes,” Wendy whispered, “They don’t fix things around here.”

“Same in Piedmont,” Dipper sighed, “I got this.”

Mabel kicked one of the potholes while the quartet crept towards the gate, “I feel bad for them. They’re like road pimples. Maybe the street is going through his awkward phase. It’s okay. We all do!”

A metal wire fence stretched around the sides of the scrapyard. Piles of garbage and junk rolled over it, spilling into the ditches and dirt patches around the perimeter. 

“They’ve really let this place go,” Wendy said while reaching for the shotgun, “It’s kinda sad.” 

The junkyard had never been a place of happiness. Even so, it felt like stepping through the gates of a cemetery, the air eerily still with only the judgmental eyes of the stars above illuminating their trip. Her heart pumped with thrill, yet her soul weighed heavy with weariness. The crazy old man of the Gravity Falls junkyard was no more. The sole thing that gave the wasteland life was gone. Only a husk remained in its place.

An open fence gate towards the back of the perimeter allowed them entry. Wendy jumped for a moment as a sharp prong of metal caught the tails of her teal flannel. A small tear formed in the side before Wendy was able to free herself, leaving a small strand of the fabric to fall to the ground and blow away with the wind. 

“The shack should be right this way,” Wendy said, “Stay behind me. You never know what might be waiting. Especially in Gravity Falls.”

“This place needs a lady’s touch,” Mabel remarked along the way, “Some decoration. A table or two. Something to lighten the atmosphere. You know?”

With the onset of night, the ambience of the town had long since disappeared. Not even the chirp of a cricket accompanied their entry. Wendy kept her eyes and ears focused, years of hunting trips having taught her to fear the silence. She expected rats or mice to skitter across the ground while they scoured the property for food, or maybe the occasional bird. The continued emptiness rubbed her the wrong way. For a moment, she considered turning back. 

The shack appeared around the corner. Surrounded by old tires, computer parts, and metal scrap that not even Wendy could identify, it stood in the same sorry condition that it had for the past thirty years. 

“There it is,” Dipper said, “We ready?”

“Let me go first,” Wendy replied, “I’ll clear the area.”

Let every tree in the world fall on her if something happened to Dipper and Mabel under Wendy’s watch. Weirdmageddon had almost taken them away once. 

Small shards of glass crunched beneath Wendy’s feet with each step. A metallic aroma filled the air, smelling of rust and years of decay. Water dripped from sorry pipes hastily strung up around the property. Part of the roof had caved in. Puddles formed within sags on the floor. Arms of mold crawled up the walls and onto any organic surface that they could find. Holding the gun close, Wendy stepped inside, with Dipper, Mabel, and Soos anxiously trailing her.

“Looks like a bomb went off in here,” Dipper remarked, “Wow…”

Mabel frowned, “This place looks like sadness. I don’t like it.”

“We won’t be here long,” Wendy said, “I doubt we’ll find anything.”

Wendy knew the chances of discovery were low. The possibility was all that she needed. The idea of a new chapter, something that neither of them knew about Gravity Falls, lured her closer. 

A small piece of a picture frame crumbled within her hunting gloves as she tried to pick it up. Mold had long since consumed the image on the inside. 

Shelves of machinery lined the wall to Wendy’s right. Dipper and Mabel scoured them, looking for anything that would be useful. Most of them were prototypes of gadgets rusted beyond recognition. McGucket’s mind was one that Wendy could only wish to understand. 

The pale glow of their flashlights guided the quartet towards the back of the shack. Soos waved the group over as he reached beneath a rotted piece of wood, the splinters bending like wet clay as he pulled at the base.

“Something’s over here, dudes!” Soos said, “I can feel it!”

“You sure you want to be touching that?” Dipper asked.

“I ate dirt as a kid. I’ll be fine.”

Dipper knelt down next to Soos as he worked to pull the floorboard away. Wendy and Mabel stood near the door, occasionally glancing out into the night to make sure that they hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention. 

“Boys,” Mabel chuckled while pointing at the duo, “So weird. Right?”

“Yeah,” Wendy smiled, “Two different flavors of nerd.”

“I hope they find something.”

“Me too. It’d be nice to have something to remember him by.”

Wendy checked the safety of her shotgun again and made sure to point it away from the group, leaving the barrel aimed out the door instead. Anyone who tried to give them a hard time would have to get through her first.

“What happened to your shirt?” Mabel asked, pointing her flashlight at the tear in the fabric, “Do you get hungry and chew on your shirts, too?”

“No…I just got caught on the fence on the way in. No big deal.”

“No big deal? This is a sweater emergency! Don’t worry. When we get home, I’ll patch it up!”

Mabel reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of fabric tape, slapping it onto the tear and patting it gently, “But for now, this will do.”

“You sew?” Wendy asked, “That makes so much sense for you.”

“Of course! How else am I going to keep my sweaters healthy? They’re like my children! I can’t let anything happen to them.”

“I’ve been meaning to learn how to do that. I can give someone stitches, but that’s about it.”

“I got those once. I felt like a doll.”

“They’re not fun. Sewing sweaters sounds a lot better.”

“I’ve never done flannel before. But now I can try!”

Wendy, usually apprehensive about whom she allowed to mess with her flannel collection, smiled in agreement with Mabel. How could she say no to those glowing eyes? Through everything that they had been through, Mabel always came out with a smile. Wendy couldn’t help but feel the warm energy radiating from her. Her presence was one that had been sorely missed. The world needed more people like Mabel Pines. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so depressing. 

“Hey, we’ve got something!” Dipper shouted with excitement, “Bring your lights!”

A small set of cement stairs extended downward from the hole in the floor. Wendy flashed her light a second time to make sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her. 

“It’s like, a secret room or something, dudes!” Soos said, “You don’t see those anymore.”

“Alright, guys,” Wendy said, “Stand back. You know the drill.”

Mabel pumped her fist in the air, “Are you finally gonna get to shoot something?”

“I hope I don’t have to.”

The gap between the wood and the top of the staircase was barely big enough for Wendy to slide through. Her arms and legs grazed the sides of the walls as mold and bugs wiggled around in the crawlspace. She pushed aside a pile of debris blocking the path while shining her light against the dull grey concrete lining the walls. 

“It’s a tight squeeze,” Wendy called out, “One at a time. And watch out for the bugs!”

She continued to slide down, using one hand to push herself forward and the other to hold the shotgun. After a few steps, the ceiling began to rise, allowing Wendy to go from laying down to a crouching position. 

“What was that?!” Dipper shouted from behind.

“Don’t worry,” Mabel said, “It’s just a spider. He’s a cute little guy!”

“Get him off of me!”

A series of shuffles and grunts accompanied the twins’ descent into the next gap of the crawlspace. Soos leisurely rolled in behind them. Most of the blockage had been from collapsed framework or rotting wood from above crumbling down. She imagined that during its use, the crawlspace had been much larger.

The staircase gave way to a dark cement-filled hallway. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, moisture and decay eating away at the structure. A metal sign was hung on one of the posts overhead. Wendy brought up her light and caught a glimpse. 

Do not enter if your name is not Fiddleford H. McGucket. 

A few steps forward, a second sign was mounted, just above a large wooden door.

NO MOLE PEOPLE!

Wendy raised the shotgun and pressed her hand against the rotting door. It gave way without so much as a groan, the aging material having far outlasted its life expectancy. A cloud of dust and mold spores filled the air upon its collapse. Wendy covered her mouth with the collar of her flannel and pressed on. 

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this, dudes,” Soos said, “This place gives me the creeps. Like that skull tunnel in France. Or middle age rom-coms.”

“We came this far,” Wendy replied, “We’re not turning back now.”

Memories of her time in the bunker flashed to the front of Wendy’s mind. The dark, dilapidated state of the crawlspace brought her back to that haunted lab, wondering if shapeshifters would leap out at any corner. Each backwards glance to the dark and winding hallway gave Wendy an impending sense of doom. Curiosity and reason battled for her headspace, unsure of what the right move was.

The collapsed door revealed a grey, rotten workspace, no bigger than a closet. There was a broken laptop on one end of a wooden bench with only the screen remaining. Scattered along the bench were various trinkets and papers. Many of them had been consumed by mold or rotting. 

Wendy picked up one of the rotten pieces of paper. It crumbled in her hand. Aside from a few equations marked in running ink, she couldn’t make any of it out.

She poked her head back through the doorway and gave the signal that it was clear. 

“Wow,” Dipper said as he ran his hand along the rotten bench, “This is crazy.”

“You’re telling me, “ Mabel remarked, “Sorta reminds me of the bunker.”

“Don’t bring that up,” Wendy replied quickly, “I don’t want to think about that.” 

A small metal box beneath the bench caught Wendy’s attention. She knelt down and crept her hand along the box’s lid, waving the others over to bask in her discovery.

“Is it locked?” Dipper asked.

Two small padlocks sealed the lid of the box. Wendy pulled on the pair and pulled on them as hard as she could, the hinges hardly moving even with the full force of her arms. An almost sour aroma came from the decayed material. Wendy moved her fingers along the surface carefully, knowing that one cut could give her the worst case of tetanus that rust had to offer.

“Yeah,” Wendy said.

“Then you’re in luck!” Mabel cheered, pulling two grainy keys out of her pockets, “Found these in one of the moldy picture frames.”

“Hand them here.”

The locks fell like feathers from a bird once the keys activated the tumblers. Wendy pushed the rickety contraptions off to the side and slowly pried the lid of the box away. 

An ashy, sour aroma, almost like rotting paper, hit Wendy’s nose the second she looked inside. 

A red-bound book sat vertically inside of the box. It sat like a book on a bookshelf, the cover covered in a small layer of dust, dulling the vibrance of its velvet exterior. Next to the book was a small metal sheet with carvings on its side. Wendy waved Dipper and Mabel over while Soos shined his flashlight inside of the box and sent a glare up from the surface.

Dipper pulled the book out of the box and flipped it over. His mouth fell open, with wide eyes and a pale face accompanying it. 

“Guys…” Dipper trailed off, “Look at this…”

Upon a quick blink, Wendy was greeted by a maroon cover with a golden, five-fingered handprint on the top. In the center of the hand was a large “4” written in black ink. Not even months worth of mineral buildup could take away the striking, all-too-familiar imagery.

A fourth journal. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Wendy asked.

Dipper nodded, “Yep. Wow…”

She pulled a small sticky note off of the book’s back, “Looks like we’ve got something else here, dudes.”

The light of Soos’s flashlight illuminated a small message scribbled in McGucket’s frantic handwriting. 

Stanford Pines. This is for you.

“Open it!” Mabel shouted, “I wanna see!”

Wendy pulled on the covers and tried to reveal the pages, only for then to remain rigidly in place. 

“I can’t get it open,” Wendy grunted, “You guys try.”

She handed off the book to Soos. When he failed to open it, he handed it to Dipper. Then Mabel. 

“Do you think it’s a dud?” Mabel asked.

Wendy shook her head while tapping the side of the book, “No, it’s real. There are pages in there. I can feel it. Not those empty kinds where people hide money, either. There’s something in here.”

“Maybe he didn’t want anyone else getting inside?” Dipper asked, “It’s pretty specific. We’ve gotta take this to Ford!” 

“We’ll do that AFTER the trip,” Wendy said, “We found the journal. It’s probably full of stuff that none of us will understand. We’ve only got another night here. Then we’re good to go.”

She tucked the journal inside of her bag. She then reached for the only other thing in the box, pulling the metal sheet out and holding a light to its inscriptions. 

R'ev hgzigvw hvvrmt gsrmth.

“Anyone here speak gibberish?” Wendy asked, “Cause I can’t read that at all.”

Dipper and Mabel took their turns reading it. When they came up with nothing, Soos tried, only to come up empty as well.

“Probably a code,” Dipper said, “Grunkle Ford will know. McGucket seemed like the kind of guy that wouldn’t want anyone stealing his secrets.”

“We’ll keep this safe, too,” Wendy said while she tucked the metal into her bag, “Definitely looks like he was losing his marbles a bit towards the end.”

“A bit?” Mabel asked, “That thing makes as much sense as algebra.”

“But…algebra DOES make sense,” Dipper protested.

“Only to massive dorks.”

“Ugh.”

She could see the excitement in Dipper’s eyes. There they were, having broken into McGucket’s old shack on nothing more than intuition, and come back with a bag full of intellectual gold. A part of her wondered if they should cut their trip short and give the book to Stanford. Another part of her wanted to keep the trip going and enjoy a few more hours of relaxation before they devoted their attention to exploring McGucket’s work.

“Hey, dude,” Wendy said, slugging Dipper on the shoulder, “Don’t wind yourself up too much. We’ll get this to your grunkle when we’re done here. A little more fun before you wrap yourself up in studying, hmm?”

“I guess,” Dipper sighed, “But please promise me that you’ll keep those things safe?”

“Of course. I’ve got reinforced pockets on this thing. It’s bear proof. Don’t worry.”

“Good. Now let’s hit the hay, ladies!” Mabel ordered, “This place is disgusting and I think a spider just bit my knee. I’m done!”

Leaving the crawl space was far easier than entering it. Wendy once again led them out, shotgun in hand, ready to take on anything that tried to get in her way. Her mind ran wild with ideas of what lay between those covers, and the secrets behind McGucket’s metallic mumbling. Something was in there. She assumed it would be more mundane weirdness from around the Falls, like gnomes or one-eyes bats. But there was always the possibility of there being something more. Twenty-one years in Gravity Falls, and Wendy was caught by surprise by novel weirdness each year. 

Wendy only allowed herself to take a deep breath once she poked her head up through the floor of the shack. The air within the crawlspace had been musty, moldy, and filled with things that Wendy didn’t even want to think about letting into her lungs. 

“Imagine what might be in there…” Dipper said, fanboying over the journal like a teenage girl at a boy band concert, “So much weirdness. I just want to rip it open and memorize all the pages.”

“And that, bro bro, is why you had a special teacher in first grade,” Mabel prodded, “Such a special little snowflake…”

The journal was the main subject of conversation for the rest of the drive back, everyone in the car offering their own interpretations. Wendy had no idea what to expect. She wondered if she wanted to know. It was a glimpse into the mind of a broken man. What horrors awaited them on the other side of the language barrier? Was their curiosity worth robbing a dead man’s house and unleashing a new wave of secrets?

She would have to figure that out after breakfast. 

Chapter Text

Most of it was in Atbash. It took almost a week to translate.

They said that patience was a virtue. Dipper decided that he was a long way from sainthood.

He awoke yet again to the hammering of woodpeckers and the soft snoring of his sister. A quick stretch of his arms and rubbing of his eyes wiped the weariness of sleep from his mind. Dreams of journals and metal inscriptions had filled his sleep. His mind had conjured up every possible outcome, wondering what secrets would lie beyond the veil. The trip couldn’t end fast enough. Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want it to end. Wendy and Soos pulled him towards summer shenanigans, while McGucket’s journal pulled him towards the mysterious side of things, itching for something new to solve. 

Wendy had taken the journal, along with the inscription, and kept them tucked away in her bag. Dipper thanked her for that. If it had gone his way, he would have agonized over it all night, reading the gibberish by the glint of his flashlight and failing to open the sealed journal. 

A sharp crash outside followed by the thumping of wood told Dipper that Wendy was already awake. He gently stepped over Mabel and pulled himself out of the front opening of the tent. 

Grey skies battled with incoming sunshine. The clouds closest to the horizon were graced with pink undertones, with the parts of exposed sky between them turning a vibrant orange with sunrise. Clouds further from the horizon maintained their gloomy, urban-afternoon fogginess. A patch of clear sky moved in from the west over the lake. Dipper watched for a moment as two lines of clouds overhead converged. The westerly flows proved dominant, slowly pushing the patch of bright sky inwards against the clouds.

“Hey, dude!” Wendy waved from across the campsite, “Sleep good last night?”

Dipper shrugged, “As well as I could. Not gonna lie, I was thinking about what we found.”

“So was I. Then I realized without Ford, we can’t do anything. We’ve got one more day. We can enjoy it.”

“That’s true. What’s on the docket?”

Dipper sat down on a stump near the campsite. Wendy pointed to the trunk of her truck and pulled out her shotgun.

“Last night got me thinking,” Wendy said, “You guys should probably learn how to shoot. You know, just in case.” 

“What are you saying?” Dipper asked.

Wendy sat down next to Dipper and placed a log on the campfire, “Soos saw a squirrel in the woods today and said he thought it would make a good friend for Waddles. He wants to go out today with Mabel and try to find it. Unless you want to sit here by yourself all day, I was gonna ask if you wanted to take a shooting lesson.”

“Really?” 

“Sure. There’s a range in the forest. Usually pretty empty this time of year. You don’t want to be there with the weirdos. Trust me.” 

Learning to shoot had been on Dipper’s to-do list since their first summer in the Falls. It was a good skill to have, especially in the aftermath of Weirdmageddon, where Dipper and Mabel had only survived thanks to Wendy’s gruffness and competence. 

“Sure, why not,” Dipper said, “It looks fun.”

Twelve year-old Dipper would have been over the moon for a chance to be with Wendy alone. He would have wasted the whole day trying to win her over, and he still wondered how she had put up with that.

Instead, he looked forward to their bonding time the same way one would with a friend, hoping to leave the day with a new skill and a recharged social battery.

“Awesome. I think you’ll be good at it,” Wendy chuckled, “Gives us something to do. I need a break from the water. Swimming in that lake is only fun for so long.”

“You’re sure you trust me with your gun?” Dipper asked.

“Duh. I know you’re not gonna break it. Or shoot me.”

Wendy walked back over to the truck and emerged with another carton of eggs. Dipper prepared himself for another fantastic breakfast, a rumbling stomach carrying lingering hunger from the previous night’s dinner. His appetite for food overcame his appetite for mystery. 

“Mabel Pines is back in business!” Mabel shouted whilst emerging from their tent, hair frizzled and pointing every which way, “Good morning Oregon!” 

“Just in time for breakfast!” Wendy cheered as she poured the eggs out onto a pan, “You and Soos are gonna have a fun day today!”

Almost on cue, Soos emerged from the woods, “Yeah, dudes! There’s a family of squirrels out there. I think I can befriend them. Mabel, you’re helping me.”

“Anything for the squirrels!” Mabel said with determination, “But first, breakfast!”

The mess kits were taken out of their bags, the clinking of silverware against plastic plates accompanying the crackling of the morning fire.

Dipper leaned back and took in the smoky smell. He could get used to spending his mornings outside like that, enjoying the morning sun as the clouds finally parted and graced the quartet with its warmth. Other campers around them had much of the same idea. Soon, the campsites were a symphony of popping fires and morning laughter.

“So,” Wendy said, “When you guys are done with your squirrels and Dipper and I are done shooting, would you be down for another trip to Lookout Point? There’s one last thing here I haven’t shown you guys.”

“And that is?” Dipper asked.

“Ever played manhunt? Even better if it's in the woods at night.” 

Dipper had heard of the game, but admittedly, had never had a chance to play it.

“I’ve heard of it, yeah,” Dipper said, “Sounds like fun. I’d be down.”

“Awesome!”

Breakfast took up the rest of the morning. Dipper lost himself in the calming ambience and the savory taste of breakfast, forgetting for a moment about the previous night’s discovery. Cicadas began to chirp once again as the temperature rose. The chill of the cloudy morning was quickly replaced by heat from the incoming sun, bringing back the summer glare that he had become familiar with. 

Dipper then took a quick journey to the shower house to freshen up. By the time he returned, Soos and Mabel had already vanished, off into the woods for a day’s worth of adventure. He found Wendy with a bucket of soapy water washing the dishes from the day. 

“There you are,” Wendy said, “Soos and Mabel left. They said they’d meet us back here before we leave for Lookout Point around five.”

“Awesome. You need any help with the dishes?”

“When I’m done with this bucket, can you take it down by the bluffs and dump it out?”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

Dipper quickly rushed back to his tent to put away his toiletries. By the time he returned, Wendy was putting away the last of the morning’s dishes.

The bucket of dishwater was heavier than he expected it to be. With a heavy grunt, he swung the sloshing water over his shoulder and sauntered towards the fence overlooking the bluffs. He tried to ignore the pieces of half-eaten food floating around in the water mixing with the wet leaves that had fallen from the trees above. Instead, he focused on the lake, the hypnotic, sinusoidal motions of the waves calming him while taking a breath of the crisp morning air. 

Small bits of mud slid down the bluff’s shore as Dipper dumped the water away. Small bubbles of soap mixed with the sediment and accelerated the miniature landslide. Rocks, sand, and dirt mixed together and tumbled down to the shoreline in a small line. The flow stopped when it hit the rocky coast. The dirty water pooled behind a large chunk of a boulder and was soon absorbed by the porous deposits beneath. 

He rubbed the inside of the bucket with a wet leaf before returning it to Wendy. Dipper almost lost his balance while stepping on a stone, the ground beneath his feet rumbling as it tumbled out of the way.

“Hey, dude?” Wendy asked from a distance, “You feeling that?” 

The ground continued to shake even as Dipper stepped off of the stone. Like the floor beneath a stereo, light vibrations rattled the campsite, hardly registering over the crackling of the campfire. 

“Earthquake?” Dipper asked.

West coast residents were no strangers to earthquakes. Dipper had been through his fair share. Most, like the one rattling the campsite, were nothing more than a few light vibrations, hardly managing to tip over a lawn chair. Every hundred years or so, they would be hit with a stronger quake, damaging buildings and bringing the city to a standstill. 

The shaking stopped once Dipper reached the campsite. The pair stopped for a moment, standing still and waiting for an aftershock. Every now and then, a stronger quake would follow a small one. He counted for ten seconds. Then twenty. Then thirty.

“I think that was it,” Wendy said, “Just a light one.”

Dipper nervously turned to the lake, “Hopefully. The beach is the last place you want to be for something like that.” 

“Eh. I’ve camped in worse. If it was bad, they’d tell us to leave.”

“That’s true.”

Piedmont, for the most part, was spared from the earthquakes that relentlessly pummeled the northwest. The worst Dipper had ever seen was a magnitude five that brought dishes crashing to the ground and spooked the family dog. The campsite quake couldn’t have been any higher than a four. 

Wendy pointed to a dirt path towards the back of the woods, “Come on. Let’s get going before you break the Earth again.”

“Sure,” Dipper chuckled, “I’ll try not to.”

Dipper peeked through the window of Wendy’s truck as they walked past. The deep red cover of McGucket’s journal poked out of the top of her day bag as it sat in the backseat. He breathed a sigh of relief, just before the brain-itch of curiosity consumed him.

Wendy, seeing this, handed Dipper a box of shells.

“Here, hold this,” Wendy said whilst they strolled down the dirt path, “The journal is tomorrow’s problem.”

“You’re right,” Dipper sighed, “What size shells are these?”

“12 gauge. Two and a half inches. Pretty good for hunting. Maybe not for bears.”

He took one of the shells out of the box. It was roughly the size of his thumb, if not a little bit smaller. The metal, warm against Dipper’s fingertips, rolled back and forth along his hand, the smooth exterior priming itself for the barrel. 

“So, you liking it so far?” Wendy asked, “And you can be honest.” 

“You know what? I am,” Dipper replied after a moment, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to relax like this. It’s a lot better than Piedmont.”

“I’d imagine. I could never live in a city like that. Too many people. Not enough trees. Or flannel.”

“I don’t mind the people. Just wish they weren’t so weird.”

“Weird? You’ve been to Gravity Falls, and you’re calling them weird?”

“For lack of a better word, yes. They’re not the fun kind of weird like you guys are. They’re just…odd.”

“Maybe it’s something in the water. I know they’ve been dumping stuff into the Colorado.” 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve met anyone at home that was like you guys.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You guys get me. If that makes sense.”

“I mean, we are pretty cool. Not to brag.”

“You are. I never got to do this kind of thing back home. Only time I’d hear from anyone other than Mabel was when they needed help on their calculus homework. Which was nice. I like hearing from people. I just wish they’d talk to me about something else. You know, something that’s not about school.”

Wendy nodded, “I knew people like that. Only reached out when they needed something. Never just there to hang out. They’re annoying.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“I didn’t give them what they wanted. They stopped reaching out after a bit. Really easy, actually.”

The winding dirt path led Dipper and Wendy deeper into the pine forest. Sunlight struggled to reach them through the treetops. Small wooden signs mounted on tree posts overcome with moss guided them through the wilderness. The conversation ebbed and flowed like branches in the breeze. Their words bounced off of each other. Dipper didn’t have to resort to small-talk or conversation starters to keep it going.  

“I wish I had that kind of courage,” Dipper sighed, “As fun as doing homework alone in your room is, it can only get a guy so far. Mabel was the social one. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Hey, you got us,” Wendy replied, “Only real friends go camping together. It’s a rule.”

“Explains a lot about Piedmont, then.”

“It’s okay, man. Not everyone is a butterfly. And you’ve got college to try again!”

“I know. I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

“I mean, you’re really good talking to me and Soos. Just gotta bring that energy with you somewhere else.” 

“I will. Hopefully.”

“You know what’ll be a good conversation starter?” Wendy jested as they pulled up the range, “‘Hey, did you know I can hit a bullseye from fifty feet away?’ They’ll eat that up!”
The shooting range consisted of a small pavilion-like structure with large painted targets down a verdant range. Empty shells and other shooting debris created a trail from the woods to the inside of the shack. Wendy and Dipper walked up to a man at the front to whom they showed their IDs. They were waved off and cleared for entry.

A shoddy fan overhead fought the summer heat. Cobwebs had been built between the metal grates covering it. The breeze that came from it was moist, amplifying the day’s uncomfortable mugginess. 

“Really sticking to the rustic feel, aren’t they?” Dipper asked.

Wendy nodded, “Yep. It’s part of the charm. Now take these.”

She handed Dipper a pair of headphones with thick foam coverings around the sides. He slipped them on and gave Wendy a thumbs up.

“Awesome,” Wendy said, her voice muffled, “I’ll show you the basics first, okay?”

“Cool by me,” he replied.

The shogun was a bulky thing, with its metal barrel slamming onto the edge of the building's ledge. The pavilion had been split up into eight or so distinct spots. Small walls divided them. The range was quiet, with Wendy and Dipper being the only two there. He was okay with that. The less noise, the better. 

A man with a black hat entered downrange and waved at Wendy. She pointed the gun downwards as he adjusted the targets.

“Hey, Brad!” Wendy waved, “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna shoot you!”

The older man, apparently named Brad, waved his hand back, “Corduroy! I was wondering when I’d see you again. Where’s your dad? I’ve got a bet to win!” 

“He’s out with my brothers. No idea where. Somewhere in Washington. He’ll be back by Wednesday.”

Brad pulled a fresh target out of his bag and placed it at the end of the range, “When he gets back, tell him that Brad wants to go shooting. Who’s the new guy?”

“Old friend of mine from California. Showing him the ropes.”

“You’re a lucky man. Best shot in all of Gravity Falls right here.”

“Good to know,” Dipper chuckled.

Wendy only raised the gun when Brad had left the range. He gave the duo a thumbs up from a rear supply closet. 

“First rule of gun safety,” Wendy said, “Only point your gun at something that you’re willing to shoot. Got it?”

“Yup,” Dipper nodded.

“Good. We’re lucky having the range to ourselves. There’s a lot of weirdos that come here.”

Shadows shortened across the range with morning giving way to midday. Wendy showed Dipper the proper technique for the gun, showing him how to press the butt of the gun into his shoulder and line up his eye with the end of the barrel. The top-heaviness of the gun forced Dipper to prop up his right arm to keep the barrel in line.

“You’ll get used to the weight,” Wendy said, “I’ll do the loading this time.”

Six small clicks followed the rolling of shells into the rear of the gun. Only the safety kept the gun from firing. Dipper kept his finger away from the trigger just in case.

“Are you ready for the fun part?” Wendy asked, “Center your sights and hold your breath when you shoot. Know where the safety is?”

A small switch on the side of the gun toggled the safety on and off. Dipper watched as a small set of yellow poking through the side of the gun turned red with the flicking of the switch. It screamed a silent warning, telling anything downrange that their fate was up to chance. 

“Only put your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to shoot,” Wendy said, “And get ready for some knockback. It’s only a twelve gauge. You should be able to handle it.”

“Got it,” Dipper said, “Hopefully…”

“Gotta have some confidence. Make sure downrange is clear, and when you’re ready, aim and fire.”

Two years’ worth of physics classes filled Dipper’s head. He angled the gun slightly up, trying to account for air resistance. A fraction of a degree was all that he needed. Then he had to account for the wind. He paused for a moment and watched the leaves as they rustled with the moving of the air. Moving perpendicular to the sun, Dipper figured that the wind was moving out of the south. With the range facing West, he would have to adjust his aim slightly to the left if he wanted a chance at hitting the bullseye. 

The shot was lined up. All he had to do was prepare to pull the trigger. Which, in Dipper’s mind, was something far easier said than done.

How bad was the knockback going to be? Wendy’s words meant almost nothing. She had been firing for years. A small kick to her would be enough to knock Dipper off of his feet. What if he fired wrong and the knockback pulled the gun backwards and he hit her? How would he be able to live with himself? It had only taken a baseball hit to Wendy’s head to send Dipper tumbling through time looking for a solution. 

What had Wendy told him to do? He began to feel dizzy, and only then did he realize he was holding his breath, preparing for a shot that he wasn’t ready to make. 

“You’re turning red,” Wendy said, “You remember how to breathe, right?”

Dipper took a deep inhale, “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

“You got this, dude. I wouldn’t have given you the gun if I didn’t trust you.”

That was all Dipper needed to restore his confidence.

He closed his eyes for a moment to knock away the blurriness that crawled from the edges of his vision. Once he caught his breath, he opened them back up, staring at the target and centering it within his ironsights. 

The yellow center of the bullseye sat between the lines. He angled the gun a fraction of a degree up and south, and took a deep breath. His chest remained still with the final seconds of preparation. 

A shaky finger pulled the trigger. Then came a bang, and the target rattled.

Dipper took a deep gulp of air once the bullet left the barrel. Sharp knockback hit him in the shoulder, but nothing beyond what he could handle, clicking the safety back into place before setting the gun down on the railing. 

He waited for the gunpowder to clear. Once it did, he saw a small black hole on the target, only an inch or so shy of the bullseye. 

“Woah,” Wendy said, rubbing her eyes for a moment, “And that was your first shot…?”

Dipper nodded, “Yep. Heh. Guess I’ve got a better aim than I thought…”

“Uhh, yeah!”

Brad walked up to the duo with a polishing cloth in his hand while he cleaned the butt of a rifle. He moved his glasses along a wrinkled face and stared out at the target with wide eyes. 

“Hey, he’s a natural!” Brad cheered, hitting Dipper on the shoulder whilst emitting a laugh that smelled of tobacco, “You gotta keep training that aim. He’ll be a sharpshooter in no time!” 

A warm feeling rose from Dipper’s chest and out around the rest of his body. For the first time in a long time, he could look at his handiwork with pride. Dipper had fired that gun and come within inches of a perfect shot. A little more training, and he would be even better. 

Wendy and Brad accompanied him for another couple hours of shooting. A small band of clouds covered the sky by the time they left the range, waving goodbye to Brad after a long day of shooting and near-bullseyes. The south wind brought warmer wind up from the front’s warm sector and continued to heat the day into the early evening. Bits of tan-stained sun poked through the latches above. 

Soos and Mabel met them back at the campsite. They were covered in dirt and grime from a long day of chasing animals through the woods. The canoes were brought down to the waterfront and the same scene played out as the first day, without Dipper falling out of the canoe. Aside from some playful splashing with their paddles, the quartet arrived dry to Lookout Point.

There was something calming about seeing Lookout Point bathed in the muted sunlight whilst it fought for dominance with the clouds dotting the sky. They moved across the orange dome in puffy clusters, on and off sunshine giving the point a more relaxed, almost rustic feel. It was a drastic change from the blinding sunlight that had accompanied them on the first visit. 

“...and that’s when we tried to follow him into his burrow!” Mabel said while they disembarked, bringing the long-winded tail of her day’s adventures to an end, “That’s where I got all of these scratches. I wear them like a badge of honor!” 

“Well, you missed out,” Wendy chuckled, “Your brother is a sharpshoot. Never would have guessed.”

Dipper turned around and feigned anger, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to.”

Leaving his canoe at the shore, Dipper climbed the hill that led to the highest point of the island. 

A dinner of finely seared steaks and seasoned asparagus awaited them. Wendy, once again guided by her culinary prowess, created a michelin-star meal out of almost nothing, with only supermarket steaks and day-old asparagus. She added a fine layer of butter and lemon across the dish that allowed the flavors to finely blend. 

The sun sank below the horizon by the time dinner was done. Dipper leaned back against the tree, fighting off a dull headache that had been growing over the course of the trip. He brushed it off as the annual flare-up of his summer allergies. He made a mental note to take some zyrtec when they returned the next day. 

“Did you guys do anything with the journal?” Soos asked.

Wendy shook her head, “Nope. That’s an after-camping problem. I paid for three nights.”

The activity of the day had cleared his mind of any thoughts of the journal. With the post-dinner dreariness setting in, Dipper’s mind had more room to wander, bouncing off of the walls like a puppy in a new house. What had been so important that McGucket felt the need to seal his journal, hide it inside of a crawlspace, and leave cryptic gibberish on a metal sheet? Was it truly the senility of an old man, or was there something else behind it? 

He would have lost himself in his thoughts if not for Mabel’s playful prodding. She grabbed a piece of asparagus that had landed on the ground and placed it on top of Dipper’s head.

“If he keeps thinking, maybe his brain will heat up and cook it!” Mabel cheered, “Such a dork. Get your head in the game!”

“Like you put your head in an ant’s nest?” Dipper asked, pointing to the small bites on the sides of Mabel’s head.

“That was for science!”

“Well, I’ve got something better than science,” Wendy said, standing up, “Come on. It’s my favorite camping game.”

“Oh, sweet!” Soos cheered, “I love manhunt! It really brings me back.”

“Aww, you played it as a kid?”

“No, but I did hide in the woods at night while people looked for me. Same thing.”

“Okay…”

Wendy rounded the group up and explained the rules. She volunteered to seek first, leaving Dipper, Mabel, and Soos to run around the small island in search of a place to hide. The only rule was that they had to be close enough to see the glow of a campfire. Fair enough. Getting lost in the middle of the night was not something on Dipper’s summer to-do list. 

The countdown began. Wendy counted down from sixty from the campfire, her voice echoing through the empty woods and the stillness of evening. Soos took off for a distant rock and crouched behind it. Mabel and Dipper had better plans. 

“Follow me!” Mabel said, “I’ve got an idea!”

“Like your face in the ant hill idea?” Dipper replied. 

“This’ll be better. And we won’t get bitten. Hopefully!”

Mabel led Dipper to the base of a large pine tree. Its branches jutted outwards in a ladder-like pattern, just large enough for them to step onto. 

“Are you serious?!” Dipper shouted, “Those branches will break the second we start climbing them. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Which one of us is playing hide-and-seek tag in the woods in the middle of the night? Sounds pretty childish to me!” Mabel replied, setting her foot onto one of the branches and pulling herself up. 

“We both are! And that’s different!”

“Whatever you say, bro!”

Mabel disappeared up into the top of the tree. To Dipper’s right, Wendy continued the countdown, somewhere in the twenties.

He sighed. Mabel was going to get herself hurt if she stayed up there. Might as well have someone with her to cushion the fall.

“Ha! Told you!” Mabel taunted as Dipper began to climb, “She’ll never find us up here!” 

“Whatever,” Dipper grumbled.

The pair found a branch to sit on some fifteen feet above the ground. Dipper clung to the tree’s trunk with all of his strength, with Mabel venturing out further along the branch and staring down at the dimly lit forest, the flickering oranges of the campfire casting large shadows across the grass.

“Alright, dudes!” Wendy shouted, “Hope you’re good at hiding!” 

Dipper held his breath as he watched Wendy’s silhouette lurk through the shadows and into the night. Mabel giggled with excitement while she passed below, Dipper almost having to cover her mouth to keep her quiet. The thrill of the game almost helped him forget how high up they were. 

Wendy whistled and clapped her hands menacingly along the way, “Come on. I’ll find you eventually. Never hurts to give up!” 

“You’ll never make me give up!” Soos shouted from the other end of the campsite, “Wait a minute-”

Without so much as a warning, Wendy turned around and bolted towards the rock where Soos was hiding. He let out a scream, similar to that of a wounded dog, and tumbled across the ground for a few seconds before tackling him. 

“Tell my abuela that I love her!” Soos shouted as Wendy wrestled him out of his hiding spot, “And Melody too, I guess!”

“Told ya!” Wendy cheered, “I always win!”

“Not yet! You haven’t found Dipper and Mabel!”

“No. But I will soon.” 

Dipper tapped Mabel on the shoulder, “Back up, okay? I don’t want you so close to the edge.”

“Hey, which one of us climbed a water tower to get Grunkle Stan over his fear of heights, hmm?”

“The tower almost fell over. You could have died!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“That’s not important!”

With a gentle tug, Dipper pulled Mabel away from the edge of the branch, pine needles scratching the back of his neck like stray hairs after a haircut.

“Dipper, Mabel,” Wendy called out, taking a left past their tree and moving towards the shoreline, “I know you’re around here somewhere!”

“Don’t fall for it, dudes!” Soos shouted, “Don’t end up  like me!”
The branch began to sway as a cold wind blew in from the northeast. Dipper shivered and moved to adjust his shirt to cover his exposed arms. 

Then came the snapping.

Before Dipper had a chance to move, the branch that he and Mabel were stationed on broke out from beneath them. 

Dipper reached out with one hand and reached for Mabel while holding his shirt with the other. For a moment, he was able to hang on while his shirt caught itself on a branch, only for the fabric to rip and send the twins tumbling towards the ground below, breaking branches all the way down. 

He hit the ground with a thud. Mabel followed, landing on his chest as he tried to take in  a breath. The impact knocked the wind out of him and left Dipper gasping like a fish out of water. 

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted, “Are you okay?!”

Dipper held up his hand as he let out a loud cough. He used the other hand to support himself, slowly rising to a sitting position and trying to ignore the sharp pains over the sides of his body. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dipper choked, “You?”

Mabel took a minute to examine her arms and legs for any scratches. When that was done, she lightly tapped the side of her head with her fist, smiling by the time she was done and giving Dipper a thumbs up.

“See, that wasn’t so bad?” Mabel chuckled, “A little tree-falling never hurt anyone.”

“Easy for you to say. I cushioned your fall!”

Wendy quickly appeared over the glint of the fire. Dipper stopped for a moment, wondering if it was a better idea to run. The widening of her eyes stopped Dipper in his tracks. 

“Woah, what happened here?!” Wendy asked, making a T-shape with her hands, “Time out, guys!” 

“We’re fine,” Dipper said, “Just fell a bit.”

Wendy pointed to the top of the tree, “You guys were up THERE?”

“We hid from you pretty well, didn’t we?”

“Dudes. You can’t just climb a tree like that. Especially an old pine like that one. Let me show you how you’re supposed to do it.”

Always prepared, Wendy pulled a rope harness out of her backpack. She wrapped the rope around her waist and then swung the other ends around the sides of the tree. Using her legs to push herself up and the rope to grip the trunk, Wendy scaled the tree in a matter of seconds, stepping past the ladder-like branches as if they were pebbles on a sidewalk.

“See?” Wendy called out, “Never use the branches. You never know when they’ll break. The trunk? That thing’s stable.” 

“Woah…” Mabel said in awe, “You’re like a squirrel.”

Their red-haired friend slid back down the tree, “Nah, my dad forced me to learn. It took years of practice to get it right. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

“It’s okay. Dipper broke my fall.”

“I think that’s enough manhunt for the day. What do you say we pack up our stuff and head back to the site?”

“Fine by me.”

A swiss cheese sky capped the atmosphere above, small bits of cloud cover creating gaps in the stars. Bits and pieces of constellations poked through and shone down on Lookout Point. Dipper held his head towards the heavens while holding his bruised ribs. There was something beautiful about the cosmic glow in the dead of night. It evoked a sense of childlike wonder and curiosity, the first he had felt in over six years.

The four of them kayaked back in silence, taking in the nocturnal serenity on the way back, soaking in each moment as if it would be their last. Rhythmic paddling patterns hypnotized him with the cresting of each wave. A soft chill rose from the cool water as it mixed with the gradually cooling air above. Soft, thin layers of mist danced along the surface of the lake.

Dipper wondered if it was worth it. To spend the rest of his summer pursuing the journal, cooped up in his bedroom figuring out what it meant. The last few days had been his best in years. What if he ended up like McGucket? A man driven mad by his quest for knowledge, losing the joy in his life to his work? He would go on a thousand more camping trips if he had the choice. Yet, at the same time, he needed answers. The curiosity in the back of his mind would chew through his brain and out the front of his skull if he kept himself in the dark. 

He would have to worry about that tomorrow. All he had to do was get the journal to Grunkle Ford.

From there, Dipper would plan the rest of his summer.

Chapter Text

I began to feel sick. I thought I had come down with the flu.

Dipper bolted out of the truck with the backpack in hand. He hardly had time to wave goodbye to Wendy and Soos before bursting through the front door of the Mystery Shack, the fresh, air-conditioned air wrapping around his body like a hug. 

The camping trip had come to an end. The trip home had only taken a few minutes. Most of the work had been taking down the campsite. Dipper, distracted by the thought of the journal, had put himself on autopilot before hopping in the truck and anxiously waiting to make it back home.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouted, almost knocking over a shelf of overpriced souvenirs as he burst through the door, “We found something!”

Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan stood behind the counter. Grunkle Ford wore his lab coat with a maroon T-shirt beneath, while Grunkle Stan wore a stained tank-top and shorts that left little to the imagination. They both held glasses of water in their hands with piles of dollar bills in the other.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Grunkle Stan shouted, “I almost thought we had a customer!”

“We found something even better!” Dipper shouted, reaching into Wendy’s bag, “See?”

Mabel, Wendy, and Soos strolled through the door and found Dipper at the counter, Grunkle Ford waving at them while Dipper placed the journal and the metal scrap on the table. 

“What’s that?” Grunkle Stan asked.

“Don’t get mad,” Dipper said, “But we poked around McGucket’s old shack and found this in one of his crawl spaces. We don’t know what it is.”

Grunkle Ford grabbed the journal and stared at the cover, “Wait. So this…This is Fiddleford’s?”

Dipper nodded, “Yep. And it was addressed to you.”

Grunkle Ford tried to open the journal, only for the cover to remain in place, just as it had the first time. 

“Fiddleford was a very paranoid man. I know how to open this. I have some equipment in the lab,” He paused and pulled the metal sheet from the table, “This was down there, too?”

“Are you sure that messing around with this stuff is a good idea?” Grunkle Stan asked, “Remember what happened last time?”

“I’m not poking around. I’m posthumously examining my colleague’s work. Think of it as a post-mortal peer review.”

“Nerd!” Mabel shouted, “But also, that’s really cool.”

“Yes it is. I’ll be back. Thank you for finding this!” 

Grunkle Ford took the journal and the sheet before sprinting away to his downstairs lab. Dipper had never seen the man move so quickly in his life, running with remarkable agility for a man in his mid seventies. 

“We won’t be seeing him for a bit, will we?” Dipper asked.

Grunkle Stan shook his head, “Nope. You just opened up a can of worms. What the heck were you doing down there, anyway?”

“We got curious. Needed another mystery to solve.”

“That makes one of us. I’ve had enough mysteries for three lifetimes and two life-sentences.” 

“Honestly? Me too,” Wendy said, “The best part of the trip was the nature.”

“Did you find any gold?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Dammit. Why did I even hire you?”

“You don’t own the place anymore,” Soos reminded, “Remember?”

“Eh, take the day off. I’ll hold down the shack for another day. Honestly, I kinda missed it. Ripping people off brings me joy.”

Dipper stared at the vending machine as it closed behind Grunkle Ford. Somewhere behind that door, mysteries were being solved. Ciphers were being decoded. Before the day ended, Dipper would have an answer.

The next twelve hours would be the longest of his life. 

Wendy and Soos said their goodbyes and hit the road, promising to come back and make more plans before the week was done. Dipper couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to have something to look forward to. It had been a long time since that had happened. 

Eventually, after a brief catch-up session with Grunkle Stan, Dipper and Mabel went upstairs to finish unpacking. Dipper stood a comfortable distance away from Mabel’s sweater-filled duffel bag, not willing to find himself in the crossfire of another explosion. 

“You know,” Mabel said while she unpacked, “If there really is something in that journal, try not to burn yourself out, okay?”

Dipper raised an eyebrow, “What are you talking about?”

“Come on. Don’t act like you don’t know. You’re smart.”

“What?”

“Dipper, you were so happy when we were on that trip. Even when I fell onto you and almost crushed your ribcage. I haven’t seen you smile like that in so long. Do you really want to spend another summer in Gravity Falls tearing yourself apart trying to solve a mystery?”

“I’m not going to tear myself apart. I promise.”

“You can promise all you want. I want to SEE you do it.”

Dipper refused to let high school repeat itself. Friday nights in his room would be a thing of the past. He had faith in his ability to find a work-life balance. Gravity Falls had something that Piedmont didn’t. Something that would keep him occupied: A friend group that genuinely cared about, one that reached out first.

Almost on cue, Dipper’s phone lit up with a text from the group chat the quartet had created on the ride home. A series of heart emojis and laughing faces filled the message board in response to a picture that Mabel had sent. It had been taken on the first night, where Mabel’s pupils were dilated from her drink. A goofy smile spread across his sister’s face whilst Wendy and Soos grinned with the orange glow of the campfire creating a glint in their eyes. Dipper was to the left of Wendy, smiling so wide that his stubble wrinkled with the lines around his face. 

“See?” Mabel said, pointing to the picture on the screen, “That’s the kind of smile I want to see more of. You need to relax.”

“I will,” Dipper replied, “After I get the journal from Grunkle Ford. Nothing wrong with a little light reading, right?”

“Dipper…”

“Aren’t you curious?” Dipper asked while placing his dirty clothes into a laundry basket, “What if there’s something good in there?”

“There might be. But Bill’s gone. It’ll probably be some weird math stuff. Or maybe a guide on how to punch a unicorn. I’d like that.”

Bill being gone didn’t negate the weirdness of Gravity Falls. Sure, one of its main orchestrators had died, but there was more behind the curtain. Mundane weirdness had been left in Bill’s wake. No longer was Gravity Falls the ticking-weirdness-timebomb. The weirdness that remained was begging to be discovered. If Grunkle Ford’s birthday phone calls were of any indication, there was more to search for. 

“I’m gonna put my stuff in the laundry,” Dipper said, picking up his basket, “Need me to put anything in?”

Mabel shook her head, “You’re good. I’ll put my sweaters in on their own time. I don’t want your boy germs to get all over it!”

“Whatever.”

The door to the bedroom creaked as Dipper stepped outside. Mabel coughed loudly, causing Dipper to turn his head and glance at her.

“Remember,” Mabel said, “Don’t burn yourself out. Okay?” 

“I won’t!”

Wooden stairs creaked beneath Dipper’s feet, with the same dust bunnies clinging to the corners of the banister that had been there during their first summer. With Grunkle Stan being the slob that he was, and Grunkle Ford consuming himself in his work, it was a miracle the place hadn’t burned down.

“Is the washer open?” Dipper asked as he reached the living room.

“Yep,” Grunkle Stan replied, “Just finished my darks.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing them?”

“It’s a free country. If a man in his seventies wants to air out his body after thirty years of wearing suits, then so be it.”

“Okay. But I’d still advise dumping the tank top. I think you’re scaring customers.”

“If a little flab is enough to scare them, they wouldn’t last in here anyway.”

“Alright. You do you. I guess…”

Dipper disappeared around the corner and into the laundry room, thankful to no longer be within range of Grunkle Stan’s arm flabs. On one hand, he was glad that Grunkle Stan was still up and active in his advanced years. On the other hand, he wished that he would dress more conservatively. There was only so much of a man that one could see before they lost respect. 

Yet, even with his sullen stature and occasional walking cane, Grunkle Stan was in far better shape than McGucket had ever been. Age was weird like that. For some people, seventy five was barely a mark on the calendar, while others passed younger, looking twice their age before they went. Dipper was painfully aware that his Grunkles were aging. Everyone did. The logical side of his brain knew that there was nothing that could be done about it. The obsessive part of his brain focused on the minute details. Did Grunkle Stan forget Lazy Susan’s address out of senility, or because he never cared to memorize it? Was Grunkle Ford’s raspiness just the ales of a long night, or was it the first drop on a storm of geriatricness?

Dipper placed his clothes in the washing machine, watching for a moment as they wrinkled beneath the soapy water, much like the skin of his once young grunkles. He found it hard to believe that it had been six years since their first summer in Gravity Falls. Time moved quicker. The first week of their trip had almost come and gone. While it passed slower than most weeks in recent memory, it was still faster than anything he remembered during the first summer. Weekends felt like years. In his late teenage years, if he blinked he would miss an entire Saturday. How much time did he really have left to enjoy himself before the responsibilities of adulthood caught up with him? 

Maybe Mabel had a point. Was it worth studying the journal if it wasted precious time? It was the only resource that money couldn’t buy. Not even the time-tape could help him, wherever it had ended up. Perhaps the best use of his summer would be to sit back, relax, and enjoy the time he had with the people he loved. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford wouldn’t be young forever. Mabel would be away at college soon and Dipper would only see her on weekends. Soos was already pushing thirty and would probably be thinking of starting a family soon. Wendy was Wendy, but they still only had a little bit of time together. 

Dipper closed the washing machine and set a timer on his phone. He passed the main area of the shack, where a blue glow came from the other side of the shop’s vending machine. Curiosity got the best of him. Dipper placed his hand on the back and gently pulled the device aside, allowing it to swing out on its hinges and reveal the staircase on the other side.

Grunkle Ford’s lab remained largely unchanged. Dipper descended the metal staircase slowly, taking a look at the trinkets and lights that lined the wall on the way down. 

At the bottom, a red door revealed a large underground chamber, blue lights overhead flickering with surges in the power system. Circuit breakers and wires covered the free wall space and even the support beams. Dipper carefully stepped over the mechanical mess and knocked on the door to Grunkle Ford’s study.

“Grunkle Ford…” Dipper said, knocking on the door, “Can I come in?”

“Yes, Dipper,” Grunkle Ford replied, “You should see this. It’s so fascinating…”

Dipper pressed open the door and stepped into the study. Large computer monitors, poorly organized tables, and shelves full of books and academic papers filled his vision, crowding almost every inch of space that the room had to offer. A large set of glass panes separated the duo from what had once been Bill Cipher’s portal, the same one that Grunkle Ford had fallen through some thirty five years ago. The portal sat ruined, with only a few blue supports and glowing pieces of metal remaining within the frame, a memorial to a world that had almost ended. It looked like something out of a storm movie, with debris scattered across the stone platform from the portal’s violent destruction. He didn’t see it turning on again anytime soon. 

At a wooden table near the glass, Grunkle Ford sat with his back hunched, sweat dripping down his face while he scribbled away on a piece of paper just next to McGucket’s metal sheet. 

“Fiddleford really didn’t want anyone but me finding this,” Grunkle Ford sighed, “Each line is in a different code. First atbash, then Caesar. It keeps switching. It’s going to take me a long time to crack this.”

“What about the journal?” Dipper asked.

“Oh, that. Yes. Give me a moment!”

Grunkle Ford pulled the journal from its resting place at the end of the table and slid it across the wood to Dipper. Dipper carefully reached out and held the journal in his hand. A five-fingered gold handprint covered the front with a large “four” written in the center with black ink. It smelled vaguely of chemicals. 

“What’s with the smell?” Dipper asked.

Grunkle Ford chuckled, “Fiddleford and I invented an adhesive back in the seventies. Only one solution in the world can undo it, and he knew that I had it. A little bit of chemistry was all we needed.”

“Why would he seal up his own journal?”

“He probably sealed it when he felt himself getting sick. This was the research he had promised me.”

Dipper opened the cover of the book and took a look at the aged yellow pages. Frantic scribbles filled the front pages, mostly mathematical equations. The words “weirdness magnetism” appeared time and time again.

“It looked like he was trying to come up with a new theorem for our law of weirdness magnetism. Nothing he wrote on that page made sense to me. I think he started using the memory gun again. I should have kept a closer eye on it. You can tell that his mind was starting to go.”

Further into the book, diagrams and descriptions similar to those in journal three filled the pages. He skimmed the first few sections, finding pages on vampire bats that were actual vampires, sentient trees that would swat any anyone that dared to cut them down, and even a section on the behavior of gnomes during solar eclipses .

Dipper soaked up the knowledge like a sponge. The words crawled off of the pages and into his brain. Not even the offputting chemical odor could keep him from soaking in McGucket’s observations. It pulled back the curtain on Gravity Falls even further, exposing small bits of weirdness that had slipped under the radar during their first visit. 

Another few pages told of woodpeckers that specifically targeted tax institutions, mole people living beneath the Falls, and a sketch of the UFO-marked cliffside on the outside of the valley that created the city. Dipper sat on the floor of the lab skimming the journal like a child with a new christmas present.

“You two really were close, weren’t you?” Dipper asked.

Grunkle Ford sighed, “You could say that, yes. I wish we could have done more. I should have never opened that damned portal.”

“Nothing you can do about it now.”

“I suppose. But I’m the reason he saw those things. I’m the reason he started using that memory gun.”

“You couldn’t have known. There’s nothing wrong with being curious.”

“I’d beg to differ. Dipper, I was a lot like you when I was younger. I wanted to know everything, even things that I shouldn't have gotten into. I would spend my nights just like you, sitting on the floor of my lab and reading. It’s a thief, really. I opened a journal in my teens and when I lifted my head up, I was already thirty. It sneaks up on you.”

“I…I guess I can see that.”

Dipper glanced at the clock. A half hour had already passed, having lost track of time with his nose in the journal’s pages. Grunkle Ford had a point. Curiosity was a time thief. No matter what Dipper did, it would find a way into the back of his mind, swiping precious hours from his life whilst he buried himself in a new informational rabbithole. Gravity Falls was like a mouse trap in that sense. It lured the curious mice into its mouth with a bright piece of cheese and snapped shut once they were distracted. Those with a thirst for knowledge were advised to steer clear. 

Then again, what good was weirdness if it went undocumented? Someone had to study the strangeness of the Falls. With Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan climbing into their upper years, they would only be able to keep up for so long. 

Dipper glanced at the clock while skimming the rest of the journal. Most of the pages were frantic sketches and descriptions that McGucket had documented during Dipper’s six year absence. It was only at the back of the journal that he found something different.

There were no diagrams. Instead, Dipper saw occult symbols, with writings that appeared to be in Latin, although he wasn’t quite sure. Dipper stood up and showed the picture to Grunkle Ford.

“Did you see this page?” Dipper asked, “Looks a bit weird…”

“Oh, that one?” Grunkle Ford replied, “Yep. Looks like a variation of the zombie incantation I found during my first visit here. I don’t think I want to mess with it.”

“What does it say?”

“Most of it is in Latin. From what I was able to translate, it’s a spell that can bring back the dead as they were before they died, without any of the decay or rot of a zombie. They supposedly have their memories intact. Problem is, it only brings them back for a few hours, then they die again.”

“Do you think we could use it on McGucket?”

Grunkle Ford’s eyes darkened as he gave Dipper a stern expression, “No. I’ve done a lot, Dipper, but bringing back the dead is too much. It’s not our place.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s not right.”

“Fair enough.”

Dipper bookmarked the page with a small slip of paper, intending to go back to it when he had time to read later that night. 

A moment of silence passed before Dipper leaned over Grunkle Ford’s shoulder and watched as he translated the first line of the metal sheet. 

“What does it say?” Dipper asked. 

“Want to take a look?” Grunkle Ford asked, showing Dipper a piece of paper filled with ciphers and a single line of discernible text at the bottom. 

I’ve started seeing things.

“Fiddleford wanted to make me work, it seems,” Grunkle Ford chuckled, “Took me three hours just to get that one line. And I’ll bet it’ll take even longer for the rest.”

“What does it mean?” Dipper asked.

“Judging from how scratchy the writing is, he wrote this after he got sick. He probably knew he didn’t have much time left and wanted to get the rest of his research put down somewhere. Knowing him, he ran out of paper in the scrapyard and started using metal instead. He was always a little bit eccentric. Always so stubborn about staying in that damn junkyard, even after those Northwests kicked him to the streets.

Grunkle Ford’s eyes lit up for a moment whilst reflecting on Fiddleford. They fell again once he reached the last sentence, a grimace spreading across his face as he brought up the Northwest name.

“What happened?” Dipper asked.

“You remember the Northwest family, I imagine. Fiddleford bought the mansion after Weirdmageddon. Preston kicked him out after a year once they could afford to get the mansion back. He went back to the junkyard and stayed there.”

Dipper hadn’t thought about the Northwests in a long time. He remembered his last interaction with Pacifica, exchanging memorabilia from their time in the Falls and promising to come back next summer, both knowing that it would likely be the last chance they would ever see each other. Dipper wished that the summer had gone differently. Pacifica had shown her true colors only at the end of the visit, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. 

“I never knew that,” Dipper replied, “Wow…” 

“It was a whole fiasco, Dipper,” Grunkle Ford sighed, “I invited him to stay with me, but he refused. He liked it there. Or, at least, he tricked himself into liking it.”

The whole situation left a bad taste in Dipper’s mouth. The Northwest Family had always been a handful. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Pacifica after his departure, trapped between two warring parents and a fortune that had almost vanished into thin air.

“Feel free to read the rest of the journal,” Grunkle Ford said after some time, “I’ve already photo-scanned all of its contents. These machines have gotten a lot more compact since I last used them…”

“Yeah,” Dipper chuckled, “Thirty years in a dream dimension would do that.” 

“Not something I would recommend. I’d fight with Stanley a thousand times before going back there.”

“I’ll make sure I never open a portal.”

“Good. You and Mabel have something that Stanely and I were only just able to get back. Don’t let that spark die out, Dipper. Don’t lose thirty years of your life to a fight.”
For a moment, the gleam of weary eyes through his Grunkle’s lab goggles made it through the glass, letting the face of a man that had seen too much leak through the front. 

Grunkle Ford cleared his throat, “I won’t keep you down here any longer. Go get some fresh air. And let me know if you find anything in that journal that I missed.”

Dipper nodded, “Yes, Grunkle Ford.”

The trip away from the lab felt far quicker than the journey down. He glanced at Grunkle Ford on the way out, watching his boney, hunched shoulders poking through the fabric of his lab coat. 

Early evening had fallen upon the Mystery Shack. Grunkle Stan placed a closed sign over the front door, while somewhere in the distance, Mabel screamed pop songs from the shower, the sound of her voice barely muffled by the thin floorboards.

Dipper took the journal upstairs and read by the orange glow that spilled in through the upstairs window. 

He skimmed the pages for anything of interest. Aside from the mundane weirdness, Dipper didn’t find anything urgent or life-shattering. It lifted a weight from his shoulders, yet at the same time, left him wanting more. He had almost wanted McGucket to have something for him. One last mystery to solve on his behalf, as selfish as the thought sounded. 

The sun had slipped close to the horizon by the time Dipper reached the end of the book. The necromancy page stared back at him, its occult markings barely glimmering in the dim glow of twilight. There was nothing more to be gained. He grabbed a UV flashlight from downstairs and came back with nothing. Dipper was thrilled to have new weirdness to discover, but found himself disappointed that it wasn’t what it used to be. The novelty of the experience had worn off. 

The journal quickly found its home on Dipper’s nightstand. Dipper grabbed his bathrobe and a change of clothes for his evening shower, staring out the window as the first of the stars poked through the belt of Venus. Over a distant hilltop, he could make out the faint glow of a mansion. The Northwest Mansion. 

One couldn't help but wonder what went on behind closed doors. Without a lumberjack ghost to keep the family in line, Dipper wondered if the Northwests had truly fallen off like Grunkle Ford said, or if there was a piece of the puzzle that was missing.

Dipper shrugged. Mysteries were better left in journals than people.

Chapter Text

Or maybe pneumonia. 

With nighttime routines out of the way, Dipper snuck down the stairs just in time for a Mystery Shack movie night, a tradition that had been sorely missed over their six absent summers. The smell of freshly buttered popcorn and the feel of warm blankets against the hardwood floor welcomed him into the living room. Waddles rubbed his snout against Dipper’s ankle as he sat down next to Mabel on one of the room’s two couches. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford sat on opposite chairs facing the T.V. 

“Hey, don’t hog the popcorn!” Mabel hissed, stealing a large red bowl filled with steaming popcorn from Grunkle Stan, “Waddles needs some, too.”

“Is that pig working for his share?” Grunkle Stan asked, “I bet not. Freakin’ freeloader.”

Grunkle Stan relented and handed the bowl of popcorn to Mabel. Dipper took a handful of his own before Waddles took what was left.

“I can’t believe none of you have seen Titanic,” Grunkle Stan sighed, “It’s one of the best movies ever. About a rich guy losing his fiance and all of his money. Scary stuff.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow, “Grunkle Stan, I haven’t even seen the movie, and I think you’re missing the point.”

“I’ve heard so much about it,” Grunkle Ford sighed, “So many references to it. I finally get to see this ‘Jack’ fellow they’ve all been talking about.”

“Yeah!” Mabel cheered, “He’s a cutie.”

Mabel smiled from ear to ear, wearing a blue sweater with a floating door embroidered on the center. Dipper knew how the movie ended. Anyone who hadn’t been lost in a dream dimension for thirty years knew how it ended. That didn’t stop him from being curious. Historical fiction movies had always tickled his fancy. There was something breathtaking about a film that could so realistically recreate the era that it took place in. Aside from the time tape, it was the closest thing that they had to actual time travel. 

“Whatever. Just be thankful I found a good place to pirate it,” Grunkle Stan grumbled, “I wasted a whole ten minutes on it!”

The opening credits rolled. With the journal in the back of his mind and the day’s work on translating McGucket’s scrap metal done, Dipper was able to lean back against the couch and quiet his mind. He didn’t dare turn it off. Otherwise, he would fall asleep and miss the movie. The best kind of move was one that kept one engaged without demanding every second of their attention. Dipper felt that he could get up and use the bathroom without missing anything important. That, in a way, was freeing. He didn’t have to analyze the film down to the ones and zeros in its imagery like he would a journal of weirdness. James Cameron had given him the mental equivalent to a midnight snack.

A cool breeze blew in through an open window as the night crept along the forest. Moonlight spilled in and created a small glare in the center of the living room’s pine floors. Grunkle Ford stood up and closed the window as the wreck of the mighty Titanic appeared in the center of the screen, down at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The breeze only added to the immersion. Dipper could almost feel the icy void, shivering as the hairs on his arms and neck stood up. Small, muffled underwater thumps accompanied the beginning of the movie’s opening score, low string notes climaxing in a grand crescendo as the movie took the viewer up to the surface. 

From there, they would meet Rose Calvert, an elderly woman claiming to be the subject of a drawing found inside of a safe at the bottom of the wreck. From there, she met up with a team of explorers and set off to tell her story, the age disappearing from her eyes as the scene transitioned back to 1912. 

“Where’s DiCaprio?!” Mabel asked.

“He’s coming,” Grunkle Stan replied, “Shut up. The rich guy is about to come on.”

A man in a large top hat accompanied a young Rose out of an escort’s car and onto the Southampton port. Dipper could feel the energy in the air through the screen, bright colors and a rising soundtrack with high choral tones bringing delight to all those that listened. It was the same way that Dipper remembered his first summer in Gravity Falls. The colors were brighter, the sky clearer, and the air fresher. In a way, it was his own Titanic, reliving a time years in his past that had changed his life. 

“This was made in the nineties?!” Grunkle Ford asked, “What did I miss?”

“A lot, Stanford. A lot,” Grunkle Stan replied.

Dipper lost himself in the scenery. Mabel let out a screech of delight when Leonardo DiCaprio appeared behind a window playing a card game with an Italian friend. 

The ship seemed like a character in herself. The Titanic towered over the background of any scene it was in, taking up the screen and demanding the viewer’s attention. A beautiful blend of late-nineties computer graphics and the ingenuity of practical effects created a scene so rich that Dipper could almost smell the paint on the hull. Dipper respected the director’s attention to historical accuracy. He could only imagine how many nights had been spent agonizing over the script trying to get every last detail correct, even those that would go right over the head of the average viewer. 

“I want a man that looks at me like DiCaprio looks at her,” Mabel swooned, “Minus the whole ‘not dating women over twenty five’ thing.”

“All he wants is her money!” Grunkle Stan grunted, “She had so much! And she’s going to throw it away for this schmutz? What? So she can be happy? Who marries for love anymore?”

Grunkle Ford put a finger to his lips, “Stanley! You’re going to depress the kids.”

“So? They’re eighteen. That’s what that age is for.”

Carried away by the ambience of first class dinner and the bouncy tunes of drunken Irish bands, Dipper stopped glancing at the clock and found himself engrossed within James Cameron’s work. With all of his time spent doing schoolwork or reading, he had forgotten the joy of cinema. Perhaps one day he would find a way to go into the movie and live it out for himself. The young-romance part, not so much the sinking and dying part. 

There was whimsey in the air even as the antagonists lurked in the corners. Dipper felt his brow furrow with each appearance of Rose’s fiance and his henchman on the screen. Their actors did a splendid job, radiating pretentiousness with each step that they took. Mabel audibly gagged whenever they spoke. 

“I don’t like that guy,” Mabel said, “His forehead is too big.”

The longer the movie went on, the more he yearned to discover his own inner Jack Dawson, cheering that he was the king of the world at the front of the largest ship on Earth, en route to a new life. The possibilities were endless. Life opened its arms out to him and Jack hopped in. It was a game of luck, and some made their own. Dipper knew it was all a movie, but there was a little bit of realism in each character; a trait that one would see in everyday life. Youthful vigor and confidence might as well have been an ocean away. Not even the fastest ship in the world could get Dipper there in time. 

The Edwardian atmosphere of the movie gave it a classy feel. Of course it had been cherry-picked, as shown by the scenes in the steerage rooms where the cleanliness of high-class life disappeared. Dipper appreciated both. The upper-class dinners were clean and full of lively chat. The steerage parties bubbled with unfiltered jollity. 

Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio danced until the night died out. Mabel covered her eyes during a particularly steamy drawing scene followed by an afterparty in the back of an old car. Dipper kept his eyes on the screen, but tried to avoid acknowledging anyone else in the room, knowing that the physical situation would only make the scene more awkward.

All of the magic had to come to an end. Dipper watched as Jack and Rose broke through a door on the bow to a starry night, glancing up at the stars with nothing but the open water ahead of them. The energy in the air was electric. The smiles on screen were no longer those of actors, but of two characters deeply in love, Hollywood magic almost making him forget the inevitable tragedy. 

The camera panned to two lookouts in the crow’s nest. A dark shape appeared on the horizon, like a beast emerging from a cave. It slid silently across the water.

Low tones of an ominous brass band rose whilst the first lookout rang a bell. Three chimes broke the air, followed by words that would live in infamy.

“Iceberg, right ahead!”

An enthralling montage of engineers and crewmen commenced, running around the ship and shouting orders through the night in a vain attempt to get the ship off course. Wide shots of the engines drew Dipper’s attention, cutting back to the iceberg and showing how precariously close the ship had drawn to it. 

It hit. 

“Oh, come on!” Mabel booed, pointing accusingly at the iceberg, “I hope climate change melted you!”

A confrontation ensued with Rose’s fiance framing Jack on a theft charge, planting a valuable necklace in his pocket and having him hauled away. Dipper couldn’t help but seethe each time Cal opened his mouth. His character radiated rich, high school bully energy, and the movie did little to change that.

“Does that guy die?” Mable asked.

Grunkle Stan put a finger to his lips, “Shh. There are rich people on the screen!”

The ship sank slowly. Dipper watched the elegance of the passengers slowly disappear as the vessel sank lower in the water. From there, most of the pop culture references to the film showed themselves, with the infamous “You jump, I jump,” scene followed by the music swell bringing Mabel to the brink of tears. 

“She has all the money in the world,” Grunkle Stan grumbled, “And she does this…”

“It’s love, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel nearly cried, “Don’t let money get in the way of love!”

“Wouldn’t I know…”

What had started out as a bright movie about a couple embarking on a new future quickly turned into a fight for survival. The two hour mark had come and gone. Rose had left her lifeboat, and the ship was quickly sinking. 

Each shot showed a different passenger dying. Dipper could see that Mabel was struggling to make it through. The worst of it came after the sinking, where Rose was sitting on her piece of debris and silently humming to herself, Jack clinging to the side. Dipper couldn’t remember whether Mabel knew how the movie ended.

The distant light of a lifeboat shone over Rose. She rattled Jack’s hand to wake him up. Dipper knew what would happen next. 

“Jack?” Mabel asked, as if in the movie herself, “Wake up…”

Knowing Mabel’s attraction to blondes and her history of losing boyfriends to the ocean, he imagined that she wasn’t going to take the ending well. 

Rose let Jack’s body go. The camera lingered on the shot of his body slipping into the sea, disappearing beneath the blackened waves and the eternal night. Mabel fought for all but three seconds to muffle her sobs before breaking down on the couch. She reached down and pulled Waddles from his spot on the ground and squeezed him like an organic stress ball. 

The movie came to a close with the final scene of old Rose sitting in her bed. Dipper decided that it was the way he wanted to go when his time came, warm in his bed surrounded by the products of a life well lived. He hoped to have pictures of his time to remember them. There were only a few snapshots that had survived their first visit to Gravity Falls, with most of them crammed into Mabel’s scrapbook. Dipper needed to find more thrill. More adventure. More mystery. Somewhere where he could meet a Rose of his own and have someone other than his sister to share adventures with. 

For the moment, it was nothing more than a dream, something that was far off into the future. He finished the last bites of stale popcorn and waited for Mabel to stop crying.

“It was so beautiful…” she sobbed, “She loved him!”

A knock at the door prompted Dipper to rise to his feet. 

“Don’t answer it!” Mabel cried, “You’ll get attached and they’ll freeze to death!”

Dipper opened the door to reveal Wendy and Soos with bags of fast food in their arms.

“Like dudes, the craziest thing happened!” Soos said, “I went to get some fried chicken, and they, like, gave me all of their supply.”

Wendy pointed at the distraught Mabel rolling around on the couch, “What happened here?” 

“We watched Titanic,” Dipper sighed, “You wanna stop in?”

“Why would you let Mabel watch Titanic? Doesn’t she have a thing for blondes?”

“You still remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

Mabel perked up at the sight of Wendy and Soos stepping inside, tears from the day leaving her face and drying slightly.

“I know you guys just spent like, a whole weekend with us,” Wendy said, “But I had some stuff come up. I was wondering if I could crash in the other guest room?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t burn the place down,” Grunkle Stan said, flicking a wrapper onto the floor, “Soos, you’re back in charge tomorrow. Today was too much for my back.”

“Awesome!” Soos cheered, “I can finally turn down the thermostat!”

“Don’t get cocky, kid.”

Grunkle Stan stood up and stretched his back, leaving the pit sweats on his shirt and the shape of his septuagenarian body out on display.

“Anyways, don’t burn the place down or cost me any money,” Grunkle Stan sighed, “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll be in the lab,” Grunkle Ford said, “Got more translating to do.”

Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan soon disappeared to their respective places of refuge. The television screen went dark fro, an extended period without any input. The end credits of Titanic disappeared and were replaced with Dipper’s reflection in the darkened screen.

“Would fried chicken cheer you up?” Soos asked, kneeling down next to Mabel and holding out a bag, “I have more on me now than I know what to do with!”

“Fried chicken won’t bring Jack back,” Mabel sighed, “The ocean is a bad place to have a boyfriend.”

“You have experience, don’t you?” Wendy chucked.

“Yeah…”

Soos handed Mabel a chicken leg, “Don’t worry. Chicken makes everything better. Let the fatty acids dissolve your sadness.”

Dipper turned his head to watch Grunkle Ford as he disappeared behind the wall of the vending machine again. Knowing Grunkle Ford’s self-care routine, he would be there all night, obsessively working at translating the rest of McGucket’s journal.

“Hey, did you find anything in that journal?” Wendy asked as she sat down on the couch next to Dipper and Mabel.

“Nothing crazy,” Dipper replied, “Just some new creatures. Some weird spells. Journal three was a lot more interesting.”

“And the metal sheet?”

“No idea. Grunkle Ford has only been able to translate one line of it so far.”

“Huh. Well, if anyone can solve it, it’s you two.”

Wendy handed Dipper a piece of fried chicken. He accepted and leaned back against the couch, the living room falling quiet in the absence of the Grunkles. 

“So, just couldn’t get enough of us?” Dipper asked Wendy, “Or is there another reason that you guys are here?”

“Just some family stuff. Nothing crazy,” Wendy sighed, “I could probably deal with it myself, but I’m not in the mood. Camping really takes a lot out of you.”

In the few seconds that Dipper and Wendy had been sitting on the couch, Mabel had gotten over mourning Leonardo DiCaprio, instead fumbling with the hair behind her head and trying to do a braid. She had never been able to do it herself. Mom always had to help her.

“Wendy, look!” Mabel cheered, turning around and revealing a mangled tangle of hair, “I can do braids!”

“No you can’t,” Wendy chuckled, “Come here. I’ll show you.”

“Yay! Girls’ night!”

Dipper stood up and made room for Mabel next to Wendy. For a moment, he eyed the vending machine, wondering if it was worth it to go down there again. Then he saw Soos sitting alone at the table with a basket of fried chicken and decided that it could wait until the morning. 

He tapped Soos on the shoulder and sat down across from him, “What’s up?”

“Oh, hey dude!” Soos said, “Nothing much. Probably gonna hit the hay soon. Gotta get ready for work tomorrow!”

“What’s it like owning the shack? Must be nice.”

“It is. I sell whatever I want, and I make enough money to send to my abuela!”

“Is she like your Grunkle Stan?” 

“I guess so. Everyone’s gotta have an elder. And a life insurance policy!” 

One-on-one conversations with Soos were few and far between. Whether he was off chasing an endless pizza, or making friends with woodland creatures, or spending time with Melody, Soos was always off doing his own thing. Dipper spoke to him mostly in passing. It wasn’t a gripe against Soos, moreso a statement to how little their paths tended to cross. Out of the Mystery Shack regulars, Soos was the one with whom Dipper had spoken the least. Their night out at the pizzeria fighting Giffany was the closest thing to quality time that the two had spent together. Perhaps a nighttime chat over some fried chicken was just what they needed to rekindle their bond.

“It’s nice having you and Mabel back, dude,” Soos said, “I love being around Melody and Wendy and the two Mr. Pines, but you guys are, like, the pepperoni to my cheese. You make this pizza of a man whole again. You know?’

“Aww, thanks,” Dipper replied, taking a bite of a chicken wing, “It’s good to be back. Lets me get away from the chaos back home.”

“That’s California for you. My abuela says that place is scary.”

“It’s not so much California. Just stuff at home. And college stuff.”

“I went to college for a bit. Community college. It’s not that bad, dude.”

“Really? When did you do that?”

“Twelve years ago. Went there for finance and business administration. That's why I like the Mystery Shack. Gives me a business to finance. And administer.” 

“I never knew that.”

“You learn something new every day. Like today, I learned that those speed limit signs aren’t just suggestions!”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah, we might have gotten a little bit of a ticket on the way here. Sheriff Blubs was very nice about the whole thing. Only fined us a few bucks. Never knew you actually had to follow those things.”

“Well, if you need to get out of paying it, talk to Grunkle Stan. He’s got more unpaid tickets than Mabel has sweaters.”

“Did someone say sweaters?!” Mabel hollered from the couch with Wendy.

“Not important,” Dipper replied. 

From somewhere in the corner, Wendy turned on her phone and played some soft folk music, setting the atmosphere with moonlight pouring in through the open windows. Mosquitoes buzzed around the room as they wiggled inside through gaps in the door. A ceiling fan overhead created a soft downdraft that sent small clouds of dust whirling from the carpet on the ground below. A yellow light rolled down the stairs from the underside of Grunkle Stan’s bedroom door, making it just past the end of the banister and sprawling out along the wooden planks. The television remained off. Dipper saw no need to turn it on. The flowy guitar strumming coming from Wendy’s speaker was all that they needed.

“You guys really know how to set an atmosphere, don’t you?” Dipper asked, “It’s always so peaceful…”

“Hey, at least here we have working bathrooms. And air conditioning.”

Dipper and Soos sat around their fried chicken for another hour or so and chatted the night away. Wendy and Mabel worked on braiding, and then began talking about college and what to expect there. Only half paying attention, Dipper’s eyelids began to grow heavy, and he let out a yawn before checking his watch. It was ten minutes to two. A late night by his standards. 

“Well, I think I’m going to head up,” Dipper said, “Wendy, Soos, it was awesome to see you guys. Catch ya in the morning!”

“Wait for me!” Mabel replied hastily, “I’m tired, too!” 

“After you, then.”

The stairs groaned beneath their feet as the two headed for the bedroom. They were extra careful not to disturb Grunkle Stan, listening for his snoring through the base of his door, silently slipping past his spot in the hallway before Dipper crashed into his bed.

He had no memory of his head hitting the pillow. His eyes went dark, and then he was asleep.

Chapter Text

No medicines helped me. I forced myself to keep working.

“Mabel?” Dipper shouted.

Cold stone clouded the cave. Dipper scrambled to find a flashlight, with his hands slipping and arms feeling like jello. Each step forward was met with two backwards. He fought for control of his legs through shaky breaths, with the slickness of the wet rock causing Dipper to slip and bang his head on the side of the wall. 

Something rumbled in the back of the cavern. It sounded like distant thunder that grew closer with each passing second. He had no memory of how he had ended up in the cave, nor did he care. His only focus was finding Mabel and getting the hell out of there. She was always getting herself into trouble. Knowing Mabel, she had seen a shiny rock and ran off to look for it, losing her way and disappearing into the corridor. 

Water began to pool around Dipper’s ankles. Strange. It hadn’t been raining before. Something else was going on. 

“Mabel!” Dipper hollered, “Come on. I don’t like this. Let’s get out of here!” 

The walls of the cave began to rattle and send small bits of debris raining down on Dipper as he tried to navigate. His flashlight began to dim. He silently cursed himself for not having the wherewithal to pack a couple extra batteries. How could he be so stupid? Only an idiot would do something like that.

Dipper inhaled sharply as a large boulder fell in front of him, some two feet from his face. The rattling intensified. It had to have been an earthquake. Nothing else would shake a cave with such violence and vigor. 

They had to leave.

A faint blue light shined at the end of one of the passageways. Carefully climbing over the boulder, Dipper waded through the rising water and tried to follow it, the light growing further away the closer Dipper came. It skittered away like a rabbit from a hunter’s rifle. Dipper wondered if he was barking up the wrong tree. What if it was some sort of trap?

“Dipper?!” Mabel’s voice called back, “Is that you? What’s going on?!”

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted, “Stay there. I’m on my way!”

Dipper began to feel dizzy as the air around him grew stale. Deep breaths turned to coughs and fits of violent sputtering that made him sound like a fish fresh out of water. The water around his ankles soon rose to his knees. It had to be coming from somewhere. 

Dipper turned around and saw the last thing that he wanted to see.

A gargantuan wall of dark water approached from the top of the cave. Small waterfalls filtered water from the top and sent it down to the bottom of the cavern, leaving shrinking air pockets in their wake. 

They were running out of time.

Dipper threw himself down the slope in hopes of reaching the blue light in time. Sharp rocks dug into his skin and made deep cuts in his clothing and skin, leaving crimson trails running up and down his skin. Each cut stung like a needle piercing his flesh. His movements grew stiff. It was as if his joints were turning to stone. 

The water rose to his waist. His mind went back to the chase scene in Titanic, where Jack and Rose found themselves trapped in a flooding corridor, only making it out thanks to a lucky key just as that part of the ship went under. The scene alone had been enough to make Dipper swear off of water forever. 

A large rock fell from above and pinned Dipper’s arm to the bottom of the cave. He fought hard to pull himself up, watching as the wall of water approached and wiped away everything in its path, an uncaring behemoth of fluid that would surely be his doom. 

Panic took hold. He searched for anything. A knife, a gun, something to get rid of his arm and free him. He would rather bleed to death than drown.

“Mabel, run!” Dipper shouted, “Go!”

The wall drew nearer. There was nothing that Dipper could do. He took a deep breath and braced for impact, his last thoughts reminding him of his failure.

Water hit his face. Dipper screamed and lost his balance.

“Dude! Hey! You’re not supposed to sleep there!”

Dipper opened his eyes and took a sharp inhale. He then sat up and felt for his left arm, finding that there was no boulder on it. Aside from the sweat, he was dry, laying on the ground just beneath the foot of his bed.

A tall figure stood to Dipper’s right. All he needed was a glance at the wearer’s nightshirt to know who it was.

“You fell so hard it woke me up!” Soos chuckled, “You okay?”

Dipper rubbed his head. The adrenaline left his system, leaving his limbs shaking and his breath short. 

“Yeah,” he replied, dryly rubbing the side of his head as another headache racked his temples, “Just had a weird dream…”

Soos nodded, “It’s okay. I have those too, sometimes. Or nightmares.”

Eyes drifting over to the other side of the room, Dipper relaxed as he caught sight of Mabel calm and asleep in her bed, snoring away as if nothing had ever happened. The blue light of a phone emanated from her pillow. She must have fallen asleep listening to music again. Nothing out of character for her. The light must have somehow found its way into Dipper’s dream and led him in a feverish chase to the bottom. 

“Yeah…they’re not fun,” Dipper said, “Sorry for waking you up.”

“No problem. I should probably be getting ready for the day, anyway. Gotta get the shack in working order. There’s knick-knacks to sell!” 

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past three.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little early?”

“It’s never too early to make money.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Grunkle Stan, haven’t you?”

“Of course! Money time!”

Soos disappeared down the hallway and into a nearby bathroom. The shower turned on, with the soft ambience of rushing water feeling like a freight train against the silence of the night. Grunkle Stan gently snored from his bedroom on the first floor. From somewhere beneath Dipper’s feet, the refrigerator hummed, barely masking the hoots of owls as they hunted through the night. 

Adrenaline was a cruel beast. Dipper gave up trying to go back to bed. It would be useless, with a pounding heart keeping him awake into the morning. If he was going to be up, he would be productive. 

That started with getting something to eat. 

He had never been that much of a breakfast person. Only towards the end of high school had he come to appreciate the value of a good morning meal, giving him enough energy to trudge through his day. Grunkle Stan surely had some fruit and granola that he wouldn’t miss. Maybe he would even get out for a jog if the morning weather permitted. 

Dipper tip-toed into the kitchen, careful not to let the building’s aging stairs give him away. He had already woken one person up with his violent exit. He refused to disturb another.

“What are you up to, Mr. Cat-Burglar?” a voice asked from the kitchen table. 

Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun around and found Wendy sitting at the table with her head resting on her left arm, holding a flannel fashion magazine in her hand as she read by candlelight. He could just barely make out the outline of her hat in the darkness, along with her frizzled hair and a glass of water resting on a nearby table. 

“Don’t do that!” Dipper whispered, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“We can only hope,” Wendy chuckled, “What are you doing up so late?”

“I could be asking you the same thing!”

“Sometimes, you just can’t sleep.”

Something told Dipper that he wasn’t getting the full story. He walked over to the fridge and rinsed off an apple before sitting down at the table, rubbing his eyes and trying to wipe out the blurriness that filled his vision.

“You look like a mess,” Wendy said, “You sick or something?”

Dipper rubbed his head, “No, just a headache. And some…really weird dreams…”

“That what got you up?”

“I mean, I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“What was it about?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Am I not allowed to be curious? You of all people should get that.”

“That’s true.”

He took a bite of his apple and swallowed hard before recounting his experience. 

“It was this weird dream,” Dipper said, “I was in this cave trying to find Mabel. Everything started shaking, and it was dark, and my legs weren’t working right. You know, typical dream stuff. It all felt so real. It smelled bad, too. The cave started to flood and I got pinned to the ground by a boulder. I heard Mabel calling out to me, but I wasn’t able to get to her in time…”

Although he knew it had all been a dream, the memory was raw, and he couldn't help but feel a deep feeling of sorrow and guilt while the thought passed him. He could feel the vibrations of the stone walls caving in and the fear as he scrambled through the darkness to find Mabel. 

“That sounds awful,” Wendy said, “I’ve had dreams like that too. I know we’re supposed to be older, and they’re not supposed to scare us, but sometimes things like that just feel a little bit too real, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, “I’m glad you get it.”

“Mmhmm. I’ve had dreams like that about my dad before. Or Soos. They make you feel helpless. Sure, you wake up and know that they’re okay, but that feeling doesn’t leave you.”

“Is that why you carry that axe with you everywhere?”

Dipper pointed to the red tip of an axe resting against the underside of the kitchen table. 

“You never know when you’ll have to fight a shapeshifter,” Wendy chuckled, “Better safe than sorry.” 

She reached for the axe and placed it in a more comfortable spot on the ground, making it so the blade wasn’t directly facing them. It hit the ground with a soft clatter and caught the moonlight with the silver tip of its maroon blade. Dipper glanced out the window for a moment and saw an owl fly over a tree facing the moon.

“It’s so peaceful,” Wendy trailed off, “When you’re inside looking at the moon like that, it’s special. Especially when the house is quiet. It’s why I like to get up and sit when I have the time. Wake up before the birds and get the worm, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess I can see it,” Dipper replied, “Better than falling out of your bed from a nightmare.”

“You chose a good time to wake up. Better to have someone else to talk to then try and get over it alone.”

“You have experience with that?”

“Just a bit. Living in a house full of emotionally absent teenagers and a tough-as-rocks dad doesn’t help with this kind of thing. There are only so many problems brute force can fix.” 

Until the camping trip, Dipper had never contemplated the complexities of Wendy’s home life. She was a woman hidden by a veil of confidence and outdoorsy charm. He could see right through her for a moment, hiding from her life in the wilderness and familiarity with nature, in a place where things had a reason. It was a vulnerability he had never seen before. One that twelve year-old Dipper was too immature to comprehend. It had taken an entire summer of maturing to get over his infatuation and finally see her as a person. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Dipper said. 

She waved her hand, “It’s fine. Not my problem right now. Can’t have problems when you’re in the Mystery Shack!”

Wendy forced a smile, although Dipper knew there was something else brewing beneath the surface. He decided not to pry, but rather, to let the conversation flow into the night and see what he could get. Wendy Corduroy was a woman of many secrets. Someone didn’t become as handy and confident as her without bumps along the way. Dipper was finally meeting the complex person that his twelve year-old mind had blinded him to.

“I guess you’re right,” Dipper chuckled, “Still…”

The two sat in silence for a moment as Dipper finished his apple. He tossed the core into the nearby garbage can with the flick of his arm, the garbage bag deforming as it smacked the bottom of the can and splattered. 

“Nice shot,” Wendy said, “Looks like your shooting skills are paying off.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Dipper said, “Not just the shooting trip. The whole camping. I don’t think I’ve been that relaxed in a long time.”

“Everyone needs some nature in their lives. Gives you that vitamin D and makes you happy.” 

“Not just that. I felt like I was actually experiencing things, if that makes sense?” 

“Sorta.”

“I don’t know. Mabel has joked about it enough, you have to know. I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly these last few years.”

“So that’s where all the nerd jokes come from?”

Dipper nodded, “Not that they’re not true. But still. They got me thinking. There’s so much I never got to do. So many doors that closed before I even had my hand on the knob. It’s sorta…depressing. One of those things that hits you in the middle of the night and gives you that pit in your stomach.”

“What do you think you missed out on?”

“I don’t know. Anything. My best memories came from one summer when I was twelve. I was hoping I’d make some more when I was in Piedmont, but with school, the divorce, and everything else, I lost track of time. I sat down for a nap, and when I woke up, I was eighteen again. It didn’t really hit me until this year.”

“I’m sorry about that, dude.” 

“But the camping trip was awesome. I felt like I was getting some of those things I missed out on. I got to be spontaneous and goof around. I never really had time to do that.”

“Well, I know it’s cliche, but there’s nothing you can do about the past. Better you see that now and start doing something about it, you know?”

“I guess. But I still hate that I missed out on so much…”

“As much as people talk about how great being a teenager is, it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve been a lot happier since I was twenty.”

“But isn’t it scary? All the adult responsibilities and stuff?”

“I mean, yeah, it sucks, don’t get me wrong, but I like having the freedom. I can suffer through these problems myself. Plus, I can go camping whenever I want to! If that doesn’t make you happy, then I’m not sure what will.”

“You’re right. It’s still sorta scary. I’m always jealous of people that have older siblings. They have people to warn them about this stuff and help them get ready for it. Mabel and I get to face things together, sure, but we’re still doing all of this for the first time.”

“Duh. That’s what me and Soos are for. You really think we’d just leave you guys hanging like that?”

He had never thought of it that way before. With Soos and Wendy, Dipper and Mabel had people who had gone through the same things that they had, only a few years older. They paved a path with footsteps large enough for Dipper and Mabel to follow in. It gave him a breath of hope, that maybe his future wouldn’t be as bleak. That there was a steady presence at the end of the tunnel guiding them along.

“Ha, thanks,” Dipper sighed, “Didn’t mean to get all existential. Just a thought I’ve been having.”

“Hey,” Wendy said, “Nothing better than deep talks at night with your friends. Beats reading flannel magazines at three in the morning.”

“And it beats waking up in a cold sweat. Do you know if Grunkle Stan has any tylenol?”

Dipper stood up and rubbed the sides of his head. Something about the way he had woken up had given him a headache. A spoonful of sugar was all he would need to get the medicine down, crossing his fingers that he wasn’t coming down with anything. The worst possible time to get sick, in Dipper’s opinion, was the summer, when one had to miss out on all of the fun and wait inside for their condition to pass. 

“Check the cabinet next to the fridge,” Wendy said, “I don’t know what he has, but his old man medicine is in there. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Dipper replied, walking over to the cabinet, “I get these things a lot. Just need a pill and I’ll be good to go.”

“If you say so, man.”

“Do you know what the weather is going to be like? I was thinking about trying to go out for a jog if I can get this thing to go away?”

“Supposed to be nice all week, I think. That’s what my phone says.”

“I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Look at you. You’re getting old. We’re talking about the weather at three in the morning.”

“Hey, we’re supposed to respect our elders. Sometimes they do things right.”

Somewhere upstairs, the shower turned off, and footsteps lingered across the upper floors as Soos presumably got himself ready for the day. The Mystery Shack had an unusually high population of early birds fighting for the same worm. Mabel, Dipper expected, wouldn't be up until well past noon, leaving the others to go about their day while she slept it away. 

“But,” Wendy said, “If you really want to get more experiences, I’ve got a lot of stuff in mind that we can still do. It’s summer. We’re supposed to enjoy it, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dipper replied, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, there’s a sand beach down a ways past the marina. Might be something good for us to do. It’ll be crowded. Maybe you’ll see some old faces. Who knows?”

Dipper had only been to the beach a couple of times, during a family trip to the Outer Banks some six or seven years ago. Anything to get him out of the Mystery Shack and out there enjoying life was good with him. There was a lightness in his stomach and an unfiltered optimism as he thought about what waited for him on the road ahead. He wondered if that was how Mabel felt, with her constant excitement and bubbly personality, always having something on the horizon to look forward to. Dipper forgot how liberating the feeling was. 

“I’m down,” Dipper replied, “Gotta have some more adventures. Especially with college right around the corner. Who knows when I’ll have time to do this again.”

Wendy smiled, “Hey, if I can do it, you can definitely do it. You find ways to make time.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s going to be weird next year. Without you guys, without Mabel, without the Mystery Shack…”

“Oh, yeah, you guys are going to different schools, right?”

Dipper solemnly nodded, “I wished it didn’t have to be like that, but she’s going for psychology, and there’s only a few good schools for that. I’m not worried about her. She’ll do just fine. I just hope we don’t drift apart.”

He had visions of Mabel disappearing once she was off to Washington, laughing with her friends and forgetting to tell Dipper when she would be home for break. Her visits to Piedmont would become unannounced surprises. The smiles they gave each other while looking in through the door would disappear, replaced by a heavy silence that would grow like a fungus while the years passed. It was worse than any nightmare that his mind could conjure up. 

“You two?” Wendy asked, “Are you kidding me? Nothing is ever going to get between you. You guys are teenagers. If you were gonna drift away, it would have happened already. Trust me. I’d do anything to be that close with my brothers.”

“You’re not?” Dipper asked.

“Not even close. I don’t know where they are right now. They don’t know where I am. They’d rather go rip fish out of the water with dad and scream at trees than talk to me. They don’t hate me, but there’s always been a wall between us. I never figured out why. I think it’s because dad wanted another boy.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Eh, it’s alright. It’s why I’m crashing here. Something went wrong on one of their hunting trips, and I’m not in the mood for listening to their shouting all night.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You’ve heard me complain about it before. It’s fine. Can’t do anything about it.”

“Well, Mabel talks about you like you’re her older sister. Don’t know if that helps, but I thought you’d like to know.”

Wendy smiled and blushed, the red flush on her face almost matching the deep amber of her hair.

“Really?” Wendy asked.

Dipper nodded, “She really looks up to you. So, you’ve got someone.” 

“That’s…awesome to hear. I still gotta give her my flannel to sew. She seemed really excited about that.”

“Just don’t be surprised if she bedazzles it when you get it back.”

“Hey, I have a lot of these, if she wants to spice it up, she’s welcome to.”

The conversation continued until the first glimpse of pink appeared on the horizon. Almost like clockwork, the birds awoke and began their morning calls, filling the forest outside with the sounds of chirping and flapping feathers. Owls disappeared into their burrows. Deer scurried along the outskirts of the treeline and searched for their morning meals. Dew formed on the grass and shimmered with the chill of the early morning.

Soos emerged from upstairs with a suit and tie. His hair was slicked back as if having been freshly wetted. The stubble that he had accumulated during their camping trip had disappeared. He looked like a new man, ready to start a long day of ripping off customers. 

“Morning, dudes,” Soos replied, “You’re up early.”

“I wonder why,” Wendy sighed, leaning slightly towards Dipper.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I fall out of bed when I have nightmares!” Dipper said, putting his hands in the air, “What time are you opening the shack, Soos?”

Soos held up a ring of keys, “Eight. Mr. Pines says that’s when the rich old people get up.”

“We were thinking of hitting up the beach later today,” Wendy told Soos, “You think you can close the shack early and come with?”

“No, dudes, sorry. My joints are on fire from the camping trip, and I sorta miss being behind the counter. You guys go without me. Bring back some sand and seashells for me, okay?”

“Alright. We won’t be gone long. You wanna help me throw some breakfast together?”

“Of course, dude. I’m starving.”

Wendy and Soos walked over to the nearby stove and began throwing together pancake batter. Dipper turned to his phone and scrolled along his feed for a few minutes, mostly just trying to catch up on the news for the week. He tried not to use his phone while in Gravity Falls. He strongly believed it to be a burden. It was nothing more than a glowing devil device designed to steal his time and attention with the allure of cat videos. 

He glanced at his messages and once again saw nothing. He wondered if he would hear from Dave anytime soon, or maybe some of his other buddies from calculus. The summer was an unfortunate time in that regard. Without any homework to help them on, Dipper hardly heard from the group at all. He had long since given up on trying to impress them. Gravity Falls was the only place on Earth where Dipper didn’t have to constantly try. It was a breath of fresh air. 

The smell of fruit and batter filled the room. Dipper, deciding that an apple hadn’t been enough for him. 

Eight o’clock came and went. Soos zipped away from the table to open the store just as Mabel trudged downstairs with frizzled hair and a missing slipper. 

“Morning, nerds!” Mabel said while Waddles stumbled down the stairs behind her, “What did I miss?”

“You like pancakes?” Wendy asked, “Cause we’ve got a lot of them!”

“Pancake is my middle name!”

Dipper and Mabel both grabbed a plate full of the fluffy pastries and sat down. Dipper took a minute to examine Mabel, wondering if his dream had truly been a dream. She looked at him quizzically after a moment and he averted his gaze. 

“What are you looking at, bro bro?” Mabel asked, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Not any more than usual,” Dipper replied dryly.

“Cool. Now, stand back everybody. I’m taking a trip to pancake town!”

Wendy joined the duo at the table. Not long after, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford made their appearances, both still wearing their night clothes and walking around like a couple of stiff old men. 

“You look like you’re gonna need a cane,” Grunkle Stan teased, slugging Grunkle Ford on the shoulder, “Come on, you old fart! Get some pep in your step!” 

“Hey, we’re twins, I’m you in five seconds!” Grunkle Ford shot back, “And I’m not old!”

“Your back says otherwise.”

“So does your smell.”

“You little-”

The two septuagenarians wrestled each other into the kitchen, gently bumping into the counter and spilling pancake batter on the floor. Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy finished their breakfasts in peace. 

“Well, let me know when you guys are ready, and I’ll get packing,” Wendy said, “If we get there early, we can beat the worst of the crowd.” 

“Crowd?”  Mabel asked.

“Yeah. We’re having a beach day today. Can’t have a summer without one!”

“Maybe you’ll see Mermondo,” Dipper added, “He’s gotta remember you.”

“I hope so…” Mabel trailed off.

Wendy disappeared upstairs just as Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford broke away from each other. Dipper watched as the pair rubbed their aching joints in the aftermath of their brawl, sauntering over to the table like a couple of old dogs and practically throwing themselves into the chairs. 

“Hey, you didn’t see anything!” Grunkle Stan shouted, “Are there any pancakes left.”

“Should be a few in the pan,” Dipper said, rubbing his eyes and trying to flush away a wave of fatigue with a glass of orange juice, “Whatever you guys didn’t manage to spill, anyway.”

“Don’t sass me, kid. I’ll make you run the shack.”

“Doesn’t Soos own it?’

“He thinks he does. But I still have the power!”

Dipper leaned back in his chair and finished the last of his drink. He couldn’t help but notice how old Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford looked. It was the first time in a long time he had seen them as anything other than the two witty, spry men that he had once known. He tried to block the images of McGucket’s casket from his head, the face morphing into Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford each time he closed his eyes. 

“Hey, no zoning-out at the breakfast table!” Mabel protested while waving a pancake in Dipper’s face, “Earth-to-Dipper?”

He blinked out of his trance and took a look at Mabel’s syrup-covered face, breathing a sigh of relief as the lingering fear of his nightmare faded away.

Chapter Text

It was calling me.

Shaving was a waste of time. A little stubble would look good on him, especially when there were more important things to spend his time on. 

Stanford sighed to himself and took another drink from a rusty water bottle on the side of his desk. The lab reeked of humid stuffiness, Stanford having spent the better part of twelve hours in the lab the previous day trying to crack Fiddleford’s codes. Each line was in a different cipher. It would take him weeks, maybe longer, to translate the entire thing. Backbreaking work, sure, but it was all that Fiddleford had left behind. Stanford vowed to translate every last letter even if it took the rest of his life. 

I’ve started seeing things.

The first line had been enough to grab his attention. Fiddleford had never been a model of sanity, sure. In fact, Stanford would argue he was always one bad day away from losing his mind again. Thirty years driven mad by a memory gun. It had broken Stanford’s heart to watch his comrade slip away during his final months. He would have given the world for one more chat. One last dinner at Susan’s diner. Something to make him feel whole again. 

A half-finished pancake sat on Stanford’s desk. He glanced up from the sheet and contemplated taking a bite, and then decided not to after he poked it with a fork. Syrup on pancakes was one thing. A waterlogged pancake was another. 

With the kids off to the beach, Stanford felt no remorse for retreating into the safety of the lab. It would be one thing if he was out sacrificing time with his niece and nephew, but with Stanley passed out on the couch and Waddles somewhere upstairs, there was nothing worth doing.

Stanford wondered if the sheet was some sort of will. Only Fiddleford would hide a will in a crawlspace and leave Stanford to translate it by himself. One last puzzle for the two of them to solve, Fiddleford probably laughing at him from beyond the grave for being so gullible. A smile spread across his face at the thought of it. Maybe Stanford was reading too much into it. The first line could have simply been a hook; a red herring thrown onto the sheet to make sure Stanford read the entire thing. 

“Fiddleford, you really want to make me work, don’t you?” Stanford whispered to himself. He never understood the stigma around talking without anyone around. It was a great way to organize thoughts and get ideas from his head out into the world. Sure, his mumbling would rub bystanders the wrong way, but they were never the intended audience. 

A door opened at the top of the lab’s stairs. Stanford turned around and saw Stanley emerge from the first floor with Waddles in his arms. 

“Are you still working on that stupid journal?” Stanley asked, “Geez. You’ve gotta stop getting involved with this.”

“It’s the posthumous research of my colleague!” Stanford replied, “It would be a crime to let it rot!”

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about the kids. You and I both remember what happened the last time they got caught up in this.” 

“I promise, that is not going to happen. There’s nothing in here that could possibly hurt them. Except maybe the vampire-vampire bats.”

“You said that last time. You sure you don’t want me to take that journal and bury it somewhere?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not worried about the journal. It’s this.”

Stanford motioned to the metal sheet on the table, and then to the two pages of notebook paper that had been spent trying to decipher it 

“Fiddleford left us a message,” Stanford continued, “I think it’s some sort of final will and testament. He was always one for puzzles. Nothing dangerous.”

“I don’t know, Ford, I don’t like it,” Stanley replied, “I know you care about him and your science stuff…and I’m not going to stop you. But promise me you won’t let the twins get involved.”

“They’re already involved, Stanley, they’re the ones that found it. Lucky for us, it seems rather mundane. Why don’t you sit down for a bit? Never hurts to have a second set of eyes.”

“I don’t know if you want me for that. I’m the one with the cataracts, remember?”

“Well, you probably got more sleep than I did last night. I need your brain more than your eyes.”

“Am I just a mind to you?”

“For the moment, yes.”

Stanford showed Stanley the ciphers that he had already run through. Atbash, Rot13, Caesar, Binary, all of it was there. It was a matter of figuring out where each piece fit within the puzzle. 

“You really need to get a girlfriend,” Stanley said after a moment of running his finger along the papers, “How long were you down here last night?”

“Six or seven in the morning, probably,” Stanford replied, “Had to take a break for breakfast.”

“I guess. But still. You’re spending all of your time down here in this stuffy lab in the middle of summer? I shouldn't be surprised. Don’t you want to spend your golden years somewhere with a little more…color? This is depressing, even for me. Worse than Colombian prison. 

“Work like this gives me a purpose, Stanley. Otherwise I’d just waste the rest of my life playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons. I’d rather be productive than waste my time doing something that won’t help me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little relaxing, you know.” 

“I can relax and be productive at the same time. What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“Wasting your golden years in a smelly basement?”

“That’s one way to look at it. I prefer to see it as pursuing my studies into my age. Einstein was working right up until he died. Without him, most of our work would be meaningless.”

“You know, I’ve never seen someone on their deathbed say ‘Man, I really wished I had spent more time at work.’ I get that you’re curious. But you’ve gotta admit, this whole thing looks depressing. Like a sick puppy. Or an empty wallet.”

“I don’t think the two of us will see eye-to-eye on this, Stanley. We see the world differently.”

“You can’t just say that and disappear in your lab, Ford. Your niece and nephew are here, and this might be the last time you get to see them for a long time. All because you got yourself stuck in a nightmare dimension for thirty years. And we still haven’t told their parents about you, and honestly, I’m not even sure how we would.”

“They’re out for the day. When they come back, I’ll leave. But every second I’m not working is a second wasted.”

“That’s your problem. You’re allergic to resting.”

“That’s scientifically impossible. “

“So is punching a triangle demon in my head. Things happen, you know.” 

“If you’re not going to help, I’m going to kindly ask you to leave. I have work to do, and I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.”

“You’ve been saying that for thirty years.”

“Thirty six, actually.”

“Whatever. You do what you want, but don’t tear yourself apart with this garbage. There are so many better things you could be doing. Like making money. Or laundering money.” 

Stanley disappeared up the stairs and back into the living room. Stanford listened for the groaning of his recliner from above the lab’s ceiling, followed by the heavy snores of a man with untreated sleep apnea. A few more hours in the lab wouldn’t do him any harm. 

After a few hours, Stanford wondered if there was a typo in the sheet, having spent hours mixing and matching codes to find any sort of coherent message. All the code spat out was more gibberish. That same gibberish was thrown through another layer of code, only for it to come out even more garbled and unintelligible than it had the first time. Fiddleford either knew that Stanford needed a challenge, or was messing with him from beyond the grave by handing him an unsolvable puzzle. The possibilities were endless. That was part of the problem. 

Warm coffee soon turned stale as Stanford drank the last from his cup. It took a special kind of stimulant to keep him awake during those long stretches of work, having to fight off heavy eyelids and shaky hands with minutes turning to hours. 

“Dammit,” Stanford whispered to himself, checking his watch and seeing that early afternoon had come and gone. Time had a way of morphing itself when it was least convenient. With excitement on the horizon, it seemed that the hands of the clock stood still, while during those fleeting moments of happiness, it would pass with a blink. 

Stanford had only blinked twice in his life. Once after leaving home, and again after falling into the portal. He feared closing his eyes again, wondering if he would wake up in a retirement home, with his golden years long behind him and unable to move. He recalled his own great-grandfather in his final years. A once proud and independent man confined to a hospital bed as he crossed the centenarian threshold. Stanford had hoped that by the time he reached old age, there would be technology to cure such ailments, but the last seventy years had proven that incorrect. No amount of weirdness could turn back the clock, not even the time tape. 

Stanley’s words fermented in his head. Stanley Pines had never been a man of sentiment or existentialism, not by a long shot. His brother had one philosophy, led by Benjamin Franklin and his green allure. If a dollar blew out of a trash can, Stanley would start up the truck and drive after it. His parting words left Stanford with a pit in his stomach. It was the first time such morbid words had left Stanley’s mouth in over thirty years.

A little fresh air had never killed anyone. Stanford stood up and stretched until his shoulders ached, stepping slowly up the stairs and into the sun-bathed foyer.

“Where are you going?” Stanley asked, pantsless in his recliner.

“For a walk,” Stanford replied, “Just for a bit. You 're right. It's getting stuffy down in that lab. And where are your pants?”

“Do I really have to explain that to you?”

“No, but it would be nice to see something other than my brother’s finely-aged underwear when I come upstairs. You’re not making me want to leave the lab.”

“Fine. If you’re going to be such a baby about it…” 

Stanford opened the door and found himself hit with a blast of humid air. The kids had made the right choice headed to the beach, with Stanford’s lab coat almost suffocating him in the summer mugginess. Cicadas and mosquitoes buzzed in the surrounding trees and brush. A minty aroma filled the air, like grass just after a thunderstorm. Somewhere in the distance a neighbor burned a bonfire. Small trails of barbeque-scented smoke wrapped around Stanford’s nose and lured him further from the front door of the Mystery Shack. 

As expected, the iridescence of mid-evening had swept over the land, golden orange blankets of light laying themselves out across the forest. Sharp glowing beams cut through the trees and cast shadows on the dirt that surrounded them. 

Summer evenings like those were few and far between. Normally, by that time of the year, the air was either too hot, too wet, or on fire, forcing Stanford back inside until the danger had passed. In his younger days, he had spent his evenings with a book in his arms reading on the porch, watching the night fall over Gravity Falls with the wonder of a child. Those days may have been gone for good, but the same sun cast its light over his head, bringing its tropical heat to the far northern reaches of the United States. 

He took a deep breath through his nose and allowed the sweet smell of vegetation to fill his nostrils. Compared to the lab, the outside was heaven, with natural light and air that wasn’t stuffy. 

Perhaps that was why Fiddleford had chosen to live in the junkyard. Sure, it was on the outskirts of town, but for a man like him, he might have enjoyed it. Metal trinkets to create machines and an escape from the public eye was probably Fiddleford’s dream come true. 

Stanford walked over to a tall pine tree just behind the Mystery Shack. Stanford had planted it back in the seventies to keep light from pouring in through the shack’s west windows. Over four decades, it had grown dozens of feet high, towering over the top of the shack. It had been only a sapling on the day Stanford opened the portal. If he closed his eyes, he could still see its blue glow, a rift between dimensions taking him hostage. 

Fiddleford had been there the day he planted the tree. It felt like just yesterday the two had been working together, spending hours in the lab lost in their studies, only stopping to eat or drink. Sometimes he would find coffee packages with expiration dates in the eighties scattered around the basement. 

Sitting under the branches, Stanford ignored the dirt that dusted the sides of his lab coat and the mosquitoes that buzzed around his face. For a few minutes, it was 1979, and Stanford Pines was a young scientist, with the vigor of youth and curiosity carrying him westward to the sleepy town of Gravity Falls. It was a hot summer evening, one where he and Fiddleford would spend their evenings on the porch once the day’s work was done, proud to have one person in their lives to confide in. The life of a researcher was a lonely one. Those without the drive to search for answers were like children chasing a butterfly, leaving their friends behind in the pursuit of something greater.

He could almost smell the coffee and biscotti in the air. Closing his eyes, Stanford could almost imagine that Fiddleford was next to him, blissfully unaware of the monster that would ruin both of their lives. The pine tree was one of the last living relics of that time. It felt both like yesterday and a thousand years ago. The world had changed. Countries had collapsed, monuments gone, and families had aged. Stepping through that portal, he had expected Stanely to be long dead, his scamming antics having finally caught up with him. 

Laying eyes on Fiddleford had been the hardest part. His once lively and intelligent assistant had been reduced to nothing but a bumbling mess, regaining his sanity in small increments as the years went on. It hadn’t been long enough. 

The evening humidity caused Stanford’s glasses to fog up. He wiped them away, leaving small fingerprints on the glass as his thumb slipped from the edge of a microfiber cloth. He tucked the frames into his shirt. It would be easier to clean them off once he went back to the lab.

Those quiet, serene evenings in Gravity Falls had been the cherry on top. Although he knew that the days of leisure were long gone, he would occasionally slip back into the warmth of the memories, untouched by his wretched memory gun. Fiddleford had requested that the memory gun be destroyed. Stanford would have agreed, but decided to keep it for research purposes, and for wiping the brains of peeping-tom birds that stared at him in the shower.

Customers left the Mystery Shack as day turned to night. Shortly before dusk, Soos stepped out the front door and spotted Stanford laying at the base of the tree.

“Mr. Pines?” Soos asked, “What are you doing here?” 

“Soaking up the sun,” Stanford replied, “Are you closing the shack?”

Soos nodded, “Other Mr. Pines says that the best time to close is just before dark. People won’t buy anything if they can’t see their wallets.”

“Stanley’s a character, isn’t he?”

“Yes sir, one of my favorites! Have I ever shown you the fanfiction I write about him?”

“I’m sorry, fanfiction? What’s that?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re old. It’s where you take characters from something that already exists and write something with them. Really popular these days. Especially online.”
“The internet is a…strange place, isn’t it?”

“One day we’ll get you used to it.”

“Hey, I ordered a package that one time. Although I’m not sure I like those delivery guys knowing where I live. And having my credit card.”

“You get used to it.”

“Maybe you do. Sometimes I feel like I had more privacy when I was in the portal.”

Soos tilted his head towards the tree.

“Big tree, huh?” Soos asked, “You don’t see stuff like that anymore. Well, you do, but usually they cut them down to make stuff. It’s depressing, dude.” 

“Fiddleford and I planted this tree back in the seventies,” Stanford replied with a smile, “It was the first thing we did before starting our research. If this tree could talk, the stories it would tell!”

“Aw, shucks, I’m sorry, dude. Probably reminds you of the whole being dead thing, huh?”

“Putting it bluntly…sure.”

“It’s okay. When that happens I usually call my abuela. She makes everything better. You wanna call her?”

“I’m alright, but send her my regards.”

“Your loss, dude. Aren’t you supposed to be down in your lab doing sciency-stuff?”

“I decided I needed some fresh air. Nothing like a good trip down memory lane to bring back your focus.” 

“Pizza is better, but whatever floats your boat.”

The pair stood in silence for some time. Stanford had, admittedly, not taken much time to get to know Soos, even in the six years that had passed since Weirdmageddon. They would exchange pleasantries while running into each other in the hallway, and that was the extent of their interaction. Stanley was the one that knew Soos well. Soos looked up to him like a son did to their father, which Stanford was sure had some psychological implications. 

“I’m glad Stanley talked me out of closing the shack,” Stanford chuckled, “You know, I really wanted to get my house back. I almost had a heart attack when I saw what Stanley had done with the place.”

Soos let out a laugh, “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste. But it makes money. Ripping off tourists is what keeps the blood of this country pumping.”

“I’m surprised you finally got Stanley to step down. He’s a stubborn one, that Stanley. I though he would be running that place until the day he died.”

“He still helps out. You’ve seen him. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You have no idea how happy I was when I found out there were TWO of him!”

Being seen in Stanley’s shadow brought about a brief wave of melancholy that Stanford couldn't explain. Soos’s eyes widened with excitement at just the mention of his name. Stanley, for better or for worse, had filled a void in the man’s life, and the gratitude showed. 

“You’re very close with Stanely, aren’t you?” Stanford asked.

Soos nodded, “He hired me when I was fifteen. It was awesome. Best decision I’ve ever made, besides getting my infinity pizza. Well, actually, I guess Melody is on there too. But this isn’t about her. It’s about the coolest guy ever! I mean, look at him! He ran his own business, brought his brother back from another dimension, and fills the hole in my life that my dad left! What more could you ask for?”

Stanford tried to think of something, but couldn’t. Perhaps his brother hadn’t been a con-man for as long as Stanford thought. Maybe, somewhere under that bone-headedness and greed, was a tender man, although Stanley would never admit that. 

“I guess you’re right,” Stanford replied, “He spent thirty years putting together a portal just to bring me back. I suppose that’s worth commending. Even though it almost ended the world.”

Soos shot finger guns at Stanford, “But it didn’t. And that’s the important part!” 

“It’s good to be back. The world has changed a lot since I left. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Don’t worry, second Mr. Pines, I know.”

“There’s too much technology now. You missed out on the joys of analog research. Computers are fine, but these new ones? They’re so complicated. And why do they have to have all of those weird rainbow lights?”

“Rainbow lights? That might just be Dipper’s. He’s a gamer.”

“I don’t care what you put on those screens. Nothing beats a good old game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons. And no one is going to change my mind on that.”

“Whatever you say, dude, but you haven’t lived until you’ve experienced the joy of ordering food online.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah. Did Mr. Pines not tell you?”

Of course Stanley would keep something like that a secret. The last thing he wanted was Stanford ordering food and having it delivered to the Mystery Shack, costing money and bringing strangers to the property. 

“Every day, I learn something new,” Stanford sighed.

“That’s the best part of being alive,” Soos said, “That, and pizza.”

Soos lingered for a moment and watched the dark red hues stretch across the sky. Stanley called to him from the front of the shack, and with a wave, Soos hurried off, leaving small imprints in the dried grass as he left.

The calm of dusk enveloped the forest. Stanford finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to blink, hoping not to lose thirty years while his guard was down.

Chapter Text

Soon, it was done. 

Dipper fought shivers even as the air around him remained hot and muggy. Blue waves lapped at his shoulders. Crystal-clear water stretched out in all directions, faint ripples dancing along the horizon just beneath the belt of Venus. Seagulls and pelicans scoured the surface of the Pacific with bits of fish hanging out of their mouths. 

Gravity Falls lake was exciting, sure, but the Pacific Ocean was an entirely different beast. A straight-line swim would take Dipper all the way to Asia. Thousands of miles of endless ocean lay between the Oregon coast and the lands beyond. Some three thousand miles away, Dipper had once read about Point Nemo, a place so far away from land that the closest human beings were those on the International Space Station. Just the thought of ending up there was nauseating. So far from human contact, nothing but water on all sides. Watching Titanic had done enough to make him fear the ocean. He didn’t need any more.

He turned his head back towards the shore and checked their distance. The tide was pushing them further west. Dipper had to trudge forward every few minutes to keep from losing sight of the umbrella.

“Hey, dude, you gotta keep moving!” Wendy shouted, hurling a beach ball in Dipper’s direction, “You’re gonna freeze if you don’t!”

The first few hours of their beach trip had been spent setting up their umbrella and enjoying a picnic on the sand. Dipper and Mabel had killed another hour or so trying to dig a hole until a lifeguard stopped them when they passed the six foot mark. The high tide eventually destroyed their creation and pushed the sand back into its place.

Eventually, the muggy heat had driven them to the water, where they had spent the majority of the evening, either leaping off of docks or floating around on the waves. The water had a refreshing chill. The setting sun lowered the air temperature, the hairs on Dipper’s neck standing up as the water slowly lowered his body heat. 

Mabel and Wendy seemed unphased. They splashed around and swam as if they were fish, never stopping for more than a couple of minutes. Dipper had taken to floating around in the shallow side, careful not to cross over the sandbar where the ocean deepened significantly. Small sea shells and sediment washed up against his feet with the ebb and flow of the waves. Mabel had started a collection, forcing Dipper to store them in the pockets of his bathing suit. Sure, the edges were sharp and they clinked uncomfortably with each move he took, but he couldn't deny that the shells had a certain allure to them, calcium deposits shining brilliantly in the evening water. 

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted, resurfacing as she carried a shell in her hands and seaweed in her hair, “I found another one!”

She tossed the shell to Dipper as he caught it with a free hand. The shell was a deep maroon with bits of blue and black sprinkled in. He tucked the shell into his back pocket and shivered as a wave washed over his shoulders.

“Your lips are turning blue, bro,” Mabel remarked, “You just gonna stand there forever? There are shells to find!”

“You trying to bring back the whole ocean?” Dipper asked, “I can only fit so many…”

“Boo hoo, at least your clothes have pockets!”

Dipper couldn’t argue with that one. 

He forced himself to swim over to Mabel and warm himself up. Bits of seaweed and rocks danced just beneath the surface as the sun’s final glimmers cast a glow over the ocean. Lights turned on towards the shore. Venus poked out of the sky somewhere to the north. There was something special about an Oregon sunset that California didn’t have. 

Wendy rose from the water and lobbed Dipper in the head again with the same beach ball, pointing to the western sky as the neon orange of the sun neared the waterline.

“Watch the sun when it goes down,” Wendy said, pulling strands of seaweed from her hair, “Sometimes we get a green flash.”

“Green-flash?” Mabel asked, “What’s that?”

“When the sun sets, sometimes there’s a little flash of green just when it goes down. If you blink, you miss it.”

Dipper chuckled, “You always have something new to show us around here, don’t you?”

“There’s not a lot to do here other than look at the sky. You start to notice things after a while.”

The trio stopped and waited for the sun to go down. They stood just before the sand bar, some ten feet away from the drop-off into a thalassaphobe’s worst nightmare. The waves pushed the group backwards with each crest and trough. Dipper struggled to keep his balance as the water reached closer to his neck.

Thin stratus clouds floated through the sky just above the clouds. Dipper leaned back in the water and allowed himself to float, still able to make out the sun on the horizon as he rode the waves. He knew that the minute he stepped out of the water he would be hit with the day’s fatigue. He didn’t mind. It meant that he would sleep like a baby once they got dropped off at the house. 

Most of the swimmers had left for the day. Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and a handful of beachgoers on the shore were all that remained. He preferred it that way. Crowds had always been a source of anxiety and stress. Why would anyone want to be surrounded by that many people? It was loud, smelly, and people didn’t tend to keep their hands to themselves. Dipper liked that he could stretch his arms out and not touch a single soul. 

“There really is something special about Oregon,” Dipper sighed, “We never get to do stuff like this back home. Sometimes I wish we lived here instead.”

“That’s because you’ve never experienced a Gravity Falls winter,” Wendy replied, “It’s cold, it gets dark and four, and no one goes out. Plus, it lasts forever. Like, October to May. And then we have wildfire season.”

“That’s true. But Piedmont has all of those problems, too. Without you guys.” 

“...and that’s a dunk for being a dope!” Mabel shouted, shoving Dipper’s head into the water.

“Hey!” Dipper shouted as he resurfaced, “You do that again and I’ll throw your shells away!”  

“Fine, whatever. You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one with your shell collection!” 

The sun had slipped halfway beneath the horizon. In the distance, a yacht sounded its horn, briefly eclipsing the sun as it turned towards the nearby dock. It was an opulent vessel, with gold finishings on the side that Dipper could see despite the distance between them. A large sail and ornate statues decorated the main deck. It had to be at least two stories tall, maybe more, only able to judge the height by its silhouette. 

“Oh, yeah, forgot to mention that,” Wendy groaned, “Sometimes the rich people drive their yachts out and block the sunset. Sorta pisses me off.”

“Boo!” Mabel shouted, “We hate rich people!”

There was something familiar about the shape of the boat as it drew closer. Dipper wasn’t able to put his finger on it. 

Although he was freezing and wanted nothing more than to swim back to shore and warm himself up, Dipper stayed in place. The evening was special. Dipper had a feeling he was making a memory that night, something that would stick with him as the years went by. When he was old, he would sit on his porch and think back to that day, yearning for the refreshing coldness of the beach and the jovial laughter of Mabel and Wendy. 

The yacht turned away and stopped some one hundred feet away. It no longer blocked the sunset. Dipper strained his eyes and focused on the tip of the sun as it sank deeper, waiting for that green flash. Maybe Wendy was pulling their leg, using her confidence and knowledge of the outdoors to send them after a red herring. It wasn’t like she hadn’t pulled their legs before. 

Waves from the wake of the yacht struck Dipper as he tried to regain his footing. He found himself bounced around by the turbulent waters, Wendy shouting obscenities at the craft far out of their hearing range. 

It took only a moment for the waves to die down. Mabel pulled Dipper closer to the shore just as the sun began its final plunge. 

“If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen now,” Wendy said, “Watch!”

Dipper rubbed the saltwater from his eyes and waited for the burning to stop. Just as he did, the last glow disappeared beneath the water. He waited to blink even as the salt burned his retinas. 

“Aww, it’s so beautiful he’s crying!” Mabel cooed.

“No,” Dipper shot back, “You wanna try getting saltwater in your eye?”

Dipper turned his head just in time to see a faint green neon line crawl across the tip of the sun as it finally set. It only lasted for a fraction of a second. Had Dipper not forced his eyes open, it would have passed him by.

“There!” Dipper shouted, “I saw it!”

“Me too,” Wendy replied, “Told you guys.”

Mabel sighed, “No! I blinked!”

“There’ll be more. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll race you back to the shore,” Mabel prodded, slapping Dipper on the shoulder before diving into the water.

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted, “Come on! That’s cheating!”

Dipper had a time disadvantage, but he knew he could still catch up if he pushed himself. He treated it like a run, starting out slow and saving his energy for the final leg where he knew Mabel would already be tired. 

“Hey, wait up, dudes!” Wendy yelled, diving in after them.

Competing with Wendy was going to be tough. With her athleticism and history as a lifeguard, Dipper would happily settle for second place. All he had to do was beat Mabel. 

A small wave crested behind Dipper and pushed him forward. He tilted his head up to breathe and watched Wendy pass him. Mabel, once slicing through the water like a knife, began to lose her stride, slowing down and dragging in the water as the shore drew closer. 

“Slowpokes!” Wendy shouted.

Mabel yelled something back, but failed to take her head out of the water while doing so, rendering anything that she said unintelligible. 

Dipper was only a few strokes away from the shore. Much like their race to Lookout Point, Dipper dug deep and kicked with every last ounce of strength he had, trying to fight off a day’s worth of exhaustion until he reached the sand. 

One of his arms brushed against a rough patch of shells. Saltwater filled his wound and brought a stinging sensation. Dipper refused to go down without a fight. 

He passed Mabel at the last possible second and threw himself back onto the sand. By that point, Wendy had already come ashore, sitting at the umbrella as Dipper struggled to catch his breath. 

“You were saying?” Dipper breathed as Mabel emerged from the waves, “Look who won.”

“You guys really have to work on your form,” Wendy laughed while sitting down on a rainbow-painted beach towel, “You had a head start!”

“Weren’t you a lifeguard?”

“I mean, yeah, but you were too.”

“For a day.”

As it had for the seven previous nights, the deep violet of night crept into the sky and filled the beach with the dim glow of the overhead stars. A foghorn rang out whilst the yacht from earlier docked some few hundred feet away and disembarked. By that point, its lights had come on, artificial, neon-glows disturbing the peace of evening. 

“What’s the point of going to the beach if you’re not going to go in the water?” Mabel asked, “These yacht people. They’re no fun.”

“You tell ‘em, Mabel!” Wendy cheered, “I wish they’d stop coming here. I’m sick of them ruining the view. Not to mention all the pollution.”

“We should steal it and take their money. That would show them.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Dipper asked, “Where would we take it?”

“You worry too much. Can’t girls just have a little fun?”

Two adults dressed in suits disembarked from the yacht and strolled along the dock. A few other rich-looking associates followed, their lavish clothing and flashy jewelry radiating pretentiousness. 

At the back of the entourage was a woman with blonde hair, probably no older than Dipper was, tip-toeing along the wood with expensive-looking heels and a frown painted on her face. Dipper had seen that expression before. His vision, not being what it used to, kept him from making out the rest of her features. Mabel turned and said the quiet part out loud.

“Is that Pacifica…?” Mabel whispered.

“I don’t know,” Dipper replied, eyes lingering on the duck as the woman disappeared behind a distant building, “But she looks familiar…” 

“I thought they went broke after Weirdmageddon…”

“Grunkle Ford said that they didn’t. They got help from their family and bought back the mansion and kicked McGucket out.”

“What?!” Mabel almost screamed, “How could they?”

“They’re rich, Mabel. They can do whatever they want.”

“That’s not how the world works, Dipper.”

“Maybe not in yours.”

Pacifica Northwest was an enigma of a woman. He saw her as someone born into a life that they did not ask for, bearing the weight of her family’s sins and forced into the family name. Dipper had thought lowly of her after how she had treated Mabel. That all changed one fateful night in the Northwest mansion, where Dipper had been frozen in wood, and Pacifica had been the one to save him, going against her parents’ orders to open the mansion’s gates and let the general public inside. They parted ways with a hug and refused to acknowledge it.

Six years could do a lot to a person. Dipper wondered if she had fallen back into her old ways, or if she had turned a new leaf and was simply waiting for the breeze to blow her in the right direction. 

The family vanished, and with it, so did their relevance to the conversation. Wendy and Mabel talked each other’s ears off as they dried off. Wendy pulled out a speaker and played soft folk music as the night came to an end. One by one, the lingering beachgoers disappeared, taking their multicolored umbrellas with them and leaving nothing but sand in their wake.

Foaming waves crept forward with the approach of high tide. Dipper stood up and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, not wanting to have his bag soaked before they left.

“I’m gonna run back and change,” Dipper said, “Meet you guys at the car?” 

“Deal,” Wendy said, “Mabel and I can get the umbrella.”

“Cool.” 

Dipper hurried off, no longer having to tip-toe through the burning sand. The heat had long since radiated off and up into the atmosphere. By that time of night, it was nothing more than fine dirt. 

Changing back into his day clothes was a hazardous journey, having to keep from accidentally stepping on the disgusting floor of the beach bathrooms. He tried to ignore the horrid smells and suspicious stains that lined the walls. It was one of those places where the best thing was to get in and out as fast as possible, which is exactly what Dipper did.

He passed Wendy and Mabel when he stepped out of the door and back into the fresh air. 

“I’ll take the umbrella,” Dipper said, taking it from Wendy’s arms, “See you at the car.”

Dipper waved the duo off and walked over to their parking spot. Even with their early arrival, parking had been scarce, the truck forced into a small dirt pathway some half mile from the shore. 

A large limousine pulled out of the parking lot. Dipper stepped out of the way as the headlights passed over, high beams blinding him. The driver laid on the horn. He glanced through the back window and tried to see the passengers, only for tinted windows to block his view.

“Watch it!” Dipper huffed, waving the car off.

The limousine soon disappeared around a stop sign and disappeared from the property. Dipper walked slowly, taking in the calmness of the night as the waves lapped against the shore, savoring the soreness of a day well-spent. Skin on the back of his neck began to stretch and pull from a mild sunburn. Dull aches ran up and down his extremities. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Three large stars overhead watched the beach in the absence of the sun. The Summer Triangle illuminated the northern sky, fighting the light pollution of distant cities to keep its prominence within the celestial plane. 

Wendy’s red truck stuck out against the darkened sky. Dipper leaned against the side with the umbrella in his hands, realizing that he lacked a key, having to wait outside as the first of the mosquitoes emerged from the trees in the distance.

It had been almost a whole day since Dipper thought about McGucket’s journal and metal sheet. The thought alone brought a weight back to his shoulders, a cloud of fatigue flooding his brain. Splashing the day away with Mabel and Wendy had brought about a mental lightness that felt almost childlike, wasting the day away without a care in the world. Perhaps he could afford another few days of relaxation before going back to mystery-solving.

He sat on the ground and scrolled on his phone for a few minutes. He answered a missed text from Soos, before scrolling down and checking for any new messages, only to find that there were none. Not even from Mom and Dad. He sighed and tucked the phone back in his pocket as the sound of distant laughter approached.

Mabel and Wendy appeared from behind a fence and strolled gingerly towards the truck. Wendy clicked her key fob and unlocked the truck. Dipped opened the back door of the truck’s hatch and tucked the beach gear away. 

“I call shotgun!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper laughed, “Fine. I’ll have the whole backseat to myself!”

His skin was coarse against the leather of the backseat from the day’s exposure to saltwater. Dipper found himself overtaken by a deep thirst. Bits of salt crystals fell from his hair, Dipper vowing to take a shower the second he got back to the Mystery Shack. 

The headlights illuminated the tree in front of their parking spot as the engine whirred to life. Dipper rested his head against the back window and tried to keep himself awake, knowing that if he closed his eyes, he would be out for the rest of the night. 

Trees flew by while the car hurried down the road. The trio remained quiet for the first few minutes of the drive, unwinding from the exertion of their trip and taking in the freshness of the air conditioning. 

“Everything hurts…” Mabel said after a moment, “Who knew that going to the beach took so much effort?”

“Just means you’re getting stronger,” Wendy replied, “Your muscles are working. Keep it up!”

If soreness meant that their muscles were working, then Dipper was Hulk Hogan. 

“Might try and stop somewhere and get something to eat,” Wendy said, “My treat. Don’t feel like cooking when we get back. You guys say a place and we can stop by.”

“I’ll pay for my part,” Dipper replied, “It’s the least I can do. Consider it gas money.”

“Nope. My treat. You guys are guests in Gravity Falls. And we believe in hospitality.”

A rural stretch of fields and trees filled the sides of the road. Dipper lost sight of the Summer Triangle as he began to feel the rumbling in his stomach, racking his brain for any places to grab a bite to eat. 

Lazy Susan’s diner had closed some three hours earlier. If they wanted to eat, they would have to go on the cheaper side, probably a gas station or some late-night fast food chain. Dipper had never been particularly fond of fast food. It messed with his system and gave him a McHangover. 

“There’s a burger place down the street,” Wendy said, spitballing, “We’ve got other options, too. There’s an In-and-Out, Popeyes, Taco Bell-”

“-Not Taco Bell,” Dipper replied before his mind could catch up. For some reason, the very mention of that place filled him with fear. 

“What’s wrong with Taco Bell?” Mabel asked.

Dipper shook his head, “I don’t know. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling. Plus, I don’t think my stomach can handle off-brand Mexican food right now.” 

“Well, what can it handle?”

“Where’s that burger place you were talking about?” Dipper asked Wendy.

“It’s a late night shack a few miles down the road. We can stop there if you guys want.”

“Sure. I’ll let Grunkle Stan know that we’re gonna be a bit late…”

Dipper pulled out his once-again empty phone and typed up a quick text to Grunkle Stan. He responded with a dull thumbs up, Dipper closing his phone once the three phantom dots at the bottom corner of the screen disappeared. 

He could find himself getting used to busy days and quiet nights on the road. After years of searching, he found something that fulfilled him more than reading. More than doing homework and choking out hollow social interactions. It made him feel complete, filling a gap that he didn’t know existed. How could someone be sad or empty with a life like that? 

“I’ve never had a hamburger after ten!” Mabel exclaimed with excitement, “I get to experience heartburn!”
Wendy gently turned the car around a corner. Dipper, through the glow of the occasional house or pair of headlights, saw a neon sign next to a dilapidated looking shack off the side of the road. Had Dipper not been looking for it, he almost certainly would have missed it. 

“Here we are,” Wendy said, pulling into a parking spot, “I know it’s not pretty. But it’s quiet and cheap. You guys good with it?”

Dipper nodded. Mabel did the same, letting out a slow blink as her eyelids grew heavier.

Wendy nodded, “Perfect. Let’s go.” 

A salty, greasy smell hit Dipper’s nose upon leaving the car. Smoke poured from a small pipe attached to the shack’s wooden roof. Tropical imagery had been painted onto the front of the building, with toucans and macaws smiling while holding a burger. Artificial palm trees had been built on the outside of the dilapidated environment. Cooks bustled about inside as Wendy locked the truck and walked towards the front door.

“Looks a lot better at night,” Wendy said, “Hides the mold and the rot.”

“You sure this place is safe?” Dipper asked.

“You know the rule. The more run-down the outside is, the better the food.” 

Upon stepping inside, Dipper saw her point, with the sweet but slightly salty aroma of grease strengthening as he went through the front door. Soft, pink neon lights illuminated a small set of booths by a foggy union. A small wooden window behind a bar gave Dipper a glance into the kitchen while cooks bustled back and forth with baskets full of fries. They were a crispy golden brown, just dark enough to give a crunch but not dark enough to show that they were burnt. 

Dipper turned his head to face a table. For a moment, his vision lagged behind, as if the framerate of the world had plummeted. He spun around and grabbed the back of a barstool as a sharp pain filled his head. 

An arm grabbed his shoulder. 

“Hey, bro, you good?” Mabel asked, her voice echoing. 

Dipper blinked and rubbed his eyes. After a brief flash of white, the dizziness disappeared, and his vision righted itself, Dipper standing at the edge of a tattered table with stiff arms and jello legs. 

“Uhh, yeah,” Dipper replied dryly, “Just got dizzy. Probably the dehydration.:”

A dull ache lingered in the back of his head. Upon sitting down, Dipper ordered a glass of water, chugging it down the moment the waitress returned with the glass. The water cooled the back of his throat and brought feeling back to his extremities. He waited a moment before daring to look at the menu. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Wendy chuckled, brushing Dipper’s empty glass out of the way, “The beach is dangerous like that. You’re in the water all day and forget how thirsty you are. Try to take it easy until we get home, okay?” 

Dipper nodded, “Yeah. Taking it easy. That’s what I do.”

Chapter Text

It spoke to me like a serpent. It wanted something.

It couldn’t have been him. 

“Pacifica, keep your head up, dear,” Father ordered, “People can still see us.”

“You put in tinted windows,” Pacifica replied, “I don’t think they can.”

“It’s good training.”

Pacifica sighed as she leaned back against the rigid leather of the backseat. Her beach dress flowed uncomfortably with the air conditioning of the limousine, the fabric rubbing against her skin like nails on a chalkboard. The skin on her shoulders fought each movement. Soft white patches had been left behind in the wake of a nasty sunburn. Mother and Father would surely scold her for that later. She probably hadn’t been holding her head high enough, or standing straight enough, or had shown too much skin, or maybe not enough. 

What was the point of a beach trip if they weren’t going to go to the beach? All they had done was spend the day meeting with Dollarsmore representatives on their yacht, feasting on expensive shrimp and patting each other on the back on how they were the kings of everything. It was exhausting. Money was the center of their world. The sun rose and set with the closing of the markets. 

At one point, she had stood at the edge of the yacht, almost drawn in by the crystal-clear water and sweltering temperatures. A little swim wouldn’t have hurt. She had dared to ask her parents for permission to break away, only to be taken into the lower cabin and lectured until her ears rang. That would be the last time she bothered asking for permission. Father had threatened to take out the bell. Pacifica should have thrown him overboard. 

Her monotonous day had been broken up by a single face, one that she had only seen during her last few minutes on the beach. One that unmistakably belonged to Dipper Pines.

Any doubt that had remained after her sighting at the funeral was gone. Luckily, Dipper wasn’t one to change his appearance, with changes only showing in his height and facial hair. He still had that dorky walk and confusion in his eye, like a deer in headlights. 

She had meant to wave. To give some sort of introduction and prove that she was still around, if Dipper even remembered who she was. Six long years had passed since their last visit. What if he wanted nothing to do with her? Surely he had heard about what had happened to McGucket and the mansion. How would he forgive her for letting something like that happen? For not slapping her parents in the face until they saw value in people beyond their net worth.

“Honey,” Father said to mother in the front seat, “Remind me to polish my checkbook when I get back. Don’t want it to look like a poor person’s.”

Mother laughed, a posh laugh where she covered her mouth and announced every vowel, “Oh, of course, Preston.”

Pacifica threw up a little bit in her mouth. 

The limousine, yacht in tow, wasn’t taking her home. Pacifica was a hostage, headed back to her golden prison, with all of the amenities that money could buy, but none of the autonomy that she so desperately desired. She could eat any food in the world, drive any car, and go to any school, and there she was, an observer to her own life. 

Perhaps a dork mystery-solver was just what she needed. Out of everyone in her life, past and present, Dipper Pines had been the only one to effectively stand up to her parents and tell them off for the rich shams that they were. She wished she had left him with more than a hug, something that showed more appreciation, like money. It wasn’t like her parents would miss any of it. 

For a moment, she contemplated throwing open the door to the backseat and rolling into the wilderness, running into the dark until her family could no longer find her, far away from anyone that would try and look. She knew that even if she mustered up the courage, it wouldn't last, with missing posters going up in seconds and bounties in the millions of dollars posted in her name. They would find a way to frame a random poor person and toss them in jail. The Northwests would never be able to accept that one of their own would forsake the name. 

“Awfully quiet back there, Pacifica,” Mother remarked, “We’ll have to work on that. You have to be more outgoing. Both here and on the yacht. Can’t have our executives thinking that you don’t like them.”

“And if I don’t?” Pacifica asked.

“Oh, nonsense. You love them just like we do.”

If eyes could roll out of one’s head, Pacifica would be blind and bleeding on the floor.

The trees and stars passed by the tinted windows, leaving Pacifica trapped in the limousine. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was back in her closet, reading Dipper’s book and holding the tape in her hands, waiting for a map to appear to lead her away from the mansion. 

All she had to do was find a way to leave the mansion without Mother and Father knowing. Then, she would tell Dipper about the book, perhaps even bring it back to him if she found it in time. She wasn’t sure what would happen afterwards, if anything at all. She just knew that she had to leave. The window was closing. Come summer’s end, she was off to Dollarsmore and consumed by her status entirely, turned into a golden calf with no way of escape. 

She popped in her headphones once again and turned her music up as high as it would go. Her parents’ lips moved, but no words came out, just the way it should have been. She spent the rest of the ride home staring at the bags beneath the driver’s eyes through the rearview mirror. Pacifica waited for the mansion to appear over the hill and take her hostage for the night. 

The limousine pulled to a stop. Once again, she tip-toed out of her seat and up the gates to the manor, where two suited men opened the gates and allowed her inside. She didn’t bother saying goodnight. No one would listen. All she needed was a night to herself.

Her sunburn stung as she stepped out of the shower, even more so as she put on a gown. She silently prayed that the wound would heal before her parents found out. The last thing she needed was another scolding. 

Sharp whispers rose from beneath the balcony as Pacifica clocked in for the night. She thanked her lucky stars that her parents had the decency to whisper, knowing how explosive their feuds often were. Their marriage was only as good as dad’s checkbook. Bankruptcy following Weirdmageddon had almost dissolved the family entirely. At night, they often fought over finances, the shrill tones of their voice rising up the stairs. Sometimes she fell asleep to it.

The cool, silk sheets of her bed welcomed Pacifica to a much-needed slumber, an eight hour reprieve from the pains of the Northwest life. Money had no rule over Pacifica once she closed her eyes. If control over her life was too much to ask for, then she would control her dreams, hoping to be whisked away until the sun came up. 

Darkness filled her vision as her eyelids came down. Aching joints and sore muscles forced Pacifica to toss and turn. She was both too hot and too cold, swinging one leg out from under the sheets, then both, then retreated once she began to shiver. The vent above her bed blew cold air down from the central cooling system. She silently cursed it, wondering if it was worth the effort to wake one of their servants and turn it off herself.

Sleep was a cruel mistress. Pacifica punched her pillow out of frustration, turning her head and seeing that two hours had passed, her closed eyes and surrounding darkness warping her perception of time.

Laying in bed would do her no good. If her mind was forcing her to stay awake, she would be productive.

The closet door lay open, beckoning her with an invisible hand. A perfect opportunity to search for Dipper’s missing book.

Most people feared a dark closet at night. Pacifica took comfort in it. It was messy and disorganized, something that her family would despise and keep hidden away. Just the way she liked it. Sometimes, it seemed like the only part of her life that wasn’t cookie-cutter perfect. Pacifica had made that mess on her own accord. In a twisted sort of way, she took pride in it. 

A sea of half-folded clothes and discarded books consumed Pacifica up to her waits. If Dipper’s book was anywhere to be found, it would take the rest of the night until she found it.

Soft orchestral scores accompanied her plunge into the void of the closet. Some light music could make even the most mundane of tasks interesting. She made sure to keep it at a volume that her parents would not hear, which was quite easy given their laziness. Pacifica had the night to herself.

The downstairs clock chimed with the approach of three in the morning by the time Pacifica made it to the other side of her closet. She had trudged through years’ worth of clothes and other junk, coming up empty. Nowhere was the leather-bound mystery note to be found. She scoured the cover of every book in her closet and piece of paper on the ground, looking for the opening stanzas of Robert Frost’s finest work. 

Her limbs grew heavy towards the end. She had managed to work up a sweat, a bead rolling down her forehead just as Prokofiev's Dance of the Nights began playing over her speaker. The deep bass tones accompanied her defeated journey back to the bed, setting the time tape inside a drawer on her nightstand to keep it from being consumed by the closet. She had no intention of losing another one of Dipper’s artifacts.  

The four o’clock hour had come and gone before Pacifica finally felt her eyelids begin to sink. She let sleep take her like a familiar friend, drifting away into the limbo state between consciousness and unconsciousness. 

A sharp beeping awoke her before she even realized that she was asleep. On her nightstand, an obnoxious analogue alarm clock screeched.

“Ugh…” Pacifica groaned, “Not now…” 

If she didn’t get up to her alarm clock, Mother and Father would force her up in their own way. They rarely went anywhere without that goddamn bell. One day, Pacifica would work up the courage and take the bell out of her father’s hands, grinding it up and tossing it aside like the garbage that it was. 

She soon found herself in the bathroom staring at her own reflection. Baggy eyes, frizzled hair, greasy face. Her family would have a meltdown if they saw her like that. Pacifica waited a moment before freshening up, savoring her humanizing imperfections. There was something freeing about a face without layers and layers of makeup forced upon it. Sometimes she wondered if her parents were raising a circus monkey. No one needed six layers of concealer. One would be fine. 

There was nothing on the docket that day. Pacifica prayed that she would pass under her parents’ radar, perhaps even enjoying a walk in the garden without the ever-watchful eyes of the servants.

Begrudgingly, Pacifica washed her face and puffed-up her hair, a process that took almost half an hour. She stared at her reflection once the last strands had been forced into place. She almost didn’t recognize the face in the mirror. 

That didn’t matter. A few minutes later she was called downstairs for breakfast. Pacifica trudged down the stairs like a death row prisoner to the electric chair. A plate of fluffy eggs, fresh fruit, and seasoned potatoes waited for her, cut into picturesque pieces that made her meal look more like an art piece than a breakfast. 

“Good morning, dear,” Mother said, “Did you sleep well?”

“Sure,” Pacifica replied dryly, folding a napkin and placing it on her lap.” 

“I see you’re going light on the makeup today.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes. I can still see your bags. Try better next time.”

It took all of Pacifica’s strength not to take her food and toss it into her mother’s face. She didn’t even remember what Mother’s face looked like without the layers upon layers of concealer, eyeliner, and blemish. She looked more like a doll than a person. The same could be said about father and his hair plugs. He looked better with an inverted face.

“Now, Pacifica, I know your itinerary is empty today,” Father said, pouring himself a cup of tea and mixing in a spoonful of honey, “But I think we need to take a day to work on your presentation. Yesterday was not your best work. I think you need a few reminders.”

“What did I do?” Pacifica asked, feigning ignorance.

“You know. Sulking around, staring at the water, not so much as saying hi to the shareholders. What the hell were you thinking? We have a reputation to uphold. You know DAMN well how close we were to losing it!”

Her father slammed his fists down on the table and grunted. Pacifica leapt back in fear, a glass of water falling to the floor and shattering. Servants rushed to clean it up as the veins in her father’s forehead bulged.

He leaned in closer, speaking through gritted teeth,

“I will not be made a fool,” Father suddenly seethed, “Do you understand? You will not be doing that again.”

Pacifica bit her lip and nodded, not daring to break eye-contact. 

Father sat back down, “Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.” 

She excused herself to the bathroom and trotted over on shaky legs. She closed the door behind her and turned on the sink to let the water run, half-expecting to see Father’s eyes watching her through the mirror and admonishing her for not being pretty enough. 

She wasn’t sure where the tears came from. Father had scolded her before. In fact, that morning was relatively tame in comparison to some of his angrier days, only breaking a wine glass and slightly raising his voice. Maybe it was the recognition of a pattern. For nineteen years, Pacifica had been clinging to the idea that he would change. That somewhere beneath that snobbish persona, there was a human side to her parents, something that money couldn’t corrupt no matter how hard it tried. It was that hope that had pushed her into corsets, down golden roads, and onto yachts. That morning proved more than anything else that she was barking up a dead tree. Her parents would never stop worshipping the golden calf of the dollar. She imagined that was why they had forbidden her from reading The Great Gatsby.

Small, muffled sobs escaped her mouth as she tried to cover the sound with her hands. The water would only do so much. Sooner or later, Mother and Father would get suspicious, and she would be exposed. She clenched her fists and tried to stifle the tears. They would know what she was up to if they saw the running mascara.

The Northwest House was dead. Dollarsmore was the final nail in the coffin. The day she walked through those gates, it was over. There would be no going back. Spending the rest of her life surrounded by gluttonous capitalism would be hell on Earth. Part of Pacifica wondered if she was already there, pulled around by a carrot on a stick, the gates of the mansion just barely out of reach.  

She had no reason to be sad. She was the wealthiest teenager on the west side of the Mississippi. There were people her age working their way through school, dealing with broken families, or fighting wars. All in all, she had it pretty well. Maybe she truly was a spoiled rich girl with no grasp on reality. Maybe her situation wasn’t all that bad. Some people would kill to be where she was, crying her eyes out in a lavish bathroom. She was getting herself worked up over nothing. Of course. It was what she always did. 

The sobs left a bitter taste in the back of her throat as they slowly turned to sniffles. Her nose began to run while reaching for a tissue box resting on a porcelain counter. She cursed herself for taking so long. Sooner or later, Mother and Father would knock on the door, and pull her out of there kicking and screaming. The parents she needed were long gone. 

“Pull yourself together,” Pacifica grumbled, clenching her fists hard enough to break one of her nails, “Come on.”

Years of sobbing behind closed doors had trained her. With a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and slowly turned off the water. Pacifica Northwest was a professional. She could hold the mask for a few more hours. A pit formed in her stomach as she thought about the lessons she would surely be spending the rest of the day on. No amount of indoctrination would warm her up to their way of life.

The door opened with a click. Pacifica checked her mascara in the mirror before calmly stepping out into the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Mother and Father didn’t even look up from their plates. Years of forced smiles had formed strong wrinkles on their faces. Pacifica had grown used to wearing a neutral expression. It kept her young and prevented her from getting the artificial lines that her parents had cursed themselves with. 

“Sorry,” Pacifica mumbled as she sat back down, “Had to check my hair.”

“You clearly didn’t check enough,” Mother remarked, “You’re lacking volume.” 

And you’re lacking estrogen, mom. 

Her appetite had long since disappeared. Knowing the consequences of leaving food on a plate, Pacifica slowly picked away at the stale breakfast, the berries soggy and eggs hardened. She choked down a cup of coffee and waited for the servants to come and clear the table. Mother and Father flapped their jaws discussing the stock market and the values of their shares. Pacifica knew the routine well. “Oh, Berkshire Hathaway is down. Invest in another Blue-Chip,” or “Oh, I’ve got an insider call. Dump everything we have in Nvidia and buy General Electric.” It was the only damn thing they talked about. 

“Pacifica, have you checked your brokerage account?” Father asked, “Today should be a very good day for you.”

“I’ll check it after breakfast,” Pacifica sighed, “I’ll sell what I have to sell.”

“Good. Money should never be still. Always keep it moving.”

If Pacifica had her way –and if their assets were truly liquid– she would pile their cash into sacks and throw it from the rooftop, hoping that the wind could guide it to someone far more deserving. What use was the family’s money if all they did was sit on it. They stood on a greenback mountain and laughed at the plebeians below them, not offering them so much as a scrap from the table. Just looking at her wallet made Pacifica nauseous. She didn’t deserve any of what she had. All that money did was remind her of where she was. 

“If I may,” Pacifica said, gently clearing her throat as she rose from the table, “I’m going to take a walk through the garden. I hope our lessons can wait until later?” 

Father furrowed his brow and glared at her condescendingly. He took a sip of coffee without breaking eye-contact, as if toying with the thought, and finally relented once he was done.

“Fine,” Father said, “But be back by noon. I don’t understand your fixation on that garden. It’s not like it’s making us any money.”

“It doesn’t grow on trees,” Mother laughed, as if she was the first person in the world to come up with the joke, “Everyone has their quirks.”

Pacifica didn’t bother saying goodbye. She walked upstairs, donned a day shirt, and opened the door to the warmth of the outside, savoring an unusually sunny week in Gravity Falls.

The only good thing about the mansion was the view. It gave Pacifica a bird’s-eye view of the town that her parents so vehemently despised. She would never understand it. Gravity Falls was a perfect blend of small town charm and rural life. People walked the street and knew each other. Stories were told of jovial conversations at cash registers, water coolers, or on hikes in the woods. There was a camaraderie to living in such a small region that Pacifica accepted she would never be a part of. She was nothing more than an animal looking out from their enclosure.

A group of gardeners passed Pacifica and bowed their heads. Pacifica waved them up, and handed them a stack of bills from her pocket. If her parents weren’t going to pay them a living wage, Pacifica would. They had earned it more than anyone. Without the gardeners, there would be nothing stopping Pacifica from burning the damned place to the ground and dancing atop the ashes. 

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Pacifica remarked, pointing to a budding tree down a green path, “Are those cherry blossoms?”

One of the gardeners nodded, “Yes, ma’am. Had it shipped here from Fukuoka. I hope it’s all to your liking.”

“Pacifica, and yes, it is to my liking. Thank you.”

The gardeners hurried away to the center fountain of the garden and began pulling weeds from the base. Ahead of them was a large stone pathway with colorful trees and flowers on either side, vines sprawling about the ground and meeting the grass with a vegetative handshake. Songbirds and squirrels scurried to and fro. Metallic chirps and bright coos rang out. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the distance. Pacifica ignored the mugginess of the morning and strolled ahead, taking in each moment as if it would be her last. 

Mother and Father never bothered to go in the garden themselves. They kept their distance, only journeying inside while giving tours of the mansion. Pacifica was the only one in the family that could appreciate its beauty. How beautiful was it, that something as insignificant as a seed could create something so beautiful? Only through patience and nurturing could the sapling become a flower, or a tree, or a bush. In the winter, the plants went bare, and would appear dead, only for the first thaw of spring to bring back their vibrance better than before. 

A small petal fell from a rosebush. Pacifica picked it up and placed it in her pocket, taking a moment to take a breath of the sweet aroma, better than any perfume that money could buy. 

Somewhere further down the line, a robin fell from a tree and dug through the ground for a worm. Pacifica sat on a stone bench at the garden’s midsection and watched as it scoured, two fledglings accompanying it. The family poked through the dew-laden grass for a moment before coming up with a single, bright red worm. The birds began chirping, as if in celebration, their beaks flapping as if they were wings. Pacifica spotted the nest at the top of a lilac tree. The avian critters took to the sky and did a figure-eight above the tree before returning to home base. She listened to the chirps for a few more seconds as she leaned back against the garden’s walls. 

A sudden wave of tiredness overtook her. Pacifica placed her hand on her chest and felt her heart rate, noticing that for the first time in days, it wasn’t frantically pounding against her ribcage, but gently thumping like midnight footsteps. Something about being in that house put her in a state of alert. The sound of Father’s voice was enough to send her into cardiac arrest. At any moment he could pull out that dreaded bell and put her back in her trance. The garden, it seemed, was the only place where she could find relief. 

Her eyelids grew heavy. The warm, welcoming natural ambiance pulled her towards relaxation. She wanted to stay awake; to savor the moment before she would be forced back into the mansion. Sleeping would be a waste. 

She set a timer on her phone. Surely a minute or two wouldn’t hurt. What better way to spend a summer?

Chapter Text

My head won’t stop pounding. My eyes can hardly read.

Dipper knew exactly where he was. 

The familiar, neon-blue tubes of Grunkle Ford’s bunker hit his eyes, with the structure having fallen into deep disrepair since his last visit. The control room was still the same. Heavy bangs rang out from down the hallway. Mabel clung to Dipper’s side as the pair searched desperately for an exit. Lights flickered overhead. The air was cold, Dipper shivering in spite of the jacket that he wore. 

“What’s that?!” Mabel asked worriedly.

Dipper put a finger to his lips, “I don’t know.”

He had no memory of arriving in the bunker. Why in his right mind would he return, facing demons that were supposed to remain underground? They had frozen the shapeshifter in its place, right? There was no reason to come back. Their job was done. 

Turning around, Dipper found an empty wall where the exit should have been. It was as if it had been plastered over upon their arrival, trapping them underground with their shapeshifting foe. Dipper’s stomach dropped and his palms began to sweat. Something was wrong. 

“Stay next to me,” Dipper whispered, “I don’t like this.”

A metal door sat between Dipper, Mabel, and the rest of the bunker. It was the same door that Mabel had forced him inside of with Wendy, hoping to force Dipper into airing out his feelings for her. He shuddered at the thought of going inside. 

“Looks like there’s only one way out,” Dipper said after a moment, “Follow me. And remember our safeword.”

Mabel nodded.

Blood stained the inside of the closet. Mabel let out a sharp gasp, while Dipper put a hand over his mouth and tried to keep himself from throwing up. 

“What happened here…?” Mabel asked, “Oh my God…”

Dipper looked out at the sprawling hallway ahead. Rusted metal walls and broken machinery lined the mechanical corpse, with flickering light bulbs providing the only light. Inches of stillwater sat in the ruins with algae and other microbial life growing in its place. Mold climbed up and down the support beams.

More importantly, his eyes fell over to the shapeshifter’s cryogenic container, which had been shattered, blue goo leaking out and mixing with the watery mess lining the floor. 

“We have to leave. Now,” Dipper ordered, picking up the pace as he almost broke into a sprint, “Come on.”

The banging came from Dipper’s right. He took Mabel’s hand and pulled her to the left, swinging around a wide corridor and kicking over rusted soup cans in the process. Glass cracked beneath his feet and the air grew musty, Dipper trying not to think about the millions of spores he was inhaling. 

Dipper tripped on a piece of glass somewhere down the hallway and hit the ground with a heavy thud. His head slammed into the floor, with Mabel quickly reaching down to pick him up. 

“Dipper,” Mabel said, turning her head down the hall and pointing, “Look…”

Down the hall, standing perfectly still, was Mabel, wearing her usual bright-pink rainbow sweater. Her eyes were empty as an eerie smile spread across her face. 

Dipper then turned his head to glance at the real Mabel standing by his side. The fake one took a few steps forward, waving with a coy smile that sent another wave of nausea over him, unable to even look at the terrible imposter.  

“RUN!” Dipper yelled.

The shapeshifter dropped its ruse. Within seconds, fake-Mabel’s face opened up and revealed a fleshy, tooth-covered mouth beneath. Her arms broke into claws and her legs grew. A terrible hiss escaped the creature’s mouth, loud enough to bring one of the bunker’s support beams crumbling to the ground. 

A metal door at the end of the hallway was their last hope. Dipper ran to it, ignoring his bleeding ankle and the horrible screams coming from behind, instead pounding on the bunker’s door as the rusted handle remained in place.

“Dammit!” Dipper grunted, “Come on! Open!”

The shapeshifter’s hisses turned into maniacal laughter. A deep, guttural laughter, almost like a death rattle. Dipper covered his ears to block out the horrible sound. Mabel joined him and backed up against the door.

“Back off!” Mabel shouted at the shapeshifter.

It didn’t respond, only continuing its laughter. Dipper pulled at the door with all of his might, just as Mabel let out a scream.

He turned around just in time to watch the beast hit her with its claw, sending her flying across the hallway and slamming into a wall, blood spilling from the side of her head.

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted.

He hardly had time to take a breath before the beast came for him next. Dipper put up a fight, socking the shapeshifter in its eye before it grabbed him and sent a talon deep into his stomach. 

Dipper screamed and opened his eyes, a dark bedroom ceiling appearing over his head. 

Heavy breathing and a pounding heart drove Dipper to shoot up like an arrow. 

That time, he managed to stay on his bed, carefully rising from a sweat-soaked pillow as he placed a hand on his chest. The room felt different. With the silence of the night and darkness surrounding him on all sides, it felt as if the shapeshifter was still with him, waiting to leap out at any moment and take him away. Dipper checked his stomach for any scars. Aside from a few bruises from his fall from the tree, he was fine. Only after that did he allow himself to breathe. 

For the second night that week, Dipper gave up on sleeping, instead getting out of bed and gently stepping down the stairs. Sunrise was only an hour or two away. The first glimmers of color appeared on the horizon outside of the Mystery Shack’s doors. His legs ached as he stepped down the stairs, still aching from the beach trip two days prior. There was only so much exercise a man could take. He and Mabel had spent the previous day lazing around in the Mystery Shack in hopes of curing their ailments to no avail. Grunkle Stan had forced them to help move furniture out of the living room, which had only added back pain to the multitude of Dipper’s problems. 

Sleep had provided him a welcome reprieve from the headache that had been bothering him since the funeral. It was dull, hardly enough to notice, but just enough to annoy him, with the sharp nagging sensation at his temples almost driving Dipper insane. It was the mental equivalent to water torture. 

He went downstairs and sat on a couch. Seeing that nobody else was up, he grabbed a remote and turned on the TV, turning the volume down as low as he could before surfing through Gravity Falls public access.

He eventually came across a rerun of the George Lopez Show, something that Dipper remembered catching on the air before school when he was younger, often leaving it on during the days he was forced to stay home sick. The ringing of a cowbell in the intro brought Dipper back to his childhood for a short moment. He imagined the family living room in place of the Mystery Shack, with mom and dad bustling around upstairs getting ready for the day. The smell of toast and peanut butter filled his nose, a familiar breakfast that had defined his youth. Mabel would still be sleeping at that part of the morning. It had been Dipper’s job to wake her, which he always did at the half-hour break between episodes. That had to have been almost ten years ago. 

Watching old shows, although repetitive, brought Dipper an unexplainable comfort, something that he needed after such a vivid nightmare. He walked over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw a figure standing in the center of the kitchen. 

Mabel’s familiar nightgown faced him, with her head still buried in the fridge. Dipper’s heart fell into his slippers as the memories of his dream came back in full-force. The figure stood with the same eerie stillness as the shapeshifter, hunched over and eating something behind the fridge door.

He debated turning around and sprinting out the front door. He couldn’t do that, not with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford still inside. Leaving them with a shapeshifter was a recipe for death. 

Before Dipper had a chance to turn around, the figure faced him, and then gave a coy smile. 

“Hiii, Dipper!” Mabel said, mozzarella cheese falling from her mouth, “You getting a midnight snack, too?”

Dipper breathed a sigh of relief as the tension released from his shoulders.

“Did you see another ghost?” Mabel asked, “Because you look pale…”

“No,” Dipper replied, “Just…been having some weird dreams lately. Can you toss me a water?”

“Coming right up!”

Mabel tossed a bottle of vitamin water from the fridge and hurled it at Dipper with the strength of a baseball pitcher. Dipper barely managed to catch it before it would have slammed into his face and sent him to the ground.

Mabel laughed, “You know. We’re both awake. That makes this a slumber party!” 

“Well, I’ve got George Lopez on in the living room. You remember that show, right?” Dipper asked before gently pushing past Mabel, “I’ll meet you in there. I need some Tylenol…”

“Is your head still hurting?”

“Yeah. It’s not great.”

Mabel took a bag of shredded cheese with her to the living room while Dipper popped a couple of Tylenol tablets. Sure, it wouldn’t magically make his pain go away, but he was willing to do anything to keep the worst of the pain at bay. 

Returning to the living room, Dipper found Mabel sitting criss-cross applesauce on the center couch. Dipper joined her while popping open his water and taking a seat. 

“I remember having to get you out of bed at the end of the first episode,” Dipper said after a moment, “They’d have one at six and six thirty.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said, “And I always hated waking up.”

“You gave me a black eye once throwing one of your dolls at me.”

“That was on you for getting me up. You know I need my beauty sleep.”

“We were eight. Neither of us were at our best.”

“Speak for yourself. I was the prettiest girl in the second grade.”

Quiet moments like that with Mabel were becoming an increasingly rare thing. With how often she was out with friends, and with how much time Dipper devoted to his studies, they only ever had an hour or two together in a week. College would only widen the gap. Peaceful mornings watching the George Lopez show in the family living room with still-married parents were gone. No amount of reflecting would bring them back. All he could do was remember the good times and hope that there were more on the horizon. 

The first week of their summer had ticked by. College started in less than two months. As the episode neared its end, Dipper couldn’t help but realize that he was thirty minutes closer to his entire life changing. He would be off in a different state, hundreds of miles away, only seeing Mabel during the occasional break. They had never been apart for that long before. Spending years of their lives sharing adventures was coming to an end. 

The first episode of their show ended, with the theme song playing again with the onset of the second. Dipper leaned back against the couch and tried to keep himself calm. With his shapeshifter hallucinations, pending existential dread, and horrible headache, the comfort of a childhood cable TV show was the only thing getting him by. 

Daylight crept in little by little. Dipper looked out the window and saw the first clouds of the morning lit by the sun. The sky was spotter than it had been over those last few days, a gray disposition dimming what would have otherwise been a spectacular sunrise. Dipper finished the last of his water and set the bottle on a nearby table before leaning back and covering his eyes with his hands. The nagging at his temples continued, the Tylenol doing nothing to help. 

“You doing alright?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper sighed, “Sorry. My head is just really killing me.”

“The Tylenol didn’t help?”

“No.”

“Have you tried sugar?”

“I don’t think that’s going to help.”

“What about coffee?” 

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m going to make some. With extra sugar. Just holler if you want any!” 

Mabel leapt to her feet and disappeared around the bend to the kitchen. Dipper closed his eyes and listened to the second episode of the George Lopez show, listening as George bickered with his mother about not caring enough when he was a kid. 

The coffee maker whirred to life. Dipper tried to block out the noise, the mechanical whirring only furthering the ache behind his skill, as if a jackhammer was chipping away at his skull. Dipper was no stranger to migraines. They had practically defined his time in high school, taken out of commission every few months by a particularly nasty episode, spending days or weeks making up for the work he missed. He dreaded the idea of battling a migraine while on vacation. Gravity Falls was a place to be enjoyed. How could Dipper enjoy any of it if he was lying prostrate on the couch fighting to keep his eyes open?

A set of footsteps indicated Mabel’s approach to the living room. Dipper forced himself to sit up, the glow of the morning sun hitting his eyes and sending another wave of sharp pain through his head. Dipper covered his face with his hand and seethed through his mouth.

“Alright, we’re closing that window,” Mabel said, promptly walking over to the living room window and quickly drawing the blinds. 

Only in the darkness was Dipper able to finally look around.

“I think it’s a migraine,” Dipper sighed, “Again…”

“That sucks,” Mabel replied, “Migraines are stupid.”

“I’m gonna lay down on the couch for a bit. Hopefully it goes away…”

“Do you want me to get a compress? Don’t those help?”

“If you could, that would be awesome…”

“I’ll be right back. Mabel to the rescue!”

Dipper would be forever grateful that he had Mabel as a sister, and wouldn’t have it any other way. Without hesitation, she ran a washcloth under the warm water of the sink and leapt back into the living room and placed it atop Dipper’s head. The warmth of the humid cloth sent waves of temporary relief along his face. Leaning his head back against the arm of a couch, he felt a blanket fall over him.

“There,” Mabel said, pride in her voice, “I should be a doctor. I’m so good at this.”

“Hah, yeah!” Dipper replied, “Sorry about all this…”

“Never apologize for being sick.”

“I’m not sick, it’s just a migraine. I’ll be okay by the end of the day. Hopefully.”

“You feeling anything else?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

Mabel sat down at the end of the couch just past Dipper’s feet. It was a routine that had existed since childhood, with Dipper’s days on the family couch often accompanied by a sock play with Mabel, his sister trying to bring some whimsy to a day that was otherwise dead. The morning felt like he had stepped through a time machine. It seemed as if he had stepped into a time machine and was being given one last chance to relive those rose-tinted moments. 

“Is it okay if I leave the TV on?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dipper replied, “It’s good background noise. Gives me something to listen to.”

“Awesome.”

Dipper closed his eyes for a moment. Sleep did not return, instead visualizing their childhood living room, with the background droning of the TV and the smell of mothballs perfectly setting up the scene. He could almost hear mom and dad walking around upstairs and getting ready for work. The warmth of the memory lifted him up and almost muted the pain in his head.

A third episode came and went. Dipper couldn’t tell if he had fallen asleep, with the darkness of the compress and comforting atmosphere keeping him in a state of limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. Time had a tendency to warp around Dipper while he was sick, as if he was orbiting a black hole, with hours passing in a matter of seconds. He was only able to keep track of time by how often he heard the George Lopez opening theme on the television. 

“Not what I had in mind for sibling bonding,” Mabel said, “I wanted to punch another unicorn, but this is alright. We needed a break.”

“Yeah…we definitely overdid it,” Dipper grumbled, “But it was worth it.”

“Heck yeah it was! We never got to do this at home.”

The mention of home brought a heaviness to the conversation. Mabel took a moment before speaking again, as did Dipper, the two of them remembering what the word meant to them.

“I don’t miss California,” Dipper finally said, “I didn’t realize how much I hated it until I came here.”

“I miss some of it,” Mabel said, “But I don’t miss mom and dad. Well, I do, but I don’t miss their yelling.”

“I get it.”

Mom and Dad’s marriage had crumbled slowly over a period of years. Dipper and Mabel had spent many nights with their hands over their ears, trying not to hear the shrill yells of their parents as a disagreement over dinner turned into a full-on screaming match. 

“I’m glad we’re getting a break,” Mabel continued, “Everything’s just…changing too fast.”

“That’s sorta what this part of our lives is about, isn’t it?” Dipper replied, trying to keep the compress over his eyes, “If everything stayed the same, we’d get bored. Wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know. I think I could drink Pitt Cola and go camping with Wendy forever.”

“So do I. And we still can. For the rest of the summer, home doesn’t exist. This is our new home.”

“Until college starts…”

“Yeah. Until college starts.”

Another pause interrupted the conversation as they accidentally steered towards a heavier topic. Dipper felt like he was at the helm of the Titanic, desperately trying to avoid icebergs that continued to pummel him. What better place to have an existential conversation than lying on the couch struggling to keep yesterday’s dinner down with the George Lopez show in the background? It was almost comical. Dipper had no idea how he ended up in those situations.

“We’re going to stay in touch next year, right?” Mabel asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dipper managed a nod, “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure. We’ve never been apart for that long.”

“It’ll only be for a few months. Then we have breaks.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You’ll probably stay on campus and do work with the dork club.”

“Why would I waste my break on campus?”

“You did it during school.”

“Skipping senior skip-day doesn’t count.”

“What about in third grade? When you were spending too much time in the library so they forced you to go to recess?”

“It was a horrible experience, yes, but I had better things to do.”

“Well, I hope nothing at college is better than us.”

“Nothing can be. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Another few episodes of the George Lopez show came and went. Dipper waited until the end of the fifth episode before he dared to try and stand up again.

“You need help?” Mabel asked.

“I’m going to try and get another water,” Dipper said, “My head hurts…a little bit less.”

“Don’t fall.”

“I’ll try.”

Waddles emerged from the upstairs and wiggled past Dipper’s leg. Mabel let out a cheer from the living room as the pig leapt into her arms. With a quick pull, Dipper removed the compress from his head and squinted in response to the bright light of the morning. 

The pain came in waves. Although the medicine dulled it, Dipper still struggled to pull himself off of the couch and into the hallway leading to the kitchen. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet and pale sunlight poured in from the windows above the sink. Morning had come with a vengeance. Only the occasional cloud passing in front of the sun would grant him any reprieve from the oppressive glare. 

Somewhere outside, a car engine came to a stop. Dipper lacked the wherewithal to pull himself to the door. He assumed it to be Soos preparing to open the shop.

Dipper grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge. A quick rubbing of his temples gave him the strength to saunter back to the couch, where Mabel looked on with a worried expression. 

“I’m going to try and get some rest,” Dipper finally said, laying back down on the couch, “Wake me up before one. Okay?”

“I got you bro,” Mabel replied, “Sleep as long as you need.”

“Thank you.”

Dipper closed his eyes and slowly found himself whisked away by the arms of the Sandman, no longer fearing a shapeshifter or a dark bunker. The soft sounds of Mabel shifting around on the couch and scrolling on her phone was all the confirmation he needed that she was okay.

The last thing he heard before drifting off was the opening of the front door, and the cheering of Soos as he stepped inside to start the day. 

Chapter Text

Like an old friend, it tried to trick me.

“Dipper! It’s one!”

Groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dipper raised his head and was pleasantly surprised by the lack of sharp pain as he did so.

Mabel tugged on his sleeve and rattled a bottle of pills in her hand like a maraca. Squinting, Dipper was able to see the outline of a Tylenol label, with some six or seven hours having passed since his last dose. 

“Thanks,” Dipper grumbled, sunlight pouring in through an open window, “I’m feeling a bit better…”

“How much better?” Mabel asked, “Because I might have made some plans…”

“Plans?”

“Yeah! Wanna have a day out on the town? You know, go crazy? Go to a diner, eat a grape from the grocery store, maybe find us some unicorn hair?”

It took a moment before Dipper trusted his senses. He tilted his head back and forth, the headache having retreated to a dull soreness instead of sharp, shooting discomfort. Dipper came to the conclusion that his lack of sleep was catching up to him. 

“I think I’d be able to go,” Dipper replied, “Might be a bit slow, but I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Mabel asked.

Dipper nodded.

Mabel grinned and pulled Dipper towards the front door. They passed by Soos behind the counter at the Mystery Shack, with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford holed up in the back. The pair gave a wave before Dipper opened the front door and was met with the humid heat of an early-July afternoon. 

“Are we walking, or are we driving?” Dipper asked, “I can do both. Maybe. If my head doesn’t explode…” 

“Driving would probably be easier…” Mabel sighed, “I can do it!”

Maybe it was the fatigue from his spotty sleep schedule, or maybe the migraine had fried his brain. Dipper handed Mabel the keys and allowed her to do the driving. Dipper would rather not be behind the wheel if he had another episode. Mabel, somehow, had become the safer of the two options. 

The car began to shake after Dipper sat down in the back seat. At first, he believed it to be the suspension acting up.

“Do you feel that?” Dipper asked.

Birds fled from trees overhead. Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance, silently coming to the same conclusion.

Grunkle Ford walked through the front door and waved at the car. Glasses of water left on the porch from the previous night fell to the porch and shattered. Dipper was no stranger to earthquakes, having experienced one at the campsite, and a fair amount back home at Piedmont. That morning’s quake was a bit more intense. The rattling was more than a simple vibration under Dipper’s feet. It managed to knock over glasses and spook birds. Dogs from distant houses broke out into fits of barking. Another glass fell from the railing and shattered next to Grunkle Ford’s feet. 

Just as quickly as it had started, the shaking stopped, leaving the air still and the porch covered in glass.

Dipper opened the car door and stepped out, “Everything okay?”

Grunkle Ford nodded, “I think so, yes. Just a small quake. Probably no more than a five…”

“There was one a couple days ago, too. Think we should be worried about that?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“You guys need any help in there?”

Grunkle Ford leaned inside the door and spoke to whom Dipper assumed to be Soos or Grunkle Stan. He poked his head back out a moment later and gave them an “okay” symbol with his hands.

“No damage in here,” Grunkle Ford replied, “Just on the porch. I’m going to go check my seismograph back in the lab!”

Grunkle Stan and Soos appeared on the porch a few seconds later with brooms and dustpans. The glass was gently cleaned up and put away. Dipper and Mabel hesitated until the damage was cleaned. With no aftershocks, they eventually decided that the coast was clear. 

“You know, that’s one way to wake someone up,” Dipper sighed, “At least it didn’t do too much damage…”

“Someone needs to get the Earth a therapist,” Mabel said, “She’s getting cranky and taking it out on us.”

Mabel put her foot on the gas and slowly backed the truck out of the driveway. Dipper held his breath while they narrowly missed a mailbox and the Mystery Shack’s two trash cans. The dirt road provided a temporary reprieve from any obstacles that could put a damper on their journey. It was that same dirt road on which Dipper and Mabel had escaped a group of lovesick gnomes six years ago. That time, Dipper had been behind the wheel, relying on the shoddy engine of a golf cart to propel them forward away from their garden foes. 

“If those gnomes came after us now, we’d be golden,” Dipper chuckled, “We could just run them over.”

“That’s what they get for messing with Mabel!” Mabel cheered, “I’d never be their queen. They’re gross.”

“Funny that you’re the one driving this time.”

“Yeah, it is. And look. We haven’t crashed yet!”

“Don’t speak too soon.”

With the earthquake quickly becoming a distant memory, Dipper leaned his head against the window and watched the trees run past, catching green blurs and the occasional bird flying out of a nest. Dirt paths slowly gave way to asphalt with the appearance of a stop sign just before the main street.

“I’m gonna park us in the lot,” Mabel said, “Because I am NOT parallel parking!”

Dipper laughed, “Good. Because I wouldn’t trust you to.”

“Don’t act like you can either.”

“Never said I could. I parked once for the test, and then never again. As it should be.” 

Gravity Falls had come to life. The streets were bustling with small-town conversation. A farmer’s market had set up down main street, with brightly-colored produce and fresh breads giving the carts a lively color. A fireworks stand had been set up nearby with teenagers selling rockets in honor of the fourth of July. Dogs walked up and down the sidewalk on leashes with their owners in tow. Kites flew from the nearby park and adorned the sky with neon fabric. A fountain in the center of the park bore a statue of the late-mayor Befufflefumper with water spewing from his head. Patrons set up picnic blankets at the base and enjoyed a midday lunch. 

Mabel parked them in the back of the main parking lot, just behind a railing separating them from the park. 

“Am I in the lines?” Mabel asked.

Dipper poked his head out of the passenger side window and nodded, “Yep. Looks like it.”

The truck was wedged between two Subarus that had certainly seen better days. Dipper wiggled out of the passenger door and tried to ignore the vulgar stickers on the cars that surrounded them. Dipper would never understand why people felt the need to ruin their car with such horrid designs. 

“Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to own cars,” Mabel said, “Come on, people! There are children around!”

Small tents had been set up in the park square in preparation for the independence day celebrations. Dipper took a deep breath of the fresh summer air, bringing a temporary reprieve from his ailment, slightly fresh with the smell of budding flowers and greasy hotdogs. 

The park was the center of town. In a world with dwindling third-spaces, it was one of the few that remained, where residents could mingle freely without the fear of trespassing. Although it technically closed at dark, Dipper imagined that Blubs and Durland would be liberal with their enforcement. Gravity Falls was too small to worry about things like that. 

Dipper could see the entirety of downtown from their vantage point. To their right was an arcade, the same one from which Rumble McSkirmish had emerged all those years ago. Lazy Susan’s diner was just across the street. Mattress stores, mom-and-pop bakeries, and a long-abandoned convenience store sat adjacent to it along the town square. Patrons walked in and out of its doors, coming from all walks of life. For a small town in the middle of nowhere, Gravity Falls was surprisingly diverse.

Mabel and Dipper walked along the grassy path and through the center of the park. They stopped just beneath the fountain, where two familiar faces stood with batons in one hand and hot dogs in the other. 

Durland and Blubs had hardly changed since Dipper last saw them. Had it not been for a few stray gray hairs, he might not have been able to tell the difference. The pair had stopped to pet a golden retriever walking along the sidewalk, designating it as “official police business.” 

“Hey!” Mabel cheered brightly, waving at the officers as the duo approached.

“Well, I’ll be!” Blubs chuckled, tilting his sunglasses downard and revealing his eyes at the two, “I wasn’t just seeing things. The Mystery Twins are back in town!”

Durland swallowed a bite of a hot dog, “I thought I saw you two at the funeral. What are y’all doing back in Gravity Falls?”

“We came up for the funeral,” Dipper said, “And we’re probably going to stay here for a bit.”

“As you should. As long as you don’t park in a handicapped spot or go over the speed limit, you’ll be just fine.”

A radio on Blubs’s waistband began to crackle to life. He pulled it out and held the device to his ear, a static-laden message unintelligible to Dipper flowing out. 

“Durland,” Blubs said, “We’ve gotta get going. Some old lady on fifth street lost a vase in the earthquake and wants us to come.”

Durland nodded, “This is why I became a small-town deputy. To help citizens in their hour of need.”

“It was nice seeing you. Don’t break the law!”

Durland and Blubs disappeared around the bend and hopped in their squad car on main street. Dipper watched them pull out and almost smash into another car as they left the spot, speeding down the road and swinging a hard right at an intersection before completely disappearing from view. 

“Nice to see them again,” Dipper remarked dryly, “Even if it was only for a few seconds.”

The stroll through the park continued. Dipper and Mabel stopped at a stand just north of the fountain to grab a hot dog and a slushie. The sugary ice dulled the aching in the back of Dipper’s head, a welcome contrast to the summer heat. Bees swarmed the drinks as Dipper and Mabel struggled to finish them in time.

Mabel turned to face Dipper once they were finished, smiling with blue teeth. 

An hour in the park brought them around the perimeter and back to where they started. The duo broke away from the crowd and drifted back onto main street, towards the plaza in which most of their memories from the first summer had been made. 

Their first stop was the arcade. Dipper walked over to the old street-fighter game, only to see that it had been taped-off and decommissioned. A bummer, but understandable, given that the main character of the game had left the machine years ago, and was off dating some psychopath from a virtual dating simulator.

“They’ve really let this place go,” Mabel remarked, “Looks sort of sad now.”

As much as he wanted Mabel to be wrong, Dipper couldn’t deny it. The colors that had seemed so bright during his first visit had faded with age, chips appearing in the paint and mold crawling along the ceiling. The arcade counter was filled with mediocre prizes that not even the most naive of children would be excited for. Pizza and drinks were still served from the counter, but they looked stale, as if they had been sitting in a fridge since Dipper last left and had been fermenting while awaiting his return. 

Dipper and Mabel played a round of pac man before deciding that it wasn’t worth it to try and keep the magic of the arcade alive. Dipper had outgrown the place, a thought that took a moment to rationalize. The sweaty and noisy environment no longer appealed to him. Not even the whimsy of summer could bring back that magic. Dipper could accept that. He found much more enjoyment in the outdoors than he did in the dark confines of a money-eating arcade.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Dipper said, “You’re right. This place is really depressing.” 

Outside, the streets only grew more crowded. Dipper and Mabel decided to take a stop at the farmer’s market, something that they had failed to do during their first visit. Perhaps fresh produce and fluffy bread was just what they needed to recapture the magic of the town. Dipper knew it was still there, hiding.

“Dipper, look!” Mabel cheered, “They’ve got pineapples! Real, fresh ones! Not that gross stuff from the can!”

Dipper handed one of the vendors a five-dollar bill and bought a fresh pineapple from a tropical-themed stand. Fruity aromas wafted from the space with steel-drum music adding to the cheery atmosphere. Dipper held the fruit by its heart to keep the sharp prongs on the side from poking into his sides.

“An impulse buy, maybe,” Dipper said, “But hey, it never hurts to try new things.”

A man with parrots on his shoulder sold sunflower seeds and other bird-themed foods. Dipper gently petted the parrot’s head as the man leaned over and let him pet its head, the scarlet feathers deforming around his head. It squawked happily and looked at Dipper with its oddly human eyes. 

“His name is Steve,” the man said, with a beard that almost resembled that of a pirate, “He could bite your finger off if he wanted to!”

That was enough to push Dipper and Mabel away from that stand. By the end of their journey, they had bought another pineapple, two loaves of sourdough bread, and a few baskets of fresh raspberries that an old German woman had insisted that they buy. All in all, it had all cost less than twenty dollars. The lowered prices were appreciated. In that economy, Dipper wanted to save every cent, especially with college around the corner. 

“How are we going to explain this to Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked, “You know how he feels about pineapples.”

“We’ll bridge that cross when we get to it,” Mabel said cheerily, “The day is young!”

“Don’t you mean ‘cross that bridge’?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Where to next?”

“Wherever the day takes us!”

Mid-afternoon brought about the worst of the heat. Sweat began to pool on Dipper’s head and dripped down his chin, the first tingles of sunburn gracing his shoulders. Only then did he remember that he had forgotten to apply sunscreen before leaving the house. He sighed, knowing that the next few hours were going to lead to the worst sunburn of his life. 

The twins passed by an intersection leading past main street. They ducked into a bookstore to catch a break from the summer heat. Dipper took the time to find some light summer reading, preferably supernatural. Mabel threw herself onto a reading chair and fanned herself with a pamphlet.

“I told you not to wear that sweater,” Dipper joked, “It’s like ninety degrees outside.”

Mabel pointed at him sharply, “Beauty is pain, Dipper. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Beauty is going to give you a heatstroke.”

“Good! It’s about time something exciting happened!”

“To each their own.”

The fantasy section was awash with new releases. Dipper thumbed through a couple, eventually deciding on a Brandon Sanderson novel and tucking it under his arm. He needed something to hold him off once he finished McGucket’s journal.  

Dipper removed his water bottle from his backpack and took a drink, hoping that it would aleve the remnants of his migraine. It must have been something in the air. Dipper had gotten migraines before, but never with such unpredictability and longevity. He had been fighting an on-and-off headache since the first day in town. That morning, it had decided to hit him like a truck. 

An older woman stood behind the counter. Dipper greeted her with a warm smile and looked her in the eye, noticing a darker, aged tint to her pupils.

“Is that all that you’ll be getting today?” the woman asked.

Dipper nodded, “Yep. What do I owe you?”

“Twelve sixty three.”

A few seconds of fumbling through his wallet later, Dipper placed the exact change on the counter. The woman tapped the cash register for a moment without taking the bills. She couldn’t have been younger than ninety. Old people had their quirks, and Dipper was more than willing to wait. 

The woman continued to tap away. Dipper noticed that she hadn’t blinked, instead staring blankly into the screen as if transfixed on a distant object. Her mouth remained closed in deep focus. 

Dipper slid the bills and coins closer in the hopes of subtly catching her attention. 

Without warning, the woman spun around and placed her hand on top of his, ice-cold bony fingers resting over Dipper’s. She turned and looked directly into his eyes. Her expression fell, forcing a frown as her jaw shifted back and forth, almost as if she was chewing on something. Wireframe glasses drooped beneath her eyes and revealed a cold empty stare. 

Just as quickly, the woman blinked and flashed a toothy smile, shrugging her shoulders and taking Dipper’s cash. 

“Sorry,” the woman said with a shaky voice, “Force of habit. Not as sharp as I used to be. Have a good day!”

The woman coyly waved Dipper off. He smiled in return, quickly running back to Mabel and wondering what the hell had just happened to him. She had managed to turn herself upside down in the chair with her legs resting against the window. Her hair ran from her head and into disorganized tangles on the floor, two nacho earrings hanging from Mabel’s ears. The pamphlet had fallen flat with humidity and was hardly able to hold its shape. Regardless, Mabel continued to fan herself with its corpse, small bits of the paper falling to the ground like snow on a December afternoon. 

“Already?” Mabel asked, “Couldn’t go a day without reading?”

“We’re in a bookstore,” Dipper said, “Plus, after what I had to go through to get it, I’m gonna make use of it. That lady at the counter is creeping me out.”

“Dipper, old people can’t hurt you. We’ve been over this.”

“It’s not that. I think…I think she’s got dementia or something. Something about her eyes rubbed me the wrong way. I don’t really know.”

Behind the counter, the woman was checking out another customer, smiling with the brightness of the midday sun. The woman on the other side of the register laughed along with her like Gatsby and Daisy, minus the unrequited love. 

“That’s the woman that scares you?” Mabel asked, falling from the chair and pushing herself up, “Please. I’ve seen scarier things on the sides of cereal boxes.”

The doorbell at the front of the store rang. Dipper thought nothing of it, until he saw two figures approaching from the window. Something about their faces rang a bell of familiarity. Dipper wasn’t able to put his finger on it until one of them started talking.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” a woman with a bowl cut and glasses said, “They do that a lot.”

Mabel’s eyes lit up when she heard the voice. 

“Candy?!” Mabel squealed, “Grenda?!”

Unchanged by time, Candy and Grenda wrapped their arms around Mabel in a tight embrace, reuniting like soldiers separated by years of war. 

“We heard you were at the funeral,” Grenda said, “We thought we’d never see you again. Friendship! Yeah!”

Candy and Grenda looked mostly the same aside from height and the thinning of their faces. Their fashion was mostly the same, with Grenda wearing an oversized neon T-shirt and Candy dressing in a dark-academia style, still wearing a backpack even though school was long over.

“We were just going to go meet up with some friends at the ice cream stand,” Candy said, “You should come along. We can take my car.”

“Really?!” Mabel said, smiling so widely that Dipper wondered if her face would fall off, “Yes! A thousand times, yes!”

Mabel turned to Dipper and glanced awkwardly down at the ground.

“You don’t have to ask me for permission,” Dipper chuckled, “Go enjoy your ice cream. I’ll go back to the Mystery Shack and get some sleep.”

“Awesome!” Mabel replied, turning back to Candy and Grenda, “Let’s go!”

The trio broke into a fit of laughter and disappeared out the front door. Mabel turned back and gave Dipper a wave on the way out, with Dipper waving back as he reached for his keys and prepared to head home. 

Another day of rest wouldn’t hurt. Dipper wasn’t used to having so much activity packed into a single week, and would probably crash if he didn’t take some time for himself. With the excitement of McGucket’s journal, camping with Wendy, and the stimulation of a change in his routine, Dipper was finally feeling the effects. Maybe that was the force behind his headache. 

Dipper walked downtown to the truck and hopped inside. Thin clouds moved in and muted the sunlight. Turning the key in the ignition, Dipper pulled out of Mabel’s horrible parking job and began the jaunt to the Mystery Shack. 

Sitting down in the driver’s seat ushered in another wave of fatigue. Dipper’s legs began to ache and his upper body was overcome with shivers, a symptom that he had not experienced in quite some time. He turned off the air conditioning. The cold air did nothing to help. 

The sky had gone almost completely gray by the time Dipper pulled up in front of the Mystery Shack. It did little to relieve the heat of the day, instead trapping the air beneath the clouds in the absence of the sun. Dipper could feel the moisture clinging to his clothes while he reached for the door. 

He passed by a set of customers inside of the shack. Soos and Wendy sat at the counter, scanning barcodes and handing back change. They gave him a wave as he stepped through the door.

“Where’s Mabel?” Wendy asked.

“She ran into some friends,” Dipper said, “They went out to get ice cream. I’m going to go upstairs and take a nap. Still not feeling too hot.”

“You need any honey? That usually helps me. I keep it in a safe to keep it away from the bears.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of sick, but thank you for the offer.” 

Welcomed by the comfortable silence of the upstairs, Dipper slid into some more comfortable clothes and sat atop his bed. The lazy feeling of sleeping until one and climbing back into bed at five put a weight on his joints. He opened the upstairs window to let in some fresh air. A soft, woodsy light poured in from the outside, illuminating the rustic room with its wooden planks and rickety joints. Dust and cobwebs covered the windowsill. Dipper brushed them away and turned on a desk fan. 

Sparrows and woodpeckers cawed outside, flapping their wings and flying off in pairs. Dipper was almost jealous of them, spending his day sitting in a muggy bedroom instead of going out in the world. He would never hold it against Mabel for going out and having fun. Instead, he cursed himself for putting himself in that situation, lacking any meaningful connections outside of his family, Wendy, and Soos. Without them, he might as well have not existed, drifting along the wooden trail until he lost himself in the woods, becoming another lost legend of Gravity Falls. 

He grabbed McGucket’s old journal from his bookshelf and sat down. If he couldn’t fill his social battery, he would read instead, leaving his Brandon Sanderson novel for another day.

Dipper remembered that childlike excitement that consumed him upon finding Journal 3. The entire summer had been spent analyzing it inside and out. No stone left unturned, no gnome left unvacuumed. McGucket’s journal was far more mundane. There were no secret messages written in invisible ink, no tales of horrible monsters to avoid, just a bunch of everyday weirdness and equations of Weirdness Magnetism. Still fascinating, but not the kind of fascinating Dipper was looking for. The adventure was gone.

The only remotely interesting part of the journal came at the very end. Dipper read over the necromancy spell again, realizing that his Latin wasn’t as good as he remembered it being. Occult symbols were written along the aging pages. The book smelled of mildew and mold. At some point he would have to talk to Grunkle Ford about preserving the physical journal. 

Reading about death on a summer afternoon was not the plan Dipper had in mind. All it did was make him think about his aging Grunkles, and how they wouldn’t be around forever. He would have to keep the spell in his back pocket. Heaven forbid, if something happened to them without closure, he took solace in the fact that he could bring them back and say goodbye before finally letting them go. Dipper wasn’t one to play God. He had read Frankenstein. He knew the consequences of playing with life. Hopefully, it would never come down to such a thing.

The book provided him with little stimulation. An hour passed as he flipped through the pages blankly, searching for anything that would bring him interest, coming up empty. The necromancy spell was all that lingered in the back of his mind. Dipper wasn’t fascinated with it, rather, he saw it as a contingency, something to be used only when all other options had failed. Raising the dead had already gone poorly before. The last thing he needed was something else to tinker and play God with. 

Dipper returned downstairs to the Mystery Shack as his headache slowly returned. He found a can of soup in the cabinet that he quickly heated up. Normally, he would take the time to make a real soup, not the garbage they got from a can, but Dipper hardly had the energy to do so. He had grown sluggish over the hour. At that point, all he wanted to do was curl up and enjoy a hot meal. 

“Dinner for one?” Wendy asked, slipping past the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“For now, yeah,” Dipper replied, “Not really feeling it today, you know?”

“I get it. Take some time off. You of all people need it. Can’t make memories if you’re exhausted.”

“Can’t make memories if you’re by yourself, either,” Dipper chuckled, “I really don’t know how Mabel does it. You know, being such a social butterfly.”

In the distance, Grunkle Stan snored from a recliner in the living room. Grunkle Ford had presumably retreated back to the lab, and Soos was standing at the counter, cashing out the last of the day’s customers. The atmosphere had quickly fallen quiet. He could hear the soft blowing of the wind through the trees and the rustling of distant woodland critters. 

“She’s confident,” Wendy sighed, “I’ll give her that. Confident and goofy. But I’m gonna guess it’s still not all that easy.”

“I know, but sometimes, I don’t know, it just gets to me,” Dipper said, “She’s the social one. I wish some of it would rub off on me.”

“It has. You’ve already improved from when I first met you. You couldn’t even look me in the eye. Remember?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“This kind of thing takes time. It’s always easier to want what other people have. Making friends isn’t easy, but as long as you put yourself out there, I think you’ll do just fine.”

“That’s the one thing I’m bad at. I spent most of high school eating lunch alone in the library.”

The microwave hummed as it slowly heated the can. Dipper waited patiently, the smell of sodium-laced vegetables and chicken broth overcoming the pine tree air freshener.

Wendy shrugged, “It takes people time to find their stride. The important part is not getting all stuck in your head about it. Sometimes we get good starts, sometimes we don’t. But I think you’re better at this than you let on.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, the old Dipper would have kept his head down and stared at the floor. Instead, you and I are talking. Progress. There are people at my school that can’t even look at someone else. Those are the ones that become shut-ins. That’s not Dipper Pines.”

He cracked a smile as the microwave dinged. Pouring his dinner into a bowl, Dipper retreated to the kitchen table as Wendy waved him off to go back to the counter.

“Get some rest and try not to worry,” Wendy said, “You’re doing just fine.”

She disappeared around the bend to the sound of a ding from the cash register.

Dipper ate in solace. Wendy had a point. He certainly had come a long way compared to six years ago, where he had been a blubbering nerd with an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. Now he was a nerd with Zoloft. What better combination was there?

Dinner was stale but filling. He didn’t bother trying to check the expiration date on the soup, knowing that it was probably older than Dipper was. Instead, he tossed the can into the garbage and discarded it. 

He turned on an overhead light. The sun was beginning to set, no longer gracing the sky with its colors, but darkening the clouds as there was nothing left to provide them with light. A muggy breeze created fog on the window outside. The air was heavy, dripping with moisture as Dipper tried to ignore the uncomfortably stickiness on everything he touched. 

Sooner or later, Mabel would come home, and they would start the cycle again in the morning. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was slipping away from him. Their first week in Gravity Falls had come and gone, with Dipper hardly registering it as a single day. They only had so much time until their lives changed forever. How much time was Dipper willing to waste sitting at the kitchen table eating probably-expired soup? 

That was a decision that he would have to make for himself. After, of course, he did the dishes. No use having an existential crisis if the house was a mess.

Chapter Text

The ink. I think it’s blood.

How could anybody not love a pig? Walking through the door and having Waddles leap into Mabel’s arms was the best part of her day. She walked into the Mystery Shack with a smile knowing that someone had been waiting for her, Waddles wiggling out of a corner and rubbing his snout on her leg.

Mabel’s stomach was heavy from a freshly finished brownie sundae. Candy had dropped her off, having stopped at Grenda’s house briefly before calling it a night. The moon was in full shine by the time Mabel stepped through the front door and into the living room. She had told Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford that she would be home late. They didn’t seem to mind. 

“Sorry I was out so late,” Mabel said, holding Waddles in her arms and carrying him into the kitchen, “I got something for you to make up for it.”

The lattice structure of a waffle cone brushed against Mabel’s hand as she pulled it from her pocket and put it in front of Waddles’s snout. He sniffed it for a moment and let out a squeal before messily devouring his sugary treat. Bits of cone fell to the ground. Mabel did her best to clean up the mess. 

“You’re a messy eater,” Mabel jokingly scolded, “Shouldn’t have expected any better from a pig.”

Waddles squealed again. Mabel laughed before filling his dish with water.

A long day of eating ice cream and socializing had worn Mabel out. Candy and Grenda had already made plans for the next day to celebrate the fourth of July. Grenada had gotten her hands on some expensive fireworks and was hell-bent on setting them off, much to the dismay of Durland and Blubs. Grenada was supposed to text them in the morning with a location. Mabel would wait and see if that actually happened.

Regardless, she was beaming with excitement. It had been six long years since she had last seen Candy and Grenda. They were a special type of friend, one that could go away for years and pick right back up where they left off. Tomorrow, Mabel was supposed to meet some of their other friends during their day out on the town. She walked up the stairs with pep in her step, wondering if she would be too excited to sleep.

The grandfather clock chimed as it struck midnight. Mabel walked into the bathroom and turned the sink to its lowest possible level, brushing her teeth like a spy. Glancing down the hallway, there was no light coming from their bedroom, meaning Dipper had fallen asleep, something that rarely happened before midnight. He must have been exhausted. Mabel didn’t blame him, seeing how out of it he had been that morning. 

Showering and doing her hair could wait until the morning. She tip-toed along the hallway with her hand on the banister, eventually crawling into the bedroom and silently slipping under the covers. Dipper had fallen asleep with the journal next to his bed, arms outstretched as if still trying to read. He snored softly, mouth slightly open with one hand on his head. He always looked like a dope when he slept. 

Mabel crawled into the warm embrace of her covers and faced the wall. Within seconds of closing her eyes, she felt her body being pulled into the lull of sleep, as if falling through a river of molasses. 

Somewhere along the way, she must have woken up, because Mabel opened her eyes to find herself at the top of a pine tree overlooking Lookout Point. Gray clouds filled the sky as a cool breeze blew through her hair. Her face was sticky from the sweat of an exerting day. Dirt and pine needles covered her sweater. Dipper sat on a branch adjacent to her. 

They were back in the woods playing manhunt. Strange, but she had seen weirder. Dipper must have gotten his hands on the time tape. He would totally do that. 

Dipper grabbed Mabel by the shoulder and pulled her close. Looking into his eyes, she saw shrunken pupils, shivering uncontrollably as if he had just seen a ghost. Another cold breeze rattled the tree and prompted Mabel to tighten her grip on the branch. 

“What’s wrong, bro?” Mabel asked, “You’re not looking so hot…”

Dipper put a finger to his lips, “Shh!”

“What?”

He put a hand in front of his face before sharply whispering, “Are you crazy? Don’t you know what’s down there? Are you trying to get us killed?!”

“What?”

Pointing to the ground, Dipper showed Mabel a blue-flanneled figure lurking about, axe in hand. Mabel’s heart almost fell out of the tree.

“What is that?” Mabel whispered. 

Dipper shrugged, “I don’t know. It looks like Wendy…but I know it’s not.”

Only one word came to mind.

Shapeshifter. 

The shapeshifter was supposed to be frozen in the lab. They had sealed it inside of a cryogenic chamber, blocking off the bunker and vowing never to return. It was a horrifying creature, with its presence lingering long after Mabel and Dipper had left Gravity Falls. It had taken years for Mabel to sleep without leaving the light on. On dark, rainy nights, she swore she could see its lumbering form watching her from the distant hills. 

“Where’s Soos?!” Mabel asked.

That was when her eyes caught a red stain just beneath their tree. Tattered pants and a blue T-shirt were sprawled across the branches, as if Soos had been ripped out of thin air. She wasn’t able to see the body. Mabel wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

“I know you’re around here somewhere…” Wendy taunted from the ground below, “Where are you?!”

Mabel bit her lip to keep from crying. She began to feel dizzy, panic making her hands shake uncontrollably. What were they supposed to do? They could only last so long up there, and the shapeshifter was a determined hunter. It would get to them one way or another. It was only a matter of time.

That was when Mabel remembered their last manhunt game. They were atop the same branch. Mabel quickly stood up and climbed to a higher branch, knowing that they were doomed to fall if they remained in place.

“Dipper!” Mabel said, holding out her hand, “That branch isn’t safe. Come on!”

Wendy ascended the hill and stood only a few feet below the tree. Mabel and Dipper both froze in place, not daring to even breathe until she left. 

A deep, gravely cackle escaped Wendy’s mouth. If there was any doubt that the shapeshifter was behind things, it was gone. The real Wendy was long gone.

Mabel’s arms grew fatigued the longer she held the position. A metallic odor, probably blood, filled the air, rising up and meeting Mabel at her point in the tree. 

All of the creatures of the forest had gone into hiding. Mabel didn’t blame them. If she had seen Wendy walking around like that, she would have gone into hiding, too.

“You can’t hide forever,” the shapeshifter said, “I can smell you. You’re here. Somewhere.”

Mabel was able to get a better view from higher up. The shapeshifter had done a remarkable job at taking Wendy’s form, down to the tear in her shirt from their trip to McGucket’s shack. The only give was the deranged look in her eye and the unnatural bending of her limbs. Instead of walking, the shapeshifter lumbered, throwing its weight around and bending its limbs unnaturally. It turned its head for a moment and showed Mabel a twisted smile. Blood ran down the front of the beast’s face. Its proportions were no longer human.

She made eye-contact. 

“Found you!” the shapeshifter shouted. 

Mabel had no time to react before the shapeshifter lunged for the tree. 

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted, “Take my hand!”

Mabel leaned down on her branch and lowered her hand towards Dipper. The tree began to shake as the shapeshifter clawed its way up along the bark, dropping its facade and destroying anything in its path. 

Wobbling back and forth, Mabel almost lost her footing as Dipper grabbed ahold of her. 

An axe blade cut the branch just below the pair. The shapeshifter dropped Wendy’s form entirely, showing its blue-scaled back and toothy grin. Sharp claws cut through bark like foam. A horrible, sulfuric smell came from the beast, hissing violently with its approach.

The tree trunk was their last lifeline. Mabel breathlessly steadied herself atop the branch and pulled with all of her strength. 

Dipper hesitated. She clutched his hand and tried to pull him up, only for the sickening snap of a branch to follow, Dipper suddenly slipping out from beneath. 

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted. 

The shapeshifter was halfway up the tree when Dipper fell. Mabel scrambled to reach for his hand as it slipped away, almost falling herself before he was out of her grasp. 

A sickening crack rang out over the shapeshifter’s hissing. Dipper hit the ground hard, kicking up dirt in his wake.

His elbows were bent backwards. A large gash opened on Dipper’s forehead, groaning after hitting the ground. A branch poked out of his side and rose and fell with his chest. She couldn’t see his legs, but her imagination told her everything that she needed to know. 

The shapeshifter broke out into a fit of laughter. Mabel screamed, trying to reach down and somehow pull Dipper back up, only able to stare helplessly at his motionless body. 

Mabel turned around. A sharp pain hit her back. The shapeshifter caught up, driving one of its claws through her shoulder. She screamed again before losing her balance and falling out of the tree. 

Her stomach churned. Blood poured from an open wound on her back, the shapeshifter having cut her open down to the bone. 

She closed her eyes before hitting the ground. It was all that she could do.

The ground approached. Mabel’s eyes opened just before making impact. 

A soft carpet met her as she hit the bedroom floor with a heavy thump. Mabel softly gasped, suddenly breathless while orienting herself in the dark.

Waddles hurried upstairs and rubbed his nose along Mabel’s face. She wiped her eyes and sat up to catch her breath, holding Waddles in her arms and trying to recover from the ordeal. 

“You always know how to make me feel better,” Mabel said, “Thank you, Waddles. I’ll never eat bacon again.”

She sat on the floor for some time before realizing that Dipper’s bed was empty. Although not unusual, she feared the worst in the wake of her nightmare, and wasted no time in stumbling through the darkened house to look for him. 

“Dipper?” Mabel whispered, Waddles trotting along her side.

The Mystery Shack was silent. Not even Grunkle Stan’s snoring disturbed the silence. The only sound she could hear was the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasion shuffle of a nighttime critter. Night was the worst part of the day. So quiet, so dark, no sunshine to brighten the mood. It was like a blanket of sadness falling over the Earth. But she also understood its importance, since without it, she wouldn't be able to appreciate the daytime and all of the adventures it brought. She checked her phone and saw that it was half past three. Only two more hours until the sun came up.

The creaking of the stairs beneath her feet, once a mundane sound, was suddenly deafening, with the floorboards screaming as she pressed against them into the silence of the night. Waddles’s hooves click-clacked against the tile as the pair reached the kitchen. 

Mabel wasn’t sure how Dipper did it. Almost every day during high school, he would pull himself out of bed at six o’clock sharp, not falling asleep until well after three in the morning. Three hours of sleep was not enough for a person to function. Mabel already felt like a zombie, with groggy eyes and heavy limbs. She couldn’t imagine going to school like that every day and coming home to do more work. Maybe that was why he was such a nerd.

A shape passed in front of the window to Mabel’s right. Sharp, tendril-like shadows stretched across the living room. Mabel nearly had a heart attack before catching sight of the tree casting the shadow, its ornate branches reaching towards the moon as they blew softly in the early morning breeze. 

“It’s okay, Mabel,” she whispered to herself, “You got this. Just breathe. You remember how to do that.”

Mabel took a few deep breaths through her nose and thought about puppies. Golden retrievers and kittens running through the grass with songbirds chirping overhead. The sun spread out across the warm valley, radiant beams warming the air and blowing softly against Mabel’s skin. 

Imagination was a powerful tool. Mabel snapped herself out of it and was still standing alone in the kitchen, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched. That was the last time she would ever eat ice cream before bed. It gave her nightmares. And headaches. 

A mass of blankets was huddled on the living room couch. Mabel turned on the flashlight on her phone and illuminated Dipper’s face, pale skin and wide eyes reflecting back at her.

“What are you doing down here?” Mabel asked. 

“What do you think?” Dipper replied, “Feeling like crap, and I had another weird dream. I don’t think this place wants me to sleep.”

“You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“I am.”

“It’s okay. I am too. Slumber party!”

“I wouldn’t call this a slumber party…”

Dipper’s voice was hoarse and weak. He struggled to annunciate, with only the consonant sounds making it to Mabel’s ears. She placed a hand on his forehead and drew it back as the heat hit her like a pan on a hot stove. 

“You’re burning up!” Mabel said, rubbing her own head, “Dr. Mabel Pines says that you’re sick.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got that,” Dipper chuckled, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re probably burning yourself out, bro. You’ve been doing a lot.” 

“Maybe. How are you holding up?”

“Just a headache. But that’s from the ice cream. And I’ll do it again.” 

“Of course you would. Did you at least have fun with Candy and Grenda?”

“Yeah, it was awesome! We got ice cream, I got to see Candy’s car, and we bought fireworks!”

“Hah. I’m glad.”

Dipper rolled onto his side and let out a groan. Mabel checked her phone again before lying down on the other end of the couch. 

“I’m crashing here, too,” Mabel said, “If you need anything, get Waddles. He’ll know what to do.”

“Fine by me.”

Mabel rolled onto the other side of the couch and listened as Dipper’s breathing gradually turned to snoring. She was glad to see him finally getting some rest, but couldn’t shake the horror of her nightmare, even though she knew he was alive and well right next to her. When she closed her eyes, she saw his broken limbs on the ground, and could still smell the metallic stink of blood.

Sleep evaded her. An hour of tossing and turning passed before Mabel decided to turn to her phone for something that would cheer her up. She found a youtube video of a golden retriever eating its dinner, and decided that it would be her source of serotonin for the night. 

Every sound sent her into panic mode. Something about her dream had felt wrong. Mabel was no stranger to nightmares, but never one that vivid. She had felt the pain of the shapeshifter digging into her skin and throwing her out of the tree. 

It took another hour for her eyelids to grow heavy. Candy and Grenda would be by some time that afternoon and Mabel planned on getting her beauty sleep before they showed up. The last thing she needed was to go through another day feeling like a zombie. 

She clutched Waddles tighter and waited until he began to softly snore near the side of her head. 

His presence gave her comfort. Another hour of closing her eyes, and Mabel was off into a light slumber, waiting for the safety of the sunshine to bring her into a new day.

Why had it taken him so long to make a seismograph? He lived in the Pacific Northwest! An entirely new avenue of opportunities awaited him. 

Stanford had been up for most of the night throwing together his contraption. With the parts he had laying around, a seismograph was an easy project, only taking a few hours before it was fully operational.

The modern world never ceased to amaze him. Using the wonders of the internet, he was able to connect with other seismologists, exchanging archival data and investigating the recent spurr of earthquakes. Stanford was carefully compiling the data into a spreadsheet using an algorithm Fiddleford had created during college. 

Fiddleford’s metal sheet sat only a few inches away. Stanford planned to get back to translating it in the morning, still stuck on figuring out the second line. He had to take a break before he burned himself out. A fatigued mind was useless. It was like running a marathon after an all-nighter and expecting to win first place. 

He secured the seismograph on an apparatus next to his computer. It had taken the better part of an hour to find a spot stable enough for it to operate, knowing that even the smallest of inputs could destroy his data. Next to it was a cup of coffee. Stanford took a hearty swig, forgetting how long it had been since he placed it there, waiting for the caffeine to hit his nervous system and give him another burst of energy.

The greater Oregon area had been reporting earthquakes for seven days. Most of them were miniscule, hardly measuring above a three. Stanford had taken it upon himself to compile the data from his spreadsheet and place it over a digital map. Sure, there were archives online that could do the job for him, but Stanford had his methods. Fiddleford’s algorithm allowed him to track the earthquakes down to a quarter mile of their epicenter. 

He assumed that the San Andreas fault line was acting up. It did that often, hence the reputation of the west coast as an earthquake hot spot. Stanford wanted to investigate regardless. An underground lab was one of the first things that would go during a strong quake. With his research being done in secret, Stanford had never bothered to get earthquake insurance, meaning that any losses he suffered would come out of pocket. Losing his research would be like burning down the Library of Alexandria. Years of work lost to the ashes. Stanford would not stand for it.

Once the spreadsheet was complete, he copied the data onto a map and traced contours around the earthquakes of similar intensities. Gravity Falls was close to the center, with the strongest magnitude earthquakes striking within the past seven days. A five point one centered just to the west had struck earlier that week. Stanford completed the magnitude five contour line and found something that puzzled him. 

The earthquakes were centered offshore. The contours danced along the coast and then jutted out into the Pacific. That part wasn’t unusual. The San Andreas fault brought earthquakes up and down the coast, and sometimes miles out into the ocean. 

What caught his eye was the small island at the center of the contours. The earthquakes weren’t coming from the San Andreas fault, or at least not entirely. There was something else at play. 

He compared his map to an online map. The view was soon centered on Gravity Falls, and then pivoted five miles west of the coast. 

Nothing.

He stared at his laptop again, wondering what had gone wrong, or if maybe there was an error in the software. Islands didn’t just appear out of thin air. At least, not without volcanic activity, and certainly not overnight. 

The island was no larger than a football field. With only a few scrolls outward, the island disappeared entirely, not even registering as a pixel. 

Stanford shook his head. He must have been up too late. His four hours of sleep per night were beginning to catch up with him. 

“I don’t like this…” Stanford grumbled.

The door to the lab opened with a hiss. Stanford turned around and saw Stanley trudging down the stairs.

“Down here again?” Stanley asked, “What, you want me to get you a bed and a fridge? You’re practically living here!”

“Stanley, I found something,” Stanford said, beckoning his brother over to the laptop, “Take a look. I know I’m not crazy.”

Stanley slowly sauntered over while pulling up his nightshirt and scratching his armpits. He adjusted his glasses and squinted, fine wrinkles appearing beneath his eyes in the dim light of the monitor.

“What is it?” Stanley asked, “Some sort of coloring book for nerds?”

“No, Stanley!” Stanford replied, “Those are contour lines. I’m trying to see where all of these Earthquakes are coming from.”

“We’re in Oregon. That sorta comes with the package.” 

“But they’re not centered on San Andreas like they should be.”

“The what?”

“The fault line. Seismic activity. Tectonic plates. Ring a bell?”

“Blah, blah, blah. What is it?”

“At the center. There’s this island. One that I can’t find on any maps. It’s a couple miles offshore. I can’t tell if it’s a glitch in the system, or if maybe I’ve found something.”

“You’re reading too much into this, Ford. Islands appear all the time. That’s what happened with Hawaii. And Atlantis.”

“Hawaii happened over millions of years. Atlantis never happened.”

“Prove that it didn’t.”

“Well, we’ve never found it.”

“Maybe it’s hiding!”

“I feel like we’re going in a circle. Anyway, I’m not sure what I’m looking at. I might take the Stan O’War out there for research purposes.”

“Are you kidding? Not with these earthquakes. I’m not calling the coast guard on you.”

“It’s for science, Stanley!”

“Your ‘science’ is probably just a glitch in your computer. If there was an island like that, we would have seen it.”

“Not necessarily. The tides can cover it up. It’s so small, barely bigger than a football field. We’d have to be looking for it.”

“How long have you been up?”

Stanford leaned back in his chair and glanced at the clock.

“Twenty three hours and fifteen minutes,” Stanford replied, “Why?”

Stanley sighed, “How about you get some sleep and come back to this in the morning, you know, when your brain isn’t fried.”

“You can’t fry a brain.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.” 

There was a pause as Stanford stopped to look at the monitor again.

“I’m going back to bed. You should, too,” Stanley sighed, “You’ll feel better after getting some sleep.”

Perhaps his brother had a point. Fatigue had a way of breaking a man if it tried for long enough. Sleepless nights would only worsen his condition. Stanford wanted to be present. He needed his wits about him if he wanted to get to the bottom of things.

He sighed and turned off the light, “Fine. But only for a few hours.”

“Your call,” Stanley replied.

The brothers walked up the stairs as the lab’s machinery groaned. Stanford couldn’t shake the pit in his stomach. Something was wrong. Fiddleford’s journal, his cryptic, gibberish letter, and the earthquakes. A part of him wondered if something else was going on. There was a heaviness in the air; an invisible hand was pulling him along from the shadows, a feeling that Stanford was all-too familiar with.

Chapter Text

“Hey, pal! Remember me? I need your help!”

What a way to spend the fourth of July. Achey, shivering, and curled up under a blanket with a one hundred degree fever. Dipper could have thought of a million other things he would have rather been doing. 

Somewhere along the way he had caught a bug. He had no idea where, probably on the way into town, perhaps at that shady gas station. He had no clue. His body protested each move he made. Dipper’s weary mind darted in a million directions as he tried to get some rest. It always happened when he was sick. Fever dreams were the worst. Childhood stomach bugs had given him his fair share of those. 

Dipper had to open his eyes to know where he was. Taking in the emptiness of the night only made his head hurt more, and he noticed a ringing in the back of his ears, probably brought on by the fever. Occasionally it would buzz, almost like static in the back of a television screen, only to return to the sharp hum a moment later.

Mabel shuffled around on the couch somewhere to his right. Waddles snorted and sniffled, wiggling around whilst trying to make himself comfortable. Looking at the pig, Dipper grew jealous of its health, able to walk around as if it were nothing. Just the thought of standing up was enough to make Dipper nauseous. 

He closed his eyes and fell into a void. The ground disappeared, Dipper fighting a wave of nausea as the falling sensation persisted. Extending his arm, he could feel the couch, but the feeling persisted, almost as if the couch was falling with him. 

Broken fragments of voices hissed at him during his descent. Dipper put a hand over his mouth as yesterday’s lunch threatened to come back up, the pit in his stomach turning to a sour churning sensation. Dipper closed his eyes even tighter. Waist-deep in a fever dream, the only thing he could do was brace for the worst and try to wait it out.

The fall continued. Dipper tried to fan himself with his hand to keep the heat from overtaking him, only to grow cold and clutch his blanket tighter, ignoring the sweat and shivers running up and down his body. He prayed to a higher power to make him healthy again. Being sick was one thing. Being sick during the summer, knowing he would be missing out, was another. 

Somewhere outside, the sun would rise, and Dipper would be rotting inside, missing out on making memories and soaking in the summer. It was just like high school. He would sit down, ponder what was going on without him, but force himself to be okay with being sedentary. Laughter and sunshine were only a hop, skip, and a jump away. 

He cursed his immune system. Another day wasted because of his weakness.

The laughter continued. Dipper noticed that the couch beneath him had disappeared, instead floating through a void of static as the ringing in his ears intensified. Dipper covered his ears and tried to cover the horrific sound. 

Bright colors flashed before his eyes. Covering his face did nothing, the bright colors bringing stinging pains to his temples, thousands of small needles piercing his skin and poking around beneath the surface and poking his brain. 

Somewhere along the way, he heard the ringing of an organ, the same solemn funeral march that had preceded McGucket’s burial. A coffin appeared in front of Dipper’s eyes. He opened the lid and saw the cold, lifeless eyes of Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, their mouths open as if screaming. 

Their bodies disintegrated into skeletons before Dipper could reach out. The ringing grew louder, shaking the invisible walls of the void and vibrating Dipper’s chest like a stereo. 

His descent into hell continued. Dipper was suddenly overcome with a strong burning sensation, watching flames crawl up from the floor. White cracks appeared in the void as the shaking intensified. Dipper swatted at his leg as the flames crawled up. His skin began to char and bleed. Dipper let out a scream.

The ringing turned to static, and then to laughter. Horrible, horrible laughter, shaking the walls of the void and bringing out more white cracks. Lava leaked from the insides and hit Dipper’s arms and legs. They disintegrated at the bone as shivers ran up and down his body. The pain was unbearable. 

Dipper turned his head. Just as suddenly as the pain had started, it was gone, the scene fading away into the sunlit living room.

His muscles ached from tensing. He threw the blanket up and checked his arms and legs for burn marks. There was nothing there aside from skin and the occasional bruise. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Sweat poured down his face. Dipper tried to catch his breath, ignoring the dryness of his mouth and the soreness of his throat as he did so. Mabel and Waddles were gone. The warm smell of breakfast drifted in from the Mystery Shack’s kitchen, where Dipper saw the tops of Wendy and Soos’s heads.

Dipper placed a hand to his forehead and quickly withdrew it as a burning sensation followed.

“Dang it…” Dipper groaned. 

Wendy poked her head around the wall to the kitchen and waved to Dipper as he sat with his head in his hands.

“Not feeling well, huh?” Wendy asked, “Need any Tylenol?”

“If you can find it, yes, please,” Dipper said hoarsely, “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you’re feeling like garbage.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Dipper placed the blanket on the ground and tried to move away from his sweat-soaked spot on the couch. An uncomfortable greasiness had overtaken his face. His hair was frizzled. The stubble that Dipper had spent weeks perfecting had grown out to a patchy beard that made him look like a creepy uncle. He silently resolved to muster the strength to shave later that day, even if it killed him.

Wendy returned with a couple of pills and a bottle of water. Soos was behind her, with a plate of pancakes in his hand.

“Dude, take some of these pancakes, they’re like heaven on a plate!” Soos said, “Helps the medicine go down.”

“You’ve got summer fever,” Wendy chuckled, “You might want to see a doctor.”

“Do they even have doctors around here?” Dipper asked. 

Wendy shrugged, “Yeah. There’s a good guy down the street. A little weird, and probably deals drugs in his free time, but other than that, he’s awesome. Plus, he’s our only option.”

Dipper laid back on the couch and took a hearty swig of water followed by two capsules of tylenol. He then took a pancake from the plate that Soos offered and used it to appease his stomach. 

“Thanks, guys,” Dipper said, “Sorry about all this. No idea where I got it.”

“No need to apologize,” Wendy replied, “We’ll be here all day. If you need anything, we’re on the other side of the counter.”

“Thanks. Where’s Mabel?”

“I think she’s going out,” Soos said, “She was packing a day bag when I came in. Had that dopey smile on her face. You know?”
“Oh, yeah. I think she mentioned that to me. Thank god one of us is healthy.”

“She’s upstairs getting ready. You can probably catch her on the way out.”

Dipper covered his head and rubbed his temples. Although better than actively being on fire, Dipper still had the lingering headache, and silently cursed to himself as the pain came over him in waves. 

“If you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m taking you to the doctor,” Wendy said, “Soos, too. You’re not looking good. At all.”

“Thank you,” Dipper replied dryly, “I know. I’m a mess right now.”

“You’re like. Really pale.”

Wendy knelt down with Soos by her side and held her phone’s flashlight to Dipper’s face. 

“You see it too, right?” Wendy asked Soos. 

“Yeah. He’s paler than a ghost,” Soos said, “It’s freaky, dudes.” 

“You didn’t eat a lot of dirt as a kid, did you?” Wendy chuckled while disappearing around the counter, “It makes you stronger. You won’t get sick as often. Helped me a lot!”

“Mabel did all of the dirt eating,” Dipper replied, trying to fight the dryness in the back of his throat, “It was all she would do growing up. She’d be in the yard, I’d be inside, it was how things were.”

“And which one of you is sick, hmm?”

“Okay. I’m sorry I didn’t eat more dirt as a kid.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start.”

“Very funny.”

“I try to be.”

Dipper sat up and rubbed his eyes. A sip of water refreshed him, bringing a bit of clarity to his frayed mind, still fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Maybe some fresh air would help, dude,” Soos said, pointing to the window, “Always helped me.”

Soos opened the living room window and let the warm morning air drift inside. The sun, once again, shone brightly. Bright green grass sat just outside the window. It truly was greener on the other side. Absence made the heart grow fonder, with Dipper willing to do almost everything to get his health back. 

Light footsteps pitter-pattered down the stairs. Mabel emerged, with her hair up in a bun and wearing a white tank-top, a shooting-star embroidered on the front. She had a smile on her face and a daybag swung around her back.

“I’ll be back later tonight,” Mabel said, “Candy’s on her way!”

“Tell them I say hi,” Wendy chuckled, “We’ll stay here and make sure Dipper doesn’t get in any trouble.” 

“Okay,” Mabel said, waving, “Make sure he doesn’t get nerd disease! Bye!”

Mabel flashed a smile and disappeared out the door into the brightness outside. Sparrows flew over her head before soaring over the treeline with the approach of Candy’s car. Dipper was able to catch a quick glimpse of the group through the window. The horn honked, Mabel mouthed something, and the trio floored it out of the parking lot, almost taking out the mailbox in the process. 

“There she goes,” Soos said, “I remember when I was that young.”

“You were working in the Mystery Shack when you were that age,” Wendy laughed, “That’s when I met you.”

“Hah, yeah. Back when you were an awkward pre-teen.”

“Don’t remind me. Those pictures are horrible. I still had my buzz-cut.”

Dipper poked his head up and laughed through his fatigue, “Wendy Corduroy? With a buzz-cut? I’ve gotta see this.”

“Nice try, dude. I was lucky. I was born before everyone had phone cameras. Only pictures of that are on an SD card in dad’s room. You’re never seeing those. Sorry.”

“Come on. You saw me when I was an awkward pre-teen. It’s only fair.”

“Maybe. Let’s wait for you to get better, first.”

“Fair enough.”

“The store is just around the corner. Soos will be there in a bit, but we don’t really get a crowd until after noon. I’ll be around here. Mind if I sit down?”

Wendy walked over with a granola bar in her hands and sat at the end of the couch.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Dipper asked, “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I’m the one that ate dirt as a kid. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Alright.”

Wendy turned on the TV and flipped through the boring selections of daytime television. She eventually settled for a National Geographic documentary on tropical birds and their habitat loss. A bit depressing, sure, but the bright colors of the birds caught Dipper’s attention and forced him to focus on something other than his illness.

“...the scarlet macaw is a beautiful creature, native to the forests of Central and South America. Its vibrant plumage makes it a prime target for poachers…”

“I can’t believe people would hurt those guys,” Wendy sighed, “People need to respect nature. I don’t get it.”

“Yeah. They should go camping for a weekend. Then they’d appreciate it more,” Dipper said, “I know it made me appreciate it a lot.” 

“When you’re better, I’ll take you and Mabel back out.”

“Awesome. I need something else to look forward to.”

“What? You already done with the journal?” 

“Yeah. Sorta. Just waiting on Grunkle Ford to translate the sheet. But I’m not sure if it’s going to be anything.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I mean, yeah. But in a twisted sort of way, I was hoping for another mystery. It’s what made this place so exciting when I first came. There was always something new to discover. I felt like I was doing something.”

“There’s still mystery out there. There’s still excitement. Look at the parrots on the TV. They look like flying rainbows. I won’t pretend to understand all of the science behind that, but isn’t it cool how that stuff can happen? Nature is full of mysteries. You just have to start looking for them.”

“I’d like to solve the mystery of where I got sick,” Dipper laughed, “Because oh my God. I hate this.”

“Most people don’t like it. You’ll get through it. And if it gets worse, we’ll take you to the doctor.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Just try not to get Stan or Ford sick. They have really bad cases of the man flu. Plus they’re old. Old people and getting sick don’t mix well.”

“Hey, they’re not that old, they can handle it.”

“They’re like seventy-five. That’s sorta old.”

“I guess. They’ll be fine, though. They always are.”

Dipper hoped to steer the conversation away to something happier. He turned his attention back to the TV and watched the birds fly across the screen with their bright feathers standing out against the dark green of the trees. They let out squawks and met up with their flocks. Dipper envied their freedom, able to fly from place to place without a care in the world, going through the day eating nuts and berries. 

“Aren’t parrots supposed to live a long time?” Wendy asked.

Dipper nodded, “Yeah. Like, eighty years. It’s insane.”

“Maybe your Grunkles would be better as parrots.”

“Hah. Maybe.”

Resting his head against the back of the couch, Dipper tried to pay attention to the rest of the show, only to realize that he was getting nowhere. The calming voice of the narrator almost put him to sleep.

He reached over and grabbed a glass of water. He stopped when he saw ripples running across the surface, almost as if something had been dropped inside. 

The walls began to shake. Dipper shot up from the couch, only to fall over again as his legs gave out. Wendy leapt from her seat and tried to pull him back up, hollering down the hall for the others. 

“Hey!” Wendy shouted, “We’ve got a problem in here!”

Dipper watched as the glass on the side table clattered to the ground, along with the lamp adjacent to it. Small knick-knacks were dropped from shelves and the window sills rattled like maracas. The power flickered, with the television flicking off before flashing a “No Signal” message across the front of its screen. 

Another lamp fell to the ground and shattered. Grunkle Ford raced upstairs from his lab, while Grunkle Stan stumbled down the stairs with Soos behind him.

“Everyone, out!” Grunkle Stan shouted, “I cut so many corners fixing this place it’s a miracle that it’s still standing!”

Wendy grabbed Dipper’s arm and helped him out the door. His head burned as he stepped outside, the bright light of the sun sending sharp pains through his temples and down the back of his head. 

The grass cushioned his fall, Dipper losing his balance and slumping onto the ground. He could feel the vibrations traveling up from the crust below. 

“Where’s Mabel?!” Grunkle Ford asked.

“She went out, remember?” Wendy replied.

Grunkle Ford reached into his pocket and began frantically dialing his phone. The vibrations weakened, the sound of shattering glass and cracking wood fading into the background.

Spooked birds descended from the skies and began inspecting the damage to their trees. Dipper caught his breath, glancing inside the Mystery Shack through the front window and watching the sea of broken glass and trinkets fill the floor. The structure of the building remained unharmed. Dipper saw no cracks in the foundation or weaknesses in the framing. From the outside, it was as if nothing had happened.

“Mabel?” Grunkle Ford asked, “Are you okay?”

Mabel’s voice came over the speaker, “We’re fine. Just a bit shaken. Get it? Cause there was an earthquake?” 

Grunkle Stan and Soos carefully opened the front door and glanced inside. 

“Soos, get the broom,” Grunkle Stan groaned, “We’re closing the shack for the day.” 

“Any damage on the inside?” Wendy asked.

“Lots of broken profits. But that shack looks fine.”

On the other side of the front lawn, Grunkle Ford and Mabel hung up, instead taking to cleaning up the mess.

“I’ll have to check my seismograph after this,” Grunkle Ford mumbled, “That was at LEAST a five.”

Wendy helped Dipper to his feet and back to the inside of the Mystery Shack. The living room was mostly clear with the exception of a broken lamp, Dipper carefully tip-toeing around the broken glass.

“You sure we shouldn’t be worried about this?” Dipper asked, “They’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t know,” Wendy said, “Not much we can really do for now. Just be careful and try and get some rest.”

“I guess. Some way to start off the summer. Sick, dodging earthquakes. What else could I ask for?”

“Don’t worry. Once you’re better, we’ll get back to the fun stuff. But you won’t get better if you don’t rest.”

A vacuum whirred down the hall. Dipper raised his head to look at it, watching Grunkle Stan struggle with the heavy clunker, the words “Stan-Vac” etched in fading paint across the main bag. It sounded like a freight train roaring down the tracks right through the Mystery Shack. Dipper had to cover his ears, his head protesting the onset of the sudden loud noise. 

“Hey!” Wendy hollered down the hall, “You got anything quieter?”

“I haven’t been able to use this thing in thirty years!” Grunkle Stan protested, “Let me enjoy my Stan-Vac. It sucks more than anything!”

“That’s not the selling point you think it is.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’m not trying to sell it to you. Unless you wanna buy it…”

“Not a chance, Stan.”

“Eh, it was worth a shot.”

Soos emerged from the back closet with a broom and worked with Grunkle Stan to clean up the victims of the earthquake. With each run of the vacuum, Grunkle Stan pulled a calculator out of his pocket, wincing as if he had been shot each time he put in a new set of numbers. Dipper knew how much he cared about the profits, even if the shack wasn’t in his name anymore. 

“It’s gonna take us so long to make up for this…” Grunkle Stan grumbled from down the hall, “Soos, add a zero to all of the prices. We’re starting an Earthquake Sale.”

“Wow…” Soos said, “You’re so good with business, Mr. Pines.”

“You’ll learn. Someday. Maybe.”

Dipper leaned back against the back of the couch and tried to relax. The television came to life with the restoration of its power. The same colorful documentary flashed across the screen while Dipper tried to calm himself down. Occasionally, the ground would vibrate with an aftershock, spiking Dipper’s heart rate and undoing any progress that he had made at unwinding. 

“Stupid aftershocks,” Dipper said, “Haven’t we been through enough?”

Wendy, who had emerged from the kitchen with a dustpan and a broom, chuckled, “Yeah. We have. This is NOT how I wanted to spend my fourth of July.”

He had almost forgotten. With his sickness, the chaos of the earthquake, and his general distaste for crowds, the thought of Independence Day had slipped his mind. 

“I almost forgot about that,” Dipper said, “What a horrible independence day…”

“We’ll find a way to enjoy it,” Wendy said, “I might run to the store and get some burgers or something. Gotta have one thing go right today…”

“Hey!” Grunkle Stan shouted, “No one is getting anything until we clean up the shack!”

“Fine. Whatever…”

Wendy left the room almost as quickly as she had entered, helping Soos and Grunkle Stan with the cleanup. Grunkle Ford was presumably somewhere downstairs in his lab getting readings on the earthquake. 

The aftershocks soon died down. For the second day in a row, Dipper closed his eyes and laid down, swallowing hard and trying to forget about his symptoms. 

No fever dream disturbed him from his slumber. Dipper, for a few precious hours, forgot that he was trapped in the shack, bound by illness and missing out on making memories. He could only hope that Mabel was out there having a better time than he was. One of them deserved to have a good summer. If that person had to be Mabel, so be it.

“A five point four?” 

Stanford stared at the readings of his seismograph. His lab equipment remained mostly unharmed, with only Fiddleford’s metal sheet having clattered to the floor. Stanford inspected the piece for damage. He found none and placed it back on the table, planning on going back to translating once he made sense of what he was seeing.

Data from other nearby seismographs poured in. Gravity Falls had not been at the epicenter. Once again, his readings brought him out into the coast to the same mysterious island, with the central magnitude nearing six. The quake had been felt as far away as Portland. Damage, Stanford assumed, was minimal, not extending beyond the broken vases and glass in the Mystery Shack. 

But how long would it stay that way?

Each reading furthered his unease. Something weird was going down in Gravity Falls. Stanford could feel lit. He had spent the last three and a half decades of his life pursuing the supernatural. He had fought gnomes, been taken by aliens, and fought a triangle. It had been six years since his last battle with weirdness. Surely whatever was going on in Gravity Falls would pale in comparison. A triangle demon hell-bent on destroying the world was far more dangerous than a few measly earthquakes. 

Stanford sat down in his chair and made a note of the day’s activity, along with archiving the seismograph’s readings. 

He glanced at the metal sheet by his side. What Stanford would do to have another researcher at his side…

“I’ll get back to you in a minute,” Stanford said, “Just gotta finish some models…”

The fans beneath his computer began to whirr and kick up dust as every last bit of their processing power was used up. Stanford grabbed a piece of paper, his reading glasses, and another cup of coffee. A little translation work wouldn’t hurt while he waited for the data compilations to wrap up.

“What do you have for me today, Fiddleford?” Stanford asked as if sitting down to do the daily crossword.

A few days’ sabbatical was all Stanford needed. He was able to crack three more lines of code before sunset, only hitting a wall once Fiddleford switched up the wording again. He closed his eyes for a moment to alleviate his eye strain. 

Something was wrong. The sheet wasn’t some final will and testament. A pit formed in Stanford’s stomach as he double checked his spelling. 

The metal will keep you safe. He cannot touch it. 

I thought it was just the pains of old age. 

I was so, so wrong.

Chapter Text

I should have burned it right then and there.  

“Grunkle Ford, we’re okay! I promise!”

Mabel waited for Grunkle Ford to let her go before ending the call. By then, the shaking had largely come to a stop, with the aftershocks hardly registering as more than a light vibration. Most of the damage had been done downtown. At Candy’s house, all they had lost was a glass of water left on the table. 

“Stupid earthquake!” Grenda screamed, “Ruining my drinks!”

The earthquake had caught the trio by surprise. There they had been, packing up their things and getting ready to hit up the town, only for the ground to start shaking and glass to start breaking. Candy had her keys in the ignition and had been ready to go. They had only gone back inside to inspect the damage. 

“Everything else looks clear,” Candy replied, “I’ll clean up the glass. Then we go.”

Mabel and Candy pulled a broom out of the hall closet and quickly swept up the mess. After taking a few minutes to cuddle with Candy’s cats, Mabel decided that she was ready, and stepped outside into the oppressively muggy summer afternoon. 

“Was that your grunkle on the phone?” Candy asked while they hopped back into the car,

“Are they okay?”

“Yep. Just a few broken knick-knacks. They said Waddles was okay, and that’s all I needed to know!” Mabel replied, “He’s strong. He can get through anything.”

“What about your brother? Is he still sick?”

“Probably. I hope he gets better. We always watched the fireworks together. It sucks that he won’t be here.”

With pebbles crunching beneath the wheels, the trio pulled out of the dirt road and away from Candy’s comfortably-rural house, driving out into Gravity Falls as the town picked up from the day’s damage. 

A minty aroma drifted through the air. Already, residents were out mowing their lawns and sweeping up broken garden gnomes like nothing had happened. Had Mabel not been there, she wouldn’t have known that there had even been an earthquake. Gravity Falls was used to weirdness. A few cracked windows and toppled shelves had no skin off of their backs. 

“Where are we doing the fireworks?” Mabel asked, “I want to make something explode!”

“Hell yeah, that’s the spirit!” Grenda cheered, “Candy, take a left.”

Candy turned her head to the back seat, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve got some friends meeting us there. They’ve got the good stuff.”

“Are we setting off fireworks or selling drugs?”

“We’ll see where the day takes us!” 

The roads diverged into a yellow wood, where the thick pine trees gave way to a mix of maple and redwood. Leaves knocked over during an overnight rain shimmered on the ground below. Presumably broken during the earthquake, branches sat forlorn at the bases of trees, waiting to be picked up by the next curious woodland creature that passed their way. Squirrels and birds scurried into the safety of the brush as the car passed by. Candy drove slowly, squinting her eyes along the rustic road by the light of the midday sun.

“You’re gonna stay here for a mile,” Grenda said, “I told them to wave us down.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Candy asked, “I can hardly see on this road.”

“Yes. Just don’t bump us around. I spent my last paycheck on those fireworks!”

“So, what? We’re just going to camp here for the day and wait?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Isn’t it awesome?!”

“Sure…”

Mabel hummed along to Candy’s music in the passenger seat. The air conditioning blew cold air into her face and brought a welcome relief from the summer heat. Mabel couldn't recall the last time summer was that hot. The thermometer on Candy’s dashboard told Mabel that it was approaching one hundred degrees. It wasn’t just a dry heat, either. The mugginess hit Mabel like a truck whenever she dared to poke her head out of the car window. It felt like she was breathing water. 

Two figures appeared on the right side of the road and waved at the car. Grenda opened the back windows and waved back, yelling at Candy to turn right and follow them. Mabel didn’t recognize their faces. That was okay. She was always down to meet new people! New people meant new ways to laugh, new ways to see the world, and another face to fill her camera roll with goofy selfies. She hoped that they were funny. 

Candy parked the car in a valley between hills, not that far from the Mystery Shack. On one side of the opening was forest, while the others had hills with opulent houses sitting at the top. Most of them were historical homes. One of them, Mabel knew all-too-well. 

The Northwest Mansion. 

Figures rushed to and fro from behind the windows. Mabel could make out garden staff rushing around the backyard, caring for the brightly colored plants that lined the perimeter. Not even the wealthy could escape the impacts of the quake. She saw broom handles and could make out the whirring of distant vacuum cleaners as the sound drifted into the center of the valley. 

Mabel hopped out of the car and took a deep breath as the summer humidity hit. She dared to take off her sweater and leave it in the passenger seat, knowing that a heat stroke awaited her if she kept it on. The bright-green grass gave off a cool moisture as the morning dew evaporated and further saturated the air. Dipper would know more about why that happened. She would have to ask him when she got home. 

“Ainsley! Teagan!” Grenda shouted as she ran out of the car, “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” one of the girls said, “And we brought food.”

“We are going to get SO PUMPED UP!”

Candy leaned in and whispered in Mabel’s ear, “Do you have any idea who these people are?”

Mabel shook her head, “Nope. But they seem cool!” 

“Who are these guys?” the taller of the two whispered.

“Oh, yeah!” Grenda cheered, “Ainsley, Teagan, meet Mabel and Candy. They’re my friends. And they brought fireworks!”

Teagan and Ainsley both introduced themselves. They quickly hit it off, with Teagan and Mabel sharing an affinity for Twenty One Pilots and Ainsley sharing her interest in trains. Grenda had good taste in friends. Mabel would have to listen to her more often.

“Mabel is a bit of a celebrity around here,” Grenda bragged, “I mean, her family saved Gravity Falls, and probably the world!”

“Grenda, we’re not supposed to talk about that. Remember the law?”

“Pfft. They don’t enforce that. Plus, we’re breaking another law tonight! Illegal fireworks!”

Mabel and Ainsley pulled out sandwich meat and bread from a cooler that the pair had brought into the valley. Grenda, Candy, and Teagan pulled the loaded crate of fireworks out of the car. There wasn’t an eye in sight. No one would see them unless they came looking. It was strange, with such a peaceful spot so close to the Mystery Shack. Mabel thought she would have found it on her own. 

“How did you find this place?” Mabel asked, biting down on a generously-cut ham sandwich. 

“We were out last year by the Mystery Shack,” Ainsley said, “We took a wrong turn and ended up here. Turns out it’s really quiet and people leave you alone. It’s perfect!”

“Yep, that’s where we did our fireworks last year,” Grenda added, “It was freakin’ awesome!”

“How many did you guys get this year?”

“Oh, you don’t even want to know. We’ve got enough to blow up the moon!”

“Then let’s do it!”

Mabel glanced over the hill again at the Northwest Mansion. She wondered how angry the Northwests would be at them for setting off fireworks near their property. 

It wouldn’t take very long for her to find out. With cold sandwiches and warm conversation filling the day, twilight came before Mabel realized, bats flying out from the nearby trees and into the deep purple sky above. She checked her phone for the time. Eight o’clock had come and gone. 

Her phone was abuzz with new notifications. She quickly replied to her friends at home, and sent a heart emoji to a picture of a woodpecker Dipper had sent her. Mabel was worried about him, stuck at home with a terrible case of the flu. Mabel hated being sick. It kept her from going outside and having fun. She couldn't imagine the anguish it was giving him to be stuck in the house with summer right out there, just waiting to be savored. 

“You guys gonna set these off, or what?” Teagan said, walking over to the crate of fireworks and pulling it closer to the group, “We don’t have all night!”

“Ainsley, you got the lighter?” Grenda asked.

Ainsley nodded, pulling a neon-red lighter out of her pocket, “Right here.”

“Awesome!”

Mabel laid on her back and stared up at the first of the evening stars as they poked through the darkening sky. Dipper would have known more about them, pointing to each individual dot and naming it like the nerd that he was. Candy and Ainsley joined her while Grenda and Teagan worked at setting up the fireworks. 

“There really is something special about this place,” Ainsley remarked after a moment.

Mabel nodded, “I’ve waited for so long to come back here. And now I’m here. And it’s awesome!”

“If you ignore the weirdness, it’s amazing,” Candy sighed.

“I dunno. I think the weirdness makes Gravity Falls, Gravity Falls. We’d just be a boring town without it.”

Candy and Teagan pulled the fireworks out of the crate one by one and propped them up on wooden stands. Mabel savored the stars for a few more beautiful moments before standing up to join them. 

The light of the evening went from a bright red to a deep, almost ethereal violet. Distant cheers and screams from the festivities downtown drifted over the treeline and into Mabel’s ears. When the wind blew, she could smell the cotton candy and corn dogs. The faint glow of the village lights over the trees gave a white tint to the rapidly darkening sky. 

“You’re sure we’re not gonna get caught?” Candy asked.

Mabel waved her hand, “Pfft. Durland and Blubs love us. They’ll let us off with a warning. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see the back of a police car!”

“I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

“Mabel, hold this!” Grenda said, tossing a bright red rocket at her while securing the fuse, “This one is going to be the showstopper!” 

“Why?”

“El Diablo. Biggest Firework I could find. Had to go to Portland to get it last summer. Didn’t get a chance to use it then, but tonight? It’s gonna be AWESOME!”

Her mind was filled with fantastic lights and the smell of gunpowder. Childhood fireworks shows in Piedmont brought back warm memories, sitting in the town square with mom, dad, and Dipper on their plaid picnic blanket. She could still smell the smoke if she closed her eyes for long enough. 

“Nine thirty is when the town sets them off,” Teagan said, checking her phone, “I think that’s a good time.”

“Any time is a good time for explosions!” Grenda cheered, “It was almost worth the thousand dollars.”

“You spent a thousand dollars on this?!” Mabel asked. 

“Money is temporary. Memories are forever.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“That’s very upper middle class of you,” Ainsley remarked. 

The next half hour was spent swatting away mosquitoes and trying to get the fuses set up properly. Mabel ignored the itch. She saw them as love bites, the mosquitoes caring enough about her to take her blood. If it kept them fed, she saw no problem with putting up with some itchiness, as long as it didn’t get her sick. Mabel would bite people too if it was the only way for her to stay alive. Poor mosquitoes. 

Grenda was less compassionate. With a single, smooth motion, she took Ainsley’s lighter and sprayed bug spray into the other end, creating a miniature flamethrower that set any mosquitoes in its range on fire. The poor creatures let out a final hum before falling to the ground.

“Take that, mosquitoes!” Grenda boomed, “That’s what you get for taking my blood. Try that again, huh?!”

Ainsley took back her lighter and handed it to Mabel.

“Keep this away from her,” Ainsley said, “Just in case.”

Atop a mass grave of mosquitoes, the quintet put together the last of the fireworks, setting them all up in a row and waiting for the signal.

“Mabel Pines,” Grenda said, kneeling down as if bowing to royalty, “As the celebrity of Gravity Falls, I would like to give you the honor of lighting the first firework.”

“Really?” Mabel asked, “I’m honored.”

“What time is it?” Ainsley asked.

“Nine twenty,” Candy replied, “Ten minutes.”

“We’re really doing this?” 

“I guess so.”

The roars of distant crowds grew louder in anticipation. Mabel could feel her heart racing, losing herself in the thrill of the moment. She couldn't help but smile as she looked at her friends standing in a circle around her. She had friends at home, sure, but there was something special about Candy and Grenda. They had history. They had seen the end of the world, and were still able to laugh about it, setting off fireworks in the very same place that the universe had almost been destroyed. There had been no awkward reintroductions or silent strolls. They picked right back up where they left off. Mabel found that beautiful.

Mabel fiddled with the lighter. She watched small plumes of smoke rise from the tiny flame and lick the sky. 

“You really like that lighter, huh?” Ainsley sighed.’

“I like watching the smoke,” Mabel replied, “It’s pretty.”

Mabel wanted to lay back down in the grass, but knew that the big moment was too close for her to do so. Instead, she put her phone back in her pocket and walked out towards the rows upon rows of fireworks that had been set up. Rockets of all shapes and sizes stood with their noses pointed towards the sky. El Diablo sat at the end. Its emergency-red shaft pointed directly upwards, the fuse running along the grass. Mabel had no idea what to expect from it. That was part of the fun.

“Two minutes,” Candy said.

Grenda clapped her hands, “Everyone get in position! This is NOT a drill!”

Jogging as fast as her legs would take her, Mabel ran to the first rocket in the row, a small blue one with a dragon drawn on the side. Grenda couldn’t have gotten all of these from the shack downtown. She must have spent months looking for them. The smile on Grenda’s face made it all worth it.

“One minute!” Candy shouted.

Mable’s finger trembled with anticipation. In sixty short seconds, the show would be on, unleashing a flurry of noise and color into the night sky that would demand the attention of all that saw it. It would easily rival the town show. The town was restricted by the law. Meanwhile, Mabel and the others had enough gunpowder to blow up a small city. 

“If this goes wrong, I am NOT going to jail for you,” Teagan said.

“We won’t go to jail,” Grenda laughed, “Relax. Worse that happens is that we all die in a fiery inferno and they can’t identify our bodies. That’s it.”

“I’m glad you stick to the bright side of things.”

“I try to. It’s time. Light those suckers!” 

Mabel held the lighter towards the stringy end of the first fuse. A light breeze caused the flame to flicker and waver, Candy and Grenda cupping their hands around it to keep the glow from dying out. The first fibers at the end of the fuse burned with the catching of the flame. Soon, it crept forward.

“Stand back!” Grenda shouted.

The others retreated just as the fire hit the end of the fuse. With a violent hiss, the back of the blue rocket erupted into a storm of sparks and shot upwards. Mabel almost lost track of it before a brilliant blue explosion followed in its wake. 

It glowed with the same neon brightness as a streak of lightning. Mabel wasted no time in lighting the other fuses, covering her ears as the deafening boom of the first firework hit her ears.

In the distance, a second set of red, white, and blue fireworks erupted over the treeline, like the sun poking over the horizon on an early morning. The smell of smoke and gunpowder hit her nose. If Mabel closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was in Piedmont, sitting between mom and dad while Dipper goofed off by her side. 

The fireworks broke off in perfect sync with each other. Mabel passed the lighter to Ainsley, who lit her share of the fireworks, then to Teagan, then to Grenda, then Candy. They cycled through the roster until every last rocket had been launched except for the last one.

El Diablo. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Candy asked.

“Yes!” Grenda shouted, “Give me the lighter. I’ve been waiting a whole year to do this…” 

Mabel watched with bated breath. Candy backed away and used Mabel as a shield. Ainsley and Teagan stared with morbid curiosity. 

El Diablo sat at the very center of the display. With all of its comrades having risen and blown up, there was nothing left for him to do but join. Grenda wasted no time in lighting the fuse and shouting with glee as it crept towards the gunpowder stored deep within the rocket’s shell. It was a heavy rocket, twice as large as any of the others that they had launched. Mabel found herself second-guessing whether launching it was a good idea.

It was too late to turn back. Mabel could either close her eyes, or go along for the ride.

The gunpowder ignited and sent the rocket flying into the air. It left a trail of thick black smoke in its wake, Mabel coughing as it filled her lungs. A deep red glow followed the trail into the sky. It was as if the rocket itself was being torn apart. Bits of the shell fell to the ground before the grand explosions.

A sharp hiss escaped the back of the rocket. Then, Mabel was knocked to the ground by a bright flash and a deafening bang, one so loud that she could feel it in her chest. She rolled onto the grass and ducked for cover as the rocket disintegrated overhead and broke into a mass of sparks. 

The explosion sounded like a gunshot. The sky was soon stained red, the firework so bright that it left spots on Mabel’s vision as she tried to look at it. Nearby car alarms were set off by the force of the blast. Trees swayed and neighbors emerged from their homes to investigate. All Mabel could do was stare at the hypnotic patterns of the falling crimson sparks.

It took a moment for the ringing in Mabel’s ears to wear off. By the time it did, the fireworks had dissipated, the last of the glows disappearing from the sky, leaving Mabel feeling empty and reeking of gunpowder.

“That was AWESOME!” Grenda yelled, punching the grass.

Candy stood from the ground and adjusted her glass, “And illegal.”

“I think my ears are broken,” Mabel remarked, “Ow…” 

Mabel turned her head to the Northwest Mansion as lights turned on from the inside. Mabel broke away from the group, following a blonde-haired figure that emerged from the balcony and stood overlooking the field. 

“I’ll be back,” Mabel said.

The others were too busy cleaning up the mess of half-burned firework rockets to notice. 

On the distant balcony, the woman wore a deep purple dress, mouthing something to a man through a screen door. Mabel knew that face anywhere, even if it was from a hundred feet away. 

She did the one thing she knew how to do.

“Pacifica!” Mabel boomed, waving her hands and jumping up and down in the field, “It’s me! Mabel! Remember?!”

Pacifica turned to look at her. After mouthing something to the people inside the house, she hurried down the stairs and hesitantly beckoned Mabel forward with the flick of her wrist. 

Mabel ran up the hill like it was the difference between life and death. By the time she reached the base of the mansion, she was breathless and covered in dirt from the knee down. To anyone else in that mansion, she probably looked like a homeless person. Mabel didn’t mind.

As she drew closer, Mabel was able to make out Pacifica’s familiar face. Time had been kind to her. She was pretty before, but she was even prettier with age. Her cheekbones were pronounced with just the right amount of blush. She had grown taller, some three or four inches taller than Mabel was. The purple dress complimented her deep blue eyes and volumetric blonde hair. She smelled of expensive perfume.

“Long time no see!” Mabel cheered, wrapping her arms around Pacifica without giving her a chance to react, “It’s been so long!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Pacifica stammered, gently pushing Mabel off, “So you guys ARE back in town.” 

“You knew?”

“I thought I saw you at the funeral. I couldn’t tell.”

Pacifica spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. Even when it was only the two of them, she maintained her wealthy persona, standing upright and keeping her arms at her sides. It must have been exhausting.

“You can relax,” Mabel said, “It’s me. Mabel!” 

“I’m a bit busy right now,” Pacifica sighed, “I’ve got executives in there and I have to make my appearances.”

“That sounds boring.”

“That’s because it is. Where’s your brother?”

“Dipper? He’s back home sick. Caught something really bad.”

Pacifica’s face softened at that, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. But he’ll be fine. Why?”

“O-oh. I was looking through some old things in my closet. I found some things that he gave me. I was just wondering if he would want them back.” 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? Give me your arm.”

“What?” 

Mabel grabbed Pacifica’s arm and wrote down the ten digits of Dipper’s phone number with a marker from her pocket. She made sure to keep it somewhere where it would be concealed, just beneath the elbow. It wasn’t Mabel’s first rodeo.

“He doesn’t really get calls,” Mabel said, “So he’ll definitely pick up.”

“Are you sure?” Pacifica asked after a moment, “It feels…inappropriate.”

“You and your big words. He’d love that.” 

Mabel turned her head to the mansion.

“Nice place you got there,” Mabel cooed, “Is that a bar? And a swimming pool?!”

Pacifica turned her head to the ground, “Yeah. But I didn’t want any of it. My parents wanted the place back. You have to have heard about that by now.”

McGucket’s sad story came to the front of Mabel’s mind. He was supposed to have it all. They had set him up with a good mansion, the world was safe, and nothing could stop him. Mabel didn’t know the details, only that the Northwests had kicked him to the curb after buying the mansion back. Just the thought was enough to make her sad. 

“I did…” Mabel sighed.

Pacifica shook her head, “Not my proudest moment.”

The low rumbling of fireworks from the distant Gravity Falls show began to die down. Mabel and Pacifica stood together in a heavy silence, neither one willing to dig up the past. Six years could do a lot to a person. Behind the layers of mascara and concealer, Mabel could see the trembling pupils of a woman that was scared. One that had stood at the counter for hours and come back with the wrong order. Something was eating away at her. Mabel could see it in the slight shivering of Pacifica’s shoulders and the heaviness of her eyes. Pacifica Northwest was on autopilot. 

“Hey,” Mabel said, “You okay?”

Pacifica didn’t respond. She hung her head low and took a deep breath.

A voice called out from the balcony, “Pacifica? Dear? Where are you?”

Lifting her head, Pacifica let out another heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, almost revealing the bags beneath them through layers of mascara. 

“I’m sorry,” Pacifica mumbled, “I have to go.”

She began to saunter away on heels that made Mabel dizzy just to look at.

Before going, Mabel wrapped her arms around Pacifica one final time. 

“You’ve got this,” Mabel whispered, “Call Dipper. He’ll be happy to talk to you.”

Pacifica lingered in the hug for an extra couple of seconds before letting Mabel go.

The wealthy woman disappeared without another word, hurrying up the stairs like a spooked squirrel. Mabel stood alone outside as the balcony door closed and left her with nothing but the smell of gunpowder to keep her company.

That, and her friends. Mabel figured she had kept them waiting long enough.

Chapter Text

But I didn’t. 

Mother and Father wouldn’t miss the yacht. They didn’t care about anything if there wasn’t a dollar sign attached to it.

Pacifica Northwest had become a master of stealth. The relaxing motion of the waves almost made the two-mile walk to the dock worth it. She sat on the upper decks of the family yacht, closing her eyes and ignoring the phantom calls of executives that demanded her attention. For the first time in months, the yacht was silent, with only Pacifica and the lapping of waves at the sides of the hull disturbing the peace.

Nights out on the yacht had become routine. Every few months, she would find a time to sneak out to the port and drift on the open sea, always careful to keep the mooring ropes attached. Wasn’t like the yacht was being used for anything better. The way Pacifica used it, there was no noise, pollution, or capitalism. Just the stars.

The light pollution could have been lower. Pacifica fantasized about losing herself in the darkness of a Bortle-2 sky, where the only light that got through was the glowing of the galactic core overhead. She had seen pictures of it before. If only she could experience it for herself. Closing her eyes, she could see the glow of the galaxy, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of city life, some new matter always demanding their attention .

Gravity Falls Lake would have to do for the moment. The stars were still beautiful, with hundreds of tiny specks of red, blue, and white filling up the sky, the occasional satellite passing overhead and disturbing her view. And no one could forget about the planets, Jupiter shining defiantly in the east while Venus and Mars crept anxiously along the southern horizon. Saturn was somewhere beneath her, but would probably rise before the sun did. 

Her phone sat somewhere on the lower decks, just like her wallet. She didn’t need any distractions. The brightness of the phone would hurt her eyes and take away the adjustment to the darkness that they had made. The night was alive with the cosmic march of the stars across the celestial dome. Little by little, they inched along, imperceptible to Pacifica. The rocking of the yacht wasn’t helping. The lake was choppier than usual that night, probably from the myriad of earthquakes.

Last Pacifica heard, Mother and Father were forcing the gardeners to help fill a crack in the ground that had formed outside of their house after the last quake. That, of course, had only happened after the executives left well into the night. It was well past eleven by the time the last of the suited moneybags left the foyer, still angrily murmuring about the fireworks show that had disturbed their ever-so-important meeting. 

Mabel Pines was the last face that she expected to see. The warmth of her awkward embrace lingered even in her absence. Pacifica thanked her lucky stars that Mother and Father hadn’t seen her. The Pines name was a curse word around them. They had never forgiven Dipper for freeing them from the ghosts, still insisting that their panic room would have worked out just fine. 

Dipper.

The words of Robert Frost echoed in Pacifica’s mind. She remembered holding the book, the thick leather resting comfortably beneath her hand. It was too vivid to be a hallucination. Pacifica would never dream something up like that, not in a million years. 

Black ink spelled out his phone number. Pacifica had written it down somewhere else just to be safe, knowing that a little bit of sweat was all it would take to make the number vanish into thin air. 

Dipper Pines was a special kind of dork. The kind that didn’t leave a person’s head. Pacifica hadn’t obsessed over him, obviously. But she’d be lying if she said the thought of him didn’t cross her mind every few months, wondering what he was off to back home. Having him back in town felt like an alignment of the stars in the best way possible. She wanted to dial his number and call, anxious to hear what he had been up to. 

For all of her life, Pacifica had been forced to socialize with the rich and only the rich. A six-figure bank account was a dealbreaker for her family. Any interaction with the “lower class” was shunned unless it was for a charity stunt. Pacifica tried to hold onto her humanity. It became difficult, however, when she was surrounded by walking slot machines, friends who could only talk about their assets and net worth. Pacifica yearned for real conversation. To talk with someone who wouldn’t shun her if she dared to lose her money. Dollarsmore would be the final nail in the coffin. 

Did she even want to talk to him? Mabel’s words could only be taken at face-value. She tended to lean towards the bright side of things, an admirable but naive trait. The sun was always shining in Mabel-land. Pacifica wondered if she was only there to sugar-coat. Dipper had to know what had gone down with McGucket. No matter how many times Pacifica said she was sorry, there was nothing that could be done. The man was dead. No amount of money could undo their wrongs. Why would he speak to her after something like that?

Then again, he was a dork. A lovable dork. Someone who gave second chances even to those that didn’t deserve them. Maybe there was still a chance for her. 

She leaned over the railing after a moment and stared at the glistening water below. The mooring rope held the yacht some one hundred feet away from the dock. Small crests shimmered in the moonlight with the rising and falling of each wave. Pacifica dreamed of floating away and losing herself amidst the waves, carried downstream to a new life without the Northwest name attached to it. She often fantasized about leaving and never returning. She could take a new identity and vanish into thin air.

The distant city lights reminded her of what awaited. Before sunrise, she would be whisked away to the mansion, doomed to walk the Earth in eternal golden shackles. The chains pulled her down. The light of day seemed so far while within the walls, trapped atop greenback mountain like an attraction in a museum.

“So many stars…” she whispered to herself, laying on her back and patiently waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Nights alone on the yacht were her only chances to unwind. Under Mother and Father’s watchful eye, her free time was filled with pampering, trying to pretty her up for the eventual passing down of the family name. Pacifica dreaded the day that the Northwest name became a part of her. It was a curse. 

The Pines family was the only one that dared to look her in the eyes. Pacifica wished she hadn’t pushed Mabel away so fast, that maybe she could have basked in the warm embrace of a family face for a few more seconds. As awkward as Mabel could be, Pacifica would take it a thousand times over. A dorky smile was just what she needed. Someone that didn’t have their eyes on her checkbook whenever they were talking. 

Soft piano tones emanated from a speaker positioned on the upper deck. Beethoven’s Sonata No. 3 in C major, Op. 2, one of Pacifica’s favorite pieces. The pounding, thematic energy of the first movement had passed, making way for the soft tones of movement two. Pacifica could see the stars pulsate with each impact of the piano. The arpeggiated scales lulled Pacifica up and down an invisible slope with the cresting of the waves. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine herself floating in a void.

Pacifica grew bored of the upper levels of the yacht at the end of the second movement. With the beginning of movement three, she walked to the very edge of the deck and climbed down the ladder. She pulled up the ends of her dress slightly and rested them on the metal. Pacifica leaned over just far enough to dip her feet in the water. A small fog had risen over the surface of the lake. Pacifica kicked around and made small waves, countering the ones that rocked the side of the yacht. 

She could have stayed there for the rest of her life. Small fish swam beneath the surface of the lake, Pacifica reaching down and trying to cup them in her hand. The sour smell of marine life and seaweed filled the air, just as it should on a summer evening. Moments of natural serenity and peace were increasingly rare. Her parents would scold her if they saw her daring to relax. They’d make her clean up after touching the lakewater and threaten her with a cut to her allowance if she dared to go out again. Heaven forbid she have a smile on her face.

Sometimes she fantasized about pushing Mother and Father overboard and running their expensive clothes, laughing at them as the butlers pulled them out as seaweed dangled from their hair. They would be furious, and it would probably be the end of her, but it would be one final laugh before they sent her away. Pacifica Northwest would have the last word.

Kicking waves in the lake could only go on for so long. Sooner or later her alarm would go off, and she would have to slip back into the mansion before the staff noticed that she was gone. Stealth was much harder to maintain when the sun was up. 

Movement three of the sonata came to an end. Pacifica sat in silence once again, holding the ladder as the yacht rocked back and forth. It was the only good thing that family had ever bought. She liked it better with the lights off. The hustle-and-bustle of their life drove her to the brink of insanity. Sometimes, she needed quiet time, without the whispers of executives and tearing of checkbooks. Sometimes Pacifica just wanted to listen to the waves and drift into the night. 

The horizon taunted her. If she could just cut the yacht free and sail away, maybe they wouldn’t notice. They could replace her with a daughter that would do what they wanted. It was a win-win. Pacifica would get the life that she wanted, and her family would have another brat to fill out the family name. They could silently part ways without ever looking each other in the eye again. Sure, Pacifica could keep up with them in the news, but why would she want to do that? That life would be behind her.

It would remain a dream. If she looked at the water from the right angle, she could imagine that the yacht was moving, drifting along the waves into a plentiful future. 

She could not go to college that fall. There had to be some way out, or at least, a temporary escape.

Pacifica eyed a backpack that she had packed towards the back of the yacht. It didn’t have much, aside from some emergency side cash and a bottle of water. She wasn’t a woman that required much. 

A day bag was all she would need. Slipping away for a few hours wouldn’t be an issue. She would tell Mother and Father that she was off to see the Buffets, and they wouldn’t bat an eye. Perhaps there was something better for her to do. An old face to go visit. 

Her heart leapt with excitement. For the first time in years, she could talk to a human again. She stood up from the ladder and climbed back onto the deck. After drying herself off, she tossed her bag over her shoulder and climbed the mooring rope off of the yacht. 

The walk home was a peaceful one. Gravity Falls wasn’t known for its nightlife. Even with the fourth of July festivities turning out crowds, all of the activity had died down. She clutched a small bottle of pepper spray just in case. 

Owls hooted and bushes rustled. Pacifica took a shortcut through the woods, turning her head at every sound. Deer and squirrels rustled within the bushes and pushed Pacifica to the brink of a heart attack. It felt as if eyes were watching her from behind the trees and waiting to take her into the darkness. Away from the safety of the yacht, Pacifica found herself at the mercy of nature, using the distant lights of the mansion to guide her home.

All she had to do was get inside and pack her bag. If she was really going to sneak out, she had to do it right. Mabel had given Dipper his number. After some rumination, Pacifica came to the conclusion that if Mabel was willing to give out his number, then Dipper hadn’t said anything bad about her. There was still a chance that she was a person in his eyes. Maybe it was hope, maybe it was desperation. She had to speak to him in person. A text wasn’t enough. She had to look him in the eye and see how he responded. A real soul; someone who cared. 

Pacifica soon reached the foot of the mansion and scrambled up the hill. Hastily-patched holes in the ground from the previous day’s earthquake jutted through the artificial lawn. The first glow of twilight graced the horizon, Pacifica knowing that the next day would be miserable with her staying up all night. All she had to do was deal with Mother and Father for a few minutes and tell them where she was going. They would brush her off, and hopefully her calendar would be clear enough to buy a few hours. It was all that Pacifica needed. 

Her parents would have a conniption if they saw her up that early. She quickly changed into her nightclothes and tossed herself into her bed, avoiding the mansion staff and sneaking in an hour of much-needed sleep.

She awoke to an alarm on her desk. Picking up right where she left off, Pacifica tossed another day’s worth of clothes into her backpack. She scoured the closet one more time for his book, and came up empty. The tape measure would remain in the closet until she figured out what to do with it. Her memory of that summer was foggy. For all she knew, it wasn’t even Dipper’s.

Mother knocked on her door just as Pacifica stepped out. Pacifica ran a hand through her hair and quickly straightened her posture, not wishing to endure the wrath of an angry mother. 

“Pacifica,” Mother said, “You’re up early.”

Pacifica rubbed her eyes, “Yes, I am. What does my itinerary look like for today?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I was thinking about visiting the Buffets in Portland. Roland said he’d take me on his jet. Shouldn’t be gone past sunset.”

Mother pressed her fingers to her lips as if in deep thought. Pacifica cast her eyes to the ground and patiently waited for a decision, the fate of her summer resting in Mother’s hands. 

“Fine,” Mother sighed, “I’ll tell your father. Don’t let the Buffets talk you into selling your Berkshire stock, okay?”

“Yes,” Pacifica replied, trying to hide the smile forcing its way onto her face. 

The door to the bedroom closed. Pacifica pulled the bag over her shoulder and ran into the bathroom. If she was going to visit the Pines, she would look her best. They deserved that much. A pretty face would surely get their attention. 

She covered her hair in enough hairspray to kill a small family. Fruity perfumes were applied in amounts that would be considered a war crime in other countries. Mascara, concealer, every bit of makeup that she could find was put on her face. Once that was done, she rushed over to her closet and threw on the nicest clothes she could find while still walking the line between casual and formal. She settled on a purple satin jacket with a white undershirt and a comfortable pair of black pants. Enough to look pretty, but not enough to scare them off. 

Pacifica smirked at herself in the mirror before bolting out the door.

Chapter Text

There were prisms. An axolotl.

“Dad?!”

Wendy’s eyes shot open as a golden statue stared at her from the corner of her living room. She must have dozed off, working another long shift at the Mystery Shack. 

The golden statue was one of a heavy-set, larger, muscular man, with a ginger beard and lumberjack’s cap to boot. The familiarity was unmistakable. Dad had the same expression of agony on his face Wendy had seen during Weirdmageddon, the only time in her life she had genuinely worried for his safety. Dad was built like a tank. It would take nothing short of an interdimensional demon to take him out. 

Yet, there he was, frozen in place with eyes and mouth agape. Her brother’s weren’t too far behind, scattered about the living room in various phases of escape. Sam was halfway out the living room window. His golden arms were frozen to the frame. Tommy’s half-turned body stared back at Wendy as if caught by surprise. Jack was still on the floor, lying down as if half asleep. A pool of red spilled from his forehead. 

A cold breeze hit Wendy from the front door. Without thinking, she ran over to the metallic remains of her family, clutching them like broken pieces of glass and clawing at them to try and get any sort of response. Even with her years of lifting, she could no longer lift them, dad falling out of his chair and splintering the spruce wooden floor. Wendy dug her hands into the sharp kindling and tried to dig him out. The wood dug into her hands and beneath her fingernails. A fountain of red soon poured from her raw hands. Wendy no longer cared. 

“Wake up!” Wendy shouted, “Come on! Please!”

Her breath turned sour as hyperventilation forced air into the back of her throat and stung the tissue. Tears began to well in her eyes, not caring if her family saw them. All she received in return was dad’s dead stare.

She turned him over and began chest compressions. It was futile, given that golden lungs couldn't breathe, but it was worth a shot. She pressed down as hard as she could, so hard that the bones in her fingers began to crack. His chest didn’t move. Wendy would’ve been better off trying to raise a skeleton. 

She screamed until her throat was raw. Wendy only stopped when she heard rustling in the bushes outside.

“Hey!” Wendy shouted, reaching for the knife attached to her hip, “Hello?!”

There was no response. She backed up against the wall, almost falling over the remains of her petrified brother. Her limbs grew weak, the world around Wendy spinning as if she was in the center of a washing machine, tripping over her own feet and slamming into the back wall and knocking over a family portrait. 

Her head slammed into the ground. Wendy pulled herself up with her non-mangled hand, hyperventilating so strongly that her vision was beginning to go blurry. She pulled herself up from the floor and rose just in time to watch a shrouded figure stumble through the door.

“Hey!” Wendy yelled, biting the sides of her mouth. The pain in her left hand caused black spots to dance across her vision. 

The figure waddled as if it had just learned to walk. A guttural groan escaped its mouth. Wendy was only able to get a brief glimpse of it before it suddenly lunged forward.

A sharp pain hit her stomach. Wendy tried to swallow, only for blood to come back up. She tilted her head down and saw a dark blue claw digging into her abdomen. Blood poured from the open wound and spilled to the ground. Wendy tried to scream, but was instead overcome with a feeling of lightheadedness, the world around her going white as the beast clawed away.

Wendy opened her eyes with a sharp gasp. She shot up so quickly that she hit her head on the roof of the car. 

“Ow!” Wendy grunted, “What the-?”

It all came back to her. Soos had asked her to help close the shack, a task that she had readily agreed to. It had taken almost the entire day to clean up from the mess of the morning’s earthquake. Her back ached from the constant bending over to pick up broken glass. 

A glance at Wendy’s phone revealed it to be well past two in the morning. An unopened text from Mabel told Wendy to sleep well, followed by a picture that had been taken of her sleeping in the car. Wendy chuckled slightly as she read it and took comfort in its warm light. 

Her heart still pounded from her recent nightmare. The lights of the Mystery Shack had long since gone out, plunging the shop into darkness. The night was eerily still. She could make out the dull odor of residual gunpowder in the air, no doubt from the evening’s firework shows. She stretched as far back as the cramped space within the car would allow her and prepared to make the drive back home. What else was there for her to do? 

She hadn’t been home in almost a week. Most of her nights had been spent with friends or with Soos. The Corduroy home was one that was best avoided. 

Dad would be asking about her sooner or later. Did she want to put that off, or bite the bullet? 

The empty parking lot made the decision for her. Wendy begrudgingly put her keys in the ignition, the back tires of her car crushing a branch on the way out. Bits of tree limbs and other debris from the aftermath of the earthquake made the drive out onto the main road like a walk through a minefield. Broken glass, sharp nails, even stones posed a threat to her tires. The last thing she needed was to cough up another eight hundred bucks because she wasn’t looking where she was going. 

Nighttime in Gravity Falls was a strange time to exist. It was as if time had come to a complete standstill. Even as she drove under the streetlights, Wendy couldn’t help but feel isolated, watching as the volumetric cones shone down on her car, a spotlight on an empty stage. Her axe and shotgun remained in the backseat. She hadn’t bothered to unpack since the camping trip. Why would she? It wasn’t as if she was dying to go back home.

She kept her speedometer some five miles below the posted speed limit. Any extra time away from the house was fine by her. Three months, and she would be back in school, hopefully only returning for the occasional break. The thrill of college more than made up for the suffocation of the Corduroy residence. 

Deer peeked at her from behind the treeline. Wendy considered brandishing her rifle and grabbing herself some dinner, but decided against it after looking them in the eyes. She never looked into the eyes of what she killed. It humanized them in a way that destroyed her appetite. 

Wendy took a slow right turn onto Maple street. The run-down shacks and mobile homes lined the sides of the road. Occasionally, an orange glow would illuminate the inside of a house, while others remained eerily empty. The smell of gunpowder lingered as the last of the Independence Day soot clouds fell from the sky. Without the glow of the fireworks, it felt as if she was driving through the aftermath of a war, with silent streets and ash-stained concrete.

The Corduroy house appeared just around the west bend. Stumps of pine trees and other remnants of her father’s work sat scattered in the driveway. A large crack had formed in the ground just to the side of their garage, probably from the earthquakes. Dad would probably make her patch it up in the morning. She sighed, parking in front of the garage and pulling her gear from the back of the truck. Only on Maple street could she leave her truck with a rifle and an axe without raising an eyebrow.

She stopped. A wave of deja vu hit her, Wendy glancing from left to right, wondering where the sudden familiarity had come from. It was as if she had been standing in that very same spot at that very same time. 

Wendy shook her head. She was just tired. A twelve-hour shift at the Mystery Shack did that to a person. Coupled with the lack of a good meal and excess of caffeine, Wendy decided that she would make herself some oatmeal before going to bed.

Something itched in the back of her mind while ascending the front stairs. She held her rifle close, just in case. If she closed her eyes she swore she could hear another heartbeat. Another breath.

Maybe dad was asleep in the living room. He rarely slept in the bedroom anymore, especially without mom. It was one of the many things that had driven her out.

Wendy fumbled with her keys and placed them inside the lock on the front door. A quick peek through the window showed no signs of activity, not even the faint glimmer of a phone screen through the darkness. 

Her footsteps echoed like gunshots through a shooting range. She almost covered her ears as the hinges on the front door squeaked, deafening over the silence of the house. The sound alone was enough to make her anxious. It reminded her of carefully treading through the woods while hunting deer. Even the most minute noises would scare them away. Or, worse, attract the attention of something else. 

Wendy pointed her rifle to the ground and fumbled around for the downstairs light switch. She found it and flicked it in, a cascade of dull orange light flooding the living room from a single dying bulb mounted on the ceiling.

One of the many downsides to having an A-frame house was how open and exposed one felt while residing in one. An open balcony overhead showed the closed doors of her brother’s bedrooms. The kitchen and bathroom were directly connected to the living room, with only a small mat in front of the door protecting the living room from the outside. Wendy could see the entirety of the house with a single turn of her head. There were no corners or railings to hide behind. The entire house was exposed.  

Wendy locked the door behind her and began the walk up the stairs to her bedroom. She was halfway there when her father stumbled out of the kitchen, half-expecting the smell of alcohol on his breath to follow.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning,” Wendy grumbled, “Not dealing with this tonight, okay?”

Her father said nothing. Wendy was about to turn around when she caught something in the dim living room light. 

“Dad?” Wendy asked.

The figure remained in the light only for a second, retreating the moment it realized that it had been seen. The hand that emerged from the dark was not that of her father. It was long and clammy, with eerily smooth fingers untouched by callus. Wendy blinked, wondering if perhaps she was having another nightmare, only for a pair of glowing eyes to snap her out of it.

Two white dots stared back at her from the corner of the living room. Had Wendy not been looking for them, she likely wouldn’t have noticed. Wendy had seen those eyes before, deep underground in Ford’s bunker. 

“Wendy,” the imposter whispered, “What are you doing coming home so late?”

“S-Shut up!” Wendy stammered, pulling her rifle up.

Her heart pounded against her chest as Wendy struggled to breathe. The memories of her nightmare came flooding back.

She hadn’t seen one of them in years. Wendy was almost ready to put the entire ordeal behind her, only to come home and find one standing in her living room.

The imposter bolted towards the front door as Wendy’s eyes met it. She watched as its hunched back passed through the living room light, showing it in the middle of its transformation. It coughed and wheezed just like dad would. It had to have learned that somewhere. It must have been watching them.

None of that mattered. Wendy ran down the stairs and turned off the safety. The shapeshifter turned to her and clawed at her torso, Wendy diving behind a coffee table before it could do any damage. 

Wood and glass from the table flew into the air. The shapeshifter reached for Wendy’s gun. Its blue mouth poked through the flesh it had pulled over its face, one last desperate attempt to conceal its identity. Wendy knew better. She had played its game before.

With a single flick of her index finger, she fired a bullet into the creature’s head at point-blank range. A mess of red and blue accompanied the deafening shockwave. Wendy was knocked to the ground with a strong ringing in her ears. A sharp pain crawled up her arm as pieces of glass and wood embedded themselves within her flesh. She let out a yell, immediately reaching for her rifle again without checking if the shapeshifter was still moving. 

Wendy fired one more shot through the front door. She only stopped when she saw the mess of red on the floor in front of her, deep crimson staining the carpet and ruining the hardwood floors. The liquid gave off a putrid stench almost like rusted metal. 

Rapid sets of footsteps upstairs rushed past the balcony and down to her side. Wendy turned around to see her father and brothers standing in the center of the living room, still in their nightclothes and armed to the teeth with axes. 

“What was that?!” Sam shrieked. 

“Wendy, what the hell are you doing?!” Dad boomed.

The family fell silent once they laid eyes on the slain beast in the living room. Wendy kelt down and poked it hesitantly, wondering if it would somehow come back to life. It had the same cold scales and reptilian structure as the shapeshifter from the bunker. Wendy breathed a sigh of relief, if not only because it was dead. There had only been one of them, right? 

It took a moment for the adrenaline to wear off. The ringing in her ears persisted. Wendy wiped the blood from her hands and turned the shapeshifter onto its back, revealing a large white inscription just above its left shoulder blade.

“Wendy?” Jack asked.

Wendy squinted and pulled the body closer. She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the mark, making sure to get a clear shot of the deceased monster.

“You’re lucky I came back when I did,” Wendy said after a moment, “This thing. It’s a shapeshifter. It was in the middle of transformation when I shot it.”

“Shapeshifter?” her father asked.

“I’ve seen these before. I locked one up. Didn’t think it could get out…” 

“And you didn’t tell us about this?”

“There’s a lot I don’t tell you, dad.”

The mark on the shapeshifter’s shoulder was shaped like an axe. Presumably, it was in the process of metamorphosing and taking the image of her father. But why? The shapeshifter had been in the bunker for the better part of six years. It had no idea about her family, or friends, or her life above the surface. Something else was going on.

Wendy poked her head out the front door and checked the ground by the garage. Her family cautiously trailed behind, glancing at her as if she herself was a shapeshifter. Wendy couldn't hold that against them. She would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. To be unfortunate enough to be attacked by a shapeshifter not once, but twice, was something that could only happen to a Corduroy.

Her eyes landed on the crack in the ground next to the garage. Gun in hand, Wendy walked forward, motioning for the others to follow her. 

“That thing?” Dad remarked, pointing at the hole, “That’s been there since this morning. Was gonna patch it up, but I had to shoot dinner first. What are you looking for?”

The hole ran along the side of the garage and inched along the edge of the driveway. Wendy opened the garage and pulled out a shovel, poking at the hole and pushing aside the loose dirt and sediment across the surface. Jagged lines of displaced dirt slowly revealed an open hole sliding deep into the underground of Gravity Falls. It was no wider than a manhole. Jack was probably the only one of them that could fit inside. 

“What the hell?” Jack remarked.

“Dad, do you want an excuse to shoot something?” Wendy asked.

Her father nodded, “Of course.”

His voice was laced with a trepidation that she rarely saw. Manly-Dan was a man of few emotions and even fewer deodorants. The pair rarely saw eye-to-eye, both literally and figuratively.  Moments like those, where they could have conversation without bickering, were becoming increasingly rare.

Wendy stepped aside and motioned to the inside of the hole, “Just in case. Light it up.”

Her father and brothers rushed inside and grabbed their own firearms. Within seconds, they were blasting away dirt and debris like there was no tomorrow, reminding Wendy of a particularly gruesome scene in Apocalypse Now. 

The neighbors didn’t seem to notice. Why would they? Her family did stuff like that all the time.

Wendy waited for the bullets to stop flying before speaking again.

“Good,” she said, “Just had to make sure.”

“You’re white as a ghost,” her father said, “Relax. It’s dead now. Don’t know why you’re scared of a little carcass.”

“We should taxidermy it and mount it over the fireplace!” Tommy cheered, “That would be awesome!”

“Yeah!” Sam added.

Wendy shook her head, “No, we’re. This thing just tried to kill us. It has to be destroyed.”

“But how else am I gonna show off to my hunting buddies?” her father asked, “Come on. Don’t be a wimp.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m the one that shot it!”

“You were at the right place at the right time. Don’t get cocky.”

“What?!”

Wendy took a deep breath through her nostrils and tried to calm herself down. Yelling at her father would get nothing done, not after almost losing him to a shapeshifter. Sometimes she wondered if all the red meat and eggs he ate was going to his head. He was the reason that they put warnings on bear traps. And shampoo bottles. 

“We’re going to make a safeword,” Wendy sighed, “Okay? Just in case this thing somehow comes back.”

“I wanna choose the safeword!” Jack pouted.

“No. I’m doing that. I’ve dealt with these things before. The safeword is flannel. Think you guys can remember that?”

“You’re being paranoid. As long as we can use our guns to shoot it, I don’t see a problem.”

“It’s gonna be a lot harder to shoot it if it has the faces of your family.”

“It didn’t get that far, did it?”

“Because I shot it!”

“And I can shoot it, too. I’ve got better aim than you.”

“Not if it’s disguised as one of us!”

“Then I’ll shoot it!”

Wendy was about ready to claw her own eyes out. 

“We’re not getting anywhere, are we?” Wendy asked, “I’m gonna go start a fire and burn this thing. Just remember the safe word. And be careful.”

Her father sighed, “If it’ll make you feel better, then yes. As long as we’ve got our guns, nothing can hurt us.”

Wendy wasn’t sure how much she believed that. 

Her dad and brothers followed her as she put together the fire. Jack and Sam pulled firewood out of the garage. 

Wendy took a moment to think. Burning the evidence might not have been the best idea, especially with something as volatile as a shapeshifter. Then again, leaving it intact posed its own risk. 

Wendy took a few more pictures of the body before setting the pile of logs alight. She hesitated to move the body over the crackling flames. Part of her wondered if she even wanted to touch it. 

“Wait,” Wendy said, her brothers working to move the body, “Don’t touch it. I changed my mind.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” Her father snapped, “Can’t you make up your mind on anything?”

“I don’t want to burn the evidence yet,” Wendy shrugged, trying to ignore her father’s ignorance, “I want someone else to take a look at this.” 

“That would have looked a lot nicer over the fireplace,” Wendy’s father said, “Just saying…”

Wendy has lost the urge to fight. There were more urgent matters on her mind, the first of which was getting a phone call to Stan and Ford. They were the only two with enough history to know what was going on. Once they knew, then she would tell Dipper and Mabel. Their shapeshifter prank during the camping trip had left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe that was why she had been on edge on the way home. Maybe that was where the nightmare had come from.

Ford picked up the phone first. She figured he would, given how late he stayed up in his lab.

Her father and brothers walked away as Wendy explained the situation. They lost interest the second they stopped being able to shoot it. 

“I need you to come down here tomorrow,” Wendy said over the phone.

“What is it?” Ford asked.

“Shapeshifter. I think you’ll know more about it than I will.”

Chapter Text

He claimed he was trapped. 

“Should be all rigged up…”

Sitting in the house all day would do nothing. With the help of her brothers, Wendy had rigged up an apparatus to keep the shapeshifter in place should it somehow rise from the dead. Sam had supplied her with a motion-sensing camera from the hunting spots deeper in the woods. Any movement would trigger a pulley and grab the shapeshifter's limbs. If that didn’t work, they had blocked the beast inside with the living room couch and coffee table. The only way that thing was getting out was if it ripped the house off of its foundation.

“I’m gonna go grab some breakfast and bring Stan and Ford over here,” Wendy said, “You guys keep an eye on this. You have your guns, right?”

Sam saluted, “Yes!”

“If that thing moves, you blow it up, okay? No mercy!”

Her brothers cheered. 

Wendy, at first, wasn’t comfortable leaving her family alone with the shapeshifter. She only allowed herself to do so when she remembered her brothers’ love of shooting. If that shapeshifter somehow reanimated itself, they would blast it away before it had a chance to stand up. The motion-detection and rigged trap were there purely for backup and peace of mind. 

“You guys want anything at the diner?” Wendy asked, “I’ll be fast. You’ve gotta be getting tired of venison by now.”

Her brothers shook their heads.

“If anything happens, call me,” Wendy said, halfway out the door, “I know it probably won’t. But just in case. I don’t want dad alone in the house with this thing.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Jack said enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

Wendy slipped out the door. She took a final glance through the window to make sure that the shapeshifter was still dead. Nothing short of a miracle could bring that thing back to life. Staying in the house would do her no good. She had been up for most of the night ruminating, convinced that each small creak in the floorboard or thump against the wall was the reanimated shapeshifter. Her sleep had been disturbed by vivid nightmares and auditory hallucinations, even laughter at some points. Fresh air was the only thing that could keep her from flying over the edge into insanity. 

A woodpecker flew from the top of her truck and disappeared into the trees. She envied its simple life, not having to deal with the existential dread of nightmares and shapeshifters. All it had to do was get up, find a worm, and stay in its nest. Occasionally, it could find utility in pounding its head into a tree, waking any nearby creatures with its jackhammer-esque sound. 

She put the keys in the ignition. Jack gave her a thumbs-up from the window. Wendy turned off Do-Not-Disturb on her phone, not wanting to miss a single second.

She had considered calling the police. Then she remembered how useless Durland and Blubs were when it came to fighting the supernatural. A lying child-psychic they could handle. A malevolent shapeshifter they could not. That was better to be left in the hands of the resident eggheads, who were going to meet her at the house later that afternoon. Ford had asked for some lead time to prepare his instruments and get out his gear. 

Wendy dreaded those next few hours. Waiting for Stan and Ford to get themselves put together was like watching a glacier creep across a valley. A warm breakfast was just what she needed. Maybe she could strike up some conversation with Lazy Susan. Her chatty nature and upbeat smile could help Wendy forget. It was a shame that she and Stan hadn’t worked out. Wendy would have liked to see her around the Mystery Shack. Plus, there would probably be a discount at the diner. 

The neon “OPEN” sign appeared as Wendy pulled out onto main street. She spun the steering wheel to the right, running over a pothole before finding a parking spot at the front entrance to the diner. Given that it was only six in the morning, Wendy anticipated that she was the first one there. Just what she needed.

Morning dew from the grass clung to Wendy’s sneakers before she stepped inside. The inside of the diner smelled of eggs, bacon, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. What better way to start the day?

A man at the front door stared at Wendy as she stepped inside. He was older, probably in his fifties or sixties, eyes fixated on her and unmoving. She had dealt with creeps before. With one hand on her keys, Wendy passed by the man as he held the door for her, bracing for whatever heinous vulgarities would fly from his mouth. 

“Mornin’” the man nodded.

A cold hand reached out and grabbed Wendy’s. She spun around, unnerved by his clamminess. She swatted him away, only for his grip to tighten. 

Their eyes locked. His pupils were narrow, as if staring into a bright light. His mouth trembled and highlighted the patchy grey stubble along his face. Wendy tried to wiggle free, but his grip had tightened considerably. She noticed tremors in his fingers, moving as if the muscles themselves were out of his control.

“Hey!” Wendy snapped, “Lay off!”

The man closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened them, releasing his hand and sprinting out of the front door of the diner, disappearing into the parking lot.

She took a moment to catch her breath, huffing and puffing in the entrance to the diner. The shapeshifter attack had put her on edge. Something as simple as the chirping of the morning songbirds was enough to trigger her fight-or-flight response. The man was lucky she didn’t have her knife on her, otherwise she’d be calling an ambulance. 

Deciding that she needed to be somewhere with more people, Wendy stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She straightened her flannel and regained her stride. 

Wendy was quite surprised to find another man sitting at the counter, while Lazy Susan stood just behind the kitchen window squeezing orange juice into a pitcher from just behind. The second man wore a dark green flannel and a black hat that covered most of his eyes. Wendy reached for her keys again, prepared for another confrontation, only putting them down upon getting a closest look. Tattered blue jeans and heavy wrinkles around his lips rang a bell of familiarity. Wendy only recognized the man when she sat down at the seat next to him. 

Tate McGucket. 

She had only seen Tate a handful of times, mostly at the pier by Gravity Falls lake, and once at the funeral. She had meant to speak with him. Aside from helping Mabel hand off her card, she had mostly avoided him. What was she supposed to say to a man that had lost his father? A pat on the back and a free chunk of venison could only get someone so far. He seemed like the kind of man that would appreciate personal space. 

“Mornin’ Wendy!” Lazy Susan said, left eye wandering haphazardly across her face, “Haven’t seen you here in a bit. How’s college?”

“As good as it can be,” Wendy said, still trying to shake the jitters from her encounter at the front door, “About to start my senior year. Soaking up the summer while I can.”

“You look pale. Let me get you some orange juice for that. On the house!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, honey. I insist.”

Lazy Susan’s smile was contagious. Even after such a long night, she found the energy to smile back with contagious joy. 

“You a regular?” Tate asked after a moment.

He spoke with a low pitch and slow annunciation. He almost sounded drunk. 

“No, but she knows me,” Wendy said awkwardly, not knowing whether or not she should continue, “Good place to go early in the morning. Used to come here all the time before our family hunting trips.”

“Hey, I know you,” Tate grumbled, “You’re that Corduroy gal. Dan’s kid, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I used to see you at my dock. You were with those mystery-solvin’ twins.The ones that my dad always talked about?”

“Yeah…”

“And their uncle. Uh, Stanford Pines, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be. Haven’t seen any of you guys since the funeral. And I’m pretty sure you’re the gal that gave us firewood.” 

“Yep. I’ve still got more if you need it. Just say the word. No charge.”

“No, no need. I’ve been meaning to thank you. Dad really appreciated everything you did for him, even though his mind wasn’t really all the way there. He always talked about you. Even when he forgot your name.”

“If it’s okay for me to ask, did you ever figure out what he had?”

Tate shook his head solemnly, “Nope. I wanted to get him tested, but by that point…he was too far gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Look. Things happen. Not much I could have done.”

There was a pause in the conversation, only interrupted by the clanking of dishes and sloshing of glasses full of orange juice. Lazy Susan returned and handed Wendy her drink. Tate watched her drink it, the bags under his eyes catching the fluorescent light of the overhead fixtures. He looked ten years older.

“Can I ask for your help?” Tate asked after a moment, “I feel like you’re the only ones that’ll know what was wrong with my pops.”

“Sure,” Wendy replied hesitantly, “What do you need us to look at?”

“Ya got time to come down to the shack after you eat?” he asked, southern drawl elongating his vowels, “I won’t keep ya very long. I just need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Of course. Anything for McGucket.”

Wendy ordered an Eggs Benedict with another glass of orange juice. She wasn’t normally one to eat a fatty breakfast, but that day, she decided to treat herself. She must have lost half her body weight just pacing. 

“Everything’s just been off since he’s been gone…” Wendy sighed, “Last night, my family was attacked by a shapeshifter.”

Tate’s eyes went wide, “A shapeshifter? Those are real? I thought dad was just babblin’ like he always did. Like with that Gobbelwonker.”

“Do you know what your dad did?”

“I know he went bonkers and left me and mom when I was a tot. Glad he finally got himself together, but something happened with his brain. He would tell me all these crazy things. Something about a Blind Eye. Memory guns-”

“You know the memory gun is real, right? We have it at the Mystery Shack.”

“What?”

“He didn’t tell you much, did he.”

“The only thing I know is real is that goddamn triangle. And that’s cause I saw it!”

“You might want another cup of coffee for this.”

Over the course of an hour and a considerable breakfast bill, Wendy explained McGucket’s past to his unsuspecting son, secrets that were supposed to go with him to the grave. McGucket had clearly wanted him to know. If it wasn’t for his mind being fried from the memory gun, maybe he would have been able to make his case more convincingly. Wendy had the benefit of a working brain. She slowly inched Tate into the bottomless pit of his father’s past, like teaching a child to swim. She moved slowly and kept things calm. The story started with Ford’s disappearance, then the journals, the Blind Eye, and Weirdmageddon. She saved the memory gun part until the end. That would be the hardest part for him to digest.

Afterwards, Tate and Wendy left the diner, leaving a considerable tip for Lazy Susan. Tate left the diner first and led Wendy to his house over the hill, where Wendy had been making firewood deliveries just a month prior. 

Chipped blue paint tried to cover the rotting foundations of the house. A row of cement blocks stood in the front yard, presumably some half-finished construction job. Dead trees and decaying leaves lined the ground. Empty gas canisters, trash that hadn’t been taken out in months, and a gloomy disposition consumed the sorry shack. An outhouse had been constructed just at the edge of the property line. Wendy shuddered to imagine what was inside. 

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Tate sighed, “With all the stress of taking care of dad, I didn’t have time.”

“No judgment here,” Wendy said facetiously, “My house has a dead shapeshifter inside of it.”

Throughout breakfast, Wendy had been checking her phone for updates from her brothers. They sent her a selfie from in front of the mangled corpse. She chuckled and replied back to them, saying that she would be back within the hour with Stan and Ford to investigate. 

Tate led her through the front door. Wendy had never been further inside than the living room, but the heavy stench of mildew and sogginess in the air brought her back. It was as if she was breathing water. A moldy sofa sat in the center of the living room next to an empty fireplace. Ashes sat in the center of the grate along with bits of charcoal. They had long since lost their gleam, instead becoming coarse with the depositing of sediments and accumulation of ash. She suspected that Tate hadn’t touched the fireplace since McGucket’s death. 

“You’ve seen the living room,” Tate said, “I’m going to show you the bedroom. He made these…drawings. And after what you told me, I’m worried.”

The staircase wasn’t in any better shape than the rest of the house. It moaned and groaned beneath their weight, Wendy clutching the railing and preparing for the worst. Water dripped from holes in the ceiling that exposed corroded pipes and black mold. 

“You might want to get a plumber to look at that,” Wendy remarked, “This can’t be good for you.”

“Neither was dad dyin’. But I’m still here,” Tate replied gruffly as they arrived at the bedroom door, “This is it. I’m sorry for what you might see.”

Wendy’s curiosity got the best of her. She pushed the door open and peered her head inside, the sour stench of rotting food and wood hitting her like a punch to the face.

At first, she thought the walls of the room were black. Only through squinting her eyes was she able to see the faded pieces of yellow wallpaper that had once lined the inside. McGucket had used any free space on the wall as a personal drawing board. There were sketches of machines, incoherent messages written gibberish, and other drawings that Wendy would have to go closer to see.

Tate, meanwhile, stood silently in the corner, head down as he scrolled on his phone. She couldn’t imagine that it was easy for him. Taking a borderline stranger into the room where your father had lost his mind wasn’t on Wendy’s list of good ideas. She was surprised he had even let her in. 

She took out her phone and began snapping pictures of the scene. Anything she missed during her initial search, she could poke through after she got back home. A particular series of drawings just above McGucket’s bed caught Wendy’s attention. 

One of the pictures was of a salamander, or something of the like, floating over what looked like a galaxy. McGucket wasn’t known for his penmanship. It felt more like an ink-blot test than an actual drawing. To the left of the salamander was a series of garbled text much like the text on the metal sheet. 

ZCLOLGO. Nb grnv szh xlnv gl yfim. R rmelpv gsv zmxrvmg kldvi gszg R nzb ivgfim!

Finally, at the far right, was a hastily drawn image of a triangle with an open eye. No question on what that was.

Wendy couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, as if a black hole had formed in her stomach. The shapeshifter attack, the earthquakes, and the journal. Everything about it rubbed Wendy the wrong way. Sure, most of it was probably the rambling of an old man losing his mind, but what if it wasn’t? McGucket had been right about Bill the first time around. What if there was something else at play?

“I’m going to give you my phone number,” Wendy said to Tate, “I’m coming back here. I’ll call you. Okay?”

Tate nodded and handed her an old flip phone. Wendy quickly added her number, hoping that there wouldn't be any delays. She needed answers.

“Feel free to tell us if you need anything,” Wendy said, “I’ve gotta run back to the house. But I’ll be back. Don’t touch anything up here if you can help it. I want it to be as pure as possible. I’ll give you a whole year’s worth of firewood if I have to!”

“Don’t worry, I ain’t touching nothing,” Tate said. 

“Anything else happen with your dad? Just curious.”

Wendy pulled a notebook from her pocket once they reached the bottom of the stairs. Standing at the front door, Wendy wrote her notes by the glow of sunlight through the open window.

“A lot of it makes sense now,” Tate said, “He kept screaming about a memory gun. And that he felt something ‘getting closer.’ I thought it was just Weirdmageddon nightmares coming back. He never really was the same after all ‘at.” 

“That’s going to help us a lot. Thanks, Tate. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sharp chirps from excited woodpeckers filled the air while Wendy stepped outside. The unmowed grass and hazardous vegetation made her thankful for her jeans. Poison ivy, poison oak, and other hostile plants sprouted from vines creeping along the ground, ready to ensnare anyone unfortunate enough to touch them with exposed skin. The shape of the leaves was enough to scare her. They were sharp, pointed like bloody daggers just waiting to pierce skin. Although she had never been a botanist, Wendy knew which plants to avoid, and was half-considering sending Tate a quote for lawn care. She had no idea how he managed to live there. 

Wendy picked up the phone and called her brothers. The door of her truck slammed shut behind her as Sam picked up, his voice bouncy and animated like a child with a new toy.

“Everything okay?” Wendy asked, “I’m on my way back.”

“Yep,” Sam replied, “It’s just sittin’ there. Very dead. Sorta smells bad.”

“Awesome. Keep an eye on it. I’m calling Stan and Ford now.”

“Cool!”

Almost on cue, Wendy’s phone began to vibrate with a call from Ford. She turned the keys in the ignition and picked it up.

“Hello?” Wendy asked.

“Wendy,” Ford said, his voice raspy and gruff, “Stan and I are packing up the car. Is the shapeshifter still there?”

“Yes.”

“Is it dead?” 

“Yes.”

“Fantastic. We’ll be at the house in twenty minutes.”

“Same here.”

The bumpy road outside of Tate’s house threatened Wendy’s suspension, the truck jerking up and down with each dip. Small pebbles took to the skies and flew outward from their position on the ground. A heaviness lifted from her shoulders as Tate’s house faded into a distance. There was a weight within the walls, like a demon that had infused itself into the wallpaper.

Woodland streets gave way to the main village. Wendy passed by the diner once again, reflecting fondly on the eggs benedict she had eaten that morning. For a day that had been all flavors of weird, she was happy to indulge herself just one time. 

Most of the ride home was spent reflecting on McGucket’s final days. Wendy recalled his shriveled form, hardly more than a hundred pounds, sitting in the center of the living room. He was emaciated and overcome with fatigue. He hardly spoke to her, only muttering a thank you as he rotted away in the dark house. Maybe she could have done more. It was why Wendy tried to avoid having old friends. Watching them rot and knowing there was nothing she could do was terrible. Stan and Ford weren’t too far behind McGucket in terms of age. She wondered how much time she had left until she was delivering firewood to their nursing homes, watching the fierce men she had once known shrivel away into old age. It saddened her just to think about it.