#[ i made the sweater in true mabel fashion ]

[mvltiversed]

not me dressing as mabel today, after i did ford yesterday. im gonna see how long i can go with this fkfjdkfj

[aba-daba-dooo]

Commencement- Gravity Falls 10 Years Later Zine (ao3 link included)

@gf10yearslaterzine

Mabel stood on the gravelly sidewalk just outside the football field, which felt rough and uneven against her high heeled shoes. The wind blew her hair around, which was disappointing because she spent hours that morning trying to get the curls to lay just right. But she had bigger problems right now. As she waited in line for the promenade, Mabel realized there was no one standing to her right. Ok well, there was someone there, but it was a stranger. She peeked around the bleachers – no one standing on the stage either.

Dipper was missing seven minutes before their college graduation ceremony. Mabel tried to convince herself there was some ridiculous reason why he was late. Maybe he had spilled coffee down the front of his shirt? Or maybe while trying to put on his tie he accidentally tied himself into one big knot? But neither of those reasons seemed very good. Dipper was far too anxious to be late for anything.

The twins liked to pretend like going to the same college was a happy accident. Mabel claimed it was because the college was just a few blocks away from the city’s art district and would help her find work in a studio or museum. Dipper simply said it was because the school offered him the best scholarships, and was also willing to let him attempt his ambitious triple major. Of course, the true reason was that it was the only school they had both agreed on.

Giving a cautious glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was around to scold her for leaving, Mabel slipped out of her place in the line and hurried around the football field. They were running out of time and he needed to be there.

Turning around by the concessions stand, Mabel found a familiar lanky figure passing back and forth across the grass. Dipper muttered to himself, flipping through the stack of notecards in his hands. His black gown whipped in the wind and curled around his legs with each anxious step he took.

“Bro, you gotta be back at the ceremony like… now!” Mabel exclaimed. “Come on, Mr. Commencement Speaker. Let’s go!”

Dipper looked up, realizing that she was there. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I’m just— augh! I feel so nervous. I can’t believe I said yes to doing this. What was I thinking?” He continued to pace more frantically, his shiny black dress shoes leaving scuff marks in the grass.

Mabel shrugged, “Probably because it’s a huge honor. And you’ve totally earned it.”

He made a nervous expression, face pale and mouth twisted up. He rubbed at his upper arm, an old nervous habit. “Have I earned it? I mean, what am I really going to achieve after this?”

Mabel had done so well for herself, he thought. People like to say art degrees are useless, but in her usual fashion, Mabel had proved all those people wrong. Her senior project titled “Apocalypses and Dream Bubbles” sold to a collector. She had won several prizes in competitions and, not to mention, her charity focused on knitting sweaters for the homeless had done very well. Mabel would be fine after graduation.

Dipper knew he had much to also be proud of. Being a triple major in Biology, Physics, and Film Production with a 4.0 is no small feat. Yet he still felt small and ill prepared for what the world had to offer. You’d think after surviving a demonic armageddon that he would feel more confident in himself, but you would be wrong.

“What about MIT? Have they gotten back to you about grad school yet?”

He gave a slow nod. “Accepted.”

“That’s incredible, Dip! It won’t be long until I’m introducing everyone to my brother, Dr. Pines.” Playfully, Mabel nudged her elbow into his side.

Dipper chucked, “Grunkle Ford is also a doctor, and he has like… 12 PhDs.”

“Eh,” she waved a hand flippantly. “He went to school in the 70’s back when things were easy and you could pay for college with a summer job.”

That got a chuckle to rise up from Dipper’s chest, a temporary moment of relief. “I guess that’s true. But I just…” his voice drifted off along with his thoughts. “I’m not sure if that’s what I want.”

“Not what you want? Pfft. You love school and nerdy stuff. MIT should be begging on their knees for you to go there.”

“But what comes after MIT?” he said, a bit more forceful in his tone. “What will I do? What’s my calling? My purpose? You’ve found your calling. You’ll get to paint and travel and work with your charity.” Mabel flushed a deep pink in her checks. She fiddled with the tassel on her graduation cap. “What’s wrong?” Dipper asked.

“I’m not sure what comes after that either,” she admitted. “Sure, I’m doing all the things I love now. But what will happen in a few years? I’m…” Mabel paused, struggling to put her feelings into concise thoughts. “Scared. What if the future isn’t everything I want it to be?”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall of the concessions stand, nearly knocking the cap off his head. “I’m scared of that too.”

Mabel pursed her lips in thought. “Remember the first summer in Gravity Falls?”

“It’s a little hard to forget considering the amount of times we almost died.”

“Yeah, but looking beyond all the horrifying monsters and near-death experiences.”

Dipper closed his eyes, thinking back to those days– the hot sun on the back of his neck, the sting of breath in his lungs as he ran screaming from monsters. “I miss the adventure,” he said. “The adrenaline coursing through me.”

“Mediocre pancakes from Greasy’s Diner. That funny, moldy smell in the Mystery Shack.” She breathed in, as if the scent were in front of her. “Seeing all of our friends. Hanging out with Stan and Ford.”

Kicking one foot into the grass, a billow of dry dirt flew into the air, Dipper let it dirty the tops of his once clean shoes. “I want to study the supernatural, like Ford did. And I want to start in Gravity Falls and do my own research. And, I know you have all of these plans for the summer, but if you wanted to come with me–”

Mabel cut him off, gripping him at the shoulders and jumping up and down. “Yes! Definitely! Absolutely!” With each jump, she shook Dipper back and forth like a doll.

He braced her arms and pushed her away, blinking the stars from his eyes. “Alright!” he chuckled.

Mabel gave him a knowing smile that tugged gently at the sides of her mouth. She held out a fist. “The mystery twins are back in action.”

Dipper grinned back and bumped his fist into hers. “We definitely are.”

The twins laughed, feeling like children for the first time in years.

From across the football field, they could hear the commencement music starting to play. Mabel grabbed Dipper by the forearm and pulled him back towards where students were lined up alphabetically by last name. They wiggled into their positions in the line just moments before they were set to walk along the grass. Mabel walked in unison with the music, each of her steps radiating delight and confidence, while Dipper tried his hardest not to see how many people were in the crowds.

Throughout the ceremony, Mabel gave Dipper a few pats on the shoulder. She knew he would give a great speech, he just needed some support. Once the graduation ceremony was over, they would be packing their bags and headed off to a summer in Gravity Falls.

The president of the college leaned forward into the microphone. “I would now like to welcome our Student Commencement Speaker, Mason Pines.” Dipper grimaced. He had specifically asked them to call him Dipper.

Dipper made his way up to the stage that was placed in the center of the football field. The sun blinded his vision and made thick beads of sweat trickle down his face. He shuffled the notecards in his hand anxiously. He sucked in a breath, realizing how long he must have been standing in front of the microphone without saying anything. He had spent hours preparing his speech, making sure it contained all the best quotes from Albert Einstein and Maya Angelou and even a joke to lighten the mood. But at that moment, he realized he really didn’t care about the speech at all.

Looking at the crowd, he tried not to feel daunted by the photographers standing nearby or the president of the college standing to his right. Instead, he looked at Mabel, the paint-splattered stole around her shoulders and the goofy grin on her face as she gave him a thumbs up. He saw his parents, happily looking at him through the lens of a phone. And of course, Stan and Ford. Stan was clapping and shouting as loud as he possibly could, while Ford nodded his head in approval.

Dipper set down the notecards and instead focused his family. He swallowed, feeling the nerves start to take over, but began to speak. “I spent my first summer in Gravity Falls when I was a kid with my twin sister, Mabel.”

Mabel hollered from her seat and pumped her fist in the air. “Yeah!”

Dipper cracked a grin, feeling the anxiety subside. “The summer we spent there was full of uncertainty. Everything felt new and even dangerous. But it reminded me that the world is full of magic and adventure. So long as you have the right people with you, anything is possible. I think we should keep chasing that adventure; that wonder and awe we haven’t felt since we were kids. Your Gravity Falls is out there somewhere.”

He looked back at Mabel, who had turned around to wave at Stan and Ford in the crowd. He felt his face flush, hot from the sun and excitement for the future. “Some people think it's a myth,” Dipper continued. “But if you're curious, don't wait. Take a trip. Find it. It's out there somewhere in the woods. Waiting.”

[beatrice-babe]

Whirlwind of Carefully Controlled Color

AO3

Ford was not sulking. Not sulking and not brooding whatsoever. He was just…working. In the basement. In the dark. Alone. Staring at his worktable and doing nothing for hours.

In theory, he was supposed to be organizing the room. He had dismantled the portal a few weeks ago, but the scrap was still around, vaguely sorted into piles of reusable and trash. His hands were covered in little cuts and scrapes from the debris, and Ford drummed his fingers on the tabletop, watching the shadows play around his knuckles. If I had five fingers, the world would have been very different, he mused to himself. Or at least, less likely to end at any given moment.

“Grunkle Ford!” Ford spun around, surprised to see Mabel exiting the elevator. He frowned, stepping forward into the observation chamber to stop her from entering the lab proper.

“Mabel, it’s dangerous down here. Let’s go back upstairs.”

Mabel frowned up at him as he started chivvying her toward the elevator, “But you and Dipper played down here yesterday?” Ford couldn’t deny that; there was Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons paraphernalia scattered around the room.

“Yes, but I’m done for the day anyway.” That much was mostly true. In truth, he didn’t want Mabel in the basement for far more simple reasons. Dipper was a reasonable child, easily understanding and respectful of the instruments in the basement. He was careful. But Mabel…Mabel tended to be more of a whirlwind. More movement, louder, less careful. The laboratory wasn’t made for any of those particular characteristics.

“Oh good!” Mabel said, startling Ford out of his reverie. “I was thinking we should do a project together and I need some help.”

“Help with what?” Had she been assigned physics homework over the summer?

Mabel looked up at him as the door opened into the main lab area and she led the way up the stairs three at a time, bursting out from behind the vending machine and striking a dramatic pose for no one in particular.

“Help with FASHION!”

Waddles looked up at her from a patch of sunshine and oinked in acknowledgement of her presence.

Ford stopped on the last step out of the basement. “Mabel, I think—”

“Not help creating fashion. Your fashion sense isn’t a cause worth saving, at this point.” Ford decided she had a fair point, as he owned approximately three sweaters and had been wearing the same coat for almost fifteen years. “I need help executing fashion. Specifically, I need help with these.” Mabel pulled at least four bottles of nail polish from seeming nowhere, each more neon and glittery than the last.

“Help with…those?”

“I need help painting. Wendy’s gone, Dipper tends to get distracted halfway through, and Stan keeps insisting that seeing that much glitter up close gives him cataracts.”

“It does!” Stan shouted from the living room. Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and shouted back to him,

“Adaptation is the key to survival, Grunkle Stan.”

Ford hear Stan mumble something about agreeing to disagree, but he grinned at his great-niece.

“I’d be delighted to help you with your nails.”

Dipper walked through, notebook in hand. Without even looking up, he stated. “She’s going to paint your nails.”

“Dipper!” Mable said, “Don’t spoil my scheme!”

“I’ve had my nails painted before,” Ford said with a shrug. Mabel looked up at him, a newfound respect in her eyes. Ford elaborated, “In a variety of cultures, personal adornment was necessary as a way of communicating social status as well as clan affiliations. Nail polish was easier than tattoos.” And after a very particular tattoo had appeared from a particularly well-meaning Ashtokoschen, Ford had decided painting his fingernails was the top priority when entering a society based on personal adornment.

Mabel turned to look at Dipper, “See? Nail polish helps science!”

Dipper eyed her skeptically.

Ford clarified, “It assists in anthropological study.”

“Nail polish helps science,” Mabel repeated wisely. Dipper smiled and shook his head, heading out the front door.

“Just try to keep the glitter radius to a minimum. I’m tired of my teeth sparkling whenever I use a fork.”

“No promises!” Mabel shouted as the door closed behind her brother. She excited sat down at the table, placing her hands on the table, practically wiggling in anticipation. Ford smiled at her antics, sitting down beside her and eying the polish she’d put on the table.

“So which color are you using today?”

“Duh, Grunkle Ford, all of the them!”

He raised an eyebrow, picking up the polishes. “You’re going to pair ‘Back to the Fuchsia’ with—“ he lifted another bottle, squinting at the name on the bottom, “—‘Blood of My Enemies’?”

“Typically I’d pair ‘Blood of My Enemies’ with ‘Reflect Light Like a Rhinestone’, but I ran out last week. ‘Back to the Fuchsia’ brings the right level of whimsy.”

Ford couldn’t disagree. He picked up a green bottle that seemed to glow vaguely, examining it carefully. There was no obvious brand or name on the bottle, making almost mundane were it not also the most painful shade of lurid green Ford had seen and the way it shimmered almost menacingly. “Mabel, what’s—”

“Hush money from the vegetarian kelpie. She doesn’t want the gnomes to know I’ve been sneaking her Chipackers. They only leave her alone because she keeps threatening to eat them. But look at this Grunkle Ford!” She plucked the green bottle from his hands, shaking it. The vague glow started pulsating and Ford thought he could hear some kind of electric tone keeping beat with the pulsing light. “It’s my own portable rave!”

Ford blinked at it. He didn’t even know Gravity Falls had a kelpie. He picked up ‘Void Essence’ and shook it idly, trying to stir up the gold glitter that had settled in the bottom.

“You’ve got twelve colors here. Which ones do you want to use?”

“Hm,” Mabel eyed her collection critically. She put two colors next to each other, then arranged a few in a triad before letting out an exasperated, “Blargh! There’s too many good combinations. I need to see what they look like, how the coats layer and their glitter content before I can choose. And wow, would you look at that, twelve colors!” Her eyes slid to Ford, who suddenly got the distinct impression he’d been had.

Stan barked out a laugh from the living room but said nothing else on the subject.

Ford tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. “You may paint my nails if you wish.”

“Why Grunkle Ford, I’d never ask that of you!” Mabel said as she uncapped ‘Reality is an Illusion’, a holographic silver. She grinned at him, “But since you offered…”

Ford spread his twelve fingers on the table.

“Now tell me about this kelpie. Freshwater?”

“Of course. But the real is dirt is on the saltwater kelpies—” And Mabel launched into a full breakdown of the intergroup politics of the saltwater kelpies, including the scandals of the royal family for the last fifty years. Ford listened intently, fascinated. He’d never truly considered the culture of the creatures in Gravity Falls. They’d all been so interesting from a scientific perspective, he hadn’t bothered to take an anthropological perspective on them until going through the portal and it had become a game of adapt or die. But Mabel had ingratiated herself with a kelpie, of all animals, and even deigned to paint his thumb with the glowing green polish.

Ford was so entranced by her story that when she declared his nails done, he was surprised to look down and find each nail perfectly painted a different color. He brought them closer to his eye for inspection. Sure enough, the glitter content in each blinded him momentarily, but they were painted perfectly. No polish on the skin, no bits of nail showing through, no uneven coats or unintentional texture.

“Mabel, this is very well-done painting.”

“Thank you! I learned by doing it very badly multiple times.”

Ford didn’t think he’d even seen her take such care with anything. Mabel was such an animated storyteller, he’d almost been expecting to come away with more polish on his wrist than on his nails. But they were perfect.

He was pulled from his inspection when Mabel spread her fingers on the table. “Okay, now do mine. Thumb in ‘Void Essence’, pointer in ‘Sacre Bleu’, middle in ‘Phenomenal Cosmic Power’—no not that one, it’s the one with the pink swirls—ring finger in ‘Blood of My Enemies’, and pinky in ‘Kerprank’d!’.”

Ford eyed her skeptically as he added ‘Kerprank’d!’ to the lineup, an aggressively bright purple. Mabel looked at her selection and nodded.

As Ford uncapped ‘Void Essence’ and started painting in steady strokes, he realized that Mabel absolutely did not need his help with this. He’d seen how she did his nails; her lines were perfect. He had no doubt she’d done her own nails hundreds of times. But she’d asked him for help. Strange.

Mabel lifted her painted hand and blew across the nails, checking out his work.

“Very nice, Grunkle Ford. You even got the glitter even across the whole nail!”

Ford smiled at her approval, before he realized with a jolt this was the first time he’d really spent time with Mabel. He and Dipper had been playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons every day, and somehow this was the first time he’d talked one-on-one with Mabel. Instantly, he felt guilty about the rather obvious oversight.

As Ford swiped the last of ‘Gar-Feeling It’—orange with flecks of black in it—over Mabel’s thumb nail on her other hand, he put the polish away, sitting back to admire his handiwork. It wasn’t as perfect as Mabel’s, but perfectly serviceable for being stuck in another dimension.

Mabel blew across her nails, wiggling them to watch how they light caught the paint.

“Perfect. Thank you Grunkle Ford!” She went for a hug, then stopped at her wet nails. She settled for patting him on the arm before hopping off the chair and shouting, “Grunkle Stan, I’m going to drive the golf cart to dry my nails!”

“Make good choices sweetie!” Stan called from the living room, not looking up from his ‘Gold Chains for Old Men’ issue.

Mabel headed for the door but before she left, Ford spoke up. “Mabel, if you want to, you’re welcome to come down to the lab with Dipper tomorrow. Perhaps the three of us could play a game and paint Dipper’s nails.”

Mabel grinned at him, braces shining. “Thanks, Grunkle Ford!”

As she ran out the door, swiped golf cart keys in hand, Ford examined his perfectly painted nails. Quite an enlightening afternoon indeed.

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 7: Dark Void (Gravity Falls Same Coin Theory)

Summary: An encounter in the Mindscape begins to expose a harsh reality that none of the Pines want to face, Stan least of all.

Warnings: Manipulation through lying, (brief) self-blame

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

“There’s nothing down there,” Stan repeated, coils of dark fog winding around his arms and seeping into the sleeves of his suit. “You should have stayed in the real world, Ford.”

In the vending machine behind him, a black liquid began to rise in level, filling it until its lights no longer flickered and the sounds of the piano music grew muffled. Then, the darkness began to seep out and snake across the floorboards like an oil leak, staining everything black.

Ford’s stomach churned, and a sickening sour-sweet taste burned at the back of his throat. “Stanley, you… you have to have heard that song, you couldn’t have not heard —”

Stan tilted his head like a confused dog, expression still impossibly blank. “Song?”

From either Dipper or Mabel, Ford heard a sharp, upset intake of breath, mirroring the tightening feeling in his heart. “What — what did Bill do to you?!” he gasped.

“Bill?” Stan murmured. “Bill’s dead.”

He paused. “Right, Stanford?”

Finally, there was something flickering in his expression — the faintest hint of fear, of vulnerability, like a frightened child turning to a trusted adult for reassurance. “We killed him. Didn’t we?”

“You’re scared of what’s behind that machine,” Ford realized aloud. Curling his hands into fists to hide how much they were shaking, he added: “Stanley, I know it’s frightening, but you can’t just… trap yourself in some fantasy where everything’s alright. I’m sorry, but in order to fix this, you have to admit that Bill isn’t —”

Stan flinched, and as the wave of terror contorted his face, a bolt of blue lightning flew across the room, illuminating its every detail for a few brilliant microseconds.

“T-there’s nothing down there, I told you!” Stan stumbled away from his family, pressing his back to the dripping, almost unrecognizable vending machine. At his feet, a whirlpool of darkness grew, throwing off tendrils that struck the few remaining light patches and drowned them in shadow.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper and Mabel cried out in unison, just as Soos yelled “Mr. Pines!” and stepped forwards —

The Shack shuddered, floorboards torn apart beneath Soos’s feet. From beneath them, there erupted a geyser of cold, churning, all-consuming blackness —

“Soos!” Mabel yelled, reaching forward — but his form had already vanished into the plume of dark water. “Soos! Soos, say something! Are you —”

“If you won’t leave,” Stan interrupted, speaking in only a whisper yet somehow becoming the most commanding voice in the room, “then I guess I’ll have to…”

He made a motion like he was snapping his fingers, but no noise came. Around Soos, the water swirled into a perfect sphere, floating off the ground and towards the impossibly high ceiling until it disappeared into the ink-black clouds.

“Grunkle Stan, t-that wasn’t you, was it?” Dipper stammered. “You wouldn’t —”

Stan stared downwards as the fog around him thickened, droplets of darkness condensing on his fingers and then rolling off, joining the rivers that carved their way between upturned floorboards. They flowed stronger and stronger, wider and wider, splitting off separate channels that wound around the Pines and forming a constantly shifting web.

Dipper pulled Ford back from one of them, only to nearly stumble into another himself before Ford caught him. His knuckles were white as he gripped Ford’s hand.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Stan said.

“Stanley…” Ford whispered. “Stanley, please…”

Mabel took a single cautious step towards Stan, watching the floor carefully, but one of the darkest clouds above released an absolute waterfall of a downpour, sending a wave of blackness cascading down towards her —

Without a moment to spare, Ford summoned a glowing rectangular blue barrier above her, tilted to direct the water back towards the foggy chasm — but even then, Mabel barely had enough time to dive out of the way before it shattered, its fragments dissolving into darkness.

“Run,” Ford choked out, wiping dark splashes off his face with a trembling arm. When Dipper and Mabel turned to him in shock, he raised his voice: “Run! It’s too dangerous to stay here!”

Because Ford had been horribly mistaken, because this just couldn’t be the real Stan, because Stan would never do anything like this, no matter how frightened he was…

…would he?

No. No, he just couldn’t.

“It’s Bill!” Ford shouted to the kids — it has to be — and with that, another bolt of lightning tore through the air, evaporating fog away for a single moment before Stan screamed, a huge wave appearing behind him and chilling the whole room as it surged towards Ford and the kids —

They ran, not having any time to try to find what had happened to Soos, not having any time to look down at their footing — only time to pray to blind luck that none of them would step in a riptide current of darkness, and be carried away into whatever void awaited them.

Fighting against all his survival instincts, Ford turned back for just a moment and saw that Stan was following them, wading through the surging waves like they were nothing.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Stan cried, and in any other situation, the sheer anguish in his voice would have been more than enough to make Ford believe him.

“I’m just doing this to keep you away from — from it! To try to protect you from it!”

“But from what?!” Dipper yelled over the sound of crashing waves, coming to a halt altogether as he turned to face Stan. “If it’s Bill, we need to know about it, so we can —”

The floorboards snapped beneath his feet, spraying gray splinters everywhere and sending him plummeting down to the cold, dark void below. For a split second, his tiny hand still reached out of the water, grasping desperately, futilely, at the jagged edge of one of the planks, but before Ford could grab ahold of it, it was pulled out of his reach, dragged by some impossibly strong current.

Mabel cried out, but the water began to gurgle upwards from the hole left in the floor, slowly at first but then erupting into a raging waterspout. Out of pure reflex, Ford grabbed her and began to run, carrying her away even as she struggled to free herself from his grip.

“We’ll go back for him,” Ford gasped, “I swear. We’ll go back for him and Soos as soon as we can. We won’t be any use to them if we’re — if we’re captured ourselves.”

He took a step onto one of the winding, floating staircases, and it melted, pouring down into the abyss. For a moment, Ford and Mabel hovered in the air like they were in some old-fashioned cartoon, but gravity took hold of them a second later, and for a moment they were falling, the g-force pulling at them and twisting Ford’s stomach —

But they were in the mind, and eventually they imagined themselves to a halt, floating in a sea of thick gray clouds — just plain, cold, uniform gray, stretching on forever in every direction. Stan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel whispered. “Which… which way is up?”

Ford was about to point to above their heads, when suddenly a splatter of black rained up, from beneath their feet. And then there was another, coming from behind them and moving in a nearly horizontal direction.

Ford cursed in an alien language.

Of course, of course. This whole area disregarded the laws of gravity; he’d seen that with all the staircases. The way that felt like up to him, the way it felt like he’d fallen from, could easily just be a trick, an illusion — in fact, he’d bet that it was.

An illusion… Something was nagging at him, something he knew he was forgetting. Something important, something dangerous.

“Mabel, could you pick a direction for us to go?” he asked quietly. “I… I don’t know any way to get out of here, other than trying everything until something works.”

There was, of course, always the chance that they’d just get more lost, but what other choice did they have? No one was coming to help them, and there had to be at least an hour remaining before Stan’s sedative wore off and he woke up, if not even longer…

Mabel nodded, and pointed a bit above and to the left of them. “Let’s try that way, I guess?”

“That’s good,” Ford replied, and then added more quietly: “I’m… I’m so sorry that I put you in danger like this. You’ve been very brave.”

Mabel squeezed his arm. “We wouldn’t have let you leave us outside the Mindscape anyways. You said you knew that, didn’t you?”

“That’s true.”

They floated upwards (?) through the fog in silence for a moment.

“Keep squeezing my arm like that. Make sure we don’t get separated.”

“I will,” Mabel replied. Then she frowned. “If I get… if I end up like Dipper and Soos, you’ll go on without me, right?”

“In the moment… I may have to. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

“I know you will, Grunkle Ford. But… if you get captured, what do I do? How do I save you and the others?”

“I…”

What was Ford supposed to say — that he had no plan other than relying on sheer determination, possibly with an additional hint of self-martyrdom if required?

Something cold splattered against his arm, bleeding through his coat and sweater, turning him numb and blurring his vision…

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel yelled, as if from a distance. “Grunkle Ford, you’re falling!”

He shook his head, and again he could feel Mabel gripping his other arm, the only thing keeping him from plummeting into the foggy abyss.

Let me fall, let me forget about all this, let me rest… part of his mind kept saying, but he managed to focus on the idea of his body levitating, and he floated back up to Mabel’s side, narrowly dodging another shower of water.

“It — it’s messing with my thoughts. We have to keep moving.”

Mabel started to say something, but more rain began to fall from all directions, and she and Ford both summoned a spherical barrier around them — Ford’s half metallic and glowing blue like alien technology, Mabel’s half pink and plastic like a hamster ball. But the darkness ate away at both sides like acid, spewing out dark wisps of vapor that blurred into the endless expanse of gray clouds and darkened them even more…

“We can’t block it off,” Ford realized. “We — we have to just make a break for it, and dodge all of it somehow —”

But I’m not even sure we’re heading the right way. I might as well just let it consume me — it’ll be a peaceful way to go out, at least…

“Let’s go!” Mabel told him, pointing to a direction where the rain seemed less intense and pulling Ford along. He barely snapped out of his thoughts in time to dodge a splash from the barrier as it collapsed in on itself fully, melting together towards its center and spraying off rain like some sort of dying star.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t just give up and pretend like nothing was wrong — Mabel needed him, Stan needed him…

From the clouds, a familiar dark figure materialized, drops of shadow slowly dripping off of his suit. Frowning very faintly, Stan flicked his hand, and a torrent of water rained down from above, swirling like a descending tornado and heading straight for Ford —

Mabel shoved him out of the way. The cyclone grazed her back, and darkness bled through her sweater, her hair…

She let go of Ford’s arm, and before he could reach back out to her, she floated away from him, limbs hanging limp. A detached, peaceful look spread across her face as she fell, the grey clouds closing around her until it looked as if she might have never been there in the first place.

“She’ll be safe now,” Stan whispered.

Something inside Ford — something that had been lurking somewhere between his desperation to save Stan and his instincts screaming at him to flee, something that had been growing strained ever since finding the vending machine — something snapped.

“What have you done?!” he roared. “What have you done to them?! Bring them back, or I’ll —”

“I’m keeping them safe.” Stan paused, as if unsure whether to continue. “And happy.”

“You’re lying,” Ford growled through gritted teeth. “You’re not Stan, and I was a fool for thinking you were. You’re B—”

“NO!”

Stan shuddered, wrapping his arms around his chest and tucking his hands beneath them. “D-don’t say that! Don’t say that I’m him —”

“I’ll say what I want, because there’s no way Stanley would ever do this. You are not my brother. You’re Bill Cipher, and nothing you say will delude me into believing otherwise —”

Stan let out a sob, his tears spilling out into waves that circled the two of them, cutting them off in every direction except for far, far above. Even beneath the sound of the raging water, Ford could hear Stan repeating, like a ritual:

“I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I can’t be I CAN’T BE I CAN’T —”

Really, honestly, Ford wanted nothing more than to hug him, but he knew the being that resembled his brother had to be an illusion, had to be Bill getting in his head —

In his head.

The nagging feeling from earlier returned to him, erupting into an explosion of panic, and self-hatred, and regret for his own stupidity.

For decades now, he’d taken it for granted that his mind was protected from Bill, his memories safe from interference, with only the occasional vivid dream left vulnerable to the demon. But the metal plate in his head was a physical barrier, not a mental one… which meant that in his body in the real world, it did nothing.

And his consciousness and memories, which he’d willingly projected into another mind, were left exposed.

He — foolishly, irresponsibly, idiotically — had felt safe bringing the kids and Soos into Stan’s mindscape with him because he’d figured that he’d be immune to the type of tricks Bill could play, that he would be capable of snapping the others out of it if the need arose. But he was just as vulnerable as they were, of course he was.

I’m such a fool. I just put everyone in even greater danger. There are so many decisions, spread out over so many years, that I could have made differently to prevent this.

Just a few yards away from him, Ford saw Stan’s face contort into a grimace, ink-black droplets leaving dark trails as they ran down his cheeks. Ever so slightly, he shook his head, and the whirlpool around them began to draw closer —

Ford launched himself into flight, moving as fast as he could possibly imagine and aiming for the opening at the top of the cyclone — the opening that was growing smaller and smaller with every second. He didn’t have a plan, other than to hope against hope that his thoughts and memories hadn’t been manipulated too much yet, and that he’d be able to continue fleeing from Bill until Stan woke up and he was brought back to the waking world —

The spot of light above him narrowed to a pinprick of light gray within the black, and the water grew closer and closer to him, spraying him with a mist of a thousand comforting thoughts: nothing’s wrong, your brother’s safe, just relax and forget about all these worries —

He had to power through this. He had to keep his thoughts his —

He reached for the opening above him, but the waves closed in around his wrist, numbing his arm and spilling down over the rest of his body. They raged around him, absorbing all light and striking out all thoughts, until the surroundings finally grew calm and uniform and blank.

Where am I, how did I get here, what…

Within the darkness, a single slit-pupiled eye blinked open, black droplets spilling off its lashes.

And then, from behind Ford, someone pressed a gun into his hands.

***

“Hey, Soos, you with me?”

Soos opened his eyes to find himself on the porch of the Shack — the real, colorful one, not the mindscape version — and to see Stan standing in front of him, one hand placed on Soos’s shoulder. He was back to wearing his white t-shirt and red beanie, and the smile on his face was wide, but not too wide. Soos hadn’t felt so relieved since Weirdmageddon.

(Relieved, or confused.)

“Mr. Pines, you’re okay!” he blurted out, wrapping Stan in a bear hug before he could stop himself, but Stan returned it, gently hitting Soos on the back.

“‘Course I am, bud. Remember? You guys got rid of Bill once and for all.”

Soos’s brain felt like it had gotten dust in it like a video game cartridge, and needed to be blown out in order to process his thoughts correctly. “Uh, actually… I’m not really sure if I do remember —”

“You did good back there, Soos.” Stan withdrew from the hug, a football appearing in his hands like it had materialized out of thin air. “Hey, you wanna toss the ol’ pigskin around? We haven’t done that since the one time last summer, have we?”

...then again, maybe remembering wasn’t all that important.

“Sure, Mr. Pines!”

“Alright, then! Go long!”

Soos started jogging out across the field, turning his head over his shoulder to look back at Stan, who was watching with a smile on his face. The first through arced through the air perfectly, landing in Soos’s hands with a satisfying clap.

He still had no idea what had happened to Ford and the kids, but for some reason, he found himself wondering about it less and less as the game of catch went on, until the thought couldn’t have been further from his mind.

***

Dipper stumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the wailing, glowing green specter as it soared over him.

“Heads up, Dipper!” he heard Stan yell, and he reached above him just in time to grab hold of a small rectangular device. On one end, it had two silver antenna, and between them, a conical piece that somewhat resembled a nozzle, while on an adjacent side it had a series of color-coded control buttons and switches.

Pointing the nozzle end at the ghost as it sped towards Ford (who was naturally just holding a camera and smiling without an ounce of concern), Dipper pressed the largest blue button —

A web of holographic, crisscrossing lines sprayed out, shifting in color from pink to purple and back to pink, ensnaring the ghost and automatically pulling it back towards him. It struggled against the net, wailing at an even more off-tune pitch, but it didn’t produce enough force for Dipper to even feel its pull, much less to dislodge the device from his grip.

Perfect!

“Hey, it worked!” Stan whistled. “You really caught yourself a spook!”

“Of course it worked, brother of little faith,” Ford retorted, raising his voice not out of serious anger but simply to be heard over the ghost’s howling. “That adhesive can trap anything, with or without a physical form. You should have seen how extensively Dipper tested it!”

Stan might have offered another good-natured wisecrack in response, but Mabel cut in: “Hey, bro, I get you’re excited about your new pet ghoul and all, but can you get it to quiet down? My ears feel like they’re melting!”

“Oh, uh, right! Sorry!” Dipper flicked a switch on his invention, and the ghost’s cries grew muffled. He turned to Ford, who was holding the camera, and announced: “This concludes today’s episode of Guide to Haunted Mansions with Dipper and the Pines Family! Join us next week, as we examine our new specimen in the lab! You’re not gonna want to miss it!”

Everyone cheered, chanting Pines! Pines Pines! as Ford got one last shot of the mansion’s room to close on.

“We may want want to edit out the part where I mentioned the adhesive,” Ford suggested once the camera was off, “lest some viewers with too much time on their hands realize that it’s of extraterrestrial origin. I’d rather not have the shadow government on our backs.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, good catch. I’ll edit it.”

For the briefest of moments as he turned towards the door to leave, he had a faint nagging feeling that something was wrong, that this whole scene was too perfect to be true, but he ignored it. On the way out, Stan gave him a high-five and an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

***

Mabel knew she was falling, knew that she probably shouldn’t be falling, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop, to fly back up. She felt peaceful like this — and what would she even go back to? More of Stan acting like that? Acting like…

With what felt like her last spark of energy, she pulled her arms and legs close to her body and squeezed her eyes shut.

I just wish Bill would leave us alone…

…

…

She pulled her sweater tightly over her head and knees, and settled down onto the ground.

“I just wish summer could last forever…” she found herself murmuring.

“T-that might be possible!”

“Sweater Town is not accepting incoming calls right now.”

“M-M-M-Mabel, it’s me!”

She peeked her head out of her sweater, finding a forest bathed in the red light of the setting sun. “Wha? Who said that?”

“I-I-I can help!” Blendin flickered into existence before her, his suit showing the briefest glimpses of an autumn schoolyard, and then, a burning ruin — both so quick they seemed almost imagined.

“The… time travel guy? What are you doing here?”

This all felt so wrong, for so many different reasons…

“You said you don't want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?”

“Yeah... why are you asking?”

Mabel didn’t trust this sort-of-friend of hers one bit, didn’t want to know where this conversation was going. It just felt chillingly, inexplicably sinister…

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favor for me, so I thought I could help you out!”

The setting sun gleamed off Blendin’s goggles, making them gleam yellow instead of red for just a moment. “It's called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward! Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!”

There was a feeling of déjà vu buzzing at the back of her mind like a fizzing caffeinated drink, faint but anxious, telling her she’d done all this before, that this had already happened —

She shook her head, and the buzz faded.

“Really?” she asked Blendin. “But… how does it work?”

Blendin pressed a button on his watch, and a holographic projection appeared in vivid light blue, showing a cracked sphere with four ducts connecting it to a striped base. Mabel had never seen it before in her life, or at least, she shouldn’t have, but the sight of it sent a chill through her.

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle. It's something small, he won't even know it's missing!”

“No,” Mabel whispered without knowing why, and then repeated, louder: “No. That — that thing’s dangerous!”

How do I know, why do I know this —

“What?!” Blendin exclaimed. “No no no, it’s — it’s perfectly harmless, I promise! And — and I can’t make the time bubble without it, so just hand it over, or I’ll have to —”

Mabel pulled Dipper’s backpack close to her and sprung to her feet, kicking Blendin in the knee and making a break for the Shack. “Dipper! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! Help!”

Time and space felt distorted, like her legs were carrying her further with each step than they should have been able to. Somehow, without actually looking back, she could see Blendin following her, hot on her heels at first but then slowly starting to lag behind…

Ford burst out of the Shack and fired a blast from his stun gun, striking Blendin square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, the world turning gray for a second as a burst of yellow flew out from his form. Then color returned to the forest — no longer red, but rather, the peaceful, beautiful pink of a late August sunset.

Somewhat numbly, Mabel handed Ford the backpack, and he rifled through it quickly as Dipper and Stan rushed over, looking concerned.

“The rift is still stable,” Ford reported, his frown still tight with worry. “Now, Mabel, are you alright? Bill didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I think? Does… does this mean Weirdmageddon won’t happen?”

Ford put a hand on her shoulder. “No. No, it won’t. I still have to seal this rift, but once that’s done, Bill will never be able to physically manifest in our dimension this way — thanks to you seeing through his tricks. We’ll be safe.”

Why did she even know what Weirdmageddon was? Why was no one surprised by her knowing? What was happening to —

“Mabel, I was so worried!” Dipper hugged her. “I’m so sorry for what I said — I’m not going to stay in Gravity Falls, I know that now…”

The apology barely registered for Mabel, the words muffled by the fog in her head. She’d already forgiven him, a long time ago.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she managed to say. “I don’t blame you…”

As Ford headed inside to seal the rift, Dipper following him, Stan and Mabel were left alone. He gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“Hey, pumpkin, you okay? There’s no need to be scared of nothin’ anymore. The triangle can’t do jack now.”

There was a gleam in Stan’s eyes that Ford and Dipper had lacked, Mabel realized. He seemed less distant. More real. More reminiscent of everything that felt wrong about all this.

“A-are you okay, Grunkle Stan? Bill didn’t do anything to you?” she blurted out, grabbing him by the arm.

It couldn’t be this easy. They couldn’t really be safe. Stan, especially, couldn’t really be safe, it just didn’t feel right —

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m fine.” He smiled to her. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I promise.”

“I know…” she told him, even though she really, really didn’t know anything. Her thoughts were jumbled, jumping around like popcorn in one of those glass-walled machines, striking the sides of her skull and exploding and just creating so much chaos that she just couldn’t find the right ones, couldn’t remember what she should have, what she needed to remember —

Stan hugged her, and the chaos faded to a distant roar, faint and consistent and easy to tune out.

“Bill’s never laid a hand on me,” he assured her. “I’ve got nothin’ to do with him — unless I run into him when he’s giving one of you guys a hard time, but I’ve got a feeling he won’t be doing much of anything like that anymore. That rift thing is what he wants from Ford, right? And he can’t get that now.”

Mabel nodded. Yeah, that all made sense. Stan was right, of course he was…

“I just… I had a dream, I think. Or a nightmare. Where Bill got into our world, and it — and it was all my fault, and I didn’t want to believe it so I locked myself in this… in this bubble… ”

Bubbles, dream bubbles, prison bubbles, Sweater Town, block out all the bad stuff, hide there forever, lying about it to keep you away from it —

“Must have been a trick that demon played,” Stan murmured, words oddly soothing — almost hypnotizing. “But it wasn’t real. And you’re stronger than that nightmare, I know you are.”

That’s right, everything is alright. Nothing bad happened, nothing was your fault —

But this isn’t real; that all was, Mabel was finally able to put to words. This is the dream, that was reality.

But she didn’t dare say as much out loud. Instead, she whispered: “Thanks, Grunkle Stan, you’re right. I’m… I’m gonna go inside now.”

“No problem, pumpkin,” Stan replied, helping her up. “You ever need anything, just come and ask.”

Mabel nodded, and then, the second she was out of Stan’s sight, she huddled down in the corner and shut her eyes, afraid to look at whatever illusions the dream might summon to tempt her.

Her first thought was that this was Bill’s doing again, that he was trying to trap her, to keep her and Ford and the others from finding where he lurked in Stan’s mind… but deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.

She remembered what it had felt like to be in the bubble Bill created, and like this one, it certainly had given her what she wanted — or at least, what she believed she wanted. But this… this illusion was more powerful. A stronger pull, a more irresistible temptation, so strong that she almost hadn’t even realized it was all a dream.

This was what her heart had yearned after for the past ten months. To be free of this guilt, this knowledge that she’d almost gotten her family killed.

And if anyone was going to understand that, it wasn’t going to be Bill. It was going to be Stan.

Stan, who must have been so afraid for his family’s sakes. Stan, who just wanted them all to be not just safe, but happy. Stan, who had always been so good at lying about his own happiness, so of course he would be good at lying to make others happy, too.

Stan, who was so similar to Bill, yet even more different.

“I’m gonna find a way to save you, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel whispered. “I’m gonna find a way to make it so you don’t have to lie. I promise.”

She told herself she wasn’t being hypocritical for tuning out the intrusive thoughts of what if he can’t be saved? and what if the truth is even worse than you think?

Because those thoughts couldn’t be true, she just wouldn’t let them be true…

What if there was never anyone else here that Stan needed saving from?

What if he only needs saving from himself?

***

A high-pitched, horrifyingly familiar voice screamed from all around Ford, the darkness seeping out of his surroundings and condensing together into one perfectly equilateral triangle.

“Oh, now what do we have HERE? Six-Fingers really thinks he can figure out a way to run the portal ‘safely?’ News flash, BRAINIAC: you’ve never —”

Ford found himself squeezing a trigger.

A brilliant beam of light shot out at Bill — blasting a hole in his chest, sparking a fire that consumed his triangular form in an instant, raging bright orange like burning sodium. For just a moment, there was an awful shriek of panic and horrified realization, but before Ford could even move to cover his ears, it was gone — it echoed for just a moment, and then faded out entirely.

Faintly red-orange embers were drifting to the ground, burning out and joining all the other particles that made up the dirt floor as if they had never been a part of anything else, a part of anything dangerous. Their orange glow disappeared, replaced by the faint blue light that the portal machinery projected, humming steadily and peacefully.

It was all very quick, and very decisive, and very not right. The world seemed to shift around Ford, and he felt as if he too was drifting to the ground, extinguished —

A steady hand caught him by the arm and held him until he regained his balance. A gruff, comfortingly familiar voice spoke from behind him:

“Hey, Stanford, you okay? We did it, buddy. Bill’s dead. We’re safe.”

Unsteadily, Ford turned, and saw Stan looking at him — his long brown hair was a mess, and his red jacket was singed, but his expression was comforting, full of relief. The portal cast its blue glow over him, too, flickering slightly like a fire…

“Where… what year is it?” Ford mumbled.

“It’s 1982,” Stan replied, patting him gently on the back. “You and Fidds made an invention to blast Bill out of existence. You remember that, right?”

“The portal… why is it…”

“We restarted it as a trap — because the gun only worked on him if he took a physical form. Is… is this coming back to you?”

“…Right,” Ford replied. “Right. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me —”

“Hey, it’s okay. I… I get why this might be a lot to take in, but… you’re safe from Bill now. He’s never gonna hurt anyone again.”

“He’s…”

He’s really gone? I’m safe from him? You’re safe from him?

“Stanford! Are ya alright?” Fiddleford was running over to them now, slamming the door to the control chamber closed behind him.

“He’s gonna be,” Stan said confidently. “It all worked out just like we planned — Ford just needs a second to —”

“No,” Ford whispered. “Fiddleford, why are you… why are you…?!”

“Pardon?” Fiddleford asked, looking to Stan uncertainly.

“Young,” Ford finally choked out. “Why are either of you young? Why is Stan —”

Then the truth dawned on him, and as obvious as it seemed, it was a struggle to choke out, a struggle to admit. “This — this isn’t real, is it?”

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan put a hand on Ford’s arm. “Calm down. It’s okay, it’s —”

“It’s absolutely not okay!” Ford shouted, pulling himself away. “And you — you’re not even denying it!���

Stan let out a sad, quiet sigh.

“Does it really matter if this is real, Ford?”

“Yes! Yes, it does! It…”

Stan and McGucket were both staring at him, but now that Ford knew what to look for, there was a dullness to Fiddleford’s eyes, a lack of detail in his expression. While Stan… felt more real, more genuine. The bodies that all of them wore now were illusions, but the real Fiddleford wasn’t present in any capacity, as opposed to Stan, who was very much himself.

And Ford couldn’t bring himself to be that angry with the real Stan.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He felt like he should remember something important about how he got here, something that might explain why Stan was here but Fiddleford wasn’t really, but reaching for the memory felt like plunging into a violent current, dark and chaotic and impossible to navigate —

What have you done? What have you done to them?

I’m keeping them safe. And happy.

“Ford, you don’t have to stay here,” Stan told him. “This isn’t some… some prison, some diabolical trap. I just… I thought you could use a break from reality. Some time to relax, in a place where… things went better. Where you can actually do the things you always wished you could do.”

“So — so you created this? Not Bill?”

“Yeah. Remember, we killed Bill in real life, too, it just… took a lot longer.”

Ford’s heart was pounding, like his body, his instincts, knew something his conscious mind didn’t — but Stan gently took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the portal, its glow hypnotizing.

“In this world, it’s safe to use. You can explore anywhere you want to explore, alongside anyone you want to adventure with. You can even meet anyone you mighta given up on seeing again.”

Ford could think of a number of different people he’d given up on seeing again, had parted ways with far too soon, people for whom he would rejoice at an opportunity to talk to, even knowing they weren’t really there — but he couldn’t let himself get caught up in this illusion. He’d been in the middle of something important when he’d gotten pulled into this dream, he was sure of it. It was just the specifics that kept eluding him…

But then again, he’d already spent a fair amount of time here, hadn’t he? He could surely afford to waste just a little bit more.

“Ten minutes,” he told Stan. “That’s all.”

Then added: “...maybe fifteen, if we’re in the middle of something when the first ten minutes end. But that’s the absolute most.”

He knew it was a dangerous concession to be making, but he could control himself, of course he could.

(And…. ten minutes did feel unfairly brief. So did fifteen minutes, for that matter…)

Stan’s face lit up with excitement and maybe, just a hint of relief?

“Then to the portal!” he cheered, voice full of contagious enthusiasm.

“To the portal!” Ford echoed, oblivious as the watch on his wrist sublimated into a plume of dark fog.

***

“I've been lying about it to try to keep you away from it! To try to protect you from it!” — Stanley Pines, Scary-oke

***

The way I see it, Stan obviously loves his family and understands their desires far better than Bill could, but that also means the illusions he summons are even more powerful and tempting than the ones Mabel and company overcame in Weirdmageddon…

(Also, I recently wrote a Same Coin one-shot, The Phoenix in the Birch Trees, that can be taken as a prequel to this story. You don’t have to read that one to understand anything that goes on in SSD, of course, but I thought I’d leave it here in case anyone who missed it before is interested!)

and yeah the title is a pokemon reference. because, you know, nightmare demons who don't actually mean harm but trap people in dreams to protect themselves

[ladylynse]

Crossroads - a Gravity Falls/Over the Garden Wall crossover

Summary: Mabel and Dipper have dealt with a demon before, so when they wind up lost in the woods and are given two choices by a creepy kid with a lantern, they make sure to pick the third option—but every choice has consequences, even when you don’t play by the rules. (FF.net; AO3) Length: 7.5 K Rating: K+

For @paperhoodie, who drew a beautiful cover (deviantart) for this fic once it turned into a collaboration instead of a birthday present.

Mabel shrieked as she fell. It was just light enough for her to see Dipper skid to a halt in front of her, but she was already rolling over and kicking out, trying to free herself. Thorns cut into her skin, gripping her ankle and tightening as she tried to work the branch—vine—whatever—loose. The bramble kept tearing into her flesh, so she finally gave up fighting directly and settled for scooting backwards across the uneven ground. Her palms brushed something prickly and rough, and she flinched back. She didn’t need her hands caught in a similar trap. Because this was a trap. The flora seemed to have a mind of its own in this place.

Mabel felt Dipper’s arms wrap around her, even as tiny tendrils tried to curl around her fingertips. He managed to pull her free, finally snapping the bramble around her ankle in the process, and helped her to her feet. Mabel brushed some of the debris from her sweater, fingering its newest hole before deciding to ignore it.

She had about as easy a time with that as she did ignoring the blood that was seeping into her sock, the throbbing pain in her ankle, or the dull ache in her hands and knees where she’d hit the ground. But that would go away; she’d had to deal with worse than this before. The most important thing was finding some way out of these woods.

“Think you can walk?” asked Dipper.

Mabel put some weight on her foot and winced as pain shot up her leg, but she nodded. They didn’t have a choice. If she hadn’t lost her grappling hook after their tumble over that wall….

“We’ll find our way out of here,” Dipper said as if he were reading her thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d managed that, and it wouldn’t be the last. “This isn’t the worst place he could have trapped us.”

Mabel didn’t need to ask who her brother was referring to. She knew they were thinking the same thing. She picked a branch out of her hair before it decided to come alive and try to strangle her. “He shouldn’t have been able to do this. We erased him.” But they’d erased Grunkle Stan’s memories, too, and had been able to bring those back. What if they’d accidentally brought Bill back, too? What if that’s why he’d been able to get Waddles to run away? What if he’d led Waddles here, wherever here was, to get the two of them hopelessly lost on a recovery mission? They hadn’t even seen Waddles since coming into the woods

Bill Cipher shouldn’t be able to do any of this, not after how they’d left him.

“Maybe we just weakened him. Or maybe he’d made another deal, as a backup or something.” She could recognize Dipper’s grim tone; it was his ‘focused’ voice. “We can’t worry about that now. We have to find our way out of here.”

As if they knew how. These woods weren’t like the ones in Oregon, and Mabel was pretty sure they weren’t in California anymore. This place just felt wrong. It was like being trapped in Mabeland again once Dipper had exposed it for what it was, except that this place was more like a creepy nightmare than a place where everything appeared perfect at first glance.

She didn’t think Waddles was here anymore. She wasn’t even sure he ever had been; they hadn’t found any tracks. She and Dipper had stopped calling for him when they’d gotten the feeling that they weren’t alone, even though they hadn’t seen anything besides trees.

“Let’s see if we can find the path again,” she decided.  ”Waddles is smart; he’ll have found his way home by now.” She wasn’t convinced they’d find the elusive trail, wasn’t sure they’d ever been on one, but they didn’t need one. They could carve their own path out of this place if they had to. They were the Mystery Twins. It was going to take more than a couple of acres of spooky woodland to stop them. “And we’ll be right behind him.”

“So you can fix your sweater?”

Mabel grinned, not surprised Dipper had noticed her dismay. “So I can fix my sweater,” she agreed happily. Bill Cipher’s associations hadn’t spoiled her love for her shooting star sweater, so she certainly wasn’t going to let something like this be the end of it. “And then put the finishing touches on my Summerween costume so it’ll be ready by the time we get there.” It felt good to have something like that to look forward to, and tomorrow’s trip back to Gravity Falls was bound to bring another adventure.

Dipper was looking forward to it, too, if not for the same reasons as Mabel. He’d rather have a long discussion with Fiddleford than prank Pacifica, but it would be good to see everyone either way. Dipper hummed his agreement and started forward, keeping his arm around her for support. She gratefully leaned on him. These woods…. Yeah. There was definitely something wrong with them. It was enough to remind her that they weren’t in Gravity Falls and weren’t yet surrounded with all their friends and allies. This place looked like a proper forest, and it smelled like one, and it had felt like one when she’d been introduced to the forest floor, but it didn’t sound like it should.

It was quieter here than she was used to. No birdsong. No crickets. No frogs. Just the odd howling of the wind, a faint swoosh of leaves, a creaking branch here and there, and a suspicious rustle in the underbrush that she’d call gnomes if she didn’t know better. It was gloomy, too, as if it were dusk fading to darkness when it should be closer to noon. Of course, most of these trees had dropped their leaves, as if it were autumn and not the middle of summer, so that wasn’t really surprising. It was just another clue that they weren’t in the real world anymore.

That didn’t mean this wasn’t real, of course. Just that it was a construct. Or another dimension. Or both.

It seemed to be getting darker as they moved deeper into the woods, and she couldn’t tell if that was because the trees were getting thicker or because that much time was passing. She really had no idea how long they had been gone. If they had actually ended up in the same place as Waddles, he could’ve led them out of here. Waddles was a good pig like that. A lot smarter than most people thought. She almost wished he were here, except she didn’t want him to be in danger.

The dangers in this place might not be easy to see, but she knew they were there. She trusted her instincts. It was more than just the trees, whatever the trees were. If this place was real, then it didn’t follow the rules she knew to be true, which probably meant she couldn’t trust her eyes or, really, any of her other senses. And if it wasn’t real…. Well, if it wasn’t, then she really couldn’t trust anything to be what it seemed, not when it could be whatever Bill wanted it to be. She’d have to depend on her gut.

“Dipper?”

“Yeah?”

“What if he set this up before? What if we just, I dunno, turned it on somehow? Triggered it? Made it come to life, even if he’s not here?”

“We’re not going to be stuck here.” Dipper sounded more confident than he was, and anyone who didn’t know him well might have actually believed him. “Look up ahead. Isn’t that a light?”

It did seem to be one, shining brighter than the moon and not dancing about like a will-o’-the-wisp. Still a trap, her mind whispered, but they didn’t have any choice, and Dipper was taking precautions. He adjusted their course so that they angled toward the light from the left instead of coming at it directly; it was better to scout it out first if possible. Progress was slower than before, and not much quieter even though they were being careful, but at least the trees weren’t trying to grab them now. Whatever that had been, it seemed to be over.

That, or the trees—or whatever sentience was behind them—were just biding their time and waiting for them to make a mistake. Or they’d been deliberately herded here. She wasn’t going to rule out anything at the moment.

It took a good ten minutes longer than Mabel had expected, but finally the forest thinned and spilled out onto the shore of an endless expanse of black water. A lake, maybe, since it looked as still as glass. It reflected a perfect twin of the true source of the light, a lantern hung on a pole held by a boy in a funny red hat. He looked a bit like a giant gnome, actually, just minus the beard, especially in that old-fashioned cloak of his. He had been resting on the gunwale of a wooden rowboat pulled up on shore, but when they approached, he straightened, standing taller than either of them.

He didn’t seem surprised to see them.

Still, he was the first person they’d seen in forever, and he was kinda cute. Even as Dipper tensed, Mabel got straight to the point. “Can you point us to the nearest road?”

“This is the closest you’ll come to a crossroads here,” the boy said. “This is the In-Between.”

“In between what?” Mabel asked, still trying to figure out when the inevitable trap was going to be sprung.

The boy shifted, turning to look just at her instead of both of them, and she shivered as his gaze pierced through her. Scratch cute. Something about him—like everything else—was wrong, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it immediately. His stare was cold. Dead, almost, if it weren’t for that intense focus. There might as well have been demon eyes staring out at her from his face. Not Bill’s eyes, but…something else’s. Someone else’s. Which definitely wasn’t impossible because Bill definitely had friends, or at least interdimensional creatures that he pretended were friends so he could attempt to manipulate them.

The boy’s answer didn’t convince Mabel he wasn’t possessed or completely composed of magic or dream dust stuff in the first place. “You stand at the edge of the Unknown.”

A glance told Mabel that Dipper wasn’t getting this, either, and he was the smarter of the two of them. She hoped he’d figure something out sooner rather than later. She gave the boy a brilliant smile, letting the lamplight catch on and reflect off her braces. “So how about you tell us how to get back to the Known, handsome?”

Her charms had no apparent effect. “That is a choice only you can make.”

Mabel frowned; that answer didn’t make any sense to her. She turned back to Dipper, leaning in to whisper into his ear. “Something about this guy stinks. Is he even real?”

Dipper didn’t answer her, which probably meant he hadn’t figured that out yet. “What are the options?”

One of the options had to be the boat, which had definitely seen better days. It didn’t look like it could fit three of them. She wasn’t even sure it would hold one without sinking. They shouldn’t need to cross this lake since they’d never crossed one in the first place, but if this was one of Bill’s traps, then they were less likely to die if they played along until figuring out the best way to bust out of here.

She concentrated on the boat for a few long seconds, imagining it sprouting a mast and sail and everything else, but absolutely nothing changed. Wherever they were, imagining things didn’t make them real. That wouldn’t make escaping any easier, but it had been worth a shot.

The boy’s head swivelled towards Dipper. “You can cross,” he said, gesturing with his free hand to the lake behind him, “or you can stay.”

Mabel had a feeling they weren’t going to be picking either of those options. Dipper liked to figure out what the rules were and then break them; she saw no problem with that, even though she was just as happy to charge in without a plan. Still, Dipper continued the conversation as if they were perfectly content to play along. As if they’d never been tricked by a demon before. “Why would we cross if we’re trying to get home? We didn’t come from that direction.”

“Are you sure?” There was amusement in the boy’s voice this time, a sort of dark gloating as if he were confident that he knew far more than they. “You’ve lost the path and lost your way, and the forest is not kind.”

“This is the first time we’ve seen the lake,” Mabel interjected.

“Is it really?” The boy’s head cocked to one side as he asked, and suddenly Mabel doubted herself, doubted Dipper. What if they’d gotten turned around at one point? They could have walked along the lake’s shore before and not realized it was there. The trees were thick, and with no wind, there was no sound of lapping water.

Except.

Except she could still hear the wind, moaning through groaning trees and skittering about loose leaves, and she could see it catching the boy’s cloak as readily as it caught her own hair, and she could feel the cold biting in gusts through her sweater.

But the lake was still.

She took a step back, only remembering her injured ankle as pain spiked upwards to her knee. “Dipper—”

“I know.” Dipper hadn’t kept step with her, but he let her go and she watched as his hands balled into fists. He felt this, too. It wasn’t just her. And after helping her along, he knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun this guy if it came to that.

“Look, whoever you are,” Dipper said to the boy, “if you’re not going to help us, what are you doing? Trying to stall us?”

Mabel hadn’t been expecting an answer, but the boy’s face split into a too-wide grin. “I keep watch for lost souls,” he said. “Keep the lantern lit. Guard the woods. Help you to cross, if that’s your deci—”

Dipper’s fist caught the boy on the corner of his jaw. The boy’s head snapped sideways and he stumbled back, one of his flailing arms catching the lantern pole as he fell into the boat and cracked his head on the side. Mabel lunged forward to catch the falling lantern before it hit the water; it was almost completely dark out now, and clouding over to boot, so the lantern was their best source of light. She climbed carefully to her feet, not wanting to put so much as a toe in that water, and turned back to Dipper, who was cradling his left hand.

“I forgot how much this hurts,” he hissed, wincing as he straightened his fingers. “I think I might’ve broken something.” He didn’t mean that, though; she could see him wriggling his fingers, and this wasn’t Dipper’s first time in a fistfight anyway. It probably wouldn’t be his last.

Sure enough, Dipper’s arm snaked around to support her a second later. “C’mon, we need to go. Can you keep hold of the light or do you want me to carry it?”

Mabel shrugged him off, lifting the lantern higher to get a better look at the boy who was sprawled across two seats and a pair of oars. “He’s out cold,” she said. “We don’t need to run away before we have answers.”

“Mabel—”

“It’s not like we’d make it far with the lantern, anyway. He could follow the light. But look at him, Dip. He looks young. Like us. What’s to say he isn’t human, too?”

“I don’t know, maybe the way he was acting? Or talking? Or the fact that he’s here in the first place?” Dipper threw up his hands. “What’s it matter? You even said you didn’t think he was real!”

“That was before you caught him by surprise, and between you and the boat, you knocked him out. Demons aren’t that easy to take down, and neither are their creations.” She waited a few seconds to see if the boy would move. He didn’t. “I don’t think he’s faking. He hit his head pretty hard on the boat.”

Dipper didn’t look convinced. “He isn’t real.”

“But what if he is? What if he’s just trapped here? Like we are? Do you really want to leave him here?”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Mabel, none of this is real. Why would he be?”

“He’s here, and no one else seems to be.” Dipper opened his mouth, but Mabel cut him off. “That alone would raise flags, so why not create a more welcoming situation if you were trying to trap someone? He didn’t exactly lull either of us into a false sense of security.” Unless that’s what this is, her mind whispered, but she ignored it. This was one of the times it was better to follow your heart than your head. If they could help, she didn’t want to just leave someone here. “And even if he was possessed earlier, he might not be now. Limitations of the human body, remember?”

“I got possessed one time!”

“You made a mistake. Maybe he did, too.” She pointed at his hat, which had landed at their feet. “Grab that for me, will you?”

Dipper frowned but did so, handing it to her. Mabel inspected it for a moment, noting its fraying hem and other imperfections she wouldn’t expect to see from a mere fabrication. Bill hadn’t given everyone in Mabeland flaws, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t just because it was meant to be perfect. He hadn’t spent enough time in their world to know the little sorts of details to look for when it came to making stuff real.

But this? This was real. She was confident in that. Bill’s hat and tie had been more illusion than reality, altering or regenerating as necessary. They hadn’t ever shown wear. But this had character, had a story behind it…a story that might only be known to the boy who had been wearing it.

“This is missing its outer trim,” she said quietly. “You can see where someone’s been at it with scissors. It might be an old Santa hat.” She looked back at Dipper. “It’s definitely not the quality I’d expect from someone like him.” Dipper would know who she meant; that was one of the reasons he was so eager to get out of here. And she understood that, she did, but she also trusted her gut. “I don’t think this guy’s our enemy, bro-bro. I think he’s in the same boat as us. And he might have more answers than we do.”

Dipper stared at her, but he knew when she’d made up her mind. He also knew how often he was actually successful in changing it. “I’m not getting in that boat,” Dipper muttered finally, but he reached over to shake the boy awake.

The boy groaned as Dipper’s prodding pulled him back to reality. His eyes opened, quickly closed, and then slowly blinked open again. A trace of confusion crossed his features before he pushed himself upwards with a muttered curse, one hand tentatively touching the back of his head and his jaw in turn. He looked at the two of them with suspicion—not unexpected, given where they were. Wherever this was. “Where’s Greg?” he asked, his voice sounding more natural this time, less…less demon-y. No gloating smugness or vague threats, just sincere concern, a healthy helping of wariness, and a touch of fear.  “Who are you guys? And where….” His voice trailed off, and his eyes grew wide.

Mabel noticed he was staring at the lantern she held. The blood had drained from his face and he swayed where he sat, rocking the boat. Dipper reached out to steady him, and the boy flinched away, regaining some of his composure even though he still looked like a ghost.

“I’m Mabel,” she said, taking pity on him. “That’s Dipper. We were looking for Waddles. He’s my pig. I’m guessing you haven’t seen him.”

“I’m Wirt,” the boy whispered. He was still fixated on the light. “Where did you get that lantern?”

“From you.” She held out his hat. “This is yours, too.”

Another flash of fear. She wondered if the hat itself was somehow tied to whatever had been possessing him, but he climbed out of the boat with Dipper’s help and took the hat back. He clutched it tightly in one hand and opened his cloak with the other, staring at his clothes with growing confusion. “This is my Halloween costume.”

He hadn’t spoken loudly enough to be directing that comment at them, but Mabel flashed him another smile as if he had. “You mean Summerween costume. Halloween was ages ago, but Summerween’s next week!”

Dipper caught her eye and shook his head. Mabel stuck her tongue out at him in return. Dipper, of all people, shouldn’t point fingers when it came to accidentally agreeing to demonic possession. The boy—Wirt—probably hadn’t realized what he was doing. Sure, she didn’t have solid proof that he’d been possessed, but it seemed like a pretty good guess, and the fact that Dipper wasn’t grabbing her and trying to run meant that he thought so, too, and was willing to give the boy a bit of rope. He’d have a chance to prove he was the human boy he seemed to be, and they’d watch to see if the demon—if he was still a demon, which was undoubtedly Dipper’s view even if it wasn’t hers—accidentally hanged himself in the meantime.

Still, as far as she could tell, whatever demon had been possessing Wirt had been forced back into the astral plane, and his real spirit had taken the opportunity to reclaim his body. The apparent amnesia was new, admittedly, but it wasn’t a stretch to think that the effects of demonic possession differed depending on which demon was actually doing the possessing.

Or maybe the demon had just been controlling him and not full-out possessing him? Just planting suggestions or using him more like a marionette than a sock puppet? That might explain the amnesia. She’d have to ask Dipper when this was over. She didn’t want to scare the poor boy off when he’d just regained his senses.

Wirt looked between the two of them before turning in a slow circle, even though he wouldn’t be able to see much beyond the circle of light cast by the lantern. “Is Greg still here? What about Beatrice?”

“You’re the first person we’ve seen,” Dipper said. “And I know you must be worried about Greg and Beatrice, but this is important. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I’d promised to take Greg for ice cream,” Wirt said slowly, “so we went, and then we ran into Sara and….” He shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands. “I put my foot in my mouth, I guess, but she was really nice about it, and…. I dunno. She was going to come back to our place. To listen to some music. It’s a thing we do.”

“But this was on Halloween?” Dipper prompted.

Wirt started to shake his head, winced, and said, “No, it’s summer.” He looked out at the bare trees, at the leaves rustling on the ground, and shuddered as the wind curled its icy fingers around him. “It’s supposed to be summer.” He shoved the hat back onto his head. “Halloween was months ago. It’s supposed to be over.”

Dipper’s eyes narrowed. “What’s supposed to be over? Did you run into anyone—anything—strange on Halloween? Did you make any deals?”

“I don’t….” Wirt wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “This doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here. I need to find Greg. I’m responsible for him.”

Dipper caught his arm as he started to move away. “Did you make any deals?” he repeated. “Anything that might be taken as a deal?”

“Or would anyone have made one on your behalf?” Mabel added. “That could’ve happened if you ever told someone they could make a decision for you.”

Wirt just stared at them, so Dipper released him in favour of pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said, “I know this sounds crazy, but demons are real. And Mabel and I, we think that’s why you’re here. You must have made a deal with one because you weren’t yourself when we came across you. You were—”

“You were all spooky,” Mabel interrupted. “Smiling too wide, saying vague, menacing things. All ‘this is the In-Between’ and ‘you stand at the edge of the Unknown’ as if that explains anything.”

From the look on Wirt’s face, he didn’t appreciate her accompanying hand gestures and facial expressions. But the names also sounded familiar to him, unless she’d misjudged that flicker of recognition in his eye.

Dipper hadn’t missed it, either. “Does that make sense to you?”

“I can’t be back here,” Wirt said. “I can’t still be here. You were talking about deals, right? The Beast offered me one, but I didn’t take it. Greg…. Look. You’ve got to understand. He was turning into Edelwood. The forest was consuming his soul or claiming it or something like that, so the Beast offered to take his soul and put it in the lantern instead. Then, as long as I kept it lit, Greg wouldn’t be gone. I mean, for a second, I was tempted, but then I thought about it, and that’s dumb, isn’t it? To wander around these woods forever, trying to keep a lantern lit? So no. I didn’t take the deal. Beatrice and I freed Greg, I gave Beatrice the scissors she needed, and Greg and I got out of there. Out of here.”

“Wait, Greg’s your brother, right? So who’s Beatrice? Why did she need scissors if you were stuck in the woods? Or were they a special pair of scissors? And what’s Edelwood? And—”

“What do you mean by the Beast?” Dipper cut in, overriding Mabel’s questions.

“Just…the Beast.” Wirt spread his hands, as if the name explained everything. “I think he’s the one who turns people—lost souls—into trees. Into Edelwood. So their oil can keep the lantern lit. But he’s gone. It was his soul in the lantern all along. When I figured that out, the Woodsman blew it out.”

“Are you sure?” Dipper asked. “It’s usually not that easy to get rid of a demon.”

Wirt crossed his arms. “We got the one out of Lorna easily enough once we realized. Who are you two, anyway? Why are you such an authority on demons?”

“We saved the world by stopping Weirdmageddon,” Mabel said, enjoying as confusion settled back onto Wirt’s face. “Not just us, of course. We had help, and Grunkle Stan was the real hero. But believe me, if that triangle had gotten his way, somewhere like this—” she waved her free hand at their surroundings “—would be downright normal.”

“We think he’s behind us being here,” added Dipper. “Maybe he got to you, too, if it wasn’t this Beast you mentioned.” He frowned. “You said lost souls were turned into this Edelwood, right? So they were consumed by the forest to feed the Beast? Did you offer to switch places with Greg once you realized what was happening to him?”

“No,” Wirt said, sounding as if that was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard, “I just tried to pull him free.”

Mabel looked at Dipper and realized what he was thinking. “But Greg is your brother.” Wirt hadn’t denied that assumption, at least. “So what if…what if he found you turning into a tree and couldn’t free you? What if he offered to switch places with you? What if that’s why he was in that position in the first place?”

“Freeing him would have broken the terms of the deal he’d made, rendering it null,” Dipper agreed. “That could be why you’re here.”

“That’s crazy,” Wirt said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Greg just ran off.”

“Are you sure? Even if he woke up and saw you being turned into kindling?” Mabel looked over at Dipper; she was speaking to him as much as she was to Wirt. “I’d offer to trade places if it were my brother and it was the only way to free him. And Grunkle Stan offered to trade places with Grunkle Ford, even knowing what that would mean. And Dipper and I, we’re….” This time, she wasn’t shivering because of the wind. “The demon we think trapped us here. He shouldn’t have been able to do that. But we tried to save Grunkle Stan, to bring his memories back, so maybe we brought back a piece of Bill Cipher, too.”

It was the first time she’d spoken his name since coming here, and she half-expected him to appear, but the world seemed empty but for the three of them.

Wirt was the one to break the stretching silence. He took the lantern back from Mabel. “I never made any deals, and I don’t know anything about some Bill Cipher, but if everything that I remember happening since Halloween is a lie, I need to find Greg. I need to—” His voice hitched. “I need to make sure he’s safe.”

That he’s not a tree. That’s what Wirt meant. But pointing it out wouldn’t make him feel any better. “So do you know where we are?”

Wirt hesitated. “Not exactly. I don’t remember being in this part of the woods. But I’m more likely to recognize a landmark than you are.”

“What landmark?” Dipper muttered as he walked back to Mabel. He offered her the abandoned lantern pole to use as a walking stick, and she took it, deciding she couldn’t afford to be picky until she could run again.

“Another cursed body of water, maybe,” Mabel said under her breath, taking one last glance at the black lake.

Dipper huffed in reply. She knew he didn’t like this situation. He didn’t trust Wirt. He definitely didn’t trust that Bill wasn’t behind this or that whatever demon had been possessing Wirt was actually gone.

Wirt held the lantern high overhead, and they stayed just within its light. Dipper started mumbling to himself within minutes, and after a while, Mabel asked him what he was going on about. “If we’re right,” he said in a low voice, “about his brother making a deal, then shouldn’t he be a tree right now?”

“He told us what he knows,” Mabel pointed out, “not necessarily what’s actually the truth. Maybe he’s more useful to the demon this way. Maybe he’s supposed to get us hopelessly lost so we turn into trees, and then he’ll go back to waiting for someone to show up. He might not even realize he’s doing this, though. Maybe he flips back and forth every time people show up, just so he can show a side to them that they’ll trust.”

Dipper groaned. “I don’t want to think about him having a standing invitation to be possessed, but you could be right. If there’s really oil in that lantern, someone must have filled it recently.”

They had two obvious options: stay with Wirt or make a break for it. Mabel grimaced, not liking either one, and whispered, “Do you think this Beast is the one possessing him? Do you think he’s the one in the lantern now?”

“The lantern was lit before, and it never went out,” countered Dipper. “If the whole thing about keeping souls in it is true, it’s not necessarily the demon’s soul in there.”

“His brother’s? Or that other person’s?”

“Beatrice,” Dipper supplied absently. “Or his, if this is all just an act.”

“I don’t think it’s an act. He seems genuine.”

“Everyone does until you find out the truth.” Then, louder, Dipper called, “Are we just going to wander around in circles?”

Wirt stopped and rounded on them. “I’m not deaf, you know. I can hear you talking about me. I’m not possessed, okay? Whatever that was…. It’s over now.”

“How can you be sure about that if you thought you were living your life back in the material plane until we found you?”

Wirt stared at Dipper for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and he let his arm drop, shrinking their circle of light. “Everything had worked out,” he said softly. “Beatrice had the scissors she needed to change everyone back. The Beast was gone, and the Woodsman was free of his burden. And Greg and I were home. I mean, we were in the hospital at first, but we were back. And we lived our lives. How can none of that be real?”

“You can be shown what you want to see,” Mabel said quietly. “I know that better than anyone. Nice illusions make the best traps. If you think everything is fine, you’re never going to fight it. You’d never think to fight it.”

“And in the meantime,” Dipper continued, “you’re really here, acting as a puppet for the Beast and making sure lost children stay lost. And making sure the lantern keeps burning.”

The light trembled as Wirt’s hand shook. “So you think Greg’s gone.”

Mabel nudged Dipper and limped back into the circle of light. “We haven’t seen anyone else, remember? Your brother might really have made it home. Maybe he made it because you stayed here.” Seeing the look of dismay on Wirt’s face, Mabel added, “I don’t mean you need to keep staying here, silly! Just that you probably did help your brother get home. And if he knows you’re here, he’s probably doing everything in his power to get you back.” She smiled. “We can help with that.”

“How?”

Mabel didn’t actually know how. She was just confident they could help. If you didn’t believe you could do something, you’d never get it done. “Let’s just prove to you that your brother’s not a tree first,” she said instead, “so you stop worrying about that.”

Wirt frowned, maybe because she’d dodged his question. Rather than calling her on it, though, he admitted, “I’m not sure I can find the right spot. Not if it’s been months. And not…not if the lantern’s been burning all that time. His tree might have been cut down already.”

“You can’t think like that,” Mabel exclaimed. “You have to believe he’s fine and that you’ll get out of here.” Remembering what he’d said about this place, she added, “We’re not going to turn into trees, not if it’s only lost souls who do that. We’re not lost if we just haven’t gotten to where we’re going yet.”

“But I’m not even sure I know where I am!”

She grinned. “That’s what makes it fun. Like a game. First person to figure out where we are wins!”

“But you don’t—”

“Close your eyes,” she commanded.

“What?”

“Close your eyes and spin around. I’d do it, but my ankle still hurts. Close your eyes and spin around and when you stop, we’ll go in whichever direction you’re facing. Then it’ll be random, so Dipper can’t say you’re trying to lead us somewhere, and if you’re not sure which is the best way to be going anyway, we’re just as likely to be going in the right direction.”

Wirt just gaped at her, even as Dipper sighed and closed his eyes and began to spin. He flung out his arm as he stopped, pointing to her left. “Let’s go that way. I’ll lead.” He took the lantern in his right hand and struck out before Wirt could form a coherent protest.

“It’s best not to overthink things,” Mabel confided as she grabbed Wirt’s hand to pull him along, “especially when you’re up against a demon that likes mind games. I don’t think you need to worry about being controlled by the Beast anymore, though. If he could’ve controlled you again without any trouble, he would have done it already.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Now that he wasn’t possessed or being controlled or whatever anymore, Mabel liked being with Wirt. He reminded her a bit of Dipper, and the woods seemed less scary now that he was with them. They were less alone, and now they had someone else to fight for. She felt sorry that he’d been separated from his brother, but that just made her more determined to get them all out of here. They’d figure something out, just as soon as Wirt knew for certain that his brother was out there waiting for him to come back.

“I think there’s a cabin up ahead,” Dipper called after about fifteen minutes of ducking under branches and jumping fallen logs (or, in Mabel’s case, sliding over with Wirt’s help).

Wirt quickened his step at Dipper’s words and reclaimed the lantern, raising it high and striding forward so fast that Mabel had to scramble to keep up. “That’s the Woodsman’s house!”

The house looked abandoned, but Wirt didn’t stop to examine it. He was familiar with this part of the woods, skirting a river and heading past what might have once been a mill in favour of the trees on the other side of the clearing. Judging by how fast he was moving, he was close to where he’d seen Greg being turned into Edelwood. Mabel wasn’t really surprised when, less than five minutes later, Wirt came to an abrupt stop and dropped to his knees.

“There’s no tree here,” he said when Mabel and Dipper finally caught up to him.

“More importantly,” Dipper said as he knelt to run his hand over the ground, “there’s no sign of a stump, either. If this is the place, then you’re right. You freed your brother.” He got back to his feet and pulled Wirt up. “So now we just need to free you.”

Wirt bit his lip. “I still don’t think I made a deal with the Beast, but Greg…. On our last day, before he ran off, he was trying to be a leader. He was certain we’d get home. He hadn’t given up hope. But I had, even after the Woodsman had told me it was my responsibility to get us out of here. So maybe you’re right. Maybe the Beast had laid claim to me. And maybe Greg…. Maybe he did save me. Or try to.” He swallowed and looked at them. “So doesn’t that mean, if I’m here now, that I can’t leave without trading places with Greg again? He doesn’t deserve that. I’d rather stay.”

“You don’t need to. We’re getting you out of here,” Mabel promised. “Right, bro-bro?”

“Right.” Dipper started to pace, walking in a tight circle around them. “But unless the Beast shows himself, we can’t renegotiate the terms of your contract. And we can’t just break it without repercussions. Which means we need to find a loophole.”

“But I didn’t make a contract! I just…I just thought, for a little while, that we were lost for good.”

“Which is why you were. Because you gave up hope.” Mabel looked at Dipper to make sure she was right, and when he nodded, she continued, “But now you have something to fight for. You don’t have to guard the woods, keep watch for lost souls, or ferry people across to the far shore.”

Dipper stopped. “Keeping the lantern lit,” he said. “That was the other thing you said you did.”

Wirt shifted on his feet. “I really hope you’re wrong about that.”

“Your words, not ours. But we can work with that.” Dipper smiled. “You said you thought the Beast’s soul was tied to the lantern, right? And that the Woodsman had blown it out?”

“Yes, but—”

Dipper held up a finger. “If you were right all along, then that’s your loophole.”

Wirt blinked at him.

Mabel didn’t get it, either.

“Isn’t that when everything started shifting for you?” Dipper asked. “When you thought you’d finally managed to get home? Wasn’t it after you’d said that?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then that’s when it started. The Beast controlling you. Maybe he wasn’t really possessing you, but he wouldn’t need to be in you to control you if you already belonged to him. The moment you became a lost soul, you became his property. Think of it more like an implicit contract rather than a deliberate deal. And if you really had discovered his weakness and the Woodsman was willing to blow out the lantern, then the Beast would want to prevent that. That’s when you would’ve become more useful to him as a puppet than as a tree to be fed to the lantern.”

“Because if the Woodsman was willing to blow out the lantern,” Mabel realized, “then that means he knew the Beast had tricked him into keeping it lit. And the Beast needed someone to stop the Woodsman from blowing it out—or to light it again before it was too late—and then to keep the lantern trimmed and burning.”

“Clever, aren’t you?” The voice was coming from Wirt’s mouth, but it wasn’t entirely his anymore. “Pity cleverness won’t help you find your way home.”

Mabel jerked, but the events of the previous summer and her extracurricular activities since had quickened her reaction time. She swung the pole-turned-walking-stick at Wirt, hard, even as he moved toward Dipper. Toward the lantern.

Dipper had been standing between Wirt and the lantern, but he must have been expecting something like this because he had already dropped. Since Wirt had leapt forward to grapple Dipper, the pole swung high. Mabel took a step to try to keep her balance and crumpled when her ankle gave out.

Dipper’s hat was gone. Wirt was already on him, and as Mabel watched, Wirt grabbed a fistful of Dipper’s hair and yanked his head back. Away from the lantern. Dipper yelled and fought, trying to wriggle and wrestle his way out, but Wirt was stronger than he looked. At some point, Dipper had managed to open the door on the lantern, and now he simply seemed to be trying to free a hand to knock over the lantern before Wirt had secured his hold well enough to take it.

Which meant Dipper was being an excellent distraction, and she had time to get back on her feet and gain some leverage.

Wirt—not-Wirt—ignored her.

That was his mistake.

He must never have had to deal with siblings before, let alone twins. The real Wirt wouldn’t have made such a foolish mistake since had a brother. The real Wirt would have known better than to discount her. Because if she could take out Wirt from here, she didn’t need to expose herself by running for the lantern and just giving him a new target. They could try to wear him out by switching off, but it was much easier to just knock him out again, especially when she doubted she could run far.

Mabel steadied herself, hefted the pole, and aimed for his temple.

He ducked.

There was still a shriek and a sickening crack as the pole connected.

She dropped the pole and lurched forward as Dipper’s screams filled her ears. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle behind his back. Somehow, Wirt had anticipated her and wrenched Dipper’s arm from its socket, holding it up in the path of the pole, and then she’d…she’d….

Wirt was already reaching for the lantern.

Dipper had stopped struggling, curling in on himself in the pain. No. No one was allowed to hurt her brother like that. Mabel roared and flung herself forward, reaching out for the lantern. She just had to beat Wirt to it. She couldn’t let him get it back, not after what he had done. Whatever demon possessed him, controlled him, whatever— She wasn’t about to let it win. She couldn’t.

Her fingers hit hot glass a second before his could clasp the lantern’s handle.

The lantern tipped.

Rolled.

Lay open just as another gust of wind blew through the clearing.

The light inside flared

And then it went out.

Part II:  How much do you dare trust something that might not even be real?

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Oh Boy...  I’m Finally Writing This Thing... Heroism is Subjective - Prelude

The fic that goes with this AO3 Link Summary: An AU fic where what Ford was hiding under his sweater was a last-ditch method of defeating Bill once and for all. With all other efforts exhausted and time running out on the containment of Bill's chaotic devastation, he knows what must be done and that there's no chance he will make it through alive. The only problem is that for first time in thirty years, he doesn't want to merely survive for the sake of repairing his mistakes, he wants to live. Notes:  This is a fic I had originally started in the (relatively) short hiatus before the finale. Going back to try to work on this has been rather difficult since I had to put myself back in that mindset of not knowing so many things including how the series would end. I've tried to stay true to the original AU idea as much as possible so I'm sorry if there are inconsistencies with canon or disappointments because certain things from canon (cough cough The Shacktron cough cough) aren't included. (Though, apparently I did get in the ballpark with the appearance of a giant robot and totally nailed that Bill was showing Ford visions with that promo shot of him looming over a galaxy. But the funny thing is that I actually tortured Ford less than canon did which, believe me, is saying something O_o.) Additional note: This fic is purposely vague about everyone's future families so readers can headcanon what they like as far as who married whom. I wanted to keep this as much of a gen fic as possible so have fun filling in the blanks with whatever you like. And now for the main attraction, several thousand words of solid pain. Please accept a complimentary virtual hug and box of tissues...

December 2043 Dipper had barely climbed out of his slush-spattered SUV when a flash of pink and purple slammed into him and powerful arms wrapped around his neck.  Mabel's quilted coat sleeves squished against his cheeks as she squealed in delight, "Dipper!" "Ha ha, good to see you too, Mabel" his greeting squeaked mid-way through with an extra squeeze of her arms.  He returned her overzealous death-grip of a hug before having so much as a moment to survey his surroundings.   Seemingly out of nowhere, two more sets of arms wrapped around the twins as the joyful voices of his parents parroted Mabel's enthusiastic greeting. "Mom!  Dad!  You made it!" he remarked, "How has Florida been treating you?" "Pretty decently," his father answered, patting his back. "Oh, be honest, dear," his mother added, "That last hurricane had us huddled up in a closet and wishing we were back on the west coast." "I'm glad you didn't end up with any damage to the condo," Dipper commented, soaking in the warmth of his parent's arms surrounding him and his twin.  In that moment, television producer and paranormal researcher, Dr. Mason Pines, shed the constricting exoskeleton of professionalism and reveled in the nostalgia of his childhood and the love of his family.  The group released each other and Mabel and his parents took turns hugging his family members as they emerged from the passenger and back seats.   Dipper smiled as he watched the moody are we there yets of a long drive melt into gushing about the warmth and fluffiness of the scarves Mabel had made for everyone.   "Not everyone can say they have a scarf made by the designer!"   "These are so cool!  Everyone back home is super jealous that I have an M.Pines original!" He turned back to the SUV, ready to pop open the trunk and unload his family's luggage but a shaky hand on his shoulder triggered a pause. "Hey kid.  Good ta' see you again." "Grunkle Stan!"  Dipper whipped around, catching his wobbly great uncle in his arms. "Grunkle Stan, I thought I told you to stay inside where it's warm!"  Mabel scolded him with an outstretched finger and pouted lips.  Her concerned "You could have slipped and fallen!" and "Why didn't you at least use your walker!" faded as he waved a hand at her dismissively.   "Psh.  I get around fine without that rickety thing.  'Sides, I got impatient.  Couldn't wait any longer to give you this," he joked, wrapping an arm around Dipper's neck and rubbing his gnarled knuckles in his hair.  His voice creaked and rasped, weathered by a blur of holidays, summer vacations, and, Dipper suspected, from the source of the smoky musk clinging to his hair.  His arms, once a powerhouse of punches, felt bony and thin beneath his sheepskin coat, his grip retaining less and less strength with every playful choke hold and noogie, yet, Dipper played along, bending nearly halfway over to surrender.   "Aw, I'm glad to see you too," he said, giving his great uncle a few moments of triumph before carefully freeing himself from his grip and wrapping both arms around him. "What is this, a hug?" Stan grunted, as he always did. "Yeah.  Yeah it is.  You got a problem with that?" Dipper joked. "Smart mouthin' me, huh?  I'm proud of ya, kiddo," He replied, patting Dipper's back.  "Proud 'a ya both," he added, reaching up to pull Mabel into the hug.  He released them, stepped back for a moment to appreciate their presence before him, then threw his arms around them again, holding them tightly for a moment and releasing them with some reluctance. Stan took turns hugging and greeting the others with two hugs each while Dipper and Mabel unloaded the trunk.  After handing out suitcases and bags to every open hand offering to carry something, Dipper closed the trunk, shouldered his messenger bag, and rolled his own suitcase along the ice-spotted path cleared between snowdrifts, looking ahead to a familiar sight.  Thirty years had brought Dipper and Mabel growth, failure, new family members, exciting technology, and a dusting of gray hair but one thing remained constant, a rock where he and his family could tether their drifting rafts every holiday season, The Mystery Shack.   Blanketed in snow and nestled between towering conifers, the only change the shack had seen, repairs aside, was thirty years ago, when anything too reminiscent of a certain demon had been stripped from the structure.  Amber lights flickered through orange and green stained glass, inviting the visiting family in from the biting flurries drifting down from a blanket of clouds above.  Even so, Dipper's shoulders sagged as one mournful memory threatened to drown out laughter fueled water balloon fights, celebratory fireworks shot toward the horizon, snowball fights in the forest, and monster movie nights spent together in the warm glow of the television.  He tried to smile past it but his sagging posture betrayed him. "Hey, Dipper,  It's okay," Mabel whispered to him, her shoulder tapping against his as the lag in his stride allowed her to catch up, "I know it's still hard for you sometimes." "Yeah, kiddo.  It's...  It's rough sometimes," Stan added, his head lowered and one arm locked with Mabel's for support. "I try to remember all of the good times but sometimes..." Dipper trailed off, his vision locked on a cleanly shoveled square in the snow where a stone engraved with the words "Heroism is subjective." marked the center of a tan and brown mosaic depicting a zodiac circle.   "Yeah, me too, kid.  Me too," Stan agreed softly, his voice hitching between words.  After a pensive pause, a smile lifted his cheeks and he looked up to Dipper, wagged a finger at him and added, "But save the spiel of asking me if I'm okay staying here.  I'm just as fine with it now as I have been the thirty-thousand other times you two have asked.  Soos and Melody have been takin' good care of the place and of me too, if you must know." "I'm glad to hear that," Dipper replied, shifting the strap crossed over his chest. "Me too," Mabel added, resting her head on Stan's shoulder for a moment.  She had become closer than ever to him in the five years preceding her fashion line's explosion in popularity.  Thanks to his offer to live in the Mystery Shack for as long as she liked, she was able to quit her day job and focus on her designs.  With his experience in running a business, he helped her set up her own and ran the administrative portion until she could afford to hire an assistant.  Despite his protests to any form of repayment, he regularly received new coats and sweaters in the mail along with lengthy, hand written letters, drawings, and cards.   "Oh, by the way, Grunkle Stan," Dipper said with a light grunt as he hoisted his suitcase onto the porch, "Thanks for coming all the way down to LA for the graduation ceremony.  We were all so happy you could make it." "Well, of course!  I had to be there for the two of us, ya know," He answered, nodding toward the mosaic. "Yeah," Dipper replied with a melancholy smile, holding the door open for his sister and Great uncle, "He's still with us everyday, isn't he?" "Damn straight!  And if he ain't, when we meet again, I'm gonna yak his ear off with thirty years worth of stories.  Yer gonna have to bury me with one'a Mabel's scrapbooks so I can show him all the photos." "Heh, yeah," Dipper muttered with an awkward laugh.  It was hard enough losing the grunkle who made him feel less alone, who threw aside his work to play their favorite game together, and who praised him for being who he was.  He didn't want to so much as imagine the inevitability of losing the grunkle who taught him how to fight, who gave him the strength and confidence to follow his dream, and who sent him letters every week when he was struggling with anxiety in his first year of college. Yet, as much as Stan joked about the topic, he certainly had luck to spare in continuing on year after year.  He'd kept his promise to his brother that he'd live a long and happy life, that he'd defy death out of pure spite, if necessary, to live for them both.  Every hug became two hugs, one from each of them.  Every family event was met with twice the pride and enthusiasm.  Yet, he still allowed himself space to grieve, space to rest, space to sometimes simply not feel up to doing anything, and space to be himself.  It only took Mabel saying, "He'd understand," and Dipper adding "He'd want you to do what makes you happy and keeps you healthy," once for Stan to concede.  Though it took time, they all learned to find a balance between loving their lives and respecting the family member torn from them too soon. Dipper shook the thoughts away, settling himself into a lighter mood, and glanced around the Mystery Shack's hallway, a smile spreading on his face as he lifted his head, sniffing the air like a cat waiting for its dinner.  The smell of fresh baked cookies intertwined with the sound of Soos and Melody's laughter lilting from the kitchen's open door. Stan whispered something akin to an apology to his walker before sitting on it's knit-covered seat with a groan.  He looked up to Dipper, noticing his audible sniffing, and said with a wink, "That's my recipe they're using in there, ya know." "Your chocolate crisp one?" He asked, brushing the rapidly melting snow flurries from his shoulders, "No wonder it smells so good-" "Hey Dipper," Mabel elbowed him gently, "You know..." her gravely whispered tone dispelled his attempt to lighten the mood.  "I think the kids are all old enough that we could tell them what really happened that summer...  If you want." "You think so?" he asked, tugging his gloves off, "I guess it would be good.  We don't want to keep secrets, right?" "Yeah."  She shrugged off her coat and hung it on a peg beside the door.  "Grunkle Stan?  Do you think you'd be alright to tell the story?"  She bent down to help him wiggle one arm out of his coat, "I know it's tough for you but you're the best at keeping all the pieces together." "I guess so," he answered, slipping his other arm out of his coat and handing it to Mabel, "I mean, you two are right.  It's not fair to keep this from them.  They hear about him from me sometimes, they deserve to know who he was and why it's important to me to hug them for him all the time."  He looked up to the twins and smiled, "I mean, he is a part of this family too right?" The twins nodded in unison, Mabel's answer of "damn right," overlapping Dipper's, "Of Course." "After dinner then.  Everyone will be together. That'll be a good time to tell them what really happened to Ford."