#Ford Would Definitely Think He Was Hallucinating for a While | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Black Dog - part five Word count: 5600± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part five summary: Dean and David hike up White Horse Mountain, and the hunter stumbles on something he never expected to find. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

“There. That’s our car.”

David points at the Ford Escape ahead, which is parked alongside the road next to a stream. Dean peers through the windshield and nods, satisfied. He didn’t actually think it was possible, but David is as good at chart reading as Sam is. The nineteen-year-old remembers these backroads well.

Even though the timing isn’t perfect, now that the end of the day is approaching fast, the kid with the heart of a lion is determined to find his family and bring them home. If this creature turns out to be a wendigo, a hunt at night adds a bigger risk, but according to David, the weather is going to take a turn within the coming days, leaving not much time to lose. Then there’s the factor of those three missing hunters. The old wise man down in the village presumed them to be dead already, but a presumption isn’t definite. Dean will not write them off without finding either solid proof or dead bodies, and every minute passing slims the chances of their survival.

As the hunter pulls over, he observes his surroundings. A fallen tree blocks the road ahead. It has been there for a while by the looks of it, because besides the SUV of David’s father, two other cars also await their owners to come back. One is a 4x4 Jeep with huge antlers attached to the grill, the other is a two-seat Land Rover with way too many bumper stickers on the rear end. “I’m guessing those are the hunters’ cars,” Dean presumes.

He turns off the ignition, the guitars and drums of Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog cut short, then he gets out of the Impala. The frozen ground crunches under his boots, the breath he blows out forming a small cloud as soon as it collides with the cold air. David takes his example and exits the car as well, moving towards the Ford.

“There’s equipment inside that we’re going to need,” he says, while trying to have a look through the window. Dean walks around his Chevrolet and slides the keys into the lock of the trunk. “Like what?” “You know, the ten essentials. Ice axes, crampons, snowshoes, all that,” David sums up. “Apparently I don’t,” Dean mutters, realizing it’s a good thing David decided to come along for the ride. His father had taken him and his brother on survival training plenty of times, but never in these snowy conditions on treacherous mountain tops.

David curses, as he tries to open one of the doors. “Damn it, Dad locked it.” “That’s where my equipment comes in handy.” David turns around to see what Dean is talking about. He has opened the trunk of the Chevrolet and takes out a steel lath which is slightly bent at the end. David has seen it before in movies; it’s used for carjacking. For a second he glares at Dean. Why would he carry something like that with him? Skillfully, Dean slips the lath between the glass and the rubber frame, and with a quick motion, he unlocks it, without leaving a scratch. He steps back and gestures to the car door. “Knock yourself out.”

Stunned, David glances from the SUV to Dean as he starts to wonder what this guy does for a living. Before he can ask, the stranger fires a question at him, though. “How long did it take you to get over that ridge?” Dean wonders. “About three hours. It’s getting dark already, so it might take a little longer than that,” David admits, watching Dean head back towards the slick, black car. “Where are you going?” “I need to make a call before we go on this little adventure,” he notifies before he lowers himself into the driver’s seat.

He closes the door and sighs, then takes out his phone. For a few seconds, he stares down at the little device in his hand, unsure if he should go through with what he’s about to do. Sam chose to walk away from him when he offered him a choice, Dean should not be the one crawling back to him. Or should he? Does he need to be the bigger man here? The first one to restore contact? If he does, he needs to do it now. The signal is bad down in the valley, not to mention up there between the clouds.

Pressing the speed dial before he can decide otherwise, Dean presses the dial button, but is eventually put through to voicemail. He can’t help but wonder if Sam just denied his call or that he’s unable to come to the phone. While the standard message plays, he starts to get worried. His little brother better not be in some kind of trouble. Then the final beep sounds in his ear and he leaves a message.

“Hey, Sammy... It’s - it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that, uh... I’m in Darrington, Washington State. Dad was right, there is a case here. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out. Anyway, I’m going into the woods and won’t be able to contact you any time soon, so…” He pauses and takes a breath. “I hope you’re doing okay, Sam. Leave me a message when you get this.”

After those words, he hangs up and stares at his phone. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he pronounce that simple word? Is it that hard to tell his brother that he is sorry about that fight? Apparently it is. With a deep sigh, he gets out of his car and notices David is already waiting. He has two backpacks ready and is carrying all sorts of tools on him. “You’ll need this,” he offers, handing Dean a backpack. Dean takes it and hooks his arm through one of the loops, then he turns to the trunk of his Chevrolet. “Good, now let’s bring on the good shit.”

With those words, he opens the lid and lifts up the double bottom, revealing his weapon collection. David’s eyes widen and stare down the trunk. Pistols, shotguns, knives, grenades, a sniper rifle, axes, crossbows. And is that…? Is that a grenade launcher? Every single weapon you could possibly think of is stored in that car.

Frightened, he looks over at Dean. “Are you going to kill me?” Dean looks aside, puzzled. “What? No, of course not.” He takes his gun from his waistband, unloads it, and replaces the bullets with silver ones. Curious yet scared, David monitors his actions.

“Do you know how to handle a rifle, David?” Dean asks while he packs a set of flare guns and extra cartridges. It still bugs him that he’s not sure what he’s dealing with yet, which is usually step one when it comes to hunting. He doesn’t want to waste more time, though, with so many lives lost already, so he’s gearing up for every creature still on the list. “Yeah, Dad took me deer hunting a few times,” the young guy replies, still doubtful. “I’ll tell you one thing, it ain’t deer we’re gonna hunt,” Dean comments.

He hands the young guy a loaded pistol, which David puts away behind his belt. Dean loads a shotgun with rock salt, in case he finds a spirit in these woods. When he’s done, he gives it to David as well as a flare gun. “Shoot first, ask questions later,” he orders.

“What are we hunting exactly?” David likes to know, slightly freaked out. “Probably a skinwalker, which is a creature that is able to change into any animal it wants, and if we’re really lucky, it’s a wendigo, which is an incredibly fast and close-to-perfect hunter. But it could also be a daeva, ” Dean rambles, as if he’s reading from a boring history book while preparing his own shotgun.

David's jaw drops. What did he just say? Is this guy for real? Or is he about to hike up a mountain with someone who should be admitted either to a mental institution or locked up in jail? That would be the obvious explanation, but after what he experienced, he knows it’s not the only scenario. This stranger, who he had never seen before in his life, is the only one who believes his story and has taken him seriously. He wonders, though. What’s the scarier thought? Going into the woods with a possible mad man, or to seek out something evil, something supernatural, in the wilderness?

Dean notices his guide’s reaction as he slams the lid of his car and locks it up. He figured the kid needed some time to comprehend, but they need to get going. The hunter turns to David again, skillfully loading his rifle single-handedly. “Welcome to my world.”

Leaving the teenager in complete shock, he walks past him and expects him to follow, which he eventually does, once he snaps out of it. “So… we just kill the monster?” he asks as he catches up with Dean, looking aside. “Not ‘just’. These creatures are damn fast, so it’s gonna be a hell of a task.” Dean gives the directions clearly, knowing they will need some time to sink in. “If you see any kind of animal, you shoot it with that gun I just gave you. If you see something that looks slightly human, torch the fucker.” “What if it’s something else?” the only remaining Cleveland questions. “Then you run like hell and let me take care of it,” Dean orders. David nods, trying to process the information. “And the shotguns?” “Oh, I took those just in case we run into an evil spirit,” Dean adds nonchalantly.

The young guy, who is exposed to way more new information than he can digest, stops dead in his tracks, leaving Dean in the lead. Completely staggered, he stares at him, bug-eyed. Did he just say ‘evil spirit’? As in a ghost?

“You’re insane!” he concludes. “If you have a better explanation for all this, please share,” Dean returns, growing impatient. David catches up with him again, observing him while they march up the trail. “You do this for a living? You actually hunt these things down?” he asks, both stunned and curious. “It doesn’t pay well if that’s what you mean, but yeah. Someone has to do the job,” the hunter admits. “And I thought I had it bad in college,” the teenager scoffs under his breath.

Silence follows as the company of two starts their journey up the steep hills at the foundation of Whitehorse Mountain. It’s a good thing Dean has endurance, because it’s a tough trail they’re following. They parked the car at 750 feet, far below the Lone Tree Pass, and crossing these terrains isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Downed evergreens make it difficult to move fast, almost as if the woods are trying to slow them down, knowing what’s up there.

They are about two hours on their way when they hit snow. The thin layer of white allows the two young men to make good time, and it doesn’t take them long to reach an open area. Ice crystals reflect the mystical moon rays, the only source of natural light they have. Dean might be wearing several layers of clothing, but he can’t shut out the freezing temperatures completely. His hands tingle and his nose and ears feel cold, the brisk night air uncomfortable against his skin. The hunter turns up the collar of his jacket to protect his neck from the elements, but silently wishes he had brought a scarf at least.

The snow that fell yesterday reached lower altitudes than it did last week, announcing winter. David’s flashlight shimmers on the silver surface as they cross the open space. Cautious, Dean scans the area holding his torch up, shining it in the direction where he’s looking. David, on the other hand, checks his altimeter. “We’re at 2400 feet,” he notifies. Dean checks his watch, it’s almost ten-thirty. “We’re not gonna reach the Lone Pass Tree before midnight, are we?” “I’m afraid not. Want to set up camp?” David proposes. “No, we’re not gonna close our eyes in these woods. Something’s off,” Dean replies, alert.

The skilled hunter can’t put his finger on it, but the hair in the back of his neck is straight up. He looks around, his focus flicking over his surroundings. He lets the light glide along the edge of the forest, when he sees a hint of a shadow. It moves so fast he barely captures it, yet he immediately draws his shotgun, which alerts David. “What?” “Shh…” Dean hushes him and gestures to follow him. “Stay close. Keep your eyes open.”

Scared yet brave, David takes out his gun and does as told. The only thing they hear are the noises coming from the woods and the snow rustling under their shoes. Dean wants to get out of this clearing as fast as possible; they are sitting ducks out here in the open.

With his hunter instincts on high alert, Dean crosses the field, the stock of the shotgun against his cheek and the back end firmly against his shoulder pocket as he peers past the barrel. His father, having served in Vietnam, taught his sons everything he knows about 360 degrees combat. The military training has proven his worth throughout his career in hunting evil, and today is no exception.

The two make it to the treeline, finding shelter in the shadows of the forest. After a few hundred yards, Dean stops dead in his tracks, spotting something that doesn’t fit the picture. What appears to be the remnants of a campsite comes into view, and he lowers his weapon. He realizes it’s probably the three missing hunters, but as they approach, it becomes clear that the creature he’s tracking has beaten him to it.

The place is completely trashed. A fire has died out, fresh snow covering the blackened logs. The tents, which were set up in a triangle around the only heat source, are shredded to pieces. Strips of canvas sadly hang from the tentpoles, the soft breeze moving them back and forth. Blood that leaked from the groundsheet and tainted the ice should have been a warning, but the young Cleveland pulls back the cover anyway, regretting it the second he beholds what’s inside. He stumbles away, instantly throwing up and dumping his half-digested meal into the snow.

Dean watches the young guy for a second, who wipes his mouth and stares back at him, pale as a ghost. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first dead body the hunter has come across, yet he still pushes away the torn canvas with caution. He can understand David’s response, because it’s anything but a pretty sight. Inside lies what remains of one of the men. His torso has been ripped open and bodily fluids have splattered everywhere. Bite marks and scratches have torn his clothes, revealing the disemboweled body. His face has been eaten away, his remaining limbs already turning black. Scavengers have been snacking on his flesh, yet the frost that covers him has taken away the worst of the smell.

With a sigh, the hunter steps back and investigates the other tents, finding the same dramatic portrayal behind every curtain. He spots the rifles by their sides; they got ambushed. The fact that all three of them are still in a sleeping position indicates that the attacks happened at once. It’s not just one predator who has made this area their hunting grounds. There are at least three of those creatures out there, which makes them outnumbered.

His flashlight catches the torn-up canvas. The fabric is cut up by razor-sharp claws by the looks of it, four digits instead of five. “I can tell you one thing, it ain’t no wendigo,” he concludes, ruling out the lonesome monster.

But if it isn’t a wendigo, then what? Dean glances up at the sky through the branches. The moon was full a few days ago, yet now it’s partly shadowed; it can’t be a werewolf either. When he redirects his gaze back to the ground, he spots an imprint of a paw, stained with crimson. It looks like one of a wolf or some other canine. The experienced hunter is putting his money on the monsters being skinwalkers, until he looks back into one of the tents. The guy’s chest is ripped to shreds, but his heart is still there. So what the hell could this be then?

Pondering, he steps back, making eye contact with the teenager. David is trembling slightly, and Dean would do anything to break the picture that will be forever framed in his mind. The kid is scared for life. “You good?” he asks sympathetically, holding his gaze. His question is answered with a nod of the head. David swallows with difficulty, but then he exhales, collecting himself. “Let’s keep moving, there’s nothing we can do for them,” Dean says. “Turn off your flashlight, it will only make us easy targets. Those things could be anywhere, so stay close, alright?”

David nods silently once more, doing exactly as Dean tells him. They move away from the site where the horrific event took place and traverse left, further into the forest to a wide-open strip, leading to the slopes of the Lone Pass Trees. The tall evergreens seem to try and cut out every bit of light, isolating them from the rest of the world. Darkness overshadows the boy and the hunter, who have both drawn their weapons.

For a moment, Dean closes his eyes and listens, trying to identify the many sounds of the night. Then he opens them, giving his pupils time to adjust. They are being watched, the hunter can feel it in his bones. He taps David on the shoulder to tell him to stop. Alerted and highly aware of what’s going on around him, Dean holds his shotgun up. If it’s a forest spirit, the rocksalt is going to hurt, but if this thing turns out to be a daeva, it’s only going to buy them a few extra seconds.

Then he notices it, something sneaking at ten o’clock. A branch twitches softly, but it’s enough for Dean to aim the barrel in the direction where it came from, trusting his trained ear. In a reflex, he steps in front of David and pulls the trigger, shooting a slug from the barrel, immediately taking cover behind a tree and pulling his guide with him. It’s a good thing he does, because whatever it is, it shoots back. He hears the rock salt hit the target right before the slug from the other weapon splinters the bark right next to his head. As he turns his face and shuts his eyes, protecting them from the wooden fragments, he hears the creature scream out.

“AAH! God damn it!!”

Dean’s eyes widen as he feels the tree trunk against his back. No fucking way. Impossible. Yet, he knows that voice, he knows it way too well. The hunter carefully peeks from behind his cover. “Uh-oh.” “What?” David whispers, scared. “What is it?” “This is far worse than a wendigo or a skinwalker,” Dean comments under his breath, after which he puts on a louder voice. “Zoë?” A short silence follows as it seems to sink on their opponent who she just had a face-off with. When the realization hits, hell breaks loose. “Dean Winchester, you fucking ASSHOLE!!” Zoë curses.

She has her arm clamped over the area where Dean just unleashed the insides of his shotgun. The agonizing injury has her coughing, the wind knocked from her lungs just moments earlier. Zoë has never been shot with rock salt before and although she knows it won’t kill her, it’s certainly not a pleasant experience.

“You two know each other?” David assumes, surprised by this unexpected development. “Unfortunately, we do,” Dean comments. “You fucking SHOT me!!” she cries out, infuriated.

Dean grimaces, cowering at her harsh tone; he’s dead meat. He just fired a gun at Zoë Sullivan and actually managed to hit her. He’s not sure if he will live to tell the tale. Then he remembers the little prank she pulled on him in Paragould. As his facial expression changes, he glares around the tree.

“Well, you deserved it!” he shouts back, a part of him regretting his words the moment he pronounces them. “WHAT did you just say to me?!” Zoë returns, in disbelief. “You wrecked Baby!” Dean argues. “Baby? What are you… Oh, you have got to be shitting me!” she snaps, frustrated. “You shot me over a fucking car?!” Immediately, Dean’s eyes widen and he scoffs, insulted. “It’s a--” “- ‘67 Chevrolet Impala,” the huntress interrupts. “Big fucking deal!” “You know what’s a big deal? You shot me too, back in Rochester. With a real bullet!” Dean counters.

Another pause follows, the quiet moment allowing her ragged breaths to be audible. Dean can hear her cough and groan. Shit, she’s in a lot of pain.

“Zo?” “Yeah?” she moans. “Sorry.” The huntress huffs. “You will be when I’m done with you.” “You’re not gonna shoot me, are ya?” Dean questions, before he dares to come out of hiding. “No, I guess we’re square,” she sighs.

Dean appears from the shadows while Zoë tries to crawl up, her forearm still tightly pressed against her chest. Seeing her on the ground has the older Winchester sibling fasten his steps towards her. He offers his hand, and when she glares at him she notices the concern in his eyes, despite the dim light. Reluctant, she places her palm in his and allows him to pull her in an upright position, after which the hunter crouches down next to her.

“You alright?” he checks, peeling her warm coat away. “Had worse,” Zoë croaks, clearing her throat with difficulty. The winter coat she’s wearing has cushioned the rocksalt somewhat, but bruising is already evident, blood surfacing through her skin. “Shit,” he cusses, his voice laced with guilt. “David, give me some light, will ya?”

Perplexed, the huntress looks past Dean at the young guy who pulls a torch from his backpack. She assumed the tall figure behind the hunter was Sam, since the two siblings are so unhealthily co-dependent on each other. Zoë snaps her head back to face the older Winchester brother, then hints at David. “You brought him here?”

Before the hunter can answer her, the flashlight flips on, its rays exposing the state the woman before him is in, silencing him instantly. A blood splatter has painted her neck and chin with red, her brow and temple badly bruised. Crimson has dripped down from her forehead and dried into her pores, a cut on her cheekbone is still bleeding. No way in hell that a bit of rock salt caused that.

Dean gapes at her. “Jesus, Zo. What the fuck happened?” “I got into a little fight,” she admits carelessly. Not satisfied with that answer, he sternly stares into her eyes. “With what?” “Doesn’t matter,” she mutters, pushing herself off the ground, half accepting Dean’s support when he helps her. “I still can’t believe you dragged the kid with you.” “He needed a guide,” David answers before Dean does. “I thought you were with Wildlife Services?” Confused, Dean shifts his attention from Zoë to David and back. “You talked to him?” “Of course I did. You think I would work a case without a background check?” she snaps, pulling herself loose from the hunter’s grip once she’s on her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean now asks David. “I didn’t think it was relevant. I had my statement taken by several people. How was I supposed to know that she’s a hunter too?” the young guy excuses. Now it’s Zoë’s turn to Dean in shock. “You told him?!” she cries out. “He deserved to know, Zoë,” Dean defends. “He deserves to live and so do you,” she returns firmly. “The both of you need to get off this mountain. Now.” “No, not without my family,” the brave teenager states, determined. “You’re no good to them dead, David. Believe me, you will end up the same way as your father and sister if you don’t go back,” she lectures.

Confused, Dean watches the exchange, unsure what Zoë’s words could mean. “For fuck's sake, Zo. What are you hunting?” “It’s taken care of, but you two need to leave. Now!” she replies firmly. “You can come back for your family’s remains, I promise you that. But not tonight, unless you want to suffer the same fate.”

Her brown eyes bore deep into David’s. Her promise is sincere, but so is the warning. A pressing expression strengthens her words, convincing him to listen. There is something about her that forces David to understand he must do what she tells him to. He looks from one hunter to the other, then he nods as he swallows apprehensively. “Okay,” he agrees. “Here, take this with you,” she hands him an amulet. Dean recognizes it as the demon protection necklace Zoë stole from his trunk back in Rochester. When he took the pendant back, he was sure he had left it in the trunk of the Impala, but she must have snatched it again when he wasn’t looking. Why would she need the enchanted jewelry? What is hiding in these woods that the amulet would work on? Demons? But that doesn’t fit the leads at all. Wanting to get a grip on the situation, the hunter tries to read her, but Zoë gives him nothing.

“Run and don’t look back”, she tells David. “And the gun?” David gives the man who accompanied him on this quest a wondering look, the 9mm Glock burning behind his waistband. “Keep it. Might come in handy,” Dean insists, also handing him a card from his pocket. “This is my brother’s number. When you get back to the village, give him a call and he will help you.” “You’re going with him,” Zoë decides strictly. The older Winchester sibling glances from David to the injured woman. Her breathing is still elevated, but her gaze is as penetrating as ever. Dean doesn’t back down, though, his green eyes are as piercing as she has ever witnessed them. “No, I’m not.” The huntress rolls her eyes skyward, trying to tie down the anger that is building in her stomach. Now is not the time for the hunter to fight her, yet she has to convince him fast before they run out of time. “Dean, listen to me--” “I’m not gonna bail,” he makes clear, his father’s orders in the back of his mind. “You are not part of this case,” Zoë hisses, suppressing her rage. But Dean doesn’t falter. “I am now.”

The smart woman who has made quick-thinking her middle name, turns away from him, her hands moving to her head, fingers raking into her brown locks. When she swings back around to face him, he sees a desperation in her stance he has never witnessed before. “For fuck’s sake, Dean! Listen to me for once! If you stay, you will DIE!!” she cries out, retreating her hands from her hair and gesturing wildly.

The complete change of demeanor stuns Dean. Trying to unravel her odd behavior, he watches her, noticing the shimmer in her eyes when the moonlight catches them. It starts to dawn on him that she’s not sending him away because she doesn’t want his help. There is so much more at stake than just pride.

“I don’t want your blood on my hands, Dean,” Zoë continues, her voice much softer now. “Please, just… Please go.”

Compared to her harsh words a moment ago, these come out as a pleading whisper. He could have sworn he heard a tremble, her words laid thick with fear and sadness. Nothing about this picture seems right. Could it be that the mighty huntress is actually scared?

It only fuels Dean’s determination to remain by her side even more. His green eyes turn softer, a mix of comfort and compassion filling them. “I’m not leaving you alone on this one, Zo.”

She breathes out a shuddering sigh, admitting the loss. It’s not often that it happens, but Zoë doesn’t argue further. The commitment in his tone, the way he’s looking at her right now, she knows that a nation’s army couldn't change his mind. David seems to realize it too, because he steps back and intends to leave. “Good luck,” he wishes them.

Both Dean and Zoë give him a nod, after which he disappears into the darkness of the forest. When he’s out of sight, the remaining hunter turns back to Zoë. She can’t look at him, aware that she has already lost the battle and that Dean has sealed his fate. She and the older Winchester brother might not get along, but this is not what she wishes for him. Now that he chose to stay, he chooses to die. Not okay with this in the slightest, she shakes her head and looks down at the icy soil at her feet.

“You shouldn’t have followed me, Dean,” she sighs, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t,” he returns, truthful. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “How else would you explain that you end up here on the--” “Dad sent me.”

Stunned, she looks up, his words a complete shock to her. Several questions start to swirl inside in her mind. John? John sent him here? How did he even know she would be on this mountain? On this exact spot? And why would he send his son on a suicide mission?

“Why in hell would he jeopardize your life?” she counters, frustration and fury thick in her tone. “Maybe because he thinks yours can be saved,” Dean brings to mind. Zoë chuckles and turns away from the Winchester son who bears such a resemblance to his father, taking a couple of steps away from him while she tries to wrap her head around the situation.

“Is that funny to you?” he questions, hostile, her cynical laugh rubbing him the wrong way. “It is, because last time I checked, saving my ass is about the last thing your old man wants to do,” she returns, venom in her voice.

Her acquisition puts John’s son off once again. He has noticed her disrespecting and aggressive attitude towards his father several times before and he can’t resist continuing on that matter this time. “What the fuck is your problem with my father?” he asks defensively. “Can we please not do this? Not now,” she intervenes, seemingly tired, after which her gaze wanders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Dean observes her intently, unable to comprehend what is happening. Zoë Sullivan who doesn’t want to pick a fight? That’s a new one. Her choice of actions alerts Dean, even frightens him a little. However, nothing will ever make him reconsider the decision to stick around. Dad gave him a job to do and finding the huntress here, clearly in deep shit, can’t be a coincidence. He approaches Zoë, forces her to look him in the eye by gently gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him.

“Zo, what are you hunting?” he asks, emerald greens staring at her. “I’m not hunting, Dean,” she answers, her voice only having a fraction of its usual strength. “I’m ending this.”

In the far distance, a church bell rings. Startled, Zoë snaps her head to the side, staring into the direction of the valley as the single carillon chimes. Midnight is here.

Three… four… five…

Time becomes valuable when it runs out. This is it. This is the moment she has feared for exactly one year now. This is the moment that she has to pay her dues.

Seven… eight… nine…

“Zo?” Dean tries to call her back, hoping to get her attention, but she has shut herself out. The woman before him is identical to the girl he met four years ago, when she was possessed and the carpet got pulled from under her. Panic and fear swim in her eyes and tears begin to pool just above her bottom eyelashes. Unable to respond, she listens to the sounding of the bells, pulling in irregular breaths. She’s on the verge of breaking down.

He isn’t sure how to handle her, the huntress who has seen so much evil and has endured so much pain. She never gives in to fear, never wavers, never gives up, until now. And still, Dean doesn’t have a clue what is going on, but he is starting to fear the worst himself.

Gently, he slides his hands down her arms until he’s holding her by the wrists, tightening his grip to get her to look at him. Finally, Zoë turns her head and stares back, teardrops coming down her bruised and bloody face. Despite the lack of light, he can see them glisten with sorrow.

Ten… eleven…

Then the last call of the church bell echoes through the valley. It feels like the drums stop right then and there and the floor is about to disappear from under her, which will force the seemingly unbeatable huntress to fight the noose. Her entire form trembles under Dean’s touch. She can barely say a word, because she knows they will be one of her last. And so she whispers the most fragile, truthful, and frightening message that has ever left her lips, only for him to be heard.

“I’m so sorry.”

Dun-dun-dun! Hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger. Feel free to rant about after the read. Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part six here

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wendibird · 4 years ago

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SPN 15X16 Observations

Alrighty folks! This week, both my TV AND internet were working! (Helped that this past week a repairperson came out and checked things out and turned out our cable box needed to be replaced because the one they’d given us was defective or something.) So, good part of that was that I was able to watch it on my actual TV! Bad news is, that meant I was left trying to take notes on my phone, which isn’t as easy for me as it is on my computer which my keyboard. But ah well. Here are my episode notes and post-watching break-down of what I thought about it.

- getting "IT" vibes

- "IT" vibes still there

- Nyooooooom

- DEAN! YOU DIDN'T TELL HIM YOU BASTARD!!!

(FLASHBACK) - Dang Dean.... "this is our life" Even then he was trying to make Sam accept it. - Poor Sammy - That's a big gun for a little kid...

- Poor (other) kid!

(Commercial thoughts) So this is the second time this season that Cas had a conversation with Dean and then left and Dean lied to Sam about it. So Sam's in the dark still.

First time I think Dean just didn't want to admit his part in Cas leaving. This time, I have a feeling he doesn't want Sam to know what Cas (probably) said about Jack. Maybe thinks Sam will try to stop the plan. And Dean wants it to happen? Because at least this time it's not them making the sacrifice? *salty*

- Dean's pretty quick to call it. (That it's not their kind of thing.)

- Ring??

- He brought the ring back

- That woke her up

- NOW he (Dean) believes her...

(Commercial) Dean is closing down connections between him and the people he usually connects with. Like, it's harder to hold onto those. Like, he's willing to let Jack go (I think) And he was ready to write off Caitlin's brother.

Also tied up with his slef image. He thought he'd taken care of it back then. She prayed on his sense of duty and shame of failure.

Interesting that the knife wasn't really there.

Could it have killed him anyway?

- "We used to keep a lot of secrets from each other."

- I still hate how Dean gets lumped up as "Sam and Dean" as if his POV is the only one important. (Reference to what Billy told Jack to get him to agree. It was pitched as if his sacrifice to take out Chuck is the only way to earn both their forgiveness. But that's only true for Dean. Not Sam.)

- Dean knows Sam isn't going to like it. That's why he hasn't told him yet.

- BABA YAGA!!! (Wonder if there'll be any references to her hut on chicken legs.)

- *LOL* Poor bong girl.

- So, hallucinating or teleportation? (Apparently hallucination)

- Sammy to the rescue?

- Well, he got to help....

(Commercial) (Still disappointed that there was no mention of her hut on chicken legs or the fact that she rode around on a mortar and pestle. She felt more like an SPN interpretation of IT.)

- "You tell the truth more because you know that lies don't make anything better." (Is that an anvil I hear falling in the distance?)

- Okay. That (Dean fessing-up to Sam) predictably went horribly, but I'm glad it did. I'm glad Sam had a freaking voice. And an opinion. And wouldn't let Dean talk him around. Because he's right. It was shitty to hide it from him. And the plan is shitty. He knows what it's like to be the guy who has to die to save the world. And he's right to have ethical questions.

- "You wouldn't have handled it." (Or however it was phrased is Dean's internal justification for why he's right and Sam isn't. And why it was okay to hide it from him.)

(Post-episode thoughts)

(And again, apologies if these aren't exactly coherent.)

I liked the Weechester parts. Gotta admit, it took me a bit to warm up to the new actors, but I think that's mostly because we had Colin Ford for a good long run, and Dylan Everett for a decent amount of time too. I kind of got used to them. But these two did a good job.

I felt the writing for their parts might have had a few continuity issues. This was supposed to be in 1993 right? (Have only watched through it once so far.) So Sam would have been 10-ish (depending on the time of year) and Dean would have been 14. (Probably safe to assume this wasn't intended to be early January.) And it took place sometime after the flashbacks from "Just My Imagination" but before "After School Special" or "Bad Boys" So I found it a bit odd that Sam already is being shown as not wanting to hunt. (When in "Just My Imagination" he wanted to join his Dad and Dean on the hunt. And in After School Special he was definitely not about hunting but he hadn't seemed to considered that he even had the option to try for anything else. So I found it odd that they had a 10-year-old already looking at books about going to college. I feel like maybe if this had taken place a few years later maybe that would have made more sense? Ah well, I still enjoyed it overall.

Now, about the MOTW, I was all giddy when they revealed it was the Baba Yaga. (When I was in band in college, we played a musical piece from "Pictures at an Exhibition" titled "The Hut of the Baba Yaga". And I hadn't heard of it before that so I did some research on it and found out it was basically the Russian folklore version of the Boogy Man. She lived in a hut that walked around on fowls' leggs, and she rode around on a mortar and pestle, and she was greatly feared. So, they got the "greatly feared" part right. But.... (just did some double-checking on the episode) OKAY! So, I take it back. They didn't make a HUGE deal of it, but the motel where it all happened was called the "Rooster's Sunrise". So yey! They did have a nod to the Hut on Fowl's Legs thing! And it's not anything close to a hut, but it does have wooden siding on the upper part of it. (Like, not painted wood, but wooden-wood. *LOL*) Still though, overall I was getting more of an "IT" vibe from it. (At least the old IT, with Tim Curry. I haven't seen the new one.)

I did think they did an overall good job with the creepiness factor. But in the end, it didn't feel like she had much of a personality. She was just kind of there to move the plot where it needed to go.

To me, I felt like most of the emotional weight of the episode was on the secret Dean was keeping from Sam. And you could tell that it was eating at him. But at the same time, he didn't want to go there. Because he knew Sam would react badly.

Before I get to that though, I want to touch on something I mentioned up in my notes, after the conversation Billy and Dean had. She said that she'd gotten Jack to agree to the plan by saying that the only way to earn their forgiveness was by dying to end Chuck's threat. (I know, in this episode she specifically said Dean. But in the last episode, when Jack was telling Cas about it, he'd said Sam and Dean. So either he's merged them together in his head, or Billy did when pitching it, or she just left an open implication and he took it.) Either way, there's still that idea floating around out there that Sam and Dean are a matched-set, and that what one wants, the other wants too. Despite the fact that that's not how it plays out. And despite the fact that Sam has pretty openly shown Jack that he's forgiven him, and cares about him, and that Jack doesn't need to "earn" his affection. So why is Dean the only one who matters here?

Maybe it's the writers lumping them both together when convenient? But the fight between Sam and Dean at the end of this episode shows that they're not on the same page as far as Jack is concerned, so the writers DO know. Does Billy see them as a single unit? Or is it the opposite? Has she been coming to Dean with her plans and talks because it's easier for her to manipulate him? Because Sam's the one who stops to ask things like "Does Amara deserve to die? Does Jack deserve to die? Is there another way to do this? (Should I maybe NOT lock myself into a coffin and then yeet myself into the ocean?)" She was pretty firm to Dean about "getting his house in order" because she wants the plan to go smoothly. Is that because she knows Sam could/would find a way to stop it if he's not on-board? I mean, old Death was very aware of how persistent Sam could be if he put his mind to something.

Anyway, forgive my ramblings. Most of my questions don't have answers yet, but sometimes it helps to get them actually written out.

As for the fight between the brothers at the end, I'm actually glad it happened. I get where Dean is coming from. He's focused on the goal (getting out from under Chuck's control) and especially since he and Sam aren't the sacrificial lambs this time around, he's willing to let Jack do what he needs to do in order to get the job done. Especially since Jack seems to be willing.

(Though I do have issues with the fact that Jack is willing because he thinks it's the ONLY way he can earn forgiveness. But, that is yet another parallel to Sam from S5, who not only knew and accepted that he was the only one who could stop Lucifer, but that it was all apparently his fault and he needed to atone. When in fact, he was just one of MANY who'd had a hand in the Apocalypse happening. And I'd say most of the blame for it fell on the angels and demons. Both Winchesters broke seals without knowing it. Sam thought he was outright preventing a seal from being broken. But regardless... I wonder if Sam sees this too, at least from the perspective of "I know what this feels like, and it sucks, and Jack doesn't deserve this, and there HAS to be some other way!" I guess my point is, emotional manipulation can be considered a form of coersion. Letting Jack believe that this is the only way to be forgiven, holding that forgiveness over his head... how much "free will" is actually going on here if that's why he's willing to go through with it?)

Sorry, tangents. I tend to live in them. *LOL* So yeah, while I don't agree with Dean's mindset, I do get why he feels the way he does. And I'm just glad that Sam wasn't written as "a little upset but willing to let it go." Down to his bones he knows this is wrong. And he let Dean know. And I'm also glad that he's asking the questions he's been asking. It's not a weakness as Dean kind of implied. (With the whole "you can't get the job done.") Sam isn't being wishy-washy. He just cares about what's right. Chuck or no Chuck, it still matters to him. And getting what you want "by any means"... well, he's been down that road himself. He knows how that can end. And plus, he cares about Jack. Like, genuinely cares about him, as a person. Not just what he can do for them. Not because he's powerful. But for who he is.

Also, I don't know if it was intentional, or just the way it came off to me, but I feel like... well, for a lot of this season to be honest, Dean's view of what and who is "vitally important" has severely shrunk down. To like, himself and Sam. I'm not saying he'll tell everyone to go hang. But I feel like maybe as a reaction to finding out how much of their lives were "set-up" he kind of withdrew emotionally. He's more willing to let go of other people they care about. The connections he forms don't feel as strong as they used to even a season or two ago. Like, in "The Gamblers", he felt a little sorry for the other people trapped there, but he was willing to get what they needed and get out of there. Sam was the one who insisted on trying to free them too.

And speaking of Sam, at the end of last season I felt like one of the reasons why he went along with Dean's plan (to lock Jack up) despite how he CLEARLY didn't like it, and everything about it felt wrong, was that at that point in time he severely doubted his own judgement. Because by that point, so many of his decisions which had been made with good intentions and with the best information he'd had at the time wound up blowing-up in his face. (i.e. Training the AU refugees into Hunters to help them with Dean/Michael and then after with just Hunting in general only to have most of them slaughtered by Michael. And him trying to give Nick a chance because he knew what it was like to be branded as evil for things that had been done to you. And he knew what it was like to be a vessel for Lucifer. And then when Nick went off the rails and they caught him that first time, they handed him over to Donna, because he was a human so they thought they'd let human justice deal with him. And then he escaped and hurt Donatello and was trying to free Lucifer, and Sam almost beat him to death but then stopped, because he didn't want to kill him in what he felt was cold blood. (Though I'd argue self-defense would've been valid.) After which Nick hit him repeatedly in the head with a rock and almost DID free Lucifer, which Jack stopped, but that lead to Mary's death and, and, and, the list goes on. So by the time they figured out (somewhat, I don't think they ever got the full story) what happened to Mary, I think Sam was feeling like he couldn't trust his own judgement, and so he let Dean lead. And that... didn't go well.

So I'm glad that he is starting to question again. He'd started to with Mrs. Butters but then everything seemed fine, but as they found out, he should have heeded his instincts and researched her more. And now this. At the end of last season when the idea of Jack dying/being killed came up he said he wasn't okay with it, and he did run to try to stop Dean, but I feel like there's more assertiveness behind it now. He's not saying "Please don't do this!" he's saying "This is NOT okay! I'm NOT going to accept this! No!"

So, in conclusion: Overall I liked the episode, though for me anyway, most of the emotional weight came from the secret Dean was keeping and then what happened when he finally told Sam. I did however like some of the little moments, like young!Dean's line about "We made a pretty good team." and it's callback to the Pilot episode.

I'm sorry this got a bit rambly. Again.

#spn 15x16 spoilers #spn season 15 spoilers #episode review #my thoughts #tangents: i tend to live in them #sam winchester #dean winchester #young!sam winchester #young!dean winchester #weechesters #teenchesters #keeping secrets #the baba yaga

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anistarrose · 5 years ago

Text

The Fishtank Between Time and Space (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan doesn’t think much of the pet axolotl Ford left behind… until he realizes hardly anyone else can see it.

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653508

***

Stan initially figures it’s just a weird pet of Ford’s, simple as that. After all, Ford was okay with him adopting a possum and tying a knife to it when they were kids — little pink salamanders are frankly very normal, by the standards of Stanford Pines.

(Not to mention by the standards of the town that is Gravity Falls. Ford could’ve caught all kinds of disturbing creatures out there in the woods, like a feral gnome or a literal sentient fire... or like something that Stan hasn’t even laid eyes upon, only knowing of its existence from the creaking and rattling noises he always hears when venturing through the forest at night. But thankfully, Ford hasn’t invited any rabid beasts or dark entities that Stan knows of into his house, and Stan’s grateful for that.)

But the salamander — the “axolotl,” Stan learns after finally breaking down and doing some basic research — always feels just a little bit off, in a way he sometimes struggles to put his finger on.

He thinks it’s all in his head, how the beady eyes always seem to be fixed on him. How it never seems to stop smiling. How he’s never once seen it eat, even though the food pellets he gives it never seem to accumulate on the bottom of the tank.

He doesn’t know a whole lot about axolotls in general, and on the basis of that ignorance, he convinces himself that the salamander Ford left behind is perfectly normal.

Until one day a few months after Ford’s disappearance, when something rare happens — he has company other than the usual tourists.

It’s just Boyish Dan Corduroy, hired with some of the first spare cash Stan has had in a long time to come in and fix a few squeaky doors. But he takes his time lumbering through the living room on his way out, which sets Stan on edge. None of the secrets he’s hiding are possible to uncover from this floor of the house, but habit keeps him anxious. Throughout the rare times in his life in which he’s had a residence to call his own, visitors have almost always meant bad news.

Dan’s gaze lands on the fishtank, which has been diligently maintained as a healthy environment for salamanders even though the rest of the room is an unorganized mess. (There are a lot of jabs you could take at Stan’s character, but for whatever reason, he’s developed a soft spot for Ford’s old pet.) As always, the axolotl’s eyes stay fixed on Stan, even though the lumberjack is closer.

“You keep this tank pretty clean,” Dan notes. “You gonna buy some fish or something soon?”

“Well, I’ve already got the —” Stan pauses, realizing he’s not sure how to pronounce axolotl. “The salamander.”

Dan presses his face close to the side of the tank, inches from where the axolotl sits, gills twitching. “Really? Where?”

“You serious? It’s literally right in front of your face — that thing with the pink frills and the beady eyes?”

Dan steps back from the tank, throwing an arm behind Stan the clap him on the back. “Ah, I see what you’re doing! It’s a new attraction you’re testing out on me — the invisible salamander! Good one!”

“Are you — are you fucking with me? Can you really not see —”

But Dan’s already leaving. “Good luck with the Murder Hut business!” his voice boomed from the porch outside. “I’ll tell everyone to come visit your invisible friend!”

Stan whirls around back towards the tank. “Do you know what the fuck that was?” he asked the axolotl. “Who’s really pranking me here — Dan, or you?!”

The axolotl offers no reply, and Stan feels like an idiot for the brief moment in which he’d genuinely expected one.

“Maybe Ford did some weird occult shit to you, and you didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Stan mutters, shuddering slightly as he thought back to all the cracked prisms and X-ed out eyes he’d discovered in his brother’s house. “Or maybe I’m going crazy and hallucinated you all along.”

A bubble comes out of the axolotl’s mouth, rising to the top of the tank before bursting with a satisfying — and very real-sounding — pop.

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Stan tosses a handful of food into its tank, and trudges back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was one rule that Stan very quickly established as he began to run the Muder Hut — or the Mystery Shack, as he was thinking of renaming it — and that rule was not to keep anything genuinely supernatural around, unless it was vital to getting Ford back.

But the axolotl… well, it’s still up for debate whether it really is magical, but Dan hadn’t seemed like he’d been joking, and Stan’s pretty sure that if he was going to hallucinate, he wouldn’t imagine into existence a real salamander that he’d never heard of before with perfect accuracy.

Stan doesn’t want to get rid of it, though. He’s gotten used to the axolotl’s company and the routine of caring for it, even though its eyes still weird him out from time to time. And it’s already been around for months without showing any malicious tendencies, so… would there really be any harm in keeping it around?

***

Months, years, and then decades pass, and Stan’s relationship with the axolotl stays more or less the same. He feeds it and cleans its tank, it smiles at him, and he feels just the tiniest bit less lonely. It’s not much in terms of companionship, but Stan is happy to take what he can get. He talks to it sometimes, telling it about all the places he’s searched for Ford’s journals and all the roadblocks he keeps hitting while he works on reactivating the portal, and it always looks so encouraging.

But two things happen during those years — the first being that Stan becomes convinced that something supernatural is going on with that salamander.

Business is booming so dramatically that he can hardly handle it all on his own, and he goes through several handymen and cashiers before eventually firing each one. Almost all of them comment on the empty fishtank at one point or another, gesturing right towards the spot where Stan can see the axolotl floating, clear as day.

He definitely wonders if he really is hallucinating it after all, but then the second interesting thing happens: someone else notices the axolotl. Several someones.

“I didn’t know you had any pets besides the goat, Mr. Pines!” Soos exclaimes on his second full day working at the Mystery Shack, smooshing his face up against the side of the tank. “What a weird fish!”

Stan is so caught of guard that he doesn’t even think to explain that it’s actually a salamander. “Uh… yeah. It sure is.”

Soos frowns. “Something wrong, Mr. Pines?”

Stan folds his arms, shaking his head even though his mind is racing. “Me? I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to spot the shy little guy, since it usually likes to… you know, hide from strangers. Now, were we going to try and fix the golf cart, or not?”

And that’s the end of the axolotl discussion with Soos, over as quickly as it had begun. During the rare occasions Stan leaves the Mystery Shack, he always instructs Soos to feed it, and the axolotl always seems happy and healthy when he returns. He cannot for the life of him figure out why he and Soos seem to be the only two people in the world who can see it, but eventually he gives up on wondering. A mystery like that would’ve always been more of a question for Ford, anyways.

When he hires Wendy, it takes a while for him to realize that she can see it too. She spends so many weeks passing by the fishtank and not commenting on it that when she finally brings it up, Stan nearly spits out his coffee.

“Where’d you get that salamander, Mr. Pines? My science teacher is looking for a class pet, but everyone just keeps suggesting boring stuff like hamsters.”

“Uh… it came with the Shack. Two-for-one kinda deal, you know.”

“Darn, I was hoping you fished it out of the lake or something. Then I could’ve just gone and caught one myself.”

A few years later, when the twins arrive for the summer, Stan’s heart aches as he watches them discover the fishtank for the first time.

“Hey, Dipper, come check this out! Do you know what kind of animal this is?”

“Whoa, is that an axolotl? That’s so cool! I think I read that in Aztec mythology, they’re associated with the god of twins!”

“Really? Then you’ve just made the perfect new summer pals, Mister Axolotl!”

“Don’t tap on the glass like that, Mabel. You might scare it.” Dipper notices Stan watching them, and immediately starts firing off question after question. “Where did you get it? Do you ever show it to tourists? How long have you had it? How long do axolotls live? It looks pretty small — is it still a juvenile? Do they ever get bigger than this?”

Stan sighs. “Kid, I didn’t even know how to pronounce the world ‘axolotl’ until you showed up today. All I know is how to keep it fed — anything else, and you’re better off looking it up at the library or on a computer or wherever.”

“Well, you at least know where you got it from, right?”

Stan scoops a spoonful of food into the tank, avoiding eye contact with Dipper as he headed back to the gift shop. “I do, but it wouldn’t be the Mystery Shack if I didn’t keep a few secrets, would it?”

Dipper groans. “You’re no fun.”

***

When the axolotl disappears, it hits Stan harder than it should.

Even after thirty years of taking care of it, he never quite thought of it as his pet. It always struck him as more like a roommate, if anything — a lovable little freeloader who came in on its own terms, and stuck around only because it liked the place. Stan’s never given any thought as to why, but he’s always just felt weirdly certain that it could leave at any time if it wanted to.

And now, it has.

So he can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault. If he didn’t clean the tank enough, or cleaned it too much, or wasn’t fast enough noticing or resolving the situation with the lobster Mabel dumped in the tank.

Maybe it wasn’t anything he did. Maybe the axolotl just got bored of watching a man spending thirty years lying to tourists, forging his own brother’s signature, failing to learn quantum physics, and ultimately accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Eventually, the kids notice and ask him, and this time he can’t spin it as a secret he’s keeping. He genuinely doesn’t know.

***

After Weirdmageddon, Stan’s memories are a two-thousand piece puzzle scattered across a tabletop, and he thinks he’s starting to fit some of the edge pieces together again, but there are still more gaps than connections. He remembers that the people who have been doting on him and showing him pictures are his family, and he remembers that he loves them and trusts them to help restore him to his former self, but progress is just… so… slow.

He doesn’t remember why they say he saved the world. He’s pretty sure they’re stretching the truth a little, but after seeing the way Ford’s face fell when Stan first asked why everyone was calling him a hero, he’s decided not to correct them.

So what if he doesn’t feel heroic? If it makes his family feel better, he’ll keep it to himself — it’s the least he can do, considering how many tears they’ve already shed for him.

But the first morning after his alleged act of heroism, while trudging through the ramshackle ruins of (he thinks) his house — a flicker of motion from behind cracked glass catches his eye.

The fishtank is nearly drained of water, but a familiar salamander sits in the puddle at the bottom, beaming at him. Stan blinks and rubs his eyes, wondering if he’s still dreaming, but then —

It speaks to him, in an ethereal and musical voice that resonates oddly in his ears, like he’s hearing the echo before he hears the words themselves.

I am so proud of you, Stanley.

“For what?”

Everything.

It dissolves into a froth of tiny, pink, glowing bubbles, which burst one by one as they float towards the top of the tank, and then the axolotl is gone.

***

(End notes:

So one day a few weeks ago, I just randomly woke up thinking “what if the Axolotl was only visible to the members of the Zodiac?” and several bouts with writers’ block later, here we are! Thoughts/comments/reblogs are welcomed as always!)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #the axolotl #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #mabel pines #rosalia writes fic

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ryeheart-blog1 · 6 years ago

Text

your consenting mind

The world was a blur.

Lost in the depths of a drunken stupor after an evening of partying at a nightclub, Stan could hardly differentiate between objects and people, the only concrete shape being him. Him and all of his beauty, how his blue eyes glistened as they reflected incoming headlights.

His thin frame leaned forward, asking a question so adorably innocent and sweet, "Hey, could you turn the radio down a little? I think Mabel might be falling asleep up there." There was an unintelligible, on-the-brink-of-sleep protest, but Stan didn't register it, couldn't be bothered when he was too caught up in Maverick. His Maverick, whom he hadn't seen in so long, who'd left him so many years ago.

It hardly mattered, even when the smaller figure upfront clunked against the window, bolting away with a loud 'ow!'. Then, she was crawling onto the console and into the backseat. "Maverick," she whined, "I wanna use you as a pillow!' Something about the words, about his name sounded... off, but no heed was paid to the inconsistency.

"Christ, Shooting Star. You make this whole scene about wanting shotgun, now you're ditching?"

There was a second of hesitance before he was helping her climb over. "Okay, just… be careful, don't kick the gearshift." And once situated she was leaning into him, nuzzled comfortably in his shoulder as he slung an arm around her, pulling her in tightly.

Then, those gorgeously blue, stormy eyes were on him, searching him as they always could with ease. Seeing through him. "Stan," the way he said his name— it was tender, heartfelt and laced with concern, exactly like he remembered it. Nothing had changed, and it filled his heart with hope. "Are you alright?" His Maverick had his head tilted at him now, worry etched on his smoothed, delicate features. But god those eyes, those damn cerulean eyes would never fail to melt him.

"I'm always wonderful when you're around," Stan told him warmly, and his expression brightened with a blush and a timid lip-bite at the compliment. Oh, how couldn't he be? His Maverick had returned to him after all these years.

"Oh, uh—" he sputtered, seemingly holding back a laugh, "gosh, thanks? That's super nice of you. Kind of weird but still nice."

From the driver's seat, he could hear a growl. "Leave my Pine Tree alone, you old fuck." Pine Tree? That was a lovely name, so fitting of his Maverick. He loved nature and the outdoors.

"Come on, Bill." Bill? That didn't seem right. Shermie was driving tonight. Shermie was what he'd meant. The chide was gentle with affection, but really, that was no surprise. Maverick always had adored everyone and everything, almost to a ridiculous extent when he refused to engage in violence for a situation as dire as self-defense. "He's drunk out of his mind, just let him say whatever. He probably doesn't mean it."

Oh, but he did mean it. Every word. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked. "I meant every word, ya know?"

"That's," there was a thoughtful hum, then he shrugged, "flattering? I like it when you're around too." Ducking his head, he wore a faint grin. The mere sight made the wait worth his strife to Stan, it was as if the stars had aligned and it all had fallen into place. He couldn't count the number of times he'd dreamed of that smile, begging whatever heartless gods were out there to give him a chance to witness it again. "At first, I thought you were sort of intimidating, but I gotta hand it to you, you're not as bad as I thought." Stan broke into a smile, looking at his Mav– how refreshingly blue his eyes were, like the ocean on a hot summer day, and how a tuft of his brown hair hung just above his eye. It was adorable. Stan wanted to kiss him.

Blinking, he inquired, "Are you sure you're okay? You're looking at me and it's… been like a minute." A cough, and he was averting his eyes only to bring them back a moment later, shuffling closer to the best of his ability, hindered by the form leaning on him. "Jeez, you really drank a lot, shouldn't do that to yourself. Seriously, dude."

"Hun," Stan spoke quietly, leaning close to his face. "I'm fine, I just…" he leaned in more. "Wanna kiss… ya."

"Oh, man," he said with a breathless, maybe nervous chuckle, fluffing his brown hair as a slender hand ran through the strands. It had a bit more of a reddish tint than he'd thought it did, a possible trick of the lighting. "You are completely out of it." Turning away, he told Shermie, "I'm going to stay with Stan once we get back, okay? Just for a bit, like… to make sure he's okay and gets to bed without hurting himself." Although he continued speaking, the rest was muffled to Stan, only processing bits: "...overdid it tonight… doubt he'll even remember."

Shermie huffed, uncharacteristically displeased. "If he tries anything, I'm kicking his ass."

"You can come with, if you want..? Just thought you'd rather shower to get sand out of, um… places." Places? Stan knew his Mav liked to stroll along the beach and throw beached starfishes back into the ocean with a promise that he'd be there if they were ever washed ashore again. His and Mav's twilight walks together were some of his best memories, just chatting while his sweetheart lovingly tended to the world.

Stan leaned in closer, prepared to close the distance between him and his love, but he was jolting back, looking flustered beyond belief. Utterly stunned, a little frightened. His shoulders were tense and drawn together, and he kept stealing brief peeks at him but kept his attention trained forward, his handsome face deliberately out of reach. His Maverick must've been feeling shy, almost challenging him– he'd always been skittish with affection, and Stan was going to accept that challenge. "Look, I— wow. Mmmaybe… let's not do that."

"Ya know ya want it," Stan hummed as he leaned in again, trying to close that precious distance between them once more. Mav loved playing hard to get, and Stan knew his face would light up once he was attacked by kisses.

There was a hand pushed to his chest, forcing him to stay at arm's length. Though, 'forcing' was a stretch since Mav had never been the most muscular and wouldn't last under brute strength. "Stan, no. I know you're totally wasted, so… yeah, I get it, but I don't think either of us actually want this." Removing the hand from his chest, he used it to prod Shermie, appearing pleading. "Drive faster, Bill." That strange name again. "Pretty sure drunk Stan is trying to kiss me, so it'd be nice if we could get to the penthouse and y'know, never mention this again."

He was… being rejected? That couldn't be, Mav always liked being kissed. He was also against driving fast, his ideal speed limit was ten miles per hour everywhere. "Why are ya rejecting me, hun?"

A sigh resounded from the driver's seat, from Shermie undoubtedly. "Listen to him. He's so fucked he won't remember any of this."

"I know," he concurred with a nod, and then Stan saw it as he looked back at him— his eyes pools of anxiety and a pinch of sadness. "Sorry for rejecting you, man. I just… you get why, right? The only reason you're doing this is because you had too much to drink at that nightclub."

What? No, he was doing this because he was Mav, and Stan loved his Mav. ...Why was Mav looking different? His wonderful blue eyes had grown murky, a deep brown… and Stan pulled back in confusion. Even his hair was different, having a distinct reddish tone in his brown. It definitely wasn't the result of poor lighting. What the fuck?

Noticing, he… whoever it was, asked, "Whoa, what's wrong?" But they sounded so similar, it was so close and yet the pitch was wrong, it was higher, more strained. No. No, no, no. "Stan. I'm seriously worried about you, what's going on?"

He squinted, as if that would fix everything wrong with how Mav looked. "I'm seein' shit."

"Like, hallucinating?" His eyes widened with fear, throat working silently as if getting out a single word was a struggle. "It's alright," the tone suggested it was aimed to be reassuring, compounded when he grabbed his wrist, "I'm here and uh… I— I'll make sure you're okay, I promise, but you should stop drinking so much in the future."

Stan let out a laugh. "It's crazy, for a second it looked like ya had brown eyes."'

"Oh! Well, yeah, I do," he clarified jovially, a chuckle escaping. "I guess I've been told they're hazel in different lighting, but brown is kind of the consensus." What? No he didn't, he had a striking pair of blue eyes. Right? ...Oh, fuck.

No.

Fuck. Stan recoiled further, pressing himself back against the car door. This wasn't Mav, Mav was gone, his Top Gun-obsessed lover had left long ago. This was… this was Dipper. Concern flashed in the depths of his off-eyes, and he reached out to stabilize him. "Dude, calm down. It's not a big deal."

"You–" Stan had begun to speak, but the touch was by Mav. Instantly calming. He was certain the others didn't exist, that they were merely a figment of his imagination. Mav was the only real thing. "Shit. I think you're fuckin' with me, love bug. Your eyes are blue again. I always liked your eyes."

In another second, those eyes were darting nervously, something he rarely saw on his beloved. "Are you sure? I mean, I think they're mostly brown. Nobody's ever called them blue, so maybe it's too dark in here to see or something." There was a quiet puff of a laugh, his touch retracting to wring his hands together.

He'd moved closer once more, leaning into Maverick and enjoying the warmth of his body against his. He missed this so fucking much. "They've always been blue," he told him. "They're fuckin' pretty."

"Okay, thanks…?" he responded tentatively, then Stan could feel his shoulders lifting and falling in a shrug. "I'm just glad you're feeling better, man. You had me worried for a while, I thought we were going to have to call Ford."

Why'd they call Ford when he was with them? "Ford's on your lap, jus' wake 'im up."

A frown pulled the corners of his lips downward, and he was giving him the same critical stare. "No, that's Mabel," he spoke gently. "She fell asleep after we left the nightclub because she'd danced for like, two hours straight. Ford isn't here, that's why we went out in the first place."

He didn't know who that was, but he knew Ford wasn't big on dancing. Did someone give the guy too much spiked punch or something? Stan couldn't remember slipping him anything, it was so unlike himself. "Ford is here," he insisted. "He's right there. See?" He pointed at the sleeping figure on Mav. "Must've tired himself out thinking too fuckin' much."

Although he gave a blank, uncertain stare for several moments, his attention swapped to the front and he asked, "Shermie,” that was better, “what do I do about this? Like, is this how Stan normally acts when he's really intoxicated?"

Shermie huffed. He was surprisingly huffy today, Stan couldn't understand why. Shermie was always in a good mood. "He always acts like a drunken buffoon, ignore him. If he tries to kiss you again, I'm pulling this car over."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Mav agreed. "If you don't mind, maybe I could switch seats? Honestly, I kind of wanted to be in the front to begin with, but Mabel stole it from me."

Stan blinked, looking at Maverick and all of his cuteness. He leaned in, moving to sneakily steal a kiss and he almost had it— before Mav seemed to flinch at the last moment, seeing what he was doing and turning his head so his lips collided with his cheek. "Seriously, I don't think we should be doing that." It was followed by a mumbled lamentation, something about wondering why drunk people always tried to kiss him.

To Shermie, he said, "Okay, so that just happened. Can we pull over now?" The car had already screeched to a stop, Shermie growling in the front.

Stan emitted a noise of distress, watching as his Maverick seemingly disappeared from his side. "Where'd ya go?" he called out quietly. "... Did you leave me again?"

"I thought I'd take the passenger seat? Then if you want, uh.. you have more room to stretch out and stuff, or maybe fall asleep. Yeah, that'd be good." There was the voice, but it still didn't sound quite right. Too tight, on the verge of cracking, heavy with anxiety. Quieter and leaning toward Shermie, he said, "Can this be the last time we go out with Stan if he's going to get totally drunk?"

Shermie leaned over to his Mav, planting a loud kiss to his lips, and Mav was reciprocating eagerly, finding his hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. What the fuck? Why was Shermie kissing his adoptive—? Eh, sorta, if plucking the kid off the street counted. Didn’t matter, that wasn't like them at all. Shermie hardly liked Stan dating him to begin with, said it was too dangerous, too treading on the border of immoral. "Why are ya kissing him and not me?"

They parted, and it seemed Mav was surprised by the question. He'd better be, that was fuckin' weird and Stan didn't like it. "Because… we're friends with benefits? Not dating, or anything obviously, because we're just friends and nothing more."

"Why are ya friends with benefits with your adoptive dad?!"

"Okay, I… wait, what? I don't have an adoptive dad, and also, meet Bill. Bill Cipher, the guy in your crew, the huge jerk easily mistaken for a bumblebee?" The last bit was twinged with a moonstruck affection that made Stan's stomach churn. "He's my friend with benefits." Bill… who? He'd been so sure it was Shermie. His brother, their leader, the one who'd made it possible to be with Mav. Who was this Bill? Was this just a twisted dream, a nightmare come to haunt him?

No, he realized with a startling revelation. This was real. Mav was gone forever, like he was twenty years ago when he left the crew in favor of a domestic life. Stan had hoped… he'd hoped they could reclaim their lost relationship, that Mav would accept his love and enjoy an unofficial legal binding like Stan wanted to. He wanted to make him his, wanted to grow old with him until they died, but all of that was ruined, and nothing could fix it. Now… now he was left with his kids and shattered memories and dreams, and Stan could feel the tears welling in his eyes. "I wanna go home," he muttered, struggling to keep his voice even.

"We're on the way to the penthouse," Dipper said. "Bill's almost there."

Stan wanted to be there five minutes ago. Make that ten. He wished he never left the penthouse, that he never thought he saw Mav. "Can it go faster?" His question was a forced grumble, and it elicited Bill looking back at him.

"Not with your shitty attitude slowing us down. Stars, I wish Fiddleford hadn't given you that heart medication. It's made you less fun when you're fucking drunk."

"Bill, be nice," he said frowning. "I think everyone's just tired, so… I don't know, maybe give it a rest for tonight."

Stan heaved a sigh, leaning against the window as he closed his eyes. He regretted drinking so heavily around Dipper, and he didn't plan on doing it again. Would that last? Probably not. He didn't want to see Mav, he didn't want to feel this pain again, to know he couldn't… get back what he'd lost.

Trying to tune out everything else, the voices of Dipper and Bill talking were slowly fading away, becoming more distanced as he drifted off to sleep.

Exiting the shower, Bill made quick work of drying off and tossing on fresh boxers. He returned to his bedroom, flopping on the bed and wiggling under the sheets with some grumbling. What was supposed to be a fun night at the club had soured his mood with Stan hitting on his Pine Tree, and now he just wanted to snuggle up with his favorite person and sleep. Beside him, Dipper was on his phone, probably reading something nerdy like Huckleberry Finn or something stupid like Conservation Efforts Weekly. Bill would convince him to put that shit down and cuddle with him, one way or another.

But before he could manually deter his attention, Dipper was peering to him, cocking his head to a side. "Hey, do you feel better? I'm assuming the sand had to be kind of uncomfortable. Guess that's what we get for making out on the beach like lovesick teenagers, huh?"

Did he feel better? Bill didn't think so, not when Stan spent the drive home eyeing his boyfriend up. Dipper was his, and his alone– why didn't Stan get that? He wasn't his fucking ex. Mav was dead, had been dead for a couple months now, although Stan would refuse to acknowledge that. 'Maverick died twenty years ago in the crew,' he'd drunkenly argue on the rare occasion the subject arose. 'Maxwell is a stupid politician, they're not the same fucking person.' Such bullshit, especially now that there was no uncertainty over the dude's death. Robbie had made sure of that. "Yeah," he murmured. "About the sand, at least. Hey, cutie?"

Locking his phone and setting it aside, Dipper shuffled deeper into bed, drawing near. "What's up?" His curious gaze was transfixed on him, intrigued, trying to examine him and probably mentally entertaining hundreds of theories. Ugh, the kid thought too much, he could hear the gears turning from here.

"If Stan had tried going further, and I wasn't there, would you have stopped him?" An idiotic question, he knew, but he wanted to make sure. Stan was… unpredictable, when he was drunk, and it didn't help he seemed to be fucked up from combining his medication with alcohol.

"Bill," he was addressed through a reverberating laugh, "I did stop him tonight. You basically did nothing except grump and pout, so yes, it's safe to say I would have." Scrambling to rest partially atop him, Dipper brushed their noses together and murmured, "You're the only one I want. I know we're dating, but you're still my now-and-forever heterosexual life partner too."

Bill huffed, moving to wrap his arms around him, a hand drifting over his pajama shirt. "I'd better be, sugar." Seriously, he couldn't be without him, and he didn't want to be.

There was a pause before Dipper said, "Oh! Okay, so while you were showering… I made sure Stan was okay and all that, left him some water and ibuprofen for tomorrow but uh— when I came back, you were still in the shower, so… remember what you said earlier? About wearing the bowtie on my leg? I kind of got creative." Dipper leaned back, pushing the sheets with him to reveal his lower half, sporting his star-patterned boxers with bowties wrapped around each thigh, the bows facing outward and resting approximately midway between his waist and knee. He was biting his lip to stop from laughing, a delighted flush on his cheeks. Mm, he was pleased with himself for this.

"Oh, stars." He loved it, wanted to rip it off of him and make him his. "Cutie, you're on the highway to being fucked soon if you keep this up."

That finally got the laughter to spill over, and Dipper went with it, gracefully falling forward on top of him. "The mandatory clubbing turned this into a really long night, but honestly I… I kind of just want you to pin me down and do stuff, pick up where we left off earlier on the balcony and the beach. Is that weird? I'm pretty sure I'll crash immediately after if we do, though."

"What," Bill teased, eyeing him as he spoke. "All that dancing got you frisky, doll?" He loved it when his Pine Tree was horny, eager and flooded with desire.

"It's not that!" he protested, the redness on his cheeks flaring, and Bill swore he could feel the heat radiating off his skin from where he laid. "It's— it's just that after you shower, you look super good?" Dipper's voice raised with embarrassment, smile turning bashful. "Like, your hair is wet, you smell nice, I can see all your tattoos, and it reminds me of the first time I drew you. ...And then we ended up making out."

Bill chuckled, leaning in to connect their lips, and Dipper made a happy noise into the kiss as he returned it. "We'll be doing more than making out, doll." Probably just grinding, but Bill longed for the day they could take it further.

Pupils dilating, Dipper inhaled sharply in response and squirmed in his lap, Bill thrusting up against him. "Th-that's what you want to do?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Okay." That was followed by a more intentional grind, this one slower and with less contact, meanwhile Dipper's gaze never left him. Watching, waiting. Bill narrowed his eyes, suddenly heaving himself to a side to knock Dipper onto the mattress, pinning him down and hearing a squeak probably more for show than out of surprise. That was confirmed when Dipper didn't protest or fight, instead wrapping his legs around him and pulling him closer, the silent encouragement to keep going.

There was a kiss on his shoulder, then on the junction of his neck, and he murmured dreamily, "I can't wait until you're… uh, y'know, actually… inside of me like this."

Bill couldn't wait either. He wanted to take him now, make him moan in pleasure as he was pounded into oblivion, but he knew Dipper wouldn't be ready. Not yet.

That was fine, Bill could wait longer. He'd just have a fun night with his boyfriend in the meantime.

#glovesforthis #my writing #hopeless romantic stan #red right hand #we wrote this together #but it's only canon if you want it to be #also fluff at the end :)

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fordanoia · 6 years ago

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@whatwouldteslado Unanswered Asks [1/?]

As much as I’d like to cover every single impactful ask... mid event that is just not happening. Not unless all I did was copy/paste with no explanation.

So instead, these are going to be the ones that I think are really important and nearly a “need to know” basis. Refer to the previous post on unanswered asks for a few impactful asks that I won’t cover here since there’s already a post for them.

Second one is now up here.

Also some trend mentions will be in here.

In general though, posts encouraging Ford are usually taken to heart and makes him feel as though he’s not entirely alone in this. However, a good chunk of the time they’re taken as outright taunting of pretending to care.

----

I’m not crying you’re crying. This set of messages actually had the rare effect of actually comforting about his deal with Bill. It didn’t shy away from the truth of the matter or downplay it, but the reason of it was what made him feel better. He saved this one.

He still felt guilty in that he thinks he could have known in advance, and that he should have, but it felt like (even if they knew the whole truth) they would still feel that way about him.

He feels guilty at the thank you, but it’s very minor compared to the comfort of the whole message.

I think the key was addressing it would be “Ford’s part” in the end of the world rather than trying to absolve him entirely of guilt... which he would never have been able to believe. So, while he still feels like he doesn’t deserve the forgiveness it still gave him a tether of comfort that there’d be at least one person... just at least one that would forgive him for a mistake that cost the entire world.

A mistake that he feels shouldn’t be forgiven, but that helped leagues and leagues to know wasn’t absolute damnation from everyone.

... Ford liked this one a lot. Really due to the idea of it almost being like a prepared jab? Like he got to be involved in it this time.

Messages trying to explain away Stan being to blame or similar kicked up his bitterness because Stan outright back stabbed him, and it kind of hurts that upon revealing this painful moment that there were people immediately dismissing it as Stan’s fault when they had no good indication of that.

It really made it hurt more- because Stan’s sort of immediate reaction to getting accused of breaking the project because he couldn’t stand letting Ford going out on his own.... was to dismiss Ford’s feelings and try to make it seem fine which was kind of the ultimate heart break in that Ford’s feelings seemed to have been WHOLLY unimportant to Stan.

So it pretty much dredged up all the pain of that moment of how Stan didn’t care about him, but... also on a whole of his feelings not mattering in a wider sense too.

Messages sympathizing for Stan meanwhile made Ford feel guilty because... they were all right. They were all things he tried not to think about too, how Stan could have been homeless all this time and of course that just started with getting kicked out back then.

The emoticons were a brief light in Ford’s day.... though he was also unintentionally using that to distract himself from the guilt and bitterness regarding Stan.

Holy Fuck, You Really Did That Huh.

THIS has now became A GODDAMN CONSIST REPEATING REFRAIN in Ford’s mind to the point of him doing constant reality checks like pinching himself.

This is part of what had Ford damn near disassociating after going out into the snow because due to his physical state things were acting weird and dream-like so this completely set him off on the idea that none of it was actually real.

Not to mention, if things go wonky in a manner that Ford sees as “absolute proof that he’s dreaming” then... that’s highly unpredictable.

The messages mentioning sleep deprivation effects did help to combat this as once brought to his attention he realized everything weird could be accounted to that.

There were several asks pointing out that the yellow eye thing was likely a hallucination or microsleep and was one of the things that helped Ford calm down about it to some degree and be able to push it to the back of his mind instead of spiraling and focusing on it.

Seriously like A+ job with that because another breakdown... would have lead to a lot of lost time during an important stage.

Shame and deep seated loathing because 1 he thought about all the red flags and felt like even more of an idiot. Then the simple confidence in the lower statement just really hones into him that they don’t know him. like --They only have partial information so of course they don’t think he’s an idiot, but he is. If they knew the entire truth and all the details they’d realize that and then everyone would think about him as he thinks about himself, which would be in the full light of the truth.-- which is really, heavily biased to where he thinks so low of himself during this time.

Ford has been actively ignoring nearly every single mention of the SOTB because he doesn’t want to believe that Fidds struck a deal with Bill. The SOTB is highly dangerous with the memory wipe, and they could be after him, but he doesn’t think they’d align with Bill.

In truth, it’s mostly he believes it because it’s what he wants to believe. He doesn’t want to think that even now his association with Bill has endangered Fiddleford as any deal with Bill is sure to do in his opinion. At the same time Fidds is superstitious so it’s unlikely. He additionaly doesn’t want to believe that Fidds would side with Bill in demolishing him, as he considered Fidds to be a friend even though he wiped his memory (which Ford is conflicted regarding since it was less malicious intent and more to hide stuff from him though that’s still not a good thing for super obvious reasons, especially in a friendship) but Ford has been questioning if Fidds has made himself forget Ford and thus there’d be no bond to keep Fidds from directly endangering Ford.

Taunting form Bill is either taken as Ford getting this odd mix of upset and worried, though after a number of asks from “Bill” he came to the conclusion that not all of them were Bill HIMSELF. However, he can’t tell between trolls and direct agents of Bill so he takes all of the messages with a grain of salt, excluding panic-inducing ones that bring a new worry to his attention.

Questions about his eyes being yellow and similar CONTINUE to freak out Ford as it’s bringing his attention, unwanted, to that which is panic inducing when he thinks about it. He reasons it’s less important than the journals though since he can already be possessed.

All asks regarding Stanley being S, just asking for confirmation are generally being ignored as he doesn’t want to admit it. He may respond to questions regarding ‘Stan/Stanley’ as long as they aren’t just simply about him being S or if he’d answer the question regularly. He realizes everyone knows S is Stanley, but he still doesn’t want to directly confirm it.

This one filled Ford with A WHOLE LOT OF DREAD, with a sort of spiral as he fell into sleep of “I’m not safe. I’m not safe, I’m not safe.” Because well... he couldn’t possibly see the situation as safe.

Okay so not technically impacting BUT I really liked this ask because it made BIll simmer a bit because /yeah/ he is still stuck in the room and damn human fleshbag limitations.

This was kind of the start of the Bill’s anger that led up to the “Where Doesn’t It Belong” Game. He probably would have done the game with all the mockery even without this, but this was definitely an incentive of making everyone understand the situation.

This was a sort of ‘last straw’ ask for Bill’s temper. It caused his second miss to be worse than what it would have been originally. Also in general, ALL of the mocking messages are what CAUSED the “Where Doesn’t It Belong” Game to start in the first place.

#whatwouldteslado #wwtd #fordatalk #/oh man/#sorry this focused a lot on trends mroe than individual asks but #(so many asks and i'm still trying to do an event tonight)

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 7 years ago

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deCIPHER

Bonjour, mes chers! Quite a bit late due to being distracted by that terrible eye surgery of mine, but here’s the first released drabble that was my Patreon Exclusive drabble last month!

Consider supporting me to see more stories like this one! $97/100 down for the podfic goal!

Pledge to me at https://www.patreon.com/mjanderson Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/mjanderson

Click here to read on FFN Click here to read on AO3

Title: DeCIPHER

Alternate Universe: Post Show / Dipper age ~16

Rating: G+

Inspired By: deCIPHER - Madame Macabre

Summary: Dipper is sixteen and the mess that was Bill Cipher was supposed to have been left behind and yet, here he was, hearing that voice in his head. It would be fine and easy to ignore if Bill Cipher wasn't so good at telling the truth.

"Come on, kid, I know you can hear me." Taking a steadying breath, Dipper firmly ignored the words, staring at the board and trying to focus on using the square root completion method to solve quadratic equations. It was getting harder. "Hey, kid, I know you can see me."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Dipper refused to look at the golden glow that drifted by his vision, instead sliding his gaze over to where his sister was sitting at her own desk and taking notes in gel pens. She didn't seem to have any worries and wasn't looking towards the gold at all. "Don't be jealous, Pine Tree. You're the only one who can see me."

Just pretend he wasn't there. He just had to pretend he wasn't there. It had been three years since that summer in Gravity Falls. Dipper was now sixteen, Gravity Falls was completely normal (at least for Gravity Falls it was normal), and he was still nothing but stone. Whatever Dipper was seeing, it was probably just stress brought on by a new school year.

"Piiine Tree. I know you're not an idiot." Dipper could feel the cool touch against his cheek, but he did his best to not flinch and instead looked resolutely at the board. "You can feel it. You're probably the only one in your family that can, thinking on it. I bet not even Shooting Star is feeling it like you do."

Yes, just a normal mental breakdown. That sounded about right, honestly. He had been due for one of those for a while now, so he was sure it would all be back to normal in the next few months. "Hey, kid, things are 'bout to get crazy."

"Ma'am, may I go to the bathroom!" Ignoring the odd looks thrown his way, Dipper waited only long enough to get a hall pass before he was speeding out of the classroom and straight towards the bathroom, throwing cold water on his face as soon as he could. Maybe this was a dream. It would make sense for it to be a dream, right?

"Aha, nice thinking, kid! Shock to wake you up, right? Maybe you should try jumping, next. I heard you can't jump in a dream!"

Bracing himself on the sink, Dipper looked up into the mirror. The only reflection was him, but there, just out of the corner of his eye, was the creature that he still had nightmares about. Maybe this was just another one of them.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry for trying to kill your family and take over the world. There, are you happy?" Definitely a dream. "Right, you just sit right there and listen to me then. As I was saying before you ran off, things are about to get pretty crazy for you humans! You felt it, after all, didn't you?"

Felt what? Life was always crazy! Dipper had thought that Gravity Falls was the only place to attract the weird, but the weird was everywhere in the world. He had seen some pretty strange creatures just here in Piedmont, although granted they were harder to track down and even harder to see.

"Oh, kid, I ain't talking about those run-of-the-mill gnomes you see every summer! I've seen more than you can imagine, kid, and this is going to beat it all." Okay, right, Dipper would just go and trust the liar. That would be great.

Running his hands under the water some more, Dipper shook his head as if trying to dislodge the demon from his mind entirely. That would work, right? "Yeesh, you're so stubborn. C'mon, Pine Tree, you're the only one who can hear me! You've felt it, I know you have. It's there every time you go down one of those kitchy suburban streets of yours."

Kitchy? He was eighty percent sure that was just another word for cheesy and he was a hundred percent sure he only knew that because of Mabel- Ninety-nine percent. It could've come from Soos. "You feel it, don't you? Warm summer day, the air's all hot and sticky, you're walking down the street, all the cars are gone, you hear those stupid bugs, and that haze that comes down… That's not a normal haze, Pine Tree."

Don't listen. He was a liar. A conman. A thief. A poet. A psychic. A thaumaturge. He would only tell Dipper what he wanted to hear and what he already knew. Except… Except Dipper hadn't had the words to explain that feeling until now.

There were no words to explain the feeling he had when he had just been walking around their block after they had gotten home and it had still been so hot. Dipper was sweating and huffing for breath even as he smiled at being home, thoughts and heart still full of Gravity Falls. He had wandered into the middle of the road because, well, because it was empty. There was no one in sight and his mind was still full of Gravity Falls where people walked in the road all the time.

He had walked straight down the middle and he remembered the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. A dog had been barking a few streets over and one of those sprinklers to water the lawn had been going. It was a scene straight from a movie or something, but Dipper had felt this sense of…

The haze had felt like a physical presence against him, the heat powerful and strong and his breathing the only sound that seemed to matter in that moment. He had stopped in his steps and just breathed and felt something. It was like a missed step. Something that should have been there but wasn't and the realization sent the mind reeling.

"I've heard things that could torture your soul to that hell of yours and back, kid, but that sound is something that beats even me." The sound of something big. Something massive in a space where there should have been nothing. "Come on, Pine Tree. If you join me then we can both get ahead in what's about to happen. We'll be on top of it all and ready for what's going to come."

Yeah. At what price? Pushing himself off the sink, Dipper spun around and stared straight into the single eye of Bill Cipher.

"Go to hell." Instead of being taken aback, the demon looked nothing but pleased. "Go to hell." After everything he had done- He thought it would be that easy?

"So you can hear me, then." Meeting Bill's gaze, Dipper didn't draw back as the demon floated closer. "Oh, you're going to be something else, kid."

Just like that, Bill Cipher was gone and Dipper was alone in his head. Thrown off balance, Dipper spun around, expecting to see gold and black and instead seeing nothing but a high school bathroom. It… It had been that easy? That- It couldn't have been that easy. Could it have?

Shaking his head again, Dipper took a breath before leaving. He had a math class to get to and he needed to tell… No. Not yet. It had probably been a one time hallucination due to stress. He didn't need to tell anyone.

He was fine.

"I told you, Pine Tree, something big is coming." Twitching at the words, Dipper forced himself to not look up, instead staring down at the research he was doing instead of homework. The supernatural side of Piedmont had been growing in the last few weeks - well, maybe not growing, but there were more wild stories in the news than there should be. It was probably just some eclipse coming up or something. At least, he had thought that. "They all sense it too, that's why they're getting so restless."

"What, exactly, are they supposed to be sensing?" Okay, Dipper hadn't quite meant to actually acknowledge and talk to Bill, but, well. The demon was good at getting under his skin. "Nothing in my research-"

"Pine Tree, you're thinking too much like old six fingers! This isn't something you can just read about. You have to feel it." Yeah, well, he was pretty sure the only thing he was feeling was that fifth brownie he had. In his defense, Mabel had made them with chocolate chips this time. "You really think those three books were the biggest mystery in the world? You think this dimension is the only one?"

Well- Of course not. Ford had told Dipper all about his crazy adventures in the other dimensions. Dipper had seen the creatures from the other dimensions! He knew there was more to all of this than just what was here in their world, but he didn't see- "You think this dimension is without magic?"

That… "Oh, Pine Tree. You raised the dead when you were a child and united a town to fight against demons. If you hadn't ruined my plans then I might have been almost proud! The thing is, though, is that you didn't quite ruin all my plans-"

"You're a stone statue in the middle of the woods where no one can ever find you. If you still think you won then I have some news for you." Snapping his book shut, Dipper climbed out of his piles of books and papers before grabbing his shoes and jacket. A walk sounded great right about now.

"Pine Tree, I can help you! Really, I'm impressed with how far you've come, and you seem to the be the best bet to fight off what's about to happen to your little dimension." Ignore him, Dipper, just ignore him. "It's been such a long time since the magic left."

"First you tell me magic is real and now you're telling me it left- It's one or the other, Bill!" Ignore him, ignore him, just ignore him. "Just leave me alone!"

Getting out onto the night streets, Dipper walked as fast as he could, breathing in cool fall air and feeling himself start to relax. "Pine Tree!" Well, there went that. "I'm offering you everything you ever wanted!"

"Yeah, funny, but I've heard that before!" A blur of everything and Bill was suddenly in front of him, Dipper trying not to show his fear as he saw red instead of gold for a moment. "Go bother someone else."

"Trust me, kid, I would if I could." Great. His luck to be forever stuck with a demon in his head. "Kid, if you side with me then you could have everything!"

"Mm, no thanks. Doesn't really sound like something I'm interested in." Walking past him, Dipper looked up at the night sky and shivered.

"You can sense it coming."

"It's fall and night. I'm just cold."

It had been weeks since Dipper last saw Bill and as much as he tried to put the words out of his head… Something was coming. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Bill afraid. That couldn't be good for them.

"It's night, of course I'm a bit cold. It's September!" Dipper kept walking, trying to keep his breathing under control. "It's just the weather. Just like it was in summer. It's nothing but the weather."

"Just keep thinking on my words, Pine Tree." Yeah, right. That was all Bill could do was put words in his head. Dipper would be better off forgetting them as quickly as he could. He would just forget them.

Simple.

"You really shouldn't let go of this opportunity, Pine Tree. It won't last for very much longer." Staring out the snow covered forest of Gravity Falls, Dipper absently listened to his family laughing and partying down on the first floor of the Shack. "All you have to do is shake my hand - my real one - and we can both deal with what's about to come."

"Been a while since you brought this up." Ever since that autumn night, Bill had completely dropped his menacing comments and had instead made sarcastic remarks at school and sometimes helped him with his homework. Sometimes. Usually he cost Dipper a letter grade. "Is it because I go back tomorrow."

"Next summer will be too late. I could spend the next few months convincing you, but by then we'd both be out of time." Rolling his eyes, Dipper looked to the floating demon that was hovering over his shoulder, gaze out the window as well. "If that statue is destroyed, then I'll never be able to come back."

"Oh, no." Smirking as the slap phased through him completely, Dipper looked back out the window. "Guess that means we'd be stuck together a while longer, then-"

"No, kid, I'd never be able to come back." Oh.

"Well, good, then. You tried to destroy the earth." He also made funny comments about the teachers Dipper hated, though. "You almost killed my family." He helped Dipper with his math homework when he forgot how to clear the fractions out of a problem. "You were almost the reason Stan lost his memory." Dipper hadn't had a nightmare in months.

"Eh, it turned out alright in the end." God, no amount of 'human' gestures could ever redeem what Dipper was talking to now. This was a demon, plain and simple. There was no reason to feel guilt or pity. "What if I change the deal?"

"Nothing you say could ever make me release you, Bill. Just drop it." Standing up, Dipper stopped with his hand on the door when he heard the next words spoken into his mind.

"If you agree to work with me to face what's coming, then after it's all over I'll return to being stone and stay out of the thoughts of you and all your friends and family for the rest of eternity."

"You said I'm the only one you can talk to. Unless you were lying, then you'll never be able to trick someone else into setting you free-"

"I wouldn't be able to if I was dead, either." To face what was coming… Dipper could feel it. Something in the air was different and the tenuous peace between normal and weird was about to shatter. "Come on, Pine Tree, be smart about this… You know you've always been different. All those wild hunches and theories of yours back in that first summer? They were all right."

They… They had been, hadn't they? Dipper had been right about all of it. Some of it had surprised him, yeah, but he knew from the start that there had been something lurking in those woods. He had been right. "You were right from the start, Pine Tree. Don't start being wrong now."

Not responding, Dipper was quiet as could be as he walked through the Shack, passing by the den and instead donning a coat as he slipped out into the cold air and falling snow. Taking a shuddering breath, Dipper shivered as he felt that pressure that had been growing since summer.

The two were silent as they set off through the woods, Dipper refusing to speak first as he trudged through snow and stumbled over fallen trees. He knew where to go - he made sure to always remember where he was.

Dipper was half uncertain as to what he would even do once he was there, but he didn't stop until he stumbled upon a picturesque clearing with a familiar stone statue covered in a fresh layer of snow. The area around was completely untouched and Dipper felt like he would be disturbing something if he were to take a single step forward.

"You can't ever hurt them. You can hurt them ever or the deal's off and you go back to being a statute immediately." Silence. There was no trying to argue or twist the words around. "A-And it's only until this threat or whatever is dealt with. Once it's not a threat, that's it, you go back in the stone."

Dipper took a shaky step forward when he heard nothing yet again. He paused in his steps for a moment, shaking fiercely. He shouldn't do this. It didn't matter how great the danger was, he shouldn't be doing this. He stepped forward.

"If you get a physical form back then you can't use it to hurt anyone unless they really deserve it - like they've physically hurt or killed another person deserved it. You can't be seen by anyone in my family and you can't tell them what I did." Dipper was rambling off everything he could think of, trying to close each and every loophole he could. "Got it? You can't use this as revenge or another chance to destroy this town or anything else in any of the worlds or dimensions. You're just here to help protect them."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Pine Tree? Shake my hand." Wrong. Dipper had such a strong feeling of wrongness. He knew he was being played. This had to be Bill's plan from the start. It was a plan to get him out and there probably was no danger and since there wasn't that meant Bill could get out of the deal and he would be physical and for them to work together, it-

"Don't worry, Pine Tree. They won't see it coming." The stone was warm beneath his touch and Dipper felt like he had just damned them all with the laughter he heard. Laughter that bounced off the trees and was as real as his breathing.

What had he done?

#gravity falls #bill cipher #decipher #dipper pines #otpafs

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shootingstarcipher-blog · 8 years ago

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The Runaway (Chapter 1: State of Mind)

He was older now, but not as much as he felt. He stood there in front of the mirror one morning – the morning he woke up to find his whole world had collapsed around him, leaving him hopeless, alone, and ultimately broken – and decided there and then that he needed to get away. From within his mind there came a laugh – a cold, derisive giggle of megalomania – and he stared back at his reflection with contempt. You’ll never get away, his mind shrieked, and his hand instinctively flew up to cover his gleaming yellow eye which always made his other one seem so dull and lifeless. His right eye was always yellow now – yellow and with a tiny black slit for a pupil. His left remained a permanent hazel.

It took a while for the laughter to die down but when it did, he looked back at himself in the mirror and smiled (only a small smile, which for most people would have been barely passable as an expression of emotion at all, but that was all he could muster). “I will get away,” he said sternly, more to himself than the source of the shrill laughter inside his head. “From you, and from all of this.” He pictured himself raising an eyebrow – for it was something he had never managed to do and could only imagine finally being able to do it – and tilted his hat on top of his head as he spoke. Then, glancing back at the mirror one last time, he turned on his heel and started to pack.

All he wound up taking with him was a few spare changes of clothes, all the money he had, some books he must have read hundreds of times and some emergency food and drink for the journey.

He paused to consider which of his two hats to wear and which to pack. This may seem like an unnecessary hurdle which should have been easy to overcome but, given the circumstances, to Dipper Pines it was a troubling and arduous task to accomplish. The first was a blue and white trucker hat depicting a Pine Tree that was important to his life than perhaps he even he himself had yet to realise. The other was grey and dog-eared, but sentimentally priceless nonetheless.

Both of them, at some time or another, had belonged to Wendy Corduroy.

In the end, he chose to where neither and pack both. It was a decision he half-expected to regret in the days to come yet simultaneously assured himself he was making the right choice.

The last time he had journeyed to Gravity Falls, it hadn’t been a pleasant trip. He still went every summer, ever since his parents had forced him and Mabel to stay with their great uncle Stan four years prior. But the last time hadn’t been for a holiday or for a visit to his great uncles and the friends who lived there; the last time he had gone for a funeral.

The bus was late but that wasn’t surprising. It was late every year. This time, however, he was on his own. That made it so much worse.

Although he hadn’t initially intended on getting off as the bus passed through the town, when he eventually got there he felt he couldn’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers – not after last year, not now he knew how fleeting life really was. His uncles were both in their seventies and though he could barely imagine anything attacking Grunkle Stan and getting the better of him, or Ford making a simple yet costly mistake resulting in his demise, imagining how hurtful it would be to lose either of them without taking the chance to see them one last time proved to be an even more difficult task.

As a twelve year old boy taking his first look at the business belonging to the so-called “Mr Mystery”, he had once thought that the Mystery Shack was just that: a dilapidated, run-down shack (the mystery being why anyone bothered to visit it). And in spite of his initial impression of the decrepit shack that had since become a second home to him and his sister, he had hoped and hoped that it wouldn’t have changed at all since the first time he’d been (after all, it had been just the same the last time he’d visited).

Now, as he stood there in front of it again – eyes squinted and one hand coiled into a fist, the other grappling for the strap of his backpack – he felt like he was being taunted. The voice in his head was quiet for once, but the feeling of a presence hiding inside his mind remained.

It wasn’t at all like he’d imagined – or how he’d hoped. Even more derelict than usual, the Mystery Shack was definitely on its way out. If he had thought it had been on its last legs before, then now it must have lost one or two those, balancing precariously on the weakest pair of wooden support beams ever recorded. He wasn’t sure if the voice was telling him this or if he was coming up with it himself, but a terrifying thought suddenly flashed through his mind – only for a moment, but the message was clear and one that had immediately engraved itself into his mind. If this is how bad the Shack looks, then what about Stan and Ford? After all, they were even older than the Shack.

It must have been at least twenty minutes before he could force himself to enter the house. He didn’t bother knocking; he never did – not here. There was no need for it here.

The first few seconds he spent inside the Shack answered none of his questions and created a thousand more. The house was a complete mess – and not just in Stan’s usual untidy way. Cracks in the walls, deep holes in the floorboards, smashed glass and broken bottles littering the floor in every room. And there was more. Family photographs had been savagely torn up, Stan’s chair had been tipped over and seemingly attacked – with bitemarks and long, fierce scratches tearing it to shreds – and the television set lay shattered on the living room floor. If Dipper’s common sense had overridden his curiosity, he would have left there and then and never looked back.

But then he would have had no hope of finding out what had happened. And what’s more, he would have regretted every second he spent not knowing whether his uncles were dead or alive.

He couldn’t have been sure that they were alive and he certainly didn’t think they were safe even if they had managed to survive the attack on their home, but he was determined to protect them if he could. They would have done the same for him, after all – and in fact they had, many a time during his and Mabel’s first stay in Gravity Falls.

The basement was where he headed next. If they were still inside the Shack, that’s where they’d be; he was completely certain of that. And so he quickly arrived at the conclusion that they had already left – either by choice or by force – as the basement was completely void of human life. Something was different than he remembered it, however. The portal that Ford had built at his enemy’s instruction, the one that almost destroyed the entire world, the one Dipper had watched his uncle pick apart piece by piece and demolish… That portal was standing there in the centre of the room, looking as if it had been stood there forever – as if it had never been taken apart and destroyed.

Yet it had. He knew it had. He remembered it so clearly. It had been Grunkle Ford’s life’s work – the masterpiece that marked his place as one of the world’s greatest minds and stood as testament to his genius – and Dipper had watched him tear it to shreds, unpicking and unwinding every inch of his greatest mistake. And now – as if by magic – it was back.

Curiosity and longing drew him to stand at the very edge of where safety ended and the unknow began, whispering to him from the depths of his mind, tempting him to step forward and find out just where that portal would take him. But curiosity killed the cat – and quite possibly his two great uncles as well – and although satisfaction brought it back, logic told him that there was no guarantee that he would be brought back to life by whatever lay beyond the line drawn across the concrete floor of his uncle’s basement.

He wanted to get away, but not like that. He wasn’t yet at the point where he’d willingly put his own life on the line without reason. Or anybody else’s, for that matter. Sanity had not completely deserted him yet.

And so logic and reason drowned out the curiosity and the longing, bringing him back to the front door of the Mystery Shack, which he then stared at for a considerable amount of time before deciding to continue on his way. Stan and Ford would be rescued. But for the time being, he had somewhere to be – somewhere he’d have an awful lot of time to figure out what might have happened to them.

He didn’t take the bus this time. He walked instead. It wasn’t far, anyway, and the peace and quiet gave him ample opportunity to think. But thinking wasn’t good for him. Thinking allowed buried memories to resurface and taunting voices to haunt him. His uncles were gone, they told him. He’d never see either of them again. Just like her. Just like all of them.

“I will,” he snapped as he pushed drooping branch out of the way and trudged past it, glad that he was alone so that nobody heard him talking to himself. “And don’t you ever talk about her. Ever. You didn’t deserve to know her.”

“I didn’t know her – not as well as you, Pine Tree.”

That made him stop. It sounded different this time, like it wasn’t coming from inside his head anymore. Like it was real. He had accepted long ago that voices speaking to him from within his own mind were nothing more than hallucinations, his memories confusing themselves with the present reality and manifesting as calls from beyond the grave – because Bill Cipher was in fact dead.

But that nickname. The voice had never – not even once – called him that since Bill Cipher’s reign of terror and madness had come to an end. It had always sounded the same but simply uttering those two words immediately confirmed that the voice did indeed belong to the monster he had witnessed commit countless unforgiveable actions at the expense and suffering of his friends and family.

He whirled round the instant he heard it, expecting to find the demon floating in mid-air behind him as had been the case so many times just a few years prior. All that greeted him was silence and empty air. Maybe his sanity really was slipping away. Maybe he shouldn’t have been alone in the woods at all.

#billdip #angst #gravity falls #fanfiction

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vennomax · 7 years ago

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Quotes From Henry Ford On Business, Leadership And Life

New Post has been published on http://www.vennomax.com/quotes/quotes-from-henry-ford-on-business-leadership-and-life/

Quotes From Henry Ford On Business, Leadership And Life

As it turns out, Ford was a veritable font of pithy and insightful one-liners about business and leadership – and a fascinating human being, as well. He certainly had his dark side (he seems to have been anti-Semitic for at least part of his life, believing in a world conspiracy of “Jewish financiers”), but he was at the same time hugely progressive and forward-thinking in many other ways. For example, he hired African-Americans, women and disabled people long before most other business owners did so, and was passionately committed to the principle of paying good wages to hire and keep the best employees.

He was a relentless technological innovator, based on his commitment to creating “the best possible goods at the lowest possible price.” He focused on making ongoing changes in design and production that would drive down costs while improving the product. For instance, the inaugural Model T, released for sale in 1908, cost $825 (about $22,000 in present-day dollars); by 1916, he had reduced the cost by more than half – to $360, while increasing safety, reliability and speed. And for better or worse, Henry Ford – more than any other individual – made us a nation of car owners; at one point over half the families in America owned a Ford motor car.

Here then, for your reading pleasure: Inspiring and very fresh quotes from this complex, remarkable man:

Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success.

There is one rule for the industrialist and that is: make the best quality goods possible at the lowest cost possible, paying the highest wages possible.

Don’t find fault, find a remedy.

Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.

Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t – you’re right.

Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young.

Employers only handle the money – it is the customer who pays the wages.

Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason so few engage in it.

The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing.

If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said ‘faster horses.’

You can’t build a reputation on what you are going to do.

If there is any one secret of success, it lies in the ability to get the other person’s point of view and see things from that person’s angle as well as from your own.

Enthusiasm is the yeast that makes your hopes shine to the stars.

Vision without execution is just hallucination.

There is no man living who isn’t capable of doing more than he thinks he can do.

A business that makes nothing but money is a poor business.

I cannot discover that anyone knows enough to say what is and what is definitely not possible.

A business absolutely devoted to service will have only one worry about profits. They will be embarrassingly large.

You don’t have to hold a position in order to be a leader.

Quality means doing it right when no one is looking.

To do more for the world than the world does for you – that is success.

#Business #henry ford #Leadership #life

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anistarrose · 5 years ago

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To See The Unseen - Ch. 2 (Gravity Falls)

Summary: Stan meets the mirror’s creator.

Warnings: a very brief description of a dead animal, and a character being hospitalized (no character death)

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/20884673/chapters/49642817

Big thanks to @apathetic-revenant for betaing this chapter!

***

“I’ve never been more ready to go to bed in my life,” Wendy groaned as she led the way back to the Mystery Shack. “You think Stan will mind if I crash on your couch for a couple hours? My brothers will be awake and screaming their heads off by the time I get home.”

“Yeah, he probably won’t mind,” Dipper replied. “Just be sure to tell him we were camping. He’ll go ballistic if he found out we almost died in the Author’s doomsday bunker.”

“But only because he cares about us,” Mabel spoke up. Her sweater was still slightly damp, and she shivered in the brisk early morning breeze. “I mean, if I was him and you guys told me you fought a shapeshifter in a fallout shelter, I’d go ballistic too!”

“You WHAT?!” Stan gasped. “What did I tell you just the other day about looking for trouble with the Journal?!”

The kids kept walking, passing straight through him. Mabel shivered again, but other than that, they gave no sign of having heard his outburst.

“Even if I have been a hypocrite about it…” Stan whispered.

Wendy squinted at the Shack, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the morning sun. “Hey, am I so tired I’m hallucinating, or is that Blubs and Durland on the porch?”

“Oh, great. What did Stan do this time?” Dipper mumbled. “Hey, Soos, you should probably hide that laptop from them —”

“Pines kids!” Durland shouted. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! Something terrible has happened!”

Soos, Wendy, and the twins stared at him with glazed-over, sleep-deprived eyes.

“You need us to… help solve a mystery?” Dipper asked.

“A murder mystery?” Mabel echoed, rubbing her eyes. “We have a kind-of-okay track record with those…”

“Whatever it is, I have an alibi,” Wendy muttered.

Blubs stepped forward, gaze fixed on the floorboards. “It’s about… it’s about your uncle.”

“Shit,” Stan mumbled. “Kids, whatever they say happened, I promise it’s not actually that bad —”

His voice cut off. Was that even true? He didn’t know a single thing about what being trapped in this gray mirror world meant for him — it easily could be not just ‘that bad,’ but even worse.

“Is Mr. Pines okay?” Soos asked. “What happened?!”

“He’s in the hospital. Dan Corduroy found him in the forest this morning, and… well, I’m no doctor, but apparently he didn’t seem injured and his vitals were all A-okay. He just… won’t wake up no matter what anyone tries.”

Mabel gasped, and Soos covered his mouth.

“Do — do you know how it happened?” Dipper stammered. “Was it one of the anomalies? How long has he been unconscious?”

Blubs sighed. “I’m so sorry, Dipper, but I don’t know a single thing. You know what — here, get into the squad car. I’ll drive you to the hospital so you can see him.”

Stan drifted after his family, watching as they piled into the police car. Mabel stared out the window, quieter than Stan had ever seen her before, while Dipper buried his nose in Journal 3, frantically flipping through pages so quickly he gave himself a paper cut.

“It’ll be alright,” Mabel told him without making eye contact. “The doctors will figure something out.”

“But what if they don’t?” Dipper asked. He didn’t seem to have even noticed his finger was bleeding. “What if medicine can’t help him, because it’s supernatural?” he continued in a voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no info about anything like this in the Journal — but if only I had the other volumes, then maybe they’d have something that could help. Something about how to cure him…”

“Oh, Dipper,” Stan murmured. “It just got me into this mess in the first place…”

***

Pacifica lay in bed, half-awake, for longer than usual that morning, until the sound of a servant knocking on her door startled her, and she finally crawled out from under the satin sheets. It took a few seconds of staring at the compact mirror resting atop her dresser before the events of the past night rushed back to her, and she shuddered.

The mirror still gave her bad vibes, even in broad daylight and outside of the infamously unnerving Gravity Falls forest. It reminded her of certain taxidermy-filled rooms of the mansion, especially the allegedly haunted one — there was just a sort of chill in the air around it, just barely subtle enough for you to convince yourself it was only your imagination acting up.

Even though she hadn’t changed out of her nightgown yet and would’ve looked ridiculous had anyone been around to see her, Pacifica put on a pair of gloves before opening the mirror. She was still going against both her gut feeling and basic common sense by examining the artifact at all, but she knew that if she hid it away now, there would eventually come a day when she grew so bored, she wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation any longer.

Despite bracing herself for the worst, nothing cataclysmic happened when she opened the mirror — no swarms of insects flew out, no bolts of dark magic incinerated her, and as far as she could tell, no deadly plagues seemed to be released into the world.

But although it wasn’t quite the Pandora’s Box she’d been expecting, it was most definitely supernatural. The mirror reflected everything in grayscale, except for her own body, which glowed blue. And the picture below…

Surprisingly, it looked incomplete. A broad-shouldered silhouette dressed in dark clothing stood in front of a row of trees, that much was clear, but most of the details were missing, especially around the completely blank area where a face should’ve been.

“Well, that’s freaky…” Pacifica was about to rummage through the contents of her desk, looking for a magnifying glass to examine the portrait more closely, when her maid knocked on her door again, and she reflexively snapped the mirror closed.

“Remember, your dance tutor will be arriving at ten o’clock sharp! You’d best be eating breakfast soon, unless you want to be late!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Pacifica called back, shoving the mirror under her pillow as she hastily selected a dress from her closet and a necklace from her jewelry box before rushing to the bathroom. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered to the mirror.

The mirror didn’t reply, but had it still been opened, Pacifica might’ve noticed that the portrait was ever-so-slowly growing closer to completion, adding a tie to the figure’s sharp black suit.

***

After a few minutes of asking the doctors one question after another, none of which they were able to answer, Dipper threw a glass of cold water in his face, adjusted his hat, and declared that he was off to investigate the place where Stan had been found, hoping to find some evidence that would lead to a cure. Wendy quickly announced she was going with him, which didn’t surprise Stan — he knew she’d never been fond of hospitals.

Figuring it would be smart to stay close to his body in case of a breakthrough, Stan didn’t follow Dipper and Wendy as they left, but still he overheard Dipper muttering to himself:

“I need to find the other Journals. One of them must have the answer to getting him back, somehow…”

“Come on, kid,” Stan whispered. “Don’t you go down this road too. It’s no fun to live your life like this, trust me…”

Mabel pulled her chair right up next to Stan’s hospital bed, and leaned up against him, burying her head in his spare pillow. Soos sat on the other side of the room, half-heartedly flipping through hospital-provided health magazines and flinching almost every time Stan’s heart monitor beeped. Like Pacifica, neither of them had reacted to the pale blue glow that Stan could see coming from beneath his body’s half-closed eyelids.

He tried to give Mabel a reassuring pat on the back, to no avail. Her breathing slowed as his hand passed through her shoulder, and for a second he was afraid he’d hurt her somehow, but then she began to snore quietly, and he realized she’d just fallen asleep.

“What am I gonna do, Soos?” Stan asked. “I can’t get back in my body, I can’t tell you what happened, I can’t even let you know I’m okay…”

A new, terrifying realization dawned on him. “I can’t operate the portal! I was so close to getting Ford back, so goddamn close! But how am I going to save him if I’m trapped in this mirror world?!”

“You could always do what he did, and get a little help from a friend!”

The voice wasn’t spoken out loud as much as it resonated in Stan’s mind, high-pitched and echoing in a way that made his nonexistent ears ache. He was also pretty sure he’d heard it before, even if he hadn’t been in the most coherent state at the time.

“I swear,” he growled, “if I turn around and see that screaming geometry dipshit from my nightmare last week, I’m gonna puke ghost guts all over that one-eyed piss-yellow triangular ass of his.”

The being behind him began to clap. “Go ahead and turn around, then! I’d love to see it!”

Stan turned, and sure enough, found himself facing a one-eyed, piss-yellow, triangular entity.

“Well? Where’s the ghost puke you promised me?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bill. That is your name, right? I gotta be sure you know exactly how much I hate your dumb whiny voice in particular.”

“Read about me in Fordsy’s journal, did you?” Bill asked, twirling his cane.

Stan raised a hand to his ear. “Huh, what’s that noise? ‘Cause it definitely isn’t a first grader’s math homework shutting the fuck up, that’s for sure!”

Bill let his cane go flying out of his grip and through the nearest wall, disappearing from view for a moment before popping back into existence in his other hand. “Oh, Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. I’m here to help you, just like I helped Sixer! So let’s not say anything we’ll end up regretting later —”

“Too late.” The cocky grin disappeared from Stan’s face as he made a fist. “No one calls Ford ‘Sixer’ but me, and you’re really gonna regret mixing that one up if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh, my bad!” Bill shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t mean to slight your precious sibling relationship, which you both clearly value SO much! If only I could make it up to you by… I dunno, saving you from ETERNAL IMPRISONMENT?!”

“I’ve broken out of prison in three different countries, I’ll be fine on my own. Also, I know you tried to hurt my family when you all went off on your wild goose chase through my mind — and call me overprotective of those kids if you want to, but in my book, that’s a pretty good reason not to make any dark magical contracts with you.”

For the first time, Bill looked genuinely looked caught off guard by one of Stan’s comebacks. “You were conscious for that? You know what, forget it. I —”

“Well, I mean, I was asleep — but I was definitely dreaming about you getting your ass kicked.”

“I said FORGET IT!” Bill snapped.

“Touchy subject, eh?”

“It was in the past! It doesn’t matter anymore!” Bill shouted. “You need my help and my deal now, Stanley Pines, and there’s no way around it!”

Stan floated lower, until he was able to roughly approximate sitting at the foot of the bed. “Well, looks like I’ve got all day to kill and nothing better to do. I’m not gonna listen, but you might as well start making your case anyway.”

Bill’s eye narrowed with glee, and he began to chuckle to himself, then cackle louder and louder until it felt like his laughter would never stop echoing inside Stan’s head.

“Here’s the thing, Stanley — you really don’t have all day at all! In fact, you have…”

With a burst of flame, he summoned a ticking gold pocketwatch in his hand. “Exactly twelve hours and two minutes!”

“Until what? I’m not gonna fold and cut a deal with you just because of a vague threat and a time limit — that’s like, even more basic than Manipulation 101.”

Bill laughed, and his pocketwatch cooed like a cuckoo clock as an avian skeleton sprung out of the hole in the center. “Twelve hours until your body stops breathing, obviously! It’ll be real sudden, too — no time for the doctors to switch you over to life support before your brain runs out of oxygen!” One of his arms extended as he reached over to Stan, rapping him on the skull. “Then again, I’m not sure you’re getting much blood flow up there in the first place. Certainly less than old Fordsy —”

“Why should I believe you?” Stan asked. “If I was a math nerd’s demonic fever dream, I’d be making up bullshit life-or-death ultimatums left and right. Who would be be dumb enough to make a bargain with me otherwise?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. But to answer your question, just look at your own eyes, down there in your body! They’re not even glowing half as bright as when you first got flipped into the mindscape, and they’re only gonna keep getting dimmer until the connection’s gone altogether!”

Bill snapped his fingers, summoning a plume of blue flame in which an image of the mirror flickered into existence. “When that portrait in the compact is completed, exactly twenty-four hours from the moment you entered the mirror, you’ll be severed from the living world forever — and that’s not all! Your soul gets trapped inside that musty old picture to rot and fester until either someone new scries with the mirror, or eternity itself comes grinding to a halt at the end of the world! That’s the beauty of it: you get to be all-seeing — almost like me! — for exactly one day, but once that’s over, all you’ll ever see again is the inside of a closed compact!”

The image in the flames faded away as they swirled around Bill’s hand, which he extended in Stan’s direction. “But I can put you back in your body, and send the mirror’s previous prisoner back into the painting instead! I can save you, just like I saved your brother! Whaddya say?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stan answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “All makes perfect sense to me. You just so happen to be the world’s leading expert on cursed mirror and equally cursed painting combos!”

“Well, why wouldn’t I be? I helped make the thing, after all!”

“Oh, did you? That explains why holding it instantly reminded me of my deep hatred for trigonometry.”

Bill ignored him. “You know, your brother wasn’t the only mortal I’ve been a Muse to! He was just the only one in recent memory who was actually USEFUL. I’ve appeared before countless pupils over the years, looking for someone who’d be smart, ambitious, and not to mention gullible enough to help me fulfill my vision — but before Six-Fingers, everyone fell short. And worse — some of them wouldn’t stop summoning me even after I’d given up on them! They kept asking me inane questions about the beginning of the universe and the meaning of life!”

His triangular body turned bright red and the flames surrounding him roared as he continued: “Life doesn’t HAVE a meaning! Humanity was put on the planet to reproduce, die, and make meaningless philosophical arguments in a desperate attempt to convince themselves that morality and ethics are worth anything in the callous void that is existence — what else did they want me to tell them?! Some saccharine bullshit about being born so they could make the world a better place?”

“So you got fed up, and made the mirror to trap one of your ex-pawns?” Stan asked.

The flames disappeared, and Bill seemed to calm down, turning yellow again. “You catch on faster than I thought you would! I tricked one of my most insufferable pupils into creating it, and sure enough, he hasn’t bothered me since!”

“So when Ford tried to scry with the mirror thirty something years ago, he freed that guy’s ghost — but you still thought Ford would still be useful, didn’t you?” Stan tried to keep his voice calm, but he was starting to get a good idea of just who had driven Ford to such paranoia and desperation thirty years ago, and he was fuming inside. “So you freed Ford by switching his place with the ghost of that first guy you trapped.”

“Exactly!” Bill cheered, rubbing his hands together. “And I can do the same for you — just give me the word, and you’ll be back in your body before you know it!”

“Let’s imagine a parallel universe where I was a dumbass and I did take your deal. What other conditions would you be hiding in the fine print?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be hiding it! I’d actually be rather upfront, just like I’m being right now!” Bill smacked Stan on the head with a roll of paper, which unfurled to reveal a document titled CONTRACT.

“All I’d ask is for you do owe me one tiny favor down the line — a chance for me to borrow your restored body for a few hours when the right moment rolls around! I mean, you’ve coped without it for this long — what’ll one more brief stint in the mindscape be to a pro like you?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to say FUCK NO to that. I know you’re used to dealing with my brother, the most gullible genius on the planet, but while he may have all the brains, I have some actual goddamn common sense.”

“But — but don’t you want to open the portal?” Bill asked him, a little too quickly. “I’d like to see you try and operate it without your body!”

“Well, yeah — but are you really expecting me to be able to activate it all on my own? Even with all the journals, I’ve still got no idea what I’m doing,” Stan lied. “I could just as easily flip the thing’s self-destruct switch as I could find the right settings to bring Ford back. I’ll feel guilty if I can’t at least try, but… it was a hell of a long shot in the first place. I accepted that a long time ago, even if I don’t like to admit it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Bill shouted. “The thing doesn’t even HAVE a self-destruct switch! I — I could even sweeten the deal, if you want! I could help you turn it on! This has been thirty years in the making — you can’t just give up on it now! Also, did I forget to mention YOUR ETERNAL FUCKING IMPRISONMENT and SLOW, PAINFUL CORRUPTION INTO A REVENGE-BENT MONSTER?!”

Okay, so Bill really wants the portal activated for some reason, Stan thought to himself. Interesting.

Out loud, he told Bill: “I’ve been messing around with too much shit that I don’t understand since before you even showed up. I’m not adding a deal with a demon to that list, and that’s final. Besides, you’re forgetting that the kids will probably figure something out. They always do.”

“Well, that sure is a cute sentiment!” Bill shot back. “But you’re already as good as dead to them, Stanley. They can’t see you, they can’t hear you — and soon enough, if you don’t do something, they won’t be able to feel your heart beating in your body anymore either!”

“Oh, I do plan on doing something,” Stan replied with a straight face. “It just won’t be the something you want me to do.”

“My offer still stands!” Bill shouted as he disappeared in a burst of blue flames. “Just call my name once it sinks in how doomed you are without me, and I’ll be right there to shake your hand and seal the deal!”

Mabel, still asleep next to Stan’s body, let out a deep sigh as Bill vanished, but otherwise didn’t react to their conversation. She was hugging Stan’s arm and clutching handfuls of the bedsheet like it were the lifeline tying Stan to the world, and if only she held on tight enough, she’d be able to drag him back.

And maybe, in a roundabout way, she could.

“Bill said I’m all-seeing like him until my twelve hours are up,” Stan explained to her, even knowing it wouldn’t be heard. “So if you’ll bear with me here, Mabel…”

He placed his hand over her forehead, and closed his eyes.

“I’m gonna see if I can haunt dreams like him too.”

***

Pacifica’s dance lesson dragged on for over an hour, showing no signs of coming to an end until she claimed to be experiencing a dehydration-induced dizzy spell and her instructor reluctantly excused her, probably fearing a lawsuit. She headed back to her room right away, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her pillow — and the mirror beneath it — hadn’t been disturbed. She was going to have to find a better hiding place for it soon.

As she pulled out a map of the mansion, trying to think of nooks and crannies that no one ever checked, a thud from the hallway made her jump. She almost brushed it off, chalking it up to her imagination, when she heard it again, and then a third time, growing louder with each repetition.

It didn’t sound like footsteps — or at least, not the footsteps of any human. If anything, it sounded like solid stone was striking the hallway’s hardwood floor.

Pacifica watched, frozen in place, as a veil of smoke materialized around her doorknob, twisting it counterclockwise degree by degree as the door ever-so-slowly swung open —

And then she laughed, because what she was seeing in the hallway couldn’t have been further from the monster she’d been expecting.

“You’re a statue,” she snickered, and her visitor’s stone eyes lit up red.

Oh, but not just any statue, a voice boomed from inside the familiar face that had once watched over the town square. I’m Gravity Falls’ very own Nathaniel Northwest!

***

(End notes:)

I was very excited for this chapter since I don’t write a whole lot of Stan and Bill interacting (outside of Some Sunny Day, which was a whole different beast altogether). And sure enough, I had a ton of fun with Stan’s dialogue, which led to this chapter being about a thousand words longer than expected.

Anyways, comments/reblogs are appreciated as always!

#gravity falls #stanley pines #bill cipher #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez #pacifica northwest #fic: to see the unseen #rosalia writes fic

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