#and then there’s dan crawling across the floor 6 inches from me

[bitchslapblastoids]

also may I just say ain’t nothing quite like meeting tumblr urls that previously solely exist as mainstays in my lil digital neighborhood seeing all y’all irl is a trip and you are all lovely

[moonprincess92]

A family can be 2 traumatised soldiers and their 30 kids (8)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7  

Read on AO3 

Part 8 

If there was one thing her life was lacking, it was friends.

Jyn didn’t kid herself that she was exactly friend material though, and perhaps that was mostly the reason why. She just wasn’t hardwired for that kind of relationship. After spending so long supressing any kind of emotional attachment, getting herself to relax and open up to even one person had been trying enough, but it hit her one evening when the kids were all in bed and Cassian was in a meeting that she… literally had no one else. She didn’t have anyone to turn to, to ask about or to check in with. She had a professional relationship with the princess, but she definitely wouldn’t go so far as to call her a friend. Leia certainly had too many of her own issues to deal with at the moment anyway. She had Aden and Tavisha, but they were still kids to her and probably always would be. They understood a lot, they had a lot to offer, but there were just some things that you couldn’t talk to your kids about.

In the end, Jyn ended up comm-ing the only person she could think of.

“Hey, Shara?” 

“Jyn?” the pilot answered in a state of utter confusion. “Is everything ok? Is this something to do with Poe–?”

“No, no,” Jyn quickly assured, rubbing at the pressure that was building behind her forehead. This was a horrible idea. “I was just – I don’t know whether it’s too late – but um, I need someone to talk to. Did you want to buy some illegal whiskey and get hammered with me somewhere?”

There was some rustling down Shara’s end, a dull thud like she’d hit Kes out of her way or something. “It’s never too late for that,” she answered at once. “Where can I find you?”

The whiskey was bought from a particularly well-known source within the Intelligence-circles. While the agents themselves were the face of the operation, Jyn was almost fairly certain that it was actually one particular spotty-faced kid in human resources who was the one doing the actual smuggling. Either way, High Council had no idea and monthly bar nights continued even though the entire rebellion was two steps from death these days. Jyn met Shara in her classroom on the main frigate, figuring that no one would suspect anything illegal to be happening there. They slumped down onto the cushions that Jyn had managed to steal from the haul of an intercepted Imperial shuttle to decorate the room with and passed the bottle between them.

“I can’t even remember the last time I got drunk,” Shara almost choked on the whiskey. “Gotta be before Poe was born.”

“Sorry if–”

“Kriff, don’t be sorry!” Shara added, shoving her shoulder sluggishly. “I’ve never felt so alive!”

Jyn felt the giant knot of tension in her chest loosen slightly. “Thanks,” she said. “I… I realised that I basically have no friends. I have Cassian, but we’re apparently getting through this by carrying on like normal. There’s not even a lot left that we could say to each other because he gets it. But sometimes I think there’s still some stuff I want to get out and I don’t…”

“You literally change my son every time he soils himself, I am fuckin’ HERE FOR YOU,” Shara declared. 

“Actually, Cassian mostly handles that job. I only do it when all else fails.”

“STILL.”

“You really are a lightweight, huh?”

“This stuff is kriffin’ strooooong,” Shara glanced down at the bottle in her hands before shrugging and gulping down some more. “So talk to me, Jyn. How’re you goin’?”

“Honestly, not good, Shara.”

The other woman hiccupped slightly before saying, “I joined the rebellion after Scarif. I only ever heard about it from the rumours.”

“The rumours are mostly true.”

Shara took another shot. “Shiiiiit.”

“Although I didn’t get revenge on the man who killed my mother by gouging out his eyes, everyone always gets that part wrong,” Jyn pointed out, hastily. “Cassian stopped me before I could get that far.”

Shara looked like she might have been recovering slightly when she had to go and add that point on the end. She shook her head before handing the bottle over. “I always… sometimes I wondered,” she admitted as Jyn drank. “How you and Cassian had gone from blowing shit up to looking after kids.”

“There’s a lot of rumours about that too,” Jyn pointed out. “Unfortunately, the truth is I broke some guy’s arm and Mothma got pissed off.”

Shara nodded, lips twitching. “But I think I get it now… well maybe, I don’t know if I could ever really get it... but after everything you’ve been through, I can understand wanting to do less. Looking after those kids isn’t any easier, but at least you’re not getting shot at every other day, right?”

“I don’t know about that,” Jyn could recall several target practices where her kids’ shots had gone only slightly awry. “but… yeah.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re dealing with.”

Jyn closed her eyes, letting the alcohol swirl her brain. If she let it, she could so easily spiral out of control right now. She could let the panic sink in, let it crush her until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only scream and scream and scream, and maybe it’s what she felt like doing, but as always she didn’t have the time. The kids needed someone to assure them that the galaxy wasn’t ending, that it was all going to be ok, and she knew Cassian was on the verge of snapping as much as she was. If she lost it, he might too and they would be of no use to anyone in the Medbay… but as much as that was all true, it also meant that they hadn’t really dealt with it at all.

Her chest constricted as she fought to keep the waves crashing over her.

“Yeah, I apparently need a moment,” Jyn admitted. “I’ve done enough talking, I’ve done enough keeping it together… I just need to break down for a bit. It’s going to be ugly, Shara.”

“We all need a chance to be ugly, girl,” Shara told her.

“I’m serious–”

“And I’mmmmm drunk,” Shara added. “but serious too, yes. Jyn do whatever the hell you need to do. I’ll be here.”

And she was.

Jyn almost didn’t catch the symptoms.

“EMERGENCY DRILL,” she suddenly barked, hitting the app on her datapad. The siren blared, loud and deafening, and instead of the usual immediate flurry of movement, it only elicited a few stirrings and a lot of pained groans. Jyn smirked a little at her classroom full of sluggish teenagers, the lot of them having been moaning and complaining all day so far and now at last she seemed to have figured out exactly what was up with them all.

She cut the siren off. She wasn’t that cruel.

“All right, losers,” she said, cheerfully. “If that had been the Empire invading you’d all be dead, so do yourselves a favour and confess now: who provided the booze?”

The class froze. Rivi was slumped back in her chair with a spare pair of flight googles over her eyes and hadn’t moved for over an hour while she was fairly certain that Geron had slept through the entire drill, but she noticed a lot of panicked looks being exchanged across the classroom. They ultimately all came back to the same person however, and Jyn paced slowly until she was right in front of her chair.

“Lahrin?” she asked. “Care to explain?”

“It wasn’t MY idea,” she deflected at once.

Jyn was almost 1000% certain it had been. As much as she loved Lahrin, the girl had been manipulating situations to her advantage ever since she had arrived as a sweet, innocent-looking 15-year-old two years ago. “Look, I don’t care that apparently, a bunch of you all went and got black-out drunk last night,” Jyn sighed, glaring around at her roomful of what were clearly hungover teenagers. “what I do care about is still being able to protect yourselves. The Empire won’t give you a pass just because you drank too much.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lahrin pointed out. “You were totally hungover in class last week.”

Jyn pinched the bridge of her nose. Hungover hadn’t even been the start of her issues that day. Shara had eventually dragged her back to her room around 0500, passed out, her knuckles skinned and her throat burning. She hadn’t been in much of a state to do anything the few hours later when she needed to be awake…

“Don’t get snarky with me,” Jyn warned. “if you’ll remember, I still came to class. I still did my job.”

Lahrin at least looked a little chastised. Jyn sighed.

“Look, I know things haven’t been easy,” she told them all. “Wait – can someone wake up Geron for this?” She waited as Dan kicked Geron awake and Vance was forced to take away Rivi’s goggles to make her look up. “Guys – being honest, I’m not handling the news of the second Death Star well. But I’m still here and I’m still getting through it. You can drink yourselves stupid if you want, but you all have to keep going, ok? If I have to, you guys have to as well. And with that being said,” Jyn grimaced at what she was about to ask next. “tell me the gossip. Who passed out, who hooked up…?”

Thankfully, she got some laughs out of that. “I wouldn’t kiss any of these losers!” Lahrin practically choked.

“Way too close for that, eh?” Kris teased, poking her on the arm.

Rivi just snapped her goggles back on.

“Don’t worry, we were safe,” Vance felt the need to hastily add.

“Ok, I’ve heard enough,” Jyn held up a hand.

These days, she held Cassian a bit too tight. She kissed slightly too hard and pushed him around far too much, and he didn’t even mind. He never stopped her, never complained, but she didn’t want this to be their only way of connecting anymore. Every time she thought that enough time was passing that they could start to figure things out again, something else would happen and they would backslide once more. This time, it was hearing the rumours that a group of Bothan spies had come up with a plan to get more intel on the new Death Star, and it reeked too much of Scarif that she ended up fucking Cassian within an inch of his life on their refresher floor.

“I’m sorry…” she said in a hoarse whisper, once they had finally crawled into bed. He lay on his back in a kind of stupor. By this point, Jyn usually had a few hours before the usual tension and dread started settling in again, but she looked down at him and realised that it was already there, or maybe still there, stabbing at her heart and not letting her go. This wasn’t fixing things. Jyn reached out, curling an arm over his chest and curling herself into his side as much as she could, a leg hitching up over his hip.

“I’m a mess,” she whispered.

“My mess,” Cassian corrected. “Besides, me too.”

She clicked her tongue at the sentiment. “We should be talking, not fucking.”

Cassian made a non-committal sound. “We can do both.”

She attempted a laugh, but it got stuck in her throat somewhere and came out as a kind of gurgle. “Cassian…” she whispered, head firmly tucked under his so that there was no way she could accidentally meet his eyes. “It’s all just happening again. The Bothan’s are going on a suicide mission, the entire damn Death Star, we keep on trying, we keep on fighting and fighting but nothing ever makes a fucking difference.”

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to reassure me, that’s how comforting works.”

“I don’t know how to do it when I feel the same as you,” Cassian pointed out. His arms squeezed around her tighter, his hand sliding down to hold onto her thigh like an anchor. “About 99% of my time, I feel like I want to punch something and the only reason I don’t is the kids.”

They fall quiet for a few long moments at that. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t alone, that she wasn’t the only one feeling like she was, but then again it was jarring to realise that she didn’t have someone to talk actual sense into her. Shara let her cry and Leia let her work, but she needed someone to let her deal and she could practically feel Cassian starting to come to the same conclusions that she was.

“Shit,” he muttered. “We both really need to see someone, don’t we?”’

“You mean a professional someone,” It wasn’t a question. She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Unfortunately, the rebellion was severely lacking in well, basically everything. It couldn’t even provide basic nutritional food, let alone a functioning therapy system, but luckily they all apparently made do with the informal help of the medics. Jyn quite famously didn’t get along with any of them (probably from the amount of times she’d defied their ‘no visitors except for direct family’ rule) but she would make an exception if it could in anyway help stable her peace of mind. She at least owed it to the kids to try.

“In the morning,” she murmured, kissing his neck. “One of us will skip class and go ask about who to talk to. If it’s the batty old lady who tried to curse me for trying to visit Ann when she was sick, then I’ll just take my chances.”

Thankfully, he let out a bark of laughter.

“Tell me a random kid story?” Jyn asked then, keen for any kind of distraction. “How were they today, did they behave?”

Cassian chuckled. “Quite a few of them got married, actually.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He pressed his lips to her hair. “I think they were kind of inspired by our wedding, but Arlo was the ringleader. I caught him trying to dress up in my jacket and when I asked what he was doing, he said he was getting ready for his wedding. He’d roped everyone into it apparently, set out all the chairs, made an aisle, got Danny to be the officiator and Bree and Charlee as the flower girls.”

“Who was he marrying?”

“Oh, multiple people,” Cassian chuckled. “First, he married Haley. Then he married Lyle. He was going to marry Fliss next, but Pero got possessive and I worried for a moment we would have a duel over her.”

“We might have to have a talk to him about that.”

“Thankfully, I managed to calm them all down,” Cassian agreed. “Honestly, it was hilarious watching. Arlo insisted on kissing all of them, too.”

“Isn’t he still six?”

“He was really into the authenticity of the thing.”

“It’s weird to think Arlo was once that little kid I had to take to the toilet every damn time he needed to poo.”

Cassian nodded against her head, but she felt the tension seeping back in just from the way she was wrapped around him. His muscles clenched and she rubbed her hands over his back, shoulders, in an attempt to keep it at bay, at least just for a little longer. No matter how much they distracted themselves for, their issues always came sneaking back in eventually. 

“Don’t think about it,” she murmured.

“I’m trying,” he whispered back. Then after clearing his throat, he spoke a little louder. “What did the teens get up to today?”

“Well, apparently they’ve all taken up partying recently, so honestly trying to get them to do anything in class is a nightmare…”

Medic Dhanya Hightower didn’t look like much. She was small, long hair always braided down her back and a smile perpetually on her face no matter what was happening within the Rebellion. She must have seen countless injuries, wounds too terrible to even describe, yet she was always willing to listen. She was always willing to make time, and that’s how after some asking around, Jyn found herself in Medbay storage, leaning against the shelves and talking while Dhanya ticked varying stock off her datapad.

“Jyn, babe,” Dhanya said without even looking up. “it’s not your fault.”

“I know… but my brain still thinks it is.”

“I guess that’s what we all do,” Dhanya nodded in understanding. The woman always understood, somehow. “Do you speak much to Captain Andor about all this?”

“A little… but we realised that while talking to each other was good, we were both too far into this to be able to help each other,” Jyn wished she could get away with only speaking to Cassian, but here she was. “I wouldn’t be here if it was helping.”

“You know that he’s come and spoken to me too, right?”

“We both decided it was for the best.”

“I’m glad you did,” Dhanya smiled at her warmly. “A lot of people come and talk to me, but even more don’t. I’ve known of Captain Andor ever since I first joined the rebellion ten standard years ago, and this is the first damn time I’ve ever been able to actually help him.”

“Yeah, he’s not exactly forthcoming.”

“But he is with you.”

“He married me,” Jyn shrugged. “He has to be.”

Dhanya laughed. “Jyn, can I ask you a question?”

She hesitated at first. It was a natural instinct to immediately protect herself from anything trying to force its way inside, but the last thing Dhanya would do is force. Jyn had sought out the informal therapist of her own free will, had spoken to her about things she hadn’t properly spoken of in years, she knew this was safe and confidential and ok… but it was hard to let go of natural instincts.

“Sure,” she shrugged.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

So many things could come to mind. There were the obvious things, things that Dhanya was probably expecting – that this new Death Star would kill them all, that she would die, that her father would be disappointed in her, that Cassian would die – but honestly, the first thing that came into her head was none of these things.

“I’m afraid that if I break down any more than I already have, then I won’t be able to do my job properly,” she admitted. “I’m afraid that I’ll hurt my kids.”

Her kids, her kids, her kids.

“Wow,” Dhanya rested her datapad on a shelf for a moment. “You… really love them, huh?”

“I would die for them,” Jyn said, trying to keep the ferociousness out of her voice.

“I didn’t realise.”

“No one really does,” she said. “I don’t think anyone ever actually did this job properly until Cassian and I came along.”

“What’s the most ridiculous thing a kid’s done?” Dhanya asked enthusiastically then.

Kriffing hell, where to start. “Erm,” Jyn shrugged. “a kid tried to strangle me once?”

Dhanya’s eyes went wide.

“Don’t worry,” Jyn added. “he’s gotten better over the years. Reno’s only mostly an asshole now.”

“I’m honestly in awe of you, sometimes.”

“Thank you,” Jyn said. “and honestly… thank you. For talking to me. And for listening.”

“Of course.”

“JYN! JYN!” Vance practically crashed into her as they were all leaving the mess hall. His hands grabbed at her arms, nearly shoving her to the ground thanks to the 16-year-old’s weight. Jyn staggered as she exclaimed,

“What the hell–?”

“DID YOU HEAR? YOU HAVEN’T HEARD – HAN’S BACK! THEY FOUND HAN!”

That changed everything.

Jyn had no choice but to be dragged behind Vance as the kid sprinted for the hangar. Specifically the West Hangar, which was where all outside ships usually docked and went through screening before being allowed in. Jyn knew that Leia had been out on yet another mission to try and recover him, but how Vance had figured out that she was successful this time was beyond her. He tugged on her hand, pulling her through the crowds that were slowly gathering, the rebels who wanted to see the esteemed captain return home, and Jyn called out,

“Wait, wait! How the hell do you know he’s back?”

Vance skidded to a halt at the edge of the crowd, neck craning over all the heads. “I might’ve gotten Jessa to hack ship communications,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

She wasn’t even surprised. “Wait – Jessa can hack?” she decided to focus on.

“Oh, yeah – she’s fucking good at it, too! Can slice her way into anything.”

“I’m going to be having words with that girl…” Jyn muttered. A good data analyst she would make one day, but only if she used her powers for good. Jyn had to wonder why she hadn’t thought of teaching the skill until now. Luckily, they didn’t get sent out of the hangar. They had to hastily pretend to be unloading a recent shipment to avoid the crowd getting moved along, but they were still there by the time the unmistakable Millennium Falcon was eventually docking.

Han Solo looked like shit, put bluntly, but he didn’t keel over when Vance hurtled up out of nowhere and flung his arms around his middle, so he at least had that going for him. Leia didn’t let go of his hand, her tired face suddenly with a lot more life to it. While Han gingerly patted Vance on the head, Jyn hastily apologised for being unable to keep her kid under control.

“It’s fine,” Leia told her. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You let the kids go to Salahar,” Leia reminded her. “Their intel allowed us to find him. Without you, he would still be lost… so thank you.”

Jyn shrugged it off, but it hit her a little to see Vance so ecstatic upon seeing his hero back safe and sound. She didn’t hug Han herself, but accepted him clapping a hand onto her shoulder in acknowledgement. His presence, it seemed, had also brought a sense of urgency since Leia parted ways with, “There will be a briefing soon. Main council chamber. You and Andor need to come.”

“You know we can’t fight anymore–”

“Just come,” Leia insisted. “You’ll want to hear this.”

“Is this another battle?!” Carina was yelling in a panic.

“I’LL FIGHT ‘EM!” Reno punched the wall in his enthusiasm.

“Are we gonna have to evacuate again?” Ava clung to her waist, fearfully.

“EVERYONE, CALM DOWN!” Cassian’s booming voice was apparently the only thing that could get the entire youth class back under control. Their classroom really wasn’t big enough to comfortably accommodate them all anymore, but they had squeezed them all in for this, which was probably the only plus to this mess. It meant that the kids were all together, hearing the news at the same time; they sat huddled together, small ones on bigger kids’ laps, and it was at least comforting to know that they had all come a long way from that first classroom she had ever walked into. But the news of the scattered rebel fleets all being called in from across the galaxy, of a major council meeting that for some reason Jyn and Cassian were having to attend, it was scaring them all.

Jyn didn’t blame them.

She sat next to Cassian on the one table that they had in the room, Poe held safely in her lap. He was being unusually clingy, refusing to be put down and holding onto her pants or shirt for dear life if he was. Cassian spoke to the kids in that calm, yet still commanding way of his, which helped at least a little in putting everyone at ease.

“Look,” he explained. “we honestly don’t know what this meeting is going to be about. Just know we’ll only be gone for one morning and will be back in the afternoon. One of the other usual training officers will watch you guys, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“But this isn’t a normal meeting, is it?” the ever perceptive Trina called out. That caused several others to pipe up and Jade to sign frantically at them.

Truth was no, it wasn’t a normal meeting. But if her sessions with Dhanya had taught her anything, it was that they needed to carry on as normal as possible, no matter how crazy it might seem. Honestly, if the kids weren’t prepared for what was about to happen then Jyn certainly wasn’t, and the only thing keeping her heart from slamming out of her chest was Cassian’s hand occasionally reaching out and brushing against her side.  But they could do this.

They had to.

She caught some anxious looks but the next morning they still left for the council meeting, making their way through the giant frigate only for it to eventually be confirmed that every Bothan who had gone after information about the new Death Star had died. After everything else they’d been through it was barely a blow at this point, but Jyn still felt her eyes close at it regardless. Cassian pressed his forehead subtly into her hair for a moment. This was it. It was all happening. They were attacking, and it was happening again, and someone actually had the audacity to ask whether Jyn and Cassian were going to be on the strike team sent down to Endor.

“We couldn’t,” Cassian insisted. “We can’t, you know that.”

But there were a lot of eye rolls at that. She heard someone mutter under their breath, “Who let the babysitters in?” Someone called down from the top of the tiered seating, “Why were they even allowed in here?” and Jyn was half ready to leap up there before Cassian could even get a hand on her shoulder.

Mothma hushed the chatter at once, but turned to Jyn and Cassian while General Akbar explained the logistics of the attack in the background. “While others might not think the same, I do not expect either of you to fight,” she told them without preamble. “You were asked here as it was thought you deserved to know what was happening.”

They’d been on this side of the pressure before. Jyn knew that look in Cassian’s eye. They were incapable of not helping whenever someone asked for it, but this was way bigger than anything else.

This was no Hoth evacuation, this was a carefully planned attack.

“We understand,” Jyn answered. “We can’t join the troops, but we thank you all the same.”

“You should do it.”

Goddamn kriffing hell –

She and Cassian both whirled around. She almost thought she might have a heart attack at seeing several of their kids lurking at the entrance to the hall, Rivi being the one to defiantly step forward and call out. At once, the other teens hissed frantically at Rivi to come back while several council members gave exasperated groans and looks that clearly said, can’t you keep these children under control?

Honestly, sometimes Jyn didn’t think it was at all possible.

“I am so sorry – ALL OF YOU!” she leapt at her feet at once. “OUTSIDE, NOW.”

She ended up practically frog-marching the kids down to a nearby control room to yell at them in peace, Cassian rounding them up at the back with an equally furious look. It took a couple moments for her to realise it was the same room that she had retreated to after hearing about the second Death Star for the first time. Cassian stood at her side once they had all filed sheepishly in, arms folded across his chest and glaring in that way he knew would make the kids cower.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ALL DOING?” she stormed.

“Look what you did, Rivi, Jyn’s mad!” Geron hissed.

“YOU BET YOUR FUCKING ARSES I’M MAD,” Jyn said.

“Look, we just wanted to know what’s going on!” Rivi insisted. It was their group of eldest teens who had apparently snuck out – Jessa, Lahrin, Geron, Neera, Vance and Rivi – though Jyn had no doubt they would also be reporting back to everyone else. “Honest! You guys wouldn’t tell us, so what else were we supposed to do? Jessa tried slicing into the mainframe, but all the briefing notes were encrypted, so–”

“Bitch, way to throw me under the shuttlebus–” Jessa shoved Rivi hastily.

“I’M JUST SAYING,” Rivi threw up her hands. “We only wanted to know. We hate not knowing.”

Jyn rubbed her eyes. Shit, she had underestimated their kids in the worst way. Nothing was going to stop them from finding out. They were nearly adults, and they only wanted to know what was happening. She exchanged a look with Cassian and knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Look,” Cassian began. “you’re all in major trouble for sneaking out of class, let’s get that clear first. But…”

He gestured vaguely to a clear space in the middle of the control room, and they all sat down together. It felt like a moment to be sitting down for, at least. Jessa and Lahrin leaned against each other, Neera tucked underneath Jessa’s arm like a child still. Vance leaned back against a store cupboard, Geron resting against him with his legs over Rivi’s lap, despite all their frustration still at their ringleader. Ready to listen, because really that’s all they had wanted.

A chance to listen.

“How much of the meeting did you hear?” she asked.

“A bit,” Neera admitted.

“You all know already about the new Death Star,” Cassian explained. “We finally got intel. Where it’s located, its status, everything. It’s currently over a moon called Endor, so far non-operational and being overseen by Emperor Palpatine himself. A lot of people died to get that information.”

“Like you guys nearly died the first time,” Rivi said without hesitation.

Something stabbed her.

“Yes,” Cassian closed his eyes a moment. “The council is organising an attack on the Death Star. There are going to be two teams, fighter’s striking from space and another being sent to Endor to take out the shield that’s protecting the thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got that part. C’mon, guys! Don’t worry about us, you need to do it!” Rivi said, amidst more ‘yeah!’s and nods from the others. “The fucking EMPEROR is on that thing, if you guys manage to blow him up you could end the entire war!”

“It’s not that simple–”

“We don’t want you to hold back because of us,” Neera piped up.

“Yeah, we can take care of ourselves–”

“Hell, we could even help–”

“STOP, all of you,” Jyn snapped. They all fell silent. “You’re not helping, and we’re not going! Don’t even argue!”

“But don’t you want to?” Rivi, naturally, just ploughed on without a care. “You have a chance to end this, and we all know how much it would mean to you–”

“Rivi,” Jyn cut in. She stared around the confused faces of the teenagers and said in a slightly more gentle voice, “Look… yes, it would mean a lot. But the thing is, we have shit in our lives that mean more now. You, Rivi. And the rest of you insane kids,” she added, gesturing to the others. “You mean more to us than…” She trailed off helplessly, glancing over at Cassian.

“Anything,” he finished.

It was tempting. The knowledge that the Emperor was there, that there really was a good chance to get justice for her father and to seize a life she hadn’t realised how much she wanted until now… it was almost enough that the kids were giving them permission to go.

But they were children, and they were the adults, damn it. They had to make the hard decisions.

“I don’t get it,” Rivi threw up her hands.

“We don’t expect you to, Rivi.”

Just because the council was planning the end of a war didn’t mean that everything came to a screeching halt. It was Ava’s 11th birthday, which meant naturally they had to have a party for her. It at least seemed to lift some of the tension as they decked out the training gym in decorations and they all attempted to learn the traditional (and somehow hugely complicated) birthday folk dance that Ava apparently wouldn’t accept unless it was done perfectly. After some intense searching on the holonet, Jyn had managed at least to get the feet right and Ava shrieked with glee as they span around together.

“How the hell are you getting this?” Cassian didn’t exactly do out of breath, but she noted the exertion on his face at least as he pulled up alongside her. The man had no rhythm at all much to Ava’s severe disappointment and Jyn’s utter amusement. Hell, at least it gave her something to be amused about. She paused in the dance, letting Ava move on to a different partner and watching her grab onto Magda, swinging around with her instead.

“I pick things up quickly.”

He glanced at her as they took a break from dancing. The kids span and laughed underneath the coloured lights, and Jyn wished she could freeze it all. “Ava’s 11…” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “It can’t be real. She’s supposed to be a little eight-year-old who can’t go to bed without a goodnight hug.”

“To be fair, she still needs the hug.”

“True,” Cassian pointed out. “but she’s not allowed to get older.”

“I don’t know… I kind of want her to,” Jyn realised. She noticed Cassian’s questioning look and she carried on, “Just… this is a war. Malia will never be older than 18. I try not to imagine the kids getting older, because I know it will hurt more if they died… which I know probably isn’t very healthy of me to be thinking,” she added.

“I understand, though.”

She smiled as she watched Ava lean in and kiss Magda’s cheek, ever the cuddly, sweet one. “Thank the Force someone does. So when they do get older like this… it’s kind of a nice surprise.”

She wanted that life for them. She wanted them to have a life wholly different to hers, where it was actually a miracle if she reached her next birthday. She wanted these kids to actually grow up, get older. She wanted to see them hit the awkward puberty years, she wanted to see them slowly turn into adults, she wanted to still be there for them when they comm-ed her at 0200 asking how to wash sheets.

They wouldn’t get that chance unless they won this war.

Jyn sighed, reaching out and casually curling her fingers around Cassian’s.

“I’ve got to fight.”

He gripped her hand tight.

“I know.”

The rebellion moved in a hurry.

It seemed that no matter which way you turned, there was a shuttle heading in that direction. For as many squadrons that were coming in, there were enough also going out to distract the Empire from the fact that they were planning something in the first place. As non-combatants, Jyn got the message that the youth class was being shipped out to the nearest Alliance-friendly planet first thing in the morning, something none of the kids were all too happy about. Considering that up until this point they’d always managed to be in the thick of the action like during the Hoth evacuation, she wasn’t surprised that they weren’t taking too kindly to getting sent away.

“C’mon, we could help!” Azha was yelling, even as she was being carried sideways around the middle by Cassian like a smashball. She flailed her legs as she was hauled up the loading ramp. “I could kick some serious Imperial ass!”

“I know, you’ve only been complaining about it the last 24 hours,” Jyn rubbed her head, warily.

Cassian dumped the girl unceremoniously onto the shuttle, even as she continued to protest. The hangar was full of noise, the hustle and bustle of loading and unloading, people saying goodbye and officers trying to keep a semblance of order by frantically trying to keep track of how many were boarding. Jyn had been attempting to herd the kids onto their shuttle for the last half an hour, even with Ava clinging around her waist the entire time and refusing to let go. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re not making this easy.”

“I wanna stay!”

“You’re not staying, now get on the damn shuttle.”

“NO.”

“CASSIAN.”

Cassian thankfully strode over and scooped Ava up in one movement. By the time he made it back to the shuttle, both Azha and Reno had managed to jump out the doors and escape once again.

Kriffing hell.

“LOOK, look, come here guys,” Jyn hadn’t wanted to do a big goodbye. It felt too final, too much like she wasn’t coming back, but apparently nothing else was going to settle them. She sat down on the loading ramp (much to the exasperation of the officer overseeing their evacuation) and gestured for everyone to gather round her. Bree crawled into her lap while everyone thankfully listened to her this time. Cassian stayed standing, she noticed. He’d been on edge ever since they’d gotten the official evacuation notice, and the folded arms across his chest told her that he hadn’t lightened up at all since then.

“Look, I need you guys all to listen right now,” Jyn called out to the class. “This thing that is happening, it’s important. It could change everything, or it could change nothing, we honestly don’t know how it’s going to go, but we need you to listen. Get on the shuttle. Stay with Cassian. I’ll see you all again when it is safe.”

“You’re not gonna die though, are you?” Haley asked, her face crinkled in concern.

Jyn smiled through what was honestly a lie. “I’ll have Aden and Tavisha with me. I promise I won’t.”

Still, Jyn made sure to hug every single kid that then grudgingly walked onto that shuttle. She reminded Reno to keep his fists to himself and Warrin to keep squeezing his stress ball if he needed to. She had to deal with Bree crying as she handed her over to Cassian and held it together when she clapped a hand onto Talek’s shoulder, accepting his small nod as a warning to please be careful. She tried to avoid watching Carina, Caylen and Ann as their parents came over to say goodbye, much like all the other kids who had parents who hadn’t already left yet to take part in the attack.

“Honestly!” the officer overseeing them spluttered when even Aden and Tavisha came over to say goodbye. “How many more kids are coming on this flight? Because my manifest already says that we’re six seats short, there’s no way we can fit more on–”

“There’s another shuttle evacuating the medical and support staff,” Jyn just rolled her eyes. “Some of the older guys can just go on that one.”

While Jessa, Lahrin, Geron, Neera, Vance and Rivi got diverted to another shuttle (“Jessa, you are in charge, don’t let those hooligans out of your sight!”) Jyn finally got a chance to pull Cassian to the side. Fingers sliding in against his, she let out a breath as they stood together, blocking out anything that wasn’t the other’s breath.

“I still don’t like you going without me,” Cassian said, quietly.

“We both know one of us has to stay with the kids.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’ll look after them.”

“You better. At this point they’re likely to stage a mutiny.”

He at least chuckled slightly. Jyn tilted her head up and his lips quickly met hers, melting together for a long a moment as they dared. She wished there was more time, time to slide her hands up his spine and for him to tangle his fingers into her hair, but the officer with the datapad was coughing pointedly behind them and she pulled back hastily to hug him.

“Destroy that thing, ok?” Cassian whispered, mouth pressed against her ear. “Destroy it and come home.”

“I will.”

She watched the shuttle take off with Aden and Tavisha’s arms around her.

Jyn slammed an elbow into a Stormtrooper’s chest plate, regretting it immediately at the pain that flared. Still, she carried on, slamming her boot into the joint of his thigh and he crumpled to the forest ground. She ran, trying to activate the comm in her ear at the same time. She’d been hearing Leia calling her the last fifteen minutes or ago, but had rather had her hands full. Tavisha was with another group, but Aden skidded to a halt when he realised that Jyn was pausing.

“Go on!” she yelled. They needed all the help they could get.

Aden simply pointed his blaster at her. Something gripped her throat for half a second, before she realised that the shot had gone somewhere over her shoulder and taken out a Stormtrooper who had been moments from blasting her brains out from behind her.

“Nah, I’ll stay here,” Aden called, cheerfully.

Jyn rolled her eyes before finally calling Leia back.

“Sergeant Erso!” Leia could barely be heard over the shots fired, Ewoks screaming in fury and the occasional explosion. “The bunker doors have been deadlocked and R2 is compromised, we need help.”

“I can call–”

“I’ve tried,” Leia cut in. “All the signals back to the fleet are going haywire, there’s just too much traffic–”

“I’ll get through,” Jyn insisted. “You concentrate on not dying.”

“Oh, Han has that covered.”

“I’ll bet,” Jyn muttered, before pulling the comm out of her ear and attempting to manually patch it through to any of their base ships up with the main rebel fleet. She just had to hope that she got lucky and for one moment she thought she had – but then she heard a bunch of voices all yelling over each other in amongst a lot of shaky static. She almost tried a different frequency…

Except.

“Shit, shit, someone’s trying to contact the ship!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“BACK UP CAN’T COME TO THE COMM RIGHT NOW.”

Why did that sound a hell of a lot like –

Oh.

Fuck no.

“Like you’re all going to be,” Jyn suddenly snarled down the comm. “Unless you all tell me where the hell you are right now.”

Silence down the comm. Aden stared at her weirdly, before slamming the butt of his blaster into a ‘trooper’s helmet.

“Oh fuck,” the unmistakable voice of Lahrin said.

“OH FUCK SOUNDS ABOUT RIGHT,” Jyn yelled. “What the HELL are you all doing? Why aren’t you with Cassian – WHERE ARE YOU – you’re all being black-carded!”

“Shit, we really are in trouble now,” Neera’s trembling voice put out there.

“NEERA – HOW MANY OF YOU –?”

“There’s only the six of us!” Lahrin insisted.

“FOR THE RECORD,” there was a loud scraping noise before Rivi’s voice thundered in, like she’d just knocked something over in her haste to explain herself. “THIS WASN’T MY IDEA.”

“Yeah, you just encouraged it.”

“Vance, I’m breaking up with you.”

Jyn didn’t have the goddamn time for this. Her kids were apparently up there somewhere, not safe on a planet systems away, but right in the thick of the battle. They could be fucking shot out of the sky, what the HELL were they thinking –

“Look, we will handle how much trouble you are all in later!” Jyn barked. Much to her inconvenience, she noticed an AT-AT making its way closer to where she was, and even Aden couldn’t hold that off. They sprinted together through the underbrush as Jyn carried on, “I need to speak to whoever is in charge of whatever shuttle you’ve all apparently stolen!”

“We didn’t steal it!”

“We just – hitched a ride?”

“But anyway,” Geron called out, clearly a bit further away since his voice was more tinny than the others. “That’s gonna be a bit of a problem since our only pilot kind of just fell unconscious.”

Cassian was going to get an earful about this later.

“What the hell happened?”

“We only wanted to help,” Lahrin insisted. “So we fudged the numbers of the flight manifest so that we’d get put on a different shuttle and convince the pilot to come back.”

“And that worked?”

“When we stole his blaster, yeah.”

“You are all dead meat. Continue.”

“Well, we got back but we got hit,” Lahrin said. “The shuttle isn’t too compromised, but the pilot hit his head.”

“Wait, then who the hell is flying?”

“Vance.”

Honestly, these kids were going to be the death of her. They were naturally only doing what they had been taught, which was to always do the right thing and a part of her couldn’t help but even be a little impressed. Of course Vance could figure out how to fly an unknown shuttle with only an indecipherable instruction manual and his own limited knowledge learned on his own time. Of course Lahrin managed to fudge a ship manifest. Next, Jessa would be using her slicing skills to –

“Ok,” Jyn shook her head. “Ok, ok, ok. Hold on one moment, let me just–” She had to shoot her way across a clearing, Aden covering her back. She kicked at a Stormtrooper that was attempting to shake off the Ewok on its back and quickly dove into the brush on the other side. “I’m back,” she said down the shaky comm line once more. “Now listen to me, you little shits. I need Jessa, I’m assuming she got roped into this too?”

“I’m here,” the seventeen-year-old’s voice was quivering and she wasn’t surprised. This was the same girl who had broken down in her arms when Malia had died.

“Good,” Jyn said. “Jessa, we have to open the doors to the control centre that the shield is operated from, but they’ve been deadbolted. I need you to slice in remotely, I know you know how to do that–”

“Using this shuttle’s equipment?!” Jessa said in a panic. “Jyn, I can’t–”

“YES, YOU CAN, because this entire damn plan is counting on it!” Jyn said. “JESSA, listen to me, I know you’re scared. I know you probably only got dragged along on this hare-brained scheme because you’re the oldest and you felt like you had to protect the others, but you are strong. You are brave, and you can do this.”

For a long moment, she heard nothing but static that occasionally cut back into the frequency. She could hear the insisting beeping that told her that Leia was no doubt waiting on another line, but she already knew what she wanted. She had to believe that Jessa could do this. Her skills had already surpassed what Jyn had been capable of herself when she was younger –

“Ok, I’m gonna try,” Jessa said.

She did. And the second that Leia stopped trying to get through, Jyn knew that her kids had done it.

[dansphlevels]

Smelling Of Smoke (And Hearing Voices Not There) Pt. 6

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, Epilogue, ao3

Summary: Phil was a quiet type of crazy. Dan’s eyes were so loud that they made everyone take a step back from his madness- everyone but Phil, who instead, stepped forwards.

Length: Chapter 6 of 7

Themes: chaptered fic, au, mental asylum, trigger warning, insanity, dark

TW: mental illness, schizophrenia, depression, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, mental hospital, abuse

 Phil lay on his back in the garden, staring up at the sky. He concentrated on it, and just on it, letting his mind wander but only in the realm of good possibilities. Clouds drifted, like swirls of bunny fluff had been injected with helium and pushed by the most gentle of breezes. 

 Phil inhaled flowers and exhaled warmth. 

 His therapist had given him advice for keeping himself under control. She said to talk to people, to distract himself, to think positively, to upkeep his personal health and hygiene, and when he did hear or see things that weren't really there, to simply ignore them. Bugs wouldn't hurt him. She told him there were bugs everywhere in life, and to love and appreciate the work they did for the environment.

 Phil had been following her orders to the letter. He breathed deeply. He relaxed. He talked to the nurses, asked them about their days and their lives. They didn't like talking about their families, but some talked about their pets, dogs and cats whom they loved dearly. Phil considered that maybe, once he became better enough to leave and go home, he would get a pet instead of just houseplants. It was the most basic therapy technique, one that he read in every single self-help book in the wooden library the hospital supplied; you dedicate some time and energy into taking care of something besides yourself. Phil could get a dog. Something big enough that he wouldn't accidentally step on it, but small enough that it could jump up on his couch and watch TV with him.

 "Phil, it's rotation time," the outside guard, Dorian announced kindly. Phil pushed himself up into a sitting position slowly, dusting off any lingering woodchips from his hair. "Thank you, Dorian. I have another free hour."  "I believe you mean you have an hour in the lounge." The nurse/guard suggested carefully, as if Phil might snarl at the words 'no, you're wrong'. Instead, Phil smiled.

 "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

 Phil never went to the lounge. Instead, he usually spent that hour with Dan, roaming the halls, or loitering in the library. It wasn't technically allowed, but Dan did what he wanted, and Phil suspected the nurses turned a blind eye to them. Phil was slowly helping Dan, making him more human every day. As Phil walked along the corridors looking for him, he decided he tell Dan about the advice his therapist had given him. He would get better if he took care of himself, talked to people, stayed distracted- 

 Phil had been walking and looking for Dan for ten minutes when it happened, and for a few moments, he froze, only processing the sound and what it was supposed to mean because it couldn't mean what he thought it did, were they mad? A fire alarm ripped through the building, and he supposed it was quieter than most, but it was still plenty loud to him. Phil found himself shuffling backward, inching towards the door before his conscious mind took control and slapped his subconscious into submission. And he barreled down the hallway, away from the door, because he knew that there was no way in hell Dan would ever leave a potentially burning building until it was crumbling down on top of him unless he was in a straight jacket. And he was likely waiting somewhere to rendezvous with Phil, likely with few nurses around, and as soon as he heard that siren there was no doubt in Phil's mind that Dan's eyes widened and he ran for it. Dan was an addict, and he valued the fire over most things. Phil wondered if he valued it over his own life. 

  As Phil ran, he heard footsteps come down the hallway and opened the door to the nurses' office, jumping instead and slamming it closed before anyone could see him. He watched as half a dozen figures passed by, probably a few nurses and a few patients, looking for others who weren't rushing to get out. 

 When they'd passed, Phil quickly slipped out and started running again, hoping to find Dan before he did anything irreparable.

-----

 He searched for what felt like a long time and had not yet found Dan nor the fire. Phil had searched everywhere, everywhere he could think of and now there were no more nurses in the hallways but he could smell smoke and finally, he ignored his instincts and just followed the smell. 

 It lead him to a door that he shoved open, and immediately wanted to crumple against. 

 The library was ablaze. A large pile of books sat on the floor, neatly arranged like a campfire, the entirety of it burning with angry orange flames that lapped up the plastic and paper book covers, happily curling the blackened pages together into chunks of coal. Other, smaller fires, darted around the room: the cushioned chair that someone always sat at, that was now vacant; the mismatched metal and wooden shelves, with small fires still growing; and a single book laying against the wall where the two of them always sat, The Odyssey, burning away. 

 In a corner, a figure straightened slowly and smoothly, like he couldn't make a sound if he tried. Dan turned, smiling like a kid at an amusement park. "I was hoping you'd come." 

 Phil stepped forwards, and the door automatically closed behind him, trapping him in the room with the fire and its enabler. As soon as he closed the door, the heat and smoke began to grow more intense, and he could feel his palms sweat. "Dan. We have to go." 

 It was futile, painfully futile, and Phil knew it. Because Dan was the enactor, not the victim. He lifted a book off the shelf and lit it using a handheld cigarette lighter, holding it and watching as it burned.  

 "We can't go," he murmured. He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke like it was fresh air. "You don't understand Phil. You don't understand, let me show you." 

 "Dan, drop the lighter." 

 "You don't get it! Come here, let me show you." His face twisted up in pain as the fire from the book rose up and lapped at his hands, but he didn't let go.  Phil marched towards him, and Dan's lidded eyes saw nothing as he breathed heavily, leaning against the shelves.  

 Then they were on the ground, and Dan was on top of his, pinning him down. "Just wait Phil, you have to wait!" 

 Phil wiggled against him, but Dan held fast, not bothering with being gentle. His eyes were trained on the campfire pile of books a few paces away, and the small trail of fire that spread across the carpet.

 "Phil.... stop! Be.... patient!" Phil knocked him over, and they wrestled on the floor, grappling over the lighter and over dominance, but it was hardly a fair fight. Dan's regulatory system, the system that kept everything in check, had shut down, leaving him using his full strength without care of injury. Rolling, they knocked into a bookcase, and flaming paperbacks rained down on them.  "Ow! Dan, get off, we have to-" 

 "Hold still!" Dan flicked the lighter, right by Phil's ear, and pinched some of his hair in between two fingers. "Stop.... squirming!" 

 Phil kicked him hard, sending Dan tumbling backward, the lighter still tightly ingrained in his hand. Phil stood and immediately fell back down, coughing with the smoke he'd just fully inhaled. He envisioned black lungs, black breath, little specks of black smoke traveling through his circulatory system and creating miniature campfires under his skin. 

 The library was all ablaze, the fire crawling towards him on all sides. Phil backed up against the shelf. Dan sat only a few paces away, panting and looking at the flames in pure, childish amazement. He crawled over to Phil, more cautiously. "I'm glad you were here," he mutters, and the voices whisper it back to Phil, echoing it over and over in timid voices. "You made this fun." 

 He crawls closer, until he's almost on Phil's lap, and kisses him. Fire laps at Phil's calf and he cries out in pain, but it's muffled by the kisses. 

 "I love you," Dan whispers, but Phil doesn't know who he's talking to. His kisses taste like smoke as the fire reaches the ceiling and the smoke lowers further, and Phil can smell his own hair burning. His fingers lock around Dan's throat but he doesn't push away or struggle as Phil reaches for the lighter with his other hand. He detangles it from Dan's tight grip and somehow manages to throw it into the fire. One second, two seconds, then a small explosion, and Dan sighs in relief, leaning against Phil like he might take a nap, the painful warmth baking them together. 

 A thousand murmured apologies glide through the air, but only Phil hears them because the voices aren't there. He inhales through his nose, and Dan smells more like smoke than the burning library does. 

 Then the ceiling crumples in and the fire doesn't hurt anymore.

Fic Masterlist / Request a fic / Next Chapter

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Chapter Summary:   The rift torn into the sky sends Fiddleford into a panic attack brought on by a flashback to being pulled into the portal in his youth.  Ford frantically tries to help him.  Candy gets stuck in a knot.  Dipper figures out a plan.  Mabel and Grenda are his last hope of saving the entire crew from being pulled into the abyss.  Ford begins to realize that his home dimension is rejecting him. Chapter Warnings:  Angst Overall Warnings:  Major character death Notes: Thanks again to @themadcapmathematician​ for co-writing this with me! When Ford rolled a 4, botching his attack and accidentally opening a gaping vortex in the sky, we...  um...  had to figure out how to handle that.  We decided to roll for evasive maneuvers for any character who had a chance of helping the DDRD3000 escape its pull.  I'll write up how the rolls played out in the end notes to avoid spoilers but for now, all you need to know is that Fiddleford...  Well...  Fiddleford rolled a 1... As a side note, I know Stan hasn't appeared much yet but I promise there's good content for him coming up in the next few chapters. Also, there’s a joke that nods to TAZ at the end just because... See under the cut for other chapters and end notes.

Chapter 1 - Prelude.  Thirty years in the future, Dipper, Mabel, and their entire families meet up at the Mystery Shack for the holidays and reminisce with Grunkle Stan. Chapter 2 - Weirdmageddon.  Ford finds himself held captive by Bill. Chapter 3 - Dipper and Mabel to the rescue! Chapter 4 - Fiddleford shows off his newest creation. Chapter 5 - Our heroes fight an onslaught of enemies and Ford makes a potentially detrimental, panic-driven mistake. Fiddleford stared blankly into the void above them.  Some little voice was saying he had to  do something...  Something important...  But it was suffocating under the images flooding his mind.  Sounds and voices around him stretched and distorted into an unintelligible din. The massive vortex seemed to usurp all his senses; he lost himself in it.  He didn’t quite know where he was but there was a monolithic triangle, seemingly defying gravity, standing on one of its points, and in its center was a spinning circle of rainbow light and a gaping abyss but it was shimmering instead of black and featureless, glowing like some bright future just out of his reach, like some light flickering at the end of a tunnel.  It was tempting him, it was calling him...  His chest filled with dread because he knew it was false and he shouldn’t touch it...  He mustn’t touch it...  But it was drawing him in and he couldn’t fight it. He was flying.  Or was he floating? His feet were off the ground.  All the air was being pulled right from his lungs.  His brain was muddled, light and images dancing by but he couldn’t make sense of them (and oh wouldn’t it be nice just to sleep?  Wouldn’t it be nice just to stay here where the pain was so far away?  Nothing can hurt you when you’re weightless and nothing makes any sense)... Someone was yelling at him in the distance somewhere.  His skin hit the light and it burned.  Not a single thought passed his mind, there was nothing but blank, and he was drifting somewhere, struggling to breathe. One image stood out in his mind, and he shuddered, trying to will it away, trying to brush it aside, outrun it in his head. It was an eye.  A horrible yellow eye that glowed like moonlight and peeled your skin and froze your blood and turned your bones to lead.  And it was all he could see. He couldn’t breathe.  He didn’t know how to breathe.  And then it was gone.  Everything was just…  gone. **** Ford growled in frustration, ripping off his headset and slamming it onto the console.  “No…  No…  No no no no no!  That was a simple incantation!  It’s worked hundreds of times before!  What have I…?  I-I’m so sorry, this shouldn’t have-” the words caught in his throat as he glanced at the chair beside his. “Fiddleford!” his voice cracked airily, wrung with panic. His friend had hunched forward in his chair, motionless, as if he wasn’t even breathing.  He stumbled out from the space between his console and chair, reaching for Fiddleford, momentarily deaf to Dipper’s calls for help through his abandoned headset. “Fiddleford!  Grunkle Ford!  Do you read me?  I repeat, evasive action!  We’re being pulled in!”  Static crackled between Dipper’s pleas. Ford scrambled for the headset, haphazardly holding the mouthpiece close enough to spit out the best reply he could muster, “Something’s wrong with Fiddleford!  I don’t know how to pilot this!  Tate?  Tate can you hear me?” No answer. **** Tate had nearly made it up the stairs to the gunners control room situated in the center of the dragon’s mouth when the sky tore open and jolted the dragon’s body tail-end-up.  He fell to his hands and knees, his head spinning.  Even so, he crawled toward the steps, reaching the handrail just as the dragon’s head began to turn.  Slipping and stumbling, he climbed the three stairs but as he reached for the door latch, the head tipped forward and he lost his grip, tumbling into the makeshift airbags between the dragon’s teeth. **** “Can you get back up here?” Ford pleaded over the headset, “Tate?!” Still no answer. Through the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes and the weakness threatening to buckle his knees, Ford relayed the only plan of action he could take to the crew, “I’m going to try to help Fiddleford!  Just…  Just give me a minute.” “We don’t have a minute!  Oh man!  Alright.  Hold on.  Oh man oh man…  Um.  Okay.  We can do this.  Grenda, Candy, Mabel, we’re going to have to try to do this on our own.”  Ford could barely hear Dipper’s reply as the headset slipped out of his hands. “Candy!  Fire the foot cannons!”  Dipper commanded. “Dipper, I’m sorry!  I can’t!” Candy replied, her voice strained and panicked. “Candy?”  Dipper clasped the railing around him, the iron grating against his palms as glanced behind him for a split second, his heart dropping to his toes at the sight.  The dragon’s lurching had sent her tumbling from her seat, tangling her in a rainbow-colored nest of wires leading to the left leg. The DDRD3000's body tipped further, leaving the gnomes clinging to their seats, a chorus of their throaty yells swelling through the command center as they lost their grips and tumbled forward.  Wendy and Dan struggled to climb the near 45 degree angle of the control room’s floor, reaching to help Candy only to slide back down, spinning and tumbling until Dan caught the leg of an old bus seat, bolted to the floor and Wendy caught a hold of his boot, nearly pulling it off.  Stan clung to his chair, looking rather green as his thoroughly exhausted muscles strained to hang on, wanting to ask what was going on but certain he didn’t want to know what would come out if he opened his mouth.  Soos slid toward the opening into the dragon’s neck, His legs scrambling to alter his path enough to avoid a collision with Celestabellbethabell and a group of gnomes huddled around her.  He reached out one arm just in time to catch Gideon before he spun into them like a bowling ball on course for a strike. “Grenda!  Mabel!”  Dipper shouted, peeling the sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead and tucking it under his hat, “It’s up to us.  Mabel, see if you can swish the tail up and down!  That sheet of metal that Teeth tore up might just act like a flipper.  Grenda!  Swim toward the ground and grab…  something!” “I’m on it!”  Grenda clutched both control sticks, her teeth gritted as she pushed and pulled them in a swimming motion, fighting to swing the idle flapping of the dragon’s wings and the backwards lull of its neck in a downward direction.  The robotic arms screeched, smoke puffing from the joints but, despite their protesting, they obeyed her command.  Sweat beaded across her brow as she struggled against the pull of the air itself, moving against the deadly current, inching closer and closer to the ground. Mabel’s heart pounded as she whipped the tail around again, trying to guide the dragon forward and away from the portal. The tail flailed wildly in the portal’s vacuum, and Mabel struggled to shift the control stick back and forth. She managed to get it under control, it’s mighty flaps steering the Dragon away from the shrieking inter-dimensional gateway. With the added boost from the tail’s flipping, Grenda shifted her hands to the buttons situated near the base of the control sticks, mashing them under her fingers to stretch out the dragon’s massive metal claws.  She dug them into the parched ground below an released the buttons, the claws gripping ash and roots.  In a puff of dust and the grinding of metal against dirt and rock they tore deep gashes into the ground and finally gained a hold.  She locked the brakes and let out a sigh of relief when the claws maintained their grip and pried her hands free from the control sticks.  With a puff of breath, she wiped her brow and allowed herself a triumphant smile.  Though the robot’s tail end still struggled in the updraft, they were at least somewhat anchored against its pull. With a prolonged grunt, Mabel pulled back on her control stick one last time, throwing all of her strength into fighting against the current.  The gears shrieked in protest but obeyed, slamming the tail down, its broken paneling digging into the earth. The DDRD3000 creaked and groaned, but it was safe, its claws and tail acting as anchors, preventing the crew from being torn from their resident dimension.   **** Ford reached forward, his legs straining to keep him steady against the robot’s jerking and jolting.  He carefully tilted Fiddleford back into in upright position, calling his name helplessly.  Panic gripped him at the sight of his friend’s eyes glazed over, his breaths coming in shallow pants.  “Fiddleford!  Fiddleford, please!  Please wake up!”  An image flashed through Ford’s mind, his friend lying in his arms, unresponsive, his eyes wide but seemingly empty, devoid of any light or life after witnessing the horrors beyond the portal.  Panic attack! His mind screamed.  He’s shut down, just like before!  Oh what have I done?!  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  Idiot!  OK stop, breathe.  You’re no good to anyone if you panic now... He patted down his pockets, searching for something, anything that might bring Fiddleford back to him.  “Yes!  Yes, of course.  Where is it?!” he mumbled to himself, searching the inner pockets.  “There!”  He pulled out a dark brown vial with a blindingly yellow label containing an alien concoction which proved most valuable during the sporadic anxiety and panic attacks which leapt upon him from time to time in his travels. “This helped me more than once, hopefully it does the same for you, buddy,” he muttered as he unscrewed the cap.  He squeezed the eyedropper and released his grip until it was half-filled with a briny green solution.  Muttering hopes and prayers under his breath, he lifted it to Fiddleford’s open mouth, his hand attempting to match the trembling of his friend's body.  Three drops made it into his mouth, the watery liquid shifting to a viscous texture on contact. Fiddleford felt sensations distantly, but they were filtered through some sort of veil. He simply didn’t have enough information to interpret them properly. All he could do was tremble and draw shallow breaths. Something touched his lips and a tangy, sharp flavor snipped through the veil like garden shears.  Something that was somehow the consistency of both a smoothie and lukewarm pudding slid down his throat.  It was like lime but too sweet, like pie but too sour.  It was similar to drinking glue that was trying too hard to be dessert, but Fiddleford found himself craving more. He blinked slowly, taking in a greedy uneven breath.  He didn’t recognize the room he was in, but that felt like a fairly familiar sensation, somehow.  There was a howling sound outside, and a lot of crashing and screeching.  He looked around the little metal room, attempting to gauge what kind of a situation he was in, and found some strange person standing beside him. He tried to speak and found his words a bit strained. He cleared his throat and gave the stranger a broad smile.  “Why hello there! And who might you be?” Ford chewed his bottom lip in concern during the moment before Fiddleford spoke.  The question hit him hard and he struggled to restrain an expression of open-mouthed horror.  Everything Dipper and Mabel had told him was true.  His best friend had wiped out most of his mind and was still suffering from the blow.  He hadn’t seen before, or perhaps, he’d chosen to block out just how many lines etched Fiddleford’s face, crinkling around his eyes as he smiled blankly at him, or how few teeth remained within that wide grin or how bony his limbs had been when he’d hugged him just minutes ago.  As much as he’d wished it, as much as he’d hoped it, this was not the same man he knew thirty years ago.  Or rather, it was but he was tangled among years worth of knots.  What had he been through?  The kids mentioned he was living in a shack in the dump and that the townspeople mocked or ignored him. He deserved better. Choking back the sob threatening to wrack his throat, he forced a smile back at Fiddleford and stammered the only words he could think of in response, “I-I’m Ford...  S-Stanford Pines.  Do…  do you know…  I mean…  Hi.  Nice to um…  meet you, Mr….?”  Ford prompted, hoping there were still some shred of memory left. The DDRD3000's head whipped to one side, bouncing with the force of it’s claws digging into the ground below them.  Ford grabbed a hold of the control panel with one hand, his legs threatening to buckle below him.  Fiddleford’s entire body lifted nearly six inches above his chair before slamming back into the seat.  A cube with worn and tattered stickers marking nine squares of each side with distinctive colors tumbled out of his pocket, clattering across the floor; his decades old Cubic’s Cube. He still has that?- Ford's snapped out of his momentary musing at a jostling of the dragon's head as it's claws dragged along the ground, bringing them to a halt.  He reached forward to steady Fiddleford, allowing some small amount of relief into his clutter of thoughts.  Someone had saved them.  Someone had stopped them from being drawn into the portal he’d inadvertently created.  He made a mental note to thank them as soon as possible before turning his attention back to his friend. Fiddleford jumped at the contact, brief images of angry hands and the bristles of brooms passing through his mind, but the hand was warm and the touch was soft and he quickly settled into it. He glanced at the hand, noting it had six fingers instead of five, but he didn’t stare; It would be impolite after all.  Something about the fact that this hand had six fingers made him feel much safer, filled him with great happiness and equally great sorrow from some distant memory just out of his reach. “Stanford Pines you say?” He reached out and patted the stranger’s arm in return, giving a crooked grin. “That’s an awful nice name.” Something about it amused him but he didn’t remember quite what. He tried to recall his own name and could think of nothing but a jumble of indecipherable letters and just as indecipherable feelings attached to them… “Stanford...Stanford...hey whaddya know, my name has ‘Ford’ in it too!” He didn’t remember what part of it but some part of it matched.  “What a mighty fine serendipity!” Yes!  Yes it does.  We used to joke about it in college!  Ford thought, hope welling up inside him.  “It does, does it?” He asked aloud, wincing as the dragon’s head crashed to the ground, his knees and ankles screaming beneath him and his hand clutching Fiddleford’s shoulder tighter, preventing him from whipping forward in his seat, his body conveniently placed between him and the sight of the swirling vortex of doom splitting the apocalyptic sky.  He ducked as the Cubic’s Cube bounced off of the eye-shaped windshield one of its perfectly solved sides nearly smashing into his forehead. He looked up to Fiddleford, scrambling to get to his feet again.  “Are you alright?!” the question blurted out past the tension and fear and fumbling, past his confusion over what to say or ask next. Fiddleford braced himself with shaking arms.  His hat flopped forward over his face and he adjusted it, trying to sit up straight.  “I’m fine! Absolutely fine heh, why i’m fit as a-” He looked out the window, up at the sky and gave a shriek.  “Sweet sally! It’s the...It’s the end of the word!” He stared in wide-eyed horror at the fiery, technicolored hellscape before him.  The swirling vortex of death tugged at his memory, and so too did the enormous floating pyramid...  But he had a feeling some things were just best left buried.  He shook off the dream-like vision and asked, “Where...where are we, Stanford? What’s happenin’ out there?” The dragon lurched again, a thunderous thud accompanied by the shriek of metal against earth shaking its entire body as the tail anchored them in place.  Exhaustion defeated Ford and he fell back into his chair, his hand raked into his curls, the Cubic’s Cube rolling corner over corner and end over end across the floor until it settled against his boot.  He lifted it, and sighed, holding it between both hands, his fingers drumming against it as he attempted to explain, “You’re not wrong.  This is the end of the world.  And it’s my fault.  You tried to stop me years ago and I didn’t listen…” as he spoke, his hands absently twisted the cube mixing blue squares with red and white with yellow, “And now you’ve built this incredible machine to save this town and myself and all I did was make things worse.”  He shook his head, annoyed at his outburst of self-pity and condemnation at such an inopportune time.  Focus.  Focus on helping him. The cube clicked between his hands as he rotated it, turning its ends and rotating it again, the colors scrambling into a rainbow sprinkled mess on each side. “I know you can remember,” he said more to the cube twisting between his hands than to the man sitting beside him, “You’re a genius.  You’re a hero.  It’s thanks to you that most of the people in this town are safe right now.  But…  more importantly…” he looked up, his concerned eyes meeting Fiddleford's nervous ones, “Fiddleford, you’re a kind-hearted man who I’m proud to call a friend, who Tate is proud to call his father, and who Dipper and Mabel are thrilled to have met.” Fiddleford. Was that his name? He shook his head, running his fingers through the few strands left of his hair.  “I...I…” he looked up at Stanford. The man was so earnest in what he was saying, so convicted.  It made explaining the truth that much harder. “Listen, Stanford...I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve...you’ve got the wrong person.  I ain’t never done anything worthwhile in my entire life.” he smiled wryly. “I probably woulda remembered if I did.” He looked down at his shaking knees, grabbing his beard and wringing it between his hands.  “I’m just...I’m just the town kook who lives in the dump...people don’t wanna have nothin’ to do with me, and it’s probably for the best because I’d hate to ruin everything for ‘em…So uh, whoever you’re talkin’ about, you might wanna keep searchin’, ‘cause uh...I ain’t him…” Fiddleford couldn’t look at the man.  He didn’t want to see the crushed expression on his face when he realized he hadn’t found his friend. “Woulda been awful nice, though, bein’ that fella...” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure why.  “He uh...he sounds pretty swell…” And you seem to like him an awful lot…  Which seems pretty swell too…” Ford’s hand flew to his face, pushing his glasses up into his curls as he pressed his fingers and thumb against his eyes, against the dampness welling in their corners as if trying to patch a leak.  His limbs ached, everything ached from the shattering pain radiating from his chest.  The Cubic’s Cube dug into his palm as he squeezed it, feeling utterly broken, knowing, seeing and hearing how far Fiddleford’s confidence in himself had fallen. “I’m sorry,” the words started as barely a whisper.  He lowered his hand revealing bloodshot eyes and a reddened nose.  “I’m so sorry!”  He choked, his words growing louder and more desperate.  “You’re not the failure, I am.  You had a bright future ahead of you but you came here to help me and I ruined both of our lives!  Whatever they said about you wasn’t true.  And even if you don’t believe that you’re a genius, you are still my friend.  You’re still the one who pulled consecutive all-nighters with me to finish our projects.  You’re still the elvish wizard who showed up to every Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons meet-up.  You’re still the father who stared up at the night sky with me telling me about how you’d give your son the stars if you could.  You’re still Fiddleford Hadron McGucket and you’re right.  He is a pretty swell guy.” Ford’s expression sagged as he saw his words causing Fiddleford to shrink down into his chair, his fingers curling in his beard and his legs bouncing faster than ever.  He cursed at himself inwardly, frustrated at his inability to simply talk to the person he’d regarded as his best friend.  He doesn’t believe any of that.  It’s all true but it’s making him feel worse!  Believable…  He needs something believable.  Ford stared down at the thoroughly jumbled cube in his hands, twirling it slowly between his fingers.  He needs to know he’s the genius who could solve things like this in mere seconds! That’s it! He reached forward and pressed the cube into Fiddleford’s hands. Fiddleford stared down at the colorful little object, running his fingers across the dirty, sun-stained stickers and the bare squares that had been filled in with some sort of marker.  It looked familiar...not just what it was, but the very object itself...every scratch and dent, every imperfection.  He turned it over in his hands.  Every single square was out of order and some overwhelming part of him itched to fix it... “You…” Ford began, stretching to remember the everyday things, as he watched his friend examining the cube, “You’re still the guy who drank ten cups of coffee every morning and one time you drank twenty and tried to jump off the roof because you thought you could reach the moon.  You’re still the guy who built a revenge-a-tron shaped like a possum because professor Banks said personal computers were impossible.  You’re still the guy that wrote a two-hundred thousand word fanfiction on a duct taped laptop prototype after we went to see Star Wars.  And you’re still the guy who called his little Tater-tot every day to talk to him even when all he could say back was ‘kitty’ because that’s what he thought your pet raccoons were.” Fiddleford turned the sections of the cube slowly, at random, mostly getting a feel for the little puzzle and how it operated. It was frustrating, like something he was supposed to be familiar with, something that was supposed to come easy to him, something just a little beyond his reach…  But quietly, gradually, as Ford talked, as he turned the sections of the cube piece by piece, the memories began to materialize. The first was of him trotting home from school, his family accompanying him, a robotic contraption in one hand and a blue ribbon in the other. He’d almost thought he’d lost that one, it was so old and worn and distant. He turned the cube over and over and soon had a line of blue squares staring back at him. The memory shifted and he was lying on that ratty cushion in his van, staring up at the stars.  The man who called himself Stanford was beside him, decades younger and wearing a pastel sweater vest, pointing out his favorite constellations.  Fiddleford brushed his hair out of his face and stole a glance at his companion.  He said something, he had no idea what it could have been, but it made Ford laugh and his heart swell. Fiddleford soon had completed one side, a little wall of black squares all neatly put in order, and had started on two more. The scene changed again. He was in the hospital, sleep-deprived and a bit of a mess, but all he could feel was a glowing warmth in his chest, like a gentle summer day. His wife was there, dressed in a hospital gown, a tired smile on her face. He looked down at her arms to find a freshly born babe wrapped in a mint green blanket. She reached out and handed his son to him, and he took him up on his arms, his eyes clouding with tears. Another turn of the cube and he had all the white squares in place. The memory shifted one more time.  His hands were old and gnarled like they are now (they are now aren’t they?) but they were dancing with nimble dexterity as he turned the blocks of a Cubic’s Cube.  There was a tiny triumphant click as he turned the very last section, and just like that the puzzle was complete, like he’d never forgotten how to solve it at all.  Fiddleford looked down at the cube, and smiled to himself as he clicked the very last red square into place. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the blurriness, sniffling a little. His head still buzzing with faint static, but clarity was spreading quickly.  It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was, who he was, that he had a body and it was a little tired and still shaking a bit.  He looked up to see a person standing over him...  Someone he knew...  Ford, it was Ford, of course, of course...  The familiarity made some of the tension in his body ease, made his breath intake slower and fuller. “...Stanford?” he muttered, shifting in his chair and being greeted with a wave of dizziness. “Oh my…” “Fiddleford?  Fiddleford!  I’m so sorry, please be alright, please…” Ford muttered as Fiddleford seemed to relax, the haze in his eyes clearing until the pristine blue returned to them.  He teetered in his chair and Ford’s hand rushed to catch his shoulder.  “Easy now.  Breathe with me,” Ford said, reaching out to catch the Cubic’s Cube as it slipped from Fiddleford’s hands and setting it on the control panel.  “Inhale one two three four five six.  And Exhale one two three four five six seven eight.” Fiddleford nodded, trying to adjust to the pattern. He reached out clumsily for Ford as he wobbled, his hand settling over his friend’s. He gripped it, perhaps a bit too tightly, as he kept up the breathing regiment. Soon enough he was breathing normally and his head had cleared a bit.  Though it wasn’t as clear as it could have been because he opened his mouth to say something and the first sentence he managed to utter was, “...Stanford...  What was that stuff you gave me”  He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a tart sweetness lingering on his taste buds.  “Was that...key lime gogurt?” Ford blinked, uncertain of how to respond yet certain that the inter-dimensional concoction did have a strong sweet but limy flavor.  What started as a fizzle suppressed between his teeth clutching his lower lip erupted into a hearty laugh.  “What the devil is gogurt?” he asked, “Wait…  is that the stuff in a tube that Mabel likes?” Fiddleford nodded, chuckling himself. “Might be. It does come in a little tube…  It’s sorta like...  A yogurt-y substance?  ‘Cept ya drink it.” “That sounds…” Ford pondered for a moment, trying to decide if the idea of drinkable yogurt sounded revolting or… “convenient!” he chimed. “Guys!” Dipper’s voice fizzed and crackled over the headset.  Ford bent to pick his up and situated it back on his head just in time to hear, “We’re anchored away from that… whatever that was and Bill can’t reach us because of its pull!  We should try to get back to the Mystery Shack while we can!  Grunkle Ford, how is Fiddleford?  What happened?” “Right, yes,” Ford answered, lifting the headset up to speak into the mic, barely holding it between trembling fingers.  “F-Fiddleford is..  With us again.  It appears to have been a panic attack.”  He shifted in his seat, stifling the tremor surging through his body as the fleeting moment of humor abruptly ended and the severity of the situation buzzed through every nerve. “Oh wow.  Yikes,” Dipper responded with the empathy of personal experience.  “Alright um, Do you think you could you lower the wings?  We’re going to have to crawl until we get out of the pull of whatever that swirling vortex of death is.  If you do that, I think we can handle things for a bit from there if you still need a minute.” It took a moment for Fiddleford to respond, but finally he muttered,“S-sure thing,” into the mic. He turned a knob and flipped some switches. The wings creaked and shuddered before finally folding neatly against the beast’s metal frame. “Great!  Thanks.  We can take care of things as long as Bill can't get to us so you can take a break, McGucket,” Dipper responded, worry tinting his tone.  “Soos, can you get Candy untangled from those wires?  We’re going to need all the help we can get.” “I'm on it!” Soos answered in a fuzz-muffled click. It suddenly grew very silent in the control room despite the whirs and beeps of the control panel operating and the turmoil raging outside as the dragon crawled away from the portal, it's claws crashing to the ground in intermittent thunderous thuds.  Fiddleford quietly, slowly pulled off his headset and laid it on the control panel.  His leg bounced softly against his chair. “So…” He avoided Ford’s gaze, twisting his beard in his hands.  “What in ungodly tarnation was...  is...  That?” he asked, nodding toward the looming void in the sky. Ford rested one elbow on the console his hand raking through his hair, headset dangling slackly from his fingers as he tried to explain.  “I- I panicked.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I’m…  I’m sorry.  Fiddleford, I’m so sorry.  I owe everyone an apology…  That was not the intended outcome.” Fiddleford nodded absently, still trying to wrap his head around all of this.  “Ah...well I figured as much….but...well...what was it supposed to do?” “I-I... ” Ford stammered, stumbling over his thoughts, trying to explain a concept which, in regards to his whereabouts in the multiverse, suddenly sounded rather ludicrous, “It was supposed to be a well...  a spell.  I’ve cast it successfully hundreds of times!  Children cast it for fun!  It’s nothing more than a prank, really.  It should have simply shrunk that monster for a few moments.” Fiddleford began tugging at his beard.  He shook his head, still unable to look Ford in the eye.  “You...you cast spells? You...you wield magic?” “I…  have, yes.  But…  apparently not in this dimension or...?”  Ford’s response emerged as more of a troubled, hopeless question, his eyes fixed downward, staring blankly at the headset swinging from his forefinger, thoughts fluttering through his head, colliding with each other and shattering. Maybe it was hypocritical of Fiddleford. They’d pretended in college in the games they used to play...they’d talked about it all the time. They had even come across magic, used it in some cases, heck, he and the townsfolk had used it to make the barrier that was containing Bill...  Just...  Never like this. Unicorn hair, amulets...  They were small and contained and had a purity to them (even if unicorns were an uptight sort of creature).  This was raw, unwieldy, unholy...  Otherworldly.  They couldn’t hope to contain it any more than the portal they had build so many decades ago. Fiddleford finally managed to settle his gaze on his friend.  He stared at him for as long as he could stand, studying him.  It hit him, suddenly, that the world Ford has known for the past several decades was wildly different than his own, that who Stanford was now would forever be marked by what he’d found out there, through some gateway into the beyond.  Fiddleford looked at him and saw a stranger, and it frightened him more than almost anything else in the world. ...But perhaps what scared him more were the faded, choppy images flashing through his mind...  Hoards of golden triangles with demonic eyes all staring at him; him knowing they were watching him and Ford sitting in the middle of them meditating, as if things couldn’t be more right… “Stanford Pines, what have you gotten yourself into all these years?” “There were…  dimensions where magic was commonplace.  So common, that my pathetic grasp of it was laughable to true sorcerers.  But what little I learned proved invaluable over the years,” as Ford spoke the world around them rumbled.  His headset tumbled to the floor as he grasped the arms of his chair, craning his neck to look to the sky.  The swirling void inched open further.  “That…  This world…  I mean…  I can’t use it here.  At least…  not such a raw form of it.  Amulets and scrolls channel it, store and transport it, make it accessible to mortals in this world…  I’m not a viable conduit for it.  That’s why even in worlds where magic is abundant and available, I still had difficulties wielding it…  Creatures from our world were never meant to tap into the source, were they?”  The rumbling intensified with his every word.  He stared in awe as the edges seemed to deteriorate, chipping away more and more of the unnaturally neon sky. “It’s because of me…” he muttered.  He lowered his head, eyes meeting Fiddleford’s as the color drained from his face.  “I…  I don’t belong in this world anymore…  do I?” An ache overtook Fiddleford’s chest. It was accompanied by a quiet, bitter anger, but it wasn’t directed at Ford.  Fiddleford reached out and laid his hand over Ford’s arm. “Now, don’t go around sayin’ things like that…whatever happened…” His voice caught in his throat. “We’re awful glad to have you back.”  He gave Ford’s arm a squeeze.  “I’m awful glad you’re back.” “It’s not that…” he whispered with a shake of his head.  “I’m the reason there was a rift in the first place,” he explained as the realizations crashed down upon him like frozen waves, his volume increasing with each word, “I can’t exist here anymore, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve learned…  They’re a threat to this world and its timeline…  I…  I don’t belong in any mortal world anymore!”   The void pulsed and grew as the word ‘mortal’ spilled past his lips.  Guilt, regret, and shame slammed into him, gripping every muscle with physical pain until he felt completely numb, slouched over in his chair, one arm barely propping him up on the console. Fiddleford blinked, speechless for a moment. Then he stood in his chair, his hand on his hip, giving Ford a stern look.  “If you really think you don’t belong here, you and whatever higher powers are conspiring to keep you from staying here with your loved ones where you rightly belong is gonna hafta take it up with me first!” “But this makes things…  more certain,” Ford mumbled in response, “I’ve tried to avoid it…  Searched for other ways and continually failed but now I see there is no question about it…” Fiddleford’s mind stopped in it’s tracks. He didn’t like Ford’s tone of voice, or the look on his face as he spoke. “W-what are you talking about…?” Ford clutched his aching chest, sweater scrunching between his fingers and nausea rising in his throat from the churning of tumultuous thoughts.  Of the times in his life when he needed a friend to listen, this ranked in the top five, possibly taking the lead.  And perhaps, this time, he might honestly listen to the reply.  He drew in a deep breath and risked the question, “Fiddleford, can I talk to you about something…?” Fiddleford sank back down into his chair. He laid his hand on Ford’s, looking him in the eyes.  “‘Course you can. Anything you ever need to talk about, I’ll listen.”  He gave Ford a reassuring smile, but there was a quiet sort of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “I…  Do know how to defeat Bill,” he began, looking straight at Fiddleford, at first, as if trying to assure him that he was speaking the truth, but, as his thoughts raced ahead of his words, his gaze fell to his feet.  “It is the only hope we have left,” he continued, fumbling over a concept he’d once wholeheartedly accepted but had come to resent over the past few weeks, “But,” he released his breath, visibly stalling, at a momentary loss over how to tell the friend he’d finally reunited with, the man who was his best and only friend in a dark time, that there wasn’t going to be time for catching up. “It will…” he began, shaking his head in frustration at himself and rephrasing his words, “I mean…  I…  I will…  not survive it.  And…  it appears…  that may be for the best.” End notes: So, here's how the rolls played out. We decided that Ford, Fiddleford, Tate, Dipper, Candy, Mabel, and Grenda were all in positions where they could potentially do something useful to help. Then Fidds rolled a 1 and... we love angst so we decided that meant he forgets... everything. Ford, having not much else he could do at that point, rolled for the power of friendship and got a 15, enough to help Fidds out. I can't find what Tate actually rolled in our notes at the moment but it was like an 8 or 9, I think? Just under being enough to help. (It was the roll that made us decide that he is just not having any luck in getting to his post...) Candy... rolled a 3 and fell out of her chair XD. (Damn it, Candy, this is why Mickey tells us to wear our seat belts!) Dipper got a 17 in leadership. Then Mabel and Grenda both rolled 18 to save the day. (Go Mabel and Grenda!) So, we figured that since 4 out of 7 rolled pretty high, it would be enough to save the crew. TBH we were making plans for what would happen if they did get pulled in... But now... Now Ford has to deal with the implications of his dimension rejecting his existence in it.