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guigz1-coldwar · 4 years ago

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"Keeping her close" : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Keeping her close"

Chapter Summary : Yirina arrived in the new safehouse in West-Berlin that her & Park will share with the new team......

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3500

Warning : NSFW content !

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It was the last time I have stepped inside that safehouse in my entire life and honestly, it was all for the better. That place, a lot of things happened and there were for an large part bad and a small part was only good. The bad ones....were the most shocking to remember and the most suffering to relive : still seeing me tied up on that stretcher in that room, getting revealed that I was just in fact a Perseus agent brainwashed by the CIA and all of that, been told by my closest person I have met but now, it was something done in my live. Destroying that place down can help me forget about this but it can't be undone at all.

After I got myself in an argument with Sims, over the loss of Adler in Stitch hands, I was much more relieved to finally leave this place behind, not even looking back as we drove away of it, Park having taken the wheel to get to our new safehouse in West-Berlin. I was still nonetheless nervous to stay again in the city but we had no choice : Stone has a warehouse in town and it was our first objective within the team Park is organizing with me.....hope that everything will be okay.

The drive was in fact not so long to live more about 10 minutes depending on traffic as we were arrived at our destination : a nice-looking house in the Gatow district at the south-western Berlin just next to the Havelsee lake. This place.....even if I was nearly hating the city, it could help me to feel more better in here. Park revealed to me that she indeed came here a lot, explaining almost the layout of the house as we stepped out of the car....said that I'm going to be well in here.

"Our new home ?" I told Park in a fake curious tone as I was unloading my bag from the car trunk and her, having already done it, awaiting for me.

"You got it right." She replied, having her bags in hands with me closing the trunk, finished. "Will be the place where we will coordinate our operations against Stone."

"And if we got something on Stone and his little accomplices not in Berlin ?" I asked her.

"Then, we will move to a temporary other safehouse but that place is staying like our main HQ." She added in her response before gesturing at me as she started to walk to the house porch "Come on, let's install ourselves." She winked, making me blush as I joined her pretty quickly on the porch. There were nobody to greet us here and instead, Park had to check under the carpet....to find the house keys.....very classic...

"The good old trick of the keys under the carpet...." I thought to myself as Park was inserting the leys in the lock before finally opening the door to discover the house's interior. "Wow !" I breathed, almost astonished by the beauty of the place.....more pretty than the house in the New Orleans...It was very much different than this place the CIA wanted to call 'a safehouse'

"Welcome home.....Yiri !" Park taunted me as she walk to get to the living room and the kitchen jointed that was just next to the entrance. "Here's our 'operations room'." She showed me the living room, with again an complete dashboard, this time filled with intels on Stone.

"I already feeling at home." I said to her who gave me an smile.

"That's the goal of that safehouse, you know..." She rolled her eyes before she put her own bag on a special table as I do the same as her.

"MI6 safehouses..." I whispered to myself, wondering if all the MI6 places were looking so damn nice as I walked to get to one of the couch of the room. "So...." I started, getting myself comfy in that couch "Can you talk about your friends that will join the team ?"

"Of course." She nodded, moving to a table to have her hands on two files that Park asked from those tasked to prepare the safehouse. "Let's start with Garett." She handed me the first file of her left hand that I took in hand.

"Garrett Donovan....born in Manchester in 1951 and joined the MI6 in 1975...specialized in counter-espionage & almost everything in combat." I read his file, impressed by his qualities and skills as Park was looking at me, maybe wondering what I was thinking. "Seems like a nice guy."

"Garrett has been my friend since we both joined the MI6 at the same time two years after my brother's death in 1973." She explained more, feeling a little bit sad to talk about that sad event. I remember seeing that back in the old days in the old 'safehouse' but it's a too much sensible subject to talk about with her. "Gotta to say that he's someone very important."

"I'm pretty sure of that." I exclaimed, putting the file.

"You know, he's the guy who if you ask him something, he will make sure you will have it the next day." She proclaimed as she knows him very well. "He's got a lot of contacts that will help us."

"I guess that asking him to bring us Perseus's head and saving Adler's ass is too much to ask." I laughed about it and she followed too.

"Of course." She breathed before she handed me the other file as I gave her back the file about Garrett. "Here's the file about Greta." After that, she decided to sit on the other couch of the room.

"Greta Keller...born in Hamburg in 1952 and she joined the BND in 1977...qualified as the best element in BND...also specialized in counter-espionage and more into hand-to-hand combat." I looked at her file, curious about that woman I saw once in my life in East-Berlin. "Quite a profile." I looked at Park who was looking a little troubled.

"About Greta, we know each other since she joined the BND." She started, joining her hands together, trying to reassure herself, it seems. "She was always working with us in our team I was with Garrett, Stone and the other one called Megan." She looked at the dashboard, at the same picture she had in her office, the one where everyone is present. "Listen, it might be going to be complicated between you & Greta when....when she will learn about us."

"Really ?" I redressed myself in the couch, curious to hear that part of the story.

"Let's just say that before I was assigned to Adler, we were hooking up, not longer together anymore but it was an mean to forget the world we were now." She said, almost blushing embarrassed about it and to say, she was right to do that and I wasn't embarrassed, just curious. "When I told her of my feelings towards us at her, it was after that East-Berlin mission just before I heal you up." My eyes went wide after hearing this, still curious but damn stuned by that.

"Wow, quite a story." I exclaimed, taking a breath. "Listen, I'm okay that she is joining the team, I'm sure that it will be okay." I added, sure of myself about her & Greta. "When will the two arrive ?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm going to call them now." She got up from her couch, walking back to her bag to grab a satellite phone. "I will call outside, you can check up things on the dashboard." She smiled at me before leaving the room to get outside by behind.

Once she was out of the house for making her calls, I stayed at least 2 minutes in the couch to admire the beauty of the living room before I decided to walk next to the dashboard, to look at the pieces of intels we have on our operation against Stone and his goons. We will be entirely focused on him but if we found something related to Adler, Park will relate those to Woods's team....can't really believe right now that I'm trying to save the Russell Adler, the one that brainwashed me and left me for dead....what a life !....

I took a look on the dashboard, my eyes focusing on Harry Stone's records file from the SAS : he was born in May 6th 1948 in the UK, his birthplace apparently a classified information. According to the records files, Stone was described as a solid soldier, prone to play by his own rules by his former ex-colleagues. Someone named Price Sr. talked about a man that is very effective despite having troubles with the authority and the mysterious part of Stone past. Stone was one of Park's close friends starting to 1975 when she joined the MI6 until he faked his death in October 1980 during an risky operation in the USSR.

As I saw in this dashboard, Stone participated in the Nimrod operation, making him an hero in the SAS and his status wasn't even touched even when his true allegiance was discovered by Park and the MI6 in 1983 during the mysterious 'Goldeneye' operation. Guess that we will have to watch out about that. At looking at his picture, my eyes squeezed, making me a very small pain in my head, remembering him in my dreams...that moment when he stormed the room after that obscure mission that I don't even remember.

After that, I looked at the group picture with all of Park's friends : to say that we're hunting down one of her former friends. I was focused on it when Park came back in the living room, having finished in her calls.

"Both has been warned of the mission : they will both arrive tomorrow." She started, putting her phone back on the table she put her bag. "Garrett was in a mission in Canada while Greta was working in Moscow."

"So, for now, we just wait for them as the house is ours until they arrived..." I put my hands on my waist, looking at her with an smile before I looked at the picture. "Who was Megan ? You talked briefly about her." I asked.

"Megan was Stone's lover in the MI6 that was with him all this time." She replied, leaning against one of the room's wall. "She was the other one who faked her death too." She added, biting her lips.

"What happened to her ?"

"I....well....I killed her during the operation that has stopped 'Goldeneye' to happen." She wasn't looking relieved of that even if that Megan was also Perseus like Stone "She allowed Stone to escape and since, Stone is very mad against me because of her death."

"I think it was his idea to kidnap you at the beginning of the month." I turned back to see her, still thinking about seeing her tied up again. "Do you think we can succeed against him ?"

"We had to, Yirina." She exclaimed at me, sure of herself. "Stone is a man we need to brought down and you know that well." She added, almost raising her voice against me, surprising me. "Shit, didn't mean to raise my voice." She apologized.

"It's okay." I whispered before I looked at her with an smile "Hey, let's get ourselves installed well, shall we ?" I proposed and she nodded.

"Yeah, we have the house for us for the moment, so we're going to profit." She affirmed as we started to get our things done.

We started to unpack our belongings around the operations room, adding the intels we took in her office back at Century House on a side of the dashboard and once we were done, Park finally make me visit the house itself as we were more focused to talk about the mission than to directly visit the place. The house had a big view on the lake and it was so relaxing like in the New Orleans. For inside the house, it was like in the New Orleans except for one thing : there were a bedroom for me & Park and not even separate....we took it at the second we saw it.

Once the visit was done, we started to work on the intels that was given to us by the team charged to prepare the safehouse and those we got from Park's office, trying to find something we maybe missed in all the paperworks. Of course, we searched for things that could help us on the warehouse Stone had in West-Berlin but nothing in all of this gave us something. Actually, we know where that's warehouse is thanks to the message I have decoded from the MI5 but we wanted to know more about it.

Then, it was time for us to eat while working : Park was the one to make food and to be honest in my opinions, she was really good at it. The dishes she made.....it was so lovely and tasting more better than an Burger Town burger even if those burgers are good, Park's food was way more nice to eat. After we finished to eat with me complimenting her talents, we continued to work, making some suppositions and theories about Stone and nothing was leading us anywhere. At 11 AM, Park decided that it was done for her, getting herself to our room as I stayed in the living room.

"You're coming ?" She asked me loudly...in a lovely voice as she was upstairs in our room, awaiting for me.

"Yes, just finished my part of work." I replied, also loudly, my eyes on the dashboard.

"Be quick, I need you." She added before the silence came back, with her, waiting and me, having finished to work.

"We're going to get you, Stone." I whispered to myself, looking at his picture before I finally decided to walk out of the room, closing all the light on the way to get upstairs and joined Park in our bedroom. "I'm here for....." I started to say, opening the closed door of our room until I stopped myself, amazed by what I was saying.

"Surprise, surprise, Yiri !" Park teased me in the bed in a lovely position, she was just wearing her jacket with nothing below it and no scarf, not even an bra to cover her breasts, the jacket was doing it. She was still wearing her jeans and she was no longer wearing her shoes.

"Wow, that's...." I was literally jaw-dropped by her, freezing myself in place at her sight.

"Ssshhh, come here." She gestured me with her left index finger to get on the bed and I was obliged to comply, starting to move while I removed my own jacket and shirt along the way before I start to crawl on the bed, getting myself on top of her. "Now, make love with me all night !" She moved her hands to remove my bra before she pulled me with an kiss, getting my hands below her jacket to touch her breasts.

"As you wish, miss Park." I said in a teasing tone before she moved to get on top of me, finding my back against the bed as she started to kiss me on my neck "Mmmh....Park." I breathed, taken away by the pleasure

"Yiri....You have been very cheeky." She looked at me with her eyes that could say 'I just love you so much' "I just want you..." She continued in her kisses, going slowly down on my upper body. "I want to make you love everyday..." She exclaimed, kissing my chest before she moved her hands to remove my own pants.

"Please, do it...let's fuck..." I whispered to her, giving me an big smile as she start to remove my underwear with me slowly breathing, ready to do our things.

"We got all night to do that." She told me in a flirting voice before she start to lick me.

It was the beginning of a long night for us, we were having just an moment only the two of us and that we really wanted to do now. Been with her is one of the best things that happened in my life and having those types of night with her is on the same level. She was certainly the best in that and I was loving every part of it and she was loving it too. I never thought that I will have a moment like this after what happened to me and I was so happy to have it finally.

"Bell, we need to talk !" It was the voice of Russell Adler himself, adressing directly to me, sounding like an echo in the safehouse as I was working on very late at night almost at 2 AM. I was working on some files that we grabbed during our attack in the Lubyanka and by hearing him, I wasn't so relieved at all, closing my eyes for an second and stopping myself on work.

"What do you want ?" I asked him in a very neutral voice, sounding like annoyed by him. I had just like an big bad day behind me and I'm sure that I didn't want to have a talk with him at the moment, not after what he done.

"Come with me outside, it's just an friendly talk." He admitted to me and I wasn't moving from my chair even with his words but then, I took a breath and I got up from my chair, taking my jacket along the way.

I wasn't so happy to follow him outside the safehouse in the middle of the night as everyone else is asleep inside. We took the side exit of the safehouse, letting the big door closed. He handed me his pack of cigarettes but I refused it and somehow, it was looking surprised like If it was the first time I didn't want to smoke at all.

"So, what do you want ?" I asked him, crossing my arms above my chest. "Want to apologize about your behavior ?" I added.

"Me....apologizing ? Apologized for what ?" He asked me back, sounding confused even if he knows about what I'm mean.

"I don't know, maybe breaking inside my room at this hotel in Moscow..." I replied to him.

"That ?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking at me "You were late for the mission, I had to...."

"Okay..." I decrossed my arms, pointing at him, looking serious as hell "Cut the crap, Adler, why I'm here to talk to you ?" He bit his lips, hearing me getting serious all the sudden.

"You...Park, it's not possible in here." He blowed some smoke out of his mouth, almost at my face. "I'm asking you to break up with her, I'm not tolerating this kind of behavior and this kind of relationship in here !" He said to me, clearly and to hearing that, I raised an eyebrow like him.

"Who are you to tell me what to do about my personal life ?" I questioned him but he wasn't willing to respond to it.

"It's an order, Bell !" He admitted to me, pointing me with his cigarette in hand. "That....it's jeopardizing our...."

"What ?" I exclaimed, cutting him straight again. "Just because I'm with Park means that we're risking all of the operation to stop Perseus....or it's because of your oversized ego." I added, giving him an deadly glare "Yeah, must be your stupid ego !"

"Don't get me started, kid !" He affirmed, starting to clench his right fist.

"Or what ?" I asked him, spreading my arms. "I'm doing what I want with Park and you're not the one to lead my life."

"Actually, yes !" He said, making him look at him with an very curious look and angry one. "It's because of me you're here, kid. You will have been nothing without me."

"Oh yeah, you're my MI6 superior ?" I narrowed my eyes "Nope, you're CIA...and by the way, I owe you nothing at all." I pointed at him, angrily. "You have already troubles to deal with your sex life so don't start to....." I was going to continue until the man himself decide to punch right into the face, making me fall back behind on my left knee. I was so much angry but I didn't want to fight as I knew I was going to kill him as I was armed. I put my right hand below my nose and withdraw it, seeing blood on it.

"Shit, kid, I'm...."

"Don't fucking touch me !" I almost yelled, getting him away from me as he tried to get next to me. "You stupid moron." I slowly got up from that punch, holding my nose with my left hand.

"I didn't want to hit you." He tried to apologize but I wasnt' going to accept them, he just hit me like that.

"I'll tell you this, Adler." I started, still holding my nose to contain the blood. "Yes, I'm lesbian....yes, I'm loving Park and I will never break up with her, understood ?" I added, sounding angry as he was looking at me with wide eyes behind his sunglasses. "So, leave me alone and for real.....go fuck yourself !" I then started to walk back into the safehouse, opening the door that he closed. "Go fuck yourself, Russell Adler !" I closed the door behind me, containing the blood and my rage as I was going to the medical room to get my nose healed....

"Stupid motherfucker !"

I woke up with an start, an knot inside my chest after seeing that memory in the middle of the night. We were finished with Park to have sex and we were both naked under the sheets and frankly, it was so much good. That memory I just had....it make me remember how much Adler was a fucking prick with me and the others : always wanting to have control on everything and getting his temper never in control but it was also make me remember of my devotion to Park. As I looked to Park who was back to me, seeing her scars in the back, I decided to put my arms around her for recomfort, wanting to stay with her.....

All I want with her is keeping her close to me !

#black ops cold war #bocw #call of duty cold war #cod cw #cod black ops cold war #cod cold war #fanfic #helen park #fem!bell #yirina grigoriev

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utukkigirl · 8 years ago

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Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues, Chapter 6

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues A Gravity Falls Fanfic by Krista Perry I own nothing.

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Chapter Six

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Stanley Pines grunted with exertion as he carried the last large piece of portal scrap metal up the basement stairs. Soos was waiting at the top, leaning against the vending machine, and practically leaped forward to take his burden.

“Where do you—ugh—want this, Mr. Pines?” Soos asked, heaving the metal out of the way and onto the gift shop floor.

Stan held the small of his back with both hands and straightened, wincing as his spine popped and crackled with the effort. “Back porch door,” he said. “Don’t barricade it just yet. And when you’re done, head down to the basement and use that periscope thingy hooked to the totem pole camera to keep an eye on the outside. Let me know if anyone shows up.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Pines. You can count on me.” Soos dragged the metal into the other room, leaving deep grooves in the wooden floor.

Any other time, Stan would have been irritated at the damage, but not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about making money or cutting costs, or worrying about trivial things like property damage. Tonight was about survival. Tonight was about enemies closing in and threatening to destroy friends and family.

He met Wendy as she came clomping down the stairs from the attic, side-stepping around Soos, who was heading toward the basement. Her face, arms and tank top were covered in dirt and grease. “Well, no one is breaking in up there without running into a world of hurt,” she said, grinning. “I set up some serious traps, and anyone who actually manages to break through will get the full Home Alone treatment.” Her grin turned downright wicked. “Only a lot less family-friendly.”

Stan threw his head back and laughed. “Ha! That’s what I like to hear! If it’s anything like what you set up in the museum, I’m sure any nimrod who tries to break in will get what’s coming to them.”

“Did you see what Soos set up at the gift shop entrance?” Wendy said, wiping her greasy hands on the flannel shirt she had tied around her waist. “He’s not so much into inflicting the pain, but if anyone gets through the barricade, they’ll be running face first into sheets of cling wrap coated with super glue. And then they hit my stuff.”

Stan felt his eyes mist up. “I’m so proud of you guys,” he said.

Wendy shrugged, as if no big deal, but Stan could see the subtle look of satisfaction on her face. “Eh, it’s nice to be able to put some of Dad’s survivalist training to real use for once.”

Stan nodded, then looked over where large pieces of the dismantled portal were piled next to the back door, waiting to be formed into a barricade. “No sign of Ford yet, I take it,” he said gruffly.

“Nope,” Wendy said. “I hope he gets back soon, because I gotta admit, having that one door still open while the rest of the Shack is reinforced… it makes me feel like my back is exposed.”

“I know what you mean,” Stan said. He opened the door and looked out, but beyond the lights of the Shack, there was only the dark forest, the star-studded night sky, and the incessant chirping of crickets. He thought of Mabel and Dipper, off with that weird tree chick to maybe find a cure for Dipper’s curse, and he hoped they stayed away long enough to be safe from whatever crap was going to go down tonight. “Didn’t Ford say he would be back before dark?”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, her voice hesitant. “But… you know how he is. He has a lousy sense of time whenever he gets involved with his research.”

Stan’s face felt pinched. “Not when it comes to Dipper, he doesn’t. He adores that kid. He’d want to get whatever he went after, then get back to his lab as soon as…” He trailed off as he thought he saw something move beyond the tree line, and he squinted, trying to figure out what it was… but a few moments later, a cool night breeze brushed his skin, and he realized it was just branches moving in the wind.

Sighing, he closed the door. Turning to Wendy, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Wendy… I need to ask you to do something for me. I wish I didn’t have to, but… well, we need to be prepared in case the worst happens.”

Wendy frowned. “The worst?”

“The worst. Let’s face it,” Stan said, replacing his glasses. “There’s a real strong possibility that Ford has gone and gotten himself captured by that demon and Gideon’s goons. And if that’s the case, then there’s no doubt in my mind that they’re gonna come here and try to use Ford to blackmail me into handing over the rift.”

“Dude,” Wendy said, her eyes widening with realization.

“Now, I could be wrong,” Stan said, holding up his hands. “I hope I’m wrong and you’re right, and that Ford just lost track of time. But if not…” He sagged, his head filling with memories of bookies, mob bosses, and Columbian drug lords. He had been lucky in his dealings with them, in that they only had him to hurt. Too many others were not so fortunate.

“I’ve seen it a million times,” he said softly. “If you have people you care about, that automatically makes you vulnerable to the psychopaths who will do whatever it takes to get what they want. That demon, Bill Cipher? He’ll come here with Ford, and threaten to kill him if I don’t hand over the rift. And if I refuse, then he’ll torture him, nice and slow, until I give in.”

Wendy looked pale, her freckles standing out in stark relief against her skin. “But you won’t,” she said.

“I will,” Stan said, looking her directly in the eyes. “I can’t just sit here with him out there being...” He trailed off, looked away, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Look, I’m tough, alright? But not that tough. Not sit by and listen to my brother get tortured tough. So if it comes to that, I need your help.”

Wendy hesitated for a long moment, then nodded stiffly. “What do you want me to do?”

Stan smiled grimly. “Follow me,” he said, and he led her into his office. He picked up the bullhorn that he used to talk to large tour groups and handed it to her. “You’re gonna need this.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow as she took it. “Not what I was expecting,” she said.

Stan barked a short laugh. “Never give ‘em what they’re expecting, kiddo,” he said.

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By the time Bill and his borrowed flunkies had shoved and dragged him all the way back to his house, Ford felt like one giant bruise. He had lost count of how many times he had stumbled, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back, only to be yanked roughly to his feet as his captors laughed at his latest face-plant. His wrists were cut and swollen from the zip ties. The front of his sweater was a ragged mess. His trousers were torn through at the knees, and he could feel small trails of blood running down his shins.

But all of that was nothing compared to the cramping terror in his gut. Never had he wished for some kind of twin psychic connection with Stanley more than he did now, as he repeated what had become a mantra in his mind during the long hike to the Shack.

Don’t hand over the rift, Stanley. No matter what Bill does to me, please… don’t hand over the rift…

The night had long since turned full dark. Going from the position of the waxing crescent moon, dropping low in the western sky, and the movement of the constellations, it had been almost a full two and a half hours since sunset. Ford felt alarmed to note that all the lights in the Shack were off. Surely Stanley and the kids hadn’t gone to bed, especially knowing what kind of threat they were facing – not just from Bill, but from Gideon’s prison buddies who were not kept at bay by the anti-Bill forcefield. The rift was locked away in his private study on the basement’s second level, and the door was sturdy and warded, but it could be brought down with sufficient physical force.

Before he could follow that thought all the way to its horrifying conclusion, the huge, thuggish body Bill possessed shoved him down on to his knees. Then, in his usual high, manic voice, magnified well enough to penetrate the Shack’s walls, Bill yelled out, “Hey! Stanley Pines! I’ve got your brother out here, and we need to talk to you! Come on out, Fez!”

Bill’s voice was loud enough that Gideon’s goons all cringed and covered their ears. Ford, hands still bound, didn’t have that luxury, and his head ached from the noise.

Ford didn’t know quite what he was expecting. Something along the lines of an interior light flicking on, and then Stan coming out the door in his tank top, striped boxers and slippers.

He did not expect to hear the scratch and squeal sound of a bullhorn being turned on, followed by the sound of Wendy’s voice. What on earth was the cashier girl still doing here?

“Ahem,” Wendy said, and the bullhorn screeched again. “Ooh, sorry about that. Can I help you?” She sounded, for all the world, like a polite receptionist.

“Hey, Red,” Bill said, and Ford looked up at him. If the demon was thrown by this unusual turn of events, he didn’t show it. “I didn’t know you were still hanging around! Go tell your boss that Bill Cipher needs to talk to him!”

“Oh, no can do,” Wendy said, the bullhorn throwing static into her voice. “Stan’s not here at the moment. Can I take a message?”

Bill actually blinked his glowing yellow eyes at that, but his ever-present grin didn’t falter. “Nice try, Red, but I’ve had Gideon watching the Shack to make sure ol’ Fez didn’t leave! Now tell him to get out here before his brother starts suffering some unpleasant consequences!”

There was a silence, almost long enough for Ford to think that Bill had called her bluff, when the bullhorn crackled to life again. “Dude, I don’t know anything about Gideon hanging around, but Stan left about an hour ago to go look for Ford. Sorry you missed him.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Bill said, then turned and shouted at the tree line. “Gideon, come out and tell Red here that she needs to stop messing around, or your prison buddies will be going in there to personally retrieve Stan!”

Ford wasn’t sure what surprised him more – the fact that Gideon didn’t immediately materialize at Bill’s command, or that Wendy’s voice came hissing through the bullhorn, like she was sucking in air between her teeth. “Hoo-boy,” she said, “I really can’t recommend you sending in the goon squad. Aside from the barricades around all the doors and windows, I’ve got the Shack booby-trapped six ways from Sunday, and I can pretty much guarantee that your boys wouldn’t be getting out of the gauntlets intact, if you know what I mean.”

Ford watched as Bill’s grin dissolved into more of a grimace of clenched teeth. “Gideon! Better get out here, kid, or you and I will be having words later!”

Gideon completely failed to appear, and Ford fought the urge to cringe as genuine fury sparked in Bill’s eyes.

“Sorry to hear that your pet vampire bailed on you, man,” Wendy said, with obvious false sympathy. “Maybe Stan drove him off with some garlic or holy water. You know, when he left.”

Bill outright scowled, glowing, slit-pupil-eyes narrowing as he turned to the prison guys. “You,” he said, pointing at them. “Start searching for Stan Pines! Don’t try to take him down alone! Split into three groups of two, find him, and bring him back here!”

One of the prison guys, a man with a spiked mohawk, cleared his throat and said, “Uh… we don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Idiots,” Bill said, and Ford winced as the demon pulled his head back by the hair. “He looks like this guy, only dumber! Now get out there!” He pointed at the dark forest. The men left slowly, whispering to each other and casting uncertain glances back at the Shack as they left.

Ford sat, stunned at the strange turn of events and the unexpected reprieve.

“Well, Sixer, looks like we’ll be hanging out for a bit!” Bill’s manic grin was back. “Just like old times, eh? Since we’re not going anywhere for a bit, hope you don’t mind if I bind up your legs and feet so you don’t try to make a run for it!”

Ford glared at Bill silently as the demon pulled out several long zip ties from his front jeans pocket. Carefully, he slowly adjusted his stance so that he was resting on his knees and the balls of his feet. As soon as Bill leaned over to grab him, Ford shifted to one knee, then leaped up and rammed his head directly into Bill’s gut.

Bill doubled over, wheezing, and, as soon as Ford regained his balance, he took the opportunity to knee him in the face and drop him to the ground. As Bill lay there on his side, gasping for breath, blood streaming from his nose, Ford planted a solid kick into his kidney for good measure, and watched as Bill’s slit pupils thinned almost into nonexistence, his mouth stretched in a terrible rictus grin.

Right, Ford realized. Bill thought pain was hilarious. He wondered how funny this particular pain was to Bill, since the demon seemed to be having difficulty sucking in air.

“It will never be like old times, Bill,” Ford said, bringing his foot up and slamming the demon’s kidney again with his boot heel. Bill made a feeble attempt to move, wide yellow eyes slightly glazed, and Ford had to wonder just how desperate Bill was to hang on to this body -- especially considering it would probably be pissing blood for at least a week.

“You haven’t been in my head for thirty years, and I’ll never let you in again. You don’t know me anymore, and you don’t know what I’m capable of. If I thought that killing the body you’re in would finish you off, I’d do it right now.”

With that, he kicked Bill in the gut one more time; then, without a second thought, he turned and ran for the Shack, hands still bound uselessly behind his back, but breathing a sigh of relief when he crossed the border of the magic barrier.

“Wendy,” he shouted. “It’s Ford! Let me in!”

“Back porch door,” he heard her say, her voice a lot more muffled without the bullhorn. “Less stuff to move out of the way!”

Glancing back, he saw that Bill was already struggling to sit up, narrowed eyes glaring at him, glowing molten gold with rage, and he sprinted around to the back of the Shack and on to the back porch. He wasn’t worried about Bill crossing the barrier, but if the demon managed to call back some of the goon squad before he could get in, his goose was cooked.

“I’m here,” he said, unwilling to raise his voice too loud. He could hear the creak of wood as heavy things shifted on the other side of the door, and the scrape of metal against metal. “Hurry,” he urged, glancing nervously at the darkness beyond the tree line. If anyone came running out of those trees before the door was open, he’d be caught for sure, and this time, Bill wouldn’t need Stanley around as an incentive to torture him.

He stood, back to the door, anxiously scanning the tree line for any movement, when the door opened behind him and he felt himself grabbed by the collar of his sweater and yanked inside. Before he could blink, the door slammed shut in front of him, and Wendy and Soos were there, already pushing the barrier back into place.

He almost stepped forward to help, but froze when Wendy said, “Don’t move. You don’t know where the trip-wires are.”

Ford looked at the floor, trying to spot a trip-wire, but the only source of light was a small electric lantern, on the dimmest setting, sitting on the stairs, and he couldn’t find one. “This is, ah… quite the set-up here,” he said. “You did all this just in the time I was gone?” He took a closer look at the barricade. “Wait a minute… are those pieces of the portal?”

“We worked with what we had, Knucklehead,” Stanley said from behind him, and Ford nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning to see his brother looking at him with that ever-present scowl that seemed reserved just for him. The scowl slipped a little as Stanley took in his ragged, bloody appearance. “Whoa, Sixer, you’re a mess.”

“Stanley?” Ford knew he was gaping like a fish, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re here?”

“Well, yeah,” Stanley said. “Obviously.”

“But…” He looked over his shoulder at Wendy. She and Soos had their backs pressed to one of the large corner pieces of the portal and were straining to shove it into place in front of the door.

Soos grunted with one last push, then straightened. “I think that did it, dawg,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. Wendy raised her hand, and Soos gave her a high-five.

Ford turned back to Stanley, realization making its way sluggishly through his stunned brain. “You… you conned Bill.”

Stanley shrugged. “Well, technically, Wendy conned Bill. And speaking of…” He grinned at Wendy. “Great job, kid. You did me proud.”

“Proud enough to give me a raise?” she said, a smirk in her voice.

“Ha,” Stanley said. “I’ll think about it. And by think about it, I mean seriously consider it, because that was some first class hoodwinking you did there.”

“You’ll seriously consider a raise?” Wendy said. “Wow, I must have been good.”

“I gotta admit, dude,” said Soos. “That was pretty cool. I can’t wait to tell Dipper and Mabel about it when they get back.”

“Wait, what?” Ford looked at Stanley, only growing more alarmed when his brother let out an irritated groan and covered his eyes with one hand. With rising panic, he turned back to Wendy. “The kids aren’t here?”

“Whoa, just a sec, dude, don’t freak out,” Wendy said, sidling around him. “Let’s get you out of my little death trap first. Step where I step. Oh, and once you’re out, stay at least four feet away from the barricades and the windows. Everywhere else is pretty safe. Mostly.”

Ford did his best to swallow his mounting anxiety over the twins’ absence as he followed Wendy’s instructions. As soon as Wendy indicated he was clear, he turned on Stanley. “Where are they?” he demanded. “Why would you let them leave?” He tried to swallow his dread as he imagined Mabel out in the dark forest with Dipper who, as a newborn fawn, probably couldn’t even walk very well. And with Bill and his allies out there....

Stanley held up one hand. “Hold your horses, Sixer,” he said, and before Ford could protest, he turned to Wendy and Soos. “Both of you, to the basement. Soos, I want you back on periscope duty. Wendy, keep an eye on the surveillance screens in the control room. Let me know if anyone shows up.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines,” Soos said.

Wendy threw them a casual salute. “Try not to kill each other,” she said, before following Soos into the gift shop. Ford could hear their footsteps echoing down the stairway to the lab elevator.

He looked at Stanley, trying very hard not to clench his jaw as he waited for an explanation.

Stanley folded his arms across his chest and didn’t meet his gaze. “Long story short,” he said. “While you were off being captured by Cipher, some dryad chick showed up saying that the Mother of the Wood had sent her to help Dipper. Mabel went with her to break the curse on the kid.”

Ford realized that his mouth had dropped open, and he closed it as he processed Stanley’s words. Dryads weren’t all that unusual, though he had never seen signs them close to town. And he knew dryads were possessed of certain innate nature magics, but not nearly enough power to break a curse made by a black Orb of Olgathag.

The Mother of the Wood, on the other hand… The formal title stirred an old memory in him, from a time before the portal. He tried to remember completely – he had an eidetic memory that had served him well in procuring twelve PhDs – but, like so many of his memories from that time period, it was muddled and foggy. A direct result of letting Bill inside his head.

“I need my journals,” he said, and headed for the door to the basement lab.

Stanley followed close behind. “Hey,” he said, “that’s all you have to say? You need your journals?”

“The Mother of the Wood,” Ford muttered. “I wrote about her in my first journal, I’m sure of it.” He had vague impressions of interviewing some of the more sentient supernatural creatures around the Falls, and hearing her name, her title. One title of many, if he remembered right. And, no matter how belligerent or ridiculous the creature, she was always spoken of with a quiet sort of reverence, which was strange in and of itself. But those were the only details he could dredge up from the mess his mind had been back then.

He hurried down the basement steps, then tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the elevator, which was still on the third floor, presumably dropping off Wendy and Soos.

Stanley came down the stairs behind him. “So you’ve heard of her,” he said. “Can she really break Dipper’s curse?”

“I don’t know,” Ford said, watching as the elevator indicator showed the car heading back up. “But I may have recorded details about her in the journals that I… I can’t remember.” He glanced back at Stanley, wondering if he would laugh at him, especially since his memory had been such a point of pride when they were kids. Stanley had always tried to catch him out, showing him a page of the sports section at breakfast, and then hiding it while Ford rattled off the scores. Ford had never missed any – something that had always both irritated and pleased Stanley.

“My brother,” Stanley would say with a wry grin. “The genius with the photographic memory!” And when Ford would inevitably try to correct him, saying there was no such thing, and that it was really an eidetic memory, he would find himself in a headlock, getting noogied, while Stanley shouted, “Photographic memory!”

But Stanley was still wearing that scowl. And Ford found that he almost wished Stanley would crack a smile and tease him.

He really needed to apologize. But not now, not when there was a war with Bill going on, and the kids were missing. He would do it later when things were settled. And he would do it right.

The elevator door opened, and he stepped inside. Stanley followed, and the door closed behind him.

“Oh,” Ford said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He hadn’t realized that Stanley planned to follow him the whole way, and he was heading to his secret study on the second floor. “I, uh… you don’t have to…”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Are you going to your secret room?” He emphasized the last two words with air quotes. “I picked the lock on that door less than three days after you were gone.”

Ford looked at him, stunned.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t mess with your machines or your weird Bill shrine. I just looked for the other journals, and when I didn’t find them, I never went back in.” Stanley scratched the stubble on his chin. “Well, okay, I went back in once, but that was only to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating the first time. That room is creepy.”

Ford stared, grappling with the implication that Stanley had known, from the very start, about his wretched dealings with Bill… and had still worked to save him.

“Oh… okay,” he said, finally. “Well, then, let’s go.” He pressed the second-floor button and the elevator lurched into motion.

Stanley’s scowl faded slightly, and one brow raised in surprise. “Wait, you’re not going to tell me to stay out of your stuff and try to kick me out?”

Ford noted the “try to,” implying that Stanley wouldn’t go willingly.

“No,” he said.

Stanley’s scowl diminished even more. “Well… good. Because I wouldn’t let you. Not when the kids are in trouble.”

“Of course not,” Ford said. The elevator door opened, and he found himself standing before the ornate red and gold door he had made in an astounding bout of hubris. Sighing, trying to focus over all his feelings of regret, he reached for the key in one of his inner coat pockets… and cursed as he remembered that Bill had thrown his coat down the spacecraft shaft.

“What’s wrong?” Stanley asked.

“I lost the key,” Ford grumbled, then looked at Stanley. “Wait, you picked the lock—“

Before he could even finish, Stanley reached to the door knob, twisted it, and pushed the door open. Ford stared.

“I, uh, may have gone in a third time,” Stanley said, looking a little sheepish. “Today. I wanted to see this rift of yours that Bill wants so badly.”

“What?” Ford rushed into the room, going straight for the small cupboard where he had placed the rift. “Do you have any idea how dangerous—“

He stopped short as he slid open the cupboard door. There was the rift. And, placed carefully over the crack, was a thick, silver strip of duct tape.

“Yeah,” Stanley was saying as Ford blinked stupidly at the patched rift. “So, I noticed there was a crack, and I figured that was a bad thing, you know?”

Ford gingerly picked up the rift. The low, buzzing tone that set his teeth on edge and indicated an impending breach… was gone.

“Duct tape?” Ford said.

Stanley shrugged. “I figured if it was good enough for Apollo 13, why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” Ford said quietly, a smile tugging at his lips.

He and Stanley had just been kids when Apollo 13, on a mission to the moon, had an oxygen tank explode. They had both been glued to the living room’s tiny black-and-white set, Stanley holding the tinfoil-wrapped rabbit ear antenna just so to make sure they had good reception. CBS anchor Walter Cronkite notified the nation of the disaster, and then kept them updated on the amazing things the astronauts were doing to make it back to Earth alive. When the air system died, the only way to keep the astronauts breathing was to find a way to fit a square filter in a round filter-slot. The astronauts made it work – with plenty of duct tape to maintain the seal.

“Well done, Stanley,” Ford said, placing the rift back into the cupboard and closing the door. “Thank you. I was worried that, without the alien adhesive I failed to retrieve, the rift containment would fail, but you seem to have averted that disaster.”

Stanley was staring at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“Uh…” Ford thought back on his previous words. They hadn’t been that shocking. “Without the alien adhesive—“

“Before that,” Stanley said, interrupting.

Ford frowned. “I was worried?” The growing scowl on Stanley’s face said he was off again. “Thank you?”

“That’s the one!” Stanley shouted, pointing at him.

Ford couldn’t help his bemused smile at the first genuine hint of happiness that he’d seen on Stanley’s face in nearly forty years. “Really? Thank you?”

Stanley clapped him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re welcome!”

Ford stared at his brother, uncomprehending his strange burst of gleeful enthusiasm, until a memory suddenly surfaced – a memory of his first day back in this dimension.

You really aren’t going to thank me, are you.

Oh. Oh.

He felt incredibly stupid. Was it really that simple? Was it possible that all it would take to repair his relationship with his twin were those two small words? He didn’t see how it could possibly fix everything, but maybe it would be a start.

But apparently that start would have to come later, because Stanley had already crossed the room to the book shelf and was pulling out his first and second journals. “Okay,” Stanley said, walking back and putting both books on his research desk, side by side. “You said you thought you wrote about this Mother of the Wood in the first journal, but I can tell you, I read that thing a million times, and never read nothing about that. Maybe it’s in the second one.”

Ford winced at the double negative, but held his tongue. He was astounded at the change in Stanley’s demeanor. It was as if, just by saying one small thank you, he had dispelled the aura of anger and resentment that had seemed to shroud his brother ever since he had greeted him with a punch to the face. He wondered what it would be like to sit down with Stanley and actually talk to him, apologize to him for treating him so poorly, and thank him for… well, everything.

But now was not the time. He picked up the first journal and began to flip through it. “That can’t be right,” he said. “I was sure…” He trailed off as he came to a page that was completely scribbled out with jet black ink. Barely visible between the scribbles, he saw snatches of his handwriting. And on top of the scribbles, as if burned into the page itself, an ashy grey symbol cipher that he recognized as Bill’s. “What…” he said, incapable of articulating his horror further.

“Yeah, there are a few pages like that,” Stanley said, looking over his shoulder. “All scribbled out, with that stupid demon’s code on top. Mostly it’s just him saying, ‘Ha ha, look what I ruined while using your body.’”

Ford glanced back at Stanley in surprise. “You broke Bill’s code?”

Stanley gave him a flat look. “Thirty years,” he said. “Of course I broke the code. I kind of had to, since he wrote some of the portal instructions.”

“Wait,” said Ford, looking back and forth between Stanley and the journal. “Did you break my code?”

“Thirty years?” Stanley reminded him, crossing his arms in irritation. “Don’t look so surprised, Poindexter. I’m not a complete idiot.”

Ford cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Right…. Sorry.” He turned his attention back to the journal, his dismay growing as he saw more pages vandalized by Bill. His memory was hazy, but not so hazy that he didn’t recognize where his notes on the Mother of the Wood should have been. It was a double page entry, and completely blacked out. Aside from Bill’s grey code, the demon had drawn a smirking doodle of himself in the margins. Ford groaned, setting the book down and stepping away, removing his glasses to rub at his face.

“I’m guessing that’s it,” Stanley said, looking down at the ruined pages.

“Yes,” Ford said, grimly. “Unfortunately, that has the only information I gathered on the Mother of the Wood. Now it’s lost. Useless.”

Stanley snorted. “Whaddya mean, useless?” he said, and Ford was surprised to see him grinning again as he gestured at the journal. “This tells us everything we need to know!”

Ford blinked. “It does?”

“Of course it does.” Stanley picked up the journal and held up the destroyed pages for him to see. “Bill seemed to take extra special delight in scribbling these pages out. What reason could he possibly have for not wanting you to have your research on this Mother chick? I can only think of one reason – she poses some kind of threat to him. And if she’s enough of a threat to him that he doesn’t want you knowing about her…” He trailed off meaningfully.

“… then maybe she is powerful enough to break Dipper’s curse,” Ford whispered.

It was too much to hope for. This was still a curse created by an Orb of Olgathag – not a power to be taken lightly. But at this point, she might be Dipper’s only hope of being human again.

“So,” Ford said, replacing his glasses and slumping against his desk. “That’s why you let the kids leave.”

Stanley nodded. “Exactly.”

“So now we wait.”

“Ugh. I hate waiting,” Stanley said, collapsing into his office chair.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Stanley,” Ford said. “Bill said that Gideon was watching the Shack. But when he called for him, he didn’t show.”

Stanley sighed. “You’re worried that he followed the kids and that tree girl,” he said.

“It crossed my mind.” It had done more than cross his mind. It had taken the place of honor, first among all the worries that were gnawing at his gut.

“Yeah,” Stanley said, and Ford heard the dread and weariness in his brother’s voice. “Mine too.”

-------------------------------------------------

Within the first five minutes of riding on Al’s back as she sprinted through the forest, Mabel came to the conclusion that piggybacking on the dryad was not going to be quite as delightful as she imagined.

For one thing, they were going so fast that the brisk night air had become a cold wind that numbed her cheeks. She found some relief in shielding her face behind Al’s long green hair, but that brought its own set of problems, first and foremost keeping the dryad’s hair out of her mouth. Bleah.

For another thing, riding on Al’s back was like riding a piece of wood. Well, technically, Al was wood, and, living and moving though she might be, she could in no way be considered soft or comfortable. Mabel had a feeling that, when all was said and done, she was going to be more saddle-sore than the time she went to a two-week horseback riding camp when she was ten.

She almost envied Dipper, his tiny fawn body wrapped in a blanket in her backpack as he rested in a magic-induced sleep.

She decided to distract herself from her discomfort with conversation. “Hey Al,” she said, her voice slightly muffled from the wind and the flowing hair in her face. “I like the gold tips on your hair. Did you dye it that way, or is it natural?”

The dryad laughed, not sounding in the least bit tired or winded in spite of their pace, and Mabel wondered if she even needed to breathe. But then how would she be able to talk without lungs? Maybe it was just magic. Yeah, that was probably it. Dryad talking magic.

“It’s natural,” Al replied. “My hair changes color to match the leaves on my tree, and autumn is just around the corner.”

“That is so cool,” Mabel said, but then she paused. “Wait, does this mean your hair falls out during the winter and grows back during spring?”

Al laughed again. “You know, that would actually make sense? But no, my hair just turns kind of a mousy grey during the winter.”

“Oh, that’s good,” said Mabel. “Not that you couldn’t totally pull off a bald look. You have the perfect cheekbones for it.” She frowned. “Wait… cheek… you don’t have bones, do you. Cheek-wood?”

And so it went for a little while. Mabel found herself completely distracted from her discomfort while chatting with Al. She was just thinking that maybe this four-hour journey wasn’t going to be so miserable after all when Al came skidding to an abrupt halt.

“Al?” Mabel asked. Al had half crouched in a recognizably defensive manner, and Mabel looked around, alarmed, wondering what had spooked the dryad. “Al, what’s wrong?” she whispered. The forest was dark, but her eyes had adjusted, and she couldn’t see anything moving. Just the faint, pale trunks of a birch grove, and their dark foliage blotting out the starry sky.

Al made a soft, anxious sound, taking a few hesitant steps backward.

“Al?” The dryad’s fear was contagious, and Mabel felt her heart begin to race.

“These trees,” Al said, her voice low and hoarse. “They are all hollow.”

“Hollow?” Mabel echoed.

“Empty,” Al said. “Dead, but… not. Living, but stripped of life. And so full of eyes.”

Dead, but not? Wait, did that mean they were standing in a grove of undead trees? Was that even possible? Mabel swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “What do you mean, full of eyes?” she asked.

“Eyes that look out and see everything,” Al whispered. “Eyes that look inward and see only madness.”

It was then that Mabel noticed that every single knothole on every single birch tree looked like an eye. And every single eye was staring at them.

She inhaled a shaky breath. “So… that’s bad.”

Al nodded.

“We should probably leave and go around the grove of creepy eye-filled undead birch trees, right?”

Al nodded again, taking a few more steps backward, before turning completely and sprinting back the way they came.

They came to a stop again in stand of Douglas fir, with nary a birch tree in sight. Al stood, her hands clenched and pressed to her chest.

Mabel gave her a few moments to gather herself. “Are you okay, Al?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Al said, but her voice was thin. “No,” she corrected, then sighed. “I will be okay. It’s just… I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“You didn’t run across that on your way here?” Mabel asked.

“I… took the scenic route, remember?” Al said, looking sheepishly over her shoulder at Mabel. She faced forward, closing her eyes. “Those poor things. What could have done that to them?”

Mabel frowned. “I have three guesses,” she said, “and they all start with Bill.”

“The demon,” Al said, clutching at the anti-Bill bracelet clasped around her wrist as if with new-found appreciation. “You’re probably right.” She straightened and adjusted her grip on Mabel’s legs wrapped around her waist. “Ready to go again?”

Mabel suddenly felt as though a pair of eyes was staring right at the back of her head. She looked back and saw nothing but the dark forest. Creepy. It was probably nothing. Probably just her imagination getting the best of her after the birch grove. She took a moment to adjust the straps of her backpack and make sure it was secure. Dipper was a small, but comforting weight against her back. She could feel his warmth though the material of the backpack, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

She glanced back again as that being watched feeling refused to dissipate, then shook her head. Imagination or not, she had somewhere to be. “I’m ready,” she said, and Al took off running.

Mabel made a few half-hearted attempts to start another conversation with the dryad, but Al still seemed shaken by their encounter with the undead birch grove. She couldn’t blame her. She was pretty sure she’d never be able to look at a birch tree the same way again.

Mabel rested her head against Al’s soft hair, noticing that, with her head turned to the side, she didn’t have nearly as much of a problem with hair getting in her mouth.

She tried distracting herself from her discomfort by listening to the incessant chirping of crickets. Dipper had once told her that you could tell the outside temperature by how fast crickets were chirping, and she had been excited about learning such an amazing skill until she found out it involved math. Math took the fun out of everything.

“Oh, don’t be that way, Mabel,” Dipper had said. “It’s not that hard. You just count how many times a cricket chirps in fifteen seconds, then add 37, and that’s the approximate temperature in Fahrenheit. The more chirps, the warmer the temperature.”

So Mabel had tried it, and it worked, and maybe, she conceded to Dipper, math didn’t take the fun out of everything.

She tried the temperature trick now, but found that it was a lot harder to count cricket chirps and keep track of fifteen seconds at the same time without a stop watch. After several tries, she concluded that the temperature was either 42 degrees, or 67 degrees. That didn’t seem right, so, rather than count chirps again, she took the 25-degree difference, divided it in half, added the 12.5 to the 42, and came to the average of 54.5 degrees. It was still probably way wrong, but she thought Dipper might approve of her math-y method of getting her answer.

She resolved to tell him about it as soon as he was human again.

As Al ran on, Mabel started to lose track of a lot more than just fifteen seconds. How long had they been travelling? An hour? Two hours? The soreness in her legs told her that they’d been going for at least a million hours. Ugh, she was never going to be able to sit again. Or stand, for that matter.

Mabel watched how fast the trees went by, and decided they were going at least freeway speeds. Sometimes flashes of night sky, glittering with innumerable brilliant stars, would burst through the tree cover, taking her breath away at the sight. Every now and then, Al would run through a clearing or a meadow, giving Mabel an uninterrupted view of the sky, and it seemed to her that the stars were so bright and close, she could reach up and touch them; so shimmering that she could dip her fingers in the winding, rippling Milky Way and pull them out, covered with stardust.

She was admiring one such view when Al came stumbling to a halt for the second time that night. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking around, hoping they hadn’t found themselves in a birch grove again.

“Mabel,” Al said, releasing her legs, “you’re bleeding.”

Mabel looked down and, sure enough, below her skirt, the skin on her bare thighs and knees was worn away and trickling blood.

“Oh,” she said, removing her arms from around Al’s neck and sliding to the ground. She collapsed onto her rear end in an ungraceful heap. “Ow,” she said. “Everything hurts.”

She wished she was exaggerating but, aside from her legs, her arms, shoulders, back and neck were stiff and sore from being in one position for so long. The weight of her grappling hook and holy water super-soaker hooked to her belt was making her hips hurt. She didn’t even know she had hips, but apparently she did, because they were hurting. The straps of her backpack seemed to dig into her shoulders, and she gently slid it off, biting back a moan of pain. Carefully, she pulled the backpack onto her lap and lifted the flap.

Dipper was still sleeping, peaceful and completely oblivious. Mabel smiled. Dork, she thought.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Al said, her voice both anxious and scolding.

“I didn’t want to slow us down,” Mabel said. “I still don’t.” She reached up, wincing at the ache in muscles she’d never known existed until now, and pulled her sweater over her head, leaving her in just a t-shirt. “I’ll use this as padding for my legs for the rest of the trip, but we’re not going to worry about Mabel and her owies until after your mother turns Dipper back to normal.”

Al frowned in obvious disapproval, but didn’t argue.

Mabel grunted as she struggled to her feet. She fumbled with her belt before letting it drop to the ground, then started tying the sleeves of her sweater around her waist. “Hey, Al, since we’re stopped for a bit…” She gestured to the backpack. “Do you mind checking on him? See how he’s doing? You know…” She tapped the side of her head.

Al sighed, then smiled a little. “Might as well,” she said, “though I doubt a sleeping fawn’s thoughts will be—“

She broke off, her eyes widening almost comically, even as her gaze seemed to stare off into nothing. “Dipper?” she said.

“What?” Mabel said, freezing in shock.

“Dipper, you’re… I don’t believe it… Mabel, he’s right… yes, she’s right here... Hold it!” Al held up her hands. “Just give me a second to explain. I can’t talk to both of you at the same time.” She looked at Mabel. “Dipper is in there,” she said, pointing at the fawn in the backpack. “You remember the light-shining-through-the-paper metaphor I showed you back at the Shack? When he’s asleep and I try to communicate, it’s like I’m on the other side of the paper!”

“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing!” Mabel practically squealed. “How is he? Is he okay? What is he doing?”

“He’s… just kind of wandering through a forest in his mindscape,” Al said, before getting that far-off stare again. “What? But you are. Oh, pardon me.” Her gaze focused on Mabel, a barely concealed smile tugging at her lips. “He is striding with great purpose through a forest in his mindscape.” Far-off gaze. “How is that not better? I specifically rephrased so it wouldn’t sound like you were aimless and lost.” Al focused on her, openly grinning. “Mabel, you never told me how delightfully easy it is to tease your brother.”

Mabel laughed, her heart feeling free of a great weight. Dipper was still in there, whole and completely himself, from the sound of it. “That’s because people usually find that out for themselves first,” she said, smiling so wide, she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Tell him that we’re taking him to your mother to break the curse!”

Al nodded and relayed the message. After a moment, she frowned as if puzzled.

“What?” Mabel asked. “What is he saying?”

Al waved at her to be quiet. “He says he already knows.” She stared off into the distance. “A strange, pale man told him. He was wearing—“

Mabel waited for Al to finish. When she didn’t and just stared blankly into space, Mabel prompted, “He was wearing?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, darlin’,” said a voice behind her and Mabel turned to find herself facing Gideon, who was floating about four feet off the ground, looking down at her with burning eyes and a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. His usual ridiculous sparkling suit was shrouded in writhing shadows, and for the first time, Mabel looked at Gideon and felt an icy shiver of genuine fear.

She moved, faster than she thought her aching body was capable of, and snatched the backpack holding Dipper off the ground, clutching him to her chest protectively. It was only a moment later, as she felt Al’s solid wooden hands grab her upper arms, effectively holding her immobile, that she realized she probably should have grabbed the holy water super-soaker first.

“Y’all just made it so easy for me,” Gideon said, floating closer, and Mabel couldn’t help but notice the low, demonic echo to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “This silly wood sprite, just staring at nothing, it didn’t take any effort at all to meet her eyes and snatch her will away. Now she is mine to command.”

Well, Mabel thought, at least Gideon’s terrifying new visage didn’t seem to be stopping him from spouting cheesy B-movie dialogue.

Somehow, she still wasn’t prepared when he reached out and grabbed hold of the backpack holding Dipper’s still-sleeping form. “No!” she yelled, holding on to the backpack with all her strength as she strained to break free from the dryad’s immovable grip. “Don’t you dare touch him, Gideon!”

“But Mabel, my buttercup, don’t you see? He’s only ever stood between us.” And with that, Gideon wrenched the backpack out of her grip and threw it carelessly to the side with his inhuman strength. It impacted with the trunk of a tree with sickening crack, and Mabel screamed Dipper’s name as the little fawn fell from the pack in a crumpled tangle of limbs, broken and bleeding.

Gideon stared at Dipper, stunned, and for a moment the writhing shadows around him faded. “I… I didn’t mean—“

Mabel cut him off with a shriek of grief and fury. “You monster!” She thrashed ineffectually against the hypnotized dryad’s hold, helpless tears leaking from her eyes. “I’ll kill you!”

Gideon turned back at her, and Mabel gasped as she saw ten-year-old li’l Gideon, looking lost and terrified out of his mind. “Mabel,” he said, and it was almost a plea, before he closed his eyes and shuddered.

When he opened his eyes, Gideon was gone, and in his place, the grinning, shadowy demon. He glided up to her, close, too close, until she could smell the death coming off him in black waves and he could whisper right in her ear: “Not if I kill you first.”

Then he sank his teeth into her neck.

-------------------------------------------------

A/N: Almost there.

Whew. Longest chapter yet. Last week I promised a few people I would post this by the weekend. Well, where I am, it’s now Monday morning and the sun is still a couple of hours from rising, so… technically still the weekend? -_-

I hope this is coherent. I stayed up all night finishing this and I’ve tried to catch any errors, but I do not trust my tired brain. If anyone catches a mistake or something that just doesn’t make sense, please let me know, and I will fix it.

A huge, grateful Thank You to everyone who has supported me with likes and reviews. You are the ones who keep me writing. I wish I could give you all hugs. :)

#i'll tag later #so tired

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gordonwilliamsweb · 5 years ago

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‘Staying Away From Grandma’ Isn’t An Option In Multigenerational Homes

FLORISSANT, Missouri — The Walker family never thought having an age range of 3 to 96 under the same roof would be risky.