#skimmilk stories

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

This chapter made me feel so many things and I had to read parts of it aloud to myself because it was that good and anyway if you haven't read this story (or have but not the new update) GO DO IT NOW WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?????? SLEEPING????? WEAK. GO READ. 💥💥💥🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛

Sharing is Caring but We Never Learned How

Summary:

As their friend group expands to include both Cream and Charmy, Tails has to learn to share his big brother's attention with the younger kids. Spoiler alert: he isn't very good at it.

Chapter 5

A week later, Tails was still spinning his conversation with Knuckles in his head. Knowing the root of the problem was just half the battle, apparently. Acting on it was a lot harder, even though it was the only way to move past this stalemate. 

When he got back from Angel Island, Sonic had been happy to see him. He'd ruffled his fur with a crooked grin, told him he knew he could handle something like that on his own, that he was proud of him, then asked if he'd eaten lunch yet. Tails could've said something while Sonic whipped up some falafels and pita for them or while they were eating, but faced with the reality of broaching the conversation, his throat closed off his voice every time he tried to start it. There was no time limit either, because after lunch, Sonic flopped on the couch to watch some TV and left plenty of room for Tails to join him. Plenty of room for him to speak up. For the whole afternoon it was just the two of them; it would've been the perfect opportunity to say something.

But it had also been a perfect opportunity to just spend some time with him and he hadn't wanted to ruin it.

The next day, they went for a run. The day after that, Sonic came with him into the city to pick out some more parts for his cell phone prototypes, since his trip to Angel Island had inspired him to make one for Knuckles, too. The day after that, they got ice cream.

Tails could just never tell him. Pretend it never happened. Stuff the jealousy into a box in his mind and lock it up tight, never to be seen again. But the clock was ticking towards his birthday, and while Knuckles didn't have Amy's intuition, Tails had a feeling he'd take one look at him and know he hadn't held up his end of the deal. 

After making Knuckles feel like he'd been used, Tails couldn't make him feel like he hadn't taken his threat seriously or that he wasn't important enough to Tails. None of this was his fault, after all. Knuckles was just caught in the middle of Tails's convoluted scheme. Having been in the middle of spats between Sonic and Knuckles before, Tails knew firsthand it wasn't a very comfortable place to be.

So there was that added pressure as each day brought him closer to his seventh birthday. And he was dreading it.

[Continue at AO3]

[skimmingmilk]

Added the Lost World ask fic from the other day to the Little Gestures collection on AO3! Thank you all for all the love you gave that spur of the moment fic <3

Chapter 6: sing the body (miles) electric

One of Sonic's worst nightmares nearly came true on the Lost Hex, and coping with that isn't as fast and easy as he would like.

[skimmingmilk]

Summary:            

“It had been a nice day. The forecast hadn’t called for rain, but as they’d dined, a light drizzle dotted the windows of the little Mediterranean bistro they’d been meaning to try. They were tucked away at a table for two in the little alcove near the front, where Aziraphale could watch as the collection of droplets grew. He cast about for some kind of comment on how lucky it was for them that it hadn’t started up on their way in.

He couldn’t find a single thing to say. He picked at his papoutsakia instead. It had gone rather soggy.”

In which an angel overthinks, a demon stews, and both of them refuse to say what they actually mean. Their emotions also might influence the weather a tiny bit...

---

It had been a nice day. Since Armageddon did not - as Crowley couldn't resist putting it - arma-get-on-with-it, all the days had been nice. There’d been about seven of them.

The forecast hadn’t called for rain, but as they’d dined, a light drizzle dotted the windows of the little Mediterranean bistro they’d been meaning to try. They were tucked away at a table for two in the little alcove near the front, where Aziraphale could watch as the collection of droplets grew. He cast about for some kind of comment on how lucky it was for them that it hadn’t started up on their way in.

He couldn’t find a single thing to say. He picked at his papoutsakia instead. It had gone rather soggy.

Crowley, for his part, found his empty cup of coffee far more riveting than the raindrops. They inched their way down the glass, leaving tremulous streaks in their wake as they crawled at an agonizingly slow pace, only to give in to gravity’s temptation, lose their grip, and start to fall - faster, closer, so close, that’s it - racing towards the windowsill... until they weren’t. Until the droplets hesitated, and thought maybe it was a good idea to cling to the window just a little longer.

Aziraphale had a lump in his throat that no amount of aubergine or stuffed grape leaves could force down, so he left the rest of his plate untouched. He dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin, gaze fixated on the creases in Crowley’s forehead. They were as deep as he was in thought, three or four of them stacked across his skin like the delicate layers of baklava. If Aziraphale was brave, he’d reach across their table to stroke his thumb over his brow, smooth out the lines and edges that kept Crowley tightly wound - tightly coiled  - and drawn into himself.

Aziraphale was not brave.

He fiddled with the napkin as he lowered it back to his lap, smoothing it over his thigh instead. “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked, casting out for some kind of conversation, but Crowley didn’t look up from his cup. “Crowley?”

Dishes and glassware clinked around them. The white noise of murmured conversations in the background filled their silence while he waited for the question to register. Belatedly - and so slowly, a raindrop in reverse - Crowley lifted his head to look at him. At least, Aziraphale assumed he was looking at him through the dark lenses.

They stared at each other for a beat. “What?” Crowley finally asked foggily.

Aziraphale nodded towards his cup, lips pulling in what he hoped looked like a smile. It didn’t feel like a smile.

“Would you like more coffee?” he repeated lightly, pointing in some vague direction. “I could call the waitress over. I’m considering ordering a slice of galaktoboureko. Or some baklava. Haven’t decided yet.” Not that he’d be able to swallow it, if the dolmades still sitting on the platter between them were anything to go by, but it appeared the stranglehold on his throat had loosened up enough for him to ramble.

Crowley returned his gaze to his cup, pointedly moving his head so Aziraphale had no doubts where he was looking. The cup was full of black, steaming coffee once again. Crowley picked it up and tilted it towards himself with a lazy sweep of his wrist that should have spilled piping hot coffee all over his lap and didn’t.

“S’fine.” He sipped at it.

Aziraphale’s face fell.

[Continue reading at AO3]

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

OKAY OKAY I'LL JUST KISS MY HEART GOODBYE WITH EVERY NEW UPDATE

I can't

I'm crying so hard I can't

*sniffle* g-great job

Chapter 3: The Worth of One's Word

Neither Sonic nor Tails were responding.

Brows knitting together in a concerned frown, Knuckles set his gaze straight ahead as he glided down from Angel Island. He'd been lucky its current orbit put it about forty minutes out from South Island, the source of Tails's S.O.S. signal. Despite having taken extreme care in designing the function, the kid never used it. And Sonic certainly never did.

"It's just an emergency protocol," Tails had explained in the middle of his tutorial when they'd dropped by unannounced—again—on his island. "This way if anyone tries to attack Angel Island or the Master Emerald, all you have to do is press this button and we'll be routed to your coordinates in a Sonic Second!"

"Do you have to call it that?" Knuckles had sighed while Tails grinned. He'd completely done it on purpose. No one could say that Sonic hadn't raised him. "I can defend my island and the Master Emerald just fine. I've gotten by for years without you two sticking your noses where they don't belong."

"Uh-huh," Sonic drawled from where he'd supposedly been napping atop the gem in question—the liar—eyes still closed even as he smirked. "And how many times has the Master Emerald been stolen or broken on your watch, knucklehead?"

"I will bury you in Sandopolis." Knuckles knocked his own fists together as a warning, but Sonic just cracked open one eye while he stuck his tongue out at him.

Tails sighed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed hold of Knuckles's forearm and tugged, getting him to look back at the device strapped to his wrist. "It's up to your discretion if you want to call for back-up. Otherwise, you can think of it as a way for you to know if we're the ones who need you to bail us out of a situation."

Knuckles continued to frown as he demonstrated the feature, with both his and Sonic's communicators ringing with a high-pitched, dissonant chime. Tails's little fox-faced icon flashed on the screen, then a map with his coordinates appeared while the icon was pinned to his location, even though he was directly in front of Knuckles. Sonic snapped off the alarm with a groan, ignoring the test since he'd likely endured several rounds of it already. But Knuckles waited until Tails deactivated the S.O.S. himself with a four-digit code, so it couldn't accidentally be shut off before reinforcements arrived. 1-0-1-6, Knuckles quietly observed with a snort. The kid's birthday.

"You know you'd be better off if you called practically anyone else for back-up," Knuckles remarked, watching the kit send a message to Amy to see if she'd seen the test transmission on her end, too. "Someone who could get to you more quickly."

"Probably," Tails replied airily, not looking up from his communicator until he was done, then flashed Knuckles a bright smile. "But not just anyone's part of Team Sonic. There's no one we trust more than you to have our backs!"

Tails extended his arm in a punching motion and Knuckles couldn't deny him the fist bump he'd been angling for. Though it was more of a fist graze to keep from accidentally breaking one of the kid's fingers. 

[Continue at AO3]

[skimmingmilk]

The Phantom of the Grand Lake Convenience Store

Rating: T Word Count: 8502 Summary: Sometimes with great power, comes great responsibility. Dipper and Wirt try to figure out what that looks like for the latter’s abilities. Part 4 of the superhero AU I just decided to write, apparently. AKA The Reluctant Hero, Chapter 4.

Read on AO3

Part 1: The First Time Part 2: Unpredictable Part 3: Limits and Potential

The Phantom of the Grand Lake Convenience Store

Crime in Piedmont had never really escalated beyond teenage dares to shoplift and the occasional property crime, though they were close enough to the more heavily populated areas that news of bigger and badder things were never far out of earshot. They were just nestled on the edge of Oakland, a few measly miles separating their quiet - boring, according to Dipper - suburb from actual criminal activity. They’d talk of going over there, to scope out the scene and potentially find some actual bad guys to stop, but Wirt could never bring himself to ask and Dipper would never take him somewhere purposefully dangerous if he wasn’t one million percent on board.

Both boys were hesitant, Wirt of his own abilities and Dipper for his best friend’s safety. As much as he liked to think that he’d jump at the first opportunity to be the hero, to help people and use his powers for good, he wasn’t about to push that responsibility on Wirt. While there was a lot of good that could be done with superpowers, there was also a lot of risk. A huge amount of risk. Though it was a relief that most of Wirt’s powers would do a great deal to keep him safe, there was still that niggling fear that if something went wrong, Dipper would be powerless to get him out of trouble. Literally.

Wirt, on the other hand, doubted his ability to be a hero altogether. He was not hero material. He wasn’t strong or fearless, he didn’t have a boatload of confidence and he’d done nothing to earn these powers. They were just a part of him somehow, and he honestly wondered if he deserved them. He didn’t take initiative, he could barely make it through the lunch line at school without hesitating on whether or not he deserved the last chocolate chip muffin until the choice was either taken from him or Dipper managed to snatch it for him. Nothing about that screamed superhero or protector of the people.

He was only fifteen. Practically an adult, but could he really be trusted with the kind of responsibility to take care of a city when he didn’t even want to take care of his six-year-old half brother? Wirt didn’t think so.

At least until the night of the baseball game.

They’d been saving up their allowances and the money they got from odd jobs - Dipper attempting to mow the lawn for his dad and Wirt giving clarinet lessons to kids at the music shop downtown - and had finally earned enough to go to an Oakland A’s game, just the two of them. Though tickets weren’t that expensive - the team didn’t have the best reputation, but that only made the boys support them more in their time of need - they still needed money for food and transportation. BART tickets, unfortunately, weren’t cheap, though it wasn’t too bad for a round trip from MacArthur station to the Coliseum.

They picked a Friday evening game at the end of May, just as school was winding down for the summer, their junior year looming ahead of them like judgment day. It was a good way to kick off what would likely be one of the last few normal summers they’d have together. A date.

Not that either of them mentioned that to one another, or to anyone at all. Ever.

It would just be their first real outing on their own without parental supervision that wasn’t a bike ride to the park or a trip to the mall. The teens were finally being trusted to be mature enough to handle a trip on BART alone. At least, that was what almost happened.

The second that Mabel found out what they were doing, she immediately hopped onto the bandwagon with Candy and Grenda in tow, much to Dipper’s chagrin. “You don’t even like baseball, Mabel!”

“No, but I do like the baseball players! Am I right, ladies?” She grinned at her two cohorts as she purchased the tickets right next to Dipper and Wirt’s seats with two clicks of a mouse on Dipper’s own computer.

“Hubba hubba!” Grenda crowed, admiring a picture she’d just pulled up on her phone. “Pablo, give me all your sugar!”

Dipper caught a glimpse of the picture and glared at her. “Pablo Sandoval plays for the Giants. You guys don’t even know what team we’re going to see!”

“You mean we have more than one?” Mabel laughed, winking at Wirt while she continued to goad her brother. “Come on, bro-bro! It’ll be fun! I want to go somewhere by myself, too!”

“Going with us totally defeats the purpose of going somewhere by yourself,” he pointed out.

“Boop!” She poked him in the nose and was swatted away for her efforts.

“Stop it, Mabel,” Dipper huffed, backing away from her while pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is just supposed to be a me and Wirt thing. You’re just going to make it… uncomfortable.”

Mabel cocked out one hip. “How so?”

“By talking about the players as if they’re only eye candy.”

“They are eye candy, for Candy’s eyes,” Candy giggled as she and Grenda exchanged high-fives.

Dipper gestured to them as he frowned at Mabel. “See what I mean?”

“Oh please.” Mabel waved him off, then pointed at Wirt. “It’s not like Wirt knows the first thing about baseball!”

Wirt pursed his lips, opening his mouth to defend himself, but Dipper beat him to it. “He knows enough.”

“Yeah, like where to sit to get the best view of your-”

“Fast ball!” Wirt blurted out in horror, his cheeks burning as the urge to turn invisible or teleport right out of this situation welled up inside him. “I know where to sit to get the best view of- of his fast ball… because I know what a fast ball is, obviously,” he continued before she could cut in and ruin his pathetic attempt to salvage what little dignity he clung to. “And- and a curve ball and- and what a strike zone… is…”

“Isn’t that the name of the bowling place in Fremont?” Grenda inquired and all eyes went to her.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, more concerned by Grenda in the moment than the way Mabel wiggled her eyebrows at Wirt. “Yeah, I guess it is…” Dipper agreed slowly, flicking his gaze back to Mabel just as she finished making kissy faces at Wirt, the latter swatting her away with a dark flush tinting his cheeks. “What are you guys doing?”

“Nothing!” Wirt squeaked at the same time Mabel laughed, “Everything!” She sat down in Dipper’s desk chair and spun herself around in in a circle as she continued. “Anyway, it’s too late. We already bought the tickets next to you!”

“We’ll just sit somewhere else in an empty seat,” Dipper huffed, but there would be nothing stopping Mabel and her friends from just following them. “Fine! Whatever, Mabel, just at least try to let us enjoy the game, okay?”

It wasn’t in her, apparently. Right after booking her own tickets, Mabel had sent a text around to get other kids from their class to join them. Though a lot of people already had plans, two did show up at the MacArthur BART station to ride with them.

“Mabel, why did you invite Jason Funderberker?” Dipper hissed to her under his breath while the subject of their conversation and Sara said their hellos to Candy, Grenda, and Wirt.

“I invited a lot of people, Jason just happened to be one of them!” she pointed out with a grin, then rolled her eyes when her brother’s glare refused to simmer. “Oh, c’mon, Dipper. He’s harmless.”

“I know that.”

“So then what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that he bothers Wirt.”

“To be fair, a lot of things bother Wirt.” She shrugged, then grinned slyly. “Are you sure it’s not you who’s bothered? Mr. I-Want-Wirt’s-Attention-All-The-Time-On-Me-All-The-Time.”

Heat rose in Dipper’s cheeks as they puffed up indignantly. “Shut up. No, that’s- It doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh yeah? Because Wirt does pay a lot of attention to what Jason’s doing whenever he’s around,” she said with a sing-songy lilt to her voice. “Sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not talking about this right now,” he replied blandly. “Just know that you’re sitting between us and Funderberker, got it?”

“But Jason requested to sit next to Wirt specifically!”

“Mabel!”

Luckily they didn’t have to sit next to him, Mabel finally cutting them some slack and herding Candy and Grenda into the middle seats at the stadium, with Wirt and Dipper on one side and Sara and Jason Funderberker on the other. “I thought more people would come, honestly,” she ended up telling Dipper. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Overall, it wasn’t too bad of a time, they even caught one of the fly balls. Well, Grenda caught it. Then instead of keeping it, she pulled out a black sharpie and wrote her own phone number on it, complete with heart doodles, then heaved it back down to the dugout with a powerful throw. The batter who’d hit it watched as it fell to his feet, and picked it up with an uncertain furrow to his brow.

“Hey, cutie! Call me sometime!” she hollered at him, and Dipper sank into his seat wishing that he could vanish just as easily as his best friend.

Especially when Candy whipped out her binoculars and trained them on the rear ends of each and every baseball player, rating them on a scale that combined circumference, shape, slope, and other weird factors that neither Dipper nor Wirt wanted to think about as Mabel argued with her.

“The butt alone doesn’t make it cute! Legs matter, Candy! Legs matter.”

Wirt squeezed Dipper’s hand, then in an instant they were behind one of the snack bars. The smell of popcorn, garlic, and ketchup was like a smack in the face as they were suddenly in the middle of it, but it was a welcome reprieve from the conversation they’d been forced to witness. There was only so much Wirt could handle, too.

Hands still firmly clasped together, Wirt offered him a smile. “Not sure if this would count as an abuse of my power or for the greater good.”

“You’re saving my sanity. Clearly it’s for the greater good,” Dipper laughed.

The A’s lost, but that wasn’t too much of a surprise. Thoroughly disappointed, Dipper picked at just where they went wrong with their pitching, as enthralling as it was amusing to listen to him go on about how important it was to have a good reliever to cushion the starting and closing pitchers. Though Dipper didn’t have to do much to command Wirt’s undivided attention, they both wondered later if he hadn’t been so distracted, could things have turned out differently?

They’d just crossed the bridge from the stadium to the BART station, ready for their return trip home. A shout cut through the crowd attempting to get to the trains, but they didn’t think anything of it at first. Things could get heated at a ball game, intoxication fueling the tempers of sore losers. But then someone screamed and the teens froze as a hooded man ran for the turnstiles.

Someone grabbed the man’s sleeve, shouts that the hooded figure had mugged him echoing off the subway tiles in the station. The culprit spun to face him, a silver glint shining in the harsh lighting before it plunged into the the victim’s abdomen. With a groan, the middle-aged man crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach as the knife was pulled back, then thrust in again before the attacker bolted once more. Wirt froze, then felt Dipper’s grip on his sleeve as he tugged him out of the way, both helpless to do anything except watch the hooded man try to escape.

Two A’s fans tackled the hooded man just after he leapt over the turnstile, pinning him to the ground while security ran onto the scene. Two average, everyday people. People just doing the right thing, no extraordinary abilities, no superpowers. Just good people.

But it hadn’t been enough. The suspect injured the two fans and got away. He got up fast enough to make it onto the next train. The first victim bled out on the floor of the BART station. He was dead before the paramedics got there.

They didn’t find out until later, after Mr. Pines had driven out to pick them up when the trains weren’t allowed to stop at the Oakland Coliseum until the next day. They found out on the radio broadcast Mr. Pines tuned into in order to find out more information, and also learned that the Oakland PD hadn’t been able to catch him at the next stop. The mugger - the murderer - had gotten away. Each teen piled into the SUV was silent the entire ride home, save for the softest of thank yous when everyone was dropped off one by one.

Wirt teleported to Dipper’s room the first chance he had, dropping to sit on the edge of his bed beside him, their thighs pressed together just to confirm someone was there. “I could’ve done something,” Wirt whispered, staring at the fibers of Dipper’s carpet. “I could’ve stopped him.”

Dipper looped his arm around Wirt’s waist, some kind of assurance on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t voice it just yet. Instead he shook his head and pulled Wirt closer. “It all happened so fast,” he murmured.

“I could’ve done something. I can make force fields, I can move things with my mind, I can-” Wirt’s rambling was cut short as his breath hitched. “Why, why is it me? Why did I have to be the one with these powers? I can’t use them. I don’t want to use them!”

“Wirt…”

“I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for this responsibility, I- I don’t want any of it. I don’t want it, Dipper.” Wirt grabbed at Dipper’s shirt, clinging to it as their gazes met. “I can’t do this.”

Taking one of his hands in his own, Dipper gave it a squeeze as he twined their fingers together. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“But I do!” Wirt’s lower lip trembled as he pressed his mouth into a firm little line. “I… I have to do this. Because I can’t just… go on pretending like me doing nothing is okay. It’s not okay. I… I can do things no one else that I know can. That’s how it all starts, isn’t it? In the comics?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a comic, Wirt. It’s your life. No one’s going to force you to do this. No one even knows that you could’ve done something except you and me.”

“You don’t think what happened was my fault?” Wirt met his gaze, holding it even though for a moment he feared what he’d find in Dipper’s eyes.

Dipper swallowed, then shook his head. “No. You didn’t mug the guy, and you didn’t stab him. You didn’t commit the crime. Yeah, he got away, but…” He bit down on his lower lip. He could think of dozens of ways where he would’ve done something with any one of Wirt’s powers. “But we don’t even know what would’ve happened if you tried.”

“I wouldn’t feel like I let everyone down. That man’s family. You.” Wirt closed his eyes, shoulders sagging as he pulled away, arms wrapping around his own middle as if he could hold himself together. “I let you down.”

“No, you didn’t.” Dipper tugged on the bill of his cap as he blew out a steadying breath. “Wirt- yeah, in theory there were ways to stop him, but like I said, it all happened really fast. I can think of what I would’ve done in hindsight, but what it boils down to is that I don’t know what it’s actually like to have these powers. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do something in that situation. I might’ve been just as stuck as you. So, look, I don’t blame you for what happened. The man’s family doesn’t either because they don’t know that anything could’ve turned out differently. No one blames you, Wirt. Except, well, yourself.”

Wirt sat with that for a second, replaying the attack in his head over and over again. The shout, the grab, the turn, the stab, the fall, the tackle, the escape. He could’ve teleported between the victim and the mugger, put up a force field before the knife came out. He could’ve grabbed the knife with his telekinesis. He could’ve just encased the mugger in a force field to keep him immobile.

“Why does it have to be me?” Wirt whispered as he hung his head, hiding his face in his hands.

Dipper rubbed his back. “Because you feel like this when someone you don’t even know was hurt. Because you’re a good person, Wirt. If anyone would do the right thing with these powers, it’d be you. But it’s also your choice. And I’ll be right here with you no matter what you decide.”

“Even if I decide to be a coward and hide for the rest of my life,” Wirt huffed, the lines around his eyes dark as he lifted his head.

“No matter what,” Dipper repeated, opening his arms to Wirt when his friend turned to embrace him. “You’ve always got me.”

The only time Wirt ever felt even remotely strong was when Dipper was beside him. If he always had him, no matter what, then maybe he could actually do this. Maybe he could do some good, where others couldn’t. Maybe he could make up for the man his inaction left for dead. He still wished it wasn’t up to him, that anyone else in the world could’ve been cursed with teleportation, force fields, invisibility, telekinesis, and intangibility. The world deserved someone stronger than him to help make it a better place.

But apparently it was stuck with him, just as he was stuck with these powers.

“You’ll really help me?” he mumbled into Dipper’s shoulder, receiving a squeeze back.

“Always.”

---

They waited until the next weekend before putting their plan into action.

Wirt hugged a pillow to his chest as he sat cross-legged atop Dipper’s bed, listening to the static that blared from Dipper’s smartphone. The police scanner app they’d found wasn’t perfect - “At least it was free,” Wirt had pointed out - but it worked in a pinch, even if Dipper could, in theory, make something better. He flinched as a rough, scratchy voice cut through the white noise, the words indecipherable for the most part.

Dipper frowned as it faded, teeth digging into the end of his pen as he stood poised before two of his white boards. One had a map of their side of the bay area pinned up on it, pieced together by taping zoomed in print outs of Google Maps that encompassed all of Oakland up until Fruitvale to the east and Berkeley to the north. A blue P magnet was stuck to their location, the Pines house over on Garden Way, and a collection of various other color-coded letters of the alphabet that they’d borrowed from Wirt’s house sat in buckets at Dipper’s feet. Sometimes it paid off to have a six-year-old living in the house. The other whiteboard was bare, waiting for the right string of codes to blurt out of the smartphone’s speakers so Dipper could write them down and decipher them.

It felt wrong, like an invasion of the police’s privacy, though Wirt supposed as concerned citizens they had a right to know what was going on in the surrounding area. A woman spoke next, speaking too fast and too garbled for them to make much out of anything she was saying aside from “5-80,” in reference to the freeway that separated Piedmont from Oakland. Dipper groaned and increased the volume, closing his eyes as he listened hard through the static.

“I don’t think this is going to work-”

“Shh.” Dipper held a finger to his lips as another officer spoke, this time an address clear and a “10-4” was uttered by the same woman. “I didn’t catch what they’re going there for.”

“What’s ‘10-4?’” Wirt asked.

“Just means they got the message.” Dipper shook his head, a small crease forming between his brows as he continued to concentrate.

With a sigh, Wirt quieted, warmth filling his cheeks as he took the opportunity to stare shamelessly. Dipper had a natural roundness to his face that softened the severity of his concentrated scowls. He was an expressive person, his emotions like a rainbow shining through his skin with a light that couldn’t be contained. As much as Dipper liked to think he was more reserved than his effervescent twin, they truly were cut from the same cloth. It was a little bit adorable, really.

Most things about Dipper were adorable though. From his laugh to his crooked smile, from his terrible habit of not washing his clothes to his stubborn… stubbornness. Though what captivated Wirt most had to be how earnest Dipper was, how much good there was in his heart.

He’d done all of this - printing out the map, creating a “superhero HQ” in his workspace, memorizing police codes on top of everything else he had crammed in his head - completely out of the goodness of his heart. He was here because he believed in the good that they could do. He believed in Wirt.

Wirt’s own heart stuttered a little out of rhythm and he hid his mouth against the pillow as his blush grew. He wanted to be held in his heart, as intensely as any of his other passions. He wanted his eyes on him, deep and dark and searching, as they cased his entire being in an attempt to make sense of him. His curious fingers brushing his skin to elicit a reaction, making careful note of each and every shudder and sigh. Butterflies took flight in his belly as he wondered if his lips would be soft, or dry and rough from the number of times his teeth dug in and dragged over the swell of his lower lip...

“Wirt, you’re invisible.”

Sucking in a quick breath, Wirt rematerialized back on Dipper’s bed, blinking in surprise when he realized Dipper’s eyes were still closed. “How’d you-?”

“We have a 211 on 555 Athens Ave. 10-23.”

“Yes!” Dipper lit up, his hand moving quickly as he scribbled down the codes and address, then quickly looked them up. “211, that’s a robbery. And 10-23 is stand by. They might request back-up.”

Wirt perked up, still holding the pillow as he stood and crossed the room to hover just behind Dipper. He watched him map out the robbery, then smacked a yellow R over Athens Ave. His brow furrowed as he mentally traced the route they’d have to take to get there.

“That seems kinda far,” he observed. “At least twenty minutes to bike there.”

“Yeah,” Dipper hummed, tapping his marker to his chin. “But you can teleport us.”

Wirt’s lips quirked up as he noticed the little blue mark he left on the curve of his jaw, so he nudged Dipper’s hip with his own and pointed to the mark when he had his attention, then realized what he said. “Wait, what? I’m teleporting us?”

Dipper rubbed at the ink with his thumb. “I mean, it’s the most obvious way for us to get somewhere, right?”

“Yeah, I guess…” Wirt rubbed at the back of his neck as his gaze wandered to the yellow R. “Just a robbery seems kinda… big for a first time thing. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Seems like it’d be right up your alley. You could just throw a force field around him and stop him in his tracks until the police get there.”

“What if he’s armed?”

Dipper chuckled and looked at Wirt the way everyone looked at his younger half-brother every time he opened his mouth. “If you stick him in a force field, he’s not going to get you.”

Wirt huffed, smacking Dipper with his pillow while the other boy laughed harder. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he assured him, then quieted as they listened to more back and forth along the radio.

It took a few minutes to get anything else, but both perked up as a 10-66 came through that was only ten minutes away. “A suspicious person?” Wirt decoded with Dipper’s handy cheat sheet while the other boy mapped it out. “What if he’s just some guy taking a walk to clear his thoughts in the middle of the night?”

“Wearing all black and a hood?” Dipper arched an eyebrow, only looking Wirt up and down when his friend gestured to himself with his own raised eyebrow. He, too, was dressed from head to toe in black. “Well, there’s a reason why you’re wearing a black hoodie. I doubt he’s doing it for the same reasons you are.”

“To hide his identity?”

Dipper rolled his eyes, tossing Wirt a black mask he’d fashioned for him out of one of Mabel’s cotton headbands. “And to help with the whole invisibility thing. You ready?”

Wirt fiddled with the mask. He’d tried it on before and looked impossibly stupid. Not because Dipper’s craftsmanship was lacking in any way, but because it was him wearing it. Him trying to be something more than he was.

“Yeah, I think so,” he exhaled, then tucked the mask into his pocket. “But I still think we should ride our bikes. Just in case. We wouldn’t want to get stranded if I get too tired to teleport us back.”

“True.” Dipper grabbed his backpack and phone, pocketing the latter with some earbuds in case they needed to listen to the police scanner app again while they were out. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll be doing that much teleporting out there, but you never know. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” He flashed him a reassuring smile that Wirt returned hesitantly. “Do you think you could at least teleport us to our bikes though? Beats having to sneak past mom, dad, and Mabel.”

“That I can manage.” It was Wirt’s turn to roll his eyes as he reached for Dipper’s hand, holding tight as he took them to the garage. Once they were holding onto their bikes, he teleported them out onto the street. “Okay. So the Grand Lake Theatre?”

“Yeah.” Dipper looked at his phone, a picture of the map from his room open on it. “Let’s go.”

The Grand Lake Theatre was a historic movie palace from the 1920s right by the freeway. Its 2,800 bulb sign lit up the north side of Oakland every Friday and Saturday night until the last show concluded. Though many things had changed over the course of time, that theatre still stood proudly, one of Wirt’s favorite places to go just for the architecture and vintage marquee lights alone.

However, as they rode up to it now, well after midnight and well after the theatre’s lights had dimmed, Wirt couldn’t help but shiver as its historic facade loomed ahead of them, backlit by the rush of the freeway. If there was a building he’d pin as haunted in all of the east bay, it would be the darkened Grand Lake Theatre. Or the California Hotel just a few miles west. Both cast eerie shadows when their warm lights were extinguished.

Dipper held up a hand as they coasted to a stop, one earbud in as he continued to listen to the police scanner. Wirt held his breath as he stilled beside Dipper, both of them hiding in the shadow of the movie palace. The white noise of cars driving by and sirens in the distance kept Wirt on edge as he glanced around them. No one else appeared to be around, but that didn’t mean they were alone.

“They’re not saying anything else about this guy. They’re talking about a group of teens disturbing a neighborhood now,” Dipper informed him, turning down the volume on his phone. “We’ll just have to figure out what this suspicious person is up to on our own.”

“Or maybe we should pick a different lead?” Wirt suggested weakly, but shook his head when Dipper glanced at him. “Nevermind. Dumb plan.”

“If you really don’t want to do this, we can go back,” Dipper told him.

“No. I’m fine. It’s fine. Let’s just… see what’s going on.”

Wirt rested his bike against the wall, tucking it behind the theatre’s dumpster to keep it out of sight and watched as Dipper followed suit. They walked around front until they were right under the darkened marquee. From the back, the theatre seemed quiet, tucked in with houses in a residential area, but around the front of the building a busy intersection put them right out in the open.

Aside from the occasional car that stopped at the light, no one seemed to be around. “Hey, what if people think we’re the suspicious ones?” Wirt inched closer to Dipper, watching as a car sped through a yellow light and onto the freeway.

“Then you teleport us the heck out of here,” Dipper replied, his voice wavering as he reached behind him to take Wirt’s hand. “Come on. If they’re looking to commit a crime, then they’re probably going to head to the shops. You know, something to rob or vandalize.”

“Right…”

They walked down Grand Avenue while they listened and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Staying close to the shadows and the sides of the buildings, their dark clothes aided in making them appear almost invisible. Well, as invisible as the average person without invisibility powers could get.

They froze as they heard the scuff of what sounded like a shoe against the pavement on the other side of the street. Holding their breath, they pressed against the glass window of the Thai food place they stood in front of. Across the street, they watched as someone dressed in all black staggered out from the alley between the dry cleaner’s and the convenience store, the only shop that was open.

“Maybe he- he just wants a pack of gum?” Wirt whispered, as close as he could get to Dipper without their bodies melding into one another.

“At one in the morning?” Dipper hissed back, but the same worry lined his face. Now that they were actually out here, trying to assess danger, what did they do? Did they stop this man prematurely? Before he could commit the crime? Or would they just be taking down an innocent without the full story? “I’ll keep my eyes on him, you just get ready in case you need to break out your powers.”

Dipper pulled out a pair of binoculars from his backpack, then tugged Wirt around the side of the restaurant so they could duck down out of sight. He peered through the binoculars, watching as the hooded figure walked right past the convenience store. Narrowing his gaze, Dipper witnessed him stumble, clearly drunk or on something, then come to a stop. Wirt’s grip on Dipper tightened as they both waited for him to move. Through the binoculars, Dipper caught slight movements from his head. He looked left, then right, then directly across the street at them.

Cursing under his breath, Dipper pushed Wirt further behind him. The man took a step forward, as if he was going to walk out into the middle of the street, but something stopped him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. At this distance, he couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was enough to distract the man from inspecting their dark corner any further.

“That was close,” Dipper muttered.

“What? What’s going on?” Wirt whispered, voice squeaking as his panic mounted.

“Someone called him, but he was looking our way. I don’t think he saw us though. I think he might be waiting for someone? Maybe someone’s coming to pick him up.” A dangerous idea flickered in Dipper’s mind, taking hold of it the same way all of his theories did. “Wirt, what if this guy’s affiliated with a gang or something?”

“This was a bad idea. We should go home. Yeah, I think that’s what we should do,” Wirt babbled as he tugged on Dipper’s dark blue hoodie.

He almost agreed, but then a dark van came up the street from beneath the freeway, its headlights off. It rolled up to the curb where the hooded figure stood, slowed for a moment, then turned at the next corner, right off the main road down an alley. It parked, and three other figures emerged.

This was not what they had in mind. “It’s about time!” the first figure hissed. “People were starting to get suspicious. I had to play the harmless but annoying drunk card to get the busybody in the apartment across the street to quit peering at me through the curtains!”

“It’s not our fault you jumped the gun. If you just stayed put like we told you to-”

“And that’s not more suspicious?”

“It’s not if you know how to hide!”

Dipper and Wirt exchanged glances as the quiet conversation carried over to them, but only just barely. A rubber mask was handed over to the first hooded figure, so Dipper peered through the binoculars again to get a good look at it. It was…

“A rubber horse head?” Dipper’s lips twisted into a confused frown. “Yeah, they’re all wearing rubber horse heads. Like the kind you get from party supply stores.”

Wirt shuddered. “I hate those heads. They’re creepy.”

“Shh. They’re getting something out of the back of the van.” But it was too dark to see what they were doing, the street lights from Grand Avenue not quite strong enough to reach the alley. “They’re definitely up to something, and it’s not good. Here.” Dipper handed Wirt the binoculars while he took out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

Concerned with what the horse mask people might be doing if they weren’t watching them, Wirt took a glance through the binoculars. They closed the back door, as quietly as they could while ensuring it latched, then disappeared down the alley. There was a parking lot and several back doors to the different stores that faced Grand, but Wirt couldn’t be sure that was where they were headed. Some houses and apartment complexes were nestled behind the stores as well, and who was to say they wouldn’t try to break into any of those places either?

His stomach flip-flopped, then he found himself teleporting right into a trash can on that very street they’d walked down. His knees collided with the rim and it toppled over from his unexpected weight, hitting the ground with a loud bang and the clatter of tin cans. Oh no.

“What was that?” Someone hissed, and Wirt turned invisible as he teleported a few feet away from the trash can.

He ducked behind a dumpster, trying to hide the clothed part of his body as best as he could while he watched two of the four horsemen approach the trash can. He heard something click, muffling a whine with the sleeve of his hoodie as one of them pulled something out and held it in front of them. They were armed. Oh no, of course they were armed. What did Dipper say about them being armed? Put them in a force field? But there were four of them.

“It was probably just a cat,” one of them muttered, and Wirt could see the outline of their horse head swivel in the darkness.

The one with the gun aimed it at the trash on the ground as he nudged some with his foot. “Pretty big cat.”

“If no one’s there, just come on already.”

“Not so sure about that.” The two closest to Wirt looked around again, their masks passing him by twice. “Okay, but let’s make it quick.”

“I was planning on taking a leisurely stroll through the candy aisle- no, of course we’re gonna make it quick!”

Their footsteps started once again, but Wirt didn’t move until they ducked behind the stores. Specifically the convenience store. Taking a shaky breath, Wirt glanced back at where he knew Dipper was still hiding. Or at least he hoped he was still hiding there. He was positive his best friend knew he’d teleported almost immediately, then probably put two and two together when the trash can fell over.

It would be easy to teleport back to him. Dipper had called the police after all and they were surely on their way thanks to the tip. This wasn’t their problem anymore, especially since they were only fifteen and these were seasoned criminals with guns. They’d done enough vigilante work for the night.

Except what if someone got hurt before the police got there? From what he could tell, these people were very much set on the shoot first and ask questions later ideology. What were they going to do to the convenience store clerk? Were they going to sneak in the back door and kill him quietly?

Wirt wavered on what to do, the memory of the man at the BART station flashing in his mind’s eye. The pained groan, the blood on the ground, hearing that he’d died on the radio…

He considered the mask in his pocket, but left it off as he stayed invisible. He set the binoculars down behind the dumpster and followed the masked men around the building. He stayed in the shadows, then ducked down behind a parked car to watch them from behind it. Armed with a crowbar and a lockpick, they fiddled with the padlock on the back door of the convenience store until it popped open. So they hadn’t needed the crowbar at all for the door, but they didn’t set it down. If anything, they lifted it up over their shoulder as if they planned to use it like a baseball bat.

They’d probably use it to knock the clerk out. Swallowing thickly, Wirt focused on the padlock and made it snap closed once again. When they tried to open the door, it didn’t budge.

“What the…?” The locksmith of the group frowned and tried to undo the padlock again.

“Did you accidentally relock it? Idiot.”

Wirt couldn’t let them get inside. With a gun and a crowbar and who knew what else, they were going to cause some serious damage to whoever was inside. As soon as the lock popped open, he closed it again. The locksmith saw it happen this time and released the lock as if it burned him, taking several steps away from the door.

“Butterfingers,” crowbar hissed and pried the lock off instead. It snapped and clattered on the cement. “The one thing you’re supposed to be able to do…”

When he opened the door, Wirt closed it in their faces so they all could see. “Is this place haunted?” one of them hissed.

Another cursed as they looked around for any sign of wires or magnets. “Don’t be stupid.”

“The door just closed by itself! And the lock?”

“Something’s not right here…” One of them looked around the parking lot, the horse head removed and his hood flipped up.

Crowbar handed his weapon off to locksmith, then rammed into the door with his shoulder. The door was smashed in, cans and boxes in falling over inside from the force. Wirt gasped, eyes wide as three of them stepped inside the store. Hopefully the store clerk chose to hide instead of investigate the storage room for the source of the sound, but he didn’t know if he could take any chances with that. Pulling his own hood up and over his head, he teleported directly in the path of the intruders.

One of them legitimately shrieked. Scrambling over one another to get away from the sudden, black hooded apparition, the horsemen collided and knocked themselves to the ground. The one who knocked down the door stayed standing, though Wirt could see his knees were weak as he took a few steps back.

“What the hell is going on in there?” The gunman stormed in, taking in the scene of half his team cowering on the ground, and then stranger that stood in their way. He aimed the gun at Wirt and his blood froze in his veins. “Get out of our way, don’t say a word, and maybe we won’t kill you.”

“It’s a- a- it’s a ghost!” One of the men on the ground cried out. “This place is haunted!”

“Shut up, Lloyd!” The one with the gun hissed. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“It just appeared out of nowhere,” The one with the crowbar and muscles whispered, still staring at him.

“Probably heard us trying to get in, huh?” Gunman took the safety off and aimed it at the center of Wirt’s hood. “You the one messing with us out there? Trying to scare us off? Well… who’s scared now?”

Wirt was. Wirt was absolutely the scared one now. This was so stupid. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t do this!

He quickly teleported to the farthest corner of the storage room, taking deep breaths as he listened to the four intruders shout with alarm once again. “It vanished! It was right there!” the one called Lloyd cried out. “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m out of here!”

Well… apparently that guy was the scared one, too. Wirt released a shaky sigh, then flinched when Crowbar chucked a crate in his direction. It crashed into the wall right beside him, so he teleported to the other side of the room before the next attack hit its intended target. He looked for the nearest thing he could use, and chose to mentally fling bags of chips at them. They swatted them away in a panic, the crinkling of the bags masking the sound of police sirens wailing only a few miles away.

The one with the gun growled as he stormed through the chip bags, his gaze honed in on the hooded figure. “Gotcha!” he snarled, snatching Wirt by his sweatshirt before he could escape.

He tore the hood from over Wirt’s head, gun lifted to press right between his eyes when he froze. There was nothing there. Nothing he could see. Just a black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of black pants, no head or person attached. In actuality, Wirt held his breath as he stared down the barrel of the gun, mind screaming with white noise. When the man’s grip loosened, Wirt took a chance to teleport out of his grip.

“Oh my god,” the man wheezed, then turned on his heel to follow the other two out the door. “Let’s get out of here!”

They ran back into the parking lot and into the alley, but by then a police car had come to a stop right in their path. Their van was gone, and officers were out of the car commanding the criminals to stand down. They turned and made a break for it down to the other end of the alley, but they’d been cornered. The OPD had them blocked on that side, too.

Still invisible, Wirt poked his head out of the store to watch as the men were forced to their knees, hands behind their heads and horse masks removed. His heart was pounding, the white noise still blaring in his ears as he sagged against the wall. They got caught. He did it. He and Dipper actually did it.

Hand over his heart, Wirt choked on a wheeze of a laugh. He picked up the bags of chips he’d tossed around and put them back on the shelf. There was already enough damage that had been caused by the intruders, he didn’t want to be the cause of leaving more of a mess. He dropped a bag when he heard two officers approaching the doorway though, and had to leave it as they stepped inside.

“The call said there were four of them. We’re checking the premises to make sure no one’s still in there,” one of them radioed, the only thing Wirt caught before he teleported back to the corner of the Thai restaurant across the street.

There were two police cars on Grand, the lights flashing as the three men were escorted into them. The store clerk was out front, two customers with him, each giving their statement and each one unharmed despite the fact that the criminals had been armed. They’d been ready to hurt them.

“Dipper?” Wirt whispered, glancing around in the dark as he made himself visible once again. “Dipper!” The calm that had just started to settle within him crashed headlong into panic as he realized his best friend was nowhere in sight.

Eyes wide, he scanned his surroundings once again, then caught a glimpse of something in the shadows across the street. In the alley he’d gone down, near the dumpster where he’d hidden, Wirt thought he saw something move. Of course Dipper would charge ahead to help him as soon as the coast was clear. Taking a deep breath, Wirt teleported over to him, appearing as close to him as he dared, in case he was wrong and it wasn’t actually him. He knew that pine tree cap anywhere though.

Wirt closed his fingers around Dipper’s wrist, his sharp intake of breath soothed as he immediately recognized his presence, then teleported them both away from the crime scene and over to their bikes, completely out of sight. “I’m sorry,” Wirt apologized before Dipper could get a word in first. “I didn’t mean to go over there, it just- sort of happened.”

“You’re sorry?” Dipper’s voice cracked as his fingers curled in Wirt’s sweatshirt, clinging to him like he’d vanish into thin air, both realizing that was actually a real possibility. “What the heck were you thinking? Going off on your own without telling me!”

“I’m sorry,” Wirt repeated, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m really sorry, I- I just didn’t want anything bad to happen and I… I was there. And I stopped them, Dipper! I…” he trailed off, feeling the way his best friend tried not to tremble in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“I was… I was really worried, Wirt,” he mumbled into his shoulder, hiding his face. His ball cap fell to the ground in his attempts to get closer. “You freaking scared the crap out of me.”

“I won’t do it again,” he promised. “From now on, if we ever do something like this again, I won’t teleport without telling you first. Or if I do, on accident, I’ll teleport back to you first and tell you what’s going on.”

Dipper sighed heavily, sagging against him as his racing heart began to settle. “No, you… your safety should be your first priority. And the safety of people actually in danger. Only do that if it’s safe. Or, you know, try not to accidentally teleport as much as you possibly can.”

“I’ll do my best.” Wirt smiled against his hair, breathing in the security and protection Dipper radiated. “Come on. Let’s go home and actually have our sleepover.”

“Okay, but you have to tell me everything. The whole story. What happened? How’d you chase them out of building before they did any damage?”

Wirt’s smile turned sheepish as he released Dipper to grab his bike, bracing himself for the barrage of questions and the play-by-play. “They, uh… they kind of thought I was a ghost?”

“Seriously?” Dipper grinned at him, picking up his hat with a laugh.

“Yeah, seriously,” Wirt laughed along with him, then realized something. “Except one of them got away. He drove off in the van, I think. Did you see him?”

Dipper flashed him a crooked smile as he held up his phone. A picture of the van had been zoomed in on, the license plate clearly visible. “I did indeed. And already tipped off the police. Anonymously, of course.”

Wirt beamed, delighted with him as they began the trek back to the Pines’ home. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Ouch. Wirt. You only think we make a good team? We are a good team.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. How could I possibly insult our friendship with a word like think?”

“You might be able to make it up to me,” Dipper hummed.

“Please tell me. My heart quivers in abject horror as visions of a friendship once pure and sure as the sweetest sugar cane now rots and decays, leaving only cavities in my hollow soul where your affinity for me once filled.”

“Make me a plate of nachos when we get back and we’re even.”

Wirt sighed. “Could you be any less poetic,” he lamented as Dipper stuck his tongue out at him. “Fine. I’ll make you nachos.”

“Yes!”

“But I’m going to put olives on them.”

“Why would you torture me like this?”

---

On the news that morning, Dipper and Wirt were delighted to see a story on the incident that had occured at the Grand Lake Convenience Store. Four men were apprehended, three at the store and one who’d tried to make a quick escape while in the midst of a heist. Reports couldn’t conclude if it was gang related, but the police did inform the anchors of the interesting claims the received from the apprehended criminals.

When asked why they didn’t manage to get all the way into the store despite having plenty of time, one of the men simply replied, “The ghost wouldn’t let us.”

While the owner of the store and the clerk said that they’d never experienced any supernatural activity in their shop to their knowledge, the criminals were adamant that a spectral being stopped them before they could cause any lasting damage. Insurance would cover most of the costs associated with replacing the door, lock, and some of the inventory they’d lost, though that inventory did not include a bulk supply of Lays. While the criminals insisted that they’d been attacked with dozens of bags of chips, when the police went in to canvas the building, the chips were all neatly stacked on the shelf with only one bag out of place.

“If there really is a ‘Phantom of the Grand Lake Convenience Store,’ then he’s a very courteous and tidy phantom,” the news anchors teased.

Dipper nudged Wirt with his elbow, but other than that they only smiled around their spoonfuls of cereal. It didn’t make up for the man who’d lost his life thanks to Wirt’s hesitance to get involved, but it was a start. It was definitely a start.

[skimmingmilk]

Now on AO3 for your reading pleasure~

[skimmingmilk]

Limits and Potential

Rating: G Word Count: 3475 Summary: Dipper and Wirt are twelve and have too much time on their hands. Part 3 of the superhero AU I just decided to write, apparently.

Part 1: The First Time Part 2: Unpredictable

Limits and Potential

“Are you ready?”

“No.” Precariously perched on the seat of Dipper’s bike, Wirt pressed his chest flush against his back, his stomach twisting unpleasantly as his arms tightened around his waist.

“I’m gonna go,” Dipper warned him, his foot lifting to rest on the pedal of his bike.

“No,” Wirt repeated.

“On three.” Dipper flashed him a grin over his shoulder. “One…” His eyes switched to the road stretching ahead of them. “Two.”

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt squeezed him tighter.

“Three!”

Wirt’s heart leapt into his throat as Dipper kicked off and pedaled up to where the hill at the end of their street curved into its steep, downward slope. As close to Dipper as he could possibly get, Wirt clung to him for dear life as they picked up speed. Parked cars rushed by, blurring in Wirt’s vision as the bike went careening along the asphalt. He could feel the bike wobble a little as Dipper took his feet off the pedals for just a moment, the wheels spinning too fast for him to keep up.

They began to slow as they leveled out at the base of the hill, so Dipper went back to pumping his legs to pick the pace back up. “Come on, man!”

“This isn’t a good idea!” Wirt shrieked back.

“I know you can do it!”

“Well I don’t!”

Ever since the realization that Wirt could teleport whatever he was holding along with himself, Dipper’s brain had begun to piece together all of the potential his powers held. If he could teleport while in the middle of eating a sandwich and take that sandwich with him, what else could he bring with him? What were the limits?

That was what led them to this madness.

“Wirt, you’ve got to at least try.”

“Can’t we try while standing still?” Wirt clung tighter as they hit a bump in the pavement.

Dipper shook his head. “What superhero has the luxury of standing still while using their powers? There’s got to be times where you’re under at least a little bit of pressure. Where there’s stakes.”

He veered away from the middle of a street as a car turned onto it, passing them by with plenty of space. Still, Wirt whimpered and tried to hide his face against Dipper’s shoulder, their bike helmets clunking together. Dipper bit down on his lower lip, slowing for a minute as he considered it. Maybe the problem was there weren’t any stakes here. They were just riding a bike.

Trusting his best friend completely, Dipper took one hand off the handlebar and unclipped his helmet. He ignored Wirt’s incredulous, “What are you doing?” and chucked the helmet off somewhere to the side. “Stop!”

“Not until you teleport us!”

“Dipper, I’m serious!”

“So am I!”

Dipper’s heart twisted, his protective instinct flaring up at the sheer panic in Wirt’s voice. He didn’t like to push him out of his comfort zone, he liked being the one Wirt could turn to, his grounded support system when everything else felt like it was out of his control. He liked being the one to keep Wirt safe. The fact that someone who could literally vanish or create a force field to protect himself from any situation went to him first when he needed security both humbled him and stroked his ego, if that made any sense. It was something to treasure, of that he was certain.

But he really wanted to know more about Wirt’s powers. His best friend was really too tentative and complacent in ignoring their existence now that he was better at hiding them. There was still so much to discover, to know about this special part of him that no one else was privy to. Dipper wanted to know, and in this moment, that trumped all else.

He consoled himself by mentally affirming it was for Wirt’s own good. He was still looking out for him.

Another car headed in the opposite direction. Dipper squared his shoulders, palms sweating as he slowly glided into the middle of the road. Wirt noticed immediately. Dipper felt the way he tensed against his back, his protests falling silent.

The car had enough clearance, but only just. Dipper couldn’t bring himself to play chicken with something that could seriously kill them both, no matter how much faith he had in Wirt. It tempted fate a little too much.

Heart still hammering, he veered towards a parked car instead. Something stationary and less likely to kill them if they ran headlong into it. Come on, Wirt. He thought to himself. I know you can do it.

Wirt didn’t hold that same certainty, not in the slightest. He paled as they got closer and closer, just seconds away from crashing into the parked car. He pried one arm away from Dipper, the strength he had to muster to move it as if it was steel soldered to his waist, and grabbed the handlebars. He wrenched them away from the car.

“You’re crazy!” he wheezed as they wobbled, Dipper fighting for complete control.

“Wirt, let go!”

“Not until you stop!”

“Seriously, you’re gonna-” All the breath rushed out of Dipper as they hit another bump in the road and swerved to regain their balance.

They headed right into the lamp post on the corner.

They both squeezed their eyes shut, bracing themselves for the collision when Wirt’s stomach dropped. For a second they were weightless. Then the bike’s tires bounced on the asphalt, Dipper’s feet battered by the spinning pedals when he lost his footing. They gasped and blinked. They were back in the middle of the road, no lamp post in sight.

But there was a car laying on their horn as they sped right along towards it. Dipper yelped and Wirt sucked in a deep breath as they and the bike teleported a few feet behind the car. They heard it screech to a stop, so Dipper turned sharply at the next corner. Hopefully the driver would chalk their disappearing act up to shock, though neither of them thought for too long on that.

With no other obstacles in their path, Dipper let out a loud whoop as he pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt still couldn’t believe it, stunned as he stared behind them, then down at his own hands. “I did it?”

“You did it!”

They didn’t stop until they reached the park, both of them and the bike toppling onto the grass as they tried to catch their breath. Arms and legs splayed, they stared up at the clear summer sky, starry-eyed and elated as their adrenaline simmered under their skin. Dipper laughed, loud and free and contagious. Wirt’s own smile wrestled with his lips until he was laughing, too. Their hands reached for one another and their fingers laced together.

“You’re amazing!” Dipper gushed, squeezing firmly before he sat up. “I knew you had it in you! Never doubted it for a second.”

“That makes one of us,” Wirt giggled, gazing up as Dipper hovered over him. “I thought we were gonna die.”

“Me too!”

They burst into a new fit of laughter, Dipper flopping across Wirt’s stomach while they both shook. As they calmed, Wirt stroked his fingers through Dipper’s hair. As stupid as it was for him to toss his helmet off while riding his bike, he was quietly grateful for the opportunity to see the brown curls his baseball hat normally hid. He had good reason for wearing it, and he did look really good in hats, but he still treasured every opportunity to touch or admire his hair. It was thick and soft, surprisingly never as sweaty as the rest of him.

Dipper closed his eyes and let him pet him for a few minutes, looking so content that Wirt actually wondered if he might’ve dozed off. “You teleported me and an entire bike with you,” he mused aloud.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Think of what you could do with that. You could, like, save people from burning buildings or an entire plane from crashing just by teleporting it and the passengers somewhere safe.”

Wirt’s brow furrowed as he considered both of those options. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” Dipper finally sat up, but Wirt found he missed the comfortable weight atop him, grounding him like always. “Teleportation, force fields, invisibility… you can do a lot of good with those.”

Pursing his lips, Wirt pushed himself up so he could sit and face Dipper, both of them cross-legged as the grass tickled their legs. “I just… it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I don’t know.” Wirt sought for a way to explain it, but he couldn’t find the words. “I don’t know what I mean.”

Dipper stared at him for a good minute, though Wirt could tell he didn’t actually see him. His mind raced behind his eyes, quick and calculating and intense. Wirt took advantage of his temporary blindness to admire them in the sun, not shaded by the brim of his baseball cap.

“No, I think I get it,” Dipper finally hummed, his gaze meeting Wirt’s and ignoring the blush that filled his friend’s cheeks. “I wonder if you have any other powers.”

The warmth faded as quickly as it flared up. “What?”

“Like teleportation, force fields, and invisibility are great and all, but you should probably have something more offensive in your arsenal for really effective crime fighting,” Dipper rationalized. “Like, defense is important, but you can’t win on that alone and right now that’s all you have.”

“What do you mean ‘right now?’ They’re all I have period. I think we would’ve noticed if I had some other secret powers by now.” Wirt shook his head. “Forget what I said. Three powers is more than enough.”

Dipper stood so he could pace, his mind still working in overdrive. “No, I really think you’re onto something. Your powers didn’t all manifest at the same time. Teleportation and force fields came first and it was nearly two years before you turned invisible for the first time. Maybe you do have other powers and they’re just dormant. Maybe you haven’t had an excuse to use them yet.” Dipper smacked his hand with his own fist, a determined expression blossoming on his face.

Wirt plucked a blade of grass from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. He could think of plenty of times where offensive powers would’ve come in handy, a few playground bullies springing to mind who forced Dipper into hiding his birthmark in the first place. He blinked as Dipper grabbed his wrist and tugged him to his feet, Wirt gasping as he stumbled after him.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. I want to put together a list of potential powers for you.” Dipper flashed him a bright smile. “Our experiments aren’t over yet!”

Wirt had a feeling he was going to regret ever steering them into this conversation.

The very next day, Dipper was at his house by eight in the morning and dragged him right out of bed and over to the Pines’ backyard, barely giving him time to change. Dipper sat Wirt down so he could stand before him with a clipboard in hand and a pen studiously tucked behind his ear. From his pocket, he withdrew a tightly folded paper square.

“So there are over six hundred possible powers or variations thereof, including subcategories of powers. I didn’t want to miss anything, so I counted anything that could possibly be considered an enhanced ability.” Dipper unfolded the paper and a list that reached the ground and then some was affixed to the clipboard.

“Oh boy…” Wirt exhaled, looking on as worry creased dark lines beneath his eyes.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be testing all of them. At least not today.” Dipper tapped his pen to the top of the list. “I’ve taken all the types of powers into consideration. Invisibility is considered a personal physical power, which are exactly what they sound like, and your force fields are in the energy manipulation category. Also exactly what it sounds like.” Dipper shrugged. “And teleportation is a travel power. You know, I think all the categories are pretty self-explanatory. All in all, their core identities are focused on what they do specifically and how you can manipulate them. So, I think that’s where we start. We follow the theme of your existing powers and see if anything else fits.”

“Okay…” Wirt glanced at the list with apprehension in his eyes. “And how are we going to do that?”

“Well, some of them will be pretty simple to test. Like super strength, super speed, growing additional limbs-”

“What?” Wirt squeaked, hugging himself as if an extra arm would burst out of him at the mere suggestion.

Dipper waved off his concern. “Relax, Wirt. I’m sure that’s not one of them, we’re just playing it safe by taking everything into account.” As he scanned his own list, a pensive frown settled between his brows and he chewed on his pen for a minute before scratching something out. “Except for limb regeneration. We won’t test that. Or self-detonation.”

“Thanks.” Wirt paled at the thought of just how those tests would have to be completed.

When Dipper looked over at him, his smile was sheepish with a hint of apology. “There’s still plenty of others we can try though.”

“Great.” With a sigh, Wirt got to his feet and dusted off his pants. “So where do we start?”

They started with super strength, as much as Wirt doubted his skinny arms could lift a twenty pound dumbbell let alone the Pines’ family station wagon. That and super speed were quickly crossed off the list when a jog around the block revealed the only thing Wirt could do speedily was guzzle a bottle of water. Wall climbing left him nothing but splinters from the fence he tried to stick to, and when he couldn’t heal the tiny scratches, self-healing powers were also crossed off, much to Dipper’s relief. As great as that power would be, he hadn’t wanted to hurt Wirt very much in order to test it. He was more than happy to be the one to hold Wirt’s hand as he picked the splinters from his fingers with his mom’s tweezers if it meant he didn’t have to bandage a burn or a bloody wound.

Wirt didn’t have claws like Wolverine and he couldn’t manipulate the weather like Storm either. He couldn’t shoot lasers out of his eyes and he couldn’t read minds. Though he came close with Dipper, but as well as he knew him, he couldn’t pin down his exact thoughts.

None of his senses were enhanced, Dipper’s sense of smell actually better than Wirt’s, though he did have 20/20 vision which he was pleased about. Wirt squeaked when Dipper tried to get him to try a sonic scream to shatter one of his mom’s wine glasses, then he flinched when Dipper threw a baseball at him to see if his reflexes were enhanced. Altogether he yielded some pretty unimpressive results.

By noon, they’d made it through a quarter of Dipper’s list and two thirds of Wirt’s patience. As Dipper crossed off the last of the elemental manipulation powers they’d tried, Wirt had to physically restrain himself from ripping the clipboard from his best friend’s hands and chucking it into Lake Merritt or off the Bay Bridge. His stomach growled and the back of his neck burned from where the summer sun beat down on it. He was tired and ready to collapse on the couch in Dipper’s family room and eat his weight in popsicles while he watched him play a video game.

An overwhelming wave of self-loathing crashed down on him, not for the first hating that he had these stupid powers to begin with. Sure, his powers were interesting and yeah, sometimes he did wonder where they came from and what his limits were, but most of the time he just wanted to pretend they weren’t there. He just wanted to enjoy his summer with his best friend, doing normal things like watching TV or going swimming or rollerblading or just… talking. About everything and nothing.

As much as he liked Dipper’s attention and being the center of it, it didn’t feel like he was actually what piqued his best friend’s interest. Sometimes it felt like Dipper was only interested in him for his powers. If he wasn’t so weird and unusual, would Dipper even want to be his friend still?

“Okay, so now that we can eliminate all of the elemental manipulation powers, we can move onto energy manipulation. They’re a little similar, but also different enough that we might be able to get something out of this,” Dipper babbled on, jotting down a note to himself in the third edition of his notebook on Wirt’s powers.

Wirt’s shoulders sagged as the thought of another category weighed him down. “Dipper, how much longer are we going to do this?”

“Not much longer. I know you’re hungry, so we’ll take a break soon,” he promised, then set his clipboard down so he could fetch the potted plant that had been subject to most of his earth elemental tests. “Try to absorb the energy from this plant.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Touch the plant and see if you can drain its life energy and replenish your own. It might make you feel more awake?” Dipper shoved it into Wirt’s arms so he could take up the clipboard again. “Okay, go.”

He glanced down at the plant. “I… no. I don’t want to. I don’t want to take the plant’s energy.”

“You might not have this power, so it’s okay.” Dipper waved it off. “And if you do, well… then it was a noble sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge.”

Wirt frowned and set the pot down at his feet. “No.”

Dipper cast him a long-suffering look. “Come on, man.”

“No, I don’t want to.” Wirt crossed his arms across his chest as he stared him down.

Dipper sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, and Wirt’s satisfaction only lasted for a flicker as Dipper’s gaze returned to his list. “Do you want to try flight and levitation next or interdimensional travel through wormholes?”

It happened in an instant. Wirt had barely narrowed his eyes before the clipboard shot out of Dipper’s hands and crashed into the side of the house. It cracked right down the middle upon impact and both halves fell to the ground with a clatter. Dipper stared at his empty hands, his pen slipping from his fingers and bouncing in the grass at his feet. Slowly, they both followed the trajectory of the clipboard with their eyes, wide-eyed and stunned. It had flown farther than Wirt could throw, and he and Dipper weren’t standing close enough where he could’ve easily snatched the clipboard from him, as much as he’d wanted to.

He’d made the clipboard fly out of Dipper’s hands and break against the wall just by willing it. Their gazes met, still in shock for a few more seconds before they both shouted in unison. Elation shimmered across their faces as they grabbed at one another, bouncing on the balls of their feet as they continued to crow their giddy disbelief.

“You can move things with your mind!”

“Did you see that? I had no idea I could do that!”

“You can move things with your mind!” Dipper threw his hands up in the air before wrapping them around Wirt, practically tackling him to the ground as he squeezed him.

Wirt hugged him back with a delighted laugh, his fatigue and frustration forgotten in light of this newest discovery. Dipper was the first to break away, darting over to grab his baseball.

“Make something else move!”

Lunch ended up being late after all, but Wirt didn’t mind so much when the focus was solely on his telekinesis. The rest of the tests were brushed aside for the day as well, the discovery of one new power enough to satiate Dipper’s hunger for knowledge.

“Sorry I broke your clipboard,” Wirt piped up later, sucking on a watermelon freeze pop as he pillowed his head on Dipper’s lap, sleepily watching him play one of the Resident Evil video games as a reward for all they’d accomplished that morning.

“You can break as many clipboards as you want if you do it with your mind,” Dipper told him with a laugh.

“Be careful, I just might take you up on that,” Wirt teased, squirming when Dipper pinched his side, settling when it turned into a gentle pat.

Yeah, as exciting as discovering a new power was, nothing beat the time they spent together just like this.

[skimmingmilk]

Unpredictable

Rating: G Word Count: 2031 Summary: Wirt still has superpowers and he’s not happy about it. Part 2 of the superhero AU I just decided to write, apparently.

Part 1: The First Time

Unpredictable

After the first time, Wirt’s powers were extremely unpredictable. And for a boy that very much liked things to be both predictable and sensible, this couldn’t have been more upsetting. As his life rather instantaneously turned upside down, the last thing he needed to be worrying about was whether or not he was going to teleport while he was in the shower or create a force field in the middle of gym class. He tried to squish it all down, but it was like an inflated beach ball. No matter how far under the water he pushed it, it always popped right back up to the surface.

Once the initial concern mellowed out, Dipper eagerly dove into his comic books and collection of superhero movies for research material. After deducing that Wirt hadn’t been bitten by a genetically-enhanced spider or fell into a vat of radioactive waste, he concluded that he was one of two things. “An alien from another planet,” Dipper announced in his conspiracy voice as his gaze narrowed. “Or a mutant.”

Nine-year-old Wirt made a face at him. “I don’t want to be a mutant,” he complained. “That’s like… a less-mean way to call me a freak.”

“No way, you’re like a cool mutant. Like the X-Men.” Dipper held up one of the comics, smiling at him earnestly. “You have a mutant gene that gives you superpowers! That doesn’t make you a freak, that makes you awesome!”

Wirt pouted. “Pretty sure it makes me a freak.”

Dipper huffed, tossing the comic book aside to join the countless others that had taken over his bedroom floor, along with the half-finished unicorn and fairy coloring books that delighted the twin who happened to share his bedroom. Though there was always a risk they’d be interrupted by Mabel, they’d taken to spending more time at the Pines’ residence as of late since Wirt’s home was currently overrun with baby toys and the presence of an unwanted step father. Luckily, Mabel was at a friend’s house for a pre-dance recital sleepover, allowing the two of them to do more digging into the phenomena surrounding Wirt and his powers.

In his notebook labeled: TOP SECRET, DO NOT TOUCH MABEL OR YOU’LL BE CURSED, Dipper had started a list on the first page. Teleportation, force fields, and invisibility had been scribbled under the heading “Wirt’s Powers.” That last one had been discovered in second grade, right before Wirt was supposed to go on stage in the final round for their class’s spelling bee. In the midst of a panic attack Dipper had been trying to calm him down from, Wirt had vanished. At first Dipper thought he’d teleported himself away, but his clothes were still there and he could still hear his frantic breathing and nervous muttering. Thinking quickly, Dipper had shoved him into the prop closet behind the stage of their auditorium, then told their teacher Wirt had thrown up and went to the nurse.

It worked out in the end. Wirt actually did make himself sick and had to go to the nurse when he looked at his hands and couldn’t see himself. By the time Dipper threw the spelling bee so he could check on his friend, Wirt looked to be like his normal self, albeit a little greener. Still, it was yet another power to add to his growing list. Just another unpredictable blip in the life he desperately wanted to be normal.

Wirt tried to ignore it. He already didn’t have a normal home life, split between two households that wanted to forget the other existed at all, so the last thing he wanted was something else that wasn’t normal. Something that nobody around him seemed to have. Though maybe they did and they were just hiding it, too. They must have been much better at hiding than Wirt though. It seemed that the harder Wirt tried to ignore these budding powers, the more they seemed to kick him in the butt.

By some stroke of luck, Wirt had yet to have anyone else notice his disappearing acts or habit of bubbling himself, though he supposed that lucky charm was Dipper himself.

Without fail, Dipper was always there with some sort of plan to distract people. When his force field popped up in the middle of a little league game to keep a fly ball from coming anywhere near him in left field? Dipper was right beside him in center field to make it look like the ball bounced off his mitt instead of off an invisible bubble surrounding Wirt. When he disappeared in the middle of class after he got a question embarrassingly wrong so only his clothes were sitting at his desk? Dipper propped his own textbook up in front of Wirt’s face until he calmed down enough to reappear. When he teleported into the girl’s bathroom by mistake? Well, Dipper hadn’t been able to help much there, but he did run in as soon as he heard the girls screaming with a pretty good idea of what had happened and joined his best friend in his punishment for “going into the wrong bathroom by mistake.”

It was just as exhausting being the best friend of someone with superpowers as it was to be the person with the superpowers. But it was completely worth it.

“Only because you don’t have to live with it,” Wirt pointed out, his hair sticking up every which way as he dragged his fingers through it repeatedly, and a small force field flickered around him for the briefest of seconds. “I hate this! Nobody else has to deal with this! I never know when it’s gonna happen or for how long or-”

Dipper clapped both of his hands to Wirt’s cheeks and squeezed. “Breathe, Wirt,” he told him, his touch having an instant calming effect. “I know it’s scary that you don’t always know when it’s gonna happen, but lots of things in life are like that.”

Wirt exhaled shakily, though it came out more like a whistle with his cheeks squished between Dipper’s palms. “Like what?” he asked, lips moving like a fish’s.

“Like… sneezes!” Dipper lit up. “A completely normal and natural unpredictable bodily function. Or hiccups! You’re not scared of sneezes and hiccups are you?”

Wirt batted his hands away. “No, of course not. But everyone sneezes and hiccups. Not everyone turns invisible.”

“Yeah, but I thought your biggest problem was that it’s unpredictable,” Dipper pointed out.

“It is.”

“Okay, so… if we make the unpredictableness less scary, then that at least solves one problem. And maybe you won’t hate it so much.” Dipper’s grin grew as his friend thought it over. “You know I’m right.”

Wirt huffed, his pout still present. “It’s still not normal.”

“Neither is this.” Dipper lifted his bangs, showing off the birthmark on his forehead that not only inspired his nickname, but also endless amounts of teasing from their classmates. “But you always tell me I’m not a freak.”

“Because you’re not!” Wirt urged, scooting closer to Dipper. “But it’s normal to have birthmarks.”

“Not in the shape of the big dipper.” Dipper let his bangs fall, smiling a little as Wirt reached out to fix them so they laid perfectly. “Nobody’s normal. Not really. And if you’re not gonna be normal, it might as well be with something really cool like superpowers.”

Wirt pursed his lips together as he sat back, wringing his hands in his lap. “I don’t know…”

“Well, I do. I know I’d want superpowers,” Dipper told him, scribbling down hiccups and sneezes into his notebook.

Right after they realized Wirt’s weren’t flukes, Dipper had tried to manifest his own. He believed they were destined to be a crime fighting duo. Best friends, partners, always there for each other. By the time they entered fourth grade and no powers had made themselves known, Dipper had reluctantly accepted that he didn’t have the mutant gene and wasn’t a descendant of an alien race. The only thing extraordinary about him was that he was somehow best friends with someone extraordinary.

Which, was actually a pretty amazing thing, he’d decided. He’d also vowed that he was going to do everything in his power to help Wirt understand and control his own. Thus began the chronicles of Dipper’s TOP SECRET, DO NOT TOUCH MABEL OR YOU’LL BE CURSED notebook.

Wirt laid his hand over Dipper’s knee. “I’d give them to you if I could,” he told him softly. “You’d be so much better at this.”

“You don’t know that.” Dipper stopped jotting down his notes so he could hold Wirt’s hand. “I don’t always like when things don’t go according to plan.”

“Yeah, but you always like to play the hero,” Wirt sighed, glancing down at their hands. “You’re so much braver than me. And smarter. And you have way more comic books than I do.”

Dipper glanced around at the dozens of comics surrounding them. “I’m just committed to my research.” He shrugged, then squeezed Wirt’s hand. “But I still think you’re pretty great. You’re definitely hero material, Wirt. You just need a little help. But that’s why you’ve got me. I’ll be the Commissioner Gordon to your Batman, even if I think he’s a little lame.”

“I like Commissioner Gordon.” Wirt’s lips quirked up.

Dipper grinned. “I know. That’s why I’m willing to be him. Or like Wade from Kim Possible.” His eyes lit up. “I can make all your techno gadgets!”

Wirt laughed as Dipper only seemed to grow more inspired. “I’d rather you be like Ron. My best friend who’s always with me.”

Dipper shoved him gently. “That’s insulting, Ron’s a loser.”

“I like Ron!”

“That’s because you have a soft spot for the weirdest characters.” Dipper rolled his eyes, but it was all in fondness. “That’s what makes you a good superhero. You like everybody.”

Wirt’s smile softened. “I don’t like Jason Funderberker.”

“Which I still don’t understand.” Dipper flopped onto his back dramatically. “What did he even do to you?”

“Mm-mm-mm. He’s just… he’s really cool and everybody likes him.”

Dipper stared at him with all the blandness a nine-year-old could muster. “You and I need to seriously reevaluate what your definition of cool is,” he decided, then tapped his notebook. “After we figure out how to control your powers better. I mean, if you can stop a sneeze and get rid of your own hiccups, you should be able to apply the same level of control to your powers.”

“We’re still going with the sneeze and hiccup analogy?” Wirt asked, lying down beside him as Dipper rolled onto his belly.

“It’s the perfect analogy, of course we are.” Dipper quickly scrawled some notes beneath both physiological responses. Grapefruit and plugging nose went under sneeze, while holding breath and drinking water upside down went under hiccups. “You always feel a spinny feeling in your stomach, right? Well, next time you start to feel it, say grapefruit or plug your nose. Treat it like a sneeze. We’ll find something that stops your powers the way you can stop a sneeze. And if that doesn’t work, then we’ll try stopping it by having you hold your breath. I mean, there’s gotta be something you can do to keep it from happening. The X-Men don’t have these kinds of problems, after all.”

“Cyclops has to literally wear special glasses because every time he opens his eyes, he shoots lasers out of them,” Wirt pointed out.

Dipper rubbed his back. “Good thing you don’t shoot lasers out of your eyes, then.”

“Dipper!”

“What? It is a good thing! I like your eyes, I’d be sad if I couldn’t see them ever again.”

Wirt couldn’t help but giggle, pressing close to his best friend as Dipper’s arm settled around him like a grounding weight. He leaned into him and laid his head against his shoulder while Dipper went back to jotting down more possibilities to control each of his powers. Though he didn’t say anything, Wirt wondered if there was something to this theory after all. His powers never seemed to act up when he was touching Dipper. Maybe he was his something.

[skimmingmilk]

So this just happened...

Rating: G Word Count: 1033 Summary: I don’t even know what to say.

The First Time

The first time he used one of his powers, Wirt had just turned six.

His parents had been fighting. That wasn’t unusual, but it was his birthday and he’d wished on his candles for a day – just one day – where they wouldn’t fight. It was the only thing he’d wanted, though the X-Men action figure set that his best friend had picked out for him was almost just as good.

It certainly comforted him when neither of his parents couldn’t. He clutched the figure of Jean Grey in both hands, his favorite of the bunch. She was so nice in the first movie, he’d been sad when she turned bad in the third. Good things shouldn’t be able to turn bad, he thought to himself as the arguing outside his bedroom door became shouting. Good things should always stay good.

“I’ve had enough of this! I’ve had enough of you!”

“Why are we even trying anymore?”

Tears spilled over his cheeks as his chin quivered. Jean Grey fell to the floor as he clapped both hands over his ears to try and muffle the sound. His mother’s fierce snarls and his father’s angry hisses seeped in through the cracks in his bedroom door and swirled around his room like a storm. Their fighting hung over him like the darkest rain cloud, thunderous and with a chance of lightning just waiting inside to strike him. A whimper escaped as he squeezed his eyes shut when something was thrown and shattered against the wall.

“Why don’t you just go? Go! Get out of here!”

Wirt hiccuped and pressed his hands into his head harder, hard enough to hear and feel his heartbeat through his palms. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump-ba-bump. Get out. Get out. Get out get out. He didn’t want to be here.

He wanted Dipper.

His stomach spun like he’d just stepped onto one of the whirly rides at the fair. Like it weighed nothing and could fly right up and out of him if he wasn’t careful. He opened his eyes, but everything blurred together through his tears. Something fell to the ground with a dull smack and his vision cleared enough for him to realize that the floor he was looking at wasn’t his. A gasp caught his attention and Wirt’s gaze lifted to meet the wide-eyed stupor of his best friend.

He was in Dipper’s room. Not a second ago he’d been in his own, but now he stood right at the foot of his best friend’s bed, blinking tearfully at him. Sprawled atop his covers, Dipper could only stare, his mouth hanging open for a minute or two before he collected himself. He shook his head, brown curls bouncing as he sat up on his knees, the book he’d been reading forgotten on the ground.

“Wirt?”

His voice was soft, too soft for Dipper, and the sound of it only inspired a new flood of tears. Wirt hiccuped again as a strangled sob was wrenched from his chest. Dipper scrambled off his bed, his questions tucked away in favor of rushing to comfort the boy who’d appeared in his room like a light when its switch was flicked.

He didn’t make it far, immediately smacking into a bubble that materialized around his friend. Dipper fell back onto his bottom with a grunt, but his irritation was short-lived as he took a good look at what he’d run into. It rippled faintly with an iridescent sheen, this bubble that just barely shrouded his friend. Dipper pushed himself up and carefully approached it. Very gingerly, he pressed his palms against the bubble. It was firm, but it didn’t push him away. It was like there was a wall between the two of them that he could see right through.

“Wirt,” he tried again. “What’s going on?”

“I- I don’t-” Wirt’s breath hitched as he tried to get control, but the feeling of being completely surrounded by this strange bubble only made his heart twist tightly. He could feel the cake and ice cream from his party gurgle in his stomach, the ache only inspiring a new wave of tears. “I don’t know!”

The bubble started to expand. Dipper gasped as it forced him to take a few steps back. He flinched and scuttled away from it as his heart pounded, but the distorted, warbling cries from his best friend forced him to suck in a deep breath. Chest puffed out, Dipper stepped up to it once more and pushed on it with both hands, forcing all his strength into it.

“Let him go!” he ordered with a firm shove, his socked feet slipping on the carpet. “Give me back my friend!”

Wirt watched him, his heart swelling as the urge to cling to him welled up inside him. The bubble vanished and Dipper stumbled forward. Wirt rushed to catch him before he fell, but their heads conked together and they toppled over, tangled up in one another. They blinked at each other, then Dipper bundled Wirt up in his arms and drew him close. Wirt clung back just as tightly with a whimper, grabbing fistfuls of his best friend’s shirt. Dipper rubbed his back like a parent would, and could feel his shudders threatening to shake him apart.

“It’s okay, Wirt. I’ve got you now. It’s gonna be okay.”

Wirt nodded as he burrowed against him, inhaling the familiar smell of the Pines’ family laundry detergent and the very berry shampoo that Dipper’s twin sister insisted they both use. It reminded him of strawberries, like the filling in his birthday cake and like the spinning ride at the fair.

His stomach was still queasy, but Dipper’s presence soothed it and the storm his parents’ fighting had inspired. He could always count on his best friend to chase the clouds away and bring out the sun. Even when he unexpectedly appeared in his bedroom in only his pajamas and socks.

When Wirt looked back on it, the first time he used his powers hadn’t been so bad despite the tears and unfulfilled wishes, his parents’ tumultuous divorce imminent. It had brought him to Dipper, after all. He didn’t have to be alone.

[skimmingmilk]

Prompt idea, maybe: Greg giving the best man speech at Wirt's wedding. (I know that it's not super likely, but I would so love it if it was Wirt's marriage to Sara after they reconnect after college? But if you want to make an OC that would be lovely too!)

((This has been sitting in my documents for months. It took me far too long to figure out how to wrap up this little one-shot, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. This is a future story in the future! Takes place in the Two Roads ‘verse, many years after the events of Two Roads. Hope you guys enjoy this and that it’s what you were looking for, anonymous!))

Something old, Something new… Something Perfect

Gripping a very wrinkled sheet of binder paper in shaky, clammy hands, Greg paced the public restroom as if he got a dollar for every time he took a step. A pencil clenched between his teeth, his eyes roved over the chicken scratch blurring before him. What did that word say? Had he written ‘brother’ or ‘balsamic’ or something else entirely? Wirt was right, he needed to work on his handwriting. Thirty-three wasn’t too old to refurbish one’s penmanship, right?

Greg growled and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the strands so they stuck out every which way. When he realized what exactly he’d done, he groaned, pencil dropping to the floor as his arm flopped to his side. Great, now he needed to find a comb, too. Or maybe it wasn’t that bad.

He looked to the mirror, but caught the eyes of the six-year-old perched on top of the bathroom counter instead. She was innocently swinging her stocking-covered legs and glossy, white Mary Jane shoes as she stared at him, clutching a basket of flowers in her lap. Her long, dark brown hair fell straight down her back and over her shoulders, tamed only by a single maroon flower pin to match the maroon ribbon tied around the middle of her white, tulle-skirted dress. Her pointed bangs showed signs of attempts to be pulled back into the pin, but they’d somehow reverted to their usual state of falling right between her eyes down the middle of her forehead. Her hazel eyes, more of a green today, blinked owlishly at him and he blinked right back.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked her, pointing to the counter.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”

Greg hummed, realizing this was very true. He scratched at his head again, only belatedly realizing a second time what he was doing to his hair. With another frustrated sound, he checked the mirror. He looked like Wirt after he put a hat on for five seconds. Greg winced, bracing himself on the bathroom counter, only to feel something damp seeping through the paper still under his palm.

“Oh no!” He held up the lined paper, now transparent as the pencil marks bled away thanks to water droplets from the sink. “Great, this is exactly what I need!” He balled it up and threw it in the garbage under the paper towels, then ran to his bag to tear out a new sheet of paper from his notebook and grabbed a new pencil. “How did it start again?”

He pushed the heel of his palm into his forehead, resuming his pacing once more to try and restart his stupid brain. Of course today of all days he’d experience the worst writer’s block on the planet. Him, Gregory Whelan, who could write a silly little jingle given one note and one word in fifteen seconds, couldn’t write a page worth of sensible monologue for the life of him. Typical.

“Hey, Dad, we need to-” The bathroom door swung open, revealing a fifteen-year-old girl – did the girls honestly not understand the concept of the men’s room? He thought he’d raised them better. Brown eyes blinked, then the teenager stared at him with a single quirked brow. “Why are you pacing like Wren on Show and Tell day? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed an irrational fear of bearing your soul to the world, too.”

“Hey!” The little girl on the counter pouted and crossed her arms, highly offended. “Show and Tell is scary!”

“Yeah, you’re the only kid in the whole world that thinks so,” her sister replied, running her fingers through her short crop of light brown hair, careful of the flower pin identical to Wren’s.

Eager to nip whatever disagreement this would spawn in the bud, because he didn’t need that today either, Greg faced his older daughter head-on. “I’m not pacing like Wren,” he defended.

“Yeah, you are,” both girls chorused together, then shared matching grins.

Greg glowered. Of course, whenever his girls did get along it was at his expense. “No, I’m not. I’m thinking. This is my thinking… walk. It’s for thinking things.”

“Oh? What are you thinking about so- is that your best man speech?” His oldest’s eyes went wide, and she looked more excited than any sixteen-year-old girl should look. Delighted even. “Oh my god, you haven’t finished it yet? Dad!”

“Shh!” He held his finger to his lips and felt his cheeks heat up. “Bea, shh! Keep it down!”

“I can’t believe you! Way to wait until the last minute!” Beatrice snorted, not even trying to muffle her laughter. “You’ve only had- what? A year to get this done?”

“I-!” Greg crumpled the paper between his hands, twisting it into a tube. “It’s- it’s not as easy as it sounds!”

“Are you serious? You’re the one who’s constantly spouting how much you love Uncle Wirt. How is this any different from that?” Beatrice pointed to the blank sheet of paper.

“It just is,” he replied, trying very hard not to pout in front of his children. “Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come in here to criticize my speech writing process, so what is it you need?”

“Oh. Just came to tell you that you missed the ceremony.”

Greg almost looked at his watch – almost, and prided himself very much on not actually checking the time – then narrowed his gaze as his daughter beamed with self-satisfaction. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“It was lovely. I mean, it was weird that the best man didn’t show up, but it’s not like he’s that important.” Beatrice shrugged, continuing her little fantasy. “Seriously though? Everyone’s starting to wonder where you are. Nova thinks you’re the one with cold feet and asked me to make sure you weren’t in here crying.”

“I don’t cry.” Greg rolled his eyes. Really, his wife tended to exaggerate even more than Beatrice did with all her teen angst and attitude. “So you can go tell her everything’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You sure?” Beatrice folded her arms across her chest and tilted his head. “Need any help figuring out what to say?”

“No, I’ve got this.” Greg smoothed the paper against the wall and started scribbling what he remembered of his speech. “I’m his brother, I know how to write a speech for him. Heck, I’ve written songs for him, I can do this. I can write him the perfect speech for my toast. It’s easy, see? Look at all this perfect, speech writing I’m doing. I got this.”

“Um, Dad? No one’s saying you don’t got this,” Beatrice pointed out. “I’m just saying that you procrastinated the hell out of this.”

“Watch your language around your sister,” Greg told her automatically.

He could feel her roll her eyes at him without even having to look. “Fine. You procrastinated the heck out of this. That better?”

“Much.”

“I think Uncle Wirt’s gonna like your speech no matter what, Daddy,” Wren piped up, playing with the flower petals in her basket. “He likes everything you write.”

While Beatrice rolled her eyes once again, Greg couldn’t help but smile at his little girl. She smiled back, then blew a petal from her palm at him. He caught it and tucked it into the pocket of his tux.

“For luck?” he asked.

“For luck!” she agreed.

“Seriously? You’re acting like you’re the one getting married. Again.” Beatrice shook her head, then lifted Wren off the bathroom counter and set her on the floor. “Though, you are gonna need a lot of luck if you want to finish writing that speech before the ceremony.”

“Then I’d appreciate it if you’d let me finish it in peace. And tell Nova that I’ll be out in a second. And that I’m not crying.”

Beatrice shrugged. “Okay, but we’re probably heading to the venue in a few minutes, just so you know. So once we’re gone, no one is going to know you’re here hiding in the bathroom of the hotel lobby.” She took her sister’s hand and looked down at her. “Unless you stay behind. What do you say, short stack? You want to ride with the bride and all us cool kids? Or do you want to be lame and go with Dad and Uncle Wirt?”

“I’ll stay with Daddy.” Wren narrowed her eyes. “And don’t call me ‘short stack.’ I’m not pancakes, Beatrice.”

She snorted. “Your face looks like pancakes.” She flicked her in the forehead, then sauntered out of the room before Wren could hit her with the basket of flowers.

“Hey, hey, careful with those,” Greg admonished, catching a few of the petals that fell out, then tucked them back inside. “They’re a very important part of the wedding, bumblebee.”

Wren hunched her shoulders and nodded, looking thoroughly chastised. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He smiled and gave her a pat on the head to cheer her up, then glanced at his half-finished speech. “Okay. Why don’t you go wait in the lobby with Mommy and Beatrice? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

She pursed her lips. “Mommy’s just gonna mess with my hair again.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Mommy’s specialty. She messes with everyone’s hair.” Greg flicked her pointed bangs, planted a kiss right over them, then turned her around and gave her pat on the small of her back. “Tell her I like your hair just how it is, and maybe she’ll let you off the hook.”

Wren appeared unimpressed. “She’ll just want to fix it even more if she knows you like it.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot?” He tried, nudging her towards the door. “Yeah, I know. You’re fighting a losing battle. But in a way, so’s she.”

“So why is she wasting both of our times?” she complained, but obediently shuffled out of the bathroom with a heavy sigh.

Greg shook his head, then caught himself as he almost ran his fingers through his hair again. He quickly smoothed it down, then grabbed his pencil and pushed the paper against the wall. Now to finish his speech…

-0-

It wasn’t the neatest looking speech, he reflected as he tucked the folded up sheet of paper into the inside of his tux, but it wasn’t like they were planning on laminating it. The hotel lobby was considerably emptier than it had been when he’d scurried through the throng of family members and into the bathroom by the front desk. The bridesmaids had vanished, including his oldest daughter and his wife. The parents all seemed to have left as well, he didn’t see his mom or dad anywhere. Greg’s heart sped up a little and he checked his watch. No, no, there was still time. He wasn’t too late. Probably the least prepared of everyone in the wedding party, but that wasn’t the point.

“There you are, Greg!” One of Wirt’s friends – a professor in the English department at Boston University – and a fellow groomsman waved him over. “We thought you got lost in there!”

“Ha, yeah…” He forced a grin as he side-stepped them, avoiding their questions by checking on his youngest daughter.

“You do get lost a lot, Daddy,” Wren piped up when he sat beside her. “Uncle Wirt says you’re always running off.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “So when did they leave?”

“Mm-mm-mm.” She shrugged. “I still don’t have a watch.”

“Right.” Greg scanned the thinning crowd, everyone planning their carpools to the church. “Okay. Want to go check on the groom? Tell him the coast’s clear?”

“Yeah!” Wren flashed him a bright smile, then hopped off the lobby chair.

The two of them squeezed past the rest of the group. “Excuse us. Pardon us. Official Best Man and Flower Girl business to take care of, yes, yes,” Greg hummed, pitching his voice lower to make his daughter giggle. “Clear a path to the elevators! Best Man and Flower Girl, coming through.”

He pretended to race his daughter for the button that would take them up, groaning when he lost to her. When the doors slid open, he let her in first, then followed. They scanned the set of buttons on the inside of the door.

“Now, which floor was Uncle Wirt’s room on again?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully and looked to Wren for the answer.

She knew which one it was, was ready to point it out, but she hesitated and glanced between him and the buttons. He waited out her sudden indecision, then beamed when she finally pointed to the number three. He nodded and gave her a thumbs up. She pushed the button, then grabbed onto his hand as the elevator doors shut.

Her hold was tight and clammy. He rubbed his thumb in small circles over the back of her hand until her grip became less of a vice. When the elevator dinged, Greg counted to three, then the two of them hopped out together.

“Okay, do you remember which way Uncle Wirt’s room is?” Greg asked.

She nodded, keeping her hold on his hand with one and her flower basket with the other. She pointed with the basket to the left of the elevator, but waited for him to take the lead before she started walking. When they arrived at Wirt’s room, he gave his permission and she knocked out a little tune on the door.

The door flew open not seconds after. “What took you so- Wren! Hey, sweetheart. Well, don’t you look beautiful?”

So he might have had ulterior motives bringing Wren up with him. Greg grinned as his older brother’s panicked tirade immediately lost steam at the sight of his little niece. Despite being decked out in his neatly pressed tux, Wirt crouched down in front of her to smile brightly and tapped the flower pin holding her hair back.

“I like your flower,” he told her.

“I like yours, too,” she replied, pointing to the maroon boutonniere clipped to his tuxedo jacket.

The amaryllis matched the one pinned in Wren’s and the other bridesmaids’ hair. Wirt flicked his gaze up at Greg as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, both thanking him and cursing him in the same glance. With a shrug that hopefully came off as nonchalant, Greg sidled past him into the room, only to blink as he realized Wirt had not been alone.

The photographer’s assistant was set up near the window, camera out and focused on the pair of golden wedding bands sitting on a cloth on top of the dresser. “This is what you’ve been doing?” Greg lifted an eyebrow as he watched his brother lead Wren into the room. “Staging the rings for their own little photo shoot?”

Wirt sighed heavily, waving at the assistant who smiled sheepishly. “Apparently if the bride has to have every moment of today documented then I do, too. It just didn’t take me very long to get ready and since you were taking your sweet time getting up here, we had some time to kill.”

Greg grinned. “Well, you will definitely have the most beautiful pictures of inanimate objects that any wedding has ever seen.”

“Don’t make me regret inviting you,” Wirt warned him as he checked his appearance in the mirror for what was probably the billionth time. “Just because you made me your best man does not mean that I had to return the favor.”

“Like you know anyone as cool as me.” Greg waited for the go-ahead from the photographer’s assistant, then carefully placed the rings in their box so he could tuck it in his pocket.

Yeah, the only thing more terrifying than his speech now weighed heavily on his person. He took a deep breath while Wirt wasn’t looking, then exchanged glances with Wren who was back to watching him curiously. He flashed her his best grin, then turned back to Wirt and held his arm out to him. His older brother glanced at him and rolled his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips as he was continuously elbowed in the side. With a huff, Wirt linked arms with him. Greg beamed proudly when Wirt held his free hand out to Wren, giving her a little twirl that she delighted in.

“Ready, Groom?” Greg asked when Wirt scooped up his niece to balance her on his hip.

“Ready, Best Man,” he agreed. “What about you, Flower Girl?”

Wren picked out one petal from her basket and blew it softly into Wirt’s face. He scrunched up his nose as it fluttered past it, then he laughed and kissed her forehead, right over her bangs.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” He flashed her a grin.

“It’s a yes,” she confirmed.

“Good. Because I think we’re paying the limo by the hour.”

“You are,” Greg confirmed. “And I picked the company with the most expensive rates just so you know.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. This was the only one that offered sparkling cider in their fancy limo fridge.”

-0-

The ceremony and reception were at the same location. Lake Pearl was a popular wedding destination in Massachusetts, though not so much on the fringe of October when the weather was as unpredictable as Wirt’s mood swings. Still, they were lucky. The sky was overcast, but a generic gray gloom rather than swollen and heavy with the ominous promise of rain.

After they left the limo, Wirt disappeared. Greg couldn’t blame him. Even though he didn’t have a lot of groomsmen, he knew his older brother well enough that sometimes he just wanted to be by himself. Though, by himself almost always meant that it was okay for Greg to tag along, too. Being thirty-three and forty-two didn’t change their dynamic in the slightest.

He left Wren in the care of Beatrice once he’d tracked his daughter down, then set off to find him before the photographer or wedding coordinator did. As uptight as Wirt could get when stressed, he had nothing on the wedding coordinator they’d hired, though she was probably just making up for how not stressed the bride and groom had been about the whole thing. The wedding was more a formality than anything, though the fact that Wirt was a romantic had something to do with that, too.

Greg found him overlooking the lake. “You know, for pretty much hating all bodies of water larger than a bathtub and smaller than the ocean, you sure picked the worst place to have your wedding,” he announced his presence with no preamble and clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Wirt snorted. “I’m not getting married in the middle of the lake, Greg. The ceremony is on dry land and the reception is inside.”

“Still, I know I’m not the only one who thought you lost your mind when you decided, ‘hey, here’s an idea, let’s get married at Lake Pearl Luciano’s!’”

“You are aware that we literally lived in a town called Lakeville for our entire childhoods, right? Where there were plenty of lakes around us every day?” Wirt asked him, finally looking away from the water to raise an eyebrow.

Greg waved it off. “Yeah, but that wasn’t by choice and you didn’t have to look at the lake every day. You willingly decided to have the biggest, most important day of your life on the shore of a lake.”

This had his brother’s lips quirking up with that secret little smile of his, the one where he knew something Greg didn’t and would gladly hold it over his head to the grave. “It just felt right.”

“Hm.” He puffed out his cheeks, then laughed when Wirt flicked one of them. “If you say so.”

“That’s right. I do say so.”

“You’re about to say I do in a bit. You ready?”

Wirt softened, and Greg couldn’t deny that his big brother certainly pulled off the romantic, dashing hero-type all decked out in his finest. That or a secret agent. No wonder all Wirt’s students had massive crushes on him. And of course it didn’t help when he recited poetry at them.

“I’ve been ready for a long time. Longer than there’ve been stars up in the heavens, I’ve been ready to say I do.”

Greg nodded. “That’s nice. You just come up with that?”

“Sort of? It’s mostly from a song,” Wirt confessed with a sheepish grin.

“Speaking of songs…”

“No, Greg.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“There you two are.” They both turned to see Nova striding up to them, the dark-haired woman crossing her arms over her indigo dress as she surveyed them. “Your absences are creating quite the scene and the wedding coordinator is not just about to have a cow, she’s ready to give birth to the entire farm,” she told them seriously, then broke out into a huge grin. “It’s pretty hilarious. Jonathan’s filming the whole thing if you want to watch it later. Though honestly, you guys really do need to be at the gazebo like… yesterday.”

Greg flashed her a huge smile, taking her hand when she offered it to him and kissed her cheek. “Piqpavagin.”

“I love you, too, dork. Now stop sucking up to me and let’s go.” She tugged him along after her, sending Wirt a look of warning. “You can daydream later, Professor Poet.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Wirt promised her with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Nova, we’ll be there in a minute,” Greg echoed and his wife rolled her eyes while Wirt laughed again.

“No, Greg, you go with her. I’m honestly not going to be here much longer.” When Greg opened his mouth to protest, Wirt held up his hand to stop him. “Seriously. I just need a minute and then I’ll be ready for pictures or standing around the gazebo or whatever it is people need me to do.”

While still hesitant to leave him, Greg nodded all the same. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

His brother waved him away. “I’m sure. Go handle crowd control for me and do other… best man things.”

Greg saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain Wirt.”

He and Nova left Wirt on the edge of the lake, though he was unable to help glancing over his shoulder as they got further and further away. Thoughtfulness and quiet contemplation were not unfamiliar traits of his brother’s, and on the day of his wedding he couldn’t blame him for wanting the time to himself, to compose himself and steel himself for mingling with people for hours on end.

While keeping it small had been an option, just going to the courthouse to sign the marriage license something both bride and groom were open to, they’d decided to go all out, for their families. To give them the memories and the opportunity to fawn over them. When it came to family, Wirt was incredibly selfless and sacrificed everything-

As they strolled along the path to the gazebo, decked out in maroon and cream with clusters of flowers and ribbons, Greg felt for the inside of his pocket and pulled out his speech. He didn’t have time to rewrite it now, but…

But was it what he wanted to say? Today of all days? Wirt’s day?

Nova placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re still freaking out about the speech. You know it’s just a formality, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Greg nodded, flashing her a grin. “I’m just checking to make sure I didn’t lose it, that’s all.”

She hummed, arching an eyebrow and he knew she didn’t believe him, but she left it at that. “He’s not gonna stop being your brother just because he’s getting married. You didn’t when you married me, right? Now go do best man things. I’ve got a flower girl and bridesmaid to check on and make sure they’re ready to go.”

Greg watched her head over to the wedding party, his smile fading a little. Of course he’d still be his brother. That went without question. They were adults, they’d been through the very darkest of places together and the very brightest. Wirt wouldn’t care if his speech was perfect or not, he decided as he slid it back into his pocket beside the box with the rings.

But Greg would.

-0-

Despite Wirt almost being late – “Almost is the key word, Greg.” – the ceremony had gone off without a hitch. After their parents had been escorted in, Greg taking their mom down and Wirt taking his soon-to-be-mother-in-law, both settled on the stage of the gazebo. As the bridesmaids started down the aisle, the proud dad in him beamed brightly as he watched Beatrice walk towards them. A quick glance at Wirt revealed to him that his older brother felt the same way, tears even springing to his eyes when his oldest niece - the one he’d helped raise from birth, tucked into bed every night without fail, and learned how to braid hair just for her when Greg couldn’t manage it - grinned at him.

Beatrice might have been Greg’s daughter, but she was Wirt’s princess, his little girl.

Little Wren followed them, her basket of flowers clutched tightly in one hand as she dropped the petals behind her. She hesitated when she saw how far she had to go and all the guests turned in their seats to snap pictures of his adorable baby, despite her wide-eyed fear. She didn’t like to be noticed.

Greg felt Wirt stiffen a little, and knew his brother was about to stride right down the aisle to walk with her to the front, but Beatrice beat him to it. She hurried to meet her little sister and placed her hand at the small of her back. As the girls resumed walking, Wren relaxed exponentially and was able to smile as she tossed the petals to the floor. Wirt knelt down when she made it to him, and he gave her a tight squeeze before letting her get into position.

Then the bride stepped out and Greg watched Wirt’s face absolutely glow.

Sara looked radiant. Her smile was huge as her gaze met Wirt’s, her bouquet of flowers in varying shades of red clutched close to her chest. She gave a little wave and bounce, then the music swelled and she took her first steps towards her husband-to-be. Her lace and ivory gown blossomed out in the skirt, trailing over the small burgundy and cream petals that led the way to Wirt.

Greg couldn’t stop grinning. This moment had been long coming, too long. He’d imagined this day from the time he was seven, firm in his belief that this would happen. This day was something that was meant to be. Wirt and Sara were.

Their hands joined, hers quick to squeeze Wirt’s as she smiled softly at him. He kissed the back of her hand, the one thing he was allowed until the officiator declared man and wife and then they were lost to one another as the guests erupted into a wild round of applause. Their mom had teared up and his dad was crying, Greg noticed as he clapped loudest of all, and Wirt was laughing against Sara’s lips while she cupped his cheeks.

Everyone filed from the lawn to the Tree Top Room, overlooking the lake with its wide, clear windows. Everyone that wasn’t the wedding party, that is. They had to take pictures. When Wren got fidgety, Nova took her aside to find some hors d'oeuvres and save some for the wedding party, well-aware that they were going to have a hard time actually enjoying the food they’d picked out when after pictures came the mandatory greetings.

Greg remembered it all too well from his own wedding, and Nova had been extremely disappointed to find that all the stuffed mushrooms she’d been looking forward to eating had been gone by the time they had a second to try the food. When they filed back inside, the bride and groom making their grand entrance as husband and wife, both Wirt and Sara looked far too relieved at the sight of the plates Nova set aside for them. Sara didn’t waste any time grabbing herself some bruschetta.

Then it was time for the first toast. The best man’s toast.

As everyone took their seats at their assigned tables, the band ceased playing and nodded in Greg’s direction. He took a deep breath as the chatter of the room softened, then removed his folded up paper from his pocket and stood, attracting everyone’s attention. Never one to shy away from an audience, Greg offered them a grin and a wave as he went up to take the microphone.

“Hey, everyone, how’s it going?” he started, and received a few cheers and whistles. “Enjoying the most expensive pieces of toast and bacon that you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing? Good, good. I picked those. I mean, my job as the best man is to make sure the groom here makes good decisions, not necessarily financially sound ones. Though we do share a mortgage still, so I guess in hindsight I might not want to make him declare bankruptcy just yet, so in exchange for the lovely appetizers, we’re skipping dinner. Sorry, guys, that was it. Just wasn’t in the budget.”

The room laughed and he chuckled along with them, glancing down at his speech. “So, Wirt and Sara…” His gaze skimmed the first line of his speech, palms clammy and voice tight with a sort of stage fright he just wasn’t used to. “Wirt and Sara…”

His eyes went to the head table, where the bridal party, including the bride and groom were sat at. Wirt was grinning at him, delighting in his nerves no doubt after decades of being teased for them himself, and Sara smile encouragingly, ever the big sister. Greg crumpled up his speech and shoved it in his pocket. Forget planned speeches.

“Wirt and Sara,” he tried again, shaking his head as he looked out at their families and friends. “You know, I called this day when I was seven? Always knew it would come sooner or later, and boy, did you guys take your sweet time in reaching the inevitable. They started dating when they were fifteen, for all you folks that missed the rehearsal dinner yesterday and the slideshow that accompanied it. High school sweethearts that called it off for college, then called it back on during college, then called it off again after college- I think you get the idea.

“You see, my brother isn’t really an action kind of guy. He tries, but for a long time he was content to be a person who reacted to things. Which is cool, I mean, we can’t always be action heroes, and sometimes it’s nice to just go with the flow and see where you end up. I think a lot of Wirt’s life was letting other people set his course while he went along for the ride.

“When he was twenty-one he decided to propose to Sara. I know because he confided in me and made me promise not to tell anyone. Since they’re married now, I figure I don’t have to be held to that anymore. Anyway, he decided to propose, but the day he went to ask her to marry him was the day she told him she was moving to Italy for grad school. Timing has never been something that has worked in my brother’s favor.

“She asked him to go with her, to move with her to Italy. He said no. I said he was an idiot. After spending so much time worrying about asking her to marry him, deciding that it would be worth it to spend the rest of his life with her, he made the choice not to go with her. Because it was too far. Because he didn’t speak the language. Because it was a crucial time in my life that he didn’t want to miss out on. All excuses that I thought were to prevent him from acting, from going for something that he really wanted. I thought he was holding himself back.

“It took me a while to realize that his refusal was him acting. Going with Sara wasn’t the tough choice. Staying was. And I treated him terribly for making that choice, for making me feel like I was his burden, that I was keeping him from his happily ever after.

“I thought that a lot. Whenever I needed him, good or bad, he was always there, ready and willing to put his life on hold for me. He’d drop everything for me. And that turned into dropping everything for my daughters.

“What took me a long time to understand was that he wasn’t giving up his life for mine, for theirs. We were his life. He chose us. He said yes to us. To me. He made the decision to be there for his family because that was all he ever wanted. A place to belong. Once he told me that he felt like he was a boat on a winding river, drifting out towards an endless black sea, farther away from where he wanted to be. Who he wanted to be. We all want a place to belong, we all want to mean something to someone. We don’t want to feel insignificant, like our lives are meaningless. For my brother, who felt displaced in his own family from the day he realized one parent wanted him and the other didn’t, all he wanted was to feel like he belonged in his family.

“He didn’t want fame. He didn’t want money or expensive furniture or fancy vacations. He still doesn’t, though I’m pretty sure after putting up with me and my girls for all these years, a vacation probably sounds pretty nice. But my brother wanted a family, and he wanted to be reliable and constant for his family. He knew, even at twenty-one, that if he couldn’t be that, then he couldn’t be a good husband.

“But the thing was, Wirt, you were reliable and constant. There was never a day in my life where I didn’t feel loved by you. Where I didn’t love you.” Greg met his brother’s gaze, tearing up only when he saw the dampness reflected in Wirt’s eyes. “You will always have a place to belong with me, and you always have. You’ve always been my big brother. I don’t know a world without you in it. You know that all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, to be free to live your life and love every minute of it.

“Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Thank you for being the one to pick me up whenever I felt I couldn’t go any further. Thank you for being Wirt Palmer, best-selling poet, professor extraordinaire, world’s best uncle, and the most incredible big brother any sibling could ask for. Sara, you’re getting yourself one heck of a husband. He will never let you down. I can personally guarantee that. Once you’ve gained Wirt’s love, it’s pretty impossible to ever lose it. And that’s a rock fact. Here’s to the two of you, Wirt and Sara. This has been a long time coming, and I hope you have a long time together to come. Congratulations. I love you both. Now eat your gold-encrusted appetizers before the rest of the food gets here.”

Greg turned off the microphone and handed it off to the band as he sipped his champagne. The applause that followed his toast was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as Wirt immediately rising from his seat to cross the space between them in the middle of the cheers going around and drag him into a hug. It was embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough to keep Greg from clinging to him, hugging back just as tightly while a chorus of “awww”s rang about the room around them.

“And you call me the sap,” Wirt murmured just for him to hear.

“You are. We’ve lived together for too long, you’ve infected me with it.”

With a laugh, Wirt rubbed his back before pulling away to grin tearfully at him. “I love you, too, Greg.”

“Please don’t cry. I’m gonna feel bad if I make you cry at your own wedding.”

“Don’t feel bad, Greg. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Sara piped up, joining them so she could get in her own hug. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“There’s no one else I’d trust more with that task,” he replied with mock-seriousness, though he was a little serious about that.

Wirt rolled his eyes. “I feel like I’m the one being given away here. By my little brother, no less.”

“You kinda are,” Sara told him with a chuckle.

“You absolutely are,” Greg agreed.

“You two are impossible.” Wirt shook his head, pout forming on his lips only to brighten into a grin as his nieces hurried over, wanting a picture of just the two of them with their Uncle Wirt.

Greg and Sara exchanged fond looks as the trio clutched at each other, Wren hoisted up with one arm while the other wrapped around Beatrice as they smiled for the camera. Wirt gave both of them a kiss on the cheek after the shutter clicked, then glanced over his shoulder at his bride and best man. With a jerk of his head, he tried to get them over to him.

“C’mon, you two. And Nova. Nova, come here! We need a family picture!” Wirt called out to Greg’s wife.

Greg burst out laughing when she sighed dramatically. “We already took a family picture,” she complained, but strode over to them nonetheless.

“Well, we’re taking another one. Stand next to Greg and try and look like you love him.”

“I don’t know if I can manage that.”

“I love you, too, Nova.” Greg grinned, pulling her close when she was within reach, his other hand resting against Beatrice’s back as the six of them pressed together for their family photo, with Sara on one side of Wirt and Greg and his family on the other, Wren still in his arms. This was their family. Finally complete.

Not necessarily according to plan, but sometimes plans needed to be scrapped in favor of something better. Something new. Something perfect.

-0-

A/N: I finally get to introduce Greg’s kids! Beatrice and Wren! And Greg’s lovely wife, Nova. For those wondering, Greg is saying “I love you” in Iñupiaq because Nova hails from Northern Alaska, though she spent most of her childhood in Boston. They met when Greg started playing gigs at the bar she and her twin brother, Newt, own. One day I will tell their story… one day…

Also, just as a note, I love researching weddings and planning them. I’m gonna get to do it again with Wirt and Dipper in Mystery Best Friends ‘verse and I’m super excited, so that’s probably why I wanted to push and get this out there. Also because it’s been months. Literally months. I think I got this prompt in December and started writing it immediately. It is now one day from September. How did this happen?

[skimmingmilk]

Two Roads in the Woods : Interlude : The Frog on the Wall

Rating: T Word Count: 2621 Summary: Three years after taking a little trip over the garden wall, Wirt and Greg part ways for a time. With his older brother away at college, nine-year-old Greg struggles with the changes Wirt’s absence brings. In search of answers to his doubts, Greg finds himself back where it all began, but The Unknown isn’t a place to be traveled lightly. Danger still lurks in the shadows of the woods, but at least they took care of that beast problem, right? …right? Chapter 1 : The First Day Chapter 2 : Thirty-Five Days Later Chapter 3 : Left Behind Chapter 4 : Halloweentime Hollows Chapter 5 : A Lion out of the Forest Interlude Chapter 6 : Angling on the River of Sticks Chapter 7 : Brother O’ Mine Chapter 8 : A Leopard in Wait Chapter 9 : The House Under the Hill Chapter 10 : To the Mill Interlude : Only two Exits to go Chapter 11 : Noontime Shadows Chapter 12 : Acquainted with the Night Chapter 13 : A Wolf Lies Chapter 14 : The Dark Lantern Lights Chapter 15 : The Beast's Reprise [AO3]

Interlude

The Frog on the Wall

Ribbit.

He waited for some sort of reassurance. A laugh. A song. A casual, “Oh, don’t worry about me, Jason Funderberker! I’m fine! See?”

But it didn’t come.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The frog blinked up at the sky. Dark clouds rolled in, covering the moon that had lit their way back to this place. They were the kind that brought rain. While frogs thrived in the rain, little boys in Halloween costumes did not.

They shouldn’t have come here. He’d told him this was a bad idea. He’d told him, and while his little boy had finally agreed to give up their adventure for the night, it seemed that their adventure hadn’t quite given up on them yet.

He looked down from his perch on the wall for his little boy. Ribbit? Still no answer. A deep sleeper his little boy was not. His older one was. His older boy could sleep through anything short of a pot and pan jamboree in the middle of his bedroom – he’d also tried to tell his little boy that wasn’t a good idea, but when did Greg ever listen to him? He didn’t blame Wirt for locking Greg in the hall closet after that particular stunt. Honestly, he thought it served the little boy right.

He missed mornings like that.

Missed mornings of sugary cereals and bright cartoons, nestled on a couch between two warm, familiar bodies. One gentle and quiet, and one affectionate and loud. One more likely to pat him on the head or scratch right under his chin the way he liked it, and the other more likely to scoop him into his arms and spin him around the room. But both were family. His family. His Wirt and Greg.

Those mornings ended one day, and all he knew really was that he didn’t see his older boy anymore. He remembered the last night before the last morning he woke with Wirt there. Greg had fallen asleep earlier than usual, tired out from all of the people who’d come by the house to eat a lot of food and say a lot of goodbyes and good lucks to his older boy. Nocturnal creature that he was, he stayed up later and watched over his little boy, wondering just why everyone felt the need to say goodbye. Then the bedroom door opened a crack.

It wasn’t the mother and it wasn’t the father, though he didn’t really expect that it would be. Wirt hesitated in the doorway, looking very much like the boy he’d first met, before he’d grown taller and firmer, to resemble more of a man than a boy. He watched his older boy take one step into the room, then two steps out. He tried again, twice more, before something made him straighten his shoulders and he crossed the room in one single motion.

He stopped by Greg’s bedside. For a moment he just looked at him, then released a very long, heavy breath. He fixed the blanket around Greg’s shoulders, then smoothed his hair down. But again, a deep sleeper his little boy was not, and he stirred, kicked out one leg and blinked at his brother in the dark.

“Wirt?” He remembered the sleep-slurred whisper.

“Shh. Go back to sleep, Greg.” He remembered the soft reply.

His little boy huffed and rolled onto his side, but closed his eyes as he mumbled, “You shh,” in return. The frog had smiled as Wirt smiled. Still, his older boy lingered while his little boy slept on, and he had to wonder why. So he asked. Ribbit?

His older boy looked to him, not at all startled by the inquiry. Fondness filled his features and he left the bedside to scoop him up out of his tank. At first he didn’t answer him, just stroked his back in that way he always did while they sat on the edge of Greg’s bed together. Where a cat would purr, he croaked, content to rest on Wirt’s lap.

“You’ll look after him, won’t you?” His older boy whispered, so he looked up to answer with a single blink. Of course he would, didn’t he already? “Make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble. I know it’s Greg, so trouble’s bound to find him one way or another, but…” His smile turned sad. “Just... just look after him for me. Okay?”

Ribbit. While the request was a ridiculous one, as he looked after both his boys because he’d learned quite quickly during their stint in the woods that somebody had to, he agreed to it. The mother and father did a good enough job, and he commended them for their efforts, but they didn’t see everything the way he did. So of course he’d look after Greg. He’d look after Wirt, too, and made sure to convey that to him as well.

His older boy nodded, but his gaze told him that he didn’t quite hear the second part of his promise. “Good,” he’d murmured. “Good. Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more – Wirt was the ideal choice to sit with for the best silences – and then he surprised him. Wirt hugged him. The frog held his breath and waited it out, letting his older boy take all the time he needed, but it was unusual to say the least. He’d carry him, yes, and he’d let him sit in his lap, yes, but hugs were from Greg. That was how it had always been.

He croaked softly, not wanting to startle Greg awake with this new development just yet. Wirt chuckled under his breath, stroked his back, then stood from the bed. He carried him to his tank on the dresser, then laid him back inside it.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, guy,” he told him. “Be good. I’ll… I’ll see you when I see you.”

He blinked after Wirt as he went to his little boy’s bedside for the third and final time that night. He thumbed his messy bangs away from his forehead, then pressed his lips to it. It was brief and after that he took a step back, then another, and several more until he was back at the door, looking in on the little boy in the bed.

“I love you,” he forced out, voice choked and he worried that Wirt was on the verge of tears, but he didn’t have a chance to check on him because then he was gone.

He’d resolved to find out in the morning just what that was all about, but that morning found him being dragged outside by his little boy and stuffed under a bush in a lengthy game of hide-and-seek. So he’d wait and find out in the afternoon instead.

But that afternoon found him alone with Greg on all sorts of adventures – in which he stayed true to his promise to Wirt and at least tried to steer his little boy in the right direction, but again, Greg never listened until it was too late. So he would find out in the evening what was on his older boy’s mind.

But that night Wirt still hadn’t returned. Nor did he the next day, nor the day after that, nor the day after that.

Thirty-five days later, he’d forgotten all about it.

All except his promise.

“You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

His little boy wasn’t moving. Sprawled on the ground at the foot of the wall, limp and dressed like his brother. The brother he’d been missing so terribly lately. The brother he’d left sleeping in the hospital. The brother Greg was convinced was back in the woods. Lost, alone, and afraid.

He wanted to hop down to him, but it was a long drop down. A raindrop plipped on the top of his head and he looked up at the sky again. The rain started to fall.

Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit. He called to Greg, urging him to wake up. But his little boy did not stir. He did not kick out a leg or blink sleepily or ask, “What’s wrong, Jason Funderberker?”

“Rorop!” he croaked louder, but it didn’t make a difference.

The frog prepared to jump down, far fall or not, when headlights lit up the cemetery behind him. It was his family’s car. He recognized the putter the engine made in the cold weather. Someone to help. Relief filled his next croak as the father scrambled from the car and ran over to him.

“Greg? Greg! Jason!” he called breathlessly, shortening his name the way he always did as his eyes fell upon him. “Oh, thank god. Greg! Gregory, you answer me this second, young man! I mean it!”

Ribbit. But the man wasn’t looking his way. He checked behind gravestones, calling his little boy’s name all the while. He took out a cell phone and pressed it to his ear as he paced between the head stones. The rain was falling harder now. Ribbit! That caught his attention. He squinted at him through the rain.

“How did you get up there…?” he murmured, then his eyes widened and he spoke into the phone. “He’s at the cemetery!” he blurted out, smacking his palm to his forehead. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier, they always come here on Halloween but I didn’t think-!”

He cut himself off and the frog croaked impatiently at him. His little boy was cold and wet and not waking up, he needed to get to him. The father looked at him, trying to understand and failing.

“I found Jason Funderberker. He’s on the back wall,” he told whoever he was talking to. “No. No, and he’s not answering me. But his bike’s here and he wouldn’t leave Jason-” His eyes widened as his gaze roved over the stone wall he sat on. “You don’t think he climbed the wall?”

Ribbit. He praised him for his observation skills as he finally caught on. Still, the man hesitated.

“But it’s their thing. Their Halloween thing,” he protested, then straightened his shoulders and eyed the tree Greg had climbed not so long ago. “I’m going to check, just in case.”

The frog glanced down at his little boy again. He looked even paler, even colder, wet from the lake and the rain now. The father grunted and slipped, not the most graceful tree climber, but he got the hang of it on the third try and slowly scaled it, all while keeping the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder.

“I just want to see over it, that’s all,” he muttered, bracing his hand on top of the wall as he pushed up, craning over it to look down. “I see him! Greg! Greg!”

If his little boy wouldn’t answer him, then he didn’t know why he’d think that he’d answer the father. He’d hoped he would anyway, and his heart beat a little faster when he didn’t.

“He’s not moving. Amy, tell the hospital! I think he hit his head on the railroad tracks. I can barely see him – he’s wearing that red hat Wirt made and I can see the lining of the nurse’s cape – but it looks like he’s just lying there at the base of the wall-” The father’s ramblings were cut short as more headlights joined the family’s car.

The frog squinted in the light as the father lost his grip and slid down the tree. Ribbit! Where was he going? He couldn’t leave his little boy on the other side of the wall all alone.

“A police car just pulled up outside the cemetery, I think they see my car and Greg’s bike. I’m gonna see if they can help, but get someone to send an ambulance, Amy, because something’s wrong. Jason Funderberker is really upset.”

Of course he was. He had every right to be. He looked down the wall again, judging the distance with a keen eye. It was still too far for his comfort, but he had no choice.

Jason Funderberker leapt down from his perch on the wall and landed hard on the sliver of ground between the wall and the railroad tracks. He could hear the father shouting on the other side, “Officer! Officer, over here! My son’s hurt, I think he hit his head!” Hit his head indeed. His little boy’s head was resting on a solid piece of metal, the way he’d rest against a pillow or his brother’s shoulder. Like he was only sleeping.

“Rorop,” he called to him, hopping over to settle on his chest. “Rorop?”

Greg still didn’t move. He nuzzled his face, jumped on his chest, shoved his head under the palm of his hand like he did when he wanted to be pet, but the hand and arm attached fell limp at his side.

Lights bore down on them, illuminating the sickly pallor of Greg’s skin and the blood staining the railroad tracks. He looked up as two policemen with flashlights climbed down on their side of the wall. There was more noise on the other side. The wailing of sirens in the night. Red and blue leaked through the cracks in the wall.

He moved as the men carefully checked his little boy. The first one called out to him, flicked his cheek, placed his ear over his nose and mouth while the other held his wrist. Greg’s hands always felt so capable and sure when they held him, but in the grip of this stranger they looked so small and weak. He watched his little boy’s face, waiting for these men to work their magic and wake him up from this strange sleep.

The man holding his wrist tightened his grip a little, then gently laid his arm down on the ground. “I’m not getting a pulse,” he murmured to his companion.

“He’s not breathing,” the first one added. “There’s a lot of blood here. His skull might be fractured, but it’s hard to tell.”

He lifted Greg’s eyelid and shone the light of the flashlight right into it. “Unresponsive,” the second man affirmed. “I’ll start CPR, you have the first aid kit?”

“Right here.” The first man unzipped a small black pouch.

“Cover the wound, but don’t press too hard if you think it’s a fracture.”

A sheet of gauze was slipped under his head where the bleeding stemmed from. “I know… man, he’s just a little kid. What’s he doing out here?”

“Stabilize his head and neck for me? Okay, good. Hang in there, little guy.” The frog watched as the first man cradled Greg’s head while the second man pressed his hands to his little boy’s chest and pressed down.

Thirty times. Then two breaths. Then thirty more times.

The sirens increased in volume, ringing in his head so that he could still hear them even once they’d stopped. The men with his little boy called out to the people who’d just arrived, but he paid little attention to what they were saying. How could he when whatever these men were doing didn’t seem to be working?

“How is he? How’s my son?”

The father joined them with two others. The energy in the air became frantic as the new people replaced the first two men. The police officers and the EMTs worked together to get Greg up off the ground safely, to get him to an ambulance, to the hospital.

The hospital where Wirt was sleeping deeply, too.

“You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

“I still can’t find a pulse.”

“He’s hypothermic.”

“He’s not breathing.”

Ribbit.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Jason Funderberker! I’m fine! See?”

But his little boy wasn’t fine.

Greg wasn’t fine at all.

-0-

Surprise! I know a lot of you thought it would be Jonathan's POV, but nope. It's Jason Funderberker's. It was fun playing with their lucky frog's point of view, especially at this point in the story. I felt like we needed Jason's more so than Jonathan's right now.

So, now we've seen everything that's happened outside of The Unknown. Just to avoid any confusion, the end of this interlude takes place exactly at the end of chapter fifteen. They're occurring simultaneously.

Anyway, I'm sorry that I haven't been posting anything else lately. I've been doing a bit of job-related things this week in addition to still searching for employment, and the fics I'm working on right now are all longer, multi-chapter things that require a lot of research on my part, but I'm hoping to get something out for you guys this weekend! Or at the very least the beginning of next week.

But this is it, everyone. The final five chapters are now upon us. Are you ready to see true darkness?

[skimmingmilk]

Skimmilk Stories Masterpost (Over the Garden Wall fanfiction)

So, to make things a bit easier for people to find certain fics o' mine, I've added a page to my blog! On it you'll find the list of works that I've completed so far (as well as a teaser for some future Two Roads chapter titles~). I've decided to call the universe most of my fics are set in the "Two Roads 'Verse" to keep things simple. I've ordered the fics in that 'verse in two different categories. The first is in the order I originally posted each fic (aside from the chapters of Two Roads) and the second is in chronological order as the stories relate to each other.

I also wanted to post the list here for your liking/reblogging conveniences, so here you are! Each one of my fics so far in one, big, happy package!

Two Roads ‘Verse (in order by post date):

Across the Hall Toad Troubles Hey, Wirt? Part 1 Hey, Wirt? Part 2 Hey, Wirt? Part 3 Hey, Wirt? Part 4 Sick as a Frog Wishful Thinking Stepping Up Sailboats and Submarines Good Different Secret Santa Not as Planned

(in chronological order):

Sailboats and Submarines Not as Planned Hey, Wirt? Part 1 Hey, Wirt? Part 2 Across the Hall Hey, Wirt? Part 3 Good Different Wishful Thinking Hey, Wirt? Part 4 Secret Santa Stepping Up Sick as a Frog Toad Troubles

Two Roads in the Woods Chapter 1 : The First Day Chapter 2 : Thirty-five Days Later Chapter 3 : Left Behind Chapter 4 : Halloweentime Hollows Chapter 5 : A Lion out of the Forest Interlude : After the Phone Rings Chapter 6 : Angling on the River of Sticks Chapter 7 : Brother O’ Mine Chapter 8 : A Leopard in Wait Chapter 9 : The House Under the Hill Chapter 10 : To the Mill Interlude : Only two Exits to go Chapter 11 : Noontime Shadows Chapter 12 : Chapter 13 : Chapter 14 : Chapter 15 : Interlude : Chapter 16 : Chapter 17 : Chapter 18 : Chapter 19 : Chapter 20 : Epilogue :

Unsorted Fics:

Was it a Dream?

[skimmingmilk]

Here's the AO3 link to "Wishful Thinking" for those of you that have been waiting for it! Thanks so much for your patience!

[Wishful Thinking on AO3]

[skimmingmilk]

When Wirt and Greg arrive to their homes after all the commotion, a brightly burning lantern greets them in Wirt's room. And in Wirt's shadow is the Beast...

Was it a Dream?

It was funny how sitting in bed doing absolutely nothing for two days could make a person so completely exhausted. Wirt stifled a yawn as his mom herded him and Greg into the house. His body still ached, bruised from the tumble down the hill, but he was glad to be back home after… well, everything.

It didn’t feel like only two days had passed since he’d been home. It felt like a week, maybe more. One lost track of time in The Unknown. He’d paid close attention in the beginning, but after the dead end at Adelaide’s he couldn’t be bothered. Two days had passed after that, maybe three or four, it was hard to tell. Wirt touched the hallway wall with his fingertips, feeling the bumps and grooves in the plaster as if memorizing them would convince him that this was real. This was his house. He was home.

“Wirt! Hey, Wirt, guess what? We still have leftover Halloween candy!” Greg called from the dining room.

“That’s great, Greg, but I’m not really in the mood for candy right now,” he replied, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged off his jacket.

“But we’ve gotta arm ourselves against The Beast! They’re our only source of defense! Right, Jason Funderberker?”

Wirt heard the frog croak in response, followed by their mother’s sigh as she bypassed him into the kitchen. “Gregory, you need to let your brother rest. He’s still very tired.”

“But we already rested all day yesterday,” Greg pointed out.

“He’s been through a lot. You both have,” their mom replied. “Now, if your brother says he’s not in the mood, then you need to let him be.”

Even though Wirt couldn’t see him, he knew Greg had to be sporting an impressive pout right about now. He’d been perfecting it during their hospital stay, every time someone brushed off his stories about their adventures in The Unknown, complimenting his “wild imagination.” Except it wasn’t his imagination. It couldn’t be. Not when Wirt remembered everything just as clearly as Greg.

He shuddered, hanging his jacket in the hall coat closet. “Mom? I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

She hurried over to him, her hand going right for his forehead, then to his cheeks. He knew he didn’t have a fever, but he let his mom coddle him because- well, he’d missed it. He missed her. When she smiled at him, he attempted to return it, though it was weak.

“Of course, sweetheart. A nap will do you some good. Want me to make you a cup of tea? Chamomile or maybe something with mint?” she asked.

Wirt shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

She gave his cheek a pat, then waved him away to his bedroom. Shuffling down the hall, his heart sped up at the thought of reuniting with his room. He craved the familiar sights and comforts after their journey and subsequent stay in the hospital. He just wanted to climb into his bed and sleep for a week, or at least lie there and whisper poetry until he was ready to face the reality of what happened.

“Wait for me, Wirt!” Greg called, scampering after him with Jason Funderberker hot on his heels.

He paused, hand on the doorknob, visibly cringing. He couldn’t deal with Greg, not yet. Not until he could get the sight of his pale face peeking out between the dark branches of Edelwood out of his head. Luckily, their mother nabbed Greg and coaxed him into some other activity. Wirt sighed with relief and opened his bedroom door, slipping inside quickly.

His Halloween costume was folded up on the bed. Wirt rubbed his shoulders through his sweater. The navy and red appeared out of place on the green bedspread next to his clarinet, but still he craved their familiarity as much as he did that of his room, his house, reality. Those colors made him the pilgrim. The hero.

Right now, he felt anything but.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. A light. Had he left his lamp on this whole time? He glanced at his nightstand. Wirt’s eyes widened and his knees locked.

On his nightstand, red and twisted and glowing with a writhing flame locked behind its glass case, The Beast’s lantern cast its light throughout his room. No. No it was impossible. Wirt scrubbed at his eyes and blinked madly. Still it sat there, staring right back at him with a sinister pulse of energy. Wirt trembled and his fingers twitched. Impossible. He’d left the lantern with The Woodsman. The Woodsman was supposed to blow out the light. It wasn’t his problem. Why was it here? How could it be here?

“Wirt?”

He jumped. Clenching his hands, he spun around to face the intruder. In his horrified stupor he hadn’t heard anyone come up behind him, but there he stood, the culprit gazing up at him with a handful of candy clutched in his fingers.

No. No, Greg wasn’t looking at him, but to the side of him. He was looking at the wall. At his shadow. His little brother’s mouth hung open for a moment, struck speechless for a rare, precious second in his short life. Greg’s gaze slowly met Wirt’s. For a moment, Wirt could’ve sworn that it was fear shining in his brother’s eyes. Fear of him.

Hand shaking, Greg held the candy out to him. He waited, arm outstretched towards him, but not close enough for Wirt to take. Slowly, the older brother reached back, his palm facing upward and cupped just enough to accept what Greg had brought him.

“I brought you these for while you’re sleeping. To keep you safe,” Greg said softly. “From The Beast. Candy camouflage.”

Wirt swallowed against the lump in his throat as the plastic wrapped confections dropped into his grasp one by one. “Thanks, Greg,” he choked out, watching as his brother’s eyes wandered to his shadow yet again. “I hope… I hope it works.”

His fingers curled around the candy, crushing them in his grip. There was something else they longed to hold onto tightly. He could remember holding it, not yet understanding its importance, only using it to shine upon his brother’s face in the black of the woods. But it was so important, that lantern. His lantern.

Wirt and Greg looked at the chocolates melting in his hand as he squeezed them. His whole arm was shaking now. He needed to hold his lantern, keep it safe, keep it lit. The pulse rippled through his bedroom, sending him to his knees. No, no, no, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want it.

His chest felt hollow and cold. Like an old tree in a wintery wood. He looked to Greg and watched his brother’s eyes widen in alarm, heard his sharp intake of breath, and expected him to run, wanted him to run-

“You have beautiful eyes,” Greg told him shakily and Wirt squeezed them shut against the tears. “Don’t worry, Wirt. I’ve got lots more candy, so I’ll stay with you and help keep The Beast away.”

“Greg…”  He felt colder.

Emptier.

He didn’t want Greg to see.

His little brother’s hand landed on his head, petting his hair gently. Wirt wanted to tell him to leave him, to go, it wasn’t safe here, but his mouth wouldn’t obey him and his tongue remained heavy behind tight lips. The darkness beneath his eyelids faded as the light from the lantern intensified, drying the tears he had yet to shed. Greg said something to him, but he kept his eyes closed and curled in on himself further.

It’s only a dream, he thought to himself. It’s only dream.

When he opened them again, he was kneeling in the snow. Slick, black oil coated the palm of his hand instead of melted chocolate. The branch of an Edelwood tree was tangled in his hair.

A few feet away, the lantern burned nicely through the snowfall.

-0-

((I know. I shouldn’t write such sad things. But I’ve been wanting to play with bad endings though, so this was a pretty fun exercise. Thank you for the prompt, anonymous, I loved it! I hope this went along with what you were looking for!))

[skimmingmilk]

First I wanted to tell you how much I love your Over The Garden Wall stories, it's like reading what is actually happening after The Unknown instead of reading fanfiction!!! I get so excited when I see a new story from you ^^ Maybe for a story prompt Wirt is in charge while their parents are gone and Greg is off playing in the mud with Jason Funderburker and makes it difficult when Wirt wants him to take a bath. Or Wirt taking care of a sick Greg. Just some ideas if you like them :)

((Thank you so much! For your kind words and the prompt! Sorry this took so long, but I wanted to finish up “Hey, Wirt?” before focusing on this. Hope you enjoy!))

Sick as a Frog

A tiny cough crossed from one room into another. It was the kind of cough that broke the willpower of even the strongest people, paving the way for more uncontrollable, chest-heaving, dry hacking fits. Sure enough, after that first little cough, a series of eight more reached Wirt’s ears through his open bedroom door.

He was curled up on his bed, knees bent and shoulders hunched for the optimum, engrossed reading experience and really, really wasn’t up for moving any time soon. Listening for any other sounds that could cut his reading experience short, Wirt relaxed when silence and the occasional tapping of a drum or trumpeting fanfare continued to be the soundtrack of the empty house.

It was Saturday, which meant Jonathan was at the music shop downtown giving lessons in everything from the bassoon to the tuba while his mom was out having lunch and catching up with some friends, leaving Wirt home alone for the entire afternoon.

A loud, off-key trumpet blast made him cringe mid-sentence. Well, home alone with Greg, though lately he didn’t mind the role of babysitter being thrust upon him. Even if it meant having to put up with things like Greg’s ragtag band practice. Ever since Wirt had joined the school marching band, his younger brother’s newest obsession in brass and wind instruments took over the lives of everyone in the Palmer-Whelan household.

Wirt was debating grabbing his headset from his table so he could read in peace for a few minutes when the trumpet was cut off by an even harsher coughing fit. That didn’t sound healthy. This time he folded the page and set The Canterbury Tales on his nightstand.

“Greg?” he called, sliding forward on his bed, legs dangling over the edge.

The coughing that answered him sounded like it could’ve been his name at some point, so Wirt got up and shuffled across the hall. He poked his head into Greg’s bedroom, wary of entering without scoping out a proper path first. If his own room was a mess, then Greg’s was a warzone. Sure enough, building blocks, Legos, train tracks, stuffed animals, and more littered the carpeted floor along with the toy instruments set up in some sort of weird formation. Percussion would not be in front of the string instruments- but that wasn’t the issue, was it?

Wirt frowned as he looked over the reason for his investigation in the first place. Greg sat in the middle of his messy room, trumpet in hand and face a bit peaky. Had it not been for the coughing that caught his attention, it might not have been enough to tell, but as soon as Greg’s glassy-eyed gaze landed on the older brother, he knew.

“Hey, Wirt.” Greg smiled and waved, with the hand holding his trumpet. “You wanna join the band with me and Jason Funderberker?”

Jason Funderberker croaked from his spot at the battery-powered keyboard, the frog’s voice not so different from what came from Greg’s throat. “Maybe later,” Wirt replied, turning his attention back to his little brother. “You feeling okay, Greg?”

“Yeah. I’m feeling grea-” He suddenly sucked in his cheeks and held his breath, his chest hitching with the repressed cough bouncing around inside it. “Great,” he managed to exhale without giving in.

“Uh huh.” Wirt pursed his lips, then carefully picked his way over to Greg’s side.

He crouched down next to him. Greg was so focused on not coughing that he didn’t notice Wirt’s hand against his forehead until it was too late. The younger brother pushed his arm away and tried to protest, but all that came out was a series of coughs, still dry and rough. Wirt winced, every instinct telling him to run for cover and drink a gallon of orange juice to protect himself, but he fought the trembling in his legs and the urge to gag at the idea of Greg getting his sickly spit on him. Wirt felt his forehead and cheeks again while he was busy coughing. Yep. He was warm. Too warm.

“You’re sick,” Wirt accused.

“Nuh uh!” Greg denied, shaking his head. “I never get sick!”

“It’s the middle of January,” he continued. “Your classroom is probably an incubator for all sorts of germs and strains of the flu. Why do you think Mom’s always reminding you to wash your hands? It’s because you probably caught something at school and brought it home to share with the rest of us.”

“Sharing is caring.” Greg grinned, then coughed without covering his mouth.

Wirt grabbed Greg’s arm and forced it to muffle the mini coughing fit. “No one wants you to share your germs, Greg. Now come on. I need to take your temperature so I can figure out if you need medicine or not.”

Plus, was this just a regular cold or the flu? He’d heard something about the flu going around at his school, but wasn’t sure if it extended to the elementary school as well. He’d have to look up and compare symptoms.

“No!” Greg yanked his arm out of Wirt’s grasp.

The older brother rolled his eyes. “Yes, Greg. If you have a cold you need medicine and fluids and- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Greg was crawling away, heading straight for under his bed. “I don’t need medicine! Medicine is for quitters!”

“Medicine is for people who want to get better! Greg! Come back here!” Wirt tried to snatch him up before he wiggled all the way beneath the bed, but all he got for his efforts was a bonk on the head when he collided with the bed frame.

Why did their mom have to be out today of all days? Wirt scowled, pushing toys out of his way so he could lie on his stomach to see under Greg’s bed. It was a mess under there, and the bed was too low for him to get a good look. Throwing caution to the wind, he felt around underneath it until he grabbed onto the six-year-old’s ankle. He tugged, but Greg had to have been holding onto something because he didn’t budge.

He didn’t get paid enough for this. Heck, he didn’t get paid for this at all!

“Greg, seriously. I’m not in the mood for games.” Wirt tried dragging him out, but the angle was all wrong and- “Ow! Did you just bite me?”

He did. He totally bit him and now his little brother’s germ-laden spit was on his hand. Letting go of Greg’s ankle, Wirt examined his hand with a wince – a combination of pain and disgust crinkling his face. So gross.

Well, two could play at this game.

“Thanks, Greg. Thanks a lot. Fine, be sick, but don’t come crying to me when you feel terrible because you didn’t take medicine.” Wirt stood up, kicking his brother’s trumpet out of the way as he made a show of stomping back into his room.

He slammed his door shut for good measure. Wiping his hand off on his pants, Wirt allowed his angry façade to fall as he listened through the door. There was some movement on the other side of it, probably Greg inching out from under his bed. He waited until he heard footsteps, then ran over to his bed and jumped on, picking up The Canterbury Tales from his nightstand and sticking his nose in it just as the doorknob jiggled.

Wirt kept his eyes glued to the pages as the door inched open. Bingo. Right on schedule.

“Wirt?”

“Hm?” He kept up the ruse of reading, waiting until the door opened wider before looking at his brother from over his book.

Greg gazed at him with his big ol’ eyes, bleary and sick and with a smidge of guilt. “Sorry I bit you.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied, then lifted his book higher.

Greg fidgeted in the doorway. Wirt could hear his socked feet sliding back and forth on the carpet. A small, sad cough and sniffle almost coaxed the older brother into setting his book down, but he tried to hold out for a few more seconds. He heard Greg shuffle closer to his bed.

 “Wirt?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t feel so good…”

The kid sounded so pathetic, he had to give up the ruse now. Wirt fought back his smile of triumph as he lowered his book, only to stare in horror at the even paler – almost green – tinge to his brother’s cheeks. Oh no. No, he knew that look.

“Bathroom! Bathroom, bathroom, come on, Greg, not in here!” Wirt tossed the book aside and scrambled from his bed.

He scooped up Greg, who at least had the foresight to place his hands over his mouth even though that would do nothing to keep the sickness at bay. Holding him out in front of him, facing away from him, Wirt carried him down the hall to their shared bathroom and plonked him down right in front of the toilet.

Greg was making little hiccupping noises now and Wirt was sure that it would only be a matter of seconds determining whether or not he’d have a terrible, terrible mess to clean up. He lifted the toilet seat and helped Greg kneel so he was in perfect range. Safe. They were safe.

Wirt breathed a sigh of relief while Greg opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out as if that would assist in the throwing up process. Shifting so he was crouched behind him, Wirt brushed back Greg’s bangs to partially comfort and to partially feel his fever. He was still warm, but he really couldn’t tell how bad it was.

“Ahhhh.” Greg’s tongue still stuck out, his voice echoing in the toilet bowl. “Ah, ah, ahhhh. Nothing’s happening.”

“You still nauseous?” Wirt asked.

Greg rubbed his stomach. “I think so?”

Wirt sighed, sitting down on the tile floor and leaning against the wall opposite the toilet. False alarm then. Well, better to be safe than sorry. He would definitely be sorry if his brother’s puke ended up on the floor of his room.

He watched as Greg hovered over the toilet for a few more minutes. The kid alternated between coaxing his stomach into feeling better and making weird noises so he could hear them echo back. When he finally gave up, Greg flushed the toilet – even if there was nothing to flush – then crawled over to sit himself on Wirt’s lap, his cheek pressed right over the older brother’s heart.

Not always one for cuddling, since he couldn’t seem to sit still long enough to enjoy it, Greg seemed strangely at peace snuggled up to him. Wirt rubbed his back awkwardly. He had no idea how to take care of sick people. Personally, he liked getting backrubs from his mom when he didn’t feel well, so he supposed it was a good enough start with his brother.

“I’m cold,” Greg complained, cuddling closer. “And my throat hurts. And my tummy hurts. And my eyes hurt.”

“Your eyes?” Wirt raised an eyebrow, then studied the palm of his hand before covering Greg’s eyes with it. “Better?”

“Mmhm.” Greg reached up and pressed on Wirt’s cool hand with both of his. “How’d you know?”

Wirt shrugged, smiling a bit. “Well, same thing happens to me when I have a fever. Cool washcloths and being in the dark help. But you know what else helps?”

“Medicine…” The younger boy sighed heavily, pushing Wirt’s hand away so he could properly pout. “But it tastes gross.”

“What if I promise to make you some hot chocolate – with water, not milk since that might make your throat worse,” he suggested. “Would that make the medicine less gross?”

“Yes.” Greg nodded very seriously, then gave him a thumbs up. Then coughed. Then threw up.

Wirt slapped his palm to his face and banged his head against the wall while Greg’s stomach purged itself not two feet from the toilet. Perfect. Just perfect.

When Greg finished, he tugged on Wirt’s shirt until he lowered his hands and met the sick boy’s gaze. “My throat hurts even worse now, but my tummy’s better.”

“Good to know,” he replied dryly, then sighed. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The medicine was going to have to wait until Wirt was sure his little brother wouldn’t just throw it back up again, and so would the hot chocolate. After Greg brushed his teeth and sipped a cup of water – it was important to stay hydrated after throwing up – he stripped him of his ruined shirt. One of the ones with the Peter Pan collar that he was so fond of, but hopefully their mom would know how to save it. With several damp washcloths, he mopped up Greg’s face and used them to try and cool his fever once he got him dressed in a clean pair of pajamas. He bundled Greg on the couch in a mountain of blankets. He also gave him a big plastic bowl from the kitchen just in case the nausea came back along with a glass of Sprite to settle his stomach, allowing him and Jason Funderberker to watch TV while Wirt cleaned up the bathroom.

He hated every second of it.

“I’m never having kids,” he groaned, gagging as he scrubbed his hands very, very thoroughly.

“Wirt?” Greg’s hoarse, sickly voice floated down the hall, effectively ending the sterilization process.

Drying his hands with a towel, he walked into the living room with a tilt to his head. Greg had given up one of his blankets to Jason Funderberker, the frog’s eyes blinking out from within it. The little brother in question held his arms out to Wirt.

“Will you come sit with us? Please? Jason Funderberker feels better when you’re here,” he told him.

His lips quirked up in a smile and he feigned a heavy sigh. “Oh, alright. For Jason Funderberker. Scoot over.”

Greg did as he asked, even going as far as to lift the blanket so he could be under it as well. Wirt leaned into the crook of the sofa arm and the back, grunting when Greg pillowed his head right on his stomach. The plastic bowl was set on the coffee table next to the glass of soda, close enough for any emergencies.

“You’re not gonna throw up again, are you?” he asked, just to be careful.

“Mm-mm. Too comfy.”

“You’re too comfy to throw up?”

“Yes. Now, shh. I’m trying to watch.”

“You shh.”

“I don’t have to shh, I’m sick.”

“Well, I’m taking care of you, so I shouldn’t have to shh, either.”

“Shh!”

Eventually, Greg fell asleep, still curled up against Wirt’s side and crushing his stomach with his head. It hurt, but not enough to make him want to move him. He knew from experience that it sucked to sleep while sick. If being Greg’s personal pillow helped him feel better, well, he was willing to endure mild discomfort with the looming threat of being puked on.

At least until their mom got back, then he was going to disinfect everything and let someone with more experience handling sick children take over.

[skimmingmilk]

Across the Hall

Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2301 Summary: Greg could see from the crack in his bedroom door the sliver of light beneath the door across the hall. Wirt always stayed up way later than him. Sometimes he could see his shadow as he paced his room, flickering into the hallway as a reminder: I’m still here.

Sometimes his brother needed reminders, too, though.

A/N: Post OTGW, One Shot, Nightmares, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff It's my own personal headcanon that Greg is 6 and Wirt is 15 during the events of OTGW, though that's not necessarily vital to this story. While this one shot does stand alone, it's sort of a precursor to a longer, crazier fic that I'm working on. I plan on writing other little one shots like this that will also tie into the motivations and universe I'm building for the long, crazy fic, but they'll all work as stand alones, too. I think. That's the plan anyway.

Technically, this isn't the first thing I've written for OTGW, but it is the first thing I've posted for it, so I hope I did the characters justice and that you enjoy this little blurb.

[AO3]

The glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling had already faded for the night. Greg listened as the house quieted. His dad had turned out all the lights in the living room ages ago, until the only light Greg could see from the crack in his bedroom door was the thin sliver beneath the door across the hall. He could always count on that little line of yellowy light, ever since he could remember. Even if the door was closed, it was still like a little part of Wirt was reaching out to him, letting him know it was all okay.

Ever since they’d gotten back from their adventure in The Unknown, the only way Greg could fall asleep was by watching his brother’s light. Wirt always stayed up way later than him. Sometimes he could see his shadow as he paced his room, flickering into the hallway as a reminder: I’m still here.

It helped Jason Funderberker, too. Greg rolled onto his side so he could look at the frog tank on his dresser. Wirt called it his “habitat” but it was pretty much a big fish tank without water and some rocks, not rock fact rocks though. There was a light attached to it, for when Jason Funderberker got cold, but for now it was off and their frog slept soundly.

Something he should be doing himself. Greg shifted onto his back again, counting the blacked out stars on his ceiling so his eyelids could get heavy. He used the steady flow of light from the crack under Wirt’s door to pick out the dark shapes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Greg. Until he realized it was gone.

“Hm?” Greg tilted his head, looking directly into the pitch black hole where the hallway had been.

For a second, he thought he saw a pair of glowing, unblinking eyes peering out at him from the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut real tight and counted to five. When he opened them, the eyes were gone. Greg squirmed under his blankets regardless, tugging them up to his chin. His eyes slowly adjusted to the new dark outside his room until he could see the outline of Wirt’s bedroom door.

He wondered what time it was. Must be late if Wirt had gone to bed already. He rolled until he was hanging over the side of his bed, feeling around on the floor for his flashlight. Well, it was really Wirt’s flashlight. He’d borrowed it one time and accidentally-on-purpose forgot to give it back. So far his brother hadn’t seemed to notice.

Now just where was that flashlight of his? His cheeks were starting to get warm and his head heavy from hanging upside down so long. Greg wiggled down a little further, squinting at the dark under his bed with only one hand keeping him from tumbling onto the floor.

“Aha! Tryin’ to give me the slip, aren’t you?” he whispered as his fingers bumped the flashlight further away, clumsily sliding it around until he had it by the end with the light bulb. “Gotcha!”

His socked feet scrambled against the mattress while he heaved himself up. Landing rightside up with the flashlight clutched in hand, he smiled to himself. Victory. He grabbed the alarm clock from his bedside table and turned the flashlight on. Still learning how to tell time in school, Greg hummed as he counted the number of dots to pinpoint which ones the hands were pointing to.

It was two dots past twelve o’clock, he realized, and since it wasn’t lunch time, that meant it must be midnight. “Happy New Year!” he cheered quietly – despite it being the middle of November – and waved his arms up and down. The light from the flashlight bounced all around his room. “Oops.” He turned it off, then set it and the clock back down on the table.

Midnight was very, very late. It was definitely time for sleep now. Greg tucked himself in real good, wrapping his sheets around himself like a cocoon. He closed his eyes and waited to fall asleep.

…It was taking too long. Greg’s eyes popped back open, immediately darting to the hallway to look at the light under Wirt’s door- except it was dark. Right. Wirt had gone to sleep just like he was supposed to be trying to do.

That was easier said than done, though, especially when he felt the darkness in the hallway watching him while he watched it back. Greg frowned. Why couldn’t Wirt have fallen asleep with the light on?

Greg sighed and tried to settle down. The sooner he fell asleep, the sooner morning would come and the sooner he could have some waffles. Ooh… waffles. Yes. Definitely time to fall asleep. Greg closed his eyes again. He kept them closed for a lot longer this time, but still didn’t actually fall asleep. He was pretty sure he almost did twice, but every time his body felt far away and time disappeared he jerked back awake, though he didn’t open his eyes. Not until he heard something.

He blinked, still tied up in his cocoon and facing the hallway. The sound came from out there. Greg listened, wondering if gnomes had come to grant them wishes in their sleep. He squeezed his eyes shut and quickly wished that he was a magical tiger that could whistle, just in case they were on their way. Oh, but he was hungry now from thinking about waffles earlier… maybe he should wish for endless waffles instead. With strawberries on top. And whipped cream.

The noise came again – a very faint thump sound – but it wasn’t the gnomes.

His arms popped out of the blankets so he could sit up. The sound had come from Wirt’s room. He kicked away the rest of the sheets and slid off his bed. On his tiptoes, he crept to his bedroom door and eased it open a bit more. It was still dark under the door, but he heard Wirt mumbling. Maybe he was looking for his flashlight.

Greg fetched it, holding it close to his chest as he crossed the pitch black hall. Forgoing the polite thing to do by knocking, he turned the doorknob and peeked into his brother’s room. It was super dark in there, too, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to see if Wirt was moving. It had gotten really dark in The Unknown some nights, but Greg had always been able to see his brother walking beside him.

“Wirt?” he whispered. “Are you sleeping?”

The rustling of sheets and a soft grunt answered him. Greg took that as a no. He headed over to Wirt’s bed, stumbling over books and clothes along the way. The closer he got, the better he could make out the shape of his brother curled up on his side facing the wall.

“Sorry I took your flashlight, Wirt. Wirt?” Greg prodded, but this time nothing happened.

Oh. So maybe that grunt had been a yes after all. Except Wirt was breathing awfully funny for someone who was supposed to be asleep. It sounded like the way he talked when he was embarrassed or nervous or scared. He rolled over suddenly, shaking his bed so the headboard bumped against the wall with another thump, and tried to turn himself into a very small ball. When Greg leaned in, he could see his pinched features, eyebrows twisting up and down like something was hurting him.

“Greg,” he gritted out and the little boy jumped.

“Yeah?” he answered automatically, even though it was silly.

Wirt was dreaming. He didn’t really know he was there. Greg set the flashlight down on the floor, then pulled himself up onto the edge of the bed. He patted Wirt’s shoulder, but instead of comforting him, it only seemed to make it worse. Greg worried that he’d broken him when his face turned so sad. Not embarrassed or nervous or even scared anymore. Just so, so sad.

“No.” It was all he said, a bubble of a syllable that sounded like a raindrop, and not one that was made up of lemon drops or gum drops.

“It’s okay, Wirt,” he told him, petting his hair in the same way he liked whenever he didn’t feel very good. “Don’t be sad.”

Unbidden, the memory of Wirt balled up in the snow flashed in his mind. All the branches tugging on him, pulling him down into the snow, down into the ground, down somewhere Greg was pretty sure he couldn’t get to all because he was a bad leader and took a nap and played with cloud people instead of making sure his big brother got home like he’d asked him to. Wirt had been sad then. Too sad to go home even with his help. Greg hadn’t been able to fix him on his own.

Wirt sniffed in his sleep. Greg kept petting him. He remembered when Wirt found him, after he’d gone to beat The Beast so they could go home together, and instead of being happy about the golden honeycomb, the silver spider web, and the sun in a cup, Wirt had cried. He’d beaten all The Beast’s tasks so that they could go home and he still hadn’t been a good enough leader.

“Don’t worry, Wirt. I’ll get better. You’ll see. I’m gonna make sure you’re never, ever sad again and that’s a rock fact,” he promised. “I won’t let you get too lost.”

The tension holding his brother in its ball eased. Greg watched the lines on his face smooth over. As he uncurled, he shifted onto his back, still angled towards his little brother. Greg scooted closer. There was enough room now for him to lie down next to him. He petted his head until his breathing stopped sounding so shallow, and even then he only stopped so he could lay his arm across his brother’s chest. His fingers curled around Wirt’s shoulder and he held on. He was going to hold on all night if he had to, if it kept Wirt feeling safe and found.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must’ve because the next time he opened his eyes it was morning and somehow Wirt’s blankets had wound up on top of him even though he was pretty sure it had been the other way around last he checked. Another thing that had switched itself sometime in the night was him and Wirt. It was now his brother’s arm wrapped tight around him, holding him instead.

Wirt’s eyebrows were furrowed, mouth set in a frown of determination. It was a look that said nothing was getting past him. A serious look for a serious brother. Greg beamed. The urge to fidget rose up in him, but he remained perfectly still – a feat the six-year-old couldn’t usually manage at any time of day, though especially in the mornings – and waited for Wirt’s eyes to start scrunching and squint open. Wirt was really, really not a morning person. Briefly, Greg wondered if it was because he had so many bad dreams that ruined his sleep.

Slowly, Wirt blinked into the waking world. Sleep still heavy in his gaze. Once he was a awake enough that Greg could see himself reflected in his big brother’s dark brown eyes, he decided he’d been patient long enough and it was time to start the day. But first he had a serious question.

“Can we have waffles for breakfast?” he whispered.

Wirt sighed and closed his eyes again, worrying Greg a bit because he thought he’d gone back to sleep and he couldn’t do that because he really wanted waffles so that would be bad, but then Wirt smiled with a huff that was maybe, probably a laugh. “Waffles sound great.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He shifted a bit, his hold on Greg becoming more of a hug. “‘S a good morning for waffles.”

Greg grinned, pleased when Wirt blinked and caught sight of it. “Every morning’s a good morning for waffles.”

“Hm… That a rock fact?”

“Nope. Just a regular, ol’ fact. Rock facts aren’t one hundred percent true and I already used a true one last night, so until I reset them all the rest of my rock facts aren’t true. Don’t tell anyone else though. It’s a secret.”

“Oh.” Wirt rolled onto his back, allowing both him and Greg to sit up freely. “Wait. What’d you use it on?”

“I used it on you,” Greg told him matter-of-factly, then took one look at his brother’s bed head and burst into a fit of giggles. “Your hair looks like a funny chicken!”

“What?” He reached up to try and pat it down, though it didn’t do much. “That better?”

“No,” he laughed.

Wirt ran his fingers through his hair, frowning at him. “Whatever. If you want your waffles, you’re gonna have to put up with my chicken hair.” He ruffled Greg’s hair in retaliation, then gave up when the younger boy took it upon himself to make his hair as messy as possible. “Want to help me make the batter?”

“Can Jason Funderberker help, too?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah!” Greg bounced out of bed and out the door to fetch their frog.

Wirt slid out from under the sheets and rolled his shoulders. He took a moment to stretch, his longer limbs protesting being curled up in a ball all night and unable to move about as freely as Greg’s. He started after him, but tripped over something on the floor by his bed.

“Ow. What-? Oh, my flashlight.” He picked it up. “Wondered where that went.”

“Wirt, come on! Waffles!”

“Coming!” he called back, setting the flashlight on his nightstand, then followed his brother across the hall.