Chapter Text
It was dark out and Mabel’s flashlight flickered with every step. Everything within her screamed to go back, to return to the warm, comforting light of the Mystery Shack. But she couldn’t, not when she had so much to gain—and so much to lose.
Mabel winced as her beam of light fell on a birch tree. An eye, carved into its bark, seemed to follow her as she passed by. “You’re not scaring me,” she informed it calmly, ignoring the way her voice wavered. “You don’t have any power. I’m not going to let you have any power. So just stop watching.” Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white as she continued through the forest.
After a long, long walk, her joints had begun to ache. Old age was catching up with her, it seemed, despite her daily infusions of Mable Juice. Luckily, she was close to her final destination. When she reached a large clearing, she sat down on a mossy stone, smoothed over her pleated skirt, and began rhythmically clicking her flashlight off and on.
Short short. Short long. Long long. Short short short short. Short. Short long short. Short.
That was all she dared to do, in the woods where trees had ears. Even this was risking so very much, but the thought of the phone call sent terror coursing through her heart. Mabel had to deal with this quietly and keep Stan and Ford safe. Sighing, she tried again.
Short short. Short long. Long long. Short short short. Long long long. Short long short. Short long short. Long short long long.
Crickets chirped as the soft summer breeze brushed against Mabel’s face, making her hair float gently in its wake.
Short short. Long short. Short. Short. Long short short. Long short long long. Long long long. Short short long. Short long short. Short short short short. Short. Short long short short. Short long long short.
No response.
Short long long short. Short long short short. Short. Short long. Short short short. Short.
Tucking her flashlight away into her many-pocketed sweater, Mabel waited and brushed away the tears from her eyes before they could fall. It felt like hours before a harsh, bright light flashed through the trees.
Long short. Long long long.
The light turned off, and the night remained dark.
“Please,” Mabel found herself whispering in a hoarse, croaky voice. “Please,” she said, a little louder. The trees swayed in the growing wind.
“Fine!” Mabel shouted, shooting to her feet. “I’ll take care of him myself. I don’t need you!” She stomped away blindly, bumping into tree after tree until she finally had the presence of mind to use the flashlight to guide her way. As she strode past the white-barked birch trees, she felt their gaze searing into her back. Her breathing grew harsher with fear, which didn’t abate until she locked the doors of the Mystery Shack tightly behind her.
The vending machine beckoned, but Mabel didn’t need to do something first. Quietly, she ascended the stairs into the attic, careful not to let the stairs creak beneath her sore feet. When she reached the room she had given her two great-nephews, she opened the door ever so slightly.
Stan was snoring loudly, a tiny smile gracing his face as he slept. Meanwhile, Ford was curled around that new red journal of his, holding it tight to his chest like his most prized possession. Posters adorned their walls—some girl band on Stan’s side, and Nikola Tesla and Carl Sagan on Ford’s.
At first, Mabel hadn’t wanted the boys there at the Mystery Shack, not with the dangerous woods and the even more dangerous machine she was keeping in the basement. But after Ford’s rough start, both boys seemed to be loving their summer vacation. And Mabel was so glad that she’d had a chance to meet them, even though she lived all the way across the country.
Dipper would have been thrilled to see his great-nephews, Mabel knew. He’d be talking about crazy (and not-so-crazy) conspiracy theories with Stan and teaching Ford everything he knew about science. But because of Mabel, that was never going to happen.
Closing the door, she walked silently downstairs and punched in the code to the basement’s secret workshop. Mabel hoped that when Stan and Ford inevitably found out, they would forgive her.
She knew they wouldn’t.