Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her head was pounding; it felt like she’d drank a gallon of Mabel-juice with a Smile Dip chaser and was hitting the critical crashing stage. She groans, struggling to pull the collar of her sweater over her face and escape to Sweater Town until the feeling passed. Her stomach feels like it’s about to turn itself inside out. “Diiiiiipper, I’m dying!” the whine is out before she can even process the thought.

“No clue who Dipper is, kid, but if you’re going to die, could you do it somewhere else?” The voice is oddly familiar but most definitely not that of her brother.

Mabel’s eyes widened and she’s scrambling to get out of Sweater Town. “WHAT?!” her collar tugs down to only cover her mouth; she has to blink rapidly as she looks around where she’s at. She’s—wait, how did she get in the Stanley Mobile? And why was there so much more trash—ooh, new surprise tacos! She reaches to grab one only to have her wrist grabbed by a large hand. Oh. Right. The source of the voice. That was a thing. She traces up the arm, clad in a grimy red jacket that looked like a crime against heat as well as fashion, to the owner of both it and the voice. “WHAT?!” she screams again.

The circles under his eyes are much less pronounced with only the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners, though they’re currently narrowed at her. His face is unshaven and unwashed; his hair is long and greasy and brown. It’s a little unnerving how much he resembles her dad. He drops her wrist at her second scream and lifts both hands in a telltale ‘no harm’ gesture.

“Easy, kid. You’re the one that broke into my car, if anyone should be screaming, it’s me.” He’s frowning at her before sighing. “Listen, if you’re trying to rob me, you picked the wrong target. I’m broke as they come.”

“Gr-Gr-Grunkle Stan?” her brain is spinning. Why was Grunkle Stan so young? It didn’t make sense. Something weird was going on; Dipper probably had the answer in the journal. No, wait, Grunkle Ford took the journal back. Oh, hey, Grunkle Ford would probably know what was going on.

Stan lifts a bushy brow at her; he’s got the look he gets whenever Dipper comes screaming about a new conspiracy theory. “No clue what a grunkle is, kid, nor how you know my name. But if this is a bit, it’s a weird one.” He reaches over her and opens the passenger side door. “If you work for someone that I owe money, tell them I ain’t gonna be paying up to a kid. Now scram.”

Mabel notices for the first time that the car doesn’t seem to be in Gravity Falls; it’s late at night and they’re parked in a sleazy looking alleyway between two large buildings. The air is icy cold when it hits her face. Gravity Falls doesn’t have any buildings this big. Ohh noooo. “Hot Belgian waffles…” she swears before grabbing the door and slamming it back shut and smashing the lock down. “Nope, nope! Not going out there, nope, hahahaha!” she turns back to Stan and jabs a finger towards him; he barely pulls back in time to avoid a good nose poking. “Younkle Stan! We have some weird stuff going down!”

“Youn—What are you on about?” he’s leaning back, back against the driver side door, twisted at the hips. “Kid, I don’t know you, so whatever you’re after—” he jumps when she scrambles to her knees in the passenger seat and leans super close to him.

This time he can’t escape the nose poke. “You! You’re Stanley Pines, you have a twin brother named Stanford and another brother named Grandpa Shermie—well, Grandpa isn’t part of his name but that’s what Dip Dop and me always called—NOT IMPORTANT!” she has to slam her hands on the middle console to de-distract herself. “POINT! You’re my great uncle but usually you’re all old and junk but now you’re young which, like, is not even close to the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen but it is definitely in the top fifteen, right after the time I found out my favorite boy band was made up of a bunch of clones grown by this real jerk who didn’t let them go outside but then I kinda did the same so—” a hand clamps over her mouth and she’s licking it on pure instinct.

Stan jerks his hand back at the same time she starts gagging; when was the last time he’d washed his hands?! “Holy shit, kid! Slow it down.” He starts wiping his hand on his jeans, which were about as filthy as his jacket. Grooooss. “Okay, okay, so you know more than most of the sharks I owe.” His eyes widen in a realization and it’s Mabel’s turn to jump back when suddenly he has a fist in her face, golden knuckles catching what little light the streetlights give. Wow could he put those on super-fast. “Did they send you to threaten my family? To let me know that you know who they are? Cause I don’t give a shit if they’re a bunch of assholes, nobody messes with my family! You hear that, you little punk?”

Her head’s spinning from so many swears, also the pounding headache that still hasn’t really gone away. Her eyes water before she can really process it because hello Grunkle Stan is threatening to hit her. She gives a loud sniff and mimics his hand gesture from a few minutes ago. “C-c’mon, Grunkle Stan. It’s—it’s me, Mabel! Your favorite great niece?” she pushes on her cheeks, trying to make her eyes as wide and cute as possible. “Don’t you remember me?”

Stan was doing his best to look unimpressed but she can see him cracking. After a moment, he gives a huff and lowers his fist. All the air seemed to deflate from him with the movement; she’s frowning as he slumps so far into the seat that his knees are pressed to the console. He groans, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Mabel takes that as a good sign to relax. She shifts in her seat so she’s sitting cross-legged, taking the time to tug her sweater over her knees.

Well. This was awkward.

With a sigh of her own, paired with a pout, she reaches for the surprise taco she’d seen earlier. It’s practically grease-glued to the fast food bag it was in; when she finally peels the paper bag away, she sees a receipt similarly stuck to the taco wrapper. She doesn’t recognize the name of the restaurant listed at the top of the nearly translucent paper. Then her eyes fall on the date and she drops the taco entirely.

“81?! Is this taco right, Stan?!” she winces when Stan jumps at her shout, swearing even more at the way his knees banged into the steering wheel. Okay, so maybe she should stop yelling in an enclosed space with someone that didn’t seem to know her. Dipper may have been right about that. Not that she’d ever admit that. She was the Alpha Twin and therefore always right forever. But if this receipt was right, then that meant that Stan hadn’t forgotten her, this Stan hadn’t met her yet!

Stan was rubbing at his knees, frowning. “Of course it’s—how did you not know what year it is?” he’s reaching for her as if to feel her forehead before seeming to think better of it. “Are you, I dunno, sick, kid? I can give you a ride to a…hospital or something. I might have some quarters for you to call your parents?” his hand returns to rubbing at his eyes, “Shit, a kid breaks into your car and you offer her a ride. Going soft, Stanley…”

Mabel leans forward, checking the messy floorboards for a tape measure. She doesn’t remember seeing Blandin or messing with a time device. And wasn’t she with Dipper before…whatever happened? Huh. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember exactly what she was doing before waking up curled up in the front seat of the Stan Mobile. She remembered breakfast with Stan and Dipper; she remembered dressing Waddles in the new sweater she’d made him. She remembered wanting to show Grunkle Ford the new finger puppets she’d made him: one for each of the Mystery family to try to get him to warm up to everyone else. Everything else is fuzzy and makes her head hurt to think about.

“Where are we? Like…are we in Oregon?” she’s hopeful; if she could get back to the Mystery Shack then maybe Grunkle Ford could figure out what was going on. Plus if Dipper was here too that’s where he’d go so that’s where she needed to look for him.

Stan gives a bark of a laugh, “Where—Okay, actually, never mind. I’m going to stop asking questions cause you’ll just scream and start talking nonsense again. Oregon? Nah, Arizona, kid.” His mouth twists for a moment, “…fuck it, one question. What’s in Oregon?”

“Home! Your home, and mine and Dipper’s for the summer. Though I think it’s technically Grunkle Ford’s house but, like, you’ve paid the bills for like thirty years—or you will after—WAIT!” her eyes go wide and she has to slam her hands on the console again. “This is before! Which means you and him haven’t! So maybe if we get there before there doesn’t have to be an after and we can fix everything right now!” she’s grinning, imagining what things will be like if her grunkles were the best friends they were supposed to be because twins are supposed to be the best of friends. Like her and Dipper, they were going to be together forever once she found him again. Yeah! “I need you to take me to Gravity Falls!”

“…did you say that’s where Ford is?” Stan’s face is softer, like when they went fishing with him or when Ford first stepped out of the portal. He shakes his head, the look lost with the gesture, “No. Listen, if you know anything about my family, then you know I’m the last person my brother wants to see.”

“But he’s in danger, Younkle Stan!” she bites her lower lip. When did Bill first start talking with Ford? “Aghhhh, Dipper would know when everything happened.” Her stomach was starting to twist again. Was Dipper okay? Maybe she’d been sent back alone. Oh, he had to be so worried about her. Him and the grunkles and Soos and Wendy. She has to rub at her nose as another loud sniff escapes her. It was hard to be optimistic when she was all alone. “We gotta get to Gravity Falls. We gotta!” she turns her eyes, cute set to full wattage, back to Stan and sticks out her bottom lip.

Stan stares at her for a long moment. He looks down at his lap then pulls down his visor, looking at a tiny map of the United States with most of the states crossed out. Arizona was already crossed out, huh, that was weird. But Oregon wasn’t, score. “…you say Ford’s in trouble? And going there will help you and him?”

Mabel nods so hard that her pounding head threatens to make her puke. “Yup! And my brother, Dipper! He’s my twin, like you and Grunkle Ford. And if I’m here then he’s gotta be here too cause, like, we never time travel without each other or go on adventures alone. So if I’m here he’s probably there cause that just makes sense. Or if he’s not, he will be cause that’s where I’m going so that’s where he’s gotta be going too. Right? Right!”

Stan’s mouth twists again and he drops his head back against his seat. “I really am going soft. Fuck it. Pretty sure there’s no warrants for me in Oregon. And if Ford is in trouble…” he shakes his head before giving Mabel a hard look. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but fine. I’ll get you to Gravity Falls. But once we’re there and I’m sure Ford isn’t about to keel over, I’m bouncing. You got that, Mabel?”

Another bout of near-puke-inducing nodding. “Right! Thank you so much, Younkle Stan!” she can’t help climbing over the middle console to wrap her arms around his neck, nuzzling him with the force of the hug. “Eee, I get to go on a road trip with Stan! Dipper’s gonna be so jealous when we meet up.”

“Alright, alright, get off.” Stan pushes her back to the front seat, brows furrowed. “There’s no way we’re related.” He sighs before starting up the car. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

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

He’s freezing, cold down to his very bones, with a pounding in his skull. It feels like Bill has put his body through a ringer then locked him in a deep freeze. He groans and tries to push himself up, only to feel his hand go through something insanely cold and wet. His scream is high pitched as he scrambles up, blinking repeatedly to clear his vision. For a moment he thinks he’s gone blind as all he sees is white until he realizes that. Oh. Snow. There’s snow everywhere.

He was on the porch of the Mystery Shack and there was snow everywhere. No wonder he was so cold. He wipes his wet hand on his shorts, eyeing the outline of where he’d stuck his hand through. The snow had drifted nearly halfway up the door, haphazardly cleared like someone had kicked at the snow. Which sounds like something Stan would do; how long had Dipper been outside?

Sudden weather issues and memory issues? Geez, he hoped no one had gotten ahold of the memory gun; that was the last thing he needed. He was going to need to check with Grunkle Ford, see if he’d ever seen something like this before. Also, get something for his head. It was hurting bad enough to make him feel kinda sick, especially when coupled with how cold it was. Definitely not good weather for shorts and a T-shirt. He might have to finally give in and wear one of the sweaters Mabel had made for him.

Wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing at them, he stumbles his way to the front door. When he tries to open the door, however, he finds it locked. That’s…weird. Why would it be locked? Stan’s definition of home safety was a bat and his knuckledusters. Also why would they lock Dipper out? He rolls his eyes; Mabel must be playing a joke on him. “Real funny, Mabel. Yeah, let’s lock Dipper out. We’ll see whose laughing when I sneeze all over you.” He brings his fist down on the edge of the doorframe, “Hey! Let me in, Mabel! It’s cold!”

Instead of Mabel’s grinning face, he’s instead greeted with a crossbow in his face. Another high pitched scream and his sneaker slips on snow when he tries to jump back from the weapon. Cold bites into his butt and thighs; his stomach gives a lurch at the sudden drop. “Wh-wh-wh—”

“Who sent you?! How did you find this place?!” the holder of the crossbow yells at him, poking his head out of the doorway. His eyes are bloodshot, hair sticking out in all directions, and even from a distance Dipper can smell that he hasn’t showered in at least several days. He looks even more tired than Dipper remembers seeing him yesterday, the bags under his eyes deeper and darker than usual. But even with that, and the extreme scruff on his cheeks, he still looks younger.

Ford takes another step out the door and lines up the bolt with Dipper’s head, “I said: who sent you?!”

Dipper put his arms over his head, “Ahh! My name is Dipper Pines! I’m your great nephew, please don’t shoot me!” oh god, he was going to be killed by his grunkle. His idol of the summer was going to kill him with a crossbow. He was going to—wait, why hasn’t a painful but hopefully swift death came yet? He peaks his eyes open; Ford is giving him a suspect look, but the crossbow has been lowered just a bit. “Grunkle Ford?”

Ford scowls and lifts the crossbow again. “Show me your eyes! Your eyes! Before I put a bolt through that stupid hat!”

Eyes—oh! Oh, of course! Dipper pushes up to his feet, trying not to slip while doing so. He uses his hand to push his hair out of his eyes. “Look, see! Normal eyes! No yellow, no slitted pupils! I am not possessed by Bill!” that is apparently the wrong thing to say, as Ford’s eyes go wide and somehow even crazier.

“How do you know who Bill is?!” Ford takes a small step back inside. “This is a trick—a-a shape shifter or-or something. Trust no one, trust no one.”

Dipper lunged forward to try to keep up. “W-wait! I’m not a shape-shifter and I’m not working with Bill! I’m—well, I think I might be from the future, considering this isn’t exactly the Mystery Shack and—listen! I’m Shermie’s grandson!” he’s still shivering, but it’s easier to ignore the cold in favor of not getting locked out by his paranoid grunkle. “If you let me in, you can examine me however you need to prove I’m a normal human.”

Ford narrows his eyes at him for a moment before taking another step back and gesturing towards the inside of the house with the crossbow. He never stopped pointing it at Dipper’s head, but he’d take the victory of not being in the freezing cold.

Dipper was pretty sure he’d never seen the Mystery Shack so messy, bar maybe when Gideon destroyed it or when the zombies attacked. All the fake attractions and souvenirs were gone, replaced instead by piles and piles of books and loose papers. Dipper has to step over a pile of what looked like elongated bones, only bright purple. There’s also lots of drawings of triangles pinned to the walls, most with red Xs drawn across them or Ford’s paranoid mantra of ‘TRUST NO ONE’ written in dripping ink.

Okay, so he’d thought they’d been exaggerating how insane Ford was when they’d told him about the portal accident. This was…concerning. Even Dipper thought this was excessive. He didn’t really like seeing his great uncle like this. The number of times he’d imagined meeting Ford back in the days when he was writing the journals, he’d always pictured him as very similar to the Ford he knew. Excited in the same manic way that Dipper could get when there was a new mystery; fun and ready to play board games when not on an adventure. This wasn’t nearly as fun as he would’ve thought it would be.

Ford was peeking out the blinds even as he kept the crossbow pointed at Dipper. “Take a seat, kid. I have a lot of questions, as you can imagine.”

Dipper casts another look around the living room, eyeing the books that seem to take up every inch of the couch. There’s a stool in the corner, but there’s something that looks like half melted lime Jello on it and dripping down the sides. “Uhh, I’d prefer to stand?” despite the cold, Dipper can feel himself sweating under his collar. He wants to ask for a towel for the rapidly melting snow on his butt or a blanket to fight the still-present cold, but he’s honestly afraid to see what said items would look like given the state of the house and Ford himself.

“What?” Ford looks around, as if just noticing the mess that was his house. He seems to still have a small sense of decency as his cheeks turn a deeper red than just that from the cold and he points the crossbow towards the floor. “Oh, right. That’s—” he clears his throat and raises the weapon once more, “Never mind all that. You said you’re from the future?”

Dipper starts to nod furiously only to stop when it causes the pounding in his head to flare up. Ohhh, yeah, no. Can’t do that. Verbal confirmation then. “Yes! Or, at least, I’m pretty sure this the past. Well, relative to where I’m from, or when I’m from, heh.” He snorts at his own joke—Mabel would’ve loved that— before catching himself and straightening his posture. He mimics Ford’s throat clear, “Ahem, right. Yeah. My name’s Dipper, Dipper Pines. I’m from the year 2012.”

Ford’s frowning that deep frown he always got whenever Dipper first started asking him questions after he stepped through the portal. “There was the anomaly in the time readings a few years ago...my theory that time travel was possible, even though Fidds said…” His voice trails off into something too low for Dipper to hear before clearing his throat yet again. “Right. So, you’re my great nephew from 30 years in the future. Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe that, given it is theoretically possible and you do bear a passing resemblance to Sherman. What are you doing here?”

Dipper hesitates, trying once more to push through the headache to remember what he’d been doing before waking up on the porch. Stan had made them Stancakes in the morning. Soos had showed him the new parts for version 2.0 of the rocket golf cart that they were going to work on come the weekend. He remembered wanting to show something to Ford and going to punch the code into the vending machine, but he can’t remember actually doing that. His stomach is twisting itself into knots as he tries to chase the memories that seem to be melting away like the snow on his shorts. Something had distracted him. What—

“Easy, kid.” A hand catches his shoulder, halting the swaying he hadn’t realized he’d been doing. Ford looks almost worried as Dipper tries to swallow down the nausea and dizziness that had suddenly taken over. “You’re white as a sheet, kid.”

Dipper shakes his head and takes a deep breath. What’s wrong with him? “I’m fine. I just can’t—I don’t remember how I got here.” McGucket hadn’t mentioned anything about physical side effects of the memory gun, just the affect it had on long-term memory retention. Why did he feel so sick trying to remember what had happened? He pats his pockets to make sure he didn’t have Blandin’s tape measurer again. Aside from some chewed up pens and a wadded up scrap of paper with ‘Wendy Pines’ written enough times to make his neck burn, he comes up empty. “I think I was talking with Mabel and—Mabel!”

He pushes past Ford, who lets out a very owl-like squawk as he nearly drops the crossbow, and rushes to the door. A blast of cold air hits him in the face—okay Outside was definitely colder than Inside— when he swings the door open, forcing him to squint as he scans the yard. How could he forget to check for Mabel? Oh god, if she was still unconscious in the snow…

The only tracks in the snow are from him and a kicked path that leads to a sign with big bold “STAY OUT” letters on it and barbwire on top of it. At the edge of the yard he can see what looks like rabbit tracks, but otherwise it’s all a blanket of untouched white. No other tracks and no Mabel-sized lumps. That’s both a relief and not. Dipper cups his hands around his mouth, “Mabel! Mabel, are you out there?!” his voice cracks on a yelp when a hand closes around his shoulder again, jerking him back into the house. He’s shoved back, nearly tripping over the pile of bones that seem to glow when his sneaker touches them. “Gah, Great Uncle Ford!”

Ford pulls the door closed and proceeds to lock a fairly frightening number of deadbolts. He’s got the manic look back on his face; his glare is enough to dry up Dipper’s indignation at being manhandled. “Calm down! Who the hell is Mabel?”

“Who—she’s Mabel!” he’s exasperated for a moment before, oh, right, past. It’s so weird to think of anyone not knowing who Mabel is at this point, what with the way that she seems to just be all the time. “She’s my sister; my twin. If I’m here, that means she’s probably here too. I’m pretty sure we were together before…before whatever happened.” He digs his fingers in his hair under his hat, still trying to fight past the headache and the nausea to remember what happened to his sister. “Ughhhh, why can’t I remember?! I had breakfast with her and Stan and then I wanted to talk to you about something but she was there and then—”

“Did you say Stan?” Ford’s voice cut through his own mania; he looks up at him to see a mix of anger and something soft warring on his uncle’s face. Apparently Ford has deemed him a non-threat as the crossbow has been hung up next to the door. “You know who Stan is?”

Dipper’s brow furrows before he remembers what Stan and Ford had told them. About their fight and the not seeing each other for ten years and then for thirty years because of the portal and the burn on Stan’s shoulder—Moses, Dipper had bugged Stan so much about that he was the worst— and the way the two glared at each other whenever they were forced to be in the same room. This was before the portal accident.

Dipper nods, rubbing at his arms. “I mean, yeah. He’s your twin brother. Mabel and I were staying with him for the summer.” He leaves it vague, not sure how much he should tell. You’d think after the thing with Waddles and epic Time Laser Tag he’d know how to handle being in the past. Plus the idea of telling Ford about him being trapped for thirty years hopping through dimensions makes him feel extra super sweaty.

Ford gives a huffing sort of a snort, “Your parents left you two with Stan? Once this is all done I’ll need to have a talk with Sherman about teaching his kids some sense.” He says it so casually, like it’s a practiced thing to dismiss Stan, and that irks Dipper a little but he keeps his mouth shut. Ford sighs and runs a hand through his hair; further messing it up if that was even possible. “Time traveling niblings. That’s gotta be too crazy, even for Bill…maybe. Damn it, all my notes about the time anomaly are in…Journal…”

It’s apparently Ford’s turn to sway. Dipper realizes, as Ford stumbles back against the door and begins slipping down the surface, that he might not be the only Pines that worked himself until he passed out. And if Ford paid as much attention to eating and sleeping as he did to his personal hygiene, then they were in all kinds of trouble. Dipper moves forward to try to prop his uncle up but only really manages to marginally slow down his descent to the floor where he proceeds to promptly start snoring.

Oh geez.

Chapter Text

How did he get himself mixed up in shit like this?

The thought was playing on repeat in his brain as he drove, sparing the occasional glance at the kid in his backseat. She’d shoved most of the trash back there to the floor to make herself more at home and, after a half day of driving and a brief pit stop for her to barf up what had to be a metric fuckton of glitter and what she claimed was the remains of ‘Stancakes’, had settled herself to sleep. Stan found himself feeling slightly bad at the sight of her curled up under the thin, hole-infested excuse for a blanket he used when he had to sleep in his car, which was more oft than not these days. He had learned to ignore how crappy it was given he basically lived in his jacket, but maybe he should think about investing in a new one.

Damn, he really was going soft.

With a sigh, he rests his cheek on his fist, elbow poking out the open window while he drives one handed and enjoys the crisp November air. It’s getting colder and colder the further north they get; he hopes the kid’s sweater is warm enough for snow given the increasing amount of slush he’s been seeing on the highway for the last six hours. Maybe he should liberate her a jacket from a store with lax security before they get there. Probably about time for him to liberate himself a new jacket too.

He can’t stop thinking about what the girl said about being his niece from the future. About Ford. About the photo of the two of them at boxing practice, his arm slung around his nerdy brother and grinning like the dope he was, that had gone into his wallet the moment he could slip it in without the kid noticing. He wasn’t sure if he believed her about everything, but he couldn’t let go of the nagging idea that if Ford was in trouble, he couldn’t just leave him. Stan still had a lot of mixed up feelings about his brother, about what had went down nearly ten years ago, but he was still family. If there was a chance that he was in trouble and Stan could help, he had to do it, right? Even if there was a large chance that Ford would just give him the boot the moment he saw him. Hell, at least he’d be in a new state then, and if Ford wasn’t in trouble, he was still probably better equipped to deal with the kid.

She’d kept talking about someone named Bill, someone that had tricked Ford and put him in danger. A half-ass conman from the sounds of it, and Stan knew a thing or two about half-ass cons. Stan could believe that Ford had been tricked; his brother might be a genius but he was dumber than even Stan when it came to people. Ford liked to think his six fingers was the whole reason he’d never made many friends when they were kids, and Stan had been fine letting him believe it, but his inability to talk to people was at least a partial factor. If he wasn’t unintentionally talking down to people, then he was believing any lie said at least halfway convincingly.

“Yoooounkle Staaaan…” the kid is yawning from the backseat, sitting up and rubbing at her eye. He’s not sure how he feels about that name, but he figures there’s no point in arguing with her about it. It’s not like it really bothers him the way being called Lee bothers him these days, that hitting too close to home, so he’d rather save his energy.

He has to actively focus on not crashing the car into the guardrail of the highway when she starts climbing over the middle console to sit in the front seat. He bites back a swear as a driver in the lane next to him honks when he cuts into the other lane before jerking the car back in line. “Geez, kid, you couldn’t stay in the back until we stop?”

“Nope! Bwop!” she drops herself into the front seat with zero grace and tugs the seatbelt around her. Stan doesn’t know how good a seatbelt works when someone is sitting cross-legged but he chooses not to comment. Safe enough for a petty cop to not pull them over, at least. Probably. He hopes. She’s brought the blanket up front with her and uses it to cover her lap before patting her stomach. “Younkle Stan, I’m hungry and you’re all out of surprise tacos.”

Right, kids needed to eat. Stan himself could do with some food as well; the kid had eaten the last of his food supply when she’d eaten the days old taco. Now that he thought about it, that might’ve had a good deal with why she barfed. Well, he needed to get them each a jacket, might as well get them some food as well. He sees the sign showing the next exit, hopefully they can find a good super store to ‘shop’ at there. “So, kid, what do you know about shoplifting?”

Mabel flashes him a metal filled grin as she shoves her sleeves up. “Nothing bigger than your sleeve! That stuff is for night theft. Also, always have a smoke bomb ready in case you get caught.”

Shit, they were related. And Stan had apparently taught her well in the future. Good job, future Stan. Stan sends a grin right back at her. “That's right, sweetheart. So, you think you're ready to be my partner in crime?” he winces when she lets out a squeal so high pitched he's pretty sure it could break a window. “Holy sh-iny new shoes! You're like a dog whistle turned human!”

Mabel’s practically vibrating in her seat. “I get to do crime with my Younkle Stan~ oh, but we can only steal things we need. Okay? Cause that way it's hafta-crime, not fun-crime. Though hafta can be fun...hmm…”

Stan takes the exit while she debates her morals, looking for the first gas station he sees. There he's able to get directions to the nearest super store, as well as the wallet of a guy too focused on a thing of rotating hot dogs to notice Stan slipping it out of his back pocket. Sucker. Stan uses the money in it to pay for his gas. How's that for a fun hafta?

Mabel has managed to flip herself in the seat, socked feet against the headrest. Stan glances to make sure her shoes are in the floorboards; they are. Stealing shoes could be a real pain so he'd rather avoid it, given they needed to get jackets and food. He takes the time to flick her forehead before moving around to climb back into the driver’s seat. “Sit up and buckle up, kid. Last thing we need is getting pulled over on our way to commit crime.” He says his usual silent ‘please start’ prayer as he turns the key and thankfully it only stalls for a second before the engine is turning over. One of these days he’s going to have to take the Stanleymobile to an actual mechanic and not just a chop shop that he’s managed to temporarily be in good standing with.

The moment they’re in the parking lot, Mabel’s got her hand in his, grinning when he shoots her a look. Her hand is so small in his, soft except for a strip of callus that goes across the inside of her fingers. He tries to ignore the squirming in his feeling in his gut that drives him to give her hand a small squeeze back as they walk in. He was going so soft.

The jackets are simple enough; Mabel picks a neon pink thing filled with feathers that poke out once Stan has removed the little anti-theft tag with the help of a pocket knife while pretending to check the size tag. He rips the plastic price tag off the sleeve and gives the girl a little sleight of hand show of making it disappear that has her staring wide eyed. For himself he finds a simple dark red zip up not dissimilar to his usual one that he left in the car. A twirl of the knife and he’s got two anti-theft tags now which he slips into the pocket of a jacket still on the rack along with the price tags.

“Now we just need some food and we’ll be good to go.” He fiddles with the zipper of his new jacket, scratching with his nail until a bit of the paint on it chips away. “What do kids in your time eat?”

“Sugar!” she yells it loud enough to earn them some turned heads, which Stan just flashes his best salesman smile at. She leaps up to latch herself to his arm, forcing him to lean sideways so she’s still touching the floor. This kid’ll be the death of him. “Younkle Stan! Younkle Stan! Can we have ice cream for dinner? Grunkle Ford always gets a wrinkly nose when we do it at home, not that that stops us, but he’s not here so that means judgment free ice cream! And ice cream always tastes better without judgment!”

Stan basically scrapes her off of his arm, frowning. Well, he certainly liked ice cream for dinner, but that wasn’t exactly something they could do in the car. “How about we stick with something that won’t melt once I turn the heat on. We need, like, dry food. Non-perishables.” Stan was an expert of living out of his car at this point, and that included grocery shopping.

She pouts but doesn’t really argue. He thinks she’s going to just follow along and he’s contemplating how many boxes of crackers the two of them can fit in their jackets when she lets out another loud squeal. Moses, he was going to need a hearing aid by the time he was done with her. “Flapjacks, kid, what the hell?”

“I just remembered something we really, really need to get! I’ll be right back!” before he can protest, she’s gone. How a kid running on days old taco could have so much energy he has no damn idea.

Well, while she’s gone.

He gets three boxes of crackers in the back of his jacket, trapped when he zips up the front. Two loose cans taken from a six pack of Pitt Cola fit into his hood without looking funny. In his sleeves he manages to fit six cheese stick snack packs, two packs gummy fish, a package of toffee peanuts, a tangerine, and a plastic wrapped beget that snaps in half when he bends his arm. Finally he finds himself in the ice cream aisle, glaring a challenge at individually wrapped fudgecicles.

Kids liked fudgecicles, right? It was chocolate and Mabel didn’t really strike him as a kid that was picky when it came to sweets. Hm. Maybe he could just…he opens the freezer door to grab a package.

“CHEESE IT, YOUNKLE STAN!” she’s screaming as she comes barreling down the aisle. Her new jacket is bulging with who-knows-what and there’s an overweight security guard hot on her heels. Stan has approximately half a second to process the situation before she’s running past him. He swears, stuffs the fudge bar in his pocket with one hand, and takes off after her himself.

Thankfully, his legs are much longer than hers so he catches up in five strides, even with her manic speed. He grabs her under the arms and hefts her up. Without breaking his speed, he tucks her under one arm like a football. Then he’s dodging shoppers, knocking over a display of cereal boxes in the process. “I thought you said you were good at this?!” he barks at her as he makes a beeline towards the exit and, beyond that, the parking lot.

“I’m good at everything!” her legs give a kick. “Oh! I know what I forgot!” she wiggles a bit in his hold, reaching into the front of her overloaded jacket. He doesn’t see what it is, but he feels the motion of her winding up her arm. “MABLE BOMB! BWOMP!”

Behind him, he hears a scream followed by frantic coughing and the sound of someone falling. He chances a look back; the laugh is out before he can even think about it. The guard is on the ground, frantically trying to scrape bright blue glitter off his face. It’s not a smoke bomb but it’ll do. A nice personal touch to the crime. Stan finds himself feeling oddly proud.

He throws Mabel feet first into the front seat and slams the door behind her. He slides across the hood of the car, Dukes style, and maybe he’s actively trying to look cool because his heart swells when he hears the kid cheer from inside the car. This time the car starts on the first turn, no prayer needed, and the tires squeal on the wet asphalt as they tear out of the parking lot. He’s 80% sure no one was chasing them but Moses is his heart racing and his cheeks ache from grinning.

“Holy shit, kid! Did you seriously throw glitter at that guy?” he’s laughing as he asks it, looking back and forth from her to the road as he tries to get them back to the highway. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other emptying his sleeves and pockets of the food he’d gotten, tossing them to land on the floorboards in front of her seat. “What did you even steal?”

The girl’s hair is a mess, sticking in all directions and clinging to her cheeks. She’s got glitter all over her right hand and the front of her new jacket; that is never going to get out of his car, he can already tell. “I procured the most important stuff ever!” she unzips her jacket and a waterfall of yarn, and at least five jars of glitter, falls out. From one sleeve she produces two long, metal knitting needles, the other a cheap disposable camera. “Now I can make us sweaters and memories!”

Stan can’t believe this kid; he steals food and she steals craft supplies. He reaches over to muss her hair, “You stupid knucklehead.” He shakes his head, smile unwilling to fade. He fishes the fudgebar, now smooshed and half-melted, out of his pocket to drop it in her lap. “You’re not half-bad, sweetheart. That was the most fun hafta-crime I’ve had in a while.”

She just keeps grinning at him and his heart just keeps swelling.

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

Nearly twelve hours later, Ford can confirm that Dipper isn’t lying. He’s performed the possession detection ritual which revealed faint traces of Bill but nothing recent enough to have a current effect.  He ran blood tests, both the standard DNA testing as well as the less standard hot coil test, which concluded that the boy was in fact related to him and not some sort of shape shifting thing. To be honest, he’d truly started believing that the kid was related to him as soon as he’d pulled out the needle to draw the blood. The boy had turned white as a sheet and Ford would swear the boy had tears in his eyes as he tried to play brave. It was so much like Stan when they were kids…

There was also the mark on the boy’s forehead; a mark of the peculiar. Ford had found himself tapping each of his fingers to his thumb while thinking about it. One-two-three-four-five. Repeat. The boy was fascinating. An anomaly in so many ways. Ford wished he had access to his second journal to compare his notes from the time anomaly from three years ago; oh what he wouldn’t give for the time measuring device him and Fiddleford had put together, but it had been dropped in the Bottomless Pit during their encounter with the Timeless MantaLemur. He’d had dived in after it if not for Fiddleford. Of all the things the Pit had decided to keep.

The boy was asleep now, nervous as that made Ford, clearly exhausted from the ordeal. Traveling through time was a lot to process, despite the boy’s claims of having done so before. Ford had many questions about this ‘time baby’ that Dipper spoke of but they would have to wait. All of the questions he had for Dipper would have to wait; questions about his experiences in Gravity Falls, about the Mabel he kept going on about, about why Stan had the two children.

It seemed almost like a sign, the boy appearing with knowledge of his brother when Ford has been debating reaching out to Stan for the near month since the Incident. A month since the photo of two foolish little boys standing with a broken down boat had gone from being hidden in his desk drawer to burning a hole in his wallet while he continually argued with himself the idea of reaching out to Stanley. The idea of having his brother take the journal and sail as far away as possible with it, of hiding it away where no one could find it. If Dipper knew Stan and Gravity Falls, did that mean he never reaches out to his brother to take the journal away? Or does he, and Stan fails to follow such a simple, important request? What effect will Dipper being here have on choices already made? Were they already living in a paradox or was everything happening as it was meant to? Had their timeline split into another one of a million possible versions of every moment? Oh how Ford wished he didn’t have to worry about Bill; a mystery like his time traveling great nephew was great enough to fuel his studies and work for years.

But he did have to worry about Bill and now a child on top of that. Dipper had said he’d faced off with Bill before, in his time, which means Ford had failed in that timeline to destroy the demonic triangle. It’s almost enough to make him feel like giving up, knowing that thirty years from now Bill will still be a menace to not just him but also his family. No, infinite timelines, infinite possibilities. So what if another version of himself had failed? That simply meant that this version of himself had to work harder than that version so that he could succeed. And wasn’t that an interesting thought; rivaling himself in work ethic and effort.

He’s not aware of the fact that he’s pacing until he’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a door opening down the hall. He looks around; he seems to have made his way to the kitchen for some reason. He’s trying to puzzle out exactly why when Dipper comes in, wrapped in the blanket Ford had covered him with after he’d put him in the spare room to sleep. The couch in there was mostly free of the clutter that had taken over the rest of his house and, once he’d rolled up the electron carpet and stuffed it in the corner of the room, the room was safe enough for a child to sleep.

The boy had left the hat in the room apparently; Ford made a note to take a closer look at the thing later, the symbol on it has been nagging at his mind. Things for later. “Ah, Dipper, good to see you’re awake.” He grabs the boy’s chin to lift his face up, studying his eyes. No slits, no yellow. Good. Can’t be too careful. “I trust you, uh, slept well?”

Dipper nods, another yawn escaping him as he wraps the blanket a little tighter around him. Ford had placed a space heater in the room for Dipper to sleep, but the rest of his house was still pretty cold. It seems he had been neglecting his gas bill for some time. “Yeah. Uh, Great Uncle Ford? I’m…kinda hungry. Do you…have food?” he peers around Ford towards the sink.

Ford follows his stare to the dishes that fill his sink and cover every inch of the counter not taken up by more of his books. “Right. Food.” Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure when the last time he had something in his stomach other than coffee and even that supply was beginning to run low. Fiddleford had handled the shopping once he’d showed up, same as when they’d been in college. He takes a few steps over to look in the fridge before quickly slamming it shut again. He’s pretty sure there wasn’t that much green or fuzz last time he checked. “I…may be running low on certain supplies.”

To his surprise, Dipper laughs. He gives the boy a bemused smile; what was funny about this situation? Dipper’s cheeks go ruddy when he seems to realize he was laughing and he clears his throat. “S-sorry. Just remembering something Grunkle Stan—it doesn’t matter. I’m not that hungry, we can get food later.” Then he looks up at Ford and Ford would swear that there were actual stars in the boy’s eyes. It makes him a little uncomfortable the number of times he’s caught Dipper looking at him like that, like he’s the boy’s hero. “So, what’s the plan, Great Uncle Ford? I have lots of theories about how I got here and what we can do to get me back home. I’m sure if we both work together—”

“Whoa, easy there, boy.” He holds up a hand to silence the boy. He takes a moment to consider the last twelve hours. The tests, the questions, the sound of Dipper retching in the bathroom after the blood test. Ford has to check his watch; it’s approaching five in the morning. Dipper had mentioned eating breakfast before he was sent back in time and though it was clear that he didn’t come through at an equal time of day, it had still had been too many hours since he’d eaten. As eager as he is to get back to work, he was still responsible for the boy. He remembers how much he’d witnessed Fiddleford’s son put away the weekend he’d come to visit and Fiddleford had insisted Ford meet his family. Growing boy and all that nonsense. “Let’s get something in you before I get to work on fixing things.”

Dipper’s entire form seems to deflate, disappointment marring his face.

Ford clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck. “And, uh, you can help me? You said you were studying my work in the future, right?”

“Oh, yes! I’ve read the third journal front to back a gazillion times! And the other two, but I haven’t got to read them as much since you didn’t—well, after the unicorn thing you let Mabel and me see them but we were working on the barrier and so I didn’t have that much time to read them more than four times each so—”

“Unicorns? Wait, you guys were able to get the unicorn hair for the barrier?” Ford is sincerely impressed. Dealing with unicorns was one of the most frustrating things he’d had to do since he came to Gravity Falls. He still remembers the echoing voice NOT PURE OF HEEEEEEAAAAART before he was booted out of the clearing with his boots in hand.

Dipper’s face splits into a wide grin, “Oh, yeah! Well, Mabel did.” He smacks his open palm with a fist. “Hair, blood, eyelashes; she even got a load of treasure for Grunkle Stan.”

Treasure hunting! He can still hear the chant of excited little boys, skin made bright red by the sun. It brings a small smile to his face to think that they got some treasure in the end. Then he remembers it's Stan they're talking about and the smile curdles. The boy is bringing out the nostalgic in him which is counter productive to what needs to be done.

“Well, it's good to know you children are safe in the future, and capable it seems. Now, since I seem to be rather…low on supplies, what say you and I take a very quick trip into town to restock?” that wouldn't be too hard; he could just give Dipper the money and wait in the car. The idea of being around people had his fingers tapping and his brain itching. But he had an assistant again! Someone else to handle all the prickly social situations life seemed to demand as well as assist in research. The boy still made him nervous, Ford wouldn't stop checking his eyes for a good while, but if he was forced to be responsible for him and the boy was eager to be of assistance then he might as well get some use out of the boy.

Dipper nodded happily; just as Ford thought, happy to help. “Of course! Oh, we could go to the diner! Wait, is the diner open? I don't know how long it's been a thing…”

“I...don’t know.” was there a diner in town? Maybe, Ford wasn't sure. He remembered the pizza place where Tate had eaten two large Supremes without pausing for breath. It still rankled him that Fiddleford had refused to let him study the child as an anomaly. He swore he had more stomachs than the mutated cow in his book. “I was thinking we could just run to the grocery store?”

“Yes! Then we can get back to work quicker!” Dipper grins but it falters a second later. He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Do you, uh…wanna get ready before we go?” his face is pinched with nerves. “...maybe shower?” he says it in such a small voice that Ford almost doesn't hear it.

But he does and it has blood filling his face and heating his neck. When was the last time he'd showered? Now that he's thinking about it, he can practically feel the filth sticking to his skin. A touch to his cheek feels like he's a few days from an actual beard and he could likely fill a lamp with the oil in his hair. Okay. He was completely disgusting.

Twenty minutes and one cold shower later, Ford is much less gross as they make their way to the car. He’ll admit that the water felt nice on his lingering bruises as well. Dipper has been draped in one of Ford's old sweaters from college and, while smaller in the shoulders and chest than what Ford wears now, still hangs to the boy's knees and the sleeves have to be folded several times before it stops at his hands. He's still got the blanket around him as well. Ford will need to see about getting him some pants; those shorts were not good for this snow.

The drive to town is slow but uneventful. Once they reach the town, Dipper is basically rotating in his seat trying to look at everything, muttering about things that have changed and what has not. Ford finds it easy enough to ignore.

He starts to give Dipper his wallet before remembering the photo and instead giving him a handful of bills from inside. He watches the boy produce a notebook and pen from...somewhere. Huh. They go over the few essentials they need: milk, bread, maybe eggs for protein. Then Dipper is running into the store and Ford is once more alone with his thoughts.

It’s harder to block out the whispers without anything to focus on, so he tries to force himself to run through the Kaplansky’s conjecture, trying to find the flaw in why it hasn’t been solved. Chasing down numbers in his head as opposed to thoughts of emotions or certain geometrical shapes helps calm his anxiety with being out of his house. He was just a guy sitting in his car outside of the grocery store. No one was going to spare him a second glance, no one knew who he was. Numbers, numbers, numbers.

He’s so engrossed in the numbers and not thinking about triangles or eyes on him, that he fails to notice the two figures approaching his car until one taps on his window, startling a yelp out of him and having him reach for the knife he has stashed under the driver’s seat. Then he sees who it is and his eyes narrow. It takes a moment for him to crank the window down. “Dipper, why did you bring him here?”

Dipper looks nervous again, but Fiddleford just looks annoyed despite the obvious tremble in his hands and jaw that Ford suspects isn’t all to do with the cold. “Nice to see you too, Stanford.”

Chapter Text

“Mabel, this is a bad idea!”

“Do you have a better one?”

“No, but--”

“Then come on!”

Static. Screams. Their Grunkles will be so mad. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea.

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

----------

She hits her head on the door when she wakes up with a jolt, a whine escaping her at the pain. There’s a terrible pounding against the back of her eyes which sting with the threat of tears. What was…she felt even worse than when she’d first woken up in the front seat of Stan’s car. Which she now was in the backseat of? When had she moved from the front seat again? Her and Stan had been snacking and listening to some of the awesome pop songs from the 80s that he liked to pretend to hate but she knew he really loved. When had she moved to the backseat?

Slowly she sits up; the movement combined with the rocking of the car doing her stomach no major favors. Stan’s still in the driver’s seat, humming to himself and tapping offbeat against the steering wheel. Mabel originally thought his issues with keeping a rhythm was due to his poor hearing in the future, but now she was starting to realize that he may in fact be tone deaf.

He notices her and their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “Look who decided to wake up. You feeling any better after that nap, sweetheart? You’re still looking pretty green. Maybe we should’ve lifted you some medicine along with the food.”

“Younkle Stan?” she curls up a little more in the seat, leaning against the door and tugging the collar of her sweater up to her nose. Not quite Sweater Town because she wants to see Stan but enough to help ease a bit of her anxiety. Was she losing more memories? And that dream… “Do you ever...feel like you might've done something really bad?”

She sees Stan’s eyes focus on her for a moment through the rearview mirror, his mouth twitching from the friendly smile he’d been wearing. He gives a weak, forced laugh, showman smile in place instead. “Pumpkin, I've done all kinda bad in my life.” The smile disappears when he looks back to the road. When he speaks again his voice is a bit softer, “Why? You do something bad?”

A shiver runs through her, clenching her stomach and sending a new stab of pain behind her eyes. “I think I made Dipper do something.” She closes her eyes, trying to think past the pain. Her whole body hurts when she tries to chase down the dream. She can hear both her and her brother screaming, remembers being afraid. Remembers the sound of—

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick.” She opens her eyes, clamping her hands over her mouth to try to force down the bile that she can taste in the back of her throat. Her vision blurs as her eyes water. She hears Stan swear and the car jerks to the side of the road. She looks out the window to see that they’re on the side of the highway, cars speeding past them.

“Breathe, kid. Hey, it’s okay.” Stan’s turned around in his seat so he’s looking right at her, face pinched in worry. Then he’s climbing out of the car and moving around to the side that’s facing the ditch beside the road. “Please don’t puke in my car. C’mere.”

He reaches out his arms to pick her up, probably to carry her to puke into the grass, but she instead takes it as an invitation to latch onto him. She gets her arms around his neck and presses her face to his throat as she trembles. “I think I did something really bad and what if Dipper is mad at me? What if I’m wrong and I got sent back alone because Dipper doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore? What if—” what if they were going to be like Stan and Ford, is what she thinks and then feels even worse for thinking it.

Stan is hunched super awkwardly from how she’s clinging to him while still in the backseat and he’s standing beside the car. She feels him sigh before his arms wrap around her. He picks her up and shifts her a bit before sitting in the seat himself, one leg out of the car, one in. One of his arms hugs her about her shoulders while his free hand rubs small circles into her lower back. It makes her think of her mom, which just serves to make her start crying harder into the collar of Stan’s shirt.

“Listen, uh, Mabel…I don’t really know you or your brother. Not right now. And I don’t know what you did or didn’t do, or how Dipper feels about it,” He clears his throat and grabs her shoulder, forcing her to lean back to look him in the face. His face softens when she looks at him, “But I do know a thing or two about making the people you love mad at you. And know what it took me a really long time to learn?”

She shakes her head, biting her lower lip hard enough to taste copper despite feeling no pain from it.

Stan rubs her mouth with the sleeve of his new jacket. “I learned that you gotta be sorry and want to make up for it, but they gotta love you enough to give you the chance.” His smile is sad and breaks her heart, because she knows that he doesn’t think Ford loves him enough. “So, yeah, Dipper might be mad. He might be mad for a long time. And it might hurt having him be mad at you, but if he loves you as much as he should, he’ll realize that he needs to forgive you. So you just gotta be ready for that day.”

Mabel sniffles, leaning forward to rest against his chest and be hugged. She slips her hands into his jacket to hug him as much as she can with how much wider than her arms he is. “…are you scared to see him again, Younkle Stan?”

A laugh shakes through his chest and it sounds like his heartbeat goes a little funny for a moment. “Sweetheart, I’m terrified.” She hears a telltale sound of sniffling above her but purposely ignores it. If she sees him crying, she knows he’ll shut down and make an excuse about getting something in his eye.

They sit like that for several minutes until Mabel’s tears slow to a stop. She still feels wrung out and her head still hurts, but she does feel a little better having cried. Plus hugging it out always made her feel better. She leans back, making sure not to look Stan in the face when he hurriedly rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes.

His showman grin is back in place when she does finally look up at him, though his eyes are ringed with red. “But, hey! We’re gonna be heroes, right? Save my idiot genius brother from that Bill guy!” he musses her hair, which doesn’t help with the headache but does help her feel less like emotional garbage. “That should get both of us some good points, even if they’re both mad at us.”

Oh, right. They were going to save the day. Save the day and fix things with Ford. Even if Dipper was mad, once he saw Stan and Ford acting the way twins were supposed to act there was no way he wouldn't be her best friend anymore. And she'd finally apologize for being so mean all the time and maybe actually try to play his nerdy board game when they got home.

“Um, Younkle Stan? I kinda have another problem, other than the maybe being a bad person.” She shifts in his lap, scraping her teeth against the torn skin from where she'd bit her lip earlier. “I don't… really remember getting in the backseat?”

Stan lifts a brow at her, “Like ya blacked out? Shi-oot. You might be sicker than we thought.” He presses a hand to her forehead, frown deepening. “You don't have a fever. Is this, like, a time sickness?”

“I don't know. This didn't happen any of the other times we traveled through time.” She scowls; this whole thing was weird. She still didn't understand how she'd ended up with Stan, not that she was complaining. Her Younkle was the best. “And my body is all achey and my head keeps hurting if I try to remember. But I feel like I gotta because it's important.”

Stan shrugs, “If it's real important you'll remember when you need to. I'm sure Ford will be able to figure it out once we get there. We're still a few hours out from what I can figure.” He stands up with her and carries her to the front seat. “Don't sweat it, kid. I'm sure whatever's the issue it's not as big a deal as you think.”

Mabel reaches into the backseat to grab the blanket, and then she snatches the knitting project she'd started from the floorboards. By the time Stan is back in the driver's seat, she's made the front seat into a Knitting Nest. A neighbor city to Sweater Town with a booming export business. “You're probably right. I'm just being silly; Younkle Ford will be able to figure it out. And then we'll save him from Bill and the after.”

Stan frowns harder as he pulls back onto the highway, resuming his steering wheel tapping. “...you keep talking about an after. What exactly does Bill do to Ford other than trick him?” the leather of the steering wheel squeaks with how hard Stan grips it. “Does he hurt him? Like, physically?”

Mabel squirms a bit in her seat; she'd told Stan all about Bill and living with her and Dipper and Ford, but not about the portal accident. It felt wrong to talk about, a story that wasn’t hers to tell. She also realizes that she doesn't know everything Bill did to Ford, only what Dipper had shared with her. She knows Bill tricked Ford like he'd tricked Dipper and Gideon. But if he'd hurt him...well, she can remember the bruises and small cuts that covered Dipper after Bill had possessed him. Had he done that to Ford too? The thought makes her hate the jerk even more.

“Grunkle Ford…wasn't okay after. I don't know everything that happened, but I know he needs help now so he can be okay later.” She grumbles out a Grunkle Stan style swear when she drops a stitch. “Bill is a jerk.”

WHO'D SACRIFICE EVERYTHING THEY'D WORKED FOR JUST FOR THEIR DUMB SIBLING?

And she'd almost given him the book! All because of a stupid boy. Bill brought out the worst in their family. She still felt bad about it. Maybe the unicorn was right; maybe she wasn't a good person. Dipper forgave her for that but sometimes it felt like she couldn't stop herself from screwing up. From being selfish and demanding and rude. The longer she thought about it, the more reasons she found that Dipper had to not forgive her. She didn't know how to function without Dipper as a counterbalance. They'd always been together, and even though it had been less than a day, she’d never missed him as much. It felt like she really hadn't seen him in thirty years.

A pair of fingers snaps in front of her face, startling her out of her thoughts. She rubs at her eyes that had been watering and tries to give Stan her best grin. Now she was making Stan feel bad, she was the worst. This is why she needed Dipper, he--

“You're thinking too much, kid.” Stan grunts, sparing her just a glance before resuming his focus on the road. He's gone back to tapping the non-rhythm against the steering wheel. “Listen, for what it's worth, I don't think Dipper is going to hate you or whatever. You seem like a good kid and from what you’ve told me, you two are a kinda world class team. See, Ford and I were just dumb kids that thought we only had each other. But you two actually have friends and sh--stuff, but you're still best friends who have actual adventures.”

Mabel sniffs, slowly working on her line of stitching. She thinks about Grenda and Candy, about Dipper and Wendy. About the stupid gnomes and her brother promising to trust her always no matter what the journal said. “I miss him a lot, Younkle Stan. Like a lot a lot. And it's only been a little while but it feels like forever and I just wanna see him.”

“You will, sweetheart. I promise I'll do whatever I can to get you back with your brother, even if it means dealing with mine.”

She smiles softly; she might not have Dipper, but at least she has Stan. “Thank you, Younkle Stan.” She burrows into the blanket and resumes knitting. She has Stan and soon she’ll have Ford and Dipper too. Even if Dipper is mad at her, Stan is right, he’ll forgive her. She’ll do whatever she has to for it.

She doses off again at some point in the drive; when Stan wakes her up her knitting needles have left angry red lines where they were pressed up against her palm. She shakes the hand out while she yawns and stretches. She feels much better this time, having had no dreams. Then she looks out the window and feels her throat close up.

There’s two cars parked outside the Shack that she doesn’t recognize, and signs telling people to go away rather than step up. With the signs and the snow, it looks so lifeless compared to the place she’d called home all summer. It reminds Mabel of being at school at night; creepy and with a sense of wrong. But that’s where Ford is. And hopefully Dipper.

“Ready to go into the unknown, Younkle Stan?” she looks over at him, where he’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his new jacket. He’s got that ‘Ford-just-stepped-out-of-the-portal’ nervous smile on his face again and she really hopes this reunion goes better than that one.

“Nope.” He turns to look at her, smile vaguely manic. “But let’s do it.”

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

Dipper awakes with a start, bile climbing up his throat as his skull pounds with a vengeance. He swallows it down and tries to will himself to not lose the small breakfast he'd had. When had he fallen asleep? He remembers the drive back to the not-yet Shack, McGucket following with the excuse of ‘can't trust Stanford with a child’. What had happened after that?

More blackouts in his memory? Dipper had thought it was just from how he'd been sent back in time but...okay, so this was a little scary. He looks around; he's back in the room that'll be Soos’s break room and then Ford’s room. He snatches his hat from where he’d left it on the floor, letting himself feel comforted by the familiarity of it on his head. The pain was passing quicker so long as he didn't try to chase the memories down. What was going on with him? What could Ford’s tests have missed?

He'd been dreaming something, something he feels was important for him to remember. Something to do with an idea Mabel had had and—

Huuuurk. Okay, dream also equals urge to vomit. Noted.

He lets himself take a few minutes to breathe, to let his stomach and head settle. The goal is to not vomit as it often is in life. Vomit free zone, that's what he is. He vaguely wishes Mabel was around to pat his back the way she had when he’d been so excited to meet Ford, the way their mom did back home when they got sick. That thought sends a stab of longing straight to his heart. The feeling passes enough for him to stand and leave the room.

“I knew ya were the stupidest genius ever, Stanford, but this takes the whole flabnabit cake!” He hears Old Man—well, it's just McGucket right now, isn't it— yelling from the living room so he goes towards the sound. “Ya wanna doom the world with yer damn thing in the basement an’ now yer doing it with a child sleepin’ upstairs.”

Dipper peeks around the doorframe; McGucket is seated on a section of the couch that has been cleared by shoving a lot of books to the floor while Ford paces paves the length of the living room. Neither seems to have noticed him. He figures it won’t hurt to listen a bit; adults have a nasty habit of keeping things from kids no matter how capable said child—almost practically a teenager in fact— was, and this Ford wasn’t as ready to trust Dipper as the one in the future.

Ford shoots an exasperated look at his former partner. “I know, alright? I admit that—that I was wrong about the portal. You were right, it's too dangerous, but—”

“Holy cow, someone call the paper; Stanford Ego Pines admits he was wrong. It'll be a national holiday.” McGucket crosses his arms, leaning back in the couch like a petulant teenager and giving Ford a look that would have Wendy whistling impressed.

Dang, McGucket. Dipper shakes his head. Was this what he was like before he started erasing his memory? Though Dipper’s not sure when that started happening; just that it happened after he’d seen the other side of the portal. Was this a McGucket with his memories or one with holes all through his mind? He winces at the thought; that was a very harsh way of putting it.

“Listen, I know you're angry with me, but surely you have to see the big picture here.” Ford sweeps a hand in front of him, clenching the other at his side. His hair is sticking out in all directions again like he’s been tugging on it. “I can’t stop what I’ve done and take care of a child. You helped me build it, you can help me take it apart safely and—”

“I will never, not on m’ damn life, Stanford, go back down there.” McGucket’s voice is dark, there’s a shake to his hand when he moves to grip the arm of the sofa white-knuckle tight. He sighs and leans forward, one hand going to cover his eyes. “I—I get why yer asking me fer help, Ford. An’ I get why it’s important. But I ain’t ever going down there again. I can’t. I ain’t ever want to…remember what we did. And God forgive me fer ever helpin’ ya with it in th’ first place.” His hand drops from his eyes to his knee and he looks up at Ford.

Well, so he’s probably started on the memory gun at least. Maybe he can help answer questions about Dipper’s lost memories.

The look seems enough to deflate Ford, who sinks down to sit on top of some books on the coffee table. He shakes his head, “Fidds…fine. If you won’t help me then I’ll just do it alone. I still have all your notes to help me.” He moves his fingers through his hair, furthering mussing it up. Dipper realizes he looks like an owl with over fluffed feathers. “If you won’t help me with the portal, will you at least—”

McGucket nods, waving a hand as if to brush away the remainder of the question. “Yeah. That…won’t be a problem. I have some other things ‘m workin’ on, but they can wait. Kids come first.”

Wait, what?

Ford’s shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you. It’ll just be while I get everything taken care of here, and then I’ll come get him.”

Ohhh. Oh no.

McGucket nods again. “Once he wakes up, I’ll take him back to my place.”

“No!” Dipper yells, giving away that he was eavesdropping and not caring. He tries to rush into the living room but trips over his own feet. He grunts when he hits the floor before shoving back up to his feet. He points a finger at Ford, “You’re not going to send me to stay with Old M—I mean, McGucket! Young Man McGucket! I’m gonna help you!”

Ford gives an annoyed sounding sigh, turning his head up to the ceiling. “Dipper, my work is too dangerous and you're clearly sick. You said yourself that you weren't feeling too well. I can't fix my mistakes and look after an ill ten-year-old. You'll just stay with Fiddleford until I can safely dismantle the portal. Then I can focus on getting you home.”

“I'm twelve! Almost 13!” Dipper’s face burns; this Ford doesn't think he can do it. The weird path I must walk alone. “You can’t send me away! I’m not—” not Stan, is what he nearly says, but he clamps his hands over his mouth before the words can escape him, eyes wide. Why did nearly he say that? Why think it? “We're family; I want to help. Please, Great Uncle Ford! Just give me a chance to prove myself! I'm not sick, I promise! Just-just time lagged!” the last part is a lie, but he can tell Ford about the lost memories after they were done dealing with the portal. He'd be fine until then; it was just an hour or so lost, no big deal. Getting to prove himself to Ford, to the Author, was way more important.

McGucket chuckles from his spot on the couch; Dipper gives him an awkward smile back. “If he ain't a precocious lil feller.” He pushes himself up from the couch and gets close enough to pat Dipper’s hat. “So yer the time traveler. I reckon that's one of the stranger things I ever did see, but not the strangest. So, Stanford,” he levels the dry look right back at Ford, who instantly straightens with a scowl, “what's the plan? I ain't taken nobody against their will. Especially not a kid with even half that determination.”

Ford groans, once more fisting his hair. “Why does no one ever listen to me, gosh dang it?! Everything is an uphill battle.” He shoots Dipper a serious look, “Fine. You wanna prove yourself? I need some help retrieving something to help me deal with our you-know-who problem, and since Fiddleford wants to be a child about it, you can come. And if you do good and don't get ill again, I'll consider letting you help further. Is that sufficient for you two?”

Dipper nods so fast his jaw clicks and his hands are shaking at his sides; oh what he wouldn't give for a pen. A chance to prove himself, to go on an adventure with Ford not spawned by magical dice! Ohh, wait till Mabel hears about this. She'll be so jealous. Too bad he doesn't have a camera to take pictures for her. That's one scrapbook he'd love.

“And while you two have yer adventure, I can work on the time travelin’ problem.” McGucket offers, surprising Dipper.

“You can do that?” he frowns up at him. Then again, the McGucket he knew could build just about anything.

McGucket looks proud as punch, thumbing his big nose. “I built the last time detector we had, ‘fore Stanford stupidly lost it. Yer uncle might be brilliant but he ain't able to hold a candle to my engineering. It's why he needed me to—” he freezes; proud look lost to something confused, “to…build something. The thing in the basement. I...I cain’t quiet recall the specifics but it was mighty impressive, I reckon.”

Dipper laughs nervously, uncomfortable with the reality of McGucket’s memory issues and knowing exactly where that would take him. Well, maybe they could help with that once Bill wasn't a threat, before Dipper went home. Hard for McGucket to found a cult and destroy more of his mind while he was here, right?

He turns his attention back to Ford, who has started sifting through some of the books on the table in the hunt for something. “So, uh, Great Uncle Ford. Where are we going? What do we need to get?” he moves closer and picks up on of the books closest to him. Physics and Where They Just Don’t Work. Huh.

“Where it all began, my boy. Aha!” Ford manages to slide out a folded up piece of paper from beneath the pile. When he unfolds it, Dipper can see an array of lines that make no sense whatsoever. Then Ford folds it up again differently until it’s in the shape of a triangle and when he holds it up, Dipper can see what it is. A map. “I’ve already hidden away my other journals and with the snow it would be quite difficult to get them back. So we’ll just re-gather the information from its source; the cave.”

The cave. The cave. The cave.

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL

Dipper nearly doubles over; it feels like he was just stabbed right through the eye into his brain. The book in his hands drops to the ground as he presses his palms to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. Oh god, it hurts so bad! He feels his legs threatening to give out under the wash of nausea, feels the bile once again crawling up his throat. No, no, no, no. What was happening to him?

A pair of hands catch his shoulders as he sways and he looks up in surprise at his uncle. Before Dipper knows what he’s doing, he’s got his fingers dug into Ford’s sweater and his face pressed into his stomach while he struggles to breathe through the vice on his skull. Ford’s awkward, one hand staying on Dipper’s shoulder while the other twists his hat away so the brim isn’t digging into him. Dipper’s embarrassed by how he’s clinging, how childish he’s being, but everything hurts. He tries to block out whatever memory is trying to surface.

“We can’t go to the cave. We can’t. It’s not—” he swallows down the bile and digs his fingers in harder. “It’s not safe. I don’t know why, I can’t remember, but we can’t go. S-something’s not right there.” Oh god, he wished Mabel was here. Even if just to give him a proper hug, unlike Ford’s uncomfortable patting. He felt stronger when it was the two of them than when it was just him alone and right now he felt weaker than he ever had. He was with the Author, he was being given the chance to do what he’d dreamed all summer and go on an adventure, but suddenly all he wants is to be with his sister.

Ford pushes him back a bit so he can kneel, putting him roughly eye level with Dipper. He looks over at where McGucket is standing to the side; Dipper’s cheeks burn at the look of concern on the other man’s face. Ford gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Listen, Dipper. Breathe. Slow, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Do that for me.”

Dipper obeys; slow deep breaths in the nose and out the mouth. It takes a few repetitions before the panic starts to dissipate and with it most of the nausea, though his head still hurts. He nods slowly at his uncle.

“Good boy. Now keep doing that and listen.” Ford frowns and adjusts Dipper’s hat, fixing where it had been pushed askew. “The cave isn’t safe; I know that. Going there is a calculated risk and one I feel that we can withstand. So long as I don’t fall asleep again, my mind is safe, and you’d have to shake his hand for him to take you. And now that I’ve finally had some coffee, I’m awake enough for this, but perhaps you should stay—”

“No!” Ford doesn’t have the plate in his head; Ford isn’t safe from Bill. Well, that would explain the way he’d screamed when he’d woken up after the five minute nap after Dipper had first arrived. How long has it been since Ford has slept? Dipper feels a chill in his spine at the thought of Ford going there and potentially falling asleep. “Great Uncle Ford, you have to listen to me! You can’t go there! It’s not—“ another stab of pain, “I don’t know why but it’s too dangerous! Even for you! Especially for you!”

Ford looks ready to argue more but McGucket speaks up. He’s moved over to the window, peaking through the blinds. “Now, I don’t mean to be interuptin’ y’all’s argument, but there’s someone here. Someone that looks an awful lot like you, Stanford, but with a much better haircut.”

Chapter Text

When he was twenty-five, he’d been forced to make a deal with a high ranked member of a drug cartel that had shared his cell in a Columbian prison. They’d helped break him out of the prison and set him up with a new false identity and all he had to do was be his schmoozing, showman self to get a few things on a plane and into America. Stan had done it; prison was hell no matter the country. He remembered vomiting from the stress and the fear in the tiny toilet of the air plane. He could still feel the cold metal of a gun pressed to his side as he handed off the package to his contact in the states.; could still feel the white hot blast of pain to his face that had led him to waking up bound in the sunbaked trunk of a car. The way his jaw had ached and his stomach had cramped as he swallowed hard plastic and his own blood but kept biting. That all too familiar moment where you’re pretty sure you’re going to die and all the romance of the idea has fled. Stan had defined that as his quintessential rock bottom, the worse always implied when he assured someone that he’d had it. The pinnacle of fear.

But shit if this didn’t feel a thousand times worse.

Ten years. It had been ten long, long years since he’d last seen his brother closing the curtains on him. How many times had he tried to call Ford only to lose his nerve? How many times had he punched in all but the last number before his shaking hands slammed the receiver back down? Too scared to reach out to his brother, even when he’d finally escaped that trunk and made it to a new town where no one knew any of his names. Too scared to even look at the photo that was now folded up in his wallet at times.

He believed what he’d told Mabel, about the other person needing to love you enough to forgive you, but that didn’t make him want it any less. He’d been a stupid teenager and while he regretted what had happened, felt bad for ruining Ford’s shot at something better, he refused to accept that he’d deserved what he’d got. Looking at Ford’s house, while more than a little hermit-esque, he was sure Ford had been enough of a success without his big fancy school. Their parents must be awfully proud; though Ford never really spoke with any of the family. At least, that’s what Shermie had said the one time Stan had seen him in the last ten years.

Speaking of Shermie…Mabel is staring wide eyed out the window, face pressing up against the glass. Once this was all done, Stan really needs to reach out to his older brother. Properly meet his nephew; let him know that he’s a good kid and gonna do great things. He likes his future great niece and will admit, only to himself, that he might actually miss the knucklehead when she’s gone back home. But hey, he only has to wait a couple of decades to see her again. Stan’s good at waiting. He’s been waiting ten years to see Ford again, what’s that a few times over for someone that was actually happy to see him?

He’s making his way around the car to help her force her door open over a snow bank when the door to the house opens. Stan freezes with his hand on the door handle; he feels like a deer in the headlights. Which is pretty accurate, given there’s his brother with a crossbow pointed at him.

“Good to see you too, Bro.” He calls over to him because what else is there to say? He resumes pulling open the door for Mabel and steps aside to let her out. He almost laughs at the yelp she lets out when she jumps into the snow, white going up nearly to the edge of her skirt. “Wouldn’t suppose you have a time traveling kid that matches mine?”

“Grunkle Stan?” a boy pokes his head around Ford’s legs. He’s a lot paler and more noodly looking than Mabel, but the resemblance is otherwise uncanny. He’s got this stupid smile on his face when he meets Stan’s eyes; once he spots Mabel though his whole face lights up. Ford tries to grab him as he shoves past him, fumbling that stupid crossbow, but he’s too slow. “Mabel!”

Mabel lets out another one of those god awful shrieking squeals and starts kicking her way through the snow towards her brother. “Dipper! Oh my gosh! I knew you’d be here!” once she’s close enough she practically leaps, tackling the boy so they both hit the ground, sending up a puff of loose snow. “I missed you so much you dork!”

“I missed you too, you dummy!” they’re still on the ground, collapsing into laughter though what’s funny who knows.

Stan watches them with a fond smile before looking awkwardly over at his own twin. To his surprise Ford is watching him and another guy with, wow, the world’s biggest nose standing beside him. Unable to stop himself, Stan lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave. So. What was he supposed to do now? Was Stan supposed to go or…?

The kids are still laughing in the snow. Stan shoves all of the confusing Ford Feelings to the back of his mind and makes his way over to them. “Hey, c’mon, you knuckleheads. Mabel’s already sick, let’s not—”

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“STANLEY GET BACK!”

He hears Ford’s shout about half a second before he feels the pain. He jumps back on instinct; when he lands his left leg gives out from the stabbing pain and he lands flat on his ass. Sticking out of his calf is a long, silver knitting needle, with a spreading circle of red staining his jeans. He stares at it before looking up at Mabel. What the actual fuck?!

She’s staring at him with a grin so wide it looks painful, especially coupled with her cheeks appled by the cold. And her eyes—one eye, the right eye; it looks like a cat’s eye, pupil slitted, and almost seems to be glowing a sick infected yellow color. She’s got Dipper’s hand in her own and he’s wearing a matching grin, only it’s his left eye that’s wrong. They stand together, hands never unclasping.

Stan tries to scramble back away from them, laughing nervously, “Hey, sweetheart! What’s going on? C’mon, it’s me, your favorite Younkle Stan!”

They throw their heads back and let out another laugh in sync and, okay, Stan is over this creepy ass Shining shit already. “WOW, I FORGOT HOW DUMB YOU WERE BACK THEN. NOT THAT YOU’RE NOT AN IDIOT IN THE FUTURE TOO! HA!” their voices sound off, distorted and just…different.

A bolt fires into the snow between where the twins stand and where Stan is on the ground. They all look at where Ford is loading another bolt into the crossbow while stepping down from the porch. Stan realizes that if it wasn’t for the bags under his eyes and insane scientist hair, his brother might actually look cool. When the bow is reloaded he aims it at the kids and growls, “Bill!”

Thank Moses the other guy, who is still on the porch, looks as confused as Stan feels.

The twins tilt their heads in Ford’s direction, grins stretching impossibly further. “FORDSY! GOOD OL SIXER! OOH THIS IS DEFINITELY MY FAVORITE VERSION OF YOU! HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN FOR YOU? NOT LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU I’LL BET!” The twins laugh Bill’s laugh together. Mabel starts tugging on Dipper’s cheek with the hand not holding his while she continues, making the skin painfully red. Does he not feel that? Do neither of them feel the cold? “OOH, ARE YOU GOING TO SHOOT ME?! GO AHEAD! I AM DYING TO KNOW WHAT PAIN FEELS LIKE WITH TWO BODIES! WELL, I WON’T BE THE ONE THAT DIES, BUT SEMANTICS, EH, SIXER?”

That’s Stan’s name for Ford.

Ford hesitates a few feet from them, crossbow wavering. He meets Stan’s eyes briefly before scowling back at the two kids. Dipper has started tugging on Mabel’s hair while the two of them say ‘ow’ in laughing tones. “How—I did the ritual!”

“SEE, THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH YOU, FORDSY. YOU SEE WHAT YOU WANNA SEE!” Dipper shakes his hand, long brown strands falling from his fist. Each of their non-fucked up eyes are streaming tears down their cheeks, Stan notices. “YOU WANNA BE THE SMARTEST ONE IN THE ROOM SO EVERYONE ELSE IS AN IDIOT. WHICH THEY ARE, SO GOLD STAR THERE, BUT SO ARE YOU. THAT’S WHY YOU’RE SO EASY TO TRICK. YOU’RE TOO SMART TO FALL FOR EASY LIES SO YOU FALL FOR ALL OF THEM! AIN’T THAT RIGHT, STAN? THIS GUY KNOWS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.”

Having both yellow eyes on him is very unsettling, but Stan still hears the words. Number one rule to big cons: always let the smart ones lie to themselves. You give them a seed of something they want and they’ll make it blossom with their own rationalizations and justifications. Stupid people needed a story, a show, smart people needed to think it was their idea all along. If they don’t want to ask questions, they won’t.

Stan knew a thing or two about half ass cons.

Mabel lifts the hand holding Dipper’s and reaches into the sleeve, pulling out the knitting needle to match the one sticking out of Stan’s leg. Stan swallows around the lump in his throat as she touches it to her own throat. That yellow eye is open so wide; whatever is going on has to make them numb to feeling. Ford had said the name Bill earlier; was this what Mabel had been warning him about? Was this what Bill had done to Ford? The thought of it boils his blood because his brother is an ass but no one messed with the Pines family, not if Stan had a say in it.

Stan shoves past the pain in his leg to stand; he wants to pull the needle out but he doesn’t know how deep in it went, there’s a good chance it’s staunching the blood loss. He reminds himself that he’s had worse, reminds himself of the trunk, and convinces himself that this is no big deal. Time traveling niece and nephew apparently possessed by a conman demon. Alright. Stan can deal with this.

“Hey, uh, Bill, right?” he gives his best show grin, shoving all the anxiety and fear and general ‘what the fuck is my life right now’ to the back of his mind. There will be time for that later, there’s always time for everything later. “While I agree that my brother can be a dumbass, why don’t we put the knitting needle down?”

This time it’s Dipper that speaks while Mabel moves the needle to his throat. “AND THEN THERE’S THIS DOOFUS. LISTEN HERE, STANIEL, YOU WANT NO PART OF THIS. ALL YOU’RE GOING TO DO IS MAKE THINGS EVEN WORSE FOR EVERYONE, BUT HEY, WHAT’S NEW THERE?” Mabel twirls the needle between her fingers in a way that makes Stan think of when Ford and him would play board games as kids.

Stan’s jaw aches as he forces his grin to remain in place. He just needs time to think, just needs time. “Hey, you don’t know me.”

“OHOHO, I KNOW YOU MORE THAN YOU THINK. GIVE ME THIRTY YEARS AND I’LL KNOW YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF.” The twins wink their yellow eyes together. Did that count as a wink or a blink? The look back over to Ford again, “YOU STILL WITH US, SIXER? I’M SURE YOU’RE DYING TO TELL YOUR BROTHER TO GET LOST TOO. GET IN ON THIS!”

“Trust no one.” The look in Ford’s eyes is wild and he’s raising the crossbow again with no hesitation.

Stan swears and sticks a hand out towards his stupid idiot of a genius brother, “Shit, Ford, stop!”

----------

He’s not sure what he expected Stan to look like, if he ever saw his twin again. Sure, he expected the resemblance, identical twins and all, but…Stanley had always been the larger of the two of them. More muscle, more girth, more personality. Alpha Twin since the summer that he gained a fraction of an inch on Ford. Quick to make a fist or a joke, Stanley was larger than life, larger than their dead-end Glass Shard Beach, larger than a foolish dream to sail the world.

He didn’t seem so large climbing out of his run down old car, shoulders hunched as he moved to open the door. His clothes were filthy beneath a new looking jacket; his hair was long and probably as greasy as Ford’s had been that morning. He was still making jokes, though, which infuriated Ford beyond the surreal feeling of seeing him in the flesh. How could he be taking the situation so well? How long had he had the girl? Surely not the same amount of time Dipper had been with Ford; he refused to believe Stan could have accessed the situation and made his way here in such a short time.

He was so focused on puzzling out what to do with his own twin, he’d almost completely forgotten about the two kids that were rolling around in the snow. Hadn’t seen the flash of the needle, the glint of yellow eyes, with enough time to warn Stanley.

His brother certainly didn’t seem so large on the ground.

It shouldn’t be possible: he’d performed the ritual! Sure, there was traces of Bill but the boy said he’d been possessed once before so—but how was Bill possessing both children? Even Bill had his limits. He couldn’t possess without an agreement, and surely he couldn’t possess more than one person at a time. Bill was powerful, insane and conniving, but even he had limits and rules. It didn’t make sense! It was a trick! Another trick!

“SEE, THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH YOU, FORDSY. YOU SEE WHAT YOU WANNA SEE!”

Was that the trick? He wanted to believe Dipper was his family? Someone so eager to help him; that respected his work on top of a mystery he could drown in. Could Bill have fooled his tests? He’d left the boy alone in his house for hours, what could he have done? Had he seen the portal? No, no, Ford would’ve noticed him going to the basement. Right? This was a trick, another trick. Bill had gotten Fiddleford back in his house and now Stanley here. It was a trick, to force Ford to do what he wanted.

They weren’t real. The kids weren’t real. They were part of the trick. It wasn’t real. None of this was real, it was a distraction, a trick. Stanley is talking with Bill because he doesn’t see, he’s being tricked too. His brother was stabbed and is talking to Bill and Ford has to stop it.

“YOU STILL WITH US, SIXER? I’M SURE YOU’RE DYING TO TELL YOUR BROTHER TO GET LOST TOO. GET IN ON THIS!”

Trust no one.

He levels the crossbow at the boy and pulls the trigger.

The bolt goes wide as he’s tackled from behind to face plant in the snow. He glares over his shoulder at Fiddleford who is currently trying to grab Ford’s wrists. Ford pulls away, stretching to try to grab the crossbow. “Damn it, get off, Fiddleford! You don’t understand! They’re not real! It’s a trick! I can’t let him get in!”

“Calm down, Stanford!” Fiddleford is a weedy man but, Ford remembers vaguely, spent his childhood wrestling hogs on his family’s farm, and puts up more of a fight than you’d expect. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re just children!” a knee digs into his back, Fiddleford’s hands pressing down hard on his shoulders.

 “HAHA! YES! FIGHT FIGHT! BATTLE OF THE—HEY, BACK OFF, I’LL—HEY!” there’s an echoing scream followed by a sickening sound.

Ford gets his palms flat on the ground and tries to buck off Fiddleford. He has to stop Bill; he can’t let him hurt anyone else. This is all his fault. Stanley’s hurt and Bill is right there. He gets enough leverage to roll them, slamming his elbow against his former friend’s jaw in the process. He pins Fiddleford with a hand to the chest while he reaches for the crossbow and tries to avoid a punch aimed at his face.

“Hey, can you pause Nerd Death Match for a sec?” Ford looks up at the question; Stan has a limp child under each arm, leaning to put his weight on his uninjured leg. Both kids are covered in snow. Ford spots the glinting silver of the remaining knitting needle on the ground next to a pile of…oh, disgusting. There’s another puddle of sick not too far from the first. Stan is breathing heavy; oh that’s a lot of red staining his jeans and the snow. “They puked and passed out as soon as I pulled them apart. So that’s a thing. Big nose, help me get them inside? Or Ford, if you’re done trying to shoot our niece and nephew.”

Ford scowls as Fiddleford starts shoving at him, climbing off him. He brushes the snow off his front. “Stanley, you don’t understand the situation! They aren’t—”

“Yes they are, shut up. You can explain everything once we have them inside and I’ve had a chance to take care of my leg. I have a ton of questions about this Bill guy.” Stan’s tone is stern and exhausted. Ford notices for the first time the bags under his brother’s eyes. “Now will one of you please come and take one of these kids? I just drove sixteen hours straight and have been stabbed and they’re heavier than they look.”

Fiddleford moves around him to take the girl—Mabel?— from Stan, cradling her to his chest. Ford sees a trickle of red coming from her right eye and down her cheek. He sees the same on Dipper’s left cheek when Stan limps past him. Oh, right, his leg. Ford hurries on his heels into his house. “Stanley—”

“Shit, Ford, you live here?” Stan scoffs and Ford feels personally offended, as if Stan has any room to judge Ford’s living conditions wearing clothes that filthy. Stan turns and pushes Dipper’s limp form into Ford’s arms; Ford nearly drops him at the sudden weight. “Hold him for one second.” Then he’s behind the couch and kneeling.

A strangled noise escapes Ford when Stan lifts the back of the couch, dumping all the books onto the floor. He’s not entirely sure what books were on that couch but some could’ve been important. “Stanley, honestly, there’s no need—” Stan takes Dipper back; is Ford going to be able to get a full thought out at any point?

Stan and Fiddleford place the kids at opposite ends of the coach. Ford groans out a sigh before moving to grab his penlight from his study. When he comes back, Stan is seated on the coffee table and taking a small pocket knife to his jeans around the needle. He slits from the puncture down to the bottom of his pants then proceeds to roll the fabric up. The bleeding seems to have slowed a considerable amount and from what Ford can tell, the needle was in enough to stick back not too deep. His sock and shoe are soaked in blood.

He checks Dipper first, pulling both eyes open and shining his penlight in them. The pupils react normally and both are the usual brown if not bloodshot, though the sclera of the left is filled with blood from a burst vessel. He’s got smeared blood under his eye that Ford can’t help but wipe away with his sleeve. Mabel is much the same, only it’s her right eye that’s red and bloody. Both of their breathing is heavy but regular, same as their pulses. Ford thinks about what Stan said, about them collapsing when they’d been separated, and looks for something to use as a separator for them.

“Uhh, Stanley, was it? Are you sure about that?” Fiddleford speaks behind him and he turns to see Stan holding the flame of a lighter up to the blade of his pocket knife.

Ford blanches; Stanley cannot be serious! “Stanley, there’s a hospital in town, we can just—”

“Nah.” He interrupts him again; Ford is going to strangle him. “Hospitals are bills and, more importantly, questions. This is fine.” The blade is black by the time he sets the lighter down. Ford himself winces when Stan grabs the needle. Then, in a single fluid motion, the needle is out and the blade it against the small puncture wound, Stan echoing the hiss it makes against his skin. The smell of burning meat hits Ford’s nose and he nearly gets sick.

Fiddleford goes white and slumps to the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and holds his head in his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t a’come here. Two hours and already so much I want to forget…eyes, eyes watching…” he dissolves into mumbles, though Ford thinks he hears “beast with just one eye” mixed in there.

Ford clears his throat, eyes locked on where Stan is burning himself. The skin is an angry red when Stan pulls away the knife, a sealed but puffed out circle in the middle. It disturbs him that Stan even knows how to do that. “Uh…” he swallows, “Fiddleford, maybe you could, um, get my brother some bandages from my bathroom?”

“What? Oh. R-right.” Fiddleford nods and looks grateful for the excuse to get out of the room for a minute. “I’ll, uh, be right back. W-with bandages.”

He stares at Stan who is purposely not looking at him, staring instead at the children. Unable to find a suitable separator, Ford just sits himself on the middle cushion between then. That gets Stan to look at him briefly before putting his focus on Dipper. Ford’s not sure what to say at this point. He’d planned how to ask Stan to take the journal away but not how to tell him anything else. He’d never planned on Stan finding out about Bill; never planned on Stan finding out about anything. Bill was supposed to be his burden to bear alone. His sin to atone for. But now his brother did know, and Fiddleford, and the kids if they were in fact real. Which, now that he was given a chance to calm down from the mania, he was coming back around to the idea of. If not, he had a knife in his boot and a gun tucked under the cushion he was sitting on for emergencies, and Stan apparently had a knife too.

“So, uh. This Bill guy.” Stan is the first to speak, it turns out. He’s rubbing at the skin above his wound. “That’s what that was, right? Cause I understand very little about what’s going on but yesterday that kid appeared in my car and told me she was from the future and you were in danger from a guy named Bill.”

Ford fidgets, tapping his thumb to each of his fingers. “She told you about him?” he looks over at the girl; she’s shifted onto her side and curled up, one foot stuck out until it’s nearly touching Ford’s thigh. Her face is starting to return to a more normal color now that she’s out of the cold but she’s still shivering. “It’s…very complicated, Stanley. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and apparently you’ve been dragged into them.”

Stan reaches a hand out and, for a second, Ford thinks he’s going to squeeze his arm or something like that. But no, he touches Dipper’s forehead instead, pushing the boy’s hair out of his face. Ford’s not sure why he’s disappointed; he’s still very angry with his twin and if he’d had a choice Stan wouldn’t even be here. “Well, we better figure out how to clean up your damn mess, Stanford, before you get these kids killed.”

Chapter Text

“Mabel, this is a bad idea!” Dipper insists for the hundredth time since they left the Shack. Now that they stood at the entrance to the cave it seemed like an even worse idea than it had when Mabel had first suggested it.

She gives him that look she always does when he argues with her, eyes narrowed and cheeks puffed out. She’s half a second from sticking her tongue out at him. “Do you have a better one?” her response is punctuated with her putting her fists against her hips and leaning in way too close to his face.

He frowns, leaning back when it looks like her nose is about to touch his, “No, but—”

“Then come on!” she grabs his hand and pulls him inside. “Don’t be such a scaredy cat! Grunkle Ford will be super impressed with us, just wait and see!”

The cave is how Ford described it; creepy as all get out. There’s triangles painted all over the walls, images of Bill both terrorizing and being terrorized. Dipper squeezes his sister’s hand; it feels like all the eyes are watching them. Had this place had this...air about it? When Ford had come here? Or is it just because they know what Bill is, what he’s capable of? Dipper doesn’t like it, that’s for sure.

Mabel is putting on a brave face but maybe she leans a bit closer to her brother and squeezes his hand right back. This was a great idea, she was sure of it because all of her non-boy-related ideas were Great with a capital G. Dipper had told her about the cave and the rift and what had happened between Bill and Grunkle Ford, because they’d promised to trust each other and not to keep secrets. So she’d gotten the idea for them to come here to learn more about Bill. In stories, the kind that Dipper loved to gush about and write theories to talk at her about, the end was always at the beginning. Foreshadowing and all that junk.

There was a giant splash of red on one wall that had dripped to cover a bunch of weird symbols. The edges were smeared with shapes that looked like hands. It made Mabel think of a giant finger painting piece. She frowns, leaning forward to sniff at the wall despite the noise Dipper made.

“Mabel, what are you doing?” he pulls her back from the wall, peering around at the other paintings on the walls. Something felt so off about this place. It feels like something is alive in the walls; the air is too warm for a cave even in the summer.

“This paint is fresh.” Mabel points out; she can tell by the smell after all the paint she’d used over the years. She taps her fingers to the wall to find that the paint is dry. “Grunkle Ford was here thirty years ago but someone was here recently.” A chill runs down her spine and she pulls her hand away from the wall. “You don’t think Bill…?”

Dipper swallows thickly. Everything in his gut tells him they need to run but his curiosity sticks him in place. This was to figure out how to stop Bill, to protect Ford and Stan and all of Gravity Falls. Fate of the world stuff. He lets go of Mabel’s hand so he can pull out the notebook he’d tucked into the back of his shorts. Inside it he’s copied down everything Ford had between his Journals about Bill, all the symbols. There had to be something Ford had missed.

WELL WELL WELL WELL WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?

Their hands tingle and burn. Static. Screams. Noise fills their heads, deafening all sound.

Stan and Ford will be so mad. They have to stop it. They have to stop him. He can’t win.

They just wanted to keep everyone safe.

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

Her right eye feels like it’s been gouged out with a hot spoon when she wakes up; the rest of her doesn’t feel too hot either. Her stomach is cramping, head pounding, and she feels like she’s been dunked into a tub full of ice for how cold she is. She squeezes her eyes shut and moves her hands over her arms, trying to burrow her face into water soft thing she’s on. Her sweater sleeves are damp, which might be why she’s so cold.

“Dipperrrr, tell Grunkle Stan to turn up the heat.” She grumbles into the cushion, trying to will herself back to sleep. She could change into dry clothes later and ask Soos to finally fix the dryer. Now she needs to sleep off this yuck-fest.

“Oh, one of them’s awake. Mabel, don’t go back to sleep.” There’s a hand on her shoulder, turning her towards the sound of the voice. “Wake up, sweetheart; we need to ask you some questions.”

She cracks one eye open, the one that’s not burning as bad, and lets out a startled squeak when she sees Grunkle Stan’s face super close to hers. Wait, no. Not Grunkle, it’s her Younkle. Younkle Stan cause this Stan is young and greasy but still just as scruffy. With a groan, she pushes herself to sit up, which is when she sees who is sitting next to her.

In an instant she’s forgotten her pain in favor of latching herself to a disgruntled, young looking Ford. “Younkle Ford! Yay!” she realizes she’s on a couch and stands up on it, hands gripping one of Ford’s shoulders for balance. “Younkle Stan, we found him! And he’s only slightly gross! Oh, hey, Dipper!” she spots her brother sleeping on the other side of Ford and tries to dive over her uncle to get to him. “Dipper!”

Ford catches her before she can grab Dipper, hefting her up only to deposit her right back onto the couch. She huffs and tries to pull away when he leans in close to her face, a tiny flashlight in his hand. This Ford was a lot grumpier than the one she knew. She liked the Ford that called her weird with a smile and shyly asked her to make him a sweater and said her Mabel juice was better than coffee. A scientific breakthrough in energy drinks, and the plastic dinosaurs gave it personality.

“Geez, Ford, you think you could give her a second before going all scientist on her?” Stan grunts and he's got a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. He gives her a small smile though he looks worried so Mabel grins right back at him. “How you feeling, sweetheart?”

Mabel takes stock of herself; her head hurts but not as bad as last time, though her scalp feels very tender for some reason. Her stomach hurts and her mouth tastes like throw up. Her right eye burns and when she forces it open it takes several blinks before she can see out of it. She wants nothing more than to jump on Dipper and wake him up. Why were they both asleep? Was this like their weird allergy thing? Maybe they were finally developing a psychic twin connection like they'd tried to force when they were five. She tries to send silent commands for him to wake up.

Mabel hums as she pulls off her damp sweater and jacket, tossing them to the floor once she's in just her tank top even though it's cold. She burrows herself against Ford’s side; grumpy or not he's still warm. “Bad but not as bad as before. Younkle Ford do you know what's wrong with me? Or how we got here?” she looks up at him with a frown.

Ford’s got this lost dog look on his face, arm hovering over where she's glued to his side. She grabs his hand to force him to give her a one armed hug because hugs make everything better and also warm. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Ahem, I'm afraid not. There hasn't been much...Mabel, right?” she nods and he smiles just so before covering it with another frown. “Mabel, Stan mentioned you were sick. Were you sick before you came back in time?”

She shrugs. This time when Ford tries to check her eyes with his tiny flashlight she lets him, just cause he keeps the one arm around her. It hurts her eyes but no more than going to the eye doctor and at least Ford won't tell her that she'll probably need glasses in a few years or how bad it is to get glitter in her eyes. “I don't remember too much after Dipper and I left for the cave.”

The flashlight clicks off and she tries to blink away the spots in her vision. “The cave?” Ford’s voice is all shaky and cracks like Dipper’s does sometimes even though Ford is still old even if he’s not old. Mabel gets her arm around as much of his stomach as she can to hug him because he must be thinking about Bill. Stupid dumb jerk of triangle.

“The one with all the paintings. You told Dipper about it.” and they'd gone there to look for...something. The sharp feeling is coming back to her brain as she tries to remember. She realizes the cave is a new memory; she'd forgotten but her dream brought it back. Her stomach gives a now familiar churn when she tries to chase the details; what did the paintings look like? What did they see in the cave?

Why was Stan’s leg wrapped in bandages?

Her uncle kept picking at the edge of them, the heel of his shoe hooked up on the edge of the coffee table he was sitting on. And— oh that was a lot of blood soaking his sock and show. When had Stan gotten hurt? Actually...when had they gotten here? She’d been knitting in the car but now she was here and Ford wouldn’t let her hug Dipper. Panic started bubbling up inside her chest; she couldn't remember. She was losing time again. She was losing time and Stan had gotten hurt and she was supposed to protect her uncles now that she could. She was meant to keep everyone safe. That was the point of it, wasn’t it? She wants to believe so but trying to remember, trying to think is like wading through thick mud filled with sharp rocks waiting to stab her if she makes a wrong step. Her fingers dig tighter into Ford’s sweater as she tries to stare through Stan’s bandages, tries to remember getting to the Shack. She wants to wake Dipper up; wants to cling to him until everything makes sense again. Wants him to explain everything with his nerd words that she doesn’t understand but it makes her feel better because Dipper understands and if he does then they’ll be okay.

A pair of fingers snaps in front of her face, drawing her out of her mania like it had in the car. She blinks rapidly and feels the wetness on her cheeks that she quickly scrubs away, letting go of Ford to do so. Stan’s got that soft worried look again and is saying his ‘just breathe’ mantra.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember what happened in the cave, I don’t remember how we got sent back, I don’t remember sleeping in the car, I don’t remember getting here. I’m trying but it hurts like I’m not supposed to remember.” The words pour out along with more tears and she can’t even escape to Sweater Town because her sweater is on the floor. She’s shaking all over, not just from the cold, and Dipper is right there but Ford’s got a grip on her shoulder. “Nothing makes sense and Stan’s hurt and I don’t know why. Can we wake up Dipper, please? He-he probably knows what’s going on. He’s smart, like you, Younkle Ford.” She just wants her brother. He’s the key to making everything make sense, she knows it. Everything will make sense once the two of them are together.

Just touch his hand and it’ll be okay.

Stan grabs her forearm when she reaches towards her brother; Ford’s hand grips her shoulder tighter. “Listen, sweetheart, something weird is going on with you and your brother. When you two touched...well…”

“You appeared possessed by Bill and attacked.” Ford says and she feels her stomach drop. “Stan had to forcibly separate you two to stop you. Do you have any memories of that?”

“Holy shit, Ford, ease into it why don't you?”

Possessed? She was possessed by Bill? And she—oh no, Stan’s leg, was that her? Horror filled her heart; she'd hurt Stan! All that blood because of her. Because she'd made Dipper go to the cave and-and whatever happened happened. It was all her fault. The unicorn was right and Stan was wrong, she was a bad person. She’s ruined everything and now she can't even lean on her brother.

How was she going to save Ford and Stan without Dipper? When she just kept making everything worse?

“What’s wrong with Mabel?” Dipper’s voice comes from Ford’s other side and she looks up to see him staring at her. Through her tears she can see that his eyes are red; his left eye looks bloody and he's got red smears under it. He sounds as tired as she feels. A small ember of hope burns when he reaches towards her.

Just touch his hand. Grab it.

Stan catches Dipper’s wrist before they can touch, dousing her ember with ice water. In the back of her mind she swears she hears a hiss.

Ford sighs and finally lets go of Mabel in favor of picking Dipper up off the couch. He sits Dipper next to Stan, still away from Mabel. Mabel slumps against Ford’s side to at least absorb some warmth; this time he puts an arm around her without her having to tug it. A small smile tugs despite how garbage she feels when she looks at his big hand; a whole finger friendlier than normal. She meets Dipper’s eyes and wiggles her fingers in a hello. “Hey, bro-bro.”

Dipper smiles back at her, mimicking her by slumping against Stan’s side. Stan looks as awkward as ever which makes her feel simultaneously better and worse. Dipper coughs into his hand. He looks around, mouth curling down into a frown, “Uhh, where’s McGucket?”

Mabel can practically hear the way Ford grinds his teeth above her; his hand twitches against her side. “After what happened, he elected to return home for the time being. Said he would return tomorrow with his notes on memory loss. Apparently he’s been…busy since we parted ways.” There’s an irritation to his words.

She looks at Dipper; he nods like he knows what she’s thinking. Oh. Poor McGucket. A scrambled man with a mind full of holes. Maybe they can help him, once everything else is done. Stop him from hurting himself, from destroying himself until he’s a laughing stock in the town’s dump.

Dipper looks sad, looks scared, which just serves to make her already mounting guilt seem even more all-encompassing. “Do you not remember anything either, Mabel?”

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

He can hear the sounds of his sister crying, muffled through the fog of pain that fills his mind. It's not the sniffling homesick tears he sometimes hears in the night or the melodramatic performance when she's trying to sound more upset than she was. He’s reminded of the night after Mermando had gone home, when she'd cried into his shoulder. Of the way she'd cried about Gideon, about feeling stupid and guilty. The way she'd cried about almost letting Bill destroy the journal.

He pushes himself to sitting, squinting through a blurry haze. There she is, on the other side of Ford, a panicked look on her face and tears streaming down her face. Ford is focusing so hard on her but Stan looks at Dipper as he sits up. Why is she crying? What happened? When had Dipper fallen asleep, so soon after telling Ford that he wasn’t sick? Right after McGucket had seen someone outside—

Stan. He’d seen Stan.

Another stab of pain to his head, like a burn being branded into his eye. He couldn’t remember seeing Stan come in, couldn’t remember seeing Mabel; had he fainted? Is that why he was feeling sick, from fainting? Was that why Mabel was so upset? Were they both sick? “What’s wrong with Mabel?” his throat burns when he speaks and his mouth tastes awful.

She looks up at him, eyes red and filled with tears and he hates seeing her cry. His sister is supposed to be bright colors and sunshine. Loud and annoying, bigger than him and full of screams of joy, not small and quiet. She fills silence, fills the very air, with who she is and this isn’t it.

She needs you. Grab her hand.

Stan grabs his hand before it can get close to hers, drawing him out of the trance he had fallen into. Ford moves him to sit next to Stan, a marked distance between him and his twin; Dipper has to move some books to make room for himself on the table. There were a lot more books on the floor than there were before, he’s pretty sure.

McGucket is gone but at least his notes might help figure out what’s going on with their heads.

“Do you not remember anything either, Mabel?” he frowns, the hope that his sister might be able to shed some light on the situation vanishing. The thought of the cave comes to mind, of being there with Mabel, but with it comes the threat of pain. He needs to remember but there’s a block there, something preventing him from touching the truth and keeping it right out of his grasp.

Mabel curls in on herself and effectively tucks herself even more so into Ford’s side. She shakes her head, “N-no, it hurts to try. But…but they said it’s…” her voice warbles and she hiccups; the wrongness of how not Mabel this hits him, “Dipper, they said he took over when we touched. And he-he-Stan got hurt and it’s all my fault, Dipper. I wanted to go to the cave and now he’s in our heads and it’s all my fault!”

“Mabel, no, that’s not…that’s not possible. Bill can’t take over two people.” he shakes his head, a hopeful smile taking over his face even as Stan grabs his shoulders when he tries to reach for his sister. He looks up at Ford; the smile is hard to keep up with the displeased look on his uncle’s face. “That’s not possible, right, Ford? He can’t do that, right?”

Ford is silent; Dipper doesn’t know if he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t want to answer or because of how Mabel is crying into his sweater. He’s tapping his fingers fast against the couch cushion.

It’s like the ground has disappeared out from beneath him. Dipper remembers the feeling of being out of his body; that wrong feeling of knowing Bill had been in his head. The idea that Bill was lurking in his mind...just waiting to take control of not just him but his sister too…it sends a shard of ice through his heart, a spike of pure fear. After everything that stupid triangle had done to their family, now he was taking his sister from him too? “Can't you get him out of our heads?” he’s afraid of the answer. Would metal plates work for them, like with Ford in the future? Or would that just trap Bill in? Dipper’s furious with himself for not asking more questions when Ford had decided to trust him.

Ford sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the hand not around Mabel. Dipper’s suddenly struck by how tired Ford looks. He looks up at Stan who is also a lot more exhausted looking than Dipper had noticed at first glance. When was the last time either of his uncles had gotten any proper sleep?

“I don’t know, Dipper. I’ve been looking into ways to rid oneself of Bill and his influence, but it’s all for one person and very invasive. I never even considered the possibility of Bill inhabiting two minds at once. He never…it was always about being in my head, nobody else’s.” he looks away, that uncomfortable look back on his face and his fingers tapping faster against the cushion.

“He said he was a muse.”

“What about the spell we used to go into Grunkle Stan’s mind?” Dipper looks up to see Mabel pulling herself away from Ford, wiping her face on the back of her arm. “When Bill was trying to get the safe code for Gideon?”

Dipper’s face lights up; of course! “That’s right!” They were able to fight Bill on equal ground in Stan’s mindscape and chase him out. If they could do that again—

“That thing/Bill’s been in my/Stanley’s head?” Stan and Ford speak at the same time, both looking equal measures of disturbed at the idea. Dipper shares a smile with Mabel when both their uncles go red at the realization that they spoke in unison. True twins.

Dipper jumps off the table; he sees the way both uncles tense and makes sure to keep a distance from Mabel. She follows suit, climbing up to sit on the back of the couch. Neither of them like that they can’t get close to each other, but Dipper’s sure they can fix it. “Yeah, this jerk summoned him to steal something from Stan’s mind so we used a spell from the Journal to chase after him and get him out. And then we beat him up!”

“With kittens and laser eyes!” Mabel exclaims and the sound of her shout helps settle a good bit of Dipper’s anxiety. She throws her hands up as she makes an explosion sound with her mouth before wincing and clutching her stomach. She waves away Stan when he moves to stand and go to her. It’s a bit, Dipper can tell, but no one has ever been better at hiding away nasty emotions than Mabel. “I’m fine, just still…icky. But yeah! Why can’t we use the spell again?”

Ford says nothing, just stands and disappears in the direction of the stairs. Stan runs his hand through his hair and he keeps glancing over at where his brother went then back between Dipper and Mabel. With a sigh, he sinks into the spot on the couch Ford had been taking up. “…kids, you know this is all really weird for me, right? This is really not how I imagined seeing Ford again.” He shakes his head. “Sh—oot, this has to be way worse for you two, forget about me. How are you two holding up?”

Another wave anxiety; Mabel gives him a shaky grin that he does his best to return. “Nothing the Mystery Twins can’t handle, right?” he laughs when she holds out her fist despite the distance between them. He mimes bumping his against hers and they both pull back with fake explosion sounds. Even if they can’t be in physical contact, he still has Mabel with him and that makes things much better. “We’ve beat Bill before, we can do it again.”

“Yeah! And this time Bill has two sets of Mystery Twins to deal with! Original track and the better, hip remix!” she throws her arms around Stan’s neck and tries to rub her cheek against his before pulling back with an upset sound. “Your face is so scratchy, Younkle Stan. You need to shave. Both you and Younkle Ford look like you’ve glued porcupines to your faces.”

“I don’t have time to shave; there are more important things to do.” Ford says as he returns with his arms full. Dipper takes a moment to be proud that Ford shares his sentiment; that’s why he never does laundry unless Grunkle Stan makes him. The he sees what’s in Ford’s arms and he’s anxious all over again, fingers twitching with the want to grab Mabel’s hand.

Ford drops the candles and, filling Dipper with dread, a large amount of rope onto the coffee table. His face is screwed up in concentration. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before disappearing again. This time when he comes back, he’s got two chairs from the kitchen. Dipper knows what they’re going to have to do but the idea of it still makes his stomach clench.

Grab Mabel and run. There’s still time.

He shakes his head, trying to block out the voice.

Stan picks up one of the candles, tilting it this way and that. “…this cannot be serious. This is some crap that Ma would tell one of her stupid customers to do. What else we gonna do, burn sage? Read some Psalms and blow a ram’s horn?”

“I’m afraid traditional exorcism rituals have no effect on this creature. I uncovered this spell written in the cave where I first summoned Bill and—” Ford blinks before scowling as he seems to catch onto Stan’s sarcasm. He snatches the candle from Stan’s fingers. “I know what I’m doing, Stanley. We just have to put them to sleep and recite the spell.”

Dipper’s stomach twists at the idea of sleeping again, at the dreams that split his mind when he tried to remember them.

Stan looks completely unimpressed with the idea. “And what if they go all yellow eyes again?”

Ford holds up one end of the rope, “That’s what the rope is for.”

Stan opens his mouth, probably to argue against tying up children, but thankfully Mabel jumps off the couch and stands between them. “Haha! Great! Lets do this! No time to argue, there’s triangles to beat up! Right, Dipper? Younkle Ford, we gotta put the candles in a circle, right? I’ll help!” she grabs Ford’s hand and a handful of candles, pulling him to the side to start clearing out a corner of the living room.

Dipper nods, “And Stan! You’re great with knots so we can get the chairs ready!” he tugs Stan by the hand over to the chair, ignoring his uncle’s questioning ‘triangle?’ comment.

It takes fifteen minutes to clear the space, set up the candles, and tie the two of them to the chairs despite Stan’s protests. Dipper’s legs are bound to the chair’s, left arm pinned to his side and right arm free. It’s not the most uncomfortable thing ever, probably thanks to the blanket Stan had insisted in wrapping him in before tying him up. Rope burns could be a pain, apparently. Dipper didn’t want to think about how Stan knew the most comfortable ways to be tied up; none of the answers his brain tried to supply before he shut them down were particularly pleasant. Half made him afraid for his uncle, half made him have war flashbacks to the romance novel Grenda had read when he’d been trapped in Mabel’s body. Mabel was similarly bound, her chair cattycorner from his. They just had to reach out and they could shake hands. Dipper had to crush the urge. Not until Ford was ready.

“You doing okay, sweetheart? The ropes aren’t too tight, are they, kid?” Stan keeps fussing, keeps checking his knots.

“Yep!” Mabel grins at the same time Dipper assures Stan that he’s fine.

Ford finishes lighting the last candle and shakes out the match. He smiles at Dipper and Dipper gets a warm ember in his chest when he gets six fingers ruffling his hair. Mabel gets the same treatment. “I don’t know if this’ll work, but you kids are awfully brave.” His voice is warm before he clears his throat. He pulls a pair of cuffs out of his pocket; not the silver kind that police use but big iron ones like out of some medieval story. They’ve got a bunch of blue symbols glowing in the medal.

Stan lets out a laugh. “Holy crap, Stanford, what are those? Props from your nerd board game?” he takes them from Ford, twisting them around. “What have you been doing all these years? Oh god, do you have a dungeon in your basement or something?”

Ford huffs and snatches them back, “I’ve been working, Stanley. These will ensure that they don’t escape while we’re in their mindscapes. Watch. Dipper, can I see your arm?”

The metal is surprisingly warm against his skin; the symbols glow brighter once the cuff is snapped shut. Dipper takes note that there’s no keyhole on the cuff as his body seems to lock up. He tries to flex his fingers; it takes nearly five seconds for his fingers to twitch. Every thought of movement seems delayed in reaching his body. It’s like he’s been dunked into a pool full of honey, slow and sticky.

Ford clasps the other cuff to Mabel’s arm and Dipper sees her tense, watches the slow way she grins and laughs at the odd feeling. They’re cuffed together but still Ford has to slot their hands together. He sees his fingers lace with his sister’s before he feels it, everything on a delay. Something warm travels up his arm from the contact, a spark traveling through his veins. His left eye stings and waters. Both widen when he sees Mabel blink once before she’s staring back at him with mismatching eyes, one familiar and terrifying.

He wants to scream, wants to tell his Grunkles that this was a bad idea. He wants out; he doesn’t want to do this anymore. This is too much. He doesn’t want to see that look on his sister’s face. Her face spreads into a different kind of grin, lips curling up to show off as many teeth as possible, and he feels his own cheeks aching as he does the same.

“MISSED ME ALREADY?” They say in unison.

Dipper screams in his head. He didn’t say that; he can’t move, he can’t speak.

He’s trapped.

Chapter Text

They’re doing the talking in unison thing again. Great. And the eye thing, that’s back. Lovely, this is just what Stan needs. He says a prayer to all the gods he doesn’t believe in anymore as he moves in the circle to recheck the knots because he’d rather not get stabbed again. He’s going to be limping for a while as is. Or risk them hurting themselves or Ford going crossbow happy again.

“OH HO HO, TIED UP, HUH? WELL ISN’T THIS CUTE!” the twins laugh that fucked up laugh that sends a shiver down his spine. His brother isn’t handling it much better what with the way he’s twitching next to them. “MAN, THIS HAS TO LOOK VERY MESSED UP TO AN OUTSIDER! TWO GROWN MEN WITH SMALL CHILDREN TIED UP! IT’S HILARIOUS!”

Ford’s got a notebook in one hand, repeatedly tapping his index finger against the paper impatiently. “Stanley, are you finished?” he is pointedly not looking at the kids which seems to just amuse them as they wiggle in their seats.

The knots are secure as they can be; Stan wishes they had zipties or duct tape instead. That’s the stuff you wanted to use if you didn’t want people escaping. Which, you know, screwed up thought to have about kids, but what was to be done. Stan takes one last moment to use the last bit of rope to tie the kids’ hands together, making sure they stay in contact even if they try to pull away. Stan doesn’t know what would happen if this weird connection thing was broken while he and Ford were in their heads, since that was apparently what they were about to do, but he’d rather not find out.

“Alright, Poindexter, say whatever stupid nerd words you need to for us to do the thing.”

Ford's face pinches in a way that would be comical in any other situation. “Put your hand on Dipper.” He orders as he places one on Mabel’s head. The gesture is distinctly lacking the affection Stan had seen before; it was good to know that Stan wasn't the only one fond of the kids relatively quickly, despite Ford having attempted to murder them.

A glow surrounds them as Ford begins reciting the spell. Stan feels a warm tingling run across his skin; not unwelcome given how cold this damn house is. It’s making his eyelids heavy and he can see the kids’ heads beginning to nod as their eyes begin to glow with a pale blue light.

When he blinks, the living room is gone and instead he’s staring down a twisting hallway. The pain in his leg is gone as well.

It’s like a library. The walls, as far Stan can see, are lined with shelves upon shelves of books of every shape and size. None of the shelves seem to fit together, each set a different shape, size, and color, like they’ve been forced next to and on top of each other. The books are all different too and seem to have no order; some upright, some on their sides or leaning diagonally to against another, some are even backwards with their spines to the wall. A librarian’s nightmare; it makes him think of Ford’s house.

He grabs a book at random, tugging it off its shelf and being surprised to see that it appears to be homemade. A scrapbook, like the kind his ma used to make with their school photos and Ford’s report cards and pictures of Stan’s boxing matches. The cover is scratchy with glue and glitter, clueing him into the identity of the author. When he opens it, the inside isn’t paper with pasted images but instead plays a moving image that takes up the full page.

It’s Mabel, laughing as she chases Dipper with colorful candy worms hanging from her nose. He’s laughing too even as he runs from her with screams of how gross she is. She tackles him and then they’re wrestling as she tries to force him to eat one of the worms. True siblings. It's almost painful to watch even as a small smile tugs at his mouth.

“It’s their memories. That’s what the mindscape is, Stanley.” Ford is at his shoulder, watching the younger set of twins laugh with a tired look on his face. He has a gleam in his eye though, “Their connection must’ve forced their own personal mindscapes to fuse. Fascinating.”

That’s not the word that Stan would’ve used to describe two minds forced to mold into one. Perverted, maybe. Twisted. Twins could share almost everything but their minds should be their own. No matter how much he missed his brother, how much he missed their old bond, he’d never want Ford in his head. It messes with him, the idea of the kids in his head like they'd said. Even now there are thoughts and memories he wouldn't want anyone to see, who knows what he'll add to that in thirty years. He hopes they didn't see anything too bad.

“Have you done this before, Ford?” he tries to imagine it, either his brother or his own version of this place but nothing comes to mind. He doesn't know Ford anymore and has spent a good portion of the last several years trying not to know himself. A place built around his own mind seems like a scary place to be; he didn't even like being in his own head metaphorically.

Ford shakes his head, moving to trail his fingers over some books on another shelf. “Never anyone else's, just my own. Bill likes to find me in my dreams, when my body is too worn down to work.” his mouth clamps shut as soon as the words leave him, as if he's just remembered who he is talking to. He shakes his head, “We just need to find Bill before he can do too much damage.” And with that they start walking.

It feels like hours that they just walk, taking the occasional turn. Ford keeps his back to him and keeps muttering to himself. Stan’s not sure what he wants to say but feels like he should say something. They were just walking; wouldn't it be the perfect time to talk? Even if just to make a plan. How much does Ford know about Bill, about what’s going to happen? Did Dipper tell him whatever it was that Mabel was too scared to tell him?

A book falls from a shelf, clattering loudly to the floor behind him. Stan turns to stare at the item; this one isn't a scrapbook, but a small leather-bound book. When he picks it up he can see a golden image of a pine tree on the front. Was this one of Dipper’s memories?

Casting a look towards his brother's retreating back, Stan says fuck it. The twins lost their memories, right? Maybe this is one of them; maybe it'll help them figure out how Bill got in their heads. That made sense, right? Right. He nods to himself and opens the book. Anything is better than just walking aimlessly.

Mabel has her ear to a door, dressed in a long night shirt. Stan can hear, muffled by the door, the sound of Ford's voice, though it's gruffer than normal, “Okay, Stanley, here's the deal. You can stay here for the summer to watch the kids. I'll stay in the basement to try and contain any remaining damage. But when the summer’s over, you give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever. You got that?”

Did that mean that Stan and Ford don't make up? Stan had thought…if they lived together in the future, didn't that mean they had gotten past it all? Thirty years and still Ford hasn't let go of it? Does he get his brother back only to have them still be at odds? From the sounds of it he's only around to watch the kids. Was he still homeless in the future, only staying with Ford as a convenience? Just something to make Ford's life easier temporarily before being booted again?

Mabel’s voice draws his attention back to the memory and out of his own head. “Dipper, you don’t think we’ll turn out like Stan and Ford, do you?” she sounds so nervous, that's what catches Stan’s attention, watching through the pages. The twins are each sitting on beds now.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they used to be best friends but then they got all stupid. Can you promise me you won’t get stupid?”

Dipper laughs, “Not stupider than you, dumb-dumb.” Stan hears the sincerity behind the teasing, the love mixed with a child’s fear. Fear of ending up like their stupid uncles. Stan sincerely hopes they never do. Hopes they can always reach for each other.

“Stanley, we don't have time to be pawing through each of their memories. We need to—" Ford comes over, face shifting from irritation to surprise as the journal replays the memory. Mabel has left her bed to listen at the cracked door again. Ford's words ring out, the promise that the end of summer will be the end of Stan’s time there.

Stan’s own voice sounds out next, punctuated with “as far as I'm concerned they're the only family I have left.”

Ford’s got that set to his jaw, the one that always made him look so much like their dad. Stan used to tease him about that when they were teenagers. Now it didn't seem so funny. Nothing really seems funny anymore.

“Heh, guess we never really get better, huh, Sixer? Stubborn old men.” Stan tries to joke, tries to shove down the bubbling black mass that's trying to crawl up his throat, the words he's sat on for ten years. This wasn't about him; it was about the kids, that's what he needs to focus on. He snaps the book shut and moves to put it back on a shelf.

Then Ford speaks because of course he does. “I suspected you must have apologized or something, if we were together in the kids’ time, but I guess I was wrong. How irresponsible am I in the future that I have you watching them?” he says the last part quiet, like he's speaking to himself and not Stan.

It still sets Stan’s blood to a boil; the wriggling black mass crawls to settle in his chest, constricting over his heart. He holds the book to his chest. “Just as irresponsible as now, it seems. Putting the kids in enough danger that I don't want you near them.” He thinks of Ford pointing that crossbow at them with a crazy look in his eyes.

Ford scowls at him and that just makes Stan feel smug. “Yet you're the one still staying at my place in the future.” He shakes his head, “There isn't time for this. We can argue about this later."

“I think we should argue about it now.” Stan throws back, childish but determined. He wants a real reaction out of his brother. Wants to force him to take him seriously, to acknowledge him. “Would you have called me for help with this...this Bill stuff, if the kids weren't involved?”

Ford's face shifts and he looks away, looking uncomfortable. “I may have considered asking you to take some of my research away. As far from me as possible.” He shakes his head again, the dad set back in his jaw, and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “We don't have time for this. I'll indulge in your insipid desire to fight about this once we've handled Bill, Stanley.”

As far away from him as possible. That's all Ford had ever wanted from him, wasn't it? Distance. And if he could hide something he didn't want anyone to see then that was just a bonus, right? Because no one ever gave Stan a second glance, a second thought.

“Insipid, huh?” his throat is tight, he has to scrape the words out. But once he does the dam breaks, “Because I'm the dumb one, right? The one with no future, the one just clinging to your coattails. Just a dumber, sweatier version of you!” Stan’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are burning. “You think I didn't hear any of that, Stanford? You think it was a surprise for me when Dad threw me out? Well, guess what, I'm not as fucking stupid as everyone thought!”

Ford looks affronted, fists clenching like he has a right to be mad, “I never said you were st—”

“You never had to! I was right outside the door, Stanford! When the principal was telling Ma and Dad about how worthless I was and you couldn't be assed to say a word in my defense. I thought at first it was cause Dad was there but no, you just cared about your damn school.” he fists a chunk of his own hair in frustration. He could still hear it; hear his Ma being the only one that cared what happened to him while Ford didn’t care. Then you better visit me on the other side of the country! “You were the one person that was supposed to see that I wasn't the piece of shit everyone else saw, but that's all you ever saw. I was just a big dumb convenience to have around, ready to be ditched at the first chance. It took me a long time to get that you never gave a damn about me. But hey, maybe I am an idiot, cause I was hoping you'd prove me wrong. Hoping things would be better but you're still a selfish piece of shit. That's the Pines’ legacy: pieces of shit.”

Ford takes a deep breath and— oh. Oh that's not fair. “You think I don't care?” Ford shouldn't be allowed to have that look on his face, like he's the one that's been hurting for ten years instead of Stan. He wasn’t the one that got left behind. “Is that what you've thought this whole time? That I didn't care about you? You're my brother!”

Stan scoffs and looks away if just to not have to see that look on his face. It's not fair. “That didn't seem to matter back then. Or anytime in the past ten years. And this,” he shakes the journal in his hand, “proves that it never will. But at least I get smarter about it.”

He wanted to save him, that's why he came here. Wanted to prove something, maybe to Ford or himself. See what I can do. Don't throw me away. But if thirty years can't heal this then Stan’s sure nothing can. He'll never get that back and once this is all done then it's just going to be Stan again. Alone for thirty years while he waits for Dipper and Mabel.

“Stanley—” Ford starts but Stan is done. Even a gambler like him knows when the odds are too bad, knows that sometimes you have to fold. He doesn't have an ace in his sleeve this time. His throat is tight enough to threaten to cut off his air, his chest empty now that the black thing inside of him has been released.

“Come on, Ford. We’ve wasted enough time. The kids are waiting.”

-----------

It took me a long time to get that you never gave a damn about me.

Is that really what Stan thought? That Ford didn’t care about him? Sure, he was angry at his twin, had resented him for the majority of the last ten years but…he hadn’t really ever wished ill upon his brother, had he? Sure, he’d had the dark, hateful thoughts right after Stan had been thrown out and sporadically throughout college but…he never actually wanted his brother hurt. Stan was the Alpha Twin, strong and silver tongued; he’d said he didn’t need anyone and Ford had believed it.

Stan is so dirty, so greasy and filthy beneath the clean jacket, cheeks sunken and dark bags under his eyes. The way he’d barely flinched when he’d burned his wound shut. What has Stan done to warrant that, to be able to do that? It strikes him for the first time that he's never thought about what Stan has been doing the past ten years; he's never wanted to think about it, has always shoved thoughts of Stan as far away as possible. The thought makes him uncomfortable now that he's face to face with his twin, the heat of Stan’s anger filling the small space.

Stanley had betrayed him; Ford had a right to his anger, his resentment. West Coast Tech was more than he'd ever thought to dream of; of course he'd jumped at the chance for it. Stan was supposed to be happy for him. What was a stupid childish dream compared to something as real as a prestigious college? The chance to have his own future, not half of one. The chance to be a singular individual instead of half of a set. Hadn't Stan ever wanted that too?

I was right outside the door, Stanford!

Ford could barely remember them talking about Stan in that meeting; he'd been so excited and focused on his own future. One son that'll be in Glass Shard Beach forever. Was that what the principal had said? Preposterous. Stan was always meant for a bigger life than their home town. Ford had known that even back then. Had trusted that fact any time an inkling of worry for Stan had brushed his mind. It was so obvious it hadn't needed saying.

Hadn't it?

His brother’s shoulder brushes his as he pushes past to resume their walk down the hallway. Ford wants to grab his brother to stop him; wants to explain this all away but he can't find the words. He wants to know what leads up to the conversation in the book, what Stan will want his thanks for. What happens to them in thirty years? How does Bill end up in Stan's head? The idea of Bill hurting Stan, the thought that he already has, boils him from the inside. No matter how he felt about his twin, no one was allowed to hurt him. Especially not Bill. Never Bill, never Stanley. Ford wouldn't allow it.

So you're the only one allowed to hurt him, Sixer?

A chill runs down his spine as the words echo around inside his head and he spins around, frantic as he looks around. He knows that voice, the one that’s been tormenting his sleeping and waking hours. It no longer bleeds into his own internal voice as it once did; he can hear the differences now. This voice is poison. He can hear the faint echoing laughter, louder than the whisper; he’s vaguely aware of Stan stopping ahead of him in the hall.

He swallows thickly, fingers tapping at his sides. “Show yourself, Bill! I know you’re here!” of course Bill couldn’t resist messing with him, prying into his thoughts. As disturbing as it was, it was at least opportune for them. Easier for them.

The laugh is even louder. “OH ALRIGHT! YOU CAUGHT ME, BUDDY. TURN AROUND, BOYS.”

They turn together and there he is. Bill is floating in front of them but it’s not the Bill Ford knows. A long, jagged crack runs down the center of him, like a broken vase that’s been pieced back together, and a rip is torn through the stupid top hat he wore. Still he has that insufferable cocky look to his eye as they stare each other down and he twirls a cane in one hand. He touches the end of it under Ford’s chin before he slaps it away.

“That’s Bill?” he hears Stan say from behind him, voice filled with disbelief. “This is your conman? A broken triangle with stick legs and a bowtie? Really, Ford?”

Ford feels his neck heat at Stan’s words. Stan doesn't know how charismatic Bill can be, the way he can target exactly what you want and promise you just that. He looks simple and that's part of the trick. He ignores his brother in favor of squaring his jaw and glaring at the demon. “You've looked better, Bill.”

“I'D SAY SO HAVE YOU BUT THAT'S A LIE THAT GETS ME NOTHING. THEN AGAIN, ADD A LITTLE GRAY TO THOSE TEMPLES AND I'M SURE SOME CREEPS ON THE INTERNET WILL DIG IT.” Bill holds his middle as he laughs at his own joke, the cane having vanished without Ford seeing it do so.

Master of the mindscape.

Ford swallows thickly, wishing he had one of his guns if just for the symbolic safety. “What do you want with the kids, Cipher? I know you, there's always an end game.”

Bill begins moving around them in a circle; Stan’s shoulder presses to his as he moves in closer to keep a distance from Bill. Ford presses back, just a bit, but never takes his eyes off Bill.

“HEY DON'T GET SHORT WITH ME, FORDSY.” his eye moves in a way that Ford has learned to read as a grin, the bottom lid taking up most of the singular eye. “I WAS INVITED HERE, SAME AS YOU.”

Invited— That meant the kids had made a deal, didn't it? How could they? Dipper said he’d been tricked before, that he knew Bill made bad deals. What could have happened to cause them to do it? And both of them, it shouldn't have been possible. If Bill could do it with two people…Ford was suddenly reminded of the various times Bill had offhandedly suggested telling Fiddleford. Ford had thought it was for just another body for Bill to use when even Ford's was too exhausted to work. But could this be what he wanted? No, it made no sense, splitting himself. Bill was broken; this couldn't have been what he wanted.

Bill let out a sigh that sounded like a parody of dreamy, propping his hands right above his bowtie. “I FORGOT HOW YOU LOOKED, ALL IN YOUR OWN HEAD. FOND MEMORIES.” He claps his hand, moving in three quick circles around them, too fast for them to turn with him. “NOW, FOR WHAT I WANT, OHH IT'S SO SIMPLE. YOU'LL LOVE IT, FORD, REALLY I'M DOING YOU A FAVOR, TAKING IT OFF YOUR HANDS. SOMETHING COMPLETELY WORTHLESS AND UNWANTED. YOU WON'T EVEN MISS IT.”

Ford thinks about his single remaining journal, the one he was going to ask Stan to hide away, and the machine that sat in his basement. The tingle of fear that Dipper may have gotten down there while Ford hadn’t been paying attention, that Bill may have gotten to it, resurfaces. “I'm not giving you the portal, or any of my journals, Cipher.” He forces the fear out to keep his voice steady.

Bill waves a hand and makes a sound that sounds like a blown raspberry, despite his lack of a mouth. “OH I DON'T NEED THAT ANYMORE. OLD NEWS. BOOORING, GET WITH THE TIMES, STANFORD. THAT’S SO THIRTY YEARS AGO. NO, WHAT I WANT IS…”

There's a burst of energy that sends Ford slamming backwards into one of the shelves, several books clattering to the floor. One falls opens and the air is filled with the sounds of water splashing and people laughing. There’s the smell of lake water coming from the pages. When Ford looks up, his heart threatens to choke him.

Bill has Stan backed up against the shelves across from where Ford fell, the cane back and shoved under his brother's chin. “I WANT STANLEY.”

Ford scrambles to his feet, ready to run over because Bill is not allowed to hurt Stanley but Stan holds a hand up. His brother doesn’t look scared or agitated, like he was not ten minutes ago when he was yelling at Ford, but looks almost bored with the situation. “And what do you want with me? I ain’t exactly the prime beef of the Pines’ twins, you know.”

“OH I KNOW YOU MUCH BETTER THAN ANYONE, STAN. I’VE KNOWN YOU LONGER THAN YOUR OWN BROTHER HAS AND I KNOW JUST WHAT YOU CAN DO.” Bill practically purrs the words, which just makes Ford’s insides boil and twist even more. He pinches one of Stan’s cheeks. “THAT’S WHY I WANT TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU, STANLEY. YOU SHAKE MY HAND AND I LET THE KIDS GO BACK TO THEIR OWN TIME.”

“No!” Ford tries to rush forward to try to forcibly pull his brother away from the demon. The breath gets knocked out of him as soon as he takes a step and he finds himself being lifted off the ground. It feels like something is clamping down on his chest; he has to remind himself that he doesn’t really need to breathe in the mindscape to squash the panic down. “Stanley, he’s not—“

Ford’s own voice cuts him off, radiating from Bill himself. “I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!”

Stan does react to that, Ford sees it, the smallest flinch before he looks away. “…I’m listening.”

Chapter Text

“This paint is fresh.” Mabel points out; she can tell by the smell after all the paint she’s used over the years. She taps her fingers to the wall to find that the paint is dry. “Grunkle Ford was here thirty years ago but someone was here recently.” A chill runs down her spine and she pulls her hand away from the wall. “You don’t think Bill…?”

Dipper swallows thickly. Everything in his gut tells him they need to run but his curiosity sticks him in place. This was to figure out how to stop Bill, to protect Ford and Stan and all of Gravity Falls. Fate of the world stuff. He lets go of Mabel’s hand so he can pull out the notebook he’d tucked into the back of his shorts. Inside it he’s copied down everything Ford had between his Journals about Bill, all the symbols. He uses the notes as a translation guide, muttering and clicking his pen as he went through what he could read. There had to be something Ford had missed.

Something they could use to protect themselves from Bill beyond the barrier. They couldn’t just stay locked inside for the rest of their lives, and besides, someone from the outside could get to them. It was a safe base to stay in but that was about it.

While he studies, Mabel decides that the place really needs a makeover. Too much Bill for her liking; now that she thinks about it there’s a lot of Bill stuff at the Shack, like the rug in the gift shop. Good thing Ford hasn’t gone in there since the first day that he got really peeved about the fact that the Shack was a thing. She’ll have to toss it once they get home. But while they were here…

Dipper looks up at the sound of her giggles, his own mouth curling at the sight. Mabel’s got a thick purple marker out and is going to every painting of Bill that she can reach and adding mustaches and a single bushy brow to each. Part of him feels like they shouldn’t be graffiti-ing a piece of history like this but at the same time it’s Bill. He closes his notebook and runs over to her, taking the marker from her. He uses it to add a big speech bubble coming from a painting Bill looming over a bunch of stick people.

“’I am a living fart’? Really, that’s great, Dipper!” Mabel covers her mouth as she giggles. She takes the marker back and adds what Dipper assumes are stink lines coming from the triangle. Then she adds her own speech bubble coming from the people that read ‘peyew’ in big capital letters. “My best work to date, I think.” it could use some glitter for flavor but it'll do.

Dipper has to suppress his own giggles and pulls out one of the cameras he always has with him these days. “What is it you say? A scrapbookertunity?”

Mabel squeals and hugs her brother because he is the best. She left the Polaroid camera that Stan gave her at home. “Good thinking, Bro-Bro! This is a perfect addition to my ‘Bill is a doody face’ page.” She takes the camera from him and snaps a picture.

As soon as she does, they both feel an odd feeling wash over them. Something like déjà vu. Have they done this before?

They both look over to the painted wall a second before the voice sounds out, loud and chilling, “WELL WELL WELL WELL WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” the paint shifts and forms a giant red eye that glares at them as all color seems to disappear around them.

Their hands find each other and squeeze tight. Mabel moves closer to her brother, the hand not in his reaching up to grip his sleeve tight. Still she forces her voice to be loud and full, because you can't let the monsters know you're scared, that's what Ford says. “Go away, Bill!”

“HEY, THAT'S HURTFUL, SHOOTING STAR. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT CAME AND KNOCKED ON MY DOOR.” the paint shifts again into the shape of Bill; he peels himself off the wall with a sickening sound. There's an audible POP once he's free and he changes from red to yellow. “I'VE MISSED YOU BOTH, EVEN YOU, PINE TREE. HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO VISIT SINCE YOU PUT UP THAT BARRIER.”

“That’s kinda the point.” Dipper squeezes his sister's hand, glaring at the triangle. This all seems too familiar. He can't fight the feeling that he's forgetting something, something important.

Bill shrugs and begins floating around them in a lazy circle. “AND HERE I WAS HOPING YOU WOULD HELP ME WITH SOMETHING.”

Mabel snorts, grip loosening on Dipper’s sleeve. “As if we’d help you! We hate you, you pointy jerk!”

“THAT’S FAIR. BUT KNOW WHAT’S NOT HATEFUL? GIVING SECOND CHANCES AND HELPING SOMEONE FIND A LONG LOST FRIEND. ISN’T THAT THE SORTA THING YOU LOVE TO DO, SHOOTING STAR?” He moves in super close, forcing both twins to stumble back a few steps, and gives Mabel’s nose a tweak. The lower lid of his eye takes up most of his eye and his whole body seems to shake with manic giggles. “I JUST NEED YOU TO HELP ME FIND MY BEST FRIEND AND I’LL BE OUT OF YOUR LIVES FOREVER. INTERDIMINSIONAL SCOUTS HONOR!” he lifts a hand in a sort of salute.

Mabel might not be as smart as her brother, but even she can see through Bill’s crap. Normally she’d jump at the chance to reunite long lost friends, it’d be like something out of one of her books, but Bill didn’t have any friends that he needed to be with anymore. So she sticks her tongue out at him. “Never!”

The eye moves to focus on Dipper. “C’MON, PINE TREE. JUST SHAKE MY HAND. I'LL FIND MY FRIEND AND THEN YOU TWO WILL NEVER HEAR FROM ME AGAIN.” he sticks out his hand, blue flames lit up around it.

Mabel holds her brother's arm tighter and hisses, “Bill makes bad deals, Dipper, we can't trust him."

Dipper knows his sister's probably right, but he has a theory that he's been kicking around since he found out about Ford’s deal. It's like an old fairytale, the kind their mom used to read them. You have to be very particular with how you word your deal. That's how Bill tricked them, by following the letter of what he agreed to in the moment he shook your hand, not the intended meaning. “I help you find your friend and the moment you find them, you leave us alone forever. Got it? You never mess with us or our grunkles ever again?”

“YOU DRIVE A HARD BARGAIN, PINE TREE. BUT SURE. IT'S A DEAL!” the flames grew brighter, bigger. “SHAKE MY HAND AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN ONCE I GET MY FRIEND BACK!”

Dipper takes a deep breath and reaches for Bill’s hand. Even if this fails, they have Ford now, the expert on Bill. He was sure that his family could stop Bill if he messed up. But if it succeeds, then they would be free of Bill and all Dipper has to do is be possessed for a little. Sure, last time he had to shower like thirty times before he felt even a little clean, but that was a small price to pay to be a hero. It’s what Ford would do in his place, he’s sure.

Her brother is an idiot, a complete moron. This can't end well. “Wait!” she grabs her brother’s wrist before he can touch Bill. She swallows thickly; this was such a bad idea. But what was it that Stan and Ford used to say when they were kids? Wherever we go, we go together. And if there was a chance that this could work, that they could be free of Bill, that they could protect their uncles...She trusts Dipper. “Make the deal with both of us.”

“Mabel, no.” This was his bad idea; if it went south, she had to stop him. “You can't—"

She squeezes his hand extra tight, meeting his eyes. She's scared, he knows and he hates it, but she's not going to back down. “Trust me.” She whispers, the permanent exception to the rule, before looking back at Bill. She sticks out the hand not holding Dipper’s. “C'mon. Two twins for the price of one. That's a deal.”

Bill rubs under his eye with his thumb and index finger, making a vibrating humming sound. His eye darts between them and narrows. Then he crosses his arms as he stretches a hand to each of them, blue flames glowing bright in the dim cave. “IT'S A DEAL!”

The moment before they take his hands, Dipper freezes. Wait. No, they've done this before. They've shaken his hands before and then...then they find Blandin and Dipper wakes up in the snow. This has all happened before.

The circle of candles, the ropes, Stan’s hand on his head and the sounds of Ford reciting the spell.

“This is a memory.” he pulls Mabel back before she can shake Bill's hand; he should've done that in the first place. This was such a monumental bad idea, how could he have thought it wasn't? Oh he was so stupid. “Mabel, this isn't real! This is a memory! We're in our mindscape!”

Mabel is confused for a moment before her mind catches up. She looks up at where Bill is frozen above them, hands glowing but unmoving, like a movie that's been paused. She steps forward and waves a hand in front of his face. Nothing. “So this is weird.” a grin steals her face and she picks up the marker she’d dropped when Bill had showed up so she can make him match his painting.

It wasn't just her fault; the cave had been her idea, but the deal had been Dipper’s. They screwed up together. Now they could fix it together. Knowing that made her feel braver, made her feel less garbage. The Mystery Twins could break and then fix anything.

Now they just have to save their uncles. “We've gotta find Stan and Ford.” She looks at her brother and grabs his hand again. Bill can't keep them apart in their own heads. And it's the mindscape, the place where she could have rocket powered kitten fists! “Before Bill finds whoever he's looking for.”

Who could Bill be looking for back in this time? Ford was the one who summoned him and Ford hadn't told anyone else about Bill so—

They both squeeze each other's hand together as the realization dawns.

“You don't think he's looking for…?” Dipper starts.

“...Younkle Ford had to go to sleep to do the spell, didn't he?” Mabel continues.

They both swear in unison, “Hot Belgian waffles!”

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

Their mindscape is apparently books, something Dipper wishes he could be surprised about. As they run through the halls, Dipper realizes that he never really thought about what his own mind would look like; he just thought it was all doors and such, like Stan’s. When they stop at a split in the hall, he looks at the books on the shelves. Thick, glitter covered scrapbooks and journals bound in leather.

“This place is a maze!” Dipper groans, scratching at his head under his hat. How was his own mind so confusing? Well, he supposed it was also Mabel’s mind and he also had no idea where to go, but still. It shouldn’t be so hard to find stuff. “Maybe we can think up a map or something?” he tries to do so but keeps getting caught up on the fact that he knows nothing about what this place is like and therefore what if his map is wrong?

Mabel looks around, peering at the various books on the shelves. Their memories were journals and scrapbooks, apparently. That made sense. Dipper liked to write down everything and Mabel never met a good moment that wasn’t begging to be expressed with glitter and bright paper. Once they got home, she’d have to fill up so many pages with what happened here. Once she was done hugging Stan and Ford and— “Oh, I know!” she hits the heel of her fist against her open palm as the idea strikes her. She closes her eyes and focuses really hard. Slightly ahead of her a white puff of smoke appears and in its wake, something that makes her squeal, all anxiety and fear momentarily forgotten. “Waddles!”

Dipper rolls his eyes as his sister tackles the pig and peppers him with kisses. It’s nice to see his sister so happy, but they have things to do. “Mabel, I know you miss him, but we need to find Stan and Ford. They don’t know what Bill’s after.”

“That’s what he’s here for!” she gives him one last nuzzle before standing up. She puts her hands on her knees and grins at him. “Waddles! We need to find Stan and Ford! You can sniff ‘em out, right? Who’s my little guy, whose my smart little guy with the bestest, cutest little sniffer ever?” she boops his little snoot because he is too cute, “You are! Yes you are! So let’s find our Younkles! Good boy!”

Waddles oinks in a way that is totally a ‘Right away, Mabel, BTW I love you’ before putting his nose to the ground. Mabel jumps up and down and claps as he starts chasing a smell. “Ohhh! Waddles, you are the best, forever and for always!”

Dipper rolls his eyes again before grabbing his sister’s hand to chase after the pig. It was a good idea; he had to admit, so long as it worked. Waddles seemed to be able to find Stan no matter what after the whole pterodactyl incident.

Ahead of them they can hear Ford yelling, “Stanley, he’s not—” Then he seems to cut himself off, “I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!” Mabel wrinkles her nose; does Ford have to be so mean now of all times?

They turn the corner to see Ford struggling, suspended in midair and glowing blue, and Stan trapped between a set of shelves and a broken looking Bill. That was definitely not the Bill from their memory. Was that what happened when they both shook his hand? Serves the buttmunch right.

“YOU SHAKE MY HAND AND YOU’LL GO AWAY FOREVER. NO MORE FAILED CONS, NO MORE DOUBTS; NO MORE BEING THE LOAD ON EVERYONE YOU CARE ABOUT. THE KIDS WILL BE FREE AND YOU’LL NEVER HAVE TO THINK ABOUT FORD EVER AGAIN.” Bill has his cane digging into the underside of Stan’s chin; it looks painful. “C’MON, STAN. BE THE ONE THAT SAVES THE DAY INSTEAD OF RUINING IT LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO. SHAKE MY HAND.”

“Younkle/Grunkle Stan!” they shout together and run forward.

Stan’s eyes are red when he looks at them; Mabel thinks about when she was crying to him in the car. Sweetheart, I'm terrified. Bill can see your nightmares; he knows what you're afraid of, what you want more than anything. This Stan has never had to deal with him before.

Bill's eye narrows at them. “WELL, YOU CERTAINLY GOT HERE QUICKER THAN I THOUGHT.” There's a loud thump sound as Ford hits the ground.

Dipper pulls his hand from his sister's to run over to Ford, helping his uncle to his knees. Ford's got this wild, angry look on his face, different from the one he'd had when Dipper had showed up at his door. Less paranoid crazy and more feral. He braces a hand on Dipper’s shoulder as he rights himself, glaring holes at where Bill has his brother pinned.

“Get away from my Younkle!” Mabel tries to run to Stan only to find herself lifted off the ground. There's a moment of confusion as she tries to right herself before she's thrown into her brother and Ford. She hears Ford grunt and feels his arm go around her waist as he takes the brunt of the hit.

“Hey!” Stan shouts and they look up to see him being held in place with a cane to his chest. It's a relief to see him angry instead of scared at least. “Back off, ya one eyed demon! You think I can't smell a bad con? Now get the hell away from my—” he tries to shove forward only to freeze in place; all the color leaves his face when he looks down to see the cane embedded in his chest. “What the—"

Bill's yellow coloring is changing, slowly morphing to red like a poisoned sunset. Something black begins to ooze from the crack that runs down his middle, bubbling and hissing angrily as it drips to the floor. There's a stench like rotten eggs in the air. “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR STUPID, WORTHLESS FAMILY NOT STICKING TO THE PLAN!” his voice is deeper than normal, seems to make the air itself vibrate as it booms. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW PISSED OFF YOU MAKE ME?!”

There's an explosion of red as Bill rips the cane free, splattering the books behind Stan and soaking his shirt and jacket. Mabel feels her stomach drop; Ford’s grip on her goes painfully tight. Dipper feels like he's going to be sick. No, no, this isn't real. It's the mindscape that meant it wasn't real, right? But Dipper hadn't bled when he'd had a hole blown in him. Why was Stan bleeding?

Stan stumbles back, one hand going to grip the bloody hole in his chest. He keeps his eyes on Bill though and looks like he's muttering something that they can't quite hear.

“WORSE? YOU'VE HAD WORSE? YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE. WELL, METAPHORICALLY.” Bill turns to look at them; his eye is red to match the rest of him and his pupil is more slitted than normal. The black ooze slicks down his front, nearly obscuring his bowtie completely. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, FORD. I WAS GOING TO TRY TO BE NICE BUT NOW I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO KILL ALL OF YOU.” he punctuates the statement by slamming the cane into Stan’s face, sending him falling sideways, even as he never takes his eye off Ford.

Ford practically growls, six fingers digging in painfully to Mabel’s side. He shoves her so she's behind him and stands in front of both her and her brother. In a blink he has a gun in his hand; not the sci-fi one he has after the portal, but a real one. “Cipher…” he makes that growly sound again and points the gun at him.

Stan is still gripping the bloody spot on his chest as he stands, breathing heavy and mouth moving silently. Dipper doesn't understand how Stan is really hurting. It's the mindscape; nothing has power unless you think it—oh.

Stan doesn't know it's not real. He doesn't know the rules of the mindscape! Of course he's bleeding and hurting; he doesn't know that he doesn't have to. His mind thinks his body is damaged and in pain so it is. Dipper stares at the blood covering Stan’s hand and focuses really hard.

Stan stares down in amazement as the red fades, the hole in his shirt and chest instantly mended, just like he'd done for Dipper in his own mind. He looks up and when he meets Dipper's eyes, a confused smile twitches across his face. It only lasts a second, however, before it's lost to a flinch. The gun fires with a loud bang, like a crack of thunder that has both kids covering their ears at the sheer volume of it in the confined space.

A hole explodes in the lower corner of Bill's shape. What has to be a gallon of the black goop hits the floor; the stench is worse, almost suffocating. In an instant the wound is healed. “YOU'RE NOT THAT STUPID, FORD. AND THAT'S SAYING SOMETHING, BECAUSE YOU'RE AN IDIOT.” Bill's eye moves in its mouthless smile as he speaks. In a blink he's on the other side of Stan, shoving him forward to stand in the puddle of Bill's...blood? The stuff quivers, moving like liquid metal with a magnet, before climbing up Stan’s shoes. “IT'S A PITY. YOU HAD SUCH POTENTIAL. IT'S EASY TO SEE WHY EVERYONE KEEPS RUINING THEIR LIVES OVER YOU. AND NOW THEY'RE GOING TO DIE FOR YOU.” He grabs Stan’s shoulders. “UNLESS STAN WANTS TO MAKE A DEAL.”

The gun shakes just so in Ford's hand. Mabel tries to scream, but her voice is gone; she can feel Bill's eye slide over her. Her eye burns and waters and for a moment she can feel the ropes that bind her to the chair in the real world, feel the heating metal of the shackle on her wrist to keep her holding her brother's hand. It feels like being on the edge of waking up, like those dreams where you're in your bed but can't move as things move across your ceiling.

Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out get out get out!

“MAN, AND I THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY NOW.”

A cold stone forms in the younger twins stomachs; their hands instinctively reach for each other. It shouldn't be possible. If there was anything good in the world, this shouldn't be allowed to even be a possibility.

But still it is. He's not cracked or bleeding black sludge like the one holding Stan in place, but instead whole as he floats before them. A second Bill Cipher.

“WELL HELLO, HANDSOME.” the broken Bill coos, his color shifting back to the obnoxious yellow to match his counterpart. “JUST THE GUY I WAS WANTING TO SEE. TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH. I PRACTICALLY GIFT WRAPPED HIM FOR YOU.”

Chapter Text

Stan had considered finishing high school, right after he’d been thrown out. His Ma had tried to convince him to when she’d found him at the swing set that had practically been his and Ford’s. She’d been red faced and teary eyed; she knew her husband wouldn’t let Stan back, even if Stan hadn’t been too proud to go back. She’d even mentioned leaving with him, but Stan had shut that down. The house would fall apart if left under Filbrick’s care. Shermie and his wife needed her to help look after their new baby while he worked and she went to school. He’d be fine he’d insisted to his mother, he had personality. He’d never been any good at school; that was Ford’s space. He’d make it on his own, she’d see, she’d be so proud of him.

His mother had let him go with an envelope of money she’d been stashing away for a rainy day, money she said not even their father knew about, a Star of David on a golden chain, and a kiss on the cheek. She’d made him promise to call her if he ever needed help and to never let her go too long without hearing from her ‘little Lee’. If he’d cried when he drove away, he’d never admit to it.

He never called her when he needed help, though he did try to call her once every other month or so, and the necklace had been stolen from him when he was twenty-three. He never went back to Glass Shard Beach and hadn’t seen his mother in person in the last ten years. He’d thought about it, same as how he thought about calling Ford. When the winters got too harsh or he took one too many punches or when he’d escaped the trunk of a car with a stomach full of blood and plastic, the desire to just go home would rear its head and be hard to ignore. But he never did. He’d hear Ford’s voice on the other end of the phone and slam the receiver down. His mother would mention how big his nephew was getting and he’d know that he had no business being around the kid, getting in the way of his oldest brother’s new family. He just had to make a bit more money and then he could go home, then he could prove everyone wrong.

The idea of calling his Ma flashes through his mind when he feels the cane ripped from his chest. Hey, Ma, guess what, I finally spoke to Ford. It almost makes him want to laugh if not for the pain in his chest and the red leaking through his fingers. His back bumps into the shelves behind him when he stumbles back. “I’ve had worse.” He mutters on instinct because he has, he’s always had worse. This pain is intense but strangely muted, as if done through a sort of anesthetic.

“WORSE? YOU'VE HAD WORSE? YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE. WELL, METAPHORICALLY.” A blast of air smelling of rotten eggs hits his nose, as if the thing could be breathing on him without a mouth. The triangle turns to stare at where Ford is standing with the kids. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, FORD. I WAS GOING TO TRY TO BE NICE BUT NOW I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO KILL ALL OF YOU.” The cane is back and slams hard against Stan’s cheek.

Stan hits the ground, a surge of pain shooting up his arm. His cheek burns as if he’d been slapped, not clocked with a cane, and his chest is still bleeding. He presses his palm to the wound, fingers finding the edges of it to assess the damage. As soon as he touches it, though, he feels it closing itself. When he pulls his hand away, the blood is gone and his shirt is mended. He looks up and there’s Dipper staring at him with a look of concentration. Had Dipper done that? Could the twins change things here? It was their mind, that made sense, if—

CRACK

It’s like a broom handle being snapped in half next to his ear and a liquid so cold it burns his skin splatters across his face. Stan scrambles to his feet, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. The smell, oh Moses, the smell. It smells like rotten eggs. It smells like an untreated wound, left to fester in the sun. There’s black stuff all over the ground, quivering and moving as if it has a mind of its own. Stan feels like he’s about to be sick. Bill is speaking; taunting his brother, and then Stan’s being shoved forward so he’s standing in the rancid stuff. He can feel the cold of it through his shoes as it crawls up them. It’s like he’s stepped barefoot into the snow.

“UNLESS STAN WANTS TO MAKE A DEAL.”

A deal. Bill wants to make a deal with him. Stan is good at deals, especially rotten ones. Trading himself for the kids would be an easy deal to make, one he could make a hundred times over. But logically he knows that if Bill possesses him like the kids…well, he might not be in boxing shape anymore, but he figures he’s still stronger than Ford. Especially when his brother looks like he hasn’t slept in days. If Ford could get to a weapon first then maybe he could stop Stan from hurting anyone; Stan doesn’t doubt that Ford would be willing to pull the trigger on him if it called for it.

“MAN, AND I THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY NOW.”

And now there were two of them. Okay. What the actual fuck. Not only does Stan have one sentient one-eyed triangle demon to deal with, but two, on top of the time traveling twins. His life is way too weird. Seriously, three days ago he was running from loan sharks and now this. When he thought about his next call to his mother and telling her about the shit that Ford was up to and that Stan got dragged into…

The new Bill, the one without the cracked face a ripped hat, is way too close while the other is sorta…hugging him? Stan feels his perfectly flat front pressing against his back as the other one tilts his face up with the end of a cane. The cold sludge is still on his feet but has stopped moving, though the smell is still as strong. Stan has to squint to really make out Bill’s face this close (man he wishes he’d held onto the glasses he’d got during his last prison stay) but works to keep his face blank. You never want to tip your hat when it comes to making deals. Don’t show too much interest or what it is you really want if you can avoid it. Hold as many cards as you could.

“WOW YOU LOOK EVEN WORSE THAN IN SIXER’S MEMORIES. AND YOU WANT HIS MIND?” the Bill in front of him is mocking him; it’s infuriating hearing him use his nickname for his brother. Stan’s familiar with that dismissive tone of voice. The tone of his teachers, his father, his prison wardens. People that thought they knew him, people that Stan hadn’t charmed.

The broken Bill had a different tone as his arm winds around Stan’s neck. Too much pressure to be companionable but not enough to be choking. A warning. “HEY NOW, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HE CAN DO. A LITTLE PROPER GUIDANCE AND HE’LL BE AN EVEN BETTER ASSET THAN WE’VE EVER HAD!” his tone isn’t mocking or unimpressed but friendly with an edge punctuated with the arm around his neck. Reminds Stan of his cellmate in the Columbian prison. You got potential, amigo.

That deal had gotten Stan locked in a trunk of a car and gave him his definitive ‘worse’. That’s what Bill was, Stan recognizes. Bill was the potential for a new worse. Probably his brother’s own definition of the idea. Stan almost wants to laugh again; Bill could be both of their definitions. Twin definitions.

It hits Stan then. Twins. He looks over at where the kids are and has to fight moving to them when they get thrown. Ford moves though, thankfully, helping them up as they each squint an eye. Twins. He looks at Ford; his brother had always been so different that they used to joke that they were funhouse mirror twins. They could trade clothes and imitate each other’s voice well enough to fool a teacher or kids at school until someone looked at their hands when they were kids, but then Stan got bigger and Ford got smarter. Then there were no switches but instead roles to be played. Ford the planner, the thinker, and Stan the fighter, the liar. They’d get an idea and Ford would plan it out, Stan doing all the heavy lifting and, when they undoubtedly got in trouble, be the smooth talker to get them out of it. An unstoppable pair when they were in sync.

One Bill already had one of them with the second trying to grab the other. And now Stan had seen his hand.

He clears his throat and in an instant all eyes are on him. Ford meets his eyes; Stan gives his brother a knowing look before his mouth is stretching into a practiced grin. He lets his shoulders relax, leans into the Bill behind him, and slips his hands into his pockets. “Well, you sure know how to flatter a guy. Delivery could use some work though.” He lifts a hand to rub at the spot that not ten minutes ago had been torn open. “You wanna talk deals? Let's talk deals.” Stan is good at deals, especially rotten ones.

The Bill behind him laughs and the arm around his neck tightens for a second. Then he lets go and there’s two Bills in front of him. “FINALLY SOMEONE SEES SENSE. THANK YOU, STANLEY.” One of his little stickman hands reaches up and pinches his cheek. “IT’S SIMPLE, STANLEY. ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS GIVE ME COMPLETE AND UNDIVIDED ACCESS TO YOUR MIND AND BODY. THEN I’LL LET THE KIDS GO BACK HOME.”

Complete and undivided, so that meant only the one Bill would be making the deal. That followed what Stan was thinking the point of all this was. But that also meant that only the Bill he made the deal with was tied to the stipulations; one Bill could let the kids go home while the other stopped them. The good old ‘never said my friend wouldn’t hurt you’ ploy. Bill’s words from before were all empty flattery; he clearly thought Stan was as stupid as Ford did.

Stan tilts his head, rubbing at his chin as if he was seriously giving it some thought. “What about Stanford?” he glances back at Ford. His heart clenches at the lost look on his twin’s face but he looks back between the two Bills. “What are you two going to do with him?”

The Bills exchange looks before the non-broken one lifts his hand. The bookcases fall away, leaving them surrounded by what looks like endless blackness. Behind where Ford stands with the kids a massive structure rises. It looks like an upside down triangle with a circle in the very center of it. The broken Bill snaps his fingers and the circle lights up with a blinding blue light.

“THAT’S UP TO YOU, STANLEY.” The broken Bill says with that smiling look in his eye. “I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT HAPPENS TO HIM IF YOU DON’T TAKE MY DEAL THOUGH.”

Stan sucks in a gasp as Ford starts to float with the kids in his arms. He tries to move forward but his feet are stuck fast in the black goop. The light is so bright, Stan can only see the shadow of his brother as he’s drawn closer and closer to the light but he can hear him screaming despite the high pitched noise that’s like daggers to his ears, “Stanley, Stanley! Help me! Stanley! Do something!”

“Stanford!”

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

The first day that he'd gone to school after Stan had been kicked out had been a nightmare. Their father had refused to let him stay home despite their ma’s insistence that the last thing Ford needed was to be surrounded by people. Ma had been so mad, at both Ford and their dad, but she'd still tried to help. No excuses. The dead weight was gone so now Ford had to buckle down and really work, that's what their father had said. And Ford had agreed because agreeing made it easier to accept, made it easier to shove the look on Stan’s face before he closed the curtain to the furthest corner of his mind and be angry at his brother.

People noticed Stan’s absence of course; it was hard not to what with how Stan basically commanded attention just by being there. The bullies that waited at their lockers, side by side since day one of middle school, took the opportunity to shove Ford against the already dented metal with jeers of ‘where’s your shadow, freak’. Ford had ignored them best he could, as he usually did, but it was a lot harder without Stan to be a buffer. How long had he relied on Stan for protection? Too long; he hated himself for it and found the reasoning to blame Stan for not letting him fight for himself. The bullies would find him later, after a day of being questioned by teachers and their boxing coach about where his brother was, and send him home with a shiner, a nose shoved full of bloody tissues, and a pair of broken glasses.

His father had lectured, of course, on the importance of fighting back and how expensive glasses were. Don't think I'll keep wasting money on them. Ford knew; Stanley stopped getting new pairs when they were 14 after getting so many pairs broken. Waste of money. Ma had cleaned him up. He'd wanted to insist that he could take care of himself but she'd looked at him with red, glossy eyes and he'd let her fuss all she wanted. Their ma had been crying and it was all Stan’s fault. He didn't know how to defend himself and it was all Stan’s fault. He had to go to a terrible college and it was all Stan’s fault. It was all Stan’s fault. Everything wrong in his life was Stan's fault.

That thought shattered with an explosion of red.

Bill was Ford’s fault. What happened to Fiddleford was Ford’s fault, what happened to the kids was Ford’s fault. He was overconfident, cocky in what he was sure he knew and could handle. He never thought of what could affect those around him, never could see that the ripples he started would reach all the way to the edge of the pond. What did a science fair and stupid college matter compared to what Ford’s done? The mistakes of a stupid—no, not stupid, Stanley wasn't stupid— misguided teenager compared to those of a grown man.

Stan’s on the ground, bleeding worse than before, in pain but swearing to Bill he's had worse and Ford’s entire body is on fire. It's not real, none of this is real, but it sure feels real. The anger is real and burning through him because Stanley is bleeding like that and it's all Ford's fault.

The gun does nothing but splatter more of toxic black sludge. Ford had wondered many times if Bill could bleed; usually when cleaning up the latest cuts and burns Bill had given him. In another time he'd find it fascinating, the inky sludge that was pouring out of the triangle. But now the smell burns his nose as he glares at the culmination of every mistake he's ever made.

“YOU'RE NOT THAT STUPID, FORD. AND THAT'S SAYING SOMETHING, BECAUSE YOU'RE AN IDIOT. WHAT IS IT YOU SAID, STANIEL? STUPIDEST GENIUS?” Bill's eye moves in its mouthless smile as he speaks and Ford is reminded of the first time Bill had called him Sixer. The gut punch of hearing the nickname after so many years, the instinctive way he'd missed Stan only to stomp it out. Bill imitated his brother in so many ways, Ford realizes now. In a blink he's on the other side of Stan, shoving him forward to stand in the puddle of the sludge and Ford notices that Stan’s no longer hurt. “IT'S A PITY. YOU HAD SUCH POTENTIAL. IT'S EASY TO SEE WHY EVERYONE KEEPS RUINING THEIR LIVES OVER YOU. AND NOW THEY'RE GOING TO DIE FOR YOU.” He grabs Stan’s shoulders. “UNLESS STAN WANTS TO MAKE A DEAL.”

Stan looks so conflicted, looks almost tempted to take the deal which is ridiculous. Stan said it himself; he can smell a bad con. What does Bill want with Stan anyway? Leverage? A hostage? What would Ford give to keep his brother safe from Bill? The question makes him uncomfortable; there's no right answer, no outcome that Ford can accept. Ford is supposed to be the one to make the big sacrifice, not Stan.

“MAN, AND I THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY NOW.”

The floor feels like it gives out from beneath him; it feels like he's floating again. Two…no, there can't be two. Logically it makes sense, he knows, one from now and the one the twins had brought but…it shouldn't be possible for the two to interact. Surely there was some sort of basic law of the universe that meant two of the same being couldn't meet. Not when it was Bill.

The broken Bill is cooing and looks like he's trying to hug Stan about the shoulders. “WELL HELLO, HANDSOME.” he sounds so damn pleased with himself as the red drains away. “JUST THE GUY I WANTED TO SEE. TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH. I PRACTICALLY GIFT WRAPPED HIM FOR YOU.”

Ford swallows thickly. He'd known going to sleep for the ritual would hypothetically open his mind up for visitors, but he thought it would be safe as his mind would be inside another's mindscape. He'd slept earlier, for a brief moment when Dipper first arrived, to no response. He took the risk because surely two Bills couldn't exist at once. Just as Bill couldn't possess two people at once.

“I WANTED TO SEE WHAT YOU HAD COOKED UP. I GOTTA SAY IT'S PRETTY MESSED UP.” his Bill, the thought makes him shudder, giggles as he says it. He floats through the air as he looks over the children and Stan before letting out a whistle. “TIME TRAVEL, HUH? OH THE TIME BABY WILL BE FURIOUS. HA! NOW, LET ME GET A LOOK AT YOU.” he stops in front of Stan, who has a blank expression on his face now, eyes narrowed and locked on the Bill that floated in front of him. “WOW YOU LOOK EVEN WORSE THAN IN SIXER’S MEMORIES. AND YOU WANT HIS MIND?”

The broken Bill wrapped an arm around Stan’s throat, pulling him back in a twisted mocking of a hug. “HEY NOW, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HE CAN DO. A LITTLE PROPER GUIDANCE AND HE’LL BE AN EVEN BETTER ASSET THAN WE’VE EVER HAD!”

That had Stan’s face changing, a flicker of confusion and disbelief. Mabel and Dipper both try to move around him but don’t get more than a few steps before being blasted back, just as Ford had, sending more books clattering to the floor. Ford rushes to them, kneeling to help them up. Both are clenching an eye shut; the same ones that turned yellow and slitted when they held hands in the waking world.

Ford needed to get them out of here, needed to get Bill away from Stan and the children. Damn it, why did he ever let Stan get involved in this? Why had he ever thought of bringing him in? He’d never even considered the risk he’d be putting Stan in when he’d considered giving him the journal, only the risk to himself reaching out to his brother. Stan was larger than life, the Alpha Twin even though Ford was technically the older of the two by a full eight minutes. The idea that Ford had fallen back to the child he’d been in school, ready to hide behind Stan while his brother punched the bullies, because deep down he knows that there was no way Stan would’ve just left with the journal, rankled him as bad as anything.

It took me a long time to get that you never gave a damn about me.

Well, he sure as hell gave a damn right then.

Stan cleared his throat, drawing all attention back to him. His eye meets Ford's for a second and the look in it makes Ford's stomach turn to stone. Then his brother is grinning a used car salesman grin, his posture going from stiff to loose as if he has zero unease under the twin Bills’ stares. The picture of comfort with Bill’s arms around his neck. “Well, you sure know how to flatter a guy. Delivery could use some work though.” He lifts a hand to rub at where his chest had previously been ripped open. “You wanna talk deals? Let's talk deals.”

Dipper and Mabel both clutch at Ford, their tiny hands gripping surprisingly tight. He puts a hand on each of their shoulders and draws them to his sides. He’s trying to think of what he can do; there has to be a solution to this, a way out that doesn’t involve Stanley making a deal with Bill.

“FINALLY SOMEONE SEES SENSE. THANK YOU, STANLEY.” The broken Bill moves in front of Stan and pinches his cheek like a doting mother. “IT’S SIMPLE, STANLEY. ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS GIVE ME COMPLETE AND UNDIVIDED ACCESS TO YOUR MIND AND BODY. THEN I’LL LET THE KIDS GO BACK HOME.”

Just like the deal Ford had made. Ford pictures Stan in the same position as him; sleep deprived, unable to close his eyes for a second out of fear that Bill would take over, hearing the demon’s laughter and seeing glowing eyes in every dark corner. He also didn’t doubt that Bill would go back on his word at the first chance. Any deal Bill made was self-serving; he had no concept of honor or honesty. Stan was falling for the flowery words and empty promises just as Ford had.

Then his brother looks at him and asks, “What about Stanford? What are you two going to do with him?”

His Bill lifts his hand and the bookshelves disappear, the walls fold back as if they were inside a paper box. The broken Bill snaps his fingers and suddenly there’s a light behind them, casting long shadows and washing out all the colors. Ford turns and feels his heart stop in his chest. The portal.

Ford gives his twin a pleading look, gripping the kids harder. No, no, no. No. A loud, high pitched mechanical sound starts shrieking. Both the kids cover their ears at the sound and Ford holds them closer as he feels his feet leaving the ground. Something is pulling them towards the portal; Ford can feel an invisible force pulling on him.

He hears his own voice screaming but it’s not coming from him. “Stanley, Stanley! Help me! Stanley! Do something!” he tries to scream back but his real voice is drowned out by the sounds of the machine. Stan is yelling, he can see, but he can’t hear over the portal. Both Bills move between them and Ford lets go of Dipper as he reaches for Stan.

That’s not me. Stan, that’s not me. It’s a trick. This is all a trick!

Then, as sudden as the light had been, it’s all gone.

Ford sucks in a sharp breath of real air, his lungs burning as if he hasn’t done so in several minutes. There’s a hard surface beneath his back and the world is a blur until he rights his glasses that had been knocked to his forehead. He scrambles into a sitting position, looking around frantically once he realizes that the kids are no longer clinging to him.

They’re back in his living room; Ford was on the floor within reach of where the kids were still tied to their chairs. He breathes a sigh when he sees Fiddleford frantically checking the kids’ vitals. They’re no longer bound together and Ford sees both the ropes and the magical manacle on the floor. At least Fidds hadn’t forgotten how to remove those after the three weeks it had taken them to figure it out when Ford had accidentally cuffed himself.

“I swear, erry’time I come here I see somethin’ worse an’ worse.” Fidds is muttering and twitching.

Ford wants to laugh, wants to make some comment, until he sees Stan’s sneaker poking out from the other side of the kids. “Stanley!” he half-crawls, half-runs over to where his brother is on the ground, completely still aside from the shallow movements of his chest. Ford can hear the kids begin to stir in their chairs with quiet groans but he can’t bring himself to care. He shakes Stan by the shoulders. “Stanley! Stanley, wake up! Lee!”

Chapter Text

Her whole body feels stiff and achey as she wakes up. Her right eye feels like it's been glued shut; she can feel a stiff track of something drying on her cheek. One of her arms is stuck at her side but the other she can move to touch whatever it is on her cheek, feel it smear across her skin.

She can hear Ford yelling next to her and forces her not glued eye open. Young man McGucket is untying her brother across from her and Ford is shaking a sleeping Stan. “Stanley! Stanley, wake up! Lee!”

Lee is a cute name, she thinks through the fog of pain and nausea that's filling her. She's never heard Ford call Stan that before. It feels important. She'll have to put this in her scrapbook later, in the chapter she has dedicated to her uncles’ relationship. “Is Younkle L— Stan okay?” she stops herself from using the new, cute name because it doesn't feel right for her to say. Like it's something private, like when she calls Dipper DipDop or bro-bro. If someone else did she'd probably get mad.

Stan groans as Ford continues to shake him and half-heartedly tries to push Ford away, his eyes clenching. Ford's shoulders sink so much Mabel's surprised his arms don't just pop off. He scoots back as Stan sits up but he's still got a hand on his shoulder. Mabel has a flare of hope that they'll finally, finally hug it out that's quickly dashed when Stan starts grumbling and Ford pulls his hand back. Drat. Her uncles were even more adorable now but they still hadn't made up to be the bestest friends. It had been a couple of hours, what was taking so long?

“Younkle Stan?” she calls out in a worried voice. She remembers being paralyzed, remembers hearing Bill's voice in and out of her head. Remembers loud, echoing laughter and—

I WANT STANLEY.

“I'm fine, Sweetheart.” He opens his eyes to look at her; the brown ringed with red and tired looking. He gives a sorta half-smile. “Gotta say, there's a lot less glitter in your head than I was expecting, pumpkin.” The joke mostly falls flat but she appreciates the effort all the same.

McGucket finishes untying Dipper then starts on her. It takes a few minutes but once she's free she launches herself at Stan, hugging him tight as she can manage. Bill wanted Stan, why she didn't know but she did know that she wouldn't let the stupid triangle faced jerk get him. She buries her face in his chest, feeling something hot and constricting crawling up her throat at the very thought of Bill hurting Stan. She thinks of the note they'd found after the Bipper incident, of what Bill had planned to do with her brother, and the idea of it or him doing something like that to anyone in her family makes her feel sick.

Stan rubs her back and makes a sort of shushing sound at her. “Hey, I said I'm fine, Sweetheart. It's okay. It's going to take a lot more than some stupid triangle with bad lines to bring down Stanley Pines. He wasn't exactly tough to figure out."

Ford makes this weird choking sound that has her looking up from Stan though she keeps clinging to him. He's got this weird mad slash disbelieving look on his face that's almost funny. He fists at his hair with one hand while waving the other one through the air. “Wasn't tough to—bad lines—he's—Stanley.” He chokes out, face red.

Stan snorts above her and leans back on his hand. “Wow, Ford. You want to give that a take two?”

Mabel giggles but quickly covers her mouth with one hand, not wanting to upset Ford. She glances over at Dipper and sees him studying the metal manacle that had been on their wrists and just not really paying attention to what is happening.

“You were going to make a deal with him, Stanley.” Ford finally gets out in a raspy voice. He’s started pacing the length of the living room and his hands are both waving now. “He's very charasmatic, I know, but his deals are always insidious. He offers something you want but you'll never get it and—”

“Ford, I know—” Stan tries to interrupt.

Ford continues on as if Stan hadn't spoke, “and it's very tempting, he says what you want to hear and makes promises but it's all self-serving for him, he doesn't care—”

“Ford, listen, I know—”

“I fell for his tricks, he said he was a muse and that we'd change the world together, but he's insane. After what happened to Fidds I finally saw, I should've listened, I was a fool, but I see through the tricks now and—”

“Stanford—”

“Gosh almighty on a pogo stick, will you shut up, Ford?” Fiddleford is the one that snaps; he's knelt next to Dipper and he's got the manacles in his hand when they look at him. He's also got a fire in his eyes as he glares at Ford, which Mabel certainly doesn't like. “As amusin’ as it is hearin’ you admit to bein’ wrong, mebbe you should shut up an’ listen to what yer brother has to say.”

Ford's mouth snaps shut and his face goes red; Mabel wants to run over and hug him for how miserable he looks. He clears his throat and looks away for a moment. “Right. Yes. I'm…sorry, Stanley. Please, go ahead.”

Mabel takes that as progress, grinning wide as she settles herself more in her uncle's lap and resumes hugging him. Stan flashes her a small smile before looking back over at McGucket, “Appreciate it, Fiddler.” He then ignores the way McGucket squawks at the nickname and looks back at Ford. “Yeah, so, I know he was lying. I wasn't gonna make a deal, I just wanted to know what he wanted. Con artists say a lot with their deal than anything else, y’know?”

Ford moves to basically collapse onto the couch, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees. “Do they?” his voice is a little shaky; he sounds so drained that Mabel can't fight the urge anymore. She pulls away from Stan and forces herself into Ford's space, sticking her arms under her jacket to properly hug him and nuzzling his chest. His sweater smells just as bad as Stan but she pushes past it. Above her she hears him cough awkwardly but he doesn't push her away. “Umm…”

“Just roll with it, it's easier than fighting it with her.” She hears Stan say and a second later Ford has an arm around her so she is the winner.

“Were you able to figure out what he wanted with you, Stan?” Ford asked after a moment. “I...was thinking he might want you as a hostage, something to use against me.”

Stan gave a laugh that screamed self-deprecation.“Nah, he already has the kids if he wanted that. No, I think he wants both of us. A body for each of them so they have an ally in each other. Cons always work better with a partner, until you gotta split the prize.”

“Split the...that's it!” Dipper shouts, causing everyone to look at him. He scrambles about the living room, looking through all the scattered books until he holds up a banged up looking paper triangle. “We have to split the party! Like when we played DDMD, only, you know, without the kidnapping and threat of brain eating! Great Uncle Ford, what was it you thought we might find in the cave?”

The cave? Oh no the cave. Mabel shudders at the thought of the cave; her hand burns and her eye stings when she thinks about it. She grips Ford tighter as if she can keep him safe if she never lets go. Bill was in that cave, waiting, she was sure.

Ford gives her back a pat when she hugs him tighter. “You play DDM—never mind. The cave? Well, that's where I discovered the spell for the ritual so there's a chance there might be another spell, or information, I missed. I was intending to go back after reaching out to…” he trails off and Mabel can feel his fingers tapping against her back. “I was intending to go back and search for clues I missed to help banish Bill from my mind.”

She can hear the telltale rapid clicking of a pen that signals her brother having an idea. She twists around, grabbing Ford's arms to make him keep hugging her while she faces her brother. And yep, there he is, scribbling away in the notebook he always has with him. “Do you think it's safe, Dipdop?”

Dipper shakes his head and bites on the end of his pen in concentration. “No, but…it might be our best bet. McGucket, where's your memory gun?”

Ford makes a dismissive sound above her. “He destroyed that terrible thing months ago and it would take far too long to rebuild it. Right, Fidds?” silence fills the room; Mabel shares a wincing look with her brother. “Fidds? We agreed that you would destroy it.” his tone has the creeping edge of frustration to it.

McGucket, for all his fire and attitude, actually looks embarrassed and a little ashamed. He averts his eyes and just stares at the manacle in his hands,  “Well, see, you agreed that I should and I may have said some things that I may not’ve had the intention on followin' up on.”

Ford makes another one of those raspy choking sounds and pulls one of his arms away for a wild hand gesture. “Is there anyone in my life that hasn't lied to me?!” he collapses back against the back of the couch, both arms flopping at his side. He gives Mabel a super strained, tiny smile when she looks back at him though, so she just pats his knee. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. Okay. What is your plan, Dipper?”

Dipper looks between Ford and McGucket for a moment before clearing his throat. “Well, uh, so while I don't like the idea of going to the cave… really don't like it, now that I know why I'm less scared. And since Bill can't take over unless Mabel and me have contact, if we go then it might be safer and we can find something. And we can use the manacles on you, Grunkle Ford, if you, um, fall asleep?” He looks down at his notepad, clicking the pen a few times.

Ford looks like he's mulling the idea over; Mabel moves over to plop herself in Stan’s lap again. “And the memory gun?”

“Back up plan?” Dipper gets an uncomfortable look on his face. “In the future, you said it would work to get rid of Bill if you didn't have the plate in your head. Mabel and I don't have plates so…” he holds the notebook to his chest and Mabel really wants to give her brother a hug. “So Stan and Mabel can go with McGucket to get the gun while we go to the cave.”

Ford frowns and rubs his hands over his knees. McGucket still looks uncomfortable at being found out for his lies to Ford and refuses to look up at the rest of them. Finally Ford sighs, “Well, it seems to be our only options. Okay. We’ll split the party. If we move fast we should be able to have everything by nightfall. Fiddleford, you can show my brother and niece--"

Stan speaks up then, “No.” he's got a blank looking frown on his face when Mabel looks up at him.

Ford's mouth moves silently, like he's trying to speak but can't make the words work. Finally he manages to get out, “Excuse me?”

“I said no. I don't like the idea of sending you or the kid out there, especially after everything we just saw.” he gets an arm around Mabel, hugging her to his front. He’s hugging a little too tight; she notices that his hand is trembling slightly where it’s pressed against her stomach. She gives his arm a pat and shoots Ford a look.

Ford looks over at Dipper and McGucket then back at Stan. His shoulders do that drooping thing again and he reaches up to rub at his eyes under his glasses. “…Stanley, will you step outside with me for a moment?” he adjusts his glasses and stands up. When Stan makes no move to follow suit, he sighs. “Please, Stan. I would like to talk.” He gestures to Dipper and where Mabel is sitting in Stan’s lap, “In private.”

The tremble in Stan’s hand gets worse and Mabel thinks for a moment he’s going to say no, but then she feels him sigh. She’s lifted and put on the floor next to Stan before he stands up. “Alright. Kids, don’t be stupid. Fiddler’s in charge.” And with that, both her uncles walk towards the stairs.

Nearly twenty minutes go by, which would worry Mabel but she doesn’t hear any yelling. That’s a good sign, right? Right. Mabel shares some uneasy looks with her brother but he quickly goes back to scribbling in his notebook. McGucket sets about putting out the candles which, oh yeah, guess that’s a fire hazard. Mabel goes to the bathroom to check on the sweater she’d hung up in the shower to dry when they’d cleared the space for the ritual, frowning to find it still damp. Guess they hadn’t slept that much. She returns to the couch to wait.

When they finally come back down, neither looks particularly happy and Mabel strongly suspects they did not in fact finally hug it out. The talk apparently determined that, yes, they would do Dipper's plan but it’s going to wait until tomorrow. It’s been a long day and Stan insists that everyone rest for the night.

So they pooled together the food in Stan’s car and what little Ford and Dipper had bought for a small dinner before turning in for the night.

Bed had been difficult to arrange. Mabel and Dipper had to sleep in separate rooms and be guarded in case they lost time again; Ford had to be tied to a chair before he'd even agreed to get any sleep. Mabel ended up sleeping in a nest of blankets and sweaters in Ford’s bed with a half dozen magical alarms and a bell attached to the door while Dipper slept in the extra room they'd once fought over. McGucket and Stan took turns checking on everyone and sleeping on the couch. They all agreed to ignore the way Ford screamed through the night, eyes glowing.

Aside from that, they had made it through the night without anything happening. Mabel woke up in the same nest she went to sleep in and Dipper said he hadn't moved either. So, feeling very queasy about it, she air pats her brother and climbs into the backseat of McGucket’s car. She waves to her brother as they pull away, the plan to meet up in a few hours. At least he gets to finally have an adventure with Ford; she knows how badly he's wanted to get to investigate stuff with the Author all summer. And if they found what they needed, then she could finally hug her brother again.

“How’d you sleep, Sweetheart?” Stan asks five minutes into the slow drive. McGucket seems to actually care that the road is covered in snow and possibly ice.

Mabel gives a humming sound in response, not looking up from her knitting project she'd taken with her. Stan had given her both her needles back before she’d gone to bed and she'd worked on it some but it wasn't done yet. “Younkle Ford’s bed smells like old paper.” it wasn't a bad smell, certainly better than how Ford himself smelled, but she wasn't really a fan of it.

McGucket snorts a laugh and smacks his steering wheel. That makes Mabel look up; Stan gives him a look. He shakes his head, “Sorry, it's just--that's what Madeline, my wife, said when we were in college. Ford went home for the holidays so I let her stay in our dorm when her heat was on the fritz and…” he shakes his head again and speaks in a high pitched voice, “‘He does know the difference between a desk and a bed, right?’”

Stan gives a little huff of a laugh. “He never did. The number of times I had to physically put him in the top bunk when we were kids; he woulda slept all night on his desk if I'd’ve let him.” then his smile turns sad and he looks out the window. “Good to know some things never change.”

The car fills with an awkward sort of silence that makes Mabel's skin feel clammy so she decides to ignore it. Nope nope, not dealing with the giant supernova that was her uncles’ stupid refusal to hug it out and be friends. She pushes forward, leaning in through the gap between the front seats and propping her elbows on the middle console. “So! McGucket! What's your wife like? I've never met her.” She grins up at him as she leaves Stan to his silence.

His face lights up, which is just about the cutest thing ever if you were to ask Mabel. “Oh, she's amazin’. She's smarter than anyone, even Ford but don't tell him that or he'll go on a rant about measurable intelligence. She's a biologist, ya know.” he sighs dreamily before shifting to stick hand in his pocket while keeping one hand on the wheel. Out of it he pulls a wallet and opens it with a flick of the wrist; he hands it to her so she can see the picture inside a little flap. “That's her an’ m’ boy, Tate. They're back in California. Ain’t he the cutest? Madeline says he looks like me but I think he’s just got m’ nose.”

A woman was kneeling in front of a patch of flowers with dirt stained gardening gloves on her hands as she patted the dirt around a sunflower. A boy with a mop of brown hair sat next to her, dirt smeared on his cheek and a trowel in hand. They look so happy, the woman looking like she was caught mid-laugh and the boy with a grin that shows off two missing front teeth. “When are they coming to Gravity Falls?” she would like to meet them, she thinks. The whole McGucket family, happy together.

In an instant she remembers the day at the lake, the monster Old Man McGucket built to get his son’s attention. The picture of the one he'd built when my wife left me. The way Mr. McGucket, Tate, had tried to chase off the crazy old man that lived in the city dump. She remembers that old man, panicked and insane, while she stares at the young version of him, happy as he thinks about the family waiting for him back in California. The family that'll leave him as he destroys his own mind out of fear.

It breaks her heart.

McGucket shakes his head, “They're not, if I can help it. If I can keep them as far from Ford’s work as possible I will. Tate came to visit back in...back in…” he frowns, the memory clearly not there. Then something clicks in place. “Hey. Ya know me in the future; yer brother called me Old Man McGucket. So you've met them, right?”

Mabel squirms a bit, not sure how to answer. She was better at lying now than she had been at the start of the summer thanks to Stan, but she didn't want to lie. She just didn't want to tell the truth either. But maybe she could save McGucket, like she was gonna save her uncles. Was there a way to do that without telling him about that crazy old man? “I've...met Mr. McGu—Tate?” she can tell that much, right? “He runs a shop by the lake.”

“But you ain’t ever met Madeline.” McGucket goes quiet, grip shifting on the steering wheel. Mabel instantly feels bad and remembers the look on his face when he found out that he’d wiped his own mind.

They're in town now and Mabel is relieved to see them pull into a small neighborhood, not the dump. McGucket parks in front of a very small house; Mabel looks at Stan, wondering what to do. He flashes her a small smile before he’s climbing out of the car, tugging the collar of his jacket up to fight the wind. Mabel jumps out of the car after him and follows him to the front door before McGucket can ask her anymore questions.

McGucket is only a few seconds behind them and gets a key in the lock before he pauses. He gives both of them an apprehensive look, “So, uh…don’t freak out at my decorations?” he says before twisting the key and opening the door.

It’s like Ford’s house, with sheets of papers pinned to all walls. Only instead of crazy messages about trusting people, each has a picture of an eye with an X through it. A shiver runs up Mabel’s spine; the Society of the Blind Eye. The coffee table has a smattering of papers with the same symbol and what looks like a half-built memory gun.

Oh no. No. Nope, nope, this is it. Noooope. Not gonna happen. Mabel stares at the sheets of paper for just a moment before she starts ripping them all down, shredding them to pieces as she does so. McGucket makes a strangling squawk-like sound as she does so but neither him nor Stan try to stop her. By the time she’s done, her chest is heaving and it looks like it’s snowed inside the house for all the white all over the floor.

Stan lets out a whistle that sounds impressed so Mabel looks at him. He gives her a thumb up. “Dang, kid. Good job.” He looks back over at McGucket, “So, don’t know what’s going on, but I guess that sh—stuff is bad. Is that the gun thing that the kid wanted?” he points to the gun on the coffee table. If Dipper didn’t want it, she’d be very tempted to smash it.

McGucket wrings his hands as he surveys the paper damage all around him. “What? Oh, no. That one’s not finished.” He closes the front door and takes a few steps towards what looks like a hallway. He pauses and looks back at Mabel. “…is that why you don’t know Madeline?” he sounds even more nervous; the silence is filled with the sound of one of his feet tapping quickly against the floor.

She bites her lip, tugging down on the edge of her sweater before slowly nodding.

He looks away. “I see.” Then he disappears down the hallway.

She moves over to Stan and presses her forehead to his stomach with a loud groan. She feels him pat her on the head but otherwise he stays still and silent. Well, hopefully she just fixed McGucket and now he won’t have the cult wreak havoc on the town and himself. Or gave him something new to forget because she was the worst.

McGucket comes back after a moment, holding a gun that looks a little different than the one Mabel’s seen before. The bulb is bigger and instead of a dial on the side, it has a tiny keyboard on top of it. She frowns as he hands it to Stan and looks back at the one on the table. It looked more like this new one than the old one too. “Uh...Young Man McGucket? How many—"

“This is the only one that's completed. A...friend broke the first one.” he looks over at a pile of shredded paper that had been covered in the Blind Eye symbol. “I had to build a new one and I…started on a back-up.” He frowns and twists his hands worriedly. “It’s…they’re meant to help people, you know. There’s a-a lot of things in this town, things that people are happier not knowing about. That’s what it’s for. To help people.”

“Good of you to make that call for everyone.” Stan says as he tucks the gun into the pocket of his jacket. “Now c’mon, let’s see if our nerdy bros have made it back yet.”

Mabel reaches up to pat McGucket’s arm as they make their way to the door. She doesn’t know what to say; does she tell him that this is a big mistake? That he’s so happy to get his memories back in the future? He didn’t want them to be sorry for him then; she doesn’t think he wants that now.

Stan opens the door and freezes there. “Uh…Fiddler, this a friend of yours?”

A gasp escapes Mabel when she peers around her Younkle. “Blandin?!”

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

Dipper watches McGucket drive off with Stan and Mabel, waving as they drive off. It makes him nervous to be apart from Mabel at this point, but that might just be the Bill in his head. Then it’s just him and Ford getting ready to go on an adventure. To the cave where he and Mabel made a stupid choice to make a deal with Bill. And then ended up in the past with their Grunkles and a second Bill. And if they can’t find the answer in the cave then the only way to beat Bill would to use the memory gun to wipe one of their minds.

Oh. Right. That was the other thing.

“Great Uncle Ford, I want you to promise me something.” Dipper stares into the backpack, not wanting to look at his uncle. He decided on this before he even made the suggestion so he has to do it. There's a lump in his throat that he has to force himself to speak around. “I-It's important, so you have to promise. Okay?”

He hears Ford stop shuffling with his own backpack; can practically feel his eyes on him. It makes him look up to meet his uncle's eyes. He reaches up to nervously adjust his hat. “If we...If there's not a cure in the cave, if we have to use the memory gun…” he swallows hard, “I want it to be me. My mind that gets wiped, not Mabel’s. Destroying half of Bill should be enough, right? We don’t both have to have our minds wiped.”

Ford's eyes go wide for a second. He sets down his bag, “Dipper, you're talking about wiping your mind. Everything you are.”

Dipper nods, uncomfortable but resolute. He looks back at his bag. He thinks about the summer, about everything he'd done with Mabel. They promised to trust each other, to help each other through everything the town could throw at them. But if this was something where one of them had to go down or both, well, that was an easy call to make. “She's my sister. We're the Mystery Twins. If it's gotta be one of us, I want it to be me.” his uncles would do the same, if it came to it, he was sure but he didn't say that. “Promise me. If it's gotta be one of us, it'll be me.”

Ford hesitates, fingers tapping at his side. Then, almost regretfully, he nods. “Very well, if that's what you want. But I'll do everything I can to prevent that from happening.” Dipper stiffens as Ford approaches him only to have his hat pushed down over his eyes. When he straightens it, Ford is smiling down at him. “You're a good kid, Dipper. Now, let's go find a way to get rid of Cipher once and for all.”

Dipper grins as hard as he can, excited to finally get to go on an adventure with Ford. He only half counts the DDMD debacle since Mabel and Stan were the rescuers. But this was all him and Ford! An adventure with the Author!

They bundle up as warm as they can; Ford manages to find some sweatpants for Dipper that fit after some excessive folding and the use of safety pins to keep them up. Then it's sweaters, scarves, a pair of mittens Stan had left behind for Dipper, and three pairs of socks that go to his knees and finally they're ready to head off into the snow. Ford has the map along with Journal 1 to help them should they run into anything.

“There's a very low probability. Most creatures around here go dormant in the winter.” Ford had explained as he tucked the book into his coat. “I've had limited run ins during the winter months. This time of year I usually spend cleaning up my notes and filing reports to the grant office.” He sniffs and looks about the house. “Which I really need to do that once Bill is handled…”

It's cold outside and the snow is still knee deep. Ford brings along a thing that looks like the size crystal flashlight they have in the future, but instead of making things bigger or smaller it cuts a path through the snow. There are puddles as they walk through the new paths and Dipper can feel a slight radiating heat. He makes a mental note to ask about the flashlight when they get home.

The hike is largely uneventful, though they do see a few frost fairies. Dipper remembers them from Journal 2; they're probably mad about how they're disturbing the snow. They don't do much aside from dropping snow on their heads from the trees above though. Another time Dipper would want to study them. Maybe, after all this is done, he can do that. Maybe they could come to Gravity Falls for winter break and study anomalies. Mabel would love to decorate the shack for the holidays.

There's no snow outside of the cave when they get there; there's actually a wide berth of clear ground all around the mouth of it. Dipper is about to get closer when Ford stops him. He points and when Dipper follows the line of sight, intrigue fills him. The air around the cave is distorted, all wavy lines like the road on a really hot day. When they step closer, a blast of hot air hits him in the face along with a rotten egg smell that hits the back of his throat. Within seconds of being within a few feet of it, Dipper can feel himself starting to sweat. It wasn't like this when they'd gone here in the future.

“Did Bill set a trap?” Dipper looks up at Ford, who is already unwinding his scarf. Dipper follows suit; the start hanging some of their outer layers on low hanging branches of nearby trees, though Dipper keeps his sweater and mittens on when Ford shakes his head at removing them. “Grunkle Ford?”

“This isn't Bill, but we need to be very careful.” Ford's got a look in his eye though and his mouth keeps twitching like he wants to smile. He pats at his pockets before letting out a curse under his breath. “Of all times to not have a pen. Hmm, maybe there's time to...no, no time, need to focus. Can track it down later.”

Dipper doesn't know whether to laugh or not. Ford looks borderline excited; certainly a lot more than he has been in the two days that Dipper's been in the past. He looks like when Dipper asked him to play DDMD. A spark of excitement catches in Dipper's chest, “Is it a monster or something?! Something that you haven't studied before?!” the idea of helping Ford add something to the Journals has him bouncing in place. He pulls out his notebook and pen, flipping to a new page and clicking rapidly. “What kinda thing is it? Any idea? Well of course you have an idea, you're the Author. What is it? Do we need weapons?” he's pretty sure he saw an axe back at the Shack; he could be like Wendy. That would be cool.

Ford looks at him and a slow smile crosses his face. He sets a hand on Dipper’s shoulder as he kneels down, holding up a finger, “Have you ever heard of a Lava Bear?” when he shakes his head, Ford’s smile turns into a borderline grin. Dipper feels like he just rolled a hundred natural 38s. “Well, that’s what I think we’re dealing with. They usually stay up on the mountain but they can come down to find caves to hibernate in during the winter. There were a few reports of trees catching fire not too far from here a few months ago and I suspected…” he looks back at the cave, grin shifting to a frown. “Dang. Told Fidds we should’ve investigated. But the portal was so close to being done…”

A lava bear. Dipper writes it down along with how it smells and the heat. Too bad they don’t have a thermometer; Dipper would love to measure the differences in and out of the cave. He wonders how much the cold weather affects the heat the creature seems to put off. “If it’s hibernating, does that mean it’ll be asleep?” he looks up at Ford as he starts sketching out the entrance to the cave at the bottom of his notebook. He should’ve brought a camera. Why hadn’t he brought a camera?!

Ford nods, watching over Dipper’s shoulder. He taps the sheet of paper, “Make sure you put the date here; I’ve wondered how long the bears hibernate given their natural heat in the winter. Food supply for wild animals work very odd around here.”

“Good idea. Oh, I should go talk to the Multi-Bear about this when I get home; I bet he’d know. Or is it bad to assume all bears know each other?” he bites the end of his pen. He doesn’t want to offend his friend.

“You’ve met a Multi-Bear?!” Ford grabs his shoulders. “When? How? You’re friends with it? Every time I get close to the mountain I get chased off by those Minotaurs and—”

“Manotaurs.” Dipper corrects then feels his cheeks heat up when Ford blinks at him. “They’re—they call themselves Manotaurs. Cause they’re half-man, half-taur. And they’re not all bad. A little outdated about being a man, but Stan says that’s what happens when you’ve got a head full of meat. Mabel thinks we can be friends with them.” He laughs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I kinda got brought into their tribe to learn how to be a man but then they wanted me to kill the Multi-Bear and he likes the same kinda music as me so I couldn’t do it. So they said I wasn’t manly enough for their tribe.” He puffs up his chest though, remembering what Stan said. A real man stands his ground. “Grunkle Stan said that I was a man though ‘cause I stood up for myself.”

Ford gets that smile again, a small one that looked like he didn’t mean to smile. He squeezes Dipper’s shoulders. “You…certainly have some adventures. We’ll need to sit down and talk about everything after all this is done. I want to know everything you and your sister have done with Stan and me.”

Dipper swallows thickly but nods. He can tell Ford about all the adventures they had with Stan but…only one big adventure with Ford. Did the mind scan count as an adventure? Mabel had had an adventure with that, what with the punching unicorns. Dipper had just learned more about Ford, had learned about the cave, the summoning, about Bill. A shiver runs down his spine; he’s not sure if it’s just in his head but he’ll swear he can feel Bill in his head. He can remember the whispers that he thought were his own thoughts before but now he wonders if it was Bill. The amplified urge to be near his sister, the want to go through all the journals again…and the blackouts. What had he done during the blackouts? They hadn’t happened since they found out Bill was in his head and the others were watching them so close, so what was Bill trying to do before?

Did Bill want him to be here? Was he being tricked, like Ford had been? No. He split the party so Mabel and he couldn’t be a threat to each other. If Ford fell asleep and the Bill from the past took over, he needed to be far away from Dipper and Mabel together. They couldn’t let the two Bills be together again. If Ford fell then it would take the entire journey back to the Shack at least before Dipper would be near Mabel, if the others made it back by then. That was time to think, time to escape. Besides, Stan would keep Mabel safe from them.

He shakes his head to banish the thoughts away. Now isn’t the time for all that. The plans had been made. He closes the notebook and tucks it back into the back of his pants. They had to check the cave, lava bear or not.

They take off their shoes before they enter the cave, leaving his sneakers and Ford’s boots at the mouth of the cave. The thick cushion of their socks is quieter on the stone than the wet rubber soles. It’s even hotter inside, the air muggy and stinking of sulfur the deeper they go in. Dipper looks at the paintings on the walls, feels that same feeling of being watched that he felt when Mabel and he had come here.

It’s hottest in the central room of the cave; Dipper hears Ford echoing his gasp before they both cough on the taste of rotten eggs. Curled in on itself, in the middle of the room, is the second largest bear Dipper has ever seen. It has no fur but instead is covered in what looks like stone, charred and black everywhere except its back. The stones along its back all glow a dull orange like the center of a dying fire pit. It’s not exceptionally bright but it’s enough to see the walls around it. When Dipper looks closer, he can see that the stones are moving, shifting slowly in nonsensical patterns that swirl and travel up and down the creature as it sleeps. The air around the creature bends and moves like hot air currents.

And right beyond it is the mural that had been painted over in the future.

Dipper recognizes some of the symbols immediately, but it doesn’t make sense. The pine tree from his hat, the symbol from Stan’s fez, the cover of the journals. There’s a shooting star that makes him think of Mabel’s favorite sweater and a question mark that makes him think of the Mystery Shack. The symbols of their family but what do the others mean? Ice, a heart, a star, a llama, and a pair of glasses?

He wants to ask Ford but Ford is already moving along the wall, keeping a distance from the sleeping bear and examining the walls. Dipper follows suit, moving along the opposite wall. It’s hot enough to make sweat run down his temple; the sounds of the bear’s quiet snores are certainly not helping. Quiet. Don’t wake up the bear. It’s like playing Don’t Wake Stalin only instead of losing a game it’ll be a firey and painful death. No pressure.

It almost doesn’t look like paint, Dipper muses when he reaches the mural. He touches the stone; it’s so old that the paint feels like it’s just part of the stone. “What is this?” he covers the symbol that looks like the pine tree on his hat. It seems like he should feel something about it but there’s nothing. At most he feels kind of gassy. And sweaty.

“It’s a prophecy. It’s no use, though, I’ve never been able to figure out what most of the symbols are supposed to be. Some of them I know,” he gestured to the six fingered hand at the top then to the symbol that Dipper was covering, “the others though…it would take a long time to find them all. We don’t have time. Look for another clue.”

It’s slow going, searching the walls while trying to be quiet enough to avoid waking up the lava bear, but they each take a side of the cave to search. Twenty minutes go by with nothing, but then Dipper finds a trail of pain on the floor. When he follows it, he finds a heavy looking stone that has blue paint all over the bottom of it. He calls Ford over to help him move it.

On the underside of the rock is another painting of Bill, but it’s different. Bill is painted in red, like the others, but a blue flame is below his eye with an odd symbol in the center. Chains are painted all over the whole of the picture without obscuring the flaming symbol.

In the back of his mind, he hears a hissing when touches the symbol. Something sharp stabs into his thoughts; his mind becomes hazy and his stomach churns. Bile climbs up his throat. Poison. That's what his body is screaming, what his head can process through the pain. This symbol is bad, it's magic still too strong after all this time.

Magic? How does he…oh. Oh.

“DIPPER! MOVE!” he hears Ford scream before he feels himself lifted off the ground, his notebook falling from his hands with the symbol half drawn in it. He scrambles to cling to his uncle; looking back at where he had been standing he sees his notebook turning black as it burns. The whole cave seems to shake with the force of the lava bear’s growl.

It's standing twice as tall as Ford, liquid fire dripping from its jaws as it lets out another roar. Ford holds him tight to his chest, rapidly looking from the beast to the door. Dipper sees the way the bear’s eyes glow a fiery blue as it stares at them.

A mocking laughter echoes in the back of his mind.

The symbol, the symbol! That's what they need. Another sharp pain shoots through his head, his eye burns so bad he has to squeeze it shut. But it's their best shot. “Distract it!” he yells at Ford, squirming until he can get a foot on his uncle's arm. That gives him enough leverage to climb over his shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. He swings his backpack off his back, fishing around for a marker.

“What are you--Dipper!” Ford yells behind him.

The ground trembles; the bear slammed down on all fours and lets out another roar that just adds to the headache Dipper is trying not to barf from. He turns to see the thing open its mouth and a ball of something red hot is in its throat. Dipper yelps and fumbles, the backpack dropping from his hands, sending its contents everywhere. He barely manages to snag the marker he'd been searching for before a molten rock shoots at the pile. The smell of burning fabric joins the volcanic gas in the air.

Oh no, oh geez, oh boy.

A rock hits the beast square in the nose just as it opens its mouth again. “Hey! You poor excuse for an Ursidae!” Ford yells as he darts to the side, scooping up another rock as he does so. The bear makes an angry but confused sound as it turns to face the man. “Yeah, you! You kleptoparasitic waste of space! I bet you steal from trashcans like a common procyon!”

Dipper snorts as he runs back to the spot with the symbol. He needs to congratulate Ford about such a good burn later. And tell Mabel that Ford burned a lava bear, because she’d also find that funny. But first! Saving the world!

He kicks away the smoldering remains of his notebook, thankful for the layers of Sock between him and burning flesh. Without any paper Dipper uses the next best thing: his arm. He can hear the sounds of claws on stone intermixing with Ford laughing. Not Bill-laughing, but legitimately like he’s enjoying himself. Trust Ford to have fun avoiding a murderous bear that hurls molten rocks.

Poison death poison! Bad magic! Curse! Dea—

The voice silences with the final line, the ink bleeding into his skin. Black lines travel down to his the edge of his mittens and up to disappear under the bunched up sleeve of his sweater; the skin tingles in their wake, a chill that cuts through the heat in the air. It looks like his veins have been poisoned but nothing really hurts.

“What the heck?” he looks at the hand that’s holding the marker and rips off the mitten; the black lines have appeared there too. The pain in his head and eye are gone as well, all remaining nausea having dissipated. “Grunkle Ford, I think this—” his voice dies. “Grunkle Ford!”

Ford is clinging to the top of a stalagmite, legs and one arm wrapped around the stone while his free hand waves an unloaded crossbow at the bear that’s swiping at him. The bottom of his sweater is singed and there’s angry red skin showing through a hole in the outer thigh of his pants. He’s just slightly out of reach of the bear. At the foot of the stone pillar Dipper can see Ford’s pack, several bolts spilling out. Well, good thing neither of them brought anything super important.

“Oh hot Belgian waffles!” Dipper grabs a rock from the ground, pitching it at the bear while running along the opposite wall. His aim isn’t as good as Ford’s but the rock does manage to glance off the thing’s back. “Run, Grunkle Ford!” he commands as soon as the bear’s attention is on him. Oh no, oh no, its attention is on him.

There’s a bolt wedged between two stones in the beast’s right shoulder. Dipper throws a rock at that, missing horribly as he tries to circle around the thing to the exit. Oh what he wouldn’t give for Mabel’s grappling hook right now.

“Ha-ha! That’s the spirit, boy!” Ford is still laughing. He slides down the pillar and grabs a handful of bolts. He slings the bag back on and then he’s got the crossbow loaded inhumanely fast; how often did Ford shoot the things he studied? “I’m not finished with you yet! Hey!” he fires the bolt and does hit where the previous one struck.

The bear screams in animalistic fury and pain. Dipper will probably feel bad for it later, when it’s not trying to kill him. For now though he runs towards it as it rears back on its hind legs again. “Hey! You stupid fire bear!” he chucks a rock at it once he’s close enough then drops into a slide as it tries to slam on top of him. Up close, the heat is intense, even with the chill still imprinted in his skin. But it’s over in a second and then he’s on the same side as Ford. “Running! We need to run!” he grabs his uncle’s sleeve and takes off towards the exit.

Ford picks him up before they reach the mouth of the cave, which Dipper is totally fine with because Ford is a lot faster than him. They leave their shoes, scarves, everything; Ford makes a beeline for the path they’d carved through the snow.

Ford is breathing extra heavy by the time he slows to a stop; he practically drops Dipper before they both collapse to the ground. It’s wet and cold and the mud they’d made on the journey has begun solidifying. Dipper looks back towards the cave, confused but relieved to see that the bear wasn’t pursuing them. “Where…is…the lava…bear?” he pants. The adrenaline of almost dying still wears him out no matter how many times it’s happened.

“Cold. Too cold…for him.” Ford waves his hand, chest heaving. “Suspected…they can’t handle the cold, what with the rocks…ha!” he grins and slaps a hand down on Dipper’s back. He’s got a grin lighting up his face, cheeks red from exertion and the old. “Been a while since I’ve had an adventure like that! Did you—” his eyes go wide then and he moves to his knees. His hands grip Dipper’s shoulders tightly. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Dipper nods, pulling back and shoving his sweater sleeve up to show Ford the symbol drawn on his arm and the lines branching from it. “I think we have a clue.”

Chapter Text

“What are the chances you'll find something that can fix this in that cave?” Stan stares down his brother as he sits on the corner of his bed, closing the door behind him. The kids are waiting downstairs for their answer. “Realistically, Sixer.”

Ford lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “Honestly? Very slim. There's a prophecy but I can't make sense of it.” He slumps forward with his elbows on his knees. It’s hard to admit it, but he sees no point in lying. He’s never been very good at it; that’s Stanley’s area of expertise. “But we're running out of options, Stanley.”

Stan works his jaw, “And this memory gun? What are the chances it'll work?” he keeps his tone even, wanting honesty in place of hopes.

Ford looks up; it's no use, he can't read his brother's face. When had he stopped being able to read him like an open book? “Almost certain. But you can't just wipe out Bill specifically; everything has to be wiped. The mind made a blank slate. I…would very much not like to do that to the kids.”

Stan looks towards the door, towards the stairs that lead to where the kids are waiting with Fiddleford. Then he nods. “Okay. Then if the cave doesn't work, I'll make the deal with Bill.”

“Stanley, no, that's not—"

“Sixer, listen.” He moves to sit next to Ford on the bed. The choice is easy, a no brainer. A two for one. “I'll make the deal and you'll use the gun on me. One Bill is gone, kids are safe, and it buys you time to figure out what to do with the other one.”

Ford swallows, not sure how to process this. “Stan… it'll wipe your mind. Everything you are, who you are. Everything you’ve ever done, experienced…gone. You can’t want that.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, “not like I'm using it for much anyway.”

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

The gun sits heavy in his pocket; Stan’s never liked guns. He’d always been bad at bluffing with a gun and had been on the wrong side of them too many times in his life. Their father had had one, hidden away in a lock box that he’d carry back and forth between their parents’ room and the shop downstairs.  Stan remembers holding it, once, when he was fourteen. A man’s weapon, that’s what his dad had said when he put it in Stan’s sweaty hands. Stan wasn’t good for much, but he did a good job of looking out for his brother and if anything was to happen without Sherman or their dad around, then it would be up to Stan to protect their family.

Stan had liked the idea of protecting his family but the gun had unsettled him. It was cold and heavy; it felt so permanent. A solid punch could knock someone for a loop, put them down, but a gun…he didn’t like it. He’d nodded along with what his father said, promised to use it if he had to. A week later he bought his first pair of knuckledusters; a brass pair that were a little too loose on his teen fingers. He never wanted to use the gun.

Well, at least it would be Ford that used this gun if it came to it.

He wants to be done with all of this. Hearing the way Ford screamed while tied to a chair, eyes that sick looking yellow color that had twisted the kids’ faces…Stan feels sick thinking about it. He hated this Bill demon. Hated what he’d done to his family. Hated the shadow that he cast over them all. Most of all, he hated that Stan hadn’t been around to stop it. If he’d just gotten over himself, had just apologized for what he’d done, if he’d finished dialing the phone one time out of a hundred or just spoken when he heard Ford’s voice on the other side, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe he could’ve protected Ford from Bill. He was supposed to protect his family but he’d failed every step of the way.

Ford’d had a future before Stan had destroyed it. He would’ve left Stan behind but he’d likely never have crossed paths with a conman demon. His brother had always been an idiot; too trusting, too focused on what he knew that he never considered that someone could be tricking him. At least when they were kids, Ford was smart enough to reach out to Stan when he needed to. Maybe he would’ve still done so after going to his fancy nerd school.

Then I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country.

Stan’s so caught up in thinking about how badly he’s fucked everything up that he almost runs straight into the guy that had apparently been waiting on the other side of Fiddleford’s front door. The guy looks like a baby that never stopped being a baby while managing to read adult size with a pair of weird goggles on. And a jumpsuit. He looked like a baby janitor. What the heck? “Uh…Fiddler?” he looks back at where Fiddleford is standing with Mabel awkwardly patting his arm. “This a friend of yours?”

Mabel peers around him and Stan sees her jaw drop in shock. “Blandin?!”

“It’s Blendin!” the guy corrects her. What the heck sort of name is Blendin? “Oh, excuse me, I just need to—” the guy pushes past Stan and it takes a lot to not deck him for that. Mostly because Mabel is running up to the guy, bouncing in place in front of him. “Oh thank time-goodness I found you! I’ve been trying to time-track you for days! Where is your brother? You won't believe the time-mess I've been dealing with because of you two this time!”

Mabel winces at that. “Oh, did we cause more problems? I'm so sorry Blendin! It's been super cray-cray.” she tugs on the bottom of her sweater. “So Dipper and I are possessed by this evil triangle demon and somehow ended up back in time with our awesome Younkles and now we're trying to figure out how to stop Bill before we can go home.”

“Ohh geez! Time dang it, that's what I was worried about.” he shakes his head; Stan’s surprised his toupee looking hair doesn't fall off. He starts tapping away at this giant looking watch on his wrist. “I'm going to end up back in time-prison if I don't fix this.”

Stan clears his throat to get their attention. “So I'm really past asking too many questions so I won't bother with the who or the where with you—"

“I'm Blendin Blenjamin Blandin!/he's from the future!” the guy and Mabel shout at the same time which Stan promptly ignores because, again, not bothering with that part.

“I am going to ask if you know how. How they got here and how we can get them home.” Stan crosses his arms with a frown.

Blendin makes a humming sound before nodding. “Yes, that is the entire time-reason I am here! This is a major time-problem that needs to be rectified! So many paradoxes!” He looks around, “Where is Dipper?”

Stan manages to chorale everyone into the car and, after diving into the driver’s seat before Fiddleford can, speeds the entire way back to Ford’s house. Blendin is stammering and making weird noises in the backseat. Stan speeds even more just to get them back quicker and get away from the guy. If the guy was from the future then the future was fucked.

So is the present, given the way his nephew looks when he gets back, seated on Ford’s shoulders.

Dipper looks like a poison victim from a comic book. When he takes off his shirt, the lines are thick around his wrists like a pair of manacles. Stan has to touch them; they almost look like the bruises one gets from wearing handcuffs too long. There's more around his neck and ankles and a patch on his forehead that obscures a weird birthmark. All connected by spider webbing veins of black that trace back to a marker drawn symbol on his left forearm.

The mark is cold to the touch, even after the rest of Dipper has been warmed with blankets and rubbing at the skin. Stan banishes Blendin to the side of the living room while Ford finishes his examination of the kid. Fiddler proves instantly helpful in keeping him busy with a thousand questions about the thing on his wrist and the fact that his janitor uniform made him invisible. Stan has to stop himself from getting distracted by how useful that would be in his life. Ohh the things he could steal.

Stan is relieved to find that Ford and Dipper did appear to have luck at the cave. His brother is a lot more singe-covered than he was that morning, but hey, Stan can live with that. Just a few burns wouldn't kill him and Ford certainly doesn’t seem put off by them or even notice them.

“Do you feel any different?” Ford asks Dipper while he pushes his hair up to get another look at the mess on his forehead.

Dipper shrugs and rubs at the mark on his arm. It doesn’t smudge or fade at all. “Cold, I think. I mean, I felt that in the cave. But I don't feel sick anymore.” He squints his eyes and wrinkles his nose. “It’s weird. I…I’ve had these headaches whenever I tried to think about what happened since I woke up and felt all pukey but now I…I feel fine. I can remember going to the cave, I remember Mabel and I going back to the Shack. We tried to go inside but we couldn’t.” his eyes go wide. “The barrier! We couldn’t go through the barrier!”

“The unicorn hair!” Mabel yells but winces, a hand going to her temple as she clenches an eye shut. Her face has gone white as a sheet. “Ergh…you might feel better, but I don’t. Thinking about it still makes my head feel all stabby and the world all spinny.”

Stan pats the girl on the back and looks at Ford. His brother is just rubbing at his chin, looking lost in thought.

“Sorry, Mabel.” Dipper pats the air around her shoulder without actually touching her. Then he looks back up at Ford. “Bill couldn’t go through the barrier, so we couldn’t get in. So we went into the woods and that’s where we found—”

“Me!” the time guy screams, stepping forward with Fiddleford holding onto his arm as he was apparently examining the wrist thing. “I-I’d been tricked by that thing and he took over my body! B-but then something happened and he made me use my time-cuffs to cuff myself to a tree and throw the key where I couldn’t reach it before leaving my body.”

Mabel starts leaning heavily against Stan’s legs; her breathing is getting heavier and she looks like she’s half a second away from covering the floor. “He musta known we were in the cave. We took the time tape measure thingy and— Hrrp!” she lets out a belching burp and slaps a hand over her mouth. “Nn, can I get the magic marker tattoo now? I don’t feel good.”

Stan jumps when she doubles over and barely manages to grab her before she hits the ground. He presses a hand to her forehead; she’s cold and clammy. He turns her over, kneeling down with her. One eye flutter open and he forces a smile, “Hey, sweetheart. Can you stand?” they really don't need this right now.

Then the other eye opens, yellow with the slitted pupil. Her hand shoots out too quick for Stan to stop her before it closes around Dipper’s wrist.

Confusion crosses her face when nothing happens. “Shit.” she says it all quiet like the word isn't registering with her.

Stan blinks; it sounds very strange hearing a swear coming from the girl, even if it was echoing Stan’s own thoughts. When he tries to look to Ford for answers, he would swear there are actual stars in the man’s eyes. It sets something in him on fire, the thought that Ford could get excited at a time like this. Stan is going to kill him. He’s going to murder his brother and never regret it. “Stanford.”

“Fascinating! We’ve blocked Bill from accessing half of himself! Is that what it is, Cipher? This is a seal, isn’t it?” Ford kneels in front of them, pen light in hand while he checks Mabel’s eye. She weakly tries to push him away but mostly remains limp in Stan’s arms. Ford lets out a shocked laugh, “You broke yourself in half and now you can't access the other half! Ha!”

Dipper inches closer and reaches a hand forward to touch it to his sister’s forehead. Again, nothing happens. No creepy twin shit. Stan counts that as a positive. “It feels…colder. But I can’t…I can’t hear him in my head like before.” He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a marker. “Mabel, are you still…you?”

Stan adjusts her as she struggles to stand up. “Yes, I’m—HEY PINE TREE HOW ABOUT WE MAKE A—no, stop it!” she shakes her head. When she opens her eyes again, both are brown. “He-he’s still there only he’s like…screaming. I think he’s in pain. I think—YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN, JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY—stop!” she presses her palms to her eyes. She’s trembling all over in Stan’s arms.

Was this what happened when the kids lost time before? Stan tries to remember if Mabel's eyes changed but he can't remember. He wasn't paying attention.

Dipper moves the marker over the back of her hand and they all watch as the ink seems to bleed into her skin. The black veins travel down to disappear into her sweater sleeve and reappear crawling up her neck. They watch as the marks mirror those on Dipper’s skin; Stan notices the marks on Dipper’s skin starts to fade. Mabel’s aren’t as dark as Dipper’s had been and his seem to drain as hers take form, both are lighter.

Ford seems to notice too. “They’re sharing the magic.” He takes Mabel’s hand into his, brushing his thumb over the mark. Stan helps her stand up and they watch her grab Dipper’s hand. Again nothing happens aside from both apparently having a chill run through them. “I need to run some tests to see how long this will last. It seems to seal him inside them but…”

“None of this matters!” Blendin shouts. Oh, right, he's here. Stan had almost forgotten about him. They all look to him. “I-I mean, Mabel are you okay?” his shoulders relax when she nods but then he's squaring up again. “A-a-as I was saying! None of this matters! If we don't fix the time-paradox then all of time could be undone!”

Stan stands up but keeps a hand on Mabel's head just to be safe; the kid is still looking pale. Ford stands as well. “Time-paradox?”

Blendin nods again and presses a button on his watch. A blue projection comes out of it, which Blendin starts writing things on using his fingers. Behind him Fiddleford gasps and where Ford had stars in his eyes, Stan is pretty sure he sees hearts in Fiddleford’s. Damn nerds.

“He—Bill— snapped my time-device in half while he was taking them back here. Instead of time-altering the past which would create a normal paradox, the timeline has been split.” the guy explains, drawing a whole mess of diagrams in the projected air from his watch. When Stan looks over at Ford, he’s nodding like he understands. Of course he does. “But there's a singular event that can remerge the timelines and fix this. We have to repeat the time-event that’ll prevent this from undoing time and is also echoed in your future timeline. If we seal the loop, I can send you kids back. It’ll merge the timelines, fusing them instead of splitting them. You'll fuse with your present-selves and so should Bill.”

Blendin frowns and hits a button on his watch that makes the mess of science mumbo jumbo vanish. “The way you guys are going, you’re going to miss the time-event entirely, splitting the timelines and undoing time itself. It's almost like you were actively avoiding it.”

Mabel and Dipper are looking at each other with uneasy expressions. Mabel keeps tugging on her sweater to the point that the stitching is starting to stretch and Dipper has adjusted his hat at least six times in the last minute. “What’s the event that needs to be repeated?” Stan asks, ruffling the girl’s hair.

Blendin looks up from the paper, frowning at Stan. Then he points a stubby finger at Ford, “He has to go through the portal.”

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

Ford feels something akin to panic at the man's words; he can almost feel the tug of the portal through the soles of his feet though he knows it's off and several stories below. He remembers the look on Fiddleford’s face after less than a minute on the other side. The festering fear that he would find himself on the other side someday as punishment for what he'd done. The way Bill had mocked him when he vowed to stop him.

IT'D BE FUN TO SEE YOU TRY. CUTE EVEN!

“What portal?” Stan asks; he's got Mabel gripping the bottom of his jacket with white knuckles.

Ford is suddenly hit with a feeling of vertigo, like he's standing on the very edge of a cliff, and has to sit down. The world spins around him as he stumbles to the couch. He stamps down on a hysterical laugh that tries to bubble up. Repeat the event, which means it happened before. It happened in the kids’ future. Ford tries to take comfort in that, that he survives the portal to make it to the kids, but the world is still spinning around him. How long is he there?

“It’s hell.” Fiddleford answers Stan; he's white as a sheet when Ford can bring his eyes to him. His hands shake when he wraps his arms around himself and his eyes widened in horror, the memories flooding back all at once. “It's—it’s unfathomable. Horror. He can see you, not just—not just physically but you. Stripped to the bone. He was waiting. Ready to tear through and destroy everything.” He slams his palms to the sides of his head with such force that Ford jumps. “When Gravity Falls and Earth becomes Sky fear the beast with just one eye!” he screams it as he collapses to a crouch, head ducked low.

Ford wants to set a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling true regret for everything he'd put him through. Dipper moves over to touch Fiddleford’s back. His friend should’ve stayed back in California with his wife and son. He shakes his head. Ford deserves to go through the portal for what he's done.

“Does it have to be Ford?” Stan speaks up and Ford would swear his brother's voice is shaking. “Can I—I mean, someone has to go through, right? Does it have to be...I mean, I can do it. As long as one goes through and one stays, right? That's what matters, right?”

Something is coiling tight around Ford's heart as he stares at his brother in disbelief. Stanley was being hotheaded, he wasn't thinking. Ford wasn't worth that kind of sacrifice. “Stan, you don't know what’s on the other side of that. It's—”

“I've had worse.” Stan says it with such conviction that Ford wants to believe him and the idea of it makes the constriction around his heart tighten even further. His brother gives a grin when Mabel starts crying into his leg. “Hey, hey! Don't cry! It's fine! I can take it, I'm tougher than Ford. So he can stay here and get things handled here and I'll go to this weird nightmare world. We can do that, right?”

Ford doesn't let Blendin answer. Before he can start, Ford stands and grabs his brother in the tightest hug he can manage, ignoring the surprised noise his twin lets out. He can hardly breathe around the pressure on his chest. The idea that Stan would…it wasn't enough for his stupid little brother to offer to wipe his mind, but now this? And justify it with the idea that he had worse? It makes no sense. None of this makes sense.

“I can do it, Sixer.” Stan says it quiet, almost like he's begging for the chance.

It was easier when Stan was selfish. When he was the heartless kid that had ruined Ford's life, that had smashed his dreams over something as trivial as treasure hunting. It was easy to be angry at him, to blame him for everything that has ever gone wrong in his life. Hate was easy. But this? This was hard. Acknowledging that he had someone that cared so much about him that they'd literally walk into hell after Ford had continually screwed everything up. Hate was a one way path, direct and simple. Love, on the other hand, was much harder than Ford could remember it being. Had he ever really, truly loved his brother before?  If he hadn't before, he does now. He feels all consumed by it now, and by the grief over ten years lost, grief for the years he was about to lose.

He's had his brother back for three days and hadn't even had the sense to appreciate it. Stan is still trying to protect him; he's always tried to protect him. For once Ford is going to protect him. He's going to do the first worthwhile thing he's ever done in his life.

Stan hesitates but soon Ford feels his arms wrap around him just as tight as Ford is holding onto him. Ford presses his face into his twin’s shoulder and tries to stop the sobs that are trying to claw past the tightness in his chest. They should've gone sailing. They should've boarded the boat and never looked back.

“I'm sorry about your machine.” Stan says, of all things, and it makes Ford laugh through the way his eyes burn. The stupid knucklehead. Stan's eyes are red and watery, his voice thick.

Ford shakes his head as he pulls back, moving his hands to squeeze his brother’s shoulders. “It doesn't matter anymore.” and he means it. The bitterness, the anger, the regret, it all feels so meaningless now.

“It's not fair!” they look down at where Mabel is glaring up at them with teary eyes. She stamps her foot childishly and points an accusing finger at them. “Now?! Now you hug it out?! You—you! Stupid old jerks!” her bottom lip wobbles before her whole face seems to crumple. Dipper is at her side in an instant, arms around his sister while she sobs into her hands. “H-h-hugging it out is supposed t-to fix everything! It's not fair! We're supposed to be a happy family!”

Dipper hugs her tight, head dipped but Ford can still see shiny tracks on his great-nephew’s cheeks. Ford looks at Stan and they share a nod. Ford takes Mabel while his brother picks up Dipper. As the girl wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his neck, Ford regrets not getting to spend more time with her. Later, he promises himself. When he's back and they can be a family, he'll make sure to get to know her. He'll get to know all of them.

Blendin is kind enough to give them several minutes for the kids to calm down before clearing his throat. It won't do to put it off forever; their window of time is closing. The twins and Ford insist on going down to the basement with Ford. He knows they shouldn't, shouldn't be exposed to it, but part of him is grateful to not have to face it alone. Fiddleford lets them go with a hand on Ford's shoulder and a silent nod. He can't go down there, not now, not with the memories so fresh. Ford understands. Mabel runs out to the car before they board the elevator and comes back with an armload of stitched yarn.

“I was gonna give it to Younkle Stan but…” she looks nervously at Stan but he just smiles and ruffles her hair. She presses the bundle into Ford's hands. “I don't know what it's like on the other side but I hope this helps.”

It's a sweater, extra thick and very soft. It's deep blue and on the front is a pine tree, more detailed than the one on Dipper's hat, with four long, thick roots that stretch to the bottom. Ford runs his fingers over the trunk of the tree and has to fight the tightness in his throat again. “Thank you, Mabel.” he takes off his coat and pulls the sweater over his head as they begin to take the elevator down. It's warm, warmer than he's been in a long time.

It doesn't take very long to get the portal up and running. Both he and Stan share a wince as it powers up, the light and sound the same as in the kids’ mindscape. Was that built from their memories or from Bill's understanding of the portal? Ford longs to know but doesn't ask. It's not important.

Stan almost touches the side of the console where a sigil is glowing red hot and Ford has to grab his arm to stop him from bumping into it and burning himself. That would've been a nasty scar. Stan gives a forced sort of smile and claps Ford on the shoulder.

He takes Dipper to the side while the portal starts up, kneeling so he's on the boy's level. Dipper stands straighter under the attention which is very endearing. “I want you to do me a favor, Dipper.” he holds up his pointer finger, “Can you promise me you'll do this for me? I can only ask you.”

Dipper nods so hard that Ford is pretty sure he hears his jaw click. “Of course, Great Uncle Ford! Whatever you need!” He's so earnest. Was Ford ever like that? Maybe.

“I need you to write down everything you remember about the lava bear in my journal. What it looked like, what it smelled like, how it attacked. Everything you can think of." He smiles at the boy and pushes his hat down over his eyes. “Think you can do that for me?”

Ford lets out a little ‘oof’ when Dipper basically tackles him with a hug; he has to catch himself before he falls over. He gives the boy a tight squeeze. “You're going to be a great scientist, Dipper.”

Stan coughs and Ford lets go of their nephew. “Ford, uh, I think it's…” he gestures to the near blinding light of the portal. The whole room vibrates with the energy it gives off.

It's dangerous having it on. Every second is a chance for Bill to get through. But it needs to be done. To save the timeline, yes, but more importantly to save the kids. This will get them home; get Bill out of their heads. Even if Ford never came back that would be an easy choice to make. An easy sacrifice.

He finally gets to be a hero like in his books. Making a noble sacrifice for the ones he loved. Ford feels like he can be proud of that as he steps up to the line that he and Fiddleford had marked for safety. Just one step and he'd be saving everyone, at least for the time being. Just one step.

So why can't he move?

“It’s stupid.” his voice catches in his throat as it tightens. His body is starting to panic just standing on the safe side of the yellow line. The line that Fiddleford had crossed and seen hell. But it's a line that Stanley had been willing to cross for him, so how can he back down? His eyes are burning when he turns back to his family; he tries to smile for them. The kids are already crying again and Stan looks so lost. He can feel the pull of the portal behind him. Just one step. “Of all the times to be scared, huh?”

The twins step up and hug his legs while he makes sure they don't get too close to the line. “You look after him, okay?” he whispers down to them. “He's always needed someone to watch him.” He smiles when Stan steps up but his brother makes no move to hug him. No. They've finished that. “I'm sorry, Lee.” because he is. Sorry for so much.

Stan nods and Ford can see the tears in his eyes. Ford doesn't deserve them. Not Stan’s or the kids’. “I'll get you back. No matter how long it takes.” He promises before putting his hands on the center of Ford's chest. In a second he realizes what Stan is going to do and he's thankful for it as much as he hates that his brother has to do it. He nods at his twin.

Two pairs of small hands press against his hips and, together, his family pushes him over the line.

Chapter Text

One second they're watching Ford fall backwards into the portal, the next they're standing in the gift shop of the Shack. Mabel peers around at all the shirts and bumper stickers and the jar of eyeballs on the counter and it's all so beautiful that she feels more tears run down her cheeks. She turns to her brother, still stood next to her with a hand in her own.

He's in his normal clothes, not the overly folded amalgamation of Ford's clothes, and his skin is clear of any marks. Mabel pulls her hand back with a gasp, shoving her sleeve back to see that the symbol Dipper had drawn on her was gone. But they were holding hands and she doesn't feel icky, she can't hear Bill whispering in the back of her mind. She can remember breaking Blendin’s time measurer in half to try to stop the trip back in time without feeling like she's going to vomit. When she looks at Dipper again she can see that his left eye is perfectly fine. No redder than it normally is from lack of sleep and it's the same brown it always is.

“We're back!” they shout together, grabbing each other by the forearms and jumping up and down. It takes a moment to notice, as they jump for the fifth time, that they're hovering. Everything on the shelves is lifting up as gravity stops working. Talk about déjà vu.

Dipper's hands squeeze her arms tight as his eyes go wide. “The event had to be mirrored! That means downstairs—"

Understanding clicks in her, “Grunkle Stan is opening the portal!”

“Grunkle Ford's coming back!” they shout together in excitement. It's only been a moment for them, but it feels like thirty years. A pit opens up inside her as she realizes how much she misses her uncles. As soon as their feet touch the ground, they're bolting towards the vending machine. Mabel wonders if Ford still has the sweater she gave him. Oh she's going to give him the biggest hug and they could all go on the unicorn adventure together this time, the whole family. She's going to knit so many sweaters.

Stan is waiting in the basement when they get there and Mabel runs over to him, nearly tackling him into the console he's working at. He's old and grumpy looking with a big belly and he's her favorite Stan ever. She hugs him tight as she can about the legs because she missed him. “Grunkle Stan! We're back! Is the portal open yet?”

“Is Great Uncle Ford here yet?” Dipper chimes in while he joins her in hugging Stan’s legs. Good to know he missed them too.

She feels Stan's hand on the top of her head and grins up at him. “Geez, it's only been ten minutes since you went upstairs.” He smiles back before pushing both of them off as he goes back to working on the console. “Not yet, but any second now. Did you guys call Soos and Wendy like you said you were going to? We couldn't have done this without them.”

Mabel shares a look with Dipper and they both shrug. Though it's a bit dizzying to think that there were them before they got here. Oh, did they kill their time-twins when the timelines did the merging thing Blendin was talking about? That makes her feel icky so she decides not to think about it. Like seeing the shape shifter freeze in the form of her brother screaming. Some things you just ignored. “We just got back from the past so we dunno, Grunkle Stan?”

Stan groans and rolls his eyes. “Another time travel thing? I swear that's like the third one you kids have had. I'm gonna have a talk with that Bland guy if he shows his face around here again” he reaches over to turn a page on one of the three journals sitting on top of the console, frowning. Then he looks at his watch. “Just a few more minutes. Thirty long years of work and it'll all be worth it in a few minutes.”

Mabel hugs onto Stan again. It might feel like 30 years for them but it really has been for Stan. All alone in the Shack. Mabel decides that they're going to all camp out in the living room tonight. A big family slumber party. They can catch Ford up on all the movies he's missed and be a big old cuddle pile of love. Soos can come and Mabel will put Waddles in his cutest sweater so he's extra cuddly.

There's no key turning this time, no pained declarations from Stan or Dipper yelling for her to press the button. No forcing her to choose who to listen to, no surge of fear that she'll ruin everything or disappoint either of them. Stan makes them stay in the console room when things start floating while he clutches the doorway, eyes locked on the blue light that's getting brighter and brighter. Mabel grabs her brother's hand and squeezes it tight as they watch through the window.

Then, with the voice of the countdown clock calling out zero, everything explodes. Blue light expands and for an instant Mabel is blind. Dipper's hand slips from hers. A scream escapes her before she can process it; she can remember the feel of the cold metal of the button in her hand before she let it slip away last time. Everything is silent for a second and it's deafening. The air is so cold that she's sure if she could see, she would see her breath fogging up the air in front of her; it burns her lungs on the single breath she's able to draw in. It feels like there's a lightning storm beneath her skin, lighting up her nerves before they fizzle out.

And then, just as suddenly, it all stops. The hard ground knocks the cold air from her when she slams to it, pain waking where before there was numbness. The silence is filled with the sounds of the machines dying down and Dipper groaning a few feet away from her. There's footsteps on metal that make her scramble to the doorway to see the man stepping out of the portal as its light begins to fade. He's dressed all in black like she remembers, with goggles and a bit of cloth covering his face until he pulls them away.

The author of the journals. My brother.

“Grunkle Ford!” she yells while Dipper calls out “Great Uncle Ford!” because he's a dweeb. There are tears blurring her vision again while she pushes through the doorway, ready to hug her uncle. This was her favorite Ford, with his scruffy face and stupid sideburns. She loves both versions, just like she loves both Stans, but this is the one she missed so much. She can't wait to make him a whole gallon of Mabel Juice and knit him a hundred sweaters.

Stan is the first one to reach Ford with arms outstretched. “Brother! I did it, I finally did it! After all these years, you're—" he's silenced by a fist to the cheek.

Mabel sucks in a gasp. No, no, they hugged it out! Ford wasn't allowed to be a jerk this time. Anger bubbles up hot and ugly inside her. Nope, not gonna let it go down like this again. They were going to be best friends and she would have nothing less after the days they'd had. She's ready to go off when she hears Ford yell.

“How could you have the kids down here when it opened? You shouldn't be down here, Stanley! Did you not read my warnings about radiation? One time was bad enough but twice?!” he swings an arm and his jacket falls open, showing a flash of heavily patched, blue knitted fabric that warms Mabel from the bottom of her stomach to her throat. “What if you guys get sick? What kinda homecoming would that be?”

Stan glares, rubbing the spot where he'd been punched. “They wanted to be here! They were so excited to finally meet you! You're welcome, by the way, for saving you from apparently a sideburn dimension.”

Ford groans and rolls his eyes before grabbing Stan by the shoulders. His voice is softer when he says, “Yes, thank you, Stanley. I'm incredibly grateful.” Mabel lets out a squeal and shakes Dipper when he pulls Stan into a tight looking hug that Stan immediately returns. Okay, she can forgive the punch because they are adorable and finally acting the way twins are supposed to. She hears him say, “I missed you, you knucklehead.”

As soon as they part, Stan turning away to wipe some dust from his eyes, Mabel runs to latch herself onto Ford. He drops to one knee the moment he sees her coming and welcomes her hugs with open arms. Much better than the awkward hugs and pats from Younkle Ford, even if old Ford squeezes a little too tight. He smells like wood smoke and chemicals but it's okay because he's warm and here. With a gasp she pulls back, “Wait! Wait!” she takes a step back and sticks out a hand, “Greetings!”

Ford blinks before shaking his head with a laugh and taking her hand. It's still big and swallows her comparatively small hand amid his many fingers. “Greetings. Good to know kids still say that; I haven't been in this dimension in a long time.”

“Your handshake is still a whole finger friendlier than normal though.” she grins as wide as she can. She wonders if they should make their Grunkles tell them their life stories again. She looks over at Dipper who has his typical ‘super overthinking this’ face on. “Dipper! C’mon, it's your big chance to meet Grunkle Ford again! You can be less of a giant nerd this time!”

Dipper's face goes red as can be and he sputters. Stan laughs and moves to shove her brother forward. “Go on, kid, you were almost more excited for this than me.” he winks at Mabel, “Never thought he'd calm down once he found out about the alien ship. But he's the one that found the power source so…he's got a lot of questions for you, Sixer.”

Mabel moves to help shove her brother forward towards Ford. Her twin sputters a bit more before gripping his hands tight in front of him. “I'm sorry, I didn't write the entry about the Lava Bear yet! W-we just got back and everything was floating so that meant you were coming back and we wanted to see you and Stan again so I didn't have time! B-But I'm going to as soon as we get back upstairs, I still remember a lot and maybe we can track another one down once you've rested and actually study it and—" he cuts himself off with a cough as his air begins to run out. Mabel pats his back; at least he's not about to throw up this time. Progress!

Ford laughs again and reaches forward to push his hand under Dipper's hat to ruffle his hair. “It's fine, Dipper. We can sit down and write that and about you guys traveling back in time later. We've got a lot of work to do.” He casts a look back at the portal that was now still and silent. He pushes himself up to his feet and claps Stan on the shoulder; Mabel's not sure she's ever seen Stan beaming like that and it’s great. “You certainly got old, Stanley.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Touch-of-Gray.” Stan flicks the strip of light gray at Ford's temple and Mabel has to stifle a giggle. Then he looks at them, “Wait, so do you two remember now? Because it’s been a heck of a time not spilling the beans to you this whole time.”

Before Dipper can explain everything, because Mabel isn’t sure she really understands the whole thing, they hear, “Whoa, there’s like two of them, dude.” They all look over Soos pokes his head out of the elevator and behind them they can see Wendy with her phone held up and the camera pointed at where Ford is now standing next to Stan. “Guess we missed the big show. Hey, other Mr. Pines! Mr. Pines and Dipper were real excited to meet you, dawg.” He lifts a wide hand in a wave that Mabel returns when it looks like no one else is going to.

Ford looks lost and Stan laughs, slapping a hand to his back. “I’ll introduce you to everyone upstairs, Sixer. C’mon.”

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

Dipper’s head is spinning but he thinks it’s a good kind of spinning. He can’t fight the smile as they all board the elevator and is happy to find that his notebook is in its typical place, tucked into the back of his shorts. And there’s a pen in his pocket. He starts rapidly writing everything he can remember from the last two days so they can get it in the Journal as soon as possible. He has to run back to the control room to snag Journal 3 with a silent promise to himself that he’ll come back for the others later. Too many to carry now and Mabel doesn’t look ready to let go of their uncles long enough to help.

Ford had taken the book back as soon as he got back last time; maybe this time Dipper could keep it a bit longer. The idea of filling out entries with Ford makes his neck sweat and he clicks his pen about fifty times in the time it takes the elevator doors to close. There’s the old anxiety of what Ford will think of his notes and the entries he’s made before now but Dipper’s trying very hard not to dwell on that.

Wendy reaches over to squeeze one of Ford’s arms, looking mildly surprised. “He looks way less scrawny than in the pictures. Like, he’s actually buff.”

“You guys know about Ford?” Dipper looks up at Soos and Wendy while the elevator starts its climb back up to the Shack, resisting the urge to feel one of his own noodle arms. Mabel is trying to make their uncles hold hands in the corner but is only really succeeding in getting them to hold her hand. This is probably victory enough for his sister, knowing her. Oh well, Ford looks less uncomfortable with that than with Wendy squeezing his arms.

Wendy snorts—somehow she still makes it seem cool— and her phone lets out a telltale clicking sound as she points it at Ford again. “Of course, dude. It’s not like the old codger kept him a secret.” She smirks when Stan lets out an offended grunt. Then her face shifts in concern. “You okay, Dip? We’ve been working on the portal all summer to get Sideburns over there back, ever since you found the Journal.”

That makes Dipper’s head spin even worse; Stan told them everything from the beginning? It’s hard to imagine their stay in Gravity Falls without secrets. Though Stan had said something about not spilling the beans so…what were the changes they made on the timeline when they merged? Other than maybe-possibly-probably erasing their alternate selves from existence. Yeesh. How many copies of himself had he killed this summer? Between the paper clones and the shape shifter and now a time clone, Dipper was feeling pretty bad. Maybe he should take a page from his sister’s book and not think about it.

His sister’s book! Of course! As soon as the door to the elevator opens, Dipper ducks out. A quick run up the stairs gets him to their room where, thankfully, Mabel’s scrapbook is sitting on her bed, already open to a page that has ‘KING FORD’ written across the top in big letters made of purple glitter glue. He snags it and runs back downstairs.

Mabel’s eyes light up at the sight of her scrapbook and that’s what gets her to finally let go of Stan and Ford’s hands. Wendy seems to have stopped taking pictures and is instead typing away on her phone. She’s got her texting face on. Soos is grinning while Ford is apparently studying him and asking questions that have Stan bracing himself on the gift shop counter as he laughs.

“He’s just a weird looking kid, Pointdexter.”

“Are you sure you have no ancestry in the mole people that lived beneath the town 700 years ago?”

Mabel’s mind seems to click with his, which gives him a twinge of nervousness that he does very much choose to ignore, and they both sink to the floor. She takes her scrapbook and opens it to the first page while he opens Journal 3 to one of the first entries he wrote himself. His eyes skim over the parts about the zombie that turned out to be a bunch of gnomes before coming to a part he doesn’t remember writing.

So, turns out that this book didn’t belong to some mysterious, nameless author like I thought. It belonged to my great uncle Stanford and I’ll be writing in this book until he gets back from exploring another dimension! My uncle Stan says he vanished in an accident 30 years ago with a crazy machine in the basement. A poor sketch of the portal filled the bottom half of the page. My uncle Stan even has the first book and let me read it! Stan says I can keep this book for self-defense and can help fix the portal as long as I follow the rules. This book says not to trust anyone, but I don’t think Great Uncle Ford knew how cool Stan can be. We’ll just have to show him how trustworthy we can all be when he gets back! This is Dipper Pines, three-time Piedmont Middle School Spelling Bee finalist and great-nephew to the smartest man alive, signing off for the night.

Mabel reads an entry out loud, “Day 2. Grunkle Stan smells weird but we’re starting to bond. He told us all about our Grunkle Ford today, who is off being a king of another world. We’re going to help build a magic thingy that’ll bring him back. He also gave me a grappling hook because I’m awesome.” When Dipper looks over, he can see a picture of a young Ford, it looks like an old school photo, with a crown sticker on top of his head.

Stan told them, he told them everything about Ford from the beginning. Dipper flips through his different entries. There’s the Manotaurs, Blendin’s appearance at the carnival, Mermando…a bunch that he remembers, but still more that he doesn’t. Soos had rewired the basement so it was less of a drain on the rest of the house; Wendy had gotten the original blueprints for the house from her dad. They’d found out about Bill before Gideon had summoned him thanks to the hidden room that they’d found, full of computers and a golden idol to Bill. Gideon had still summoned him but it hadn’t done any good; they’d already put up the barrier by then.

“That jerk still attacked us with a giant robot! What the heckadoodle!” Mabel yells, smacking a page that contains a couple photos of the broken robot. There’s a rather good one with both of them jumping on top of its decapitated head.

“He wanted the books bad. That and Mabel.” Stan speaks up and they look up as he kneels in front of them. “But hey, it got us the second book. So we’re lucky Mabel is so cute and he was so stupid. Woulda been nice if the barrier was robot proof too, though.” He grimaces and Dipper knows Stan’s cheap face when he sees it.

Dipper frowns and looks back at the journal. They’d even gone into a crashed alien ship to find a power source for the portal instead of stealing radioactive waste. But something wasn’t right. He flips through all the empty pages in the book then looks over at Mabel doing the same in her scrapbook. There are no entries after the ship and that had been at the very beginning of July. The last page in Mabel’s scrapbook is the King Ford page she’d left it open to. Where’s the other stuff that happened? There’s nothing about the Lilli-putt-ians or when Blendin challenged them to future death match, or the ghost Dipper fought with Pacifica. “Have you had the Journal for the last month, Grunkle Stan? It’s missing entries.”

Stan raises a bushy brow. “Kid, there hasn’t been a thing that’s happened in the last month that you two haven’t written down.” With a groan, he stands back up, though Dipper sees Ford grab Stan’s elbow to help steady him. “They take after you, Sixer. Writing everything down.”

“To be fair, Mr. Pines, we were able to fix the portal cause of all of Mr. Pines Two’s notes.” Soos says.

Stan shoots him a glare while Ford smiles proudly. “Can it, Soos!” he huffs and adjusts his tie. “Mr. Pines Two, huh? Yeah, I like that.”

Dipper shares a look with his sister before looking back at the Journal again. If they’ve written everything down and it’s not in the book…his eyes widen and he feels a smile creeping across his face. Without thinking, he snatches Wendy’s phone and ignores the noise she makes. Oh, she’d been texting the pictures of Ford to the other teenagers with captions like ‘It’s like if my boss didn’t live on bacon and peanuts’. Tambry apparently thought Ford was a ‘silver fox’. Ignoring that.

The date at the top of the phone reads July 10^th. That’s a whole month earlier than when Ford came through the first time. They’d gotten him back a whole month earlier, which means a whole extra month they get to spend with him. And that means he could help them with everything that happens! Dipper shoves the phone back to Wendy and grabs his notebook, flipping to a new page. What had happened after this? There were the zombies but Dipper is definitely not going to be doing that again, though karaoke might be fun to do again. Not that he will ever admit that but if Mabel tries to make them do it Dipper probably won’t fight too hard. Oh, they’ve got to introduce Soos and Melody, though maybe without the killer video game girl this time. And disbanding the Society of the Blind Eye, oh they really needed to check on McGucket; there was still the entry about him building the lake monster but it looked like his son had helped with that so there was a story there. Oh and the category 10 ghost at the Northwest mansion, Ford was going to love that!

“Careful, boy, you’ll burn a hole through that paper.” Ford’s laughing and that brings him out of his rapid fire thoughts of everything they had to do this summer. Dipper doesn’t know if he’s seen Ford smile so much outside of when they played Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Usually he gives small proud smiles along with mussing up Dipper’s hair. He definitely likes a Ford that smiles more though. It makes Dipper have to smile back; he laughs when Mabel latches herself to Ford again though Ford doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s really nice to see you again, Grunkle Ford.” He feels his face heat up because everyone is giving him one of those ‘he’s so cute’ looks like whenever he sneezes but at the same time he doesn’t care. Maybe sharing a mindscape with his sister mellowed him out, he doesn’t know, but after the last few days he’s just happy to be home. To be with his family. To have an extra month to spend with everyone without the fighting or the awkwardness. “What do you want to do now that you’re back?”

Ford’s got Mabel clinging to his arm as he casts a look about the room at everyone there. “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about the prophecy and I think if you guys help me, we can figure it out together.”

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

“Things are very crazy in this town, so I need you kids to be careful.” Stan’s tone is much sterner than they've ever heard him, hands on his hips. “You kids got lucky with the gnomes but there's a lot worse stuff out there. And if you're going to help me, you gotta follow a couple of rules.”

Dipper frowns down at the book in his lap, touching the painted 3 on the cover. He lets his eyes go over to the twin book sitting on the kitchen table next to Stan, a 1 on its cover. Where was the second book? “And these will help get Uncle Ford back?” Mabel asks the question on his mind as she picks dead leaves out of her hair.

Dipper peers over at the doorway that leads to the living room, remembering the framed picture of their uncles in a boxing ring when they were young, Stan and his brother they'd never met. They've been told about Ford their whole life, the uncle that went missing long before they were born, who was a scientist that studied the strange. Grandpa Shermie said he was probably gone forever but their uncle Stan would never give up trying to find him.

After seeing the gnomes and reading the journal, Dipper and Mabel believe Stan. Mabel has always liked the idea of having a mysterious uncle; she's convinced he went off to become a king on the other side of the machine in the basement and will make her an honorary princess when he comes back. Dipper thinks he's been discovering all sorts of cool things that'll change the world when he gets back.

“Yes, he put all the instructions for the portal in these books. And now that I have two of them, we can really get to work.” Stan sets a hand on the well-worn book 1, the spine discolored from being opened so many times. “We still need book 2 but this is a start. I know he's going to love seeing you two ag—meeting you. But you can only help if you follow the rules, got it?”

The twins share a look and a nod. They want to meet their uncle who could be a king or the greatest explorer ever. Dipper feels a bubbling excitement at the idea of meeting the author of the journals and having access to both books. “What are the rules?”

Stan smiles wide and holds up one finger, “Rule one, no secrets in this family. This only works if we work together. We trust each other, no matter what.”