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Chapter Text

"Please! Mom, please! Let me back in!" The small girl slammed her fists against the cabin door. Small splinters were breaking into her hands and arms as she desperately pushed herself against the door, trying to open it in vain. From inside the house, she could hear heavy and uncoordinated footsteps heading further away.

The winter wind ripped through her thin pajamas as loud sobs wracked her petite figure. She was shaking horribly; nearly hunched over as waterfalls of tears escaped sad puddles of light, streaming down a delicate face and dripping off her rounded cheeks. Bruises and scars littered her exposed arms and ankles. She sunk to the floor, her sobs quieting to little whimpers. Huddling into a ball, she brought her knees to her chest, trying to conserve any warmth between herself and thin clothes. She rested her cheek on her knees, tinted red by the harsh winds. Her hair was jet black; an ocean of dark waves falling over a warm tanned shore, where two tidal pools continued to leak salty tears. She angrily rubbed at her face, pulling her hair over her arms to drape over her in some sort of blanket.

From scattered strands of matted hair, she looked up to the sky, sniffling loudly. Through the glossiness of her eyes, she could barely make out the starry night.

She and her recently widowed mother resided in a small cabin surrounded by forest. It sat upon a large hill of green, with a large gravel path curving down to the main road. The foliage spanned for miles; the nearest town was maybe 20 minutes away by car— residential houses only a tiny bit closer. All the company the girl had were the towering trees and occasional squirrel or deer that wandered close to the small abode. And when she ventured little ways past the trees, she had a small pond filled with fish. Since they were so far from cities and towns, the sky always looked surreal, teeming with stars.

The tops of trees framed the night sky. Normally a pitch black, it was mixed with deep purples and dark blues; the hues mixing together to form something almost ethereal. Stars glittered: shimmering specs of light that often sparked hope within the small girl. But as another strong wind chilled her to her bones, the large flame of hope was slowly extinguished.

Another wave of salty tears boiled over as she sat on the porch. She tried to repress the strangled cry that bubbled in the back of her throat, almost embarrassed of her overflowing sadness.

"Oh, what do I do?" She asked softly, her voice low and sore. It wasn't the first time her drunk mother kicked her out of the house, but it was the first time she hadn't come back in at least 10 minutes.

She turned her eyes back to the sky, trying to find some comfort with the beautiful sight in front of her. "Dad," she croaked, another sob shaking her small figure."What do I do? Why is Mom doing this?"

She looked to the sky as if waiting for an answer bestowed from the stars. Nothing was going to come from it— she knew that much— but she was desperate.

She shook violently, as a rather loud gust of wind tossed her hair from her arms. It was so harsh it garnered a few more tears from the girl's bleary eyes.

Her eyes were still trained on the sky, holding out for a sign of some sort. When her dog died a year earlier, her father had told her that he had joined the millions of twinkling lights in the sky. Her father surely was up there too, right? He was never far from his trusty dog; when he died he must have gone right up to look for him. The ghost of a smile tugged at her chapped lips at the thought; her father— or at least, the tall and warm figure she remembered as her father— running around the cosmos chasing after Jasper; tossing stars as frisbees and small meteors as balls.

A minute or so passed, and the girl considered trying to slam her feeble body against the door again when a shooting star caught her eyes. It lasted a second; in fact, she almost missed it. If she had blinked, it certainly would have passed her by. But her observant eyes quickly caught the small dying light dancing past its stationary brothers. To the girl, it was an answer: a potential wish that could come true.

A little gasp left her lips. Dad sent me a wish!

The joy that came with that thought almost outweighed the achiness of her small and tired body. Her dull eyes twinkled slightly, before once again plunging in darkness. What should she wish for? She didn't necessarily want to go back inside; her mother would still be mad and drunk. Plus, there was a strange man in there with her. Different from the one from yesterday, but strange nonetheless.

As another chill seeped into her skin, she decided. "I— I wish I was warm..." she mumbled into her arm, shutting her eyes. A childish wish maybe, but right now, as the winds whispered a cold lullaby and her eyes began to grow heavier, a little warmth would mean the world.

A moment passed as she waited patiently for a sudden warmth to overtake her. Not just a regular warmth, produced by fire or held within a blanket. No, she wanted the sort of warmth that came from a hug; the warmth that came with a loved one, both in their smile and in their kind eyes. She wished for the same kind of warmth her father had, one that both she and her mother missed so dearly.

She held her breath, thinking that it could possibly aid her wish. When nothing happened, she felt her heart drop; a painful squeeze in her chest that shook her more than the December winds. More tears flooded her vision. Why... why didn't it work?

She started sobbing again. They were louder than before; a guttural cry from the depths of her aching heart. They echoed in the forest, the trees almost shaking with her. The howling of the wind mirrored her cries, carrying her sobs and screams.

She was stuck on the porch, no way to get back into her house, surrounded by trees with no loved one or friend in sight. What was she supposed to do?

And then suddenly, as she felt her hope slowly die out, it came: the warmth.

She didn't realize it at first; starting as a prick in the palm of her right hand, the warmth grew stronger. It was the same comforting heat she felt when she was tucked into bed and bid farewell with a small kiss to her temple. But... there was something... off about that warmth: it held a certain familiarity with it, but overall there was something almost eerie about it. Her cries stopped suddenly, her brows raising as she lifted her tiny hand.

To her surprise, it was engulfed in a small glow, a greyish light that was almost unnoticed in the dull glow of the moon. The small girl's eyes widened as she rubbed at them with her left. She wasn't exactly sure she was seeing correctly. However, as the heat persisted, she realized the glow was no trick of her mind.

She turned her hand around, examining it breathlessly, as the warmth continued to spread up her arms. It was what she had wished for, but for some reason, she was scared.

Her heart started thumping in her chest as she realized the heat kept growing in an unsettling intensity. It was comforting at first, but as it neared her shoulder it was becoming almost smothering.

Her palm looked different, and it's what scared her the most. In the middle of her hand sat the small outline of a flame, its tips reaching below the starts of her fingers. The girl's breathing quickened and she scrambled to her feet. The heat started to cross her neck, almost strangling her with an invisible fist.

She waved her arm around, as if in an attempt to cool it. Her mind was racing; teeming with panic. Her breaths started to come out in short bursts as the heat started to overwhelm her. It was quickly crawling down her other arm, masking her completely in its scorching path.

"S-stop! Stop, please! I'm warm now!" She sputtered. The warmth was starting to hurt now; any comfort it once brought gone. She wasn't sure how much she could take.

Her hand was by far the hottest part. It felt as if it was being dunked in a fire, and she was surprised she was only feeling discomfort and not pain. As she looked back at the source, she froze suddenly, a chill— separate from the winds— becoming a heavy rock in her core. Within her palm, a small flame had sprung to life; colored black and grey, it danced along her hand, twisting itself around her fingers.

If she wasn't panicking before, she was definitely now. A frightened scream left her lips, as her waving became more frantic. The heat kept spreading, pricking at her skin like hundreds of small needles and biting like an army of fire ants. As fear clouded her brain, the flame enlarged and began to run down the length of her arm.

She fell back on the porch, scared of the living flame that was attached to her— igniting from her. She tried once again to get it off of her skin, flicking her arm in every direction so violently that it felt as if it was going to fly off.

The flame continued to grow as it slowly engulfed her arm. This time, small embers flew off with her frantic jerks. They fluttered almost gracefully in the wind, before falling onto the porch with a sizzle.

That's when hell broke loose.

From the meek kiss of the embers against the porch, raging infernos spawned. In no time, the porch around her started to go aflame, the same cursed and black fire running up her body had multiplied tenfold around her in a matter of seconds.

She scrambled off the porch, diving to the floor. She watched in horror as the flames continued up the cabin. Despite the intense heat consuming her figure, she was frozen in fear. Her throat was dry; she could only watch in silence as the flames continued their destructive dance, numb to the flame dancing up her own skin.

They moved extremely fast; they had already climbed up the porch and had started running along the rooftop, leaving behind a scorched and charred path and the smell of burning wood. They quickly worked their way along the sides of the house, igniting the surrounding shrubbery and grass. The flames were rising even higher than the house itself. As if not content with consuming the height of the cabin, their hellish black tips were clawing at the night sky. The inferno was almost begging to burst through into the heavens, yearning to be allowed into the place opposite to which they appear to have originated from. The smoke rising from the cabin was masking the stars, and suddenly the area was plunged into an almost otherworldly darkness. The flames didn't bother with the door; any crack or opening between windows or doors sufficed as their entrance. They were quickly intruders inside the home, and ate at the inside at the same speed they devoured at the outside. Anything that stood, living or nonliving, quickly succumbed to the power of the black flames.

The girl watched in silence. The sound of her thumping heart filled her ears. It drowned out all other sounds: the crackling of the fire; the cacophony of the cabin crumbling to flaming pieces; the muffled screams of the people inside...

Within seconds, the cabin was nothing more than a pile of flaming rubble, dead at the hands of the fire. Ash and soot were carried in the air and bright grey embers glittering around her. She still couldn't bring herself to move.

Then a bubbling pain pierced her arms. She let out a strangled cry as she stumbled forward to her knees. She turned away from the cabin, looking at her arms. They were covered in the flames. Despite having feasted upon the cabin, it appeared they were hungry for more.

Her screams gained volume as the flames started to lick away at her flesh, layer by layer. Blistered sores were opened as layers of skin were burnt and clawed away viciously. Why they didn't start destroying her body before was a mystery; she couldn't fathom why they were taking their time with their live prey.

"No, stop!" The girl tried to scream, staggering to her feet. The flames consumed her body, clinging to her limbs and dressing her over her thin pajamas. She kept screaming, her throat burning. Her eyes were watering even more, not only stained with tears but with the soot particles that were blowing in the heated winds.

"STOP!" It was a desperate roar for the end; she just wanted the burning pain to stop. The corners of her vision were going black. Her body couldn't keep up with everything that was happening. With each scream, the flames only seemed to spike in intensity. At this point, they were close to igniting the entire forest.

The girl's breaths were running short, her head light, and her vision blurry. But despite her failing senses, she could still feel the intense burning. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cough as soot lined her esophagus. "I said, stop!"

Her command rang loud in the desolate area, and for a second everything paused. The pain around her limbs dulled to a small pinching, and the flames racing to prey upon the surrounding woods started to slowly retreat, as if being rewound by time itself.

The conflagration dampened, slow lying falling back to the Earth, and racing backward along the floor. The girl wobbled to and fro, watching with half-lidded eyes as the flames fell from their former grace almost peacefully. Like black webs, the flames covered the ground like snare traps. They slowly backed to a common center: the source of the flames, the girl herself.

The flames that had once encased her body started dying out; falling back into her palm and seeping into her burning skin. The girl watched with large eyes as the flames disappeared into her open hand, taking with them the searing heat.

It was over in a minute; the winter wind once again struck the girl's wounded body. It was painful against her fresh burns and cracked skin. It was too much— everything she just experienced was too much. With a final cough, she fell over, toppling onto the floor. Her vision faded, and then pain in her bones subsided, leaving behind a numbness that seeped into her entire being.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

A distant neighbor had spotted the smoky trail rising into the late-night sky. By the time fire trucks arrived at the scene, there was nothing that could be done. The fire had died barely minutes after it started, but despite its short life, it had created a fiery tempest that rivaled the damage the most veteran firefighters had seen.

No one had survived that fire— at least, that was the common consensus of the fireteam— the blaze completely decimated the house. That was the first question that loomed on the thoughts of everyone's mind: How could such a destructive inferno leave the surrounding area untouched? It looked as if the fire was contained to that particular house; even the trees who had limbs carelessly brushing against the cabin's trimming were left untouched.

The second question came much later when first responders found the body of a young girl. Littered in burns and completely unresponsive, it was considered a miracle when they found her pulse, let alone when she began to come to her senses in the back of the ambulance. How on Earth did she survive?

When she finally gained enough strength to speak after days of treatment, she immediately asked doctors about her mother. The medical team sat there for a moment, not only reluctant to tell the young girl the truth, but shocked that someone in her position immediately turned their concerns towards her mother. They had seen the bruises that plagued her skin; they knew they weren't from the fire. Most would heal, but others— both visible and invisible— would leave scars.

When they finally told her, the girl was momentarily confused. She knew what death was; she was fairly familiar with the Grim Reaper, to be honest. But the thought of losing her mother— the only living and blood relative she had left— she just couldn't process it. She was alone? Okay, she could understand that. Where would she go? Was there a place for children like her; children completely alone? Would they have strange men, too? Or glass bottles scattered across the floor?

It wasn't the doctors that answered her questions, it was the local police. As best as they could, they explained to the girl that she would be going to a place with other children— both older and younger— that was just like her. "An orphanage," she believed they called it. She couldn't dwell on the foreign word long, however, because the next question out of the taller officer's mouth was: "How did the fire start?"

She froze immediately. How was she to tell them? Even in her childish mind, it sounded strange: a flame burst through her hand upon the request of a star and burned everything down in less than a minute. Speaking of such...

The small imprint of a flame was almost invisible on her palm. If it wasn't for the heavy consequences she was facing now, she would have brushed off the entire ordeal as a dream— a nightmare, really. Much paler and matching her complexion, the only way to tell was the small lining of scarred tissue in the same shape. Though she wanted an explanation as to how she was even able to conjure the fire, something within her decision to keep it a secret. The police officers had already shared a glance when she mentioned the black fire, so this would definitely raise more alarm.

After answering a few questions and after a few more days in the hospital, she was placed in the back of a small car. At the front, one of the officers from days prior was seated, along with a nice-looking woman she had never seen before.

"Kiddo," the police officer said, looking back at her through the rearview mirror. She never learned the officer's name, so she had called him "Mr. Police" throughout their meetings. However, she still somewhat grew attached. He was a tall man with a kind smile; the kind that wrinkled the skin by your eyes and revealed dimples. He reminded her much of her father, in terms of overall figure alone.

"We're gonna be taking you to that place I mentioned earlier. Do you remember what it was called?"

She sat in thought for a moment. Oh yes, she thought, that weird word.

"The o-orphanage?" She asked hesitantly. Her throat was still slightly singed. It was mostly healed, but her voice was still extremely soft and broken.

"Yes, that's the place," he smiled. The lady beside him mimicked his smile. The girl couldn't help but think that Mr. Police had the better smile. "That's going to be your new home for a while, okay? Mrs. Richardson here will help you settle in and make new friends!"

She turned her attention to the older woman. She also had the same kindness Mr. Police had, but she couldn't convey it through her smile as he did. Maybe there was another way she would make up for it, the girl pondered. She hoped for heat pats or even the dismissive tussle of her hair from time to time.

"You're going to love the place, sweetie!" Mrs. Richardson said. Her black frizzy hair was tied in a tight bun, mixed with light strands of grey. Her brown eyes were stressed, but definitely friendly.

The girl just nodded, hiding her mouth from behind the seat belt strap, fumbling with it mindlessly as she crossed her legs. Her eyes kept wandering around the car. She hadn't been in one for a long while, and the thought of being in one didn't really bring up good memories.

Mr. Police laughed slightly, aware of the girl's paranoia but ignorant as to its cause. "Relax, Y/n," he said, as he began to pull away from the hospital parking lot. "You're going to be happy while you're there."

Chapter Text

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n!"

The girl's eyes snapped open as she scrambled to pause her blasting music. To her side, a young girl was bouncing on the bus seat, light squeaks emanating from the abused springs. Y/n winced slightly; if she was able to hear her from over her blasting Vocaloid and Vocaloid covers, she pitied the other bus commuters.

"Yeah, Mabel?" She turned away from the bus window. There was nothing really interesting out there honestly; mostly trees and other differing vegetation.

"We're almost there," she giggled, and then proceeded to bounce even faster, if that was possible. Her smile was large, proudly showing her silver braces. The older girl smiled slightly; Mabel's ebullience was always contagious.

However, now that the small brunette had her sister's attention, she wasn't letting go of it that easy. Her twin brother had managed to shake her off before, but that was the good thing about having 2 siblings: there was always one to pester. 

"What do you think Stan will be like? Do you think there'll be cute boys? Oh my God, do you think we can get you a summer boyfriend?! Or girlfriend! Or partner! It doesn't matter who they are, I'll find you the best match!"

"Mabel, Mabel, calm down," Y/n laughed softly. The older girl adjusted herself in her seat, bringing her small bag into her lap and cradling her broken arm against her stomach. The white cast was decorated with small doodles, glitter, and motivational stickers and encased nearly the entirety of her forearm and bunched up the sleeve of her thin hoodie. "You've been saying that we're close for the past two hours now."

"Three, actually."

From across the aisle, a young boy spoke up. He looked exactly like his twin; same chocolate and fluffy hair, the same rounded face and small nose, and the same big brown eyes. His hair was much shorter than his sisters' and was constantly hidden under a brown worn cap. His bangs, however, were longer; some tufts of the brown hair were spilling out from under the cap's visor covering the birthmark that gave him his nickname. Mabel's hair neatly fell to her waist, held together with a hot pink headband, matching her pink hand-knit sweater. Both, however, had the same little cowlick of hair that stood atop the crown of their heads; something that undoubtedly made them Pines.

The boy, Dipper, was the slightly younger twin, born 5 minutes after Mabel; information he didn't like being repeated. However, despite the time difference, he was rather mature for his age. He took after Y/n in that way: both were avid readers, scrounging around for more information where it was missing. Mabel was the opposite; much more childish and adventurous, she'd rather watch tv than sit with a book, or craft together a new masterpiece. She saw the good in everything and everyone and often overwhelmed people with her sheer volume and joy.

Dipper had taken off his navy vest, leaving him in his light orange shirt. He had a book in his hands, his fingers holding his place as he turned to his sisters. Y/n noticed he hadn't gotten very far; probably because Mabel was bothering him for most of the bus ride.

"Shush Dipper," Mabel said. "I know we're close this time! I can feel it!" She was a ball of energy, and her constantly moving made the sleeves of her sweater bounce around wildly.

Dipper rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're so excited about," he mumbled. "We're going to be in the middle of nowhere for the entire summer."

The youngest Pines hadn't been so pleased with their parent's sudden announcement for their summer vacation. He wasn't too opposed to change, unlike Y/n, but the thought of spending his summer in a little old town that was barely on the map with family he wasn't even sure he'd met before was less than ideal.

Y/n felt similarly. Granted, either way, she was going to spend the majority of the summer cooped up in a room writing essays and filling out college applications. Besides, a small part of her was eager to be out in the woods again. The last time she was surrounded by nature so dense was when she was a child and her last name wasn't "Pines."

But even though she was somewhat excited, she could help but think she was intruding on some sort of family reunion. It was a silly thing— she kept telling herself that at least— but for some reason, the fact that she was adopted was something that was preventing her from feeling the least bit happy about going to Gravity Falls. The Pines didn't know about this feeling; hell, the twins didn't even know Y/n was adopted. They never bothered with the thought that Y/n looked much different than them. The older girl didn't want to burden her family with stupid thoughts she was sure would go away eventually, so she just kept it to herself.

But, these thoughts had been pestering her for a longer time than she'd be willing to admit...

"Dipper," Mabel scolded, hopping over to his chair, "think positive! Think of all the new people we're gonna meet! I'm going to make so many new friends! Maybe even a boyfriend!"

Before Dipper could answer, the bus came to a screeching halt. Mabel, who had been jumping from seat to seat like a spry monkey, slammed against the back of the chair in front of her. A normal person would have winced, Mabel giggled with excitement. "See? I told you we were close!"

"Gravity Falls! This stop is Gravity Falls!" The bus driver called out.

The three scrambled out of their seats. Mabel bounded off the bus first, clutching her suitcase and spinning around once she departed. Dipper came second, bouncing off the steps with much less enthusiasm. Y/n was last, struggling slightly with her luggage due to her impaired arm. She hated the thing; she was grateful she would only need the cast for the next couple of weeks.

The bus's doors closed behind them with a creak, before speeding off to its next location. It spit them out in a small clearing surrounded by forest. In the middle of the clearing, a small shack stood. Y/n had read about it briefly; the "Mystery Shack," as the locals called it, was a popular tourist spot. So popular, in fact, that sometimes the bus defaulted to stopping here than the actual Gravity Falls bus stop.

As the trio scanned their surroundings, the door to the shack opened. An older man bounded through clumsily, clutching a cane with an eight ball attached at the top. He ran over to the three, adjusting an eye patch and a crimson fez.

He was muttering something under his breath. The three were barely able to catch the end of his sentence: "... tour groups getting smaller."

When the man was in earshot of the three, his attitude changed completely. He boomed; "Hello, and welcome to the one, the only, Mystery Shack! Are you prepared for the horrors, the monsters, and pure weirdness contained within these walls? Don't fret, kids! Prepare yourself for the experience of a lifetime with the legend himself, Mr. Mystery!"

He threw pellets to the ground, a light pink smoke clouding up thinly for special effect. He grumbled, "These smoke bombs really are expired."

His grandiose introduction matched his appearance. He was dressed dapperly: a black suit and red tie. He was much older than the kids' parents, maybe pushing 60. The fez he wore had a weird yellow symbol at its center, and Y/n noticed that the eight ball attached to the cane was glued on.

An awkward silence followed as the two parties eyed each other. It took Y/n a second to register that, as the oldest and closest thing to an adult the twins had, she was expected to speak up.

"Uh, we're not here for the tour," she mumbled slightly.

"No tour? Oh! You must be here for the gift shop! The only place this side of the world where you can get such rare and strange items!" Mr. Mystery boomed once again, gesticulating wildly to sell his advertisement.

"What? No! Listen, you're Stan, right? Stanford Pines?"

The man's attitude shifted entirely as he dropped the grandeur of his persona. His bushy brows furrowed. He brought his hand to his chin, rubbing his finger against the stubble that framed his square face. "You're... you're not a tax collector, are you?"

Y/n gaped, rather concerned as to what that implied. "I— no. I'm not a tax collector. We're the kids you agreed on taking care of over the summer, remember?"

"Your nieces and nephew?" Dipper said, trying to help. 

Stan thought for a moment, before snapping his fingers. "Oh right! David, Mary, and..." he paused when he got to Y/n. "I don't remember your name, kid."

Dipper groaned loudly. He could already tell this was going to be worse than he thought.

Mabel laughed, jumping onto Stan and nearly tackling him over. "Actually," she laughed, "It's Dipper, Mabel, and Y/n."

"Right! That's what I said," he laughed. He set Mabel on the floor, awkwardly patting her head like a dog.

"Well kids, I'm your Grunkle Stan!" He said, sticking out his arms in some grand pose.

Y/n's brow rose; "'Grunkle?'" She repeated, hesitantly.

Stan laughed. "'Great' and 'Uncle' smushed together. Came up with it myself," he boasted proudly.

Dipper deadpanned from beside Y/n. "That is absolutely ridi—"

"Amazing!" Mabel shouted, cupping her face. "I love fun wordplay!"

Stan smirked. "Hey hey hey," he laughed, "this kid gets it!" He pulled her into a side hug, rustling and tangling her hair playfully. He turned back to the shack, motioning to it. "Come on, let's get you settled in before more mone— I mean— customers, arrive."

Mabel skipped along happily by "Grunkle" Stan's side, while Dipper and Y/n trailed behind, sharing a look.

As they neared the shack, Y/n was able to get a better look as to where she would be spending the rest of her summer.

The shack was sizable; it was rather large for the title of a "shack," but she guessed slow additions were made to the house over the years to fit in the tourist attraction. It looked almost homely, she thought, if it wasn't for the advertising all over the place. The place screamed "tourist trap" louder than it did "home." The roof of the building held its title proudly: "Mystery Shack." However, the "S" had long since fallen, and it was obvious that it wasn't staying up without the help of professionals. It read "Mystery Hack" now, and Y/n couldn't help to think it was an appropriate title; if not for the overall establishment, then at least for the man standing in front of them.

Stan led them to the gift shop. It was a standard shop; it looked very much like the ones at the end of rides at amusement parks or the ones you'd find in a museum. The cash register was snugly placed against the wall, random knick-knacks and paraphernalia advertised around the room. Most were postcards and bumper stickers, while others were small keychains or what appeared to be hand-crafted souvenirs. All were at a beyond unreasonable price.

A rug was placed at the center of the room, decorated with the eye of providence. Statues and other unrecognizable figured lines the walls and window sills. A vending machine stood directly across from the entrance, by an "employees only" door. There, a large man was fumbling around with it. In his chubby hands was a screwdriver and by his side a toolbox. He wore a large green shirt and a small cap.

"Hey Soos!" Stan yelled. The man, Soos, turned around. Y/n could now see that the shirt had a question mark insignia. Probably the uniform, she thought.

She couldn't tell how old Soos was, if she was to be honest. She knew he was older than her, but there was something childish and young about his face that resembled most newborn children, with their baby fat and whatnot. Directly contradicting that was the thin wisps of what she assumed was a failed attempt to grow facial hair.

Stan stepped to the side to reveal the three Pines. "Kids, this is Soos: our handy-man... child... gopher thing." He muttered the last part, masking it in a cough.

"Hey dude and dudettes," Soos said. "Welcome to the Mystery Shack, bros. You're gonna love it here. I know I do!"

"Get used to seeing him around, you'll be helping him with customers," Stan said, turning to the kids.

"Wait, what?" Mabel exclaimed. She crossed her arms and made her signature grumpy-pouty face, puffing out her cheeks and knitting her eyebrows comically tight. "We're gonna be working?"

Stan scoffed, walking over to the register and shining it with his sleeve. "Well, duh. I'm giving you a place to stay and food to eat; it only makes sense to work a bit."

"Can we at least have a tour first?" Y/n asked.

"Nope. No can do, kids. No free tours; not even for family. You'll see the place plenty when you're on your shifts."

"Uh, Mr. Pines?" Soos pointed at the twins. "Doesn't having them work sort of— you know— sound... illegal?"

Stan looked flabbergasted. "What?!" He turned to the twins. "What are you; 14? 15?"

"They're 12," Y/n answered.

"Well they're not 10 so..." Stan trailed off, before sighing loudly. "Look, if anyone asks, you're all 14. Even you, Squirt." He pointed at Y/n. "We're family here; we wouldn't want someone to get arrested, would we?"

The older girl's cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Great. Already a nickname.

"I'm not that short," she mumbled, the twins by her side giggling slightly.

Stan pushed past the door separating the shack from the gift shop. The door opened into a very small dining area, set with a small table and a couple of chairs. A fish tank sat flushed against the wall with nothing but an odd object of what looked to be the sad figure of a handcrafted-mermaid inside. Further away, it turned into a living room. A large and old yellow chair sat in front of a box tv; a dinosaur skull sitting below its arm on the fluffy carpet. The walls were a mix of stone and peeling blue wallpaper.

He led them to the small table. "Okay kids, how long do you think you can work?"

The trio stayed silent, side-eyeing each other.

"What are you, mimes? Speak up would you?" Stan rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks and setting his cane down. "You," he pointed at Y/n. "You're like 15, right?"

"17." She corrected.

"Yaddah yaddah; it's all the same after 16. Anyway—"

"I don't think that's how that works—"

"—you're practically an adult; you can work pretty long shifts, right?"

"Uh, I mean yeah... I guess," she started. "But I have college applications to work on. I don't want to be swamped when I start in September."

Stan laughed again. "College?" He stepped around the table awkwardly, putting an arm around Y/n. "Listen here kid, college is a fraud that only rich nerds and dorks can survive. Think about it! Not even a step onto campus and you're already in the red. If you're smart— like your old man— you'd skip that altogether and start your own business. You'd be as successful as you very own Mr. Mystery!"

Y/n couldn't help but chuckle. "You're definitely right about that debt part," she said, nudging him slightly with her cast. "But unfortunately the majority of society and most if not all school systems believe that without a degree you can't go anywhere in life so..." she shrugged, patting the suitcase that held her computer. "Gotta do what you gotta do."

"Ahh," Stan grumbled. "Whatever floats your boat. So what kind of nerd are you? Science? Math? English? Please don't tell me you're a philosophy dork."

"Math and science, mostly," she answered. "But I dabble in what I can."

Stan's brows raised, and he lifted his eye patch to reveal a perfectly normal and functioning eye. Like the twins, it was a dark brown. "Oh ho ho! A poindexter, are we? Math, huh? So, you're good at counting, right?"

She averted her gaze. "Uh, yeah...?"

Stan leaned in closer. "You know, I know a guy in Vegas, and you could probably be a huge hit down there if I teach you how to—"

"This isn't 21; she isn't going to count cards," Dipper interrupted, his brows furrowing.

Stan looked down to meet his gaze, before pulling his cap visor over his eyes. "Oh, so I found out who's our little stickler, huh Dipstick?"

"Dipper," he corrected meekly, fixing his lucky hat.

Grunkle Stan shrugged before he checked an imaginary watch. "We can get shifts sorted out later. Let me show you your rooms." He led them past the living room, through another doorway, and up some stairs. Y/n tried to help the twins as best she could with their luggage with one arm, while Stan waited impatiently at the top of the steps.

"The twins get the attic. We got a couple of mattresses and cleared some space for belongings and knick-knacks and whatnot."

He opened the door to the attic. The room was surprisingly spacious; tall in height, it actually had a pretty open floor plan. Two piles of mattresses were placed in the corners of the room, a large table connecting them from under a large triangular window. There were random crates strewn about the floor. Moss and cobwebs were everywhere; just looking at them made Y/n's skin crawl.

"You two, get settled. If you start fighting over which side of the room to get make it loud enough for me to hear. It gets boring waiting for tourists sometimes. Come down to the gift shop when you're done."

He turned on his heel as the twins naturally migrated to sides of the room without a fight. Y/n followed him back down the stairs, where Stan had stopped suddenly. He looked around, before peering back into the living room.

"Hey Soos! Where'd I have you set up that third bed?"

"Uh, it's in the one across from my breakroom, Mr. Pines!"

Stan snapped. "Of course." He led Y/n behind the stairs, down the hallway. He motioned to another door.

The room was in the same state as the attic; a pile of mattresses stacked in the corner, a small dresser flushed against the wall and a rectangular window with the same triangular pattern that seemed to be a common motif in the house. "Set up, then come back to the gift shop."

The two heard Soos from the other room; "Mr. Pines! We got another tourist bus, and Wendy still isn't here yet."

"Hot Belgium Waffles," he muttered, holding his fez. He turned to the girl. "Hurry up. I'm going to need all the help I can get." Stan left, closing the door behind him.

Y/n let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding, turning to survey the room. Almost hesitantly, as if she didn't belong there, she walked towards the mattresses. She set her suitcase in the corner, weary to not let it touch anything. Reluctantly, she set her bag down on the makeshift bed.

She looked towards the window. If it wasn't for its weird pattern maybe she would have put more thought into all the dust particles she could see floating in the sunlight, or the corner of the room absolutely coated in spider webs.

The window was tinted red, decorated lines framing a large triangle in the center. It matched the windows upstairs, the only difference being that this one was completely rectangular in overall shape.

What is up with this place and triangles?

The girl stepped away from the window, rolling her eyes at the childish thoughts slowly filling her mind. It's only a coincidence that this place had all these triangles. Maybe a good luck charm...?

Based on the state of the rest of the room, it was obvious that Stan— well, Soos— just put the beds down without doing too much to clean the room. Even if it was cleaned, the room was just as bad as the attic; there were random moldy spots on the walls, and Y/n had the feeling that if she were to sit on the bed hundreds of spiders would crawl from the depths of that one corner the bed was pushed against.

"Well, I guess I don't need to stay in here other than to sleep..." she mumbled. Nah. Who was she kidding? She loved being cooped up in her room alone. In fact, that was pretty much the basis of her summer plans.

She didn't want to think about the room now, so she decided to head back to the attic. Y/n hopped up the stairs; if her hunch was right, Mabel would need help setting up her posters right around...

"Y/n," Mabel called as the ravenette entered the room, "can you help me with my posters?"

"Yeah, please help her." Dipper sighed, stepping away from the tiny space that served as a closet. "Look at all the splinters she has."

"The attic's amazing! Look at all of them!" Mabel cheered, wiggling her fingers. There were at least 20 in her palms alone.

"Jesus Christ," Y/n muttered, running over to start removing them.

"Y/n relax, they're nature's shots! Besides, there's a more pressing matter than the splinters," she said.

Y/n didn't look up from her work, but let out a questioning hum. She moved fast and had already collected 7 of the chips of wood.

"There's a goat in Dipper's bed," the younger girl giggled.

"What?!" Dipper and Y/n looked over. Sure enough, a small, patchy, brown goat was lying on Dipper's bed.

"Where did you even come from?" Dipper groaned in frustration, his voice cracking slightly. "Shoo, shoo!"

The goat scampered away, before stopping over to the two girls. Y/n had finished with Mabel's splinters in time for the hyperactive tween to jump in front of the goat.

"Hey there little guy," she cooed, petting its head. It started to chew on her pink sweater, nearly taking half of the shooting star design on front in one bite. Mabel giggled in delight. "Oh! Yes, you can keep chewing on my sweater little guy!"

"No you can't," Y/n grumbled, shooing the goat away again. It bleated loudly before heading out the door, and hopefully back outside.

"Mabel, pass me the rest of your posters. I'll help you out."

In a matter of minutes, Y/n had helped the twins settle in. While the two girls struggled with the posters, Dipper complained about the absurdity of Stan's "hot tourist destination."

"I mean, do people really think this stuff is real? He had an entire section in the gift shop dedicated to the 'Question Mark Creature of Questionable Origins.' The real question is why do people come here?"

Y/n had gotten a good laugh at that. Stan was definitely a conman; she figured that much with the counting cards statement. But at that point, where he had been running the shack for a while— at least according to the reading she did earlier— did it really matter? If the townsfolk had gone this long with believing whatever lies conjured up by the man in the fez then there really wasn't any hope for them to not waste their money.

The three made their way to the gift shop, where Stan had just finished a tour. Customers were filing out of the shack, their bags of souvenirs replacing the money in their wallets. The trio was also surprised to find another girl behind the register.

She had a shock of red hair messily kept under a brown winter hat, and her face was hidden behind a magazine titled "How To Pretend To Look Like You're Working."

"Ah, kids!" Stan said when he saw the three by the door. "Let me introduce you to my other employee." He pointed to the teen girl, who didn't bother to look up. She had kicked her feet onto the counter, revealing ripped jeans and muddy boots.

"Oi, Corduroy," he yelled. "Say something!"

The girl lowered the magazine for a moment, but never took her eyes off the page. "Sup," she mumbled half-heartedly. "I'm Wendy." Her green flannel was messy; one sleeve was rolled up and the other was down. She looked older than the twins, but definitely not Y/n's age, despite her lanky figure.

From the corner of her eye, Y/n could see Dipper tense up beside her. When she stole a glance at him, she could already see the sweat dripping down the side of his face as his cheeks flushed a dark red. Y/n almost laughed. He won't be complaining about working now, she thought.

Stan rolled his eyes at the redhead's laziness. "Good enough," he muttered.

He turned to the kids, standing up straight and placing his hands on his hips. "Okay kids, let's get you started! Soos! Wendy! Take care of the twins. Squirt! Come with me."

"I have a name, you know," Y/n mumbled, following Stan back into the living room.

"Squirt's easier to remember. But I digress; I have a special job for you," he smiled, rubbing his hands together.

"Something about the look in your eye tells me it's probably illegal," she answered, stepping back slightly, tucking her broken arm in the black hoodie's pocket.

"Relax kid, you don't look like someone who'd do something illegal— at least not yet. How'd you feel about... morally grey?"

Y/n shrugged, her own eyes sparkling momentarily with a mischievous light that rivaled Stan's. "I guess I could do that."

"That's the Pines' spirit," he laughed, clapping a hand over her shoulder roughly. "Not even an hour here and you're already taking after your old man!"

Y/n laughed, awkwardly shrugging off his hand before rolling her neck. "What you got in mind, Mr. Mystery?"

"I want you to run the next tour."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, what? I haven't even stepped into the exhibit room. How am I supposed to lead a tour? With people, no less!"

"Trust me, kid, you'll do fine! All there is to it is lying. You think you can do that?"

She considered it, a tight frown pulling her lips back into their normal expression. "Yeah, I guess I can. But that doesn't stop the fact that there's gonna be an actual tour group of— you know— live living people."

"Oh come on! You know, I took the boy to be socially awkward, but even he doesn't seem as bad as you do. Get all your anxiety or whatever and bury it. This is a business kid; we don't have time for emotions."

Y/n frowned a bit more, a slight uneasy feeling pooling at the pit of her stomach.

"You already have a perfect attention grabber," Stan continued. He pointed to her colorful cast. "Wait 'til they hear that you broke your arm fighting one of the creatures on display! They'll go crazy— they'll be throwing money at you to hear the story. You'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand! And the opportunities that come from that one story? Oh ho ho—! Don't even get me started on all the different ways you can extort— I mean, convince people to give you money."

"So I'm scamming people with tall tales of an adventurer?"

"Hey, I did say it was morally grey."

Y/n paused, as if in thought. "Well, not my proudest moment, but I can go through with it. I'm practically doing that with my college essay," she grinned slightly.

"Atta girl! All there's left is to get you dressed for the part. I'm not letting you go out like that. If you're the next Mr. Mystery I'm shoving to the public, you're not gonna look like that goth teen that's always making goo-goo eyes over Corduroy."

Y/n looked down. She didn't think she looked like a "goth," but she guessed that anything black on black was enough in Stan's classification. It was just a black hoodie with grey leggings. She wasn't even wearing punk or gothic boots; they were just sneakers.

Maybe he thinks the sleeves and their thumb holes are punky—? Wait 'til he sees the rest of the clothes I brought with me.

"What else do you have in your suitcase?" Stan asked, as if reading her mind.

"Pretty much the same thing, plus some flannels and graphic tees."

"Yeesh kid, you're killing me! Luckily, when it comes to money, I'm always prepared. Come with me."

Stan led her back up the stairs, leading her down another hallway. He opened the door to a room. She was going to step in after him, but he stopped her.

"Nope; that's one of the rules around here. I don't go into your rooms, so don't go into mine."

She nodded slowly and leaned against the wall as Stan disappeared into his room.

Moments later, he returned with an entire uniform. Following in his dapper footsteps, he held a white dress shirt and black slacks. "Here you go, kid."

She inspected the shirt, wondering how he could possibly know her size if he didn't even know her name. To no one's surprise, the shirt was much too small.

"This won't fit," she said, handing it back to him.

His brow lifted. "Oh, this is for one of the twins."

"You— you bought uniforms for the kids?"

"Well of course I did! If you're ever out I can get one of them to run the tour. I made sure to get your sizes."

"So you know our sizes but not our names," she glared slightly.

"Names aren't what's gonna make money. Now, these outfits? That's where it's at! It's all about appearances." He disappeared back into his room, before returning with a new shirt. It was grey, funnily enough.

"I can't find the shirt I bought for you, meaning either it was lost in the wash or Soos used it as a rag. Probably the latter; Soos isn't the crispest dollar in the stack."

He tossed her the shirt. Her brows lifted when she read XL on the tag.

"Relax; it's beyond shrunk. If that doesn't fit you I'm going to have to stuff you into one of my normal-sized shirts," he said.

She shook her head, she definitely didn't want that. The shirt in her hand had the very faint smell of some mothballs and musty old-man cologne he used; she could only imagine the ones he still wore regularly would smell.

"So we've just gonna go with the same colors I'm wearing after all? Come on Stan, give me a little more color."

Stan smirked. "You? Color? Okay kid, what do you have in mind?"

"White tie. Maybe some suspenders if you have some."

"Black and white? This isn't some 60's picture show, Squirt."

She shrugged. "Hey, you run the tour your way and I'll do it mine. Plus, I am offering to wear a tie."

Seconds later, he came back with the tie and a pair of suspenders. Y/n was genuinely surprised.

"You're lucky I still have them. Those go all the way back, back to my traveling business days. Go get changed and meet me downstairs. You know how to tie a tie?"

The girl nodded; "It's knowledge that makes me feel unreasonably powerful." Y/n made her way to the bathroom down the hall to change, when Stan called after her.

"Hey Squirt!" She turned back towards him. "Last tip before the tour: put on a smile of some sort. You gotta at least try to look like you enjoy your life."

She nodded quickly, before disappearing into the bathroom.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The sun was settling itself below the horizon, dipping behind the lush canopies of trees and sinking deeper and deeper into the sky. Light oranges and pinks painted the heavens, as thin wisps of clouds sailed overhead.

As the last of the customers led, jabbering excitedly over the tour and reciting parts of the adventure their "fearless" tour guide enraptured them with, Stan was already counting the bills in the register. Wendy was long gone, having left to help family with dinner. Y/n barely had time to meet her, but from what she could tell from the three seconds between tours where she bumped into the redhead on a break, she was a pretty chill person. It appeared that the feeling was mutual; Y/n figured it was probably her age that made Wendy think that she was cool, too.

The twins were tired and a little overwhelmed; Wendy and Soos weren't the best people to explain their new jobs, and this certainly was not how they thought their first day in Gravity Falls would go.

Y/n stepped into the gift shop, raking her hands through her hair. She had just locked up and checked to make sure no kids were straggling behind in the exhibit room. She was still dressed in the formal clothes Stan had given her to run the tours in. The sleeves were long enough to cover her hands (which she appreciated) and the only struggle she had was getting the left sleeve over her cast.

"Okay Stan, I locked up everything," she said. She settled near the twins and Soos, graciously talking a can of soda Soos offered her. It opened with a light hiss.

"Good," he grunted, flipping through dollars. "You did great out there today, Squirt. The tourists loved you!"

Y/n smiled bashfully; she hadn't been that good. In the beginning, she fumbled over her words quite a lot. She hadn't seen any of the exhibits before, so when she was first placed in front of them with dozens of curious eyes waiting for her to speak about the creature, her mind was absolutely blank. She warmed up to it quickly, however; in no time she was stringing the customers along in extravagant tales about the handmade creatures. The fear that one of the customers would call her out on her bluff loomed heavy on her shoulders, but she managed to push through well enough. The whole broken arm bit worked wonders; she came up with a couple of tall tales for a handful of the monsters, and by the end of the tour, she was running out of places to hold the money that was being thrown at her.

The "mysterious monsters" were exactly what she expected: fake, shoddily crafted mixtures of animals behind red tape. It appeared that Grunkle Stan was awfully good at mushing things together, if his family "title" was any example.

Some of the exhibits were so painstakingly fake that she was terrified that a customer would notice. But everyone remained ignorant. Even when pieces would fall off and Y/n would panic and claim it was "molting," no one batted an eye. They just nodded; some even asked if they could buy the fallen piece off of her.

She took a swig of the soda, only to start choking. She spat out what looked to be a pit of a fruit— a peach, based on the flavor of the soda.

"Oh yeah, be careful with that, dudette," Soos commented. "You always forget about the pit."

Y/n read the can: Pitt Cola. Now what kind of nut job would put a peach pit in soda—

"Y/n, that outfit looks great on you!" Mabel exclaimed, running up to her sister. "Maybe a little dreary, with the black on black and all but you're pulling it off! Did any cuties come up to you on the tour?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she gushed.

"I was completely business in there, Mabel. Besides, I tried not to look at the people too much."

"Awww, you're no fun! And I wasn't just asking for you. Maybe there was someone in there perfect for me!" She gasped, her eyes lighting up with stars. "Or maybe even Dipper!"

Dipper spat out his soda. "No way, Mabel. Keep me out of this summer romance stuff."

"You're no fun," she whined.

"Okay kids, I think we're good for today." The kids and Soos looked over to Stan, who was shoving money into various places in his suit. His pockets were long since full, so he had resorted to using his fez and sleeves.

"So do we get a share of that or—?" Dipper ventured.

"Woah woah woah! First day on the job and you expect to get paid?"

"I'm pretty sure that's how jobs work," Mabel chimed in.

"I'll buy you a pizza for dinner. Is that good enough?"

"I don't think a pizza covers all three of our earnings for the day," Y/n said. "May I remind you that I rangled a good 60% of that." She stuck an accusing finger at him smugly.

"I'll think about it," he settled, before dropping it completely. "You kids: go get ready for bed. I'll order the pizza. Don't stay up too late now; you're waking up bright and early to start selling some suckers more merchandise."

With a collective groan, they bid a farewell to Soos and headed back to their rooms to sort out showers.

When Y/n entered her room again, she felt that something appeared... off. She wasn't sure what it was, but as she peered around in the fading sunlight, she noticed that the room was almost... cleaner?

She chuckled. No no no, that's crazy, she chided herself. It had to be her imagination. Perhaps all the superglue fumes from the displays got to her while she was touring. Maybe she judged the room a little too fast earlier that day. Maybe it wasn't that dirty when she walked in.

Whatever it was, she suddenly wasn't afraid to sit on the bed, and the spiderweb-infested corner seemed to be lacking a lot of spiderwebs...

She let out a sigh as the events from the day caught up to her, along with the sudden wave of tiredness. Her feet had already been numb due to the four-hour bus ride, but walking around for all the tours really added to the achiness in them. Her arms— well, the working one— hurt too. She had to match Stan's feigned enthusiasm and wild gestures, and that was a job within itself. Any concerns for the state of the room disappeared, and she faceplanted into the mattresses. Luckily, no spiders appeared from the depths of the room.

Y/n turned over, rubbing her eyes. She still needed to eat dinner and take a shower, but her eyelids were extremely heavy. Back at home, she had been struggling with what she assumed to be some form of insomnia. There were several days where she'd just lie on her bed, drowning in her thoughts for the entire night. But today, surprisingly, she felt like she could possibly get some sleep.

"You know," she mumbled to herself, "if I'm gonna be able to sleep every night after giving tours, this might not be that bad."

She looked up towards the window. Its red tinge was slowly becoming something resembling a purple. Her eyes caught the triangle shape once more, lingering on it momentarily. She turned back towards the ceiling.

"Gravity Falls..." she mumbled. "Maybe I'll finally start feeling at home here."

Chapter Text

After a long-awaited shower and a quick dinner, Y/n found herself crawling into her makeshift bed.

Dinner was incredibly awkward at first, with neither herself, the twins, or Grunkle Stan knowing how to break the ice. But once Stan started choking on cheese stuck in his throat— which naturally, the kids laughed at him rather than help— things seemed to flow smoothly. A small conversation about homelife sprung to life until Stan killed it with seedy business tips after Dipper asked about the... ethics of the shack.

Y/n had replaced her "day" hoodie with a "night" hoodie— two things she swears are different— and changed into some flannel pajama pants. She considered opening up her laptop and scrolling through a couple of CommonApp questions, but decided against it when her yawns couldn't be contained.

The room was naturally dark, but she was grateful for the sparse moonlight spilling onto the floor from the window. She thought it looked rather pretty as it drew shadows and different patterns on the floor.

Soon enough, much to her delight, sleep overcame her, and she drifted off into one of her beloved dreams...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n always had rather... odd dreams.

Starting from a young age, the girl always seemed to have a rather strong control over them. They were always extremely vivid, and most times she was able to manipulate them to a certain degree. Nightmares where she was being chased by a monster were changed to a nice game of tennis with them instead.

Odd turnaround? Yes; definitely; absolutely. But they were dreams after all.

As she got older, her control over her subconscious grew alongside her. She had such a strong ability to lucid dream; at a level that most people could only yearn for. Her dreams became more fun, and soon enough sleeping became a highlight of her day... or night, rather. She loved falling asleep and manufacturing her own dreams.

Her lucid dreams always started the same: she'd "wake up" sitting in a field of green, resting against a large tree. From there, she'd slowly create her dream. She knew that field; it was the area that stood outside of her old childhood house, on the perimeter of the forest, and beside the winding driveway.

Y/n never knew why she'd end up there, but when she wasn't in the mood for a lucid dream or when she needed a break from her stressful day, she'd just sit there. It was a nostalgic sight and filled her with a sense of belonging, no matter how bittersweet the fact that she could never go back there physically seemed to be.

It was peaceful; she'd just relax against that tree, breathing in the fresh forest air. Sometimes, if there was something stressing her in reality, like a homework assignment or upcoming test, she'd use that time to think about it or even study. Her photographic memory came into play then. The same way she could create scenery and locations, she could create and reproduce small everyday items she used, like her binder or textbook.

Then she discovered shifting, and suddenly dreams had a new frontier to discover.

It took her a little while to get the hang of it. Even then, most of that time was spent perfecting her scripts, no matter how off-script she'd end up becoming during the actual shifting experience. But now, she was rather consistent with her shifting attempts.

At first, she relied on too much. Almost every night she'd end up in her small waiting room, excited to pick a door to start or continue an adventure. But soon, it became a crutch; she depended on shifting to get through her days. She didn't want to admit it, and she definitely didn't want to address it, but, reluctantly, she started to put more limits on her shiftings. She learned to be content with her normal lucid dreams again. Shifting was a great joy to her, but she knew she had to do it in moderation.

But then there was Y/n's other type of dream.

She didn't know if it really counted as a dream, but on some rare occasions, she'd find that she would wake up in her bed.

The only problem was that when she got up, her body didn't follow.

The best the girl could do was call it akin to an out-of-body experience; her subconscious took on a slight white glow and she could freely move about. She was like a ghost: both incorporeal and able to fly. Y/n never ventured too far from her body in fear that if she wasn't close to it she wouldn't be able to return. When that would happen, she would just roam around the house, sometimes floating through floorboards and looking into the night sky.

But none of those are what she was experiencing tonight.

When she came back to her senses, she was in a white and light grey room. Well, it was more like a white space. There were no discernible walls, floors, or ceilings, so the color spanned on for what seemed like forever. Because the shade stayed constant, besides the small splatters of grey, she couldn't tell if there even was an end.

As Y/n looked around, she realized she was suspended in midair. There was no tangible floor to set her feet on, so she just bobbed up and down. Despite this otherwise unnoticeable movement, she felt like she was completely static. It surprised her that she didn't feel like she was swimming or falling.

The girl let out a small hum. Where exactly was she? Was this... a glitch of some sort in her mind? Did she accidentally bypass her waiting room when trying to shift?

No, she thought, I wasn't aiming to shift tonight. Maybe it's an effect from not being able to sleep in a while.

Y/n brought her hand up, trying to create something from the white space. Maybe this was a new start to a lucid dream. If it was, she'd be a tiny bit sad; she liked being able to visit that little remnant of home.

Nothing happened. If anything, the room seemed to get brighter. What the hell was she supposed to do in here?

"Am I in some sort of psychosis? Where the hell am I?" She was surprised to find that her voice had an echo. So this place does have barriers of some sort.

Y/n tried moving, only to start spinning around. She tried to move back to her upright position, but her flailing was useless. She tried "swimming" in the air, but there was no substance to push off of or anything.

Eventually, she gave up. It was starting to give her a headache.

So there she was, stuck in place in the middle of nowhere. Y/n wasn't even sure this was a part of her consciousness. It was definitely a little too bright to belong to her.

She wasn't sure how much time was going by, but she sure as hell didn't want to be stuck there for an entire 7-8 hour night.

Y/n was slowly becoming more and more irritated. She was restless; not only was she stuck floating (and now slowly rotating) in one place, there was absolute silence around her. It was the type of silence where it was so quiet it almost sounded like there was a loud ringing in your ears; even if you covered them you'd still hear that one weird frequency. At least in her dreams where she'd rest outside of her old home, there would be noise and even a breeze. Here there was absolutely nothing.

The girl sat in silence for a few moments before she considered screaming. Maybe if she screamed loud enough she'd wake herself up in real life. Or at the very least, she'd start to actually scream and either Stan or one of the twins would wake her up. It would be a little hard to explain, but a little white lie never hurt anyone.

Besides, she figured, screaming gives me something to do other than twiddle my thumbs like an idiot.

And then, as she was about to open her mouth to scream, she heard it: a giggle.

Y/n froze in place; she even stopped bobbing up and down for a moment. Did— did she hear that right? Was there actually someone, or something, there with her?

She looked around, but there was no one in sight or any more noises.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, as she took to lounging on air, bringing her legs up a bit. "I didn't think I was actually going insane," she laughed nervously. She had to have imagined that laugh; there was no other explanation for that.

But then she heard it again, much louder. It didn't sound human; it almost sounded like two techno frequencies oscillating back and forth. As Y/n looked around, the laugh got louder. It had started as a whisper, but it was rising in volume by the second, as if there were speakers all around her, replaying that booming laugh. The din got overwhelming and even if she covered her ears, she could still hear it. Her grey eyes scanned desperately, a chilling anxiety filling her body.

No, this is a dream, she chided herself, forcing herself to close her eyes and steady her breathing.

"This is a dream," she repeated out loud. Her voice was shaky, and she clenched her fists tightly over her ears. "You can wake up at any moment. You just have to hold out a little longer." The anxiety settled down, and she felt calm enough to look around again. Everything remained the same; just the endless white space.

The laugh, however, continued. It wasn't at the earsplitting volume it was previously reaching, but the invisible personage kept cackling at Y/n. She didn't know what to make of the disembodied laugh, but at the same time, she wasn't as scared as she was before. After all, she reminded herself, this is a dream.

"What? Is this my mind laughing at me or something?" She pondered out loud, gaining the courage to confront the nagging laugh. She crossed her arms. "Is this because I started choking on the peach pit?"

She was met with no answer, and the laugh settled down to a quiet giggle before stopping altogether.

The girl deadpanned. "Bruh."

So the silence started again. This time it was especially infuriating because she knew there was something that could answer her, even if it was just a laugh.

She let out an exasperated sigh, before trying to address the voice that was laughing. "Uh, so... are you still here or...?"

There was no answer, but she didn't feel alone. It was almost like... like something was watching her.

"So, uh," she started fumbling with her fingers, moving to the hoodie strings. "Are you shy or something, buddy?"

Still nothing.

"Can you at least tell me why you were laughing at me?"

Nada.

"Okay then," she grumbled. She went back to lying in the air, crossing her arms behind her head and bringing a leg over the other. "Could you at least give me something to do? Because if I'm going to stay like this and waste a perfectly good dream then I'd rather wake up and maybe just stare at application questions motionless, you know?"

When Y/n didn't get an answer, she gave up on trying to talk to... whatever the laugh was. She let out a groan and stretched herself. Let's hope this night goes by fast, this is pretty boring, she thought.

Just as she was about to close her eyes and wait it out, something caught her eye. Rising from the floor, something thin and black was slowly floating towards her.

Her eyebrows raised. What was that?

As the train of black objects neared, she could barely make out a few lines and a couple of spaces.

"Hold on," she muttered, trying in vain to scoot closer. "Are those... letters?"

They were letters, in fact. Words, maybe. The only problem was they were absolute gibberish. Random consonants next to each other, several vowels smushed together— what was this?

The onslaught of letters kept coming, slowly scrolling up like the introduction to Star Wars.

At least those words made sense, Y/n thought.

No matter how she looked at it, Y/n couldn't make sense of it.

There were maybe 13 seemingly random lines in total. Y/n noticed immediately that only some of the letters were colored differently; one in each line, besides the last. She assumed that the different colored letters made up a different word, but no matter how she looked at it it just looked archaic.

She continued to scan the lines of jumbled letters, and right as she reached the end—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Y/n jerked up from her bed, her heart jumping into her throat. She surveyed the area frantically, only to realize she was in her room for the summer.

"Oi Squirt!" It was Stan, pounding on the door. "Hurry up! The twins are already eating breakfast. We gotta set up shop!"

"Ye—yeah! Give me a second!" She yelled back, scrambling out of bed. She stood up and took a few breaths. That was definitely one weird dream, and that meant a lot coming from her.

Y/n brushed it off. Well, more like she forced herself to brush it off; if she spent any more time thinking about it, Stan would have her head.

Y/n grabbed her clothes and hurried out the door, leaving the dream and events of last night in the past. She had more important things to worry about than gibberish conjured by her subconscious.

Chapter Text

It had been just a couple of days since the Pines kids settled in from Piedmont. Since then, they and Stan had taken care of a couple of errands.

For starters, Stan and the kids settled on a work schedule. It was agreed that Y/n would work the morning tours, then Stan would take over the other half. This left the girl with plenty of time to work on applications. The twins would work a full shift in the shop but had plenty of breaks in between. Besides, once Y/n got off work, the twins did less and less of their jobs.

Stan had also taken the kids into town a bit, even if it was just for shopping and whatnot. The town was very small and didn't have much to offer, but it was a nice little cozy place; the type of town where everyone knew everyone.

While Y/n and Dipper weren't really entertained, Mabel was absolutely ecstatic. She had already put her Summer Romance Plan into full effect, terrorizing all the preteen boys she could find. On one occasion, while the family was out to buy a new mattress for Dipper because the "family goat" Gompers destroyed one of the previous ones, Mabel took particular interest in the preteen dressed as the king of the mattress store. The young girl's excitement got the better of her, and before any of them knew it, she had quickly scared the boy so bad that he refused to come out of one of the wardrobes in a bedroom set. Needless to say, after they got the mattress, Stan made sure to escort them out as fast and discreetly as possible.

Luckily, there weren't that many people in the town, which meant that when Mabel eventually scared off every boy in town, her Summer Romance schtick would (thankfully) come to an end. Dipper was a little happier about that fact; he thought Mabel was more enjoyable before her whole boy phase.

Y/n quickly learned that nearly everyone in town was quite a character. Even the town itself was rather odd and had a weird way of running.

In the first place, the police were rather subpar. The two cops that seemed in charge of the place, Blubs and Durland, weren't the most... qualified for their jobs. Don't get her wrong: they were absolute sweethearts and they seemed pretty nice. But they didn't really fit the bill to be wearing the sheriff's badge. But then again, in such a small town she doubted they ever had any large cases to work on.

Secondly, some of the businesses were completely whack. In one of her favorite examples, she learned that the mattress place they had visited earlier used to be a laser tag place. That information alone wouldn't mean much, but the kicker? Down the street, there was a laser tag place that used to be a mattress shop. When she asked Stan, he said that they started up around the same time. Maybe there was some business explanation behind it, but she couldn't help but get a little chuckle from that. Some part of her tired brain found a little joy.

Speaking of tired, Y/n's sleep cycle had been a little off, to say the least. It wasn't that she wasn't getting sleep, no. It was quite the opposite; every night she would head to bed and wake up in time for work uninterrupted. However, besides that first night in Gravity Falls, she had no dreams. It was like a slideshow, the previous night would change to the next morning in an instant. And for some reason, no matter how many hours she slept, her body never felt rested. She felt just as bad as when she was having her insomnia-esque issues at home.

The dream from the first night still haunted her, too. Y/n never had it again, but the message from it was almost burned into her mind. It was like those floaters; whenever she closed her eyes she could still see the letters. It was a nuisance really— she already had them memorized, so the added effect of seeing them practically whenever she blinked only irked her more. It was as if she was constantly being reminded to acknowledge them, and quite honestly she didn't care for them. It was gibberish in an indiscernible language, and she had way too much on her hands to push everything to the side and start trying to make sense of it.

It was currently 10 in the morning, and Grunkle Stan had the kids in the shop. It was a working day, but the morning proved to be rather slow.

Dipper was complaining out loud again while Stan was out of earshot, and Mabel was taking refuge behind a shelf of Stan bobbleheads. Y/n followed her younger sister's gaze until it landed on a boy, who was reading a letter.

"'Do you like me?'" He read. "'Yes, definitely, absolutely...?'" Concerned, he looked around, before ultimately leaving the letter on a shelf and slowly walking out of the shop.

Mabel didn't seem discouraged by it, though. She laughed and jumped out from behind the merchandise. "I rigged it," she giggled.

Dipper sighed, putting down the broom he was using. "Mabel," he said, pointing at her. "I know you're going through that whole 'boy crazy' phase, but I think you're overdoing it with the whole 'crazy' part."

From the corner, Y/n chuckled. "He's right," she chided, joining them by the shelf. "You're slowly heading towards dangerous simping territory."

"What? Guys, don't be such party poopers!" Mabel said. "It's our first summer from home! It's time for an Epic Summer Romance!"

"I'm just saying," Y/n continued, "you don't need to hit on every guy who is your age, breathes, and walks in your line of sight."

"Oh ha ha ha," Mabel said, pouting playfully. "Mock all you want, but I have a good feeling about this summer! Watch! I wouldn't be surprised if the man of my dreams walked out that door right now!" She said, pointing at the museum door.

Perfectly on cue, Stan walked through, looking a lot less... decent than usual. He burped, punching his chest a bit as he struggled with what he ate earlier.

"Oh no, why?!" Mabel whined, grimacing as the other two laughed.

"You said it," Dipper grinned. "Not us."

Stan looked towards the three. "Hey hey! No laughing on the job." He turned to the rest of the shop, where Soos was repairing a bulb and Wendy was unenthusiastically sitting at the register. He clapped his hands. "C'mon, look alive, people! I need someone to go hammer up these signs in the spooky part of the woods."

"Not it!" Dipper yelled, Mabel echoing him.

Y/n didn't bother; she knew she was needed in the shack for tours.

Soos peered from over his shoulder. "Uh, also not it," he answered hesitantly.

"Nobody asked you, Soos," Stan said bluntly.

"I know," he smiled, "and I'm comfortable with that."

Stan turned to the redhead; "Wendy! I need you to put up these signs!"

Wendy, to the surprise of everyone, actually showed up on time for her shift. To the surprise of no one, however, instead of doing her job she was instead reading another magazine. This one was titled "How To Avoid Making Eye Contact."

Y/n's brows lifted; she'd have to ask her to borrow it some time.

Wendy weakly reached out her arm, as if trying to make an effort. "You see Stan, I would but," she flailed her arm about a little more. "But I just can't seem to reach it."

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'd fire all of you if I could," he grumbled under his breath. "You're lucky I care for my employees... and need the help. Okay," he said, louder this time. "We're gonna do it like this: eenie, meenie, miney... you!" He pointed to Dipper.

The boy jumped up, startled, before sputtering. "What?! C'mon Grunkle Stan, do I have to? Whenever I go out into the woods I feel like I'm being watched."

From behind the twins, Y/n nodded subtly. She knew what Dipper was talking about; in fact, she was relieved that she wasn't the only one. The first time they went out for a walk, Y/n thought she was going crazy. Luckily, Dipper commemorated her story. Then again, there was a chance we're both going crazy—

"Ugh!" Stan groaned, knocking Y/n from her thoughts. "Not this again!"

"I'm telling you, Stan," Dipper continued, "there's something weird going on here. Look at my mosquito bites!" He pulled at his sleeve, revealing a more than hefty amount of bites. Y/n cringed. How did he get that many so fast?

"Just this morning they spelled out 'beware!'"

Stan leaned in closer, adjusting his glasses. "I'm no dictionary, but I'm pretty sure that spells 'bewarb,' kid."

Dipper flushed and covered his bites back up.

"Listen up, Dipper." He turned to Mabel and Y/n; "This goes for you two, too. The whole 'monsters in the forest' local legend stuff is drummed up by guys like me to sell merch to goons like that." He pointed to a hefty man who was enamoured with a Stan bobblehead.

"All those 'spookums' and 'scareums' and whatever don't exist," Stan continued, tossing the signs to Dipper. He scrambled to catch them in time.

"Stop being so paranoid!" Stan finished.

Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. Defeatedly, he hoisted the signs under his arm and headed out the door. Y/n frowned, feeling slightly bad. She knew how he felt.

"Squirt, there's a tour group coming. Hup to it!"

"Be right there!"

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Mabel had left the shop soon after Y/n left for the tour groups. Originally, she had snuck out to scope out any potential heartthrobs. When she saw that the group was mostly adults, she sighed and decided to go for a walk. Dipper was out in the woods, so why couldn't she head out for a bit? Stan did give her permission to go find Dipper if he was out for too long.

Her walk eventually led her to the cemetery. She wasn't completely sure how she got there; she had seen a poster in town for a missing dog and it got her thinking about puppies, which then got her thinking about pets, and then cute things, and then cute celebrities, and then settled on cute guys.

Mabel was going to head back, disheartened at not being able to spot any local boys, until she saw him.

A few yards from where she stood, there was a boy in a black hoodie, lazily hanging about headstones. He had dark ripped jeans and dirty converse sneakers. His back was to Mabel, but that wasn't going to stop her.

She skipped along the path towards him, her smile growing with every step. Perhaps this was the start of her long-awaited Summer Romance! As she neared the boy, she noticed that he was rather pale. He was much taller than her, maybe even taller than Y/n. His hair was a dark brown, much darker than her own, and covered one of his dark eyes.

"Hey there!" Mabel yelled once she was close to him.

The boy jumped, startled. He turned to Mabel and stiffened horribly. After a moment, he waved awkwardly, shuffling back a bit.

"My name's Mabel! What's yours?"

"Uhhh," he started, avoiding eye contact. "It's N-Normal— I mean—! Norman! N-Norman," he managed to sputter out.

Awww, Mabel gushed silently, he's so shy!

"Hiya Norman!" She smiled.

The gesture made Norman blush deeply, and he turned his head away sheepishly.

Mabel's smile grew, if that was even possible. Oh my God! He likes me, doesn't he? This is good, Mabel! Bring it home; ask him on a date, ask him on a date!

"You know," she started, leaning closer to the boy. "I'm new in town. I could really use someone like you to show me around."

Norman was about to burst. "I-I could show you around if you want," he muttered.

Mabel nearly shrieked. "Would you? That's so nice of you, Norman! Can you meet me at the Mystery Shack in an hour? I need to go find my brother."

"Sure," he muttered.

"Perfect!" Mabel pushed him roughly, attempting to be playful. "It's a date!"

"A-a date?" Norman asked, wide eyes.

Mabel's heart dropped for a moment. Was she too forward? Did she read him wrong? She was positive he was interested in her.

"I-is that okay?" She asked, nervously gaining a stutter of her own.

"That sounds... nice," Norman admitted, bashfully. "You're really pretty, by the way," he added quietly.

Mabel beamed. "Why thank you!" She laughed loudly.

She turned on her heel, heading back up the path she took to him. "See you in an hour, Norman!" She called back.

Norman waved nervously from behind her, and soon enough Mabel was heading back into the forest, happily skipping and bragging about her successful date to any woodland creature she happened to stumble across.

It wasn't hard to find Dipper. Mabel knew her twin well enough to know his footprints. However, it was Gompers that found him first, slowly leading the girl to her brother.

When Mabel found him, Dipper was nose-deep in an old burgundy book with gold accents. He was reading out loud, muttering the text under his breath. Mabel decided to sneak up on him.

"'Remember,'" Dipper read, 'in Gravity Falls, there's no one you can trust.'" He paused for a moment. "'No one you can trust,'" he repeated, already deep in thought.

Mabel took this as her time to strike; "HALLO!"

Dipper nearly fell forward, juggling with the book as he struggled to stand up straight. He let out a shriek that was a lot higher than he intended it to be.

He placed the book under his arm, sort of shielding it away from Mabel with his body. Mabel leaned on the same fallen tree Dipper had been resting again, draping herself.

She noticed her brother's moves immediately and motioned to the book with a quick nod of her head. "Whatcha got there, Dippin' Dots? Some kind of nerd thing?"

Dipper panicked for a moment, "I-it's nothing!" He sputtered.

Mabel laughed, mocking him. "'Oh it's, uh, nothing!' Are you really not going to tell me, bro-bro?"

The boy sighed; of course he was going to tell Mabel. How could he not?

"Yeah, let's just..." he paused, moving the book away from the goat, who had started snacking on its spine. "Let's just go somewhere more private," he said, seriously.

Mabel's eyebrows lifted. She didn't think that the book was that important.

"Yeah sure," she said, standing up. "Let's go back to the Mystery Shack."

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Y/n had just finished a tour, and the gift shop was filled with customers eager to spend their money on subpar souvenirs.

She was currently in the corner, watching the scene from afar, letting her mind wander about. However, no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept circling back to one thing: those stupid archaic phrases.

She couldn't get them out of her mind, and she was slowly getting more frustrated, especially with the fact that whenever she blinked she could make out some letters imprinted on the back of her eyelids for a mere second.

What was so important about them? If her subconscious mind thought they were so important to burn them on the back of her eyelids on top of her almost photographic memory, they had to mean something, right? But if they did mean something, why didn't she have the dream again? It just didn't make sense—

"Hey there gorgeous~"

Pardon me, but the fuck?

Y/n, startled, turned to her side, where an older boy stood, leaning against the vending machine cockily. He looked like he was in college, or at least entering college, and he had the attitude of a know-it-all jock who only got into a good school because of his athletics or because his rich dad "donated" heavily. He wore a graphic tee and basketball shorts.

"Did you see something you like? 'Cuz you were staring at me for quite a bit."

Oh no, she thought. Was I really staring at him?!

"O-oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare," she sputtered, already flushing. She scolded herself for it; she had already been staring longer than necessary (or wanted) and she didn't want to inflate this guy's ego with the wrong impression that she was flustered over him. "I was just thinking, that's all."

The boy smirked, seemingly content with Y/n's discomfort.

"Thinking, huh? What about~?" He asked smoothly, his brows arching in amusement.

I need to get out of here. Right. Now.

"Oi Romeo!" The pair jumped and turned their attention to the abrupt yell. Stan was barging through the gift shop door, his sights dead set on Y/n and the older boy.

"Stop trying to flirt and let the girl do her job! You're messing with my money, kid!" He boomed, grabbing Y/n by the shoulders and moving her away from the vending machine altogether.

The boy scowled, rolling his eyes at Stan. He headed out the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but not before looking back at Y/n and winking at her.

"Ew," Y/n commented as he left. "Thanks, Stan, I owe you one."

"You shouldn't have said that, Squirt; I'll take you up on that," he laughed.

"Yeah, sure," Y/n scoffed slightly. As if you'll remember.

"By the way, the twins are in the living room. Go tell them to get their kiesters over here. We're burning daylight!"

Y/n nodded, happy to be out of the gift shop for a little bit. As she stepped into the living room, she saw Dipper pacing around with an excited bounce in his step, as he raved about a book in his hand. Mabel was sitting on the arm of the sofa, listening intently to her brother. Y/n couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"So you two are back from your adventure in the woods, I presume?" Y/n joked.

The twins jumped, Dipper more so than Mabel, before turning to their older sister. Dipper stuffed the book back into his vest.

"O-oh," Dipper laughed nervously. "Yeah, we sure are!"

Y/n's brow raised. He was hiding something— there was no doubt about that. Dipper didn't have the best poker face, and whenever he was lying or nervous he started to sweat an incredible amount.

Before Y/n could question him, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell Dipper was, but it appeared he was just as clueless to the person at the door as Y/n was.

"Who's that?" He asked.

Mabel, who had nearly forgotten about her encounter with her casanova in the cemetery, started giggling excessively. She let out a little squeal, to which her siblings shared an uneasy look.

"I guess it's time to spill the beans!" Mabel cheered, toppling over a can of beans on the t-rex skull. Stan must have left them there last night during his late-night snacking.

Mabel hopped off the sofa, crossing her arms and striking a pose. "This girl's got herself a date! WHOOP WHOOP!"

"What? You were gone for like, half an hour! How did you get a date that fast?" Y/n asked.

"Yeah! And for half that time you were with me!" Dipper said.

"What can I say?" Mabel smiled. "I guess I'm just, IRRESISTIBLE!" Mabel waved her arms, her sleeves bouncing widely. The doorbell rang again, and Mabel ran off to answer it.

Dipper turned to Y/n, a slight smirk on his face. "Wow Y/n, Mabel got a boyfriend before you did," he laughed.

Y/n rolled her eyes, a little smile upturning his lips. "Oh shut up," she joked. "You missed it, a guy was just flirting with me... unfortunately," she added under her breath.

Before they could continue taking playful jabs at each other, Stan stepped in, startling them. "What are you two doing? And where's your sister?"

The latter question was answered when Mabel returned with her newest love interest in tow.

The family scanned the boy over. He recoiled at the sudden attention, but Mabel kept him grounded. He was a tall boy, wearing dark colors, with sticks and dirty littering his clothes. He had a suspicious red stain on the side of his face.

"Family! This is my new boyfriend!" Mabel gushed, presenting the shy boy for the three to see.

"S-sup." The boy said.

Dipper and Y/n shared a look. Grunkle Stan didn't bother to look him over.

"How's it hanging?" He asked.

"We met at the cemetery," Mabel continued, latching onto his arm.

"Wait, what were you doing at the cemet—" Y/n was cut off.

"He's really, really deep," she cooed. She gasped suddenly when she noticed the boy's build. "Oh! T-that's a muscle there, what a surprise," she fanned herself to prevent from blushing.

Y/n nodded slowly, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

"So, what's your name?" Dipper asked.

The boy was startled at the question. "Uh, N-Normal— Man—!"

"He means Norman," Mabel cut in, absolutely dazed with the boy next to her.

"Are— are you bleeding, buddy?" Y/n asked.

Norman touched his face, where the stain was. "N-no. It's... it's jam."

"Oh. Okay..."

Mabel gasped. "Would you look at that! I love jam!" She pushed Norman roughly.

"So, uh," Norman started, turning away from the gaze of the inquiring Pines siblings. "You wanna go hold hands, or whatever?"

Mabel had stars in her eyes. "Oh! Oh my goodness," she said, as if what Norman said was the most forward thing ever. She turned back to her siblings. "Don't wait up!" They locked hands and headed on their way, but not before Norman ever-so-gracefully slammed his entire body into a wall.

That's a mood, Y/n couldn't stop herself from thinking.

"Well, that was certainly something," Stan said, said.

Dipper and Y/n nodded slowly.

Y/n turned towards the door, where her sister and her "boyfriend" had left. "Well, he doesn't seem like an assh—"

Stan cut her off with a dirty look. Right, she thought. Dipper's still here.

"He doesn't seem like the guy from the gift shop earlier," she corrected.

Dipper wasn't paying attention. Something about Norman rubbed him the wrong way. He had just learned that everything Grunkle Stan had told him about being paranoid was wrong; this journal was filled with the mysteries of this town! So the fact he was feeling so uneasy about Norman couldn't be a coincidence.

Norman was deathly pale, and Dipper wasn't so sure about that "jam" on his face. Not to mention the disheveled state he was in. Plus, the cemetery? Really? Who meets at the cemetery? There was only one explanation...

"There's no way he isn't a zombie," Dipper muttered out loud, running a hand along the outside of his vest; where the journal resided.

Before Y/n could ask, Stan boomed from behind her: "Squirt! We got another group!"

Deciding she'd pester Dipper later, Y/n sighed before returning back to the shop.

The rest of the day was filled with back-to-back tours. Rush hour hit hard, and by the time it was time for Y/n and Stan to switch, she was absolutely out of it.

"Okay Squirt, you're good for today. Go do... whatever it is you gotta do."

She compiled happily and made her way to the bathroom to change. She slipped out of her dapper uniform, putting on her usual leggings and hoodie. Before she put the hoodie over her head, she stopped a moment, looking at herself in the mirror.

Y/n had some issues with self-esteem, and a main contributing factor was the scars and burns that ran along her flesh since she was a child. They were pretty much everywhere; they wrapped around her arms and torso, crawling down her back and to her feet. The worst of it was on her arms, where the alleged black fire had clung to her the most. Everywhere else was rather mild in comparison. She was lucky that they stopped little ways below her collarbone and right at her wrists. She never understood how those parts remained unscathed, but she didn't complain.

Granted, her right hand wasn't as unscathed as one would consider it to be. It still had that weird scarring in the shape of a small flame, not to mention that— if her memory was correct— it was also the source of the flame.

No no, she thought, putting her arms through the sleeves and struggling with the cast. Stop thinking. Y/n had long since buried those memories, and they brought up rather complicated and interesting questions: Did she actually start the fire? Was the fire actually black? Was she hallucinating, or was it a memory that her brain made to protect her?

She pulled the hoodie over her stomach, fixing her hair before heading out. Y/n had first started covering herself when she was little. Maybe in 5th or 6th grade, where the bullying was rather prominent. Dipper and Mabel were children, so they wouldn't remember what she looked like with short sleeves. Her adopted parents— erm, parents, she chided herself— had tried to comfort her. They told her that the burns made her unique and told a story no one else had, and that in itself made them beautiful. But to younger Y/n, and to present Y/n, they were just scars. Just stains on an otherwise okay-looking background that only caused teasing and name-calling. So, she covered up.

By the time Y/n settled in her room to attempt to work on applications, she noticed that she had barely seen Dipper and Mabel. The last time she had seen them, in fact, was during the whole "Mabel-got-a-boyfriend-scenario." She shrugged it off; they were probably out doing... something. But Y/n did want to ask Dipper about the whole "zombie" thing he mentioned before running off. That was still very much on her mind. Speaking of things on her mind... 

With a small sigh, Y/n closed her eyes. Soon enough, she could make out letters standing out on the backs of her eyelids in blues and greens. "Of course they're still there," she muttered, puffing her cheeks in a pout. She sat down on her bed, pulling out her laptop. She never bothered to turn it off, mostly because it was tedious opening all the college tabs again.

She logged into CommonApp and continued with what she had started for the last few days: which was to sit down and stare motionless at the screen.

As much as she hated to admit it, she had already begun to procrastinate. Y/n had made this entire plan to help her stay on track, and here she was doing none of it.

Well, she thought to herself, I did fill out the first couple of questions on the common application portion. So maybe it's not all that bad.

While she started to fill out more questions, her ears couldn't help but pick up the rather large commotion coming from outside. Y/n looked up from her computer, tempted to go check it out, but decided against it, figuring it was probably tourists raving over that rock-face sculpture Stan had introduced as part of the exhibit today.

She did decide to get up, however, when her stomach started rumbling. It was nearly four in the evening, and she hadn't eaten since morning. She didn't get so much as five minutes between tours during the busiest parts of the day, so she didn't really have time to grab a snack.

Y/n ventured out of her room and to the kitchen, digging around the cabinets. Stan had an alarming amount of canned ground beef in a couple of cupboards, but other than that there was nothing that really caught her eye. Eventually, she settled on a couple of Chipackerz.

"'The chip flavored cracker,'" she read. "Oh well, they'll have to do for now." 

From behind her, she heard the slow, heavy, and multiple footsteps of what she assumed to be the twins.

"Hey, Dipper, Mabel. Where have you two bee—" She stopped when she turned around and finally saw them. The two of them looked like they had been through hell: small bruises and little cuts covered their arms and faces and sticks and leaves were stuck in their clothes and hair. They almost looked like Norman.

Dipper had a new hat; a blue and white trucker hat with a pine tree on it— something Y/n recalled seeing in the shop— and Mabel was holding a grappling hook— something else that was also in the store.

"What the hell happened to you two?" Y/n exclaimed, putting down the box and running towards the twins. She knelt down and started inspecting their injuries. They were nothing serious, and even the scratches they did attain weren't anything to faint over.

"Gnomes," Mabel said immediately, before Dipper elbowed her.

"Squirrels," he corrected.

Y/n's brows went up. "Gnomes...?" She questioned.

Mabel looked expectantly at her brother, who sighed deeply, shuffling awkwardly and scratching the back of his neck.

It wasn't that he didn't trust her; despite what he had read in the journal, he was almost positive he could trust his sisters. They always had his back. It was more of the fact that he was scared that she would think it was fake. He knew that his sister was a fairly serious person who spent most of her time cooped up in her room with books studying. She was educated, and he was afraid that she would think even the mere notion of the supernatural was childish and immature. But, then again, she did agree that there was some weird presence in the woods...

"Y/n, I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to say anything to anyone; even Grunkle Stan."

"Yeah, of course, Dipstick. What's up?"

Dipper pulled out the book from his vest, handing it to her.

Y/n studied it. It was the size of your standard journal, colored burgundy and accented with gold ornaments. It was a little worn, and pages stained with age stuck out the sides of it. A small monocle hung from the bottom. The most curious part, however, was the six-fingered hand on the cover with a large number 3 in the center.

"I found this book earlier today. The author was detailing the mysteries of this town. But halfway through the notes just stop, as if he just disappeared suddenly. There's a bunch of pages ripped out, too."

Y/n flipped through the pages, skimming through the book. There were various hand-drawn diagrams and notes, pictures taped onto pages, and strange archaic symbols.

"Dipper thought that Norman was a zombie," Mabel continued, guiding Y/n to a page about the undead creatures. She had to admit, the drawing inside had matched the boy to a tee.

"It turns out he was a bunch of gnomes stacked on top of each other looking to make me their next Queen." She flipped to another page documenting gnomes. Under a drawing of one was the word "weakness." Previously left blank by the author's handwriting, it was filled in with blue ink and what she recognized as Dipper's hand: "leaf blowers."

Was... was that what I was hearing earlier?

Y/n looked up to the twins, her grey eyes somewhat skeptical. "You guys— you guys fought gnomes?"

The two nodded, and Dipper couldn't help but wince. She wasn't going to believe them, was she?

Y/n stayed silent for a few moments, flipping through more pages. The book was filled with other strange creatures, almost all either from supernatural folklore or urban legends.

To anyone, there would be no question: it was a joke; an extravagant ploy made to prank a passerby. The mere existence of the supernatural was something commonly regarded as myth. The academic side of Y/n— the one who took pride in scientific theories and mathematical postulates— wanted to laugh. But that was just a part of her; Y/n wasn't all academic, unlike most would think. She had plenty of hobbies and interests some would consider "immature" or "childish;" hell, it's what she did most of the time she was cooped up inside her room. You think she spent all that time studying? No, she had her limits. While the supernatural wasn't high on that list, she would never deny believing in the possibility of demons or ghosts. So, for some inexplicable reason, Y/n knew it was true; even more so with the twins' story. All of it. And she felt relieved with that confirmation. It could potentially be the beginning to an explanation about that black fire, her hand—-

Y/n looked back up to the twins, realizing that they were waiting for an answer.

"I," she was surprised to find her throat dry. "I believe you guys, don't worry. And I won't tell anyone. This is our little secret," she said.

Dipper's eyes widened. He was a little more than shocked. "You're— you're serious? You really believe us?"

Y/n smiled. "Of course I do. What reason would you have to lie about fighting gnomes, of all things?"

Mabel lightly punched her twin. "See? I told you she'd believe us."

Dipper laughed awkwardly, before taking the journal back.

"Oh, Y/n," Mabel said. "Stan wants you in the shack. He said he overstocked and he's offering us one free thing from there."

"Poggers," she smiled.

She headed out of the kitchen, nearly forgetting her snack. "Dipper, when I'm done with some college stuff I want you to tell me how you found it, and what theories you already came up with."

"O-oh!" Dipper smiled. "Yeah, definitely!"

Y/n headed to the gift shop, carrying a small bundle of chipackerz in her hoodie pocket and a bottle of water. After the first incident with Pitt Cola, she decided to go with the safer option.

"Hey Stan," she called, walking into the gift shop. "I heard you're giving out free stuff? What happened to you?" She joked.

"Oh ha ha, very funny, Squirt." He answered, closing the register with stacks of cash in his fists. "I just overstocked, is all. Go take something before I change my mind."

"Is a stack of cash an option?"

"Suddenly I feel like changing my mind."

"Relax; I'm joking, I'm joking."

"I almost didn't think it was possible with how serious you look. Seriously, kid," Stan said, slinging an arm on her shoulders, "you keep your face like that and you're gonna end up with more wrinkles than I do by the end of the summer!" He laughed, ruffling her hair. Y/n resisted the urge to shrug his hand off.

"I'll meet you for dinner," he said, walking towards the employee only door. "One thing, ya hear? Just one thing!"

Y/n nodded, smiling lightly as she fixed her hair. When was the last time someone ruffled my hair like that?

Y/n looked around the shop. There was nothing that really caught her eye; most was just memorabilia. She considered adopting a Nocturnal Pet Rock— a rock that only came to life in the dead hours of the night— but as she grabbed the medium-sized rock she was planning to name Sir Robert Rockington, something else drew her attention.

Behind the table that held the "sleeping" rocks and under a shelf of bobbleheads and t-shirts, there was a small black book.

Squirming around the souvenirs, she managed to grab the book, lifting the shelf with her good hand and using her foot to drag it over to her. It was used to help steady the shelf; now it had that weird little waddle thing she recognized from school chairs.

Y/n looked at the journal, surprised to find that it was actually in fair shape. It wasn't brand new— it had a sort of worn look— but when she leafed through the pages she was surprised that there was no writing at all. On the inside of the covers, there were small accordion pockets, and the entire journal had a little band to keep it closed. It was like one of those Moleskine journals, but it seemed to be a bit thicker. No matter how many times she leafed through the length of the book, there always seemed to be more pages than the book let on.

"Maybe there's some other paper stuffed into it," she mumbled. She grabbed the cover and started shaking it, waiting for loose notes to fall from the book. There was one small piece of paper that fell from the middle of the book.

Y/n kneeled down and grabbed it, turning it over in her hands.

"'Experiment #555: The Eternal Tabloid,'" she read. She looked back to the book. "Wait, it's endless? Did I grab a Death Note or something—?"

The note had no other information.

The journal didn't look endless; Y/n had easily flipped from cover to cover a couple of times. She figured that the endless pages probably came from the center of the book... if the book really was infinite, that was.

You just found out that the woods are filled with supernatural creatures. Is an endless book that much of a stretch?

She shrugged, putting the book in her pocket before locking up the gift shop and heading back to her room. She'd come back for Robert Rockington another time.

The journal would definitely come in handy; Y/n could keep all her college and school information in one place without worrying about needing several books.

She sat back down on the bed, pulling the computer back into her lap. She emptied her pockets, placing the food, water, and book beside her.

Her eyes lingered on the book. "So I'm just gonna accept it, huh? That the book is endless?" She asked herself.

Considering all she learned today, there was no reason that she shouldn't believe it. There was definitely some magic and mystery in this little town. It was just a little unbelievable that some of it was currently in her hands.

Mystery, huh? Her thoughts wandered to the first night... that odd dream... the random letters...

"They... they aren't just random letters I can just forget about, aren't they?"

As if a response, the letters appeared in her vision again as floaters against the black cover of the journal.

"Alright," she said to no one in particular, "I'll check them out."

She considered opening a new document on her computer, but she hesitated. Y/n eyed the journal. What better place to start recording weird cryptic dreams than in that endless journal you found in a town with a hidden dark side?

Y/n cracked open a page, a pencil trembling in her grip. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to remember the letters.

The messages were very similar; all but one of the letters in each line had been the same color, and the first three all started with "l." She didn't have access to different colored pens at the moment, so she settled on writing the different colored letters in uppercase, and everything else in lowercase.

Eventually, she the following written down:

"l ehw brx'uh zrqghulqj zkr l dP.
l grq'w jlyh xs dqvzhuv hdvB..
l nQrz wklqjv, idvflqdwlqj wklqjv...
brxu uhdolwb lv olnh d jdph wr ph. dqg l olnh jDphv....
plvfklhi lv pb Plggoh qdph. exw qrw pb iluvw.....
wkHuh duh vla klqwv l zloo jlyh brx......
1) wkhuh lv d vhfuhw vrfLhwb lq judylwb idoov.......
2) wkh kdqgbpdq nqrzV pruh wkdq brx wklqn........
3) jlghrq kdv Ehhq vhdufklqj iru vrphwklqj.........
4) zkdw jrhv xs Lv vxuh wr frph grzq..........
5) glsshu lv sOdblqj zlwk iluh...........
6) l zloo eh uhwxuqlqj wr judylwb idoOv............
zhofrph wr judylwb idoov, b/q."

Now that she had it written down in front of her, it was obvious that it wasn't in a different language.

"Oh God," she muttered, "it's encoded, isn't it?" She let out a groan. Y/n hadn't ever really dealt with codes before. At most, it was the standard morse or number shift. Once, she even learned to read enchantment tables when the twins had their crippling addiction with Minecraft (one which she never really grew out of). But this? She didn't know what this was.

"How do people even decrypt things like this? What do they start with again? Frequency tables?"

Y/n started with a table, listing the alphabet and leaving empty rows to fill in. She knew that "e" was the most common letter in the alphabet, so she started by counting all the letters that appeared in her little message. From there, she would assume the most common letter was "e" and work from there. Hopefully, that worked, because if she was to be honest, she wasn't in the mood for trial and error. If that didn't work... well...

It took her pretty long, mostly because she was triple-checking that she counted right. At this point, she was rather certain that "h" was "e."

So I figured that out. What now?

Y/n started looking for double consonants and vowels. She was assuming it was just a substitution cipher, so that meant that any two of the same letter could be patterns like "ll," "tt," and "oo."

She didn't find that many, and at this point, her eyes were hurting her. Maybe, she could scour the internet for substitution ciphers and go from there. But there was a chance that she would have to run through several before she even found a resemblance to actual words. And what would happen if the decoded message was in a different language entirely?

Y/n considered putting it away for the moment, but then realized that her other option was doing college work. She would spend hours trying to decode something before she went back to filling out applications.

She opened a new tab on her computer, cracking her knuckles. "Okay," she murmured. "Let's do this."

It Y/n a little less than half an hour to find out what cipher was used. From then, after discovering it was a rather standard (and easy) Caesar Cipher, shifted 3 letters back, it only took her five minutes to decode the message from her dream:

"i bet you're wondering who i aM.
i don't give up answers easY..
i  kNow things. fascinating things...
your reality is like a game to me. and i like gAmes....
mischief is my Middle name. but not my first.....
thEre are six hints i will give you......
1) there is a secret socIety in gravity falls.......
2) the handyman knowS more than you think........
3) gideon has Been searching for something.........
4) what goes up Is sure to come down..........
5) dipper is pLaying with fire...........
6) i will be returning to gravity falLs............
welcome to gravity falls, y/n." 

The letters that had been in a different color spelled out "My name is Bill."

"So," she said, running her hand through her hair. Her eyes were heavy and her head hurt. "The person who gave me this message is named Bill Mischief Unknown Surname."

Y/n was teeming with questions about each of the lines, and some weighed heavier than the others in terms of implications, but there was one question that her irritated and foggy mind kept circling back to:

"Who the fuck is Bill?"

Chapter Text

Bill Cipher knew a lot of things, so there wasn't much that confused or surprised him. That card trick the magician astounded a couple with? He used two sets of playing cards. The creatures undiscovered by mankind crawling along the depths of the oceans? Bill has a couple as pets. The excited murmur among scientists of the possibility of dimensions parallel to their own? Please; he resided in one of several.

But this fleshbag? Now there was something that intrigued him. And Bill hadn't felt this curious in a long time.
   
When he heard through the grapevine that Sixer's family was spending their summer at good ol' Gravity Falls, he was the first to commemorate their arrival. They were new puppets and toys for Bill to play with.
   
He watched as they filed off the bus, heading towards the Mystery Shack; his old playgrounds.
   
Fez, Shooting Star, Pine Tree, and... a girl. When no symbol came to mind, Bill was taken aback. Had he— an interdimensional being of pure energy— had stooped down so low as to forget something as important as those symbols on that zodiac?

He had to double-check, and what he found was even more peculiar: that girl wasn't on the wheel. How was that even possible? How was someone this closely related to Sixer not on that zodiac?

That's what initially piqued his interest.

He followed her around, trying to fathom out why she wasn't on the wheel. She had a broken arm; maybe the impaired limb took her out for good. Maybe she wouldn't even make it to when Bill finally broke free of the mindscape.

If she did die, it had to be from an accident. She seemed smart— she practically followed in Fordsy's footsteps— so being killed by a monster in the forest wasn't a fitting explanation. Definitely the smartest one in the shack, at least at the moment.

Then he got a peek into her mind.

He was there for a second, before he appeared in her dream. But from what he saw, Bill was rather... impressed.

It was extremely organized, especially considering the abstract human understanding of "mind" and "consciousness." It didn't just include a house of her subconscious either, she had an area outside of the perimeter of her mind. Something akin to what humans call a "happy place," he figured, where she'd spend most of her time when she wasn't awake and active. But what really sold Bill on this mortal was the power she seemed to have over her subconscious.

It was like nothing he had seen before in a human. Even Sixer didn't have this much control over his dreamscape. This fleshbag could create vast empires from nothing in seconds if she wanted to; she could get rid of them just as fast with a flick of her wrist.

Lucid dreaming this consistently wasn't something normal in humans, let alone her ability to consistently "shift," as it was being called. Essentially, what was really happening was that she was able to bypass her subconscious into nearby dimensions.

Bill was especially intrigued by this detail; this could potentially make torturing her (if needed, of course) much easier; why stop at creating nightmares when he could lead her subconscious to the actual Nightmare Realm? And why stop there; he could drag her anywhere, and because she was still a meek and powerless human, she wouldn't know anyway to stop her subconscious from drifting unless she stopped sleeping altogether.

She's definitely going to be a fun one.

But, maybe... maybe he was getting ahead of himself, already thinking of ways to drive her into insanity.

Maybe he got lucky that she wasn't imprinted on that wheel; if she wasn't one of the ten prophesied to be his downfall, could she be something he could use to ease his transition into power?

That's why he decided to pay her a little visit. She was rather entertaining as well; he got a good laugh when she decided screaming could possibly get her out of the dream.

The codes were a little "welcome gift," and quite honestly Bill was a little upset that she took so long to decipher them. But now that she finally did decode them, he figured it was only a matter of time before he paid her a formal visit. And perhaps he would be able to make a deal with her.

The way Bill saw it was simple: everyone on the zodiac was a mere pawn. But even pawns can take out kings if you use them right. So he would have to be careful with them. But this girl? She was unmarked; she had no designated place on the chessboard— the options with her were limitless. She could be a mere pawn like the rest of them, but if he played his hand right, she could be a queen; his secret weapon. But there was also a chance that if he were to mess up, she could end up being their secret weapon. She was a wildcard, and just one mistake could possibly topple the house of cards Bill had spent eternities meticulously crafting.

No... she isn't a wildcard; she wasn't something Bill couldn't account for. His take over was inevitable, and he wasn't going to let some random meatsack from nowhere be his downfall.

She was like a flame, really. Not a fire— no, not yet— but the beginning of one. She was small, flickering, and weak; at any moment she could be snuffed out without so much as a hassle. She could be controlled as if she was being held upon a match. But every inferno starts from a flame: if she was left unwatched for even the slightest of moments, she could burn out of control. Quickly and chaotically, she'd take down everything with her, including him.

And that's what he decided to call her: Flame.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Y/n was staring into space, her mind still running over the message from her dream. She was so distracted, in fact, that she wasn't even eating right. She held the fork backward and nearly poked her eye out when she brought the bottom end to her eye level rather than mouth level.

After the outburst about this Bill character, she went back through the lines of the message, analyzing them separately. Some she thought were rather mundane. "What's up is sure to come down," she repeated in her head. Yeah, I sure hope it does; that's how gravity works.

Others piqued her interest, like the one about the secret society. Well, it depended really; if "secret society" was really just an elitist club of rich old guys with nothing better to do with their lives, then she'd be disappointed. But if it bordered on some type of cult? Now that was something! She was all in for the cult-stuff.

But there was one line that really concerned her. "Dipper is playing with fire."

What was there something Dipper was doing that she didn't know about? Y/n was fairly sure there wasn't, it wasn't like him to sneak around, especially behind her back.

Could it possibly be that journal he found? That wouldn't make that much sense, considering the message came before he found it. But then again, dreams are weird like that. Maybe it's some sort of premonition...

"Squirt," Grunkle Stan said, when Y/n absentmindedly reached for a knife, also the wrong way. He slammed his hand on the table to get her attention.

She jumped slightly, remembering that she was at the dinner table.

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"Nope," she answered.

"Tomorrow you three have off. Shack's gonna be closed. I think you've worked hard enough to deserve a break." Stan said. "Well," he turned towards the twins. "Maybe not you two," he smirked.

The twins stuck out their tongues at him.

Y/n smiled slightly, and decided to let the matter rest for the time being.

Pretty soon, moonlight was slowly pouring in through windows, and everyone was just about ready to go to sleep.

The twins were in their room, dressed in their pajamas but still buzzing with excitement from their run-in with the supernatural. While Dipper recorded their day in the journal as its new author, Mabel was jumping on the bed, playing with her grappling hook and making "pew pew" noises as she pretended to shoot it all around. The window provided a lot of moonlight, but there was also a lamp burning softly between the two that lit up most of the room.

As Dipper set the book down on the table beside him, tucking the pen within its pages, the door opened. Y/n peeked her head from the hallway.

"Y/n!" Mabel shouted, finally falling back onto the mattress. "We have to go out and try out my grappling hook sometime tomorrow!"

Their sister laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I don't see why we can't." She turned to Dipper and suddenly seemed less cheerful.

"Uh, Dip?"

Dipper's brows rose as he sat up on his bed. "Yeah? What's up?"

Y/n looked around the room, unsure of how to proceed. She felt a little bad about deciding to hold the codes from the twins, but she was afraid that telling them would put them in danger. She knew them; they would be the first to jump at the opportunity to find something like a secret society.

"I just wanted to tell you guys to... to be careful with the whole supernatural journal stuff, you know?" She pointed to the book. "If all that stuff is true, I just don't want you going in over your head and getting yourself into trouble. You already had that run-in with the gnomes and you just got the book today," she laughed nervously.

Dipper and Mabel side-eyed each other, equally perplexed at their sister's sudden change in attitude.

"Y-yeah, of course," Dipper said finally, as Mabel nodded.

"Also," she continued, sitting on the edge of the boy's bed, "I don't want you guys keeping stuff like this a secret from me. If you don't want to tell Stan, fine. But I want to know what you're up to." From the darkness, the twins couldn't see Y/n wince slightly. She was being a complete hypocrite; telling the twins to not keep secrets when she herself was filled with them? Yeah, it could have been better.

"Uh, where is this coming from?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah Y/n, don't you trust us?" Mabel chimed in.

"Of course I do! It's just that..." she trailed off, looking to the side. "It's just older sister things; seeing as Stan is rather... preoccupied with the Shack most of the time, I'm the one who's looking after you two. Just gotta make sure you're safe."

Y/n got up and ruffled the twins' hair. "You get me?"

The two nodded.

"Good," she smiled. She turned back to the door. "Get to bed you two; we have a big day of nothing tomorrow," she said with a smile.

"Goodnight Y/n," they chimed in unison.

Y/n closed the door with a nod, stepping outside of it for a moment. She felt a little guilty keeping her dream from them, but it was just to keep them safe. She had a reason for her madness. Besides, this wasn't the first thing she kept from them.

She shook the feeling off and went back into her own room, falling onto the bed. She spun around, facing the ceiling and running a hand through her hair.

Y/n really did have a lot of secrets, didn't she? She had thought about this a lot, but never dwelled too long; it always made her feel like a bigger black sheep in the family. But as she entered her teenage years, the nagging guilt and feeling that she didn't belong started alongside puberty. She felt like an imposter almost, and as she grew up it only worsened. Y/n would always manage to push it to the back of her mind eventually, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

A part of her wanted to let everything go, but at this point, she had kept them for so long, she was unsure how to let them out. Not even just to her family, but to anyone in general. How exactly does one explain to their family that there's a slight chance that they can spontaneously combust into black flames? She didn't even know if she could still do it; after the... incident that left her an orphan, she constantly switched sides as to whether or not the memory was a hallucination or actually real. The times she did think it was real, she could never bring back that flame. Maybe it was fear that it would burn out of control— or maybe it was the fact that deep down, she didn't want it to be real—  but whatever it was, she could never recreate even the smallest of flames.

But now that there was a journal filled with supernatural entities?

That memory couldn't have been a hallucination, then...

Her eyes locked onto her hand. Can I really—?

No. She shook her head violently, curling up into a fetal position and hugging her knees. Why am I even thinking about all of this?

Y/n sighed, hugging herself tighter, feeling rather cold. She pushed all the thoughts away; she'd rather get a sleepless night than drown in her own self-loathing thoughts.

Maybe she would get a dream. She did decipher the previous dream message; perhaps "Bill" would send her another. If he did, she hoped that it followed the Caesar Cipher, or any other easy substitution cipher.

"I am not—" a small yawn escaped her lips— "spending another hour on codes," she mumbled, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to overcome her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n was awoken to the sound of shuffling from outside.

Groggy and disoriented, she sat up in her bed, fixing her hoodie and matting down her tangled bedhead.

It sounded like someone was coming down the stairs from the attic.

"Did Mabel have a nightmare or something?" Y/n mumbled, swinging her legs over the bed and standing up.

That's when she noticed that she was floating.

"Oh shit," she breathed out, realizing that her body appeared translucent. "So it's one of those dreams, huh?"

Y/n hadn't had an out-of-body experience in a while: for a couple of months, if she remembered correctly. When she turned around, her physical body was still sound asleep on the bed, tangled in the covers. She looked extremely tired, and even her sleep face looked a bit sad. Her brows were furrowed slightly and her lips were pulled in a loose frown. The beginning of bags lined the bottom of her eyelids. She turned away from her body where she heard the stairs stop creaking.

Deciding that having this type of dream was better than having no dreams, Y/n set off to find out who was creeping about this late in the night.

When she was this ghosty version of herself, Y/n was able to just fall through things. The first time she had one of these dreams, she was beyond frustrated; she spent the whole night just trying to stay in one place without falling to the first floor of the house. Now that she knew what she was doing, she got a kick out of it. She felt like Mirio— minus the whole Tintin-hero-vibe. It was close enough.

Y/n made her way to the door, closing her eyes and flinching slightly as she threw herself into it. She knew she would just go through it, but she couldn't help but think that one of these days she'd get up slamming against the door instead.

When she made it into the hallway, she was surprised to see just how dark it was in the shack. Whoever had come down from the attic had gone into the living room. Y/n floated along slowly, trying to adjust to the weightless feeling. She hadn't been able to fly freely like this in a while.

"Probably one of the twins getting a drink of water in the kitchen, or something," she mumbled, as she traveled down the hall.

As she reached the living room, she barely caught the door to the gift shop closing. The girl stopped suddenly, her brows lifting. This wasn't one of the twins, she thought.

Y/n sped to the end of the living room and went through the door into the gift shop. Unlike the living room, it was a little easier to see in here. The windows allowed some of the pale moonlight to breach into the room, outlining some of the knick-knacks on the shelves. She had lost track of the person she was following until she heard the sound of a matching being lit.

The small flame appeared across the room, by the cash register. Its light was too small to make up much of the figure, but the hand that was holding it was unmistakable.

"Is... is that Stan—?" Y/n wondered out loud.

The match was used to light a lantern, and the entire room erupted into a hellish glow. Lo and behold, Grunkle Stan stood at the head of the shack. He was dressed in his usual old, stained, white t-shirt, and his striped boxers. He gripped the lantern tightly, putting out the match with a wave of his other hand.

Stan made his way towards her, and Y/n instinctively flew out of his way. Even if she hadn't moved, he would have just gone right through her. She thought he was headed back into the shack, but was caught by surprise when he stopped at... the vending machine?

"Does this man really need a lamp to order a snack? Better yet, is this man going to waste money to order a snack?"

Stan pushed two numbers— and then a third, a fourth, and a fifth. "He isn't ordering some—"

Y/n fell silent when the entirety of the vending machine swung open like a door. Stan grasped the edge of the machine, opening it further. From where Y/n floated, she could make out a set of stairs leading into the darkness. He took a step in, and after looking to make sure no one was following him, swung the machine closed behind him. The room was plunged into darkness once again.

Y/n stood in the front of the room, absolutely flabbergasted.

Did... did I see that right?

She was frozen in place for a couple of seconds before she remembered that she could follow him. Y/n lunged towards the back of the shack, reaching for the vending machine. She would just phase through it and follow him down. She'd find out what Stan was hiding!

But, she didn't reach the vending machine.

She kept speeding to it, but it only seemed to get farther away. Suddenly the gift shop spanned for yards, and it kept stretching away from her. From the corners of her eyes, Y/n could see that her surroundings were also fading away. The darkness was lifting up, becoming a monotone grey and white. The change spread throughout the room; it looked like pixels flipping over to a lighter side. They raced along her sides and reached the vending machine.

The machine was enveloped in the same monotone colors as her new surroundings and disappeared with the rest of the gift shop. Y/n wasn't in the shack anymore; she was in the white space she was in the first night in the town.

Y/n fell over, surprised not only because she wasn't flying anymore, but because there was a floor to this monoscale plane.

"No, no no no no!" She gasped, scrambling to her feet. "I need to get back! I need to see what's behind there!"

"Woah there, kid! Where's the fire? You're moving a little too fast there," a voice boomed from behind her.

Y/n spun around wildly, in search of the source of the voice. She couldn't see anyone, but she recognized the sound: the person speaking was the one with the weird techno laugh from previously.

"You literally could not have picked a worse time to do this. Send me back!"

"No can do; I didn't even think you'd find out about that so soon! You're just full of surprises aren't you?" 

Y/n bit her lip, cursing loudly in her head. Goddamnit! I was so close, if only I had moved faster. I barely saw the code he put in.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but even if you did move faster I still would have caught you here." The voice said.

Don't you dare tell me this motherfucker can read minds.

"Then I won't!" The voice replied.

Y/n let out a groan, rubbing her temples and chiding herself to be careful with her thoughts. "You're— you're the one who gave me the codes, aren't you?"

The voice laughed, and that alone answered her. "You got that right, kiddo!"

"And I'm guessing you aren't some sort of obscure part of my subconscious?"

"Right again! Two for two! You deserve a reward!"

"A... a reward? Can you show yourself to me, maybe? All this white is kind of hurting my head, to be honest."

"I guess it's the least I can do for you," the voice said. From behind her, a little poof sounded.

Y/n didn't know what she was expecting— as if she was expecting anything at all— but it definitely wasn't... this.

A yellow triangle floated little ways above her. Dapper as ever, he had a black top hat floated above his point, and a little black bow tie. He had one big eye in the center of the shape, with four eyelashes curling from the top and bottom. His limbs were thin and stick-like, colored a solid black. Towards the base of the shape, a darker gold painted a brick pattern. The bright color almost hurt her eyes more than the white of the room did.  

Y/n gaped at the shape, eyes narrowing. She was essentially speechless.

"Watch it, toots. Keep that mouth open too long and you might catch flies!" The triangle snapped his fingers, and a black cane appeared in his grip. The end extended long enough to reach Y/n, and he shut her mouth with it.

"So... so you're Bill Mischief Unknown Surname?" Y/n asked finally, looking him up and down.

"Cipher," he said. "Bill Cipher; dream demon extraordinaire!"

"D-dream demon?" She asked, skeptically.

"That's right, kid! One of the many supernatural beings you'll encounter in this town."

"A demon..." she repeated, a little dumbfounded. This doesn't seem good...

"Relax kid! I'm not gonna do anything to you! I just wanted to formally meet you! You seem quite the genius for your age, you know?"

"Umm... thanks?"

"C'mon, Flame! It's a compliment!"

She nodded, still scrutinizing the triangle in front of her. She couldn't tell if her mind was blank from shock or filled with so many questions that they all just merged into static. Whatever the case was, she didn't seem to care that a self proclaimed demon had hijacked her dream.

"So, uh," Y/n started, unsure of what to say. How exactly do you have a conversation with a demon? Even beyond that, she already sucked at normal human conversations; this was something extremely out of her skillset.

"You want to know why I'm here, don't you Y/n?"

"So you know my name too?"

"I know a lot of things— things that you just might be interested in."

"Like, perhaps, the basement behind the vending machine?" Y/n's brows raised and she pursed her lips as she leaned forward expectantly.

Bill squinted his eye. "Nice one kiddo, but I don't think you're ready for that one yet."

Y/n pouted, once again gazing up at the triangle. He didn't have a face, so it was hard to read him. She didn't like that. All she had to go off of was his eye and his arms. But he was unnaturally stiff; when his arms weren't at his sides or crossed over his body, they were held in perfect right angles, straight up and down in some sort of lame attempt of a T-pose.

"So, why are you here? You're not gonna give me more codes, are you?"

"I thought of it, but you didn't seem to like them very much. I'm a little offended, to be frank; I put some effort into that little message!"

"Yeah, well it's not every day a demon gives you a freak dream with an ominous coded message," she responded.

"Ominous is such a strong word. They were little tips for you while you stay here. I didn't have to divulge some secrets this town holds, but you're a special human! Nothing like those mindless meatsacks in town," he muttered the last part.

"A 'special human?'"

"Yes yes!" Bill said, soaring a bit higher in front of her. He floated to her side, his arm extending to drape over her shoulder. "You're quite an interesting one, you know that? I haven't seen a human with this much control over their dreams in eons! Let alone one so calm about meeting a demon like myself."

Y/n looked up to him. The "calm" he was talking about could just be the fact that she was too tired to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "Really?"

"You betcha, Flame! No one else in that family of yours has what you do. Not Pine Tree; not Shooting Star— no one!"

"What's with the nicknames?" Y/n asked, shrugging off his arm. They were simple to figure out: Dipper is Pine Tree, based on his new hat, and Shooting Star is Mabel, based on her signature pink sweater.

"Look at you," Bill exclaimed, petting her hair. "You already figured them out!"

Right, she thought. Mindreader. Stop forgetting that.

"You won't," Bill smiled— or at least, his eye crinkled in resemblance to a smile. "They're just little names I tend to give to people. Fun stuff; nothing that meaningful," Bill continued, pretending to check his non-existent nail beds.

"Nothing meaningful, huh?" Y/n muttered. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. She didn't exactly trust that, especially when "Flame" hit a little too close to home.

He couldn't know about that though; it was practically impossible for him to. He had mentioned that she had only just caught his interest, suggesting that he only just met her. He didn't know her past, and there was no way for him to know; she had locked any memories pertaining to that behind what she figured was a metaphorical vault. Only she could open it, and she wasn't planning on doing so any time soon. As long as she didn't let her mind wander to that, her secrets should be safe.

Y/n chose to brush off the nicknames for now; there was something more pressing on her mind. "Speaking of... 'Pine Tree,'" Y/n started.

"Ahhh," Bill said, pointing to her. "You're worried about that little hint I gave you."

Y/n nodded.

"It's just my expert opinion, if you will. That kid brother of yours is a little too curious for his own good. You know what they say: 'curiosity killed the cat.'"

"'But satisfaction brought him back,'" Y/n answered almost immediately.

Bill looked her up and down for a moment. "Okay, kiddo, think like that. But at what costs? At what psychological damage does this 'cat' come back too?"

"Dipper is a smart kid, he wouldn't do anything crazy on his own," Y/n defended.

"Doesn't matter if he's smart; if anything it makes him more susceptible to it. Look at Glasses, for example, he was a genius!"

"G-glasses?"

"Oh right," Bill said. "You haven't met him yet. Don't worry, you'll see what I mean soon. In fact," Bill snapped his fingers, and suddenly his eye popped out of its socket.

Y/n let out a small shout as she jumped back. Bill's eye turned into a pocket watch, the pupil becoming the hands of a clock, and the optic nerve turning into a braided chain.

"Look at the time," he boomed, shoving the eye-clock a bit closer to the girl. She cringed slightly.

"Time's such a fickle thing; it's about time you wake up, Flame!"

"Already? I just got here!"

"That's the thing with dreams, kiddo. You never know how long they're gonna last. Some can feel like hours; others like mere seconds. Look, you're already fading. At any moment those twins are going to barge through your door."

She looked down at her body, startled to find that Bill was right.

"Wait," Y/n sputtered, "I still have questions about the other lines and the vending machine!"

"Where's the rush?" Bill asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure you'll figure out most of them by the next time we meet."
   
"Next time?"
   
"Well of course, Flame! You didn't think I'd just leave you out on your own, did you? Consider me a friend; we'll meet again soon! Until then, try your hand at your own theories. I'm actually curious to see what you come up with." Bill floated up higher in the air, as the room began to glow even brighter. Y/n shielded her fading body from the light, shutting her eyes tightly.
   
"See ya next time, Flame!"
   
Y/n shot up in her bed, panting slightly. Her head was spinning, as a slight pain ran from behind her eyes.
   
Seconds later, the twins bursted into the room, making Y/n yelp in surprise.
   
"Y/n! Get your butt out here!" Mabel yelled, hopping onto the bed and shaking the older girl vigorously. "Stan made Stancakes!"

"Stan... cakes...?" Y/n managed to ask, as Mabel continued to shake her.

"Think pancake, but with the high risk of having a bit of Stan's hair fall into the batter," Dipper said, finally pulling his twin off the bed.

"Ew," Y/n made a face.

"That's what I said, but they're actually pretty good!" Mabel exclaimed.

Y/n eyed Dipper, who— surprisingly— agreed with a nod.

"If you don't get out now, we'll finish the rest!" Mabel continued, racing out of the room.

Dipper stopped at the door. "Even if you don't want Stancakes, Stan says he has a surprise for us, since we've been working so hard."

Y/n tensed at the mention of Stan. Events from last night surfaced in her mind.

That vending machine, she thought. What is behind that vending machine?

"Y-yeah, sure," she finally mumbled, masking her odd behavior behind a stretch and a yawn.

Dipper nodded hesitantly, looking back at Y/n with concern.

"You good?" He finally asked.

"It's just," she glanced at her cast, "I'm a bit sore. I slept on my cast wrong."

"Ohhhh," Dipper nodded, heading towards the door. Right as he was about to leave, Y/n called out to him suddenly; "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

Y/n paused for a moment; did she really want to tell Dipper about what she saw?

Dipper is playing with fire, a voice repeated in the back of her head.

"Save... save me some Stancakes, would you?"

Dipper laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, sure," he said, before running after his sister.
   
Y/n let out a groan once Dipper was out of earshot. She buried her head in her hands. "I'm really going to keep this from him, aren't I?"
   
She didn't feel like she had much of a choice; she knew Dipper, and what he would do if she were to tell him. Bill had said that his message was his "expert opinion;" it wasn't carved in stone, it was just the path he felt Dipper would go on because of his curiosity.

If Y/n were to tell him about the vending machine, he would be the first to gather information and create a plan to find out how to get to the basement. He would stay up for nights if he needed, and he'd ruin countless shirts and pens by chewing on them.
   
Not only would it be bad for his health, there was a good chance that whatever was behind the machine was either illegal or dangerous, just based upon Stan's demeanor before he went down there. If it was any of those things, she definitely didn't want Dipper dealing with it.
   
I can protect him, Y/n thought. I just need to watch over him.
   
She wasn't in the best position; she didn't want to tell Stan for a number of reasons— most of which stemmed from last night—  and she definitely wasn't to tell Mabel that her brother could be in danger. Mabel might have been aloof and obsessed with boys, but she was still Dipper's twin nonetheless; she would be more than overprotective of him.
   
He's going to hate me for following him around nearly everywhere, Y/n huffed. But if it's necessary...
   
She looked from her hands, surprised to only just notice the blue ink coating her cast and spilling over her fingers. The blue pen covered the glitter and stickers Mabel had previously decorated it in.
   
The inside of her palm held a... a turkey...? The outline was shaky and ran along the outside of her palm, connecting the feathers from fingers to cast and with her thumb holding the crudely drawn head and face of the bird.
   
Look! A turkey! The inside of her palm read, in the same shaky blue ink. She stifled a laugh; she thought it was pretty funny.
   
She turned it over and was surprised to find more writing on the back of her cast, running down the length of it.
   
Nice meeting ya, kiddo. Now stop stressing and go figure out what Fez has for you kids! It was signed with a small triangle, with the initials "B.C." in the center.
   
A "P.S." ran on the side of the cast.
   
P.S. The ink will disappear by the time you get out to the kitchen. Don't worry about trying to cover it up.
   
To her relief, there was nothing on her right hand. She didn't want Bill to see the little flame nestled within her palm. At least, not yet.
   
Y/n couldn't help but smile. What had Bill said before she left?
   
"Consider me a friend!"
   
A part of Y/n felt almost... lighter at that. Friends with a demon? That would surely be interesting. It was someone she could start anew with, and while it seemed a little weird— with the other person being a living triangle— it also made Y/n a bit... happy?

She didn't have too many friends to begin with; the ones she did have throughout high school were products of group projects in their best case scenarios. The others were people who were so persistent to get to know her because she "seemed pretty cool," that she eventually had to succumb to their overwhelming friendship. Even then, they were never that close.

Bill had also said something else; "Try your hand at your own theories."

"I can do that," Y/n said out loud, finally getting out of bed. She turned to the dresser at the edge of the mattresses, where her newly acquired "Endless Tabloid" sat at the top. "I even have a journal of my own," she chuckled.

She paused suddenly; The journal! How did I forget about that?

That was the solution to her dilemma: as long as Dipper had the journal, he was in constant danger of pursuing the supernatural.

If I can only get that journal away from him—

"Oh God, what am I thinking?" She muttered, finally heading out to the kitchen.
   
This was Dipper. Dipper Dipper. Lamby-lamby-dance-until-he-was-four, Dipper. Third-time-finalist-of-the-Piedmont-Middle-School-spelling-bee Dipper. He was a bright and responsible kid; she shouldn't have to go to the extreme of taking the journal away from him. She had warned the twins the night before; they would take her concern to heart.
   
"I'm just overreacting," she mumbled as she entered the kitchen, catching the twins about to start one of their famous syrup races. Stan stood at the other end of the table, utterly confused.
   
A mischievous glint lit Y/n's eyes.

"Stan," she said.
   
He turned towards her.
   
"I bet $5 on Mabel."
   
Stan's eyes widened. "Oh? A betting gal, are we?" He turned to Dipper, glaring at him. "You better not lose this, boy."

And with that, the race began.    

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Bill was watching the Pines from the nightmare realm. He rolled his eye as the family laughed over spilled syrup and Y/n picked at a couple of Stancakes.
   
He was rather impatient; after eons stuck in the second dimension, he was getting tired of being constricted to the limits of the mindscape and the nightmare realm. But despite this, he knew that he needed to take a little while to get all "friendly" with Y/n. Afterall, she could potentially be a great surprise tool to use for later.
   
Bill had already put a plan into effect: he would befriend the girl, earn her trust, and attempt to draw her away from her family.
   
He had already noticed that there seemed to be an odd... divide between the two parties. Even now, as he watched the family finish up breakfast, he could see that Y/n would almost purposely distance herself from them. Bill didn't care to know why— it was probably some foolish human things, anyway— but he knew that he could use it to his advantage.
   
Bill already appeared to be on the girl's good side. She seemed rather content with the idea of having a "demon friend" when she woke up, much to the triangle's annoyance.
   
"It's just until I can get her on my side," he reminded himself whenever the idea of being friends with a fleshbag made him want to wretch. He had long since been bitter that he would have to rely on puny mortals to help his plan come to fruition, but having to act friendly? Now that was something else entirely, especially since it was a teenage girl. At least with Sixer, it was completely professional. He didn't know what to expect from a barely-adult-girl.
   
The twins would also prove to be a nuisance if he didn't gain the girl's trust fast enough. While hadn't planned on Pine Tree finding the journal this quickly, it also seemed to work in his favor: Y/n was fretting about his little warning and already considered taking away the journal. If he played his cards right, he could get her to give him the journal, or— even better— have her destroy it and drive the wedge between her and her family further.
   
Either way, Bill wasn't to let some worms stand in the way of his prophesied uprising. He would liberate the nightmare realm— just as he had done with home dimension— and finish what he failed to bring about 30 years ago.

Chapter Text

Y/n and the twins had learned the hard way that Stan's idea of a "family fun day" wasn't that much fun at all. It wasn't the first time they had a bonding-type of time together— well, if you could call a night in the county jailhouse a "bonding" experience. The trio was just grateful that it wasn't counterfeiting or anything else illegal today.

The lake was filled with the townspeople. Boats littered the glittering water, and playful shouts rang out from boat to boat as families celebrated their catches. It was actually a rather beautiful day; a nice breeze grazed the water and offered solace in the otherwise scorching day. The sun was nestled high in the sky, and clouds barely did so much as tickle its curves. As much as the trio hated to admit it, it was a great day to spend on the lake.

But, after the experience of having Stan— who was practically blind, as the kids learned in the middle of the ride— drive them to the lake blindfolded, all they really wanted was a nice day to themselves to help cope with nearly facing death. Not fishing on a tiny boat that rivaled the quality of the creatures in the shop.

"The 'Stan-o' War?'" Y/n asked, eying the boat suspiciously. It was barely floating on the water, and the motor Stan tied to it was close to falling off. There was no way that boat could fit all four of them without breaking halfway from the piling dock.

"Yep! Made her myself," Stan boasted, slapping it's hull proudly.

Y/n flinched, ready at any moment for the boat to fall apart and drop Stan into the lake. "Yeah," she laughed nervously, "I can see that."

"Speaking of craftsmanship," he continued, reaching into a fishing pouch tucked underneath his seat. "I made you three these! Pines Family Fishing Hats!" He threw three bucket hats to the kids, each with their names sewn onto the front.

Y/n's brow raised as the twins eyed each other. The colors of the letters were all over the place, and she wondered if he had taken them from Mabel's craft kit. The stitching was everywhere— cross stitch, ladder stitch, stitching she didn't even know the name off— it was just like the exhibits in the shack. He needs to take lessons from Mabel.

But, despite this, Y/n couldn't help but smile. Especially when she noticed that it was her name sewn on the front, and not Squirt. It almost made her feel like she belonged.

Mabel and Dipper's hats were the same, and while Mabel was silently criticizing the stitching on a much more expert level than Y/n had, Dipper was wondering how Stan managed to sew letters backwards without noticing anything wrong.

"Come on, kids," Stan said, "the fish aren't going to wait for us! It's just gonna be us four on this boat for 10 hours!"

"T-ten hours?!" Dipper stuttered, as his two sisters paled.

"Yep! I brought the joke book!" Stan sang, revealing the small red book from his life jacket.

"Oh hell no," Y/n muttered under her breath.

The trio glanced wearily at each other, silently wondering who was going to sacrifice their dryness first and join Stan in the boat. Well, in reality, it was between Dipper and Mabel. Based on the look on Y/n's face, it was obvious that she was going to milk the excuse that she "couldn't get her cast wet" for every drop it had.

"There has to be a way out of this," Mabel whispered to the two of them.

"Oh come on! Don't make me get out and force you three. I will; don't test me," Stan said, making an attempt to get out of the boat.

Before he could make it onto the dock, the four heard the loud and panicked call coming from shore.

"I seen it! I seen it again!"

The four looked back, as a surprisingly spry old man scampered his way across the shore. He weaved through townspeople, sometimes shoving them out of the way as he gesticulated wildly and danced around restlessly. He was surprisingly destructive, almost purposely knocking down tables and running into people to gain their attention as he kept making high pitched yelps.

The man was perpetually hunched over, walking on the soles of his bare and bandaged feet. He looked like a scarecrow: his long white beard flowed the length of his thin body and dragged along the ground and he wore dark brown overalls covered in patches and a matching farmer's hat. His beady blue eyes looked in two places at once, and were glazed over into a thousand-yard stare. He ebbed closer.

He ran to a rather bulky man, grabbing onto his shoulders. Y/n noticed a mop of bandages around his right hand; not a cast per say, but rather a garment loosely bonded to his arm.

"The Gravity Falls Gobblewonker! Come quick before it scrabdoodles away," he shouted, before quite literally tossing the large man aside and breaking into a wild dance.

"Aw! Look at that happy jig!" Mabel cooed.

"No!" The three kids jumped when the man lunged at Mabel, grasping her shoulder. Y/n pulled her away quickly, instinctively shielding her and Dipper behind her.

"It's a jig of grave danger!" He yelled.

"I'm sure it is buddy, but I'm going to have to respectfully ask you to jig dangerously somewhere else, please," Y/n said, eying the man cautiously.

Before the old man could respond, a younger man ran up from behind the three. He pushed past Y/n and the twins, holding a spray bottle.

He wore a green and beige uniform; presumably from the fishing supplies cabin that stood at the edge of the lake.

"Hey, hey!" He yelled, spraying water at the old man. "What did I tell you about scaring away customers," he said, adjusting his green cap over his eyes. He shifted anxiously under the watch of the crowd, spraying the man with the water. "This is your last warning, Dad!"

Dad? Y/n thought. Yeesh, she cringed, pitting the younger man.

"But— but I got proof this time, garshdonnit!" The old man whimpered.

From beside Y/n, the twins' eyes widened. The older girl let out a silent huff; she could already tell what they were thinking.

The twins had found out about a Supernatural Creature contest at breakfast, and they were determined to find something good enough to win the cash prize. They were still buzzing with excitement from the gnomes; a little "Gobblewonker" seemed like an easy catch to them.

The old man scattered back up to the dock, and cautiously the crowd of anxious fishers followed behind. Even Stan, who had eventually made his way back onto dry land, was trailing behind the twins.

"Behold!" The man cried out, pointing down to a small vessel cracked in two. Splinters and pieces of wood littered the surface of the water, and the boat was taking on water quickly as it began to disappear into the depths of the lake.

"It's the Gobblywonker that done did it," he continued, as a slight murmur started to run through the crowd.

The man's son winced, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to further pull his cap down over his eyes.

"It had a long neck, like a giraffe! And wrinkly skin, like— like— like this gentleman over here!" The old man continued, pointing over to Stan. He grunted in reply, not paying attention.

"It chomped my boat to smitheroons, and shimshamed over to Scuttlebutt Island," he motioned his bandaged hand into the distance. From within the hazy fog that sat atop the water, the dark outline of a small island was barely discernible.

"You gotta believe me!" He finished, clinging onto his son's arm.

From besides the dock, Durland and Blubs pulled up in the police boat. They eyed each other before turning back to the waiting crowd.

"Attention all units," Blubs said, holding back a smirk. "We got ourselves a crazy old man!"

From behind the Pines, the crown started laughing, teasing the old man before leaving altogether.

The living scarecrow looked heartbroken, and Y/n and the twins eyed each other knowingly: this wasn't the first time something like this has happened.

The man's son shook his head in disappointment, disappearing into the dispersing crowd before anything else embarrassing could possibly happen.

"Awwww donkeyspittle," the old man said, waddling off the pier dejectedly, followed by the sounds of dying laughter.

"Damn," Y/n muttered, feeling embarrassed herself. "That was rough."

"Well, that just happened!" Stan announced in an awkward segway. "But now that that's over, let's untie this boat from the dock and make way into the lake!" He waddled back onto the Stan-O' War, fumbling with the tie holding it to the pier.

"You guys!" Dipper hissed, turning to his sisters. "Did you hear what that old guy said?"

"Awww donkeyspittle!" Mabel mimicked.

"No no no! Not that!" He fished out the magazine from his vest, flipping it to the contest page. "If we can get a picture of that thing we'll win the contest and split it between the three of us!"

Y/n hummed under her breath. She definitely wanted to find this thing, if not for the money then to prove that the old man was right. It didn't sit right with her that the entire town was mocking him. He was obviously... troubled in some way. It almost made her wonder; he had a son, so there was a point where things were going right for the old man, so what happened? Where did it go wrong?

"Imagine," Dipper continued, shaking Y/n from her thoughts. "$333.33 each!"

Mabel gasped; "$333.33 each?" Her eyes glazed over.

"She's thinking about the cheaper mini-hamster ball model, isn't she?" Y/n said, waving a hand in front of Mabel's face.

"Definitely. That's Mabel for you."

"You think she's including the two neon guys from that show she watches?"

"It wouldn't be a Mabel Daydream if it wasn't," Dipper said. He snapped his fingers by his sister's face.

She shook her head as she came back to. "Dipper. Dipper. Dipper. Yes. We're doing this. Right now. My hamster life-style awaits!" She said, a determined glint burned in her eyes. "I am 1,000,000% on board with this!"

The twins looked to Y/n, who just nodded. It was a perfect opportunity for her: there was no stopping the twins from looking for this thing, that was for sure. Especially now that they could use it to win that contest. So, she would have to follow them around to make sure they didn't get into trouble anyway. But now she can get a cut of the money? And prove to the town that the old dude was right? Yeah, that sounded pretty cool.

"Grunkle Stannnnnnnn," Dipper sang, slinging an arm around the sitting man, who was still struggling with the knot that held his boat to the dock.

Stan's eyes narrowed, and he let out a suspicious hum before letting Dipper continue.

"Well, there's been a slight change of plans," Dipper said, steepling his fingers and pointing to the boat with pursed lips. "We're thinking about taking the boat over to Scuttlebutt Island and looking for that Gobblewonker."

From behind Dipper, Mabel started chanting. "Monster hunt! Monster hunt!"

"What do you say, Big Guy?" Dipper asked awkwardly, motioning for Mabel to stop with a wave of his hand.

"Hold your horses there, kid. Now why—"

The sound of a horn cut through the lake, and the Pines looked back to see a large boat pulling up to the dock behind them.

Mabel gasped. "Soos!"

Sure enough, the Shack's Handyman was manning the vessel, equipped with a life jacket that was much too small for him.

"Heya dudes!" He greeted, leaning over the hull of the boat. "Did I hear you guys say something about a monster hunt?"

"How did you hear that—"

Mabel laughed loudly. "Oh, you know it!" She cheered, reaching up to give Soos a fist bump. The two made explosion noises and Y/n smiled slightly.

"You dudes could totally use my boat for that. It's got all of the boat stuff: a steering wheel, chairs— you know. The good stuff," Soos said, patting the hull of the "S.S. Cool Dude."

The boat was surprisingly well kept, but Y/n figured that was probably because it was in the hands of a repairman. The vessel had several Soos-modifications: the controls seemed to be harbored in what looked like to be the head of a truck, and a lucha libre figure was fastened to the tip of the boat to act as a figurehead.

"Woah woah woah," Stan said, standing up.

Y/n winced; she really was just waiting for the boat to just drop Stan into the lake.

"Do you three really want to waste your time going on some 'epic' monster hunt, or do you want to spend it learning how to tie knots and skewer worms with your good Ol' Great Uncle?"

The trio eyed each other, looking back to the two ships.

"Well," Mabel said to her siblings, "When you put it that way..."

"You know, Soos is giving us a pretty persuasive Robot Dance," Y/n pointed.

"So it's settled then, right?" Dipper asked.

"Totally."

Stan smiled, convinced the three would be content with handling worms and listening to his Yuckum-Ups until he heard the whirring spin of an engine and the kids' shouts getting farther away.

"We made the right decision!" Mabel yelled from Soos' boat, helping Y/n get on board, seeing as Soos took off a little too quickly. He was as eager to start the monster hunt as the twins.

Y/n could barely hear Stan yell out to them, his dying, "Ingrates!" being drowned out by the rushing wind and parting waters.

"Yeah," Y/n mumbled, "the right decision." She felt a little bad for leaving Stan out there on the lake, but she wasn't just doing this for herself or the money. Someone had to keep an eye out on the twins. They'd have plenty of time to bond over the course of the summer; they were staying with him, after all. Besides, not only was she trying to help the twins find the Gobblewonker (all while keeping them safe), imagine the look on all the townspeople's faces when they'd see that old guy was right!

Justice for that old guy makes up for ditching Stan, right? She wondered, trying to ignore the fact that she replaced one sad old man with another.

Soos stopped the boat little ways from Scuttlebutt Island as Dipper called for a meeting at the center of dock. As he pulled out the journal from his vest, Y/n inhaled sharply. The one line of code echoed in her head.

Yeah, she decided. It'll be fine. This isn't just about proving the old guy right.

Her eyes locked onto the journal, the sun's light running across the six-fingered hand as he opened it.

I may not take the journal away, but I still have to make sure the twins are safe.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

"THESE FUCKING BEAVERS!"

"Y/n!" Mabel gasped, struggling to shake off the small animal currently chomping on her wrist. "Language!"

"SORRY," she yelled back, tossing three beavers over the side of the out-of-control-ship before they could rip up her hoodie. "DON'T REPEAT THAT. Please."

The mammals were scattered all over the boat, and currently Dipper and Soos were still struggling with their beaver foes, meaning that no one was driving.

Normally, the beavers wouldn't have been too much of a nuisance. But when you're being chased by Gravity Falls' own Loch Ness monster and going way above the local water's speed limit backwards, everything suddenly becomes a lot more life and death and any minor inconvenience can shed 20 or so years.

The four had found the Gobblewonker on complete accident, and at this point they almost wished they hadn't. It was the size of a small ship— a little bigger than the S.S. Cool Dude— and colored a sea green and littered in scales. It's large head had a long snout with gleaming yellow eyes, floppy dorsal fins running down it's head and neck. It's large fins helped it keep up with the speeding boat, and it's tail looked big enough to completely rip through the vessel if given the chance.

Y/n lunged at the controls, grabbing the wheel and tossing it frantically in her hands. She had never driven a boat, but she didn't have time to think about whether or not her driver's permit would be of any help.

"Of course we had to drive into those fucking beavers," she cursed under breath, panicky. "At least we didn't pick up that chain saw."

She managed to turn the boat forwards, and cranked up the engine speed. The boat ripped through the waters, skipping on the lake as the group made their frantic get away.

Dipper finally got rid of the beavers sitting on his head, and was currently trying to pry the few that were eating at the boat and throw them overboard. Soos was still struggling with the beaver that clung to his face and was running around the deck in circles repeating: "Ow. Ow. Ow." Mabel struggled to catch up with him.

The four were covered in dirt and water, and pines from the trees the monster toppled back on the Island were twisted in their hair.

Y/n was lucky enough to not have her cast wet, but practically everything else was drenched from slinging Dipper over her shoulder after he fell into the water when the Gobblewonker appeared. If she wasn't freaking out, she would be loudly complaining about her soggy socks.

"Y/n!" Dipper yelled, running to the front of the boat. In the back, Mabel and Soos were struggling with the beavers still. "There's more boats up ahead!"

"You gotta be kidding me," she grumbled. As the fog lifted, Y/n could barely make out the three small boats sitting calmly on the water. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the wheel tightly, grinding her teeth. "This better work," she mumbled under her breath.

Y/n tossed the wheel to and fro, managing to weave through the small vessels. From behind the speeding boat, the Gobblewonker followed just under the surface of the water, it's glowing yellow eyes barely visible under the depths of the lake.

As it passed the boats, the wave it traveled in threw them into the air, tossing the fishers into the lake and causing water and fish to rain down from above.

The Gobblewonker burst through the waters, thrashing wildly with its neck at the boat.

"TO THE RIGHT!" Dipper yelled.

Y/n took a hard right, swinging the wheel back in order to level the boat and keep it from capsizing.

The monster swung again at the boat, this time it's neck sweeping across to hit the control room.

"DUCK DUCK DUCK!" Mabel yelled.

Y/n dropped to the floor in a squat, her breath hitching in her throat as the red wood that enclosed the control room was ripped away from the vessel, taking some lingering beavers with it. Splinters rained down around her.

She couldn't help but wonder if the twins had gone through a similar escape with the gnomes the other day.

Y/n turned back to the deck, glad to see that everyone was already back on their feet. Except Soos, who was still battling the lone beaver.

"Y/n! Watch out!" Mabel yelled, pointing ahead.

Y/n whipped back forward, paling at the sight in front of them.

"WHY ARE THEY TAKING GLASS ACROSS THE LAKE? ESPECIALLY LIKE THAT?" She cried, gripping the wheel. There were a few other choice words she had for the two men that were transporting the glass pane, but she had to bite her tongue before her sailor's mouth made itself present in front of the twins again. There was no time to swerve around them; the only way was through the middle.

"Get behind me!" She called back, shielding her face with her arms as the boat barreled through the pane.

It shattered almost instantly, and pieces flew into the air. Y/n took the front of it, wincing as tiny shards of glass scraped at her hands and cheeks.

The boat continued to rip through the water, the Gobblewonker still hot on their tail, maneuvering swiftly under the guise of the lake.

Y/n finally opened her eyes, right as the boat entered a narrow trench. Up head, the group could hear the rushing of a waterfall.

"Oh no," Y/n mumbled, her hands fumbling around the control panel in an attempt to find a break. "Guys, unless you can tell me there's some hidden path I can swerve into, then we're going to crash full speed into a damn cliff!"

The twins looked around desperately for any cave they could possibly fit the boat into. Dipper flipped through the journal.

"T-the falls! Go right to it! I-I think there might be a cave behind there," he sputtered.

"'Might be?'" Mabel yelled.

"I hope you're right! Brace yourselves—!"

Soos and the twins screamed, covering their eyes as Y/n simultaneously cursed the universe and prayed to anyone that would listen.

S.S. Cool Dude broke through the glittering waterfalls, and seconds later the crew was violently thrown from the vessel onto a sandy shore.

Y/n hit the ground hard, and she was sure that she had swallowed at least a small pail's worth of sand and sediment. Dipper, Mabel, and Soos landed close by, in no better conditions.

Mabel was up first, followed by her brother, and then Soos. The trio had to help the dazed and coughing Y/n to her feet.

"Huh," she laughed nervously, as it was the only thing she could think to do. "It appears we're still alive!" She spat out more sand.

"Looks like you were right about that cave, little dude!" Soos, who was now beaver free, cheered, nudging Dipper.

Before they could celebrate further, the Gobblewonker broke through the falls, its loud roar shaking the hidden cavern. Water splashed down around them as the monster glowered from above.

Soos grabbed the twins and pulled them closer to him as Y/n instinctively jumped in front of the trio.

She was just as terrified as the rest of them, but in that moment, the fear that burned within the fibers of her being turned into something else.

As Y/n stared into the glowing eyes of the beast, a rushing calm passed over her and a familiar warmth settled in her limbs. Something was ready to burst forth within her, and as the monster lunged forward—

"Wait," Mabel gasped, pointing to the mouth of the cave. "It's stuck!"

Y/n's gaze flickered from the creature. Sure enough, it's wide body was much too big for the cavern. It was pulled back, head slamming into the wall as debris fell from the ceiling.

The adrenaline burning in her veins died down abruptly, and she suddenly felt weak and cold.

"Oh thank God," she breathed out, a shudder running down her spine. Now that there was no immediate threat, the achiness in her bones was magnified tenfold, not to mention a dull searing pain in her hand.

"Ha ha, yeah!" Dipper laughed victoriously. "Wait," he paused, "it's stuck?"

He broke away from the group, running up a steep escarpment bordering the mouth of the cave. Mabel and Soos followed him, and Y/n took the chance to do the most appropriate thing: fall flat on her back and try to process just how she was still alive.

The achiness in her bones subsided; she was left with her drumming heartbeat and—

"Ow," she hissed, as a pain shot down her wrist.

Y/n grabbed her right arm, pulling back the sleeve. Her heart dropped; the inside of her palm was bleeding.

Under normal circumstances, she would have blamed it on the glass. There were thin scratches on her knuckles, and she could feel a thin streak of blood running down her cheek, little ways under her left eye.

But this was anything but normal: it was the scarred flame that was bleeding. Despite the blood trickling down the irregular shape, the figure was unmistakable.

"Holy shit," she whispered, a cold sweat dripping from her brow.

Before she could inspect any further, a loud metal thud rang out in the small cavern.

A stalactite had fallen as the Gobblewonker struggled, and it had hit the creature's long snout.

The creature's movements stopped suddenly, and a loud whirring stuttered from within it. It's yellow eyes flickered, and it slowly fell into the small pool motionless. Electricity crackled from it's head, running along it's scaly length.

"What the—" Y/n asked, stumbling to her feet.

The twins and Soos were just as confused. Dipper returned the disposable camera to his vest, carefully dismounting the cliff edge.

Y/n met him on the bank of the water, only feet away from one of the Gobblewonker's large fins. However, up close, they looked less... fishy, for a lack of a better word.

Dipper jumped first, landing on a fin with a loud bang. Y/n followed. Dipper reached down and touched the side of the beast.

"That's cold," he said, retracting his arm immediately.

Y/n knocked on the side, the same hollow metal sound from earlier reverberating throughout the cave. Upon further inspection, the Gobblewonker's scaly form was flat; the scales once thought to protrude from it's skin nothing but details expertly painted on.

"It's metal," she said. "Is— is this a robot?"

Dipper started to climb the side of the creature.

"What's wrong?" Mabel called from the top of the cliff, slowly making her way down with Soos trailing.

"I think this is a robot," Y/n called back, as Dipper disappeared to the other side of the Gobblewonker.

"Hey guys," he called back suddenly, peeking his head over. "Check this out!"

The three climbed up to Dipper, who was sitting in front of a small hatch.

They all looked at each other.

"You guys ready?" Dipper asked.

With a unanimous nod, Dipper took a deep breath before grasping the wheel placed on the center of the hatch. With a few turns, the small door opened with a hiss and puff of steam.

As the steam cleared, the four were able to peer down into the inner workings of the Gobblewonker.

The familiar sound of southern muttering reached their ears, until finally the four heard "Ahhhh banjo polish."

The old man from earlier looked up from a control panel nervously.

"You have to be kidding me," Y/n grumbled, eyes wide.

Dipper sputtered incoherently, arms waving.

"Y-you?" He asked finally. "You made this? W-w-why?"

The old man looked away, embarrassed. "Well, I... I, uh... I just wanted attention," he confessed.

"Yeah and I didn't want to have another near-death experience, but here we are!" Y/n growled.

"I still don't understand," Dipper said.

"Well," the old man started, changing demeanor completely, "first I just hootinadied up a biomechanical brainwave generator, and then I learned to operate a stick shift with my beard! And then it was a matter of shimmidaddlin' the—"

"Okay, yeah," Mabel cut him off, confused as the rest of them. "But why did you do it?"

"Well, when you get to be an old fella like me, no one ever pays any attention to you anymore. My own son hasn't visited me in months! So I figured I'd catch his fancy with a fifteen ton aquatic rob't!" He started laughing, before ending in a sad sigh.

Y/n was still bitter, but she handed it to the man; she was petty enough to do something similar if she was in a similar situation.

Not to mention that the robot was incredibly crafted. This man was a genius, once you got past his odd persona.

But, Y/n thought, if he's capable of something like this, how did he end up the laughing stock of the town? Where did it go wrong?

"In retrospect," the old man continued, "it seems a bit contrived. You just don't know the lengths us old-timers go through just for a bit of quality time with our family."

Y/n hissed, and Dipper and Mabel sighed as they took out their bucket hats.

"We really done goofed, didn't we?" Y/n muttered under her breath, taking out her own from her hoodie pocket. She ran her hand along the messed up stitching. She ended up with two sad old men, one of which was family... sort of.

"Oh wow. It looks like the real lake monster is you three, huh dudes?" Soos asked, laughing awkwardly. Y/n sent him a glare and he immediately backtracked. "S-sorry, it just— boom! Popped into my head there," he finished nervously.

"So," Mabel said, "did you ever talk to your son about how you felt?"

"No sir, I got to work straight on the rob't! I made lots of rob'ts back in my day," the man said, a slide show starting with a press of a button. "Like when my wife left me and I created a homicidal pterodactyl-tron," a newspaper article appeared of said incident. "Or when my pal Ernie didn't come to my retirement party and I constructed an 80-ton Shamebot that exploded the entire downtown area!" He broke into mad cackling, and suddenly Y/n wasn't as sympathetic as she was this morning.

This man is a literal crackhead.

"Welp! Time to get back to work on my death ray!" And with that, he disappeared back into the belly of the beast, grabbing a drill and a saw.

"Do any of you kids have a screwdriver?" He called, reaching his hand up.

"Nope. We're done here." Y/n announced, getting up and grabbing the twins by the scruff of their life jackets.

"Well, so much for the photo contest," Dipper sighed as Y/n dragged them back down to land. Soos followed behind them.

"We still have one roll of film left," Mabel said meekly.

"Then there's only one thing to do with it," Y/n interrupted, giving the twins and Soos and knowing smirk.

"Yeah!"

"But first," Y/n pointed to the S.S. Cool Dude, which was stuck in a sand dune. "We need to get that boat freed."

After a lot of pushing— to get both the vessel and Gobblewonker freed from the cavern, the group carefully boarded the boat and took a slow start back to the lake.

The boat was in absolute shambles; the kids couldn't move too much or else the boat would probably disintegrate into the water. Y/n was genuinely surprised it could hold all four of them; she found herself yearning to be on the Stan-O' War.

The engine was probably fried from the strain she had put on it during their escape from the mad old man— or Old Man McGucket, according to Soos. The boat moved at a crawl at best, and it took them nearly 10 minutes to find Stan's boat skipping across the lake.

It was late evening, and the sun was dipping below the cliffs that enclosed the lake. The water caught the setting sun's light and glittered softly, and a comfortable warmth fell over the lake. The sky had turned from blue to a light pink, and the baby clouds from earlier looked like cotton candy soaring across a sea of rose.

"Hey," Dipper called out once Stan was in earshot. "Over here!"

Stan looked up from the boat, coming to the stop as the S.S. Cool Dude hunkered to a pause next to him.

Dipper fished out the last camera from his vest, flashing a picture of Stan.

"What the— kids? I thought you three went to play spin the bottle with Soos," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Y/n paused for a moment. "Do— do you know what spin the bottle is or—?"

"Well, we spent all day trying to find a legendary dinosaur," Dipper explained, ignoring what Stan had said.

"But in the end," Mabel continued, "we realized that the only dinosaur we want to hang out with is right here!"

Stan scoffed. "Save your sympathy! I've been having a great time out here by myself. Making friends; talking to my reflection; I had a run in with the lake police. I gotta wear this ankle bracelet now, so, that's gonna be fun." He lifted his leg to show the kids.

"Stan," Y/n couldn't help but laugh, too tired to think of what he could have possibly done to warrant an ankle bracelet of all things. "You're the only person I know who could still somehow take a day on the lake and commit any sort of crime."

Stan didn't laugh, and instead crossed his arms and turned away, pouting.

The four shared nervous glances. They really did fuck up, didn't they?

"So," Dipper ventured, "I guess there isn't room on that boat for four more?"

Grunkle Stan looked back towards the group, surprised to see the three kids wearing their Pines Family Fishing Hats.

"So, uh, you knuckleheads ever see me thread a hook with my eyes closed?"

"Five bucks says you can't do it," Y/n snapped back playfully. "Come on Stan; you already lost one bet this morning, so don't make any promises you can't keep!"

"Five more says you can't do it with your eyes closed plus with Mabel singing at the top of her lungs!" Dipper said, jumping onto the Stan-O' War.

"I like those odds!" Stan said, helping Mabel and Y/n on board.

Y/n helped Soos on board at the right time: the S.S. Cool Dude was slowly succumbing to the lake.

"Woah," Stan said, pointing to the two older passengers. "Soos, what happened to your shirt? And what's with that cut on your face, Squirt?"

The twins, Y/n, and Soos shared a look.

"It's a long story, dude," Soos said.

Before Stan could ask anymore questions, Dipper took out the camera. "Everybody get together," he said, ushering the family to one side of the boat.

The group huddled together.

"Am I in frame?" Soos asked, as Dipper took the picture.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get this family fishing time started!" Mabel yelled once the picture was over.

The family cheered, and Y/n couldn't help but giggle.

After the day they just had, the Pines really just needed some family time on the water.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The rest of the day was filled with nonsensical fun, sea shanties (suggested by Mabel and heavily encouraged by Y/n), and borderline illegal events. They hadn't spent more than a few more hours on the lake, but it was enough to create memories that would last forever.

The twins and Stan were still buzzing with excitement on the drive home.

"We told you that you couldn't thread the hook with your eyes closed," Mabel laughed. "We caught you cheating!"

"I won't believe it until I have photographic evidence," Stan replied.

"There's four witnesses that say otherwise," Dipper said.

"It's all hearsay!" Stan defended with a smile, looking at the kids through the rear view mirror. His gaze landed on Y/n, who was mostly quiet on the ride home.

"Squirt! I gotta hand it to you, I never thought you'd be the one to get this ankle bracelet off of me!"

Y/n smiled mischievously.

"Well, you and Mabel were the ones who brought Blubs and Durland over after you stole that family's fish. I just seized the opportunity I was handed."

"Y/n you jumped onto the police boat and stole a wrench to hack apart the bracelet." Dipper said.

"...Don't tell Mom and Dad," she said finally.

The twins and Stan laughed.

"And kid," Stan continued, pointing at Dipper. "You caught your first fish today, didn't you?"

Dipper laughed sheepishly. "Learned from the best; what can I say?"

"Atta boy!"

The car pulled up to the shack, and the kids slowly piled out of the car. The events from today were finally catching up to them, and everyone was more sluggish than usual. It didn't help that night was slowly approaching and the sun had long since faded into the murky waters of the lake.

As Dipper and Y/n circled around the front of the car, the older girl stopped suddenly.

It might have been getting dark out, but Y/n was still as observant as ever, and the license plate had caught her eye.

Dipper stopped next to her, meeting her gaze to the plate at the bottom of the red convertible.

It read: "STNLYMBL."

"Huh," Dipper said, peering down at it, just as confused as Y/n was. "That's a bit... weird."

"Maybe he stole it," Y/n giggled slightly, trying to ignore the suspicion welling up inside of her.

"That sounds like a very Grunkle-Stan-like thing to do," Dipper laughed.

"What are you two looking at?" Stan asked loudly.

The two jumped, startled. Stan was standing behind them. His brows raised when he noticed Y/n weekly pointing at the car.

"Oh, I see," he said, smirking slightly. "You're admiring this beaut, aren't you?" Stan walked around to pat the hood of the car fondly.

"My 1965 El Diablo Convertible. Had it since I was about your age, Squirt," he said, pointing at Y/n. "I've traveled across the country in this, and she still works like a dream."

Well at least he didn't steal it, Y/n thought. But that still doesn't explain that weird license plate.

"Can you drive?"

Y/n jumped slightly. "I mean, I have my permit," she started. "But I've never really been behind the wheel that much."

"Then I'll teach you," Stan said proudly, leaning against the car.

Dipper grimaced. "Stan, you can barely see the road. You really think you should be the one teaching Y/n?"

"Relax, Dipper! I could teach a bear to drive!"

"A— a bear?" Y/n asked meekly.

"Huh, you know," Stan said, trailing off into thought. "That doesn't sound that bad; teaching a bear to drive."

"Please stop."

"Oh would you look at the time!" Dipper said, trying to stop Stan from continuing any longer with that train of thought.

"The boy's right," he said, guiding the kids to the shack. "If you're up for it, I'll give you some driving lessons, Squirt."

Y/n nodded, following behind Dipper and Stan into the shack, but not before taking one last glance at the car.

Something about that license plate just sat... wrong with her. Maybe it was her foggy brain jumping to conclusions, but there was just this nagging feeling in her gut.

She shut the door to the gift shop. She hadn't felt this intrigued by something since—

Y/n turned from the door, and was face to face with the vending machine. At this point, Stan and Dipper had disappeared into the living room.

"Oh my God," Y/n muttered. "I almost forgot about that..."

She took a few tentative steps towards the machine, her hand ghosting over the glass display case. A pit settled in her stomach. She reached for the keypad. Y/n wasn't sure of the code, but she wondered— if she thought back to last night— if she could remember the pattern Stan had input—

"Squirt!"

"Holyshi—" Y/n breathed out, jumping back from the vending machine.

Stan stood by the employees only door, scrutinizing Y/n.

"What's up with you and startling people? You nearly gave me a heart attack. Again," Y/n said, laughing nervously.

"What are you doing?" Stan snapped defensively, his brows raising.

Y/n paled for a moment. "Oh, I was just uh, thinking about grabbing a snack," she lied. "I haven't really eaten anything since breakfast."

Stan's tone changed completely as he looked almost offended. "You were going to waste money on a snack when I have food in the kitchen?" He laughed, grabbing Y/n by the shoulder and leading her into the living room.

"Did you get water in your head, Squirt? Or are you just crazy?"

Y/n laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, I... I didn't think of that."

"I can see that! For someone so smart, you really can be so dense. You, uh, almost remind me of someone," he trailed off, ending his sentence in a mutter.

Y/n looked back at Stan for a second, his face unreadable. The question on the tip of her tongue died in her throat.

But in that moment, something deep inside of her told her that somehow, someway, whatever was in the basement, and whatever the story was behind the license plate, didn't change the fact that Stan was a genuinely good man at heart, even if his hobbies included scamming the locals and committing various types of fraud.

Chapter Text

When Y/n woke up, she felt like she had been hit by a bus.

She was just as tired as when she went to bed the night prior, and it didn't help that her entire body was aching from the events on the lake. Y/n didn't understand why, either. It wasn't as if she was battling bouts of insomnia; it was quite the opposite actually. As soon as she had hit the bed last night she was out like a light, with no weird dreams to speak of.

But as she struggled to keep her eyes open while she battled with her bed head, she almost wished she had another out-of-body-experience. Hell, she would have even taken another meeting with Bill. At least after dreams like that she felt rested.

Y/n finally tamed the mess of curls on her head and opened the medicine cabinet, fishing for her toothbrush and toothpaste. She found her toothbrush with ease, but became annoyed when the toothpaste tube was completely empty.

"Mabel!" Y/n yelled, stepping out of the bathroom to yell down the stairs. The twins had actually woken her up. They wanted to watch this show called "Ducktective" or something with her. She wasn't exactly sure of the title; she had been too focused on not killing herself whilst getting out of bed when they told her.

"Did you eat all the toothpaste? Again?!"

"It was so sparkly!" Mabel whined back. "I couldn't resist! I was weak!"

Y/n rolled her eyes, letting out an infuriated sigh; she was especially cranky this morning. She searched through the cabinet for a spare tube as tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. When she finished brushing, she thoroughly doused her face in cold water, trying to wake herself up. She dabbed the excess from her face, careful not the mess up the bandaid across her cheek covering the cut she acquired the day before.

Before she left the bathroom, she took a look at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were getting worse by the minute; it almost looked like she was putting eyeliner and eyeshadow under them.

"Just get through the day. Maybe try going to bed earlier... or something," she muttered, knowing very well that that wasn't going to happen.

Y/n thumped down the stairs, nearly falling down them twice. The twins were sitting in the living room, happily munching away on popcorn as Ducktective went to commercial.

The twins had been up for a couple hours; how they managed to wake up early after the ordeal from yesterday was an even bigger mystery than the vending machine. Thankfully, they had convinced Stan to let Y/n have a few more hours of much needed sleep. Until, of course, the twins thought Ducktective was a much more important matter.

Maybe it was; Y/n wasn't sure. It did have a duck after all.

"Feeling any better, Y/n?" Mabel asked, as Y/n slumped into the living room.

"I feel like the stolen souls of the innocent," she answered, face planting into the sofa behind them.

"You want me to make you Mabel Juice?"

Y/n may have been tired, but she wasn't going to risk that sparkly concoction. "I'll survive...  unfortunately," came her muffled reply.

"You want some popcorn?" Dipper asked, holding a handful up to her.

The older girl turned her head, opening her mouth. Dipper started tossing kernels.

"Thanks," the girl munched.

"Hey dudes!"

The three turned to the hallway, where Soos slid into view. In his hand was a broom and he was covered in dust. "You'll never guess what I just found!"

"Buried treasure!" Dipper yelled.

"Buri— Hey! I was going to say that," Mabel giggled, hitting him gently.

"What is it, Soos?" Y/n asked, sitting up.

Instead of answering, he motioned for the three to follow. Excitedly, he disappeared down the hall once again.

The twins were quick to scamper down the hall after the handyman, while Y/n slowly stumbled after them.

They reached a dark and dirty hallway. The purple striped wallpaper was littered in water and mildew stains, and it was tearing everywhere. The wooden floor boards were loose and squeaky, and spider webs coated the corners.

"So I was cleaning up when I found this secret door hidden behind the wallpaper," Soos said, clutching the broom tightly. "It's crazy bonkers creepy!" He whispered.

"Oh wow," Y/n mumbled, suddenly well awake. The door was perfectly flushed against the wall, and the wallpaper would have made it impossible to see.

The older girl could help but think of Bill's messages: The handyman knows more than you think.

Stan had described Soos as "not the crispest dollar in the stack," and for the most part, the girl agreed. But, Y/n would admit— even if it was an accident— Soos just stumbling across this room was pretty impressive.

"I found the doorknob while sweeping," Soos continued, reaching for the door.

It opened with an ear splitting creak, spiderwebs holding it to the wall snapping and dust falling to the floor.

The four poked their heads into the room. In the dark, they could barely make out the outlines of several standing figures.

Dipper walked in first, flipping on a flashlight.

"Woah," he said, shining the light around. "It's a secret wax museum!"

There were maybe a dozen of the figures, all different people from fiction and history alike. John Wilkes Booth, Shakespeare, Larry King, Sherlock Holmes— it seemed so out of place to have these people standing in the same room together, even if they were just wax.

Mabel and Soos entered the room.

"They're so life-like!" Mabel said, running her hand on Sherlock's overcoat.

"I feel like we've entered a horror movie," Y/n said, still at the entrance of the room.

Mabel turned back to her sister. "Y/n, don't tell me you're scared," she stifled a giggle.

"I'm not scared," Y/n argued, crossing her arms— something a lot harder to do with a clunky cast. "But you can't tell me that finding a secret dark room filled with life-sized and detailed wax figures isn't some sort of a red flag."

"Chillax dude," Soos said, inspecting a Wax Shakespeare. "It's not like they're gonna come to life, or something."

"Yeah, Y/n," Dipper laughed. "They're harmless wax figures."

"Bro," Y/n exclaimed, pointing to the far corner of the room. "Wax Lizzie Borden is literally clutching an axe; you know, like the one she supposedly mutilated her parents with?"

"Oh, so that's who that one is!" An unknown voice boomed.

The four jumped out of their skins, each screaming slightly, as Dipper flung the flashlight around erratically.

The beam landed on a rather realistic figure, and Y/n heard Mabel gasp.

"Oh my God! It's alive?!"

"This one's kinda ugly too," Dipper muttered, backing away.

The figure laughed; a familiar, gruff and deep laugh.

Wait, Y/n's foggy mind struggled to catch up. Is that—?

"Relax kids, it's me, Grunkle Stan!" Stan stepped into the light, in his usual old tee, striped boxers, and pink slippers.

"Oh," Y/n muttered sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. "It's all goo—"

She was cut off as the twins and Soos— for some inexplicable reason— started screaming louder and ran from the room.

Damn, Y/n thought. Well I guess Stan's morning face is a bit startling—

"What's with them?" Stan said, stepping from the shadows. He moved over to the wall, flipping a switch. The lights flickered to life, flooding the room. Y/n could see the statues more clearly.

The room housed a good number of them, all in generally near-perfect conditions, except—

"Oop, rip Wax... someone," she mumbled, pointing out the puddle of melted wax at the back of the room to Stan. The culprit: a window allowing the murderous sun rays into the room.

"No! Not Wax Abraham Lincoln! Who left the blinds open?" He turned around, as if expecting one of the other figures to confess.

His gaze landed on John Wilkes Booth. "I'm looking at you, you Confederate-Actor-Scum!"

"Stan," the girl said, stepping out into the hall to see if the twins and Soos were nearby. They were; the had run to the end of the hall, waiting in anticipation to see if she would leave too. Y/n waved them back over to the room.

"Soos just found the room. You left the blinds open how-ever-many years ago."

"Are you accusing me of murder, Squirt?" Stan challenged playfully.

"Maybe I am, Stanford Pines," Y/n said, a glint in her eyes. "If that's even your real name, dun dun dunnnnn," she added playfully.

Stan visibly paled, and Y/n's eyes widened. Did—did she hit a nerve with that joke...?

Before she could ask, the twins and Soos walked back into the room. When she looked back at Stan, he appeared completely normal, as if nothing at all had happened. Y/n was left baffled. Was...? Did I just imagine that?

"Uh, what's going on here...?" Dipper ventured cautiously, noticing the awkward silence between the two parties.

"Can you believe it, kids?" Stan exclaimed, gesturing to Y/n. "Your sister is accusing me— your poor, old, loving, Grunkle Stan— of murder!"

The twins exchanged looks. "No, yeah I believe it," they mumbled, nodding in agreement.

"Traitors!" Stan bellowed.

"Sorry Stan," Mabel said, "but Y/n's usually right about this type of stuff. Murder is her thing."

"Mabel! You're making me sound like a lunatic," Y/n whined, deciding to put aside the weird interaction from moments before.

She laughed. "But that's why we wanted to show you Ducktective. It has that murder and mystery stuff for you and Dipper, and an adorable main fowl character for me!" Mabel's eyes sparkled.

"Grunkle Stan," Dipper said, walking over to a Queen Elizabeth statue in the corner. "Why are these guys down here?"

"These guys were a part of the Gravity Falls Wax Museum... before I forgot all about it," Stan said, mumbling slightly towards the end.

"I got them all," he continued, walking down the rows of statues. "Ghengis Khan, Sherlock Holmes," he stopped at Larry King, microphone in hand. "Some kind of— I don't know— goblin-man thing...?"

"That's— that's Larry King." Y/n corrected.

"Yeah, sure," Stan said dismissively.

"You know what Y/n," Dipper said, moving closer to her and away from the figures. "I see what you mean now. Red flags everywhere."

"See! I wasn't crazy— or at least not completely crazy."

"Then there was my personal favorite," Stan gestured sadly at the waxy remains of Abraham Lincoln. He bent down and ran his finger through the melted wax. "How do you even fix a wax statue?" He mumbled to himself.

"Awww, cheer up Grunkle Stan!" Mabel said, hugging him from behind. "Beep bop boop," she started, poking his face hazardously.

"Hey!" Stan snapped when she had nearly poked his eye out.

"Don't worry Grunkle Stan," Mabel said as he stood up. "I can make you a new wax figure from all this old wax!"

Stan looked impressed. "You really think you can make one of these puppies?"

"Grunkle Stan," she said, lifting her head in a faux-snooty manner, "I'm an arts and crafts master."

"She really is," Dipper contended, Y/n nodding.

Y/n thought it was funny; the three of them were actually rather gifted with art. Mabel definitely carried the crown for master of most mediums, but her and Dipper were fairly good with sketching.

"Why else do you think this glue gun is stuck to my arm?" Mabel said, lifting her teal sweater sleeve.

"Oh my God," Y/n said. "Mabel that's been there since your art project final in May—"

"NO IT'S A SYMBOL OF MY ABILITY." She cut the older girl off suddenly.

"I like your gumption, kid!" Stan said, nudging Mabel slightly.

"I don't know what that word means, but thank you!" She smiled. Mabel turned back to Y/n, Dipper, and Soos, who were all waiting by the door.

"Okay guys!" She announced, clapping her hands to gain their attention. "I need a wax clean up crew! We're gonna work some magic here and I'm counting on you guys to help me gather all the wax possible!"

Dipper and Y/n shared a knowing look.

"Well," the older sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "There goes Ducktective."

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

When Dipper found himself sitting next to Wendy, he had to continuously remind himself that he needed to breathe. And breathe normally; none of the gasping breaths he was famous for, no matter how nervous he got just by the thought of being in the same vicinity with her.

He hadn't found much time alone with the redhead, but he had miraculously managed to form the beginnings of a friendship with her. Which of course, was an achievement on its own.

Mabel had finished her wax magnum opus earlier that day: a Wax Grunkle Stan.

She took immense pride in it, and Dipper could see why: she did a phenomenal job sculpting the conman's doppelgänger. The figure rivaled the quality of the others; it was only the glitter that made it stand out a bit. But Mabel had insisted on adding it, claiming that it symbolized Stan's "glittering personality."

Stan almost seemed more proud of it than Mabel was. He was absolutely enamored with the replica of himself, and seeing it glimmering in the sunlight was enough for him to decide to reopen the wax museum altogether.

Stan made Y/n and Soos spread the word quickly, printing out flyers and sending out emails and even having one of them shout it around town.

Cars and people were filing into the yard outside the shack, where Stan and the twins had set up a small stage and seating area, advertising the Wax Museum of Mystery as the "Eighth Wonder of the World."

When Wendy arrived later, Stan had her and Dipper put up a banner and then put them in charge of the admissions table.

The amount of people who arrived was staggering: people were arriving on foot, on bicycles, and hoards in cars. The two had gathered more than $100 within the first 5 minutes; there was no telling how much they had now.

"Wow," Dipper said, trying to start a conversation with the girl beside him. "It's kinda shocking all these people came to this."

Wendy took another patron's money, putting it in the red box sloppily labeled "admission."

"I know, right? Your Uncle probably bribed them, or something," she chuckled, nudging him.

"He bribed me," Dipper smirked, pulling out a crisp Hamilton from his vest.

Wendy produced one of her own, and the two chuckled.

Dipper thought his conversation with Wendy was going well; he hadn't stumbled over any of his words, he hadn't burst into excessive sweat, and he sure hadn't exploded into a burning blush— not that he ran the risk of doing that, of course. No no no. Why would he be blushing? If anything, he just needed some sunscreen; yeah, yeah, it was pretty sunny out.

But before he could start casual banter with her, he heard a foldable chair being set up beside him.

"Yo," Y/n said, flopping down by the table.

"Sup Y/n," Wendy said, giving her a slight wave.

"Oh," Dipper jumped, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice now that his sister had interrupted his alone time with his crus— new friend.

He noticed she was dressed in her "Mr. Mystery" outfit. "He made you go out in that?"

"Yuuuup," she answered, leaning back and letting out a sigh. Y/n loosened the tie. "I walked around the entire town, got lost, and then circled around the downtown area twice. I am so tired, and my feet are killing me," she breathed out exhaustedly.

"I guess it wasn't worth the ten dollars then, huh?" Wendy asked.

Y/n paused, blinking twice. "Hold up, you got paid?"

Before the two could answer her, a small fanfare sounded in the area, followed by the ear splitting reverb of a microphone being tested for the first time.

"We're coming back to this," Y/n said with a small smirk, before turning her attention to the stage.

"You all know me folks! The town's darling: Mr. Mystery. Please, ladies! Control yourselves," Stan started, only to be met with complete silence.

"As you know, I always bring the people of this fair town novelties and befuddlements; the likes of which the world has never known."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because the Sascrotch is such a popular cryptid," he said, earning a small snicker from the two girls beside him.

"But enough about me," Stan continued, walking over to the newest addition to the wax museum, covered in a sheet.

"Behold, ME!" He shouted, pulling back the sheet in a gracious manner as Soos accented the announcement with his keyboard and trumpet fanfare.

"Yeah! Ye-ye-ye-ye-yeah!" The Beeblyboop announced.

The three at the admissions table could practically feel the awkward silence. There were only maybe two people who clapped, and a third who coughed.

"Woah," Dipper said, wincing. "Rough crowd."

"Tell me about it," Wendy said, side eyeing the people.

"Why are they so dead? Even I'm not this bad," Y/n said.

"I beg to differ," Dipper smirked.

"Fine, fine; maybe I'm a little more like a walking corpse than I admit. But I blame it on not being able to sleep," she let out a yawn and rubbed her eyes.

Dipper's brows raised as he noticed the dark bags under her rather tired eyes. How did I not notice that before?

"Hey, what's with—"

Before he could ask, the Pines' very own "Mabel Angelo" took the stage.

"Thank you for coming," she announced proudly, walking to the front of the stage. "I made this sculpture with my own two hands! It's covered in my blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids."

A disgusted shout ran through the crowd, and Y/n face palmed audibly. "Mabel, no," she whined, "that sounds so very bad."

Mabel laughed. "Heh heh, yeah. I will now take questions! You there," she pointed to McGucket.

"Oh woah," Dipper said, nudging his sister. "Look who it is."

"Oh damn. I wonder if he finished with his death ray," she chuckled.

"Old Man McGucket, Local Kook. Are the wax figures alive, and— follow up question— can I survive the wax man uprising?"

"McGucket here asking the real questions," Wendy laughed.

"Definitely," Y/n smirked. "I'd want him on my apocalypse team. Right, Dipper? Uh, Dipper?

The boy didn't answer; he wasn't even paying attention to the question McGucket asked. Behind the sitting crowd, Dipper noticed a mysterious figure. He didn't get a good look at the person, but they appeared to be bald. The most curious aspect: they were pale, unreasonably pale. And just as he had noticed them, they were gone. Dipper was sure he was tracking them down, but the figure had just vanished from his sight. It was like they had dissipated into thin air; as if they were—

"Dip-dop, you good?" Y/n nudged him.

"Y/n, you're going to think I'm crazy, but," he leaned closer to her, trying to get out of earshot of Wendy. If he was going to sound insane, he definitely didn't want to do it in front of her. "I think I saw a ghost."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"I'm not too sure myself," he admitted. "But one moment they were there, and then they just vanished into thin air. They were really pale too, so it matches the whole incorporeal thing."

"Does the journal have anything on ghosts?"

"Yeah, there's this entire section on it, but I haven't had time to read it just yet. I'll need to take a look after this."

The two jumped in their seats as Wendy let out a laugh. "You two missed it," she said, pointing towards the stage. The redhead was pointing to a small gremlin-esque man clutching a newspaper and a turkey baster. Dressed in suspenders, a bowtie, a wrinkled shirt, worn shoes, and a hat labeled "hat," the tiny mustached man was sitting in the front row.

"Stan just roasted Toby Determined; called out his turkey baster microphone."

"What is he, a news reporter?" Y/n asked.

"That's what he wants you to believe. He just runs the local 'newspaper;' it's mostly filled with gossip and lackluster drama, since there's never really anything happening here. Now," Wendy said, pointing back into the crowd. "If you want a real reporter, there's Shandra Jimenez."

A tall and beautiful woman stood up from the crowd. A navy skirt hugged her hips, and a blue collar poked through from her steely colored vest. Dark brown hair fell to her waist, and she held an overall professional air around her. Unlike Toby, a real microphone was in her grip.

"Shandra Jimenez, a real reporter," she started, sending a slight glare towards the shorter man rows ahead of her. "Your flyers promised free pizza with admission to this event. Is this true?"

"Oh yeah," Y/n asked, taking out an extra flyer from her jean's pocket. Above the advertising for the wax museum, there was a full pizza wearing Stan's fez. It happily said "Free Pizza!"

"Where is the pizza?" Y/n asked, looking at the two beside her.

Wendy and Dipper shared a look. "Wait, Grunkle Stan didn't make you get it when you were in town?"

"No, I just spread the word. I thought he made you guys take care of it."

The three stayed quiet, until a silent realization passed amongst them. "Oh no," Y/n murmured.

As Stan remained quiet on stage, the crowd burst to life below. Questioning whispers raised in volume as more and more people grew ansty over their promised pizza.

"Yeah, no," Y/n announced suddenly, standing and folding her chair up. "I'm going inside. If there's going to be a riot, I'd rather watch it from a distance."

With that, she headed towards the shack, her back towards the growing complaints and shouts of the rowdy crowd.

"Where's the pizza?!" One yelled.

"I was promised pizza, man!"

"Uh," Stan said, averting his gaze. "That was a typo. Goodnight everyone!" He tossed pellets on the ground, and a thick blue smoke billowed into the air, masking the stage entirely.

"Well, those aren't expired," Dipper mumbled to himself, watching the hostile crowd.

Stan emerged from the smokescreen, bolting towards the table Dipper and Wendy were sitting at.

"I'll be taking this," he announced, swiping the red box and continuing his sprint. 

As Stan continued his mad dash to safety, he left the beginnings of an angry mob in his wake. Some people were left heartbroken: a large man with a red "Free Pizza!" shirt walked away crestfallen.

Some people were left more than enraged: as the mob dispersed, people knocked over chairs and destroyed the area. A large lumberjack clutching an axe in his large fists punched through one of the beams at the entrance.

Wendy buried her face in her hands. "Dad, why?" She groaned under her breath, embarrassed. 

Mabel skipped over to the two at the table. "Well," she said, looking over the destruction and the rest of the mob leaving back to town, "I think that went well!"

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Night fell fast over the area. Soon after the kids finished cleaning up the mess left by the angry crowd, the sky changed into an inky blue and white specs dusted the scene. Owls had emerged from the thickets, their soft and calming hoots resonating around the shack.

Y/n had already taken a shower, having been sweaty and disgusting after her trek around the town. Dipper was up there himself after chronicling the possible ghost he saw at the grand unveiling of the museum earlier.

Stan and Mabel were in the living room, dotting over the wax replica.

"Hot pumpkin pie!" Stan exclaimed, running a thumb through a thick stack of cash. Mabel was crouched down beside him, shining the newest addition to the wax museum. Y/n peered into the room, leaning against the door frame.

"Look at all this cash," he continued, boasting his prize to both girls. "And I owe it all to one person."

Mabel looked up expectantly, silently awaiting her praise.

"This guy!" Stan motioned over to the figure.

Y/n rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff. Ever since Mabel finished her sculpture— which came out phenomenal— Stan had grown oddly attached to it. It was amazing; how vain can one man be? Was that even what this was? He took that thing everywhere with him; hell, she was pretty sure he had it in the bathroom while he was taking a shower.

Mabel stood up, punching Stan in the gut.

"Oh," he chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Yeah okay, you had a part in this too, you little gremlin."

His gaze landed back on the figure. "Okay kids, wash up. We got another long day of fleecing rubes tomorrow. Go! Go!" Stan shooed the girls out of the living room entirely. "Kids, am I right?" Y/n heard Stan say to his figure.

"Oh my God," Y/n said, following Mabel upstairs. "What is up with this man?"

"Y/n, let Stan be happy with his double. What's wrong with an old man talking to an inanimate statue of himself?"

"Mabel, under any circumstance that would warrant putting him into a mental institution or a home."

The younger girl just laughed. "Well, for what it's worth, it looks like we're gonna have another Grunkle in the house!"

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, as Dipper came out of the bathroom.

"I'm going to bed," Y/n said, hopping into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"What? Already? It's not even 9!" Mabel exclaimed.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Y/n admitted, pointing to her bags. "Hopefully going to sleep earlier will help."

"Goodnight Y/n," Dipper said, towel over his damp hair.

"Goodnight!" Mabel echoed, following him to their room.

Y/n hummed in acknowledgment and closed the door behind her. Once again, she found herself looking at her tired reflection as she brushed her teeth.

She didn't look any worse than in the morning, but she definitely didn't look any better.

"I really hope going to sleep earlier helps fix whatever's happening to me," she grumbled, rinsing her mouth and heading out of the bathroom.

As she descended the stairs, she heard Stan watching Ducktective with his wax figure.

"Woah! Look at that stupid British guy!" Stan laughed, wrapping an arm around his double. He slammed his arm on the arm of the sofa. "He really thought they'd find the killer in the pond just because he thought one of the ducks swimming around was the detective!"

Y/n popped her head into the living room. "Goodnight Stan," she said, eyeing him weirdly. She turned to the static figure next to him. "Goodnight... Wax Stan..."

"Hitting the sack so early, Squirt? Come join me and Stan and watch some duck trying to solve some murders. You said you liked that stuff, right?"

"Nah, I'm good," she answered, choking back a yawn. "I really need to get some sleep."

"Ahhh, whatever floats your boat, kid. Goodnight, don't disturb me or Stan."

With a small laugh, Y/n nodded and headed to her room. She was hoping that once she laid down, everything from today would catch up and she'd finally get some rest.

Y/n entered her room, falling onto her bed. She let out a grunt when she landed against something hard. She reached inside her hoodie pocket to find her Endless Tabloid.

"Oh shit," she whispered. "I was supposed to work on some theories."

Y/n was seriously behind on nearly everything she had planned to do. Her CommonApp questions were barely started, and the theories Bill had said he was excited to hear from her were next to none.

Sure, there were all these mysteries in this town, but she couldn't find any point to start from. It didn't help that she still hadn't been able to at least skim through the journal. And based on the conversation with Dipper, he hadn't finished reading it either.

Where do I even start? She wondered. There were probably more than a dozen things she could theorize on; McGucket's past, Soos' knowledge, the alleged ghost from earlier— but where would she go from there? It wasn't necessarily easy to gather evidence to help create a timeline of those things.

As she laid in her bed, she heard another cackle come from the living room.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "How am I supposed to sleep when Stan and his doppelgänger are so loud?"

Keeping on track with Stan, she thought, what the hell is up with him?

Stan was definitely weird. Not only did he have a beyond shady past, the vending machine and now his obsession with his double was really rubbing Y/n the wrong way. It was obvious he was hiding several things, but how was she to break through all his layers?

She couldn't get to the vending machine: she had no idea what the code was, and even if she did, Stan was always around. If Y/n tried to make a mad dash to it, he would be the first to catch her. She couldn't even begin to theorize about it, because the entire idea of Stan having that big of a secret was hard to wrap her head around. It was so out of place that sometimes Y/n was sure it was a dream.

"Then there's the license plate," she mumbled to herself. Y/n cracked a page open in the notebook, titling the clean sheet "Stanford Pines."

She wrote a general description and drew a quick portrait of him, followed by the details of the vending machine, the odd license plate on his car, and the latest wax figure. Y/n put her pen down. Where was she supposed to go from there? There was virtually nothing to go off of.

"I guess I can start with the license plate...?"

Stan's El Diablo was deemed the Stanley Mobile— or at least, that's what she assumed the license plate meant. There wasn't anything else it could be really.

"But why Stanley?" She wondered out loud. "Is there a Stanley out there?"

There was a more than probable chance that Stan had stolen the car, but the way he had talked about it the other day made his story sound truthful. Maybe if she could snoop around his office she could find some pictures of him with the car—

"No... no... NO!"

Y/n jumped from her bed, scrambling to her feet. That shout was Stan from the living room.

She hurried out the door and down the hallway. She could hear the twins coming down the stairs.

"Oh God, oh God!" Stan muttered from the hallway. It was completely dark in the living room, and the TV had turned to static. The uneven and changing lights spilled onto the floor, dancing along the rug that ended in the hallway.

"Stan, what happened?" Y/n asked, as the twins came into view.

Stan looked absolutely crushed; he was shaking horribly, and he held his fist between his teeth as if trying to suppress a scream.

Y/n was taken aback, she didn't think she'd ever see Stan this upset.

"Stan," she said, much softer, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everything's fine. Tell us what happened, okay?"

Stan looked like he was battling tears. His brown eyes were glossy and masked with utter despair. From the stairs, the twins gave each other concerned glances.

Stan finally took a deep breath, clearing his throat before turning to the kids.

"I-it's Wax Stan," he finally said, his voice cracking slightly. "He's— he's—!" Stan looked like he was going to break.

"Hey hey hey!" Y/n said softly, trying her best to handle the situation. "It's okay Big Guy, take your time."

"He's been murdered!" Stan cried, pointing into the dimly lit living room.

The three froze, carefully peering into the room.

In the flickering light of the static TV, the outline of Wax Stan's body was barely visible. It was hard to see in the darkness, but after a moment, they saw it.

Splayed on the rug, lifeless and still, Wax Stan had been beheaded.

Chapter Text

The police were called immediately.

The red and blue lights flashed outside of the shack, shrouding the surroundings in an eerie glow. The once silent night was accented with the dying police sirens and radio static. Birds and bugs were startled awake, and were loudly voicing their complaints in the surrounding shrubbery and trees.

Inside, Blubs and Durland were inspecting the scene, as Y/n struggled to comfort a mourning Stan and Dipper struggled to cheer up his own crestfallen sister.

"I get up to use the john, right?" Stan started, choking on his words. "And when I come back, blammo! He's— he's—!"

Stan couldn't finish his sentence and turned away from the headless body completely, mumbling apologies.

"He was," Y/n ran her thumb across her throat. "Crrk!"

"My expert handcrafting," Mabel said sadly, patting the chest of the fall figure. "Besmirched. Besmirched!" She cried.

Dipper put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Who would do something like this?"

"What's your opinion, Sheriff Blubs?" Durland asked, looking from his notepad. Y/n glanced over to see what he had taken down of Stan's account. The pad was covered in little doodles and illegible scribbles.

Does this man even know how to write?

"Look," the beige clad Sheriff started, taking a sip of his coffee, "we'd love to help you folks, but let's face the facts. This case is unsolvable."

"What?!" The four screamed in unison.

Stan lunged forward, and Y/n struggled to hold him back. "You take that back," he growled hysterically. "You take that back, Sheriff Blubs!"

"You're kidding, right?" Dipper asked. "There must be evidence, motives."

"Definitely," Y/n said, crossing her arms. She was already in detective mode. "Unfortunately, the scene's already been tampered with, so I doubt we'll find much physical evidence, but we can probably figure out unsubs just by—"

"Whoo!" Blubs said, interrupting Y/n's murmuring. "Would you look at what we got here! A hot-shot City Detective!"

Dipper's brows raised. "What? She knows what she's talking about. And I can help too."

"Yeah, yeah! They're really good at this stuff," Mabel cheered.

"Yeah, have these two kids help. They've got brains up there," Stan agreed, knocking on Y/n's head.

"These City Folk think they're gonna solve a murder mystery! What are you gonna use, your fancy computer phone?"

"City Folk! City Folk!" Durland echoed.

"You two are adorable!" Blubs said, pointing between Y/n and Dipper.

"A-adorable?" Dipper asked, embarrassed. He felt his heart sink for a moment. He hated when he wasn't taken seriously because of his age.

The two cops laughed, and Y/n's brows creased. These little shits—

"Look PJ's, Hoodie, how about you leave the investigating to the grown-ups, okay?"

"Grown-ups?" Y/n snapped. This time, she lunged forward and Stan had to hold her back. She was too tired to think of the consequences. "Pardon me, but if I remember right, you just said this case is impossible. So if you aren't gonna do jack about this murder, then I don't see why Dipper and I—  a near capable teen and adult— can't take a crack at it ourselves!"

Before Blubs could give her a sarcastic and belittling answer, his radio went off from his belt.

"Attention all units, attention all units: Steve is going to fit an entire cantaloupe in his mouth. Repeat, an entire cantaloupe."

Durland gasped. "It's a 23-16!"

"Let's move," Blubs agreed, pulling his sheriff's hat down a little with a sly smile.

Giggling like school girls, the two skipped out of the house and into their squad car. Within moments, the car pulled away from the shack.

"That's it!" Dipper announced. He grabbed Y/n's and Mabel's hand. "We're going to find the jerk who did this and get back that head!"

"Yeah!" Y/n grumbled, still fuming. "We'll show those two idiots who's perfectly capable of solving a murder."

"Then we'll see who's 'adorable,'" Dipper added, before sneezing.

Y/n jumped, startled by the small noise. Even Stan looked up from the dead body of his companion, confused.

"Aww," Mabel cooed, "you sneeze like a kitten!"

Dipper deadpanned. "Mabel!" He scolded. "You're not helping."

"Y-you kids would really do that for me? For Wax Stan?" Stan said, smiling sadly.

"Of course!" Y/n said loudly, an edge still prominent in her voice. "Give us until the end of the week— we're bound to solve it before then, but just in case." She turned to Stan, nudging him. "I'm telling you Stan, we're gonna figure out who did this."

"Yeah!" The twins cheered.

"Thank you, kids, really," Stan said, trying to put his arms around all three of them. "If Wax Stan was still here—" his voice caught in his throat for a moment, and the kids gave him a moment to compose himself. "If he was still here, he'd be cheering you on, just like I am."

"We could probably get started right now," Y/n said, the gears in her brain already turning. "Think about it: theoretically, the only suspects should be the four of us. But all of us are accounted for."

"Yeah," Dipper said. "But Stan leaves the doors unlocked—"

"We live in the middle of the woods, what's the point in locks?" Stan grunted.

"That only gives us more reasons to lock up," Mabel said.

"—so," Dipper continued, "our suspect list is nearly the entirety of the town."

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," Y/n said bluntly.

"What?" Stan asked. "The kid's right, if it wasn't any of us, then it's one of the people at the unveiling today."

"But that's not usually how murders work," Y/n continued. "Most of the time, the culprit was close to the victim. We have to start with the inner circles and slowly expand. I don't want to go as far as all those people; it's too broad of a suspect pool."

"But that's the next circle," Dipper argued. "If it wasn't any of us, we're going to have to expand to the town."

Before Y/n could respond, Stan interrupted them. "Okay kids," he said, holding his hands up. "You two are saying a whole lot of things right now. Go get some shut eye and then regroup in the morning."

He crouched down to the beheaded wax figure. "Besides," he said, gently placing his hand on its shoulder. "I want some alone time with my old friend."

The kids nodded, and quietly went off in their separate directions. As Y/n walked to her room, she couldn't help but think about Stan's weird behavior towards the wax figure.

He's practically mourning it, as if it was family. It wasn't even "alive" for more than a day! But, who was she to judge; she would probably do the same with a beloved plush or figure.

Y/n entered her room, moving her notebook to the dresser. As much as she wanted to theorize again about Stan, the murder was probably a more pressing matter.

And as Stan said, it was probably best to get rest now and regroup in the morning, especially since the girl was lacking so much sleep already. Having a shortfuse as a result of a lack of sleep wasn't the best when trying to keep a level head and logical way of thinking.

Y/n cracked the window open, allowing some of the brisk summer air into the room. She crawled into bed, snuggling into her sheets.

"I really hope I get some sleep tonight," she mumbled into the pillow, closing her eyes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n started coming to when a strong breeze swept her bags and tickled her forehead. She took a deep breath; the familiar smell of the forest filled her lungs, and she could feel sparse sun rays trickling down upon her from where she sat.

She opened her eyes, a large smile— a genuine smile— pulling at her lips. Y/n knew exactly where she was.

Her back was against a large oak tree; it's prolific foliage shielded her from the sun that forever hung in the sky. The light danced besides her, peeking through spaces in the many leaves of the lush canopy. Y/n put her hands to her sides, feeling the grass blades between her fingers.

The field stretched further; almost miles of rolling green hills housed in her consciousness. If she were to continue out from the shade of the tree, she would stumble across a large pond that housed small fish.

The rest of the field was surrounded by other vegetation, but none stood as tall or as proud as the oak that she had woken up against. In fact, it was the only oak in the area. The rest of the encasing trees were mostly pine and cedar.

"I've missed this place," she said, standing up. "It's almost like I'm back home."

She hadn't been in this field for months. Her previous bouts of insomnia had prevented her from getting so much as a few hours of sleep each night while she was home. But now she was back in her old childhood playgrounds.

Y/n stretched her limbs, and felt the stress from waking life practically melt off her. College applications? The Supernatural? They don't matter right now, I'm going to enjoy home for a bit longer.

"Awww, so I guess it's a bad time to drop by, huh Flame?"

Y/n jumped, startled to find another voice speaking in her subconscious that wasn't hers. But she recognized that techno voice.

A slight rustle of leaves sounded above her. She looked up, just in time to see a small yellow triangle drop himself from the canopy like an apple. Instinctively, Y/n caught him in her arms.

"Nice catch, kiddo!" Bill said, floating up and reaching to ruffle her hair. She shuffled away from his hand after a moment. 

She giggled slightly, just overall bubbling with excitement to be back in her little oasis within her consciousness. Even if she wasn't planning on creating a dream as a celebration for sleeping again, Y/n was just happy to be somewhere that she knew she belonged.

"So," Bill said, surveying the area. He had to admit, for such a small portion of the girl's mind, it was surprisingly fleshed out. It almost felt as if they were in an actual field. "What's this about being home?"

Y/n froze for a moment, her face dropping.

Right, mind reader, she chided herself, embarrassed. She had to be careful with her thoughts. This was only her second encounter with Bill (third, if you counted the first night); she didn't feel comfortable sharing the truth about this special place. Maybe another day.

"Oh it's just," she paused for a moment, unsure how to go on. "It's just a place that's special to me, you know?"

Bill's eye narrowed, but in the end he just nodded his head. He knew that this place held a story behind it, but if he ever wanted to hear even a portion of it, he would have to play the long-con. I just have to gain her trust by feeding her what she wants to hear.

"So, what exactly are you doing here?" Y/n asked, awkwardly shuffling.

"I wanted to check on my little friend," Bill said, pointing to her. He floated to her other side. "You seem to have gone through a lot in the past couple of days," he finished, pointing to the bandage on her cheek.

"Oh yeah," Y/n laughed nervously, her fingers brushing it. "Ran a boat into a pane of glass escaping a giant robot."

"And then there was that murder!" Bill exclaimed, snapping his fingers. Before the pair, lying on the grass, the headless Wax Stan appeared.

"How do you know about that?"

"Well, when I'm not taking care of things in other dimensions and whatnot, I've been watching you and your family settle in."

"That's... a tad strange, isn't it?" Y/n muttered cautiously.

Bill laughed. "No Flame, you'll meet him later."

"Huh?"

"I'm getting ahead of myself! Tell me," Bill snapped again, and the Stan on the ground disappeared. In its place, an ornate velvet chair appeared. "You got any work in progress theories?" Bill asked, crossing his legs.

Y/n winced. "Yeah, about that. I feel like there's a dozen things I can start theorizing about—"

"There's more than a million things, really," Bill interrupted.

"Exactly! But I just don't know where to start, I guess."

Bill hummed in thought. After a moment, his eye transformed into a lightbulb. He snapped his fingers again, and this time the ground by Y/n's feet shook. The Earth split for a moment, and a whiteboard emerged, growing like a budding flower.

"Show me what you've got so far," Bill said, motioning to the board.

"Um, yeah, okay." She nodded, suddenly feeling a lot of pressure on her shoulders.

Y/n moved to the board. I guess I should continue with Stan—

"Ooo~! Already jumping to a pretty bold start, Flame!"

Like her notebook, she titled the board with Stan's name in the middle, branching out to the suspicious things that were still prominent on her mind. This time, however, since she was lucky enough to be in her own head, she conjured pictures of the vending machine, wax figure, and license plate to add to her board.

Y/n stood back, letting Bill look over her notes. He snapped his fingers again, and a small teapot and cups appeared. He swirled his finger in a circle, and the pot lifted to fill his cup. Both the pot and cup were colored a light blue, and had an eye resembling Bill's in the center.

"You want some?"

"I'm good," Y/n said. She didn't necessarily trust mind-tea.

"So I'm guessing this fixation on your Uncle stems from what you stumbled across a couple days ago?"

"Of course," Y/n said, crossing her arms. "Stan definitely is a shady character; did you not see him when he put in that code?"

"Why'd you add the license plate and the wax figure?" Bill steepled his fingers. Of course, he knew the real reason behind them, but he was hoping that Y/n didn't realize it just yet. It wouldn't be the best thing in the world if she found out about Stan's skeletons.

It was a double edged sword, really. Bill wanted to feed the suspicion that Y/n had towards Fez. He wanted to draw her further away from her family. It already seemed to be working: he already had her keeping secrets from them. Not to mention, Bill noticed that she never appeared to address them as her family. It was never "Grunkle Stan," or "my brother," or "my sister;" it was just their names or "the twins." She never seemed to attach herself to them...

But at the same time, if Bill were to give information that led to an answer, it would cause a lot more damage. Not to mention, he was working on a tight schedule: as soon as Y/n saw that page Sixer wrote about him in that journal, he was pretty much done for. Sure, he could try to lie his way out, but (unfortunately) Y/n wasn't stupid. Luckily, she seemed very receptive to his company. It appears Pine Tree didn't mention the whole "trust-no-one" motto that Sixer lived by.

"The license plate is 'Stanley Mobile,'" Y/n said, pointing to the picture of it. "It— it's probably stolen, actually, but something about it rubs me the wrong way. When Stan was telling me about it, he didn't seem to be lying about having it since he was a kid, but..." Y/n rubbed her temples, a yawn escaping her lips. "I don't know. Maybe I'm a bit too tired to be thinking this hard about this; I'm probably overthinking this."

"And the wax figure?"

"That was just weird," Y/n said, moving over to that section of the white board. There were several pictures of Stan and his double together; laughing, watching TV, eating— it was always by his side. "You said you were watching us— as weird as that sounds— you saw it, too. I never thought Stan could be so— so— vain, I guess."

Bill hummed, waiting for Y/n to continue.

"That's all I got, really. Besides the vending machine— which is probably a coverup for something illegal or something, knowing Stan— all these things aren't mind blowing or anything. They're just details that my gut keeps finding weird."

Bill remained silent for a moment. When Y/n turned back to him, he was sipping the tea. His eyelids doubled as lips, and the girl was slightly puzzled as to how that worked, but quickly dismissed the thought. She didn't want to learn about triangle-demon-anatomy tonight.

This girl's worse than Fordsy, Bill thought. They were both so analytical and logical, but unlike Ford— who was fully versed in the supernatural by the time Bill met with him— Y/n was stuck in the box. Don't get him wrong, Y/n wasn't completely stuck in her old ways— she did have an endless notebook and was talking to a demon— but she was still having a hard time accepting the supernatural. She was treating it like a rare add-on to life as supposed to a prominent force that she interacted with on the regular. The best he could compare it to was the way other mortals viewed Death: something inevitable, but something that was still far away, when— in fact— it could come around at any given moment.

She couldn't go anywhere with her theories because she was looking for a puzzle piece that fit a mold that would lead her to a logical conclusion— not one that was confusing or defied things previously thought to be concrete.

"Who do you think did it?" Bill asked suddenly.

Y/n's brows rose. "What, you mean murder Wax Stan?"

Bill nodded.

Y/n turned back to the board, eyes locking on the picture of the crime scene from earlier than night.

"Well," she started, "at first I honestly thought it could have been one of the twins, or even Stan, for publicity reasons. I could come up with plenty of motives for one of them to be the culprit. But we're all accounted for. Dipper thinks it was one of the townspeople at the unveiling today, but it just seems to be a little too far of a reach. I mean," Y/n started pacing. "I guess it has to be one of them; there wasn't anyone else in the shack besides us four. But if it was someone from town, one of us had to have heard them come in. And even if no one heard them, then Blubs and Durland would have run into them on the main path to the shack."

Y/n groaned loudly. "It just doesn't make sense: as much as it has to be someone from town, I still feel like the person is right under my nose!"

Bill sighed loudly. She's really rooted in her ways, isn't she?

She was right. They were right under her nose; they were living in the shack with her. Hell— she was just advertising for them.

He couldn't tell if it was amusing or infuriating seeing how close this mortal was from the answers. She was literally right there; she just kept missing the target.

Bill weighed his options: he could either give her the push she needed to be right on track, or leave her stranded in the dark. As much as he wanted to keep her blind, he figured it would be best to throw her a bone. After all, if his goal was to end up dividing her from the rest of the Pines, then he needed a catalyst; something that her over-reactive mind comes up with and sticks to.

It would be hard to do if the best and "most logical" thing she could come up with when talking about that vending machine was that Stan was just "hiding something illegal." That wasn't fun at all, and he definitely wanted to see this girl go insane with her own overthinking and overreactions. If she overwhelmed and destroyed herself, then all Bill had to do was swoop down for the kill.

"Kiddo, you seem to be missing a key factor," Bill said finally, setting down his tea cup in the air.

"What?"

"Where are you?" He asked, floating up to her.

Y/n's brows furrowed. "What do you me—"

"Where are you?" Bill repeated.

"I'm in my mind...?" She ventured.

"No, I mean: what town are you in?"

"Gravity Falls," she said.

"Now tell me, how would you describe this place?"

"Well, I guess... small. Weird—"

Bill cut her off. "Repeat that."

"Weird?" Y/n was still confused; what was he getting at?

"Y/n," he said, slightly annoying that it wasn't clicking. Had he a nose, he'd be pinching the bridge. Definitely as dense as Sixer.

"You're in Gravity Falls: a paranormal hotspot! You're talking to a demon in your own mind, for God's sake. Why are you still trying to view things so logically?"

Y/n stopped for a moment, putting a hand to her face in thought.

"You liked believing in the supernatural before, right?"

"Y-yeah," she said, rubbing her arm embarrassed. He was right. For someone trying to make theories that dabbled in the supernatural territory, she was viewing things way too literally.

"And now you know all that stuff is real, so why are you trying to fit a mold when you know very well that reality is much more chaotic than that? Think outside the box, Y/n." He said, resting an arm on her shoulder.

"Outside the box..." she repeated under her breath. "Yeah... yeah! I can— I can do that."

Bill laughed. "You're going to have to do that, if you want to get anywhere, kiddo."

Y/n chuckled too, running a hand through her hair. "Can't believe I didn't realize that sooner."

"Relax Flame! It happens to the best of us. You're still adjusting to this place. Your siblings seem to be having an easier time, though."

"Yeah," Y/n trailed off. Of course they were having an easier time adjusting. They had long-accepted the existence of the supernatural, especially since their first encounter was a horde of gnomes trying to make Mabel their queen. Y/n was still processing, even despite having a literal demon talking to her like an old friend.

Before the two could continue discussing Y/n's beginning of a theory, the surrounding field started to flicker. Trees in the far-off distance began to fade away completely, as the ground below slowly lost its rich color.

"It looks like you're waking up, Flame."

"Damn, already?" Y/n cursed under her breath.

"Remember what I told you," Bill said, floating up into the air. The sky behind him had lost its color, and the sun that once shined down so bright had disappeared. "Think outside the box! This is the supernatural we're dealing with!"

And with that, the field Y/n had woken up in faded completely, and within moments she snapped awake in her bed.

She sat up in her bed, a sudden rush of adrenaline shooting down her body. For the first time in a couple of days, she actually felt awake.

"Think outside the box," Y/n mumbled. She looked at the notebook on the dresser. Anything is possible here.

Y/n shot out of bed, grabbing the notebook and securing it in her pocket. She reached for the door.

She was going to solve this murder case, and it was going to start with a fresh perspective on the crime scene.

Chapter Text

When Y/n made it to the living room, she was surprised to see that the twins were already awake and starting their investigation. They were kneeling over the dead body, a suspect board of all the people at the unveiling behind them.
   
"Oh damn," Y/n mumbled. "Did I wake up late?"
   
The twins finally noticed her standing at the door. "Oh, good morning Y/n!" Mabel cheered, waving her over.
   
At least someone is feeling better from last night, Y/n thought. She couldn't help but wonder how Stan was fairing.
   
"We were going to wake you up," Dipper said, flashing a couple more pictures of the wax figure. "But we thought it would be best if we let you get some sleep. How are you feeling?"
   
"Actually, I feel pretty good," Y/n said. It was weird, despite appearing to have spent her entire night talking with Bill, she still felt rather rested. She wasn't complaining, definitely not; she was more than grateful that she appeared to have gotten a good enough sleep. It would certainly help with the investigation. "How's Stan doing?"
   
The twins grimaced. "Not good," Mabel said, awkwardly brushing her hair with her fingers.
   
"He's locked himself in his room. Soos is trying to cheer him up by sliding snacks under the door, but it isn't really working. We heard him mumbling about planning a memorial service." Dipper said.
   
"A service? Really?"
   
"Yeah," Mabel nodded. "He really loved this guy," she said, pointing to the figure.
   
Y/n let out a sigh. This was definitely not healthy, but if Stan wanted to plan a funeral for an inanimate figure he knew for less than half a day, then there wasn't much she could do. Maybe it would help him put... whatever this was to rest and provide him some closure.
   
"Well, that just gives us more reason to crack the case, fast. What do you two have so far?"

"Well," Dipper said, handing Mabel the camera and leading Y/n to the suspect board. "There were a lot of unhappy customers at the unveiling. The murderer could have been anyone."

Y/n couldn't help but tilt her head at Dipper's rather bold claim. She still felt as if the murderer was closer than one of the townspeople.

"In this town, anything is possible," Dipper continued, taking out his journal. "Ghosts, zombies— it could be months before we find a first clue."

Y/n paused a moment, her gaze lingering on Dipper and Mabel. Looks like Bill's right once again; the twins have no problem in believing that the supernatural could have had a play in this. Maybe... maybe there is a chance that—

"Hey, look! A clue!" Mabel said loudly, drawing Y/n's attention.

The young girl pointed to the floor, where the small imprints of shoes were embedded into the yellow shag carpet.

"Oh wow," Y/n said, dropping down to look at them. "It's amazing we didn't mess them up walking around here. Pass me that camera, yeah?"

Mabel passed her the camera and Y/n snapped a couple pictures. "This is pretty good evidence. From this we can get shoe size and then just compare it to the shoes of the suspects."

"That's weird," the young girl mumbled, squinting her eyes and stooping down to inspect the prints. "There's holes in them."

"And they're leading to..." Dipper and Mabel gasped loudly.

Y/n looked up. "What happen— oh my God."

Behind Stan's chair, barely visible from the angle Y/n was kneeled over at, an axe laid in the carpet, its steel finish glossy in the morning sunlight.

"Wait, this is perfect! We have the murder weapon. We can check for fingerprints and—"

Mabel picked up the axe, swinging it slightly and making high pitched squeals, resembling a horror movie.

"—or you can just pick up the axe and contaminate the evidence," Y/n mumbled under her breath. She loved Mabel, but sometimes she wished she waited just a teensie bit more before she launched into action.

"Woah," Dipper breathed out, taking from her, also putting his fingerprints on it. "They just left the weapon here?"

"They must have heard Stan coming back to check on his wax figure," Mabel said.

"An axe is... an odd choice," Y/n said. She looked between the weapon and the wound on the body. "They must have been pretty strong. It's a really clean cut to the neck."

Mabel gasped suddenly, slapping a hand to her cheek. "Wait a minute!" She ran over to the suspect board, pulling out a specific picture. "The lumberjack!"

"Yes! Of course!" Dipper said, waving his arm in excitement. Still holding the axe, he had nearly ripped the sofa cushion in two.

"I think I'll hold that," Y/n took the axe from him. Her prints might be on it now, but she'd risk that chance rather than have one of the twins accidentally kill themselves.

"He was furious when he didn't get that pizza! Did you see what he did to that beam?" Mabel exclaimed.

"So where do we find this lumberjack?" Y/n asked, awkwardly holding the axe. It felt weird in her hands, and she felt even weirder holding it over the decapitated body of a wax man.

"'Lumberjack?' You mean Manly Dan?"

The three turned to see Soos standing in the doorway, cans of ground beef cradled in his arms.

"Soos!" The twins cheered.

"Sup bro," Y/n said, tilting the axe in greeting.

"Woah!" The older man said, eyeing the weapon. "That's an axe!"

"Quite the observation, my friend," she replied with a chuckle. "What's with the beef?"

"I've been trying to cheer up Mr. Pines. When I'm sad, my Abuela makes me dinosaur shaped cookies. But I don't know how to bake, and I know how Stan likes his canned beef, so I figured this might be the next best thing, bros."

"Aww," Mabel gushed, "that's so thoughtful! How's it going?"

Soos grimaced. "Uh, not the best. He's refusing to open this door. And these cans don't fit underneath the crack. Trust me, I tried," he said, pointing to a dented can. "But I'll get him to open up eventually, brosephs."

"We believe in you." Dipper said, giving the handyman a thumbs up. "But you said you know where to find Wendy's dad?"

"Oh, yeah! He hangs out at this biker joint downtown. But I wouldn't go there, bros, it's super crazy intense."

"Oh, you mean the Skull Fracture place?" Y/n said. She had passed by it when Stan had her running around advertising the Wax Museum. She specifically remembered a large burly bouncer and muffled shouts and curses coming from within. "I'm guessing they don't let minors in, do they?"

"Yeah," Soos said, crossing into the living room. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, juggling the cans.

"Then there's only one way to get in," Y/n said.

"We're gonna have to break in," Dipper said ominously.

"Correction, I'm going to break in."

"What? C'mon Y/n! We wanna break in too!" Mabel whined. "I have fake IDs and everything prepared." She took out three index cards, each covered in glitter and with the siblings' pictured on them. Mabel had added googly eyes over their actual eyes and mustaches in sharpie. She shook them enthusiastically, giggling as the black studs moved around. "I wanted to be Lady Mabelton."

"Mabel, you know I love your craftsmanship, but there's no way that bouncer is going to let 'Sir Dippingsauce,' 'Lady Mabelton,' and 'Duchess Y/nshiresburg' into that joint. You two still look like children. I'm the best bet we have."

"Awww," the twins sighed.

"Relax, I'll be on call with you. You'll hear everything I do from my headphones. But," Y/n turned to Mabel, setting the axe down by her side gently. She looked fairly young for her age— not to mention that her height really worked against her. She'd be asked to show ID at the door. "I am going to need your help editing my driver's permit."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The three found themselves hiding in a dank alleyway.

After the slight modifications to Y/n's permit— they had just covered the dates so that it would read as her being 18; she had to make sure Mabel didn't add glitter to it behind her back— the trio had made their way into town.

Finding the club wasn't too hard: the study man was impossible to miss. He stood tall and wide, tattoos— some of which labeling body parts— littered his dark skin. He wore a white muscle tee that stretched around his bulging biceps. He stood in an air of intimidation, and if it wasn't for the twins supporting her, she'd be the first fighting to go home.

"Okay Y/n, you're just there to interrogate Manly Dan. Get the information, and then get out," Dipper said, handing her the bag with the axe. "You have us on call?"

Y/n nodded, holding her phone up. She was on call with Mabel, with her headphones wired underneath her hoodie and nestled in her ears. The microphone was free to pick up the sounds of the bar.

"Go get 'em, tiger!" Mabel cheered into the phone, creating an echo.

Nodding, Y/n turned the corner, leaving the twins next to the dumpster in the alleyway.

Okay Y/n, she thought, walking towards the large bouncer. Act natural.

"Sup," she said, holding her ID to him between her fingers.

The man's brow raised; it wasn't everyday they had a woman come around. He took the ID, looking it over. He nodded slowly, handing it back to her and opening the door.

"Thanks bossman," she said, putting the permit back into her hoodie pocket and heading inside.

She regretted walking in the moment the door closed behind her. Rock music was blasting out of speakers positioned on the ceiling. Bikers were everywhere, and tables and stools were overturned. Empty bottles rolled on the floor; shattered glass stuck between floor boards and even in the wall.

There was a lot of fighting: brawls started and ended in mere seconds, and there were people shouting drunkenly and bleeding in the back of the room. Nearly everyone in the bar was a biker; they all had the same "badass-leather-and-punk" sort of look, and Y/n didn't want to look any of them in the eyes in fear she'd accidentally provoke an angry drunk.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n slowly navigated through the chaos, sidestepping past punches and walking around unconscious patrons on the floor. She cringed every time an obscenity was used, knowing very well the twins could hear everything on the other line. Just find Manly Dan and get out of here.

In the back of the establishment, hunched over what appeared to be an arcade machine, was a large man. Like his daughter, he had a shock of red hair, covered by a dark green cap. He wore a grey shirt that looked ready to burst under his build, and pants matching his hat. The suspenders looked ready to snap under his broad shoulders. His fists were clenched tightly as he battled with the machine— a test-your-strength-type— covered in brown gloves.

"Did you find him?" It was Dipper on the other line.

"I think I just did," she mumbled in an answer.

"C'mon Y/n! Bring it home!" That was Mabel.

"Manly Dan!" Y/n shouted, walking over to the machine. She was barely loud enough to be heard over all the commotion in the bar. "Just the man I wanted to see."

The lumberjack side eyed her, as he grappled with the stuffed doll on the Bicepticus game. "What do you want, kid?" He grunted.

"Where were you last night?" she asked, leaning against the wall.

"Punchin' the clock."

Y/n's brows raised. "You work?"

"No. I said I was punching that clock!" He bellowed, pointing out the window.

Across the street, a street clock had a large fist sized dent in its spine. It was completely destroyed and it's face was forever stuck with its hands on 10.

"Jesus," Y/n murmured. "10 o'clock," she read.

She heard a gasp from the twins. "The time of the murder!"

"So I'm guessing you've never seen this before then," she said, taking the axe from the bag.

"Listen here, little girl—"

"Damn man, I'm not that little—"

"—I wouldn't pick my teeth with that damned axe!" He shouted. "It's left-handed. I only use my right-hand, the manly hand!" With that, he ripped the hand off the machine, before slapping Bicepticus with his own disembodied limb until his head nearly flew off.

A couple of other bar patrons heard the commotion, barreling towards Manly Dan shouting and cheering him on.

"Y/n, I think we have all we need," Dipper said.

"Good, because things are getting a little crazy in here." Y/n put the weapon back into the book bag, before making her way out of the bar. As she turned the corner to meet with the twins, she nodded to the bouncer in farewell.

"Yeah, Y/n!" Dipper cheered. "You got it: a big break in the case!"

He reached inside the backpack, pulling out a yellow note pad and a pencil. He filled through a couple of pages until he reached one labeled "Suspects."

"Manly Dan said that the axe is left-handed. So that means our killer is left-handed, too. We just need to go through our suspect list and we'll find the culprit!"

"Ha ha yes! We're on fire today!" Mabel cheered, jumping up to give Y/n a high-five. "Pew pew pew!" She made finger guns.

"C'mon guys," Dipper said, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Let's find this murderer!"

The rest of the day was spent running around town. It was a lot harder to narrow down the suspect list, mostly because not only did the trio have to find out where everyone lived, but the twins felt they needed to come up with unique and creative ways to figure out their dominant hands.

By the time they had done half the list, the sun was setting overhead. Most of the stores in town were slowly closing, and there were less and less people out on the streets. Gnats had begun to fill the air, and Y/n found that with each step she took another army assaulted her face. She shivered to think about how many had gotten stuck in her hair.

"How many more people do we have?" She asked, waving her hands to protect her face.

Dipper let out a hum, putting the eraser of the pencil to his lip as he flipped through the notepad. "Another 10 or so people."

Y/n let out a groan. Her legs were killing her— she was still sore from walking around yesterday. "Pass me the pad?"

Dipper complied as the three came across the next house on their list. As the twins sorted out a new plan to find out this person's dominant hand, Y/n flipped through the list.

Lazy Susan, Tyler Cutebiker, Farmer Sprout, Toby Determined... I don't think any of these people did it, she thought, biting her lip. Everyone left on Dipper's suspect list was too scrawny to have delivered Wax Stan's killing blow. Not to mention, she was pretty sure none of them would even have access to an axe. None of this makes sense.

Y/n still didn't feel as if the culprit was one of the townsfolk. But at this point, who else could it be?

"Another righty," Mabel said, as she and Dipper returned from the newest house. "We're almost there guys, I can feel it!"

"Y-yeah," Y/n mumbled.

"What's wrong?" Dipper asked, taking the notepad from her.

"I'm just a bit... tired," she said. The alertness and energy she had felt earlier faded with the sun. It was like she had taken 20 shots of pure caffeine; she was crashing now. It was annoying; she didn't want a crash, she just wanted to be able to go a full day without feelings like mush.

The twins looked at each other, before turning back to their sister. "You know, Mabel and I will be just fine out here. Do you want to go home? I know you said you were having trouble sleeping."

Y/n was slightly startled. "No no! I'll be... I'll be fine," she said between a yawn.

"Heck no, sister!" Mabel said, pushing on her legs. "You're practically falling asleep talking to us! Dip-dop and I can take care of the rest of the people; you've already done so much for the case! It's our turn to chip in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now get home!" The twins said in unison, pushing her slightly.

Y/n considered it. The sun was nearly completely out of view, and street lamps had started to illuminate empty street corners. The kids didn't have too many more names... and I could stand to get more sleep; I might be able to see Bill again...

"Yeah, okay," she decided. "You two: don't stay out too long. It's almost night. I don't want you getting into some shenanigans with a mythical creature today."

"Don't worry Y/n," Mabel said, giving her a goofy salute. "I'll make sure our bro-bro doesn't get himself caught with the supernatural. We have to wait 'til you're with us!"

"Call me if anything happens, or if you get a break in the case. Be home by ten, or I'll be hunting you two down," she joked.

With a final wave goodbye, Y/n started down the street. It was only when she reached the end of the next block over that she stopped.

"I have no idea how to get back, do I?"

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"Soos! I said leave already! I don't want any canned beef or whatever it is you're trying to shove under the damn door!"

"B-but—! Mr. Pines, you've been in there nearly the entire day!"

"Not true!" Stan yelled, turning over on his side.

The man had locked himself in his room ever since his wax counterpart had met his end. Earlier than day, after he heard the kids and Soos leave, he had gone out and gotten a coffin for Wax Stan. He wanted to give him a proper memorial service. It was the least he could do.

Stan's room was always messy, but now it looked even worse. It mirrored the owner's condition: old man magazines littered the shelves and floor, gold watches were nestled in the yellow shag rug, and clothes were scattered around haphazardly. Grunkle Stan was in his bed, as he had been for the majority of the day. He had barely moved from there and hadn't even eaten anything; his grief kept him full.

Stan had his back to the locked door, slightly annoyed that Soos was still standing outside trying to coerce him out. He knew the man meant well, but sometimes he just wished he'd take a hint.

He heard the handyman sigh. "Okay Mr. Pines. I'm gonna leave; I'll be back tomorrow early to help you with the service." With that, the sound of heavy footsteps retreating down the hall and down the steps slowly faded. The door to the front of the shack closed with a muffled thud!

Stan shifted in his bed, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

He felt like shit.

He knew that it was completely silly to be this distraught over a wax figure. But he didn't feel as if Wax Stan was just a wax figure.

For the mere day he was with Mabel's magnum opus, he almost felt as if he was with his brother again. It was like a do over: he could hang out with Wax Stan the same way he used to hang out with Poindexter— the same way he had wished they had continued to spend time together as they got older. Of course, that didn't happen.

Stan wasn't an emotional man— at least, not on the outside— but he would be lying if he didn't say that losing the wax figure didn't reopen an old gaping wound. He always felt guilty for what happened to his brother; it was technically all this fault that they had the falling out in the first place. He let his emotions get the best of him. But when he accidentally activated the portal all those years ago...

Stan hissed loudly, shooting up in bed and wiping at his eyes. They stung with tears threatening to fall.

"It's fine," he whispered to himself, surprised to find his voice so hoarse. "I'm going to fix it."

That's what he kept telling himself. But how on Earth was he supposed to fix it?

His brother was always too smart for his own good; the portal was more than just foreign to him. He didn't know the first thing about physics and calculus; how was he to learn how to fix that machine when it dealt with science that most scientists and technicians didn't even know existed?

The journal he was left with didn't help much either. Sure, it gave him some insight, but the page dealing with that damned machine was littered in strange mathematical postulates and archaic writing. He wouldn't be able to decipher than in an entire life's worth of time. Not to mention, the book only had a third of the instructions. He didn't even know where the other two possibly were.

Then... then there was the question as to if his brother was even alive in the first place. Based upon what he read, even Poindexter didn't know what was behind the portal. He just knew it was an interdimensional gate. What if he was sent somewhere he couldn't possibly survive? What if he died the moment Stan accidentally pushed him in?

"Oh shut up, stupid brain!" He yelled. He didn't want to think of that— he couldn't think of that.

There's no way that Brainiac got himself killed that easily, he thought, trying to calm his labored breathing. If he did, I'll beat the shit out of him.

Stan needed something to distract himself; he didn't want to spend the rest of the night dwelling on parallels between his wax figure and his brother. He had failed them both, and every reminder infuriated his tired brain more.

"Forget this," he muttered, crawling out of bed. "Maybe some mindless Gravity Falls TV will help."

And for the second time that day, Stan crawled out of his bed and decided to leave his room.

He was grateful that the kids and Soos were gone. Stan just wanted to wallow in self pity; it was hard to do that when you had them around.

When Soos left, he had made sure to turn off all the lights, leaving Stan to navigate blind. He bumped into a few things, but he was overall used to traveling in the dark— especially to the living room to watch TV.

He plopped himself on the yellow couch, the springs screaming from the sudden attack. Reaching for the remote, he flipped the TV on, allowing it's sparse light to break through the dark. Shadows retreated to the corner of the room, away from the dull light bathing the man on the chair.

After a moment of searching through channels and loud grumbling, Stan finally decided on an old rerun of "My Mother is a Werewolf."

"Perfect," he muttered, tossing the remote off the side of the couch. "Mindless television."

Before he could make himself comfortable, the penalty of not eating nearly all day hit him with a loud grumble. He let out an aggravated sigh. "I just sat down!"

His stomach persisted. "Fine, fine, Mr. Tummy, I heard you the first time," he said, pushing himself off the chair and slowly trudging into the kitchen.

"Thanks Mr. Stan!" He made his stomach reply halfheartedly.

Grunkle Stan rummaged through the cabinet, softly pacing around the room in his pink slippers. Soos had made a mess of the pantries, and cans of meat were falling onto the counter, dangerously close to rolling onto his feet.

"Damnit Soos," he groaned, bending over to pick up the fallen cans. "Now I have to clean up. Maybe I should've waited for the kids to get home; I could've had them take care of this mess."

"Well, you have one kid now."

Stan jumped, his head colliding with the open shelf. He dropped the can, hissing a slight curse, letting it roll to the feet of the person standing in the doorway.

"Oh shoot," Y/n said, unable to stop the little awkward chuckle from escaping her lips.

"Did you have to scare me like that, Squirt?" Stan snapped. His eyes finally met with hers.

She looked just as tired as he felt. There were light bags under her dull eyes, and her hair was just as disheveled as the rest of her was.

"Sorry," she said, choking back a yawn. Y/n grabbed the can by her feet, returning it to the shelf. "How... how are you doing?" She asked awkwardly.

"Fine." He grunted, not making eye contact. "What's with you? Where are the other twerps?"

"I got tired and the twins insisted I get home and that they'd finish with the suspects. But then I got lost again and wandered in the woods for a bit before I found a path back."

Stan froze for a moment, and he gave his niece a side glance. "I don't want you in the woods at this time," he grumbled slightly. 

"Why? I knew where to go," she asked, reaching over him to put more cans back in the pantry.

Stan put the last ones in, taking one for himself. With ease, he popped the can lip open, rummaging through a drawer to find a spoon. Y/n wondered how he managed to open it with a simple squeeze.

"I just don't." He repeated.

Y/n remained silent for a moment. "What," she laughed slightly, taking the opportunity to pry a bit more, "am I going to get attacked out there or something?"

"Just don't go out this late."

Y/n dropped the subject, sensing it not going anywhere.

These kids don't need to get involved with what's out there. I'm supposed to be taking care of them, Stan thought. But...

He had always wondered if he should tell someone about the truth— the truth about everything. Granted, he doubted anyone would even begin to believe him; you can't just tell someone that you have an interdimensional portal in your basement and expect them to believe you, no questions asked.

Well, he could, but he'd probably end up being scheduled an appointment with a shrink right after.

"How's the investigation going?" Stan asked, scolding himself for even considering telling Y/n about the insanity in the basement.

"We had a big break: the person is left-handed. The twins are going around and find out everyone's dominant hand. I told them to text me if they got anything, but they haven't yet."

"So you think we're gonna get the justice Wax Stan deserves?"

Y/n scoffed. "Stan, please. Of course we're getting justice."

Stan paused for a moment, shoveling more beef into his mouth. "I trust you, Y/n," he said finally. He walked out of the kitchen, leaving the girl alone with her thoughts.

"'Y/n,'" she repeated when Stan left. When has he ever called me that? "What did I walk in on?"

She leaned against the counter in silence.

"I trust you, Y/n."

But... do I trust you? Y/n thought to herself.

She had been on the fence about Stan ever since the vending machine— well, ever since she accepted the vending machine. Was it something dangerous? Is that why he didn't mention it to them? Was it something to do with his illegal past? Or did it just simply house other outdated shack exhibits?

She didn't know what to think of it, in all honesty. Y/n didn't doubt that Stan was a shady character, but she saw some good in him. But that appearance fell apart when considering that stupid machine and dumb password. Just thinking about it brought an odd feeling in her gut.

"It just doesn't sit well with me," she repeated to herself once again, walking over to the window.

Y/n's trip through the woods was uneventful; it was more a walk to calm herself down and immerse herself in the dense vegetation than it was to find anything supernatural. She missed being able to use the forest as a playground. She hadn't been in one for so long.

The moon was starting to rise into its place over the town. The world became hushed and cloaked in a shroud of darkness which focused on the tiny stars littering the sky. The night animals were slowly becoming more active as the moon continued its ascent; Y/n could hear the faint hoots of an owl, and she heard plenty of rustling on her way back to the shack.

Y/n's tired gaze landed on Stan's car once again, trailing down the plate.

"'Stanley...'" she muttered, noting one of the other things that didn't sit well with her. "I just need someone to ask..."

The girl shot up suddenly, her hand resting against the counter.

She had an idea.

Y/n scrambled out of the kitchen, running to her room. How had she not thought of this sooner? Answers were just a phone call away—!

She closed the door behind her, grabbing her notebook off of her dresser and flopping down on the bed.

"There's only one person who could possibly have the answers I'm looking for," she muttered, searching through her contacts. When she reached the name she was looking for, she hesitated; was she really going to make this call over a license plate?

Think outside the box, she chided herself. Remember what Bill said: this is Gravity Falls, anything is possible. Trust your intuition.

"To hell with it." She placed her headphones in, letting the phone ring. Her notebook was cracked open to a fresh page.

Two rings; she nervously clicked the pen in hand.

Three rings. "Please pick up," she whined, tapping her foot impatiently.

Four rings; she was going to be sent to voicemail anytime soon.

Five ri—

"Hel-hello?" An old gruff and groggy voice picked up the phone, and Y/n let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

This is it, she thought. This could be the big break I've been looking for. Some of my questions might be answered!

"H-hey," she stuttered. "How are you, Sherman?"

Chapter Text

"Y/n?" Sherman yawned on the other line. "Is that you?"

"Y-yeah," she muttered sheepishly, tugging on the wires of her headphones.

"Do you know what time it is?" He asked, laughing slightly.

"What do you mean? It's only 9:30."

"You're on the West Coast."

"O-oh. Oh my God," she stuttered, flushing slightly. It was midnight in New Jersey. "I'm sorry Sherman, I-I just got ahead of myself and wanted to ask you something and—"

"Slow your roll, kiddo," Sherman interrupted. "And what did I tell you about that 'Sherman' crap? It's Grandpa Shermie; you gotta stop distancing yourself like that. You're part of the family too, ya' know?"

Grandpa Sherman Pines was the last tie the Pines family had back in Glass Shard Beach. When the kids' father got older, he decided to move out to California for work. Eventually, he met their mother and settled down. Sherman stayed in Jersey with his wife— his other kids had since moved out— in the house once belonging to his own parents.

As one of the more prominent figures in the family's life, he was the only other person that knew that Y/n had been adopted. He was also the only one that noticed Y/n's growing reluctance to attach herself to her new family.

The kids never had many chances to fly over to New Jersey and visit— and Sherman didn't like flying so far, either— so most of their talking had been through the phone or online. However, despite their limited visits, Sherman caught on quickly when she started dropping "Grandpa" when addressing him. It started when she was just beginning high school; every so often, "Grandpa Shermie" became "Shermie" or even just "Sherman." She had told him a little bit of what she had started going through then, and he reassured her that she was just as much a Pines as Dipper and Mabel.

As Y/n continued through high school, not only did their time together lessen, but she started to bottle up the feelings she once shared with him. As far as he was aware, she was just feeling a bit self conscious about the fact that she was adopted; he had no idea the extent of depth that these thoughts had progressed to.

"Sorry, Grandpa Shermie," she said, correcting herself.

"Relax, Y/n. You're fine. Just didn't expect a call this late— or, this early, rather," he laughed. She heard him shuffle to sit up right on the other side. "You kids are already in Gravity Falls, right?"

"Yeah. We've been staying with Stan for about a week and a half now."

"How's the old man doing?" Shermie chuckled.

"He's fine— or at least, he's normally fine. It's complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." Y/n started. She gave Sherman the quick rundown of what had happened in the past few days. "So he's kinda mourning the wax figure." She ended awkwardly.

"Ahhh, I, uh... I see," Sherman answered after a moment.

"But I wanted to ask you something," Y/n said, quickly changing the subject.

"Ask away," he said, trying to suppress another yawn. Y/n didn't want to keep him up any longer, so she figured getting straight to the point would be better than trying to better explain the events of the past day.

"Uh... do you know a Stanley by any chance? Or at least recognize the name?"

On the other line, Y/n thought she heard him inhale sharply. At the very least, he remained quiet.

"It's just that," Y/n continued quickly, "the license plate on Stan's car is 'Stanley Mobile...' or something similar to that. And I just wanted to—"

"Stanley, uh," Sherman finally spoke. Y/n froze, gripping the pen tighter and pressing it to the empty page.

This is it! She thought, excitement bubbling within her.

"Well, I didn't get to know him that well, but, um... he's... he was Stan's twin brother."

She froze, looking at the phone puzzled. "Did you say—?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Stanley was Stanford's twin brother. They had both moved out by the time I was... maybe three...? I don't know a lot about him— we're nearly 20 years apart— but I do know that they had a sort of falling out. I never got all the details; Ma and Pa didn't like talking about Stanley a whole lot. I think Pa had actually kicked him out of the house, and he just took off in his Diablo and left."

Y/n continued writing, the pen dancing across the paper. As she continued to listen to Sherman, she started to chew on her lip, brows furrowed. This doesn't match with what Stan said at all. Stan said that he had the car. But then again, Y/n thought, maybe he just didn't want to mention his brother.

"What happened to him? If I can ask, I mean," she stuttered quickly. She was already prying pretty far into some Pines' family history; Y/n didn't want to overstep.

"No, it's fine," Sherman said quickly, reassuring her. "It happened eons ago; I barely knew him so it didn't hit as hard as it hit Stanford. He died in a car crash about 30 years ago. I think they suspected that it could have been foul play. Stanley wasn't necessarily always on the right side of the law, you know? And apparently the wreck was so bad that they couldn't recover a good enough body for a proper burial."

Y/n nodded slowly. "That explains a lot," she said finally. She looked down at her notes. The license plate, the wax figure... nearly all of Stan's weird behavior was rooted in this past trauma. "Do you know if they ever made up?"

"I don't, actually. I think they went to see each other right before he died, but I was never sure."

"Oh."

"It's sad really," Shermie continued, "from what few stories I heard from Ma when I asked, they used to be really close. Kinda like Dipper and Mabel. I'm sure if I go looking I could find some pictures in the attic. I could send them to you, once I figure out how to do that 'texting' thing you kids do."

Y/n let out a small chuckle. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it if you could."

"Is that all you wanted to ask me about?" Shermie asked. Y/n could hear him yawn once again.

"Yeah, that's it for now. Besides, I'm keeping you up."

"Y/n! It's fine! I picked up, didn't I?" He laughed. "Why wouldn't I pick up for one of my favorite grandkids?"

She smiled. "Thanks Sher— Grandpa Shermie."

"Anytime, kiddo. Goodnight, Y/n. Love you!"

"Love you too; goodnight!" And with that, they hung up.

"Well, that certainly was a lot of information." Y/n looked down at her notes, satisfied. "No wonder why Stan was so distraught about his wax figure, he probably was viewing it like his brother." It was still a little weird, but she figured that the guilt of not being able to repair their relationship before his death did a number on him.

The service for it tomorrow was probably also a tribute to his brother. He didn't get to give him a proper one then, so this is the next best thing to make up for it, Y/n thought.

But, one thing that confused her was Stan's shifty and conman attitude. If his brother's fate was suspected to be connected to crime, why was he slowly following in his footsteps? "I guessed it could be a sort of homage to him... maybe?"

She wrote that question down; that was going to be the next thing she investigated.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Dipper and Mabel sat in the back of the police car, embarrassed, as the two cops in front continued their mocking teases. The rest of their investigation hadn't gone so well.

They were sure than positive that their final suspect, Toby Determined, was the true culprit behind the murder. He was the only one who hadn't passed their dominance test. He had a probable motive; his shoes were as shoddily made as the culprit's; and— until he revealed his security tape— he would have had no alibi to protect him.

But of course, in the words of the small and awkward reporter, they had been "jumping to conclusions." Toby was just as clean as the twins were. And apparently, just as clean as the axe: there were no fingerprints. Well, none besides the twins and Y/n's.

How was that even possible? How could there not be any fingerprints? It just doesn't make any sense! Dipper scolded himself.

He shifted in the back seat. The car was fairly messy. It was almost surprising; he didn't think Blubs or Durland had many people back here, so how on Earth did it look like a pigsty?

The seats were all ripped up, the glass was littered with dark spots and stains, and he was sure that at any moment the seat belts were going to snap from old age. Mabel's side didn't look well either. She kept her feet off the floor, which was covered in a sticky carpet and snacks.

"Well well well," Blubs said from the front, taking a sip of his seemingly-never-ending coffee. Seriously, this man always seemed to have a cup, even if it was nearly 10 at night. "City boy really proved our point! Your sister on the other hand wised up. Y'all really thought you can solve this case? I told you! It's unsolvable!"

"Unsolvable!" Durland echoed with a laugh.

Dipper rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and pushing himself further into the seat. He could solve this case. He and Y/n were perfectly capable of finding the culprit.

The car pulled up to the side of the Mystery Shack. "Okay kids, this is your stop. Go get some sleep; y'all are probably out past your bedtime."

The twins stomped away from the onslaught of laughter, entering the shack as fast as possible. Dipper closed the door with a small slam, his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Stan, who had fallen asleep when trying to pay attention to the TV, awoke with a jump. Grumpy and still trying to discern his surroundings, he poked his head into the hallway.

"Oh," he grumbled, looking the twins over. "It's just you two. Did you walk through the forest too?"

"No," Mabel said. "We got a ride from Blubs and Durland."

Stan's brows raised for a moment, genuinely surprised. "Woah, did you two do something illegal?"

"No," Dipper muttered. "We got ahead of ourselves and pinned Toby for the murder. Apparently he was innocent. So now we're the laughing stock of the entire police department."

"Wait, you guys had a break in the case?"

The twins jumped, snapping their heads to see Y/n standing down the hall. Her phone was in her hand, earbuds hanging out of her ears. She had just finished rewriting some of the more important information Sherman had given her when she heard the police car stop.

Dipper winced. "Yeah. We didn't have time to call you, sorry."

"Everything just kinda happened at once," Mabel added on. "We were so preoccupied with the murder we kinda... forgot."

"O-oh, okay," Y/n sighed awkwardly, a small pang rattling her chest.

"What happened?" Stan asked, trying to break the tension that had suddenly settled in the hallway.

"Well, we just found out that Toby is just a creep and stalks Shandra Jimenez," Mabel said.

"And," Dipper asked, taking out the axe from the backpack, "the axe doesn't have any fingerprints besides the ones from us."

"No fingerprints?" Y/n questioned. "So the culprit wore gloves? They were stupid enough to leave the weapon but smart enough to cover their hands?" The only person who would have fit was Manly Dan, but both the twins and Y/n had seen first-hand his alibi was airtight.

Dipper let out a frustrated groan. "It just doesn't make sense! There's no one else the evidence points to. We've gone through everyone at the opening and now they've all been proved innocent! This is insane!"

"Dip-dop," Mabel offered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe we should head to bed and regroup tomorrow morning." She turned to Y/n, who nodded.

"Yeah, you three should go to bed," Stan grumbled, getting up. "We're having the service for Wax Stan tomorrow. You three have to help me set up the other wax figures and the coffin."

"Fine," Dipper said, trudging up the stairs. Mabel signaled Y/n to follow. The three found themselves in the attic. Dipper began pacing around, mumbling under his breath about the two heading to the sheriff's station.

"They haven't done anything, and the one time we make a mistake, we get completely scrutinized for it!"

"Why did you guys go straight to Toby?" Y/n asked. "I asked you to call me when you had a break in the case."

"He was the only person left on the list," Mabel said, showing her the notepad. "Who else could it have been?"

"So we finally get Blubs and Durland down there— and mind you, that in itself took forever— and we just learn that he has an unhealthy obsession with another news reporter. Trust me Y/n," Dipper said, pointing at her. "You're welcome that we didn't call you down there. You would have been ridiculed, too."

"That's not what I was getting at," she said, crossing her arms. She took a seat on Mabel's bed. "I specifically asked you to tell me when you found something. Even if you did have one person left on the suspect list, you should have at least questioned him first, like we did to Manly Dan."

"Well, it doesn't even matter!" Dipper snapped back. "Because our weapon has no prints besides our own. All we have is an axe, a missing head, and no clue as to who our murderer is!"

"Dipper, calm down," Mabel said. "Sorry, Y/n, he's just a little grumpy."

"No, it's fine," she said. She understood Dipper's frustration. He was tired and had just been belittled the entire trip back to the shack. Y/n would be completely pissed, too. She was a little annoyed that they didn't call her, though. She could have stopped them from running head first into failure.

"Listen," she said, standing up. "Let's take a little break from the detective work. We have to help Stan tomorrow. After the service, we can look through everything and start again fresh. We just need to be patient."

"Why do we even need to have a funeral for a wax figure, anyway?" Dipper argued.

Y/n winced, thinking back to her conversation with Sherman earlier. If no one felt the need to inform them about Stanley before, then maybe she shouldn't bring it up now. "Listen, for... whatever reason, Stan enjoyed that statue. So, let's just suck it up and go through with it," she said. She ruffled Dipper's hair. "It's just something we gotta get through, you know?"

Dipper huffed, finally calming himself down. "Yeah, I know. Sorry we didn't call you."

"It's okay, buddy," she smiled lightly.

"HUG TIME!" Mabel yelled, jumping on both of them.

Y/n froze for a moment, but quickly recovered. She scooped the twins in her arms. "Fine Mabel, we can awkward-sibling-hug it out this time."

"Pat pat!" The three said in unison.

Y/n pulled away at the hug first, already heading for the door. "Don't beat yourself up so much," she said, pointing between them. "I promise, we'll get justice for Wax Stan. Now go clean up and get to bed."

"Goodnight Y/n," they chimed.

She nodded and closed the door behind her, heading to her own room to get changed.

Y/n set her notebook on her dresser with a small smile. She had technically done it; she got answers to one of the pressing matters on her mind. Did it lead to more questions? Yeah sure, but they were for tomorrow. She could take this small victory for now. She might be completely behind on her college scheduled, but that also was another problem for future Y/n. Right now, she was more focused on going to sleep. She was anticipating meeting with Bill and telling him what she learned.

Y/n flopped into bed, buzzing with a tired excitement. She almost felt proud of herself for learning the truth behind both the license plate and Stan's weird infatuation with his wax figure. Now, the only things she needed to figure out was the murderer and the truth behind the vending machine.

She thought back to the twins. Had they really forgotten to call her? Y/n understood that they were excited about possibly getting justice, but was it that easy to forget something as simple as calling? Hell, she would have even taken a text.

"Stop being stupid. You're overthinking," she chided herself. "Stop, or else you'll never get sleep."

But as Y/n rolled over on her side, she couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt that the twins neglected to contact her.

Chapter Text

Y/n didn't remember falling asleep. She must have been really tired if she had just blacked out like that.
   
But as she came to in the same field as she did the night prior, she couldn't really complain. The girl jumped up, looking around for any sign of Bill. She didn't know how to tell if he was with her or not, but she certainly couldn't wait to tell him about what she had found.
   
"Uh, Bill? Are you here?"

Silence followed, accented by a roaring breeze and the rustling of leaves. Y/n was a little disappointed; she wanted to brag about her little discovery. But if Bill was busy, well then he was busy.

"I can't just expect him to drop everything and visit me when I go to sleep," she chuckled to herself, sliding back onto the floor. "I guess I'll just have to tell him another time."

She weaved her fingers around long blades of grass, admiring their color and growth. If Bill wasn't here to talk to her, then she guessed she could take the time to sit back and enjoy the time she had there.

Y/n leaned back on the oak tree behind her, the bark rough against her hoodie and hair. She closed her eyes as a light breeze tickled her nose and brushed against her side. The air smelled of the pines off in the distance, mixed with a light dew mist.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the remnants of home, letting the silence wash over her and relaxing her tired and tense limbs. She brought her legs up to her chest, cradling them close to her as she stared off into the distance. Green hills as far as the eye could see; trees poking into the sky; fluffy clouds painted against a baby blue background— yeah, she wouldn't mind sitting here without Bill visiting her.

Being in her own mind had it's benefits. One of them that Y/n loved to exploit was "summoning" things from her everyday life.

With a snap of her fingers, her phone and headphones dropped into her lap. She couldn't recreate every single detail about the device, but it was enough to allow her to start listening to one of her multitudes of varying playlists. She hit shuffle on the most recent one.

"Dream Eating Monochrome Baku?" She asked out loud, recognizing the song blasting through her ear buds. "It's been a while since I heard that," she laughed.

Y/n closed her eyes, taking another deep breath.

"Yeah, this might be a bit better than talking to Bill."

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Bill was running late. That wasn't something the rather formal triangle did.

It wasn't necessarily his fault: how was he to know that Pyronica and Keyhole were planning an arson on a neighboring dimension as revenge for when they flooded theirs and needed his help at the last minute?

There was no way he was going to miss out on this; the last "prank" left all his bow ties and top hats soggy. Not to mention how long it took to get the water out of the dimension. In those times, having an unstable, ever-shifting dimension with no set laws of physics or limits to anything really was a pain. The water kept sloshing everywhere— that is, when it wasn't rising and dropping in clumps onto the other demons. Or better yet, when it became thin, slimy sheets that barricaded other imps and molded with the changing scenery.

The three floated into the familiar realm of chaos and pandemonium they had spent most of their entities' confined too. The Nightmare Realm was one of which had no real rules or physical constraints. Scenes shifted constantly: pillars of goop and pools of cement rising and falling periodically. Everything was constantly changing, even down to the air around them, which would constantly morph into different colors and thicknesses. It reeked of sulphur. The only constant was a hanging darkness that cradled the demented dimension. It clung to what would be considered the "skies" and hung in places with an unprecedented intensity.

The little corner of weird was cradled in between any and all dimensions; it was encased in the safety of a little bubble, with rope-like-vines twisting themselves from the depths of nothing to hold the small dimension. They were colored a flesh red, almost looking like veins that provided life to the chaos and mayhem within the darkened bubble. 

The dimension was littered with varying creatures— some were bipedal, some walked on all fours, some flew, and some had no limbs to walk on at all— some were goo, others were solid— some were transparent, others solid as steel— each demon was vastly different from the last. With all these different species and types of demons, imps, and other demonic entities, there was no one that had really attempted to rise above all and take control. Until Bill, that is.

A foreigner in this dimension originally, he was quick to seize the opportunity of chaos and mayhem as his advantage and eventually became a widely recognized and formidable force in the dimension. His take over was rather easy— well, once a hundred thousand or so lesser beings were blasted away to prove his power and prowess. 

The three entered cackling, Pyronica's pink fire practically jumping off her slim and curved body. Her boots clicked under the nearly formed oscillating floor that appeared underneath them. Her short hair, wedged between two large horns and littered with smaller ones, bobbed up and down with her prideful strides, falling over her giant eye occasionally.

Keyhole followed behind her, still cackling madly from their little "adventure." He had decided to ransack most lesser creatures bordering the edge of the neighboring dimension, claiming that "it didn't make sense to let perfectly good treasure go up in flames." He held boxes ranging in size, each filled with unknown substances and some dripping down his turquoise body. He didn't bother opening the chests beforehand— he said he always liked the surprise.

Bill was last to reenter, much quieter than his two henchmaniacs. He had done most of the destruction— as he normally did— and almost felt a bit... bored. How long has this been going on between the two dimensions? Three and a half millennias? He wanted something new to play with. He was getting impatient, as well.

Bill's hands still burned with embers and wisps of his blue flames. It was nothing like Pyroncia's ever-burning fire, but it held just as much power— even more so. It was only when the three were well inside their dimension that Bill noticed the time and that he had to give a certain someone a little visit.

"Leaving already?" Pyronica asked, when she noticed Bill checking his eye-turned-pocket-watch.

"I got a meatsack to manipulate," he answered, popping his eye back in. He snapped his fingers, and his cane appeared in his hand, masked by blue flames.

"Another one of those things?" Keyhole groaned, juggling his boxes. "I thought the last one you messed with was the 'last one.'"

"If it was the last one we wouldn't still be in the joint, now would we?" Bill snapped.

"How many more are you going to go through? Your promise on 'liberating our dimension' is almost as old as I am," the pink demon said, crossing her arms.

"This one is a lot more interesting than the last," the triangle answered.

"Didn't you say that about the other one? What even happened to him? I don't remember you killing him," Keyhole muttered.

"He's... around. Stranded to hop through multiple dimensions, remember? You caught a glimpse of him running around here occasionally. He's hellbent on trying to kill me. But this one will be the last one. It's a human girl; if I came this close with Sixer, then this should be a piece of cake. I already have her thinking we're 'friends,'" Bill mocked, laughing a bit.
   
Keyhole and Pyronica shared a glance; this wasn't the first time Bill had claimed that their takeover was neigh. Each time it turned out to be an empty promise. Bill noticed.
   
"Pyronica, Keyhole!" He said, teleporting behind them and slinging his arms around their shoulders. "You have to trust me! I know what I'm doing with his meatsack. She is special. Actually—" he paused, letting go of the other demons and throwing himself back in the air. The ground beneath them shifted again, and this time little pillars rose about their feet. "—maybe I can introduce you to her." He could exploit Y/n's little ability to shift her consciousness into different dimensions.

"Huh? How, when you finally break the barrier between the Nightmare Realm and their plane of reality?" Pyronica asked, squinting her eye.

"Now now! I wouldn't want to spoil the little surprise, would I? I'll explain when I bring her over here."

"And when will that be?" Keyhole eyed him suspiciously.

"Depends how fast she wises up. Though, I have a feeling it could be sooner than later," he muttered.

Bill had a feeling that she was going to start going through the journal soon— especially now that he had encouraged her to familiarize herself with the supernatural. He just needed to make a deal with her. Something that would forever place her in his control. And boy, did he have a great one. But he needed to ensure a few things before he were to strike.

"Well, it was fun," he motioned towards the chests Keyhole was holding. "But I have a new toy to play with!"

With a snap, Bill poofed from the Nightmare Realm.

Whenever Bill traveled through the mindscape to appear in Y/n's mind, he always appeared above the thick trees. From there, he was greeted with an expansive view of her mind.

While the thickets of trees ran across into the horizon, standing proudly on hills and accented with forest trails and a small pond, were a sight most would find impressive by itself, there was something more important to Bill. Further beyond the large oak that marked the beginning of Y/n's "happy place," the vivid colors drained and faded to monochrome. There, nestled within smaller trees and almost protected in a dome, was the pure essence of Flame's mind. The house that contained all her memories, fears, dreams— everything.

And that's where Bill wanted to go next.

Bill floated down to the lone oak tree. It was completely out of place, the more Bill thought about it. He wondered why the tree was the only of its kind, and why it almost served as a staple to her mind. It marked the beginning of the field and the end of her actual memories. Maybe I'll ask her about it...

As Bill neared the tree, he shrunk himself down from his original size. He figured that if he was smaller, it would be easier to win Y/n's trust. Humans had this ingrained instinct to protect the tiny young, so Bill might as well seize the advantage.

Y/n didn't seem to notice that Bill was there, floating in front of her. She sat against the tree, hands folded inside her hoodie pocket, a small calm smile on her face. Her eyes were closed, focusing on the music playing in her ears. Her playlist had just shuffled to "Merry Go Round Of Life." Bill could hear her humming the melody softly under her breath.

Bill floated up to her face, snapping his fingers. Y/n didn't even flinch, she just kept humming.

The triangle rolled his eye; he didn't have time for this. On top of the fact that he was already late, he needed to strengthen the "bond" he had with the fleshbag before he could even begin to propose a deal with her. He was hoping that walking her through memory lane would not only solidify their perceived friendship, but also give Bill some ammo to use as blackmail if things backfired. If he couldn't kindly convince her to help him, then he would more than willingly break her.

He sat on top of her head, leaning down to knock an earbud out of her ear.

She jumped at the sudden weight on her head, her body hunching over in surprise. Y/n swatted at the air, nearly rolling away from the tree.

"Woah there Flame!" Bill laughed, dodging her cast. "Is that a way to greet a friend?" He gave her a puppy-eye, trying to use his small statue to appear more "cute."

"Oh shit," Y/n mumbled, slightly embarrassed. She snapped and her phone disappeared. "Sorry Bill. You just startled me, is all."

"You should be sorry! Swatting at me like a bug," he feigned hurt, draping a hand over his point.

Y/n giggled at his actions. For a demon, he sure was childish. She liked that about him; the best way she could describe it was a bit charming.

"I thought you were busy," she continued, watching him float closer to her.

"Never too busy to see my favorite Flame!" He cheered. He took a seat atop her head, legs dangling over her bangs and into her view. "What have you been up to, kid?"

Bill felt Y/n perk up from beneath him, suddenly sitting up straight.

"Well, well, well," she started, a large smile plastered on her face. "I found out the story behind the license plate. You'll never believe it! Wait— well, I guess you will because you're an all knowing demon or something— but, Stan has a twin brother!"

Bill froze. She...she already found out?

"So the car was his brother Stanley's," she continued, a smile still spreading across her lips. "After he died, he must have kept it. It also explains his weird attachment with the wax figure."

Bill calmed down. It's okay. Not only does she think that Stanley is dead, but she doesn't know about Fez taking Fordsy's identity. But she's smart, she'll find out soon...

Y/n realized that she had been smiling like a goof throughout the entire conversation. "Wait, I'm not smiling because he's dead," she clarified with an awkward cough. It wasn't even like Bill had noticed, he was too busy making amends to his plan. "I'm just pretty happy I got information. Not a psycho or anything," she ended in a shy laugh.

Bill scoffed, floating upside down in front of her. "That's a shame; all the best people are a bit crazy. Just look at me!"

Y/n chuckled slightly, standing up and brushing her clothes off. "I'll keep that in mind the next time the twins tease me."

The girl stretched, digging her sneakers into the dirt. Bill flipped himself right side up.

"Tell me something, kiddo," he said, suddenly appearing much more serious. Y/n looked up at him. "Have you ever been in your mind before?"

Y/n cocked her head to the side. "Uhh, isn't that where I am right now?"

"Technically yes, but I'm talking about the deepest part of your mind." He pointed behind the oak tree, where the landscape appeared more blurry and devoid of color.

Y/n looked back. She had never ventured that far into her head. She liked the field she always woke up to; besides, part of her wasn't sure she wanted to go that deep into her mind.

"Back there is a house of your memories, fears, dreams— you name it! That place holds nearly every experience you've ever been through. This is just a little refuge within your subconscious. Not many people have one," Bill continued. He started floating in the direction, only pausing when Y/n didn't follow. "C'mon Flame, don't you want to see?"

Y/n took a hesitant step forward. She was a little apprehensive about going further into her mind. She was afraid something she tried to keep hidden might resurface, or at the very least some repressed trauma would rear its ugly head back up again. The girl had done a lot of work to keep all her early childhood trauma in check and move on to lead a semi-normal life, but there's only so much you can do in a situation like hers.

Bill took note in her reluctance. Is she this scared to go into her mind? Then did I hit the jackpot—!

"Loosen up a bit," he said, flying over to her. "I'll be with you every step of the way. Watch." He lowered himself into her hood. "This is your mind, remember? You have complete control over it."

Y/n inhaled sharply. "Yeah, o-okay."

The two ventured past the oak tree.

The path from the oak tree to Y/n memories was somewhat familiar. Like the surroundings, it took on the setting of her old childhood home. The winding path led her up a rather tall hill. As they neared the house, the colors around them began to fade. Bright greens and blues drained from the area, becoming muddy before changing into a dull black and white.

As Y/n reached the top of the hill, she stopped suddenly, her breath hitching in her throat. There, away from where she and Bill stood, was her old childhood cabin. It looked just the way she had always remembered it: it was a small homely place— nothing extravagant. Now colored black and white, the house was surrounded by trees, it's roof and trimming littered with pines and leaves. A small porch grew from the front door, and the second story met with the trees, almost ending in a castle-esque spire.

No wonder why she always felt at home in her mind; she really was back in the place she spent her early childhood.

"Oh wow," she breathed out. The divide from her happy place and mind was more than clear. It was as if there was a clean line splitting color from the void— repressed reality from idealized fantasy— where the oak tree marked the barrier between the two.

Bill peeked out from behind Y/n, a little annoyed with her reluctance. "What's the hold up, Flame?"

"N-nothing," she stuttered quickly.

"Isn't this your place back in Piedmont?"

"What?"

Bill paused. So this wasn't the Pines' home.

"Your memories are always housed in a familiar place. Usually it's the place you feel most at home in." Bill said, floating above her. "So if this isn't your home, then what is it?"

"It's, uh..." Y/n turned her gaze away from her home. Her chest tightened as she struggled with an explanation.

Bill noticed her sudden change in attitude. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her nervous shuffle. Her lips tightened in a line and her nose scrunched up.

"Before the twins, we lived here," she finally spoke. "We moved the winter before they were born," she lied.

Bill's brow rose. So the place she feels most at home at is the place she spent without the twins? He almost started laughing: these little details would prove to be very powerful if used correctly.

"C'mon," Y/n said, eager to change the subject and self conscious under Bill's prying eye. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back to sit in her hood.

Yet, she found herself frozen at the barrier. The invisible line ran along the diameter of the house. It was essentially a large dome that encompassed the house and the majority of its surrounding monotone vegetation.

"Uh, kid?" Bill asked, leaning on her shoulder. "You gonna move?"

"S-sorry," she said, nervously glancing between the demon on her shoulder and the house. "It's just... a lot to take in, I guess. I haven't been here in a while."

"Are you scared?"

Y/n bit her lip, nostrils flaring slightly. "...Maybe."

Bill laughed a bit. "Flame, don't worry about it. It's okay! I'm going to be with you, alright? Trust me, okay?"

Y/n nodded slowly. Trust him? Yeah... yeah she could do that. "I-if you say so," she said, wincing.

Clenching her fists and summoning her courage, Y/n took the step deeper into her mind. Black and white engulfed her, and the breeze and forest sounds that existed in her bright happy place disappeared in an instant. A pit settled in Y/n's stomach as she stared up at the place she once called home.

"I'm home," she mumbled under her breath, and instead of the warmth and bubbling excitement she had thought would appear at such a beloved sight, an eerie dread spawned from within her.

Chapter Text

Y/n opened the door to the house carefully, almost afraid of what was to burst through. She had all these demons running around on the underside of her skin; she was waiting for an onslaught of the little creatures the moment she pushed the door open with a small creeeeak.

When nothing happened for a few moments, Y/n finally took a step in. The door slammed behind her, making her jump. Bill flopped around in her hood.

Y/n didn't remember much of the inside of her house, but she knew that it definitely didn't look like this.

The room that was once the living room was nearly triple the house's size alone. Sitting in the middle of the large room, a prolific tree sprouted from a gaping circular hole in the middle of broken and split wooden planks, growing along the banisters of staircases in the very back. It's leaves brushed against the ceiling and two thick branches lead to adjoining rooms on the second floor. Smaller branches acted like stairs leading from the level they were standing at to the depths of the hole the tree grew from.

A large rug sat by the entrance of the house, spreading feet deep and across the long floor. Different doorways were labeled: one contained dreams; another had hopes; a third had fears— there were a plethora of different paths to go through.

Y/n and Bill scanned the area, both rather surprised with the scene before them.

Bill had never thought Y/n's mind would be so... big. It was almost as if every single event had been documented in her head. He had learned she had a photographic memory, but even this was pushing the limits of it pretty far.

Y/n was awestruck to see the inner workings of her mind. She knew she thought a lot and was prone to overthinking, but she didn't think it would appear visually like this.

One aspect that the two were both equally surprised to find was the state of the abode. It was in complete disarray. Bill had thought it would be more organized.

"Holy shit," Y/n muttered. Little whispers and shouts rang out from different doors from the abundance of hallways, each replaying certain events on repeat.

"Sorry for the mess," she said sheepishly, moving to hug her cast close to her body. "I guess I just think... a lot."

"You can say that again," Bill said, flying out of her hood. There was so much potential in here. He floated over to the large oak tree dead center of the room.

Looking down into the abyss, he could see almost nothing. The branches that lowered themselves deeper into the chasm slowly were engulfed in darkness— if they hadn't been snapped at the base, that is.

Y/n slowly made her way over to Bill, leaning forward to gaze down towards the base of the tree. She recognized the tree; it was a rather prominent figure in her mind.

Crouching down, Y/n swung her legs over the hole that led to the darkness, swinging them slightly. Straining her ears, she could barely make out murmurs from the memories stored below. She heard voices, but they were all drowned out by whispers and shouts, everything mixing together. She couldn't make out anything comprehensible until one voice made her freeze on the spot.

"Princess, get back here!"

"Dinner's ready, Princess!"

"Okay okay, I give up. C'mon Princess, come out from wherever you are."

Y/n's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. She stood up and backed away from the pit, hands trembling as she clung to her arms.

"T-that's my..." she stuttered, nearly tripping backwards. "That's where I—!"

As Y/n struggled to calm her racing mind, doors of memories once thought to have been buried sprouted from the floorboards. They fell back into the ground as fast as they had arisen from it, and Bill was left to gaze at the multitude of portals loaded with memories in a chaotic mesh of differing voices merging together.

"Kid!" Bill shouted suddenly, poofing to her side. He placed an arm on her shoulder, and immediately all the doors sunk back onto the floor. The room fell silent once again as Y/n finally calmed down, brought back to reality by the demon beside her.

"What's with all of this? You good?"

"I'm— I'm fine," she said, her throat suddenly dry. Her head stopped spinning, but the weariness in her gut was still gnawing at her. The drumming in her ears wouldn't go away; the cadence of her heart wouldn't slow its tempo.

"Really?" Bill's eye narrowed. "So if I were to ask you to lead me through those door from before, would—"

"N-no!" Y/n snapped suddenly. She grabbed Bill, shoving him roughly back into her hood. With a loud stomp that nearly splintered the wooden floor, she brought her foot to the edge of the hole, holding her hand out. The floorboards creaked and groaned, beginning to expand. They grew from their splintered edges, meeting flushed with the tree bark and closing the hole altogether. She sealed off the only entrance to those memories, sighing in relief at the sight of the closed floor.

She didn't want to be bothered by those memories today, especially not when she was with Bill. Sure, she considered him a friend, but she was nowhere near ready to confide what those doors held with him.

The demon's eye widened. This kid was filled with a lot of surprises, and so was her mind.

"Let's," Y/n started, quickly turning down a hallway labeled "memories." "Let's keep moving."

Y/n took them down the narrow hallway filled with closed doors ranging in all sizes. As Bill tried to process what he had just seen her do within her mind, they continued in silence.

"Hold on there, Flame," Bill said finally, flying out in front of her and increasing in size. Y/n wasn't looking and nearly slammed right into him. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Y/n asked simply, trying her best to look normal. She had a fairly impressive poker face, Bill had noted, but he wasn't born yesterday.

"Kid, I'm an all knowing demon. If you want to trick me you're going to have to do something more than pretending something didn't happen."

"It's worked before with other people so I figured I might as well give it a shot," she mumbled.

"Spill it," the triangle looked at her expectantly.

"It's just... old childhood memories," she finally said, shrugging. Her nose scrunched up again slightly. "There's nothing interesting down there. Unless you want to see all my preschool and elementary school bullies."

"Bullies?" Bill asked. The voice that made her react like that definitely wasn't a bully. He didn't know all the ins and outs of human interactions, but he knew well enough that no bully would go around calling their target "Princess."

"Y-yeah," she said definitely, continuing down the hall. "Just come on, will you?" Y/n understood that Bill would be naturally curious, especially after that incident, but she was incredibly stubborn. He wasn't going to get any information out of her now.

Bill floated back to her head. "Can I at least ask you one question?" It's not like he could read her mind; she had been awfully good at clearing her head recently. There were times where little things slipped through, but most of the time it was absolutely silent. It appeared that Flame really did remember that she was dealing with a mind reader. It was mildly infuriating, as now he had to deal with physical cues and tells instead of getting the straight answer from her head.

"Shoot," she mumbled, reaching her hand to graze against the doors as they passed them.

"Can I call you Princess?" He asked with a cheeky look in his eye. He was attempting to lighten the mood, but it seemed that Bill was more out of touch with human emotions than he thought.

Y/n stumbled forward, as if hearing the name alone had stabbed her in the back. "N-no. Please don't."

"Oh?" He tried to look down at her, but her bangs hung over her eyes. The smile he had been greeted with earlier was long gone.

"It's a... a family pet name, I guess. No one really calls me it anymore," she said.

"Then I can call you that! C'mon, 'Flame' and 'kiddo' are getting kinda old," Bill laughed.

"...No, those are fine. I kinda like them, anyway."

An awkward silence fell between them as they continued down the seemingly endless hall. They weren't even looking through the memories. As they passed each door, Bill could only hear snippets of conversation; nothing ever enough to paint a full and detailed picture.

The triangle knew that he needed to distract Y/n from the events that just transpired if he were to try to salvage the main purpose of the night quickly. But what was he supposed to talk about with a human?

From atop her head, Bill continued to look through the cracks of doors. He didn't want to stop her and check one, slightly apprehensive about the fact that one misplaced bad memory could tarnish the entire night and Y/n's mood— as well as his schedule.

Then his eye caught the glittering and colorful cast hung at her side.

"Hey, Flame," he spoke up.

Y/n hummed in response.

"I've been meaning to ask, what's with the cast? I know that bandaid is from the glass a couple days ago, but I never figured out where that thing came from."

Y/n looked down at her left arm. "I, um," she paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. The truth was on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spring out of her lips, but she bit it back.

It was funny really; Bill was actually one of the few people that asked. Sure, her little group of friends took notice of the splash of glitter that assaulted her left arm. But even Stan didn't bother to ask. The most he did was give it a glance. Or make a teasing comment about it in passing. Wendy and Soos were no different; the former believing it was a silent accessory that solidified her perceived coolness. It almost caught her off guard that someone that wasn't considered close family was being considerate.

But it still wasn't enough to bring her to reveal the truth.

"I, uh, fell from an oak tree back at home."

"You fell?" Bill couldn't help but chuckle. Pathetic, he thought.

"Y-yeah," Y/n said, letting out an awkward laugh of her own.

"What are you, an acorn?"

She scoffed. "Very funny, Jared Kleinman," Y/n teased.

"...Who?"

"O-oh. It's— no, never mind. It's from a human thing," she sighed. "It was the oak tree out there."

"The tree outside?"

"Yeah. And the one in the entry room... for some reason. I don't really know why that's there. It's just there vibin', you know?"

"If it's such a prominent figure in your mind, then maybe there's a lot of significance to it," Bill suggested. He reached down to Y/n's hair, messing with a few shorter strands, twirling them in his fingers.

Y/n bit her lip, trying to hold back the thoughts and memories about that tree. There was a lot of significance to it, that's for sure. "Maybe," she said finally, itching to change the subject. "Are you trying to be a therapist? I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm fine carrying everything. It hasn't killed me yet. Why are you so interested?"

"Isn't that what you humans do when you're trying to be friendly? Get to know the other person?"

"Well, usually. But it doesn't necessarily involve literally traveling through a person's mind," Y/n laughed. "Besides," she continued, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I still barely know a thing about you."

"Then what do you want to know?"

"Well, uh... why were you late today?" Y/n asked, then quickly added, "If you want to tell me, that is. If it's like private business then I underst—"

"I was a little busy with some friends of mine... committing arson," he muttered the last part under his breath.

"Woah, arson?" Y/n exclaimed.

"O-oh," Bill didn't think she heard that part. But then again, he was on top of her head.

"Arson and you didn't invite me? Wow Bill, I'm a little hurt," she said with a sly smile.

The triangle remained quiet, once again caught by surprise. This human tended to do that a lot. It's not everyday you bring up arson and gain a willing participant in turn. He was never able to make these sort of morbid claims so boldly with Sixer and have him laugh it off.

"That doesn't... startle you or anything?"

"Why would it? You're a demon. I wouldn't expect you to be knitting in your spare time."

Bill laughed, "There's been a 'Prank War' between my and a neighboring dimension for eons. They flooded our dimension a couple of decades ago, so we decided to strike back with fire. And— of course— looting the nearby imps."

To his surprise, she started laughing even harder. Was she really finding this entertaining? Maybe this fleshbag isn't too bad, he thought.

"You wanna see something cool?" Bill floated in front of her. At this point the two had completely forgotten about the doors and memories. They were talking like two friends. 

"Hit me," Y/n challenged. Some of Bill's smug nature was already starting to rub off on her.

Bill snapped his fingers, a roaring blue flame burst to life from his fingertips. The cerulean wisps curled off his hand, floating up in small embers. It illuminated the otherwise dark and dull hallway with a shock of color.

Y/n's brose rose, her mouth dropping a bit. It looked just like her—

A door attempted to break through the floor, but was trapped under the sole of her shoe. The two looked down, Bill quickly noticing the top of the frame trying to burst from the depths.

Y/n swallowed deeply, before taking a deep breath. The door sunk back into the floor.

"What was that—"

"That's really cool," Y/n interrupted loudly, reaching towards Bill's hand. She stopped, unsure if it would burn her or not. "So... is it hotter than normal fire or something? I know that the blue tunnel on a bunsen burner has the more focused flame, so it is like that?"

Bill's eye narrowed, and with a snap of his fingers the flame extinguished, plunging them back into an uncanny darkness. "You really have a lot of unwanted memories, don't you, kid?" He ignored her previous comment completely, pointing towards the floor by her foot.

Y/n bit her lip, avoiding meeting his eye. Did he really have to keep directing the conversation to that? "They're not necessarily unwanted," she mumbled.

"You don't like seeing them, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Then I have a modest proposal," Bill said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "How about I take them from you?"

Y/n blinked. "T-take them?" She had a nagging suspicion that it was a lot more ominous than first perceived.

"I'm a dream demon, kid; master of the mind! I can manipulate your mind and memories. I'll just go through this house of yours and pick out anything you don't want to see anymore. And just like that—" a third arm grew out of Bill, snapping it's newly created fingers. "—it'll all be gone! So what do you say kid, we have ourselves a deal?"

The blue fire ignited from Bill's second hand, as he held it out for her to shake. She stared at it for a moment, considering the offer.

A chance for all her unwanted memories to go away with something simple as a deal? It sounded a little too good to be true. But Bill seemed serious; it was quite a tempting offer. But... why did it sound like the song she was listening to earlier?

"No," she said, slightly surprising herself. The flame diminished once again, as if put out by the simple word alone.

"No?" Bill reiterated, growling slightly. The air around him suddenly turned cold.

This wasn't his original idea for the deal, but he figured it would have done the job all the same. It would have saved him how many more trips into the girl's subconscious needed to further cement this feigned bond. But it seemed that Y/n wasn't going to be an easy one to work with.

"Why not?"

"The memories aren't necessarily unwanted. Everything in this house has made me who I am today, for better or for worse. I don't think I'd want to give that up. I've..." she paused for a moment, trying to pick out her next words carefully. "I can deal with them on my own. I've made it this far; rather not have to pass this burden to someone else."

Bill put his hands on his hips, the third scratching his nonexistent chin. It rested just above his little bow tie. "Is this what you humans would call 'integrity?'"

"Yeah," Y/n shrugged. "I guess so. I appreciate the offer, though."

Bill tried to shrug off his annoyance, turning his back to Y/n to continue down the hall.

"Wait," Y/n said, catching up to him. She was a little confused as to why Bill's mood shifted. "So how does that fire work?"

"How does it work?" Bill asked incredulously, returning to his previous cheery tone. Y/n was taken slightly aback. Maybe she was imagining his previous shift. "It's magic, Flame. Practically all demons can produce some sort of flame."

"Really?"

"Demons of my caliber— which are few in between— are made from pure energy. Our magic comes from that unrelenting source."

"Is there some sort of caste system when it comes to color? Like are certain color flames more powerful than others?"

"Not really. There's no set rules to these things. From what I've seen— and I've seen a lot— every fire is slightly different. It depends on the power and energy of the demon."

"Are there constraints to these things?"

"Please," he scoffed. "We're interdimensional beings with none of the physical or biological limitations you mortals have to the physical world. I don't experience the things you humans do, like hunger or sleepiness. The perks of being a non-corporeal being."

"Seriously? You don't eat? You're kinda missing out, then."

"We can do those things if we want to," Bill continued. "But eating as a triangle looks a lot weirder than eating in a humanoid form."

Y/n thought back to the tea scenario from the night prior. "I see what you mean. Not gonna lie though," she muttered, nudging Bill's side with her elbow. "Not worrying about being tired sounds like a dream."

"Oh?" Bill's brow rose in feigned shock, but in reality he knew exactly what she was talking about. He was a dream demon after all; he had been purposely messing with her sleep. It was all a part of his plan, and it had the added benefit of watching her injure herself getting out of bed or falling down the stairs. It was very amusing to him.

"Sleeping well has never been my forte," she said. "But now it seems even worse. The only times I've been somewhat rested is after I have dreams with you," she admitted.

"What can I say," Bill said smugly. "I tend to have that calming effect on people."

"Yeah, sure," the girl snorted, smiling slightly.

"Are... are you feeling better?" Bill finally asked, floating a bit closer to her. His eye scanned the surrounding doors, itching to peer into them and her memories.

Y/n paused for a moment. She really was feeling better. A lot better, actually. She gave the triangle next to her a side glance; he wasn't that bad at cheering her up. "Yeah, I am."

"Good enough to walk around here?"

Y/n looked down the hallway, before turning back to look at the way they had just come. It was strange; no matter which end she looked down, she couldn't discern any end to the hallway.

"Well," she started, shuffling. "Everything around here seems a bit scattered. I want to organize it at some point. Why are we even here?"

"Flame," Bill exclaimed, "don't you see? This house stores all your memories."

"I know that." Y/n looked at him quizzically. "So?"

"Kiddo!" Bill sighed, poking her side. "You don't get it? If you find the memory of when we first met— before I send you to your mindscape— you can find out that little code to that vending machine of yours."

Y/n's eyes widened, a rare childish sparkle igniting in her dark irises. "Wait, seriously?!"

"Of course Flame! Would I ever lie to you? Just because you didn't register the code doesn't mean you didn't subconsciously record the memory. The human mind really has a knack for that sort of unconscious awareness thing."

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed. "It was this easy?"

"Well, it isn't that easy," Bill corrected. "You still need to find the memory."

"I can do that, no problem!"

If all those other memories had appeared when she wasn't even trying to think of them, then surely recalling the memory from nights prior was child's play.

Y/n took a step back from the middle of the hallway, holding her hand out, palm facing the floor. She closed her eyes, trying to resurface the memory of Stan and the vending machine.

The floor beneath her feet began to tremble slightly, and the frame of a door began to burst from the ground. Y/n took a step back, letting the door rise to its full height in front of Bill. She turned to him expectantly.

"See?" She said, slightly proud of herself. "Told you I can do it."

Bill chuckled slightly. "Never doubted you for a second."

With a wide and smug smile, Y/n leaned forward and reached for the door.

"What the—?" She crashed to the floor, falling through the door. She looked back to see her incorporeal body split in half by the memory.

Bill laughed, the familiar cackle echoing in Y/n's ears. "Looks like you're waking up, Flame."

The girl groaned, rolling over out of the door. "But I just got to the good part!" She whined.

"You're going to have to save that for another night," Bill said. He snapped his fingers, and the girl was enveloped into a light blue glow, the color similar to his fire. She was placed back onto her fading feet, the surroundings becoming bleary and bleak, flashing white.

"Relax kid," Bill said, releasing her from his hold. "You'll get that code soon enough. Now you just have to figure out how you're going to get into that basement. I've helped you this much, so I'm going to leave this one up to you. I know you can do it!"

Y/n smiled hopefully. It was reassuring to hear someone else have confidence in her. "Thanks Bill."

"Of course!" Bill's eye creased into a smile. "What else are friends for? See ya' later, kid!"

Y/n woke with a start, jerking awake in her bed. Tangled in her sheets and mind foggy, she didn't even realize when Mabel entered the room with a small knock.

"Y/nnnnnnnn," she whispered intensely, poking her sister roughly. "You awake?"

"No," she groaned in response, turning over in her bed. A slight pain ran across the inside of her eyelids, sparking and buzzing at her temples.

"But sis! We have to help set up the service. Hurry up before Stan comes in and wakes you."

Oh right, she thought, the funeral.

"Alright," she huffed, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Meet me in that secret wax basement to move the rest of the figures."

"Yeah," Y/n couldn't stop yawning, much to her surprise. She just woke up; this isn't usually what happened. She was at least the slightest bit awake, but now it felt like she was going to pass out at any moment. Y/n was surprised she wasn't slurring her words. "I'll be there in a second."

As Mabel closed the door, Y/n stumbled to her feet. Her legs immediately gave out from underneath her and she had to cling to the dresser to keep herself from toppling to the floor.

"What the hell?" She grumbled, another pain shooting through her head. "Why am I so tired?"

Y/n shook her head, pulling herself back up. The fog finally cleared from her head, but the grogginess clung to her entire being, as if entwined within the fibers of her hoodie. She could barely keep her eyes open.

"C'mon, Y/n," she muttered to herself, stifling a yawn. She stretched, the bones in her back crackling. Steadying herself, she ran a hand through her tangled hair, already finishing out clothes for the day.

"I'll worry about this later," she muttered, changing quickly. Y/n left her room, heading down the hall.

The faster we get all the wax figures out there, the faster we can get this wax service over with.

Chapter Text

Y/n hadn't been to a lot of funerals.
   
But even then, she still found it weird how it always seemed to be raining during one. The cliche had always proven as truth to her.
   
It was as if Mother Nature herself recognized the mood in the shack and strove to match it. The sky cried in buckets, pelting the shingles of the roof like bullets and setting the somber tone inside the house. The clouds weeped alongside Stan and Soos— the latter crying a lot more than he probably should have.
   
It had taken Mabel and Y/n nearly the entire dreary morning to move all the wax figures into place, mostly because a very emotionally devastated Stan wanted to make sure every single thing was done correctly, even down to the figure placement and order. He had created name cards to help guide the girls to set up the rest of the inanimate mourning party.
   
Dipper and Soos were in charge of refreshments and decoration. Well, Dipper mostly. Soos was a little too distraught to actually help. He has just managed to finish setting up the chairs for the girls before he resigned himself in the corner to mourn. The most the boy could do alone was set up a small table with light up candles, coffee, a couple of utensils, and paper cups.
   
Stan himself was in charge of the body. He dragged in the coffin as gently as he could, propping it up in the middle of the room. Hanging behind the coffin and a podium was a framed picture of the conman and his doppelgänger; Mabel had taken it before they had started setting up for the Wax Museum announcement all those days ago.
   
By the time the five living people thought it was best to start the service, it was a little past noon.
   
Grunkle Stan took his place at the podium, folding his hands and adjusting his composure. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the crowd in front of him rather than his beheaded wax double in the casket. He was terrified that just glancing at it would bring about a storm of emotions. He kept mentally replacing it with the dead body of his missing brother.
   
The kids and Soos remained silent as they waited for Stan to start the service. The twins were upset, but for a much different reason: they were still bitter about not being able to pin the murderer like they had promised.

Soos was still sniffling into a tissue, hunched over in his chair.

Y/n was trying her best not to fall asleep. She wasn't as attentive as she wanted to be. It wasn't as if she was in the same position as Stan and Soos emotionally, but she at least knew where Stan was coming from: he was stuck viewing the service as an ode to his dead brother.

She had to keep reminding herself of that in order to keep herself awake; while the twins were rather perplexed by their Grunkle's seemingly misplaced sadness, Y/n knew the truth, and she didn't want to seem rude or uncaring.

The uncomfortable silence settled in the room with a smothering intensity. Even the small fire Y/n had started in the heath sensed the atmosphere; it crackled softly, accenting the silence with small and sad noises, casting it's dull light across the room.

Finally, Stan commenced, motioning to the waiting parties. "Kids, Soos, lifeless wax figures, thank you all for coming."

Tears had started to prick at Stan's eyes, but he fought them back as he continued. "Some people—" he paused for a moment, clearing his throat. "Some people might say that it's wrong for a man to love an inanimate wax figure."

"THEN THEY'RE WRONG!" Soos shouted, launching himself from his chair. Tears dribbled down his cheeks, falling onto the floor as he wiped his face with the tissue yet again. The kids looked between each other, all feeling incredibly awkward.

Even Stan seemed surprised with the handyman's outburst. "Easy Soos," he said, trying to calm him.

Stan took another labored breath, summoning any and all courage he had before turning to face the wax figure laying in the coffin. The figure laid still, lifeless and cold. Even it's once bright glittery glow was long since diminished to a dying gleam.

He still was missing his head— by far the most established link between the figure and his twin brother— but even without it, his mind couldn't help but place Poindexter's lifeless body in the casket.

"Wax Stan," Stan stammered, already losing his composure. He couldn't look away from the open coffin, and the longer he stared, the more he started seeing his brother's body in there. "I hope—I hope you're picking pockets in wax h-h-heaven."

Stan tore his gaze from the coffin, frantically rubbing at his eyes. Y/n sat up a little bit, unsure of what to do to help him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, tears starting to escape and stain his suit. "I-I can't do this!" Stan ran out of the room, face buried in his hands, not daring to make eye contact with anyone.

Y/n stumbled to stand up and follow, but Soos was faster, already running after him.

"Wait, don't—" Y/n heard a door slam shut from somewhere in the shack. "Go," she finished softly, steps away from the door. She let out a small groan, turning back to sit down.

Her head was pounding— it had been since she woke up— and all she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and sleep for a week straight. Yet even in her zombie-like stupor, Y/n was the same attentive girl as she always had been. So when she noticed a particular detailing missing from Wax Lizzie Borden, she had to pause to make sure it wasn't her tired mind playing tricks on her.

"I can't believe it," Dipper interrupted from the front of the room. "We considered everything. The suspects, the clues, the motive—!" He walked towards the open casket, Mabel following behind him.

Y/n was too busy trying to process what was missing from Lizzie to pay attention to them.

Mabel was the one who had set up the wax figures on that side of the room, so she hadn't had a good look at Borden since Soos had first found the hidden sculptures. Her mind was still foggy, so it was taking longer than expected to find the difference, but she definitely knew something was off.

"Dipper," Mabel said, nudging him slightly with a smile, "we've come so far. We'll get them, I promise."

The boy only grumbled in response. "Maybe those cops were right."

"Dip-dop!" Mabel playfully scolded him. "You're way better than any of them! They don't know who they're messing wi—"

"Guys," Y/n interrupted suddenly, voice hoarse, stepping back from Lizzie. It finally hit her, and the implications of the missing detail were raising all sorts of red flags.

Wax Lizzie Borden— the woman rumored to have murdered her parents with an axe— was missing her axe.

And suddenly everything was connected in Y/n's mind in the weirdest way possible.

Think outside of the box.

If Y/n had just applied Bill's advice to this, she would have had the answer days ago! Hell, Soos had said it the moment they found the figures. The answer was in plain sight; it fit the evidence and also corroborated Y/n's inner ring approach. She knew it couldn't have been anyone outside the shack, so why didn't she turn to the supernatural sooner?

"I-i-it was the wax figures," she breathed out, tired eyes widening.

The twins snapped their attention to her. "What?"

As soon as Y/n finished her sentence, Lizzie's head snapped towards her, her once static expression turning sour. Wax brows— originally thought to be ornate details sculpted on— furrowed in resemblance to a real person. Her limbs flexed, and in a split second she lunged for the eldest girl.

Though lack of sleep impaired her, Y/n managed to dive out of the way, rolling towards the twins, who jumped in surprise.

All around the room, the wax figures came to life, moving previously immovable limps and speaking in originally unheard voices. Chairs moved, scraping against the wood, as the sculptures made their way towards the casket.

"The murderers were right behind us the entire time?" Dipper exclaimed, voice cracking slightly in panic.

Y/n sat up in front of the twins, head spinning.

The axe! She thought suddenly, gaze quickly landing on the weapon on Mabel's chair.

The ravenette lunged for the weapon, but wax hands snatched it away before she could even come close. Y/n fell forward, body colliding on the wooden floor.

Mabel shrieked, "Y/N, MOVE!"

Looking up, the older girl could barely make out the figure of Lizzie swinging down the axe over her.

"Oh hellll no," she screamed, scrambling away on all fours. The blade of the axe smashed through the floor, wood chips flying into the air.

Y/n popped back up to her feet in front of the refreshment table, motioning for Dipper and Mabel to get behind her.

"Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh," Mabel whimpered, clinging to Dipper's vest as the two scrambled behind their older sister.

Before the wax figures could corner them, they stopped suddenly. The trio glanced between each other, each equally confused as the next.

Light footsteps echoed in the small room as a tall and lanky man broke through the front ranks of wax sculptures. His green overcoat hung close to the floor, and his slender hands held a small pipe. "Well well, it appears our amature sleuths have finally unburied the truth."

"Sherlock!?" Dipper exclaimed, peeking over Y/n's shoulder.

"Ew, he's a lot more British than I thought," Mabel muttered. If in any other situation, Y/n would have started laughing. His accent was fairly heavy, almost indiscernible. It didn't help that he was essentially a caricature of a British man in the late Victorian era.

"Bravo, Y/n Pines," the detective continued, putting the pipe to his lips. "It seems you've cracked the case and discovered our little secret." From within his overcoat, he pulled out Wax Stan's head, before turning to the rest of his wax lackeys. "You three deserve a round of applause. Come on you lot, give them an applause."

The wax figures started to clap, a little too sincerely for Sherlock's liking. "No, no," he sighed, shaking his head, "slower. Slower!"

Genghis Khan gave him an apologetic look, clapping slower as the rest of the figures followed. "Yes yes, there we go. Nice and condescending."

"B-but," Y/n stuttered, still shaken from her experience with Lizzie moments prior. "You're wax. How are you moving?"

"Yeah, you don't have any skeletons."

Mabel gasped. "Are... are you magic?"

Sherlock laughed, and an amused murmur rang through the others. "Are we magic? You hear this, everybody? The little girl wants to know if we're magic!" He laughed.

The detective slammed his hand down on the side of the casket, right besides Y/n's head. The three jumped, and Y/n couched down slightly, ready to pounce on the detective if needed. Her eyes were glued to his lifeless green ones, locked in silent battle.

"We're cursed, children," he hissed, slowly backing away.  

"Cursed," the other sculptures echoed menacingly, accompanied by a few growls.

"Cursed to walk the Earth whenever the moon is waxing," Sherlock continued, walking towards the fire. He put his pipe to his lips again, reflecting. "Your Uncle bought us long ago at a garage sale."

"A haunted garage sale, son!" Wax Coolio exclaimed, popping up next to the trio. Y/n lunged forward, and he backed off, slightly startled.

"And with our purchase, the Mystery Shack Wax Collection was born. By day," Sherlock snarled, "we would be the play things of man."

"But when your Uncle went to sleep," Coolio continued, "we would rule the night."

"It was a charmed life for us cursed beings. That is, until your Uncle closed up shop for good."

"Doth we waited 10 years to wage our revenge on Stan for doing away with us bani-shed in such dark and dank conditions." Shakespeare took over, gesturing dramatically with his skull.

"But," Sherlock continued, holding out the head of Wax Stan, "we got the wrong guy."

"You mean," Dipper tried to back away further, bumping into the table. "You were trying to murder Stan for real?"

"Oh my gosh," Mabel cried out. "You two were right! Wax people are creepy!"

"Enough!" Sherlock bellowed, turning back to face the kids. "Now that you know our miserable secret, you must die."

The wax figures began to tighten the circle around the trio, their eyes rolling back into heads. The white sclera of the figures locked onto the kids, growling like a pack of hungry wolves. The fire next to them casted upon their figures, bathing them in an ominous and hellish light, casting monstrous shadows on the wall.

"What do we do?" Mabel asked panickedly. "What do we do?"

"I-I don't know," Dipper stuttered, as Y/n tried to shield them behind her body.

The older girl was no longer a walking zombie; any sleep had been frightened out of her when Lizze attempted to murder her. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins and her heart was jumping in her chest, beating so loudly that it drowned out nearly everything else.

Y/n looked around, trying to think of a plan to at least get the twins out safe. "Just stay calm," she muttered, looking around frantically.

The twins started to throw things from the table at the enclosing circle of wax attackers. The horde simply swatted away the napkins and cups, approaching fast.

Genghis Khan lumbered to the front, sword gripped tightly in his hands. He swung upwards, aiming a clean slice to Y/n.

"Y/n!" Dipper yelled, reaching back to grab one of the last things on the table: the coffee mug. "Duck!"

Y/n dropped to her knees, allowing Dipper to throw the entire pot at Khan.

The coffee was still steaming— Dipper had only made it about 10 minutes prior, so he knew it was scalding— and started to melt his face.

Genghis stumbled back, dropping his sword. His face started to drip onto the floor as he let out a muddled scream.

"That's it!" Y/n laughed, too tired to acknowledge the fact that this was very akin to murder. Probably waxicide. "They're wax! We just need to melt them."

The twins turned and grabbed the two decorative light-up candles on the table, wielding them like swords. Unfortunately, there was only enough for the two of them.

"W-what are you going to use?" Dipper turned to his sister.

"Relax, I'll be fine," she said, looking around for a possible weapon. "Don't worry about me, just make sure you have each other's backs."

The twins nodded, determined, and started to push the wax sculptures back, swinging the candles like weapons.

"Stay back, or we'll melt you into candles!" Dipper threatened.

"Decorative candles," Mabel added.

The wax figures started to back away, knowing all too well what would happen if they were to come into contact with the candles. They might have been fake, but they were still very hot.

"You... you think you can defeat us?" Sherlock scoffed, trying to regain his previous confident facade.

The twins glanced at each other, wincing slightly. "I mean," Dipper started, shrugging awkwardly.

"I think so," Mabel said. "I think we have a good chance. Might as well give it a shot, ya' know?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," her twin finished.

"You're joking, right? Hurry up and melt them!" Y/n shouted from behind the table. She was trying to find something to help defend the twins with, but was so far coming up empty.

Fine, she thought to herself, glowering. I guess I'll have to use my fists.

She looked at her cast. Or fist, I guess. Doesn't matter.

"So be it," Sherlock spat out venomously. "Attack!" 

The figures split up, running towards the twins, and only a few running towards the unarmed Y/n.

Robinhood and Lizzie ran towards Mabel, the latter clutching the axe over her shoulder, readying to strike once again. Y/n leaped to her, grabbing the scruff of her sweater and tugging her into her arms. Lizzie swung the axe, slicing the archer's head off in one fell swoop.

Mabel twisted free of Y/n's grasp, running past Lizzie and her beheaded companion and pouncing on the trailing Shakespeare. Swinging her candle, she swiped at the playwright's outstretched hands, slicing them off cleanly. The arms scrambled across the floor like fish out of water, one making its way up Mabel's leg and around her neck.

"Mabel!" Y/n shouted, struggling to run towards her choking sister. If she didn't already dislike Shakespeare for his confusing and out-of-date Elizabethan iambic pentameter she always seemed to get stuck on in her English classes, she definitely did now.

Lizzie jumped in front of her, axe already positioned overhead. Despite being both wax and with no iris, Y/n swore there was a certain murderous glint in her eyes as she swung the weapon down with all her might.

"You really like me, don't you?" Y/n muttered under her breath, bracing herself for defense.

The girl caught Lizzie's arm in her right hand, surprised to see just how strong this wax woman was. The two struggled over the weapon, the axe trembling as the redhead desperately attempted to finish the swing and Y/n.

Y/n was slipping, the adrenaline fueling her slowly dissipating at the worst possible time. The sleep she had been trying to fight off all day was catching up with her in an unwanted intensity and her elbow was starting to buckle under the pressure.

"Y/n!" Dipper yelled between creative quips, slicing through Wax Groucho. "I'll be right there!"

She took the chance to steal a glance at the twins. They were each grappling with small groups on their own, and here she was struggling with one living sculpture.

"No!" She snapped to Dipper. "Take care of yourself, I'm fine."

"But—" Mabel stammered, battling against Coolio and Queen Elizabeth.

"Mabel, don't question me right now," Y/n nearly slurred, focus turning to the axe-wielding madwoman. Her stamina was quickly depleting, yet her urge to protect the twins was still burning within her.

Her body stopped shaking, and a new strength burst within her. Y/n pushed forward, a lively flame igniting in her dark and tired eyes. Her grip tightened on the figure's arm, and then—

"Arrghhh!" Lizzie let out a surprised howl. The axe fell with a loud clatter, almost ripping up the floor further.

Y/n was nearly just as surprised: in her right hand was the semi-melted arm of the axe-wielding murderess. "I— huh?"

A sudden smothering warmth shot down her arm, settling in her outstretched hand. Y/n stared in a mix of mortified wonder as the rest of the wax limb continued to melt in her palm. The burning wax had virtually no effect on her skin, only tingling slightly as it fell to the floor in viscous drops.

Y/n froze suddenly, completely forgetting about the angry and armed (well, half armed) Borden in front of her.

How did—? Did I do—? Was that my—?

With a screech, Wax Lizzie lunged forward, attempting to claw at Y/n with her one remaining hand. In a moment of pure instinct, the ravenette grabbed at the wax figure's neck, watching slowly as her hand melted the wax that connected the sculpture's body to head. Falling with a loud thump, Lizzie met the end in a similar fashion to Wax Stan and Robinhood— minus the clean cut.

A buzzing sensation settled in her palm, underneath layers of melting wax and hoodie sleeve. She swatted the goop off her hand, rolling up her sleeve. Sure enough, as a tiny part of her suspected, the little flame made its appearance between her fingers. It was encrusted in dried blood from the day at the pond, and if Y/n looked hard enough, it almost looked like there was a grey glow lining the edge of the reopened scar...

Another roar from steps ahead knocked her out of her thoughts. She snapped her head up to see Wax Edgar Allen Poe running towards her. Y/n stood her ground, flexing her fist slightly.

It appeared her fists were a good enough weapon to use against the living wax figures.

Edgar Allen Poe returned to the Rue Morgue mere seconds after launching himself at the girl. She held enough power within one palm to wipe out the entirety of Prince Prospero's masquerade. And just like the Red Death, the inevitable couldn't be escaped. Y/n flung his half melted torso into the fireplace, following the example set by Gengis Khan.

At this point, most of the wax figures had succumbed to the heat, and wax littered the floor and stained the walls of the parlor. The sun reclaimed its spot in the sky, banishing the dark storm clouds with its intense rays. They trickled in through the window, bathing the mass wax masacre in it's late evening light.

As Y/n looked around at the waxy ruins, she couldn't help but notice someone very important missing. She turned to Mabel, who was busy throwing any wax remains in the fireplace.

"Where's Dipper?" She asked, picking up stray wax parts. They started to melt in her hand, but not to the same extent they were previously. Now that there was no immediate threat, Y/n's adrenaline died down completely, and the fire that ran through her veins was snuffed out with a rushing and all consuming fatigue.

"He and Sherlock are battling it out outside, I think."

Y/n looked horrified. "What are you doing here, then? We have to help him!"

"Relax," Mabel threw another arm into the fire. "He's going to be fine. I gave him lit fire poker to defend himself with."

The older girl gaped. "Mabel that doesn't mean an—"

"Y/n," Mabel interrupted, peering up at her sister much more seriously than Y/n had even remembered her doing. "He knows what he's doing. He has a plan. I saw that look in his eye when I threw the poker at him. Trust me. Trust him."

"But—"

The younger girl grabbed the head of Shakespeare, whose eyes had turned back to normal and who was spouting blank verse. "Though our group be left in twain, man of wax shall rise a-gain!"

"You know any limericks?"

"Uh," the head thought for a moment. "There once was a man from Nantucket, who's di—"

"Nope! Into the fire you go," Y/n quickly interrupted, swatting him out of Mabel's hands. "You don't need to hear that."

"Guess who just murdered Sherlock!" A triumphant shout rang out into the room.

The two girls looked towards the door, where a victorious and smug Dipper was leaning against the door frame. "Dipper!"

"Oh thank God," Y/n breathed out in relief.

"You did it!" Mabel cheered, running up and hugging him.

"Yep! Who're the amature slueths now?" He laughed, pointing up to Wax Stan's head. It rested atop the horn of a mounted rhino.

Y/n pulled it off, tossing it in the air. "Sure showed that Baker Street detective who he's messing with," she said, chuckling slightly.

"We solved the case after all," Mabel said with a smirk.

"Wait 'til those cops see this!" Dipper smiled, taking the head from his older sister.

"HOT BELGIUM WAFFLES!"

The three jumped, spinning on their heels to see a very surprised Stan. He looked a lot better than he did when he stormed out of the room. "What happened to my parlor?!"

"Uhhhhh," Y/n trailed off, averting her gaze. The twins shuffled awkwardly in place, Dipper moving the head behind his back.

"The wax figures turned out to be cursed and evil. So naturally, we fought them to the death in hand-to-hand combat!" Mabel explained with a smile.

Stan continued to look at the decimated room, holding onto his fez. He almost appeared even more confused.

"I decapitated Larry King," Dipper added quickly, in an attempt to end the conversation altogether and avoid any and all questions.

Grunkle Stan stayed quiet for a moment, before ultimately laughing it off. "You kids and your wacky imaginations!"

The three glanced at each other.

"Yeah," Y/n chuckled nervously. "Sure."

"But on the brightside—!" Dipper interrupted, stepping forward. "Look what we found!" In a dramatic reveal, he pulled out Wax Stan's head from behind his back.

Stan jumped, nearly slipping on a puddle of melted wax as he stumbled back in shock. "Is that—?"

Dipper tossed him the head, nodding proudly.

"My head!" Stan cried, a large smile creasing his features. "I missed this guy," he smiled, turning it over in his hands.

He looked at his family, a genuine and sincere smile tilting his brows. "You did good, kids. C'mon," he motioned for them. "Line up for some affectionate noogie-ing!"

The three hissed awkwardly, Y/n backing away cautiously. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"Nope! No getting out of this!" Stan lunged for Y/n first, grabbing her in his arms and trapping her in a noogie. He gently placed his doppleganger's head on the floor, needing both hands free for his onslaught of endearment. 

The twins looked at each other, silently agreeing to sneak around the back of Stan while he was distracted with their older sister. If they couldn't all escape noogie-free, then at least the twins should be able to make a getaway.

Y/n let out an uncharacteristic squeal, tensing initially before relaxing into the otherwise unfamiliar affection. She tossed herself in Stan's arms, playfully putting up a fight to his actions.

"Hey, where do you two think you're going?" She laughed when she noticed the twins tiptoeing towards the exit. Reaching out and grabbing them by their collars, Y/n pulled them into Stan's clutches, escaping the old man's grasp and replacing herself with them, who were laughing just as hard as she was.

"Ahhh! Noooooo!" Mabel said between giggles, putting up less of a struggle than Y/n had.

"Is there any other alternative?" Dipper asked, trying to mask the chuckles bubbling in his throat with faux complaints.

Y/n scooped up the wax head from the floor, tucking it under her one good arm. She smiled at the sight in front of her: the twins and their Grunkle, an absolute giggling and loving mess.

A sudden pang tugged at her heart, and for a moment, her expression flipped. A small frown pulled her lips down, the happy glint shining in her eyes dosed out by a sudden overwhelming feeling of... loneliness? Where did that come from? A second ago she was giggling like she'd never done before, but now...?

Now a sense of misplacement filled her being, pulling her muscles. She felt almost... uncomfortable— like she was intruding on some family moment— like she didn't belon—

Sirens scared the entire room, Stan and the kids' heads turning to the window. Moments later, an all-too-familiar police car pulled up. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a smug looking Blubs and Durland holding in laughter.

The Sheriff took a long swig of his coffee, gazing at the family inside the house over the top of his shades.
 
"Well well well," he said, a smirk pulling his gray mustache up a bit. "If it ain't the City Folk! Solve the case yet, boy?"

Dipper opened his mouth to answer, when Blubs interrupted him again.

"Don't bother; I'm so confident you're gonna say 'no,' that I'm gonna take a looonng sip of my coffee."

"Actually," Y/n piped up, brushing off her previous feelings altogether. She held up the head proudly. "We did."

Blubs sputtered for a moment, before ultimately spitting out his coffee in shock— all over his Deputy in the passenger seat.

Durland screamed as the hot beverage soaked into his clothes, before spitting out his own coffee all over his superior.

"Ow!" Blubs yelled, coffee still spilling from his lips. "It burns! It burns!"

"Drive, Blubs, drive!"

Gripping the wheel, the two pulled away in a frenzy, too blinded by the coffee to drive properly.

The family started laughing, Stan pointing out the window to mock the cops. "Look at those idiots! They got scalded!"

Y/n chuckled lightly. "Yeah they di—"

A sudden crash from outside made them all freeze.

"Do," Mabel said, walking up to lean out the window. "Do you think they're fine?"

Dipper and Stan shared a look, as Y/n stood frozen in place, eyes wide and lips pursed.

"They'll be fine, sweetie," Stan said, ushering her from the window. "Besides, I wouldn't worry about them. You three have all this wax to clean up."

A groan sounded from the kids. "Do we have to?"

"Yes. Now hup to it!"

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

After the kids had finished cleaning up the parlor, Stan forced them to help him set up Wax Stan in a safe space. After head reattachment surgery and setting up a homely little room for the wax man— equipped with old man magazines and gold chains and watches— the kids were able to go do whatever.

Originally, that included going back to her room and finally starting the school section of the CommonApp questions. But that all changed when she closed the door and was met with a suffocating heat.

She was confused at first; her window was cracked all the way open, and a nice summer breeze was welcomed to flutter through. It carried the cooling dew and droplets of the day's earlier storm. But even then, she felt like she was being burned alive. Her clothes all stuck to her body, and she could feel cold beads of sweat running down her back and sides. Her cast was nearly soaked with her sweat; it made her feel even more slimy.

"Gross," she commented, pulling at her hoodie. Usually, she was just fine in her otherwise-inappropriate-summer-wear; the hoodie was thin enough to let the air preferate it. But now it felt like a mop trapping all kinds of smothering heat.

"Where is this heat even coming from?"

With a huff, she pulled at the collar of the shirt, turning around and locking the door. Under any normal circumstances, locking doors was a strong no. It was one of Stan's other rules; don't go into his room and he wouldn't go into yours, and don't lock the doors.

However, she figured it would be fine as she changed into a less waxy hoodie. She slipped off the cloth, and immediately felt somewhat better. It was like she had been radiating the heat and the fabric was trapping it in—-

Wait... was she actually the one producing all this heat?

Y/n felt like a radiator. She could feel herself quite literally emissing waves upon waves of heat just standing there.

She stood at the center of the room, among her dresser, bed, and other knick knacks. Like the sun, the warmth kept rolling off her, subjecting her things to her own intense heat. 

Her arms were flushed pink, almost unnoticeable on her tan complexion and dark burns. But she could feel the warmth circulating off of them. She pulled at her tank top, trying to air it out a bit in attempts to feel a bit cooler.

"Why am I so hot?" She muttered, moving towards the window. The breeze hit her face, blowing some damp strands of hair back. She reached for the window sill, trying to pull herself up on her tiptoes to gain better access to the crispness of the outside. "Where is this even coming fro—"

Y/n stopped suddenly, her lips tugging into a straight line as she lifted her hand up to the window sill.
   
Her right hand...
   
That's where this heat is from, isn't it?
   
After the wax fight, Y/n didn't have any time to react to the surge of heat that allowed her to fend against the living sculptures. But now, unlike the time with the Gobblewonker, she knew there was at least something up with her hand.

She sunk to the bed, gripping her hoodie in her left hand. Slowly, almost as if she was scared, she opened her palm.

The little flame scar was still there— of course it is, she chided herself, you just saw it earlier— but it almost looked—

The grey glow—!

Y/n moved her hand around, inspecting it carefully. It looked... well, like a hand. But that's what bothered her the most: unlike those early memories, covered in smoke and blurry with embers that could or could not have existed, she knew that her hand had been glowing this morning.

Unless all these sleep issues are starting to catch up to me...

No... she didn't think it was that. Besides last night, she was feeling fine. Not fully rested— she hadn't felt like that in forever— but still good enough to push through the day.

So that only meant one thing:

"I can—" it nearly died in her throat. She gripped the hoodie beside her tighter. How was she supposed to accept something like this?

"Those memories... the fire... I can actually...?"

Y/n flexed her hand, moving her fingers individually. If she tried, could she...?

Taking a shaky breath, Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, calming herself. She dug back into her memories, hesitantly thinking back to the earliest ones.

They were blurry and blotchy. Most figures were covered in shadows; feelings and sensations and warmth without as much as a face. But eventually, they started getting clearer, until she remembered the moment where everything changed.

Y/n relaxed her grip on her hoodie, and held out her palm flat. She focused on the image on her mind, the black flame that spontaneously combusted from her skin on that fateful night.

Opening her eyes, she flexed her hand, concentrating slowly on the image of the little black flame. Her breath stilled for a moment, as she stared intently at her palm, willing herself to produce the small fire. Or even the glow— just anything that would answer the most pressing question on her mind: were those memories actually real?

Silent moments passed, as Y/n tried to calm her body and focus on the warmth radiating off of her. She thought back to the memories once again.

The warmth that had engulfed her...

The sudden rushing calm that loosened her nerves and muscles...

The wish...

Y/n froze suddenly, shivering slightly, despite the overwhelming heat radiating off her body.

There it was.

At least, there was the beginning of it.

In her palm, nestled within the scar, was the smallest embers of a grey flame. It was flickering slightly, hindered by the underlying hesitance within it's holder. The small flames rose not even a millimeter from the rough skin, but instead ran about the outline of her scar. The grey glow that haunted her memories was back, lighting up the inside of her palm— light from the fire.

Y/n stared in awe at her palm, mouth slightly agape as her eyes raced upon the live flame. It was directly connected to her being— with every shaky breath, it appeared to move, slowly learning to live upon the air around it— with every racing thought, it sped up above her scar, frantically whipping the tiniest tips of flames into the air as they curled off into nothing— the flame was apart of her.

Her question had been answered.

But... could she make it bigger?

Taking another deep breath, Y/n put all her focus into the size of the flame, trying to move all the warmth burning at her arms and centralizing it to her hand.

It responded to her efforts: the little whips of dying embers reignited with new life, growing in size as it continued to gain nourishment from it's weidler. Steady and slowly, the flame appeared to feed upon her sudden warmth and calm state, rising millimeter by millimeter above her palm.

"Just a little more," Y/n muttered under her breath. It continued to grow, little by little. It was shy, only raising and curving at the permission of Y/n. But she was more than willing to allow it to continue its growth, just for the sake of experimentation.

SLAM!

Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin, and the flame in her hand jumped up near feet before dying out immediately, both startled and snuffed out by her emotions.

"Y/n!" It was Mabel. She had run into the door, thinking it would open. "Why is your door locked? Stan's gonna kill you if he sees this!"

"I-I-I-I-I'm changing!" Y/n stuttered, scrambling from the bed. She nearly tripped over her stumbling feet, utterly panicked by the flame's last moments.

What was she thinking, trying to summon a fire inside a wooden shack? Especially since she didn't even know how to control it?!

She could have set the place on fire! She could have lost control!

She could have—

Y/n paused, and suddenly any warmth nestled in her being left, fleeing with the summer breeze. I could have killed everyone...

She ran her finger on the outline of the scar, only to let out a small hiss and pull away when a sharp pain shot through her forearm.

"Y/nnnnnnnn," Mabel whined from outside. "Open the doooorrrrrr. Don't make me go outside and climb out the window! You know I will, especially now that I have my grappling hook."

"Y-yeah," Y/n stuttered. She pulled out another hoodie, quickly pulling it over herself. She grasped the lock, opening the door. Mabel stood at the doorstep, holding two sweaters in her hands: a purple one with sparkles, and one made from llama fur. 

"Which should I wear next? Dipper said the llama sweater— something about them being 'nature's greatest warriors,' or something— but I wanted to get your opinion too."

"Uhhh," Y/n made a face. That didn't sound like a Dipper thing to say. "As much as I may love llamas, I think that the purple one is a better go to. Besides, it's supposed to be hot tomorrow, so you'd die even more in the llama one."

Mabel grinned, letting out a little squeal. "Thanks!"

She went to skip away to the attic, but stopped at the stairs, looking back down the hall.

"Oh right," she said, hopping back down the steps. "Dipper totally might be stuck in the vent in the living room. You might want to try to help him."

"Yeah su— wait, what?!"

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

A man shot up in his chair, slamming his tea cup into the saucer, nearly breaking it in the process. The cup rattled, it's contents sloshing around slightly at his sudden spasm.

The room was large and elegant, positioned with a large window spanning the length of the entire table. The man sat at the head of the table, alone as usual. He had been enjoying a soothing cup of tea (human tea, as he had gotten the taste for), silently pondering the conditions of his dimension.

He didn't understand... what brought upon this random jolt?

"A-are you okay, Sir?"

A multitude of eyes focused on the source of the voice standing in the corner of the room. Dressed in formal attire, cut at the legs because of their hooves, a small imp stood, fumbling with their two sets of arms.

"Y-yes," the much taller demon replied, clearing his throat. Black whips of his being rose off of him in a thick cloud, and as his thoughts began racing, the shroud of darkness seemed to thicken. It wafted off his towering and lean figure, curling off his hair and horns.

The imp watched, slightly startled by the amount of seemingly-endless-smoke their Lord was producing. "S-sir, are you s-sure?"

"I do believe I'm doing just fine," the demon replied quickly, the smoke thinning as he grounded himself. His mind was still turning, eyes covering his "face" moving in different directions as they all struggled to keep up with his racing thoughts.

"What happened, Sir?" The imp asked. Taking their chances, they neared the large demon, reaching up to clean up what little mess the split tea had caused upon the glistening crystal table.

The demon remained quiet, steeping his black fingers. "Nothing you need to be worried about," he said finally, flashing his imp a polite smile. His pointed fangs glistened slightly in the pooling moonlight.

The imp retracted their cloth, reaching for the saucer and cup with their other arms. "W-would you like another cup, Sir?"

The demon chuckled warmly. "No, no," he smiled. "I'm quite fine. I appreciate the offer, though."

The imp nodded, backing up. The cup and saucer clinked slightly in their nervous hands.

One of the several eyes coating the face of the demon locked onto the shaking imp, only starting the poor creature more. They worried they had disturbed the horned man while he was so deep in thought.

The demon noticed. "Asghar," he said, looking towards his companion fondly. "You may leave if you'd like; you're dismissed."

The imp stiffened unnaturally. "A-are you positive? I can s-stay if—"

The man chuckled softly once again. "I'm positive; I sense that my earlier jolt seems to have worried you. Besides," he added, waving his hand dismissively, "I would prefer to be alone for a few moments."

"Y-yes," Asghar said, rearing on their hooves. "Of course, Sir. I am to be summoned if you need anything else."

With a polite bow, the imp scampered out of the room, taking the shaking tea cup with them.

The room was plunged in silence, as the demon stood up from his elegant chair. Standing at his full height, he waltzed over to the open window, too distracted by his thoughts to admire the beauty of his twilight colored dimension.

There was no doubt running through his mind— he had felt it.

"It appears," he muttered to himself, his eyes squinting in mild confusion. "It appears there is someone out there with my fire."

Chapter Text

When Y/n woke up the next day from a sleepless and dreamless night, she found Dipper passed out on the sofa. Mabel sat besides her twin, running her fingers through his brown locks as she gleefully chatted away with none other than the decapitated Larry King head.

Dipper was curled up on the cushion, hand brushing against the carpet. He snored loudly as some drool spilled past his lips. Clutched in his hand like a plush was his beloved journal.

Mabel continued twirling strands of his hair as she enthusiastically retold tales of her and Dipper's earlier adventures in the town. Larry kept nodding and asking questions, stopping at some point as if waiting for an applause or commercial break to start.

As Y/n would later learn, Dipper had heard him trying to interview a rat as he bounced around the vents of the shack earlier. After a failed mission through the ventilation system, and after nearly 7 hours of being trapped at the bottom of a dead end, the boy finally made his way onto the sofa and crashed immediately.

So you could only imagine his irritation when he woke up to both of his sisters being interviewed by the severed head he had tried so hard (and failed) to catch. And at the fact that Mabel had done several tiny braids in his hair. Luckily, he was able to cover most of them with his hat.

Despite the chaos that was brought upon the shack yesterday, Stan was up and open for business. After the kids had found the head and solved the mystery, he had been feeling significantly better. He was back to his old, grumpy, conman-self.

After striking a deal with the Larry King head— letting him roam about the shack trying to interview rodents and other animals in turn that he would keep quiet after 8– they let him loose back into the vents, and Y/n set off to work begrudgingly.

Even though she had felt like she could sleep for a week straight the other day, Y/n couldn't bring herself to go to sleep that night. Well, there was a slight chance she passed out for a couple of hours... she wasn't too sure. The night was a blur. But she did know that she felt even shittier than the day before. It was even more infruitating to her because now she needed to get some sleep in order to go into her mind and try to get the code for the vending machine.

Her head was pounding, her eyesight was blurry, and she was perpetually stuck in a slouch, her fatigue weighing down on her shoulders so heavy that she only just scuffled along the floor. Despite all her previous experience with sleepless nights and bouts of insomnia, she had never felt such weariness. She couldn't even begin to try to wrap her head around just why these two nights had hit her the hardest. The Tylenol and cup of coffee she had earlier hadn't seemed to kick in just yet, either.

When she reported for her shift as Mr. Mystery, she looked completely disheveled. She completely dismissed her messy hair, letting the black waves stick up in any and all directions they favored. She could barely keep her eyes open, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not focus her gaze at all. Her buttons were unaligned, her tie was much too loose, and her suspenders were missing completely. She didn't even seem to comprehend that she was dressed wrong until Stan literally held her down to adjust her buttons and tie. He was ranting about how "appearances are everything in business" or something. Y/n couldn't remember. Any and everything was going in one ear and out the other, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

Her tours were losing their usual spunk as well. While she had still not completely adjusted to the Mr. Mystery facade, she had been holding up fairly well. Y/n was close enough to Stan's attitude and energy to get tourists to like her. It helped that her cast drew them into her whole feigned adventurer persona even further.

But now, she could barely even make it to the end of the tour before she started slurring all her words. Her hand movements and gestures were mediocre at best, and she was losing inspiration for the story behind her cast.

It didn't help that Stan would constantly add more monstrosities to the exhibit room over the weekends. So not only did Y/n have to remember to recite her usual spiel when it came to the regular creatures, she had to make up more random descriptions on the stop. Obviously, it was too much for Stan to at least inform her of the newest add-ons on the mystery tour.

Stan was slowly catching up on Y/n's decline; angry parents complaining loudly at the end of every tour were sure to do that. Frustrated that he was losing money— oh, and customers too, he guessed— he cut Y/n loose for the rest of the day. He didn't have time to ask her why she was starting to act up on the tours (he was only one Mr. Mystery and had to take over all the tours again), so he just sent her to the living room with the twins.

"Listen Squirt," Stan said, ushering her out of the gift shop. Angry customers murmured their complaints from behind him, grumbling about their lackluster experience with the supernatural.

"We came for a tour! We practically had to do it ourselves," one group said.

"I did not drive all the way from Washington for this," another groaned.

"I took off work for this crap!" A third yelled.

"Squirt," Stan continued, pushing her through the employee's only door, "I don't know what's up with you, but you're obviously not well enough to work the tours."

He was met with a slurry of protests, each a tiny mumble that only merged into another. Y/n had no energy to properly voice her agreement, and after a deep yawn she accepted her fate and clambered over to the living room with a small grunt of acknowledged surrender.

Soos and the twins were already situated on the sofa; the entire group was trying to get out of work. Despite the less-than-stellar programs that aired on the Gravity Falls cable network, the three seemed completely enamored with the show currently playing. They were so invested that they didn't even notice Y/n enter the room until she quite literally collapsed onto the floor in front of them, dropping herself face first onto the shagged carpet.

The three jumped, rather surprised with Y/n's violent assault to the floor.

"Y/n!" Mabel gasped, turning to her sister. But then she grabbed the remote, raising the volume. "Don't fall so loud, we almost missed the part where the tiger is airlifted to the hospital!"

"Mabel!" Dipper scolded, snatching the remote to put the show on pause. He looked at Y/n, splayed out on the floor, unmoving and silent. He knew she had been having trouble sleeping, but he had never seen her like this before.

"Yo, dude, are you good, hambone?"

"Yeah," Dipper chimed in, eyes glazed with concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," she said, muffled by the carpet. It was the only thing she could get out that was coherent. "Tired." She added after a moment.

The three glanced at each other, equally worried.

"Y/n," Mabel cooed, hopping off the couch and kneeling next to her. She started to pet her messy bed head hair back into place. "Do you want me to get you another coffee? Or Mabel Juice? I'll grab the plastic dinosaurs right now."

"Caffeine doesn't work," came the slurred reply. "It has forsaken me and my trust."

Mabel laughed. "Of course regular caffeine doesn't work! Besides, my sister only deserves the best. Wait 'til you get a cup of Mabel's own personalized coffee."

"Wait, Mabel don't—" but she was already off into the kitchen, ready to spike the remaining pot of coffee with anything she deemed as a pick-me-up. "Oh well."

"Y/n, this is starting to get ridiculous," Dipper said, hopping off the sofa as well. "What's going on? Don't tell me you've been staying up doing work or something."

"No, it's just that," she yawned, before turning her head to Dipper. "That I've been having trouble sleeping. Even when I do get sleep, I never wake up rested. I'm used to this kind of stuff, but for some reason these past two days have really hit me hard. Even back at home it was never this bad."

"Wait, you were having these types of problems back at home too? Why didn't you tell us?"

Y/n froze for a moment. She didn't like telling people about her problems, the Pines' included. So when her sleep schedule became absolute chaos, she just kept it to herself. The most she would divulge was in passing comments about how tired she was or how she felt like she was going to pass out any moment. Everyone just took it as a joke.

"Uh," she started, pushing herself up in a sitting position. "Well, I just did—"

"MABEL'S BACK!"

The hyperactive tween jumped into the doorway, pot of mystery coffee and mug in her clutches.

Dipper and Y/n looked at the pot in horror: somehow, Mabel had both managed to dye the drink a different color completely and oversaturate it with sugar packets. It was so oversaturated in fact, that a keen eye could see the particles of undissolved sugar floating among the colored solution.

"Oh God," Y/n said breathlessly, terrified at what Mabel was pouring into a mug for her consumption. "I'm going to die today."

"Mabel," Dipper, asked cautiously, "what exactly did do to that— that thing?"

"'Thing?'" Mabel laughed, "It's Mabel's Super Fun Early Morning Energy Drink! This is bound to help our dear Y/n get back on her feet in no time! Do you two want a glass?"

"Nope!" Dipper said immediately.

"Oh heck yeah girl-dude!" Soos said excitedly, before running off to grab a mug of his own.

"Okay Y/n," Mabel said, forcing the mug into Y/n's trembling hands. "A sip of this and you'll be up and at 'em in no time! It's the Mabel Difference." She smiled widely, showing off her braces.

"Uh, you know?" Y/n started with an awkward cough. She tried to force the cup back into Mabel's hands. "I'm suddenly feeling a lot better! I feel like I could fight fifteen 5th graders all at once!"

"Y/n!" Mabel protested, her brows furrowing. She pouted, crossing her arms. With every movement, the mystery liquid sloshed around, nearly falling onto the carpet. "You're gonna drink it."

"But—"

"No butts, Missy! I made that especially for you. It's gonna help you, I promise."

Y/n looked to Dipper, silently begging for help. He just shrugged. This is all you, he seemed to say.

Soos ran back into the room, clutching a cup of his own. "Hit me with some of that, dawg!"

"Of course, Soos! How about you show my skeptical brother and sister just how good this is?"

"Alrighty," he laughed, raising the glass to his lips.

"Dipper," Y/n whispered, looking uneasy. "Get the casket. I think we're going to have a dead handyman on our hands soon."

But to their surprise, Soos managed to swallow a small sip of the concoction without much hassle. His eyes widened as he took a better look at the contents. "Woah! This stuff sure packs a punch! I feel like I can fix 100 vending machines," he laughed.

Two two skeptics looked at each other, eyes widening.

"See?" Mabel said, looking at her two siblings with a smug grin. "What did I tell you? Now drink up, so you can at least function properly!"

Y/n swirled the liquid in her mug. It was colored a muddy burgundy— she figured that Mabel was going for a pink, but the brown of the coffee had muddled it a bit— and seemed to have enough sugar to give her 3 cavities all at once. Each swirl only seemed to stir up more and more undissolved sugar. But... if Soos didn't die...

"F-fine," she stuttered, surprising both herself and Dipper. "Only because I'm so tired that I can't even seem to think of a good enough excuse to get out of this."

Mabel squealed, and Y/n cringed, her head pounding at the sound. "Please Mabel, my head is killing me."

"Sorry," she smiled bashfully.

"Well, here goes nothing," Y/n grimaced, taking a deep breath. "Dipper, if I die, remember that..." she paused for a moment; nothing was coming to mind. "Just remember that I existed, I guess. I don't know, I'm too tired to think of a proper send off."

And with that, she downed the entire mug. The taste wasn't the best, but it definitely wasn't anything unbearable. All the sugar made the coffee really bland. But if it was enough to keep Y/n's eyes open, then she guessed it would have to do.

"Y/n!" Dipper yelled. "You didn't have to chug the entire thing! Soos just took a sip and he's already jittery. You'll have a heart attack with what's in this." He turned back to Mabel, brow raising. "What is in this, anyway?"

"Oh well, you know. The usual," Mabel said.

"That being—?"

"Just a cup of black coffee mixed with 3 espresso shots, 15 packets of raw sugar, and then about half of this 6-hour energy bottle I found in the drawer. Oh! And some pink food coloring I found in the cabinets. Nothing too crazy."

"Mabel!" Dipper shrieked, grabbing the pot and Soos' mug. "This is literally a hazard to civilization. You're going to kill them! I'm dumping it."

Mabel whined in protest, but ultimately let Dipper take Mabel's Super Fun Early Morning Energy Drink to it's drainy grave.

Y/n looked back at her empty mug. She could already feel the concoction working it's magic; her fingertips felt all tingly, and she found it a little easier to keep her eyes open. And this was just after a minute or two of consumption. "Well, I had a good run," she said, standing to put her cup in the sink. She could feel her heart quicken it's pace. "At least, it was okay-ish."

Surprisingly, Mabel's concoction didn't do as much harm as the two originally thought— at least, no visible damage. Who knows what it did to her teeth or other organs.

It was quite astonishing honestly: while Soos was pacing around, shaking visibly as he tried to contain all the energy from a small sip of the drink, Y/n was holding it quite well. At most, she was a little more fidgety and trembled slightly, and whenever she spoke she tripped over her words a little more than usual. But after a few hours, the handyman finally calmed down and Y/n was functioning rather normally. Some of the fatigue was beginning to fight it's way back to her, but it was nothing compared to the state she was in this morning.

The group had spent the majority of the day just watching garbage television. It appeared that the twins and Soos were hooked on this marathon documentary about a tiger being surgically equipped with a human fist. Y/n didn't understand it— she didn't understand most of what the kids were into— but she stayed on the floor and watched it alongside them silently. This definitely wasn't as entertaining as how she thought Ductective would be.

By the time Stan was starting to close up shop, the Tiger Fist marathon was coming to an end. The show cut to commercial, and Y/n could hear Stan coming in through the door on the side, walking towards the kitchen and grumbling about the customers.

Y/n was going to apologize for not being able to take the morning tours when Soos startled everyone: "Woah, dudes, this is that weird commercial I've been telling you guys about."

The three kids looked to the TV, in time to see a pair of hands release a bundle of white doves. A male voice spoke: "Are you completely miserable?"

The screen flashed to a man sitting on his bed, bawling his eyes out. "Y-yes!" He sobbed.

"Then you need to meet—"

The commercial cut to a large shadowy figure of a man. "Gideon!" A new voice said, nearly whispering.

Y/n jolted up from the floor, alerting Dipper.

Gideon—? Wait, wasn't that name in the codes Bill gave me?

"Gideon?" Mabel questioned. "What makes him so special?"

The narrator on the TV answered: "He's a psychic!"

"A who?" Mabel asked, tilting her head in utter confusion.

"So don't waste your time with other so-called men of mystery," the commercial continued, cutting to a clip of...

"Hey!" Y/n exclaimed. "They're just slandering Stan now!" The commercial had cut to a candid photo of him coming out of an outhouse.

"Learn about tomorrow tonight, at Gideon's Tent of Telepathy!" It ended with a zooming cut of a light blue tent, adorned with a multicolored star at the top, followed by a lot of fast scrolling text and a faster voice over.

"Wow!" Mabel gleamed, bouncing up and down in her chair. "I'm getting all curious-y inside!"

Y/n pouted. "I'm not. They really just came for Stan like that! At least play fair; Stan doesn't make these kinds of whack-o ads."

Stan walked into the living room, Pitt Cola in hand. "Thank you, Squirt! You might be terrible at your tours—"

"Hey! I was just tired. I'm doing better now."

"—but at least you have some common sense." He reached up and took off his eyepatch. "You kids shouldn't be getting all curious-y. Ever since that little monster Gideon rolled into this town, I've had nothing but trouble! Taking parking spots, stealing customers— that little nuisance has made my life and running this business so much harder," he grumbled, putting his suit jacket down.

"But," Mabel said, her hands behind her back, "the important question is: is he really psychic?"

Dipper smirked, hopping to his feet. "I think we should all go and find out."

"Never!" Stan bellowed, eyeing the kids. "You are hereby forbidden from patronizing the competition. Especially if it's Gideon's business. No one that wants to live under my roof is allowed under that Gideon's roof!"

The twins pouted. "Well," Dipper offered, pursing his lips, "do tents even have roofs?"

Mabel giggled, a sly smirk pulling at her lips. "It looks like we just found our loophole!"

"You know what I mean!" Stan argued, pushing past Soos and Y/n to take a seat on his sofa. "As long as I'm the adult in the house, I make the calls."

"Awww," Mabel whined.

"Well, technically, you're not the only adult here," Dipper said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Stan scoffed. "Don't tell me you're looking for Soos as your legal guardian. No offense, Soos," he added quickly.

"None taken!"

"Besides," Stan continued, "he doesn't have any jurisdiction here. He doesn't live here or anything."

"But," Mabel sang, catching on to what her twin was implying. Y/n, on the other hand, was still confused. Must be a twin-sense-thing, she figured.

"We have another legal adult, who not only lives here, but also lives back at home with us. SHABAM! TAKE THAT OLD MAN!" Mabel yelled, flashing Y/n's driving permit in Stan's face.

"Woah, wait," Y/n sputtered. "How did you even get that?"

"I have my ways!" Mabel smiled.

Stan took the permit from his niece's hands, adjusting his glasses as he inspected it. "Woah, you're 18? What happened to the time? I'm getting old."

Y/n let out a huff, taking back her ID. "No, I'm not 18," she said, making the twins and Soos whine.

"Y/nnnnnnnnn, we were so close!"

She just rolled her eyes playfully. "We just had to... edit my ID to get into a bar."

Stan's eyes widened. "You? Using fake IDs to get into a bar?"

"No no!" Y/n sputtered, waving her arms around. "It was for—"

"Atta girl!" Stan smiled, clapping. "I knew you'd sway from morally grey soon enough! But wow! Underaged drinking and fake IDs? You're just full of surprises, aren't you? I'm impressed."

Dipper paled. "Uh, you shouldn't be encouraging this."

"No! It was for the murder investigation!" Y/n yelled. "I already told you, no illegal things! Just morally grey."

Stan's face fell. "Damn, and here I thought you finally did something exciting. You're a teenager, Squirt! Wendy does more extreme stuff than you do. You gotta break the rules sometimes."

Y/n huffed again, snatching her ID. "Fine," she snapped. "You want me to break the rules? I'll shatter them." She turned to the twins and Soos. "You three, go get ready." She started for the hallway.

"Woah woah, where do you think you're going?"

With a smirk, Y/n leaned back into view. "I'm breaking the rules; we're going to the Tent of Telepathy."

She disappeared for a moment, but marched back into the living room. Y/n reached into Stan's suit sleeve, pulling out a wad of cash. "And I'm using your money to pay the competition."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The four arrived at the Tent near twilight. Soos had taken them, and pulled into one of the few vacant parking spaces. Space was limited, and it was such a tight fit that the twins nearly dented the cars besides them when leaving.

The stars were starting to appear in the darkening sky, a light hue of white shrouded in deep blues as time continued to pass. A light breeze pushed the pines' branches, long fir leaves swatting at the gnats in the air. Excited murmurs from the anticipating crowd filled the air.

"Oh dang," Mabel said, stepping close to Y/n as hordes of people headed to the tent. "There's a lot more people than I thought."

Y/n nodded, trying her best to steer clear of bumping into other townspeople. "Come on," she said, motioning for Soos to lead the way. "Let's hurry up and get good seats."

The group followed the mass of people, until they all funneled into the small mouth of a baby blue tent. The Tent stood in its own mysterious light, provided by several small spotlights positioned on the floor. At the very top of, a star looked down upon visitors. It's points were colored differently, ranging from white, pink, green, orange and yellow. It's center was colored purple.

Y/n couldn't help but make a face at the eye positioned in the center of the shape. It looks much better on Bill, she chuckled in her head.

"Step right up, folks!"

Standing at the mouth of the tent, a large man in a pink floral top and khaki held a bag, motioned with a big hand to the entrance. A straw hat sat upon his balding head, and as people passed, he would shove the bag into their faces.

"C'mon folks! Come put your money in Gideon's Psychic Sack!"

"Oh surely," one said, depositing a few bills into the bag.

Y/n deadpanned; she remembered Stan teaching her to do something similar at the end of the tours. Something about an "Incredible Sack of Mystery" that could "mysteriously" make money disappear... into Stan's pocket, that is.

"This guy is just a fatter, younger, Stan," Dipper whispered, following the line of people into the tent.

"At least Stan has more style," Mabel grumbled, eyeing him up. "That floral does not look good on him."

The four made it to the entrance, Y/n not-so-subtly ignoring the man— who she learned was named Buddy, from his nametag— as he shoved the "Psychic Sack" into her face.

The Tent was equipped with rows of seats, almost like church pews. Near the mouth, where the four stood now, there were a few concession stands. People sold popcorn, drinks, tacos, and—

"He has merch too?" Y/n asked, walking over to a booth. The small thing was hulking to the brim with "Lil' Gideon" paraphernalia. Shirts, pajamas, plushies, hats— you name it, it was there.

Y/n grabbed a small plushie, turning it in her hands. It was of a person wearing a blue tux and with shocking big white hair. It wasn't very detailed to begin with, and she couldn't tell if it was a doll of a grown man or a kid. She lifted the arm, scanning the price tag.

"Holy shit," Y/n seethed, quickly putting down the doll. "That's more than Stan charges! And he charges an arm and a leg!" She turned to the twins and Soos, who were still ogling at all the food and beverages. "If any of you even suggest getting a doll or whatever from here, I'll leave you here to work off the expenses. It's not worth it."

All confused, but nodding anyway, the twins and Soos dragged Y/n around the booths, picking out snacks. And since Soos had apparently lost his wallet to the engine when he was fixing it up earlier, Y/n graciously chipped in with Stan's stolen money. But even then, the prices made her wallet cry, even if it was just slightly.

"You're lucky I love you," she muttered, handing Mabel her popcorn and small drink.

She turned to Soos, who nervously scratched at the back of his neck. "I'll pay you back, dude, I swear on my life."

Y/n sighed, smiling slightly. "Relax Soos," she said, handing him his beef patty. "Think of this as thanks for the ride, and a thanks from Stan for always helping around after your shift."

Luckily, Dipper knew better than to waste money (well, waste Y/n's stolen money) on such overpriced food, and soon the group shuffled onto the wooden benches. Mabel sat on the aisle, Y/n next to her, Dipper following, and Soos bringing up the rear.

Y/n swiveled her head around. The place was packed, with people in each row practically sitting on top of each other to fit more patrons. At the center of the Tent, a little stage stood, bathed in spot light. A small piano sat at the corner of the stage, connected to a large speaker. In the middle of the aisle, a large support pole houses megaphones positioned to face the pews. Impromptu blue curtains covered the stage, hung by fairy lights.

"This is just a bizzaro version of the Mystery Shack," Dipper said. "They even have their own Soos," he said, pointing down the bench.

A large man with long hair and a beanie passed by their line of sight. Carrying a tool box, his nametag read Deuce. Taking a rather aggressive bite of his meat patty, Soos gave him a dirty look, which went unnoticed.

Before Y/n could make a teasing comment about the quality of the Tent, the lights began to dim, the people buzzing with excitement letting out small cheers and whistles.

"It's starting, guys!" Mabel whisper-shouted, clutching her popcorn tightly.

Y/n let out a small grunt, trying to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden benches. "Let's see what this 'monster' really looks like," she muttered to Dipper.

Spotlights burst to life from above them, sweeping through the pews as dramatic fanfare flasted through the speakers above. The lights slowly crawled to the stage, focusing on the center of the curtains. People started gasping, bouncing in their chairs with enthusiasm.

"What's their deal?" Dipper whispered.

"These people are insane," Y/n snickered.

From either side of them, Soos and Mabel shushed the two. "Look!"

From the bottom of the lights, a large bulky shadow started to march towards the curtains. It grew in size as footsteps loomed closer, each step accented with heavy thump played through the speakers, rattling through the seats.

Y/n sat up, gulping slightly. This is the guy Bill tipped me off about?

The music reached its peak, trumpets holding their notes as the curtains were pulled back to reveal—!

"That's Stan's nemesis?" Dipper nearly shouted. He rubbed at his eyes, almost positive he was seeing wrong.

"But..." Mabel said, mushing her hands to her cheeks. Her eyes held stars and she stared at the stage. "He's so widdle."

A little boy— much younger than the twins— stood atop the stage. His snow white hair was almost as tall as he was, done up in a thick hairdo held only by what Y/n assumed was can after can of hairspray. He was very pale, with three pink freckles dotting his cheeks and a cute little piggish nose. He wore a small baby blue suit, tailored to his tiny stature that hugged his chubby body, a dark undershirt poking around his tiny neck. A cerulean amulet laid on his chest, sitting by a pin of the American flag. A white cape cupped his rotund face, glittering magenta sequins lining the edges of it.

He could get a few tips from Mabel on bedazzling, she thought to herself; the gem placement was rather crooked from what she could make out from her seat.

"Hello there, America!" The small boy said. His high pitched voice had a strong southern twang. "My name is Lil' Gideon!" He clapped his hands, and beautiful white doves sprung from his hair, flying up to land on the rafters above the stage.

Y/n followed them into the air, genuinely surprised that their wings hadn't been frozen solid with all the hairspray that went into the boy's appearance. From around them, the crowd (and Mabel and Soos) went wild, applauding with fervor. Dipper and Y/n looked at each other, before shrugging and put their hands together in a rushed— but less lively— clap.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gideon continued, turning to his audience, "it is such a gift to have y'all all here tonight! Such a gift! I have a vision— a vision where you will soon all say, 'aw!'"

He turned on his heel for a moment, until he turned back to the crowd with the most adorable face he could possibly mutter. His eyes grew nearly twice in size, the blue orbs holding more sparkles than Mabel could ever fit onto her sweater. His baby-fat cheeks pouted, and he held his hand to his mouth, waiting for the crowd to react.

Y/n soften a little. Fine, she admitted to herself, he is a tiny bit adorable.

Dipper was right; how could this literal child be Stan's mortal enemy? Maybe Stan's real beef is with Bud, she thought. After all, he's probably the one forcing Gideon to continue with this. But by the looks of it, the boy liked all the attention anyway. It was a win-win for them.

The crowd gushed over the small boy, a chorus of squeals running over the pews as Gideon continued to hold his little pose.

"It came true!" Mabel gasped in wonder.

Dipper rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and sucking his teeth. "What? That wasn't a prediction. I'm not impressed."

Mabel leaned forward, eyeing Dipper mischievously. "Oh c'mon, you're a bit impressed."

Before Dipper could retort with a sarcastic comment, Gideon shouted from the stage: "Hit it, Dad!"

From the corner, Buddy started playing the piano, creating an uplifting and quite catchy beat for his son to start dancing along to. From the stage, Gideon unclasped his cape, tossing into the row right in front of the Mystery Shack group.

A young woman caught it, gasping in wonder. It was all fun and games until other women from other sides of the pew tackled her to the ground, trying to pry the fabric from her hands.

"Oh Jesus Chri—!"

"Oh I can see what others can't see," Gideon started singing from the stage, completely ignoring the chaos unfolding in front of him. He bounced slightly, swinging his arms in an exaggerated manner.

He pointed to the audience, winking with a small smile. "It ain't some sideshow trick," he sang, before waving his hands in front of his eyes. "It's innate ability!"

Y/n couldn't help but follow the crowd and tap her foot to the beat slightly. What could she say? It was a pretty catchy show tune.

"Where others are blind, I am future-ly inclined! And you too could see, if you was widdle ol' me!" He broke into childish giggling, before walking up to the front of the stage. "C'mon everybody! Rise up and keep it going!" He lifted his hands, and— to Y/n's surprise— she found herself standing up to his command.

"What the—" As soon as she found herself on her feet, she immediately dropped back into the bench, landing with a small "oof!" She hadn't been expecting to be standing, so she didn't have enough time to firmly plant her feet. She was a little too tired to catch herself before she had fallen back in her seat.

Dipper gasped, sputtering. "H-how—? How did he—?"

The crowd started bouncing on their heels, following Gideon's lead as he started calling out specific members of the audience.

"Keep it going, y'all!" He shouted, earning a rhythmic clapping from the audience. Y/n shrugged, and started clapping from her chair.

"You wish your son would call you more," the boy sang, pointing to an elderly woman in the front row.

"I'm leaving everything to my cats!" She yelled, hugging one of the three felines accompanying her.

"I sense that you've been here before," Gideon continued, racing over to the other side of the stage, where Blubs— absolutely covered in Gideon merch— sat.

"Oh come on," Dipper muttered. He sat back down next to Y/n, definitely not assumed in the slightest. "Oh, what gave it away?" He muttered sarcastically.

Gideon hopped off the stage, running up the aisle. His gaze landed on Mabel, and with a large smile he ran up to her to sing his next line. "I'll read your mind if I'm able. Something tells... me you're named Mabel!"

Mabel gasped, her eyes lighting up. "How did he do that?"

Dipper and Y/n eyed each other, brows raising. It appeared Mabel forgot she was wearing her autographic sweater. You know, the one that literally had her name on it?

"Yeah, okay," Y/n mumbled, nudging Dipper, "I think I've seen it all."

Gideon returned to the stage, expertly dodging any stray hands and rabid fans trying to grab at him in the aisle. "So welcome all ye, to the Tent of Telepathy. And thanks for visiting," he winked, "widdle ol' me!" He danced around in a little circle, fueled by the cheering crowd, until he did one final pose, stretching his arms out in front of the audience.

Sparklers sprouted from the ground, and a large LED sign fell from the ceiling, stopping little ways above his head. It flashed his name in blue lights, and the audience went crazy, screaming and shouting for the young boy.

Y/n's eyes widened. She felt like she was in a freak show.

"Thank you," Gideon panted, taking out a water bottle and taking heavy sips. "You guys are the real miracles!"

Slowly, people returned to their seats, excitedly waiting for the next part of Gideon's act. Mabel hopped back onto the bench, smiling widely and swinging her feet like a child. Soos was in a similar child-like wonder.

Dipper and Y/n, on the other hand, weren't impressed in the slightest. They had seen enough: Gideon was just as big a fraud as Stan was. The only reason he was so popular was because he was cute. They didn't see how this show could get much better, and Y/n almost felt bad for stealing Stan's money. Well... almost.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The show went on for another half an hour, and soon enough, Gideon bade farewell to the audience with another little song and disappeared behind the curtains.

Slowly, people filed out of the Tent, some sticking behind to buy more food for the road and memorabilia to remember the show. Soos was one of those people; Y/n gave him $20 to treat himself to some more food, after his mood was soured by another run in with Deuce.

As the three left the tent, Dipper turned to his sisters. "No wonder why Stan is jealous of this place," he said, smirking. "That kid's an even bigger fraud than he is! Who would even think that was possible?"

Y/n laughed, nodding.

"Oh c'mon you two," Mabel smiled. "At least admit that his little dance moves were adorable! And his hair! It was all like, whoosh!" She flung her hands above her head to emphasize her point. "Whoosh!"

Y/n chuckled, nudging Mabel slightly. "You're way too easily impressed."

Mabel gasped, giggling. "No I'm not!"

"Yes you are," Dipper argued, playfully hitting her.

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed, and the two began to play-fight.

"Hey hey!" Y/n smiled, pushing them forward. "Take it to the car, we can't have all these people watching you fight for free. Think of how Stan would react when he learned you gave Gideon's audience free entertainment."

The three laughed, slowly making their way to Soos' car.

"Can't believe Stan is so worried about a child," Y/n said to herself, looking back to the tent. "I can see why, though. He's just worried that he'll lose his customers. At least Stan' prices are more reasonable than these."

And with that, the three entered the car, waiting for Soos to take them back home, where they were sure they would be meeting with an extra-grumpy Grunkle.

Chapter Text

CW: Mentions of alcoholism and slight abuse

To say that Y/n was pleased to find herself back in her own mind would be a complete understatement. With how the past few days had gone, she was worried she was going to be wracked with the insomnia that plagued her back in Piedmont. Even if she woke up feeling like she had stayed up for a week straight, as long as she could still visit her little field, then she'd be the least bit satisfied.

But tonight, when she hit the bed and drifted off to sleep and wound up leaning against the oak, she wasted no time running back to the house of her memories. She hated abandoning her little paradise, but she had a job to do.

She trudged up the path, watching as the little tufts of grass along the path started to lose their color as she neared her raw memories.

Reaching the divide, Y/n took a deep breath, before rushing to the door. She didn't know if Bill was coming to visit her or not, but at the very least she wanted to sort out and organize some memories before he came.

Specifically...

Y/n stopped suddenly, face to face with the oak tree that stemmed from the center of the house. The floor was still sealed up from their previous visit, but it was a shoddy job. Today— if she were to do nothing else— she was going to lock up all those memories down there for good.

They did nothing but remind her of things that once were and never could be again. Even the happiest memories from her childhood were bittersweet at best. She had already known what had happened, and now that she learned that the fire really did exist, Y/n had a clearer picture than she ever wanted.

They held her back from letting herself feel at home in her new home. She was tired of trying so hard to fit in and be a Pines while having these thoughts and memories nagging her every movement and leading her to overthink every social situation. It was getting harder for her to accept her new name when memories of her old one kept resurfacing and made her feel even more like an intruder in the family.

So, she figured that boarding up the memories for the time being would help keep away any trauma trying to plague her already weary mind. And at least relax her long enough to possibly find herself feeling at home with the family who so graciously took her in all those years ago.

Y/n started walking towards the tree— which, in itself, was a negative memory she was planning to hide— and held out her hand. Just like before, the floor bent to her will, floorboard retracting in on themselves as the gaping hole reopened by the base of the trunk. Voices slowly rose to her ears, whispers of her past taunting her.

There was no telling how deep the hole was; it was too dark to tell. The branches of the oak tree weren't close enough for her to just hop from one to another on her descent.

Y/n cocked her head to the side, crossing her arms. Just how was she supposed to go about getting down there?

"What did Bill say again?" She wondered out loud, crouching down near the mouth of the gaping pit. "This is my mind... I can control what goes on here, right?"

Y/n stood up once again, stepping closer to the edge. The tips of her shoes were hanging above the chasm, and she swayed slightly. If she could control what happens in here, then...

"Well," Y/n breathed in steadily, holding her arms out to her sides. "It's not like I can die here," she muttered. She took a glance at her cast, a sense of nostalgia washing over her momentarily, before addressing the hole again. How ironic, her voice echoed around her.

"Let's just hope there's a soft landing this time."

Shutting her eyes, Y/n dropped herself from the edge, letting the darkness consume her as she plummeted to an unknown depth.

She continued to fall for several seconds, her hair flowing up behind her as she kept her eyes shut, trying to focus on the sound around her. The voices started to gain volume as she neared the bottom of the chasm. And right as they reached a climax, she threw her hands out, willing herself to stop suddenly.

Y/n became completely static, completely laying on air.

"Well okay then," she muttered. Her eyes flickered open, and was surprised to find herself suspended feet in the air from the bottom of the hole. The area was lit; a flickering warm bath of yellow light produced by sparse lanterns hanging from the lowest branches of the tree. Different doors to different labeled hallways stemmed out from the outer edges of the hole.

All, Y/n presumed, contained her early childhood back at home. She just wanted to put them behind one door and lock it up for the time being.

Y/n held her breath, concentrating on her current position, and tried to lower herself slowly onto the floor. Her body fell inch by inch, as she continued to block out all of the voices buzzing around her. She was maybe about six feet in the air; a drop wouldn't scare her awake or anything, but it was still something she would have liked to avoid—

"Honey, get in the car! Your father's waiting!"

SLAM!

Y/n dropped suddenly, colliding with the hard wooden floor in a faceplant. She let out a groan, turning over and rubbing at her face.

"Why?" She groaned.

The voice in question— and all too familiar one, at that— came from the door positioned closest to her bruised body. And it was one of the two that she was dreading to hear while she was down here.

Lifting herself up from the floor and scrunching up her face to regain feeling, she hesitantly made her way to the door. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the knob, before opening it and making her way into a section of her memories.

The door opened to a long hallway, similar to the one Bill and Y/n had first traveled through. Except, this one was a lot more run down and dilapidated. The wooden floors were raised and uneven, some of the ceiling was falling apart, and— for some reason— there were weird black vines growing alongside doors.

Brow raising, Y/n stepped closer to a door, trying to filter out the voices from around her. The vine entwined itself within the misplaced planks of the wall, burrowing under the doorframe and around the knob.

It was... blurry in appearance, like if smoke was buzzing around the general shape of vines and leaves. As Y/n reached for it, a sudden emptiness tugged at her heart, and she immediately pulled back. It was startling just how fast her mood plummeted.

"I... I just won't go near you," she mumbled, continuing down the hall. She didn't know why, but she figured that those vines weren't necessarily the best thing.

Voices continued bouncing from wall to wall, doors only slightly muffling all the different shouts and whispers.

Y/n stumbled around, unsure of where to even start. She was slightly overwhelmed by, well, everything. Any one of these doors had the potential to reopen old wounds.

"Well," Y/n sighed. She moved towards a door close to her, reaching for the knob. Her hand ghosted over it for a moment. "You can't expect to build something without getting some splinters."

Taking a deep breath, Y/n opened the door, peering inside.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

The sun sat in the sky, clouds running past propelled by the warm spring winds. They whipped the ground, grass bending backwards for the tickling breeze, and leaves rustling as they swayed slightly.

A little girl danced in the grass, sweeping her arms across the blades as the wind blew them down, acting as if she was the one acting upon them. Little giggles escape her as she twirled around, her small purple dress dancing with her.

Little ways away from her, two people sat upon a checkered rug, a wicker basket between them. They looked up at each other, lovingly, before turning back to their child frolicking in the tall grass.

A woman looked down at the young girl, occasionally getting distracted by the small cellphone besides her. Dark brown hair was pinned up high atop her head, and washed down her pale arms. It was straight, and some strands escaped their tie and fell over her piercing grey eyes.

But the man beside her didn't appear to have a set appearance. He was nothing but a grey blur: foggy and abstract. But the child in the grass, nor the woman moving to lean against him, didn't appear to notice.

The child ran back up the hill, launching herself at that larger figure.

"Dad! Dad!" She shrieked, more giggles shaking her as the figure— her father— caught her. He lifted her into the air, swinging her around and tossing her black hair to and for. The man fell back onto the blanket, taking his daughter with her.

The smaller figure— her mother— let out a small chuckle at the scene. She laid down beside her partner, reaching over to run a hand through her daughter's hair.

"Honey," the woman sighed, looking down at the girl. "Why don't you—"

Y/n took one last glance at the family on the blanket— her and her parents— and then closed the door.

"Huh," she started, "that one wasn't too bad." She stood at the foot of the door awkwardly, her voice oddly dry. She fiddled with her sweater sleeves, standing in silence as her emotions flickered about inside her.

Y/n was slightly disappointed that her father remained a blur in her memories. She knew that the earlier memories were bound to be muddled, but she had thought her photographic memory would at least preserve the person most important to her in her childhood.

"Of course I remember what Mom looks like," she mumbled, continuing her walk down the hall.

Y/n's mother... well... she wasn't the best mother.

She was a party girl, as much as she would never admit it. And despite swearing to have given that life up when settling down with her husband, it was hard to take the party out of the animal. Her mom had lived a life in and out of clubs, seeking out the thrills that the world could offer her. So when she ended up pregnant, she was absolutely terrified. Domestic life wasn't something she would just acclimate to so suddenly.

But...

It would be fine; she wasn't alone.

Y/n's father was a man of rather sophisticated tastes... at least, from what she could remember. He was very respectful and ordered— the rock of the family. Y/n could barely remember what he was like, but she knew that he was very kind and warm, always going out of his way to make both his daughter and wife laugh, no matter what the circumstance. He helped keep the house grounded; he was the one thing that could convince the former party animal that she could start raising a family.

So when he was killed in a car crash when Y/n was barely two, all the worries and inhibitions quelled by her father's presence and promises reappeared. Her mother was left all alone, completely out of her element.

She was scared, unprepared, and overwhelmed. So she turned to the only thing that could comfort her: the bottle.

It didn't all go downhill at first. It started with a few drinks here and there; "pick-me-ups" and just some to help her start her day with a confused and loud toddler. But "pick-me-ups" became entire bottles, and entire bottles became several bottles, and soon it was impossible to find her mother without one in hand. The two were inseparable.

And with all the alcohol, the party animal became savage.

She was a lot snappier, and when she wasn't locked in the room, a sobbing and drunk mess, she was either out partying while Y/n was in preschool or making a mess of things in the house.

Y/n could remember how she would constantly walk on eggshells, as one wrong move would lead to her being scolded or even possibly hit. At first, it started with yelling. Her drunk mother, disoriented and barely able to navigate without stumbling, would relentlessly berate her for the slightest movement or action she deemed wrong.

As time passed, her mother was no stranger to slaps or taps on her arms or back. The only problem was that she seemed to have such a heavy hand when inebriated. She left bruises more often than not, and with each bottle downed it happened more and more frequently.

When her hand didn't pack as much of a sting anymore, she turned to other household objects. More often than not a wooden spoon or an extension cord became a tool. One thing Y/n would have to give her mother, though: she never once ever tried to hit her with a bottle or anything that could have seriously injured her fragile body. When Y/n finally learned how to stay on her mother's good side— not to say anything at all when she was absolutely wasted— she would get angry less, and Y/n was able to find some sort of happiness within that wrecked home.

The best times were when her mother had fallen asleep, or even passed out. There was a peaceful quiet that fell over the house when the animal was soothed down to slumber, and her mother looked so much kinder in her sleep. Y/n would gingerly place her hand atop her head, and in her sleep her mother would gently caress her hair. She always looked crestfallen, but it wasn't anything like the foreign rage that had creased her drunken features.

When her mother started to grow tolerant of alcohol, she looked for comfort the other way she had learned how: in the arms of other men.

Y/n was maybe a little older than three when her mother started bringing back other men to the house. Of course, she didn't understand what that meant, but she always stayed out of their way, just like she had done when it was just her and her drunk mother. For a while, it stayed like that.

No one was happy, but no one was brave enough to come out and say it.

The death of Y/n's father uprooted the entire house; it was destroyed even before Y/n unleashed her fiery hell upon it all those years ago.

But yet a small, nagging part of her still longed to go back and start at the beginning.

Y/n never thought of her mother much anymore; she didn't know if the memories it brought back were sad because of the circumstances, or because she missed what she used to be.

Back in Piedmont, when the insomnia hit hard and completely uprooted her schedule, she would lay in bed, her thoughts jumping around. Occasionally, they would land on her mother.

Y/n was always surprised by the feelings that came with the thoughts: she thought she might have been angry; absolutely livid at the conditions that her mother forced upon her for nearly two years. But she almost found herself feeling some sort of... sympathy? As she got older, and memories came back— wanted or unwanted— her eyes were opened to the entirety of the situation: her mother was just a young party girl who was nowhere near ready to take on the maternal role. The only person who believed in her was her husband, and after he died it must have been horrible. She was panicked; she didn't know what to do and turned back to the only thing she did know.

The girl had always wondered what she would say to her mother if she were to see her again. What was there to say, though? Would she run into her arms, overjoyed with the mere sight of her long dead mother, or would she simply turn and walk away. Y/n might have been slightly sympathetic towards her plight, but that in no way meant she was forgiven. Maybe someday...

"Princess! Stop running, I can't keep up!"

Y/n slowed her stride, coming across a worn door. The dark vines were almost completely covering it. If it wasn't for the door knob beckoning her attention with its silvery glow and the sound of her father's voice coming from the otherside, she would have completely passed it.

Grasping the knob, it took a couple of tugs to break away at the vines and open the door. Broken vines fell, losing their dark pigment and fading to a sad grey, blending into the monotone floor.

Stepping carefully over their remains, Y/n cracked the door open.

The field spanned for what appeared to be miles; a long stretch of rolling green and dancing grass blades. Trees sprouted from the ground, spiraling up into the sky, their large foliage nearly brushing the sparse clouds.

A young Y/n ran around the trunk of a large pine tree, evading the catch of her father.

Her father— still a blurry black and smokey figure— was stuck side stepping left and right as his daughter continued to giggle and laugh as she remained out of his grasp.

When he moved left, she moved right; when he moved right, she was already on the other side of the tree.

"Princess," he laughed, trying his best to outsmart his daughter. "You're much too fast for me; I'm getting dizzy from this alone!"

Y/n only cackled louder, sticking her head out from one side of the tree momentarily to teasingly stick out her tongue at him.

"Y/n," he warned, choking back the warm laugh bubbling in his throat, "don't make me come after you."

"You'll never catch me, Dad," she replied smuggly.

"Don't test me, Princess."

Her father, in a rare moment of speed, lunged forwards, trapping Y/n and swinging her up into the air. She let out a little cry, startled.

"Nooooo," she whined, but it was hard to appear disappointed when she kept laughing. "Dadddddddd."

"You had me running long enough," he said, lifting her onto his shoulders. Y/n's legs dangled onto his torso, and she rested her head and hands in his hair. "Your mother is waiting," he continued, starting up the path to the house.

"Fineeee," the small girl yawned.

Y/n closed the door, a sad smile pulling at her lips and tilting her brows down. Even if it was just an incomplete memory, hearing her father's laugh was enough to provide her an undying and loving warmth.

"Damn," she muttered, sniffling slightly, surprised at the tears pricking at her eyes. The warmth was slowly fleeting, and it saddened Y/n that she could never have something to replicate it. "I... I really miss that."

She shook off the sudden sadness, stepping back from the door. She didn't have time to go through everything and reminisce about the good times and mourn the more melancholy ones. Everything could begin to fade at any moment, and Y/n didn't want to wake up without getting anything done.

"I'll head back to the tree, then organize and build out from there," she said, heading back down the hall. "Damn." The end of the hallway was just a small blip. "This is going to be a long walk."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

"Finally," Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. She stood at the base of the tree, standing in front of the now singular door positioned down there.

Y/n had spent who knows how long organizing all her childhood memories, and going through everything else to ensure that everything she didn't want to relive was behind this new door. Twirling a mind-created-padlock in her fingers, she attached it to the handle, locking the door permanently. She had long decided on the password to these repressed memories; what better way to hide her secrets than behind a word unknown by all?

Her fingers grazed over the letter keys on the lock: L/n.

With a light click, the lock snapped into place. She had done it; the only way these memories were to be visited was when she was ready.

Or, maybe never. Maybe it would be easier living life pretending nothing ever happened.

Y/n took a step back, leaning against the trunk of the tree. She looked over at her work, oddly satisfied.

But she still wasn't done.

"Now," she said, craning her neck up, "I have to get back up there."

Y/n put her hands on her hips, looking up to the mouth of the pit. It looked a near mile away; how was she supposed to go about getting up there? She considered climbing, but that was a long way to go.

"Can I... can I float up there?"

How does one float?

Y/n moved to the middle of the room, and taking a deep breath, she tried to focus on her weight. If she pretended she was weightless, maybe she could trick her mind.

"Okay, let's just... do this... maybe...? If I imagine I have Ochaco's quirk or something...?"

Instinctively, Y/n held her breath, and little by little, she found herself floating off the floor. The trip was slow, and as the top of the pit came into view, Y/n was starting to get worried. She couldn't hold her breath much longer; if she were to let it go, she was positive that she would end up falling all the way back down.

The edge of the pit was an arm's length above her head. At this point, Y/n was sure she was turning purple; her body was screaming for air, but she was so close—

With a loud gasp, Y/n lunged for the edge, barely grappling onto it as she took deep gulping breaths. Struggling not only to regain her breath but with her grip as well, she kicked at the wall, trying to propel herself upwards.

Her fingers began to slip, and Y/n was moments away from falling back down.

"Oh come on," she growled, trying to pull herself up. It was much harder with a cast than she originally thought. Just when her fingers were about to give up, a hand grabbed her wrist. With a strong tug, she was pulled back to the main floor of the house.

The girl stumbled to her feet, moving away from the edge.

"Looks like I arrived just in time!"

She whipped around, and sure enough, a yellow triangle greeted her with (what she assumed would be) a smile.

"Bill!" Y/n cheered, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Thanks for the hand."

"Anytime, kiddo! I've got hands to spare!" To prove his point, he ripped off his arm, tossing the limb towards her. Another popped out to take its place.

"Well damn," Y/n muttered, a cheeky grin tugging her lips as she waved the limb like a sword. "Give me a couple more of these and I can be Shigaraki," she laughed to herself.

"Well, well, well," Bill said, whizzing around her to get a good look at the room. "Someone's been busy, haven't they?"

"Yep!" Y/n smiled.

The house looked completely different from when they first stepped into it. In order to gather any unwanted memories she had planned to lock up, she had to go through the entirety of the abode.

It actually wasn't as tedious as it seemed; as long as Y/n didn't get distracted with old memories, she was able to find the rest rather fast. There weren't that many to begin with that weren't already down there, anyway.

Everything seemed less chaotic and much more orderly. There were still whispers floating around, but every memory was properly stored in organized and sectioned hallways. Most were in chronological order, too, which was a pleasant surprise. The only trouble she ran into was moving selected memories down to the base of the tree, but after hauling a couple of doors, everything was in its place, and her mind felt less cluttered. It was almost peaceful, except for...

"Almost forgot," Y/n mumbled, turning back to the pit. She held out her hand once again, and with calm breaths, moved the floor. The floorboards grew to the base of the tree, this time closing around the chasm uniformly.

Bill watched, his brow furrowing slightly. "Oh c'mon Flame. I wanted to see what was down there," he whined, clinging to her arm.

Y/n laughed slightly. "Yeah, no. But," she paused for a moment, taking a quick glance at the demon beside her. "Maybe one day I'll show you. I'd like to show at least someone," she mumbled the last part, making it hard for Bill to hear.

Though she had only known Bill for a few weeks, she grew quite fond of the triangle demon. She really appreciated their friendship. Not only was he some omniscient source that could help uncover the secrets of the town, but she hoped one day she could show him the truth. And maybe— just maybe— he'd have the answers she was looking for.

"Maybe 'one day' can be today," he pestered, gazing up at her with a puppy eye.

"Sorry Bill. But," she faltered. "But, I promise: I'll show you eventually. But right now I have a certain memory I'd like to find."

Bill caught on, "Still looking for the code?"

"Yep, and I intend on getting it right—" Y/n stomped on the ground, firmly planting her foot, "—now."

Just like the night prior, a door rose from the floor from the mere thought of the memory. But this time, Y/n wasn't going to wake up just yet.

"I have to do this quickly," she said, flinging open the door. "I really don't want to have to come in here and do this again."

Bill and Y/n watched silently as the memory played; from the moment Y/n had woken up incorporeal, to the comparisons she drew from herself and Mirio, to finding Stan in the gift shop, to watching as—

"Right there," she said, a little loudly, her excitement taking over. A sudden jolt of energy ran through her, and her wide eyes were waiting in anticipation.

Stan's fingers danced across the keypad. Bill was right; her subconscious had picked up the code. The memory continued: fingers pressed down five panels.

"A...1...B...C...3..." Y/n repeated, watching as the vending machine let out a huff, revealing the secret passageway to a presumed basement. With a wave of her hand, the door sunk back into the floor.

"Well it looks like you're one step closer to finding out what's behind that vending machine, huh kiddo?"

Y/n said nothing at first, but when she turned to face Bill, she was absolutely buzzing with excitement.

She nearly looked like Mabel; her hand clutched the hem of her hoodie, twisting it in her grip, and it took everything in her power to keep herself from bouncing on her heels like a human spring. The growing smile on her face almost looked painful, and before long, she couldn't contain herself anymore.

"HELL YEAH! This is fucking poggers bro!" She shouted, launching herself onto Bill. He nearly jumped out of his exoskeleton as the girl gripped onto his arm. "I did it! I have the code!" She started laughing, a slight twinkle lighting in her eyes.

"Um," Bill was frozen, unsure of what to do but awkwardly pat her shoulder. It took everything fiber of his being to stop himself from rudely pushing this meatsack off of him. "Y-yeah. Good job, Flame."

Realizing what she had done, she quickly let go, hissing out of embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled, averting her gaze. "Got a little too excited."

Bill forced a laugh. "Relax, kiddo! Human emotions really cause you mortals to do some weird things, huh?"

"Y-yeah," she laughed, still slightly embarrassed.

"But you shouldn't be celebrating just yet," he said, much more serious. "Now you have to work out the next part of this little investigation: how are you going to get access to the machine without Fez getting in the way?"

Chapter Text

When Y/n woke up, she spent an extra hour or so just laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and lost in thoughts.

It wasn't long after she found the password that her subconscious started fading. She barely had time to say bye to Bill before her eyes fluttered open slowly, catching onto the sunlight pooling into the room from the open window. The warmth was a gentle nudge awake, but it felt anything but welcomed.

The warm light caught onto the edge of her dresser, shining into her eyes. But even then, she didn't bother to move. Her body felt like lead, and a dull pain made her head throb and eyes hurt. For the first couple of seconds, she genuinely couldn't tell if she was dreaming or not— the fog that clouded her head was thick and made it too difficult to think about anything. But it cleared out enough eventually in order for Y/n to start thinking about the last few moments in her mind.

Bill had brought up a good point: how was she supposed to get to the vending machine without Stan stopping her? And even if there was an open window, what if the twins— or even Soos— found her? How would she go about explaining? She didn't even know what was down there.

She let her thoughts float about her mind for a while until she heard a knock from the door of the Shack. Y/n was going to ignore it, but the person knocked a second time, almost banging on the door.

"Someone get the door!" Stan yelled from somewhere in the shack.

"Who is hell is that?" The girl grumbled, stumbling out of bed. She matted her bed head down, adjusting her hoodie before heading out the door and down the hallway.

Y/n swung the door open, letting out a yawn. "Sorry," she started, rubbing her eyes. "The Mystery Shack isn't open right no—"

She stopped suddenly when her immediate view was obstructed by... by white hair...?

"Down here, Miss!"

"Oh."

Standing up to her waist— boosted only by his hair— was none other than the psychic himself: Lil' Gideon.

"Good mornin', Miss," he greeted cheerfully. He was dressed in his little suit, and the amulet around his chubby neck caught the bright glow of the morning light.

"Uh... good morning...? Why are you here, exactly?" Y/n asked, trying to get right to the point. The sooner she could get this unwanted conversation with, the sooner she could crash onto the couch. Or perhaps convince Mabel to make her that energy drink again. As much as she wanted to deny it, that muddy concoction really got her through the day.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Gideon said loudly, snorting slightly. "If it ain't too much trouble, I wanted to see if Mabel was available?"

Y/n's brow rose. "Uh, yeah, sure. Let me just go ge—"

"I HAVE HEARD MY NAME. WHO SUMMONS ME?"

"Jesus Christ!" Y/n jumped, as Mabel appeared in the doorway. Dressed in her llama-hair sweater, she had her entire face covered in her little stick-on gems.

"Did... did you shoot yourself to get those on?" Y/n asked, moving out of the way as Mabel squeezed through the door.

She was left ignored as Mabel quickly brushed them off her face, some of them falling through the porch and others landing on Gideon's suit. "Don't worry about that," Mabel said finally. She started pushing her sister back into the house. "I'm taking over this conversation! Go with Dipper and do some nerd-thing."

"I, uh— okay then...?"

Leaving Mabel at the door to talk to Gideon about... whatever it is they were talking about, Y/n continued to the living room, landing herself onto the couch. Dipper, who was sitting in by the table in the corner of the room, looked up from his journal momentarily.

"Hey Y/n."

"Sup Dip," she grunted in response. She turned over in the chair, hanging herself off the arms of the sofa. Her gaze caught onto Dipper, who was nose-deep into the journal.

Y/n bit her lip. She had never really bothered to talk to Dipper about the book yet. She was curious to leaf through it, to see what this journal held on the mysteries of the town, but she never seemed to have the right time. The younger twin was always hogging it: either scribbling away onto blank pages or flipping eagerly through all the documentation.

It concerned her as well: he was already completely enamored with it. She was growing increasingly worried that one day he would go way over his head and get himself hurt.

But... Dipper's smart. He wouldn't do anything too crazy.

Y/n kept telling herself that, but in truth she wasn't too sure anymore. Just the other day, he fought Wax Sherlock to the death on the roof. He was starting to worry her.

But at the same time, she wasn't too sure what to do.

She didn't want to just take the journal; she wouldn't know what to do with it if she did. She didn't want to destroy it or hide it again. Something like this was way too valuable. Besides, even if she did take it, there was no telling how long she could keep it away from him. He would definitely make a plan of some sorts to get it back. Y/n felt a little guilty about taking it away, too. He had found it on some rare case of chance.

So, at least for now, she was going to let Dipper do as he pleased with the book. She knew it was impossible to fully separate him from it— he treated it like a Bible at this point— so the best she could do was hope that he still remembered her concerns and that Bill's little "prediction" wouldn't come true.

"Who was the door?" Stan yelled from upstairs. Y/n had forgotten about him. But before she could answer, Mabel stuck her head into the hallway.

"No one, Grunkle Stan!" The girl looked towards Y/n, attempting to whisper. "Hey, I'm gonna go hang out with my new friend Gideon. I'll be back by dinner. Don't tell Stan, please!"

Y/n nodded. "Don't do anything too stupid."

The door shut shortly thereafter, and Y/n and Dipper were left alone in a slightly awkward silence.

With Dipper reading— or maybe rereading, she didn't know— Y/n let her thoughts roam around.

I wonder what Bill meant by "Gideon is searching for something."

Gideon seemed like a sweet little boy. He couldn't have been any older than maybe 10, and even though he lived with a connam, he seemed harmless. Sure, he was contributing to the whole "psychic" scam, but she wasn't any better pedalling the Mystery Shack oddities. So, what could he be looking for?

"Maybe he's looking to run Stan out of business," she accidentally giggled out loud.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud," Y/n said. She flopped off the couch, not-so-gracefully landing on her knees, before stumbling to the table.

"Feeling better than yesterday?" Dipper asked, setting the journal down.

"Yeah, a little. I think I can make it through the day without a pick-me-up."

"Good," Dipper laughed, flipping a page. He set his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on it. "Another one of Mabel's energy drinks and you would have definitely been dead."

"Yeah," she chuckled, sitting down. She snuggled her face into the sleeves of her hoodie. Her hair still stood up in multiple directions, and she remained in her pajamas. "What are you reading about?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to get through the journal as fast as possible. You remember the whole ghost situation the other day? At the unveiling?"

Y/n nodded.

"Well it made me realize that I really needed to catch up on all my stuff. If I'm gonna be prepared for what this town has to offer, I should know everything the Author documented here."

"Is there a lot?"

Dipper looked at her as if she had grown a second head. "There's tons of information in here! There are so many creatures that live right outside our doorstep, it's crazy! It really makes me wonder," he paused for a moment, dropping into a whisper, "how has Stan not seen any of it? He'd have to be blind!"

Y/n paused for a moment, lifting her head and drumming her fingers along the table. "Well, I can't say that it's impossible for someone to completely miss it. It's not everyday we see the supernatural, so some people might just ignore it or pass it off as a trick of the eyes or something. I had a hard time wrapping my head around it."

"But you know how weird this town is now, right? I mean," Dipper let out a small laugh, adjusting his cap. "You literally fought a cursed wax figure weilding an axe the other day."

Y/n smiled slightly; "Yeah, tell me about it."

Plus, she thought, I have a certain demon friend who likes to visit me in my sleep.

"Don't worry," Dipper said, flipping another page. "I'm almost done with it. As soon as I'm finished, I'll give it to you to read through. I should have finished much sooner, but with—"

"No no, it's fine! Take your time. Just don't go out of your way to do anything dangerous," she said. Then, with a smirk, she added, "that's my job; with battling ax-wielding murderers and what not."

Dipper laughed, rubbing one of the pages of the journal between his fingers. "Don't worry, I remember what you said. Though, I will admit, the Sherlock battle was definitely more dangerous than I thought."

"It was," Y/n sighed. She sat back up, quite literally throwing herself back onto the chair. She hung her head back, right in time to see Stan come down the stairs, stretching and scratching at his back. He had an unopened Pitt Cola; from where? Y/n didn't even bother thinking too much about it.

"Sup Stan," she said, loud enough for Dipper to hear. He scrambled to close the journal, placing it in his vest.

He let out a grunt in reply, before stumbling onto the chair. With a hiss, he cracked the can open. "What are you two doing?"

Dipper started stammering, pulling at the visor of his cap while his fingers danced around the table nervously. "O-oh! You know, just... catching up."

Stan looked back at them, brows furrowing. "'Catching up...?'"

Damn Dipper, you really suck at lying, Y/n thought bitterly. It was a positive for her though; she would know next time he tried to lie to her.

Without missing a beat, Y/n came to the rescue of the awkward twin before he could further bury himself with stuttered and panicked words. "We're just making bets to see how many boys Mabel will terrorize at the mall. She and Wendy left because there's a new store they wanted to check out. Has stuff that both of them like."

"Oh," Stan said, settling back into his chair. He seemed to have bought the story, and Dipper shot Y/n a thankful glance. "I was about to ask where the other one went." He turned back to the two at the table, hand gripping the remote from the t-rex skull. "You two have any plans?"

Y/n looked up momentarily to Dipper, who shrugged slightly. "Well," he started, hopping off his chair, "I think Soos wanted to do something. Something about a 'bro-session...?'"

Stan laughed. 'Ha! Good luck with that!"

The two rolled their eyes.

"What about you, Squirt? Or are you going to stay in your pjs all day?"

She looked down. "Oh right," she muttered, a small smile on her lips. "I haven't even changed."

"If you don't have anything planned," Stan continued, "I can have you run some restorations on the shack exhibits or—"

"Suddenly," Y/n said, jumping from her chair, "it has occurred to me that I do in fact have plans for the day. And they do not involve work. Sorry Stan."

"I see how it is," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You'd rather do your own thing then tend to the family business. What a shame! Betrayed by my own mini Mr. Mystery!"

Y/n smiled, slightly amused by Stan's early antics. "You got me. After seeing Gideon's wonderful performance last night, I am officially anti-Mystery Shack. I will be seeking new employment immediately."

"Squirt!" Stan yelled, clutching his fez, as if the news was to send it flying away. "You're killing me!"

Dipper tried to hold back laughter, and Y/n let herself release a loud cackle at Stan's reaction. She nodded as she passed him, on her way to change out of her pjs. "Relax, I'm not going anywhere. For better or worse."

"Based on how much you stole from me last night, I'd say for worse," Stan said bitterly.

Before Y/n disappeared into the hallway, she stuck out her tongue at him. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Stan try to get Dipper to do some work around the Shack before he and Soos left to do... whatever it is they were going to do.

Y/n wasn't technically lying when she said she had plans. At the very least, she could finally start working on some college application essays. But...

"I am not in a writing mood today," she muttered, changing into her day-to-day clothes. "I'm a little too tired for bullshitting essays and deleting words to fit word counts."

As she pulled the hoodie over her arms, her eyes caught onto the scar in her palm. Y/n stopped for a moment.

She had been surprised (yet immensely grateful) that she hadn't stumbled across the memory she had been dreading on finding last night: the day that not only changed her entire life, but claimed a few as well.

But that didn't change the fact that Y/n now knew that it wasn't just an over fabricated memory. She had this destructive fire quite literally within the palm of her hand, but she didn't even know how to control it. And without controlling it, there was no telling when it could combust against, just like that day.

"Maybe..." she trailed off for a moment, neglecting to cover her hand with the sleeves of her hoodie. "Maybe that's what I'm going to do today. I'm going to learn to control this... this thing."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

For the past couple of days, Y/n had been regularly making trips deep into the woods.

At first, she had absolutely no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she needed to find a spot far away from the Mystery Shack and close to a body of water so she could dive into it if things spiraled out of control. She was determined that if she were to learn how to control this fire of hers, she wouldn't ever come close to making the same mistakes she did that winter day.

The first day she went out, it took her about an hour or so of walking before she found a decent location. It was an open area, secluded from the woods but not-so isolated that she would get lost walking to and from the clearing. It was down a slightly beaten path and was partially enclosed in tall shrubbery and trees.

The vegetation ran along the sides of the area, until a large boulder rose into a slight escarpment and ran off in the opposite direction. There, trickling off the jagged rocks, a stream ran down and pooled into a small pond. Little pebbles bordered the water and, luckily, it appeared that it wasn't a home to any life— both supernatural and normal.

She couldn't say the same about the surrounding bushes, though.

The first day, after an hour or so of trying to bring the flame to life once again, she discovered a small family of platypuses rustling around the surrounding shrubbery. However, these weren't normal mammals.

"Their hides are... flannel?" She whispered to herself when she first saw the small animal peak its head out from the bush. The small rotund mammal was checkered red and black, and it let out little sounds as it waddled around the tall grass.

"It's a little plaid-ypus," she giggled to herself.

However, even though she was excited to spot her first bit of paranormal outside of the shack (and her dreams), the fact that there was a small family of them nearby made her incredibly self conscious about trying to start a fire. She didn't want to end up hurting them; in the end, she left only 2 hours after arriving, her inhibitions preventing her from doing anything productive.

The second day was met with some progress. After bidding Mabel farewell once again to hang out with Gideon and packing a few snacks and water bottles, she headed back into the forest. When she arrived at her clearing this time, however, she was pleasantly surprised to find that the bushes were empty. For whatever reason, the small family of plaidypuses had left for the day, and Y/n was finally able to start practicing more efficiently.

For the rest of the day, she sat down by the edge of the water, staring intently at her hand. Y/n was able to get the smallest embers of a flame to rise from her skin, but for some reason, she wasn't able to coax it to grow any larger than it had done the day of the wax funeral. She left back for the shack slightly defeated, though a part of her figured her tired mind was to blame.

Without any more visits from Bill, and with more sleeplessness plaguing her, she had spent the past few nights filling out more college applications. She had started essays, Frankenstiened and stitched others together, and soon she had done at least three by the third day.

Currently, she was back in the woods, laying down by the water, absolutely frustrated.

"C'mon," she whined, shaking out her hand. "Why won't you do anything?"

The third day wasn't appearing to lead to much. So much fog clouded her mind, and at this point she was just working on autopilot. She wasn't even sure what was happening in the Shack anymore. Apparently, Mabel was supposed to be going on a date with Gideon? She didn't know, she was barely able to discern anything the twins had told her the night before when she got out of the shower.

With a loud grunt, Y/n sat back up, cradling her legs between her arms. She didn't want to head back to the Shack just yet, but she knew just sitting in the grass failing with her fire would only infuriate her more.

She took one last look at her hand. Sucking her breathing, she closed her eyes once again and tried to focus all her attention on the fire. A few moments passed in silence, only accented by the rushing wind, rustling of leaves, and the light songs of birds fluttering by. As Y/n opened her eyes...

"Nothing," she grumbled. "You have to be kidding me," she whined, stumbling to her feet. Y/n stretched out her limbs, a few bones cracking here and there, before rubbing at her eyes. "I'm done for today."

Ducking underneath some low hanging branches, she headed back down the beaten path and towards the Shack.

Y/n had spent most of the morning at her little clearing, and as she walked back underneath the shelter of thick branches, the sun had started to nestle itself at its peak in the sky. There were no clouds sailing across the endless blue, so Y/n was left only protected by the leaves in lush canopies she traveled under.

One of the things that struck her— even in her tired stupor— was the lack of supernatural. She didn't understand; in all her time in the woods, the only weird thing she had spotted was the small group of plaidypuses.

"Maybe I'm just not looking in the right places," she sighed to herself. "Once I get my hands on that journal, I'll be able to find a few more things."

Y/n swatted at a low hanging branch. "Or maybe they're hiding from such an unfamiliar face. If I start coming out here more often, they might warm up to me."

It wasn't long until Y/n had reached the Mystery Shack. The day was going by slowly, and there were little to no tourists in the area, which was the only reason she had managed to worm her way out of her responsibilities.

"I'll just take a quick shower and crash in the shop for now," she said, reaching for the door of the gift shop.

However, it appeared that her day had a different turn in mind.

"There you are, Squirt!"

Y/n looked up, to see Stan struggling with the tie of his suit. He had called off tours early, so Y/n was surprised to see him still in his Mr. Mystery get-up.

"Uh, hi...?" Y/n looked towards Wendy, Soos, and Dipper, who all averted their gazes nervously, awkwardly rubbing their necks or arms. They all looked incredibly guilty. "What's going on?"

"Go get dressed," Stan said.

"But I am—"

"No, I mean your tour clothes."

"Why? What happened?"

"Oh, so you don't know? That's a first," Stan scoffed.

Y/n turned towards Dipper, who grimaced. "He found out about Mabel's date with you-know-who."

"Wait, so that actually is happening?"

"Yeah!" Stan cut in. He chucked something at her, leaving Y/n to scramble in order to not drop it. It was the morning's newspaper— well, the morning's Gossiper, really.

"They made front page news," Y/n observed, letting out a small whistle. A grainy and rushed picture showed the two holding hands, Mabel rather hesitantly. The rest of the stories revolved around the lil' psychic's new girlfriend. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Stan bellowed, adjusting his fez. "The big deal?! The big deal is that I'm trying to run a lucrative business, and I can't have any of my assets mixing with that disgusting little vermin's!"

"That doesn't explain why I need to go and..." Y/n faltered. "And do whatever it is you need me to come with you to do."

"This is a business meeting now, Squirt. We're going to Bud's and getting down to the bottom of this," Stan continued. He held open the door to the living room, motioning to it with a nod. "We're gonna discourage any more little dates that little twerp had in mind with my great-niece. This ends tonight!"

Chapter Text

"Stan," Y/n gulped, violently being tossed around in the passenger seat, "please drive a bit slower. Bud's house isn't going anywhere!"

"No! I have to get there before that little shit leaves on a date with your sister!"

After ushering Y/n into her room to change, Stan promptly dragged the fatigued girl to the car. He pushed her into the passenger seat, attempted to slide across the hood of the Diablo, and then scrambled into the driver's side. Letting the engine roar to life, the two were off at an alarmingly high speed.

And if there was one thing Y/n knew, it was that Stan absolutely couldn't drive.

He cut corners, switched lanes, and made such sharp turns that the girl was surprised to find the car still intact at some points. It was just as bad as when they were heading to the lake; maybe even worse, because Stan was insistent that there was some imaginary clock he had to beat.

The car came to a deafening screech stop as the two passed a large Gideon billboard enclosed in a darkly colored metal fence.

"Why'd we stop?" Y/n asked breathlessly, recovering from the lurch into the dashboard. The seatbelt had locked on her, almost choking her when she was thrown forward with the stop.

"We're here," Stan replied coldly.

"But we're just in front of a billboard." Y/n grappled with the seatbelt further, with no success unlocking it.

Stan scoffed. "They advertise in their own front lawn. How tacky is that?"

Ignoring the fact that the car the two were in literally was plastered in Mystery Shack bumper stickers, Y/n looked up. She was surprised to see that Stan was right. Behind the billboard (which actually advertised this being the home of Lil' Gideon) and all the cleanly cut and kept shrubbery and plants, a small house sat at the end of a stone path. Colored blue, it was quite modest, with the fencing wrapped in vines and budding flowers. A small gazebo was at one end, and an old granite fountain stood by the other.

"Come on, Squirt," Stan grunted, already opening his door. "It's time we give them a piece of our minds!"

"Stan!" Y/n complained, fumbling with the belt latch. It finally released, and she scrambled out of the car. Stan was already storming up the path, an ire burning within him.

"Stan, come on! It's this a bit ridiculous? Sure you, Gideon, and Bud are rivals— and I can't say I don't completely agree with your attitude towards them— but let's just leave it be!" Y/n tried to reason with him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back to the car. "They're their own people! Let them figure it out themselves!"

Y/n didn't know how Mabel felt about Gideon. She knew they had gotten along well enough to garner several play dates between the two, but— for the life of her— she couldn't remember her attitude when she first mentioned the date the other night. She was too tired to even recall the exact words Mabel used, let alone her revealing body language.

So, in the chance she actually did like him, Y/n figured it would be best if the family was to stay out of it completely. If Mabel didn't feel comfortable with the relationship, then surely she would end it.

"Nonsense!" Stan snapped, tugging his way out of Y/n's grasp. He reached the door, slamming it violently.

"Oi! Open up, Gideon! You little punk!" He peered through the peephole, roughly tossing aside the little sign the Gleeful's hung on their door.

"Stan, please! Can we just go ho—"

"No! We are not leaving until we get that Gideon to stop dating Mabel!"

The door opened suddenly, revealing a very irritated Bud, glowering at the two on his front porch. Y/n grimaced, instinctively taking a few steps behind Stan, who only met his rival's glare with an equally threatening one.

A moment passed, before Bud seemed to realize who he was dealing with. His attitude changed completely, as he approached Stan with arms opened wide. Y/n noted just how tall the stout man was; he was at least a head taller than Stan.

"My my! If it isn't Stanford Pines! What a de-light!" His light blue eyes met with Y/n. "Oh! I recognize you; you were at the show a few nights ago! So you're the new mini Mr. Mystery I've been hearing about 'round town!"

Before Y/n couldn't even think to introduce herself, let alone answer Bud, Stan pushed his way into the house. The girl paled, unsure of what else to do but follow.

"Out of the way! My beef's with that little gremlin of yours." He looked around the living room, trying to crane his neck into adjoining rooms to spot a glimpse of white hair.

Bud stopped him quickly; "Oh, but I'm afraid I haven't seen the boy around for a while. But now that y'all two are here, after going through all the trouble of driving all the way here—"

"It was only, like, a five minute trip with the way Stan drives," Y/n interrupted bluntly.

"—you simply must stay for drinks! Coffee? Tea?" Bud continued, ignoring Y/n as he ushered the two Pines to a cheap ornate sofa.

"But," Stan started, trying in vain to keep still, digging his heels into the carpet. "But I came here for—"

"It's imported," Bud sang, clasping a heavy hand on both of their shoulders. "All the way from Col-umbia!"

Stan paused, considering it momentarily. "Columbia, eh? I went to jail there once," he laughed slightly. And with such a simple (and rather concerning, if you'd ask Y/n) statement, it was obvious that the two Mystery Shack representatives would be staying in the Gleeful's residence for the long haul.

Stan quickly made himself at home on the sofa, moving around small decorative pillows to make room for Y/n. Hesitantly, she sat down beside him, awkwardly following his example.

"Wow," Stan let out a low whistle, looking around at the living room. "This is a nice place you got here, Bud."

The room was covered in light, almost pastel, colors. The lavender walls held several different framed pieces of art. Little end tables supported small lamps, and a mahogany coffee table sat between two purple couches. The carpet was a light pink, and a small welcome mat was decorated with small flowers.

Stan turned himself around, his brown eyes catching onto the dark frame of one of the center pieces on the wall behind them. "Oh, this—this is beautiful."

Y/n turned around. The picture in question was a piece of a sad clown. It was beautifully painted, with strokes and colors completely catching the somber atmosphere of the painting, but it was rather questionable when hung around other pieces of landscapes and fruits.

"Got it at a garage sale a few years back," Bud said, disappearing into the kitchen. "What do you two want?"

"Coffee is fine with me," Stan said. He looked towards Y/n.

"I-I'll take a coffee too, please."

Bud reappeared with three cups of coffee, placing them down carefully on the table between the two parties. He went back to the kitchen to grab a small bowl of sugars and stirring spoons.

"Now Stan," Bud said, taking a seat. The couch let out a strangled cry under his weight, the springs squealing slightly. "It appears your niece and my Gideon are..." he trailed off for a moment, chuckling slightly. "It appears they're singing in harmony, so to speak."

Stan, as if suddenly remembering why they were in the Gleeful's home in the first place, sat up suddenly.

"Uh, yeah!" He said, placing down his cup quickly. "And I'm against it," he growled, swatting a small decorative pillow off the sofa.

Y/n promptly picked it up, placing it beside with and mumbling a few apologies.

"Sorry. Stan's not taking it so well. But the kids are their own people; we shouldn't get involved. Just let them work it out on their own, putting aside obvious business rivalries."

Bud laughed. "Your girl's right, Stan!"

Y/n relaxed slightly. Finally, she thought, surprised to find herself agreeing with Bud, someone with sense!

"We need to put aside our rivalries. The way I see it," he continued, leaning forward slightly, a scheming glint in his eyes, "it's a wonderful business opportunity."

Y/n sat up suddenly; "Wait, what—"

"Business?" Stan said, the same money hungry glint appearing in his own eyes.

Oh no, Y/n thought, sinking back into the chair. This isn't good.

"Yes yes! Think about it: the Tent of Telepathy and the Mystery Shack! Brought together by the power of young blossoming love!"

Bud stood up suddenly, surprising Y/n with the fact that he could move that fast, and motioning for Stan to do the same. "Come with me," he said simply, taking him for a walk around the living room.

"We've been at each other's throats for far too long!" He continued. The two stopped at a picture of Stan over a dart board, several darts sticking out of it. "Oh, let me just— I'll just—" Bud quickly took it off, shoving the picture in his pocket. And Stan, in a wonderful display of the lack of object permanence, forgot it even existed as Bud continued.

Y/n rolled her eyes, irritated with the new turn the conversation had taken. What had happened to breaking up the relationship? Even if she wasn't on board with it in the first place, she would at least be happier with Stan fighting for that. Now he wanted to profit off of it?

"It's time we push aside our rivalry, don't you agree? Work together and pool our collective profits, catch my adrift?"

Y/n could practically see the money signs appear in Stan's irises. It didn't help that he ended up leaning on a stray cash register, letting out a small ring.

"Okay Bud," Stan said, adjusting his tie. "You've piqued my interest. How about you, me, and my associate talk it out further. Over more Columbian imported coffee, yeah?"

Goddamnit, Y/n thought, watching as the two conmen continued to work on details of their perceived "truce." This isn't going to end well.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

For the first time in a long time, Mabel was feeling more than awkward.

Oh God, she thought, rubbing at her sweater and refusing to look anywhere but at the floor. Is this how Dipper and Y/n feel all the time?

After the dinner date with Gideon— and the proposition of a second date she literally couldn't refuse— the small boy had ordered a limo to escort them home. The two were seated in the back, side by side, in complete and utter silence.

Gideon didn't seem to notice the awkwardness that plagued the velvet seats and the stale air around them. He was simply way too overjoyed that Mabel appeared to like their date. And she agreed to go on a second one! How lucky could a lil' ol' psychic be?

He sat in his signature blue suit, swinging his stubby legs slightly as the limo rocked along the beaten up road to the Mystery Shack.

Mabel, on the other hand, was completely frozen. Her eyes were wide as she stared at her shoes, cradling a live lobster in her lap. He snapped at her sweater occasionally, but stopped when even he seemed to notice the girl's demeanor. Her thoughts ran wild for possible excuses to get out of the next date with the boy beside her, but each one would only get so far before she concluded it would hurt his feelings and damage the friendship she wanted to keep. She could only hope that the car ride would end as soon as possible.

After the worst few minutes of her life, the limo finally stopped on the edge of the clearing that held the Shack. Taking the first calm breath of the entire night, Mabel scurried out of the car, quickly bidding Gideon a shoddy farewell and avoiding any attempts the boy tried at kissing her hand goodbye.

She didn't even look back at the limo before running into the Shack, quickly closing the door behind her and sinking to the floor.

What did I get myself into? She thought, running a head through her hair. She didn't want to go on these dates with Gideon; sure, she liked him as a friend, but it was obvious he was reading everything wrong.

Mabel pushed herself back to her feet when she noticed the lobster she saved from the restaurant start to scurry around the floor. "Come on, little guy," she said, smiling slightly. If there was at least one positive from tonight, it was that she had gotten herself a new friend.

She went into the living room, too consumed in her own thoughts to even notice Dipper sitting at the table, nose deep in the journal.

"Oh, hey Mabel," he said, hearing her oddly heavy footsteps. When he got no answer, he looked up, spotting her at the fishtank. She gently placed the small crustacean in its new habitat, dully poking at the glass.

"Uh," Dipper's brow rose. "So... how'd everything go?"

"Fine, I guess," Mabel mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

Her twin seemed to catch on. "Well," he started, trying to find the right words to cheer her up. "At least you got it out of the way and you won't ever have to do something like this again, right Mabel?"

She remained quiet, wringing the hem of her sweater in her hands nervously.

"Mabel, don't tell me," Dipper said, letting out a small groan.

"Blarghh! I couldn't do it! It all happened so fast!" She shouted suddenly. Mabel began to pace, chewing on a strand of hair that fell out of her headband.

"What do you mean? What exactly happened?"

"I don't know," she whined. "He cornered me, Dipper! He made me an offer I couldn't refuse! Now we're supposed to be going on another date and a dinner and I just don't want to do this anymore but I don't want to hurt his feelings and I—"

"Mabel! Breathe!"

She took a deep breath, as her brother put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He led her to the sofa, sitting her down. "Listen Mabel, everything is going to be fine. You guys are still kids; it's not like you're going to have to marry Gideon or anything."

At that moment, the door in the hallway slammed shut, and a very happy Stan and disgruntled Y/n walked into the living room. When the former saw his great niece sitting on the couch, his grin practically tripled in size, stretching across his face so wide it almost looked like it hurt.

"Mabel! Good news!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a blue and white shirt. "You're marrying Gideon!"

The twins gaped in shock, and Y/n seemed to frown deeper. "What?!"

"It's all a part of my long-term deal with Bud," he explained, unfurling the shirt. It read "Team Gideon" in blue letters. "There's a whole lot of money involved with this thing, so don't get any ideas of getting a highschool boyfriend and eloping in Vegas or something. Right after you're done with college or whatever you two are getting married!"

This seemed to be the straw that broke the girl's back, because with a panicked yell, she ran off into the attic.

"Mabel, wait!" Y/n called, trying to grab on to her sweater as she ran by.

Stan looked befuddled; "What? Did I say something wrong?"

Y/n simply glared at him, refusing to even speak, before following Dipper upstairs.

"What happened over there?" Dipper asked, once they were out of earshot of Stan.

"A lot," Y/n grumbled, rubbing her temples. "We were there for so long, and eventually I kinda just..." she trailed off, mildly embarrassed. "I kinda fell asleep. But it didn't even make a difference!" She added quickly, when Dipper gave her a look.

"When I woke up they had already finished the arrangements, and when I started yelling at them, they just shushed me. I couldn't get a single word in, and you know how I argue. Ever since they signed, I've been giving Stan the silent treatment."

With a small nod, Dipper opened the door to their room. Mabel sat in the corner, her pink sweater covering her head as she rocked back and forth to soothe herself. Her sleeves were empty; Dipper and Y/n guessed she was hugging herself underneath the fabric.

"Oh no," Dipper sighed. "Mabel?"

"Mabel's not here right now," the sweater replied. "She's in sweater town."

"Well," Y/n said, crouching down next to her, "is she going to leave anytime soon?"

Mabel shook her head, a little whimper escaping her lips.

"Aw, Mabel," Y/n cooed. She sat down next to her, grabbing the girl's shoulder and pulling her into a little side hug. Mabel fell flat on Y/n's side, reluctantly moving into her. Y/n was never too good with physical affection— Mabel was always the first to criticize her hugs (which appeared to always be awkward; outside of their awkward sibling hugs, too) and much-too-loose-embraces. But even she had to give it to her: she was just enough when she needed to be.

"Listen Mabel," Y/n said, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. Mabel relaxed to her sister's touch, peeking up slowly from the collar of her sweater. "I'm guessing you don't actually like Gideon."

At the mere mention of that, the young girl let out a small whimper, hiding back inside the sweater.

With a dry laugh, Y/n continued: "You're not marrying Gideon. You think Mom and Dad are gonna force you to go through with this lucrative plan of Stan's?" She chuckled slightly.

"Yeah," Mabel sniffled slightly, realizing that her sister was right. A giggle of her own escaped her lips. "Yeah, you're right. But," she frowned again, pulling her head out of her sweater and settling back against the wall. "But I still have to figure out how to let Gideon down easy."

Dipper joined them on the floor. "Y'know what? Enough is enough: if you can't break up with Gideon, then I'll do it for you."

Mabel looked up to her brother, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Y-you will?"

"Yeah, of course," he smiled.

With a squeal, Mabel jumped over the two of them, assaulting Dipper with playfully punched. "Ahhhh! Thank you thank you thank you!"

Dipper stumbled to the floor, and Y/n pulled Mabel back before she could tackle him further. "Yeah, yeah," he laughed, "you're welcome."

"See Mabel?" Y/n said, pulling the two twins closer to her. She hung her arms over their shoulders, purposely weighing down on them. "Everything's—" she let out a small yawn; "—gonna be just fine."

Smiling brightly, Mabel jumped over Y/n, pulling the two into a big hug. "Thanks guys," she giggled. "You're the best!"

Dipper broke the hug first, getting to his feet. "So," he started, awkwardly rubbing at his neck, "can we, like... practice or something? Because I've never done this before."

"Yeah..." Y/n said, chuckling slightly. Dipper was going to the wrong people; none of them had any experience with relationships. Or, in Mabel's case, relationships that lasted more than one "date."

"We should probably practice."

Chapter Text

The break up went well.

Like... shockingly well.

Dipper went right into the Club's Restaurant and promptly came right out. It only took him— tops— five minutes. And unless he got nervous and went off the general outline they had been practicing, the break up was short and sweet and right to the point.

The Shack had been a lot brighter now that Mabel wasn't panicking about trying to keep Gideon happy. She was back to her bubbly self, which meant she was as loud as ever and as chaotic as ever.

Dipper took it as a great victory: now that Mabel knew what it was like to have a boy pining after her so adamantly, she was in no rush to try to find another boy to woo over. She was— at least, for the time being— back to the old Mabel. The one that wasn't so boy crazy.

The three of them had made a point to not tell Stan that the two had officially "broke up;" Y/n knew him well enough to tell that he would march her right back down to the Gleeful's and have her stay until Gideon and her made up and started dating again.

Unfortunately for Y/n, that meant that Stan was still dragging her to Bud's regularly so the two men could bathe in the presumed success of their business agreement. It was weird, she had thought Gideon would have at least told his dad about how their relationship ended.

Either way, Y/n was still giving Stan the silent treatment. She might have been tired, tripping over her feet, and occasionally dressing backwards or inside out, but she still made sure to keep quiet. The worst part? Stan didn't want to admit that what he signed his great niece up for— without her knowledge, on top of it— was wrong.

"It's for the business," he would say, whenever she would trudged into the car without so much as looking at him. "You wouldn't understand; it's adult stuff."

And when that didn't even garner a sarcastic "But I am an adult, legally," from the girl, he would go off into a rambling mess about how everything would work out in the end and how they would come out rich from it.

She still wouldn't answer.

Currently, the twins, Soos, Wendy, and Y/n were outside, hanging out and having fun. The day was extremely slow, so instead of just lazing around the gift shop, the group had moved to the parking lot. Dressed in her Mr. Mystery outfit, Y/n sat on the porch, gingerly nursing a Pitt Cola and watching as the twins continued to throw themselves at Soos to see if they could single-handedly push him over. Wendy was beside her, filming the entire thing.

"You think you could knock him down?" She asked, nudging her slightly.

"Maybe," Y/n mused, swirling her drink around. "Watch me end up breaking my other arm, though," she laughed slightly.

"Then you'd look totally badass," the redhead said.

"I'd also have an excuse to take off from working tours," Y/n responded with a mischievous smirk.

Mabel and Dipper fell back to the ground, after yet another running attempt to knock Soos over.

"Dangit Soos," Mabel laughed. "That pillow keeps bouncing us away!"

Soos chuckled, taking it out from under his shirt and fluffing it up once again. "I am an impenetrable wall!"

The five laughed, until the shrill cry of the telephone cut them off suddenly.

Y/n groaned, looking back into the gift shop. She was technically closest to the phone, but she was not looking to get up and get it. "Not it," she answered simply.

Mabel caught on before Dipper ever had the chance; "Not it!"

"No— dangit," Dipper muttered. He hopped off the ground, dusting himself off and running back inside. A moment later, the phone stopped ringing.

"Y/n, why are you still wearing that?" Mabel asked, picking herself from the ground. "The day's practically over."

"Stan has another trip planned to Bud's," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, what I would do to get out of it."

"Awww. I wanted to have a Ducktective marathon with you! You've been going to bed so early and we haven't spent that much summer-time-fun together."

"Sorry Mabel," Y/n said, getting up and stretching. Slowly, the sun was beginning to set below the foliage of the trees. It wouldn't be long before Soos left, and soon after Stan and Y/n would have to leave.

"I promise we'll have a marathon soon. As long as it isn't those neon high school movies, I'll watch anything. Now c'mon," she said, motioning for the group to follow back inside the shack, "all those gnats are going to come out soon."

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Dipper sat on the edge of his seat, leafing through a notebook and chewing on a pen. His foot bounced wildly in anticipation, and his dark brown eyes held a sort of childlike-excitement normally seen in his sister.

Needless to say, Mabel was very curious as to what got her brother so antsy.

"Woah, Dip-Dop," she said, a sly smile pulling her lips. She leaned over the table, getting as close to him as possible. "What's got you so excited?"

Dipper jumped slightly, only just noticing her across from him. "What—? Um, n-nothing much..."

The tween gasped. "Don't tell me? Are you meeting with a girl~?"

"What? No!" He blushed furiously. "If you must know, I'm going to see Toby Determined for an interview about the weirdness we've encountered here."

"Really? When did you two schedule that?"

"Just today!" Dipper smiled, his eyes lighting up. "That phone call earlier? It was him. He gave me an address and a time. I'm just waiting for Stan and Y/n to leave before I go."

"Wait, so Y/n doesn't know about it?" Mabel cocked her head in confusion. "What happened to telling her about things like this?"

"Well," Dipper looked away, rubbing at his neck, "it's just that... she has a lot on her plate right now. She's obviously having trouble sleeping, she has to put up with both Stan and Bud, and I don't think it's fair to give her something else to think about, you know? Especially when it's something she'd probably want to come to, but can't because she's Stan's little Mystery Shack puppet."

"But shouldn't you at least tell her? What if she gives you pointers or has her own experiences?"

"Mabel, we've been to all the same places," Dipper said, taking out the journal from his vest. "Technically, we've seen more: we had that whole gnome experience."

Mabel shivered at the memory. "Yeah, I guess..." she trailed off. She sat back down in her chair, swinging her legs slightly. Dipper continued to chew on his pen, thinking of some of the better encounters to tell Toby about.

"I mean, hasn't she been going into the woods a lot lately?" Mabel asked suddenly. "What if she's seen something else?"

"Then wouldn't she tell us about it? I don't see why she would be keeping secrets from us."

"Okay," Mabel surrendered. "But don't say I didn't try to warn you if she gets upset."

"Everything is going to be just fine, Mabel," he said, hopping off the chair. The pen scribbled across the paper once more, adding small details of his run ins with the supernatural. "Plus, I'll be able to shed light to all the townspeople on what really goes on in this town."

"Yeah!" His sister cheered.

Footsteps thundered from the stairs, and soon enough Stan and Y/n were stopped in front of the doorway. Dressed in their business clothes, the two were about to head off to Bud's for the night.

Y/n stood off to the side, her jaw set and eyes cold. Her nose crinkled in agitation, and her lips were pursed tightly in a straight line.

Stan was much more animated, attempting to twirl his cane around and adjusting his tie. He stepped into the living room, pointing towards the kids. "Me and the Squirt are leaving."

He turned back to Y/n; "You ready Squirt?"

No answer.

Instead, she looked towards the twins: "Don't do anything stupid. We'll be back in a couple of hours." With a small wave, she turned on her heel and walked out the door, only briefly holding it open for Stan.

Frowning slightly, Stan followed.

Night was closely upon them; the sky was dusted with dark blues, stars slowly appearing within the depth of the color. The sun was just about set, but remained in view slightly, playing a small game of peekaboo with the town. The moon was yet to make its appearance, and the crisp breeze of the evening rustled the forest slightly.

Y/n rushed to the car, strapping in before Stan could even reach for the driver's side. She sat with a huff, crossing her arms and avoiding eye contact with the man beside her.

Stan buckled in. "C'mon Squirt," he said, turning the ignition. The engine stuttered to life, shaking the two slightly. He started to pull out from the Shack, hopping onto the road that eventually turned into Bud's house. "You can't stay quiet forever."

At this point, it had been nearly two days since Y/n had said a word to Stan. He had known from the moment he met her that she held a certain obstinance about her (something he noted as being a common Pines' trait), but she really had proven it to him.

"Kid," he said, taking a quick glance at her. He purposely drove a bit slower this time, not only to try to coerce his niece to finally break her vow of silence, but also because it was harder to speed to Bud's under the cover of night. "Is this how the rest of the summer's gonna go? No talking; using your siblings to communicate for you? How are we supposed to get tours done, kiddo?"

Y/n remained silent, only glaring at him slightly.

"What did I even do?" Stan asked. He had also learned that the kid had quite an amazing poker face, so reading her was nearly impossible. The only thing he had learned was that occasionally her eyes would betray her stoic facade.

She turned to face him completely, raising her brow at him. Her eyes still held that coldness that had persisted since the first business meeting with Bud.

"Okay, fine," he mumbled. "Maybe I jumped the gun when making that contract."

Y/n's glare softened slightly, but her eyes were still relentlessly bearing through him. She seemed to be waiting for him to continue.

"And maybe I shouldn't have been so swayed with the prospect of money."

Okay, Y/n seemed to say with her body, what else?

Stan grumbled under his breath, almost embarrassed to admit his wrongdoing; "And maybe I shouldn't have used Mabel to make a few quick bucks."

Y/n blinked, genuinely surprised that Stan was making an attempt to apologize. It wasn't a proper one, but she could tell he was at least attempting something. The frost thawed for a moment, and she tilted her head slightly, considering it.

After all, this was probably the best she was going to get from him.

"...Fine," she sighed, and Stan nearly jumped out of his chair. He was never the best with words— let alone any of them being along the lines of "I'm sorry"— so he didn't think his stumbling would have worked.

"You should have listened to me, though," she continued, looking back to the road.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess," he mumbled, rubbing at his neck. "Are... are we good, Squirt?"

Y/n smiled slightly, fumbling with her suspenders. He isn't good at admitting he's wrong, is he? Not like I'm any better.

"Yeah, we're good," she said, looking back at him. "Took you long enough."

Stan rolled his eyes playfully. "Yeah, well, can't have my great niece not talking to me for the rest of the summer. Especially when she's running a good chunk of my tours."

"Oh, so it's only for tours?"

Stan paused for a second, slowing to a stop as Bud's house came into view. "You can be funny, sometimes too," he added eventually.

"Yeah, okay," she laughed, unbuckling from her seat.

"I actually mean it! Those demeaning comments you mumble under your breath about Bud? Hilarious!" Stan said, getting out of the car. The two met up at the gate of the property.

"Wait," she said, stopping suddenly. Stan held the gate open for her. "You hear those?"

"Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm deaf. Besides, these big ol' ears can pick up just about everything."

Thank God I didn't say anything about Stan out loud, she thought, following him up the stone path with a nervous laugh.

"Keep those coming, by the way," he continued, knocking on the door. "Those things help me get through the night with this hack."

Heavy footsteps came barreling to the door, and Y/n gave Stan a sly smirk, nodding. The door opened suddenly, and the two were greeted with a very cheery Bud.

"Stan! Y/n!" He greeted, smiling widely. "You're right on time! Come in, come in!" He quickly turned into the living room, picking up a large bottle from the center table. "It seems our business deal is already starting to pay off. Who wants sparkling cider?"

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Every meeting with Bud went the same: they came in, shared (feigned and forced, at least on the Mystery Shack's end) happy greetings, sat down, and then Y/n was left to rot away on the sofa while Stan and Bud discussed seedy-old-man-business-tactics. It was always mind numbingly benign, and they always lasted (at best) a couple of hours.

If this was going to be the rest of her summer, then she was in for quite literally the worst break ever. She was tempted to tell Stan about the breakup, especially now that they had made up in the car.

But he was still a conman at heart; if he was willing to use his great niece as a business device in the first place, then she didn't see why a small (and forced) heart-to-heart would sway him from doing it again.

Y/n was currently lounging back on the couch, bitterly thinking of all the work she could be getting done if she was at home. She held her glass of sparkling cider in her hand, half empty. It was pretty good, but the carbonation bothered her throat.

If this keeps continuing, she thought, choking back a yawn, I'll start bringing my laptop to do some work. This place has to have better wifi then the Shack, right?

Beside her, Stan and Bud were talking about... something. She wasn't paying attention really.

"Ah, this is livin', Bud," Stan said, crossing his leg over the other. He swirled his glass of cider, admiring the bubbles racing up the long sides of the glass.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Bud laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "From now on, it's all name brand foods and the best that money can buy!"

The two raised their glasses, clicking them gently. "To business!"

"To business," Y/n mumbled weakly, half-heartedly moving to meet them not even a quarter of the way in their toast. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

"Now, say Stanford," Bud said, putting his drink down. "I say the next course of action is to—"

Bud was interrupted as the door opened beside them. A very disgruntled Gideon entered, angrily wiping his little dress shoes on the welcome mat and grumbling under his breath. He looked almost like an animal; sweating profusely and trembling with what Y/n presumed was rage. There was a wild fire in his eyes, making him almost look like a rabid little chihuahua. And suddenly, he wasn't the cute little boy Y/n had once thought he was. He wore his hateful ire like the clothes on his body.

"Damn," Y/n muttered under her breath, loud enough for only Stan to hear. "What got his little southern panties in a bunch?"

Stan masked his laugh with a cough, the corner of his lip twitching in a smile.

Bud smiled at the sight of his son. "Well if it isn't my little boy! Gideon," he motioned to the two from the Mystery Shack sitting next to him, "look who I have here—"

"Stanford Pines," Gideon growled, startling the three. "I rebuke thee," he spat.

Stan and Y/n side eyed each other, each equally confused.

"Uh—"

The boy ran up to Stan, waving his little fist in his face. "I rebuke thee!"

"'Rebuke?'" Stan repeated, turning to Y/n. "Is that a word?"

"Why yes it is," she answered, her brow raising at the child's vocabulary. "It isn't a good one for us either."

Gideon, as if recognizing Y/n for the first time, gasped slightly, the fire burning brighter in his little blue eyes. He scrambled onto the table, pointing between the two. "Your entire family has invoked my fury! You will all pay recompense for your transgressions!"

"What," Stan said, awkwardly looking between Bud and his son, "you got a word-a-day calendar over here, or something?"

Y/n let out a low whistle. "Get a load of Mr. AP Language over here," she said, motioning to the boy with her glass. "I haven't heard those words since I was reviewing for my SAT."

Gideon turned to Y/n, and his scowl only seemed to deepen. "You," he started, his little voice dripping with venom.

"Me," Y/n mused with a hum.

"This is your fault too, isn't it?"

"I dunno man," she said, shrugging. "A lot of things could be my fault. I don't keep track sometimes."

"You brainwashed my little peach dumpling!" He cried. "You got her to break up with me!"

Y/n nearly choked on her drink. "'Peach dumpling?' Is that what you called her? No wonder why she didn't like you. Jesus Christ," she continued, ignoring how enraged her comment made the small boy, "and I thought I heard weird pet names back at home."

Bud leaned forward in his seat, sweating slightly. "B-but, Sunshine," he chuckled nervously, "what 'bout our arrangement with Mabel and the—"

"Silence!" Gideon screamed.

Stan and Y/n shared another look. They both knew this wasn't going to end well for them. He twirled his hand slightly, signaling to her to start wrapping it up. She caught on quickly; if things went south they were going to have to run back to the car.

"Well," Bud sighed, looking down at Gideon. "It seems he's taken to one of his rages again. Sorry Stan; Y/n," he said, getting up. He reached for the contact, which the group had been prone to keep at the edge of the table. It was agreed to leave it there when they met up; a reminder of their truce.

"I'm going to have to side with Gideon on this one." He ripped the contract, and Y/n could swear she saw the little child— little devil child— smirk.

Stan sputtered for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "Okay, okay!" He said, standing up. Y/n did the same, peering over from behind him. "I can see when I'm not wanted. Me and the Kid will just..." he trailed off, making it to seem as if he were to leave, but instead, he turned to the clown painting hanging behind them. He quickly reached for it.

"Uh, Stan I'm sorry, but I'm gonna need that painting—"

Stan had already unhooked it, slinging it under his arm.

"Squirt! Grab the cash register and run," Stan hissed.

"H-huh?" Y/n jumped back, turning towards the register Stan had leaned on during their first visit at the Gleeful house.

Bud slowly moved towards Stan. "Stan, put the painting down!"

"C'mon Squirt!" Stan yelled, leaping over the coffee table. Gideon watched with wide eyes, and Bud weakly lunged towards the old man.

"Okay I guess I'm doing this then," Y/n mumbled to herself. She ran towards the register, carefully positioning it in her arms. She heard Bud yelling at Stan behind her, who had already opened the door and was running down the path to the car.

Y/n made a sprint for the door, expertly ducking under the large man. She kicked the gate open as Stan finished securing the painting in the back seat.

"Go! Go! Go!" He yelled, diving into the driver's seat.

"Stan!" Bud bellowed, stumbling out of his home. "Get back here!"

Y/n slid over the hood of the vehicle, juggling the heavy register on her cast as she struggled with the passenger door. The car roared to life as she finally opened it, and as soon as she was sitting inside, Stan pulled into a hasty reverse.

"Try and catch us, suckers!" He yelled from out his open window.

The sudden movement jostled Y/n violently, but she managed to sling her seat belt over herself and slam the car door shut as Stan made a wide u-turn in the middle of the street. In mere seconds, the two were speeding away from the Gleeful residence.

Bud never even made it to the gate.

"Holy shit," Y/n muttered, clutching the register in her hands. She reached up, adjusting the rear view mirror to see if they were being followed. She relaxed once Bud's home faded behind them. "We just did that."

Stan laughed, grasping the steering wheel with both hands. "Yes we did, Squirt! Congratulations," he added, looking down at the register in her lap. "You just officially graduated from morally grey to illegal!"

Y/n couldn't help but laugh, throwing her head back into the seat and relaxing. "I guess I really did, didn't I?" She probably shouldn't be chuckling about the minor felony she committed, but it appeared Stan wouldn't let her feel anything but prideful about it.

"I knew you had it in you!" He said, clapping her back roughly. He tussled her hair, navigating with one hand on the wheel. "True Pines' spirit!"

"Yeah," she said, slightly out of breath. "That was a lot of excitement for one night."

She settled into her seat, trying to make herself comfortable for the ride home. They might have started with a (probably illegal) fast speed, but now that they were far enough from Bud's house, Stan had slowed to a comfortable pace. It was night after all, and he was already sort of blind to begin with.

"What," Stan laughed, turning back to the road, "you gonna fall asleep on me or something?"

Y/n let out the yawn that was dying to escape at the business meeting. "M-maybe," she slurred, rubbing at her eyes. Now that the adrenaline had died down, the ever persistent fatigue she always seemed to carry was really packing a punch.

"Uh oh. What's up with you?" He asked, glancing at her momentarily. "You've been all meh for the past couple of days now."

"I'm fine," she said, trying to cover another yawn with a laugh. "I'm just... a little tired."

"A little? Kid, you can't lie to me. I've seen the way you've been. When you're not talking to anyone, you're always in this daze."

"Fine," Y/n sighed. "I just haven't been sleeping too well recently. Nothing crazy, or anything. It's happened before."

Stan hummed in response, taking a turn into the path that would eventually lead them to the Mystery Shack.

"Okay, here's the deal," he said after a moment. "How much you think is in that register?"

Y/n looked at him, confused, then looked down at the machine in her lap. "Um, I guess it feels kind of full...? I don't know how a register normally weighs. Maybe there's a couple hundred? I don't expect anything more than $1,000."

"So, about the same we would make in a few slow days at work, right?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Then there you go. You just stole—"

"Um, can we not use 'stole,'" Y/n laughed nervously, shifting in her seat.

"—fine, collected about... three day's worth of profits for the Mystery Shack."

"Okay, so?"

"So," Stan continued, pulling up to the Shack. He came to a stop, shutting off the ignition. "For the next few days we're gonna take it easy. No work— hell, the Shack won't even be open— and you can catch up on sleep or whatever."

"Wait, really?"

Stan got out of the car, moving to grab his stolen painting. "Yup. You've definitely earned it, Mr. Mystery," he said.

"T-thanks Stan," she said, smiling a bit. She turned away, following him to the door. "I, uh... I really appreciate it."

"And I really appreciate you moving so fast to get that cash register. Now you're someone I could definitely rob a bank with."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Y/n said, as the two entered the house.

They were surprised to find the twins resting on the sofa, each hanging off the edge of the seat. They were dirty, but Dipper looked particularly beat up. His face was swollen slightly, and his left eye was bruised. Not a black eye or anything, but definitely something he should be icing.

Y/n raised her brow at the pair as she and Stan walked towards the table. She set down the register, letting out a huff when she was finally released of its weight. Stan immediately hung up the clown painting.

"What happened to you two?" Y/n asked, slightly worried.

The twins looked at each other, before turning back to her. "Gideon," Mabel groaned.

"Gideon," Dipper spat.

Stan nodded. "Gideon." He agreed.

"You guys had a run in with him?" Y/n asked.

"Yeah," Mabel said. "I finally broke up with him myself. Without hiding behind you or Dipper." She gave her twin a kind smile.

"Oh! So that's why the little mutant came in guns blazing," Stan said. "He swore vengeance on the whole family, or something." He started laughing, leaning against the arm of the sofa. "I guess he's gonna come around and try to nibble on our ankles."

Dipper smirked. "Oh yeah! How's he gonna destroy us now, huh?"

'Now?' Y/n thought. What the hell happened between them?

"Try to guess what number we're thinking of?" Dipper continued.

Mabel laughed. "He'll never guess what number I'm thinking of!"

"Is it negative eight?" Y/n asked, pulling a chair over.

"Negativ—! Hey!" She pouted. "You're not supposed to guess a negative number! It ruins my whole plan. Unless—!" She gasped dramatically, nudging Dipper. "Y/n? Are you psychic?"

Biting back a small smile, Y/n decided to play along. "Yes! You've discovered my terrible secret!"

Dipper gasped too, trying to keep a straight face, "No way! Can you also figure out what number I'm thinking of?"

Y/n rubbed her chin, looking up in thought. "Pi," she said finally, "take it or leave it."

Dipper jumped slightly. "Wait, that was actually right."

"What can I say, I know you two too well."

"Look at that," Stan laughed, lightly nudging Y/n's shoulder. "We got our own psychic to battle that little gremlin! Take that Gideon!" He yelled.

"Yeah!" The twins cheered. "No one can beat her."

"He's probably plotting our demise right now," Y/n started giggling slightly. "Unaware of the raw power I hold over him!"

"Oh nooooo!" Stan said, feigning terror. He started to lean back on the sofa, beginning to squish the twins under him. "He's gonna squash us, just like this!"

The four of them began laughing as Stan dropped himself on the twins, effectively trapping them. Y/n chuckled slightly, rolling her eyes playfully at the scene in front of her.

Eventually, after a lot of hard work, the twins managed to push Stan off of them.

"Alright you three, time to hit the hay. We've all had a long day full of," he paused to shiver dramatically, "Gideon. Now if we're lucky, he won't appear in our nightmares tonight." He finished with a laugh.

"Race you to the shower!" Y/n said, sprinting down the hall.

"No wait! It's my turn to go in first!" Mabel yelled.

"Then come on, we can team up and jump her!" Dipper yelled, chuckling slightly.

"Yeah, good luck with that!"

Chapter Text

Dipper sat in his bed, hissing in pain as he adjusted his bruised body under the covers. Gideon might have been a child, but that amulet helped him pack more than a punch he was willing to admit.

Mabel looked over at him, guilty. If she had just broken things off in the first place, then there was a good chance Gideon wouldn't have gone after Dipper like that.

"Hey, are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dipper said, putting on a fake smile. "I'm all good."

The door creaked open, and Y/n poked her head through. In her hand was a makeshift bag of ice. Her brows were creased with worry, and she quickly looked between the two twins. "Hey, who needs ice?"

"Dipper does!"

"No, no!" Dipper stuttered, waving his hands. "I'm just fine, I don't need any—"

"You nearly have a black eye," Y/n said sternly, "you're getting the ice. Mabel, what about you?"

"No, it's just me," he conceded.

Y/n pulled over a spare crate that always seemed to be lying around. She plopped down beside Dipper's bed, holding the ice over his eye. He let out a hiss when the sudden cold touched his skin. Mabel jumped off her bed, skipping over to sit on the edge of her twin's.

"So," Y/n said, once she made sure Dipper was comfortable. The concern from her eyes vanished, and a frown settled on her lips. "Are you gonna tell me what exactly happened tonight? Or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

Dipper grimaced, taking the bag from his sister and moving it slightly. There was no getting out of this one. "No, I'll— I'll tell you."

He sat up, and Y/n helped him by moving his pillows around to make him comfortable.

"I, uh... we got into a huge fight with Gideon," he began.

Dipper continued to talk about the phone call from Toby, something he later learned was staged by Gideon to lure him out to an abandoned warehouse. From there, he was attacked using the boy's magic amulet— the actual source of any telekinesis stunt he ever pulled off, including the one where he got his entire audience to stand with nothing but a wave of his hand.

Mabel eventually started adding to the story: she had known where Dipper was heading, and went to find him after she had a quick pep talk with Wendy about breakups. She wanted to bring him for moral support when she finally went to confront Gideon herself. But then she realized what was actually happening, and came to her brother's defense.

The fight ended when Mabel saved the two from plummeting off a cliff with the amulet. They broke it, she finally told him off, and then Gideon vowed that they hadn't seen the end of him.

"So when were you going to tell me?" Y/n asked coldly, her brows furrowing. The concern was wiped off her face, replaced with silent anger. A pain rattled her chest, and her mind went quickly to anger. She couldn't help but think of when they neglected to call her on the Wax Stan case, but held back the rest of her scolding despite her blood boiling. He really went off on his own for this and nearly ended up getting killed! AGAIN.

"I-I didn't want to tell you about it because you were too busy dealing with Stan and Bud. It didn't make sense to bother you with something else," he explained, avoiding eye contact. Mabel looked nervously between the two, fumbling with her fingers. She figured Y/n would be upset, but the sudden shift into this cold tone startled her nonetheless.

"'Bother me?'" She asked incredulously, a shrill edge evident in her voice. She tried to level herself before continuing. "All I've asked you to do is just tell me what's happened. Just tell me. A quick 'Oh Y/n this is happening today' or a 'Hey! You'll never guess what happened?' Is that too much? Hell, you weren't even going to tell me about Gideon if I didn't come up with this ice!"

"It was another thing that would just worry you! Look at yourself, Y/n," Dipper nearly shouted. "You're tired, you're barely functioning in the mornings, I was just trying to help you out a bit."

"'Worry...?'" She stood up suddenly. "Dipper, it is my job to worry about you two. It is literally why I ask you to tell me what you're up to. You think Stan is thinking about what you guys get up to everyday? No!" She started waving her hands around, bending slightly to stay within his eye level.

"He's out there plotting different ways to line his pockets! Nearly all his thoughts go to money, and I would think this past week of literally having him sell Mabel just to make a business deal with Bud would prove it! All I ask is to know how you guys are doing.

"If you had told me you were going out to meet Toby for some interview about the supernatural, I could've found a way out of the meeting with Bud. I could have gone with you and helped you with that little sh—" she paused, taking a breath to calm herself down. Her voice dropped; "I could have helped you with Gideon. At the very least, I would have known where you were in case things went horribly wrong."

"We handled it," Dipper hissed. "We took care of it."

"I don't care that you did! You could've mugged the kid and found enough money to pay my college tuition in that little suit of his and I still wouldn't care! You fell off a cliff for God's sake, Dipper. Can you at least realize that— once again— you made a mistake? Bit off more than you can chew? You're playing with fire, Dip, and you're getting way too close to burning yourself."

The two fell silent, and Y/n began to pace slightly. God, Bill really is right! Look at the kid, he's going to end up dead if he isn't careful.

Mabel awkwardly spoke up, trying to keep the peace: "H-hey, why don't we just calm down."

"Mabel," Y/n warned, pointing at her, "you knew about this too. You could have told me about this. Just because I'm scolding Dipper right now doesn't mean I'm not angry with you."

She fell silent.

Y/n sighed loudly. She didn't want to do this, but she obviously needed to show the twins just how serious she was. It's just to protect them, she chided herself.

"Give me the journal."

Dipper shot up. "What?"

"I asked for the journal."

"B-but why?"

"What did I tell you when you showed it to me? I said don't go out of your way to find supernatural trouble. But you did."

"This has nothing to do with the journal!"

"But it does, Mason," Y/n growled, crossing her arms. Dipper gulped at the sudden use of his real name. Mabel shrunk back slightly, too.

"The gnomes were an accident, maybe. I can give you that. And I can give you the Gobblewonker. But then you just had to fight a cursed Wax Sherlock to the death on the roof. And now you're here sneaking around behind my back to interview about the stuff in the journal, only for it to turn into another near death experience with a little southern boy! I thought you could at least trust me!"

Dipper sputtered, trying to find the right words to defend himself.

"Dipper," Y/n sighed, her voice softening, "I'm not trying to punish you or anything. I just want to make sure you two are safe. And for the time being, I think taking the journal away for a bit is going to do us all some good. So just tell me where it is."

"...Here," he mumbled, reaching under his sheets and roughly handing it to her. His glare directed towards her didn't go unnoticed.

"Thank you."

"Are you done interrogating us?" He spat.

"Yes," she said simply, ignoring the sarcastic comment. Journal under her arm, she made her way to the door. "Goodnight you two."

She didn't bother waiting for the "goodnight" that would never come. As soon as she closed the door, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She was still fuming, but was nothing compared to the weight that had been lifted off her shoulders.

"I can't believe I just did that," she muttered. She made her way down the stairs in the dark, turning the journal over in her hands. As she passed the door, moonlight reflected off the gold accents of the book.

"I had warned him," she continued talking to herself, entering her room. "I told him to tell me where he was going and not to go over his head. But he did. It's only right I do this. Just for a little bit." At this point, Y/n was pretty much trying to convince herself that she was in the right.

"He'll be fine. He can start doing some normal kid stuff. Playing video games, reading those mystery novels," she placed the journal on top of her dresser, on top of her Endless Tabloid, before crawling into bed.

"Yeah, he'll be upset with me in the morning, but he'll come around eventually," she muttered, making herself comfortable.

With a sigh, Y/n closed her eyes, letting the sound of the wind outside calm her down. Her window was opened (it was more rare to see it closed at this point), allowing the night air to travel freely. The crickets littering the surrounding bushes sang a quiet lullaby, and with that, she figured it would be best to call it a day and let sleep consume her.

However, Y/n soon ran into a major problem: her little outburst with Dipper had left her with much more energy than she ever anticipated. Her eyes felt lighter, and her body was still buzzing with unspoken anger.

She sat up after a few moments. "You're kidding me," she grumbled bitterly. Y/n crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand. "What do I do now?"

She considered hopping onto her computer; if she wasn't going to continue doing work, she could at least catch up on some Youtubers she liked.

"Nah, I don't want to get up for that," she muttered. The bed was comfortable, and her laptop was tucked away in the dresser with some clothes.

For a moment, Y/n considered getting up to sneak out of the house. She could easily crawl out of her window, and escape into the forest to practice with that fire of her. But she quickly shook that thought out of her head.

She didn't necessarily want to take a trip in the woods at this time; with her luck, she'd end up running into a monster. Plus, she figured she had had enough excitement for one night.

Her dark eyes scanned up the furniture, stopping at the books resting atop it. Even now, the journal's ornate gold-plated design caught the sparse moonlight trickling into the room.

"Might as well," she figured, sitting up and grabbing it. Dipper was obsessed with the book, and he did promise to give it to her when he was finished. She might as well get a head start while it was confiscated from him.

"Okay journal, let's see what you got."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she came to in her little field. She didn't think much of it at first— she was happy to at least be experiencing some level of sleep— but she had been busy looking through the journal.

She didn't make it far to begin with, and she was starting to understand why it had been taking Dipper so long to finish it. She had stayed up an extra two hours or so, just simply leafing through, and she still had barely made a dent in it.

It didn't help that Dipper had been right when he first showed it to her: the book was missing so many pages. There were a ton of them ripped out from the spine, and even more that were scribbled through completely. It bothered her so much that she could be reading an entry that was then missing half of it's story.

So now she was stuck, already irked with her argument with the twins and now even more bitter, sitting in her own mind.

"It would be a little better if—"

"If I was here!"

Y/n snapped her head up, and sure enough, Bill was floating down from the trees. And suddenly, she wasn't as irritated anymore. All her worries seemed to disappear when he visited.

"Bill! What's up? Done any more arson?"

"He laughed, settling beside her, resting against the oak tree. "Nope. I've just been traveling around dimensions— doing things; seeing things— the works. What about you?"

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes. "God, where would I even begin? It's been a hell of a week," she muttered, planning to end it there.

"Really?" He asked, peering up at her. "What happened?"

She froze for a moment. When was the last time someone had asked her how her day went? "You... you wanna know?"

"Yeah Flame! Tell me what's gotten you so worked up. Your thoughts weren't the happiest when I was floating down here."

"O-oh! Okay." A little smile graced her features for a moment before she jumped into a recap.

Y/n went on a rant with Bill, telling him the general gist of the past few days: the Tent of Telepathy, Gideon and Mabel's one sided relationship with each other, and the torture she sat through with Stan and Bud's business meetings. She made sure to exclude the petty little details. Mabel's energy drink, stealing from Stan, going out into the forest to practice conjuring fire, the break-up practice; you know, nothing too important or anything.

"And then," she said, turning to face Bill. At this point, she had begun laughing as she retold him of the meeting from that night. She kept losing track of her story, being distracted with her uncontrollable laughter. Such genuine emotion kept escaping her that it was becoming harder and harder to continue.

"Then Gideon walks in." She started laughing once again, an unfamiliar— yet pleasant— sound that bubbled at the back of her throat and made the skin around her eyes crinkle.

"C'mon Flame, you haven't even got to the good part yet!"

"This little tiny ass kid goes to me and Stan, 'I rebuke thee!'" Y/n raised the pitch of her voice, dropping into a horrible southern accent to mimic him. "'Your entire family will pay!'"

She broke off into a loud cackle, falling back onto the grass. "I mean, have you seen this kid?"

Bill had also begun to laugh, his high pitched voice echoing in the small clearing. "Seen him? Of course I have! He looks like a living ventriloquist dummy!" He snapped his fingers, and a dummy of the boy appeared in his hands.

Bill floated up a bit, letting the doll touch it's shoes to the floor. He started mimicking Gideon, making the body move uncontrollably. If the girl was to be honest (and maybe it was Bill's idea behind the movement), it looked like he was going through a horrible spasm, maybe even seizure. The mess of flailing wooden limbs only made Y/n laugh more, to the point where she was hollering on the floor, tiny tears slipping past the edges of her eyes.

"It's not even that," she managed to wheeze past giggles. She stumbled to her feet. "He's like what, this tall?" Y/n put a hand flat at her waist, and a life sized doll of Gideon appeared. It was dressed just as the boy, but unlike Bill's dummy, the face was left blank and the material was similar to the plushies the Tent sold.

"Like, bruh, I can literally punt this child. He's lucky," she said, dropping kicking the doll. It soared far across the field, no limits existing in the girl's mind to ever hinder it's flight. "If I was just a little more awake, I would have simply tossed him across the living room. Hell, I bet I could fit him in their trash can."

The laughter between the two finally died down; Y/n being completely out of breath and voice hoarse, and Bill perking up at the mention of her fatigue.

"You're still having trouble sleeping, huh?" He asked, feigning surprise.

"Yep. Though I will say," she added, coughing slightly. She hadn't laughed that hard in a long while, and her voice wasn't accustomed to it. Her face hurt from smiling so hard, and her stomach was sore from doubling over. "It has come in handy in it's own messed up way."

"Oh?"

"I mean, I managed to get a decent start in the journal earlier so, I'd say so."

Bill nearly jumped into the next dimension. "Journal? You have it?" He tried to level his voice, masking his slight worry behind faked interest. Y/n was one speedy meatsack; he didn't think she'd have her hands on it this early.

"Yeah, I got upset with Dipper," she confessed, settling back down in her spot beside the triangle. "He's been going behind my back, after I specifically told him not to. So I just took it away for a little bit. Just gonna look through it and then give it back. It should teach him his lesson."

This isn't good. Bill thought, putting a hand to his eye. If she gets to the page Sixer wrote about me before I can make this deal with her, then things are going to get a lot more difficult.

Bill wasn't too familiar with the ins and outs of the journals (what was the point of learning them inside and out if he was regularly possessing the man who wrote them?), but he knew once Fordsy learned his true motive, he wrote less... flattering entries about him. Some covered in his own blood, even. Quite the drama-queen, wasn't he?

"How far did you get?"

"Maybe... 25 pages in...? I don't remember. I kind of knocked out at one point. Besides, it's sort of all over the place. A lot of things are missing, and it makes it hard to get the entire narrative organized."

Bill drummed his fingers in the grass. Okay, he thought, his thoughts racing, she made it through that much in what, a few hours?

"But since Stan is giving me a bunch of free time," she continued, not noticing Bill's sudden dip in attitude, "I should be able to finish it in maybe two days."

Two days is not enough time. Bill cursed silently; his schedule just got a lot more restricted. There was no way he could plan another visit in her mind. There was only one option left for this plan to work. And if it didn't... then things were going to get a lot more challenging for Y/n.

She might have been a flame he was yearning to gain control of, but he didn't necessarily need Y/n to be in the right state of mind. It just would have been more beneficial for her (okay, it would be slightly easier for him, too,) if she was mentally sound; not a prerequisite.

"What about sleep? You humans need that to practically function, no?"

"Yeah, but..." she trailed off for a moment. "I'm not getting it anyway, so might as well put the wasted time to other use."

Bill let out a loud hum, before floating up in front of Y/n. Perhaps he messed with her sleeping pattern a little too much.

"You know what kiddo? I think I can help you with that little sleep problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Bill said, a large smile evident in his voice, "I have many abilities, and one of them should help you catch up on all those missing hours of sleep you oh-so-desperately-need."

Y/n's brow rose. It would definitely be great if she could get back on a semi-normal sleep schedule...

"Let me take your place in your mundane life."

"Huh? How?"

"It's very simple really," Bill started. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly two doll versions of Y/n and himself appeared in front of him. "You humans have two components to your being: your physical form— the meat sack that's lying in your bed right now— and then your subconscious.

"The 'form' I'm in right now?"

"Sort of. A better example is your little out-of-body-experience stunts. In that form, you're completely restricted to the mindscape; you can't interact or speak to those on the physical plane. You're like a ghost, almost."

"So when you say that you've been watching me, you're doing it from there, right?"

"Yep! I don't have a physical form at all, so I'm kinda stuck there whenever I want to visit your dimension."

"Damn, that sounds shitty. How would you take my place if you're trapped in the mindscape?"

"It's very simple, actually," Bill said, floating over to the dolls. "When you're awake and doing your human stuff, you have both forms intact." To illustrate his point, the doll of Y/n started moving, jerking around wildly.

"But, as long as your subconscious is tied to your physical form, doing work, you won't be able to rest. This is how you end up feeling tired. Your physical form is taking all your energy, but is still keeping you up long enough to prevent you from recharging.

"In order to remedy this, you just have to stay in your subconscious, away from the meat sack." He snapped his fingers, and a glowing blob separated from the girl's doll. It fell to the floor, and the blob remained suspended in the air.

"So... just sleep longer?"

"If you had the time, yes. But once your free time with Fez ends, that's not gonna be a viable option. So I'll just take you out of your body. And while you're in the mindscape, resting, I'll jump in and take your place." Bill's puppet went into the fallen doll. Y/n watched in wonder as her doll reanimated, just as lively as it was when her own subconscious was in it.

"So we just trade places? You take my body when I need to go into the mindscape to get rest?"

"Exactly Flame! So smart." He cheered.

"But... that's a little weird, isn't it?"

"In what way?" Bill asked. He snapped away the dolls, returning to Y/n's side. He had to sell the deal with Flame, and sell it fast. As long as he had this ensured, he would be golden.

"You're gonna be in my body," she cringed slightly, rubbing her arm. The implications of that went much further in Y/n's mind. "It's... it's a little uncomfortable to think about. Especially if you need to do my normal human things."

"Flame," he said, much more seriously, "tell me what you don't want me to do, and I won't even think about doing it! I just have to make it appear you're living your life; that doesn't mean I have to do every single aspect of it. Tell me what you're uncomfortable with me doing, and I'll avoid it altogether."

Y/n perked up slightly. It was a pretty appealing deal: being able to stay sleeping without having Stan on her back about slacking off? And being able not to worry about Bill accidentally finding out about her burns and scars?

"I... I can do that," she said finally.

Bill's eye nearly sparkled, and he floated an extra foot in the air. He gave her a cheeky look, and if he had a mouth, he would be smirking. "See? It's a good deal isn't it?"

Y/n smiled. "Yeah, yeah, it is. Better than the one you offered me the other night or so," she said.

"So Flame," he stuck out his hand, and a blue flame burned in his palm. Embers fell to the grass below them, and little wisps nearly tickled Y/n's face. She was too distracted admiring the fire to notice how it seemed to bathe the triangle in an eerie— almost cynical— glow. "Do we have a deal?"

Y/n raised her hand, hesitating a bit. It was something she wanted, and she trusted Bill enough to respect the boundaries she would set up whenever he ventured into the physical plane.

"Yeah, we do," she said, reaching for Bill's outstretched hand. "Thanks Bill, I really appreciate it."

Bill had to stop himself from breaking into maniacal cackling right there on the spot. Yes, yes—! Just shake my hand and seal the deal! This was it; this was how Bill was going to get back at Sixer; how he was going to finally liberate this pathetic dimension. How he was going to get his henchmaniacs run wild and wreak havoc and cause chaos—!

Y/n let the blue fire tickle her fingers, and right as she was about to shake and seal the deal...

"Yo! Y/n! Wake up!"

Y/n was startled awake by the sound of a heavy hand on her door. Her heart slammed in her ears, her breath speeding slightly as she tried to steady her racing mind.

Did we make the deal? Did I wake up too soon?

The banging on her door continued.

No, I couldn't have. I didn't even grab his hand.

Y/n scrambled out of bed and opened the door, an early scowl already imprinting on her features.

"What?" She asked sharply, slightly annoyed. "What is it?"

She expected the twins, maybe even Stan. So you could imagine her surprise when a familiar redhead stood in the doorway.

"Oh," Y/n mumbled, surprised. She adjusted her clothes, trying to at least look a bit decent in her pajamas. "S-sorry. Why are you here so early?"

Wendy laughed. "Early? Y/n, dude, it's nearly three."

Y/n's eyes widened. "What? I slept for that long?"

"Yeah man, if you didn't get Stan to give you some time off, he would be livid!" The redhead laughed.

"Yeah," she laughed nervously. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Well," she started, a mischievous glint lighting her forest eyes, "my friends are gonna pick me up soon, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with us and hang out. Also, I invited Dipper and Mabel. They asked me to tell you."

Y/n nodded. At least they had someone tell me where they were going.

"Um," the older girl yawned slightly. "I think... I think I'll pass on this one. I'm still a bit tired, and besides, Stan gave me this time to catch up on some college stuff and sleep. Maybe next time."

"Yeah, sure. The twins and I are leaving soon, so I just wanted to let you know. See you around!"

"Thanks Wendy." And with that, Y/n shut the door, and promptly sunk to the ground.

"Goddamnit," she hissed, running a hand through her hair. Her head pounded from getting out of bed that fast, and a dull headache caused her eyes to throb. "I need to see Bill again. I have to make that deal."

Chapter Text

When Y/n finally crawled out of her room, lured out by the sheer call of her stomach, it was a little past four. The twins and Wendy had left an hour ago, and Stan promptly closed up the Shack and went back to doing his old man things.

She was almost grateful that Wendy had agreed to let Dipper and Mabel tag along with her friends. She was a little surprised, too: it's not everyday a group of teenagers agree to bring along twelve-year-olds to hang out. Y/n could only hope they weren't doing anything too extreme; she liked the redhead, but she was a little too laid back in certain situations.

Y/n stumbled into the kitchen, still immensely bitter with her unfinished deal. She grabbed the cold mug of coffee, pouring herself a hearty glass. Stan followed in behind her.

"Woah! Would you look at that! The dead walk again!" He laughed loudly, harshly clapping a hand on her shoulder.

Y/n shrugged it off, grumbling a not-so-enthusiastic-greeting. She sipped her coffee, leaning against the counter.

"Oh? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" Stan asked, his brow raising slightly. He poured himself a glass.

"Wendy interrupted maybe the best sleep I've had all week," she muttered. "I'm a little cranky."

"A little? You're putting my grumpy-old-man act to shame."

When she didn't laugh, Stan quickly cleared his throat. "Well, you do have the day free. And without those little troublemakers running around, it should be easier to take a couple of power naps. So stop drinking that, and go get some rest," he said, forcefully taking the cup from her hands.

With a loud sigh, she nodded, waddling back into her room. She would never say it out loud, but Y/n seemed to be cursed with the inability to take naps. She never knew why, but it was a source of envy among her school friends who could easily take two hour naps after school. It appeared that once she was up, she was up for good.

So when she closed the door behind her, she went back to the one thing she was the tiniest bit excited about getting back to: the journal. She figured she would simply see Bill later that night, and she wanted to go back to him with possible new points to theorize about.

Y/n had barely read 30 pages last night. But if you asked her, she couldn't remember any of them. There was so much information packed into some of them that it was an eyesore at some points. As she leafed through them again, she was almost surprised that she was able to make it through as far as she did without passing out sooner.

"I need a different way to go about this," she grumbled to herself. She had her blankets loosely wrapped around her figure, hunched over the journal in her lap. "Everything is so messy here."

Y/n pouted slightly, puffing up her cheeks as she once again leafed through the entirety of the journal. She stopped when she reached the ending of the book. About halfway through the journal— as Dipper had told her— the original Author had pretty much vanished off the face of the Earth. It was something she figured Dipper was already theorizing, and she hoped she could start putting together clues from the journal. But what interested her at the moment wasn't the section before the sudden disappearance, but the pages after.

"It appears Dipper was a lot more busy than I thought he was." The following pages were filled with blue ink and his familiar handwriting. He had taken the role of the new author as he searched for the original.

Y/n flipped through the pages he had written in. There wasn't much that would be considered new to her. If anything, the retelling of the twins' gnome encounter was interesting. But everything else she had essentially lived through. He detailed the Gobblewonker (going into a lot more depth with McGucket than she ever did), the wax figures, the alleged ghost he had seen, and had even started an entry on Gideon. He hadn't finished the sketch of the little devil or the description, but for what he had, it was a pretty decent start.

"Damn, Dipper's already leagues ahead of me," she laughed softly, rubbing the edges of the paper between her fingers. She needed to seriously up her game if she was to stay on his level.

"Well, it's a good thing I have my own journal," she said, taking out her Endless Tabloid. She wasn't aiming to rewrite the journal— that would take way too long— but it wouldn't hurt if she were to summarize the main points of each page and each major entry. As she wrote more, she figured she would learn just how to organize everything eventually.

Cracking open the book and titling more pages, she labeled them with some of the general things Dipper had written down. She spent extra time on McGucket.

Dipper, much like Y/n, had also realized that there was something much more to the town's local kook than he let on. He was a mastermind when it came to mechanical inventions, but the two were both stuck on just how he ended up this way: completely out of it and a little more on the insane side than any of them were willing to admit.

The best way to probably fill in the gap they so desperately wanted to fill was to go find him and try to pry it out of him, but Y/n was sure that neither her or Dipper wanted to go to that length. At the very least, she was hoping it was something that would fall into place after unraveling one of the more bigger mysteries.

After looking through Dipper's entries (and snooping around at the little profiles he had made of himself, Mabel, and Y/n), she finally made her way back to the beginning of the book. With a (semi) fresh mind, she was hoping to try to organize a more coherent narrative of the Author before his sudden disappearance. There had to be some clues sprinkled within his writing, though she feared some might be much too cryptic for her to find out.

"Okay, let's do this."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Y/n had spent another few hours on the journal, going through the pages carefully. She was slowly growing more and more frustrated with each one, however. The entries began standard enough, but then they started becoming more and more chaotic.

Some pages had major parts of their text scribbled out, and no matter how hard she squinted or changed her direction, she couldn't read the writing under the dark and heavy marks.

Other entries lasted pages long. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but most of the pages that held continuations or even endings of those longer expeditions had been ripped out completely. This either left Y/n completely pissed with her unfinished story, or trying to come up with a reasonable connection between the beginning and ending she was given.

But what really infuriated her were the amount of codes littering the pages. Some were incredibly easy— she recognized most as Caesar immediately— but then there were the symbols. Y/n didn't know what this archaic writing meant, and she definitely wasn't in the mood to start the whole frequency table approach to see if it was even a substitution cipher.

She assumed it was, however; she somewhat remembered skipping past a page that held all the codes the Author used. If her memory served right, he only appeared to use substitution ciphers, including Caesar, Atbash, and the simple A1Z26.

One of the pages that managed to make her smile in relief was the handy timeline that the Author had so kindly enclosed. He went into way too much detail, but through it, she was able to learn of his arrival— which gave her a solid date she could work back to find the Author's age— but it gave her a piece of information that seemed to have been ripped out of the book altogether: a Muse.

She had seen the mention of a Muse occasionally littered around the pages, but this timeline gave her an exact date, and, much more importantly, a depiction.

"'Some art depicts my Muse, and his interactions with a shaman named Modoc.'" Y/n read out loud. Next to the paragraph the Author had written, were drawn pictures of pottery. Each depicted one familiar figure.

"Holy shit," Y/n breathed out, bringing the page closer to her face. "It's Bill!"

He's worked with the Author? Damn, if only I could get my hands on the page where they first met, Y/n thought, biting her lip. She noticed that Bill had appeared to the Author six years after his first arrival, which was so much later considering how fast he had introduced himself to her. A little sense of pride swelled inside her at that: she had managed to catch his attention quicker. It might have been silly, but it meant something to her.

But if the Author had met Bill...

"Does he have more information written down on him?"

Original purpose abandoned, Y/n began to flip through pages. At this point, she was focused on finding one thing: any entry mentioning this "Muse."

Getting information out of Bill was like pulling teeth out of a bird; she figured it was because most of the demon things he does would come off as off putting and unsettling to a human like her, but she still wanted to know something about him. Especially since she had been oddly talkative with him.

She had really grown to like the little triangle. Yeah, who knows what he was capable of— he was still a demon with unimaginable powers, after all— but he kept her company and let her talk about whatever came to her mind. If last night was any example, he didn't mind listening to her ramble, even when she would lose herself completely in her stories, getting so comfortable to let sincere emotion show.

Y/n hadn't felt that comfortable with someone in a long time, and it truly was helping ease her mind on the few... less-than-stellar thoughts she'd been having about her place in the family as of late.

She skimmed passed the next couple of entries. Magic items, spells, crystals...

"God," Y/n muttered, finding the section on ghosts Dipper had mentioned before. "There's like ten pages on this alone. Where the hell did you write about Bill?"

She flipped the page after briefly reading through the entry on the Category 10 ghost, only snickering slightly at the Author's mention of his flannel pajamas.

"It looks like we match, good sir," she giggled slightly, looking at her own flannel bottoms.

The next entry took the next two pages.

"'What does it mean?'" Y/n read out loud. "'My terrifying weekend at Dan's cabin—' wait, does he mean Manly Dan? Ahh, I'll look into that later. '—has left me more hopeless about my investigations than ever before,'" she continued. "'How is everything connected? And why here?'"

The page held a large question mark within the fold. Surrounding it were the various silhouettes of the creatures presumably living in the small, sleepy town.

"Oh wow," Y/n breathed out, looking over all of them. "A kraken, a ghost, a... Miss Pacman...? There's Cthulhu, a spider person— oh look! There's Bill," she laughed slightly.

"A jackalope...? The Gobblewonker's here... a gnome, Big Foot, a mermaid, unicorn, UFO, and a phoenix." That was all that she could positively identify. 

"'What is the Unified Theory of Weirdness?'" She read the bottom. "I dunno, you're supposed to tell me. What does that even entail?"

Y/n had hoped the next page would answer the question, but it gave her something else she had been looking for: a recorded meeting with Bill.

"'The Muse has Spoken,'" she read, a large smile spreading across her lips. "Now this is what I'm looking for! C'mon, give me some information."

The page detailed a rather long and overdue meeting between the Author and his Muse, in which Bill had given him the answer he had been previously pondering. The Unified Theory of Weirdness he had been drafting was a lot more complicated than he had first thought.

"'All this time I've been looking for some common behavior to connect these anomalies... What if these various different creatures all "leaked" from their dimension into ours, and the leak is right here in Gravity Falls!?'" Y/n skimmed. "No way, a dimensional rift? Creatures just being sucked out of their dimension and into ours? That would answer the question as to why this town is full of the supernatural, but... is there any theories he wrote as to why Gravity Falls is just the place where the rift is, or is it just some major coincidence?"

She continued reading, the cogs in her head turning. "'No matter— his insight is surely real, as are the blueprints he left me for a— a portal to another dimension?'" Y/n finished, her jaw dropping. "Wait, what?"

Turning the page, the girl was met with a tiny illustration of the portal. It detailed the needed metal alloys and other material, but didn't give her anymore insight on the blueprints Bill had given him.

So started Y/n's skimming game once again; the next few pages— while mildly interesting, with the introduction of an assistant called "F"— were not what she was looking for. She passed the page of codes she had caught a mere glimpse of previously, and kept going past more detailed recounting of an expedition the two went on.

It spanned for pages, and even after it ended with the entry about a Gremloblin, the Author continued with what Y/n assumed was a story of the two venturing into a carnival. She couldn't be too sure; this was one of the several stories that had a few pages missing.

"Oh come on," she mumbled, "I don't want to read about fake carnivals. I already have the Mystery Shack."

The Author continued his journal with mention of a secret bunker. Y/n was practically skipping huge chunks of the story; it wasn't that she wasn't interested, she just wanted to read more about the portal and Bill. She could always go back to this later.

Finally, after an entry entitled "Trouble in the Bunker," Y/n finally found something she was actually looking for.

"'An Encounter,'" she read, letting out a low whistle. The illustration underneath pictured a six-fingered hand shaking that of Bill's. "They made a deal...?"

It was hard to read— it was yet another page filled with dark marks through the text— but eventually she put together a rather consistent narrative. After nights of copious amounts of coffee, and working himself and his assistant to the bone, the Author met with Bill in his sleep.

"'He said he took pity on my frail human body, and offered to take it over for a while to help me finish my calculations while I slept... He held out his hand and I gladly accepted.'"

Y/n perked up. "That's... that's the same deal Bill offered me! Minus the whole building-a-portal-to-another-universe-thing, but it's close enough." After reading the page, she was only left feeling more bitter by the fact that she wasn't able to seal the deal.

"It looks like such a good deal," she whined, reading about the Author's update. "Granted, the blurry vision and pain might be annoying, but... I think it's worth it."

Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, she continued with the journal, pleased to see that the next pages held information on the portal. It appeared that the Author and F had finished building the gateway and began to run tests. However, everything seemed to go south on the next page.

Some information had been scribbled out, but from what Y/n could make out, F had predicted that the portal was a much too risky move— a machine with the possibility to destroy the town. But the Author, so close to success to ever think of abandoning their magnum opus, continued to go through with their previously decided plans.

"'I am a scientist. And after tomorrow, I'll be a great one,'" Y/n read. "You got... kind of an ego there, huh, buddy?"

A certain dread filled her stomach, making her shift awkwardly on the bed. It was rather unsettling, the more she began to think about it: this wasn't just a book. It wasn't a fake story about a scientist trying to discover something believed to be too risky, propelled by nothing but his own hubris. This wasn't another Frankenstein; this was a real man, who somehow went— at the very least— missing because of his blinding arrogance. Hell, he could be dead. And these facts made continuing his memoir of all his discoveries just a bit harder.

But she persisted. The next page held—

"Holy shit," she said, breathless. The page held a portion— a third— of the portal the two had been slaving over. Various symbols ran along diagrams of circles, and there were even more codes nestled in even more corners of the page. The top left half of a triangle was cut off in the bottom right hand corner. Y/n assumed that the rest of the blue prints were inside of the other two journals— which she knew nothing about.

"This is amazing! Confusing and complicated, yes, but amazing!" She took out her own notebook, writing brief summaries of the few things she learned. At this point, she had so many new pages of notes that it was almost insane. And to think, all of this information was being hoarded by Dipper.

She threw herself back on the bed, stretching slightly. Being hunched over like that had done a number on her back, but it was definitely worth it. But, Y/n figured it wouldn't hurt anyone if she were to take a little break. A quick trip to the bathroom and a snack would only help her get through the rest of the book... and through the pages she had previously skipped over.

When she walked out of her room, she was a little surprised: it was completely dark out already. What time is it?

Y/n made her way to the stairs, but stopped suddenly, peering into the living room. Sitting on his sofa, completely engrossed with the TV in front of him, was Stan.

Empty buckets of popcorn, empty pints of ice cream, and discarded cans of Pitt Cola littered the floor. He was bathed in the dull light of the TV, and covered in a small blanket. Beside him was yet another pint of ice cream, and as he reached for it, he refused to tear his attention away from the show in front of him.

"I may be a Duchess," the TV spoke, "but I'm also a woman!"

"What the...?"

On the edge of his seat, Stan fought back tears. "Yes! Yes! In your face, Elizabeth!"

"Stan, what the hell are you watching?" Y/n finally spoke up, stepping into the living room.

The man jumped, nearly dropping the pint of ice cream beside him. "S-S-Squirt!" He said suddenly, awkwardly clearing his throat. He attempted to look for the remote, wanting to change the channel, but gave up when he couldn't find it.

The show was in black and white, and from what Y/n could tell— and from what she remembered from the few times she scrolled through the crappy channels they got at the Shack— it was this long soap opera about a Duchess made back in the 70s.

"Th-that doesn't matter right now," Stan said, dismissing the girl with the wave of his hand, he turned back to the TV. "If you want to make yourself useful, go get me another can of Pitt Cola before you..." at this point he trailed off as the next scene started to play out.

"Yeah, I'll do it in a second. I have to go to the bathroom."

Stan just nodded. "Yeah, good for you Squirt," he mumbled, shoveling another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Y/n ventured upstairs, heading to the bathroom. There was a certain pep in her step, one that hadn't been around for a long while. She was buzzing with excitement, and as she washed her hands, she couldn't help but notice the wide and excited smile that graced her features.

I have so many new mysteries to start looking at! She thought, nearly laughing. She was so giddy, and to think it was all prompted by that journal. McGucket, the portal, the Author, F— now I don't have to admit that I'm stuck on my pages of Stan and the vending machine.

She froze suddenly.

"The vending machine..."

Stan was greatly distracted by that stupid show, the twins and Wendy were gone, and Soos was back at his Abuela's.

Could this be... could this be the time she was looking for?

"But Stan's still in the house," she muttered, looking at herself in the mirror. "Even if he is distracted, he's still a liability. If he were to go to sleep, then maybe I could risk five minutes checking it out..."

But how was she going to get him to sleep? He was engrossed in that Duchess Approves crap, and all the food he was eating surely wasn't going to put him in a coma. The soda was a hindrance, too.

"If only there was a way to knock him out," she muttered, eyeing her reflection.

And then it hit her.

Hesitantly, she reached for the medicine cabinet, opening it. Among the various pills, pain killers, and toothbrushes stored inside, she found it: NyQuil. And not just any NyQuil, the super strength stuff.

She turned the bottle over in her hands, biting her lip. Y/n wished there was something a bit more powerful, like sleeping pills or something. Those would definitely knock him out, and they would also prove useful to her if she was still struggling with sleep. But if she were to pour a bit more than usual into the soda she was ordered to get, then maybe...

"Oh God, am I really going to drug Stan to get to the vending machine?"

The door to the medicine cabinet swung shut, and her reflection once again stared back at her.

Is there any other time perfect enough to investigate it? It seemed to ask.

Bill had warned her, too: how are you going to get access to the machine without Fez getting in the way?

This was her chance, and maybe it required a little unconventional thinking, but....

"Think outside the box, huh?" Y/n said out loud, weighing the bottle in her hands. "Yeah, I can do that."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: Somewhere In A Dimension Only They Know...

The man awoke in a field, and even that simple detail was enough to put his mind into overdrive.

Grass reached up to his waist, and as he waded in the sea of dulled green, he observed his surroundings. Half built machinery littered the plains he was in, and a capsized boat seemed to have made its home on land. It was cold, and if it wasn't for his dark and thick trench coat and scarf, he was sure he would be shivering.

There was barely any color surrounding him, not that he had much color on his being to begin with, but the lack of something so basic made his skin crawl. He had a bad feeling about this...

"Sixer!" A voice boomed around from somewhere around him, seemingly coming from the endless field of dull vegetation around him. The voice was all too familiar, and once it pierced his eardrums, he was on high alert. A six-fingered hand reached to his belt, where a small— highly unstable and mostly illegal— blaster resided in its holster.

The ground shook underneath him, and a loud cackle surrounded him on all sides. "Ahhh," the techno voice said between horrid laughs, "you're still the same, aren't you? So quick to that little blaster of yours, huh Fordsy?"

"Show yourself, you Devil!" The man bellowed, twisting on his heels. Ford knew better than to let his guard down; he had been dealing with his demon for decades now. It was a constant chase of cat and mouse, and even though he was in a dream, the man wasn't going to let this Cheshire cat win now.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Bill asked, still invisible to Ford. "We haven't seen each other in... oh, how long has it been? Maybe 12 years?"

"Probably the best 12 years I've spent hopping from dimensions," he mumbled to himself.

Bill gasped. "Sixer! I thought we were friends!"

"Stop toying with me," he growled, his brows furrowing from behind his mask. "What do you want?"

"My my my, I just wanted to check in on my favorite interdimensional vagabond. I have to say, Sixer, you've wracked up almost as much of a criminal record as your shady brother back in your dimension."

Ford trembled with rage. "Enough! Show yourself!"

"Of course! I haven't seen your face in so long! I have to see just how much your fleshbag has aged since!"

With a snap that shook the area, a familiar golden triangle appeared in front of Ford. Shrunk down slightly in size, his eye crinkled in a devilish smile.

"Oh wow!" He commented, swooping around the man. "Have you gotten old!"

"Did you appear in my dreams just to taunt me of my age?" Ford growled, taking off his mask and lowering his scarf. His dark brown eyes still held the fire that pushed him forward as a teen and young adult, but everything else about him had changed drastically. His once rich brown hair was grey, peppered by an even lighter silver shade running along the back of his neck. Wrinkles creased his face, and his sharp jaw had dulled considerably with the time he had spent jumping dimensions.

"No actually," Bill said, appearing by the man's side. "I actually wanted to tell you something. I think you'll be just as pleased as I am, too."

"That you found out a way to erase your existence from all the multiverses?"

"Woah!" Bill said, jumping back from him. "That's a little harsh now, isn't it?"

"If you're just going to sit there and waste my time, then let me wake up. I'd rather continue running away from this group of mutated, two dimensional, lizard people than be stuck here with you."

"But Sixer," Bill whined, "then you'll never learn about my newest friend."

That got him; Ford froze in his spot.

"F-friend...?" He repeated, tensing slightly.

"Yes!" The triangle snapped his fingers, and the field around the two suddenly changed. The grass sunk into the floor, and rows upon rows of chairs sprouted in their place, catching Ford and Bill. A large sheet fell from the sky, becoming a large screen. A projector appeared on the edge of one of the inventions in the man's mind, and slowly a light flicked to life. It illuminated the screen.

Empty film ran past the projector, until it started to countdown. Ford was left to watch flabbergasted as a young girl appeared on the sheet.

"This," Bill said from beside him. He had snapped in existence a bucket of popcorn and a large soda. "This is my new friend. Flame."

She had a mop of black waves that fell past her shoulders, dressed in a dark hoodie and flannel pants. Warm in complexion and equipped with a sparkling cast on her left hand, Ford couldn't be more confused as to why Bill had taken such an interest in her.

But... why did he feel as if he recognized her?

He shook the feeling off— it was utterly impossible— and watched as the scene continued to play out. She was currently in what Ford discerned as a kitchen, working with a can of soda and—

"Woah!" Bill shouted from beside him suddenly. "No way! She's going to drug him? Now that's something I didn't see coming; not from her. But that's just Flame for you, Fordsy: always coming up with surprises!"

"What the hell is this?" Ford asked. He tried to leave his front row seat, but he seemed trapped in it. He grappled with the armrests in vain. It was as if invisible chains kept him tied in place.

"Just some... live feed footage of my newest fleshbag. I've gotten her right where I want her to be," Bill boasted, shoving a hand of popcorn in his eye. "She thinks we're friends, can you believe it? And, if it wasn't for a sudden and rude interruption, I would have made a great deal."

Ford's heart dropped. This girl was in grave danger, and she didn't even know it. She was being played like a fiddle by someone she perceived as a friend! And she was so young. It was a tune he knew all too well.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she spoke, unscrewing the cap of the NyQuil. "To think I just stole a register the other day." She measured out a serving, and then a bit more, and dumped into the soda, mixing it well. "Hopefully he's too distracted with the show to notice the taste."

"Is there any more reason as to why you chose to show someone else you're manipulating?" Ford muttered. There had to be something; why else would Bill want to broadcast his newest victim? There was a sick twist he was waiting to shove in his face.

"If you were a good audience member," Bill hissed, before taking a large sip of his drink, "you'd shut your mouth, watch, and find out yourself."

The six-fingered man snarled slightly, but crossed his arms and compiled begrudgingly. He had to admit, he was the least bit curious as to why Bill chose to mess with a mere child as his next pawn.

The girl— or "Flame," as Bill was so oddly insistent on calling her— left the kitchen, swirling the can in her grip. She walked down a hallway, before ducking her head in a doorway. "Yo Stan," she said, stepping into the room, "here's your Pitt Cola. I opened it for you."

What appeared next shook Ford to his core.

"Yeah, whatever, thanks Squirt."

"Is..." Ford sputtered, leaning forward in his chair to get a better view of the screen. It was crystal clear, but he still felt like his eyes were deceiving him. "Is that—? That's Stanley?!"

"Oh yeah," Bill laughed, silently reveling in Sixer's bewilderment. "You haven't seen Fez in what? 30 years? Time sure does a doozy on you humans!"

Ford froze at the sight. His young, athletic, and rather built, twin brother was nothing how he remembered. Sure, maybe in their last meeting Stan had changed, with the mullet and whatnot, but now it looked like he was a different man entirely.

His tough and square face dulled with age, covered in a thick stubble. His bright and mischievous brown eyes, ones always looking for a fight with the bullies that had constantly teased them, were hidden behind thickly framed glasses. His dark brown hair had greyed considerably, and his body had become wracked with age. But besides the wrinkles and crow's feet carved into his face by the hands of time, there was no mistaking that the young, foolish, and shady businessman was still there.

But... if Stan looked like how he did, how did Ford look? They couldn't be that far off, could they? Granted, Ford was still fairly fit; the result of constantly being on the run. The thought alone made the man shiver slightly, but made him slightly grateful that his new life on the run didn't include easily-available mirrors he could ponder his altered appearance in.

The initial shock of the effect of time wore off immediately, and epiphany struck him.

"Is this my laboratory?"

Bill only hummed in response.

"What is he doing in here? Who is this girl? Why are they in my house?"

The triangle only shushed him further, waving his little stick hand as the live feed continued. It appeared Ford was just going to have to rely on context clues for the moment; Bill was too preoccupied with his little chess piece.

Stan grabbed the can of soda, downing its entirety immediately. Even Flame looked a little shocked, but quickly retreated back out of the room. She stepped into the shadows, slowing her pace as she passed the stairs and slunk out of view of Ford's brother.

"Okay," she mumbled to herself, dark eyes still wide, "that was a lot easier than it probably should be." She continued down the hall, stepping into a room.

Equipped with a bed and dresser, Ford quickly realized it was her room.

The question once again crossed his mind: why was this child staying in his house?

She rushed to her bed, collecting a few things strewn across the mattress and entangled in the sheets. "Journal, Tabloid, pen, phone..." She mumbled a checklist to herself, just barely loud enough for the demon and man to hear, as she filled her pockets with various items. Two in particular caught Ford's eye.

"My journal!" He breathed out, watching as the little red book disappeared in the large front pocket of the girl's hoodie. Now he understood why Bill had taken an interest in her: the fact that she had stumbled across this book— potentially just by chance— had marked her as a target for an evil she could never even imagine.

"And my Tabloid?" Ford muttered to himself as she quickly grabbed the little leather book.

How on Earth is she finding these things? Was I that careless with them?

"Nah," Bill answered, reading his thoughts— well, hearing them echo around them. "The journal? Maybe. But the Tabloid was more of Fez's fault."

What does that even mean?

"Stop thinking so loud and watch."

Just as fast as Flame had stepped into the room, she was out, silently tiptoeing back into the hallway. She stopped by the stairs once again, peeking her head out slightly above the banister. Stan was still preoccupied with the TV in front of him to notice the girl sneaking around.

She dropped to the ground, sitting down with her back against the staircase. "Hurry up and fall asleep," she muttered, slipping out the Tabloid from her pocket.

To preoccupy herself, she started leafing through pages, allowing Ford to catch a few glances of what she had started to scribble down in the book. He didn't know whether or not to feel some sort of pride at the site of another young theorist not entirely unlike himself, or be concerned with the detail and topics she had chosen to delve into.

There was no telling how long it would take for Stan to fall asleep, but luck seemed to be on Flame's side... or at least, that's what she believed.

Loud snores emanated from the living room, alerting the girl from her hiding spot on the stairs. She put her pen in place in the Tabloid, carefully standing up. It had been maybe half an hour of watching her scribble random nonsense on pages before the medicine had kicked in. And damn, did it really kick in.

Stan laid back in his chair, arms nearly hanging off their rests. His mouth was wide open, and loud snores erupted from his parted lips. If he stayed any longer, Ford knew he would start to drool— he had always been a drooler. His fez was misplaced on his head, nearly covering his glasses.

Flame slowly stepped into the living room, visibly holding her breath within puffed cheeks. Her eyes, accented heavily by darker bags, held a certain anticipation in them.

She snapped softly. "Hey, Stan," she whispered, as she shuffled in front of him.

Stan didn't answer, and after a moment, the girl just ran off. She continued to the end of the room, quickly— and quietly— leaving the man and entering another room. She stepped into what looked like a store, leaving Ford to gape and further wonder just what the hell Stanley had done to his laboratory. It was dark, and it appeared to be evening outside; the sun cast long shadows on the walls, draping the girl in darkness.

"Holy shit that worked," she said, a large smile pulling at her lips. She fished out something from her pocket, and Ford was surprised with what she proceeded to pull out: a small rectangular device. It looked very familiar to the prototype machinery Fiddleford would insist on dragging around everywhere, but much smaller. It fit in her hand.

She quickly swiped and pressed and tapped various things on this foreign device. Then, satisfied with whatever she had done, she slipped it back into a pocket.

"Okay. Ten minutes, then I'm out. It should be enough to figure out what's behind here," she mumbled out loud, turning her attention to a vending machine placed flush against a wall.

A wave of confusion washed over Ford. What did she want with a vending machine, of all things?

But then, the memory came back: if this was his laboratory, then this was right about where the entrance to the—

"Oh no," Ford whispered. Beside him, from the corner of his eyes, he could swear he could see Bill's eye crinkle in a large smile. "That's—"

"Yep Sixer," the triangle said. He could practically hear the smirk in his little smug voice. Oh, how he wanted to punch him in the eye. Or just blast him to pieces. He would settle for any one of the two.

"She's about to find out much more about the portal than she ever thought."

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Y/n took a deep breath, shaking out her limbs. It was odd; there had been such excitement towards this moment, but now there was a certain anxiety clawing at her.

"Yep, this is it," she reassured herself. "Just five little buttons and I can finally see what Stan's been keeping behind here," she laughed nervously, raising her hand to the keypad.

Y/n was surprised to find that her hand was trembling slightly. She hesitated a moment, but ultimately reinforced her resolve. She wasn't going to let herself overthink herself out of this one, especially when it had been eating at her for the past couple of days.

Her fingers danced across the keys, and after inputting the password, she stood back and allowed the vending machine to let out a small huff as it opened. It swung only inches away from the wall, and she had to catch it before it shut itself again.

It was surprisingly heavy. With a mighty pull, Y/n finally swung it wide open, finally gaining her first real peek inside since that one out-of-body-experience.

The door revealed a short hallway— essentially, it was just the landing to a staircase— followed with an immediate descent into darkness.

Y/n peered in, eyes wide. "Holy fuck."

Snapping out of her amazement, she remembered her ticking alarm in her pocket. She didn't want to risk Stan waking up and finding her; she didn't know just how long the medicine would keep the man asleep, especially with The Duchess Approves yelling about being a real woman in the background.

With a nervous gulp, Y/n took a step beyond the vending machine. Taking one last look at the gift shop, she reached for the edge of the door, letting it close behind her softly. Darkness immediately engulfed her.

"No wonder why Stan had that lantern," Y/n mumbled. She hadn't thought to bring a flashlight, so the best she could come up with was the light on her phone. It wasn't anything crazy, but for the moment, it would have to do.

Y/n made her descent down the stairs at a snail's place, grappling onto the wall near blind. It was all wooden, and every step she took let out a monstrous cry. The wood continued up the side of the walls, ending in a border that went down with the stairs. The rest of the wall was plaster, and various cracks ran up towards the ceiling. She swiveled her head around constantly, trying to inspect as much as the walls as she could.

Her inquisitiveness paid off: about halfway down the stairs, Y/n found a very clear hand print on the wall. It made her freeze on the spot: there were six fingers.

"No way," she muttered, bringing her phone closer. "The Author... did he live here...?"

Her hand ghosted over her pocket, where the journal lied. Questions ran through her mind: if the Author did actually live here, how did the Shack get into Stan's hands? How did he even know about this basement? What was down here that needed to be padlocked shut? Did he know the Author?

She stared a moment longer, before deciding it would be best to just take a picture of it and continue on her way. She had no idea how deep this went, and she couldn't stop and note down every single detail, no matter how damning it might be.

The stairs ended shortly after that, and she was left in a narrow hallway stretching down several yards. Machinery lined the walls, and Y/n made sure not to rub against any of it as she made her way towards the elevator doors in front of her. She didn't want to disturb any dust or critters that might have wandered down here.

She ran into her first problem at the elevator. It was shut, and she quickly realized the only way to activate it was through a keypad on the wall. It required another password.

"No," she mumbled when she first saw it. Hurriedly, her fingers pried it opened. "No no no no! What do you mean I need another password? How am I supposed to get this one?"

The keypad had various different symbols, each archaic and foreign. It wasn't something she had ever seen before. But she had an idea as to where a potential answer might be.

Y/n trapped her phone under her chin, reaching into the front pocket of her hoodie. With bated breath, she hoped that the journal held the answer she needed. If her previous question was correct, and the Author really had lived here, then maybe he wrote the password down.

She started flipping through pages wildly, skipping over the portions she had read so far. She focused on the page with the portal drawing, and when that search came up empty, she jumped all the way to the end of the book.

"Maybe he hid it back here?" She hoped, leafing backwards. She eventually passed through Dipper's own additions, and her heart fell.

"No," she whined, still skimming pages. "I can't have come this far just for this to happen. I drugged Stan, for fuck's sake!"

She was about to give up, having passed through the blank pages that marked the Author's disappearance when she stumbled across something. Two pages before the Author's last entry, it seemed her answer laid.

Taking up the entirety of one page, four complex symbols were written in red ink. Y/n looked up between the keypad and the page; it was a match.

"Y-yes! Fuck yes!" She exclaimed, jumping in joy slightly.

She quickly put in the code and hopped into the elevator, watching as the rickety doors shuttered to close behind her. Y/n didn't even need to put in anything else, it started to move on it's own, sending her to the bottom floor.

Y/n tried not to think about the maximum weight an elevator this age could hold as she made her steady descent even further into the Earth. She didn't even know what to think at this point; she just wanted to keep going.

Y/n remained in the middle of the elevator, afraid that moving too much would cause the aging cables to snap and leave her stranded at the bottom of the shaft. She also refrained from looking around too much, afraid that her eyes might spot an unwanted pest hitching a ride alongside her.

She only let her eyes wander when the elevator passed a door. Y/n didn't make out much of it, and by the time she noticed it, it had already disappeared above her.

"Oh God," she whispered, trying to block out the creaks the machinery made as it strained under her weight. "How many levels are there to this thing?"

Y/n didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to get a little fearful. She didn't know what to expect when she finally entered the basement, but it certainly wasn't a multi-storied complex. Not to mention, her alarm was ticking all the while she was on her way to what she assumed as the bottom level. The last thing she wanted was to end up stuck down here when Stan eventually woke up.

After what seemed like hours, the elevator finally came to a stop at the bottom floor. The basement— if you couldn't even call it that anymore— was three stories deep, the girl counted.

The doors opened slowly, and Y/n was afraid they had jammed for a second. She quickly exited the platform, and was met with an array of active machines on either side of her. It was like the original hallway to the elevator, except all of them were on, buzzing and whirring like metal animals, all trying to catch the girl's attention at once.

But only one could do that.

Stumbling past the smaller machines, consisting of large consoles, blinking lights, and surveillance mechanisms, Y/n stared up through a window at the thing she had just been reading about: the interdimensional portal the Author and F had built together.

Completely ignoring the large desk, console, and screen setup beside the window looking into the mainroom, she ran to the door, surprised to find that it opened when she was a step away from it. She passed the threshold, beholding the mechanic behemoth in all its glory.

Or... former glory.

It was more than dilapidated; sheets of metal hung off the large triangular machine, bolts missing from various places, and wires draping from the dirt ceiling. Four rings were positioned beside her— two on the floor and two on the ceiling— much like large test tubes missing their connections. Supports were cracked, but held strong enough to keep the roof from collapsing. Large and thick pipes ran across nearly every surface, and Y/n had to keep a look out for any ones that might trip her. Thick wires hung from the high ceilings like vines.

She walked up to the portal, stopping suddenly where she reached a large strip of caution tape. She decided to stick behind that point. The portal may have appeared completely inactive, but she didn't know the extent of the Author's work on it. He was using higher level quantum theory and plans written by a demon to create a portal that acted as a gateway to different dimensions— there was no telling what this thing could do, even as damaged as it was. If anything, it gave her better reason to keep her distance.

"Oh my God," Y/n mumbled, her eyes jumping wildly from place to place. Her voice was low, completely ripped away from her by the sight of such high tech machinery she had only just read about.

There were a number of questions just on the tip of her tongue, but not only were they jumping around too fast to keep track of, but she lacked the ability to voice them. Besides, she would only be asking the open air in front of her. She needed answers that she was sure that only Bill could provide.

She continued to stare at the machinery in awe, as there was nothing more than she could do. Her head was getting fuzzy, overwhelmed by all the thoughts running wild. It was to the point that Y/n was left wondering if she was still awake. She knew naps were so rare for her that they were considered unnatural, but what if her body just gave out and her tired mind fabricated this elaborate plot? Why else would Stan have this portal room in the basement of his tourist trap, right?

"...Right?"

Still in shock, her legs carried her backwards out of the room. The door closed behind her, and she took a seat at the little desk positioned at the head of the hallway. The chair rolled back, slamming against the adjoining control board roughly. Y/n spun around, resting her head and running her hands through her hair in an attempt to ground herself.

She finally picked her head up, looking around the desk. It was a complete mess littered in pens, papers, and textbooks. One thing that caught her eye was the picture frame at the head of the table.

"If I had any doubts about Stan coming down here, this surely quells those," she joked slightly, trying to cope with all the information she had accidentally stumbled across.

The frame held a picture of her and the twins from (maybe) last May. The twins took up the front of the frame, almost tackling each other to appear so close to the camera. The picture caught them moments before they pounced on it. Y/n remained in the back, where she normally was. Even then, she had distanced herself from this "sibling photo," as Mabel dubbed it.

She placed the frame down after a moment, finding a small comfort in it. If Stan had this near such mecha monstrosities, then maybe the truth she was so desperately trying to piece together wasn't as bad as it appeared.

She started to run her fingers along the side of the desk until she nearly burned herself. Pulling her hand back with a loud hiss, she leaned over to see a glowing rune ingrained one the side of the large console. It was the size of her palm, and glowed a fiery orange. It consisted of long crossing lines and a center circle. Two little waves were positioned on either side of it, and arrows made up the ends.

With a small tut, and after cooling the burnt skin on the tips of her fingers by placing them just past her teeth, she rolled herself away from the desk. She had just about had enough of this portal room. All it had done was left her with more questions and a spinning head.

But then she noticed the slightly open sliding compartment at the head of the desk. She pulled it back all the way, revealing a small bookshelf.

And in that moment, any comfort vanished.

"No fucking way," she breathed out, her hands trembling as she reached forward.

Nestled in a little book shelf, surrounded by quantum physics and advanced calculus textbooks, a familiar red cover and golden ornaments caught her eye. She ran her finger along its spine before pulling out of it's housing. Her breath left her as she read the cover: within another six-fingered golden hand, the book was marked with the number one.

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The two watched from the comforts of Ford's mind as Flame continued to lose her mind.

"He has—? Why? I—" She couldn't even form coherent sentences, and she kept fingers pressed to her temple as if it was the only thing that was keeping her spinning head attached to her hunched shoulders.

"Why does he have it?!" She asked incredulously, picking up the book roughly and thumbing through it. "I don't understand; what happened to there being no supernatural? What happened to all those 'tall tales used to sell merchandise?'"

She soon found the page with another third of the portal design.

"It's hidden across three books... Is Stan looking for them...? Where's the second?"

Ford watched as she began to flip through the third journal, starting from the page she had recovered the password for the elevator. It absolutely killed him to see what this girl was doing; she was merely a few pages away from learning the truth about the so-called-friend she had recently acquired, but she kept missing it! She needed to learn the truth, lest the demon use her just like he had used him.

He wasn't even wondering why on Earth Stan still had the journal, or the fact that he seemed to be making regular trips to the basement. He was more concerned about the girl to pick up any signs that hinted to the fact that his brother was trying to reactivate the machinery himself.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bill's attitude shift slightly. He seemed to recognize how close this girl was to finding out the truth.

"She's going to find out," Ford said, feigning confidence to both startle the demon as well as reassure himself. It was technically his fault that Bill was eagerly looking for another puppet to manipulate: he was the one who had done nearly 90% of the work needed for Bill to break out of the mindscape. If this girl was to get roped in, then the guilt would be immeasurable. She shouldn't have to answer to the past mistakes of his arrogance and ego.

"We'll see about that," Bill said, still smug. But Ford had known him long enough to see the cracks in his strong facade. "She may seem smart, but she's only human. And you humans are rather idiotic."

"She's right there," Ford argued, motioning to the screen with his hand. He was barely able to move it an inch or so above the arm rest, the invisible chain back.

The girl had started mumbling to herself, eyes scanning over bits and pieces of the entry concerning possible hiding places of the journals. Ford noticed, terrified, that it appeared she wasn't going to move from that spot for a while.

She's so focused on the second journal, Ford thought, his brows creasing in concern. She's skipping right past the part where I wrote about a certain charlatan dubbed "S" that was supposed to take the first!

Bill cackled beside him. "You seem to forget," he said between chuckles, "you scribbled over most of that. You should have seen her reading through earlier entries. If she were to meet you, she'd complain about all the missing information."

Ford felt himself nearly deflate. In his desperate attempt to censor any information that would have aided Bill in the event he fell asleep and lost control of his body, he only further damned the girl.

"Look how clueless she is," Bill cheered, a cheeky look in his eye. "Face it Sixer, she's too distracted with the portal nonsense to read your little entry about me. Maybe she'll see the little entry about the Blind Eye Society started by that weak minded assistant of yours—"

Ford jumped in his seat. "Fiddleford started that thing?"

"—but she'll probably stop reading after that," he continued, ignoring Sixer altogether. He lifted his hand, inspecting nonexistent nail beds. "As far as she's concerned, she just made a 'big break' in her theories. She'll stop for the day, not only confused and completely overwhelmed by everything she's just learned, but prideful with the discovery. Flame's simple like that— she doesn't need to discover all the answers at once to be satisfied, unlike a certain researcher. Then she'll get to bed, all excited to tell me about everything she found. And after I let her talk my ear off, I'll make my deal."

"What are you going to do with her?" Ford growled.

"Nothing much. Just a deal... then further plant seeds of doubt about all her relationships. Isolate and cut her off from her family, then use her to bring about my destined reign," he explained nonchalantly. "In fact, you might be familiar with this trade-off of mine," the demon continued, an insane cackle accenting his words. "You know, the one where I take over the body while the person sleeps?"

Ford paled. "Don't you dare touch her! Don't bring this child into this!"

"'Child?' Oh, I wish she was a child. It would be so much easier to lure her into a deal," he complained, leaning back in his chair. "She's already turned down one deal; the only reason she was so eager to take this one was because I've been messing around with her sleep patterns."

"It doesn't matter. This is between you and me; not some random girl who just so happened to find my journal."

Bill only laughed harder, wiping away fake tears. "Sixer! You're killing me. It's so wonderful to see how clueless you are, you know that?"

"What the hell do you mean?" The man spat.

"Isn't it obvious?" He knew it wasn't; how was Stanford to know that this girl was related to him, a great-niece?

"Maybe to a demon who is free to spy on my home dimension whenever he wants to," Ford choked through clenched teeth.

"That only makes it even better. Don't you worry your little head about that. In fact, you shouldn't even spend a waking thought on Flame. Unlike you, she isn't stranded to hop through dimensions aimlessly, forever stuck traveling constantly until her pitiful life is snuffed out. I only introduced you to her because I wanted to show you that your pathetic efforts to stop my takeover have been futile," Bill spat, his voice dropping several octaves all at once. A demonic undertone echoed around the two, and the air seemed to dip several degrees.

"Sure, there have been some setbacks— Modoc and his unrelenting idiocy, you and your irritable persistence— but this girl is the fresh start I've been looking for. No matter how hard you tried to hide your research, it's fallen back into the hands of another fleshbag. And with a bit of convincing, possessing, and my wonderful guidance, the portal will be up and running in no time."

"She won't be so keen on helping you when she eventually discovers your true nature."

"And just how is she going to stumble across that truth?" He asked, his voice returning to it's previous (mind numbing, as Ford now found it) pitch. "As far as she's concerned, I'm her little friend; someone she can talk to, and someone who she plans on showing her innermost thoughts to! As soon as I make that deal and get into that body of hers, that entry is going."

He snapped, and a little doll of the girl appeared in his hands. "It's almost sad; you'd find her so smart. A young genius maybe, following right in your six-fingered footsteps; excels in math and science. Just like you, she doesn't even know that she's a puppet: a tool that is just going to ease my transition to power. And in the case she does wise up... well, it's much easier to control a flame than a raging inferno, isn't it? I'll make her comply."

Ford's fists clenched, nails digging into the alpustry of the seat he was confined to. He didn't want to admit it, but Bill was right. As long as he was stuck dimensions away from his original, there was no way to warn her of the danger that was slowly trapping her in it's triangular clutches. The only possible way he could come into contact with her was if that portal was reactivated.

But at the same time, the moment the gateway was made available, Bill was sure to pounce on the opportunity to escape from the Nightmare Realm. As long as he was so far from that dimension— where the portal's original coordinates were marked— the demon would always have the upper hand. And there was no way Ford could hold out in the Nightmare Realm without being caught by the various henchmaniacs that littered the area.

"Your plan isn't going to work," Ford managed to spit out finally, venom lacing words. His glare burned right through the triangle, holding enough loathing to scare any sensible person.

But Bill wasn't a sensible person; he only started laughing.

"Face it, Sixer," he said, motioning to the screen. "Your dimension's had a good run. But it's nothing against my power. Time's-a-ticking, and it's just about to run out for that pitiful and dull plane of existence you originate from."

Before Ford could even think of a clever comeback to try to intimidate Bill, a loud ringing ran out around them.

The two turned their attention back to the screen, where Flame was still sitting at the desk. Now, however, she had closed both journals, returning the first back to its place in the book shelf. In her hands, she fumbled with the little rectangular device from earlier. It kept crying out.

"My case and point," Bill said, smirking with his eye.

"It's been ten minutes already?" Flame asked, silencing the device. Ford realized that whatever she had been tapping earlier had been an alarm.

She stood up suddenly, but her body seemed to be torn: part of her leaned forward, back to the portal, while her legs pointed back down the hallway to the elevator.

Eventually, she ran back to the elevator, quickly pressing buttons to return herself back to the ground floor.

"I don't need Stan knowing I've found out about this place," she mumbled to herself, stepping onto the platform. The elevator doors closed behind her. "I need to figure out just what the fuck is going on here. Maybe..." she trailed off for a moment, a loud squeak from the metal encasing her interrupting her thoughts. "Maybe Bill has a couple of answers."

With that sentence, the feed ended. In a very fitting finale for Bill, the screen, projector, and seats were consumed by a blue fire, leaving the two back into the regular field Ford had originally found himself in.

Ford stumbled forward, a vain attempt to try to launch himself onto the demon. His rage carried him, but it could only propel him so far.

Bill grew in size, easily catching him between two fingers by the scruff of his coat. The triangle's shadow cast over the man.

"Oh, Sixer." Bill's voice dropped, now a demonic rattle that shook the entire area. His eye seemed to widen, veins popping out of the sclera and his cat-like pupil lengthening.

His limbs became more spindly; sharp points that ended in talons and claws, pieces of his being appearing to melt off his body as everything remained connected together.

Bill's color changed, the bright yellow darkening to a pitch black, his eye becoming a glowing red. The triangle split in two; a mouth connecting the two pieces. Uneven fangs lined the edges, a long and sharp tongue flopping out from between stringy and sticky matter connecting the sinewy segments.

"Is that just cute?" Bill continued, raising the man higher into the air. Ford tried to escape his grip, the long claws the hand ended in pierced his coat. He was caught on a hook. "Don't you get it? You can't do anything anymore."

"That's not true! I won't let you do anything to my dimension, you two dimensional, polygonal demon! Your plan won't come into fruition!"

Bill laughed, a rattle so deep that Ford could feel it in his chest. "Sure Sixer, keep telling yourself that."

He raised Ford up higher, level with his pupil. From his peripheral vision, he could see the field he had awoken in change. It was flickering to black, and whispers started to fill the once empty air.

It was eerily familiar to when Ford had first opened the portal; when he wasn't aware of the danger he had unleashed upon his world and only just discovered the true nature of the Muse he had looked up to for guidance.

"Don't look so down," Bill said, an evil glint in his eyes. "When I finish with my plan, I'll give you a front row seat of the destruction of your little dimension."

And with that, Bill dropped his previous puppet into his awaiting maw.

Ford jolted awake, and relief flooded through him when he discovered he was back in the cave he had taken refuge in.

But it only lasted a moment.

"That girl is in trouble— Stanley is in trouble..." he muttered, lifting himself to his feet. "The entire world is in danger because of my foolish mistakes."

He reached into his thick coat, removing stained parchment and a long quill. It was some of the only writing materials he had managed to find from his trips throughout the various dimensions. He quickly found the page he was looking for.

"It's about time I start taking this project more seriously," Stanford said, reading over the drawn diagrams and estimated measurements.

"I need to begin construction on the Quantum Destabilizer."

Chapter Text

Y/n was more than relieved to see that Stan was still asleep when she finally made her way back up from the basement.

After peaking her head through the gift shop door to see his figure still laid back on the sofa, she scampered across the room, quickly seeking refuge in her bedroom. She let the door close with a slight slam, waking the man in the process.

Stan simply turned towards the hallway, before shrugging and turning back to the TV. If it wasn't important enough to warrant a shout from Squirt, then it obviously wasn't anything he'd have to worry about. He didn't even realize that she had drugged him, let alone the fact that she had discovered some of the skeletons he'd tried to bury in the basement.

As soon as Y/n closed the door, she slid to the floor, eyes wide and mouth slack-jawed. She felt heavier than usual; a mix of her mind-numbing shock, her ever-clouding fatigue, and the items in her pockets weighing her down considerably. She curled herself into a ball of sorts, drawing her knees close to her body.

"Oh God," Y/n kept mumbling, her mind running in circles. There was so much information she had just uncovered, and her brain was having trouble comprehending everything. Especially given just how mind shattering some of it was.

A portal? She kept thinking, the crystal clear image bubbling to the surface of her thoughts. An interdimensional portal? That's what he's been hiding!? That and the first journal?

In hindsight, Y/n knew that just those two facts alone meant there was much more that the man was hiding, but it was the only thing she could focus on. It felt like she had the entire weight of the world riding on her shoulders, and she didn't necessarily have a lot of people to turn to in order to help ease the burden of knowledge.

In the elevator trip back up to the gift stop, she considered confronting Stan. But then she realized just how terrible an idea that was.

She had long since been suspicious of Stan's behavior: he was a seedy conman, who probably had a number of arrest warrants in different states. Hell, he went to jail in Columbia apparently.

But he was still her Grunkle. Well... he was an adoptive Grunkle technically. At the very least, Y/n was constantly chiding herself to forget that specific technicality.

Either way, their familial relationship— biological or not— had prevented herself from truly being able to scrutinize him as such. He had beyond proven himself to be more than a walking scam, even if he was prone to have sticky fingers or fleece rubes when given the chance.

But now?

Now Y/n was facing all sorts of red flags.

She got up suddenly, flopping onto her bed. Emptying her pockets, she grabbed her Tabloid and opened to the page she had already titled "The Author." Y/n had already scribbled down a quick sketch of a six-fingered hand. She didn't have much to go off on the Author's appearance, and her brain was much too tired to try to create a caricature.

"The Author had to have lived here," she mumbled to herself, quickly jotting down notes. The hand print she had snapped a picture of was a sign in itself, but the portal room was the real proof.

"But if he lived here," she continued, flipping to another page and making a quick, make-shift-timeline. She tried to look at the facts from different angles, but her mind kept circling to one conclusion. Y/n hoped that it wasn't her tired brain hyperfocusing on a singular possibility, but for the moment, there was only theory she could back up with enough facts to prove it potentially correct.

"They had to have known each other."

It was all there. Firstly, Stan had a journal. Y/n knew the Author was trying to hide them— she could gather that much from the messy page littered in large chunks of censored text and doodles of Bill— but from what she deciphered, the second and third were being buried.

Her mind quickly jumped to the second journal, which was hidden within the town's elementary school's ground, but she quickly pushed that thought aside. That was for another time, when she wasn't on the verge of frenzy.

She wasn't sure what his plans were for his first book, but from what wasn't scribbled out, it didn't seem as if he was looking to hide it in the same way.

"So... maybe he gave it to Stan to guard...?"

That could be a possibility. But why Stan of all people?

From what Y/n could tell from the journal, the Author was a rather prideful man, with a hindering ego the size of most of the technical and supernatural endeavors he undertook. And if the remains of the entry about his assistant were any sign, he didn't let just anyone into his life. He was a recluse, with a few chosen minds close to his own in intelligence allowed into his scientific sanctuary.

And well... Stan didn't necessarily check all those boxes.

"Even if he did give it to Stan, that wouldn't explain why he ended up staying in the Shack all these years later," she mumbled, chewing the back of her pen lightly. "Leaving something as high-tech and extravagant as that— something that would have proved his Unified Theory of Weirdness correct and made him a millionaire— in the hands of such a crooked character."

Unless...

What if Stan had something to do with his disappearance?

It was a halting thought. Y/n was completely biased, but she had to look at the facts: Stan was perfectly capable of something like this. But it didn't leave much as to why.

Why would Stan get rid of the Author and hold onto one of his journals, presumably searching for the rest and toying with the machine the latter spent his entire life's work on? The only possible reason she could think of was for the money and fame, but obviously that never came to fruition. If he was really looking for the profits of such groundbreaking discoveries, Stan would have cashed in the journal. That alone would have made him a millionaire.

Y/n paused for a moment, holding the pen between her teeth as her brows furrowed. She never did continue with the pages on the portal, did she? She just got to the page with a third of the portal's instructions and hopped around from there. She knew there were about maybe five or so pages that she missed, and with a loud sigh she figured she should at least skim through those before she got ahead of herself and started making rash theories.

Y/n reached over to the journal, and as her fingers flipped past pages, a loud crash rang throughout the Shack. Her head perked up. "Was that... shattered glass?"

She quickly leaped out of her bed, sticking her head out the door and down the hallway. Moments later, the door opened, and Dipper and Mabel walked in looking just as confused as she was.

"Stan!" Mabel whined, closing the door behind the twins. "Why'd you throw the TV out the window?"

Y/n gaped from her room. "You threw the TV out the window? I thought you were enjoying The Dutche—"

"No!" Stan yelled suddenly. He appeared in the hallway, glaring down at Y/n in an attempt to keep her silent. "I couldn't find the remote and there was no way I was going to sit through that crap," he finished, forcing a laugh. "It's so boring!"

"Sure," Y/n said, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Whatever you say, Mr. Saunterblugget Hampterfuppinshire."

Stan's eyes widened, and he immediately retreated down the hall and into the kitchen, mumbling about he needed to be a good guardian and start dinner.

"What was that about?" Mabel asked, once Stan disappeared from sight.

"Nothing worthwhile. Trust me, I'd know." Y/n answered, closing the room to her door. Despite everything she had just discovered, she managed to keep a pretty straight poker face, deciding that distracting herself with the twins was her best bet until she could steal a few minutes to herself to finally finish the pages following the portal's diagram. "How was hanging out with Wendy?"

"Oh! It was really cool! Wasn't it Dipper?"

He just grunted in agreement, turning his body from Y/n entirely.

So I guess hanging out with his crush didn't make him forget about his little quarrel with me, Y/n thought bitterly. She sighed lightly; he'd come around eventually.

Mabel sensed Dipper's grudge as well, and with a nervous laugh she tried to ease the tension. "We fought ghosts!"

"Huh?"

"Wendy and her friends took us to this haunted convenient store. And we learned the hard way that it was actually haunted! At least... that's what I've been told," she said, raking her hands through her hair. "I was on a smile dip high and don't remember most of the trip. And then I got possessed!"

"What?!"

"Don't worry! Dipper saved all of us! Why don't you fill her in, huh Dip Dop?"

Try as she might, even Mabel wasn't going to get anything from the boy. He just rolled his eyes and headed for the attic, stomping away on the stairs until he reached their room. Mabel winced when the sound of the door closing reached their ears.

"Sorry Y/n," she mumbled sheepishly.

"No, it's okay. I get it." She wanted to pry more about the whole possession thing, but she decided that if Mabel was okay she didn't necessarily need to know all the details. She already had a portal on her mind.

"He's just being a bit moody," she explained, trying to make light of the situation.

"Mabel, seriously, I get it. He'll come around eventually. I'm not keeping this journal forever. He'll get better when I return it."

Mabel just nodded, looking up at the stairs. Concern glazed in her bright brown eyes.

"Thanks for telling me," Y/n said suddenly. "About the ghosts, I mean."

"Yeah, of course! What else are siblings for? We have to tell each other everything!"

Y/n stiffened, her eyes flickering towards her closed door, and the plethora of secrets waiting behind it. "Yeah," she forced a smile, rolling her neck and shoulders.

It's for their safety, she chided herself sternly. There's a difference.

"I'll go cheer up Dipper," the young brunette said, skipping to the stairs. If she noticed Y/n's sudden change in attitude, she didn't say anything. "I'll see you for dinner!"

With a nod and a hum, Y/n returned back into her room. She didn't have time to worry about Dipper, either. He was safe at that was enough.

She considered putting away the journal for the night. After all she discovered, coupled with the twins' return, she could stand a little break. But... those five pages could have more information about the portal. She could just satiate her curiosity, just this once.

"Let's just get through the rest of the portal pages," she mumbled, crawling back onto her bed. She had a certain gut feeling about the few pages she missed, and Y/n was hoping that they would hold what little details needed to put together the story behind why Stan held the first journal.

But the little hope she had vanished the moment her eyes scanned the next page.

"Oh no." A pit settled in her stomach, and she shifted herself in her seat. "'Curse the world. Curse this town. Curse the fate that brought me here,'" she read slowly, almost whispering the words.

Ripped and tattered at the edges, the page was about how F accidentally stumbled into the portal during testing. He saw... something... and immediately left the project, leaving the Author alone with advice to shut it off for good.

"'The Apocalypse?' Why would a portal of Bill's design lead to an apocalypse?"

She looked to the next page, which only appeared more somber and ominous. "'Something's not right... What have I done...?' I don't know man! What happened to the portal? Why are you hearing voices?"

There was a certain fear building up in her chest. Y/n didn't know why— this wasn't a horror book or anything— but there was something about these two entries that made her limbs feel like lead. She was close to breaking out in a cold sweat, and she found her hands oddly calmy.

"No," she laughed to herself, wiping her hands on her pj pants. "I'm being crazy. There must have been something wrong with the coordinates they set. Or maybe the voices are just some of the creatures from the Weirdness Dimension spilling into the basement? There has to be a logical—" she flipped the page and her heart dropped to her stomach.

"—conclusion," she finished weakly, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

The page was completely scribbled out in black, littered in eyes almost scratched directly into the page. The pen strokes were so heavy they almost ripped the page. That alone would have been terrifying, but then there was the red ink that laid atop of the black strokes.

Y/n nearly dropped the book. She didn't even need to continue reading to figure out what that red ink was. It fell in splotches at the letters, and pooled at the corners and in the irises of the drawn eyes.

"It's blood," she whispered. Chills ran down her spine. "What... what happened to this man?"

There were few coherent lines written between the two pages. Most of it was strange symbols, and some of the English was smudged between the fold in the center. But it was impossible to ignore the obvious:

"MY MUSE WAS A MONSTER." Bill? No... he isn't—

"I WAS A PUPPET!"  No! Something happened; something's wrong—!

"F WAS RIGHT."  The... the apocalypse? What do you mean?

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, rubbing at her eyes as if they were deceiving her. The fear was turning into a solid brick that kept her rooted to the bed and prevented her from getting up to pace and relieving her buzzing limbs. Her mind was racing, and suddenly her questions weren't just about the portal and Stan.

She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, trying to swallow the lump that appeared in her dry throat. Y/n wasn't sure if she wanted to continue, especially with this page staring back up at her from five different angles, but she figured anything would be better than ending on such a disturbing entry.

But as she quickly flipped to the next page, her regret only doubled.

It was what she had been initially looking for, but instead of celebrating the found information, she was growing increasingly hesitant to read it.

The entry was about Bill.

The page was covered in even more blood; this time, it was splattered over the center of the paper, covering symbols, drawings, and text. The edges held various doodles, and information was written down at every angle. It was truly resemblant of someone going mad.

Beside his name, a drawing depicting the snazzy triangle lay, colored in dark ink. To the right of the drawing, the three substitution codes the Author had taken a liking too were scribbled out.

Going against every fiber of her being, Y/n continued down the page, surprised to find that the text that had been scribbled out at the bottom was readable. It took her a bit— and most of the hesitance was derived from the fear of discovery— but she was finally able to make out what the Author had initially written about Bill.

"'Bill has proven himself to be one of the kindest and most trustworthy individuals that I've ever encountered in my life. What a guy! I honestly couldn't trust him more. Not evil in any way, Bill is a true gentleman.'"

But right under that, written in blood and frantic in nature, was "BILL CAN'T BE TRUSTED!"

Y/n sputtered for a moment. "This... this can't be true," she muttered, quickly looking towards the next page.

She didn't want to believe it; there had to be something she was missing. Bill couldn't be a monster of this caliber! A lesser caliber? Maybe; he was a demon after all. But she had met him; he was the gentleman he depicted himself to be. There had to be a misunderstanding— something that made the Author completely reconsider everything he once knew about his Muse.

"'I must now reveal the name of my 'Muse.' Beware Bill! The most powerful and dangerous creature I've ever encountered. This nightmare in disguise will seduce you with never-ending flattery until he gets what he wants— and what he wants is the destruction of this reality!' No," Y/n stopped reading, fingers fumbling with the sheets. She could feel her heartbeat drumming in her ears, only increased by the thoughts that seemed to be bouncing off her temples.

"This can't be true!" She said once again, an odd amount of desperation leaking into her silent cry. "Bill? The little triangle guy in my dreams? My friend...?" Y/n paused suddenly, noticing how the word "friend" felt much sour on her tongue than it had before.

Y/n closed the book for the moment, her fingers holding her place. She didn't want to stare at the page any longer; she didn't want to believe the facts that were so blatantly written down before her.

But no matter what her common sense kept chiding her— scolding her to swallow the truth and realize the true nature of the triangle in her dreams— she just couldn't come to terms with it.

"There... there has to be a reason, right?" She mumbled, carefully cracking the book open again, almost afraid that something was going to pop out of it.

Y/n looked over the page once again, eyes lingering on the silhouette of Bill.

"You aren't really that bad... are you?"

She sounded like a child— she could tell that much— but she didn't want it to be true. Y/n really liked talking to Bill; she had grown to consider him a friend of sorts. Even if he was a demon that only appeared occasionally in her dreams. He was so... helpful. Dare she say some-what comforting...? Either way, she had grown to enjoy his company in her head, and maybe attached herself to him a little too quickly. But he had shown her companionship when she was constantly doubting her own place within her adoptive family, and that was enough for her.

She took a deep breath, lightly biting her bottom lip. It appeared she was going to have to take a page out of Mabel's book: "She always looks for the good in people, right? Let's see what Bill has to say for himself before I do anything."

And with that, deciding that today was filled with enough adventure and discovery for her tired mind to handle, Y/n closed the book.

"I'll just go help Stan with dinner or something. Anything to clear my head."

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Dinner was mostly uneventful.

Save for, of course, the immense awkwardness between the entire family. It was a quarrel between Y/n and Dipper, but pretty soon, it spread to the rest of the table like a parasite.

Stan seemed to notice the thick tension between his eldest niece and younger nephew, despite all of Mabel's attempts to keep a conversation rolling and away from the obvious.

It was a perpetual silence accented by Stan's loud chewing and Mabel's vain conversation starters about the unforeseen psychedelic properties of Smile Dip. But once Dipper excused himself early after scarfing down his meal, the mood was beyond salvageable. It was dead from the beginning, and it was already in the ninth circle of hell  by the end of it.

Y/n didn't pay attention to most of it; if Dipper was sending her glares they went completely unnoticed. She was too busy trying to cope with the information she retained from her escapades around the Shack and the journal. She felt like she had uncovered the Rosetta Stone, but instead of valuable knowledge that helped decipher archaic symbols (which was equally something she was looking for, for all the other codes in the journal), she only found evidence that made two people she cared about oddly suspicious.

Night had encroached on the small town hours ago; while all its inhabitants had lingered off into sleep, Y/n was still lying awake in her bed. The open window beside her allowed the brisk breeze to flow into the room, accompanied by the soft lullaby of the night's creatures. She fought off sleep, her own anxiety of finding out Bill's side of the story the only thing preventing her from passing out immediately.

Y/n didn't know why she was so worried about it; she didn't think Bill was truly what the Author had made him out to be... at least, that's what she kept telling herself.

Her eyelids were getting heavier by the moment, and at this point her buzzing mind was slowing to a sluggish static, begging her for rest. Her thoughts clouded over and jumbled together; there was no reason to stay up if even her thoughts were muddled and incomprehensible.

Right as she was about to give into rest, Y/n jolted suddenly. She looked down to the foot of the bed, as if expecting something to be waiting for her there. Of course there was nothing, and Y/n silently wondered what even made her look down in the first place.

She turned over, kicking off her blanket slightly. It was always hot in the Shack, and it didn't help that Stan never bothered to buy an AC. Y/n didn't mind too much; she was comfortable in the heat. But it was always nice to have a little breeze easing the damp humidity in the room.

With a loud huff, she finally put her thoughts aside, deciding it was pointless to worry over such trivial things. She was building up this moment for nothing; assuming the result was a fate much worse than it probably was.

"All I have to do is ask him," she muttered, suppressing a yawn. "I'm sure everything will be just fine." 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Everything was not fine.

At least, that's how Bill viewed it.

Where was this fleshbag? She was usually asleep by now.

Bill wasn't worried per say, but he definitely wasn't as secure as he could be. Y/n having the journal wasn't the best case scenario; it was definitely workable, but it all depending on timing. And worse of all, it depended on this fickle meatsack.

The entire goal was to befriend someone on the inside; someone he could use while he tended to finalizing his plans. He couldn't be everywhere at once, so having a manipulated fleshbag able to report back on the happening with the portal and journals was a much wanted luxury.

It was a win-win for all parties involved: Y/n would be happy with having him as a friend, Bill would end up breaking free of the limits of his failing dimension, and— when Flame finally realized her place as the mere torch that brought about the spark of his reign— he'd get rid of her. It was the least he could do after all; he didn't think she'd want to stay in a world where everything was utter pandemonium. He wasn't a complete monster.

As long as he sealed the deal with her tonight, he'd be golden— platinum even. With another human body he could freely move in and out of, he could get the portal done in a blink of an eye. Well... a blink of his eye. Human time moved so much faster to a demon who's been around for millennia. Either way, he'd be the all powerful entity he was destined to be by the end of the summer, maybe even sooner, and all he needed was to grasp the hand of a teenage mortal. He had just hoped that she was left content with the portal pages and didn't go any further.

He appeared in the Shack by her bedside around midnight, and was surprised to find that she was still awake. Her mind was racing impressively fast given the time and circumstance.

Bill wasn't exactly sure what she was thinking about, either. Everything was moving so fast that all he could get were small snippets of incomplete thoughts.

It isn't true...

He isn't what he seems—!

I'm just overreacting.

But you know what you saw.

There has to be an explanation—

There isn't! What else could there be?

Bill scowled, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. He was invisible to any human eye, and he was getting more and more antsy to finally finish the deal. He didn't think much of what she appeared to be thinking about; She's probably finally starting to doubt Fez, he figured. It would be the next logical thing to do after finding out what he was hiding in his basement.

This is stupid, he heard her think. I just need to go to bed.

"Finally!" He said, stretching himself out. He jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together as he turned to face Flame. "Now hurry up and pass out so I can—"

Bill stopped suddenly when he noticed that Y/n was staring directly at him. Like, unnecessarily-uncomfortable-prolonged-eye-contact-staring-dead-at-him. He paled for a moment, before remembering that she was in fact human and couldn't be able to see him.

It was then that he realized she was just starting right through him. It was... mildly unsettling, if he was to be honest. What prompted her to have a stare down with the foot of her bed in the first place?

He didn't spend much time thinking about it. Moments later, Y/n was settling into bed, already slowly drifting off to sleep. Puting the weird occurrence aside— after all, it couldn't be anything but an odd human tic or something; he wasn't 100% sure on how humans worked— he bit his tongue and continued to wait patiently for Flame to pass out.

It only took about ten minutes— thankfully, he thought with a sigh— but Flame was as good as comatose.

"Let's get this over with," Bill cackled, floating over to the sleeping girl. Her arm hung over the side of the bed, and her hair was already becoming messy. Strays stuck up against her face and pillow, already becoming staticy with the friction against the sheets.

Without so much as taking another glance at his sleeping target, he descended right into her mind, seeping down into her subconscious and rooting himself deep into her psyche.

Floating past towering trees and prolific foliage, he quickly located his new puppet— erm, Flame.

His size shrunk a bit, and before he could greet her with the comically exaggerated cheerfulness he had been feigning since the beginning, he noticed that she seemed a bit... off.

She was curled into a ball almost, knees tucked up closely to her chest. She wrung her hands constantly, fidgeting and pulling at her fingers. Her arms occasionally went to her sides, holding herself in a small hug. Rolling her shoulders, she would occasionally reach up to grab at her hair in fistfuls.

Had he known as much about human body language as he did the workings of the universe, he would have known that Y/n was in no place to start chatting so casually about their deal from the night prior. But of course, even if he did have the knowledge, why would such a powerful entity waste his time on such trivial matters?

Brushing aside whatever mood Flame might have been in— she was a teenager, it was probably something to do with hormones or something— he quickly made his presence known by taking a seat atop the crown of thick black hair. He had taken a liking to doing that.

Y/n jumped, but refrained from swatting at her head. She knew who it was this time, and just that thought alone made her body feel like lead.

"Oh, h-hey Bill."

"Flame!" Bill cheered, jumping from her head and floating upside down in front of her. She didn't meet his eye; covered slightly by her bangs, she was too distracted with the grass blade between her fingers. "Our little meeting last night was cut short by Red, wasn't it?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, nodding only slightly. Her hand went back up to rub at her neck. She remained silent, unsure how to voice the question dying to be released.

"Well," Bill continued, ignoring her sudden meekness, "are you still interested? Because it's a pretty good deal, if I do say so myself!" He laughed slightly, flipping right side up.

His hand illuminated once again, the blue flame enveloping both of them in a chilling glow. At this, Y/n lifted her head, her eyes focused on the fire between them.

It caught in her eyes, a deep blue swimming within her calculating dark irises. And instead of the hopeful and excited glint that they held last night, they were more hesitant and— dare she admit it— fearful.

But, she wanted to give him a chance to defend himself.

Innocent until proven guilty, right?

"Why do you want to possess my body?"

Bill faltered, his brow creasing. "What?"

"You brought up the deal first," she recalled. "You made the terms that you'd possess my body when I was resting. Why?"

He paused for a moment, the flame dying in his palm. Why was she only now asking questions? Why couldn't she just shake his goddamn hand already?

"Someone needs to be in your fleshbag while you're out of it. Better me than anyone else roaming around in the mindscape, you know?" Not necessarily a complete lie, but definitely far from the truth.

"What are you going to do when I'm out of it?"

She really is inquisitive tonight, isn't she? Bill cursed in his head. He let his hand fall to his side, irritation building up inside of him. He was getting impatient.

"I told you," he said, trying to mask the edge in his voice. "I'm just going to go about your normal day. Pretend to be you so no one gets suspicious."

"Run my tours, play nice with the twins?" Flame asked, cocking her head to the side. She seemed to have burrowed herself into the tree behind her; she remained rooted to its side just as firmly as it remained rooted in her head.

"Yeah, if necessary," he nodded, trying his best not to roll his eye in front of her. "So c'mon Flame!" He interrupted, trying to avoid any more questions that might expose the nature of the deal. "The clock's ticking, kiddo. Let's shake an—"

"Is it true?" Y/n spat out suddenly, shrinking back even further against the tree. It was supposed to come out more demanding, but obviously any courage had been left down in the basement.

Bill blinked. "What?"

"The entry! Is it really true?" She finally made eye contact with the demon. Her poker face was solid, but there was no containing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. They were looking for something, anything, that she could grapple onto that would quell her inhibitions.

But... there was nothing.

Bill didn't answer, mentally reworking his plan and leaving Y/n to brew in the uncanny quiet that descended between the two.

"You got that far, huh?" He said finally, his cheery tone now dull and flat.

Y/n was left dumbfounded; that was the first thing he said? She at least expected— no, she hoped— he would try to defend himself; say something that would explain what had happened between him and the Author.

She sputtered for a moment, watching as Bill turned his back to her and floated away.

"It was a misunderstanding, right?" She asked, practically giving him an excuse. She so desperately wanted him to tell her it was nothing; a complete misinterpretation made by the Author from his lack of sleep and increasing paranoia. As soon as they cleared it up, maybe laugh about it, she could tell him about the portal room and everything else she had been so excited to share.

But he wasn't giving her any of it.

Bill didn't see why he needed to keep pretending— hell, he was confused as to why she was even giving him all these chances to lie to her. Was he that good at posing as her friend?

"Well, well, well, well, well," he started, a benign cackle accenting his words. His voice dropped several pitches with each word. The world around them began to grow dark, the greens and blues dying and rotting to a dismal black.

Y/n jumped as his tone grew sour, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. This was an answer, but it wasn't the one she wanted.

"Look who decided to WISE UP!" He shouted, turning back to her. His normally small stature began to expand rapidly as the background continued to die and lose it's color and figures. Soon, all that was left in the dark blackspace was Y/n, Bill, and that stupid tree she clung to.

Y/n pressed herself against the tree further, almost trying to become flush against it. The ground beneath her gave way suddenly, and now she was a floating mess in the void, grappling with the oak as an instrument to keep her steady. Bill continued to grow, until his body took up the entirety of the new space.

"Flame," he continued, reaching over to her. He was nearly 20 times her size, and his thumb alone could do so much as squash her at any given moment.

Y/n tried to scuttle away, using the tree as a shield. Bill managed to grab her by her hoodie, lifting her up like a kitten. She began to kick and flail around, trying to keep her fearful gasps from being too audible.

Why is this happening?!

"You really thought we were friends? Wow," he laughed again, and this time it's echo rattled the entire plane. "I knew you humans were idiots, but I never thought you could be so braindead!"

"Wh-what?" She gasped, surprised to find her voice so soft. Her heart dropped, and for a moment her flailing stopped. They weren't...?

Of course! You idiot! A voice scolded her from the back of her mind. Why on Earth would you think that?

Y/n tried her best to free her hoodie from his grasp, struggling to pry it from his fingers in vain. Y/n considered pulling the hoodie over her head, dropping it completely and relying on her tank top underneath.

"You just had to keep digging in that journal, didn't you?" He continued, ignoring her completely. He began to swing her around slightly, treating her like a toy. "You just couldn't stop at the portal? Wasn't that the first thing I told you? What did I say about curiosity, kiddo? I said it wouldn't get you anywhere but in a waiting room for a SHRINK!"

"What did you do to the Author?" Y/n yelled suddenly, trying her best to level her voice. She felt her heart thudding in her chest. It was so loud that she was waiting for it to be the thing that awoke her from this shifting nightmare.

Bill laughed again, a volume so high that it nearly left her ears ringing. "That half-witted, arrogant meat-puppet? He's as good as dead at this point. And it appears you're going to be close to follow. You're following right in his footsteps, you know that?"

She may have been panicking, but she took note of his wording; "So he is still alive...! What did you do?!"

"Relax kiddo," he said. He tossed her into the air, earning a small scream from her. He began to juggle her around, growing spare arms to keep her suspended in the air and continue his momentum. "I didn't actually do anything. It was his own paranoia that landed him in his situation. He just had to keep digging for answers instead of going through with instructions without asking questions."

And at this point, Y/n was able to put it all together.

"That portal was your ticket into my dimension, wasn't it? You tricked the Author!"

"Good job Flame! Do you want a prize or something?" He cackled.

"You were going to use me to restart it, weren't you?"

"No shit Sherlock! You want to keep going with the obvious?"

"I thought—" she bit back the rest of the sentence. She didn't want to admit how close she had allowed herself to get to him, especially now.

He threw her up in the air once again, but instead of catching her in his palm, strings extended from his fingers, wrapping around her limbs like a marionette.

"Yes yes," he yawned. "You're just a puppet, just like that Author! Only difference is that you noticed your strings a little sooner than he did. I'll give you that. But that doesn't make any difference, Flame."

He raised his hand, lifting Y/n directly in line with his eye. Out of instinct, she kicked forward trying to hit him where she knew (presumed, really) would hurt: his eye. She only narrowly missed; Bill jerking back right before she landed her hit.

"Flame! Playing dirty? That isn't fair, is it?"

"It was never fair! You're a demon, for fuck's sake!"

He ignored her, only tilting his hand slightly and lifting fingers to animate his living puppet, making her more lively than she normally was.

"Listen, Flame," he spoke, his voice dropping to an even deeper octave. If he had a throat, it would definitely hurt him. The bright yellow color darkened to a grey, any previous golden accents on his triangular body morphed to a red and white. "I'll let you in on a little secret: the day for my take over is sooner than you'd think. I tried to place nice with you, but obviously that didn't work out. Whatever happens next is your own mistake," he growled.

"'H-happens next?'" Y/n asked, scolding herself for her slight stutter.

Bill laughed once again, his hand shaking her even more. Y/n's eyesight blurred and her stomach did flips as she was waved around. God, why wasn't she waking up?

"I've got big plans, Flame. And quite honestly, they don't need to involve you. You're lucky I'm getting impatient and that you're the most competent meatsack in that entire town of pitiful mortals," he said, narrowing his eye at her. "It just seems I'll have to get you to comply another way."

"Leave me the fuck out of this!"

"You may think you've escaped being my puppet, but just you wait; you're going to wish you shook my hand sooner. These strings aren't going anywhere!" He yelled, raising his hand slightly. "It's such a shame that they're going to have to become your garrote before you accept them!"

And before Y/n could mutter another word, Bill snapped his fingers, and the string went wild. They came alive, quickly binding her arms to her torso and legs together. They crawled up her like snakes, wrapping around her neck with the aim to suffocate her. And as she sputtered for air, Bill dropped her into the endless black space.

Y/n jumped up in her bed.

In that moment she had never been so grateful for the fact that falling in a dream always seemed to wake you up.

Covered in a cold sweat and panting, she tried her best to still her panicking heart and shaking limbs. A horrid cough ripped her throat as she continued to gasp for much needed air. She could feel where the strings had wrapped around her, and it startled her even more that her mind could vividly remember all the horrific details of the dream.

"Oh my God," she gasped, her breathing still uneasy. She ran a hand through her hair, still shaking violently. "I fucked up," she whispered.

It was true.

She had made quite possibly the worst enemy she could ever think to make. How did she even get involved in this?

She was just like the Author; tricked by someone who they considered to be a friend. But unlike him, she didn't have the strings tied to her just yet. She had managed to escape them for the time being.

Mind racing a mile a minute, Y/n pulled at her sleeves, itching to scratch at her arms. It felt like there were a hundred ants running up them, and it especially bothered her left side, where they were forever trapped under her cast.

Trying to pry her fingers under her cast, she froze suddenly. Her heart felt like it stopped beating in her chest, and her breath was ripped away from her.

There, on the sparkly abomination that plagued her limb for the next couple of weeks, a message was carved into the plaster.

YOU'VE MADE A MISTAKE.

She blinked and it was gone.

"Ahhhh," she cried, trembling more. "I fucked up so badly," she whined, scrambling out of bed. Her body was buzzing with nervous energy, and her head swayed and threatened to dip her body over as she tried to steady herself on her feet. A familiar pain ran through head, right behind her eyes. That only brought about more panic; Hadn't the Author described a similar pain when dealing with Bill?

She looked to her dresser, where the journal and her Tabloid lied. The site of them together made her dry heave, a sudden nausea washing over her.

Suddenly, that book wasn't just the record of the supernatural happenings in the small town of Gravity Falls.

That book was a tragic record of a man's folly.

And right on top of it was a book that seemed to be the beginnings of her own fall from grace.

Chapter Text

The following days were nothing but a blur.

Through sleepless nights spent huddled in the corner of her bed, Y/n could barely discern what had been happening in or around the shack. Every second she felt on edge; she swore she could feel Bill around, watching her every move. She was afraid to turn a corner or survey a room and find his piercing gaze staring back at her. Even if it was probably nothing but an irrational fear, a lack of sleep can really instill such a trepidation in a person.

She had long since given up on sleep. If Bill had managed to do that much damage to her psyche in what little time she had with him when he revealed his true intentions, then she could only imagine what could happen when he had a good 12 hours to wreak havoc. So, for the foreseeable future, she stayed awake with the moon and let her fear fuel her late night application and binge-watching sessions. Her room, despite it being the site of where her whole triangular problem originated, became her new refuge; she'd barely come out anymore.

If she had ever thought she had been isolating herself back at home, then this took the cake: she had maybe spoken to the Pines about... once— possibly twice— over the course of about three days. Y/n let the twins run the conversations, only occasionally contributing with a slight nod or a fake smile. She was lucky, though; everyone thought she was too tired and didn't think much of the sudden muteness that fell over her. Thank God Stan gave her all that time off. 

It wasn't even as if she could contribute to the conversation, anyway. She had been out of the loop for so long that she wasn't even sure what the twins were up to. The most Y/n knew was that the three of them had gone to Greasy's Diner a couple days back, and then Dipper had a run in with these beasts called "Manotaurs."

Mabel had been so nice to inform her of the details— or at least, she told her the gist of what Dipper had told her. Most of her diner recap was of her quest to make Stan into an eligible bachelor for Lazy Susan. Y/n knew most of that story; it was hard not to when Mabel had blasted her motivational tape for at least 6 hours that day.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Y/n's luck was running out. She only had another day of glorious freetime. And since what was left of it was originally meant for her to catch up on sleep, she was growing more and more tense about returning to tours. She didn't know who she was kidding: she would eventually have to go back to sleeping. It was almost to the point where she was near passing out regularly. Her paranoia was getting the best of her, further blowing up the potential harm that could come from sleep.

"He'll kill me," she had started muttering whenever her thoughts hesitantly went back to sleep. "I don't even know if that's possible but it'll happen. He's a demon for fucks sake what were you thinking Y/n?"

But besides a sudden fear of sleep and panicked application and essay writing, there was one other relatively good thing that came out of her all nighters: she had managed to get through the journal.

At least, she was pretty sure she was. That too was a blur, if she were to be honest.

Either way, as she found herself with less and less pages in the journal and more and more pages filled with scribbled notes and franic writing in her Tabloid, she had finished with the journal a lot faster than she thought she would. And after her night with Bill, she was itching to finally give it back to Dipper.

She didn't care if he had failed to mention Gideon anymore; there was a new monster on the loose, and she needed to make sure Dipper knew everything about him. And if that meant risking a few more dangerous adventures, then it was a price she was willing to take. Afterall, now that she knew that Bill was nothing more than a snazzy and dapper liar, she wasn't too worried about the "Dipper was playing with fire" advice. She was almost certain that it was a lie that would eventually land her hands on the journal; the plans to the interdimensional gate. If she had the journal all to herself and had she made that deal, Bill would have had no trouble at all restarting it.

Because if Dipper was simply "playing with fire" just going through the journal, then she was practically taking it to bed regularly.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

It was close to 11 at night that the twins had awoken to the loud creak of their door. At first, they had thought it was a creature that had broken into the house, or at least it was Stan sneaking around for whatever snacks they had smuggled into the room.

But after jumping out of bed, and with Mabel brandishing a lone mini golf club, the two were even more surprised to see an awkward and slightly disheveled Y/n standing in the doorway.

"Uh, hey," she spoke quietly, shuffling her way into the room. If she was concerned as to why the twins were so quick to assume defensive positions, she didn't show it. She was there strictly on "business."

Dipper, tired but not tired enough to put aside what little animosity he still had with her, nodded slightly, slowly slinking back into bed. He crawled under the sheets, burying himself back in his blanket. He didn't want to deal with Y/n this late.

"Y/n!" Mabel giggled slightly, trying to make up for her brother's lack of greeting. "You're lucky I didn't use Ol' Reliable on you! You know I never miss my strokes," she laughed, swinging the club playfully.

Y/n just nodded, not nearly as impressed with her golf antics as Mabel anticipated. She stopped laughing with a shaky sigh.

"So, uh," she started, now feeling awkward herself.

"Why are you even here this late?" It was Dipper this time. He may have been keeping his grudge, but he had laid off just a bit. There was still an edge to his voice that didn't go unnoticed. But Y/n wasn't here to worry about that.

"I'm just giving you back the journal," Y/n said simply, revealing the gold adorned book from behind her back. She took a few steps forward, gently dropping it onto Dipper's bed.

He sat up suddenly, his tone shifting entirely. He seemed genuinely startled at her decision to give back the journal so quickly, and looked between Y/n and the book repeatedly. "Uh... thanks...?"

He was more than confused, if he were to be honest. Y/n had a notorious streak of stubbornness: he hadn't expected to get the journal back for at least a week. But, it had only been what, four days? What was with the sudden change in heart?

"But," Dipper sat up, properly, reaching to his feet to grab the journal. He quickly scanned it over. He didn't know why; it wasn't as if Y/n had messed with it... had she?

No, he chided himself quickly, that's a stupid thought. This was his sister.

The twins quickly glanced at each other, both equally confused, before turning to Y/n. "What made you give it back so quickly...?"

She froze visibly, making the two quirk a bow.

What got into her? Dipper thought, a small frown settling on his lips. She seemed fine the past couple days... right?

Now that he thought about it, she was a little more quiet than normal. But that in itself was a rather normal-Y/n thing. But... the more he looked her up and down the more irregularities started popping up like red flags.

To put it simply, she looked like shit.

In the kindest way possible, of course.

But she still looked like shit nonetheless.

Her hair was more frayed and knotted than normal; it looked like it hadn't been washed properly in a couple of days. Even in the dull moonlight Dipper could make out a sheen layer of grease. Her clothes were rumpled, stained slightly. But the worst offender was her face. She was a raccoon, and he didn't mean it in the cuddly-trash-panda-way that Mabel always seemed to coo over when she saw them out the back of the shack.

Her eyes were bloodshot; perpetually widened with frenzy and— dare he say— panic...? Ever so often he could catch her pupils darting around the room from between her stray bangs, constantly scanning around for... something. The cut she had acquired from the glass on the lake had healed over in a scar, leaving a thin line that ran over her cheek. It only accented the deep bags under eyes— deeper than he had ever seen before. He had never seen her this bad, and it was starting to worry him.

"Hey, are you good?" He asked, when she took a little too long to answer.

"Yeah, Y/n, you look a little more... tense than usually," Mabel added, wringing her wrists in concern.

"Huh—? Yeah, no I'm fine actually." She said quickly, stumbling over her words. She paused for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts and stop jumbling her words together. "Just been..."

"You look like death." Mabel said. "And not in some cool edgy way, either."

This garnered a small laugh from Y/n. She combed her fingers through her tangled hair. "Yeah, I definitely do." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Yeah, um, so basically I finished going through the journal. And, uh, I figured I might as well give it back to you. You haven't finished it yet, right?"

"No, I barely got halfway through."

At this, Y/n stiffened a little bit; her tone shifted. "I want you to get through it as soon as you can."

"Um... okay...? I mean, I'm going as fast as I can, but—"

"Stop trying to analyze every single page," she said bluntly. Then, realizing her cold tone, added: "I mean, you don't need to look for every single secret and detail on the first try. Just do a general read through, learn everything you can from these entries, and then go back."

Mabel cocked her head to the side. "Why?"

Y/n sighed; she didn't think she would start getting interrogated onced she gave back the journal. "Listen, just—"

"Y/n, is there something wrong?" Dipper asked, setting the journal aside.

Yes, she wanted to shout, yes, I fucked up sooooo badly and now there's this demon who is trying to break into the dimension using a portal that Stan has in the basement that was built by the Author, who— apparently— is still alive!

But how would she go about explaining everything she had just been through without sounding deranged? Especially the parts about Bill: how she trusted him and nearly let him possess her, let alone the fact that he had been visiting her since day one and she never said anything about it. That would only land her back on bad terms with Dipper, potentially with Mabel, too.

So instead, what came out after a moment was: "No, I'm fine. I'm just a little... jumpy, I guess. There's a lot of weird stuff in there. Dangerous stuff."

"Well yeah," Dipper said, thumbing through it. "Those gnomes alone were pretty bad."

"No, that's not what I mean. I guess you never made it to the... demon page."

"You mean the end of the ghosts section?"

"I wish," she muttered under her breath. A deadly ghost seemed easier, if she were to be honest. It was just holy water and a silver mirror, right? At least you could probably move without them following you. Bill could essentially get you anywhere, and what was worse was that he attacked sleep, something you couldn't live without. "I mean the dream demon."

Without a word, Dipper flipped through pages until he came up to the one that had been haunting Y/n for the past few days. "You mean... this guy?"

"A triangle? That's what's been giving you the creeps?" Mabel snickered.

"I'm dead serious."

"Maybe you need more sleep, because he just looks like a snazzy little dude," Dipper said, pointing to this picture of him in the corner of the page.

Y/n almost immediately turned away, a part of her scared that Bill could somehow be watching from the paper. She cringed slightly, rolling her neck.

"He's just the eye of providence. Like on the back of the dollar."

"He looks like a dapper Dorito," Mabel added.

"That too," Dipper chuckled slightly, nodding as his eyes quickly read through the page. But as he reached the end of the entry, his laugh died in his throat and his expression turned sour. "Okay wait, you have a point."

"I know I do!" Y/n said, pouting slightly. "I'm not crazy, damn."

"'The most powerful and dangerous creature I've ever encountered,'" Dipper started reading.

"Yeah yeah I know what it says," Y/n quickly said, waving her arms around. God, even hearing it again made her feel nauseous. "I've read it, like seven times." She crossed her arms, gently swaying on her feet. Almost rocking herself, she pulled at her sleeves and clutched the fabric slightly. It didn't matter how hot the attic seemed to be; there were shivers crawling down her spine. It was a certain chill she was convinced was associated with a certain someone watching her.

"Oh wow," Dipper finally said, placing the book down in his lap. "So I guess that's where the Author got the idea not to trust anyone."

"Wait, what?" Y/n didn't seem to remember reading about that. Had she missed it? Did she skip over the page after assuming it was nothing more than archaic symbols? Or did she just not remember because of her lack of sleep?

"It was the first entry I had ever read when I found the journal," Dipper explained, flipping towards the page. "'In Gravity Falls, there's no one you can trust.'"

Now she was remembering it; she had seen it briefly, before seeing it repeated in Dipper's own addition to the journal.

"You don't actually think that, do you?"

"Well, not completely," Dipper confessed. "I trust you and Mabel, definitely."

Y/n nodded slowly. She knew where the Author was coming from; he was making up for his mistake of trusting Bill, something that was hitting a little too close to home. But even then, cutting out everyone and keeping everything to himself wasn't the way to go.

We really are similar, aren't we?

"G-good," she mumbled, a part of her scolding herself for the sudden muteness that came over her when her mind lingered to her own struggles she should have long since voiced. She shook her head slightly, tuning that stupid voice out. There was a difference between her and the Author; she had a reason for her reluctance. At least, she thought there was... right?

"But that's besides the point," Y/n said quickly. She was already acting weird; she just wanted to say her peace and leave before the twins further noticed her odd behavior. "Listen, I just want you to get through that book. You don't need to scour every page for secrets right now. Then go back and find everything. Eventually, I want you to know it inside and out. Like, memorize each entry if you have to. If you're gonna be monster hunting like the Author, then please know how to deal with them."

"Well, yeah," Mabel said, hopping off Dipper's bed. She ran over to her pillow, pulling out her famed grappling hook. "We're pretty much expert monster hunters at this point!" She shot it in the hair, letting it grasp onto a support beam and flying upwards momentarily.

Y/n looked to Dipper, who nodded with a small smile. "I got it, don't worry."

She frowned slightly, brows creasing. "You sure?"

He looked away sheepishly, knowing exactly what she was implying. "Okay, okay: it was a screw up on my part. I should have told you about Toby. I'm sorry. But I've learned my lesson," he added quickly at the end.

"Oh believe you me!" Mabel added loudly, currently struggling with detaching her grappling hook from the beam. "He was a wreck without that journal! He isn't letting it go that easily anymore!"

"Mabel!" He hissed, embarrassment burning his cheeks.

"Relax," Y/n laughed slightly. It ended in a loud yawn. "I'll admit, I was a little... hasty in taking it away. I just want to make sure you guys are safe, you know?"

Plus I was convinced you were going to get hurt because of a certain demon's lie.

"So... am I forgiven?"

"Of course, Dip. Am I?"

He laughed. "Yeah."

"YAY! This calls for an awkward sibling hug!" Mabel cheered. She managed to unlodge her hook shortly after, falling flat on her face on the floor. She jumped up almost immediately, sticking up her thumbs. "I'm okay!"

"Mabel, we're all tired; we don't need a hug right now," Dipper said.

"Yes we do!" She shouted, grabbing both of them and crowding around his bed. "You two made up! Now seal the deal with a hug! Those solve everything."

"No, Dip's right," Y/n tried, "we're go—"

"HUG, DANG IT!

"Okay we're hugging." Dipper announced.

With a small laugh and a playful roll of her eyes, Y/n leaned over, wrapping him in a hug. After a moment, she pulled Mabel in. "You're getting in on this hug action, too."

In unison the three chanted: "Pat, pat."

Before anyone could say anything more, they heard Stan shouting from down the hall. "Oi! If I get up and find out that you three aren't in a bed sleeping, I'm going to make you all work overtime for the next week!"

The three of them paled, before scrambling to their sides of the room. They didn't want to test Stan's willingness to follow through with his threat.

"Okay you two," Y/n said softly, making her way to the door. "Go get some sleep."

"You too," Dipper said, placing the book on the little shelf by the bedside. "You look like you haven't slept in years. Didn't Stan give you time off to catch up on sleep?"

Y/n froze for a bit, hand gripping the door a little tighter than she intended. "Yeah, well... it didn't go as intended, to be honest. But relax, I'll be fine. I'm almost a senior in high school; I'm the master of making it through life with a maximum of 3 hours of sleep." She tried to laugh it off, but it was kind of hard when she was constantly yawning.

"Well you're gonna need it for tonight, sister!" Mabel laughed, scrambling back into her own bed.

"W-what do you mean?"

"Don't you remember? We're having a party tomorrow!"

Y/n grimaced visibly. "A party?"

"Didn't Stan tell you?" Dipper asked.

"No? When did you guys find out?"
   
"He gathered everyone in the gift shop and announced it after work yesterday."

Thanks for letting me know, Stan, she thought bitterly, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Yeah!" Mabel cheered. "He said it was to promote the Shack, but if you ask me, I think it's to commemorate our arrival here for the summer. I think we've made things much more interesting around here."

"We definitely have," Dipper laughed. "Though, most of it might be in part of the journal."

"Nahhh. Gravity Falls just can't handle the sheer awesomeness that Pines siblings bring." Mabel laughed.

"I don't know," Y/n grumbled. "The last thing I want is a party."

"Awww, don't be like that," Mabel whined. "Think about it, Y/n! The whole town is bound to be there. We'll be able to make friends!"

"You mean you'll be able to make friends," she retorted lightly. "You're the life of the party."

"C'mon! Give yourself more credit."

"Yeah, sure," she finally complied. "We can continue talking about this tomorrow, alright? Don't want Stan to actually get over here and catch us, do we?"

"Alright," Mabel whined, slightly upset. "Goodnight!"

"'Night Y/n," Dipper yawned.

"O-one more thing," Y/n said suddenly, pausing with the door ajar. She thought for a moment before continuing, unsure if she really wanted to go through with her thoughts. "About that demon," she finally continued.

"What about the dapper Dorito demon?" Mabel giggled slightly.

"Never make a deal with him, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Dipper asked. He was a little startled by the sudden harshness in her voice. He had thought she was going to crack a joke or something, not give them some sort of foreboding warning.

"Uh, I remember reading about how he makes deals in that entry," she lied, waving her hand slightly. "That's how he gets to you."

"Relax Y/n! We only deal with one bad deal maker: Stan!" Mabel said, smiling brightly.

"Yeah," Dipper added. "Besides, I don't think there's much a living pyramid can offer us."

Y/n chuckled. "Yeah, you're right." She couldn't help but think about how close she was to lending him use of her body like a puppet.

With a little smile, she left, gently closing the door behind her. As she tried to quietly descend the stairs, she let a quiet sigh leave her mouth, running a hand through her hair. Her mind circled back to one thing.

"A party?" She repeated once again. "Really?"

She didn't necessarily like parties; big surprise, wasn't it? The twins always made them somewhat bearable, but even those parties became nothing but a burden when they eventually went on to do their own things and left her behind. It wasn't their fault; she was just envious of the fact that the twins always had each other. She was always alone in those situations.

The thought of being in a room with the townspeople for more than a couple hours didn't appeal to her. Especially when it would probably include dizzying neon strobe lights and funky pop music blasting from every which way. She just wanted to stay in her room all day.

But... it didn't really matter in the end anyway. Y/n already had a game plan: she'd just sneak out of the party like she had always done before. And as usual, everyone would be too preoccupied with the festivities to notice her sudden disappearance.

"And it's not like Stan is gonna try to make me work or something," she huffed under her breath, almost cockily. "It is my last day off, after all.

Chapter Text

Stan did in fact try to make Y/n work the next day.

"Squirt," he said, pacing around the party room. The majority of the day was spent setting up the room. They did a pretty good job with it, if Y/n was to be honest.

A large table held an array of snacks picked out by the kids. It had the best of both worlds; sugary snacks to satisfy Mabel's sweet tooth and an assortment of chips to take care of Dipper's salty preference. Wendy picked out the drinks, and managed to wrangle nearly eight different types of sodas.

Soos and Stan were put in charge of decorations. With that information alone, Y/n hadn't expected much, but was pleasantly surprised when Mabel had dragged her into the room earlier. There was a little station in the corner of the room with speakers, a microphone, a karaoke machine, and synthesizer. She later learned that was all a part of Soos' plan to be DJ for the night. Stan had put up some balloons and streamers, installed some strobe lights in the corners and even went as far as rigging up an old fog machine he had found in storage.

Currently, the Mystery Shack employees were lined up, waiting for Stan to delegate duties for the night. Y/n was a little confused as to why she was put there, until Stan assigned her to take tickets with Wendy.

"Woah woah woah," she said. "What happened to today being my last day off?"

Stan rolled his eyes, checking his watch. "Kid, your day off ended 4 hours ago."

"You started counting the days from when I stole the register?!"

"Well yeah! When else was I supposed to start? The next day?"

Before Y/n could argue, Dipper spoke up, carefully stepping out of the line.

"Actually Stan," he said, rocking on his feet, "I could take tickets with Wendy today, if it doesn't make a difference....?"

The two looked to him, Y/n immensely grateful and Stan skeptical. "You do understand you're going to have to be out there all night, right?"

"Well yeah, I assumed so."

"It'll just be you two, alone, taking tickets. You think you can handle that?" He further inquired, stepping closer to him.

"Uh... yeah. It's not that hard—"

"Alrighty then! Squirt, you're free to go. Now Dipper, remember: you're fully committed to this. There's no getting out of it."

Y/n could see the blush that faintly painted his cheeks as he tried his best not to fully turn around and get a better look of the red head. She never had been more grateful for his crush at that moment. "Yeah, I-I know. I promise I'll be there."

"Okay, that's all done with then. C'mon people! Let's go get this place ready!"

With a slight cheer, the Mystery crew dispersed, Y/n following the twins to their room.

"Thanks Dip," Y/n said, nudging him slightly as they entered the attic space. "I really did not want to do that all night."

"Yeah! It's no problem at all," he said quickly, rushing over to his side of the room. He looked through a pile of clothes on the floor, until he pulled out a small bow tie. "This should do it," he mumbled under his breath. He continued fishing around until he found a can of body spray.

Y/n and Mabel shared a look, both raising their brows. It was obvious; Dipper always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.

"You can cut the crap, you know?" The eldest said. "We both know what this whole plot of yours is for."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he answered, very matter-of-factly.

Mabel giggled, mocking him in a high pitched and breaking voice. "'Oh, uh, I can take tickets with Wendy!'"

Y/n laughed slightly.

"'Let's kiss!'" She finished, looking at her sister with a cocky smirk before making kissing noises.

"Oh hardy-har-har," Dipper groaned, cheeks burning and rolling his eyes. "Laugh all you want, but I have a plan to make sure everything goes right tonight!"

Y/n winced, hissing slightly. That could only mean one thing. "No, don't tell me—"

"Yep," he said cheerfully, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper, surprising both the girls. Until he unfolded it to reveal a list of steps nearly as tall as he was.

"Oh God," Mabel sighed, sitting on the floor. "You're not going to get anywhere with that!"

"She has a point Dipper," Y/n agreed. "As much as I love planning out things, this is not it. You can't just plan out human interactions. Trust me, I wish you could. It would be a lot easier."

"Stop encouraging him," Mabel groaned.

"What?" Dipper asked, skimming through his plans. "It's not that bad."

"Dip Dop, there's like 40 steps here! You even branch off into different possibilities!"

"Yeah man, just go up and talk to her."

"Way ahead of you, Y/n!" Dipper shuffled around his list, pointing to Step 11. "See? It's already there!"

The two girls groaned, both falling back on Mabel's bed.

"Just you two wait," the younger twin replied, scoffing slightly. He made his way to the door, eager to set up the ticket booth with Wendy. "You're going to be eating your words when this works!"

"Yeah, sure," Mabel shouted after him as he closed the door. Then, to Y/n she asked: "You think it's going to work?"

"To be honest," Y/n started, pouting slightly. "Nah. He's gonna over complicate it. But it's okay. He'll get it eventually. Who knows?" She added, sitting up. She shifted over to the edge of the bed, leaning on her knees. "Maybe he'll get it tonight?"

Mabel hummed in agreement, until a large smirk started to grace her features. "Speaking of tonight," she started, nudging into her sister's side.

Oh no, Y/n thought, a slight panic running through her. There's only one way this can go—!

"Oh boy!" She said, standing up suddenly. She made a break for the door. "Look at the time! I need to go and walk that lobster—"

"Nope!" Mabel jumped in front of her, leaving the ravenette to wonder just how she managed to get ahead of her. "You're not going anywhere! Not until we get you ready for that party!"

"But Mabelllll," she whined, slumping down. "I don't wanna get all dressed up. I just wanna grab some snacks and leaveeeeee."

"I'm not allowing it!"

"Please?"

"Nope!" She jumped to Y/n's side, grabbing her sleeve and leading her out the door. "We're going to get to your room and find you some nice little outfit for the party."

She groaned loudly. "But why?"

"Because it's the first time nearly everyone from town is gonna be in one place! You can go make some friends! I know that's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to find my people!"

"Yeah, good for you. I will happily find my people within smuggled chips, cookies, and my bed later tonight."

"No! You're going to at least make one friend tonight, and that's final!"

The two walked into Y/n's room, the younger surprised to find it such a mess. Then again, she thought, eyeing the papers strewn about on the messy bed, Dipper had to have gotten that habit from somewhere.

"Okay Y/n," Mabel announced, leading the older girl to her bed. She fell down dramatically, trying her best to avoid the papers laid about. Mabel paced around the room, eventually pulling out drawers in her dresser. "Let's see what we're working with."

"Not much," Y/n grumbled, slowly huddling into the sheets.

"Relax! I'm a fashion master, Y/n. You're gonna love what I do for you!"

But it only took her about 5 minutes until Mabel stumbled across a glaring issue after pulling out 4 of the same black or grey hoodie and pants. "Okay," she mumbled nervously. "I see what you mean now. You dress... monochromatically."

"I told you," Y/n laughed slightly, "You're not getting anything out of this."

"Hmmmmm," Mabel put her hands on her hips, eyes scrutinizing Y/n's lack of fashion sense. It was times like this that she wished they were similar sized; she could at least lend her some of her clothes.

"Okay," she said finally. "I think I have something."

"W-what?"

"Lookie here, my dearest sister. Put these on." She threw a couple of clothes to Y/n, burying her under the cloth.

"Ack—! What is this?"

"Your new party outfit! Didn't have much to work with but I think you'd like it. I'll leave you to it!" She closed the door behind her, giving Y/n some privacy.

"Goddamnit," she groaned, picking herself up from the bed. She looked at the clothes Mabel had picked out, and after a thoughtful scan, she nodded slowly.

"Okay," she mumbled. "This is pretty good."

It was pretty simple; at this point Y/n was more surprised that she even packed the clothes in the first place. It was a simple graphic tee, matching black flannel, and some slightly ripped jeans. The only complaint she had was that it didn't appear she could get away with hiding her palms within thumbholes, as she did with her hoodies. So instead, she had to settle with unbuttoning the sleeves and using them to stick her thumbs through. It was a little bit uncomfortable, but she'd rather live with that for a couple hours than accidentally showing off her scar to anyone she offered her hand to.

Not that she was going to offer her hand for anything to anyone in the first place, but you never know.

Mabel knew her well; she didn't pick anything that was short sleeve, either. It brought a small smile to her face. The thought that she knew Y/n well enough to pick out her outfit quelled her feeling of estrangement just the tiniest of bits.

So with a small sigh, Y/n decided to go along with it. Maybe she was overthinking it. Surely the party couldn't be that bad. She was just tired and cranky, but maybe she should enjoy herself with Mabel. It would take away from the rampant thoughts of Bill plaguing her psyche. 

Y/n draped the flannel over her shoulders, shaking up her hair to try to look a little more presentable. Luckily for her, the deep bags added to this sort of goth look she could only guess Mabel was leading her to with the outfit.

"Not bad I guess," she considered with a thoughtful nod. "Could definitely be worse. And it's comfy too."

She took one last glance at herself in the camera of her phone before slipping out the door. Mabel was leaning against the wall, eagerly waiting for her.

She gasped loudly, eyes twinkling. "OMIGOSH Y/N!" She cooed, grabbing her hands. "You look amazing!"

Y/n blushed slightly, not used to getting many compliments. "Well, it's all thanks to that fashion eye of yours," she smiled lightly.

"See! I told you you'd love it! Now c'mon," she started to drag her back upstairs to her room. "I'm going to need some help with my outfit! And then, it's party time girlfriend!"

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

The party was in full swing, and it had barely been an hour. And already Y/n was regretting joining Mabel. She had convinced her to give it a shot.

"It'll be fun! I promise you, Y/n. And if I'm wrong," she had paused, struggling with her neon colored shirt. Mabel was going for some sort of 80s vibe; Y/n thought she had pulled it off rather well. "I'll make you cupcakes tomorrow."

So now, with the promise of cupcakes from her sister being the only thing that was keeping her going, Y/n was bitterly sitting in the corner of the room. The strobe lights ran across the room in sweeping motions, and they passed so frequently that it made her head swim. The music wasn't the best either, but it was even more unbearable when they were blasted by the speakers positioned very close to her. People moved all around her, dancing, and their combined body heat made the room sticky and humid.

She clutched a red solo cup, trying to keep her unsavory muttering just below a whisper, lest anyone hear her talking to herself.

A couple people tried to approach her— at least, it appeared that way; she wasn't too sure— but quickly turned away when they saw the deep frown imprinted on her face. It didn't help that her bloodshot eyes made her look the tiniest bit deranged.

Mabel had long since ventured out onto the dance floor, chatting it up with anyone who would listen. She definitely made loads of friends; it was just something she was good at. Y/n's only current friends were her flat soda and the three cookies she had taken from the snack table. Unfortunately, the cookies had already been eaten.

With a sigh, Y/n figured she had given the party well enough of a chance; it was about time she retired to her room and stared at the wall aimlessly. If she was going to be alone, might as well do it in a place where she'd feel some comfort. The warm embrace of her bed and the gently caressing night wind were the only things that gave her the slightest bit of solace.

"I'll just grab more cookies for the road and leave," she mumbled to herself, tossing her half finished soda in the nearest garbage can. Y/n waded through the wave of people, luckily making it to the table without anyone trying to talk to her. As she quickly loaded a couple of napkins with snacks, silently cursing the fact that she didn't have large enough pockets to stuff things into, she couldn't help but glance around the party room.

Stan was right: almost the entire town was living it up in the Mystery Shack. Blubs and Durland were at the end of the table, chugging punch as a crowd cheered them on. Manly Dan and a couple of bikers sat at a corner of the room, seeing who could hang bang the most violently. In another corner, she saw Wendy's friends, laughing and snickering over their own little shenanigans.

Looking at Wendy's friends, even for the quick moment she glanced over their way, made her feel heavier. A part of her wished she had Mabel's ability to make friends with ease. She'd even take a person to have a conversation with; anything that would keep her occupied and give her a reason to stay in this mosh pit of sweaty townspeople and blaring lights.

Hell, she thought, carefully wrapping up her precious cargo, I'd even take—

She paused suddenly, a little dumbfounded by her own thoughts. Did she— did she seriously almost say she missed...?

That's bullshit, she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. I didn't... no I definitely don't want that. Though, now she was wondering what he'd look like trying to keep up dancing with Mabel...

She continued to look around at the guest list, distracting herself from that odd thought, and the even odder small smile that had graced her features. She only seemed to surprise herself more; even McGucket was there. He was the center of attention on the dance floor, doing a little party jig.

If Y/n was in a sociable mood— or even if she was more awake to realize the opportunity in front of her— she'd go up to him when he was alone and try to get some answers about his past. But there was only one thing on Y/n's mind at the moment, and it was her bed.

So, with resting bitch face set to the max to prevent any unwanted conversations before they even started, she made her way out of the room. No eyes turned her way, and she was able to make her escape without so much as a passing glance.

"Finally," she sighed once she made her way down the hall. She made her way to her room quickly and unnoticeably, shutting the door behind her to prevent any wandering house guests from looking for her. She just wanted to be alone in peace and quiet.

However, the moment she fell flat on her bed she realized that wouldn't be as easy as she wished it would.

"You're fucking joking," Y/n hissed, covering her ears slightly. She could still hear the music and shouting from the party. From her room! The bass rattled the few items on top of her dresser, including her Tabloid. "But I'm like, four rooms away!" She whined into her pillow. "What am I supposed to do now?"

The music was horribly loud, and it was only going to be made worse with the future karaoke battles she had heard Soos mention earlier. She definitely didn't want to be within hearing range for that. She didn't really see any of the townspeople as being gifted with an angel's voice.

That only left her with one solution.

Y/n looked towards her window. It was still cracked open, letting in the night's breeze. "I guess I could go out to the forest," she muttered. "I even have the perfect place."

She glanced at her palm; she hadn't practiced conjuring her fire in a long while. Maybe she could put tonight to some good use...?

"Yeah," she said to herself, standing up from the bed. "I know enough about the woods to keep myself from running into any monsters out there. And what Stan doesn't know won't kill him."

Y/n decided it was best not to risk leaving her room, lest she run into someone who'd force her to stay back and start some small talk. The last person she wanted to run into was Mabel, trying to look for her had she noticed the fact that she had left the party. She doubted she would; there's no way the Pines' noticed her disappearance, and chances are it would stay that way for the next couple of hours.

Still, just in case, Y/n opted for the more unconventional way out of her room: the window.

It remained cracked open just a bit, but she was sure that if she opened it all the way she'd be able to worm her way out of it. It seemed to be big enough for her.

She pulled herself up from the floor, digging the tips of her toes into the wall to help her scale it. Y/n managed to pull her torso halfway through the window when she realized the flaw in her plan: the ground was a lot farther than she remembered.

"Awww fuck it," she grumbled. With no other solution but to continue, she dropped herself onto the floor, using her hands to break her fall and attempt to throw her body over into a summersault. She only succeeded in getting her shoe caught onto the window sill. Still upside down and discombobulated, she managed to free herself, landing roughly on her back as the window fell shut with a loud crack. It had nearly shut onto her ankle.

She stumbled to her feet, quickly dusting herself off. With the window shut, there was no way to reopen it from the outside, meaning she'd have to walk back in through the door to the living room.

"Oh well," she muttered, quickly making a beeline to the forest. "That's a problem for Future Me. Right now, I have other things to take care of."

The trip to her little forest clearing was uneventful. She had memorized the path from the shack, and despite her lack of sleep she was still able to navigate rather well. The only complaint she had was her lack of a flashlight; it would have made a much better tool than her phone light. It was too late to go back and look for one now, though.

She found her way faster than she anticipated, and was happy to find it just as she left it: completely empty. As she sat by the little pond, she made sure to check the bushes again, slightly disappointed not to find any supernatural.

"Why the hell is everything hiding from me?" She wondered out loud, plopping herself down in the middle of the clearing. "Is it too much to ask to run into a little creature running around or something? I'd even take the stomach-faced duck," she muttered. Then after remembering the little detail of being able to see it's intestines every time it opened its mouth; "Eh... maybe not."

Then again, Y/n thought, unrolling her sleeve a bit, it would be better to run into those things in the morning than now. She'd rather not run into Gravity Falls' nightlife.

Besides, she had a goal in mind. Was it completely cluttered with other thoughts? Perhaps, but it was some semblance of a goal and it was enough to make her put aside what other thoughts ran around within her skull. Or at least that's what she hoped.

She tried to direct all focus to her hand, eager to try to summon the little flame. But as she continued to stare at the scar within her palm, her attention slowly dwindled. A small breeze rocked the trees around her, sending a shiver racing down her spine. It carried the soft melodies of crickets and owls, creating a whirlwind of a lullaby around her. She closed the flannel tightly around her, a little confused as to why she seemed to feel so cold at the moment.

"Damn it," she grumbled, surprised to find herself shivering. "Why didn't I change before I left?"

She closed her palm in a clenched fist, waiting silently until the breeze finished passing by rather abruptly. When it did finally stop tickling the branches and nipping at the curled over Y/n, she only laid her hand palm up on her legs weekly.

"Who am I kidding?" She muttered to herself. She sounded a lot more tired than she did earlier, and there was a hint of bitterness seeping into her tone. Whenever she did manage to summon it— the sparse few times she had accomplished that small feat— she always felt this warmth. Without it, she doubted she was going to get anywhere.  It just wasn't a good time to even begin to think about the little flame held within the fiber of her being, especially when she felt chilled to her bone. 

Despite leaving the blaring music and partygoers at the Shack, there was a certain loneliness that seemed to follow her out there. At first she thought it was something she had abandoned within her room, but as she remained huddled on the ground, legs pulled close to her chest, she realized it was just a part of her.

Before she could even stop it, her thoughts went back to Wendy's friends, all laughing and having fun at the party. Had she gone with the redhead and the twins to the convenience store a couple of days ago, she would have at least gotten to know them. Then she could have joined them on the sofa a little less awkwardly. She didn't have to be alone, but it seemed she had doomed herself the moment she decided to stay in the Shack and try to find out what was in the basement. Granted, that day came with it's own ups... at least...

"Did it really?"

Finding out about the portal room seemed to be more of a curse than a blessing. Now, not only had she been losing valuable sleep, but was growing increasingly suspicious about Stan, and she had even lost—

"No way! Flame misses me?"

Y/n froze on the spot, the color draining from her. As she gently lifted her head from her arms, she could see that the world, in fact, had also been stripped from it's night-time color palette. Now cold greys and ominous blacks painted the landscape. The breeze she had found too harsh was gone, leaving the trees eerily static as they were frozen in time.

She didn't want to move, but she risked slowly swiveling her head to gaze at her surroundings. Instead of finding the triangle she was dreading to meet, she noticed a small fawn slowly peeking its head out of a bush to her left. She must have been too lost in thought to even notice the small guy, who's dark eyes were permanently locked with curiosity.

As she remained cradled on the ground, she could see a large shadow growing over her small figure. It was only when it's peak tickled the edge of the pond did she realize it was Bill slowly hovering over her, about to pounce at any moment.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and as shivers trickled down her spine, she finally regained control of her body. She threw herself to the right, tucking herself with surprisingly expert precision as she rolled away. Her landing wasn't as graceful; she ended up rolling right into the rocky escarpment enclosing the small clearing, banging her head on the jagged and pointed rocks.

"Oh fuck me," she hissed, quickly clutching the back of her skull. Her vision spun for a moment, and when she was finally grounded she could see the little triangle looking down at her with a certain mischievous glee in his eye.

"Nice summersault, kiddo," he snickered, floating a little closer to her.

Y/n moved away immediately, only to realize she was essentially trapped between a rock and a triangle. She tried to calm her breathing, leveling her voice before she even thought to speak. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, and it was taking everything in her power to grab the reins of her spinning head and slow them to a stop before Bill could use them to his advantage.

"What the hell are you doing here, Cipher?" she hissed, trying her best to seem menacing. It almost worked too; it was just her eyes that betrayed the cold and tired tone she spoke in. "How are you even here?"

"You fell asleep," he said simply. "I'm a little surprised with how long you managed to go without it, though. Usually, Sixer couldn't even last 3 days. He had tried to tape his eye lids open. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Okay," she said hurriedly, trying her best to continue the conversation. She needed to figure out how to wake up, before Bill decided to stop being so... oddly friendly with her...? Wait, why was he being so casual with her?

"I think that little persistence of yours deserves a prize! There's not that many people who can keep from sleeping for so long without losing some semblance of their sanity!" He floated over to the small fawn, scanning it over before snapping his fingers.

The animal jumped into the middle of the clearing. It was still colored in the same monochromatic colors the rest of the world was painted in, but there was a new life breathing through it. It looked around, still confused.

Bill clapped his hands before twirling his finger, and suddenly the deer's mouth was forced open. It's flat teeth were pulled out of its mouth, flying into his outreached hand. They pooled in his palm, before he offered them to Y/n.

"Fawn's teeth are usually much nicer than an adult's deer teeth; these are luxury, kiddo, just for you. Show some appreciation." He dropped them into her lap.

Y/n paused for a moment, looking at the assortment of teeth. She blinked a couple of times, completely silent.

"O-oh wow... teeth," she managed to sputter out after a moment. She sounded like a disappointed child on Christmas, too shy to express their discontentment; it definitely wasn't the reaction he was expecting. He preferred some sort of terror.

"I could always use more calcium. Gotta keep these bones nice and strong, you know? Especially after I broke my arm." She laughed awkwardly, rolling up her sleeve and flexing her cast.

Bill stared, genuinely dumbfounded.

She really...? Seriously?

He quickly waved his hand once again, and the teeth returned back into the fawn's mouth. It paused for a moment, as if checking to make sure all it's molars were in place, before scampering off into the night. There was no point in letting her keep the teeth if she wasn't going to scream and squirm over them.

Y/n shivered slightly, discreetly whipping her hands on her pants. "The teeth were... cool and all but there's no way in hell that that's the only reason you came here to bother me."

"My my, Flame! Do you really not want me to stay? After you admitted to missing me at the party?"

Y/n could feel herself stiffen. Of course he knew about that...

It was just a passing thought; of course she didn't actually miss him! Why would she? That would be ridiculous!

"I don't blame you," he continued, ignoring the spiteful look in the young girl's eyes. "I'm a pretty fun guy. People tend to miss my radiant persona. They're practically DYING to see me again." His voice pitched down momentarily, before returning to it's normal manner.

Y/n scowled. "Yeah, sure."

"Flame, you can't lie to me! I heard your thoughts over there at that party." He floated down over to her, snapping his fingers and summoning his cane. He poked her in the chest with it. "Oh, and by the way, I would definitely beat Shooting Star in a dance battle. There would be carnage on that dance floor."

Before Y/n could sputter a response, he continued: "But I digress; you're an interesting little meatsack, you know that?"

Her brow rose, as she awkwardly scooted away from him. "What do you mean?"

"There you are, surrounded by nearly the entire town—" he gestured wildly, throwing his hands in the air. His cane floated beside him. "—and yet, all you can think about is leaving. I thought you humans liked that sort of social interaction."

"Not all of us," she grumbled. She held back any other thoughts, afraid that letting them slip— even in just passing— would end this semi-passive conversation they were having. But she was itching to know just why Bill was acting so... casual; as if their last meeting didn't end like a nightmare— literally.

Bill, of course, knew exactly what he was doing. It had been a pain not being able to see Flame in nearly a week, and if she continued to avoid sleep then things would take longer than they should. It wouldn't take forever—her limit appeared to be every few days— but it was still enough to prompt him to slow down a little bit.

He didn't want to play the long-con— he was sick of waiting— but he could spare a few visits, lulling her into a false sense of confidence to continue sleeping. Besides, he had bigger plans for the future; he was workshopping a deal she wouldn't afford to refuse. As much as he hated to admit it, he had jumped the gun the other day, letting his anger and impatience get the better of him. He needed to take things a little slower for a bit.

"Besides," Y/n sighed, "parties aren't really my thing. The kids get a kick out of them, but they're always off doing their own things."

"And you're left alone," Bill finished for her.

"Yeah," she muttered, biting her lip. "But it's fine," she added sternly, trying to end the conversation. "Is that why you're here? To bother me about not wanting to stay at a party? If that's it then you can leave; there's not much else I can say about them."

"You're so eager to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said bluntly, not even trying to hide it.

"Flame! That isn't very nice!" His eye crinkled into a light frown, and he placed a hand over his "heart" in feigned hurt.

"I can see why, though: you're all alone exposed in the forest. At night too! I never thought you could be so reckless, but here you are, letting your guard down and proving to be a perfect target to any hungry monster that seems to be passing by." His tone dropped slightly, and the glint in his eye turned menacing as he reached the end of his sentence. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly a multitude of glowing blue eyes flashed within the shadows of the shrubs and vegetation surrounding her.

"I didn't think you'd be the type of person who'd get killed by something in the forest, but you're proving to be filled with more and more surprises!" He cheered. He snapped his fingers again and the eyes disappeared.

She paled suddenly. Y/n didn't want to think about it, but a certain level of panic was slowly bubbling within her. Why did she decide to go out at night? Especially when she wasn't her usual attentive self?

Practicing definitely is not worth getting mauled by a hybrid bear-wolf thing, she thought bitterly to herself.

This caught Bill's attention; "'Practicing...?'" He inquired, a shine lighting in his dead eye. "Practicing what, Flame?"

"...Dancing," she said, almost immediately, nodding her head slowly. It seemed like a good enough lie for her purposes. "Yeah, I can't dance. Now you know my terrible secret."

"Yeah sure, and I'm a circle," Bill scoffed, narrowing his eye at her lie.

"Oh woah! I never knew," Y/n mocked right back, narrowing her own eyes.

"Kiddo! You're really not gonna tell me?"

"Well duh. What did you expect?"

Bill was learning quickly that Y/n could be extremely blunt and boring when she was too tired to even comprehend situations. It was somewhat interesting; she still recognized the power that he held over her, but she refused to let him see her fear. It was new to him. It's not everyday he would meet a fleshbag who wasn't cowering after learning of his true nature. Even Sixer had been a little more apprehensive in the beginning. He was starting to see the resemblance between the two.

He really did find Y/n entertaining— much more so than he did Sixer— and while he was eager to gain a vessel to interact with the 3D plane, he didn't want to lose this whitty side of Flame just yet. And having her getting mauled to death by a Werewolf or something wouldn't be ideal. So he decided it would be best to cut their visit short.

"Fine Flame, keep your secrets. You're not going to be able to hold onto them for long; I'm the master of the mind."

Y/n frowned; he was right about that. How was she supposed to prevent a dream demon from reading her mind?

"You'll see me soon enough," he continued. "Remember Flame, you can't stay awake forever! And when you finally knock out, I'll be there waiting. But for now, I'll be watching you!" He floated up into the air, a brilliant and blinding light glowing behind him. Y/n covered her eyes. "I'll be watching youuuu!" He echoed one more time, before a loud crack sounded in the clearing.

Y/n jolted awake, surprised to find herself against the cliff rocks. Before she could even sit herself up right, a sudden noise made her freeze on the spot.

"Y/n! Y/n!" Her head snapped up to the two familiar voices shouting in unison.

Oh great, she thought sarcastically, the twins noticed I've been gone.

But, as her eyesight finally adjusted to the dark, she learned her guess was... half right...?

There, standing at the mouth of the clearing, two Dippers stood, looking down at her with concern.

Chapter Text

The two Dippers held a large, black, bike between them, a matching helmet hanging off the handle. Spikes ran down the center of it. Y/n continued to look between the two boys before remembering her dream.

"Oh damn Y/n," she spoke out loud to herself, running a hand to meet the back of her head. There was a dull pain there from when she rolled into the cliff away from Bill. "You really must have done something to your head if you're seeing double."

But then she noticed their hats. Marked with "3" and "4" in a black sharpie marker, Y/n realized that these were, in fact, two different people.

"Wait, what the hell?"

"Y/n," the Dipper with the 3 hat spoke, kneeling down to grab her shoulder. "What are you doing out here?"

"Yeah," the other added, "why aren't you at the party?"

Y/n remained quiet, once again swiveling her head between the two. "Are you two... are you two not even going to explain why I'm seeing double? Or is this my sign that I need more than a few nights of sleep?"

"Ohhh," 4 said, pointing at 3. "I guess Dipper Classic never got around to telling her."

"Ah, he must have been too busy reviewing his plan."

"Dipper... Dipper Classic?"

"So basically, there's this old copier in Stan's office that makes living copies of everything that it prints out."

"So after our original plan began to fail," 3 continued, "we decided it would be best to make a few copies to help ourselves."

"There's about.... 10 now?"

"Yeah, I think so," the other answered.

"We're taking care of any possibilities. You were right, Y/n, there are way too many, especially considering we're just trying to get one of us to dance with Wendy!"

"Our latest plan—"

"—and one that will not fail," added number 4.

"—includes us escaping off into the forest with Robbie's bike so we can get him away from her. With him gone, Soos distracted enough to not make any odd music choices, and even Stan running around on a wild dollar case, it's only a matter of minutes before we're with Wendy on the dance floor!"

"In fact," both of them looked at identical stopwatches on their wrists. "It should only be another 12 minutes and 36 seconds," they finished in unison.

"I—" Y/n paused, unsure of what to even say. It wasn't everyday your adoptive younger brother makes copies of himself to win over a girl a little too old for him. "Why can't you— he—? —ask Wendy to dance?"

The two Dippers gave her a glance, brows raising. "Let's reverse the roles: if there was someone you had a crush on, could you ask them to dance, just like that?"

Y/n opened her mouth to answer, but quickly shut it. "Okay fine you got me there."

"See! Now let us continue with our plan in peace," 3 said, grabbing hold of the bike.

"Woah woah woah, slow your roll there, Dip—" She paused for a moment. "Do-do I still call you Dipper? Or do I call you by your numbers...? Like, how does this work?"

"I'm Tracey," number 3 said, smiling widely.

"And I'm Quattro."

"We know that 2 is going by Tyrone," Tracey explained, "but we didn't get to stick around long enough to get introduced to the rest of the gang."

"Dipper always did want to be named Tyrone," Y/n muttered to herself.

"Well it was a nice talk!" Quattro said, once again grabbing the bike.

"Oh hell no!" Y/n stood up. "I'm not letting you steal Robbie's bike. Especially not when the cops are at the party!"

"Why not?" Quattro complained. "He's a jerk anyway."

"Maybe he is," she started. Y/n hadn't heard a lot about him and knew even less, but one thing seemed to be sure: he was an ass. She knew why Dipper didn't like him: the edgy teen liked Wendy, too. But when even Mabel didn't seem to like him, then that was a red flag. "But that still doesn't mean you two can make a quick getaway with his bike!" She reached for the handles, pulling it towards her roughly.

"Y/n, no!" Tracey shouted. "You're going to mess up our plan! We need to keep him away for the next 10 minutes!"

"Dipper, this is ridiculous," she hissed back. "Just give it to me and—"

"HEY! IS THAT YOU, BIKE THIEF?"

The three froze, looking between each other with wide eyes.

"That's Robbie!" Quattro hissed in a whisper.

Based on his shout, it appeared that Robbie wasn't too far from them. He might have been having trouble running through the forest at night, but he would definitely find the three of them soon, especially since they were making so much noise to begin with.

Seconds later, a beam of light danced around the bushes. Unlike Y/n, he had brought a flashlight.

"He's gonna be here soon," Y/n mumbled, dropping to her knees to avoid being seen with the flashlight.

"LISTEN MAN," he shouted again, his voice much louder this time. He sounded absolutely livid. The sounds of leaves crunching and twigs snapping gained volume. "JUST GIVE ME THE BIKE AND NO ONE HAS TO GET HURT!"

"I'll give it back to him," Y/n whispered. "Just—"

But before she could finish, the two Dipper copies scampered into the bushes like fearful fawns, taking off into the night and leaving her with the bike.

"Tracey! Quattro!" She hissed. "Get back here!"

She was tempted to follow after them, but before she could move, a strong beam of light blinded her. She froze like a deer in headlights.

"Ha!" It was Robbie. "I found you, you lowly piece of—"

"Hey hey hey!" Y/n shouted waving her hands, she moved out of the way, gently dropping the bike on the floor. "Chill, Robbie! Chill!"

"What?" He finally moved the light down, allowing her to see clearly.

Robbie stood a few feet from her, dressed in the same shadows he had traveled in. A stitched, red heart was centered on his chest, close to his own. He was a lot paler than Y/n thought he was. His dark eyes were accented by his eyeliner and his piercings caught the sparse moonlight that trickled past the trees. A couple of patches of acne littered his cheeks, and his dark hair flopped over his eyes in a fringe. His ripped skinny jeans held a few leaves and burs. Even from where she stood, she could recognize the damned odor of weed and body spray; typical high school locker room smell.

His eyes scanned Y/n up and down. "A girl stole my bike? Are you kidding me?!"

"What? No!"

"Then how the hell did you get it?"

Oh, that's a good one. How the hell did I get the bike?

He definitely wouldn't believe that two Dipper copies had taken it. Or maybe he would, and he'd end up hating the boy more than he already did.

"Uh, I heard something further up the path. When I went to see what it was, it was some person with the bike. They ran off as soon as I came out of the bushes."

"How'd you know it was my bike?"

Goddamnit Robbie, just take the fucking bike! Stop interrogating me!

Y/n did a quick scan of the bike, trying to find any identifying features. It was black, but that wasn't good enough to assume it was his. She began to panic until her eyes caught rolled up posters in the water bottle cage attached to the down tube, under the handles.

"Oh! This is your.... face...?" She unrolled one, surprised to find that it was just a large picture of himself slouching on tombstone, pointing at the viewer menacingly. The top read "Robbie V and the Tombstones."

"Give me those!" He hissed, snatching them away from her rather roughly. "They're posters for my band."

"See? I didn't steal your damn bike," she said. "I was bringing it back to the Shack when you assaulted me with that flashlight."

Robbie glanced at the light in his hand, before pouting and shoving the posters in his hoodie pocket. He snapped his head to the side, shaking his hair slightly as he scoffed. "Fine. I could have gotten it back without your help, you know."

Y/n just nodded slowly, doing everything in her power not to roll her eyes.

The twins were right, he is a prick.

But there was no time to think about that. It was slowly getting darker, and Y/n was still paranoid about what Bill had said to her: she could have easily been woken up by some monster instead of the Dipper copies. And now that Robbie was here, being loud and brooding, they were suddenly a much bigger and louder target for anything creeping around.

"C'mon," she grumbled, reaching back down for the bike. "Let's get back to the Shack."

"Hey hey hey," he shouted suddenly, flicking the flashlight over her hands. "Don't touch my bike! You'll get scratches on it."

Y/n glared at him. "Robbie, this has been taken through the forest. I'm pretty sure there's scratches on it already."

"Goddamnit!" He hissed, crouching down across from her. He ran the flashlight along the body of the bike.

"Jesus Christ," Y/n mumbled, growing increasingly annoyed with him. "Okay, here's how this is going to work: you take the bike, I'll take the flashlight. Now get up already. You can check your precious bike when we get back to the party."

"Why do you get to lead?"

"Do you want to drag your bike through all those bushes you walked through or do you want to follow the relatively smooth path I know by heart back to the Shack?"

"...Fine," he hissed, passing her the flashlight. He carefully stood up his bike. "You better not get us lost."

Biting back the harsh comment on the tip of her tongue, Y/n carefully led the edgy teen out of the clearing and onto the beaten path that would eventually wind down towards the Mystery Shack. Eventually, the two were walking side by side in a tenseful silence, occasionally broken by the rustling of bushes and the chain on Robbie's bike.

After a few minutes, Robbie spoke up.

"So, uh, you're... Y/n, right? The twins' older sister?"

Y/n paused for a moment, genuinely surprised that he knew who she was. "Oh, yeah. I guess they mentioned me when you guys went to that haunted convenience store."

"No, actually. It was Wendy. She said you were pretty cool." She noticed that he glanced at her cast when he spoke, the thing that deemed her worthy of the "cool" title initially.

"Oh," Y/n said simply, a little hurt that it was the redhead who retold her existence.

Stop being stupid, she thought immediately afterwards, how would they bring me up if they we're hanging out and fighting ghosts?

"Why didn't you come? She had said that she invited you, too."

"I... I had some things to do," she said, deciding it was best to leave it at that.

"You should've," he said, surprising her yet again.

"Oh? Really—?"

"So that way we didn't end up babysitting your siblings."

Y/n grumbled under her breath, quietly cursing the teen out. She picked up her pace; she wished she stayed at the party at this point. It was a whole lot more bearable than this.

"Hell, I wish Bill kept me in the mindscape longer until I was eaten by some Gremlobin," she muttered.

"Huh?"

"I said to hurry up, I'd rather not be out here any longer," she snapped.

He laughed. "What? Are you scared?"

I just finished dealing with a dream demon, she wanted to say. No, I'm not scared; I'm tired as shit.

She paused for a moment. Why was she being friendly? Especially to Robbie of all people? She didn't have to act nice, not when he wasn't trying either.

"No. Are you?"

He scoffed, gripping his bike harder. "Are you kidding? What's there to be scared of in here?"

"Human sized vampire bats, werewolves, vampires," Y/n began to list, counting on her fingers. "You guys did find ghosts at the convenience store. What makes the woods any different?"

She turned back to look at him, mildly amused to find his eyes nervously scanning the surrounding thickets. His pace quickened until he was once again walking side by side with her.

"I swear to God," he mumbled, glaring at her. "What's up with you Pines and some spooky shit happening? First it was those twins and those ghosts. What's next?"

"We might meet the thing that broke my arm," she joked, flashing him a malicious smirk.

He jumped away from her, nearly stumbling back. "The hell do you mean?!"

"Relax, man. It was a joke. We'd just be running into some tall oak tree if that were the case," she rolled her eyes. "Hopefully we run into nothing. We're not that far from the Shack, actually. Won't be long 'til we're back at the party."

"Well, we better not come back and see that dorky kid brother of yours trying to hit on Wendy."

"Why? Do you feel threatened by him?"

"What? Of course not!" He shouted. "Are you kidding me? As if he stands a chance with Wendy."

"I dunno, someone's sounding very in-se-cure~," she sang slightly.

"I am NOT insecure," Robbie growled, slamming the front wheel of his bike into the dirt. He leaned over, grabbing Y/n by the collar of her flannel. He was practically fuming. "Listen here, Punk. I don't care who you are or how cool you think you are. Do me a favor, yeah? Tell that dweeb to back off my girl, and stay out of my way. Both of you!"

"'Your girl?'" Y/n repeated, her brows narrowing. She ripped his hands from her collar, shoving him away roughly. "I don't know who the fuck told you that you were some sort of big shot, Robbie, but you're not! You don't scare anyone, you wannabe emo shit. Wendy isn't some game to win," she spat. "You wanna get with her? Then step up your game. And maybe stop trying to be some edgy, brooding, bad boy. You don't play the part well, you brat. You just have unchecked issues."

"I have issues?" He exclaimed incredulously, pointing at her. "You're the one sneaking off into the forest in the middle of the night like a freak!"

"As if you don't sneak out here to smoke weed or some shit," Y/n retorted loudly. "Your hoodie reeks of it."

He stomped forward, ready to jump in Y/n's face. "Well at least—!"

BBBBVVVVVRRRROOOO.

The two paused suddenly, eyes wide.

"Was... was that you?" Y/n asked in a hushed whisper.

"What do you mean, 'was that me?' You really think I made that noise?" He hissed.

BBBBVVVVVRRRROOOO. BBBBVVVVVRRRROOOO.

It was a low droning noise that echoed around them. The soft rustling of bushes, once thought attributed to the wind, was now becoming violent. There was a certain sloppy and slushy splashing that occurred every few seconds, as whatever was around them trampled bushes and leaves to come closer.

"What the fuck is that?!" Robbie shouted. He scampered to Y/n's side, clutching his bike tightly as a means of defense as Y/n began to swing the flashlight around.

"Shhh! Lower your voice before it thinks we're trying to attack it," Y/n growled.

"We are trying to attack it. I'm not going to become dinner to some monstrosity," he snapped back.

The sound of crushing leaves got louder, until a crack of a few strong branches caused the two of them to jump. The woods became silent once again, and Y/n swung the flashlight to the source of the noise, revealing...!

"Is... is that a frog?"

A large amphibian sat at the edge of the clearing, sitting as big and round as a boulder. It was colored a sky blue, speckled with cerulean spots and skin glossy. It's skin was bioluminescent, letting out a soft glow that painted the greenery a sea green. Leaves and small twigs stuck to it's slimy skin, and two beady black eyes darted around, tracking the two teens' slight movements.

But what was so peculiar about the frog, besides it's large stature, was the thing attached to its head. Wrapped around its mouth like a hat, was a large, purple-speckled mushroom cap. It took Y/n a moment to realize that the fungi was a part of the amphibian, its spores embedded into the frog's head.

"No," she mumbled, taking a tentative step forward to gaze at the creature better. A low rumbling sounded in its throat, its pouch expanding slightly. "It's a... a Sprog," she decided.

"This isn't the time for puns! Let's just hurry up and get out of here. It's looking at me weird." The Sprog blinked it's eyes, and Robbie shivered visibly.

"Wait, let me get a better look at this guy," she answered, craning her head to look at it. Y/n was excited; it was her first taste of the supernatural outside of Bill! And it was some sort of cool frog mushroom hybrid! How much better could it get?

"Oh hell no." Robbie grabbed her by her collar again, pulling her back besides him. "This thing can jump at you at any moment!"

"Hey! It's not a thing, it's a little Sprog," she cooed.

"'Little?'" He asked incredulously. "Look at the size of it!"

"Okay, it's medium then."

"That's not the point! You have no idea what it can do."

"Robbie, it's a frog," Y/n rolled her eyes. "All it can do is just hop around. It was probably looking for a mate with that call earlier."

"You're acting way too calm for someone who's face to face with an enormous—"

"Enormous frog," she reminded him. "It isn't going to do anything. But you're right," she conceded with a sigh. She didn't want to hear him whine anymore, especially not over a frog. "Let's head back before people notice we're missing."

Y/n slipped under Robbie, returning back to the path she remembered by heart. She grabbed a hold of the bike handle opposite to which he was clutching onto, trying to coax him to follow her.

"Fine," he grumbled, gazing back at the Sprog. He continued behind her, staying close to her side when another sploshing sound caused them to turn around again.

The Sprog had jumped forward, startling them with the insane distance it had covered. It had nearly leapt the twin's height in distance without any hassle.

"Holy shit," Y/n mumbled, eyes wide with amazement. Oh, how she wished she had brought her Tabloid with her! She didn't remember seeing the Sprog in the journal; maybe she found something the Author hadn't! "That jumped nearly thrice as far as a regular frog!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?! If you want to come back and look at this thing tomorrow then go ahead. But get me back to the Shack."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. You don't need to throw a tantrum about it."

"Then shut up and get going. You're the one who's supposed to be leading."

With a huff, Y/n turned away from her little Sprog friend, a little disappointed that she had happened to find it when she was with Robbie. She could only hope she'd be able to track it tomorrow.

"See ya Sproggie buddy! C'mon, let's kee—"

Y/n fell forward, nearly crashing to the ground. Instinctively, she had grabbed onto the closest thing to her, which just so happened to be Robbie. She grabbed his hoodie in one hand, the other reaching over to stabilize herself on the bike.

"What's wrong with you?" He snarled again, swatting her hand away. "Can you not walk properly?"

"I didn't tri— WOAH!" Something tugged on her right leg, pulling her slightly.

The two looked down at her foot. It was entangled in some sort of...?

"Is that a vine?" Robbie asked. He took the flashlight from Y/n, shining it down at her feet.

A thick, purple, rope-like vine had wrapped itself around her ankle. As the two continued watching, they learned that it was alive; it was slowly moving and tightening around her leg.

"Oh no," Y/n mumbled, "where is this...?"

"The frog," Robbie said, a shaking hand pointing back to the amphibian.

"What?" She looked back, and sure enough, the vine was coming from the Sprog. More specifically, from a crack in its head.

The mushroom cap atop its head swayed slightly, compressing itself and bulging as more vines broke free from the spores on the frog's head. The beady eyes of the creature were glazed over, and suddenly the sea green light bathed the creature in an ominous glow. More purple vines crept on the floor, slowly making their way towards Robbie and the bike.

"Oh God," Y/n grunted, trying to pull her foot free from the vine. It was surprisingly taught, and as she kept struggling it only seemed to tighter around her limb. It began to prick at her skin; it must have grown thorns.

"What the hell is going on?!" Robbie was beginning to panic, slowly backing away from the slithering vines, but not far enough away that he wouldn't have a good hold on both the bike and Y/n.

"BBBBVVVVVRRRROOOO," the frog let out another low drone, but as it continued, it almost seem to fade away, replaced by a spritzing noise. The two looked back towards the creature, horrified to see that the mushroom on its head was releasing thin purple clouds of mist.

The mist seemed to increase the vine growth; more twisting ropes began to grow from the frog's head, covering its beady eyes. The mushroom stood upright suddenly, and the two watched as it began to shake and split at the cap until a singular blue cat-eye rolled into place. The pupil darted around before it focused on the two teens, beginning to produce more mist.

"What is this?! What the hell happened to the frog?" Robbie shrieked, kicking at the vines slowly advancing towards him. The vine around Y/n's ankle began to pull stronger, nearly ripping her away from the bike. "It's like that stupid mushroom took control of it!"

Y/n perked up, her eyes widening in realization.

The mushroom...! It did take control of the frog!

A memory from freshman year biology bubbled to the surface of her mind.

"Oh fuck," she groaned. "The mushroom is probably one of those funguses that kills the host and uses it like a vessel to spread and feed!"

"What? I thought those things only affected ants or some shit!"

"Oh, so you do know what I'm talking about."

"Are you calling me stupid?!"

"This isn't the same as the one they talk about in biology," she continued, tugging once again against the vines. A couple began to snap, but more took their place. "The frog didn't appear to be dead when we found it. They probably live symbiotically."

"Enough with the science! I only remembered the fungi and the zombie ants 'cause I thought they were cool," he yelled. "I don't remember anything else."

"They're working together for survival," she snapped back. "In this case, probably food."

"So how do we stop them from using us as food?"

Y/n fell silent; that was the one thing she couldn't figure out. But as Robbie shouted again as one of the vines began to twist itself in the spokes of his bike, she realized she was going to have to make up a plan as they went along.

"Oi, Robbie! You have a lighter, right?" He had to be lighting blunts somehow.

"What's that going to do?"

"Just give me the lighter!" She snapped.

He fished in his hoodie pocket, producing a lighter. He tossed it to her.

Y/n quickly opened it, clicking the igniter with a frenzy. After a moment, a small flame sprung to life, swaying slightly in the young night's breeze. She brought it down to her ankle, letting it tickle the purple vines.

She felt them slowly giving way, becoming looser the longer she held the flame there. But she didn't have enough time to simply heat them up to the point of discomfort. With a quick curse flying past her lips and hopes that she wouldn't further burn her leg, she plunged the flame towards the vines, allowing the fire to catch.

The reaction was almost immediate: the vines let go completely as the flame continued to grow, running along their plant growth. The heat singed her ankle, but luckily, the flame was more occupied with the vines than it was with Y/n's flesh.

She scrambled away from the vines as they retreated, slamming themselves against the ground in an attempt to put out the spreading fire. The Sprog (or maybe it was the mushroom?) let out a cry as it tried to put out the flames.

Y/n crouched down, doing the same to the vines wrapped around the tires of the bike. When those crawled away, alight with their own burning embers, she took care of the few targeting Robbie. They never made it anywhere close to him, but it would definitely buy them time to make their escape.

"Okay we gotta leave right now," Y/n said, jumping to her feet. Her right leg throbbed, and as she streadied herself, it almost felt as if it was asleep. "Oh fuck."

"You good?"

"No, I think those vines have some sort of numbing agent in them to help grab prey. It must have gotten into my leg when the thorns got me."

"Are you sure it's a numbing agent?" Robbie asked, actual concern seeping into his voice.

"Nope! But I'm just going to have to hope that's what it is. Now hurry up!"

The two grabbed the bike handles and started back down the path in a near sprint. It was difficult for Y/n to keep up, as each time she put pressure onto her right leg, she almost tumbled forward. It was getting harder to feel it as she ran.

"If we keep going a little further, the path will open up big enough for you to ride. I'll just jump on the back or something," she explained.

They hadn't been running for long when they heard another: "BBBBVVVVVRRRROOOO!"

It was muffled slightly due to the distance they had put between themselves and the Sprog, but it still frightened them. It was more higher pitched, too; Y/n guessed it was the mushroom further taking control of its host.

"One loud mating call, huh?" Y/n laughed awkwardly, taking the chance to glance behind them to make sure the Sprog was where they had left it.

Robbie stopped short suddenly, nearly causing Y/n to trip and fall.

"I don't think that was a mating call," he whispered.

When Y/n looked back, her heart dropped.

Dozens of the same blue eyes were scanning for them from within the bushes. They were all different sizes, but there was no mistaking the cat-like pupil that moved erratically from the darkness.

Before the two teens could say anything, vines began to thrash from the darkness, looking for their prey. They found Robbie faster than Y/n, grabbing at his skinny jeans and wrapping around his thin waist.

"H-hey!" He shouted as they began to pull him into the surrounding bushes. They were a lot smaller than the ones previously, so Y/n assumed they must have belonged to smaller Sprogs. There was also the chance that they were easier to escape from; they might not have developed the numbing thorns the first had.

"Robbie!" Y/n spun on her heel, grabbing onto his hoodie to prevent him from slipping further away from reach. But before she could tug him close to her and the bike, she found herself being pulled backwards.

A multitude of vines had wrapped themselves around her legs, slowly creeping up her waist. One began to snake it's way around her cast, pinning it to her side.

"Fuck me! Why are there so many of them?"

There was no way she could set all of them on fire at once without setting herself ablaze. Not only that, there were so many more Sprogs tugging her every which way that it made it nearly impossible to hold the lighter properly. But...

Do I really need a lighter?

An idea was forming, and Y/n hoped that she would have better success here than she did at the clearing earlier.

"Robbie," she gasped, trying her best to keep her right hand free. "Take the lighter! It'll be easier for you to use!"

"Huh? W-what about you?" He said, struggling with his own vines. He managed to keep his upper half free, though if he kept swinging with closed fists he might end up getting further tied up.

"I have an idea, maybe," she muttered the last part under her breath. "Here, catch!" She tossed the lighter his way.

Robbie caught it with ease, flipping it in his fingers and finally letting loose the small flame. Remembering what Y/n had done earlier, he set the few vines he had around him ablaze, watching as they retreated back into the thickened they originated from. Smaller, higher pitched shrieks echoed from his side.

Y/n was having more trouble. She was panicking slightly, but was trying her best to steady herself and focus on her palm. She just needed a small flame; that was enough to drive them away.

Plunging her hand into the mess of vines that had begun to crawl up her side, she tried to focus all of her attention on the fire she had been failing to produce as of late. She tried to drown out Robbie's small panicked grumbles, closing her eyes and picturing the small, glittering fire in the center of her palm.

"C'mon," she grumbled, calming her breathing. "Let's do this."

The vines were beginning to drag her back into the thickets with more force behind each tug. It was only a matter of time before they pulled her out of reach from both the path and Robbie.

Watching as the vines that once held him retreat into the dark, Robbie quickly moved to help Y/n. He held the lighter to the mass of vines that had wrapped themselves around her legs, trying to stop them from pulling her any further. It was a much more tedious task; since there were so many vines to begin with, he could only get a few away at a time, lest he accidentally set her on fire.

"They're not leaving fast enough," he shouted, shaking the lighter in hopes that it would help. "We're going to run out of lighter fluid."

Y/n remained silent, squeezing her eyes shut. She wasn't having any luck on her end.

I just need a little flame, please! Just focus!

She let out another breath, forcing herself still against the tugging of the vines. Her breathing slowed, and as she relaxed her muscles she opened her eyes. Her thoughts went back to all the other times she had accidentally summoned, eventually spanning as far back as her wish on that December night. A sudden warmth ran down her body as she remembered the glittering star that had streaked the winter sky.

A chorus of squeals sounded from behind her, and immediately the vines let go of her body. Robbie backed away, still holding the lighter, and Y/n jumped over the remaining vines, scrambling to his side.

"What the hell happened?" Robbie asked, stumbling to his feet.

Y/n turned back, to see her black flame racing along the lines of vines at an alarming pace. It was smaller than the one produced by the lighter, almost invisible to their eyes as it traveled along the plants. As the vines further pulled themselves back into the bushes, she was terrified that the fire would catch, but as she continued to watch, the fire only seemed more interested in the Sprog targets than it did the surrounding shrubbery. It confused her, but it wasn't a good time to start further questioning the mechanics of her fire. It had saved her— yet again— and she needed to get out of there.

"It doesn't matter," she shouted, grabbing his hand. "Just keep running before more show up!"

Y/n tugged him forward, but he pulled back immediately, howling in pain. She froze suddenly, eyes glancing at her own hand.

Was that...?

"Fuck!"

"W-what happened?"

"Nothing, it's fine. I must have gotten burned when I was using the lighter, just keep going."

Burned? Did I burn him?!

Y/n tried to push back any thoughts she might have had about that burn; he was right, they just needed to keep going for now. She could find out if her hunch was really right at the Shack.

The two continued running, finally reaching the point in the path where it opened big enough for biking. Robbie hopped on, waiting for Y/n to get on the back. They didn't worry about helmets; they wanted to get out alive.

Robbie started biking as fast as he could, Y/n awkwardly holding onto his shoulders. She didn't know where else to put her hands, but she was too preoccupied thinking about her numbing leg to think about proper hand placement. Streaks of green and brown flew past them as they sped down the path towards the Shack. Every so often, Y/n's grey eyes would pick up the haunting, grimy, blue scleras of surrounding Sprogs.

The rest of the ride was silent, and soon enough the two teens could once again hear the muffled music from the party. Moments later, the Shack came back into view, the pink and purple strobe lights of the party streaking across the floor.

Y/n hopped off the bike quickly. She stumbled as she put weight on her right leg, nearly falling over. Robbie grabbed her, an arm around her waist to hold her up right before she could collapse on the floor.

"O-oh," Y/n stuttered as he pulled her close to him. She went stiff. "Thanks," she murmured, pulling away, embarrassed. She held her hands out, steading her balance until she got used to putting weight onto her leg.

"Y-yeah," he mumbled, quickly sticking his hands in his pockets. "No problem."

"C'mon," Y/n said, limping slightly towards the shack. She was slowly regaining feeling back in her leg. It stung with pins and needles. "Put your bike down over there. Let's get into the Shack and I'll look at your hand. Pretty sure we have ointment in the bathroom, too."

With a nod, Robbie followed Y/n through the side entrance. Letting out a slight sigh of relief when she didn't see the rest of the Pines hanging around in the living room or hallway, she led Robbie up the stairs and towards the bathroom by the attic. The two squeezed into the small room, Y/n already searching through the medicine cabinet.

"Let me see your hand."

"It's just a little burn," he grumbled, but offering his hand nonetheless. He wore black fingerless gloves, and it was hard to see the exact burnt area at first. But when she grabbed it, he let out a small hiss.

"Take your glove off real quick."

"Fine," he sighed. When he finally took it off, she could see the bright pink and semi-swollen burn.

Y/n let out her own little huff when she saw it.

Oh thank God, she thought, a weight lifting off her shoulders. It isn't bad.

It was a decent burn; definitely not from the lighter, but compared to the damage she had thought it would have done, she was relieved her fire didn't leave any permanent marks.

"Oh, it's not that bad," she said, trying to make light of the situation. "The ointment should help, though." Y/n spread the cream across his hand, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"It... it doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Hurt?" Robbie scoffed, putting back his glove on when she was done. Y/n ran the tap, washing her hands before diving back into the medicine cabinet for herself. "It's just a little burn. It isn't going to do anything."

Ignoring his attitude, Y/n pulled out an ace bandage for her leg. It wasn't as numb anymore, but she could feel thin trails of blood falling down towards her ankle from the thorns. "You didn't get pricked by any thorns, did you?"

"No, those baby ones didn't have any," he said, leaning against the bathroom wall, carefully taking his burnt hand in his other.

"Good," Y/n mumbled. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she crossed her leg over the other and rolled up her pants slightly. Sure enough, a few tiny holes littered her flesh, right under the scarred edge of a burn from her childhood. Thin wisps of blood run down her leg, staining the cuff of her sock slightly. "Well damn."

Robbie's brows rose slightly upon seeing her wound. "Oh shit."

"It's fine," she said quickly, wrapping her leg with the bandage. "It's not that much damage, thankfully. Would have been a lot worse if we didn't have that lighter."

"Y-yeah," he mumbled.

"Okay," she announced awkwardly. Now that the emergency of checking for wounds was over, she realized how small the bathroom was. The two of them were nearly on top of each other. "If you're good, then you can head back to the party."

"What about you?"

Y/n's brown rose. "Me? I'm gonna go to sleep probably," she lied. "I did not think I was going to fight living vines tonight."

Robbie nodded after a second, looking away. He shuffled towards the door, opening it for the both of them.

Before he left, he cleared his throat.

"Hey Y/n," he started, a little louder than he intended. "Thanks for helping me... I guess," he muttered, sliding his shoe across the floor boards.

"Oh! Uh, no problem. I didn't want a dead goth on my hands," she joked awkwardly, a little surprised by his genuine thanks.

"But you better not tell anyone what happened out there," he growled, narrowing his eyes.

There it is, she thought with a small smile.

"Whatever you say," she rolled her eyes.

With a curt nod and loud grumbles, Robbie left the bathroom, heading down the hall and back to the party.

Y/n let out a sigh. "Ehhh, he's still a bit of a prick," she mumbled, leaving the bathroom herself. She shut the door behind her, but as she turned around to head down the hallway herself, she was met face to face with Mabel.

"OH MY GOSH!" The young girl gasped loudly, running up to her and pulling on her flannel. "Were you in the bathroom with Robbie?"

"What...? No no no no no no," she sputtered, panicking slightly. Mabel was three seconds away from misreading the entire situation in the worst possible way ever.

"Don't lie to me! What was that about?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Mabel!" She hissed, scolding her slightly. "I was just putting ointment on a burn."

Her face fell, her brows furrowing in both confusion and concern. "A... a burn?"

"It's a long story," she mumbled. "I have a bandage around my leg now."

"Wait, what happened?"

"I'll tell you and Dipper later."

Someone cleared their throat from behind Mabel. "I'm sorry, but is this where the bathroom is, Mabel?"

Y/n looked up suddenly, only just noticing the man who was awkwardly standing at the entrance to the hallway.

He was tall, at least three heads taller than Y/n herself. He was slightly dark in complexion, standing calmly with his hands in his dark shorts. As one of the older party goers, he looked older than the twin's parents, but not by much. His hair was swept back, colored a dark black and peppered with a light grey, much more evident in the stubble that lined his sharp face. Dark amber eyes looked at the two girls kindly, a small warm smile wrinkling the skin by his eyes. Little scars and scratches lined his face, scattering across his cheeks and under his eyes.

He wore a white short-sleeved polo shirt, the black stripes slimming him down slightly. Y/n could tell that at a time he had been rather fit, but age had subtly worn down his once broad and lanky physique. He had his collar popped open slightly, and a keen eye could spot a thin scar running across his chest, under his collar bone.

"Uh," Y/n said, scanning him up and down, brow quirking slightly. "Who's this?"

Chapter Text

He had wandered into the party later than he had anticipated.

The man cursed himself slightly when he finally did enter, slightly embarrassed with himself for not updating himself on the newer and modern technologies humans had seemed to come up with in the oddsome years he had been away from this dimension.

But he had only been away for nearly... what? 25 or so years...? How did things change so fast? How did they go from landlines and blocky phones and beepers to handheld devices that had access to nearly limitless knowledge within a few presses of their fingertips?

As he slowly made his way past groups of teens on their little glowing rectangles, he couldn't help but look over their shoulders and inspect the new technology further. He watched with awe as they chatted away with nothing more than a few scrolls of their thumb and posted pictures with a few taps around the small screen.

Conversations with people from the palm of your hand? Platforms to connect to the entire world? He was almost impressed; there seriously had been some major improvements since he had been away.

But as he continued past a booming speaker, he realized that not all change had been necessarily good. He was slowly finding out that music changed, too.

He didn't know what genre was currently blasting in his ears from all around him, but he knew he didn't like it. It was nothing like the records he remembered having; there were less synthesized beats and electric hip-hop melodies and more skillful violin runs and steady piano chords.

He waded through the people scattered across the room and the dance floor, trying his best not to bump into anyone accidentally. It was slightly hard to move around with all the strobe lights flashing around making his head spin. He didn't think he would have been affected so badly, but then again, he wasn't himself at this moment. If he wanted to blend in with these people, then he would need to use his human form, no matter how much weaker it was.

As he slowly made his way to the snack table, he helped himself to a cup of soda, eying the bottle cautiously as if it was poisonous. It might as well have been: why did it have so much sugar?

"They all have beyond average sugar content," he muttered under his breath, twisting the bottle caps to get a better view of their labels. A couple of people beside him gave him an odd glare, having heard his comment. He fell silent, and in the end he settled on a bit of Coke, not even bothering to grab a cookie or brownie; if the sodas were much too sweet for his liking, he could only imagine the food.

"If only they had tea," he moped to himself, cautiously sipping his soda. "No wonder why humans die so fast, they're practically poisoning themselves with these sweets."

But he wasn't there to contemplate where humans had gone wrong in their development, nor was he there to mingle with the people of Gravity Falls. As much as he adored observing humans and partaking in their little festivities and whatnot, he was there on a mission: he was going to find the source of his fire. 

He had taken it upon himself to visit countless dimensions since that day he had first learned of the presence of a twin flame. He left Ashgar in charge of things back at home (as if he needed to even delegate anything in the first place; the small imp was always ever-so-helpful) and left for the neighboring dimensions soon after. The reaction had been so strong, so the source had to be close, didn't they?

Yet, so far, he had come up with nothing but insuccess; all attempts only resulted in random run-ins with weaker demons at best and nothing but ghosts or imps at worse.

But, when he first arrived in Gravity Falls, little ways into the woods but rather close to the homely little town, he had been a little more hopeful. Not even a second within the realm had his senses picked up on an immense amount of energy— something most closely associated with a rather powerful demon; potentially exactly what he was looking for.

He was certain the person with his fire was somewhere within the dimension— within the town. What better place to look than this party?

The timing couldn't have been more perfect; there was no way he could miss this demon now. The only problem was trying to pick out who they were from within the mob of townspeople.

Well, there was more than one problem, if he were to be honest.

Just what am I to do when I do find the one with my fire?

He was a little more than confused in hindsight. He didn't understand how someone had his fire in the first place. He didn't just go around dimensions granting creatures a portion of his powers; most of his time was spent in his home dimension. He wasn't necessarily a large figure back at home, but with his modest title of one of the few Lords within his twilight colored world, he definitely had his fair share of responsibilities.

So just how did this creature harness my black flames?

The tall man kept wandering through the party, keeping himself confined within the four walls with the noise and cheer of the current festivities. The person was close; they had to be amongst the partying citizens.

He stuck out like a sore thumb; while others were cheering and dancing without a care in the world, there he was, sneaking around in the background, nearly flush with the walls as he scanned for the demon in disguise. He was positive he was garnering glances from the more astute people of the party, but as he kept walking around in circles (a square, really), he was slowly losing track of the energy that had drawn him to the party in the first place.

It had just... vanished. As if someone had blown out a candle; snuffed out a small flame. It was there one moment and disappeared in the next, leaving him with a sudden chill.

"Where on Earth...?"

He paused for a moment, clutching his red solo cup tightly. No... the energy wasn't gone, not completely. It was just in a different place. A much farther place. They were on the move.

He could still feel something. It wasn't as strong as it was previously, but the demon was still within this specific plane of existence.

"They must be out in the woods," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "They must have sensed me and tried to leave."

The man swiveled his head around the room for what felt like the fifth time that night, looking for an exit. There appeared to only be one: the same door he— and everyone else at the party— had entered through. But based upon the steady influx of people still battling to get through the door, he figured that it would be best to look for another exit.

But first, he thought, stopping by a speaker. The deep bass mixed with the high-pitched melody made his jaw clench and head buzz. He could feel those human eyes throb within his skull, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. I have to get away from this... "music."

Amber eyes spotted the staircase in the corner of the party room, leading up to the rest of the house. With a small sigh of relief, he made his way to his only exit, eager to leave all the incessant noise and clatter of the festivities behind him.

He discarded his cup in a nearby garbage pin, sticking his hands in the pockets of his shorts as he made his way up the stairs, trying to look as casual as possible. The Coke he had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't wait to return home for some tea. He hoped that Ashgar would prepare some in advance; they were always incredibly insightful. It was just one of the things that made the demon so incredibly grateful for them.

The thought of freshly brewed tea and a whistling kettle brought a small smile to his face as he made it into a small adjoining hallway leading away from the party.

He was grateful that the hallway was empty, and as he continued down the narrow passageway, he couldn't help but notice the frames littering the walls. They were very sparse to begin with, but what little were displayed held a small and happy family. Most photos depicted an older man— much older than his human form— in front of the house. Very soon, however, two brunette children made their appearance alongside the man.

He thought the pictures seemed more recent; the frames appeared a lot newer than the rest.

Reaching the last frame before the hall opened out into a parlor, his eyes caught them out on a fishing boat. This time, he noticed a new addition to the family: a slightly taller ravenette, only held so closely to the family by the younger children.

"Siblings, I presume," he mumbled to himself, a little smile pulling at his lips. "Adorable."

He was always enamored with humans: they weren't like other creatures, and they definitely weren't like other animals in this realm; they knew what awaited them. They were very familiar with the idea of Death, and despite what some might swear by, they were virtually clueless to what came after their life ran out. But despite this, they lived their simple and otherwise meaningless lives to the fullest. And after millennia of watching generations upon generations of humans continue living this way, he had grown attached.

It started out as interest, but soon turned to endearment. They did the most pointless things for fun; they moved their bodies to steady rhythm and beats, they harmonized with others and broke into warm giggles whenever they found something even remotely funny. They pressed their lips against others to express love, embraced for comfort, and water could spill from their eyes in either sadness, happiness, or anger.

He didn't understand it at first; he didn't know how such insignificant creatures— compared to himself— could only have a fraction of the experiences he had, but still appeared to be so much happier than him. The question mythed him for eons, until he decided to try his hand at the "human experience."

And what an experience that was.

His time reminiscing was cut short when realized he had wandered into an open parlor. It was a classy little thing— a decently sized room filled with a few stuffed game heads on the walls. Upon closer inspection, they didn't even appear to be real.

"The stitching is... subpar," he muttered, walking up to a stuffed deer head. At least, it used to be a deer head. There were horns— very similar to his own— stitched at the very top of its head. He let out a little chuckle; it was mildly amusing.

But as he continued to survey the room, he realized he had run into another new problem.

"I didn't think this place would be so... big," he said, running a hand through his hair. He rolled his shoulders back, biting his lip in a frown. "The energy is getting even further... I need to get out." But right as he finished, another spasm ran through his body, shaking him violently. He was more familiar with that one: his fire was once again used by the being in this dimension.

"I have to find them," he muttered, shaking his head slightly to ground himself again.

Deciding to try his luck— "I'm a demon, after all," he had muttered, looking at his options of passageways off of the parlor— he took a left, hoping to end up finding a door. But after another right turn, he was slowly learning that he was lost within the shack.

"This is ridiculous," he said, when he found himself in another narrow hallway, the music from the party getting increasingly louder. "How did I wind up back here...?"

It was mildly embarrassing to say the least; he, a demon, got lost within a measly shack? Was he really that out of tune with human spatial awareness?

"I'm beginning to remember the hindrances of this physical form," he sighed, knocking on the wall gently. Had he visited the dimension without it, he could freely move about the house without anyone noticing. But no, he just had to amuse himself and quell his curiosity by mingling amongst humans.

"Curse my inquisitiveness," he said, though he spoke with a smile. He couldn't help himself; they were just so fascinating!

"I'm sure if I keep going forward, I'll find another bend that will lead to—"

"HALLO THERE!"

The man nearly jumped out of his skin, instinctively moving against the wall. The frames and paintings hanging from the wall rattled slightly as he slammed himself between them. His fists clenched, steady at his sides, readying to pounce forth at a moment's notice.

He looked down, spotting a young girl staring back up at him with a wide and kind smile. While the long, brown hair was styled with a neon color bow instead of the headbands he had seen before, he was still able to recognize her as one of the children in the pictures among the walls. A smile cracked at his lips, and he shook his head slightly, embarrassed with himself for being so startled.

"Little one," he laughed warmly, running a hand through his hair, "you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry about that!" She said, giggling slightly herself. "My siblings say I need to stop sneaking up on people. I'm Mabel!"

She stuck out a little hand. He took it, his smile mimicking her own. "Inigo," he said smoothly, bowing a little bit to meet her level.

"Ooo!" Mabel cooed, her eyes lighting up. "That's a cool name!"

"I'm pleased you find it so," he laughed slightly.

"What are you doing all the way over here? The party's back there."

"Oh, well, you see," he started, scratching at his neck. "I sort of..."

"Got lost?"

"...Yes," he admitted with a small chuckle.

"Let me guess: you were trying to find the bathroom?"

"Actually—" Inigo paused for a moment, lips pressing in a thin line. He hadn't noticed it before, but the presence he had been trying to track was... was getting closer? It definitely wasn't as far as it appeared to be before. Were they coming back to the party? The shack?

"Y-yes," he finally answered. "Obviously I took more than a few wrong turns."

Mabel laughed. "Don't worry, you aren't the only one. My brother found someone about to go into the kitchen," she pointed behind him, presumably in the direction of the room. "At least you didn't go all the way back there! C'mon! I'll take you to the one closest to the party."

"Thank you, Mabel," he smiled. But as she began to lead him back down the hall, his eyes wandered around; he might not be able to interact with anything above this plane, but he could still see. And right now, he was certain there was something out there, slinking around the shadows as they made their way back to the shack and out of his sight.

As the two made their way to the bathroom, Mabel struck up small talk, asking about the party and other things of the like.

"You know," she said suddenly, "I haven't seen you around town that much. I mean," she added quickly, when she noticed his eyes widened a bit, "I'm still meeting people, but I've recognized most of them from stores and stuff in town. Or even the Mystery Shack."

"I'm not from here," he answered quickly. "I only came for... work. I saw the party advertisements in town, and figured it would be a nice way to unwind."

"Heck yeah it is!" Mabel cheered, a skip in her step. "I'm glad you're enjoying it!"

"Of course! How couldn't I? Especially when I have such a warm and welcoming hostess?"

Mabel smiled pridefully, showing off her braces. She nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement.

After another turn, the two found themselves entering the same hallway Inigo had first ventured through after leaving the party. He could now hear the muffled music much clearer, but was relieved to find that it had died down slightly.

Mabel seemed to notice too, a little frown settling on her face. "Aw, the party's probably winding down."

Before Inigo could answer, a door opened. The two looked up, watching as a tall teen dressed in black quickly left the room and climbed back down the stairs to the party. He glanced their way once, which only encouraged him to hurry away faster.

"Oh perfect! Robbie's out, so now the bathroom's free—"

The two paused, as the bathroom door opened once again, this time letting a shorter girl out of the room. It took Inigo a moment, but he recognized her as being one of the other siblings in the photos.

Unlike the boy who walked out before her, when she caught their eyes, she froze.

Inigo's eyes widened slightly. He might have been out of touch with humanity, but he wasn't an idiot. There were... certain implications that came from the two leaving the bathroom right after each other. But that wasn't any of his business; he just couldn't help thinking that they were much too young. Granted, everyone was much too young in his eyes.

He wasn't going to bring any attention to it, but Mabel caught on nearly as fast as him.

"OH MY GOSH!" Mabel screamed, nearly tackling the older girl. She pulled at her clothes, bouncing on her heels like a spring. The little bow in her hair jumped wildly with her. "Were you in the bathroom with Robbie?"

Inigo could see the girl pale violently, panicking quite visibly. "No no no no no no!"

As the girl continued to explain her situation, Inigo was able to get a better look at her. Though she only stood a few inches older than her sister, there was an air of maturity that made up for any height she might have lacked. She was dressed differently from the few pictures he had seen of her, and looked incredibly disheveled. His amber eyes caught the green of pine needles and leaves stuck in her hair. She was starkly different from Mabel; dark black hair and piercing grey eyes that peered nervously from between bangs. He couldn't see much of her eyes, but the more that he tried to get a better look at them, the more they seemed... familiar.

Her eyes, he mused silently to himself, a sad smile pulling at his lips, they look so much like... like hers.

He quickly shook that thought out of his head, instead choosing to focus on that demonic presence he had been so eager to find. Though, at this point, he wanted to focus on anything else that wasn't her. It was still close, but it wasn't in the shack. At least, not that he could tell.

They're probably outside. Maybe they realized I'm also within this dimension.

Finally, after a moment, he spoke up. "I'm sorry, but is there where the bathroom is, Mabel?"

The two finally paused, looking back as if forgetting he was even there in the first place. The older girl scanned him up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly. Inigo could feel her scrutinizing him to the highest degree; almost as if she was analyzing him under a microscope.

From her inquisitive gaze alone, he could feel his breath hitch. The way she was examining him almost made him fear that she had figured out that he wasn't exactly the human he was parading around to be. It only made it feel more uncomfortable when their eyes met for a split second; he was torn between thinking that she had someone learned of his secret and how similar her cold gaze was to hers, especially when she had gotten mad with him when they lived together.

He turned away quickly, slightly paranoid that her eyes were seeing right through him. 

"Um, who's this...?"

He barely heard her question before Mabel cut in suddenly, answering his own previously: "Oh yes it is! Sorry, we're in the way." She moved her sister and herself, moting to the bathroom with a sleeve.

He considered introducing himself quickly, but with a quick nod, he excused himself into the bathroom, ignoring both the sudden fear that the girl's gaze had instilled in him and the face of the woman that bubbled to the back of his mind at the thought of those piercing eyes.

Y/n's eyes narrowed, following him until he closed the door. There was something... out of place about him. She didn't know what, but it was obvious he wasn't originally from the town.

Maybe it's the shirt, she thought, but quickly realized that it was silly. Although, besides herself and Stan, she had never seen anyone as dressed up as that man, even if he was just wearing a striped polo.

"Who was he?" She asked again, lowering her voice to a whisper. She wanted him to introduce himself, but Mabel would have to do.

"His name's Inigo. He got lost finding the bathroom, so I had to help him."

"In... Inigo? Really?"

"Yeah! Isn't it a cool name?"

"Yeah. I guess...?" Her eyes flickered back to the door, as if expecting him to be waiting and staring back. It sounded a tad familiar, but it was so out of place that she figured that it was probably a name from one of her friend's rpgs that was mentioned in passing.

Mabel noticed. "What's up?"

"No, no, nothing. He just... seems a bit out of place, I guess."

"He told me he isn't from town. He's here for work."

"Ah, that's what it is."

Mabel giggled. "You're already sniffing out foreigners."

Y/n laughed slightly, until the two girls heard a flush, followed by the tap. Soon enough, he came back out. He looked between the two of them, kind smile in place.

"If it's not too much to ask," he began, closing the door behind him. "Could you perchance lead me to the exit? I'd rather not go out the same as the admission."

Mabel nodded, but Y/n could see the quick flash of hesitance in her eyes. She wanted to get back to the party before it ended, and it was written all over her face.

"I'll lead you out; I'm healing back to my room anyway," Y/n volunteered, flashing a knowing nod to Mabel. "You go back to the party. Find me when it's done and I'll tell you about... the thing." She motioned to her leg.

Mabel nodded quickly, giving Y/n a quick hug as thanks before disappearing down the stairs and back into the party, once again absorbed by neon lights and blasting music.

Y/n turned back to the man, unsure on how to introduce herself, let alone if she should in the first place.

Well, it's not like it's a long trip to the door. She was in no way starting up small talk with him; she was too tired to.

"Come on, it's back through this way," she said, heading back down the hallway. However, as she took a step on her injured foot, she wavered slightly. The numbness was slowly dying down, instead replaced with a sharp ache that made it hard to put her entire weight onto it. With a silent curse, she tried to hide her limp as she continued down the hall, the tall man behind her.

But of course, as observant as ever, Inigo immediately noticed the odd behavior. He quickly noticed the uncoordinated foot, and his eyes caught the edge of a bandage from beneath the hems of her jeans.

"Is your foot alright? It appears to be injured." He quickly came to her side, ready to hold her up if need be.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, a little apprehensive on how fast he had moved. She shied away from his outstretched arms; even if they were for aid, she had no intention of using them. "Just a little limp, nothing I can't handle."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, concern evident in his tone. His eyes quickly flashed from her face to her leg, arms still held out in case she were to fall over.

Y/n couldn't help but make a face; who was this man? And why was he treating her like... well, like a child? She felt like a baby, struggling to take their first steps as their father stayed close behind, ready to catch them at any moment if they were to fall over, lest they get hurt.

"Yes," she answered, rather roughly, rolling her shoulder in an attempt to get him to back away. He caught on, stepping away from her with a quick apology. He dropped his hands to his sides, allowing them to reside in his pockets. 

With a curt nod, Y/n continued down the hall, trying to subtly use her elbow and the wall as support. She tried to make it appear as natural as possible, but Inigo had long since caught on. He remained quiet, and despite all urges telling him to help her get to a chair or something to sit on, he instead trailed behind her, slowing his own strides in order not to surpass the injured girl.

How did she hurt herself? Poor child.

Despite her faulty leg, the two made it to the door rather quickly; mostly because Y/n was dying to shower and get all the nettles and pines off of herself and out of her hair.

She opened the door, letting the tall man step out. The sigh of relief that left his lips and relaxed his shoulders didn't go unnoticed; Y/n couldn't help but smirk at the sight. It seemed she hadn't been the only one who was itching to leave that party.

"Thank you for your help," Inigo smiled, nodding slowly. His eyes flickered around wildly, trying to spot the presence that appeared to be getting stronger. They were close now— he could swear they were right on top of him— but he just couldn't spot them. They always appeared to remain out of sight.

"No problem," Y/n answered, gently leaning herself against the door to ease the burden on her leg. "Hope you enjoyed the party."

He laughed, but it was more polite than it was happy. "Yes, I did. Now, I wouldn't want to hold you from it."

Y/n couldn't hide the slight grimace that squinted her eyes and pulled her lips into a tight frown. "Mmhmm."

Inigo chuckled; "I take it you aren't a big fan of it?"

"Y-yeah, what gave it away?"

"Well, if those leaves in your hair are any sign, I take it you weren't even there for most of it." He reached over, pulling one out of the mess of black. He swatted it to the floor.

"Shit," she muttered, reaching up within her own tangles to grab what she could. She didn't think it was that bad. "I'll take care of the rest of them in a bit."

Inigo's nose scrunched up slightly at the use of profanity; he had never found the point in it. But he held his mouth shut.

"I'm sure you will—" He paused suddenly, realizing he had never caught her name. Not even Mabel had said it in passing. "Um, I don't believe we were ever introduced?"

"Oh right." Y/n let go of the door knob, leaning on it to steady herself enough to offer a hand. She wasn't expecting him to ask for her name, especially if this was probably the last time she would ever see him; he did say he wasn't from the town. She made sure that her flannel covered the scarring on her palm before offering it rather lacklusterly.

Inigo noticed her hesitation and decided— for her sake— to introduce himself first. She seems to be the reserved type, he thought, reaching for her hand. Not too unlike myself; completely different from that sister of hers, though.

But as he grabbed her hand, his name died on his tongue. A sudden and strong surge of energy ran up his arm, a buzzing tickling his skin and settling in his chest. His eyes widened; this had never happened before. Especially with a human.

Y/n felt it too, thought much more extreme. It was like she was suddenly dropped; her stomach flipped and a wave of adrenaline ran the entire length of her body, causing an involuntary shiver to trickle down her spine. Her hand clutched his tighter accidentally, and a sudden warmth was settled within their palms; a warmth familiar to the both of them.

That's the warmth of my—! Inigo's mind began to race. This child has it?! How?

But before any of them could utter a word, it was over. Within an instant, everything was back to normal; the handshake was nothing more than... well, a handshake.

What the fuck was that? Did I burn him too? Y/n considered asking him if he too had felt it, but decided it against it in case it only made her look insane.

But by the looks of it, it seemed Inigo was just as puzzled as she was. He quietly gaped at their hands still clasped in a shake, carefully scanning the girl up and down. He didn't understand.

Y/n averted her eyes and cleared her throat, realizing that he wasn't going to be speaking anytime soon without a friendly reminder that they were still in the middle of an introduction.

"S-sorry," he finally stuttered out, trying to hide the foreign tone behind a nervous chuckle. "I'm—"

"Inigo...? Right?"

Oh, so Mabel did give her my name, he thought. He gave her hand a gentle shake nonetheless, afraid that anything too rough would recreate the odd occurrence from moments prior. "Yes."

"I'm Y/n," she shook his hand slightly, relaxing the steel grip she had accidentally grabbed at him with. Trying to play off the experience naturally, she let herself smile slightly. But when she pulled her hand away, only to realize that Inigo had tightened his grip.

She looked up at him, only to see him blinking quietly, deep in thought. Moments passed in silently, Y/n watching as his expression changed from puzzled to confused before finally settling in... skepticism? Eventually, his brows furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry, I think I might have misheard you. You said...?"

"Y/n. Y/n P-Pines," she answered a little sharper, seizing the opportunity to pull her hand away. She rolled her shoulder apprehensively as the man continued to stare at her blankly. It was like he was seeing a ghost.

To Inigo, it almost was like he was seeing a ghost.

Y/n...? He kept thinking, his thoughts beginning to race in his head. He could hear his heart beating loudly, blood rushing in his ears as he finally registered the name.

As in... as in my...? No, no, it's a coincidence; it has to be! But... she has her eyes; the same beautiful gray. And...? He was close to stumbling over, the conclusion he was reaching so powerful enough to make him light headed and sweeping his legs out from under him. He had never felt so human.

Inigo remained frozen in front of her, hand still outstretched, moving slightly towards her. Y/n moved away, trying her best to shoo the man away so she could finally close the door. She saw his fingers flex slightly, as if they were going to grab her. It was obvious she needed to say something if she planned to get rid of him anytime soon.

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry but I gotta go, so—"

"Oh yes!" Inigo answered suddenly, finally putting his hand down. He took a step back off the porch, despite every fiber of his being begging him to stay. Conflict plagued his body; a battle between his intensely brewing emotions and his ever-reigning logic. He wanted to lunge towards her— grab her and make sure she was real— but he couldn't; not when he wasn't even sure if it was really her.

No, it is her! His thoughts screamed. It's her! Don't let her go, not when you just got her back!

"S-sorry," he finally choked out. Have a goodnight, Y/n." His voice died in his throat, his eyes not leaving the girl in front of him. He didn't want to leave. Inigo had to know; he had to know if this was real— if the girl before him held the same fire his being was comprised of.

Y/n nodded, eyes once again scrutinizing the man in front of her. She had already pushed the handshake towards the back of her head, but she felt as if she was going to have a harder time getting this vivid character out of her memories. He was like a completely different person from who she had met moments prior.

What got into him? She couldn't help but wonder.

"Yeah, have a good night."

The door closed, and Inigo watched as Y/n ventured back into the shack. And with her, a piece of himself.

"It's her," he whispered to himself. Maybe it was his thoughts and overwhelming feelings, but he seemed to be convinced. A shaky laugh left his lips, a hand running through his hair. A surge of foreign emotions flowed within him, making his head dizzy.

It was weird— it was one of the things that made him feel alive as a human, but right now he could do without them. He would much rather prefer to be within his ethereal skin when he learned this information; it would at least hit him when he was with a level head and muted emotions.

"It has to be her."

The eyes; the hair; her reserved nature; the handshake— that warmth was my fire; of course she would have it! She's—!

"It's my little girl," Inigo whispered to the wind, a smile pulling at his lips. His hands cupped his face as he continued to struggle to quell the bubbling emotions erupting from within. He wanted to shout it to the heavens; rejoice that he had learned that his little bundle of joy was still alive, living with a family that loved her nearly as much as he did. But, there was a certain sadness that came with the realization, and for the first time that night, his smile turned into a deep frown, lips trembling. His eyes went blurry, and, before he knew it, warm tears began to run down his cheeks.

"My little Princess is still alive," he breathed out quietly. That alone should have overjoyed him; all this time, he thought she had died in the same fire that took his love's life. But there was another glaring issue, one that troubled him greatly.

"But... she doesn't even know who I am."

Chapter Text

Inigo remained on the porch, unsure of where to go.

He was conflicted, with both himself and the world. How did he only just find out his daughter was still alive? What kind of person was he? What kind of father was he? He didn't have much experience with the paternal role if he were to be completely honest— demons weren't known to have children; it was a whole debate amongst the population— but he was sure at least knowing your child was alive was some sort of prerequisite... right...?

"What is wrong with me? How could I miss something so crucial!" He scolded himself out loud. His shouts were carried with the wind, off into the crisp night.

He had known of what happened that fateful night; he was a mess for a couple of years when he saw what destruction his power— his inherited power— had caused.

"But she survived," he muttered, pulling at his hair. "All this time I thought she had died, but she survived."

That's why he sensed his fire: it was from his own daughter using it, completely unaware of where it came from or who it originally belonged to. He remembered earlier, where the same spasm from his dimension struck him down in the parlor.

"She used it earlier...?" He thought back to her foot; it was obvious she had gotten injured. "Was Y/n in danger?"

"Almost! It would have been much more interesting to watch!"

Inigo froze; that was a voice he hadn't heard in a long while.

While in thought, the demon had failed to notice his surroundings lose their color. The rich color of the night was reduced to a monotone he could only associate with one person.

Or, one triangle, rather.

"So that strong demonic presence I sensed," he spoke, looking back over his shoulder. A golden triangle floated little ways away from the porch, positioned at the edge of the woods. "That was you?"

"Well of course it was, Inigo!" Bill cheered, floating a bit closer. "Who else was it gonna be? One of those kids?" He pointed to the shack.

Inigo bit his lip. Of course it belonged to an actual demon. For a moment, he thought it was Y/n; that fire's energy wasn't something to be messed with. But she was still very much still human: she could still— as she proved earlier— get hurt, and Death wasn't going to simply walk past her if it ever got to that point. But Bill Cipher? Why was he here?

"What are you doing within this dimension, Cipher?"

"I could ask the same thing, Horns," Bill laughed. He snapped and his trusty cane appeared by his side. He used it to motion to the man. "Though it's rather obvious: couldn't stay away from those little meatsacks' frivolities, could you?"

Inigo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. He flicked his wrist, deciding to rid himself of his physical human facade. It was beginning to become a nuisance, and while the foreign and strong feelings that came with a more emotional form was what originally coaxed him to try his hand at the human experience, he wanted to catch a break from any more mind blowing information that might further shake his rather frail form.

His amber eyes rolled into the back of his head, black crawling up from his chest to cover his body. White glowing eyes rolled into place from all around his face, running from one side of his face all the way to the other of his neck. Horns grew from right above his lengthening ears, curling with his hair and sweeping back, the tip pointed downwards. His clothes changed within an instead, replaced with Inigo's more formal attire: a white collar poked from beneath a form-fitting black vest, a dark violet tie hiding beneath it. The vest was tucked into black slacks, falling nearly over neat dress shoes. Inigo seemed to grow taller, smoke beginning to billow from his ethereal being and dissipate inches above him.

"I thought you made it a point to watch from afar," Bill continued, twirling his cane. He floated over to the demon, nudging him slightly. "Afterall, we all know what happened that one time you got too close."

"Yes yes," he sighed, not bothering to hide his annoyance when it came to that topic. "I'm aware." A tail flicked behind him, pointed with an ever-glowing flame. It rose with his irritability, and Bill noticed. But the triangle loved teasing the other demon. It was one of the few things he could do to mess with the demon without running the risk of quick and utter annihilation.

"Are you really? Because what I just saw was a demon mingling with some pathetic fleshbags as if that wasn't the same thing that got him in trouble with his dimension's council!"

"I was simply passing by in the area!" Inigo retorted, his multiple eyes squinting at the triangle. "I was in no way trying to be friendly."

"I'd say you got pretty chummy with those Pines kids. Specifically Flame."

Inigo froze.

Does... does he know about Y/n?

He couldn't; he only just found out. It would be another punch in the gut if Bill had learned that his child was still alive before he did.

Afterall, he chided himself, eying the cheeky triangle from his peripheral vision, he did just refer to them all as 'Pines.'

"You mean Y/n?" He asked, playing dumb.

"Y/n; Flame— it's all the same."

"How do you know the child?"

"So glad you asked, Inigo!" Bill cheered. He snapped his fingers, and a picture frame fell into his outstretched arms, cane abandoned to float beside him. He flashed the frame to Inigo.

The little frame was a deep red mahogany, adorned with things Bill was known to find appealing: deer teeth, swiney muscle strands, tendons stretched taught from the corners— all things rather tame for a being spawning from chaos and nightmares. But what was inside the frame puzzled the taller demon greatly: it was a picture of Y/n and Bill.

The girl was leaning against a large tree, it's foliage creating dancing shadows on the mop of black hair. She didn't seem to realize that there was a— a picture...? Could it even be called that?— being taken; her eyes were closed and a small smile pulled at her lips. Bill sat atop her head, much smaller than he appeared now.

It was a "photo" from the times were Bill would visit Flame within her dreams— before she just happened to find and freak out about Sixer's journal entry about him. But Bill decided that Inigo didn't need to know those details. Why would he care in the first place?

When Inigo went to reach for the frame, Bill quickly took it away, snapping it back out of existence. It was quite odd to say the least, but the man brushed it off with a quick nod. He was too preoccupied in seeing his daughter actually appear content to notice the almost sinister air Bill had around himself in that "photo."

"She's a little friend of mine," Bill continued his lie, his eye squinting into a smile.

"A friend?" Now that was interesting. "And here you are criticizing me on my interest in humans?"

"Please, it is nothing like that mess you got yourself into a few years back," Bill retorted. "You still owe me that favor, yeah?"

"Yes," Inigo muttered, an uncharacteristic growl leaving his lips. "I'm well aware."

It was an extremely touchy subject: the death of his mortal wife and the supposed death of his somewhat mortal child. Inigo's initial escapades within the human realm hadn't really been recognized, and even if they were, it was assumed that he was messing with the mortals. It wasn't a foreign concept for demons to get bored within their realms and go have fun messing around with humans. But none had ever gone as far as settling down and having a child.

His dimension's council— a government of sorts, run by some of the most intelligent, powerful, and eldest beings within the twilight realm— was furious. A demon in such a high position, deciding to abandon his dimension for years to mingle with other, lesser creatures? With humans of all things? And then going as far as having a child with one? It was unbelievable; an embarrassment at best, an entire new burden on the demon population at worst.

The idea of children was a difficult one amongst the population, especially one where "nuclear families" were as rare as lightning striking twice. It didn't necessarily make sense to bring new life into one that was essentially endless. In some places, it only ran the risk of the parents being destroyed by their same creations. Since demons lived forever, and most prided themselves in their power, it didn't make sense to have children that risked all of that. Even if the child didn't want to attempt to destroy their parents and overthrow an entire dimension, it would only cause more chaos as more demons began to fill up the multiverse. Overpopulation was definitely a problem: it wasn't impossible to kill a demon— Bill had proven that upon multiple occasions— but it wouldn't be fast enough to compensate for newer demon spawns.

So when the council first found about the halfie child born to Inigo and a human woman, there was only one thing they could do: hope that her manifested powers never compared to that of her father's. Or, if they did somehow reach the sheer intensity of Inigo's flames, hope that it wiped both her and her mother out.

Either way, they didn't want to run the risk of Inigo ever running back to the human world. He was to be cut off from the family he was never supposed to start.

Inigo had to die.

At least— the council had decided— the memory of this "human" Inigo had to die.

Forced to comply, or else face further— and potentially worse— retribution from the council, he abandoned the family he had grown to love and adore, supposedly dying in a car accident only years into fatherhood. It would only be a year or so later that the girl's powers did manifest and the council's latter hope came to fruition: taking after her father, her flames were way too much to control for a young child like her.

When Inigo first learned about the disaster, it was like his heart was being ripped out of his chest— something he didn't even know was possible for him to feel. He didn't know what it was like to hurt until that moment when the two people who had taught him how to truly love were ripped away from him. He was a mess, locking himself within his chambers and leaving poor Ashgar to learn how to run his responsibilities on top of their own several.

It was his fault technically— he should have known that it was impossible to keep a family hidden— but in his grief, there was only one culprit in his mind: the council. They were the ones who made him abandon his family; had he been there when his little Princess's powers began to show, he could have stopped them from spreading. He could have taught her to control it, and he would still have his happy little family.

And that's where Bill came in.

"There isn't a council there to bother you anymore, isn't there, Horns?" Bill laughed. "You can leave your dimension to freely visit this pathetic one now that I've taken care of those half-witted, senile, wack jobs."

Inigo didn't answer, choosing instead to bite his tongue. He had never openly admitted to the moments of pure desperation and weakness that led him to asking Bill to obliterate the council for him, and he surely wasn't going to start now. It was already a sore topic and a source of controversy within his dimension, so letting it die (much like the council) was the best option.

"That doesn't answer my question," Inigo said, his eyes squinting at the triangle. "Why are you so... friendly with her?"

Bill didn't want to reveal the extent of his plans with Inigo; they weren't that friendly to begin with, and the taller demon would definitely try to stop him if he found out about his plans to break out of the second dimension and find a new home in the third.

Inigo cared way too much for humans, something Bill never understood, and was glad he didn't. He could never see himself following in the same smokey footsteps as the horned demon, not that he was interested in the first place. He didn't see the big whoop with those fleshbags that the other seemed so enamoured about.

"She's different, Horns!" He finally answered, tossing his cane slightly. "Couldn't you gather that from the moment you met her?"

Inigo's brows rose, eyes running along his cheeks narrowing suspiciously. Now, what did this mean? It wasn't as if her presence was of demonic nature; it was Bill who he had been tracking before. But besides the fact that she held his fire— something Bill seemed to know nothing of— what made her any different to the rest of the humans in the triangle's eye?

"Different...? Different how?"

"Obviously, you don't seem to see it; she's a little genius. Well, as much as a genius as these mortals can be. Plus, she's a fun witty one! But I see why you didn't catch on," he said, rolling his hand with a slight flare, "you really freaked her out with your whole introduction, you know that?" Bill snickered.

"No, certainly I didn—"

"Did you not see the look on her face?" The triangle cackled, putting a hand to his side. "It's obvious you haven't interacted with humans in nearly a few decades. Her thoughts were going wild!"

Inigo couldn't help but grimmance. Did he really startle her that much?

Bill noticed how distraught the demon seemed to appear. The smoke that rose from him thickened slightly, and all of his eyes flickered to the shack.

Why is Horns so worried about meeting Flame? His eye narrowed slightly as Inigo continued to beat himself up silently. He always had thought that Inigo's attachment to humans was foolish— he was such a powerful demon, one who had such command over nearly an entire dimension, yet he wasted his time and thoughts on them. But now? Seeing him this distressed about Flame?

Can... can I use this...? Suddenly, the plan he had been workshopping to get more direct access to Flame was on the backburner and a new one was forming. Besides, he did need someone in his corner to help him with more... human problems, afterall.

"Relax Horns," Bill drawled, slinging an extending arm over the demon's shoulders. "You seem... attached to her?"

Inigo stiffened for a moment. "No! It's just that—"

"You don't have to lie to me, buddy! I get it, you found some interest in her too. I'm all knowing dream demon; I can tell."

All knowing he says, Inigo couldn't help but think, but he doesn't even know who he is befriending.

"F-fine," he admitted, crossing his arms. "Maybe the girl has piqued my interest."

"See! I knew it!"

"But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I can," Bill paused for a moment, a cheeky smirk wrinkling his eye. "Keep tabs on her, if you so wish...?"

Inigo's eyes widened, and Bill noticed. "I mean," he continued, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. He didn't expect him to be so interested so fast! "You're so busy within your dimension, you know? Being a Lord is surely a lot of work in such a structured and elite place, isn't it? You don't always have the time to leave, even with the council gone."

The smoky demon bit his lip; Bill was right about that. He couldn't just leave Ashgar alone every time he chose to leave the dimension to check up on little Y/n. It would only just land him back into the same situation as it previously, and there would be much harsher consequences. But at the same time, he knew the dream demon wasn't always the most trustworthy.

But... maybe it was a good idea to help him. Inigo had always known Bill was a little... unhinged— he was a demon who had practically spawned from chaos, afterall— so what if helping him understand humans more helped him? If he saw how interesting and unique they could be, maybe it would ground him a bit more.

"What exactly are you proposing, Cipher?" There was a certain sharp tone in his voice, something that Bill couldn't help but find reminiscent of Flame earlier.

"It's simple really. I'll make regular checks on Flame for you— tell you what she's up to, tell you what's going on— and in return, all I ask is—"

"You want something in return?" Inigo snapped immediately.

"Well of course! I'd be going out of my way to go all the way to that dimension of yours! I'm a busy triangle, too, you know? I have a dimension of my own I gotta keep on top of. Besides," Bill added, slightly more sinisterly, "you don't want to have to owe me two favors, would you?"
   
"...I suppose you're right. What do you want in return?"
   
"I just want some... some advice."

"Advice on what?"

"Well, you see Horns," Bill floated away, looking off into the static forest. His hands folded behind his back, bouncing his cane slightly. "Flame is being a bit... distant. There's something eating at her— I'm positive about it— but she never seems to think about it long enough for me to see. She has all these suppressed memories that she refuses to open up about!"

"Well, she has a right to her privacy."

"I know that! But there's a difference: whatever she's hiding is such a heavy burden on her poor human mind. I just know it! I've been in her memories, you know that?"

Inigo froze. If he'd been her memories, how did he miss the fact that she was his daughter?
   
"She has this whole section boarded up. The very thought of going down there freezes her in her spot! She looks like a deer in headlights! I asked her to let me see what's down there, but she wouldn't budge."

Oh, he thought, genuinely impressed with what she had done within the fabrication of her mind. Pride swelled in his chest: of course his little girl was so good with the mind! So that's what she's done. Did she get rid of her whole past? That question brought about some concerns; What has she gone through to make her want to hide her origins so badly?

"So you want me to assist you in getting her to open up?"

"Yes, exactly!" Bill exclaimed, smiling with his eye. His hat flew a little higher up on his head. "You're the human expert here!"

"I don't believe it's that easy," Inigo grumbled. "Humans won't willingly give up their deepest secrets. It would be best for you to grow a bond with her— get her to trust you. If you prove you're trustworthy, she'd open up slowly."

Bill bit back the harsh words on the tip of his tongue. He didn't have the time nor the patience to play nice. Besides, he had already abandoned that plan when he showed Flame his true colors. "Is there... an easier way?"

"I don't believe so," Inigo answered, matter-of-factly. "Y/n doesn't appear to be the type to open herself to you without such."

Bill huffed. There had to be an easier way. He had already decided earlier that Flame was a rather fun one and it wouldn't do good to drive her to insanity just yet, but as Inigo kept lecturing him on the ins and outs of the human mind and thinking processes, that option was slowly becoming more and more appealing. Granted, any information procured that way would most likely end up being garbled and tainted with the benign ramblings of a lost mind.

"So trust is the way to go then?" Bill muttered bitterly, crossing his arms.

"Yes, I believe it is your best bet."

Bill groaned, rolling his eye. He hung his limbs low, and his top hat and bow tie almost seemed to dip with his annoyance. He was realizing he had really shot himself in the foot a couple of days prior. He blamed Ford for writing such blasphemous things about him in that stupid book.

"Then I'm really going to need your advice," he grumbled, thoughts flashing back to the absolute terror plastered on Flame's face that one night.

"And you'll tell me what my little Princess is up to...?" Inigo whispered under his breath, hand brushing his chin in thought.

Bill's brow rose slightly, unable to catch the ending to his mutter. But it didn't matter, he just needed to get Flame to open up. Any information garnered from that would have to help when he later cornered her to make a deal, wouldn't it? He knew she was hiding something big— from both him and her family— and once he found that out, he could use it as blackmail to get access to a vessel and the portal.

"Do we have a little deal, Horns?" The triangle asked, hand already alight with a blue flame. A certain mischievous glint lit his cold, dead, eye, his free arm clutching his cane behind his back.

Inigo nodded slightly. It was a good deal for him. But he knew who he was dealing with; he wasn't going to shake that hand without making Bill understand that it was on his own terms, not the other way around. "You inform me on what she's doing, and in exchange I aid you in dealing with her. Nothing less, nothing more."

Inigo grabbed the triangle's hand, but before the blue flames could engulf their palms, sealing the deal, the taller demon's own black flames quickly consumed the light cerulean. His grip tightened on the triangle's arm, startling Bill for a moment.

"No funny business, got it, Cipher? You're making a deal with me." He hissed, leaning close. His multitude of eyes narrowed at him, their scela morphing into a bright and enraged red as his lips upturned into a snarl.

Bill couldn't tell if Inigo had grown larger than he already was, or if he had involuntarily shrunk back when the other pounced towards him. Deep down, he knew that he was playing with fire; Inigo was a notoriously powerful demon, and even if he did owe the triangle a favor, there was virtually nothing stopping him from annihilating him.

"Y-yes," Bill couldn't help but stutter, rudely reminded of just how powerful the entity he was dealing with was. "I got it, Horns." He answered, quickly pulling his hand away. He waved it as if it was burnt from the dark flames and tried to regain his previous cocky composure.

"Good," Inigo said coldly. "Now I'll be off."

And with that, Inigo dissipated into smoke, leaving behind an uncharacteristically nervous Bill Cipher alone in the mindscape.

Chapter Text

When Y/n woke up the next day, she found herself staring at a very unfamiliar ceiling.

"Oh shit," she muttered. A sudden fear made her scramble to the floor, tangled in the blanket that had been placed over her. But as she swatted the fabric away from her, she noticed that she was on the floor of the party room. Her fear quelled; at least she was still in the Shack.

Y/n didn't remember falling asleep on one of the couches, let alone coming back to the party room of all places. But it was soon after realizing just where she was that the memories came back to her.

* . °•★|•°∵ ৢোি ∵°•|☆•° . *

"Y/n! I want you to meet my party people!" 

After Y/n escorted the rather odd Inigo out of the party, she had done herself a favor and taken a well deserved shower. It took her a while to get all of the pine needles and leaves out of her hair, but by the time she left, towel dabbing at her damp hair, the party had nearly winded to a stop. And just her luck: Mabel had been waiting outside the door for her for God knows how long.

"What? Isn't everyone gone?" Y/n asked, folding the towel over her arm.

"Nope! Wendy and her friends are still here, and me and my new friends are having a sleepover! And I want you to meet them!"

"Wait, Mabel, listen: I'm tired and— woah!" 

"No way," she giggled, grabbing Y/n by the oversized sleeve of her night-hoodie, "I've already told them about you! Plus, you have to formally meet Wendy's friends anyway. Though," she stopped suddenly at the foot of the stairs, nearly sending Y/n topping over her. Mabel smirked, her eyebrows arching slightly. "I guess you already got to know Robbie well enough."

"Mabel!" She hissed, eyes widening. "I already told you—"

"Okay okay!" She giggled, continuing down the stairs. "Well, there you go; now you can tell me and Dipper about your little adventure in the woods today!"

Seeing as Mabel was already dragging her in the direction of a large group of people, consisting of teens, tweens, and Soos alike, there was no way for Y/n to leave now. So with a sigh she tried her best to conceal, she silently mourned the lost opportunity to return to her room and put on her most greetable face.

Mabel took Y/n straight to her newly found friends; a short girl in a green sweater named Candy who was as sweet as her name suggested, and a broad and bigger girl named Grenda who's heart seemed as big as her muscles.

The trio were sitting little aways from Wendy's group, far enough to have their own conversations between them but close enough for Mabel to add on details to whatever story the redhead or Dipper was telling in the other group.

The three told Y/n the general story on how they met, each interrupting each other at different times to add details or events the others might have missed. It was fun at first, but as the story seemed to keep going, Y/n found herself zoning out until Grenda shouted her part of the story and brought her back to reality.

The ravenette felt bad for not paying attention to the story— these two girls seemed incredibly nice, and she was happy Mabel finally found a little group to fit that was around her age— but her attention kept going to either her bed, calling for her to return to the safety of its sheets, or to the dull throbbing in her ankle.

God, she thought, masking a wince behind a slight cough. She awkwardly rolled her ankle every now and then, hoping that the movement would help improve it's condition. I hope this feels better in the morning.

The rest of the story was a blur, and the most she took from it was that there was this rich girl named Pacifica who was bothering them the entire night, and pretty much ruined the party with the stench of her ego and arrogance. She was a massive bully and was actually the one who ended the party when she announced her own afterparty on one of her parents' several yachts.

Y/n had only known about her existence for not even five minutes, but in her stupor she concluded that Pacifica would also go on her "kids-to-punt-list," taking the number one spot from Gideon. For now, at least.

From there, Mabel then dragged Y/n over to Wendy's clique on the sofas. She went through the lists of names so fast that the older girl was sure that she had already forgotten some, or, at the very least, she had merged some together in her mind. All she knew for sure, besides Wendy herself, was a large and awkward teen named Thompson, and Robbie. The other three seemed nice enough; a long and lanky blonde boy, a slightly shorter and darker boy with a cap and tattoos running along his toned arms, and a short girl with thick eyeliner accenting her hazel eyes and pink highlights.

Seeing as Mabel had gone back to the dance floor to live it up with her new friends as the clock continued to tick away into the early hours of the night, Y/n was stuck and left stranded with the group of teens. She sat at the edge of one of the couches, wedged between Dipper and the arm of the sofa. Luckily, because of her position, she was farthest from the conversation. She didn't pay attention to most of it, and while the tall blonde and his friend with the cap— who she had picked up were named Lee and Nate— had attempted to get her to contribute to the conversation, she barely said much. In hindsight, it was nice that they were trying to include her, especially since she barely knew the group, but she just wasn't eager to talk. 

"Hey Mabel, Dipper." 

The minutes ticked into hours, and the groups had started to die down. Some of Wendy's friends had called it a night and Mabel's friends had started to set up sleeping bags in the middle of the empty dance floor. As conversation had begun to slow down, Y/n was struggling more and more to stay awake on the couch. It was surprisingly more comfortable than when she first sat down. So she decided it would be best to tell the twins of her little adventure in the woods before she wound up falling asleep and forgetting. "Get over here for a bit?"

The twins joined her over on the sofa. The couch was slowly becoming empty; Soos had left an hour or so earlier, followed by Thompson and Nate soon after. The rest of the teens were sitting on the other, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

"What's up Y/n?" Dipper asked.

"Well," she started, making sure that Wendy's little group couldn't possibly hear them. The last thing she wanted was for Robbie to hear her and start complaining about her "version" of event, or— even worse— would take over the story completely and bend the narrative into one where he saved her or something. He seemed like that type of person, if she were to be honest.

"Mabel only sort of knows about what I'm about to say, only because she caught me after patching me and Robbie up."

"Oh!" Mabel's eyes lit up. Y/n had noticed that she seemed oddly eager to hear about her little adventure with Robbie. She knew that no matter what she'd say, Mabel wouldn't believe that there was nothing that had happened between them.

In reality, the girl was happy that her older sister had managed to make the tiniest of semblance of a friend, even if it was with someone who she equated to as the human version of rat poison. She had begun to worry about Y/n's reclusive nature. 

And well, who knows? Mabel would be lying if she wasn't hopeful that something could sprout from it, especially since Robbie was one of the older teens in Wendy's group. 

"Tell us what happened out there," Mabel whispered, pawing at her sister's flannel.

"Wait, out where?" Dipper asked, brow quirking in confusion.

With a sigh, Y/n ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, don't worry, I'm going to fill you in Dipper. But basically..."

Y/n told the twins a brief version of events: beginning with her deciding to go out for a "little walk" (sure to leave out any parts of her meeting with Bill), her encounter with the two Dipper copies— to which Dipper derailed the conversation to make sure they were doing okay; Y/n couldn't answer for sure, but she assumed if they were even half as a smart as the original, they would be fine— and ending with the run in with the Sprog and the desperate biking back to the Shack with Robbie.

"Woah!" The two shouted in unison. Y/n shushed them slightly; she really didn't want Robbie's attention on them at the moment.

"That Sprog sounds so cool," Dipper said, brown eyes lighting up. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like that in the journal! You might have totally found something the Author hadn't!"

If Dipper was to be honest with himself, he was a little envious of that possibility, and he could hear some of it seep into his tone. He didn't want to— it was great that Y/n was finally able to experience some of the town's weird, hidden, dark side— but part of him just wished it was something he had already seen before.

Y/n laughed slightly. "Maybe. I didn't get a good look at it though, especially when we realized it was trying to attack us. But, I can tell you what I remember and you can make your own entry in the journal about it if you'd like? I noticed you've made little additions to some of the blank pages."

"Y-yeah! Totally!"

"How's your leg doing?" Mabel asked, looking down at it. "It looked like you were limping earlier."

"Yeah," Y/n admitted, rolling up her pant leg a bit. She had replaced the bandage after her shower, and while it had stopped bleeding, it was still a little achy. "It's alright; it's not gonna kill me or anything."

"You should stay off of it for a while," Dipper agreed. "Are you sure they aren't poisonous or anything?"

"Uh... I mean," she started, crossing her leg over the other to get a better look at it. "The skin isn't discolored, so...?"

"We'll check tomorrow."

"And until then, we're keeping you off your feet. You're taking the next couple of days easy," Mabel said, putting her hands on her hips.

"I don't think that's possible," Y/n laughed awkwardly, she threw herself on the sofa, laying down. "Stan was already trying to get me to work earlier. He's not going to let me get off tours so easily."

"We'll figure it out for you, don't worry," Dipper said. "We have our ways when it comes to dealing with him."

"If you say so. But enough of that, go have fun. I just wanted to let you know before it ended up slipping my mind."

The twins nodded. "Go get some sleep," Dipper said, taking a seat next to her. You definitely need some after tonight."

She nodded half-heartedly in response, watching as Mabel returned to her friends on the floor. They had a bowl of popcorn between them, and one had brought magazines for the three to look through and geek over.

Dipper was right, she probably did need sleep. But based on her little meeting with Bill in the woods, it was obvious that he was waiting for her to keep passing out in order to talk to her. But at the same time, it was impossible for her to keep fighting it off. Eventually she would have to give in.

But, she mused, thinking back to earlier, he was a lot more tame than usual. Even the deer teeth weren't that bad. Odd, but totally in character.

That made her chuckle a bit; was she that tired that the deer teeth didn't even phase her?

"God," she mumbled to herself, loud enough for Dipper to hear, "maybe I do need sleep."

"Yeah, you do. You're gonna start looking worse than Stan does in the mornings," he laughed, swatting at her head playfully.

"That's a horrifying thought. So horrifying that it just might have scared any of the sleep out of me, Dip-Dop," she laughed.

* . °•★|•°∵ ৢোি ∵°•|☆•° . *

"Yeah, obviously that didn't happen," she mumbled to herself, still on the floor.

It was weird, she had actually managed to get a full night of sleep! Or at least, a partial night of sleep; she didn't remember when exactly she passed out. But it was still something— something Bill-free on top of it!

As she rubbed at her bleary eyes and a yawn escaped her lips, she considered curling back up with the blanket and falling back asleep right on the floor. If she had managed to go at least 6 hours without Bill, maybe she could test her luck with another 2-4. But when she noticed that it was oddly quiet, she decided to get up and venture back into the living room. So, with a grunt and the light popping of her stiff joints from the couch, she grabbed the blanket and hopped up the stairs.

"Hey? Is anyone there?" She grabbed the banister, peeking her head up from the stairs. 

No answer.

"That's... a tad strange," she mumbled. 

As she climbed up the stairs, she noticed that her leg had in fact gotten better over night. It still ached a bit, but it was nothing compared to last night at the party. "Thank God," she muttered, stomping on it a couple of times when she reached the top of the stairs for good measure. 

Wandering into the kitchen, she found that it was as empty as the other rooms. A little pink note laid fallow on the table, quickly catching her eye. Y/n picked it up by it's corner, not surprised to find it covered in glitter and gel ink.

"Y/n! We went into town to run some errands. We convinced Stan to let you sleep in. We should be back before you wake up, but here's a note just in case! :D"

"Well shit," she sighed, looking over at the clock on the microwave. "When did they leave? It's almost 2."

Pulling out her phone, aiming to maybe text the twins that she was at least awake, she was met with a rather unsettling text:

"Text from Dip-Dop; 10:23 am: call me."

That isn't ominous or anything, she growled internally. She was always quick to some paranoid and terrible answer, and the fact that errands shouldn't have taken more than an hour only added to this sudden irrational fear. Ignoring the subtle irritability which came with the idea of a phone call, she quickly unlocked her phone and dialed Dipper. With a few rings later, he picked up and Y/n was able to let out an audible sigh of relief.

"What's up?" She asked, clearing her throat. Y/n scolded herself quietly for jumping as fast to panic as she did. It was silly; what could have possibly happened when they went shopping in such a small town? 

"Hey Y/n! Did you only just wake up?"

"Y-yeah," she admitted, pulling out a seat from the table. She leaned back, balancing it on its hind legs. "I ended up getting a pretty good night though, so thanks for not waking me up. Why'd you need me to call you?"

She heard Dipper pause. "So, it's a long story, but basically: Stan forgot that the town throws this Pioneer Day thing every year, the car got caught up with all these carriages, and Stan is in... old timey jail—"

"Jail?!" Y/n nearly fell off the chair, and with a loud slam, she managed to steady it's legs back on the floor. 

"Yeah, they have him locked up in a pillory."

"A pillory? They still have those?"

"They also still have laws that allow you to marry a woodpecker."

She blinked, dumbfounded. "...Come again now?"

"This town is weird," Dipper sighed. "But I digress! So, now that Stan's in jail, me and Mabel—"

There was a quick shuffle and a muffled argument, before Mabel shouted: "HEY Y/N!" into the receiver.

"Hey Mabel," Y/n greeted, nowhere matching the girl's excitement. 

But as quickly as the greeting came, Y/n could hear her mumble, "Wait, was that silly? Dangit Mabel!" before the phone was passed back to Dipper.

Y/n's brows furrowed in concern. "Uh, what's that about?"

Dipper sighed again. "Pacifica called her silly in front of the town and now she's trying to prove that she can be serious."

Y/n's expression soured, a scowl pulling at her lips. "Let me see that Pacifica girl; I'll show that little brat who's silly. If you give me like 15 minutes I can tot—"

"Y/n, no. We're on it."

"Oh? What are you gonna do? Fight her or something?" She asked incredulously, leaning closer to the speaker on the phone. "Because I've learned a thing or two from my friends and I can give you tips—" 

"What? No! Oh God," Dipper laughed awkwardly. "Look, so the only reason she's such a hot-shot here is because her great grandfather founded the town."

"Wait," Y/n interrupted; she felt that she had heard this from somewhere. Her mind flashed to a certain page in... "Wasn't this in—?"

"The journal? Exactly. But apparently, the guy might not even be the real founder! The Author wrote about this whole conspiracy that even he was stumped on!"

"So you're trying to solve it and prove that she's a fraud?"

"Yes! Blackmail, dear sister! The most underrated form of revenge!"

Y/n let out an over-dramatic gasp. "How despicable," she said, feigning shock. Immediately she added, "So how far along are you guys with it?"

"Well," Dipper paused, and Y/n could hear the shuffling of papers. "We're about to go into the library to look up some of the alchemy symbols on the map he left. I'm thinking that one of them has to lead to how to get the next clue."

"How long do you think this is gonna take?"

"I... I honestly have no idea. But with Stan stuck in the pillory for at least another couple of hours, I think it's best if we investigate this instead of walking all the way back to the Shack."

Y/n perked up. "You, uh, want me to come down and help you guys...? Three heads is definitely better than two."

"Y/n wanting to leave the house? Who is this and what have you done with our sister?" Dipper joked, choking back a chuckle. 

She smiled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Well what else am I supposed to do while you guys are out and about?"

"I mean, I don't mind—" But Mabel once again cut him off, quite literally ripping the phone out of his grasp. 

"Oh, HECK NO SISTER!" She shouted into the receiver, making Y/n flinch. "YOU ARE GOING TO STAY HOME AND REST! WHAT DID WE SAY ABOUT THAT LEG, MISSY?"

"Oh my God, you're right!" Dipper said, his voice a lot lower than Mabel's now that he was away from the phone. "We're not gonna make you follow us around on a sore foot. It'll only get worse."

"But it's feeling better!" She managed to walk pretty much the perimeter of the Shack without any hassle. If the twins didn't remind her, she probably would have forgotten about it until she saw the bandage later that night.

"No buts, Y/n!" Mabel said, trying her best at a very serious matter-of-fact tone. "We'll keep you updated, every hour on the hour! We'll be on top of it this time, unlike the whole crime investigation thing."

"But—!"

"I said no buts! Except yours sitting on the couch and resting until we get back!" Mabel shouted, very matter-of-factly. 

"Mabel's right," Dipper agreed, taking back the phone from her. "It might feel fine now, but if you push it it'll become a problem later."

"You're joking," she whined, running a hand through her hair. They were just gonna leave her in the Shack the entire day?!

With everyone gone, it's gonna be so boring! What am I supposed to do? Go into the attic and watch the moss grow?

She paused, freezing in her seat.

Wait.

WAIT—

"Fine," she contended rather quickly, sitting up suddenly. "You're right, I'll stay off the foot. Serious Mabel is right."

"YEAH!" Mabel yelled from somewhere beside Dipper. Y/n chuckled softly.

"We'll text you updates... and if we ever get Stan out of the pillory."

"Yeah. And tell me when you guys are on your way home. I can start dinner or something; I don't know."

"Woah? Y/n cooking?!" Dipper genuinely seemed shocked. "That sleep really did work wonders!"

"Yeah yeah yeah I get it, I get it." She rolled her eyes playfully. 

With a laugh, Dipper and Mabel bid their farewells, already shuffling around and gathering their things to continue their search. Y/n felt a little bad not being able to join them, but there was a greater opportunity quite literally staring her in the face.

"Oh wait!" Dipper said suddenly, startling Y/n a bit. "I almost forgot. Stan said you got mail...? I think he left it on your bed."

The ravenette's brows furrowed. "Mail? Really?" She questioned out loud, as much to Dipper as it was to herself.

"Yeah. He didn't say from who either."

"It's probably from a friend," she shrugged. She was pretty sure one was on a road trip, but she didn't know how they could possibly get the Shack's address...

"Maybe. But anyway, me and Mabel gotta get going. We'll keep you updated, promise."

"Yeah, you better," Y/n joked, hanging up after saying goodbye and wishing them luck. As soon as she was sure the call had ended, Y/n jumped from her seat, quickly rummaging through the cabinets.

"I can't believe I almost got myself running around town investigating a conspiracy," she scolded herself lightly, an excited glint in her eyes. She paused for a moment, weighing her options.

"Well... I guess it could have been fun to hang out with the twins a bit... but that doesn't matter right now," she muttered, moving more cans around. "I have a more important matter to attend to.

The mischievous smirk that had begun to pull at her lips only grew when she found a granola bar. It wasn't the best breakfast, but it would have to do. It would hold her over until dinner later.

"I have the Shack to myself," she continued excitedly, running out of the kitchen and to her room. "No Stan, no twins, no Soos— this is the perfect time to get to the first journal!"

Opening the door, she found that Dipper had been right: the letter addressed to her was lying on her bed, as if keeping it warm for her since she hadn't been in it. She grabbed the Tabloid hidden under other books and papers on the bed and slipped it in the pocket of her hoodie before grabbing the letter. She silently cheered that Stan hadn't appeared to rummage through her things and found it. 

Written on the front in big, bold, letters was "Y/n Pines." If she looked hard enough, she could almost see that the sender had gone over the last name two or three times, further darkening the letters and putting emphasis on "Pines." It confused her— almost irking her slightly— until she saw the sender's address.

"'Glass Shard Beach, NJ,'" she smiled slightly, leaving her room. She shook her head playfully. A gentle reminder of who she was from from Sherman. But... what was even in the letter?

Putting the letter in her hoodie pocket too, she ran back out and into the living room, deciding to look at it when she got to the basement. Y/n pushed her way into the gift shop, stopping in front of the vending machine, a smirk still imprinted on her lips. Lady Luck appeared to be on her side; first a Bill-free sleep, a letter from Sherman, and now potentially hours alone in the basement? How could things get better?

"Hey! I even have a chocolate chip granola bar," she smiled, pulling at the wrapper. "Today's my day, I feel it!"

Fingers danced along the buttons, and with a little puff of smoke, the vending machine swung open. Even though it was Y/n's second time seeing it, it still felt a little surreal. But, unlike the last time, she was ready.

Without a second thought, she ducked into the hallway, already skipping down the stairs. She had one goal in mind, and her thoughts began to race as she bounded down the stairs.

"I have to find out more about the Author," she muttered. "And even though I'm missing a whole lot of answers, I think I can piece together something from that first journal." 

Chapter Text

Y/n was horribly wrong.

“Oh my God!” She yelled, hunching over the little desk. Slamming her head onto it, she let out a loud huff, kicking up dust. She started coughing. “How the hell is there even less information in the first journal?! Are we working in reverse? What the hell man!”

With a loud grunt, she kicked herself off the desk, rolling away slightly with the open book resting on her face. She had been underground for hours and she was beginning to regret trying to make sense of all this information. But whenever Y/n had considered cutting her losses and going back up to scream into her pillow, her laziness got the best of her and she decided the little swivel chair she was in was comfortable enough to urge her to keep going.

Her head hurt; a horrible throbbing pounding at her eyes and temples. With every buzz and beep of a nearby machine, the throbbing multiplied tenfold. It was as if she was sitting in the middle of an electric zoo, where mechanical beasts screamed at her from all angles. She had thought that her sleep would have prepared her more for digging through all the Author’s early ramblings, but she could only find her patience running thin and yearning for more rest.

The first journal, much like its third successor, held more findings about the little town. However, Y/n could clearly see that there was a distinct difference between the writing styles. Both were neat and proper, but the first seemed almost too professional; it didn’t have nearly as many of the personal touches and one-on-one experiences that the third had. The few it did have, however, were added years later, evidenced by the little dates he put in the footnotes.

The first was also awfully barren; there were more day-to-day entries and pages filled with theorems and formulas than there were entries about creatures and adventures. If Y/n were to be honest, it read more like a diary with random physics formulas sprinkled within than it did a memoir detailing supernatural encounters.

And as Y/n passed through yet another to-do list riddled with little doodles and complex mathematical equations littering the margins, she was just about ready to explode.

She let out a loud groan, folding her arms and letting the book rest on her face. The pages were rough and smelled of mildew; nothing like the old book smell she had expected… and hoped.

“That’s it,” she announced to no one, voice muffled by the book. “I’m adding the Author to my punt list. I don’t care if he’s a genius— I don’t care how old he might be— I don’t care if there’s a good chance he’d end up severely injuring me— I’m fighting him. All because of this stupid journal!”

Y/n put the book back on the desk with a slight slam, resting her arms on her legs and holding her throbbing head. She just wanted something to make all this worth it.

Besides learning that the Author had a strange affinity for jelly beans and an even weirder hatred for toffee peanuts, the most useful piece of information she had learned was his age. The first journal gave her more insight into his academics and how exactly he ended up in Gravity Falls. It might have been yet a small victory within the uphill war she was waging with the book and her roadblock on theories, but it was definitely something to write home about.

She had learned that the man had lost the opportunity to go to his dream school, and had to settle for a rather low ranking school in a similar area. Y/n noticed that whenever he wrote about it, he appeared furious. The letters merged into each other, and there were a lot more harsh penlines as words were tied together with thicker and heavier strokes. At first, she had thought the sloppier and more sharp writing was because he had yet to develop his documentation style, but she later learned it was emotions getting the better of him.

He graduated years before he was set to, earning a doctoral degree much faster than the school had ever seen. With his theses, he ended up being allotted a very charitable grant to allow him to continue his research.

“So if he came to Gravity Falls in 1975,” she had said, flipping to the little time line she had copied from the journal into her Tabloid. “That would mean he was…. about…? Like 24? Or 25 when he got the doctorate and moved here. So six years later he would be around 30… it’s been about thirty years since then, so that puts him at… 60 at present time…? Right?”

She scribbled the age down on his page, giving him a bit of leeway. Who knows, he could have graduated earlier because of his genius.

“Huh,” she mused, putting the pen to her lip. She chewed at it lightly, a habit to which Dipper was partially responsible. “He’s around Stan’s age.” Y/n let out a hum; couldn't tell if she thought it interesting or worrying.

She knew that the Author was still alive, and based on what Bill had said, it made it sound as if he had… fallen through the portal…?

“Well, where else could he be? Unless he’s living in the woods off the grid, but I doubt Bill would be so eager to go after me if he was still in the universe.”

So if the Author really was stuck in the multiverse, how did he wind up going through the portal?

“I don’t think it was Bill, funnily enough,” she continued to think out loud. “Besides the fact that he literally can’t interact with the physical world, it wouldn’t make sense to throw the guy into the portal.”

So that meant that there was at least someone else with the Author. F the assistant was out of the picture, so it was someone Y/n virtually had no information on.

Unless, she thought, continuing to chew on the tip of the pen.

Stan was starting to become more and more suspicious in her mind. It was all speculation, but she just couldn’t help but piece together evidence. The little red line she moved about in her mind was snagging more and more pieces closer and closer together, and soon it was the only thing she could think of; the obvious solution.

It didn’t help when she discovered that the Author himself built the Shack. It used to be his lab, so how did it turn into this tourist trap?

“How did Stan even gain possession? He has to be involved somehow,” she had grumbled, running a hand through her hair. “But I just can’t see Stan actually doing it.”

But that was a few hours ago.

Now she was stuck reading benign entries as the Author’s preferences on snack foods began to merge together with everything else on the page. She finally pulled herself back to the desk, lifting up the book and flattening it out on the desk.

Her eyes flickered to her phone beside it. The twins kept their word: they were constantly giving her updates. They came much quicker than hourly; they seemed to be moving fast in their quest. In their last text— from a half hour ago— they were heading towards the cemetery.

“At least this has been keeping me entertained,” Y/n mumbled, flipping another page in the book. She was about halfway at this point, though she had begun to do a lot more skimming than actual reading. Only about a third of the pages she had actually read hand anything of value.

“Author please! Just give me something interesting! Something that can maybe lead me to who you actually are?”

Y/n kept flipping. Even with all the beeping and buzzing of the surrounding machines, she found it was rather quiet down there. As her ears eventually grew accustomed to their calls, she had begun to find some sort of peace within the forest of metal and wires. It was nothing compared to the actual forest above her, but she would take it for now.

But…

A shiver shook her in her seat, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Goddamn,” she mumbled, rubbing at her arms through the thin fabric of her hoodie.

Y/n noticed that she was beginning to feel cold a lot more of the time. It was weird, she usually needed a little breeze to make her feel comfortable. But now, like so many other times in the Shack, she just wanted to curl up in a ball and conserve what little warmth she had. The only place she ever felt warm anymore was in her room, but she figured it had to do with the rather small size and the fact that some days she would act like a human radiator.

But this chill was different. She had begun feeling it more often, and even when she was walking around like a zombie, she had begun to connect it back to one thing.

Or, one entity rather.

Hell, she even had her suspicions confirmed the other night.

“Cipher,” she growled, looking around the room, “are you watching me, you little triangle fuck?”

Y/n could almost feel his beady little eye on the back of her neck, invisible to her own eyes but only made aware by her own intuition. She could imagine him cackling at her struggle, so vivid that she could practically hear it in the back of her head.

“Stop doing it, it’s weird. Or,” she added quickly, looking up from the book, “if you are, at least give me a clue or something. Be useful for once,” she muttered.

She could picture him scowling— or, at least, picture what a scowl would look like on a triangle— ready to explain how he would be useful, in return for some insane deal. 

“C’mon Flame,” she could practically hear him say, “just shake my hand and I’ll give you what you need!”

“Yeah right,” she muttered at the thought. Y/n rested her head against her hand, flipping through a couple more pages. “I bet this time you’d take my teeth since I wasn’t so excited over the deer ones you gave me last night.”

Well, at least it would add some excitement to this boring ass—

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she perked up in the chair, running her finger along the edge of the page she had managed to stumble across. She couldn’t help the goofy smile that pulled at her lips.

“No way,” she shook her head with a smile, placing the book on her lap. Kicking her feet onto the edge of the desk, she leaned back in the chair. She scanned over the page to make sure she was actually reading the entry right. “Here I thought I had discovered that stupid Sprog in the woods with Robbie, and meanwhile it was one of the first things the Author found! I wonder if he was attacked by it too,” she laughed.

‘I’m very excited to share yet another encounter of one of the many anomalies I have had the pleasure of finding here in Gravity Falls! While wandering the woods on my way back from a quick trip to the town to restock on food, I found myself… well, lost. However, it was only then that I managed to stumble upon this fascinating creature.’

The little Sprog diagram was nestled in the corner of the page, very similar to how she had found it nestled against the boulder and shrubs the other night. As she read over the little details and notes he had labeled on the little guy, she realized that they had both had very different experiences. While hers was a frantic escape from potentially death, his was… pleasant?

“‘I was able to spend most of the mid-afternoon studying— what I have dubbed— the Frugshroom, and found out more of it’s habits and dietary patterns,’” she read, brows furrowing. This wasn’t the entry she was expecting. “‘It’s quite a nice little specimen, though I wish it was smaller so I could bring it back to the laboratory to further study.’”

“What?! He didn’t get attacked?” She asked incredulously. Then, almost as if more important, she added: “Also, a ‘Frugshroom?’ Really? Sprog is better. It’s superior,” she giggled slightly at her own joke. “Damn, Dipper will be disappointed to know that his entry about it isn’t the first.”

But, it’s not like Dipper will find out anyway…

Y/n paused, once again placing the book down on the desk. A frown found its way onto her face, her brows furrowing slightly. Just how long was she going to keep quiet about all of this? How long could she go without someone finding out everything?

She wasn’t worried about giving herself up— she herself was riddled with secrets that no one even seemed to suspect. She was a locked box, covered in chains and padlocks, where currently the only key to the truth was hidden behind all the walls she had built over the years and a quite literal lock she put on all the memories and feelings from the most crucial points in her life.

But… this was different.

These secrets didn’t hold the same weight. There was something more to them; and whatever that be, it almost made her feel guilty about holding them so tightly. She felt like she was on thin ice; threading so carefully on a sheen and unstable layer that could drop her into an icy abyss at any moment, chilling even her more than she was already feeling. But she couldn’t pinpoint why exactly these secrets made her feel so much more guilty than the ones about her origins.

Maybe it was the fact that these were rather recent? The fact that Y/n was adopted had gone unsaid for years; the twins’ parents never saw a need to bring up the fact. It wouldn’t change anything, and— if anything— just give the ravenette an unnecessary label. It meant nothing that she might have been adopted, so there was no reason to make it a focus.

It was much easier to keep that quiet, even though one could argue that— physically, at least— it never was that secret; Y/n might have matched the twins’ mother’s darker complexion and father’s dark hair, but there was no immediate explanation for her eyes or size.

“No,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “It isn’t because they’re recent.” If that truly were the case, then wouldn’t feel somewhat similarly about her fire? Or was that aspect so daunting to her that she rather take it to her grave than mutter it out loud to another human.

In reality, there was a much clearer reason, one stemming from an insecurity years in the making: it was the fact that, as she kept digging, the more she felt like she was intruding on… something. She didn’t know exactly what all of it was, but it still felt like it had nothing to do with her. From the very beginning, it was Dipper and Mabel who had somehow found the book on pure coincidence. It was their adventure that she was just somehow tagging along on, overseeing them to make sure they didn’t go in over their heads.

But here she was, doing the exact same thing she wanted to prevent the twins from doing. Only, now as she kept digging and found herself intertwining Stan as a bigger part of her theories, the more she felt like this was something she shouldn’t even be a part of in the first place.

“Hell, I’m not even a P—” Y/n fell silent, the words dying on her tongue as another chill tickled the back of her neck and made her hair stand on end.

Right, she thought, instinctively swatting at the back of her neck. Bill’s probably still around. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was him trying to pull at my hair from the Mindscape. She remembered from their pseudo-friendship that he had a habit of messing her hair, especially from within her hood.

She had to be careful with her thoughts; one quick slip and Bill could be supplied with some sort of bargaining chip, or at least with a secret Y/n wasn’t aiming to share. Not anymore. But how was she supposed to censor her thoughts?

“It’s not like I could try thinking in another language. The only thing I could think of is trying to rewire my brain to think exclusively in code, but that sounds impossible. And much more work than it's worth.”

With a loud sigh, dispelling the rest of her bubbling thoughts to the back of her mind for later, she decided to just finish with the journal. There was no point to keep going page by page. It didn’t matter if she had started skimming either; there were just so many pages filled with nothing she found important.

“Let’s see here,” Y/n began with a yawn, thumbing through sections at a time. “More theorems, another shopping list, notes on some fairies in the area, leaf bugs that are a part of a bigger tree bug ecosystem, dream catchers… no, nothing here seems to give me more answers to his disappearance.”

She kept going, until a certain page caught her eyes. Nestled in the middle of the book, much like it’s third successor, was an entire two-page spread dedicated to the portal. This journal had the top left corner of the triangular machine, which meant— when combined with the pages in the third journal— that she was only missing the upper right corner of the portal, and whatever information it held.

Unfortunately, this didn’t mean much to Y/n: she was already beyond perplexed with the archaic symbols littering the two pages in the third journal, so she doubted that she could get much from these two. But it was interesting to see the portal directions split across all three journals.

“I wonder if he split them apart so that only he could activate it,” she muttered, eyes scanning across the variables and equations in the upper corners. “But that would also mean Stan really is actively looking for the other two. But why?”

Y/n kept flipping, and as she began to reach the end of the book, she was met with more entries that more closely mirrored the style of his later entries. But there was one in particular that caught the girl’s slacking attention, pulling her into a narrative she never would have expected to find herself reading.

‘Only mere hours ago, I believe I have encountered a Time-Traveler. I can’t be too sure— it surely isn’t a question I can open a conversation with, lest I run the risk of sounding like a lunatic in the chance she wasn’t one— but the circumstances to which I had found her are nothing to be ignored.’

“No way!” Y/n shouted, her eyes lighting up. She sat up in the chair, cradling the book in her lap and hunching over it in pure wonder. “Time travel! I shouldn’t be surprised, but that’s so cool!”

‘As noted in my previous entries, a heavy winter storm has hit the town, practically burying me within my laboratory. Seeing as I’m already buried in my studies, I didn’t think much of the storm; the only nuisance would be shoveling myself out whenever I wished to head to town for supplies. So, as the winter wind continued to nip at the lab, and a mixture of snow and ice pelted down on the shingles of the roof, I was safely (and warmly) inside, continuing with my work on a few specimens I had picked up before the storm hit. That was until I heard a loud bang from just outside.

‘I didn’t pay it much mind at first, but my own curiosity got the best of me: I risked opening the door to nature’s bitter assault to quell my own interest. I had figured that maybe Steve had knocked over a tree, or— in the worst case scenario— had once again made flattened scrap metal of my car. But when I opened the door to the lab and from within the deep blizzard, I was met with the figure of a very young woman, kneeled over and grasping at the snow.

‘To say I was shocked would be an understatement: I stood frozen at the foot of the lab, unsure if I was actually seeing correctly. But after a moment, to which she began to steady herself to her feet in the accumulating snow, I moved to help her. I had no idea how long she had been out there— nor just how she ended up within a few meters of my lab— but anyone could tell that even just staying a few minutes outside could lead to frostbite.

‘I only put on my lab coat before leaving, deciding it would be best to get her into the lab as soon as possible. She was awfully startled when I finally called out to her, struggling myself with the ankle-high snow. When she finally recognized my figure stumbling towards her to help, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. It looked like she had said something, perhaps even a question, but it was carried off with the sharp wind much faster than I could even register it.

‘She met me halfway, nearly falling into me as she struggled to walk in the snow. It seemed that only then that she realized how cold it was; as I finally got close enough to grab her, I could hear her muttering swears under her breath about the weather. She almost sounded like my father with such vulgarities, and in a normal situation I’m sure I would be much more surprised with her mouth than I was at the moment. But, the most pressing matter, besides getting this girl into the lab before she froze, was the fact there didn’t appear to be any footprints to this spot.

‘There was a large spot on the floor from where she was kneeled over, and I could maybe make out a few of her own uneven footsteps before she fell, accompanied by what appeared to be… two pairs of smaller ones? I was confused, but couldn’t dwell on it much longer, or else we would both freeze.

‘After what seemed like an endless trek, we both managed to stumble into the lab, the girl immediately scurrying inside, grasping herself tightly. As I closed the door behind us and turned back to her, I was able to get a better look of her odd attire. If it wasn’t clear that she wasn’t from around here before, then this was my first clue. She was in no way prepared for the winter: she was in only one layer and wore sneakers, of which she promptly kicked off and groaned about her wet socks. She looked like she was straight out of one of the old cartoons I would watch when I was a child, dressed in solely monochromatic colors. Had she been more spindly and lanky, she would match the rubber-hose style perfectly. But by far the weirdest aspect of this girl, besides the unfit clothes, was her painted face.

‘It took me much longer to see her face; she had huddled herself into a shivering ball, her teeth chattering so loudly that I could hear them from where I stood. But from between snow-covered strands of black hair, I was able to see messy splotches of bright orange and yellow. That only befuddled me further; where could she have come from to have her face painted like this?

‘The question was on the tip of my tongue, but there was no time for questions. I needed to help warm her up, or else she might end up getting sickly.

‘I approached her awkwardly. It had been a while since I interacted with another person; even when I did go on my trips into town, I mostly kept to myself. I asked her if she was okay, and if she had been out there long.

‘She appeared to be in shock— rightfully so; I could only imagine what the harsh Oregon winds had done to her, especially in her attire. When she lifted her head to answer me, she paused for a moment, instead craning her neck to look around my lab. There was a flicker of something behind her eyes, and I saw her brows furrow slightly. Unsure of her state, I went to pose my question again when she jumped to her feet and turned to me.

‘She was still hugging herself, gripping her arms so tightly it almost looked as if she was clawing at herself. Instead of answering any of my questions, she asked me my name.

‘I paused for a moment, a little surprised by the persistent tone in her voice, especially since it differed so greatly from the childish face painting she dawned. I could see it more clearly, yet it was still blotched beyond recognition. Even if I did try to focus on the rest of her face to figure out what the colors did depict at one point, I was drawn back to her piercing eyes. Despite being out in what was one of the coldest winters in the state’s history, I found myself even more chilled by her gaze and sudden tone. Nonetheless, I introduced myself and promptly offered my hand.

‘Her eyes widened at my name, and for a moment I thought I saw disbelief flicker in her dark and calculating irises. She looked me up and down twice, as if she wasn’t sure if I was actually standing in front of her. Her gaze made me uncomfortable, and my hand faltered.

‘It was then that she realized that she had been quiet the entire time. With a swift apology, she grabbed my hand, shaking it with a firm grip. She must have noticed my extra finger when she gripped my hand; her eyes immediately scanned over my digits, widening to the size of dinner plates when she noticed it.

‘I grimaced immediately, expecting her to panic or make a rude remark about it. I hadn’t had to deal with such a thing in a while, but she seemed young enough to remind me of the bullies back in high school. But after a moment, her grip went lax and she smiled warmly at me, greeting me kindly with a quaint nod.

‘It’s only now that I realized that I never actually got her name; right before she introduced herself, she broke into a violent shiver and sniffling. It was almost as if I had forgotten she had been kneeling in the snow; I immediately led her into the messy living room, pushing her down into the lone chair and grabbing any stray papers and research documents. I gave her the lab coat, draping it over her shaking shoulders, muttering how it would offer some warmth before disappearing into the small kitchen to make her some hot cocoa.

‘It was in the kitchen that I was able to collect myself, realizing exactly what had just occurred. This girl had seemingly just appeared outside of my laboratory. There was no way she had come from town or even the woods; it was much too dangerous outside for anyone to be out, and had she been out any longer than maybe five minutes, she definitely would have been dead. So, where exactly did she come from?

‘When I returned to the living room, she was out of the chair. It startled me greatly; I would have rather not had her run into one of my many unstable and experimental research projects. But she was simply at the other end of the room, eyes trained on the calendar I had pinned to the wall and hands gripping this very journal. I paused for a moment, especially surprised with the utter brazenness she had to look around at my research like that. Before I could say anything, she put the book down suddenly, ran a hand through her hair, and gripped it roughly.

‘She turned around in a hurry, but when she saw me at the entrance of the hallway she jumped, bumping into the small table she had been standing by. Her eyes went wide as she realized I had been watching, and she quickly apologized, grabbing the lapel of the lab coat and pulling it tighter around her. She had it draped around her shoulders, using it more like a blanket than a jacket.

‘I decided not to mention anything, and instead brought her the hot cocoa, pointing her to a seat at the table before taking my own. She thanked me, warming her hands against the cup and sipping it gratefully.

‘I figured it would be best to wait a few moments before questioning her, but I could see from the look on her painted face that her mind was running wild, and based on the consistent anxious tapping of her foot against the floor, I couldn’t assume it was in any sense good.

‘Clearing my throat, I decided to start a small conversation, to at least ease her overactive nerves. I apologized for only giving her the lab coat, as I didn’t necessarily have any other thicker clothes or blankets.

‘She didn’t seem to realize that I had said something, because for a moment she continued to stare off into space, only occasionally taking sips of her hot cocoa. When she didn’t answer for another minute or so, I reached over and—’

VVVRRB! VVVRRB! VVVRRB!

Y/n jumped in her chair, so startled that she almost ended up dropping the book. She juggled it in her arms, before securing it across her chest.

She looked to the desk, where her phone continued to vibrate with a new text notification from the twins.

“No! I was getting to the good part!”

Nonetheless, she grabbed her phone, mildly eager to see the next update the twins had in their hunt for the true founder of the town. But what she saw next made her heart sink.

“Text from Dip-Dop; 5:23 pm: Y/n! We did it! We solved the conspiracy! You’ll never guess what happened! We also got Stan out of the pillory, so we’re on our way home. Mabel and I will tell you everything later.”

“Oh my God they’re coming.” Y/n jumped from the chair, looking around at the desk. She started shoving her belongings into her hoodie pocket, scrambling to put everything back in place as she had found it. The last thing she wanted was to leave something of hers in the basement; Stan would definitely know she had been snooping around then.

Her fingers danced along her phone, texting Dipper back quickly before stopping to look at the desk once again. She slid the journal back into place, a little whine escaping her throat when she realized she had no idea when she’d be able to continue that entry. “I should have started at the end,” she groaned, pushing the chair back into place.

With a final nod and check of her pockets, she ran back to the elevator, muttering a few curses for having to leave. She pushed a few buttons and the door opened, another chill running down her spine: whether it was from Bill reminded her he was close or from the cold air released from the small lift, she didn’t know. But as the doors began to close, she smiled softly, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Alright alright,” she conceded, and waved enthusiastically to the thin air before you. “See ya later, Bill, you insane triangle demon.”

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Y/n wasn’t a chief by any means, but she did know how to cook. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was enough that the twins would be very happy whenever she took her place at the stove.

So, by the time the twins and Stan finally got home from the town fair, she had some pasta and sauce on the stove, heating up. It was a bit of a rushed job— it only was another ten minutes after she got the text that did hear them come in— but it came out good. When the three came into the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of the tomato sauce, Y/n paused in her tracks, mouth falling open at them.

The twins looked disheveled: she knew they were on an adventure, but they looked like they had crawled through mud. Mabel wore a top-hat, which was in a surprisingly pristine condition, and Dipper clutched a little key.

Stan was what shocked her the most, and when they locked eyes, she broke down in laughter.

“Stan!” She wheezed, clutching the side of the counter to steady herself. “You should have told me you were coming home with tomatoes! I could have made fresh sauce!”

Covered head to toe in squashed tomatoes, Stan looked like he had been in a war. In a war with the produce section of a supermarket, that is. They hung off his shoulders and fez, staining his clothes red. His eyes narrowed, lip up turning in an embarrassed snarl.

“Cut it out, Squirt! If you had the day I had, you wouldn’t want me laughing!”

“I knew you were in a pillory,” she continued to laugh, motioning towards him with a wooden spoon. There were actual tears in her eyes, and her face began to hurt from the large smile she couldn’t contain. “But I didn’t think they actually pelted you with tomatoes!”

At this point, the twins started laughing too. They had tried to hide their giggles, but soon enough they had given up on suppressing their amusement. They couldn’t help it; Y/n’s rare cackle was too contagious.

“Alright alright,” Stan mumbled, a ghost of a smile softening his face. “Everyone go get cleaned up so we can eat.”

Dinner went by rather fast, mostly in part to the rather lively table. The twins and Stan had returned to the Shack each with their own stories, and all were very eager to share with Y/n.

Stan’s was a sob story: it was about he was trapped in the pillory for hours, forced in such a position that his back would hurt for the next week at best. He complained loudly about the town and their Pioneer’s Day Festival, and rued the day it was ever invented. He swore vengeance on the person who created that cursed day.

“It sounds like they should go on my punt list,” Y/n had joked when he had screamed it to the heavens, shaking the table and slamming his fists.

“Y/n,” Mabel laughed, some of the oregano in the seasoning sticking in her braces. “Your list is getting really long, don’t you think?”

“Pacifica is on there,” Y/n said, brows raising expectantly.

Mabel fell silent, before breaking out into a laugh of her own. Dipper joined in too, before starting his own story of his and his twin’s adventure throughout the town.

Stan would constantly interrupt, only ever paying attention to when the two mentioned trying to blackmail the snobby blonde with evidence that her entire family was a fraud. The only other time he fell quiet was when Mabel mentioned how Pacifica made fun of her for being “silly.” Y/n could tell, just by the way he gripped his fork a little tighter, that if it was legal, he would also be adding the blonde to a punt list of his own.

With dinner done and stories told, the twins ran off to finally take an actual shower and get ready for the bed. Stan stayed with Y/n in the kitchen, helping her clean up. Well… he mostly continued to retell his pillory plight as he held a half cleaned plate and watched the ravenette clean.

“Oh, that reminds me, Squirt,” he said, finally cleaning the plate he had been holding for the past ten minutes. Y/n had long since finished, drying her hands and moving to the corner of the room to give him access to the sink. “You got mail earlier, yeah? Who’s it from?”

Y/n perked up, eyes widening. She had completely forgotten about the letter from Sherman!

“Oh,” she started, reaching into her pocket. It was still full of all the stuff she had brought into the basement. Under her tabloid and her phone, was in fact the rumpled letter from Sherman. “I never actually opened it. I kinda got… distracted.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Stan asked, placing the plate to his side. “An invitation?”

With a small laugh, she took the envelope out of her pocket, leaning back on the counter and opening it. She took out a letter, unfolding it within the envelope. “Well, it’s from Sherma— mie. Shermie.”

Stan’s brows raised. “Really?” He asked slowly, a little confused. “Why is he sending you mail instead of, you know, calling you?”

“I don’t know actually,” Y/n laughed awkwardly. She really didn’t. The last time they talked was a couple of weeks ago, and he ended by…

Wait…

Y/n read through the letter, her brows furrowing slightly. Stan remained silent, eying Y/n as he dried his hands.

Hey Kiddo! I never did figure out how to do that texting thing after all haha, but I did manage to find those pictures I promised you!

Y/n’s eyes lit up. He did! He did find the pictures! Her eyes quickly met with Stan’s, and she instinctively turned away, as if shielding the letter from him. Stan noticed.

They’re not the best, but they’re definitely the best of the few I did find. I had to dig through a lot for these. Ma and Pa never liked taking a lot of pictures. I wouldn’t show them to Stan though, I’m not sure how’d he react. Tell Mabel and Dipper I’m sending love from Jersey!

She folded the letter back over, unsure of how to go about her next moves.

“So,” Stan repeated again, much more stern in his voice. “Why did Shermie mail you?”

“Oh! He’s just… checking in,” she lied. She scolded herself silently in her head: What kind of lie was that?! You lie for a living, couldn’t you think of a better one?!

“Let me see, Squirt.” Stan reached for the letter, and Y/n immediately recoiled.

Suddenly, this wasn’t about trying to lie anymore: she needed to leave. Now.

Stan paused, but Y/n could see it in his eyes: he wanted to know what was in the letter, and there was no way he was taking “no” for an answer. “You’re… you’re really not gonna show me, Y/n?”

“Uh, I don’t think…” she trailed off, eyes flashing towards the hallway. She could have said anything to try to stall Stan: the letter was personal, she didn’t want to share; it was something Shermie told her to tell the twins; it was a little hobby they had, where they would send penpal letters back and forth— literally anything. But she couldn’t think of anything but getting to her room and hiding those pictures.

Stan lunged for her, much quicker than Y/n had been expecting. He was masking the attempt for the letter as some sort of playful wrestle, but Y/n knew that with each moment he was itching to get his hands on it. She couldn’t let him have it.

But Stan’s hands were much faster than she even knew. Whether it be from pickpocketing and fleecing customers from out of state who didn’t know the risk their wallets were in whenever they stepped into the Shack, or from other illegal things he did went he was younger, he grabbed the letter, swiftly pulling it out of the envelope and Y/n’s grasp.

And along with the letter, the pictures fell out.

It was like slow motion; Y/n watched as they fell, and she was too frightened to do anything. Her heart thumped into her chest, and her stomach flipped. She was royally fucked.

The pictures fell to the floor, the little paper clip holding them together fell off. There weren’t many— Sherman wasn’t lying— but they went flying across the floor. Y/n scanned them quickly, her eyes counting seven. They each held two boys, one of whom was standing right across from her, almost as shocked as she was.

Y/n moved first, taking advantage of Stan’s shock. She dropped to the floor, desperately raking the floor for the pictures, trying to gather as many as she could. Her eyes flickered over each one, trying to engrain them into her memory, but she was panicking so badly that no matter how many times she might have looked at one, it vanished from her mind in an instant.

Stan finally got over his shock, crumpling the letter in a tightening fist. He didn’t need to read it anymore, seeing the pictures of him and his brother on the floor was enough to send him into a frenzy.

Y/n popped back to her feet, the polaroids in her grip. But before she could scamper down the hallway and lock herself in her room, Stan grabbed her. His grip was ironclad on her shoulder, and he roughly pulled her into front of him, glowering down from above her.

Oh fuck, she thought. This was it. She was screwed.

“Spill.” He demanded. The glare from the window made it hard to see his eyes, but Y/n was sure he was either seething or wallowing; she didn’t think there would be an in between.

“I-I-I—” she began stuttering, surprised with herself for the sudden fear that made her heart drop to her stomach. She tried to keep her eyes on Stan, afraid that bringing any more attention to the pictures held in front of her would only worsen the situation, but she couldn’t help stealing a few glances down at them.

Stan grasped them, tugging them roughly from her hands. She held on strong, and kept her hands on them, pulling them back.

“Y/n,” Stan spoke, oddly calm. “Tell me why you have these.”

Mind on the verge of going blank and legs ready to give out, Y/n took a deep breath. “I called Sherman a few weeks ago because I wanted to know about the license plate on your car. He told you that it belonged to…” she paused, unsure of how to continue. But as she felt Stan’s grip tighten on the photos, she continued in a hurry. “It-it belonged to your twin brother, Stanley. He told me that he died 30 years back in a car crash. That’s it. He didn’t say anything else; I don’t know anything else.”

Stan stayed quiet for a moment.

“Do the twins know?”

“N-no I didn’t tell them. They… I didn’t think they needed to know. It… I don’t know, but I didn’t tell them, I promise.”

With a loud huff, Stan straightened up, his hand still on the photos. Y/n felt a little lighter without the man hunching over her like a wild animal, but she knew she wasn’t in the clear yet.

“Give me the pictures, Y/n.”

Y/n jumped up, eyes widening. Of course he asked for the pictures, she thought.

But to her— and Stan’s— surprise, she found herself saying: “N-no.”

“...What?”

“No, I want to see them.”

“Y/n,” Stan said again, and this time Y/n could see the anger behind his eyes. “Give me the pictures. Now. I’m not asking again.”

“No—!”

Stan, his grip getting tighter on the photos, wrenched them out of her hands, pulling them with such a strength that Y/n was surprised her own arms weren’t pulled out of their sockets. Her sleeves, however, were pulled, and her own hands disappeared in the dark fabric, up to the elbow. She let out a little yelp as she tried to resist, but she was no match for Stan, especially with the hazed stupor setting over her.

They slipped from her grip, and as soon as she stopped feeling the texture of the old polaroid stack between her fingers, she pulled her arms back to her body, cradling them nervously. She rolled her shoulder, wringing her wrists and adjusting her sleeves.

Stan cradled the photos in his hands, eyes widening more as he got to look through them. They were all of him and his brother as kids, laughing and smiling as they played along the beach or built forts in their room. His eyes landed on another one, where he had decided to tackle Ford while he was doodling the supernatural in his little notebook. He stopped there, the sight bringing up too many memories of a time he couldn’t bear to revisit just yet.

Putting the photos in the pocket of his still-stained suit, he turned away from Y/n, grabbing the towel.

“Go to your room,” he said simply, motioning to the hallway with a nod of his head.

“Stan wait, I didn’t—”

“Don’t ask Shermie for any more pictures. I’m calling him after this to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas. And don’t tell the twins, either.”

“Stan, listen. I’m so—”

“I said, go to your room.” He snapped, finally turning to the girl.

Y/n hesitated, but once she caught a glance at Stan, she scampered out of the room, eyes trained out of the floor. He watched her run down the hall before disappearing into her room, closing the door lightly behind her. He didn’t pretend not to notice the slight panic that ran through her.

He remained in the kitchen, immediately scolding himself silently for the way he handled the situation. He could have been a little bit calmer. At least for her sake; she looked near terrified. But he had let his emotions take over.

Stan hovered a hand over the pocket which the polaroids resided: the lapel pocket inside the vest. He took a shaky breath; he wasn’t ready to see those yet. And if he wasn’t, then in his mind, neither was she. Or the twins. And that was the end of that.

As soon as Y/n closed the door behind her, she let out the large breath she had been holding. She sunk to the floor, eyes wide and heart still pounding.

“Why did I open it in front of him?” She asked herself. “Why couldn’t I just lie my way out of this? What happened?”

She didn’t bother to search herself for an answer; she was too devastated over the lost pictures. She barely even got to look at them, and there was no way she could get Sherman to send her more behind Stan’s back. That would only bring Hell.

“Well,” she muttered, pulling at her sleeve. “It wasn’t a complete loss.”

Pulling back the cuff of her hoodie, she pulled out a small polaroid, crumpled and folded slightly from the struggle in the kitchen.

“I still have one.”

When Stan had ripped most of the stack out of her hands, she managed to keep her grip on one. She slipped it into her sleeve when he pulled back.

Flattening it against her thigh, she was finally able to see the original Pines twins. Grainy and blotchy in colors, she could still make out the two young boys. They looked to be around Dipper and Mabel’s ages.

“There they are,” holding it closer to her eyes. The two boys stared back up at her, large, identical smiles on their faces. “Stanley and Stanford.” 

Chapter Text

The tension in the Shack was unimaginable; it was as if someone had lit a match next to barrels of gunpowder. It was only a matter of time before it would all blow up, taking both the twins and Soos with it.

Dipper and Mabel had thought they were going crazy when they first noticed the odd and awkward atmosphere that had fallen over the Shack. Rooms seemed to be quieter no matter who stepped into them, Grunkle Stan appeared to be more irritable than usual, and Y/n was a jittering mess— even more so than she already was.

But when even Soos asked if there was something up with both Stan and Y/n, their suspicions were confirmed.

If they had to guess, it all started when Y/n got up for work the next day, when the trio noticed how oddly silent tours had started. And if there weren't any words between Y/n and Stan (mostly Stan) working on ways to further rip off the clueless customers, then that could only mean trouble.

There was no discussion between her or Stan about who would take which tour group, who needed to report to the front to help unload a new bus, or who needed to stay in the gift shop to keep customers entertained and entice them to the allure of more overpriced merchandise.

It was incredibly messy at first— and the three could help but cringe from the sidelines— but soon the two were able to migrate to their respective positions without doing so much as glancing at each other. It would have been rather impressive if it weren’t for the fact that the two appeared to be walking on eggshells as they worked.

Then the twins noticed Y/n’s even more drastic dip in behavior; she’d stay as far away from Stan as possible, even going as far as to leave the room should he walk in. Stan had followed behind them into the kitchen the next morning, much grumpier than usual. As soon as Y/n made eye contact with him, she high-tailed it out of there, leaving behind her half-finished mug of coffee in the sink.

It was because of this weird avoidance that the twins took longer than they wanted to tell her about the finer details of their discovery of America’s 8th ½ President, Quentin Trembley. They could never sit her in one room without Stan making a guest appearance shortly after. He seemed oddly intent on watching the three whenever they appeared in the same room for longer and a minute or so.

Whenever the twins tried to visit her before they all went to sleep, Stan would always be patrolling the halls, immediately ushering them back upstairs to the attic. When Mabel asked why he wasn’t in his room, he would always say he was about to go on a midnight walk.

Knowing Stan wasn’t the one for staying active, the twins made the connection almost immediately. Now, they needed to know what had happened between her and Stan, and why each seemed so eager to avoid each other.

So when Y/n woke up the next morning— or, in reality, decided to stop staring between the ceiling and the polaroid in deep, yet groggy, thought— the Mystery Twins barged straight into her room, intent on getting to the bottom of this conundrum that plagued the Shack. They didn’t bother knocking, deciding that their questions and story were much more important than potentially violating precious privacy.

“Y/N WAKE UP WE HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DISCUSS!” Mabel shouted, quite literally kicking open the door. Dipper followed behind shortly after, mumbling an apology and gently closing it.

Y/n jumped in her bed, quickly scrambling to hide the polaroid under her. This certainly wasn’t the good morning she had been expecting, let alone wanted in the first place. She felt she could go at least a few more hours without human (or potential demon) interaction.

“G-Guys,” she stuttered, trying her best to suppress a yawn. She tussled her hair out of her face, attempting to at least look like she gained some amount of sleep and hadn’t begun to slowly become nocturnal. “What are you doing here? And, uh, why did you kick my door…?

“Because, Dearest Sister,” Mabel announced, jumping onto the bed. Y/n freaked out momentarily, afraid she had left her Tabloid and pens in the sheets in her stupor. But one nervous glance up at her dresser gently reminded her that her own journal was safe from the twins for now. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain the little book and the secrets bound within its pages, especially the newest addition about the singular polaroid she had managed to save from the ironclad grip of Stan.

Plus, the last thing she needed was for both the twins and Stan to be upset with her. She wouldn’t be able to handle that, not with a mind that hadn’t had a proper rest in what felt like forever.

“You’re gonna tell us what’s up,” Mabel continued, crossing her arms. She pouted dramatically, Dipper awkwardly following suit. “Why are you and Stan avoiding each other? Why are you even more jumpy than you usually are? Why do you have deeper bags than normal? And why is Stan patrolling around the Shack?

At this point, she began to lean closer to Y/n, practically poking her as she pointed out all the differences she and Dipper had managed to sort out since Pioneer Day.

“Yeah,” Dipper added, pulling at the sleeve of her hoodie. It was way more rumpled than it should be, and a close eye would notice she had been wearing the same one for at least the past couple of days. “You don’t look so… Y/n-like.”

“Oh wow,” Y/n rolled her eyes, shrugging Dipper off her side. “Thanks for noticing.”

“We’re being serious, Sis,” Mabel said, leaning into her. “Tell us what happened. We know there’s something we missed.”

“I—” Y/n paused. She found it hard to simply deny what was happening, especially when the twins were bearing down at her with such raw concern in their eyes. Besides, the sudden conflict between her and Stan was a much more obvious dilemma than anything else she had been dealing with.

“F-fine,” she conceded, running a hand through her disheveled hair. “Stan and I might have gotten into a bit of a… quarrel.”

Dipper’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Y/n bit her lip, trying to choose her next words carefully. She couldn’t just bring up his dead brother, nor the fact that she had gone behind his back to get pictures of them as children. Besides Stan’s stern warning against telling the twins about his late brother, she didn’t want to bring up a dead relative so early in the morning.

“Basically, we started talking about tours and the Shack and how I’ve sort of been neglecting work,” she started, completely lying through her teeth. It bothered her that she was able to spin such a tall tale within mere seconds, especially to the two people who probably cared most about her. But she rather continue spewing lies than telling them exactly what had happened in the kitchen that day.

“Long story short: he got mad that I haven’t been in tip-top shape; I got mad that he didn’t seem to understand that I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and now things are just… really really really awkward.”

The twins grimaced, sharing concerned glances between each other. They knew Stan and Y/n were as stubborn as bulls, and if the whole ordeal with Gideon earlier that month had been any indicator, neither of them were going to apologize first until the point where the tension became unbearable. They were much too prideful for their own goods.

“Well,” Dipper started, racking his brain for ideas. “If you bring up the topic again— especially looking like that,” he said, pointing to her. Y/n huffed slightly, but she couldn’t get upset; she truly looked like the dead. She almost matched Robbie; her deep bags almost looked like thick eyeliner painted on her face. “I’m sure Stan will realize that he’s being too harsh on you.”

“Yeah!” Mabel added supportively. “We’re here to have fun for the summer! Not for him to work us like cattle! How are we supposed to get you enroute to an epic summer romance if you’re stuck giving tours in the Shack?”

“Mabellll,” Y/n whined, slightly annoyed. As much as she loved her, these romantic-antics were beginning to drive her nuts. If Mabel’s 0-2 record with Norman and Gideon were any sign, then the summer love the girl found for her would probably end up being some sort of monster— either literally or figuratively.

Or even worse, she thought with a small pout, a shiver running down her spine, a mixture of both.

She couldn’t help but momentarily think of Bill of all people, and the thought of him trying to woo over someone with any of the practical romantic tactics made her smile slightly. He’d use deer teeth, anyway.

It was a funny picture, no matter how strange it was being the first thing to come to mind. But it appeared Bill— more specifically his odd absence from her nightlife— was a prominent thought in the back of her head. She had found it weird that not only their last meeting was the day of the party, but that she couldn’t even sense him watching over her like she did when she was in the basement looking through the journal.

For the time being, it truly looked like he was out of the dimension, and while it should have been a reason to celebrate, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a deep dread. She figured the only reason he was missing was because he was refining some masterful plan to trick her, or worse.

“Fine fine,” Mabel said, bringing Y/n back to reality. “I can see you don’t appreciate my wonderful efforts to find you the best romance this town can offer.”

“It’s not like there’s a lot offered to begin with,” Dipper said with a snort.

“What about Wendy?” The two girls said in unison.

“N-n-nevermind about that! Get back to the problem at hand!”

Mabel giggled, but turned back to her sister nonetheless, grasping her hand tightly. Y/n instinctively slipped out of the grip slightly, but kept her fingers within Mabel’s palm.

“For real though, Sis,” she said, her smile much softer. “You can’t just not talk to Stan about this. Or else the two of you are going to be walking on eggshells the entire summer. And how are we all supposed to get some family bonding time in if you two have this unresolved grudge?”

“I… I know. I know but I just… I just don’t know how to go about fixing this,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair. Stan was absolutely livid when he saw those pictures! It would at least take him a few more days to cool down. And even then, how would she even go about apologizing? She was never the best at it as it was, but now this was a whole other situation.

“So then let us talk to him for you,” Dipper said, frowning slightly. He crossed his arms, chewing the inside of his cheek. It was obvious Stan was taking advantage of her; using her to make a quick buck because of her witty and colorful thinking and just as colorful cast. Luckily, the cast was soon to be removed, but even then he would probably still make Y/n wear it for her tours. “He has no right to work you like this. It’s the summer and you're his niece; the man needs more compassion for you. All he does is think about lining his pockets.”

“No!” Y/n said suddenly, jumping up in bed and startling the twins. “No no no, don’t do that, please.”

It was a sweet offer, but she had a nagging suspicion that it would only make things worse. Especially given that she never gave the twins the real conflict.

“I can handle it,” she said finally.

“Yeah, Dip-Dop. Besides,” Mabel added, surprised about her brother’s sudden irritable regard for their Grunkle, “Stan does think about us. He just… tends to think a little more about money! I don’t think it’s his fault; it doesn’t seem like he’s had to think about anything else in recent years.”

Y/n couldn’t help but agree, but then an image of the vending machine flashed in her head. She stopped nodding abruptly; there was plenty more he had to focus on.

“I’ll just give him a couple more days to cool off,” she said, trying to put an end to both the conversation and the bubbling thoughts of suspicion concerning Stan and that room behind the vending machine.

“A couple more days?” Dipper asked incredulously. “It’s already been nearly three! How much longer are you going to wait?”

“Just… just a few more,” she mumbled. If she were to be completely honest, the extra time avoiding the matter altogether would help her gather her thoughts and plan her apology. She’d definitely need to rehearse it a few times.

“Listen,” she said when Dipper opened his mouth to counter her again. “I know what I’m doing. There’s always a method to my madness, you know?”

Dipper sighed, head sulking slightly. He should have known trying to get her rather non-confrontational sister to confront Stan wouldn’t have worked. “If you say so.”

“Well, if you two are finished lecturing me,” Y/n joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I think I’ll stay in my room a bit longer.”

To look at this polaroid for the umpteenth time, she added silently.

“OH!” Mabel shouted, bouncing on the head. “We’re not done yet, Y/n! You’ve been so distant that we’ve never had the time to tell you about Quentin Trembley!”

At the mention of America’s 8th ½ President, Dipper lit up, eyes sparkling.

“But you did,” she responded, a little eager to kick the twins out. She laid back down on the bed, careful to not rip or rumple the photo that was still hidden underneath her. “You told the entire table about how you found out he was a hidden President and the real founder of the town.”

“That was the condensed and censored version,” Mabel laughed, scooting over on the bed, making room for her twin.

“Yeah, we couldn’t tell Stan what we’re about to tell you,” Dipper said, pulling out the journal from his vest. He flipped through the pages, opening up to the entry he had written about the rather ridiculous political figure. “You’ve been so avoidant that we were able to tell Soos before you, and he’s only been here for work.”

“What else is there to tell?” She cocked her head to the side, curiosity slightly piqued.

“Well,” Dipper started, a large smile on his face. His fingers help his place in the journal. “What if I told you that he’s still alive?”

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

In reality, Y/n shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that peanut brittle had life-sustaining properties similar in a sense to cryogenic freezing.

But did it still shake her to her core? Yes; it was peanut brittle for God’s sake.

She thought it so shocking, in fact, that the next morning she still found herself thinking about it. It was silly— and silly was something that Y/n had learned Quentin is— but how could she possibly get that out of her mind?

“That almost beats the living triangle hellbent on bringing chaos into this dimension,” she muttered to herself, watching slowly as the rising sun began to filter into the room. The warm morning light ran down the wall, falling to the floor and crawling towards her bed in a welcoming yellow. She cast a glance at the window, watching as the sun settled itself into its early morning position amongst the thinning clouds.

Y/n, like the days prior, had barely caught a wink of sleep, too preoccupied with her Tabloid to think about ever getting longer than an hour or three. Pages had begun filling up much faster: details on the Sprog, theories on the time traveler she had read about previously, theories concerning Stan and his potential relationship with the Author— it was a good thing the notebook really was endless, or else she would need to break up her work like the Author.

But the one thing that had by far garnered the most attention was the polaroid she had managed to save from Stan’s wrath.

Despite all that she had done to salvage the small picture, let alone how long it took to even get it from Sherman, Y/n couldn’t but feel hesitant when it came down to actually looking at it, aside from the quick glance she had taken after retreating to her room that day. But eventually, any uncertainty was trumped by her unrelenting curiosity.

The picture was of the twins, looking back at the camera with large identical smiles from the safety of a blanket fort. The checkered fabric draped over most of them, and the two struggled to poke their heads out from the small opening to smile for the picture. The room, which Y/n assumed was their bedroom, was a complete mess. She couldn’t make out much of what was scattered on the floor or what hung from the wall, but it looked like a few markers and plans for… a boat?

It was right in the corner of the picture, sticking out from the bottom of the tent, but she could clearly see the hand-drawn sail standing proudly in a blue and clear sky. Though there was a title that hovered above it, centered in the middle of the page, she didn’t need to squint to figure out what it said.

“Is… is that the Stan O’ War? The original?”

It made her heart sink a little when she first spotted it, her mind immediately going to the shabby little fishing boat she, the twins, Stan, and Soos had crowded onto the month prior. They had nearly sunk the poor thing, the vessel in no way shape or form built to maintain that many people. Hell, she remembered being scared that it would drop Stan into the murky waters.

“It’s the boat they had when they were kids…”

She quickly moved on from the details; there were more important details to focus on. Specifically, the two twins huddled within the little fort, each who brought upon more questions than they did answers.

When Sherman had first mentioned Stanley and his rather shady past, Y/n had been confused; if he had been the one on the wrong side of the law, always looking to stay one step ahead of the cops, then how was Stanford remembered back at home? He was just as shady as his brother it seemed, if not more so.

At first, she brushed it off as an “ode” in memory of his late brother. But that didn’t necessarily make sense the more she sat down and thought about it. What would prompt a man to do the same thing that could have potentially been a cause of his death? The car crash was suspected to be foul play, after all.

So the second theory, and the one she had been sticking with for the past weeks, was that they were a duo: a mischievous pair of twins whose only goal was to make a quick buck and fleece unsuspecting people of their previous green. It made the most sense in Y/n’s eyes, and if the stories she remembered hearing about their parents were even half true, they would have taken after their mother in the scamming realm.

“They could have been scamming people together when they were in high school,” she had reasoned, scribbling down details into her Tabloid. “They had a falling out after— I wouldn’t be surprised if it was because of a scam that went horribly wrong— and then they separately continued to do their own things.”

It explained why Stan was a seasoned con artist, even going as far as tying in his old traveling salesman days he had mentioned briefly. It pretty much fit near perfectly, especially considering all his stories and experience in the world of swindlers.

“Well, until now, that is,” she mumbled.

The opening of the fort was much too small for both boys to stick their heads out side by side, so they had taken to stacking on top of each other. At least, one had taken to doing that. One of the twins had smushed his brother to the ground, happily using him to push himself into frame.

His dark hair was tousled and messy, face adorned with various bandages and scratches from whatever adventures the two might have gone on. The large smile pulling at his lips revealed plenty of missing teeth, and there was a sort of mischievous glint of excitement in his dark irises. He reminded Y/n of Mabel almost, should she have been the type to get herself in trouble and fights. Originally, she thought this was Stanley, but after looking at the boy pinned down under him, laughing loudly, she was only left confused.

Though his excited twin was practically jumping him, Y/n could still make out most of the other boy. The same brown, puffy hair was much neater upon his head, the same brown eyes looking up at his brother through thickly rimmed glasses. Smiling just as wide, he was also missing a few teeth, though much less compared to the other. He lacked the bruises and bandaids that came with the rowdy behavior his twin had.

What really confused Y/n, however, was the book clutched in his little grip. It was opened to the middle, the force of being pushed to the ground causing it to nearly slip from his grip and go flying in front of him. It was impossible to tell what that book could have been about, but that coupled with the much shyer smile on his face made it hard for the ravenette to call him Stanford.

The boy in the picture reminded her of Dipper, so calling him Stan definitely felt more than out of place. The book felt like enough indication in Y/n eyes; he didn’t strike her as the type to be actively reading novels.

But if that meant he was Stanley, well… then things just got more confusing for her.

Whichever twin he might have been, she couldn’t picture how he could grow up being a conman. And with that hunch, the theory she had been holding onto so tightly seeped through her fingers like the sand on the beach they grew up on. If both twins were to start fooling people out of money when they got older, this picture was in no way an indication of that.

That’s where Y/n was now; stuck mulling over the stupid picture for the hundredth time, unable to figure out which twin was who. Whenever she made a guess in the early hours of the night, deciding to affirmatively call one Stanley or one Stanford, she would doubt herself and change her mind as the sun took the place of the moon. There was no way she could identify which Stan was which; at least not with her prior knowledge. It didn’t fit what Sherman had told her on the phone that night, and it definitely didn’t fit with the persona Grunkle Stan held now.

With a deep sigh, she put the photo down, leaning her head back against the wall. Tossing the photo to the side and letting it slip out of her fingers, she closed her weary eyes. The Shack was quiet, surprisingly, and she took the moment to lose herself in the gentle breeze that whistled in through the window and the groggy chips of birds rising with the sun.

There weren’t many times where she could enjoy the silence, especially when Stan would raise Hell whenever he ever did so much as go down the stairs. Mabel wasn’t any better; she was a tornado of sound, glitter, and fabric. But, even though she was sure everyone was up, slowly getting ready for the workday ahead, steps were rather muted instead of their usual thunderous nature.

“Y’know,” she murmured to herself, sinking into the bed, “it almost makes me not want to leave my room today.”

She gently crossed her arms over her chest, scowling slightly when her eyes caught the edge of the ever-uncomfortable cast. “Well… almost.”

A light knocking sounded at the door, startling her slightly.

“Uh, hey, dude?” Though he was muffled, Y/n could recognize the voice as Soos. A little smile pulled at her lips. “Am I cool to come in?”

“Give me a sec,” she answered, hopping off the bed. She grabbed the photo, moving to tuck it within the Tabloid and return the little leather-bound book on top of the dresser. Rummaging through the drawers, she picked out another cleaner hoodie and a pair of thin and baggy leggings.

“You’re good, Soos!”

The door opened, and hesitantly, Soos peaked out from behind. He was dressed and ready for his shift at the Shack, but he didn’t start for another hour or so. “Oh, sup dude! You ready for your appointment?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute to clean up a bit and change. Don’t look the most presentable,” she said, trying her best to put on a bigger smile.

“No problem; I’ll be the truck. Meet me outside when you’re ready,” he said with a thumbs up, and then ducked out to give Y/n her privacy.

After what felt like the longest eight weeks of her life, the horrid cast that plagued her left arm was finally getting removed. Y/n had enough of the damned thing, and though Mabel had been nice to decorate it for her in an attempt to cheer her up, she was tired of the glitter on the damn eyesore constantly reflecting the light into her eyes. It killed her to have it constantly weighing down on her arm, and even more so when it served as a reminder of things she didn’t really want to think about now. Or ever, preferably.

While it appeared that Soos had graciously offered to drive her to the appointment, Y/n figured that Stan was either still mad, or didn’t want to confront her and asked him to. She didn’t mind; she didn’t want to bear an awkward car ride with him anyway. She had already experienced that when they were making regular business trips to Bud’s. Besides, even if there wasn’t the palpable tension between the two, she was sure Soos would have offered anyway. He was too kind not to.

“Finally,” she mumbled, practically skipping to the bathroom to change. “I can actually take a shower without putting a plastic bag over my arm! I can sleep on my left side again! And,” she added, as she struggled to pull the sleeve of her night-hoodie over the arm, “I’ll be able to actually put on clothes without it getting in my damn way.”

She cleaned up rather fast, pleased to find that with a few splashes of cold water and multiple brushes she didn’t look like she had crawled up from a grave. Her bags were still visible, and there were a few tangles that her curls tended to bounce into, but she was happy that it didn’t have the light sheen of grease it did the few days before.

“I almost look normal,” she smiled lightly, adjusting the neck of the hoodie.

With one last splash of water to wake herself up, she jetted out of the bathroom, eager to get to the doctor and finally be rid of the hindrance taking up nearly half her arm.

“Getting the cast off!” She announced loudly, hoping someone awake might have heard her. Without waiting for a response, she was out the door.

“All good dude?” Soos asked as the door opened. The engine of the car sputtered to life.

“Yep,” she answered with a nod, clambering into the passenger’s seat.

He laughed slightly, sliding a disc into the car’s CD player. Turning a few knobs, the sound of a loud hip hop beat soon filled the car. It took Y/n a moment, but she recognized it as one of the songs Soos was always playing when he was cleaning up the gift shop alone. She and Stan had caught him rapping along on several occasions, though the former was never one to call him out on it. Stan was not as pitiful.

“Let’s go get that cast off, lil’ dude!”

And with a final spur of the engine and press of the petal, the two drove off into town to the beat of Lil Bigg Dawggg.