Chapter Text
Summer buzzed at the corners of the Mystery Shack, leaving the air thick and damp with the promise of a storm. Eyelids drooping, Dipper sat behind the counter, staring listlessly at the empty shop. Days like this were always slow at the Shack, tourists choosing to duck inside their air conditioned motel rooms and half cleaned pools rather than make the trek out to the back forests of Gravity Falls. Letting out a sigh, Dipper wiped his brow beneath is hat, unsatisfied with the work the sputtering AC was doing of keeping him cool.
It had been two weeks since Dipper had started working at the Shack full time. Two weeks of stocking t-shirts, super-glueing exhibits back together and dealing with sticky, crying children before noon. Two weeks since Dipper had graduated college, and with a sudden, ill planned change of heart, decided he had waited long enough to return home.
Gravity Falls had never really left Dipper, though it had been years since he had last been. He still kept the journals hidden in the back of the top desk drawer in his dorm, checking up on them every so often. The town didn’t haunt him, per se. It simply clung onto him, left him with a longing in the pit of his stomach. He read online forums, chased down empty story leads, did all he could to check up on the town without actually going there. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do. He knew if he went, he could never leave again. So Dipper trudged through university with as much focus as he could muster, dragging pieces of the town along with him.
It was the first month of his freshman year when he got his first tattoo. A ring of pine trees, wrapping around his left bicep. The first piece of Gravity Falls he was ready to carry with him forever. The tattoos seemed to crawl up and down his arm from that point on, reaching from the peak of his shoulder to the edge of his wrist. It had been midway through his senior year when he had completed the sleeve. A devil’s trap, placed on top of his left hand. It had hurt like hell, but felt more permanent than any of the other tattoos had. Like it was unchanging, in a way Dipper hoped to be.
He should’ve seen it coming from a mile away, what with his weak impulse control and tendency for nostalgia. But the decision to move back to Gravity Falls had come as a bit of a surprise. Out of college, no place to live and no job to pursue, Dipper was unsure of where else to go. So, he packed up his things and booked a one way ticket to Oregon. It wasn’t long after that he called Mabel, halfway across the country wrapping up art school, and asked the impossible of her. To choose Gravity Falls, the Shack, and whatever existential baggage Dipper was carrying with him over her own future in art. Being the remarkable sister she was, of course she said yes, and packed immediately. Wendy had moved up north (something about a lumber business) and Soos had started his own repair shop right in downtown Gravity Falls. This left two spots open at the Shack. A week later, without so much as a heads up, Dipper and Mabel appeared on Stan’s front steps. They crammed back into their old room, and started working the next day. Though not a word was spoken to affirm it, Dipper knew Stan well enough to understand when his Grunkle was happy, and he was happy.
Dipper reintroduced himself to the town, to the forest, to the strange corners and dark hollows it was home to, and settled into the summer once more. Two weeks of Gravity Falls, just the way he had left it. Two weeks, and Dipper was starting to feel like himself again.
“Dipper, I’m taking lunch!” Mabel called to him from the back room, her head poking out around the doorway. Dipper nodded, rubbing his hands over his face in attempt to remind himself he was, in fact, a responsive human.
“Right, yeah, go ahead.” He said, offering a small smile. Pony tail bobbing behind her, Mabel came around the doorway. Her usual sweater had been traded out for a crop top, shimmering above a pair of patch covered mom jeans. She had been doing inventory all day, the kind of work that the twins detested equally so had to trade off doing daily. Today was Mabel’s day, so Dipper had no qualms with her taking lunch before he did.
“You seem out of it today, Dipping Dots.” She said, tapping her chin in fake inquisition. Dipper braced himself out of habit. “Would it, perhaps, have something to do with the fact that there’s a certain monster you haven’t seen lately?”
“Mabel,” Dipper began, his tone warning.
“‘What monster is that?’ one might ask!” Mabel continued, approaching the counter slowly. “Why, only the most fearsome monster in all of Gravity Falls!”
“Mabel, seriously,” Dipper continued, his composure breaking slightly to allow a small grin in. This was the only fuel Mabel needed. In a moment, she was bolting around the counter. She took off after Dipper with her arms outstretched, fingers wriggling.
“The tickle monster returns, and this time,” Mabel shouted with conviction. Dipper, laughing as he ran, darted out from a corner Mabel had practically backed him into. “It’s personal!”
Just as he was about to slam into a rack of magnets, Mabel stopped short in front of him. Her head shot around at the sound of the Shack’s door opening with a jingle. Cautiously, Dipper peaked around her. The man in the doorway couldn’t have been a year older than Dipper, but stood a full head shorter. All blonde hair and dark skin, Dipper couldn’t help but be taken by surprise. It wasn’t that he looked odd, but he certainly didn’t look like the typical costumer that showed up to the Shack. No Hawaiian shirt, no disposable camera held in hand. Simply a hoodie and a pair of dark sunglasses. Yet he carried himself as if he knew exactly where he wanted to be, and he had arrived.
“Catch you later, bro bro.” Mabel said with a smile, ducking out through the back room just as the customer entered the threshold. Dipper, with a nervous laugh, moved back towards the counter. The customer seemed unfazed.
“Sorry about that.” Dipper began, his face heating up fast. He stopped talking at that, worried he would simply embarrass himself more if he continued. Much to his surprise, the customer cracked a small smile.
“Don’t sweat it, kid.” He said, perking up at the sound of Dipper’s voice. His ears seemed to lead his head to turn. “Sure it was nothing too bad.” At this, the man removed his sunglasses and tucked them inside the pocket of his hoodie. Unseeing, two large, foggy blue eyes rested easily in Dipper’s general direction. Blind. The customer wad blind, and Dipper was a idiot. The man grinned. “Mind showing me where the novelty mugs are?” It took Dipper a moment for his brain to catch up with his body, but by the time it did, he was already rushing over to the costumer’s side.
“Shit, yeah, of course.” Dipper said, unsure of how to do just that. “Um, can I…” Carefully, Dipper reached down and let his fingers ghost along the other man’s hand. The costumer just nodded, opening his hand for Dipper to take. Dipper took it, slipping their hands together without letting their fingers interlock. Driven by nerves, Dipper led the man over towards the shelf of mugs. Each was pattered with large question marks or sayings such as “Can you believe it?”, “Mystery is Everywhere” or “No Refunds”. Dipper smiled to himself.
“I take it we’re here?” The customer asked, his voice playful. Dipper could feel his face turning pink.
“Sorry.” He muttered. “Do you, um, need help grabbing one?” He asked.
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” With that, the customer reached out his free hand, carefully letting it touch the shelf, then move up slightly to grope for a mug. In seconds, he caught onto a handle and lifted it from the shelf. Cautious as he was, he moved with a certain dexterity, one that Dipper tried not to marvel at.
“Ok, great. I can just ring you up back here." A bit embarrassed about the fact that he was still holding the stranger’s hand, Dipper moved to return to the cash register. But as Dipper pulled away, he could feel the customer tug him back. Confused, Dipper turned back to himThe costumer stared straight ahead, his expression just as confused as Dipper felt.
“Sorry, can I help you with anything else?” Dipper asked politely.
“No, no.” The costumer insisted, and this time he moved to pull away, only to drag Dipper back with him. Dipper stared. He tried to flex his left hand, the one currently held in the customer’s grasp. It was as if, below the wrist, he was numb. His hand wouldn’t move as he willed it to, but remained fast in the other man’s grip.
“Dude, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you mind letting go for a second?” Dipper asked, trying not to panic.
“I can’t.” The costumer muttered, almost too quiet for Dipper to hear.
“You what?” Dipper asked, his mind whirring.
“I said I can’t!” The costumer shot back, his voice panicked. “You didn’t lure me into some shit, did you?”
“What? No!” Dipper insisted, confused by the sudden accusation. “Lure you into what?”
“I swear to whatever God is below me, if I’m standing in a Devil’s Trap right now-” The customer warned, his expression growing angrier by the minute.
“Wait, a Devil’s Trap? Like the one on my hand?” Dipper asked. The costumer’s mouth dropped open.
“You’ve got a fucking Devil’s Trap on your hand?” The stranger shouted. Dipper jumped back, simply dragging the costumer with him. He sneered. “Kid, why the hell do you have a Devil’s Trap on your hand?”
“It’s a tattoo,” Dipper started, trying to process everything that was occurring. “But why does that matter?”
“Because I’m a fucking demon!” The customer shot back, his glassy eyes narrowing into slits. Dipper stood in silence.
“Holy shit.” Dipper finally muttered, his chest suddenly feeling too tight for his ribs.
“I can guarantee there’s nothing holy about me.” The demon snarled. Dipper had never encountered a demon before, only read about them in the journals. But he knew they were dangerous. Really, really dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me you had goddamn Devil’s Trap tattoo?” Dipper raised his eyebrows, his anger fleeting into irritation.
“I dunno, why didn’t you tell me you were a demon?” Dipper asked, his voice thick with frustration. The demon smirked.
“Touché.” He muttered. There was an awkward silence, filled only by the buzzing of cicadas outside the Shack’s front door. Finally, the demon let out a small sigh. “Listen, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
"That seems unlikely.” Dipper replied. The demon scoffed.
“Do you even know how a Devil’s Trap works?” The demon questioned. “My powers are jammed, if I’m lucky the most I’d be able to do are some parlor tricks.” He muttered. “And what else am I supposed to do? Punch you?” Dipper tensed up. That seemed like a realistic scenario. Sensing his discomfort, the demon took a step forward and lifted his free hand. It hovered just about Dipper’s right arm. “Any other freaky tattoos I should know about?” Dipper shook his head, before realizing his mistake and mumbling a hurried “No”. Nodding, the demon began to run his hand up Dipper’s arm. It crossed his shoulder, and patted up his neck. Dipper stood still, completely frozen in place. The demon’s hand jabbed at his cheek once before landing to rest of his head. He let out a laugh.
“Yeah, something tells me physical violence isn’t gonna work on a giant like you.” The demon said, letting his hand fall back again to his side. So, Dipper wasn’t in any immediate danger, which was a small comfort. But he still wasn’t keen on spending a moment more with the demon then he had to.
“C’mon, I know someone who might be able to help.” Dipper muttered, turning around and moving to walk out of the Shack. The demon, no choice but to follow, let out an indignant sound.
“Stop walking so fast, you’re gonna make me trip!” The demon cried, following Dipper out the Shack’s door, barely avoiding a collision.
“Good.” Dipper said, and continued on his way.