Chapter Text
There was an agony found in being thrown through a rift in space and time that was entirely unique to itself. There was no focus to be found, sometimes you could see yourself, but on the other side of a mirror with spiders crawling over your tongue and eyes. Sometimes, you could feel a limb, but you could also feel whatever it was that was burning it. Sometimes, there was nothing, but the feeling of television static and a scream from God in your ears.
When Mabel clattered to the rough, black earth on the other side of the Portal, she was dead. Her small, young body was fighting with the strain that was travelling through dimensions, and when her soul and conscience caught up with her, it was a messy awakening. She jolted up, gasping and coughing. She flipped over and immediately vomited black goop that looked like bits of the starry sky. Bright lights flashed behind her eyes and she stumbled to her feet with a confused cry, trying to make sense of the nerve spasms all over her body. She fell back, and something caught her, evoking another frightened shriek. She was wrapped up, and she could feel the universe cradling her again, vomiting nightmares into her mind.
-
When she awoke, a gently swinging lantern greeted her, soft and green. She was immediately aware of the pain all over her body, mostly soreness and small patches of burning. Groaning, still dazed and confused, a dark figure moved over her, blocking out the light of the lantern. She squinted, feeling how they didn’t close or move in sync anymore. As her eyes came into focus, she registered the man above her as Grunkle Stan. Or, well, mostly him. His hair was longer, and he looked rugged and beat up- also his glasses glinted at her in an uneasy way.
“Don’t move much, you’re still recovering from trans-dimensional travel sickness.” His voice was more gravelly; or the effects of the Portal were still screwing up her perception of everything. He lifted her head and put something to her lips, which registered as water, and she gratefully drank. She was dying of thirst, she realized, and it was almost like the water evaporated in her mouth- she must have a fever of some sort. As Stan moved away from her, she forced her head to turn and watch him. They were in some kind of small hut, wooden walls and tin roof were rattling slightly from a wind outside. Stan sat next to a small fire that had a pot over it, rumbling with boiling water inside. Various sacks and cases lined the walls, papers and maps pinned to the rotting wood, and either they were in unknown languages, or she couldn’t read anymore.
“Stan…” She murmured weakly, her voice surprisingly smooth, just soft and weary. Stan jumped, looking to her with wide, suspicious eyes.
“You… You know my name?” He stuttered softly, adjusting his glasses. Mabel made a sound of confirmation, unable to actually say much more. He scooted back over to her, astounded.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?” He pushed, fumbling around in a pack near him and pulling out a crudely made book. He flipped it open and began to scribble in it and looked back to her expectantly.
But she had already blacked out.
-
By the time her eyes cracked open again, Stan was gone. The fire was smoldering and the lantern above her was off. She was in the darkness again, and as she sat up, she felt dread and fear overtake her. She was no longer in pain and she crawled over to the fire from the small mat and blanket she had been in, pulling loose papers from the walls and feeding the dimming fire. While light filtered through cracks in the wall, she could not bear the darkness any longer. She fed it until she could put wood pieces that were stacked next to it in. She pulled the blanket from where she’d been sleeping and wrapped it around her, scooting close to the now crackling fire. She felt empty and disoriented, the swirls of fire in front of her like a painful memory of the Portal. Her chest hurt, and she told herself it was because of the stress.
Stan came back hour later, to Mabel still in a small ball next to the fire, staring into it with saucer eyes. He came through a small opening in a corner of the hut, maybe a yard tall at most, hesitating when he registered the girl next to the fire.
“Glad to see you awake.” His voice was still like a dirt road.
“Am I awake?” She replied unevenly, tightening her grip on the blanket.
“I know dimensional travel is always tough the first time, but you’re so young. I’m relieved you didn’t die from shock.” He admitted, pushing a wood slat over the opening as he sat on the other side of the fire.
“Yeah, thank goodness.” She replied emptily. He watched her carefully, measuring. Probably deciding if she was crazy or not.
“You know my name.” He stated.
“Yeah, you’re just… Probably some alternate universe version of Stanford that doesn’t know me, or something…” She explained, finally looking him in the eyes. His eyes widened in surprise.
“You… Know me in your universe?”
“You’re my great uncle.”
He was quiet, astounded. What were the chances?
“Amazing… This universe what is it-”
“I did this… Oh my god, I DID this… Dipper, all alone, on the other side…” She muttered, horrified. Tears burned down her face and she let out a sob, pulling the blanket over her head. “I should have listened to him…” She cried. Stan stared at her uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. He got up and went to her, sitting next to her and putting an arm around her.
“Don’t cry, it’s going to be alright…” He soothed, gently caressing her head beneath the blanket.
“Mabel’s not here right now… She’s in blanket town…” She replied weakly, and he let out a soft laugh.
“Mabel is it? C’mon, it’ll be alright, I promise. I’m here with you.”
She peeked out her head, face puffy and red, looking miserable. She threw herself onto him, bursting into an ugly cry, catching the old man off guard. He hesitated, but held her gently anyways while she cried. When she calmed herself, he pulled a water canteen from a sack by the wall and handed it to her. As she sipped from the water, Stan busied himself with making food, pulling supplies from various boxes and crates along the walls. By the time he was letting his stew simmer, Mabel had finished off the canteen.
“So… Is this some… Weird apocalypse universe or…”
“Depends, where you came from. What year was it in your universe?” Stan was relieved that she was willing to speak now.
“2012. July the… Eighth? I think…” She sighed. Stan was surprised, raising his brows.
“Really? So long ago… Right now it’s the year 207̃012.”
Mabel stared at him.
“What? Is that even a number?”
“Yes- look, I didn’t decide how they numbered stuff, don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind.” Stan scowled. She eyed him still.
He was very much different from the Stan at home. His chin was more defined and his face all together was more slender. She assumed the different environment made him leaner.
“So, what’s your name again?” Stan diverted the topic.
“Uh, Mabel…” She answered awkwardly- it was weird to have to introduce herself to him. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He looked away, and acted like he was getting bowls and utensils for the stew, and she let him lie.
“How did you get here? How did you find yourself through a portal?”
“You made it.” He almost dropped the bowls in his hand, and gaped at her. “Well, my version of you did. You- uh… He built this huge Portal device under his house. He kept it from me and my brother all summer, and… I trusted him. Instead of shutting it off, I let it finish it’s stupid countdown and…”
“You got sucked in.” He finished softly, still looking astounded. Mabel sighed and nodded, taking the bowl he’d handed her that was now full of stew.
“I feel… So awful. I should have listened to my brother. I didn’t trust him, and now… I’m here, away from him. Away from home.” She said sadly, sticking the spoon in her mouth as she stared into the fire. It crackled and sputtered, reminding her of the fireworks she had set off only days ago. Was it days? She wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious.
“Your brother, he knew about this… Portal as well?”
“Yeah. He tried to shut it down, but the gravity got all wonky and I was the closest to the shut-off button. I should’ve pressed that stupid thing…” She said bitterly, stirring her food. She hadn’t bothered to look up at Stan again, but if she had, she’d have seen the look of pain and frustration there. He said nothing else, and didn’t press any more questions. That seemed to be all he needed to know.
-
It took a few days, but when Mabel was well enough to get up and walk around, Stan showed her the outside world. A desolate landscape surrounded Stan’s hideout, littered with mechanical debris and ruins, a glowing city in the distance. The wind was cold and tasted bitter, like gasoline, and she eventually asked for something to act as a muffler, which ended up being an old, short scarf.
“Grunkle Stan, these boots are enormous.” She huffed in exasperation after cinching up the laces to some old boots Stan had given her.
“Sorry, we can stuff them with old socks or something, but your other shoes would have done you no good out here.” Stan apologized, not looking up at her from his journal. She stood up, the loose space in her boot seriously uncomfortable. Maybe she would grow into them.
“Okay… Speaking of socks, you said I couldn’t wear this stuff either?” She asked sadly, gesturing to her skirt and sweater.
“No, it’s not conventional. We need to find you actual pants and something easier to move in.” He was so decided, it made Mabel uneasy. She sunk her chin into her muffler and sighed quietly.
“Can I at least keep the sweater?”
He looked back at her finally, blinking at her curiously behind his thick glasses. She seemed sad and her eyes glinted with mild frustration.
“Yes… But you have to carry it.”
And that was fine by her.
-
“Mabel, please sit still, I’m not cutting off your arm.” Stan growled for the millionth time, trying to keep a wiggling Mabel from escaping him.
“But I don’t WANT you to cut my hair! Please, I can just keep it up in a ponytail!” She cried in frustration. However, her tears fell on deaf ears. Most of it had been singed off earlier today over a vat of burning oil, half of it black and crinkled up.
“Mabel, your hair is burnt, besides, it’s dangerous to have long hair, you can’t just shuck it off like a coat if it catches fire again!” He gripped a handful of her dark brown locks in his hand and drove his knife through it. Mabel stopped struggling but still let hot, angry tears ooze down her cheeks. She glanced into Stan’s visor that was sitting atop of a crate, her reflection staring back at her with blotchy cheeks and eyes. She almost thought it was Dipper.
-
Aim and then shoot, aim and then shoot, aim and then shoot… Mabel struggled to keep the gun steady, focusing her sight down the small ridge at the window of a broken car. It was easy, Stan had told her, just practice while I go out. However, her hand shook violently, and the wind bit through her scarf. She sighed and lowered the weapon, putting on it’s safety, subconsciously rubbing her short, choppy hair.
“This is dumb.” She mumbled, tossing the gun on the ground. She stared at it before groaning and picking it up again and rubbing off the dirt, sliding it into the holster on her hip. She needed to do some art, she hadn’t had any time to in the last few weeks since Stan and her had been busy getting her girl stuff. She’d finally had her period while here, and she really had hoped that the whole ‘jumping across space time’ would screw up her body enough to lessen her struggles, but that was too much to ask. She strolled over to the pile of junk the broken car she’d been using for target practice was partially buried in, and started to pick through it.
Colored bottles were her target right now. She’d already found a mostly intact pink one the other day, and Stan had a bunch of blue ones from stealing water from the city. Her hand brushed over something smooth in the rubble and she pulled it out, cursing as a sharp edge bit her on the way out. A green, broken bottle was impaled into her palm and she frowned, easing it out of the wound. She rolled it gently into the open space to pick up later and ripped off a portion of a scrap rag also hooked to her hip, wrapping her hand loosely. She returning to scavenging and didn’t stop until she had a nice pile of neat items in the center of her open shooting range.
“Let’s see… Four bottles, green, whether this is orange or red I have no idea, uh… Purple-ish, and brown.” She mumbled, sitting on the ground and overturning her prizes. She’d also found a very roughed up, but intact pink notebook. Many of the pages were dirty or scribbled on so she only had ten or fifteen pages, but it was enough. An assortment of unused bullets she’d grabbed for Stan’s sake, more rags that she could wash, and buttons. She heard the familiar clatter of junk in the direction of the hut, and carefully scooped up her prizes into her sack, making her way back home quickly.
-
Her gaze flickered over to the calendar resting against the thin walls. Mabel sighed and slumped over onto the ground, rubbing her eyes. She would not cry over this. There was no way she was going to get so emotional over this stupid date. It was just another day of another year. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.
Tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday.
She’d already had three of her birthdays on this side of the portal, and had celebrated -if you could even call it that- them with only Grunkle Stan. Mabel was almost used to it by now. There wasn’t any cake or balloons or piles of gifts stacked up on the living room floor, though Stan never failed to find her one. She missed the parties she would always have with Dipper. They were twins, they always did their parties together.
Sniffling, Mabel mashed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“You’re not gonna cry over this,” she muttered as she leaned back against the old cot she slept on. “Stop it.”
The door creaked open, and Mabel shifted, hoping Stan wouldn’t notice that she was on the verge of tears.
“I’m back,” he announced before dumping a burlap sack filled with miscellaneous weapons and tools onto a workbench opposite of Mabel.
“Hey,” she croaked, glancing up at him. The brunette pulled her knees close, feeling the fabric of her tattered leggings against her fingertips.
Almost right away, Stan could tell something was bothering Mabel. He paused before easing himself onto the floor next to her with a grunt. They sat on the ground in silence for a few moments, before he finally mumbled,
“You mind telling me what’s up?” Stan looked over at his great niece, who sighed and shrugged.
“I’m okay,” she murmured.
“Mabel, I’m not an idiot,” Stan scoffed. “I’ve known you for what, three, four years now? I can tell when something’s bothering you.” The old man furrowed his brow, thinking. “Is it about tomorrow?”
She didn’t think Ford remembered her birthday. He didn’t seem to ever really pay attention to the date. Keeping up with the calendar was Mabel’s task, and every time an important holiday arrived, she would have to remind him. Mabel’s eyes widened, but she nodded slightly.
“I guess so, yeah,” she admitted as Stan adjusted his cracked glasses. Mabel ran a hand through her choppy locks, looking away. He patted her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Stan knew how rough birthdays were for his niece.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice rough. Mabel shrugged it off, not wanting to really discuss the matter, or even think about it.
Stan crossed his arms, chewing his lip in thought. “Hey, I know what will cheer you up-” he turned to face the girl better. She raised a brow, wondering what could possibly make her feel better.
“Well... “ He grinned. “I was thinking of letting you get your first tattoo. I-I mean, if you wanted that, of course.” Stan leaned back a bit, waiting for an answer.
“A tattoo?” Mabel repeated, cracking a smile. She sat up better. The girl recalled the conversation she’d had with her uncle about getting the markings a few years back where he had told her ‘eventually’, but it would have to be when she was older.
“Sure, why not?” Stan smiled at her reaction. He scooted over towards the workbench and tugged a drawer open. “16 is a pretty important age, y’know,” the man joked.
Mabel moved from the floor to her cot, thinking over what she would get tattooed and where she would even put it. Right away, a thought struck her, and she knew it was the perfect idea.
“The big dipper. I want it-” she paused for a moment, before poking her forehead. “Right here.” Mabel remembered reading that your face was one of the worst spots to get a tattoo. “Can you do that?”
Stan looked over his shoulder at her and his eyes widened. “Uh… You… Want it on your forehead?” He sat next to her on the cot, motioning for her to face him, despite his obvious hesitance to her suggestion.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mabel answered, crossing her legs. She closed her eyes as Stan pushed back what little hair she had, away from her forehead. Her stomach twisted with nervousness and excitement. A tattoo was a big deal, and she was slightly worried about regretting it. It wasn’t like there was laser surgery available to them that she could get to remove the mark.
Why would I regret this? Mabel thought. It’s the big dipper. It’s Dipper. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, biting back a cry while Stan carefully worked on the design. Mabel gripped the blankets, balling them up in her fists- it hurt a whole fucking lot. It didn’t take long, but it hurt like all hell and it required all of her willpower to not knock the machine out of Stan’s hands.
“I’m done,” Stan announced, scooting back. Mabel’s eyes shot open and she scrambled over to the half-cracked mirror propped up against the wooden wall. She crouched in front of it, studying herself.
She looked just like her brother. Messy brown hair, rosy cheeks, and now, the same mark on their foreheads, shaped like the constellation. She swallowed the lump in her throat and reached out to touch the mirrors rusted framework, her mouth hesitantly murmuring two words before speaking to Ford.
“Thanks.”
-
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Honey.”
Mabel snickered at her uncle, adjusting the holster on her hip, carefully, but swiftly hopping down from their perch on the ruins of a skyscraper. She quickly made her way down, sliding through the looser rubble with ringing laughter, her expert parkour skills allowing her to elegantly prance down faster than her uncle.
“Mabel- PLEASE slow yourself, the stuff isn’t going anywhere.” Ford called angrily from above, but Mabel’s feet hit the sooty earth, and she broke into an excited sprint, pack bouncing on her back.
“I can’t believe it! Think any of the machinery works?” She asked, skidding to a stop in front of a large, dilapidated sign that read ‘FUNLAND’. Ford made it down to her a moment later, huffing slightly as he adjusted his pack.
“Highly unlikely. This place has been bombed nearly to bits.” He reasoned, but didn’t stop Mabel from going inside. It’d been a few weeks since she’d acted this excited about something, and it soothed his own solemn heart.
“Imagine all the lights… All the neon and stuffed animals.” She sighed longingly, brushing her fingers on the rotten wood on a vendor cart. “You know, way back, I won a pig from a fair… His name was…” She paused, narrowing her eyes at a ripped awning that fluttered in the bitter breeze. Stan lazily stopped beside her, had been following her slowly. He looked to her expectantly and her face scrunched up agitatedly before she sighed with panicked relief.
“W-waddles… I’d almost forgot… Um… But anyways, that day was really fun.” She laughed awkwardly, continuing to explore and peer into destroyed prize stands. “Dipper and I had been arguing over this time-travel thing- he wanted to impress some… Girl, and I wanted Waddles, but neither timeline could work at the same time.” Mabel recounted, Ford chuckling.
“Ain’t that just the way, huh?”
“Yeah but-” She spun to Ford with a fond look, “- Dipper gave his chance with the girl up so I could have Waddles.”
“What the hell?”
Mabel was taken aback, and laughed awkwardly.
“Jeez, Grunkle Stan, Dipper could be a jerk, but it can’t be that surprising that he would-”
“No, great gods, Mabel, look.” He grabbed her and spun her, pointing in the distance, farther into the playland wreckage. The image of the broken ferris wheel in the distance seemed to warp and spark, a soft rumble beginning to echo in the empty space.
“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel breathed worriedly, Stan grabbing her hand and beginning to drag her towards it. He said nothing, Mabel repeating his name in increasing panic, stumbling over debris as Stan weaved his way between wreckage, sometimes doublebacking because they hit a dead end.
When they reached the space before the wheel, it exploded, the air burning with electricity and a humming noise that made Mabel’s ears ring. The aftershock knocked Stan and Mabel to the ground, the older man throwing himself onto her to protect her from flying debris. Once he could, he got up and stared at the wheel with breathless awe, Mabel sitting up after, rubbing her head as she had gotten her head hit pretty hard when thrown.
But when she opened her eyes and she saw the swirling blue vortex before her, her heart skipped a beat.
“He opened it again…” Stan hissed quietly. “Why did he open it AGAIN?” He staggered to his feet, running towards the Portal. Mabel stumbled after, feeling a panic attack coming on as her chest tightened.
“GREAT UNCLE FORD THAT’S THE-” She yelled over the noise of a hole in the universe.
“MABEL, COME ON, WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME!” Ford yelled back, instantly throwing himself into the blue vortex.
She hesitated, skidding to a stop, but the Portal pulled her the rest of the way in. She flashbacked to the first time, the feeling of disembodiment, and the fear. She screamed, trying to turn and run, but the gravity pulled her in and she was absorbed by the Portal.
--
There was a pain in waiting, one that makes your chest twist and burn like a sun flare. Waiting behind a window of bullet-proof glass, strapped into a control panel, and propping himself to see through to the wrecked Portal room, Dipper Pines felt sun flares in his chest.
The swirling, soft blue revealed nothing, and in a panic, he unbuckled himself, leaving Grunkle Stan, who was still recovering from the return of gravity, and ran into the Portal room, hair slipping out of his ponytail in his panicked state. He froze before the Portal, a few yards, as a dark figure appeared and his eyes widened.
However, and older man jumped through, tumbling to the ground with a grunt. Dipper groaned in mild agitation and extreme fear. Would she be there? Would she come through?
And then another dark figure materialized, and for a moment, the short-haired boy that fell through nearly made him burst into tears of agony and anger. But then the boy grunted as he hit the ground, and Dipper realized the voice was too familiar.
Mabel raised her head, pushing herself off the ground with an ashy cough, and looking around with starry, glazed eyes. They landed on Dipper, focusing slowly, and Dipper in turn fell to his knees. She stared confusedly as Dipper crawled towards her and threw himself onto her, bursting into sobs.
Six years, seven months, eighteen days, and fifty-six minutes. The timer he’d been holding in his head for so long, stopped, and evaporated.