Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the middle of a forest much like the one they had just left, Dipper and Mabel zapped into existence.

They immediately started arguing.

"We can't do this!" said Dipper. "We'll get in so much trouble, and the Time Police will send us to Time Jail, and we WON'T HAVE SOOS THIS TIME!"

"Okay, okay, but come on. It took, like, a dozen loops through the county fair before they sent a dude to stop us, right?" Mabel had the time tape in her hand and was swinging it about in an extremely irresponsible way. "And he wasn't even very good at his job! He was definitely, like, entry level agent."

"So we got lucky! You saw how grimdark it was in Time Baby land! If the next time we get captured for real, it's going to be over! " As he said this, he was backing up and flailing his arms about. They landed on something that should have been a bush.

It was not a bush.

"Come oooon, Dipper. I just want to look around! We won't talk to anybody or get all paradox-y! Don't you want to see what Young Man McGucket looks like? Or Baby Dan? Or we can even stay in the woods and see how all the trees and monsters and stuff grew!"

Dipper was momentarily distracted, though. He had just found a sheet of surprisingly realistic camo netting, and he wasn't going to not look under it, after all. They were near the shack; he wondered if the Author had put it here, and if it held some clue about the journal's origins. He grabbed the edge and threw it back.

They both gasped.

It was a cage. It was sturdy, but not huge - no bigger than you would get for a fairly large dog. Certainly not big enough for what was actually inside it: a lean, disheveled, full-grown man lying unconscious, looking damp and cold. He was wearing business-y clothes, a collared shirt and black tie. He had a white coat on like a lab coat. He had glasses, half knocked off and bent against the hard ground.

For a moment, they were both speechless.

Mabel grabbed the door and did her best to force it open.

Dipper grabbed Mabel's arm. "But the Time Police-"

"Dipper! There's a guy in a cage! "

The man stirred. He looked dazed.

Dipper's anxiety was bad, but not leave-a-guy-in-a-cage-in-the-woods-to-die bad. He considered for a second, and came to the same conclusion Mabel had the instant he'd lifted the netting: it was probably better to go to Time Jail than to be that much of a jerk.

Dipper grabbed a big stick. "We can probably lever it open, but I don't think this'll fit through the bars."

Mabel pulled out her grappling hook. They wrapped the hook and stick together firmly. Then, the two of them put weight.

The man inside began to wake up. "Wha-" when he saw the two of them he slammed back a full four inches or so, as much space as he had available to him. "What in tarnation??" His voice was raw and cracked, like Grunkle Stan's was, even though he probably hadn't been smoking that long unless he'd started when he was a baby.

"Don't worry, we're here to get you out," said Dipper.

Mabel hissed a "Yesssss," as they managed to do just that. The door swung open and she reached inside to help pull him out.

"Kids??" His shock was quickly pushed away. "Look, you done me a good turn, but you need to get out of here and not be seen."

"Waaay ahead of you," said Dipper, at the same time Mabel said: "Is whoever put you in here still around? Are we in danger?"

"Yes, but it's a mite more complicated than that. Look, your parents around? Can you get to them safe?"

"Definitely," said Mabel.

"Uh, yeah, definitely," said Dipper, sweating and pulling at his coller.

"But who are you? Why were you in a cage?" Mabel asked.

"Look, I don't know that I have time to explain," the man said. "My name's Fiddleford, I'm a researcher out in these here woods. But it is dangerous, you need to get to town and not come this way again."

Mabel squished her cheeks. "Spooky woods researcher~"

"I'm Dipper, and this is Mabel. Look, if weird guys in jumpsuits come by-"

"If what?"

They heard a door open, presumably the Shack's door.

Fiddleford's eyes went wide. "Get. Now. Do not be seen near here, even if he seems friendly. Git!"

He pushed them away. Opting to believe in the weird cage guy's sense of danger, Dipper and Mabel retreated into the woods.

"McGucket!" shouted frantic, worried voice. "Are you out here?"

At once, Dipper and Mabel froze. They had been about to engage the time tape.

Fiddleford was straightening out his disheveled clothes. "I'm here, Pines! Gimme a sec!"

Mabel and Dipper looked at each other. They weren't psychic twins, but they sure were able read each others minds in that instant.

"Holy Moses, man, you gave me a fright. What are you doing out here?"

Fiddleford jogged out of the woods. Mabel and Dipper hid in a bush to watch.

And there, clear as day stepping out to meet him, was a younger, fitter Grunkle Stan.

"Sorry to worry you. I went out last night and got a mite lost."

They went into the Shack.

"So, we're risking time jail for this, right?" said Mabel.

"Oooh yeah," said Dipper.

Chapter Text

"Okay. So. Theories."

Mabel spread out placemats and crayons. They were really hoping nobody would look too hard at the print dates on their money, but had a handful of extremely unconvincing lies prepared just in case.

"One:" said Dipper, pointing to Mabel's first doodle: "Young Man McGucket and Stan Pines got in a freak lab accident and all of their features were swapped."

Mabel nodded. "Stan Pines gets the grunkular voice, and Science McGucket gets the crazy cookiness. I think it holds water." The illustration was of Stan's and Fiddleford's faces, screaming, emerging from one body.

"Two:" said Dipper: "Evil twins." This illustration was of two Stans.

"Which also holds water because Fiddleford told us to stay away, even if he 'seeeems' friendly! Almost like he's not."

"But, like, we would know if we had another grunkle."

"Unless there was a FREAK LAB ACCIDENT!"

"Which leads us to Three:"

Three was big, explody letters that said "FREAK LAB ACCIDENT."

"You know," said Mabel, looking morose, "I feel like lab accident is carrying a lot of weight here. Considering the shack doesn't even have a lab."

"But Fiddleford said he was a scientist, right? So maybe it does right now. And Grunkle Stan got rid of it when Fiddleford left and became crazy or whatever."

The bell on the diner door sounded, but it was drowned out by a loud, excited bass voice:

"We're so close, McGucket! That breakthrough has saved us potential years of research and development."

There were Stan and Fiddleford, chattering away. Stan was clearly excited, speaking with his whole body. His trench coat hung over office clothes that were stiff and scuffed from hard physical labor.

Fiddleford's response was perfectly clear, no hint of the roughness from earlier that day. "It ain't that, you know it ain't that... I just, you know." Fiddleford caught sight of the twins past Stan's shoulder. He went pale. His eyes went wide.

He tried to hide his sudden pause with a nervous laugh, high and stringy. It worked. Stan scoffed. Fiddleford turned away.
 
Stan dropped down in a booth, crossing his legs and spreading on arm over the whole back of the booth. It was a casual, arrogant gesture that reminded them of their Grunkle in the future, producing a weird sense of de-ja-vu with the assets swapped around. He was grinning at Fiddleford. 

"No, actually," he said, While Fiddleford delicately folded in across from him. "I don't know. Enlighten me! Tell me in your own words, McGucket, exactly what you think is wrong."

 Fiddleford's foot began to bounce as soon as he was seated. 

"Well, ah, i-it's hard to put into words, exactly..."

"I'll be patient. You are one of the most literate and articulate men I have ever met. Tell me your theories! I have every confidence that if they stand up to logic," Stan tapped his head with one finger, "I'll be duly impressed!"

Dipper grabbed on of the placemats to cover up their own theories, clearly illustrated with the characteristic Pines nose. Mabel took a crayon and wrote a sentence, then twisted it around for Dipper to read. It said: 

Is he scamming him?

That was Grunkle Stan's scamming voice.

Fiddleford began slapping his already bouncing knee. His mouth was held carefully in a straight line, but his eyes were avoiding Stan, staring at the table in front of him, and he seemed to be chewing his lip. He looked just a tiny bit like Old Man McGucket.

"W-well I mean, you been up real late recently, a-and ain't acting like yourself... you been churning out new ideas without due process to discover them, and some of these equations you give me, well, even I gotta add like four steps to figure out how in blazes you got to where you are..."

"Data points are not theories, McGucket," then Thank you to the waitress as she brought him coffee. 

Dipper was listening hard, but his head was spinning. That did not sound like something Stan would say.

Mabel had a better view on him. Her eyes went narrow, then wide when he picked up the coffee cup.

"W-well. I don't, ah, I don't th-think. That it's, um. Strictly you coming up with these ideas."

Stan laughed, loud and rolling and friendly. "Your big accusation is that I, what, have some kind of muse?" 

Dipper jumped. His arm instinctively went to his backpack and the journal, where talk of a muse was all over the pages. He was stopped by Mabel gripping his arm.

Her eyes were wide. Her cheeks were puffed up like when she was trying to keep from yelling. She was clutching a crayon so hard it almost broke. She was vibrating.

She grabbed the placemat and scrawled another message:

"STAY COOL."

Dipper crinkled his eyebrows together in confusion. 

"Look, Doctor Pines," said Fiddleford, sounding chastened and small, "You know how things are around here, there's psychic do-whats and mind-controlling jiggidies all over... I just, I just sometimes get the feeling someone else wants this portal built more than you "

"You're right that there are 'do-whats' and 'jiggidies' all over the place," said ""Doctor"" Stan. "And may I remind you who the world's foremost authority on those do-whats and jiggidies is?"

"I guess I know how groundbreaking research went for the Northwest Passage folk," Fiddleford said. His hand had migrated to the table, as was made obvious by the slap slap slapping against its hard surface.

"You're just anxious, Fiddleford. Trust me. And trust the mission." The table-slapping paused as Stan gave Fiddleford's hand a comforting squeeze. Then he stood up and said "excuse me," and headed to the bathroom.

Dipper saw it too, as he walked by. He had to squeeze his hands over his mouth to keep from hyperventilating. 

Doctor Pines had one hand in his trench coat pocket and was playing with a pen with the other. Dipper might have missed it, if he had been less obsessed all summer long, but there was an over-wide hand ending in a thumb and five other fingers.

Dipper grabbed the paper worm from his straw and started desperately twisting it into shapes to keep from screaming.

Fiddleford was glancing over at them nervously. Mabel gave a cautious little wave. Dipper did too, although he was dripping sweat and struggled to focus on their cage-man ally.

Fiddleford lifted his hand to point two times in the air, gesturing to the window behind them. Dipper turned, and almost fainted.

"Time cops," he hissed to Mabel. A person in a pale jumpsuit was looking around for something - probably them.

They both dropped down to lie down on the booth. After a few minutes, Fiddleford gave them a discreet thumbs up and they sat back up. He flagged down a waitress.

The waitress smiled and came over to them next. "You kids get whatever you want, that nice gentleman's footing the bill."

They currently were sitting with nothing but a plate of French fries and a couple of sodas between them, in the hopes that their future-money would go unnoticed if it was a small order. Mabel's face lit up. She gave Fiddleford her most devious smile. She said to the waitress, loud enough for him to hear: "I'll take that as a challenge."

Fiddleford chuckled over at his own booth and smiled at them. He seemed to relax for a second. It didn't last long, though, before he went back to nervous thumping.

Dipper ended up ordering what he always did, plus a milkshake because why not. Mabel ordered what she always wished she did: a large plate of pancakes with fruit and whipped topping, a burger with sprinkles and chocolate syrup on it, a piece of cake, a piece of pie, an ice cream float with whatever their pinkest soda was, and extra pickles.

The two scientists had a tense conversation. Or rather, Fiddleford had a tense conversation; Doctor Pines prattled on excitedly about their project, and Fiddleford offered meek praise or kept his mouth shut.

When the bill came, one for the table and a second one for Fiddleford, Doctor Pines arched his eyebrows in surprise.

"What's this?"

"Oh, never you mind."

Doctor Pines leaned over and read the receipt before he could hide it. "That's a lot of cake." His eyes fell on Mabel. Mabel tried to pretend she couldn't see him.

"Okay, fine, it's those kids. They remind me of Tate, so I had an urge to treat them. This enough of a tip, ma'am? They look like they might be a handful."

The waitress winked at him. "Well you know I'd never turn down more, but they've been darling. The missus must be a lucky woman."

Doctor pines gave Fiddleford an affectionate knuckling of the head when they stood up. "You're such a family man, McGucket." The last thing he said as they left was: "Don't lose focus, though. Some things are more important than family."

The door jangled shut.

Chapter Text

"Heya, McGucket!"

Fiddleford shivered. It was past nine o'clock, and he was playing banjo on the porch because Stanford Pines hadn't complained about that sort of thing in weeks. Best Fiddleford could tell, anything Stanford Pines did or heard between the hours of eight o'clock PM and four in the morning the next day would vanish from his mind like morning dew.

"Hello," Fiddleford said. He hated to call this... persona, fugue state, whatever it was by name.

"You sure got back quick."

Fiddleford began playing harder, but unsteady-like, the strings twanged and the drum rattled. He was a clawhammer man, right thumb out and middle finger set to strike with a thick nail, but the notes kept catching wrong. His left fingers didn't hit the frets quite right for all their shaking. All day, Pines had made no sign of remembering what had happened the night before, but now the other shoe was dropping, and it was going to come down on Fiddleford's head.

"So. Did you learn your lesson?"

"Reckon I did," Fiddleford said, pushing back the urge to squeak out 'Yes, sir.'

"Yeah, no. You always say that and then you keep sticking your big nose where it doesn't belong. I wanted you out of the way."

The playing stopped being music and became mostly just noise.

It wasn't that Pines never acknowledged the awful things he did at night. He would make all kinds of cryptic comments. But that's what they were, cryptic, on account of Fiddleford not usually remembering what they were supposed to be about.

He remembered this one, though. Oh lord did he remember. And he didn't want to remember.

"So. What's stopping me from dragging your hillbilly behind back out there and this time welding the door shut?"

The banjo clattered loudly as it hit the back of Fiddleford's bench. He was shaking so hard he couldn't hold it right, so he hugged it close to his body.

"I'll stay out of your way, I swear. I- I'll take a holiday. Go into town for a few days. You can do your secret night science and none'll be the wiser, I promise."

"Mmm, not so sure about that." Pines sat on the bench beside him and put a hand on Fiddleford's shoulder. "You see, you've been enough of a pest that I want you where I can keep track of you. And you've earned a little... discipline."

Discipline meant some time cold, wet, hungry and alone in the woods just outside of earshot of the cabin. Unless it meant some time in the cryo freezer next to a monster. Or a head held under water in the kitchen sink until he was coughing too bad to argue anymore.

Wait, Fiddleford didn't want to remember that last one. He made a mental note to zap it later.

Fiddleford shook and hugged his banjo and didn't respond.

"...Huh. usually by this time, you're insisting you have no idea what I'm talking about."

Usually, by this time, I don't. "Same goes for you, when I try to talk some sense into you in the morning."

Pines went silent for a second, and it made Fiddleford's heart stop. Then his fingers began to claw too hard into Fiddleford's shoulder, and Fiddleford shook harder than ever. Then, Pines started laughing, long and hard and rolicking, and he slapped Fiddleford's back like he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.

"Aw, man, you're rich! Wow, for such a smart guy, you sure can be stupid sometimes. You know what, McGucket, you're right. I overreacted. Take the next few days off. You can make up the hours next week, when I'll need some electric work done."

Fiddleford's vision was a little dark and fuzzy from the stress. His rote etiquette muscles kicked in, though, and he said "thank you," even though that was an absolutely absurd response to being told that you got to put in unpaid overtime instead of being locked in a cage in the woods with no drinking water.

"Oh, uh, McGucket?" Pines said at the doorway. "To prevent further mishaps, I'm establishing a curfew."

Fiddleford just stared.

"Be back by eight tomorrow. It's not safe to be out later. Got it?"

Fiddleford nodded. He wasn't sure what else to do.

Nothing about this was normal or reasonable and he wanted nothing at all but to blast the memories away and pretend that it was alright. Back by eight meant no Society meetings, no comforting rituals with like-minded people who understood that living in the Falls was just untenable without a bit of technological brain modification. Then again, it seemed that by remembering sixteen hours alone in the woods, he'd saved himself from thirty-six more and the possible health complications they'd bring on. Fiddleford weighed in his mind whether there was a lesson to be learned there, but decided there was no lesson when you were stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and your boss was steadily going insane. The only thing that scared him more than staying, though, was quitting, and besides, the daytime hours when Stanford was himself weren't so bad.

Stanford was a brilliant mind. He needed Fiddleford's help. The rest wasn't so bad.

Fiddleford leaned his head back and stared at the stars just visible between the porch roof and the high treeline. He wondered if he should try to sleep.

Probably no use. Not a lot of sleeping happened in this house.

He twanged his banjo until his fingers stopped shaking. Pines was in the living room, working out some problem in a language that was neither mathematical nor in any script Fiddleford had seen in Earth libraries. He knew from last time that it was magic or a curse of some kind, but he averted his eyes and began to head to the kitchen to make tea.

"Go to bed," Pines said.

"Thought I'd get some work in on my personal project," Fiddleford said. His computer was on the kitchen table.

"I don't care. Go to bed."

Fiddleford wanted to argue, because he was a grown man, not a child, and Pines couldn't treat him this way.

If it was ten AM instead of PM, he would have.

Instead, he grabbed the computer, went upstairs to his room, and closed the door.

About an hour later, someone came upstairs and locked it.

It was a darned nuisance, because he was low on battery and meant to go grab an extra cable in a second, but it was more of a nuisance because failing that he was planning on going to sleep, and it's hard to sleep with the door locked.

So, he did the most reasonable thing: he pulled out his memory gun, typed in "THE DOOR IS LOCKED," and fired.

Then he went to sleep.

Chapter Text

"WHAT was THAT!!!"

Dipper was pacing back and forth, clutching his head and flailing. They were camping out in an awesome cave that they were pretty sure only they knew about, and which they'd always wanted to go camp in anyway.

Mabel was flipping through the Journal, particularly the parts about the Author's assistant "F" and Bill Cipher.

"So, it looks like the Author guy was kind of a jerk to his assistant," Mabel said, pinching her eyebrows. "Maybe Bill was making him?"

"The Author Guy?? Mabel, that was some kind of Stan doppleganger but with six fingers!! Which one's real?? Did he become Stan? Did Stan replace him? WHY IS THE AUTHOR STANFORD PINES???"

"Dipper, I'm trying to read," snapped Mabel. Reading was a significantly slower and more concentration-requiring project for her than Dipper, and usually she did it somewhere cozy and quiet.

"How are you not freaking out about this??"

"I am freaking out! But we're here to solve a mystery, Dipper! We're Mystery Twins!"

Dipper clutched his chest and did some deep breathing. "Right. Mystery Twins. L-like a TV show or something."

"Yep! It's all just a cool adventure! And that's why I'm not freaking out!" Mabel gave an enlightened, guru-like smile. "Even though a mutant scientist doppleganger of our sleazy uncle is living with a young version of McGucket who we found unconscious in a cage in the woods outside the old Mystery Shack."

"This. This is insane. This is actually insane."

"But Dipper, whatever this is actually happened. It has to make sense eventually."

Dipper sat down and clutched his head. "How can this possibly make sense."

He stared at the ground and thought. Mabel kept reading.

She reached the Betrayal page and gasped out loud.

"Oh! Poor Doctor Pines!"

"Yeah, he was in a really bad spot."

"He must have been such a wreck. I mean, he built the portal! He probably felt dumb for not figuring it all out earlier."

"Well, he had Bill Cipher in his head. And Fiddleford's the engineer, not him, right? They're partners, so the Author probably doesn't know everything."

"See, that's the big thing I'm trying to figure out," Mabel said. "You heard him in there. Fiddleford asked him if he was getting his ideas from somewhere and he lied to his face! He laughed at him in the diner, but it says right here that he was right! I think the big mystery is why is Doctor Pines such a jerk."

"Well, he was clearly going through a lot of stress at the time," said Dipper.

"That's no excuse. Maybe Fiddleford would have helped him!" She flipped to the page that took place in a diner. She covered it with her hands; stories about people being mean always made her stomach twisty. "He tried to help him!"

"Yeah." Dipper laid down on the dirt. It was warm enough that they didn't need blankets, but he really wished he had a pillow. "But he really thought he was onto something. And you heard him in there, he still does. He doesn't know it's all going to go wrong."

"And maybe spending lots of time with a creepy triangle guy in his head made him forget how to treat real people."

Dipper stared out into the woods, dark and familiar, with all of the little changes that thirty years had put in. He thought about how much weirder this was than anything he thought was possible.

"Mabel, I have to know what's going on," he said.

"Don't worry. It's probably something stupid, like Doctor Pines ran away because things got all spooky and Grunkle Stan just looked like him so he stole the house."

"Does that mean Grunkle Stan isn't really our Grunkle? Or does it mean that Doctor Pines is just a random guy with the same name as us?"

Mabel kept reading for a while. Then she sat up and began scuffing her fingers in the sand, face pinched.

"What's Up?" Dipper asked, recognizing her Thinking Face.

"Wanna to into town tomorrow and see if we can find Fiddleford?"

"He'll probably be in the Shack."

"Yeah, but I don't know if we should go back to the Shack. We still don't know if Doctor Pines is really a Pines, or really a Doctor, or evil."

"Well. Okay. We've probably caused enough paradoxes already that it can't hurt. And if we're staying here long term we're gonna need some supplies anyway."

They knew, in theory, that with the time tape they could go forward, get some dinner, hug Grunkle Stan, and come back. But in practice, neither of them knew what that would cause.

And it wasn't like they'd have another chance to learn the truth.

Chapter Text

It so happened that Fiddleford was in town, out as soon as he could get himself dressed once dawn broke. In fact, he was in town looking for a pair of weird kids that seemed like they might be in a bit of trouble, and who he couldn't stand to leave on their own.

Stanford Pines did not have friends in town. Most people in town didn't know who Stanford Pines was. Fiddleford H. McGucket, on the other hand, was one of the most gregarious, sociable, well-liked guys in Gravity Falls. As soon as he parked on a side street and got to walking, felt the sun on his face and saw smiling faces around him, it was like the stress if the past few days just melted off of him.

Fiddleford liked Gravity Falls. And it liked him.

"Fiddleford! I haven't seen you in the light of day in ages!"

Fiddleford spun. There was Suzan, shopping bag in the crook of her arm. He grinned and went over to shake her hand.

"I got the day off! How've you been? How's the family?"

"Oh, my little nibblings are getting into so much trouble," Suzan giggled. "Hey, will we see you tonight?"

Fiddleford's heart fluttered, but he smiled to hide it. "I'm afraid I'll be out for the next few days. Golly, that sure leaves you all in a bit of a lurch, though."

"Aw, Fidds." Suzan patted his arm. "We aren't expecting new members in the next few days, anyhow. We'll be fine. You take care of yourself."

"Oh, uh, speaking of new members." Fiddleford glanced about, remembering suddenly to do a spot check for jump suits and twin kids. "Is anyone new in town? Or a tourist family renting, anything like that?"

"Not that I heard, sweetie," Suzan replied. "I can ask around. Though I guess if you're in town you'll see the gang."

"Yeah, I suppose I will. You have a good one, Suzan."

Honestly, this was really all he needed. He should have just asked for a vacation instead of blowing up at Stanford earlier. Now, the trick in the woods was mean, no doubt about it, but frankly Pines probably needed a vacation too. Oh, he'd never take one, but the weird behavior at night was the sort of thing that a spell in town would cure him of right quick, sure as anything.

His saw a familiar face and flagged down another Society friend.

"Oh! Julip!"

Julip turned from where he was picking up a bag and immediatley grinned. "Fidds! Let me turn off my truck real quick."

Julip was a garbage man. He'd joined the club because of the sorts of things he'd picked up after a certain unsolved event, and was much recovered since. He was doing odd routes today using an old beat-up pickup truck, which had been idling next to this old half-empty apartment block. Julip threw his bag into the back and walked around to get his keys.

Fiddleford leaned against a wall and waited patiently.

He zoned out staring into the mountains. Unnoticed, his hand began tapping.

Even though it had only been less than two minutes, he didn't hear Julip come back over until he'd said his name a second or third time:

"Fiddleford?"

Fiddleford snapped out of it. "Huh?"

Julip frowned. "Is anything the matter?"

Fiddleford snapped fingerguns at him. "Nothing I'll have to remember in a week!"

"Aw, man. A whole week? I don't envy you, brother."

"Yeah, just got a situation that needs to be resolved before it gets wiped clean out. Actually, I wanted to ask you. You know if any families are renting in town, or anyone new came in?"

"Not that I saw. I think I'd notice something on my route, at least." 

"Oh, a second thing. Blast it, I forgot to ask Suzan. May I have your permission to ask a Forgetting question?"

"Absolutely, brother. Here, there's a spot over here."

The Society had a unique and affective approach to security. When one member had a problem that they needed the community's help on but that it was best if the community didn't know about, well, then all you have to do is get permission first!

They went to a boarded-up doorway behind some dumpsters. 

"You seen any weird-looking fellas in jumpsuits around? About my height, pale clothes, round glasses, couldn't quite tell if they were a man or a woman or something else."

Julip hummed and stroked his beard. "No, not that I know of. But I think Billy did. She saw a guy on the North side."

"Thanks a million, Julip. You want the whole thing or just the question?"

"Just the question, thanks for asking. Zap me!"

He held his arms outstretched, ever the drama queen, while Fiddleford took the memory out. "Have a good day now, you hear!"

Billy would be in the Square, either in the little ice cream place there or taking a smoke break outside. It's where Fiddleford was headed anyway, since it was where people tended to end up.

Something caught his eye.

He glanced sideways. 

There. 

The person in a pale jumpsuit was examining a shop window, trying unsuccessfully to look discreet.

Fiddleford checked around. His heart jumped: there were the kids, the very rascals he was out here to find, walking out of a convenience store and about two feet from exposing themselves.

Fiddleford opened his coat up like he was adjusting it for the sun, and walked forward with a concerted purpose. He approached the kids at an angle. They saw him gesture with his nose back into a side street between shops, and they allowed themselves to be herded back, his coat shielding them from sight of the square until they were far enough away to be obscured.

-

Dipper and Mabel, for their part, were very surprised that their mark had seen fit to find them first. They hadn't actually decided they were going to talk to him directly, as opposed to stalking him for a bit.

"Jumpsuit guy," he said by way of an explanation.

Mabel breathed a sigh. "Thanks."

"Don't start thanking me yet," he said sternly. He crossed his arms and gave them a very particular look.

Dipper and Mable both swallowed. They had spent the past month with their Grunkle and Soos and Wendy. They had kind of forgotten what it was like to get a stern talking-to from a dad.

 "Now, I can think of a handful of reasons why strange men in jumpsuits might be after a couple of kids. Most of those reasons are downright villainous, but one or two of them might go hand-in-hand with the fact that you two aren't from around here and my Society buddies ain't mentioned any new people coming into town. You tourists?"

"Uh, yeah," said Dipper. "Tourists."

"Then why are you out here unchaperoned? There's bears about." He wasn't exaggerating; bears wandered into the town itself every month or so, usually breaking a bunch of garbage cans and, in the 2010s, getting into a wrestling match with Manly Dan.

Mabel huffed at that. "We're not dumb. We know how to watch out for bears. We've spent a month hanging out in these wooo-" She caught the look Dipper was giving her just in time: "these sorts of woods. This is our summer vacation!"

"Okay then," Fiddleford said, raising an eyebrow. "Then I'm sure you can tell me, so I don't have to worry: when's your bus leave?"

"Uuuuuuuuh weeeee didn't come on a bus," said Dipper when he realized that the tour bus schedule was definitely not the same now as it was in the 2000s, given that the Mystery Shack didn't even exist yet.

"An RV then? I know you ain't renting a house in town, I'd know about that."

"Yeah!" said Mabel, grinning. "We're in the park by Twin Peaks Valley. We have a great view of the waterfall on that weird rock that looks like a nose. We came all the way down by ourselves because we promised Dad that we'd be careful and because we both got our scout badges in wilderness survival last year."

Fiddleford relaxed a bit at that, but looked skeptical. "Little lady, I owe you a bit more than a pancake dinner, so I'm going to just assume you're telling the truth. Honestly, that sounds like my own Pa. It doesn't quite explain whoever you're on the run from, though."

Mabel looked at Dipper.

Dipper looked at Mabel.

Dipper looked at Fiddleford, who was tapping his foot. He still looked stern, but there was the little touch of worry that adults got when they were trying really hard to pretend they were still all mature and responsible even though they were probably going to punch a pillow or something when they got back to their own rooms.

"Okay," said Dipper, gears turning in his head. He crossed his arms. He put on his own stern face. "How about we tell you about jumpsuit guy if you tell us why we found you locked in an animal cage?"

Fiddleford's whole attitude changed. His eyes widened, his skin blanched, and, arms still crossed, he began tapping his fingers hard against his arm.

Dipper felt a bit bad.

"That is absolutely not a story for little kids," Fiddleford said.

"Well, maybe Jumpsuit Guy's not a story for adults!" Mabel retorted. 

Fiddleford hissed in a breath and glared above their heads, which meant that if he was their dad, they'd be grounded. But he wasn't, and he couldn't do a thing, so he just looked mad.

"Okay. How about this. I don't have much to do today, it's my day off. We can stick around each other and I'll watch your back for Jumpsuit Guy. If I think you behaved yourselves, I can show you some of the answers to your questions, but until then you tell me everything I need to know to keep you safe. Y'hear me?"

"Crystal clear," Mabel said. Dipper was barely suppressing a face-splitting grin, and bounced up and down on his heels. 

"I don't like how excited you seem about this."

"It's just-" Dipper tried hard to think of something plausible to say that didn't give away the details of there purpose here. "You're a cool scientific researcher in the middle of Gravity Falls, which is, like, the weirdest place I've ever been, and you've got to have so many cool stories!"

"Don't get too excited, little man. I'm an engineer. I mostly stay away from weird and spooky stuff as best I can, it ain't good for my constitution."

Mabel almost asked 'Then why were you locked in a cage in the woods?', but thought better of it. Instead she asked: "Do you build lots of cool giant robots and stuff?"

Suddenly, Fiddleford McGucket was a different man. "Yes, ma'am, I do! Hobby projects, mostly, and don't ask to see 'em because for the most part they ain't exactly safe for public viewing, but I been building all kinds of self-propelling thingamajigs since my high school days and lemme tell ya, I'm right proud of how much I can do with junkyard metal and a good set of tools. Tell me, do you make things?"

"I made this sweater!" Mabel said with a grin, holding it out to show him.

Fiddleford smiled wide, his eyes crinkling with sincerity. "That's mighty fine work, little lady!"

"She has other ones that light up," put in Dipper.

"Ooh, that's interesting! How do you power them without plugging them in, did you rig em up to a battery pack? Or are they glow-in-the-dark? I imagine they'd get quite overwarm."

"Mostly I just stand near the wall," said Mabel, who was saved from technological anachronism by having never bothered to use proper materials.

"Clever little inventor!" Fiddleford rubbed her head. He stepped out into the town square and glanced about. "Coast is clear, looks like. You kids must have eaten breakfast if you made the hike down, but it's getting close to lunch time. Can I treat you?"

The kids had not eaten breakfast, just a couple of protein bars, but they were trying to pretend that they were well cared for, properly supervised, and not on the run from the Time Cops.

Dipper decided to split the difference: "Eh! I'm fine! Mabel's probably starving, though. She's having a growth spurt."

Mabel, still running on the fume's of yesterday's sugar rush, put on her most sincerest (read: creepiest) face. "I am."

"Okay, but if I'm treating, you are eating a vegetable. You can't survive on coke and such, especially not if you're hiking. Desert's a treat, not a meal."

"I think her metabolism just works different," said Dipper. "I once saw her eat an entire cookie cake before a soccer match, and she ended up punching a guy out for cheating. Wasn't sick or anything."

"Aaah, Bruce," said Mabel, reminiscing in the victory. "And I was too sick. Barfed all over his stupid jersey."

"I sure would like to hear the context for that," Fiddleford. "But be that as it may, you need vitamins or your muscles are all gonna melt down to sludge and drip out your ears."

The twins giggled.

"I don't think they actually do that," Dipper said.

"Now, ain't I a scientist? You had better mind me."

"So, should we be calling you Doctor McGucket, then?" Mabel ventured cautiously.

"Don't much care for Doctor. Gives folks the wrong idea, I reckon. My doctorates are in mechanical engineering and electrical engineering and chemistry, don't need folks assuming I can patch them up when their guts are hanging out." He wrinkled his nose. "Gave that a shot, it was not for me."

Dipper stared. "Wait. You have. THREE doctorates. In three different fields."

"I don't know when to quit, my wife always says," Fiddleford replied with a laugh. "I like making things! Kept making things and writing about it until they gave me a little piece of paper to commemorate the occasion, then figured, well, I oughta make something else now! When they did that a couple more times I just quit and decided to try working like a normal man."

"Woah."

Mabel was running ahead. "WE'RE GOING TO THE ICE CREAM PLACE."

Fiddleford, the picture of a normal, relaxed, and untraumatized dad, took long strides after her that Dipper struggled to keep up with. "NO WE'RE NOT!" he shouted back.

How the heck did this guy turn into a creepy old junkyard man that scared little kids?

Chapter Text

Dipper was trotting to catch up with Mabel when he realized Fiddleford had stopped.

"Uh, Fiddleford?" he asked. 

Fiddleford was looking over at a women who Dipper hadn't bothered to notice. She looked like she was on her smoke break. She looked bored. She was looking at Fiddleford, though.

Fiddleford began to fidget. "Uh, hang on a tic," he said, then ran over to the woman.

They chatted for a minute, too low for the kids to hear. They didn't have a good way to eavesdrop, either.

"Sweet Sasparilla!" burst out Fiddleford in a high stringy voice. It sounded a lot like the one he'd use way in the future.

He glanced over at the twins, chewing his lip nervously.

He walked over.

"Hey, kids, I gotta handle somethin' real quick," he said. "I'm real sorry, but can we put off lunch for a bit? Not long, probably won't take forty minutes."

"Uh, sure. We'll catch up. Where should we meet?"

"There's a place a block down that road with a blue roof," Fiddleford said, gesturing - whatever he was talking about must have been repainted, because they had no idea what it might be. "Nice little place with a buffet option, figured the easiest way to trick y'all into eating something green is to let you pick what looks nice. Sound good?"

Mabel was side-eyeing a phone booth. "Sounds good!" she said.

"Okay. You run along now, I recommend you go yonder to that park by the library. It's got some cool sights."

He turned and left with the smoking woman. Dipper waited a minute, then began to trot after them. 

Mabel wasn't with him.

"Mabel! Aren't we going to follow them?"

"Uh, you go ahead," she said. She was beelining for the phone booth. 

"What? This is our chance to find out what's wrong! Maybe it has to do with why he was in that cage!"

"Okay, that's fair, and you definitely should, but... I think I'm gonna call Great-Grandma."

Dipper froze. "Do you think the number is the same?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Great Grandma died when they were really little, but her number was held by a magnet to the fridge for a long time after, and it was the first phone number Mabel had ever memorized. (Mabel had been ahead of him in school that year. When they learned emergency contact information in kindergarten, she had a rolicking good time learning everybody's in the class, and Dipper kept forgetting.) They both still knew it because they had used it when they were writing secret codes for fun just before coming this summer, and if you used a 0=A substitution cipher, it was really funny to say out loud, waaaay funnier than Dad's.

Dipper chewed his lip and glanced in the direction Fiddleford had gone. He glanced at the payphone.

"Do you think she knows for certain where Grunkle Stan is?"

"She'll at least know if he's here, right?"

Dipper puffed his cheeks out. Which did he want more? To find out what his great-grandparents were really like and make progress in the Mystery of Grunkle Stan, or to find out what the deal was with Fiddleford McGucket?

"Tell me everything," he said, and turned to run after Fiddleford.

---

Dipper followed the two adults around a corner, down a street, and to an open plaza with a pizza place on it. There was a man in the middle of it curled up on the ground like a little kid. The cigarette woman took Fiddleford to this man.

Dipper couldn't hear, and he was running out of hiding spaces. He dipped behind a wall, then to the stoop of a store, and finally as close as he could get: to a beat-up old folding sign in front of the pizza place.

From here he could hear a little bit. The man sounded upset. He was describing something, some monster from the woods - Dipper caught words like 'hairy' and 'huge,' and he caught soft little 'there, there's from Fiddleford.

A sudden wind came through. The rickety sign Dipper was hiding behind fell over.

Fiddleford looked straight at Dipper.

Dipper eeped.

Then, just as sharply, Fiddleford looked somewhere else.

"S'cuse me for a sec," Fiddleford said. He ran straight for Dipper. Before Dipper could react, he had been scooped up and whooshed away against a wall.

The cigarette lady looked surprisingly non-challant about the whole thing. She just kept hanging out with the sniffling man.

Dipper tried to say something, but Fiddleford held a finger to his lips. It was very cool and action-hero-esque, which distracted Dipper from the thought of getting kidnapped by a mysterious future junkman long enough to hear the voice.

"DARN YOU KIDS! I KNOW I SAW YOU! YOU HAD BETTER GIVE IT BACK OR YOU'LL BE SORRY!" The voice stopped talking for a minute. Then it said, "Oh, who am I kidding. I didn't see anything."

There was a little zip noise. Fiddleford let Dipper drop to the ground, then peaked around the corner.

"Alright, he's gone," Fiddleford said. He glared at Dipper. "Give what back?"

Dipper toyed with the straps of his backpack. "Um. Nothing. He's crazy."

"Now I'm familiar enough with crazy, young man, but that did not seem crazy." Fiddleford crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow again, once again making Dipper feel the sheer weight of his dadness.

"Can I at least wait until Mabel's here?"

"Requestin' a lawyer, are you, mister?"

"....Yes."

Fiddleford hmmed. "And that wouldn't happen to be because your sister is quicker at lying, now would it?"

Dipper swallowed. He started to sweat. "Nnnnnnno?"

"Out with it."

"Um, um, I, um-" Dipper's mind raced. What could he say that wouldn't get him in more trouble? What could he say that Fiddleford would believe? What could he say that wasn't the truth? "...We picked up a piece of cool top-secret government technology and now this guy's hunting us down."

Fiddleford blinked.

He blinked again.

His eyes started to sparkle.

His entire face contorted into a huge open-mouthed grin.

"Well, I'll holler! Will you show me?"

"Not right now. Mabel has it anyway, and I don't know if she wants to show anyone. She'll be pretty mad that I told you, I think."

"Aw, now, don't you worry none," Fiddleford said, still grinning so wide his cheeks looked like they'd fall off his face. "I ain't gonna harm it and I certainly ain't gonna turn you in. You're just a pair of little rascals, aren't you?" He rubbed Dipper on the head. Dipper couldn't believe that had worked, until he thought for more than four seconds about the fact that this was Young Man McGucket. "Now, it so happens I was in the middle of something pretty important. Didn't want you along, but, well, you're here anyway."

Dipper walked with him over to the crying man and the cigarette woman. "Billy, this is Dipper. Dipper, Billy. And this gentleman -" he dropped to one knee in front of the man and placed a hand on his shoulder - "is a very troubled soul. We're here to help him."

The man sobbed. "I-it was so horrible... Just thinking about it is so scary..."

"Don't you worry, now," Fiddleford said to the man with a quiet, soothing voice. "You come along and we'll get you right fixed up, y'hear me? It's all gonna be okay."

The man started crying anew. He mewled like a cat.

Fiddleford turned to Billy: "Ack, this is a right mess. But I was lookin' to do an emergency meeting anyway, to be honest, I got a personal situation I need to take care of."

Billy nodded. She apparently always looked bored.

"I need to get back early tonight. Howsabout you give this gentleman a rundown and I meet with you at six or so?"

--

Fortunately, the 21st century quarter worked on this old phone. Mabel held her breath as the phone rang.

"Hello?" answered a man with a gruff, thick New Jersey accent.

"Hello," said Mabel. "Is this the Pines residence?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm looking for the last known address of Stan Pines."

He hung up.

She thought for a second, then called again. This time a woman with an even thicker Long Island accent picked up.

"Hiii, I think I was disconnected," Mabel said, pulling her most adorable and friendly voice. "I'm looking for an address to reach somebody and this was the only number in the phone book."

"Who's asking, sweetie?" The woman did not sound friendly.

"Girl scouts!" Said Mabel. "Some guy bought like a HUNDRED boxes from us and the address he wrote down got all smudged."

"Aw, sweetheart!" The woman's entire attitude changed. "You tell that good-for-nothing son of mine I love him, you hear me? He needs to call more!"

"Aw, of course I will! Let me write a note for him! To: Stan Pines-"

Mabel pulled a marker from her pocket. She transcribed a sappy note and got a last known address directly onto her arm, then wished her great-grandma a good evening and hung up.

Then she started to cry, because that was just the coolest thing that had ever happened to her.

Chapter Text

Mabel bought a postcard from a drug store for a dime. She picked the oldest one she had, but wasn't sure if it was old enough. Fortunately, the cashier didn't look at it.

Mabel copied the address down on the right half of the card and Grandma Caryn's note down on the left half, careful to make her handwriting small and neat.

Then, she drew a line, and a little cartoon of herself. She considered all the things she wanted to say.

She really shouldn't have made the cartoon of herself that big.

She made a little speech bubble and wrote:

'Please come!'

She briefly considered saying 'Cash Prize' to make sure he did, but decided that would be a mean lie. Instead, after a bit of consideration, she drew the six-fingered sigil from the Journal on one side.

She signed it '-The Mystery Twins.' She put a little heart over the I.

Then, in tiny letters (she was running out of space), 'I hope you're real.'

"So, uh, what was that about?" Dipper asked.

"Billy there and I are a pair of members-in-good-standing in a society dedicated to helping out folks that encounter some of the more unsavory elements of Gravity Falls," Fiddleford said. "Now, I don't know if you've had the misfortune if finding anything too perplexing, but it can mess a fella up."

"Oh, yeah, I'm kind of a cryptid hunter," Dipper said. "That's why I like it here so much."

Fiddleford gave him a sharp look. "That's dangerous, young man."

"Yeah, but I'm really careful. And sometimes I get to help people when monsters attack their garbage cans or whatever."

Fiddleford hmmed. "Well, wanting to help people I can understand, but you gotta understand you'll never be of broader use to society if you go and get yourself killed. Your parents know you're doing this?"

"My parents think I just have an overactive imagination," Dipper said, which was in fact true. He was still wondering how they'd handle Mabel's scrapbook full of photographic evidence.

"That's their issue," Fiddleford mumbled. He chewed his lip a bit. His face was all furrowed with worry for a moment, but all at once it smoothed over and he smiled. "Well, irregardless. Let's get y'all fed and focus on having a good time. We owe each other some secrets, I reckon."

Mabel found the buffet diner and was waiting for them. She was also digging through her pockets, looking confused and distressed.

"Where did you get off to, Missy?" Fiddleford said with a friendly, easy drawl.

"Called my grandma," she said.

"Really now." Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

"She actually did call grandma," Dipper said, and then to Mabel: "He caught me sneaking and saved me from the government agent again."

"And Dipper here told me y'all have some secret doohicky. Don't be frightened, now, I won't tell."

Mabel looked up at him. She was unsettled to hear that. "You can't have it," she said.

"Maybe I can just look at it?" Fiddleford held a hand out.

"Not here," Mabel snapped.

Fiddleford held his hands up. "Fair enough. Let's eat. I have a safe place I can use as a workshop, maybe we can go there after dinner."

Mabel was clearly agitated. Dipper was extremely confused at this extremely un-Mabel-like behavior.

While Fiddleford was talking to the guy inside and getting them a table, Mabel leaned over to Dipper and whispered:

"It's gone."

Dipper immediately began to sweat. "What?" This was bad.

"It was in my pocket, but either it fell out or someone sneaked up and pickpocketed me."

Fiddleford waved them over and began to follow the guy to their table.

Dipper wanted to ask a thousand questions, or to go looking for the missing ride home right away. But Mabel grabbed him and shoved a little paper in his hand.

"This was in my pocket," she whispered.

She followed Fiddleford while Dipper stared at the pink crumpled up paper, with a note written in bright green sparkly apple-scented pen. The note said,

'6:30 P.M. DON'T PANIC!'

...What?

Was this a note from the pickpocketer?

Dipper pushed back the anxiety. Six thirty. For someone with a time tape, that was just a tiny zip away.

And, well... What kind of bad guy used apple scented ink?

The kids really should have been freaking out. They had just lost their only way home. But Fiddleford noticed their foul mood and made it his job to cheer them up. He asked them questions about school and favorite books, he got in a cheesy joke war with Mabel, and when he found out Dipper liked DDnmD he asked for crayons and kids' menus and they spent like an hour drawing cool characters and monsters - even Mabel loved it.

They did end up eating vegetables. Fiddleford was very clever: they were only allowed to get a few things at a time from the buffet, and they had to alternate healthy food and junk food, and they were there for two hours and ate a lot. Mabel ended up satisfying her "something green" requirement by piling almost every single thing in the salad bar onto her plate for a mega-salad. It was delicious.

Something was weird, though. Fiddleford's knee was tapping and he was talking a lot and trying a lot and it was... Suspicious. He was acting like when a teacher at camp is trying to keep the kids entertained, but he wasn't s camp councilor. He was just some weird guy and he didn't have to keep them out of trouble.

Eventually he ran out of energy and the table was quiet for a minute. Fiddleford was left smiling, but his knee was tapping and his smile was slowly fading out.

"Why are you being so nice to us?" Mabel asked. She was also tired, and starting to get bored of being in this diner, but she didn't want to leave until she was done working on a huge map of a unicorn glade that Dipper said he'd totally use in his game.

Fiddleford blinked a few times and came back to himself, like nothing was wrong. "Now what kinda question is that? I like you kids, and far as I'm concerned you're doing me a good turn here."

"I don't think adults usually think hanging out with twelve-year olds is doing them a favor."

"Now, I just wanna make sure you have plenty of good memories about me," Fiddleford said with a grin, but in the quiet that followed, he looked down at the many colorful drawings the kids had made.

He looked very sad.

"Miss my own family, I guess," he said with a sigh. "Got a little boy at home in Palo Alto. Bit younger than you. With the stress of work and all I'm feeling the distance."

Dipper tried to remember what he knew about Old Man McGucket. He was lonely and wanted attention, too. Had Fiddleford been sad and lonely his entire life?

"...Um..."

Fiddleford looked at him.

"Do you want to go buy a baseball or something and go to the park?"

Mabel, who was no longer able to contain her boredom (she'd been bored for over ninety seconds now) threw her whole body back in the chair. "Pleeeeeease."

Fiddleford smiled and looked for all the world like he wanted to cry. "I'd sure like that if you would," he said.

Stanford Pines couldn't focus. Something was off with Fiddleford.

The jumpiness, he could ignore. Every now and then Fiddleford would just get really twitchy for a day. It never lasted long, and he'd bounce right back to his lovable, happy-go-lucky self overnight. Ever since he'd joined that club in town, his attitude had never been better! (Although his mental health certainly seemed to he deteriorating in...other ways.)

But taking a vacation? That was uncharacteristic.

There had been a note on the fridge this morning. He had reread it four times to make sure the handwriting was correct. Before today, Fiddleford had taken exactly one half-day off since arriving at Gravity Falls, and it was because he was so sick with food poisoning that he'd taken a bucket and a pillow with him to his work desk.

"What's the matter, Sixer? You usually work faster than this."

Ford heard the voice of his Muse drift from nowhere corporeal. He responded out loud, since he was alone:

"I'm worried about McGucket. It's uncharacteristic of him to skip a day."

"Oh, I told him to take the next couple of days off."

Ford dropped his pen in shock. "Bill... I asked you not to talk to him!"

"Relaaaax, he thought I was you! He said thank you and everything!" Bill' raucous laughter filled Ford's mind. Ford frowned.

"I would hate for him to catch wise," he said. "He's a superstitious man. I don't know how he will react."

"Relaaax, Sixer. It's not gonna happen. The guy's blind, I guarantee it. Wouldn't dream of the truth. And I would know!"

Ford let himself relax. He picked up his discarded pen. "Yes," he said. "I suppose you would."

Chapter Text

The three of them ended up bickering in the shop over what toys they wanted to buy, and ended up getting a playground ball ("You can do just about anything with a playground ball"), a thing of chalk, a handful of snacks and drinks, and some oranges ("You kids need potassium"). They went to the park, monopolized a basketball court, and Fiddleford showed them how to play four-square and a bunch of weird Tennessee games he'd played as a kid. One of Fiddleford's friends came by with her niece, and they all formed teams and had such a fantstic time that they completely lost track of time. Fiddleford was funny and gangly, tie abandoned by the snacks, shirt half unbuttoned, and he could keep up with the kids like an athlete.

For a few hours, Mabel and Dipper completely forgot about why they were here. They forgot the missing time tape and the weird, possibly-evil doppelgrunkle.

When Suzan and her neice had to go, Fiddleford sat panting on the bench and the twins felt like everything was totally alright.

"Would one-a you kids give me the time?" Fiddleford said. He gestured at the pile where their stuff was; his wristwatch was hanging over a bottle of bright green sports drink so it wouldn't get damaged in all the diving about.

Dipper picked it up.

"Six o'clock," he said. He remembered the note all at once.

"Aw, that's not so bad-" Fiddleford went abruptly pale again. "Oh. Shucks."

"What is it?" Dipper asked.

"We gotta pack up and go."

Mabel rolled over where she was flopped on the ground. She propped herself up on her hands in cobra pose and gaped. "Why?"

"Lost track of time," Fiddleford said. "We need to get things put away, then we need to get to my car and get you back then get me back."

"Wait, wait, we were going to answer each others' questions tonight," Dipper said. "You can't leave! We have so many questions!"

Fiddleford was reassembling his businessware. He looked awful and anxious. "If I'm going to drive you to your campground, which I plan to, we need to get going quick." His hands redid his tie in jerky motions. His knee was bouncing. "If I don't get back before seven thirty or so, there'll be heck to pay."

Mabel curled her legs criss cross applesauce. "Wait. We don't have a curfue, but you do?"

"Ah-" He startled. He pulled his hand away from his necktie, which was tied crooked. He tapped his fingers against his shirtsleeve. "Don't worry about that, I got responsibilities is all. Made a promise to someone I ain't keen to disappoint."

Mabel looked at Dipper. Dipper looked at Mabel.

Dipper began gathering things, but he talked at the same time:

"Look, we were going to hike back, and sunset isn't until almost nine. We don't need you to drive us back."

Fiddleford hummed.

"You were going to do that meeting with the guy, too, right?"

Fiddleford looked thoughtful. He patted rhythms on his thighs. "Well. Alright. I'm puttin' some trust in you two kids, you got it?"

They had to gather up loose sidewalk chalk, and Mabel took the opportunity to lean close to Dipper where Fiddleford couldn't hear them.

"Dipper," said Mabel, "Do you think Fiddleford's in trouble?"

"Well, given what he looks like in our year, he might be." Dipper chewed his lip. "I know we're not supposed to get all paradox-y, but... I kind of feel like we should do something."

"It might be a different McGucket," said Mabel. She didn't sound very hopeful.

"A different weird East Coast guy named McGucket who builds giant robots, hambones when he's nervous, and says things like 'Sweet Sasparilla?' "

They looked over at the man.

Entirely by accident, they had adopted a dad. And now he was their responsibility.

Fiddleford helped them sort everything into bags and then walked them back through town, presumably in the direction of his car. Mabel and Dipper followed, obedient and curious, but he had regressed pretty hard from dad-man to cage-man. It was a twenty minute walk to the museum, then around back and through a storm cellar.

It was six-thirty.

"Well. Welcome to the lodge," Fiddleford said, and he chuckled. "Not much, but we have fun here. Now why don't yall make yourself comfortable while I get things set up for tonight. Early meeting and only a half one, but that's no reason to skip ceremony."

"What will we be doing?" Dipper asked. He began to poke around: it was definitely cool down here, full of old historical junk, but there was a spooky science air to it that made it feel like the mystery was about to get a lot weirder. There was an old TV, and a box of what looked like those tubes you used in bank drive-thrus, and there were red tapestries on the wall with symbols he couldn't make out.

"Well, I reckon we been around each other long enough to have plenty to talk about tomorrow," Fiddleford said. He was pulling something out of a wooden trunk. "And I further reckon finding a man in the woods like you did ain't proper experience for youngsters like yourself." Out came a red robe that he pulled on over his head.

Dipper's blood went cold. He knew that robe.

Mabel saw it, but was distracted by an unassuming piece of paper with the unmistakeable sigil of the Time Baby drawn on it in green ink. She creeped over.

"Now, you, Dipper, you're a bit more complicated because you're a monster hunter, so I'm afraid your sister is gonna have to go first. It won't hurt a mite, though, and we'll all be better off for it, believe you me." He opened up an ornate box and pulled out a red and bronze object -

"Memory gun," Dipper gasped before he could stop himself.

Fiddleford froze. "Now. How you come to know a thing like that."

Dipper's heart pounded in his chest. He glanced at Mabel. Mabel was staring back at him and holding something behind her back.

Fiddleford spun on Mabel. "It's for your own good, kids," he said.

Dipper dove for Mabel. Mabel dove for Dipper. She grabbed his arm, pulled him tight, and pulled the time tape the tiniest bit she could. They landed less than an hour in the future. The room was now full of people, and Fiddleford was presiding over them, hair mussed up and eyes bagged. He didn't see them at first, but Suzan was there, and she cried out: "Kids?"

Dipper and Mabel grabbed each other by the hand and bolted for the door.

"Who were they?" Fiddleford shouted.

"Those kids we were playing with earlier!" Suzan called back.

Then Dipper and Mabel heard feet running behind them and sprinted as fast as they could into the night.

Fiddleford shouted after them: "I'm not gonna hurtcha, come back!"

"That's a really creepy thing to say after trying to memory wipe someone!" Dipper shouted. Mabel pulled out her grappling hook and pulled them both up to the steeple of a church.

"What in tarnation - that is dangerous, young lady!"

Mabel stuck her tongue out at him and pulled Dipper down with her to the other side of the roof. She pulled the time tape again.

When McGucket got around the church to try and catch up with them, they were gone. He was winded, haggard, and had to leave now if he was going to get back in time, but...

Oh, kids. What did y'all get yourself into.

They teleported out, and if they teleported back in they might not be able to control it. Or it might be unbalancing the time stream, or utilizing a dimensional rift, and his calculations were showing doom and gloom for that line of scientific inquiry.

He thought about chasing after two little kids in real plausible danger and what didn't even want to be found, and he thought about breaking the stupid curfue his stupid, psycho boss had put on him.

He chewed his lip. He swore, "Aw hootenany."

He turned and ran back to his Society friends. He'd get them organized and they'd sort it out.

They landed in the middle of the night and immediately hid in some bushes. They were both panting from the run.

Mabel spoke first. "What was that?"

"It was from the journal," Dipper replied. "Memory eraser gun. One of F's inventions."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that page." Mabel hmphed. "And, uh, why was he in a robe?"

"That was the Blind Eye Society robe," Dipper said. "It's a cult."

Mabel leaned into the bush and thought for a minute. "Dipper?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Fiddleford an evil scientist?"

"Um. I dunno. Maybe?"

"And Six Fingered Stan is acting kind of evil-scientist-y too."

"Yyyup."

Mabel pulled out the Time Sigil paper that had been folded around the time tape. She turned it over and showed it to Dipper.

It was torn off of a bigger paper, and a line of text was visible:

Objective 1: prevent McGucket from acquiring temporal technology
Importance: CRITICAL

Chapter Text

It was almost nine PM. Dusk was settling. It felt very unfair that Fiddleford could be this scared returning to his own home when it wasn't even all the way dark yet.

Stanford was in the front room. Fiddleford couldn't see his eyes past the reflective glint of a lamp. He didn't need to.

"So."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, that's not cutting it."

"I got held up."

"By what, the Hamburgler?"

"I'm- I'm sorry."

"I spent," said Pines through gritted teeth, "an hour waiting up here, wasting time worrying that you were off getting your guts cut out."

"Well, you didn't have to!" snapped Fiddleford, then he started back against the door when Pines rose to his feet.

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, I don't have to! When you were the one who attracted the Gremloblin's attention."

Fiddleford didn't remember that except from stories Stanford told. Stanford, who was now advancing on him, looking livid.

"When you almost burned your face off by miswiring a circuit that you didn't bother to plan out. When you spend all night hanging out with your creepy serial killer friends. And you,"

Now he was right up in Fiddleford's face, and his voice rattled Fiddleford's ears -

"Are afraid of GNOMES!".

Fiddleford swallowed a sob. Stanford was close enough to touch, and Fiddleford was shaking all over, every muscle taut to bounce. But running wouldn't do him any good, he knew it wouldn't, he wasn't weak exactly so much as Pines was trained and sturdy.

"HOW am I supposed to trust you to keep yourself safe, McGucket? Your sense of danger is beyond screwed."

"I-I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

Pines laughed so loud it hurt Fiddleford's ears. "You? Are you sure?"

Fiddleford bit his lip in a futile attempt to stay mad instead of curling up and taking it. "It- it's my business anyhow. You don't have the r-right to act like this, Pines." But he yelped when Stanford grabbed him, a firm hand circling his forearm.

"I don't have the right, huh?"

Fiddleford swallowed, desperately wanted to turn his face further out but he couldn't bear to look away from those bright cat eyes.

"I have ways of making you behave, McGucket."

Fiddleford whispered: "I'm sorry." He felt held to the wall by magnets. Sweat was dripping down his face. Stanford was so close it was like he might kiss him. His hand on Fiddleford's arm wasn't bruising, but it dug in at the nerve and the threat was not subtle. Stanford stood and studied his face, not turning away, daring Fiddleford to say something or fight back.

It felt like an eternity they stood nose to nose, tears silently running down Fiddleford's face. Then, Stanford smiled an almost normal smile. He stepped to one side, slipped one hand behind Fiddleford's back and held his upper arm with the other.

"C'mon. You're going to bed early. Don't miss curfew tomorrow."

Stanford walked him up the stairs and funneled him directly into his room. Fiddleford looked back pleedingly.

'Actually, I was going to get some work done,' he didn't say. 'I'm not going to bed yet. I got home as soon as I could, but I need to make dinner.'

He didn't say anything.

Stanford closed the door behind him. Fiddleford walked over to his dresser and began to pull out night things, got his hair brushed and his clothes for tomorrow organized. He didn't hear footsteps walking away until he was half-ready for bed, and when he did, he walked back over to the door and tried the handle.

It was locked from the outside.

He'd used up all of his anxious earlier when he'd been pinned to the front door, so this new development didn't quite hold the panic-inducing power it otherwise might have.

He pushed back the hungry. He was always the sort to skip meals anyway in the monomania of a project. He'd be fine.

He checked his watch. He'd been home for forty minutes.

He made a note for himself and stuck it on the door handle:

"Go to sleep early tonight. NO CHEATING!"

He programmed the memory gun:

'THE LAST 50 MINUTES'

And then peacefully read an engineering journal he'd been meaning to catch up on, before retiring to bed.

Fiddleford was out of the house before Ford woke up again. Ford didn't like it; he missed his friend, and things had been increasingly tense between them as time went on. Working alone didn't suit him anymore, if it ever had.

"You're not alone, buddy. You have me!"

"Yes, but I like the human company," Ford said, not even startled that Bill had been reading his thoughts. "It's good to have a warm body in the room with you sometimes."

"Oooooh, I get it," Bill said. "Like a pet!"

Ford thought of pets in the past, kept and discarded, either for reasons of care and resources or because of Bill's intervention. Then he shook himself out of it and remembered to be indignant.

"A human isn't a pet, Bill!"

"Sure."

Ford didn't belabor the point. It was very possible Bill did not understand what pets were, or even saw him the way a human might see a particularly intelligent specimen. Bill was a god, after all, and Ford was a human he had adopted out of the goodness of his heart. Bill clearly loved Ford and valued him, but what could Ford offer in return except companionship and to honor the gifts he was given? Bill was such a kind and benevolent person that if he did find a pet that he considered worth his valuable time, he would probably soothe it and train it to the best of its capacity like he did the chosen minds that he adopted every few centuries.

(Most pets just weren't worth the distraction, is all.)

Nevertheless, Ford was annoyed. He wanted Fiddleford. And if he thought about it, he also wanted a day off.

"Hold up, champ, what was that you were just thinking about distractions."

Ford wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Nothing."

"Own up, Smart Guy."

"I... I won't lose focus."

"Nonono, you're already losing focus. Look at that, it's been several minutes of you feeling sorry for yourself instead of working. Is this the attitude that got you through your seventh doctorate?"

Ford sighed. "No, you're right. I'm being ridiculous."

Ford finished up for the day early. Often, when that happened, he would keep working, but he actually couldn't proceed on the next stage of work until McGucket was done with his impromptu vacation. He could try, but...

Well, it involved some rather complicated math.

If there was even one error in the equations he had completed this morning, it would be  a waste of time to advance on the next theoretical part. He never left a math problem half-done, and double-checking himself would take hours. And then, even then, he wasn't sure he'd be able to continue the work tomorrow unless Fiddleford was back, who could manage algorithm-heavy work like this five times as well in half the time.

He should do it anyway. Diligent work was what made geniuses go down in history. Bill would be pleased with him.

But Ford was feeling petulent and he decided he wanted a treat.

The world wouldn't end if he went down to the diner and had someone else cook his ham tonight.

Chapter Text

Stanford arrived at the diner in good spirits.

"Oh, you looking for your friend, hon?" the woman at the counter said. "Back table."

Ford was surprised. He looked over. Sure enough, there was Fiddleford.

Ford grinned. He hadn't seen his only real friend in two days now, and he was in good spirits because Bill had assured him just today that it was going to be an explosive success. Fiddleford was surely either in good spirits himself after a well-earned break, or bored out of his mind and game for some adventuring.

Ford straightened his collar, smoothed his hair back, and strode over. He slipped past Fiddleford as quietly as he could and plopped himself in the booth across from him.

Fiddleford jumped.

With a force of effort, Ford did not laugh, but merely snickered. "McGucket! How has time off been treating you?"

Ford found himself confronted, though, with a ghostly pale, unshaven, huge-eyed creature that thumped the table like a jackrabbit.

Ford's grin faded. "Fidd?"

Fiddleford's eyes darted out the window, then back to Ford. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then he lowered his head into his hands and pulled his hair so hard that some came loose.

Ford was dumbfounded. "What in blazes is going on?"

"Oh, Pines-" Fiddleford's knee bouncing shook the table, and his spoon rattled in its coffee cup. "Oh, Lord, I got- Snowdrops."

"You have... Snowdrops? As in the flower?"

"T'wert a swear," Fiddleford said.

"Oh." Fiddleford hadn't been this southern since freshman year of undergrad when he'd ridden into the city in a tractor. Ford had lost the skill of deciphering him.

Fiddleford picked his head up and looked out the window again with wet eyes. He swallowed. He made a clear effort to steady his nerves, which led to a brief cessation in the rattling of everything else.

"Pines, I gotta tell you something even if you call me fool-headed 'cause it's gonna split my head right open if I don't an' I can't handle it myself the way I generally prefer to on account of the nature of the problem," he said.

Ford's mind raced. This was extremely unlike Fiddleford. Well, the anxiety wasn't --- this was a bad episode, but not unprecedented --- but the phraseology and the urgency seemed uncharacteristic for a man who always had another technological solution.

Fiddleford didn't go on. It occurred to Ford he might be waiting for acknowledgement.

"What is it, Fidd?" Ford asked. He reached a hand out to grasp one of Fiddlefords' as it drummed the table.

Fiddleford swallowed again. "So. Uh. So. Well, I can skip that part. I, uh, done befriended a couple-a kids the other day what were in town on vacation by their telling."

"The same from the other day?"

"Yessir. Twins, sportsy types like you, on their summer vacation and exploring the town. Least, that's what they said."

"That sounds innocent enough," Ford said. "Were you spending your time off volunteering with the little league team or something?"

"Something like that. Some things about them, now don't ask me what as I'm not keen to explain, but something struck me as odd about them. An' I get to talking and they say they're in a little pat of trouble, strange man following them about. I ask after their parents and they say they're camping up at the Peaks, and give good description of the site, and I pick their brains a bit more to get why they're all on their lonesome and they give some talk about merit badges and being experienced with safety and all that - you know, kid stuff, I'd be about letting Tate do that sorta thing were he their age. But they oughtn't be on their own if someone's harrassing them, so I figure I oughta help them keep an eye out."

"So you were babysitting," Ford said flatly. That wasn't a bad thing or anything, it was just... depressingly mundane. He always felt a little disappointed at Fiddleford's preoccupation with family. There were grand adventures to be had, discoveries to be made.

"I suppose. But here's where it gets more up the creek, Pines."

Fiddleford stared out the window. He picked up his coffee mug and slammed back the contents like it was filled with something harder.

"Turns out the man what been following 'em is some kind of agent, and they swiped a belonging of his. I saw it in action. It's definitely high tech, more in line with what we're working on than anything I'd call natural to the engineering ecosystem as it now exists. I'm not sure if it's a teleporter or a dimension blinker or what, but they vanished right before my eyes, and I mean literally right in front of me, Ford."

Ford's disappointment had given way to budding excitement as soon as Fiddleford said 'agent,' and by the end it had blossomed into a wide smile on his face. "What! Fiddleford, this is fantastic! The project can wait, we can afford a few days to examine groundbreaking tech -"

"They're gone."

"...What?"

Fiddleford nodded. He buried his face in both hands. "Me n' them had a bit of a tif, you know how I am with my inventions, and I done scared them off. I figure, my friends in the Society can help get a look on to make sure they're alright, but they're nowhere to be found. And I went up to Twin Peaks and the campsite, mind you the exact spot the girl told me with a view of the rock she described and everything, and Pines? There was a septic spill there last week, that whole section of the camp is closed off until they can get a team in. No hide nor hair of either of em, no sign of their parents, I ain't seen the agent once today and I got no idea just how their doohicky works or if it's safe for use without special equipment and training. Pines, they might be dousing themselves in radiation or tearing a hole in the universe, there ain't no way at all to know. And they're gone."

Ford leaned back in the booth. He crossed one arm across his chest and held his chin in the other. At some point in the story, the waitress had dropped off some coffee for him, and it sat slowly on the table slowly going cold.

"That is a problem," Ford said.

Fiddleford let out a high, stringy laugh. "You say that and I reckon it must be worse than I thought."

Ford stood up. Fiddleford stared up with big eyes.

"What are you waiting for, man?" Ford said. "We still have a few hours before dark. Nobody knows these woods better than I do."

Fiddleford released a weird blubbering sound.

"Step lively! We can't let a stolen piece of government technology just go missing!"