Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dipper’s ears are still ringing when the dust clears.

On some level, his brain’s still trying to reckon with the fact that they’re still, you know…Alive, but there’s very little time to do that as something bursts through the glowing blue light of the machine looming over them. The loud flutter of wings nearly mercifully pops his ears as a giant, flying eyeball surges forward, screeching despite having no mouth. He’d see them in the woods sometimes and they didn’t seem dangerous or anything, but they also weren’t nearly as big as this one. 

But before he can even think about fighting, flighting or freezing, a second, very much human figure bounds through the portal after it, so swift that he seems like more of an energy than a man. He leaps onto the beast like it’s nothing, grabbing it by the wings and wrestling it to the ground with a loud thud in what couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds. “Down, boy! Down!” He yells out as if reprimanding an excitable puppy, his voice gruff but oddly light-hearted. It’s all over so fast. Who even is this guy? His question is very quickly answered. 

“Stanford?!”

Wait, that doesn’t answer anything at all.

The figure stops in his tracks where he’s pinning the creature beneath his boot heel. Now the air has cleared a little, he can make him out a little better. By all accounts, aside from his objectively cooler coat and scraggly, loose necktie, he looks, well…Just like Stan. Dipper’s mind races; maybe he’s a clone, or there’s some weird multiverse thing going on and they’re both Stan, from different worlds, or something? But if they’re both Grunkle Stan, why does his Stan (who, by the way, may not be Stan if all those IDs were anything to go by) talk like he knows the guy, who may be him? The figure lifts his heel, hollering after it as it just squeezes itself through the dying light of the machine, “Tell your master it was I who defeated you!” And then he truly looks towards Grunkle Stan, incredulous, 

“ Stanley? ”

He feels like his head’s gonna explode. He keeps opening his mouth to ask…Something, but what the can he even say? His gaze flickers to Mabel and Soos, who seem to share the general feeling of slack-jawed confusion, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the scene for very long. 

“After all these years, you’re finally here…Brother!”

Oh, yeah. Twins exist. Kind of an oversight on his part.

Stanford, if that is his real name, blinks owlishly at his brother, a brow raised in questioning. “How are you…What are you doing in my lab? How did you even find my lab?”

“Gee, a thanks would’a been nice before the interrogations started. I don't see you in forty years and this is the thanks I—”

“Stanley, it is vital that you tell me how you found this portal.” 

Stan looks uneasy, but after a moment, he relents, waving a hand. “Alright, alright. Your old buddy What’s-His-Name McGucket called me up and—”

“Wait, as in Fiddleford McGucket ?” 

It’s a bad time to interrupt, but if not now, when? Dipper glances to the journal still sitting a few paces away on the floor; honestly, he’s amazed by how much damage these books can take, it’s like they’ve got a protective enchantment on them or something. He’s personally put his through a lot and they always end up okay in the end and hold on a second. If this guy’s a friend of McGucket’s, and McGucket worked with the author…Suddenly, when he locks eyes with Stanford, he feels like he’s going to throw up his heart. Or just regular throw up. 

“It…Would seem so,” he says slowly, glancing back to Stan with more scrutiny. “He reached out to you? Why?”

“Uh, to rescue you from some kinda sci-fi sideburn dimension, clearly! The guy called me up a couple decades back rambling about how you’d gotten stuck in there, and how he feared what was on the other side would ‘bring about the end times’. Said he found a couple photos in one of your books and figured I was the only guy he could reach out to.” Stan steps forward, picking the first journal up off of the floor to wave around demonstratively. “So I get here and the guy hands me this and leaves me to figure it out!” 

“He left? Just like that?” Stanford plucks the journal effortlessly from Stan’s hand, flipping through it, brows knit together in contemplation; it’s then that Dipper can finally see the six fingers on his hand. That seals it. Before Grunkle Stan can get a word in edgewise, Dipper’s pointing a bold finger right at the new arrival.

“Wait, you’re… you’re the author of the journals!”

“You’ve read my journals?”

“I-I-Yes!” Okay, keep it cool. “I’m a friend of McGucket’s, he gave me one of your journals at the beginning of the summer and you won’t believe the stuff we’ve seen since! It’s saved our butts more times than I can count, I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, I…” Oh boy, he can’t breathe. He feels the familiar sensation of Mabel patting his back as he doubles over. It’s actually her who speaks next, which he appreciates, because he needs a couple minutes to dry heave and remember how to get air into his lungs.

“Okay, hi, Mabel here,” she announces. “Let’s all just back up a second, ‘kay? Sooo, what I’m hearing is that you’re Stanford,” There’s a motion towards the author. “And you’re Stanley, ” a gesture to Grunkle Stan, who shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “So why the heck have you been calling yourself Stanford all summer?”

“Wait, you took my name?! ” The author baulks, pretty justifiably, in his humble opinion. “What have you been–” His voice had risen with every word, before abruptly fizzling out. Stanford drags a hand through his hair, his golden cufflink catching the light. There’s something engraved into it, but he can’t quite make it out in this light. “We’ll discuss that later. Tell me, Stan, how did you reactivate the portal? Surely you had help.”

“Psh! I wish! The only people in the world who knew how to get this thing up and running were you and that hillbilly buddy of yours, but like I said, he bailed the second I showed up. So this old girl was fixed up by yours truly!”

A silence elapses. There’s a glimmer of something Dipper can’t quite place in Stanford’s eyes, lips parted slightly in what he thinks is shock…

And then he laughs.

“ You pulled this off?!” He asks, eyes blown wide in disbelief. “That’s the biggest shock I’ve had in thirty years! I knew you were capable of great things, if only you applied yourself.” 

Grunkle Stan doesn’t seem so encouraged by the supposed compliment, having to physically shake his head to wipe the shock off of his face. “Are you kiddin’ me?! I saved your life, you jerk!”

“Saved my life?” Stanford echoes. “I don’t know what you think was on the other side of that portal, but…”

“McGucket made it sound like you were in some kinda evil nightmare dimension over there!”

“Fiddleford is one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever known,” Stanford says, a hand placed over his chest. Dipper’s heart warms a little; after everything McGucket’s been through, he’s honestly excited to tell him that the friend he’s been trying to remember thinks of him so fondly. “But he always had doubts about our project. I admit being trapped in there with no path back home was, uh…” His gaze cuts to the side. “Less than ideal, but my true regret is that you’ve both been worrying about me all this time.” A pause. “At least you have. Where did Fiddleford even go? You said he was still in town.”

Grunkle Stan grimaces. They all do. 

“Uh, we’ll talk about that another time, huh?” Grunkle Stan offers, scratching at the back of his neck. “‘Til then, can’t we just be happy to see each other?” And then he outstretches his arms; it’s kind of uncanny to see Grunkle Stan offer up affection so quickly. Stanford, though, stands there like a deer in the headlights, shifting from one foot to the other. Eventually, he exhales softly, offering a half-smile.

“I am happy to see you,” he admits, stepping forward and accepting the embrace. It’s kind of bizarre to watch, but it warms his heart, too. Eventually, Grunkle Stan pulls away slightly, scrunching his nose in visible disgust,

“Yeesh, Sixer, you reek of brimstone and vodka! It’s like the world’s worst frat party. The heck were you doing in there all these years?!”

“Mind your own business,” Stanford retorts, delivering a light punch to his arm. 

And then voices cut through the air from above, slightly muffled.

“I heard talking! It’s coming from downstairs!” 

Stanford’s gaze hardens immediately, casting a glance back to Grunkle Stan, suddenly sharp with scrutiny. “Stanley,” he says slowly. “What did you do?”

“Listen!” Grunkle Stan steps back, hands raised defensively. “It turns out rebuilding and reactivating an interdimensional portal gets you some unwanted attention. Prying eyes.”

“Like. Who?” 

“Just us! …Also maybe the entire US government.”

“The what?! ” 

The distinct hum of radio chatter follows. Stanford drags a hand down his face. “Alright, I think I have a solution.” That was fast! Like he’d expect anything less from the author of the journals. “When I was studying ancient artifacts in this town, I found a mystical amulet that grants the wearer the power of…” There’s a marked hesitation. “ Persuasion. I just need to find it, and fast!” And just like that, he’s bounding for the elevator. Dipper’s heart pounds; this is his chance to see the author in action! He races after his…Uncle? (By the way , the author’s his uncle! ) 

“Hey! Y’know, uh…I’ve actually dealt with these government guys before, and I’ve read your journal cover-to-cover…a lot…maybe I could help!” 

Stanford stops in his tracks, glancing between the opening elevator doors and him. “Well, that’s very kind of you to offer…”

“Dipper.”

“Dipper! I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this needs to be quick and efficient. With any luck, those agents will be out of our hair in a couple of minutes. Then we can discuss the journal. How does that sound?”

The opportunity to ask the author literally anything about his work, about Gravity Falls, is such a great opportunity that it almost erases the twinge of disappointment in his chest. He flashes his best smile as Stanford steps into the elevator, calling after him as the shutters close. “Okay! Yeah! Yeah, that’s…that’s cool, I’ll just…be here.” 

And then he’s gone. Dipper’s shoulders sag, the full force of the situation weighing them down. For a few seconds, he just stares in silence, before Soos pipes up with a bewildered sort of chuckle, 

“Wow. My fanfic was way off.” 

Chapter Text

“Great Uncle Stanford, that was amazing!” Mabel chimes, finally audible over the hum of helicopter wings. It seriously was, by the way! They’d caught it on one of the hundred cameras down in the basement, and though Dipper briefly ponders the ethical ambiguity of mind control, it was objectively awesome that he duped those agents like it was nothing. Stanford chuckles, waving a hand dismissively.

“Thank you, kids. Lesson one in this town; always be prepared! But neither of you are to touch this, alright?” He insists, a gloved hand fiddling with the amulet around his neck. “Mind control is no laughing matter. Knock around in someone’s mind too much and who knows what kind of damage you’ll do?” Dipper scrambles to write the note down, before glancing up, pen clicking rapidly.

“Right, yeah, of course! So, just wondering, would you mind if I asked you a couple billion questions about Gravity Falls?”

“Geez, kid, give him some space! He’s probably got some kinda interdimensional travel sickness and we have a lot of catching up to d–” Grunkle Stan tries to interrupt, before Stanford raises a hand to silence him. It works immediately, and Grunkle Stan’s eyes flash with something between shock and irritation. Ford chuckles softly, suddenly apologetic.

“Sorry, must be the amulet.” His gaze flickers back to Dipper, smiling warmly. “Of course! But let’s do it inside, huh? I’ve missed my lab. I hope you’ve at least been taking good care of it, Stan.”

“Uhhhh…”

Stanford stands in the middle of the gift shop, brows furrowed and wearing a thousand yard stare as ambient muzak plays from the tinny, definitely broken speakers around him. In Dipper’s opinion, he looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. He can’t really blame him. After a solid minute, Soos steps forward, dangling merch in front of the author as an olive branch. “Complimentary keychain, Mr. Pines?” 

“It’s actually Dr. Pines,” Stanford clarifies simply as he takes the UFO shaped trinket and pockets it. “But thank you.” He massages the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, exhaling softly. 

“Look, I had to pay off your mortgage somehow,” Grunkle Stan says, desperate to justify himself. “I mean, how else was I gonna keep this place up and running? If your house got repossessed, that would’ve been sayonara to any shot of getting you back home.” Dipper’s sure he can see the apprehension in his eyes, clearly anticipating some kind of altercation. Instead, he gets another exasperated sigh, which honestly seems to cut him even deeper.

“I understand that,” Stanford finally replies, dragging a hand down his face. “I just wish there’d been another way. I mean, how am I going to rebuild my reputation when you’ve been–”

“Yo. I’m not walking into like, an active crime scene, am I?”

“Wendy!” Dipper exclaims before his head’s even swung around to see her poking in through the gift shop entrance. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you guys hadn’t blown up or something!” She exclaims, stepping over the smashed glass from the door which is probably her responsibility to clean up. “I mean, gravity reversed itself like an hour ago. Of course it came from here. But I'm looking around and it looks like…No one’s dead or arrested?”

“Uh, no.”

“But we have a new Grunkle!” Mabel chimes. Dipper’s sure he hears Stanford whisper the word under his breath in vague confusion, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “And apparently he’s McGucket’s bestie who wrote the journals a million years ago or something? Lotta questions, not many answers right now, but we’re gonna crack this case wide open!” 

Wendy blinks, her gaze shifting slowly to Stanford, who stands with a kind of confidence he could only dream of. She raises her hand in a sort of wave. 

“‘Sup, Stan Two?” 

Stanford seems offended by the implication, but after a moment smiles regardless. “‘Sup…Wendy, was it? I take it you work here?”

“Yyyup. You’re not my new boss, are you? Because I'm not really ready to shift gears into full suck-up today.”

“That remains to be seen.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wendy and Grunkle Stan blurt out in unison, one evidently more invested in the answer. 

“Uh, it’s nothing,” Stanford replies with a wave of the hand. 

“ Uh, it’s nothing! ” Comes Grunkle Stan’s open mockery, arms folded tightly across his chest, devolving into muttering under his breath.

“We’ll discuss the plans for the…’Mystery Shack’,” He’s never seen three fingered air quotes before! “Later. For the time being, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Wendy.”

Wendy eyes him up and down, and Dipper’s honestly kind of surprised by the judgement in her eyes. Is she not impressed or something? “Yeah. You too. So, do I have to come into work tomorrow? ‘Cause I’m guessing we won’t be open on account of all of the…” She gestures to the general vicinity. “Yeah. Well, you all seem good, so I’m just gonna go before I have to clean this up.”

“Hey!” Grunkle Stan yells after her as she backs out of the door. “We’re gonna need all hands on deck to get this place back in—and she’s gone.” He draws a breath, before glancing back to Stanford. “I run a really tight ship. Just sayin’. ‘S not usually like this.”

“Right.” 

“Sooo, Great Uncle Stanford, I was thinking…" Dipper cuts in, trying to ignore how his knees shake and he chews at his pen way too hard as he speaks, "Now they’re all in one place, would you mind if I maybe read all of your journals a couple hundred times?”

Stanford looks a little surprised, but he laughs softly. “I appreciate that you've taken such an interest!”

“Of course! I mean, who wouldn’t? They’re amazing! I bet anyone would kill to read them!” An idea occurs to him, then. If his uncle’s gonna need a new way to make money…”What if you published them as actual books? I mean, you have all this knowledge about the town, a side of Gravity Falls no one else understands! Plus, after 30 years in another dimension, I bet you have plenty more to share!”

Stanford stares down at him for a moment, before glancing aside and drawing a hand to his chin in thought. “You know, Dipper, that’s not a bad–”

Grunkle Stan’s expression hardens as he suddenly interrupts the discussion, rounding on him and Mabel with a raised brow. “Alright, me and my brother have a lot of catching up to do, so why don’t you two hit the hay, huh?” 

Dipper’s heart drops; he’d been promised not ten minutes ago that he’d get to talk to the author and Grunkle Stan’s gonna block him from asking any questions. “But it’s–it’s the author!” He exclaims, frustration burning in his chest. 

“Let him have this,” Stanford says simply, offering a smile that at least puts him a little at ease. He moves to ruffle his hair, a motion he would’ve been annoyed by if it had come from literally anyone else. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

And with that, he and Mabel ascend the rickety stairs, up into the attic. Dipper exhales as he leans against the door to close it, lifting his gaze to see Mabel’s mile-wide grin. For once, he finds himself effortlessly matching her enthusiasm a hundred percent. “Oh my gosh,” he breathes out, before laughing incredulously. “Oh my gosh! I just met the author! Our uncle! Our uncle’s the author!”

“You were all in there, bro!” Mabel chirps, punching him lightly in the arm. Still hurts, though. “You only sounded kinda like you were gonna pass out from excitement, and I think that’s a pretty good amount!”

“He’s like, every bit as cool as I thought he was gonna be!” Dipper replies at lightning speed. “I mean, the way he dealt with those agents?”

“And that eye-bat thing? I always imagined he’d be kind of dorky, no offense, but he seems like he’ll be kinda fun to live with!”

“Right? We’ve been looking for him basically all summer and now he’s gonna be staying here? Imagine how much we’ll get to learn about this town now he’s literally right under our roof! Or, we’re under his roof? Doesn’t matter! Point is, summer just got like, a thousand times be–”

Suddenly, the door pushes open slightly. Dipper staggers where he’s leaning against it, taking a couple steps back to let Grunkle Stan poke his head in. His gaze looks uneasy. “Uh, hey,” he says awkwardly, his index tapping at a can clasped tightly in his hand. “You guys got a minute?”

Wordlessly, he and Mabel nod in unison.

“Listen, I, uh…” Grunkle Stan steps fully into the room, closing the door quietly behind himself. “Me and my brother had a talk and we both figured it'd be best if I spent some time living…not here.”

“What?!” Mabel blurts out first, which is ideal because Dipper can’t muster words just yet.

“Seems like Ford doesn’t really want me using his house…or his name…so we’ve figured something out and I’m gonna be staying somewhere else for a while while he figures out all the weird, awkward legal stuff that I guess I 'dumped on him' through my 'flagrant identity theft'. But hey!” He chimes, his grin uneasy. “I won’t be far! I’ll be staying at the motel down by Triple Digits. Soos can probably drive you, or I’ll pick you up, or something.”

“Wait, so we’re staying here?” Dipper asks, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Living with the author had seemed like a dream a minute ago, but he hadn’t expected this kind of cost.

“Looks like it,” Grunkle Stan says stiffly. “Don’t sweat it, though! Sure, I haven’t really talked to him in a while, but Stanford’s…” He waves his can around, searching for the words. “He’s a total dweeb. And he’s got a big heart. So I’m sure you guys will get along great, yeah? And if you don’t, just sock ‘im in the jaw. Weird eye monsters or no, I’ve always been the muscle in this operation. He can pry that from my cold, dead hands.”

Dipper musters a bittersweet kind of smile. “No one does senseless violence like you, Grunkle Stan.”

Grunkle Stan sniffs, eyes welling up with obvious tears. “You can’t go saying stuff like that when I’m trying to casually walk out on ya! C’mere, you knuckleheads!” He huffs, dragging him and Mabel into a firm embrace that feels more like he’s having the life squeezed out of him. He hugs back regardless. After a few seconds, they separate, and Grunkle Stan wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to look away. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, so you better be down for breakfast in the morning, or else. ” His tone’s grave, before immediately softening. “Night, kids.”

In an awkward unison, they reply, 

“Night, Grunkle Stan.”

Chapter Text

Breakfast was tense. Like, really tense. He and Mabel have never sat together in silence for this long and they once accidentally cast a mutual jinxing hex in each other (something that apparently just happens if two people say 'jinx' at the exact same time. Like, down to the millisecond.) They keep exchanging glances but what are they gonna say? He's never seen anyone eat cereal this sadly before. And Grunkle Stan is sad, make no mistake. Doesn't matter how many awkward grins he flashes their way to convince them otherwise.

After awkwardly brushing their teeth and awkwardly cleaning up around the gift shop and awkwardly trying to get Gompers out of a tree he’s been stuck in since probably last night (they ended up calling the fire department, but they hung up, so then they called the Soos), they’re alerted to the makeshift stage by the piercing sound of microphone feedback. A pretty decent crowd (of like, thirty, which is honestly great by Shack standards) has gathered around, and Dipper has to stop to wonder why there’s still business happening around here in the first place. Sure, Grunkle Stan never misses a chance to swindle the people in this town, but one, he’s moving out and two, the Shack’s even more shambly than usual. So what’s he gotten all dressed up for? 

His gaze flickers, then, to Great Uncle Stanford, who stands a couple of feet to his side with his hands clasped behind his back. He can’t hear what he’s saying (he really wishes he was mic’d up, too!) but he seems to be smiling as he chats idly with his brother. Okay, things are tense, but at least they seem to be getting along okay, he rationalizes to himself, as he’s one to do when he finds a situation objectively super stressful.

“No, I got it, Poindexter, I’ve done this a million times,” Grunkle Stan huffs as he jams the mic in the stand and fumbles to adjust its height. The feedback rings out louder, causing everyone in the immediate area to cover their ears. “No, I don’t need your — heyyy…Party people?” Stan forces out, clearly having just fully processed that the conversation’s been overheard. He coughs into his fist, adjusting the mic one last time before speaking into it. “So! No regular tours today, though you’re welcome to anything that survived in the gift shop. But uh, no, I’ve actually got an announcement to make? Y’see, uh…” 

Grunkle Stan wrings his hands together. Dipper and Mabel exchange a glance. 

“So! Here’s the thing. You’ll — You’ll all laugh when I tell you this,” a hoarse chuckle of his own punctuates the sentiment. “I am actually what you might call a ‘fraud’.” There’s air quotes. A sideways look to his brother. “Okay, well, you guys probably already knew that. Or maybe you didn’t, you're all kinda schmucks.” A loud gasp from the crowd cuts through the air. Grunkle Stan tugs at his collar. “I didn’t mean that.” A beat. “I kinda did. Why am I lying? I don’t work here anymore!”

Dipper’s jaw slacks, genuinely stunned for the millionth time this summer by his grunkle’s sheer audacity. The townsfolk all whisper and mutter to each other. Soos has to be physically restrained by Wendy to keep from shouting his protests. Hear him out, he vaguely hears her try to reassure. He still looks fit to cry regardless.

“So!” Grunkle Stan clasps his hands together. “I think I summed that up pretty great, but I’ve got time to kill,” he hums with a leisurely check of his watch. Great Uncle Stanford taps his boot against the porch in barely concealed frustration. The situation really sucks all around, but Dipper has to admit that if Mabel stole his identity for thirty years, he’d also be really ticked off, so…"Ah, to heck with it! I'll take a couple questions!"

“Toby Determined, Gravity Falls Gossiper! My question to you is…”

Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. There’s just something about him, he’s so scary! Hey, he got a real microphone though, that’s nice for — wait, no, it’s one of those fake karaoke ones. With it, he points to Great Uncle Stanford, whose posture tenses slightly. 

“Who’s that?”

Grunkle Stan’s gaze follows the microphone. “Oh! Yeah!” He smacks his forehead, laughing incredulously. “Obviously. Duh. Right. So, this is my brother Stanford. Whose identity I stole.” Great Uncle Stanford’s hand moves in a rotating circle, as if to urge him to continue. Grunkle Stan grimaces. “I used his name and made his lab into a ‘tacky tourist trap’ and I’m sssss…” 

For a moment, Dipper thinks he might actually say it, but ten seconds pass and that hissing sound is still coming out of his mouth, and he’s starting to get a little red in the face. Great Uncle Stanford grimaces, clearly hating the awkward display as much as everyone else. So he steps boldly forward, pressing his heel down onto the microphone stand to tilt it in his direction. Grunkle Stan looks visibly spurned, but Dipper figures there’s a little bit of relief in it, too.

“Thank you, Stanley, for uhm…Giving it your all,” Stanford says uneasily, before turning his focus to their audience. He smiles a smile Dipper hasn’t seen on him yet. A car dealer, or a politician’s smile. “Greetings, residents of Gravity Falls! I know we never got formally acquainted, but my name is Stanford Pines. I arrived here almost forty years ago with one mission; to study the unusual anomalies of this town. Now I’ve returned from an…Interdimensional hiatus, I have a new mission! If I've learned anything through my studies, it's that weirdness isn’t something to be shied away from, to be tucked in a box and forgotten about. It’s something to be embraced!” Yes, exactly! Dipper yells in agreement, silently, because no way is he interrupting the author. “I was a fool to keep my research to myself in my youth, which is why I’ve decided to compile and publish it for you, the people of Gravity Falls!”

It’s amazing how quick the people in this town turn, really, because they’re all chatting excitedly already.

“Shandra Jiminez,” a familiar voice pipes up in that literally trademarked monotone. “With your brother’s retirement, what will become of the Mystery Shack? Someone out there…Probably…Would call it the greatest tourist spot in Roadkill County.” 

“An excellent question!” Great Uncle Stanford chirps. “I understand how much this place must mean to you all. Though my brother deceived you all, I believe the Mystery Shack can be a force for good. Which is why I’ll be keeping it open to the public and implementing authentic attractions!” Dipper knows first-hand how that can go, but his uncle’s got a lot more monster wrangling experience than him so it could work out. Maybe they could exchange tips! “I want to foster a space in which everyone in this town can learn about the strange and unusual, so strap in, Gravity Falls. It’s gonna get weird!” 

Dipper glances to Grunkle Stan, whose incredulous expression pretty easily conveys that this is the first he’s hearing of this, too. He turns to Mabel, who shrugs lightly, concern etched into her brow. The townsfolk have already swarmed Great Uncle Stanford, and Grunkle Stan’s taken the opportunity to try and slink back into the shack. 

“We should probablyyyy…” Mabel hums out, gesturing vaguely.

“Follow him. Yep. Yeah. Agreed.”

But before they can move an inch, they’re suddenly being plucked by the scruffs and dragged off a few feet away. Dipper lets out a scream he is not proud of, but when his eyes readjust, he recognises the figure in front of him and the tension evaporates from his shoulders.

“Hey, McGucket!” He chimes instinctively, before the reality of the situation sinks in and he draws a sharp inhale through his teeth, scratching at the back of his neck. “ Ohhh, McGucket… Dude, I’m so sorry! Yesterday was crazy and we were gonna come tell you ASAP but—” 

“It’s HIM!” McGucket yells out; Dipper’s hung out with him a lot this summer and he still finds himself wincing at the volumes he can reach. “The man what wrote that magic book I gave ya! My head told me I ought’a keep it in the family…Guess I wasn’t all that far off!”

Dipper catches a grin stretching across Mabel’s face, her eyes sparkling with a revelation he doesn’t get. He loves Mabel to death, no doubt about it, but no one could ever fully understand where her head’s at, twin instinct or no. She eagerly grabs McGucket’s arm, tugging him in the direction of the crowd still bustling around their uncle. “You should go talk to him! I bet he’d be so happy to see you again!”

McGucket looks uneasy, lightly snatching his arm back with a distressed noise. “ Nyeeeeh, I don’t know about all’a that. It’s pretty hazy, but there’s something about him that gives me all kinds of creeps! I reckon we parted ways about as kind as a couple of racoons fightin’ over the last scrap of cornbread…” His voice softens, then, brows furrowing in thought. “Just being around him makes me dizzy. Something ain’t right!” 

Dipper’s gaze lifts to the glimpses of Great Uncle Stanford he can see through the crowd; he can still hear hints of his jovial laughter if he strains to listen. He’s solved a lot of mysteries this summer, battled a lot of impossible things, but he never thought the most impossible code to crack would be his own uncle, or whatever happened between him and his old…Friend? Work colleague? Some third thing? There’s no way he can let this slide, so he looks to McGucket with hopefully confidence because he’s really not sure if he can pull this off. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.” 

McGucket cracks a half-smile, then, clapping them both on the shoulders. “Thank you, kids. I hope I’m wrong about this.” He turns, ready to leave, before glancing over his shoulder. “You two stay safe, y’hear? You know where to find me if you run into any trouble!” 

And he’s off. Dipper glances to Mabel, who looks utterly despondent.

“Dipper, did you hear that? Whatever happened between them must’ve been intense! The heartache! The betrayal!” With a scary amount of conviction, she insists, “We have to get them back together!”

“Woah, woah, we need to figure out what actually happened between them f—wait, get them back t— never mind, doesn’t matter. What does matter is that there’s a whole side to this author mystery that we didn’t know about, and with Stan out of the house, we’ve got even less places to mine information than before.” Plus they’ll like, miss him. A lot. But he’s not gonna say the quiet part out loud if he doesn’t have to! 

Mabel gasps, “Are we doing more detective-y stuff? That’s like, my favourite nerd thing we do together! Interrogating witnesses, getting the scoop!”

“We sure are,” Dipper replies gravely. “But I think we should split up to cover more ground. You pester Grunkle Stan until he agrees to let you help him more, and I’ll grill the author!”

“Is this just ‘cause you wanna talk to Great Uncle Stanford about monsters and stuff?”

“I—!” Dipper raises a hand to protest, before lowering his hand. “I mean, sorta kinda, yeah but I’ll get to the important stuff, too! Just let me have this!”

“Hmmm…Okay! But you better not just come back with the gnomes’ beardcare ritual or whatever!” Mabel pauses. “Actually, no, do ask him that. But get to the bottom of the other stuff, too, Detective Pines!” 

“Of course…Also Detective Pines.” There’s an emphatic adjustment of his cap, staring ahead with raw determination. It probably looks pretty cool, he hopes. Is Wendy still around? Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care.

“We’re gonna blow the lid off this case.”

Chapter Text

Entering the Shack is a stealth mission in its own right. Dipper opens the door painfully slowly, but it still creaks dangerously, causing him to wince at the volume. Someone’s really gotta oil those hinges. He wonders briefly if those are the kinds of things Great Uncle Stanford would pay attention to. What would a Mystery Shack run by the author of the journals even look like? He figures it’d be basically everything he ever dreamed the Shack could be, but without Grunkle Stan here, it feels kinda wrong to get excited about it, like he’s choosing a guy he admires but has just met over a guy he hopes to never be anything like ever but has (almost) always been there when they needed him. He doesn’t want to have to pick sides. 

He’s scared enough that he’s gonna have to do that back home.

Augh, that’s not important right now! Focus, Dipper! As he and Mabel poke their heads through the doorway, he spots Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Stanford (who he didn’t even catch entering the Shack in the first place) chatting in hushed tones by the gift shop’s counter. Grunkle Stan leans against it, arms folded across his chest and head turned to look anywhere else while his brother tries to offer him…Something, in his enclosed fist. It occasionally catches the light between his fingers, but he can’t make out what it is.

"...Just want to make sure you're taken care of."

"Thanks, Sixer, but I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity. It's gold. Take it. It should set you up somewhere nice for a while."

"Gee, we got a modern Mother Theresa over here. Seriously, I don't get you. You kick me outta this place that I built—"

"I built this house, Stanley."

"You get what I mean, don't get smart with me! You kick me out but you're concerned about me finding a ‘nice’ place to stay? I don't get you!"

"I'd like you to kindly remove yourself from the laboratory I built, Stan, I don't want you on the streets. Not like…" Clearly their presence is now a little too obvious to ignore, as Great Uncle Stanford catches onto their arrival and breaks into a smile that’s clearly trying to wipe away anything that they might have heard. “Ah! Hello, children. Can we help you?”

“Uh.” Dipper blurts out awkwardly, instinctively, trying to fill dead air because he didn’t think this far ahead. “No, we just, uh…” 

“Were wondering if Grunkle Stan needs some help moving into his new swinging bachelor pad!” Mabel proclaims with a level of certainty he could only dream of. Grunkle Stan cracks a grin at that, the most sincerely at ease he’s looked all day. 

“‘Course you kids can tag along! But it’s not gonna be easy. Think ‘backbreaking labour’. Nose to the grindstone! You’ll—”

“Actually, I…Think I might hang back,” Dipper says as tactfully as he can, which isn’t very, scratching at the back of his neck. He can see that flash of hurt in Grunkle Stan’s eyes, sees his gaze flicker to his brother with understanding before returning to him. He feels bad, of course he does, but saying anything now is gonna make it pretty obvious that they're on a mission.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. You two’ve got a lotta nerd stuff to chat about. Gnome beardcare or whatever you geek out about.” And just like that, he’s already leading Mabel to the door, who shoots him a shrug and a grimace over her shoulder. Great Uncle Stanford looks stricken, opening his mouth and raising a finger to say something, but then they’re gone. And then he’s alone with the author of the journals, his uncle. And he has no idea where to start.

“So.” Great Uncle Stanford clasps his hands together. “You, ah…Oh, yes! You wanted to discuss my journals, didn’t you?”

Dipper’s heart skips a beat, the discomfort of the moment before long forgotten. “Yes! Absolutely! I could talk about it all day! I mean, we don’t have to talk about it all day, but I don’t have anything better to do! Not that I’m not doing anything with myself, I have hobbies, I actually just got the latest edition of Dungeons, Dungeons & More Dungeons and I’m working on a pretty great campaign if I do say so myself but I—”

“Wait, wait.” Great Uncle Stanford raises a hand, and Dipper cycles through every word he’d just said in search of some major mistake. The anxiety ebbs when he hears, "Did you just say Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons ?!"

"I—YES! You know that game?!"

Great Uncle Stanford shifts from one foot to the other, as if to restrain a simmering pot of energy desperately trying not to boil over. “I certainly do! It’s my favourite game on this or the other side! I can’t believe they still make it!” The other side. Dipper takes that little piece of information and tucks it away for later, too giddy about the fact that the author’s got such awesome taste to ask. “You know what? The Shack can wait a few hours. How about I help you with that campaign of yours?” When Dipper naturally, enthusiastically agrees, Great Uncle Stanford heads over to Tyler (when did he get in? Is he really out of it today? People just keep appearing in places) and putting on an…Attempt at a customer service voice? He sounded more convincing earlier. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, sir, but the Mystery Shack is temporarily closed for repairs!” He chimes, ushering him out the door. “Thank you for coming, I hope to see you at our grand re-opening!” 

With a slightly too loud slam of the door, Great Uncle Stanford stands with his hands placed confidently on his hips. “Now, I think we have plenty of space to play!”

And then the display mirror next to the door unceremoniously crashes to the ground.

“After I clean this up.”

Dipper’s barely getting anything done, too busy curiously peeking over at his uncle’s work to focus on his own. He’s sketching out a concept for a monstrous fire mage and it’s kinda captivating to watch. He’s always been so hung up on and interested in his research that he’s never stopped to appreciate his art. He sets his own notebook down, chewing at the tip of his pen. His gaze flickers from Stanford's gloved hand to his golden cufflinks, which he’s finally getting a better look at. They’re circular, engraved with a triangle with an eye inside of it. And now he can really see it, he can see it everywhere. From the windows to the gift shop rug to the shack sign outside. He doesn’t wanna break his uncle’s focus, but how could he not ask?

“Great Uncle Stanford?”

“Hm?”

“I keep seeing that symbol,” A gesture to it with his pen. “All over the shack. What does it mean?”

Great Uncle Stanford pauses where he’s drawing, a small puddle of ink blotting the page as he holds his pen against it for too long. “Well,” he says slowly, tentatively. “It’s William.”

A beat.

“The constellation.”

Dipper remembers that much, seeing it in the journal and stargazing at night and trying to find it. And he did find it, every single night, no matter where he was. He hasn’t really given it much thought until now. “Okay, but what does it mean? ”

There’s a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Inquisitive boy, aren't you? That’s good! That’s good. Don’t let anyone stifle that impulse, that hunger for knowledge.” A small pause elapses while Ford fiddles with the cufflink. “To me, anyway, it represents knowledge, hope… trust. I suppose I find having it on my person grounding, a reminder of my priorities no matter where I may be.”

“And you got those on the ‘other side’?” Wherever he’d been, it didn’t sound too bad if he had easy access to what look like authentic gold accessories. “Great Uncle Stanford…What was it like over there? Grunkle Stan made it sound like you'd ended up somewhere dangerous, and McGucket…” Dipper trails off. “I think he’s really worried about you.”

Great Uncle Stanford’s eyes widen slightly, as if the notion is a shock to him. A thousand emotions flash in his gaze for a moment. He’s quiet, his brows losing that steadfast certainty they always seemed to carry. In one breath, it’s weird to see the author genuinely out of his element; on the other, it’s kind of a relief. That this guy who was so smart and confident when it came to monsters and science, but was kinda awkward with people? It made him feel like a guy he couldn’t just look up to, but a guy who he could be someday. It’s a side of him he hadn’t really seen in person yet, and it’s kinda weird to see in practice. 

“Fiddleford…” His fingers trill atop his knee. “Fiddleford has caused a lot of confusion, I believe. I appreciate that he tried to get me out of there, I wasn’t supposed to end up stuck in there as long as I was, but I was never in any danger.” Great Uncle Stanford throws his hands out, suddenly frustrated. “He just didn’t have the constitution for this place, you understand? He jumped at shadows, feared everything…Which is why I couldn’t tell him where the portal really led, as much as I wanted to.”

“Well, where did it?” Dipper dares to ask, feeling a little uneasy assuming he has the right to know, that he ‘has the constitution’. His uncle casts him a sideways glance and he feels himself shrink into himself. 

“I call it the Oddscape. Or the Weirdness Realm. I never really landed on a name, but what I’ve been calling it for the last thirty years is home.” Dipper finds himself leaning forward intently, hanging onto every detail he can. “Is it for the faint of heart? Absolutely not. But I found myself adjusting to how impossible it was to adjust to fairly quickly. Think of a world that you can’t think of at all because it’s in a constant state of flux. Everchanging.”

“That sounds insane! And…exhausting!” 

“It certainly was,” Great Uncle Stanford admits with a small laugh, wiping at his right eye on cue. “But you don’t have much space to feel fatigued in a place like that. Why, last night was the first time I’d slept in over twenty years!”

“Whaaat? No way!”

“Yes way.” 

“That’s… Crazy. You really enjoyed it over there?”

There’s a pause. Suddenly, his uncle’s not keen to meet his gaze. He smiles, but it drops as quickly as it appears.

“I really did.”

Dipper idly picks at a loose thread on his windbreaker. “Do you…Wish you were still there? Instead of here, I mean.” 

“No.” The reply comes out pretty fast given he’d sounded so nostalgic a second ago. “No, I’ve had my fun. Frankly, I think I’m getting a little old for that kind of excitement. Besides, if I’d never come back, I wouldn’t have met my new family, would I?” Great Uncle Stanford leans over, ruffling his hair through his hat. “And I never would’ve found out that my own nephew had continued my work while I was gone.”

Dipper’s jaw slacks. “You…” Dread creeps up his spine. “ Right, I totally vandalised your journal. I’m sorry, I never thought—”

“Vandalised? Dipper, your contributions to my journal were remarkable! If anything, I’m proud. As a matter of fact, I wanted to keep some of your contributions in the published version, with credit, of course. What do you say to a co-author credit?”

Co-author?

Co-author?!

Okay, calm down. Calm down. Play it cool. Keep. It. Cool.

“I-I would be honoured, Great Uncle Stanford!”

Stanford laughs. “Then it’s a deal. Oh, and there’s no need for the formalities. Please, call me Ford.”

Chapter Text

“Tacky. Gross. Cool but SUPER illegal.”

Mabel kneels by one of the many boxes they’ve loaded into Grunkle Stan’s new home. As far as motel rooms go, it’s not too bad! Maybe whip a fresh coat of paint onto it or, you know, a couple cute little knick-knacks. Some unicorn ornaments (unicornaments!) would really bring a little life into this place! Her focus shifts to the next box hand clasps around a photo frame when it’s suddenly lightly thwacked away.

“Hey! I didn’t say anything about us decorating. I just wanted to move all this stuff so Ford wouldn’t get his mitts on it and throw it out. I mean, you don’t seriously think I’m staying here long-term, do you?”

“But I thought you didn’t have the money for an apartment?”

“What? Kid, I’ve got apartment money. But there’s no point in buying one or even getting cosy here. I’ll be back in the Shack within the week, mark my words.” Grunkle Stan sounds so confident saying it that she’s pretty much convinced, too. They’re brothers, once Great Uncle Ford’s gotten over his sci-fi whiplash, of course they’ll be back in business in no time! “Ford just likes his space! Now. I guess…” Stan scratches at the back of his neck, immediately deflating before forcing a second wind, “We used to be thick as thieves, y’know. Like you and Dipper!”

Something about that hits Mabel and it hits her hard. It’s always been pretty obvious to her that she and Dipper were the best twins who’d ever twinned in the history of twins; when they ‘fight’, it’s never a huge deal! But if Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford were like them and now they’re all weird and junk, does that mean they can get all weird and junk? She shifts awkwardly where she’s kneeling amongst the cardboard boxes, pursing her lips as she really debates if she wants to ask. “What happened between you guys?”

Stan bristles, posture tensing and eyes widening, his mind wandering for a second. He yanks the box of photos and trinkets out from under Mabel’s hand, shoving it under the bed. “Nothing that’s worth forty years of silence, I’ll tell ya that much. Heck, if McGucket hadn’t called me up all those years ago, who knows if Ford ever would’a bothered?”

But maybe if he’d been here instead of some crazy other dimension, he would’ve! Mabel wants to argue, because suddenly making sure these two are friends again is more important to her than literally anything, but there’s another guy in there she cares about a whole lot, too. “So…When you knew McGucket, was he all—” 

“Nuts?”

“I wasn’t gonna say nuts.”

“Can’t say he was. A total wreck? Yeah, but not with a whole department store’s worth of screws loose. I dunno what happened to the guy and honestlyyy?” He wobbles his hand, clearly a little uncomfortable with the subject. “I try not to think about it. I mean, you hate to see it happen, but what can ya do, right?”

“Uhhh…Yeah. I mean, I guess, but…” She really wants to argue that maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so ‘nuts’ if someone helped him out ages ago, but she can’t get distracted! She’s gotta stay in detective mode, even if Dipper isn’t here to keep her on track. “Why’d he call you, anyway? What happened?”

“Oh, I get it. You’re using my deep rooted, innate old man need to go on long, rambling stories to get me to spill the beans on what brought me to Gravity Falls, huh?”

“...Yeeeees?” Not really.

Stan grits his teeth, frustrated. “Well, you got me. Pull up a sturdy box and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Well, all things considered, a motel room is an upgrade.

Sure, he’s effectively ‘being bounty hunted’ and ‘living on borrowed time’ and ‘can’t open the blinds too much in case they’re out there ’ but it’s just nice to have a bed to lay his head on for a little while. He’d kinda hoped he’d step up from motel to hotel by now, but his last couple business ventures have been kind of a bust. He’s heard pug trafficking’s on the up-and-up, maybe he should look into tha—

The phone rings.

Wait, this place has a phone? It really just kinda blended into the lifeless, nothing interior design, but nope, there it is, perched on the wall. Briefly he wonders if it’s rigged to explode or something, like in the movies. Can they do that? Stanford would know. ‘Cause Stanford knows everything.

Stan shoves the thought aside; because he’ll be damned if he devotes that guy even a second of his attention…also he doesn’t really mean it. A call from him would be kinda nice. God, what would he even say? Maybe he should start coming up with a success story, y’know, just in case. Give him something to tell Dad, really stick it to him.

It's that glimmer of hope that pushes him to cautiously approach the phone, hands raised defensively as if it’s gonna pounce if he’s not careful. On the one hand, explosive maybe? On the other…Maybe it’s a friendly voice. He could do with one of those. He’d take a telemarketer at this point!

No, you wouldn’t. You crazy? There’s rock bottom and then there’s that.

His hand inches towards the phone at a snail’s pace, before he realises it’ll probably disconnect any second and snatches it fiercely, clearing his throat and leaning against the wall as if whoever’s on the other end of the line will be able to sense just how relaxed he looks. “Y’ello?” 

“Is this Stanley Pines?”

Yeesh, when was he last called by that name? Instinct tells him it’s gotta be someone from the family, but unless his brother moved down South in the last decade, he doubts it. He notes the twang first, then the tremor. It doesn’t exactly sound like whoever’s calling him is a threat, but you never know, do you? “Depends. Who’s asking?”

“My name,” the stranger begins, and a second too many elapses before he continues, “My name’s Fiddleford McGucket. I-I’m yer’ brother’s partner.” 

“Uh,” Stan chokes out, unsure what part of that sentence to hone in on first. “‘Kay. Then I guess this is Stanley Pines speaking.”

“Great,” Fiddleford replies, suddenly gaining a rushed, pressed quality to his voice. “Listen, I dunno what happened ‘tween you and Stanford and right now I don’t think it rightly matters. He’s in trouble,” Trouble. The sentiment buries itself into his brain, his stomach lurching. He grips the phone tighter. “A-And if you’ve got even a shred of decency, if you’ve got a heart, you’ll come help him, whatever happened. Please.”

“I—Yes! Yeah, I’ll…Of course, what-what happened?”

“I’ll explain when ya get here. It’s…It ain’t the kinda thing you can convey with words. Not in a timely manner, anyway. Gravity Falls, Oregon. 618 Gopher Road. Please hurry.” 

And then the phone line goes dead, and Stan’s forced to repeat the address over and over in his head until he can fumble for a place to write it down. Okay, okay. It’s probably fine! Whatever happened, he can fix it. How bad can it be?

All things considered, he thinks he makes good time. It’s not like he’s familiar with the place; Roadkill County never seemed like a super lucrative place to do business, but he’s good with maps and better at violating road safety laws, so though he only got an hour or so of sleep, he manages to arrive before the snowfall gets too intense. He should’ve expected Ford to hole himself up in a hut several miles from the rest of society, but he’d assumed his only partner would be as many books as he could get his grubby paws on. Not that he’s judging! He doesn’t know anything yet!

He has to admit, they’ve got a nice place. They must be loaded. Stepping up to the front door, he knocks thrice and waits, shivering in the cold that he’s sure only cropped up five seconds ago. 

After a moment, the door slowly opens part way, then swings open. The man in front of him is lithe and pale, a lab coat draped over hunched shoulders. There’s a deep anxiety in his gaze, set into his skull, which is tinged by just a little relief when he acknowledges him. “Thank you for comin’. I-I didn’t expect you’d be here so soon so the place is kind of a mess, but—”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it. I’m here about Ford. Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”

Fiddleford blinks, his response delayed, before he abruptly nods, stepping back to allow him inside. He’s grateful for the warmth, though it’s not much cosier than the outdoors, really. “Sorry about the cold,” Fiddleford says briskly, leading the way to the stairwell, leaving Stan to follow after him like a confused dog. “Stanford invested a whole lotta money into…W-Well, you’ll see. But it means I’ve had to be pretty stingy with the heat the last couple days.”

Stanley can't keep the irritation out of his voice, silently yelling at this guy to just spit it out already, “Look, I’m not worried about the heat, just tell me what’s going on! If something… happened to him, you’ve gotta tell me.” 

Fiddleford glances over his shoulder, guilt in his eyes, before continuing to lead the way in silence. Stan’s usually happy to argue, but he continues to trail after him, down the stairs, down the elevator (this house has an elevator ) and into a room filled with control panels and screens and…When his gaze lifts, peering through the giant window, he sees it; a huge, triangular machine towering over them both. His body shivers involuntarily.

“Your brother ‘n I built this. It’s a…Gateway between worlds, but I haven’t the faintest idea where what world it leads to.” 

Stan tenses. The idea of a ‘gateway to another world’ doesn’t really matter to him right now, the takeaway is obvious; 

“But wherever it goes, he’s in there?”

“Yes.” Fiddleford’s hands clasp together shakily, almost in prayer. “I just wanted you to see, I s'pose. And I wanted to apologise, for letting this happen, for being any part of this.”

“Wait, wait,” Stan says briskly, raising a hand. “You said you invited me here to help, t o-to fix this! What happened to that?”

Fiddleford looks stricken. “I-I know that,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he knows much of anything. “But I’ve thought it over and I don't know what this machine’s capable of! I ran some calculations a-and believe me when I say it hurts to admit this but…I think it’s too risky. I think Stanford would say it’s too risky.”

Stan’s not sure how that makes him feel. He’s not sure if he's feeling much of anything right now. No, wait. There it is. “So, okay, let me get this straight. You called me up, saying my brother was in danger but that we could fix it, but now I’m here, you’re gonna tell me that he could be lost or hurt or worse but that we shouldn’t bother?!”

“It’s not about that!” Fiddleford retorts, voice raising in desperation. “I’d go to Hell and back for your brother but in good conscience, I can’t put the world at risk for a chance, and that’s what it’d be, a chance of bringin’ him back!”

“Screw the world! What happened to ‘ have a heart’ ? You’re telling me in the time it took me to get up here, you decided he, what, wasn’t worth it?”

“Of course he’s—!” Fiddleford draws a trembling breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “We can’t save him. And I can’t…I can’t live with that. So I’m sorry; I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry for mine, but I can't carry this burden anymore. Maybe what Stanford would want is for us to forget any of it ever happened.” He draws himself upright. “That’s what I’m choosin’ to believe, anyway.” And then he turns on his heel, head near immediately lowering as he brushes past him.

Stan’s teeth clench, angry for Ford more than himself because clearly Fiddleford meant something to him and he has the audacity to turn his back on him?

Seems like his brother’s bad karma finally caught up.

Stan’s not gonna let him leave without tearing into him, though, so he stamps a foot for emphasis before hollering after whoever the hell Fiddleford McGucket is, 

“Fine! I’ll do it without you!”

“Wow,” Mabel exhales. She feels like she’d been holding his breath through the entire story.

“Right? The nerve of that guy!” Stan exclaims, but she’s not really sure if that’s the takeaway. “If I’d known he’d taken one of my brother’s journals just to keep me from saving him, let’s just say I would’ve gotten him back a heck of a lot sooner.” There’s a sharp exhale, arms folding across his chest. “But jokes on him! I did it, and look! The world’s super not ended! I’m sure he’ll appreciate that he was wrong when he finds out. They both will.”

“Yeah! Yeah…”

Stan pauses, frown softening before it shifts into a trying smile. His hand darts out to ruffle her hair, and she beams reflexively, trying to make him feel a little better. “C’mon. It’s freaky for you and Dipper to be apart this long. Let’s get you back to the Shack, huh?”

“Wowza, is it seriously that late?” Mabel gasps out as she eyes the clock on the wall. “I got so caught up in your story that I didn’t notice!”

“That’s my old man power,” Stan replies with a grin, rising to his feet. “Maybe I should write a book next, huh?”

“I’d read it!” Mabel chimes, even though the more she thinks about a Grunkle Stan biography, the more weirded out she gets. She already feels kinda sick.

“Hah. Thanks, kiddo."

Chapter Text

Honestly, after the last week, it feels so good to just chill.

The grand re-opening was a hit even by Shack standards; pretty much the whole town was there, and though it’s kinda weird to see Great Uncle Ford’s journals lining the shelves of the Mystery Shack (he compiled everything into one book for print, and honestly he’s kinda bummed out about how much got cut. He genuinely has no idea how he got it all done so fast), weird is good, so it circles around to being kinda cool. He got to read the original, after all, and sure he hasn’t been allowed to touch it since Great Uncle Ford got back (which is admittedly really disappointing) but he figured he also wouldn’t like someone going through his unfiltered private journal without permission, either. Plus, being a co-author of the most popular book in town has really boosted his cred around here! Man, ‘helped write a book at twelve’ is gonna look so good on his future college applications.

He just finished sweeping up the gift shop and now he’s thrown himself into the armchair to watch some mindless TV. Great Uncle Ford said because of ‘child labour concerns’ he wasn’t going to make him or Mabel work actually shifts, and it’s honestly the first time he’d ever wanted to work at the Shack. They managed to rationalise in the end that doing a couple of chores didn’t count as working a shift, and he, well, swept, while Mabel bezazzled the merch displays. He personally feels pretty rewarded after a long hour’s work (literally, Great Uncle Ford gave them both ten bucks so they’re basically rich)! 

“Look, I wanna channel surf, and because I called dibs, you’re just gonna have to be okay with that,” Dipper huffs, but Mabel’s already lying on her stomach on the floor and flipping through a magazine, feet kicking lazily in the air. “Okay, cool! Good!” And then he’s grabbing for the remote, clicking the on button. “I just hope there’s something new on.”

“THIS JUST IN: The mayor is dead.”

“What?!” Dipper cries out in disbelief. Mabel’s head darts up, slack-jawed. As if summoned, Great Uncle Ford pokes his head around the door, curious and…covered in giant bite marks?

“What? What is it?”

“The mayor just—wait, what happened to you?”

“Leprecorns have a violent streak I was, until now, not privy to.”

“Oh…kay?” 

“But what’s this about the mayor?” Ford steps further into the room, leaning against the arm of the couch and prying a flask out of his pocket. He swigs it nonchalantly as the broadcast continues. 

“A memorial statue is already being carved in the deceased mayor’s honour.” Shandra Jimenez breaks into a sob, slumping forward. “I’m sorry, it’s just been so long since we’ve had real news. I’m just so happy!” 

Her co-reporter leans into frame to pat her shoulder reassuringly. “There will be a town hall meeting this afternoon to discuss replacing him.”

“Well, what do you know,” Ford comments simply. “I suppose his contract finally expired.”

“His…what? Contract with who?” Dipper asks incredulously, glancing up to try and gauge his expression, which barely shifts. “I-I can’t tell if you’re serious.” Ford cracks a grin, puts a finger to his own lips and takes another sip from his flask. The smile drops quickly, though, his expression turning contemplative. 

“The mayor, gone. You think certain people will live forever and before you know it…” Ford emulates a throat slitting gesture across his neck, before his gaze tears away, his mind elsewhere. “The question as it stands is who on earth is going to take his place?” Realisation flashes in his eyes, a hand drawn up to his mouth, gaze flickering to his nephew worriedly. “Is Preston Northwest still alive?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Damn!” 

Before Dipper can think, he blurts out the obvious solution, “Hey, what if you ran for mayor?” Ford laughs lightly at the idea; he doesn’t really mind. It doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at him. 

“I appreciate that you think I’m of mayoral timbre,” he muses. “But I’m not sure the life of a politician is one for me.”

“Why not?” Dipper counters, genuinely curious more than anything. “I mean, don’t sell yourself short, man!” Can he call the author man? “This town is full of so much weird and crazy stuff. If anyone’s gonna be able to help the people here through it, it’s gonna be you!” 

Ford looks at him like a deer in headlights, blinking a few times as if for his brain to manually reset. He pockets his flask, straightening up. “Help them through it,” he echoes. And then he’s out the door.

“...We’re here to choose a mayor for the first time in almost a century. According to the town charter,” As Sheriff Blubbs exposits, he opens up a dusty old scroll, which somehow housed a live bat that flies out once it’s opened. “A worthy candidate is defined as anyone who can cast a shadow, count to ten, and throw their hat into the provided ring.”

Dipper watches intently, trying to run through options in his mind. He doesn’t really like anything his mind’s coming up with, until Ford taps him lightly on the shoulder, leaning over to ask, “May I borrow your cap?” 

“Y-Yes, of course!”

“Wonderful, thank you.” And with that, Ford plucks the hat and Dipper doesn’t even bother to fix his bangs, too caught up in watching his uncle toss his hat in the ring. Everyone’s heads turn to him, and Blubbs looks at Dipper, dismayed. Man, he should’ve expected this would put all the focus on him. 

“Uh, I’m not sure a kid your age can run for mayor, ” The sheriff glances down to the charter, pausing. “Can you?” Blubbs continues to mumble to himself in vague shock about how there’s no rule against it when Ford rises to his feet and raises a hand. 

“Apologies for the confusion, I didn’t bring one of my own. But I do believe I fulfil all of the requirements,” he hums nonchalantly as he strolls up to the podium. “And it doesn’t seem that anyone else is leaping at the opportunity, so if everyone’s alright with it, I’m happy to be sworn in now,” Ford almost seems to rambling now, and though Dipper’s pretty confident that everyone here’s on board, he doesn’t get why he’s in such a rush all of a sudden. He’s just about to open his mouth to continue when a fez is thrown into the ring, causing Ford to flinch back before adjusting his shirt’s collar and dusting off his sweater vest as if to show just how not surprised he’d been. Dipper follows his gaze to the back of the room, where Grunkle Stan’s now pointing to him accusingly. 

“Hold it, Sixer! You can’t just waltz in here like you own the place and declare yourself ruler! I thought this was an election !” 

Ford’s hands raise defensively, letting out a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Stanley. I simply saw no one was taking up the mantle and thought I’d offer.”

“Oh, right, you ‘thought you’d offer’,” Stan echoes with vigorous air quotes. Dipper cringes, sinking down in his seat a little because he doesn’t want to pick a side. Or to really be seen as part of this in general. “Of course Doctor PhD Pines over here thinks he’s mayor material!” 

“Actually, ‘Doctor’ already implies I have a PhD—”

“Augh, see?! This is what I’m talkin’ about! You're so out of touch! You’ve been AWOL for thirty years and you think you know what’s right for this town? I’ve done way more for these people over the years while you’ve been living it up in some other world, according to you!”

Dipper hears Soos yell an affirmative ‘yeah!’ a few seats down, and he moves to slump further in his seat…But also crane his neck to peek at Stan before his (and everyone else’s) head turns to Ford, who draws a deep, meditative breath as he plans his answer, which is honestly why he’d probably be a better mayor. “You’re right that I haven’t lived in this town for as long as you have,” Ford says slowly. “But from what I’ve seen, you’ve spent the last thirty years exploiting the people of Gravity Falls for your own gain. That’s certainly not the kind of man I’d trust with leading Gravity Falls into a new future. But we live in a democracy, so I would be happy to make this into a real election. What do you folks say?”

Dipper watches Stan’s jaw go slack as the crowd erupts into cheers, a few of them tossing their own hats into the ring. His gaze flickers back to Ford, but he’s not smiling anymore, his stare distant before he briskly descends the steps to follow after who he quickly realises is McGucket, who's hastily bolting out of the hall. As concerned as he is curious, Dipper quickly bounds after him, trying to be discreet, before skidding to a halt as his uncle stops in the doorway, his gloved hands tucked into the crease of his elbows as his arms fold across his chest, watching him go with an expression he can’t read. 

“Are you…Okay?” He asks uselessly.

“Fine.” He doesn’t seem like it.

“Y’know, I-I’m actually pretty good friends with McGucket, I think. I could talk to him and—”

“It’s fine, Dipper,” Ford’s tone sharpens, and Dipper finds himself wincing in the face of being snapped at by the author. It’s clear his uncle notices, because he immediately softens. “I considered Fiddleford a dear friend but when the going gets tough, he never gets going. You can never truly trust a person like that...It's not worth it.” He cracks a smile, but still doesn’t meet his nephew’s gaze as his arms unfold and he fiddles with his cufflink with a fond smile. 

“Besides, I know who my friends are.”

Chapter Text

So his uncles are running for mayor. Against each other.

As if it wasn’t awkward enough trying not to pick a side already, now they’re literally on opposite sides and everyone’s expected to pick one. It’s awkward, and though he once again has to admit that Great Uncle Ford’s objectively a better choice (and that everyone in town probably thinks so), getting involved in either of their uncles’ campaigns seems like a really bad idea. But after publishing a book with the author, won’t he expect Dipper to be on his side? He’s running through it over and over in his head when he steps through the gift shop door, stopping abruptly when he hears glimpses of a conversation he’s suddenly pretty interested in. This really is becoming one of his best eavesdropping spots. 

Soos stands tall, holding his hat close to his chest, expression grave. Ford stares at him plainly.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pines. I don’t have any beef with you, dude, it’s just…The only thing I care about more than the Mystery Shack is the Mystery Man. You know? I have chosen my allegiance, and it’s to Mr. Pines. If for this choice I have to be banished from this world of wonderment I hold so dear…Then I’ll go. It’s been an honour.” Without warning, Soos moves to hoist his shirt over his head, clearly trying to sever his ties to the Shack, or something? But Ford’s hands raise defensively, eyes blown wide as he waves them frantically.

“No, no, that’s quite alright, Soos. Please…Put your shirt back on.” Once the deed is done, he smiles warmly, setting a hand on Soos’ shoulder. “I understand Stanley must mean a great deal to you. I’m not going to fire you over a mayoral campaign, it has nothing to do with your job.” Ford’s gaze flickers over to Wendy, who’s sitting back with her feet propped up on the desk. A magazine’s covering her face but the pages she’s turning are inside the magazine, as if something’s tucked away behind it. “Wendy? Do you have any objections to assisting me in my campaign?”

Wendy glances up, a little startled. “What? Oh. Uh…Not really. I mean, I love Stan, but he’s got a track record, and you…” She hesitates, glancing downwards to whatever she’s reading, then back up. “Well, Gravity Falls is definitely buying what you’re selling. So sure, I guess I’ll paint a couple banners if you’re paying me.”

Ford cracks a crooked grin at the sentiment. “Thank you?” And then his eyes fix on the doorway. Dipper straightens his back reflexively. Opening his mouth to launch into a whole long winded thing about how they’d love to help but it’d be all kinds of awkward, he’s soon cut off when his uncle raises a hand, reassuring. He can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he hears his next words, “Don’t worry about it, kids. I’m not expecting your  vocal support, either. The last thing I want to do is make this more of a family affair than a political one.”

“Listen, kids, going into this, I want you to understand one thing: this has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with this family.”

“You’re not…Gonna say that onstage, right?” Dipper asks, cringing slightly up at Stan as he kneels in front of him and Mabel, bracing their shoulders.

“It’s a pretty bad opener, not gonna lie,” Mabel adds, nodding sagely. 

“What? No. As far as the people out there need to know, I have strong ‘stances’ on ‘The Issues’.” Stan rolls his eyes, as if the concept physically grosses him out. “But off the record, this is one hundred percent about making sure my brother doesn’t get in that cushy mayor chair.”

“I thought you and Great Uncle Ford were still friends,” Mabel points out, tilting her head curiously. “Why are you so mad at him all of a sudden?”

“Well, that was when he was acting like it! But has he given me my house back?” Not your house, Dipper silently argues. “Has he even spoken to me outside of this campaign? No! It’s like, I saved your life, hello? He’s treating me like he doesn’t even know me! You think a guy that two-faced should be in office?” There’s a proud gesture to his own chest with his thumb, grinning broadly. “ I’ll be honest and open about being corrupt! I think people are really gonna appreciate that.” 

“Uhhhh…Yeah.” Good luck with that.

“Oh! I’m on! Wish me luck, kids!” His hands move to ruffle their hair, before he rises to his full height, marching on stage with a shocking amount of confidence. 

“We’ve gotta let him make his own mistakes,” Mabel says solemnly. They shuffle into the crowd, snagging two seats near the back. “I mean sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but Grunkle Stan’s got a sorta almost charisma to him! He won’t totally bomb.” 

“Hiya there! Stan Pines here. Let’s get real. Do you think the women of Gravity Falls wear too much make-up?”

Yikes. Dipper feels himself slinking down into his chair, and glancing to his left, he can see Mabel doing the same. It’s genuinely the worst opener he can imagine, and somehow it gets worse. The next five minutes feel like a Mad Libs game where you try and write the world’s worst stump speech, and he’s heckled off-stage in the last quarter. Maybe it’s for the best. Stan roughly shoulders past his brother, who looks a little perturbed, as he exits the stage. Ford takes the mic and Dipper feels like he can breathe again, cautiously optimistic that this speech won’t feel like a waking nightmare.

“People of Gravity Falls; my name is Stanford Pines. I’m sure most of you already know that by now, but I understand it must be an adjustment, matching a name you once knew so well to a slightly different face.” He rolls his shoulders into a shrug, chuckling lightly. “But that doesn’t matter now; what matters is that I believe I’m uniquely qualified to guide, to protect this town, to lead it into a new era of prosperity.” Ford grabs the podium with one hand, gesturing emphatically with the other. He’s even got the politician point down. “Those of you who’ve read my book will know I spent six years researching the supernatural occurrences in this town, stuff of urban legend that I’ve verified as scientific fact.”

Sorry, Stan, but Dipper can’t deny how his heart leaps with excitement. To be able to say this town is weird and unusual and be able to prove it? It feels good! Having a mayor who knows more about this place than anyone could educate the whole town about it! Plus, it means no one will call him a paranoid dork for stating the objective fact that ghosts are real.

“What most of you won’t know is that though I spent thirty years in another world, on another plane of reality. I may have spent a long time away from home, but I don’t see that as a hindrance; I see it as an asset. There’s nothing this town can throw at me that I can’t handle, that we can’t handle together. Gravity Falls is changing, we’re all changing! Our eyes are open to the endless weirdness around us. Isn’t that amazing?” Ford’s eyes are wide as he speaks, wild with enthusiasm, like a college professor giving a lecture on his favourite subject. “A vote for Stanford Pines is a vote for embracing what makes Gravity Falls unique, for learning to coexist with it! Oh, also, free admission to the Mystery Shack if you provide proof you voted.” 

The crowd cheers. They’re simple souls at heart.

Wendy Corduroy is used to chaos, but to say the last couple weeks have been nuts would be an understatement. But hey, sometimes your boss’ twin brother rocks up from another dimension, becomes your new boss, then your old and new boss end up running against each other for mayor.

No one’s really asked for her stance on the whole thing; most people assume Wendy doesn’t have much of a stance on much of anything, which she honestly appreciates. If you shrug your shoulders enough, people stop asking for your opinion, which is great when all you’re looking for is some peace and quiet. But just because she doesn’t fork over her opinions easy doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them. 

And boy does she have opinions about mayor-to-be Stanford Pines. 

Sorry, Doctor Stanford Pines. 

It’s the kind of thing she’d honestly usually bring up to Dipper first. She’d say she’s got a good eye, but the kid’s got a real detective thing going on and she just can’t beat that kind of raw overthinking power. Thing is, he’s kind of worshipped ‘the author’ all summer, and it honestly seems like a good thing for him, having someone to geek out with. Now he’s here and literally everything he wanted him to be, she’d feel like a jerk bursting his bubble. Maybe that’s why she’d needed to know what the guy was really like; for his sake, not hers. She doesn’t wanna have to break any bad news to him, but she’s not gonna let him get hurt worse down the line, either. The final debate is tomorrow, and she’s pretty sure she’s got all the info she needs. 

It’s closing time and all of the customers have finally filed out (seriously, Tyler, you’ve got an election tomorrow and you’re here trying to pick out cryptid Christmas ornaments in August?) but for once, she’s in no rush to leave. Dr. Pines stands in the middle of the gift shop, hands planted on his hips, exhaling with an air of pride and contentment. That had always been kind of a routine for Stan, too, and part of her wonders if he knows that. Wonders how he feels about it if he does.

“Why’d you cut so much out of your book?” 

Mr. Pines pauses. His shoulders tense, just a little. 

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean…You kept all the monster stuff, but you cut basically everything about you. Were you embarrassed or something?”

“How do you—” 

“I guess I can’t totally blame you. Some of the stuff in there is pretty embarrassing. I probably wouldn’t publish all that stuff about getting girls to talk to me either.”

Dr. Pines goes pale. “I haven’t been able to find my journal anywhere. Did you—?”

Seeing no need to play coy anymore, she lowers her magazine and drops the third journal onto the desk. He steps forward to snatch it back defensively, but when he moves to take a step back, she raises a hand. “One sec.” Darting beneath the counter, she tosses the second journal, then the first, then her handheld blacklight, onto the countertop. Her head lifts and she sees the dismay in his eyes, moving to collect them instinctively before his hand stalls. “This is…An outrageous violation of privacy. I should fire you for this.”

“Hey, I can’t blame you. That’s probably the professional thing to do. But at least hear me out first, huh?”

Dr. Pines pauses where he’s slotting the first journal into his interior coat pocket, before dropping it in, sighing frustratedly. “I suppose I can grant you that much.” 

“It’s not like I had a problem with you or anything, man, this isn’t some personal vendetta,” She says, and she really means it. “But Dipper and Mabel are my friends and you’ve just wandered into their lives like you own the place. Now you’re running for mayor and it’s—I mean, be honest, it’s pretty sketchy. So sure, I’ve been borrowing your journals to make sure you weren’t some kind of maniac. Dipper only ever found the third one; for all we knew, you wrote about kicking puppies or eating babies in the other two.”

“So you read all of them? Cover to cover?”

“Sure did.”

“In how long?”

“I dunno, two weeks?”

“You’re a fast reader.”

“Dude, all I do is read back here. What’s it look like I’m doing? My job ?”

“I see your point,” Dr. Pines admits, leaning slightly against the desk. “Well, seeing as you’ve apparently read every embarrassing little tidbit about me, what’s your verdict? Do I read as ‘baby eater’ to you?”

“Not really. You just read as a dork — which is fine, I’m not exactly gonna shove you into a locker about it. I just don’t get why you’re doing stuff like shilling merch in a tourist trap and running for mayor when you’d obviously rather be studying magical soil samples in your lab. I mean, did your time in that other dimension really make you switch up that much?” Dr. Pines averts his gaze. “Yeah, I didn’t think that’d work.” A pang of sympathy of all things grips her chest. “What’s up? Alien peer pressure? Are you doing all of this for a girl?” A pause. “Not a girl?” Dr. Pines’ eyes widen, just slightly. He coughs into his fist.

“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.” 

“Okay, well, you might wanna figure out if it’s what you want to do before you’re locked in. This mayor stuff’s no joke. I mean, do you really wanna be running this place until you croak like the last guy did? What will become of your magic soil samples?”

There’s a small stretch of silence.

Eventually, Dr. Pines breaks into a laugh. “You remind me so much of Stanley, it’s uncanny.” 

Wendy chuckles in turn, half grimacing. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“Oh, it is,” he replies instinctively, before he realises himself and his smile drops, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “It is.”

“So…When are you letting him move back in?”

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.” 

“Right. Well, you can see how that kinda makes you look like a jerk, right?” She points out, resting her head in her hand. She watches the gears turn in his head, but it’s pretty obvious that he knew that already.

“If I could explain my side, I would.”

“Hey, a reason would be better than no reason,” Wendy shrugs, flipping up her magazine because she’s running out of advice. She watches Dr. Pines straighten up out of the corner of her eye. 

“Right. Well, uhm. Thank you, for…returning my journals,” he says shortly, before pointing to her. “Don’t do that again.” And then he’s off. 

Well, Dipper’s been dreading this for weeks. It’s not like he’s getting any joy out of watching his uncles debate each other every week, and he’s definitely not enjoying watching Grunkle Stan become the hardest to like man in Gravity Falls, but hey, it’s election day. By this time tomorrow, Great Uncle Ford will probably be mayor. He’s not sure what that means for them, or the Shack, or what, but it’s not exactly like they’re gonna be worse off, right? 

He watches in a cold sweat as the candidates ascend the steps. Stan, Ford, and Tyler (who he honestly feels bad for; poor guy has barely gotten a word in edgewise on this campaign trail). Ford cracks his brother a trying smile. They don’t so much as lock eyes. 

“Let the debate begin!” Shandra Jiminez announces with a ring of the bell. Manly Dan sits before the stage, and is about to read from his fist cue card when Ford suddenly cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, before we begin, I’d like to make an announcement.” He looks apprehensive, glancing upwards as if looking to a higher power for affirmation. “I’ve given it some thought and after careful consideration, I’m…dropping out of the race.” A loud gasp rings out through the audience. Stan slams a fist onto the podium, yelling out a bewildered ‘what?!’ Dipper’s inclined to agree, what is he thinking?

“I was so certain going into this that I knew what you all needed, but my esteemed opponent was right about one crucial thing,” Ford hums, gesturing broadly in his brother’s direction. “I’m not a part of this town the way I used to be. And perhaps before I can help Gravity Falls, I ought to get reacquainted with it first. I don’t know this town as well as I did thirty years ago, but my brother does. I was woefully out of my depth signing up for this. Stanley…” He gestures, waving his hand around awkwardly. “Well, he’ll do his best. I’m sure you’ll all learn to trust him again in time.”

Dipper’s stunned gaze finally flickers to Stan, who’s standing, jaw slack, eyes wide. His lip quivers as he glances down at the gloved hand his brother’s offering him. He grips it firmly, dragging him into a hug that looks like it hurts. They exchange words, but without the mics, he can’t make it out. After a moment, Stan pulls back just enough to lean up into his microphone and announce,

“Well, looks like that’s that! Debate’s over, we can all go home, you can throw your bird seed or whatever the…dumb tradition…is…” 

But the townspeople are already throwing their seed — at Tyler, who smiles bashfully, blushing. His uncles stare in disbelief for a moment, before descending the steps, scratching at their heads confusedly as they shuffle over to Stan’s car. Dipper rises to meet them, and Mabel follows after him. 

“Did you even notice there was another guy running?” Stan asks, a brow raised. 

Ford clears his throat. “I did not.”

“Ah, well. ‘S probably for the best. I would’ve sucked as mayor…less than you would’ve, but still.” 

“Alright, alright, enjoy your ego boost,” Ford huffs, delivering a light thwack to his brother’s stomach. 

“Seriously, though. Thanks. For, uh…letting me have that. I didn’t know you had it in you, anymore. Admitting you’re wrong.” 

“I can’t say I’ve had much practice. Never needed it.”

“Oh, can it, Sixer.” A punch is delivered to Ford’s arm. He winces despite his laughter, clutching the afflicted area. Stan climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, but he doesn’t close the door just yet. “So…we’re good?”

Ford blinks, incredulous. “Of course we’re good.”

“No, I mean… are we good? ”

Ford seems to get it, but Dipper sure doesn’t. “Yes, Stanley. Water under the bridge. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Stan opens his mouth to say something. He glances towards the steering wheel. “Yeah. See you soon.” 

The door closes, and after revving the stuttering engine for a few moments. And then he’s off.

Chapter Text

When he opens his eyes, he’s in a swirling, cosmic landscape, adorned with books and papers and equations once thought unsolvable. It’s familiar, even though it’s been so long. In a way, it’s a second home. Ford steps forward tentatively, slow and steady even though he’s gotten quite used to walking through vast spans of nothingness over the last few decades. If he’s back here, that can only mean one thing, and his heart swells with of all things relief at the thought. Unafraid, he calls out, 

“Bill?”

In a flash of light, He’s here. Back on the other side, he’s gotten used to Him being an almost imposing, larger than life figure. Not much can be done about their drastic height difference there, and within His realm he’s gotten used to feeling small, but he’s put at ease by the fact that they’re once again on an equal playing field. It’s nice to be able to comfortably meet His gaze. Ford takes another look around and huffs out a small laugh. “Someone’s sentimental.”

“Hey, it’s your mindscape, smart guy. Besides, why would I reinvent the wheel when I pretty much nailed it the first time?”

Ford rolls his eyes, endlessly fond. His smile wavers, his hands tucked behind his back. “You’ve been quiet. I thought You’d have reached out sooner.”

“Hey, just because I haven’t been around doesn’t mean I haven’t been around. You know how it gets back home, I’ve just been too busy to chat. Of course I’ve been keeping an eye on you, though!” Bill pauses, tapping his ‘chin’ in contemplation. “...But y’know, catch me up in your own words, just for the record. I’m still interested.” Ford’s brows furrow, because that’s very obviously code for ‘I haven’t been watching at all’. He chooses not to take it personally. 

“Well, I’ve been fortunate enough to reunite with my family,” he begins, feeling a smile stretch across his face near immediately. His words pick up, quick and enthusiastic. “I have a niece and nephew and they’re both incredible! And I have to admit, seeing my brother after all this time has actually been more of a relief than I exp—”

“ Ugh. ”

“What? What’s ‘ugh’ for?”

“ Nothing , Ford, it’s just…” Bill pinches at His eye, exhaling. “I’ve met a lot of freeloaders in my time. I get it’s been a while and you’re all excited about seeing him again, but you haven’t forgotten what he took from you, right?” He snaps His fingers and Ford’s treated to a projection of a broken invention that could’ve changed the world. Of his brother’s snide little smile as he announces that maybe there’s a silver lining. Anger and betrayal flare up in his chest, it feels like he’s there… He waves a hand through the illusion. The machine sparks, then explodes, taking the projection with it. 

“We were seventeen. He made a mistake.”

“And look how much better he’s gotten at conning the masses since then! Until you showed up, he had an entire town under his thumb, taking advantage of an ignorant populace under your name . Who’s to say you’re not just another mark?”

“If You know so much about him, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

Bill raises His hands defensively. “Hey, it was none of my business.” The look in His eye softens. “I’m only bringing it up now ‘cause I’m worried about you, Sixer. I mean, I made it pretty clear years ago what I thought you ought’a do if you ever saw your defective clone again.”

Ford lets the comment slide. “And I listened. I knew he’d be a threat to us either through malice or ignorance, but I–I don't feel right about having kicked him out after all he's done for me. Maybe I should explain, or maybe let him back—"

"What, so he can ride your coattails like he used to? I get it, he's your brother and despite everything he put you through you love him but you don't owe him squat! I’ve been telling you this, you’re too forgiving, Stanford. I mean, he almost ruined your life, and now he's made up for it by getting you back home. Great, gold star, congrats to him for doing the bare minimum. You're even now! Why let him back into your life to screw it up all over again?"

Ford falters. He doesn’t like it, but he can see the logic in what his Muse is saying. "I suppose…"

"I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you a thousand times, you don't need him, you don’t need that hillbilly that’s still knocking around in that incredible skull of yours, you don't need anyone! Trust no one, remember?"

"Trust no one."

"But Ford?"

"Hm?"

"You can always trust me."

“I…” For a moment, Ford’s voice fails. He swallows. “I know.” 

In the next moment, Bill’s ruffling his hair, which forces a smile out of him despite himself. Seconds after that, He’s checking a watch He didn’t have on before, rolling His arm up as if it’s a sleeve revealing another, slightly smaller arm. What he hears next admittedly crushes him. “Geez, time sure flies when you’re having fun! It’s been a blast, but I’ve got deals to make, old friends to chat up. But I’ll be seeing you soon, won’t I?” He flicks at Ford’s nose endearingly, and is seconds from vanishing when Ford’s sudden yell stops him short.

“Wait!” He lowers his hand, which had instinctively reached towards him. “The plan. Is…Is the plan the same?”

“The plan’s the same.”

“You’ll tell me when?”

“I’ll tell you when.”

“Okay.”

“Are you excited?”

Ford draws a deep breath. He smiles. “I’m excited.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Until then, don’t stress, huh? You’ve been working hard, worrying yourself to death! Heck, you look like death!” Ford draws a hand up to his face, suddenly self-conscious. “Take the day off, go…I don’t know, wander around the woods looking for adventure.”

“I think I will.”

“Great! I’ll catch you on the flipside, Ford.”

And just like that, he wakes up, fully alert, eyes pinned to the ceiling. Daylight is only just beginning to filter through the blinds, and the clock on the wall…Hasn’t had its batteries changed in thirty years. Might as well get up, make some coffee and brainstorm some aimless task to kill time. 

“Kids?!” 

One of the things Mabel’s always really liked about staying here at the Shack is that they get to sleep in basically as much as they want, when they want! Grunkle Stan only used to make them work around the Shack when he physically saw them with his eyeballs and registered they existed for the day. Now, Great Uncle Ford usually doesn’t even roll out of bed until like, noon, as if he’s got the world’s worst sleep deficit even after weeks of being back home. It’s pretty weird for him to be calling for her like this. 

Drowsily, she lifts her head just in time to see Ford standing in the doorway and announcing,

“Get dressed, kids, I’m taking you out on a…” He blinks. Confused. “Where’s Dipper?” 

“At Grunkle Stan’s,” she says, now sitting up straight.

“Oh.” A beat. “I should’ve known that.”

“Probably!” Mabel chimes with a grin, before shuffling over to her uncle until she’s peering at him from the end of the bed. “But hey, you’ve still got a Mabel willing to go on your thing with you!” 

Ford doesn’t miss a beat. “Excellent! Be ready and by the front door in ten minutes!” 

And then he disappears without another word. He’s lucky that she’s so down for the chaotic energy he’s putting out right now!

Within twenty minutes, Mabel is letting a loud yawn rip from her chest as she trudges alongside her uncle. It’s not like she’s not used to wandering around the woods (that’s basically the Dipper package, and she thinks it’s pretty fun) but usually she at least gets to have her morning cup of ‘coffee’ first. The air of mystery is cool and all, but eventually she has to ask, 

“Sooo, where are we even going?”

“Mmph?” Ford lowers his flask from his lips. “Oh! Well, I thought it might be fun to take you on a little expedition to the most enchanted part of the Gravity Falls forest. The whole whimsical atmosphere seemed like something you’d be interested in.” 

“And you were totally right!” A gasp. “Are there unicorns?! Please tell me there’s unicorns!” 

“Oh, there’s unicorns. That’s actually where we’re headed.” Mabel feels her heart swell with glee, but her joy’s replaced with confusion when her uncle’s gaze darkens. “I’ve got a score to settle.”

“Woah…Wait, really? TV always taught me that unicorns were majestic and loving creatures powered by the magic of friendship!”

“Well, as always, TV lied,” Ford says solemnly, as if the notion hurts him, too. “I had an encounter with a unicorn when I first moved here and much like you I had high, glittery expectations. But I soon learned they’re dark, disturbed creatures who only use that adorable front as a mask for their cynicism and sadism. Despite my previous defeat, after everything I’ve experienced since, I’m confident that I’ll be able to get one over on them once and for all!”

“Wow,” Mabel mumbles, glancing down to the grass crunching under his feet. “Way to rock my world.” The thought’s kind of bumming her out, so after another minute or so of silence, she shifts the topic to something that never fails her, except for when it does! "Sooo, did you have any epic interdimensional romances on the other side of that portal thing?"

Ford pauses, before barking out a bewildered laugh. "Haha, excuse me?"

"Come on , Grunkle Ford! May I call you Grunkle Ford?"

"You may."

"Come on , Grunkle Ford! You must've been with someone all those years!"

"Inquisitive, aren't you?"

"What can I say? It gets results."

Ford thinks it over. “Mm, no. Not really. Romance has always eluded me, and frankly I’ve found some relationships are more special than our superficial notion of ‘dating’. You know, that one person who understands you on every level. That you could talk to for centuries and never get bored.”

Mabel taps her chin. “Well, that sounds super romantic to m—” 

“We’re here!” 

Mabel gasps, staring in awe at the beautiful stream they’ve arrived at. It’s like the air sparkles, each perfect technicolour flower being pollinated by fuzzy bumblebees and butterflies. The wind sounds vaguely like chimes. “Grunkle Ford, it’s beautiful!” 

“It certainly is. That’s how they get’cha.”

“How…Who? What?”

“To summon the realm of the unicorns, one must bellow this ancient chant droned only by the deepest-voiced druids of old,” Ford hums, gesturing to where he’s reading from his journal. He cracks his neck from side to side, pocketing the book and shaking his arms out. “It’s alright, I’ve done this before,” he assures, and Mabel watches with pursed lips as he performs a couple of vocal exercises…And then launches into a low, guttural chant, eyes closed in focus as he bellows. Within seconds, the ground shakes beneath them. A stone fortress with golden gates rises from the ground. She stares, slack-jawed as he clears his throat, nonchalantly dusting himself off.

“Grunkle Ford, that was amazing! I’m talking Broadway level baritone over here!”

Ford cracks a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Thank you, Mabel.” Ford draws a deep breath, adjusting the collar of his coat. “Alright. Let’s do this. Are you ready?”

“Ready for my image of my pastel childhood heroes to be crushed for-probably-ever?” Mabel mimics Ford’s deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

“You, uh…Got any sevens?”

“Go Fish. Hey, did we have to bet real money on this game? Seems a little unfair when you’ve got thousands of dollars and I’m betting my last twenty.” 

“Hey, that’s on you for blowing the summer allowance I so graciously gave you kids.”

“This twenty was the allowance.”

“And you’re betting it on a game with a professional gambler! I respect the moxie, I do.”

Dipper heaves a sigh, his gaze flickering from one card in his hand to the next. The game’s as good as over for him, to be honest, and his poker face is terrible. But as his mind scrambles for a new strategy, he soon realises the only way he’s keeping his cash is to distract. “Hey, speaking of moxie, that election stuff was nuts. You’re not mad that you lost or anything?”

“What? Psh. ” Stan waves a dismissive hand, grinning lazily. “No, that was just to prove a point. Can you seriously imagine me filing paperwork in a stuffy office for the rest of my life?”

“Riiight,” Dipper says slowly, lips pursed slightly. “You know if you’d won,” Not that he would’ve. “You would’ve had to file paperwork in a stuffy office for the rest of your life anyway. Seems like a pretty major oversight.”

Stan blinks. “Ahhh, I would’a figured it out. Gravity Falls would’ve survived with me in power, probably.” Probably would’ve done a lot better with Great Uncle Ford in charge. “I’m just glad it humbled my brother a little. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately but he sure as heck isn’t acting like the grade-A dork I remember. But maybe being in another dimension for that long makes you kind of a jerk, I dunno.”

“I don’t think he’s a jerk, ” Dipper replies instinctively, despite how he’s really truly trying not to take sides. His fingertip idly flicks at the top of one of the cards in his hand and he hopes it doesn’t draw too much attention to their ongoing game. “It’s obvious he still cares about you, Grunkle Stan. I’m sure whatever reason he had for kicking you out, it wasn’t personal. Maybe he just wanted to make sure his lab would be private, a man’s lab is basically his temple.” Man, he can’t wait to have his own! Maybe he could show Great Uncle Ford the layouts he’s scribbled in his notebook, get some pointers. “He won’t even let me in there, and we talk about this stuff all the time! I guess trying to fix the portal now is the kind of job only he could…pull off…I-I mean, you probably could. You did! And I’m sure he trusts you, it’s just — I’m gonna shut up.”

A few seconds of silence elapse. Stan scratches at his chin, eyeing the cards in his hand. Dipper crosses his legs, fidgeting in his seat. This lasts for a pretty agonisingly long time before the phone rings. Stan sighs, rising from his seat on the floor with a loud groan, a sickening crack of his back and a grumbled ‘ow’ before he trudges to the phone hanging on the wall. “Y’ello?” A pause. His brows furrow. “How’d you even get this…not gonna ask.” Stiffly, he holds out the phone, as if he can’t stand to listen any longer. “‘S for you.” 

“Wait, really?” Who would be calling him period, let alone at Grunkle Stan’s address? He’s quick to drag himself to his feet and grab the phone from his uncle’s hand. “Hello?”

“DIPPER!” A shrill, twangy voice rings out from the end of the line. Dipper flinches, clarity quickly dawning on him. He fidgets with the phone cord idly for a moment, immediately feeling some of the tension dissipate in his shoulders.

“Oh, hey, McGucket…Wait, how did you get this number? Do you even have a phone?”

“NOPE! But I hooked up a thingamajig to a whoozit up to the motherboard in that computer you found down in that bunker! Then all I had to do was snag me a copy of one of those old yellow pages and find your uncle's motel!”

“Wow. Okay, impressive. Maybe we should be solving mysteries together.”

McGucket lets out an uneasy laugh. “Well, that’s sorta why I’m callin’. I’ve had a bad feeling since that election, I get the shakes every time I’m around that uncle of yours! For weeks, I couldn't place it, it was driving me bonkers! But then, when I was organising my scrap pile for my computermajigs, I saw a hunk of steel and it all clicked — it’s the triangle! Something about it and its beady little eye…it’s got its claws in Stanford!” 

“Whaaat?” Dipper chuckles, trying to ignore how tight his chest feels all of a sudden. He cups the phone closer to his ear, ushering Stan to…somewhere else, with his hand. He baulks at the notion, but doesn’t seem invested enough to argue, happy to slump down in his rickety old armchair and flip through TV channels. “I know it’s a weird aesthetic choice, but the triangle thing’s seriously no big deal! He’s just really into, like, star maps and stuff. It’s just William!” A beat. “The constellation.”

“Exactly! It’s everywhere! I think… that’s what he saw on the other side, wherever that portal took him! I did some reading down at the library and before I got kicked out, I saw–!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? I know you guys haven’t spoken in a while but Great Uncle Ford’s cool! I bet if you just talked to him, he’d explain the whole thing. You’ve just gotta bite the bullet and do it!” Maybe an awkward way to put it. 

“Ask him yourself if y'don’t believe me!” 

“I’m not even with him right now, I can’t…” But his heart’s pounding, his mouth feels dry. His foot taps against the ground and he’s sweating through his jacket. Classic symptoms of a mystery that needs solving. So he exhales, shoulders sagging as he accepts his fate. “I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

“Okay,” McGucket relents, his voice softening significantly. It’s weird, sometimes he’ll sound so certain, so studious. The bridge between the man he knows and the one he saw on that TV screen really isn’t that wide. 

“Okay! Uh, I’ll let you know.”

He sets the phone down with a soft click.

What Mabel sees when she steps through the gates into the unicorn’s land is basically like if every storybook, cartoon and childhood playground adventure had a baby and then made that baby a pageant baby with even more glitter and sparkles and dreams. It’s all rainbows and glitter and everything’s so beautiful so how can the unicorns be some kind of evil? A faun plays a whimsical tune as the sparkle-eyed mare raises her head and neighs so majestically. Her gaze flickers to Grunkle Ford, whose eyebrows are heavy and serious. She tries to mimic his expression, but her exaggerated frown only lasts a couple of seconds before she gets lost in the wonder of it all again.

“Hark! Visitors to my realm of enchantment! I am Celestabellebethabelle, last of my k—" Her tone drops, eyes half-lidded with irritation. "Oh. It’s you. And you’ve brought another, smaller human with you!” The unicorn cranes her neck to get a better look, and Mabel dusts off her conveniently themed sweater proudly despite herself. Grunkle Ford flares his coat out, wrapping it around her protectively, like being curled up in a giant bird’s wing.

“I have, but don’t drag her into this! She’s only here so we have a witness, so no funny business, alright?” A scroll is pried from Ford’s inside pocket, an ancient tome that he unravels, gesturing to the Medieval script. Mabel cranes her neck to peek at the illustrations, and to try and read the jagged, indecipherable text. “The charter clearly dictates that a third party must be present for any battle between town and forest folk for either party to claim bragging rights.”

Celestabellebethabelle huffs through her nose, flipping her mane. “Even if you did win, which you won’t, defeating me won’t make you any more pure of heart!” 

Ford genuinely snarls at that, his hands moving to tear his gloves off of his hands. “You have no right to dictate that to me! I know your secret!” As the leather’s hoisted from his fingers, Mabel spots it, the triangle within a circle marking on the back of his hand, matching his cufflinks. It doesn’t really look like a tattoo… ”That ‘pure of heart’ gambit is just a sham you pull on humans who don’t know any better. You played me for a fool last time, but not now! I demand a rematch!” 

Woah. Is Grunkle Ford seriously gonna brawl with a unicorn? Mabel can’t help but beam as her uncle ruffles her hair as he steps past her, lowering himself to a kneel and setting his elbow on a large boulder, hand raised. The unicorn eyes it suspiciously, snorting softly. “Fine! But you’d better not come back again in another thirty years to bother me.” And with that, her hoof locks around his hand and they begin their…arm wrestling match? Mabel slowly backs up onto another rock, sitting with her hands set on her knees. She leans forward intently, but even as they fight with their all, their arms barely shift. Geez, they might be locked like this for a while. Her shoe idly scuffs the dirt beneath her, leaning back and humming to herself. Maybe she could take a look around the forest, check out that fairy nail salon!

Or maybe she’ll watch a little longer.

“Mabel? Great Uncle Ford?!” Dipper’s hands drop where they’re cupped over his mouth. “I guess they must’ve gone into town or something.” 

“Geez, look at this place. It’s a money sink!” Grunkle Stan exclaims as he surveys the cages and habitats within the Shack’s new museum. “I mean, imagine how much it’d cost to feed all these things!” Gesturing over his thumb towards a snarling beast, before jumping back when it snaps its jaws towards it, nearly taking it clean off. “Imagine the lawsuits!” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dipper says stiffly, already stepping cautiously past the show room and towards the gift shop. “Thanks for giving me a ride back. I dunno if McGucket’s actually onto something or not but I wanna make sure I’ve done my duty and looked into it. I mean, even if he’s right, I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. Great Uncle Ford would never—” 

“Once upon a time, I wouldn’t need permission to visit my own house.” Not your house, the mantra echoes in Dipper’s head once more as he pokes at the vending machine buttons. He doesn’t feel great about going down here without permission, but if Great Uncle Ford knew, he’d be happy that he was clearing his name! As he descends the steps, Stan follows him, arms folding across his chest as the temperature drops. “There’s no good reason for this place to be so ominous. Or poorly lit.” 

“We’re just gonna be in and out. Five minutes.” And then he can tell McGucket that whatever he thinks he saw, he misunderstood.

Entering the lab, it takes his eyes a while to adjust to the dim lights, but once they do, they're quick to settle on the portal, which sits…in shambles. Exactly as they left it. 

“Thought you said he was fixing this thing up,” Stan remarks gruffly, causing Dipper to jump slightly. He’d almost forgotten he was there as he stared up at the machine in confusion. 

“Well, I’m sure he is! Maybe it’s just…internal fixes.” 

“Oh, please. I know this thing inside and out. He hasn’t touched it.”

He’s right, it doesn’t take an expert to see that. “I don’t get why he’d lie about it,” he mumbles as he approaches the control panel, where the third journal sits closed beside a pot of ink. It’s been what feels like forever since he got to read it in its original form. It’s basically half of his journal, too, so he deserves to flip through again, right? His hand ghosts over the cover, dusting it off, before his index finger slips between the pages, prying it open with a small thud. He only has to flip a few seconds before landing on the newest page, slightly smudged from the damp ink, as if closed in a hurry. 

Our Reunion

After weeks of radio silence, I was finally visited in my dreams by my Muse

‘My Muse’. Dipper had seen that term float around a few times in the journal, a supernatural entity that his uncle seemed to have been friends with. Seems they’ve been in touch longer than he thought.

and my mind was immediately put at ease. I worried that He’d perhaps be upset, disappointed that I’ve strayed so far from our plan to spend time with my family, but I’m determined to enjoy it while it lasts. Not that our relationship is coming to an end, per se (at least I hope not!), I think they’ll all enjoy what the future has to offer…but even now, I wonder how I’ll explain our vision to them. Will they understand the sacrifice that needs to be made to lead our world into a brighter future? Will they accept the way our world’s going to change?

I’ll have to ask Him what to do, what to say, but He’s been so flaky lately and I worry the next time I speak to Him, it’ll be the day everything changes. I want to be excited, but now it feels as if I’ll lose as much as I’ll gain. I just hope they understand. 

My head pounds. A drink Coffee and some time to decompress will do me good. 

Dipper closes the book like he feels something’s going to physically jump out of the page and attack him, head swimming. What plan?   What sacrifice? His gaze lifts to Grunkle Stan, who’d been reading over his shoulder. They exchange an anxious look.

Okay, she’s officially bored. It’s been what feels like hours and their arms have barely moved. Grunkle Ford’s teeth are grit so hard that she’s worried he’s gonna grind them to dust. Celestabellebethabelle looks pretty relaxed, though, all things considered, yawning into her free hoof.

“You’re not as strong as you were when we last battled," she points out casually. "You won’t even make it past the five hour mark at this rate! What have you been up to all these years to get so out of shape?” Her uncle exhales sharply, not responding. The unicorn takes this as a sign to keep pressing. “You humans always embarrass yourselves like this! You come back older and weaker and even more annoying!” Mabel’s offended on her uncle’s behalf, now, and she really wants to believe he’s gonna win, but she can see his hand shaking from here, his brow twitching with irritation and obvious struggle. She can’t blame him, it’s pretty hardcore for arm wrestle trash talk. “Where’s the human you brought with you last time, hmm? I suppose your kind don’t usually last very long…” There’s a twitch in his uncle’s eye. She lets out a braying laugh. “Or maybe he just got plain sick of you!” 

And that’s it. Great Uncle Ford launches over the boulder, swinging blindly. Streams of rainbow blood drip from her muzzle but she soon retorts by bucking her hind legs into his stomach, sending him flying several feet and skidding across the grass. He coughs, chest heaving. Mabel’s sprung to her feet before she knows it, sprinting towards the unicorn as she reaches into her pocket and throws out—

“Attack glitter!”

She only vaguely hears the whinny of distress as she bounds back to her uncle, hooking his arm around her shoulders and helping him up. As he staggers, he barks out a hoarse laugh. “Attack glitter,” he echoes. “Genius.” 

Mabel glows with pride. 

Before she knows it, they’re on the path back home. Grunkle Ford’s still limping a little, so she sticks close, resisting the urge to rush ahead. Walking slowly like this, she kinda appreciates the forest in a way she hasn’t before. Grunkle Ford looks thoughtful, brows knit as he mulls it over. 

“Mabel, that was…an incredible show of ingenuity back there. I think that kind of thinking will serve you well in the future.” 

“I’m an agent of chaos at heart!” Mabel chimes, honestly giddy at being complimented on her thinking for once. This must be how Dipper feels all the time. 

“Haha, that you are…” Ford trails off, his smile faltering, then falling. “Hold onto that, won’t you? I mean, the only way to deal with the chaos of life is to match it. Promise you’ll match it.”

“Uh…okay? I promise.”

“Good. Good. He’ll appreciate that.”

“What?”

“Uhm.” Ford pauses, eyes wide with vague surprise. Mabel can see the clearing to the Shack from here. He swallows. “I know we haven’t been acquainted for too long, but—” There’s a pause to cough into his fist; it sounds nasty. Like it hurts. “You trust me, right?”

“Psh, of course! You’re my Grunkle!”

Ford chuckles lightly. “Well, maybe I’m just delirious from a potential concussion, but after your impressive display today, I feel you’re prepared for something I’ve been struggling to tell our brothers for a while.” He stops walking, swaying slightly from one foot to the other despite his best efforts. “You like it here, don’t you? You like Gravity Falls?” Mabel nods emphatically. “What if I told you that the excitement of summer doesn’t have to end? That sometime, sometime soon, the world will be full of excitement and adventure and wonderful chaos every day?”

Mabel can’t deny it’s an exciting idea. Every day, heading back to California, back to school and being the ‘weird kids’, seems scarier and scarier. Sure, sometimes you get kidnapped by the occasional gnome or child psychic but she gets to be even more Mabel than she ever got to be back in Piedmont here. She’s not sure when they started moving again, maybe she got lost in her own head longer than she thought, because Grunkle Ford’s already reaching for the door handle when she musters her reply. He seems surprised to find it unlocked, but she doesn’t pay it much mind as she chirps, “I’d say that I like how you think, Dr. Pines!” 

The door swings open. Dipper and Grunkle Stan stand there, defiant and yet uneasy. A journal dangles limply from Dipper’s hand, gaze pinned to the floor. 

Suddenly, summer feels more over than ever.

Chapter Text

It’s fine. It’s not how it looks. Just let him explain.

Dipper’s clutching the leather-bound journal so tight that he’s vaguely worried the engravings of his nails will be there forever. Opposite him, his uncle stands like a deer in the headlights, his hand still braced on the door, Mabel at his heels, looking more puzzled than anything. He can’t blame her. They’re all confused. For a while, they exist in silence; subconsciously, Dipper thinks to the tunes that play in those stand-offs in the cowboy movies Grunkle Stan watches sometimes. The idea amuses him just enough to keep him from crossing the line into full blown panic. After a few moments, Great Uncle Ford lets out a breathy laugh.

“What is this?” 

Dipper swallows. What is this? What’s he even supposed to say? He doesn’t want to seem like he’s accusing him 

(Accusing him of what?) 

but he has to figure this out, give the author a chance to explain himself because whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. Except that his uncle seems to be buddies with some kind of ethereal deity that’s got plans for their world. He’d flipped through Great Uncle Ford’s journals fanatically in the time he’d had to figure everything out but aside from passing mentions, there was nothing detailed about someone, some thing that was so important to him. Looking a little closer, it had gotten pretty clear that pages had been ripped out. Did McGucket tear them out? Is that how he knew, consciously or not, what he was looking for? Or did Great Uncle Ford do it to cover his tracks?

“Look, Ford,” he doesn’t expect Stan to speak first, and he’s not sure if it’s a relief or another thing to be worried about. “I get it, I don’t know anything about your super advanced sci-fi lifestyle, but give us a clue here, if not for me, then for the kid. I mean, c’mon —” With little warning, the journal is snatched from Dipper’s hand. Stan flips it open, skimming the pages. “ My Muse will guide this world into a better tomorrow? Weirdness unification? Destroying the rift between worlds ?” Geez, it all sounds so nuts when he lays it out like that. Stan slams the book shut with one hand, a brow quirked. “Try and tell me this doesn’t sound objectively shady.” His voice softens slightly. “When did we stop telling each other stuff?”

Ford looks taken aback. “I would’ve loved to tell you sooner,” he says slowly, as if each word is another eggshell he’s stepping on. He’s swaying lightly on his feet. Is he injured? “But how could I? This project means everything to me and we both know that—” He tenses. They both do. He changes tact. “We’re talking about it now, aren’t we? I was always going to explain.” Please just explain, Dipper pleads, silently but violently. Great Uncle Ford’s voice is pacifying, but he takes one, two tentative steps. His brother matches every pace. Then he smiles, as if having been struck by an idea that’s suddenly so very obvious. “You know, I could summon Him! Then you could get acquainted before—”

“I don’t think I wanna ‘get acquainted’ with anything you have to summon.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Forgive me for not wanting summoning circles in my house! Think of the merchandise he’ll smash! The kids he’ll probably traumatise!” 

“Have some faith, Stan,” Ford says all too casually. Dipper feels his chest constrict when they lock eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I…” The air escapes his lungs. Stan steps in front of him and Mabel boldly. He rounds on Ford, who shrinks back, posture tensed. Braced for – something.

“Don’t drag them into this!”

“Don’t raise your voice, there are children here.”

“I don’t care what your ‘Muse’ says. When I think Gravity Falls, I don’t think ‘yeah, this place needs to be more weird’!”

“It has to be seen to be believed,” Ford says curtly. “There might be some growing pains, but I can assure you, there’s…”

“No! No more excuses, no more flimsy assurances. First you almost kill yourself with that portal, then you dupe this town, and now you wanna change the world? You tried to sell that whole ‘weirdness first’ line on the campaign trail too, y’know. What are you playing at? I feel like I’m searching for my brother under a microscope every time I talk to you!”

“Well.” Ford draws himself up to his full height. “I’m sorry if years apart warped your expectations, but this is it.” Quietly, he adds, “They certainly didn’t warp mine.” The stand-off has progressed to the gift shop by now. Each time Ford steps towards the vending machine, Stan backs up towards it, looking stung yet defiant as he squares his shoulders. Ford lets out a short laugh, bitter and humourless. “He told me you were only ever trying to keep me down and I was foolish enough to give you the benefit of the doubt despite knowing deep down that He was right. I shouldn’t have expected you to understand.”

“Stanford, you’re talking crazy. I mean, if this guy asked you to jump off the water tower, would you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ford takes one step closer. Stan’s back presses against the vending machine. “Stan, just let me in.” 

“You first.” 

“I’m serious.”

“What’s down there that’s so important?”

“I…” Dipper can’t see the look in Ford’s eyes, but he feels it. Did they miss something in the basement? “Stanley, I’m your brother, you know me, even after all these years. I don’t expect you to understand now, but I need to see this through.”

“Should we do something?” Mabel whispers, eyes round with worry. For a moment, Dipper allows his uncles’ argument to become white noise “What did you guys even do while we were gone?”

“Digging,” he replies simply. “McGucket called, went on this whole thing about a triangle being in cahoots with Great Uncle Ford. I didn’t want to admit it, but it all lines up.”

Mabel suddenly looks hesitant, her teeth worrying at the inside of her cheeks. “Okay, sure, it sounds pretty intense when he describes it, but that’s just how he talks, right? Maybe if Grunkle Stan just calmed down and we heard him out, we wouldn’t all be getting so—”

THWACK!

Dipper’s head snaps towards the vending machine, barely registering the hurried, frantic apology and the rapid beeping of the vending machine as it slides aside. In an instant, Ford’s gone, leaving Stan cradling his jaw in his hand, stunned. “Son of a–” He hisses, barely missing a beat before charging down the stairs after him. Dipper feels compelled to follow, his feet moving, his brain still lagging behind. By the time they reach the elevator, it’s…already descending. Grunkle Stan proceeds to jam his finger onto the button repeatedly, and easily a full minute passes before it’s back on their floor and they all bundle in, cramped together as they lower to the depths of the basement. When the door pings and the shutters open they stagger out like disoriented cattle, just in time to see Great Uncle Ford hunched over his desk, rooting through drawers and cabinets before prying out what could easily be mistaken for one of the Shack snowglobes if not for the cosmic matter floating around inside. He turns on his heel to face them, back pressed against the desk, clasping the globe protectively. 

“We can talk about this first,” he says slowly. “I’m not angry, I’m really not. We have this perfectly choreographed. It’s not too late, if you just let me explain.” Stan bounds closer, foolishly. Ford raises the globe high, his voice becoming pressed, words coming out quicker. “But I’ll hasten things if I have to. He’ll understand. It’s not ideal, but He’ll know how to improvise.” 

“Sixer, I don’t understand. What the heck is that thing?”

“The rift,” Dipper suddenly feels compelled to answer. Ford manages to snap out of his stupor to smile so proudly at him.

“Exactly,” he says, so nonchalantly. “Once the rift is destroyed, our worlds will finally coexist. The usual and unusual will live in peace, together. Isn’t that wonderful? Don’t come any closer!” Dipper flinches as Ford suddenly snaps at his brother. His heart feels like it’s going to explode. 

“Let’s not be hasty,” Stan’s now trying to sound gentle, hands raised in faux surrender. But even then, he’s stepping ever closer. 

“This isn’t hasty. This is a plan thirty years in the making.” Ford swallows. His hands are visibly shaky. Anxiety fills his gaze. “This time tomorrow, we’ll all be laughing about this, I promise.”

It’s such a mundane sound that it’s almost funny, the glass smashing against the floor, like he’d accidentally knocked a mug off of the kitchen counter, but what follows is anything but normal. Dipper leaps back, they all do, when a burst of energy explodes from the floor and through the roof, a direct beam up into the sky, tearing through each floor of the shack. Debris falls around them, and suddenly it’s a mad dash to get back up the stairs and out the door as soon as possible, the walls shaking around them, merchandise sliding off of shelves as they sprint past. He can hear Great Uncle Ford hot on their heels, but when they’re outside, he notices the grin of pure relief on his face even as the sky turns amber and tears apart before their eyes. Is this it? He’s not sure what’s harder to process, the thought that this could be the end of the world, or that the author is the one responsible.

Dipper’s gaze fixes on the cosmic rip in the sky; it’s impossible to look away. In no time at all, a hand curls around it, then another, and then a large, imposing, triangular creature emerges, its form glowing with blinding light as it shifts from one grotesque form to the next before settling on a golden…skin? Its voice is loud and grating as it floats closer, and Dipper finds himself shielding his eyes slightly as they adjust to the sight. 

“Well, well! Someone was eager to see me! What happened to waiting for the signal, Sixer?”

To call his uncle’s relaxed demeanour inappropriate would be an understatement. “I know, I know, but something came up. It was now or never.” 

“Something…CAME UP . ” Its wide, singular eye flickers to them, then, voice layering over itself, booming around them. He shudders reflexively on top of the way he’s already trembling. It’s like the creature can see through him. Its tone shifts from scrutinizing to jovial. “Of course!” A hand draws up to slap at its face. “Had a tough time breaking it to the family, huh? That’s okay! No hard feelings, right? A pleasure to be ruling your dimension, Pine Tree, Shooting Star…”

“Ford, have you lost your marbles?! Who is this?!” Stan hisses with very little subtlety, fists clenched, shoulders hunched. And yet he leans closer to his brother, as if still believing it's gonna be them versus the thing that’s infiltrated their world. Ford opens his mouth, but he’s effortlessly interrupted.

“Stanley Pines! Boy, have I heard an earful about you!” It’s happy to scoot in close, dusting off Stan’s shoulder pads. “All bad, I bet you’ll be pleased to know!”

“He’s joking,” Ford’s quick to clarify.

“I sure am! But why take my word for it?”

Stan’s at the end of his rope. He can’t blame him, he’s feeling just as disoriented. The world’s crumbling around them, he can hear the panicked screams, and yet they’re chatting up the culprit like it’s nothing. With a sharp jerk of his shoulder, his heel skids audibly as he turns to his twin. “ This is the guy you staked the world on? What kind of interdimensional radiation poisoning made you think this was a good call?!”

“Ooooh, are you gonna let him talk to you like that?” The demon’s happy to goad. Ford seems nonplussed at best. It tuts disapprovingly. “Y’know, Stanley, I thought you’d really fit in here now your world’s a lawless wasteland, but that’s no way to talk to your brother. I think you ought to say sorry.” It doesn’t feel like a threat to be taken lightly. 

Dipper wouldn’t say his uncle’s response is brave, but it’s definitely bold.

“Apologise? Like hell I will! I knew my brother had gotten wrapped up in some twisted scheme he wasn’t prepared for and I was right!” 

The creature sighs, disappointed. “Suit yourself.” And with a snap of its fingers, Stan is lifted into the air. Dipper’s stomach lurches as it snaps again, and suddenly he’s encased in a bubble, tinged maroon with the masonic symbol he knows so well etched into it. The bubble’s tossed into the air like it’s nothing.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel screams, vocalising where Dipper can’t. 

“Bill!” Ford snaps, but there’s a level of give to his tone, as if this is a mild inconvenience that he can talk it down from. “That wasn’t necessary!” Reflexively, he lowers himself to Mabel’s side. Dipper inches closer, putting distance between them. If his uncle notices, he doesn’t comment. “You’re scaring the kids!” 

“Relax, Ford!” It chimes with a wave of the hand. “It’s only until he cools off. Besides, he’s got everything he could possibly want in there. He’ll be fine! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” ‘Bill’ draws his fingers up to his eye, somehow managing to whistle with his eyelid. “We’re good to go, fellas!” 

One after the other, monsters fly through the gash in the sky, cackling as they immediately, gleefully begin tearing the town up, in a flurry of blind wanton destruction. The fiery demon lady looks oddly familiar. Where has he seen her before? Augh, it’s not important right now! Even through his panic, he hears Ford exhale softly, clearly not pleased. He keeps his mouth shut…until a flurry of eye-bats burst through the tear, including one that immediately sidles up to Ford’s side, nuzzling against him.

“See?” Bill hums, clearly pleased. “I even kept your pet watered and fed the whole time you were gone! How good am I? You gonna thank me, Sixer?” It gets no response at first. A little more emphatically, it presses, “Well? You gonna thank me ?”

Ford exhales. “Thank you.”

“Great!” Bill leans back, planting its hands on its closest approximation to its hips. Quick to go on a tangent, it soon flies off to…redecorate. With a nonchalant flourish of its hand, a pyramid rises from the shack, effortlessly destroying it in one fell swoop. The pyramid is decorated with the shack’s wooden trimmings, from the roof to the sign, which helpfully just reads ‘MYSTERY’ now. It’s a twisted mockery, and Dipper feels physically ill, tears burning the corners of his eyes as he sees his temporary home destroyed like it’s nothing. Glancing to his side, he sees Mabel stand with her hands clasped over her mouth, stifling a scream. A little further and he sees the shock and hurt in his uncle’s eyes, confusion and disbelief etched into his expression despite how hard he’s clearly trying to force it off. Bill notices. “What? The old hut was falling apart, anyway! This is an upgrade!”

Ford grits his teeth. He exhales. And then he relents. “It was a thoughtful gesture. Thank you.”

But Dipper can’t take it anymore. One of his uncles has vanished and the other is in leagues with a creature that’s tearing the world and their home apart. He’s faced plenty of monsters this summer. He can handle this. “A thoughtful gesture?! Great Uncle Ford, he’s destroying the world ! How can you be okay with this?!” He should have a plan by now, but even after everything that’s happened this summer, he feels exposed without the journal…but even with it, would it have an answer to this?

“Yeah!” Mabel chimes in, having gathered resolve alongside him. “This isn’t the summer you promised! I thought false advertising was Stan’s thing but you lied to me, Grunkle Ford!”

Ford looks stung. He glances around, only briefly. He doesn’t seem to be able to stomach it much longer than that. “You’re right. I misled you.” A pleading gaze shifts to Bill, then, against all odds. “I know you have a vision, but I want my family to feel safe and comfortable. Please, if there’s anything you can do.”

“Hmmm…” Bill squints thoughtfully, as if genuinely taking the notion on board. “You’re right! Things are probably gonna get pretty intense around here while we iron out all the creases in this wrinkled dress shirt of a dimension.” Suddenly, it leans close. Too close. Dipper recoils. “You kids want an endless summer, huh?”

“I never said—” Dipper tries to protest, fruitlessly. 

“ Alllright !” His hand raises, thumb and index pressed together. “You can thank me later!” Maybe he’s just imagining it in the chaos, but he’s sure he hears his uncle’s voice raise in protest before he hears that distinctive snap and everything goes black.

XKVLKB DLQ X COBB ZOVLPQXPFP MLA?

Chapter Text

It’s not as bad as the other side, but it’s not what he imagined, either. 

Bill had promised faithfully that the bridge between worlds would usher in a new era of peace and connection between the weird and the… less weird. But as he surveys the study his Muse so generously bestowed upon him, he can't help but feel even more isolated than he had thirty years ago, holed up with only paranormal creatures to keep him company. It’s only been a couple of days, but he’s only really spoken to Bill and his unable-to-speak eye-bat Sagan, who kindly hasn’t left his side since all of this started. Interaction with His friends is generally avoided on account of the fact that he simply does not like them. He has to admit, this is probably the longest he’s been alone in decades. It makes him…antsy.

Things will settle down soon. He’s just humouring them, ironing out the creases like He said. Then we can admire our new Gravity Falls together.

He can’t see much from the small window that’s been carved out for him, try as he might to crane his neck to look below, but he can see the bubble housing his family. ‘For their own good’, Bill said. He has no choice but to believe in Him. Even still, he wonders…

“What do they mean?” 

“Ha! Can’t get anything past you, Fordsy. How’d you even notice I was coming in?” Bill chimes, hanging up a coat He hadn’t been wearing on a rack that hadn’t been there seconds prior.

“Call it intuition,” he mumbles, gaze still fixed in front of him. After a brief silence, Bill exhales.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What does what mean?”

“The symbols,” Ford says simply. “On the bubble. I recognise them, but why would You…”

“Not everything’s a riddle, Sixer! Sometimes a symbol’s just a symbol. Decoration!” Bill chimes, before His eye narrows in the corner of Ford’s vision. “Are you gonna come out or what? The gang wants to play one of their classic games with you and you know I can’t fend them off for long.” 

“Respectfully, I’ll pass.”

“Fiiine. But at least come chill in the party room while they’re out, huh? What’s the point in building a new world if we can’t enjoy it together?”

Ford hesitates, but only briefly. Truth be told, one-on-one time with his Muse is something he’s been desperate for lately. Yes, to spend some actual time with Him, but also to raise…concerns. So he's all too happy to relent. “Well, alright.”

“Great!” And with a snap of the fingers, they’re there. Bill’s taken a larger form to settle comfortably atop His giant throne (seems He really has been busy), leaving Ford to stand on the arm and feeling pitifully tiny in comparison. The stone’s uneven and uncomfortable to tread on. He doesn’t focus on that all too long, though, turning his focus on what he can see through the opening in the pyramid. A town in ruin. Buildings in shambles, henchmaniacs on the prowl, monsters and humans alike fleeing in terror. This isn’t the world he wanted. It’s not the world he was promised. It looks so grim, but on the other hand, why would Bill aim to cause harm to a world they vowed to bring harmony thirty years ago? 

“Bill,” Ford says the name slowly, cautiously. Each word is another hot coal that physically pains him to tread on. “If there’s something about this plan that You’re not telling me…I-I mean, I’m not trying to accuse You of ill intent, but You have to understand how this looks. I-I understand things getting worse before they get better, but I know You have a tendency towards…wanton destruction.”

“Ford!” Bill exclaims with a gasp. “What do you think this is? Everyone knows to rebuild you’ve gotta break down the old foundation and build a new one. This isn’t fun for me either, you know. That’s why I wanted to wait until everything had stabilised before you went out there.” His voice softens, then, in such a way that makes him truly want to believe Him. “I promise that I wouldn’t hurt a hair on the heads of a single human that—”

“We got another one!” Pyronica chimes gleefully as she and 8-Ball enter the pyramid, flanked by an eye-bat, carrying with it…the petrified body of an innocent civilian. Blood running cold, he glances over his shoulder to see Bill making a throat-cutting gesture just below His eye, motioning for them to knock it off. A glance downwards and he soon sees it, a stony eye staring back at him. He leaps back with a startled yelp.

“Bill!” He snaps, blood and defiance roaring in his ears.

“I’ve got this,” Bill assures, and a tone that had seemed reassuring before now just feels condescending. Turning to His lackeys, His tone dons an air of faux dramatics. “What the heck, guys? I told you to preserve human life, remember?”

“We did,” 8-Ball points out, gesturing to the statue, and Bill barks out a laugh. He’s not taking this seriously. His gaze shifts slightly and he locks eyes with Pyronica, whose toothy grin is accompanied by her flames flaring up. His hand trails to his suddenly aching neck, breaking eye contact as quickly as he can. 

“Just leave it here,” Bill says with a heaved sigh, gesturing with a finger. “And go…find something to do. Me and Sixer need to have a talk.” There must be something he doesn’t know about, because suddenly the henchmaniacs’ expressions are solemn and serious. They don’t hesitate to take their leave. 

“Bill…” He hates the way his voice wavers. “If this throne of Yours is what I think—”

He’s dismissed out of hand. “I’ve got a problem, Sixer, and the only brain big enough to help me is yours.” Ford opens his mouth, some kind of sound comes out, but he can’t get a word in edgewise. “Seems like there’s a problem we didn’t account for when we cooked up this plan. There’s something about this town that keeps our weirdness quarantined from the rest of the world, and we can’t change the world if we can’t reach it, right?” He brings a finger down to ruffle Ford’s hair. He recoils slightly. “You studied this place for years. I know that you know how to break this barrier down!” 

He’s right, unfortunately. When he’d first finalised his theory of weirdness magnetism, he’d looked towards finding a calculation that could hypothetically collapse the barrier, and it hadn’t taken him long to find it. Part of him wants to leap at the opportunity to be useful, but looking out at what Bill’s doing to the place…can He be trusted with the world when He doesn’t understand the impact he's having on one town? 

Because that’s what it is. He just doesn’t understand.

“I’m not sure,” Ford says curtly. “I’d have to look into it.”

Bill doesn’t take to that kindly. “I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“So did I.”

“What was that?”

“I…” He can’t believe the way he stops. The way he folds. He clears his throat. “There’s an equation that can break the barrier, but—”

“Ha! We’re in business!”

“ But… I don’t think You’re ready for it.” 

“Not ready for it? I wasn’t born last millennia, Ford, I think I can handle doing a little math.” 

“No, that’s not…” It’s been so long since he really argued with Bill. His mouth’s dry. “I think we need to reassess the plan before we take this global. I know You mean no harm but you’re hurting people. Until we can find a way to make this work peacefully, I think we need to step back and—”

“Woah, woah!” In an instant, Bill’s in front of him, looming over his considerably smaller form. He’s sure Bill’s turned from gold to amber, sure His voice is booming just that little more when He asks, “Since when was this your plan?”

Ford’s shoulders sag. “It isn’t.” 

“Right! It isn’t! I like you, Ford, but if you’d rather have an easy ride without a care in the world instead of shaping this one the way we wanted it, you can go join your family, how’s that sound? Huh? Is that what you want?” He inches ever closer, until suddenly His eye’s directly hovering over him, backing him up against the wall of the twisted throne. His heart thrums in his chest. He chews the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper. 

“No, Bill.” 

“I didn’t think so.” And just like that, Bill shrinks down to His regular size, adjusting His bowtie and His composure with it. “Why don’t you take six, huh? Think it over.” With a simple snap, his journal’s in his hands, a familiar, comforting presence. He hasn’t seen it in days. “I saved this for you! Once you’re ready to give me the equation, jot it down in your journal, okay? It’s gonna be your greatest achievement, after all.” Heading for the exit to join the anarchy outside, He parts with one last comment, “Imagine what those taffy lickers back home will think when they see Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world.”

And then He’s gone. Ford lets out a breath, one he didn’t realise he was holding. He clutches his journal tightly, glancing down to see his reflection in the gold, taunting him. Bill’s not going to budge until He gets that equation, so he needs to make a strong case that He’s going about this all wrong. But to do that, he needs to see the new Gravity Falls for himself. He needs a way out…

With a chirp, Sagan sidles up to him, and he tries to ignore the way it makes him startle. It’s soothing, reaching out a hand to pet wait a minute. 

A grin stretches across Ford’s features, as he begins lightly scratching the beast on his bottom eyelid. “You want to go on an adventure? Huh? Wanna go for a fly?” When it chirrups happily, his heart lifts with hope. It's now or never. He'll only be a few minutes, an hour at most. Gingerly climbing on top of Sagan, he grabs the base of his wings for support. “Alright, boy. Let’s go!”

It’s with little warning that Sagan bursts out of the pyramid, and Ford actually finds himself nauseous from the sheer speed at which they’re moving. A light tug on the wings gets him to slow, however, and thus gives him a better view of the wreckage below. There’s barely a person in sight by now, and he realises with a delayed horror that half the town must be acting as a building block in his Muse’s throne. Everything is either razed to the ground or distorted beyond comprehension. It’s…a nightmare. Enough to make him wonder if the other side was always the way he saw it, or if Bill sculpted that world to His whims, too. He trusts His intentions, but maybe He’s just not equipped to rule. Not like this. Not yet. He’s blissfully ignorant. He doesn’t understand the damage He’s doing. 

He’s going to kill him if He figures out when he’s up to. 

In the slow surveyance of the world below him, he’d almost forgotten. Forgotten he was supposed to be hiding.

“Hey! What are you doing out here?”

Keyhole’s holler is enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through him. He could probably explain his way out of this easily, say Bill has no problem with it and who is he as a lackey to doubt Him, anyway? But if he does that, he’ll be sent straight back, and he has a job to do, for His sake as much as the town’s, so he quickly shouts for Sagan to pick up the pace again, and he once again has to swallow down the bile rising in his throat as they whip through the town, narrowly avoiding buildings and then trees as they find themselves deep in the woods. Unfortunately, Sagan’s not quite used to travelling in such confined spaces, so before he can shout for him to avoid it, they both promptly careen into a towering oak tree, sending them crashing to the ground. 

Ford’s head swims, his body aching as he drags himself upright. Was he knocked out? His vision’s still dark in the corners. “Sagan? Are you alright?!” 

“Okay, bat-dude, in my expert, apocalypse doctor opinion, your wings are all good,” a voice rings out, accompanying the…well, ringing in his ears. “Hey, hold up. Dr. Pines?” 

“Soos!” More relief than even he’d expected floods his chest at the sight of a familiar face, but his ex-employee looks defensive. He raises a walkie-talkie to his mouth.

“Cool Dude to Lumberjane. Target secure.” 

A rustle in the trees follows, and before Ford can lift his groggy head, Wendy’s jumped down with an expert landing. 

“ Lumberjane? I didn’t agree to that.” There’s a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Doc.”

“Lumberjane!” Soos whispers harshly, but there’s really no effort to actually lower her force. “Stop fraternising with the enemy!” 

“Come on, you’re really gonna trust our new demon overlord over him? He’s cool,” Wendy says with a shrug, approaching and offering Ford his glasses, then her hand, both of which he graciously accepts. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Where are the others?”

Ford swallows. “Safe,” he’s quick to assure. “But other than that, I’m as in the dark as you are. What’s been happening out here?”

Wendy’s shifty eyes flicker around. “We’ll take you to our base. It’s not far from here.” She ignores Soos’ vague noise of reluctance. “You okay to walk?” 

“I’ll manage. Thank you.” Setting a hand on Sagan for support, he soon joins the two on the short trek to wherever they’re hiding out. Wendy keeps her gaze fixed ahead, occasionally swatting at a branch or two with her axe. 

“I was enjoying my day off when reality started tearing itself apart. One second you’re watching trashy reality TV, the next a dapper triangle’s burst through and declared himself ruler. The people who couldn’t hide got turned to stone, or worse. I don’t even wanna know where those bat things take them.” A pause. She glances at Sagan. “No offense?” Ford chuckles softly, mostly to mask his unease. The narrative he's hearing just doesn't fit the being he's known for so many years. “He told us you were the one who made it all happen, that you’d played us all for suckers, but I couldn’t see the guy who wrote those books doing any of that…” Her tone shifts. Softens. “No matter what you may have thought of him before.”

Ford’s lips part, to muster some kind of explanation, when they suddenly arrive at the base. A tree with a metallic lever. Suddenly, it clicks. 

“Wait…this isn’t your base. It’s my base!” Ford exclaims, staggering towards the steel bark and wiping the stray dust off. “I built this years ago with—”

“McGucket. We know,” Wendy’s quick to clarify.

“He’s sorta the guy who said we could camp out here with him,” Soos adds.

“He’s down there?” Ford’s heart is racing again, a bizarre sense of anxiety gripping him. And yet, the words that escape him couldn't be any more contradictory. “That’s perfect!” He’ll know what to do. Does he know the first thing about anomalies, or Bill, or Gravity Falls as a phenomenon? Probably not. But that man knows how to doomsday prep, and he’s always known how to get through to him when his head’s not on straight. He's always provided perspective when he needs it, whether he heeds it or not.

Ford barely notices as Wendy effortlessly flips the lever, staring blankly down and stumbling back as the ground lowers to reveal, relative to the world around them right now, the stairway to heaven.

He just has to pray he’ll have it in his heart to forgive him.

JV ELOLPZLMB PXFA QEFP TLRIA EXMMBK

Chapter Text

The walk down the bunker’s stairs feels like a walk to the gallows. Despite it all he feels as if this is admitting defeat. What can he say in the face of his old partner, a partner who warned him that his goals were dangerous? How will he tell him that he doesn’t know the half of it?

Well, it’s not as simple as you think, Fiddleford, he’s sure he’ll say, Bill is ignorant, not malicious, and once we change His priorities, having Him on side could change this world for the better. He’ll tell him that even when Bill is wrong, He’s also right. And if Fiddleford can’t see sense, maybe he doesn’t need his help after all.

“Yo, McGucket!” Wendy hollers, snapping Ford immediately out of his train of thought, and then he sees him. Hunched over and frail (he’s so frail ) but still with that smile. It’s disarming, and all of the arguments he’d been preparing fizzle out, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Fiddleford.”

And that’s it. Before he can blink, they’re locked in an embrace. Ford breathes shakily, his head finding purchase in the crook of his old partner’s neck. He’d expected to feel so bitter, resentful towards a man that had undermined him at every turn, riding his coattails until his cowardice drove him away from their vision. That’s what Bill had said, anyway. He’d forgotten how fundamentally good Fiddleford had been, how pure and kind hearted, even now. What else has his Muse been wrong about? Maybe…

Maybe he doesn’t know everything.  

“Glad yer’ on board, Stanford,” Fiddleford chimes once they separate, sporting a crooked grin before wiping at his eyes with the back of his bandaged hand.. “Ya didn’t know things would go belly up like this, didja?” 

They have, haven’t they? Ford exhales, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t,” he admits. “But I want to fix things. If we could just show Him that He’s hurting people, he’ll—”

“Woah, woah, hold yer’ horses!” Fiddleford waves his hands to cut through his words. “I figured you’d say somethin’ like that, and I wanna believe that this triangle fella’s everything you made him out to be, but let’s take it one step at a time. We’ve gotta find your brother and the kids, make sure they’re safe.”

“They are safe,” he finds himself replying instantly. “Bill’s built an entire pocket dimension to keep them safe.”

“Then he won’t object to lettin’ them out for a while, will he?” 

Ford’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth, glancing aside. “I’ll talk to Him. I’m sure He’ll understand.” His throat feels so tight. “Fiddleford, before I leave, I have to know…”

“Ah-bup-bup,” Fiddleford interrupts with a feather light thwack to Ford’s arm. He finds himself rubbing the afflicted area regardless. Still stung. “We’ve got a lotta catchin’ up to do, but not now. We’ve still got a lot of work t’do down here.” Slowly, Fiddleford raises a hand, and Ford feels an untold warmth flood his cheeks. Slowly, he sets his palm against it, meeting his gaze for a second before glancing aside and pulling back. 

Ford raises his hands. 

“I give you a lot of leeway, Sixer! Second and third chances that the average partner would be lucky to wring out of me!” Bill makes a big show of loudly pacing from one side of the room, his form glowing red and sizzling, his footsteps leaving cracks in the brick floor. It’d be a lie to say he’s never seen Bill this angry; he’s seen Him this angry, but he’s never been this angry at him. It was easier to ignore it that way. “I told you to do one thing, ONE thing, and it was to stay put, to sit still and look pretty while I worked on prettying up your HIDEOUS DIMENSION!” His Muse’s voice booms, bouncing off of the walls and causing Ford to clasp his hands over his ears reflexively, eyes clamped shut in anticipation.

Anticipating. 

“This is about the equation, isn’t it?” Bill hisses, His voice lower but no less spiteful. “You didn’t like my idea so you ran off to make a point, like a dog demanding attention!” And then he’s leaning in, close. “Say you’re sorry, and it’s all forgiven.” 

Ford cracks an eye open, puzzled. “Really?”

“Really,” Bill assures, His voice lightening. “As long as you mean it. They’re just three words; I’m sorry, Bill. ”

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Ford parrots reflexively, like a man possessed. He blinks rapidly. The words had slipped out so suddenly, his mouth moving before his mind could catch up.

“And so am I,” Bill replies with a dramatic lilt to His tone, His hand pressed to His ‘forehead’, tone dripping with remorse. “I should’ve known better. I mean, a place like this? How’s this gonna keep a brain as big as yours stimulated, huh?” A finger moves to ruffle Ford’s hair. He can feel the pressure on his skull. “What you need is an adventure.” In a swift motion, He lifts His hat, prying out a key with a few symbols engraved into it. Ford takes it gingerly, turning it over repeatedly between his fingers. “Go spend some time with the family, huh? Take a load off.” It’s been a long time since Bill was inside his mind, but sometimes he wonders if He can still read his thoughts. If this is some kind of olive branch, it’s certainly a convenient one.

“I think I’ll do just that,” Ford affirms.

“Good!” Bill chirps, as if to emphasise just that little bit more that it hadn’t been an offer. “I’ll have Teeth escort you.” Ford resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

By the time he reaches the bubble, he’s at his wit’s end. Teeth’s been yapping for the entire journey, which has felt like a lifetime. He really wishes he’d been allowed to bring Sagan along, but he’s well aware that he isn’t being escorted just for his safety. It’s so he won’t run off again. Maybe he shouldn’t have betrayed Bill’s trust. 

“— So anyways, that’s how we got banned from the Disco Dimension!” Teeth chimes, the only one laughing as they reach the bubble. 

“Oh, that’s…hilarious,” Ford replies with a crooked smile, before waving his key demonstratively. “I wish I could keep listening but I have to go.” 

“Right, right, right! The sooner we get you in there, the better, huh?”

“Uhm, sorry, what do you mean by that?” Ford asks, puzzled and more than a little uneasy as he turns the key and sees the bubble open up before him. “Is Bill trying to get me out of the way?”

“Whaaaat? Noooo.” Teeth waves a hand. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy.”

“Does He have plans for when I'm gone?”

“Don’t worry about it! In you go!” And with remarkable strength for his size, Teeth shoves him through the gateway and into the bubble, sending him hurtling what feels like hundreds of feet to the ground. He yells, grabbing blindly at the air in the hopes that he’ll find something to break his fall before he hits the ground with a thud. It’s…soft. Experimentally, he presses down on the green floor. Bouncy. Ford lifts his head, stunned by what he sees. It’s a perfect blend of eye bleeding, neon and glitter coded bubblegum cheeriness and what he can only describe as a beginner fantasy novelist’s dream, adorned in sweeping forests (with cotton candy leaves) and vaguely nature-based architecture. It’d probably hurt most to look at, but it’s so chaotic that it’s almost a comfort.

Ford slowly rises to his feet, dusting his coat off. There’s a fork in the road in front of him; to his left, there’s a mystical mansion carved from a giant oak tree, leading him deeper into the woods. To his right, a colourful bouncy castle, leading him into what looks like a city. A glance over his shoulder shows him the faux grass turning to sand. A beachfront, the closest by far…

The mansion looks more promising. Besides, the smell of saltwater taffy is making him nauseous. So he makes his choice, turning left and beginning his descent into the woods. It feels safe, familiar. It’s like Gravity Falls, really. But unlike Gravity Falls, he doesn’t know the paths, and it’s not long before he finds himself hopelessly lost. Maybe that’s the game; when you’re in, good luck getting out. He’s not sure if it’s been minutes or hours, but he’s exhausted. He slumps against the nearest tree with a sigh, staring up at the summer sun. Maybe a rest wouldn’t be a bad idea, the day’s still young…

He hadn’t expected to doze off, but he’s startled awake by a voice that immediately makes his blood boil.

“Holy John Doe, Ascot! Looks like we’ve got a mystery man MIA!”

“Too right, Dickie! I reckon we ought to haul this wandering traveller back to base so P.I. Pines can put his peepers on the case and parse out the solution to this puzzle!”

The Sibling Brothers.

Older than he remembers. Not as old as they should be if he’s running the numbers right. Lifting his gaze, he sees them both, blinding white teeth bore in identical grins, hands set on their hips in a pose ripped from the front cover of every pulp novel ever.

“What are you two doing here?” Ford asks, struggling to keep the sneer out of his voice. The twins blink, confused. 

“Do we know you, old chap?” Dickie asks with a tilt of the head.

“Looks like our capers have caused a lot of chatter, Dickie old boy!” Ascot chimes back with a self-satisfied grin. “You need a hand? We’ve got four to spare!”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Ford says drily as he moves to stand, setting a hand on the tree to stabilize himself. “Look, if you two are such brilliant detectives, perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for Stanley, Dipper and Mabel Pines.” 

“Well, you’re in luck—” 

“Because you’re in the realm of P.I. Pines right now! If you’re a pal of his—”

“We’d be glad to escort you!”

They even finish each other’s sentences, what a cripplingly candid cliché. His skin crawls. Even his internal monologue is alliterative! He swallows the venom down. P.I. Pines must be his nephew! Stay positive. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’d appreciate that very much.” 

And so they lead the way. 

“Say, we didn’t catch your name back at the old oak,” Ascot says after a while, slashing at branches with a large stick to clear their path. Entirely unnecessary. “Care to introduce yourself?”

“Stanford Pines.” 

“Jeepers creepers, talk about a plot twist!” Dickie exclaims. The twins whisper to each other for several moments, before nodding in unison. Ascot speaks first,

“We’ll take you to the detective/adventurer/action hero.” Of course. This pocket dimension must be a manifestation of the desires of whoever enters it. Ford wishes it’d extend such grace to him. “And we’re here!” Wait, what? Last he’d checked, they were miles away. He shakes his head, choosing not to question it. The doors open seemingly by themselves, and the second he steps inside, the world turns to something straight out of a noir, everything around them shifting to grayscale. What a confusing blend of genres. Dipper sits at the desk, the wall behind him littered with awards, bookshelves to his side adorned with novels bearing his name. He can’t help but smile; the youthful ambition is something he understands all too well.

“Detective, we found him,” Ascot says, tone grave.

“Stanford Pines,” Dickie clarifies. Where are their gimmicks now?

Dipper takes a long draw from his pipe, which emits bubbles as he ‘smokes’ from it. “Thank you both. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with him alone.” And with that, the twins part in an almost militaristic fashion, walking off in different directions before they leave entirely. Dipper lifts the brim of his fedora, allowing his eyes to widen and his jaw to drop. “Great Uncle Ford?! W-What are you doing in here? Did he send you?!”

Ford waves his hands defensively. “I come in peace! Listen, I didn’t know Bill would pull…all of this, I swear. I’m here to get you out.” And once he’s done that, he’ll feel a lot more comfortable trying to reason with Bill.

Not that he thinks He’d hurt them.

He’d never. 

“I dunno, Great Uncle Ford.” He kicks his swivel chair back to reveal a corkboard, photos connected with red string. “The evidence is pretty conclusive.”

WHO IS THE AUTHOR?

The photographs are horrific. Polaroids that paint him as some maniacal mastermind, that paint his alliance with Bill as something evil. Candid pictures of them conquering galaxies. 

Pictures that aren't real. 

“What are these?” He asks incredulously, his finger trailing over a particularly egregious photo of him cackling, looming over an imprisoned elf. “Dipper, where did you get these pictures?”

“When I got here, I found a letter that told me I’d find the evidence of your crimes in the mansion. I still haven’t found them all but this is more than enough to prove you’ve been planning to take over the world with Bill the whole time!”

“Dipper, these aren’t real!” Getting angry won’t solve anything. He massages the bridge of his nose “In thirty years, I never so much as stepped foot outside of Bill’s dimension. Remember what I told you?”

“Well—” Dipper’s nose wrinkles, uncertain when confronted with new evidence. “How can I believe anything you say? You kept Bill a secret this whole time!”

“I didn’t know how to explain, I wanted to explain, but…I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“I don’t understand!” Dipper snaps, voice cracking. He takes a deep breath. “If you really didn’t know, what are all of these?” There’s a sharp point to the corkboard. 

“I don’t know,” Ford says simply, honestly. They both hate not knowing, don’t they? Not understanding. “I think…that this place is trying to foster paranoia to keep you here. Because it knows you’re capable of making a difference.” He’s wiser at twelve than he could ever be. “Dipper, Bill shouldn't have been let into this world, I can see that now. He doesn’t understand the chaos He’s causing, the damage He’s doing.” He swallows. “I made a mistake, which isn’t easy to admit, especially at my age,” he admits with a small laugh, before his expression tenses. “I need your help. You don’t have to forgive me, but at least leave this place so we can put an end to Bill’s chaos, so we can keep Gravity Falls safe.” He offers his hand to shake. “Do you think Detective Pines could help me with just one more case?”

Dipper hesitates, teeth worrying at his lip as he eyes the offered hand…slowly, he stands, shaking his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “Okay. But you’re getting your butt kicked if you’re lying.” 

Ford laughs, trying to ignore how faint he feels from the relief. “I’m sure I will. First thing’s first, where’s your sister?”

He can see Dipper’s expression sour. “She’s in Mabeland. We’re not really talking right now.”

Ford feels his chest tighten. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, we couldn’t agree on how this place should look, so she got all mad and split the world in half.” He wants to ask that’s it? But he understands the way even the most minor of sibling arguments can feel earth shattering. Plus, there’s probably more to it if that look in his eyes is anything to go by.

“Right,” Ford says slowly. “Can you get us out of here?”

“Uhhh.” Dipper scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve never found a way out. But if the Sibling Brothers got you here, I bet they could get us out!” 

Ford grits his teeth, smiling uneasily. “ Great. ”

LKB ALTK, QTL QL DL