Chapter One

When Are We?

Dipper

Dipper stumbled in his landing, four legs splaying to catch himself. Where were they? He sneezed to attempt to rid his nose of the salty 1862 California air. He looked about and then sighed. "Oh, good. We're back in Oregon. …right?"

Mabel stood up straight and looked about. "Uh… well… oh! I remember those squirrels!" She pointed up. Her grimace had been replaced with a large grin. Above them, two squirrels chattered together. "I'm an amazing matchmaker."

"Uh, yeah. Let's go back to the Mystery Shack. Hopefully we're back in our time." Dipper, still clutching the time machine, hopped forward. Mabel turned her attention on him and followed. Despite not paying attention to where she put her feet, she was able to follow without hindrance. Dipper watched where he was going. He occasionally dipped his head to avoid having his hat, or tiny stubs that would soon be antlers, getting caught on the trees.

Then, he stopped.

Dipper froze. His tail flipped up and ears perked. Mabel stopped beside him, her grin replaced by an expression of confusion. "Uh… what? What's wrong?"

Dipper didn't move. He looked about and rotated his ears and took deep breaths through his nose to sense his surroundings. "I hear something," he mumbled. He whipped his head back so quick his neck hurt. The shadows behind them shifted. Bluegrass music, quiet but sharp, rang through the woods. Two eyes, deep blue ringed red, glared at them. "RUN!" His hooves were off the ground before the thought came to him to scream.

Mabel screamed and ran after him.

Although Mabel moved fast, Dipper was faster. His long bounds, sleek muscles, and aerodynamic body pushed him through the forest faster than Mabel's small body could. He launched himself off thin roots, stuck landings on small rocks, and slid between gaps in the trees. Mabel was slowed as she had to get around the trees, land on solid ground, and occasionally crush branches or small roots in her way. Dipper hesitated only to let Mabel hop onto his back. Then, he was off like a bullet.

The cackling, mangle-toothed creature that followed them sprinted through the brush and trees like a goshawk's shadow. There was no way the Kill Billy could catch up to his juvenile, male prey. But the young female was not out of the question. Mabel cried in fear as the creature launched itself off a particularly large root, flew through a gap in the trees, and extended his spindly arms and clawed fingers at her. She grabbed the first thing she could hold–her bag–and swung. The thing shrieked and tumbled as he got a face full of glittery bag. He tumbled and shakily got on all fours. Then, he stood up and let out a large howl with grunts and hamboning to match. Another one of the things appeared before them. It clung to a branch and waited for its speeding prey to come closer.

"DIPPER!" Mabel yelled. "ABOVE YOU!"

Dipper looked up and let out a loud, crying bleat before changing direction. Mabel glared at the creature and took out her flashlight. The creature snarled in pain as the bright light hurt its eyes. The creature slunk back and glared at them as they passed. It grunted and hamboned as well. A third appeared. Only after the third time they changed direction did they realize they were being herded. "DIPPER, WATCH OUT!"

Dipper scrambled to slow himself down. Below them, the cliff of the valley fell. Miraculously, Dipper stopped just shy of the cliff. One hoof fell off the edge. Rocks and dirt defected and fell. Mabel slipped off of him and nearly fell. Dipper grabbed her and helped her take a step back. They couldn't celebrate their victory for long as one of the beasts, a few teeth broken and others knocked out, lunged at Dipper with a cry of victory. They ducked. The thing jumped clean over them, flailing its hands as it tried to get a grip, before falling off the cliff. Dipper screamed and stumbled forward. Blood gushed out of a rip in his hindquarters. More of the fiends lined up, ready to kill their prey one way or the other. The kids stumbled straight off the cliff. Mabel grabbed his watch and pulled the time tape. "We need to go back to Grunkle Stan!"

Snap! Vrrp!

…

The time tape slipped out of her hands.

Mabel and Dipper landed on hard concrete in the dark of night. Mabel groaned and put a hand on her head. Her head had slammed into the wooden fence at the back of the alleyway they were in. She couldn't see a foot in front of her! Dipper, whimpering, lay beneath her. Blood pooled under his flank. He hissed and whimpered as the unsanitary floor beneath him burned the rips in his lower flank.

"Dipper!" she breathed.

Mabel abandoned the time tape, which had hit the brick wall as her fingers slipped. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!" she whimpered and took his hand. "We have to get you back!" Mabel looked back at the broken time tape. "Oh no!" She let go of Dipper and grabbed the thing. She plucked the broken bits off the ground and shoved them in her bag.

Dipper opened his eyes and tried tapping the watch. "Grunkle Ford…" His shaky, weak fingers didn't do him justice. "Gravity Falls, Oregon," he wheezed.

"Gravity Falls, Oregon," the watch beeped back.

Mabel turned around. "Dipper? OH NO! WAIT!" She tried to grab his arm.

Vrrrp!

Dipper huffed as he appeared a foot above the leafy ground and plopped onto a pile of autumn leaves and stray branches. The burning pain from his right flank, just above his back leg, was excruciating. He tried to look around, but the tears that blurred his vision and the blood loss that confused his mind and the horrible pain blinded him. "Help!" Dipper did the only thing he knew best. "Help! Someone, help!" His cries weakened. He flopped down, his fingers going slack. "Mabel? Mabel? Someone? Anyone…! Help…! Please…"

Mabel

A burst of light flashed and engulfed the dark alley before dimming.

Mabel held an arm over her eyes to combat the glare. She blinked the stars out of her eyes and looked about. "It didn't work?" She looked down. A pool of blood and a blue and white baseball cap was all that remained of her brother. "No, Dipper."

Mabel walked over to the pool of blood and slipped. She yelped as she landed hard on the ground. Mabel shook herself off and scrambled to her feet. She plucked the hat off the ground. Tears glimmered in her chocolate eyes. "D-Dipper?" she squeaked. Nope. This wasn't happening. This was not happening. Mabel shut her eyes. Nope. This was a bad dream. If she thought on it hard enough, she'd be somewhere else. She could dream about Gravity Falls.

Mabel opened one eye. She gasped and shut it again. Okay, so, she couldn't dream up Gravity Falls. That was okay. You probably can't change dreams anyway. But she could wake up! Yeah! Mabel pinched herself and winced. Ow. Okay, she was strong.

Mabel opened one eye.

Oh no.

Mabel took a deep breath. "Come on, don't freak out. Dipper's in Gravity Falls. All you have to do is go there. It's not like he could be anytime else. You have the time thingy! Yep! So, all you have to do is find out where you are, and when you are, and find a way back to Gravity Falls. Yep! That should be easy! Just go outside and, uh, find a newspaper. Yeah. People have newspapers back in forever, right?"

Mabel took a deep breath, stuffed the hat in her bag, and walked further into the alley. After all, she didn't trust that wooden fence. It was probably covered in splinters, which would be fun, normally, but not now. The thought of getting splinters stuck in her fingers made Mabel waver in step.

"Check out all my splinters!" she had laughed months ago. Dipper had looked at her splinter-covered fingers and then back to his bed, where he'd been greeted by a goat. Later, Mabel found that splinters weren't so fun to have, especially when trying to use your fingers. Dipper had sat her down and plucked each one out of her fingers. He'd recoil and drop each one, trying desperately not to look at the smudges of blood some of the deeper or bigger ones had. Halfway through one hand, Grunkle Stan had approached them to investigate the source of Mabel's whimpering and Dipper's gasping.

Grunkle Stan, after some sort of internal debate, shooed Dipper away with a gruff "You gotta stop being such a wimp. Lemme show you how it's done."

Mabel shook the memory away. No! she had to focus on the task at hand. Mabel looked up. She had to just–

Mabel stopped. Her surroundings were darker and littered with more trash. There were side alleys and all types of places to go. Where had she just come from? Where should she go from here…? There should be a way. Yeah, there's always a way. Mabel just had to stay positive and everything would turn out alright. So, Mabel puffed out her chest and marched into the first alleyway she found. This was definitely the way. It had to be. This was, by far, one hundred percent, certifiably, completely and totally the way to–

Mabel screamed as a shadow lurched forward and grabbed her sweater.

Stanford

Stanford jumped so badly he dropped the journal in his hands. Outside, in the cooling Autumn forest, a young cry rang through the howling wind. He turned his attention to the front door immediately. Whatever was outside was loud and in a lot of pain. Even in this sleep deprived, prickly, paranoid state he was in, he could understand pain and fear in one's voice.

At first, Stanford tried to ignore it. The morbid thought of it tapering off soon enough disgusted him, but reassured him. There was no need to- "…one, help!" Stanford gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. Just a little bit longer. He couldn't risk going outside, not now. Not when there was a shape-shifter on the loose and not when Bill's minions could creep up on him any second. "Mabel? Mabel?" Now it was calling out for someone it knew… "Someone? Anyone…!" God, it didn't even have that. "Help…! Please…"

Stanford shoved himself away from his table. Grabbing his loaded crossbow as he went, he snapped open the door. On the ground, merely feet from his door, lay a monster. The first thing he noticed was how childlike the top half looked. He was a boy, eleven perhaps. His bottom half was a deer whose pelt was littered with white dots. Tiny little stubs popped out of his head. He was a baby. More than that, he was pale. The leaves and grass bent as hot, scarlet blood bathed the ground.

Just the sight made him sick. Stanford ran forward and met the boy. Even if he was one of Bill's minions, he was too injured to attack. The shape-shifter possessed green blood, not red. Even when in a different form, the shape-shifter couldn't change its blood color. Stanford set his hand on the boy's shoulder. It was cooler than it should be. The boy let out a small bleat and looked up at him. His eyes opened a bit more upon seeing him. He could swear he saw the faintest bit of a relieved smile. Then, his eyes started to close.

"Shit!" Stanford spat and ran inside. He grabbed the first thing he saw–a spare lab coat that once belonged to his best friend–and ran out again. The lab coat soaked up blood and trapped it close to the boy's skin. Stanford hooked his arms under the boy's deer shoulders, one arm under his human portion and the other under his deer portion. Oh, dear God he was heavy.

Nonetheless, Stanford dragged the heavily bleeding, barely conscious boy inside. He shut the door behind himself and grabbed a towel, first aid kit, and extra, more complicated medical material from the bathroom and closet nearby. He wasted no time in getting to work on healing the dying boy. He could worry about the boy's allegiance later. If he was a minion of Bill's, Stanford could kill him easily. If he was an injured baby monster and Stanford didn't save him, he'd just have yet another regret laying on his shoulders.

Stanley

Stanley shoved his hands in his dirty jacket. His boots crunched over broken glass and hard plastic. His duffle bag stayed over his shoulder. He kept his head down and didn't mind his surroundings. Though, under the shadow of his hood, his dark eyes flicked from place to place. His mind dreamed up a dozen scenarios of how each little thing could turn around and bite him. Thieves, muggers, Rico's goons- he wasn't above thinking of the possibility of a feral dog jumping out of nowhere and giving him a nasty bite or rabies. After all, Stan had just struck oil with his latest endeavor involving a local pizzeria, some tourists, and a glass eye as well as a good wad of cash.

He was snapped out of his paranoid thoughts by a scream. This wasn't a tame scream, not one of a person being frightened by a spider or kids running amok on the streets. This was of a little girl, young and commanding a loud voice, scared.

Stanley's legs moved with a mind of their own. He took one hand out to keep his bag from slipping away. Behind a rundown thrift store, a vibrant girl was being handled by a straggly old rat. He recognized this man. He was a thief; a vulture. He stalked people who struck it big or had few ties and would steal bits and pieces from them- things that were small, easily forgettable. A candy bar here, some pocket change there, a cheap-o ring or a rag. But he'd never been so ambitious or bold as to steal a five-dollar-bill, much less a child.

She thrashed and fought viciously. It was a bit impressive she was holding out against a man twice her size but probably her weight. Still, the girl was, what, twelve? Stanley stepped forward. "Hey!"

The rat jolted and then grunted as the girl's fist came down on him hard. Upon realizing he was cornered not only by prey that could fight back, but a good-sized man probably old enough to be her father, he raced off.

The girl rubbed her hand and, after shooting a glare at the man, turned to Stanley. He could tell the exact moment she saw his face. Her agitated, pained fear quickly turned into one of shock. Her mouth agape and eyes wide, Stanley might have found it amusing if she didn't take that scared, cornered look as well.

Stanley knelt. She didn't move. "It's okay, kid. Uh… what are you doing here?" The girl fumbled over her words for a bit. Stanley's hood shifted in a slight breeze. "Oh! Oh, right. Hehe." He pulled down his hood and smiled at her. "Better?"

The girl looked him over. Her eyes inevitably fell over the "scar" crossing the left side of his face. She blurted out, "Who are you?"

Interesting question, but inevitable. "My name is Andrew," he greeted, trying his best to give her a winning smile, something that would calm her nerves a bit. How old was this kid? "And, uh, what's your name?"

She looked him over before replying, "I'm Mabel." Then, as if the very mention of her name changed her entire outlook on everything ever, tears welled up in those great puppy eyes of hers. She hunched her shoulders like a turtle trying to escape into a glittery purple sweater.

Stan lost his smile. "Uh! Um, hey, it's okay kid. I, uh, won't hurt you." Kids liked hearing that, right? Then again, anyone could say that, even predators, so he probably shouldn't- "Oof!" Stanley huffed and tensed as the girl launched herself at him and wrapped her little arms around him. She couldn't reach far being as small as she was. Tears came in earnest and she sniffled. Stanley looked down at her and hooked an arm around her. "Hey, uh, kiddo. It's alright. Hey, where are your parents, anyway?"

"Parents?" she mumbled as if the word was part of some sort of foreign language. There was a bit of hesitation before she answered in a voice chipped by a hiccup. "Not, uh… not here."

"Not here?"

Mabel nodded, her fingers tightening their grip on his jacket. "C… California."

"California?" he echoed. "What are you doin' all the way over in Mississippi, Mabel?"

The girl took a shaky breath. Saying her name relaxed her a bit more. "I-I-I l-left."

Left? A sparkly little girl left? Then, somehow, ended up in a dark alleyway in Mississippi almost being abducted by some sick cretin? He tried to let go, perhaps to look her in the eyes or assess the damage done to her. She let go of him and looked up into his eyes with those big puppy eyes of hers. God, those big eyes, watery and round, could get her places if she so chose. "Why don't we go outside? This place is starting to give me the creeps, huh?"

The girl nodded. Then, as he stood up, took him by the hand. She wiped her eyes and gave him a small smile. This little girl was so trusting. Any sicko in a van could drive by and talk to her nicely and she'd be gone, just like that.

It was then he noticed the blood on her leg.

He sucked in his breath. "Hey, sweet-heart. Are you hurt?"

She looked up at him and shook his head. She looked down at her leg, then. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head violently and pressed up against his leg. "Not mine." The words were so quiet he hardly heard them. Not mine? She looked just fine, for the most part. Her hands were dirty and muck stuck to her little shoes. Her little bag had a few twigs stuck in it. But blood swathed against her leg. He hadn't seen so much blood since he himself got a nasty blade to his leg and was left for dead on the side of the road. What had this girl been through?

He nodded her head toward the back of the old thrift store and led her out. They took one corner and soon enough they were in the late afternoon crowd. She wiped off her eyes and looked at the crowd around her. Stanley turned so that her bloody leg faced the wall rather than the crowd. He'd rather not get people spooked. He already looked like he could be a predator, dirty as he was and relatively clean as she was. Not to mention the police didn't trust him. That and having a bloody leg and red-ringed eyes would only make it worse.