Stupid
When they were little and their birthday parties ended, Mabel could never stop crying.
She trotted to their bedroom, a heap of sniffles and messy hair, to watch the row of their guests go home. She was inconsolable for a while – she said friends made her happy, and watching them go was too sad.
Each year, she thought she would never feel better. In truth, it never lasted long – Dipper was there to climb in her bed and tickle her, to chase her in the covers, and eventually make her a promise.
She listened with huge, wide open eyes. He promised. He asked her not to cry, because next year they would do it again.
She fell asleep calmly, sometimes sucking on her thumb. She only had to wait until next year, and it would all be the same.
She grew up getting used to the idea.
Sometimes, to break the flat expanse of the city roads, she imagined chasing after a river.
She and Dipper would run around for hours, rambling about the bed, the flow and the current, making them all up as they walked by its imaginary banks. They went treasure-hunting for the spring – it was always behind a curious-looking tree, or a secret corner. Sometimes they would pretend it was in the neighbours' garden, and then stare for whole minutes, longing to get past the fence.
What Mabel liked the best was imagining the water. She pictured the motion of the passing waves, farther and farther from them.
They sat quietly, in the same place. As the river ran away, they stayed.
The thought always made her feel calm.
They always ended up together somehow, even while taking care of completely different things.
For example, enrolling in the school race for juniors and convincing Dipper to do the same couldn't work as two separate processes. They were the same face of the medal they would totally win, awesome as the two of them were.
Dipper ended up two laps behind everyone. He was never one to compete. When she saw the look on his face, she slowed down, and accompanied him at the same pace until the end.
Dipper would never leave her behind. She wouldn't dare try, either. It is true today, as it was then.
There was no way they were going to cross the finish line apart.
When it was her turn to qualify last in a science competition and hear the class bully call her stupid, she already knew only Dipper could help.
He hugged her and cheered her up the whole day. He didn't even dream of planning anything else.
It was as natural as breathing, for both.
She constantly feels the balance of her life shift between them, in a weird, fluent way.
It's like all she does and she feels is split between them somehow, yet not parted by an empty space – it is a constant flow of energy that bounces back and forth, without the slightest difficulty. A whole living creature, from such different beings.
It isn't until their teenage years approach that she starts wondering if it can last forever. It couldn't. Maybe it even shouldn't. They are two separate people.
And yet – yet, it is the one way of existing she has known. How else could it be?
Each time she wonders, she gives it up almost immediately.
This is going to be their first summer away. Everything is as exciting as it is unknown.
She drags him all the way to the bus stop, holding his hand. He usually lets go as soon as they get wherever she is running to. This time, his hand lingers a little more.
She knows it means they are both a little scared.
Apparently, their uncle is just like Mabel. He doesn't seem to know what awkwardness truly is.
That is probably why they become fast friends. The perspective of so many novelties, tales to tell and lots of fun warms up everyone.
But Dipper is always a touch warier than anyone else. He notices immediately. This place is weird.
And Mabel blends in as if she were painted on the scenery. She swims in her nature – it floats all around her, making her happier than ever. In here, she finally has the heart to feel normal.
When she is so happy, he is happy too. They are brought closer.
And yet, somehow, she slips away a little.
For the first time in her life, for the first crush Dipper has had, Mabel eventually stops laughing.
Teasing each other in these cases is normal. To be fair, if it doesn't happen to her anymore, it is just because Dipper grew tired of her attempts to find a boyfriend.
He did ask about it, only once. He thought the whole boyfriend frenzy was strange, and Mabel had lowered her eyes to his words. All about her was strange, she had explained. She needed someone who liked her the way she was.
Dipper had asked if he wasn't enough, and she had felt a little better.
Seeing him more annoyed than usual is her cue to stop. She doesn't really know what to say afterwards, but it hurts her. It is not a feeling she knows.
Maybe, as her sleep whispers later, they are starting to grow up for real.
Soon, Mabel dreams of running away, chased by something she can't see. She knows that if she turns around – for a single, terrifying second – everything she loves is going to disappear.
The last words of that nightmare linger well after she opens her eyes. She doesn't want to believe it, but she listens anyway.
Time finally caught up with them, the dream tells her.
Trials and tribulations are not uncommon goods in this town. They do, in fact, live a new adventure every day – and the bond between them stretches to the opposite ends of the horizon, shaking, trembling, bearing enormous pressure.
It never breaks. Mabel doesn't even pay attention to it. Constant fights and peace have always been their everything.
But the passing doubts of that one night, although silent and buried deep, keep working.
Between discoveries and secrets of that greatness, neither of them ever finds out that the worst has yet to come.
They only receive signs. They are touched by them sometimes, on the edge of their sleep.
The days keep passing anyway. Sooner or later, they will get there.
The world is ending. At its core, she is torn between two people she loves.
As it always happened, Dipper is there. Dipper guides her. Dipper speaks to her, helps her look at things in a way what she cannot.
For sure, Dipper knows best. But she doesn't care enough.
As it never happened before, she chooses someone else over Dipper.
Her world is ending.
Not so long ago, Mabel was one part of a single system. When she thought of herself, it was near impossible to leave Dipper out of it. She saw them both, always against the horizon of her memory, and she knew things would always be like that.
Not so long ago, she never even doubted it. A little later, she did, and she immediately believed it was impossible for it to change.
Here and now, just down a flight of stairs, she has living proof that the impossible is real.
Her eyes do not leave the ceiling. Its wooden boards are her screen – on them, image by image, she projects a whole universe of things that could go wrong.
For the first time in years, she imagines a river, and the sound of running water. She stops immediately. It fills her with fear.
All that is good is an illusion – the word forever, even more so. She always believed in illusions. Quicker than anything else, as long as they were happy.
It is what Dipper just told her, after all. Mabel knows he was joking, but she is not.
Goodnight, stupid.
And stupid she is, for real.
From the very start, she should have known better.
Our little twins being cute and sad, and tons of angst mirrored on them. That last line terrified me, to be honest.
