In short, not everyone is lucky enough to live with the Woodsman, and Henry's friends won't ever let him forget it. Where are the triplets? They're... They're somewhere. They're safe. Shhhhh. Don't worry about it.

The champagne sat on the table, unopened.

"Do it."

"No," said Henry.

"C'mon, where's your sense of fun?"

"No." He looked to Dipper. "Dude, help me out here."

"DO IT."

"Traitor." He tried to sidle past Mabel and Wendy, but they flanked him with military precision. He turned around. Dipper had cut off the back exit, throwing in some eldritch flame for good measure.

He folded his arms. "I'm just going to wait here until you guys go away."

"Don't be a lamebro," said Wendy.

At the same time, Mabel pulled out a Mounds bar. "Hey bro-bro… Wanna make a deal?"

The flames went out, but Dipper's face lit up. "Are you thinking what I'm– what the heck, of course you are. DEAL."

Henry dove for the back door. Without even looking, Dipper let go of Mabel's hand and snapped his fingers. The lock clicked, leaving Henry helplessly rattling the doorknob. He briefly thought about diving through the window, but then he thought about picking broken glass out of his skin. So Henry went for the third-best alternative, which was to face his fate with dignity.

"You can't make me do this," he said, his stomach sinking.

Mabel and Wendy just smirked at Dipper, who said, "Dude, don't make this any tougher than it has to be."

Henry gritted his teeth, looked his demonic brother-in-law in the gold-pupiled eyes, and thought hard about bulletproof steel. "Come at me, bro."

It was a battle of wills. Mabel kept her eyes fixed expectantly on Henry, waiting for him to just give in already. Wendy wasn't so sure. Her cousin may have been a literary wuss, but the fact was, he'd stayed a literary wuss–even though the Corduroy family had tried their best to change him.

All his life, Henry had channeled his stubbornness into himself. Gods only knew what would happen when he turned it on someone else.

They stood stock-still, glaring at each other. You could almost hear the air frizzling between them. Dipper was starting to throw off sparks. A branching shadow flickered in and out of existence behind Henry's head.

The champagne was getting warm.

"FINE!" roared Henry, making the girls jump. "Fine, I'll do it!" The words came true as he said them. He would do it, though not by any choice of his own. "And just so you guys know, that was not fair, ganging up on me like that."

The girls cheered. Dipper said, "I can help you concoct revenge schemes later. As for the moment–"

"Sa-ber! Sa-ber! Sa-ber!" chanted the girls.

Henry sighed. Come out, Woodsman, he thought, imagining the smooth feel of oak under his fingers. Suddenly it was real, and the axe was in his hand–although it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. There was an extra weight on either side of his head, and he ducked to avoid catching his antlers on the light fixture. He picked up the bottle of champagne.

"This isn't chilled enough. It needs to be super cold."

The bottle was instantly icy. "Done," said Dipper. Henry sighed again, made them all stand back, and, with one clean sweep of his axe, sabered the top off the bottle.

Mabel cheered again and grabbed the wineglasses. They caught most of the overflow, and even poured some on Dipper's circle for good measure.

Dipper said, "That was a pretty cool trick."

He pointed at the table and just like that, a new bottle appeared. Beads of condensation stood out on its surface. A snap of his fingers, and blue flames streamed from his hands.

He grinned.

"But can you do it with fire?"

I love it when characters with magicky powers use them to pull stupid stunts, like waterbending beer into someone's mouth or using your Wolverine claws to slice salami. Heck, what's the use of magic if you don't use it?