Mabel was feeling slightly down, which troubled her.
It wasn't as if she hadn't felt bad before - far from it, really, with how her summer romances had all gone. But then it had just been grief over a lost opportunity, or just bitterness; nearly every guy she'd been into or who had wanted her was a jerk (Gideon), conceited (Gabe), or couldn't do it (Mermando, oh, mermando). Her point was that she could handle bad stuff. But the thing bumming her out wasn't bitterness or anger or even grief… it was guilt.
She distinctly remembered the day it began to fester. It had been directly after she'd turned thirteen, after weirdmageddon and Bill had been defeated. At the celebration, she'd grinned and smiled widely, because she really was excited to turn thirteen. It was awesome getting the presents and getting one last day with Candy and Grenda (Which she did her utmost to block from her mind, cause she didn't need to get even more angsty); the entire town shouting 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!', too, was something she'd never forget. But the entire time, she put effort toward not looking at her brother.
It wasn't that he'd suddenly sprouted a ton of acne from turning-thirteen-itis (That was probably a real thing, she decided in the end). Nor that his face kept pinking and that wasn't watchable without cracking up. No. As with everything in Gravity Falls, it was more complex; the entire time, as their party went on around her, Dipper smiled. He laughed and joked. Grinned like a maniac as he opened his presents. When he opened Ford's gift, the magnet gun he'd broken in their first ever outing, freshly repaired and with a pine tree on it, he looked her straight in the eye and beamed. His eyes had shined. Something in Mabel had died then.
How could he still do that?
The question had sprouted up unexpectedly, and shaken Mabel to her core. She kept her smile up though. She kept it up as the day wore on, too. She'd kept it up until now.
The problem for her was something that struck deep at her self-esteem. Akin to a knife straight into her "I am a nice person" artery, which splattered its contents everywhere. It made her want to go right back into sweater town. Go back and never look back. She might not have to face it then. She couldn't, however.
It's time to grow up.
She'd told Candy and Grenda that in an attempt to console them. Now, it seemed laced with viciousness and savagery. She'd told her friends to grow up. But she wasn't. Very little about her had changed, beyond gaining a bit of height and receiving more physical development from puberty (She was the alpha twin again, huzzah!) - her personality was almost the same. She still walked into school with sugar packets in her pockets. She still played with Waddles whenever possible. She was still an avid socialite. She hadn't changed - not really.
Dipper, though?
Mabel wished he'd slow down.
He hadn't quite hit puberty yet, but it was beginning; the height difference between them, which had been in her favor for most of the year, was closing at an alarming rate. He'd taken to brooding like it was an old friend, and the first signs of muscle were beginning to show themselves, struggling, granted, but there. He'd started shaving a month ago, as well as using deodorant since September. No cologne (Thank goodness, that would've been horrifying), but Dipper had simultaneously taken to eating double of what he used to, to the point that Mabel asked her dad. He just laughed and said something vague about him growing up (she was really starting to dislike those two words) and for her not to worry. He would spend hours in his room after school, or in the living room, either studying (he was planning on getting at least two AP classes in his freshman year, he informed at lunch one day) or writing in the Journal with that pine-tree Ford had sent him for christmas. No matter what angle she looked at it from, Dipper was maturing. And fast.
Most infuriatingly to her, in the end, was that he acted like nothing had happened.
He was jovial and conversational with her all year, supportive during bad days and empathetic when she'd wake up with nightmares about Bill or something. He was her brother like he'd always been, and it was driving her up her hot-pink wall.
How could he be so friggin' calm?
Mabel flinched a bit in her seat, leaning back as their bus to Gravity Falls unloaded its final passengers until their stop. She felt a tap on her shoulder.
"You okay?" Dipper asked, smiling softly. Concern had written itself in bold and all caps across his face. He added, "I know it must be weird… coming back here, I mean. Everything could be so different," Mabel nodded, and then Dipper squeezed her hand. Her heart pounded in her chest, the guilt threatening to burst. She smiled.
"Yeah," she responded, waiting for Dipper to turn away. When he did, diving right back into writing an entry in his journal, she de-entwined their fingers and scooted away from him. He didn't seem to notice, continuing to write in his journal, pen scratching against the paper rapidly. The bus lurched slightly as it started up again, something that made Mabel jump slightly. Geez. How twitchy could she get? Dipper made no sign of even noticing the bus's lurching or the frown she knew had crossed her face.
How could he do it?
Mabel bit her lip, looking at the ground. She didn't want to think about this. Especially with her brother, who was like, the king of introspection. He'd notice and just get empathetic again. She didn't want that. She wasn't sure her composure would survive another one of his sympathetic, slightly-awkward smiles.
It's time to grow up.
It was time, and she didn't want to. It was the last thing she wanted to do, as a matter of fact. Anything to stop the self-realization that had been simmering the entire year. Anything to stop the wildfire of guilt in her gut from escaping. Mabel knew that in all likelihood she'd probably start crying, because…
It's time to grow up.
She was a horrible sister.
What kind of sibling - let alone a flippin' twin - nearly gives an actual demon possessing their brother's body a book that would help them? What kind of person even considers it?
What kind of sister yells at their brother for getting an apprenticeship? An apprenticeship, too, to a genius scientist with a dozen PHD's?
What kind of sister puts their brother through a prison made by the same demon who possessed them? Mabel shook her head, clenching her fists. She was horrible. There was something very very wrong with her; very wrong. Something deeper than obliviousness - a selfish streak several miles long, that harmed everyone around her.
She caused weirdmageddon. She was the reason the world nearly ended. It was her fault.
Mabel was trembling by this point. Her vision began to blur, the olive-green seat in front of her becoming a hazy mass as the tears surged out of her like a flood. Dipper looked up from his Journal, about to ask Mabel how to spell a word (Ignoring his nerd-pride for a second) but saw that, instead, she was shivering on the spot, knuckles white, with tears spilling into her lap. He almost dropped his journal.
It was on instinct that he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, and it was with equal instinct that Mabel jerked back from him, unable to meet his eyes. She was silent, but one look at her was worth a thousand words. Those words, though, were all jumbled; as if Dipper had had dyslexia. He'd always considered himself crap at comforting.
"Mabel…" he began carefully, slowly closing his journal, "What's wrong?"
His sister didn't respond. She wanted to shout and rave and scream about how she didn't deserve to be here; get some sort of answer or resolution as to why Dipper put up with her antics. She didn't just think, she knew someone like him didn't deserve as bad a person like her. It wasn't right.
Mabel pulled her sweater up, filling her vision with the darkened maroon of the collar. The way it looked like a void was something her rapidly-collapsing emotional state could get behind. Darkness was good; it was consistent. She usually preferred spasticity in her life in every aspect, but at the moment a nice, silent darkness was what she wanted; what she never wanted to leave.
Dipper hesitated, alarm bells ringing in his head. Mabel didn't - hadn't ever, really - rejected sympathy from anyone. This was… it wasn't unprecedented, he supposed, but it certainly wasn't per her wacky standard. He set his journal next to him, and looked at his sister, smack dab in the middle of Sweatertown, and had no idea what to do. She didn't want hugs or hand squeezes. Part of him wanted to repeat his question again, an urge checked by the fear that Mabel might trap her head in her sweater from whatever was bothering her. Dipper frowned, wracking his brain for a cause. Mabel's sniffling rang in his ears. After several moments, he tried reaching out, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder, only for Mabel to jerk back again.
She shook her head vehemently, her heart strings constricting themselves. She wanted Dipper to just turn off his compassion for just one second. It was making her cry. She scooted even further down the seat, and shook her head again.
It was better, wasn't it? That she was feeling guilty - right? It meant… something. It had to. But what? Guilt couldn't change the past. It didn't make things better. Maybe, maybe it showed she'd righted her moral compass, but that meant that she had to right it in the first place.
"Mabel… you know I forgave you for all that stuff last summer, right?" Dipper said. Mabel was dead silent. Her heart had gone above thumping and was currently more along the lines of a jackhammer on smile dip. She'd already been pretty sure he'd forgiven her for everything anyways, so it shouldn't've made every part of her seize up. It did, though.
"How?" the question slipped from her lips before she could stop it. It was quiet, however, a section of her mind cut in. There was a chan-
"How?" Dipper repeated, staring at her. His mind stopped for a second. He had forgiven her. He'd forgiven her because… because…
He realized he didn't have a reason.
After a second, during which Mable pulled the collar of her sweater even higher up, so only a heart-shaped tuft of her hair tuft of her hair was visible, Dipper spoke.
"You're my sister." he told her firmly. "I put up with you for the same reason you put up with me. We love each other. I - I don't need another reason." Mabel hugged herself, and shook her head a third time. No, no. This wasn't right. None of it was right. Dipper needed a better reason. He always had a better reason. He couldn't just forgive her because he loved her; how could he after what she did?
"Doesn't change it," she murmured miserably. Dipper bit his lip, his hand twitching. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to stay in silence because he hated seeing Mabel sad, but at the same time he had no idea what he could - or should - do or say to make her happy.
"L-look," he said, voice cracking unrulily, "You made some mistakes." Mabel didn't respond for a beat, so he added, "Okay, a lot of mistakes. But you're still a person, y'know? Look at me! I mean, I was tricked by Bill! He took full possession of my body, Mabes. There's-"
"T-that's not it." the words had fallen from her mouth, as exasperation fought through her tears. Dipper, for once, wasn't thinking with his head. Mabel felt that exasperation turn to anger in short order. How the heck did he do it? She'd caused the apocalypse - forced Dipper to live through it for a week because she couldn't handle that he'd found something above her level. Mabel threw her arms up, standing in her seat, causing the collar of her sweater to fall back down to her neck. Slightly manic, red, puffy eyes glared at her brother.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, DIPPER? YOU - I - HOW?!" She clenched her fists, as the guilt overwhelmed her. "I WAS SO BAD TO YOU! I NEVER BELIEVED YOU, GOT IN YOUR WAY - WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Mabel stepped forward, hands reaching how to Dipper's shoulders, ready to shake him for answers. She got as far as grabbing them before she looked at the concern, fear, and utter confusion on his face. His journal fell to the floor with a thump.
"Uh…" he said, face flushing from nervousness and alarm, "I…"
"HOW?" Mabel roared, though she didn't shake him. The way he was looking at her… wasn't right; he should've been angry when she said there was something wrong with him. Should've twitched or tensed or snapped back. But he wasn't. If anything, really, he just looked more concerned. She bit her lip for several moments, the air around her feeling charged. She was completely ready to continue shouting. She already had a ten-paragraph speech prepared to list out every way she'd wronged him, so he'd just be angry. Things would make sense then. They'd fight, sure, but afterward they'd make up and-
And she'd be in the exact same place.
The thought hit her like a freight train.
It's time to grow up.
Mabel felt the anger melting away, slipping from her like sand. Within moments, it had left her, leaving a strange, silent calm. Part of her said she should've felt something, at the least; bitterness or self-hatred, but she didn't. She was only aware, suddenly, of the cycle of emotional pain she'd been putting herself through. Constantly blaming herself, silently begging for an answer that'd result in a fight that, in the end, wouldn't really resolve anything. She didn't know how long she spent there, musing in her own silence, until she saw Dipper wince and point emphatically behind her. Mabel turned, to find herself face-to-face with the bus driver. The very same one who had driven them to Gravity Falls a year before, and who had been threatened into taking Waddles with them back to Piedmont.
"Ma'am," he said, "Please refrain from doing that again. Company policy."
Mabel should've quipped or brushed it off. Dipper was afraid the driver might eject her from the bus from the way her brow furrowed.
"I'm sorry," she said, "It won't happen again."
And after another moment, the driver went to the front and Mabel sat down.
Dipper gawked for a second as Mabel looked at the seat in front of her.
You're my sister. I put up with you for the same reason you put up with me. We love each other.
He'd forgiven her, she supposed, for the same reason they always made up; they loved each other. Things could get in the way of that, of course, but in the end they always came through.
With considerable effort, Mabel turned her head to face Dipper, the guilt still there, sure, but it didn't hurt as much. Dipper was still looking at her with concern, a fact that brought a smile to her face. The guilt said he shouldn't've forgiven her so readily for things like that. That was probably true, she supposed, but it was Dipper's choice.
You made some mistakes. Okay, a lot of mistakes. But you're still a person, y'know?
Yeah, Dipper. She thought. I am just a person.
A moment later, she'd wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, squeezing as hard as she could. She wasn't perfect. She'd made a lot of mistakes. But she still cared about people. She was still a good person, she decided. A very flawed person, yeah. A person with plenty of bad deeds, yes; but if Dipper could still love her after them… well, she just might manage to love herself a bit too.
"Uh... Mabel… choking… me… ribs…" Dipper rapsed, squirming. He was enjoying the hug, yet he also felt like his sister had turned into a boa constrictor. After another agonizing second, he was released, and for a moment he was afraid of what he might see on his sister's face. When he saw it, though, it was smiling. Smiling through puffy eyes and cheeks, but it was her smile. An actual smile.
"Dipper…" she began, and she clasped his hand in two of her own. "I meant what I said after Mabelland." She squeezed his hand as much as she could. Likely to the point that it hurt, that same section of her pointed out, to which she internally shrugged. Affection was affection, even if it went through the post-apocalypse and back. "I won't get in your way."
For a space her brother was silent, until a smile crept across his face.
"Don't get in yours either, 'kay?"
"I won't," Mabel said sincerely. The conversation between them died after that, settling into a comfortable silence, before she felt a yawn. Like her cat, she stretched and, stopping Dipper midway through writing in his journal, leaned on him.
"Err-" he began, only for Mabel to yawn again.
"You're my pillow. Deal with it, Bro-bro." she said firmly, to which Dipper scowled, though humor twinkled in his eyes.
"I hate you."
Mabel just leaned harder, her eyelids becoming heavy, the setting sunlight painting her view with a pallet of purples and yellows that she made the area of her brain dedicated to sewing set off it's "Oooo, that's a good color scheme!" alarms. She could already see it as she let her eyelids fall down.
"I love you too, Bro-bro. I love you too."
This is something I started awhile ago that had been sitting dormant for about a month. I finished it, though, and this little canon complaint is now open for the world to view! *Jazz hands*
I hope you enjoyed reading this enough to give a favorite or review, or it at least made you smile. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac