Wow... was not expecting this to take so long. I sincerely apologize.

Good news is that I already finished Chapter 4 (the last one) LONG before I finished this one. Mainly because I had a much rougher outline of where this was going than the detailed notes I had of where it ended. But that means that I can guarantee a nicer update time for the end here, and I can finish my first multichapter! :D

I do have ideas for a sequel, but I'll wait until you guys can see where this is going to see how much you want it ;)


Dean's face was hard as he pulled into the parking lot in front of the apartment complex. The ride had been dead silent the entire way from campus with the sole exception of Mabel giving directions from behind the brothers. The girl alternated between silent and frantic as if she couldn't decide on whether to quiver with fear and anticipation or remain perfectly still, although she had repeatedly made it obvious that she would have preferred to drive. Sadly the Winchesters and their ignorance of traffic laws had speed going for them, and when Mabel reluctantly admitted that her car was a ten minute walk from the classroom she was hastily shoved in the backseat of the Impala.

Speaking of the civilian, Dean made sure to lock the door as soon as he jumped out of the Impala, having easily come to a silent agreement with Sammy to lock her in the car. But as the older Winchester made his way towards the arsenal in the truck he found the backseat empty and the back passenger side door flung open from where the young woman had bolted on a direct path to the outdoor stairwell leading to her apartment before the car had even come to a complete stop.

Sam beat him to the back and had already opened the trunk and closed the back door (even in a crisis Dean had long ingrained in his brother the habit not to slam her) and was rummaging for needed supplies when Dean joined him. Due to their specific targeting of hellhounds, there was a large bag of goofer dust sitting on top of the hidden latch in the trunk (one nice benefit of the supply was that no one mistook it for a weapon, though they had to be careful in some places with it being confused for drugs). Within ten seconds the boys had procured their weapons of choice, with Dean fingering Ruby's knife in his pocket and grabbing a handgun as Sam grabbed a rifle in one hand and a long knife in the other. Subconsciously nodding at the clear implications that Sam was agreeing (or at least appearing to, given his choice of weapons) to be backup as Dean completed the first trial, Dean knocked the trunk closed and ran over to the stairs below where Mabel was unlocking the door.

The claw marks running down under the handle of the (miraculously still closed and locked) structure were an ominous sign.

"Mabel! Stay back from there!" Dean was running up the two flights of stairs two at a time, trying to crane his head to view where the young woman was furiously shoving her key in the door but shaking too much to do it efficiently.

"No! Not if Dipper's in trouble!"

"You're going to get yourself killed! The only way to ward off a hellhound is with a ring of goofer dust, and not even that-" Dean hadn't even finished his sentence, halfway up the final flight of stairs when the precious bag of goofer dust was literally pulled out of his grip. His eyes followed the soaring bag, now punctured and leaking a trail of black powder from where the metal claw dragged it along its aerial trajectory.

Dean could feel his jaw drop slightly as his eyes met the resolute stare of Mabel Pines, who didn't even wait for the military-grade grappling hook in her hand to fully contract before pushing her way through the doorframe of the apartment and entering the war zone within.


Though what lay inside was not so much a battleground as a war path. The apartment was in shambles, carpet torn and singed. But the hellhounds knew their target and had no need to stray from a deadly-straight path, leaving the artwork and casework covering nearly every inch of the walls almost unnaturally intact, although irreparably stained by ash and soot. Mabel felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight, but instinct and heart pulled her along as automatically as breathing. Dipper was in trouble and the threat lay ahead; her home, her work, and the damage both sustained weren't worth even a passing thought in comparison.

Quickly turning the corner outside the single bedroom they shared, Mabel dully noted that she was breathing heavily as her eyes searched frantically for her brother. Some reflex froze her legs in place (or at least slowed them down: the passage of time seemed more like that of a dream than reality ever since Sam and Dean brought up Dipper's danger) at the sight of the room before her. Again, there was no sight of whatever monsters had come for her twin, but that didn't mean they hadn't left their mark everywhere.

It was as if a bomb had been set off: every inch of the space had been impacted, the damage radiating outward in a sphere that reminded the girl of Gravity Falls' apocalyptic anomalies all those years ago. But it was obvious at the sight who the target was. While Mabel's bed sheets were shredded on the edges, the wood making up the frame burned with holes that mocked the eyes normally dotting the pine finish and the siblings' mutual television set was now cracked and sparking blue tendrils of electric current; Dipper's possessions were decimated: sheets, clothing, anything of his not heavy enough or well tied down was now littering the open space the twins once prided over sharing for larger projects. His blankets were no-longer in a recognizable rectangle: triangular shards sprawled among the long strips entangling anything touching the floor.

Both boy and book were caught in its snare.

Mabel hadn't seen the Journal open in nearly ten years, but not even she could forget the look of the yellowed pages and old binding that was once her brother's bible. Despite the age-old damage, the artifact was innocently sitting unblemished by the recent chaos, open to the page of the demon who got them into this mess and just out of arm's reach of the mystery hunter who it betrayed.

Then her eyes caught Dipper's form and the world (no matter how slowly it was crawling earlier) came to a dead stop. His hand was stretched loosely towards the Journal, as if at one point he had been reaching for it, but was forgotten in necessity of supporting his body weight. His ankle was tied to a shred of sheet pinned under a bedpost, his lanky-but-nearly-filled-out-with-age body appearing to be entirely ensnared despite the small but tactical point of contact. He was nearly still, having obviously frozen in the process of crawling backwards when hit with the backlash of the bond, but his lips were quivering as if on the verge of words and his eyes, stark white framed by a ring of too-dark bags and too-pasty skin, darted frantically with panic and life.

And where he was looking, Mabel noticed as the pounding of her heart and the gasping of her lungs lost their monopoly on her eardrums, must not have been as empty as she first thought. Because suddenly her entire core was shaken by the unison growl of dogs.

Not dogs, hellhounds. Ones getting ready to pounce.

Time returned to its proper, breakneck speed as Mabel jumped into action, literally. Reaching for the hanging fan with her bare left hand the woman leapt into the air, right arm swinging the grappling hook and its precious cargo over her shoulder and spewing dust as she went. Years of practice with the device paid off: by the time she landed with a roll behind Dipper, a thick black line had slashed onto the floor to his right, and with the masterful stroke of a painter Mabel whipped the bag in a circle on the other side, closing the odd semi-circle/triangle of thick goofer dust she made with the back wall. Hands quickly reached to pull her prone brother's shoulders back and drag him to the center of the polygon from his spot precariously close to the edge. As Mabel applied a healthy dose of goofer dust to fix the break in the warding where the sheets tying Dipper had ripped under her pull, she replayed Dean's words in her mind and ruefully hoped the mysterious stranger wasn't too picky when he specified a circle.

Mabel could hear two pairs of combat boots running their way through the apartment and remembered that the Winchesters were behind her. Calming slightly at the reassurance that she would simply have told hold down the fort until they came up with an attack strategy Mabel stepped in front of her out-of-it brother and readied the grappling hook in front of her.

Hopefully years of practice hitting everything in sight would be just as applicable to aiming at invisible targets.


Dean hated to admit it, but he was scared upon following Mabel Pines into her apartment that her body would already be strewn alongside her brother's before they had a chance to reach her.

It was a story the Winchesters had seen too many times. Anyone they got close to, even if just for a few hours, hell they hadn't even met Mabel Pines an hour ago, was liable to turn up dead before they left town. Especially cute young women. Even the weird ones.

So Dean Winchester found his jaw dropping for the second time in five minutes as he followed the ash and soot to the bedroom door. Mabel Pines huddled on the far side of the room, sheltered under a triangular window of broken glass and firing her grappling hook into the foray of hellhounds growling menacingly with one hand while holding a boy who could only be her brother close by her side with the other.

She kept sending Dipper glances and momentarily squeezing him tighter, and while the hunter first thought the gesture was the artist reassuring herself that her twin was still alive, as Dean's surveyed the situation he soon realized that wasn't the case. As the hunter checked over the boy to verify that he was indeed alive, Dean noticed the kid's eyes frantically shifting back and forth in a pattern that reminded Dean of when he Lilith sicced the hellhounds on him. Recognizing the terror and desperation, it became obvious that Dipper was already seeing the beasts.

They really had come just in the nick of time.

But then Dean heard one of the howls shift into a pained yelp, and was stunned that Mabel Pines was managing to snipe the invisible hellhounds. Her gaze shifted back to her brother, then followed the direction of his glance before firing again. Mabel was using Dipper's guidance to fight them off, all while huddling in the protection the warding of goofer dust provided.

Warding that the Winchesters were not sheltered behind.

It took a few seconds for the hellhounds to notice that the boys had entered. They weren't the dogs' targets after all, but there likely wasn't a monster in Hell that wouldn't relish in the opportunity to drag the infamous hunters into the Pit. Shifting into a more overt fighting stance and holding Ruby's knife in front of him threateningly, Dean suddenly wished that he had brought something a little bigger when facing the one monsters he outright feared. Like explosives. But that thought only reminded him of Ellen and Jo, and Dean tried to shake the fear and guilt off in favor of battle. Seeing Jo's reflection in Mabel, a young hunter cradling the only family she had left, only made the emotions worse.

His thoughts were finally knocked out of him by a metal grappling hook firing right towards him. Just a few feet away from where he thought he'd have his manhood hooked Dean saw the hook grip into nothingness and come to a quick stop. A split second and a deft twist of Mabel's hand later the metal tore through the hidden flesh, red hellhound blood spilling and staining the white carpet.

Staring up into Dean's horrified expression the sniper yelled out, "Hey, watch what you're doing!" After a quick pause and another fire the girl corrected, "Actually, no, stop watching and actually do something! Aren't you supposed to be the guys who take this stuff down?"

Sam let out a light chuckle as he stepped out from behind where Dean had subconsciously blocked the doorway to keep him from entering the room. Hefting up the rifle he had brought with him, Sam quickly aimed into the bedroom, away from the prone twins on the other side, and fired. Seeing the bullet leave a sizeable dent in the ground quickly told the boys he missed.

Firing out a few more shots all proved to be just about as effective. After bursting what appeared to be a sizable paper mache pig, Mabel took a second amongst her swinging of the grappling hook to shoot a glare at the taller man and shout, "Hey! Stop aiming for Waddles!"

Another swing must have hit a hellhound (the one dodging Sam's shooting as it seemed to weave its way closer to the Winchesters) in a particularly sensitive spot, as it let out a yelp and a crash as blood blossomed across the carpet. Taking in the damage unleashed by the young girl Dean let out a low whistle as he leaned over to Sam and whispered, "Hey, why don't we have one of those in the Impala?"

"Beats me." His brother shrugged, shifting the rifle's weight in his arms.

"When this whole trials thing is done, we're going to one of Bobby's old contacts and buying a couple of those. Iron. Or maybe silver…"

"Yo! Shopping spree later! Less girl talk more GRAPPLING HOOK!"

With her signature cry Mabel fired said weapon at an empty space, the weapon quickly stopping came to a dead stop in the way that usually signaled it hitting its mark. But this time it wasn't the young artist who twisted away. Instead, a low sound came from behind the hook itself as the metal seemed to move of its own accord.

Next thing they knew (or at least the three aware enough to recognize the severity of the situation knew), the hellhound was on its haunches and backing up, dragging its attacker and the prey she was holding on to towards it. More importantly, it was pulling them closer and closer to breaking the thick line of goofer dust keeping them safe.

"Dean! Sam!" The girl's panicked cries only increased the urgency in the hunters. They tried to look for openings, but the light mist of the hellhounds' panting breath revealed that there were far too many of them for the hunters to find a decent opening. And as Mabel's arms and legs were nearing the thin black line keeping her from the foray of monsters after her and her brother's blood, it was becoming more obvious that even cutting the line, or simply having the girl let go, wasn't an option. More dogs were already pawing at the goofer dust, sniffing at it and blowing it away with their hot breaths. It wouldn't be long before the twins were completely defenseless.

Mabel closed her eyes and suddenly seemed to relax despite the tension pulling her closer to Hell. Letting out a breath she squeezed her twin tighter to her side in a quick hug and loosened her grip on him. With a soft "Dipper, I'm sorry" the girl let go, pushing herself forward into the pull. Using the sudden momentum in her upper body to swing to her feet, the artist transitioned into a leap over the line of goofer dust and dove into the fray.

"MABEL!" She managed to twist herself in the air so she blew past the grapping hook still resting in one of the hellhound's mouth, her shoulder slamming into the blood-stained singed carpet beneath her and keeping her from sliding back far. Instantly she felt the grappling hook fall limp against her side, the dog dropping it in favor of pouncing on her exposed form. Another one breathed down her neck, sending a chill of terror down her spine despite its too hot, humid breath.


She could hear Sam and Dean behind her, screaming her name through the ever-present crescendo of howls, and through it all Mabel could swear that in the back of her mind she could make out the unforgettable sound of Bill's grating laughter. More than anything the jarring chuckles brought out a rage in her over everything that demon had done, everything he had taken away from them ten years ago without ever letting them know, how he had pushed them over the edge and just waited, watching until the day he could swoop in and take her brother away again. This time for good.

This time not even a hastily made sock puppet could reunite them. But she wasn't going to be a puppet in Bill's little game anymore.

From between the wide stance of the hellhound looming over her, Mabel fingered the refreshing cool of the grappling hook, dragging her hand along the metal and not even caring when she reached the edge that was warm and sticky with blood. The rope was loose from being pulled so much, and even if she could hit the switch to coil it the dog would probably kill her at the sign of sudden movement. As of now it she could sense the invisible force looming over her, as if it was playing with its food.

Or waiting for some sort of command.

But the girl knew she wouldn't be the one to give it to him, and she certainly wasn't going to wait until the thing decided that it was ready to pounce on its own. One bat of its paw would probably crush her ribcage, if not outright vivisect her with its sharp nails. Even if she struck first, incapacitated it, killed it, the one right behind her would maul her in seconds.

But at this point it wasn't about getting out alive. It was about protecting Dipper, about making as much hassle for Bill trying to kill them as possible. And if taking out one of these beasts gave the Winchesters a tiny bit more of a fighting chance, then it would be worth it.

Not like she would survive either way.

And with that morbid thought, she closed her fist around it and hooked her elbow, stabbing the metal claw right into the hound's vulnerable stomach.

Its growl turned into a scream. The sound was met by the gushing and warm spill of hot blood pouring all over her. But none of that mattered when the beast collapsed onto her pinned form, its paws batting feebly with the last moments of life, but still enough to tear into her exposed arm, and all Mabel heard were piercing screams she vaguely recognized as her own.


Neither Winchester was willing to watch the center of the fight as they dove into the battleground, covering each other's backs and hoping that gave them a hope at survival. They both knew that if they turned their eyes just a little bit towards the left they'd see Mabel Pines as clear as day, her pink woolen sweater clumping together as it soaked in her lifeblood, claw marks littering her form in a way that would make any person sick. Especially one who had watched their brother die in the very same way. Certainly one who had already undergone such torture themselves.

It wasn't like the invisible hellhounds would do anything to block the horrific view.

Between the demon-killing powers of Ruby's knife and the specially smelted bullets of Sam's rifle (melted down iron mixed with goofer dust in a desperate hope that hellhounds liked being pumped full of the stuff as much as they did when it encircled the floor), it seemed that the boys were making progress. There were a few places where dogs seemed to have collapsed, and although it nearly tripped Sam's gargantuan legs when he encountered a form Dean had felled, it was better to have a sign of progress than avoid invisible obstacles.

In another silent agreement they decided to worry about the trial later, once the threat was gone. It'd be easier to ritualistically soak in the blood of a hellhound when there was only one or two left than when a whole pack of them who were on the verge of killing both them and innocent civilians.

A quick glance to the far side of the room assured that the kid was still safe behind protection, a few hounds likely still pawing at the line, but the majority of their dwindling numbers were now focused on the hunters picking them off.

Or at least that's what Dean hoped. He couldn't bear to think of them running from Dipper merely to snack on the more vulnerable meal nearby.

Due to their delaying of the trial, neither brother was particularly trying to make the hellhounds bleed. Bullet wounds, while ranging in damage from incapacitating to deadly, were small, and Dean didn't have the time to twist his blade or drag it to deepen the cut. There were too many of them, and they were far too quick for the hunter to take his time, and the ceremonially serrated blade took effort to drag through such thick muscle.

The world faded away to the red haze of violence, and for a brief second it reminded Dean of his eternity in Hell. It was a fitting comparison, but not one the older Winchester was apt to relive.

A scream broke Dean out of his nightmare.

He had never heard Mabel scream. Thinking back he had barely known her long enough to hear her laugh beside that fake flirty one she gave off upon hearing that he knew of Shimmery Twinkleheart. But as soon as he heard the sound there was no doubt in either of the brothers' minds that it belonged to the young teacher's assistant who had quickly triggered the internal brotherly instinct that would do anything to protect extended family. The girl reminded him of Charlie, and Dean cursed that he wasn't able to give her as happy an ending as the Queen of Moondor.

He couldn't stop his instincts from turning his head to look. His eyes all too quickly took in the sight of her bloody form, long gashed running down her left arm right under the end of the short sleeve and red covering what once was a design on her handmade sweater.

Sam had been closer, and had noticed the telltale signs of another hellhound coming right behind her, getting ready to lunge for her head. Pulling the extra knife he had brought along out, knowing a rifle would be useless from this movement and range, the tall man threw himself at the oncoming dog and aimed to slice what hopefully would be its throat.


Sam could feel his shoulder hit the ground as he fell on his side, pushing himself up and holding the knife that had just slayed one hellhound out, ready to face off against any other oncoming threat. Looking to the girl next to him, then down at his blood-soaked form, Sam started to mutter an incantation under his breath.

Not much good would come out of this, but at least the first trial could be complete, and the lives lost could mean something.


Dean could feel that the battle was dying down around them. Somehow, perhaps in a stroke of good luck that went towards making up for the Winchester curse that seemed to follow them everywhere, there hadn't been another hellhound ready to pounce on Sam when he went down as there had been with Mabel. Sam was better prepared for starters, but Dean didn't know what he would do if he lost Sam again after everything they'd been through.

He suddenly remembered Dipper, still laying barely conscious on the floor behind the ring-like formation of goofer dust and shivered at the thought of when the boy would awaken alone with strangers and his sister's corpse. Neither of the twins deserved the fates that were waiting for them.

Finally having a chance to breath, Dean dared to spare another glance towards where Sam and Mabel lay on the floor. It was hard to imagine that they were only a few yards apart given everything that had gotten in-between them, but seeing straight through the invisible bodies of the hellhounds made it obvious how close-by they really were.

Then Dean felt his blood run cold again when he saw Sam's lips moving, a bloody sheet of paper procured from his pocket where he must have copied down the incantation to complete the first trial. His little brother's hands and front were covered in blood from where he killed the hellhound that had been leaping for Mabel, and Dean was frozen as he looked at himself and realized he was far too clean of blood to stop his brother and do the ritual himself.

A soft glow started up near the younger Winchester, but it seemed hazy, and Dean couldn't quite make out what it was covering. He felt himself looking back over Mabel Pines' form, lying on the floor next to Sam and looking for all the world like a sleeping princess.

Eyes far too used to checking over injured hunters and near-dead civilians for injuries scanned her form. Strangely enough, he couldn't find a cause of the most worrisome blood stain covering her chest. Where there shouldn't be a scratch or dismemberment was perfectly untouched, and Dean started praying in his head when he saw the bloody grappling hook in her hand. Her chest was still, but it could just as easily been from fighting for her life against the pressure of being crushed by the heavy corpse of the attacking hound as from already slipping into death itself.

But the prayers hoping she survived turned to curses as Sam continued the chant, and Dean realized that the small glow could just as easily be aimed towards Mabel as Sam from his angle. Sammy probably hadn't realized it either, but Mabel Pines had killed a hellhound first, and quite literally bathed in its blood…

Shit.


Mabel never knew what to believe about life after death. Even as she cut through the hellhound with her trusty grappling hook and felt its life dim in tandem with hers, she didn't experience the same "life flashing before your eyes" experience that everyone always went on about.

A part of her felt kind of cheated. After spending so much time compiling scrapbooks of her most wonderful experiences she was looking forward to seeing her subconscious replaying all of her greatest hits. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, just blood and what seemed to be a giant shadow looming over her (maybe that's what the hellhounds actually looked like?) as the world faded into black and grey (even calling it white would be optimistic). The whole "at peace" thing was also really understated: while Mabel hoped that her sacrifice would be able to buy enough time or damage for Sam, Dean, and most importantly Dipper to live, she was generally feeling pretty shitty about the whole experience.

Apparently dying a painful death made even an optimist feel pretty cynical.

But all of her metaphysical musings (which were so much more typical of Dipper, were they not? Guess it's only fair, since hopefully she would be taking Dipper's place and he could live the long and successful life she knew he would) were nothing in comparison to the physical sensations. No, her mind was fully in the moment, filled with determination and rage as she felt the blood pour over her, warm in a sticky and twisted way that she guessed was a fine metaphor for life. Then none of that seemed to matter after the crushing weight and the searing pain.

She could only hear screaming: both the hellhound's and a bit of Sam and Dean's panic, but mainly her own. She could taste the metal and sulfur that had been potent in the air ever since she started fighting, and given its potency the sense was nearly indecipherable from smell at this point. Her vision was starting to fade further and further from shadows and greys into a pure and complete black, and Mabel mourned that she would never again be rescued by Crandalf the Fabulous, Color Wizard and Savior of the Great Depression.

But a burst of color did miraculously come out of the corner of her vision just as she had turned her head to rest her weak neck and somehow wound up facing the prone form of her brother. He was still frozen in unconsciousness, and looking almost as bad as she felt, but there was the soft movement indicative of breathing in his chest. Well, that or Mabel's blurring vision was giving the illusion of such, but despite the sudden flood of cynicism she would not die believing that her little brother went first. Just as even the figure she had spent her entire life beside began to fade away, she could swear she saw a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye, but her bleary mind argued that that couldn't be right, Dipper had outgrown that Pine Tree hat years ago.

Then suddenly her brother's voice echoed in her mind and Mabel was so happy that she could hear him say goodbye one final time, happier than she had ever been in her bright, too-short burst of life, glitter, boy bands and joy.

But the voice didn't give her the goodbye she wanted. Mabel's fading thoughts seemed to play for her what she wanted to hear, sounding suspiciously like they were echoing what she needed in order to take the step and give in (though a part of them were claiming they were not her own, and introduced themselves as 'Tessa'). But before she could finally close her eyes to some semblance of peace, to her complete and utter horror, just a second before the bliss of oblivion sunk in Mabel could've sworn she heard Dipper say, "Deal."


Again, don't worry! The next chapter is already finished and will be posted much sooner! Sometime after my birthday next week and when I feel that enough agony has passed to make the anticipation for the chapter worth how excited I am for it. This was a ton of fun to write once I got over writer's block (it came a third of the way through with me thinking I only needed a couple hundred more words and then all of this happened) but I must say the last chapter/epilogue is my favorite :)

Finally, I will end with a reminder that ever since the first oneshot chapter I had requests to extend the story so there could be a happier ending where the Winchesters save the day and rescue Dipper so he didn't wind up in Hell. My slogan is ask and ye shall receive, but I'll add an addendum of be careful what you wish for ;) .