Chapter 6: Face to Faces

Dipper walked down the steps with his great-uncle. "So, Grunkle Ford, did you have some secret project that you were working on?"

"Something like that," Ford responded.

Dipper frowned. Grunkle Ford seemed uncomfortable. He was staring straight ahead, with a kind of grim expression. That was a bad sign. He had a habit of looking straight forward when things like UFOs and the apocalypse were about to happen.

"Grunkle Ford, is this project, like, super-dangerous or something?" he asked, mind racing. Should they get everyone else to evacuate the Shack?

"What? Oh no, it's not dangerous at all," he replied. "Just, out of my area of expertise is all."

Now Dipper was really curious. What could possibly be out of the field of a man with 12 PhD's?

They walked into the elevator, where, to Dipper's surprise, they went to Ford's personal study, a first since the incident with the mind-encrypter. He was extremely pleased to find that all of the Bill paraphernalia had been removed. That… thing was something he could do without remembering. Particularly its final moments. He shook his head. He didn't want to focus on that, not when he had mysterious, maybe-dangerous projects to focus on.

He glanced around the room, looking for something that could be the project. Experiment #618 was mounted on the wall, that was new. That couldn't be the project though. That weapon had already served its purpose, he knew that much for sure. He quickly looked away. His eyes fell on a large-ish, dark blue parcel. It was tied up with a kind of ribbon.

Ford walked over to it, as if responding to Dipper noticing it. "This," he said, picking it up gently. "Is a project I have been working on for almost four years now."

He handed the parcel over to Dipper. "H-happy birthday," he said stiffly.

Dipper took it, very confused for a number of reasons. He elected to voice them in order of when they appeared in his head. "Ummm, Grunkle Ford, it isn't even remotely our birthday yet."

"Yes well, given the nature of the gifts, Stanley and I felt it would be best to give them to you at the beginning of summer," Ford explained. "You see, that sweatshirt is quite special. It is made of the same material that my old trenchcoat was made from. Heavily insulated, nonconducting, and capable of absorbing quite the impact, this thing will probably last longer than you will! I mean, provided you avoid lasers. Clothes... clothes don't really work against lasers."

Dipper gave a light chuckle. He unfolded the sweatshirt to get a better look at it. It looked like a perfectly normal hoodie. A zipper going down the front, with two pockets on either side at the bottom. The only thing that suggested anything unusual about it was that it was heavier than it should be. Dark blue, incredibly durable, and frankly cool-looking, Dipper decided he liked it quite a bit. "Thanks a ton, Grunkle Ford! This is going to be pretty useful this summer."

"And while we're on that note," Ford continued. "I'm sure you'll greatly enjoy Stanley's present." He leafed through a clutter of papers until he found a rectangle in birthday wrapping paper. He handed it to Dipper who unwrapped it carefully. Knowing Grunkle Stan, he was going to use this same piece of wrapping paper until he died. Peeling off the tape on the back, Dipper was surprised to see it was a leather-bound book. Grunkle Stan was not usually this classy. He pulled off the rest of the wrapping and flipped it over to see what book it was. It didn't have a title anywhere on it, but that didn't stop Dipper from thinking it was the greatest book in the history of ever. Staring up at him was a leather-bound volume with four blue book corners, and most noticeably, a blue pine tree symbol in the middle, emblazoned with the number "1".

Stanley Pines was a very simple person. There were only five things in the world that he liked: family, black-and-white British soap operas, money, violence, and bacon. However, as his grand-nephew came barging into the TV room screaming at a pitch that Stan had previously thought impossible of the male vocal chords, two of his favorite things came into desperate conflict.

"Dipper, look, you know that you don't interrupt my TV ti-"

He stopped short when Dipper crushed him in a hug that decidedly proved he was Mabel's twin. He was stunned, partially because Dipper was not one for such displays of affection, and mostly because a 16 year-old boxer had virtually just tackled his 70 year-old body.

"ThankyouthankyouthankyouthisisthegreatestgifteverIpromiseI'llneverloseitorletitgetitdamagedoranything!"

Stan could feel what was probably the book in Dipper's hand. He mentally swore. He had asked Ford to do this for him so he wouldn't have to deal with all this touchy-feely junk. "Look, kid, any more of this and you'll become your sister. I don't think I can handle that much glitter."

Dipper pulled away. "Yeah, you're probably right," he laughed. "It's just… thanks, Grunkle Stan. It was really cool of you. This is seriously the greatest thing ever."

Stan took a quick glance at his nephew's face. His eyes were shining and his face was split with a wide grin. That was the happiest he had ever seen Dipper. Had… had he done that? Dipper had his nose in Ford's books all summer, he had just figured the kid would appreciate having one of his own to fill out. It wasn't that big a deal. Certainly not big enough to give him a look like that, like he was the greatest person on Earth. He didn't know how to handle it, so he resorted to his default attitude: grumpy.

"Yeesh, kid, you shouldn't be this happy about a book. It's not healthy," he grumbled. "But since you're so excited, why don't you go explore the woods or something, get something in the book, and more importantly, let me get back to my show."

Dipper nodded, smiling. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea," he beamed. "I've got the perfect first entry in mind, too. Sorry Grunkle Stan, I'll leave you to your terrible soaps that you think we all don't know you watch." He tucked his Journal (that was so cool to think about) into a large pocket on the inside of the hoodie. He headed out of the room, but something occurred to him. He turned back around. "Grunkle Stan?"

"What now?"

"Love you."

"Wha- yeah, lo-love you too or whatever. Get going before I throw the remote at you and then make you pick it up for me."

Dipper laughed and walked out the door down to his room. Stan turned back to his soaps. Damn it, he really needed to get a new TV. All the static and flickering lights made his eyes water like hell.


Dipper jogged through the forest at a brisk pace. If he wanted to get to his destination in any reasonable time, he had to keep up this pace. Not that he minded though. The quiet of a cool Oregon evening made for a much better jogging atmosphere than the yelling of a middle-aged coach on the hot Piedmont sidewalk. What's more, there was a weight in his new hoodie. It bounced gently with every step, reminding him of its beautiful existence.

His Journal. He had one of his very own. He looked around at the forest, teeming with life and oddities, all just beyond his eyesight. It wouldn't be that way for much longer though. He had a whole summer to investigate these woods, to find things that nobody else had ever seen, to learn things that most of humanity would never even consider possible. He grinned to himself and started running. Imagining the vast potential of this summer had given him an adrenaline boost. He felt the wind as he ran through the forest. This was were he belonged. Not sitting on his bed, mindlessly surfing the internet, not sitting bored in a classroom as a teacher ranted on about things he had heard the first time, but here, on the frontier of human knowledge, exploring and pushing his mind and body to their peaks, adventure and thrills everywhere he looked. Every atom in his body trilled with excitement.

That thrill continued as he pounded towards the familiar chasm. The Chasm of Trials, as the Manotaurs called it, was the fastest way to get to the mountain range. The only problem was that it was deep enough to hurt like hell if you fell down it, a possibility that it heavily facilitated by being insanely wide, too wide for most people to jump. If there was a thing he had learned in his life, however, no one with the last name of Pines could be considered a normal person. He took a deep breath. He measured out his steps just right, and pushed off the edge of the cliff with everything he had. He felt the rush of cold air as he flew over the chasm. He hit the ground on the other side, staggering a bit. He looked back at the chasm he had just jumped. Couldn't do that in Piedmont.

He returned to his jogging pace, and kept it up until he reached a very specific cave. He ventured in, wondering if it was the right cave. He checked the ground. Skeletons littered the floor. Definitely the right cave, or at the very least, an unfortunately similar one. He kicked one of the skulls over, checking to see what animal it was. Before he could get a good look, a voice rushed out at him from the inner sanctums of the cave. "WHO DARES DISTURB THE MULTI-BEAR?!"

Dipper looked towards the darker recesses of the cave. "Seriously, man? I've been in here for a solid couple of seconds. I think your reaction time is falling in your old age."

A large behemoth composed of matted brown fur, seven heads and eight limbs lumbered out from the depths of the cave. "Your youth just blinds you to the subtlety of things. By letting the intruder explore the cave in silence for a few moments, it builds tension, making my entrance all the more grandiose," the Multi-Bear responded, mouths slightly agape in what Dipper had come to understand was his version of a smile. "An old friend decided to drop by today, so I figured I should be at my best."

"Yeah?" Dipper asked, smiling back. "I'm sure he appreciates it."

The Multi-Bear let loose a low, hearty chuckle. "Excellent. How have you been, Dipper Pines?"

"I've been doing pretty good for myself. How's life been treating you?"

"I cannot complain. The food has been plentiful, the winters long and comfy. It has been a little dull since you left," he admitted.

"Don't worry, I've got something that will make up for it," Dipper assured him, rifling through his bag until he found his speaker. He set it on one of the flatter rocks and placed his phone on it.

"What's that?" the Multi-Bear asked, three of his heads trying to sniff it.

"This," Dipper responded. "Is the 'youth' version of stereo cassettes. It's got the catchiest, girliest pop songs from the last 4 years on it, and we are going to listen to all of them. And let me tell you right now, some of them put even 'Disco Girl' to shame."

All fourteen of the Multi-Bear's eyes widened. "Well, what are we waiting for then?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you could do something for me first," Dipper said, pulling his Journal from the jacket. "Remember that old book I always brought with me here?"

"The one your uncle wrote? With all the supernatural creatures?"

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, that one. My other uncle made me a version of my own," he said, showing him the book. "And I was wondering, wold you mind being the first entry?"

The Multi-Bear scratched his stomach. "The first entry?" he pondered. "Well, I don't see why not. I have to pose for a picture, correct? I've always wanted to see my likeness in full."

Dipper smiled. "Great! Thanks, this is going to be so awesome! So, if you could stand up straight for a while, we can listen to some music while I work, and I'll be done in a little bit!"

The Multi-Bear nodded, and stood up straight on his hind legs. Dipper sat down, selected his playlist, and got to work. He pulled out one of his pencils and stared at the fresh, blank paper. This was it. He was about to make his mark on the annals of supernatural history. He was about to fulfill a dream he had fantasized about for four years. And he was doing it while "Text Me Maybe" played in the background. Life had a funny way of working out like that. He took a deep breath and began drawing.

Dipper had found that one of the trickiest things about being friends with a several-headed bear that is older than your entire genial line was that there wasn't a lot of common ground for conversation. Which was probably why they got along in the first place. They both didn't mind not having to contribute to a conversation, particularly when they could just listen to pop music instead. So they sat in silence for a while, Dipper pondering about the amazing fact that he was close enough with a several-headed bear to even know that sort of thing in the first place.

"You know," the Multi-Bear mused. "It's probably rude of me to say this, but I feel that this new modern pop lacks the rhythm of Disco Girl. Each note flowed into the next, but with these songs, it feels like each note is just, fighting to be the most prominent. Some of them at least."

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, I guess a more classic pop guy like yourself wouldn't be too big on the new stuff. Especially since you haven't grown up with it like I have. Still though, you cannot deny that it'sh catchy."

"Oh undoubtedly. How goes your work by the way?"

"Oh, I'm almost done!" Dipper declared. "Here, check it out!"

He turned the journal so the Multi-Bear could see it. The Multi-Bear stared at it. It was a very good drawing. Huh. So that's what he looked like. His heads looked a bit weirder than he thought they would, but still, he felt inexplicably happy. This was him. After millenia, he had finally gotten the luxury of beholding himself in the same way countless others had before him. He had gotten a new enjoyment in a world that he had long since thought contained nothing new. He felt his jaw pull into a smile. "Thank you very much, Dipper."

Dipper pulled the corners of his lips up in what the Multi-Bear had come to understand was the human version of a smile. "No problem, man."


Pacifica sat down on the bean bag. It was cozy. A little too much glitter on it, but that was something you got used to when you were friends with Mabel Pines. Still, she mused, looking around the room, it really was amazing how little Mabel's taste in décor had changed over the years.

"So, how have you been?" Mabel asked, plopping down onto her bed.

"Good, good," Pacifica replied. "Fine weather we're having."

Mabel lifted her head off the bed to stare at her. "Was that sarcasm?"

"No. The weather has been quite lovely. Certainly a little on the hot side, but nothing that couldn't be considered 'fine'. No sarcasm here."

Mabel flopped her head back on the bed. "Ugh, you and Dipper both," she muttered exasperatedly. "Can't just answer a simple question."

"Mabel, you know how much small talk I have to make."

"It's only small talk because you make it small talk!" she complained, demonstrating her frustration with a few wild kicks into the air. "When I ask you how you're doing, I don't wanna get a one-word answer, I want the whole skadoodle! I want the deets, homeslice!"

"I don't think those are words," Pacifica responded, smiling.

"What, are you not hip with my funky fresh lingo? Can't groove to the jive I'm flowing? This stuff is straight from the fridge. A cool cat like yourself should know it."

"Mabel, I think even your great-uncles would think you sound outdated."

"Pshaw, like they were ever cool to begin with. Unlike us two studs!" she said, moving her arms back and forth between them to properly illustrate how insanely studly they were. "So, one stud to the other, how've you been?"

Pacifica and Mabel spent the next hour talking about friends, high school, and various other topics that came up. As it progressed, however, Pacifica noticed something. Mabel seemed to get more and more… excited? Agitated? During a lull in the conversation, Mabel started sucking in her cheeks, like she was trying to hold something back. Pacifica had a feeling she knew what it was. "Ask away," she sighed.

"Got anybody you like?!" Mabel blurted out.

"No. But I will commend you on resisting the urge to ask for a whole hour."

"Aw, booo."

"You know exactly why I'm not seeing anyone."

"I know, but it's just, you're missing out. Being in love is super fun. You and Dipper have never been in love, and you're both total sourpusses, ergo, being in love makes you not a sourpuss."

Pacifica grimaced. This was one of the more sticky subjects with her best friend. Mabel was positively in love with love, and it always required a bit of force to move her off the topic. "I feel like that makes no sense at all. Mabel, I've got bigger things to worry about than whether or not I'm going to meet somebody."

"Fine," Mabel grunted.

"We can talk about your love life," Pacifica offered.

"Single, and not really anyone in the works right now," Mabel complained. "I mean you know, Tony was great n' all, but it just slipped through the cracks, I guess."

"He probably wasn't worth it then."

"Dipper said that too, but it's like, it was nice dating him, you know? I have really good memories, and we're still friends, it just, I dunno, we just changed I guess. I don't regret it, is what I'm getting at, and he was worth it, so there. Love is worth it. You can write that down somewhere."

"I don't have a pen on me. Shame."

"Ugghhh, let's talk about something we agree on."

"That Ducktective finale was really good."

"I know, right?! Like, even the animation was a step up from usual. That final explosion, as the ashes of Ducktective's hat burnt away? Oh, that was perfectly drawn."

"Looks like somebody's on an animation kick," Pacifica noted.

Mabel waved her hand. "You know me. If it's art, I'm interested in it."

"Oh really?" Pacifica teased. "In that case, we just got a few Neo-cubism pieces that I think you would love."

"Pacifica!" Mabel laughed. "You know I'm not into that stuff. I'm an expressionist kind of gal. Anyone can mangle a drawing to make it cubism. Taking something, and changing it in such a way that it creates feeling, a perspective nobody has ever seen before, now that's awesome."

Pacifica rolled her eyes. "You get a painting featured in one exhibit, and suddenly you're an expert," she teased.

"Well, when you're as amazingly brilliant as I am, becoming an expert is just that easy."

Pacifica laughed. "Obviously."

Mabel giggled to herself. "I missed talking to you. It's always fun."

Pacifica, unable to think of a response to the sudden emotional sincerity, settled on humming agreeably. Mabel laughed. " 'Why, thank you, Mabel. I feel the same way about you, and can admit this without being a shy little goober about it.'"

"I'm not a 'shy little goober'," Pacifica argued. "You just caught me by surprise!"

Mabel shrugged, still smiling. "Well, you've learned how to pronounce 'sharing', and I've gotten you to say 'goober', so I'm willing to work on your reaction to genuine human affection at a later-"

What sounded like the opening and closing of the front door came from downstairs. Mabel immediately tensed up. "Dipper's back, to whom it might concern," Dipper's voice announced.

"You're back?" Mabel called down, relaxing. "Where did you even go?"

"Just went to fill out the first entry in my journal!" he boasted.

"What?!" Mabel asked, running to investigate. Pacifica sat there, confused. Who cared that Dipper wrote in his diar- Oh, they meant the Journal. She followed Mabel. She looked down the stairs to see Dipper showing off a book that looked a lot like the old one, but was blue rather than gold, and had a pine tree on it rather than the hand. Mabel took it, and gently turned it around and examined it. "What the hector?! This is awesome! How?!"

"Grunkle Stan's early birthday present," Dipper bragged.

"What?! Grunkle Staaaaaaaannn!" Mabel complained.

"You'll get yours tomorrow, sweetie!" Grunkle Stan called from the living room.

Mabel sulked silently. "He totally likes me more," Dipper teased.

"You'll both be dead to me if my soa- I mean, wrestling, gets interrupted one more time!" Stan snapped.

"Hmmph, c'mon Pacifica," Mabel pouted. "We're gonna go have like, a thousand birthdays worth of fun!" She sprinted back up the stairs, the previous motivation of reuniting with an old friend now redoubled by spite. Dipper and Pacifica nodded to each other, with the expressions of two people who were friends but had sort of missed the window to actually speak to each other so they would brush this instance under the rug, and Pacifica followed her friend back upstairs.

With that, the night obscured the innumerable events of the day. Mabel and Pacifica chatted away, the insane goblin chase already behind them. Dipper decided to go to sleep, his Journal resting on the bedside table, carrying in it a page now honoring an old friend. Ford worked away in his lab, the day leaving him a certain satisfaction. After all, today had been the first time he successfully fulfilled the role of a traditional uncle: he had given his nephew a birthday present. Stan, in a move that was unprecedented in the history of nights at the Shack, turned off the TV and got up to do something that wasn't sleep. He went into the kitchen, pulled a nice red fabric from one of the bottom cupboards, and got to work. What he was working on, only tomorrow could say.


To: Dipdop

5/30/16 5:32 PM

Mabel: OMG how excited are you?

Dipdop: Very. Also very confused as to why you're texting me as opposed to walking the yard between our rooms.

M: Walking is haaaarrrd. :(

D: It pains me that you're still the more athletic one.

M: Hah. That's what you get for being a nerdbot. Oh, speaking of nerdbots, do you think Grunkle Ford is gonna get us presents this year?

D: I'm sure Grunkle Stan's reminded him that birthdays are a thing by now.

M: Aw yes. That means 8 years' worth of birthday presents, coming our way.

D: Mabel, it's not like every family member owes us a present on every birthday.

M: Aunt Mildred has corrupted you.

D: Maybe Aunt Claire would get us presents more often if you didn't call her 'Aunt Mildred' behind her back constantly

M: MAYBE IF SHE WASN'T SUCH AN AUNT MILDRED I WOULDN'T HAVE TO. HER HOUSE SMELLS LIKE CATS AND HARD CANDY

D: Yeah, but she's got a pool

M: THAT'S HOW SHE SUCKERS YOU IN. NEXT YOU'LL BE COMPLAINING ABOUT TAXES

D: Grunkle Stan complains about taxes, but you don't complain about him

M: Grunkle Stan follows through on his complaints by not doing them. He's a man of his word.

D: I want you to read that sentence again and just reflect on it for a moment.

M: ...Okay so there's a LITTLE bit of bias here, but still, she never gets me anything I want.

D: That's because the one time she did, it was crayons, and you literally ate all of them before we even got to cake.

M: Well DUH it was Crayloha. That's the tastiest brand!

D: Starting to think that Aunt Claire isn't the problem here

M: NO DIPPER DON'T LET THE POOL CLOUD YOUR JUDGMENT


AN: So, uh, it's been a while. I apologize for that. I sort of maybe spent all of my free time in the months of November and December playing Dokapon Kingdom, then the Xenoblade series. Good games. Anyway, I'm back and better(?) then ever. The first chapter after we're back is a bit run of the mill. Just a few scenes that plotwise needed to happen all cobbled together, but we got the Multi-bear in and some Stan-Dipper bonding, which is VERY important. The next chapter's almost done though. The only reason I didn't release a long chapter was because of the drastic tone shift from this one to the next. So you can look forward to quite the doozy. As always, thank you all for reading, and stay tooned!