A/N: Ow.

I appear to have incurred the wrath of the bad luck virus, ladies and gents. As a result, there may be slight delays on the promised chapters of All The World's A Toybox and The Land Of What Might Have Been due to my need to a) get my computer to cooperate, and b) wait for my bruises to heal. In the meantime, I'm very glad that I have chapters of this story stocked in advance.

Also, ow.

Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls is not mine.

Ow.

After the Stanmobile had finally left the Mystery Shack behind, Mabel had fully expected the clones to give chase, to clamber back into their fleet of stolen vehicles and swarm after them. And when that hadn't happened, she'd found herself frantically scanning the road ahead for a trap of some kind: a spike strip across the road, or a tarpaulin over a pitfall, or maybe even something more elaborate with tripwires and nets strong enough to haul a car into the air. At the very least, she'd been waiting for an ambush.

But no: from the moment they'd left the forest behind and cruised swiftly downhill into Gravity Falls proper, they'd met no resistance whatsoever. No Mabel clones swarmed in from the sidelines, no crossbow bolts punctured their tyres, no stolen police cars slid into pursuit… in fact, there was no sign of the clones anywhere in town – or anyone else, for that matter.

The streets of Gravity Falls were completely deserted. More disturbingly, it was pretty obvious how they'd been taken, for the clones hadn't exactly been prompt in tidying up the mess they'd left in their wake: all along the residential streets, windows had been broken and doors had been left open, often ominously ajar; around smaller storefronts, security gates had been torn down so that the clones could get at the shopkeepers; cars had been left parked diagonally in the middle of the street, their windows smashed in and doors hanging off their hinges.

More than once, Mabel saw a discarded baby carriage torn apart – as if from the inside – and forced herself not to imagine what might have happened; it didn't work.

More than once, Mabel caught a brief glimpse of curiously-shaped grooves dug in wooden doors, weird tears ripped in car upholstery, and it wasn't until Grunkle Stan had told her to look away that she realized that these strange carvings were from fingernails: people had tried to cling to their front doors or hang on to their car seats as the clones had dragged them away for conversion, accidentally carving trails as they lost their grip.

The worst of all these disturbing little snapshots was found at the shopping mall: by the front door, a huge pile of discarded clothes had accumulated into a mountain of unwanted apparel, including everything from adult-sized jackets to tattered kid's pyjamas. Even Mabel couldn't help but imagine what had been going on here, especially when she'd seen the procession of tiny footprints marching past the mountain.

They transform, they find their clothes don't fit anymore, so they go to the mall to steal some new clothes… and on the way out, they toss their old clothes on the pile.

And there's baby shoes here as well, so that's another image I didn't need in my head.

But it's there… and it's not going away.

It's still not going away.

I'd like to stop imagining what happened, please…

She forced herself to look away from the signs of the carnage, and did her best to remain on lookout for wandering clones. And when none were visible, she turned her attention to her fellow survivors… not that it made her feel any better, of course.

At the moment, the mood inside the car was decidedly grim: Gunkle Stan was hunched over the wheel, anxiously scanning the streets for any signs of an incoming attack; Grunkle Ford had busied himself with one of his more elaborate pieces of gadgetry, and was now absorbed in the process of pressing buttons and turning dials; Wendy was clutching the only weapon she'd been able to recover from the Mystery Shack – a shovel – and idly checking her phone for new text messages. The expression on her face looked about as bright and optimistic as the cover of Robbie's last album.

Not helping the mood was the pace of their journey: all four of them would have gladly rocketed through town without even thinking of the speed limit, but unfortunately, the number of abandoned cars and busses left on the road had forced them to slow down considerably as they went about finding alternate routes. As a result, everyone had more than enough time to get a good look at the nightmare the Mabels had left in their wake… or imagine what might happen if they found themselves at a dead end.

Eventually, Mabel couldn't stand the silence a moment longer.

"Where do you think they all ran off to?" she whispered.

"Probably coordinating an ambush," Ford replied. "Remember, they communicate by hive mind, so any clones left in town will already know that the army sent to the Mystery Shack didn't capture us… so they're either up ahead somewhere, or they're right behind us."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"You sure I don't need to be blindfolded? I mean, if they're reading my memories-"

"We'll be fine, Mabel: as long as we stay ahead of the memory upload, there's nothing to worry about. There's no need for blindfolds."

"I'm just saying, if we really need to use them, I'm okay with that. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I've been blindfolded in the back of this car."

"…what.'

In spite of himself, Grunkle Stan actually managed a snort of laughter. "It's a long story, Pointdexter. But I'm with Ford on this one: you're not gonna need a blindfold, Mabel. I mean, we'd have to stop the car and get you out of the hamster ball first, and then you'd be neck-deep in it if we ever had to run in a hurry. Besides, we're not headed for the lake this time around."

"Where are we headed, then?" Mabel asked, and immediately realized her mistake. "No, no, don't tell me! Whatever it is, do not tell me. I do not need to know."

"Lighten up, pumpkin. We'll be there inside five minutes, and as long as we keep moving, it won't matter whether they know or… uh-oh."

There was a pause, as the Stanmobile slowly ground to a halt. Peering past Grunkle Stan's seat and through the windshield, Mabel saw that a large bus had been left abandoned in the middle of the road ahead, blocking all but a miniscule strip of sidewalk just wide enough to fit a car through. Worse still, this street wasn't residential: there were no lawns, only solid brick walls and chain-link fences; if the Stanmobile couldn't make it through the gap, it'd get wedged between the bus and the wall… and that was assuming that they didn't get ambushed trying to squeeze through the alley.

"You think you can make it?" Wendy asked.

"The Stanmobile's made tighter escapes that this," said Grunkle Stan with a wink. "I once got the old girl onto a moving service elevator in a five-star hotel, and managed to get all the way through an eighth-story corridor before riding it out through a window."

A stunned silence followed.

"Anyway, that's the other reason why I was banned from Florida."

Grunkle Ford coughed. "Putting aside the fact that I distinctly remember you telling me that happened in Chicago-"

"It did! And it led to me getting banned from Florida."

"How?"

"I had a stolen alligator in the trunk. I know it sounds weird, but that is actually and factually what happened."

"…putting aside the fact that I'm very happy your memory's recovered enough for you to recall that, I'm not sure if the car will be able to make this journey without getting stuck. Frankly, I'm not sure how this car is still running after forty years of barely intermittent maintenance. I mean, is it absolutely necessary for us to take this route?"

"It's either this way or backtrack for a couple of miles and risk getting caught. I mean, we could try driving through backyards and punching through fences, but I've tried that before, and it doesn't always go well."

"Alright, alright, point taken."

Slowly, Grunkle Stan began wheeling the Stanmobile into position, leaving it virtually sideways across the road as they took aim at the gap.

"Now, assuming we approach from an angle of-"

Wendy's phone dinged loudly.

"…or we could put that on mute," Ford grumbled testily. "That is an option for those things, right?"

Silence was his only reply. A quick glance in Wendy's direction revealed that she was now staring catatonically down at her phone, an expression of blank-faced horror frozen on her face.

"Wendy?" Mabel whispered. "Are you okay?"

Without saying a word, Wendy held up her phone for inspection, and as one, the three of them leaned forward to see what had shocked her (Mabel with some difficulty, given that her hamster ball was still wedged into place).

There, on the screen was a photo of Grenda and Candy, both of them bound, gagged and manacled to the Grendinator family couch; both were pale, sweating, and clearly terrified; judging by the chains around Grenda, she'd tried to fight back at some point, and her captors weren't taking any chances in keeping her under wraps. As if to make sure there could be no doubt about who the hostage-takers were, one of the Mabels was standing alongside the couch and making bunny ears behind Grenda's head.

Below the photo was a text from Tambry – or at least, from Tambry's phone. DON'T WORRY, it declared. THEY'LL BE MUCH HAPPIER IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES, LMAO ;)

For a moment, there was deathly silence inside the Stanmobile, broken only by the sound of Waddles oinking in concern.

"Turn this car around," said Mabel at last.

"What?"

"We have to rescue Grenda and Candy!"

"But-"

"Why are we even talking about this? Two of our friends are in danger, and they need our help!"

Mabel looked around for support, and realized that everyone in the car was wearing the same despairing look. "What?" she demanded. "What? Have we just forgotten about Grenda and Candy all of a sudden? You know – my best friends, our biggest allies outside the Mystery Shack, the Shacktron gunners? Remember them? We wouldn't have made it into the Fearamid within them! You wouldn't have been freed without them, Grunkle Ford!"

Grunkle Ford groaned wearily. "I know, Mabel, I know, but…" He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "God help me, how can I make this sound less heartless?" he asked nobody in particular.

"It's a trap, Mabel," said Wendy. "They're using Grenda and Candy as bait. That house is probably crawling with Mabel clones, and the moment we show up, they're gonna be all over us like ants on doggy doo. I mean, they're probably already converting the two of them already. Actually, I'll bet they started as soon as the photo was sent."

"Thank you," Ford sighed.

"Not a problem, dude."

"But we can still save them!" Mabel exploded. "It's not too late: we can give them the serum, keep them stable for the rest of their lives – you said that could work!"

"Yes, but it's not going to do any good if they're already fully converted."

"You don't know they're fully converted! Maybe we can still save them if we get there in the next couple of minutes: they don't know I've seen the photo, so maybe we can catch them off guard."

"And in the meantime, we've still got a few hundred clones waiting for us to make the wrong move. I'm sorry, Mabel, but we have to focus on the big picture for now: the sooner we get to safety, the sooner we can come up with a cure and save everyone. Even if we could rescue Grenda and Candy – even if we could save everyone who hasn't been infested yet – it won't matter if we can't get to safety and create a cure." Ford took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I really am, but there's nothing we can do for your friends."

"Wendy, you can't be thinking of agreeing with this."

She at least had the decency to look ashamed. "They're my friends too, Mabel, but… like Ford said, if we can't build a cure, then there's no point: it's the apocalypse."

In desperation, Mabel looked to the driver's seat: "You know we can get there in time, Grunkle Stan! Back me up on this!"

But even Stan looked uncertain. "I'm sorry, pumpkin," he said haltingly, "but it's not looking good. I mean, like Wendy said, it's obviously a trap. And maybe they'll both be Mabel clones by the time we get there: even if we wanted to keep them captive like Dabel and Sabel, we wouldn't be able to tell them apart from the others. I hate to say it… but maybe Ford's right: we'd be doing a lot more for them by making the cure."

For the next few seconds, there was silence except for a faint rumbling in the distance. Inside the hamster ball, Mabel sagged.

If nothing else, Ford at least looked contrite. "Mabel, I'm sorry," he began, "but-"

"You don't even know if you'll ever get this cure to work!" Mabel wailed.

"I know it's possible, I've seen it happen-"

"Where? In some dimension where you happened to make a friend? I mean, was this guy successful before or after you started liking him?"

"What are you insinuating?"

The rumbling was louder now.

"Guys, could we just stop fighting for a minute?" Wendy sighed exasperatedly. "This really isn't the time."

"I'm not insinuating anything! I'm saying we're pinning all our hopes on something that might not even work!"

"Mabel, you need to think this through-"

"I have!"

"No you haven't!"

"Have!"

"Haven't!"

"Would the two of you please cut it out?" Grunkle Stan yelled. "Ford, you are close to sixty years old; act your age! And Mabel, could you just take a deep breath and-"

There was a loud ding from Wendy's phone.

"Oh what now?" Stan grumbled.

"It's another text from Tambry. It's says…" Wendy's eyes narrowed. "Oooooh crap," she muttered.

"What, what's wrong?"

The rumbling sounded again, this time much closer and accompanied by several distinctly terrified-sounding oinks from Waddles. As she turned to look in its direction, Wendy dropped her phone on the seat next to Mabel, allowing her to get a good look at the offending message.

THANKS FOR STOPPING THE CAR, it read.

Mabel looked up just in time to see a giant SUV roaring down the road towards them, a quintet of clones grinning at her from behind the wheel, right before it slammed headlong into the Stanmobile. Struck hard in the driver-side door, the car lurched violently across the road as the oncoming hummer ploughed into it, sending chunks of metal and broken glass showering across the road as it spun out of control.

Because the hamster ball prevented her from wearing a seatbelt, Mabel went flying, bouncing around the inside of the Stanmobile like a pinball trapped in a tumble-dryer and richocheting off every available surface – including people. For the next few seconds, her entire world was a dazzling kaleidoscope of blurred faces and seats and dashboards and windows and floors, hammering down on her from all angles. All around her, screams, shouts, swear-words, the crunch of metal on metal, the screech of tyres and the earsplitting giggle of the Mabels fused into one single, sickening cacophony. It took every last drop of willpower not to vomit or pass out, if only because doing either inside the hamster ball would have been an open invitation to spend the rest of the day washing puke out of her hair, but eventually, the car skidded to a halt some distance from the bus.

Having landed squarely in Wendy's lap, Mabel could only lie there for a moment, dazed and giddy from the spinning. Then, she heard the laughter from outside; suddenly wide awake, she saw that Mabels were pouring out of the now-parked SUV and marching straight towards them… and a quick glance at the road behind them revealed more cars rumbling into position behind the hummer, blocking the exit and disgorging even more clones.

Frantic, she looked around in the hopes that the others were reacting faster than she was – and yes, thank goodness, Wendy had her shovel at the ready and Grunkle Ford was already charging his stun baton. But then her gaze turned to the driver's seat, and with a thrill of horror, Mabel realized that Grunkle Stan was slumped unconscious over the steering wheel, his helmet cracked open in the impact.

"Grunkle Stan!"

The only reply was a disoriented groan.

"Grunkle Stan!"

"He'll be okay," Ford panted, as he hastily checked for signs of cranial trauma. "I think he just bumped his head against the ceiling, and he doesn't appear to be concussed. I man, it could be worse. They could have caved in the entire driver's compartment if they'd been driving any faster. Give him a couple of seconds to come around, and he'll be fine."

"We don't have a couple of seconds, dude!" shouted Wendy. "We need him awake and driving, NOW!"

Grunkle Ford sighed, leaned over and gently slapped Stan across the face.

"Urrrrgh."

"Come on, Stanley, wake up…"

"Ow…"

"Yes, I know your head hurts, Stanley, but if you don't wake up and get this car moving, we're as good as dead!"

"Aaaargh isssnotevenaschoolday."

Ford hit him again. "COME ON!"

Grunkle Stan's eyes creaked open a tiny crack. "Is it time for the algebra quiz?" he mumbled. "Can I copy off you, Sixer?"

"Oh for god's sake," Ford sighed. "Wendy, help me get him into the back seat! I'll drive."

And then the first of the clones leapt at the car, crashing feet-first through the cracked window and grabbing Grunkle Stan by the collar; Grunkle Ford tried to swat her away with the stun baton, but the clone was too quick for him, darting onto the dashboard so swiftly that he ended up zapping Stan instead. Wendy swung the shovel in an awkward arc, managing to knock the clone off the dashboard – and right back onto Stan, who naturally ended up accidentally getting jabbed with the stun baton again as Ford struggled to force the cackling doppelganger out the window.

On the third jolt, Grunkle Stan jerked upright. "Alright!" he yowled. "I'm awake! I'm awake! I'm OH GOD GET HER OFF ME GET HER OFF ME OH GOD OH JESUS!"

Wendy obligingly swung the shovel again, flicking the clone back out the window – and accidentally hitting Stan in the ear with the shaft as she did so.

"OW! WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP WITH THE FRIENDLY FIRE!?" Grunkle Stan wailed.

"Shut up and drive!" Wendy roared.

"Ow, ow, okay, okay… just need to find my feet, and we'll be underway-"

But no sooner had he put his foot to the pedal, the rest of the SUV's passengers surged in: gang of at least ten Mabels charging the Stanmobile from the left flank, with at least thirty more pouring in from the other cars. Tearing off the driver's-side door with one almighty wrench, they surged in on the passengers, the nearest of them trying to rip Grunkle Stan out of his seat, and the rest clambering over him to attack the other passengers. Wendy and Grunkle Ford tried to fight them off as best as they could, and even Waddles made a spirited attempt at headbutting their hands away, but with no room for them to manoeuvre, they could only just hold the oncoming horde at bay. Stan had more room to fight with the door open, and was able to fling several of the clones aside before they could get a grip on his helmet or gloves, but for every one of them that had been thrown out five more charged in from the sidelines to replace them. Mabel herself, unable to get a good run-up from the back seat and unable to get out of the hamster ball without infecting Wendy and the others, could only watch helplessly as the army closed in on them.

And then, just as Mabel thought it was all over, just as she thought that this could only end in capture, Grunkle Stan played the only card he had left: suddenly eerily calm, he reached out and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"NO!" Mabel shrieked. Suddenly blind to the danger, she threw herself forward, trying to get close enough to leap out of her hamster ball and grab him – but too late, too far. She couldn't even get past the gap between the passenger seats and the row ahead.

Meanwhile, Grunkle Ford lunged over in a desperate attempt to buckle Stan back in, to grab him before it was too late, but the clones had already seized the advantage: grabbing Grunkle Stan by his legs, the clones began hauling him out of the car, tearing off his ruined helmet so they could easily convert him. Only his grip on the edge of the seat kept him from landing flat on his face in the middle of the street… and that wouldn't hold for long, not with the clones swarming up to tear his hands loose.

And as they did so, Grunkle Stan looked up at Ford and shouted, "What are you waiting for, an invitation?"

"But-"

"Just go, Ford! It's up to you now!"

Then, he let go.

For a split-second, Grunkle Ford's face shifted wildly between disbelief and horror as he watched Stan tumbling into the waiting arms of the Mabel clones. Then, nodding silently, he flung himself into the driver's seat and put pedal to metal.

Mabel, screaming in disbelief, had just enough time to roll over to the rear window before the Stanmobile accelerated away, rocketing away through the alleyway with an earsplitting screech of metal on metal – until at last, they were through and soaring down the street. The last she saw of Grunkle Stan, he was staring up at her from the road with several dozen clones swarming over him, bare hands reaching out to draw him into their ranks. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but it almost looked as though he was smiling, as if trying to reassure her.

Then he was gone.

"What are you DOING?!" Mabel howled. "We can't just leave him!"

"We have to," said Ford, quietly. "It's what he wanted."

"But-"

"You saw what he did, Mabel: he let them take him. He was buying time for us to escape. Now we have to make his sacrifice mean something."

"And that's supposed to make everything better, is it?"

"No, it's not. It's just the facts: we have a week before they're past the point of no-return, Mabel. If we can make the cure before time runs out, we can save them all: no losses, no deaths, everybody lives. That's why Stan did that for us; that's why we have to keep moving."

Mabel looked up at Wendy, hoping that she'd find at least some support from her; instead, Wendy's face was still locked in the same expression of grim acceptance. A good look at her eyes confirmed that wasn't even remotely happy at what had happened so far, but she was keeping everything buttoned down for the sake of the mission.

It took all of Mabel's willpower not to let the tears show in that moment: she hadn't just lost the argument – if you could even call it that – she'd just seen herself inching closer to losing everyone. No matter how many times Ford had told her a cure was within reach, they were no closer to any real kind of victory. They hadn't figured out how the Forger Wasps had gotten in, they had barely managed to replicate a few extra vials of suppressant, they hadn't been able to keep Sable and Dable jailed, and apart from that, they'd spent most of the day doing nothing but losing: they'd lost Dipper, they'd lost Soos, they'd lost the Mystery Shack, and now they'd lost Grunkle Stan. There were only three of them left, now, and one of them was already infested. How long before three became two?

How long before they lost everyone?

How long before Mabel was alone in the world?

Back in the driver's seat, Ford's stone-faced expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mabel, but this is just how it has to be: I know it isn't fair, but… we'll find a way to make it right, I promise."

Mabel wanted to leave it at that: she wanted to clam up and leave everything she wanted to say unspoken, if only to spare her from losing all composure and revealing just how upset she really was.

But in that moment, Mabel wasn't really sad: she was angry – angrier than she'd ever been in her entire life. She was angry that she was once again neck-deep in another end-of-the-world scenario when Weirdmageddon should have been the end of it. She was angry that the threat of losing Dipper was once again looming, but this time she wouldn't even get a chance to say goodbye. She was angry at the Forge-Wasps, at the clones they'd created. She was angry at Grunkle Stan for sacrificing himself. She was angry at Wendy for letting it happen. She was angry at Grunkle Ford for trying to tell her that everything would be okay if they just looked at the big picture.

Most of all, she was angry at herself.

She'd taken the bait, she'd helped Dabel spread the plague, she'd swallowed every lie the clone had served up, and she'd gotten Dipper infested in the first place. And beyond that, Weirdmageddon was still on her conscience, along with all the petty, selfish things she hated about herself but couldn't be rid of.

And anger was a lot harder to hold back than tears.

So, before she could stop herself, Mabel found herself saying, "No, you're not."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not sorry at all. You're over the moon about the fact that your 'lone-hero-seeing-the-big-picture schtick' has finally paid off for the first time in your entire life."

"Mabel-"

But Mabel wasn't listening: something very unpleasant lurking the back of her head was pushing buttons and pressing override switches and demanding that she finally let all the bottled-up frustrations explode outwards, insisting that Ford be made just as miserable as he'd made her for the last few weeks without even meaning to.

"It's a pity I didn't believe in your idea of the bigger picture back when the portal was first opened, you know that?" she snarled. "If I'd listened to Dipper and pressed the button, I'd never have met you, Dipper would never have met you, Grunkle Stan would never have to figure out what a jerk you are, Weirdmageddon would never have happened, and everyone in this family would be a lot happier without you!"

A quick glance in Ford's direction revealed that his expression had given way to a look of shock and hurt, as if Mabel had reached out and slapped him hard across the face. And yet, it didn't make Mabel feel any better, nor did it make her feel as though she'd achieved some kind of victory over anyone. In that moment, she wished she could take back everything she'd just said. Right then and there, she only felt sick to her stomach.

What had she been thinking? She'd seen the look on Grunkle Ford's face when Stan had unbucked his seatbelt; she'd seen that his first instinct had been to try and save him… and yet she'd turned around and done her best to hurt him, for no other reason than to make him feel as unhappy as she was! What was wrong with her?

Worse still, she couldn't even bring herself to apologise: every time she tried to say sorry, her throat tightened until it felt as though every muscle in her neck was tightening into a noose.

In the end, she could only hide her face in her hands, and tried not to think that Dipper, Soos and Grunkle Stan were already dead…

Some distance away, the Grey Professional grinned behind his scarf.

He'd been following the Stanmobile from the moment it had left the Mystery Shack, and had been able to capture the entire incident on holotape. Already, the footage of Mabel's emotional meltdown had been sent to the client, and judging by the additional payments being made to his account, the reception was very positive indeed.

Had he been in any way curious, he might have wondered who this mysterious Mr Yard was and why he seemed to be so determined to watch Mabel being emotionally tortured. But the Grey Professional wasn't a curious man: he felt no need to pursue mysteries, for he knew that the only questions worth asking would be answered at the very end of his mission. Then, all parties concerned could unmask and gloat.

And after all the trouble he'd gone to just to acquire a Forger Wasp Queen, it would be a gloat well-deserved.

Of course, judging from the client's disposition, something told him it would be a well-deserved gloat for Mr Yard as well.

For now, though, he would pursue the client and ensure that everything went according to plan. It was almost adorable, the way they tried to be coy about their next port of call when their itinerary was so very obvious.

If anyone noticed him floating across the darkening horizon, nobody would have thought it especially unusual: he would have appeared as nothing more than a wisp of cloud drifting across the late afternoon skies.

Except this particular cloud was travelling against the wind… and it was heading straight for Northwest Manor.

A/N: Any idea who the mysterious Mr Yard might be? Any theories on what might happen next? Feel free to let me know!

The soundtrack for this chapter is The Search For Jim, by John Murphy.

And now for the code:

Olhg z uirvmw? Dv'ev nliv gl hkziv
Zmw drgs blf dv'oo yv tozw gl hsziv
Blfi xlnizwvh hllm droo qlrm gsv srev
Gsvri nrmwh wlm'g szev olmt gl hfierev…