Fluff time! This and at least one more chapter. Please follow and review xoxoxo

Mabel stared out of the gift shop window, wrapped from head to toe in a blanket, with just her eyes peeking out. The sound of Soos hammering a new door to the attic room blended with the laboriously slow ticking of the clock. A car appeared in the distance and crunched up the gravel path, and Mabel pressed her nose to the glass excitedly. As the car approached, it turned out to be yet another family of tourists. The car paused as the driver read the CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE sign hammered into the lawn, and then did a slow turn and trundled back down to the main road. Mabel sighed, and shivered under her quilt.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here," came Wendy's voice. "C'mon, kid, Stan's orders. I have lunch for ya." Wendy spoke kindly, but in her usual cool, unaffected teenage tone that didn't make Mabel feel like she was being nagged or talked down to. With a final sullen glance out of the window, Mabel shrugged further into her covering before obediently following Wendy out into the hall.

"Soos's still hammering," said Mabel through her sore throat. "Can I go to the couch?"

"Okay," said Wendy, "but you have to eat all of this and then it's back to bed. Stan'll kill me if he finds you up."

After the harrowing experience in the dream, Mabel felt like she was coming down from the worst flu she'd ever had in her life. She felt feverish and weak, and had a sore throat and a cough. The doctor had come up from town, immediately after Soos had called. Stan fibbed a bit, omitting the reasons for the symptoms his relatives were showing, but now the danger had passed the doctor could at least assess what the twins needed in order to recover. Both were diagnosed with the flu ("Strange, this time of year," the doctor had mused to herself) but since Dipper was in such bad shape and his fever still incredibly and dangerously high, Grunkle Stan had taken him at the doctor's advice to the small clinic in town for further tests and monitoring. There was no hospital in Gravity Falls, but the clinic had a few beds and well enough supplies to help deal with minor emergencies-which happened with varying frequency in the strange little town. That had been the previous day, and Grunkle Stan had been gone the entire time, leaving Soos and Wendy in charge of taking care of Mabel. Mabel had slept, dreamlessly, more than she could ever remember, but woke up worried and missing Dipper terribly. She had snuck downstairs to watch for the car to hopefully return, and even now as Wendy situated her on the couch with a tray of soup and gingerale on her lap, Mabel's ears pricked up at the slightest hint of traffic.

Soos lumbered downstairs and joined Wendy and Mabel in the living room.

"Door's done," he said, waving his hammer triumphantly. "How're you feeling?"

Mabel swallowed the last mouthful of noodle soup she could stand. She was too tired, her throat was too sore, and too worried to eat much. Still, the few sips of gingerale she managed did make her feel a little better. She smiled a little at Soos.

"Tired," she admitted. "Can I please wait here until Dip gets back?"

Wendy shook her head. "Sorry, Mabel. The doctor said you were to stay in bed for a few days just to be sure. And, if you're done eating, that's where you're going."

Wendy took the tray from Mabel's lap, and before Mabel could say otherwise, Soos had her bundled in his arms and was mounting the stairs, Wendy following behind with more medicine.

"Soos I can walk," she insisted through a yawn.

"No way, Jose," Soos shook his head. "Mr Pine left very specific instructions not to let you do anything. And I'm pretty good at following instructions!"

The door slid partly off its newly mounted hinge.

"...I'll fix that later," Soos said. He placed Mabel in bed and gave her few aspirin to wash down with her cool, soothing gingerale. Mabel yawned again, and fought the urge to sleep, but it was no time before she was snoring softly.

In the drive, a car crawled up and parked. Wendy and Soos dashed downstairs to find Grunkle Stan unloading Dipper from the back seat.

"I should carry you..."

"No way," Dipper said, clambering from the car and leaning on the open door. "I am tired of being babied!'

"Look at you, kid, you're a limp noodle. Well, limper than usual..."

"Dipper!" Wendy cried with delight as she reached the door. She dashed out onto the gravel, still damp from the previous rain, and grinned to see Dipper. Even though he was pale, shivering, wrapped in Stan's oversized coat over his striped clinic pajamas, he was a sight for sore eyes.

"H-hey Wendy," Dipper said dryly, trying to sound casual. He also blushed as his crush approached. He pulled his hat, which he refused to take off, down a bit. The effort exhausted him. He looked up suddenly, eyes eager. "Where's Mabel, is she okay? How is she doing?" he asked, words tumbling and tripping out of his mouth. Wendy put a steadying arm on his back and ushered him towards the Shack, assuring Dipper she was completely fine, a mild fever was all, and she was resting. Dipper tried to move quickly to get into the house, but he was only able to walk excruciatingly slowly, with shuffling steps made all the slower by the loose hospital slippers he still wore. Soos came bounding out the door and scooped Dipper up.

"Wh-what're you doing?" Dipper rasped.

"Following instructions!" Soos said, as if it were plainly obvious. Dipper opened his mouth to complain but stopped. The twenty or so steps from the car had done him in. Still, Dipper hid from Wendy's gaze.

"What'd the doc say?" Wendy asked as Grunkle Stan pulled some plastic bags from the back seat.

"Nothin' permanent. Kept 'im overnight for observation. Said it was bad flu symptoms...feh, whaddo they know? But, they gave him some fluids in a drip thingy for a few hours, got his fever down to something we can manage, and said he just needs lots and lots of rest for the next few days. Could be a week before he's back to normal. I'll hafta keep the Shack closed for another day or two...gonna lose so much money..." Stan groused, but Wendy knew he didn't mean it.

"Well, he was standing, that's a good sign," Wendy offered.

"I was," said Dipper, draped over Soos's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Please, Soos..." But Soos was a man on a mission. Once inside, Soos set him down on a stool in the kitchen, as if determined Dipper would never bear his own weight again. Stan rustled through the bags and produced some anti-viral medication (Virus schmirus, thought Stan, but at least it would help the symptoms). The sticky teal goo oozed onto a spoon with an audible glop, and, weak though he was, Dipper put up quite the fight to being forced to down it. Grunkle Stan removed his coat from the boy's shoulders and placed it on the hook. Dipper was skinny...he'd lost almost ten pounds throughout his ordeal. His skin was pale, but Stan had to admit it had a bit more life in it than before. His shirt hung crookedly from his collar bones, and peeking out from the clean white and green striped pajamas was a sticky patch for the machine that had monitored his heart rate still stuck to his chest. Wendy peeled it off with the aid of a damp kitchen sponge, leaving a red ring on his skin and a matching red glow on Dipper's cheeks. A small bandage didn't quite cover the bruise on the back of his hand where the needle had been stuck to administer fluids. Dipper didn't know it, but Stan had sat up by his bed in the little clinic all night, looking at the IV taped to his great nephew's small hand, as if it were a knife in his own heart. Stan would never fully forgive himself for letting this happen.

The bag rustled again, and Wendy pulled out some more prescriptions and even more food and drinks meant for ill people...sports drinks, soup, crackers, granola bars, tea, honey, even a fresh lemon. They were in this for the long haul, apparently.

"Bed," said Stan, handing Dipper a juice box he could hardly lift. "Soos, can you fix him something to eat please?"

"Sure thing!" said Soos, heartwarmingly eager to help.

"Please, Grunkle Stan, I've been in bed for days, can't I stay up for just a little bit?"

"Absolutely not," said Stan, shaking his head a strong negatory.

"I'm feeling, like, a gatrillion times better."

"If you can unwrap that straw, you can stay up."

Dipper gazed down at the juice box in his limp grip. He attempted to fumble with the wrapper for all of three seconds before his brain seemed to lose contact with his fingers and shut down power to the extremities. The box and the crinkled straw-still safely encased in plastic-slipped from his hand and Wendy caught it right before it hit the ground. Before any more protests could be issued, Grunkle Stan was leaning in to carry Dipper, but Dipper pushed his arms away and stood. He wobbled as he walked, but his face was set in grumpy determination. There was no way he was being carried anymore.

"I'm fine," he insisted, panting.

"Kid..."

"I can get to bed on my own, sheesh..." Dipper snapped. "I already told you, I feel way better."

He had fainted by the third step.

Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes as he caught Dipper and lifted him, bridal style, and hauled him up the stairs. Dipper buried his face into his hands in shame. Grunkle Stan heard a muffled cry.

"Don't worry 'bout it, kid. You've been through hell and back. No one thinks less of ya, least of all me."

Dipper sniffed wetly through his fingers. "S-just...I feel like...a wimp..."

"A wimp?" Grunkle Stan started loudly, before remembering the sleeping Mabel a few feet away and lowered his voice. "Are you kiddin' me? You took on some of the darkest, evilest, most messed up type of crazy, and put up an amazing fight. You did what...well..let's just say I know some others who weren't as fortunate, and if they were, it was only through sheer luck, not your spirit." Grunkle Stan nudged the crooked door open and let himself into the bedroom as quietly as possible. Mabel was breathing comfortably, curled up around Waddles like a porcine hot water bottle.

"Mabel," Dipper whispered, worried, but she just murmured in her sleep. Dipper breathed a sigh of relief...she was alright.

Dipper was lowered into bed, and the themometer thrust in his mouth. The reading came back at 100.5, high, but immensely better than it had been. Grunkle Stan gave his great nephew one final check over before issuing a strict sleeping order, which Dipper found he couldn't have refused if he had wanted to. Eyes drifting closed, Dipper watched Grunkle Stan let himself out and pull the rickety door closed, pausing to take a caring glance at the two children before the latch caught. Dipper lay in his freshly made bed, the clean sheets warming up comfortably around him. Sleep was calling him, but he desperately wanted to talk to Mabel. He'd been whisked off to the doctor's shortly after they'd come out of the nightmare, and there had been no time to see Mabel, or hug her, or anything. Dipper turned his tired eyes to the lump of his sister laying in bed, and figured he'd just have to wait a little bit longer.