Hey! It hasn't even been a full month, guys! To the commenter:

PhoenixP016: Oops, thanks. When I go back and edit chapters, I'll make sure to fix that.

With that done, thanks a bunch for keeping with the story! I treasure every read, favorite, comment, and follow and they give me the will to keep writing! Now enjoy the show~

Chapter 13-Benighted but Preparing

Going back to school after having been absent bordering on two weeks is... strange, to say the least, for Dipper. He had been halfway through a stoichiometry lab in Chemistry and now the rest of the class is covering charge differences between similar formulas. History had two tests and his math class breezed through an entire chapter. His other classes have loads of homework and lessons, too.

The stares are uncomfortable. Teachers, with their pitying glances, and students, with their glares, questioning looks, and downright gawking. The worst part is when they gossip, saying he ran away from home, was sent to rehab, or some crap like that. The thing is, nobody has bothered to ask what happened.

After struggling through the first few hours of the day, Dipper hides in an empty corner of the cafeteria. Mabel soon plops down across from him and eagerly chows down on peanut butter sandwiches. (They had run out of jelly after Mabel made the first two, so she insisted Dipper take those as his. As per usual, he lost that argument. He did secure a promise from Stan to go grocery shopping later, especially after Ford grouchily dragged himself around the house like a zombie thanks to their noticeable lack of caffeinated beverages.) Bill joins them next, sitting beside Mabel and wary of existing too close to Dipper after the boy stabbed him with a broken pencil for teasing him too much. In Dipper's defense, it was weird for someone he couldn't recall in a positive light to make so many inside jokes that the brunette knew but did not associate with the blonde.

The three teens are making light conversation when a well-dressed student strides over to their table, heels clicking on the cafeteria tiles. "Can I sit here?" They ask, only a faint supercilious note within their familiar timbre.

Mabel's head shoots up to look at the platinum-blonde newcomer and brightens, nodding her head and exclaiming, "Yes! I've been needing to talk to you!"

Pacifica grins easily before taking the seat next to Dipper, diagonal to Mabel, who is between the wall and Bill. "I haven't seen you for, like, a week, Mabel," she starts. "And it's been longer for you." She nudges Dipper lightly to emphasize her statement. "What's been going on?"

Dipper is mildly surprised at the acknowledgment but says nothing. What can he say? 'Sorry, I was kidnapped or something and someone or something played with my brain.' He would sound crazy, which is what he's trying to not seem like.

"We, uh, had something come up. It just concerned my bro more than me... at least, to start with," Mabel explains, being purposefully vague.

Pacifica nods, smirk strained. "Oh. O... kay."

In a flash of panic, Mabel rushes to reassure, "I wasn't trying to avoid you or anything, though! I was just super busy! I swear! I swear on my glitter collection and knitting needles!"

The blonde's previous wariness is banished by her friend's promise. Properly grinning this time, Pacifica waves a careless hand. "I understand. Things happen, stuff comes up." She pops opens a name-brand lunch box worth just as much as the designer jacket she constantly wears. "I'm actually kind of glad, though. Not the being busy, but how you weren't purposefully avoiding me. I thought maybe the appeal of money had worn off~." Her words are teasing, but Dipper catches the nearly imperceptible tremble in them.

"Wha-? Why you talkin' so cray-cray?!" Mabel demands. "Friends are so much more than just money! I'd never pretend to be your friend just because you're rich; that's totally wrong!"

The corners of Pacifica's lips curl impishly. "Thanks. At least I know I have one friend."

"Hey!" Bill whines. The golden-blonde flops across the tabletop, arms splayed out. "Whaddabout me? I've been by your side for years!"

Pacifica scoffs jokingly. "You don't count, Rebel Boy."

"What? Why?"

"Because..."

The three converse, Dipper occasionally being dragged into the mix, until Mabel steers the topic towards last night's discussion. "So Paz," the brunette drawls, strangely serious despite the nickname, "how much do you know about all this... ~weird crap~ that surrounds Gravity Falls?"

Dipper deadpans at his sister's lack of diplomacy. Who knows which side the rich blonde is on? She could be working for whoever messed with his head and they'd never know! ...Though when he takes a moment to think about it, it doesn't make much sense. Pacifica has been fairly loyal despite being the daughter of a millionaire who spoils her (though is probably cold towards her).

"Well, that's a lot to talk about, especially for our lunch break," Pacifica muses. "What do you want to know in particular?"

Mabel dithers, trying to figure out what they wanted to know. They know Pacifica had that one run-in with those cultists, but it may be an isolated case for her. There is also the fact the trio has no clue as to what happened to Dipper, whether it was caused by man or monster or spell. Sure, the three have decided on whom they will bring in on this investigation, but nobody has quite figured out what they are investigating, which makes it a bit more difficult when deciding what questions to ask.

Dipper is the one to come to Mabel's aid, inquiring, "Do you know anything about those cultists from a couple weeks ago or any creature with the ability to alter memories? Things... happened, and now we're trying to get as much information on them as we can."

Pacifica taps a manicured nail to her chin, thoughtfully chewing on a bite of food. "Those red-robe-wearing people?" The twins nod in unison. "I don't know much on those guys, other than that they've been a pain to my father, sending in threats and the like. As for the creatures-"

"They've been threatening you?!" Mabel interrupts incredulously.

"And you just... blow it off?" Adds Dipper, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The Northwest heiress simply blinks at the two, confused as well. "Well, yeah. We get threats all the time. It's no big deal, especially not from a few weirdos in cloaks."

Mabel has a strangled look on her face, a mixture of disbelief, outrage, worry, and just a tad of pity, because who can't pity someone who regularly received threats? She eventually settles into a resigned state, instead moving forward with what they were originally attempting to discuss. "So Paz, my bro here had something happen to him and now we need a watch sorta thing set up. We're only bringing in people we trust and who know about Gravity Falls weird stuff."

"Because not everybody seems to notice Steve when he steals their cars," Bill contributes.

"Or the gnomes who steal Susan's pies every Wednesday."

"When'd you learn about that, Dip?"

"I listened to them a couple weeks ago. Lazy Susan didn't even so much as react beyond sighing and making another pie, grumbling about teenagers and birds."

"Huh."

"Not on topic!" Mabel cuts them off. "Anyway. Paz. Pacifica. Pazzy. We want you to join our watch when Bill or I can't."

Pacifica raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You trust Bill to keep an eye on him?"

"That's what I was wonder- Ow!" Dipper glares across the lunch table at his sister, ever the picture of innocence as she pointedly keeps her stare latched onto Pacifica.

"Bill?"

"Hey!" Said blonde held a hand to his heart, taking on a wounded stance.

"Jokester, pranking, trouble-making Bill?"

"Yes."

Mabel holds Pacifica's gaze, dark brown eyes reflecting deep blue. They stare at each other longer than comfortable for Bill (Dipper is left clueless, though he can guess as to what Mabel is doing), so the teen inches away awkwardly. The girls even maintain the locked gazes as Mabel takes a confident bite of her peanut butter sandwich (catching the end of her sleeve in her mouth).

Finally, Pacifica breaks the contest of wills by huffing loudly, crossing her arms, and turning away. "Fine! But only because I don't trust Bill not to mess this up."

"Hey!" The boy gripes from where he is leaning across the table to poke Dipper with a stale fry. "What have I done to deserve all this hate?"

The pout on his face is convincing enough to coerce a half-assed apology from Pacifica. "Sorry," she grumbles, "but you've never been all that reliable unless it was an emergency or something. You'd even disappear for a while, back in sophomore and freshman years, because school wasn't "interesting". So I'm going to join this "Keep An Eye On Dipper" thing to make sure you don't decide they're uninteresting and flake."

By the time the Northwest has finished, Dipper swears the temperature in the cafeteria has dropped by ten degrees. Mabel uncomfortably notes the emptiness of Bill's golden eyes, shaded partially by the inclination of the blonde's head as he focuses on Pacifica. The teenager is leaned over the table, propping his head up with a loose fist. Though his body is relaxed, the air is tense, charged, like at any second, he'll close the small gap and-

"Ha! Guess you have a point!" A smirk is fixed into place once more on the boy's face as Bill leans back. He brushes back a few wayward strands of hair as he continues. "But I don't think Shooting Star and Dippin' Dots are gonna bore me any time soon. You guys are so much more interesting than any of the other backwoods meatba- hicks going to this school!"

Pacifica rolls her eyes, blowing her bangs out of her eyes before finishing off the rest of her lunch (courtesy of her private chef). "Whatever you say, Bill."

Mabel breathes a quiet sigh at the decrease in tension, quickly turning chipper once more as she poses a far-fetched and rather fantastical plan to convince some of the forest creatures to join the escort squad. Dipper provides his stiff, fact-based input but does nothing in the way of dissuading his sister. The mood returns to normal and Bill, Pacifica, Dipper, and Mabel are all chatting regularly.

"Sorry for getting all weird earlier."

The group consisting of Dipper, Mabel, and Bill are strolling out of the school's double doors. Pacifica claimed she had some club or another had a mandatory meeting but would catch up later, leaving the three to head to the Mystery Shack by themselves. Bill is at the head of the group, walking backward to maintain eye contact (or attempt to in a certain person's case) as they stroll. Mabel is a few steps behind with her twin, their arms linked, though Dipper lags by a step.

"What do you mean?" Mabel asks, her head tilted slightly.

Bill hums a noncommittal noise as he wafts an arm in some gesture, it's meaning lost on the Pines twins. A grimace flashing through his expression, Bill elaborates, "When Pacifica brought up why she would be joining our watch group, saying how I flake out... She wasn't quite wrong. It's a bit of a sore spot and I forgot to take my- ah, well, I haven't been the most loyal friend-wise. It's just something I've been working on recently."

"Well, at least the ass knows when it is being one," Dipper jabs. At Mabel's elbow to his ribs, he corrects it to, "We, uh, accept? Your apology? And find it good- ow, what was that for? - ...great that you're working to better yourself." The brunette scrunches his face up, finding talking about emotions and bettering one's self and crap to be vexatious. Mabel's sharp elbows too.

Mabel releases her brother's arm to spring forward and noogie Bill playfully (though in no way gently). "Yeah! So go you!" She then dances back to Dipper's side, linking arms once more.

"Cool." Bill lets out a purposeful breath, straightening his back and curling his lips into a carefree grin once more. "So! You guys have any plans for today?"

"Nope!" Mabel replied cheerfully.

Dipper stopped, scrunching his eyebrows up and wrinkling his nose as he frowned in Mabel's general direction. "Weren't we gonna help Great Uncle Ford with his research?"

Mabel gasped and slapped her cheeks. "I forgot about that!" Her countenance turns suspicious as she demands, "And how do you know about that? You were upstairs with Bill when I was talking with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford."

"Figured..." Dipper comments on her first statement as he straightens his jackets before stuffing his hands in its pockets. "You told me last night after Bill left. You were still coming off a sugar high from leftover pancakes and sugar-loaded coffee and mentioned it among other things while bouncing on your bed."

Skeptical, Mabel is hesitant to accept his explanation but inevitably do so anyway. She has much more important things to be concerned with, like if she should make Cupcake a blue kitty sweater or a purple one!

"So, yeah. We kinda are doing something..." Dipper sums up seeing as his sister managed to get distracted again.

"But you can tag along and help!" The female Pines twin tacks on excitedly, breaking away from her yarn-filled musings. "The more people we have helping, the faster it'll go!"

Dipper cringes at his sister, wanting to protest but refraining for the moment. (Her elbows are a force to be reckoned with!) Bill lights up at the invitation. "Awesome! Anything to-" A sharp alarm cuts the blonde off. Both brunettes recoil at the sudden and painfully loud noise. Bill fumbles through his pockets for a moment, nearly dropping his ringing phone as he pulls it out, and groans once he reads the caller ID. A mixture of a frown and a scowl dawns on the blonde's face, who rolls his eyes and jabs the Accept button. "Sorry guys, gimme a moment." Mabel watches with wide eyes as Bill lumbers farther down the sidewalk to lean against the brick wall of some cheap fast food joint, deep-seated aggravation etched into his face.

"Who do you think it is?" The young woman questions her twin. Dipper shrugs, though narrows his eyes as he strains to eavesdrop on the blonde. Between the natural city sounds, the distance between him and the blonde, and the quieter tone Bill uses, Dipper can only catch snippets of agitated remarks.

"-don't see why that's impor-"

"No, and I really couldn't care-"

"-what does she have to do with this?"

"-rather not, Father."

"Just-!"

Dipper shifts his weight to his heels, shrugging when he feels Mabel's burning gaze. "Dunno, but it sounds like he's arguing with his dad or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I heard him call the other person "Father", so, I'm pretty sure it's his dad."

Mabel wilts slightly, remembering the stern, uptight man who came by the Mystery Shack once before. "Do you think this means he won't be able to help us today?"

Shrugging, Dipper teeters a hand from side to side. "Possibly. I'm betting it depends on how irritated Bill makes him."

The siblings wait patiently as Bill wraps up his phone call before storming back over, a grouchy gloom hanging over him. "I can't hang out with you guys today. Something came up at the station and my father needs to see me pronto. Sorry."

With much valiance, Mabel summons a cheery grin for the teen as she reassures, "No problem! We'll keep you updated." While he verbally adds nothing, Dipper stares eerily at the blonde and bobs his head in understanding.

Bill cards a hand through his hair, sighing. "Guess I'll see you two around. Later, Dippin' Dot, Shooting Star~" Offering a final strained smirk, he turns and waves over his shoulder, strolling across the street to his unfortunate new destination. Dipper fixates on him go, a faint feeling of unease settling in his stomach.

Mabel, who had been staring as well, snaps him out of his revere after a handful of seconds as she tugs on his arm in the direction they had been walking. "C'mon! We still need to go help Grunkle Ford. Maybe we can even figure out who messed with you!" The brunette nods, trailing after his twin without looking back.

"I have to say, your assistance is greatly appreciated," Stanford commends as he glances up from his stack of papers. He, Mabel, and Dipper are in the basement lab. Ford and Mabel are sifting through archived papers both new and old, asking Dipper about anything that looks remotely related to what he has experienced. They had covered everything from the Greek goddess Mnemosyne and the river Lethe to Odin's raven Muninn to the possibility of a pranksterish pixie. Mnemor devils sound fairly close to what Dipper experienced, what with their abilities to erase or alter memories, but it doesn't explain why he was gone for as long as he was. A viduus psychopomp partially fits the bill as well, along with caulborn. The biggest problem with the viduus is that it is a large, powerful creature. Ford would have known if one dwelled near or even visited Gravity Falls. The caulborn are hive creatures, preferring larger groups, so it is the same principle for them as well.

Dipper groans, leaning back in the rickety chair he is perched on. "We've been at this for hours. Can we at least grab something to eat?" His question is backed by the growling of Mabel's stomach, the girl looking up sheepishly.

Grunkle Ford's gaze flicks between the pair before relenting. "All right. We have been at this for some time, so a break wouldn't hurt."

"Yay!" Mabel cheers, abandoning her papers in favor of leaping to her feet.

"Do we have any food yet?" Dipper muses absently. They had been meaning to go grocery shopping, but Ford had already been downstairs with stacks of files from the university when they got home. In their eagerness to solve Dipper's memory mystery, the twins had forgotten entirely about food shopping.

Stanford clambers to his feet. The sixty-something man pops a few joints and cracks his knuckles to ease the stiffness brought on by sitting in the same position for hours as he responds, "I sent Stanley and Soos out earlier to buy some groceries. We can whip something up that is quick."

Mabel and Dipper let out a synchronized whoop of excitement. The teenagers share a brief glance before dashing for the elevator. Dipper clips the doorway, spinning and appearing precariously unbalanced until he rights himself, still pushing to reach the lift first. Mabel happens to bash her shin on a desk while skirting around it. She lets out a soft whine, to which Dipper responds by pulling to a stop next to her, hovering with his hands extended uncertainly. His sister hisses as she prods the abused spot, though tests her weight on it anyway. Gripping her brother's forearm for support, she stumbles to a standing position. They then throw an arm around the other's shoulder to support each other and they make their way to the elevator together, gingerly holding their injuries.

'I need to get down here cleaned up soon,' Ford reflects while taking in the slight clutter that has accumulated in his lab. Spare monitors and freestanding lab equipment have turned the straight path into something akin to a maze. The desk that Mabel knocked into rests innocently in the middle of the central room, taking up more floor space than it probably is worth. Acting as accidental, makeshift traps are a few hand tools are scattered around the floor. Gazing around, Ford is pleasantly surprised to spot a screwdriver he'd been searching for last month. He snags it, tucking it into his belt as to not lose it between now and the next time he'll need it.

By the time Ford has made it to the rickety elevator, Mabel has recovered from her collision and is arguing with her twin over who should get to press the button. The dispute is resolved by Ford pressing the topmost, faded, cracked button on the dented panel embedded in the wall next to the sliding door. Both teenagers scowl at the scientist for ruining their fun, coming to a temporary truce in the face of a common enemy.

The three Pines eventually find themselves drawn to the kitchen/dining room by a glorious smell. They are shocked to find Stan humming to himself while flipping a few steaks on a skillet.

"That smells fantastic!" Stanford praises, causing Stanley to jump and spin with his spatula held tight in hand.

"Geez, Sixer. You scared me for a moment there, being all sneaky," he chuckles. The scowl that had been present when he first turned is now gone in favor of a bright smile.

Mabel sprints across the small kitchen to tackle her great uncle with a bear hug. "It smells absolutely amazing, Grunkle Stan! I can't wait to eat!" Stan replies by hugging her back just as tightly.

Dipper enters the kitchen to offer Stan a hug as well, though he bangs his knee on a chair that sticks out farther than normal from the table into his path. The boy curses colorfully at the offending object, to which Stan laughs and ruffles Dipper's already messy hair. He straightens, wafting away Stan's hand. "It does smell pretty good," Dipper grumbles.

Stanford, Mabel, and Dipper all take their seats around the table while Stan finishes up the steaks. The conman then proudly deposits a platter stacked high with the meat, accompanied by a bowl of cheesy potato chunks and a pitcher of chocolate milk. Because it's Stan.

The first few minutes into the meal are silent save for the sound of silverware on plates, the savage tearing of meat, and occasionally a request for someone to pass one of the dishes. This cycle is broken when Stan leans back in his aged wooden chair and asks, "So, you guys find anything while I was making the grub?"

Dipper shrugs noncommittally, taking another bite of cheese-covered potato. "We found a handful of potential leads, but there's nothing too solid yet," Ford answers.

"I now know who to get gems for my bedazzler from though!" Adds Mabel excitedly.

Stanley chortles at his niece before scrunching his wrinkled face up in thought. "D'ya think if we used that machine of yours, we can look into Dipper's head for some clues? Maybe there's something we overlooked or a memory he's repressed."

The six-fingered man takes his brother's words into contemplation. "Hmm… That is a possibility… Dipper would have to okay it, though, because it is his head we'll be looking into. I might even be able to whip up a program to help us search for that specific time frame to make isolation of the memories easier!" As he speaks, Ford grows visibly more excited as his eyes light up with a spark born from his love of science and mystery.

Mabel whips around to look at Dipper, eager to hear his response. "Whaddaya think, bro-bro?! It could save us a whole lotta time!"

The male in question nudges a bite of steak across his plate while he ponders this. His features are drawn in his deliberation and his leg jogs underneath the table. "I dunno. I don't want a repeat of earlier…"

"But we can catch whoever did this to you!" Argues Mabel.

A sigh gusts out of the teen, whose gaze hardens and grip on his fork tightens. "All right. I'll do it, but we can't use the helmet."

"Yes!" Mabel cheers, taking a swig of her chocolate milk in victory only to choke and splutter. Dipper pats her back, expression somewhat sympathetic and endearing, as she recovers.

Ford is the first one to finish so he stacks his dishes and meanders over to the sink. As he runs a batch of hot, soapy water, he comments, "It's actually really good that you consented to this, as it will give me a chance to assess any further damage and possibly even fix some things. If you're fine with that, I mean."

Dipper nods in place of answering as his mouth is full for the moment. Mabel - who has fully recovered at this point - jumps up, flailing her arms. "Oh, oh, oh! Question!"

Ford flicks a sudsy hand at her. "Go ahead."

"What," she pauses for dramatic effect, "did you make this machine-y thingy for?"

The man hums as he mulls over it but Stan is the one to answer. "Some thirty, forty years ago there was this cultish group hanging around Gravity Falls."

"They basically erased the memories of anybody who saw something too "strange". The cult claimed they were helping people, that human minds cannot safely comprehend the supernatural forces that converge in this area," supplements Ford.

"Yeah, and one day they tried targeting me after I caught 'em tryin' to nab Lazy Susan. Fordsy wasn't too happy, so we decided to get the town to take up arms against 'em. The only problem was that quite a few of the important people around that time were part of the cult."

"What was the group called?" Dipper asks.

Ford slides his plate onto its proper stack in a cabinet, then turns to take a seat at the table. "They called themselves the Society of the Blind Eye." Dipper twitches, to which Mabel offers a glance.

Stan rips a vicious bite out of his steak before growling, "More like Society of the Stupid Eye! They thought they could mess with our heads!"

"Which is why I made the machine," Ford wraps up. "It was a way to encrypt and protect our thoughts. With the Blind Eye's memory device, they could essentially copy specific memories from our head and delete the original. The capsules containing the copies they kept in a well-defended library of sorts. Thanks to the machine I created, they were unable to delete memories and any that they'd try to copy would be unintelligible."

"So any important stuff the Blind Eye might've tried to steal would have been useless?" Mabel guesses. At her brother's flinch, she turns to question him about it when Dipper merely waves her off.

"Yup." Stan piles his dishes in front of him. "And after we took the Blind Eye out, we never really needed the machine again." The conman moves from the table to the sink to clean up.

In the process of trying to spear the last potato slice, Dipper accidentally stabs the table. Mabel turns her full attention to her twin, who is breathing heavily, eyes trained forward, with sweat dotting across his skin. The male remains unresponsive as Mabel nudges him.

Ford grabs the younger twins' plates before joining Stan at the sink, oblivious to his nephew's current state. The Stans work in tandem, one washing, the other drying and putting away. Stanford continues the anecdote, going on to talk more of his device. "It's been untouched, sitting in a corner of my lab for years, though I did program a game of Hack-Man into it. Until now, we haven't had a real need for it after the downfall of the Society of the Blind Eye. It would be- Dipper?"

At this point, every muscle in the teenager's body has tensed and every breath is exhaled with a ragged wheeze. Tremors dance through his limbs while perspiration gathers across the teen's clammy, pallid skin. Dipper's grip on his fork, which is still embedded within the tabletop, tightens to the point of whitening his knuckles. A strained moan claws its way out of his throat and then, suddenly and without warning, the boy's foggy eyes roll back into his head and he slumps forward.