Had another thought, this one for older Mabel who can't go out to bash cults as much as she starts to get older, mainly due to pains and things from a lifetime of cult bashing. Probably realizing after one particular cult bashing that her back starts to ache and she's not hitting as hard and she's kind of down about getting old. So her kids decide to get her something special

A tricked out Pickup Truck; A large forward grill rammer, reinforced plate with enough heat resistant charm to power through a dragon's breath, Dwarven made roll cage and engine, Rainbow Chrome Finish, also a little emergency button called Rainbow Road and Cupholders

And an emergency summoning circle in the bed of the pickup truck basically she might not be able to fight as well but now she can car bash through people.

The Rainbow Basher.

post/129904841107/rainbow-basher-mabels-new-ride


AN: watch?v=uZS0WIQI7UU is the music (on youtube) I'm hearing for the last third of this fic. So for an enhanced experience, come back up and open this up when you get there. ;)


Mabel fell into the couch at the Library, and oof, even that hurt.

Getting older was the worst.

She hadn't realized how it was creeping up on her, but she'd found a streak of grey in her hair last week (she'd brushed it off as a consequence of having three kids and a demon brother, then proceeded to tickle Dipper until he cried when he tried to tease her about it. He had streaks to match, now. Twins forever.).

But now...she knew she'd hit that cultist, but he hadn't gone down with one hit like they used to, when she was younger. Yeah, she'd taken him out, but she was sore now, and her back was complaining at her in a way it hadn't before.

Old wounds were starting to hurt, too, on rainy mornings, and she understood now why Grunkle Stan had so much trouble moving some mornings.

And it was only a month until her and Dipper's next birthday. She'd wanted to do something big, a real blowout bash for turning fifty, it wasn't that old!

But apparently a lifetime of fighting and wounds and everything else was catching up to her. If this kept up, she was going to have to leave all the fighting to the kids before she was actually old, and they might have been grown but that didn't mean she had to like the idea of leaving them alone to fight.

Or of having to give up the fighting for herself, either.

Ugh. This was the worst.

The triplets peeked into the living room, where their mom was sprawled across the couch, pouting at the ceiling.

Uncle Dipper had already popped in with pain pills, and they would guess an offer of a deal for the pain, but she'd waved him off this time.

Acacia tugged at their sleeves and they retreated up to Willow's room, where they wouldn't be overheard.

"There has to be something we can do," Acacia groused once they were safe in the attic, flopping back onto her sister's bed. "Mom's not that old."

"But she is starting to slow down," Hank said slowly, "and getting slower in this business gets you killed, even with Uncle Dipper around."

His sisters winced. Their parents and uncles had tried to keep some parts of what their mother and uncle did away from them until they were older, but some things they discovered on their own – like how Uncle Dipper couldn't always get there in time.

"Maybe...maybe there's a way we can help, and give her some protection too..." Willow said, obviously thinking it through as she spoke.

Her sister snorted. "How? She's almost as stubborn about asking for help as you are."

Willow halfheartedly tossed a pillow at her sister."I have an idea, but we're going to need a lot of help..."

Dipper knew something. Mabel knew it.

Her brother was awful at keeping secrets, and even becoming a demon hadn't helped any. At his best, he still couldn't hide the fact that he knew something.

She suspected Henry knew something too, but her husband was much better at secret keeping, and she wouldn't think about why, or she'd be too angry to function.

There was noise from outside, the crowd milling about, and Mabel was impatiently waiting to find out just why she was being kept inside, away from her birthday party.

Then, over the sound of the crowd, a dull roar. An engine of some kind and louder cheering. A blast of music sounded over the crowd, bright and happy syntho-pop eighties music. Henry turned to her with a grin.

"There's our cue," he said. "Come see your present, honey."

Mabel stepped out the door and started squealing in joy at such a high pitch, several of Hank's friends had to cover their ears and step away.

Because there, in front of the door, was the car of her dreams, with her kids standing around it proudly, and a banner draped across the front reading "TO MABEL, FROM EVERYONE".

It was painted in rainbows, with a huge grill on the front, so huge it was practically a cow catcher. It shimmered in the light, sparkling with a glittery sheen. Henry walked along with Mabel as the triplets pointed out the features of the huge truck, while Dipper floated overhead to view the whole from above.

Dwarven roll cage; charms and sigils painted and molded into the metal protecting it against everything the triplets, Henry, and the Dinner Crew could think of; an emergency summoning circle on the truck bed; and cupholders. It had everything!

The middle of the woods was the perfect place for a summoning, in the opinion of The Cult of Eternal Night.

No roads, the only way to reach their site was to hike through the woods, miles from civilization...no one could bother them here.

The sacrifice was struggling and crying, ignored as they began to chant.

The leader raised his hands high, the chanting rising – as was a faint music. It grew louder and louder as the moments passed, until the leader finally snapped, "What the hell is that music? Who brought music?"

As if on cue, lights cut through the darkness along with the roar of an engine. The music blasted its loudest as a truck tore through the trees, plants falling in front of its grill as the woman inside whooped and the demon standing in the bed, gripping the handholds on the roof, wings spread wide, screeched with glee.

The cultists scattered as the truck skewed to a halt, blinding them with its lights. As it deafened them with its music and blinded them with even more lights, colored and flashing in time to the music in seizure inducing patterns, redheads poured from inside to attack them.

To say Mabel liked her present was putting it mildly. Cackling, much like her brother, she revved the engine of The Rainbow Basher and watched the cultists flee her daughters.

Best. Birthday. Ever.


A/N: Before you ask 'How is Stan still alive, if the twins are turning 40 here?' I looked and MaryPSue has him dying at 117, so I went with that because dammit she made me cry with that fic. Ahem. So he'd be ~110 here.

Shoutout to tonithelibrarian, who edited this for me. :)