Skip the A/Ns if you're just interested in the story.
A/N: The prophecy has come true—I've kept a promise for updating a fic! Hah, jokes aside, enjoy. I prefer the conclusion better :)
"I…" Mabel stammered, rubbing her arm. It was especially unlike her to be that evasive or brooding off the trail, Dipper observed. "It's somethin' about what you said, Grunkle Ford." She made a concerted effort to dodge eye contact with everyone else on the kitchen table. "Ugh, I dunno. It's dumb."
"Don't worry, Mabel. You can tell us," Ford ushered, his perplexion having been replaced with a disquiet left overt by a characteristic lack of tact. "You see how harmful keeping things to yourself can be, not to mention there's nothing to fear from all of us when it comes to this. I'm sure we can assist in whatever it is that's troubling you."
Her complexion appeared to lighten up somewhat and she said, "Well, you said Bill could somehow come back, right?" The question received a slow nod from Ford. "And couldn't that mean another Weirdmageddon?" Again, a nod, but more deliberate this time. She bit her lip and brought her knees up to her face. "Yeah, that's… really scary."
Seeing how she brought up the subject they'd all been implicitly avoiding since the surprising revelation, Dipper couldn't help but sympathise with his twin. The possibility of a similar calamity ever happening again wasn't only dangerous for the world in all the obvious ways imaginable, but it was something which had made fighting off the slight tremble he'd felt in his hands at the simple thought of it nearly impossible.
"I know it's scary to imagine, sweetheart," Stanford acknowledged, placing a six-fingered hand on her shoulder, "but as I said, the chances of Bill appearing in the first place and that also somehow happening are exceedingly minimal."
"Yeah, sure," she dismissed through a nervous laugh. "But it's still there. It's still a chance."
Ford retracted his hand, resting a finger on his chin (in a mitigated struggle to form a rebuttal, no doubt). Dipper, all the while, continued to find a relative degree of prudence in Mabel's objections, and that only shook the foundation of his own convictions.
His mentor continued, "True, though it's nothing to fret about. I will still take all required precautionary measures so that none of you need to worry about this." Ford clenched his fists as if trying to somehow express the fervour with which he'd ensure their security. Through the clear radiance of his customised light bulb which had hung by an uncannily flimsy thread on the ceiling and the wild moonlight fluttering around the glass of the kitchen window, an ominous reflection surfaced in his glasses. "I will not let Bill do anything like Weirdmageddon ever again and I will do everything I can to stop his return, should it come to the time where it is possible in the first place."
Mabel frowned, glancing away and prematurely ending the exchange with the slight inclination of her head. No doubt, this meant Ford had far from soothed Mabel's apprehensions. Dipper eyed her solemnly as she placed her feet back in the air and bore the same blank masquerade. No gratuitous amount of fake apathy could hide it.
"Okay, now there's really no point in goin' back to sleep,'' Stan deadpanned, trying to sway their discourse elsewhere. "And I'm all outta stuff that I use to distract myself during uncomfortable situations." Of course, he would have had a hunch something wasn't right, Dipper internally remarked.
"Judging by how engaged we were in our conversation just now and, uh, that…" Ford said, pointing in Dipper's direction.
"Hm?" Dipper piped up, caught rather off-guard given he hadn't done or said much that would've warranted being directly pointed at. He followed the boorish trail of bewildered gazes and came upon the anomalous occasion himself. "Oh. Yeah, that happens." It didn't stop. Relatively normal. "What? Restless leg syndrome, anyone?"
Stanford harrumphed, shifting everyone's attention back at him. "Indeed, with one of the primary causes being an inability to sleep. And an inability to sleep is also likely stemming from the fact that our cognitive functions are far too stimulated to allow for anything other than acting like we've consumed all the caffeine products in Gravity Falls."
Stanley grumbled, brushing a hand over his face. "Christ, does the night make ya spew more sciency mumbo-jumbo than usual or somethin', Poindexter?"
Ford laughed. "I wouldn't count on it but I'll allow you to be the judge on that uncharted front, Stanley."
"Well, if we're gonna be staying up no matter what, we should at least talk 'bout what brought us here," Stan suggested, reaching for multiple of the junk items sprawled around the vicinity and collecting them in his hand. Dipper felt the urge to spring from his seat and do something—anything—that would prove a substantial distraction; had he interpreted Stan's visual cue correctly and not just began clearing the cluttered mess left on the table out of spontaneity, then he'd be damned if that wasn't his calling for the night. He gripped the three cans of Pitt Cola (Ford, albeit having caught up with the others in the first place under the pretence of rehydrating himself, hadn't indulged in consumption of the off-brand beverage) while Stan set aside the other scattered paraphernalia.
While he made his way, Dipper noticed Mabel's can still had some amount of the beverage inside. He tried to offer it back to his sister, yet the only hint she gave of his offer was a defeatist dismissal. Déjà vu hit Dipper from multiple directions as the conclusion remained unchanged: nothing between them was normal or as it should've been. Old news indeed. He threw the rubbish where it belonged.
"Thanks, kid," Stanley said. Dipper noticed he had appeared to have chosen the comfort of the damp kitchen counter and hadn't intended to return to his seat. Not that it mattered. Probably. "So, who wants'a start first?"
A dreary silence befell the room as Dipper rejoined the others at the table. Though he couldn't really determine from the cover of his fringe and the levelled glare he'd aimed towards the wide door frame, something told him Ford was dancing around the topic, words not being his weapon of choice either. As for Stan, Dipper hadn't a clue why he was so eager and keen to hear about the dreams—he was sure the conman had experienced his own, for he would have denied it when it had come up otherwise. Well, it'd have acted as no surprise if he'd dreamt up a similar experience as the absurd story he created when they were falling down the Bottomless Pit and it honest-to-God hadn't impacted him at all; of course, that didn't add up—more likely it was a proficient display of emotional suppression (especially when adding Stan's choice of career into the thought mix).
And Mabel. It wasn't like she had vanished either. His prior feelings towards the circumstance resurfaced, but now whiplashed from unusual yet tolerable to entirely awkward and uncanny—descriptors which Dipper never thought he'd be using for any situation with his own family.
Their despondency was a secret kept no longer. None of them actually wanted to talk. None of them wanted to be here now. But all of them, including Stan, were keeping those terrors behind closed doors and they had to get to the bottom of their mutual curse.
Just as he had mustered the bravery to come forward with his own experience, Dipper heard a petulant sigh from Mabel.
He stared in her direction as she muttered, "There… There is a reason why I asked you about that second Weirdmageddon baloney." She frowned and her sights lifted towards Ford. "It was…" she stammered. Dipper could spot her bordering on plain distress. As if on cue after he'd thought that, she let out a pensive groan and gently rubbed her hands together. "Another thing like Weirdmageddon: that was my dream."
Another reticence suffused all sound, Dipper reading Stan's face as one of barely contained shock and Ford's—one of what was either a closeted sadness or something else Dipper was too inept to decipher. He himself was caught off-guard, yes, but not to the extent the others looked to be. All the signs pointed towards something which had to do with the monstrous apocalypse, he surmised, even if his twin's confirmation didn't suppress the apprehension that had been birthed in him.
"What do you mean, Mabel?" Dipper was the first to ask.
"What do you think I mean?" she shot back. "How can I not dream about the crazy apocalypse we almost died in a-and about the psycho demon that almost took over the world? And..." she trailed off, the strain in her heart evidently proving too hard to ignore.
Dipper was at a loss for words. Not for the reason one would have expected—no, what Mabel had kept boiling and riling wasn't what had shaken him so. It was how right she was—how little he had to vouch in protest—that drew his tongue now. Because whereas the residents of Gravity Falls, given their fine chiselled numbness to weirdness, could have shrugged off any insane paranormal events which had come about and, as everyone came to see, the near and total destruction of the world, it was far different for two 'city kids' like him and his sister. Even after three months of arguably having the time of his life going on exhilarating adventures, solving groundbreaking mysteries, and learning to face whatever life had thrown at him, the fear of dangling in mortal peril—for himself and those he cared for—with each supernatural encounter dawdled there next to the nepenthes which proved adrenaline. Worst of all, those surges he'd kept subdued, kept from taking over, kept from giving way to distract him, kept from allowing him to get killed: they had gradually worsened in the back of his head throughout the nightmare of Weirdmageddon.
Now, there was no life-threatening scenario. There was no ultimate dilemma or an all-encompassing mystery to keep his brain working and distracted. So for him to hear that Mabel—someone kept so hopeful in dire strides as to have quite literally been driven away from the hellscape of such a reality in search of the fantastical comfort it never offered yet believed bound to exist nonetheless—had finally reached a tipping point…
What did that mean for someone like him?
The profound flash of helplessness echoing within Dipper was something he could hide no longer.
He gave his best to bury that feeling and inched closer to her, assuring as best he could, "Mabel, I know how you feel. It was hard on everyone and no one's judging you for admitting it. If you ever wanna talk about it, well, we're here for you." He caught his great-uncles butting their heads in affirmation. "I'm here for you. We... we can get through it. Somehow."
"It's not that, Dipper."
Stan's eyes slightly widened, the businessman having possibly picked up on something Dipper had overlooked, and said, "Mabel, don't think that—"
"Think what, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel interrupted, voice rising again and the faintest hint of where her train of thought was headed becoming visible to Dipper. "Oh right, because I'm just the dumb little girl who can't even read the very clear writing on the wall!"
"What are you talking about, Mabel?" Dipper interjected, worry for his twin's wellbeing flooding back. Now, he had no idea what she was talking about and it appeared he was one of the few still left out of the loop.
"The thing you're all ignoring! That all the people hurt and all the bonkers stuff that happened during Weirdmageddon are on my shoulders!" Her pent-up animosity appeared as though urging the instinctive—to bolt out of the seat and run away until the dark corners of those inhibitions themselves gave way to the want for escape. "I caused the apocalypse because I let Bill have the Rift and I did it just because I'm so stu—"
"I'm not even gunna let ya finish that sentence, missy," Stan remarked with a disapproving gesture.
Mabel grimaced at him, burning pain hiding behind dissatisfaction. The brief leeway gave Dipper the ability to gather his bearings, and he wondered how it was sound—or how it was possible—for one to bear the lie that the fault for the grandest mistake the world had unleashed was to be placed solely on themselves. It was the lowest on Dipper's list of theories regarding her dream, the worst revelation everything could've been traced to, and most of all—the one conclusion which made absolutely no sense to him.
"You are not at fault at all, darling," Ford attempted to reassure. "In fact, you have done nothing wrong to anyone. As for what Bill did to you, that was purely manipulation and trickery of the highest degree." He made a face Dipper believed was a mixture of disgust towards Bill and disdain over how the demon had impacted Mabel. "He had no right to strike you when you were at your most vulnerable. He had no right to strike at any of you." He veered his head away and muttered something which only Dipper seemed to decipher, "And if anything..."
He elected to ignore it, as it wasn't a time for questioning his great-uncle's non-sequiturs.
"Mabel," Dipper began, an intentional tenderness in his half-whispers, "Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan are right. You don't have to blame yourself for something you had no control over." The fire in his heart irked him to just tell her about his dream and convince her of the opposite but the demons which still went about inside his head held back from seeing any of it. "It's… it's not your fault."
"But that's just the thing!" Mabel objected. "Don't any of you realise what that means? Even if I didn't have control, even if I was 'sad' or 'tricked', I still did it!" She was pointing at herself. "Do you have any idea how that feels? To know it was all your fault a-and having it eat you up inside so hard that you can't live with it anymore?!"
Dipper could hardly believe what he was hearing anymore. He wanted to laugh at how dense he had to have been not to realise there was something else under that something else he was searching for in Mabel's psyche—a guilt far worse than he'd imagined, eating up his twin with vicious fire. The throbbing pain made sense, at last: being belittled for her convictions by unicorns, left out by supposed boyfriends, and made a plaything out of dream demons; her blaming everything on herself was simply the final straw to cave in to the dreams.
Dipper slightly tensed up before asking, "Mabel, this isn't just about Weirdmageddon, is it?" He placed a tender hand on her shoulder. "What's been going on? Tell me. Please."
She scoffed, traces of incredulity and displeasure laid bare. "Don't act like you don't know, Dipper.
Dipper blinked. "I... I really don't."
Mabel stared at the floor, mumbling, "Everything." One could only wonder how much of 'everything' she had truly meant. "It's everything, Dipper. And I know that just makes the fact I'm just… so selfish and always looking for an excuse even worse than it already is." The admission—a sign Dipper had been correct for what seemed to be the first time that night. "But I can't think of any excuse that's gonna stop me from knowing I've hurt you a lot—not just this summer—a-and knowing that is so…" Leaving her thought in the tense air, she cupped her face in her hands, chest beginning to rise with unsteady movements. "Gosh…"
"Alright, that does it," Stan began, rising in spite with each word. However distracted he was by what was happening, Dipper was well aware that ignorance wasn't what Mabel needed right now—her problems needed to be listened to and addressed, not cast aside. He gestured for Stan to lay off and wait as he clamoured closer, only the choked and terse breathing discernible through the inviting cover of Sweatertown.
"Hey, it's okay, Mabes," Dipper said. "I-It's all right. I don't think you're anything like what you said. The dream just got to you, all right? We'll all forget about this in no time anyway, so there's nothing to worry about."
"You know you don't believe that," Mabel uttered, partially emerging from the sewn clothing and drawing a heavy breath. "But I know as a fact that you gotta be your own person, Dipper." Their eyes met again, just like they had back at the bus stop. Her distress was a venomous gateway to his own heightened emotions—anger, sorrow, joy, even grief—and the familiar sting in his eyes became the curse he desperately wanted to run from. "Yet I'm just not sure... even after everything if I'm still ready to accept that and do the same for myself!"
"Mabel, don't say that! I—"
She held up her hand and said, "Look, Dipper, you can't deny it. I… I'm not a good sister." Dipper could feel the memories and fragments of the insipid voice echoing in his head. This wasn't right—he couldn't let it happen again. "And I'm not a good person either. I mistreat you, I use people, and I caused an apocalypse, for cryin' out loud!" She huffed a sardonic chuckle. "Am I even worse than Bill?"
The elder Pines moved in opposition again, but Dipper shut them down. Even if it had cost a scowl from Stan and a solemn glare from Ford, he had to sort this out with her. Alone.
He wouldn't let her down this time, no matter if the only way to do that felt abhorrent to him.
"Mabel, can you let me..." He knew what he was about to do was foolish, but it was the only way to convince his sister to let go of those self-destructive thoughts, "tell you a bit about my dream?"
She darted her gaze in his direction, mouth agape, and they locked eyes. It relieved Dipper somewhat when she gave out the bare token of approval, as though she was finally being authentic with him.
"It was calm and, well, a bit nice at first. Kinda weirdly calm, to be honest. But I was back at home, set out to go to college or whatever my dumb brain thought it was." He shuddered at the repugnant scene forming in his head, sighing away the pain he felt as reason poked his brain with a ghastly sharp trident at what he was doing. "Point is, I was going away somewhere where I was gonna be by myself and with no one to keep me in line when it came to what I'd be doing. You tried to stop me, convince me to stay or think of a way where I didn't have to go insane and I could still do what I felt I had to." He rubbed his eyes, trying to squint away the vision, and faced her. "And I left you there, Mabel. I left you. I knew what I was doing and it was just so scary to look at myself as I still went through with it. I thought it was Bill—or something like him—that tricked both of us into ruining our lives like that but," He shook his head, "it was me, Mabel. I… I let you down."
She didn't respond. It was okay—he had more than the dream left to fight through.
"If anything, that just means I'm the lousy sibling and that if there's anyone to blame, it's me. I couldn't see how my dumb choices made you feel because I was too involved in chasing after Wendy o-or trying to prove myself to everyone around me." It was too hard. Too hard to stand so alone against his greatest vices. But he had to tell her, to let her know. Heaving a sigh, he whimpered, "And I told you that whatever we did next, we'd face it together, but I'm just so… afraid of making the same mistakes I've made this summer, Mabel." Voice was quivering and emotions were far too afloat. "I don't want to lose you like that again but sometimes—I don't even know, I just feel like I'm delaying the inevitable!"
A lapse passed and there was little indication from her again. Perhaps he'd made a huge mistake in saying that. Perhaps he had to have known that silencing the decision-maker inside him was the least wise manoeuvre.
"Wait, see, y-you were right!" she exclaimed out of the blue, and he shot his head up in disbelief. "I made you question yourself and that's what's so terrible about it, Dipper. I don't want to instinctively manipulate you into doing things only I want and for me to see you throw away your future anymore! Can't you see I've been doing that this entire summer?!" Her hands were shaking. "I'm tired of being like that! Tired, Dipper!"
Dipper gawked wide-eyed at the manner in which she'd twisted the intent of his words. "Wha…? No!" He threw up his hands. "That's not what I had in mind! I didn't—"
"Stop it, Dipper! Just stop and admit it!" Mabel's face was reddened—be it with rage, exasperation, sadness, or anything in-between. "It's true, because even in your dream you'd blame yourself for leaving and being the one responsible when I'M the one who made you feel that way! Admit it! Come on!"
His mouth gave way to forming sentences. He had exposed all the pain, all the scars, all the turmoil in the vain hope understanding would have greeted him at the door from the one person he counted on for it. So what if theirs had stood for nothing—the discourse having led to little but further destruction? What if she was wrong or what if the lie was all there ever was?
He nodded.
"I might have let whatever the dumb dream was trying to tell me go over my head a bit," Dipper reasoned in a shaky voice. "But that doesn't mean me making this... version of you in my dream go through all that is just some fantasy my dumb brain's thought up of, sis." He tried to wipe away the signs of distress, but it was of little use. "Ford's apprenticeship was proof enough for me to realize it's how you'd actually react and believe me, I… I'd do the same if we switched places." Just as Mabel seemed to object, her frown deepened. "And it's exactly because you were there that I was so unsure about what I needed to do—that's what I've been trying to tell you! I blame myself because… I dunno, I'm not as brave as you to admit I've felt the same way. I've tried to hide it by thinking I'm planning ahead—for my 'future'—but I really have no idea what I've been doing." He was definitely in a sorry state, but it mattered little now. "The entire freaking time, I just wanted to look like I had a plan when I was really as lost as you were."
She lifted her sights towards him.
"I wanted you to believe that if you didn't know all the answers and you couldn't be there for yourself, that I could try pretending to."
"Dipper..."
There was little to think about now. Either she saw through or they sank. Yes or no.
And Mabel defied his logic by not being bound to the extremes, not listening to the ultimatum, yanking at his shirt and latching onto him. It was against his will no longer, and the warmth was one he had never wanted to tear himself from.
"I don't ever want you to pretend!" she demanded. "N-Not for me or anyone else! And I'll make it be like that, I promise! You hear me, dum-dum?! I promise!"
There came the wave for him—refreshing, cold, and brutal its impact.
"I'll never keep out someone in my life that I feel about the same way," he found himself murmuring, eyes set on the ceiling while he let the catharsis flow and Mabel's emotions pour over his shirt. "I promise." This time, he'd keep it.
"I'll stop using your nerd books for origami paper a-and I won't switch up your lab materials when you're not looking!"
Dipper couldn't help but crack a dry smile through the heartache. It had always been Mabel's forte to shine a light in the darkest of chasms.
"And I'll make sure you get back at the next idiot that's gonna break your heart in high school." He was going to have a field day with him after Stan's boxing lessons.
A soft whisper reaffirmed, "Right behind you with your future girlfriend, bro."
Brother and sister held together, and for the first time since Dipper had woken up, he felt his shoulders loosen and the pit in his stomach vanish—no vision, no demon, no trident, no voices.
"Hey," Dipper said.
"Mm?"
"I understand you."
"I know." She stifled an amused giggle. "I think I can finally say the same for you after 13 years."
And as time reaffirmed its grip over their moment, the two eventually found themselves on opposite ends again. Mabel took comfort in recuperating further while Dipper scanned the otherwise empty room with a clearer insight.
And the fact that it was otherwise empty was what hit Dipper the most.
"Uh… Mabel?"
He was greeted by a smile that could've lit up not only an entire room but a whole house. "Yeah, bro-bro?"
"Where's Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford?" he asked. Her reaction signalled nothing short of bewilderment as well.
"No clue."
"Guess we scared them off," Dipper theorised. "We were kinda… yeah."
"Well, I find it cute when you get all emotional. Doesn't happen often, after all!"
"Wait, no fair!" he objected, the heat on his cheeks swelling. "You made me—pushed me to it!"
"Oh, c'mon Dipper, you're just sayin' that!" she teased, waving off the explanation given. "I, for one, sometimes feel like there's an all-seeing puppeteer controlling everything we do and say and I think that guy can be pretty mean sometimes! And no, it's not Bill. I imagine this weirdo as more of a—"
"Okay, let's keep the fanfiction for when I get dragged into another girl's night with Candy and Grenda," Dipper deadpanned, Mabel's face scrunching up at the interruption. He knew it had to be done, though, otherwise he'd have had even more nightmares. "Hey, that was our deal." She rolled her eyes. "So, where to now? You think the grunks went back to bed?"
Mabel put a finger to her chin and clambered out of the chair. "Naw, I think I know exactly where two oldies like that might be." Sniffling away the last of the emotional baggage, she began walking and motioned towards Dipper with a tilt of her head. "Just follow the Grunkle-tector 2000, Dipper!"
Dipper smirked, doing as ordered.
"Whatever you say, Mabes."
It wasn't long before Dipper had become mesmerised by Mabel's abilities. She'd managed to locate the two brothers seated on the sofa at the back porch in the span of ten seconds, a sizable lit candle resting on an end table beside them to radiate through the darkness. Indeed, luck and coincidences had no bearing on the matter and it was solely thanks to Mabel's keen abilities.
"Oh, k-kiddos?" Stan stammered upon noticing their entry through the backdoor. He and Ford were quite dismayed, appearing as though they had entirely forgotten about whatever conversation they were engaged in (which no doubt included Dipper and Mabel). "How's, um..." Stan bumped Ford in search of verbal support.
Dipper just raised a brow in confusion as Stanford cleared his throat and said, "We, err… decided to give you two some space. We didn't want to intrude and we hope you aren't mad at us for being, uh, here." Dipper weighed his confusion between the two. "But we were still really worried, of course! And we totally didn't eavesdrop!" Their unconvincing defence became all the more clear with that statement (vast credit to the facepalming Stan).
"What he means is that we listened to what you two were talkin' about but we just felt like you didn't need to know we were there," Stanley attempted to explain. He chuckled. "You can see what worry can do 'ta old men like us." It wasn't unlike family to spy on family, and Dipper didn't have any major reservations regarding that. "But, uh... still, since you're together, I take it you two sorted it out?"
"Yeah, I think we did," Mabel piped up. "Bro and I had a little talk."
The elder Pines exchanged a coordinated nod. Almost premeditated from what Dipper observed.
"Good, 'cause here's the deal, ya emotional nutsacks: you're both wrong," Stan said, causing Dipper to furrow his brows in bemusement. "Yeah, truth was we didn't want ya to feel pressured when you were pourin' that stuff out. But me and Stanford over here have had enough conversations 'bout similar things 'ta tell you what it really means." He shot a thumb to the scientist who bowed his head in agreement. "You two are brother and sister, but more than that, you're twins. And when you're a twin, it ain't about who does more, who has less fault, or none'a that. Heck, that isn't how relationships work in general—there ain't no one dragging anyone else down. Takin' off with life's hard and you two proved that you could not only 'ta yourselves but to the whole frigging world with that apocalypse. So if you knuckleheads just keep your heads up and never give up on each other, even if you make dumb mistakes like us there still ain't gonna be nothing that can stop you."
"Not even college," added Stanford. "The people you meet and the stuff you learn on your own is more of a door-opener than a door-closer, actually. The college itself—well, that really doesn't matter as much." He looked at Stan. "And it never did matter that much," Dipper remarked the small but keen smile on his other great-uncle's face.
Mabel snickered at the sight, reclining next to Stan on the beige sofa. "Y'know, maybe you guys are right," she said. Dipper followed suit and positioned himself on Ford's right side. "And who knows, I might just mature some more until then so that we don't have to come to any teary-eyed soap-opera confessions. Maybe not being surrounded by monsters or lured by gnome boyfriends is gonna help!"
Dipper honed in on her amiability with a brewing melancholy, words hearkening back to the dream where his sister had been so young and he—far older. And still age wasn't good enough of a tutor to stop him from sticking by that horrid choice in mind and body. Dipper was no philosopher, but now he felt he knew why that was.
"Maybe," he uttered in response. "But I think I might just mature a bit until then too."
With a tacit mark of confirmation, Dipper had no doubt that they were more than ready to head back to Piedmont and face the abyss.
"So, we good now?" Stan asked, twiddling his thumbs. "You two feelin' okay or need anything?"
"No," Mabel replied. "No, we're fine, Grunkle Stan."
"Great." Stan clapped as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "Oh, and Mabel." She bobbed her head to him. "Don't ever blame yourself 'fa what happened with the town, kiddo. If you ever wonder why, just take a stroll 'round town when folks are out and see for yourself."
"I… I'll try, Grunkle Stan." She leant her head on his shoulder. "Thanks."
His other great-uncle's ostentatiously bashful nature was distanced from Mabel's affirmations. Part of Dipper wondered what could've been racing around Ford's thoughts again, but he quickly figured there was only one reason for remaining so quiet—a reason an astute individual like him would have been well aware of.
"Well?" Dipper asked, catching the rest off-guard.
"Well, what?" Ford reiterated at once.
"We, um… 'shared' our dreams—"
"You can say that again," Mabel joked.
Dipper nodded and continued, "Yeah, so it's time for one of you to do the same."
Stanley cocked a brow. "I don't even have one."
"What?" three voices asked in unison.
"I just told ya: I don't have one," the conman reaffirmed while scratching his chin. "Ya ears clogged or somethin'?"
"Stanley!" Ford exclaimed in clearly good-natured disbelief. "Do you mean to tell us you didn't dream at all during the one night each one of us did? That you slept completely soundlessly and that you just 'woke up' because of the kids?"
"Yep."
Stanford paused for a lapse and groaned in exasperation before elaborating, "I really want to say, 'I can't believe you, Stanley'. Unfortunately, part of me actually allows myself to."
Stan burst into a nearly maniacal cackle. "That's what I like 'ta hear! Sorry, Poindexter, but you're it and that's that!"
Ford breathed out his irritation in a slow manner before saying, "Well, then I suppose it really is my turn to let the Felinesaur out of the portal."
"Dunno what kinda phrases you guys got in that crazy ol' multiverse but yeah, probably," Stan commented.
Stanford glared at the resident wisecracker for a second but continued, "I… I wondered what it would have been like to have everything be, well, different." Dipper could sense the slight but sudden shift in his expression.
"What do you mean, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel asked, concern splayed over the way she posed the question.
"It hasn't been exactly like the dreams I had while Bill was around or while I was between dimensions. Not in the way that it was meant to foretell impending doom or play tricks on me, but in the way you feel like when seeing an old friend you know you can't reconnect with again no matter what." Dipper had an inkling that even he knew the analogy was rather specific for his own interpersonal relationships. "And that friend I knew I could never know again was… another me. Another me in a reality where I was normal. Where kids didn't pick on me as much, girls didn't look at me as a specimen to dissect in biology class, and"—he brought up his polydactyly hand—"I even had five fingers, just like everyone else."
Stan shook his head. "A'ight, Sixer, we've been over this a thousand times and—"
"Yes, Stanley, we have! But it's not like you can just stop thinking about it, even after you've made yourself believe it's some supernatural gift." Ford leant forward, elbows rested on knees. "And it's difficult to realize it's this annoying mixture of a curse too. Whatever the intent of the dream was, it was anomalous beyond what I could make out. But I still knew that being there, doing some of the things I'd judged others for or listening to the ideas dad had always tried to ingrain in us..." Stan grimaced at the mention of their father. "None of that is indicative of the person I try to be now. And yet if my mind could conjure up that other normal, vile me, I wonder whether this means he's always been there somewhere, hiding in places where only this paranormal happenstance tonight could make it surface."
The following lapse felt longer than it should have, though it was alleviated soon enough by Mabel saying, "Grunkle Ford, I'm so sorry you had to go through seeing that." She brushed a hand over his thigh in a way only a concerned and caring great-niece could. There had been little doubt in Dipper's mind—resisting the call of a superficial vanity was no easy task, but that sentiment clearly wasn't true for the all-enveloping Mabelness. "I think it's obvious how hard telling what's real and what's not can be sometimes. Heck, I think I should know best out of everyone. But that still doesn't mean you should be scared of that other you." Ford locked eyes with Mabel. Dipper didn't find that striking, of course; she had her way with words and getting others to listen. "You know yourself and that's more than some oldies or moody teenagers can say about themselves. So it doesn't matter if this mind clone's out there in your brain, because if I can fight the same feelings, I know you can too! It's in your blood!"
"I… wait, you really sympathize with my outlandish dream?"
Mabel scoffed. "Oh, of course. As both a matchmaker and avid Mabel Juice drinker, I've sympathized with Waddles' relationship struggles and Dipper's incredible impatience. The limits of this power are practically nonexistent!"
"In a minute, she switched from imitating pig culture and getting Waddles through a momentary breakup with Gompers to helping an annoyed me document new information about unicorns. It's really impressive," Dipper stated. "Anyway, Mabel's right, Grunkle Ford. Your differences aren't really a weakness or a strength, they're just part of who you are and nothing more. That's how I've been thinking about myself recently, at least." He could notice Ford wanting to raise some questions at that but Dipper didn't want to get sidetracked purely because he hadn't told his mentor everything about himself. That tale would have to wait for another time. "And you aren't a missed opportunity either—you're probably the only person to make incredible scientific breakthroughs and be an amazing great-uncle at the same time! People look up to you."
Ford blinked. "Me?"
"Yeah, him?" Stan repeated.
Dipper smirked, finding it rather unbelievable that he'd have to elaborate further. "Of course, Grunkle Ford. Your journals and secrets are what made me spend half of the summer doing what Stan was already at for 30 years—finding you! And I didn't even know who you actually were until then!"
Ford rested a finger on his chin, a tired stroke of optimism resurfacing in his features. "That's… an interesting way of looking up to someone, yes. Maybe you do have the right idea: I guess there could still be room in this dimension for more old weirdos. In the good and bad way."
Mabel pouted at once, saying, "No, somethin' isn't right. You still look bummed out." She'd hit a spot, Dipper noticed. "It wasn't just that, right?"
"Huh?" Stanford stammered out, visibly flustered. "Oh no, my dear. I feel fine." He made a thumbs up in an attempt at somehow convincing them of that fact. Dipper could bet that no one bought the dismissal.
"Seriously?" Stan asked. "Ya can't even weasel your way out of that? How'd you ever get through interdimensional border security or whatever when you had 'ta smuggle yourself through?"
"For your information, that's not how interdimensional travel works at all. It's more or less like a visit to the DMV mixed in with the occasional life-or-death type of flavor."
"Okay, could'a cut the details. Someone here's still waitin' on an answer."
Ford peered off into the distance, appearing lost in his own world of conflictions. "Mabel, when you were sharing your dream, I… I wanted to tell you my side of the story." Though Dipper had a bare mental image as to where this was going, his twin didn't appear to catch on. "About the reason I deflected my anger back at Bill then. All I want you to understand is that I couldn't bear knowing that you were suffering for something that was entirely and irrefutably my—"
"Oh no, not this again!" Stan protested with no hesitation this time. His radical shift in demeanour was only reasserted by the untempered scowl directed at Stanford. "I am not listenin' to this."
"Stan—"
"No, Ford! I know this game better than any'a you and I ain't letting more of my family guilt trip themselves to death tonight!" Stanley exclaimed; he was right in Dipper's book, of course. "How 'bout for once we all just stop throwin' blame around when there ain't none to be had?"
"Believe me, I'd like to," Ford retorted. "Unfortunately, my actions go back far more than I would like to admit. You wouldn't understand. You're too smart to have made the dumb mistakes I have in my past!"
Mabel attempted to interrupt and act as a mediator (just as the brothers had tried for them), saying, "Okay, guys, let's just—"
"Right, I wouldn't understand—the guy who spent thirty years bringin' back his brother from literal No Man's Land and nearly failed in doing that, too!" Stan was nearly shouting. Surely noticing the distraught look from Mabel and what Dipper supposed were his own indicators of apprehension, he bit his lip and drew back, saying in a lower intonation, "Don't kid with me, Sixer: I know what it's like 'ta think the whole world's playing you for laughs, and it ain't freaking nice."
Ford crossed his arms, objecting no further. Although he and Stan had forgiven each other, Dipper knew that any time past burdens were mentioned there was still some tension involved—more or less self-induced by differing interpretations on who had done what wrong. Especially when having lectured him and Mabel after a similarly fiery polemic, Dipper held out hope that they would have heeded their own advice. And yet part of him was irked at remaining silent, no matter if the more sensible argument had already been brought forth by Stan.
Indeed, old wounds couldn't be erased with a memory gun, but the scars—one could learn to live by them. At that moment, an idea lit up in Dipper's head.
"Okay then, Grunkle Ford," Dipper began. "You say Weirdmageddon is your fault?"
His mentor pinched his temples. "Dipper, you don't need to—"
"Yes or no?"
Ford hesitated for a second before affirming, "All the evidence points to that conclusion. I am the defining source, not Mabel or anyone else."
Not even the gnomes in the forest could've misheard the loud, annoyed grunt from Stan.
"Alright, let's say you were the one who people should be pointing fingers at and you really did mess up that bad," Dipper continued, brushing off the confusion on Stan and Mabel's part. "Think of it this way: if you hadn't brought Bill into the Mindscape, then you wouldn't have built the portal, right?"
"Yes, yes, and none of this would've happened. What are you getting on, Dipper?"
Dipper held out his hand. "Hold on. So if you hadn't made the portal with McGucket, then Grunkle Stan wouldn't have had any reason to come to Gravity Falls and we wouldn't have known him or anyone here. We wouldn't have gone to Gravity Falls at all either."
Stan nodded. "Kid's got a point. I prolly would'a been iced by some of my former… business associates at this point."
"And you, Grunkle Ford, would have been too caught up in your research to do much of anything else. So we never would have met either. Not even at family reunions, probably." It wasn't long until Dipper put the pieces together and saw how that remark had come out. "Uh, no offense."
"None taken," Ford mumbled, bearing that usual inquisitive gaze for whenever he had been deep in thought.
"Yeah, Dipper does have a fair point," Mabel admitted. Dipper was glad to be receiving more support. "If we were in that universe then neither of us would've met all of these amazing people. It really would've been a crummier version of what we have now."
"Not to mention you two would have never made up," Dipper added, the other whom he was referring to electing to spare commentary on that observation.
"That's right, too!" Mabel affirmed. "And if an apocalypse was needed just to do all that, maybe it couldn't have been the worst thing ever. Still pretty terrible but something that had the potential to turn out a lot worse."
A long pause went through as all eyes were set on Ford. Dipper was trying to key in on possible holes he'd dug during his reasoning, for he knew his great-uncle was secretly doing the same.
Quickly enough, there came the slow exhale of acquiescence. Or what Dipper was counting on to be that, as the trepidation when Ford shifted the focus directly on him remained present.
"Statistically and logically speaking, Dipper, your hypothesis doesn't quite add up to the impact of chance nor does it shy away from making rather rapid assumptions about my, uh, personality," Ford declared with a factual neutrality in his tone one could've expected from an aging academic-turned-interdimensional-criminal. "But even so, you're more correct than you are otherwise. Every decision any of us have made has brought us here now and if we're all together, I… I suppose it might not have all been bad. I still don't know if this entire chain of thought is enough to justify at least part of my misdeeds, but I think it might be enough for me not to worry about it as much."
"Yeah, Grunkle Ford!" Mabel beamed, causing Stanford to ever so slightly flinch. "That's the stuff I like to hear from you, mister!" She barreled forward, standing on the edge of the porch and nearly shouting, "Hey, Gravity Falls, check out these amazing grunkles and give me a report on how they're the best! Come on Shandra Jimenez, get on this scoop already!"
Everyone shifted their attention to the slight rustle of leaves originating from a nearby thicket and the pained sounds of what distinctly sounded like a short, middle-aged weak man scurrying away into the forest.
"Wow. Did not expect that," Mabel deadpanned.
Stanford nervously coughed, his face having flushed a light pink from Mabel's proclamation. "Thank you, everyone," he said. "I never really took any of what you have said to me into consideration before." Dipper could hear it—in his tone, there was a far more sincere show of gratitude elicited. "But I'm glad to have received your counsel. I really am calmer now."
"Oh no, we made 'im feel a little!" Stan jested, knowing perfectly when to poke fun at his brother. "Quick, someone call 911 before he fries a neuron!"
"Grunkle Stan—"
"Stanley—"
"—that's not how neurons work!" Dipper and Ford both exclaimed, to the amusement of the other two Pines. They revelled in their joy together before calmness ensued and the slow, steady gust of tranquillity set in.
Well, until attention was brought to the only person whose story still didn't quite add up. Dipper, as the new bearer of bad news and uncomfortable topics for discussion, decided to address the elephant in the room.
"So, Stan… you're really gonna keep it bottled up, huh?"
"Wha—? Me? Oh Christ, you're wonderin' about that." He stretched over the sofa. "I told ya, I was just curious what the rest of you got up for—nothin' else."
"Oh no, I don't think so, Grunkle Stan," Mabel protested, the sly smile enveloping her mien. "You can make fun of Grunkle Ford's good heart or con all the tourists in Gravity Falls you want but you can't lie to us. We're Pines." She marched back in front of him, and Dipper was all for whatever she was doing in terms of getting the conman to talk. Ford, on the other hand, still appeared to be reeling from Mabel characterising him as a good-hearted person (though Dipper simply figured that was a benign way to describe his ineptitude for lying). "We know you."
"Also, you sort of included yourself in the conversation when we were wondering why we'd woken up," Dipper pointed out.
"Now that Dipper reminded me, I do recall hearing something along those lines," Ford acknowledged. "You said, and I quote, 'some Gravity Falls weirdness leaking in our sleep'. It's an open-and-shut case, honestly."
Stan only shrugged. "Y'know, with a good argument like that, you can't keep on fightin' the good fight forever." Dipper could already eye the conceited grin forming on his face. "But why don't Holmes and Watson over 'ere take a look east for a sec?" He shot a finger to the illuminated woods ahead.
Mabel ran a hand over her hair, mumbling, "Woah, where'd the time go…?"
"Dang, it's 5 AM already," Dipper mentioned, having thrown a glance at the cuckoo clock nearby. "Even if it's actually September at the moment, morning's a thing at this time."
Mabel gasped, earning everyone's attention, and pressed both her hands to her face. "Hey, wait! I just realized something! I've never been up on the roof at dawn! It makes perfect sense!" Giddy with excitement, she juggled her head up and down. Dipper was about to turn the tide and insist on Stan's dream until she continued, "C'mon, let's go take a look!"
"I don't know, honey," Ford protested, scratching his stubble. "I mean, what's there to—"
"Save it, ya buzzkill!" Stan interrupted. "Let's go before my butt completely fuses with the couch!"
Stanford gawked at his brother for a moment. "...I mean, sure, sweetie."
Shaking his head at his great-uncle's sudden change of mind, Dipper couldn't help but hammer in how Stan had somehow weaselled his way out of an uncomfortable situation for the umpteenth time; that was something which only continued to further his laughter as the four set out for the roof. With Mabel galloping through the ladder and arriving at the top first, Dipper was yearning for her sake that the view would have been worth it. He and Stanford climbed in a slow and deliberate manner, the former of whom did so because he was scaling a ladder in the building that had been owned by a former acrophobe for three decades. Said former acrophobe simply ascended even faster than Mabel, though whether that was because he'd wanted to get their adventure over with or because he'd held on to parts of his fear, Dipper hadn't a clue.
As soon as they reached the top, their willingness to appease Mabel became a secondary concern once they basked in the sight before them.
"Woah," Dipper could hear himself utter. A red sun breathed new, untainted life over the pine groves and the cool wind bent through the locale in a harmonious rhythm—its temperature neither too warm nor too frigid. His sister stood as though every fibre of her soul had been locked on the horizon.
"Damn," Stan, who was to Mabel's left, murmured. "Even after keepin' this joint running for over 30 years I never knew how good this looked from up here."
The other two followed suit, with Ford stating, "Even after technically owning the building for 35 years, I never knew either. And it didn't have a roof like this back then as well." Dipper ambled next to him. "Though indeed, it is really beautiful."
"Yeah, Gravity Falls has that," Dipper mentioned, recalling when he had previously shared this little haven of the Mystery Shack with others: Wendy, Mabel, and himself (including his clone-self) sometimes. "Between all the weirdness, monsters, and demonic triangles, it's had a lot of these moments when the stars line up and it starts looking like something out of a fantasy rather than a nightmare."
Mabel stretched herself out. "Dipper's got the right idea with the 'out of a fantasy' talk. Which is why I'm gonna do this!" She plopped herself on the sturdy plywood with head resting over her hands and vision set on the great blue forever above.
The rest followed suit and, lying adjacent to their respective family member, glanced at the same enveloping endlessness Mabel had been enchanted by. They laid there, a marking that there had been nothing further to be said.
Or so Dipper had thought.
"I… I dreamt about Pa," a low voice uttered. "And Glass Shard."
"Really?" Ford was the first to ask, not even a glint of irony in his rhetoric—just surprise.
"Who else would I dream 'bout except that old crook? It ain't shocking, really—in a nightmare's exactly where I'd expect 'ta find the guy who cared more about striking gold than anything else in the whole damn world." He huffed a bitter snarl. "Don't even think family ever mattered for someone who liked to make you feel like a piece'a garbage all the time." Ford gave out a firm sign of approval, though the tinge of discord Dipper spotted was partly emblematic of something else. "Pa liked 'ta make it seem all like an act but I sometimes wonder if the ol' sunavagun had any idea we could see right through 'im the whole time." He tapped his fingers over the boards loud enough for Dipper to hear but quiet enough for it not to signal agitation or anger. "And now I dunno if I can't see through some'a the stuff I've done myself. Or I remember I've done, I guess."
"Oh, Grunkle Stan," Mabel began, her compassion as clear as the rising day before them, "you say that but the way you put it, you're nothing like great-grandpa! You're a gazillion times more caring and better than he probably ever was!"
Like Ford, there was years' worth of apparent baggage carried from Stan's expressions. "Thanks, sweetie, but even if you're right, the truth is he made me part of the person I don't like bein' now. He is—was—poison. And even though I tried 'ta control myself every day, it still made its way to you kids." Stanley got up slightly to eye Dipper, the volley of pity coupled with surprise creating a hard mix of emotions on the receiving end. "It wasn't right of me to be so hard on ya this summer, kid—what with the naggin' and pushing all the time. I guess some old tricks do more harm than good and unlearning 'em is harder than it looks."
Uncertainty overtook Dipper until recollection imparted clarity to that memory: the grudge he'd lied himself into holding, the uncontrolled spite he'd held inside him, and the forgiveness he'd allowed to resurface when he literally saw the world through his caretaker's lens.
"Oh. Oh, that's okay, Grunkle Stan," he admitted. "And for what it's worth, you being hard on me did make me a lot less of a wimp in the end."
Stan wasn't trying to hide his stifled amusement at the last part. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, ruffling Dipper's hair with that usual great-uncle energy, albeit juggled against the somewhat solemn nature which still lurked in his countenance. He remained still. "There was somethin' else, though."
"What?" Mabel inquired with blazing speed this time around.
"Stuff 'bout the time I spent riding solo. When ya haven't been around family for so long you start acting a lot different." Dipper figured that sentiment was directed at Ford. "Bein' out through the country was bearable, I guess—jumpin' from state to state. But after what happened, that damn portal was all I thought about for so long. Wasn't a single day when I didn't go down there, Stanford, and I didn't try to fix it. And you two gremlins made that harder than it needed to be, even if I still somehow slipped by you." Dipper allowed the small echo of disappointment to flow—disappointment at how the answer to the greatest mystery in the town had been hidden a couple of floors under his bedroom. "I know I was takin' those huge risks you warned about, Sixer, but if I got zapped back in time for any reason by some science-y gizmo… I wouldn't have undone the last 30 years if it meant spending this summer again"—Stan's terse laughter now rang as loud as the chirping of the morning birds—"even if did end up costin' the whole damn universe that time 'round."
Dipper didn't offer an opinion. He was frankly overwhelmed by the degree of honesty with which the person he'd least expected to bring up anything related to old grievances went about telling their side of the story.
Ford was the first to respond. He said, "I've always known your lot couldn't have been easy at all, Stanley. And, well, I want to say I can't imagine how you must have felt. But… I do." He sat cross-legged and began rummaging through his coat.
Dipper and Mabel perked up their heads while Stan rested himself on his elbow, a sense of anticipation permeating the air. Dipper's mentor brought out a faded photograph and handed the item to Stan, who took the picture with his free arm. The moment Stanley laid eyes on it, surprise became written all over him.
"I kept it, Stan. I kept it because it meant that no matter where I was or how alone I felt or how much I wanted to forget about everything, I always had a link back home." Ford's frown evoked nostalgia or bittersweetness, not sadness or anger. "Back to the good old days. Back to you."
"Hey, no fair!" Mabel objected, shaken from passivity by the potential of missing out. "You can't just say all that and only show it to Stan! What is it?"
"Woah!" Dipper said, catching a glimpse of the picture's contents. "Is that the Stan'O—"
"Lemme see!" his twin interjected, finally snatching the photo after shamelessly pushing Dipper out of the way. Her face instantly lit up with glee. "Oh my gosh! You two were so adorable back then!" She poked their cheeks in a well-meaning manner as to waver off the excitement. "Oh my gosh, and you still are!"
Stan rubbed his eyes tentatively. "We really looked like you knuckleheads, didn't we?"
Dipper raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean we'll also look like you guys when we grow old?"
"Ugh, god no!" Stan exclaimed, waving the supposition away. "Kid, I wouldn't wish chronic back pain and spontaneous itches even on that little twerp Gideon!"
"What about crummy ol' great-grandpa?" Mabel asked, returning the picture and lying down again with half-closed eyes.
"Nope!"
"Wow, he really does mean it." Stanford haphazardly suppressed his amusement with a six-fingered hand that covered his mouth while tucking the reminder of his childhood away in his expansive coat and rejoining the fold.
"You know," he began, "even after being away for so long, you're still the bravest living being I know, Stanley. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that—I do truly mean it. Demons and monsters included."
"Having been to 37 dimensions, you can be pretty sure that's a good objective metric," Dipper said. "Or were they 73, Grunkle Ford?"
"The latter, though there isn't much point in keeping track once you get used to them and encounter the Zorglong's numeric system. Yeah, that 'dimensional standard' only muddles things up more than they already are."
Stanley made a distinct sound of disgust. "I don't even wanna know. But, erm, thanks for the compliment, I guess." His shoulders, which had hung high as if he were in the hot seat, were now loosened. "Oh, and sorry I got mad at ya earlier, Ford. I know why you don't tell me 'bout your Bill theory but I just let the moment get the better of me." He chuckled. "Still gotta work on that."
"I appreciate it, Stanley," Ford admitted. "And I understand the way you reacted completely. I… just didn't want to add to our worries, even if doing so might have broken my bad habit of not trusting my own family." He fidgeted with a strand of his grey fluffy hair. "I suppose that's why I'm so amazed that you still forgave me. For everything."
Stan smirked, a hint of real gratitude in his smug reaction. "Eh, had to do it someday. Plus, that's kinda our thing now if you think 'bout it: The Forgive-a Bros!"
Dipper groaned. "Ugh, please do not."
Stanley chortled. "You sure? What if it's been Bill Cipher talkin' this entire time!" He mocked the entity by covering one of his eyes—a display which only earnt an eye roll from the two Pines who witnessed it.
"Aw, don't worry, Grunkle Stan," Mabel piped up, letting out a yawn and snuggling next to Stan after having been shaken from her intermittent state of slumber. "I'm sure if that dumb triangle was still there you wouldn't have made such a good Stan impression."
"Or such a bad Bill one either," Dipper deadpanned, eliciting a series of laughs from the others.
"God, I…" Stan bit his lip. "You two runts—ya gave me somethin'a live for, you know that?"
"Aw, Grunkle Stan," Mabel mumbled, "are you going soft on us?"
"Me? Soft? Never!" Stanley fired back. "I'm just pullin' a usual businessman stunt. Yeah, complimenting you 'ta make you fall asleep faster! That's when I can pickpocket without anyone watching!"
"You might have Ma's knack for shifting the truth around," Ford mentioned, eyes closed, "but I think you also share her soft spots."
Stan let out a chuckle. "I ain't gonna confirm nor deny that."
Listening to the playful banter between the other three was enough of an indicator for Dipper that things were well on their way to being normal again. His idea was further supported once they finally regained the vigour which they had been stripped of only hours prior: that signature comfortable silence which was the envy of most other families.
"Hey, this is nice," Dipper stated, wrapping himself under the comfort of an immobile Ford's arm. "Let's stay up here for a bit."
"Good thing the sweater Mabel made is so warm, otherwise I don't think I would still be kickin'," Stan whispered. "And both'a them are already out. Guess we're stuck here no matter what."
Dipper positioned himself as best he could in the confines of his half-wooden, half-turtleneck bed, slurring out, "Don't worry, Grunkle Stan"—he lowered his head—"I'm right behind them."
"A'ight then," Stan said in the lowest possible tone Dipper had ever heard from him, "see ya on the other side, kid. And don't fall off."
With that sign of parting, Dipper felt his eyes closing and his body letting up to the whims of his physiological needs. Where he and his family could count the seconds in resting throughout the remainder of September 1st, the scarlet dawn also awakened that which was left; their future did seem bright in spite of the past coated in pain and blight. Sure, it wasn't as though their problems were resolved and they were all completely content—for one, it was the last time they were going to be able to enjoy their own company in person for at least a year. And yet, Dipper absent-mindedly mused, whatever happened further down the road, there was great satisfaction in knowing that Stan and Ford would still be sailing the world in the Stan'O-War II, he and Mabel would still subject to the horrors of puberty, and Gravity Falls would still be the crazy, sleepy paranormal crevice of the earth.
Even if he made those horrid mistakes, even if he let himself and those he cared about down—so what?
There would always be an avenue to shine further, and there would always be people he could trust to realign his chartered course so that he wouldn't crash and so that he could do the same for others in time. If he needed to, he'd start over, and Mabel would have forgiven him. If Mabel needed to, she'd start over, and he would have forgiven her. There didn't need to be a fairytale ending for any of them after facing the fairytale because there would've been no future or growth had they been given one.
Dipper was well aware that itself was as fairytale of a conclusion as he could've come to. So before he effortlessly succumbed to the void again, he let out a small laugh at the great irony in how his tired mind bore no resistance against that paradoxical joy he'd let himself relish in.
Because in its own weird, Gravity-Falls-like improbablе way, it made sense.
Which was all he had ever really asked for the entire summer.
Somewhere out in the borders of the universe lost to time and space, a fragmented entity of many shattered forms grovelled once more at the ruination of his plans to break the Pines family's spirit and his lack of foresight when it came to how impeccably united those four denizens of the Mystery Shack truly were…
Go back.
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