This came to mind as I was pondering the question of a third season. If I were to write it, what would it focus on? This was a product of that. Plus, there needs to be more Ford and Dipper family fluff pieces out there. Read and Review, as always.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Otherwise, the entire third season would be alternating between Dipper and Ford's adventures and Stan and Mabel's misadventures.

Ford was resting easy in his bed. Well, easy was putting it rather lightly. He had a bandage around his left shoulder and another one around his middle. The reason for the bandages was due to wounds he inadvertently got during another one of Dipper's and his adventures. They had been investigating a glade near the crashed alien spaceship, and there were some things he had brushed off that maybe he shouldn't have. At least he got the kid out of there without a scratch. Poor Dipper; the kid's luck was so bad he triggered several hidden traps and got the attention of a new variety of creature. It was another animal hybrid, a combination of a mink and lynx, swollen three times what he guessed the normal size. What new name should they come up with for it? Mynx? Lynkx? Lymink?

He sighed as he set down Journal 3, his pen, and rubbed his eyes. They were getting to the point where he'd have to start another journal. No, not just himself, not anymore. It would be the first journal he'd ever have collaborated on with anyone, and not just anyone. His apprentice would be the coauthor. Fiddleford might have been mentioned in the previous journals, but Dipper would be aiding in their creation. A feeling of pride in his boy swelled in the pit of his stomach. The child was a genius, and he was being shaped by another genius. Together, they'd do great things. The door creaked before swinging open. Ford blinked in surprise.

"Dipper, shouldn't you be in bed?" The teenager shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"I… I couldn't sleep."

"Understandable." Ford patted his bedside. "Want to keep me company for a bit? I want to record what we saw today, and your observations are just as vital as mine. Besides, between all the drugs I'm on I'm starting to nod off." Compliments of Mabel and Stan, overprotective as ever. At least Stan and he had finally replaced the couch with the bed. He wouldn't be near as comfortable if he had to recover on that lumpy piece of furniture. He saw the boy nod eagerly and then walk towards the bed. Gazing at his apprentice, he felt a sudden stab of apprehension. The walk, it was stiff, slow, and was he favoring one side over another? Oh no.

"Dipper," he began, trying to maintain a calm voice, "you're not hurt, are you?" Oh Lord, if the boy did get hurt after all…

"No," Dipper said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. Ford maintained eye contact, raising one eyebrow up. "Except for bruises and a possible sprained ankle. Otherwise, I'm all right." The boy's gaze was fixed on him, looking all too concerned. "You took the worst hits." Ford shrugged, wincing with the action. The pull on his left shoulder seemed to feel more strained or torn muscle than something suspicious that didn't belong (with which he had plenty of experience). Hopefully he was correct; he preferred regular claws to poisoned claws.

"It's okay, Dipper. It was only a scratch." The pain bled out into his voice, and he hated how that seemed to bring down Dipper's entire countenance. He didn't want to trouble his apprentice needlessly. He could still hear the boy's panicked voice stumbling as he tried to speak, as frantic as his attempts to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, over the past year the boy had put on height as well as muscle, and was able to transport Ford back to the mystery shack. "It's good to know that the first aid and trauma classes we took are paying off," he tried with a smile. According to Dipper's remaining frown, he wasn't buying it.

"Grunkle Ford," the boy said, his teenaged voice cracking with emotion. Ford gestured for him to sit down; the kid did so gingerly. He hoped that Dipper had been telling the truth about only having bruises and ankle issues as injuries. "You… you pushed me out of the way." He heard a breath inhaled sharply, and knew tears were coming. He understood. If the roles were reversed – almost had been, if he hadn't been quick enough – he'd be guarding Dipper's bedside until the boy could get back out and about. He'd also have the complimentary amount of guilt for not protecting the boy. He'd wager that Dipper was feeling something very similar right now, and he wanted to reassure the kid.

Leaning forward and trying hard not to wince as he did so, he wrapped his arms around his apprentice. He hugged his boy hard as he tried to lean back against the comfort of the pillows stacked against the headboard. Tried was the key term. His breath hitched as pain flared up again in his midsection.

"Great Uncle Ford!" He heard rustling on his bed as Dipper hugged him back, and in doing so helping him control his movement backwards. "What are you doing? Don't move so much!"

"Sorry, Dipper," he laughed, breaths deepening once again. He shifted against the pillows, adjusting himself to a more comfortable angle. "I just… just wanted to comfort you. I'm sorry that I scared you."

"You should be!" Dipper's eyes were wide as he pulled back, one arm still wrapped around his shoulder. Ford would have felt wounded if not for a sweaty hand wrapped around his. With the strength of that grip, he would have joked that Dipper was going to cut off his blood flow. However, he decided against it given the boy's current state. "You… you shouldn't have had to protect me, Grunkle Ford! I should have seen those traps earlier. It was my fault you got hurtandnowyou'reinbedandyou'restucktherebecauseofmymistake –"

"Dipper! Dipper, slow down!" Ford wondered for a moment if he needed to address his nephew's tendency to ramble, before shoving it to the back of his mind. It could wait. "Dipper, I understand you're blaming yourself. It's perfectly natural reaction. But, Dipper, I want you to know that I blame myself too. I didn't think about looking for the traps first, or for any animals that we may disturb. When I heard the 'click', all I could think of was to make sure you weren't harmed. I couldn't bear – I can't lose you, Dipper," he finished, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"But I can't lose you either!" Dipper exclaimed back. The kid looked really shaken up. "I don't like seeing you hurt over and over again. This is just the beginning of summer too, and I could have taken my share of pain this time." Ford sighed, absently combing through Dipper's hair.

"I know, my boy. I know you can take pain and still keep going." He had proven that time and again last summer, up to and after they had defeated Bill. "But I don't want you to, not if it's within my power to prevent. I'm the one getting us into all these dangerous situations, and I'm supposed to be the older, wiser one." Dipper still looked like he wanted to protest, and that meant Ford had to play his trump card. "Besides, what would you tell your parents?"

He already knew that the children's parents were none the wiser. Being typical Californians, they were laid back in regards to everything, unless it was how their children were educated. Apparently they didn't know too much about Stan's "work" up in Gravity Falls, or about what all Ford's research entailed. Mabel and Dipper, in introducing them at Christmastime had expressly not allowed the conversation to hover around either of their two grunkles. As a preemptive measure, Mabel and Dipper had spent valuable Skype time instructing their grunkles on previously used cover stories as well as collaborating on future cover stories to use just in case. This is where his brother's con artistry experience came in handy. They had tested it in regards to Ford's reappearance/Stanley's "back from the grave" revelation, tying it to their (upcoming) boat expedition(s), and their family appeared to buy it hook, line, and sinker. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. However, if Dipper came home injured, or a chance visit to the doctor's revealed a certain injury that, like all overprotective parents, they knew wasn't there before, then there'd be no more visits to Gravity Falls. Ford couldn't handle that. Dipper was like a son to him by now, and to not have the teen follow him around and help him with his various experiments would be akin to losing Stan all over again.

Dipper probably felt the same, judging by the look he was giving Ford now. Darn, but that kid could outdo a puppy in looking injured. Ford shifted his gaze to look more apologetic. Up until now, he hadn't been as badly injured on their previous excursions, and even he could admit that this was close enough to scare him too. Meanwhile, his hand never stopped combing through the boy's hair, and Dipper never released his death grip.

"I…" Dipper paused, before continuing in a clearer voice. "I just don't want to lose you too soon." You're not 92 yet, Bill's voice came back to haunt him, as it usually did during moments like these. Ford shut his eyes tight for a moment, willing his mind to let go of it. He had a nephew to reassure, not a potential cause of death to ponder. Plenty of people survived heart attacks. He reopened his eyes to once again take in Dipper's mostly uninjured form.

"I don't want to leave you either." he reassured the boy quietly. "But if I have a choice, I will put your safety ahead of mine. I've had more experience in handling dangerous situations, and as your mentor," his voice caught, "I need to be more mindful of the danger so things like this don't happen again."

"Okay." He felt the pressure on his hand dissipate as Dipper moved off to his left. He came back with Journal 3 and held it up hesitantly.

"So… ready to record what we saw?" Boyish enthusiasm swelled up inside the older man.

"You bet!" He grinned, and he saw his boy grin in response. "Now, where to start?"

"Well, after we mapped out the coordinates of the alien spacecraft…"

A couple hours later, there were two exhausted boys, and one still-not-quite-full journal sitting on the bedside table. Ford saw Dipper gingerly crawl over him and settle in on his – coincidentally less injured – right side. The little knot of tension that formed inside as sleep approached dissipated. There'd be no nightmares for him – either of them – tonight. He encircled the teenager with his arm. Dipper rested his head against his shoulder.

"Grunkle Ford?" Too tired to form words, he simply chose to hmmm? in response. "Can you teach me how to shoot your gun?" That got him awake in a hurry. I haven't been in this dimension for a while. It's okay to give children weapons, right? Riiiiiiiiight.

"What?! Why?" He didn't mean to sound like he was overreacting; Dipper he would trust with weapons much more than he'd trust Mabel. See: Unicorns.

"So I can watch your back."

"I… I…" That wasn't actually a half-bad idea. It was one of the few times Ford was at a loss for words. Dipper must have noticed because he continued.

"If I'm your apprentice, then I need to be prepared to watch your back. That involves being a good shot. You've had to use your gun several times while in the portal, and you might have to again. I want to be prepared to watch your back better." Considering how many times they've gotten into trouble just this summer, Ford knew that the kid's proposal had merit to it. Additionally, he knew that if he refused, Dipper would go to Stan for help, and that was the last thing he wanted. The kids already knew too many questionable skills from Stan from the previous summer.

"Can't argue with you there, son," he yawned. "I'll show you the basics tomorrow." A warm hug enveloped his middle. Despite a sharp flare-up, he hugged the boy back.

"Thanks, Ford."

"You're welcome, Dipper."

Mabel couldn't believe how many picture-perfect opportunities she had been graced with this Second Summer (as her new scrapbook was titled). A sneaky laugh escaped her lips as she adjusted her camera. Click. Ford and Dipper were now memorialized forever in their snuggled state.

Now to hunt down a certain Grunkle so she could have snuggle pictures too. It wasn't fair. Why was she the only one who carried a camera?