There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other.

– Douglas H. Everett

Two days after Weirdmegeddon, Mabel locked herself in her room and didn't come out for an entire day. She only emerged at around ten 'o clock at night, when she was lured by the concepts of food and water. Even then, even with her family surrounding her and prodding her for answers, she said nothing, ate six frozen waffles, and tried to go back upstairs.

Dipper grabbed her and pulled her back by one of the long sleeves of her sweater. The two wrestled with each other until they were pulled apart by their Great-Uncles.

And Mabel had cried. She'd simply colapsed into a bawling mess, and for near half an hour, she just lay on the ground and sobbed. She was surrounded by her family the entire time, and the three sat and waited patiently, saying nothing for fear of disstressing the young girl even more.

When the tears turned to sniffles, and Mabel rubbed her eyes with balled fists, Stan had taken her by the shoulders, lead her back into the kitchen and sat her down at the table.

"We're worried about you." He'd said softly, sitting accross from her, and his eyes showed what he was saying was genuine. "What's wrong, pumpkin?"

Mabel had swallowed, not looking at him.

"Is any of this real?" She'd asked. "Is it over? Am I home?"

"Of course it is!" Exclaimed Dipper, who was standing next to his sister, indignantly. "We won. You saw it happen!"

"How do I know that's real? Everything's been so great, and in MabelLand everything was supposed to be great! This could just be a stupid illusion to make me happy!"

"But are you happy?"

"No. This could be fake!"

"It could." Stated Ford from the doorway.

"Wh-," Stan had begun, but Ford had given him a look and continued.

"It could be fake. But if it were, why would Bill created not one, but two ways he could be defeated? Why would the way he was be because of an oversight? I think, Mabel, if Bill had wanted you to belive he had been defeated it would be through some ridiculously complicated means, something that would never have been possible if you were to escape."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. I could be a construct of your imagination. I honestly don't know. I-,"

"But if you was-," Began Stan, seemingly struck with an idea, before he was interupted by Ford.

"Were, Stanley."

"Fine. But if you were, would you be telling her that? What do you think, Mabel?"

Mabel thought about it for a moment.

"No." She finally decided. "He'd be trying to reassure me, like Dipper was."

"Exactly." Said Stan, poking her nose. "Only Dipper is a construct."

"What?! No!"

Mabel turned to him. "You're really not helping your case."

"Mabel! I'm not a- I mean, I could be a construct. There. Are you happy?"
"Yes. What about you, Grunkle Stan? Could you be a construct?"

"Yeah, probably. Though I wouldn't know."

And Mabel was happy, if only for that moment. Sure, it was possible it was all still a lie, but for now, she was fine with being convinced.