"This casket is lined with linen and comes with a lovely silk pillow. It would be perfect for your mother's remains!" Mrs. Valentino said in that disturbingly perky voice. Each syllable spoken with her sugary sweet vocal tone drove daggers of fury deeper and deeper into Dipper's soul. He and Ford were going through the unenviable task of planning their parents' funeral. Dipper longed for his sister to be with him too, but he knew that she couldn't handle it now, especially without Stan. Dipper had to work to respect that, but he didn't feel any such obligation to Mrs. Valentino.
"My mom's dead. She can't feel the pillow. She can't feel anything…" Dipper said coldly.
Mrs. Valentino tried to brush it off as she did with all her other clients. "Alright, well how about this handsome mahogany for your dad—?"
"Will you stop being so damn perky?! It's a coffin we're buying, not a car! It's a coffin my sister and I are going to bury our dead parents in! I don't need your fake fucking smiles and your forced cheeriness! It's a funeral, dammit!"
"Dipper…son" Ford said, not realizing how triggering that intended term of endearment was.
"I'M NOT YOUR SON! I'M NOT ANYONE'S SON ANYMORE!"
Dipper banged his fist on one of the coffins. The snap of pain surging through his brain brought his mind back to some form of reality. He knew Ford and Mrs. Valentino were only trying to help, and he shouldn't be too hard on them, but he was still too prideful to admit it out loud.
"Please…I just want to get this over with so we can go home," he whispered in a shaking voice.
—
Later that night, Dipper had pulled out some home movies he had taken from California. He never thought he would be so grateful that Stan was one of the only people he knew to still own a VCR.
He popped in one of the earlier tapes to find a video recording of him and Mabel when they were around two years old. Their dad was making funny faces trying to make them laugh, while Mabel was attempting to mirror him and making him laugh.
All the noise overwhelmed the sensitive young Dipper as he had begun to cry — not unlike what was threatening to happen now, over a decade later.
At that moment, he heard Ford's distinct footsteps. Dipper quickly jumped up and caught the remote in his shaking hands, hoping to turn it off before Ford could come in and find him on the verge of a breakdown.
Then, his mother's voice came through on the video.
"Dipper…" His mother said in a sing-song voice. "Who wants a Lamby Lamby Lamby?"
Dipper replied. "I do! I do!"
Dipper couldn't turn it off now, even if he wanted to. He didn't care that he was crying over an old embarrassing video. Hearing his mother's voice on the recording was a cruel reminder that he'll never hear his mother speak to him again. He can only be an outside observer to the ghost of his mother speaking to the innocent young child he used to be.
This finally sent Dipper over the edge as he dropped the remote on the floor and collapsed into tears.
He looked up at Ford with this heartbreaking expression of humiliation. He turned his head away from Ford, embarrassed to be crying in front of him.
Ford pictured himself at Dipper's age. He had told Dipper all summer how alike they were, but only now did Ford realize the similarities reached deeper than their love of science and mystery. They were both gentle and emotional souls in a world that seldom valued those qualities in men. Ford's own father certainly didn't value those traits. If Ford ever showed such vulnerability to his father, he would scoff at him to "suck it up" or "be a man."
He knew next to nothing about parenting or about being a guardian, but he did know that he did not want to raise Dipper that way. He wanted Dipper to come to him when he was upset, he wanted Dipper to know that he could turn to Ford for comfort, he wanted Dipper to remember him as someone who was there for him during the worst days of his life.
He sat on the floor next to Dipper. He laid his hand on Dipper's back and the boy stiffened slightly. Dipper trembled like he was holding something in that caused his body physical pain.
Ford gently scooped the boy up in his arms. Dipper let out a surprised gasp as he was settled on to Ford's lap. He looked up at his uncle with tears still streaming down his cheeks. Ford looked down at him with nothing but love and sympathy. Even without words, he understood what Ford was telling him. This man, whom Dipper had adored and idolized, whom he wanted to prove himself to, was giving Dipper permission to break down.
He had cried after his parents died, sure, but even when he first found out, he tried to keep himself restrained, mostly to be strong for Mabel. But also, ridiculous as it was at this current time, ashamed of letting his uncles see him cry.
The emotional explosion burst from Dipper as he wailed into Ford's chest, unrestrained, unfiltered. Just pure, raw grief bleeding from him.
Though Dipper felt terrible sadness, he also felt a sense of relief. He didn't have to be a man; he didn't have to be a protective brother; he could just be a little boy who missed his mommy and daddy.
It broke Ford's heart to see Dipper this way, yet, he couldn't help but also feel relieved. He was able to comfort Dipper in his most vulnerable moment, which is more than Filbrick had ever done. It gave him hope that sons do not have to repeat the sins of their fathers, hope that he could be the guardian these kids needed, and hope that he, a man who had planned to spend the rest of his life alone, might find a place in this family.