Over Gravity

An OTGW and Gravity Falls Crossover

Disclaimer: I own almost none of these characters. They're only mine in my sweetest dreams.

Damn.

A/N: Well, it's been awhile since I've updated this story. Please don't shoot me, but I do have somewhat plausible excuses: high school exams are literally killing me (my stress levels have gone even beyond Up To Eleven by this point) and while I have tried to level it out by working on my review show that's currently in production (still writing script as I'm typing this and filming schedule is tight), but that's not even enough me to wind down and relax. For those of you who know me on Fictionpress and Wattpad (which is what, like, two of you?), I am currently reworking my most popular works into a manuscript that also takes up a lot of time. I might post a preview or something later in the future before I submit it, but I've pretty much given up hope on getting any actual response so I'm probably not even going to bother. Go ahead and tell me if you want me to, if any of you even care, but I'm done trying anymore. Anyway, congrats if you survived my ramblings and try to enjoy this new chapter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to studying. Ugh, geometry, why do you exist?


Gregory William Palmer was only seven years old when he climbed over the tall wall in the cemetery with fifteen year old Walter "Wirt" Harrison Palmer and nearly drowned in the lake after narrowly avoiding a gory demise on those train tracks.

Or, at least, that's what people think.

They never truly do believe the stories he's told of their adventures in The Unknown, always believing it to be a dream of hallucination in the midst of a near death experience. Not even Wirt seemed so sure of what really happened to them. Every time the small child would even vaguely hint at The Unknown, the elder of the two would grow very pale and either made excuses as to leave or would just dance around the subject entirely. Why though?

They had great times in The Unknown: meeting Beatrice, going to that schoolhouse with those funny little animals and that pretty lady that always seemed to sing only sad songs, going and singing in that cozy little tavern with delicious food that he hasn't had since Christmas, meeting Uncie Quincy—even though they weren't really related, riding that ferry and seeing just how special Jason Funderburker really was, seeing Wirt save Lorna from that mean spirit that was hurting him, him beating The Beast...

Didn't that matter at all to Wirt?

Granted, some of the things they saw were pretty scary—that giant were-dog, a possessed cannibalistic Lorna, and especially The Beast come first to mind, although that Adelade lady was pretty weird too—but didn't the good weigh out all the bad? It was in The Unknown Wirt had been at his happiest in a long time, excluding all those times he was actually able to function like a human being around Sara, so that clearly meant he had a little bit of fun.

He still held onto hope though, every time Wirt would ask to borrow his box of crayons.

"Why do you need them?" He'd ask.

"Dr. Hill wants me to draw a few pictures, Greg."

"Can I see them?"

"Maybe later," came the expected reply.


He felt like puking the minute his mother led him into the dimly lit waiting room. She had a sad yet soft little smile on her face, but it wasn't any less comforting. The room was tiny, way too tiny, with very few lamps and rows on rows of filled chairs. Even the walls were a boring cream color. His hands were shaking and the drawings clutched tightly in his hands crumpled with how tightly he was holding them.

Why did he agree to see Dr. Hill again? He was perfectly fine. Why doesn't everyone just believe him for once?

His mother glanced over at him, a glassy look in her eyes and she was clearly biting down on the inside of her cheek. It unnerved him, seeing his mother look at him like that. Looking at him like there was something wrong with him but there wasn't—not at all. So why was everybody looking at him like that?

"Mom, please stop staring at me. I'm already uncomfortable enough just being here," he sighed, running his fingers through thick strands of chestnut locks. The older woman jerked up slightly in her seat and blinked multiple times, like she had been stuck in a pity-fueled trance up into this point. This made him want to throw up even more, but he tried to not focus to hard on the slamming sensation pooling in his gut.

"O-oh, I'm sorry honey. I didn't realize—"

"I-it's fine, Mom..."

He knew it was rude to cut her off like that and the traces of a hurt expression that lingered on her face for a few seconds after this made him feel even more sick, but he already got the gist of what she was going to say and he already felt bad enough just for moping like usual. Instead of trying to make small talk, he stared down at his slim pale hands that laid limp on his lap. The dark red carpet that spread out throughout the room plagued most of his interest however, with the insane amount of faded stains that he really didn't want to know how they came to be.

Then a plastic toy sword smacked him right upside the head.

"Ow!"

Rubbing the back of his head, he glared over his shoulder to see a young boy who looked to be no older than ten. The boy had a very irritated expression on his face and Wirt would say something, but he really didn't want to find what he could do with that sword, fake or not.

"Tucker!" A short woman with curly raven hair and a frumpy sweater marched over to them, her face flushed a blotchy red. The boy immediately scrambles off the chair and tries to look like the sweetest little angel despite that he had literally just swatted a complete stranger for no real reason. His mother roughly grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him by his side and whilst babbling, "Oh my gosh! I am so sorry, sir! I have no idea what's gotten into him! What have I told you about manners?"

"But I'm a knight, mama! And he's the giant! I gotta slay him and then save the princess!"

"Manners!"

Wirt himself flinches at the harsh growling tone she used, but he decided to just sit there in silence awkwardly with his mother and he was then suddenly aware of them being the only few people in the room. Well, that just makes everything just a little less awkward or embarrassing.

The child turned around, face bright red and Greg's trademark puppy stare in full force, and grumbled a small, "M'sorry mister..."

With a face as bright red as a ripe tomato, Wirt coughed in his hand and seemed in his seat uncomfortably for a minute, somehow managing to get out the right words he needed to say.

"O-oh! It's..it's—ahem!—n-no problem at all, m-miss!"

And the award for most awkward conversation goes to—!

"Walter Palmer?"

He froze in his seat upon hearing somebody other than his mother refer to him by anything other than his nickname. It took him a minute to realize that she most likely signed him in that way and that a very impatient looking middle-aged man was standing in the hallway, looking between the two families for him. He actually considered just sitting in his seat quietly and letting it all pass by without any shame, but fate seems to have had other plans in store for him as his mother waves the man over and nudges him lightly on the shoulder, making him cringe very hard.

"We're here."

That's it, he was done for. May god have mercy on his soul...

With both his mother and the man's eyes firmly on him, he sighed and gave into defeat. It was no use trying to hide and thus, he forced himself out of the hard plastic chair he suddenly found a new comfort in and very much reluctantly dragged his feet along after the man, who smiled rather pleasingly and ushered him along.

A glance over his shoulder sealed his fate.

There was his mother, still sitting in the waiting room, giving him a sad smile with glassy eyes. The kid was still swinging his sword all around, much to his mother's agitation. But then the scene became a little less normal, as what looked to be thick black vines began to envelope the entire room. Everyone's skin became eerily pale and even as he got further and further anyway from the scene, he could still somehow see what appeared to be every vein in their bodies bulging against their skin as if it was nothing more than latex. The kid still swung his sword, but this time he seemed to be actually hitting something as with each little slash, some strange liquid that was either black or red spilled all over the floor, staining everyones' clothes while they stayed completely unaware. His mother's eyes glowed bright, so bright it was blinding. As she opened her mouth to speak, he watched as her teeth became jagged and the insides of her mouth were suddenly flushed out by a thick and gooey crimson substance that dripped past her lips and down her body. Her neck looked crooked, bent at an unnatural angle as if it were broken. Was she dead? Was he really looking at his dead mother, straight in the eye? The other woman didn't even look like she was breathing as she laid limp in her seat, all while her kid happily bounced around as dark roots continued to overlap him. Roots started to slowly inch their way out of the waiting room, tailing him.

The man's large and warm hand on his back made him nearly suffer a heart attack, but one glance into those warm brown eyes made him suddenly feel a whole lot safer. So he allowed himself to be led into another room, just trying to block everything out.

"Be sure to tell me how it goes, Wirt..."


Greg came home with his black crayon broken, snapped right in half. It wasn't his fault really; it was mean ol' Jeremy Vincent who decided to throw his box of crayons on the floor during coloring time. He never liked Greg for some odd reason, always calling him names and shoving twigs in his hair after the little boy told everyone he went to school with about his journey to The Unknown. Everybody treated him differently after that, but Jeremy Vincent was definitely the cruelest.

This was bad for a six year old who just wants to help his wonderful big brother out. Wirt always used the black crayon for his pictures and now it was broken. What would he say? Would he hate him for the rest of his life? Little Gregory couldn't bare the thought of Wirt hating him, not after everything he went through. So he did what any panicking kid in his situation would do: he pretended it never happened.

He stuffed the two halves of the crayon into his piggy bank, knowing that would be the last place Wirt or their parents would look. He wouldn't get in trouble now!

Still, he couldn't help but feel a little queasy as he listened in the next room, hearing the sweaty awkward teen curse under his breath as he messed up yet another note for his solo at the recital. Wirt had been practicing a lot lately and Greg would hear every minute of it. Not that there was nothing to worry about, Wirt was a great musician!

He looked over at Jason sitting in his cage, watching the scene play out. Realizing he had an onlooker, Greg glared sternly at the frog and pressed a finger to his lips.

Jason croaked.

"This is just between you and me, Jason Funderburker. No telling, okay? Or no flies for a week!" At least until he found a way to fix the crayon.

Jason croaked again.


Wendy groaned as she sat up, a pounding sensation slamming against her temples. The last thing she remembered was going into that gas station restroom with Tambry and then...wait, where was she?

Leaves provided a nice fusion between her and the hard ground of the forest. Her vision swam and she laid back down, staring up at the high treetops and star graced sky. She honestly felt like she was going to puke again, and for all the wrong reasons.

Where was everyone? She couldn't see any signs that her friends were with her, like footprints or the lingering scent of Tambry's perfume. She was also suddenly aware that she was soaking wet, so all the dirt, leaves, and grass stuck to her like she was glue. Why would they just leave her here like this? Why was she wet? Where was she? It hurt to even think.

"Hello?" She called out, shaking as a sudden gust of wind swept over her soaked body. The sound of her own voice bounced around the forest and she was actually shocked at how scared she honestly sounded. She was a flipping Corduroy! She wasn't afraid of anything! But now this? This is what made her scared?

Her attempt to sit up made her stomach churn in such painful ways and her back slammed against the hard ground as she moaned. It's clear that she wasn't getting up anytime soon, let alone at that very moment if she didn't feel liking coughing her insides out.

"Robbie? Tambry? Lee? Nate? Thompson! Where are you guys? HELLO?!"

She was awarded with an uncomfortable amount of silence for her efforts. With a groan, she closed her eyes and ended up passing out yet again. She failed to notice that in the bushes not too far from where she laid, there was a soft rustling.