Stan had listened intently, but was - naturally - the first to speak when his great-nephew was done. "...Alright, like if you'd have told me that a giant lizard was in charge of the universe a year ago, I'd think you were all freakin' crazy."

"And now?"

"You're still freakin' crazy, but it all makes a little too much sense. And I'm not into that."

Ford chuckled and slapped his brother on the back. "It's only a theory, but I've heard plenty of musings on it over my time. I once visited a dimension entirely dedicated to praising him. It was just a chapel of aliens bumping their faces against the window and eating tiny worms."

"Did you - did you join it?" Pacifica asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Well, when in Rome." The scientist shrugged.

An awkward silence took over, briefly. Pacifica wasn't sure if she wanted to hear all about Ford's adventures, or hear as little as possible. She was beginning to get the impression that the old scientist had done a lot of really, really bizarre stuff.

"So," Stan continued, still unpicking the nature of the situation. "Preston's got some creepy book from a creepy library, the literal freakin'...space salamander has a warning for us and what? Thinks the lake has an Excalibur or something?"

"I think it's a bit more complex than that." Ford huffed, rubbing his unshaven chin. It had been a few days now since he last blowtorched his face, and it was beginning to show. "It sounds like it was meant to be cryptic."

"So it's a pretentious space salamander. Wonderful."

Mabel wiggled her feet as they spoke, perched on what had once been a Clurichaun kitchen counter. "So like, if the Northwests do some really creepy stuff-"

The Northwest heir piped up. "My mom wouldn't let dad go totally crazy. She's reasonable."

"You told me she put mascara on you when you were a couple of months old." Mabel retorted.

"Y-yeah, but- but- When you're rich, you can like - afford a good eye doctor." Pacifica stammered. "...Oh my god, they're both insane."

"They're definitely both insane, sweetie," Stan said, patting her shoulder. "Now, back to Dipper's dream about the intergalactic newt and how we might have to save the town from a lake monster."

"We don't even know what it's supposed to mean." Dipper groaned, holding his aching head. "We know that 'dimension lines' are being torn open, we know some historic guy's coming back, that Bill's in a bit of a spot… and what? That Pacifica's folks are upset?"

Mabel was fiddling with her grappling hook while the family mused on the message. "I think we all kinda worked out the last bit."

"Do you think Quentin could help?"

Everyone's eyes shot to a rather sheepish Pacifica Northwest, who clearly took absolutely no pleasure in suggesting the errant, eccentric president as a solution to their little problem. The group of them twisted their lips, almost in unison.

Pacifica figured it was one of those freaky twin things.

"I mean, Quentin was around when the coverup was done, and if- if I think of what my dad's like, I kinda think he'd want to go back into our family's past, and-"

She found herself stammering and struggling to justify her own words. It was hard. As she had continued with the Pines, she had gained a healthy dislike of not particularly enjoying being the centre of attention when it came to theories.

She bit her lip and twiddled her fingers together. "I think they're going to-"

"Go on." Ford smiled. "You're a bigger expert in the Northwests than any of us. We trust you."

"I think he's gonna try doing something really dumb. Like, have you guys noticed how much of this summer is about this town's history? There's no way this isn't gonna link up. Dad's gonna get a ghost or-"

"A ZOMBIE!" Mabel shouted excitedly.

Pacifica blinked. "Eh, I mean, maybe?"

Dipper tapped his chin and took a mental note that he still didn't have facial hair. Which sucked. "So if I was Preston Northwest, and I was thinking of the most imposing thing I could do-"

"There's only one Northwest I can imagine the town being really scared of," Pacifica said. "Like, really scared of."

"...And that's why Quentin's the perfect man to turn to!" Dipper blinked.

"You're a genius, Paz!" Mabel chirped happily. "Wow!"

"What? What's the answer?" Stan blinked, having had his pinkie finger halfway inside his ear.

"The Northwests are going to go back to where it all started," Ford said, staring dramatically at a brick wall. "Nathaniel Northwest could be due a comeback."

"Freakin' H!" the crook replied. "...You think we could put him in a display case or somethin', once it's all over?"

Ford wrinkled his nose. "You really think there's a business case for a mummified corpse?"

"I mean, Dick Von Dyke is still getting work. HA!"

"Hey!" Mabel shot back. "You should show respect to him, he's a national treasure!"

"Yeah, come on Stan, that's a low blow." Pacifica snorted.

"Alright, alright!" Stan said, eyes wide and hands in the defensive. "Man. Really hit a nerve there."

"Thing is," Dipper asked, trying to ignore the minor conflict, "could he even do that without the Journal?"

"Definitely." Ford sighed. "I suspect the only reason he didn't use the Northwest library of occultism at the start of summer is that he was scared of it. Now, things are a little more serious now than his daughter having a job."

"Man. What I'd do for a few hours in there." His young protege whispered.

"It's like the library of Alexandra for goths and weirdos." Ford chuckled. "Valuable, but dangerous."

"Not that this isn't interesting, but I think we should probably get honking, right?" Mabel beamed, pulling out the goose call. "Get a little honk on? A honk-toot-medley? A little-"

Her Grunkle Stan swiftly interrupted the tangent. "Just play the kazoo, sweetie."

Mabel did as she told. Ford stood there, hands in his trenchcoat pockets, visibly dreading the return of the president. "I'm hoping he'll be subtle this time. Quentin doesn't seem particularly well acquainted with stealth."

"Relax." Mabel giggled, spitting the goosecall back into her hand. "He understands how important this stuff is, Grunkle Ford!"

A soft, thundering beat echoed from ground level. A dull, heavy sound that carried a strange, elegant breeze in tandem. Like giant, feathered wing beats. The sound of a disconcerted honk. Muffled screams of townspeople, president and sundry rang out from above as the giant waterfowl unceremoniously bodyslammed through the Crawlspace's ceiling, bringing down an empty station wagon.

It was crunching down on a baker's truck.

A big baker's truck.

"Have no fear! TRRREMBLEY IS HERE!" Quentin bellowed at the top of his lungs, beating his decidedly puny chest with his driving gloves. Or flying gloves. Literally whatever he decided his Plaidypus-skin gloves were meant to be.

Dipper briefly wondered if he'd skinned the animal himself. Bet that was a sight to see.

"See? Pure stealth!" Mabel beamed.

"Oh, yeah, I barely realised he was here," Pacifica replied, dryly.

Quentin Trembley disembarked from his giant goose and scaled the front of the building, singing his own theme tune, as had become habit for the adventuring president. Quite why he had decided to do so when the door was literally right there, and they were on the fourth floor, nobody was entirely certain.

The lanky, tailcoated figure vaulted into the window. He'd at least shaven since the last time they had seen him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?!" He beamed, hands on his hips and underwear clearly on show.

"I'm sure the pleasure is all yours." Ford sighed. "We need some information from you."

"I demand a presidential seat!"

"We have buckets."

"Truly a luxury." He replied, shoving out his coattails before parking his prim posterior. "Very well! Regale me, Pines!"