The sacred grove was a bit different than the surrounding coniferous forest. A ring of trees of different varieties (Dipper could identify ash, hazel, apple, elder and yew among them) surrounded a clearing, at the center of which stood a massive, imposing, ancient oak tree.
"Okay," said Dipper, craning his neck to look up at the giant oak, "Now that we're here, what do we do?"
"Um, I think we—"
Dipper interrupted Grenda. "You think? I thought you said you knew how to get into the Green Realm!"
"Give me a minute," said Grenda with a scowl. "The last time my dad took me to the Green Realm to visit my great grandad was when I was, like, four years old."
Sighing, Dipper approached the tree and laid a hand on it. The tree seemed to move, and Dipper jumped back in shock as a wide, dark hole opened in the trunk of the oak, stretching all the way to its base, almost like a cave.
"Oh right, that's what you do," said Grenda.
A familiar form walked out from the darkness of the hole, and Dipper's heart leapt in fear. The creature wore a hooded, dark green cloak, from under which emotionless, black eyes glinted. His skin, weathered bark. He held a heavy wooden staff, appearing to be made of living wood, with leaves sprouting from it.
"Who seeks entrance to the Green Realm, domain of His most excellent Majesty, The Green Man?" the Green Guardian uttered, his voice rough as sandpaper.
"Grenda, daughter of troll clan Oddlock, and my companion Di—"
"DINGUS MCFARGLE," interrupted Dipper loudly.
Grenda glanced sidelong at Dipper and raised an eyebrow. The Green Guardian, however, nodded, and stood aside, motioning for Grenda and Dipper to enter the hole in the tree.
The companions walked in inky darkness for several seconds. Suddenly, they felt a resistance to the air, like they were walking into a wall of spider webs. Dipper's skin felt like it was crawling. The resistance in the air ceased as suddenly as it occurred, and Dipper and Grenda broke through to bright, early morning sunlight, and a landscape entirely unlike the one they had just left.
They had entered the Green through a hole in an enormous oak tree on this side as well, but this oak stood alone, the sole tree in a field of colorful wildflowers. The high meadow sloped gently down to a dense, verdant forest. The sun glinted off the surface of a lake at the far side of the forest, and snowcapped mountains towered in the distance. The temperature felt like that of a perfect spring day, a light breeze gently whispering through the wildflowers. Dipper stared at the landscape before him in awe. Grenda snorted.
"Dingus McFargle? Really?" she said with a chuckle.
Dipper scowled. "I panicked. I had the sudden remembrance that when we were attacked by the Green Guard, Wendy was screaming my name. I don't want to alert them to my presence here. At least, not yet."
"Yeah, that makes sense, I guess," conceded Grenda. "Still… Dingus? Do I have to call you that now?"
"It was the first name that came to mind," said Dipper. "And no, pleasedon't call me Dingus."
"Okay, Dingus," said Grenda with a smirk.
"Shut up," said Dipper, halfheartedly. He gestured to their picturesque surroundings. "So, this is awesome. Where do we go from here?"
Grenda shrugged. "I dunno."
"Really? Really?!" cried Dipper. "What kind of a crap guide are you, anyway?"
"The kind that at least got you here," growled Grenda. "I can turn around and go right back through this tree if you're just gonna be mean to me."
Dipper sighed and hung his head. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It's extremely nice of you to help me. I just—" he paused and scratched the back of his neck.
"This is just all really overwhelming. In the span of two days I finally acquire the girlfriend of my dreams, then subsequently lose her. I find out that she's been kidnapped to another realm, and that, oh, by the way, she's not entirely human. I don't care about that—I just want her back. So in order to get into the Green Realm, this crazy satyr god dude turns me into some sort of crazy satyr god dude, junior. Then he says I'll find my guide to the Green Realm at the Mystery Shack, and peaces out without any further help or explanation."
"Huh," grunted Grenda. "I can see why you might be a bit testy."
"So, I know you don't know, but where do you think we should start heading?" asked Dipper.
"Maybe through that forest down there, in the direction of the lake?" guessed Grenda. "Settlements tend to congregate around water sources. Maybe we can find someone to help us."
"I guess that's a better plan than just standing here," said Dipper. "I just wish we had a map, or something."
To Dipper's surprise, a roll of parchment suddenly appeared in his hand.
"Woah," said Grenda, "Did you just do magic?"
"I—I guess I did," said Dipper, blinking in surprise. "Maybe I just had to be in the Green Realm before my magic could manifest for the first time?" He excitedly unrolled the parchment.
On the parchment, there was a crude map, appearing to have been drawn in crayon. At the top two stick figures stood by a big tree, next to the statement "You are here." A dotted line trailed down through multicolored dots, into swirls of green, over next to a big swathe of blue, then on toward a bunch of M's that looked like they were supposed to be mountains. There was an X on the other side of the mountains, and next to it, the statement "You need to go here."
"You have got to be kidding me," mumbled Dipper.
Grenda peered over his shoulder. "Hey, you made a map," she said, slapping him jovially on the back. "Good job!"
"If this can even be called a map," said Dipper, as he folded it up and stuck it in the pocket of his borrowed jeans.
"You probably just need to practice," said Grenda. "Now, it looked like we should head in a general sort-of that way, over there direction," she continued, gesticulating toward the forest below them. "Let's get moving."
Dipper resettled the pack on his shoulders, and followed his guide, as they waded through the field of wildflowers, toward uncertainty.
/
The Mystery Shack was quiet. Mabel and Pacifica manned the gift ship for Soos while he and Melody went to the nursing home to visit Soos' Abuelita. A couple families stopped by the shack to see the oddities on their way back home from their Christmas travels, but for the majority of the morning, the Mystery Shack sat empty, save for its two bored, teenage occupants.
"Seriously though, Mabel… how did I never realize how hot he is?" gushed Pacifica, who had been obsessing over Dipper nonstop since his departure.
"Okay, number one: ew. That's my brother," said Mabel, grimacing. "Number two: you never realized it because he wasn't. He was a tall, awkward thirteen-year-old with noodle arms. He only looks like that now because a godtook it upon himself to age Dipper and turn him into Goat Boy."
"But…abs…" Pacifica trailed off, her eyes glazing over.
"Ugh. I can't keep listening to this," said Mabel, walking out from behind the counter. "I'm going outside for some fresh air. C'mon Waddles."
Mabel sat on the porch of the Mystery Shack, hugging her knees, Waddles curled up in a ball beside her. The day was gray and chilly, but at least it wasn't raining or snowing. Mabel sighed, her breath coming out in a puff of steam. She decided she needed to pull her sweater over her head and enter sweater town.
Mabel always tried to keep a positive outlook on life, and be everyone's little ray of sunshine—but she was having a difficult time staying positive knowing her best friend, her brother, and his girlfriend were in another world, and she had no way of helping them, or even knowing if they were okay. Plus, stupid Puck had gone and aged her brother, and made him a satyr. She knew that Dipper would always be her bro-bro, but with his sudden transformation, she felt like she had lost a piece of herself. Mabel sniffed, and absently wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. Waddles stuck his head under her sweater and oinked at her softly.
"Thanks for emotionally supporting me Waddles," murmured Mabel. The pig backed out of the sweater, and leaned up against Mabel, his solidity and warmth comforting her.
"I like your pig!"
Mabel jumped, and popped her head out of sweater town, embarrassed that a guest had snuck up on her. Waddles perked up and trotted over to the stranger like he had known her his whole life, jumping up on her like a dog.
The sneaky visitor was a delicate-looking young woman, possibly in her late teens, with a long, untamed mass of black, intensely curly hair framing a soft, heart-shaped face. She wore faded, ripped jeans, and a yellow and black flannel shirt open over a black tank top. Her wide, blue eyes sparkled with delight as she scooped Waddles up and brought him to her face, giggling and letting him wuffle her with his snout.
"Peace to you, my friend," she said to Waddles as she sat him back on the ground, then turned and nodded to Mabel. "And to you as well."
"Uh, right back at you…" said Mabel awkwardly, standing up and wiping the residual tears from sweater town off of her cheeks. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come up."
"I apologize for startling you," the girl said. "I am used to walking quietly in the woods, so as not to disturb the animals. My name is Arden. What is your name, and that of your handsome friend here?" Arden asked, gesturing to Waddles.
"I'm Mabel Pines. This is Waddles, my porcine emotional support system."
"I am not sure what… that means… But his clothing is quite spectacular," said Arden, gazing at Waddles' vest. "I have never before seen so many jewels on one garment."
Mabel giggled. "It's just bedazzled. Not that he doesn't deserve real jewels. I just don't have that kind of money."
Arden cocked an eyebrow. "What is 'bedazzled?'"
"You're not from around here, are you?" asked Mabel. "And by here, I mean the United States."
Arden pouted. "I was hoping to fit in. I am doing a foreign exchange this semester at the local secondary school. How could you tell?"
"Well, aside from not having ever heard of bedazzling, you don't talk like you're from here," said Mabel.
"I thought I was doing good at my English," said Arden with a sigh.
"Oh, you are," said Mabel quickly, realizing she had made the older girl feel bad. "If you have a foreign accent, I can't tell. It's just, your syntax is, I don't know, differenty. Kind of more formal sounding than I'm used to hearing."
"Oh," said Arden, perking up. "That is not so bad, then. So do you live here, at this Mystery Shack? I saw it when I first came to town and was very interested in what mysteries are being displayed."
"I don't live here now," said Mabel. "I did over the summer, though. The 'mysteries' here are nothing compared the mysteries of the town of Gravity Falls itself." She grinned. "Come on in and I'll tell you all about my summer here."
Mabel and Waddles led Arden into the Mystery Shack. Mabel was so happy to have a new friend with whom to share her summer adventures that she almost forgot to be worried about Dipper, Grenda, and Wendy. Almost.
/
"Finally," panted Dipper, dropping his pack and collapsing in the shade of a tree at the edge of the wood. "That field of flowers was… a lot bigger than it looked." He glanced at the tiny speck of an oak tree in the distance.
"Lightweight," muttered Grenda.
"Hey!" said Dipper, offended. "Goat legs! Just got them yesterday, okay?"
"Well, if you'd take off those stupid, baggy pants, I bet you wouldn't constantly be tripping and slowing us up," said Grenda, frowning.
"For the love of—not you too!" cried Dipper. "Pacifica tried like three or four times to get me out of my pants last night!"
"What?! No! Ew! Don't flatter yourself," said Grenda with a laugh. "I just—no. Ew."
Dipper felt his whole face turn red.
"She's right, you know!" called a melodic, male voice from somewhere in the treetops.
Startled, Dipper tried to jump to his hooves, but he tripped and stepped on the hem of his baggy jeans, not only falling down, but pantsing himself in the process.
"Aaaand case in point," said the voice, breaking into a fit of giggles.
"Who's there?!" cried Grenda, quickly unstrapping her maul, and taking a fighting stance, her eyes scanning the trees.
"Woah, calm down there, She-Hulk," said the voice. "I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to."
"Who are you?" asked Dipper, getting back to his feet and readjusting his jeans. "Whereare you?"
"I'm up here," said the voice. Dipper and Grenda glanced up, and saw a small metal cage hanging from the uppermost branches of the tree directly next to Dipper's shade tree. Inside stood a tiny, gnome-size man with wild, ginger hair, and a magnificent matching beard. He was dressed in an old-fashioned red suit that had clearly seen better days. His green eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was bulbous and red. He stuck a hand through the bars of the cage and waved at them.
"Hello!" said the miniature man cheerfully. "Would you be so kind as to help a fellow out and spring me from my confinement?"
Dipper looked at Grenda. "What is he? Is he safe?" Ever the useful guide, Grenda once again shrugged.
"Uh, I'm right here!" cried the man. Dipper heard him mutter under his breath, "Rude."
"Fine," said Dipper, crossing his arms. "What, and who, are you…sir?"
"I suppose the best way to explain it is… you know what a leprechaun is, right?" he asked, his face pressed up against the bars of his prison.
Dipper nodded.
"Well, I'm one of the leprechaun's lesser known extended family," said the man. "We're called clurichaun. I'd say we're kind of like… the annoying drunken cousin who always starts fights at family gatherings."
"Oh, that sounds delightful," said Dipper sarcastically.
"Sounds like my cousin Floyd," commented Grenda.
"Hey, you asked. I'm just being honest," said the man. "The name's Beagán Aisteach. It's a pleasure to meet you. And you are?"
"I'm Dipper, and this is Grenda."
"Beacon Ash-ticks?" said Grenda, furrowing her brow. "What kind of name is that?"
"Well, I don't know; what kind of name is Grenda? Besides, that's not my name. It is Beagán Aisteach," he said, slowing down the pronunciation of his name.
"Bacon Ostrich?"
The small man facepalmed. "Yes. Fine. Sure. My name is Bacon Ostrich. Can you please help me out, now?"
Laughing, Dipper said "Okay, Bacon. First, you tell me what you did to get locked in that cage, and then I'll consider helping you."
Bacon heaved a dramatic sigh. "Let's just say that gods of wine and plenty don't appreciate it when someone breaks in to their wine cellar, and drinks all their best vintages until passing out."
"I can see where they might find that irritating," remarked Dipper. "I guess we can try and get you out. What do you propose we do?"
"Uh, you're a satyr," said Bacon.
"And you're a tiny, alcoholic man," said Dipper. "If we're just going to play 'state the obvious.'"
"No," said Bacon, impatiently. "I mean, use your satyr magic to pop the lock. I can climb down once you do that."
"Yeah, I have no idea how to do that," said Dipper honestly.
"I—what—you—" sputtered Bacon.
"He can make maps!" Grenda offered.
"How did you make the map?" asked Bacon, eagerly.
"I just sort of wished I had a map," said Dipper. "And then I was holding one. I have no idea how I did it. I didn't mean to. It's not even a very good map," he added.
"Just my luck," muttered Bacon. "Of all the satyrs to run into, I get the one who is completely clueless."
"Okay," said Dipper, holding up his hands. "In my defense, I was only transformed into a satyr yesterday. And the god who transformed me wasn't very forthcoming with the details."
"Oh, so you're a newbie," remarked the clurichaun. "Which god transformed you, then?"
"Puck," said Dipper.
"That figures," said Bacon, swearing softly under his breath. "That arse probably thinks that was hilarious, sending you off as a satyr with no clue as to how to actually bea satyr. The pants thing, for instance… he should have told you that satyrs don't wear pants. It's just not a 'thing.' Some wear loincloths, but none wear pants. You stick out like a sore thumb, and honestly, you just look plain stupid."
"Well, thanks for the fashion advice," said Dipper. "I guess we'll be going now. Come on, Grenda." The pair started to walk deeper into the woods.
"Wait!" cried Bacon. "Please get me out of here; I'm sorry I said your pants were stupid!"
"Well I'm clearly useless," said Dipper testily. "I don't know how to use my magic. How are we supposed to get you out of there?"
"Do you have anything in that huge pack of yours that you could toss up here for me to pick the lock, maybe?" asked Bacon.
Dipper looked at Grenda. "Do I?"
"Honestly, I have no clue," said Grenda. "Mabel did all the packing so I could get some sleep before our journey."
"Crap, you let Mabel do all the packing?" groaned Dipper. "That means it's probably filled with fifty pounds of 'emergency glitter.'"
"In…in what type of emergency would one require fifty pounds of... glitter?" asked Bacon.
"Dipper," said Grenda. "You're not being fair. Your sister was scared to death for you. She asked me what would be important to pack, and took it really seriously." She paused. "There's probably only a littleemergency glitter."
"Chop, chop," called Bacon from above. "Find me something to pick the lock—I'm practically dyin' of thirst up here!"
Dipper swung the pack off his shoulders, setting it gently on the ground. He moved slowly and deliberately, just to spite the demanding little clurichaun whose cage was swaying in the breeze above him.
At the very top of the pack was small mound of blue and white knitted fabric, with a note attached. Dipper picked it up and read it.
"Hey Dipper, I made this for you so you have something to cover your bits and pieces once you finally realize how ridiculous you look in Soos' old jeans. Please stay safe, Bro-bro! Love, Mabel"
Dipper laughed, and picked up his gift from Mabel. It was a white loincloth, bordered in royal blue, with a blue pine tree in the center.
"Oooo, fancy!" cried Bacon. "Now you can give up those stupid pants and look like a real satyr!"
"Oh, fine," mumbled Dipper. "But only because I'm tired of hearing about it. Turn around, Grenda." He took off the jeans, and secured the loincloth.
"Well, isn't that better now?" asked Bacon, his tone patronizing.
"Actually, the breeze is kind of nice down there," said Dipper.
Grenda grunted. "Gross."
Dipper spent twenty minutes digging through the contents of the pack, looking for something that could be used as a lock pick. Mabel had crammed as many supplies in as she was able. There was, indeed, even a small vial labeled "emergency glitter."
Grenda was bored, and Dipper was getting frustrated. Between the bottomlessness of the pack, and Bacon's constant griping about being thirsty, he quickly lost his patience.
I wish I could just freaking magic the stupid lock open, he thought.
CLICK.
Seriously?Dipper turned away from the pack and looked up. The cage door had swung wide open. The clurichaun stood back from it, his hands up, and his mouth agape.
"I didn't touch it," said Bacon. "It must have been your satyr magic! How'd you do it?" he asked as he nimbly jumped from the cage to the tree trunk, and backed down it with ease.
"Honestly," said Dipper, "I think frustration or desperation may play a big role. I was getting really tired of trying to find you a lock pick."
"So to get you to do magic, we have to be really annoying and do something you would beg us to stop?" asked Grenda.
"I'm good at annoying," said Bacon with a grin. He began rummaging through the pile of displaced contents from the pack. "I know I saw you unpack a canteen… aha!" He held up the red canteen in victory.
"Bacon, wait—that's probably—" said Dipper, but he was too late. Bacon had the cap off and was gulping the contents. Suddenly he stopped drinking, and spat a mouthful of pink, glittery liquid onto the ground.
"Mabel juice," said Dipper, finishing his sentence.
"What," Bacon spluttered, "in the name of all that is holy, did I just drink?!"
"My sister makes this concoction…" began Dipper.
"I don't care," said Bacon. "I just want to know if it's lethal, and if there is an antidote."
"I've tried it before and didn't die," offered Grenda. "Granted, I went partially blind in one eye for like an hour, but then, I drank a whole glass. And Mabel drinks it all the time. You'll be fine."
"Is your sister a witch?" Bacon asked Dipper. "Because that brew is positively evil. I saw me life flash before me eyes…"
"Not a witch," said Dipper. "Just very…unique."
"Ugh, I need to get that taste out of my mouth," said Bacon, grimacing and licking the air. "Pack your stuff back up quickly. I know of an inn not too far from here. I need some whiskey. I think that potion is burning a hole in my tongue."
/
After unceremoniously shoving their supplies back into the pack, the trio hiked for about an hour through the dense forest.
"Okay, I admit it," Dipper said at one point. "You were right. It is much easier to move around without pants on."
Grenda chuckled. "Told you."
Finally the trees began to thin out, and the group came upon a dusty, dirt road. Directly across the road from them stood a sturdy cabin, with smoke puffing merrily from its chimney.
"Ah, the Drunken Ogre," said Bacon, fondly. "My home away from home."
He led Dipper and Grenda inside, which was dimly lit by only a hearth fire and the weak sunlight filtering through windows in desperate need of a wash. The room, which had been filled with chatter only moments before, fell eerily silent.
A lone ogre stepped out of the shadows.
"Well, well, well. Beagán Aisteach. I thought I told you never to show your filthy face around here again."
"Oh, ah, look Nigel," Bacon sputtered. "I never got the chance to explain—" He stopped talking to dodge a flying beer stein.
Dipper started to slowly back toward the door, taking his cue from Bacon, who was doing the same. Grenda, however, was ginning maniacally, and unstrapping the maul from her back. A wooden tankard came flying at them. That was all it took.
"BAR FIGHT!" cried Grenda, running at the patron who had thrown the tankard. A deafening roar broke out, and suddenly a mass of magical and mythical creatures, including ogres, trolls and even a centaur surged forward, and Dipper was pulled into the fray.
As he saw the gigantic, mottled, green ogre fist come flying at his face, all he could think was "Aw crap, this is really gonna suck."