TW: reference to child abuse
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Chapter Text
The longer Dipper and Mabel were there, the more they felt something was amiss. It affected Dipper most and began small and unnoticeable.
On slow days at the Shack, he found himself staring at the door or out the windows often, even when it came nearing closing time.
At night, while laying in his bed, he'd become moody and would often wake from fretful sleep holding his pillow tightly.
His dreams were filled with horrors he would rather go his whole life not seeing again and of a land that felt too real.
Currently, he'd just returned from working at Manly Dan's lumber mill, ready for a shower after a long day of being around sawdust, sap and dirt. They'd been back about a month and things had been suspicious. Not only because there was that nagging feeling, but certain areas of the woods seemed to become over crowded and not because of a population spike. He continued to mull it all over, walking towards his room after as it'd been awhile since he could think. With him and Mabel moving back in for the time being, things had become a bit chaotic with finding rooms (or making them as with Dipper's case) and settling in.
"Dipper."
He turned his head, looking at Grunkle Ford. "Yeah, Grunkle Ford?"
Out of his satchel, Grunkle Ford took out an old and dusty journal. HIS JOURNAL! "When we were cleaning out the attic, we found this. It was after you both had left so I held onto it. But then the lab got to be a wreck and I finally cleaned-" at Dipper's skeptic look, he cleared his throat, "-was forced to clean, I found it." He handed it over, Dipper gently taking it.
Dipper made a grunt in acknowledgment and felt like a lump was growing in his throat. Clearing his throat, he thanked Grunkle Ford and went to his room, planning to look through it again.
Or so was the plan if Mabel hadn't come home quickly after with unicorn hair and unicorn blood all over her.
The Grunkles then had them help set up the barrier all around Gravity Falls, though Grunkle Ford never explained why while they were doing the job, but did apologize to Dipper for forgetting to tell him. His head began to ache, just a light throb but it was enough for him to wince in the sun.
"Soos said you guys would be out here. Melody made dinner so come on." Paz lazily walked over, hand on hip.
"Thank you, Pacifica. We're almost done here for now. I suppose my calculations were off. We ran out of what we needed and still have half the town to go." Grunkle Ford leaned back, his back cracking.
"Must be your age, Pointdexter." Stan laughed, slapping his knee with a large grin.
"How is that an insult when we're literally the same age, Stanley?" Grunkle Ford rose a brow, crossing his arms.
"Hah! You're only as old as you feel." Stan cackled before his back cracked when he went to lean back in triumph.
"How old do you feel now, huh?" Grunkle Ford laughed, the twins laughing along.
"SQUEEEEEEE-"
They all jumped in alarm, seeing Waddles squealing and running towards the woods.
"What-" Grunkle Ford began as Mabel and Paz ran after the large pig, screaming his name.
"Waddles, no! You're not made for the wild!" Mabel yelled.
"Come back here you dumb bastard! If you die, it's gonna be Hell to pay!" Paz yelled too.
Ford's beeper began to go off as the once mostly clear sky began to darken with loud roars and rolling clouds, the wind picking up so much so that the 'S' on the Shack had fallen again with a loud bang, the tiling crumbling under its weight and rolling off the roof altogether.
"Dammit!" Stan panicked, knowing how much that was gonna cost him.
"Everyone inside! This sudden storm feels off. Dipper, come with me to get the ladies and Waddles." Ford commanded, making sure he had something on him to help protect them in case anything was dangerous.
Dipper nodded, unsure why he hadn't ran after them in the first place, having stared out into the deep steely grey of the clouds. He shook his head. "Got it." He grabbed a hatchet that was near and Grunkle Stan went inside, saying he'll follow once he grabbed his knuckle braces.
Dipper went ahead as Ford began to argue with Stan about staying behind. He hoped they both would stay behind.
"Agh!!! Ow, ow!" Beatrice yelled, clenching her chest only to look through watery eyes, once she gathered her breath, that she couldn't properly grasp her chest and everything around her looked larger. 'Not again!' She groaned in pain, seeing a bloodied wing.
"B-Beatrice…I got you…" Greg whimpered, limping over and dragging the lantern in a light grip.
"Greg! W-what happened?!" She panicked more, trying to move when she could barely see Greg. He sounded hurt or exhausted. "Tell me!" She yelled. She had promised Wirt that she'd watch Greg.
Greg picked her up gently, looking around even as his back was in unbearable pain. "Here," he ripped his shirt, tightening the cloth around her wound; a wound that was fatal to the bird it once was, "we'll find a vet." He went to stand, but collapsed. "Wirt must've taken in all of it. I've never felt this much pain from traveling." He spoke when Beatrice gave him a worried glance.
"Let's get hidden, at least. Hopefully this body will hold out till daylight." She gasped with shallow breaths. It wasn't nighttime, but there was a storm and it was dark enough even with the Beast's lantern. "Which one will we draw out?" She asked softly as she gazed at the strong flicker in the fire.
Greg limply shrugged as he held her close, protected in his grasp. "Not sure. I was in such a hurry, I didn't even think about how they'd get here without the lantern."
It began to rain, or it had been and they just noticed, them both becoming soaked, no matter how much Greg tried shielding her. He was 12 years old now and his figure was still stocky. His mother had cooed, codling him and speaking of how much he looked like his dad.
She never talked about Wirt and Greg wasn't allowed to. Greg wasn't allowed outside her sight either. He hadn't seen Wirt in so long. Just his voice on a rare occasion he was on The Beast's land.
Greg loved those nights. The Siren would sing a lullaby; one Greg remembered Wirt singing him on tough nights. He'd caught a glimpse once, nearing dawn. Wirt looked nothing like himself, but the brief moment of iridescent eyes he stared at was more than enough of a relief. Wirt-no- The Siren would leave immediately after the iridescence left, being replaced by white pinpricks, the song being replaced by a cold seduction, the voice high and echoing across the miles of scenery and buildings.
Greg would cover his ears tightly once that began.
"Hey…it's okay. Get some rest. It took a toll on us both." Beatrice softly pet his cheek with her wing.
Greg took a deep breath, nodding at her with a smile.
He missed Wirt.
"Waddles! Where are you?!"
Greg jolted awake, unsure how long he'd been resting, but long enough where the worst of the storm began to pass. He looked around before remembering Beatrice was hurt. "Beatrice?" He lifted her, hearing her small heart still beating once he put her against his ear. He sighed in relief.
"What's…going on?" She asked weakly as they heard more yelling.
"Wait. I know those voices!" Greg got up as quickly as he could, back throbbing, but not nearly as bad as it had been. "Mabel?! Paz?! Is that you?" He yelled, voice cracking and breaking into a coughing fit.
"Greg, be careful." Beatrice warned, the blood having stained the cloth around her chest.
Before seeing the women, Greg was suddenly approached by a friendly, and snorting Waddles. The pig seemed pleased, squealing and grunting as he sniffed Greg and ate some mushrooms.
Soon enough, right behind Waddles, was Mabel and Paz, soaked, dirty and out of breath. They paused at seeing Greg, as if not expecting a child to be there.
"G…Greg?" Mabel asked softly, after a long silence. "How…" she looked at Paz with a horrified look. "How could we have forgotten?"
Paz looked pained, the same guilt on her own face. It was like going to school with someone then not thinking about them until your memories return at seeing their face. "Mabel. It's okay. Greg? Are you alright?" Paz asked, not used to the sad look on the kid's face.
Greg gaped like a fish. His mind couldn't process what Mabel had said. It had only been…he wasn't sure. Time was complicated between their worlds. He registered the feel of wet and soft feathers against his fingers. "Quick! We have to-to help Beatrice." He limped over, seeing the rain and blood mixture staining his hands as he showed them.
Paz opened her mouth to ask, but with a grunt and push from Waddles, Mabel at least, seemed to understand her swine. "We'll talk later. Let's get back." She bent down, gesturing for Greg to hop on for a piggyback ride.
Greg shook his head. "I'll walk." He held Beatrice close with one hand and held the lantern tightly with the other.
The women looked to each other worriedly, but knew to save it for when they were all warm and safe back at the Shack. They didn't have to worry about Greg being between them as Waddles walked behind Greg. Mabel began striking up conversation, something light, while Greg tried putting his fears behind himself and join in.
Besides…he had to be happy, right? Wirt didn't like seeing him upset.
Dipper began to think he should turn around or go a different direction, having heard no yelling or squealing. It was silent save for the storm. Even while thinking this, his feet still trudged him forward.
His heart began to beat louder, the pulse drumming in his ears. Each crunch of leaves and branches, the wet slap when he'd step in a puddle, began to set the hair on his neck in high alert. His steps began to slow then, trying to be careful to not make noise.
The trees groaned and thin branches fell. Off to his right, he saw the barely there remains of a trail. Looking as best as he could that way, he noticed it led pretty far, but a trail usually meant a clearer idea of location.
Something was told him not to, but he took the turn anyway.
He finally made it through, running his hand through to his soaked hair and getting water from his eyes. "What?" He spoke absentmindedly, stopping at seeing a cabin. Cautiously, Dipper began the slippery walk closer.
After his foot fell through one stair, he proceeded with caution. The door knob was so rusted, Dipper wasn't sure it could open. With the hinges sounding like nails on a chalkboard, Dipper walked in, one of his first thoughts being how it was possible he'd never seen this place.
He wasn't sure when the last time someone lived there, but it was obvious by all the furnishings, that they hadn't moved. Gulping the lump in his throat, Dipper proceeded into the cabin, looking around to see what he could find. Despite the furniture, it felt cold. No indication of person or any photos of loved ones. He searched slowly, even as he walked down the old, splintering walls.
He was coming up with little idea of what had happened there, until he spotted something just inside a room, his curiosity egging him.
There was a ratted blanket on the bed, a couple old and moldy pillows and a…"green stuffed frog?" As he got closer, the light from outside had hit something, shingling a bright glare at his eye.
Dipper went to turn the object, picking it up, and freezing.
A flood of memories came up, as well as the phantom physical touches and feelings he swore he'd never forget.
But he did.
Dipper steadied himself, processing what he'd forgotten. His hands began to shake and he began to panic. "W-where…?" With wide eyes, Dipper tried setting the photo down and he bolted. He ran outside the cabin and back into the woods where he'd eventually find home. He ran hard and rock footed, just trying to not collapse and let his overbearing feelings begin to cloud his eyes with tears.
Hours later, as nightfall had truly fallen, the sky clear with twinkling stars, the photo had long fallen off the perch, cracking the glass completely and revealing a truly happy photo of Greg and Wirt, their grins large at a museum, even as a observer could see the bruising under the shirts and not hidden away.
