A/N: And now, ladies and gentlemen, I humbly welcome you to a new story.

I've been thinking this one up for quite a while: the inspiration arrived from a source I can't explain yet - not without spoiling the entire plot of this damn story - but rest assured, it's been haunting me for months on end. In the end, I couldn't let it go unaddressed and, like all my crazy ideas, I had to put it to paper.

As far as tone goes, it's not going to be quite in as dark and gloomy as All The World's A Toybox or A Special Kind Of Isolation, so we have that much on our side. Rest assured, there will be a good deal of confusion and mystery, so if you don't understand what's going on at first, don't worry: that's kind of the intended effect.

Also, fair warning, there will be a crossover here. But then, I'm sure those of you who've read my other stories will probably have guessed that already; as for what we're actually crossing over with... you'll have to wait and see.

And guess.

The codes will give you a hint if you're in the mood to translate.

So, without further ado, the first chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls is not mine.

...also, once again, we'll be breaking out the codes and soundtrack choices again. Granted, the codes will be a little different this time around, for reasons you'll soon discover, but they'll be at the end of the chapter as always - hinting at what's up next.

And now for the soundtrack for this chapter: Entering The Stargate by David Arnold.

Enjoy.

"Ford, are you ever going to stop messing around out here?"

There was a muffled procession of thuds and rustling from somewhere in the bushes below, followed by several expletives in a variety of alien languages; eventually, Ford emerged from the undergrowth, his hair full of twigs and leaves.

"What was that?" he asked blearily.

Stan sighed. "You've been out back for close to an hour, Ford. Aren't you gonna take a break at some point? Just to take a breath, take in the scenery, maybe have a drink or something like that?"

"…why would I need to take in the scenery? It hasn't changed much in the last thirty years, as far as I can see."

"Ford…"

"Sorry, sorry. I've just been testing the grounds for any sign of interdimensional activity. Bill's statue seemed the most logical starting point, so here I am."

"What for? Bill's dead, and you took the old portal apart. So, now that the Rift's gone, there's nothing to worry about. I mean, unless there's some other gizmo hidden in this forest you haven't told me about. We aren't gonna find another portal around here, right?"

"No, no. I mean, I'm not even sure if the source of the activity's within reach of the Mystery Shack, but I've been picking up anomalous readings all day and a lot of them seem to start off outside. And I admit, I've had my suspicions about this old statue for a while now, so it seemed like the right time to do some tests, just to make sure it hasn't started causing trouble."

"Ford, it's not going to start moving again: I know how security cameras work, and this thing hasn't been up and about since Bill Cipher was alive. He's gone now. So, what's gotten you so damn squirrely today?"

"'That is not dead which can eternal lie,' Stanley."

"What?"

"Old saying. Point is, it's better to be safe than sorry. But you're right, a machine's not likely to be behind this, and Bill isn't either. This kind of threat is quite different: it's the aftermath of Weirdmageddon, basically. We were merged with another dimension for quite some time and even now that the merger's been aborted, there's still a chance of minor ancillary spatio-temporal apertures appearing."

"Minor ancil-what?"

"Think of them as punctures in a bulkhead; this little ship we call our dimension has just been hit by a massive iceberg, and we've managed to patch the hole, but that doesn't mean it's safe to sail on. A collision like this can leave weak points in its wake. On their own, they'll eventually heal and fade away into nothingness… but until then, there's a distinct possibility that they might open up into new hull breaches."

"So, what you're saying is that there might be some weak points out there that could turn into new portals if you don't patch 'em up."

"Exactly. And the two most likely epicentres of weak points would either be this statue or the old portal site in the basement. I haven't checked there yet, but that's my next port of call once I'm done."

Stan quietly steeled himself, bracing himself for the next part of the conversation. Having recovered his memories entirely, he knew full well that as smart as his brother was, he sometimes needed a helping hand to let him know that he was overdoing it.

"And have you found any damage yet?"

"…no. I mean, I've found a lot of anomalous readings, but nothing concrete."

"And what's the chances of you actually finding anything around here? Actually, scratch that: what're the odds of one of these weak points ever opening up if they're not fixed?"

Ford hesitated. "Ten million to one at the most conservative estimates," he said at last. "But that's only in the case of naturally-occurring phenomena. If someone or something were to try and force them open from the opposite side-"

"Come on, Sixer. Who? Bill Cipher's dead, the Henchmaniacs are locked up in the Nightmare Realm and they're idiots anyway. Who's left?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be an intentional effort, you know; some dimensional intrusions can spill over into neighbouring realities-"

Stan leaned over and put a reassuring hand on Ford's shoulder, barely stifling a wince at just how much sweat his brother's coat had absorbed; god only knew why the stubborn old fart was still wearing the damn thing and his turtleneck out here in the summer heat.

"Ford," he said gently, "I hate to break it to you, but you're getting obsessed over something that might never happen and probably never will. Right now, everything's golden: Bill's gone, Weirdmageddon's over, the Mystery Shack's been rebuilt, and nobody died. Best of all, we're all heroes in town and Dipper and Mabel are getting a big birthday bash tomorrow. You can afford to relax for a bit before getting down to the next big project, so why don't you come back upstairs, take a load off, have a drink, and spend some well-earned R&R with the rest of your family?"

"But there's still all these nonspecific anomalous readings I'm picking up-"

"Come on, Sixer. You said yourself the odds are ten million to one. You can afford to switch off for a while now that there's no big outer space boogieman ready to end the world, you know."

There was an awkward silence as Ford considered this; for the first time in decades, he actually looked a little sheepish. "Force of habit," he admitted at last. "I've spent so much time running or hiding or preparing for the worst that I always feel like I'm doing something wrong when I try to put my feet up. I mean, I'm not even sure if I know how to relax except through pen and paper RPGs. I mean, you saw how I got the last time I tried to sit down and watch TV with you and the kids. How am I supposed to sit still when I keep having to think about how well the house is defended? How can I just go back to being… well, who I was before I met Bill?"

"Well, I don't think you can, really. For one thing, you're a lot less crazy than you used to be back in the day. For another, you're a lot tougher than you were – and you've got the right hook to prove it. But take it from an ex-confidence trickster: give it a little time and a little effort, and it's possible to become just about anything. You told me all about how you survived wandering across half the damn multiverse for the last thirty years: if you can do that, you can do anything. Besides, what kind of a genius can you be if you can't figure out how to settle down and relax?"

In spite of himself, Ford actually cracked a smile. "You still know how to get me motivated, Stanley," he chuckled. "You've definitely recovered your memories by now; I remember you used the same trick to get me to hold hands with Susie Slater back in the day." He shook his head in bemusement. "Alright. This can wait until later, I suppose; it's not as if any of them are going anywhere in a hurry now that Bill's dead. So, what's happening upstairs?"

Now it was Stan's turn to offer his own wolfish grin. "Glad you asked: we've got sun, board games, tv shows, water balloons and illegal fireworks. You got anything of your own to add to the mix?"

"Well, I… did invent a hydro-cluster grenade just in case the copier clones ever rebelled."

"Perfect! Now, let's get out there and make this an afternoon to remember!"

The sun blazed merrily down on Gravity Falls, the day seeming all the warmer and more reassuring for having withstood Weirdmageddon. Maybe it was a bit of leftover Weirdness in the air, or maybe it was just the town's own unique properties; whatever the case, even with autumn dawning and the promise of colder days on the horizon, it still felt like the height of summer.

And in the soothing warmth of the sun, softened ever-so-slightly by the occasional gentle breeze, the region's inhabitants indulged themselves gloriously. The birds sang bawdy love ballads, gnomes cavorted freely through the undergrowth in a state of butterfly-induced intoxication, Manotaurs dozed in their hot tubs and snored like earthquakes, the Lilliputtians temporarily concluded their perpetual war, and even the unseen horrors of the deepest forest seemed happy to slumber in their dens. In town, the pool was alive with activity, the cafes and restaurants echoed with the sounds of clinking glasses, and all other businesses seemed to have slowed to a crawl – not because of the heat, but for the simple fact that most of the populace was too busy celebrating the simple fact that they were all still alive.

There was festivity in the air; there was joy and triumph and relief and a thousand other emotional extremes that the town hadn't known since the end of World War II (or possibly the collapse of Auldman Northwest's experimental opera company). There was a birthday tomorrow and a celebration for the town's newest heroes held at the Mystery Shack, and there was a sense of optimism and hope blossoming everywhere – somehow managing the herculean task of dispelling Gravity Falls' usual sense of apathy.

But most of all, there was the tiniest hint of something new in town.

Had anyone been able to follow that sense of newness to its source, they might have found themselves slowly drawn to the depths of the forest. Here, the fabric of reality had begun to ooze and shift, forming tiny apertures in the substance of the air; and from these miniscule gaps in space, golden light was beginning to pour outwards, warmer and more invigorating even than the sunlight.

And wherever the golden light fell, the greenery seemed to flourish with renewed vigour: grass, shrubbery and even small trees grew on previously barren ground, even causing wildflowers to sprout from tree-trunks as the light passed over them. And wherever it went, bees gathered in huge numbers, collecting nectar for their hives – despite the fact that no hives could be found in the area. In fact, quite a few of these bees seemed to emerge from the holes in the air…

But strangest of all were the noises: for the few inquisitive gnomes who'd seen the light in action, the drone of the bees was not the only sound heard out there; beneath the soothing buzz, a voice could be heard to mutter in tones as deep and droning as the hive itself:

"Lfi drhwln uoldh hl hdvvg. Gzhgv zmw hvv..."

And though none of the gnomes had been able to translate the words, they had been able to work out that the light seemed to be continuing onwards through the forest, bound directly for the Mystery Shack.

All told, it was a terrible shame nobody felt like sharing it with anyone there, or Stanford Pines might have had some of his more pressing questions answered a good deal sooner.

At some point, after the thirty-fifth water balloon of the day, Dipper found himself collapsing onto the Mystery Shack's back porch, both to catch his breath and to reload.

By now, the gloriously-warm afternoon had transformed into an apocalyptic backyard battle, complete with super-soakers, water pistols, well-concealed garden hoses, water balloons, and Grunkle Ford's hydro-cluster grenades – which had proved so effective that Soos had actually made a spirited attempt to surf through the parking lot before departing for lunch.

It was a war of many different styles, incorporating Mabel's bomb-tossing death-or-glory charges, Dipper's hit-and-run strafing attacks, Grunkle Stan's sneaky use of the hose, and Grunkle Ford's artillery-style hydro-bombardment. By now, all of them were soaked to the bone – even Ford, who'd swapped his trenchcoat and turtleneck for a full-body wetsuit of all things – and laughing like maniacs, lost in the sheer joy of the last days of their vacation. But unfortunately, ammunition didn't last forever, and Dipper found himself hunched down by the tap, hurriedly refilling his water pistol.

Then, to his surprise, Ford staggered to a stop next to him. "Anyone on this side of the building?" he asked urgently.

Dipper paused, wondering if this was going to be part of the next bombardment. "Don't think so," he said at last.

"Good. I need to sit down for a minute while the power cells recharge. Truth be told, I need a minute to get my breath back, too – hope you don't mind."

"No, you go right ahead."

"Thanks."

There was a pause, as the air filled with the gentle hum of the hydro-cluster-grenade launcher recharging. Then, as he sat there, preparing another couple of water balloons just for good measure, Dipper found himself struck by a question that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a while now.

"About the Journals," he began.

"Dipper, you don't need to apologise again; their destruction's been undone, so there's no need to worry about a thing."

"No, no, that's not what I meant: are we really sure about this plan? I mean, just throwing the Journals away? Don't get me wrong; I'm glad we're not going to destroy them, and I'm even happier that Mabel thought of something better than just locking them in a strongbox for the rest of history. But throwing them into the Bottomless Pitt and scattering them wherever it leads… well, it just seems like a waste."

"A waste?" Ford echoed. "Like you said, we're not destroying them: the knowledge in them will remain, no matter where they end up. Sooner or later, they'll find another owner, even if it's only the staff of a lost-and-found department."

"But they'll think it's just a story! They'll never know just how much magical knowledge they've got on their hands!"

"That's the risk you take when you study the unknown, I'm afraid: not everyone wants to know the answers, and when they do, they don't want to think of them as the truth. But you never know your luck. Maybe someday in the future, someone will have the vision to recognize the truth, the wisdom to share it with the rest of the world, and the responsibility to use it without succumbing to greed or hubris."

He offered a self-deprecating little grin, and added, "In my experience, the ones who don't have that last trait tend to lead very unhealthy lives, so we've got that on our side."

"You really don't want a chance to change the world yourself?"

Ford shrugged. "Well, I helped save the world in my own small way, so in many respects, I've I think I've made plenty of changes to this weird little planet of ours. Besides, I had my chance to share my findings in a believable format a long time ago, back when I was still working with Fiddleford. Back before I had my first test of the portal, he assembled all my data into a thesis and said 'just give up on the portal while you've got the chance; this way, you'll finally have the respect and admiration you've always wanted.' But I was too obsessed, too far under Bill's thumb to listen to my friend – my real friend." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know how Fiddleford forgave me for refusing or for what happened afterwards, but I'm glad he did in the end."

He paused and took a deep breath. "Also, just between you and me… well, we've learned all we can about Gravity Falls, and maybe we've both been obsessed with it for a little too long. It's time we got on with our lives and let someone else research this town for a change. It's not much of a tragedy, because there'll always be other mysteries out there to investigate; after all, Gravity Falls is one of the biggest attractors of Weirdness on the planet, but it's definitely not the only one out there. The trick is actually finding them."

"Okay," Dipper conceded, "But I still think there's a lot of stuff in there that could really help people. I mean, take that incantation I used to follow Bill into Grunkle Stan's mind."

"What about it?"

Dipper bit his lip, briefly wondering if his habit of taking notes had just been such a good idea after all. "Well, it can be used even when Bill isn't inside someone's mind, right?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"So why not go public with it? Why not share it over the internet with… oh, I dunno, psychiatrists or something? Think of all the therapists who could use something like that."

"It's possible, but I doubt it: for one thing, you'd only be giving some very unlucky therapists even more work to do; for another, delving into the mindscape isn't the safest thing in the world, as I'm sure you can appreciate. Even if Bill isn't around anymore, there's still a lot of nasty things out there that can take up residence in the brain… and even relatively normal people aren't without unpleasant surprises. If you wanted to benefit someone, best give it to explorers and psychologists, people with a direct interest in mapping out the mind… but for that, you'd need to find a way to prove to them that the incantation would work. No self-respecting conventional scientist is just going to rely on a spell sent to them at random, so you'd have to share the rest of the Journals with them as well."

Ford chuckled ruefully. "And we're back to square one: waiting for someone wise enough to apply the knowledge in the right direction. Don't worry, though. If there's one thing I've learned this summer, it's confidence in my fellow human beings. That special someone will come along sooner or later, and by then, you, me, Stanley and Mabel will all have found something even weirder to keep us interested."

Now it was Dipper's turn to sigh.

Ever since the Journals had reappeared, he'd been copying certain entries out of them in the hope that they might be useful someday; right now, he had several pages of these copies stashed upstairs with the rest of his dry clothes, including the mindscape incantation.

Of course, he was hardly going to tell Grunkle Ford about all that. So, the question was, should he throw away his precious backups along with the Journals, or should he keep those pages around – just in case?

But no sooner had he begun to think about it, a deafening holler from the front of the house neatly derailed his trained of thought:

"OH DIPPER?!" Mabel roared cheerfully. "WHERE ARE YOU, BRO-BRO? THE WATER WAR IS CALLING YOUR NAME! ME AND GRUNKLE STAN HAVE A TIDAL WAVE ALL READY FOR YA!"

"Well, back into the fray," chuckled Ford. "Power cells have recharged, so I'll cover you with the grenade launcher: wait until they've finished dodging, and then give 'em the balloons!"

Dipper laughed. "Have you ever thought of making anything else into a grenade, incidentally?"

"You have no idea. Sadly, the combustible lemon concept still hasn't panned out. Now, let's get this show on the road on the count of three: one, two… CHAAAAAAARGGGGEEEE!"

The day glided onwards, and the golden light crept slowly closer to the Mystery Shack with every passing hour – the shifting portals in the air oozing in and out of existence faster and faster as the instability slowly closed in.

There was no intent behind this convergence: just as earthquakes had no intellect or instinct to speak of, this procession of tiny rifts continued onwards nonetheless, drawn towards the Shack in much the same way that magnetism attracted metal… or perhaps in the same way that blood attracted sharks.

Afternoon crept steadily into evening, and yet bees that should have gone home to their hives a long time ago continued buzzing through the shafts of golden light, passing in and out of one portal after another.

Had anyone been on the scene to notice, they might have noticed that, from time to tame, the nature of the light changed: every now and again, it dimmed and flickered, its warmth briefly dying away; the rich smell of honey faded, replaced by a faint whiff of sulphur and a sharp coppery odour best left unexplored; and in the distance, the sound of agonized screams could be heard just on the periphery of sound. These shifts in tone only lasted for a few seconds at a time, but it would have been enough to send a chill of fear down the spine of anyone watching.

The bees that followed had no desire of their own either, but only observed silently, once again buzzing urgently to each other in tones that sounded almost like human voices. And had anyone been looking closely at them, they might have wondered if those were ordinary bees or something else entirely: were their flight patterns random, or organized to an almost mechanical degree? Were their wings glowing in flight? And why, as time went on and the disturbance grew closer to the Mystery Shack, did their buzzing almost sound like the word "alert" repeated over and over again?

Of course, nobody was around to notice any of this, and by the time they were, it was already too late.

Mabel yawned and helped herself to another glass of Mabel Juice.

It was close to 7:30, and after the water war, the RPG blitz, the amateur fireworks display, the mad race across the empty parking lot and the spectacular burger-and-fries dinner, everyone was tuckered out: the pre-birthday party-party had been a roaring success, and all four of them were primed and prepped for tomorrow. For now, all that remained was to sit down for an episode of Ducktective and everything would be absolutely perfect.

Downing the juice in a single gulp, she sank back into the cushions and sighed contentedly as the familiar antics played out, the sound of laughter from Dipper and both Grunkles music to her ears. It seemed strange that she was so happy this late in the summer vacation, especially after all the angst and confusion of the days leading up to Weirdmageddon. Somehow, though, everything had turned out perfectly. The Grunkles were reconciled, Dipper was perfectly okay with the idea of going back home with her, the Mystery Shack was staying open, and everyone was alive and happy.

Everyone now floated in a mellow, triumphant haze: those of them who weren't laughing like drains at the episode were smiling blissfully at the world around them, half-asleep. The one exception to this was Waddles, who was currently huddled up at Mabel's feet, contentedly dozing the night away.

Could the day get any better? She wondered to herself, as she reached out for another handful of popcorn.

And it was just as those thoughts were trickling through her head that she happened to glance to her left…

…and notice that the jug of Mabel Juice was starting to tremble ever-so-slightly.

The smile froze on Mabel's face.

"Uh-oh," she said mildly.

As one, the entire Mystery Shack gave an almighty lurch, sending Dipper flying out of his seat and knocking Grunkle Stan backwards over the couch. The TV blinked off, the lights flickered, a shelf overturned, several windows crackled loudly, and the jug of Mabel Juice toppled off the table and crashed to the ground, causing the few hundred ants who'd been excitedly gathering below it to instantly die of sugar overdose.

When the tremors finally stopped, only Grunkle Ford was still on his feet, and only because he was hanging onto the wall. Everyone else was either sprawled across the furniture or lying on the floor – except of course for Waddles, who was still dozing amidst the cushions, totally undisturbed.

"What the heck was that?" Grunkle Stan demanded.

By way of a response, the Mystery Shack gave another spectacular lurch, and for a split-second Mabel swore they were upside-down before reality reasserted itself and sent them flopping back across the furniture.

"Wow," Ford muttered, "this brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"Concentrate, Ford! What's going on!?"

After clambering down from the wall, Ford hastily drew a complicated-looking scanning device from his coat pocket and swept it experimentally through the air. "Oh dear," he muttered. "It looks like that hypothetical possibility I was worrying about isn't so hypothetical anymore."

"What's going on?" Mabel asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I've finally found the weak point I was looking for earlier today. Unfortunately, it seems from this latest scan that we were sitting right on top of it all along. I don't know what was setting off my instruments last time, but-"

Another tremor sent him toppling forward, but somehow, that barely slowed his monologue.

"Okay, shorter version: basically, Weirdmageddon left a weak spot in the wall between dimensions, and now something from another world is burrowing through that weak point."

"You mean we're going to have another rift?" asked Dipper, now raising his voice over the roar and rumble of invisible forces.

"In a word, yes!"

"Is there anything we can do?"

Grunkle Ford thought for a moment. "There might be if we act fast. Everyone outside now!"

As one, all four of them leapt to their feet and hurried towards the exit just in time for another tremor to send them hurtling along the suddenly-diagonal floor and out the front door. Rolling to a halt in the dirt just outside the front steps, they lay there for a minute, dazed and winded from the landing… right up until they saw the light blooming in the sky above them.

All around the Mystery Shack, the air was a swirling kaleidoscopic rainbow of energies flowing and oozing and spiralling in every conceivable direction and every imaginable shade of colour – including some that probably shouldn't have been visible to the human eye under normal circumstances. To Mabel's eyes, it looked like the northern lights had just been introduced to the colour pink and had gotten a little carried away from there, a variant on the mad haze of colours she'd seen on the other side of the rift during Weirdmageddon – only calmer and a good deal less malignant-looking. Stranger still was all the golden light pouring in from above, flowing through tiny gaps between each swirl of colour.

A quick look around her revealed that Ford appeared to feel the same way. "Ah," he said brightly, "I see what's happening now: we're at a nexus of dimensional fault lines. That's what was throwing off my readings earlier – I couldn't figure out where the weak point was because it stretched so far back and the readings were almost infinitesimal until they reached here."

"What are you talking about, Ford?"

"Think of it like lighting a stick of dynamite: further along the fault line, you would only have noticed tiny symptoms of dimensional instability, but now that it's travelled here… well, boom."

"But why here?" Dipper asked.

"I guess this is closest to where the Rift was broken, so I suppose it makes sense that this was the hardest hit. And we've got the Bottomless Pit nearby, so-"

There was a muffled bang from nearby, followed by a sound not unlike an angry swarm of bees attacking a malfunctioning printer. This time, instead of being flung into the air, the four of them were abruptly launched forward by about seven feet, sending several of them concertinaing facefirst into the dirt.

"I'm glad you've figured this out, Ford," Stan bellowed over the racket, "but how do we stop it?"

"Uh… well…" He hastily swept his handheld device through the air, and his eyes lit up. "Stan, do we have any of those illegal fireworks left?"

"I've always got more! Why?"

"This is actually a very weak fault line we're sitting on: we might be able to stabilize it with a big enough explosion with a few chemical additives! It's a long shot, but it's the only one left to us."

Stan grinned. "Okay: you wait here – I've got some in the Stanmobile; don't try anything heroic while I'm gone."

And with that, he got to his feet and started running; he'd barely travelled about fifteen feet before the kaleidoscopic skies opened and a bolt of lightning tore through the air, scorching a blackened line across the grass right in front of him.

Grunkle Stan skidded to a halt just in time to avoid another one that would have probably cut him in half if he'd taken another step to the right, and then let out a yelp of horror as he realized that the Stanmobile had apparently decided it had better things to do than sit around waiting for its driver: it was now hurtling towards him at seventy miles an hour, dragged onwards by a wave of energy pouring down from above.

Flinging himself to the ground and pressing himself flat against the grass, he just managed to avoid being squished flat, and then only because the car had abruptly reared back on its back wheels and catapulted itself into the air.

"My CAR!" Grunkle Stan wailed, as the Stanmobile somersaulted through the sky.

Another bolt of lightning sent him ducking to his knees just before it dug a sizable chunk out of the tarmac; in the background, the car landed on all four wheels with a loud crunch of tortured suspension, right next to the statue of Bill Cipher. A moment later, there was a muffled bang from the trunk as several pounds of fireworks spontaneously ignited and exploded, sending the lid flying off into the night.

"MY CAR!"

"We're in trouble!" said Ford, urgently.

"NO, REALLY?! I KINDA GOT THAT BY NOW, POINDEXTER!"

"No, no, you don't understand! If we're experiencing this much turbulence around the Mystery Shack and nowhere else, then it means that-"

The air rippled.

Suddenly, Dipper was airborne, rising off the ground by several inches and soaring steadily higher; Mabel had just enough time to grab him by the leg before he continued his ascent, pausing only to grab onto one of the parked golf-carts nearby. Something large and distinctly orange buzzed past her left ear, and Mabel turned around just in time to see a small swarm of bees rocketing past her head at high speed.

"What's going on?!" Dipper yelled, as he struggled to force himself back down to the ground. "Why isn't everything else floating like it did back when we opened the portal?"

"And where did all these bees come from?" Mabel chimed in.

"Chaotic diffusion of effects due to limited portal activity and no Weirdness dimension, presumably!" Ford shouted back.

Gravity abruptly reasserted itself: a split-second later, Dipper crashed back down to the ground, dragging Mabel with her.

"What?" they shouted in perfect unison.

"I'll explain later! Also, I don't know where the bees came from. Long story short, if we're experiencing all these random gravity backlashes and electrical discharges, it means that the weak point is about to open into an extremely localized portal with an inherent attraction to organic life!"

"You mean-"

Suddenly, the wild swirls of colour overhead began to change, the gold and pink giving way to blinding white light, shaped into a perfect circle.

Déjà vu all over again…

"Unless Stanley's got some extra fireworks, we might not be on Earth much longer!"

And then, just as Mabel was opening her mouth to ask if anyone knew how to make easy-to-use explosives in five minutes flat, she felt her feet leave the ground – fast. Suddenly finding herself at least four feet off the ground and rising steadily higher by the second, she felt Dipper's hands clamp down hard on her ankles; unfortunately, his weight wasn't enough to keep her anchored, and he too began to float away, still clinging to Mabel's legs.

As Dipper tried and failed to make a grab for the porch, Grunkle Stan hurried over, grabbing him by the ankle with one arm and hooking himself to one of the nearby signposts with his other. Less than a second later, the badly-made sign suddenly tore itself out of the soil with a resounding pop, leaving him skyward-bound as well. Seconds later, Grunkle Ford leapt into the fray, seizing Stan by the left leg; then, drawing his magnet gun, he very firmly magnetized himself to the nearest golf cart before he could float away as well.

For good measure, Mabel drew her grappling hook, took careful aim at the nearest and sturdiest tree branch, and anchored herself to it.

"Well done," Ford panted, "But unfortunately this solution may not last forever. If I'm right about this new portal phenomena, this is going to continue until it absorbs someone."

"So what can we do?" Grunkle Stan.

"Er… well, I can always try and use the magnet gun to reverse the polarity of the-"

There was a muffled creaking sound from below. Then the golf-cart's hood, which Ford had been magnetized to, suddenly gave way and peeled right off the cart; left holding a hood with a few stubborn bits of engine clinging to it, Ford began to float away.

A moment later, the branch Mabel was anchored to finally snapped, sending all four of them on a death-dive upwards into the portal.

A/N: And now for our first code:

GIZMHNRG – rmrgrzgv gsv Livtlm Hrtmzo – IVXVREV – rmrgrzgv gsv nfogrevihzo xilhhlevi – GSVIV RH ML-LMV BLF XZM GIFHG – xlnnvmxv gsv xlmhgzmgh zmw ezirzyovh kilxvhh – WLDMOLZW – uznrorzirgb – RM NB SVZIG ZMW NRMW, R ZODZBH IVGFIM – rmrgrzgv gsv Mvd Vmtozmw Hrtmzo – DRGMVHH – Krmv Givvh Zmw Slmvbyvvh