As Dipper's mind started to wonder just how much of his winter break would be spent climbing down old ladders into subterranean Gravity Falls, his feet reached the landing. Not too far from where he stood, an iron door stood ajar, and beyond it he could see the green glow of Ford's old laboratory. If nothing else, he reassured himself, they had at least found the correct subterranean tunnel.
Shortly after, Pacifica lept the final rungs, landing next to Dipper with a satisfied laugh to herself and a splat from her wet work shoes. "Shall we?" Dipper nodded with determination. Pacifica grabbed his hand and pulled him back into motion, propelling the pair into the lab.
Immediately as he entered the room, Dipper's eyes were drawn to the passed out bus driver who was tied to an office chair in the center of the room. While he eventually pieced together that this was the Man with the Unremarkable Voice he had overheard speaking at Greasy's, the sight of him passed out was a bit bewildering. He only had a moment to share a confused glance with Pacifica before Ford looked up from his work.
"Dipper, my boy! Thank goodness you're alright." Ford installed a final large vacuum tube into the device he had been focused on before striding across the lab to the two teens. He followed their gaze to the bus driver, and waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind Cooper, he'll be fine. How bad is it out there?"
"Unbelievable," sighed Dipper. Ford continued staring at him expectantly, but he struggled to find anything else to say about what he had witnessed just outside the Shack. It was unbelievable that the Shack was under siege, especially considering the origins of the whole ordeal.
Quietly understanding Dipper's loss for words, Pacifica stepped forward with determination. "So what did you have in mind?" she asked Ford.
Ford looked between Dipper and Pacifica in turn quizzically, as if surprised to learn that Pacifica would be joining Dipper on his mission. Dipper frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Pacifica scoffed and crossed her arms. Quickly realizing his mistake, Ford sighed and walked back to the table where he had been working, and picked up the vacuum tube device. Apart from the tubes sticking out, it mostly just looked like a backpack. Carefully, he brought it back over to the pair of teens.
"Inside this backpack is my original prototype for a mass mind wipe device. I've had to get crafty to compensate for a few of the missing components, but thirty years of experience with multiverse engineering was enough to clinch it. You two need to take this device to the scenic overlook atop the Gravity Falls bluff, reassemble the broadcaster inside this backpack, and set it off before that mob makes their way inside for the sake of the party guests. Or worse, down here for the sake of the world."
Ford made a motion with his hands, instructing Dipper to turn around. He immediately obeyed, allowing Ford to sling the pack onto Dipper's back.
"The tubes are extremely important for the device to work. But given these things are as fragile as Stan's ego, they would all break if I put them inside the pack. I've also given you eight despite the device only needing four, since we don't have time for you to return for spares."
As the weight of the backpack pulled the straps tight across his shoulders, Dipper felt a similar counterweight sinking in his stomach. As intelligent and industrious as his great uncle was, the device he was carrying hardly looked like it represented thoughtful, carefully tested science. Given the precarious state of the bulbs protruding behind him, it barely looked functional at all. He stole a sideways glance at Pacifica and noticed her warily eyeing the device on his back, all but confirming that he wasn't alone in doubting this plan.
"Great Uncle Ford, are there any spare boots around here?" he asked, turning around to point to Pacifica's canvas shoes, completely soaked through from their trek through the woods.
"Oh no," exclaimed Ford out of concern. "I'm pretty sure I saw some footwear back here earlier, Dipper. Hang tight." He stood up and bolted towards a back supply closet, and the ruffled sounds of decades old equipment being pushed aside quickly followed.
Once Ford was safely out of sight and distracted, Dipper spun around to Pacifica. "You're thinking it too, right? This plan is a disaster."
"Definitely," agreed Pacifica. "Even if we agreed that a mass mind wipe was an acceptable solution-"
"Which it isn't," interjected Dipper.
"-how could we possibly make it all the way to the bluffs with this thing without all the bulbs shattering? Watch." To illustrate her point, Pacifica lightly flicked one of the vacuum bulbs with her finger. It shattered instantly with a pathetic tinkling sound, leaving a useless ribbon of wire suspended in mid-air.
"Not to mention we'd never know for sure who the Herald was," added Dipper. "Maybe wiping the memories of some people is warranted, I don't know. But I don't think we can do this."
"Don't think you can do what, Dipper?"
Dipper turned back around to see Ford re-entering the lab, carrying an old shoebox depicting a pair of black boots from the back. "I apologize, Pacifica. This is all I was able to find."
Pacifica's eyes widened as Ford handed them over. "Do you even know what these are? These are vintage Port Browns, from the 1985 collection. When these pop up online, they go for hundreds of dollars." Dipper looked over as Pacifica opened the shoebox and squealed in excitement. As far as he could see, they just looked like old boots. As she immediately scrambled to remove her original shoes and replace them with the vintage boots, Dipper silently accepted that he would never understand anything about fashion.
Ford frowned. "That's incredibly fascinating trivia that I'll undoubtedly press you on later, but time is of the essence here." He turned his focus back to Dipper, silently pressing him to answer his previous question. For a moment Dipper froze, as his nerves tensed at the idea of directly contradicting the great uncle he respected so deeply. But Pacifica reached over and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the anxiety coursing through him to gently recede. He took in a breath.
"Ford, I don't think this is a good plan," said Dipper cautiously. He watched as Ford's bushy eyebrows furrowed slightly, but his face remained largely static.
"You think dropping a mental bomb on Gravity Falls was my first choice?" replied Ford flatly. "The fact is, I don't see any other options on the table."
"You've said it yourself, when you found out that McGucket had been engaging in involuntary mind wipes for years. We don't know what kinds of unintended consequences something like this would have on the town. On our friends. On us, even. This is wrong."
"You can't possibly think this is the same, can you?" said Ford incredulously. "This is an emergency, not an indulgence! And you're right, we don't know the risk of going this far, but we know exactly what the risk of failure is - another Weirdmageddon. That's not a chance we can take, Dipper."
"So I'm just supposed to lose a part of my life, just like that?" spat Pacifica. Ford turned, taken aback by the forcefulness of Pacifica's question. "Weirdmageddon messed me up, Mr. Pines, but it forced me to rely on myself for the first time. It was something I couldn't buy my way out of." As she spoke, Dipper watched as Pacifica fought hard to keep focused eye contact on Ford.
"I'm not saying it's going to be a perfect solution for everyone," said Ford, awkwardly turning his glance to the other side of the room.
"When that thing turns on, you know who you'll be. You know who Stan, and Mabel, and maybe even Dipper will be. I don't know who I'll be, and I'm scared." Finally, Pacifica couldn't hold her resolve any longer. Her gaze fell to the floor and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to take up as little space as possible.
"I... I'm sorry. But I don't think I can put a few people's memories ahead of the safety of the universe. Please tell me you can understand that."
In response, Pacifica said nothing. Ford, unable to face her, continued to stare off elsewhere in the lab, but Dipper could tell that Pacifica's story had weakened his resolve in the plan. Now, he just had to finish the job.
"Ford, please," added Dipper, taking a step to the side to try and force himself back into his great uncle's line of sight. "The people of Gravity Falls deserve better than this, even if they're about to break down our doors. We can think of another plan." With a reluctant sigh, Ford returned his gaze.
"You were right, you know," he mumbled sadly. "I was too worried that if we seriously considered Bill as a potential threat, nobody would support me in furthering my portal research. And because of that, I let my guard down. I could easily blame the memory of Bill in my head for this, but it was my own stubborn pride. It's pathetically obvious. I treated you like a child today, just for asking responsible questions I didn't want the answers to. And for that, I'm sorry."
Ford sat against the table, looking through the windows overlooking the ruins of his portal. With his shoulders slumped and his face grim, Dipper suddenly felt guilty for how he had resented his uncle earlier in the day. He hadn't seen him look this distraught since the days following Weirdmageddon, when he wasn't sure whether or not his brother's memory would ever return to normal. It was a relief for Dipper to hear Ford acknowledge that he had been wrong to dismiss his fears earlier, but now the reasons why he did so were much more apparent. It still wasn't right, but he could understand at the very least.
Dipper moved to join him, accidentally jostling two of the vacuum bulbs on his back together and shattering them. Ford looked surprised for a moment, then raised a hand to his forehead in frustration, squeezing the bridge of his nose and letting out a long exhale. Suddenly, he picked up a wrench sitting on the table behind him, and quickly swung it down Dipper's back, destroying the remaining vacuum tubes.
"What are you doing?" asked Dipper in confusion.
"What I should have done hours ago - putting our fate in your hands, Dipper," replied Ford with a sly grin. "Mass memory wipe is officially off the table. What's Plan B?"
Emerging from the vending machine elevator, Ford, Dipper, and Pacifica found themselves surrounded by terrified teens. Across the gift shop, Dipper watched as party goers held furniture against windows in improvised barricades, frantically updated loved ones via their phones, or just huddled against the walls in fear. Outside, the shouts and clamoring of the mob was ever present, and each time a loud crack was heard against the door, a wave of fear swept through the occupants of the Shack.
Despite scanning the gift shop twice, Dipper didn't see who he was looking for. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Thompson, the most timid of Wendy's friend group, trying to hide behind the hideous statue of Stan.
"Thompson!" Dipper called over to him. Nervously, he peered out from behind the Stan statue's waist. "Have you seen Mabel?"
"Y-yeah, she went with a few others to Stan's office for a copy of some book," informed Thompson, before retreating back to his unsuccessful hiding.
"Copy of a book?" repeated Dipper in confusion, before shaking his head. "Come on, it's this way."
As Dipper led the trio through the gift shop towards the back office, they passed several other groups attempting to find more objects to reinforce the defenses with, pointing out merchandise shelves and larger exhibit pieces that could provide sturdy resistance. In the center of it all, Dipper could see Soos sitting on the floor, watching helplessly as the exhibits he had created for the shack were jerry rigged into makeshift defenses. The sight of Soos' face broke Dipper's heart, but he shook it from his mind as quickly as he could, choosing instead to focus on the task ahead of him.
But the strangest sight of all was to be found once they reached the back office. Outside the door sat Stan, sitting with his arms crossed and a frustrated look on his face. Past him, Dipper could see Mabel, Candy, and Grenda on the ground, pouring over copied pages of handwritten text. And seated at Stan's desk, carefully studying one of the copied pages with a magnifying glass, was Gideon Gleeful.
"Wait, what's happening here?" asked Dipper, drawing the attention of the room. Immediately, Mabel leapt to her feet and pulled her brother into a hug.
"Dipper! I'm so glad you're okay!" she exclaimed. "But I thought you were supposed to be setting up some kind of mind wipe to stop the mob?"
"Actually," explained Dipper, "we had some moral quandaries with that plan, so we're trying to figure out some kind of plan B."
"Great minds, bro-bro," replied Mabel, tapping her forehead. "Last summer, Grunkle Stan photocopied the journals to make sure he always had them around to fix the portal in case Gideon stole them again."
"Not the worst decision, honestly," admitted Gideon from across the room. As he leaned back and talked with his hands, he inadvertently held up the magnifying glass to make his mouth appear comically oversized next to the rest of his small facial features. "I was in a dark place this summer. Oh, hi Dipper! Hi Pacifica!" Gideon waved excitedly as he recognized the pair from across the room. Frowning, Pacifica awkwardly waved back as Mabel continued.
"So we pulled out Journal 2 to see if there was a magical or mystic solution to Bill in everyone's heads. Because a memory gun didn't stop Grunkle Stan from getting his memory back, so there's no guarantee it would work against memories of Bill either."
"That…" started Ford, before he trailed off and frowned in realization. As his frown slowly transitioned into a blank expression, Dipper could see his uncle was realizing his original plan was doomed from the start. Finally, Ford calmly continued, "I didn't consider that. Well done, Mabel." Mabel beamed.
"Alright, we get it, Mabel is smart too," Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Have you found something yet?"
"I might have something," added Candy, holding up a page from her stack. "It is something called a 'mesmer'."
"Let me see that," said Ford, gently taking the page from Candy and squinting to read the black and white rendition of his handwriting. "Ahhh, of course. The dwarvish mesmer. It's a sort of calming spell that allows you to pacify dark spirits. Somebody casts the mesmer onto themselves or someone else, and when that person speaks, their voice behaves like a siren song, lulling the target spirit into a dreamless sleep "
"That'd be silly," laughed Mabel. "Putting a nightmare to sleep."
"I agree, that's a pretty silly image," chuckled Ford. "But there are two problems I foresee with this. This is a complex incantation, and we'd need someone with enough experience with magic to recite it to be sure it's cast correctly. We might not get a second chance at this."
In order to be as dramatic as possible, Gideon jumped from Stan's chair to the top of his desk. "Why Stanford, I do believe as the former holder of Journal 2, I'm uniquely qualified to carry out this task." He placed his hands on his hips and posed triumphantly.
Ford stared blankly at the small child standing on the desk. "You had my second journal? I suppose that's on me for burying it near a school. I guess you'll do." Appearing slightly dismayed by Ford's tepid reaction, Gideon began to awkwardly climb down from on top of the desk. "The second issue I foresee is that we'd need the entire mob to stand still throughout the casting of the spell."
"How long is that?" asked Mabel.
"We'd need a full minute of their undivided attention," replied Ford.
From outside the office, a loud crack was heard as a window frame was nearly pushed in, followed by a panicked gasp from the occupants of the gift shop.
"I somehow doubt we'd be able to get them all to stand still for a moment, let alone a full minute," muttered Dipper.
"You can't," came Stan's gruff voice from outside the room.
Ford turned, sticking his head through the threshold to address his brother. "I'm sorry, would you like to join the conversation, Stanley?" With an irritated groan, Stan stomped into the office.
"I've read the book too, Sixer. The mesmer is only going to last for a few hours. Then what are you going to do? Is Gideon going to cast this spell for the next sixty years to keep Bill at bay?"
"Well if I'm being honest with y'all, I'd prefer to go to a nice arts college at some point," admitted Gideon absently.
"He doesn't have to," replied Dipper, kneeling down to pick up another page of the journal. "According to this, we can enchant objects with spells. After we stop the mob, we can find something for Gideon to cast the spell onto so that we can keep the mesmer going indefinitely." Another loud, unexpected crack caught the room off guard, making everyone jump. "But we'll have bigger problems if we don't figure out how to keep them from getting inside."
"And how do you expect to do that?" exclaimed Stan in frustration. "Try and talk to them? They're not going to listen to anyone at this point unless they were…"
Stan froze, his mouth hanging open for a moment as his mind began to spin. Dipper watched Stan's eyes light up, and he could tell that hiding behind the crooked smile that snuck out across his face was a classic Stan Pines scheme.
"Everyone, wait here. Gideon, get ready to cast that spell on me." Stan bolted from the room, but even from the back office, everyone could hear him shout, "Soos! Gimme that bullhorn!"
From the bed of her truck, Wendy swung her wooden baseball bat indiscriminately at the many arms reaching toward her legs. Her friends had previously teased her for keeping a bat in her truck, but the instincts she developed from survival training had proven to be useful once again. Despite her best efforts, members of the mob had surrounded her truck, blocking any escape route and trapping her on top. As she took another swing, she tried scanning the crowd again for her father. Manly Dan was by no means a small or inconspicuous figure, but that still didn't make him any easier to find in the dark.
A hand managed to grab hold of Wendy's ankle, and she yelled in anger. While she had started out swinging wide to serve as a warning, this time she connected the bat to the person who had grabbed her. The hand let go, and whoever it was sank below her truck bed. She didn't pay him any more mind, he had it coming.
Spinning around again, Wendy looked up at the Mystery Shack in time to see the attic window open up. Squinting to make sure she was seeing things correctly, she watched as Stan peered out at the crowd, bullhorn in hand and an elaborate robe draped around his body. And maybe it was just her imagination, but he also appeared to be wearing his old Mr. Mystery eyepatch as well.
"Attention all Disciples of C," Stan bellowed out to the crowd through his bullhorn. Unexpectedly, most of the crowd obeyed immediately, turning their focus to Stan. Even the group surrounding Wendy's truck, not wanting to miss out on the show, retreated back into the main crowd. What had moments before been an unruly mob, now stood mostly still and silent. "My friends, the Reckoning is upon us!" The crowd erupted into wild, elated cheering, throwing their hands up in celebration and waving flags wildly.
"I voted for you!" screamed an anonymous voice in the crowd.
"On this momentous day, it's time for me to share my secret with you," continued Stan, his speech paced perfectly to build dramatic tension. Members of the crowd murmured and whispered with one another, but all eyes remained locked on Stan. He savored the moment, looking around his audience multiple times before raising the bullhorn back to his lips.
"I am the Herald of C," Stan announced. The crowd gasped and fell into a revenant, almost holy silence. Wendy smirked.
'Stan, you sly dog.'
From his elevated perch above the crowd, Stan studied the crowd below him carefully. He had successfully stopped the violent advance of the crowd, built them up, and led them to his fake reveal. But his experience with playing conman had given him the wisdom to know his job was far from over. The crowd's belief that he was truly the Herald would only last as long as he could successfully play the part. From this point out, his control over the crowd was on borrowed time.
Behind him, seated within a mystic circle drawn on the floor with colored chalk, Gideon began reciting the mesmer spell. "Daemonious mesmera, colinatus robinsonious, slumburious sanctum…"
'Clock's ticking, Stanley,' he silently reminded himself, 'Keep 'em hooked.'
"Disciples," he continued, now stretching the pauses between his words, "the last few months have tested us all."
Stan could see nods of acknowledgement from the crowd, a handful of people clapped, and one or two of the most excited let out positive whoops in response. 'So far, so good.'
"But the truth is powerful, like a harpoon gun. No matter how many times you try to properly store it, it always finds a way to go off in the closet."
The crowd responded much less positively to his second statement. He could see several members of the crowd turning to one another in confusion, and their displeasure rippled and multiplied through the mob. Sensing he was losing control, Stan raised the bullhorn back to his mouth.
"I became the Herald because the truth is something I care a lot about, really," Stan added, nervously trying to course correct. This prompted several boos from the audience. 'Really Stan? That's the best you could think of?'
"Stan Pines, you are not the Herald!" shouted a familiar voice from the crowd. Stan lifted his eye patch and peered intensely through his glasses, struggling to make out who was speaking.
"Is that…" he began, but he needn't have bothered.
"Friends, you know me. Bud Gleeful, Gleeful's Auto Sales." The familiar form of Bud Gleeful became clearer to Stan as members of the crowd stepped back from his position to give him room to speak. Stan groaned in frustration. 'What does this gasbag want?'
"You know me as the man you trust to put you into a certified pre-owned vehicle, and so you can take me at my good word when I tell you Stanford Pines is not the Herald of C." With his accusation, he pointed up to Stan, directing the crowd to cry out for answers from Stan.
"Stanley," corrected Stan through the bullhorn. Bud's face crinkled in confusion.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name is Stanley Pines."
"Ohhh, that's right," said Bud, exaggerating his faux remembrance. "You're the one who stole your own brother's identity and defrauded Gravity Falls for thirty years. And all this after your long, unsuccessful career parting fools from their money through StanCo. I take it your deep love of the truth is a newfound interest?"
"You're really making things difficult right now, Bud" replied Stan, idly scratching underneath his eyepatch. "What's your angle here?"
"Why, no angle," Bud shook his head as he shrugged in feigned innocence. "I just thought you'd want to know that I'm the real Herald of C."
The crowd gasped again, and all eyes fixated inwards on Bud. At least momentarily, as seconds later, Stan burst out laughing. Frowning, Bud crossed his arms, but his defiant body language only prompted louder roars of laughter from Stan.
"Now why are you laughing, Stanley?"
"You? The Herald? That's ridiculous!" howled Stan, nearly keeling out the window as he struggled to contain himself. As Stan struggled to contain himself, the mass of the crowd shuffled slightly as hundreds of onlookers exchanged glances and tried to understand what was happening.
"It's no more ridiculous than you being the Herald!" shot back Bud. Across the crowd, murmurs of confusion filled the air. Stan wondered if he might have stumbled across the strongest play - getting the crowd to argue over whether Bud or Stan was the true Herald could provide ample time for Gideon to finish his incantation.
But he quickly dismissed the idea - neither he nor Bud were particularly well trusted individuals in town, and he figured that the crowd would quickly realize the most likely conclusion is that both men were lying about their status as the Herald. Better to turn the mob against Bud and try to salvage his original plan afterwards.
"Alright, alright, I'll bite," continued Stan, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic air of sincerity. "What's the big secret in Gravity Falls then? What mysteries are we all here to uncover? What does it all mean, Gleeful?"
Bud glared up at Stan and said nothing, but even from his distance above the crowd, Stan could tell he was fidgeting in place. While he had been all too eager to capture the attention of the crowd, he hadn't anticipated the consequences of having it. 'You overplayed your hand, Buddy boy.'
"Well now, obviously, we're all here… to learn…" Bud hesitated, looking around at the crowd surrounding him. They were giving him their attention as he spoke, but a new wave of disapproval began to ripple out from where Bud was standing.
"No wait, I got it. Here's an easy one," continued Stan. "Tell me, who is C?"
"Stanley Pines, you're a crook and a liar!" exclaimed Bud.
"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Stan retorted, rolling his eyes. "Surely the real Herald would know who he's heralding. So out with it, Bud! Who is C?" Stan leaned forward onto his elbows with a sinister grin, watching as the distance that the crowd had given Bud following his intrusion had begun to close.
"C is…" began Bud nervously. "C is… excited for you all to come down to pick from our quality selection of used cars and trucks?" Loud boos echoed throughout the crowd, and Bud cowered in instant regret.
"What?" gasped Stan in mock disappointment. "Bud Gleeful, I can't believe you'd try and take advantage of all these honest free thinkers to try and con them into buying a used car! How dare you!" The crowd shouted in agreement with Stan, hounding Bud and mobbing around him. Bud made an attempt to flee, but found himself being pulled to the ground by the mob.
"Stan! You've got to help me," Bud cried out, making one last attempt to free himself. "Tell them I didn't mean it, I'm not the Herald!"
"Yeah, Bud," laughed Stan darkly. "I think they've figured that one out already," As he was pulled out of sight, Bud stretched a hand to the sky, which slowly sank into the sea of people.
"Stanley," whispered Ford from behind him, "hold their attention for just a bit longer." Stan stole a glance backwards to see that Gideon was now floating above his mystic circle, a magical mass of energy surrounding him and rendering his eyes a glowing green. Stanly nodded and turned back to the crowd.
"My friends," he announced into the bullhorn again, "don't let this… uh… usurper take away from what's really important here." The crowd simmered back down, giving Stan their undivided attention one last time. 'I'm not gonna get another chance here, this one's really got to count.' But as he racked his brain for an acceptable lie that he could spin on for a few more moments, nothing he thought of was as spellbinding and unbelievable as the actual truth about Gravity Falls. With a heavy sigh, he continued.
"The truth is, there is something very strange going on in Gravity Falls. Something that goes beyond normal comprehension. That's what the Shack is all about. My brother came here to study all the paranormal, strange things about this town, and when he disappeared for thirty years, I was the one who picked up the slack. Sure, we had a perfect cover story, what with an old shack filled with hokey tourist attractions and all, but it was all in the service of the bigger mission - why is this place so weird, so special?"
Stan paused for effect, and was surprised to see the entire crowd watching him, silently enraptured, and hanging on his every word. 'You know, maybe I misjudged this angry mob. When they're doing my bidding, they're not that bad,' Stan thought to himself mischievously. He looked down at the bullhorn in his hands, and suddenly realized that his entire body was glowing in the same hue as Gideon was earlier.
"Now, Stanley!" cried Ford from behind him. Stan nodded.
"Now, here's the truth about C, whoa, hey…" Stan began, stumbling in his speech as he heard the sound of the mesmer in his voice. Instead of his regular, grating sound, his voice was now soothing and calm. The mesmer was accomplishing what a truckload of lozenges never could. 'This is weird and creepy and I hate it. Let's get this over with.'
"So here's the deal, C is really an interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher. Last summer, during that time period we're forbidden to talk about thanks to the Never Mind All That law, he tried to take over the world through a portal to his dimension. My niece and nephew, my brother, and a lot of your friends and family helped us to take him down and remove him from existence permanently. But now, a lot of you are dreaming about him. It turns out, our memories of him are powerful enough to try and use our dreams to manipulate us into doing his bidding. That's what he made me do as the Herald, that's what he made all of you do when you came here tonight."
Stan paused, expecting a protest from the crowd, but he noticed that the eyes looking back at him were now all glowing green as well.
"Look, the world's messed up. And it's clear that the people in charge aren't exactly rising to the occasion. But the answer isn't going to be coming from a Snapagram message board, and it certainly isn't going to come from creepy dreams about dancing triangles. And it's not like I have the answers either. I mean, let's face it. I would have been a terrible mayor. This town would have burnt to the ground before the next election. But, and I know I'm certainly the last person you'd expect to hear this from, but let's just take a minute and try to regain some normalcy before we all kill each other, okay?"
As he finished speaking, a wave of green energy radiated out from the attic, showering the crowd in a hazy, electric glow. As the mystical glow faded, the entire mob responded in unison, "Okay."
"Yeesh. I don't like this at all," replied Stan, just as his voice returned to its usual gravelly tenor. "Hey! Never thought I'd miss this ol' gravel!" He turned back around to see Ford approaching him with a warm smile, as well as Gideon on the floor clutching his head.
"That was excellent, Stanley," congratulated Ford. "Far more frank than I expected you to be, I would have thought you would have spun another one of your elaborate stories to hold the crowd's attention."
"Eh, this whole thing started because the town didn't trust people with the truth," replied Stan. "Maybe the way we avoid it going forward is by making sure people know what actually happened."
"An astute observation," grinned Ford. Together, the elder Pines twins looked out the window at the crowd. Many had already begun to retreat to their cars, while some stood around talking with one another about what they heard. "Let's regroup with the others downstairs and figure out next steps."
With Ford's hand on his shoulder, Stan allowed himself to be led away from the window. As the pair walked through the attic bedroom, Stan turned to Gideon, still seated on the floor. "Nice work with the magic, kid. You coming?"
"Yes, yes…" muttered Gideon, shakily pulling himself to his feet and wiping chalk dust off of his clothes. "Now, did I mishear something over the ancient language of the woebegone or was my daddy out there lying about being the Herald? Golly, he's gonna be in so much trouble when I get home…"
Watching out the window of the Gift Shop as the last remaining members of the mob retreated from the parking lot, Dipper allowed himself a moment of rest. A light dusting of snow had begun to fall, and despite the leftover protest signs and flags littering the parking lot, it was another beautiful scene of winter in Oregon. And if that wasn't enough, from his vantage point he could clearly make out the hulking figure of Manly Dan as he approached Wendy, sitting on the bed of her truck. Watching their body language, he could see Dan apologizing to a clearly agitated Wendy, but ultimately she reached out to hug him all the same. 'He might be gullible, but she cares a lot about him anyway,' observed Dipper.
For the second time over break, the Pines and company had diffused a major threat to the town. And while this time Dipper didn't feel nearly as bad about it being a team effort, he still found himself a little disappointed. Despite the threat being neutralized, they still had yet to uncover who the real Herald of C had been. Would they possibly have needed to have their mind wiped after all?
And most selfishly, Dipper found his mind drifting to certain details of Ford's original plan. 'That would have been a nice way to end the evening,' he thought, letting out a wistful sigh.
"What was that for?" came Pacifica's voice from behind him.
"Oh, uh…" Dipper turned awkwardly to face her. "Nothing really. I was just thinking about Ford's original plan, and how we would have had to go up to the bluffs overlooking the entire valley in order to deploy the mass mind wipe device."
"What about it?" asked Pacifica, taking a seat next to Dipper.
"Well, I don't know," mumbled Dipper, "it's probably a really great view. And after we were done saving the world, it would have been nice to see it with you."
Pacifica laughed softly. "So, what? You think we should have gone through with what was clearly a bad plan just because it might have been a romantic moment?"
"No, I'm not saying that!" exclaimed Dipper. "Just… thinking it."
Pacifica nodded silently to herself, continuing to smile mischievously. "Well is there anywhere a bit closer that has a good view?"
Dipper thought for a moment, quickly running through his memories of the different window vantage points in the Shack. 'Nothing really special, just a bunch of views of the woods. Not like… wait a minute…' he thought, suddenly remembered one place at the Mystery Shack that was at least somewhat like an overlook.
"Follow me," he replied, standing up and striding toward a shower curtain hanging towards the back wall of the gift shop. Pulling it aside revealed a ladder that led up to the roof, a secret hangout spot where Dipper had spent hours goofing around with Wendy. With an intrigued smile, Pacifica followed him over to the ladder and quickly began climbing up behind him.