NB: This work is part of an interconnected series/multichapter of one-shots. Context isn't required and these chapters can be read as standalone works but if you're curious, you can check out the end chapter which explains the premise and the A/Ns. If you're not interested, please enjoy the story freely and don't let me stop you!
Chapter Summary:
On a very special day, Mabel Pines sets out to affirm her belief that the solution to everything in life is some combination of glue, stickers, candy, and smiles. Whether life takes up on deterring her is something she really doesn't care about.
It still won't, of course. Because nothing will go wrong with her plan.
Disclaimer: Gravity Falls belongs to Alex Hirsch.
A/N:
EnneaQuote: "The keynote here is indirection. Personal needs and desires are expressed indirectly, through service to others. Twos feel that they cannot go after what they want directly: it must be given to them by others as a sign that they are really loved and appreciated. Therefore, whatever Twos want must be elicited from others through 'hints' and other forms of indirection so that the rewards they seek seem to have come spontaneously from the other as a sign of love for the Two."—Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudson
Author Commentary: If I were to describe Twos with few words, it'd be 'personified altruistic exertion'. What does that very specific jumble of fancy words mean, exactly? Type Twos are the 'gift-givers', the 'people-pleasers' of the nine types. Twos represent the innate importance of socialites in humanity because no matter the circumstances, a type Two works their magic to influence others with their magnanimous acts and bring people together. They may not always lead, but they work in keeping a vital element in groups stable: hope.
When one enters a room, they can always feel or see a Two because they will make themselves known. Not in a 'look at me, give me attention' way, but moreso in a 'let me hang your coat for you' or in the fashion of a sincere compliment. This is what discerns Twos from the other types that take up charge like type Three. A fundamental aspect of type Two is that, in their displays of affection to others, they garner a certain happiness that they try to reflect back on their own misgivings—their own want to understand and love themselves the way they love others.
Twos fear the idea that they won't be able to find a way to feel the way they do for others. That is exactly why they're also prone to flattery in a bad way, making their true, immense kindness towards others be perceived as a charade or a shield for their insecurities. Twos must work towards expressing their charitability in as authentic a manner as possible so that they themselves can rest easy knowing they are truly extending their own hand in every social interaction and not a gloved one.
Type Two
"Wakey-wakey, little bro!" the six-year-old girl shouted with an exuberance that could probably be felt on another continent. Rays of weak sunlight broke through a half-opened window in the room where she and her brother had made their slice of a big and crazy world. "Time for an adventure unlike any other: school! First grade, let's go!"
Her twin groaned, fluttering his arms in the air in a weak attempt to stop the inevitable. He said, "No… no, I don't want to be part of your dumb murder mystery, von Referencezon!"
She pouted. Mabel Pines was one to use extreme measures often, though today a tinge of leniency had guided her excitement for the first day of school. How tolerant of her. Oh well.
Mabel reached for the oversized bucket which sat on the circular cyan carpet. She sidestepped to the right for her own safety and readied herself.
With a high-pitched yelp, Dipper gracelessly flew off the bed, past Mabel, and landed his now wet self on the tiled wooden floor in a rather grotesque position. Courtesy of the ice-cold water she had prepared, he lay next to the small nightstand overflowing with a plethora of mystery novels and science books. Just a waggle of Dipper's foot was enough for the entire stack to plummet over his head with a quiet thump and cover him in shocking plot twists and 'fun' science facts (of course, the tradeoff between Mabel's giggles and the small pang of guilt she felt about what she'd done was completely palatable).
"Mabel!" Dipper yelled. "I was gonna get up in a second!" He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his drenched shirt. "Why'd you soak me?!"
"Because you said you were okay with it last night."
"How could you—" Dipper paused what might have been a prolonged tirade. He got up rather clumsily, lifted the damp shirt, and drained the water back in the bucket. "Wait, did I?"
"Yup!" Mabel said, nodding. "And don't worry, being wet doesn't kill little kids, just cartoon witches! I'll allow you to take as long as you need while showering. Oh, and 'cause you made me happy by allowing me to pour water on you!"
She couldn't contain her laughter anymore.
Dipper sighed. "Whatever."
He trudged towards the door, avoiding the many leftover parts from the construction of the Express Snack Delivery Network. It was their layered multi-floor system covering a chunk of the wide room, engineered by Dipper and built by Mabel using simple hydraulics with materials from their kitchen sink's plumbing.
"Oh, Dipper." Mabel followed him, partly tripping over a steel rod on the floor. "Don't look so down! C'mon, it's the first day of school! We're gonna meet new people and maybe see other twins, too! It's gonna be amazing!"
"Amazing for you, probably," Dipper said, now in the hallway. "I just want to see what we're actually gonna be doing every day for the next twelve years."
"Yeah, yeah, the boring stuff you mean."
"Like actually learning?"
"Ayup! Now you go clean yourself up, young man," Mabel ordered. Half-twin, half-maternal instincts could kick up even at such an early hour. "I've gotta tie up a couple of things for the special surprise!"
"Wait, I'm literally the same age as you," Dipper reasoned. "You can't call me a 'young man'. It's not right."
"Five minutes, little boy!" Mabel said as she began to distance herself from Dipper. "All the difference!"
With a wave of the same excitement one could get from hearing the small, distant murmurs of a teased sibling, Mabel breezed past the door to their parents' room and descended the stairs at the end of the hall. Soft, melodic chirping flowed through Mabel's ears—a song from somewhere out the vista painted by the glass barrier; not often could she see a flock of birds gathering over the young Pine tree her parents had planted in the yard when they'd moved in, as she often slept in. Albeit early enough for those avian friends to make their presence welcome, once Mabel entered the kitchen through the large arched door frame, she was surprised the usual cacophony of their neighbours didn't greet her. No, instead there was the vast soundscape and the fall towards sudden silence.
Weird.
Nonetheless, she ambled over to the kitchen counter, where parts of her great ensemble were ordered in one area.
"Special-flavored cinnamon cookies?" she recited to herself, pointing at the boxes strewn about the place. "Check! 'Get Well Soon' cards for everyone even though it's the first day of school but no one sells cards for that? Double check!" She bounced over to the large plastic bag on the dusty dining room table. "A stack of 'Your smarts are to-learn-able!' stickers mom had stashed away from kindergarten? Super check!"
Forming a brace-filled smile out of not having her surprise ruined by any supernatural forces during the night (or her parents; actually, the differences between them and the paranormal were few and far between), Mabel's priorities shifted to what was included in every non-special, boring day. She took the initiative and rummaged through the fridge, scrounging up a helping of leftover pancakes and orange juice—a classic, one she knew Dipper would like.
Mabel suspected she'd have had to use the backup plan for waking him up and that he'd have taken a long while to shower, which was why to make it up to him, she set his breakfast. It was one of 'those' things twins did for each other. Or maybe one of those things she did for others when she felt like she had to. It didn't matter...
Though Dipper's serving was, in fact, what their parents had originally planned for them to eat, it was not what Mabel had intended on going with for herself—when no authority lurked over her, the last thing she'd be is vanilla. For that, she uncovered a prototype of the biohazard-turned-sparkly-white-beverage she'd recently devised named 'Mabel Juice' and grabbed a sprinkled doughnut from the secret sweets stash (it was a special occasion) to occupy her while she waited for Dipper to come down.
Yet not even the distracting ache of hunger could impede the brewing conflict in her gut—an uncertainty which had arisen ever since dinner last evening when she began to wonder what the occasion which awaited her and Dipper could mean.
No, wait. She was being like him—always overthinking the unthinkable. Today had to be a good day. There was no reason for anything to go wrong when Mabel had done so much prep work. Just because she pieced it together that people she knew had it bad with school didn't mean she'd also barely scrape by.
She eyed the harmony outside for a while, finding solace in a paradise of sugar when she realised the foreboding silence had been the only answer to her mulling.
"Okay." The squeaky voice came from behind her. No doubt, time had a way of flying by her when she got lost in worlds of happier tales—she was thankful for that, in this case.
Mabel flipped her head over the backside of the chair and witnessed her brother in all his short (and upside-down, from her perspective) glory: a white long-sleeve shirt partly ruffled up by a teal sweatshirt wrapped around the waist, light tan trousers, and a usual favourite pair of sneakers he had, against all odds, never got sick of.
"Aw, Dipstick," Mabel cooed, jerking back to a more comfortable stance where she could look upon him, "you look so cute! Typical, but cute!"
Dipper threw his arms up. "Oh sure everyone, let's bring attention to the kid dressed in a normal outfit and not the girl wearing star-shaped glasses and six different wristbands on one hand." He rubbed his eyes in clear exasperation. "At that point, it's not even a wristband 'cause it goes over the wrist!"
Mabel scoffed. "Of course, you'll try to attack my outfit! You're just jealous!"
"How'd you guess," Dipper muttered, settling next to Mabel and across a plate with silverware arranged like a smiley face (or arranged like that to the best of Mabel's abilities). "Oh, thanks."
She nodded, glad to have been of service.
"Anyway, what's the plan? Where's mom and dad?"
"Dum-dum, they told us they were gonna go out for work early, so we gotta ride the bus!" Mabel said, mouth half-full with a bizarre mix of a dough-based corporate product and gelatine wrapped in more gelatine. She felt butterflies in her stomach. "Oh, I've heard buses are like a portal to another world, Dipper. Things can vanish from your pockets! People can be awkward!"
"Right," he muttered, digging into his meal with lightning speed (almost as if he were actually hungry, which was quite the rarity in and of itself). "Wait a minute. What's that?"
Mabel followed his finger to where it pointed. "Ah, that! It's a treat for our new friends!"
"What?"
"Our classmates, duh!" She rubbed her hands together in bubbling glee. "Whaddya think I was gonna do—not make something totally awesome and cool?"
"I don't know. Maybe?" Dipper said. He gulped down the last of his juice while stashing all the dishes in the sink and forcing his foot into his left shoe, walking as if he had a limp.
Although a sight to behold on its own, Mabel knew Dipper only ever began heavily multitasking when outside influences had a big say in matters. That could mean the time to leave was nearing, for better or worse.
"You done?" she asked, glancing at him and strapping on her backpack after having stuffed the gifts inside.
Dipper didn't answer her. He was holding the small watch he'd received as a recent birthday gift from their father in his mouth while trying to tie the laces on his shoes.
Eh, confirmation was overrated, anyway. "Great, let's go!"
"Hey," Dipper said almost immediately thereafter, the watch having somehow resurfaced back on his wrist, "now that I think about your plan: are you sure everyone else is gonna, y'know...?"
He grabbed his own blue bag from the shelf where the TV lay boxed in.
"Gonna...?"
"Well, not think it's weird," Dipper explained (or tried to, at least), going past Mabel and jumping over the sleeping form of Ruby, their loyal cat. "I dunno 'bout people bringing anything for the first day of school."
"So?" Mabel objected, following her twin's lead out of instinct. "That's what's gonna make it fun, Dipper! It's like in your mystery books—the baby brings the cake! The murder cake! Dun-dun!"
She punched the air for dramatic effect.
"That's... not exactly what happens, Mabel."
He opened the door and waited for her to exit first.
"Aw, thank you, Sir Dipson, you're too kind!" She bowed.
"Just. Go."
Mabel snickered as she took him up on his offer.
And she remembered—about the one last, immensely important thing she'd been doing since three years old and had become such a tradition that it was impossible for her to go outside without committing to it.
She tiptoed over to a special place and mumbled, "Bye, Ruby. Will be back soon, I promise!"
With a graceful sense of fulfilment, Mabel left the house for good. Their transport circled around the moment they neared the bus stop sign, exactly as Dipper had probably calculated in his head. Mabel allowed herself, out of what might have been innate sentimentalism, to gaze back at her home one last time before the day truly began.
A low whimper—an intruder from those uncomfortable parts of her soul—made its opinion regarding such attachments profusely clear inside her head.
Fear caught Mabel's breath and she felt beside herself.
"Mabel?" Dipper said, the slight anxiousness in his voice breaking her from the momentary stupor. "C'mon, the people inside are starting to give us bad looks! Get in!"
"O-Oh, sure, bro."
Mabel ignored whatever she'd heard and climbed inside the vehicle. It was nothing to worry about.
Just an overactive imagination.
Rides on the public bus were quiet ventures, Mabel noticed. Apart from the occasional murmured apology whenever someone bumped into another commuter and awkward bouts of prolonged eye contact, a lot of the passengers stuck to themselves. In fact, the anecdotes she'd heard from others didn't make the environment out as drab and dull as it appeared to be. Mabel didn't expect it to be like a lively road trip with her family, but… at least something had to be there; all the monotony wasn't right.
Sure, she could have stayed in her seat and waited to get off, but there was no fun or potential in that. The itch to find thrill where there didn't seem to be any persisted (not to mention that Dipper had started dozing off, so it wasn't as if she could engage in a lot of conversation with him either).
"Hello!" she nearly shouted, her legs having already done the work of approaching someone for her. She made herself feel at ease with the large bearded man wrapped in an oversized beige coat by pressing him as close to the window as she could. "My name's Mabel and I'm on my way to school for the first time! What's your name?"
The man quirked an eyebrow, darting his eyes amidst the river of people.
"Erm..." he uttered, trying to subtly slide Mabel away from his perceived notion of personal space, "I'm sorry, kid, but I think you got the wrong guy. Your parents with'cha? Did you get lost?"
Mabel grinned, discovering an unusual sense of warmth and candour in his sultry manner of speech. "No to both of those, sir! I only want to share the joy of the first school day with someone in the form of cool collectables!"
She rummaged through her stash and offered a set of treats packaged in a multicoloured paper bag to the person uninclined to give her his name.
"Erm, okay, I—"
"Wow, that's so cool!" Mabel couldn't contain her excitement at hearing some form of approval.
The man shook his head back and forth, bearing an expression quite like he was confused by Mabel's mannerisms. "Excuse me?"
"Psh, I was just talking, y'know!" Mabel said, trying to quell any possible questions. "Like how they do on TV, am I right?"
"O-Okay… I suppose. But, er, I need to get off now. I can't eat sweets, either." He rubbed his arm and strutted towards the middle exit, somewhat forcing his way past Mabel. "Yes, I have a medical condition."
"Hey, that's alright! You can take them a-and give them to a friend!" Mabel forced a laugh, the metaphorical daggers digging in her heart. "No problem!"
"Yo, kid!" The angry shout came from the front of the vehicle—an agitated driver, no doubt. "Stop makin' all that noise over there or I'm gonna throw you off my bus before I crash!"
Barring the shock which flooded over Mabel as the threat rang in her ears, the sound of Dipper rousing from his momentary slumber elevated her apprehension. Mabel knew her twin caught on to what had occurred quickly by his stout glare, though that only added fuel to the fire once other travellers' bad looks began to cut eerily deep.
"Mabel…" Dipper mumbled as she trudged back to where she'd been only three minutes ago. With eyes locked on to the centre door after the transport came to a slow halt, Mabel witnessed the nameless phantom turn away and get off without any acknowledgement.
She didn't like that. At all.
"A-All right then," Mabel said, trying to swallow away the ache. "Have a nice day..."
Hugging her backpack was enough of a comfort alone, but it didn't give Mabel any strength to face Dipper. Rightly so, for he would've had an early hunch it wasn't worth trying to harbour new connections on public transportation. It wasn't like she had anything to talk about or that there appeared to be a chance for encountering someone who happened to be going to her school. Mabel was well aware of that before engaging with strangers, although the fear of missed relationships and the urge to try in spite of how much it hurt—that was what didn't sway her. It was what made her believe her kindness wasn't reciprocated because of a seemingly irrational belief that people were inexplicably groggy at such early hours and that nothing sinister lurked behind the curtains. Few were the morning birds in Mabel's life, in fact.
Whatever the cause was, she decided not to dwell on it out of hope for the untapped opportunities which yet awaited her. Noticing her embarrassing display had resulted in Dipper showing surprising consideration by not reprimanding her, she asked to exchange seats with him. He obliged, and as Mabel faced the latter half of a humid and sour Piedmont morning through the suburban blur, she closed her eyes for the remainder of the ride, seeping into the land of daydreams where ignorance remained the holiest of virtues.
A tug upon the sleeve of Mabel's shirt was what brought her back. She sprung up, knowing she'd arrived at the end of the line. Avoiding the dreaded glare of the driver as she and Dipper navigated to the back, they emerged on the far-end of the creased and worn pavement in front of Eggbert Elementary. To say certain parts of their fifteen-minute trip felt like an eternity for Mabel would've been a veritable understatement, but that had little bearing now: they were there and nothing else mattered.
She could get the show on the road.
"Welp," Mabel said with as much nonchalance as she could muster, "that was something!"
"Sure, but why'd you go ahead and bother that guy?" Dipper asked.
Mabel sneered. "Silly, silly questions: you always know how to ask 'em, Dipper! Now help me get this back on my backpack, please."
She pointed to the zipper in her other hand which had broken off after fidgeting with it one too many times.
"Fine," Dipper said with vivid dissatisfaction, doing as requested. His weird inflexions didn't matter, though. Mabel, much to her annoyance, never missed the typical eye-rolls which clued her into whenever Dipper was annoyed. "Sorry for asking."
Spot-on.
"There."
"Thanks, bro!" She gave Dipper a pat on the back as a sign of gratitude and took the initiative in approaching the school.
Mabel eyed the building while humming a casual tune, and she could surmise it wasn't meant to inspire from the façade alone. One floor, asymmetrically positioned flat windows, brick-tiled roof, an unassuming double doorway preceded by a set of brick stairs, and an elaborate, potentially gilded sign of the school's name. If said elaborate sign were actually made of gold, Mabel had a feeling that other facets of the exterior and the cheap brick aesthetic would've made a lot more sense then.
What unfortunately didn't allow for Mabel to get a bigger idea of that which lay ahead was the expansive schoolyard where a throng of visitors congregated amidst rows of foldable plastic chairs positioned across a lofty podium. Rationale kicked in and told Mabel the arrangement was most likely part of an assembly organised by the faculty, which made her nearly have the gall to boast at Dipper that someone else had indeed cared about the first day of school. Much to her luck, the site was spacious enough for her to hone in on two empty seats in the middle row ripe for the taking.
She noticed Dipper seemed to have stumbled somewhere along the way, though Mabel didn't catch to see why. She'd have allowed her momentary worry to dissipate had Dipper not begun stroking his shoulder once they reached their destination.
"What happened, Dipstick?"
He frowned, gaze awry. "Nothing. Just bumped into someone."
Mabel pouted, feeling something wasn't right. "More like someone shoved you."
"Dunno. Doesn't matter, anyway."
She tried her best to shrug and pretend not to take notice, leaving the cryptic mannerisms of her sibling for the philosophers. Or for later. At a certain point during the night when one couldn't sleep and weird questions kicked in, the line between those two became blurred and the old saying was no longer just a comedic one.
"Whaddya got there?" the wide-eyed blonde girl sitting close, whom Mabel hadn't bothered out of concern for Dipper, piped up in a manner of speech laden with southern influences.
"Oh, this?" Mabel reiterated, at first taken aback. "Just brought a little something for everyone I get to meet in school today." She idly trailed her finger along the chair before she realised what this surprise conversation had actually meant for her endeavour. "Hey, wait, you're someone I'm meeting in school! Would you like to try a Mabel-approved sample? It's called that 'cause that's my name!"
"Yeah, sure!" She pointed at Mabel's arm while taking the treats. "Woah, that's a really cool way to line up wristbands!"
"I know! Thanks!" Mabel couldn't contain the urge to gasp. "Oh my gosh, your shirt is from Adventures in Unicornia, right?"
Her peer smiled with unchained vibrancy. "Wow, someone that's seen it! Wanna come over sometime to watch it with me?"
Mabel snorted a laugh. "Girl, why you even gotta ask?"
"Forgot to say." The girl held up two fingers which she aimed at herself. "I'm Nara."
Without a cinch, she continued conversing with Nara and managed to acquaint herself with a few others by virtue of her new friend, continuing the spree of material profligacy with them. As time walked a hundred millionth mile again and Mabel continued hanging out while faculty members gave tours of the classrooms to those interested, a quarter of the paraphernalia she'd taken had already found itself handed out to new faces—indeed, everything appeared to be going great and with no hiccups whatsoever.
So it was possible, however much a similar idea would've played into Mabel's wishes, that the encounter on the bus had been a fluke. The lack of opened windows had probably warmed up the air too much and made everything uncomfortable—it had to be that, Mabel thought. It was an idea even Dipper could have been on board with.
That served to remind Mabel about how, in her determination to get through to as many of her classmates as one would deem possible for a seven-year-old, she'd forgotten to check up on her twin. Her gut told her she shouldn't have done that. Nevertheless, she was certain she'd have found a way to fix it in due time.
Mabel trailed back to where the two had last been together and, unsurprisingly, found Dipper at the same spot, looking a lot more bored than lonely. She positioned herself close to him exactly as the assembly began.
Following a somewhat dry introduction from several school officials, the person whom a lady in a white skirt had mentioned being the principal rose up and recited an elaborate yet equally boring panegyric about how supposedly overqualified the staff were and how they never got tired of upholding the Eggbert principles (whatever they were). He also made special note of the fact that their facilities were 'totally and surely cheese-free', how the security guard was not a shapeshifting alien, and, acting as additional emphasis, the principal insisted on most students having a complete lack of any misdemeanours during their education.
A revelation that dawned on Mabel as she diverted her focus away from the podium was the surprising amount of fellow students who were accompanied by their parents; she didn't blame her own for not adding to that statistic—at the end of the day, it wasn't their fault circumstances had called for such measures, even if having them there would have helped considerably. Her mum had a way of lifting her spirits in the most unexpected ways, though, and Mabel liked to believe she herself had silently taken the mantle of sharing a similar kindness to those around her.
Before she knew it, Dipper was already nudging her.
"Let's get going, Mabes," he suggested. "I don't like the look of some of our new, uh, 'friends' here."
"Hold on, Dipper!" She rubbed her hands. "I still haven't given away most of my stuff!"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"Totally. There's nothing that could go wrong!" Mabel insisted, disregarding his efforts to sow doubt. "Look, I'll meet you with a couple'a people I just talked to!"
Giving Dipper a social headstart was bound to absolve any prior wrongdoings on her part.
"W-Wait—" Mabel had already yanked Dipper off his feet but let him go nonetheless. "I think it'll just be better if I get on filming the ceremony for dad's collection, like he asked yesterday. Forgot he gave me his good camera."
"You really don't wanna get to know anyone?" Mabel frowned, not expecting an answer. Sometimes she had a hard time understanding why Dipper was so averse to outside contact. "Fine, then record my greatness! But don't forget about yourself, too!"
There was still quite a wide selection of unknowns to choose from; most appeared, however, to be preoccupied—whether that entailed engaging in unassuming discourse with teachers or leaving the premises. That made the one brooding individual standing at the fringes of the yard far more remarkable to Mabel.
"Uh, Mabel," Dipper uttered as she got closer.
"Hold on, Dipper," she ordered. "I dunno who that is. I gotta say hi to them before they decide to leave!"
"No, you don't—"
She picked up the pace of her stride. At a moment's notice, she reached the big tree against which the kid had leant under the shade cast by a dense crown of leaves. Mabel observed that they were another girl, of slightly taller and imposing composure, with longer, more unkempt curly white hair, slanted shoulders, and an attire which added to the stark impression she had formed.
"Heyo!" Mabel greeted, inwardly glad that Dipper didn't tag along to chastise her further. "I'm Mabel Pines and I'm here to make your day super-duper awesome!"
Vivid disappointment plastered over a contained expression and otherwise stoic demeanour—the receiving end began hearkening to a similar tale now. Yet Mabel's resolve didn't waver.
"Heh, well, I, uhm, meant to say hi since you looked lonely..." Mabel continued, the weak entrance nevertheless taking its toll on her conduct. "But don't worry, friendship's the cure to everything! I'll even give you a gift to celebrate!"
The loner raised an eyebrow and, with a low intonation almost unbefitting of someone Mabel's age, said, "That so, huh?"
"Ayup!" she pressed on, stretching out her hand with the present. "Hey, if you have allergies, you can leave out the cookie. They do have a lot of peanuts, so I don't mind!"
"Sure." The aura of those words was, surprisingly, far more amicable. Now Mabel was getting somewhere. "Let's get in the spirit, then."
"Great!" Her cryptic acquaintance gawked for a few seconds again and, at last, accepted the offered generosity. "Now, I'm a big sticker gal, so you can see if you like it or ask me for something else. I'll love to—"
The girl remained immobile, as though watching the air again for a brief lapse, which Mabel deemed a sufficiently unusual thing for one to do with a set of newfound gifts at their disposal. Mabel realised she wouldn't have had to trouble herself much with such deliberation, as any woes were silenced by the thrashing of the items down in the dirt without a care in the world.
"Listen, dweebus," the kid began, closing in on Mabel. "What you just saw was me pretending to care. 'Cause you wasted my time, you made all this"—she shot a finger towards the ground while smirking—"a lot harder for yourself. So just scram already!"
Mabel blinked once, twice, thrice—it didn't impact how demoralising such a fast punch to her heart proved. In a swelling pang of shame, she crouched down to scoop up the ruined items.
She felt someone's hand pass over her arm. Tilting her head upwards, Mabel saw Dipper had gone in front of her, his arms stretched out so that his hands were on the level of her head. Neither he nor the girl said a word, and Mabel could spot her twin's eyes being lit by the fire of brewing spite.
"Dipper." She got up and went between the two. "Please."
Dipper sweated Mabel's unemotive pal for a few more seconds before turning back. He shook his head fast and then nodded twice. Mabel took Dipper by the shoulders and led him away.
As both were walking, Mabel said, "You didn't have to do that, Dipper. I know people are being really mean today, but—"
"That was her." Dipper stuck his hands inside his pockets. "She's the one that shoved me. I shouldn't have let her do any'a that to you."
"Ah." Mabel gulped, uncertain of where to channel the flurry of different sensations which went through her. "It's fine. I guess…"
"You really wanted to try and get through to her."
Mabel sighed. "I did."
The two walked in silence for a moment.
"Hey, try not to think about it, okay? Didn't even film it." Dipper tried to aid his claim by offering a weak smile, though his reassurances came in a rather weird and ineffective form. "Wanna just go home and, I dunno, make a pillow fort?"
"Sure," Mabel admitted, however much she didn't like doing it. "Think I'm gonna feel a bit better... after a couple glasses of Mabel Juice."
Dipper reciprocated with a nod and, without continued elaboration, the Pines changed their course to the bus stop. All the while, she sensed the temptation to remain defiant in the face of what had occurred. Yet the prospect of dragging Dipper around was what steadied her hand—her brother deserved better after putting up with her, she reasoned.
"You seriously gonna film us getting back on the bus?" she asked once Dipper began fiddling with the camera. It was noon already, and he had most likely missed the opportunity to capture the main spectacle (if one could have even called it that).
"Got to get something for dad." He aimed the device in different directions, presumably to see if it was still in working condition. They'd have been in quite the ride if it wasn't. "Or I don't think he'll give me his camera again. And I need it for my documentary!"
Dipper's ulterior motivations notwithstanding, he had a right to continue filming, albeit a great deal of Mabel wished she could already forget this miserable experience and not carry any mementos further. A portion of the crowd from the assembly gathered near the area, making it somewhat difficult to navigate through. She inched between the sea of adults, trying to blaze ahead.
Until her right foot hit something on the ground way too hard.
She felt herself losing control of whatever balance there might have been in her despondent gait. The one moment in which thrill and shock intertwined was the single conscious reprieve. A drop before the tragic plummet surged like a phoenix whose spark would have died out in a matter of seconds yet continued soaring through the sky.
In her case, the atmosphere where the last flame was extinguished was down in a pool of water—a dirty puddle on the far right end of the walkway.
Mabel hit her back. Her clothes became stained, her hair muddied, and the entirety of that which she'd carried spilt out from the force of her fall and a faulty reattachment of a particular zipper on her backpack.
Some laughed. Others watched. Most ignored her. Few came to her aid.
Mabel shut out every last one of them, abandoning the meaningless trinkets she'd spent so long on to decay in the waters of her failure.
She ran until the watery mist in her eyes became as cold as the world that rejected her.
She always had a soft spot for autumn. Few but exciting holidays, mundane traditions most never paid any heed to, and now, when the coloured leaves took short flight from beyond their cradled birthplace with such grace: in its entirety, Mother Nature at this time of year evoked an experience that couldn't be neglected; couldn't be assumed; couldn't be exposed.
Angelina Park was one of the places which was blessed (or cursed, depending on one's viewpoint) by such a temperamental anomaly. The weirdness actually proved a worthy contributor to the locale's esoteric flavour. Perhaps that was what birthed the strange delirium of nostalgia in the first place—the reason for Mabel's intimate feelings towards it. Like a secret to hold dear, the lake and trees could bear witness to none's silent vices but her own.
That was something a long summer away from any responsibilities had made her take for granted.
"I wanna say, 'I thought I'd find you here'," a soft and controlled voice said, pouring out an amicability Mabel hadn't been used to. Of course, Dipper would've found a reason to trouble himself. "But I spent 45 minutes tryna find you."
She remained stoic. Dipper having chased the trail of absurd breadcrumbs to reach her didn't change much, if anything.
"Look, Mabel," he continued, a focused gaze aimed both in her direction and the shrubbery ahead, "I'm sorry you fell like that and ruined all your things. I tried to dry up the cards and stickers. But I could tell the cards were from Z-Mart and that the stickers were back from mom's day."
Mabel sighed. He could never truly 'get' her. It was okay; that wasn't a cause for anger. Unlike some, he didn't mean to hurt her.
"That's not it," Mabel muttered, attempting to find some way the comforting view of the tranquil lake waters could spill out the words for her. To no avail. "It's just dumb cards and whatever, Dipdop. I can make a thousand more'a those if I want." She cradled her face in her arms. "But I can't change what everyone thinks of me."
"C'mon, Mabel," Dipper insisted, "it's just the first day of school—no one's even gonna remember it!"
"Probably." After what felt like a painful eternity, she gathered the courage to look him straight in the face. "I'm not dumb."
"Then why do you feel so bad?"
"I… I dunno, Dipper," Mabel admitted. The question was simple and led by reason, which was what made it annoying to answer. "I tried so, so hard. What did I mess up? Why'd the entire planet just decide to hate me today?"
Dipper appeared to open his mouth, but he retreated to silence nonetheless. Figures. In truth, Mabel already knew he hadn't an answer, for there was no explanation he could conjure to the cruelty she'd been subject to.
"I thought the world needed more Mabel," she continued with a line of thinking she was beginning to regret. "You always said that."
"Sis—"
"What do I need to do so that everyone likes me, Dipper? Can't they see I only wanna love them and help them?"
"You did something really special today. But I think some people are just dumb, Mabel. Or they're too sad to see it but… it's their loss."
Mabel didn't budge. There was merit to Dipper's reassurances, as Nara was a good person with whom Mabel had felt a genuine connection form over the flimsy conduit she'd so effortlessly given away—the conduit to a struggling heart she had to accept as her own. Yet the irking belief that the good moments were just a ticking time bomb cast forth by her bad readings of others' intentions gnawed at her. There was no telling if everyone else wouldn't have become bored of her love sooner or later, and she had an inkling family wasn't exempt from that idea either.
Were her presumptions correct, then Mabel would have achieved exactly what she sought to avoid in the entirety of her triumphs and downfalls: a total and utter ruination of what she felt was a driving force in life.
It would've made it even more tiring to keep on being nice, to continue helping when it hurt so much.
It would've made it even more tiring to be Mabel.
And still, in the tedium and hardship was where she'd discovered some purpose in the first place. Many in her position would've thrown in the towel far sooner, so for her to quit when she'd felt true, vicarious happiness from seeing her influence work its magic so many times—it was an inexplicable notion.
If she were to keep chasing the upped ante of reality, then maybe it was time to let that other part of herself—the one which had warned her of the dangers—take the wheel from time to time.
"Wait a minute," Dipper said out of thin air. "There's… there's something here!"
Mabel lifted her gaze over to him. He'd been viewing the footage on the camera.
"It's hard to make out 'cause the quality, but look!" he exclaimed. "Someone tripped you!"
"What?" she inquired, analysing the recording with Dipper. "Wow, they did. They're good."
"That doesn't matter, Mabel." He seethed. "I'm gonna find whoever did this and I'm gonna make them pay for it. I think I know—"
"No," she interrupted before Dipper got too ahead of himself, "don't do that, bro."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Dipper, you can't make everyone who does something bad to me 'pay for what they've done'." She added credence to her point (or shed light on Dipper's absurd claim) with the power of air quotes. "And you can't make the whole world like someone as crazy and dumb as me..."
"Maybe." Dipper paused for a little, most likely stuck in a maze of endless questions. "Yeah, you're probably right. I can't do all of that to everyone."
Mabel didn't say anything. Dipper, although having a bit of uncertainty laden in his eyes, seemed as if he had more to say.
"But hey, I'm crazy and dumb, too," he continued. He lifted his bangs and pointed to his forehead, where the many dots had kept on being aligned—aligned to a most unusual birthmark. "See? We've been crazy and dumb together our whole lives."
"Like the duo from The Crimson Tattletale," Mabel added, aware that was going to hit a nerve, "the enemies that became crime solvers together."
"Kinda, yeah." Dipper's satisfaction became written all over him. "Wow, I didn't think you'd remember them."
Mabel giggled. "I know it's one of your favorites, Dipdop."
"Thanks." Dipper took a deep breath. "And hey, I've always wondered myself… about the thing you told me. There's so many people out there. And there's gotta be someone else a-apart from us that, um, gets us. Not like mom, dad, or granddad."
"Like… who?"
"Someone who's like us. Someone with a twin in our family."
Mabel forced a smile. "Your 'sciency' brain is really weird, Dip. I just know we're Pines. With us, anything can happen."
"Exactly. That's why I hope it's true."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Me too."
A breezy stillness in the atmosphere enveloped the park just as Mabel decided it was best not to mention that Dipper hadn't been the only one who'd thought of other Pines twins. The byproducts of circumstantial sibling telepathy were best left unspoken.
"So," her brother began, "what are you gonna do now? You sure you wanna just let this thing slide?"
"I get what you said, Dipper." Mabel curled up her fingers. She was aware of what she had to do. "Believe me, I do. But I just can't answer rudeness with rudeness. I won't stop being me. I… I can't stop being me." Her breath hastened. "Every day, I'll keep on being nice. Even to that meanie, because I'll be there f-for anyone who needs me!"
Though emotion began overwhelming her voice, standing up from the bench with a proud posture was as cathartic as Mabel had imagined it to be.
"I gotta be..." she whispered, staring into the calm of the lake from its bank.
Her twin came up, his warm smile a relieving sight.
"You'll help me, right?" she asked.
"Of course, Mabel. The least I can do is be there for you when you need me."
Even if Dipper wouldn't have admitted it, Mabel always knew he had a softer spot for those who were close to him than for his often morbid curiosity and hunger for knowledge.
"That… that feels good." Mabel heaved a sigh of repose and leant on her sibling's shoulder. "Thanks, Dippy."
He rubbed his eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that in front of people, please. Same for, uh, 'Sir Dipson'."
Mabel chuckled. "Okay, I'll just add them to my super-secret collection."
Another eye-roll. Mabel could discern it was one motivated by something more positive than exasperation; that brought a modicum of peace to her damaged soul. It didn't mean she wasn't still terrified of a future which was bound to come—a day when sticking to what felt safe would be her undoing and when those two halves of her worldview would become one (if necessary, by force).
But for now, the hopeful first-grader would let the intrusive whisper rave its tirades at the brick wall of her convictions. She'd live out her preteen years within a dream alongside the one who made looking up every day with newfound hope all worth it—a dream that might have shattered the bounds of life one day and opened a portal to a reality where her undying efforts to better others would have pulled her closer to the freedom she yearned so much.
Mabel could bear with the treacherous echoes and the nagging doubt if it meant being the one who could make her voice heard across the universe itself.
She'd do it for Dipper.
She'd do it for her parents and those other Pines twins who were bound to have existed somewhere out there.
She'd do it for her new friends and a certain loner who had tripped her up (literally and figuratively) in her ambitions.
And whenever there was time at the end of each day of being the world's best Mabel, then, and only then, she'd do it for herself.
A/N:
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