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:
How could one keep existing through a lie, meandering every time beauty brushes past with blessed stride? Was this game of tag but bound to envelop only him in a chase of shadows? Or was glory just around the next old, run-down corner?
Similar questions do two halves ponder at the beginning of a fateful summer. As they intertwine over a mystical encounter, either the bruised red heart will show itself to the world again and become whole... or life will suffer under the blood of its gaping wound.
Disclaimer: Contains some coarse language and psychological trauma some may find disturbing. Read at your own discretion. Gravity Falls belongs to Alex Hirsch.
A/N:
EnneaQuote: "There's this painful loss of identity and you'll see this in how the Fours relate to the identity of everyone else. It's as if they can see the significance of everyone and everything around them—and they name that significance with such lucid, vivid, and accurate detail. But they just can't see it—they can't see themselves in that same way. So that fear of not being known, of not knowing who they are, of not knowing where to root their significance sort-of compels them into this desire to simply be who they want to be: to find their origin and be themselves."—Christopher L. Heuertz
Author Commentary: Allow me to preface this by mentioning that this is my Enneagram type. It's the type with which I most resonate and find myself trying to discover, learn, and build myself upon.
Type Fours are individuals. Breaking from the norm is indicative of their desire to accentuate that fact. In extreme cases, they are willing to forsake everything if it means becoming closer to realising who they want to be.
Fours are the most introspective type of the Enneagram since their entire nature revolves around asking question after question about their identity, digging until they find some semblance of authenticity regarding who they are. Because they feel that without authenticity, they aren't anything worthy to the world—their struggles can't possibly mean much if they're just like everyone else.
In that sense, Fours can be some of the most passionate and driven people out there—idealists who try to capture and express their desire for gaining a new understanding of life that will answer all the burning questions their curious minds have. Creative and immensely thorough, they thrive in the unknown even if they have equal doubts about being in it.
Yet their bouts of uniqueness are often but a shield for their own uncertainties and fears. Many Fours find themselves horrified at the idea that they can never experience the lives of those around them and find out if they haven't been missing out on a happier, more utopian reality all along.
Such are the reasons for Fours being trepid at the thought of their own identity and running away when tasked with the many difficulties of self-reflection and, thereafter, self-actualisation. It leads to why Fours can trap themselves into becoming endless melancholic dreamers: they do not find comfort in resisting the tide and getting nowhere, but in flowing with it and seeing if those currents could, by themselves, lead to new horizons.
They also draw, in that regard, many unhealthy comparisons to others whom they deem successful and having found a true purpose. More often than not, these are delusions which Fours reinforce to paint themselves as the tragic, faceless void in a world they deem full of remarkable individuals. Yet the truth, in a surprising twist of events, is almost always that they are unique and special enough—that their magnificence can come even from purely existing and gracing the world with their innate uniqueness as a human being.
Type Four
Brebio's flame couldn't illuminate far.
His aura was encapsulated in a tiny sphere around him which never grew, only shrunk. A full view of the sparkling, clear pond at Basil Mountain's summit was a sight to behold when the land's two faded stars danced over the neon sky; he'd have given his mere existence away to witness it again. An ideal image meant that much, unlike this annoying compromise where he could only see the comforting blue shrubbery nearby and part of the enthralling body of water.
What made the other wisps better? What made them more special? He couldn't resist dawdling upon the same question during each venture to Basil Mountain in which he willed reprieve from the collective.
The reflection in the water shot back at him. Nothing too special.
He presumed those around him were luckier, created amidst better fortunes. A brilliant falsehood to have gone on believing, indeed. All of his own were of the same mold—what mattered was the imprint one left through their opportunity. And Brebio, now alone with his insignificant fire, was aware of the meritless weight his imprint carried.
The reflection was becoming muddier. His light was dimming once more.
Brebio shook his ethereal form, hoping to have regained some of what was lost back. Wisps, he had been made to believe, were the fondest expression of order. Not an aesthetic fault—not a drop of cursed essence which had pervaded the matter in the Multiverse. For one as well-versed in failure as Brebio, such a radical classification never birthed any closure in him yet allotted plenty of space for harrowing doubts to emerge.
Lost in the haze between uncertainty and solution, his were the lies that tried to distract from a crushing revelation. That painfully real deficiency which had become impossible to mask—being rotten on the inside, waging a tired battle against a force unrelenting.
Why were the other wisps never rotten? Had he missed a step in the road to divinity which his peers had already braved? Brebio wanted more than anything for this utmost failure to have been his own, yet each possibility he wasted effort upon proved the contrary. Feeding the link between reality and the Ascendance Plane was a primal vocation he had chased since inception, though many had discovered Brebio dedicated a lot more energy upon long ponderings than his supposed raison d'etre.
Moonlight glistened in the thickets, signs of its decay impossible to ignore. The Light Spirit and the Axolotl would have arisen soon; so the cycle would have reset. The awakened creatures didn't provide as dazzling a scene as what Brebio had experienced during the dark, yet they were noteworthy to watch nonetheless.
How were the other wisps—those meant to be impure—able to carry on with striking fervour and not lose focus? How, through that orderly paradise, was it so natural for them to ignore their faults—to go on with their lack of true identity? Brebio could never let that happen to him. Perhaps that was his downfall and the downfall of wisps which were rejected from the greater whole.
And where did the other wisps commune whenever he wasn't present? He had scoured and scoured nigh aimlessly through the gathering sites, but the rejection that he'd unspokenly yearned for was never there; those places were empty. Although there existed few with which he could identify some connection, it seemed as if it were limited to the arbitrary. Not resonant over any mutual facet, not harmonious in origin—just benign wisps that had given him a chance and then left him when they saw little use in those ties.
Both ideas of belonging—to a community and a special bond—he'd deemed lost.
Newfound vigour washed over Basil Mountain. He could sense more of the mountain reappearing in his mental grasp and how fast its most minutiae properties were changing. Metaphysical inclinations were as much of a curse as they were a blessing for Brebio.
He levitated to where he could behold the expanse outward, to the other regions of the land. Perhaps such remained Brebio's fate—to wander places where he didn't belong. A guiding example in becoming one with the unwanted, scraping by vivid tales of forgotten dreams. Little deliberation was there in his decision to fuse with the wandering anomalies: the Will-o'-the-wisp.
Stalling no longer, Brebio set out in another search for a truth he knew had never existed within him but he hoped existed in another. All his other misgivings notwithstanding, he knew where the mortal whom he'd contact was. Were there any benefit to being a highly unsuspecting member of his kind, masking his presence was easily it; knowing the weak links between reality also offered a similar luxury. Breaching the spiritual underbelly of the universe and finding himself in a far different, more unwelcoming setting seemed to have been his true calling, much to his distaste.
With the best of luck, his venture would've offered an authentic experience of what it meant to be free. Or it would've continued the twisted spiral. Either way, it'd have brought him that long-forgotten fulfilment as he braved the labyrinth of maybes.
Robbie snapped his eyes open, a sharp jolt of pain combing over him. He clutched his head—the origin of his discomfort—and lifted it up from the rough desk, shoving aside the guitar which lay in his lap to rest his elbow.
"Ugh… not again," he murmured, catching a glimpse of the little sunlight which traversed the room between the black blinds.
He puffed, somewhat relieved at how the night was still far away. Though the occasional willing nap during the day had become a suitable method of distancing himself from his annoying parents, Robbie secretly loathed dozing off for long stretches of time. Getting lost with the intangible had a knack for spiralling him out of control and moulding the coming weeks into a blur—a troubling consequence he never would have admitted out loud.
The spontaneous ache having subsided, Robbie glared at his surroundings, spinning around in the creaky swivel chair without much thought. Dark and monotonous, unlike everything else in the Valentino residence—a funeral home far from the town. Not like he cared about how well his aesthetic boded with the world. He'd always considered his mother and father too chipper and happy-go-lucky; too colourful, almost like there was a facetious aura around everything they did—whether it included Robbie or otherwise.
His pain came back again; in a more subtle manner, but there nonetheless. Robbie couldn't resist trailing his thoughts back to whatever crazy vision he had awoken from. Vagueness in the mind he was well acquainted with, but it was different this time—much more visceral and, to his surprise, an experience which he could recall lingered.
Similar to a far-off calling from a stranger or a faint whisper in his ear, the sign at the end of the line pointed only towards a remote spot in the woods near the house. It was a place he felt he'd always known existed yet had elected to ignore in blind hubris. Robbie was keen on discovering what kind of anomaly was communicating with him, preferably finding a way to stop it by force along the process.
Robbie began to feel the energy drain from his body from his prolonged gazing towards the ceiling. He got up from his seat and headed for the door covered with a gratuitous amount of posters for his band—a band he'd always longed to put more effort into. Before turning the misaligned knob, he rummaged inside one of the drawers in the desk and took out a pair of steel brass knuckles. Even if part of him was interested in tracking down whatever was luring him out of a morbid curiosity, he wanted to get the jump on it had the circumstances called for such measures.
On his way down to the ground floor, Robbie heard his phone vibrate. Flipping it open, he was greeted with a message from Tambry: an article regarding the grand opening of the new Gravity Falls art museum and, attached to it, an invitation to 'spice up its façade' with Nate, Lee, and Thompson. Robbie didn't think twice, shutting down the offer the moment he saw that Wendy wasn't going to be there. As of late, he'd discovered there was little value in doing anything with anyone else.
"Oh, you're going out, Robbie?" the faltering voice of his mother broke through as he passed her by in the kitchen. An insufferably loud infomercial about some knockoff product called TEAMix (a team-oriented tea mix, Robbie presumed) was blaring over the TV. "If you have time, can you please go to the store and get some eggs? I need to bake a pie for one of our clients' coffins! Family traditions, I guess!"
She laughed—no, cackled even, yet Robbie continued ambling towards the exit.
He heaved a sigh of annoyance, leaving without elaboration. Exactly those kinds of illusory niceties tried Robbie's patience. Why they could never say what was on their mind without coating it in six layers of confusion, he had an inkling he'd never know.
"Oh, don't worry, sweetie!" Her shrieking was far-off as Robbie had already taken his first step outside. "I found some eggs inside one of the decorative skulls from our first clients! Have fun with your pals!"
A slither of Robbie's conscience determined he had shut the door too hard out of spite. The rest thought the commotion wasn't clear enough for a certain Janice Valentino that he had been fed up.
Few were the beaten paths in Gravity Falls. Whether one was a tourist or part of the townsfolk, they often found themselves going through a myriad of shortcuts to reach their destination. As such, no shops sold detailed dossiers of passable routes in the region and many paths remained with little to no guiding signs. Robbie wasn't fearful, given he'd been in the town his entire life and had become accustomed to taking detours. It helped that his house wasn't that near Gravity Falls itself.
Sometimes, he overheard locals raving about paranormal encounters in the forest, but he'd never taken them seriously. No one he trusted had ever encountered anything unusual, so there was little worry for him concerning straying into uncharted territory.
This time was… slightly different. Whispers transformed into a monotonous ringing as he intuitively distanced himself from his house. He had a sense that he had known of this uneven trail he was travelling—that somehow, he had been aware of it his whole life; every crossroad appeared familiar, every weird marking like second nature. Yet the end eluded him still.
His mind wandered as he braved through a narrow clearing. Why something wasn't right with him in spite of his efforts trying to believe the contrary—such riddles haunted Robbie longer than he wanted to believe. Today was no exception to him debating that inexplicable inward brokenness.
Once, he had attempted to project it upon himself and self-doubt littered his routine. But the crude hand of fate had shown him the gripes had forever hidden in how the world desired only the things which Robbie could never give. Coming to that conclusion was in vain: he was already too tired to save himself from where his road had taken him—the ocean's depths of loathing.
Those were the reasons why the nickname Nate had given him became a broken shield clinginess had obsessed over. Being 'that emo guy' proved to be a safety net like no other. It, as opposed to alternatives based around superficialities, offered a comfort which allowed Robbie to act as though all his actions were vindicated in light of what was expected of him.
Perhaps that itself hadn't come without a cost, after all: Lee had Nate and Nate had Lee; Tamby had her web of trusted confidants; Wendy had whoever was around because of how approachable she was.
Robbie? Solitude in the dreadful cycle of being the favourite person of no one he truly treasured—his fate, for better or worse.
Robbie looked ahead. He was getting close. Flora around him began to shift colours to a palette more suitable for autumn and the air was enveloped by an intoxicating, lemon-like scent. A soft, somewhat suspicious rustling reverberated with the supplementary commotion in his head.
He couldn't help but recall his recent talks with Wendy. Recently, she had brought up that two kids—relatives of her boss—were coming to stay and help around that tourist trap where she worked. The situation would've struck Robbie as odd had he not fantasised about Wendy's hours being shortened out of that revelation.
And that would've entailed more opportunities for them to hang out together. After all, it only mattered how much time he could spend with her. He needed her and, in his mind, she needed him.
Robbie faced the sky, the ringing in his ears ceasing. He was here, at the heart of equilibrium.
And he had enough of all the noise whoever was following him made.
"Got you now, you—"
"Wait."
Robbie snarled, having swiftly armed himself with the brass knuckles, and tried to punch whatever was behind him. Fazing through some unidentifiable blue mist, he nosedived to the ground. As Robbie turned to make sense of what he aimed towards, said mist vanished and moulded in the image of a human body as tall as him with a bright mass of energy concentrated where its head should've been. Ill-defined legs and arms took shape and an unstable, fiery texture engrossed Robbie's vision—the creature in front of him akin to having been lit ablaze.
He didn't dare stay to find out what it was. He ignored the pain in the knee he'd bruised from his fall and turned to flee.
"Wait." The words, wherever they had come from that thing, were more imposing than anything Robbie had heard.
Feeling the entity's physical essence wrapping around him was worse. Robbie yelled—or, more appropriately, screamed—as his attempt to run away was thwarted and he was dragged back. His body was lifted up in front of the glowing centre of the monster, a grand abyss forming before him as he was wrapped in coils of inexplicable nature. Before he could further squirm for help, he felt some otherworldly bond fixate itself on his bruised knee and, in a matter of seconds, erase any pain he'd experienced there. Whether it was really healed or the sting was just hidden, Robbie hadn't a clue.
"Oh my God..." Robbie murmured. "Wait, I'm goin' crazy. Oh man, oh crap! Lemme go! Get me outta he—"
"Allow me to explain," the being said, having somehow sealed off Robbie's mouth with more of the blue mist. The timbre in its speech wasn't as scary anymore. Rather, its voice sounded like an amalgamation of many voices he'd recognised from a plethora of people—some clearer than others. "I have not come here to hurt you. My 'name' is Brebio. I am of the lost wisps, or a former servant to the higher beings that govern everything. They are those who inhabit a realm far from here."
Robbie's mouth was freed.
"Good news: you may speak now."
Robbie remained fearful of his captor's power. Yet feeling as if perplexion overlaid primal instincts, he asked, "What the hell does that even mean? W-What are you?!"
"Yes, you are unaware. Hm, this will be difficult to take in," Brebio admitted in a way designed to emulate human consideration. "I originate from a place referred to by many names. The Ascendance Plane is one of them—a human could describe it as a bridge between the spiritual and the material; a bridge between the matter of dimension and the unseen."
"What?"
"And," he continued. Robbie didn't like whenever people (and wisps, apparently) were better talkers than listeners. At least when it included him as the listener, "a replica of my kind exists for every living thing in this realm imbued with a drop of the Axolotl's blood. I chose this place and revealed myself to call you here."
"The hell?" Robbie said, his fright slightly supplanted by anger at the seemingly nonsensical ramblings he was being subject to. "Hey, whoever's behind this shitty prank, I'll make you pay! It's not funny!"
"No, no!" Brebio's core subtly changed in colour. Robbie trembled again. He forgot he was still bound and under this terror's whim. "This is no ruse. I've come in search of you, Robbie Valentino—to allow you to see." The supposed anger the wisp had given into suffused into tranquillity again. "You and I are both out of balance and you cannot lie to yourself any longer. But I can show you all you could be—the way you see your friends, perhaps—if you were to allow me for a time."
"Yeah, right..." Robbie rolled his eyes, "and I'm a lost cause that needs your 'magic'. Should I ask my friends if they've met you too, since you know so much about 'em? C'mon."
"A futile thing to attempt," Brebio explained, touching a hand upon a dead bush nearby and imbuing it with life again. Robbie blinked in awe. "While this place is a weak spot in the link between your reality and the Ascendance Plane, none of my kind who were rejected have stayed long. They may have entered, yes, but not in search of anyone here. Inhabitants of this area and the wisps which have come here were all too content with their place amidst insignificance. We… are the exception."
Robbie frowned. "Whaddya mean?"
Brebio loosened his grip, causing Robbie to hit the ground in a thud. "My hold on this world is… not without limits. But you must listen!"
Robbie didn't try to laugh at the irony of the situation as he'd have usually felt inclined to, only spearheading his efforts in trying to get away as far from this nightmare as possible. Though he could still feel his legs weaken and movement slow. Wherever the wisp had truly emerged from, he was powerful even in a weakened state.
"Either I am condemned to remain alone and broken, or you are to finally feel happy, Robbie Valentino. You want to be loved for all the things you wish you were." Robbie tried to shut Brebio out, the strife behind those words disguised more and more like his own. "I understand, more than you know. My power in this world may be limited, but what I am in relation to you isn't. I will make sure you know that."
There was a sound resembling fingers snapping together. Robbie sensed the throbbing in his head again, although this time his ears were what was overwhelmed more than anything. So many voices came at once—screaming, whispering, roaring, whimpering. Cascaded by a series of the fading and unrecognisable, he became fixated on a terrible, robotic screech and Wendy's desperate ravings. Their tongues hid mumblings about zodiacs and prophecies. Then, of dimensional annihilation, colliding fates, and death itself. Such cacophony and insane mayhem—it drove Robbie mad.
"Make it stop!" Robbie demanded, his blood boiling as he clutched his ears. A pause—one too long, enough for him to finally realise through gritted teeth there was no way this could've been a prank of any sort. "Do it, you damn cloud thing!"
"There are many questions. I can pose some of the answers." Brebio lifted the harrowing collage of auditory torture back to his own speech.
Robbie was thankful, to say the least.
"I am truly sorry I had to do that. But you have to stop the cycle and free yourself. I can't do it if you do not let me pass."
Robbie gulped, standing still for a few seconds. He came back to Brebio and sat down, cross-legged.
"W-What do you even want?"
"As I said, I seek a momentary fusion with you." That didn't clear up any questions."You are more than you think. I… I am a reject. But we can help each other. We are bound in more ways than you know, if not only as outcasts from where we come. Let me show you how to make things right for yourself so that I can have my peace."
Robbie was trying to keep his bearings gathered. "So you're saying this… 'fusion' thing—it's gonna make me happy, huh? It'll make things the way I want to be?"
"It'll reveal who you can be—unravel your potential. For a time. You will be subconsciously aware of my existence and everything that we've said now. My impact will lessen as the days go by, but I'll be there, the light to hold on when you've no one else to turn to."
Robbie sensed a pang of disbelief and bitterness in his heart. Was he seriously considering letting a 'wisp' inside his mind, to dwell in his memories without his direct knowledge? Robbie was many things, but crazy was not on that list yet. The fact that it had unveiled something so grotesque disturbed him a lot. Who knew, then—perhaps the inexplicable problem had to beget an inexplicable solution? Robbie had little idea of what his 'true potential' included, but it would be remiss of him to believe he wasn't motivated to find out. Plus, shoving this encounter in the depths of his consciousness he could never have realised existed might've been for the better.
"I am aware of your doubt," Brebio admitted, the wild wind suffusing into a serene gale seemingly on his whim, "it is like second nature to us—never really leaving ourselves at rest even when we want it. But I cannot say, through it all, if you are open to trust me. Are you?"
Robbie rubbed his arm. "H-How does it work?"
"You only have to allow me to elevate your soul and mark the transition with the bonding words."
"What words?"
"All living know them. I will help you remember."
Robbie's eyes shot down. Then, he peered back at the colourful abyss. Strange, it'd become more comforting now.
"Look, okay, alright? But no tricks!"
"And so we shall renew." One of the wisp's hands reached out and touched Robbie's forehead.
He lost control over his body and, together with Brebio, uttered, "Has cordis fila torquens, affectum invoco quem dudum oblitus sum. Nam quassata memoria in abyssum demersi sunt, ad virtutem et candorem recurrentes, nunc profiteor: in hoc obscura nocte, permitte me istam divinitatis, et hoc divinitatis fac me!"
A flash of light—a great beam that might as well have been visible throughout the entire woods. And then, limbo at the heart of nature. Robbie sensed his crossing back into the land of the material.
The momentary wave of clarity washed over him but subsided without much glamour. He brushed himself off and, aware Wendy would have finished work soon, went to meet up with her, all the while ignoring the bright red spots scuttling about his vision.
He hoped it was just his eyes playing tricks.
The Mystery Shack was, as a house of oddities, an oddity itself. Robbie had never taken a particular liking to that fact, seeing the establishment as being weird for weirdness' sake. Granted, he hadn't much of an idea if some of the exhibits there were real or just good imitations, but seeing as most of the customers didn't lose sleep over similar questions, he himself didn't elaborate on it much either. Wendy was the only reason he bothered to keep tabs on the Mystery Shack and its degrading exterior, observing it from his usual spot—the tall totem pole—once again.
A throng of tourists exited through the front door of the shack. Wendy was among them, yet she breezed with a rather downtrodden gait past the slow crowd, hands in the pockets of her jeans.
"Woah, hey, Wendy," Robbie said, surprised at how she almost missed him entirely and was about to continue ahead. "You in a hurry? What's wrong?"
Wendy didn't stop. She had clearly seen him but didn't attempt to interact. "I don't wanna hang out right now, Robbie."
"That's one thing. You okay?" Robbie experienced a concern for Wendy which had its roots far from any personal desires. He did wonder what had upset her to this extent. "Did that old guy in the shack piss you off?"
"No, Robbie!" she snapped, finally making eye contact with him. Her face was a garden for dried tears. "Ugh, can you just leave me alone? Just… not in the mood to be with you."
Robbie huffed. "Look, I didn't want to make you angry. But I don't wanna see you like this. I mean, can't you at least give me a chance? Tell me what's bothering you?"
Wendy's mouth was agape. "I..."
"You don't need to say anything." Robbie shrugged, lightly kicking the ground. "It's my fault. Shouldn't have pushed you that far. If you wanna come hang, I'll be at our spot."
Robbie ran a hand through his bangs, passing Wendy and ambling towards the gathering site he'd referred to.
"A-Are you high?"
He scowled, instantly darting his sights back to Wendy and expecting to be met with the face of someone who pulled off an elaborate joke on him. Instead, she watched on with those same puffy eyes.
"What? No!" Robbie answered. What was so odd about his behaviour for Wendy to think he was high?
"You're sure?"
"Yeah!"
"Wait." Wendy pinched her temples. "I didn't mean to come off like that, but… wanted to make sure. Guess I could loosen up a bit, okay?"
To say Robbie was confused would've been an understatement. Nevertheless, he was satisfied Wendy had changed her mind and he didn't hold the flippancy of her attitude against her, nodding in agreement with her suggestion. The two strayed from the shack, not talking much as they walked. Thankfully, the misshapen rocks and The Den—the old oak tree they'd nicknamed and often sat beneath with their friends—that stood at the centre of the isolated copse were near the tourist trap. A swift change in scenery was certain to make both of them more talkative, Robbie thought.
More time passed once they arrived, various musings clouded by contemplation of what nature lay before them among many other things.
"Sorry I snapped like that," Wendy finally said, having sat next to Robbie under The Den. She was slightly closer to him than past times they had been there alone, he noticed. "Today just freakin' sucked."
"I get it."
"It's my dad." She sighed, head shot up. "He came in at work around lunch—didn't even call me because he doesn't know how phones work—and went on about how I had to come and help him with something super important. So I thought, 'fine, whatever'. Turns out, he dragged me all the way home just to show him how to switch TV channels to that new BoyBand24/7 one. Worse, he wanted me to come back later and do the same thing again 'cause that's when that fake band he likes would actually play live!"
She huffed from clear exasperation and crossed her arms.
Robbie could tell she wasn't finished, so he didn't intervene.
"I mean… I wanna help but I can't always be there for little stuff like this with my dad or my brothers. I need to have a life too, damnit."
"Yeah, that's gotta suck a lot," Robbie said, finding the pain in her dilemma. He put a hand on her shoulder as a show of support. "You didn't expect it at all."
Wendy's eyes widened a bit but she continued, "Well, you know how it is with my dork hive of a family—I do… love them. But work's the only place I can take a break from everyone's craziness. And seeing my dad there, stressing me out over something like this: it just pissed me off. Ya know how that feels?"
Robbie wasn't sure how to feel. Yet somehow, he was sure of what to say.
"I… I dunno." He scratched the back of his head. "I can lie to you and say I do and you'd probably see I'm lying right away. But I do know you, Wendy, and that helps me understand in a way."
She shot a brow upwards.
"You, me, Lee, Nate, the others—we screw each other over sometimes and family's kinda the same. I don't actually hate my parents but they really get on my nerves 'cause of a lot of things." He couldn't resist chuckling weakly. "They don't get me and it might be all my fault for that. Trust me, though, it sure as hell isn't the same with your dad. You're not the problem and he still cares about you, so maybe both of you gotta work on being honest. Or something."
Wendy stared at him, the calm breeze blowing in her soft red hair.
"Wow. I… I really wanted you to say something like that." She laughed in a subdued fashion. "Didn't know you actually could, honestly. But I'm really glad you understand so well."
Robbie was glad to have lifted Wendy's spirits up, though he wasn't certain he would. Seeing her happy was enough for him to be at ease. After a few seconds of him relishing that, Wendy's phone suddenly buzzed alive and she brought it out.
"Oh, Tambry wants to go graffiti the new art museum that opened up today," she said, the more relaxed Wendy shining through. "That's gotta be something we're so gonna get caught for. Huh, she said you didn't want to come."
Robbie frowned. Checking his own messages, he was confused as to why he had rejected Tambry so harshly earlier. That didn't feel like him, he reasoned.
"Weird," he said. "I have no idea why I said that."
"Well, just write her back saying you'll come, dum-dum."
"Right." Robbie did as instructed, no matter if his confusion hadn't been resolved.
"Shoot. I still gotta help out my dad—promised him. I'll try to talk with him about all'a this, though." Her attention overtly shifted back to Robbie. "Meet up in an hour?"
He motioned a thumbs up. Wendy formed a graceful smile and, without warning, wrapped him in a tight hug.
"You're awesome, Robbie."
"Wow..." Robbie muttered, the heat in his cheeks more overwhelming than any other question which had run wild through his brain. He chuckled. "Anytime, Wendy."
Letting go and waving a solemn goodbye, Wendy departed towards the road leading to her house. Robbie observed daintily as she vanished in the midst of the pine groves and, for the first time that day, he too smiled.
Robbie arrived home soon thereafter and started searching for his spray cans, taking those which were made to spray a different colour from the rest. He had never been greatly gifted when it came to creating the things he imagined with graffiti, moreso showcasing his abilities in terms of quantity over quality—that being the explosion outline he'd drawn on the water tower and at varying landmarks in town. The technique was there which meant something else had consistently lacked. He'd forever hidden under the protection of excuses related to stylisation and how his creativity originated from a distinct interpretation of reality over the walls of buildings. Everyone knew those projections were falsehoods. Robbie knew best.
In a change of pace, his heart stirred towards another direction now. There had been an image forming in his imagination as he was strolling back—an image of a shattered soul at the brim of a cold reality. It was something he had the motivation to breathe life into, to paint. Old uncertainty overtook him nonetheless, and he wondered if he could have done that perfect vision justice with his skills by painting it today. A good deal of him didn't care at this point and with how enamoured he'd become with the idea, there was really no turning back.
Having gathered the essentials for his endeavour, a determined Robbie quickly made his way to the art museum before the designated meeting time. The trip was short and he identified which portion of the building he'd be working on at once—the right side was exposed and windowless almost like it was almost intended to be vandalised. The museum itself was at the far southern edge of town beside a neighbourhood covered by forestry in nearly every direction. It was obvious people had gathered for the grand opening a few hours ago by the litter on the ground and the cut red ribbon line at the front entrance.
He looked through one of the windows at the front. Few appeared to be inside the newly opened home of art and even less were anywhere near the site, having clearly preferred to cut the celebratory occasion short. He huffed and went to where he was supposed to be, setting aside his arsenal and facing the brick wall—his new flawless canvas.
He shook a black can.
Outlining was never easy and he had often given up on ambitious undertakings at that stage. Today was going to be different; he was sure. No longer would he have strayed away from his idea so early. The tedium of replicating each little detail had often got to him, but now, the shape of his work took precedence. He'd fill in the blanks later, that much he was keen on. As such, his hand bent in a calculated motion so as to minimise the strokes that'd have gone to waste.
He shook a red can.
Colour choice was generally a riddle in and of itself. At this moment, the solution to the riddle came to him naturally, with each element of the piece complementing the others in a way he hadn't intended. It was no sequence of colour set in perfect motion, of course, but it was getting there. The only weight over his shoulders was that how he'd got up to this point had been a fluke—a flurry of blind luck. Whatever came next would have unravelled the answer to whether that was the case, and Robbie tried to make sure he was satisfied with the outcome.
He shook a green can.
Robbie stepped away further, allowing himself room to lay out the broader effects—distinct substances like blood required a less rendered texture and a more respectful distance to be kept from the wall. At a certain point after that, he stopped attempting to rationalise his decisions. He let his mind flow and abate the distractions.
Once more, he stretched out his lanky arm, reaching for the red can. Confusion overtook him as he touched upon nothing.
"Looking for this?" the snark-laden voice of Wendy rang inside Robbie's ears.
Neither Lee, Nate, Wendy, Thompson, nor Tambry seemed fazed by Robbie's knee-jerk reaction to the sudden intrusion.
"Hey, don't sneak up on me like that!" Robbie shouted, partly shocked at how fast time had flown for his friends to have already arrived (alongside Wendy to have begun lightly tossing his things up and down). "And don't take my stuff!"
Robbie snagged the can from Wendy.
"Hey, dude, chill," Wendy said.
He was definitely not in the mood to follow her suggestion—not after being taken out of the zone so vehemently.
"By the way, we had to meet up at Greasy's, not here," Lee piped up. "But I guess you didn't get the memo. Again."
"Please. He just wanted to start without us," Tambry said. "Typical."
"Whatever, guys," Wendy butted in, trying to ease the tension as Robbie was assured she would have. She shook a spray can as well. "Not like it matters who came here first. Let's just stop wasting time and get spray-paintin'!"
Robbie rolled his eyes but was thankful that Wendy's efforts to contain the conflict appeared to have worked.
"O-Oh," Thompson muttered as he was beginning to back away from the group, "man, you guys didn't say you'd be doing this. Can't we, I dunno, hit the arcade? Anyone?"
"Wow, everyone, look: Thompson doesn't want to do something fun," Tambry chastised, typing something on her phone while beginning to work absent-mindedly.
"No, no! Look, I'll, uh, join you guys!"
Thompson grabbed a can from the ones Nate had set on the ground and began spraying himself. It seemed as if everyone silently elected to ignore that.
"What are you even painting, Robbie?" Lee asked, his face communicating vivid bewilderment.
"You're gonna see when I'm done!" Robbie insisted, tired of the nagging questioning.
"Me and Nate were talking about drawing a big skull with sunglasses," Lee added, rubbing his chin. "Man, would probably be easier if you didn't take up half the wall."
Robbie bit his tongue, ignoring Lee and relaying to focus back to where was needed. He saw Nate motioning towards Lee to drop his act and, thankfully, he did. Robbie thought he'd feel angry after that whole debacle. Instead, he just let the annoyance come and pass. The more downtrodden he was, the less fervour he'd have put into what he was making and he was cognizant of that. So he manoeuvred around his piece and spent some time on adding the details he cared for.
Without interruption, the band of six goofed around while continuing to perform their act of low-stakes vandalism. Wendy was exchanging banter with Robbie, Nate and Lee were doing their own thing more often than not, and Thompson and Tambry respected one-another in mutual ignorance. Even if most of them were relatively quiet so as not to draw too much attention to themselves, they still conversed amongst each other.
Thompson's boombox, albeit playing at a relatively low volume (not as low as he wanted it, but then again, he wanted it muted) made for a more relaxed atmosphere. Robbie began taking breaks in-between his colouring and joined in the fun. Lee and Tambry offhandedly made amends with him about prior remarks and he was content with their apologies, sticking by everyone instead of only one particular person he had an affinity with.
"Hey, let's hit up the convenience store for snacks," Wendy suggested. "I'm on that sugar crave!"
"Alright," Nate and Lee both said.
"Jinx!" Lee yelled.
"Damnit," Nate said. "Owe you a coke again!"
"You guys go," Robbie said, narrowing his eyes. "I'll stay here."
Tambry huffed. "Weeeeirdo."
"Whatever," Robbie replied, aware she was merely teasing. "Just go on without me."
"That's cool, Robbie," Wendy uttered in a rather soft manner. "We'll be back before you know it, sucka!"
"Yay, I get to be included in a non-incriminating activity!" Thompson excitedly shouted.
"Just for you, Thompson, I'm gonna knock over all the cardboard cutouts in the store," Nate said.
"Wait, I take it back! Take me as tribute! Knock me over!"
Robbie, although somewhat bashful, laughed alongside the others as they began distancing themselves from him.
He took a long-winded breath, appreciating the reprieve. It wasn't that he didn't find his company agreeable—albeit often irritating—but seclusion brought about its own benefits. He began to see it was, in essence, a balancing act.
He panned over to the sky. Dusk was beginning to settle over Gravity Falls, and he had already been hard at work for an hour and a half. It had to be the way he envisioned, or at least very close to it. Now, he was refining and making sure small aspects were in order with the final representation. In and out, he glanced over at the piece from multiple angles, crouching and fixing the bad spots where he'd made ill-advised assumptions.
At a certain point, he felt he was finally finished. His phone told him how long it'd taken him after his friends left: half an hour.
Robbie mulled over that which he and his peers had imbued upon the wall.
Thompson's own name was signed in a tiny cursive font (which Robbie had no clue Thompson was skilled at writing in) and had taken up spot next to Tambry's long speech bubble saying, 'whatever' followed by a vast series of ellipses. On the other hand, Nate and Lee's drawing of the skull wearing shoddy sunglasses was below Wendy's rendition of a middle finger which had, 'AUTHORITY SUCKS!' written around it.
They all revolved around the centre, where Robbie's creation was: an isometric interpretation of the town square, and amidst it stood the sundering, aching, broken heart which separated the halves of Gravity Falls into two—one bathed in colourful light and one shrouded in mesmerising darkness.
"Holy crap. When'd you do that?" Wendy, as if having come back with the rest on cue, asked.
Everyone's amazed expressions became clear as Robbie motioned to witness them. He didn't say anything, fluctuating between trying to find imperfections in what was already there and looking at his friends. No one else continued the conversation either. Of course, the sound of Thompson munching on a pack of F&F's was the only exception to the quietness.
"Wowee!"
"Shi—!" Robbie yelped as his heart nearly leapt from his chest and he saw the others jolt in surprise.
Robbie would bet that high-pitched of a screech bearing such an obvious country inclination had to have come from someone who was behind them.
His face scrunched up. That someone was Old Man McGucket, resident hillbilly.
"My, my, what'cha up to, kiddos?" McGucket asked, walking towards them with his typical despondent gait. "That's a great wall ya got there!"
He went to stare at Robbie's painting for a lapse. He didn't appear to react at first.
"Uh..." Robbie murmured. "Should we run?"
"Well, he's definitely gonna bust us if we don't!" Nate insisted.
"I don't think he can actually see the graffiti," Tambry said.
"I don't think anyone sees my graffiti..." Thompson murmured.
"It..." McGucket began. "It's amazing!"
"Um, thanks?" Robbie answered. He shot a shrug to his puzzled peers.
"In fact, none'a you could have made it! No, no… it's that hootenanny beast, Graffiti Fowler! He's come forecastin' doom to all of us!" McGucket shouted, grabbing his hat and becoming frantic. "Holy raccooni, people gotta see this!"
"N-No, wait! Don't!" Robbie exclaimed.
"Hey, y'all!" McGucket cried out while running around the vicinity so that anyone in a nearby radius could hear him. "Come 'ere quick! I seen it—I seen that beast leave its mark over 'ere!"
Without exchanging any needless words, the teens tried to make a run for it. Of course, hearing anyone scream outside a building one were in would prompt either looking out of a window or exiting said building to investigate the disturbance. The visitors of the art museum chose the latter option, and it quickly became fruitless to evade unknown eyes.
"Oh great. We're toast..." Thompson deadpanned. "Was nice knowing you guys."
"Shut it," Robbie demanded. "Let's just play into the old man's craziness."
An array of around fifteen people gathered in the span of fifteen seconds and surrounded the wall. Robbie and the group skimmed over to the sidelines.
"Look, y'all! This over 'ere can't be made by no human!" McGucket asserted, pulling at the few hairs he had left on his head. "I tell ya, a monster gon' and made this! Ya gotta believe me!"
One man instantly raised an eyebrow at McGucket's bold claim.
"That ain't made by no diddly monster," that person retorted. He pointed at Robbie. "Look, that kid's shirt's like the heart over 'ere! He probably made it!"
Robbie, ironically, felt his heart drop. Why did something as inconspicuous as a few teenagers defacing a building with cheap graffitti have to become so notorious all of a sudden?
"And it's darn beautiful!" the same resident said. A series of nods and hums of agreement breezed between the masses. "Says quite a bit 'bout our town here. Oh, and look, it's red!"
"Yeah, we should keep it as it is!" a middle-aged woman wearing a beanie declared. "Hooray for Hoodie Kid! Well done!"
"What?" Wendy, Nate, Lee, Thompson, and McGucket said in unison.
Robbie didn't pay heed to their shock. Or, better yet, he couldn't amidst his own. The chorus calling for 'Hoodie Kid' had become overwhelming way too fast, to say the least. Initially, Robbie couldn't keep up; he was getting recognition, value, praise—the accolades he had never expected yet hungered for like there was no tomorrow. Nevertheless, in this cruel realm of vice and personal misfortune, at this moment, Robbie felt balanced—like someone normal. Not misunderstood, not cursed by the world, and not alone.
"Say somethin', Hoodie Kid!" a younger member of the spectators suggested.
Wendy softly shoved Robbie closer to the middle of the spectacle.
"S-So, well..." he stuttered, biting his lip. He didn't know what to say—how could he have? He had to wing it. "I guess I tried?"
Robbie hoped the crowd, so void of emotion, hadn't expected an entire speech. He was proven wrong when they erupted in a glamorous cheer (except for McGucket, who ran away screaming his nonsense about monsters). Many were coming to shake his hand, pat him on the back, and offer advice. It appeared 'Hoodie Kid' had conquered the hardened heart of the typical Gravity Falls townsperson.
Presumably after having lost their enthusiasm for the occasion, at the sight of the crowd beginning to wane, Robbie was approached by a smaller handful of townsfolk.
"Hey, why you always wearin' that hoodie, Hoodie Kid?" one of them inquired.
Robbie looked down at his hoodie. He did wonder what the point in wearing it was now, when the bleeding heart had finally been mended.
"I… I don't know," he admitted. "Well, y'know what? I won't! Fine, no more hoodie!"
Robbie took off the garment and ran to a nearby rubbish bin in front of the museum.
"No more hoodie! No more hoodie!" the impromptu audience cheered alongside him as he dunked the hoodie where it belonged with all the spite he could muster, leaving himself exposed with a plain white T-shirt.
A similar flurry of compliments went on (now directed to the new persona of just 'Kid') before the entirety of the gathering, much the style of a typical mob mentality, dissipated amidst last well wishes to the new teen vandal-turned-graffiti-artist.
"What just happened?" Thompson was the first to ask.
"I dunno but damn!" Nate said, walking towards Robbie and high-fiving him. "That was super cool, man! You totally outdid yourself!"
"Yeah, Robbie!" Wendy stated, smiling in a wholehearted show of support. "I had no idea you were this good!"
Tambry, in a twisted turn of events, looked up from her cellphone and added, "Gotta admit, that was actually kinda nice."
"I agree!" Thompson said in the most Thomspon way imaginable by taking back his previous question and conforming to the general consensus.
Lee only nodded in clear approval.
"Dunno why you threw your hoodie in the trash, though," Wendy said.
"Dramatic effect," Robbie replied, half-lying.
"Guess it's fine when you get a taste of the spotlight." Wendy snickered. "You've been hiding your talent from us all this time, you freak?"
"Nah. I guess I got lucky today," Robbie said, rubbing his neck. Then, an idea. "Hey, who wants to go to the bowling alley? My treat—some of those bozos actually threw cash at me!"
"Yeah!" Nate exclaimed. "You're the man, Robbie!"
Aware the bowling alley would have closed in around two hours, the group set off. There were few ways in which Robbie could have been more content with the resolution of the outing; in achieving the ideal, he'd become whole. It was a mystifying comeuppance but one which had, against all odds, proven possible. Robbie fell behind the collective, marvelling in the ecstasy of what had occured minutes ago.
Everything was as it had to be and life was, somehow, looking up for him.
Until whoever had grabbed his shoulder aimed to prove Robbie wrong.
"Come with me, son," a deep voice ordered as Robbie was forcefully dragged back. The person's way of talking was eerily reminiscent of a local's. "It is okay."
"What?" Robbie bobbed his head, only to face a man clad in scarlet robes emblazoned with a crossed-out blood-red eye. "No!"
"You've been touched by the unnatural. A brother has seen this." The stranger took hold of his hands and restrained them. "There is nothing to fear. You are now alone."
"Hey, y-you can't do this!" Robbie pleaded, trying to free himself from the iron grasp. "Not now, please! Someone, do something!"
No, his friends were too far away. Had they forgotten about him so quickly?
"We will cure you and all you have affected in the town," another individual dressed in much the same way uttered, having seemingly emerged from the shadows.
He restrained his legs so that Robbie couldn't kick.
"We will make things right again," a final member said with an accent unlike any he had heard from the denizens in Gravity Falls.
They got close to Robbie and, before there was any time to react, placed a cloth over his nose.
What followed was a blurry sequence. Once Robbie opened his eyes again, he had been taken to the sanctum adorned by pipes and scrolls and hidden by the impassable bookshelves—a dome of lost words. Restrained—bolted—to a chair he didn't recognise and left alone against the red serpents which had stolen his freedom.
The last thing he remembered was a bright blue beam fired from a device. As it encompassed his vision, the monotonous sequence of words uttered by a crude, despicable tongue never left his ears: 'You needn't worry, child. All will be cured.'
And everything was bound to be, indeed, cured.
The second he found who had thrown his hoodie in the trash, Robbie would have found that person and would have probably beat them up. He didn't know why or how he'd woken up on the ground near the town square during the evening, having thereafter heard from Old Man McGucket of all people something about his hoodie being in a trash can nearby. In any case, that series of disruptive events proved enough to fire him up and rattle his brain.
As he ambled towards where his hoodie supposedly was, Robbie heard patrons of the Skull Fracture—the local biking hangout—talking about some riveting new graffiti art created by an unknown author on the exterior of the new art museum. It was theorised that it appeared after the opening of the building from a sacred, today-years-old artistic spirit of Gravity Falls which had blessed the people with a work worthy of reverence.
Dubious of those claims, Robbie went to look at it alone. At that moment, he didn't want to know anything else about the creator; whoever it was, the second Robbie set eyes on the wall, he knew he had been outclassed in an area he prided himself in.
The days went on. Wendy was, again, less talkative and somewhat avoidant of Robbie. He hated how it always appeared like she was hiding something from him. He had a right to know of her ordeals—after all, he spent way too much of his time with her to remain in the dark like that. He deserved at least something, didn't he?
The ups in Robbie's life were few and whenever they came, they resembled haphazard snapshots of specific days more than anything stringent. Weirdness followed him and showed its hand from time to time (especially after those strange relatives of Wendy's boss came around), but he swallowed his suspicions and continued wallowing in his purgatory of an existence. People became distanced from him and he became distanced from people.
Still, one thing always remained throughout everything else in the despicable summer.
Rarely, in the hours of the night upon which ravens from the nearby cemetery gathered over the windowsill of his room, Robbie heard in himself small echoes of a presence that should've been long gone but… wasn't. Akin to a story he'd heard a thousand times now lost or an urban legend moulded from a buried truth, he was never quite sure what to make of it. He grew to resent it, for the echoes began to sound more and more like distant, panicked screams.
Such they were—pained pleas for help he could never hear from the frightened soul; a pure being whose vigour was spent across an endless garden, gawking at the wonders of life while destined never to share them with another.
So subtly did bitterness transform into fear: of the unknown, of everything Robbie was, and of everything Robbie felt he could never be again.
EnneaCipher
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