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:

Dipper Pines had a simple job. Go to the hardware store, buy supplies, and come back to fix up the Shack. Nothing else. The journal would come up from Stan's clutches soon. He was fine, anyway. He could do without it.

Yet he made one mistake.

He didn't account for any possible annoying, exhausting, and weird trips down memory while getting there.

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls belongs to Alex Hirsch.

A/N:

EnneaQuote: "Fives have a limited, measured amount of energy for every day so they are careful about what they offer to others and when. It is extremely brave of them to show up for relationships because it costs them more than any other number."―Suzanne Stabile

Author Commentary: The type Five is one of the most beautiful, complex, and equally misunderstood types of the entire Enneagram. Although often depicted under the commonly associated image of the 'cooky and introverted academic', Fives can deviate from that prescribed characteristic heavily. They are the thinkers and philosophers of the Enneagram, constantly observing the world around them and making sense of it.

They gather data―be it through their mind, body, or soul―as it is their driving force to uncover more of the world so that the questions they already cannot answer may, in time, receive answers. The (perceived) inability to adhere to that is their greatest fear. It is why most Fives try to wire themselves as competent enough in their ambitions and undertakings, their yearning to attain said competence in one particular field or expertise being their driving force.

For Fives, feelings are a difficult subject; they are often disconnected from their feelings not out of personal fault but their different interpretation of them. They express a wide spectrum of emotions in a way many types who are more in-tune with their emotions may deem unusual. As such, Fives can believe their feelings to negatively impact the supposed competence they try to accomplish in their day-to-day life, causing them to create distance and appear reticent.

Yet through it all, the Five's greatest desire is to take on the puzzle of life and, from that, find out how to let loose the many questions and complex emotions which burden them so heavily.

Type Five

Dipper Pines had a particular fondness for staying on the sidelines when life didn't directly meddle in his affairs or the affairs of those he cared for. Taking in how certain situations unfolded was, for the most part, an experience which warranted a set of opportunities void of any glaring drawbacks. He'd still pull in the reins whenever time necessitated or an enticing adventure called, yet watching both the future and the past as if they were a movie designed to show the path towards betterment—that was second nature for Dipper from the time he could begin decoding the complexities of the lot he bore.

Current circumstances prompted Dipper to succumb to those tendencies. Following Gideon's defeat, the Mystery Shack being reclaimed in the Pines' name, and summer's integrity being preserved, a short breather had finally emerged in-between the chaos of the past few days; chances to bandage small wounds and look back were almost… abundant. Nevertheless, with a tourist trap in disarray and Dipper strolling towards Alex's Falls Hardware Store (surprisingly the only hardware store in town), he wasn't feeling any of the joy he had once his family's triumph over that conniving trickster had become fact.

It was like any excitement had subsided and something different had formed in him.

He was aware already—those thoughts had stemmed from the journal. Or, moreso, its absence in his possessions.

He sighed. Mabel knew better. She had told him as much, convincing him he didn't need the book to overcome Gideon. In spite of the assurances, he still wanted to have it so that he could continue cataloguing his observations of the weird town. Being able to physically document his findings had, inadvertently, become a habit for him. Now that the opportunity to do that was taken away for the silly purpose of fixing up new attractions for the Mystery Shack, it'd left Dipper with confused feelings he couldn't pin down.

Something in his mindset didn't click as it should have, and he had to fix it by the day after tomorrow—the day scheduled to be the shack's grand reopening—as Stan wouldn't have let dejected faces cover the special day. In spite of some people being strangely absent from the repair site, four days of labour had taken a small toll on the whole staff of the shack. Perhaps, then, there was merit in discovering what shook the scales he and the others clung on to as they headed towards the latter half of the summer.

Before he knew it, Dipper was at the hardware store's entrance. A single enigmatic sign with a warning emblem caught his attention.

He went inside.

It took a couple of seconds for Dipper's eyes to adjust to the substandard lighting; dust danced in the air yet was kept astray from where customers were meant to be rung up by the unstoppable power of a desk fan. Mouldy walls and dishevelled racks with tools did not give off the best impression, although the half-painted ceiling was partial evidence that the establishment was not a complete fossil from the dinosaur age.

At the counter in the far end sat a middle-aged man of a lanky build, with dark skin, a round face, and a dense, scruffy red beard which would've made many men from the nineteenth century envious had they been alive to witness it. His eyes, inquisitive and domineering, stuck to the newspaper in much the same way his angled nose did with the act of wrinkling; it was as if he had been gifted the last edition of the Gravity Falls Gossiper to be printed out in a millenium.

Dipper could also tell he fit the characteristics of the usual Gravity Falls resident mainly by how he wore a bordeaux vest and round glasses—fashion choices similar to most older inhabitants Dipper could think of. Perhaps he was not one who had been born in the town but he was one who had become accustomed to it after years of living there.

Dipper frowned, knowing his speculation was lost time. It was hard, more often than not, but he realigned his focus to the original reason for why he was here.

If memory wasn't a two-faced liar, Stan had apparently needed a box of nails and a new hammer. As the nearby radio set to play sixties music proved to be serviceable background noise, Dipper browsed the miscellaneous sections of the shop, going through hammers (big and small) and opening a variety of containers. After all, he didn't want to appear as having made an uneducated decision for his purchase even if that was going to be the case, much to his chagrin. At one point, he looked up from his search to see if he hadn't been annoying with his indecisiveness. Rather, the supposed owner had continued checking his newspaper with the same fervour since Dipper came in.

Eventually, after cross-referencing with vague specifics from Stan and his newfound knowledge in all things hardware, Dipper decided on a pair of items. He went over to pay.

As he approached the counter, the one who'd ring him up finally broke from his apparent trance and reflected Dipper's presence. The man shook his head and pointed at a sign below him which was bolted to the front of the desk.

Dipper hadn't initially spotted it, but it explained that the person before him was deaf and that a notepad was available on the desk if customers required any additional assistance.

He bobbed his head back up. This was a familiar occurrence. Grandpa Shermie had age-induced hearing loss, and Dipper's dad taught him and Mabel American Sign Language throughout the years to help them ease communications with their grandparent. Though Dipper was not fluent in any manner, he quickly learnt how to get around quite well. His father made him well aware not all people who spoke ASL were of the deaf community and vice-versa, but he had to test the waters and be certain.

Dipper signed, introducing himself and asking the person if he was deaf. He became aware of how that was probably a really, really dumb question to ask after all the contextual information he'd garnered. Impulsivity and social pressure did such things to Dipper.

The man raised an eyebrow and nodded, also signing and revealing his name to be Alex Delvin (that wasn't much of a shocker given the name of the shop).

Dipper breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had presumed correctly and not simply shot random gestures at the store owner. He himself had, at one point, devoted time to studying ASL on his own, both for curiosity's sake and the ability to have exhaustive discussions with his grandfather. Much like Stan, Shermie was a distinct character, but the natural barrier between him and the majority of people motivated a Dipper whose aptitude in the language was ever-advancing not to miss out on any possibilities for new discourse.

Dipper could tell it made the figurehead of the Pines' eccentricity smile just a bit more whenever his family visited.

He continued, saying he'd be buying only the two goods he set down. He also thanked Alex for the provided tolerance in regards to his lack of proficiency in signing.

Alex's complexion shifted into one resembling shock after Dipper extended his gratitude.

Dipper gulped, feeling a pit in his stomach from what he saw was a gross miscommunication. He didn't want to know which inappropriate word he'd said, for it would've proven that Dipper's form had been irrevocably rusty. He began signing an apology as fast as he could, trying to excuse himself for both the accident and his carelessness in regards to his stagnating aptitude in the language.

Alex smiled and waved, clarifying it was no issue. He mentioned that it was impressive enough that someone of Dipper's age was even aware of ASL, let alone knowledgeable in it.

Dipper didn't respond. Not because he didn't know what to say but because of Alex's style of signing. It, paired alongside his oral habits, was quite dissimilar to Shermie's, Dipper deduced. Whereas the store owner appeared to slightly vocalise his thoughts as he conversed, Dipper's grandfather was keen on utilising only non-verbal forms of speech and never anything else.

Alex, having printed out a receipt for the purchase after being given a ten-dollar bill, remarked how odd it was that Dipper was a customer of his.

Dipper furrowed his brows, unaware what a brazen statement like that had to imply. He implored Alex to elaborate.

Alex explained how he had always seen Dipper from the wide glass pane wandering the streets with nose buried in a book—the journal, Dipper surmised. Alex rubbed his chin before adding that the absence of said book had stood out to him and that he didn't figure Dipper as one interested in hardware in spite of his careful selection process.

Dipper huffed, more uncertain emotions combing over him—like a sickness in his heart the cure for which was the prize at the end of a long path paved by willpower. He ignored his self-imposed distractions, signing it was time to pick up what he had bought and go.

Alex raised his shoulders, stating he was glad to have met Dipper if not only due to discovering a person in the town who knew ASL.

Dipper returned only a reserved nod and, walking past the same mouldy walls which had left his lasting mixed first impression, exited from Alex's Falls Hardware Store.

With the early afternoon sun marking the pavement with scorching rays, Dipper strode along one of the main avenues, past the art museum and the junkyard. Now, indiscernible fallacies had become more prevalent in nature and the static noise which was his outpour of helplessness began to seem overwhelming. A fine line had already been walked earlier today, but recent events now posed a daunting question he had desperately believed as answered: Was his identity tied to that book he now lacked so much?

He sighed as his gaze dropped down.

Dipper's ruminations were quickly supplanted by a new happenstance—a prickly sensation at the back of his head. He turned, glancing at the ground where the source of the annoyance lay. It wasn't any regular paper airplane which his neck had become newly acquainted with; no, this unfolded note, now fitted into the comfort of his palm, was clearly intended for someone.

Dipper's beliefs regarding privacy abated his actions until the serendipity of the situation took hold and prompted him to read through the note. The handwriting was unlike any he could recognise: fine, elegant, yet with a peculiar and quirky charm to it.

Trepidation caught Dipper's breath once he saw the first sentence was addressed to him.

With suspicions raised, he read through the contents. Dipper scoffed when he reached the part about him being invited to an impromptu scavenger hunt organised by a secret puppeteer, with participation being incentivised by the chance to receive a grand prize at the end. In accordance with that, the final sentence cryptically hinted at where he had to go in order to progress.

He had his glaring suspicions—from benign to terrible; from rational to dumb; from friends to dream demons. The clues he had pieced together after going through the de-facto letter were far from conclusive, unfortunately.

Either way, a new mystery in Gravity Falls was abound and it was one that hearkened directly to him, no less. Even if it was by the clever design of a prankster, Dipper wasn't going to sulk away from the challenge and pretend he hadn't already solved the first part of the puzzle. He was keen on outsmarting the 'mastermind' behind this ruse.

Dipper set out towards, as the note had described it, 'the battleground of pixels and muffins'.

Carrying around anything significantly heavy over a good distance was, putting it lightly, an annoying and cumbersome venture. Then again, Dipper hadn't enough faith in himself to leave the hammer and nails unguarded as he spent time digging through this new rabbit hole. It would've been an unwise course of action, anyway—prone to error and susceptible to thievery.

Gritting teeth through the soreness in his muscles, Dipper found himself at the entrance of Circle Park on short notice. Many of the aspects of the main clearing were the same as when he had last visited it: worn-out graffiti cascading black granite walls, litter and industrial barrels pervading the sidelines, and a set of swings offering the illusion that the entire charade was but a normal park. In fact, it was definitely more of a battleground. Dipper could attest to that, as this was where he'd fought Rumble McSkirmish after the pixelated menace wreaked havoc across the town and was about to delete Robbie from existence.

There were, of course, the two imposing towers—clock and water—standing tall nearby, side to side, and casting their grim shadows over the surroundings. Dipper had never cared for them, though their presence on this cloudy day was somewhat pressuring. It burdened the atmosphere, littering it with loose ends and tales unworthy of being lost to time in the slew of other paranormalities.

Whatever ulterior motives the creator of this scavenger hunt had in regards to Dipper, they did one job well: the destinations they picked brought about weird memories.

Dipper cringed, recalling how desperate he was to unleash a video-game character from a computer screen in order to win a fight without throwing a punch himself. In the end, he reaped the consequences for that cowardice. And while Dipper had learnt from the experience, he wondered if there were more instances of him causing problems yet not growing from having been forced to resolve them. The worry stemmed from one residual fear: the possibility that such a personal fault could have impeded his progress in uncovering the biggest secrets of the town.

He sat down on a nearby bench and set aside the materials he bore. Having begun searching for any overt anomalies, Dipper caught sight of the biggest one in a ten-metre radius.

Toby Determined, the sorry excuse for a man, was meandering aimlessly amidst one of the main pathways directed inside the park and was scribbling something on a small writing surface. Dipper had no idea what Toby was mumbling under his breath even once he got closer to Dipper and passed by him, ambling towards secluded horizons and away from civilisation.

As Dipper watched Toby motion to put his small notepad in his back pocket, the scrawny reporter's impressive clumsiness caused it to slip from his fingers and fall. He continued along his merry route, clearly believing nothing had gone awry.

Dipper got up to retrieve the notepad, trying to identify if it was worth returning. A groan escaped him as sketches of Shandra Jimenez and a list of crossed-out names of townsfolk cursed his vision. Strangely, the words 'It's not who you think' were inscribed over most of the scraps of paper.

In spite of everything becoming a bit too coincidental for Dipper's taste, an idea popped into his head. He grabbed the first clue from the vest and compared the handwriting on it with Toby's. In retrospect, that might not have yielded the most fruitful results. If Toby was the author of both the first note and these ravings, there was no logic in revealing his penmanship on a silver platter. Nevertheless, Dipper thought he could do such comparisons in handwriting to whomever he saw in some form or another.

A hard object hit against the surface of a nearby tree, startling Dipper. His eyes moved in the direction of where the object had emerged from, though there was no sight of anyone who could have thrown it.

When his persistent scanning of the park offered more barren results, he glared down to see a rock before him. Rocks didn't come from nowhere, Dipper knew. Dipper also knew rocks didn't hit trees with letters hanging from them, coming to that conclusion as he snagged it from a lone branch.

Someone was nudging him to where he was supposed to go but they were immensely elusive in their 'assistance'.

Dipper tried to entertain other theories. He figured the rock could've been launched via a timed contraption which triggered after a certain time frame had passed in order to help Dipper (provided he was here in the first place). That, or the person who had sent it simply ran off quietly and swiftly.

He made a mental note to be on his toes and aimed his attention to the new lead he had plucked. There was a broken phone taped on its back. It took him a solid ten seconds but by process of elimination, he recognised this as Robbie's phone—the one which Dipper had been challenged to a fight for due to smashing on the ground. Wholly uncertain what to make of the ruined device's presence, he stored it where he would've the journal and read the second paper. Quickly skimming through it, he realised he was cryptically instructed to visit another place which he, once more, guessed immediately.

Dipper chuckled. The creator of this little excursion clearly wasn't one for subtlety and that narrowed down his suspects greatly.

He went back to the bench and turned a heel towards the 'multi-headed surprise atop a great height'.

At this point, Dipper had no idea what was supposed to await him at the next mark. He knew where it was, yes, but not what to expect upon his arrival. While he stopped a number of people to check for handwriting matches or exhibit guilty behaviour around him, he determined sticking along the main route of the game could've aided him in more ways than he was aware. The chances were low but they were certainly there. His arm was sore from transporting the supplies over elevated ground, albeit he knew his ears would've been even more sore had he left them only to become subject to Stan's grunts of disappointment later on.

With the gruelling trek coming to an end, he came upon the landmark he sought out. No past hesitation enveloped Dipper as he eyed the small opening which had remained the same as when he had last gone through it. A fast, chill breeze whistled from the depths and wrapped around him, suffusing into the vast forest behind. He was ready to deal with this particular part challenge; or so he had convinced himself.

Dipper breathed out in a controlled manner, entering the shrouded cave of the Multi-Bear. Stalagmites lined up the grey walls of the interior and the wet rocky walkway as the presence of life began to fade away, dirt and tiny blades of grass becoming nearly invisible further down.

Traversing old routes and rediscovering the central sanctum, it didn't take long for Dipper to form a startling realisation: the Multi-Bear was nowhere to be seen. He searched left and right—everywhere, even the stump on which the radio set to play the BABBA Disco Girl tape sat—to find a glimpse of the creature he had shared common ground with. Never did Dipper expect that the absence of a multi-headed bear would've made him think he had lured himself into a trap, unprepared and at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, he controlled himself, trying his best to properly inhale and exhale. Reasoning was bound to see him through the issue and stop him from committing to anything drastic.

In his attempt at reconnaissance, Dipper tilted his head upwards and saw a peculiar sight. Though he had expected to uncover another memento of his past experiences with a note attached on it somewhere, said memento dangling between two stalactites—near the ceiling of the cave itself—was not the ideal place anyone would have imagined it being at. In spite of the distance, he knew what it was—the bones tied up in a delicate form, the stone, pointy tip refined as much as crude hands allowed. Those were the markings of the makeshift spear he had been entrusted with by the Manotaurs when they had given him the mission of slaying the Multi-Bear.

Zoning in on a section of raised terrain to his left, Dipper quickly forged a mental path of where he'd have to jump from in order to have a chance at reaching the spear. No matter if the stunt was dangerous, there was no reward for an adventurer without a tinge of risk. Akin to his time spent at Circle Park, Dipper set aside the tools he was exhausted from dragging around. He climbed up to the new vantage point, gathering inertia as his teeth were shaking from the bitter cold.

He ran and, with arms outstretched, separated his feet from land. Some tiny part of Dipper hoped for everything to slow down while he was airborne; his wishes remained wishes. He passed by the twin stalactites and, as he began plunging back to the hard floor, caught the lower half of the spear in his hand. For a second, his coveted item was stuck in part at the brim of the opening, but it soon gave way under Dipper's weight, making him tumble down to the uncushioned surface which awaited below.

Somehow, Dipper managed to land on his feet without falling over thereafter from the impact. He breathed a heavy sigh, wiping off the dust which had gathered around his clothes. His dastardly feat of physical prowess had the potential to turn out a lot uglier and he was grateful that wasn't the case. Having recuperated, he shifted his priorities to the spear itself and what had been attached to its handle. The bone weapon hadn't changed much, if at all, after Leaderaur had swiped it into nothingness. He set the spear aside and brought forth what he truly came for.

In contrast to the previous leads, this one had a single sentence recorded in it, instructing Dipper to check his left side. It also mentioned that provided he couldn't check his left side, his legs were most likely broken or he was dead.

Ignoring the presumptuous addendum, Dipper did as the note suggested.

The sound of the hand which made swift contact with his face could've been heard a mile away.

In an instant, he dashed over to the winding cave walls shrouded by the platform he'd leapt from. There, coated in what appeared to be dried red paint and outlined in giant letters, was drafted the real message. This revelation rendered his daring jump nothing less than a useless show of acrobatics.

Biting back disappointment, Dipper neared the walls, noticing the ravings were dissimilar in style from anything he'd witnessed prior. That wasn't good. Alongside a rock being shot against a tree out of spontaneity, Dipper now had clear evidence more people were involved in this escapade than originally inferred. He doubted himself for what felt like the umpteenth time, wondering if it was just one sneaky person who happened to be flexible with their traps and how they held the pen and brush.

He froze once his eyes worked through the entirety of the swirling text. Once more, there was nothing apart from a single sentence stretched out at a great length. Yet that wasn't what caused Dipper's mouth to be wide open from shock. No, it was how said sentence was phrased. No longer was there a shallow hint meant to lull him into a false sense of playfulness but a simple statement of the exact area he had to visit if he wished the truth unveiled.

That place… it hearkened back to the tenderest of memories—those which had spiralled everything to the whirlpool of emotions that was this summer in Gravity Falls.

Dipper rushed out of the cave, a jolt of pragmatism coursing through his blood, and went to the site of his prize—the end of the scavenger hunt.

It was ironic, in a droll sense. Just after the beginning of the summer, Dipper was at this exact same spot with a hammer and a set of nails in a box. The only pieces missing now were a handful of arrow signs meant to advertise the Mystery Shack and a secretive book containing immense knowledge sealed inside a metal compartment in a tree.

He could've slept the same without one of those two.

Dipper was sitting on a short stump near the forest clearing and that tall evergreen which had changed so much. He'd been here for minutes, analysing the premises as if he had been deserving of the promised prize.

Now, with options and energy spent, he could only think. And think Dipper did.

He hadn't an idea of how to deal with either current or future predicament: he was ripe for meeting whoever was behind the charade but was, at the moment, left in solitude; he had saved the town from Gideon's corruption but wasn't any closer to unravelling the author of the journals' identity. The latter was why he longed for the book to be back in his hands—because he could have that control and keep digging for his own sake.

Perhaps that was also why he answered to every oddity in the sleepy Oregon town, no matter how fruitless. Dipper had to be there; had to be aware of anything which could have aided in overcoming the burdening questions or, at the very least, distracted him for the briefest of days.

That rang true for this scavenger hunt as well.

No one was coming, Dipper thought as he rubbed his cold hand. The clock was ticking, confusion morphing into emptiness and despondence. So much effort thrown for such little gain. After this, how was he supposed to see himself—as a failure? An outcast? A wimp? Or maybe even a—

"What are you doing, Dipper?"

"M-Mabel?" Dipper piped up, voice sore.

She was right in front of him.

"Don't 'Mabel' me, mister. You should know better! I tracked you all the way here when you found that dang journal weeks ago and I did it again!"

"No surprise there." He instinctually formed a pained smirk.

Mabel bit her lip and frowned. "What's goin' on, Dipper?"

"What?" He jumped back from the question as Mabel scooted close to him on the ground. "What are you talking about?"

"Hm, I dunno," Mabel replied with heightened intonation, "maybe the whole thing. Saw it myself."

"Oh..." Dipper mumbled, the effect of what he had heard hitting him like a wall of bricks. "Wait, you did all of this?" He cupped his face in his hands. "I knew it had to be you!"

She snickered. "Who do you think could pull all this off? That's your final prize: me!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dipper uttered, trying to catch up and swiftly make sense of Mabel's confession. "Who wrote the notes, then? They weren't even in your handwriting and I checked everyone I saw in the town before I came here! Manly Dan, McGucket, Wendy—"

"Never underestimate the power of my gals, brother," Mabel said, fiddling with the moss on Dipper's stump. "Candy and Grenda are masters at hiding anywhere: trees, alleyways, you name it. Oh, and the nice Multi-Bear you told me about helped, too! Let's just say the mountains are hard to get into without a bear with a couple'a heads warding off huge bull-men!"

"You mean Manoutaurs?"

She shrugged. "Pf. Probably. Hey, did you know the Multi-Bear's also really good at writing on huge walls?"

Dipper ran a hand over his hat, wanting to do anything but entertain the prospect of answering the rhetorical question. "What about Toby?"

"Huh? Who?"

"Toby Determined! In Circle Park, when he was suspiciously walking around, he dropped a clue! You didn't make him do that?"

"Nope! Huh, crazy. He might've accidentally done something right!"

"Figures." Of course there had to be multiple people involved and the Multi-Bear had to be an associate. "Look, I know… I know I dodged your question, but I want you to answer mine first. Isn't that part of the prize?"

Mabel shot an unimpressed glance. "Alright. Go ahead, Dipstick. Not like I had to wait for you to come here or anything."

Dipper ignored her sarcasm, asking, "Why? Why'd you do all this?"

"Dipper. C'mon." She threw her arms up as if to make a point about where they were.

"I dunno what you're hinting at. If that's sign language, I think you're up for a refresher with dad."

"It's not ASL, dummy. And I wasn't born yesterday: I can tell when you're actin' up around me." She shook her head. "It was so obvious that beating an insane ten-year-old with a giant robot wasn't enough to cheer you up. So, I had to remind you why you're cooler than you think."

"Remind me? But I—"

"Nuh-uh, mister," Mabel interrupted, crossing her arms. "You got your answer. Now, I've gotta know what's been going on all this time and why you've been so down."

"Mabel, do you think I'm going to find out who the author is before the summer's over?"

"What?" Mabel lightly punched Dipper's elbow. "Hey, you don't answer questions with questions, Dipper. Not fair!"

"No, sis," Dipper retorted, stroking at where she hit him, "I'm serious. Do you think I… I'm smart enough to find out? I couldn't even prove you were behind this whole thing."

Since they'd started talking, only now did Mabel give the impression of being caught off guard.

"W-Well," Mabel stammered, her expression amplified by apprehension. "Look, bro, you're the brightest person I know. And I just saw you were going through a rough patch and my Mabel instincts got tingling." She put a hand on his shoulder affectionately. "Hey, even if you don't somehow find the author or know everything about the mysteries in the town, that doesn't mean you're dumb at all."

"How can you be sure?" Dipper retracted his shoulder from her touch. "I have to be able to see what everything's been about—what it's leading to. People have to know. I gotta know, but Stan just thinks it's all a big game. You seem to, too."

"I... I didn't wanna rub anything in your face like I 'won' anything, Dipper. I tried to make you believe that all the things you've done now are greater than the stuff you're so obviously worrying about." Mabel's hair fluttered gracefully in the easing wind yet her face contrasted the peace. "The whole point of this was to show you that you can do it, Dipper. If your noodle arms could carry that big box of nails all the way over here, I know you've got it in you."

Dipper remained reticent.

"I guess you gotta trust yourself you're good enough, Dipper."

How innocent a notion hers was—believing in one's innate competence amidst the droning of a loud, distant chorus sowed with distrust.

But as fallible as Dipper was, his determination and fervour got him to the murky middle of a chaotic summer. However scary the step forward was, he had to take it, for the heaviest of burdens wouldn't be absolved in a gilded cage of 'what could've been'.

It meant it was time to try and live in the present again, an undertaking equally hard as the alternative posed.

A transformation like that, the promise of a plentiful tomorrow with less impossibilities—they motivated him to do better and learn as much as he could. He knew he couldn't flip that switch instantly and he had an inkling he wouldn't be able to do it well after the summer ended. Ever looking to the distance was a curse in its own enlightened right.

Yet it was a curse Dipper Pines had to try and mend.

"I wanna trust myself that I'm good enough," he deadpanned after allowing the sounds of chirping birds and flora moving about to dominate their discourse. "Believe me. And you might be right. I just don't know if I can do it alone."

"That's why I'm here, Dipper."

When Dipper heard her say that, he knew. He knew how grateful he was for Mabel to have understood his plight and to have shown him what he was too stubborn to see. It brought a sense of tranquillity his mind had long forgotten. And to a place he had been running from—the origin of the hardest inquiries: his heart.

A newfound state of relief gave way to new ideas. They were bolder and more daring. He wanted to be, too.

"Hey, um," Dipper began, taking out Toby's notepad from the stash of collectibles and ripping out a page, "you wanna help me make a journal entry for the day? I know I don't need the journal but… I wanna find a way to remember today easily."

Mabel laughed lightly, as she usually did. "Of course, ya brainiac."

Dipper placed the new entry above the hard surface of the notepad's cover as he thought of a title.

"Any ideas for a title?" he asked, his lacking creativity becoming clear.

Mabel put a finger to her chin before suggesting, "How about, 'Halfway there'?"

"I like that." He jotted it down and what he'd be saying next with the backup pen he kept in his vest. "It's the middle of the summer in Gravity Falls and things have taken a turn for the strange. Gideon failed to capture the shack for himself even with a dream demon on his side, which is kinda funny to think about. He's in prison now after we exposed how fake his psychic powers were."

"And how awful of an idea Gideonland was, ugh!" Mabel commented.

Dipper decided it was best not to add in every one of Mabel's remarks. "We're still a bit shaken from what happened but we're far from beaten."

His twin nodded with exhilaration. "You can say that again!"

Dipper placed the pen on his lower lip before bringing it down again. "A lot of weird things happened, in general. Stan almost became rich and I almost got carried away with a couple of things. But we also met a ton of weird creatures: gnomes, a multi-headed bear, dinosaurs, and a lot more. We even encountered a merman!"

Mabel faked a cough to express her dissatisfaction at a particular aspect of what Dipper had catalogued.

He exhaled. "And not just any merman, a merman my sister kissed."

"Cute merman, Dipper, gosh! And his name is Mermando!"

Dipper begrudgingly fit the adjective and name between the words and continued, "Anyway, from uncovering conspiracies about the true nature of this town to having Mabel run the shack for a day, we've seen a lot. Gravity Falls is really different in both the good and bad ways. There's a lot of mysteries left but… they can wait."

"And that's okay!"

"And that is okay," he added. His hand was starting to hurt from how fast he was moving it in order to keep up. "I don't know what's gonna happen after the Mystery Shack reopens, but whatever it is, I think it's gonna be exciting. I don't think anyone's afraid of what's coming anymore. Because summer's far from over. We still have a long way to go."

Dipper clicked the pen, deeming the final sentence a worthy end.

"Lemme sign it!" Mabel demanded, grabbing the writing device from his hands and planting her usual signature which included, of all things, a smiley-face alongside her name.

"Whoa, okay," Dipper said, putting his arms up. Once she offered the journal entry back, he signed it with his name. "Wait, you never wanted to sign my journal entries before!"

"It's a special edition, Dipper," she explained, shrugging. "Plus, now, all you gotta do is wait for Stan to finish his design for new RabbitTron exhibit—"

"His what—?"

"Shush, I'll tell ya later. But then, when you ask him for the journal back, you can add this entry in there!"

"Yeah." He had been deliberating whether to tape it inside the journal before Mabel mentioned it. He was nearly sold on it until a better possibility crossed him. "Or maybe I could keep it somewhere else. Only this one entry. You yourself said it's special, after all."

Mabel raised an eyebrow, clearly not having anticipated Dipper to have used her own statements in his defence. "I like that. You do you, though. Just know, like the government, I'll always be right behind you!"

"I'm not sure if I should feel complimented or creeped out by that," Dipper acknowledged. "But I… I think all of this can work so that everyone's happy."

"Yes!" Mabel cheered following the candid smile Dipper had inadvertently embraced. She was up on her feet again. "Oh, you have no idea how much I wanted to hear that, bro! Look who's cured by Dr. Mabel's therapy sessions, woo!"

Dipper laughed timidly. "I'll make sure to endorse you." He paused. "Hey, Mabel?"

Their eyes met.

"Thanks for doing all of this—it was really fun. Even if I didn't solve the mystery."

Mabel, although willing to be the light which showed Dipper what his difficult emotions meant, appeared to trust he could learn to brave those complexities without her. Beaming with ecstasy, she began running back to their home, snatching away the many novelties he had gathered during the scavenger hunt and motioning for him to follow.

Dipper did not stay behind to look upon the past or only revell in Mabel's exuberance—the beacon of a new beginning. Instead, he valiantly chased right after his sister until, together, they could take off to whatever adventures the ageing summer had left in store.

EnneaCipher

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