The music for this chapter is 'Guardians of the Frickin' Galaxy' from Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (Original Score).

The Northwest's new home was substantially smaller than their last – whilst before they lived in a grand, luxurious hall, they were now stuck in a small, two bedroom house. By most people's standards, it was a relatively nice home. By Preston Northwest's standards, it was a a hovel. Now, he wasn't entirely wrong in that aspect – the place had a strange smell to it that would make even rats turn away in disgust, and it wasn't the cleanest either. That wasn't helped by the fact that none of the house's three inhabitants knew the first thing about household cleanliness – after all, it's not like that was something that would ever be useful to a rich person.

But now, after careful consideration, Preston Northwest had come to a conclusion: it would be rather helpful if he did know how to clean a house. It was a particularly hard pill to swallow for the old miser, as whilst he'd still rather have a butler do it, that wasn't a possibility these days.

Because of the Pines.

It was their fault; they'd brought that blasted triangle into the world, and it was perfectly reasonable of him to make a deal – after all, the rich are more valuable than the poor. That was just common sense. The Pines were the ones who destroyed his life, not him. The Pines caused this, and he wasn't going to let them get away with it unpunished. Preston scrunched his newspaper into a ball and flung it at the wall in frustration. He still had great influence over the town – hell, his own ancestor's statue was still in the town centre. He was still descended from the town's founder, he was still important.

This was what Preston Northwest told himself that dark, rainy night. This was what he told himself to pacify the knowledge that he was slowly falling out of importance and into insignificance, to drown his sorrows. His wife used alcohol to similar effect, but as he looked at her hunched over the kitchen table with drool down her lip, he vowed never to go down that path. He enjoyed the occasional whiskey, but he would never go that far.

He heard the front door open, but didn't bother moving to check who it was. He already knew, and he had more important matters to attend to. He sighed, taking a puff of his cigar and continuing to read the still crumpled paper.

"Dad, I'm home," Pacifica said as she walked in, hanging her coat up and placing her keys down on the key rack.

"Yes, yes, very good," Preston replied, not fully paying attention. "Very good."

"Right…" Pacifica mumbled, before beginning to walk up the stairs to her room.

It was only then that something sparked inside Preston Northwest's mind; he knew who she'd most likely been with all day.

"Just a minute, daughter." Preston rolled his paper up and pointed at her with it. "Come here a second."

Pacifica paused on the stairs, debating on whether or not she should just make a run for it to her room. Slowly, she turned to her father and walked towards him, saying nothing.

"Who were you with today?" Preston asked, curiosity peaking in his voice.

Pacifica stammered slightly – her breath caught in her throat. "Oh, just…" she carefully brushed a hair out of her face, averting her gaze. "Just some friends."

Preston's face hardened. "I see." He put down his appear and his cigar to stand up, towering over his daughter like a skyscraper. "You will not be see those blasted Pines again." He said their name with such bitterness and spite you'd think he was talking about Nazis, not the family who saved the world. "Is that clear?"

"What?!" Pacifica asked, her voice shaking. "I wasn't with them, I, uh… I hate them!" It felt wrong saying it, even though she knew it wasn't true.

"I know a liar when I see one, Pacifica," Preston sneered, beginning till circle her, all whilst looking down on her. "You have many qualities, but fabrication…—" he leant down and placed a hand on her quivering shoulder—"is not one of them."

Anger drew across Pacifica's face like a knife. She smacked his hand away and whipped around ferociously. "So maybe I was with them," she growled. "So what? They're my friends."

Preston stood up slowly, glaring at his daughter like a predator stalking its prey. "They're bad influences. Especially that… boy. The one with the greasy hair."

"Dipper nearly died to saved the town!" Pacifica snapped. "You should be thankful."

"There is no god in this town other than me!" Preston's voice echoed throughout the room, shocking Pacifica. "I will not kneel like a dog to those Pines, and neither will you! We used to have power in this town, Pacifica – influence! Then he snatched it away. The lot of them did.

"I don't want you anywhere near them," he continued. "It's for your own good." He knelt down once more and cradled Pacifica's face in his hands. "Do I not have your trust?"

Pacifica seemed to waver for a moment, before snapping back into reality. She hit her father's hand away once more, but this turned out to be the last straw: Preston, now infuriated, wound back his arm and smacked her across the face with as much force as he could, knocking her to the floor. A tear fell from Pacifica's eye as she looked up at her father, before getting up and running out the door before he could stop her.

Preston could feel guilt setting in, so he did what he did best – suppressed it. That's what all Northwest's did with unhealthy emotions, they beat them down until they were no more. There was no place for weakness in the Northwest household.

Which was why it may be a blessing in disguise that Pacifica would never show her face there again.

Dipper creaked his eyes open slowly, letting out a discreet moan of annoyance. He could make out the shape of Mabel, upside down, standing over the headboard of his bed. As he opened his eyes fully, he noticed that she seemed to have googly eyes stuck to her chin.

"Hey Dipper, it's Mr Upsidedownington!"

Honestly, he wasn't sure why he expected anything different from Mabel. He stared up at her with a expression of confusion plastered across his face, which soured Mabel's mood. She jumped down onto the floor and looked at him again.

"Still nothing?" Mabel asked, her voice peaking with desperation.

Dipper couldn't bring himself to say it, but he knew that his silence would be enough confirmation. Mabel sighed, pulling the googly eyes off of her chin and tossing them away. "Should've known," she mumbled to herself, before walking off and closing the door, leaving Dipper alone.

He sighed, contemplating getting back into bed.

But he was awake now, so there wasn't really much point. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, intending to make some breakfast. He was met with the sight of Stan (Ford? He couldn't tell them apart) fast asleep at the table, a newspaper draped over his face. He caught a glimpse at the man's hands, confirming that it was in fact Ford. There was a cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of him, which was now stone cold. All it took was for Dipper to hold the cup to decide to pour it down the sink. As he went in search of a mug, he pondered his current situation. It was strange to think about: he had lived an entire life up to this point, one that had just been forgotten in the blink of an eye. His idea of what he used to be like could be completely different to the reality, and that thought scared him. What if he didn't like what he found? Maybe it was better to start over, to let the past fade into obscurity whilst he went down a new path. Maybe his family wouldn't like that, but what if he did? What if he was glad to have a second chance? To start over from a blank slate.

After finding a mug and rolling the idea around in his head for a few moments, he suddenly remembered that he had no idea what he liked in his coffee. Or whether he liked coffee at all. Despite his wonderings, he decided to go seek out the answer, without a second thought. He made his way to the living room, and upon finding it empty, ventured into the gift shop instead. There he was met with… Wanda, wasn't it? The tall, teenage redhead who functioned as Stan's cashier. He hadn't talked to her much, but from what he could tell, they used to be friends.

He wasn't sure why, but just looking at her made him blush a little.

"Oh, uh… hey," he stammered, walking up to her. She was sat at the till with her legs up on the desk, chewing gum whilst browsing the internet on her phone. She noticed him, and smiled brightly.

"Hey dude. How you doing?"

Dipper chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, not much." As he looked at her, he had a horrifying realisation.

Oh no.

She's hot.

"So, uh – s-s-s-shouldn't-t you be…" he paused, not sure of the the word.

She put her phone down and looked at him in concern. "Shouldn't I be what?"

"Shouldn't you be…" Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, snapping his fingers repeatedly in an ill-fated attempt to jog his memory. "Be… be…"

"Working?"

"YES!" Dipper shouted, jumping in the air slightly, before realising his outburst. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nah, it's okay man. It's a slow day at the shack anyways, the only person we've had come in is Toby Determined."

"Wow, this perfume smells wonderful!" Toby said. "How much is it?"

"Toby, that's a can of spray paint."

"I know. But how much is it?"

Wanda shivered. "Anyways, what're you here for? You need me for something, or do you just want somebody to talk to?"

"A bit of both, actually," Dipper admitted.

Wanda pulled her feet off the counter and put her phone in her pocket. "Shoot."

"Well, it's just… I, uh, can't remember how to – damn – let me start over." Dipper took a deep breath and sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. "I can't remember what I usually put in my coffee, and I was wondering if you knew?"

"Yeah, sure," Wanda said. "It's like… half a spoonful of sugar, a full spoonful of coffee, and about a centimetre of milk."

"Oh, thanks, uh, Wanda!" Dipper replied, turning to walk out.

"It's Wendy, actually."

Shit.

"And you said that you wanted someone to talk to as well."

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Dipper turned around slowly, his cheeks red. "Oh, sorry. I'm not… not good with names."

"Nah man, it's okay."

Dipper nodded slightly, biting his lip. He cleared his throat loudly, before speaking. "I've been back here for about a week now, and I… I don't really have anything to do. Or anyone to talk to. Everyone just gets sad when they talk to me, so I just try and avoid them. I-I was thinking – maybe I could help in the gift shop?"

Wendy smiled. "Sure. I'd appreciate it, what with everyone moping around and stuff. I'm just glad you're alive at all."

"Well… that's great," Dipper said, clicking his tongue awkwardly. "So, uh, I'm going to have that coffee, then I can come help you."

"Sounds good. See ya."

But just as Dipper was turning to leave, the door to the gift shop burst open, and in walked a girl about his age, with ash blonde hair and a pointed nose. She looked tired, with clear bags under her eyes and pale skin.

"Woah, Pacifica, what happened to you?" Wendy asked, putting her magazine down and sitting up in concern. "You look terrible. No offence."

"Tell me what she said again?"

Stan's office was rather cramped, but it was just enough space for Ford to pace around the room, like he always did. Stan was at at his desk – with his feet uncharacteristically not resting on said desk – hunched over.

"She said that her dad kicked her out," Stan replied. "Because she was with the twins the other day."

Ford scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I've only met Preston Northwest once, and he was just as much of a prick now as he was back then. I suppose thirty years sometimes isn't enough to change a person."

"And why would he? The man is minted," Stan said with a twinkle in his eye.

Ford sighed. "Stanley, I'm not going to help you rob him. Besides, he lost all his money after Weirdmageddon."

Stan crossed his arms in frustration. "Anyways, we gotta figure out what we're gonna do with Blondie."

"We've already basically got Wendy and Soos living here, I suppose we could handle one more."

"Geez," Stan laughed, pointing at his twin. "What's happened to make you so compassionate all of a sudden?"

Ford sighed and pinched bridge of his nose. "Because – like I said – I know Northwests. I know that Preston was and always be a massive prick. But I also trust Mabel, and if she says that Pacifica's the exception, I'm inclined to believe her. I also know that having a Northwest as a parent wouldn't exactly be the best environment for a child to grow up in."

After a long silence, Stan spoke.

"You really have a bone to pick with Preston Northwest, don't you?"

"Stanley, give it a rest."

Mabel walked into her room with a smile on her face, looking over at Dipper. He was sat on his bed pouring over an old science fiction novel that he used to love, and Mabel had recommended that he reread it now, so he could experience it for the first time again.

"Hey bro-bro!" she said, cheerily. "I brought you some coffee." She placed it on his bedside table and smiled.

"Thanks," Dipper replied, shutting his book. "You know, you were right about this. This seems like exactly the type of thing I might've liked before…"

He suddenly went deathly silent, his fingers shaking slightly.

"Hey, it's okay." Mabel gently pulled the book from his hands and placed it next to the coffee. "No one likes remembering… him, so I can't imagine what it's like for you."

"Yeah…"

Mabel sighed and bit her lip, tugging at the hem of her dress in frustration, until eventually, an idea struck her.

"Awkward sibling hug?"

Dipper froze in confusion for a moment, before relief washed over his face. "Awkward sibling hug."

"Pat pat," they said in unison.

Mabel's eyes quickly lit up like lightbulbs. "You remembered!"

"I what?" Dipper asked. "I don't – oh, y-yeah!"

"Woo!" Mabel punched his shoulder lightly. "Nothing can stop the mystery twins now! Apart from maybe waiting until you've fully gotten your memory back."

"I can remember enough to know that I hate it when you call us that," Dipper said.

"Eh, who knows?"

Hello, hello, hello. It's been quite a while since I updated this story, but I was really struggling with motivation, so I ended up taking some time off writing. In other news, I wrote an Owl House one-shot that has now become my most kudosed (that's probably the wrong word) story. That makes all the sense, I suppose. I'm thinking of maybe writing another chapter or two for it, but that could easily change.

I also can't make any promises on when the next chapter of this story will be out, but I hope it won't take as long as this one did.

Anyways, thanks for reading.