Dipper had been sleeping for about four hours, and Mabel was bored to tears. She had watched him diligently, literally staring at him intensely, holding her breath at her sick brother's slightest movement. But soon it appeared that Dipper was sound asleep, his breathing even and only an occasional cough shaking him. Mabel had looked for quiet things to do. She read every old magazine in her room, played her keyboard with the sound completely off, even shooed Waddles from the room, as the urge to play noisily with him would be too strong. Another hour past. Dipper turned and faced the wall but didn't wake up. Mabel lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, counting the knots in the beams of wood above her head. She yawned. Outside, the sun arched across the sky and burnt the light into a ruddy orange and cast long shadows over the walls. Another hour. Mabel listened to Dipper's breathing. She could hear the wheezing emanating from his chest, but it was steady and rhythmic. Mabel's eyes drifted close. She snapped them open, but they had grown heavy. After another few attempts at keeping her eyes open, Mabel inadvertently closed them, and allowed them to stay shut while she slipped into sleep.

Dipper rustled under his blankets. His eyes shot open. Mabel was snoring slightly, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. Dipper sat up and climbed out of bed. He didn't sway or tremble. He didn't cough. He walked robotically towards the door, and crept downstairs. Wendy had closed up and gone home, Soos was sweeping in the main hall, and Grunkle Stan was greedily counting the day's haul at the register.

Shuffling like a half-wound clockwork toy, Dipper silently entered the living room. In his trance like state, he moved towards the cluttered bookshelf. After staring at it with half-closed eyes, he easily located the journal behind an ugly fake Tiki statue and some random old newspapers Stan was keeping for some reason. With the book under his arm, Dipper walked back upstairs, unnoticed. Mabel had not moved from her spot, and Dipper got back into bed. He laid the journal on his lap, and flipped through each page, muttering quietly the strange words and numbers scrawled across the fragile papers. After some time, he closed the book, and tucked in under his pillow and laid down. Whatever strange force had gripped him ebbed, and expression returned to Dipper's face. Sweat formed on his brow, and he grimaced in his sleep. He shivered violently as his fever affected him again, and coughs tore through his body. All throughout, however, he remained unconcious, as did Mabel across the room. Neither twin was awake to notice the stars come out only to be blacked out by heavy clouds that hung so low, they seemed to choke the tops of the pine trees that encircled the Shack.

Mabel wasn't sure if it was the screaming that woke her, or the thunder. It might have been the thunder, as her first thought was "Another storm? Well, that's Oregon for you..." but soon she realized the noise didn't go away. She bolted upright, still in her clothes, to see Dipper beating at the air with his fists and screaming so loudly his voice was cracking.

"Dipper!" Mabel shouted and ran over to him, turning up the light. Dipper was so pale, even his feverish cheeks were more grey than pink. His hair was plastered flat to his head, so wet with sweat that it looked like he had just climbed out of the lake.

"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAABEEEEEEEEEEEL! GET OUT OF THERE! NO, MABEL, NOOOOOOOOOO!" he cried. Mabel called his name but he still thrashed violently, and even when she slapped his ashen cheeks, but there was no response. Mabel panicked, wringing her hands in her sweater sleeves. Each cry of her brother's pierced her viciously. Mabel was just about to run for Grunkle Stan, when thudding bounded up the stairs, and the old man appeared in his night clothes.

"Gr-grunkle Stan!" Mabel stammered. "I-I don't-I can't wake him!" Stan was shaking the boy by his shoulders.

"MABEL! OH GOD NO NO NO!"

"Kid, kid, c'mon, snap out of it!" he barked. Dipper suddenly went limp, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed, but then looked at his sister and great uncle with mild confusion. Once again, he didn't register the tears on his cheeks.

"w...what're you doin' in our room, Grunkle Stan?" he asked, his lids drooping like he was about to fall asleep.

"You had another nightmare," Mabel squeaked, trembling. Hearing her brother say those things was terribly unsettling.

"N..no I didn't," Dipper weakly insisted. Grunkle Stan felt his forehead.

"You're burning up," he grunted.

"No 'm not, I-" but Dipper couldn't finish before collapsing back down onto his pillow, coughing. Mabel rushed over with three pillows from her own bed. With a cough like that, it was best if Dipper could rest sitting up. Grunkle Stan pulled the boy forward by his skinny arms, and Mabel tucked the pillows in behind her brother. As she fluffed them, her hand brushed something hard. She pulled the journal out from it's hiding place and held it up.

"Dipper, you've been reading this?" she asked incredulously. Stan's eyes widened as he took the book off his great niece.

"Where'd you find this, it was hidden!" he gruffly asked, shaking the book in Dipper's face. Dipper looked perplexed.

"I don't know, I swear!" he said as loudly as his ragged voice would allow. "Last I remember the journal was downstairs. Honest!"

"Then how'd it get under your pillow, wise guy?"

"I don't know, Grunkle Stan!"

Stan tried to be angry with Dipper, but his shoulders sank. The kid looked so weak and sickly, not even able to sit up on his own. Rain pattered outside, and for a few moments, the three listened to the sound. Mabel often loved the sound of rain, but tonight it made her uneasy.

"Just...go back to sleep, okay?" the old man sighed. He carried the book with him, and Dipper reached out.

"Can I please have it?" he asked, but Grunkle Stan was already closing the door and climbing down the stairs.

"Dipper, I don't think you should go near that book for a while," Mabel ventured. Dipper turned to her, his face angry. Mabel flinched at the sight but continued. "It's just...you've been having nightmares and you can't remember them...whenever the journal is near you, you say you're not sick when you clearly are. I'm...I'm worried about you." Mabel wiped a few errant tears from her eyes. Dipper looked startled, but then smiled, and Mabel was relieved to see it was a real, Dipper smile, the kind he saved just for her when she was feeling bad.

"Mabel, I'm sorry...I don't know what's gotten into me. I promise, I won't touch the journal until I feel better. Which," he shifted uncomfortably as somewhere in his body pain scorched through him, "won't be for a while." Mabel's eyes shone, and she nodded. She dashed downstairs and got some cold and flu medicine, supplies for Dipper, and water. When she came back up, she found Dipper sitting on the floor, having tried to remove his sweaty clothing on his own but getting tangled in the blankets and falling. He had all the strength of a newborn giraffe. Mabel helped him change into clean pajamas, and toweled off his sweaty head. Dipper took the flu pills and drank the water, and Mabel helped him back into bed. The poor boy was so weak Mabel had to lift his legs onto the bed for him. A quick reading from the themometer (Mabel promised Dipper she had thoroughly washed it) told the girl her twin had a fever of 102.6. She placed more ice in the ice bag and nestled it onto Dipper's head. He moaned softly but made no other noise or attempt to speak or move.

This guy can barely move, she pondered. How'd he get the journal from downstairs?

Dipper was completely asleep again, and Mabel tried to drive the sound of him screaming her name in terror from her mind. He looked, for the moment, peaceful. The rain let up slightly, although it still streaked the window liberally. Mabel pulled another blanket over her brother and changed into her nightgown. Waddles, who had been hiding under her covers during the frightening episode, scooched up to serve as a pillow for Mabel since she had given hers to Dipper. Mabel drifted off leaning against the hog, hoping for some improvement in her brother's condition by morning.

Grunkle Stan cursed himself for not taking more precautions. The journal was not the enemy, but it was doing something terrible to his great nephew. Memories of hands tearing at him in his sleep, a raging fever, a deep, hagard cough entrenched in his chest, threatening to choke the very life from him, made the old man shudder. He entered the code on the vending machine, and took the book downstairs to his secret bunker. There was no way the kid would find it here. Dipper could, and should, have the journal back, but not right now, while it had the capacity to hurt him. Grunkle Stan wouldn't allow anything to hurt his family, not even the journal, and not even if it meant taking away the only thing that could possibly help Dipper and Mabel face the troubling storm ahead. He tucked the book under the shelf that also housed the framed picture of the two kids. Stan smiled at it. He never thought he would feel so much affection for someone who wasn't himself. With a conflicted heart, Grunkle Stan climbed all the stairs to his room. From the attic, he heard a few choked sounding coughs as Dipper struggled to breathe, and then silence as the boy finally caught his breath. Grunkle Stan frowned. He hoped he had done the right thing. He dearly, dearly hoped.

Author's note: thanks for reading, I hope you like it! A pretty heavy chapter is coming up, followed by piles of sibling fluffiness. Please follow, review, and stay tuned! XOXOX