In one of the earlier chapters, I mentioned that, since this story was started before the two-part season finale, I was going to write it as though those events never happened. All the big-picture mystery stuff.

I really hope that's still okay with everybody, because we are plunging into some revisionist-history nonsense here.

[]

Here we are.

Stan yelps and starts waving the stick back and forth, nearly hitting me with a flaming marshmallow.

All things considered, the 'Pines men campout' could be going a lot worse.

"Grunkle Stan, it's a goner," I say patiently. "You could just get another one."

"Hah! Wasteful. You gotta-" He pauses to wave the charred food around some more, maybe trying to put out the fire. "You gotta learn to appreciate the things you have, kid."

I roll my eyes. There's no way he's turning this into a 'teachable moment'.

"Besides, I didn't actually buy any of these puppies."

Aaaand there it is. "Huh?"

He shrugs. "Found a half-full bag in one of the cabinets in the Shack. Figured it'd save me a trip to the store."

I glance down to the bag by my feet. "There's only one left. I assumed you had more."

"Haha, nope! And that's why it's so touching that you offered me the last one. Thanks, kiddo." I must not respond, because he pauses and sounds a little more serious. "Look, uh, I was just joking. You can have it."

I look up from the fire. "Huh? Oh, no, that's fine."

He frowns. "Look, Dipper, is something wrong? You're kinda spacing out. That's usually more of a Soos thing. Geez, it's not spreading, is it? Like it's contagious?"

It makes me grin, at least a little. "Nah, just thinking." The fire's smaller than it was a few minutes ago. "Remember when you were telling me about Grandpa?"

"Yeah." He looks back to the fire, too. "I always got stories, if that's what you're after."

I rest my elbows on my knees, leaning forward. "Actually, uh... I was wondering what Grandma was like."

"Oh." He's silent for a while, and it goes on long enough that I turn. He's staring up now, as if he's completely lost in his memories. "Wow, that... seems like a lifetime ago."

It's kind of uncomfortable, so I turn away again. Absently reaching for the last marshmallow, I'm surprised when he suddenly starts speaking.

"Tell ya the truth, I didn't really know her that well." His face goes blank. "In fact, I- wow, this is embarrassing. She had a really weird name, and I know I should know it, but- huh." He raises an eyebrow at me. "You two woulda gotten along great."

I ignore his jab at my name. "It's just... I never hear anything about them. I mean, did they drop off the map or something?"

Muttering, Stan looks like he didn't hear me. "Was it... Geraldine? No, maybe it was-"

"Grunkle Stan!"

He blinks, startled. "Wha? Sorry, what'd you say, kid?"

"Never mind." I scowl, hunching forward again. "Forget it."

"Hey, hey! Forgive me if I wanna spend some time goin' over old memories!" He shakes his head, smiling. "They're the one thing that doesn't lose value, Dipper. Whoa, that was deep. Better write that down."

He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, and a pencil from under his hat, and starts writing. The muttering follows. "Inspirational quote plaques for gift shop..."

I snort. Of course.

The fire draws my attention again. I almost forget Stan's there until he pipes up. "She was one in a million." I turn, more than a little confused, but he just shrugs. "That's what your granddad would say, anyway. Whenever he got the chance, he'd remind us that she was one in a million."

It's quiet again, and I take it as an invitation to speak. "The only thing I ever heard was she had a temper," I say casually. I'm curious to see how he'll react.

An abrupt laugh cuts through the stillness. "Yeah, that she did." Stan looks up again. "That's pretty much the reason I didn't see her a whole lot. She was never one for family reunions. Or any reunions. Really any place where she'd have to talk to people."

That doesn't really make sense to me. "What, she just hated everybody?"

Stan sighs. "No, but... she coulda fooled me."

I don't know where to go from there, so I don't say anything. A few embers leap up from the fire, weaving and floating in the wind, and from where I'm sitting it looks like they're jumping from star to star, mixing orange light with blue.

It might be a little too dramatic, but being out here feels like a different world.

"It couldn'a been easy," Stan says. "Angry's one thing, but she was- I don't know. Sometimes I thought she really was tryin' to make it better, but-"

I get the sense that I'm hearing a secret. Or at least, something not many people know.

He turns back to the fire. "Bein' angry like that does things, Dipper. Takes a lot of work to get people to put up with you, but not much to drive 'em away."

I briefly wonder if I'm pushing this too far. "Do you ever feel like that?"

He glances over, but doesn't look surprised. "Been a while. But I'd guess everyone does, one time or another."

I don't know why I asked, but for some reason, I wish I hadn't.

[]

Technically, I'm older than him. Bigger, too. I'm not strong, but neither is he- the punch is enough to send him reeling, mouth open in shock before he falls to his knees.

In another life, I take a step back, completely stunned. I reach down to help him stand, apologizing over and over. I'm still angry, but I'm also embarrassed and scared and kinda freaked out, and I recognize that no matter how irritating Gideon is, I should try to keep him on my side.

A week ago, that's what I would do.

Instead, I'm running out of the room, down the hallway and past the empty doorframes. He's trying to say something, but he can't do anything but cough, and even that's getting harder to hear as I move away from him.

Gideon's is the fourth deserted bedroom. I dart inside, ignoring the rapid footsteps in the hall. I slam the door closed and start searching, desperate to find-

There. A silver suitcase, no longer shining in the dim light.

I heave it onto the bed. It's a simple lock, and the case opens quickly- it only takes a second to find the journal, stuffed beneath some blue-gray suits and bottles of hairspray.

I don't hear him open the door, but the light from the hallway lands on the first page. Written in thick ink, in the same handwriting as mine-

-I can't keep using my real name. After what happened to 1, it's too dangerous.-

"GIVE IT BACK!"

I don't see any more before Gideon crashes into my back, knocking me to the floor. The book flies out of my hands, and I'm scrambling away, trying to find it again in the new shadows. But it's all crashing down at once- my already exhausted brain is still frozen, trying to process what I saw in the journal, and now the entire room seems different, with the half-light from the doorway and suddenly Gideon's charging towards me-

"It's mine, y'hear?!" he shrieks, and he barrels into me again, landing on my shoulder so my face presses against the floor. Reaching across, he pins my other arm. "Y'dare hit me, Dipper Pines? You think you c'n steal from me?!"

"I don't have it," I grit my teeth, still trying to keep my head off the rough boards. "Dropped it."

The pressure's gone, and I see him scampering across the room before he grabs the journal. I painfully stand, just as he turns around, holding the book against his chest and scowling. "Stay away from me," he hisses. "An' stay away from this here diary, boy!"

My head's spinning.

Mysteries.

All I can think about is the writer. If there's anything I could learn, anything about the vanishings, or about 1, or the person who wrote all this- then I have to know.

But it's more than that. Something's pulling at me, hurting my head and stirring my thoughts and telling me to uncover the mystery, no matter what. I've felt it before, but never like this.

For the chance to see that journal... I think I would knock him out if I had to. Or worse.

How far would I go?

The thought screams across my mind, and I collapse, one knee scraping against the floor before I can steady myself. Gideon's voice drifts over. "What's wrong now? Did I go an' hurt you, Dipper? Well, ain't that just-"

"Stop." Mind racing, I hold up my hands. "Okay, let's- let's figure this out."

He pauses, still holding the book. "What?"

Maybe I don't have to worry about hurting anyone. Maybe I can just lie.

I get to my feet and take a deep breath. "You're right. It doesn't matter." I have no idea if what I'm saying makes sense, or if he'll buy it, but I keep going. "I- I can think of something else. We don't need it."

There's something new in Gideon's eyes. Suspicion? Distrust?

It almost looks like he's... disappointed.

That doesn't make sense.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. Saying the words feels like bile in my throat. "I shouldn't have done any of this. You don't need to help."

It sounds stupid. I'm just parroting the things I said before, but the opposite- there's no way it'll be enough to fool him.

But hey, I guess if I have to I can just punch him again.

I'm suddenly aware of how quiet it is. Gideon's eyes dart from me, to the book, and back again.

Finally, he chuckles. "You're a piece a' work, y'know that?"

The tension's gone. I sigh, nodding as if I've given up. "I mean, I really thought you were gonna go crazy," he continues. "Yer jus' full a' surprises, huh?"

"Save it," I mutter, and walk past him as he smirks, and just for a second, it's like it used to be.

[]

My plan is not particularly elegant.

Step one: Wait until Gideon is asleep.

Step two: Try to get another look at the journal.

It feels like the hardest thing I've ever done, but I manage to stay up another few hours- I know if I try to sleep at all now, I won't wake up until late morning. I'm counting myself lucky that Gideon hasn't left the house or kicked me out already. Even so, I might not get another chance at this.

There's plenty of food in Robbie's kitchen, so that's one problem taken care of. As I eat, the questions keep appearing, and the desire to investigate is nearly as strong as the desire to sleep.

It sounds like the same person wrote both the first and second journals, though I can't be sure. Nothing in mine really gives me much information about the writer, but from the page I saw in Gideon's, I'm guessing he or she might have more to say. Besides, there's still the way Gideon's been acting this whole time. There's no way he isn't hiding something.

I finally get up the courage and start down the hallway. Reaching his door, I hesitate. It's impossible to be completely silent, and I don't even know if he's asleep yet- but I have to try.

Very carefully, I turn the knob and push on the wood of the door. I'll say this: the Shack has quite a few boards that creak whenever someone walks over them. From a whole summer of Stan's 'somebody go man the gift shop' moods, Mabel and I are pretty good at moving quietly.

I already turned off the other lights, so nothing really changes when I open the door. As far as I can tell, he's asleep- I wait a few seconds to be sure before finally stepping inside. It's then that I realize he could have hidden the book, or left it in a different part of the house, or any number of ideas to keep me from-

...It's right there. On the bed next to him.

Hardly believing my luck, I make my way across the room until the journal is in my hands. He sniffs or something, and I nearly jump, but he's still out, so I carefully trace my steps back. The door closes without a sound, and that was too easy.

It's enough to keep me rooted to the ground for a second. But my curiosity overcomes any doubt, and I open the journal again.

-J-

...That's all.

It's just a signature, on the inside front cover. A single letter. I guess I shouldn't have expected something I recognized, but I can't think of anyone I know whose name starts with J.

I keep turning the pages. Everything's so new, and so strange, that I hardly know where to start looking. There's an entry for Gideon's amulet, and another for this weird system of tunnels and caves that moves around, and even something about the main waterfall in the town, and the writer's speculation that it might have some kind of magical properties. It's enough to make me lose track of what I'm even looking for.

A yellow triangle catches my eye.

I drop the book.

As dumb as it sounds, I swear it falls in slow motion before hitting the ground. Even though I'm ready for it, the sudden burst of noise makes me shiver, and I realize that I'm still directly outside Gideon's room.

I grab the book and leaf through the pages again, faster this time.

-They call themselves The Sight.-

...It's them.

I know right away. It's a dark and smudged sketch, but there's no question. These are the creatures that did this. I can see the hoods, but nothing else- just like the writer saw, I'm sure.

-And I believe their leader is known as The Eye.-

Now that I look closer, the triangle has an oval drawn inside it. Like the pyramid on the back of a dollar.

What is this?

I'm torn between frustration and anger. Yeah, someone else finally knows about these things, but... it's not exactly helpful information.

Wait.

-I think The Eye may be behind some of the darker events in Gravity Falls' past.-

It's written in a different hand. More careless, as if the person was writing quickly.

-In fact, I believe The Eye can be summoned through magic, and even commanded to carry out the summoner's will.-

...No.

No, it can't- he wouldn't.

Gideon bursts from the room, but falters when he sees me holding the book.

I feel like I'm dreaming.

It's slow, halting, but eventually, the words come out. "You said there was nothing in the journal about this."

He's starting to get paler.

"You tried to keep me from reading it, too." I'm blinking, and I can't quite figure out what I'm trying to say.

Sleep deprivation. That must be it.

He still doesn't say anything. I look down at the book again. "This whole time," I say quietly, "you've only been trying to stop me."

He hasn't moved.

More than anything, I want to scream it. You did this.

It's your fault.

But I can't. I just look at him, at the eyes that suddenly seem like they could be hiding anything.

It still doesn't make sense. I shake my head, trying to understand. "Why, though?" He just keeps staring. "Why would you do it? Why get rid of your own parents, too?"

In another life, Gideon breaks down. He tries to explain, fighting through tears, sobbing that he didn't know how bad it would get, and he's sorry, he wishes it had never happened-

"It was worth it."

...

Back when the police first found Gideon, I was worried because he acted like he thought I did it. Like he honestly believed I would try to do something so horrible, so evil, just to hurt him. Just to make him suffer. I told myself I could never be someone like that.

I know better now. I am that person. Right now, more than anything else in the world, I want him to suffer.

More than saving them?

It's like a thunderbolt. I can hardly breathe.

How could I forget?

But it's his fault.

I'm holding my head in both hands, staring at the ground.

Hurting him won't solve anything.

But it will be right.

I'm trying to picture Mabel, and Stan, and Soos and Wendy. What they would say.

But I don't know. I can't- I can't think.

Gideon's voice is slower, more pronounced than before. "Get something through your head, boy. No matter what you do, you lose."

He knows. He knows how badly I want to-

No.

I can see them. Mabel's smiling. Wendy nods and shrugs one shoulder. Soos crosses his arms in thought. Stan brushes the dust off his suit. But they're all saying the same thing.

No.

It's simple. Maybe too simple, but I don't care. I look Gideon in the eye, and I-

I tell him he's wrong.

I tell him I've never felt like I wanted to kill someone before, but it doesn't matter.

I tell him that they're more important than anything.

I tell him I'll never give up, even if I'm completely alone.

I tell him he's going to lose.

...In another life.

The truth is, I can't say a word.

He blinks. "Well?"

I shake my head, putting the other journal in my vest pocket. Gideon doesn't even try to stop me. With each step down through the house, another thought points out the reasons this isn't going to work.

I have no leads.

I'm walking away from the only person I know who's left.

I don't even know where I'm going.

But I open the front door and look out over the forest. The sky's just beginning to grow lighter, and it's not as cold as it was before.

Maybe I've finally gone crazy.

I start walking.