Shock. Utter shock.

Dipper was transfixed, paralyzed, mouth gaping. As often it does when things like this happen, one word flashed through his mind.

No.

That is the birth cry of the first stage, denial. And thus, of the grieving process itself.

No. No no no no no.

Then he yelped.

It was small and shrill, but loud enough for Mabel and Soos to hear. Up to then, they were still at the place they washed up on. But they had heard everything, and they knew something wasn't right. Only now did Mabel feel the need to run out there.

"Dipper, Wendy, what's going-" She had started to speak before she fully arrived there. Now that she had, she, like her brother, froze. But only briefly, just enough to survey the scene. Then...

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

She swerved toward Dipper.

"DIP! WHAT HAPPENED!? WHY IS WENDY BLEEDING!? WAS IT THE SHAPESHIFTER!? WHY IS IT BLEEDING TOO!? DIPPER! TELL ME! PLEASE!"

Mabel was met with no answers. Just a stony silence.

Then Dipper moved.

It was just a little knee jerk, but it was there.

And again. A knee jerk.

He kept jerking. And jerking.

Until he took a step.

The step landed unsteadily, as if he was just learning to walk. But he took another one. Another. Toward the gap between Wendy and the Shapeshifter. Not to anyone in particular.

He thrust his hand to the Shapeshifter's skin and pinched it. Cold. Stiff. Gone.

Then he did the same to Wendy's arm. Still warm. He thought he saw her move, just a fraction.

"Dip? …Is she ok?"

Coldly, Dipper spoke, for the first time since the swing.

"…Maybe."

Breathing heavily, he slowly turned to Mabel.

"Tell Soos… to call 911. Don't tell them… we're in the cave."

Mabel complied, running away.

Dipper didn't want to look at Wendy. But now he trembled as he looked to the right.

Wendy was looking back. The kind of glance that seemed to ask a question. Why. But she knew why.

He unraveled her plaid shirt from her leg, and carefully but crudely stuffed it in the wound.

Then she said something quite unusual. Something most people in her situation wouldn't think of saying.

"Please leave me here."

Dipper froze again. This time for only a moment, in which he thought,

How could she.

"No. Just try to hang on. We'll help you."

Then he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. In a bridal carry. He had dreamed of doing this to her for what now seemed like years. But absolutely not like this.

With her in his arms, he rushed back to Mabel and Soos.

"Ugh…guys? Help? Hurry?"

"No problem, duUUUDE!"

This was Soos's first time seeing them since the cut. So even this fairly large man was weak.

"What-"

"No time to explain! You helping or not?!"

"S-sorry, dude. I'm not carrying a corpse."

"Soos, she's not gone yet! That's why we have to go!"

Mabel piped in.

"I-I'll help you, bro."

Then, with Mabel cradling Wendy's head and Dipper her body, the four started out of the bunker.

Wendy took her first breath in a cabin in the forest. And, being the child of a lumberjack, the forest was almost the only place she knew. She would quite often climb the trees, the names of which she knew by heart. When she was small, this was just normal behavior, a child's sense of exploration. But as time went on, she wouldn't jump from tree to tree, but rather sit on the branches of one and look around. The woods became an escape from the trouble and stress of her life.

Now, she wasn't in the canopy, but slightly off the ground. But she was still looking around.

I cannot tell you how much pain Wendy felt when Dipper swung, or even if she felt any at all. But even not quite looking straight, she could see the wound. Every second she could sense herself losing a bit more blood, growing a tad weaker. She heard the clamor of her friends running for help.

But secretly, she knew they would be late. And so would she.

She diverted her eyes upward, to the trees she had loved. Sometimes she thought if she ever had a daughter, she would name her after them. Like Sequoia. Or Laurel.

Daughter. Children. Family. Love. For a spilt second Wendy thought about what Dipper had confessed in the bunker. She thought about what she would've said when they got out. How she wanted to still be friends.

But did it matter now? Soon she wouldn't be able to say anything. How could you be friends with the departed?

Then she saw the light.

The light is the symbol of mortality. Once you see it, you go through it. Or at least try. Some people see the light twice or more in their lifetimes. But most see it once.

In the arms of her carriers, Wendy Corduroy trembled, the spoke one last time.

It was ironic, really. Her last word was also her first. Thirteen and a half years earlier, she had said this word in her home, to a certain person. That person was gone by the time our story began. But now they would be reunited.

"Mama?"

Then.

It was finished.

The builders had been absurdly quick. But Stan gave no tip, as was expected. He set his luggage down and took it in again. Or tried to.

Whoo-oo, whoo-oo,whoo-oo.

Now what? He reopened the door. "What the?" An ambulance was parked outside. But Stan shrugged it off as nothing. "Probably just treating work injuries."

Again, he surveyed the Mystery Shack. It was just as he remembered it. The jackalope in that corner, the "employees only" lounge in the back, the humming noise…

He paused. There was no humming noise. It was too quiet.

Fearing the worst, he rushed to the vending machine, punched in the combination, hurried down the stairs, pressed the buttons on the panel, and quickly stepped in the elevator. Waiting for the third floor, he still heard nothing.

When the door opened, Stan stumbled past the other computers to the end of the room. Pushing open the last door.

The room was dark. Silent. Lifeless. His fear was confirmed.

"Oh, no. Not now. Not when I'm so close."

Initially worried and disbelieving, soon he sighed, closed his eyes and bowed

Well, now I just have to hope it's not one of mine.

He headed back to the exit.

If he had looked at the totem pole periscope, he would have seen two children with a teen in their arms, a big man behind them.

In the gift shop was where he heard their shouts.

"Grunkle Stan! Help! She's hurt! Mr. Pines! Please! Outside!"

Stepping outside, he paused at them. They came closer. Then they placed Wendy down on the porch. Dipper spoke up, quickly and exasperated.

"Grunkle Stan! Something terrible happened! There was this bunker, and a guy who we thought was the author, but it turned out to be a monster, and Wendy fought the monster, and I tried to help her, and…"

Stan glanced away through Dipper's words.

"Grunkle Stan? Can you help?"

Now Stan looked forward, but not at Dipper. Rather, at the girl on the ground. Then he sighed.

"Kids, I can't help. She's gone."

"WHAT?!"

"Look at her. Feel her. She's gone."

Dipper paused, and felt Wendy's forehead.

Cold. Stiff.

"No…"

As Dipper, Mabel and Soos crowded around Wendy, Stan again turned away. He mumbled something to himself, but just loud enough for them to hear.

"My god. How's Dan gonna take this? He was distraught enough after Aura, and now…"

Mabel interrupted him.

"Um, Grunkle Stan? Who's Aura?"

Listening but not seeing them, he sighed for the third time.

"You two wouldn't know her."

That was when Dipper and Mabel remembered Wendy's last word.

There was no more talking from this point. Only crying.

And all the while, Dipper thought nothing else but one word.

No.

He was just having a nightmare. The next morning, Wendy would walk through the door a half hour late, same as always. Everything would be right.

But this was reality. No illusion.

Wendy Corduroy was dead.