Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Alex Hirsch owns Gravity Falls, not me. Slightly graphic material, when Stan goes to the attic to speak to Gideon.

Gideon Gleeful glanced across the table, as Stan pulled his arm away from him, realizing Fiddleford's eyes were focused on the present and roving about the interior of the kitchen. His eyes made contact with his own, and he glanced away, feeling confusion and anguish wash over his senses. He couldn't quite process why the homeless man was engulfing himself with these feelings, but they pained Gideon to feel them. Stan noticed moments after the 10-year-old did, that he had returned to consciousness. "How you doing over there, Fiddles?"

The ex-curator gave a hesitant smile, eyes ceasing their movement, appearing as though he was attempting to keep control of his emotions. "I-I'm fine. D-Did I interrupt something?"

"No, we're done anyways. You want that toast now?"

"I-I would appreciate it."

As Stan passed over the plate from the counter, he observed Gideon, causing to squirm at the attention. "You hungry?"

He shrugged in reply, stomach churning from the thought of consuming anything after the memories that washed over him in his dreams and Fiddleford's emotion momentarily overwhelming his senses. "N-No."

"Suit yourself. I'm guessing you ain't going back to sleep though, are you?"

"N-No."

"Wanna go get me the newspaper from outside then? It's eight now, so it should be out there. Just hope that frickin' racoon doesn't steal it, again..." Gideon nodded, immediately leaving the room, and going outside into the early morning light. He spotted the newspaper a few feet from the porch and rushed over to pluck it off the ground. He glanced at the headline and froze. The newspaper trembled in his hand as his lips pressed together, eyes wide in horror. The image of his father, in suit and tie during the trial, smirk spread across his face, stared up at him. Gideon felt all the blood drain from his face and glanced away, stomach nearly losing it's contents.

The figure in the attic window caught his attention, distracting him from his horror at viewing his father's face. Mabel was there, hand pressed against the glass, smiling ecstatically down at him. Her other hand came up in a wave, fingers dancing back and forth as they did so. Gideon couldn't exactly place why he was beginning to feel uncomfortable around her, but he honestly wished he didn't. He forced down the discomfort and waved back. As she left from the window, he headed back into the house, handing the newspaper to Stan. The elder man glanced at the cover story, then observed him. "You alright?"

He nodded, feeling lightheaded from his earlier horror at viewing his father's face and perhaps Mabel appearing in the window. Perhaps he could try to nimble on toast, as Fiddleford was doing so at the moment. "...c-can I-I...I-I...?"

"You want something to eat?"

"...y-yes, p-please..."

"Toast?" Stan continued for him, plopping down the newspaper on the tabletop, as he headed over to the toaster.

"P-Please." Gideon replied anxiously, before hesitatingly sitting across from Old Man McGucket. The elder man glanced up from his toast, offering up his emotions to the 10-year-old once more, his senses acquiring the feelings of anxiousness. The eyes of the younger darted away, focusing on the newspaper instead, eyes skimming over the paragraphs. Words and phrases stuck out to him, dauntlessly searing themselves into his mind. "MURDER", "THIRD WIFE", "BARNEY GRIEVOUS", "UNBORN CHILD", "BEATEN UNRECOGNIZABLY", "DEATH SENTENCE?", "LIFE IMPRISONMENT?". He created a clattered from the table, as he stood, hands grasping onto the edge of the table.

Stan whirled around, observing him, as his shoulders heaved. "...you sure you ok, kid?"

"I-I t-think...g-going t-to s-sleep." He muttered, removing himself from the room, and heading up the staircase. His heart began to thump, feeling the confusion and concern from the kitchen wafting over to him. As he headed to the attic though, these feelings drifted away, replaced by the urge to change his clothes. He entered the room silently, unsure on what his powers were informing him of. He glanced over at Dipper's bed and it occurred to him that Mabel was supposed to be sleeping downstairs, not in the attic. Why would she be waving up at him from here then? There was a pulse of emotion to his left, distracting from these thoughts, from the closet. Changing his clothes? His clothes weren't even in the closet, their was just storage in there. Gideon's heart thumped wildly, as if it wanted to break free. His hand closed around the handle, causing it to rattle as his hand shook. He twisted it, swinging it open and stared inside. His face began to pale at the sight he witnessed and all of the emotions shut down completely.

~!-?-!~

As Dipper came into consciousness, he became aware that the soft snores of Gideon were not heard and he rolled over, revealing the freckled boy to be on the other bed. He rubbed his eyes, as he focused on his stricken friend. The light seeping into the room from the triangle room, created half of a shadow on his face, the other half engulfed by the light, revealing freckles he hadn't noticed before. "Ugh, what time is it?"

The freckled boy didn't reply though, staring at the wall behind him. He frowned, releasing a yawn. "What's wrong?"

Dipper received a whimper instead of words and began to feel the edge of anxiety snake into him, fully waking him up. He immediately rolled from his bed, sheets slipping off onto the wooden floor, stumbling over to the other one. He reached out, hand brushing against his friend's arm, somewhat frightened by the dazed expression on his face. "G-Gideon, are you o-ok?"

"I...I..." He whispered, eyes wide, tears welling.

The brunet trembled, pulling his arm way, aware that he couldn't handle this on his own. He was rushing from the room and down the staircase, without a word, feeling his anxiety flaring at the freckled boy's behavior. He burst into the kitchen, not taking notice of the startled reactions from the elder men at the kitchen table as he did so. "G-Grunkle Stan!"

Stan immediately knew that whatever had occurred was causing Dipper to feel the effects of his anxiety. He was over to his grand-nephew in an instant, hands resting on his shoulders, eyes darting around his figure as he watched for the cause of distress. "Woah, what's going, kid?"

"G-Gideon is a-acting weird a-an-" Dipper broke off, panting slightly.

"Hey, don't start doing that. He's probably just scared. His pops was on the newspaper this morning and it scared him. I can go talk to him though, ok?" Dipper bobbed his head up and down vigorously, anxiety reducing. Stan leaned in, lowering his voice as he spoke in a hush. "Just watch McGucket, ok? If he stops talking or says something weird, just, uh, ignore him."

"O-Ok." Dipper replied, eyes darting over to the homeless man staring intently at the light above the kitchen table, as Stan headed to the attic. Upon arriving in the bedroom upstairs, he discovered the 10-year-old on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall behind Dipper's bed. He settled himself besides him, feeling his joints creak.

"I'm guessing you aren't ok then."

Gideon stared forward, whispering. "...i-is D-Dipper c-coming?"

"No, why? You want him to?"

"N-No!" He cried out, his voice returned to a calmer state though, continuing to stutter. "...r-red...i-in t-the...c-closet."

"The closet?" He questioned, beginning to open it, revealing what was inside the cardboard boxes stacked inside, disappearing into the darkness within. Stan reached for the dangling cord for the light, pulling it, click barely heard from above, and froze. His lips parted, breath leaving him in a whoosh as he witnessed the sickening sight. There were lifeless squirrels hanging by their tails, with sewing thread, from the ceiling inside. Blood was matted around where the eyes should of been, though all that was there were empty sockets. Their blood dripped steadily against the floor below, from their sockets and gaping mouths. Stan clicked off the light and stared into the darkness, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. He closed the door, covering his mouth with a trembling hand, steeling his nerves against the nausea. He removed his hand, observing Gideon as he buried his face into his own hands. He thought he would hear him sob, but he released a series of whines instead. "K-Kid?"

"I-It's s-so r-r-r-r-red..." He stuttered, muffled sounding.

"G-Gideon, come here."

"I-I c-can't..." He whimpered, before lurching forward, causing Stan to stumble forward to catch the unconsciousness child. The traumatizing sight must of caused him to pass out and Stan couldn't blame him. His own hands shook, as the images of the squirrels danced before his eyes. He laid Gideon across his bed, legs trembling as he left the room, avoiding the kitchen, as he headed to the phone in the area by the front door. He picked it up and dialed the hospital with trembling fingers.

"St. Wentworth." The feminine voice intoned.

"I-Is Dr. Thompson there?"

"No, it's his day off. Would you like to leave a message?"

He hung up without a reply to the woman, breathing deeply. A moment later, he dialed the Thompson household, and a his wife answered after a couple of rings. "Thompson household."

"C-Can I talk to Dick?"

"My husband actually went for a walk. Are you one of his friends? Patients?"

"No...yes? Uh, j-just, uh, tell him that Stan c-called. And, that it's i-important."

"Of course...are you alright? You sound a bit breathless. I could always go find h-" Stan released a heaving breath as he hung up. Jesus, was this what Dipper felt like all the time? It was difficult to breath and he couldn't get the image of the lifeless animals from his mind. He gagged a bit and covered his mouth, spit dripping down his chin. He wiped it away and entered the kitchen, face blank.

"Grunkle Stan, Mr. McGucket is doing that thing you said he was going t-" His grand-nephew began.

He completely ignored him, ripping open one of the kitchen drawers. He snatched out a battered pack of Pall Mall cigarettes and a lighter. He decided that when the children would come for the summer, he wouldn't smoke or drink around them, though he hadn't drank in years. Wendy and Soos had caught him a couple of times smoking, but figured it was alright to do it around them, considering their age. He couldn't give a damn though about Dipper's age for the time being, because he needed to clear his head. He nearly sprinted from the house, grabbing a bath robe from the hook by the door, wrapping around himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He opened the pack and his hands violently shook as he pulled one out it. He light it and inhaled deeply, releasing a series of coughs as he did so, lungs not used to smoke after being clean for at least three months. His heart was burning violently as regrets haunted him and blood appeared in his mind. He pressed the cigarette to his hand, finding the burn to be a distraction from his pain. "G-Grunkle Stan?"

He jerked the cigarette away, realizing self-destructive tendencies had returned and he felt horrified by the fact that his 13-year-old great-nephew had caught him in the action of it. He decided to act as though nothing had happened, inhaling the cigarette once more, the coughing lessened. "What?"

"A-Are you o-ok?" Dipper questioned from the front door, sounding nervous, as though his anxiety was swelling.

He couldn't do this to him, he couldn't. "Yeah, fine. Gideon got scared about a dream and he, uh, sorta fell back asleep. Tried calling Dic-Dr. Thompson, but he was out."

"O-Oh...Grunkle S-Stan?"

This damn kid and all his damn questions. His voice came out harsher than intended, but he never saw the flinch, as he was faced towards the forest. "What?"

"Um, uh, um, w-why were you b-burning yourself?"

Shit, shit, SHIT. He whirled around, face etched with anger. His voice came out in a low hiss, intending on causing his grand-nephew pain. "I didn't do that, Jason."

He witnessed the flinch this time and immediately regretted the choice of name, as Dipper's face hardened. That was when he saw it; himself reflected in the 13-year-old's face. He was heading down the same self-destructive path he was on. Holy shit, Dipper was him. "Dipper, I'm...I'm sorry. I just...sometimes I get mad about nothing and I..."

"...i-it's ok..." Dipper whispered, face saddening, his soft voice reaching his hearing aids.

"...kid, come here," Dipper was beside him a moment later, without any hesitation, and Stan reached an arm around his frame. The cigarette left his lips and he pointed it into brunet's face. "Don't ever smoke these. They're bad for you."

"I-I wasn't p-planning on to," Dipper's eyes shifted back to the doorway, releasing a cough. "Um, G-Grunkle Stan?"

These damn questions were never going to cease. "What now?"

"Was O-Old Man McGucket c-crying last time he did that s-staring thing?"

Stan frowned. "No, why?"

"Oh...um, h-he's crying right now."

Stan jerked his arm away and stared at him with wide eyes. "What? Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"

"Uh, I-I came o-out and you were hurting your arm a-a-"

He ignored the rest of the stuttering sentence emerged from his lips and was already in the kitchen, cigarette clamped between his lips once more. Fiddleford had tears rolling down his thin cheeks, into his beard, distant expression on his face. His hands fluttered over his friend, hesitant to touch him anywhere, in fear of his reaction to touch. It was at that moment, the phone began to rang. He glanced towards the hallway and back to his friend, unsure of which to pay attention to. "Dipper!" The brunet was behind him a moment later, appearing concerned. "Get the phone, will you!"

He finally reached out to touch his arm, leaning in to shake him gently. Upon contact with his skin, Fiddleford jerked away, causing to chair to topple over. He scrambled to bring it steady as his friend released a yelp of surprise, while Stan released a curse as his joints pained him from gravity bringing the chair to the side. "S-SHIT!"

His grand-nephew re-entered the kitchen, cord of the phone stretched taunt. "G-Grunkle Stan, it's D-Dr. Thompson."

Double shit. He glanced over at the dazed ex-curator, clinging to the wooden chair, as brought it back to standing position, then to the phone Dipper held. "Go wake up your sister and tell her to go watch Gideon!" Stan snatched the phone from the brunet, as he sprinted down the hallway. He observed Fiddleford removing his glasses and began to rub at his moist eyes, hands tense. "Dick?"

"Stan? My wife said you called earlier and sounded quite upset."

"Yeah, sorry, but, uh, something happened, well a bunch of somethings, but Gideon saw them, and I can barely help my great-nephew when he's all pani-oh, he has anxiety, I don't think I told you, but Gideon is crying and I-"

"Stan! Stanley! Slow down! I can barely understand a word you're saying. All I got was that Gideon is panicking about something and that Dipper has anxiety."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and made eye contact with his best friend. He glanced away from Stan, thumbs beginning to twiddle as his hands settled themselves upon the tabletop. "Sorry, but there's Gideon and uh, a friend of mine is having a hard time with something."

"I'm sorry to hear about that, but what exactly has gotten Gideon so worked up about?"

"Well, um..." He exited the kitchen, whispering into the mouthpiece, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, nervous about anyone in the house discovering what was in the closet. "The kids' room is in the attic you see and Gideon opened the closet and found...um, just..."

"Stan?" Dick probed.

His skin felt clammy and moist as he remembered the dead woodland creatures upstairs. "...t-these dead animals, Dick and their e-eyes...well, there e-eyes are g-gone..."

"...dead animals?"

"Yeah...and t-they had all this b-blood around th-" The images of Bill burning his flesh, the younger him, with a lighter as he howled inside his own head came to mind, blood dripping down his arms, whispers of how the injuries will go away through the supernatural powers of healing. He turned his head from the mouth piece and released a gag, but kept his reflexes under control. He turned his mouth back and continued. "H-He's passed out though, but I sent Mabel to watch him and, uh, the other kids don't know what's up there."

"Ok, I'm more in the medical range when it comes to being a doctor, but I think you should take him out of the house when he wakes and...you need to get rid of the animals, before your grand children see them."

"I know, I know, but one of my old friends is here and he's...he's a bit out of it. He has these issues and I haven't talked to the guy for a long time and Jesus Christ, I need a goddamn drink, Dick, God, I haven't have needed a drink this bad in awhile and...I..."

"Stan, calm down, I'm coming over right now to help. Do you have any alcohol in the house?"

"N-No, I never have any, because of..." He hadn't kept any bottles in his house for years, fearful of becoming an alcoholic like he had been back in the day. He usually didn't show anyone weakness, but Dick was his doctor, so of course he would know about the drinking problem.

"Alright, I'm coming. Just don't go to the store and buy a-"

"I'm not, I'm not..." He replied quietly hanging up, as he removed the cigarette from his mouth.

"G-Grunkle Stan, do you want me to watch Old Man McGucket?" Dipper asked from behind him.

He had heard the floorboards creak this time, Dipper entering the room as he spoke the last sentence on the phone, so he hadn't been startled as was per usual as of late. "Yeah."

He left the room and Stan inhaled a puff deeply as his hand shook, Bill cackling in his ears. He couldn't, no, he couldn't go back there, he just couldn't. He had to block out the dancing triangles before his eyes, the world turning into triangles. When entering the kitchen, he found Dipper in the middle of it hyperventilating, and his best friend missing. Stan was immediately crouching in front of him, hands rested upon his heaving shoulder. "Hey, hey, I can't have two kids getting themselves worked up about something like this. What's going on? And where did McGucket go?"

"I-I'm sorry! I-I came i-in and he was g-gone! I-I-" He broke off into a series of gasps and Stan nearly cursed aloud, wondering where Fiddleford could of possibly gone.

"Ok, just breathe, kid. Want me to tell you a story? I could tell you about the time I went one on one against a grizzly bear the size of Timbuktu!" He joked, wanting to display that he wasn't upset with Dipper that his best friend had left. He opened his mouth to speak and inhaled the smoke drifting from Stan's cigarette into his mouth. He broke into a series of coughs and then produced a choking noise. "Shit!"

He threw the cigarette to the title floor, standing, and stamping it out with his slippers. Dipper wasn't breathing though, lips a tinge of blue and caused Stan to panic. Stan reached out, cupping the 13-year-old's face in his hands. "Jason Dipper Pines, if you don't breath right now I'm gon-"

His grand-nephew's eyes rolled upwards and began to seize. "Shit, not again!"

The seizing began to increase in violence and he laid him out across the floor, pushing the table away from him. "Goddammit, I'm too old for this shit!"

He found it to be a miracle that neither Mabel nor Gideon could hear his cursing from upstairs, considering how high he had raised his voice. He couldn't give a damn what they heard at the moment though, because he was probably going to have an ulcer from the stress he had having lately. The doorbell rang and he nearly cried from joy. He had completely forgotten that Dick was heading over here and he sprinted to the front door. He thrust it opened, revealing the doctor's surprised face. "He's having a god damn seizure!"

"What? Who?"

Stan grasped the 45-year-old by the arm and practically dragged him into the kitchen, revealing the trembling brunet spread out across the floor. Within seconds, Richard Thompson was knelt beside Dipper, hands hovering over his form, before pushing him onto his side. "Approximately, how long has he been in the generalized tonic-clonic state?"

"Speak English, Dick!"

"How long has he been seizing?"

"I don't know? Like a minute or two?!"

"How many times has he done this?"

"Like, the second time this summer! He was having a panic attack before this though and then he started doing this an-"

"Psychogenic NES."

"English!"

"You said he has anxiety. It's not from epilepsy and it was caused by emotional distress. Did he hyperventilate before this?"

"Yeah and then he stopped breathing!"

"Judging from the way his chest his heaving, I'll have to say he's breathing now. Is Dipper medicated?"

"No, Mabel said he didn't react good to them! Can we stop with the twenty questions and do something?!"

"There isn't much I can do at the moment, but if it goes on for more than five minutes, I'll have to call back up paramedics here."

"Jesus, Dick, there has to be something! You're a doctor for Christ's sake!"

"I'm not a miracle worker, Stanley. What I do need you to do though, is calm down. You screaming doesn't actually help the situation in any way."

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, when my grand-" Stan fell silent though, when the seizing came to a halt.

The doctor's hand pulled a medical flashlight from his front pocket of his slacks and pulled up an eyelid of the unconscious 13-year-old. "Pupils are dilating... pulse is a bit erratic, but seems to be steadying...he's going to be fine."

"Jesus, I think I'm gonna have a stroke."

"Stanley, you're not going to have a stroke. And, we should move him somewhere more comfortable."

"Yeah...let's do my broth-my spare room down the hall." Stan replied, fixing his slip up in hopes the other wouldn't notice.

It seemed he succeeded, as the other was now observing the kitchen. "Where is Gideon and Mabel?"

"Up the stairs, end of the hall, up in the attic. I'm going to lay him down," Stan replied, calming down, and picking up Dipper effortlessly. Stan left the doctor, entered the hallway, leading to his brother's room, observing the features of his great-nephew. He had dark shadows underneath his eyes, that never quite seemed to leave from his young face. His characteristic unruly Pines hair was darker than his own had been when he had been Dipper's age. He appeared innocent to Stan, but was aware that he felt the need to carry the world on his shoulders. He knew his worries would age him early, as it had done so to himself. "Geez, kid..."

He laid him out across the couch upon arriving in Stanley's room. He looked at room, actually looked at it, remembering when his brother had disappeared. Stan had slept (or least attempted to with the haunting nightmares) in this room for months, missing the scent of his twin. It had faded though, as time does a great many things in life and he decided he couldn't bare sleeping there any longer. He boarded up the room, knowing he would never view the contents ever again. The elder man had only regained hope, upon revealing the journal to be hidden in the kitchen, strangely enough underneath the kitchen sink, finding it when he went from the bug spray to kill these ants stockpiling themselves in the front yard.

The cabinet pressed up against the wall was cracked open, his strained reflection staring back at himself. Piles of books were stacked on either side of it, ranging from chemistry to physics in their descriptions. A wooden oak chair laid near by. Rows of videos were on a self to the left, Disney, Star Trek, and classics mixed together, some his, some his brother's. On top of the self laid a handful of records and he picked up a few. "With his Hot and Blue Guitar" and "At Folsom Prison" by Johnny Cash, "The Original and Great Carter Family" by The Carter Family, "Wednesday Morning 3 AM" by Simon and Garfunkel, "The Free Wheelin' Bob Dylan" and "The Times They are A-Changing" by Bob Dylan, and "Moanin' the Blues" by Hank Williams. He pulled up the oak seat and settled himself onto it, "With His Hot and Blue Guitar" record in hand. The record player beside the stack appeared more modern than the one he owned, considering his belonged to his mother and Stanley insisted on getting his own new one. He removed the disc from the sleeve and a slip of paper tumbled into his lap. He put the record on, needle touching as it went in circles, and plucked up the paper. The writing was aged, ink somewhat faded, and he realized it was Stanley's.

"Stop stealing my records, Stanford!"

As the the deep bass-baritone voice of Johnny Cash echoed throughout the room, the strum of the guitar filled his ears, Stan buried his face into his hands and broke down for the first time since he attempted suicide, the memories he conveyed to the children, overwhelming him. "When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry..."

Chapter 27 End

Notes (more like useless fun facts) for this chapter include the following; A generalized tonic-clonic or grand-mal seizure is the classic type of seizure that most know about, where the entire body convulses, though their are a variety of seizures that do not involve this. Psychogenic NES means that it's and non-epileptic seizure and that it typically stems from a psychological issue, such as a panic attack. I imagine Stanley Pines would be the type the was into folk and country music, which is why I chose the albums I did. I honestly am not a big fan of country, but if there is anyone country musician I can listen to for days on end, it would be Johnny Cash. Stanford would be into more of the classic and southern rock brands (not to mention some disco, considering his get-up in that Double Dipper episode), such as Led Zeppelin and Creedence Clearwater Revival, though he probably enjoy Johnny Cash as well, considering how the man had dipped into the rock genre as well. The Carter Family included June Carter at one point, who had been married to Johnny Cash for over 30 years. As always, reviews, followers, and favorites are appreciated!