HAT: Sorry that you don't get to hear- er- read 'Ford give speech about his brother- couldn't make myself do it. I may go back and add one in later, buuuut... emotionally, I'm not up for it right now. Anyway, enjoy... or- y'know... get your heart broken- whichever you end up doing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls- Alex Hirsch does- and the one OC in this, I don't own either (she belongs to jamiekinosian on tumblr). I simply own the plot of this story.

That night I end up in Grunkle Stan's room again with my pine tree hat in my hands. This was the first present that I got from him that summer- the first gesture that he cared about me and my sister- and my most precious item. It hurts to know that he's gone and that he's never coming back. I had spent practically a week in denial and now I have no choice but to accept that he's gone. I'll never get to see him again.

"Why'd you have to die?" I ask quietly, though I know that he won't be able to hear me. "How could you do this to us? You... you were supposed to live forever."

I know that's a childish view, but it's always been hard to see such a rough and tough man like him dying over something so mundane like old age. He's supposed to go out with a bang or something. Something flashy because that's just how he is.

My grip on my hat gets tighter and I soon chunk it across the room with a frustrated shout. He wasn't supposed to die! He was supposed to see everything we accomplish and live till we were forty. He was supposed to be there for everything for twenty more years.

I want to destroy everything in sight, but- thankfully- I manage to find a bunch of rolled up ball of socks to chunk around the room until I finally calm down (however long that may have been).

I end up collapsing on the floor while hugging his pillow to my chest- it still smells like him with that cheap cologne that he always wore along with his aftershave and whatever one could name the somewhat rancid body odor. I take deep breaths to try and keep from crying, but it doesn't end up working and I sob into his pillow. At least no one else will hear me blubbering like a baby.

There's no telling how long I was curled up with my face buried in that pillow with my tears soaking the fabric, but by the time I'm finished crying, I feel a bit of numbness as I stare at the ground in front of me.

My arms hug the pillow tighter and I gulp thickly. I want my Grunkle Stan...

There's a knock on the door- slow and heavy- and I look up and glare at the door- I want to be left alone. I want them to leave me to this selfish pity party over losing my grunkle. I don't care if it's Mabel or dad- God forbid, it's Great Uncle 'Ford. I don't think I can handle looking at him at the moment since he looks painfully similar to his brother. I sit there and stare at the door for a long time so I assume whoever was on the other side walked away, but then there's another knock just like the first one.

My nose scrunches up and I shout, "Go away!"

Another knock.

"Leave me alone!" I shout before burying my face back in the pillow.

Why won't you leave me alone?

When there's a more insistent, but still slow and heavy knock, I throw the pillow to the side and get up with anger boiling in me. I yank the door open to yell at whoever's trying to disturb me, but I don't see anyone there. I stick my head out to look both ways to see any sign that someone ran away, but I don't see anything.

I'm losing it, I think as I close the door and grab the pillow as I sit down on the floor.

I feel something- a large hand- on my shoulder and I look up and around, but I don't see anything. I run a hand through my hair and grit my teeth. This is grief- my uncle went through it when my aunt died in that car accident. It's donna pass.

What I can't shove away with rationality is when my hat is put on my head and there's an extra weight on the brim.

I push the brim up and look around, but I still don't see anything. A ghost? Would it be-? No- he's gone...

"Kid," a rough, gruff and unmistakable voice says.

"G-Grunkle Stan?"

I knew it! I knew he was pulling a prank!... though it's a bit questionable how he got a realistic body.

I look around, but I'm disappointed when I don't see him. Uncle Harry went through the same thing.

The possibility that I'm becoming insane with grief becomes more prominent- now if this were to happen next year, then maybe I'd be able to think differently and not have the fear of false hope. I don't want to believe that he's a ghost when it's all just something that grief made me hallucinate- heck, I could even be dreaming right now.

Suddenly I feel a pinch on my tricep and I hiss in pain while rubbing my arm- the fingers that pinched me felt calloused and rough- like...

"If it's really you... please... please do something to show me I'm not insane," I beg with my voice cracking for the first time in years.

A full minute passes with nothing happening and I feel my throat close with tears and I bury my head back into the pillow- maybe if I'm lucky I'll pass out from oxygen deprivation and not have to feel the gaping hole in my chest or a few hours. Damn it...

"Chin up, kid."

I look up and my heart leaps in my chest. Standing there is Grunkle Stan- wearing his suit, carrying his cane, with his eyepatch pushed up so it's not over his eye and his fez on. I knew this was a prank!

Without restraint, I lurch forward to wrap my arms around him, but I pass right through him and my insides grow cold. I feel a second wave of denial run through me and I straighten up slowly and run my fingers through my hair repeatedly to try and calm myself- I don't want to cry anymore, but the tears are choking me and my breathing isn't even, it's ragged and keeps hitching when I try to breathe in to try and get air into my lungs.

No, no, no... no, please, no, I think and I choke out a sob despite trying to keep it in. I just want this to be over.

It's too much.

I feel something cold on my face and look up at Grunkle Stan and realize he's trying to wipe away the tears that started falling I don't know when. He has a regretful look on his face and I manage to make out "I'm sorry, kid" on his lips.

I know that this thought shouldn't have crossed my mind- I know I shouldn't be angry- but I am and I think, You should be sorry.

"How could you do this to us?" I demand with a quiet, shaky voice. "I... you were supposed to live forever... you were su-supposed to... s-supposed t' be there."

I can't hold it back anymore and I end up a sobbing heap on the ground. I don't know how long I sit there like that before I hear scratching. I look up and find Grunkle Stan looking at the ground in front of my feet and while his sword- since when was his cane a sword?- carves something into the wood. I frown a little and get up when he finishes and sheathes his sword- I'm gonna have to find that cane now- and look down at the words. They seem to be an incantation.

"You want me to say it out loud?" I ask.

He nods.

I'm desperate at this point to know what he wants and for this pain in my chest to go away so I read it aloud. When I finish suddenly I'm able to hear him breathing.

"Can y'hear me, kid?" I jump and look up at Grunkle Stan and he looks back at me with calm eyes. "I'll take that as a yes."

"What was that spell?" I ask.

"A little something to temporarily make you sensitive to spirits- y'know like those psychic mediums," he replies with a casual shrug and then his eyes become remorseful and he reaches out as if to ruffle my hair, but I don't feel anything except a bit of a chill. "I'm sorry, kid. Old age and not takin' care'ah myself the way I should kinda caught up't' me. Believe you, me, if I could've stayed alive long enough to become a great-great uncle, I would've, but..."

I feel so selfish for wanting him alive. He was probably in a lot of pain. I can remember all the grunts and groans of pain from when Mabel and I were twelve and I can only imagine how bad it'd gotten after six years after decades of wear and tear on his body.

"I know," I mutter, my eyes dropping to look at his shoes.

I see his hand under my face and I know he's moving to lift my chin with his finger like he used to do. I could have been stubborn and kept my head down, but I decide to indulge him and look up into brown eyes that are very similar to my own.

"I know it's tough, but it'll get easier," he promises. "And know that I won't miss anything- I'll be with you guys every step of the way... y'got that?"

I gulp thickly and nod with tears wanting to fall- I can't speak otherwise he'd hear the tears in my voice. I want to hug him and smell his weird old man cologne and his favorite cigar smoke and to feel him hug me while he tells me that everything will be alright. I want to be twelve again and for this to be a nightmare so I can go and curl up next to him without being judged too much since I'd still be a kid. But none of that's the case- I'd pinched myself numerous times over the past few days and done enough to make sure that I'm not asleep.

Don't cry, I tell myself while blinking rapidly.

"Y'know... it's okay t' cry," he says with understanding brown eyes that are the same as my own.

When his scent hits me- the cologne and cigar smell- I lower my head and cover my mouth with my hand as I sob.

Who knows how much time passes before I manage to run out of tears. I notice- after I'm done crying- that I'm curled up on the bed and there's a ghostly feeling of a large hand stroking my hair- it's faint, but I can still feel it. I take comfort in the feeling- I may never feel it again.

Even more time passes before I can bring myself to speak, but when I do, I'm surprised at how clear it comes out.

"I'm gonna miss you, Grunkle Stan."

"I know, kid..." Stanley replies, his voice a bit more distant than before even if his hand continues to stroke my hair. "But I'll never be far... I promise I'll be there for you guys every step of the way. You're gonna be alright."

This is it. It feels so solidified that I may never see him again after this because after this I feel like he'll be at peace.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you, too, Dipper," he says softly.

I take a thick gulp and choke out, "Goodbye."

"See ya, kid."

And then I couldn't feel his presence anymore, but his scent still lingers. I feel my chest contract, but... I've accepted that he's gone and that in order for him to be at peace, I had to let go. That night I fall asleep in his bed, curled up and emotionally exhausted.