Request from "Original artimies":

"Great new updated chapters. I love how you ended " moons light madness "! And I also have a idea for a new story. A mind swap! Like dippers mind gose in to Lee's mind and vise versa or any other pair , it dosnt matter to me. I hope you like the idea!"

I like it! Let's try this thing out!

Drabble 22: Dipp-Ford-er

Ford stared down at his hands, stunned. He silently counted the numbed of fingers on each hand.

Four. Each.

He started to tremble, and reached up to readjust his glasses . . . except they weren't there. And yet he could see everything just fine without them. He hears a startled squeak somewhere above him and looks up . . . at himself. At his own startled, confused, half-panicked face, glasses askew and starting to paw at his chest.

". . .ssss. . ." all that escapes what appears to be his own mouth is a hissing noise, jaw working as if trying to speak, but unable too. ". . .Sss . . .S-s-stan?" the voice cracks and his own six-fingered hands goes to cover his own mouth. Ford's not sure what to make of it before realizing who's voice it is.

"Dipper?" he asks in return. He glances back down at his clothes, recognizing them for the twelve-year-olds; shorts, T-shirt, vest. Reaching up a hand, he can feel the blue and white trucker hat resting atop his now-brown locks.

Dipper, somehow in his body now, plucks off the glasses and ran a hand down his face, breathing in sharply. Feeling grey hair, the faint stubble on his chin, peering around half-blind without his glasses. He clutches one hand loosely at the collar of his -Fords'- sweater, breathing becoming heavier.

Ford reached for the boy inexplicably stuck in his body. "Dipper?" he asks softly. Worn, tired brown eyes jerked towards him. Rough, calloused, six-fingered hands were clutching at his chest now, starting to hyperventilate. He takes another bold step forward, grabbing at the hand that was closest. "DIPPER." he raised his voice, trying to shake the kid out of it, but to no avail. He was too short now to do any real good.

". . ." Dipper doesn't respond. Not right away, anyhow. ". . .I can't breathe . . .why can't I breathe . . ." he mumbles.

Ford, stuck in the preteens body, realizes what's going on a moment before it happens; Dipper is having a panic attack. He realizes this just before Dipper's eyes roll up in his head and he goes limp, toppling onto the smaller, half crushing and pinning him beneath his bulk.

Stanford lets out a slew of very naughty words, unused to being so small and helpless, trapped as he is. He can't get free for the life of him. And so, here he is. Stuck at the end of a hallway next to an old closet door. While Stanley runs the tourist trap known as the Mystery Shack and Mabel is off doing who-knows-what. Very little chance that handyman Soos appearing this deep within the Shack, and yelling wasn't guaranteed to be heard, either.

So, he instead tries to work out how they ended up switching bodies. They'd been digging in the closet for an old box of Fords' when his hand had rubbed against something thick and soft. There'd been a small shock of static electricity. He'd yelped, and Dipper had grabbed at his arm. Everything became dizzying and turned upside down for several moments, but that was about when he'd looked up and seen himself.

"Experiment 78, of course. . . ." he mumbles. He strains again to get free, but one of his arms are pinned and the other is more like a noodle. He lets it wave like one for a moment, then grumbles under his breath. "Just great, perfect!" Well, the bright side was they at least knew what caused it, so they should be able to reverse it, as well.

A few minutes of being crushed later, Dipper finally stirs and sits up, rubbing "his" face. He blinks and glances around. Stanford grabs the glasses off the ground and offers them up. Dipper clumsily accepts them, groaning and rubbing his eyes again.

"Okay, not a dream. What just happened?" he asks.

"Well, the electron carpet is in the closet." Stanford replies.

Dipper puts the glasses on and blinks. "Okay then, that explains it. Me and Mabel had a bit of an . . . incident, involving the carpet." he shuddered, then looked down in apparent fascination at his new six-fingered hands.

Ford looked down at his own hands, in turn. "Hm . . .welp, we don't want another incident. Could you drag the carpet out here? I want to take it down to the lab after this."

Dipper started to comply, then grew a sly look and shut the closet door instead. "No."

Ford gawked at him. "No?!" he demanded.

"No." Dipper repeated, grinning. "Come on, let's have some fun with this! Trick Stan or Mabel." he coaxed.

Ford hesitated a long moment, trying to think of every reason why this was a very, very bad idea. Finally, the pull of being a kid again -and normal, at that!- won out, and he nodded. "Only until night fall, and we still near the Shack; understood?" he asked, holding out a hand to shake.

Dipper nodded, extending a six-fingered hand, shaking. "Deal."

This could only end well . . .

So, so sorry that I've been gone awhile! I got soem bad sunburns and could barely get any sleep for a few days straight. But I'm back now and plan on getting caught up on requests and stuff, so please hang in there with me guys!

Please R&R!