Volume 1: Act 1 – Chapter 1 | She Answered with Silence

d4vd | Petals to Thorns – You and I

It was so warm. Dipper didn't know exactly where he was, but he knew he was dreaming. Everything around him shifted, shadows curling at the edges of his vision like smoke. The warmth wrapped around his body, sinking into his skin. It felt safe. He didn't want to move, not even an inch.

Then, oranges and yellows flooded his view, overwhelming his senses. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, but the smell—

That smell. It was so familiar.

Nostalgia rushed over him like a crashing wave, carrying fragments of childhood: dirt-streaked hands, breathless laughter, the scrape of twigs against his arms as he darted through the woods. Scratches and bruises bit at his skin, telling him he was hurt. But he had never felt more alive.

Then the warmth shattered. The embrace of freedom was gone—replaced by something far more sinister.

He was running.

The pine trees blurred around him in streaks of green and black. His stomach lurched. He felt sick. There was a weight on his chest, pressing harder with every step, and whatever was behind him—

It was watching. Staring so hard into his back that he swore if he looked down, he'd see two gaping holes burned clean through his chest.

A voice. Familiar, yet foreign.

His voice?

No. It couldn't be.

It was getting louder. Bitter.

You can't run.

"...pper?"

You can't run.

"Dipper?"

YOU CAN'T R—

"Dipper!?"

Dipper jerked awake, heart pounding, breath hitching in his throat. For a few seconds, all he saw was a mass of brown curls, hovering too close. Then the curls pulled back, revealing a face—Mabel, her expression shifting between concern and amusement.

"You okay, bro-bro?"

Dipper blinked, still shaking off the dream. "Yeah... I'm fine. Why?"

Mabel's worried look melted away. "You were rolling around like a wiggly little bug!"

She flapped her arms inside her sweater, demonstrating a chaotic sort of motion. Dipper just stared at her, jaw slightly open.

What is she even talking about?

But before he could say anything, Mabel's eyes sparkled with fresh excitement. She scooted up onto his bed, grinning.

"Anywaaay, you HAVE to get up! Today is THE day, remember?"

Dipper barely registered her words. The remnants of his dream lingered, curling at the edges of his thoughts like smoke. The trees. The feeling. The voice. What did it mean? Was he back there? Was there something deeper to it?

His stomach twisted, but then—

Mabel.

His sister's infectious energy broke through the fog in his mind. A grin pulled at his lips, the unease retreating.

"Of course, I wouldn't forget, Mabel!"

He reached out and gave her a playful shove. What he didn't expect was for her to slip a hand behind his back, grabbing one of his pillows.

"Well, duh—TODAY IS RANDOM-PILLOW-FIGHT-DAY!"

"Yeah, exac—wait, wha—"

WHUMP.

Dipper barely had time to react before a pillow smacked him square in the face, sending him sprawling back onto the mattress. His groan of protest was drowned out by Mabel's triumphant laughter.

"FINISH HIMMM!"

Another attack. Then another. Feathers flew. Dipper flailed, managing to grab his own pillow just in time to block an incoming hit. He swung back, missing. Mabel cackled.

Within moments, the room was filled with laughter, each swing fueling their ridiculous, chaotic battle. Sure, Mabel's antics could be annoying, but somehow—

She never disappointed.

A sharp knock at the door brought everything to a screeching halt. Both twins froze, mid-swing, then turned to face the doorway.

Their mom stood there, arms crossed, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.

"Mabel, honey, you could really hurt Dipper like that."

"Oh, come on, Lauren," a deeper voice chimed in. "Dipper can take it."

Their father stood beside her, grinning. Mabel narrowed her eyes at him, then back at their mom, her expression unreadable for a moment before she let out a dramatic sigh and tossed her pillow back onto the bed.

"Just because school's out doesn't mean you two get to destroy the house again," Lauren continued, but her tone was softer now, amused.

"Sorry, Mom! We were just really excited!" Mabel said, rocking on her heels.

"Yeah, of course! I mean, I've been waiti—"

Richard chuckled, cutting Dipper off with a knowing look. "Yeah, yeah, we get it, Dip. You two have been buzzing about this for weeks."

Mabel nodded vigorously. Dipper could barely contain his own excitement.

Their father glanced over at Dipper's dresser, where an old glove and baseball sat. He picked them up, rolling the ball in his palm before turning back to his son.

A small, playful grin tugged at his lips. "I still owe you that game of catch, remember?"

Dipper swallowed. He hadn't forgotten. He glanced at the glove in his father's hand, his stomach tightening just a little. He'd missed the ball last time.

Maybe today would be different.

They ate breakfast quickly, just as their parents expected. Their mother washed the dishes while their father checked on the twins' laundry.

"Go upstairs and make sure you two are packed, okay?"

Their mother crouched to ruffle their hair before they took off, racing each other up the stairs. She sighed, shaking her head fondly, before turning back to their father. He was folding clothes on the couch, methodical as always. Her gaze lingered on him—neutral at first, then distant, uncertain.

"What's up?" Richard asked.

Lauren blinked, pulled from her thoughts, and looked down at the sink. The water dripped from the faucet, a slow and steady metronome. Their breakfast had been a feast. Their last morning together before everything changed.

"I don't know what to tell them."

Her voice wavered with doubt, sadness. She barely noticed the hand on her shoulder until she turned and met his eyes.

"Lauren, it's alright," Richard said. "I'm sure they already have an idea. Or at least, Dip does."

Their eyes drifted toward the staircase, listening to the twins' voices echo down the hall—full of excitement, already planning their summer. Gnomes. Were they really talking about gnomes?

Lauren's throat tightened.

"They're still kids," she murmured. "They shouldn't have to—"

Richard cut her off with a quiet chuckle. His jaw relaxed, the edges of his hair catching the light. It was messy, slightly-styled. There was something painfully familiar about the way the sunlight framed his face—like Dipper.

"Save your breath," he said gently. "We'll talk about it later." A pause. "I don't want to ruin this day for them."

Lauren nodded, but she wasn't sure she agreed. She watched Richard return to folding clothes, his usual methodical calm. Yet, as she studied him, something gnawed at her.

Where had all that time gone?

They had been happy once. Ecstatic when they found out they were having twins. So much love, so much care—determined to raise a small but happy family. But then the memory surfaced.

The night something between them broke.

She could still see Richard's hands on the table—pale, tense, slightly shaking. His fingers picked at his nails, searching for something to hold onto. The long nights of talking. The desperate pleas. The uncertainty stretching between them, raw and unprotected. They ended up making the call to their Uncle Ford, who had graciously offered to have the kids stay for a summer. It was a fresh start, or at least it seemed so at the time.

But what would they tell the twins?

When the bus pulled away that summer, the twins were still theirs. But when they returned, something had changed. They had grown, speaking of Gravity Falls with such warmth, such belonging. Lauren envied it, and part of her felt like she was back in the same room as Richard when the Twins left earlier that year.

Where had the time gone?

Richard's voice pulled her back. "I'll finish signing them after they leave."

A pang of unease shot through her.

"Then we can figure out the tough part." He hesitated. "Who goes where."

His voice wasn't as steady as before. The words hung between them, heavier than either of them wanted to acknowledge. The kitchen filled with the slow, steady drip of water against the dishes, trailing down the plates and into the drain. Lauren stared at the sink, her thoughts unraveling.

How had it come to this?

She could still see Richard's hands on the table that night—pale, tense, grasping at nothing.

"What will we tell them?" he had asked.

She had answered with silence.