Act 2 – Chapter 19 | Static

Everclear | So Much For The Afterglow – Father Of Mine

Dipper sat on his bed, legs aching from last night's frantic run. After leaving the mansion, they'd collapsed the moment they made it back to the shack—bodies sprawled on the floor, too tired to speak. Wendy had dragged Soos to his room while Mabel and Dipper stumbled upstairs to wash off the night's grime.

The shower had been scalding, but the heat barely touched the cold weight in his chest. He remembered the thoughts swirling in his mind, clouded and murky—like the dirty water spiraling down the drain. The missed call had stared back at him from the edge of the tub, glowing with the quiet accusation of something unfinished.

Hours later, the shack was silent. The kind of silence that felt thick, like the walls themselves could feel the exhaustion, holding their breath. Mabel was curled up on her bed across the room, fast asleep, one arm flopped over Waddles. But Dipper couldn't even close his eyes.

Now, his phone sat in his lap, its screen dark but heavy, like it was watching him. The name glowed behind his eyelids every time he blinked:

Dad.

He rubbed his eyes. The afternoon light sliced through the attic window, golden and sharp. His body begged him to give in, to collapse onto the mattress and let sleep take him. But his mind wouldn't let go of the knot in his stomach.

He stared at the phone again. It stared back.

Whispering quiet words, like something unspoken.

Across from him, Mabel sat on her knees, rocking back and forth on her bed as she chewed on a few strands of hair.

She let out a nervous breath. "Maybe he just, like...wanted to ask if we're brushing our teeth?"

Dipper didn't answer. He couldn't even look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the phone in his lap.

"I…I'm not so sure."

The air pressed down on his chest, thick and heavy. He held his breath, gritted his teeth. His finger hovered over the call button. He knew the moment his dad answered, the words would be real. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Then he bit the bullet. He swiped his thumb across the screen and hit call.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Until it clicked.

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"Hey, buddy."

Dipper's chest tightened. He forced out a shaky breath. "Hey…"

His dad chuckled softly. "Guess you were too busy to answer a call from your old man, huh?"

Dipper's throat tightened. His dad's laugh used to feel light. Now it sounded like a cover-up. He scrambled for an answer. "Yeah, um…me and Mabel were just…uh…walking around town. Waiting for Grunkle Stan to get back." His voice cracked on the last word.

Mabel froze mid-rock, her eyes wide with nervous energy.

There was a pause on the line. Then—

"Stan's not back yet?"

Dipper's stomach dropped.

Oh no…

His mind scrambled for a believable response, tripping over his own words. "Yeah…uh…I probably should've told you. He's still on that vacation I mentioned before we left."

Mabel flinched at the wobble in his voice. Dipper gave a tiny shrug. Technically, he wasn't lying.

He cleared his throat. "He said…uh…the weather's been rough where he is. So…he might not be back until, like, this week."

He swallowed. The truth was...kind of gray. Half a truth. Half a lie. Last time he talked to them, Ford said they wouldn't be back for a few days. And Ford was a man that dedicated his life to his work, Dipper knew that. Whatever readings he talked about could take weeks to look over. He didn't when they actually would be back.

His dad sighed on the other end. "Yeah. Sounds like Stan." A beat passed. "Hope you can hang in there a few more days."

Dipper swallowed. "Yeah. I can wait."

His dad coughed. "You guys been okay over there?"

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, we've just been settling back in."

"That's…that's good."

He rubbed his arm. The silence stretched too long. Awkward. Uncomfortable. His dad's voice sounded distant, like he was on the other end of a canyon.

Another moment passed before his dad sighed, the breath heavy enough to press against Dipper's chest.

Then came the words.

"I'm sure you already know. Your mom and I…it's official. We'll figure out custody after the summer."

The room froze.

Mabel stopped chewing her hair. Her hands clutched her bedspread, knuckles white. Dipper's hand shook. His phone slipped against his palm. Everything slowed. His ears rang like a church bell. The floor tilted beneath him.

Divorce.

He already knew. He'd overheard their late-night whispers before the trip. But hearing it out loud? That was different. Final. Like the ground cracking beneath him.

His dad's voice yanked him back to the surface.

"Dipper?"

He tightened his grip on the phone before it could slip away. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

His dad exhaled softly. "I know that's not easy to hear. I just...thought you deserved to know."

Dipper's throat ached. He couldn't say anything back.

His dad hesitated. "Is…Mabel there?"

He glanced at Mabel. Her wide eyes locked on his phone like it might explode.

"Yeah. She…she heard you." His voice cracked on the last word.

His dad swallowed. "Okay. Good. I mean—not good. I just...wanted you both to know now instead of waiting."

Dipper's stomach twisted. He couldn't stop the burning question from escaping.

"What's…what's gonna happen to us?"

The line went quiet. The air around them thickened, pressing against his ribs.

"I…don't want you to worry about that right now," his dad said finally. "Just…try to enjoy your summer."

Dipper's hands trembled. He gave a shaky nod. "Okay."

His dad's voice wavered. "Just...when you get a chance. Think about—" he paused, then forced it out. "—who you want to stay with."

The phone slipped from Dipper's hands. It hit the floor with a hollow thud.

Mabel flinched. Her eyes, wide and wet, met his. Neither of them said a word.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late. Dipper's legs moved on their own, shoving him off the bed. His breath hitched. His vision blurred. Panic gripped his chest as he bolted across the attic.

"Dipper, wait!"

Mabel scrambled after him, wiping her eyes as she chased him down the stairs. Their dad's voice still murmured through the phone on the floor, a distant, hollow echo.

Dipper didn't stop. He didn't even think. His feet slammed against the wooden steps, then the front door burst open with a crack.

The warm air hit him like a slap, but he kept running.

Mabel skidded to a stop at the doorway. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched her brother disappear into the trees.

Her voice cracked as she called after him.

"Dipper, wait! Don't…"

The words caught in her throat. Tears blurred her vision, spilling down her cheeks.

Her voice was hoarse, nothing but a whisper.

"Don't run away from me too."

Dipper's legs screamed at him to stop running, but his mind refused to listen. The afternoon air whipped against his face, burning his skin as he darted between trees and bushes.

Twigs and branches scraped his arms. He didn't care—he didn't even feel it. Just another set of invisible cuts and bruises to add to the list. His vision blurred. His heart hammered. He didn't know where he was going—only that he needed to keep moving.

He couldn't believe it. It was actually happening. His family—his life—was splitting apart right in front of him. And he was powerless to stop it.

Everything blurred together. Too fast, too loud. No control. No say. Just a passenger in his own life. His stomach twisted, flipping inside out. He swallowed hard, trying to push the nausea back as he sprinted through the woods.

Suddenly, the toe of his shoe caught on a root.

He crashed forward. The world tilted as he hit the ground with a thud, his body skidding across dirt and gravel. Pain flared through his skin. He barely noticed.

For a moment, he just lay there—face-up, sprawled across the forest floor. His breath shaky, his heart splintering beneath the weight of it all.

The sky peeked through the gaps in the trees, streaks of afternoon sunlight cutting through the branches. The air stung the cuts on his cheeks. His chest rose and fell as his mind spun, trying to make sense of the impossible.

Everything felt jumbled. Twisted. Warped. Out of reach.

And then it came.

The static.

A low, humming distortion at the edge of his thoughts. It crackled through his brain, blurring everything—his parents, the attic, Mabel's voice—until only fragments remained.

The static of his childhood—of Gravity Falls—buzzed louder, distorting the memories he'd tried so hard to hold onto. He clenched his jaw.

But all he could do was hold the tears back, staring into the sky.

Still trying to grasp for something, anything…

familiar.

The Stan O' War rocked softly against the dock, the morning tide lapping at the wood. Stan stood at the side, tossing the end of a rope to Ford. Ford caught it with one hand, bending down on one knee to tie a knot around one of the weathered posts.

Stan stretched, his back making a series of unsettling pops. He winced, muttering under his breath before looking up at the sky. The clouds loomed overhead, thick and heavy, but sunlight pierced through in golden streaks, casting a hazy afterglow over the water.

"Well, Sixer, looks like we made it."

Ford grumbled in response, tightening the knot with more force than necessary.

Stan eyed him, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on, you can't still be thinking about those readings. I'm tellin' ya, whatever we picked up is long gone."

Ford shook his head, rubbing at his temples. "I appreciate the optimism, Stanley, but I can't ignore this. Did we really stop it? We didn't even see anything..." He trailed off, frowning at the water.

A gust of wind rolled through, sending a chill down Ford's spine. He turned toward the lining the shore. The water felt still, unnaturally so. Even the birds seemed quieter than usual. His frown deepened.

Stan grabbed a plank from the side of the cabin, setting it between the boat and the dock. He stomped across it with practiced ease, stopping beside Ford.

"Look, as far as I'm concerned, you're freakin' out over nothin'—nada! We're fine."

Ford let out a slow breath, adjusting his glasses. "Maybe I am reading into this too much. I don't know… Those readings just have me paranoid. I haven't seen something that big since we fought off that Kraken in the Atlantic."

Stan clapped a hand on Ford's shoulder. "And what did we do? We beat it up and tossed it back into the ocean!"

Ford gave him a tired look. "You just so happened to punch its eye at the right time, Stanley. I wouldn't exactly call that a strategy."

Stan waved him off. "Pssh, same thing, four-eyes. We've fought weirder, and we won. I ain't losin' sleep over some charts."

Digging into his pocket, he jangled a set of keys, his grin widening.

"Finally! I get to drive this baby again!" He kissed the keys.

Ford glanced toward the shore where their car was parked. "Just… don't reverse it into the water this time," he muttered.

The last time they'd tried to haul the Stan O' War onto its trailer, Stan had somehow managed to back the entire car halfway into the bay. The fact that Stan's car could even haul the boat around was a miracle within itself.

Stan scoffed, giving him a light smack on the arm. "Hands of gold, Sixer!"

Ford deadpanned. "Uh-huh."

Stan walked off toward the parking lot, whistling to himself. Ford watched his figure grow smaller in the distance before turning back toward the Stan O' War.

He could feel it.

The images of the readings burned in his mind—the shifting numbers, the erratic graphs, the green dots swelling on the screen. The memory of those heavy thuds against the hull echoed in his ears, hollow and unnatural. He could feel it in his bones.

Something was off.

His pulse quickened as he strode across the plank and onto the deck, his movements urgent now. He pushed through the cabin door and made a beeline for the main console, flipping the power switch. The monitors flickered to life, their glow casting sharp shadows across his face.

Gauges spun wildly before settling.

His fingers ran over the controls, navigating the charts again. Green dots, red lines, their patterns seared into his vision. It wasn't just that the readings were getting bigger. It was something else…

He adjusted the parameters, filtering for duration. The moment the results loaded, his breath caught.

Every reading—the exact same length.

Not a second longer. Not a second shorter.

His gaze was fixed on the charts while his hands fumbled for the desk drawer. He yanked it open, rummaging through tangled cables and scattered notes until his fingers closed around a thumb drive. He pulled it out and slammed the drawer shut.

Snatching a pen from his coat, he glanced around for tape. A small roll sat at the edge of the desk. He tore off a strip, sticking it to the drive.

Click. The pen tip met the surface. He hesitated for a split second before scrawling a single symbol:

?

His breath was shaky as he pocketed the pen. He turned the drive over in his hands, flicking the button to retract the USB.

Whatever this thing was—whatever had been lurking behind them—it wasn't just getting bigger.

It was getting stronger.

And it was doing it fast.

Eventually, Stan returned with his car, nearly backing straight into the water again. After some arguing, some cursing, and a lot of heavy lifting, they managed to load the Stan O' War onto the trailer—this time without breaking Stan's back. They stood by the car, catching their breath, their eyes lingering on the boat.

Stan let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y'know… she ain't much." He paused, glancing at Ford before cracking a small smirk.

"But she's ours."

Ford let out a quiet chuckle and gave Stan a light punch on the arm. "Yeah."

Stan spun the car keys around his index finger. "Alright, let's hit the road, poin-dexter! I got a niece and nephew to see!"

Ford nodded, reaching for the car door. But as his fingers brushed the handle, a nagging feeling took hold.

The hull. The readings. What were they?

His gaze drifted back to the boat, to the stern. The back of the hull—the place where it had always hit. He hadn't seen any visible damage, but something felt wrong.

Something was there.

Hiding.

Lurking beneath the surface.

Stan's voice pulled him back. "Hey! What're ya doin'? Thought we were gettin' outta here!"

Ford looked at him, then back at the boat. His stomach churned. "Just… give me a second. I want to check something."

Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Whatever gets that big ol' brain of yours goin'. Make it quick."

Ford wordlessly turned and walked toward the boat—straight to the stern.

He examined the surface. A few scrapes and dents. Expected wear. Patches of dirt and seaweed clung to the hull, damp and peeling away. But there was one patch near the middle. He squinted, leaning in.

It covered a sizable dent, almost like it was hiding something.

Ford traced his fingers over it, feeling the damp texture. Something was off. He brushed the patch away, sweeping aside strands of seaweed and clumps of dirt. The mass fell into his hand, and when he turned it over,

His breath hitched.

The patch was hollow. A shell. A thin, fibrous casing—leaving a gap beneath it. Large enough for something to fit inside. He stared at the empty husk in his palm, the weight of it suddenly heavier than it should be.

Something had been here.

Something had hidden here.

His stomach sank. He crouched, scanning the rest of the hull. No additional damage. No more hollow patches. It was gone. Either moved or… watching from somewhere else. His fingers curled around the husk. No solid answers. Just another mystery slipping through his grasp. Something else that would keep him up at night.

With a resigned sigh, he climbed back onto the boat, storing the patch in a plastic bag inside the cabin. When he returned to the car, his face was tight with concern. Stan immediately took notice.

"Whoa, what's with the look?"

Ford hesitated. "I… found something on the hull. A hollow casing… like a nest. Big enough for something to have been hiding inside."

Stan's hands tightened on the wheel. He exhaled sharply, staring out at the road. Even he couldn't deny it anymore. Something felt wrong. But they were so close to getting home. So close to seeing the kids. He wasn't about to let some cryptic little nest change that.

"Look, it's probably just some dumb little crab or somethin', Ford," Stan muttered. "I'm tellin' ya, no use worrying about it. Whatever was there is gone, and I'm not letting anything else stop us from seeing the kids. It's already been a damn week since."

The key turned. The engine sputtered to life.

Ford cast one last glance at the boat through the side mirror. The stern gleamed dully in the morning light.

"I don't know… maybe you're right," he murmured.

The car rolled onto the road, picking up speed toward the highway.

And behind them, unnoticed—

A small black mass pulsed against the deck. It slithered forward, shifting, warping, folding into itself. A slow, hungry movement.

It oozed toward the cabin.

And slipped beneath the door.