Chapter 25 | Resonance
Thirty Seconds To Mars | A Beautiful Lie – From Yesterday
The stairs creaked under Mabel's feet, each step pressing down like the weight of the moment itself. The air felt thick around her. She could tell something was up. A lot had happened recently—too much, too fast, even for her to fully process.
She reached the door, hesitating before gently pushing it open.
Dipper sat on his bed, hoodie pulled over his head, gaze distant. She exhaled softly and closed the door behind her. His eyes flickered in her direction as she stepped forward, but he didn't say anything.
"Hey…"
No response. His focus drifted back to the window, face set in quiet frustration.
Mabel lowered herself onto her bed, careful, cautious. "Dipper, I don't think he—"
He sighed, deep and heavy.
"I'm just overwhelmed, okay?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "So much has happened, and everything feels like it's… everywhere. All at once."
His hands clenched slightly at his sides, thoughts unraveling as he spoke.
"There was that whole Echo Collector thing with Pacifica's parents. I mean—how could they do that? I knew they were stuck-up, but this? Just thinking about what we found makes my skin crawl. And it got me wondering… what else have they done while I've been gone?"
His voice wavered, frustration giving way to something deeper.
"Then the call with Dad. I mean… where do I even start with that?"
Mabel lowered her head, her fingers curling around the fabric of her sweater.
"I should've seen it coming," he muttered. "It was obvious, wasn't it? But somehow…."
Mabel glanced up, her expression soft. "It hurts."
He met her gaze, reading their message.
"Yeah… it does."
The room fell into a brief silence. Then, as if the floodgates had opened, his voice returned, faster, more restless.
"And now Steve. What happened there—none of it makes sense. I don't know if…" He trailed off, his thoughts colliding too fast for him to finish. "It has to be the lumberjacks. The way it makes it feel like the forest is changing. That's gotta be it. That's the only thing that makes sense. But it's like Great Uncle Ford isn't even listening to me."
Mabel listened, absorbing every word. The air between them felt dense, filled with everything left unsaid over the past week and a half.
She shifted where she sat, mind circling the same uncertainty that had been nagging at her for days.
Do I step back? Or push forward?
It felt like a fragile balance—one wrong move, and she'd either overwhelm him or leave him alone when he needed her most.
She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, breathing out slowly, willing the uncertainty away.
Maybe a middle ground.
Without saying anything, she got up and moved to sit beside him, giving him a gentle nudge. He blinked but didn't move away.
"Yeah, everything's been all jumbled up," she admitted. "But I think…"
She hesitated, looking out the window.
"I think Grunkle Ford gets it. At least… I hope he does."
She swallowed, turning her words over in her mind.
She wanted to believe them.
The monotonous hum of beeps and notifications filled the lab. Ford stood at his desk, staring through the glass panel that overlooked the portal room. His gaze was locked, distant—lost in thought.
Leaving that room empty still felt strange. For years, it had been the center of his research.
That is, before he spent thirty years dimension-hopping like an outlaw.
He could still recall the vague, lingering scents of the worlds he passed through—how they clung to his clothes, embedded themselves in his skin.
How those thirty years carved him into the man he was now.
A sharp beep pulled him back to reality. He glanced at the monitor.
Calibration complete.
He reached for the nearby mouse, clicking the prompt before grabbing a set of sensor pads. His fingers hesitated over the desk.
The thick piece of moss sat there, motionless. Watching.
It hadn't twitched in days. But Ford half expected it to.
Steeling himself, he carefully placed the sensors along the strands, waiting for the readings to stabilize. The effect was immediate—on-screen, erratic spikes shot through the graph like wild tremors.
His jaw tightened.
That pattern…
It was too familiar. Too specific.
Muttering under his breath, he navigated through his desktop, opening a folder labeled Anomalous Readings. A list of files appeared, neatly categorized.
He clicked on one labeled Steve. Then another, marked ?.
Side by side, the patterns were undeniable. The current readings weren't as extreme, but the structure—the pulse—was nearly identical. The same erratic fluctuations, the same creeping signature.
Ford adjusted his glasses, scratching his chin. The only key difference was the instability—this one was spiking and dropping in real time.
He exhaled, watching the screen. "Like some kind of sine wave. Or maybe…"
His eyes flicked toward the moss. The way the graph shifted—it wasn't random. There was a pattern. A rhythm.
A tempo.
His breath caught.
"…A pulse?"
The moment the thought escaped, he shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Even for me, that sounds ridiculous."
But the feeling wouldn't leave—the gnawing certainty in his gut.
This was the same kind of signature he saw back on the ship. The same erratic energy. The same sinking feeling.
Something was happening. Something big. And he was right there—
But still too far to reach.
With a sigh, he shut down the program, saving the data to the same folder. He removed the sensors and set them aside, running a hand through his hair.
His mind drifted back to what Dipper and Mabel had said—that they'd found this moss in Steve's part of the forest.
Ford picked up the specimen, rolling the stiff, fibrous strands between his fingers. It had moved before. Reacted. Like something alive. Something restless.
His gaze flickered toward a small, handwritten notebook resting near his machinery. The label read Dimension 52.
A memory stirred. A world where living matter behaved erratically under unnatural conditions.
No. That wouldn't make sense.
But what did make sense was this:
This thing was dangerous. And it was spreading.
His lips pressed into a thin line. He turned, unlocking one of the glass cabinets on the wall by his workstation. After a moment of rifling through old files, his fingers found what he was looking for.
A thick folder, coated in a layer of dust.
He wiped the cover clean, revealing the faded label:
Specialized Electro-Magnetic Containment Field (S.E.M.F.)
Ford huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. Leaving out the 'C' did make it sound better.
He flipped through the blueprints and calculations inside, his mind already racing through the possibilities.
"If I can contain this, maybe I can study it before it spreads."
He shut the file and tossed it onto his desk. Taking a long sip of coffee, he let the pieces fall into place, building a roadmap in his mind.
And right now, all roads led to one place.
One person.
Steve.
Ford exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the desk.
Looks like I've got a visit to make.
A gentle silence hung over the kitchen table. Soos had made pancakes—though whether they counted as pancakes was up for debate.
Dipper poked at his food, staring blankly.
Can you… even call these pancakes?
He shrugged and pulled out his phone, idly scrolling.
Across from him, Mabel glanced up. Her face was soft with concern, but she didn't say anything. She could tell the weight of everything still sat heavy on his shoulders.
Almost on cue, the mechanical hiss of the vending machine echoed from the hallway. Heavy footsteps followed, rhythmic and sure.
Ford stepped into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready to head out. Dipper looked up, a flicker of curiosity lighting his eyes.
"Whoa, where are you going, Great Uncle Ford?"
Ford paused, adjusting his coat, eyes drifting toward the window.
"Just out to recalibrate some of the weirdness sensors in the valley. I've noticed some irregularities in the readings lately."
A short beat passed. Then he headed for the door.
"Should be back in an hour—"
He leaned back in. "Or two."
And with that, he was gone.
Dipper stared after him, twirling his fork between his fingers. His appetite was already fading—not that it had much ground to stand on.
Something about that exchange felt... wrong. Not a lie. But not the whole truth either.
He stood up abruptly.
Mabel blinked. "Dipper?"
He didn't answer. Just walked out of the room, quick and focused. Mabel stood slowly, brushing off her pajama pants. She had a hunch where he was going.
She turned the corner and found him standing in front of the vending machine.
He reached up, hand hovering near the keypad.
It felt different now. Not so long ago, he had to stretch just to reach the top row. Now his hand rested there with ease.
Before he could enter the code, Mabel's voice cut through the silence.
"Are you sure you should be doing this?"
He paused. Turned around. There was a long beat.
Technically, Ford hadn't forbidden him from entering the lab. But there was always a quiet understanding—a kind of unspoken trust—that Dipper wouldn't go poking around unless it really mattered.
He thought about the conversation they'd had the night before. The way Ford had talked, like he knew something was up. The way he'd looked at the moss.
"I… I have to try, Mabel. Something's not adding up."
He turned and began entering the code.
Mabel stood behind him, frowning. Her instincts screamed for her to stop him. Talk it through. Pull him back.
Her hands gripped the edges of her sweater, knuckles pale.
But she let him go.
With a familiar click, the vending machine sank into the wall.
She exhaled, eyes still fixed on the empty space.
A knot of worry twisted in her chest. She thought about last night—how small he looked when she found him, sitting in their room, all that fire and frustration burning behind his eyes.
His need to prove something. His need to understand.
It's consuming him.
But on the other side of the wall, Dipper stepped forward. The elevator stood open, waiting.
He entered, pressed the button for the third level.
With a soft chime, the doors closed.
The elevator rumbled as it descended, each vibration crawling up his spine. When it jolted to a stop, the doors creaked open with a mechanical hiss.
The lab greeted him with its usual cold hum—monitors flickering, machines quietly ticking like a nervous pulse. He stepped forward, eyes scanning the familiar desk at the far end.
A photo sat between the monitors. Him. Mabel. The Grunkles. Arms over shoulders, summer smiles frozen in time. A small smile tugged at his mouth—then faded as his gaze dropped.
The moss was still there.
Wires lay next to it like limp vines, still attached to the analysis pads. His brow furrowed.
Something was going on.
He moved the mouse. The screens lit up.
Graphs. Spikes. One monitor played a looping chart, the lines erratic, sharp like a heartbeat under stress. At first glance, they looked random.
But they weren't.
Dipper leaned closer. The spikes shifted—responded. There was a pattern here. He just couldn't see it yet.
He picked up the wires, examining the ends.
Sensors. Definitely.
His eyes scanned the monitor again. A label blinked in the corner.
Unknown? (46B)
46B… a location?
Grunkle Ford did install sensors across the forest…
"Dipper. What are you doing?"
The voice froze him in place.
He turned. Ford stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze filled with concern and frustration.
"You shouldn't be here," Ford said, stepping inside.
"I was just—" Dipper stammered, clutching the wires like they might justify his presence. "I needed something. Some kind of proof. I know the forest did something to Steve."
He glanced at the monitors, suddenly losing a bit of confidence in his own words. "But you already know what's going on, don't you."
Ford said nothing. His eyes lingered on the monitors, watching the readings dance. He sighed and pulled his chair out, sitting slowly.
"I've been tracking readings from a specific sector. That's all."
Dipper squinted. "It's where Steve's been going, isn't it?"
Ford glanced at him, then smiled faintly. "You always were sharp."
He turned to the screen, gesturing toward the chart.
"Yes. 46B refers to that part of the forest. These spikes—these readings—it's different. I've never seen biological matter react like this."
He paused, eyes on the monitor.
His brow furrowed. A flicker of something crossed his face—something distant, unsettled. Then, just barely, he turned his gaze to the side.
Not quite looking at Dipper.
Not quite avoiding him either.
Like he wanted to meet his eyes—but couldn't.
Dipper watched in silence, heart picking up speed. Ford's voice was full when he spoke again.
"But I haven't confirmed anything. Until I do, jumping to conclusions could make things worse."
Dipper stood still behind him, unsure whether to be frustrated or scared.
"But… you have a theory," he said cautiously.
Ford nodded. "A plausible one. Possibly the only one that makes sense."
He turned, expression tight.
"Residual Weirdness Energy. After Weirdmageddon, the forest was saturated with dimensional flux. This moss may just be reacting to those leftover waves."
Dipper flinched at the word.
"You're saying this is just leftovers from the apocalypse? That was two years ago."
"Possibly, the readings share the same intensity from back then." Ford said. He turned back to the keyboard and began typing. The lab's lights reflected faintly in his glasses, hiding his eyes.
Dipper watched in silence. Something about that explanation felt… easy. Clean. Too clean.
There was something else. He could feel it in his gut.
Ford finished typing, cracking his knuckles as he shut down the computer.
"Anyway, I think it's time I retire for the day. I can't stay cooped up down here forever—tempting as it is."
He stood and pushed his chair in.
Dipper lingered, frustration bubbling up in his chest. "But wait—I still have so many questions, and—"
Ford placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Dipper…"
His mouth stayed open for a moment, like there was more he wanted to say. But nothing came. He let go and gestured toward the elevator.
Dipper sighed and followed, a knot tightening in his chest.
He's not listening.
Why won't he just listen to me?
Heat rushed to his face as the elevator doors shut and it began to rise. He clenched his fists, trying to will the anger away.
But underneath the frustration, something else crept in.
Something quieter.
Doubt.
He thought back to the moss on the desk, the flickering monitors, the erratic waveforms dancing across the screen.
Am I just seeing patterns because I want there to be something more?
But those readings… they moved. They shifted like there was something there.
There has to be something more…
He stepped out of the elevator with that same knot in his chest.
In the living room, Mabel sat on the couch, waiting. She looked up, started to say something—
But didn't.
Dipper walked past without a word.
And back down in the lab, Ford stood alone. The hum of machinery filled the air as he powered the computer back on, cycling through the data again.
The chart reappeared. Waveforms and sine waves reflecting off his glasses. The moss readings continued—spiking, twitching.
Unnatural.
Unfamiliar.
He stared.
It flickered again.
Just like before.
Just like himself, once.
These readings didn't match gravity warps. They weren't leyline interference.
They weren't anything he knew.
And for the first time in a long time—
Ford wasn't sure.
And that scared him more than anything.