"Just breathe. You're okay."
A voice.
Hers? Someone else's?
It echoed through the void, stretching and twisting, warping beyond recognition.
Floating. Endless floating.
Weightless, formless, caught between something and nothing.
Was she moving? Or was the universe around her shifting?
Time bled together.
Fast and slow. Loud and quiet.
Everything and nothing.
The only thing that remained—
The only thing she knew—
"Survive. I will always come back for you, no matter what happens."
She gasped.
A rush of heat and light—
A gravitational pull—
A sudden, violent tug—
So much pain.
Then—darkness.
~n~
There were voices, distant and muffled, fading in and out like radio static.
Something pressed against her wrist, then her forehead.
Her body felt heavy as if she had been asleep for a long time, yet everything around her was unfamiliar.
The scent of old wood, dust, and faintly burnt coffee filled the air.
The low murmur of voices swam through the haze, gradually pulling her toward consciousness.
Shifting slightly, her fingers brushed against the coarse fabric of a worn couch.
She forced her eyes open.
The room was too bright.
The ceiling above her was wooden, uneven, unfamiliar.
'Where…?'
She tried to move but a sharp sting shot up her arm, making her wince.
Something shifted beside her.
"Hey! She's waking up!"
A girl's voice rang out, full of energy and excited.
Her vision swam, adjusting to her surroundings, as shapes became clearer.
Four figures hovered around her—faces she didn't know.
A man with wild gray hair and a red turtleneck sat closest, his brows furrowed in concern behind thick glasses.
Beside him stood another man, identical but different, broader, scruffier, with a five o'clock shadow and a disapproving scowl.
Two kids—a boy and a girl—hovered nearby.
The girl had bright eyes and an excited grin, her long brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie.
The boy, dressed in a blue vest and trucker hat, stood slightly behind her, his face lined with curiosity and caution.
The older man in the red turtleneck leaned forward.
"Easy there," he said, his voice deep but calm. "You're safe. Can you hear me?"
She swallowed thickly, her throat dry.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, her limbs shaky as if she hadn't moved in ages.
"Where…" her voice cracked.
She tried again.
"Where am I?"
The first man nodded as if he expected the question.
"You're in Gravity Falls, Oregon. This is our home—the Mystery Shack."
He gestured toward himself and then the others.
"My name is Stanford Pines. This is my brother, Stanley, and our great-niece and nephew, Mabel and Dipper."
Mabel waved enthusiastically.
"Hi there! I like your hat!"
The woman blinked, glancing down at the wide-brimmed hat resting beside her on the couch.
It looked soot-stained, a little crumpled at the edges, yet undeniably familiar.
She grabbed it, feeling the familiar fabric between her fingers.
Slowly, she swallowed again, glancing back at them.
"How… How did I get here?"
Ford exchanged a glance with Dipper before turning back to her.
"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," he answered, folding his hands. "The kids found you in the woods, unconscious, just outside of town. You came out of something we call a Portal Potty."
"A... what?" she rasped.
"It's this weird old stall that used to be all over Gravity Falls. It doesn't actually work as a bathroom—it's, like, an unstable portal connected to who-knows-where," Dipper added as he pulled out a journal with a pine tree on the cover and flipped through the pages. "But they were all deactivated for a while now. No one should've been able to come through."
Ford's gaze sharpened, calculating.
"Do you remember your name?"
She opened her mouth but hesitated.
'My... name?'
After a moment, she finally answered.
"Evalin."
She swallowed hard as if the name felt weird to say out loud.
"Evalin Dreamer."
Ford nodded slowly, jotting something down in his journal.
"Miss Dreamer," he repeated carefully. "Do you remember how you got here?"
Evalin's heart pounded.
She tried to reach back, to remember.
Flashes of light.
A voice screaming for her.
Then—nothing.
Just a deep, yawning void.
Her fingers curled into the blanket beneath her.
"I… don't know," she admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. "I remember... home… but after that, everything gets… weird."
Her brows furrowed as she tried to think.
Stan grumbled, "Great. Just what we need—another damn weirdo showing up at our doorstep with no explanation."
"Stanley," Ford snapped as he shot him a look.
Evalin barely heard them as she stared down at her flexing fingers.
Something didn't feel right.
She was in this strange place, in her physical body.
Dipper's eyes lit up.
"Wait—does that mean you came from another dimension?"
"I…" Evalin swallowed, unsure how to answer. "Maybe?"
Mabel suddenly gasped.
"Wait, wait, this is just like an anime! You're an amnesiac traveler from a different world, lost in time and space, sent here by fate!"
She threw her hands in the air dramatically.
"This is so cool!"
"Kid, real life ain't an ani-may," Stan scoffed.
"Yeah, well, weirder things have happened!" Mabel pouted.
Ford tapped his pen against his notes.
"Until we can figure out where you came from, you're welcome to stay here."
"We're keeping her? Like a cool interdimensional stray?" Mabel exclaimed with a gasp.
"She's not a stray, Mabel," Ford corrected, shooting her a look.
Mabel crossed her arms, a smirk curling her lips.
"She kinda is."
Ford's brows raised slightly, but he didn't press.
"Well, Evalin, we'll try to help you figure out what happened. In the meantime, get some rest. You're safe here."
Evalin exhaled, her grip tightening briefly on the couch cushions.
'Safe? That's a strong word.'
"Um... thanks," she murmured as she looked down at her hands again.
Stan cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Kids, go clear out the storage room for our… uh… guest. She'll need a place to stay for a while."
Dipper and Mabel nodded, disappearing down the hall with hurried footsteps and hushed whispers.
Ford remained beside Evalin, offering her a glass of water which she took without hesitation.
The moment the cool liquid touched her throat, it was like she hadn't had water in centuries.
She drank deeply, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled slightly against the glass.
As she lowered it, Ford's gaze flickered downward.
The pink symbols on her dress—woven into the dark fabric, glowing faintly under the cabin's dim lighting—stood out like ink against parchment.
They pulsed ever so slightly, something ancient stitched between the lines.
Ford narrowed his eyes, studying them carefully, his fingers twitching toward his journal—
Evalin tensed.
Her hand snapped to the fabric, fingers gripping tightly.
"Do you mind ?"
There was an edge to her voice—not just caution, but something protective.
Ford immediately straightened.
"Ah. Apologies," he said, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Force of habit."
"Sixer, give her some space before you turn her into your next science experiment," Stan snorted.
Evalin exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly, though she still held the fabric close.
Before Ford could say anything else, Mabel's voice rang from the hallway.
"Just putting on the final touches!"
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, great. Who knows what that kid's up to now?"
He turned back toward Evalin, eyeing her carefully.
"Alright, forest lady, think you can walk?"
Evalin hesitated.
She felt… strange, lightheaded.
Like the weight of gravity was new, like her body didn't quite belong to her yet.
Still, she forced herself to stand.
The moment she moved, her legs buckled.
Ford reached out instinctively, but before he could touch her, Evalin jerked back.
Her breath hitched.
A flash of—something—shot through her.
A different hand catching her.
A smirk.
Her eyes flickered over Ford's face.
Then she turned away sharply.
Swallowing hard, she steadied herself before taking a step forward, her dress gliding over the wooden floor as she followed Stan through the foyer.
Down the hall, they arrived at what must have been the storage room.
Or—previously a storage room.
Now, it represented something similar to a bedroom.
The twins had shoved a mountain of boxes into the hallway, barely leaving a path to the door.
Inside, the room was simple—mostly empty except for a mattress on the floor, surrounded by a sea of pillows and blankets. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a soft, multicolored glow. The faint scent of mothballs lingered in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of freshly moved wood.
Evalin took a slow step forward, her fingers trailing over the edge of the mattress.
It was soft, kind of familiar.
For the first time since waking up, something felt real.
"Thank you," she murmured under her breath as she swallowed hard.
Mabel beamed at her, practically bouncing on her heels.
"Hey, don't worry! Get some rest!"
Then, after a beat, she added cheerfully, "And don't worry about the whole ' strangers in the woods dragging you into their home ' thing. You're safe here!"
Evalin's breath caught.
'There's that damn word again like they know what it means.'
Her stomach twisted, her fingers curling into the blanket.
Dipper hissed, elbowing Mabel.
"Damn it, Mabel! You can't just say stuff like that!"
"Oh, right." Mabel winced, then flashed another bright smile. "Well! Good night! Sleep tight! Don't let the bedbugs bite!"
"Yeah, seriously, don't let 'em bite," Stan muttered. "They hurt like hell."
With that, they shuffled out, shutting the door behind them.
Silence filled the room.
Evalin lay back on the mattress, arms stretching above her head as the glow of the string lights painted soft patterns on the ceiling.
Her mind refused to quiet.
Everything felt too much—the ache in her head, the tightness in her chest, the empty holes where memories should be.
She rubbed her face, her breathing shallow.
A flicker of warmth pressed against her mind.
A voice—low, teasing, smooth as honey.
"Ohhh, sweetheart~"
Evalin's breath hitched as she clutched the blanket tighter.
"I will always come back for you, no matter what happens."
Her fingers curled, something hot burning behind her eyes.
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs like a war drum, like something pulling her forward, dragging her toward something she couldn't see.
She looked around as if she was searching for something.
And then—
"Hey... are you there?"
Her voice came out small, almost fragile.
The words slipped out in a whisper, unbidden.
Silence.
The room remained still.
She tried again but mentally.
"...Hello?"
Still no answer.
Her throat tightened.
Her fingers curled into the blankets, pulling them closer as something inside her twisted painfully.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And this time—she let the exhaustion take her.
~n~
Ford sat at the dining table, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a journal in the other.
Notes and sketches lay scattered around him—half-finished diagrams, hastily scribbled theories, and transcriptions of the strange sigils woven into Evalin's dress.
'None of this makes sense. I've never seen such symbols before,' he thought to himself as he rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly.
He'd stayed up all night working, but he had nothing—no leads, no explanations.
A noise from the living room pulled him from his thoughts.
"M-Morning…"
Ford turned, surprised to see Evalin standing in the doorway.
She looked exhausted—her long red hair a tangled mess, soot still smudged on her face, eyes heavy with sleep.
Her dress hung loosely on her frame, wrinkled and slightly singed from whatever disaster had sent her crashing into their world.
"Morning," Ford greeted, setting his cup down. "You're up early."
Evalin shrugged, hugging her arms.
"New places do that to me."
She shifted awkwardly, then cleared her throat.
"Looks like you didn't sleep much either. First night here too?"
Ford huffed a quiet laugh.
"No, this is my home. I just choose not to sleep much."
He gestured toward his chaotic collection of notes.
Evalin stepped forward, peering at the papers.
"You wrote all this… from our chat last night?"
Ford glanced down at his scribbles—half-legible scrawl, frantic theories, endless question marks.
"If you can call it a chat ," he muttered. "You were half-conscious."
Evalin hummed, leaning closer to scan his notes.
She reached out, curiosity flickering in her eyes—only to freeze when she noticed how filthy her hands were.
Her face immediately flushed.
"Oh—um," she stammered, jerking her hands back. "Wow, I, uh… really need a shower."
She shifted on her feet, visibly uncomfortable.
"Do you have… spare clothes or something? I probably shouldn't wear this again without washing it."
Ford blinked, thinking before answering.
"Of course. Give me a moment."
He stood, slipping past her into the hall.
Evalin sighed in relief, pressing a hand over her face.
'Why was talking to humans so difficult?'
She rubbed at the soot on her cheek, only managing to smear it worse.
'Fucking perfect.'
Ford returned a moment later, handing her a simple black t-shirt and drawstring pants.
"These should fit well enough."
Evalin took them carefully, fingers gripping the fabric.
Then, under her breath—
"Heh… guess I'm going commando today."
The words left her mouth before she fully processed them.
Her brain short-circuited and her face turned scarlet.
She snapped her head up—right into Ford's gaze.
'Please tell me I didn't just say that out loud...'
Ford's expression didn't change, but the slight raise of his eyebrow told her he definitely heard.
Evalin panicked, 'FUCK! I TOTALLY DID!'
"OH! UM—THANK YOU—BYE!" she yelled, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
Ford stood there, blinking at the closed door.
He could hear the sound of shuffling before the water turned on.
Then, with a weak awkward chuckle, he shook his head and returned to his notes.
~n~
Steam filled the small bathroom as Evalin scrubbed her skin raw.
Her muscles ached, her limbs still too heavy—but at least the heat soothed the deep chill in her bones.
As she rinsed the soap from her arms, a rustling noise caught her attention.
Her brows furrowed as she heard something scurried.
Slowly, she peeked past the shower curtain.
Her hat—her favorite, irreplaceable, wide-brimmed hat—was moving.
"Hey—HEY!"
Tiny mouse-like creatures—barely a few inches tall, with beady black eyes and scrappy little hands—were dragging it toward a hole in the wall.
Evalin lunged, nearly falling out of the tub.
The brownies squeaked in alarm and dropped the hat, scrambling through the hole like startled rodents.
Evalin glared, dripping water onto the floor.
"Great. Rambunctious brownies… really?"
She sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Of course, this place has brownies. Why wouldn't it?"
Shaking her head, she quickly finished her shower and dressed.
Then, making sure her hat was secured firmly on her head, she left the bathroom.
She wandered back into the dining area, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, her dirty clothes in her hands.
Ford was still at the table, flipping through his journal.
Evalin cleared her throat before speaking, shifting uncomfortably.
"Um, excuse me. Do you have a way to clean my clothes?"
Ford looked up, adjusting his glasses as he studied her for a moment.
The way the clothes were still a little too big for her, the way the shirt exposed more shoulders than necessary.
He stood up from his seat, his cheeks dusting pink as he cleared his throat.
"This way," he stated as he held out his arm to lead the way.
He led her to a small utility closet, revealing an old but functional washer and dryer tucked into the corner.
Evalin sighed in relief as she muttered, "Oh, thank the stars. I thought I'd have to wash my clothes by hand."
She tossed her dress into the machine and eyed the detergent.
'How much is normal? A little? A lot? Why were there so many different kinds?!'
After a long pause, she dumped in half a cup.
"That's… quite a bit," Ford pointed out, smirking weakly.
Evalin squinted at the bottle.
"It said 'use generously.' "
Ford chuckled, crossing his arms.
"That was marketing, not a direct order."
Evalin pursed her lips as she murmured, "...Oh."
As the machine rumbled to life, Ford leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.
"So," he started, "about those markings on your dress…"
Evalin tensed slightly.
Ford arched an eyebrow as he continued, "I tried researching them last night. No records, no existing references. But you recognized them immediately."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You made them, didn't you?"
Evalin hesitated.
Then, slowly, she nodded, waving her hand in the air nonchalantly.
"They're for… protection. Among other things. Normal... uh... Craft stuff."
Ford studied her.
Evalin fidgeted, her eyes never meeting his.
Ford sensed her discomfort and dropped his shoulders.
"No need to be alarmed. I'm just curious. It's not every day I meet someone with a completely undocumented form of energy," he said in a smooth tone.
Evalin blinked before slowly shifting her gaze toward him.
"You don't… think it's weird?"
"Miss Dreamer, I've been to places where people communicate entirely through interpretive dance," he chuckled as he gestured vaguely. "This? This is tame ."
Evalin laughed dryly, despite herself.
For a brief moment, the tension in her chest eased.
Then—
Her gaze landed on his hands.
Six fingers.
Both of her eyebrows shot up.
Before she could stop herself, she grabbed one of his hands, turning it over.
"Wow! Six fingers on a human ! Woah! Your other hand has them too!"
Ford blinked, a look of surprise on his face.
Evalin froze, realizing what she was doing.
'Oh... Right... He's human... I'm touching... a human.'
Her face exploded into red.
She dropped his hand as if it burned her.
"I—I—um—S-SORRY!"
She clutched the brim of her hat so tight, that her knuckles turned white.
Ford chuckled, amused.
"No offense taken. You seem genuinely curious."
He extended his hand again for her to take.
"Here. Feel free to examine as much as you like as long as you don't make fun of me for them."
Evalin slowly released her hat.
Carefully, she took Ford's hand again, her fingers tracing lightly over the joints.
'They flex so naturally,' she thought to herself. 'They move in sync with the rest of his fingers. This isn't just a mutation, it's a functional extension of his body. How strange for a human.'
"Interesting," she muttered, turning his hand slightly, studying the tendons. "The coordination, the balance—it works just as well as the others."
Ford chuckled, nervously.
"I'd hope so. I've had these hands my entire life."
Evalin hesitated, realizing she had been absentmindedly touching him for far too long, and quickly dropped his hand.
"Um... right... Sorry..."
Her hat slipped over her eyes, nearly toppling off her head as she fumbled to grab it, completely red-faced.
Ford raised an amused brow, flexing his fingers.
"You apologize an awful lot."
Evalin stiffened.
'Shit! Is it not normal to apologize here?!'
"I—I don't—I mean—I just—"
Her words jammed together like a pile-up on a highway.
Then, desperate for an escape, she lunged toward the washing machine and slammed the lid shut.
"Probably should close that, huh?" she blurted out, latching onto the first excuse she could find. "Haha! Sorry about that!"
Ford huffed a quiet laugh.
"No need to apologize. I shouldn't have stared. It's just that your ability to create those symbols is quite remarkable. Your ' Craft ' is clearly something I'm not familiar with."
Evalin's eye twitched.
'He was staring at my dress?! What a weirdo!'
She hesitated.
'Well, at least this guy seems to believe me so that's a plus. Saves me a lot of trouble for now.'
Exhaling, her fingers brushed lightly over the brim of her hat.
"Well… it's probably not exactly common around here."
Ford leaned forward slightly, interest flickering behind his glasses.
"This Craft sounds very..."
He searched for the right word, gesturing vaguely.
"…Mysterious?" Evalin supplied dryly.
Ford smirked.
"I was going to say unusual, but yes, that too."
Evalin huffed a soft laugh.
"That's one way to put it."
Then, abruptly—
"Anyway, do you have food?"
Ford blinked at the sudden topic change before chuckling, amused.
"Ah. Yes, yes, apologies. Follow me."
Evalin watched him turn away and sighed.
'Thank the stars... I really needed to get out of that conversation...'
She gripped her stomach.
'I feel like I haven't eaten since... forever.'
~n~
Evalin trailed behind Ford into the kitchen, absently adjusting her hat.
The room was surprisingly cluttered—newspapers stacked on the counter, an empty coffee mug abandoned by the sink, and a highly suspicious stain on the fridge door.
Evalin eyed it warily.
"Don't ask," he advised, catching her stare.
Evalin blinked, pressing her lips together.
She slid into a chair while Ford rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out bread, peanut butter, and jelly.
'Alright, cool, they got sandwiches here too. I can work with that. I wonder if it's edible for me.'
As Ford set the food on the table, Evalin glanced at the microwave clock.
"Wait…" She squinted at the glowing numbers. "It's 3:30 in the morning?"
Ford, finally checking the time himself, huffed a small laugh.
"Yes, I suppose it is," he admitted, sitting across from her. "Time flies when you're caught up in research."
Evalin, already halfway through making a sandwich, muttered, "Or when you have insomnia."
Ford nodded knowingly. "That too."
There was a comfortable pause as she focused on layering peanut butter and jelly.
Then—
"Not with the brownies in my stuff," she grumbled, absently.
The knife froze mid-spread.
Evalin's brain caught up with her mouth just a second too late.
Her entire body stiffened as she looked up at Ford to see if he heard her, who raised a confused eyebrow.
She pressed her lips together.
'Shit! He totally heard that! Play it off!'
She laughed too quickly, returning to spreading the jelly a little too aggressively.
"Oh! Uh—haha—what? Brownies? Never heard of 'em! Haha! That would be— weird —"
Ford, clearly not buying it, smirked slightly as he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand.
"Just letting you know, you don't have to pretend. I'm well aware of what brownies are."
Evalin froze, the butter knife still in her hand.
"You—you are?"
Ford's smirk grew.
"Of course."
He tapped his fingers against the table.
"I've seen my fair share of supernatural creatures. Brownies are pretty tame in comparison."
Evalin set the knife down and fidgeted with her sandwich.
"So…" She peered at him cautiously. "It doesn't… freak you out?"
Ford shook his head.
"Not at all."
Evalin let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
'It's good to know that there are fae creatures here too and this guy might some kind of scholar?'
Then, she furrowed her brow, pressing her lips together.
"Alright, then tell me, smart guy. Why the hell are they so upset? They tried to steal my hat!"
Ford paused under Evalin's firm stare.
Clearly entertained, he let the moment stretch before answering.
"Let's just say we may have had a few disagreements in the past," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "Brownies are extremely territorial, and we… may have accidentally moved some of their belongings""
Evalin visibly flinched.
"You moved their stuff ?"
"Yes?" Ford answered with an arched brow.
Evalin gasped in genuine horror.
"Wh—why would you do that?! They hate that!"
"Yes, I gathered," he chuckled, amused.
Evalin shook her head furiously.
"No wonder they're pissed off! How are they supposed to get around the house if you move their shit?! Imagine you're on the roof and someone took your ladder! Sweet stars! Give them a few shiny trinkets and sweets as an apology! They might even help you keep the place clean! They like being helpful! But mess with their system, and—"
She suddenly realized she was ranting and she snapped her mouth shut.
Ford eyed her, intrigued.
"Ah, so you do have experience with them."
Evalin immediately yanked her hat down over her eyes to block his gaze.
"Okay, yeah, sure... There are some back at my cabin."
Ford chuckled, shaking his head, trying not to push her too hard.
"No need to be embarrassed. It's actually quite impressive. Most people don't even know Brownies exist—let alone how to manage them."
Evalin shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.
Ford studied her for a long moment, tapping his fingers against the table.
"Let's see. You're well-versed in supernatural creatures. You create your own sigils. And now, you're defending brownies as if they're close personal friends."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming.
"You're a very interesting character, Miss Dreamer."
Evalin made a strangled noise. Her face burst into flames.
'WHY IS HE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!?'
Her jaw tightened as her chest twisted.
"I—I—um—g-going t' bed—!"
She snatched her sandwich, scrambled out of her chair, and fled out of the kitchen.
Ford watched her go, thoroughly amused.
"Very interesting, indeed."