Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first night, Dipper was ready to bail.

“Mabel, seriously,” he said, dumping his suitcase out on the ratty mattress that he was pretty sure was older than the country. “This place is creepy, and Grunkle Stan is weird. You really wanna stay here all summer?”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda charming!” Mabel said, still bouncing endlessly on the bed. She had hit her head three times, and was undeterred by the coming goose eggs. “In a funhouse kinda way.”

“More like a haunted house,” Dipper muttered. “And not a good one, either. One of the ones that puts your hands in peeled grapes and tells you they’re eyeballs.”

“I like that!” Mabel said. “You get free snacks.”

“Grunkle Stan is weird,” Dipper insisted, fully aware he didn’t have much room to criticize. “Remember when we saw him in the hospital? He gave me fake money to buy snacks from the vending machine then. He called it Stan Bucks.”

“So?” Mabel said. “It worked, didn’t it? We got those snacks.”

“Just saying,” Dipper said, glaring at his luggage. It was a mostly empty suitcase, and he was starting to regret it already. He probably needed more than three t-shirts for the whole summer. “We’ve never been around him for more than a few hours. He lives a full day’s bus ride away from home. He’s sketchy. You really want this guy looking after us all summer? He’s hiding something.”

“Yeah, a gut,” Mabel said. “That girdle’s not fooling anyone.”

“Mabel,” Dipper said, taking a nervous glance towards the door, just in case it was unexpectedly open or an unwelcome guest of the dead variety was watching him. He found neither. “You seriously think we should stay here all summer? We’ve met him, like, three times in our lives. I thought he lived in Portland before this. Not in the middle of nowhere. This is the perfect place to bury bodies-”

“Ew, gross!” Mabel scowled, and finally ceased jumping on the bed. “Don’t be weird, come on.”

“Okay, okay, too morbid, fine,” Dipper said, backing off. If nothing else, Stan wasn’t a killer. Just a liar and a fraud. There were worse things to be. “But all the same…”

Mabel frowned, looking thoughtful. “I dunno…do you think we’re not giving him a fair chance?”

“There was a goat on your bed when we got here,” Dipper said dryly. “I think our first impressions are fine.”

“I like the goat,” Mabel said, but she sat down on the bed, giving Dipper her full attention now.

“We should make a break for it,” Dipper said, his head spinning with ideas, some better than others. “We can…we can tie the bedsheets together, use them to make a rope to climb off the window with!”

“Where would we go?”

“Um,” Dipper said. “We could…we could call the FBI. Report him for counterfeit and fraud and probably a bunch of other stuff.”

“We could just wait until he’s asleep and walk out the door,” Mabel suggested.

Dipper frowned. Her plan was much less exciting. “Sure, whatever, maybe. Point is, are you in?”

“Hm, I dunno,” Mabel said. “Do you think the FBI has bigger things to worry about?”

Dipper shrugged.

“Oh, I know!” Mabel said, diving into her overstuffed suitcase and throwing the contents about the room. She might have been objectively cleaner than Dipper, but neither of them had a neat bone in their body. She retrieved her prize, and held it up. “I knew this would come in handy!”

Dipper’s frown deepened. “A magic eight ball?”

“Not just any magic eight ball, Dipper,” Mabel said reverently. “This baby has gotten me through some of the most difficult moments of my life!”

“Didn’t you use that on a test in math class last year?” Dipper asked.

“I did,” Mabel said. “And I passed.”

“You can’t-” Dipper blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Okay, I didn’t pass well, but I still passed. Still pretty impressive!” She hopped down on the floor, motioning Dipper to come closer. He indulged her, wincing at the floors on his bare knees. They felt barely sanded. He was going to come up with countless splinters.

“O, great and powerful magic eight ball,” Mabel intoned, shaking it furiously. “Should we give up on Grunkle Stan, and make like a tree and ‘leaf’ a-sap? Oh! Sap! Like tree sap!”

“Are you ever gonna stop shaking that thing?” Dipper asked.

“Grumpy,” Mabel commented, but stopped, placing the chipped eight ball between them. The blue fluid twisted and danced in the window, and the two leaned in close to get a better look.

Finally, a verdict appeared.

MY SOURCES SAY NO

“What sources?” Dipper protested, but Mabel shrugged.

“The eight ball has spoken, bro-bro, we’re staying!” She declared, hopping back up into her bed. She rearranged her stuffed animals, bidding a loving goodnight to each one.

“...fine,” Dipper said, trying and failing to get comfortable on a naked mattress. “But we should bail at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure, whatever,” Mabel said, and Dipper sighed. “‘Night, Dipper!”

Dipper leaned over, flicking off the lamp. Instantly, the room was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by a fingernail-shaped moon outside, hanging in the triangular window. “‘Night, Mabel.”

Dipper thought, for just a moment, he thought he saw a shadow move away from the door. But when he didn’t hear anything, he dismissed it.

Stan would have burst in and scolded them. And no ghost could ever mind their own business.

Dipper rolled over and closed his eyes, waiting hours before he fell into a restless sleep, curled up tight inside a house that held ghosts even he couldn’t see.

Someone was shaking Dipper’s shoulder.

He jerked up, vision blurry and hazy, trying to force uncoordinated limbs to scramble away. “Don’t touch me-!”

“Woah, dude!” A voice that was not Stan’s said. “It’s only Soos!”

“Soos?” Dipper asked, blinking as the world came back into focus. He was still in the basement, in one piece, not dragged by mindless spirits back to wherever they came from.

The room had taken a beating. The machine had fallen apart completely, bits of sparking debris hanging from the ceiling like bodies, flashing eerily in the almost pitch black room. The triangle had broken free from the wall, propped up slightly against the ground, the flashing white now fading to a more manageable light, as if a door were being opened into a dark room as opposed to something entirely blinding.

Dipper’s gaze wandered to the ceiling, and his blood ran cold.

The ghouls, with their weeping eyes and mouths, were pressed against the rocky ceiling, slowly slinking back to the portal, slipping back into the light. They paid no mind to Dipper, but if he strained his ears, he thought he could hear them whispering.

“Is your nose okay, dude?” Soos asked, looking unsure.

“What?” Dipper asked, his voice hoarse. “What are-”

His hands brushed underneath his nose, and he winced when his fingers came away bloody.

Mabel was up, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, and he did his best not to look at her, dizzy and a little nauseous. Stan was on the ground still, half-crumpled and propped up on a hand and elbow. He stared at the flashing lights in the machine, his lips moving silently, as though praying. Praying for what, Dipper wasn’t sure.

The last ghoul slipped back into the machine, and a darker shadow appeared.

Dipper stiffened, clenching his fist, and Stan did the same, his expression almost completely hidden by his glasses. Whatever this entity was, it was seen by everyone, bonafide solid flesh and blood.

“...who’s that?” Mabel asked, in almost a whisper, and Dipper wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that this new figure wasn’t a ghost.

Stan’s body sagged, and for a second Dipper thought he had passed out. But he began to tremble, and Dipper realized he was shaking with relief. He sniffed, wiping his hand messily under his nose, and his eyes were shining.

The figure stepped forward, a tall person in all black, a mask covering up their face. Dipper shrunk back, unable to stop himself from doing so, but Stan leaned forward before forcing himself to his feet, apparently unable to tear his eyes away.

“The author of the journals,” Stan said, and Dipper wheezed.

Then Stan said something that made Dipper stop breathing altogether, in the same second the stranger pulled their mask off their face to reveal a scowling, but deeply familiar face.

“My brother.”

It took a while before things calmed down to the point where Dipper stopped feeling his heartbeat in his ears. One backstory and several federal crimes later, the government had fled as quickly as they arrived, the evidence of their intrusion completely gone except for a few tire tracks in the grass.

“Okay!” Stan clapped his hands once, his cheek bruising from where Ford (his uncle and the author, it explained so much, no wonder Dipper could see what he could see–) had punched him hard enough that a dull thwap had reverberated throughout the room. “Bedtime.”

“WHAT?!” Mabel and Dipper squawked, and Soos joined them as well.

“Mr. Pines, it’s not even dark!” Soos protested.

Stan frowned. “Soos, you don’t live here. Go home.”

“I don’t live here, yet,” Soos said, maybe a little ominously, but he was slinking away, or at least he was doing the Soos version of slinking away, which wasn’t very stealthy. Dipper heard him whispering into his phone as he left, speaking quickly and quietly to Wendy. Dipper almost felt bad for her. It was a lot to catch up on.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel protested. “Come on!”

“I-I have so many questions!” Dipper said, trying to squeeze around Stan to get closer to Ford, who was busy looking at the kids with an unreadable, though not unkind expression. Stan stepped in Dipper’s way, easily blocking him.

“Don’t give me that look, kid,” Stan huffed, and Dipper clenched his fists, angry all over again. “Look, we’ve all had a very busy day, and I’m tired-”

“Yeah, I'm sure being arrested and getting out of government custody was very tiring,” Dipper said.

Ford, the author and his uncle, looked up at him suddenly from where he had previously been examining the tire treads. “You WHAT?!”

Stan grumbled something that sounded like a curse. “Don’t worry about it-”

“Is that why the government knew about the portal?!” Ford gestured wildly, angry all over again. “Stanley, how could you be so stupid?!”

“Oh please, it’s the first time this happened in thirty years!” Stan snapped. “Frankly, you should be impressed that I kept a lid on it for this long-”

“Only to trip this badly so close to the end!” Ford said. “What were you thinking, this kind of power in the wrong hands, even more wrong than your’s-”

“Woah-ho-ho!” Mabel said, stepping between them with a pleading sort of expression. “Grunkle Stan was just trying to help you! I-I don’t know if that’s totally fair to get this mad at him, and Grunkle Stan, I’m sure you can understand that, um,” Mabel paused, unsure how to address Ford before settling on a loaded: “He was just worried that you might hurt yourself! You two just gotta hug it out!”

“That didn’t work in the basement, it’s not gonna work now,” Dipper grumbled, and Mabel looked hurt.

“Bed,” Stan ordered again, shooing Mabel away.

“But my questions!” Dipper protested. “I’ve been waiting all summer for this, to finally meet the guy, and now you’re just sending me to bed?!”

“Yes,” Stan said, nonplussed.

“That’s not fair!” Dipper argued. “You can’t-”

“Newsflash, kid,” Stan said. “Life ain’t fair. Clean your nose up and go to bed. Looks like someone socked you there.”

“But-” Dipper tried again, but Stan half-shooed, half-shoved him back to the shack with a look of harsh determination.

“Bed,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “And we can talk about the whole…” he lowered his voice. “...accusing me of murder thing tomorrow.”

That’s what you think, Dipper thought, desperately trying to catch Ford’s eye, but failed miserably, the latter furiously writing something in the first journal.

“Dipper-” Mabel said, trying to grab his arm, but he jerked away, slouching back into the house, his hat pulled low over his face.

“...that could have gone better,” Mabel said softly, following him up the stairs to their shared room. The anti-gravity had thrown everything out of its place, their belongings scattered haphazardly across the floor. Dipper ignored her, barely tossing his hat off before he jumped on the bed, face-planting into his pillow with a groan.

“H-here!” Mabel said. “We can listen through the vents, I think they’re still talking-”

Dipper rolled over, facing the wall.

“...are…” Mabel sounded hesitant. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would you think that?” Dipper asked, not bothering to disguise the irritation in his voice.

“Dipper…” Mabel said, openly hurt. “You know…if I had pushed the button, Ford would’ve still been trapped wherever he was.”

Dipper pressed his face deeper into his pillow, trying to chase away images of screaming, pleading ghouls with no success. The dried blood under his nostrils felt sticky, it tugged at his skin uncomfortably. He knew he was staining the pillowcase, but couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“You know that, right?” Mabel asked.

“Mph,” Dipper said.

“You’re not being fair,” Mabel said.

She wasn’t wrong, and that was probably the worst part of all of this. Dipper didn’t think he could sleep at night knowing anyone was in that place, let alone his great uncle. But the idea that Mabel would ignore him like this when, like or not, all the evidence pointed towards Stan being up to something nefarious was too much to deal with. He had relied on Mabel all his life as the one singular person he could trust with almost everything. The one singular person who would listen to him.

Something inside him twisted painfully at the idea that he might have built something on shakier foundations than he imagined.

“Dipper?” Mabel asked, and now she sounded near tears.

Dipper lifted his head off the pillow slightly, and winced when the blood peeled off his nose. “I’m not angry at you,” he said, which was a lie, but maybe if he said it enough, it might become true. He didn’t like being mad at Mabel. “I’m mad at Stan.”

That was true, and something he felt guiltless for.

“He was just trying to save his brother,” Mabel said softly.

“So he lied to us?” Dipper asked, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “He lied to us for our entire lives! A-and it’s one thing if we never saw him, whatever, that’s bad enough, but we’ve been living with him while he’s been tinkering what that…that thing and he never once thought to say ‘hey you two, by the way, my name’s not Stanford and I have a long-lost twin brother! Also there’s definitely weird stuff in this town and I know who wrote the journals!’ What was his plan if he didn’t get arrested?! Just drag him up from the basement and hope no one has any follow up questions?!”

Dipper sat up abruptly and punched his pillow once, right on the bloodstain. “I can’t believe it,” Dipper muttered. “I can’t believe he would still lie to us like that. After everything we’ve been through, he still looked us right in the face and lied.”

“Maybe he thought he was protecting us,” Mabel said.

“From what, his bad decisions?” Dipper shook his head. “He got arrested. Not exactly winning any prizes on that front.”

“Dipper,” Mabel said, almost scolding. “He thought his brother might have been dead.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with it,” Dipper said.

“What if he told us about Ford, and we got all excited, and then it turned out it was all for nothing?” Mabel said, sitting on the edge of her bed. She scooped Waddles up, holding him close. “Then it’s not just him who’s mourning. Then it’s everyone. He probably didn’t want to get anyone else’s hopes up except his own.”

The way Mabel said it made it sound so incredibly lonely that Dipper’s chest ached. He shook it away.

“...he’s still a liar,” Dipper said, reaching under his bed to grab his wrinkled pajama shirt and pants. “And I don’t forgive him. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Dipper!” Mabel protested, horrified.

“Dibs on the bathroom,” Dipper said, shutting the door behind him with far more force than was necessary.

He, in truth, was planning to go to the bathroom before he heard angry voices wafting up from downstairs. He paused at the top step, hovering, wishing he had the courage to venture further down.

“-you give me my house back, you give me my life back!” Ford said, sounding furious. Dipper blinked, suddenly getting an unpleasant flashback to doing something very similar back home when his parents were fighting.

Stan said something too quiet to hear, even as Dipper strained his ears, but he sounded defeated.

“...fine,” Stan said, drawing volume and strength from anger. “On one condition: leave the kids out of whatever it is you’re doing! As far as I’m concerned, they’re the only family I have left!”

Dipper almost scoffed, but then darted away when he saw Stan’s shadow appear next to the stairwell. He ran into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as he could, waiting for Stan’s footsteps to pass by. He heard Stan hesitate by the attic entrance, just for a moment, before he lumbered off to his room.

Dipper sighed, looked in the mirror, and winced at his reflection.

He looked terrible. His hair was blown askew from the portal, and it was a miracle he didn’t lose his hat forever. His eyes were blown wide, like he was still seeing something terrible, and his hands still held a slight tremor. His skin was deathly pale, nearly ghost-ash, and the blood under his nose stood out starkly against it.

“Ugh,” he muttered, splashing water on his face. It ran scarlet as it swirled down the drain, but it made him feel a little bit better. His body felt sore, which made sense as he was slammed into a rock wall and then dropped, but the back of his shoulder hurt in particular, like the family cat had gotten frustrated and swatted at him.

Curious, and frankly a little tired, he yanked his shirt off, twisting around in the mirror to try and examine it. He squinted, and then couldn’t swallow a stifled gasp.

Three scratches, unmistakably fingernails, were bleeding weakly on the back of his shoulder, right where one of the dead-eyed ghouls had grabbed him.

To Dipper’s intense irritation, the code on the vending machine changed. The basement had been cut off for him, and while he was unsure whether Stan or Ford had done it, the end result was the same–no more secret investigations.

He rarely saw Ford. Every so often, the author would emerge to grab food, water, or something entirely random (once he took all the spoons) and would then disappear back into the basement, offering a mostly friendly nod to Dipper and Mabel but little else, or a few terse words with Stan. Dipper would try to chase after him, but Ford was fast, always slipping behind the vending machine before anyone could say more than two words to him.

“You just gotta be quicker next time!” Mabel said once, glancing up from her scrapbook, and Dipper forced himself to offer a half-hearted nod instead of a glare. In spite of his best efforts, he was still angry with her.

Stan was an entirely different story.

When Stan entered the room, Dipper left. When Stan said something to him, Dipper either ignored him entirely or responded with grunts and single word answers. Stan had been relegated to the background of Dipper’s mind, where his very face was slowly collecting more and more anger around it.

It was about three days after the whole portal opened and shut when it happened.

Mabel had gone into town to hang out with Candy and Grenda, Soos and Wendy were off work while the shack underwent repairs, and Dipper had no idea where Stan was. He was slouched over on the armchair in the living room, re-reading one of his mystery books because he didn’t want to go to the library and risk seeing any dead people he knew.

He hadn’t seen any ghosts besides the ones in the portal since his fight with Josie, which was fine by him. He was still angry with Josie, which put him at a whopping three whole people he was furious with even though he didn’t really want to be, and it effectively shut off most areas of the town for him. No doubt Josie had already spread the word about him refusing to be an on-call spiritual therapist, and the ghosts would of course take her side over his. The shame and humiliation of being rejected by dead people was far too much to bear, so he decided he wouldn’t even risk it. Unfortunately, it sentenced him to re-reading books he already knew the ending of, which he hated, especially if they were whodunnits. The libraries were always teeming with the dead, reading over the shoulders of other people to try and stave off boredom.

Yeah, yeah, Dipper thought to himself, his eyes glazing over a section where the butler gave a recount of events that, looking back, read as rehearsed. Sure, you were totally reorganizing the silverware when the baroness went into the parlor-

“Dipper?”

Dipper yelped before he could stop himself, nearly falling off the chair when he found himself face-to-face with Ford, the latter clasping his hands behind his back like he was posing. “G-Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper managed to squeak. “U-um, you startled me!”

“Yes, I tend to have that effect on people,” Ford said, nodding curtly. “I’ve trained myself to walk silently in most terrains so adversaries won’t detect my presence.”

“Awesome,” Dipper breathed.

“Is your sister about?” Ford asked. “I have some work that I need the two of you for.”

“She’s in town, hanging out with her friends” Dipper said, hopping off the chair, hope rising in his chest. “I-is it a mystery thing? I can totally help you! I’ve done a bunch of my own research on the town, if we combine forces, we can-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ford said, frowning to himself. “Hm. I suppose I’ll just need to catch her later. Do you have a moment?”

“Oh my god,” Dipper nodded. “I have so many moments.”

“...right,” Ford said, and then turned on his heels. “If you’ll accompany me to my lab, I-”

“I get to go to the lab?!” Dipper gasped, and then paused. “Oh, did Stan say I could go back?”

Ford frowned. “If you need permission from Stanley-”

“I don’t,” Dipper said quickly. “Um, forget I said anything. Don’t worry about it. What do you need me for?”

“Nothing serious,” Ford said, probably thinking he was reassuring Dipper, but Dipper only frowned. “I’ve been containing the damage that Stanley caused when he opened the portal, and I’d like to test you, your sister, and the strange gopher man to make sure you’re not suffering any ill effects from being exposed to the portal.”

“Ill effects?” Dipper asked nervously, following Ford to the elevator.

“I doubt it’s anything all too serious to worry about,” Ford assured him. “Serious symptoms would have started showing up already–oh, you’re not having any serious symptoms, are you?”

“What kind of symptoms?” Dipper asked.

“Any kind, I suppose, this is new territory,” Ford shrugged. “Anything of note happening to you lately? Nausea, dizziness, your limbs suddenly turning around backwards?”

“Um,” Dipper shook his head. “No, not really.”

“Good,” Ford said, stepping off the elevator and into the lab.

The laboratory didn’t feel nearly so scary now that he was following the author down the winding halls. It was far more exciting now, a whole new pot of discoveries and mysteries for him to unravel, and with the author by his side (with the medium by his side, hopefully) there was nothing that could stop him now.

“Go right up here,” Ford motioned to a table in the center of the room, cleared off so he could sit on it. “Give me a moment to gather my things.”

“It’s like a doctor’s appointment,” Dipper said, sitting on top of the table and wishing his legs didn’t dangle so far from the ground. “You’re not gonna draw my blood or anything, are you?”

“No needles,” Ford said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t find any that were still sanitary.”

“Oh,” Dipper said, a little disconcerted. “I-I mean, if you were gonna draw blood, that would be fine, because I’m not scared of needles. That’s for babies.”

Ford wasn’t paying attention, and Dipper kicked his legs a few times before he stopped, realizing it made him look childish.

“So, um,” Dipper coughed, trying to get the ball rolling. “What was the portal like?”

“Extremely dangerous,” Ford said bluntly.

“Right, duh,” Dipper tapped his fingers on the table, nervous and unsure how to proceed. The most straightforward way to find out if Ford could see ghosts or not was to ask, but the mere thought of doing so was terrifying, not to mention he had no idea how to go about asking. Hey, Great Uncle Ford, glad to see you’re back from thirty years of interdimensional wandering! Say, have you been tormented by ghosts since you were a child?

“So, um,” Dipper coughed. “Were you, uh, always into weird stuff?”

WOW, that sucked.

Luckily, Ford’s back was to Dipper, so he didn’t see him wince. “I suppose in some form or fashion, yes,” he said, approaching with an armful of various medical instruments. Luckily, there were no needles in sight. “I was an odd child, as you can imagine.”

“What kind of weird stuff did you like?” Dipper asked, trying to sound casual. “Um. Aliens? Cryptids? Maybe, um, ghosts?”

“Open your mouth,” Ford said, ignoring him entirely. Hesitantly, Dipper obeyed, and Ford shined a flashlight down his throat for a moment, before nodding shortly. “Looks normal.”

Dipper nodded.

Ford stared at him. “...you can close your mouth now.”

Dipper snapped his mouth shut, face hot. “R-right, so, about my question-”

“Oh, almost anything caught my fancy, though proper research was difficult,” Ford said, shining the flashlight in Dipper’s ears, taking a few notes in between. “The library where I grew up wasn’t well-stocked in academic materials, especially of the anomalous variety. Most of the more paranormal reading was pulp magazine stories, which were never really my thing. I preferred nonfiction.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Dipper nodded. “Me too.”

Ford looked confused. “Were you not just reading a mystery book upstairs? The cover said something about a mystery at a manor-”

“-it’s background research,” Dipper said quickly. “For, um. Something else.”

Luckily, Ford didn’t ask any follow up questions, either because he believed Dipper, didn’t want to embarrass him further, or had already moved on. It was likely the last one, because he grabbed a tiny penlight, clicking it a few times to test it.

“Look as far right as you can without moving your head,” Ford said, and Dipper obeyed, wincing slightly when Ford shined the penlight into his eyes. “Good. Looks normal.”

“Did you ever, um,” Dipper paused, trying to phrase his next question in a way that didn’t sound suspicious. “Did you ever see anything weird before you got to Gravity Falls? When you were a kid?”

Ford paused, looking unsure. “...why do you ask?”

Because I need to know if you can see what I see, Dipper thought, physically biting his tongue to keep the words from escaping. I need to know if you’re like me. I need to know I’m not the only person in the world who has to see these things, and that I’m not crazy or a freak or wrong for it. At least not any more crazy, freakish, and wrong than I already am.

Dipper shrugged weakly. “I just…I dunno,” he said. “I spent all summer trying to find you, and now I finally get to meet you and…” he trailed off, staring at the ground.

Silence settled over the lab, uncomfortable and heavy.

“I see you’ve taken notes in my third journal,” Ford said, with an air like he hadn’t quite decided if he was okay with that or not.

Dipper wilted a bit more. “...sorry. I just…I dunno. I liked feeling like I was helping. Or something.”

Ford said nothing, and to Dipper’s horror, he found that he kept talking. “It’s been kind of a weird few months back home so finding the journal was like…something to focus on besides everything else, you know? And the way you write about Gravity Falls, how you felt like you finally found a place where you belong, it…I felt like I could relate, if that makes any sense. I felt like I could be the person I wanted to be here, leave behind all the stuff from home.”

Dipper kicked one of his legs, and then felt even more embarrassed. “S-sorry, that probably doesn’t even make any sense-”

“No no,” Ford said. “I suppose I can relate to that sentiment.”

Dipper looked up. “Really?”

“Really,” Ford said, and then scribbled something down. “Good news. You’re all clear. You may return to your book.”

“...oh,” Dipper said, and tried to gather the courage to ask about ghosts.

Instead, he hopped off the table, and made his way back upstairs.

Dipper woke up to the pitch black night, his heart hammering.

It’s freezing, was his first cognizant thought, and it was true. Usually the attic grew uncomfortably warm during the night, and Mabel and him would end up kicking their blankets on the ground. He tried to grab the blankets to pull them tighter around his body, but his body remained stubbornly locked, even as he commanded his arms and legs to move.

Uh oh, Dipper thought, which was really underselling the situation as a whole.

His eyes worked, at least mostly, and they flickered around the room frantically, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what to do about this predicament. The attic was dim, and Dipper still felt half-asleep, his eyes partially shut by grit and gunk in them.

He was tired enough still that he might have brushed this disturbing development aside and dealt with it in the morning. If it hadn’t been for the ghoul in the corner, anyway.

Instantly, Dipper felt his heart stutter, almost dangerously. A single ghoul, the same ones that had leaked from the portal, was hunched over, facing the corner, eyes out of view. It was swaying slightly, as though listening to something only it could hear. Dipper could only just make out faint whispering, too low to understand the words, but it sounded frantic.

The ghoul turned, slowly and deliberately, face obscured by shadow, and oh god, Dipper would have done anything not to see its face. He would have done anything to make it go away, to unfreeze from where he was and hide under the covers like he was five again, to even be met with a category ten. Category tens could speak. They could be reasoned with, even if unsuccessfully.

Whatever these things were that leaked in from another place where lacking humanity entirely, scrubbed clean of whatever they once were to become a simple creature of terror, want, and little else.

And worst of all, Dipper knew it was looking at him.

The ghoul took a single step towards him, just as slow and purposeful as the turn, arms swinging like it was off-balance. Each step was torturous and completely silent, almost like it had rehearsed, and the whispering never ceased.

Dipper tried to wrench his mouth open, scream, anything to break the silence of the room, to disturb the terrible dance this ghoul was engaging in, but his body refused to obey him. The ghoul almost appeared to stumble, arms out as if to grab onto something, but even that felt graceful in some terrible, awful way, knees bent as if about to lunge, only to slowly stand back up again, creeping closer.

It stood directly over Dipper now, head tipped downwards to stare at him, face still hidden by shadows. Dipper thought his heart might explode straight out of his chest. Vaguely, he heard himself wheezing, and the room spun. He half-hoped he would pass out from panic; at least he wouldn’t have to see this thing then.

Slowly, refusing to rip off the band-aid, the ghoul leaned down, inches from his face.

Now Dipper could see it clearly, even with his face half-pressed into his pillow. Horrible empty eyes, blown wide from seeing something they were never meant to see. Mouth wrenched wide open as though screaming, even as whispers still echoed from its throat. Dipper still couldn’t make them out, though he suspected he wouldn’t be able to understand it even if he could.

Please, Dipper thought, unsure what he was pleading for exactly, other than an end to this, even if it came by death. Please.

The ghoul lifted its hand, reaching towards Dipper’s face, and Dipper managed a choked whimper. The ghoul paused, perhaps not expecting this, and changed course, setting its hand on Dipper’s head with something that he might have called gentleness if he didn’t shudder under the freezing weight of it, remembering the feeling of iron claws around his throat.

The ghoul leaned in, less than an inch from his ear, everything about it winter-like and lifeless.

“He’s coming,” it hissed, in a terrible, garbled voice, as though his words were reversed and then spat back in a crude approximation of a human voice.

A few icy tears, like rain in January, slipped out of Dipper’s eyes.

And then the ghoul started to scream.

Dipper shrieked, or at least tried to before it turned into a painfully choked gasp. His body unlocked, finally, and he sat bolt upright, trying to scramble away from the ghoul and nearly tumbling out of bed.

But the ghoul was gone. The chill had dissipated, though he was trembling so badly it hardly made a difference. His breathing came in fast, maybe faster than it ever had during these episodes, especially now that he had spent an entire summer getting used to keeping his head above water. He was out of practice with panic, dizzy from it already. Nausea rose up in his stomach, and he only just managed to keep himself from gagging.

“Oh god,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and wavering. “Oh god, oh my god…”

“Dipper?”

In a flash, Dipper laid back down, turning so his back was to Mabel. He heard her sit up, yawning. “Dipper?” She whispered, her voice still bleary with sleep. “You…are you awake?”

Half of Dipper wanted to lean on her, damn near collapse mentally like he had so many times. But he had spent the entire summer moving on from that version of himself. Gravity Falls Dipper was an entirely different beast from Piedmont Dipper. Gravity Falls Dipper didn’t need to rely on Mabel for silent support. Gravity Falls Dipper had done impossible feats, and would continue to do so without crumbling the second he saw something scary.

And, if he was honest, the idea of crawling back to Mabel after she had refused to push the button made him sick, no matter how illogical his anger was.

“Dipper?” Mabel asked, and Dipper bit down on his knuckles hard enough to bruise, willing himself to stop shaking. He had a lot of practice with silence from hiding in the bathrooms back home.

He heard Mabel shuffle, and then roll over. After a few minutes, her breathing evened out again.

Only then did Dipper let himself shake, unable to stop trembling even if he wanted to. He watched the sun rise, eyes wide with fear.

“Woah,” Mabel said over breakfast the following morning. “You look terrible.”

Dipper scowled, glancing up to argue with her, only to pause when he saw Stan stumble in, bags under his eyes and a frown on his face.

“I can always count on you for a warm welcome,” Stan grumbled.

“Did you get any sleep?” Mabel asked, looking concerned.

“‘Course not, Sixer was up most of the night hammering or power-drilling or doing whatever it is he does down there,” Stan said, and stomped on the floor a few times for emphasis, glaring at it. “You two are tucked away in the attic, you don’t hear a thing, meanwhile here I am listening to it all night.”

“Maybe you should get earplugs,” Mabel said. “Or…maybe you should go talk to him! I bet if you asked him nicely he’d stop being so loud at night! Plus, it gives you two a chance to talk it out! And then hug it out!”

Stan grunted vaguely, wincing when the coffee pot sputtered loudly, hissing like an angry snake. He whacked it a few times, and grunted again when it began to spit out brown sludge. Stan seemed to like his coffee semi-solid, or he simply didn’t care.

“...well,” Mabel said, glancing between Dipper and Stan, a twinkle in her eye. “Gotta get a start on writing that letter to mom and dad!”

Stan glanced back at her, surprised. “You’re writing letters back home?”

“Yeah!” Mabel said. “I’ve been doing it all summer.”

“They think she has a very active imagination,” Dipper muttered, frowning when he realized he had technically spoken to Stan.

“And I do,” Mabel said. “But not about Gravity Falls. This place does all the imagining for me. It’s nice!”

She stood up abruptly with a grin, and Dipper realized what she was doing a second too late.

“Okayyoutwochatbye!” She was gone before Dipper could protest. He would have followed her, but he had barely started his bowl of cereal, filled to the brim, and he was hungry. And tottering out of the kitchen, trying and probably failing to balance his cereal made him preemptively embarrassed.

“Want pancakes?” Stan asked, trying and almost succeeding at nonchalance. “Pretty sure that cereal’s been open since summer started.”

“It’s fine,” Dipper muttered, taking a bite to prove something. Unfortunately, he proved Stan right. It was almost unbearably stale, and his appetite was ruined almost instantly.

Stan shrugged, expertly avoiding Dipper’s eyes as he poured a cup of coffee that still looked like it had a good amount of grounds in it. “Your loss.”

Dipper said nothing, poking lifelessly at his cereal. There were bruises on his knuckles from where he had bit down on them the night before. He was shocked he hadn’t broken skin.

Stan sighed. “You can’t stay mad at me forever, kid.”

“You stayed mad for ten years,” Dipper said before he could stop himself.

Stan blinked, nonchalance gone in an instant. Dipper nearly shrank under his shocked look, but managed to take a defiant bite of cereal. Stan managed to collect himself, features settling into a deep scowl. Dipper expected him to start yelling, but he merely shook his head. “You don’t know anything.”

“Yes I do,” Dipper said, and even he realized it was a childish response.

“I was the one who spent thirty years working to get him back,” Stan said, sipping his coffee. “That trumps being mad just for ten.”

“Thirty years of lying,” Dipper muttered.

Stan’s grip around his coffee cup tightened. “Yeah, I didn’t introduce myself as Stanley, the dead man, when you were born. My bad.”

“That’s not the issue and you know it,” Dipper snapped. “You lied to my face all summer about who you were, what you were doing here. You…you made jokes about a tragic backstory!”

“I’m a comedian, sue me,” Stan said with enough flippance that it only made Dipper angrier.

“Stop trying to be funny,” Dipper said.

“You lied to me during the summer, too,” Stan said.

“Because I thought you would just make fun of me or take away the journal if I showed it to you!” Dipper said. “And by the way, you did!”

“Because I was trying to keep you out of trouble,” Stan said. “And, while we’re doing ‘by the ways’, you have been getting into trouble all summer with that book. Shoulda grabbed it off you the second I thought you had it.”

“You never knew I had it,” Dipper said, suddenly uneasy by the idea that he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was.

Stan grinned, ever so slightly barbed. “Sure, kid. Whatever. Too late to wonder ‘bout it now, anyway. Best to let it go.”

“Let it-?!” Dipper scowled. “I’m not letting it go.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Kid-”

“You promised that you weren’t keeping any more secrets,” Dipper said, voice low. “Right to my face. You looked me in the eye and lied.”

For the first time, Stan looked uncomfortable. He adjusted his fez, and Dipper was doing a great job not looking at the slash the switchblade had made in it. “...what would you have even wanted me to do?” Stan asked, voice shockingly quiet. “Would you even have believed me?”

“After everything I’ve seen this summer?” Dipper asked. “Yeah, probably. And the portal would’ve sealed it.”

“You two were never supposed to get near that thing,” Stan shook his head. “I’ve seen how dangerous it is. I’d’ve done anything to keep you kids from ever going down there.”

“Except tell us the truth,” Dipper said.

Stan laughed, humorless and razor sharp. “As if that would’ve done anything but make you wanna go down there more. You like to look, kid. I’ve seen it. Can’t make yourself stop even when you wanna.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Dipper said, vicious in the fact that he was right. His curse felt like a hidden card up his sleeve; maybe one that couldn’t really help in the final game, but there was a thrill in having it hidden regardless. Less of an ace and more of a jack.

“I know if you go chasing after my brother, following him into the basement,” Stan said, and Dipper blinked in surprise. “You’re only gonna get hurt. I know I can’t stop you, even if I wanna lock you in your room to keep you out of trouble, but I can warn you.”

“I’m not a little kid,” Dipper said, voice low.

“Yeah, you are,” Stan said, sipping his sludge. “You’re just at the age where you don’t think so anymore.”

“If you locked me in the attic,” Dipper said, folding his arms. “I’d just climb out the window.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Stan said, not sounding at all defeated. “Guess I gotta figure out a better cage.”

“...I don’t forgive you,” Dipper said, not completely sure why he was saying it. He was mad, and just wanted to lash out at something that wasn’t going to bite back. “For lying, I mean. And I won’t ever, either.”

“...I lived without forgiveness for forty years,” Stan said, quiet and stoic. He cracked his back with a grunt. “I can do a summer, easy.”

Dipper said nothing, poking at his cereal. It was going soggy.

“And here’s a little piece of advice for free about switchblades and things like it,” Stan said, stalking out of the kitchen. “Don’t ever pick up a weapon unless you’re fully prepared to use it as far as it can go.”

Dipper was starting to wonder if it was worth it to try forgiving Mabel, if only because it was a little pathetic to be playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with a goat.

“Nice, you rolled a nineteen!” Dipper grinned, leaning over the graphs he had painstakingly traced to outline a dungeon, staring at a resin die glinting in the sun. Gompers stared at him, chewing some plant or another, uncaring about his good roll.

Dipper’s smile died. “This is a new low for me.”

Gompers bleated, and Dipper sighed. “No way, Mabel’d just make fun of me for this. Plus, I think I’d snap at her if I did. Things have been…weird. And honestly, I think it’d be worse if she tried to play just because she felt sorry for me or something. Soos doesn’t wanna play either, and there’s no way I’m looking for Wendy. And Stan…well. No. He probably hates me now, anyway.”

Gompers itched his ear.

“And I can’t ask Josie to play,” Dipper said, pulling his knees to his chest, feeling miserable. “She definitely hates me. And…I think the worst part is that I don’t blame her, you know? I just…I’m so tired of feeling all alone in this. All alone in everything. And all the awful stuff I’ve been carrying my whole life–the fear, the loneliness, feeling like I’m always going insane–all just…it felt like it all started to fade away once I got to Gravity Falls. Maybe it’s because I’m just another one of the weird things in the town, so I’m supposed to be here, but…I dunno. I don’t want to have to be the ghost savior or whatever. I just…I just wanted to find the author. I just wanted him to see ghosts too.”

Dipper threw his hands in the air. “And I can’t even get that, because I’m too much of a coward to ask him to his face! And something…something’s coming out of that portal, like a leftover or whatever, and I’m worried it’s just gonna make me spiral back to square one!”

Gompers blinked, one eye after the other.

Dipper sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What…what am I doing,” he muttered. “This is worse than talking to the air. Maybe it’s not too late to return the game.”

He heard Gompers bleat again, and the distinctive sound of something clacking around in his mouth. Dipper gasped, horrified to see the goat chewing on the die.

“Give it back!” Dipper demanded, lunging forward to try and pull it out of Gompers’ mouth. “I can’t return it if there’s teeth marks on the dice!”

Gompers threw his head back, yanking Dipper forward with surprising strength. He yelped, tumbling under the porch, and yelped again when the earth beneath him suddenly went soft and he fell beneath it.

He thought, morbidly, of a grave.

He gasped when he suddenly felt concrete under his knees, and managed to stand, looking around in wonder when he realized that he had managed to fall into the basement, into the freezing lab.

“...hello?” Dipper said hesitantly. Sunlight tumbled in from outside, and it felt wrong that anything from the natural world should touch this place, entombed in steel, concrete, and copper wires. He was in the control room, and he froze when he saw the shadow of the portal just beyond the observation window, in the process of being painstakingly dismantled piece by piece.

He shivered before he could stop himself, imagining a ghoul’s hand, just resting on his head.

“Dipper!”

Dipper jumped, whirling around to find himself face to face with the man in the basement himself, scowling and maybe a little bit startled to see another beating heart in the lab. “Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper said, oddly scared. “I-I’m sorry, I just-”

“I’ve told you,” Ford scolded. “My work is very dangerous, I can’t permit you being down here or-” he cut himself off abruptly, catching a glance at the die in Dipper’s hand.

Dipper expected him to ignore it, maybe ask what it was before being shooed out, but something strange happened.

Ford’s face split into a grin.

“Is that a thirty-six sided die?”

Another day, another horrifically silent dinner broken up only by Mabel’s feeble attempts at starting a conversation. They never got any easier, even after Dipper and Ford had to be saved after they got a little too close to the world of DD&MD.

“So! Um!” She said, pushing around chips on her plate. Stan had been less creative with dinners lately. For the last four nights, their evening meal had been cereal, pizza delivery, pizza leftovers, and now sandwiches and chips. Dipper passed on chips; he found them slightly threatening since learning how Josie died.

“...some weather we’re having?” Mabel asked weakly.

“Kid,” Stan said around a mouthful of roast beef. “It’s been the same weather for the last two weeks.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Mabel said, unsure if Stan was trying to shut her down or indulge her. It was hard to tell. “How weird is that?”

Dipper couldn’t do this. He scooted his chair back, wincing at the scrape on the floor. “I’m gonna eat in my room.”

“What?!” Mabel looked hurt. “No you’re not! This is family time! Mom and dad don’t let you eat in your room-”

“We’re not in Piedmont,” Dipper interrupted, proud of how he managed not to snap at Mabel.

“Wha-still!” Mabel shook her head. “Grunkle Stan, tell him he has to stay!”

Stan looked surprised to be named a mediator; his usual style of navigating disagreements between the two younger twins was to either ignore it entirely, fuel the fire, or encourage them to fight with a sort of knowing grin. But things had been different since the portal had opened and the ghouls spilled out.

There were no more flashbang fights between Dipper and Mabel, quick to flare but quick to die. In fact, they hadn’t fought once, but the slow heat Dipper felt at the back of his mind, like a pressure cooker, threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.

Stan glanced at Dipper, and Dipper glared back defiantly. Tell me to stay, he thought, pulse pounding in his ears. I dare you, try to tell me what to do, I want you to-

Stan shrugged, shoveling chips into his mouth at a speed that would have made Josie nervous. “S’not like that was ever a rule here,” Stan said, ignoring Mabel’s shocked look. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.”

“Good,” Dipper said, unsure where to put his anger now. “Because I’m going upstairs.”

“Aw, what?!” Mabel protested, but Dipper ignored her, snatching his plate and water cup, already halfway out of the kitchen before she started arguing with Stan about the merits of them all having dinner together, as though Stan hadn’t purposefully chosen not to tell Ford that they were having dinner.

They’ll start talking about me soon, probably, Dipper thought bitterly, making his way through the living room. Fine, let them, I don’t care, they aren’t hanging out with the author, he didn’t tell THEM about the rift-

There was a moan from behind Stan’s recliner, a horrible death rattle that seemed to bounce out of control around the room before landing squarely in Dipper’s chest, making his heart stutter.

He froze, breath catching in his throat.

The sun didn’t truly disappear for hours, and yet the shadows stretching from behind the recliner seemed to be cut from the deepest midnight. Dipper shivered, and then shivered again when he realized the room had abruptly turned frigid.

Another moan echoed from behind the recliner. And then, achingly slow, from over the top of the chair, a pale and translucent hand crawled over, as if puppeting itself. It gripped the top of the chair, though the chair’s fabric didn’t bunch up around its hand.

Dipper opened his mouth, unsure what he would say, unsure if he might just start screaming, but no sounds came from his throat. He was frozen again, unable to do anything but tremble as the hand slowly pulled up the rest of the ghoul, staring at him with starving eyes and an endless mouth. Its fingers were too long, long enough to wrap around Dipper’s neck and squeeze without ever pressing its palm to his trachea. It moaned again, joints bent out of place as it crawled over the chair like some massive bug, twisting in shapes no human could make.

It’s neck bent unnaturally, almost like Zoe’s, and Dipper knew it could see him. And it knew Dipper was looking right back.

“He is coming,” the ghoul said in the same strange voice, contorted body pressed into the filthy carpet.

Who? Dipper tried to ask, but all that came from his mouth was a terrified wheeze.

The ghoul somehow managed to twist its neck up even more, opened its maw wider, and screamed.

It scuttled forward, limbs akimbo and splayed like a squashed bug on a windshield, reanimated to torment him and him alone. It said something else in its horrible backwards-forwards voice, but Dipper didn’t catch it. Freed from his paralysis with no fanfare, he scrambled back and fell with a sharp gasp, dropping the plate.

It fell to the floor, shattering.

“Dipper?!” Stan darted into the room with surprising speed, eyes odd and wild.

“S-!” Dipper started, but froze.

The ghoul was gone.

Mabel followed Stan, with considerably less speed. “Oh,” she said, frowning at the broken plate and meal on the carpet. “Did you trip?”

“I-I-” Dipper gasped, cold sweat coating his skin. He bit his tongue so hard he thought he tasted blood.

“Kid,” Stan said, his voice unsettlingly gentle. “Are you okay-”

“I’m fine!” Dipper sprang to his feet, snatching at plate shards. “I’m fine, Mabel’s right, I tripped-”

“Don’t grab those,” Stan said. “You’ll cut yourself.”

“I’m not a baby, I won’t cut myself,” Dipper grumbled, trying ignore how the broken pieces dug into his palms. He prayed he wouldn’t break skin. It would be humiliating.

“For God’s sake, kid,” Stan said, gruff and annoyed again, gentleness snuffed out. “Just let me-”

“I can do it!” Dipper snapped, voice sharp as the shattered plate. “Leave me alone!”

Mabel stepped back, startled by Dipper’s tone. Stan didn’t move, but his jaw clenched. Dipper knew he was still trembling, and hoped that neither noticed. Or if they did notice, they didn’t comment.

“Leave me alone,” Dipper said again, gathering plate shards.

“...fine,” Stan said, his voice just a tiny bit more waspish than usual. It wasn’t the screaming match Dipper needed to get rid of the uncomfortable simmer in his mind, but it was good enough for now. “Fine. Clean it up yourself. Less work for me.”

He went back into the kitchen with a grunt, scratching idly at his back. Mabel darted forward, sweeping Dipper’s scattered sandwich into her hands, as well as a few plate bits he had missed.

“I don’t need help,” Dipper mumbled.

Mabel didn’t say anything.

Hanging out with Ford wasn’t all that dissimilar from hanging out with ghosts.

He saw Ford almost exclusively in the basement, centered in a location like most ghosts tended to be even if they weren’t strictly tied to it. They craved the familiarity, something to latch onto even if they weren’t quite sure of anything else. Ford seemed to search for that too, and Dipper supposed it made sense. He’d been gone for thirty years, unceremoniously thrust back into a world that he probably thought he would never see again, still carrying the baggage he left with and then some.

He was a ghost-ish color too. Dipper supposed there wasn’t much sunlight in the wider multiverse, or maybe he was simply good at avoiding it, or maybe he had always had a sickly complexion, because Ford was only a few shades away from the ashy color that gave away a spirit.

Mostly, though, it was his expression. There was something behind his eyes that all the other ghosts had, something Dipper had never fully been able to parse. Something wide-eyed and shocked. Dipper used to think it was just shock at their own demise, but that felt juvenile now. McGucket had it too, though at the time Dipper had just thought it was insanity. Maybe it was, at least partially. He doubted whatever Ford had seen had left him completely sane.

If it hadn’t been for the others being able to see him, Dipper would have easily believed Ford had been dead the whole time.

But he liked being around him. Ford didn’t just indulge Dipper’s interests, he actively encouraged them. Dipper had been worried that if he finally met the author, he would be larger than life, unapproachable and bordering on scary. And Ford was reserved, certainly. The wrong question would make him frown, say “I think that might be enough for today” and shoo him out of the basement like an overly precocious toddler.

But most of the time, Ford was everything Dipper had hoped the author would be; cool, mysterious, and above all, understanding.

All that was left was the ghosts.

But every time Dipper managed to work up the courage to ask directly if Ford could see them or not, something always seemed to interrupt. Like, for instance, an angry alien security robot that tried to kidnap Ford and take him to space prison.

A month ago, that would have been it. Dipper would have stood in frozen horror, watching the robot take his family and flee. He might have stood there forever, petrified and unable to run, until he became a ghost himself, wandering the spaceship forever.

But it wasn’t a month ago, and though his heart was beating so hard he was shocked it didn’t pop out of his chest, he chased the robot down with half a plan and half a mind to roll over and curl up into a little ball. But when the dust settled, he took count of numerous bruises to find nothing was broken, and more importantly, Ford was grinning at him with a light in his eyes that chased away all Dipper’s suspicions of his ghostliness.

“This is what I was talking about,” Ford said, gesturing to the carcass of the robot. “How many twelve year olds would be able to do what you just did now?”

Mabel would, a small part of Dipper’s brain said, but the rest of him was buzzing with adrenaline, nearly high on it.

He caught his reflection in the robot’s chrome surface. He was filthy, covered in soil and dust, and he had a mark on his cheek that he was certain was going to blossom into an impressive bruise later. His knees and palms were skinned, bleeding shallowly and already beginning the process of scabbing over. His cheeks were stung red from windburn, but what really caught his attention were his eyes.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in them. Whatever ghosts had plagued him, be they from this plane or the next, couldn’t touch him like this. The kid who couldn’t go to the local park for fear of a murdered teenager, the kid who ran out of sleepovers because there was someone in the tub, the kid who panicked in hospitals was gone, scrubbed clean from existence.

And good riddance, Dipper thought.

“There’s so much here to discover, to explore,” Ford said, motioning to the landscape around them, rife with strangeness just waiting to be found. “I can’t do it alone. Dipper, take the apprenticeship. Help me discover the secrets of this town.”

No ghosts or ghouls could get him with the sun shining like this. No anxieties or secret fears could snatch him up when he was this powerful. And nothing bad, nothing truly bad could ever happen if he stuck with Stanford Pines, the author of the journals and smartest man in the world, the genius who looked monsters in the eye and dared them to try and bite him.

And anything that had been bitten had long scarred over.

“Okay,” Dipper said, nodding. “Okay.”

A walkie talkie crackled in his backpack, but he didn’t hear it.

“MABEL!” Dipper gasped, practically cannonballing into their shared room. The sun was setting, casting a maroon glow over the floor as though the sky had started bleeding. Mabel was on her bed, facing the wall.

“Mabel, I just had the best day ever!” Dipper said, pacing with his inability to contain his excitement. “There was this UFO, a-and we went down in it, and then-”

He paused. Mabel hadn’t moved, and if it wasn’t for her uneven breathing, he might have thought she was asleep. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Mabel said, already half-defeated. “Tell me you were joking.”

Dipper blinked. “What? What are you talking about?”

“An apprenticeship?!” Mabel sat up abruptly, swinging around to hold out a walkie talkie. The red light flickered, and Dipper winced, feeling caught. “Seriously?!”

“I-I-” Dipper stammered, completely caught off guard. He’d known, like he knew the ghouls would be back once again, that Mabel wouldn’t exactly be jumping up and down for joy at the thought of them separating. But he’d imagined that after a conversation ranging anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, she’d see sense. She’d understand that this was best. But the damn walkie talkies went and ruined that for him.

“Okay, look,” Dipper said, trying to sound calm and measured. “This isn’t…this isn’t how I wanted you to find out, but we’re here. Listen, it’s really not so bad!”

“I just had the worst day ever!” Mabel interrupted, throwing her hands up in the air. “High school’s going to be a nightmare, Candy and Grenda can’t come to our party, everything is falling apart and I’m not ready to go home! And now you’re leaving me too?!”

Dipper frowned, something sour turning in his stomach. “You’re freaking out because your friends that you’ve known for less than three months can’t come to our birthday party?”

“It’s more than that and you know it!” Mabel said, new tears springing to her eyes.

“I thought you would have been happy for me,” Dipper said, shaking his head. “I thought that you would be happy that I finally found something like this! A chance to do something great! A chance to change the world!”

“So you’re leaving me to do it?!” Mabel demanded.

Dipper crossed his arms. “What, did you think we were gonna stay attached at the hip for our whole lives? Make plans to sail around the world like Stan and Ford did?”

A few months ago, Dipper would have lost his mind at the thought of separating, of practically fleeing in pursuit of something greater. But a few months ago he couldn’t picture something greater–just a world in which he held onto what little stability and sanity he felt he could latch onto in the face of so much death.

But now he could stay–not just in the one place on earth where the dead didn’t harass him, but alongside the author of all three journals, his uncle, and if he ever got the courage to ask, likely even the medium.

Mabel was shaking her head, as if trying to rid herself of something horrible. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this-”

“You don’t understand?!” Dipper repeated, his voice pitching up against his will. “How could you not understand?! You should be the only person in the world who understands! For the first time in my life I’m not the freak who sits in the back of the class!”

“No one said you’re a freak!”

“They don’t have to!” Dipper snapped, his voice rising steadily like hot air. “I can see it in their faces! You never thought it was odd that I’ve only had one failed sleepover attempt?! You never thought it was strange that our birthday parties only had kids that you knew?! You never thought it was weird that I never had any friends?!”

Mabel looked surprised by his vitriol, silent tears still streaming down her face. Dipper was pacing now, too amped up to pull back. Not that he wanted to; anger was coursing through his veins, mixing with all the leftover adrenaline to create a nearly intoxicating feeling of righteousness.

“This is my chance to leave that all behind!” Dipper said. “For once in my life, I feel like I belong somewhere! Where I’m not pretending to be something else, someone normal! I don’t know how to explain it, but here I…I don’t have to do that! I don’t feel like I’m crazy!”

“You’re not crazy!” Mabel argued.

Dipper laughed, humorless and edged with a touch of cruelty. “Tell that to everyone back home! Tell it to mom and dad! They’re probably arguing about who’s gonna have to take me after-”

Dipper snapped his mouth shut so suddenly he heard his teeth clack together, his stomach turning. Mabel was staring at him, tears sticky on her face, but instead of dogging him for answers, her frown merely deepened and tears started to sparkle in her eyes again.

“Do you think I’m stupid or something?” She asked, her voice remarkably steady.

“What?” Dipper asked.

“I said, do you think I’m stupid?” She repeated.

“O-of course not,” Dipper said, bewildered. “Why do you-”

“You think I don’t know mom and dad are fighting?” She asked, suddenly dropping her gaze to stare at the floor. “They’re loud, even when they try not to be.”

Dipper opened his mouth and closed it.

“I…” Mabel swallowed hard. “I heard them talking. The night before we left for Gravity Falls.”

Dipper winced. “Mabel…”

“S-so I know it’s over, and when we go home, everything’ll be completely different, we’re gonna have two houses, and two birthdays, and two Christmases, and two Hanukkahs, and I don’t want two of everything, I just-” Mabel’s voice broke like glass. “I know everything’s gonna change when we go home, and I thought I was okay with it because you wouldn’t change!”

“So you want me to stay a lonely freak?” Dipper asked.

Mabel shook her head wildly. “That is not what I meant-”

“I should have known,” Dipper said bitterly. “I should have known you wouldn’t be happy for me, I should have known better.”

“You’re not being fair-”

“I’m not being fair?!” Dipper demanded. “Let me tell you something not fair–being alone every time you go to hang out with your friends! Being the weird silent kid who sits in the back of the class every year! For the first time in my life, I know where I stand. I have somewhere I belong. And Ford believes in me-”

“I do too!” Mabel cut in, but Dipper ignored her.

“You don’t get it!” Dipper snapped. “You have everything! You’re gonna go back to Piedmont and be totally fine without me, probably better off!”

“That’s not true!”

“Yeah?” Dipper asked, every cell in his body vibrating with cruel energy. “Why didn’t you push the button, then?”

“What are you-” Mabel froze, and then blinked. “I…Dipper, if I hadn’t-”

“If you hadn’t Ford wouldn’t even be here, I know,” Dipper said, feeling like he might be trembling. “That’s not important right now. Why didn’t you believe me?”

Mabel looked bewildered. “I-I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“I told you Stan killed someone, I was positive, and you didn’t believe me,” Dipper said. “Why?”

“Stan didn’t kill someone!” Mabel said.

None of this was logical. None of this was fair. Dipper knew he shouldn’t be so furious, angry enough that it hurt his stomach and made him clench his fists hard enough to leave indents on his palm. But he couldn’t help it. He was never immune to the whims of his mind, though before Gravity Falls those whims had led to panic. Now, they led to ice cold stubbornness and white hot anger, the logic of it be damned.

Mabel didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help it.

“After all this time,” Dipper said, voice low. “After all these years, I thought I could trust you.”

Mabel’s mouth dropped open, completely unprepared for that blow. Dipper looked away, because suddenly it hurt too much to see her shattered expression.

“...Dipper…”

“Leave me alone,” Dipper huffed. “I’m staying in Gravity Falls, with Ford. That’s that.”

He knew his point was weakened by him staring at the floor, but he was positive that if he did look up, look at Mabel and fully see her grief, there would be no going back. He might burst into flames. Anything was possible in this town.

He heard Mabel hiccup once, twice, and then begin crying again, practically choking on her tears. The bed squeaked as she jumped off it, and she sprinted out, grabbing her backpack before she left.

Dipper felt a dangerous burning sensation behind his eyes, and he squeezed them shut.

Don’t cry, he ordered himself. Don’t you dare cry.

He didn’t cry, leaving himself with a burning in his throat and a tremor in his hands.

“Dipper!” Ford perked up once Dipper trudged down the stairs, though his smile faded when he saw his expression. “Is everything alright?”

“Um,” Dipper shuffled. “Mabel wasn’t, um. Thrilled. I guess she heard over the walkie-talkie about the apprenticeship and got pretty upset.”

Ford frowned. “Ah, I was afraid her reaction wouldn’t be positive. Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll come around in time.”

Dipper frowned, doubtful, but didn’t say anything.

“In any case,” Ford said. “We have more pressing matters to attend to. Do you have the rift?”

“Sure,” Dipper said, carefully setting his backpack on the ground. “Let me just-”

He reached in, grabbing the first thing he felt his fingers brush and pulling it out.

It wasn’t the rift. It wasn’t even glass. It was paper, slightly crumpled and drawn on with colored pencils, informing him of a birthday party happening very soon-

Dipper felt all the blood drain from his face. This backpack, nearly identical to his own, had a thin sheen of glitter on it that his did not.

“Oh no,” Dipper whispered.

Ford looked confused. “Is something wrong?”

Something shifted in the air, like the moments before a lightning strike. Dipper felt all the hairs on the back of his neck rise like zombies, His heartbeat skipped, and then began hammering twice as fast. Suddenly, it felt like he was breathing molasses.

“Dipper?” Ford looked concerned. “You’re quite pale, are you-”

There was a strange noise, audible even this far down in the basement. A strange, wet tear, like ripping flesh, and a roar like an incoming tidal wave. The entire house shook, rattling metal echoing in the basement, and Dipper stumbled. Ford barely moved, but his eyes went wide.

“No,” he said, his voice small but commanding, like he could undo whatever had been done by sheer force of will.

Dipper heard screaming outside.

Ford was gone in a flash, sprinting upstairs, shouting Mabel’s name. “W-wait!” Dipper said, already racing up the stairs, stumbling over a few. “Great Uncle Ford, what’s-”

He stepped outside, and his mouth fell open.

The sky had opened up, disemboweled and spilling out entirely, light and sounds and smells and feelings that made Dipper want to throw up, rip his ears off, and set himself on fire in that order. The sky shuddered, and the X-shaped tear grew wider, and this time he really did gag, because something was coming out of it.

Ghouls, thousands in their numbers, flooded out of the tear, spiraling down to earth like a forming tornadoes. Dipper could hear their screams, as fierce as they’d always been, apparently taking no comfort in their release. He couldn’t see their faces from this far, but he knew what they looked like; empty and starving for everything. They would eat the world if they could.

“We’re too late,” Ford said, reluctant but unable to ignore the evidence. “It’s here; Weirdmageddon.”

“Oh god,” Dipper said, a foul wind blowing leaves at him. “Oh my god, the ghosts are out again!”

“What?”

“The ghosts!” Dipper said, fear pushing his words to the forefront of his mouth. “The rift, it must have torn a hole to some kind of afterlife! Not hell, that’s dumb, but-”

Dipper glanced back at Ford and froze.

The author was staring at him like he was crazy.

Instantly, Dipper shrank, humiliation and horror bubbling in his gut, even at a time as dire as this. “Y-you…” he stuttered out, even as he tried to force himself to shut up. “You can’t…you can’t see…?”

“What,” Ford said, looking concerned once more. “Are you talking about?”

Dipper opened his mouth, and shut it.

Someone was laughing; a horribly familiar laugh, something that made the healed over puncture wounds on his arms sting in phantom pain. Dipper whirled around, shame forgotten as Bill Cipher, nightmare maker and world destroyer, rose over the treeline with a triumphant cackle.

“OH, GRAVITY FALLS!” He shrieked, and the ghouls began to circle around him, like light caught in the orbit of a black hole. “IT IS SO GOOD TO BE BACK!”

The ghouls had warned him. Bill was here.

It was funny, in a surreal and pitch-black dark comedy sort of way, how easily everything rustled back nearly into the status quo when it was given the chance.

Ford missed, the beam from his quantum destabilizer going wide. The only weapon in the multiverse with even a whisper of stopping Bill gone in an instant. And then Ford, too, was gone in an instant.

And with a speed and efficiency so fast it made Dipper’s head spin, he was alone again, trying and failing to outrun the dead.

Time passed strangely now, in quick bursts of terror or slow crawls of anxiety. Dipper had read in some textbook or another that soldiers in the trenches didn’t fight the enemy so much as they fought their own minds, half-mad with fear from living in filth and war, so bored that they longed for anything to happen, only for that ‘anything’ to turn out to be mustard gas or a grenade exploding at their feet.

Gravity Falls had turned into a warzone that would have made the most hardened trench soldier shudder. Monsters loomed large and small around every corner, crouched and waiting for Dipper to turn his back at the wrong moment. The air was hot and almost completely still, sticky with something he didn’t want to think about, carrying the distinct scent of blood on every relief-less breeze. The sky, stuck in a permanent scarlet twilight, still bore its scar, and if Dipper looked at whatever lay beyond too long his head began to spin painfully.

And the pyramid, Bill’s victory castle, floating above the town square, held the ghouls.

They orbited it in an endless loop, and no matter where Dipper went, he could still hear them wailing. Countless dead released from whatever stronghold they had been trapped in, freed only to encircle Bill’s deadly rager.

Dipper wasn’t sure how long it had been since the world ended. But it was long enough that he was completely out of water and the meager gummies and candies Mabel had left in the backpack, even though he had rationed them severely enough that he was always dizzy with hunger and thirst. People couldn’t go long without water, he knew that; how long did he have then, a day? Less than that, if the heat didn’t let up, and Dipper had a feeling it wouldn’t.

He heard the telltale chittering of an eyebat, and darted under a particularly large piece of rubble. He heard someone shriek in surprise, and then horror, before their voice abruptly disappeared. He had seen what the bats did to people. It wasn’t all that different from what happened to Ford.

He counted to two hundred, and when he heard nothing approaching, he pulled out his walkie talkie.

“Mabel?” He asked it, trying not to get his hopes up. It was no use; no matter how many times he was disappointed, a stupid, childish part of his brain insisted that this time, she would pick up. This time she would hear him and materialize next to him, and then he would wake up and this would all be an awful but easily shaken-off dream and this time he would be better, this time he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as before.

“Mabel,” Dipper asked, willing himself to wake up. “Are you there?”

The walkie talkie spat static back at him. Reality, loose as it might be right now, remained stubbornly deadly.

“...I know you’re out there somewhere,” Dipper said, though he had no idea. He had never believed in twin ESP; the closest thing they had was seasonal allergies acting up at the same time. When they had been little, they had spent countless hours staring at each other, concentrating to try and unlock some latent telepathic gifts, but no dice.

Would he know it if Mabel was in trouble? Would he know she was hurt, needing him for once, and he was unable to help her?

Would he even know if she had died? Maybe she would just vanish and he would never know for sure. Or worse, maybe he would see her ashen and confused, sporting a gruesome injury that he would never be able to look away from. Maybe he would see the same on Stan, or Soos, or Wendy, or countless other people until he was the only living person in the town, surrounded by the dead on all sides as they screamed and screamed and screamed-

“Don’t worry, Mabel,” Dipper told the walkie talkie. “I…I’ll figure something out. I’ll find you.”

The walkie talkie crackled, useless.

Dipper took a breath, and to his horror, his lungs stuttered.

He knew the drill by now. He tucked his head between his knees and tried to take a few deep breaths, but it was already too late. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much. The bloody air only seemed to steal his strength, and nausea turned uncomfortably in his stomach, despite him knowing he couldn’t afford to throw up.

“Oh god,” Dipper managed to say, trying his best to ignore the saliva building up in his mouth. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my-”

He dry heaved once, twice, and then spat up a mouthful of bile. More fluids lost, nothing gained.

“Oh god,” Dipper said again, unable to swallow the bitter taste. “Oh god, what did I do?”

For a moment, there was silence, save for the sounds of the end of the world and his own ragged breathing.

And then he heard someone wheezing.

It was a desperate wheeze, someone fighting for air with all they had and coming up short. Horrible gasping punctuated by gurgling sounds, like a half-clogged drain.

It sounded like someone was dying.

Dipper pressed his knees against his forehead hard enough to hurt. For all his experience with death, he had never actually seen someone die, and he wanted to keep it that way. With his luck and current predicament, he was bound to break that streak soon, but he still wanted to keep it going as long as he could.

The wheezes did not go away. They went on, and on, and on. Whoever was dying was taking a terribly long time to do so.

Dipper thought, not for the first time (but for the first time in a while) about what it might be like to die. And what it might feel like to die with the taste of blood on your tongue, too hot and too cold at the same time, comforts of the old world burned away.

He imagined that he might want someone to hold his hand, if only for a moment.

There was a particularly awful choking noise, and Dipper forced himself to take a long, slow breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. On shaking legs, he stood up and forced himself to look over his debris shelter.

His eyes widened.

“Josie?!”

Josie was on her hands and knees, tears streaming down her face as she hacked and choked, tongue out and mouth wrenched wide, heaving on something that was no longer there. She clawed at her throat, and Dipper saw gouges in her skin from her nails, previously hidden by a blue turtleneck that she always wore.

“Oh my god-Josie!” Dipper scrambled to her, so dizzy with relief at the sight of a familiar face that he almost started tearing up. “Josie! Josie, why are you-”

Josie caught sight of him, and scrambled towards him, unable to rise but grabbing at his shirt. She wheezed, clawing at her throat again before she tried to shake him. All Dipper felt was freezing cold where she grabbed him.

He immediately stumbled back. “Josie, what are you…what are you doing?!”

She tried to crawl towards him again, one hand still clawing at her throat and the other reaching out for Dipper. He stumbled back, panic beginning to creep into his senses once more. “Stop, stop! Josie, p-please, I don’t…don’t touch me!”

She was staring at him, her eyes blank with terror, not an ounce of recognition behind them.

Dipper fell, landing hard and scrambling back before his spine hit debris. Josie seemed to run out of strength, reduced to mouthing pleas at Dipper that he couldn’t understand while she choked and clawed, stuck in a moment that never seemed to end.

Dipper willed his legs to work, to stand up and flee. It wasn’t the first time he had been cornered by a disoriented spirit, and it wasn’t wise to stay in one place for too long now.

But he had never been cornered by a ghost that he knew.

Josie tried to speak, or maybe just tried to scream, but the blockage that was no longer there didn’t let her, and she collapsed into herself, shaking and sputtering, retching uselessly.

Dipper forced himself to take another breath, and stood up.

“...Josie,” he said softly. “It’s me. It’s Dipper.”

Josie didn’t respond, pulling at her neck as if she could perform a last-ditch tracheostomy. Dipper took a step forward.

“You’ve been helping me all summer, sending me on errands to talk to ghosts, and find evidence. You…you were the first ghost I ever spoke to,” Dipper said softly.

Josie managed to look up at him, some confusion clouding the fear.

“I’m sorry,” Dipper said softly. “You…it’s over. You’re not choking, Josie, you’re already dead.”

Josie’s eyes widened, and she shook her head desperately. But she didn’t look surprised. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Dipper said, kneeling down and wincing at the feeling of the cracked asphalt on his knees. “I’m….I’m so sorry for a lot of things, Josie. But what you’re feeling right now, all that pain and fear? It’s over. That moment happened. And it was terrible, but it’s over now. You don’t…you don’t have to stay there anymore. You can pull yourself out.”

Josie shook her head again. “Yes, you can,” Dipper insisted. “You did it before, and you can do it again. And…and I’m right here with you. I promise.”

Josie managed a choked whimper. “You can do it, Josie,” Dipper said. “You can leave the moment. It’s over. It’s done. All that’s left are the impressions.”

Josie coughed once, twice, three times, and then gasped like something suddenly cleared in her throat.

She didn’t draw any more air. She didn’t need to.

She looked up at Dipper, and her brow furrowed. “...Dipper?” She asked, her voice as hoarse as it had always been. “What happened to you? You look terrible.”

Dipper laughed, just one ‘ha-ha!’, but something in his mind became a little lighter.

Josie looked around, and her eyes widened. “What the fuck happened here?!”

“I’ll explain everything, I swear,” Dipper said, and winced when he heard the chattering of an eyebat. “But we gotta move. Or I’m gonna turn into a statue again.”

Josie was completely silent as they huddled in the remains of someone’s home, Dipper whispering the story to her as quickly as he could. The portal, Ford’s return, his work, his choice to stay and fight with Mabel, and finally, the end of the world.

He suspected Josie would have gone paler if she was able.

When he finished, she was silent, staring at the ash.

“...Josie?” Dipper asked.

“How…” she frowned. “How long has it been?”

“Since Weirdmageddon started?” Dipper frowned. “I have no idea. A little bit…a few days?”

Josie’s head jerked up. “And…you’ve been alone the whole time?”

Dipper said nothing, abruptly deciding that he was interested in the ash once more.

“...Jesus Christ, little fella,” Josie said softly.

“W-what about you?” Dipper asked, eager to change the subject. “What do you…what do you remember? When I found you, you were all…” he trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

“Nuts?” Josie offered.

Dipper nodded.

Josie sighed, sitting down next to Dipper, staring at something he couldn’t see. “...it’s a bit blurry,” she admitted. “It’d been a few weeks since I’d seen you, but things felt…they felt off. I don’t know how to describe it. Like we knew something was coming, but we didn’t know what, much less how to stop it. And then…and then it gets fuzzier. I saw the sky open, I think, and something come out of the tear, but then…just a haze of fear and pain.”

“It was Bill,” Dipper said. “It was always Bill. He’s been waiting for this opportunity, him and all his goons, and…”

Dipper craned his neck to look out a shattered window, Bill’s pyramid still hovering in the air, surrounded by ghosts. “...and he let all the dead out with it.”

Something twinged in Dipper’s head, and he looked away with a wince. Josie frowned. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“It-?” Dipper brushed his hand under his nose, and winced at a thin dribble of blood. “I-it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Josie’s frown deepened, but didn’t argue as Dipper wiped his nose messily on his sleeve. “So what’s the plan?” She asked.

“I…” Dipper frowned. “I-I dunno, I’m looking for Mabel, but I don’t know if she-” Dipper couldn’t help the choked noise that fought its way out of his throat.

“She’s alive,” Josie said, seeming to glean what he was trying to get at. “You would know if you were too late.”

Dipper scoffed, leaning against the ruined wall. He hoped he wouldn’t rub against any exposed fiberglass. “You don’t know that. Twin ESP isn’t real anyway. We tried.”

“Dude,” Josie said. “You can see ghosts, but sensing if your sister is alive or not is a bridge too far?”

Dipper smiled thinly. “...maybe. I dunno. But I gotta find her. Somehow.”

“We will,” Josie said. “We will.”

Dipper went silent for a minute, itching at the blood already drying against his upper lip. His stomach growled painfully, but he was glad that Josie didn’t comment on it. Somewhere across town, a monster wailed, whether in pain or victory Dipper had no idea. Eyebats circled the horizons. Bill and his lackeys prowled somewhere, just waiting to make more ghosts.

“Josie?” Dipper asked, tracing his finger in the ash.

“Yeah?”

“What’s it feel like to die?”

Josie sucked air through her teeth, and the gap between her two front ones made a whistling sound. Dipper wondered how that was possible.

“...you called it the Big Push,” Dipper said.

“I did,” Josie said. “...do you really want me to tell you?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for years,” Dipper said.

“You don’t have to worry about that for a long time,” Josie said.

“You probably thought that,” Dipper said, not unkindly. “And look where you are now. And look around. I might have to worry about it soon.”

Josie said nothing at that, staring off at the blood-red skies. It was permanently twilight in this world, the day always dying, always feeling the Big Push but never feeling the relief of it being over.

“...it’s like that moment before you fall asleep,” Josie said, her voice almost a whisper. “You can feel yourself drifting off, and it feels like a relief, and then you feel like you’re falling. When you’re alive, your body just jerks you awake. But when you’re dying, it…”

Josie started scratching at the earth too. Her fingers made no indent in the ash. “It goes on. And you feel like you’re falling forever, and you try to scream and flail, but you can’t. Everything gets fuzzy, then dark, then bright, then dark, and then bright one more time. It sounds like the wind is roaring in your ears but it’s not, it’s just you. And then…”

She paused, and gestured vaguely. “It…it stops.”

“...I thought you said the Big Push wasn’t so bad,” Dipper whispered.

“It’s not,” Josie said. “At least in comparison to everything that leads up to it.”

Dipper knew he was shaking, but he couldn’t really find a reason to hide it. “...I used to think about it all the time,” he said. “When, where, and how I’d die. It was hard not too. I haven’t…I haven’t thought about it as much as I did after getting to Gravity Falls. And it used to scare me so bad. I used to think…I used to think it was because it would hurt. Or I’d become a monster. Or…or I don’t know. But I think…”

He lowered his head, only willing to admit it to the dirt. “...I think I’m just scared of being alone. When it happens.”

Silence fell between the boy and the dead woman. Somewhere in town, unnatural thunder roared, echoed by a more guttural yowl. Some monster or another must be getting hungry.

“...if that happens,” Josie said. “I won’t leave you. I’ll stay with you until it ends.”

“And what if I turn into a ghost?” Dipper asked.

“Then I’ll help you come back to your mind,” Josie said. “No matter how long it takes. I promise.”

Dipper swallowed hard, and the iron pit in his stomach lessened, if only slightly. “...thanks, Josie. And…and I’m sorry.”

Josie blinked. “What? Why?”

“I was awful to you last time we spoke,” Dipper nearly whispered. “I…I was a coward. I knew I could help the others, that I could help Hannah, that I could help so many people, but…I was too selfish and too scared to do anything about it, and now…”

He buried his head in his arms. “Now look around.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Josie said.

“Yes it is!” Dipper said. “I was the one who told Mabel I was staying! She wouldn’t have run off with the rift if I had just kept my cool, if I hadn’t been so awful to her! Then Bill wouldn’t have stolen the rift, and everything would be…it would be fine. Josie, I-”

Dipper sniffed, just managing to blink back tears. “I dunno what’s wrong with me. I’m scared all the time. I’m so scared I can hardly stand it. Anywhere I go, I’m just…I’m just terrified, but I didn’t feel like that here, in Gravity Falls. I felt normal. Like…like I could just exist without being worried something was going to go horribly wrong, break into a bajillion pieces. But…but I ruined it. I refused to help you and the others. I pushed away Mabel, the one person in my life who’s always been there for me over a decision that she was right about. And Stan…”

Dipper tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat. “Why is it the second I stopped being afraid I started being horrible? I…I’m just…I’m just…” he trailed off

“...stuck,” Josie whispered.

“...yeah,” Dipper said, his voice raspy. “I’m just stuck.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Josie scoot closer to him. “...this isn’t your fault, little fella.”

Dipper made a noncommittal noise.

“You said you didn’t want to help,” Josie said. “You said that you couldn’t. But you helped me. I’d still be in a haze if it wasn’t for you. You saved me.”

Dipper said nothing.

“...I’m sorry too,” Josie said. “It wasn’t fair of me to put all that on you. It’s not your job to save every ghost you come across. It’s just your job to try to do your best from day to day. And, well…you did. I’m here. So here’s what we’re gonna do. Can you look at me?”

For a moment, Dipper wasn’t sure if he could. But he forced himself to raise his head, looking Josie in the eyes.

“We’re gonna find Mabel,” she said, dead serious. “We’re gonna find your family and friends. We’re gonna break into that pyramid, and kick Bill’s stupid butt. Got it?”

“Josie-”

“Don’t ‘Josie’ me,” she said. “Say you’re gonna kick Bill’s butt.”

Dipper groaned, but found himself trying to hide a smile. “Come on…”

“Say it!” Josie said, grabbing at Dipper’s arm. It passed right through, but Dipper barely held in a yelp at the freezing cold feeling.

“Stop stop!” Dipper said, this time unable to disguise his smile.

“Say you’re gonna kick Bill’s butt!” Josie said. “You can even say ass!”

“Okay, fine!” Dipper sighed, not nearly as exasperated as he pretended to be. “I’m gonna kick Bill’s butt. Ass. Whatever.”

“Good enough,” Josie shrugged. “You’ll get more into it when you’re actually ass kicking. Hey, no offense, but you look terrible, by the way.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “I’m going for that apocalypse chic look.”

“No, seriously,” Josie said. “When was the last time you slept?”

“...um,” Dipper said.

“Okay,” Josie said. “First order of business. Get some sleep. Then we’ll keep looking for Mabel. Sound good?”

“No, it doesn’t!” Dipper protested. “Mabel’s out there now, she needs us, she could-”

“You’re not gonna be able to help her if you collapse,” Josie said. “Seriously. I know that you’re not exactly gonna get fantastic rest, but you should at least try.”

Dipper fidgeted with the edge of his vest. “...what if a monster comes?”

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Josie said softly, though Dipper wasn’t sure if she had a say in the matter. “I’ll keep watch. Just try to relax. Use the backpack as a pillow.”

“Oh goodie,” Dipper said. “Backpack pillow.”

Josie gave him a withering look, but he ignored it. In spite of his protestations, he was exhausted. Hoping that it wouldn’t make Josie gloat too much, he repositioned the backpack as a pillow, laying down and trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t at all peaceful, but Dipper was fairly certain he could sleep in a warzone by now.

“...night,” he said. “Or morning. Or afternoon. I dunno.”

Josie didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed on the pyramid. Dipper refused to look. “...Josie?”

“What’d the author say about those ghosts?” She asked. “The ones circling like vultures.”

“...he can’t see them,” Dipper said quietly.

Josie’s head snapped back to him. “What? He can’t? He can’t see us?”

“...I don’t think so,” Dipper said quietly. “I never, um. Exactly asked him directly.”

Josie frowned. “...who’s the medium, then?”

“I dunno,” Dipper said, and he wanted to say that it was the furthest thing from his mind right now, that if he sat down and focused, he knew an answer would be in arm’s reach. He could see one hiding just around the corner, something he already half-understood, but was too hungry, too thirsty, too tired, too heartsick to truly look for.

He didn’t say all that, though. He only said: “‘Night, Josie.”

“‘Night, Dipper,” Josie said.

Dipper drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of stone statues reaching out to him, pleading for help that he couldn’t deliver.

“Yeesh,” Josie said, perturbed, staring at the strange creature trying to claw its way through the barricaded doors of the Gravity Falls mall. “They weren’t kidding about the weird part of Weirdmageddon.”

“What gave it away?” Dipper gasped, shaky and a little nauseous from being chased down the street.

“Hey, hey!” The creature said, just a giant head with an arm sticking out of it, scowling at Dipper. “Quit yammerin’ to yourself and get in my mouth!”

Dipper decided to pass on that generous offer, hauling himself to his feet and scrambling deeper into the mall. Josie followed, scowling at the strange creature still demanding that Dipper crawl down his gullet. “Wish I had a physical form. I could kick him in the eye or something.”

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted into the mall. “Stan! Anybody?!”

“Sh sh!” Josie said. “What if there’s monsters in here?”

“Oh-!” Dipper clapped his hands over his mouth, but his voice was already echoing over the empty atrium. Broken glass littered the floor, and dust hung in the air as though time had stopped. Perhaps most eerie was the lack of looting. Items were strewn across the floor, as though the mall goers had only gotten halfway with theft before something literally stopped them in their tracks.

Dipper stepped over a chunk of concrete. “Well…if there was something bad in here, it probably would have gotten me by now, right?”

“Right,” Josie said, though it looked like she was mostly saying it for his benefit. “Totally.”

“Maybe we can find some useful supplies,” Dipper said. “Like, I dunno, a flashlight depot or something-”

Dipper froze, his eyes catching on something in the food court. A plate of nachos, smothered in unnaturally orange cheese, oily beef, and glistening jalapeños was sitting on a table, perfectly centered in a beam of maroon light from the skylight.

“What?” Josie asked. “I don’t think they-oh, that’s what you’re looking at.”

Dipper took a step forward.

“Woah, hold on,” Josie stepped in front of him, her arms out. “Listen, I know you’re hungry, but think for a second. A plate of nachos just sitting out? That doesn’t seem weird to you?”

“It’s not a trap a monster would set,” Dipper said, stepping around her. His mouth was watering, or at least trying to. He was dehydrated. “Look, do you see any traps?”

“No, but-!” Josie wrung her hands. “It wouldn’t be a very good trap if I could see it!”

“I just-!” Dipper sighed. “Josie, I’ve been living off of halves of Gummi Koalas. I-I really think I’m about to collapse.”

“Okay, okay, I know, just…” Josie glanced around the food court. “You just chill, lemme see if I can find-HEY!”

Dipper lunged around her, snatching the nachos off the table. He glanced back at Josie with a grin. “See?” He said. “I told you it’s fine-”

Something whizzed above Dipper’s head, and he glanced up just in time to see a pulley before he was lifted off the ground abruptly, tangled in the net. The nachos fell out of his grip and splattered to the floor.

He and Josie immediately started screaming.

“HELP!” Dipper thrashed, only entangling himself more. “THE NACHOS TRICKED ME!”

“OH MY GOD!” Josie shrieked, flitting uselessly around him. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!”

“GET ME OUT!” Dipper shouted.

“I DON’T HAVE A PHYSICAL FORM!” Josie said. “STOP WIGGLING YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE! UM, MAYBE YOU CAN GNAW OFF A HAND OR SOMETHING-”

“Josie?”

Josie spun around, and Dipper craned his neck to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired woman, staring at Josie with utter shock. For a moment, she only looked vaguely familiar, but then he realized why–not only was she a spitting image of Wendy, he had already seen her. In Wendy’s house.

Wendy’s dead mother was staring at them, open mouthed.

Josie’s eyes widened. “Deb?”

A decorative bush rustled, and a mane of red hair appeared. “Dipper?” Wendy asked, looking at Dipper with slight suspicion. “Who were you talking to?”

“H-hey, Wendy!” Dipper said, fully aware he was twisted upside down. “Uh…just, um. Talking to myself. You know. Uh. Glad to see you, really, but, um, can you get me down? I think my arm’s coming out of my socket-”

“OH MY GOD!” Josie shrieked, this time with glee. She lunged forward, hugging Wendy’s mother tightly. The latter hugged back, laughing. “Oh my god, you-wait, you died?!”

“What are you looking at?” Wendy asked, looking concerned. “You just kinda trailed off. You alright?”

“U-uh,” Dipper said, struggling to focus on two conversations at once with a pounding headache. “Y-yeah, I’m okay, just, um…”

“You look so good for being dead,” Josie said sincerely.

“Shut up,” Deb grinned. “You look gorgeous, that’s such a good color on you, you’re so lucky you died in it-”

“Dipper?” Wendy asked.

“Can you, um,” he said. “Do you have another plate of nachos?”

Wendy grinned in spite of herself. Her smile looked exactly like her mom’s. “Sorry, dude, bait nachos only. But I raided a camping store, got some of that instant chili mix. It tastes terrible, but it’s a meal.”

“I will literally eat this net,” Dipper said.

“Oh my god!” Josie said, seeming to remember where she was. “Holy cow, sorry, this is my friend, Dipper-”

“Oh, I know him,” Deb said. “He came to our house to watch movies with Wendy once.”

“What?!” Josie whirled around to Dipper. “You never told me you knew the Corduroys!”

“What are you looking at?” Wendy asked, and Dipper flinched, not realizing she was right next to him, working to untangle the net.

“N-nothing,” Dipper said quickly.

“Nothing?” Josie crossed her arms. “You should tell her you can see us, crazier things are literally right outside this door-”

“Oh, the head-arm guy?” Deb nodded. “Yeah, real freak.”

“Sorry,” Dipper said, making a concentrated effort to ignore the ghosts. “Just a little spacey-AUGH!”

The net abruptly gave way, and Dipper crashed to the ground with no warning. Wendy’s face poked into view. “Oh, shoot, sorry. You alright?”

“I think I broke my spine,” Dipper gasped.

Wendy grinned, looking beyond relieved to see him. Maybe she needed a friendly face as much as Dipper did. She didn’t even have the dead as companions. “Nah, you’re good. Just need some chewy chili.”

“Can’t wait,” Dipper said, rising shakily to his feet.

“Come on,” Wendy said, nodding towards a barricaded shop. “I’ll show you home base. Not to worry, dude. My dad made us do apocalypse training instead of Christmas.”

Deb frowned. “Oh, Dan’s going to be insufferable about this now that he knows he was right to do it.”

“Dude, slow down,” Wendy said, watching as Dipper inhaled the instant chili. “You’re gonna choke or throw up.”

Dipper could hear Josie and Deb chattering right outside their hideout, invisible guardians that only Dipper knew about. He couldn’t quite hear them, but they spoke like old friends, though their original reaction to seeing each other had already given that away. On one hand, he didn’t love not having them in sight. On the other, he could only focus on one conversation at a time.

“So how’s the end of the world treating you?” Wendy asked, poking at a decent campfire with a stick. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to light a fire in an enclosed space, but it was even less smart to light a fire where monsters could be alerted.

“Oh,” Dipper shrugged. “Bad. Have you…seen anyone? That we know?”

“...no,” Wendy said slowly, and Dipper’s heart sank. “I was hanging out with my friends when it happened. Those flying eyeballs got them. Robbie almost escaped, but the idiot stopped to take a selfie.”

“...okay,” Dipper said quietly, his stomach churning.

“...Mabel’s not with you?” Wendy asked hesitantly. “I would’ve thought she…”

Josie and Deb erupted into laughter over something outside, and Dipper flinched. “...we got in a fight. Ford offered me an apprenticeship. To stay with him in Gravity Falls, learn all the secrets here. I agreed. Mabel heard, and…” he trailed off for a moment. “She didn’t…she didn’t take it well. She ran off, and…”

Dipper took a shuddering breath. “...I haven’t seen her since. Or anyone. Ford got captured by Bill and…you’re, like, the first living person I’ve seen.”

Wendy winced, and Dipper realized his technically-not-a-lie might have come off more disturbing than he intended. He took another few bites of flavorless chili just to do something besides see Wendy’s nervous look.

“...okay,” Wendy said slowly. “So…what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Dipper asked, and shook his head. “I-I dunno. Stay alive, I guess.”

“C’mon, dude, you always have a plan!” Wendy said. “That’s like your whole thing! You’ve defeated Bill before! Why should this be any different?”

“Because I had Mabel last time,” Dipper said miserably.

“Well, there you go!” Wendy said. “Step one, we find Mabel. Step two, save the world. There’s probably a step one and a half in there, but we’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t even know where she is,” Dipper whispered. “I don’t even know if she…if she’s…”

“She’s fine, man,” Wendy said, her voice so forceful Dipper almost believed it. “She’s out there, we just gotta find her.”

“And even if we did,” Dipper said, suddenly dangerously close to breaking down. “She’d hate me.”

Wendy scoffed.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Dipper said. “I-I was so mean to her, Wendy. I’ve been angry at her since Ford came back because she didn’t push the button to shut down the portal. And I know it’s horrible of me to be so mad at her about it because she’s right. It’s not fair. It’s stupid. It’s childish. But I couldn’t help it. And…and I don’t even think I meant the horrible stuff I said to her, but I still said it because I was being so stupid–”

“Woah, hold on,” Wendy shook her head. “You think you’re the only person in history to have a blowout fight with their sibling? Dude, my brothers usually use their fists before they use their words. This is nothing.”

Dipper said nothing, staring at his food. The thought of seeing Mabel’s face as he last did, heartbroken with tears streaming down her cheeks, was too much. He didn’t think he could do it again.

“I dunno,” he muttered.

“We’ll find her,” Wendy said. “You two just need to make up, and then we’ll defeat Bill, and save the world before dinner. Easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy,” Dipper echoed, but there was some comfort in hearing Wendy’s single-minded determination over the subject.

“Hey,” Wendy stretched her leg out, nudging Dipper with her foot. “We got this. I know we do.”

Josie and Deb’s conversation had turned somber outside, their laughter turning to hushed whispers, as if they were worried about eavesdroppers. They only had to worry about one.

Something twisted uncomfortably in Dipper’s chest. He stood up abruptly, so quickly that Wendy looked surprised.

“Um,” Dipper said. “I gotta go to the bathroom. Is there anything awful hiding in the men’s?”

“Honestly dude,” Wendy lowered her voice a bit. “I’ve been using a bottle and a bucket and then just chucking them off the roof.”

“I don’t, um,” Dipper said. “I don’t wanna do that.”

Wendy shrugged. “Suit yourself. Nothing’s come at me in the mall, so you’re probably okay. Yell if you see a monster or something?”

“Sure,” Dipper said, ducking out of the store.

Josie and Deb’s conversation instantly ceased, glancing over at them. Dipper motioned vaguely, and Josie’s brow crinkled. “Oh, I got this, he’s saying…um, he’s trying to tell us-”

“I think he just wants us to follow him,” Deb stood up, and Dipper nodded.

Josie frowned. “I was about to say that.”

“I’ll fill you in when we get there,” Dipper whispered, hoping Wendy didn’t hear.

He speed-walked to the men’s bathroom, ducking inside, followed closely by Deb and Josie. The bathroom was a horror show; the fluorescent lights flickered uneasily, like they were trying to stay awake, illuminating the graffiti on the wall, in various states of explicitness. One of the stall doors was hanging by its hinges, and still, smelly water sat in puddles on the floor.

“Oh my god,” Josie said, looking around the bathroom. “The end of the world really did a number on this place, didn’t it?”

“Uh,” Dipper glanced around. “No, it’s always looked like this.”

Deb and Josie looked horrified.

“...we haven’t formally met,” Deb said finally.

“Right, um,” Dipper said, suddenly shy. “Hi, Mrs. Corduroy. It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t…sorry I ignored you the first time.”

She waved him off. “Oh, honey, I was in far too much shock from someone being able to see me to carry on a conversation then. Don’t even worry about it. Call me Deb.”

“How do you know Josie?” Dipper asked.

“We were best friends!” Josie grinned. “Grew up next to each other and everything. I was her maid of honor at her wedding! I babysat Wendy a few times before they realized I was terrible at it.”

“We were devastated when you died,” Deb said softly.

“Aw, you flatterer,” Josie grinned. “And then you went and died too.”

Deb cringed, and Josie frowned. “Um…too soon?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.”

“Um, excuse me,” Dipper said, a new mystery taking form in his mind. “Have you been…in the house the whole time? Since you died?”

“...I think so, yeah,” Deb said. “They need me there. This…I figured there were other ghosts, but I hadn’t really ever seen them.”

Dipper frowned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…how are you sane?”

Deb paused, looking confused, and then her eyes focused on something behind Dipper. She froze, and when Josie followed her gaze, she made a horrified choked noise.

“What are you-” Dipper whirled around, and shrieked when he saw a ghoul, crouched behind a toilet, staring at him.

For a moment, it was completely still, and Dipper tensed, half-prepared for it to lunge at him.

“He is here,” it mumbled, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Oh my god-” Josie stumbled forward, trying and failing to grab Dipper. “It’s trying to talk, Jesus Christ-”

“What-” Dipper said, confused enough to snap out of his fear, if only for a moment. “It is talking.”

Deb and Josie looked at him like he was crazy, and Dipper shrank away on instinct. “I-I-”

“It sounds like gibberish,” Deb said softly. “It is gibberish. It sounds like it’s talking backwards or something.”

“He is here,” the ghoul said again.

This one especially didn’t look human. It just looked like a shape, though it was hard to tell when it was so cooped up, pressed against the filthy bathroom wall in animal fear, mouth still wrenched open in a silent scream. Dipper’s head hurt just by looking at it.

But he took a step forward.

“Dipper-!” Josie warned.

“Who are you?” Dipper asked. “What…what do you want? Why are you all following me?”

The ghoul stared at him, and then suddenly rose to its feet. Dipper winced, but managed to stand his ground. His heart hammered in his ears, a pulsing drumbeat. He felt dizzy.

It was just a shape with eyes and a mouth, anything indicating that it might have once had a soul with something more to it stripped away completely, like a naked tree in winter.

“Not supposed to be here,” it said. “Hurts.”

“Honey,” Deb said quietly. “I-I really think you should get away from it-”

“Who are you?” Dipper repeated, trying to ignore a prickling headache building behind his eyes. “M-maybe I can help.”

“It hurts,” the ghoul repeated.

“What’s it saying?” Josie whispered, half-crouched like she was about to lunge. Not that it would do a lot of good, but Dipper appreciated the sentiment.

“...it says it hurts,” Dipper said.

Deb and Josie looked perturbed.

“...if you don’t tell me who you are,” Dipper told the ghoul quietly. “I can’t help you.”

“We are no one,” the ghoul said. “We are no one anymore. Just his. Just his forever.”

“It says…” Dipper swallowed hard. “It said they’re just his.”

“What?” Josie asked. “What does that mean?”

“I-I dunno,” Dipper said. “I’m just repeating the message, I don’t-”

“His,” Deb said, her voice almost a whisper. “Bill’s. They’re Bill’s.”

“What are you-” Dipper started, and then felt even dizzier as her words sunk in.

“Bill,” the ghoul said. “Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill, the only one left, why did he do it? Why did he tear it apart? Bill, Bill, Bill…”

“Wait, then,” Josie looked horrified. “All the ghosts are…they’re just Bill’s ghosts? Trapped with him?”

Dipper tried to estimate how many ghosts were present alongside Bill Cipher, and then stopped immediately, feeling sick at the prospect. There were enough that Dipper imagined massacres, entire worlds wiped out in moments, unable to do anything but shriek.

“He let all the dead out,” the ghoul whispered.

“...I’m sorry,” Dipper managed to say, his voice oddly hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

“He is here,” the ghoul whispered, sinking back down against the wall, hiding it's horrible face.

“...not for long,” Dipper said, his voice almost a whisper. “We’re…we’re going to fix this.”

The ghoul glanced at him, unblinking eyes staring straight through Dipper, at something he couldn’t perceive.

And then, knowing it was incredibly dangerous, but not caring, Dipper said: “I promise.”

The ghoul stared at him a moment longer, and for a second, Dipper thought it was about to say something. Then its body twisted, Dipper winced at the twinge behind his eyes become stronger, and-

It was gone.

“...your nose is bleeding,” Josie whispered, almost sounding afraid to break the silence.

Dipper wiped under his nose messily, for once unconcerned. “...I think you should go. Find the other ghosts.”

Josie frowned. “Nuh uh. No way. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Dipper argued. “I’ll have Wendy. And we’re gonna find Mabel. But I think whatever happened to you to make you lose your mind might have happened to the other ghosts. Ghosts have pulled other ghosts out of the death loop before, right? That’s how you came back the first time.”

“Y-yeah, but…” Josie glanced at Deb uncertainly. “I’ve never done it. I-I wouldn’t even know where to start, Jesus Christ, what if I make them worse-”

“I’ll help,” Deb said suddenly.

“I-what?” Dipper asked.

“I’ll help,” Deb said quietly. “It…it doesn’t seem like a one person job. Josie’ll need help.”

“What about Wendy?” Dipper asked.

“...you’ll stay with her, right?” Deb asked, her voice so small it almost broke. “You…you won’t leave her alone?”

“No way,” Dipper said, deadly serious. “We’re in this together.”

“...there’s nothing I can do for her here in this mess,” Deb said quietly. “Before, she…sometimes she would talk to me. I don’t think she realized I was there, but I think it helped her. I…and I know what I’m about to say sounds crazy. And it’s probably wrong. But sometimes…sometimes I swear she heard me.”

Dipper considered her words. Slowly, he nodded. “...I believe you. I…I think there’s crazier things out there. Maybe even crazier than me.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Josie asked, looking fretful at the idea of leaving him. “What if something happens?”

“It…” Dipper frowned. “It might. I dunno. But I can’t sit around and wait for it to pass now. Mabel needs me. The whole freaking town needs me. And it might need you too, Josie.”

“No pressure or anything,” Josie muttered, but her voice lacked any good humor. “...you’re sure about this?”

“No,” Dipper shook his head. “Not even a little.”

Josie managed a weak smile. “We’ll try and bring as many ghosts back to themselves as we can. We’ll meet you back at the shack. Does that work?”

“The shack,” Dipper nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

Josie opened her mouth, and closed it, looking unsure of what she wanted to say, shuffling in place for a long moment. Deb stared at her, half-exasperated, half-confused.

“Stay safe, little fella,” Josie said quietly, offering Dipper a jerky nod.

“You too,” he said.

Josie almost chuckled. “What’s gonna happen to me? I’m already dead.”

It took a car crash, a trip through a false heaven, and a kangaroo court, but here Dipper was, face to face with Mabel, the latter insisting that it was far better to retreat into fantasy than it ever was to face the monsters outside. And Dipper was starting to worry that he couldn’t even say she was wrong.

Ford was gone. Stan was MIA, and probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see Dipper. Wendy and Soos were here, safe and placated, and Mabel wasn’t crying anymore. When he had arrived, he had been so relieved to find her alive that everything else fell away. But the second she proclaimed her intention to stay, they had been arguing all over again.

And now here he was, at risk of being sent out into a Beksiński-like hellscape, all alone without the people he entered with, or even the person he had been searching for.

“Are you gonna make your case or what?” The judge asked, some oversized cat sitting on top of a cat tree. Mabel looked bored, and a little smug, like she had already won.

“Yes!” Dipper protested. “I just, um! Let me gather my thoughts!”

The audience chuckled, and the jury of Mabels began to whisper to each other. Dipper felt sick. Even Wendy and Soos looked doubtful, seated next to a ragged hippo stuffed animal.

Except, after a moment of looking, Dipper recognized the hippo stuffed animal. Larry, one of Mabel’s childhood toys, with a string in the back that played a shrill tune. She had outgrown it at some point, and it was cleaned up and donated to a local charity. In fact, looking out, he could recognize almost everything in Mabelland. Toys long lost or passed on, drawings from when she was much younger, even the ground was an old quilt from Grandma Nora, given to them in infancy and falling apart completely only a couple years ago.

It’s ghosts, Dipper realized, an epiphany almost coming too late. It’s all ghosts from our lives. It always has been.

“Well, I’ve waited long enough,” the cat judge said. “Dipper Pines, I sentence you to-”

“Mabel,” Dipper asked breathlessly. “How much of this do you need?”

Mabel blinked, looking confused. “...what?”

“All these things,” Dipper motioned around. “You haven’t had them for ages. You grew up, moved on, or they just disappeared. But you brought them back. But you don’t even need them.”

The citizens of Mabelland gasped, offended, and Dipper ignored them. “I know you’re scared to grow up, and I am too! Really!” Dipper said. “I…Mabel, I’m scared all the time. You know that. You’ve seen it. You’ve always been there for me when I need it, no matter what kind of crazy thing I’m doing. And when you needed me, I wasn’t…I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. But this isn’t the answer. And I think you know that.”

Mabel blinked, looking surprised by the apology, before her face hardened and she turned away. “I’m not listening, I’m not listening! La-la-la!” She covered her ears, but not very well.

“You know that you can’t cling onto ghosts to try and stop whatever’s coming next,” Dipper said. “You know you can’t freeze what’s coming. You know summer can’t last forever. It’s not supposed to. I don’t think anything is. But trying to hold onto things that are already gone, tough it out alone, that…that can drive a person crazy. I’ve seen it. Trust me.”

Mabel gave him a look, confused but listening.

“But you don’t have to go onto whatever comes next alone,” Dipper said. “I’m here. We’re all here with you. And yeah, when we go home, things are gonna be different. They might suck. They might be scary. But we’ll face it just like everything else we’ve faced before. We’ll face it together, just like we’ll face the end of the world together.”

“But the apprenticeship–” Mabel started, and Dipper shook his head.

“No way am I taking that, Mabel,” he said. “Miss going to high school together? Not a chance.”

The court burst into chatter, the spirits of a shared past breaking out into chattering, begging Mabel to stay, telling her that she belonged in this bubble of stasis, that nothing could hurt her as long as she swallowed whatever overly sparkly Kool-Aid they were serving.

But Mabel met Dipper’s eyes.

She smiled.

They burst into the shack with a defiant roar, ready to beat off whatever terrible creatures had made their home inside, only to find themselves face to face with a horde of human, supernatural creatures. And ghosts, of course, but only Dipper knew about that.

“GRUNKLE STAN!” Mabel shrieked, throwing herself forward into Stan’s arms. He barely managed to catch her, hugging her tightly.

Josie and Deb were nowhere to be found.

“Kid, you alright?” Stan asked, reaching out for Dipper. Half of him wanted to pull away, but he let Stan grab him and check him over. “No injuries that’ll make you collapse or nothing?”

“I’m okay,” Dipper nodded, unable to look Stan in the eye. Mabel was one matter, but he still felt conflicted with Stan. “Are you okay? What happened here?”

“Eh,” Stan shrugged. “Welcome to headquarters, I guess. Or something like that. Possum Breath here–” he jerked his head at someone, and Dipper grinned when he saw McGucket, weaning a pair of glasses made out of green glass. “-led a bunch of people here after the sky went kooky, and we’ve been hiding out here since.”

“Hi, Mr. McGucket!” Mabel said brightly, looking excited to see him. McGucket waved back, looking a little surprised to be addressed. “What’s the plan to save Grunkle Ford?”

“There isn’t one,” Stan said, suddenly gruff and distant. “It’s too dangerous.”

“WHAT?!”

“That can’t be true!” Wendy said. “Dipper knows where he is, Bill took him to that floating pyramid!”

“It’s way too dangerous,” Stan shook his head. “Shack’s the only safe place in town. Whatever my nerd brother did to it, it made it impossible for the monsters outside to get in.”

“Except us,” Dipper heard, and turned his head ever so slightly to see Angela and Mike standing in the corner. “And the lumberjacks patrolling the edges of the woods around the shack. Not that these bozos even know about that.”

“It’s our honor to help,” a deep voice said, and Dipper nearly squeaked when he saw the massive bearded lumberjack ghost from the Northwest manor in the corner of the room, standing protectively behind no other than Pacifica herself, battered and exhausted, but alive.

Pacifica blinked, catching Dipper’s eye, and then scowled defensively. “What?!”

“Are you wearing a sack?” Dipper asked, managing to get his surprise under control.

Pacifica turned red. “No,” she said, very much wearing a sack. The ghost behind her winked at Dipper, grinning impishly.

“Why is he winking?” Mike whispered to Angela. “He’s wigging me out. Oh my god, the lumberjacks are so scary.”

“Dude?” Dipper jumped when Soos poked him. “You listening?”

“Sorry, zoned out,” Dipper said, refocusing on the conversation in front of him. “We can’t just abandon Ford. And we can’t abandon the town either!”

“Not happening,” Stan shook his head. “No way are we getting anywhere near that place without our heads exploding or something.”

“So what’s your plan?” Dipper asked. “Just rot in the shack forever?”

Stan glared. “No,” he snapped. “My plan is to keep you two as safe as I can!”

Dipper said nothing, staring at Stan, locked in a silent battle. Neither spoke. Neither blinked. Neither looked away.

“Well,” Mabel said, stepping between them bravely. “We can’t have that. Come on, people, since when does Gravity Falls give up?”

“Since now!” A gnome piped up, extremely unhelpful.

“Mabel’s right,” Dipper nodded, stepping next to her. A united front, from here on out, even if it made Stan frown. “We can’t give up. We have the shack, we have each other, and it’s up to us to save Gravity Falls!”

“Woah woah!” Stan said, stepping forward when the people and creatures of the shack perked up. “Are you serious? What do you think is gonna happen to you once you step outside?! Those freaky eyeballs are gonna be all over you! It’s not like we can take the shack to Bill!”

Suddenly, McGucket started cackling, like he had just heard the best joke in the world, slapping his knees in glee. “Woo-wee!” He said. “That’s what you think!”

Stan frowned. “Oh, I don’t like this.”

“Eugh,” Pacifica said, lifting her ruined shoe up. “I stepped in a mud puddle.”

“Could be worse,” Dipper shrugged, doing a very good job ignoring the lumberjack ghost tailing her. “It could be blood.”

Pacifica glared at him. “Why would you say that?!” The lumberjack guffawed.

In all honesty, Dipper was quite glad to see him. A couple strange creatures had edged around the corners of his vision, nightmares brought into the world by Bill, but they scattered when the lumberjacks approached them. Dipper wasn’t sure if they were visible or their mere aura was that powerful, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

The lumberjacks were unsettling, moving silently between the trees, just distant enough where they were shadows and little else. Each one sporting a grisly and bloody injury, but they smiled like they were all old friends, and maybe, in a way, they were.

Regardless, whether Bill’s monsters could see them or not, they kept a wide berth. It made scouting for scraps worlds and universes safer. And Dipper wouldn’t admit this with a gun to his head, but Pacifica was being a lot more bearable than usual.

“Dipper!”

Dipper jerked his head up, and sighed in relief when he saw Josie and Deb, both waving at him. Josie smiled at the lumberjack, a little strained, but edged closer. “I see you’ve met…Archie.”

Dipper snickered before he could stop himself. “Archie?”

Pacifica glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dipper said quickly. “Um, I think we found enough wood for McGucket, yeah? We should probably get out of the woods. I’ll meet you back there.”

“Meet me back there?” Pacifica folded her arms, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not going off on your own? Are you stupid?”

“I have to go to the bathroom, and the one in the shack is scarier than anything out here,” Dipper said, which was true. “So unless you wanna follow me for that–”

“Ugh, fine,” Pacifica said, though she still looked a little doubtful. “You’re not gonna…get eaten by something or anything?”

“I promise I will try not to get eaten by anything,” Dipper said dutifully, and Pacifica managed a half-smile. Dipper’s face got a little warm, and he coughed. “Yeesh, sure is hot at the end of the world, huh?”

“Lumberjacks,” Archie rumbled, following Pacifica back to the shack. “Do not allow any harm to come to the boy as he speaks to his compatriots.”

Dipper heard a murmur of assent, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Josie shivered. “Creep-y.”

“You holding up okay?” Deb asked once Pacifica was gone.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dipper nodded. “We found Mabel and Soos, got back to the shack. Lots of people are there, it’s safe. I think the unicorn hair that Ford put around it fends off the monsters.”

“Unicorns?” Deb blinked.

“Not important right now,” Josie said. “Who’s all at the shack?”

“A bunch of people,” Dipper said. “Old Man McGucket, Stan, Mabel’s friends, Wendy and Soos, of course–”

“Your little girlfriend?” Josie asked, wriggling her eyebrows.

Dipper’s face flushed. “S-shut up.”

“What about Dan and my boys?” Deb asked, and Dipper’s heart sank. “Have you seen them?”

“I-I…” Dipper shook his head. “I think…Bill has them.”

Deb made a terrible choked noise, covering her mouth in horror. The woods whispered, unhappy to have one of their own taken by the perpetrator of the apocalypse.

“But we have a plan,” Dipper said quickly. “Bill didn’t kill them, we don’t think. If he killed them, there would be no one to watch as he destroyed the world.”

“But all his ghosts…” Deb whispered, close to tears.

“Those are his ghosts,” Dipper said, determined. “Not ours’. Not yet. We’re gonna fight him and fix this, and let go whatever ghosts he’s kept trapped.”

“How?” Josie asked.

“...with a really big robot,” Dipper said.

Josie and Deb looked doubtful, and Dipper coughed. “It’s a lot more airtight than it sounds, really. How’s it going with the other ghosts?”

“We helped as many as we could,” Josie said. “They’re helping as we help them, so it’s spreading. It’s spreading in a good way, I mean. You know.”

“Okay, sure,” Dipper said, mostly just relieved that the other ghosts weren’t left in confusion and fear. “That’s…okay.”

Josie frowned. “You okay, little fella?”

“It’s just…” Dipper took a breath, suddenly struggling to keep his voice steady. “It’s…it’s scary.”

He winced, hating how childish he sounded, but Josie and Deb knelt down, their faces concerned. “I know, sweetheart,” Deb said softly. “I know.”

Something hitched in Dipper’s chest, like all of the terror, discomfort, and exhaustion of the last few days or so caught up with him in less than a second. He sniffled, suddenly horrified to be so emotional, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, he would have given anything to be back home in Piedmont, filled with angry ghosts, but filled with familiarity. The devil he knew versus the devil that actively wanted him dead.

“I’m just…” Dipper took a shuddering breath, willing himself not to panic. “I’m just scared.”

He didn’t spiral, alone in the woods with only the dead and the iron-tinged air for company. But he did cry. He couldn’t help it.

He didn’t go back to the shack until he was certain that no one could tell he had sobbed.

Maybe this was a terrible idea, Dipper thought, as a huge monster that was vaguely shaped like a loaf of bread charged the Shacktron, nearly sending it careening through the air as it made contact, pushing back against them with an ugly grunt.

McGucket yelped, surprised by the sudden jolt, and tumbled out of his control seat. “Dagnabbit!” He said, having graduated from mostly recognizable phrases now that he had regained his sanity.

The Shacktron flailed out of control, pilot-less and on the verge of being pushed over and defeated before they even had a chance. Dipper thought he heard Bill laughing, and he most definitely heard the ghosts circling the pyramid screaming, each voice like a tiny knife directly into his skull.

“BRACE YOURSELF!” Mabel shrieked, expecting to be toppled.

“Dude!” Angela said, unhelpful. “We’re fucked!”

Josie ignored them, lunging towards the pilot seat as McGucket tried to regain his footing. She grabbed a lever, and to Dipper’s shock, pulled back on it. One of the arms of the Shacktron responded, swinging out and slapping the bread monster hard enough to startle it, throwing it off for just a moment long enough so McGucket could scramble back into the seat, looking slightly panicked and confused, but mostly relieved.

“DIPPER, DID YOU SEE THAT?!” Josie shrieked, looking excited, staring at her hands. “I DID THAT!”

“Dipper?!” Mike looked at Dipper, shocked. “He can see us?!”

You didn’t know? Dipper nearly said, but then as if summoned, Bill Cipher appeared, looking vaguely annoyed.

“Alright,” Bill sighed. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

He raised his fist, and brought it down on the shack as hard as he could.

“Now’s our chance!” Mabel said, shoving a handmade parachute pack into Dipper’s hands. Bill was distracted by a recent enucleation, courtesy of Grenda and the T. Rex affixed to the end of a robotic arm. “Go go go!”

Dipper nearly dropped the backpack, stumbling forward into what were essentially human sized pneumatic tubes so they could get into the pyramid. Dipper tried not to think too much about going past the ghost circle. His head hurt just imagining it.

“Kid,” someone grabbed Dipper’s arm, and he craned his neck to see Stan, close and ashen. He opened his mouth, and closed it, looking half-panicked. “I…I need to tell you something.”

“Kind of in the middle of something here!” Dipper said, looking outside the window. Bill was still wailing, clutching the empty space where his eyes used to be, but he could already see something forming in the socket.

“It’s important,” Stan said, looking desperate. “Just–”

“Not now!” Dipper wrenched his arm away, not bothering to hide his irritation, rounding the corner to get to the tubes.

Various bits and bobs covered the ground, the entire house in disarray from the beating it was taking. But one object in particular grabbed Dipper’s eyes.

The switchblade, sitting innocently on the ground, waiting for someone to pick it up

It all went wrong quickly once they landed in the Fearamid.

Freeing the townspeople from the frozen throne that Bill had trapped them in had been easier than anticipated, at least, as had freeing Ford. He had a plan, he swore, and Dipper tried to pay attention, but it was hard with the shack still fighting Bill outside. The ghosts were still in there–Josie and Deb had wanted to follow into the Fearamid, but they couldn’t exactly fly, and they definitely couldn’t use a parachute. Deb’s face had gone ashen when she realized she was about to lose sight of her daughter once more, this time not by her own choice.

And furthermore, it was hard to focus with the constant shrieks and wails of Bill’s ghosts, ever circling.

His nose was bleeding again, but everyone was in such bad shape that no one paid it any mind.

The victory of freeing everyone from Bill’s throne was short-lived.

The Zodiac didn’t work. Dipper wasn’t even sure what might have happened if it did work, Ford wouldn’t say. Maybe if he did Stan wouldn’t have dragged his feet. Maybe if Stan hadn't dragged his feet they wouldn’t have argued. Maybe if they hadn’t argued Ford wouldn’t feel the need to get the last word in.

Maybe his friends wouldn’t be strung from the ceilings, their screaming faces emblazoned on blood red banners.

Dipper had seen hung bodies before, suspended in the air by ropes around their neck, necks bent strangely and their tongues swollen, eyes bulging. He knew Zoe, after all. She was the least scary of them. It was remarkable how these banners gave him the same sick feeling in his chest.

“Time’s up, Fordsy!” Bill cackled, and Dipper yanked uselessly on the electric blue cage trapping him and Mabel. Stan and Ford were restrained by equally bright red ropes, painfully tight. “Too late to save your friends, but not too late to save your family! Give me the equation!”

The ghosts screamed, and Dipper wasn’t sure if their cries were in favor or against bloodshed.

“DON’T DO IT!” Dipper shouted.

“YEAH!” Mabel agreed. “BILL MAKES BAD DEALS!”

Maybe it was the whole ‘getting his eye plucked out’ that was still fresh on his mind, but this seemed to enrage Bill. He nearly teleported to loom over them, red with anger. “DON’T TOY WITH ME, SHOOTING STAR!” He shrieked, and Mabel stumbled back, startled. Dipper didn’t, reaching into his pocket. “I SEE EVERYTHING–”

Another lie, but this time, it wasn’t really Bill’s fault. Dipper withdrew the switchblade from his pocket, and lunged forward, driving the razor sharp blade as deep into Bill’s eye as he could.

Bill screamed, the force of his pain and surprise making the world warp, the ghouls shriek in response. It sounded like delight.

“Hardcore, bro-bro!” Mabel said, but looked a little unsettled to see cyan fluid leaking from Bill’s massive sclera.

“AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?!” Bill wailed, clawing at what could generously be described as his face. “GET A NEW THING, I SWEAR TO–!”

The cage fell away with Bill’s distraction, as did the binds around Stan and Ford, and Dipper and Mabel darted forward. “Get out of here!” Dipper ordered, and both Stan and Ford looked horrified.

“Are you crazy?!” Stan demanded, eyes wild.

“You can’t take on Bill!” Ford said.

“We beat him once, and we can beat him again!” Mabel crowed, which was true. Never mind that they had no plan; their best adventure outcomes had come from ill-advised improvisation.

Bill’s eye was still leaking, but Dipper and Mabel took off, screaming taunts at him to make him follow. Unfortunately, it worked a little too well.

Bill’s roars echoed through the labyrinth of the Fearamid, making the hair on the back of Dipper’s neck rise and his teeth chatter. His nose was still bleeding, and more gushed out as he ran for his life. His head ached, like microscopic needles were pressing on his brain with a feather-light touch. For the first time, he worried he was getting psychic brain damage of some kind. He had never even considered it.

He tripped, and Mabel grabbed his arm before he hit the unforgiving stone floors, dragging him around another corner as they sprinted, searching for some kind of exit they could wriggle out of like rats fleeing a sinking ship. “Are you okay?!” She asked.

“No,” Dipper said truthfully, because what could they do? Stop and figure out a solution? The only solution was to run, and he was rapidly realizing that Bill was getting closer. He could see him, but he could hear him, which felt far worse.

They rounded a corner, and just out of their reach, a triangular window sat, open and inviting. Mabel interlaced her fingers, hunching over slightly. “Let me boost you! You’re shorter.”

“We–” Dipper sputtered, stepping onto the makeshift step only because there was no time to argue. “Do not start that conversation again.”

Mabel giggled, and hoisted Dipper up. He grabbed the edge of the window, pulling himself up. “Okay, give me your hand–”

The shack was dead.

It had been turned on its side, torn open, the interior exposed like guts. The rebellion inside was surrounded by Bill’s goons, trying to remain brave in the face of otherworldly monsters laughing in their faces.

The ghosts grabbed at the demons, uselessly. Mike and Angela shouted and punched, the lumberjack’s fire went unnoticed, and Deb tried uselessly to hang on the arm of an 8-balled eye goblin that leered at her husband and sons, as Manly Dan shoved his boys behind them, jaw set and determined. She offered some resistance–but not a lot. Not nearly enough.

Josie looked up, and made eye contact with Dipper. Her face was grim, half-defeated already.

“Dipper?!” Mabel asked, and he turned back to face her at the wrong time.

“Peek-a-boo!”

Something snatched Dipper and Mabel roughly, and Dipper shrieked, immediately struggling in Bill’s grip. His eye had recovered, and now he was angrier than ever.

In a flash, they were back in the main room of the Fearamid, Bill holding them tightly enough to make Dipper’s ribs hurt as he thrashed. “TIME’S UP, SIXER!” Bill screamed, and Ford and Stan looked panicked. “I THINK I’M GONNA KILL ONE OF ‘EM, JUST FOR FUNSIES!”

This was it, then, it had to be. Dipper had been followed by death, stalked even, for all his life. It only made sense that it came now, not quietly or viciously, but strolling in with a key like it owned the place.

“EENY!”

He still couldn’t really decide if he wanted to be a ghost or not, assuming Josie kept her promises about bringing him back to sanity. What would he stay for? Failing to save the world? Failing to tell the truth about his abilities? Failure to ever really amount to anything other than a terrified twelve year old, who swung between blustering determination and overwhelming fear like a pendulum? There were a million and one reasons he might find himself stuck, and he found he didn’t like any of them.

“MEENY!”

None of the other ghosts knew their reasons. Of course they didn’t, otherwise they would have moved on long ago.

“MINY!”

It was going to hurt, he knew that, but he hoped it wouldn’t be long.

“YOU!”

Bill wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at Mabel. And that wasn’t right, it couldn’t be, because death didn’t chase Mabel like that. It shouldn’t swoop for her, snatch her like a silent owl in the night. It was supposed to be him, it was always supposed to be him. He was sure he was born knowing that.

And yet, Bill’s eye flashed with the symbol of a shooting star, his saccharine nickname for her, and he raised his hands to snap his fingers. And Dipper could see it–the death, the exit of a soul to somewhere else. Maybe she would leave or maybe she would stay, confused and frightened, and selfishly, to his own disgust and horror, he hoped that she wouldn’t stick around. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if he saw her as a shadow, confused and frightened, and he would go more insane than any ghost ever was–

“STOP!”

Ford was shouting, wild-eyed and gray-faced in a way that Dipper had never seen him before. He gripped the bars of his cage tight enough to where it looked like it hurt.

“I SURRENDER!” He shouted, his voice raspy from panic. “PUT THEM DOWN!”

Bill’s color turned golden again, considering this. “...good choice,” he decided, and dropped him and Mabel.

Dipper gasped when he dropped to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. “Don’t do it!” Mabel shouted, fearless in spite of death’s shadow.

“Great Uncle Ford–” Dipper wheezed, terrified.

“My only condition,” Ford said. “Is that you let my brother and the kids go!”

“Deal!” Bill said gleefully, and Dipper knew he interpreted that as giving himself, Mabel, and Stan a running head start. It didn’t count for anything. Certainly not the fate of the world.

The cage around them dropped, and Stan grabbed at Ford suddenly, looking terrified. “Wait, wait wait–”

The red bindings appeared again, yanking Stan away, ignoring his shouts. “Do we have a deal?” Bill asked, reaching down to Ford. There was no need for the bells and whistles now–Bill just enjoyed the slow torment of knowing they were out of options.

“Don’t,” Dipper said, but his voice came out thin and desperate, impossible to hear over the ghouls. “Don’t, don’t, don’t–”

Ford gave Dipper a strange look, one that Dipper felt like he was just on the cusp of understanding before he turned back to Bill, his jaw set and determined.

And without another word, he reached out, grabbing Bill’s hand.

Blue fire lit up between his and Bill’s hands, and Dipper remembered the feeling of it–uncomfortably cool, like pressing ice to the back of his hands. Bill screamed in delight, and the world seemed to warp for a moment. Bill’s laugh stretched and echoed on and on, and Ford tried to step back, looking terrified. Something pale and vague appeared from Bill’s form before he turned into a stone statue, crashing to the ground. The form–no, a ghost, translucent like the ghouls, lunged at Ford, and he stumbled backwards like he had been shot, and before Dipper could cry out–

Ford’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to his knees, blood beginning to drip from his nose.

The red binds around Stan disappeared, and he gasped for air. Mabel sprinted forward, her eyes already filled with tears. “Grunkle Stan! Hurry, we have to do something, we gotta–”

She paused. Stan was shaking hard, staring at the ground. Something was off about how he held himself, like he was wearing an ill-fitting suit. But that couldn’t be right, it was Stan, and–

“You have six fingers,” Dipper noticed, speaking aloud before he could stop himself.

Stan looked at him, openly terrified. It wasn’t Stan.

“...Grunkle Ford…?” Mabel asked, looking between the two of them. “Why did…why were you pretending to be…what’s happening to Stan?!”

“It…” Ford said, his voice unexpectedly raspy. “It…it was Stanley’s idea.”

“What was?” Dipper said, and with trembling hands, Ford reached into his suit jacket interior (Stan’s suit jacket) and pulled out the memory gun.

Dipper’s heart skipped several beats. “No,” he shook his head wildly. “No, no no, you can’t–that’s–he’ll be–”

A ghost, a ghost, he’ll be a ghost that everyone can see, you’ll kill him–

“If you know another way,” Ford said, in a desperate whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

Dipper couldn’t think of one. Stan’s nose was still bleeding. They didn’t have much time before Bill figured out the ruse, and became all the more vengeful for having been tricked.

Ford was standing, stalling before delivering the killing blow, his eyes pleading for another way out. Anything that didn’t involve something so final.

But there was nothing. Maybe there never was. It happened to everything eventually, death did, just usually not like this.

Ford swallowed hard, seeming to understand. “Mabel, can you–” he coughed, weakly. “I…I need you to stand back, dear.”

“Wait, Grunkle Ford, no, no no,” Mabel shook her head desperately. “There’s…we don’t have to do that, w-we can think of something else, just give me a minute–”

“We don’t have a minute,” Ford said, his voice beginning to break. “Mabel, this…this is all we have.”

“Dipper?” Mabel asked desperately, turning back to face him, begging for anything else. A little more time.

Dipper said nothing, unable to think of anything useful to say. He felt like that almost all the time.

Mabel’s eyes filled with tears, and she sniffed, stepping back.

Stan did nothing at all, his face slack and relaxed, blood running down his nose.

Wordlessly, with an expression like one being led to the gallows, Ford fiddled with the gun, typing in something. Dipper craned his neck to see, and then wished he hadn’t. STANLEY PINES. All of it gone, snuffed out in an instant.

Ford raised the gun to Stan’s head, his hands shaking so badly that Dipper worried that he might miss. He clenched his jaw, looked away, and pulled the trigger.

Dipper had heard the gun fired before, when he had ventured into the basement of the museum to retrieve what remained of Old Man McGucket, but it sounded different now. Maybe it was just his own imagination, Dipper wasn’t sure, but it felt louder. Brighter. More final, and even more deadly.

Stan didn’t move or flinch when the beam of light from the gun hit him directly in the face, but his face was consumed by it, swallowing his slack expression and bloody nose. The air smelled thick and foul, vaguely like burning hair. Is that what the destruction of a person smelled like? Dipper wasn’t sure.

And then the ghouls started screaming.

They had never stopped, to the point where Dipper was starting to just block it out rather than constantly hear it. But now it was different. It didn’t sound like mindless agony, an outpouring of misery so large that even all these incorporeal bodies couldn’t contain it. Now, it sounded gleeful.

The Fearamid rumbled, almost groaned, and began to fall apart, brick by brick, vacuumed upwards and swallowed by the wound in the sky. The ceiling disappeared, revealing the ashy, blood-colored sky, and Dipper gasped when he saw that the ghouls had abandoned orbiting the Fearamid, and were now gathering above it.

And then they dove.

They soared downward, like a hawk coming down on prey, directly towards Stan. Dipper reached out, but it was too late–they all flew directly through him, without a body to strike him with, only a chill. Stan had no reaction to their presence, unaware of anything.

Dipper heard a new scream, and felt his stomach drop when he saw Bill Cipher again, his form translucent and pale, just like the ghouls. He was being pulled downwards by the tidal wave of ghouls, clinging desperately to Stan like his life depended on it, and maybe it did.

But he wasn’t stronger than his own sins, unable to hold fast against the grief he had created for no other reason other than that no one could stop him. He looked at Dipper, for just a brief moment, and wailed something, maybe a plea for help that Dipper didn’t even know how to answer.

But his screams sounded just like the ghouls.

He lost his grip, and was dragged in the spirit undertow downwards, into the earth, as the rest of Weirdmageddon was dragged upwards and away.

The world rocked, and Dipper lost his grip on Mabel as the world tilted. He yelped, scrabbling for anything to hold onto, but it was no use. The tear in the sky was taking everything back, and it was all Dipper could do to not be sucked back by accident.

Wherever the ghouls were going, it was a different place than where Bill had come from.

He felt himself fall, and recalled what Josie said about how it felt to die, that feeling in your stomach when you fell from a great height, the moment before you fell asleep and your body tricked you into thinking you were plummeting. It was bright, too bright, and Dipper was falling, he didn’t know what was up and what was down, the Big Push dragging on and on and on–

“OW!”

He landed roughly on his side, yelping from the impact.

The Fearamid was gone. The fire was gone. The screams, the ghouls, the end of the world–it was all gone. It was a beautiful, cloudless summer day, the breeze smelling vaguely like pine trees.

The birds chirped, heedless of the dead.

“Dipper?”

Dipper whirled around, seeing Josie standing nervously at the edge of the thick brush. “Josie!” Dipper gasped, scrambling to his feet with a slight wince. Nothing seemed to be broken or seriously damaged, at least. “Josie, oh my god–”

“What happened?” Josie asked. “Where did the…uh, everything go?”

“Stan,” Dipper gasped, feeling nauseous. “Stan, h-he, I told you about the memory gun–”

Josie blinked, and her eyes widened. “Wait–”

“DIPPER!” Mabel exploded out of the woods, and Dipper jumped. “Dipper, hurry, hurry!”

“What?!” Dipper asked, terrified of more bodies. “What’s wrong?!”

Mabel sniffled, tears welling up in her eyes. “Grunkle Ford found Stan.”

Stan stared at him, eyes blank in a way that Dipper had seen so many times that it made him nauseous. A person doesn’t have to be dead to be a ghost.

“Here, let me…” Ford raised his hands and lowered them, uselessly flitting around Stan, but there was no cut to bandage, no blood to stem, no ice to press against a bruise. The damage was internal, so monumental and all-consuming that the damage was all there was left.

Mabel was already crying, tears slipping down her face with or without her permission. Ford had thrown himself utterly into the task of fretting over a Stan that looked vaguely confused by all the fuss.

Dipper just felt numb.

Everything, all the fear and panic and pain, just to end up here. With a dead body that was warm with a beating heart, glazed eyes that didn’t plead and cry, a voice that didn’t shriek and wail. Stan was the quietest ghost that Dipper had ever seen, and the first one he had known before it died.

“Oh, god…” he heard Josie say, and couldn’t summon the energy to look at her.

“So, uh,” Stan said, looking awkward and unsure. “Remind me of your names again?”

“I’m Stanford,” Ford said gently. “Everyone…everyone just calls me Ford. A-and Mabel and Dipper, your grand-niece and nephew.”

“Right,” Stan nodded, and then looked behind Dipper, his eyes locking onto something lingering at the treeline

Something slotted in place in Dipper’s mind, and he knew what was happening before Stan even spoke, like the answer had been there all along, and he had only needed to look directly at it.

“Who’s that then?” Stan asked, pointing. Dipper, followed by Mabel and Ford, turned to see who he was referring to.

Josie, standing behind them, turned too, probably expecting to see Wendy, or McGucket, or anyone else wandering towards them, but all she saw were trees. She stiffened, realizing Stan’s finger was pointed directly at her.

“...me?” She whispered, but Dipper could see she already knew the answer.

Stan blinked. “Who else would I be pointing to?”

Josie’s eyes widened, and she wordlessly covered her mouth, staring at Stan with naked shock.

“Stanley?” Ford followed his gaze, and looked distressed. “There’s…there’s no one there.”

“What are you talking about?” Stan had the gall to look annoyed. “There’s a lady in a blue sweater. Short brown hair, real pale-uh, no offense–”

“There’s no one there,” Ford insisted, even more worried. “I-I didn’t realize a side effect was hallucinations, I need to-”

“Oh my god,” Dipper croaked, and somehow his weak voice was heard through Ford’s rising panic. “Oh my god.”

Everyone was looking at him now, staring endlessly. His worst fear was brought to life, but Dipper could only look at Stan, the latter too empty to understand his own secrets.

“It was you,” he whispered. “It was always you.”

Stan somehow managed to look more baffled. Ford straightened up, problem-solver mode activated. “Dipper?” He asked. “Do you…know what he’s talking about?”

“I thought it was you, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper told him weakly. He was trembling.

“...Dipper?” Mabel touched his shoulder gently.

That was all it took.

Dipper laughed, because it seemed appropriate for a split second in the face of everything. It didn’t last long, just two high-pitched and hysterical “ha-has!” before his voice twisted like a deer caught in barbed wire, choking on itself.

“I thought I was the only one,” Dipper choked. “I thought I was the only one left who could see them.”

Something hot and painful bubbled in the back of Dipper’s throat. He hiccuped, and sniffled desperately to try and control himself, before giving in, sobbing so hard it hurt.

Ford was terrible at the whole childcare business.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t love them; it would be stupid to suggest otherwise. But he flitted between Stan’s confused expression and Dipper’s tears with a naked panic that helped neither of them, only making Dipper spiral more and Stan seem all the more uncomfortable. Ultimately, it was up to Mabel, like it had always been, and Dipper was certain he had never felt guiltier for it.

“All this time,” Dipper choked, huddled with her behind the door, unable to face a blank eyed Stan. Josie hadn’t left, staring at Stan with amazement even as Stan insisted with growing annoyance that she was right there, dammit, why can’t any of you see her?

“All this time,” Dipper said, trying and failing to stop crying. “All this time, it was him. How could I be so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid,” Mabel said softly, though her own tears were still silently dripping off her chin. “You’re not.”

Dipper shook his head miserably. “You don’t…you don’t even know what I’m talking about right now.”

“...no,” Mabel admitted. “But…this time you’ll tell me, right?”

Dipper blinked, surprised out of his misery, if only for a moment. “This time?”

“...I know there’s…there’s something, something that upsets you sometimes,” Mabel said softly. “A-and I don’t know what it is. I don’t usually ask because I don’t want to make you sad, and when I tried to ask…you didn’t tell me. I didn’t want…I didn’t want you to be mad at me, I guess.”

Dipper’s heart sank. “I…”

“And maybe you think I won’t understand, or I’ll think it’s silly, or…I dunno,” Mabel said, wiping at her face with a sweater sleeve that was already soaked in salty tears. “And maybe I won’t understand. But…but I can still try.”

Something in Dipper’s chest twisted, and he buried his head in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Dipper-”

“I am,” Dipper insisted. “I-I knew that I was leaning on you, I knew I was making your life harder, and scaring you, and I kept doing it anyway. I was just, I just…I just didn’t know what else to do-”

Dipper nearly flinched when Mabel suddenly wrapped her arms around him, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. Half of Dipper demanded that he extract himself, deny the comfort he so callously indulged in for years. He held off, for a moment, shaking.

“I don’t care about you because I feel like I have to, dum-dum,” Mabel said. “I do it just because I care about you. I just do.”

Something painful twisted, and then untwisted in Dipper’s chest, and he scrabbled to hug Mabel back, almost desperately, choking on a quiet sob. Mabel was crying too, tears sliding down her face in an almost constant stream, like a summer storm.

Dipper wasn’t sure how long they sat there, clinging to each other, before Ford seemed to materialize in the doorway, hands clasped awkwardly behind his back. He opened his mouth, closed it, and appeared to wage a silent war with his own thoughts before he abruptly dropped his head, defeated.

“...I’m so sorry,” Ford managed to say.

Dipper felt like the world was ending all over again.

“...Dipper,” Ford said, almost too quietly to hear. “What did…did you know what Stanley was talking about? The woman he claimed to see?”

Dipper swallowed, and for a second, he wanted to shake his head, to deny deny deny until his tongue fell out. He had done it in more fraught situations. Ford would probably even let it go, on account of how obviously torn up he and Mabel were over, well, everything.

But he took a breath, and though he wished Josie had followed him instead of continuing to stare at a protesting Stan in shock, it was up to him now.

“...yeah,” Dipper said, and only winced a little when his voice cracked. “Yeah, I do. I’ve kinda known for a while. Sort of.”

“Who is…who is the woman?” Ford asked, kneeling down to Dipper’s height.

“...her name’s Josie,” Dipper said. “I don’t actually know her last name. You can’t see her because…because she’s not here anymore.”

Ford looked puzzled. “I don’t…I don’t think I understand.”

Dipper glanced up at Mabel. She didn’t look surprised, or confused, just nodded at him.

Dipper took a breath, and let it out.

“I see dead people.”

The ash-colored lady wouldn’t stop staring at him.

There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about her. She had short brown hair, a blue sweater, and bright green eyes that were wide and unblinking. He probably would have dismissed her presence if he hadn’t caused such a ruckus just by pointing her out.

The boy had burst into tears, and it made his chest twist with a sharp guilt that felt oddly familiar. Muscle memory, perhaps. The girl who looked like him (his sister, the sad old man told him, which made sense) had ushered him out while the old man looked torn between the two of them.

“...you should probably help him,” he told the old man, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with so many eyes on him.

“...Mabel’s got him,” the old man said uncertainly, his head still darting back and forth between where the kids had gone, where the ashen woman stood, and himself, still seated in the chair. “You really don’t…you really don’t remember?”

For a moment, the man considered lying, if only to try and ease the invisible weight sitting on the old man’s shoulders. He was bent over with it, unable to shoulder whatever terrible grief he was sitting with. He looked beyond exhausted, stretching into some yet undiscovered state of fatigue where sleep didn’t help anymore.

But then, he realized he wouldn’t even know how to lie to him.

“...no,” he said softly. “...sorry.”

The old man (Stanford! That’s what he had said his name was!) somehow seemed to crumble even more. “Do you…” Stanford frowned, looking approximately where the woman stood. “Do you really see someone there?”

He said nothing, entirely unsure what the right answer was now. He didn’t know why, but something deep inside him didn’t want to disappoint Stanford. That, too, felt like muscle memory.

He waited too long, and he heard someone sob like the world was ending. One of the kids.

“I-I-” Stanford looked between him and the kids had left. “I…dammit, give me one moment, Stanley, please, I’m so sorry-” and he had practically tripped his way out of the room, apologizing the whole way.

Stanley (right, that was his name, or at least what they said his name was. It fit strangely, like a pair of pants he found in the bottom of his drawer that hadn’t been worn for ages) was alone, sitting in a chair that felt molded to fit him. It was disconcerting.

The woman was still staring.

“...are you really here, or are you just an eye floaty or something?” He asked cautiously.

The woman smiled thinly. “...I’m here. Mostly.”

“...okay,” Stanley said. “What…what does ‘mostly’ mean?”

“It means I’m dead,” the woman said.

Stanley blinked. Whatever she had been about to say, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh. Um. Sorry?”

She shrugged. Apparently death was a matter she was quite blasé to. “It’s okay. It happens to everyone.”

“...so, you’re like, haunting me?” Stanley asked, and then felt the blood drain from his face. “I-I didn’t have anything to do with you dying, did I? Oh god, I’m sorry-”

“No!” She shook her head quickly. “No, no, I died from choking on food. Totally accidental. I’m not haunting anyone in particular. I’m just hanging around.”

“...why?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” the woman said. “I’m Josie, by the way. We haven’t actually officially met before. Not like this, anyway. I’ve heard a lot about you, though.”

Stanley’s face must have betrayed his confusion, because Josie smiled. “From Dipper. He’s a lot like you. He’s probably a lot more like you than any of us expected.”

“He can…” Stanley paused, putting puzzle pieces together to make the most absurd final picture imaginable. “He can see you too?”

“He can see all of us,” Josie said. “All of us ghosts, I mean.”

“There’s more of you?” Stanley asked, so incredulous that Josie managed a half-smile. That was nice. He hated all the hopeless looks he had gotten so far.

“A lot more,” Josie said. “I suspect some of them will recognize you if you go back into town and speak with them. They’ll be thrilled.”

“Okay, okay,” Stanley said, because the thought of talking to more people, let alone ghosts, was a bit too much right now. “Okay, so Dopper-”

“Dipper,” Josie said with a cringe.

“That’s what I said. Dipper can see you all. So can I,” Stanley paused, unable to figure out how he wanted to word his question. “...why?”

“Why?” Josie repeated.

“Yeah,” Stanley nodded. “Why? Why…why can we see you? Why didn’t he know I could see you? Why didn’t I tell anyone else, apparently? Why do you care?”

“...I don’t know why you and Dipper can see us,” Josie said softly. “It’s hereditary in some way, probably, but beyond that? Just lucky, I guess.”

Stanley snorted.

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell anyone, Dipper included,” Josie said. “I guess…probably for the same reasons he didn’t tell anyone.”

“Which were?” Stanley asked, though some part of him felt like he already knew the answer.

“...he was scared people wouldn’t believe him,” Josie said softly. “Or they would think he was crazy. Or…or just be scared of him.”

Stanley drummed his fingers on the side of his chair thoughtfully. That sounded right. It felt right. That pair of pants was starting to feel a little more like something he had worn more recently.

He didn’t really want to pass down those pants to the kid. The metaphor was starting to get away from him.

“I don’t…” Stanley started, trailing off and then frowning. “I don’t want him to think he’s crazy.”

“He is crazy,” Josie said, with a fond sort of look on her face. “But not for that.”

“You know him?”

Josie nodded. “He approached me earlier in the summer, brimming with questions about ghosts. We’ve been something like friends ever since. Apparently he had been too scared to approach us before. Most ghosts outside of Gravity Falls aren’t…they aren’t sane.”

“Why are you sane, then?” Stanley asked.

“Well,” Josie said. “Because of you.”

Stanley frowned. “...that doesn’t seem right.”

Josie smiled again, and it was a little more real this time. “Not me, specifically, I guess. See, ghosts are…they’re mixed up. Dying’s stressful and confusing sometimes, and…we get caught in that loop. In that worst moment. We don’t know what’s happening, we don’t understand why everyone’s ignoring us, and most of the time we don’t even know we’re dead. We might…we might be stuck in that moment forever. But talking to us, coaxing us out of the loop…it’s possible. But we can’t do it ourselves. No one can. We need help. And a long time ago, you started talking to us.”

Stanley paused, processing this. It was an odd thing to imagine. He didn’t feel like a helpful person. Most of the vague emotions in the back of his mind, leftover remnants of a different person, felt something closer to disgust at the name of ‘Stanley Pines’, though he wasn’t sure if that was actually how he felt or just a contrarian attitude towards how everyone else–ghosts included–seemed to view him. He had a terrible feeling it was the former, though.

“You brought one ghost out of the loop,” Josie continued. “And then another. And then another. And then pretty soon, we could help each other. We weren’t alone in all our pain anymore. We…we made friends. Made our own families. I even have a boyfriend.”

“Heh,” Stanley said. “What, so, I’m like a celebrity to you people?”

Josie frowned. “It…well. See, it’s complicated. Things get…things still get fuzzy for us. The ghosts who met you knew some things about you, could probably point you out if they saw you a lot, but besides that…we thought you were the author.”

“Author?”

“Your brother.”

Stanley frowned. “...oh. Because we look alike.”

“No,” Josie shook her head. “Because you had the journal.”

Something wriggled in the back of Stanley’s head, like a worm on a hook. He didn’t feel up to biting it, though. It seemed like it might pierce right through him if he wasn’t careful.

“...why are you still here?” Stanley asked. “Don’t you…don’t you have a boyfriend? Or Dipper? You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not,” Josie said, taking a few hesitant steps forward and sitting on the ground, cross-legged on a ruined carpet. “But I care about Dipper. And he cares about you. A lot.”

“...why?” Stanley asked, because somehow he wasn’t convinced.

“Because you’re his family.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stanley argued. “Just because…just because you’re stuck with somebody doesn’t mean…it doesn’t mean anything.”

Josie tilted her head. “...maybe sometimes. But those kids love you to death. Do you know what happened?”

“Happened?” Stanley asked, and then paused. “Oh. You mean like why I’m all fucked up now?”

Josie winced. “...sure, yeah.”

“...Stanford said I saved the world,” Stanley said, and snorted. “Dramatic much?”

“You don’t believe him?”

Stanley paused, glancing down at his hands. They were wrinkled, old like Stanford’s, blue veins standing out against dried and cracked skin. Scars and irregularities lined them, especially around the knuckles and joints. Injuries that someone gets from fighting, and fighting hard and unfairly. He could feel other pains across his body, things he suspected weren’t just from something as benign as old age. His mind might not remember, but his body sure did. And it wasn’t forgiving anything.

This was not the body of a hero, and these were not the hands of someone who saved people. It felt far more violent than that.

“...no,” Stanley decided. “No, I don’t believe him.”

“Why would he lie?”

“To spare my feelings, probably, I mean, come on,” he looked back at Josie, trying for an unconcerned smile. “You’re the unbiased opinion here. Do I really seem like the kinda guy to save the world?”

“He watched you do it,” Josie said suddenly, upset with his flippance. “Dipper watched you take the bullet of all bullets to save the world, to save your family, to save the kids, to save Dipper even though, honestly, he’s been a shit lately because sometimes he can be so single-minded everything else falls away, but he’s a good kid and he was about to die-”

Josie cut herself off, trembling a little, shaking her head as if to clear some horrible image from her mind. “They…Stan, you saved the world because you love them. And you would do anything for them.”

“Even turning into a ghost?” Stan (it felt better than Stanley) asked, because a ‘ghost’ felt appropriate now. Maybe a person didn’t have to be dead to be a ghost.

Josie nodded. “Even that. But I don’t…I’m still dead. Nothing can change that. But I’m not…I’m not exactly a ghost. Not like this. I came back. It’s not quite the same as you, but I found my way. You can too, I think.”

“...and what if I don’t like what I come back to?” Stan asked quietly.

Josie made a quiet, strange noise, and swiped suspiciously at her eye. The dead could cry. Who knew?

(He did, at one time.)

“...I hope that’s not true,” Josie whispered, her voice wavering. “Because there’s a lot of people who love Stan Pines to hell and back. And they’d be heartbroken if they never got to see him again.”

Stan considered this carefully, rolling over the idea in his mind, of those kids and Stanford staring at him in desperation. But when he saw them in his head now, it wasn’t so much desperation as it was plain old grief.

Grief felt like a pair of pants that he had grown up with, and had grown with him, worn through and filled with rips and tears, but used nevertheless.

Maybe he needed a new pair of pants. And maybe he needed a new damn metaphor.

He heard something snuffle, and twisted his head around to see a fat little pig toddling into the room, making a beeline for Stan and sniffing at his feet. He picked his feet up with a scowl, just as Stanford and the kids returned. They all had strange expressions on their faces.

“Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said with a strange expression. “I-I need to tell you something-”

“Mabel,” Stan said, pushing the pig off as it jumped into his lap. “How many times have I told you to train Waddles out of that?! Are you letting him on the furniture again?!”

He hadn’t really known where the words were coming from until they were out of his system, but they set off a flood of word association (Waddles-pig-pterodactyl-punching-zombies-kids-family-protecting-) that would have been nonsense to anyone else, and it was still a little nonsense to him, but it felt right in a way nothing else really had yet.

And what felt even more right was the way the kids lit up like he had handed them a million bucks, new hope flooding their features like a dam had burst. Josie barked out a tearful laugh, like she had expected this all along. Stanford’s mouth dropped open–that was funny too, he was gonna catch flies like that.

Mabel burst into tears again, and Stan jumped. “Woah, sorry, okay, he can get on the furniture-”

“Grunkle Stan!” She wailed, cannonballing herself into his arms, closely followed by her brother. He only just managed to wrap his arms around both of them, and that felt even more right. Stanford’s mouth didn’t close, but the corners of his lips upturned slightly–a smile, if an uncomfortable one.

“Hi, kids,” he said, his voice in his throat. “Hi.”

Things moved fast, so fast they blurred, and Dipper couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised.

His big secret was, conveniently, upstaged by the apocalypse, Stan’s lost and found mind, and Stan’s own secret identical to Dipper’s own. He felt foolish for never really considering that Stan was the other medium, especially after Ford had resolutely proven himself unable to see

‘Medium’ a title that Stan would no doubt delight in–there was a lot of money to be made in mediumship, sometimes even one’s own TV show. And Dipper couldn’t fathom why he didn’t take advantage of it.

There was no time for that though; Dipper and Mabel slept for approximately a full day before they rose back to their feet again, their apocalypse hangovers mostly cured and ready to throw themselves fully into the task of helping Stan regain his memory and getting the shack back in fighting shape. Though he was recovering by leaps and bounds, there were still significant gaps, gaps that sent him frowning and staring off into space with a vacant and confused expression on his face.

It was scary to see, and Dipper hadn’t even had the chance to speak with him yet, one on one. There was too much to do.

Ford, mostly, tasked himself fully with aiding Stan’s recovery, all hard feelings cast aside as if they never existed. Dipper knew the feeling–when disaster and panic struck, stay busy, stay moving, stay swimming or you might drown in your own mind.

He had questions though, Dipper could see that.

Ford had sat patiently though Dipper explaining how he could see the dead, nodding along when it was appropriate and only interrupting to ask a few clarifying questions when something wasn’t clear. Dipper didn’t think he had ever seen Ford so still and patient. It was almost scary.

(“They, um,” Dipper had tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He focused on Mabel’s arm on his back and told himself not to think about jaws ripped off, handprint shaped bruises around throats, and opened wrists in bathtubs. “They look like how they did when they died, so if they died, you know, violently, they-”

His voice quit on him abruptly, and Ford nodded.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I can imagine it could be quite frightening.”

“...sometimes,” Dipper whispered, his mouth bone dry.)

A few days ago, he would have taken it like a bullet to the chest to see Ford pass him by without too much more than a “How are you? Are you doing okay?” but now, each time it happened he found himself more and more relieved.

Josie hung around too, tailed by Angela and Mike, with Angela and Mike taking on the task of helping Stan fill in gaps from his last thirty years in Gravity Falls. Apparently, the duo had shown up not too long after Stan had, and they had immediately made themselves at home in the Mystery Shack the second they realized Stan could see them.

“I think it’s a ‘you darn kids’ situation for sure, if you know what I mean,” Josie had told him. “But also I think Stan genuinely helped them a lot with adjusting to death, even if it was by accident.”

Josie had nearly refused to leave Dipper’s side, and he couldn’t even say he was annoyed about it. Mabel hadn’t pressed him on the issue. Stan was busy dealing with his own ghosts, literal and metaphorical. And Ford was running interference on all of it.

“Dipper?” Ford’s voice startled Dipper out of his thoughts, and he nearly dropped a box filled with anything broken he had found lying around. Whatever had reset the town had mostly fixed the shack, but they were still finding bits and pieces of broken things here and there. Usually they brought them to Stan to see if he wanted to bother with keeping them.

“Great Uncle Ford!” Dipper said, fighting to keep a squeak out of his voice. He failed. “Sorry, uh, what’s up?”

“Is your friend here?” Ford asked, leaning in and looking around, almost conspiratorially. “You know. Ms. Josie?”

Josie, standing behind Dipper, frowned. “Why does he say it like that? Like it’s a spy meetup?”

Dipper swallowed a smile. “Yeah, um, she’s right behind me. Did you want to ask her something, or…?”

“Oh, no, ah,” Ford suddenly looked awkward, clasping his hands behind his back. “I wanted to speak to you. Alone, if that’s alright. I’ve been meaning to since the end of Weirdmageddon, but I haven’t had the chance.”

“...about what?” Dipper asked.

“Well,” Ford coughed. “A few things. The matter of your clairvoyant abilities, for one.”

“Tell him you're a medium,” Josie said, and grinned. “Tell him you’re a small medium at large–”

“Sh!” Dipper hissed at her, and then turned red, embarrassed. “S-sorry, um, she said a joke she thinks is funny.”

“I am funny–”

“Can you give us a sec, Josie?” Dipper asked. “Please?”

Josie glanced at Ford, who stared straight through her, though Dipper could see him squinting, trying to catch any type of glimpse of the beyond. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Dipper nodded. “Thanks.”

She nodded, casting one more unsure look at Ford, and then backtracked to the kitchen. Dipper set the box down. “Am I in trouble?”

Ford blinked, looking shocked. He sat down on the stairs with a slight wince. “Why would you be in trouble?”

“...I dunno,” Dipper admitted. “Not telling you about the ghosts?”

Ford shook his head. “Of course I’m not upset at you for that. I can hardly blame you. It can’t…it can’t be an easy thing to carry alone. Especially when you felt no one would believe you or understand. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Dipper stared at the ground, ridiculously feeling like he was going to cry. “S’okay. It’s not your fault.”

“...you mentioned you thought it was me,” Ford said. “Why did you think I could see ghosts?”

“Josie told me that ghosts go a little crazy when they first die. Something about being trapped in their moment of death, I guess,” Dipper shrugged. “But you have to talk to them to pull them out of the spiral, you know? Tell them the moment’s over and they can start processing it. But if all the ghosts are insane, they can’t exactly do that. Josie said there was someone, a living person who could see ghosts like me, who had pulled some of them out of it, and then those ghosts started spreading it. That’s why the ghosts in Gravity Falls are just normal everyday people.”

Ford nodded, and Dipper glanced up to see his expression. He looked deep in thought, no doubt filing away the information to study later. “This is…somewhat contradictory to my own ghost research.”

“Oh yeah, uh,” Dipper smiled slightly. “I took some of my own notes, and I think some of those things aren’t even ghosts. I think they’re just weird creatures who behave like ghosts? Sometimes? I dunno, doesn’t matter. But when ghosts have really strong emotions, they can become visible and start interacting with the living. Usually it’s because they’re angry, but not always.”

“Fascinating,” Ford said, getting a slightly far off look in his eye. “I’ll need to design some kind of monitor, maybe I can–”

He paused, apparently snapping out of it. “I-I apologize. Now is not the time or place. You mentioned that you thought it was me. Was it because of my research?”

“Sort of,” Dipper said. “Also, some of the other ghosts I talked to in town said they remembered a man with a journal. It’s a little hazy for them.”

“Ah,” Ford nodded. “I can see why you went to that conclusion.”

“Yeah, but…” Dipper sighed, guilt eating away at him all over again. “Then you came back, and I never even asked if you could see them. If I had, I could have solved all this so quickly. The answer was right under my nose the whole time and I was too busy being a stupid jerk to see it.”

“Dipper,” Ford said, his voice almost stern. “I’ve met a lot of stupid jerks in my time. Dimension 3^9A-H was only filled with stupid jerks. It was literally called the Stupid Jerk Dimension. So believe me when I tell you that you are neither stupid nor a jerk.”

“I feel like one,” Dipper said miserably.

“...I know the feeling,” Ford said quietly, stretching his legs out with another small wince.

Strange; Dipper had never really seen the markers of Ford’s age besides his gray hair and wrinkles before. But they seemed laid bare now. His stiffness, the exhaustion behind his eyes, the liver spots and blue veins in his six-fingered hands that look almost identical to Stan’s. White scar tissue littered his knuckles, and there was a patch of shiny, healed flesh on the back of his hand.

For the first time, he didn’t look at all like Dr. Stanford Pines, the author of the journals. Now he just looked like a grunkle.

“But you’re not a bad person,” Ford said quietly. “You’ve made some mistakes, I’ll agree with you there. But you’ve taken every opportunity to apologize and make up for it whenever and wherever you can. Stanley…Stanley told me that counts for something. Perhaps I should heed his advice.”

“...maybe,” Dipper said. “...thanks, Great Uncle Ford. That…that helps a lot.”

“...you mentioned that you had been taking notes? On the ghosts?” Ford asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Dipper shrugged. “To keep everything straight, I guess. I didn’t want to write it in your journal because there was already a lot going on there, and I wanted to keep it all straight somewhere else.”

“I see,” Ford said, and looked like he was about to say something else, and then stopped, suddenly unsure.

Dipper picked at a scab on his arm. Somehow he knew exactly what Ford had wanted to ask. “...did you…you can see it, I mean, if you want.”

Ford smiled. It was tiny, but it was there. “Only if you’re willing to share it.”

Dipper nodded, darting upstairs and returning less than a minute later, armed with his battered notebook. After a moment of hesitation, he handed it over to Ford. “It’s not, like, scientific or anything, so don’t get too excited. Just, you know. Notes. Some drawings.”

Ford flipped through the notebook, taking in each page with an expression so interested and so serious that it made Dipper nervous. “And these…” he paused on the page of Constance, gesturing to her. “These are the ghosts? All of them?”

“Um, I don’t think all of them,” Dipper said. “But definitely a lot of them.”

“Which one is Josie?”

“Oh, Josie, um–” Dipper flipped through the notebook, stopping on a page with her face grinning back at them. “That’s her. I dunno when she died. It was after 2002, though. She choked on Chipackerz.”

“I see,” Ford nodded. “Is that why you have such an aversion to them?”

“A little,” Dipper said.

“...it’s very nice to see your friend,” Ford said. “Do tell her she seems absolutely lovely and I’m glad she’s been a great companion to you. This is a very impressive drawing, Dipper. As well as the notes. You’ve shown a keen observational eye yet again.”

“Oh,” Dipper said, smiling a bit at the praise. “Thanks, I guess. I was just writing and drawing what I saw.”

“With great detail and precision,” Ford said. “It’s very impressive.”

He continued flipping through the journal, frowning slightly when he came upon a ghoul. “What’s this? It doesn’t look like the others.”

“I…” Dipper frowned. “I don’t really know. Not completely, anyway. They came out of the portal, back when you first came back. And then they started hanging around the shack. I was just calling them ghouls, because they didn’t act like ghosts. They just…they just stared and screamed, mostly. And then when…when the rift broke…”

Dipper trailed off, and Ford waited.

“When the rift broke,” Dipper said quietly. “They just…they flooded out. There were so many, and they were just screaming all the time, circling the Fearamid or wailing in the woods. There was one at the mall, I managed to talk to it, and…they’re Bill’s. All of them were Bill’s.”

“Bill’s?” Ford looked confused, and then he stiffened. “You mean…beings that he’s killed?”

Dipper nodded, and Ford blanched.

“When Weirdmageddon ended, they…grabbed Bill’s form, as it popped out of Stan’s head,” Dipper said. “And dragged him away. Kicking and screaming and everything. Bill hadn’t been able to see the ghouls before, but I think…I think he saw them at the end.”

Ford looked horrified, and he dragged a hand down his face slowly. “God,” he croaked. “God.”

“Great Uncle Ford–”

“I owe you an apology,” Ford said. “I owe so many people apologies, but I’m so sorry for putting you in danger, dragging you all into my conflict with Bill. If I hadn’t been so foolish when he first came to me–”

“We all got tricked by Bill,” Dipper said. “Except Stan, weirdly enough. He’s good at lying to people. It wasn’t your fault the world almost ended. Bill did that. You were trying to fix it.”

Ford didn’t quite look like he believed Dipper.

“I mean,” Dipper said. “I don’t blame Mabel for it. So it’d be a little dumb if I blamed you.”

Ford chuckled weakly. “I…suppose that tracks. Thank you, Dipper, that means a lot. But I wanted to apologize for offering the apprenticeship. It’s an unfair burden to place on you, especially when you were already carrying so much. I was so blinded by my determination to make the most of my research after returning home that it made me forget you’re still a child.”

Dipper frowned, offended. “I’m almost thirteen!”

“That’s a child,” Ford said. “For several more years, you’ll still be a child. Try to enjoy it, will you?”

“...yeah,” Dipper said slowly. “Y-yeah, okay. And…and I’m not angry with you. I forgive you.”

Ford nodded, some invisible weight lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you, Dipper,” he half-whispered. “Thank you.”

“And…” Dipper said, pausing for a moment, unsure if it was his place to say. “I think Stan forgives you too.”

Ford winced. “I…Stanley and I…it’s complicated. I had no idea he was keeping this secret from me, and for so long, and…and I can’t imagine why he would feel he couldn’t tell me. It may be too late–”

“You should talk to him,” Dipper said, a little hypocritically, but that was fine. “He…he probably didn’t tell you for the same reasons I didn’t tell Mabel. Not because he always hated you or didn’t trust you. He was just scared, and he didn’t know what to say.”

Ford pursed his lips, but looked thoughtful. “I…thank you, Dipper. I…I supposed Stanley and I are long overdue for a conversation.”

Their conversation ended there, slightly awkwardly, but later that night, when Dipper and Mabel were supposed to be asleep, Dipper crept down for water, and found himself pausing outside the living room, hearing Stan and Ford speaking in low, hushed tones.

Neither of them sounded angry or upset, and when Dipper peeked around the corner, there was a distinct air of relief on both their faces, decades of secrets finally being allowed to breathe and heal in the summer night air.

He crept back upstairs before either of them noticed him.

He didn’t need to know everything said. He knew enough.

“Jeez, this is terrible,” Stan grumbled, reaching for the remote, but Dipper snatched it away.

“This is important stuff for Ducktective!” He said. “The first few episodes are a little slow, but they have a lot of lore and character introductions, and it picks up really quick. You love this show.”

Stan frowned, looking doubtful. “This is a kids’ show.”

“You said it had a lot of hidden depths,” Dipper promised. “You got really up in arms when Ford and I were playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons in the living room and interrupting your viewing of the season finale.”

Stan blinked, his expression looking foggy for a second, and then grinned. “Heh. I cheated that dice throw, by the way.”

Dipper sighed. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Aw, Stan and little Stan,” a new voice said, and Dipper smiled slightly when he saw Mike and Angela grinning at him from the doorway.

“Great,” Stan grumbled. “Dumb and dumber.”

“You would be so bored without us,” Mike told him.

“I’d have a lot more peace without you two,” Stan said, shaking his fist at them. “Can I get ten minutes without you two bothering me?!”

“He’s always been like this, by the way,” Angela told Dipper with a grin. “A grumpy old man even before his eyesight and hearing went to hell. I think he was born crotchety.”

“We have thirty years of embarrassing stories about him,” Mike grinned. “Oh, my god, I cannot wait to share them all with you–”

“OUT!” Stan roared, throwing a slipper at Mike. It sailed right through his head. “Go blow up a lightbulb or something, let me watch my show!”

“Fine!” Angela held her hands up in surrender, the picture of innocence. “Since you’re recovering or whatever, we shall take our leave. Enjoy your show, Stan and little Stan.”

“Ducktective dies at the end!” Mike said quickly, cackling as he was dragged away by Angela.

Stan gave Dipper a startled look, and Dipper shook his head. “Nah, he doesn’t. Or, uh, maybe he does. It’s a mystery! Guess you gotta watch to find out.”

“Hmph,” Stan said, settling back in.

It was strange, the house empty except for them and the ghosts. Soos and Wendy were busy at home, Ford was chasing down some leftover remnants from Weirdmageddon, and Mabel was in town with Candy and Grenda, making the most of what time they had left. Even Josie was out with Victor, doing whatever it was ghosts did on dates. It sounded like the setup to a punchline.

The house was eerily quiet.

“Ducktective will return after a few messages from our sponsors!” The TV said, and Stan stood up, scratching his butt shamelessly.

“Well, I’m bored with nothing better to do,” he said. “Want a snack during commercials?”

“Okay,” Dipper said, feeling like the elephant in the room immediately followed them to the kitchen.

Stan grabbed two soda cans, handing one to Dipper. “I think I shook one of these to prank Ford. So, uh. Be careful.”

“I’ll risk it,” Dipper said, and drummed his fingers on the table, feeling incredibly out of place. “So…Mike and Angela, huh?”

“What about ‘em?”

“...how long have they been hanging around?” Dipper asked.

“...a while,” Stan said quietly. “Their car slipped on ice on their way to do some teenage shenanigans, not far from the shack. So…I wanna say a month, maybe a month and a half after I got here. I made the mistake of being friendly, and now they won’t leave.”

Dipper smiled weakly. “Friendly without being paid doesn’t seem like you.”

“Eh, well, sometimes the dead make better conversation partners than a mirror,” Stan said, grabbing cookies out of the pantry and setting them on the table. Neither made a move to open their sodas. Neither went for the cookies. The TV blared some commercials about an electric knife that definitely wouldn’t chop your fingers off like in a horror movie.

The elephant trumpeted.

“...did you know?” Dipper asked, almost in a whisper.

Stan didn’t ask him to clarify. “...not completely. Suspected a while back. At the hospital, after Shermie had a heart attack.”

“So you saw the man with no jaw?” Dipper asked.

Stan nodded, looking completely unaffected by the memory. “Yeah. Sorry, kid, he was a gnarly one. You shouldn’t have had to see it.”

Dipper shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me? That you could see them too?”

“‘Cause I wasn’t sure,” Stan said. “Your parents told me you were a nervous kid before you and your sister came down here–”

“They said that?!”

“-so I told myself, ‘Hey, just nerves, he’ll grow out of it’,” Stan sighed. “Seemed easier than facing the truth, I guess. Stuff kept happening, though. You’d shut down if one of them wandered near us. You knew things you shouldn’t. By the time Ford came home, I was pretty certain.”

“And why didn’t you tell me then?”

Stan smiled ruefully. “Kid,” he said, with no venom whatsoever. “You hated me.”

Dipper felt sick. “I-I did not.”

“S’okay if you did,” Stan shrugged. “I don’t blame you.”

“I’m sorry-” Dipper started, but Stan waved him off.

“No more apologies, okay? I’ve heard enough from Ford to last a lifetime. Especially when you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Stan took a cookie and bit into it, almost defiant.

“...but you were about to say something on the Shacktron,” Dipper said. “Weren’t you? Before we went into the Fearamid.”

Stan's expression became stony. “...kid, I’ll be honest. I didn’t think we were coming out of that.”

Dipper felt sick.

“I figured if we were gonna die, maybe come back as confused spookums, I didn’t want any lies sitting between us,” Stan shrugged. “I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Dipper said nothing for a long moment, the idea turning over in his mind, filling it up with what-if, what-if, what-if that he was doing his best to ignore.

“...guess I hoped that if I was right, and you were like me, you could wish it away,” Stan said quietly. “Ignore it well enough so they left you alone. I didn’t wanna tell you about it, least of all because you might’ve thought I lost my marbles. Talking about them, looking at them, letting them speak…it gives them power. Gives them a lot of power. And sometimes that’s good. Most of ‘em in this town are perfectly nice people, they deserve to speak. But there’s…there're others who aren’t quite so friendly. Others who shouldn’t.”

“How long have you seen them?” Dipper asked.

“My whole life. Haven’t you?” Stan asked. “It wasn’t so bad at first, for a while. Glass Shard Beach didn’t have many ghosts. Guess people led shockingly fulfilling lives there, I dunno. There was one kid though, I don’t remember his name. He lived a few buildings down from us, and one night the whole thing went up in flames. He was the only one that died. Smoke inhalation. His parents left almost immediately after, but the kid…he stuck around.”

“He was nice,” Stan shrugged. “Sometimes if Ford had a nerd thing to do or something, or if I was grounded and he wasn’t, we’d play Go Fish. The kid always had to hide behind a screen because he couldn’t pick up cards, and we just had to use the honor system to make sure neither of us were cheating–”

“Oh my god,” Dipper breathed, remembering the strange conversation he had stumbled upon in Stan’s head, a million years ago. “The memory. I-I didn’t know who that was, I thought it was just Ford later on, but…it was your ghost. It was always ghosts.”

Stan looked confused. “...what?”

“It’s…” Dipper shook his head. “Nothing, I’ll explain later. What happened to the ghost boy?”

Stan shrugged. “He disappeared. Guess he just got sick of me. I dunno. It doesn’t really matter, I guess.”

“...why didn’t…?” Dipper said, and trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the question.

Stan looked at him expectedly. “Don’t trail off now, I’m finally feeling honest.”

“...why didn’t you ever use it to make money?” Dipper asked. “Being able to see them. You could’ve been a medium. And you wouldn’t have even been scamming people with it.”

“Kid, I scam for the love of the craft,” Stan chuckled, but there was something nervous and cornered in his eye, the rabbit that would bite and run if you tried to grab it.

“Still,” Dipper said slowly. “Seems like you could have made a lot of money out of it. Some mediums even get so famous they have TV shows, even if they’re terrible at faking it.”

“I was busy starting my own highly successful companies! I was traveling the world! I was doing great!” Stan argued. “No time for any of that nonsense.”

Dipper said nothing. He didn’t feel like he needed to. He heard Ducktective on in the living room, and neither of them got up to see it.

“...it’s just that,” Stan finally said, something haunted lurking behind his gaze like a ghoul behind a chair. “There’s a lot of world to see out there. Not all of it’s nice. Sometimes you stumble into things that you…wish you didn’t see. Ghosts that get real mad, real aggressive. Living and dead ones. There comes a point, I guess, where you need to stop looking at them or you’ll go crazier than they ever were.”

Dipper wondered what kind of ghosts someone might see after a lifetime, and found he didn’t want to know the answer. “...but when you came to Gravity Falls,” he said softly. “You started talking to them again.”

“...wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart,” Stan said, voice heavy. “Just desperation. Started asking them if they knew where I could find the other journals. If they knew anything about interdimensional portals, dumb as it was. If they knew anyone who could help me. At first it was like talking to broken records. But…it was like home, I guess. The kid I talked to back in Jersey had been real confused until I started talking, offering to play with him. I figured maybe the same method would work for the Gravity Falls ghosts. And wouldn’t you know it, I was right.”

“None of it mattered, though,” Stan shrugged. “They couldn’t help me. So I quit talking to them. All for nothing.”

“...but it wasn’t for nothing,” Dipper said. “You helped them. You helped them remember themselves. Remember who and what they were. You’re the reason I haven’t spent this summer terrified and miserable.”

“I didn’t–” Stan frowned, not looking nearly as pleased with this as he should have been. “Your friend Josie told me that. But it doesn’t…I wasn’t trying to help anyone.”

“You were trying to help Ford.”

“That’s different,” Stan shook his head. “I didn’t…”

“...you still helped them,” Dipper said. “You helped them a lot. That has to count for something, right? Mike and Angela still hang around here after thirty years. I don’t think that’s just because they want to break things.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stan said, but he had a distant look on his face. “...I’m sorry, Dipper.”

Dipper blinked. “What? Why?”

“You’re right,” Stan said. “I should have told you. I should have told you I could see them the second I suspected. Maybe we could have avoided all this.”

“Grunkle Stan–”

Stan blinked, something flashing behind his eyes, something gained. He grinned, a little melancholy, but it was still a grin. “Hey, did you know I met you and Mabel the day you were born?”

“What?” Dipper blinked, surprised. “No one ever told me that.”

“It’s true,” Stan tapped the side of his forehead. “Just remembered it and everything. It’s a good one. I’ve been getting so many downers lately, this is a nice change of pace.”

“...what happened?” Dipper asked.

“Oh,” Stan’s grin widened. “I broke so many traffic laws getting down to California. Did you know that if you speed and merge and change lanes without looking, you can get to Piedmont in under five hours? I evaded the cops twice!”

Dipper laughed, unable to help himself at the image of a slightly younger Stan treating the freeway like a racing game.

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to outdrive the cops when you get your learner’s permit,” Stan said. “Anyway, I finally got there, and you two were already a few hours old, all done screaming, which was nice. Shermie and Nora were there too, they got there way before me. Honestly, I…I hadn’t really kept in touch with your parents. I didn’t even know they were having twins until I got there.”

“And obviously Sherm wanted to discuss it, or whatever, ask how that made me feel, the sap,” Stan shrugged, and for a moment something hurt came back into his eyes before the memory took over once more, shiny and good. “And I met you two, and the first thing my genius self says is ‘are they supposed to be that wrinkly?’”

Dipper glared, pretending to be offended. “I wasn’t wrinkly.”

“You looked like a fleshy raisin.”

“Wha-ew, why would you say that?”

“It’s true!” Stan shrugged. “Babies are wrinkly, who knew? Mabel was already awake and looking around, making noise like nobody’s business, real nice foreshadowing to what she’d be like later on. You were quiet, though. Just staring at me. You got the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck for a second, did you know that? Your lips were still a little purple. And I…”

Stan took a shuddering breath, so sudden that it almost startled Dipper. “I’d just…I’d seen a lot of death. It was hard not to imagine the worst case scenario. See all the opportunities where something horrible happened.”

Dipper went quiet. He knew a little bit about his near suffocation, as if being born wasn’t hard enough. His dad had told him it wasn’t that bad with a slightly uncomfortable look in his eye. His mother never talked about it at all.

“They let me hold you two,” Stan said. “For some reason. Like I wasn’t running off of two hours of sleep. And it just…” he shook his head. “For a second, when I had you two, every horrible thing that had ever happened didn’t matter anymore. The things waiting back for me in Oregon, all the ghosts, memories, and regrets, just melted away for a second. All that existed was you and Mabel.”

He got a faraway look in his eyes, lost in the memory. Dipper let him stay there, waiting for him to make his way back. Finally, Stan blinked, and made an unsubtle movement to wipe his eyes. “T-then,” he said, smiling impishly. “Sherm wanted to hold you two, and we got in a big fight about it. Your mom kicked us both out of the room eventually.”

Dipper smiled. “That sounds like mom.”

“...I knew maybe even then,” Stan said quietly. “I dunno. Just got a feeling in my chest about you. Something about the way you were staring, looking at everything, even with no one in the room but family. And I knew…I knew you were a fighter. You were born doing it, kicking and giving death the ol’ finger, morbid as that sounds. Fighting not just because you had to, but because it was in your blood. You were never gonna give up, never make it easy for the other guy. Ghosts or not, you’ve always been stronger than you knew. Brave as hell. Braver than I’ve ever been.”

Dipper was struck silent, staring at Stan. “I never…” he trailed off for a second. “I never really thought of myself as brave.”

“Who else would face down Bill Cipher with a switchblade?” Stan asked.

“...an idiot?” Dipper replied.

“Nah, a fighter,” Stan said. “You’re a fighter, kid. Always have been. You’re a Pines, after all.”

Something welled up in Dipper’s eyes, and he swiped at them quickly. The house was dustier than he remembered. “...thanks, Grunkle Stan. Love you.”

Stan reached out, tugging down the brim of Dipper’s hat to make him smile. “Love you too, kid.”

“...do you think you helped the kid move on?” Dipper asked suddenly. “Back in New Jersey. He didn’t get sick of you. He…I think maybe he just moved on to whatever comes next.”

Stan looked surprised, like he hadn’t considered this. “I…huh. I dunno.”

“...maybe we can help them even more than we realized,” Dipper said quietly.

“...yeah,” Stan said. “Maybe. Thanks, Dipper.”

“...do you wanna make stove s’mores?” Dipper asked.

Stan looked perplexed. “Stove s’mores? What’s that?”

“Don’t worry,” Dipper said, hopping off his chair. “I’ll show you. You’ll like them, I promise.”

“...alright, kid,” Stan nodded. “Sounds good.”

Stan cracked open his soda, and it immediately exploded on him.

Dipper laughed until tears ran down his face and his ribs stung. They stuffed themselves on stove s’mores until their stomachs hurt.

Josie had told Dipper that Deb needed a favor, her face grave. And Deb had told Dipper her request in a halting, nervous voice, as if she had already convinced herself he’d decline it.

He didn’t decline, even as his stomach twisted with fear and nervousness.

He knocked twice on someone’s door, and stepped away, wringing his hands behind his back. Deb frowned, seeing his expression. “If you want to change your mind, I won’t be upset. I get it, it’s a lot to ask–”

“N-no, I…” Dipper took a breath, feeling slightly dizzy. “I can do this.”

Deb opened her mouth to say something else, but the door opened, and Wendy Corduroy stood before them both. She grinned. “Hey, Dipper! What’s up?”

“Oh, not a lot now,” Dipper shrugged, feeling slightly more at ease with her relaxed greeting. “Mostly a lot of party planning. Mabel’s really excited for tomorrow.”

“How’s Stan doing?”

“Good! Really good,” Dipper said, glad to be telling the truth. “He’s remembered the entire summer, and most of his childhood, and he’s not really spacing out like he was before. I tried to tell him that he paid you twenty bucks an hour and gave you a four hour lunch break, but he told me if I tried that again he was gonna put jelly in my pillowcase.”

Wendy sighed. “Eh, worth a shot.”

“I actually, um,” Dipper coughed. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a second?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Wendy stepped out with an easy-going smile. Deb couldn’t take her eyes off of her, something close to aching in her expression. “What’s up?”

“So…” Dipper took another breath, suddenly dizzy all over again. “Jeez, um, I dunno where to start–”

“You okay, dude?” Wendy asked, a little concerned. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Deb said softly. “It’s alright.”

“No, um,” Dipper took one more long breath, forcing himself to focus. “I can do this.”

Wendy blinked. “Do what?”

“...do you believe in ghosts?” Dipper asked.

Wendy paused, looking surprised, and then nodded with a shrug. “I mean, yeah, guess so. They’re in the journal, and everything else Ford wrote in there has been true so far. Plus, you said you fought one at Pacifica’s place, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Dipper said, glad that they were on the same page with the existence of them. “Have you ever seen one?”

Wendy shook her head. “Nah. They’re probably not super common or something.”

“They’re, um…” Dipper took a breath, edging towards a secret that had only now started to become public. And even then, it had stayed within his family. Until now. “They’re a lot more common than you think, actually.”

“Oh, really?” Wendy grinned. “That’s sick. Are they in one of the other journals? More about where to find them?”

“No, because…because Ford can’t see them. He can’t see most of them, anyway. Almost no one can,” Dipper paused, and then took one more final breath before he pushed it out in one go: “But I can.”

Wendy blinked. “...what?”

“I-I can see ghosts,” Dipper said. “I always have. I don’t know why, but they just look like any other person, except that you can see how they died, usually. They don’t usually know where they are and what’s happened to them, but the ones in Gravity Falls are sane and stuff because they talked to each other to ground themselves. Stan can see them too. I-I think it’s hereditary, but, um….” he trailed off ungracefully.

Wendy stared at him for a long moment, and Dipper hoped he wouldn’t throw up.

Then, her face split into a grin. “Are you serious?”

“...yes?” Dipper squeaked.

“Dude!” Wendy laughed, shoving him good-naturedly. “You’ve been holding out on me! That’s so cool!”

Dipper blinked. “You believe me?”

“We spent a week fighting the guy on the one dollar bill who was trying to end the world,” Wendy said. “Duh, I believe that you can see ghosts. That’s so sick! Do they talk to you? Are there any cool ghosts?”

“Uh,” Dipper shrugged. “I made friends with one named Josie. She said she knew you.”

“Oh my god!” Wendy’s mouth dropped open. “Josie? Dark brown hair?”

Dipper nodded, and Wendy looked even more amazed. “Dude! She used to babysit me when I was little! She was terrible at it!”

Deb laughed. “Oh, she was. She let her do whatever she wanted.”

“Is she alright? Is she chill with being a ghost?” Wendy asked.

“She’s, um, fine I guess,” Dipper said. “She’s been helping Stan a lot too. A lot of the ghosts have, since they know him from being in town for so long.”

“That’s gotta be one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard,” Wendy said. “Oh my god, we should go to the graveyard, see if there’s anyone there–”

“There’s a ghost here right now, actually,” Dipper interrupted, nervous feeling back all over again.

Wendy’s grin got even bigger. “Wait, really? Who?”

Dipper said nothing, his heart pounding in his ears. Wendy chuckled, looking a little worried. “You good, man? You got really pale there all of a sudden–”

“Do you remember when I came to your house,” Dipper said. “And I mentioned your mom? And I said Robbie told me about her?”

Wendy’s smile stiffened, and she said nothing.

“...Robbie didn’t tell me anything,” Dipper said, his voice hoarse. “I…I saw her.”

Wendy’s smile disappeared. “...that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You don’t…” Wendy shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wendy–”

“Stop,” she said, so firmly he stepped back. “Stop it right now, I don’t have to sit here and listen to you do this, like this is some joke to you, like it’s fine to just say things because, what? It’s funny? What do you want–”

“Her name is Deb!” Dipper blurted out.

Wendy froze, mid-rant, mouth still half open.

“Her name is Deb,” Dipper said, remembering details Deb had told him, proof that he wasn’t lying. “Her name is Deb, and she looks exactly like you except for her black hair instead of red hair. She would say ‘shoes off’ when you came home. She liked seventies music, yacht rock mostly. She was a great cook but a terrible baker. She liked board games but not card games. Wendy, I’m not lying. I met her. I talked to her. She helped us during Weirdmageddon. She was with you nearly the whole time.”

Wendy stared at him, and Deb stepped forward. Wendy made no acknowledgement of her.

“...she’s here, too,” Dipper said, so quiet he barely even heard himself.

“...where?” Wendy asked, her voice small, and desperate for any glint of hope.

“Here, sweetheart,” Deb said, her voice a whisper. “I’m right here.”

“She…she was with you through Weirdmageddon, until I came around,” Dipper said quietly. “She and Josie left, and they helped a lot of ghosts come back to themselves. She was there at the end, right next to you. She’s been there the whole time, and she told me…she told me she was still herself because you would talk to her. Remind her who she was, why she was hanging around. She was sticking around for you.”

“I-I…” Wendy’s cool girl facade cracked like glass, and she wiped her face with a loud sniffle. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really either, to be honest,” Dipper said quietly. “But…you’re looking right at her.”

Wendy blinked, squinting, and for a second, it almost looked like a flicker of recognition passed over her eyes. “...mom?”

“Hi, baby,” Deb said, her voice wobbling. “I miss you.”

Wendy said nothing, but her eyes widened slightly. Dipper paused, confused. “Can you…see her?”

Wendy shook her head, bewildered. “No, but I…it’s like there should be someone right there but…and I can almost hear something, like…like someone’s whispering in the back of a room. It happened at home a lot, and I just…I just assumed it was nothing. Or I was crazy. I dunno.”

“You’re not crazy,” Dipper said. “She’s…she was there the whole time. She was there for you the whole time.”

“I-I don’t…how is this possible?” Wendy breathed.

“It’s Gravity Falls,” Dipper said with a half-shrug. “Stranger things have happened. She, um. She wanted me to pass along a message.”

“Wendy?” Deb asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Wendy said nothing, holding completely still, as if she might shatter if she moved. “Is she…is she still there?”

Dipper nodded.

“...I…” Deb swallowed, and Dipper could see tears sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, you’re so grown up. It happened right in front of me. How did it go by so fast?”

“She said, um,” Dipper said, feeling a little awkward about the whole arrangement. But this wasn’t about him. This was for Wendy, and it was for Deb. “She said you’re so grown up.”

Wendy made a choked noise, covering her mouth in shock, slowly sinking to sit on her front porch step.

“She told me to tell you that she was there after the funeral, watching,” Dipper said. “A-and she heard your question, after everyone else had left. And…and her answer is ‘all the time, every day’.”

Wendy hiccuped, and a sob wrenched its way out of her. Deb stepped forward, kneeling in front of her daughter, her eyes sparkling with tears. She took a shuddering breath, reaching out slowly until her hand was on Wendy’s cheek. “Hey, baby.”

Dipper had warned her that it was unlikely that she could make Wendy see her after all these years, that the buildup of her emotions might not be strong enough. It was hard to do. Josie had less than a second of corporeality, and she hadn’t even been visible. Just solid enough to pull a lever.

But Wendy gasped, the blood draining from her face. “M-mom?!”

Deb split into a tearful grin. “Oh, my god, I missed you so much.”

“I don’t–what–?!” Wendy looked between Dipper and Deb wildly. “How…how is this possible?!”

Dipper shrugged again, suddenly feeling like he was intruding.

But Deb paid him no mind. “Wendy, listen,” she said urgently. “I…I’m so sorry for leaving you. I would never do that on purpose, and every single day I miss you, your dad, and the boys so much I couldn’t even stand it. But you…you kept me around. I got to see you and your brothers grow up. I got to see you grow into a beautiful, kind, strong, and trouble-making young woman you are now. And…and if nothing else, I’m grateful for that.”

“Mom,” Wendy said, her voice breaking.

“Sh, sh,” Deb said softly, grabbing Wendy’s hands the best she could. “Just…just keep doing what you’re doing. Keep growing into the person you’re becoming. Go to college, or do whatever you know is right for you. Find someone who makes you happy to be alive every single day and don’t settle for less. Be nice to your brothers, even when it’s hard, and try to go easy on your dad, okay? Whatever you do next, whatever you choose to make of your life, I know it’ll be incredible. Look at you! You helped save the world! I am…I am so lucky to be your mom. I don’t think I’ll ever know what great thing I did to deserve a wonderful daughter like you, but I’m so, so grateful for you. I loved every second of it. I need you to know that.”

Wendy nodded, unable to keep herself from sobbing. “O-okay, okay, I-I…oh, my god.”

“And Wendy?” Deb smiled through her tears, her own voice becoming hitched. “I love you. I love you so much. I always will. There’s not a force in this world or the next that will ever, ever erase that. It’ll be here when the sun blinks out, and for a billion trillion years after that. Do you understand?”

Wendy managed to smile back, her face still half-filled with disbelief. “I…yeah. I…I love you too, mom.”

Deb sniffled, nearly weeping, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against Wendy’s, unspeakable relief on her face. The sun must have shifted, in some strange way, because suddenly Dipper was blinking, squinting his eyes against sudden brightness.

But when the brightness dissipated, and Dipper blinked away the spots from his eyes, Deb was gone.

“Wha–?!” Wendy stood up. “Dipper, where did she go?!”

“I don’t–” Dipper looked around wildly. “Deb? Deb!”

No answer, except a distant flock of crows fleeing at his shout.

“Did–” Wendy looked mortified. “Did I do something wrong?! Is she mad?!”

“No, no, there’s no way,” Dipper said. “It’s like she–”

He paused, suddenly a little dizzy. “I think…that was supposed to happen.”

“What?”

“Ghosts…” Dipper swallowed hard. “Ghosts have a reason for sticking around. They just don’t always know what it is. I think…I think your mom knew her reason. And…and she got to complete it.”

Wendy looked shocked, raising her hands to cover her mouth, rendered speechless. But she didn’t look as though she had lost her mother all over again. She was still crying, but it wasn’t grief-filled, painful sobs.

When she pulled her hands away from her mouth, she was almost smiling.

“...what was your question?” Dipper asked. “The one she answered.”

Wendy took a shaking breath, trying to steel herself. “...I asked if she was proud of me.”

Dipper blinked several times, his own eyes suddenly suspiciously wet.

“...thank you, Dipper,” Wendy whispered. “I…thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, his voice a little cracked. “Yeah, anytime.”

“You sure you got everything?” Stan asked, very badly pretending to be nonchalant as he shoved the kids’ suitcases in the car. It was still mostly dark outside, and the woods were eerily quiet. It was still cold, enough so that Dipper wished he had one of Mabel’s sweaters to keep warm. But they were packed away. All of it was, and anything that couldn’t fit in their suitcases was reluctantly tossed or packed up, to await reanimation for the following summer.

“I checked,” Josie said. “Nothing but chewed pens and glitter.”

Dipper frowned. “I don’t need you going through my room.”

“I sure am glad I can’t smell it,” Josie said brightly, and Stan laughed.

“Let me grab the peanut gallery,” Stan said, motioning vaguely towards Mabel and Ford, who were equally distracted by a large and strange looking caterpillar. “Don’t go nowhere.”

“Sure,” Dipper said.

“I’ll tie him down if I have to,” Josie promised.

“Calm down,” Stan said, but didn’t look particularly irritated, making his way over to Mabel and Ford.

Josie whistled, staring at the slowly rising sun. “So. Summer’s over, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, nodding. “It’s…weird. It feels like it went by too fast, but also…it also feels like I’ve been here forever, you know?”

“I do know,” Josie said. “Better than you think.”

Dipper let them lapse into silence for just a moment before it started to make him nervous. “...are you mad at me? About Deb?”

Dipper had told her about Deb’s disappearance as soon as he had seen her. Josie had looked a little sad, but not particularly surprised by it.

“...no,” Josie said. “I’m not. I miss her, but…but she asked you to do it. She must have known what she was doing. And that’s the goal, isn’t it? To move on. It’s not terrible being a ghost in Gravity Falls–God knows it could be hell–but it’s…it’s not ideal. It’s like a bus station. You’re not supposed to be there forever, even if you’re there with your friends. Eventually you need to go to the next stop.”

“Hm,” Dipper said, considering the analogy. It didn’t sound too bad. Maybe even exciting. “How’s Victor?”

Josie grinned. “Aw, aren’t you sweet?”

Dipper felt his face grow hot. “Mabel wanted me to ask. She was upset that she couldn’t be a ghost matchmaker–”

“You tell her we’re doing just fine,” Josie said, and leaned closer with a grin. “And on that note, tell her that Ethel told Cassandra who told me that she saw McGucket and your uncle having a pretty intense and serious conversation the other day.”

“Ford?” Dipper asked, confused when Josie nodded mischievously. “Talking about what?”

Josie blinked, looking at him blankly. “...buddy.”

“...OH!” Dipper practically shouted. “They–really?!”

“You never picked up on that?” Josie asked incredulously. “Seriously?”

“I had a lot going on!” Dipper protested. “How do you pick up on these things?!”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Josie said, and laughed when Dipper groaned. “Well, figure it out for Pacifica at least.”

“Wha–” Dipper blinked, and felt his face turn red again. It only got worse when Josie started laughing harder. “She doesn’t–I mean I don’t–you’re crazy.”

“Sorry, little fella,” Josie said. “Maybe next summer.”

The mention of a ‘next summer’ suddenly made Dipper feel a little ill. He would be back again, no doubt, even if he had to walk to Gravity Falls himself, but he wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him then. “Will…will you be here? Next summer?”

Josie’s smile disappeared, and after a moment, she knelt down to match Dipper’s height. When most adults did that, it felt condescending. He hated being reminded how short he was. But a handful of people made it feel like they were lowering themselves not to talk down to him, but to look him in the eye, give him their full attention.

Josie was one of those people. Stan was another.

“...I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “It feels…I don’t know when my bus is coming. No one does. Both the living and the dead. But I think…I think it feels closer. Nothing really sticks around forever. We’re all gonna leave eventually. I wish I could give you an exact date. I’m sorry.”

“...that’s okay,” Dipper said after a moment. “I just…I guess I’ll miss you.”

“You guess?”

“I will miss you,” Dipper said with a small eyeroll. “And everyone else. Even the people I don’t really like. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” Josie said with a smile. “I don’t think it’s bad, though. And you’ll have Mabel, right? And everyone’s gonna call and write and email and whatever else they come up with after this to keep in touch. Do people still use A.I.M.?”

“What?”

“Guess not,” Josie shrugged. “And Ford’s working on that ghost walkie-talkie thingie…who knows? Maybe by next summer Mike and Angela will be helping Soos at the shack for real with that thing.”

“They won’t,” Dipper said.

“Oh, definitely not,” Josie nodded. “But maybe they’ll agree to be attractions if Soos puts on a movie for them.”

“Maybe,” Dipper said. “...I’ll miss you, Josie. I…thank you. Thanks for being my first and best dead friend.”

Josie smiled, suddenly looking emotional. “Thanks for being my first and best living friend. Even if you’re my only living friend, really.”

Dipper nodded, a lump in his throat. He looked away abruptly, trying to casually wipe at his eyes.

“...hey,” Josie said softly. “I don’t…I don’t know where the bus is going. I don’t know what next summer holds. I don’t know what home will look like for you when you and Mabel leave. I don’t know that much, I’m a pretty terrible spirit guide. I think the only thing that’s really certain is that you’re going to die one day. I hope it’s a long time from now, but one day you will. You’ve known that for a long time. Longer than most people. But…”

She took a breath. “...I might not see you next summer. I might not see you for a long time. But…but I think I will, one day. We might look different. We might feel different. But I think we’ll know each other. Somehow.”

Dipper glanced at her, suddenly feeling oddly fragile. “...are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“...partially, yeah,” Josie shrugged. “But I mean it, too.”

Dipper swallowed hard, sniffled in a rather embarrassing way, and then couldn’t help himself. He half lunged at Josie, wrapping his arms around her.

He hadn’t expected anything. He expected a rush of cold air, and then to face-plant on the ground. But instead, his arms wrapped around her, and while she wasn’t warm like a human was, she still felt alive. And without hesitation, she hugged him back, arms around his back and squeezing tightly.

“Whatever you choose to do with your gift–because it is a gift,” Josie said, and she didn’t seem surprised at all to be able to touch him. “It’s gonna be great. I know it will.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Dipper sniffled.

“Sure, dummy, don’t you know anything about ghostly intuition?” Josie laughed, releasing Dipper. Her eyes were wet too.

“DIPPER!” Mabel shouted, tossing her suitcase into the back of Stan’s car. “ARE YOU COMING?! EVERYONE’S WAITING FOR US AT THE STOP!”

“One sec!” Dipper said. “Talking to Josie!”

“Tell her I said hi!”

“She can hear you!”

“HI JOSIE!”

“Tell her I said hi when you get to her,” Josie laughed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the bus stop?” Dipper asked. “I can’t really talk, because Candy and Grenda will be there, but…”

Josie shrugged. “That bus is for living people. You don’t need me there. You’ll be alright.”

Dipper sniffled, and this time, he saw no point in hiding it. “...thanks, Josie. For…everything.”

“Thank you too, Dipper,” Josie said. “For everything.”

When he turned around to look at her as the car began to drive away, he didn’t see her. The sun was peeking over the steep cliffs, shining directly into his eyes and lighting the dew up on the ground like kinder ghouls, silent except for the occasional calls of early birds.

Eventually, he would see Josie again.

He had never felt more certain of it.

Dipper pressed his face against the window of the glass, watching the bus pull away, leaving behind Gravity Falls. He waved so hard his shoulder got tired, watching his friends and family slowly disappear into the morning fog. Wendy’s trapper hat sat heavy on his head. It felt like something he had to honor, and he certainly intended too, whatever that meant.

“Isn’t it weird that we’re back?” Mabel asked sitting Waddles on her lap to move his front legs around like a doll. He let her do it placidly. “Like, on the bus and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, fiddling with the envelope Wendy had shoved into his hands before he left. “How are you not scared?”

“What?”

“Scared to go home,” Dipper said. “And-and scared of what might be different. Or what might be the same. Of being thirteen. How are you not scared of…of all of it?”

Mabel looked at him like he was crazy. “What? Of course I’m scared.”

“...no you’re not,” Dipper said, thrown for a loop.

Mabel giggled. “Of course I am! It’d be kinda silly if I wasn’t. But I’ve got you, right?”

She squeezed Waddles tightly, and he grunted, rolls of fat bunching up around his neck. “We got through the end of the world together. That’s how we always do it. As a team. Nothing can keep us down as a team.”

Dipper smiled, something loosening in his chest. “...I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Mabel said. “Let me–woah!”

Waddles wriggled out of her grip, trotting down the bus aisle. The driver groaned. “Kid, can you at least keep that thing under control–?”

“I got it!” Mabel said, chasing after Waddles. Dipper stood up to follow her, and then paused.

Near the back of the bus, there was someone, their face hidden by the seats. Dipper could see mud crusting the top of their head. He paused, his heart skipping a small beat, and when he looked under the seats, recognition shot through his head. They were muddy sneakers, the same ones he had on this very bus at the beginning of the summer.

“No way,” he whispered.

He felt the seat move, and Waddles was sniffing his hair. “Got him!” Mabel said brightly. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“...do you remember our bus ride here?” Dipper asked slowly, never sitting up or taking his eyes off of the sneakers. “And I got nervous?”

“Yeah?” Mabel asked. “Why, are you gonna throw up?”

“No,” Dipper said, and then paused. “Um. I don’t think so. But…it was…it was because. Um.”

He paused, still unused to naming his secret, but he heard Mabel gasp. “...is there a ghost on the bus?”

Dipper nodded slowly, finally sitting up.

Mabel nodded back, looking deeply serious, even as she clutched Waddles close. “...what do you wanna do?”

Dipper twisted around to look at the top of the ghost’s head, his mind spinning. The idea of approaching a ghost that almost certainly didn’t know what was going on was terrifying. Bringing back Josie was one thing–she had been surrounded by a world that was scarier than a ghost could ever be. But now, all his old fears and anxieties resurfaced, each fighting to make themselves known.

“Dipper?”

He took a breath, and remembered how frightened Josie had been to be alone, perpetually dying with no end. They’re more afraid of me than I’ve ever been of them.

“I’m gonna, um,” Dipper hopped up, making his way back. “I’m gonna try to talk to them–Mabel?”

Mabel had gotten up, and was following him, still holding Waddles. “Well, duh, genius, we’re coming too. What did I just say about us being a team?”

Dipper smiled, a little tremulously, and took a slow, deep breath. “...okay. Here…here goes nothing, I guess.”

On shaking legs–partially out of nerves, and partially because of the winding road–Dipper made his way back, followed closely by Mabel. “Hello?” He said softly, and received no response. He took one more deep breath, and then peeked around the corner and into the seat, half expecting someone to lunge.

A man sat there, staring straight ahead, covered in mud and a few cuts. His face looked hollow, exhausted, and his eyes were completely empty. Mud that was no longer there slowly dripped off his face. Dipper couldn’t quite tell how he had died. Maybe he had gotten caught up in a mudslide. Maybe he had passed from exposure. Maybe there was an injury Dipper wasn’t seeing. It didn’t really matter.

“...hi,” Dipper said, and his voice cracked. Mabel just barely kept herself from snickering.

For a moment, the ghost did absolutely nothing, and Dipper wondered if he might be too far gone. But then slowly, like a glacier moving, the ghost’s head turned to stare dully at Dipper.

“What’s going on?” Mabel whispered.

“Um,” Dipper said, feeling sick. “He’s, um. Looking.”

The ghost blinked, and Mabel waited patiently.

“I’m…” Dipper coughed. “I’m Dipper. This is my sister Mabel–”

“And this is my pig, Waddles!” Mabel said, holding up the pig.

“Right, Waddles,” Dipper said. “Um, can you tell me your name? If you want to, anyway.”

The ghost stared at them for so long that Dipper was starting to consider walking away and forgetting this nonsense, when he opened his mouth, and a creaky, unused voice came out: “...you can see me?”

“...yeah, man,” Dipper said slowly. “I…I can see you. She can’t, but, um, she’s my sister. So you can talk with her too.”

Mabel waved, enthusiastic and excited to speak with a ghost, and hesitantly, the ghost waved back. “He waved,” Dipper said, and Mabel’s smile grew to an almost impossible size.

“My name…” the ghost said, vague and disoriented. “I don’t…I don’t think I have one.”

“Sure you do,” Dipper said. “It…it might take a second for it to come back, but that’s okay. Can we…” he paused, unsure if he wanted to ask or leave it be. But he took another breath, forging ahead. “Do you mind if we sit with you? Maybe we can help you remember.”

The ghost stared at them, silent, and then slowly nodded. He still looked unsure as if he couldn’t believe all of this was really happening. Dipper could relate.

“Hooray!” Mabel grinned, sitting in the space Dipper had pointed out for her. “Ghost friend!”

“Do you know where you’re going?” Dipper asked, sitting next to the ghost.

The ghost looked at them both, slowly, as if each movement required incredible strength. But Dipper was almost certain he saw some light behind his eyes.

“...home, I think,” the ghost said slowly, looking thoughtful. “I think I’m going home.”

“What a coincidence,” Dipper said, smiling gently. “We’re going home too.”

He was alone.

He must have always been alone, standing in a room, confused and terrified, knowing nothing but terror and desperation. People filed in and out of the room, calm and heedless of his plight, and he had long given up on screaming. No one seemed to hear him. At least, that was what he hoped was happening. The idea that he was being ignored on purpose was even more horrifying.

He had been alone for some time, he was pretty sure, swirling in an empty void of fear, before he saw more people begin to file into the room. Children, most of them, some excited, but most looking a little disappointed, like they were annoyed to be back in the room. There was something written on the whiteboard, but he didn’t bother reading it. It didn’t matter.

“Help me,” he croaked, and felt a pain in his chest that felt a million miles away, yet overpowering at the same time. “Help me, please, help me someone.”

No one looked at him. No one seemed to realize he was there. The children chattered with each other, or stared ahead, deeply bored.

A boy, short with a strange hat, rushed into the classroom as an ear-piercing ring shattered the idle conversations. He paused, locking eyes with a boy sitting close to the back, and the boys both looked away, like they hadn’t meant to make eye contact. Slowly, the boy with the hat trailed back, reading names written on the desk–assigned seating, probably–and stopped when he was at a desk parallel to the other boy.

“...hey, Cole,” the boy with the hat said, awkward and quiet.

The other boy, Cole, glanced at him. “...hey, Dipper.”

“Um,” Dipper said. “My seat is here.”

Cole shrugged, and Dipper silently sat down. Behind them, nameless and slightly interested, he watched, the pain subsiding for a moment as he found something else to focus on.

“I wanted to–” Dipper said.

“So about the–” Cole started at the same time.

Both boys stumbled over their words, each a little unsure where to go from here. Cole coughed. “Um, sorry. You go first.”

“Right, um,” Dipper nodded, his movements a little jerky. “I just…I know this was forever ago, but I never really got to apologize for bailing. I, um, know you didn’t really want me there, but it was still kind of a jerk thing to do. I was…going through a weird time, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Cole looked surprised, and then his face turned a little red. “I…I’m sorry too. I lied. My mom didn’t make me invite you anywhere.”

Dipper perked up. “Wha–really?”

“Yeah,” Cole looked embarrassed. “I was just mad at you for leaving all of a sudden. That…that was a way more jerky thing to do. I’m sorry.”

“...it’s alright,” Dipper said, tapping his pencil on the edge of his desk thoughtfully. “Hey, um, this might be silly, but do you want to try a do-over?”

“A do-over?”

“Yeah,” Dipper nodded. “My parents just got me the Inhabitant Wicked 4 game for my birthday, and I’ve gotten really good at killing zombies. Maybe…maybe you wanted to come over this weekend? It’ll be at my dad’s place. My sister will be there too, but she’s cool. She’s pretty good at the game too.”

“...I’ll ask my mom,” Cole said, with a smile. Dipper smiled back.

“Alright!” An adult, an older man with a scowly face, stepped into the class. “This is eighth grade English, first period. I hope that’s where everyone’s meant to be. And furthermore, I hope everyone did the summer reading. Because we run a tight ship around here, and you’re about to find out what happens if you don’t keep up.”

The man produced a fat stack of papers, and the class groaned.

“Dude, did you do that reading?” Cole leaned over, whispering.

Dipper frowned. “I…had a busy summer.”

“Yeesh,” Cole winced. “Me too. Good luck.”

“Right,” Dipper muttered, grabbing a paper as it was passed back to him. “Right, okay.”

Silence fell over the room, and now there was nothing left to distract the nameless being.

The pain began to return, creeping up on him like a stalking predator. He tried to breathe, but it felt like the air went right through him, like he was nothing, like he wasn’t even there. And there was something wrong, there was always something wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in a room where everyone ignored his cries and pleas, he was supposed to be somewhere else, and he needed to be there so badly, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where. Or how. Or even why–

There was a sharp tapping noise, and he half-flinched, seeing that Dipper was tapping his pencil. The teacher–he was pretty sure it was a teacher–glared at Dipper, and he mumbled an apology. But the being could see that Dipper had written something on his test.

What’s your name?

The being paused, unsure what to make of the message, but then Dipper glanced behind him, making eye contact.

“...me?” The being asked, voice quiet and afraid.

Dipper nodded.

The being felt something so alien they almost didn’t recognize what it was. But after a moment, they put a name to it: hope. “...you can see me?”

Dipper smiled.

“I don’t…” the being paused. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I think–”

“Excuse me,” the teacher said, and checked the seating chart. “Ah…Mason Pines, is there a reason that you’re looking everywhere but your test?”

Dipper coughed, looking embarrassed. “No, um, sorry. And…everyone calls me Dipper. Just…just so you know.”

The teacher looked unimpressed, and Dipper immediately went back to his paper.

The being peeked over Dipper’s shoulder, and Dipper moved a little to let him see the paper. He was writing, but not answers.

Sorry, he scribbled, his pencil strokes feather-light, probably so he could erase his writing easily. I can’t really talk to you openly right now. But my name’s Dipper. I know you’re probably confused and scared right now, but you’re okay. I promise.

“...how can you see me?” The being asked.

Secret talent.

The being hummed. “I don’t…I don’t think I remember my name.”

That’s okay. You will. I promise. I’ve seen this before. I have lots of friends like you.

The being paused. “...really? What…what happened to them?”

They got better. And then some of them moved on.

That sounded like something the being was supposed to do. “Where…where did they go?”

I don’t know. But I think they’re happy, wherever they are.

“Huh,” the being said, and Dipper erased the writing, frowning when he read the first question.

This was familiar, the paper, watching children struggle with tests. He must have been here a long time. But he knew this test. He knew the book the children had been meant to read, and almost never did.

“The answer for number three is D,” the being said.

Dipper glanced back, surprised, before quickly turning back to face his test before he could be called out again. He looked like he was struggling not to smile. Thanks, he wrote, and then erased it, getting to work on the test.

“You’re welcome,” the being said, feeling a bit more like a person than he had ten minutes ago. “You’re welcome.”

And the being stood quietly in a room, pain a little more distant, and a little less alone than they had been.