Everett Pines @everettpines - Tumblr Blog

Nov 12, 2025

Dough-ja Vu by EverettPines Arts by: @itsmagsdoodles Chapters: 6/6 (8,711 words) Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: General Audiences AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74064991 Summary: When a sweet festive tradition turns sour, how will the beloved Pines family face one another, and themselves? Unexpected perspectives present both sets of twins with challenges familiar and foreign in these "bite sized" chapters, where loved ones test the myth of a spoonful of sugar healing most ails in this Halloween night they'll never forget. [Full fic below]

Chapter 1: Something About a Carpet

The smell of sugar and raw cookie dough permeated the Mystery Shack, mixing with the sound of children and teens bustling about early despite the sun still far above the horizon. Mabel is busy at work, plastic gloves over her still-drying nails as she tosses sweet ingredients together. Her turtleneck is brown, black triangles on the shoulders, and a teal sweater collar with a diamond charm dangling off: combined with the wobbly brown ears attached to her hairband and the matching tail, it was clear she's dressed as "Scooby Doo". "Dippeeerrr, where are the sprinkles?!" she called out cheerily despite the urgency in her tone, it was Halloween Eve! The time was nigh! "Why would I know?!" Dipper called back, his own tone more clipped as he mentally quarreled with his wardrobe, having not had enough time to excessively overthink costumes like he usually would have.

"Y'kids didn't act this crazy over either summerween, it ain't life or death!" Stan laughed, already dressed in his werewolf 'costume', if you could call it that- as the only thing about the tattered and stained outfit that wasn't just his clothes were the wolf ears and tail Mabel put together for him, and his leftover fangs from their first summerween (which Dipper had urged him to clean, but "a rinse'll do" is all he'd get.)

"Just don't burn the house down, Mabel." Ford hummed, only half-listening to what everyone is doing as he triple-checked his costume in the mirror, Spock from Star Trek, sporting the science officer blue with a grin. "That's a costume? Isn't that just one of your sweaters?" Stan chuffed.

"Of course not, Stanley, I'll have you know the detail in this is quite acc—" "No don't tell me, spork? From that one geek show you liked?" "It's Spock, not Spork. That is an impractical eating utensil that fails at being a fork and even more so as a spoon, it—" Ford was cut off by Stan again, and the two argued over their costumes lightheartedly despite the gruffer twin knowing exactly how to rile up the nerdier one. Meanwhile, Mabel was stood on a step stool as she rummaged through the cabinets for the sprinkles, mumbling to herself "Thought I restocked…", "Dipper and his experiments…" and so on, before finally finding another container of sprinkles behind a mound of expired cans. "Aha!" she beamed, wiping the thick layer of dust off the cap with her brown sweater sleeve. "Found some!~" she updated everyone, placing the container alongside the other sprinkles she already had. She couldn't just have two kinds of sprinkles, are you kidding? "Two extra sprinkles for our second time here," she grinned to herself, sprinkling the mishmash of colors into her cookie dough. Lastly, she added the ones she'd just found: sparkling, semi-translucent, teal sprinkles that blended into the mix as she mashed it all together.

An assortment of cookie cutter shapes were used: a bat, a pumpkin, a bone, a ghost, and a heart because "cupid can be spooky!". All haphazardly aligned on the cookie tray before she popped them in the oven and set the egg timer for fifteen minutes. This left Mabel plenty of time to update her scrapbook with the polaroids of Stan and Ford's costumes she took, and pick out which decorated pillowcase she was going to use for Trick-or-Treating.

Finally, Dipper emerged from the attic with his costume: a fully-buttoned flannel, jeans, and a cowboy hat. He'd followed the scent of freshly baked cookies to the kitchen, where Ford and Stan were already mingling after both felt they'd 'won' the 'argument'.

Mabel walked in with her chosen pillowcase, outerspace and rainbows patterned with cats and slices of pizza. "Dipper! That's not a costume!" she huffed, pouting with her hands on her hips.

"It is! I'm a cowboy, see?" Dipper gestured to the slightly-oversized hat, shifting his weight onto one foot with a hand on his hip in what appeared to be an attempt at a cowboy pose.

"You made such a fuss doing separate costumes this year and you're not even doing something dorky?" she teased.

"It's a party Mabel. A high school party," he jutted his hands forward in a chopping motion, putting extra emphasis on how big a deal this was.

"C'moooon, at least get a rope and badge or something! Be a cool cowboy, like a sheriff!" "Wh—? No, I don't even think that's how that works, Mabel."

"Oi! Grunkle Stan, I haven't even frosted them yet!" Mabel called Stan out, who had nabbed one of the still-cooling cookies and began eating it while they were bickering.

"What? It's a bone, I've got werewolf needs," Stan chuckled with a cheeky grin as he ate the cookie, while Ford and Dipper eyed the baked treats with curious gazes. Once Dipper gave in and stole a bat, Ford followed suit and took a ghost.

"You guys have sugar crystals for teeth," Mabel laughed, taking a heart cookie and joining in on the pre-sugar sugar before the upcoming Trick-or-Treat haul.

There was a strange energy in the kitchen. Perhaps it was just the nerves for Mabel and Dipper's first genuine Halloween here as both new Gravity Falls High School students and permanent residents; but when Mabel dragged Ford off to make his costume more 'fun' and Dipper looped Stan into helping him make his costume 'cooler', a cloud drifted in front of the descending sun which cast a shadow over the empty kitchen, and the translucent sprinkles glowed faintly in the dark.

──── ✦ ────

A haze of eerie light washed over Stan's vision, causing him to blink in irritation. "What the hell..?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes and blinking again at his reflection—wait, what? One moment, he was begrudgingly watching over Dipper as the boy tried on different patterns of bandana in the attic mirror, and the next he was staring him right in the face. He heard his own voice coming from behind himself, instead of his own mouth. "Oh no, no no no, not again!" it was uncharacteristically whining, sounding less like the disgruntled old man his voice belonged to, and more like…

"Dipper?" Stan looked up in the reflection at his own body stood behind the teenage reflection. A body swap? Of course. Nothing can be simple and easy in Gravity Falls! "What did Poindexter do this time…" he grumbled, his surprised expression deflating into tired annoyance at the awkward Dipper reflection that he'd have for the unforeseeable future.

It didn't take long for everyone to convene back in the living room, Stan sat on his yellow sofa which felt strangely large compared to the lanky physique he's involuntarily borrowing.

It was clear from Mabel's concerned scowl and hands clasped behind her back that it wasn't the teenage girl, but rather Ford in the exact scenario as Dipper and Stan. "The carpet was disposed of, correct?" Ford asked, the dog tail bouncing as he paced restlessly around the room.

"It's rolled up in the basement or something, I think," Dipper replied, still staring at his thick arms covered in gray hair as if he'd never seen them before, despite seeing them everyday on his Grunkle Stan.

"The cookies!" Mabel cut in with a grin as she waved her hand for the metaphorical stage light. "That's what we did before! Ate cookies!" Ford's voice under her control was unusually cheery, typically only sounding that way when he got excited over DD&MD or a scientific discovery of some sort.

The group exchanged glances as the revelation set in. "The cookies…" Ford muttered thoughtfully under his breath, grasping his small chin.

"What'd ya put in them, voodoo magic dust?" Stan questioned with a half-scrunched nose.

"Nah, just sprinkles! And lots of sugar of course," Mabel chuckled.

"So what is it, then? Cursed sugar? Cursed flour? Or are we just cursed?" Dipper fret, waving his hands slightly.

"No, no, my boy. I'm sure the cookies were harmless, none of the sugar is…" Ford trailed off, glaring at nothing. "Wait—Mabel, what sprinkles did you use? Where did you source them from?"

"Oh! I got the rainbow ones from my personal stash upstairs, the black ones from the spice cabinet, aaand… the green-ish ones from the cabinet."

"Green-ish…" Ford mumbled quietly to himself as he thought, before turning his attention back to Mabel in his body, trying to ignore the uncomfortable déjà vu. "The cabinet?" "Yep! Waaay in the back, behind the garbanzo beans," Mabel nodded.

"Oh god," Ford raked a hand through his hair, almost knocking off the dog ear headband he'd forgotten about. "I didn't realize…"

"Didn't realize what, Sixer?" Stan questioned with a squint.

"I'd tested them, but never with anyone! It was years before Fiddleford arrived in Gravity Falls."

"You're kidding, right? Cursed sprinkles?" Dipper spoke up.

"Unfortunately, I am not kidding," Ford sighed.

"So… what now?" Mabel fiddled with the blue uniform sleeve, less carefree than before.

"I suppose plans have changed, I'll have to investigate the sprinkles immediately. Everything else will have to wait until tomm—"

"What?! That can't happen!" Dipper exclaimed.

"Yeah! This is Halloween we're talking about! That's too much candy on the line!" Mabel quickly agreed.

"And we can't be no shows, no way!" Dipper's expression was intense, a look on the ex-conman's face that no one saw outside of failing money bets and dramatic television binges. "This is a high school party, we're newbies, we can't flake this!"

"It ain't life or death, kid," Stan rolled his eyes.

"This IS our life!" Dipper scowled.

"Alright, alright. We'll figure something out," Ford waved a hand, dismissing the charged back-and-forth. "What exactly do you two wish to get out of tonight?" he asked, prompting (to the Grunkles' displeasure) the teen twins to both reply at once, with their explanations overlapping in a ramble of youthful anxiety.

Once they both slowed down and took turns explaining, Ford paced again to mull over their possible options. "Well… it appears we have no other choice."

The answer drew a groan out of Stan, who wasn't acting far off from a moody teenager already. "Nuh uh, I am not dealing with puberty again, Sixer."

"It's not permanent, Stanley. It'll just be for tonight, until Dipper can reverse the sprinkles' effect."

"Me? Really?" Dipper perked up despite the situation.

"Yes, you are a brilliant young man, I trust that you will be able to utilize the knowledge you've obtained and my lab to finish my incomplete research on the cursed bits of sugar."

"And the candy?" Mabel asked, quirking a brow and pouting her lips with a squint.

"Yeahhh yeah, we'll get your candy, pumpkin," Stan huffed, but seemed less grumpy than before.

"Oh, er- mine, too, right?"

"Yours too." ☆

Chapter 2: New Shoes

After one too many times reaching for a coat pocket or glasses that weren't there, Ford retrieved fake lensless glasses and a Mabel-sized trench coat to wear, ignoring the pink-ness of it to prioritize it's useful practicality. He wore it over the Scooby sweater, hoping it wouldn't cause any questioning—or worse: denial of candy, which he'd never expected to be a concern until now. Thankfully all his concerns for the night were candy and impressing some teens, or at least they should be.

Stan and Ford departed early for the night with pillowcases in hand, the air chilling with the setting sun as the sky turned a brilliant orange. "Damn, kid realizes lumberjacks still wear tanks underneath, right?" Stan jokes, shrugging his shoulders at Ford's raised brow. Still can't lighten up even with a face as sweet as Mabel's, apparently. "Flannel's cold."

Back at the Shack, Dipper had already buried himself in his appointed task, flipping through the old pages of Ford's first journal. "Isn't this great?" Mabel beamed, dumping a huge basket of yarn down with a 'thunk'. "We're the Grunkles!"

Dipper sighed, waving a hand. "Hush, Mabel, I'm trying to focus…"

Ignoring Dipper's grumbling complaints, Mabel dug through the bundles of colorful fibers with exaggerated humming while tapping the edge of the basket. "Hmmm… Hm hm hmmm~"

"Mabel, please. I can't focus with your sounds," Dipper scowled at Mabel, focus entirely on her now.

"Relax, Dan. Just ignore me," Mabel replied with a teasing lilt to her Grunkle voice.

"Dan? What— no, you're just being extra distracting tonight. Wait, Dan? Why'd you call me Dan?"

She laughed at his scattered reply, "Dipper-Stan. Dipper, Stan, Dan." she explained the nickname with a finger up in the air 'Ford style'.

"That's… That's stupid," Dipper grumbled, realizing he was distracted from his research and turning his focus back to the journal with a scowl. "Just be quiet for now!"

Mabel giggled, digging through the basket of yarn once more. "Yes! Perfect! Ford's gonna look fabulous in this," she beamed, holding up a massive spool of glittery rainbow yarn.

"Uh-huh, yeah…" Dipper mumbled, focusing with more effort than usual as Mabel trotted off with her chosen sweater-making material.

──── ✦ ────

It'd been about an hour since Stan and Ford left, but the pillowcases were sagging with the weight of candy, efficiently collected by Ford (or as Mabel would call him right now: Fable) using the path and pattern he deemed most efficient based on the town's layout.

"Why do you gotta do everything with a stick u—" Stan's complaints were cut short by Ford's finger in his face.

"There aren't sticks anywhere, Stan." he huffed, walking with a stern expression like he used to when, well… 'you know who' was still undefeated.

"Y'know what I mean, genius," Stan groaned. "Didn't ya say you trust the kid?"

Ford huffed a sigh, "yes, well- trust doesn't have anything to do with this," of course it does "this is about precaution, being smart about this. I didn't know the full effects of those anomalous sprinkles, what if the changes can only be reversed within a certain time limit? What if we only have until midnight or the sunrise? It's foolish to just trust fate, Stan."

"Aaalright, alright," Stan grumbled and waved a hand. "Don't go all crossbow-in-the-face on me, Sixer." his words were teasing, but tone fond with a hint of concern for his strung-out brother.

They exchanged a tense stare, Ford's disgruntled expression looking more like a pout on Mabel's adorable face, which Stan tried not to laugh at. Keyword being 'tried'. A small smile tugged at the corner of Ford's lips as he rolled his eyes, pulling the Gravity Falls map back out to plan the route to that party the kids were so worried about.

"Now… if we cut through this block…" Ford fumbled awkwardly with the chunky pen as he scribbled on the paper. "We should be able to retrieve candy from five more houses during our journey." he looked up at Stan, raising his brows at his brother's attentive expression.

"Yeah, y'think so?" Stan replied, squinting at the map. "I think we could get double that amount," his tone was a little smug, his confident smile unusual on Dipper's face.

"Don't be ridiculous, I checked this several times, there's only seven houses and there's a near guarantee of at least one house per block that opts out of 'trick-or-treat'," Ford contested.

Stan puffed his chest up. "We're cute now, Fordsy. It's so easy to con when yer cute- or irresistibly handsome, which I get ya wouldn't understand…"

Ford rolled his eyes, but an amused huff escaped him. "As long as we stick to the appointed path, fine. You can test your 'cuteness' hypothesis."

"Great! Let's go!" Stan grabbed his hand, dragging his twin off with a big toothy grin.

The sun had long since set, the houses bathed in moonlight and the glow of red LED eyes and orange Christmas lights. Ford walked up to one of the lit houses and adjusted his Scooby ears, clearing his throat before raising his fist to knock. Stan stuck an arm out to cut him off, however, with a smug smile. "I got this, Poindexter." he said in a faux suave tone, ringing the doorbell.

"Trick or treat!" Stan beamed as soon as the door opened, giving the elderly woman the biggest smile he could muster with Dipper's weaker smile muscles.

"Awww, well aren't'cha a charming lil' cowboy!" the woman cooed, picking up a basket of candy from beside the doorway. "Let's get'cha something sweet… what are you, lil' missy?" she adjusted her thick oval glasses, smiling at Ford.

"Oh, well the coat is separate from my costume, but I'm dressed as the classic animated canine sc—oof" Stan jabbed his elbow into Ford's side and leaned in, hand tilted beside his mouth.

"Just be cute! Smile!" he whisper-yelled.

"Ah, oh-" Ford cleared his throat. It's role-play, like playing a part! he thought to himself, giving the old woman a sweet smile and fluttering lashes as he answered: "I'm Scooby-Doo!" ☆

Chapter 3: Huckery Fun

At first, having extra fingers was a struggle, leaving Mabel feeling akin to when she's had one too many 'Mabel juice's or Smile dip. Though it didn't take long for the new hands to be moving in-sync, yarn wrapped around the extra digits as she knitted and walked around the Mystery Shack. "How's candy duty, Soos?" she broke the comfortable silence as she leaned over the new 'Mr. Mystery'.

Soos jumped slightly and chuckled. "Oh, heya Mr. Ford. Candy's good! Saw like, three Spider-doods," he adjusted his Batman mask with a friendly grin.

Mabel grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Yes, Ford, that's me! Please, drop the 'Mr' tonight, you can call me 'dood'." she replied with excess flair, putting on an over-the-top Ford impression despite having his voice. "I'm a dood! Right, Waddles?!"

The pig oinked at his name, the green 'Shaggy' shirt taut on the rotund creature. "Heh, okay dood!" Soos waved goodbye to Mabel as she used a yarn-spooled hand to pat Waddles' fake brown hair, and trotted off with a clear mission in mind.

"Mabel, not right now…" Dipper sighed, having changed where he's sat in the lab for about the sixth time now.

"But Dipper, you're ignoring the potential for tonight! You can make Stan do whatever you want!" she beamed, presenting the half-knitted rainbow sweater. "Ford's gonna be fun tonight!"

"Grunkle Ford is fun," Dipper retorted.

Mabel rolled her eyes with a smile. "He's gonna be fun outside of your dork sessions."

"That's not even how it works, anyways," he span around in the spinny-chair, clicking his pen. "You're not making him do anything, you're just doing it while pretending to be him. If I drink a Pitt Cola right now, it's still me drinking a Pitt Cola. It's part of why we have to reverse this dang spell, if Stan charms a girl in my body she'll just be getting conned!"

A laugh slipped out of Mabel "Ooh~ so now you're going 'girl crazy'?"

Dipper rolled his eyes, blushing faintly "Shut up, Mabel. I'm just saying, well- you know!" he huffed, rubbing his face like it could clear his mind up. "I can feel my bones, Mabel, ones I almost forget we even have. And I feel like taking a nap every time I try to read!"

"You know what I think you need Broseph? A top hat. That'll make you way smarter than a cowboy hat."

Dipper sighed, spinning back around and resuming his studying attempts. "Stupid cursive…" he grumbled.

──── ✦ ────

"See? I told ya: cuteness works!" Stan puffed his chest up in pride, the pillowcase (now approximately ten houses heavier) slung over his shoulder.

"I suppose your claim does have some merit." Ford conceded. It didn't take them long to arrive at the party location: an abandoned house by the edge of town, next to a graveyard. Half the party was inside based on the lights and music, while the other half was outside: teens milling about treating headstones as seats, and roasting marshmallows over a makeshift campfire, Halloween chocolate wedged betwixt graham crackers for s'mores.

"Well, here we are…" Ford muttered, his steps reluctant as he walked towards one of the girls Mabel and Dipper described as someone that invited them.

Stan held out an arm once again with a smirk, "Don't worry, I got this." He strode forward, head held high. "Howdy, squirts," he waited for everyone's attention before continuing, his hand on his hip. "I'm the new sheriff in town, yer gonna be seein' a lotta me. Name's Dipper, don't wear it out." he said, his tone and posture emanating bravado as he flicked the brim of his cowboy hat with a click of his tongue.

An awkward beat of silence passed between the group, before a larger kid burst into cackling laughter, clutching at his stomach. "Ha ha! Are you serious?! No way you're seriously still trick-or-treating in high school," he shoved his hand into the pillowcase of candy in Stan's hand before he could stop him, and wiggled the sweet treat mockingly in front of the shorter boy's face, the wrapper crinkling.

"Ay! Hands off, punk!" Stan snapped with a scowl, clutching the candy-filled cloth and tying the opening closed with a hasty knot.

"What? It's Trick or Treat, snatching candy's part of the season." The bully sneered, slowly unwrapping the candy and popping into his mouth, chewing open-mouthed with an exaggerated hum "Mh mh mmh, that's the good stuff, candy from a loser." to add insult to injury, he yanked the cowboy hat off Stan's head and perched it on his own.

"You—!" Stan scowled and tried to grab the hat, but he was easily shoved back.

"This has to be the lamest costume I've seen all night! How old even are you, ten? Eleven?" the older kid snickered with half-chewed candy still in his mouth. "Look, kid. I don't know who thought it'd be a good idea to invite you two, but you're obviously not cut out for it. Go ask Santa for another dose of puberty and come back next year."

Ford rolled his eyes at the immature bullying, having heard much more creative insults in his youth. Who did this kid think he was? Thinking something that lame could work on the great-niblings of The Stan Pines of all people— but, when he looked at his brother he saw not Dipper, but Stan. That plaster-covered, emotional, rambunctious brunet he still remembered.

Stan's face was hot, eyes fixed to the ground as he mentally scrambled for some snarky comeback, but he couldn't. It'd been decades since he'd felt this… small, and not because of Dipper's smaller stature he's trapped in.

The sight made a sharp pang hit Ford in the chest, and for a split moment- the older kid was their stern old man. "Hey!" Ford shouted, mouth faster than his overthinking brain as he stepped forward. "If you think being some brutish, uneducated neanderthal makes you the head honcho here, think again!"

"Neande-what?" The bully laughed tensely, looking at the girl with a befuddled expression. "You weird—"

Ford jabbed a finger into the teen's stomach, right in the tender muscles underneath the ribcage. "Swallow your tongue, you dull-witted, huckery, meat head! Picking on those who cannot fight back is just a show of how deplorably pathetic you are," he spat.

The teen sputtered, face heating up. "Huckery? What the fu—"

Ford jumped up and snatched the cowboy hat off the bully's head, and made him flinch by threatening to jab his diaphragm again, "BEAT IT!"

The jerk glanced around at his peers, who were either holding back laughter or looking at him with pity being put in his place by a short girl in a silly outfit. "W-Whatever man, screw this…" he grumbled, skulking off with a hand clutching his gut where it still hurt. Ford's face was red from anger, enough so that he blinked a few times and let out a small laugh in surprise. The hue began to fade as he shifted his focus to Stan, who still looked flustered and annoyed, but wasn't as hunched into himself as before. "You okay, Stanley?" he asked, voice gentle.

"Why wouldn't I be? Yeah I'm fine, whatever. Jackass just caught me off guard," Stan grumbled, accepting the cowboy hat from Ford's outstretched hand and putting it roughly back on before stomping over to the roasting skewers, carelessly shoving a hot dog onto one.

The other teens complimented the cowboy costume and gave reassuring comments to Stan, "That guy's always been a jerk bag, don't listen to him." They also praised Ford in his colorful words and courage to stand up to a guy twice his size, which made the scientist-turned-girl puff up his chest in pride.

"Where'd you even learn comebacks like that?" one of them asked with a laugh.

Ford waved a hand limply as he stalled, "my great uncle Stan taught me a thing or two about sticking up for myself."

However, while they both managed to make a (seemingly) positive impression on Mabel and Dipper's new peers, Stan still had a crinkle in his nose and a near frown as he gnawed on a burnt hot dog, so they didn't stay long before Ford grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him off. "H-Hey! I was eating!" Stan protested, only just managing to grab Dipper's candy before they were off.

"No time, Stanley! There are more pressing matters!" ☆

Chapter 4: Fractured Idols

"Dippy Dip Dipper, Dip Dip Dipping sauce… Being a weenie on 'Ween Dippington…" Mabel crooned playfully as she lay on the lab floor on her stomach, knitting away. Dipper was clearly ignoring her- or trying to, at least. Surrounded by a dozen empty Pitt Cola cans and a couple pages with a list of failed de-cursing attempts scribbled out. A few minutes passed as Mabel hummed the Scooby Doo theme song, before she hopped up to her feet—not as gracefully or quickly as she would've in her own body—and held the finished turtleneck sweater up in all it's glittery rainbow glory. "Ta-dah!"

Dipper looked up, something snarky lingering on his tongue like tonight's excessive sugar intake, but instead he just sighed as he looked the garment up and down. "That was… surprisingly fast, actually. You really adjusted that quickly to Great-Uncle Ford's hands?"

"Yep, he should really do arts 'n crafts more. You should, too. I've heard creativity is good for brains, and you could do with a makeover." She smirked playfully, and he shook his head with a smile.

"You saw yourself how creative 'Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons' is, just join us sometime! Plus, uh…" he looked down at the grease-stained shirt of his borrowed body, patting his gut. "Werewolves don't do 'makeovers', Mabel," he laughed.

A little while and a hiss of another soda can later, Dipper had returned to testing out different hypothesis on the cursed sprinkles, while Mabel went back upstairs to attach the final touches to the garment. She took out an organized plastic box filled with precut homemade fabric letters, another of every color of thread you'd ever need, and one of uncut felt.

"Right! First things first, gotta make sure this bad boy fits right." she smiled, shrugging off the tan trench coat (which was surprisingly heavy with the amount of tools and materials inside) and plopped it onto the chair, before pulling a heroic pose in the full-body mirror. "Goodbye dorky and hello colors~" she pulled her arms out of the science officer shirt, and slid it off over the head of dark gray hair.

She froze, flinching faintly. Her eyes were fixed on the mirror and wide as she stared at the shoulders not covered by blue cloth. Slowly, she looked down at his chest where she could feel her heart sinking like a jawbreaker in punch. She slid the turtleneck on in a hurry and simply gazed at the mirror with an unreadable expression. It was cute, the sweater. The pattern quirky and colors bright and cheery—but her borrowed six-digit hands trembled slightly as she smoothed out the fabric. "…Fits perfect." she muttered with a frown.

It had been a weirdly long time since Dipper had last seen Mabel, and trying to focus on reading how other curses in Gravity Falls have been reversed was incredibly difficult with how aching his back and jaw are. Plus, he'd rummaged through both the fridge and Stan's 'secret' mini fridge, and couldn't find a single more Pitt Cola! Only thing he could find was sugar-free ginger ale. "Really Grunkle Ford..?" he sighed, stretching his back with multiple audible crunches before dragging his feet up to the attic. "Maaaabel!" he called out, the old wooden door creaking as it swung open. "Do you know if we've got any—Oh, uh…" he faltered, mouth hung slightly open.

Their room was dimly lit with fairy lights, multiple half-finished projects strewn about Mabel's 'creative corner'. The sound of trick-or-treaters milling about getting candy from Soos was distant up here, which created a quiet, isolated bubble.

Dipper lingered awkwardly by the doorway for a moment, surprised to see what's visually his great-uncle Ford in the 'head-in-sweater' skulk Mabel does when she wants to hide from the world. Though the moment was brief as he sprung into action action. "Mabel? What's wrong, are you okay?" he asked gently, crouching down to where she was huddled by the mirror.

"I'm fine…" she mumbled from her protective woolly domain.

"Yeah and Waddles can see ghosts," Dipper retorted. "Or- well, I think he can't? You know what I mean," he laughed, cutting off with a cough.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, but he didn't buy it.

"I think I know a little thing about my twin sister. The only thing she likes as much as Halloween—besides boys and art, I guess—is Summerween. She'd have Christmasween if she could- heck she practically does, dressing up like Rudolf and 'Santa's radiation-exposed mutant elf'." Dipper spoke fondly with a smile on his face, pausing for Mabel to pull the turtleneck collar down… but she didn't. "I guess tonight you're Mord. The fun Ford, right?"

Reluctantly, Mabel tugged the rainbow fabric down, keeping her head slumped against her knees with a solemn expression. "Dipper… you said Ford's fun, right?" She asked quietly.

"Er, yeah he's fun. Sure he can be pretty intense and doesn't always get jokes, but he does arts and crafts with you sometimes, right?" Dipper replied, receiving a small 'mhm' from Mabel in response, which he took that as progress.

"Honestly, he can be downright silly during DD&MD sessions. His siren impression is funny," he chuckled, "though he claims it's based on the real thing."

Mabel cracked a small, weak smile, but it dropped with a sigh as she fidgeted with her sleeves. "What if he's not, and he's just…pretending?" She raised her head slightly, her eyes glossy as they met his, "what if he can't be fun?"

Dipper looked lost, so Mabel lowered her knees and tugged up the sweater's hem, exposing a faded jagged mark alongside various others.

"Oh," he exhaled and reached a hand out, pushing the cloth back down and moving to sit properly next to her. "Let's, uh… let's talk."

Art by @itsmagsdoodles ☆ Chapter 5: The Rising Tide

"Didn't we get 'em enough? Kids got at least half a Benjamin in this damn sack," Stan grumbled, swinging the heavy pillowcase around to make a point.

"That would be an Ulysses S. Grant- but yes, we've gathered plenty of sweets for Mabel and Dipper," Ford replied, ignoring Stan's glare. "I'm not lost, I've got my map. Just trust me, Stanley."

They continued to walk, rubber soles against cold asphalt and damp grass as they wound through cascading trees further and further away from the hum of civility. Stan's complaining cut through the otherwise peaceful ambiance "Where the hell are we off to?! The Mystery Shack's across town!" he grouched, though from the glint in Ford's eye and the focused look on his face, he knew he wasn't going to get an explanation just yet. So he kept following, occasionally switching how he carried the bag of candy around whenever his arms or shoulders got tired.

"It's freezing." Stan complained flatly, though all he got was Mabel's pink trench coat dropped over his shoulders and a look that silently communicated "be patient" though there were of course still plenty of quiet grumbles and sighs as they slipped past jagged branches and prickly bushes.

After what felt like eternity, they neared the edge of the forest where the moon's reflective light shone through the thick Oregon fir trees. Stan's bothered rumbling trickled to a stop as the smell of cold autumn air and evergreen foliage mixed with the familiar scent of saltwater, hitting him with an unexpected pang of nostalgia.

As the forest fell behind Stan, he saw the small bit of ocean Ford lead him to: a secluded beach cove down the slope, where grass mixed with sand and rocks in this serene scene made isolate by the surrounding tree-coated hills around them.

"Here we are." Ford announced, the pride in his voice made even more clear by the slight puff of his chest.

Stan would roll his eyes in any other scenario. "Why'd we beat feet for this?" he asked, the miffed tone of his voice lacking, replaced with hesitant curiosity.

"I found it during some field work, it had slipped my mind until now. I figured you may enjoy it," Ford replied with a smile, leading his brother down the slope to a flat jagged rock by the water.

They sat there atop the stone for a moment, Stan watching the water lap at the rocks and cliff side, as he does when they're out sailing together. He glanced up at Ford, almost wanting to laugh at how strange this night had gone: his brother wearing their adorable great-niece's face of all things.

"Think fast," Ford tossed a snack-sized bag of toffee peanuts to his brother, who barely caught it.

"Hah! That's my thing, Sixer," Stan scoffed with a smile that twitched down when he saw the candy. He didn't have to say anything, Ford understood.

"…It really is unfortunate, how everything unfolded. Our father, the school, the… fights."

"Hey, ya don't have to—"

"Let me." Ford cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck while fidgeting with the teal neck of the brown sweater.

"I had believed I could control every variable in life if I disregarded emotion and only went about it with my intelligence. I was wrong, clearly…" he paused, looking Stan in the face. Dipper really did share blood with the knucklehead, didn't he? "I'm trying to apologize, Stanley. For not standing up for you." the words came out tense, finally coming out after decades of conflicting stewing and neglect.

Stan just sighed, worrying his lip as he stared at the dark water. While this path of conversation was clearly not one well-traveled, it felt easier to think with a quiet head and the soothing seaside sounds.

"Don't apologize for squat, 'cuz then we'll all have to," he chuckled faintly, rubbing his thumb against the plastic packet. "There was no fightin' our old man, and I really did screw the pooch. Never was honest 'n was quick to temper."

The pause was long enough Ford cut in, "Everyone failed you, it wasn't your fault."

"Well it ain't yours, either," Stan huffed, sniffling slightly as he wiped his nose. "I already told ya, screwing things up is just the Pines way. But… Thanks, Ford." He gave a shaky smile as a few tears involuntarily slipped down his cheeks. "Damn teen hormones…" he grumbled under his breath, rubbing at his face with the pink sleeve.

"No 'thank you's necessary," Ford countered and waved a hand at the toffee peanuts, casting a soft glance at him before digging into Mabel's bag of candy.

"Wait, what're you doin'?" Stan questioned, voice muggy from a blocked nose.

"I'm having candy, it's traditional," Ford hummed, feigning ignorance to Stan's squint.

"What happened to your 'systematic strategy' or whatever?" the question lingered in the air as Ford dug through the bag until he finally found a small bag of jellybeans.

"No one has to know~" he replied with a grin and a playful glint.

"Heh, true. It's, er… Grunkle Tax," Stan chuckled, his traitorous eyes beginning to dry as he joked around with Ford and began eating his sticky sweet treat.

Art by @itsmagsdoodles ☆ Chapter 6 (final): Kintsugi

Lying on the floor's round rug and staring at the multiple 'wall crawlers' they'd both gotten stuck to the ceiling forever ago, Mabel and Dipper had a long conversation they'd both been putting off amidst the new schools, moving, friends, and responsibilities. Not quite as long as others had been, but overdue nonetheless.

They talked about their parents, their fears, and even Bill, who'd they both just pretended never existed in daily life beyond jokes. Once the conversation ebbed off like an ocean tide receding, they both stayed in the comfortable silence to think and process the words they'd exchanged.

Dipper turned his head to look at Mabel, ignoring her 'Grunkly' appearance. He could tell that things still weighed on her, but she'd had enough talking for now. So he pushed himself up to sitting with an uncomfortable grunt and a few more crunches as he stood.

"Let's go get some spooky crafts finished, yeah? There's a blind bat with your name all over it." he said with a lopsided smile, offering his hand to help her up. He pushed the cola cravings out of his mind as they headed downstairs.

With Dipper convincing himself he was 'just taking a break' from working on the cure, the two young-turned-old twins indulged in Mabel-esque activities alongside Soos: gluing googly eyes onto felt bats and pipe cleaner spiders, making a cardboard pumpkin hut for Waddles, and singing karaoke. Yet throughout all of it there was a blanket draped over Mabel's light, every movement less bouncy and laugh less boisterous than what everyone knows and loves.

So, compelled by both care for his sister and a residual craving for sucrose, Dipper had a light bulb moment. "Aha! Cookies! Mabel, you can't use the last batch, right? Let's make some more!" he beamed, hitting his fist to his palm.

"Ehhh…" Mabel made a weary sound in disagreement and slumped to the ground as soon as the suggestion was made. She buried her hand into the bag of shredded cheese and tossed individual strands onto the floor for Waddles, the pet pig toddling over and gobbling them up with snuffling snorts.

Dipper crossed his arms and looked at Mabel sharply. She squinted back, and they held the stare in a silent, fierce battle of wits—! For a few seconds.

"Fine," he huffed, tossing his hands into the air. "I'll make cookies without you then." He smirked while he strode into the kitchen, glancing back to see if Mabel was watching.

Of course, she was watching, albeit halfheartedly as she continued to toss cheese piece by piece to the plump pig. Over the course of ten minutes she witnessed Dipper fumble around the kitchen: Flour dusting every surface, ingredients being put in the bowl in the wrong order, and he even used the wrong mixer attachment… yet somehow he got a (mostly) workable dough.

The entire process was maddening, Mabel becoming more and more restless as she tried to resist the urge to step in and help, and the craving for specific joy only the mess of sprinkles and frosting could suffice. She laughed abruptly in surprise, "Ah! Waddles!"

Waddles' tongue tickled her palm as he ate the entire scoop of cheese out of her hand while she was distracted by Dipper pressing the dough out unevenly. "You're right, Shaggy. He does need my help, and what kinda sister would I be if I left him to fend by himself like a lone duckling?" she said with amusement in her tone, and gave the pig's brown wig a pat before finally joining her baking-iliterate brother in the kitchen.

Mabel rolled out the dough near perfectly, Dipper giving his exaggerated thanks (bows and fake tears included) before he continued helping with the cookies, with more competence than he'd previously shown.

"Sorry for not helping earlier. I just felt guilty 'cuz, well… y'know." she spoke up, gesturing limply to the old batch of cursed cookies.

"Don't sweat it, Mabel. Not even Great Uncle Ford knew those sprinkles were cursed, and he's the one that found them." Dipper shrugged it off, handing Mabel a bottle of rainbow sprinkles. She smiled and proceeded to smother the new ones with the colorful bits.

While the new batch baked, Dipper leaned against the counter to relieve pressure on his old joints, and stared at the cursed cookies with a spaced-out, longing expression. Man, those were good… I wonder when Grunkle Stan and Ford will be back with the candy… he thought, continuing to stare at the shaped sweets as the minutes ticked by. …Should I? I mean… what's the worse that could happen? Switching again? He chuckled at his own thought—then his jaw dropped. "Oh my god."

──── ✦ ────

Stan and Ford's pockets were full of candy wrappers, their faces covered in chocolate as they laughed. They were lying down again, this time in the sand instead of the rocks, out of breath and surrounded by footprints.

"This is stupid," Stan laughed.

"I know," Ford agreed with a chuckle, looking at the moon and pushing himself up to stand. "Ah, we should return to Mabel and Dipper, it isn't long until midnight."

"Good ol' sailor's compass, eh?" Stan lined his hands up with the moon and stars before joining his brother.

They started for home, dry fall leaves crunching under their heels as they followed the unpaved road and chatted about nothing in particular, moments of comfortable silence sprinkled in. It was quieter out now, most kids returned home with their loot, and lights flickering off now that parents had run out of candy or turned in for the night.

Ford's steps faltered, "wait, is that…?" he squinted at the small light approaching them, the sound of wheels whizzing and a chipper old country tune gradually getting louder.

"Heya, kiddos!" A familiar friendly voice called out from behind a long wispy white beard. It was 'Old Man McGucket'! Dressed in a bright blue jacket, yellow boots, and a tall hat with a swan feather. He let his bike roll to a stop, propping his leg on the ground and his elbow on the handles.

"McGucket?" Stan questioned, looking at him like he was dressed crazy.

"Hah! Fiddleford! Or should I say Tom Bombadil?" Ford greeted with a bright smile, earning a surprised but amused laugh from the Californian hillbilly.

"I didn't expect that reply, little lady!" he chuckled, but his tone was friendly. "What're y'all doin' so far from home at this hour? Yer old men are gonna lose hair waitin' for ya!" he scooted forward on the old-fashioned bike and gestured to the long seat and the basket for them to climb on.

"In the basket?" Ford huffed in disbelief.

Fiddleford gave a confident goofy smile in return. "My gal has gotten many a things from one place to another! Scrap, tools, raccoons- ya name it, she's got it!" he proclaimed proudly, and the bike did indeed seem to be well-modified and loved... He was an amazing inventor, after all.

Stan shrugged and hopped onto the seat, holding onto the back as Fiddleford plopped the candy bag into his own lap. He reached out to help Ford climb into the basket, with a gentleness that echoed his fatherhood all these years later.

Once the bike was on track to the Mystery Shack, Fiddleford started humming an old song from the early 60s that he knew well, having played it on his banjo a good amount. To his surprise, Stan lazily began singing the lyrics, picking up energy when Ford joined in after. The three sang multiple songs to pass the time; rubber against gravel, dirt, and leaves, the background hum to their off-kilter choir.

It was an unexpected end to the night, but Stan's cheeks hurt from smiling, and Ford was happily slumped back in the basket despite the uncomfortable seating.

──── ✦ ────

The Mystery Shack was serene, Soos' bowl of candy empty, and Waddles snuffling peacefully in his sleep on the sofa chair. The front door creaked open as Ford and Stan gave one last wave goodbye to Fiddleford.

"Kids?" Stan called out.

Ford glanced around the dim house before flicking on the light, "Mabel, Dipper?"

"Surprise!" Mabel leapt out with her arms outstretched, presenting the glittery rainbow turtleneck with the words: 'Spirk 4 lyfe' sewn into the knitting.

"What on Earth..?" Ford chuckled, amused but perplexed.

Stan squinted at it like he was attempting to decode hieroglyphics, "the hell's a 'Spirk'?"

The question drew a flustered laugh from his twin. "Er, it's the combined pairing name for Spock and Kirk from-" Ford began to explain, but stopped himself from going into detail after seeing the face Stan was pulling.

"It's lovely, Mabel." Ford chuckled and looked at Dipper: the werewolf 'costume' unexpectedly soggy.

"What the hell'd you do, kiddo?" Stan laughed at the sight and slung the pillowcase of candy onto the dining room table.

"Nothing," Dipper barely suppresses a giggle, clearing his throat, "It rained." Despite his best efforts, a small giggle slipped through his dishonest words.

"Uh huh, sure. Cats and dogs." Stan replied incredulously, sharing a brief glance with Ford who raised a brow.

Finally, the excitement bubbled up like a paper mache baking soda volcano, and 'Dipper' in Stan's body burst into a fit of giggles. "I'm not Dipper! You guys totally fell for it!"

Ford and Stan looked at each other again with knitted brows, before they near-simultaneously smiled. "Mabel! How the heck are you in there now?" Stan guffawed.

Ford chuckled along, "brilliant! You switched bodies on purpose, didn't you? How did you manage?" he looked at Dipper in the colorful Spock costume.

"Actually, it was a team effort. I wouldn't have figured it out without looking at things at a different angle." Dipper explained warmly, smiling at Mabel who grinned back. "Here, come on!" he lead everyone into the kitchen and set out the original cursed cookies that they'd eaten this morning, now frosted thanks to Mabel's attention to detail. "I was so convinced it'd be something complicated, ends up we just needed to share the cookies again."

Ford let out a soft scoff and shook his head, a mixture of amusement and disbelief it was that simple. He opened his mouth to comment on how much trouble could've been avoided if they'd just done this sooner— but his eyes flicked to the smiles on everyone's faces, and the corners of his own lips tugged upwards. "That is a lesson I've re-learned several times throughout my own life: sometimes the answer is right in front of you. Simple but profound." he sighed contentedly, accepting the offered cookie.

Everyone held up their cookies as Mabel did. "Here's to being back in our own bodies and lives!" she beamed, tapping her heart-shaped treat with theirs in a toast before they took their bites.

⭒☆★☆⭒

This time, the strange light didn't catch anyone off guard, the sprinkles' effect now a welcome sensation. Everyone checked themselves as soon as it was over: Mabel grinned down at her Scooby turtleneck, Dipper checked his arms were still peach-fuzzed instead of coated in dense gray fur, Stan scrutinized his gut and patted it with a "heh.", and Ford looked down at the handmade attire Mabel made him—

However, his pleased smile quickly faltered into a puzzled squint. Every shift of his torso and arms felt odd, like something was resisting against his skin all over. "What in science's name..?" he tugged the collar forward to glance underneath the sweater, his eyes widening faintly and softening just as fast.

All over his torso, back, and arms: a sticker was placed on his scars. Each and every one of the marks he'd obtained through decades of survival. "You two…" he trailed off, not the best with words, but his expression radiated the touched and sheepish gratitude he was feeling.

He always hid the remnants of his injuries from the teens—not wanting to scare or disturb them—but truthfully, he feared them seeing him as broken, or solely a product of his past. The relief he felt at that moment was as warm as the vivid fibers covering the cheerful decals.

"You both have been through so much crap," Dipper began as he rubbed his neck, "but you still watch out for Mabel and I, and even went to a dumb party for us!"

Stan chuffed and shook his head "Kid, the party's not dumb. It ain't the whole world, but those punks seem like they'll be good for you and your sister. Just ignore the meat head."

"Meat head?" Dipper inquired curiously.

Ford waved a dismissive hand, "we'll exchange tales in a moment, but first: don't you two worry yourselves over us."

"Exactly." Stan nodded, hooking an arm around Ford's shoulders and shaking him slightly. "We're Pines, nothing keeps us down! That also goes for you tadpoles."

Mabel laughed, but her eyes welled up with unshed tears.

"Hey, Mabel, you got a little…" Dipper sniffled and gestured to the cartoonishly round tears threatening to escape her waterline.

"Must be contagious. You've infected me," Mabel shot back with a wobbly smile.

"Shut up," he replied as he wiped his eyes.

Stan rolled his eyes and glanced at Ford before they scooped the mystery twins into a tight embrace, nearly squeezing the air out of them.

──── ✦ ────

Despite the long eventful night, no one could sleep with all the stories they had to share. Everyone sat together in the living room, eating non-cursed cookies with 'blessed milk' (which was just whole milk colored blue with food dye and whip cream on top) sharing everything that happened today, minus the heavy heart-to-hearts.

"YEA! Serves him right! I'll get him again!" Mabel boasted when she found out about her form fighting off the bully. She threw a few fake punches into the air, almost but not quite sloshing milk onto the rug- much to Waddles' disappointment.

Dipper laughed, but was more focused on Stan. "Did they really compliment my costume?" he asked, trying to feign nonchalance despite the hope seeping into his tone.

"Uhuh, said flannel suits ya," Stan shrugged, his body practically melded to the sofa with his glass balanced on his gut. The 'cowboy' clasped his mouth and chin in thought, as if he was already planning his outfits for the rest of the school year based on a small compliment.

Ford inquired about the choice of spelling on his newly made sweater: "Shouldn't Spirk be capitalized as a title?", "What's the purpose of the 'y' in 'life'? Not to mention the '4'…" but he caught the way Dipper and Mabel exchanged an "I told you so" look before laughing. After a pause the scientist got the joke (kind of), and let out an amused puff through his nose.

Throughout the conversations, Stan nearly fell asleep a few times despite the continuous sugar intake. "Eh? What?" he wiped the drool from his mouth after being nudged awake for a third time.

Stan stretched out like an senior dog with a groaning sigh, feeling how abnormally relaxed his body felt. "The hell'd you two do with these old bones?" he mumbled when everyone paused to graze, smacking his lips and blinking sleepily.

"A bath." Mabel replies cheerily, mouth full of leftover frosting she was spooning from the tub.

"Mm, and painkillers." Dipper added.

Stan snorted and smirked tiredly, "heh, wusses…"

When Stan nodded off once more, no one nudged him. Instead, the three awake said their goodnights in hushed tones as they put away the milk and cookies.

Mabel draped a blanket over Stan, and Dipper snuck a pillow under his neck—knowing exactly the effect all these couch naps were having to it.

On the dark kitchen counter, a tray of cookies glowed in flecks, gently illuminating the folded paper sign reading: "Cursed Cookies — Don't Eat!!" alongside a doodle of a Ford-Mabel-Dipper-Stan hybrid labeled 'Formaditan - will eat hearts'.