I saw this post by @clownwry and thought "hey i could write a thing about this." And then I did. So i hope you enjoy it.
(Also on ao3!)
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“Grunkle Ford.” Mabel whined. She leaned over the side of her tank, dripping water onto the floorboards. “Where are Dipper and Stan? They said they’d be back with snacks for movie-noon hours ago.”
Her Grunkle stopped grooming himself and looked at her, his barbed tongue hanging out of his mouth. He turned his gaze from her to the Mystery Shack brand clock that hanged over Mabel’s fish tank. It was true that his brother and nephew were overdue from their trip into town, however they were only thirty minutes late. The Sphinx-man shook his head.
“Well this simply won’t do now will it?” He scratched his cheek.
“They owe us big time!” Mabel said. A vengeful grin spread across her adorable cheeks.
“And what would you be demanding of them?” Stanford said. He dug his paws into the carpet and stretched out his back.
“A million donuts.” Mabel punched the air. “No, a trillion!”
“Now, now, Mabel, what have we discussed about proper bargaining with Stanley?” Stanford said. He sat on his hind legs.
“To make sure we get the best deal.” Mabel said.
“Correct.” Stanford nodded. “And if he gives us trouble?”
“We bust out the cutest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen.” Mabel smiled deviously. She tapped her fingers together, feeling like a villain from one of those spy movies that her brother watched all the time.
“Wonderful! How about we fly out and see if we can make them pick up the first cassette of that cartoon that Soos showed McGucket during the Oddpocalypse?” Stanford asked.
“Let’s do it!” Mabel cried. She jumped into the air, splashing her pink scaled mermaid tail as she did, making a mess of water on the floor.
“Stanley is very lucky that we got this floor varnished.” Stanford muttered.
The sphinx-man looked around the room for a moment before turning to his excited niece. “Mabel darling, where is your harness?”
“Right next to my tank, Grunkle Ford.” Mabel pointed to a long piece of dark fabric that hanged from a nail in the wall next to her.
“Ah right.” Stanford walked over and picked up the fabric in his mouth.
He lifted himself up so that he was holding the fabric into the tank. Mabel swam into the loop of the fabric, sitting in it like a swing in the park. Once she was securely positioned, she gave a firm tug on the harness. With his niece’s confirmation Stanford lifted her out of the tank and carried her out of the living room and out of the shack.
Soon the pair were soaring through the air, flying high above the trees of the woods of gravity falls. Stanford’s brightly coloured wings shone in the bright light of the afternoon sun. Normally Mabel would have loved to sit and watch them shimmer for hours, counting the colours that she could see; but right now she had an important mission to complete. Turning her gaze downward, she caught sight of the town of Gravity Falls far below both the two of them.
“I can’t see them from up here, can we go lower Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked.
“Mm” stanford said. He stopped himself from nodding and fly nearer to the town, bringing colourful ants that were the citizens into a more recognisable view.
She turned her gaze to the grocery store, the home of all snacks, but couldn't see any dissipating smoke from a dropped smoke bomb or see a commotion caused by a certain old gargoyle’s pick-pocketing hands. Humming to herself, Mabel turned to the library, the home of all nerds, she didn’t see a trace of a deer struggling to drag a book bag thrice his size from the building.
“Where could they be?” Mabel tapped her chin.
“Mm” Stanford tapped her shoulder before pointing to the video store.
“Of course.” Mabel tapped her head. “Those two are probably bonding over scary movies.”
The pair descended, landing next to a grey gargoyle and a deer-centaur that stood outside of the video rental store. They were lost in a heavy debate about costume quality versus special effects and the implications for the future of cinema.
“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said, breaking the pair’s discussion short. “Where have you been? The sun’s going to be down soon and you’ll miss movie-noon.”
“Sorry Pumpkin.” Stan said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Me and Dipper were on our way home with snacks when he saw a good movie for once and decided to complain about quality cinema.”
“It looks like someone’s first time using puppets.” Dipper crossed his arms.
Stanford stood on his hind legs and took the fabric seat that Mabel sat in out of his mouth. Choosing to hold it in his hand.
“Ugh we really need to wash that more often.” Stanford said. “Anyway. While I'm sure this is riveting, Mabel is correct. We really should be hurrying along.”
“Ugh fine. C’mon Dipper.” Stanley rolled his eyes. He bent over and picked Dipper up by his deer-stomach, letting him sit on Stanley’s large bicep. “And if I hear a peep outta you I’m letting you walk home.”
“Scared I’ll beat you there old man?” Dipper said with a surprising amount of confidence.
“Oh you’re on, kid.” Stanley said sinisterly. He let Dipper down and stared him down. “Last one has to do the other’s chores for a week.”
The pair spat in their hands and shook. And before Mabel could blink, Stanley was up in the air and her brother had taken off down the street. Leaving her and Stanford in their dust.
“Bet you 10 jelly beans, Grunkle Stan gets there first.” Mabel said after a beat.
“30 says he gets distracted by something and Dipper wins.” Stanford said.
“You’re on!” Mabel grinned, shaking Stanford’s free six fingered-paw.
Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues
A Gravity Falls Fanfic
by Krista Perry
I own nothing.
Chapter Ten
In Which Dipper Tries to Adjust, the Pines Parents Try Not to Freak Out, Ford Has Maybe 12% of a Plan, and Dipper and Mabel Try To Save the Day
Dipper ran, and the night forest filled him with every breath he took; sounds and scents and sights seeming to seep into his very skin until it was almost hard to tell where he ended and the forest began. Before tonight -- this night that had changed everything -- he would have long since stumbled to a stop, panting, sweating, doubled over with a stitch in his side, even though he had only been running a few minutes at most. Now he felt like he could run forever. Now, in this strange new body, he felt so light that his hooves barely felt the impact each time he touched ground. It was amazing, and, the longer he ran… a little terrifying as well.
Maybe more than a little.
When Mother had re-made him, he had done everything he could to hang on to his memories, to his humanity. And, much to his great relief, he had kept them both.
But there was something new and completely alien within him. Something so vast and deep and strange that it felt like it dwarfed the part of himself that he had saved – the only part he recognized as himself.
He was determined to not examine that huge, strange something too closely. In fact, he made up his mind to ignore it completely, if he could.
So I’m still working on that other Deerper (the one I showed the picture of the hooves post) but I was in a drawpile with my friend and I had no idea what to draw so I tried to redraw this cute picture of Deerper sleeping I saw....I can’t find the creator of the drawing or the drawing itself sadly. but anyways hope you like it~ >w<
Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues
A Gravity Falls Fanfic
by Krista Perry
I own nothing.
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Chapter Five
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“So,” said Mabel, looking up at the green-haired, aspen-bark-skinned dryad who was going to help save her brother. “What are we waiting for, Alejandra? Can I call you Al? Alejandra’s kind of a mouth-full, if you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes, grinning, and, had her arms been free instead of full of fawn-Dipper, she would have waggled her sweater sleeves at her.
The dryad looked at her, obviously perplexed. Then she tilted her head and seemed to consider it. “Sure, why not? It will be a nice change of pace. But if I forget and don’t answer to Al, you’ll have to remind me.”
Mabel beamed. “I like you. Okay, Al! Let’s take Dipper to see your mom.”
Dipper, almost as if recognizing his name, lifted his head and pressed it under her chin, his little wet nose snuffling in her hair. One of his long ears tickled her check, and Mabel tried not to giggle as she adjusted her grip on the fawn. She still couldn’t get over how small and light he was, especially since she was used to carrying Waddles around. Dipper weighed practically nothing in comparison to her chubby cutie-pie pig.
Al knelt so that she was eye-level with Mabel, and bit her lip as she looked at Dipper. Mabel couldn’t help but notice that the dryad’s even, white teeth were marked with wood grain, and her lip seemed hard, and didn’t indent like skin would under the pressure of a bite. She seemed entirely made of wood (except for her awesome long green hair, and Mabel had a brief fantasy about dryad hair make-overs) but she moved with a strange, fluid grace.
“This is going to be a little trickier than I thought it would be,” Al said. “When Mother sent me here, I assumed I would be bringing back one human boy. Not a human girl and a boy enchanted into the form of a newborn fawn.”
Mabel frowned. “I can carry Dipper, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s not heavy at all.”
“It’s not that,” Al said. “It took me a little over ten hours to hike here from Mother’s grove. I wasn’t going slow, but I was just, you know, taking my time.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve never been out this way before, and I was kind of… taking in the sights, I guess. I figured I’d get here, find the kid, and run back with him in less than half the time.”
“Run back with him, how?” Mabel asked, scrunching up her nose. Running over rugged forest terrain that took a dryad ten hours to hike, and in half the time? “Even if Dipper was still human, there’s no way he’d be able to keep up, and I’m pretty sure I can’t either, even after a whole glass of Mabel-juice. Come to think of it, drinking too much Mabel-juice would only slow us down more… I don’t suppose there are pit stops on the way to your mom? Hm, I bet she’s waaaaay off in the wilderness, where no human has ever set foot, so I’m ruling out restrooms and port-o-potties. Maybe I should bring snacks. You told Wendy you have a magic DVD player. Do you have a magic vending machine too? Does it carry Pitt Cola?”
Al blinked at her for a moment, then shook her head. “Uh… no magic vending machines, sorry. And no pit stops either. As for travelling…” She shrugged again. “Piggy-back?” she said. “That was my plan, anyway. Dryads don’t get tired running, the way humans do, even carrying heavy loads. That’s not the problem.” She frowned as she reached out and gently laid her hand on Dipper’s side. His flank shivered under her touch, and she withdrew. “Fawns this young are delicate and easily stressed, and that could make him sick. We need to figure out how to make you both comfortable, and still be able to get back to Mother as soon as possible.”
Mabel’s mind was racing, and she had already worked most of it out. “Okay,” she said. “I can wrap Dipper in a blanket. He can ride in my backpack, and you can carry me piggy-back, and then I’ll need--” She broke off as a familiar bauble on the dryad’s wrist caught her eye. “Hey, you’ve got an anti-Bill bracelet too!” she said, delighted that such a magical creature was wearing a fashion accessory that she helped design. “How did you get one?”
Al grinned, lifting her arm to show off the bracelet. “From Lazy Susan at Greasy’s Diner,” she said. “She was very insistent that I not be susceptible to demonic possession.”
Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Are dryads susceptible to demonic possession?”
“Heck if I know,” Al said. “It’s never really come up as an issue.”
“Well, if you are, you’re protected now,” Mabel said. “So, we’ve both got anti-Bill bracelets, so he won’t be a problem. I can wear a belt for my grappling hook and holy-water super-soaker, in case Gideon tries anything… Can you run carrying a cross-bow?”
Al gave her a bemused look. “I don’t think so. Not if I’m holding your legs and your arms are wrapped around my neck.”
“Hm, so the crossbow is probably a no-go, then.” Mabel’s eyes narrowed in thought. “And from what you said, it sounds like you wouldn’t have any problems out-running Gideon’s human goon squad. How long do you think it will take us to get to your mom, exactly?”
“At a full run?” Al smiled. “Four hours tops.”
“That’s great!” Mabel said. She looked out the gift shop window, where the last bright sliver of the sun was slipping over the horizon. “That means Dipper can be back to normal by tomorrow!”
Al leaned back on her haunches, frowning slightly. “I’m still worried about your brother. Traveling so fast, and in a backpack… that could spark his fight-or-flight instinct. Even if we made sure he couldn’t escape and run off, too much stress could really hurt him before we reach Mother.” She gave Mabel a searching, hesitant look. “I... I can communicate with animals. It’s a dryad thing, like spirit touching spirit, mind touching mind. If it’s okay with you… can I try to see how he’s doing?”
Mabel gaped. “You can talk to Dipper?!” she shrieked, and Dipper’s ears lowered and pressed back at the loud noise. Sheepishly, Mabel lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you say so before? Yes, yes, please! Ask him how he’s doing, if he’s okay, if there’s anything I can do for him—“
“Whoa.” Al held up her hands in surrender. “I said I’d try. I’ve never communicated with a human who has been turned into an animal, so I’m not sure if this will work.”
“Oh,” Mabel said, deflating slightly. “Well, please try anyway.” She shifted her grip on Dipper, gently pulling his head from where he’d tucked it against her side, under her hair. She felt him stiffen slightly as she pointed him toward the dryad. “Hey, Dip-dop,” she said softly, watching as he sniffed cautiously. “This is Al, and she’s going to try to talk to you, okay? So don’t be nervous. She’s here to help.” She knew he didn’t understand her, but he did seem to relax slightly as she whispered to him, and his ears perked back up.
Al closed her eyes, her brow creased in concentration. Mabel found herself leaning forward eagerly, watching Dipper closely. The fawn stopped sniffing, blinked, then tilted his head quizzically.
After a moment, Al chuckled and opened her eyes. “He’s hungry,” she said, and Mabel inhaled sharply.
“Oh my gosh, I forgot,” she said in a loud stage whisper, now mindful of Dipper’s sensitive ears. “I was just about to feed him when you busted in here! Soos made a bottle and everything!” She looked down at Dipper, who was still blinking at Al. “I’m so sorry, bro-bro, let’s get you fed. Follow me, Al,” she told the dryad, heading through the open door to the TV room. “You need to tell me what else Dipper is thinking!”
The bottle was right on the t-rex skull where she’d left it. Carefully, she lowered Dipper to the floor, helping him unfold his long, thin legs so that he was standing, and held him steady while he shifted on his hooves for better balance.
This was the first time she had seen him standing, and even with his neck craning up at her so he could see her face, he still barely came up to her waist. She had to bite her lower lip to keep her squeals of glee from escaping her mouth. Dipper was just so freaking tiny and adorable, she couldn’t stand it! She’d call for Wendy and have her take a picture if she didn’t think Dipper would destroy it at the first opportunity once he was back to normal. This moment would just have to go in her mental scrapbook.
The bottle held about four ounces of the infant fawn formula that Soos had mixed up. He’d told her that Dipper would need to be fed every four hours or so, but if they left immediately when they were done, this might be the only chance she would have to feed him before he was human again, so she was going to enjoy this moment while it lasted.
Al stood in the gift shop doorway, leaning against the door jam, watching with interest as Mabel held the bottle’s nipple to Dipper. A drop of milk leaked from the tip, and Dipper sniffed at it before it dropped and splashed on his nose. His little pink tongue licked his nose clean, and then, before Mabel could blink, he latched on and began suckling with enthusiasm.
Mabel found herself surprised when she had to tighten her grip on the bottle, or Dipper would have pulled it right out of her hand. She couldn’t help giggling as his little tail swished back and forth as he fed. Augh, so cute!
She looked over at Al with her peripheral vision, not wanting to take her eyes off Dipper. “Can you tell what he’s thinking now?” she asked.
Al didn’t close her eyes this time, but her brow furrowed. “Mostly he’s just happy to be eating.”
“Mostly?”
Al sighed. “It’s… hard to describe. Trying to communicate with him is mostly just like talking to a regular fawn – just pure animal instinct. But there are…” She frowned, looking around the room as if seeking inspiration when words failed her. Her gaze landed on a stack of colored construction paper on the table in the alcove, where Mabel had left her scrapbooking and knitting stuff earlier. Mabel tore her eyes away from Dipper and watched as Al walked over and picked up a sheet of green paper.
“Here,” Al said, holding up the paper. “Think of this as Dipper’s thoughts. Mostly, it’s animal instinct, just kind of flat and green. But then…” She picked up one of Mabel’s knitting needles and started poking tiny holes into the paper. When she was done, she held it up to the hanging light fixture. Light shone through the tiny pin-prick holes, reminding Mabel of stars.
“The light shining through these holes,” Al said. “They are his human thoughts. They’re very small, kind of incoherent, and…” She winced. “And they hurt. They keep appearing and disappearing like bright flashes amidst his deer instinct, but they aren’t having very much impact.”
Mabel looked down at her brother, who was seconds away from finishing off the bottle. “So… he is in there, somewhere.”
Al nodded. “Most definitely. To extend the metaphor a bit…” She held the paper back up to the light. “If these tiny pin-pricks of light are your brother’s human thoughts, and the paper is animal instinct, then all the light behind the paper is where the rest of your brother is.”
Dipper drank the last of the milk, but didn’t want to stop suckling, so Mabel had to force the bottle out of his mouth before he started drinking air. “There,” she said, stroking his soft head. “All done.”
Dipper plainly disagreed, because he let out a small, irritated bleat. Mabel sucked in her breath and grit her teeth, biting back a squeal. “You’re getting back at me by trying to kill me with cuteness, aren’t you?” She reached down and picked him up, carefully folding his legs under him so she could cradle him in her arms. “Well, it won’t work, because there is no limit to the amount of cuteness I can handle, little bro.”
With Dipper settled in her arms again, she looked back at Al. “So,” she said. “If all the light behind the paper is Dipper, can you talk to him?”
“I’ve been trying,” Al said. “But the paper is like a barrier. It’s trapping him behind all this instinct, but it’s protecting him too, because even the little bit of him that’s leaking through causes him pain. I don’t know why.”
Mabel scowled darkly. “It’s probably part of the curse,” she said. “It just figures that Bill and Gideon would do something so mean.” She looked down at Dipper and stroked his velvet-soft ears, wondering just how much pain he was in right now. He pressed his head into her palm, and as sweet as it was, she couldn’t help but wonder now if he was only doing it to ease his aching head.
“And speaking of,” she said, looking up at the dryad, “let’s go break that curse.”
Al smiled. “Yes, lets.”
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Gideon, sheltered in the shade of the trees less than a stone’s throw away from the Shack, waited for the sun to finally dip below the horizon with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.
The anticipation he understood. When the sun went down, he came fully into his vampiric power. Stronger, faster, his senses of sight, hearing and smell magnified far beyond human. His ability to completely disregard gravity was an utter delight.
The dread… he didn’t really understand.
Tonight would be his third night as a vampire. The initial rush of being something powerful and inhuman was fading, leaving him with more time to actually think about what he was feeling about the whole situation. Bill had left him behind to sit a spell, guard the Shack and make sure Stan…ley didn’t leave while the demon was off hunting the real Stanford. So far, the only interesting occurrence was that a strange green-haired girl had gone into the Shack, but as far as he was concerned, she was just another life for Bill to use as a hostage in exchange for the rift.
So Gideon had a couple of hours with nothing to do except think.
Being a vampire wasn’t working out to be all he thought it would be. Yes, the power was sweeter than peach pie, no doubt about that. His new diet was regrettable, but nothing he couldn’t live with.
But he had made this deal for the sole purpose to win Mabel’s heart, and so far that plan had been as successful as a screen door on a submarine, all because Dipper Pines was too big for his britches.
Was being the important qualifier.
He grinned, fangs poking over his bottom lip, as he wondered how Dipper was enjoying being a helpless baby deer and dumber than a box of rocks. Bill told him that when Dipper was asleep, he would regain his faculties and remember everything from being awake. The prospect of Dipper knowing he was no more than a powerless, stupid animal was just so delightful, Gideon had daydreamed more than once about being a fly on the wall in Dipper’s mindscape just to watch him react. Maybe, once this whole unpleasant rift business was over, Bill would take him into Dipper’s mind so he could do a bit of in-person gloating.
Gideon gasped, his eyes glowing briefly, as he felt the sun vanish behind the horizon. And this time he paid careful attention to the difference between his pre- and post-sunset self.
As soon as the light vanished, it was as though darkest shadows of night coalesced around him, seeping into him, filling him with cold power that seemed borne from a void. An antithesis of life. This moment, more than any other, made him hyper-aware of how his heart was still and dead within him.
It wasn’t scary. Really, it wasn’t.
And if it brought back the sensation of being four years old, cowering in his bed under his blanket, terrified of looking at his closet door that was at least an inch more open than it was the last time he looked… well, that was just downright silly, wasn’t it. Because, if anything, he was something that should be feared. He had nothing to be afraid of any more! Eternity stretched before him, full of potential.
And he wouldn’t be alone. One way or another, Mabel would be by his side as his vampire queen. And even if she rebuffed him at first, well, he could literally wait forever for her to come around. Immortals had to stick together, after all, since all their mortal relations would return to the dust. When that happened, and she realized that he could understand her the way no one else could, she would come to him, and together they would never have to be lonely ever again.
Granted, he didn’t want to have to wait that long for them to be together, but he would if he had to. He still had hope that Mabel would come to recognize and appreciate his affection and devotion much sooner than that.
A light in the attic bedroom of the Shack switched on and, curious, Gideon moved closer, wrapping himself in shadows so that he could remain unseen. He finally got close enough to look inside, but instead of seeing Mabel like he expected, Stanley Pines came to the window. He had a dangerous scowl on his face, and for a moment Gideon wondered if the man could tell he was there.
But Stanley didn’t do anything other than glare aimlessly at the grounds surrounding the Shack. Then, to Gideon’s surprise, he picked up a large sheet of plywood and placed it over the window, completely blocking Gideon’s view. A moment later, Gideon could hear the sound of hammering.
What in the world?
Suddenly he could hear hammering coming from the other side of the Shack as well. Swiftly, he flew around, staying within the tree line, and saw, to his astonishment, that the Corduroy girl and that strange gopher man were boarding up the windows on the main floor.
They were preparing for a siege, he realized. Oh my. Bill was not going to like this, not at all.
He was wondering what, if anything, he should do about it, when who should come out the back door of the Shack but the weird green-haired girl and Mabel herself.
He cringed a little as he saw that Mabel had a belt looped around her waist, from which hung her grappling hook and a super-soaker, no doubt filled with that horrid, face-melting holy water. She was holding a backpack filled with none other than Dipper, the stupid baby fawn, his wee little head sticking out of the top.
Gideon couldn’t help the throaty, low growl of amusement that escaped him at the sight of his nemesis-brought-low.
Immediately, Dipper began to jerk around inside the backpack, bleating in panic. Well, that was interesting. Apparently Dipper could hear him, or smell him, or something. It was pleasing to know that, even as a dumb animal, Dipper was appropriately terrified of him now.
Mabel lowered the backpack to the old wooden deck, wrapping her arms around the struggling form, whispering to the fawn, obviously hoping to calm him down.
The green-haired girl shook her head. “I was afraid of this,” she said. “We’ll never get him to Mother if any little thing sparks his fight-or flight instinct.” She sighed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but… I can make him sleep. Only if that’s okay with you, Mabel. I can wake him up again when we reach Mother.”
Mabel looked up at the strange girl, and Gideon could see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she held on to her thrashing, transformed twin. “Yes, please,” she said. “I can’t get him to calm down.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed as the girl knelt and placed her hand on Dipper’s head. The fawn immediately relaxed, eyes closing in sleep, and Mabel sighed, hugging him close. “Hang in there, bro-bro. We’re gonna get you turned back to normal before you know it.”
Wait, what?
Gideon held back a snarl as he turned his attention to the green-haired girl, and for the first time he noticed her pale, wooden skin. He inhaled through his nose, and while he could smell the sweet scent of blood coursing through the veins of Mable and Dipper, the only scents he caught from the girl were of bark and tree sap.
So, she was some kind of forest nymph, was she? And she thought this Mother of hers could undo Dipper’s curse?
Not if he had anything to say about it. No indeed.
Mabel shrugged on the backpack with a peacefully slumbering Dipper inside. The nymph sat on her haunches. Mabel climbed on her back, piggy-back style, and the nymph straightened, holding on to Mabel’s legs. “You ready for this?” she asked Mabel.
“You better believe it,” Mabel said, and pointed into the forest. “Onward, to the Mother of the Wood!”
The nymph laughed, and turned slightly. “She’s that way.”
“Onward!” Mabel exclaimed, pointing the direction the nymph indicated. “To the Mother of the Wood!”
The nymph sprinted with inhuman speed, causing Mabel to whoop in delight, and within moments, they had vanished into the dark forest.
Scowling, Gideon followed silently.
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Ford felt a strange sense of unease from the moment he lifted the hatch and started descending the long ladder into the bowels of the buried spaceship. The familiar cold, stale air smelled faintly reminiscent of the reptile house at the zoo – a scent that had yet to dissipate after millennia underground.
He couldn’t seem to shake the low-level feeling of dread – not even during the thrilling plummet-via-magnet gun to the bottom of the ship. It was only as he started searching the endless corridors for parts, and that elusive adhesive, that he realized why he was feeling so unsettled.
This was the first time he had ever been in the ship alone.
When he first discovered the ship, Fiddleford had always accompanied him, helping him scavenge parts for the portal. And when Fiddleford deserted him, it was Bill who went with him, sitting in his mind, providing company and giving instruction.
Well, now that he understood what was bothering him, he could easily dismiss it. During his thirty years traversing dimensions, he had dealt with things, people and places far more horrifying than an ancient abandoned spaceship. And he had done it alone.
Not so easily dismissed, however, were Mabel’s words from earlier. And here in the depths of an alien construct with only himself for company, he had plenty of time to ponder them.
(He knew this place like the back of his hand. This corridor to the right would lead him to engineering, where he would find replacements for the burnt-out dimensional displacer connections.)
It was so easy for Mabel to place all the blame on Bill for the disastrous events of the past thirty years. But Ford could not so easily put all the culpability on the demon. He had been so foolish, playing with powers he didn’t understand; putting his trust in a being simply because it knew just how to flatter his ego.
And when he finally understood the reality of his situation and Bill’s true nature, he knew that they only way to keep anyone else from repeating his mistakes was to destroy the journals. No one else could find out how to build the interdimensional portal. He could not allow Bill to have access to this dimension.
(Dimensional displacer connections found, he put them in his satchel, along with several other pieces of tech that looked promising.)
And… he had tried. He tried to destroy the journals. How many days and nights had he spent, staring at the three books lined up on the portal room floor, flicking his lighter on and off in his hand? How many times had he almost had the will to set fire to those dangerous pages?
(Now for the adhesive, which would be in the destroyed mess of the bio-lab.)
But in the end… he was weak. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t destroy the journals. They were the results of a lifetime of hard work. Hard work had been what had pulled him from the mediocrity of Backupsmore University and into the limelight of the scientific community. Hard work had resulted in twelve doctorate degrees and a grant to pursue his dream. Hard work had led him to Gravity Falls and all its amazing mystery. He had spent years researching and documenting the anomalies of this weirdness magnet, and most of it was good. Most of it was safe. Most of it… made him proud.
That was how he justified himself. And instead of destroying the journals like he knew he should, he hid them. One in a hidden chamber near the secret bunker. Another near the elementary school, because what kid would be smart enough to find it, let alone understand what he was looking at?
(He’d always hated searching the bio-lab, because the faint reptilian scent present throughout the rest of the ship was joined with an acrid, citrusy smell that made his eyes sting. The lab seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage from the crash, and everything was crumpled metal, loose cables, dead connections, and scattered, crushed sample containers. But it was also the only place he had ever found the adhesive.)
The first journal. His favorite. His records of Gravity Falls before everything started falling apart. Probably the purest research he had ever done.
He couldn’t think of any place good enough to hide it.
And then, after nearly ten years of deliberate avoidance… he thought about Stanley.
And, after nearly ten years of deliberate avoidance… Stanley came when he asked.
Stanley could have refused. He could have ignored the request. But he came, and deep down, Ford knew he would, because that was just… Stanley.
(And there it was, a thin, non-sticky residue, purple and glowing and seeping through the bottom of one of the hexagonal bio-containers – a telltale sign of the adhesive within. He picked it up with a sigh, and carefully placed it into his satchel. Time to head back.)
By the time Stanley arrived, Ford was paranoid and half-mad with sleep deprivation because Bill was not happy with his switch of loyalties and was playing merry hell with any attempt he made at getting rest.
He had tried to explain the situation to Stanley. But he was rambling and incoherent, and why couldn’t Stanley just understand that he needed to take his best journal and get as far away from him as possible?
But Stanley understood far more than Ford was able to at that moment, because he pulled out his lighter, flicked it open, lit the flame, and held it up to the journal. Stanley could do what Ford couldn’t.
Ford had snapped. The rest was history.
Mabel was right. He was the one who had given Bill his first chance, and now his second chance to destroy the world. He and his blasted, stubborn pride.
Yes, Stanley had ruined his science fair project forty years ago. But Ford had succeeded beyond all expectations in spite of that. Or… perhaps because of that.
(Back to the entrance. It was simple to use the magnet gun to pull himself from one platform to another until he reached the ladder. He started climbing.)
Stanley came when he called, even after ten years. Stanley tried to do what Ford, in his madness and pride, couldn’t bring himself to do. And when Ford had been sucked through the portal, Stanley had not once considered abandoning him. Stanley, who always hated school, had studied his journals until he was able to repair an interdimensional portal, just to get him back.
Ford didn’t understand.
Why? Why?
What had he ever done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?
(The hatch opening came into view. The sky was purpling with dusk, and he knew he wouldn’t be getting home until well after dark.)
Mabel’s words resonated within him.
Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t that mean anything to you? And when he finally does it, do you have one kind word for him?
No, Ford admitted to himself. Because giving Stanley that kind word he so desperately wanted would be acknowledging just how wrong he had been. About everything.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the smart one?
Reaching the top of the hatch, he heaved one arm over the side, only to have his wrist captured in an iron-tight grip. Before he could even gasp, he found himself yanked into the air by his arm, dangling face-to-face with Bill. Or rather, the very strong body he was currently inhabiting.
“Well, well, well, Sixer! Fancy meeting you here!”
Ford reacted instinctively, twisting in the air and reaching with his free hand into the folds of his coat for his disrupter rifle, but he was quickly grabbed, subdued and pinned to the ground by the six other men Bill had with him. Ford found himself flat on his stomach, face in the thick, long grass, with a heavy knee in his back.
“Now, now,” Bill chided the men. “Be gentle! Who knows what tricks ol’ Sixer has up his sleeves! Hey, why don’t we find out? Take his coat and satchel, boys!”
“Let me go, Bill,” Ford said, snarling as Bill’s lackeys manhandled him, stripping him of his belongings. “You don’t think I’d be foolish enough to leave home with the rift on me with you prowling around?”
“But Sixer!” Bill said, bending over to sneer in his face, yellow eyes glinting. “You’ve been so foolish about so many other things in the past, it couldn’t hurt to check!”
Ford found himself once again shoved to the ground, this time with his arms pinned behind his back. He watched helplessly as Bill sat cross-legged on the ground in front of him, took his coat and rummaged through it, humming tunelessly.
“Hm hm hmm, let’s see, magnet gun? Boring!” Bill tossed the gun down the open hatch. “Disruptor rifle from Dimension 6-3/a? Talk about outdated!” The rifle followed the magnet gun. Finding nothing else of interest, Bill finally dropped the coat down the hatch as well. “Now, let’s see what’s in this satchel that is so important, you felt you had to make a trip down there to get it!”
Ford grit his teeth as the first thing Bill pulled out was the hexagonal adhesive container. “Ooh! I know what this is,” Bill said in a sing-song voice. “What could you possibly need this for? Maybe to seal up an interdimensional rift?” Bill looked him directly in the eyes, grinning manically, as he dropped the container down the hole. Ford bit back the urge to curse at him, knowing it would only make Bill laugh.
Bill dumped the rest of the satchel’s contents onto the ground and started going through them, looking at each piece of tech with a bored expression before tossing it down the hatch. “What did you think you were going to use all this junk for, Sixer?”
Ford glared and didn’t answer.
“Oh, don’t tell me!” Bill said. “You were planning on trying to build some kind of tech to turn Pine Tree back to normal! Ha! That’s funny!”
“I don’t care how humorous you think it is,” Ford said, with all the dignity he could manage in his current prone position. “I will find a way to undo the curse you put on Dipper.”
Bill shoved the satchel and the rest of his salvage into the hatch. “Well, good luck with that, because the curse was made with a black Orb of Olgathag! I’m sure you’ve heard of it, what with it being one of the most powerful artifacts across the dimensions!”
Ford had heard of it, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest.
“It’s Pine Tree’s own fault I had to resort to using an Orb. If he had never invented those stupid bracelets, I could have just used my own power! You might have had a chance then! I could have reversed the curse with a deal.” Bill shrugged, that maddening, inhuman grin still stretching his face. “Oh well, it’s out of my hands now!”
Ford did curse at him then, and, as expected, Bill just laughed as he got to his feet.
“I think we’re done here, boys,” Bill said, looking around at Gideon’s thugs. “Tie him up nice and tight, and let’s get him back to the Shack. I’m sure his brother is anxious to have him back safe and sound!”
Ford felt his eyes widen as it suddenly dawned on him what Bill had planned, and silently berated himself for his lack of foresight. Bill knew that he was prepared to die before giving up the rift… but Stanley?
In spite of all the soul-aching regret Ford had been feeling just minutes before, because of realizing how he had wronged Stanley in so many ways, he felt sudden, wild hope that Stanley was still angry with him for his coldness. He hoped that Stanley was still resentful that he said he was planning to kick him out of his house at the end of summer. He hoped that Stanley hated him for ignoring thirty years of work and sacrifice.
He hoped that Stanley would rather let him die than hand over the rift.
But this was Stanley, and all of Ford’s hopes felt hollow.
-------------------------------------------------
AN: Sorry that it’s been a month and a half since the last chapter. The offspring and I have been sick with colds, and never at the same time. I’ve also been dealing with some creativity-crippling anxiety, but I’m doing my best to fight through it. (At least it’s not the double-whammy of anxiety and depression, because that really sucks.)
I wasn’t planning on ending the chapter here, but since it’s already creeping up on 6,000 words, and it’s been a while since the last chapter, I figured it would be better to post this now.
Thank you for all the reviews and encouragement. I couldn’t do this without your support. Really. Your reviews and likes mean more to me than I can express.
Ain't No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues
A Gravity Falls Fanfic
by Krista Perry
I own nothing.
Chapter Four
Dipper woke up hungry, and completely disoriented. Before he even opened his eyes, his nose was assaulted with strange, overwhelming scents. His ears lifted and flicked back and forth. So many sounds. Loud. (Familiar.) He could hear (talking?) His nose twitched, and he opened his eyes.
His first sight of the world made his (head hurt, what, how is that possible, I can see almost everything around me, peripheral vision should not go that far, and it's in sharp, sharp focus, everything, and colors are- ow, my head… colors are- are- what's the word? Gone? No no no- desaturated, that's the… the… my head hurts, pain, pain) pain, pain stop!
He held perfectly still, unmoving, unthinking.
(It'll cost you!)
The strange (memory) echoed in his head as the pain receded, but he didn't understand what it meant. He was hungry.
Cautiously, he looked around. It (was familiar) felt safe.
He was supposed to stay. Stay and stay and stay and not move and be safe until his mama came to feed him. But he was hungry and he didn't even smell his mama, didn't even know what she should smell like and that was scary and bad.
His mama (no, that's not right, Mom's not here she can't help she… she's in Cal… cali… mont… ugh, hurts…)
Mama wasn't coming and he was hungry. Safe here. Hungry. He moved his hind legs, unfolding them and then carefully moving them, trembling with effort, until he stood on hind hooves, kneeling on his forelegs. He pushed up with his forelegs until he stood, front hooves carefully spread to keep his balance as he wobbled.
Tired already.
But hungry.
And in a small place up high. Trapped?
(No no, not trapped, stupid, think! I… I'm human! Not… not a helpless-)
The agony that came with trying to think beyond simple deer instinct was blinding. He closed his eyes and tried not to move, trembling with the effort of standing until the ache faded again. Any human thought, he realized with dismay, no matter how small, came with the price of pain.
(It'll cost you!)
He understood now. But even that understanding brought with it a swell of agony. (Gotta… gotta pick my battles if I want any control. Keep it simple…)
(Chair. Grunkle… chair. Get down. Find help.) Hungry. Need to find his mama…
Shakily, he stepped one hoof off the chair and fell to the floor in an uncoordinated tangle of legs.
It didn't hurt but (embarrassing) now he was tired and would have to stand all over again.
He untangled himself, folded his legs beneath him, and lay there, waiting for what little strength he had to return. His ears swiveled back and forth, catching all kinds of strange sounds. In the distance, beyond the creaks and groans and hums (of the Shack) he could hear (voices), loud, soft, rising, falling. So many smells, thick and heavy in the air. He sniffed and sniffed, and his tongue flicked out to lick his nose when it itched. (Ew, gross…)
He looked around. So (strange). Faded colors.
(Except… the aquarium. Starkly blue amidst washed out colors. That is strange. Why is that? Do my eyes just not have the longer cones that see the green and red parts of the spectr-)
The bolt of pain that stabbed through his head was so sharp, so painful, he couldn't help but let out a bleat of distress. He pressed his head, chin down, to the floor, ears laid back, his whole body shivering in reaction. His head throbbed in time to his too-quick pulse. It seemed like a long while, lying still and letting complex thought fade into a fog of animalistic simplicity, before the pain slowly dulled to a low ache.
(Don't wonder why. Why hurts. Why is bad.)
Finally, he lifted his head again.
Hungry. Still hungry. Still so tired. Where… where was his mama? He was hungry and he needed his mama…
Deep within him, the sheer wrongness and persistence of that mortifying newborn deer instinct inspired a muted burst of anger, fear, and rebellion in his clouded mind. (No!… I… I'm Dipper Pines! I'm human! I'm almost thirteen years old! I'm not really a baby deer, I can't be, I won't let this curse make me think-)
Pain. Great, harsh pounding in his head ascended to an agonizing peak and beat down his fierce human indignation, smothering it until it was little more than a weak, barely-felt protest. Animal instinct filled his mind and his senses with the need to stay bedded down and wait for his mama to find him and feed him.
(no…) Hazily, he understood that giving up and letting his infant deer instincts rule him was bad, but, as the pain slowly faded, he couldn't remember why.
Dazed, blinking slowly, his gaze was drawn to the (blue) again. (water...)
In the water, a little animal swam around.
He looked at it, confused. Curious. (curious…)
Gathering his strength, he slowly pushed himself from the floor until he stood again on four thin, trembling legs, and stepped carefully toward the swimming thing, sniffing, his nose twitching as he investigated the strange creature.
(Not a fish. Pale. It has legs. Sala… salamander.) He expected pain at the (thought), but none came.
It was looking at him. It was (smiling).
The smiling salamander winked at him, and vanished. Water rushed in to fill the salamander-shaped space left behind.
Dipper startled backward with a little bleat, and fell on his rump.
(What… what was…?) He stopped. He wanted to (think). He wanted to (wonder). But the ache began to rise again, and he couldn't take much more; it was already too much and he was so tired of hurting so he let the (human thoughts) sink away.
Hungry. Find help. Find mama.
He struggled to stand again, the strange, smiling creature already forgotten.
Ears up and alert, he followed the sound of (voices), carefully making his way up a few (steps) to an (open door) that led to the (gift shop). Through the thick fog that filled his mind, he understood that human words and concepts were peppering his deer thoughts and instincts like light, slightly stinging drops of hot rain. But it wasn't something he was consciously trying to do, and the pain was minimal.
His little hooves clacked softly on the wooden floor, and he glanced around, noticing again that, amidst all the clutter of the gift shop, (blues) and (purples) were bright and vivid. Instinctively, he stopped his thoughts from going beyond just noticing.
Until he saw the (sign).
The (sign) on the (door) he'd just walked through, the one he had seen every day, all summer long. The (sign) that said… something. He blinked at it. It was supposed to say something, mean something, and Dipper felt a very human surge of horror as he realized he couldn't (read).
He staggered back and almost fell again. (No no no, this is wrong!) He stared at the (sign), fighting against the spike of pain that abruptly split his skull as he tried to force the (sign) to make sense. Tried to make the incomprehensible marks look like (letters) so the (letters) could form (words).
(Fight the pain, fight it, look, read!) The marks stubbornly refused to become legible in his mind, and (hurting, hurting… no… please… no…) darkness ate away at his vision. As he struggled, refusing to give in, the pain in his head became excruciating beyond anything he had ever felt, and for the first time, Dipper understood the magnitude of what the curse had done to him.
(I can't read, oh no, I can't read, I can't think, I'm trapped, I'm just a dumb animal, I'm never going to break this curse, I'm stuck this way forever…) The despair that weighed heavy in his chest matched the pain in his head. His thin legs were shaking as darkness closed in. What little strength he had abandoned him, and he collapsed to the gift shop floor, barely conscious, breathing hard, his head throbbing in time to his pounding heart.
It was then that he discovered that deer couldn't cry.
Mabel stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap, as she listened to Grunkle Ford explain about the rift. And what he was saying was not okay.
She understood that the rift was an accidental result of the portal's activation, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Grunkle Ford was placing the blame for the rift's existence on Grunkle Stan. That he was saying that rebuilding the portal was dangerous, foolish, irresponsible, and that doing so had given Bill his chance to end the world.
"His second chance, you mean," Mabel said, looking up at him.
"What?" Grunkle Ford's genuinely puzzled expression only exasperated her.
"Bill's second chance to end the world," she said, getting to her feet. "You gave him his first chance when you built the portal in the first place, thirty years ago."
Wendy nodded. "Mabel's right, dude. If you're going to start throwing blame around for this whole mess, we might as well go right to the source."
Grunkle Ford had the decency to look ashamed and looked away. "Yes… well," he said. "Bill deceived me."
"That's right," Mabel said. "Bill deceived you and tricked you into building the portal. If anyone is to blame for any of this, it's Bill. Not you. And not Grunkle Stan!"
Grunkle Ford looked at her, startled. She didn't know if it was because of her words, her angry, indignant tone, or both, but she wasn't about to stop now. These thoughts had been weighing on her for too long, ever since Grunkle Ford had stepped out of the portal and punched Grunkle Stan in the face. She was too upset now to curb her tongue.
"You asked Grunkle Stan to come here thirty years ago, just so you could send him away with one of your journals. He came here hoping to reconnect with you, and you try to send him away, all because the journals are so dangerous. If they are so dangerous, why didn't you just destroy them? Why hide them? Why ask Stan to come here only to take one away? Didn't you miss him? Weren't you even a little glad to see him? He's your twin brother!"
Grunkle Ford paled. "Mabel..."
"Don't 'Mabel' me, Grunkle Ford," she said, hands on her hips. "And then, when you got sucked through the portal during your fight, you told Stan to do something! Well, he did! Even though you were a jerk-face to him, he spent thirty years doing everything in his power, trying to get you back! Doesn't that tell you something? Doesn't that mean anything to you? And when he finally does it, do you have one kind word for him?" Her chest heaved and tears stung her eyes. Grunkle Ford had sense enough to not interrupt her this time.
"My twin brother is in trouble," Mabel said, scrubbing her sweater sleeve against a tear that managed to slip down her cheek. "It's Bill's fault. It's Gideon's fault. But I don't care whose fault it is. I'm going to do everything I can to help Dipper and get him back to normal. I don't care if it takes thirty years!"
Abruptly, she sagged back down to sit on the gift shop steps, all her anger spent. She put her face into her hands. "But I… I don't know where to start," she said, her voice hoarse and weary.
Wendy put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Whatever it takes, I've got your back," she said, and Mabel looked up to give her a grateful smile.
Grunkle Ford cleared his throat. She looked at him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "I… I have a few ideas," he said. "I was on my way out the door to get a few things when Bill…" His voice failed him for a moment, and he took a deep breath, still not looking at her. "Anyway, I'll be gone for a few hours. I should be back before dark, and then we can look at our options."
Mabel felt a brief spark of relief. Grunkle Ford had ideas to help Dipper. And while he was a huge stupid-head when it came to people, he was super-smart when it came to science and magic. "Okay," she said, quietly. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford."
He nodded stiffly, still not looking at her. "I'm off then," he said, and headed into the tree line opposite where Bill had disappeared a while earlier.
When he was gone, Wendy shook her head, snorting. "Wow, Mabel. You really let him have it."
Mabel sighed, getting to her feet. "Yeah, well, I'm tired of both my Grunkles being grumpy and sad all the time. And they can't help Dipper if they are too busy being angry at each other over stupid—"
She broke off as a soft thump sounded from inside the gift shop.
She exchanged an alarmed glance with Wendy before running to the gift shop door and flinging it open, Wendy close on her heels.
"Dipper!" She cried his name as soon as she saw him crumpled on the floor. "You're awake!" She rushed to his side and knelt next to him. The tiny fawn blinked slowly, seeming unfocused, and Mabel realized that he was visibly trembling. "Oh, Dipper," she said, putting a gentle hand against his flank, and she looked at Wendy. "He's shaking! What's wrong? What—what do I do?"
Wendy's expression was a mask of calm. "Don't freak out," she said. "You take him into the TV room, and I'll go grab a blanket."
"Okay." Mabel hovered over Dipper a moment, feeling scared and uncertain, before gathering the small, shivering form into her arms.
His eyes widened as she lifted him, and he jerked, panicking, trying to wriggle out of her grip. "Dipper!" She tightened her embrace so she wouldn't drop him. "Dipper, it's me! Calm down, it's me, Mabel!" For a terrifying moment, she thought he didn't recognize her; that there might not be anything of her brother left in the fawn. But as she called to him, his struggling stilled.
Still trembling, he looked up at her. His eyes were deep, startling blue with a wide, thin line of black pupil. Mabel didn't know what to make of that – Dipper's eyes were brown, like hers – but before she could question it, the fawn closed his eyes and pressed his head against her, burrowing into her sweater.
"Aw, bro-bro," she said softly, her brows creased. A sad frown tugged at her mouth as she carried him into the TV room and sat down in Grunkle Stan's chair. Dipper looked up briefly as she situated him on her lap, helping him tuck his long, gangly legs beneath him, wincing a little when his sharp hooves caught on her skirt. Tremors still wracked his small body, and, after looking up at her again, he buried his head in the crook of her arm. Hiding.
Mabel couldn't quantify what she was feeling. On one hand, she was deeply scared for her brother, and on the other… oh gosh, he was just about the cutest thing she'd ever seen in her life. She felt caught between crying and squealing, and ended up doing neither. Instead, she stroked the baby-soft fur between Dipper's ears and smoothed the spotted reddish fur on his back. To her relief, he didn't protest, and his trembling started to ease. "It's gonna be okay, Dipper," she whispered. "We'll figure this out and get you back to normal right away. Grunkle Ford says he already has some ideas, and he's out getting some supplies, or something…"
She just wanted to squeeze him in a huge hug because he was so small and adorable, but she knew her brother well enough to know that if she did, she wouldn't be doing him any favors. He didn't like being called "cute" or "adorable" under normal circumstances. Now? Really not a good time.
Finally, his shaking stopped, and he lay in her lap, just breathing.
Wendy walked in with the blanket from Dipper's bed and brought it over to her. She took it and tucked it around and under Dipper like a nest, putting some padding between her legs and his sharp little hooves. "Thanks," she said.
Wendy looked at Dipper, who still had his head almost completely buried against her side. "How is he?" she asked.
Mabel shook her head. "I don't know. But he seems to recognize me, so that's good."
"Of course he recognizes you," Wendy said. She smiled, but it seemed a little forced. "You're his twin sister."
Mabel smiled, then stifled a gasp as Dipper raised his head and curved his long neck around to look at Wendy.
"Whoa, Dipper," Wendy said, as she knelt beside the chair, situating herself in front of the fawn. "You have blue eyes."
Dipper's nose was twitching at Wendy, and Mabel thought she would die from the cuteness of it. "I've never seen a blue-eyed deer before," Mabel said.
"Some fawns are born with blue eyes, just like some babies are," Wendy said, and Mabel felt relief from a worry she hadn't even realized she'd had until that moment – that the blue eyes were somehow a sign of something bad.
Dipper was still looking at Wendy, his nose still twitching, and Wendy laughed a little. "Dude, when you change back, you're gonna have to tell me what I smell like," she said, then shook her head. "Must be weird for you."
"Why?" Mabel asked, even though Wendy was talking to Dipper.
Wendy shrugged. "Deer have, like, a better sense of smell than even dogs."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Better even than bloodhounds." Wendy turned back to Dipper, a teasing smile on her face. "So you're gonna tell me what I smell like. And no lying because you think you might hurt my feelings."
Dipper didn't react, except to keep sniffing in Wendy's direction, and suddenly the knot of worry in Mabel's stomach seemed to turn icy cold.
Dipper didn't react to Wendy's teasing.
"Dipper?" she said, even as she saw Wendy's smile fading. "Dipper? Can… can you understand me?"
Wendy gave her a startled look. "What?"
"He's not responding to our words," Mabel said, anxiety seeping into her voice.
"Dipper," Wendy said, looking directly into his face. "You better not just be messing with us or ignoring us. Do you understand what we're saying? Nod for yes."
The fawn stopped sniffing, then laid his head on Mabel's lap, resting. Mabel licked her dry lips, and took a deep breath, trying to ease the choking sense of panic that was rising in her throat. "Dipper?" she said.
He simply blinked, looking sleepy.
"Wendy," she whispered, "he doesn't understand us." Her eyes stung, and she sniffed. She wouldn't cry. Not yet.
"Aw, dude." There was quiet horror in Wendy's voice.
"What if Dipper isn't in there?" she asked, unable to keep her voice from rising with her fear. Dipper's ears flicked her direction, but otherwise he didn't respond. "What if—what if there's nothing left of him? What if there's nothing left of my brother to change back to himself?"
Wendy reached out and grasped her shoulder in a comforting grip, Dipper lying peacefully in her lap between them. "Calm down, Mabel," she said. "It… it's too soon to be guessing on something like that. He's probably just in shock or something. Think about it. He just woke up a few minutes ago to find himself like this, and we found him shaking himself to pieces in the gift shop. He's probably just tired."
As if to confirm her words, Dipper's eyes slipped close.
"See?" Wendy said. "He's just all tuckered out."
Mabel forced herself to take a deep breath that did nothing to loosen the knot in her stomach. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, you're right."
"'Course I am." Wendy grinned again as she got to her feet, and if she was disturbed over any of this, Mabel couldn't tell. "Now, why don't we watch some mindless television while we wait for the guys to get back?"
Mabel found her hands once again petting Dipper's soft fur. The fawn didn't care. Dipper would have cared, and she couldn't help but wonder for a bleak moment if he was really Dipper at all. "Yeah," she said. "Mindless TV sounds good."
Dipper found himself in the attic bedroom. It was drained of color, and he knew he must be asleep.
He groaned and flopped backward onto his bed as all his memories from being awake flooded through his mind. From what Bill had told him, gloating and smirking, he knew it would be bad, but he hadn't understood just how bad it would be.
He hadn't recognized Mabel. When she picked him up in the gift shop, while he was still in so much pain from the effort of trying to read, he had panicked. He had looked right at her and hadn't recognized her, his own sister, his twin.
He only realized she was safe from her soft voice, and her overwhelming, familiar scent. A scent that was all Mabel - the tang of dyed yarn and glitter glue and scratch-and-sniff stickers. She smelled of wind and stuffed animal felt, of pancake syrup and Waddles. Her scent told him so much more than what his red-green color-blind eyes could show. As she carried him to the TV room, he could smell her relief, her happiness and her anxiety. And somehow he understood that being able to smell emotion almost to the point of tasting it was perfectly normal.
It had only taken one brief moment of trying to understand what Mabel was saying before the pain stabbed through him, and he immediately shied away from the effort.
Dipper groaned again and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Like the rat in the Skinner Box, the pain had conditioned him away from trying to think like a human… and he had let it happen.
When he had been awake, safe and settled in Mabel's lap, he hadn't cared. It didn't bother him that he didn't recognize Wendy until he sniffed at her. Or rather, it did bother him, but not enough to risk the pain that came from being anything more than a fawn. He was too weak to fight it.
"Too weak," he muttered to the empty room. "What am I going to do?"
How could he help in breaking this curse on him, when he couldn't even communicate with the people trying to help him? When he couldn't even think enough while awake to come up with a solution?
He was completely helpless. All he could do was hope that Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford would find a way to fix this.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind turning in circles. But there was relief in this. As Bill had said, here in the mindscape, while he slept, he was himself. He was human. Complex thought wasn't choked out with the punishment of pain.
And then, he felt a tugging, right in his center. He sat up, and suddenly he could hear voices.
Grunkle Stan said, "We're back."
Soos said, "And we've got some stuff for Dipper."
He heard the voices, understood the words, and as the attic room started to fade around him, he realized he was waking up.
"No," he said, his voice cracking, even as the fog rose in his mind. "No, I'm not ready, I don't want to wake up yet, no—"
Mabel couldn't concentrate on the Ducktective re-run, even though it was one of her favorite episodes. The TV screen wasn't nearly as interesting as Dipper, even though he was asleep. Though his eyes were closed and his breathing soft and slow, his ears were up and alert and kept twitching toward the TV with every new voice or loud noise or piece of music.
It was so cute, she almost couldn't handle it. Almost.
That was how she guessed when Grunkle Stan and Soos were back, even before she heard them. Dipper's ears suddenly swiveled away from the TV and toward the back door. A few moments later and she heard the door open and Grunkle Stan and Soos walked in.
"We're back," Grunkle Stan said, as though it weren't obvious.
"And we've got some stuff for Dipper," Soos said, holding up a few shopping bags hanging from his fists.
Before she could ask what they had bought, Dipper stirred in her lap. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, and immediately his nose started twitching in Grunkle Stan's direction.
Grunkle Stan looked at Dipper, then shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes suddenly looking everywhere except the little fawn. "Oh, uh, you're awake. So… how's it going, kiddo?"
Wendy snorted from where she sat on the floor in front of the TV. "You know he can't talk, right?"
"Of—of course." Grunkle Stan, looking uncomfortable and irritated, crossed his arms. "Doesn't mean I can't say hi."
Mabel looked down at Dipper who, again, wasn't responding except to sniff at the newcomers. "I don't think he can understand us, either," she said, somehow managing to keep the quiver out of her voice.
"Really?" Grunkle Stan's eyes widened, and he unfolded his arms. He leaned over and gave Dipper a piercing look. "Hey, kid, when we get you back to normal, I'm gonna make you clean out the storage room from top to bottom and then do inventory."
Mabel hoped for some reaction from Dipper, but he had turned and was now sniffing in Soos' direction.
Grunkle Stan frowned. "I think you might be right," he said, straightening. "No way that wouldn't get a rise out of him."
"But…" Mabel bottom lip began to tremble, and she bit it until it stopped. "But what does that mean?"
"It don't mean nothing, kiddo," Grunkle Stan said. "Look, it ain't that surprising he can't understand us. You don't go through something like that—" He gestured at Dipper, who leaned out to sniff at his outstretched hand. "—without getting your brains a little scrambled. He'll be fine when we change him back."
Grunkle Stan's confidence was contagious, and Mabel found herself smiling a little. "Yeah," she said. "He'll be fine. Won't you, bro-bro?" She went to pet his head again, but as she did, he turned and nuzzled her hand. The timing was probably a coincidence, but she couldn't help beaming at the sign of affection. Then, to her surprise, his little pink tongue darted out and licked her fingers. She couldn't hold back her squeal of delight. "Oh my gosh, baby deer kisses!" She leaned over to snuggle him and gently wrapped her arms around long neck. "I love you too, bro!"
Now, regardless of her previous fears, she knew, just knew that, brain scrambled or not, Dipper was in there somewhere.
"So what's in the bags?" Wendy asked.
"Mostly food," Soos said, putting the bags on the floor. "Fawns can't drink regular cow milk, it makes them sick. So I got some powdered milk made specially for fawns from my aunt at the animal rescue center. And some bottles to feed him."
Grunkle Stan grunted. "Huh, just as well his brains are scrambled. Can't see him going for that at all. Knowing him, he'd probably starve himself first before letting himself be bottle fed."
"Like I'd ever let him do that to himself," Mabel said, knowing that Grunkle Stan was probably right. Un-scrambled Dipper would definitely put up a fight over that, even though it was silly. So while she certainly wasn't happy that, in his current state, Dipper couldn't communicate with them, the up-side was that she was going to get to bottle-feed a baby deer! Sheer cuteness overload! And Dipper wouldn't remember it. Probably.
"Well, if anyone could talk him into it, you could," Grunkle Stan said. "Now, where's that ungrateful brother of mine? I hate to admit it, but if anyone can figure out how to reverse this, he can."
"Oh man," Wendy said, leaning forward. "You missed a ton while you were gone." And she proceeded to fill in Grunkle Stan on the encounter with Bill, and how Ford was off finding stuff to help Dipper.
"Did you know about the rift?" Mabel asked. Grunkle Stan was scowling, but she couldn't tell if he was scowling about one particular part of the story, or if it was one all-encompassing scowl.
"No," Grunkle Stan growled, his fists clenched as if he was looking for someone to punch, and Mabel was suddenly glad that Grunkle Ford was off on his errand. "But I'm not surprised. Ford had better get back here soon, because I have a feeling we're gonna have some visitors trying to get to this stupid rift of his."
Mabel looked at him, eyes wide. "You think Bill and Gideon might attack the Shack? But what about the anti-Bill shield, and all our anti-vampire weapons?"
"It's not them I'm worried about, sweetie," Grunkle Stan said. "It's Gideon's prison thug squad."
"Oh." Mabel's throat felt tight, and she held Dipper a little closer, her arms encircling him protectively.
Wendy got to her feet, her hand at the axe looped through her belt. "Well, I was going to head home soon, but if you're expecting company, I think I'll stick around."
Grunkle Stan nodded at her, and they exchanged grim smiles. "Then I'm going to close up the gift shop. You go lock down the rest of the Shack."
"You got it," Wendy said.
Mabel smiled as Grunkle Stan and Wendy left to fortify the Shack. She had witnessed Stan punch a pterodactyl in the face, and fight his way through a zombie army. And just a few days ago, Wendy had done some serious damage to those jerky unicorns with her bare fists. With her axe in hand, she was a force to be reckoned with. Mabel definitely felt more secure knowing they were going to protect the Shack from regular human threats.
Grinning, she turned to Soos. "Soos," she said in her most authoritative voice. "Mix up a bottle. I have a brother to feed."
Soos straightened, one of the bags in his hand, and threw her a salute. "Aye aye, Mabel," he said, and marched off to the kitchen.
Gideon stared at Ghost Eyes – or rather, Bill in Ghost Eyes' body. He didn't like that his best prison buddy was currently serving as Bill's host, but Bill had assured him that Ghost Eyes was fine and would get his body back soon.
"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that the Stanford Pines I've been dealing with this whole time was really his twin brother Stanley."
"That's right!" Bill said, pulling Ghost Eyes' mouth into an unnerving grin. "And now your henchmen and I are going to go capture Stanford while he's out scavenging for parts! While we're gone, you keep an eye on the Shack."
Gideon looked through the thick stand of pine trees toward the west where the sun was setting, far too slow for his liking, and clutched the handle of his shade umbrella. "Why do you need to capture Stanford? I thought you said he wouldn't hand over the rift even if his life depended on it."
"Oh, he won't," Bill said, yellow eyes glowing in the fading light. "But Stanley will."
Gideon looked at the demon with open skepticism. "How do you know that?"
Bill scoffed. "Oh, please! The guy spent thirty years repairing the portal just to bring his brother back! Stanley may act tough, but inside he's just a big sap. I dangle his precious twin in front of him, and he'll hand the rift right over!"
Gideon wasn't so sure about that. Stanford… er, Stanley was nothing if not crafty. "So why can't I go with you?"
"Because," Bill said, and though he still smiled, there was an edge to his voice that said he was tiring of questions. "You need to make sure that Stanley doesn't leave the Shack until we get back."
"Oh." Gideon swallowed, hating how just the change in Bill's tone and the ever-so-slight glare in his eye could make him want to hide. "Well, okay then."
Bill laughed. "Don't look so glum, Gideon! Look at it this way, I'm actually helping you fulfill your part of our deal! And once it's filled, well! We'll both be happy! I get my Weirdmageddon, and you get to be a general in my world-conquering army, with Shooting Star at your side!"
Yes, thought Gideon, watching as Bill led his prison pals deeper into the forest, leaving him behind. He shoved aside all his niggling doubts and uncertainty. If Bill's plan came to pass, then all of this - his vampirism, and finding himself playing second fiddle to a power-hungry demon - would be worth it.
The Mystery Shack was even better than Alejandra had imagined it. From the huge letters on the roof proclaiming it to be the MYSTERY HACK, with the S sitting on the lower roof, to the stained-glass windows, to the gift shop, to the fake totem pole, the place just screamed kitschy. Lit by the orange light of the setting sun, the whole structure seemed to glow in the twilight. She loved it.
The light was on in the gift shop, and she could see someone moving around inside, so, purpose firmly in mind, she strode up the steps to the door and knocked.
From the other side of the door, she heard a muffled curse, and heavy footsteps approaching. The door opened a crack, and she found herself facing an old man wearing a black suit and a… fez? Interesting fashion choice…
The old man looked her over, and frowned. "We're closed," he said shortly.
She just smiled. "Stanford Pines?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?" he said.
She refused to be put off by his open hostility. "My name's Alejandra Aspen. I'm looking for Dipper Pines. Susan at Greasy's Diner said he might be able to help me with an issue I'm having."
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than the man's expression went completely blank. "Sorry, can't help you," he said, and he would have shut the door in her face if she hadn't slipped her foot in the door jam.
He looked down at her foot, then back at her, scowling dangerously. "You need to move your foot right now," he said.
"I need to speak to Dipper Pines," she said, not moving her foot.
"If you weren't a lady, I'd punch you in the face."
"Well, I'm lucky I have that going for me then."
Whatever the man was about to say next was pre-empted when another man, much younger and more rotund, came in. "Do you want help closing the gift shop, Mr. Pines?" he asked.
"Hey," Alejandra said, waving at the new guy through the crack in the door. "Is Dipper Pines here?"
The old man said, "Don't answer that, Soos," while the other man said, "Yeah, he's just in the other room."
"Soos!" Mr. Pines shouted. Soos clapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide, and Alejandra grinned.
"That's all I needed to know," she said. "It would have been nicer if you just let me talk to him, but since you won't, well, I have a job to do."
With that, she called upon the strength of her tree self and pushed the door open, sending Mr. Pines staggering back. "Excuse me," she said, striding through the door and heading to the room that this Soos had indicated.
Said man was looking at her with open dismay, arms spread to prevent her from passing. "Wait," he pleaded.
At the same time, she heard Mr. Pines say, "Oh, I don't think so," and in the next moment she found herself tackled roughly to the floor.
"Ugh, get off," she said, struggling to push herself to her feet with the old man's weight on her back, but before she knew it, he had her shoulders pinned to the floor and his knee pressing into the small of her back.
"Soos," Mr. Pines shouted, "get Wendy! She can punch this chick in the face for me!"
"Hey!" Alejandra had never been a situation quite like this before, but she was starting to come to the realization that it was spiraling rapidly out of her control.
"Chick or not," Mr. Pines growled, "nobody breaks into my house and tries to hurt my family."
"Look," Alejandra said, trying to be persuasive, but she feared that ship had sailed. "I just need to talk to the kid! I'm not gonna hurt him!" Mr. Pines ignored her, grabbed one of her wrists and wrenched her arm behind her back. "Ow! Knock it off!"
"Need help, Mr. Pines?" a new voice said.
"Wendy!" Mr. Pines said. "Punch her in the face for me!"
Alejandra looked up to see a tall red-headed girl frowning down at her. The girl, Wendy, was wearing green flannel and wielding an axe, of all things. "You have got to be kidding me," she said. "I just want to talk to Dipper Pines!" If she sounded a little desperate, she didn't care at this point. "Why am I pinned to the floor by a Shriners member and being threatened by a lumberjack?"
"Because you forced your way into my house, nimrod," Mr. Pines said, putting more pressure on her arm as she struggled.
This was bad. She was going to have to use her magic soon if she couldn't talk her way out of this, and these humans would get hurt. But before she could even try, a young girl appeared in the open doorway at the back of the gift shop, and, to her astonishment, the wide-eyed girl was holding an infant fawn in her arms.
But that wasn't what astonished her. What left her speechless was the dark, alien curse magic she could see surrounding the fawn like a black miasma. And, faint and transparent in the midst of that miasma, weirdly super-imposed over the fawn… was the soul of a human boy.
He was curled up in a fetal position, eyes closed. The black curse had him completely engulfed, and tethered inescapably to the little fawn body.
You will know him by his human spirit, Mother had said.
Gasping, she reached for him with her free arm, only to find her hand pinned to the floor by the lumberjack's boot. "No," she said, her gaze fixed on the fawn-that-was-not-a-fawn. "Stop! I'm here to help him! Mother sent me to find that boy! She can break his curse!"
"Wait, what?" Mr. Pines went still, but didn't loosen his grip. "Who are you?"
"You know how to break the curse?" the girl said, stepping forward, her expression open and eager. "How? What do we need to do?"
Finally, she had their attention, and not in a kill-the-intruder kind of way. "I'm Alejandra," she said, and, before she could have second thoughts, she let her human glamour fade, showing her smooth, white aspen bark skin.
"What the hell," Wendy said, startled, but she didn't move her boot.
Alejandra took a deep breath. "I'm a dryad. The Mother of the Wood sent me to Gravity Falls to find a twelve-year-old boy who needed our help. She said I would know him by his human spirit, and…" She struggled with the hand pinned by the lumberjack's boot and pointed at the fawn in the girl's arms. "That's him."
Mr. Pines growled low in his throat. "And how did this mother of yours know about him?"
"I don't know, she… she just knows things! For the longest time she said there was going to be a war between the humans and a one-eyed demon, but then a couple of days ago, she said that.. that the threads of destiny had been changed. And then she sent me here to find that boy so she could help him." Alejandra looked into the eyes of the girl holding the boy/fawn. "Please. She said time was of the essence. I need to take him to her."
"Where is she?" the girl asked.
"Mabel," Mr. Pines said, alarmed. "You can't seriously be thinking of trusting this crazy forest chick."
"Yes, I am," she said firmly. "Grunkle Stan, when the portal was opening, and Dipper was yelling at me to shut it down, I didn't, because my heart told me to trust you. And it was the right thing to do." She met Alejandra's gaze. "Well, right now, my heart is telling me to trust her, the same way it did back then. She can help Dipper. I know it."
There was a long moment of silence as the girl, Mabel, stared, fierce and determined at Mr. Pines.
Then Mr. Pines sighed. It was a defeated sound. "Aw, kid," he said. His voice had lost all its hostility, and Alejandra felt him let go of her arm, and the weight of his knee leave her back. A moment later, Wendy stepped back, letting her hand go free.
Alejandra got to her knees, then stood up. "Thank you," she said, turning to Mr. Pines, who had his arms folded across his chest. He had released her, but he still looked far from happy. "I'm, uh, sorry I made such a mess of things, pushing my way in here uninvited, but in my defense, when it happens in sitcoms, it usually works out."
"Sitcoms," Wendy said, arching an eyebrow at her.
Alejandra smiled sheepishly. "I have a pretty comprehensive DVD collection."
"How does a dryad watch DVDs in the forest?"
"Magic-powered DVD players," she answered.
Wendy stared at her a moment, then shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"
Mr. Pines went and knelt next to Mabel. "Sweetie… are you sure you want this chick to take Dipper off to see her hippy tree mom?"
Alejandra blinked as the pieces suddenly fell into place. Mabel. And the fawn was Dipper. Mabel and Dipper Pines. The Pines Twins.
"She's not taking him," Mabel said. "I am. She's just going to lead the way."
Alejandra lifted a hand in protest. "Um," she said, and Mabel turned and fixed her with a fierce glare. She swallowed. "…okay?"
Mr. Pines actually smiled. "That's a good plan, kiddo. I'll come too."
"Me too," said Wendy.
Alejandra cleared her throat uneasily. "Now, uh, see… it should be okay with Mabel here coming along, because she's his sister—"
"Twin sister," Mabel interrupted.
"Twin sister," Alejandra continued. "But there's no way I dare bring lumberjack-girl to the grove. You know… axes, tree spirits… not exactly simpatico."
"Right," Mr. Pines said. "Sorry, Wendy, you stay here."
"Aw, man!"
"Uh, Mr. Pines," Soos said, speaking up for the first time since she broke in. "What about Gideon's goons who are after… after you-know-what?" He glanced around nervously. "I mean, Wendy's awesome, but I don't know that we can defend the whole Shack by ourselves. No offense, Wendy."
"None taken," Wendy said, nonchalant.
Mr. Pines looked torn, anxiously looking between Soos and Mabel. Mabel stepped up to him and reached out with the hand not holding Dipper against her side, taking his hand in hers. "It'll be okay, Grunkle Stan. You stay here and guard the Shack. Dipper and I will be fine. I've got my anti-Bill bracelet, my anti-vampire arsenal, and I'll take the grapping hook and the crossbow."
Mr. Pines closed his eyes, his head bowed. "I don't want to lose either of you, kiddo. I… I couldn't bear it."
"You won't, Grunkle Stan. Just wait and see. Her mom will break Dipper's curse."
"Wish I had your faith, pumpkin," he said. He smiled wearily, releasing her hand and ruffling her hair. Mabel giggled.
Then, he turned abruptly and strode right up to Alejandra until he was almost nose to nose with her. She fought the urge to step back, and instead met his stare. "Alright, tree-chick," he said. "If any harm comes to either of my kids, I swear I will find your grove and bring a whole new meaning to deforestation. Capiche?"
"No need for threats, Mr. Pines," she said, proud that she kept her voice steady. "I'll keep them safe. I promise. They'll be back before you know it."
Mr. Pines just fixed her with the deadliest glare she had ever experienced, then turned and stomped out of the room.
Alejandra released the breath she didn't know she had been holding, and looked over at Mabel and the cursed boy in her arms.
Mabel grinned at her. "That went well!" she declared.
TBC
A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I wrote myself into a corner in one scene and I knew the only way to fix is was to rewrite the whole scene from scratch. Took me a while to figure out how to do it in a way that didn't completely suck.
I've outlined this whole story (plus a little bit of a possible sequel). Just fyi, in case anyone was worried that I didn't know where I was going with this.
A huge thank you to everyone who read and faved the last chapter – even bigger thank yous to those who reviewed! I appreciate it so much! :D
If you liked this chapter, please let me know. If you didn't like it, please let me know why. :) I'm always up for constructive criticism.
Feedback is the life-blood of fanfic authors! Give your local fanfic author a transfusion today! (That metaphor worked better in my head….)
Drew this during my stream, I was having a anxiety attack and need to distract myself so i streamed and drew this......it’s just a doodle and not really cleaned up or anything....but...I hope you like it.... Have Deerper.
