Chapter Text
Tick
“Hey!”
Tick
“HEY!”
Tick
“DIP–”
SCREECH
“What did you do?”
One step back. He looks down. Red is pooling around his feet. It’s everywhere. A light flickers up ahead. Illuminating the car door lodged into the telephone pole. It’s on the other side of the street.
Night has long arrived. It’s quiet. So quiet and he doesn’t know what to do. Where does he go? What does he say?
Loud breathing in his ear. Humming and heavy. It’s his own. Certainly not the person on the floor. People. It’s multiple people. If he could count, at least two, maybe more. There’s so much red. His socks are soaked. They’ll have to be thrown out.
Wait. He has to tell someone. It’s the right thing to do.
“WHAT DID YOU DO??”
It’s loud. Coming from… coming from… His eyes land far beyond the car door. On the hill. Someone has their hands cupped around their mouth, like they’re shouting. He reaches for his camera. It may be the only way to see what their words are.
A flash of white. Searing into his vision. It burns.
Everything is different now.
It’s really more the constraints of the environment that make for a very unsuitable place to sleep. A leather seat, a seat belt chaining him to it, the rumbling of cars passing by. But he makes do. Even as their Gramps, Shermie, snores in the backseat, as Mabel finally stops tapping the wheel. She glances up at the rear view mirror, then at him. Her mouth stretches into a thin smile.
“We’re almost there,” she chirps, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just a couple more hours until we’re back at Gravity Falls!”
“Man, a couple more hours?” Dipper groans, trying to make use of the limited space to stretch every fibre of his body. “I need to stretch. Real bad.”
Mabel takes one hand off the wheel to point at an upcoming services sign. A gas station, a motel, and an exit no more than a few miles away.
“Look, we can get a couple snacks for Waddles,” she grins.
“And for us,” Dipper suggests, raising an eyebrow. Gas station chips and soda sounds like the perfect combo for an empty stomach.
Their trip wound through a string of fast food chains and exactly one highway diner giving away a couple free pies per their completion of a barbecue challenge. One hour and several empty platters later, they drove away with two pecan pies in the backseat. Both reserved for the welcome back party in the Mystery Shack.
Now, coming up on the last leg of their journey, they'd have a chance to clean up and clear out the discarded wrappers and soda cups from the floor.
“Who's gonna wake Gramps, then?” Mabel asks, fidgeting in her seat.
“I'll do it,” Dipper offers, slouching into his seat. “Only if I get to ride this time.”
“You're no fun!”
Mabel swivels the car into the station faster than Dipper can reply.
“Just because you just got your license, doesn't mean you get to drive the entire time,” he rolls his eyes. “It's bad for your long-term health.”
“Fine, fine.”
She lets out the longest yawn Dipper's ever seen. And a moment later, he's yawning too.
A grumble in the backseat snatches their attention. Shermie pulls off his cap, narrowing his eyes at them.
“You're a bunch of peas in a pod, aren't you?” he mutters. “Are we there yet?”
“No, Gramps,” Dipper says. “But we're topping up on snacks and clearing this hurricane out.”
He twirls his finger around the dirty floor. It is still a surprise the mess was made between just the three of them.
“Didn't we just eat?” the old man chuckles, wiggling his finger at them. “Alright, but I don't want to see either of you over-indulging. Especially you, Mabel.”
Mabel pouts, crossing her arms. The car is set to park, and they stagger out onto the gravel. Gasoline vapors hit Dipper immediately. He can’t say he doesn’t like the smell, but his stomach is now churning because of it. Shermie’s voice punctuates the air, turning suddenly sharp.
“Ford, are you going to help me up or not?” he huffs, pushing the car door open and holding out his hand.
“Sure, Gramps,” Dipper nods, biting his tongue.
He does so, rolling his ankles as Shermie slowly stands. For an old man, he isn’t as frail as he looks with that cane swinging around. But the years since his retirement have changed him.
The doctors said it was dementia. A slow, wasting disease of the brain, crippling the person’s memory until there’s nothing left. Dipper would hate to lose his memory of anything.
A sudden click, followed by a hiss of pain zinging through his ankle, gives him the relief he needs. Once the car is locked, he and Mabel carefully guide Shermie into the station store.
“Can you believe he’s still calling you ‘Ford’?” Mabel mouths to Dipper behind their Gramps’ back.
“You know I don’t even look like him,” Dipper mouths back.
Every Christmas, their family would go through old photos. Only when they reached the sixties, Shermie would get a distant shimmer in his eyes. The young adult version of him could sometimes be seen standing next to his teenage twin brothers. Their Grunkle Stan, defiant and brash even back then.
And Stanford Pines, the youngest. Stanford Pines, younger and dead.
Mabel and Dipper haven’t heard much. Only that it was a car crash, and last year was the first time Shermie travelled up to visit his grave. While Mabel and their parents could accompany him, Dipper couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
A car crash. Imagine that. How much it must’ve hurt. No one being around for miles and miles. The bleak night outlining the scene.
Someone’s hand lands on his shoulder. It’s then he feels his nails digging into his palms, and he comes back to reality. Mabel shakes him once. Her face exudes a subtle kind of concerned and long-driving stress. A few feet down, their grandpa is browsing the chocolate bar section.
“Are you okay?” Mabel asks.
“I’m fine,” Dipper says, putting on the biggest smile he can muster.
“Don’t pull that with me. Something’s been bothering you the whole ride.”
She pulls him around the aisle, but not too far so that Shermie wouldn’t leave their line of sight.
“Just…” Dipper starts, gazing up at the faltering ceiling lights, “it’s been a long time, Mabel. Since I’ve been back.”
“Well, it’ll be there no matter what,” Mabel says, tilting her head. “But, seriously. I don’t see you in two years. I hear you left college, and next you’re halfway across the country like your life depended on it! What happened?”
“I – I – I was in a car crash,” Dipper stutters, his mouth running before his brain can catch up with it. “I think it was a deer, I don’t know. My phone was dead and no one passed by for hours. For hours.
“I thought I would get over it, but when the anniversary came up, I realised… It was the worst night of my life.”
The worst night. One thousand, two-hundred and fifty three days. Not that he’s counting.
“Ohhh.”
Mabel goes red, turning away from him. She focuses intently on the absurdly priced candy cereal.
“Now I feel guilty,” she says, keeping her eyes low. “You weren’t really ice-ing me back then.”
“What was it, you wanted to tell me then anyway?” Dipper asks, tilting his head.
“I had the worst night of my life, too,” she mumbles. “My friend died. I found her first.”
It’s his turn to turn away. His eyes shift over to the windows. A sparkling cone of red dances from one side to the other. Wait, not dancing. Waddling, reminding him of what a gnome would do.
What the hell?
He must be seeing things.
“I should’ve picked up the phone, Mabel,” Dipper replies, running his hands over his face.
His stomach twists and turns. If he knew at the time, if he had just picked up the phone. The phone buzzing on the passenger seat of his car as he kept his hands on the wheel.
Los Angeles was far behind. The uncertain future far in front.
Shermie is still wandering the aisles. He stops at the drinks section, putting on a face as he stares down the line of Snapper-ade.
“I should’ve been there for you,” he continues. “Wow, I’ve really ruined this trip already, haven’t I?”
“You haven’t,” Mabel shakes her head, going wide-eyed. “It was a long time ago, and I’ve missed you. I miss my brother more than I hate him. Not hate him.”
And like that, the weighted air pops. A calm tide washes into the station and Dipper’s shoulders can finally drop.
“Sibling hug?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
Mabel doesn’t say anything more as she hauls him into a familiar, suffocating embrace. All the more better for him to hide his ear-to-ear smile. Who knew it could hurt so much?
“Where’s Grandpa?” Mabel asks when they break away.
In the few minutes of talking, Shermie has walked out of their line of sight. Dipper swears under his breath as he glances over the aisles. Alcohol aisle, out. Food-to-go, newspapers, the counter, out.
Mabel’s pointing to the car is what settles him. Hope renewed. Shermie is using all his might to get back into it. For an old man, he sure looks like he’s going to take that door off in a few minutes.
“Someone should tell him it’s locked,” Dipper mutters. He groans when Mabel shoves the keys into his hands.
“You get to calm him down,” she snickers. “Want me to get you anything?”
A request for a packaged three-bean burrito and a Pitt-Cola later, Dipper is back by the car. He lightly waves in front of Shermie. The gesture appears to work, as the man slowly releases his grip on the handle.
“You okay, Grandpa?” Dipper asks.
“Sorry, I thought…” Shermie's voice trails off. “We're not going to a funeral, are we?”
“No, we're going to stay at Gravity Falls for the summer. You went there last year. No one we know has died.”
Yet.
All things come to an end. And Dipper is keeping his mouth shut. Existentialism generally makes people uncomfortable. He found out the hard way during freshman year of high school. Bullies tend to avoid people who blend in with the crowd.
“Last time I went to that blasted town was in 1982,” Shermie mutters. “You should’ve seen the state of it then. What a mess of a house.”
Dipper holds the car keys up high. There’s a beep, and the doors are unlocked. Shermie shakes his head solemnly, all the while Dipper scrounges for their trash.
“The Mystery Shack? A dump?” he asks, with a crack in his voice.
The place had always been as spotless as he could remember. Well, the shop, anyway. Stan had never been known for doing free vacuum-cleaning on his own, so it was up to Dipper and Mabel most summers.
“It wasn’t a tourist trap then, so of course it should’ve been easier,” Shermie says, taking his sweet time to slide into the passenger seat. “I don’t know how they could stand arguing with one another.”
Dipper is halfway between the trash can and the car when that sentence stops him dead.
“Wait, they lived together?”
This is news. Big news. He has a permanent image in his mind of Stan living alone in his castle. Even though it’s been a decade since Soos and Melody have taken ownership, it’s stuck.
And when he has one image, another is right behind. Of Ford and all of that lost potential. What he could have been. It’s a tragic tale the family has. And what a waste for it to be barely spoken of.
“Dipper, let me tell you, never live with someone who ruined your life,” Shermie says, sinking into his seat. “It’s less money than it’s worth. Jesus.”
“Okay, oh look, Mabel’s here!”
The chime of the station door swinging follows Mabel’s trot across the tarmac. Over her shoulder is a tot bag full of snacks and soda. And no doubt enough to stuff Waddles into a coma.
As if he doesn’t already get spoiled by Soos and the family throughout the rest of the year.
“Mabel!” Shermie says sternly.
“Sorry!” Mabel giggles. “I was thinking – we can’t leave without midnight snacks, and what if Waddles got into Soos’s stash before we arrived?”
What if’s aren’t going to get them anywhere. And besides, the pig knows not to mess with Soos’s food. He may be smart, but he ain’t reckless enough for a death wish.
PING
As they settle back into the car, Dipper stretching his legs in the back seat, a notification pops up on his phone.
And… and… and it’s the Pacifica Northwest. Her bright profile pic flashes at the top of the screen, a shining beacon for his restless mind.
¬ PACIFICA
|–> Hey, what’s your guys’ ETA? It’s pretty boring in this town without the Mystery Twins.
¬ DIPPER
|–> Lol, you’ll live. We’re at the Shell gas station rn. The one with the broken fifth gas pump.
¬ PACIFICA
|–> So not far.
¬ DIPPER
|–> Yeah, we’re leaving the station now. Will be roughly ten, fifteen minutes. Gotta go, Wendy’s calling.
¬ PACIFICA
|–> Ooh, okay.
¬ DIPPER
|–> Nope, I’m not playing that game again.
Slumping into the leather, Dipper rests his head back. He won’t deny the texts bring him some sort of joy. And a deep level of trust he can’t put his finger on.
Trees and the highway pass them by until they diverge onto an exit. The sign for Gravity Falls looms beside it. Three and a half miles until they’re there.
Three and a half miles until they’re home.
Mabel is switching the radio off when she makes a stunted squeak. It would barely perk up Dipper’s attention, if their grandpa’s sharp grunt didn’t alert him too.
“What is it?” Dipper asks, his eyes growing wide.
“It’s –” Mabel starts. A heavy rumble shaking the car breaks her sentence. And then another.
Darkness befalls them suddenly. It sways like the wind, reminding Dipper of a dream-catcher's shadow in the summer.
“What the hell is that?” Shermie sputters, straightening the rear view mirror.
Even as the seat-belt attempts to choke him, Dipper follows his gaze. On the road behind them, is a tall, red giant. Its stomps and roars ripples dizzying faintness through his body.
It’s such an absurd sight, Dipper wants to yell at Mabel to drive faster. No matter if the road is empty or not.
He is just about to, when another sight stops his heart. The tall giant is mid-step when a tear forms in its chest, growing rapidly. It breaks the figure into smaller and smaller pieces, ones that scatter into the woods on their own.
When the last pieces break up, Dipper has to blink twice to recognise what they are. Just like at the gas station, they’re gnomes, with outfits in various shades of blue, grey beards, and bright red cones for hats.
“What the hell is that?!” Shermie repeats, barking louder the second time.
“Gnomes,” Dipper and Mabel reply in unison.
“Don’t be absurd! That must’ve been some – some trick! Someone must be very proud of themselves right now!”
“I doubt it was a trick, Grandpa,” Dipper says, gripping his seat-belt tightly.
Through the rear-view mirror, he shares a look with his sister. Her eyes reflect back the same fears he has. Whatever that was, it was real to them. And neither of them can confess to Shermie that they have not passed by a single house nor private road.
For now, the radio is cranked to eleven, drowning the rush behind Dipper’s ears.