Author's Note: Hello, everybody! Happy new year! To kick in 2015, here's chapter two of Bump in the night!

Just to clear up any confusion: this story takes place in early December of the Pines twins' senior year of high school; they're both roughly around 17 and a half years old. Wendy is in her third year of college, which makes her about 20 or 21.

I do make reference to the Pines celebrating Christmas secularly. There's been some controversy lately over their religion, but Alex Hirsch himself has confirmed the Pines are canonly whatever religion the people please. I see them as Jewish people that celebrate a religious Hanukah and a non-religious Christmas.

There are instances/references to the twins suffering from PTSD for anyone that's sensitive to that. Past events, some inferred and others canon moments from the show, are going to play a big role in this story (such as chapter 1's "big things are coming" which is a reference to something Bill Cipher has said on the show before). It's not exactly an AU, but there are alternate universe elements since the show isn't over yet.

2

Dipper had faced many disastrous monster hunts over the years, but this was by far the worst.

Forget the ache in his bones, the pounding in his head, the crushing guilt in his chest, and the dissatisfaction of the demons getting away. Waking his mother up with a phone call at 3 a.m. (way past their curfew by the way) to explain to her that Marcie O'Malley's mansion had blown apart and he was rushing Mabel and himself to the Piedmont hospital was punishment enough. To make matters worse, his phone screen was cracked. It must've shattered after he'd leapt out a two-story window. So much for having any chance of getting to know Rashel better; the only way he'd been able to get ahold of his mom was because she was set as a speed dial.

He'd almost wanted to laugh. Honestly, what part of his life hadn't completely cracked at this point?

Maneuvering through the streets was torture. They weren't busy, thank God, but every sign and streetlight seemed to be blurred and doubled. He had to squint his eyes just to read them, and more than once veered off road like his Grunkle Stan trying to drive with his cataracts. If there had been any doubts before, Dipper was sure he had a concussion.

At the thought of Stan, his fingers curled tighter around the leather steering wheel. He recalled the taunting voice of the demon, succeeding in distracting him. "'How's that great uncle of yours? That useless handyman? Little red?'" As much as the demon had been trying to trip him up, Dipper didn't think he'd been lying. Demons didn't usually hold back truths they knew would hurt.

He'd have to call Stan the first chance he got.

And he'd have to tell Mabel everything once she woke up.

The ol' mustang's tires squealed across an unseen pothole in the ground and threw the twins momentarily out of their seats. He knew it wasn't good to sleep with an untreated concussion. He was almost positive Mabel had one too. He'd done his best to talk her awake, but it was hard when he was driving. Eventually exhaustion had won out, and she'd passed out beside him for the second time that night.

To say Dipper was worried was like saying Stan loved money: There was no existing word strong enough to describe his emotions.

He didn't think so much as feel one of his hands let go of the steering wheel and reach in the darkness to brush Mabel's arm. A wave of heat seared his fingertips as if he'd touched a hot dish. Panic, sudden and overwhelming, sharpened some of the fuzziness in his head. Mabel let out a soft moan. It was only then that he realized he'd started to cling to her torn sleeve.

Dipper turned his eyes back to the road. It had become an expanse of utter blackness. Passing headlights in a neighboring lane would race forward and blind him for a moment like flames sparking off of metal before they sputtered out again. These circles of light were too close; they set him on fire, they stole away his breath, his feeling. He'd lost his grip on Mabel. His hand searched wildly out for her as another bright beam of light approached them. All he felt was hot air.

He shut his eyes against a blinding glare. "Car headlights aren't blue," Dipper muttered, his breath quickening. "They're not blue. They're not blue." Hundreds of panicked voices were screaming in his aching head, only growing louder. Mabel was burning up and he couldn't find her and he killed those damn kids oh God—

His eyes snapped open. The screaming hadn't been metaphorical; a horn was blaring so incredibly loud he hardly registered the truck it belonged to until he'd swerved back into the right lane, throwing Mabel against his side.

She smelt like sulfur and alcohol, an undesirable combination. "No, no more ketchup," she mumbled into his shoulder deliriously. A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside him. Holy hell they almost died in a car crash and she had no idea.

They almost died in a car crash and she had no idea.

Dipper jostled his shoulder. He muttered her name. "Mabel…Mabes, wake up." He could feel his anxiety cresting again like a wave. "You gotta wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up…"

Was he even awake right now? Didn't seem like it.

(Don't look at those headlights.)

How long had he been driving? There were tears on his lips that tasted like dry blood.

A different light eventually shone out from the top of a hill, a roughly shaped E and R, and like a bright red beacon it guided Dipper out of the dark into safety.

Mabel scratched at her bandages. "You don't think they'll be too mad, do you?"

Dipper shifted on the bed across from her. As twin siblings they'd been permitted to share a hospital room by birthright. It had been three hours and counting since their arrival, and there was still no sign of their parents. He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Piedmont was a relatively small town. They were probably stuck in traffic, seeing as a number of kids from Marcie's party had come rolling in after the twins on stretchers.

He tried not to feel too bad about that.

"Don't get your hopes up," Dipper told her. "And stop scratching at those."

Mabel stuck her tongue out at him.

Her injuries hadn't been as horrible as he'd feared. A broken wrist. Some mild burns, excluding the long nasty one stretching up her arm that was covered in gauze. A fair amount of bruises and cuts. A slight concussion. He'd been right about her having a fever, but the doctors had brought it down since they'd stumbled in. Dipper's injuries were about the same, except for some worse cuts and severely bruised ribs. They had both been stripped of their scorched clothing and hooked up to IVs nearly the second they had arrived. Dipper had done his best to avoid looking at the needles while they'd been put in.

He hated hospitals. Just inhaling the sterile antiseptic scent was enough to give him chills. His sister and he were alive, and…they were pretty okay for the most part. He was feeling physically decent, despite the impending doom of their parents' arrival.

"Do you think it looked cool?" Mabel piped up, still picking and scratching. "Like when we swung out of that exploding window? I bet it was pretty badass."

"Badass or not, it hurt like hell." Dipper cracked a bit of a smile. Mabel had that kind of effect on him.

"Too bad my grappling hook had to suffer."

"I'll buy you a new claw for Christmas, alright?"

She practically bounced up and down on her hospital bed. Mabel's unlimited supply of energy was still a mystery to him. Dipper had watched earlier, bemused, as their nurse had tried to convince Mabel to sleep. Eventually the poor woman had given up on verbal negotiation and injected his twin with a sleeping drug. Her jaw had dropped when she'd walked in later after that and found Mabel still wide awake, taking funny pictures on her phone.

Dipper had slept; albeit forcibly. He'd passed out after first stumbling into the hospital half carrying Mabel, and then later when the nurse had injected him with a sleeping drug too. He wasn't immune like Mabel was; he didn't have extra energy to expend. He'd just woken up from his drug induced slumber a little bit ago. He still felt pretty exhausted but sleeping would have to wait.

Mabel swung her feet off the edge of her bed. Some of her painted nails had little smiley faces on them that appeared to wink when she flexed her toes. It brought a goofy smile to her face every time.

As much as Dipper didn't want to burst her happy bubble he was dying to talk about the demon's conversation with him earlier. It kept replaying in his head like a broken record. Obviously the demons were working with some higher force, but for who and why? He couldn't think of any immediate soul sucking forces residing out there in the world aside from the usual crazy cults and the more recent Apple Electronics Company.

(Okay, that last one was still a bit of a conspiracy, but Dipper was convinced the place was trouble; no one got so completely engrossed in their technology the way Apple users did, alright? It just wasn't natural).

"Hey, Mabel?" He ventured. His sister peered up at him curiously. "There's something you need to know," he said. "The demon, it, uh, it told me some things when you were kicked unconscious…"

He quickly explained how the demon had mentioned Stan and the gang and how 'big things were coming'. He watched the smile slip off of Mabel's face the longer he spoke.

Once he was done her shoulders had completely wilted like a flower gone too long without sunlight. "Well that's sucky," she said. He thought that summed up the situation pretty well.

"We have to get ahold of Grunkle Stan as soon as we get out of here," said Dipper, "Who knows how much of what that demon said is true?"

Mabel's nose wrinkled distastefully. "Aw, can't we eat breakfast first?" She whined. "I haven't eaten in over a gazillion hours. My stomach keeps grumbling like it hates me." She lowered her voice. "'Feed me, Mabel.'" Then she hugged her stomach and cooed soothingly. "I'm sorry, lil buddy, but they just keep giving me Goldfish graham crackers and peanut butter to snack on. Soon I will reward you with a nice juicy egg omelet for your valiant patience. 'Thank you'" She giggled. "Oh, anything for you, Stummy."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Okay. Breakfast first. Then we call Stan. And can you stop talking to your stomach?" He added. "It's kinda creepy."

"'Well that's not very nice,'" Mabel told him in her deeper voice. ""You're just jealous cause you don't have a close relationship with your tummy the way me and Mabel do.'"

"Yeah. That's it."

Dipper's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Mabel burst out laughing.

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, but he was laughing too. Alright, fine, he'll admit it. He was freakin starving.

Humor wasn't doing much to help out his bruised ribs. He winced with every chuckle. "Ow, ow! Okay, seriously, ow, this hurts. Gonna try to avoid jumping out of windows from now on."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "Quit bein a baby."

The soft click of their hospital room door being forced open fell them both quickly into silence. An unfamiliar nurse bustled in, her eyes glued to a clipboard. "I have a Mr. and Mrs. Pines here to see Mabel and—"

"Oh, thank God!" A small woman wrapped in a pink bath robe wiggled past the nurse and sped over to them. She threw her arms around Mabel first, cradling the younger girl's head to her shoulder. Mabel wrapped her good arm around their mother while she pressed a kiss to Mabel's forehead. "Thank God. Thank God," Mrs. Pines enthused. "When we got the call we were so worried. We didn't know what to think…"

Dipper watched his father excuse the nurse and then follow in quietly behind his wife, nearly ducking to make it through the lower doorway. He too was also dressed for bed, his dark hair sticking up in a plethora of different directions as if he had rolled right out of his sleep covers to come here. His expression was stony, but there was a shine to his russet eyes that made Dipper think that the man was worried, on the inside at least.

He clapped a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "You all in one piece, kid?" Dipper shrugged.

"More or less." He replied. Dipper looked to his mother as she came fluttering over to him next. Her embrace was warm. He allowed himself to relax into it, pretending to be a child again for the few moments while his eyes remained closed. He let out a soft sigh, "Hi, mom."

"Oh, baby, are you alright?" She pulled away and examined him with her warm brown eyes, so much like his own. When she couldn't find any major injuries in sight she started fiddling with the hair on his forehead, gently combing through the tangles. Her fingers ghosted across his birthmark. "It's nothing too serious, right?" she fretted.

"A few bruised ribs and a mild concussion," Dipper informed her. "I'll survive."

"Roger that!" Mabel confirmed on her bed, saluting.

"Good, good. Because you two are in a world of trouble!" Mrs. Pines stepped back and crossed her arms. A scowl replaced the soft curve of her mouth. "What on earth were you two thinking, sneaking out to go to that Marcie girl's party?" she demanded. "Mabel, we've already told you about the parties after curfew thing, but Dipper! I expected better from you."

Ah geez. "It was just…something I wanted to try, I guess," he told her sheepishly. "You know, like, a normal teenager thing."

His mother's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "You wanted to go to the party?"

Dipper ran a hand across the back of his neck. He wasn't much of a partier, that much was obvious to pretty much, well, everyone, he figured. This wasn't his best excuse but he was still working through the fog in his head.

"Uh, sorta—"he tried.

"I made him come with me," Mabel intervened. "I was nervous about going by myself so I brought Dipper as my buddy." She explained easily.

Dipper shot her a grateful smile that she returned with a little half-shrug of her shoulder.

Twins. They always had each other's backs.

Mrs. Pines was wary of them. Dipper didn't blame her. She may've not believed in the mysterious creatures that went bump in the night but that didn't stop her kids from getting into the occasional shenanigan or two. "So this wasn't a monster hunting thing," she reiterated slowly. "This was just a run of your mill normal rebellious teenager thing. I'm not going to get a call later describing how my kids were running around trashing a party looking for some… thing."

Dipper showed off his white teeth for her. "Absolutely," he agreed.

She zeroed in on him instantly. "You had nothing to do with that girl's house blowing up?"

"No!"

A weak smile lifted the corners of their mother's mouth; she never could stay angry long. "Alright, well, you're both still grounded until college," she decided. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Mr. Pines. "David, do you have any objections?"

Mr. Pines gave a firm shake of his head. He had one of those piercing stares Dipper sometimes saw coming from Stan. Over the years he had begun to wonder if it was some hereditary gene that hardened the look in the men's eyes, or if it was just a mutual sense of loss that had bonded them together.

Mrs. Pines clapped her hands. "Well, I need a coffee," she announced. "Anyone wanna come with me?"

"Yes!" Mabel eagerly hopped off of her hospital bed. "I've been cooped up in here for waaaay too long. My legs feel like jello!" she exclaimed. She did a little jig on the tiles just to prove her point.

Mrs. Pines took her daughter gently by the wrist. Mabel skipped out joyously behind her, already launching into her hospital-time tales thus far.

Dipper quickly stood up. "Can I co—"

His dad's voice rumbled a warning behind him "Not so fast, son" like thunder declaring an oncoming storm. Faced away from it, Dipper winced. He'd been trying to avoid a confrontation like this. Lying to his father's face wasn't as easy as lying to his mother's was.

Out in the hall Mabel's chattering rebounded against the hospital walls, mocking him for not acting sooner. Dipper slipped on a mask of composure. Over the years his truth stretching had become precise; do something enough times and it just sort of became habitual. He faced his father.

"Yeah, dad?"

"You weren't lying to your mother just now, were you?" Mr. Pines pressed.

Dipper gave a small shake of his head.

"And you're not lying to me?"

"Nope," Dipper answered smoothly. "I went to the party to watch out for Mabel, just like I told mom. So can I go now?" He stepped closer to the door. "I'm pretty hungry too."

Mr. Pines took a seat on Dipper's hospital bed and patted the empty wrinkles beside him the way he had when Dipper was four years old and refused to sleep so early in the night. The comparison wasn't welcome; the fact that standing there only prolonged his quiet humiliation is what eventually drove Dipper to plopping down beside his dad with a sorry sigh. He was not a child, and he was not going to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him act like one.

Mr. Pines jostled the mattress, trying to find a comfortable spot. Once they were settled he began. "You know, Dip. Everything your mother and I do is always in your best interest, you and your sister. Do you have any idea why we sent you up to stay with Uncle Stan a couple years ago?"

The conversation swerved so quickly it nearly gave Dipper whiplash. He tore his eyes away from the bleached floor tile he'd been staring at and looked up at his father, surprised. He realized his dad was waiting for a proper answer. "Um, to experience life away from the city?" Dipper guessed. Honestly, he'd never really put much thought into such a question; he'd just kind of figured his parents had wanted to get their kids out of the house for a summer.

Mr. Pines nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you're not wrong," he said. "When I was a kid Stan used to tell me stories about that town he lived in. Weird things. Like ghosts and trolls and gnomes."

Dipper's heart jumped in his throat. Does he know—"Dad, you kinda lost me here," Dipper chuckled uncomfortably. Mr. Pines didn't believe in the supernatural, let alone understand its existence out there in the world.

"I never believed any of it," his dad confirmed, and Dipper released a silent reassured breath. "I still don't. I think he used to tell me those stories to make me feel better about grandpa passing, give me a little hope, you know?"

"That's, um, nice."

"Except that none of it was real." His dad's voice had hardened, his mouth a thin long line creasing his face. "My father was dead and eventually I accepted the fact that no amount of hoping was going to bring him back," he stated. "I moved on. I'm better off for it."

Dipper looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He knew what had become of his grandfather. No amount of hoping and wishing and hell, even years of building, had managed to bring him back to Stan either.

"You, Dipper; you're still hanging on to that false hope."

His head snapped up at that. "I know grandpa's dead," Dipper said.

"I'm not talking about grandpa." When Dipper's silence became prolonged Mr. Pines continued. "We sent you up to Stan's so you could see that these monsters you were chasing were just stories. So you could accept that they weren't real and move on, like I did. I see you reading those journals at night, Dip. I know they're not school textbooks."

Dipper squeezed his hands together.

"You promised your mother you'd drop this silly obsession, son. Remember the incident in the locker room a few months ago?"

Silly obsession. "I know."/p

"So why are you doing this again, Dip? Things were just starting to be good again."

For you.

"Your grades were up," his dad listed. "You were making good marks on the golf team, you had that interview with Stanford—"

"I don't know, dad, okay? I don't know," Dipper snapped. "I'm really tired and don't feel like being interrogated right now. Sorry." Sorry I ruin everything in our 'oh-so perfect' family.

He didn't say that.

His father sighed heavily. "Your mother and I just wanted you to grow up, Dipper. Try to see it from our side of things, alright? A half a year from now, you'll be eighteen. There's no room for fairytales in adulthood."

Dipper could feel his blood boiling; the all too clean air pervading the tiny room cut like lightning across his stinging cheeks. "Why don't you try seeing things from my side for once?" he threw back. "Then maybe I'll try seeing it from yours."

A beat of silence passed. Dipper didn't have to look over to know he'd succeeded in pissing his father off.

Good. What right did the man have to immediately march in and start treating Dipper like a criminal in custody anyhow? He had no idea what his son had been through tonight. This was about the last thing Dipper felt like dealing with right now. Their feuds needed to stay at home where they belonged.

(Besides, Dipper hated golf. He only put up with it because prestigious colleges had careful eyes; they tended to single out the well-rounded students, otherwise he would've quit the dumb sport ages ago. But his dad seemed to gain selective hearing every time Dipper brought that up.)

Mr. Pines stood up to his complete staggering six foot God-knew-how-many-inches height, muscles in his back jutting out beneath his bed clothes like the branches of a real tree. "There's news reporters out there." His reply was gruff. "You'd better have a good story ready, kid."

Dipper didn't even flinch at the resounding bang that echoed from the door with his father's departure. Instead he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and was horrified when they came away wet. Glistening tears shone like crystals under the fluorescents, running paths down along the curve of his hand. Dipper couldn't remember the last time he'd cried this much.

He scrubbed his tears away furiously.

But what was a storm without rain, anyway?

Mabel loved the arts.

For as long as she could remember they had always been her thing. Most of her early memories were vague but she could recall the emotions associated with them vividly. Like in pre-school for instance there had been a time slot dedicated each day to just creativity and open expression. Kids could pretty much do whatever the heck they wanted however they wanted to do it then. Some read. Others played on the jungle gyms outside. Mabel usually spent it drawing and painting. It was the only part of school she really enjoyed.

Not to be braggy or anything, but she was pretty much da bomb when it came to art class, and everyone knew it. She had been an advanced art student from day one and gosh darn it her skills hadn't slowed down over time. Every year her teachers pulled her parents aside at Open House to tell them what a gifted young artist Mabel was becoming (though she could stand to stop doodling in class so much). This was her niche, her place. Dipper could own everything else on the planet, but the arts were hers.

Using her left hand (since her right was still bent out of shape), Mabel traced a curling line with her pencil tip and began to shade in the paper. As the years wore on, she realized that art wasn't so much a hobby as it was an escape. Whenever she felt overwhelmed, her hands would instantly gravitate to a pencil or paintbrush or a pair of knitting needles, and soon enough her stress would ebb away like waves lapping against the shoreline. She would never admit that aloud, not to anyone; as far as they were concerned Mabel was stressed out maybe once in a blue moon. She didn't want people worrying about her.

Art was about creation, so she could feel like she was preserving something in a world that was constantly crumbling down around her.

She idly sketched another line on a piece of notebook paper, humming. She didn't really have any particular end in mind; she was just kind of drawing for the heck of it. Her mom was supposed to be home any minute now with the aftermath of the Marcie party fiasco. Mabel wasn't really looking forward to any more bad news today, to say the least.

She took in a big whiff of vanilla wafting over from the burning candle set out nearby, and felt herself relax a little more in her seat. The best part of the holidays, aside from seeing family members, was hands down the specialized candles. They always had the most wonderful scents, like gingerbread, or peppermint, or sugar cookies. If love had an aroma, Mabel thought, it would smell like candles in December.

The soft screech of wood being dragged against wood had Mabel glancing up from her drawing. She watched her mother drop heavily into a kitchen chair across the table, her expression grim. "Well, dad and I spoke with Marcie's parents," she began, "and the good news is they've decided against pressing charges for the party. Something about there not being enough evidence to blame the explosion on you two."

Mabel peered across the table top at her brother. She tried to exchange a knowing smile with him—he had been the first to deduce their safety from federal court, after all—but his nose was still buried in a leather bound notebook, his current investigation journal. Mabel had never asked, but she suspected it was his form of continuing where the original author of the journals had left off. After he'd filled up the third, he'd started composing a fourth mystery journal based off of his (and her) supernatural experiences, minus the cool looking covers.

Mabel could definitely hook him up with some if he wanted.

Mrs. Pines made an irritated sound in the back of her throat, but Dipper still remained fixated on his journal. "However," she continued irately, "Marcie has requested to have a restraining order filed against you both which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is going to be incredibly frustrating dealing with at school. You'll have to change classes; your whole schedules might be rearranged and, Dipper, would you please look at me while I'm talking to you."

Dipper jerked at the sudden shift in her tone. His gaze flitted up from his book guiltily. "Uh, sorry," he mumbled. It didn't sound particularly meaningful.

Mrs. Pines pursed her lips, a look Mabel was well used to seeing directed at her; being siblings with a brother that did almost nothing wrong sure had its downfalls. "Did you hear what I just said?" Their mom inquired.

Dipper scratched his chin. "Yeah…" he coughed. "Totally."

Mabel rolled her eyes. Dipper was so out of it. He always got like this when there was another potential supernatural threat they had to deal with, like tunnel vision for the mysterious and otherwise disturbing and creepy.

She was pretty sure he would date those journals if he could.

As if he read her mind, Dipper shot her a glare. "Marcie filed a restraining order against us," he reiterated. "We have to change classes or whatever; I don't care." He waved his hand dismissively. "We're better off away from her, if you ask me."

Mabel bit her tongue. She wanted to argue that Marcie was still her friend, but that wasn't really the case, was it? Mabel had knocked that friendship right out of the park, and not in the home run kind of way.

A couple of gray streaked curls had fallen loose from her mother's bun and were sticking up sideways as if the air was charged with electricity, or maybe it was just stress that was creating the frizz. Could stress do that? Mabel wondered. It would explain why Dipper's hair always looked a mess. She'd have to Google it. Maybe test it out some time. She could hide his homework or disorganize all of his books and not give any explanation why, or-or! She could blame it on some supernatural whatsit and send him on a wild goose chase for nothing. Oh man that would be so funny—

Dipper's mouth opened and Mabel realized she'd just missed a whole chunk of the conversation. Gah; her mom had been ranting before, something about terrorism and the local news?

"-hasn't been a reported problem for over a year now," Dipper finished. "So the town is pretty misinformed if that's the case. Plus, we're not even Muslim."

Mrs. Pines' face turned a not-so-flattering fire engine red. Yikes, Mabel cringed. It was one thing to be shown up by another adult, but by a kid? That was a whole different deal.

Was Dipper trying to piss their mom off?

"That's not the point, Dipper. " Mrs. Pines planted her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. Mabel wanted to reach across the table and offer her a comforting pat on the shoulder. She was about to, when she heard the soft thud of a book closing and her brother's remorseful sigh.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

Mrs. Pines looked up from her hands and offered him a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were so heavy she was almost giving Dipper a run for his money. "It's alright, hon," she said. "We're just doing the best we can, you know? Hospital bills on top of court bills and every other bill you have to pay to live now… it's just a lot."

"We didn't mean to get you into this," Mabel told her and that was the God honest truth. The supernatural was supposed to be the twins' burden, not their parents'. That was why they only trained up in Gravity Falls and were careful to keep their tools and weapons out of sight when they returned home again.

Despite her own refusal, Mabel had always had the feeling that Dipper wanted their parents to be a part of the life, if not the fighting then to at least know. Mabel understood where he was coming from but, as much as she loathed lying, she sought to keep her parents out of danger more.

Mrs. Pines' smile struggled to reach her eyes. She reached across the table and lay her hand on top of Mabel's, offering a comforting squeeze in return. "I know. We'll manage, kids. Don't worry."

Mabel exchanged an uneasy look with her brother, but when they faced Mrs. Pines again, they nodded.

An itch crept back into Mabel's fingertips. They longed for her pencil and paper.

Mrs. Pines straightened her back. "In the meantime," she continued in a noticeably lighter tone. "No school until this legal business is all sorted out. I know the doctor gave the OK to go back to class, but your father and I agree it would be best to pull you two out until this party incident cools down some. Since holiday break starts in two weeks, that means—"

Mabel leapt out of her chair before her mom could finish. "Yeah! No mid-terms! No studying!" she cheered.

"We'll still have to take them once we get back, Mabel," Dipper immediately pointed out in that negative nelly way of his. "Our grades will probably be worse because we weren't there for so long."

Mabel held her hand up at him, the universal STOP sign. "Whoa-ha-ho, slow down there, Scrooge. We can cross that bridge when we get to it."

"What, Scrooge? That doesn't make any sense-"

"For now, I propose some good ol' fashioned R and R!" declared Mabel, talking over him. "That means PJs and movies, not books and nerd things! It's time to get in touch with your inner sloth, bro!"

"Your sister is right, Dipper," Mrs. Pines said. "I want you to relax over the next couple of weeks. It's important that you rest your head. That means no intense research sessions until the crack of dawn every night, capiche?"

"Aw, what?" he whined. "Not even sometimes?"

"Dipper…"

He crossed his arms, sighing. "Okay. Fine."

Mabel wanted race around the house, do cartwheels until she fell over in her own dizziness. Finally! She could have time to paint and work on her scrapbooks and collages. She could finish that sweater she was knitting Dipper for Christmas, and that macaroni art of Waddles she'd started in the fall. Her realism art could use some honing too, she thought. Sketching just wasn't enough if she planned to go professional one day. Her gaze dropped back down to the table top.

Mabel froze.

On the piece of crumbled notebook paper she'd been doodling on before was a triangle, a single solid black pupil staring out at her from its center.

Like a balloon suddenly punctured by a needle the excitement deflated from her body, and Mabel sank back down in her seat, suddenly ill.

Dipper's gaze was burning holes through her skin. Mabel folded up the drawing and forced a big smile on her face.

Oh pooper scooper, this was bad. This was really really bad.

Mrs. Pines stood up from the table and readjusted her purse strap, seemingly oblivious to Mabel's sudden alarm. "Dad went back to work already," she informed the twins. "I have to head to the office for a few hours to make up the time I missed this morning. You guys know the drill. Be good. No visitors. I'll be back by seven."

She walked around the table and left a light kiss on each of their foreheads. There was a distinct sinking feeling in Mabel's gut, like an elevator had lurched too quickly under her feet.

Mrs. Pines tucked a stray curl behind Mabel's ear. "Love you," she said, brushing Mabel's ashen cheek.

Mabel's voice swirled together with Dipper's in an almost instinctual reply. "Love you too."

Mrs. Pines pulled away. The gentle click, click of her heels against the hardwood floors echoed in her wake. She disappeared out the door.

Once her car engine could be heard rumbling down the street, Dipper fixed his sharp gaze on Mabel again. "Alright, let's see it," he said. "What're you drawing over there?"

"What, drawing?" Mabel blew a raspberry. "I have a broken wrist, remember?"

"You're ambidextrous, Mabel."

"That I am, Dipper. That I am." He made a swipe across the table, but she smacked his hand away. "It's nothing!" Mabel objected, tucking the paper closer to her chest. "Just dumb flowers and other girly stuff you wouldn't care about!" She didn't know where the sudden urge to hide this drawing was coming from. Honestly Dipper deserved to know, especially if it ended up being important. She was also doing a terrible job at staying inconspicuous about it.

Dipper noticed; his eyes narrowed. "If I wouldn't care, then why are you trying so hard to hide it? C'mon, Mabel, you're the worst liar ever."

Oh yeah, he definitely noticed.

Mabel unfolded the paper and peeked at her drawing. She felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. Bill's graphite eye seemed to watch her no matter which way she moved.

"Just…don't freak out, okay?" Mabel ventured. She glanced up at Dipper through her lashes. "Promise you won't go totally cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs if I show you this."

Dipper sighed, his patience clearly tried. "I promise."

She slid the paper face down across the table the same way agents handled top secret files. Dipper rolled his eyes at her theatrics and picked it up. It wasn't long before the color vanished from his face completely.

The silence was unnerving. Yelling she could handle. Excited pacing, animated gestures; that was all typical behavior of her geek brother once he found a new lead to work with. This stone cold block of ice he seemed incased in now was as foreign to her as the North Pole was to the South Pole.

Mabel snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Bro, you're still breathing, right? How many fingers am I holding up?" she fretted, waving her hand back and forth.

His brown eyes were wide and frightened, like a deer caught in car headlights at night, when he finally looked back up at her. "Why…" Dipper's voice cracked, and to her surprise, he didn't bother looking embarrassed. "Why did you draw, you-know-who?"

Mabel winced. "I told you it was bad," she said, picking at her thumb nail.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't know, Dip! I was thinking about Marcie's party and then tada that's what I drew. The demons last night might've just reminded me of—you know." She tried to silently communicate through the inflection in her voice, 'it might not mean anything.'

Her twin sought out his pen on the table and brought it to his mouth, nervously chewing on the end. She could almost picture the gears in his head quickly turning possibility after possibility over. She figured they were probably sharing similar thoughts.

Bill Cipher was a dream demon. He, like, majored in all that subconscious mumbo-jumbo. It wouldn't be out of his realm to influence Mabel into sketching out a threat.

But it was a little far-fetched, considering the Pines had banished him away for like a gazillion years.

Dipper shook his head as if to shake it free of cobwebs. "Bad memories," he muttered. "But we shouldn't jump to any conclusions right now. We need more evidence."

Mabel stared at her twin. Okay, so, like, Dip was a pretty levelheaded guy for the most part, don't get her wrong, but she could count on one finger the number of times he hadn't jumped to conclusions before.

It was this time. Right now. That was the finger.

She tilted her head to the side, squinting. "Dipper, say whaaat?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Bro, you're like the emqueen/em of conclusion jumping! All you ever do is jump to conclusions! You start muttering to yourself and pacing like there's ants in your pants and like" She gestured to him wildly. "Where the heck is all that?"

Dipper brushed her off. "We have to call Grunkle Stan," he said instead. "We have to know if there's been any strange disturbances in Gravity Falls recently. If what that demon said is true then…"

'He might not even still be alive' the thought passed unspoken between them.

"There's always strange disturbances in Gravity Falls," Mabel pointed out optimistically, but she passed Dipper her phone. She was pretty anxious about her family's whereabouts too.

After fiddling with the device for a few seconds, Dipper gave up and asked. "What's your password?"

Mabel felt a smile tug at her lips. "Oh! It's, um." She leaned across the table and traced her password on the lock screen, trying (and failing) to smother her giggles.

Dipper frowned. "A backwards three?"

"Or a sideways butt," she confirmed, sitting back in her chair. "It used to look like a boomerang, but I kept messing that up too much."

Dipper refrained from looking surprised. "Should've seen that one coming," he muttered, scrolling on the phone. "Alright, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan, where are you—Aha!" He pressed the contact and held the phone to his ear, satisfied.

Mabel found herself leaning, okay; it was more like lounging, across the table as the phone began to ring. Wow, did she always talk with the volume that loud? Not that she really talked on the phone that much (who did, nowadays?), but geez louise she needed to take it down a few notches—

"You're breathing down my neck," Dipper hissed, cutting through her mental conversation.

"Then put the phone on speaker, doofus," she retorted. "I wanna hear too."

"I will if he answers." Someone else's voice arose from the other end of the line, and for a moment Mabel felt an overwhelming sense of relief squeeze her heart.

But it was just their Grunkle's cheerful automated voice messaging system. "Hi, you've reached the Mystery Shack, Gravity Falls' number one stop 'n shop for magic and fun! Mr. Mystery and his employees are busy giving tours to a bunch of suckers—erm, tourists, but if you leave your name and number, we'd be happy to get back to you with whatever petty demands you have! Our hours are from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on weekdays, so don't bother showing up at any other time. The real mystery is why you're still listening to this automated message! Aha ha ha! No, seriously, why are you still listening to this? Hey, Soos, when is this thing gonna"—Beep!

Dipper didn't bother leaving a message behind. "It's a wonder how he gets any business at all."

Mabel almost toppled off the table trying to peer over his shoulder. "Why didn't you leave a message?" she demanded because honestly, if she was going to let Dipper use her phone to call, the least he could do was be polite about it.

He was already trying to call again. "C'mon, Stan…" Dipper murmured. He chewed his bottom lip. "Okay. Plan B," he announced, when the voice message appeared once more. "We call Wendy."

Mabel gave him a funny look. "What, Wendy? But she's at college. Why not call Soos?"

"Because Soos doesn't have a cellphone, remember? Besides, college kids should be on break by now," reasoned Dipper, holding the phone back up to his ear. "Most of them work during the holidays. I bet Wendy's not an exception."

"Oh, yeah," Mabel murmured. "Wait, isn't she going to community college, anyway?"

Her brother shushed her. Mabel waited impatiently for him to exclaim, "Hey, Wendy!" and when he did she could practically hear the gasp of relief in his greeting. "No, no, everything is fine! I was just calling to see what was up!" Mabel listened to Wendy's tiny voice replying back through the phone. Dipper gave an uncomfortable laugh. "What? Of course I'm not lying! I, uh, okay actually I was trying to get ahold of Stan earlier—"

"And I was too!" Mabel chimed in.

"—But he didn't answer. We haven't heard from him in a while and we're kind of—what? Oh, yeah, Mabel is here too." He pulled his mouth away from the phone. "Wendy says hi."

"Hi!" Mabel called back, waving to the phone. She nudged her brother's shoulder. "Hey, Dip, put her on speaker. You said you would."

"Okay, okay." The ol' Dipster was grinning, a pretty rare sight to behold. Although her twin had given up his crush on their friend many moons ago, Mabel knew Wendy would always hold a special place in his heart. They did always say you never forgot your first love. She thought of George Washington on the one dollar bill and sighed.

Dipper held the phone out to include Mabel. "You're on speaker-phone now, Wend!" he announced.

"Awesome!" came Wendy's smooth reply through the speakers. "What's up, dudes? Did something happen to ol' Stan?"

"No!" replied Dipper. "Well, maybe…"

"We don't know!" Mabel finished for him. "How's college treatin ya this year, Wend?"

"I'm just glad I'm almost done," Wendy told her. "One more year to go and then I'm free, baby! I'm gonna go see the world."

"Oooo, you should go to Paris, and Rome, and when you do take lots and lots of pictures!" Mabel instructed. "And then send them to me! I'll put a scrapbook together of all the different places you've been!"

Wendy chuckled. "You know I will," she replied warmly. "I can't see Dipper, but I know he's practically bursting over there. So you think something bad's happened to Stan, eh, Dip?"

He swung right back into the conversation as if he'd never left. "It's possible. We had a run in with a demon the other day that told us you, Soos, and Stan were in danger. We tried calling the Shack earlier, but no dice."

"Whoa, a demon? Are you guys okay?"

"We're concussed!" Mabel stated proudly.

"It was…a rough fight to say the least," Dipper agreed. "But we're on our feet and functioning, so don't worry. Have you heard anything from the Shack recently?"

"No," Wendy said. "Haven't gotten a call in a couple months, actually…but I'm fine. I'm heading back into town today for the holidays. I could swing by and see if there's anything going on."

"Are you sure?" Mabel watched her brother's grip tighten around the phone. "It could be dangerous…"

"Ha, I've got an ax in the back of this car, remember? I'll be fine," Wendy promised. "I'll give you guys the status report in a couple hours. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a plan," conceded Dipper.

"I'll talk to you guys later, alright? This jerk in front of me is taking way too long at this gas pump."

"Honk the horn!" Mabel crowed. Dipper followed up with a, "Stay safe!"

"Bye, guys!" Wendy's voice crackled and broke off. The line went dead.

Dipper stared at the phone's blank screen for a long time. Mabel thought that she knew how he felt. She missed hanging out with Wendy. Now that everyone was all adultish and busy, it was hard to find time to even say a casual hello to each other. She found herself suddenly nostalgic for those simpler days, when seeing Wendy was still a big part of their visits to Gravity Falls, when it was just the good ol' summer tradition.

A lot had changed since those first couple years.

Dipper handed her phone back. Mabel pocketed it.

"She'll be alright," Mabel told him.

Mabel watched him fold up her sketch and stick it into a random page of his journal. It stuck out the top, like a bookmarker. "Yeah," Dipper said. "I know."

Neither of them sounded like they quite believed it

Wendy never called

Wendy never called, and Dipper didn't know how he could possibly still be surprised by revelations like this. Of course it wasn't that easy. Of course something terrible had happened to her. How could he have expected any different?

He waited an hour.

Then two.

Followed by two more.

And then to put it bluntly, he said 'fuck it' and started loading up his car.

It was just the essentials, a few pairs of clothes, some toiletries, a couple knives and switch blades, all carved with alchemist symbols to expel demons or seriously burn some unfriendly monsters (he was coming prepared this time), the shotgun his Grunkle Stan had given him and Mabel for their sixteenth birthday, and of course, his mystery journals. Somehow, that all managed to fit into two black duffle bags.

He wasn't surprised when Mabel tossed her own bags into the back seat, but he did have to protest. "Mabel, your wrist—"

"Nuh uh, broseph. No way are you going to save our family without me," she declared. "You need me."

And despite himself, Dipper grinned. "Hell yeah, I do. Mystery twins?"

She bumped his fist. "Mystery twins."

He paused in his room.

It was a small space, messy enough to show that he was busy, but clean enough not to drive him crazy when he needed to sit down and concentrate. Clothing pieces littered the floor. His desk was overflowing with papers and projects, most of which were still unfinished. Dipper could come up with plenty of ideas. It was executing them into the wee hours of the morning that usually proved to be difficult, if the black scribbles covering most of the white sheets were any indication of his frustration.

He crossed the room solemnly, passing by his wrinkled bed and nightstand piled high with books that ran out of space on his shelves. Over by the windows, blue curtains were strung up, wafting through the Californian breeze like beating wings. There was bitterness to the air now, as if the East were sharing some of its winter chill with the West.

Dipper pushed one of the window panes down and locked it shut. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the glass and painted his room in warm strokes of gold. He shut the next window and then turned to his bed, pulling up his covers and tossing his pillows on top.

It wasn't that he was afraid he'd never see the place again; that wasn't where his sentimentality was emerging from. He'd long since accepted that every time he left this room might be his last. It was over on a shelf above his desk that was giving him pause. A blue trucker hat with a pine tree stamped on its front was watching him from over there, faded with age and disuse.

Dipper cautiously picked the hat up. A layer of dust coated the worn fabric from the last time he'd slipped it on his head. Memories threatened to come flooding free of the dam he'd built up years ago, but he held them at bay. He told himself he was hesitating to wear it once more because the hat probably wouldn't fit, but that was a lie. It was from the Mystery Shack Gift Shop, which meant one size fit all.

He flexed his fingers. Nothing out of the norm that he could see.

And yet...

His grip around the hat was weak. He just wasn't sure if he was ready to face the past yet. Not the bad parts, at least. There were some things even Dipper was alright with running away from.

In the end, he resolved to jam the old thing in his pocket and sort through his emotions later. Either way, it wouldn't feel right, leaving without it.

Dipper rushed out the door, only pausing again once in the kitchen to make sure Mabel left a note to their parents on the table like he'd asked her to.

Maybe he'd find the courage to try the hat on later.

"It's Mabel and Dipper on another whirl-wind adventure!"-Mabel Pines (in reference to Shrek) during the drive up to Gravity Falls, probably.

Alright, so I wanted to take a stab at writing some Pines parents and come up with some backstory behind that first long stay in Gravity Falls when the twins were 12. Obviously we don't know about the parents, but I figure their dad is probably a little like Stan and their mom is if you were to take Mabel and Dipper's personalities and mush them together; a small nervous ball of energy.

I know Dipper is based off of Alex Hirsch, but I can't really see Dipper becoming an animator when he grows up? I think its more likely for Mabel to take up that profession. And of course, I had to choose Stanford University as a school Dipper is interested in because the name and also the school's mascot is a pine tree, like c'mon now.

Don't want to give too much away, but Dipper's behavior when Bill is mentioned is intentional. The past is a tricky thing. Let me know what your guys' thoughts are so far!