Hey guys! So if it wasn't already obvious from this terribly clever title, this is a Gravity Falls/ Lost crossover. It's basically just a rambling of what I thought would have happened if the Pines twins and their uncle had been on Oceanic flight 815; this is more about Gravity Falls than Lost, so don't expect to see a bunch of those other characters. This is just a lengthy oneshot, so I'm hoping you'll have seen at least the first episode of Lost to see what I'm getting at here; I'm not continuing, even though I may hint at some things that happen later in Lost. I did change quite a few things from the pilot that you might notice, but only because I thought it would benefit this story in particular, so I apologize for any anomalies you may find.

Okay, so please enjoy, and tell me what you though in the reviews!

Gravity Lost

Everything was black.

No blinking star that was dancing in front of his eyes could be distinguished from the next. He knew that his eyes must have been closed, but he could not sense anything else. It was all numb. Every other entity around him was deafening; the wind, the birds, the yelling, the roar of something in the distance. It was all pounding through his skull like a jackhammer, along with the sound of his own blood pumping to his head.

The back of his head was throbbing.

He could now feel that he was on his back. He could hear screaming mixed with strangled cries of agony that sounded far away and yet so close somebody could have been right next to him. Somebody was right next to him, moaning on the ground; they must have both been on the ground, as he felt the strange substance beneath him. It crumbled at his every movement. It was sand.

He felt it, damp with what must have been water, clinging to his hair as he barely lifted his head, but he suddenly found that it was too much for him; his skull could not be moved without thumping with pain. He cried out, but found his voice was a weak, strained mess that couldn't have possibly been heard by anyone. He gasped for air, straining to open his eyes. More blood was rushing to his brain; he could feel it racing through his system.

His eyes couldn't move at first. Every attempt always ended in him giving up and shivering because of the blustering wind that was bearing down on him- it was freezing him, chilling him to the bone, but he couldn't remember getting wet. He shook violently, unable to voluntarily move.

"Dipper!"

Somebody was yelling for him. He couldn't move, could barely discern their voice from the rest of the din around him, and could not even tell if it was his name they were saying, but he knew that he had heard something. While trembling uncontrollably, he strained his muscles as much as he could and turned his neck a quarter degree, sand rubbing against and sticking to his cheek; he cracked open one eye the tiniest bit so that he could see the ground's outline.

"Dipper!"

He heard it again, and this time it was much closer. He could feel vibrations in the sand, one after another, shaking the earth beneath his head. They were footsteps, approaching.

"Dipper! Dipper, wake up!" Somebody whose voice was familiar was kneeling beside him. They prodded his eyelid, pulling it far up, so that he could see their face; it was Mabel, leaning over him. Her hair was in disarray, and a cut on her forehead was bleeding.

"Mabel," Dipper groaned, hyperventilating.

"Just- just breathe, just calm down," Mabel said frantically, although she did not look at all calm herself. His vision was blurred, but he could her face looked distraught. She was feeling his face, her cold hands searching him over. "What hurts?"

"Hurts- it- what happened?" he gasped. "Where are we?" He made a movement, as if to sit up, but he cried out again, loud, as his right leg suddenly blazed with sharp pain.

"D-don't move!" His sister's voice jumped up several pitches. She sounded close to tears. "Just stay still, I can fix it-"

Dipper carefully moved again, this time making sure his leg did not. He craned his neck, desperately trying to look forward.

"Dipper, just d-don't move-"

He could see it; his right thigh was a bloody mess. Red, sticky liquid was congealing, pooling in the sand, and there was something sharp, flat, and black sticking out from his skin. He let his head fall back into the sand, gasping. He could feel the pain setting in more now that he had seen it.

"D-Dipper, don't worry, I'm gonna help you, I'm g-gonna fix it, okay? You're going to be alr-right." Mabel had her hands on his shoulders, gently pressing him down, her arms quivering at the elbows. He could see tears trailing from her eyes now, and her voice was getting so jumpy she could barely speak between breaths.

"Mabel, where are we?" Dipper rasped. His vocal chords felt like they had been rubbed raw.

"W-we crashed- the plane crashed somewhere, I don't know."

He jerkily and slowly turned his head so that he was facing her more. "What? Where is everybody? Where's S-Stan?"

Mabel shook her head, looking ready to start sobbing, but she held back, her voice shaking. "I-I… when we hit, he wasn't th-there- he had gone to f-find you, after you left."

Dipper racked his brains frantically. "But… what do you m-mean, w-when we hit? Where are we?"

Mabel's eyes lingered on him for a moment, and then slowly moved as she turned her head around to look behind her. Dipper followed her gaze, and could not look away from where it led him.

Things were on fire. There was a great hulking mass that must have been the plane cabin that was half buried in the wet sand, as if it had been run into the ground, seawater washing in between the exposed walls, receding, and then flooding in again. The windows of the plane could not be seen for the curtain of black smoke that was issuing from the inside out. The nose and tail were nowhere to be seen. Things like cell phones and wallets floated in the water, washing in with the tide, bumping against people's bodies that littered the shore for what seemed like a mile. There were people who were yelling for help, bleeding profusely, wandering hopelessly, calling for other people who did not call back.

One of the massive wings was sticking up at an angle from the ground, the tip and several other pieces on fire. Pieces of burning wreckage trashed the beach, and the air was filled with the sound of the plane engine still roaring. The sun couldn't be seen through the haze of the cloudy, overcast sky; the wind was already chilly, but now it was howling and whipping around both of their hair in tangled messes. The chilled wind was enough to make Dipper collapse already, but every time he breathed in, the air froze his lungs and almost made him seize up, coughing. He now noticed that his teeth were chattering violently, rattling inside his head. He could see far away, how the bulky pieces of the plane were scattered across the beach; how had he been flung so far from the cabin?

One of the turbines had crash landed into a tree that was part of the jumble of greenery that Dipper just noticed was behind them. The turbine, which must have been a few hundred feet from where he and Mabel were, was still running, the spinning blade rapidly picking up speed. The leaves of a banana tree were wildly flying in the air current, dangerously close to the blades, until one of them was sucked in. The propeller instantly stuck, and the turbine exploded, a fireball that engulfed a manner of trees in the jungle that sent balls of flaming branches, leaves, and metal flying.

Dipper flinched at the explosion, able to feel the shockwave pass through his body, ruffling his hair. Mabel shielded him with her body, pulling her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, while taking care to avoid moving his leg. Small, burning pieces of metal flew and landed mere feet away from them in the sand. In the distance, they could hear more people screaming and yelling frantically.

Mabel pulled back, laying him gently back on the sand; her breathing now sounded hysterical. Dipper scanned her, making sure nothing was wrong- other than her looking distressed beyond capacity, and the small cut on her head, she looked fine.

"You're okay, right?" he said.

Mabel nodded vigorously. "What about you?"

Dipper nodded, ignoring the pain in his spinal cord; the pain that was completely inferior to what he could feel coursing from his leg. It seemed to be growing more intense by the second. "Yeah- I'm fine." He had to work at getting words in between gulps for air.

Mabel was stroking his shoulder, seemingly absentmindedly. "No, you're not- I'm n-not trying to make it sound worse, but you're hurt, really bad-"

"It's shrapnel," Dipper groaned, clenching his fists to keep his hands from shaking. "It was from the plane- you're gonna have to find a first aid kit, and fast."

"N-no, I can't leave you here alone!" Mabel said, breaking into a coughing fit; black smoke from the burning pieces of the plane was blowing their way.

"Listen, Mabel-" Dipper, wincing, slowly propped himself up on his elbows, shivering still. "I need you to c-calm down, okay? I'll be fine here, I'm not going anywhere, I can promise you that."

Mabel's eyebrows knit together as she regarded him with wary eyes. "But- but what if-"

Dipper cut across her. "No what ifs, okay? Right now I need you to go find-" he broke off, gasping in pain. Mabel jumped, reaching forward to help him, but Dipper gently pushed her hand away. "Go and find some supplies, something to stop the bleeding, s-some antiseptic or something- just hurry. And look for Stan- we need to find him!"

Mabel hesitated, her eyes hovering over the piece of metal sticking out of his leg, then returning to his own. "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah, if you hurry," Dipper winced again. "Be careful!"

Mabel had pushed herself up off the ground, sand flying from beneath her toes as she took off. She had taken about three strides before she stopped and turned back.

"What?" Dipper yelled over the wind. Mabel didn't answer, but looked around briefly, before diving for a charred carry-on bag somebody had taken with them on the flight; it lay a few feet from where Dipper was lying. She tore open the zipper, rapidly rummaging through the contents before she finally pulled out a long, flowy piece of fabric- a blanket. She unsheathed it from the bag, and then promptly wrapped it tightly around Dipper's shoulders.

"So you don't freeze," she said.

"Th-thanks," Dipper stuttered. "Listen, M-Mabel- don't go in there if it's too d-dangerous- just get what you n-need and go, okay? F-find Stan and g-get help as fast as you can."

Mabel gave him a grim nod, and then took off running again, making her way towards the main, biggest piece of the plane, the cabin that was mostly intact. Even from his position, he could see exposed wires sparking, pieces of the ceiling melting away and dropping to the sand, where they burned.

Oh, God, please be careful, Mabel. Dipper wished her had cautioned his sister again before she'd left; the area was still a minefield. People were either lying alone, screaming for help, or running, grabbing suitcases and dragging them across the sand. Squinting across from the beach, Dipper could see many people who were still in the water, the whole blanket of ocean dotted with white, bubbling dots that were trying desperately to swim ashore.

He gasped again, letting his head fall back into the sand once more, and rested, letting the pain take its course. He could feel his leg throbbing with every heartbeat, and his chest heaved, trying to get more oxygen into his system. His leg felt like someone had stuck him with the world's worst flu shot. He coughed suddenly, hacking and choking, realizing that his body was probably trying to expel the blood that had somehow found its way into his mouth.

Now that he had regained at least substantial sensibility, he could feel that his head wasn't just throbbing because he'd lost consciousness, but he could tell that he was bleeding internally; he desperately hoped he didn't have a concussion. Thinking frantically, he couldn't tell if he was nauseous, but he knew he didn't have amnesia. Laying here alone, recovering recognition, he could feel the memories flooding back in a blur. He could remember the plane.

Dipper couldn't recall much, though, from the plane, except boarding, falling asleep for hours, and then getting up to use the restroom. The mundane experience of the actual flight was foggy to him, but the rest; it seemed so real.

He had left his seat, saying he was going to the bathroom, but he had been going for a completely different reason than the obvious. He and Stan had previously gotten into a heated argument; the details were fuzzy now, Dipper couldn't exactly place them. It had been something stupid, so completely pointless that it wasn't even recoverable from his memory. All he could recall was how fuming mad they had both been at each other. Dipper had hated Stan so much at the moment that he couldn't stand to be sitting anywhere near him for any longer, and had ultimately thrown off his seatbelt and stormed away, wanting to get as far away from his uncle as possible. Mabel had called after him, but he had ignored her.

Making his way through the aisle, he hadn't even processed where he was going. When he had had ended up two sections away from where Mabel and Stan had been, since the all the other lavatories had been occupied, he had just decided to turn back, since he had more or less cooled off by then; walking between the aisles, he had just about to have been passing by another connecting section when a horrible shaking, jolt had run through the plane, causing him to stumble and smack into the wall backfirst. He had hit his head again when the plane had undergone more violent jumps. People that hadn't been strapped in had flown out of their seats, hitting the ceiling with sickening crunches.

Dipper had felt his head smack into the back wall multiple times, and then his body had gone to the floor; he had barely grazed it though, as the plane had been jumping, the force of gravity seeming to fluctuate. One moment, he would be floating, and the next his body kept clubbing the floor, and when the world around him was not jumping sporadically, he was falling forward, his arms crashing into the sides of seats, trying desperately to grab on to something. He'd been sliding, voice lost in the roar of the engine and tumult of other screams. It had been so fast, the fall; he had been yelling, flailing, bent on grabbing a foothold of some sort, until he finally had.

An unbuckled seatbelt that had been flung over the armrest of its seat had caught his eye in a blur of gray and metal; he had reached out in a fraction of a second, and miraculously caught it, stopping his own body from flying into the cockpit door, which had been only seconds away. Yelling in pain, he had somehow pulled himself back, inching away from the door, and turned his head around. Oxygen masks had dropped from the ceiling, and people were climbing back into their seats, trying to pull the masks on in a panicked state. The plane was still jumping turbulently, but the gravitational pull was somewhat normal again.

Dipper focused on making his way back to Mabel and Stan, gripping the seatbelt and hoisting himself forward, grabbing onto seat after seat. People were screaming, crying, yelling out in unison whenever the plane lurched. There were passengers who were on the floor, bleeding, having hit the ceiling with unimaginable force that had probably shattered their skulls. Dipper grimaced, speeding up his trek across the aisle. He was almost running now, dodging swinging oxygen masks and holding himself steady by latching onto seats with both hands when the plane would jump again.

He had known that if the plane hit the ground at any second, he would have been dead. He could see that he was passing many empty seats, masks dangling over them, but he did not stop climbing back. He had to know that his sister and uncle were still in their seats; Mabel had been known to neglect her seatbelt on a regular basis, and Dipper couldn't remember if she had had hers on when he'd left. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to speculate. All he had wanted was to get back to his seat and see the both of them there, together. They had to be alright.

But he had only made it about halfway back when it had happened.

Something fifty times the magnitude of the preceding shakes and jolts had suddenly racked the plane. There was a deafening screech, and for a split second, Dipper had thought it had been someone screaming, but it did not falter. It sounded metallic and strident, and with it came the racking vibrations that sent him hurtling forward, unable to see or process anything. He felt a raging gale, howling winds, behind his back; some kind of storm had entered the plane, papers and loose belongings flying. Dipper had been thrust forward until he had gotten caught between a set of seats and a back wall. He had stupidly let go of one of the seats he had been clinging onto so he could grasp his hat, making sure it didn't fly off in the wind.

He could hear so many things from where he was; the roar of the engine that almost blocked out everything else, the yelling, the overhead compartments banging open, luggage falling form the ceiling. Dipper was crouching down, straining to see something, but an elephantine suitcase suddenly dropped near his head, almost catching him. The suitcase blocked his way out of the niche, and before he could make a move to heave it aside, the plane gave yet another fierce jump, and Dipper was thrown back against the wall once again. The last thing he remembered was the sound of his skull cracking against the wall; then everything had gone.

Now he was on his back, staring straight up at the sky. It was dark in some places, full of storm clouds, and light in others. Shivering, Dipper slowly turned his head. He remembered someone who had been injured moaning next to him, but no one was there anymore. Sighing, he closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles, pulling the blanket around his shoulders more tightly.

He could still feel the stinging feeling of the shrapnel in his leg; the burning wind was not making the exposed skin feel any better, he knew that for sure. He hoped Mabel would hurry back. And he wanted her to come back with Stan. If Mabel hadn't known where he was, then he must've been somewhere else when Mabel had woken up; but wherever he was, Dipper knew that he had to be alive. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that Stan was just going through people's luggage for spare supplies before he's go off looking for him and Mabel.

Well… not any big doubt, at least.

He soon felt like he was slipping again. The noises around him were becoming more faint. Even the pain seemed to be fading. He fought to keep his eyes open, to stay awake so he could see Mabel come back for him when she would; but his brain was clouding, like the fog around him. Dark blurs were creeping around the edges of his eyes, threatening to overtake him.

"No," Dipper gasped for air one more time. "Mabel…"

…...

Mabel was running, tripping over pieces of plane. She passed a spare armrest, half buried in sand, next to a pink bag that could have belonged to a little girl. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably, but she continued to move on. She was flying past people all around her, dodging them. They were all either yelling or wandering around, seemingly at a loss for what to do. She could even hear people calling out, yelling for her help. But she wasn't stopping for anyone.

She raced along the path of wreckage, towards what was left of the plane. The fuselage seemed to have miraculously stayed intact, for the most part, if you ignored how it looked like the exterior pieces of white metal had been stripped away in pieces. Everything else, the pieces that had broken off when the nose of the plane had broken off, was strewn across the beach, pieces of metal twice her size blocking her path. More than half of the broken pieces were ablaze, along with suitcases and airline seats. She worked her way between them, doing her best to control her breathing. She had been known to hyperventilate when she was nervous, but she had long since mastered it, more or less. Being asthmatic definitely had its drawbacks, but it had at least given her knowledge that she had control over her breathing. She would never let herself be taken over by another attack. And especially not now.

….

"Mabel! Quit it!" Dipper pouted, crossing his arms in disappointment.

She grinned with her mouthful of metal, having tagged him again. "Yes! Mabel wins again!"

She had been known to refer to herself in third person a lot back then. They had been on the playground, playing tag just between the two of them, due to the fact that not many seven year olds were jumping at the chance to play with the awkward, shy boy and the strange, brace face girl with the troll doll sweater. But they didn't mind. They had never had a problem with just being with each other.

"Okay, now it's my turn!" Dipper grinned. Mabel returned his smile and had already started sprinting away from him, down the back alley that ran behind the school, her hair flying behind her. They didn't usually go towards the back, where kids usually weren't allowed near, but their tag games sometimes took them to an array of different places; but it wasn't as if nobody ever came back here. They could just barely see the jungle gym around the corner, anyway.

Mabel was running down the concrete path, past the brick walls of the school, both her and Dipper's footsteps echoing down the path. She had already been out of breath from the previous run, but now she felt the need to catch her breath; it felt like her lungs weren't taking in the same amount of air that she was breathing.

Ignoring it, she pressed on, her legs working furiously beneath her. Then, suddenly, something felt like it had popped inside her lungs. She had burst out coughing, slowing down her pace. She had exhaled so much air, but when she'd tried to breathe in, nothing would happen except her coughing again. Her breaths became shallow and staccato, one after another. She had stopped running now, holding her hands up to her mouth, hacking and choking.

"Mabel! Whats-" Dipper had caught up to her, breathing heavily. Mabel made but one attempt to say something before she fell to her knees, clutching at her throat, wheezing. Her doctor and parents had told her it might have happened, and in the event that it did, to remain calm and take deep breaths, but it was becoming blatantly obvious that she could not keep calm. She had been completely unprepared for the tight, constricting feeling that was seizing her lungs, the fear that was gripping her. She was not in control; she could not do anything but cough and gasp.

"Mabel! What's wrong?" Dipper looked scared, even more scared than when he regularly told their parents that there were monsters under his bed. Mabel couldn't respond for the lack of air in her lungs; she was loudly gasping and coughing, which made Dipper kneel down to face her grab her shoulder in concern.

"Is… is it happening?" he said, his eyes wide as saucers. In between coughs and gasps, Mabel managed a jittery nod before she convulsed, wheezing and feeling her chest tighten painfully.

Dipper had wasted no time springing to his feet and dashing back down the hallway, around the corner. Mabel had collapsed, her throat feeling raw with coughing. When she tried to inhale, her airway felt like it had been covered by a layer of saran wrap, and the air was barely getting through. Her heartbeat was like that of a rabbit's, and she could almost feel her face growing hotter.

Mabel had tried to call for someone again, but began to falter. Her gasps for air, which had been vigorous and desperate, were now growing weaker. She kept her hands clasped around her throat still, as if it would help her airway relax, but nothing was working. Her heart was pumping furiously to keep her going, but she hadn't been able to draw any substantial amount of air for so long that it was becoming hard for her inhale any more. Every cough and gasp was painful.

She had made a small effort to bring herself up to her feet, but had ended up collapsing again. Before she knew it, the darkness had begun to creep in around the corners. She had almost closed her eyes; she had almost let herself go.

But then her brother had appeared with the inhalers.

….

Coughing again, Mabel shook the soot out of her eyes, clearing the memory from her mind. Just like everybody else who had undergone a traumatic experience, everything after the critical point had been a blur. Once she had been properly treated by a teacher that Dipper had summoned, she had been rushed to the hospital by her parents, who had shown up at the school just after Mabel had been administered, and everything had been taken care of. She could only conjure fuzzy memories of the ambulance, and the hospital test results she had been shown. Honestly, at this point in time, she couldn't understand how she was supposed to have understood any of that as a second grader.

But she could remember being paralyzed with fright. Even after an hour of having been treated, she had been taking one deep breath after another, afraid she would have another attack if she delayed her breath for even a second. It had just been a roller coaster of "what if it happens again?" and "how did that even happen?" at that point. She had been fighting tears while she had been in the ambulance, with her mother holding her the entire time.

But after the jumble of tests, conversations between her parents and the doctors, and the seemingly never-ending series of questions she had been asked, Mabel had been just about ready to collapse all over again. In fact, the nurse had thought it best to give her a sedative to give her easy rest, and let her have the next few days off of school ,as her attack had reached alarming levels of severity, for it being her first one. She had been so ready to let go and fall asleep that she had almost forgotten.

But she had finally remembered when Dipper had shown up with their father. He had peered around the corner where Mabel had been resting on a hospital bed. His eyes had been tired, and the bags around them were more prominent than usual, but they had widened when he had seen Mabel at last. Mabel had stared back at him with equal paralysis, at a loss for words. It had been then when it hit her.

If Dipper hadn't been so quick when he had run to find help for her, it might have been too late. Nobody had known about the two of them running around the back hallway; nobody would have shown up in time. Her brother had saved her life.

Her family had stayed with her at the hospital overnight, although none of them actually slept or a while. All three of them had mostly watched Mabel, who had been given a sedative at last. She had awoken though, in the early morning, before the sun had even risen. She had spotted Dipper, fast asleep on the couch opposite the bed she had been in. Even from the ten feet distance, Mabel had seen a nasty scratch on Dipper's knee, which she had realized must have been from him tripping on his way to grab her inhalers earlier.

She had gotten out of bed, at great risk, for her parents would have just forced her back in again if they had caught her, and made her way to the cabinet in the corner, she had grabbed a box of Band-Aids. She had then moved over to her brother, and, careful not to wake him, had gently bandaged his cut in silence, watching him sleep soundly for a few more seconds before returning back to her bed. She had felt that it had been the least she could've done for him.

Coughing still, Mabel was now waving smoke out of her eyes, which were beginning to make them water. She could partially make out the outline of the hollow fuselage, seats and overhead compartments askew. Stepping inside, she could see there were bags strewn across the floor, which was also halfway knee deep in sand. The lights were all out, save for a few that still flickered feebly, although most of the tunnel could be seen with light coming in from the opening in the back, where the tail had broken off.

Mabel gave herself one second to take the scene in before she dropped to her knees, unzipping bags at the speed of light. She found makeup handbags and toiletry bags, which she ripped open with shaking hands. She sorted through tubes of toothpaste, mascara, moisturizer, mouthwash, ointments, makeup remover, and more, all of which the tossed aside in frustration. She could hear her own breathing speeding up, but she could not bring herself to slow down. Her heart was picking up the pace as the panic was taking her; what if she could find nothing that would help?

No- I'm not doing this again. Shaking her head again, Mabel took one, long, slow breath. Mabel stood again, dusting off he knees. She knew she had to get to where she, Stan, and Dipper had been sitting; Stan probably kept something that might have been helpful.

She started scrambling over suitcases and overturned seats; one of the lights above her head suddenly exploded, sparks flying everywhere. Mabel yelled, diving face first to the sand and covering her head, as the light fell, swinging down and narrowly missing her, staying suspended by a single wire. She could still hear sparks popping from the light as she shakily lifted her hand s from her head and turning to look behind her.

Keep moving, she told herself. Sand was getting into her eyes as she blinked, sticking to her eyelashes. She pushed herself off the ground with one hand, tucking the tangled mess that was her hair behind both ears with the other. She took off again, heart racing, jumping over suitcases like they were hurdles. She was frantically racking her brains as she went for what their seat numbers had been. Was it 20 something D though F? No, it had to be the other three letters, we were on the left-

She suddenly felt her foot catch on something painfully, and she cried out as she felt her body hit the floor; her head smacked against the sandy carpet, and she groaned, already pulling herself up. Looking back, she could see that she had tripped over a beverage cart. She scrambled up, desperately trying to hurry, but suddenly stopped, turning back to stare the overturned cart.

There has to be something in here… it was in a movie once, they found tons of stuff in there. She hesitated for a second, debating whether or not it was worth her time; if she wasted any more of it, Dipper could be beyond help and she wouldn't even know it.

I have to try, though, she thought grimly. Pulling open drawers and rattling the contents around, she could only find half- melted ice and soda cans. Wincing, more coughs racked her body as she furiously shook the cargo around, horribly convinced that there was nothing to be found. She pulled open drawer after drawer of drinks, her coughing fit going even further than they usually did, to the point where he voice was raspy and raw, where every release made her vocal chords feel like they had been run over by a car.

The more she searched, the faster she went, and the faster she went, the more she hacked and gasped for air. She finally found the last drawer, which had nothing but straws and napkins. Making a noise of frustration, she overturned the drawer, having dislodged form the cart completely in her haste. The contents spilled out into the carpet, making a light, papery sound, but also a bulky, glassy one. Mabel cocked an eyebrow, confused; she dug through the straws in a hurry, brushing napkins aside that blew away in the wind, until she found them.

They were little glass bottles of clear liquid, sealed with small cork stoppers. All Mabel had to see form the labels was the word alcohol and she sighed with relief; Dipper had asked for antiseptic, and if this was what she had found so far, she was counting it as a major achievement. She scooped up at least five bottles, as many as she could hold in one hand, and got to her feet, continuing the search for her original seat.

More lights continued to flicker, and Mabel involuntarily flinched, now convinced that the fuselage would collapse on top her of at any given explosion of sparks. She grasped at her stomach as she continued to cough, which reminded her that she needed to find her own bag, which had her inhalers; if she couldn't find them in at least a few hours, her breathing was sure to get worse, and she would probably go into a worse state of shock. It had never happened before, of the total of three attacks she had had in her lifetime, but she knew that when left to its effects, asthma could have horrible consequences.

But I can't deal with that right now, she reminded herself. She needed to get back to Dipper and help him before something worse happened to him; she hated the thought of him sitting alone with a piece of metal in his leg, freezing to death, and all alone. This thought spurred her on, and seemed to pump adrenaline though her body, even more than had already been present. Before she knew it, she had nearly tripped over another obstacle and found what was left of her, Stan's, and Dipper's seats; the oxygen masks were still hanging motionless over them, and Mabel was shocked to see Dipper's Supernatural Monthly still in the pocket of the seat in front of his.

Searching with her eyes, she had finally located her own bag, which had somehow managed to stay way in the back of the overhead compartment, trapped by Stan's oversized carry-on which he had somehow managed to get on without having to check; Mabel could vaguely remember just wanting to tell Stan to give it a rest when he had been nearly failing to sweet-talk the flight attendant into letting him keep his bag on board. Now she painfully realized that had he not gone through the trouble, he bag may have flown out of the compartment, and never have been seen again. Swiping at a loose tear that had gotten away from her, she shook her head yet again, giving a few more coughs, and then got a foothold on what had been her own armrest. Still choking on the smoke that was emanating from the very back of the cabin, where the fire was still raging, she hoisted herself up as far as her shaky arms would allow, and grabbed at one of the straps on her bag; in one fluid motion, she yanked the bag from the compartment and dropped down, back to the floor, already unzipping her back and rummaging through it.

She saw the Ziploc bag with the inhalers, and gave another sigh of relief. Before she did anything else, she reached over for Dipper's magazine and stuffed it in the bag; she made a mental note to give it back to him when he was better. Checking the rest of her bag, everything seemed to be still there, which made her shakily sigh with relief again.

But then everything started to go nightmarishly wrong as her sighing suddenly turned into another coughing fit that seemed to never end. In fact, now the coughs were growing in consequence, racking her whole body and forcing her to drop down to her knees again, dropping her bag and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

No- I can't do this, not now- She could barely do anything but shake and cringe, struggling for breath. I need to get back to Dipper, he needs me-

She weakly tried to get one leg up, but ended up losing her balance and falling, her body smacking against the floor once again. Mabel winced, giving a strangled cry that was not even audible over the roar of the fire. More and more smoke was penetrating her throat, stinging her eyes and inside of her mouth.

"No…" she wheezed. "Can't…"

She reached out a trembling arm for the splayed strap form her bag, but could barely brush it with her fingertips. Mabel choked as she inhaled more smoke, her throat drier than ever; even tears were stinging her eyes now. She could not be like this, not now when it mattered more than anything. She choked again, although this time it was her crying. She shut her eyes, which were burning from the salt in her tears.

How could he have let this happen? Dipper was still on the beach, probably shivering and freezing to death, which a great hunk of metal sticking out of his leg, losing more blood by the minute. He wouldn't make it if she didn't make it for him; but she couldn't move. Cringing, still sputtering and coughing, Mabel shuddered to herself and thought about how she head felt the last time it had happened.

How she had felt so desperate for air, but it just hadn't come through no matter how many times she had inhaled. And then, when she had finally been given a few puffs from the inhaler, it had felt like the breath of life, liquid relief seeming to course through her system. Now, it was like Dipper needed her desperately, but she was still lying here, body shaking with coughs and choking.

How many times had he pushed her out of harm's way? How many times had he stepped in front of her, in-between her and whatever had been looming over them? He had never let her down. And here she was, helpless to stop the same thing form happening to him. It had been so real and frantic when he had saved her the first time. But right now, if she didn't get to Dipper in time, she would fail him. And if she failed him, she already knew, with another pang in her heart, that she would never, ever forgive herself.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" Somewhere in the midst of the engine's clamor, a man's voice had rang out, causing Mabel's heart to skip a beat. "Kid, are you okay?"

She gave a few more coughs, making an effort to turn her head, but the smoke clouded everything from view. She could make out the floor, and the outline of someone making their way towards her, as fast as someone could while jumping past seats and discarded luggage. Mabel coughed with relief, unable to process how grateful she was that someone had found her.

The man finally got to her and knelt down, immediately checking her pulse; Mabel could not see his face. "Are you hurt?" he yelled over the still running engine. Mabel gasped and continued coughing, managing to shake her head from side to side. Her knees jumped towards her chest as she coughed harder than ever, her being in the fetal position. The man grabbed behind her neck and underneath her knees, hoisting her up in his arms.

"Let's get you out of here," she faintly heard him mutter. Mabel frantically squirmed, wheezing and pointing at her bag, and the bottles of alcohol that she had dropped. "What is it?" the man sounded confused.

He kneeled back down again, and she held onto him as best she could as he dragged her bag by the strap towards him. The plastic bag could be seen poking out from in-between the zippered sides.

"Inhalers?" Mabel nodded feebly, struggling for breath.

"Right." The man scooped up her bag, alcohol bottles and all, and got back to his feet, heaving Mabel up with him in his arms, and slinging her bag over his shoulder. Mabel was still hacking and hyperventilating like never before, and wished she could have spoken. The effect of the smoke was slowly fading, however, as the man was travelling at lightning speed, impossibly not dropping Mabel or her bag. Before she knew it, they had made it out of the fuselage, the fire's roar slowly dying behind them.

Mabel felt herself being lowered into the sand, where her head would have hit if the man hadn't kept a hand behind it, making sure she didn't fall. She blurrily saw him wasting no time in slinging her pack down, ripping open the bag with the inhalers, and raising the first one he grabbed to her mouth.

The first propulsion of air was long and continuous, and Mabel felt her lungs expand wonderfully. She exhaled quickly, and took in another deep breath of air form the inhaler, her heart still going a mile a minute.

"Slowly, slowly," the man cautioned. "I need you to take big, long breaths, okay? You'll overexert yourself if you keep gasping, you just need to catch your breath."

Mabel nodded, gulping in more air again, long and slow like he had said. The feeling of fresh air reentering her lungs was exquisite, and more physically relieving than anything in the world.

While working on catching her breath, Mabel realized that she could see the man's face now, in the overcast light. He didn't look middle aged, but he didn't seem young either; he had blue-green eyes and dark hair that seemed to contrast with his tanned skin. He had on a white business shirt and black tie that had been loosened and hung from his neck limply.

They stayed together, the man continuing to work the inhaler until Mabel's breath and heart rate had calmed down. He checked her pulse a few more times while she just laid back and caught her breath.

"When was the last time you had an attack?" the man asked.

Mabel inhaled and exhaled one more time before speaking. "Last- last year." She said. It felt good to speak again. "Listen, I need help- my brother needs help, he's hurt, I need a first aid kit-"

The man was nodding, already standing and pulling her up with him. "Let's go."

Mabel, asking no questions, had grabbed her bag and started running towards the trees that lined the other end of the beach, where she had left Dipper. She could barely see him, and his blue and white hat that lay a few feet from his body. As she gained on him, she could make out his mess of brown hair and ripped vest. She dropped her bag to the sand when she reached him, crawling over towards him and moving his hair out of his eyes, which were closed.

"No," she whispered. "Dipper!"

The man had caught up with her, dropping to his knees next to her. He tried to reach out for Dipper's hand, but Mabel was latched onto him, almost shaking with fear. "Dipper! Dipper!"

The man gently pushed her to the side, leaning over Dipper's body. "Let me look at him, I can help him."

Mabel's voice was strangled and could barely form coherent words. "H-how do y-you know w-what to-"

"It's okay, you can trust me." The man said, meeting her eyes. "How did you know where he was before?"

Mabel shook her head. "I had f-found him earlier, he w-was awake then." She looked back down at Dipper, whose face had been drained of blood; he looked paler than he ever had before, and his leg seemed to have lost even more blood in the time she had been gone. His lips were almost purple, and had a mystery smudge of blood on the side.

The man was checking Dipper's pulse a few more items. "Did he seem delirious, nauseous, dizzy?"

Mabel nodded. "I th-think he had just w-woken up, he was all groggy and he couldn't really remember what happened- he told me to go get s-stuff, like antis-septic."

The man's eyebrows jumped a tiny bit in mild surprise. "Smart kid," he muttered. "What's your name?" he said, suddenly looking back at her.

"It's M-Mabel," she stuttered.

"Mabel, I need your help propping his head up; I'm gonna need to get some supplies, I know where they are, you just need to stay with him in case he comes to again." The man got up, dusting off his knees and turning his neck around to face the beach. "With any luck, we'll have him better by tomorrow."

Mabel looked down at her brother again, one of her tears dripping form her nose onto his forehead. "W-why's he all pale?" she stuttered, clenching her fists to keep her cool. "H-he's- he's not- he's isn't…" She stopped, not able to go any further.

The man shook his head. "Don't worry, he's just anemic- he's lost a lot of blood. I need to go right now so we can stop the bleeding as soon as possible. Whatever you do, don't move him or touch the shrapnel- just stay with him, I'll only be gone a minute, okay? I promise." He looked her in the eyes, showing her that he was telling the truth. Mabel gulped and nodded.

The man took a step towards her, bending down slightly. "And listen, I also need you to keep your breathing under control- I can't take care of you both if you have another attack. Just stay calm, and take deep breaths, okay? It'll make it easier for me to help your brother." The man dusted off his hands and turned, beginning to make his way back towards the wreckage.

Mabel nodded again, a few more stray tears spilling over her cheeks. Thinking back, she recalled how he had said that she could trust him. "B-but wait- how do you know all this? How do you know if you can take care of him?" The man stopped, turning back to face her. "And w-what's your name?" she added.

"It's Jack," he said, exhaling slowly. He turned around once again, and began taking steps towards the beach. "And I know I can help him because I'm a doctor."

….

There were noises slipping in and out of his field of things he was able to hear. Everything was fuzzy; people's words had blankety edges that he couldn't make out. But he was soon coming to realize that there was something near his face that was starting to burn.

"Dipper? Dipper, come on!"

"Would ya give it a rest, kid, he'll come around when he comes around!"

"No, look, he's blinking, see? Dipper!"

He gasped, lurching up in a cold sweat; there was a blinding light that left an even brighter imprint under his eyelids after he had closed them. Panting, he propped himself up with one arm, but yelled in pain, and was forced to revert back to the ground. His leg was throbbing again, the pain so intense that he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming even louder, tasting blood.

"Don't strain yourself, kid," a voice that came over his shoulder cautioned him. "Just relax." Dipper gasped more, taking in the cold air that filled his lungs, startling him back to life on breath at a time.

"Easy for… you... to say…" he winced. He felt the sweat on the back of his eyelids beginning to chill over.

"Is he okay?" another voice resounded next to him, seeming to come from right over his head.

"Mabel?" he said faintly, eyes still closed. He tried to open them, slower this time, and saw an orange-gold glow mixed with the inky blackness that must have been the sky. When his vision had focused, he saw Mabel staring down at him, a half-smile on her face. When he had finally opened his eyes all the way, her smile had grown to full capacity, and she exclaimed with joy.

"Dipper, you're back!" She lunged for him, wrapping him in a fierce hug, while again taking care not to move his leg, but crushing his ribs as she squeezed him in a boa-constrictor grip. Dipper gasped again upon impact, half laughing at Mabel's reaction and half wincing as she continued to constrict his airway.

"Mabel- agh- great… seeing you… can't… breathe-" he said weakly.

Mabel finally let him go, pushing him back, but keeping her arms on his shoulders, her smile still large as ever; she was studying his face, taking in every detail. "You're talking- he's talking again, Grunkle Stan, he's talking!"

Dipper blinked in surprise, finally able to take in his surroundings- he could see that the light that had blinded him before was in fact, a bonfire that was blazing behind from where Mabel was sitting. Dipper saw that he was on his back again, but there was something underneath his head that must have been folded into a sort of pillow. He was on top of a blanket that had been laid out for him, and underneath another one that had been tucked around him neatly.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed, but he knew it was night; there were thousands of stars above them all, more than could have possibly been visible from Piedmont, or Gravity Falls, for that matter.

The back of his head was throbbing again, he had just realized. He slowly rose up, reaching a hand behind his head to feel what had happened; his fingers grazed a strip of gauze which had been wrapped around his head and secured tightly, but not too much so as to cut off his circulation.

"Jeez, kid, just relax, like the man said," said a gruff voice from his left side. Dipper turned and his heart skipped a beat; Stan Pines was sitting on a log next to him, doodling in the sand with a stick, head in his hand, which was resting on his knee by the elbow. One of the lenses was cracked slightly, his hair was mussed and sticking out at strange angles, and his tie was missing, but other than this, he looked just as he always did; perpetually agitated and ready to respond to anything with a blunt comment.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper rasped, eyes narrowing in confusion; he still felt slightly fatigued.

"In the flesh, kiddo." He regarded Dipper with a difficult to read expression, almost as if he was caught between not wanting to say anything, and wanting to, at the same time.

Dipper continued to stare at his great uncle, who was inexplicably sitting in front of him, spitting over his shoulder into the sand, and continuing to consider him with that same unreadable look. Stan almost looked uncomfortable. "How… how did you get here? Where were you?"

Stan brushed some sand off his sleeve and averted his eyes. " I was somewhere else… you two had landed somewhere completely different , I- couldn't- didn't know where you were, and…" he broke off, lost for words.

"Uh… but it looks like you pulled through alright, then, huh?" His half-smile looked very forced, and didn't fool Dipper for a second. "All thanks to this guy." He jerked his head towards somewhere behind Dipper's head.

Dipper made to turn, but caught himself, wincing, his leg having shocked him with another spurt of pain.

"It's alright, kid, don't worry, I'll move." The same voice that had told him not to strain himself came from behind him- Dipper relaxed himself, letting his head fall back down to his makeshift pillow, although he cried out again when his head hit. His skull was pounding repeatedly, making Dipper screw up his eyes and catch his breath. He could hear the person behind him moving, shuffling through the sand and coming down across from him.

"Yeah, I would stop doing that if I were you," the man said, Dipper able to hear him settling down on a log like Stan.

"What... moving?" he panted. He blinked again, trying to get a visual on the person who had apparently saved his life.

"More or less," He shrugged. Dipper could see him now; he was sitting, hunched over and staring at Dipper. "You banged up the back of your skull pretty bad before we crashed; I had assumed it had been inside the plane, before... you know, we hit." He finished off uncomfortably.

"S-so… do I have a concussion?" he asked. He instantly internally cursed himself for asking such a childish sounding question; of course he didn't have a concussion, he had perfect vision now, and he didn't feel fatigued, for the most part. It was made even worse when the man had chuckled to himself before answering.

"No, but good question. It's only gonna be a minor wound for a couple of days, it'll heal pretty quickly. After that, it'll just be a bruise for a while; not much but blunt force trauma." The man continued to stare at him, this time, at his leg. "Although, if I were going to worry about anything it'd be your leg there. Not that it can't be fixed, of course, but… it'll…" He broke off. "Take some time."

Dipper blinked, looking down toward his lower body, which was covered by the blanket; he made to throw it off.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that-" the man said, suddenly jumping forward.

Ignoring him, Dipper whipped it off, gathering it aside, and examined his leg; he gulped. The sight of it was pretty sickening.

Most of his thigh was purple. The shrapnel was gone, but there been an alarming amount of gauze bandaging wrapped around his leg, and most of it was being bled through. Dipper's heart picked up speed, and he barely suppressed the urge to vomit; it looked like his right leg was swollen up so that it seemed horribly disproportionate to his left.

"Oh, man…" he groaned, becoming dizzy; his head wobbled and tilted back dangerously.

"I got you!" Mabel jumped forward and caught his head before he fell, gently lowering it back down to the pillow. "Told you not to look, bro…"

Dipper coughed, feeling the weight of the day's events beginning to settle back in. They had been on a plane, it had crashed, he had been hurt…

"He's not lookin' too good, doc…" Stan could be heard from his left.

There was a small pause, filled by the crackling of the fire. "I don't know… I could see if we have any sedatives left-"

"No!" Dipper suddenly exclaimed, sitting back up again. "I'm fine- I want to know what happened."

Mabel regarded him with wary eyes. "Dipper… you're still hurt, you should get some rest, right now-"

"I'm not resting until you guys tell me what happened," Dipper said defiantly. "I'm tired of not knowing, just tell me what's going on, and… who you are," he said cautiously to the man across from him.

The man paused again, still studying him. "It's Jack," he said. "I'm the doctor- 'the doctor' meaning the only doctor here, apparently."

Dipper stared at him in return, searching his face and expression; for some reason he seemed vaguely familiar. "And… you saved me?"

Jack nodded grimly. "Well… for the most part. But I wouldn't have found you if it hadn't been for your sister." He gestured to Mabel, who Dipper locked eyes with.

She gave him a sad smile. "I was in the cabin, grabbing stuff, and Jack found me- he saved me too."

Dipper cocked an eyebrow. "From what?"

Her smile disappeared, and she began to scratch the back of her head, averting her eyes. "I… kind of had another attack."

"What?!" Dipper had jumped, turning his head sharply, which had made him cringe again. All three of the others had lurched forward, telling him not to move, but he ignored them. "You had another attack? How? Are you okay, did you find the inhalers-?"

"I told you, Jack helped me. Don't worry about it, it's over now, okay? Just relax." Mabel was reaching over to tuck Dipper's blanket back around him, but he tugged it out of her hands.

"But Mabel! What the heck happened, I told you to be careful-"

Stan cut across him. "Hey, kid- lay off, she was trying to help you, alright?"

Jack nodded before Dipper could speak again. "He's right. If I hadn't found Mabel in there, I probably wouldn't have found my way back you in time- you both got really lucky."

This calmed Dipper down a bit; he still wanted to consult Mabel, but she suddenly spoke before he could.

"Jack…" she said, staring into the fire. "When you found me, and you were getting me out, and grabbing my bag and everything- how did you know to grab those bottles of alcohol?"

Dipper had no idea what Mabel was talking about, but suddenly, something clicked in his mind, also. "Yeah, and why did you say 'find your way back to me?' Did you… see me… before?"

Jack shifted his position on the log, staring into the fire, as well. "I don't really know… I just… I remembered your face. I had passed by you when I was running to the fuselage, and I saw your face. And I knew a lot of people had been hurt, so I thought to go back for some alcohol, or some medical supplies somebody might have left. And then when I saw you," he said, meeting Mabel's eyes, who had jumped when she had been addressed, "And I saw the alcohol, I thought you two had looked similar. And then you had said he was your brother, and I just- I understood."

The crackling fire filled the silence that settled in again. Dipper glanced at his sister, to his left, and they locked eyes. Dipper, for once, could think of nothing to say to his sister. She stared back at him, also seeming to fail to find something to say; all she did was give him the tiniest smile and a little shrug of the shoulders. Dipper couldn't help but smile back, averting his eyes and looking down at the sand he could feel in the palm of his hands. He slowly scooped a handful of sand in his hand, and absentmindedly let it fall back to earth, his hand slightly trembling. The sand was fine and almost white, and felt like dust seeping out through the cracks in between his fingers.

The four of them continued stay silent for a while. Dipper laid back and rested, still trying to catch his breath, which was still shaky and a bit shallow, but he was gradually managing to get it under control. While he lay, he took in his surroundings a bit more. His own group was sitting around their own fire, partially shielded from the occasional cold breeze by what had been the cockpit door, which was half embedded in sand; the same one Dipper had almost crashed into during the turbulence. Looking around, he could see that there were many groups of survivors, all strewn across the beach, who were all doing the same thing as them; they had dragged what they could together to form makeshift shelters and had started fires, huddled together. Not many people were speaking.

There was a massive bonfire that stood out from all the others, one that a few people were standing around and throwing branches into.

A signal fire, Dipper thought. He had a sudden urge to stand but he caught himself just before he moved his legs.

Jack had seen him. "They've got it under control," he said, Dipper not taking his eyes off the fire.

"No one's… no one's come yet?" he said, turning to look around incredulously at all three of them. Shifting uncomfortably, nobody answered him right away, which was an answer in itself.

"It's been twenty seven hours," Mabel finally said slowly. Dipper's heart skipped a beat, and he stared at her, his eyes widening. "And nobody's come yet."

Dipper stared at her. "I was out for a day?"

Mabel nodded solemnly. "We kept having to give you pills… you would always start waking up, the pain was so bad." He silently gaped into the fire, trying to process this information, the gears in his head turning furiously.

"But they're working on it," Mabel added, straightening her back. "They're gonna come, really soon, it has to be any time now."

A whole day… Dipper lay motionless, except for his chest rattling up and down shakily. Surely something had to have happened by now… a helicopter sighting, maybe they had found some flares in the wreckage… something, anything to ensure that someone was coming.

Dipper suddenly pushed himself up on his elbows, grunting. "I want to help."

"Help what?" Stan said, narrowing his eyes. "There's nothin' to help."

Dipper glanced at him resentfully, turning back at Jack, who was looking at him questioningly. "I want to help with the plan, whatever plan we have to get out of here."

Jack searched Dipper's unwavering expression. "This is the plan," he said.

"Yeah, right," Dipper scoffed. "We're sitting here, waiting for someone to see the fire?"

"You got any bright ideas?" Stan said, cocking any eyebrow.

"It's just that we've been here for an entire day- shouldn't someone have come by now? Tell me this isn't your only idea." Dipper stared the doctor who had saved his life straight in the eyes. He was trying to find some sign that Jack at least trusted that Dipper was ready for the truth.

And Jack's resolve broke, as the man sighed wearily, rubbing his temples and shifting his position on the log. "It's… not the only idea we've… come up with." He said, choosing his words carefully.

Dipper paused, thinking this response over. "So… you think there's another way we can get help? What is it?"

Jack stood up, dusting the sand off his hands, as if he was making to leave. "It's nothing that you can help with, not in your condition. You're going to have to rest for a few more days before you're even ready to start using crutches." He gave Dipper another look of something that seemed like pity, which Dipper hated.

"But there has to be something I can do! I can help, I want to-"

"No." Jack cut across him, shaking his head. "You're not moving, not right now. I've got plenty of others with me, we can take care of it just fine."

Dipper was silent, indignantly struggling to come up with an excuse as to why he would be able to help, but he could think of nothing.

"Don't worry about it, alright?" he added. "Out of all the people who've survived so far, it looks like you got the worst of it. You've really pulled through, though. It's just gonna take some time."

Dipper sat there, staring angrily at the ground. He hated the fact that he was useless to everyone now. No matter how hard he'd tried to get back to Mabel and Stan, he had failed to make it, and Mabel had almost gone into shock trying to help him. He sat in gruff silence, glaring at nothing in particular, feeling like the petulant little kid he knew he was acting like. He could feel the others staring at him, but he refused to meet their eyes.

Jack bent down to grab a black backpack that had been resting by the fire, and slung it over his shoulder, turning to make his way to some of the other fires. "I'll come back to check on you later. If you don't want me having to get out the drugs again, I suggest you try getting some sleep."

Dipper nodded, although reluctantly, Jack nodding back, and turning so he could start walking. Then Dipper suddenly spoke up, seemingly against his own will. "Uh…"

Jack turned back to face him. Dipper couldn't meet his eyes anymore, and looked down, embarrassed.

"Um… thank you," he muttered. "For helping me, and my sister."

Jack stared back at the both of them, the twins looking up at him, Mabel with gratitude, and Dipper with difficulty. Jack seemed to smile almost, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Don't mention it," he said, smiling slightly, and finally turning to head towards the other groups. Dipper lowered himself back down, already wishing he hadn't sounded so childish and stubborn before.

Mabel was still resting next to her brother, knees drawn up to her chest and covered by her sweater, which now had a few dirt smudges and burns on it. "Grunkle Stan?" she said after a few seconds, when Jack's footsteps had finally faded away. "Are you okay?"

Dipper turned to glance at Stan, who had jumped when Mabel had addressed him. He had been staring into the fire, and still continued to, seeming to pretend he hadn't heard Mabel at all. But now that he was really looking at him, Dipper could see something in his uncle's eyes that had not been there before the crash. It was something about the way that his eyelids dropped wearily, and the bags underneath made him seem so tired looking. He truly looked more like an old man now than he ever had before.

Dipper was about to ask the same question Mabel had, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. For some reason, the memories of his and Stan's argument on the plane was coming back to him very clearly now. He looked down uncomfortably, not wanting Stan to answer. He knew what it must have been.

Stan gave a long sigh, fiddling with the stick in his fingers. "Ah, don't worry about me, kiddo."

Mabel persisted, although Dipper wished she wouldn't. "But there's something bothering you. I can tell, okay? Why won't you just tell us?" She gave him a wide eyed, pleading look that Dipper knew Stan was always unable to defy for very long.

He sighed again, straightening his glasses, which seemed to have been broken, as they always reverted back to a crooked state. "You two don't give up, do you?"

Mabel shook her head, while Dipper continued to stare into the fire.

"Look, I… I'm just glad you two are alright, okay? Sue me." Stan crossed his arms and huffed. Mabel grinned, but then cocked an eyebrow, frowning.

"You don't look really glad though…"

Frowning in return, Stan grunted dismissively in response, stealing a glance at Dipper, who pretended not to notice. He knew perfectly well why Stan was shrugging everything off. The only thing that was holding him back was the fact that he was feeling the exact same way.

The three of them sat there, listening to the wood crackling, and the steady sound of the waves on the shore. The silence was peaceful, and yet growing more and more uncomfortable with every second. Thinking it over, Dipper decided that there was no other way any of them were going to continue unless he said what needed to be said.

"Uh, Grunkle Stan?" he started. Stan looked up at him in surprise. "I, uh… um…" he faltered, suddenly unable to get the words out. His chest felt like it was tightening. "It's just- I wanted to say, I'm-"

"Save it," Stan said, waving him off. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"No, really, I-"

"I told ya, save it." Stan cut across him again, tossing his stick lightly into the fire. His expression was unreadable again; he looked angry with himself, but his eyes were softened for once, when he looked at Dipper at last. "It was all my fault… back on the plane. I shouldn't have said any of that, I was being a-" He stopped himself, checking Dipper and Mabel's faces again.

He sighed again. "I meant to tell you, kid- when I got up, I was lookin' for you, but you'd gone too far, and then the turbulence… and then we had landed, and I was lookin' for both of ya, but I couldn't… and I was thinking if I was too late, I…"

He broke off again, this time with a coughing fit that seemed rather conveniently timed. Dipper couldn't help but grin the tiniest bit, looking down again.

"It's okay, Grunkle Stan," he said. "We were both being… you know."

"Save your breath, kid," Stan said, finishing off the last of his fake coughing. "You and I both know I was the one who should've just quit while he was at it."

Dipper's grin spread wider. "Hey, come on, I was way more horrible than you were."

"Alright, alright," Stan chuckled, leaning over to jab the boy in the side, making Dipper and Mabel laugh. Their laughter grew as they all began to poke each other, Grunkle Stan soon mussing Mabel's hair, and Mabel tickling Dipper until he couldn't breathe.

They all soon settled down after a while, the three of them staring up at the massive sky that was spread across with thousands of stars, more than could have been counted in a year.

"You don't see that every day," Stan said, head in his hands again.

"Yep, "Dipper agreed, his hands crossed behind his head.

Mabel, who had been quiet for a while, looked up from her drawing in the sand. "Grunkle Stan… we're going to be home soon, right?" Dipper looked up at Stan as well, indicating that he wanted to ask the same question.

Stan, instead of answering them, hesitated, taking both of their questioning faces in. He shifted his position, pulling both twins closer, so that they were on either side of him, his arms around them both.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" he said simply. They both took his answer in, resting against him and keeping their eyes on the peaceful ocean, which was rising and falling with every breath the three of them took.

Dipper suddenly spoke up, facing his sister. "Hey, Mabel?"

She faced him. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming back for me." He said, giving her a genuine look of gratitude.

She gave him a similar half smile, with the same look in her eye. "Just doing what you would've done."

They settled back against Stan, sharing twin looks of understanding. Whenever they were getting out of here, whether it was a few hours later, or a few days later, wasn't about to shake them.

They both knew, without having to say a word to each other, that right now, together, they were probably safer than they had ever been.

Hope you liked this! Please tell me what you thought in the reviews- catch you later!