little talks

“And, see - this is when you took me and Dipper bowling with Soos and Wendy -”

Amid the wreckage of the Shack, they’ve been at this since the morning: Grunkle Stan in the armchair, Mabel half in his lap and Dipper perched on his other side, with Waddles squished between them and Great-Uncle Ford and Soos leaning on the back of the chair. Ford’s unearthed a bunch of old family photos from somewhere else in his old room too; two scrappy little boys from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey, with their arms around each other’s thin shoulders and matching toothy grins. It feels almost like Stan’s memories haven’t been fully erased - more like buried deep, unearthed and pulled a little closer to the surface with each sticker-studded page and picture. 

The idea that their uncle’s mind could be that strong doesn’t surprise Dipper very much. 

There’s the occasional burst of laughter, or gruff quip, and the sheer panic and despair that had flooded his veins - Mabel’s too, he doesn’t need twin telepathy to recognise the heartbreak that had strangled her voice - has slowly, cautiously begun to ebb as Dipper slowly lets himself believe that maybe things can still be okay. Mabel’s still going strong, voice hoarser now as she rests more of her weight against Stan, and as the urgency of the present situation begins to ease for just a second, he finds his mind beginning to drift. 

They’ve literally survived an apocalypse. He feels like he should be worried, but right now he barely has the energy to even think. Everything aches or stings, and Dipper doesn’t remember the last time he ate. He feels empty, like he’s running on fumes - and he is, he realises belatedly. And he still somehow managed to break down a door this morning. 

The world ended, and they’re all still here. 

Even so, in a reset world where the sky is blue with white fluffy clouds instead of red and swirling and raining blood and the grass is green and soft instead of black and on fire and screaming, with their uncle’s mind seemingly gone Dipper was still terrified because he didn’t know if things would ever be okay again - if they could be. But the old man’s still intact, somehow, clinging on by the sheer force of a miracle as a one-eyed demon died inside his head, and slowly but surely they’re pulling him back from the oblivion of an empty mindscape. 

It’s insane - but then again, so is everything else in Gravity Falls. 

Dipper’s head feels oddly light and heavy at the same time, like he’s trying to float away while still tied down to the earth, and as he slumps against the back of the arm rest the world tilts unsteadily.

“Dude,” Soos’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, and then closer. “Dipper, dude, you okay?”

There’s a silence, and with an effort Dipper opens his eyes and turns his head to realise they’re all looking at him. Mabel’s expression is particularly stricken, Stan’s caught somewhere between worry and confusion, and Ford looks like something’s just dawning on him. 

“Mm - yeah.” Dipper makes the effort to push himself upright, and every muscle screams and everything tilts again. The after effects of living through the end times are definitely catching up to him. “Just - you know, tired.” 

He goes to slide off the arm of the chair - except when his feet touch the floor, his legs won’t support him, and he finds himself dropping hard onto his knees and then crashing face first into the stained yellow shag carpet. 

“Dipper?!” 

Dipper’s head is pounding, and he suddenly feels way too tired to move - nothing’s obeying, he tries to lift his arm and it barely twitches, there’s the sound of footfalls and then someone’s rolling him onto his back, sliding an arm under him and when he manages to lift his gaze he finds himself looking straight up at Stan… whose expression holds no traces of confusion any more, just clear cut worry. 

“Dipper,” Mabel’s face pushes in beside Stan’s, both now slipping in and out of focus, “do you need to -”

“Hang on, kid - don’t go to sleep just yet, let’s get ya to -”

He’s tired, so tired, his eyelids are heavy and everything hurts but they’re all clamouring round him and he doesn’t want to pass out on them because they’re finally together again and Bill’s finally gone and things might actually be okay now but he’s exhausted, drained, and Stan’s big arms are holding him and he finally, finally feels safe and he doesn’t even remember the last time he did. 

That feeling’s been gone for so long, and now Bill’s dead and gone and he’s taken all the weirdness and evil with him. It’s okay to rest now, right?

"Dipper," Ford's voice is hard with urgency, "I know you're tired, just try to stay awake while -"

Five minutes, Dipper resolves. He’ll just close his eyes for five minutes, and then he’ll get up and they can get back to it. 

"Dude - hold on, don't pass out, we'll get you to -"

Five minutes, he repeats to himself, even as the panicked voices start to fade and the dimming lights go out.

The sound of boots on linoleum makes Stan look up from where he’d been staring into space, somewhere in the direction of the edge of the bed in front of him. Wendy’s already left and Soos had wandered off a little while ago while mumbling something about snacks. The main light’s been dimmed in the room itself, leaving it to be illuminated only by the bedside lamp and the strip light on the wall above the bed, but he can see Stanford’s frame in the doorway, trenchcoat bundled under one arm and the harsh overhead lighting from the corridor glinting off his glasses. It makes his expression even harder to read than before. Stan can just about see the edges of gauze dressings peeking out from the collar of his brother’s turtleneck and just beyond the cuffs of his sweater. 

There are two paper cups in Ford’s hands. Steam rises from them, gently warping the light around the rims. 

“They let you go?” Stan’s voice cuts through the weird little pocket of silence - beyond the doorway there’s the standard hubbub of a hospital, perhaps a bit more so in the aftermath of all this, but in here all he can listen to is the sound of the twins’ breathing, reminding him that they’re both here and he hasn’t lost them. 

Ford shrugs, stepping into the room. “I discharged myself.” 

Nobody had noticed Ford's injuries at first. The initial panic when they'd burst through the hospital's doors - Soos having floored it the entire way - was surrounding Dipper, wrapped in Ford's coat and cradled limp as a rag doll in Stan's arms. Once the kid had been pulled away by the medical staff and Stan had noticed the angry red welts above the collar of Ford’s turtleneck, he’d immediately herded his brother towards one of the tired-looking doctors in the hallway to get checked out. Ford protested fiercely, but Stan remained firm - “You too, Poindexter. I ain’t takin’ any chances.” 

Seeing how Stan’s expression changes, Ford raises one of the cups defensively. “They’re only burns. I’ve had worse.” Stan’s heart sinks a little further into his stomach as his brother rounds the end of the bed and casts a concerned look at its occupants, before handing the other cup to him. “How are they?” 

Stan accepts the cup with one hand, trying to focus on how the hot coffee warms the pads of his fingers through the thin paper casing as he gestures towards the bed with the other. “Mabel dozed off a while ago. The nurses keep tellin’ me to move her off him, but....” he trails off, surveying the pair in front of him. “I can’t bring myself to.”

The twin in question is curled up beside her brother on the bed, with her head tucked into the crook of his neck and one hand clasping his. When Stan looks a certain way he can still see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. Her bright pink sweater, torn and dirtied as it now is, makes a disorienting contrast against the cream-coloured sheets and pale green blankets. There are scrapes and bruises on her legs too, visible below the torn hem of her skirt and patched up with band-aids and dressings where needed, but she’s otherwise fine physically. Her twin, on the other hand...

Dipper is as still and pale as when he was brought here, the cuts on his face and arms cleaned and patched - but the bruises still remain, painfully stark and lurid underneath the fluorescent light. His right arm, resting limp on the blanket under Mabel’s, is heavily bandaged, while his left is stuck with an IV line trailing from a bag of clear fluid hanging up by the bed. More dressings creep out from beneath the edges of the gown falling off his thin shoulders, practically drowning his small frame and exposing a perfectly even strip of dark bruises across the right side of his clavicle. In the space between the harsh strip light and the bedside lamp the shadows under his eyes are even more pronounced. 

Stan knows the pair of them are pint-sized dual forces to be reckoned with when things are fine - capable and talented beyond their years in their own unique yet perfectly complementary ways - but in here they both just look... small, and fragile. Like the children they still are. It makes him feel sick to think of how close he came to losing them. 

How he thought he had. 

Back in the real world, Ford’s shoulders slump visibly as he comes to hover at the edge of the bed. He tentatively reaches a hand out to brush Dipper's hair away from his forehead, and from where he's sitting Stan can just make out the pink lines of... a birthmark. His nickname. “I see. And Dipper hasn’t...?”

“Nope. They said he’s gonna be okay with enough rest, but - the kid’s really been through it.” Stan rubs the side of his face with his free hand, dislodging his glasses as he tries to recall the laundry list of injuries the doctor had given him. Ford seemingly decides to settle in and grabs one of the chairs from over by the wall, pulling it up next to him and draping his trenchcoat over the back before dropping into it. “Exhaustion, dehydration, buncha 'old' injuries - Soos said somethin’ about Wendy crashin' a car when they were lookin’ for Mabel…” Stan stares into the dark depths of his coffee and tries not to think about how the bruises across Dipper's sternum would line up perfectly with a seatbelt. “I remember now - when all the… weirdness hit, I was at the Shack... I went out lookin' for them when I could, and when I couldn't... I just kept waitin’ for them to come back. For days.” There’s a lump in his throat now, and he swallows hard, tries to push it away. “I thought I’d lost 'em.” 

Ford looks down. “I’m sorry, Stan. I know how much they mean to you.” 

Stan’s finger taps the edge of his cup, and he raises it to take a sip. The coffee’s bitter, but it helps to have something to focus on. “You mean a lot to me too, ya knucklehead. I guess I wouldn’t’ve spent thirty years tryin’ to bring you back if you didn’t.” 

He knows on some level, that’s what he did. 

It’s barely been a day since he opened his eyes to find himself kneeling in the middle of a grassy clearing in the forest, blinking away the confusion as the girl and boy approached him, followed by the big Latino guy and the other old guy in the black suit. The way the tears pooled in the girl’s big brown eyes as she insisted ‘it's me, Grunkle Stan, it’s me!’ and the boy held her back, blinking his own tears away and pulling down the peak of his hat. How the guy sitting beside him now had embraced him with the words, ‘you’re our hero, Stanley...’ and the quiet sniffle of barely contained heartbreak. 

He knows now that he’s the man in the photos, standing with his arms thrown wide in front of the Mystery Shack behind the two kids; Mabel with her cute brace-filled grin and little pink visor and purple suitcase and Dipper with a different hat to the one he wears now and a backpack that’s way too big for him and an expression skeptical beyond his years, worlds away from the pleading crack of desperation in his voice as he asked, ‘Don’t you remember anything?’  

The pink scrapbook’s still with them now, sitting on the bedside locker next to the pitcher of water and stack of cups a nurse had brought them. Stan hadn’t even thought about anything beyond the initial alarm bells ringing in his head at the sight of Dipper losing consciousness in his arms - until they’d been sitting in the waiting area and Soos had quietly pushed the book into his hands. 

“Y’know. In case you, uh… need it again.” He’d looked down, toyed with the hat in his lap. “You’re… a seriously special dude, Mr. Pines. To a whole lotta people. You can’t forget that.” 

He’s Stanley Pines; great-uncle, brother, tourist trap owner, boss, con man. Hero, apparently. 

“I’m your brother,” Ford says, eyes misting behind his cracked glasses. “We were best friends, but we fell apart - it's a long story, but - I was a researcher here, I built a multidimensional portal, I made a bad deal with an entity I shouldn’t have trusted... we hadn’t spoken for years, but I called and you still came. We ended up fighting and I fell in by accident - and you spent thirty years working to fix it. Trying to bring me home.” A six-fingered hand clutches at the edge of his trenchcoat. “And it was stupid and reckless and dangerous, but you did, Stanley. You’re the reason I’m here.” 

And there another image surfaces; a younger man with darker hair, but the same glasses and strong jaw, tossed into the air by the forces of anti-gravity, kicking and screaming as the spinning rainbow-tinted oblivion pulls him in - ‘Stanley, Stanley, help me! Stanley, do something! Stanley!’ - before the blinding light erupts. It's still painful, but almost in a dull, disconnected way - like he's lived with the ache of it for years. 

“Mabel and Dipper, they’re your - well, our - niece and nephew,” Ford continues. “They’re twins, like us. You’ve been looking after them all summer.” 

Stan stares down at the two worn, exhausted children in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his empty mind he already knows he loves them, and the way they’re looking up at him suggests that the feeling is mutual…

...but he can’t help wondering how the hell the poor kid ended up with a ridiculous name like Dipper.

“That you did,” Ford’s quiet observation in the silence brings him back to the present. “All of this, the reason we’re even sitting here now. With them,” he gestures towards the bed, expression weary but relieved. “It’s all thanks to you, Stan. What you did with the portal…” he groans, rubs the side of his face. “It was stupid and insanely dangerous, but the worst thing that could have come from it is over - because you sacrificed yourself.” His next words are still tinted with a sense of wonder. “You saved us. Me, the kids, the people of this town. The world.” 

“...It’s funny,” Stan comments, absently. “You’re tellin’ me that, and I feel like all of it’s... there, somewhere.” He taps his temple. “But really far away, ya know? But when I looked at Mabel…” he brushes a thumb over the rim of the cup, “Sure, I didn't know her name, but... I kinda knew she was special to me. Dipper too. And you, I guess.” He winks at Ford, who jolts a little. “Sorta like instinct. I just… didn’t know who all of you were.”  

“The gun erases memories,” Ford muses. “I suppose it doesn’t erase emotions, but aren’t the memories what form the emotions…?” 

“Or maybe these kids are just that special,” Stan wonders aloud, gaze falling upon them once more. The twins’ bond is about as subtle as the giant shooting star emblazoned on the front of Mabel’s bright pink sweater - he wouldn’t even need his memories to know that, judging from the way Mabel had cried and wrung her hands in her oversized sleeves and fidgeted and, on finally being allowed to see her brother, immediately climbed onto the bed next to him and just stared at him with more tears in her eyes. They’re individuals, but they’re also fundamentally intertwined - and without one, the other’s lost. 

“They’re like we used to be,” Ford remarks, breaking Stan from his Dipper and Mabel-induced reverie. “Best friends.”

“Partners in crime,” Stan says, without thinking. He knows that feeling, vaguely, remembers it - buried deep in the sands of a New Jersey beach as it is. 

He thinks there must be a framed photo of the younger twins somewhere in that house - maybe more. An image surfaces somewhere distant, the pair in fishing hats smiling back at him as he checks his reflection in a dusty mirror, another with himself and Ford as boys nearby. 

Ford exhales, long and deep, and takes a sip of his own coffee. “And to think I told Dipper I wanted him to stay here and work with me…”

“You did what?” Stan turns to his brother in shock. “Stanford, what the hell?!” 

“Dipper’s a brilliant young man,” Ford counters defensively, sitting up straighter. “He has the passion to learn, too - he’s everything I would have wanted to be at his age; more, even. I thought it would be something he’d want to do.” 

“Right, but - isn’t that where all our problems came from? Splitting up?” Stan flings a hand out towards the pair on the bed - and Ford raises a finger to his lips, reminding him that they’re asleep, not comatose. Stan drops his pitch to an angry whisper. “How could you even think of doing that to them?” 

Ford shakes his head, looking defeated. “You don’t have to tell me, Stanley. You’re right.” He glances sadly over at Dipper, who thankfully stays asleep - the kid doesn't need to wake up to his uncles arguing. “They’re still so young. They probably won’t be glued to each other forever like they are now, but… that’ll be up to them, when they’re ready. I don’t have any right to force it, and in all honesty it was... arrogant of me to think that I could.” 

Stan thinks of Dipper and his eternal quest for knowledge, his drive for investigating and solving and learning. The kid’s such a huge nerd - just like Ford, and Mabel loves him so, so much. She’d be heartbroken. And he knows Dipper wouldn’t fare so well without his sister, either - he needs someone to remind him he’s still a kid, that it's okay for him to be a kid, and Mabel keeps him in check better than anyone else ever could. 

Ford sighs again, watching the pair. “I may owe them an apology.”

Mabel’s long, tangled brown hair is fanned out across the side of the pillow she’s claimed, escaping her pink headband and falling across her eyes. Stan reaches forward and gently pushes it back, tucking it behind her ear. Her earrings are little gold stars and they’re perfect. 

“Yeah, well.” He watches both of their chests, rising and falling in sync. There’s so much else to think about right now, and Ford probably knows that too. “I’m sure they’ll forgive you.” 

For a while the older twins sit and sip their now lukewarm coffee in companionable silence, before Ford speaks, at length. 

“Stanley, you were... rather upset after I returned. You had this fixation on me... thanking you, for bringing me home.” 

Stan listens, shrugs. “I mean, kinda makes sense if I spent thirty years on it? And your... multidimensional, quantum, whatever - definitely ain’t up my street.” He chances a sideways glance at his brother, who’s toying with his cup and wearing an uneasy expression. “So yeah, I guess it woulda been nice?” 

Ford winces at the casual dismissal coating the words that encapsulate his entire life’s work, but presses on. “Stan, I made a deal with the devil - well, demon, I suppose. I was the smartest man in the world, but I was also a complete fool, and..." he shrugs uneasily, "that’s... where it all started. I was desperate for answers, and he preyed on that. He told me he chose ‘one brilliant mind per century to inspire’, and I was stupid enough to believe him. I trusted him as a research partner - hell, as a friend. I fell for all his flattery and illusions, and what he wanted to do was... so much worse.” He says the next part like it physically pains him to admit it. “You’re smart in ways that I’m not. I know you would have seen right through him.” He sits forward, staring into his half-drained coffee again. “I was so angry at myself, Stan. And I was angry at you because I couldn’t understand why you’d risk the world. For me.”

Stan sits, lets Ford’s admission wash over him. Why would anyone do something like that? 

It probably also begs the question, why would anyone sacrifice their own mind for their brother and the two kids sleeping in front of them? 

Because they care, obviously. Because they love them. It’s kind of insane if Ford’s this smart and he can’t see that, but if Stan has to tell him, he might as well. Nothing else is holding him back. 

“Easy, Poindexter - you’re my brother. I care about you. Ain’t it obvious?” Ford just stares at him, and Stan shrugs again. “And what you said before - we were probably a good team. If so, we’d’ve been better together than apart. Right?” 

Ford takes a while to reply, but when he does, his voice is rueful, almost like he’s struggling to contain something else within himself. “Perhaps.” He looks down. “But the implications it could have had… I do appreciate your intentions, Stanley, but - I’m not sure that I’m quite there yet.” 

Stan considers. There’s still a lot missing, intricacies and nuances and turns of events scarring his brother that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever recall. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t want Ford to be stewing in his resentment alone. “You think we can get there?” 

Ford stares at his lap. “Possibly.” He drums his fingers absently against his knees. “I spent a long time being angry, but Weirdmageddon’s behind us now, and…” he trails off with a shrug. “Honestly? We’re old, and I’m tired.” 

“Damn, Ford,” Stan replies, at length. “You’re really layin’ it all out today, huh?” 

The huff that escapes Ford’s lips might have had some semblance of a laugh. “It’s been a... discombobulating few weeks. I found my family and then I almost lost them. I had a niece and nephew I didn’t even know about. The world ended, and then it didn’t, and now we’re back here… picking up whatever’s left. I suppose I’d rather be candid than risk another miscommunication.” He lifts his head, looking Stan right in the eye. “I don’t hate you, Stan. There were times when I thought I did, but…” he softens. “Truthfully, I don’t think I could - especially not after what you've just done.” 

Stan doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. The silence resumes - but in the absence of the weight that’s been lifted, it’s noticeably lighter. 

It’s as Stan is reaching over for the scrapbook that he notices Dipper’s brow twitching, how the breath he’s drawing stutters slightly and his face scrunches in discomfort. Ford evidently catches it too, because the two of them are simultaneously on their feet, leaning anxiously over the bed as Dipper moans, rolling his head on the pillow.

“Dipper...?” Ford ventures, hand hovering uncertainly near the kid’s 'good' wrist - which is still almost black with bruising. “Dipper, are you awake?”

“Hey, it’s okay, Dips,” Stan attempts to reassure him, suddenly uncertain himself as he lays a hand against Dipper's shoulder. That's something else he calls him, right? “We’re here; you're, uh - you're safe now. It's okay...” 

Dipper groans softly again as he opens his eyes to stare hazily up at them. At first, he’s confused, squinting - but then he looks at them properly, sees Stan with Ford behind him, and it melts away as he gazes up at them with an expression of sheer relief. 

When the kid speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s what he says that makes Stan’s heart swell so much in his chest that for a second he wonders if it might explode. 

“Hey,” Dipper breathes as a smile slowly spreads across his face - like Stan’s been somewhere far, far away, and Dipper's been waiting for him to come home, and somehow the idea that someone would be waiting for Stan brings a strange prickly feeling to his eyes that's definitely not tears because Stan Pines doesn't cry, he just gets stuff in his eyes - which is obviously what's happening now. He's not crying because the little goofus is looking up at him with the still-sleepy gratitude of someone who hasn't seen him in years. Absolutely not. 

Dipper's voice is still an exhausted wisp, but it somehow manages to carry the emotional impact of a boxing glove to the face - especially when his hand fumbles to meet Stan's.

“You’re... back.” 

Dipper’s senses return to him slowly, bit by bit, slipping in and out of awareness. 

He can hear someone nearby, talking - snippets of a hushed conversation, bits and pieces filtering in and out, but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying yet. 

He can’t shake the feeling that there’s urgent matters to attend to, that he can’t afford to rest right now - 

Big things are coming… 

He's not safe - there's something he has to do. He has to protect Mabel. Dipper wants to get up, move - but he feels like he’s made of lead, his stupid burning noodle limbs won’t move and he can’t do anything. He’s so tired. 

He slips back under for a while. 

When he eventually resurfaces again, it’s quieter, but he knows he’s not alone. The air feels cool and sterile, but he’s warm - there’s a pressure at his side, soft and heavy against his aching limbs. A hand holding his. It smells like dirt and sweat and… a hint of strawberry shampoo. 

The vague sense of building panic stills, just a bit. Mabel. She’s here. A head that can only belong to his sister rests warm and heavy against his shoulder, and it's soothing in itself to know she's with him. 

Even so, everything hurts; his head hurts, his arms hurt, his chest hurts, and there’s a dull ache and a cold sensation spreading out from a pinprick of pain near the crook of his elbow. He attempts to draw in a deeper breath and it catches and stutters in his throat as the movement flares pain in his aching ribs, and he can't stop the involuntary moan that escapes him - oh God, everything hurts so much. 

“Dipper...?” Great-Uncle Ford… “Dipper, are you awake?”

Ford. 

Stan.

Ford had to erase Stan's mind - Stan didn't remember them, remember Mabel or him -

“Hey, it’s okay, Dips,” Grunkle Stan? The gruff New Jersey accent is oddly soothing - and familiar, speaking with the ease of someone who’s known him for years - and then there's a large hand resting on his other shoulder, warm and comforting. “We’re here; you're, uh - you're safe now. It's okay...” 

Dipper opens his eyes, blinking hazily against the dim light of pale walls cast in shadow, and two matching faces with matching old-guy glasses swim into his still-clouded vision.

Their uncles. Grunkle Stan, with Great-Uncle Ford hovering just behind. Dipper can just about make out the wide eyes and apprehensive expressions...

... but in that moment, even in spite of the weariness that’s seemingly imbued every fibre of his being, he can tell that Stan knows, remembers him - and relief floods his chest, warm and welcome and so powerful it almost hurts. 

“Hey,” his voice comes out as a pathetic slurred whisper, but he doesn’t care and he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face as he stares up at his uncle, who’s staring back at him expectantly through the veil, with no trace of distance between them at all. It makes sense, and yet it doesn't, and Dipper can remember how he was so scared and heartbroken - both for Mabel and for himself - and now Stan's by his side and he looks like he knows who he is and it feels like a weight has been lifted, even despite the tendrils of doubt and fear creeping up in his chest - because Stan's looking at him like he remembers, and before he even realises it Dipper's hand is automatically reaching for his uncle's. “You’re... back.” 

Stan just smiles down at him, relief seeping into the still-blurry lines of his face in equal measure as he squeezes his hand back. “So are you, kid.” Seemingly as an afterthought, almost like he's a little flustered, he adds, “And - uh - in case you’re wondering, you look terrible.”

The laugh that escapes Dipper’s sore chest is little more than a huff, but he means it. “And you look old, you… old man.” 

“Smart as ever.” Stan snorts and moves his large hand to rest on Dipper’s head, ruffling his hair - and Dipper’s so glad he doesn’t even care that it hurts. “Scared the heck outta us, ya gremlin.” 

Dipper blinks again, shifting his head on the pillow to take in his surroundings now that his vision has cleared a bit. The bedding beneath him is crisp and starched, and although the lights are dim he can tell that the walls are probably cream through the grey tint of the shadows. Glancing down to his side, he can see now that the dull ache in his arm is coming from an IV line. There's a thickly wrapped bandage around his other arm, swathes of gauze from his wrist up past his elbow - trapped under a pink woollen sleeve that can only belong to one person - and he can feel the itch of a gauze dressing taped to the side of his face, among others. 

Hospital, then. Dipper has to admit to himself that he probably had it coming. 

Outside the window, the sky is bathed in gradient hues, the rich orange glow of the sun rising to lift the fading blue of the night. The almost-red colour seems faintly ominous, and he pulls his gaze away to look at his sister before the morning sun can morph into something worse.

Mabel’s curled up at his side on top of the pale green blanket, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand over his - and it looks like she’s asleep. She’s probably exhausted too - Dipper wants to talk to her, tell her things, but his voice is evidently shot and he doesn’t want to wake her just yet - so he tilts his head again to look at his uncles, who have sat down in a couple of chairs pulled up next to the bed. “...time is it?” His throat is painfully dry. “Did I... pass out?” 

“It’s…” Ford rubs his eyes, squinting at his watch, “...five twenty-one AM, and yes, you did; straight into the carpet. We brought you here immediately, and you’ve been asleep for nearly twelve hours.” Dipper’s eyes widen at this, and Ford smiles wanly as Stan pours a cup of water, which Dipper accepts with his free hand. It shakes when he lifts it, but he mercifully avoids spilling it everywhere as he fumbles to take a couple of much needed sips before handing it back. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I survived the apocalypse,” Dipper deadpans, voice a little more intact now. Ford’s smile widens into something a bit more genuine and Stan lets out a short, gruff laugh. 

“Well, the doc said you're exhausted and dehydrated - on top of everythin' else - but if you’re up to sassin’ us less than five minutes after wakin’ up, you’ll probably be up and outta here in no time.” 

Dipper looks back down at his sister. “And Mabel - she’s okay, right?” That flame of panic, previously dulled by the warm comfort of knowing his family’s here, starts to flicker in his chest again. He’s still not fully convinced that he isn’t dreaming, and the initial relief he felt upon waking to see Stan is beginning to ebb a little, tinges of fear that his uncle might just forget everything - everyone - again starting to creep in. “A-and everyone else? Where’s Soos? What about Wendy?” 

“Mabel’s fine, knucklehead,” Stan points out the obvious for him, gesturing to the girl in question. “She was worried about you, but we all were.” Dipper’s heart starts its descent into his stomach, but Stan continues. “Soos is… downstairs? Probably eatin’. And Wendy was here earlier - they’re fine, too.” His expression clouds for a moment. “Seems like the whole town’s here, to be honest.” 

“Wh-” Dipper’s about to ask why, and then he remembers and feels stupid and embarrassed. Of course people would be needing medical attention after fighting a demon from another realm and surviving world-ending weirdness. Instead he swallows, the fingers of his free hand toying anxiously with the blanket. “Do you… um, remember everyone…?” 

Stan shrugs, expression seemingly unperturbed - but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You, Mabel, Ford…” here the man in question smiles gently, “...Soos and Wendy, I guess. I’m okay with just the important ones for now. Bits 'n' pieces, y'know. Speakin’ of...” here he sits forward, reaching out to put a large hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “Mabel? Hey, pumpkin.” 

Mabel groans, stirs slightly, but simply pushes her head further into the crook of Dipper’s neck, and Dipper feels his heart swell a little at the affection as Stan tries again. “C’mon princess, rise and shine.” 

Mabel groggily lifts her head, blinking against the dim lights. “Wh…” her gaze falls on Dipper, and she shoots up, instantly wide awake. “Dipper, ohmygosh!”

“Hey, Mabel.” He can’t stop himself smiling at her. 

Suddenly she’s on him, hugging him, and the room tilts and it jostles his sore everything - but it feels like it’s real, and with her he feels like he’s whole and that’s all he really cares about right now.

He lifts his aching arms to reciprocate - until Mabel squeezes a little too tightly, and Dipper yelps as a bolt of pain lances through his abdomen and sends him crashing back to reality. Mabel immediately releases him, and he sinks back into the pillows with a hiss and tries to steady his breathing while she sits back and pulls her knees into the remnants of her sweater - but not before he notices the band-aids on her legs and the gauze dressing on her knee. Her eyes are red and a bit puffy as she surveys him, and Dipper realises with another jolt of panic that she’s been crying. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, dummy,” Mabel tells him, but there’s a smile on her face and it eases the knot of anxiety in his chest by just a touch. “I’m not the one in the hospital.” 

“Eeny…” - pine tree - “meeny…” - shooting star - “miny…” - pine tree - “...YOU!”

“Hah, yeah.” His head feels like it’s jammed with rocks and he’s still exhausted, but he’s also just glad to see her. “I guess it was overdue.” 

The shooting star stares them down from the void of Bill’s eye, fingers about to snap, and Dipper’s world begins to fall apart around him. 

Mabel nudges his blanket-covered leg with her foot, bringing him back with a jolt. She’s not wearing any shoes, and her white socks are streaked with dirt. “You’re stupid.”

“Not as stupid as you,” Dipper bats back a second too late, almost perfunctorily - and he can tell she’s noticed. His gaze trails to what was her favourite sweater - torn and tattered in places, unravelling at one cuff with the shooting star dulled by dirt and ash. “Your sweater…”

Mabel dismisses his concern with a shake of her head. “I can make another one.” He can see the ideas forming in her head already, eyes brightening as she flings her arms out. “A better one! I can make this one light up! And I can put fairy lights around the star, and along the rainbow, and the sleeves, and -”

“Wouldn’t that be a fire hazard?” Ford interjects, and Dipper blinks, having almost forgotten he was even there - and immediately feeling guilty for it. Mabel turns to him with a serious expression. 

“No, Grunkle Ford.” She’s so resolute in her convictions, and for a second it’s almost like they’re having this conversation around the living room table in the Shack rather than in a cramped hospital room. “It’d be a fun hazard.” 

“Mabel says that about every ridiculous sweater she makes,” Stan says out of nowhere, and Mabel’s suddenly shining even brighter as she flings herself into their uncle’s lap, arms around his neck, and Dipper and Ford both laugh as Stan grins and ruffles her hair affectionately. They all know Mabel doesn’t need a sweater to light up a room, anyway. 

Dipper almost doesn’t want to believe that he’s here for fear of having it all ripped away from him again. It was scary living through the end of the world, but it was even more so to think he’d lost his best friend. 

Right after I told her she’d be losing me... 

Dipper stares up at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the dimmed lights, letting their conversation wash over him as he tries to calm his pounding heart. Weirdmageddon’s over - he saw the world reset itself, the blue sweeping over the sky as the rift closed and the Fearamid disassembled itself brick by brick. There’s no way it isn’t. 

But - and here his heart sinks once more with the realisation - that doesn’t magically mean that everything is alright. He watched the world crumble around him and still came this close to losing everything. 

“Welp,” Stan rises abruptly, Mabel’s arms still firmly around his neck, and everyone else turns to look at him - Dipper included. “I need more coffee. Anyone else?” He frowns at the IV hanging from the stand as he deposits Mabel on the edge of the bed. “I’ll see if you can have… I dunno, juice or somethin’.”

“...thanks.” Bizarrely enough, Dipper doesn’t feel particularly hungry - just empty. And tired, despite sleeping for twelve hours… but that’s probably to be expected. He cautiously moves to sit upright, and Mabel leans over to rearrange the pillows behind his shoulders to support him better as he waits for the room to stop backflipping.

“I could probably use another,” Ford admits, getting to his feet. “Mabel, do you want anything?” 

Mabel shakes her head and pats Dipper’s leg. “I’m gonna stay here.” 

“Alright,” Stan acquiesces, heading for the door with Ford behind him. “Mabel, sweetie, go ahead and slam that nurse call button if your brother starts actin’ up, okay?” He makes an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture to Dipper. “I mean it, kid, you even think about gettin’ outta that bed and we’ll make sure they knock you back out in no time. Got that?” 

Dipper and Mabel both nod. The older twins leave, and the younger twins are left alone. 

Mabel swings her legs up onto the bed, crossing them as she settles by Dipper’s hip. Her eyes are anxious as she looks at him. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I will,” Dipper admits. He doesn’t want to worry her, but it’s pointless to pretend that he’s fine when he’s literally laid up in hospital. “I’m sorry for scaring you. And… everything else.”

Mabel sighs and flops backwards onto the mattress. “I’m sorry, too.” 

Dipper frowns. “What would you have to apologise for? I mean, we had to convince you to leave that dreamland bubble, but…” a shudder. “It was awful out there. I don’t blame you at all.” 

Mabel rolls over and props herself up on her elbows as she lifts her head to look at him. “Dipper… you’ve done so much for me, and I’ve always, always counted on you - for everything. You’ve been putting me first all summer, and then I guess the idea that you might not come back to California with me really... freaked me out.” Her expression is downcast. “I mean, I know you already said you would, but… I don’t want to get in the way of your big opportunity with Grunkle Ford. I know I’d miss you too much, but… I don’t want you to be mad at me for that.” She chews her lip, absently fiddling with a stray thread on the cuff of her sweater. “I mean, that’s what made our grunkles get all stupid. I guess I was only thinking about myself.” 

Dipper shakes his head and is momentarily glad that the room doesn’t spin again. “Mabel, before we found you I was hiding downtown for…” a vague memory of a news report from an abandoned TV drifts to the surface, with a forecast of blood rain, and he shudders internally, “...like, three days until I found Wendy. And those were the worst three days of my entire life. Not even because the world was ending and I was trying to avoid getting captured, but...” he wills himself to look at her properly, and the sadness he sees in her expression pushes him a little closer to the edge of his composure, “...because you weren’t with me. I kept the walkie-talkie you gave me, talked into it and stuff, just in case you could hear me, but...” 

Dipper trails off, stares up at the wide, rounded shadows on the ceiling and tries not to think about anything else they might resemble - they’re shadows, that’s all they are, it’s perfectly natural and it’s just objects blocking the light and science has a totally good explanation for it, it’s not weird. 

“I missed you so much, Mabel.” Dipper’s voice cracks, and he brings a hand to his face in an attempt to rub away the hot, tense feeling building behind his eyes. “It was horrible without you - and I was literally going to say yes to growing up away from you. And Grunkle Stan and Great-Uncle Ford are cool and all, but... it would suck if you weren’t here. This whole summer would have. Every cool or awesome thing I’ve done, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. You’re my best friend.” His lip wobbles, a stray tear wells over the edge and slips down his cheek, and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in a futile attempt to stop more from following. “I was such an idiot. I’m so sorry.” 

“Dipper, you’re not an idiot,” Mabel’s voice is soft and sad as she reaches forward, gently hooking her fingers around his good wrist and taking his hand, and Dipper sniffs and swipes his forearm across his eyes as more tears fall. “You’re the smartest person I know. And…” Mabel pulls herself upright and crosses her legs again, inhales deeply, exhales. “There’s something I have to tell you, too.” 

Dipper looks at her questioningly, wondering what other kind of bombshells could be dropped now. Mabel looks away, her other hand fiddling with the frayed cuff of her sweater. “Do you remember Blendin...? The... time guy?” 

“Um, yeah?” Dipper’s confused now - again, tears forgotten. “What does he have to do with anything?” Another thought occurs to him. “Could he have stopped this? Like, by rewinding time or something?” 

Mabel bites her lip and shakes her head. “When I ran off, and I grabbed your backpack by accident… he came out of nowhere and told me if I gave him that... glass thingy, he could make summer last forever.” Now it’s her lip wobbling, and her grip on his hand tightens and it hurts but Dipper doesn’t say anything. “And - I was so miserable, Dipper, I thought I was losing you. I had such a horrible day and everything that could go wrong, did. I just wanted to stay in Gravity Falls and have fun with you and and Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford and Soos and Wendy and Candy and Grenda -” she cuts herself off with a choked sob. Dipper stares at her, wide eyed as his exhausted brain tries to comprehend what she’s telling him. “A-and - he was Bill and -“ Mabel’s face crumples as she loses control, dropping his hand to pull up the collar of her sweater as she curls in on herself. “Dipper, this was my fault!” 

Dipper’s jaw slackens, mouth hanging open as he attempts to process what he’s just learned. He feels (even more now) like he’s just been hit by a bus.

“But…” his voice comes out small, “how…?”

“I - I didn’t know,” Mabel sobs behind the wool, clearly distraught. “H-he seemed normal, and he said he could make th-this thing called a Time B-b-bubble for me - a-and then h-he smashed it and t-t-took off his g-glasses and -“

Mabel. Mabel accidentally took his backpack, presumably found the rift and then handed it to Bill - either disguised as Blendin or in Blendin’s body - who then unleashed all weird hell. 

“I’m so sorry, Dipper,” Mabel’s properly crying again now, an ugly, juddering sound that rips through Dipper’s heart and makes him want to cry again too. “I just w-wanted summer to l-last longer, I d-didn’t know - and th-hen G-grunkle St-stan, and you…” 

“Dipper, I don’t want you to tell anyone about this.” Great-Uncle Ford kneeling in front of Dipper, hand on his shoulder. “Not Stan, not even your sister. You understand?"  

Mabel, sad and desperate and feeling alone, with absolutely no idea what she was holding in her hands. 

“Mabel, you -“

Dipper’s almost glad that he’s as drained as he is - ordinarily his anger might have taken over and made him do something rash, say something he’d regret, but right now he’s too exhausted to act on the curling wisps of smoke rising from the sparks within him, logic taking precedence as his first instinct. Mabel’s telling him she didn’t know what it was, and when he thinks about it, connects the dots… 

...it’s because Dipper didn’t tell her, because Ford had sworn him to secrecy and Dipper just wanted to prove to this amazing genius scholar man - the man who wrote the very journals that had given him his life this summer - that he wasn’t just some dumb kid with delusions of grandeur. 

“You didn’t know,” Dipper says, almost dazedly, “because I didn’t tell you.” 

The realisation sweeps a belated chill over him as he says it aloud, ice flooding his veins as the world threatens to fall out from under him to the sound of his sister’s anguished regret. Mabel’s cries taper off a little, lifting her tear-soaked eyes from within her sweater, and Dipper has to force himself to meet her gaze. 

“Mabel... you had no idea what it was because I didn’t say anything about it. If I’d told you… you would’ve known better.” Dipper thumps his head back against the reclined mattress and immensely regrets the action when pain blossoms fresh from the back of his skull - but it’s what he deserves. Mabel is still staring at him as he shifts, readjusting himself. “That mission I went on with Great-Uncle Ford... we were looking for this alien adhesive to seal up the crack in the glass. Ford said Bill would trick or possess anyone to get hold of it, and… he asked me not to tell anyone about it.” 

Dipper lifts his knees to rest his arms on them - the muscles in his legs scream as he does and his right arm twinges even more, but he's probably earned it - and averts his eyes. The mattress dips beneath his legs as Mabel shifts. His shoulder still aches and burns from the whole terrifying incident with the spaceship and the magnet gun, even though it feels like a distant dream now. 

“And I didn’t tell you any of that because... I don’t know.” His voice wobbles, cracks, and he hides behind his folded arms as he attempts to bite back a sob - but he has to admit this because otherwise he’s never going to confront it. “I mean, Great-Uncle Ford asked me n-not to, and I g-guess I wanted him to... trust me.” He sniffs, wipes more tears away. “And I was p-p-probably in way over my head, and… you had no idea about any of it, b-because I never said anything and I tried to keep it to... m-myself.” 

And now Dipper’s the one crying, tears dripping down his face and soaking into his dressings and his head hurts and his chest hurts and he can’t tell if it’s the physical pain or the sheer guilt and horror of everything that’s happened, and he should be glad that Bill was defeated and the world has reset, the sky’s blue and the grass is green again - except his uncle had to sacrifice his own mind, his other uncle suffered so much at Bill’s evil hands, and he made Mabel - his closest ally - think that she wasn’t worth going home for and that’s simply not true, she’s worth everything to him, and what's even more painful is the fact that so many people ended up getting hurt because he almost destroyed that.

“I couldn't break your heart, Mabel.” 

Except, for a while, he did. 

“Wait - Dipper, no!” Mabel scrambles forward as Dipper curls in on himself, grabbing his hand again. “You can’t seriously think this is your fault...?!” Her eyes are wide and pleading, still shiny with tears.  

“It’s n-not yours, either,” Dipper counters with a hiccup, trying to even out his breathing and focus on her fingers linked with his. “Bill tricked you. If I’d told you, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to.” 

“So it’s Bill’s fault, then,” Mabel insists, still tearful. “That evil isosceles monster. Not you.” 

This summer would have been a lot less traumatic without Bill, that’s for sure. 

“Yeah, well,” Dipper swallows, sniffles and scowls at the IV in his arm in an attempt to concentrate on something besides the thick guilt still crushing his chest. The needle stings where it pierces his skin, and there’s already a bruise creeping out from under the edge of the tape. “Bill’s dead.” 

“Good,” Mabel says decisively, wiping the tears off her face with her sleeve. “He’s evil, and a poop-head, and a… a jerk. ” The last word is laced with venom. “A stupid, ugly, pointy jerk.”

“Yeah,” Dipper exhales, slumping back against his pillows to stare at the ceiling again. His head is pounding. The shadows have moved, but they’ve retained their shape. “Or, he was.” 

A perfect maelstrom of hurt, miscommunication, desperation, and a one-eyed demon from a nightmare realm with insanely weird and evil plans that literally ended the world... 

...and even though the demon’s gone and their surroundings have reset now, they’re still left to claim the emotional baggage. 

The mattress dips again as Mabel pulls her hand away and moves forward, before twisting herself around to mimic Dipper’s position, flopping against the reclined bed. 

For a while, the two of them simply lie side by side in the early morning light, silent tears streaming down their faces, and don’t speak. 

“Can you promise me you won’t get all stupid?”

“Not stupider than you, dum-dum.” 

Mabel giggles. “Goodnight, stupid.”

Dipper smiles, clicking off his lantern and settling down to sleep. “Goodnight, stupid.” 

“I’m sorry, Mabel.” Dipper’s voice, still far from steady, is the first to break the silence with the uncomfortable reminder of a broken promise. “I guess I got stupid.” 

Mabel sniffles and shakes her head. “If you got stupid, so did I.” 

“So we’re both stupid, then.” Her response is to just lean closer, wrapping her arms round his shoulders, and Dipper raises his hand to grip her wrist and bury his face in her sleeve. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Dipper,” Mabel whispers. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid either,” Dipper mumbles into the pink wool, grateful for the way it's absorbing his tears.

They sit like that for a few moments more before Mabel speaks again. 

“Mystery twins...?” The upwards inflection is cautiously optimistic. 

“....mystery twins,” Dipper sniffs again. A pause, and then, “Except for when we were the stupid twins.” 

“Well... I guess so,” Mabel agrees. “But…” she lifts her head and drops her arms from round him, pushing herself upright, and Dipper glances upwards. His sister’s eyes are still puffy, but there’s a spark of hope somewhere in there. “We’re not old like Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, and they’re still trying. We still have time to be… not stupid.” 

Dipper can’t shake the feeling that there’s damage already done. “But… we can’t just pretend this never happened.”

“I know,” Mabel admits, “but we’ve still got the whole rest of our lives. At some point, this is all just gonna be another memory. And we can learn from…” she gestures into the air, “...all of this. From Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford. We can try and not make the same mistakes they did.” 

Mabel has a point. Even if it takes time to mend the wounds they already have, they still have the future stretching ahead of them. And they can still do it together.

“Okay,” Dipper agrees, trying to draw in a deep breath - it hurts, but it grounds him, reminds him he’s still here, not dreaming. Weirdmageddon is really over, Bill's gone, and he and Mabel and everyone else are all here - and they're safe. “And step one is telling Ford that I’m going back to California - and staying there.” He holds his good fist out, and Mabel bumps it. “With you.” 

Mabel shifts to sit on her knees at his side. “And you’re sure about that?”

“Positive.” He means it. Mabel’s worth too much to him. 

Mabel holds her arms out, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Awkward sibling hug?” 

Dipper lifts his sore, tired noodle arms. “Awkward sibling hug.” 

She wraps her arms round him again, and he reciprocates and it pulls at his battered, aching limbs in all the wrong places - but he doesn’t care. 

So yeah, alright, they have a long way to go to recover from all of this and who even knows what the future holds... but Mabel’s had his back since they were born, since picture day and fourth grade and all the other times they learned that other kids can be jerks, since they fought off a bunch of gnomes and then a bunch of cursed wax figures together, and with literally every insane thing that’s happened in this weird little mining town in rural Oregon where they ended up because their mom and dad just thought they needed fresh air - including the time Mabel blew up a theatre full of her own painstakingly, lovingly crafted sock puppets for Dipper’s sake, earning herself a number of bad reviews in the Gravity Falls Gossiper, dirty looks downtown for a week afterwards, and another stupid ex-summer crush to add to her growing list.

“Pat, pat.” 

Dipper can’t deny he’s still scared, and the ghosts from this summer probably won’t stay in Gravity Falls, but neither will he. He knows he wouldn’t want to face the unknown with anyone else. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway catches their attention, and they look up to see Ford re-entering the room with a smile that seems… almost wistful. “Hi, kids. How are we doing here?” 

“We’re okay,” Mabel says. If Ford notices their tear-streaked faces and puffy eyes, he’s kind enough not to say anything. “Where’s Grunkle Stan?” 

“Talking to your doctor,” Ford says, nodding in Dipper’s direction as he sits back down. “It’s still a bit busy, but with any luck they’ll let you out of here soon.” 

Dipper wonders if now would be the best time to tell Ford that he’s retracting his acceptance of the apprenticeship offer - but then there’s voices outside the door, lumbering footsteps rushing in the hallway, and before he can even fully comprehend what’s happening Soos crashes into the room and throws his huge form at the bed. 

“Dipper! Oh my gosh, dude -”

“Soos,” Dipper wheezes, almost blinded by pain and the fact that Soos’s weight is currently crushing his lungs, “...I need… air...”

“Oh - sorry, dawg.” Soos abruptly releases Dipper, who falls back into his bedding with a gasp as Mabel makes motions that seem to be an attempt to coach him on how to get air back into his lungs. “Guess I don’t know my own strength, heh.” He rubs one of his big arms. “But seriously, you had us all freaked out. You feeling okay?” 

“More or less,” Dipper tells him once he manages to breathe, and a surge of affection warms his chest at the way Soos smiles and visibly relaxes, tension immediately leaving his large frame.

“Soos, I told you not to get carried away,” Stan complains as he re-enters the room with a can of ginger ale in hand. “Look at him, he’s a mess. Anyway, kid,” here he turns to Dipper, cracking the tab on the can open and passing it over, “the doctor said we can take you home this afternoon if everything stays okay, so look alive, alright?” 

“Can do,” Dipper agrees as he accepts the drink, despite his uncertainty over whether his bed back at the Shack is still in one piece. Even if it isn’t, Mabel and Soos will probably just build him a new one out of craft supplies, and the fleeting thought feels so ridiculously typical that he almost has to laugh. 

“Dude, it was so scary when you passed out,” Soos comments as Dipper cautiously sips his soda, seemingly oblivious to the way Stan and Ford turn to glare at him. “You tried to get up and then you just went, like,” he lifts a hand, brings it down sharply, “on the floor, boom.” 

“Soos drove us here,” Mabel adds, taking the ginger ale from Dipper's outstretched hand. “Pedal to the metal, the whole way.” 

Dipper looks at Soos again, now noticing the shadows under his eyes and how often he’s blinking, and wonders if he’s been here all night. “Wow. Um... thanks, Soos.”

“Of course, dude,” Soos brushes it off with his usual easygoing grace. “Plus I texted Wendy as soon as Mr. Pines told me you were up, and I called my abuelita and she said the food here sucks so she’s gonna make -”

“Dipper!” Soos is cut off as Wendy dashes into the room like a redheaded vision, and for someone who’s normally so chilled and calm it strikes Dipper that she looks genuinely worried - but then she’s hugging him and affection surges through him again to the point where it feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Dude, are you okay?” 

She pulls back - and judging from the tangles in her hair and her hat haphazardly jammed onto her head and the wolf-print vest top and plaid shorts she's wearing instead of her usual flannel and jeans, it looks like she woke up not that long ago - and then Mabel’s on her too, hugging her. Wendy laughs and accepts Mabel’s display of affection with a grin, but her gaze remains fixed on Dipper. 

“I’ve been better,” Dipper admits, offering her a smile of his own. “Probably looks bad, huh?”

“Badass,” Wendy corrects him, looking a little more relaxed now as she sits on the edge of the bed next to Mabel’s legs. “Those are battle scars, man. You and your family saved this whole freaking town.”

“So did you,” Dipper points out. “And you totally saved me when…” he trails off, not wanting to revisit those horrible days in the beginning that had only ended when he’d stumbled into Wendy’s trap. He doesn’t want to think about what he would have done without her. “You know.” 

Wendy simply reaches over and ruffles his hair. “I’m really glad you’re okay, dude. I came last night when Soos told me what happened, but you were still out." Her hand drops to his shoulder and her eyes soften a little. "You’re looking better now you're up.”

“Thanks.” Buried somewhere beneath the appreciation there’s probably at least a flicker of embarrassment at Wendy seeing him like this, if Stan’s earlier comment is anything to go by, but Dipper can’t bring himself to care. She's already seen him at his most vulnerable - heck, she's seen him dancing in a lamb costume - and she's still a true friend. 

Wendy raises her head, turning to smile tentatively at Stan, who’s taken his seat next to Ford again. “You’re, uh... looking good too, Mr. Pines. And you know -” 

“Nice try, Wendy,” Stan cuts her off. “I still remember how much I was paying you.”

Wendy looks shocked for a second, but just as quickly recovers her composure and laughs, tension melting away. “Worth a shot.” 

Stan snorts, picking up the scrapbook from the bedside locker - which Dipper hadn’t even realised was there - and opening it again. He flips through a few of the middle pages, large hand lingering by the photo of Dipper and Mabel in their Summerween peanut butter and jelly costumes - and when a flicker of recognition crosses his face, eyebrows lifting, Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

It’s still going to be hard to move past this - and looming down on him it feels like it could be almost insurmountable... but with everyone here, there’s still at least a shred of hope to cling to - several, even. 

It’s also at that point that a pretty frazzled-looking doctor enters the room, switches the main light on (to everyone’s immediate displeasure) and promptly freaks out at seeing the number of people crowded around the bed. 

“Oh no, no no no, this isn’t gonna - nope, I’m sorry, there’s too many of you here.” The doctor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “You know, the hot food counter’s just opened in the cafeteria. Maybe go and get yourselves some breakfast?” 

“You got breakfast burritos?” Soos ventures, like it’s a diner and not a hospital canteen.

“And syrup?” Mabel adds, eyes brightening. 

If Dipper squints he thinks he can see part of the doctor’s soul leaving his body.

“Sure, I don’t know. Knock yourself out.” The man sighs and flips a page on his clipboard. “Anyway… Mason?” Dipper raises a hand, and then cringes as Wendy and Soos turn to stare at him with wide eyes. “Alright, I just need to check a few things. Won’t take a minute.” 

The extended Pines family grumble and shuffle and begin to make their way out - with Soos murmuring, “the world seemed so simple before this moment...” - but as Ford switches off the bedside lamp and pats him on the shoulder, Dipper grabs his hand before he can leave. 

“Um, Grunkle Ford, can you... wait?” 

The rest of the group turns around, looking nonplussed, but nobody comments. Ford exchanges a glance with the doctor and then shrugs. “I’ll be outside.”  

Thankfully the examination doesn’t take too long - although he really could have done without the full glare of the torch being shone in his eyes - and after the doctor tells Dipper he’ll be discharged that afternoon, reminds him to rest up and takes his leave, Ford immediately comes back in, rounding the edge of the bed to take the seat with his trench coat draped over it. He looks concerned. 

“Is everything alright, Dipper?” 

Well, that’s a loaded question. 

“Um… well, you know.” Dipper rubs the back of his neck, but Ford just nods sagely. “I actually wanted to talk to you about, uh… your offer.” 

“Oh,” Ford’s eyebrows lift, and he sits forward attentively. “Of course. What’s on your mind?” 

For a split second, Dipper wonders what he could be leaving behind. Ford is truly amazing. He’s lived through so much and done so many insane things Dipper could probably only dream of. There’s so much he could learn and so many adventures he could have - they could have, together. 

But then he thinks again of Mabel. Ford’s still amazing, of course, but he hasn’t been in Dipper’s life that long - unlike Mabel, who’s been there for him the entire time. She’s his oldest friend. She’s always made everything better just by being at his side, and now he knows what actually being without her is like - even if only for a few days - he doesn’t want to revisit that. 

On a rational level, Dipper knows they won’t be joined at the hip forever. Things are going to change…

...but he doesn’t have to force them. And right now, he knows he’s not ready to leave his sister behind. 

He can only hope the adventures will wait for him. 

Dipper pushes himself as upright as his aching body will allow, and inhales. 

“Great-Uncle Ford, thank you so much, but... I don’t think I can take the apprenticeship.” At Ford’s nonplussed expression, he quickly adds, “Not because I don’t want to learn from you - I mean, I really do, but…” he looks down, toys with the edge of the blanket pooled in his lap. “I’m going back to California with Mabel. There’s... I just - I don’t want to be apart from her right now. I’m sorry.” 

To his surprise and relief, Ford just smiles - if a little sadly. “No need to apologise, Dipper. In fact, I think I should be apologising to you... and your sister.” He sighs, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “I really am sorry for what I did. It was probably… well, arrogant of me to just expect you to make such a big decision so suddenly - and to assume that your family would be okay with it. You’re still so young, after all, and it was wrong of me to imply that Mabel would hold you back - in fact, you're a pretty incredible force together, and I should never have tried to separate you. I wasn’t wrong when I said that this town’s a magnet for things that are special, but - you’ll be special wherever you are, and this place isn’t going anywhere.” He hesitates. “Probably.”

“I still think you’re awesome,” Dipper hurries to add, heat rising in his cheeks. “Your journals, everything you’ve taught me, even just having someone to play Dungeons, Dungeons & More Dungeons with - seriously, it’s meant so much. The author of those journals was someone I idolised and... he turned out to be you. It’s one of the best things that could have happened to me this summer. You have no idea.” 

At that, Ford smiles again - but it’s warmer, more genuine this time. “Dipper, regardless of what happens, I’m proud to be your uncle. I know you’re a great kid who’ll grow up to be an even greater man - you've already proven it to me time and time again. You’ve got a very bright future ahead of you, with or without my help. But,” and here he extends a hand, “whether it’s in Gravity Falls, or anywhere else, my door will always, always be open to you. When you’re ready.” His eyes show nothing but understanding, and his smile widens into a grin. “And in any case, I’ll make sure I don’t miss your ghost-hunting show. Okay?”

Dipper stares at Ford's outstretched hand as the praise washes over him. He almost has to wonder if he’s dreaming again - but when he moves his arm, his shoulder twinges painfully and it grounds him in reality. Still, the warmth blooms in his chest as he accepts his uncle’s handshake. “Okay.” 

“Excellent,” Ford says, and Dipper leans back into his pillows with an exhale. Concern floods the older man's expression once again, and Dipper shakes his head.

“I’m fine. I'm just…” he can’t stop a yawn from escaping, “...tired.” 

Ford offers a sympathetic smile. “That’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot.” 

“So have you,” Dipper murmurs, trying to focus on how his uncle is sitting next to him now, safe from alien prison droids and Bill’s twisted grasp. “I mean... Weirdmageddon.” 

Ford shrugs. “Kid, I spent the best part of thirty years as an interdimensional fugitive. I’ve seen… well, a lot.” He sits back in the chair with an exhale of his own. “Weirdmageddon was catastrophic for sure, but you’re the ones who rescued me - and if it wasn’t for Stan sacrificing his own mind, who even knows.” 

"And... you guys?" Ford raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Dipper wonders if he shouldn't have said it, it's probably none of his business - but Stan and Ford deserve to remember what it feels like to love each other the way Dipper knows he and Mabel do. "Um... you know. You and... Grunkle Stan." 

"Ah." The expression on Ford's face indicates that he's choosing his next words carefully. "Well, yes. To be candid, I suppose I'm still having a little trouble with the fact that he willingly risked the world to bring me home. I know he only meant well, but -  I'm not sure he fully understood. To say it was dangerous is an understatement." He looks at Dipper again, seems to remember the present situation, and quickly shakes his head. "Not that you should be worrying about that, Dipper. At all." 

"Isn't that what loving someone means, though?" Dipper can't stop himself asking - for some reason, his inhibitions are just falling by the wayside. He doesn't have the energy to consider the implications of his words, and this whole experience has already laid so many emotions bare. "Like, that person literally means more than the world to you. I guess most people wouldn't have the opportunity to take it literally, but..."

Would he do the same thing for Mabel? Always. 

It takes Ford a while to reply. "I guess you're right." A soft chuckle, almost a huff of air - and yet laden with so much; wonder, regret, sadness, relief. "Stan spent thirty years trying to bring me back, and even after I pushed him away he still stepped up and took the fall for my mistakes..." His eyes look a bit misty behind his glasses for a second, and Dipper wonders if he might have gone too far - but then Ford's smiling again, sad and wistful but lit by a trace of hope. "He went above and beyond to save me - and you, and all of us. We all owe him a great deal, but..." he trails off, gaze drifting to his lap, "...I'd say, myself more than anyone." 

Dipper has to admit, when he and Mabel sleepily stumbled off the bus on a balmy Cascadian evening three months earlier to be promptly startled into complete wakefulness by the old guy with a fez and 8-ball cane appearing with a bang and a cloud of smoke in front of them, they certainly weren’t expecting him to be the man who’d save the world.  

Okay, so Mabel was impressed by the smoke bomb and had jumped up and down and clapped her hands, but Mabel’s impressed by everything and it’s just one of the million things about her that Dipper loves, even if he grumbles or rolls his eyes or makes some snarky quip. Mabel knows exactly how loveable she is, and she knows she's his favourite person in the world - and she reciprocates in full.   

And yet for some reason, it seems like that was a lifetime ago. Back when monsters formed from towers of rabid gnomes and losing Dad's old trucker hat were their biggest concerns.

Dipper shifts his head to look at his uncle, who's sitting and staring at his interlinked fingers pensively. “Grunkle Ford, do you think we’re going to be…” he hesitates to say the last word. “Okay?"

Ford considers for a second - then lifts a hand, tilts his wrist in the universal language for ‘eh, maybe’. “Well... we’re all here, and we have each other.” His gaze slides to the side - seemingly distant - before he looks back at Dipper, expression thoughtful once more. “After everything that’s happened, it’s good enough for now. Don’t you think?” 

Dipper does. He’s lost track of the number of times he uttered the words ‘if we work together’ over the last week. And he was right - ultimately, it was the thing that saved them all. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess it’s just us versus the future now.” 

Ford laughs - brief, but rich and deep. “After what I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure the future doesn’t stand a chance against you two.”  

Dipper stares up at the ceiling as he considers his uncle’s assertion. 

The future’s unknown, and it’s scary. But so is everything else that’s happened over the last few days - and while it’s something he knows he’ll probably always carry with him, he’s fortunate to count a lot of good people (and creatures, if he’s including the Multibear) as friends and allies. Friends whose names and faces he won’t be able to forget, who carried him through the literal end times. Everyone brought something to the table to fight Bill. Especially the two great-uncles who finally put their own years of heartache, resentment and misunderstanding aside to work together and literally save the world. 

But most importantly, Dipper knows that when he boards the bus back to California to face the music, he’ll have Mabel with him. As long as they're beside each other, they’ll probably be able to get through this too. 

He hopes Stan and Ford will be able to do the same, but Mabel’s probably got a plan to enforce it - somehow. 

“Yeah.” 

There’s no uncertainty clouding Dipper’s mind this time; just the conviction that comes with knowing he’s made the right decision. 

“Not if we’re together.”

Ford’s awoken from his unplanned nap by the sound of movement and voices in the hallway. He stretches, tilting his head to the side and grimacing as it tugs unpleasantly at the crick that’s now formed in his already sore neck. In front of him, Dipper’s still sleeping soundly, huddled further under the blanket that Ford had tucked around his shoulders after he’d dozed off. Even in spite of his visible injuries, knowing that he’s alright - or at least, that he will be - makes him look a little more… alive, somehow, and there's a bit more colour in his cheeks than before. It's certainly an improvement from the state he was in when they'd frantically hauled him through the clinic's doors less than a day earlier, wrapped in Ford's coat and cradled closely but carefully against Stan's chest - like a broken doll that could shatter with one wrong movement.

For a little while Ford sits in the slightly uncomfortable chair, simply watching him. He's just grateful that he can. 

"Will you follow me?"

Dipper stares up at him, his hair flying in the now-screaming wind and exposing the birthmark on his forehead - before his brows draw down and his mouth sets in a line, firm and resolute. "To the ends of the earth." 

His nephew's left hand has escaped from beneath the blanket at some point, resting just over the edge of the mattress, and Ford peers a little more closely at the tag around his bruised wrist. There’s a barcode with his name next to it - Mason D. Pines. M. 08/31/1999. Beneath it, the purple contusions bloom angry and dark across his skin. They could be from the spaceship crash, or from running from Bill’s minions, or from a - car crash, Stan had said? - or any of the events of the last several days, who even knows. Ford certainly doesn’t, and even Dipper probably doesn’t either. 

Dipper's hand is so small, especially when Ford looks at it in comparison to his own. Everything about him is, especially against the pale sheets of the hospital bed. Ford's all too aware of just how insanely brave his nephew is - and intelligent, determined and resilient - and he knows he'll be okay... but he's still just a child, and it doesn't stop the urge to comfort him that wells up in his chest. 

Don't coddle him, a voice that sounds like his father's sneers somewhere in the back of his mind. What, you want him to turn out some kind of sissy?

The words Ford always wished he could say come to mind. Fuck off, Dad. 

He lifts his own hand and carefully places it over Dipper's, tucking his fingers underneath and squeezing gently. Why he's doing it, he's not entirely sure - to let the kid know he's not alone, maybe. That his family's watching over him as he rests, and he did so well, they're so proud of him and it's okay now. Dipper, for his part, doesn't even stir - but the fingers of that little hand slowly, reflexively curl around Ford’s own, and Ford lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding. 

For a while he can only gaze down at the small hand clasped around his and feel the warmth bloom through his heart. Even exhausted, injured and asleep, Dipper still has this much love to show the man who so carelessly endangered him... who tried to make him choose between science and his own sister, Ford recalls uncomfortably, and the warm feeling in his chest cools as the guilt twists something unpleasant in his stomach.

“- and I don’t know if you’d remember it now, but you always said his birthmark looked like someone spilled hot sauce on his face!” The sound of Mabel’s uniquely endearing guffaw follows, and it’s one that lifts Ford’s worn heart by just a touch. For those brief, paralysing moments he’d watched her struggle in Bill’s grasp as the shooting star loomed down on them from that soulless evil eye, he didn’t know if he’d ever hear it again… 

...or if he deserved to.  

“Hah, that’s funny,” his brother’s voice is still gruff, but warm. “I had the same thought when I was lookin’ at it earlier, y’know.” 

“Yep!” Mabel’s still chattering away as the two of them come back into the room, and Ford can see that she’s holding Stan’s hand. Her other hand is clutching some styrofoam bowls and plastic cutlery, along with a small carton of milk, and Stan’s free arm is balancing a couple of styrofoam takeout containers and a variety pack of mini cereal boxes. “And I think that was the one time you visited us when we were in... kindergarten, I guess? And then I tried to lick it ‘cause I really like hot sauce, and then he hit me and I hit him and then we both ended up crying…” Mabel trails off with a wistful sigh. “Ah, we had fun.” She turns her gaze to Ford, who raises a finger to his lips and points at Dipper, and she quickly closes her mouth and nods emphatically in understanding. 

“What, you manage to bore him to sleep?” Stan keeps his voice mercifully low, but there’s a faintly teasing smile on his face, as Ford finally relinquishes Dipper’s hand and tugs the blanket back over it. “Nice job - he needs it.” 

“Ignoring that,” Ford says pointedly, turning his attention to Mabel - who’s climbing onto the mattress to sit at her brother’s feet, setting the takeout crockery and milk carton on the tray table. “What’s all this?” 

“We brought you guys a hero’s breakfast,” Mabel says, triumphantly fishing out a wealth of syrup packets from her oversized sleeves and scattering them across the blanket. “Syrup on cereal!” 

“Dunno if you like cold waffles, but they had ‘em,” Stan adds, unloading his own items and handing one of the boxes to Ford. 

Ford raises an eyebrow as he accepts it, opening the box to peer inside and prod it experimentally. The waffle is indeed cold - and a little stale-looking. “Should I even ask if you paid for it?” 

Stan looks like he’s about to argue, but Mabel beats him to it. “They gave it all to us for free because Soos was telling everyone that Grunkle Stan’s the town hero!” She flings her arms wide, the sleeves of her sweater flopping for emphasis. 

Ford cringes at the reminder. Not because Stan doesn’t deserve it - he absolutely does. He sacrificed everything he was and everything he knew for Ford and the kids, and it’s only by some sheer force of a miracle - as a scientist, Ford shouldn’t even believe in miracles, but he doesn’t know how else he can explain it - that he held onto just enough of himself for Bill to die and his memories to survive.

Stan also deserves a brother who won’t assume the worst of him when it’s said brother’s fault this all even happened in the first place, and it’s something that makes Ford very uncomfortable to remember. It’s been forty years since their estrangement, and Stan was thrown out in the street at the age of seventeen for his mistakes - he would have suffered enough. 

Ford rearranges his face into a smile that he hopes conveys some level of warmth as he looks at his niece, and the sparkle in her eyes offers a touch of hope for the future. “Well, that much is certainly true.” 

Behind her, Stan’s defensive expression softens. 

Something else occurs to Ford, and he cranes his neck to peer behind Stan - but it seems like they’re the only ones in the room. “Where is Soos, anyway? And Wendy?” 

“Sent ‘em home to wash up and get changed,” Stan explains, as Mabel pushes a plastic knife and fork in Ford’s direction with a couple of syrup packets. “Told Soos to get some rest too, but he said somethin’ about goin’ to the Shack to get us some clean clothes.” He snorts, folding his arms. “Dunno what he’s gonna find in there, exactly. Place is a wreck.” 

Ford still doesn’t know Soos all that well, but one thing that’s obvious about him - aside from the sheer magnitude of his admiration for Stan - is the enormity of his heart. He’d driven them all to the clinic with his foot to the gas the whole time and waited all night, just to see Dipper awake for five minutes. If he wasn’t an honorary Pines before, he certainly is now. 

The kindness everyone is showing them is more than Ford feels like he’s worth right now. Everyone else in the family, absolutely. He still feels sick thinking about what Dipper went through - the kid kick-started the end of the world by being flung into the forest floor at breakneck speed to rescue him, and now look where he is. And Mabel’s seemingly her usual self, happily emptying one of the cereal boxes into a bowl and drizzling syrup onto its contents, but Ford knows that the sound of her crying is one he doesn’t ever want to hear again. And as for Stan… well. Stan saved them all, and lost himself in the process. 

And Ford, the man who made a deal with the devil, started it all - and then nearly ended them all, just because he couldn’t stop himself from sniping at Stan over his grammar... and in spite of everything, Stan and this odd little family he’s made for himself are still here for him. Even as the burns around his neck and wrists throb, heat radiating pain beneath their dressings, Ford can't help but wonder if he got off lightly - considering he placed the responsibility of saving the universe on the thin shoulders of a twelve year old... and then swore him to secrecy about it. 

And yet, all the stars in the sky are seemingly reflected in Dipper's big brown eyes when he looks at him, and Ford knows he doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve Stan's devotion, Mabel's consideration, or Soos's kindness either, and he's not looking forward to the moment they all realise that. 

Instead, all he says is, “Ah. That’s… good of him.” 

“Yeah, well,” Stan shrugs, rounding the edge of the bed to take his previous seat.  “He’s a good kid, I guess.” He jerks a thumb at Dipper, who hasn’t so much as twitched the entire time they’ve been talking. “Speakin’ of, how’s our little goofus doin'?” 

“Fine,” Ford says, fingers absently fiddling with the edge of the styrofoam container in his lap. “Still exhausted, but…” he looks at Mabel, who pauses midway through licking syrup off the plastic spoon she’s holding, and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “He's resilient. He'll be alright.” 

"'Course he's resilient," Stan says, looking fondly at Dipper like he never forgot him in the first place. "He's a Pines, ain't he?"  

Mabel finishes her cereal and sets the styrofoam bowl on the tray table before looking at Ford with those big doe eyes of hers - and there’s something written on her sweet little face that he can’t quite read. “So…” she fiddles with the cuff of her sweater. “What did he want to talk to you about?” 

And there it is. 

Just the fact that I tried to separate the two of you and brought about the end of the world because of my own hubris. So, not much. 

Ford inhales, exhales, and wills himself to meet her gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just about see Stan scrutinising him - like he already knows what it’s about. 

“He’s not taking my offer,” he tells her - and although something shifts in her expression, she doesn’t look particularly surprised. Dipper’s probably already told her as much. “Which, really… I think is for the best.” 

Mabel averts her eyes and fiddles with a lock of her hair, like she doesn’t want to look at him any more. She’s clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah… maybe.” She looks down. “I’m sorry, Grunkle Ford. I told him I didn’t want to get in the way, but…” she looks over at Dipper, who remains blissfully oblivious to the tension in the air he’s currently breathing. “I guess he’s made up his mind, huh?” 

Ford shakes his head. “Mabel, you don’t owe me an apology - in fact, I’m the one who needs to apologise to you.” Mabel jolts, lifting her head to look at him with wide eyes. “His place is with you, wherever you are, and I was wrong to think otherwise. I should never have tried to come between you, and I’m sorry that I did. If anything, I’m the one who could learn from you - both of you.” He holds his hand out to her, and she stares at it. “Can you forgive me?”  

Time seems to slow down as Mabel stares at his outstretched hand. She’d have every right to be upset - and if she is, Ford knows he deserves it, but people’s emotions are a totally different ballgame and he doesn’t know what he can do to make it right and it was all his fault in the first place…

...and then the seemingly inevitable derailment of his train of thought is abruptly halted as a little hand takes his, her small, delicate fingers clasping his own.

“I forgive you, Grunkle Ford.” 

With this, Mabel scoots across the mattress, hops down, and before Ford’s even finished processing what she’s just said she’s in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her head to his chest. 

She’s hugging him. He was myopic enough that he couldn’t see how much her brother meant to her - and vice versa, tried to convince him to leave her behind - and she’s hugging him. 

Ford’s heart swells so much in his chest that for a second it feels like it might explode, and as he slowly wraps his own arms around her shoulders he chances a sideways glance at Stan… who’s simply smiling at her with nothing but tender affection. 

Stan was right. These kids are special. 

“Thank you, Mabel,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek against the top of her head - and the edge of her pink headband pushes uncomfortably against his jaw, but he doesn’t care. Even when she's been through the end of the world, she still smells a little like strawberries - if artificially so. “That means a lot.” 

Mabel pulls away - but her next move is to climb into Ford’s lap, and he rests an arm around her shoulders as she leans against him, savouring her warmth. “...I really wanted to be mad at you, you know. Dipper’s my best friend in the whole world, but… you guys had so much more in common. I was really scared I’d lose him.” 

“I know,” Ford admits. “And yet… I probably don’t.” He sighs, and the exhale rustles a few strands of Mabel’s already-unkempt hair. “I suppose I thought… you’d be okay. You really do have a magnetic personality, Mabel. You're so charming and enthusiastic. Everyone who meets you loves you right away.” He hesitates, wondering if it’s really okay to lay his feelings so bare - they’ve said so much already, and they’re all exhausted, but she deserves to know. “Including me, I suppose.” 

Mabel slouches a little against him. “Don’t you feel weird saying that when you haven’t known us that long?” She lifts her head to cast a pointed look in Stan’s direction. “Even Grunkle Stan doesn’t say that.”

“I don’t need to, sweetie,” Stan reassures her. “But as far as Dipper knows, we never had this conversation. Okay?”  

“Perhaps.” Ford squeezes her shoulder. “But you’re very easy to love, you know. Both you and your brother." He pauses, remembering the way Dipper would freak out whenever he so much as glanced in his direction. "...at least, once we got past the whole dry-heaving and pen-clicking stage.” 

Mabel’s shoulders shake a little as she giggles, and it’s practically music to Ford’s ears. “Haha, yeah. He was really starstruck.” 

“Then the two of you got kidnapped by some crazy math wizard and he realised you were just a big old nerd,” Stan snorts, and Ford scowls - it wasn't his finest hour. 

“Of all the things you’d remember…” 

“Grunkle Stan, you're too loud.” 

Dipper’s voice is still thick with sleep and barely above a murmur, but it makes all of them jump as they turn to look at him. 

“Uh... hey, buddy,” Stan’s the first to speak, as Dipper yawns and lifts a hand from beneath the blanket to rub at his eyes. “How… how long you been listenin’ in?” 

“Long enough to hear you say something about loving us,” Dipper tells him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No take backs.” 

“Nope, definitely didn’t say anythin’ like that,” Stan reaches over and affectionately shoves his shoulder. “Think you were still dreamin’.” 

Dipper lets out a little huff - a shadow of a laugh - before he turns his attention to his sister. “Are you okay, Mabel?” 

Dipper's love and devotion to Mabel practically roll off him in waves. He looks at her like she's the moon and all the stars in the sky, the entire Milky Way, and Ford wonders how often Stan might have looked at him that way when he had his head buried too deep in his textbooks to notice. 

“Yeah,” Mabel answers, tilting her head upwards to share a glance with Ford before she looks at Dipper again - and she's smiling. It's not one of her megawatt brace-filled grins, but for Ford it's enough to light up the whole room. “We’re good.” 

There’s so much meaning contained within that one simple word, and Ford wants so badly to believe it’s true. Things are still far from perfect - Stan still has holes in his memory, gaping voids that when he does remember, he may wish he hadn’t. Dipper’s still exhausted, badly injured and almost certainly traumatised - along with Mabel. Just because she has fewer physical injuries doesn’t mean she’d be any less mentally scarred. 

They have a long road ahead of them, and Ford’s the one who set them on this path. As much as he infinitely regrets his decisions from decades ago, he can’t change that. But looking at them, and feeling the warm weight of Mabel’s small frame resting against his aching chest - and knowing the capacity for love and devotion that the three of them have…

...maybe they’ll all be okay, in time. They’re all safe, Bill’s gone, and they have each other now. It's more than Ford could have asked for, and more than he deserves. 

“Indeed we are,” he agrees, flipping open the lid of the styrofoam container and tearing open the syrup packet. Beside him, Stan takes one of the mini cereal boxes and tears it open before shaking the contents into one of the styrofoam bowls, holding it out to Dipper as he slowly sits up to accept it. “Anyway. Breakfast?” 

“Actually, yeah,” Dipper admits, staring down at the bowl as Mabel takes the carton of milk and pours some for him. “I’m… kinda hungry now.” 

“I got syrup,” Mabel proffers one of the syrup packets. “Breakfast of heroes!” 

Dipper laughs, tired but sincere. “Yeah, okay. Fill ‘er up.” 

Ford takes a bite of his own waffle, and grimaces - definitely stale. But somehow, sitting here with his little makeshift family, patched together by his brother's love, determination and sacrifice… it’s not so bad. Mabel’s emptying a - second? third? - packet of syrup onto Dipper’s cereal, Dipper’s trying to make her stop - “Seriously Mabel, that's enough, I’m gonna get sick!” - and Stan’s just watching the two of them with a worn, affectionate grin on his face. 

It’s not a guarantee, and it’s not a quick fix. There’s still a lot of damage left to repair, and Ford knows that better than anyone. 

But it’s a start... and now he knows what it’s worth, he’ll keep it close - and never let it go.