Return to Gravity Falls

      “Your cat is shredding so much that you can make a sweater from it’s fur? We know what to do! Just buy our Furtearout and you will get rid of fur forever! Furtearout — and your fluffy cat from now on a sphinx!”

      This was the tenth commercial for this Furtearout on TV, but luckily for him, Dipper didn’t know about it. He was fast asleep with his arm tucked under his head. After Stan left, Dipper stayed up for a long time. Surprisingly, on the channel “Are You Seriously Watching This?” he stumbled upon the thirtieth episode of the twenty-fifth season of his favorite show, “Unnatural”. Even though he knew every episode of all forty seasons by heart, he was still happy to watch the series, but fell asleep fifteen minutes after it started.       Mabel woke him up. It was early morning, and the twin, having climbed onto the sofa, hung over the boy, who was grimacing from his abrupt awakening, and laughed.       “Good morning, sleepyhead!” The girl poked her brother in the cheek and jumped off the couch, ignoring Dipper’s disgruntled muttering. “Come on, since you’re already here, help me make breakfast! I wanted to ask Grunkle Stan to join me, 'cause he just came in from outside when I came down… But he looked so sleepy, like he hadn’t slept in daaaaaays! So, I’ve decided to let him be and ask you instead!”       “Mabel, but I’m also sleepy as if I haven’t slept days! Just leave me here…” Dipper pleaded, trying to reach the blanket crumpled at his feet and hide under it. Mabel laughed and, grabbing his leg, pulled him off the couch. He landed face down on the floor. The smell of potato chips hit his nose — or was it a smell of someone’s socks?       “Come on, let’s go!” His sister stamped her foot impatiently. “Let’s get everything on the stove quickly, and then I’ll show you how I’ve set up my bedroom!”       With a heavy sigh, Dipper rolled over onto his back. Then he sat up. Each action was accompanied by Mabel’s approving exclamations.       “Good job!” Mabel clapped her brother on the shoulder. “For getting up for me, I’ll make your favorite bacon omelet!”       “That’s the only joy,” Dipper yawned.       Dipper chewed his omelet with a dejected expression while his sister bustled about the stove, humming cheerfully. She was beating eggs for pancakes in a deep bowl, splashing the whites all over the place. Staring out the window, the boy watched the scattered rays of sunlight illuminate the tops of the pine trees. Suddenly, one of the trees stirred and moved deeper into the forest. Dipper wasn’t even surprised. Instead, he remembered Mabel’s recent words about his uncle.       “Mabel, you said you met Grunkle Stan,” he began, chewing his omelet. “Was he fully dressed?”       The girl poured batter into the pan and turned to her brother.       “He was wearing a shirt and pants, why?”       Dipper frowned. Could his uncle have spent the whole night outside the Shack? If so, then why did he said that he went to the toilet? But out loud he said:       “I just wonder what he was doing outside so early.”       Mabel shrugged and returned to the stove. She flipped a pancake and suggested:       “Maybe he was on a secret date?”       “Yeah, with Lazy Susan,” Dipper snorted.       “No, I doubt it,” Mabel shook her head, remembering her past experience. “They’re not compatible. Grunkle Stan’s too grumpy for her.”       Stan shuffled loudly into the kitchen in his slippers. He had already changed and was now wearing his favorite white wife beater and boxer shorts. Frowning with displeasure, he scratched his lower back and eyed the twins suspiciously.       “Who am I too grumpy for?”       Dipper noticed that his uncle looked even worse than Mabel had described: the wrinkles on his face had deepened, and the circles under his eyes were so intense they could have been called the darkest black. His eyes, reddened from lack of sleep, watched the twins exchange conspiratorial glances.       “We were discussing your love affairs,” Mabel said, placing a plate with several ready-made pancakes on the table. “Sit down, I’ll make you some coffee!”       “My love affairs will definitely be more interesting than Ford’s,” Stan declared proudly, sitting down at the table. He wanted to say something else, but ended up simply yawning. Dipper couldn’t resist:       “Grunkle Stan, where did you go last night?” he asked. Stanley frowned in confusion.       “I didn’t go anywhere, kid.”       “But Mabel met you this morning at the stairs.”             “I don’t remember that.” Twirling his finger at his temple, Stanley buried his face in his plate.       Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances. “Strange,” Pines thought, looking at his sister’s frown. But he didn’t have time to elaborate: Soos burst into the kitchen, fully dressed, wishing everyone a good morning with an overly cheerful expression.       “Starting today, we will be working together at the Shack, dudes!” he smiled, adjusting the fez on his head. “It’ll be great!”       Dipper froze with his mouth slightly open, his fork with the omelet halfway to his mouth, and stared at his friend. Pines hadn’t actually planned to work at the Shack; he’d thought he’d be exploring the forest from that day on, looking for new anomalies (and he was also very interested in Stan’s nighttime departure, which he’d denied) but Soos was looking at the guy with such hope that Dipper couldn’t refuse.       “Sure, Soos,” he smiled, finally putting a piece of omelet into his mouth.       “Yay!” replied man.       Stan nodded approvingly:       “That’s right, the young people should work while I rest,” he chuckled sarcastically, but then his expression hardened. “But don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you!”       Mabel laughed happily. She placed a dangerously swaying tower of pancakes on the dining room table and sat down next to her brother.       “Dibs on giving excursion to tourists!” she said, serving herself some pancakes and pouring syrup over them. “I’ll come up with so many incredible stories, their jaws will drop!”       “Great, and we’ll dress Dipper in a staff shirt and send him to fix everything I break,” Grunkle Stan chuckled.       “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dipper and Mabel said at the same time. Smiling broadly, Mabel nudged her brother and continued, “Unless you want him to break everything completely.”       “Never mind, I’ll teach you everything!” Soos slapped Dipper on the back so hard that the boy almost hit his nose on the plate.       “Uh, thanks,” he breathed out.       Soon, under Stan’s shouts that they should be ready for work by eight, Mabel dragged her brother to her room.       Overnight, Mabel transformed her room into a haven of comfort and creative clutter. Above the bed, covered in pink sheets — the girl didn’t answered where she got them from — hung a garland, to which were attached photographs of family, drawings, and other small mementos: a bracelet that one of her exes had given her, a necklace made by Dipper a year ago as a birthday present, and several letters from Grenda and Candy that were especially dear to the girl. The bed itself was decorated with small pillows and soft toys. One of the teddy bears was wearing a congressman’s hat.       The desk was already littered with markers, drawings, and various girly magazines, and on the dresser sat a makeup bag and a homemade vase Mabel had made at a pottery class. The mirror hanging above the dresser was covered with stickers with encouraging messages like “You’re awesome!” and “Smile!”. Mabel also took up houseplants, so her room was now filled with pots of flowers she had stolen from the ground floor.       “Why do you think Grunkle Stan lied that he didn’t go anywhere?” Dipper asked, examining the strands of wool peeking out from under the bed. Mabel stood by the closet, sorting through clothes. She planned to look the coolest on her first day at work.       “I don’t know, Dip,” she sighed. “Maybe he is planning some kind of surprise?”       Dipper chuckled skeptically but didn’t argue, even though his gut instinct was screaming that something was fishy here.       “What should I wear over the tank top: a cardigan or a shirt?” Mabel asked, showing her brother a bright yellow cardigan, decorated with various brooches, and a two-tone shirt. Dipper pointed without looking. Mabel put the discarded cardigan back in the closet, slipped into the shirt, and jumped on her bed.       “Hey, Dip, let’s think about this later,” she suggested. “I really don’t think Stan is hiding anything, but if it’s bothering you that much, keep an eye on him.”       Dipper, who had been mindlessly twirling between his fingers the presidential key he wore around his neck, turned a surprised glance to his sister. She winked conspiratorially:       “It’s the best way to find out someone else’s secrets.”       “Well, I don’t know,” Dipper sighed, hiding the cord with the key under his T-shirt. He didn’t particularly want to follow his relative, but curiosity overcame his moral principles, and the young man silently decided: if Stan left the Shack tonight, he would follow.       A working day at the gift shop can be summed up in one word: bustle. From eight in the morning until six in the evening, Dipper scurried around the shop, following Soos’s orders, dusting every shelf, straightening souvenir T-shirts on hangers, and ringing up items at the register. To Dipper’s vexed surprise, Mabel, after her first excursion in the woods, fluttered off to the mall with her friends, leaving him alone with new Mr. Mystery, who, unlike Dipper, was enjoying his work: he danced the question mark dance in his costume, this time without taking off his clothes, telling tourists the story of how the Mystery Shack was nearly destroyed by zombies, and showing the claw marks they left on the wooden walls.       By evening, Dipper was barely able to stand. After a quick dinner and showing Ford a sketch of the monster he had recently seen, the guy went up to his attic and, falling onto his bed, immediately passed out.       He woke up from thirst. The electronic dial of the alarm clock on the bedside table showed midnight. Sitting up and rubbing his face to clear the drowsiness, Dipper discovered he’d fallen asleep in his shoes. His throat was dry, and the guy, barely able to move his legs, went down to the first floor. In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp. Turning to face the window, Dipper leaned his lower back against the cabinets. His stomach rumbled. Frowning, he muttered something and was about to go to the refrigerator to begin a surprise nighttime raid on its contents when a hurried shadow flashed past the window. Dipper immediately forgot about the frige and pressed his face against the glass, straining to see the figure disappearing behind the trees. It was Grunkle Stan. The hunger and drowsiness vanished in an instant. Without thinking for a second, the guy opened the window and climbed out.       Dipper followed Grunkle Stan deeper into the forest, trying to step very quietly so that he wouldn’t be heard. Finally, his uncle stopped. He sat down on the grass and, judging by the sounds, began carving something on a stone. Dipper, hiding behind a tree, frowned in confusion: why would anyone go into the forest at night to practice sculpture? Or was Grunkle Stan’s hobby so secret that no one should know about it? Dipper, peeking out from his hiding place, surveyed the area where they had stopped. This part of forest seemed just like the rest: tall trees, grass, flowers… The only odd thing was the absence of any sounds other than the clanking of iron on stone, and even that seemed muffled, as if coming from far away. There was no rustling of grass or chirping of birds. Not even the gnomes were scurrying about here. Dipper was also struck by the fact that Stanley, having decided to hold a sculpture lesson, hadn’t brought a flashlight.       “What on earth is he doing?” Dipper thought, watching his uncle’s hunched back. At that moment, Stan shifted slightly to the side, and Dipper’s stomach went cold — his great-uncle was carving some kind of symbols on the Bill Cipher statue. The boy was about to jump out from behind the tree and ask why Stan was doing all this, when his unkle turned and looked straight at him.       “Well, well, well… Haven’t you been taught that peeping is bad, Pine Tree?”       Dipper froze. Yellow eyes with elongated pupils stared at him, glowing faintly in the darkness. His arms dropped limply, the boy stared wide-eyed at the demon possessing his uncle’s body.       “I see you’re surprised,” Bill smiled. “And I thought you’d be glad to see me.”       “G-glad?” Dipper repeated, stuttering. “Are you kidding me? How- how is that even possible? We erased you from uncle’s mind!”       “Yeah-yeah, you erased me,” Bill waved his hand, as if shooing away an annoying fly. “But haven’t you considered how insignificant your memory eraser is compared to the ancient power I wield?”       The demon rose from the ground and dusted himself off. Grinning, he approached the stunned boy and began pacing around him.       “Oh, you want to know when I woke up in this decrepit body?” Stan whispered in Bill’s voice. “I have the whole night ahead of me, so I could tell you my funny story.” suggested he with vexed sarcasm.       Dipper clenched his fists as he watched the demon circling like a shark around its prey.       “Then tell me!” he demanded, “how did you take over my uncle’s body? Why hasn’t Ford killed you yet? What were you doing with the statue?”       “Oh-ho-ho, how many questions.” Bill, smiling, put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “You see, Pine Tree, I didn’t capture anyone. I woke up in this body in the middle of the damn Arctic Ocean two years ago. For two whole years, I had to endure the vastness of the water and the absence of any people around me! But that’s not all…”       Bill grabbed Dipper’s shoulders, turning him around, and lowered his voice:       “I was trapped in this disgusting body, unable to escape. Do you think I have control over Stanley Pines? I can only manipulate his body when he’s asleep. And do you know how careful I had to be when I was confined on a small ship with Six-Finger, so he wouldn’t suspect anything? I was imprisoned in a decaying, stinking body, and all I could do was live the life of an ordinary old man. Without my powers, vulnerable, and stripped of my perfect form!”       “Don’t try to play on my pity,” Dipper replied dismissively, pushing the demon away. “You deserve all of this. But Stan doesn’t deserve to be a host for a parasite like you.”       Bill laughed loudly. His voice, which turned out to be too loud for a clearing devoid of other sounds, echoed through the forest.       “So that’s how you describe the almighty demon? A parasite? Well-well, let’s see how you will call me when i regain my former power!”       Dipper shuddered and turned his gaze to the statue, which was covered with various magical symbols.       “So that’s why…”       “Right, boy!” grinned Cipher, “I’ve finally finished preparing, and now all that’s left for me to do is cast the spell!”       “I won’t let you!” Dipper exclaimed, grabbing Stan by the sleeve of his shirt.       “Won’t let me? Do you really want me to continue living in your uncle’s head?”       “No, but…”       “And what would you do, Pine Tree? You can’t hurt me without hurting your beloved relative! Do you really dare harm this old man?”       Pines took a shuddering breath.       “I…”       “Let me go, kid, and then I’ll let you live a little longer!”       “No!” Dipper only gripped the fabric of his uncle’s shirt tighter and, pulling the demon along, led him away from the statue. “Like hell you’ll read that spell!”       The plan that formed in the boy’s head was simple: take Stan to the Shack, wake Ford, and tell him everything. And then they would figure out how to get that evil triangle out of Stan’s head.       “How you people love to play the hero,” Bill sighed.       Suddenly, the air was knocked out of Dipper — the punch Stan landed in his gut was so powerful that the boy, letting go of Stan’s hand, doubled over and fell to the ground. Crumpling the grass with his hands and his eyes clouded by tears, the boy watched how Bill was approaching the statue, raising his hands to the sky and reading a spell in some incomprehensible language.       The statue shook. With each new word spoken, magical symbols lit up on it. They glowed with such a bright blue light that Dipper felt as if someone had shone a quartz lamp directly into his eyes. Dipper rubbed his eyes and tried to stand, but the shaking from the statue was so intense that it took him two tries to get up. “I have to stop him!” he thought, trying to reach the demon across the trembling ground, “Doesn’t anyone in the Shack see or feel all this?” Dipper wondered, feeling the tremors with his entire body. He finally managed to get close to Bill, but he had already finished casting the spell.       “Just a little bit left,” he smiled, pulling out a knife. Dipper, horrified, lunged at the demon and pulled the knife back a second before the blade touched Stan’s left hand.       “No!” Dipper screamed. “Don’t you dare!”       “What, Pine Tree, you don’t want me to hurt your uncle?” Bill sneered. “Well then… I’ll use your blood insted!”       Dipper didn’t have time to dodge. Bill made a cut on the boy’s forearm and straightened it so that the blood fell on the statue. Blood stained the stone red. There was a loud crack: the statue began to split. A blinding white light poured from the crack.       Bill pushed the boy away, dropped the knife, and fell to his knees before the statue, reaching out his hands. Dipper wanted to push him away, but as the boy reached out, he realized the air around the demon seemed to solidify. Stan’s body also began to glow.       “No,” Dipper breathed out, watching as the clot of energy detached itself from his uncle’s body. Stan, no longer glowing, fell onto the grass. The statue split in half with a deafening crack. Dipper, pulling his uncle toward him, watched helplessly as the clots of light merged, condensed, and took on a human form. A contented, ringing, yet creaky laugh with an ever-present note of cynical mockery echoed above him, sounding like it was coming from an old radio. The same laugh that Dipper still had nightmares about. Suddenly, the glow faded. It became so dark, as if the moon and stars had been removed from the sky. In the impenetrable darkness, Dipper could only see a man landing on the ground. After closing his eyes for a second, Dipper opened them again. Now the space around him didn’t seem so dark. In the night light of the moon, he saw a tall stranger, which looked at his hands with an expression of boundless horror.       “No, no…” he whispered. “Why are they human-like?!”       Pines shuddered inwardly at the realization: Bill Cipher stood before him in human form. The demon previously trapped in Stan’s head had been freed and given a body. But he didn’t seem to be happy, as boy noticed. Dipper, sitting on the ground and still holding his uncle, watched Bill thrash around, grimacing in horror as he stared at his left leg, then his arms, then lifted his shirt and felt his torso.       “What am I going to tell Ford?” Dipper thought absently, watching as Bill, tugging at a few strands of blond hair, began cursing in some strange language. “And what am I going to tell Mabel?..”       “It wasn’t supposed to go like this!” Bill screamed, clutching his head in despair. “I was supposed to return to my normal form, not this… YOU!”       He turned to the young man sitting on the grass and pointed his finger at him accusingly:       “IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!”       “Glad to disapoint you,” Pines wanted to answer, looking at the finger of a completely ordinary teenager, but wisely decided to remain silent. And that was clever of hin to do so: the demon instantly forgot about the boy’s existence and, squatting next to his statue, sank into thought. It was strange to watch the thrashing of a demon who was now disguised as a mere mortal. The dissonance between Bill’s appearance and essence was stupefying. In the back of his mind, Dipper knew it was stupid to sit here; he needed to get up and run back to call for uncle Ford. And he also needed to take care of Stan, who, judging by the quiet snores, was sleeping peacefully while Dipper’s world was once again collapsing because of the triangular demon. A slightly reckless plan suddenly formed in the young men’s head. Carefully placing his uncle on the grass, Dipper stood up. He needed to act quickly and strike accurately while the demon was distracted by muttering near his own statue. Everything inside the boy clenched: Pines felt both fear and a fierce determination. In three strides, he approached Bill and, before let him notice, struck him hard at the back of the head. The demon jerked and fell to the side. The boy’s arm immediately began to ache: it wasn’t used to such things. Rubbing it, Dipper exhaled, “That was too easy.” He glanced at the unconscious teenager, and a terrible thought immediately crept into his head: “Did I kill him?” The boy fell to his knees and began searching for the other’s carotid artery. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Everyone around him, including Dipper himself, held their breath. Finally, he felt a faint pulse.       “Damn it,” Dipper breathed, landing on the grass. A nervous laugh, more like a sob, escaped his throat. As angry as he was at the demon, he wasn’t ready to kill him. Especially not when he had taken on a human form. How on earth was he supposed to explain to the cops that he’d killed a demon and not an ordinary teenager?       “Hey, kid…”       Dipper turned to the sound. Grunkle Stan, wide-awake, was looking around in confusion. The dark circles under his eyes seemed almost black. “Now I know why he looked so sleep-deprived,” Pines thought.       “…where are we?” Stanley asked, frowning and rubbing his face with his palm.       “In the forest,” Dipper replied immediately. “Uncle, don’t…”       The boy faltered. “Don’t what?” Dipper realized he didn’t know what to say. Don’t worry? Don’t be scared? Don’t be angry? But now’s the perfect time for all these emotions. Sighing, he looked back at the unconscious teenager.       “I’ll explain everything at home, okay?” he finally said. “And we’ll need to wake up the others.”       Stan followed boy’s gaze and frowned even more. He glanced around the disgruntled clearing where they were sitting, noticed the shattered statue, his nephew bloody hand, and muttered some kind of curses. The darkness made it hard to see anything, but Dipper thought that on Grunkle Stan’s face he saw a flicker of… relief?       “Fine, let’s go,” Grunkle said, standing up with a soft groan and extending his hand to Dipper. “I’ll help you carry this guy.”