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Chapter Text

Beast was making his usual rounds in a particular part of the Unknown, he did not think anyone would be lost here, mostly because he suspects beings of the Unknown often warn those lost to avoid where he wanders, even though he is nothing like the previous beast... From his count, it has been about 3 years, 8 months, and 303 days since he was first trapped in the Unknown with his Brother, and 3 years, 8 months, and 306 days since he became the warden of the Unknown.

The Beast. His name used to be Wirt, he knows this, but slowly, that name began to not feel like his own, even the moment he blew out that damn lamp, he began to not feel like himself, that very moment when the old Beast perished, the moment Greg’s comatose body vanished, presumably escaped, Wirt did not quite feel like himself, even as he gave Beatrice the scissors to free herself and her family, the two vowing to find a way for Wirt to escape, Beast knew his time was up.

He and Beatrice didn’t not talk, but Beast could tell he was different now, he could feel it in his creaking, longer limbs, the soreness of his temples where his antlers grow, the dull, ignorable ache behind his eyes when they glowed too brightly to last long without exhaustion weighing down his eyelids and settling into his shoulders, even in his very lungs. Beast knew he could not leave, part of him didn’t want to, and with that knowledge, Beast had decided to wander, helping souls lost like himself to escape, bound to the unknown, unable to leave until the lantern grows dim and patters out, along with his soul.

Which reminds him, he needs to keep going, if he stops, Wirt Beast will have to think of all that’s happened since he became both the lantern bearer and the Beast, what he’s lost..

Let’s keep going, Wirt! a high, hopeful voice urges him on, he knows who it belongs to.

Beast soon hears a voice, and feels his feet be drawn to the sound, someone is lost, he has to help them, he can’t let anyone get lost and loose themselves like he did.

Beast ventures through the woods with the ease of the ghost of a boy that he once was. His antlers get caught in the high limbs of the nearby elm trees, causing leaves to get stuck in the spikes of the points and for twigs to break off in the branches that weigh heavy on the temples of his head. The ground flattens underneath his feet, where the stubs that represent toes unroot themselves from the tangled knots that they’ve made to call home and dig into the ground. Every step is harder than the previous. Every step weighs down on Beast like the thoughts that do not stop.

He hears the Lost mumble something underneath their breath. They are in a clearing; a fork in the road, a familiar leaf-ridden path, a glade. It is easy for Beast to take the step around the trees that separate the known from the unknown and join the Lost in the glade that looks different from when Beast was not Beast (a glade from when Beast was a boy with a name, Wirt, and a hope and a dream and more humanoid legs.)

“That’s—” the Lost says, holding the ray of a flashlight’s light upon the beady-eyed skeleton of a rat. The Lost does not know that the rat is heading to the town filled with dancing skeletons and pumpkins and graves. The Beast does, and it wishes upon it safe travels. “That’s not a normal rat. Okay. Not a normal rat, Dipper.”

“Excuse me,” Beast says. The Lost—boy. It is a boy with honey-colored brown hair and beautiful brown eyes that glow in the light of the lantern—stumbles backward at the sight of Beast. Beast is used to the fear in his eyes. “Are you perhaps lost?”

“What…” the boy hesitates, jaw slightly open as he takes in the sight of Beast. Beast wants to hide under his gaze (wants to run back into the darkness of the Unknown and never stop until his legs are lead and his antlers fall off and the trees are covered in snow), but he knows that if he runs, the boy is fated for a fate worse then his. “Are you?”

“I am me” Beast says, he doesn’t quite get the question, maybe this boy had a run in with the same tavern he did so long ago? That would explain things, how many times must Beast say that he isn’t anyone in particular, just himself?

“No no, I mean, what are you, like what kinda… Cryptid are you? is that right? I guess someone like him could be a cryptid..ah wait is that disrespectful? He seems human enough, I guess..” the boy mumbles the last part, but Beast catches it. What kind of cryptid he is.. Beast supposes he would just be that, the beast, maybe this boy is more lost than he realized, knowing what he is.

“I guess I am the Beast, and you seem more lost than I realized, do you want to go home?” Beast asks, tilting his head, gripping his lantern, his soul in an iron grip, he doesn’t know why he feels the need to Guard it so closely around this boy, he does not seem dangerous.

“The beast? The journals didn’t say anything about that… Uhm., I’m gonna.. get back to that. And yes, I am lost, fine, you know where to go to get outta here?” The boy asks, slightly impatient and tapping his foot, Wirt wonders if the boy needs to breathe, he seems anxious. Either way, Beast nods and steps forward, into the light. The boy tenses slightly, seemingly wary (for good reason if he’s heard those rumors) of Beast. He steps closer to the boy and explains.

“Follow me, do not loose sight of my lantern, you run the risk of being forever lost, Lumberjack” Beast says, the boy looking confused at the nickname but not refuting it. Maybe it’s strange to refer to what could be a peer in such a way, but he doesn’t know his name, and “lumberjack hat” doesn’t seem like a particularly good nickname, but “lumberjack” it is until Beast can discover this boys name.

“Alright, uhm.. lead the way, Beast” Lumberjack says, stumbling around his name slightly, as if getting used to it, Beast nods, turning to follow a new path, Lumberjack follows along, albeit hesitantly. Beast recognizes the way he lingers a few feet behind him from the passerby he has led out of the depths of the Unknown before. He recognizes the awe Lumberjack carries with every stride of wooden shoes and once-human legs. He recognizes the way that the boy looks at every aspect of the Unknown with wide eyes (like a boy Beast once knew.)

Beast knows the in-and-outs of the Unknown like the back of his hand: when he takes a right at the fork in the road up ahead, it leads him away from the humble little schoolhouse that teaches humanoid animals. When they pass through a path that is covered in the roots of low-hanging trees and uneven terrain, he knows that the black-coated form of a beast will sense their presence and scream. When he walks this way and that, he knows that he is avoiding the wrath of monsters and friends alike.

Eventually, they reach a part of the forest where the ground beneath them levels out, and the trees seem to disappear in favor of the continously line of the meadows in front of them. The sun lies in the sky far behind Beast’s head, shining it’s rays of warmth and light upon the grains of wheat. Beast does not often spend time in the fields of grain, but he knows that the boy behind him is lost in a way that can only be fixed by the path already predetermined.

“Are you going to murder me?” Lumberjack asks, and his voice is high-pitched in a way that Beast has recognized on enough of the Lost to know that it means they are saying something amusing. Unlike the other Lost, Lumberjack does not look disappointed when Beast does not react. “My sister’s shown me more than a few horror shows, and most of the main characters are approached by killers in corn fields.”

Beast blinks at him in response. The boy lets out a high-pitched round of laughter at the silence, removing his hat and fidgeting with a string as he takes a step backward.

“Not that I’m implying you would do that, y’know?” Lumberjack says, pulling the end of his hat towards his chin and hiding the bottom of his face behind it. “Look—I don’t really know what I was implying, just you look like you could kill me and I don’t really want to die so please don’t kill me.” And the last bit is said all in one breath, like a wish on fleeting tongues.

“Do not fret,” Beast says, and he has an urge to reach out and rest a hand on Lumberjack’s shoulder: to comfort in earnest. But he knows that anything he does will spook the Lost further than they already have been. “I wish to only help you seek your salvation. I have no intentions of bringing you any harm.”

Beast does not know if his last comment was misplaced, but him saying this seems to make the Lost feel a bit better, him smiling a little bit, but the moment passes and Lumberjack coughs awkwardly, hiding his face under his hat.

“Uhm, thank you, uh, Beast.. I appreciate it” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling in place “we should uh, probably get a move on.. yeah..” he tacks on, looking at Beast with something like curiosity behind apprehension mixing with wary trust, Beast nods in responce, replying.

“Yes, that would be best. Now follow along, you are nearly home.” He says, turning and beginning his walk once more, Lumberjack follows behind, keeping a slight bit closer than last time, if lead by apprehension towards the Unknown, Beast is unsure.

Soon, Beast and Lumberjack make steps along a rickety log overlooking a shallow fall, not too dangerous, but injury is not something good to deal with in these woods. As Beast mulls over where to turn next, he hears Lumberjack yelp and the sound of a scuffling shoe, whirling around, Beast hurries forward just fast enough to plant his feet in the log and grab onto Lumberjack, the losts feet bracing against the side of the log in a pracarious balance. The two heave, one lighter than the other, in relief, Beast carefully pulls Lumberjack to his feet on the log, keeping a hand on his arm for balance.

“Are you alright?” Beast asks once Lumberjack is given a second to catch his breath, the lost nods shakily, seemingly still working on breathing as his face is flushed in a warm glow that looks like a lovely beam of sunlight on Lumberjacks face.

“Y..yeah., I’m ok.. thanks, dude..  that was great of you” Lumberjack huffs, pulling his hand into a fist and bumping it against Beasts own hand, a fist bump, right.. he forgot about those.

Beast pulls away once Lumberjack does. He raises his hand into the empty space in front of him, staring at the wooden lines of the bark of his fingers that had touched the soul of another for the first time in a long time. The Lost seldom touch him, preferring the comfort of the cloth of their shawls and the predeterimed fear they carry for Beast over any lingering skin on shoulders or flitting fingertips against wooden hands.

Lumberjack is not like the others; this much is clear.

It is obvious in the way that he does not wipe the knuckles of his hand against the side of his vest in disgust, but rather seemingly forgets about the small act of touch entirely. Lumberjack’s gaze drops to the ground, where he is careful with his feet as he continues to traverse across the wooden log. Beast watches curiously, hand still raised in front of him.

Then, the boy’s eyes widen, and the Beast looks down at the ground, expecting to see something frightening. He does not see anything of the sort, and looks back up at the boy—only to meet the gaze of wide brown eyes, stained with curiosity.

“Dude!” Lumberjack says, and Beast furrows his brows in confusion. “You’re literally melting into the log! Do you need help?—” he pulls a torn book out of the pocket of his bag, turning the pages in a hurry. “—There’s gotta be something in here about quicksand trees...”

For a moment, Beast is confused. He turns to look back down at his feet, precarious of the way that his wooden feet take root against the base of the fallen oak tree. Cautiously, he looks back at Lumberjack to see his reaction as he lifts one of his feet up slowly, tethering the connection between the wooden bases that he calls feet and the unstable ground beneath them. It is magical in the way that his feet act like a tree being pulled from the ground, roots magically rearranging themselves in thin air to coil underneath the base of his feet. Lumberjack physically tenses at the sight.

Beast doesn’t quite understand why Lumberjack looked so concerned, his brow furrowed and eyes wide in what Beast knows is worry, logically he knows the sight may be troubling, but the level of concern from this boy is confusing, he opts to explain in case there was some kind of misunderstanding.

“These are not quicksand trees.. I am simply able to take root, why are you worried? I am ok” Beast says, shifting from foot to foot slowly, worried that Lumberjack may not understand, and thus shun this action. Initially it seemed this way, but Lumberjack simply shook his head and gestured while he explained.

“Uhm, sorry I didn’t really understand.. I thought you were in danger or something, hah.. but it looks like your ok, so that’s good..” he says, awkwardly rubbing his arms, Beast nods, letting out a small “ah” as he understands why Lumberjack was concerned

“Ah, I see. Do not fret, I do not sink into trees often” Beast says, offering a smile to Lumberjack, who grins back. Soon he and Lumberjack make their way across the fallen tree, Lumberjack sticking close, seemingly to avoid anymore close calls.

Beast and Lumberjack slowly make their way to a clearing, a weary, dim forest slowly transitioning to one that’s sunlit, the sunset Beast didn’t know was happening lighting up the clearing and Lumberjacks eyes, which almost looked like pools of warmth, maybe amber.

“Farewell Lumberjack,” Beast says, standing on the peak of the hill as he slowly looks away from the Lumberjack’s amber-colored eyes and towards the beautiful sun-coated leaves of the forest below. It is rare for him to see a sunlight as unfiltered and raw as the one that teeters on the border of the Unknown and the living road, for any light that makes it through the branches of the trees in Beast’s home is specifically created to fit it’s creation. “And may your story live on.”

The Lumberjack sputters over a response, and Beast can feel his piercing gaze settling on the side of his head. Beast does not turn to look at him, afraid of what he’ll see if he does. “But—wait—we’re not even out of the woods yet! Did I do something to offend you or something? Are you abandoning me?”

“This is as far as I go in your journey, lumberjack.” Beast says. He inhales deeply, savoring the unfiltered and familiar air of the outside world, before he exhales it out all the same. It reminds him of before. “You will have to follow the path laid out before you. It is a good one.”

“Wait, but I didn’t even get any pages done for my notebook!” Lumberjack says. “You called this place the Unknown, right? I don’t even know what that is!”

“Farewell, Lumberjack,” Beast repeats, slowly, patiently, steadily, turning to meet the boy’s eyes. He was nice company, and it has been a while since the Beast has been blessed with the presence of nice company. “Your time has not yet come.”

As much as it stings, Beast must let all who are lost go, this one may be wonderful company, and part of Beast longs for him to stay in the Unknown with Beast, this one has not served his time yet.

“What do you mean my time hasn’t come yet? Am I dead?!” He asks, desperation tinging his words, Beast moves to pat Lumberjacks shoulder, trying to comfort in some way.

“You are not dead, not yet. But if you stay here your soul will rest for good.” Beast answers, looking at Lumberjacks warm eyes, his face, his eccentric style, trying to memorize this wonderful soul soon to leave, but apparently Lumberjack is not ready yet, a firm determination settling in.

“Well.. before I go, can you answer some questions? This place, the Unknown, I’ve gotta know more about it before leaving! I’d just get lost again after going home to answer myself!” He says, and that.. suprises Beast, Lumberjack would risk being trapped in the Unknown forever just to satiate curiosity? It seems he has underestimated this one..

Something in Beast flares to life, stroked by Lumberjacks determined eyes, and Beast..

He smiles, not something small.. something wistful, something that scrunches his eyes.

“I suppose I can, but please hurry, I do not want a soul such as yours to be lost forever” he answers, something small in his chest eager to dump information to untouched ears, something excited to teach a soul that may be leaving soon all they want to know about the Unknown.

Lumberjack pulls out the same journal he’s carried with him throughout the Unknown from the bag along his side, pulling a pen out from his backpocket and hastily flipping through the pages until he lands on one near the back. “Okay, so—uh—how about we start with this whole Unknown thing. What is the Unknown?”

Beast mulls over his response. There is something to be said about saying too much—about talking about boys with teacups for hats and birds with wings that pierce the night sky. There is something to be said about reliving a life that he would rather hide. The words eventually escape from his lips in the form of a blunt explanation; an answer that Beast knows the Lumberjack is not looking for. “The Unknown is a place for the souls of the lost.”

The boy writes this down, but the Beast can see the flicker of confusion dance along his expression, and he is quick to desperately grasp at the lines of something that can act as an explanation. “I am earnest, I vow. The Unknown is a place that is seen rather than explained.”

“Oh, I understand!” Lumberjack says, pointing the end of his pencil at Beast. “So you’re basically saying that this place has a simple concept, but it’s hard to explain everything? Like—uh, for example—it’s easy to say that a car goes to different places, but it’s harder to explain why?”

“You humor me,” Beast says, but he is still smiling at Lumberjack in a way that he has not smiled for a long time. “The metaphors are alike, though.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Lumberjack says, but there is an expression on his face that makes Beast think otherwise. It is soft and gleeful and subtle and amused, conveyed in the way his eyebrows bend in elation and his lips grow in width. “As you say, I guess. Next question.”

“Well., how does the Unknown work? I was lost for like an hour just walking around until you found me, and barely 20 minutes later were almost at my place” Lumberjack says, writing down the answer to his previous question as he talks. Beast mulls over his response, truthfully he did not often think about how the Unknown seemed to twist and turn the way natural landscape often didn’t.

“Hm.. well, the Unknown is a strange place to be, I suspect on some level it may be able to change to fit the needs of those trapped, but I am unsure” Beast replies, tapping his wooden hand against his sleeve. Lumberjack nods in understanding.

“That’s really interesting.. and how did I even get here in the first place? Last I remember I was taking a walk with my sister, and we had to split up because of this weird orc thing that chased us, and now I’m here..” Lumberjack asks, furrowing his brows in confusion. Choosing to not ask about the supposed “Orc”, Beast elects to try and explain his initial question, one he himself often asks.

“Truthfully, I do not know, I came here following a near-death experience, though I do wonder if this place acts as a sort of pocket dimension, a world in between worlds… like a tree branching off into infinite possibilities” Beast answers, dipping into poetics more than he intended, though Lumberjack didn’t seem to mind, if anything he seemed fascinating by his answer, grinning in a way that was full of wonder and the rush of questions answered, however insufficient.

“Wow, that’s really fascinating! I wonder if it could be a pocket dimension…” he trails off, writing something down, out of respect for the lovely boys privacy, he does not shift to peek at what his possible new friend Lumberjack is writing.

The lost boy seems to know Beast is curious, as he shifts to show Beast his journal, it’s flipped to a page labeled “The Unknown” with small sections about what happened leading up, and a doodle of him and Beast talking.. above it are Lumberjacks questions with Beasts answers under them in red ink rather than the blue the rest of the page is in.

For a wonderfully long time, the two go back and forth asking and answering questions, Lumberjack more asking than answering (Not that Beast minds, he admires the curiosity), and Beast being more than willing to satiate the boys curiosity. Soon, Lumberjack is excited, grinning alongside Beast, who smiles more quietly than not.

“This is so fascinating! I would have never guessed that this place exists, let alone has so many cool secrets!” Lumberjack says, excitedly tapping Beasts arm, the two have since sit down in the sunlit field, Beast eagerly taking in how the sun hits the boys eyes in a way that make it look like pools of molten glass, and his hair almost glowing a warm orange in the sunset.

“I do not think many people fret over the existence of something they do not know about,” Beast says in earnest, but Lumberjack tilts his head to the side like one of the many squirrels that fancy Beast’s company when it is late at night and he is talking to himself. Puzzled. Confused. “It will not be your job to worry about the problems of the few when you return to your hearth.”

But I want you to worry about my problems, comes a voice from the depths of the Beast’s head. I want one person to know I exist outside this forest.

It sounds like a twelve-year-old boy that Beast has tried his hardest and hardest to push into the corners of his mind, where the boy can stand in the dark and be forgotten. It sounds like the most heartfelt version of the Beast; the version of him that sends a shiver down his spine and is scarier than any concoction the villagers can create.

“Well, I guess not,” Lumberjack says, and he looks almost sheepish while he stares back down at the notebook in his lap. “But I guess I kind of like the facts that come with exploring places like this. You know. Meeting people like you.”

The beast hesitates. “Like me?”

“I got to be honest, you’ve been one of the nicer discoveries my sister and I have found,” Lumberjack says with a laugh, and he looks at the setting sun with a wistful shine in his eyes. He looks almost ethereal, sitting here in front of the Beast. Even with his antlers and wooden hands and feet and magical lantern, the boy that sits before him is more of a God then Beast will ever be. “Like—for example—we once met this jackalope that was ten feet tall and immediately tried to stab us with his antlers.”

Beast feels suprised, ten feet tall? Interesting… where did this lost even come from?

“Truely? That is interesting..” Beast says, propping his chin in his hands, Lumberjack puffs out his chest slightly, excited to talk about his seemingly numerous adventures, and wow.. he did. Beast thinks he likes when lost speak of where they came from, it’s always interesting to get a peak into the world he had to leave behind, but something about Lumberjacks stories are different, more intriguing..

He and Beast sit back as the two exchange stories into the night of what they both have experienced, Lumberjack more so, the boy excitedly talking about his first summer in a small town by the name of Gravity Falls, with his sister Mabel. He told of many different beings that Beast thinks would feel at home in the unknown, where he sometimes sees the occasional anatomically-incorrect snail skeleton on its way to Pottsfeild, Beast picking them up and going to Pottsfeild to drop them off, occasionally chatting with Enoch.

“And there was also this time where Mabel was teasing me about not being enough of a man- I know, we were 12 and dumb, but it’s kinda funny looking back- a-and when I left the diner, I kinda got picked up by this group of Manotaurs, they’re this Minotaur-type species that from what I gathered aren’t different from them at all?? Those guys were just immature and hyper-masculine” Lumberjack says, his stories are such fun peaks into his world.. the one Beast left behind so long ago. 

Soon, he and his new friend Lumberjack are out of stories, now just idly chatting, until Lumberjack looks up and pales at the half-moon high in the sky, Beasts chest clenches in worry, he grips his lantern in a similar fasion.

“Are you alright?” Beast asks, Lumberjack anxiously grins, giving him a thumbs up

“Ye-yeah, dude, uhm.. I just saw how dark it got and I realized how long I’ve been here, and I realized that Mabel is gonna kick my aaaass…” lumberjack says, a fear filling his honey eyes. Beast internally mourns the connection he had with this lost, but he stands up, Lumberjack following suit, and Beast puts a hand on Lumberjacks shoulder

“Do not fret, time passes differently here than it does in your story, it should not have been very long in your world, but I do agree we must get going, follow me, lumberjack” Beast says, falling from his excitement back into what he has to be: the gaurdian, Lumberjack too looks saddened, but nods, following close to Beast in the darkness of the Unknown, Beasts lantern lighting the path.

Soon, he is hit with that familiar wave of nausea, and pauses, letting Lumberjack stand next to him, the two are at the edge of the woods, if Beast looks closely, he can barely make out what looks like a stone house far away, it seems Lumberjack sees it too, for he steps towards it, before turning to Beast

“So uh.. this is goodbye? And may my story live on and all that?” Lumberjack says, smiling sadly, Beast lets out a breath, smiling back to this wonderful soul, one he longs would stay here, with him.. but knows that would be a terrible fate, so Beast nods.

“Yes, it is goodbye.. may your story live on in peace, lumberjack. Farewell, my friend” Beast says, taking that risk, turning before he sees Lumberjacks reaction (Dipper grins blindingly, this was a wonderful detour, maybe Dipper could get lost here again)

“Well, bye Beast, may your story live on, too” Beast hears lumberjack say, the words hit him like a sack of bricks, he turns, but Lumberjack is already gone, plaid jacket disappearing into the thicket, and toward his home..

Huh.. Beast feels.. strange, like there’s a comforting knot in his stomach, he smiles.. this Lost was an outlier, a wonderful, beutiful outlier..

-

Dipper makes his way back to the Mystery Shack as quick as possible, trying his best to trail the noise of raccoons in trashcans and the glowing lights of neon signs until the road that leads to the Shack is visible. He has had to make the trek back to the Mystery Shack along numerous times, just like his sister—when you’ve been doing this for as long as they have, you get used to the idea that something otherworldly might have happened to the other; and while you fret and worry, there is nothing you can do but go home and wait for them to return.

So Mabel shouldn’t be mad. Not really.

Except he promised he would be home for the season finale of Ducktective at nine o’clock, and it is way past nine o’clock, based off the way the moon shines bright in the beginning of the pale black sky. Mabel is nice enough to not watch the season finale without him, but she is not nice enough to not pester him about his absence.

But he couldn’t help it. Not when he had wandered into a place so beautiful, with it’s pale yellow leaves and bustling creeks that ran underneath tumbled logs and stone arches. Not when he had seemingly walked into a forest that was forever stuck in the depths of fall, despite the summer that exist beyond it. Not when he had stumbled into a monster like the Beast.

The monster (cryptid, deity, man. There were so many questions that Dipper had wanted to ask but couldn’t; every time it looked at him with those iridescent eyes and the word ‘lumberjack’ on the ends of cherry red lips, Dipper would say stupid things that he did not care about. Not really) was irresistible in the same way that waterfall and cliffs are. They leak with their own natural beauty, oozing with a sense of naturalistic love and care that Dipper cannot create. The monster is beautiful in the way that he isn’t trying to be: unique and inhuman and completely itself.

A combination that has never looked better. Not to Dipper, anyways.

Mabel is waiting on the front porch when he gets there, with a popsicle in her right hand a glue stick in her left. She is talking to Waddles, who sits on the couch next to her, with idle hand gestures and wide facial expressions. When she sees Dipper, she immediately sits up. The scrapbook in her lap falls shut, and her popsicle goes forgotten as she looks at him.

“Where have you been, brother dearest?” She says, feigning a british accent as she presses a hand to her heart. “I was worried sick. Father didn’t think you were coming back home. We thought you might have gone off and joined another war.”

Dipper laughs dryly in response, which only seems to encourage her further. Dipper’s thankful that she at least drops the British accent—it’s the most he could ask for, really. “The least you could do is humor me. I have been bored to death with no one but Waddles to accompany me. Where even were you.”

“Nowhere,” Dipper responds instantly.

Mabel doesn’t believe him, but Dipper knows his sister well enough to know that she doesn’t care to push further. “You were probably at a really awesome party. A super-duper awesome party. Next time you should invite me.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“It was probably a super-duper awesome party like the ones in those cliche books me and Grunkle Stan make fun of,” Mabel continues, sighing to herself wistfully. “Where the bass drops and you make googly-eyes with the boy across the room, and it’s love at first sight.” And she swoons at the idea, because she’s a little lovesick like that.

“Stop saying super-duper,” Dipper says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Unfortunately, his cheeks glow red at the mention of the idea of a boy, because the monster was technically a boy, and maybe he was a little enamoured with the way he glowed red in the light of the setting sun and the way his dimples showed when he smiled.

“Oh. My. God!” Mabel says, practically shrieking. “You met a boy!”

And Dipper smiles at himself, because he supposes he did.

Chapter Text

Dipper knew he had to go back, he needed more answers, something about that forest was so.. interesting.. (Dipper elected to ignore the memory of a very pretty cryptid leading him out of that forest) so, while he and Mabel watched Ducktective’s season finale, he subtly set an alarm on his phone for 4am, knowing that if Mabel heard it too, he could excuse it to his twin that it was a mistake.

Soon, the season finale ends with a shocking plot twist that he and Mabel bicker over if they made the right decision, frankly Dipper thinks the plot was too easy to recognize (Mabel agreed on that even if she swore up and down it was a perfect finale), but soon, credits were rolling and Mabel was chugging the last of her jug of Mabel Juice in bed. When Dipper started to drift off in his familiar bed in the Shacks attic, he can’t help but think about glowing, iridescent eyes and overgrown brown hair.

When his alarm went off, it was a quiet chirping bird sound he used, easy to disguise and not one to wake up the log that is a sleeping Mabel, still, Dipper scrambled to turn it off. As he quietly gets up, Dipper creeps to his backpack and hoists it on his back, going to the restroom to change from pajamas to hiking gear (what he wore earlier that day plus a few accessories like black stud earrings and a beaded necklace Mabel made for him). As Dipper carefully walks to the living room, he’s careful to avoid the security cameras, taking an employee exit that Grunkle Stan didn’t bother keeping cameras on. 

Soon, Dipper is walking out the door after writing a short note to Mabel and the others reading “out for a walk, couldn’t sleep, be back later -Dipper” and placing it on the kitchen table. It’s a bit of a walk to make it to the woods, but Dipper handles it well, using a flashlight to mimic that Lantern that the Beast carefully held in his(it’s? His) grasp.

And now, there’s an issue, see, Dipper tried to follow the path he followed last time when he left the unknown, going back the same way, but nothing worked, it was all the same summer forests of Gravity Falls.. so matter how well he followed the path, he didn’t find a sunset-lit clearing of a mysterious autumn forest, just.. a Normal Forest.. Maybe Dipper just has to wander? That’s how he got to the Unknown in the first place.. maybe that’ll work!

So Dipper sets off in a random direction, putting his flashlight under his hat so he didn’t have to hold it, and wanders. He walks over random logs, across Forests that slowly transition to less summery to more.. Familiar isn’t the word, recognizable? Maybe nostalgic? Either way, he soon finds himself in an utterly different version of the forest he found himself earlier that day, Oregon forests giving way slowly to almost idealic autumnal forests without him noticing, good, he’s probably back in the Unknown!

Now, to find the Beast!

Dipper continues to wander through the path already carved in front of him, dark and dim in the silver light of the moon. He doesn’t recognize the bends and the forks in the path, intrigued to find that the path he walks on is different then the one he walked on yesterday. He wonders if the path yesterday was different then the day before that, and if that one was different then the day before that. He wonders if the Beast he met yesterday had ever walked the same path twice.

Eventually, the path before him enters a glade. It’s wide in it’s location, with the moon lighting up the glade that was previously dark. With trees surrounding a grassy and leaf-covered area. The middle of the clearing raises a little, mimicking a poorly built hill in height. There is a log covered in moss near the top of the hill, and as Dipper approaches it, he runs a finger along the edges of soft mushrooms.

He takes his notebook out quickly— the one made in his Grunkle’s image, with the pale blue leather covering and ribbon running through the pages. There is a pattern of seven stars on the front cover, and a stylized 2 in the middle of the constellation created by his sister in the image of his birthmark. It’s lovely in the way that he looks at it and knows it’s his. Lovely in the way that it was created by his family with love —and sits facing the log. He doesnt recognize the mushrooms, and he doesn’t know if it is something exclusive to the Unknown in it’s shape and design, or if it’s a lesser known rarity of the world he comes from. He describes the soft edges in excruciating detail, writing about the high elevation and red pine bark it grows off of while the moon lights up the clearing.

He takes a photo for Mabel to later copy down ( and that reminds him that he needs to get a photo of the Beast. He blushes as the idea of having a photo of him on his phone, and the teasing that will surely come from Mabel. He decides that maybe he can keep the Beast hidden for a day longer. Be selfish for a day longer) . Before closing his journal and sliding it back in his backpack with a sigh. It is nearly morning, as seen by the reflection of golden and pink rays of light on the dew that gathers on the grass, and he frowns at the lack of the familiar cryptid.

Speak of the devil and he shall come .

“You are earnest,” somebody says from behind him, and Dipper whips around immediately. The Beast offers him an indecipherable look from where he enters between the trunks of two trees, and Dipper cannot tell if he is disappointed or happy to see him. “Your feet do not stand in the confines of your home, Lumberjack. You are lost once more.”

Dipper grins, standing up to greet the Beast with a wave.

“Yep! I wanted to see you again! Aaaand maybe ask just a few questions because you a-and this place are really cool…” Dipper says, mumbling the last part just to get it out. The Beast is silent for a moment, contemplating, Dipper can see faint worry lines in the Beasts brow line, as if he’s either thinking hard or worried.

“I.. suppose I could answer your questions, Lumberjack” the Beast says, eyes glowing in the shadows of this forest, he walks closer to where Dipper stands, and leans against a tree, the whole image so beautifully the Beast that Dipper smiles, leaning against the same tree.

“Awsome! Thanks man, ok, so uhm my first one, why’s the Unknown autumn? It’s summer back in Gravity Falls so it doesn’t really make all that much sense that it’s autumn here” Dipper asks, tapping his hand against his leg, the Beast thinks for a moment, contemplating (Dipper takes the opportunity to look at the Beast, just take in the way the way his hair falls over his face, the way branches grow from tears in his cloak to hand over his shoulders like a hug, the way the Beast even hold himself is.. beautiful.)

“I will not lie and say I know why, truthfully I have not thought about it very much, I suppose a reason could be that the Unknown is simply a place that reflects an ideal, not much more than that” He says, looking up at the night sky in a quiet wonder, (Dipper wonders how or if time passes differently between the Unknown and his world, he had been in the unknown for maybe an hour or two just talking to the Beast, but in gravity falls it had been maybe 30 minutes..) Dipper admires privately how the moonlight hits the Beasts colorful eyes. 

“Wow, I think that could be plausible.. that’s super interesting!” Dipper says, smiling at the Beast, who quietly smiles back at Dipper, and wow, that smile is very pretty on the Beasts face..

Dipper does not realize he is staring until there is the sound of the Beast’s antlers scraping against the tree he leans against. “Right!— Oh God, uhm —sorry, I got a little lost in thought there.”

The Beast does not smile. Instead, he offers Dipper a quizzical look, and Dipper has the weirdest feeling that he’s being inspected; picked apart by the watchful eyes of a monster that is hostile in nature and deadly in design. It occurs to him a moment too late ( and that’s really a lie, because it became a moment too late as soon as he ventured away from the Mystery Shack ) that he might have overstayed his welcome. That he is playing with factors that he does not understand.

But he wants to understand them. He really, really does. It's why he ventures back into a forest he doesn’t understand and lets his gaze linger on the shawl of creatures he has never seen before. He wants to understand the cryptid in front of him with every question he asks and every word written in the notebook in his messy scrawl.

“As you were,” the Beast says finally, but there is a lingering trace of guilt on his face as soon as he says it. “I do not recommend you stay long, Lumberjack. The Earth and the Unknown are interchangeable with each other; neither of them are meant to hold the other’s stars in their sky.”

And Dipper really doesn’t want to know what that’s supposed to mean, so he quickly stumbles over the first question that comes to mind before he says something embarrassing. “Why-Why do you keep calling me Lumberjack?” 

The Beast seems embarrassed, sheepishly fumbling with a wooden finger, before answering

“I.. do not.. know your name.. and I needed to call you something..” he answers, almost too quiet for Dipper to hear, but he luckily catches it, and he feels his face warm when he realizes that he didn’t tell the Beast his name, so he supposes that the Beast is fair for giving Dipper the nickname.

“ Oh god- sorry I forgot! Uhm, I’m Dipper, I forgot to say.. ha..” Dipper answers rubbing his arm and feeling his mouth pull into an embarrassed smile, the Beast doesn’t seem to mind thankfully, nodding in understanding.

“It is alright, Lum- Dipper, I understand” he says, stumbling from Dippers nickname to his name, and Dipper feels part of his soul die, he.. kinda liked the nickname.. it wasn’t an overly clever one, sure, but it felt.. right, coming from the Beast, so Dipper makes a quick decision.

“You-you can still call me Lumberjack if you want though! I don’t, uh, I don’t mind the nickname” he blurts, and Internally curses himself for stumbling over his words. And.. the Beast looks surprised, as if he hadn’t expected it, as if the cryptid in front of him had prepared himself for a different answer, but silently, the Beast nods, speaking up quietly.

“Oh, I suppose.. I can still use that name for you, Lumberjack” he says, and Dipper smiles at the nickname, which almost immediately started to feel like Dippers nickname, something he goes by in this place

“Thanks, Beast! I appreciate it” Dipper responds, not minding how fondness colors his own voice. The Beast nods again, smiling quietly at Dipper, but.. his smile is a bit more open now, and Dipper doesn’t mind that one bit.

“Do— uh —do you have a name besides Beast?” Dipper asks, because it should be common courtesy to return the favor. He knows that there is no pressing deadline for him to know the Beast’s name—he knows that they have only known each other for so little—but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. “Like a species name, or just a name -name, you know?”

The frown on Beast’s face disappears as quickly as it came, and Dipper immediately scolds himself. He does not want to be the reason that that smile disappears; he does not want to be the source of such distress. “You don’t need to respond, either! I’m not forcing you to do anything!”

“Lumberjack, I do not wish to be called anything seldom Beast,” Beast says, tilting his head to the side again. Dipper can feel his cheeks go pink from embarrassment—he did not mean anything by the comment—as his gaze drops to the ground. “Do not berate yourself for it; it is my choice to follow the path before me.”

“Yeah, of course!” Dipper responds, and he still cringes at his own words while he says them. Why is he like this . “Beast it is!”

Thankfully, the Beast drops it after Dipper falls silent too, he and Dipper both knowing how awkward that interaction was. Dipper just looks around the clearing, part of him didn’t want this moment to ruin what he hopes to be a friendship because he read that room wrong. 

Quickly, but Dipper hopes not too quickly, Dipper tries again, striking up a different conversation to try and get rid of the awkwardness in the air, using the silence to think up a question he hopes won’t make that smile fall again.

“So uhm- do you have a favorite place to hang out in the Unknown?..” Smooth, Dipper, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Mabel says in his head. The Beast looks a bit surprised, and Dipper has to wonder if he’s doing this whole communication thing right because he doesn’t want to like- put the Beast in shock or whatever. But either way, the Beast mulls over his thoughts for a moment, before answering.

“Hmm.. there are many places to rest in the Unknown, but some of my favorites are simply places like this, clearings where one can see the sky” he says, looking up at the starlit sky… Dipper doesn’t know how to respond, that’s such an in character answer, one he himself admires, Dipper elects to speak up himself, sure he hasn’t been in the Unknown very much, but he has a favorite spot..

“I agree, I haven't been here very much, but I think these clearings are my favorite spot too..” Dipper responds, looking at Beast, the two look at eachother for a moment, Dipper will admit he was probably smiling like an idiot, but come on! The Beast is just so pretty.. those iridescent eyes, the hair, just the way the Beast fits into this mysterious forest like a puzzle piece is so cool..

“You must know all of the good glades in the Unknown,” Dipper continues on with the topic, because the Beast has not shown him unkindness for his curiosity yet. It is a welcome change compared to the people in his life before; the teachers and parents and kids that frowned at his endless questions. “I mean, how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” the Beast responds, and Dipper can feel his eyes widen at the number. He did not know what age he expected the Beast to be, and he is not sure if he is pleasantly surprised or disappointed at the number so close to his age.

“How long does your species live?” Dipper asks, and he can tell by the way the Beast tilts his head in concern that he might be teasingly dipping his toes in the territory of overstepping, feeling the cold water of the unexplored ocean before him. It sends shivers down his spine. “Like, the King Penguin lives until twenty, so you’d be— like —seventy in human years.”

“I am sixteen in your years,” the Beast responds easily, brows furrowed in confusion. “We are two sides of the same coin.”

And Dipper knows that the Beast’s statement is just an aftereffect of the language he has been taught, but there is something about how simply he says ‘ we ’ that makes Dipper’s heart float. The idea of being the same person—considered to be identical in the mind of his companion—is enough of a head rush that Dipper’s stomach twists and his smile only grows. Dipper feels a growing curiosity in his chest, are there others like his friend? Is he the only one? He wonders if the Beast has any siblings, he’d love to meet them if he can..

“That is so cool.. if you don’t mind me asking, are you the only one of your species? Do you have something like a brother or sister?” Dipper asks, and almost immediately he can feel the air shift from peaceful, to almost mourning, he internally scolds himself when he sees the Beasts face fall slightly, his eyes gleaming brighter, here Dipper goes again! He didn’t mean to cause this much sadness again.. he’s gotta think through his questions better!

“I..” the Beast begins, before pausing, and Dipper can tell whatever the Beast wants to say is stuck in his throat, and Dipper knows the feeling. The Beast stumbles on an answer, the most distressed Dipper has seen of his friend, and Dipper feels a determination settle in his chest to make his friend feel better.

“H-hey, forget it, I can tell this is probably a rough topic and that’s on me. How about we just, uhm, walk around? A bit? It may help to take your mind off things” Dipper says to the Beast. The Beasts head shoots up, as if he was lost in his thoughts, the Beast hesitates for a moment, before nodding, and Dipper can feel his face pull into a small smile, hopefully he can make the Beast not so.. sad, mournful. He elects to steer away from the topic of family, even if the Beast has siblings, it looks to be a rough topic to the Beast, so Dipper will do his part to keep the Beasts mind off the topic.

Dipper stands up, wincing as his legs scream at the sudden movement, he offers a hand to the Beast to help him up, and he only realizes his action as the Beast takes his hand and Dipper pulls him up, internally screaming at the way their hands lock together, Dipper tries to act chill and smiles at the Beast, who tries to smile back, and Dipper takes off in a run, laughing as the Beast yelps in an effort to keep up with their hands together

“What are we running for, Lumberjack??” The Beast says, shock coloring his words, Dipper laughs, grinning at his friend as the two run across the forest

“Taking your mind off things, come on!” He shouts to the Beast, who huffs and runs a bit faster to keep up, the two run, the wind rushing past their faces as he and the Beast both laugh as the run over wide stretches of forest, across paths both well walked and barely visible, Dipper relishes in the Beasts laugh, it’s something warm and excited, nothing like the usual quiet chuckles or hardly visible smiles.

They run until Dipper loses counts of the amount of paths they cross and the amount of deer they spook and the amount of lakes they see. They run until the sun is barely awake, the morning sky barely light above their heads and there is nothing except for the two of them; there is nothing except for the good burn in Dipper’s legs and the way his chest coils in on itself ( breathless, beating, alive ) and the sound of his laughter so thoroughly intermingled with the soft giggles of the Beast.

And that’s something for his journal. The Beast can giggle..

It’s something soft—a noise that barely escapes his lips as he presses them together in a grin. The Beast presses a hand over his mouth, because he seems to know that the sound echoes in his chest and affects everything that hears it. The sound seeps through the holes of his ears and his nose and the ends of his fingernails, recollecting in a path of sound that leads Dipper back to the glade at the beginning. 

It leads Dipper back to the heart of the forest.

Soon, the two are breathless, laughing and catching their breath in a barely different glade, this one full of different flowers rather than mushrooms, Dipper barely registers that he and the Beast are still holding hands, the initial grasp having morphed into locked fingers without either party really noticing.

Dipper hears the Beast laugh again, breathless and full of life, and he can’t help but laugh too, grinning at his friend, who he’s glad to see isn’t nearly as sad and monotone as before, Dipper internally celebrates for the successful “Operation: distract the Beast from sad thoughts” mission. Soon, the running catches up to them both and they have to sit down and rest, thankfully the cool air means Dipper didn’t get really sweaty, but he’s still plenty breathless, even though he’s still grinning ear to ear, the Beast similarly catching his breath and smiling. 

And wow.. his smile really is something amazing, Dipper doesn’t find himself worried for himself at all in the Beasts presence, he’s just happy to simply be , in this moment, and it looks like the Beast feels the same way. Dipper lies on his back, looking at the Dawn sky, gazing at the wonderful colors of the crack of Dawn, knowing it’s not been that long in his world. 

The Beast lies down too with a short sigh, placing his lantern between the two of them, Dipper can feel something is important about the lantern, so he doesn’t say anything, hammering in his head to not ask about the lantern, even if he can hear a quiet humming come from it that wouldn't come from a fire or light bulb.

Dipper’s labored breathing comes through his body; starting at his lungs and flowing freely through his shoulders, lifting them up and against the grass before his eyes close as he exhales. The forest smells like pine and the beast smells like freshly cut grass and he smells like deodorant. It is a mixture of scents that should not go together as well as they do.

“Are there many clouds where you call home, Lumberjack?” the Beast asks eventually, and he has his right hand pressed gently against his heart as he catches his breath. Dipper looks over at him, grass tickling the skin of his cheek.

“Some. My friends and I will go cloud-watching, occasionally,” Dipper responds, turning back to the sky with a grin. “There’s not too many stars though, my dad’s house in California has too much light polution. I guess I should be thankful that we go to the Mystery Shack during the summer.”

“Mystery Shack?” the Beast asks with a furrowed brow. He does not look at Dipper while he speaks, favoring the view of the lovely pink sky that glows through the cracks of the red and orange trees.

“It’s my Grunkle Stan’s place,” Dipper says, and the expression on the Beast’s face only deepens. “Oh, uh— sorry —Great-uncle. My sister, Mabel, called him Grunkle as an abbreviation when we first visited his place, and it just stuck, y’know?”

“You’ve mentioned your kin a few times,” the Beast says, and Dipper nods in confirmation. It is hard for him to go without talking about their accomplishments; it is hard for him to introduce himself without introducing Mabel as well. They are the same person, so intertwined that it is hard to separate where Dipper starts and Mabel ends. “As you see, I am not accustomed to talking so freely about my own.”

Dipper worries his bottom lip between his teeth, sparing a glance at the Beast. The muscle’s in his legs still ache from their venture, and he does not want to get further lost in the Unknown then he already has—he does not know if he will be able to distract the Beast if the topic comes up once more.

He knows he will try, though. If not for him, then for the laugh of the Beast’s face when they run through the woods and the grin that he wears when Dipper pulls his hand, leading him through a waltz only they know.

And, fuck , Dipper’s still holding his hand.

His gaze drops to where his skin meets the rough bark of wood, fingers intertwined with fragile strips of elderwood that sprout the soft illusion of skin with the moss that covers the creases and palm. The Beast does not let go of their hands, and Dipper finds himself willing for the conversation to continue; hoping and praying and wishing to whatever Divine power that this fleeting, miniscule, small point of contact will not be so quick.

In a rare turn of events, the Divine power listens.

Dipper is still holding his hand when the Beast continues with his train of thought, not daring to look at the boy in the flannel next to him as he traces a pattern with the edge of his finger along his heart: “If you are willing, I ponder if you could grant me some remembrance of your own. Yet, I fear I ask too much.”

Dipper would normally be cautious of strange being asking about his family, but he finds that he doesn’t think twice, the Beast already feeling like a close friend, despite this being their 2nd meeting

“Oh I don’t mind at all! I’ve asked a bunch of questions, it’s only fair you get your share” Dipper replies, sitting up and propping himself on his free hand, feeling the grass press against his palm, small twigs pricking his skin, but he doesn’t mind. The Beast thinks for a moment, closing his eyes to think of a question, before speaking up

“I wonder, do you have other kin? You have mentioned a Sister, a father, and a Grunkle, do you have other family?” He asks, Dipper nods before answering

“Yeah! I have another grunkle, Grunkle Ford, and technically an uncle in Soos, but I’m not sure.. there’s Wendy, who’s kinda become an older sister for me and Mabel” he answers, counting on his fingers, the Beast attentively watches, something curious coloring his already muted body language. As he finishes, the Beast hums in understanding.

“That is an interesting family, you are lucky, Lumberjack” the Beast says, a fondness crinkling his eyes slightly, and Dippers hear stutters in his chest, and a smile pulls at his face, he leans into it.

“I agree, they’re awesome.. they’d like you” Dipper says, putting his chin in his hand and looking at the Beast, aware of the way the early, early morning sun lights the clearing with a quiet, dusty blue in the clearing, warming up the beasts face, a faint breeze rattling the leaves above them and on the Beasts antlers, which Dipper notices are sprinkles with leaves and flowers.

The Beast looks surprised at Dippers addition, his mouth pulling into a curious line, and Dipper explains relaxedly, hoping he didn’t come off too strong internally.

“W-Well, your plenty nice, and nobody there’s too judgmental outside of jokes”

“You speak the truth?” The Beast asks, turning to look at Dipper. He uses his hands to hold himself in a sitting position, mirroring Dipper’s body language. Dipper gives himself a minute to mourn their hand contact before he returns his gaze to the cryptid. “I fear that I did not think a single soul would see me outside of the antlers I bare.”

“Well, we’re kind of used to cryptids and creatures, so,” Dipper ends his point with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant in the way he speaks and the way he acts. He is afraid that anything too big will startle the creature he sits next to. “You’ve been really nice, so I don’t think they’d have much of a problem with you. I mean, my Grunkle Ford dated a way less nice creature like yourself before, so you’re kind of a step-up.”

“Pardon?” The Beast asks, but he is grinning as he turns to look at Dipper. Dipper smiles at the sudden arapt interest, placing his hands under his head as he lies back down.

“Yeah. It’s a long story. It would probably take me— like —at least twenty hours to explain it all,” Dipper says, and he scores a short giggle from the Beast’s mouth at his dramatics. It makes him feel a little proud, to be the source of such a joyous sound. “Basically, my Grunkle dated this guy for a while who kind of fucked up our entire town. It was a little messed up in hindsight, but I was what- twelve? I can’t really do anything to change it, now.”

The Beast’s chest heaves under the weight of an amused scoff, and there is a look in his eyes that Dipper recognizes. He stares off into the distance, watching the soft autumn wind against brash autumn leaves, whistling against their ears in a haunting howl that is special only to the Unknown. Eventually, when enough time has passed that Dipper can hear birds in the distance, the Beast responds.

“You and I are in the same boat, it appears,” the Beast says with a thoughtful hum. He does not look angry about it, but rather bittersweet. “I sit in awe, musing if you are the person I could be if I had never became who I am now.”

“Well, I don’t really think you’d wanna be the person I am,” Dipper responds. There is the memory of hands around his waist and his hands clawing against skin ( “ Eeny , meeny, miney — ”) and nights where he has to scratch at the skin on his own limbs because he does not know if it is the body of another. There are the memories of when his mother got a pine tree for Christmas and he broke down crying in the privacy of his an Mabel’s room, and the time a kid played with bubbles on their street and Mabel forgot where she was. “But I don’t think you should change.”

Dipper is nothing if not honest. “To be honest, I kind of like the person you are now.”

The Beasts face does something kinda funny, Dipper sees it kind of.. glow, for lack of a better word, he sees the Beasts mouth pull into a smile, one that crinkles his eyes that glow a bit brighter, and warmer.. Dipper feels himself smile, his stomach doing loops and his heart jittering.

“I.. appreciate that, I may not have known you very long, but I too enjoy you as you are, Lumberjack” the Beast says, Dipper feels his chest tighten, and his face heat up, and his smile soften, hes so happy to have met the Beast, so happy to have gotten lost the other day, to have found this forest frozen in time, everything…

Some part of him aches at the thought of leaving right now, when all is right and he can’t feel the burning tinge of worry clawing at his heart, the glow of blue fire haunting his unconscious mind. Nothing from those 3 days hurting him well past that final stand off, he recognizes this feeling from long before his house in California went to shit, when he was younger.

He’s at peace here, similar, if not the same as when he’s at the Mystery Shack. Even if those forests remind him of that year when he turned 13, he feels the weight of his family nearby. He can feel that warm sense of hope coiling in his gut, in his lungs, in his skull. He huffs a small laugh when he’s dragged back to the present, a smile tinging the sound

“I appreciate that too, Beast” Dipper responds, a smile painting his words. Dipper lies back down, his hand under his head, feeling his legs relax and watching clouds glow in the steadily rising sun, watching stars disappear, he vaguely registers that it’s probably been about half an hour, maybe an hour since he left in his world, he wonders if Mabel is actually awake if it’s been longer, than he might want to go soon.

As if he can read his mind— and maybe he can. Maybe there are still things Dipper doesn’t know about the Beast and things that the Beast doesn’t know about Dipper —the Beast turns to look at him. There is a forlorn way his smile falls and his eyes droop at the corner. Indescribable in the way he looks forlorn for something that Dipper does not know.

“Are you weary, Lumberjack?” The Beast asks with a hum. His voice is soft, like he sees the way Dipper’s eyes droop and his limbs seem to stick to the grass beneath him in a tired state and how his mind seems to drift to thoughts of his sister.

“I shouldn’t be,” Dipper says. He yawns afterwards, causing them both to chuckle lightly. “I slept before I came here. It’s only been an hour. Why do I feel so tired?”

“The soles of your feet tread through the Unknown with a resistance you do not know,” the Beast says, and Dipper furrows his brow as he turns to look at him. The Beast regards him with a long, tired, look. There is something in the way his eyes shine with something that has gone unsaid, and a sigh escapes his mouth with the heave of his shoulders. “You are not meant for the Unknown.”

The Beast turns to look back at the sky, drawing his hand back into his lap as he leans over slightly in his spot. Dipper watches for a moment, ( two ). Then, the weight of his eyelids is seemingly too much to bare, and he feels himself weakening to the weight of the concept of being awake; he does not have the same tireless strength as Atlas.

“Rest,” the Beast says. Dipper’s vision is black. “That is sometimes all we can do.” 

Dipper doesn’t know if he responded or not to the Beasts voice, but he feels his head fogging over and his eyelids growing heavier, the sound of a breeze, birds chirping, and a faint humming from the Beast making the tension leave his body like a leaky faucet. Soon, his breath evens out and Dippers mind is dragged down into that weird place between awake and asleep.

Dipper doesn’t move himself, but he hears the Beast shift, getting closer and moving Dipper into a different position, this one feels like it’ll give Dipper less of a crick in the neck, so he settles into it, letting out a puff of air. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he let himself rest like this, something about this moment feels like it could last forever or just a minute, and Dipper would be grateful all the same, just being here is relaxing, maybe he can bring Mabel here sometime..

But, part of him wants to keep this to himself, be selfish for maybe a little longer, Mabel of all people would get that, his twin can usually tell anyway if he’s feeling different than usual ( Wendy jokes that it’s faint twin telepathy ), and tries her best to ducktective her way to knowing what’s up, but maybe he can try to keep this nice moment (this nice friend of his) to himself…

Yeah.. that’d be nice…

—————

Beast makes sure Lumberjack is asleep before moving him slightly, the position his friend was in would not be comfortable long-term (he would know, he fell asleep the night he turned into this thing in the same position), he hopes he is not overstepping boundaries doing this. Now that the clearing is silent, save for Beast's own quiet humming, and Lumberjack's soft breaths, he has time to think..

What should Beast do? Lumberjack was obviously exhausted, and in no shape to walk through the woods, down the path his soul lights up. He does not think leading the half-asleep boy down that path would be a wise move, and it would also not be wise to let him rest in the Unknown, if he waits too long, he may be lost forever.. and while Beast wouldn't mind company, his friends story still has plenty of pages left, and Beast did not want to rip out half-written pages, so.. he has to be careful.

Beast watches the sun slowly fill the clearing with a warm morning light, it’s still long before anyone would reasonably be awake. Beast himself is often asleep at this moment, but he can never ignore the feeling of someone Lost in his woods, no matter how far away the feeling may be. He soon feels it’s been long enough for Lumberjack to be well asleep before making his next move, Beast carefully shifts to a kneeling position, before reaching to Lumberjack and carefully picking him up, cautious of gripping him too hard and waking him up (Beast would probably feel his lantern instantly burn out from the embarrassment of his friend waking up in a half-bridal carry), or being too loose and dropping his friend. 

Soon, Beast has Lumberjack in a careful hold, and feels the path his friend's soul lays out, and begins to follow it.

It is a familiar path; one that brings up memories that he would rather forget of elephant costumes and the glint of gold in a pair of scissors and blue wings that blend into the sky. 

As much as he wants to make the trudge back to the world he once knew, the Unknown wants him to return even less. Branches and roots seem to come up from the ground, tripping and halting and waiting , wanting the Beast to stay . It wants him to stay the same way it wants him to be happy. It wants him to stay the same way it wants to prevent his grief ( and it is not good, how much grief he carries. It is never released, burning bright like the sheltered flame of a lantern, one that can never go out) .

He had told the Lumberjack that they were two sides of the same coin, but he thinks that he may be more complicated than that. He is a sliver of the Lumberjack the same way he is a sliver of the Unknown. He is a gestalt of every single person he ever was; contorting and twisting to make something frightening; something beastlike .

His feet dig into the ground, branches tangling into the depths of the dirt, trying to take root against any surface they can find. His antlers extend and tangle and get caught on the propelled twigs of overhead trees and falling leaves. The terrain grows weary—he no longer has a conscious boy to guide him back to the land of the living, and the Unknown does not understand that he is not trying to free himself.

And the Beast considers waking the Lumberjack up. He considers the ease that would be to have the Lumberjack lead them through the Unknown, telling the world with a wide smile that he is here and alive and he is not supposed to be in the Unknown.

But he does not do that.

It only takes one glance at large purple eyebags for him to know that Lumberjack does not deserve to be woken up. It only takes one glance at pale skin and oily brown hair for him to know that the boy is exhausted past a point of pitying glances ( it is not sympathy that stops him from shaking his shoulders. It is pain; it will hurt him to wake the near-dead ). It only takes one glance to see himself; the elephant and the elf and the Lumberjack in unison. 

The Unknown keeps trying its best to keep the Beast in it, multiple times he has to pause and unroot himself, or untangle his antlers from the trees above, said trees looming down to keep him trapped, unaware that he is not trying to leave, nor does he want to, but he is simply aiding his friend.

Trudging through the Unknown, along the path Lumberjacks soul aligns to, Beast wonders if Lumberjacks family would truly like Beast, or if Lumberjack was just reassuring Beast, he didn’t quite think so.. something about his friends eyes scrunching when he told Beast about his family being calm around the supernatural made Beast feel more.. accepted? Hopeful? He couldn’t quite describe the feeling, so on he went, unrooting and untangling himself occasionally.

A long while later, Beast feels a wave of nausea overtake him, and he spots a house in the distance, just outside the forest, and he knows this is where he should by all means stop, but he pushes on, he and Lumberjack are not quite out of the woods yet, Beast holds back a grunt when a rock appears and he steps on it, trying to not wake his friend.

Beast is barely seeing his path, using muscle memory to make sure that lumberjack gets home, he feels the sickening sensation of wood spreading along his hands and legs as he sets Lumberjack down on the grass, making sure his friend is comfortable and close enough to his hearth, before turning and rushing back into the woods. The Unknown clears the way as he empties his stomach in a bush, exhaustion creeping along his body, especially with the wood being taller now, Beast numbly picks at the edge of the wood on his arm, the area it spread to now awfully sore when Beast moves his arms or legs.

With a huff, Beast stands up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve to get rid of the sensation he experienced, before trudging on to a more comfortable spot to lie down, Beast feeling slightly envious of Lumberjacks peaceful rest. 

He ventures back through the border of the unknown, using the rough bark of passing-by trees and the now-smooth ridges in the path below him to make his way back into the center. He does not feel good and his breath smells anything but divine and his feet feel heavy in a way that they do not usually feel.

But he finds that he does not regret it. All it takes is the memory of soft conversations and sunrises and he knows that the boy will live a good life. It is a waste of a good soul for the Beast to keep him to himself; to be selfish.

And the Beast is anything but selfish.

He is an elephant and a bird and a witch and a highwayman—people who held his hands with kindness and looked at him with pure belief and touched his heart. These people are anything but selfish, and the Beast does not wish to disappoint as he paints his own face the colors of others. He will be kind like the people who came before him. He will save every soul, cruel or kind ( even if it kills him ) ( even if he wants to cry sometimes because he does not know if anyone knows him truly as himself ) ( even if the Unknown kills him and he cries but not because he feels too much; but because he feels too little ) again and again.

He falls asleep with a hand over his stomach and the smell of grass surrounding the forest around him. He dreams of lionhearts and grown-up versions of Lumberjacks who he’ll never know.

Chapter Text

Beast feels the weighted heat of the sun press against his eyelids being the only thing waking him up, he groans and sits up, pressing his palm to his forehead, glad he's not running too hot, but unhappy with the lingering taste of stomach acid in his mouth, although there isn't much he can do about it aside from cupping water in his hands and hoping it'll wash away the feeling.

Beast stands up, wincing at the crick in his neck and weariness in his legs and arms where the wood spread that night.. Beast does not regret his actions, but he does wish that whatever causes this wood to creak along his limbs, lending fire in its wake and in his bones would lay off a touch and let him feel even a little bit normal. Beast decides to walk to a stream and get some water, he feels his feet press into the soil, every step harder than the last as he trudged on, he hopes Lumberjack does not see him like this.

Soon, Beast finds a small, clean stream of water, cool and refreshing against his throat, washing away the thick feeling of nausea that had been permeating during the morning.

The sound of the river trickles past him, rushing and gushing and filling the empty void of the fall days that the Unknown presents over and over and over again. The water flows underneath tumbled logs and makeshift paths and winds past the inn and the school yard and the house of the Woodsmen before curving into the ice cold water of the lake.

He stares at his reflection in the water. It is distorted from the ripples of the clear surface, making his features foggy and his face unrecognizable ( but that’s not it. Maybe the river is not the source of such distortion. Maybe it is the fact that Wirt’s body has changed to something without his consent. He is hiding to his own glowing eyes; vague, changed) . He stares until the sun is in a different place then where it used to be and there is a deer drinking from the delta a few yards down river.

He stares until he does not have to think. He stares until his thoughts dissociate; he sees the light of his own eyes reflected up at him and the moss that is starting to grow along his neck and the antlers that grow out of his temples. He stares until he is able to convince himself that the things that make him monstrous are normal enough that he does not even notice a difference. He stares until it becomes a trance of the river and the deers and himself.

Beast doesn’t register how long it’s been since he started staring, he’s long since shifted to have his knees propping his chin as his stares at the monster in the water, the true beast. He sees moss creep more along his shoulders and Edelwood branches sprout from the ground to wrap around the thing in the water like a hug, in a demented fashion, it’s like nature itself is trying to keep Beast from drifting too far.

He can’t tell if someone is talking to him or if it’s the water babbling to him, not anything in particular, he doesn’t register any harsh tones or fogged, muffled angry words, so it’s no townsfolk.. a Pottsfield resident? No, they don’t tend to leave that town.. not a tavern stayer, Beast hasn’t spoken much with the gaggle of strange folks inhabiting that tavern, but the words he’s heard are fearful, mistrusting... Who is talking to him? Wirt isn’t quite sure if he wants to know, he’s fine with watching the monster in the river, making sure it doesn’t move and hurt anyone, least of all Lumberjack. Wirt doesn’t know what he’d do if Lumberjack was scared of him, the one lost person who didn’t seem to be put off by Wirts strange appearance and behavior, picked up to put residents of the Unknown at ease while he wandered.

Lumberjack was a really nice person.. Wirt Beast would be quite disappointed (so much more than that, oh how Beast would ache if his friend despised him like the townsfolk..) if he messed up, and scared his lumberjack friend. But like everything that’s happened, Beast would not let it affect his ability to help, above all else, Beast is the Guide, nothing more; if nobody will be there to aid him in this, then that would be ok, he has to be ok, and has been for 3 aching years.

Beast does not need anybody—he is destined to have the wildfolk and the birch of trees as friends that he can whisper secrets to and they will keep them ( It’s not okay ). Beast does not need somebody to guide him ; his purpose—his reason for living —is determined on the basis that there are people who are here that should not be. He can sacrifice his being for the wellbeing of others, it is what he sees in the river and what he sees inside his mind ( It’s not okay ). Beast is fine and happy and just how the Unknown made him; lantern and all.

( He’s not okay .)

Something grabs at his arm. It is the bark that grows along his skin and makes his muscles stiff. It is the bark that makes him a puppet to the forest that surrounds him.

There is a fish that passes by in the ripples of the river. It is orange and bright and unashamedly itself.

There is a sudden pressing weight on his back, and he can feel his head being pushed into the cold water of the river. His antlers twist from where they sit at the side of his head, catching himself amongst the current as they take root in the pebbles and sand of the river ground.

The weight removes itself from his back, and the Beast slowly pushes himself back into a standing position. His antlers ache as they shift back to their normal position, and the ends of his shorts are stained a dark brown with rain water. The sun is bright as he blinks out rain water. He recognizes the person standing next to him ( even if he is not supposed to ).

“Are you so desperate to kiss the lips of death?” The Beast asks, turning his head to the side in curiosity and slight concern as he stares at the boy next to him. It has not even been a few hours. He knows that there is a time difference between here and there, but even a few hours cannot translate to a full day where the Lumberjack is from. “I continue to warn you that frequent visits here may be your doom.” Beast says this as if he doesn’t wish his friend would stay, as if he doesn’t wish the Unknown didn’t claw its way to keep Beast within itself, as if Beast doesn’t desperately want Lumberjack's company on these days. 

His lumberjack friend is visibly worried, his eyebrows punched together, his eyes shining in the morning sun like pools of amber filled with deep concerns. Beast doesn’t hold himself back from looking away from Lumberjack, not back at the monster that is his reflection, but at the grass, dotted with small white flowers, not unlike the orange ones atop his antlers in terms of shape, he hears Lumberjack sit down nearby, not quite touching Beast, but close enough to be comforting, which… is nice, Beast doesn’t know if he wants a hug or not.

“I’m gonna admit with my whole chest, man, I’m worried. I wanted to thank you for a few hours ago, but when I found you… you were just kinda blank, not that that’s a bad thing! But, it was.. worrying, I guess. You looked almost angry at your reflection. And uh- sorry I kinda tried to dunk you.. I tried calling to you, tapping your shoulder, all that, but nothing really worked and I kinda panicked..” Lumberjack says, guiltily looking away during the last part, Beast will admit there was a sting of indignation and frustration that arose in his chest during his friend's action, but he did not blame the lumberjack, not really…

More so himself, he more blames how unaware he gets, how lost in his own mind he gets, isn’t he lost enough? Is it not enough to be lost in this autumnal hell, but even lost in his own mind?

“I do not blame you, Lumberjack, I do get… lost in my mind sometimes” he replies, not having the strength to meet his friends eyes, not having the strength to do much more than vaguely sense if someone is lost-

He didn’t feel Lumberjack being lost. Oh god he didn’t feel Dipper getting lost in these woods, how did that happen!? How did he get so wrapped up in himself he didn’t register the one even vaguely human thing about himself!? How did he miss that tingle of intrusion, that sense that someone doesn’t belong, but is there anyway?

He is incompetent at what he has been built to be good at and he is good at the one thing he was supposed to be inept about. He is broken, determined to take a path that is different then the Beast before him. He is broken in the sense that he is a horse being led to water. He is destined to die in life and destined to live in death.

There’s a hand on his, gently resting as if scared to make the action, calloused hands on wooden ones. It knocks him out of his senses enough to remember that the Lumberjack is still there and he is still here .

The Unknown has not replaced him yet.

“Hey, what do you need from me?” Lumberjack asks, all soft gazes and gentle words. He does not take his hands off of the Beast’s skin. The Beast does not know why until he looks down and realizes that the ends of his dirt covered nails were digging at the underside of the bark that grows along his leg. “I’m here.”

“It’s fine,” the Beast reiterates, trying to show off just how fine he is through a deep breath and bright smile. “I’m fine.”

It hurts to breathe. 

“It’s ok to not be fine, dude” Lumberjack says, Beast isn’t looking at his friend. He's trying to focus on the feeling of his wooden fingers digging into the cool soil, the sound of the stream running, the feeling of Lumberjack's hand gently resting on his.

Lumberjacks words hurt- no, not hurt.. they pang in his heart, aching and sore, why is he like this? Why can’t Beast keep himself afloat upon his mind? Beast notices his vision blurs, and rubs at his eyes with his free hand, the human part of his being hoping Lumberjack doesn’t let go, doesn’t fear Wirt, doesn’t want to leave him so soon. 

Lumberjack's hand shifts, another hand is on his wrist, gently tugging his hand into a clasp, fingers interlocking as Lumberjack slots their hands together, he shifts to be closer to Beast, bumping shoulders. Beast finds that., he doesn’t mind, Lumberjack's actions feeling less like lightning than others. Beast bumps shoulders back hesitantly, unsure if his throat will allow for talking. 

Lumberjack doesn’t seem to mind, though, he begins to quietly talk to Beast, telling stories about his summers in Gravity Falls, Beast slowly finding the strength to look at Lumberjack. Finding that his eyes didn’t show any contempt, but occasionally flashed with what he assumes is pride when the two occasionally meet eyes.

“-And one time, Mabel, Soos and I wanted to go investigate some weird animal situations that started happening, and Grunkle Stan was tasked with watching Waddles, Mabel’s pig, I dunno if I mentioned him yet, but as we had left, Stan was walking Waddles, they were both wearing red sweaters Mabel made, but this Dinosaur grabbed Waddles and flew off with him! And a while later, we all met up with Stan who told us the situation —after lying a few times—  and we all had to go to this dinosaurs lair to find Waddles, it’s been a few years so the memories a bit hazy, but either way we discovered Waddles was I’m pretty sure being fed to the Dinosaurs baby, after getting him back us and Old Man Mcgucket —Who I think was just there? I can’t remember exactly— had to jump between this train rail that led to the nest, our theory being that unless the dinosaur looked at us with one of its eyes, it couldn’t see us, so we had to avoid that by following the the dinosaurs blind spot, and eventually we were able to get home!” He tells the Beast, and he can’t help but feel grateful that Lumberjack doesn’t mind this spell of silence.

Beast and Lumberjack simply exist, just for a while, Beast lets the tension of the monster in the water leak out of his shoulders, lets himself not make eye contact, he can’t help but appreciate the Lumberjack, his friend seems to have experience with folks such as himself, Beast wonders how many people Lumberjack has helped, how many people have felt how Beast feels.

And there’s a grand idea. The Beast isn’t alone.

Which should be impossible because he is a Beast , and by definition that makes him different and scary and unlike anything anyone has ever seen with his long antler and coarse skin. He is a beast because he is different and different because of his namesake. He is meant to feel alone in the same way the birds are meant for the trees and little Lumberjacks are meant for the woods outside. He is not supposed to feel this .

His heart coils in on itself and his intestines tangle within his body until he feels like he is going to be sick. He does feel like this and it won’t go away. He is feeling such strong emotions that he thinks he might as well simply disappear; forgotten in the past.

But the Lumberjack looks at him like that. He has to remind himself that no matter how much he feels like he is alone, the boy in front of him thinks otherwise. The boy in front of him thinks he has a place . The boy in front of him thinks that he is like him ; that he is a human, deserved to be treated with respect.

He is hesitant in his response. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and the front of his throat scratchy. When he opens his mouth, he wants to close it in a whimper. He feels like if he says anything it will crack with tears that have gone unshed for too long, and he feels like if he continues to sit in silence he will think about people he is not and things that he could be.

But he manages to move his tongue. That is progress enough.

“Thanks,” he manages, his finger playing with the end of a loose strand of his shorts. They are still wet from the river. He wants to say more—is thinking about more things that want to escape his mouth and a grand hurrah—but he finds that he cannot.

He cannot do anything but exist. Human or not, unique or not. Beast or not. He, instead of talking, tries to focus on his friend, the way warmth dusts Lumberjack's cheeks, the way his eyes seem to brighten when Beast rummages up the strength to speak, all of it.

“It’s no problem, dude, I’m happy to help how I can” Lumberjack says, and those words tug at Beasts lips, pulling them into a smile, a small huff escapes Beast, and he gets the courage to bump Lumberjacks shoulder with his own, their shoulders connecting for maybe a bit longer than would be normal, but Beast finds he does not care. He finds that he’s more than content to be here in this moment, letting go of the worry that Lumberjack will be trapped, just for a moment, but the realization hits all the same.

This moment will eventually end, Lumberjack must go home eventually, he mustn’t keep coming to the unknown, no matter how desperately Beast wants him to stay, no matter how much even small amounts of company would mean the world to Beast, part of Lumberjacks wonderful nature comes from him not being part of the Unknown, the way he speaks, so similar to Beast himself so long ago, the way he acts, even the way he holds himself up, it all screams other and curious and simply Lumberjack in a way Beast could never hope to replicate, and he doesn’t want to. 

He simply adores how Lumberjack can see Beast and not run, can see Beast and befriend rather than avoid, it speaks to Beast that Lumberjack has met others like Beast before, met the other side and didn’t run away, did no harm but didn’t take slander, it’s… lovely. Lumberjack continues his stories, getting progressively more recent as stories started and ended, he told stories of portals and secret uncles, of dream demons and a self-contained apocalypse, of everything weird and supernatural he had experienced, and Beast can tell he is refraining from telling Beast how this affected Lumberjack , how these happenings affected his sleep, his dreams, or even his waking thoughts. 

Beast could see in the way tension grooved itself into Lumberjack's very being when they first met, when Beast was just another unknown being, and how it seamlessly left when Lumberjack was prevented from falling off a log. Beast finds that as Lumberjack likely saw how he was hesitant to speak of family, Lumberjack is hesitant to speak of his own health, and Beast will return the favor in that regard, and not tread into sensitive territory.

“Thank you,” Beast manages again, wrapping his arms around his torso. It feels comforting, to have something wrapped around his chest and keeping him warm and held tight . If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that it’s somebody else. He does not know if he dwells on the past or on the present when he closes his eyes, but there is a short boy with brown hair that hugs him tight and doesn’t let go.

The Lumberjack makes a noise of amusement, but when he turns to look at the Beast, he looks at him with eyes that are glazed over with worry . Beast recognizes them instantly. It is the pair of eyes that most people choose when eyeing his form.

“I already told you,” Lumberjack says with a slight laugh, squeezing Beast’s knee again. The Beast does not know if it is supposed to be grounding or not, but it helps the Beast calm down . Lumberjack helps, even if he says in stories that he explicitly does not. “It’s no problem.”

“No,” Beast says with a heave of his chest. It is still hard for him to manage words. His tongue does not feel as thick but his throat is itchy and anything louder than a whisper comes out with a crack of his syllables or strained to a point of distortion. “ Thank you .”

“You don’t need to say thank you to anything,” Lumberjack continues, placing his other hand on top of the hand that rests on the Beast’s knee. “If anything, I should be telling you thank you. I mean, you’ve probably saved me from dying at least —”

“No,” Beast repeats, because it’s all he seems to be able to say. He feels like he is going to cry again. He does not know why—he does not feel sad; not in the slightest. “Thank you , Lumberjack.”

Then, because Lumberjack continues to take what he says at face value ( and there is a sort of generosity in the way that he does not press for an explanation because he knows that the Beast cannot possibly give one in the current moment ) he manages something else. “For being friends.”

Beast is able to watch as brown eyebrows furrow in confusion, before the same brown eyes widen in recognition. There is something red that coats his cheeks, replacing pale skin and making him full of life.

Lumberjack stutters over his words, and the Beast watches with a sort of understanding: he, too, had once been a brown-haired boy.

Lumberjack stumbles over his words, seemingly shocked by Beast's minute words.. he eventually brings together a response, though Beast wishes he could say Lumberjack didn’t have to respond.

“I-it’s no problem, Beast.. I don’t mind, really” Lumberjack says, red coating his face and warmth coloring his words in ways Beast didn’t know possible. He feels his face pull into a warmer smile, one he can tell dimples his face and warms his eyes, because Lumberjack smiles too, looking at Beast as if nothing was wrong about him, as if he wasn’t Beast, but Wirt..

Something in Beast feels filled with what he can’t identify with the words he has now, maybe someday he can describe this feeling, but he has to add on.. Beast finds some small amount of strength in himself to tell Lumberjack one thing, something a small part of him itched his friend to know.

With a smile and hope in his lantern, Wirt speaks up.

“…Wirt”

“..Sorry? What do you mean?”

“My name, my name is Wirt”

Wirt can’t tell if this was a bad or good decision initially, but quickly finds it the best one he could have made, because Wirt will forever cherish how Lumberjack lights up at the revelation, cherish how his eyes catch a ray of sunlight that makes Lumberjacks eyes look like pools of pure warmth and excitement, almost glowing in the sun, which Wirt notes has gotten higher, he thinks it may be noon. Lumberjack's lips crack into a grin, he seems elated.

“Thank you, thank you for telling me, Wirt” he says, and the way he says Wirts name almost makes Wirt glow too, if he could. Wirt finds his name doesn’t feel quite as verserally wrong coming from Lumberjack, rather than a word old friends use in private, or a title townsfolk mutter when he gets too close, but just.. a name, his name, Wirt's name.

“Of course,” Wirt continues, and his throat still feels tight, but he’s crying while smiling and he didn’t really know he could do that to begin with. He’s so happy that it leaks out of the side of him in the form of salty tears. “My name is Wirt.”

And now that he’s said it, he can’t stop. “ My name is Wirt .”

“My name is Wirt,” it comes out of him like the water that rushes down the current of the river and the ripples that spike over uneven pebbles and larger rocks. It comes out like the tears that rush from his eyes from joy because it is so clear to him. He was able to stick his hand inside of his chest and rearrange his ribs in a way that made it so he could pick out himself from the mess of bluebirds and witches and skeletons. He could find Wirt . “I’m Wirt .”

“I’m so happy for you,” the Lumberjack says, because he knows Wirt well enough to know that this is bigger than just his name. He knows Wirt well enough to know him through all of the facade’s he pretends to be, despite the fact that they have only danced this familiar waltz for less than a few days. “I’m so happy you could tell me.”

“ Wirt, ” Wirt repeats, testing the syllables on his own lips. Each sound of his name seems to quell the lump in his throat. Each whisper of the sound seems to soothe his throat. “I’m not a beast; I’m Wirt . Lumberjack, can you hear my name? Does it make you scream?”

“Wirt,” Lumberjack repeats, testing it out on his own lips. His face breaks out into a grin as soon as he does, and Wirt can see his reflection in the glass of his retinas and the shine of his teeth. “ Wirt . It’s a pretty name.”

“And it’s all mine ,” Wirt responds, because with his own name comes his own selfishness. He does not seem to mind, not when it is his own name; not when it is himself. “Do not wear it out. I fear I do not have another.” 

Lumberjack laughs, tears in his eyes for his friend, and leans forward and wraps his arms around Wirt, it takes a second to register what’s happening before Wirt laughs too, hugging Lumberjack back, hugging this wonderful person that made his name not feel so wrong in his mind, not feel like a name, but a word to describe himself. Wirt can’t help but hold Lumberjack tightly, who responds by tightening his hold too.

For a while, he and Lumberjack stay there, hugging and rocking one another and laughing, Wirt feeling lumberjacks breath warm against his neck —He’s glad lumberjack can’t see his face, he knows he’s probably redder than a tomato right now— and somehow it feels like despite all that’s happened in these past days, and even these three years, everything will be ok, if just for a few minutes.

Thought Wirt knows Lumberjack has to go home, and likely ran here to find Wirt after waking up, and likely has a worried family to go back to, a concerning amount of Wirt longs for Lumberjack to stay, to be here in the Unknown with Wirt, to warm this pocket of reality, but.. Lumberjack has to go home eventually, and though Wirt hadn’t felt Lumberjack enter, he will always be there for his friend when he visits despite his warnings. 

It feels like it hadn’t been any time at all before Lumberjack pulls away, still staying close, but no longer interlocked like their hands remain, Wirt knows he and Lumberjack are still smiling ear to ear, he can feel every inch of his body lighting up, even the antlers he resented for so long feel like they may bloom with how much hope is resting in his soul —though sadly hope won’t keep the lantern lit, Wirt distantly adds “figure out how to make Edelwood trees without using lost souls” to his mental to-do list— and in his very being. Wirt feels words come easily, the veneer of old-timey speaking gone, say for tone.

“You should go home, Lumberjack, though I suppose we both know it won’t be for long, no matter how much I warn you” he says, Lumberjack deflates a bit, sadly nodding.

“Yeah, I guess… I did mean what I said a while ago, my family’d love you” he responds, something about how Lumberjack says “love” making his stomach do flips. Wirt finds his smile quieting, though never gone fully 

“Maybe one day, but I will warn again, coming here so much could be dangerous.. I don’t want you to be lost forever, your family shouldn’t mourn your loss” Wirt says, letting the words fall out, no matter how much he desires to keep his friend for himself, he could never do that, not really. Lumberjack is special, and cherished by those around him given his attitude and manner of behavior, he would not want to be the cause of a disappearance in Lumberjack's family.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Lumberjack manages, awkwardly chuckling as he rubs the back of his neck. Wirt offers him an empathetic smile, dragging his hands along the rough creases of the bark of his legs. His skin feels like his for the first time in a long time. It is a sense of euphoria he cannot forget. “Would you. Well . I don’t think I’ll be able to find my way out again. Is there any possible way you could, like —walk me to the edge of the Unknown?”

Wirt tilts his head to the side in consideration, eyes tickled with mirth. There is adrenaline running through his blood, and he does not seem keen on eliminating it any time soon: it has been a long time coming. “You would like me to accompany you as far as I can?”

“I don’t know, if you’re able to,” Lumberjack says, somehow managing to rub the back of his neck and dig the toe of his shoe into the dirt beneath him. Wirt finds himself a little endeared by the way his cheeks flush with something besides cold; this too has been a long time coming. Wirt does not remember the last time somebody blushed in front of him. “And it’s fine if not— really .”

Lumberjack manages a high-pitched laugh, shoulders shaking as he plays with a loose buckle to his hat.   “ Although I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of here without getting lost again . Direction is not my—”

“Lumberjack,” Wirt says softly, with a smile as soft as his own heart. He places a hand on Lumberjack’s shoulder, the same way Lumberjack had held his waist tight and cradled his skin like it was porcelain. “I would be honored to accompany you. It is my job to escort the lost, after all.”

“Cool, cool,” Lumberjack manages, but he smiles as he stutters over his own words. Perhaps if Wirt was a different person, he would tease him for the red of his skin and the replication of his words. Fortunately, Wirt is no longer the Beast he once was. He is the elephant and the bird and the aunt in passing, but himself in the core. Wirt does not tease like his kin; nor berate like his friends. “ Cool .”

Wirt smiles, because he cannot seem to stop doing that. “Cool.” Wirt says as he stands up with a huff, wincing with the creak in his legs from being in the same position for what was likely hours, Lumberjack hesitating, looking like he wanted to help Wirt stabilize, Wirt waves his hands

“I’m alright, Lumberjack, I was just sitting too long in one position” he explains, Lumberjack looks dubious but nods, standing up as well and taking his hand when Wirt offers it.

“Alright, Wirt, where to?” Lumberjack asks, clearly trying to downplay his nerves, Wirt holds back a chuckle, instead responding.

“Off to your lodge, Lumberjack” he says, leading Lumberjack across the stream, he surprisingly gets over the slippery rocks quite well, Wirt himself often at least almost slipping on the rocks, Wirt wonders how often Lumberjack wanders about if he’s able to get lost enough for them to interact almost 3 times, Wirt finds he doesn’t mind Lumberjacks visiting, if only worried for Lumberjacks well-being.

The two laugh and just talk , not about anything in particular, just chatting, Lumberjack telling Wirt how he came upon his hat, how he learned how to sew just to transfer the symbol of his old hat to this newer one. Wirt can’t describe how wonderful it feels to not be feared by someone, specifically one who is lost so often, the lost often fear him, he knows this, but he can’t help but long for one of them to put aside fear to allow Wirt to help, that’s what he’s here for…

Wirt puts away his longing for now, he focuses on responding to Lumberjack how he can and following the path his soul lights up, watching for silhouetted footsteps only he has been able to see, having never been able to convince anyone that’s how he guides, the lighter the footsteps the more lost an individual is, though every time, Lumberjacks path has always been stark and firm, Wirt wonders if this  is because Lumberjack seems to have a good life, a well rounded and exciting one.

Lumberjack laughs at one of Wirts jokes, it wasn’t much, a simple pun.. but he can’t help but preen at lumberjack finding his jokes funny.

“I do wonder how that jackalope got so close to your home, Lumberjack” Wirt says, looking back to look at Lumberjack, who similarly grins, seeming to not know himself

“I know right? I think it might have been lured by Mabel’s popsicles she dropped a few days earlier, but I’ve got no clue” he says with a small laugh at the end, Wirt nods in understanding, unsure how one could let a popsicle stay there for so long, but pushing it away to focus on Lumberjacks story. 

But all too soon, the footsteps lead Wirt to a faint image of what he knows to be the Mystery Shack as Wirt pushes down the faint feeling of nausea, he hopes to one day visit the home-turned-shop, if only he didn’t get consumed by wood. Maybe Lumberjack's Grunkle would be kind enough to show Wirt his stock from the tree line, though he doubts it from what he knows of the man.

“Lumberjack, we have arrived at your home” Wirt calls, turning to look at Lumberjack, who nods while looking morose.

“Yeah looks like it,, uhm, thanks for helping me out, Wirt, if you want, I can uh… I can tell the others about us- you , and uhm, I can bring maybe Mabel?” Lumberjack says, looking away after his slip up, though Wirt doesn’t mind. Wirt heavily considers, hiding his warms and his lantern within his cloak in thought, before coming to a decision.

“It is no problem, Lumberjack, hmm… if you so wish, and you are careful, you can bring your kin, I do not mind, though now I feel it is useless to warn you, I will remind of how dangerous it is to be here, let “alone to  bring others along” Wirt says, Lumberjack perks up, before getting a haunted look in his eye, before Lumberjack can ask if he’s alright, Lumberjack is putting his hands in his face with a groan..

“Lumberjack? Are you well?” Wirt asks, lumberjack nods through his misery

“Yeah, I just realized I’m gonna have to explain us to Mabel and my family.. I’m sure we will NOT hear the end of this, especially from Mabel” Lumberjack admits, and Wirt notices he doesn’t feel the pang of Lumberjack feeling worried about explaining him, but us .. it makes Wirt worry a bit less that he’s a burden, and he feels himself chuckle a bit.

“I am confident that while joking will be very prevalent, your kin will not be too rude, especially from what I have heard of them” Wirt answers, patting Lumberjacks shoulder with a smile, which seems to make Lumberjack lighten up, huffing a laugh himself, removing his hands to reveal a worried smile.

“If you're sure, I think Mabel may go a bit far, but’ll notice if your uncomfortable, she’s good with people like that” Lumberjack says, and oh dear how that makes Wirt feel giddy, being referred to as a person rather than a thing, Wirt nods, confirming that Lumberjack may feel free to bring his kin. Soon, the conversation goes quiet, Lumberjack soon speaking up.

“I.. guess this is goodbye, for now at least, I definitely will be back! I think you and Mabel would get along” he says, Wirt smiles (he’s been doing that more..) and nods.

“I suppose so, I await your next visit, Lumberjack” Wirt says, and Lumberjack grins, lighting up his face not too different to how the morning sun highlighted how Lumberjack's eyes crinkle endearingly when he smiles. Soon, Lumberjack and Wirt hug, the giddy feeling in Wirts chest returning full force, he hopes he didn’t squeeze too hard by the time they pull apart, Lumberjack holding his wooden hands for a moment before smiling, and wordlessly walking off, casting a grin and a wave as he trots home, away from Wirt, and towards a very interesting conversation.

Wirt hopes he returns soon, even if it’s bad or selfish to hope that the man returns quicker then his body can function. Wirt does not know if he deserves to be selfish, but he prays and he hopes and he dreams that he does.

“Mabel, you have to listen to me,” Dipper says with a smile, removing his hat with one hand and running his fingers through the front of hair with the other. His cheeks hurt from smiling and his hair is sticky from sweat and his skin is pink from. Well. Perhaps that is a secret for him and him alone. “The forest is just absolutely stunning. Like, genuinely . It looks like a scene from one of those Hallmark movies you like to watch.”

Mabel offers him a pointed look from where she sits on top of the kitchen counter, her legs crossed in a way that Grunkle Stan is able to access the pans in the drawer underneath her body without hurting her. “Is that your fifth cup of coffee?”

Dipper hesitates, turning to look at the mug on the dining room table before turning back to his sister. “Maybe.”

“Look,” Dipper says, shaking his head slightly. He had only gotten back from the Unknown a few minutes ago, and he’s already anxiously waiting for when he can sneak back out tonight. There is something addicting about the woods; about the boys and the beasts. “It’s unimportant. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

Mabel offers him another pointed look, her intention clear behind the wrinkle of her forehead. I would totally call you out for your bullshit if Stan wasn’t here . It’s sweet in a way that she’s not willing to narc on a buddy, and annoying in a way that she’s focusing on all the wrong things that Dipper is saying. He wants to plead for her to listen; to heed what he says and not what he does.

It is all for a good reason, he would tell her, if there wasn’t a responsible adult in the room making pancakes for dinner. There is a boy in the woods that looks just like a boy I used to dream about; perfect and magical and everything I’ve ever wanted.

“Have you tried taking one of those melatonin-gummies in the bathroom?” Grunkle Stan asks from where he stands in front of the door, scratching at a rash on his stomach as he thumbs through a mostly empty egg carton. “They’re shaped like that one cartoon. Kids these days like cartoons, right?”

“Didn’t Grunkle Ford buy those when he built the house?” Dipper asks with a pointed look. It is not beyond Grunkle Stan to accidentally feed them expired food. He still has memories of the time they had to make an emergency trip to the ER because Wendy ate a bag of candy she found in the back of the cupboard.

“It’s medicine,” Grunkle Stan responds with a shake of his hand, waving the question away. “Medicine doesn’t expire.”

“I don’t—” Dipper starts, making eye contact with a grinning Mabel. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“What is this, the nineties?” Grunkle Stan asks, shutting the door to the fridge with an arched brow. Mabel laughs as he makes his way to the mixing bowl on the table, and Dipper picks up his mug with the speed of a falcon. Dipper does not trust him next to anything spillable; he has learned his lesson, true enough. “Next you’re going to be telling me that we can’t give kids medicine anymore.”

Mabel laughs again , because she’s determined to be nothing but the annoying sister that Dipper adores. Dipper glares at her, replying through a roll of his eyes. “Grunkle Stan, it’s illegal to give kids medicine. That’s drug dealing.”

“Did somebody mention drugs?” Wendy asks, entering through the door that leads to the Mystery Shack’s gift shop. She slides a coat on with ease, collecting her bags before leaving for the end of her shift. “Who’s buying?”

“Good night, Wendy,” Dipper says with another roll of his eyes. He loves his family—he really, really does—but sometimes he’s astonished at the rapid rate as to which they can derail a conversation. He thinks that this ability could win them an award; maybe even two.

“Good night, squirt,” Wendy says with a grin, messing up his hair as she walks past and towards the front door. Mabel chimes in her farewells from where she sits on the counter, and Stan grunts as she leaves. “Actually, Stan, can I talk to you about stock for a moment?”

“I don’t know,” Stan responds, squinting at a page for a recipe for blueberry pancakes. “Will I like it?”

“Probably not,” Wendy says with a shrug of her shoulders. She is one of the only workers they have here besides Soos and themselves, and she knows that she is more important to them than they are to her. Plus, she’s family: they do not fire family. “Here, I’ll leave through the Mystery Shack entrance. Come on.”

It is a miracle that Grunkle Stan leaves as quietly as he does, grumbling underneath his breath about stock and capable brothers and Wendy’s paycheck. Dipper watches as they leave, nursing his mug of coffee in between his cupped hands as he takes gentle sips. When the sound of the door closing echoes through the room, he is quick to turn back to face Mabel, eyes wide with something akin to excitement. There is a boy out there ( a real boy ) and a place where he belongs ( a real place ) and something that makes his heart flutter ( beat in his chest until he hears it in his ears ).

“ Please , Mabel,” he asks again, and he can hear the plea intertwined with his own voice. “I promise you’re going to love it.”

Mabel narrows her eyes at him, tilting her head in suspicion. Dipper works with monsters and machinery, and she works with humans and emotions. They are two sides of the same coin, covering each other’s weaknesses and strengths and doing what the other can’t. They are the Pines Twins. “You could care less about the forest, couldn’t you. You just want me to meet his mysterious boy you keep talking about.”

And she grins like a star, bright and forever burning. “Do you know his name? How old is he? Have you guys held hands yet?—” she slaps a hand over her mouth in excitement. “—Have you kissed yet?”

“We’re just friends,” Dipper says, but his cheeks are still pink and he can still remember hugs and smiles and the excited proclamation of names and feelings. “That’s it.”

“But you wish it would be something more,” Mabel says, jumping off of the counter and poking him in the arm. She does not stop grinning, continuously positive. Dipper would admire the skill if he wasn’t too busy trying to hide his smile behind the rim of his mug. “You want him to be your boyfriend .”

“Mabel!” Dipper says. “That’s not true.”

Mabel offers him a pointed look. Dipper rolls his eyes ( again ).

She walks past him with a shrug of her shoulders, walking towards the door that leads to the Mystery Shack’s gift shop. A smile is still wide on her face ( Dipper does not think she would be Mabel Pines without her signature braced-face smile and dimpled cheeks ) as she turns around, walking backwards. “I’ll meet you after breakfast tomorrow, if you want. Personally, I think you guys are going a little fast—I mean, meeting the family already ? You’ve only—”

“ Mabel! ” Dipper says, glaring at her as she giggles off into the night.

Chapter Text

Dipper could feel how bad of an idea this is, but he already knows that Wirt and Mabel would get along well, thus giving Wirt brownie points towards not getting teased too badly, but oh dear will Mabel make fun of him for this. Does he actually want to do this? Yes, he’s confident the others at the Mystery Shack would love Wirt, is he still unforgivably anxious that something will go wrong anyway? Also yes.

Dipper decides to manhandle his stress by packing his bag to head to the Unknown with Mabel, he’s gonna start slow to not overwhelm his friend, Wendy would probably be the best person to introduce Wirt to first, but he thinks it would be a better idea to show Wirt (wow his name is so cool, what led to Dipper being told Wirts name?? Why him??) Mabel first since he has a better idea of who she is, putting a face to a name and all that.

He just prays and hopes and begs to whatever overhead power that is listening that Mabel does not make a complete fool of him ( which he knows is a lost cause. It is like dedicating all of his time to teaching an old dog the same new tricks. Mabel derails conversations just like she laughs; it is a part of her that Dipper had learned to accept ). He knows that there is a flutter in his chest and an uneven stammer in his chest at the idea of even seeing Wirt again, and Dipper doesn’t know what this means. Doesn’t know if it is something Mabel can ruin.

“Man, why are you packing everything you own?” Mabel critiques, appearing out of seemingly nowhere as she places both of her hands on Dipper’s shoulder and grins with metal. “What, are you planning to move in already ?”

“You’re so annoying,” Dipper responds with a roll of his eyes, but he also subtly unpacks the toothbrush he had snuck into the side of his backpack. He supposes it was a little silly: he doesn’t think Wirt has a working sink.

He immediately hears Mabel’s voice inside his head, chiding him. That’s what you’re worried about?

“It’s in my contract,” Mabel says with a shrug of her shoulders, walking around Dipper and sitting down on the bed next to his bag. She strings the end of her finger through the wires of her braces, occasionally pulling her finger away to check the nail bed. It is funny in the way that Mabel is acting like she is her own nail file. Funny in the way that both of them know it’s just a distraction; for her and Dipper both. “I was required to be as annoying as possible as soon as you came out of mom’s womb. I saw the gooey, slime-covered—”

“ Stooop !” Dipper interrupts, already squirming in his seat. Mabel laughs again, because it’s a part of her contract as his sister.

  “Nope! It’s my job to be gross! Just following orders, bro bro!” She cackles, Dipper swats at her with a slipper he was thinking about packing, but remembered the floor being covered in twigs and decided against it, vowing to have one pair of nice house shoes.

 “That does not mean you get to squick me out, or must I retaliate?” Dipper responds, putting a hand on his hip and glaring at his dear dear sister , who just gives him the most shit-eating grin he’s seen ever recently, clearly she doesn’t believe he can do it, but low, Dipper has gotten ammo, he lets himself grin and reach under Mabel’s bed and pulls out a bottle with a letter in it, one Mabel had gotten their first year. And the moment he pulls it out, he’s won, Mabel’s face drops into a glare.

 “Oh, what’s wrong, dearest sister? Not willing to confront your past?” Dipper taunts, wiggling the bottle in the air and returning the favor by pulling on the smuggest grin he could muster. But it appears he flew too close to the sun, for Mabel returns him digging up her past mistake by bringing up the one thing they both agreed to bury

“Wendy”

“Oh fuck ooooffff , I was 12!” Dipper moans, Mabel cackles and snatches the bottle of of his hand and stashing it under her bed once again, it clinking with other bottles Mermando had sent but quickly lost interest in

“ Wirt ,” Mabel quips just as fast, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed as she tilts her head at the angle, grinning in a way that Dipper knows will make her cheeks ache and her cracked lips bleed. “Which, speaking of. You’re going to be late for your date .”

And her voice carries the hint of a song near the end of her sentence, the airy tune and light pitch causing Dipper’s cheeks to flush red at nothing but the implications . He decides that the idea of going on a date is what he should worry about; not the idea of holding crackly and wooden hands and feeling the soft skin of hollow cheeks. He thinks that he is more embarrassed at the idea of being in love then he is at the images that he conjures up with ease. Images of removing red hats to run his hand through soft brown hair and stuffing his nose in the space between a neck and a shoulder and doing nothing more than inhaling .

Dipper thinks he is more embarrassed by the idea of accidentally brushing hands with a totally nonexistent person than the idea that Wirt smells like crackling fire wood.

“I literally told you his name an hour ago,” Dipper says with a roll of his eyes. “How are you already using it against me?”

“Oh, trust me,” Mabel says, her grin continuing into her next sentence as she places her hands on the ends of her knees, the perfect image of innocence and poise. “I’ve been using it against you before I even knew his name. As soon as you came home from this mysterious forest a few days ago I’ve been conjuring an image of your perfect guy in my head.”

“At first, I thought he might be a ginger, like Wendy,” Mabel hums. Dipper chooses to let her continue talking, letting out an exasperated sigh as he continues to pack. There are items that he thinks he could bring that he doesn’t need ( a boat in a bottle that he placed himself. A moccasin made by the wood outside the Mystery Shack. Candy and treats and all of his favorite food. Things that he wants to show Wirt like a rooster boasts his feathers ) and items that he needs but doesn’t bring ( an inhaler, which probably makes him look “lesser” in the eyes of a beloved. A toothbrush, because Wirt doesn’t have a sink. Almost an annoying sister, who’s determined to score him a date ). “But then I realized that’s so —” she elongates the word for a few seconds, causing Dipper to look over his shoulder with a pointed expression “—not your type.”

Mabel pauses, inspecting and suspecting. Then, the ends of her mouth turn upwards and Dipper can see the reflection of the sun bounce off the metal of her braces. She grins like the Cheshire Cat, and is just as sly. “Is he taller than you?” And just like that Dipper has lost once again, he feels his blood run cold and his smug grin drop, Mabel grins wider as if she knows the answer already.

“I knew it, you said it was a coincidence but I knew it ” Dipper doesn’t want to accept it, he doesn’t want to accept that Mabel was right, and that he owes her 20$ and a “you were right, I guess”, but god he knows it’s true.

He has a type, and he knows that the moment Mabel sees Wirt he will never hear the end of it, he’s prided himself on being the only pines to not date (or try to date) the supernatural, and now this?? His already fragile pride is shattered into glass, but he has to say something, the bet says so.

“Ughh… you- hhghhhh - you…” Dipper bites out, feeling shame wash over him for letting this happen.

“What is it, dear brother of mine?” Mabel taunts, grinning at him “ What are you trying to saaaay???”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Mabel. Uuughhhhh I don’t want to do this… Fine! Fine, you were right, Mabel, I have a type, you happy now?” Dipper bites out, nausea of admitting so making his head spin and make his ears burn, he’s endlessly thankful Wirt isn’t nearby to hear, Dipper looks up from hiding his eyes, and regrets it because instead of a smug grin, Mabel is wearing the one face he wished he’d never see her wear in this scenario.

Her thinking face

“Waaait. Mabel, no, Mabel, don’t you dare do what I think your going to do I swear”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do!” Mabel exclaims, grinning through the cusp of her sweater as she gets off of the bed. Dipper watches her warily, zipping the front pocket of his backpack with something akin to hesitance. “For all you know, I might be planning to—” she hesitates, never really good at coming up with excuses on the spot “—pack bread! You know . Just in case I want to feed the ducks.”

Dipper gives her a pointed look. She has the nerve to shrug her shoulders with a grin that screams nativity. It is the same smile she wears to her choir concerts and when sitting a few feet away from an unsuspecting lifeguard on the beach. “ You’re going to feed the ducks.”

“I could!” Mabel says, fluttering her eyelashes to the point where it is obvious ( even to Dipper, who has a hard time telling the difference between what is obvious and what is not ) that she is trying to be comedic. She is trying to be anything but subtle. “I’m a very nice person, wouldn’t you know.”

“I’ve never seen you feed the ducks in my life.”

“Why, Dipper,” Mabel manages, pressing a hand against her chest with a dramatic gasp. His sister has done one school musical in middle school and has suddenly demanded that she is the only twin who can act ( but in the back of his mind, Dipper finds that he does not care. She can act in a way that is obvious; a way that makes people laugh. Dipper will act in the corners of a dark room, hiding secrets that are already hidden. He feels like an actor playing a guard, keeping watch to who enters the bones of his rib cage and can brush careful fingers against the surface of his heart ).

He traces the pattern of his ribs along his shirt, absentmindedly. Mabel has taken the role of a valley-girl, her voice a few octaves too high. “Are you implying that little ol’ me isn’t a perfect little angel?”

“You sound like Gideon.”

“Little ol’ me is hurt , brother,” Mabel says through a gasp, throwing herself on top of Dipper’s bed with ( another ) overdramatic noise. It sounds like the sound that comes out of the mouth of an elephant when it is dancing around little rats, scared and hurt and confused ( he does not know why his mind automatically flashes to elephant-themed metaphors ). “You owe me something. Like . Maybe I should get to play matchmaker for you—” she fumbles through her words, still speaking in a high-pitched, sing-songy tone “—or something .” 

Dipper can’t describe how worried he’s getting, wait no worried isn’t quite the right word, maybe existentially dreading? Yeah that’s better. Dipper can’t describe how intense the existential dread he’s feeling right now is, he’s hoping that Mabel won’t embarrass him too hard, he’s fine with light teasing and all, but he’s nervous that laying it on too thick would scare off Wirt, Dipper hasn’t missed how animals nearby stepping on twigs makes him flinch a bit, and how detached he was when they first met. Something tells Dipper that if there’s any other people in the unknown, they don't like Wirt very much.

“Suffer. Please , just go get your stuff ready and let me pack, Mabel” Dipper says, pouring as much loving exasperation into his words as he can, Mabel huffs and jumps off his bed and grabs her own bag, it’s much smaller and she definitely doesn’t plan on packing much ( Dipper internally notes to pack her and his inhaler despite his earlier hesitation ), and Dipper realizes that this bag is gonna be heavy as hell, and as he realizes this, Mabel does too, apparently .

“Bro, do you really wanna pack that much?? We both know it ain’t easy being wheezy and that thing looks heeeeavy ” Mabel asks, leaning back so she’s looking at him upside down, she does the little Italian hand pinch thing to emphasize her words. Dipper rolls his eyes, and subtly takes out the wooden moccasin, the bag already feeling lighter.

“Yes yes, I’ll be fine, and make sure to pack your inhaler, you always forget then I have to pack both of ours” Dipper retorts, Mabel rolls her eyes in mimic to his

“Puh- lease , it was one time! And I’ll double make sure to pack! I’ll even make sure to pack your inhaler that you oh so conveniently forget, don’t think I don’t notice you trying to leave it at the shack when hitting the town!” Mabel scolds. Groaning, Dipper makes a show of packing his inhaler in the front pocket, ignoring the sting of “wow I really hope Wirt doesn’t think it’s nerdy to use an inhaler” with his own thoughts of “he lives in the woods, I highly doubt he thinks that” to keep the bad thoughts at bay.

He and Mabel soon delve into a completely off topic conversation that came from ducks and soon went to ducktective, Dipper thinks that the team taking a break before starting the next season is reasonable, given the quality of the show, and while Mabel agrees, she thinks it’s a slippery slope from taking a break to quitting the show.

And it’s the conversation about Ducktective ( which eventually turns into a conversation about how that show from their childhood is getting renewed for another season, to the idea that Mabel is watching this campy lesbian television show about cannibalism and sex and things that their parents would not let them watch at home and then how Dipper wants to see their Grunkle’s reactions to the High School Musical movies next time they have a movie night ) that carries the through the house and towards the front yard. It is the silly conversations that mean absolutely nothing that carries their voices high above their head, like an invisible mist that leads them to the depths of the woods that Dipper has only ever seen Wirt in. It is the off tune singing of songs from a summer camp they went to when they were six and the laughter of two teenagers that pulls the sun down from it’s place in the middle of the sky, dipping lower and lower and lower into the horizon until everything is a ghastly orange.

“Are we almost there yet?” Mabel asks through a groan, walking somewhere behind Dipper as they linger through the single-file path that the woods have carved for them. “My feet hurt . I can’t believe you thought bringing moccasins was a good idea.”

“I wasn’t going to actually wear them,” Dipper says with a roll of his eyes. He recognizes the pattern of birch trees that surrounds them, and there is a spike of anxiety that crawls up the spine of his back and into the back of his head. His cerebellum tingles with anticipation and makes his balance go dizzily blurry. He does not recognize this path .

“Can’t believe you fell for a guy that would have been impressed by moccasins ,” Mabel says, a sort of scared reservoir to her tone. She says it like she truly cannot believe it; cannot believe that Dipper is in love with a guy who is just like him in almost every way. It comes so natural for him; to fall in love. Body, heart, soul; it is easy when they are the same person.

He steps on his shoelace and trips over his own two feet. What is he saying . “I didn’t fall for him. We’re just friends.” 

( Which is the truth. Dipper is not in love with him; he does not know why the thoughts that come are so fast and so intrusive. Wirt is a truck with blinding white headlights and Dipper is a deer on the road; it is coming fast and loud but Dipper cannot move. He is entranced ). 

“Uh huh, sure, yeah, ignoring your eyes going all gooey and stuff whenever you even think about him, don’t think I don’t see you giggling while you're thinking about this guy!” Mabel taunts, flicking Dipper's forehead as best she can with his hat in the way, but the sentiment is the same.

“You are the worst, I promise he isn’t that weird, ok?” Because Dipper is gonna get relentlessly teased for it, he better do some fast pre-damage control, he cannot be having Mabel thinking Wirts this weird guy hanging out in the woods, then reveal him to not only be that, but also an absolutely incredible cryptid that Dipper can’t help but admire.

“Mmhmmm, weeeelll, I guess we’ll see when we eventually get there, seriously how far in the woods does he live??” And like clockwork, Dipper sees the trees transition to autumnal ones, twigs and leaves litter the ground more, and it gets just a bit cooler. Dipper embraces the twinge of excitement coursing through him.

He’s back in the Unknown, and this time Mabel is with him.

…He’s back in the Unknown… and this time, Mabel is with him

Oh this was such a bad idea, oh god why is Dipper doing this, he’s never gonna hear the end of it! He’s prided himself for 3 years for being the only Pines that hasn’t dated some kind of supernatural being! (He isn’t sure about Grunkle Stan, but given his comments about “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”, he’s pretty sure Grunkle Stan fits into the monsterfucker stereotype this family is shaping up to be) And now he’s having Wirt meet the family already?! What is he thinking! He should have warned Wirt that his family is actually insane, or something!

Ugh, but what’s done is done, and Mabel is starting to notice the change in atmosphere, given her rubbing her arms and curiously looking around

“..hey, are we in the right place, Dipper? I think we miiiiiight’ve taken a wrong turn or something.. where are we, Washington?” Mabel asks, muttering the last part, Dipper holds back the urge to scoff, if only it were that easy, Dipper remembers studying the places between Oregon and Washington for any sign of The Unknown, but nothing, just normal forest.

“No, we’re in the right place,” Dipper responds, taking another step forward. He finds it intriguing how the scenery has changed and the animals that stare at him are not something he recognizes, but the sun is still setting ( albeit, much faster ) and the sound of townsfolk singing the song of dinner time echoes against the trunks of trees from the far off distance.

“Dude, we’re super lost,” Mabel points out, her voice wavy with hesitance. Dipper turns around, waiting for her as she nervously rubs the sleeves of her oversized sweater. There are the remnants of a joke and a smile on her face, but it is melting down her skin like lotion in the shower, thick and buttery and gone . “In the middle of nowhere.”

“Exactly,” Dipper says, with a knowing smile. He knows that it is vile for him to treat Mabel like this: to watch her be scared as he tiptoes through the leaf-coated path that he has already walked through before, but it is also amusing for him to see his sister speechless. It is payback for earlier, just as sweet. “We are in the Unknown.”

“The Unknown?” Mabel repeats, arching an eyebrow hesitantly. Dipper gestures for her to follow him, and she does so ( and perhaps it is a question of trust, that Mabel follows him despite the fear that twinges her heart blue ). “Are you planning on killing me, or something? I’ve got to say, I don’t think killing me will, like. Increase your inheritance.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dipper says with another roll of his eyes, Mabel offers him a disbelieving hum, and Dipper knows that she is offering him the most disbelieving expression she can—with her brows drawn and her cheeks concave.

“I would hope not,” says a voice that makes Dipper jump ( and maybe he screams. Maybe ) and makes the birds in the trees fly away. Dipper can hear Mabel muster a strangled gasp as he turns around, and he is both surprised and not to see the lumbering form of Wirt in the trees. “Blood does not do well when it seeps the ground the colors of the incarnadine.”

“Woah,” Mabel says, a little bit speechless and a little bit not. Then, she giggles. “You talk funny.”

“I am the guide of the souls of the lost,” Wirt responds, chin tilted downwards as he regards Mabel with an unreadable expression. Then, he seems to notice Dipper’s eyes on him. His head turns slowly and slightly, gaze lingering on the floor before finally trailing up the fabric of Dipper’s pants and the shirt that he wears. There is a flash of self-consciousness that soaks Dipper’s skin, and he wonders if he wore the right clothes, chose the right day. “Lumberjack. You do not appear lost.”  

“Hey Wirt! It’s good to see you again” Dipper says, not pushing down the grin that spreads across his face, he sees Wirts face soften a bit as his friend steps closer, stepping out from the tree line. Mabel makes a strangled sound but Dipper ignores it.

“It is good to see you too, Lumberjack, I see you brought your sister?” Wirt says, tilting his head in Mabel’s direction, Dipper nods and looks at Mabel, who has almost visible gears turning in her head, Dipper has a moment of peace before it all goes to shit , shit meaning Mabel turning her head to Dipper, and slowly grinning

“Oh Dipper ” he shouldn’t have brought Mabel here, Dipper buries his face in his hands, but that doesn’t help because Wirts here and can see all of this, Dipper wishes Mabel would just not

“Mabel, please no, he’s right here” Dipper asks, peeking through his fingers and seeing Mabel with her full Cheshire grin, and Wirt in the corner of his vision very pretty and very confused.

“Ohhh no no no, you tell us for years that you're "the only person in this family who isn’t a monsterfucker” and then you turn around and befriend who? My dear brother? A cryptid ” Mabel grins, Wirt looking more confused and Dipper wishing he didn’t exist

“… I apologize, but am I interrupting anything?” He asks, voice quiet, Dipper finally gets himself to drop his hands and look at Wirt (he does not want to think about how he’s pretty in noon day light) with his face and ears burning (whyyyy did Mabel have to say it like that?? He’s trying to not tell Wirt he wants to hold hands and junk!!) 

“No, you're fine, honestly.. my family just uh, kinda has a history with uhm.. befriending, the supernatural, so since I hadn’t had that type of friendship with anyone besides humans, I joked that I was the only normal one, but uhm.. yeah not really.. not to say you're wrong! No you're awesome, Wirt, I’m just gonna get teased to hell and back once Mabel tells absolutely everyone in Gravity Falls..” Dipper explains, stumbling over his words and rubbing the back of his head, Wirt seems to understand, luckily, as he nods sagely

“I see, I hope you do not get teased too much, teasing is fun but it is best to know boundaries” Wirt says, and god yeah Dipper agrees, he nods back sagely, mimicking Wirt.

“Are you from Shakespeare times or something?” Mabel asks with an arch of an eyebrow. She has no bounds, nor a trickling of understanding of what the words ‘personal space’ mean. She leans in with her upperbody, grabbing at the shawl that Wirt wears with the pad of her pointer finger and thumb. Wirt seems surprised, but Dipper does not think he minds.

If anything, Wirt looks touched .

“I do not think my appearance screams with the lines of age,” Wirt says, and he phrases it like he’s insulted at the implication that he’s old, but then he turns to Dipper ( like he’s searching for a reaction. A response. Dipper wonders if he wants a laugh from Dipper specifically ) and he grins knowingly and Dipper knows that it’s a joke . A joke in the way that only the socially inclined figure in front of him knows how to tell. “Do you know, Lumberjack?”

“No,” Dipper says, and he has to cough because his voice cracks. Mabel laughs, and Wirt’s smile seems to grow at the positive response to his silly quip. Dipper doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Mabel is laughing at Dipper’s cowardice. “ No , you look great! Better then great, even! Super young.”

“No, but really,” Mabel interrupts. Thank God , Dipper finds himself thinking. His mother used to call him a dysfunctional faucet, leaking and leaking and leaking with no idea when to stop until he has nothing more left to give. It is a problem when he is faced with the blearing white headlights of the sclera, peering deep . “How old are you?”

And she says it in a way that makes Dipper’s blood run cold, because he recognizes the glare that his sister’s eyes hold, and the slow way that her irises sweep up and down the lumbering form of Dipper’s friend. She is sizing him up, for better or for worse. A cat with fangs playing with it’s pray, luring it in with gentle conversations before she sinks her teeth into the heart until it cracks.

“I am as old as you, I fret,” Wirt responds gently. His hands stay still by his side as he watches Mabel’s hand drag down the inside of his shawl, feeling at the itchy fabric that Dipper remembers against the inside of his hands like a dream. She touches it without any of the same love he did; does not worship it in a way Dipper recognizes. “Young enough to be a monster of contemporary, and old enough to know that I should have known better.”

Mabel looks visibly confused at Wirt's response, pulling back her hand (Finally, Mabel, give Wirt some space!!!) and practically glaring at him in a way that has Dipper prepared to mediate if it goes wrong, but it appears he doesn’t need to? Mabel takes a moment of analyzing Wirt like he’s algebra homework, before nodding.

“Yeah, I can understand that” she does not understand that??? What?? Mabel, what are you playing at? Dipper has his turn of glaring at his sister, she glares back before grinning, and turning back to Wirt.

“Soooo, how’d you and Dip-dop meet?” She asks, slinging an arm around Dipper, to which he yanks it off. Wirt tilts his head in thought, seemingly mulling over an answer, before responding.

“We met a few weeks ago when he was lost the first time, I believe he explained that you two were chased down by a goblin, and got seperated” He responds, Dipper nods and speaks up before Mabel can realize what that means.

“Yep, that goblin thing that could turn people to stone we were researching? That’s about when I first got into the Unknown and met Wirt” Dipper says, explaining to Mabel, who looks between the both of them, and Dipper is hit with another wave of oh shit why is he doing this Mabel is never gonna let him hear the end of this that he has to fistfight to keep his face calm. He distantly wonders what Wirt is thinking right now, Dipper wonders if Wirt’s fighting back laughter at how stupid Dipper is, before turning to that thought and internally screaming Wirt has never once made fun of me or teased me, why would he start now?? To push it down

Mabel speaks up again, oh god what’s she gonna say now? “I seeeee… Say, Dipper, why didn’t you have me meet Wirt sooner?” She asks, well, shit, how does he explain that he still wishes he hadn’t introduced the two of them?

“Oh, uhm, I was, getting to know Wirt first, I wasn’t sure if I could get into the Unknown multiple times so I hadn’t, uhm, I hadn’t thought of it, yeah..” Dipper cobbles together a lie, because it would be so, so much worse to say Oh, I have a major crush on him and wanted to keep this friendship to myself, you see? Because not only is that dumb, it’s also a jerk move

“How often have you guys been meeting,” Mabel asks through a sly grin, leaning into Dipper’s personal space as she bends the ends of her fingers to meet at a point underneath her chin. Dipper pushes her away with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the blush that coats his cheeks and the heat that seems to consume his limbs. “Apparently, Dipper’s been keeping secrets from me.”

“This is the fourth,” Dipper whines, and his tone shifts from something embarrassed to something pleading. He hopes that Mabel is able to comprehend the expression on his face, begging her to listen to what he is trying to tell her. He has never had a friendship as close as this; has never loved somebody as much as he thinks he could love Wirt.

And while Mabel’s grin seems to only grow wider with what can only be comprehensible as mischief, a different voice cuts her off before she can open her mouth. Dipper would say that he’s never been as thankful for the intervention that Wirt poses as he is right now, but he thinks that would be a lie.

“Kin of Lumberjack, come,” Wirt says softly. He tilts his head to the side, antlers tilting with the slight shift of the head. It only takes gentle movements for him to look magical in the sun that sets, form visible by the orange that seeps through the cracks in the tree. “What do you wish to be called?”

“My name’s Mabel!” Mabel exclaims, grinning wide with pearly white teeth and reflective metal braces. Wirt furrows a brow, slowly turning to look at Dipper, who does not understand the confusion that crosses over his expression. “Like table. Or fable.”

“Or bagel!” Dipper adds with a laugh, because he knows Wirt likes poetry; if not for the way he speaks and the way he ennunciates. He cringes afterwards, embarrassed at his out-of-pocket addition to a conversation that did not originally include him.

But Wirt does not appear to mind. The end of his mouth turns upwards in a turtle-like smile, small and full of whimsy. “Intriguing.” 

“Agreed, it’s an old inside joke from when me and Mabel first visited Gravity Falls” Dipper explains, grinning, Mabel nods sagely as Wirts eyes shine in interest

“Oh? I see, would you mind telling the story?” Wirt asks, and Dipper internally cheers at getting Wirt to come out of his shell more, if he plays his cards right, this won’t go as bad as his nightmares. Dipper nods and gets into the story of the Goblewonker, Mabel adding in occasionally when Dipper misremembers some things.

“Hmm, that is very interesting, Lumberjack, did McGucket ever make anything else?” Wirt asks, leaning against a tree, his eyes glowing with a calm curiosity behind them (Mabel meanwhile raises an eyebrow as her brother and his crush talk. Dipper is in deep , she hopes Wirt doesn’t break his heart). Dipper nods

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s helped with repairs to the shack, he’s helped Grunkle Ford with his more recent inventions, and probably other things now that I think about it” Dipper responds, counting on his fingers as he lists, Wirt nods in understanding.

“I see, he sounds like a smart man” Wirt says, Dipper knows he’d love to meet Old Man McGucket, but something tells Dipper it’s not the smartest move to bring in an old man into a magic maybe purgatory, but Dipper nods anyway

“He really is, I think I told you about the time he got his memories back, beforehand he was… uhm, less so, to put it nicely” Dipper says, wincing slightly, Wirt also winces, surely remembering the story he told last time they met (Mabel is mildly shocked, her brother, Dipper, putting something nicely? Wow, he really does like Wirt, she’s gonna have to file that away for further blackmail)

(Not like she hadn’t filed it away already. It was her duty as Dipper’s twin sister to remember everything embarrassing that ever happened to him. She watches the way he blushes when Wirt walks too close and stammers when Wirt tilts his head in understanding; she watches as he hands him caterpillars that cross the path before him and point out buildings that look abandoned in the distance. It’s like she is the third-wheel to a party where she was the only intendee. Like she was watching a movie she never even stared in.)

“I am afraid I could not forget the horrors you described, Lumberjack,” Wirt continues, voice soft as he walks stride-in-stride besides Dipper. Dipper feels touched for an odd reason that only puppy-love can bring. There is the knowledge that Wirt is taller then him; has longer legs then him, and he is still walking slow enough that Dipper almost feels faster . Dipper thinks this would be enough for him to fall in love if he wasn’t so deeply enamoured already. “The idea of a brain that I do not own stains my mind like the color of grass along fresh linen.”

“Yeah, no, I understand that,” Dipper says through a laugh, removing his hat and playing with the flopped ends that curve easily under the guide of his fingers. He looks over his shoulder quickly, making eye contact with a smirking Mabel. He does not know how long she has been left out of the conversation ( however, he knows exactly how long he’ll be hearing about it when he ventures back ). “Mabel, do you have anything to add about McGucket?”

“I like his wife,” she says with a hum, voice sweet like sap. Then, she specifies, the first innocent intention she’s had all day. “The raccoon.”

“He adorns the heart of a raccoon?” Wirt asks through a furrowed brow, in a way that Dipper automatically deciphers as confusion and not judgment ( and that’s a wild thought. Dipper knows him well enough to know what the slight furrow of the wrinkle between his brows and the turned forward corner of a mouth means to a ‘t’. It is something that took thirteen years for him to perform with Mabel, and only two weeks with the boy in the forest. )

“Kind of?” Dipper says, voice a little high with uncertainty. “When he—uh—fell through the portal, he lost his mind, obviously. The raccoon seemed normal to him at the time. I think he actually left his then-wife to marry the animal.”

“He had a wife?” Mabel asks, eyes wide with surprise. Dipper offers her a weird look, confusion lacing his expression as he tilts his head slightly. He did not expect this confusion to stem from his twin sister, who has seen the same things and has met the same people that he has. Mabel must sense his confusion, because she is quick to backtrack. “I mean, I thought he and Ford were— you know !”

Dipper does NOT want to think about Ford and old man Mcgucket being together, it doesn’t sit right with him at ALL and he abhors his lovely sister for implying that

“Oh my god mABEL I do NOT want to think about that, why would you ever bring that up???” Dipper moans, hiding his face in his hat, he can feel Wirt curiously looking at him, no doubt trying to decipher what they’re talking about.

“I JUST THOUGHT IT WAS POSSIBLE!! Don’t blame me!!” Mabel retorts, he can picture her doing the Italian hand thing while trying to not laugh. Dipper groans, pulling his face out into the light, no doubt looking dead

“You also thought a puppeteer guy was good to date” Dipper points out, Wirt nods in agreement —Right, he told Wirt about that story, conveniently leaving out one of the more.. troubling parts— at his statement and it makes his heart flutter, Mabel rolls her eyes.

“Oh come ooooon , like you’re any better! You’ve never gone on a date, you’ve barely had any major crushes, and we both know you're too much of a coward to say anything when you do!” Mabel also points out, counting on her fingers while visably trying to not laugh, but it gets a chuckle out of Dipper, but before he can say anything, Wirt speaks up.

“I apologize, but why are you two fighting..? Are you not close?” Ahh right, he forgot to tell Wirt one thing, that he and Mabel have a contract to get on each others nerves whenever funniest

“Oh! Sorry Wirt, nah we’re fine, it’s a.. running gag that we try to get on each others nerves whenever it’s funniest, I should have told you though.. —uhm— Sorry” Dipper explains, rubbing his neck embarrassedly, Wirt shakes his head, the leaves on his antlers rustling with the motion

“Do not apologize, Lumberjack, I do not mind” Wirt responds, looking thoughtful for a moment before it goes back to his normal face —Which in Dippers memory kind of went from nothing, to worried, to calm and even a little soft, the implication makes his stomach roll—

“ I mind,” Mabel butts herself into the conversation, quite literally forcing her way between where Wirt and Dipper are walking to tie the loose ends of the conversation. Dipper knows she doesn’t care much to be the center of attention, but it is obvious that she is intrigued by the opportunity to extract revenge on her brother for mentioning the puppet incident—which is still something she cringes at two years later. “You should be treating your sister with more respect , Dipper. You only have one.”

She gestures towards herself with innocent hands and wide eyes, laced with a sort of feigned concern. Dipper recognizes it from the time she has acted on their middle school stage, overdramatic as always. When she sees Dipper’s unimpressed look, her face shifts from dramatic to mischievous, one of two settings that her body is automatically attuned to. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to leave a bad impression on Wirt, would you?”

“I’ve already told him these stories, Mabel,” Dipper says, fully aware that Mabel knows this. She is just looking for an opportunity to tease, and he is oh-so willing to provide those opportunities with open hands. “ And others. Speaking of which, would you say you remember our fourth birthday party or your first day of second grade more fondly?”

Mabel furrows a brow, amusement laced well hidden behind a disgruntled expression. “Touche, Pines. You play a dirty game.”

“You two impugn like it is a pastime,” Wirt says from the other side of Mabel, smiling politely through lips pressed together. Dipper knows him well enough to know that he is nostalgic; the type of nostalgia most often confused with forlorn distaste. Unfortunately, Dipper does not know him well enough to know what he is upset about. “I do too wish I could speak with my kin like you speak between yourselves.”

“Wirt, Dipper didn’t tell me you had a family ,” Mabel squeals, unknowing. Dipper freezes, eyes wide. There is a reason that he has not told Mabel—Wirt told him to forget about it, and he trusts Wirt enough to throw the thought into the deepest nooks of his own mind and cover it with blankets and shrubs alike. “Is your mom a deer and your dad a human? Do you have any siblings?”

And her questions are innocent enough, but Dipper still watches in real time as Wirt’s shoulders curl in on his neck. He has enough time to place a hand on her sister’s shoulder: warning, cautious. Something he could not say before.

Mabel seems to immediately sense the mood change, as the air gets a little colder, and the trees hang looser around them, as if guarding Wirt. Dipper shakes his head when Mabel opens her mouth to talk, not needing to say anything as Wirt speaks up

“It.. it is not something we must talk about, in Lumberjacks own words, it is a sore subject” he says, and “Sore” is putting it lightly. What should Dipper do.. last time he did the same thing Mabel did, he dragged Wirt along, running through the Unknown to take his mind off things, but he can’t exactly do that with Mabel here…

Dipper has an idea, he looks at Wirt and smiles, speaking up

“Hey, to change the subject, wanna tell Mabel how you ended up calling me ‘Lumberjack’?” Dipper says, keeping his voice soft, without its normal sharpness Mabel reported it having during a caffeine crash (she drank a record of 7 Mabel juice jugs, once she crashed she slept almost the whole day and only came out to blearily eat food and drink water and go to the bathroom), it’s a bit hard to smooth down something he doesn’t entirely know is there, but he manages, because Wirt blushes, and looks away, his shoulders loosening.

“I would rather not, frankly, it is.. highly embarrassing for me” he mutters, and Dipper laughs, turning to Mabel

“Weeeell if you won’t, I will!-“ “-Lumberjack please no-“ “-No no! You said you didn’t wanna! Anyway, Mabel,” Dipper says, Wirt cutting in with his hands waving for Dipper to stop, a blush covering his cheeks and ears —it’s a little funny.. and cute— as Dipper explains

“So, when I got lost for the first time and Wirt found me-“ Wirt groans, burying his face in his hands “-he forgot to ask me what my name is and vice versa, so he kept calling me ‘Lumberjack’ because of my hat” Dipper explains, Wirt shakes his head nearby in shame, his antlers rustling as Mabel bursts out giggling

“Can’t believe you guys got to have a How I Met Your Mother kind of meeting,” Mabel says, awe leaking from her voice. Dipper is quick to scoff, cheeks already blushing red as Wirt furrows his brow in confusion. He should have known that Mabel would ruin the playful moment of taunting teasing that he and Wirt had shared, endearing in a way that Dipper did not know it was until it ended. “These are the things that a romantic like me dreams of, Dips’.”

“Don’t call me Dips’,” is Dipper’s eloquent response, which merely causes Mabel to mutter it underneath her breath again with a cheeky grin.

“…What is this How I Met Your Mother greeting, and can you teach me its delicacies?” Wirt asks, which causes Dipper to grit his teeth in embarrassment. Go figure . He didn’t think that he would be the one who would have to explain Mabel’s absolutely horribly mortifying pop-culture reference to the cryptid that has lived in the woods for his entire life—especially when Mabel’s terrible pop-culture references are about Dipper’s not-so-subtle crush on said cryptid to begin with.

“It’s a terrible television show, Wirt,” Dipper begins, pulling on his thumb anxiously. He hasn’t even seen the show: how did their conversation get to this point? ( the answer comes to him easily in the form of the brunette on his side who is mumbling ‘Dips’’ under her breath repeatedly ). “Mabel’s making a joke.”

“Ah, I see,” Wirt says, and he looks down at the ground. Dipper recognizes the blush that coats his cheeks and he wonders what Wirt has to be embarrassed about: he is nothing if not God himself in Dipper’s eyes, unmistakingly perfect, without any flaws. Dipper thinks that Wirt could fall down the stairs after tripping on a banana peel and Dipper would think nothing if not highly of him. “I am apologetic that I do not know the silly words you say. I am apologetic that I do not know the silly words you say, for it ruins the fluctuation of the conversation. I have all these questions that you already have answered, which means I am pondering for the sake of nothing.” Dipper almost immediately goes to damage control, Wirt shouldn’t need to apologize for everything! If anything Dipper should probably work on explaining references better..

“Hey, it’s not on you! Don’t blame yourself for our teasing, a lot of people don’t get it either, so you're not alone” He says, patting Wirts shoulder and hoping he didn’t just do the wrong thing, but it seems to work as Wirt gives Dipper a smile, which he obviously returns, success! Mabel pipes up, hopefully, to agree

“Yeah, if anything we should proooobably reference more mainstream things, but it’s a little funny to see people get confused sometimes” Mabel mutters the last part, but Wirt seems to get it, because he nods understandingly

“I see, I will admit being nonunderstandable can be fun, but only in moderation, in my experience not being truely understood by anyone can be.. lonely” Wirt agrees, rubbing the back of his neck at his last words, Dipper feels indignation curl in his chest; how could someone not be friends with Wirt? Sure, he can be a bit eerie and hard to understand with his old English, but he’s plenty nice! Dipper has to stamp down his anger so it doesn’t show on his face, he’s been told he can be pretty expressive.

The conversation continues, until Wirt looks at the sun and seems to realize something

“Ah, I hate to interrupt, but I just saw how the sun has traveled, it appears it is time for you both to go” He says, and Dipper might be hallucinating but he’s preeeetty sure he heard something like remorse in Wirts words, which soon hit Dipper as he frowns, looking at the sun and seeing it is in fact in a different position, he has no idea what time it is though

“Oh wait you're right.. that’s kinda saddening.. well, care to guide us out, Wirt?” Dipper says casually, ignoring the pang in his chest saying to stay, just for a while longer , but he promised Grunkle Stan he’d help with the gift shop today, and he’s never been a fan of when Dipper tried to skip out of work (especially if he realizes it’s because of a crush, and especially if he discovers said crush lives in the woods and isn’t human) for random things.

“Of course, it is my pleasure” Wirt agrees, and turns to Mabel to explain what he explained to Dipper so long ago “Remember to not lose sight of my lantern, this place is easy to lose yourself in, and I never wish that fate on anyone” he says seriously, (part of Dipper thinks it’s a bit hot, he pushes that part of himself far down)

“How do you know where you can get out of the forest from?” Mabel asks, turning to look at the taller boy. Wirt smiles gently back at her, holding the handle of the lantern out in front of him with strong slender muscles of a wrist and bony knuckles that peak through skin. “I’d be completely lost. Everything looks exactly the same.”

“It is all I know how to do,” Wirt says, which is not a response that Dipper has heard before. It makes him wonder if Wirt is telling Mabel a story different then he had told Dipper ( which makes something inside him bloom with pride, because he is suddenly the type of person that you trust secrets with ) or if Dipper had just blindly assumed that Wirt knew the way out of the forest based on previous idealogy alone. “Do you know the dog that wanders back to the owner, or the ship that returns back to the sea?”

“No,” Mabel responds truthfully. “Oh, wait . Is that supposed to be a metaphor?”

“It is a metaphor in the way that it is true,” Wirt says, leading them to the left and past a moss-covered wooden sign marking the fork in the road. Mabel and Dipper follow blindly, but Dipper thinks he trusts Wirt with his life ( he is venturing blindly, but Wirt can be his seeing-eye dog. He is venturing blindly, but he does not think he needs his eyes to truly trust; he can feel smooth skin and rough bark and taste saltwater on pink lips ). “I speak of my home, which is akin to yours; the trees are my brothers like your father and mother. I know the forest like you know your own room, furniture familiar and wooden.”

“I think I’m starting to figure this guy out,” Mabel says quietly, not-so-subtly raising a cupped hand to her lips as she stage-whispers to Dipper. “He talks in riddles.”

“Blink twice if you need help,” Mabel says, turning back to Wirt with the same enthusiasm as before. “Blink three times if some evil witch in the woods cursed you into speaking like Romeo from that one Shakespeare book—” then, because subtlety is not her middle name, she grins like a wolf “—which I’m sure Dipper would appreciate. He’s a hopeless romantic, y’know. Always blabbering on about your—”

Dipper is quick to cup a hand over her mouth, which does nothing more then cause her to lick the back side of his hand. He is smart enough to pull away, knowing from experience that Mabel has sharp canines that sink into skin and lap up pretty red blood. “How about we play the quiet game?”

“It has been many a moon since I have last heard of the playwright Shakespeare,” Wirt says, changing the topic with ease like always. “I do remember reading a play of his in my college-level high school class. Hamlet, I believe.”

“ You went to high school?” Mabel exclaims, incredulous, at the same time as Dipper shouts: “I can bring you a different piece of his the next time we meet!” Wirt seems to briefly startle before answering both in his loveingly cryptic way

“Yes I did. And.. I would appreciate that, Lumberjack” he answers, pointedly looking away as his face colors a bit redder, and Dipper nods.

“N-No problem, Wirt! Happy to do whatever” Dipper says, forcing a laugh at the end to cover his slight awe at the thought that Wirt went to highschool, does this mean he was human once? Is there a school in the unknown? He has so many questions, but they all lead to one thing: Was Wirt human once? Dipper figures it isn’t his place to ask, so unless Wirt tell him it’s ok, Dipper won’t ask.

Wirt nods at Dippers response, tacking on a “thank you, now follow me” as he turns around again and keeps walking, Mabel hurrying to catch up, and Dipper easily following along (he also hurried a bit, Wirts a fast walker, ok?) with Wirt, taking a turn here, walking along a log as Dipper tells the story of what happened last time he and Wirt walked along a log, Wirt grumbling a “it’s not my fault the log was slippery..” while Dipper and Mabel both laugh.

Soon, Mabel gasps as she sees the Mystery shack enter their view

“Wait, how’d we get to the shack so quickly?? It took us ages to get here! It barely felt like any time went by at all!” She exclaims, it’s Wirts turn to be a little cheeky as Dippers friend smiles

“As I said before, it is one of my proudest skills to guide others who are lost, it’s simple to follow a path back when you already know the way” Wirt says, both answering Mabel and making Dipper chuckle at the acknowledgement of how much Dipper would get lost. But unfortunately, since they can see the shack, there’s no excuse for Dipper to stay, to be here with Wirt, and it feels awful to part ways.. but Dipper and Wirt both know he won’t let simple pocket dimensions stop him from visiting a (very pretty and so so intresting) friend!

“Well.. I guess it’s time we head out, right?” Dipper says, leaning against a tree, Wirt standing beside him doing the same, with Mabel on the opposite end

“It appears so, I did enjoy our time together… it was nice to meet you, Mabel” Wirt says, awkwardly fiddling with the wood of his hands (wasn’t it shorter last time they saw eachother?) like a scab, Dipper nods solemnly, and Mabel opens her mouth.

“Agreed, it was fun to meet you, Wirt! Even though you talk a little funny, your funner to talk to!” She says, and thank god she didn’t say anything stupid.

So, Dipper and Wirt properly stand up, and they make eye contact, and Dipper cannot look at those incredible eyes and not desperately want to stay here, but low, he promised Grunkle Stan he’d help out..

“Thank you, and I shall see you later” Wirt says, smiling at Dipper and Mabel (Dipper thinks he hallucinated but he’s pretty sure Wirt looked at him longer and smiled wider) and backing up, giving room to send off the two

Mabel waves goodbye, and Dipper throws Wirt a peace sign and a “See you soon, Wirt!” As he and Mabel walk towards the shack, preparing for just another day in Gravity falls.

——

He limbers on, a symbol of every creaking muscle and ache-filled bone in his body. The pain is something he does well to remember, seeping into his skin like the rain water soaks into the dirt below his feet. It had been strong enough that he was able to grit his teeth and smile and lead the Pines twins through the forest like a lighthouse; standing tall and brave with his lantern in tow. But now it is too strong. Now, the pain comes fast and quick like the back of a hand, striking hard against the wooden ombre of his limbs and leaving marks that change him in a way that he does not recognize.

You need to tell him , a contort of voices rings in the back of his head, like a choir from hell. He recognizes some of the voices; there is the high-pitched endings of a familiar blue-themed girl, and the slurred ‘r’s of a boy that he thinks is off doing bigger and better things. He does not know why they would even care about his ache and his pain ( that makes the pain strike more, hit harder. It makes him feel things he doesn’t want to admit ). You need to tell him that it hurts you, to wander so far to the border of the Unknown.

I cannot, he pleads with the voices inside his head. It is enough to make a man go crazy. I cannot tell Lumberjack that every trip closer to his humble abode is enough distance that it makes my head ache and my legs shake and my mind black. 

( Telling Lumberjack feels like a death sentence: telling Lumberjack means that he is telling the boy that something is wrong. That Wirt cannot escape the Unknown because he blew soft breaths and watched fire dance in his gaze in order to keep others safe. Telling Lumberjack means that he has to come to face with the mistakes that he has made; mistakes of coffins and little boys and crying late at night. Mistakes that he can never undo, no matter how much he calls for his mother at night ).

I do not need to tell him, Wirt tells the voices in his head, dragging his feet against the rocks and dirt trail in front of him. His fingers fumble around in his pocket, searching, scanning, waiting for skin to slide against smooth metal. Wirt quells the voices in his head with the only thing he knows how, a cork shaped in his own thoughts and words: I just need energy; sap.

With shaky hands, he burrows the end of his own makeshift spile into the edelwood tree that stands before him, lumbering tall and lengthy. It had been planted with the hands of the Lumberjack that came before him, watered with blood and fertilized with souls. Wirt is destined to one day follow the same route, but the idea scares him enough that he finds that there is a quality about himself that he had not yet discovered until he had taken on the role of the Beast: he is resourceful . He will use the materials the woods has given him until there is no more sap from the Edelwood trees.

Then, he thinks that the woods will go quiet and the lost will go lost. The people in the town can finally expand, grow, love. They will sing songs of joy and weddings then of fear and monsters. Wirt wishes he could see the day.

The voices in his head get louder. He twists the cork-shaped thought until the idea of the future comes to a stop. There is nothing but here and now and the yellow sap that runs down the bark of the tree, sweet like honey and as bestowed as the nectar of the Gods.

He is quick to get on his hands and knees, running hands down the slowly trickling stream of yellow sap that escapes the base of the tree. Wirt brings his cupped hands to his mouth and takes long, slow, sips. Each one makes him feel a little bit better; a little bit more awake; a little bit healthier. It makes the wood on his arms feel less like a shackle and ball, and it makes the antlers on his head feel a little less heavier.

It is ironic, he thinks, that the sap is yellow like nectar and heals him the same it would any God. Wirt knows that he is not a God—he prays to the constellations in the stars and the ants below his feet that he will live short years—but the forest seems to argue otherwise. The forest provides him with the juice of immortals and the power of health; it grants him wellbeing and smiles as he advances, everchanging to fit his needs.

He takes another sip of the yellow sap. It heals like nectar, but Wirt is no God: he will need to find more to quell the most of his aches.

His feet are heavy as he makes his way back through the forest. This time, they are not heavy because of the weight of his feet and the pain of the pounding of his head.

This time, they are heavy because there is a timer tick-tick -ticking in the back of Wirt’s mind, a constant reminder that the relief is temporary. That if he does not tell Lumberjack about the truth behind his journeys East towards the border, he will need more sap, and more sap leads to less time .

Three years, eight months, and three hundred and seven days. It has always been a question of time.

—

Hm, this is an interesting development! Mabel writes about her encounter with Dippin Dots’ crush, it looks like the feelings are mutual, but neither know.. fascinating! Mabel doesn’t mind playing matchmaker, she’s got this! It’s time Dipper finally got someone to match his dorkiness!

Chapter Text

Dipper laughs as he pushes away Mabel as he packs for another trip to the Unknown. He had waited a few days after his last trip with Mabel, and another one the day after, where it was much, much shorter than the last one, mostly because Wirt had looked… bothered by something, he said he didn’t want Dipper to worry, and since Dipper trusts his friend he didn’t push. But now the curiosity is eating at him to the point he has to return, just to make sure his crush friend is ok.

“Diiippperrr come oooon! Lemme come! I promise I won’t embarrass you too much!!” Mabel pleads, trying to not laugh as she clasps her hands together and busts out her “puppy eyes”, Dipper snorts and puts a hand to her face to push her away, pulling back in time to not get licked.

“Absolutely not, Mabel, I know for a fact your gonna bring baby pictures, or even that god forsaken lamb costume to make Wirt see, I am NOT risking semi-public humiliation so you can have a good laugh” Dipper retorts, successfully zipping his usual adventure backpack shut (it’s just an “aesthetic” bag he bought on Amazon and messed with until it looked cool and rugged, and not like it took Dipper hours, learning how to properly dirt stain a bag to make it look good) and tugs it on, vowing to check that Mabel hadn’t sneaked anything in while they were tussling.

“Gasp! Slander! Mockery! How dare?!” Mabel gasps, putting an offended hand to her chest, when given a deadpan look, she fakes dying, groaning as she flops on the floor like she has no bones.

“you wound me , dear brother”

“suffer”

The silence doesnt last long until they both start giggling like they were little kids about to visit a weird town in Oregon for the summer again, Dipper has to take off his bag to make sure nothing spills with how hard he’s laughing.

“Alright- hah- I gotta go now, you’ve got the Shack?” Dipper says through remaining chuckles, Mabel nods from her spot on the floor, pulling some weird gymnastics move to be on her feet.

“I’ve got it aaaaaall under control, bro! You go hang out with your bOOOYFRIIIEND!!” Mabel taunts, Dipper groaning and trying to silence her by putting his hand on her mouth, only to yelp and yank it away as it feels wet.

“Ah! Why do you always do that??” Dipper explaims, wiping his hand on his cargo shorts with a disgusted look on his face while Mabel cackles

“Because you never learn! Now goooo!! Go go go!” Mabel laughs, pushing him out the door repeatedly while saying “go” over and over, giving Dipper little time to be out the door to the Shack with his bag

“Ok ok! Going now! Bye!” Dipper complains, waving bye to Mabel as he heads off to the familiarly unfamiliar Unknown.

As he makes the trek back towards the familiar ends of what he knows and what he doesn’t, something curls in the pits of his gut. Sharp edges reaching underneath muscles and hot feelings boiling the bottom like acid. It is something positive; something that makes him walk with a skip in his stride and a prep in his step as he goes back into the depths of the Unknown.

He thinks that, maybe, there is something within him that knows that the lack of Mabel by his side means more time with Wirt himself. He thinks that there is something within him that plays the mantra he does not have to share like a cadence in the back of his head. He thinks that there is something so lovely about the idea of being lovely with Wirt.

This time, when the forest wanes from high to low and green to orange and smooth to curved, Dipper takes a moment’s hesitation as he stands at the point between two worlds. He does not recognize the paved trail that stands before him, and as much as he knows that that is the point of the Unknown, it makes him think that maybe he is more familiar with the forest outside the shack then he thought. 

He does not think he is lost.

But, a lack of the Unknown does not account for the shift in the color of the leaves and drop in temperature, so he takes another step forward: then another. It is an unnaturally occurring event, Unknown or not, and he will do good to write it down in the notebook that he holds in the bottom pocket of his backpack.

It takes around a hundred yards for him to reach something within the mass of tall birch trees and leaves that fall with every strong breeze

There is a town that rests before him ( straight out of a fairytale. Suddenly, he feels a wave of relief pass through his body: if he had brought Mabel with him like she had wanted, they would have never left). There is a small mass of houses—enough that Dipper’s gaze can trail to the other end of the horizon and he sees nothing but the forest again. The walls are wood, stained a dark cherry red, with moss growing on a stone tiling that covers the bottom. The windows are nothing more than wooden shutters, and hay bales stack outside houses like people themselves. It’s lovely and it’s homey and it’s something new . Something unfamiliar.

Something that is not Wirt. 

“Hey! You, boy!” Someone shouts from behind a fence, Dipper whirls around to see another person, but dressed as a farmer, wheat sticking out of his mouth and all. The old man looks worried, but in the old man way where it’s also a bit aggressive.

“Uhm- yeah, that’s me, if everything ok, sir?” Dipper asks, the farmer scoffs and gestures to the woods

“No, obviously not, the Beast is afoot, boy! Why are you traveling in his territory?! Do you have a death wish?” The old man scolds, Dipper has the urge to say ‘yeah’ and go on with his day, something about how this guy is obviously talking about Wirt rubs him the wrong way

“The Beast? Yeah I mean, he kinda lives out here, what do you mean?” Dipper asks, unwilling to let slip he’s friends with “The Beast”, sensing that’s a poor move, if anything else he can use this weird guy for information, he’s been wanting to research Wirt and his origins more, but everything he’s looked up leads nowhere, maybe someone living in the Unknown has more information?

The old man looks like he’s pitying Dipper, and he can feel a ball of indignation curl in his chest- Dipper has never liked pity, or liars.

“Boy.. you are treading dangerous territory. Do you not know the tales?!” The old man whisper-shouts, leaning closer from behind his fence, as if scared to speak up. Dipper knows this old man is probably crazy, but something about how this man’s face creases with worry makes Dipper unsure if he’s lying, so why not humor an old farmer?

“No.. I don’t, I’m just passing through”

The old man nods in sympathy, before speaking up again, his voice creaking and weary with age.

“I suspected so.. well boy, allow me to tell the tale, why we do not venture into the woods alone” the old farmer begins “The Beast is a monster, you see. For all my life and beyond, he has taken those who dare to venture into the woods away, legends say that The Beast turns those lost into Edelwood, to feed his dark lantern, and keep himself alive for eternity. “

“Even telling this tale is a risk, I myself have heard that he hears all, and punishes those who dare oppose him with a pestilence, a spreading sickness that wipes out a good harvest, wiping out entire villages in turn” 

The old man rambles, and Dipper can’t help but pay attention, this isn’t right.. Wirt said he’s like, 15, how could he be alive for ages? Maybe the title of “Beast” is passed down via bloodline? Wirt did seem to not like talking about his family, maybe his father or mother were the old Beasts, but passed that down to Wirt?

Something isn’t adding up, sure Dipper never saw Wirt without his lantern, or without knowing Dipper was there first… Dipper has to talk to Wirt, this old guy is messing with his head

“Uhm, yeah.. ok, Sir, uh, I’ve gotta go, good luck with your uh, your crops” Dipper says halfheartedly, gears turning in his head as he ignores the final warning from the old man to “Beware the Beast” and heads off, trusting his gut that those rumors are fake, and walking into the Unknown to confront Wirt. There's no way those legends are real! Wirt said himself that he’s Dipper's age, and he hasn’t lied yet, so why would Dipper doubt his best friend?

His mind is swirling with doubts as he brushes shrubbery out of his way and cuts corners through makeshift paths. He tries not to make assumptions; knows that he should trust his friend over the random heedful stranger any day, but it is hard not to speculate when the old man told everything with his whole chest. Like he truly believed, body and soul, that Wirt was dangerous and frightening and that it was all a trick —a card up the sleeve and a rabbit in a hat ( so vulnerable to the sharp canines of a fox. Sitting in its velvet cage so delicately, just to be grabbed, tossed around ).

Dipper thinks he is a rabbit. 

Now, while wandering through the woods, later in night when he can hear his sister’s sleep-filled breathing. He is a rabbit, with eyes wide with the white of their fur and innocence in hand like a weapon. Later, not now, but soon, he will think about how Wirt lies where he sits, nothing more than an enigma. Wirt has called himself a mixture of everything he has ever met; Dipper and Mabel and the townsfolk and perhaps even his parents: perhaps the beast is hereditary, the anger and rage.

 ( He is wrong, he thinks. Later, while in the crook underneath the shade of the tree. Later, when stories are passed over the campfire like the high arch of a water gun. He is more wolf than Wirt, with the whites of his eyes slanted in anger and his muscles ready to pounce; the survival instinct trained into him from encounters with demons and cryptids alike. Wirt is more rabbit than Dipper, calm patience Dipper never deserved and soft skin like Jason’s fleece ).

But he tells himself that it is not true. Wirt called himself a Beast because he did not think he could live a life besides the townsfolk—as one of them . Dipper remembers the happiness that grew behind skin that has spent its entire life tanning in the sun of the forest as his lips fluttered around his own name once more: he remembers stories and fear and a life that Wirt has made in isolation. A life he has invited Dipper into.

 There is the Wirt that Dipper knows, and the Wirt that he has only just heard stories of. 

It should not make sense, the stories Dipper has heard, and he knows he is reaching when he pulls the string taut around two pins in a board that used to be about the best way to approach a friend—but he is afraid ( terribly, immensely, dreadfully ) that the lines are just long enough to reach conspiracy-like points, and, well, Dipper has nothing but time on his hands as he wanders through the woods.

Alone.

For all my life and beyond , the man in the woods had said. Wirt had said that his accent was because he had a tendency to favor the delicacies of poetry and the rich sentiment of Shakespearean words, but what if it had been a lie? Dipper does not know any fifteen-year-old who is keen on exceeding the word limit of an essay every time they talk. Wirt may be familiar with Roman politics the same way he raises a brow at the mention of cell phones. He may like Shakespeare because he knew the poet, once upon a time.

He has taken those who dare to venture into the woods away , echoes in Dipper’s head with its own pulse. Dipper thinks of journey after journey after journey, where Wirt and him have rendezvous under waterfalls and in fields of grain and in the rocky edges of mountains. He did not even know there were civilizations in the Unknown; people who spoke differently than Wirt and looked differently . And Dipper has ventured with him blindly, so willing for even a loose gaze to fall on him.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense .

The lantern, the edelwood, things that Wirt does not give up for reasons that Dipper does not understand. Things that make Dipper trust him because he has never once shown any reason to harm him. But the words of others spear his head like glass, thoughts like bullets. He is always too trusting with those he finds interesting; always so willing to believe. He remembers the backside of a hand in his own like a scar—will catch himself shaking his empty hand like he is shaking the hand of another when he is thinking about something irrelevant or sleeping. It lingers like a scar he can’t cover up.

It does not help that Wirt isn’t showing up. Doesn’t help that when the other is so usually keen to float towards him automatically, he has chosen to do the opposite.

Eventually, when the sun is preparing to set and Dipper’s own thoughts are darker than his surroundings, he stumbles across Wirt. The boy is sitting in front of an ember covered pit dug into the ground, black steam coiling around cold air as it floats high, high and above. He no longer dons his hat and cape, replacing them with the sticks that he holds tightly in two hands. Sweat drags down his forehead like the dew that collects outside the bucket in a well.

When he looks at Dipper, he looks like a completely different boy. He smiles wide and toothy and his eyes crinkle in excitement. Dipper cannot help but notice that Wirt’s lamp is not near him, but beside the fire. And he feels it like a stone in his kidney.

“Lumberjack!” He exclaims, all smiles and things that he usually is not when he carries the lantern. “I did not sense you, my apologies. I am not dressed in an orderly fashion.”

“You look fine!” Is Dipper’s quick response, coming out of him in a stutter. He knows that it is a lie, even when it graces his own lips: Wirt looks better than fine. He always looks better than Dipper can find the words to say. “What’s the fire for?” 

Dipper doesn’t know how to feel when Wirt hesitates, and looks into the fire, as if contemplating his words. And Dipper isn’t sure how to feel about the whole… setup Wirt has going, the fire above seems to almost be reducing a few branches into nothing but a weird black liquid, it’s.. off putting.

“Ah, just uhm.. a project of mine, nothing worth concern, I fear” Wirt adds on almost too quickly, Dipper can’t help but feel a curl of.. suspicion, rise in his chest, if it was nothing, why would he not explain? Was Wirt ashamed of whatever he’s doing? Fearful of Dipper's reaction?

“Ah.. ok, I get that…” Dipper says noncommitedly, more focusing on the branches being liquified, and how that just… doesn’t make sense, if Dipper tried that with normal branches, all he would get is more burned wood, what is it about this wood that makes it turn to liquid when heated up? None of this made sense!

Unless..

“Hey uhm, Wirt, is.. that Edelwood? I uh, I heard someone talking about it while trying to find you, but didn’t get much” Dipper lies, it feels like ash on his tongue to suggest he doesn’t know anything, and just as he feared..

Wirt tenses up, his face doesn’t change (his beautifully troubled face-) but his shoulders rise up slightly, as if he’s trying to not let himself hunch over. Dipper doesn’t want to accept this information, but he can’t not see the pieces coming together.. he just has to wait for Wirt to respond, to prove him wrong, to wipe away Dippers suspicion like he did when they first met.

“It.. it is Edelwood, who-who told you about it?” Wirt says, not meeting Dippers eyes, but looking into the fire, Dipper can see other branches beside him, that old, hunched over man.. was he right? Did Wirt really steal away innocent people and- and turn them into wood to feed himself? Surely not. Dipper doesn’t like being wrong often, but now he desperately wishes he is, he can’t bear the thought of him being right at this moment.

“Oh uhm, nobody! I, uh, I didn’t catch a name, so you don’t have to worry” Dipper exclaims, the words rushing out. If this is true, he has some major damage control to do, if Wirt.. if Wirt really does turn people into Edelwood trees, he can’t let that old man get hurt because he warned Dipper, it’s the least he can do.

Wirt didn’t seem convinced, but shrugged it off, nodding slightly as his gaze returns to the fire- and then Dipper can’t take it anymore, he has to ask, he pleads internally that he’s proven wrong

“Uhm, I did hear one thing, though..” Dipper bites out, Wirts gaze turns to him again, tricolor eyes looking more.. sharp than they usually did, more apprehensive.

More like how they first met.

“Uh, is it true.. gosh there’s no easy way to say this- Wirt, be honest with me, please , do you.. turn people into- into trees to keep yourself alive?” Dipper rushes out the words like a waterfall, please let him be wrong please -

Wirt looks shocked, the Unknown grows silent, the crackling fire even quieting, as if the whole world was holding a breath.

Dipper hates how Wirts expression shifts to one of intense guilt, of hurt, of accusation.

“I wouldn't- Lumberjack I promise I do not-“ the Beast Wirt starts, but Dipper cuts him off “then why are you burning Edelwood right now, Wirt?! Why do I never see you without your lantern close by, why do you almost always know when and where I arrive in the Unknown?! Wirt please , please just be honest!” Dipper pleads, shoulders rising up, one misstep and misspoken word from clasping his hands together (Dipper didn’t notice how he backed up slightly, but Wirt did) just to drive the point home.

Wirt's- Beast’s- Wirt’s lip is quivering, and he looks torn, his eyes wide and shocked, mouth opening and closing and giving Dipper all the information he needs.

The old man was right, Wirt had been lying to him this whole time.

“Were you planning on turning me into a tree, Wirt? Has all our time together been a lie?..” Dipper rasps out, feeling an inch from crying, Wirt starts to stand up, putting his hands out in a manner to calm, but it only serves to prove Dipper right.

And oh how the truth burns

“Lumberjack no- I promise I never intended to-“ 

“please save it, Wirt. Don’t lie to me, please ” Dipper interrupts again, he feels bad for it, but he has to let these thoughts out, Wirt’s standing up now too, fire forgotten (Something in the air shifts, the air gets cooler, the ground harder) and face filled sorrow and hurt, it makes Dipper hesitate, but all of this makes it feel justified. Wirt had been lying to him on day one about his true intentions.

“Dipper please I’m not lying-“ “then please , Wirt, please explain why I was told that Edelwoods are made of lost souls, and that you steal lost people —like myself— away to turn into trees?! How do I have that information and be expected to throw it away, even when I see you burning a tree to get oil to feed your lantern!?” Dipper is an octave away from screaming, tears flowing from his cheeks. He can’t stand being lied to, he’s never liked being deceived, and he’s told Wirt about this before, how lying bothers him. How could he say that to someone lying to him at that very moment?

Wirt looks stricken, face ashy and pale, tears glistening in his eyes, he doesn’t say a word.

“You really are a monster, huh? I don’t know how I could let myself get lied to” Dipper scoffs, hurt and agony curling in his chest and manifesting as tears.

It is silent for a moment.

Dipper’s shoulders shake, and he tries to convince himself that it is with anger, but the breeze that howls against his heel highlights the cold skin of wet cheeks. His fists are clenched at his side and he wants to do something , wants to tell Wirt that he does not deserve Dipper’s stories. Wants to tell him that Dipper did not deserve to be tricked; that he thinks that the reason Wirt tells stories of friends with a sour note is because he is like this . Broken.

Wirt stares at him as if he had just seen a ghost, eyes wide and mouth slightly askew. 

Dipper wants to tell him that he does not deserve to be surprise; hurt. His hurt is because he is just now realizing that his actions have consequences, and that is a type of pain that Dipper can not justify. Rather, Dipper feels the monster of betrayal calming at the sight of wide-eyes and quivering chin, hurt, pain, ache. Things that Dipper is feeling tenfold, and things that Wirt will never understand.

“You are being unjust,” Wirt tries to reason. Dipper does not want to hear it. He holds his hands drawn over his chest, an ‘x’ in the making. He acts as if it is an exit button in real life, something that if he holds up long enough and takes enough steps farther and farther away, it will emit him from the conversation completely. “You did not even give me a chance to speak my truth. I plead —” his voice cracks, gaze dropping to the floor. Avoidance of eyes . “—I plead that these Edelwood branches you speak of are nothing more than tinted gold in color and shaped round like a cage .”

“Edelwood branches I speak of?” Dipper reiterates, sadness everchanging into anger and then back to sadness again. “I didn’t make that shit up. I didn’t even know it existed until you just confirmed what that guy said.” Dipper chuckles, dry, like the wood the cackles in front of them. “I used to speak of nothing but the lies you told me, didn’t I?”

“Do you not like it when I know the truth?” Dipper asks, hands flailing like a newly born bird taking it’s first flight ( soaring, soaring, dropping, dead ). He gestures to the fire in front of them for the briefest of moments. “Do you not like it when you cannot lie ?”

“I—” Wirt starts, but he does not continue. Lips flit around the front of teeth, before he worries them together with glossy eyes. “Lying is the beast, Lumberjack. I’m Wirt . Telling you things that are untrue are things that I do not recognize anymore; not like I used to.”

“Did you forget what I said?” Dipper says, shaking his head softly. “You aren’t just a monster, you’re the Beast .”

Wirt pauses, completely frozen and face ashen. “You do not mean that.”

Dipper lets out an amused scoff in response, sarcastic and filled with unbelievable sadness and angst and misery and everything that he is feeling in this one conversation all tied into one. He does not think that there is a word to describe this malice—this anger —that courses through his veins. He spits out his next words like venom. “You chose the right namesake, I guess.”

“My heart bleeds red, Lumberjack,” Wirt says, voice shaking. He does not look away from the floor even once, like he is ashamed of what he is saying. Ashamed of apologizing . “Like yours, I give you my oath. I am not what they say of me, you as anyone else would understand .”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think you were immortal,” Dipper continues, ignoring Wirt’s plead. Wirt does not deserve his attention, his mercy. His betrayal had stung first, and Dipper would do good to treat him the same ( Mabel had told him a few years ago before they started high school that he needs to be stronger then his weakest enemy and kinder then his ruthless foe . Wirt is both, somehow; weak and ruthless ). “Every immortal person I’ve ever met has been a total piece of shit. I guess I thought you were different.”

Wirt’s eyes furrow in confusion. “I am your age, Lumberjack. Frozen in a place where time continues just like yours.”

“No your not,” Dipper responds. He thinks that he is going to be sick and have an asthma attack and lose his breath ( but mentally, like when the floor spins after he takes a test he thinks he failed ) all at the same time. He thinks he is going to spiral into a second-dimension, where it is nothing and his tears and the heart that he has wrongfully trusted in the hands of another. “You speak like Shakespeare, don’t know anything about the 21st century— I mean, you don’t even know fucking Britney Spears. You wear the clothes of a royal. You use the lives of others to live a pointless life.”

“21st century?” Wirt repeats with wide eyes. He acts like a record player, unable to do anything but either sing songs of sadness ( ones that make Dipper’s heart break deeper, the convexes easier to see ) or repeat the words that Dipper had just said. Dipper wants to replace him with a new vinyl—something that does not make him sad when he listens to it.

“An awful life,” Dipper says with a nod, because he tries to tell himself that he means what he says. He is feeling emotions in his brain and in his heart that make him say sharp words that he means ( he means, he means ). “One that I do not want to be a part of.”

Wirt’s brows are expressive as ever, tilting downwards on that face of pale skin that Dipper once dreamed of holding tenderly, but now cannot get the image of glossy cheeks and red-stained skin out of his head when he looks at it. My heart bleeds red, he had said: this means that he is not pointed with three sides and a blinding yellow color. This means Dipper can win .

Wirt takes one arm off of the ‘x’ position against his chest, reaching it out hesitantly. His fingers curl slightly when extended, like the leaves that die against their trees in the forest around them. “Lumberjack—” 

“ Stop calling me that! ”

Wirt stills, hand still extended. The rest of his fingers curl in towards the palm of his hand ( Like the leaves in the forest that surround them. Curling, curling. Dying, dying . The briefest of thoughts crosses Dipper’s mind: I wish fall would be faster. I wish the leaves would die quicker. When the thought passes, he tries to tell himself that it wasn’t brief and fleeting; that he meant it and it wasn’t an accident ). Dipper watches, his sadness and anger slowly simmering into something he recognizes with ease: resentment.

“I think I'm going to go.”  he says, but it’s not really up to Wirt. Dipper is done with this; done with the lies and the manipulation and all of the words that Wirt says but never means . He’s done with the similarities between antlers and pyramid shaped things .

But Wirt looks like he is on the verge of tears when he responds, and Dipper almost stays back; almost apologizes for something that is not his fault. “I see, Dipper.” And something in the ground shifts, and Wirt feels it too, because he startles and adjusts his stance, and suddenly.

Dipper is moving, but not his legs, the ground is screaming around him, maybe he’s screaming? But he’s moving. The earth is moving and shifting and plants are curling around him to yank him away, giving him rashes and carpet burn as Dipper twists painfully while being dragged by what he assumes at first to be Wirt, but no legends told of Wirt being able to to this- is it the Unknown? Has Dipper overstayed his welcome? (He has, the Unknown lets him get lost over and over again, but stopped once he saw the truth) But as soon as it starts,

Dipper is sent flying out of the woods, landing on his back with a wheeze as air rushes out of his lungs. He has to sit up and take a minute to catch a hint of a breath before all that’s been happening is crumbling down around him and he’s crying— how could he be so stupid?! How could Dipper not see the cracks, Wirt had been so detached in their first meeting, had he been trying to not grow attached? Had he not intended to lie for so long? Not even 5 trips to the Unknown, and he hadn’t known Wirt that well at all. God, why did Dipper feel so betrayed by someone he hadn’t even known was lying to him?

Oh, right, he has to be getting back to the Shack, the suns starting to set and he promised Mabel he’d watch an old show with her, but he’s not sure how well he can handle romance after what he knows now. Dipper stands up, brushing dirt of the Unknown off himself, wiping his face of any dried tears, and turns to the Shack before going inside.

Dipper opted to take the employee entrance, he didn’t feel like interacting with a lot of people anymore, and bright colors of the exhibits would only remind him of Wirts tear filled eyes (they make him hesitate, did he really have all the pieces? Did he jump the gun? Was he wrong? ) and that would make things worse. Dipper takes a shortcut he discovered last summer and goes upstairs to his and Mabel’s room, barely registering the walk there before he flops face first onto his bed, and takes off his hat.

He didn’t realize Mabel was there too.

“Woah, you ok Dipper? What happened??” And just like that, he’s telling everything to Mabel, detached and not being able to cry anymore tears

“Wirt, he- he lied, he’s been lying to me this whole time. He’s been using the souls of lost people to keep his lantern lit, and to keep himself alive. Mabel , I don’t know how I was such an idiot” it’s starts with that and evolves to him telling Mabel how he started to feel suspicious, and only saw more cracks as time went on, starting with the old man’s warning, and ending with him being dragged out of the Unknown.

Mabel is still for a moment, then Dipper is crushed in a hug and he's crying, Mabel is saying something about how she’s so sorry and she also wants to do some creatively violent things to Wirt for lying and planning to turn Dipper into a tree, knowing that Dipper hates liars and has a family that would worry.

Dipper can’t hear much over his tears. They stream down his face with the same consistency of blood, and he thinks that it is the physical version of his heart crying, seeping out of his tear ducts and into the palms of his hand.

He did not think falling for someone would hurt this bad; would hurt at all .

He is wrong, he knows now. Wrong as he will ever be.

———

He is the Guide, nothing more.

His knees dig into soft dirt beneath him, and his fingers dig into the roots of grass and weeds. They curl underneath the smell of smoke in the air, looking more like claws then they ever had before; brown and sharp and unnatural (beastlike). They scratch and hurt and maim, bringing nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He cannot see the ground clearly behind him, it shakes with his own shoulders—all he knows is the ache in his heart and the weak muscles of his arms and the dots of rain that color the ground below him, despite the fact that there is not a cloud in the sky.

He thinks back to when Lumberjack was just a person: just another boy who had more stubbornness carved into his soul then guts in his stomach. He thinks back to when Lumberjack had came to his side at the river, with tender hands and knowing words. He had told him that it would be alright. He had told him that it was okay; that he too sometimes felt like his chest was collapsing, and it just made him more human. More normal .

His arms give out on themselves and his forehead presses against the cold ground, arms bent at the elbow as his knees bend to aid his position. He screws his eyes shut, telling himself that there is a monster in the woods around; a Lumberjack that he had saw with his kin. He does not have the heart to tell himself that the monster is the person he sees when he drinks water and when he sips divine sap. He does not have the heart to lie, either: with excuses about how he is perfect, how he is nothing like Lumberjack has said.

Because that is a lie. He is everything Lumberjack said and more. 

He has the body of a monster and the soul of a monster and the heart of a monster; the life of a beast .

His legs collapse next, and he falls on his side in a heap of antlers and limbs and curled spines. He shakes with every hiccuped sob that escapes his mouth with a roll of his full body. He does not cry, does not think he has enough nutrience in himself ( does not think he ever will again, he does not think he will taste the sap against molars ever again, not when Lumberjack had looked at him like that ) to even form tears, but the quake of his shoulders and the shiver of his chin, mockery of hands and the open mouth silent calls for people he once knew are a close enough mimicry. A close enough mercy.

He does not think he deserves the name Wirt, either. Wirt is a boy that is apparently gone, one who died with the curling of Edelwood and was only brought back to life by a honey-haired boy who killed it again, as Wirt had so rightfully deserved. He is not the Beast anymore ( he does not eat enough sap to call himself a Beast, to associate himself with the original Woodsman ), but he somehow wishes he was. It would give him an excuse to not feel like this —like he is watching as his body is unrivaled like a ball of yarn. It would give him a reason to be ruthless; to want to lie.

It does not matter if the Guide thought he was doing the right thing; if he thought that Lumberjack would understand ( even if it was impossible to ask him to understand something so downright sickening. The Wirt and the Beast and whatever falls in between does not think he would forgive themselves either ). He had lied about it all—he uses the souls of those who have been lost ( even if it is not his fault they were lost in the first place, even if he used his soul-sensing powers for good ) and he lives longer ( Lumberjack spoke of a 21st century he does not know about. ) and he is a monster, with the eyes and antlers and hands to match.

He thinks it would do him good to lay here on the ground. The Guide does not think he is all that interested in the sap that seeps from the wood leftover on the fire a few yards in front of him: he thinks that he will ignore it until the birds come to peck at the twigs to build their own nest.

He tells himself that he is doing good. He is doing better then he ever will be.

Chapter Text

Wirt is standing in a snowy clearing, holding The Beasts lantern. The Beast is pressuring him to give up the lantern (didn’t this already happen? What’s happening?)

A dark voice reverbs through the clearing, loud enough to make Wirt loosen his grip on the lantern holding the Beasts soul. “Are you ready to see true Darkness?” The Beast bellows, Wirt feels his face twist in a cower, shaking all over. But he pauses, and looks at the lantern holding the monsters soul.

“ A r e y o u- ahem, Are you?” Wirt says, holding the lanterns up and ignoring the pleads of the Beast- Wirt has to do this, he needs to get Greg home, he can see his brother (why did he never see how kind his brother actually is?) wrapped in Edelwood in his peripheral, as if guiding him to this moment

With a final opening of the Lanterns door, Wirt blows it out.

Ear-peircing screaming and monstrous squelches cuts through the air, before vanishing just as it came, but leaving the clearing in darkness, save for the full moon.

It goes by so fast, Wirt hands Beatrice the scissors, gives the woodsman the lanterns and words to “go home with your daughter, man” before grabbing the axe and gingerly removing the branches from Greg. But just as he lifts his brother out of the Edelwood, his brother vanishes.

It’s like he was never there. 

“Wirt? Wirt! Cmon, where did Greg go?!” Beatrice asks, still holding the scissors, she saw it too.

“I-I don’t know, I w-was just holding him and now he’s go-“ 

Pain

Agony erupts from his head, sending him doubling over as his head pulses , and something bursts through bone, sending blood down his head and dripping onto his coat.

He can barely see through the tears blotting his vision, he can’t tell if he’s screaming or Beatrice is screaming, but he can’t feel anything , the ground gets closer and his head hurts so much someone please help-

—---------

Wirt snaps awake, his head spinning and eyes blurry and nothing makes sense-

Oh, a nightmare. A nightmare about the night of his greatest mistake. The night he became the Beast.

Sighing, Wirt lies down on the ground, against a wide maple tree, putting his palms to his face to shield his eyes from the world, and to calm his heart rabbiting against his chest.

He wishes, for a silent moon-lit moment, that time in the Unknown could work just like it did in the world beyond its barriers: he wishes he could have more , more of an illusion and more of an ability to curl up into a ball and hold his limb taut. He wishes that he could sit here, never quite awake and never quite dreaming, and fade into the abyss of multicolored leaves and the black fog from his dream. Fade into the multifaceted form of the Beast came before: the beast he will live up to be.

But time is a tease, with its lingering hands and flirtatious winks. It cups gentle skin around Wirt’s cheek and pulls him a few feet forward before leaving just as quick.

And suddenly he is sixteen again with a sharp ache of hunger in the pit of his stomach that he cannot quell and a shake of weakness in his legs that doesn’t go away and a thought that forms in the pit of his mind, like a seed. He is the guide of the lost, nourisher of the dead. It is his job to take the seed in careful hands and plant it into something more; into something that is an idea larger than himself.

There is a lost for you to attend to , the seed tells him. He pushes himself to his feet, the thought playing over and over again in his mind. He catches bits and pieces when he takes a break from gritting his teeth hard at the pain. Eastside . He raises an arm and pushes himself up, it takes him a couple of tries to stay steady, to not feel no pain. Near the town and the plains . He raises his other arm, like a fearful deer. Near where you first met Lumberjack .

He is off before that seed can be nourished by his own limber hands. His feet move with heartache, but they take root in the ground and gain energy from the forest’s nutrients before. It wants him to succeed as much as the others want him to fail: it does not see evil in his hands and legs, so much like it’s own members. It does not see evil at all. Wirt is glad.

He slows down near where he can sense the Lost dancing their way through the forest. It is not Lumberjack ( he is happy and sad at the thought. Relieved and disappointed ), for the footsteps are too angry and the strides are too quick. Wirt hides behind birch trees as he watches, waiting for friend and foe alike. There is a voice in the back of his mind that tells him that maybe it is not anger but determination. Maybe he is finally coming back, a brother lost ( he does not want to think of what Lumberjack had said. He does not want to think of younger brothers that might be older than him from their time on the outside, and lifes that he has not witnessed going outlived ).

But time is a fickle thing, playful with a flick of its hip and a ring of hands above its head.

And unlike Lumberjack, this lost wears no hat, she wears a pink headband, a well loved dark green sweater, and light blue overalls decorated with patches. Wait… he recognizes this lost, it’s Dippers sister.

Mabel, and she spots him before he realizes, and her face twists in a cold anger, full of spite and knowledge, it makes him curious. Did Dipper tell his sister everything? Did he tell a lie, despite disliking liars? It makes no sense, he shoves away the thought that who he tried to befriend was so angry, that he told his sister everything, and made her so angry she went to look for Wirt.

“You, you motherfucker” Wirt made a fateful error in following the familiar footsteps of lost that came before him

“Do you have any idea what you did to Dipper, Wirt?!” Mabel says, voice dangerously low, Wirt feels the static of misery wash over him, he feels his eyes glaze over, but he vows to not cry. If not for himself, then for his brother.

“I do, I assure you I have already scolded myself enough, I don’t need more” Wirt says, feeling a bit vindictive. He’s already tormented himself, if not during the falling out, then during the aftermath, and that’s not touching the dream-

“Oh? Then tell me why I saw my brother —Who adores you by the way— came back from a trip here crying and practically catatonic and covered in dirt and leaves, and saying you two fought? Tell. me. what. that. means, Wirt. ” Mabel cuts in, practically snarling her words, she steps forward menacingly, Wirt finds himself stepping backwards.

Wirt wants to tell her that she is allowed to be angry; that he wants nothing more than what she seeks. He wants her to kick him while he’s down and dig her nails deep enough to bleed. Wants her to make him feel alive, like the high of a drug. It keeps changing, as he keeps getting lower: eventually his highest high will be the rushing of air and his lowest low will be that of many great drug addicts.

But Wirt has a job to do, and he cannot do that job if he is no longer in the Unknown. It is the only thing he knows how to do, truly. He clings to it and weeps into it and hopes that he can hold it against his face long enough that it can replace himself. Make him into something he should be. “Come.” He tells the girl with hair like fresh bread. Not quite honey. Not quite. “I will lead you back to the world of the found.”

Mabel keeps going, a ball of relentless fury. “I won’t follow you anywhere . You’re just like all the others, you useless asshole! My brother trusted you. I trusted you.”

He is shaking now, he can feel it in the way his muscles tighten and untighten against his will. He holds a hand out, like he is corralling a group of preschoolers into a kennel like a sheepdog. Unfortunately, he has only ever known one predominant preschooler ( one kindergartener. One first-grader. The same, over and over again) . “Come.”

“Don’t touch me, Beast,” she snarls, fast and quick, like instinct.

She doesn’t touch Wirt ( Beast ), not quite. But he still feels her words like they are physical. He is nothing more than what the people he has inhabited have called him, and they have all seemed to see the true him and have seen nothing but deviled fangs and sharp horns ( Beast ). He did not know why it hurts to hear the final Pines call him a Beast ( Beast )—perhaps it is the idea that she had always thought of him as one; enough that it is her own intuition to call him one. Perhaps it is the idea that Dipper had gone to her that night and told her nothing but how evil Wirt was. He deserved it, comes the seed once more. An endless sprout of ideas that sound hopelessly good to Wirt’s pained ears. You deserve it. And, well. Yeah. He kind of does .

Beast .

“Beast,” he repeats underneath his own breath. It’s familiar in a way that hurts. Wirt does not mind; it is better than the ache in his stomach and legs and arm and back.

“He was so happy when he left, what could you have possibly told him?” Mabel snaps, reeling back on him as he pulls on his thumb. He is thinking over the word, again and again in his mind. It is different then from when Dipper had shouted it—that had been a silver dagger, sharp and deadly. This time, it is a nail in a coffin to an already dead body. The final push he needed off the ledge. It is acceptance. Beast . “Wirt. Answer me! You don’t deserve silence.”

Wirt smiles at her. Nail in the coffin and rabbit eye, potion of everything that has made him into the person he is today. Adelaide and feathers and the sound of the stream in his ear. “I deserve nothing besides what I ask for. Come, Pines. I thrive on your return to your flock. You are a lost that will be my last.”

“And what does that mean!? Are you just gonna stop leading people out, just turn them into trees then and there?” Mabel asks, narrowing her eyes. The suggestion alone makes Wirts' vision cloud- but he will not cry, he doesn’t deserve to shed a tear.

“No, the lost already appear less nowadays, I suppose you being the last means that I will no longer plague your family” Wirt responds, turning on his cursed wooden feet forbidding him from leaving to desperately explain himself, plead for Dipper to stay— to understand, to let Wirt explain. He turns and follows harsh footsteps he knows are angry, and beckons for Mabel to follow.

“And why should I follow you ? After you broke Dipper's heart, lied to him for ages when you know he hates when people lie?” Her voice is quieter, resigned and spiteful. It takes so much of Wirts strength to not break down in tears, he uses some strength to explain —He prays that maybe he can quell the anger of a sister—

“It’s my job. You have no reason to trust me and I don’t expect you too, but leaving you in the Unknown when I know Dipper needs someone would be irresponsible” Wirt drops the voice for a second, too exhausted emotionally to talk in a way that Unknown residents find familiar, an old habit from when he tried to befriend people in the Unknown. He turns to look at Mabel and sees her raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here, dude. Lets just go, if you’re lying again don’t expect me not to actually kill you.” Wirt wouldn't expect anything less, it’s what he deserves for hurting Dipper so much. Wirt nods and turns to go, wishing he could show the Lost the footsteps he sees, so he wouldn't have to suffer through silent journeys so often.

It’s an awkward one to say the least, Wirt can feel Mabel glaring daggers in his back, and the lantern (not his, never his, he can’t bear the thought that that it’s his) is running low on oil —he forgot about his attempts to get more oil from Edelwood trees, he wishes he never attempted that— so he’ll have to tap another tree soon, Wirt hopes that whatever luck he has left grants him even a small amount of oil, it woudnt do to let himself die, to let those lost remain lost.

Soon (not soon enough, he felt Mabel gear up to demand more answers) he sees the now familiar Shack that is the source of this sadness. Mabel says nothing as she glares at him again, before scoffing and walking towards the Shack.

He hopes they never get lost again, he can’t bear this much grief on top of desperately keeping the lantern lit.

He wonders what actually happens when the lantern runs out of oil, does he want to risk it?

—--------

He is asleep when she runs into him next. 

Everytime he hammers metal spiles into the trunks of thin white trees, he hears nothing but Dipper in his ears and his heart pounding in his chest. He stumbles backwards every single time, hands carefully cupping around lips as he stumbles on shaky legs. The lack of food—of nutrients and hunger and things that he has grown used to but can no longer have. Of honey and gold—has made him sleep longer hours and take shaky steps. It quells the pain in his heart, though. To not have to feed on the blood of his own lies.

So he is asleep, just like he has been; just like he should be. Now that he no longer expects visitors often and his lost do not come by nearly as much as the Pines, he does not have anything to do except exist .

He has always been bad at just existing. His fingers itch for something to hold. Something to do.

He is curled under the hollow hole of a big oak tree, where raccoons and deer take shelter during harsh winter months and he sleeps when it is the harsh heat of summer and the harsh droughts of fall and the harsh mud of spring. His antlers curl in on themselves, the Unknown granting him this small moment of peace, as he rests his head against the bark of the inner tree: the thrumming of it’s life. He wonders if he could curl into a ball and photosynthesis like a tree, soaking up sunlight instead of the souls that seep into his pores. He thinks the Unknown would be willing, with his bark-coated hands and ankles. He is more plant then anything else already.

She is there when he awakes, no longer as angry as she was before.

“Do you sleep here?” Mabel Pines asks, brow arched and a smile drawn curious across her face. She is unsure how to act, that much is clear. Anger and confusion and pity all mixed into a lovely teeth-showing smile.

“Here as much as anywhere,” he responds, carefully uncurling himself from the underside of the tree. He pulls himself out of the makeshift den with the last of the strength, catching his breath while holding on to a low hanging branch. “The Lumberjack’s axe comes down heavy and strong. Your words kill, choose.”

“Is this some kind of riddle?” Mabel asks, the end of her nose wrinkling in confusion.

He pulls himself up to his feet. Slowly, steadily. Shakily. “Lumberjack loved riddles.”

Mabel hesitates for a moment “…Don’t call him that. He was really upset, dude, I think if he hears you call him that, it'll make your whole.. deal, worse” she responds, gesturing to all of him. And it all comes back too quickly

(“Lumberjack-“ “Stop calling me that!” )

Right, Dipper didn’t want to associate with even the nickname anymore, how could he be so stupid.

“I see, my apologies” Wirt agrees, nodding and trying to not let a nickname weigh himself down more than he already is.

The two lapse into awkward silence —not interrupted by a spontaneous run through the woods— while Wirt brushes off leaves and dirt. Mabel stares at him with a calculating look in her eye, it makes him feel exposed- he’s never liked being stared at, pre or post becoming the beast. It makes a question rise to his throat, spilling out before he can stop it.

“Pines, why are you here? Last time you came you did nothing but defend Dipper and go home, I was under the impression you would not bother coming here again” Wirt asks, feeling a bit petty, didn’t he say he didn’t want the Pines family to come by again? Didn’t Mabel agree? Said Pines bristles, before speaking up.

“ Well Mr ‘turns-innocent-people-into-trees-to-feed-off-their-souls’-“ “ I don’t turn people into trees.” Wirt interrupts, he feels a ball of misery and anger and pettiness all rolled together. He can’t stop himself, he never wanted to tell anyone this, but Wirt does not turn innocent people into trees

“…what?” Mabel says, obviously shocked, Wirt isn’t done, in his cloak Wirt clenches his fists, drawing his shoulders together.

“I have never turned a soul into a tree, I will never do that, I am insulted that I spend so much time and energy into not turning lost people into souls, only to have rumors spread that I do anyway!” Wirt throws his hands up, done.

“I literally tap Edelwood trees for sap so I don’t have to make anymore! Bullshit , turning people into trees, dammit why do I even bother trying to clear my name..” Wirt grumbles, turning harshly towards the footsteps, half heartedly gesturing for Mabel to follow.

“Wait wait wait, if you don’t turn people into trees, then why did Dipper hear that you do? Rumors don’t often come from nowhere, dude.” Wirt tenses, he never likes explaining this because nobody believes him , he’s lucky Beatrice’s family did, but only because she was there and could vouch for him, other residents? Not so much.

“ Yeah ok im explaining this now- Ok, so, before me, there was another Beast, please don’t interrupt me I’m getting there- the First beast was the one who turned people into Edelwoods, no he isn’t my dad, no we’re not otherwise related, no I dont turn people into Edelwoods unless it’s nescesary and it’s not been necessary yet” Wirt explains all at once, not letting Mabel get a word in because he knows the type of questions people ask, and he’s not up for it right now.

Not a moment too late, Wirt spots the shack, and gestures towards it

“Alright off you go, I’m tired and need to take a nap”

“Wait Wirt-“ 

“Nope, not today, sorry” 

Wirt walks off, trusting that Mabel will go back home.

He feels a pang in his chest, sharp and lingering. He needs to refil the lantern again..

…

Or does he?

If he’s being honest, since the Pines came to the Unknown, he’s not seen any other people lost, so if he pushes away the Pines, and no others get lost.. does he need to keep going? Can he finally rest,and let the fire go out?

It seems easy enough to be honest; the pain has been numbing the back of his mind for days now, and he feels weak enough that he thinks an especially strong gust of wind could take him to the void on the space between everything and nothing. He thinks he could exist unlike anyone else, where it is just him alone. He does not have to cause any more pain, mutter any more lies that he swore were the truth ( and they were. He knows that. But it is so much easier for him to trust that Dipper had always been right rather than anything else. He has always been a martyr, too stubborn to die for any reason besides his own ).

He closes his eyes. There is the sound of the river that runs up and down through the forest prominent in his left ear, and he can hear the soft humming of a woodpecker against birch in his right. For a moment, where the world around him is nothing but sound and his eyes are squeezed shut and his hand is pressed against the skin of bones next to his heart, he thinks that the wind could take him easily. He thinks that maybe it would take his soul to see his brother—his mom, his step-father. His friends and his classmates and the people that he once knew but doesn’t anymore.

He opens his eyes and Mabel is still standing in front of him, as persistent as ever. Wirt does not think he has it in him to argue or dance or lead her back to the shack for the second time that night: he is growing weaker by the minute, and all he needs to do is find a glade where the wind is particularly strong. Where the Unknown’s forces are particularly weak.

“Okay, I know something is up, because you didn’t even speak to me in ‘Thee Olde English’,” she says, voice slipping a touch too low in mockery of the last part. She stands in front of Wirt, with her feet planted in the ground ( she does not have roots that grow out of her soles. She is never truly rooted to anything, never truly like him ). “I’m not going back until you tell me what’s up.”

Wirt does not respond. He leans his head downwards and looks at her through furrowed brows. There is a rush of adrenaline that travels through his bloodstream that he has not felt since he had met Lumberjack. Mabel tilts her head in curiosity, doubt leaking into her voice: “So. What’s up.”

“The sky,” he says. It had been one of his brother’s favorite jokes, and for a moment there is a world where the girl that stands below him has the same crust colored hair as his brother and the same cheery laugh. The idea makes him feel sad, just like the Pines’ twins usually do.

He pointedly walks around her, determination coursing through his veins as he heads deeper into the forest, away from the shack. Mabel shouts something behind him ( “Oh, so you’ve got jokes now, huh?” ) but he cannot hear it when his mind is so focused on something else. When he is thinking none about anything except the wind in his ear and the energy he is losing with every stride of his legs and the idea of his brother . Out there. Somewhere.

He slows. His brother . His brother who he knew in the twentieth century and is now a man in the twenty first. A man who has grown up and has gone to college and who is probably taller then Wirt with experiences that Wirt has never had and jokes that Wirt has never heard. A man that Wirt could find , but he would not recognize . The idea is painful, but that is nothing new. If Wirt had found his brother in the middle of the street, on opposing sides of the sidewalk, would he recognize him? Would he smile the same way he always smiled and laugh the same way he always laughed. Would he still even be Wirt’s brother , through thick and thin?

Would he want to be Wirt’s brother?

Wirt stops. Mabel runs in front of him, placing her body between him and the idea of wandering any further. Wirt pays her no mind, gaze falling to the ground as his limbs shake and his hands hover.

He does not think he would want to be his own brother. He is a horrible person with horrible words that grace his horrible tongue and horrible thoughts that form horrible ideas. He is selfish and cunning and filled with nothing but malice: it is what Dipper has told him. It is what Mabel has told him. It is what the townspeople and the rumors and the muscles inside his brain have told him again and again, a familiar cadence. He would not want to be his own brother, body, mind and soul. 

Mabel expects an answer, she’s narrowing her eyes again and Wirt has to say something

He wanted to tell the Pines twins this a different time, a different mood, when he’s not contemplating using himself for science, maybe when the mood is lighter with laughter and heaving lungs and red cheeks. But he is the one who fell into a habit, and it’s his responsibility to explain.

“..I talk old timey because people who live in the Unknown before I came by talk like that, I built the habit of talking like that to fit in with those people so they would be less scared of me, but now I scare people either way.” Wirt deadpans, It’s rushed, he left details out, but it’s fine, and momentarily satiated Mabel’s anger/curiosity

Key word being Momentarily, because she sees through his dodging of “what’s up” and isn’t amused

“That’s weirdly interesting and all, but seriously, you look like a wreck. And if it’s a habit to talk weirdly, why are you giving it up now of all times?” Mabel asks, putting her hands on her hips and leveling a glare that almost makes him tell the truth, that he’s been crumbling long before Dipper first entered the Unknown, that he’s been struggling for a long, long time. But he can’t, he’s already said too much, he vowed to himself the first time he led someone out of the woods that he would never burden a lost with his struggles.

Afterall, he’s nothing but the guide, and the lost aren’t his therapists. Although the Pines are already outliers for losing their way on purpose just to see him, Wirt will keep his promise. He won’t be a burden.

“Mabel, I am exhausted, I don't have the energy. Please just go home and tell Dipper whatever you wanted to prove” Wirt says, sprinkling a little truth, he’s no liar.

He never wants to lie, but the truth is sharp, like nails in a badly made coffin-boat barely able to hold two people —and a frog—. And he’d rather never see Dipper again than lie to him.

If he sees Dipper again, Wirt will tell him the truth. The aching pain from leaving the Unknown, the wood, the lantern, everything. It will be Dippers choice whether or not to believe him, but the thoughts swirling in Wirts mind scream at him to lay his heart on the table, to lay his cards out, leaving nothing to the chest, nothing omitted.

Mabel looks mildly disturbed, as if she had expected something else, something not from the heart. Wirt shrugs, letting his face look tired. He turns and walks away, nothing else said, he doesn’t need to. He knows Mabel will remember she needs to relay any information she got to Dipper. Wirt wonders if traveling to the Unknown is too painful for Dipper now, and he had Mabel visit for him.

“You’re lucky I’m stubborn,” Mabel responds after a moments hesitation, where everything seems to hold it’s breath: even the wind, traveling past Wirt’s ear with a speed that makes leaves fall off trees and pulls him into a place where he can disappear. He wonders if the wind pushes against Dipper’s front as it pushes against Wirt’s back; keeps him out the same way it takes him elsewhere. “Otherwise I would have totally been gone by now. You and Dips’ are telling me two completely different stories here, dude. Give me a break.”

“I wish for you to believe whatever your brother has told you,” Wirt says, and it feels like giving up when it comes off of his own tongue. It feels like mercy that pains him—this idea that he can give the handle of the gun to Mabel’s smaller hands and let the lingering bark of his own fingers point the barrel of the gun at his own heart. It is easier to let it bleed, to let it ache. He has been built to carry the pain, to take handfuls of river water into his hand and keep it from escaping out of the cracks in his fingers. “To go home . To lie.”

“You see, when you end your sentence with ‘lie’, it makes me think that maybe what my brother has told me might be a lie ,” Mabel responds, smug sarcasm pouring out of her mouth ( like river water between Wirt’s fingers. Words that he cannot direct in the direction of the current, to himself. He cannot make her blame him for everything that has ever went wrong. He is useless in theory and useless in practice ). “Funny coincidence, I know.”

There is a strong gust of wind; one that threatens to take Wirt where he stands. It does not, when the rustling of branches in his ear and the onslaught of leaves in the air pass, Wirt is still standing in front of Mabel. But it is comforting to know that just for a moment, there is a chance of his soul evading the winds and being carried further then he could have gone.

The wind does not take him with, but it’s smooth hands brush against his shoulder with the promise of a next time .

His muscles ache with overuse and they lack the energy that comes from food and fuel. When the wind comes fast and hard and strong, he is like the leaves that dance in the wind, tumbling backwards against the force. He catches himself before he falls, heel of his foot digging into the ground and roots pouring out of the bark of his arch like anchors, but it is a sharp enough fall that he knows anyone else would not sumble: townsfolk, Mabel. The version of himself that he was a week ago.

“Woah, are you okay?” Mabel asks almost immediately, hand braced around Wirt as she pulls him back to his feet. Wirt does not look at her, gaze on where the own branches of his feet are receding into the rest of the bark. “Wirt, that wasn’t that strong of a breeze. Did you— just, like —lose your footing or something?”

He thinks of Dipper. He thinks of the promise he had only made moments earlier that he would not lie to the brown-haired boy again. He thinks of younger brothers and heaving lungs ( red cheeks ) and the water that evades his cupped hands. He thinks of the gun pointed at his heart.

The truth hurts just as much as a lie, but it is nothing if not something Wirt is used to. “I do not have the strength to stand against the forces that the woods do not control, Pines. The energy I need to carry myself against harsh fall storms comes from the food your brother has forbade me from consuming.” Mabel raises an eyebrow to this.

“How so? Last I checked, you literally feed on lost people, and I’m pretty sure Dipper woudnt ‘Forbid’ you from eating” She points out, and she’s right.

Dipper may have not said to never feed the lantern again, but it’s a vow he took nonetheless, for the sake of whoever gets lost next, for the sake of his own humanity, he will discover what letting the lantern burnout would do.

Wirt would rather die than take another soul for his selfish nature's sake.

“While he did not directly forbid me, I will admit, I would rather not do so again for the sake of whoever is lost next” Wirt responds, the words singe his throat leaving it dry, but he will not drink the cursed sap, nor the cursed oil, he will suffer so others may thrive. However, Mabel looks unconvinced as she steps away, seeing Wirt regain his footing, though she’s still visibly keeping an eye on him, say another annoyingly faint breeze blow him away.

“So you're saying that you're not gonna eat the only thing you're able to eat? Dude, that’s stupid, sure it’s morally questionable and all, but according to cross referencing Dippers side, and your equivalent of a side because you won’t tell me anything-“  “you have all the information-“ “-‘all the information you need’ yeah yeah shut it wood boy, what your doing is essentially suicide. You can only eat Edelwood, right? So if you essentially keep yourself from eating it, you're gonna get hungrier and hungrier until you do eat Edelwood, thus killing more people.” Mabel interrupts his interruption, glaring at him as she does.

Wirt.. hadn’t thought of that, is it really how it works? He hasn’t felt hungrier, just weaker.. he will let Mabel have this, and go on with his vow, for Dippers sake. His words feel like ash on his tongue

“I see… I understand now” Wirt says, it’s a bold faced lie, and they both know it, but Mabel shrugs it off anyway. The two lapse into silence (Mabel desperately wants to yell at this guy more, but something’s.. off, like a really bad case of miscommunication, she always hated that trope.. how can she fix this… Dipper was always the puzzle guy, but she has to rely on her own wits for this) as Wirt speaks up.

“I assume your questions are answered, Pines? If so, I must advise you leave now, Dipper needs you to be there for him” Please, be there for Dipper, be there where Wirt cannot, be in the Known where Wirt will always be shackled to the Unknown, like an overprotective and possessive parent. Mabel looks like she wants to say something, but she nods, a sharp knowledge behind her eyes (Not unlike Lum- Dippers).

“Yeah I guess, lead the way” She says flatly, Wirt walks past her, walking the path they did days before.

They are quiet as they travel, a mess of lost promises and lost words and lost souls. Things that Wirt would swear that he knows more about then he knows the inner sides of his own skin, but things that the Pines twins seem to be keen on redescribing for him. They take the definition of what he knows and they twist it into something that he no longer knows the meaning of ( they take the definition of a promise and change it from something he has convinced himself into believing into something that he once knew was correct. A promise is something between brothers. Something that he cannot change, no matter how many nights he spends in the middle of the forest begging for it’s definition to change with the hours. They take the definition of words and change it to something that carries meaning. Something that can make Wirt feel warm with love and pained with ache, begging for mercy. Something that makes him cry and laugh and feel about. It makes him sick. They take the definition of souls and make it so they are irreplaceable; so that they are no longer lost. So that Wirt has nothing to live for, to care for, to watch for, no longer ).

Mabel does not talk as much as she once did. She stands a few steps to the side and behind of Wirt, close enough that she can save him if he falls and far enough that he has his own space to breathe in crisp air. Wirt can feel her eyes on his shawl and on his skin and on his feet. She is everywhere , inspecting everything. As if the truth is something that Wirt is stupid enough to paste on his skin; to carve into his bones.

The path to the Pines’ Shack is one that Wirt is more than familiar with now. A path that he could walk with his eyes closed and with his hands tied taut behind his back. They cut through the words and make curt corners to get to the exit of the Unknown, and Wirt does not feel anything but a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. One that comes from the mercy of whoever is lost next.

Wirt stands a few feet from the little path that marks the border between the Unknown and the world outside; the twenty-first century, the summer, the lives of little boys. Things that Wirt would thrive to know of; to be loved by.

Mabel walks towards the exit in between the trees of the outer border, placing a careful hand against the thin trunk of a birch tree. The toe of her shoe digs into the ground below her feet, and she lets out an audible sigh as she turns to look at Wirt. Is a precautious glance—one that says more than Wirt can describe. She looks at him through a mixture of anger and desperation and simple pity; something that nobody has felt for Wirt in a long time; not as truthful as Mabel has made it through the twisted members of her own face.

“Wirt, are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Mabel asks, turning her torso more to face him. Wirt can feel his own face furrow in confusion. It does not evade to feigned peace; he cannot make himself feel calm. “I know you and Dipper are in a little lover’s quarrel right now, but— well —I’m concerned. For you.”

He thinks of the promise he made to not lie. He thinks of the dull ache in the pit of his stomach and the pain of the truth, sharp and quick, like a bullet to the side. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Mabel responds, quiet. Her eyes grow wide at the simple word, and her gaze falls to the ground. She does not look satisfied with the answer, but she does not seem disappointed, either. They both know that this was what they were expecting; anything else would be a lie.

She takes another deep breath, shoulders moving with the inhale of her lungs and the exhale of the back of her throat. She opens her mouth, a baited suggestion, before closing it once again, words lost to the woods around them. Then, she offers Wirt a pitiful smile: “Don’t listen to my idiot brother, okay? I want you to eat the souls of the innocent, or whatever. Maybe not, like . All of them. But one or two is fine.”

The words are sweet in a way that the sap of the edelwood trees once was. Wirt can feel his face soften in respect. “I’ll try.”

Mabel nods in response, careful smile curated on teenage features. Wirt offers a small smile in response, and the girl in front of him turns back to the gap in the border with a specific glint in her eyes.

She is gone before he can blink; lost in the world where Wirt cannot follow.

—————

Mabel knows for a fact that something’s up with Wirt, sure the guy at first seemed really good for Dipper, if a little angsty, but now that the two are fighting..she’s not quite sure about that, specifically the “little angsty” part, it looks like Wirts probably not as perfectly fine as he lets on.. she’s gotta talk to Dipper about this.

Said brother has been fairly depressed in his own right, a even Grunkle Stan noticed and put him on short night shifts so he could still help , but not be as noticed by costumers, it’s nice in his weird way. Grunkle Ford has also noticed, she doesn’t know what changed with him, but Dippers shorter ventured into the lab seem to help, he just said that they “shifted studies to nicer supernatural beings”, which to Mabel looks like Dipper probably told Grunkle Ford everything, and he’s now trying to get Dipper to not think about his almost-ex.

Which brings her back to the present, where Dippers finished all his mandatory “check if Dippers alive” activities and is now moping in his room, eating ice cream and watching top then ghost stories on his phone, he nods in greeting.

“Hey Mabel, how’d your trip in town go” Dipper says, and his voice has gotten more.. flat over time, monotone, it’s not like him. Mabel knows her brother as the guy who said “your the worst” to Pacificas FACE before she got good, Dipper is not someone to take things lying down.

Which means Dipper is repressing HARD, which also means her revealing she’s been going to the Unknown to tear Wirt a new one will have him either A) Mad at her, or B) Mad at the idea of Wirt hurting her, both are unnecessary but she knows it’s probably gonna be both, may as well bite the bullet.

“So funny story, Dipdop, so I’ve actually been going to the Unknown to interrogate Wirt-“ Dipper cuts in “you wHAT?? Mabel are you crazy?? He could have killed you! He could have turned you into a tree!-“ Mabel puts her hand on his mouth, and pulls away right before he can lick her hand

 “That’s the thing, he got really mad when I suggested he’d do that, he went on a whole tirade how he tries to tap Edelwood trees to avoid making anymore, he even dropped the fancy talking!” Mabel says, Dippers eyes sharpen as he sits up, ice cream put on the table separating their beds and phone turned off.

“Wait what?? He’s lying, I saw him-“ Mabel cuts in, ready to have this manga-ass miscommunication over with, she has all the pieces now “You saw him burning wood, right? And you only heard he turns people into Edelwood from an old guy who, and I quote, ‘Looked homophobic now that I think about it’?? Dipper, why would you trust a random farmer over someone you’ve known for longer?” Mabel points out, poking Dippers knee.

“I mean, he literally called you ‘Lumberjack’, does that sound like a nickname he’d give to someone he planned to kill? Someone he ‘never meant to get attached to’?” Mabel hammers in, reveling in Dippers dawning expression of horror.

“Tell me everything that happened, I’m having an awful feeling in my gut and need to be proven wrong for once” Dipper says deadpan, putting his fingers to his temples and elbows on his legs. Mabel smirks, finally, he got it.

“Sure, but if I’m right, you owe me taking one of my shifts” “Done”

So Mabel starts, going from her storming into the Unknown planing on dismantling Wirts entire being, going to him explaining that he’s the second beast, then to him yelling that he hated the idea of turning people into trees, to him looking shocked and near tears when she said to keep feeding in souls, just enough to sustain him, and ending with him sending her off.

“Okay, so why wouldn’t he have told me that, then, if that was the truth?” Dipper asks after a few moments of silence. Mabel watches him with a sheepish grin, adjusting her positioning so that she can lie on her stomach instead of sitting with her back curved. “I don’t know if I believe you—” She knows that ’s a lie. He doesn’t know if he wants to believe that he made a mistake. She can read her brother like the back of her hand “—but something about this whole situation just feels… fishy.”

“Fishy?” Mabel repeats, disbelief clouding her tone.

“Fishy.” Dipper doubles-down on, nodding his head in complete seriousness. She rolls her eyes in response, reaching across the bed for the spoon in the melting quart of ice cream. Dipper watches as she does so, but does not comment on it otherwise. “I mean, what if the reason he’s weak is because I was supposed to be his meal, y’know? And because I figured it out, he’s just starving until the next person stumbles into the Unknown.”

“But what if you weren’t ,” Mabel responds, licking the back of the spoon with her brows raised. She points the now gleaming spoon at her brother with a scrunch of her lips. “What if the poor lovesick fool is going through the worst heartbreak of his life— without ice cream, mind you —because of some corny-ass misunderstanding.”

Dipper is quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over. Finally, he sighs in response, reaching for the ice cream in Mabel’s hands and scooping out a large chunk. He hesitates before placing it in his mouth, deciding on his words. “I guess maybe I could have been an idiot. Maybe. Possibly. I rarely make mistakes that I wouldn’t really know , you—”

“Dipper,” Mabel says, and her brother spoons the creamy cold ice cream into his mouth at the welcome interruption. “You might have made a mistake. It’s okay. Just go back tomorrow and ask him to clarify. Before both of you do something dumb.”

Dipper does not respond immediately, dragging the edge of his spoon against the corner of the plastic carton in hesitation. Eventually, he opens his mouth in response, eyes never leaving the spoon he holds in his right hand. “Fine. But if I die it’s your faalt.”

Mabel grins, placing her hands in the air in the worldwide sign for mercy. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

And he rolls his eyes at the subtle jab, and she giggles into the arms of her sweater, and for a sickingly sweet moment, everything is normal once again.

Chapter Text

Dipper packs his bag for the Unknown, Mabel has barely convinced him it might be worth it to see if he might have misunderstood, but Dippers not sure if he did. The Edelwood, the legend, the lies , it all rings like Wirt (Does he call his ex friend “Beast” now?) was lying to him from day one/two, maybe he really hadn’t meant to get attached, but did anyway. But either way, this is a terrible idea and he already regrets it.

Dipper makes sure to double check. Flashlight, check, journal and pen, check, water, check, snack, check, inhaler, check.. everything he needs to pack is here (nothing more, he’s not showing off anything this time) and he should be… ready to go back to the Unknown. But first, he has to get breakfast, then triple check, then make sure nobody will need him while he’s gone, the-

“Dip, your stalling, just go already ” Mabel deadpans, Dipper glares at her as she bursts out laughing, it’s forced, she’s clearly trying to eliminate the ‘bad vibes’ as she would call it, and Dippers not having it today.

“Yeah yeah I know, sue me… what if we’re wrong, what if he’s actually evil and just really hesitant to be evil evil, what if-“ Mabel cuts him off “He literally lost his footing in a breeze, I can guarantee you that he’s not evil, or at the very least he’s not good at it if he is, operating word here being if” Mabel says, glaring at Dipper like he’s the stupid one. Dipper huffs, stuffing in a pocket knife half heartedly.

“Are you planning on stabbing him if he turns out to be evil?” Mabel asks, watching his hand leave the fabric of his pocket. His cheeks turn red at being caught, and he turns around to avoid any further suspicion. “Isn’t that going directly against this morally good person you claim to be?”

“I wouldn’t stab -stab him!” Dipper exclaims, zipping the back pocket of his backpack as he rolls his eyes. He wouldn’t use the pocket knife for violence—maybe he’ll just use it to scale a cliff, like they do in the movies. Or, maybe, perhaps, Wirt will trap him in the vines of his trees ( like they do in the movies ) and he’ll cut himself free! ( Or, maybe, more realistically, he is getting reality confused with fiction. Perhaps he will find Wirt, angry, and that will be that. ) “Maybe instead I’ll cut us carrots and we’ll make a delicious stew. You don’t know me.”

“Right now you’re cutting onions,” Mabel snaps back, grinning lazily as he loops his arms around the straps of his backpack, pulling it taut against his chest. “Get it? Because I’m practically crying by how long it’s taking you to get ready. Stop stalling!”

“Ok ok! I’m going!” Dipper throws his hands up, exasperated and already walking out the front door (when did he get there?)

“I can see! Now go, dude” Mabel says, pushing him out the door and into the humid air, Dipper not even getting a word in. He scoffs, and turns heel towards the unfamiliarly familiar path to the Unknown, walking over logs, listening to music sometimes (he always turns it off a few songs in, just incase he makes it in and immediately sees Wirt) and just.. walking.

And walking, hoping over a log, and wishing he had a lighter bag..

…Why is it so hard to find the Unknown this time? Dipper’s annoyingly able to recognize every tree and landmark that tells him where he is, he’s considering putting on a blindfold and just walking in random directions at this point.

Muttering his grievances, Dipper walks past the weird rock he and Mabel hid behind one time, past the cliff side he found that overlooks what he’s pretty sure is an alien crash zone, hell, he even finds the metal tree where he first found Journal Three back when he was 12, which of course isn’t too far from the Shack..

So, he can’t get lost… is Wirt doing this? Is he mad at Dipper for (wrongfully rightfully) assuming he was an angry forest spirit that turned lost people into trees to eat? Was it the Unknown itself? He did get kicked out when he left after confronting Wirt, and judging by the haunting memory of Wirt reaching out for him when he started to get dragged, it wasn’t Wirt who did it…

What, does he need to apologize for whatever reason? If the Unknowns sentient, and Wirt is like it’s.. kid? Pet? Wirt is like its.. kid- pet- thing, then it makes sense that it would be defensive of Wirt, and kick Dipper out…

Dipper closes his eyes, and runs, he needs to get lost in gravity falls before finding the Unknown. He almost trips over several logs, and he has to open his eyes to make sure he won’t run off a cliff or whatever.

But his plan works, because now Dipper is deep in the forest, and lost.

Please let this work..

“Hey- uhm, Wirt? Un-Unknown, if you're alive? Uh, god this is mortifying .. uhm, I’m sorry..? Please let me in, I need to talk to Wirt, it’s important”

Nothing, not even a hint of trees looming closer, but the forest does get quieter, almost silent, and a bit cooler…

That gives Dipper all the info he needs, he is right on the cusp of the Unknown, but something is keeping him out..

His fingers tighten around the strap of his backpack, his chest heaving with a sigh as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. The forest is still around him, waiting patiently for his apology ( and that is something he does not understand. An apology. He is not the one killing lost people in the forest like that . Even if this was a big miscommunication, it is one that he is in the right about. He did not overreact. He did not overreact. ) and he does not know if he is able to swallow his pride and give the forest the one it is looking for. 

( He overreacted. He has always been prone to thinking too quick and too fast and it was bound to cause problems; bound to hurt. That is his apology ).

How do you apologize to the child of the behemoth of the woods, Dipper wonders. It is a question to ask his Grunkle—a question to write down in his notebook and think about rather than do . The branches of the forest grow outwards like the wooden planks of a fence, and in the cracks of its leaves Dipper sees the glaring eyes of parents that he is not quite used to ( he has never hurt like this before, not in a long time ). It is harder to apologize to a parent than to the kid; harder to apologize to somebody who loves rather than someone that you love, because you do not know the parent like you know your own soul.

He has been practicing his apology to Wirt for as long as it took him to wander through the familiar paths and curves of the woods—he does not know what practiced speech he would say to the forest . To a cryptid beyond even his own intellectual understanding. He did not think that his words would have such a large consequence on so many things ( he never thought there would be any consequences. He never thinks at all ).

“I’m sorry,” he manages, and it’s loud and rushed and raw . He laughs into the open space of the forest, voice wet. “I’m sorry . I didn’t mean to hurt him—honest.”

A bird caws overhead. He is losing the patience of the Unknown. That is not what the living behemoth wants to hear.

“I don’t even think I meant it in the moment, really,” Dipper continues, and he takes his hat off of his head and runs a hand through brown curls. The flaps of the hat move easily underneath his hands as he fidgets with it, gaze dropping to the ground as the bird overhead flies away. “I felt lied to; that’s all. I was really angry, and now I’m thinking that my anger might not have been at him anyways and that sucks because I know I said a lot of hurtful words and I know that he is hurting and that this is bad and—”

Dipper can feel a guttural breath rip through his throat. Something wet and dark and a mixture of a laugh and a cry and a scream. It echoes around the silent forest. “I’m so, so, sorry. I am.”  

Something shifts, not enough to let him in, but the Unknown is listening closer, almost stifling as the trees creak downward, weak leaves falling off with the admittedly slow movement. But it tells Dipper he’s going in the right direction, but what else does he say? Dipper honestly doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, he wasn’t the one who lied, Wirt was (He knows that isn’t true, he know Wirt never meant to lie, his sparse attempts at clearing his name ring in Dippers mind— he should have let Wirt speak) the one who lied. But here he is, apologizing to a forest, one he’s not even sure is a living thing.

“What.. What else do I say? I’m so, so sorry.. I should have let Wirt speak, I should have let him defend himself before leaving him, I should have learnt from Grunkle Stan and let Wirt explain— hell, I should have asked if the legends were even actual legends instead of essentially testing him without him even knowing ! God, why didn’t I let him speak..” Dipper trails off, gripping his hat hard enough his thumbnail leaves an indent in the fabric and glaring at his shoes. Dipper's voice carries on without him, he can’t say anything more. His throat feels tight and like he’s about to cry, and he doesn’t feel like talking.

But… that was apparently the right thing to say, because Dipper looks up again, and sees the surreal sight of the entrance to the Unknown, he sees summer trees abruptly change from a warm green, to orange, red, and yellow, and everything in between, he sees a skeletal rat (“Thats- That’s not a normal rat. Okay . Not a normal rat, Dipper.”) scuttle across the ground where the Unknown starts, and out of view.

He has an opportunity to go to the Unknown, to apologize, to get answers, to see Wirt again .

Dipper doesn’t even think about it, he walks forward, into the Unknown. He knows what he has to do, the Unknown is almost breathing down his neck to make sure he does.

It doesn’t take long to get lost when he’s not getting blocked from the Unknown, almost as soon as he steps into the Unknown it’s like the rest of the world disappears. Dipper doesn’t want to run and lose his breath to find Wirt, but he has to do something to find his friend (when did he think of Wirt as a friend again? They haven't even spoken yet) and just wandering around won’t do it, if Wirt no longer sensing Dipper means anything (it breaks Dippers heart that he became a friend of the Unknown, only to lose that), it means, that Dipper can’t wait for Wirt to find him, he needs to take the initiative here.

(Not too far away, Wirt has the feeling someone is here, but he can’t bring himself to muster the strength and stand to guide the Lost)

Dipper has to think like Wirt.. how did Wirt always find Dipper? He’d assume that it’s some kind of sixth sense, but that wouldn't make sense since Wirt himself said he stopped sensing Dipper over time, is it like a territory thing? He was forcibly made to understand by Mabel that werewolves (in books) are territorial and can —kind of— sense if someone’s in their territory…

…Unless that someone is close, like a pack mate.. or a lover… nOPE NO NOT RIGHT NOW, Dipper is not going to make assumptions about how exactly Wirt was able to find him, and wait for Wirt to tell Dipper himself, nope!

He mentally swats away that thought as he wanders, thinking in a different direction. Could he like- see Dipper's footprints? Did his eyes let him see better? Dipper tries to think about how Wirt would go about finding Dipper . Ok, maybe he can look for footprints? The most he’s seen are paw and hoof prints.. nothing like Wirts wooden claw-feet. As Dipper wanders and ponders, he feels the Unknown shift , subtly moving and creaking and warping to guide Dipper towards something, is it Wirt? Should he ask? Is it appropriate to ask? … fuck it, why not try? If it helps him find Wirt, it’s worth it.

“Are.. are you trying to get me to Wirt..?” Fuck he regrets that, why is talking to the Unknown?? For all he knows, he’s talking to absolutely nothing, and anyone passing by would think he’s crazy (He knows the Unknown is listening, how else would he have been stopped from, then allowed to enter the Unknown?) But.. the Unknown answers, not verbally, but Dipper gets the sense he’s right, that he’s getting closer to Wirt.

“Ok.. uhm, thank you, Unknown?” He tries, it’s probably best to be polite to an Eldritch entity, right? He gets an answer as the trees move away, less stifling and less like the Unknown is waiting for him to mess up.

He’s.. back in the Unknowns good graces, he guesses, maybe that’s a good thing?

Dipper is not naive enough to take advantage of the Unknown’s kindness, feet moving quicker underneath the paved road laid out before him. Every stride of his legs is longer than he recognizes; a sort of pace that used to be set by a boy that had legs longer than his own. It is ironic, he laughs under his breath to himself as he pulls himself over a fallen over log. He didn’t think that his body would consider everything Wirt to be so natural in a time like this.

The Unknown pulls apart the trunks of two trees with a sense of urgency, and Dipper watches through knitted brows as an elm tree falls to make a clear path for him to follow. It is made clear in the way the animals are nowhere in sight, and the roots of the trees below him tangle back into their holes in the ground to avoid tripping Dipper. Each part of the forest moves with haste, unworried about the trees and bushes that will die as Dipper passes through.

Perhaps this is when Dipper should have realized that something more serious was happening. Perhaps this is when Dipper’s laughter at his own two feet should have faded to blatant worry for something beyond himself. 

Perhaps.

Wirt is further away from the entrance than any of the other times Dipper has met him, and Dipper blames that on the fact that Wirt’s probably avoiding him. 

Wirt has the upper hand in a forest like this, where his own sixth-sense lets him know where Dipper is and how fast he is moving. If he is truly avoiding Dipper, then he has the ability to put more space between the two of them before Dipper can even breathe . It does not help that the Unknown is apparently his weird parent ( maybe that’s why he avoids any topic of family? Dipper gets annoyed by Mabel being on his phone, he can’t imagine having a parent that's constantly breathing down his neck like Wirt’s ) and Wirt’s own feet ( unlike Dipper’s ) are built to move with speed through the forest. Wirt is built to run , body fleeing with adrenaline when it is scared like a rabbit forged from fear. Dipper is built to attack and then apologize, body tensing with adrenaline when he is scared because he has been a rabbit once before.

Never again.

Eventually, the Unknown makes an oak tree fall ( with a thick trunk. It has been alive for many years and dies just as quickly in the presence of Dipper ) to signal that Dipper needs to turn left, and he manages a weak thanks before doing as he is told. He is still looking over his shoulder at the size of the oak ( this is the second sign of oddity. Trees like this do not just fall for arguments as petty as theirs ) when his feet trip over something on the ground. He falls before he knows what’s happening, and he almost barely manages to catch himself with his forearms.

He takes a moment to breathe, chest heaving and eyes wide. His feet have tripped over something on the ground .

Dipper pushes himself to a plank position, unknowing if he’s willing to look at what his own stride has shortened for. He reminds himself that the Unknown was clearing roots and rocks as he passed by; there should have been nothing he could have tripped over at all.

He pushes himself to his knees, looking over his shoulder with a sort of hesitance.

Dipper does not know if the spike of adrenaline that courses through his body at the sight of Wirt is due to fear or relief.

Wirt sits there with one of his legs brought tight against his chest, arms wrapped around it as if he is hugging somebody else. He rests his forehead against his kneecap, deep in what Dipper can only assume ( based on what Mabel has told him ) is sleep. His other leg is extended in front of him ( a tripping hazard ) with the wooden ends of his limbs lacing themselves in the ground like sewing string ( a tripping hazard ). His infamous red cap is discarded precariously behind his back, and the skin he can see is a sickly pale color like the birch tree he sits against.  

His lantern is gently sat atop a rock, the fire inside weak and sputtering, close to going out.

Dipper sucks in a breath at the realization, looking around for something, anything , that could help Wirt.

“oh god- Wirt? Wirt! Are you ok? Dude, get up!” He whispers loudly, kneeling beside Wirt and lightly shaking him, worried to jostle him further.

Nothing, Wirt's eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow. He has to do something, this is his fault, whatever is going on with Wirt is his fault. He needs to find something to keep that lantern lit, if he remembers the story the farmer (who Dipper now suspects hasn’t even met Wirt at all) told him right, the lantern is like- the physical manifestation of Wirts soul, and if it goes out..

So does Wirt, so Dipper has to act fast, it was Edelwood that kept the lantern lit, right? Where can he find some.. 

“Uhm- Unknown..? If you can hear me, can- can you help me get Wirt some Edelwood? I think- I think he needs some” Dipper hesitantly calls out, already feeling silly as he gets no answer, not even a creaking tree, it looks like Dipper is on his own, great. Ok.. how would he find an Edelwood, what do they look like? From what Dipper remembers of Wirts set-up-thing, they’re kinda like birch trees, but with.. orangey bits? Is he remembering that right? At the very least he has something to go off of..

Should he- carry Wirt with him while he looks? That sounds like it could work, right? Dipper steps closer to Wirt, kneeling down on the dirt as he awkwardly puts his arms under Wirt (he shouldn’t be this light, should he?) and scoops him up, wrangling his lanky body so Wirt is propped on his back, Dipper gingerly kneels down, straining to get Wirts lantern, if he’s right and this is Wirts soul, it’s probably the thing that uses Edelwood.

Dipper looks around, heart rabbiting in his chest. Hes running out of time, and while Wirts easy to carry, his lantern needs to be carefully held so the force of moving doesn’t blow it out (although, the wind considerably died down when Dipper carefully held Wirts unconscious body, maybe it’s the Unkowns meddling?) Dipper treks forward, using one hand to hold one of wirts legs, and the other to hold the other leg and the lantern. He looks around as he slowly leaves the clearing he found Wirt in.

Edelwood.. Edelwood.. 

He spots a tree that looks vaguely like what he remembered, it has a tap in it, like someone wanted to get sap out of it,

Or oil. Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth and quickly walks towards it, muttering.

“Ok.. found one, I think.. cmon Wirt, it’ll be ok, just hang on, alright? I’m so, so sorry..” His voice carries on without him, and Dipper no longer registers what he’s saying, it’s all just reassurances, apologies, and pleads for Wirt to be ok and please don’t die .

Dipper gently sets down Wirt and the Lantern, careful to not put Wirt down in an uncomfortable way, gently propping his friend against a rock covered in moss —hopefully soft enough— and setting the lantern down next to him. Dipper inspects the tree, paling as he finally sees a face made from holes in the trunk. —how had he not seen that first?—

This is.. probably an Edelwood, hopefully. Dipper gently takes hold of the lantern, searching it gingerly for a place to put the oil, finding a spout near the back.

“Ok.. this is probably gonna be fine.. please, please be ok, Wirt..” Dipper mutters, tapping the spout lightly, trying to find where to get the oil flowing.

It takes a second of baited breathes and pleading promises underneath a murmur of lost words, but after what seems like longer then it is supposed to and shorter than it takes to become deadly , the tree in front of Dipper deposes a slick, thick, yellow liquid from the end of the sprout. He has the displeasure of watching it trickle down the smooth wooden tube with all the time in the world, knowing that every second it takes for the velocity to measure out is a second that Wirt will not be able to get back. A second of pain that Dipper caused .

When the first droplet of sap hits the base of the lantern, the ripples it creates amongst the older, almost dried pool of oil glow a bright yellow, spreading across the inner bottom of the container in Dipper’s hands and towards the flame. The spark flickers ( and there is a moment where Dipper sees the disappearance of the flame and thinks that his hands were only carved to kill ) before reappearing sharper than before. Brighter.

It is joined by the sound of the boy on his back coughing ( weakly, sickly, alive ) and Dipper scrambles to place the lantern where it can still obtain the sap that drips down from the tree. His main focus is on Wirt right now; body, mind, soul. His brain repeats the mantra is he okay, is he okay, is he okay ( without any question marks, because it is not a question. Wirt has to be okay. Dipper does not know what he’ll do if he isn’t ) while he places him against the trunk of a nearby tree with all of the patience that only Wirt seems to know how to extract.

“Wirt?” Dipper repeats quietly. He is afraid that if he says it too loud, with too much confidence, that the moment will disappear with the passing breeze: like a flame.

Wirt’s eyes open like his eyelids are weights, strain evident on the temples of his face as they crease to accommodate the new motion. After a second, his gaze flicks from the sky above his head ( gray and filled with potential rain, like the Unknown chose it ) to Dipper , iris’ flicking between his right eye and his left, taking note of the detail in each. Dipper is relieved enough that he thinks he could cry.

“Holy shit , you’re okay,” Dipper breathes all at once, the words escaping his mouth with the passage of time. He thinks it is as much a thank you to the forest as a prayer of relief to whatever God lies above. The adrenaline from the moment and the endorphins from the fear and the dopamine from the ebb of guilt crash into his endocrine system all at once, and he can’t control his own hands as they reassure.

In hindsight, he is not as soft as he would have liked to be as his knuckles turn white around the cloth that covers shoulders, wrapping it taut between his fingers. His hands travel to Wirt’s heart, where they clasp around the thump thump thump of something beating before flicking towards Wirt’s cheeks just as fast. He kneads skin in the palms of his hands as he turns Wirt’s face to look at him, desperate, hopeful, pleading that glowing round eyes will find his; bright and alive .

Wirt feels like the fire of his own candle underneath Dipper’s hands, hot with fever. When Wirt’s eyes focus on Dipper, slightly furrowed in a sick-focused gaze, Dipper pulls away. He is not surprised to feel his hands slick with sweat.

“Lumberjack?” Wirt mumbles quietly, completely missing to audibly form the second syllable of Dipper’s nickname. It is broken and unwhole and Dipper would not trade it for the world. “Wait, no . Dip— uh . Uh.” 

“No- no, it’s ok, Wirt I’m so sorry oh my god.. ” Dipper breathes, moving in to hug his friend. Wirt shakes, does he not want to be hugged? Dipper tries to pull back, but find Wirt hs latched onto him, muttering his own apologies over and over.

“ ‘m sorry.. so sorry.. couldn’t save you..” Dipper can’t quite understand what Wirt is saying, he’s muttering, but god it’s a beautiful sound to Dipper, it means he didn’t fuck this up, it means Wirt is alive , alive enough to talk, alive enough to look at Dipper..

Alive enough to remember to not.. call him Lumberjack..

“Hey, Wirt.. look at me..?” Dipper prods gently, pulling back just enough to look at him, Wirt's eyes are unfocused, dimmer than normal.. and they shine with tears Dipper never wanted to be the cause of. Wirt gazes at him, eyes pulsing bright, then dimming, then repeating.

“I am so sorry, I was wrong, I should have let you talk, I didn’t- I never thought it would hurt this bad- Wirt, I am so sorry-“ a sob rips itself out of Dippers throat, and before Wirt can reply, Dipper crashes back into him and tightly hugs Wirt, just to remind himself that he’s here, that Wirt didn’t die, that Dipper didn’t kill someone he wanted so badly to make amends with.

Soon it feels like they’re both crying, Dipper keeps bursting into tears at the memory of what he did, and Wirt.. Wirt is apologizing over and over along with Dipper himself, babbling apologies and saying he “couldn’t save you” in broken, groggy words. He’s also.. warm, clammy, Wirt definitely has a fever, Dipper thinks he might be imagining it, but he swear he feels heat radiating through Wirts cloak..

His cloak! Dipper mutters a “You’re too warm, let’s get this off, ok? That-that could help..” and pulls back, Wirt still looking at him with a dazed, exhausted expression while Dipper gently takes off his friends cloak. For a moment, they look at eachother, and Dipper can’t bear to look away, shame burning in his gut. But he can’t focus on that, because he notices something.

Wirt.. keeps fading in and out of consciousness. He keeps almost going limp, but jolts back to reality before he can rest.. that is.. mildly concerning, Dipper doesn’t have time to Google if it’s good to let Wirt rest, so his best bet would be to keep Wirt awake to make sure the sap-lantern-thing works or if it just.. prolonged Wirt dying.

So, Dipper sits, close enough his knee just barely touches Wirts outstretched leg. Feeling the cool earth on his legs and palms, wet leaves making the dirt smudge on his hands as Wirt seems to try and collect himself, looking at Dipper like Wirt had utterly failed him, like Wirt was the one at fault and not Dipper.

Like Wirt was the one that didn’t let Dipper say his side, how did Dipper not see it beforehand? How did he not see the blatant holes in the farmer guys story?

“I’m sorry, ” Wirt continues to repeat, taking his weak hand to Dipper’s forehead, where warm sweaty bark pushes away Dipper’s bangs from his forehead. Wirt’s hand is soft against Dipper’s forehead, brushing away his bangs with a shaky wrist. 

Dipper’s grip tightens against the cloth of his shoulders as Wirt runs a hand along the top of his head, offering a small ( almost brotherly, almost familial ) noogie to the cowlick on top of his head. Dipper watches as the ends of his lips turn upwards in a small smile, bottom lip shaking from a mixture of his fever and his fear and his sense of forlorn: “You didn’t deserve it.”

“I deserve it,” Dipper claims almost immediately, taking one of his hands away from Wirt’s shoulder and reaching for the hand on top of his head. He cups sweaty bark in his own short fingers, squeezing the width of his palm ever so gently. “You didn’t do anything, Wirt. If anything, I should be apologizing for the situation I’ve found you in—you don’t deserve any of this.”

“‘Caused it, I did,” Wirt says, stumbling over his words in grammatically incorrect phrases. He rubs a thumb along the top of Dipper’s head, before pulling away with a pained noise ( like the bark of a dog taken into the alley with an owner who carries a gun ). “You look older. Different.”

“It’s been a stressful couple of days,” Dipper responds, with the smallest, most comforting, smile he can manage at a time like this. He pulls his other hand away from Wirt’s shirt reluctantly, smoothing out the wrinkles with a pitiful sigh. Wirt’s gaze falls on his hand, a confused noise escaping the slight ‘o’-formed shape of his lips. Dipper smiles at the noise, if only comforted by the sound of Wirt still breathing , still living , so completely in sync with his own beating heart. “And, well. They say stress causes wrinkles.”

Wirt snickers, clouded gaze traveling to the sky above their heads. It is gray, like the fur of arctic hares and wolves and the color of Wirt’s dirtied undershirt and Dipper’s hat. It is gray, like everything that has ever made the two of them, them . “Rock fact.”

“Wirt, I know that you’re not feeling well, but I need your help,” Dipper says, shaking his shoulders slightly to gather his attention once more. Wirt hums, head shaking with every quake of his shoulders. “You’re sick, and I don’t know if it’s because you’re dying or if you were only on the verge of death.”

“How do I make you better?” Dipper pleads to the pyrexia boy. 

Wirt presses a finger against his nose and makes an audible ‘ boop! ’ noise. That is not the answer Dipper was looking for.

“ Please , Wirt,” Dipper tries again, a tone of desperation taking control of his voice as he bites down on his bottom lip ( hard. He bites until canines pierce skin and chapped skin peels inwards. He bites until Wirt’s gaze flickers to him ). “Please let me fix this. I need to make everything better. I need to make everything like it was .”

He grabs Wirt’s hand, sweaty palm in something unlovable. He is pleading, now, like a sinner in a confessional booth. “ Please .”

Wirts cloudy eyes look confused, it would be cute if terror weren’t peeling his heart open, Dipper lightly shakes Wirts wooden hands, clasped between his own fleshy hands. Wirt looks down at their hands, and back at Dipper, something clicking in his eyes.

“Dip.. per..? How’re..” He trails off, an innocent confusion painting his tricolor eyes, and isn’t that worrying? Is Wirt loosing it? Is his brain being boiled in his head to the point his memories are fading? Oh this is all Dippers fault.. why didn’t he listen to Wirt?!

“Ye-“ A sob wracks Dippers throat, making his voice crack ”-Yeah, yeah it’s me, Wirt, I wanted to apologize.. you never deserved this..” Dipper leans his forehead on Wirts, as if he could take the fever from Wirt and give it to himself, but.. he can’t..

Because all Dipper does it hurt people, all he does is misunderstand and make incorrect conclusion after incorrect conclusion, all at the expense of the people he loves, all at the expense of Wirt. Who is silent, breath warming the air, before Wirt lets out a sob mixed with a sigh, and leans back, shaking.

“Wirt? A-Are you ok-“ “I-I.. I thought y’hated me..” Wirt mutters, curling up, hiding his face in his hands, and while he does so, Dipper feels his heart break a little bit. How had he hurt Wirt so badly? How long had his friend been struggling, only for Dipper to hurt him more? Dipper chokes back a sob, gently reaching forward and grazing his hands over Wirts, tugging them down as gently as he’s able to.

“No- Wirt, I don’t hate you at all! I should have let you defend yourself, I didn’t have the full story and I hated you for it. But I promise you” Wirt sucks in a breath, and Dipper presses on. “I promise, I don’t hate you, I know better now and I’m so, so sorry , Wirt, I’m so sorry..” Dipper can barely take it, he pulls back and mirrors Wirt, putting his face in his hands and welcoming a break from all the pain of sight.

That is until he hears it, a sniffle. Pulling his hands back and letting confusion and concern wash over him, Dipper sees Wirt staring at him, mouth open in shock and eyes gleaming with tears, and soon his cheeks start to mirror his eyes, because Wirt is crying.

What did Dipper do?! Is he ok? Did he say something wrong? “Wirt..? Are you alright? You don’t have to forgive me-“ Dipper gets cut off by Wirt practically leaping into Dippers arms, closing the short distance Dipper created by crushing him in a hug, crying. And then Dipper is crying and they’re both crying because holy shit so much is happening , and Dipper can’t bear it

Dipper keeps apologizing, muttering “Sorry, I’m so sorry” into Wirts head as they both cling to each other (The lantern burns bright beside the two, the fire calm and tall, alive ) and sob.

They rest there, limbs tied together taut like string. It is so easy to relax in the mess of Wirt’s limbs and his own, clinging onto fabric and skin and bark and anything that he can grab onto. Anything that is real and shaking with sobs and is a mark of their friendship —a sign that this is real, and that they are forgiven, and that everything is as it should be.

“I need to get you help,” Dipper says after a moment’s pause, pulling away with a quiet shake of his shoulders as his gaze flickers from Wirt’s sweat-coated forehead to his dim eyes to the burning light of the candle. He is alive , but he is still sick, still unwell. Wirt whimpers at the loss of contact, back arching from fever-ridden thoughts. Dipper wants to coax him into feeling better—wants to whisper sweet nothings and massage the wrinkles of worry in between his brow. “Do you know anyone in the Unknown that could take care of your fever?”

“Beatrice could not nurse a sick fish,” comes Wirt’s eloquent reply. Dipper does not know who Beatrice is, but he has to stomp down the flash of jealousy that runs down his spine at the idea of there being a Beatrice; one he knows not of. “I, uh —” Wirt continues, rubbing his temple with his thumb. His eyes squint in concentration, like he’s doing a hard math problem “—Auntie could do it. ‘Fraid I do not know where her house is from here, though.”

“Auntie?” Dipper mutters underneath his breath, because he knows not of an Auntie and a Beatrice and all of these friends that Wirt supposebly knows that Dipper has never heard nothing of. “I don’t know if I could carry you all across the forest in search of, uh . Auntie’s house. I’m not that strong.”

Wirt glances at him, gaze focusing and unfocusing as he hums slightly, gently, as if he is lost in thought in his state of febrility. Dipper does not say anything, knowing that Wirt’s thoughts will not be comprehensible in a way that he understands—it is up to him to find a solution; to find a sanctuary.

There is the rustling of branches in the wind and leaves tumbling across the air from somewhere to his left, and he turns with a snap of his neck, sharp enough to make the feeling of whiplash run down the back of his neck. He does not know what he is expecting, but he certainly did not imagine it to be a cleared archway, built by the Unknown itself. The branches are twisted to stand high above where they sit, and any loose logs and rocks fall into the ground like it is built of quicksand, clearing a path for Dipper to walk through, Dipper can see the outside world from behind the gateway.

“I think the Unknown is trying to help us,” Dipper says quietly, before the idea clicks in his mind and he turns to look at Wirt with wide eyes. I think the Unknown is trying to help us . It is still trying to help them, even though Wirt is no longer lost ( though he supposes Wirt cannot possibly be anything but lost. He is the guide of the lost; soul entwined with them so fully that he is almost one of them himself ) and he is no longer dying. It is still trying to help them, because they both want Wirt to thrive . “It’s clearing a path to help. C’mon, we need to get going.”  

But Wirt is looking at Dippers urgency with a hazy confusion on his face, his antlers rustling when Wirt tilts his head “But.. I can’t leave, Dipper” he says, Dipper’s eyebrows knit together, him replying;

“Why not?”

“Because if I try, the wood crawls more an-and I throw up.. I didn’t tell you when you fell asleep and I carried you out because I didn’t want ‘t worry you” he slurs, looking at Dipper like he knew this, when Dipper very much did not , but that.. makes sense, why he found Wirt the next day practically catatonic, and had to guide him out of a panic attack

“I.. did not know this.. but, uhm, I think if the Unknown is causing that, and it’s making some kind of magic gateway, then I think it means for us both to go through, a-and if your not feeling sick when your nearby it, like you would normally, then that means the Unknown is letting you go, so you can get help” Dipper rambles, and while he does, gently picking up Wirt, and trying to not think about how his knees burn, or how Wirt must have done the same for him. Wirt nods doubtfully, inclining his head.

“I.. Hope so. I’m- I’m really tired, Lu- Dipper” Wirt mutters the last part, but Dipper catches it and his eardrums feel like they burn at how Wirt says his actual name

“Wirt? I’m not angry anymore, please, please call me lumberjack” Dipper blurts, feeling Wirt tense from on Dippers back, hands curling minutly on Dippers flannel, while he reaches for Wirts cloak and Lantern, careful to not lose grip on his friend.

“Are… are you sure?.” Wirt asks reproachfully, nervously, and Dipper tries to not grin or sob.

“Positive, it feels weird to hear you call me Dipper” he jokes, and Wirt sighs, relaxing a bit, and Dipper takes the initiative to start walking, feeling Wirt start to nod off given how he starts to feel eerily similar to how he was before Dipper relit Wirts lantern, how he was when he was about to die, because of Dipper. But Wirt tries to hold on, and Dipper can feel Wirts eyes growing heavy, even if he can’t see them.

“You can sleep if you want, I think it’s ok” He mutters, but Wirt must have heard it, because Wirt nods against his scalp and almost immediately goes limp —Asleep, very much asleep, not dead— against Dippers back. Dipper sighs as he tracks closer to the entrance, casting a nod to the Unknown, a silent, grim thanks to avoid waking up Wirt. The Unknown looms further down- a threat, that if Wirt doesn’t return soon, neither will Dipper. He nods in understanding, and crosses the threshold, quickening his pace to return to the Mystery Shack.

This is going to be a joy to explain, 1) Why Dippers face is (probably) swollen and red, covered in tear tracks, but not hurt visibly, and 2) Why he’s carrying the person that he left hating, and returned asking to help, and 3) Why said friend is passed out with a fever.

But it’s going to be Worth it, because this can be a way for Dipper to apologize, because words alone don’t fix anything, and from what he saw of Wirt when he was delirious and not able to bring himself to lie, Wirt has been struggling for a very, very long time. And while part of it is on Dipper, he knows that he can find out a way to fix this, and it starts with helping Wirt with his fever.

-

If there was a contest for the most subtle person ever alive, Mabel thinks she would win in a landslide . 

It is insane how nonchalant she is as she flips through the pages of a comic book from the seventies, found underneath the recliner that her Grunkle Ford sometimes naps on in his super secret basement lair. It is insane how indifferent she is as she sucks on the end of a melting strawberry cream popsicle as it melts onto her sweater, staining her mouth a bright pink. And truly, it is insane how blasé she is as she uses the heel of her foot to give her pig a massage from where he lies on the other end of the outside porch furniture.

Her Grunkle Stan is leading a group of tourist pass the oldest tree in Gravity Falls ( a tree that they accidentally shot with the ray of a flashlight and a crystal when the town was on the verge of armageddon and there was no solution besides the opportunity that lay in a hundred percent of the missed shots they never took ) and towards a shed that has a bunch of tennis balls speared on the ends of gardening tools. Wendy is digging gopher holes with Soos near the front, something that Mabel will obviously eventually find herself wound up in as the cute little mammals poke their fuzzy-wittle heads out of the ground.

And, of course, her brother is in the woods with his estranged crush.

Mabel is so subtle—she’s barely even thinking about it!

There’s not much to think about, she assumes. It’s very easy to be subtle when she knows that the disagreement will be solved with a hug and Dipper will come back with more of his stories ( the stories he tells like he’s auditioning to be the voiceover of a new Hallmark movie—the stories he tells like he's already forty and married and has nothing else in his life besides this endless devotion to Wirt ). It’s easy to be subtle when she knows what Wirt has told her and what Dipper has told her and how it is both a miscommunication of words of a scared lover. 

There’s not much to think about the way that they’ll obviously make up ( not much to think about, not much to imagine ), because Dipper hasn’t fallen for a boy like this since they were in second grade, and Mabel has only spent a few hours with Wirt and she knows that the other boy breathes in Dipper’s presence like he is God; like he is air. Wirt looks at him like he is the autumn leaves and laughs at his ( terrible, bad, utterly horrible ) jokes like it is the first humorous thing he has ever heard. Like he didn’t even know humor was a thing until Dipper walked into his life, mouthing off bad knock-knock joke after knock-knock joke.

Oh, who is she kidding? She’s totally thinking about it! She might even go as far as to say that she’s not even being subtle about it—which is huge, because as previously stated, she’s basically the most subtle person she knows! It’s basically her middle name at this point: Mabel Subtle Pines.

Maybe they’ve confessed their dying love to each other , Mabel swoons in her own mind, resting her comic book against her stomach as she lowers her legs to look at her pig. Waddles cannot speak, but he totally agrees with her—she wouldn’t put it beyond Dipper to admit his love after he’s made a mistake as big as this one. Maybe they’re smooching .

“You love your smooches,” Mabel says, sitting up with a grin. She leans forward, running her nails along the back of Waddles’ ears, where the pink leather of his skin wrinkles from excitement. He oinks in approval, and she presses overdramatic kisses to the top of his head. “Don’t you, Waddles? Maybe Dipper will have some to spare when he gets home—he’ll place them on top of this big ol’ pink head of yours if you just ask.”

She smirks, running her hand along her pig’s head and cupping his cheeks. “Maybe we can even make you a Wirt costume.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall arrive .

“ Mabel! ” comes the warning of her brother as he runs through the forest. It is panicked and it is loud and it is scared ; everything her brother usually is not . She turns around almost instantly, looking over her shoulder as her gaze flies against the scenery of the surrounding woods. When she finds him emerging from the forest, her first thought is: well, he’s seen better days.

Then she sees the person on his back, arms looped around his neck as his hands are looped around the other boy’s legs. The boy on his back sports a familiar pair of antlers and pale white skin—but he lacks the glow of multicolored eyes and a bright maroon hat. He lacks a shawl and a lantern; he lacks life .

“Dipper?” Mabel asks, running towards the edge of her porch as she furrows a brow. Upon closer inspection, she comes to the astute conclusion that the person on her brother’s back is, in fact, the boy that she had just been talking about. Wirt . “Is he okay?”

“He’s sick,” Dipper says, running along the path to the house. His panicked yells and thunderous feet gather the attention of Wendy and Soos from where they sit on the ground, and Mabel has a second of a moment to think about how her brother should be lucky Ford and Stan are distracted, because Wendy and Soos will not pry like their Grunkle’s do: they will not tease, and they will not give talks . The thought fades as quickly as it comes, replaced by a flash of worry that travels along her spine as she rushes to get the door for Dipper. “He almost died. His— the lantern , Mabel. We need to keep it lit.”

Oh , Mabel thinks as Dipper runs into the living room. She follows him like a doll, sound numb and thoughts muffled as she watches the panic of the situation. She did not think about this

Chapter Text

Wirt can’t tell if he’s awake, but he is warm, he’s wrapped in something soft, and his head feels heavy. The comfort almost feels smothering, despite feeling the tingle of a sore, dry throat, and a distant pounding against his temples like someone knocking on a door.

Where is he? Wirt hasn’t been this comfortable in a long, long time. But his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and his mind is begging him to go back under— to rest more, and Wirt gives in, hoping more rest will make him feel better.

—-

Someone’s next to him, not quite touching him, but close enough Wirt can feel it. Part of him wants to open his eyes and see who it is, but he can’t bear the thought of prying open heavy eyelids. Wirt's head throbs in a steady rhythm that would be soothing if it wasn’t painful, he winces as if trying to get away from the pain behind his eyelids, trying blearily to open them. Getting dragged back down by the mystery person laying something cool on his forehead, Wirt should thank this person, shouldn’t he?

But Wirt can’t open his mouth, or if he does, nothing comes out. But the person seems to sense his thanks because Wirt feels a hand patting his shoulder. And all too soon, Wirt is dragged back under the water of rest, will this keep repeating?

—

Wirts.. cold, horribly cold, his mind clearing out dust of the corners to make room for the vague sense of ‘why am I cold?’ Slowly trickling into Wirts consciousness. He shivers, tucking himself deeper into the strange, warm thing he’s wrapped in. The weight helps. Wirt feels the coldness recede as the comforting weight increases, and thus the warmth. Wirt is finally relaxed enough to go back under again.

—

“He just keeps falling asleep , Mabel,” a voice says from beyond the darkness. It is muffled, like someone shouting through cloth, and it breaks with fear, like a widow weeping. Wirt wants to reach out towards it, to touch and console, but his hand is heavy with a weight that he hasn’t felt in quite some time. “I don’t know what to do. How do you even care for a moose-tree-boy-hybrid thing?”

There is a darkness in his mind, swallowing him whole and weighing down his thoughts; his eyelids, his limbs, his shoulders, his soul. Everything is slurred around him, like the mess of a forest in the corner of his eye when he’s running through a trail, or the tail of a salmon seen down the current of a river. When he lifts his head, it is heavy. 

A woman’s voice responds this time, one that is further away than the male’s. It rubs at his brain in a way that makes Wirt think that this is not completely out of the ordinary.  “Is there something about how to treat him in that dumb book of yours?”

“Mabel!” The boy exclaims, with a noise of excitement. There is an elbow against Wirt’s head, and the warmth of weight against his right arm disappears with receding footsteps. “You’re a genius.”

“I know,” the female voice— Mabel —responds with a smug uplift at the end of her words. Wirt wants to open his eyes; he wants to look at the boy that stands a few feet away from him ( the one the sounds like he stands even closer, like his voice is mere inches away in the pull of Wirt’s brain ) and he wants to look at the boy across from him ( one that stands further away then the other, in his sickridden state ). But he can’t, for his eyes are heavy and his brain is heavy and he is a monster constructed of lead.

But he manages a small groaning sound. A plea for warmth.

The boy exclaims something under his breath and returns tenfold, warmth and comfort and everything that Wirt could have ever asked for when pressed into the side of his arm like so. His mind does not bother to comprehend the rest of the conversation between the two people, hulking with the comfort of the boy like a blanket, weighing his presence down into the darkness of before.

This is nice, he thinks before he falls asleep. Just us.

He does not think twice about who ‘us’ is.

—

The fog in Wirts brain is clearing a bit, his thoughts feel more organized. Not by much, however, his ears won’t stop humming..

There’s a voice, it sounds nice, but worried.

“Yeah- cmon Wirt, it’s time to get up, ok? Uhm, I can’t let you sleep this off.., you need some medicine, I’ve.. ive got some, ok? Then you can sleep” it says, who’s talking to him? Whoever it is sounds frazzled, like they’ve been stressed for a while.. Wirt wants to reassure the presence, but his mouth won’t move.

But his eyelids do, it’s hard work, but Wirt wrenches them open and immediately squints at the light. Everything around him is blurry and sharp at the same time, it’s disorienting.

There’s someone infront of him, Wirt can’t pick out features.

“Ye-yeah that’s it, open your eyes, Wirt” the someone says, who is this? They sound familiar..

Dipper? No, Dipper hates him, oh how Wirt wishes he could have explained. How Wirt wishes he had the backbone to stop Dippers spiral and plead his case..

There’s something being pressed to his mouth, he can’t ask what it is before medicine is being gently streamed into Wirts mouth, the someone pausing sometimes so Wirt doesn’t choke. It tastes.. odd, nothing like medicine Wirt was always able to scrounge up during trips to a town, if any would serve him. It’s sweet, and kind of syrupy, kind of like sap..

The cup is empty now, and Wirt feels more tired, but better. He curls up and breathes out a rattling sigh, why is he so tired? What happened? The someone is quiet again, but pats Wirts shoulder lightly, and pulling up the blanket to Wirts shoulder, he hadn’t noticed it had fallen.

He should thank this person, thank them for not being scared of Wirt, thank them for being so nice.. but nothing comes out aside from a raspy hum. But the Someone seems to get it, because they sigh and say “Don’t worry about it, Wirt. Just rest up” before walking away, closing the door.

The medicine seems to have an affect on Wirt, because just as soon as he’s warm again, he’s out like a light.

——

When Wirt wakes up this time, he does not feel the remnants of dreary days past settling into his bones.

He awakes with a start, chest heaving as he uses his elbows to lift himself into a sitting position. There is a blanket that falls to his stomach, wrinkled and creased from the disturbance. His eyes dart around the room ( taking in everything and nothing at the exact same time. He forgets about the deer head with antlers as large as his on the wall as soon as he looks away. He forgets about the bare wood that is lighter than its surroundings; the memories of a carpet. He forgets as soon as he looks away and he looks away desperately . Easily ) and he places a hand against his heart, racing underneath wooden fingers.

He tilts on his side, using his arm to keep him up. He feels nauseous in a way that his stomach does not feel completely digested but empty in a way that he doesn’t think he could find it within himself to throw up. His breath comes out short, and he is panicking for a reason that his mind isn’t all too entirely sure about.

His eyes, flickering, flashing, peering, land on a brown-haired boy sitting in an armchair in the corner.

Wirt recognizes him. He recognizes the way legs are thrown over the arm of the chair precariously, and the way that there is a flat curve to his hair from his hat. ( he doesn’t think he could ever forget, even in death. Dipper is him and he is Dipper and they just simply are. Intertwined, soul in hand. Together ). He recognizes the way his mouth parts slightly in Hypnos’ curse and the way the sun gleams on him from the window 

From the window .

He turns to look with haste, eyes widening at the sight of glass. It takes him another moment of silence ( but that’s not entirely true. It’s another moment of his own breathing and the hum of something mechanical and the sound of people outside ) ( there are people outside, Wirt thinks he may cry ) ( people ) to realize that he is missing something in the labyrinth of the room.

He has missed the way that it is a room . He has completely skipped over the fact that he lies in a bed, and there is a door on the opposing wall. He has missed the way that the walls are brown and that they hold hanged paintings and that there even are walls .

He does not recognize this, he thinks. These contemporary walls; even if they may have been placed strong around his heart and his mind and his soul.

He doesn’t recognize anything other than his own aching body (except it’s not aching, something is different about it) and Dipper in the armchair, why is he here? Why is Dipper here? Hasnt their friendship crumbled by now? Where is here? Wirt has so many questions it feels like his head is spinning with it all.

Speak of the Devil, Dipper stirs, his face twisting before his eyes open wearily, almost immediately meeting Wirt gaze and stiffening. Wirt hadn’t realized he’d been staring and he looks away, picking at the wood encircling his hands.

For a moment, it’s all quiet, the faint sounds of machinery and people somewhere below them filling the quiet.

Wirt opens his mouth to apologize at the same time Dipper does

“I’m sorry-“ “I shouldn’t have kept this from you-“ Dipper cuts himself off at the same time Wirt does, both looking at eachother. Before Dipper breaks into giggles, and Wirt sighs. He had missed this. The moment is over, and while Dipper laughs, Wirt apologizes

“I’m.. im sorry, Dipper, I shouldn’t have kept that secret from you” He says, and Dippers laugh is cut short, and the mood is more somber. But Wirt notices it doesn’t have the same feeling of dread and anger as their fight did. Dipper sighs, and stands up, walking over to sit on the bed next to Wirt.

“Don’t apologize, I’ve had some time to think.. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like I did, I was just… so angry , Wirt, it felt like I’d been tricked, even thought I know now that you couldn't have told me, I probably wouldn't have believed you..” Dipper explains, wringing his hands and looking away. Wirt sits up, propping himself up to argue, but Dipper cuts him off.

“Dont- don’t argue, I don’t want to fight with you, it’s been exhausting to keep being angry at you” Dipper interjects, looking at Wirt. He feels a sting of guilt for making his friend take care of him, he should have kept the lantern lit, not just… given up, did he learn nothing from his first adventure? Beatrice is going to kill him for this..

“I can still be sorry, Dipper..” Wirt mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor. Wirt wrings his hands nervously as Dipper drops it, knowing he likely won’t get anywhere if they argued in circles.

“And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be sorry,” Dipper says, and he smiles in that tender way that Dipper likes to do. The way the end of his mouth curls at the edges, showing corners of white teeth between the gap of pressed together lips. Wirt curls up in the space between his smile the same way he curls up against a tree in the Unknown. Wirt curls up in Dipper’s smile like it is a home. “Because I’d be pretty mad if you told me that I wasn’t allowed to feel sorry right now— because I’m feeling sorry.”

“I just—” he starts again, and he rubs his arm with his hand, gaze falling to the ground as he awkwardly averts his gaze. Wirt does not have a tender smile, but he watches Dipper with tender eyes. Open and staring and so willing to observe every minute detail (he memorizes every curve and dip of Dipper’s face like it is important. Because it is important. Wirt could be on the opposite side of the world and carve Dipper’s face into a metal brick and it would be a perfect replica, each detail taking up a different muscle in his brain). “I just don’t want to fight.”

Wirt hesitates, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. He watches the way Dipper squeezes his arm and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle among purple bags and the way his hair falls across his forehead, greasy.

Wirt nods.

“I don’t want to fight either,” he responds. There is a metaphorical weight being lifted off his chest. A metaphorical pair of antlers being removed from the sides of his heads as he watches Dipper’s head perk up like a drinking gazelle. A metaphorical feeling in his heart; a tickle in his lungs. “But I want— I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

It is Wirt’s turn to act timid as his gaze adverts from Dipper’s direction, finger coiling around a loose string to the sheets on his bed (because he’s sleeping in a bed. He wants to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time. It’s been so long since he’s slept in a bed).  “I don’t think you’ll ever understand how sorry I am.”

They don’t say anything for a long moment.

Wirt plays with the taut string, feeling Dipper’s gaze on every movement of his finger. He can feel Dipper’s eyes on his skin.

“You can make it up to me,” Dipper says, and Wirt looks up at him. Dipper smiles as he says it, nothing if not the awkward boy that Wirt met the first day in the Unknown. He scratches at the nape of hair on the back of his neck and half-laughs, half-coughs into the bend of his elbow. “We could, like . Hangout. Or— I don’t know —I could show you some modern things. Only if you’re feeling better , of course!”

It’s Wirts turn to be surprised, Dipper actually wants to hang out with him again? He had thought that their friendship had crumbled into dust, to be lost among memories and Wirts attempts to be human again. But Dippers reaching out, and offering to show Wirt how much he had missed in his time in the Unknown, which Wirt realized with a sinking feeling in his gut may have been more than almost 4 years.

How old is Greg, by now? 

Wait, he needs to respond.

“Uhm- I think that-that sounds great, Dipper! Oh- uh, I feel find, by the way- as best I can be? Uh- hooooww have you been..?” Ah, Wirt flubbed it again, Beatrice is 100% gonna kill him, but Dipper doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m as fine as I can be, I guess. And are you sure your ok? You were kiiiiinda onthebrinkofdeath-” Dipper rushes out, and Wirt winces at the memory of him giving up

( He just can’t do this anymore, Wirts so, so tired. He killed his relationship with Lum- Dipper, he’s been outright avoiding Beatrice despite them promising eachother to not abandon one another, he just- he can’t, it’s too much.

A sinking thought rises in Wirts mind, one way to stop it, to let Dipper move on, to let Beatrice find someone else to bond through trauma with, one way to end it.

Letting the lantern die out)

Wirt needs to say something, he needs to clear the air, but all he can do is look down in shame, burning hot in his gut and between his eyes. It was the coward’s way out, at the end of the day.

Silence settles over the two, not a comfortable one like before everything went south, but a sad one, a silence that begs to be filled, and Dipper answers that call at the same time Wirt does.

“You don’t have to talk about it-“ “I need to explain at some point-“ it happened again, they should really work on this.

But Dipper starts laughing, and it’s infectious as Wirt starts to laugh too, and then they’re both laughing because they both realize how stupid they’re being. Wirt leans against Dipper as the laughter dies down, preparing to talk.

“I think... I think I need more time, I promise I’ll tell you why, but I don’t think I have all the words right now..” Wirt explains, picking at the wood encasing his hands

He stares at his hands for a moment more, the white undertone of the bark shiny with sap as he scratches branches underneath where the bark used to be. He cannot feel the outside of his hands (cannot feel them regrowing, cannot feel them dented. They are a protective outline of fingers that got nicked on blackberry bushes. They are a shield that heals but is never felt) but he likes the way they look; the way they’re a man made fidget he can take anywhere and everywhere. 

He tries not to think about Dipper’s silence. He tries not to think about the way that Dipper seemingly has nothing to say about any of this. He is doing something wrong. The thought comes, as easy as breathing. Dipper deserves an explanation now. It is only customary.

But then Dipper speaks and Wirt’s heart skips a beat and he is so seemingly elated. It fills him like golden sap in a bucket. It leaks out of him like apologies and love. “That’s fine. Take as long as you need.”

“I will,” Wirt responds softly, all proud smiles and bark-coated hands. “ I will. ”

Dipper smiles at this—something soft, something safe . It is not awkward like how he sits in the chair and how his hands move to straighten his slept-in clothes, and it is not second-guessed like the way he crosses his legs and holds his own hat. It is a moment of upturned mouths that Wirt treasures dearly, holding it close to his chest like a baby bird in his hands.

Then, Dipper seems to realize that his smile is nothing if not too soft. Something Wirt treasures like he is Midas and Dipper’s teeth are gold (and there is something soft in that metaphor, too. The ends of Wirt’s monstrous fingers—unhuman-like—have graced teeth. Wirt has made Dipper’s smile gold with his own touch. Dipper trusts him enough to let him get close to white molars and even whiter fangs) . The ends of Dipper’s mouth turn upwards, sharp, at the realization. Now there is something awkward there—something forced . Something that looks normal and overexcited and overhumane.

Wirt laughs softly underneath his breath. He supposes that Dipper is not Dipper without awkward moments and second-guessed movements. Wirt likes the moments where Dipper is soft and unguarded as much as he likes the moments where Dipper knows he’s being watched and somehow manages to be awkward. The push and the pull; what gives and what takes.

“How about— well ,” Dipper says, and Wirt does not know why he is stuttering so much and trying so hard—maybe it is the fact that Wirt is entroding on his environment. Maybe it is the fact that Dipper has seen Wirt in the depths of his most vulnerable. Maybe it is because Wirt smells like Dipper’s house. “I don’t think you should get up just yet, you know? What if we, uh . Just played a game—or something.”

“I’m fine with that,” Wirt says through a smile, as soft as he can give it. He will give Dipper as much gold as he wants and as much security as he needs. Dipper has saved him; he is forever in his debt (and Wirt finds that he is completely and utterly absolutely okay with that) .

“Great!” Dipper says, smile somehow sharp and numb at the exact same time. “I can go get my Gameboy, if you want?”

“Gameboy?” Wirt asks, tilting his head to the side once more. “Oh, right, sorry, it’s been quite a while” He had to wrack his brain for a second to remember the name, he had never really paid attention to video games so the name must have slipped the mind

“How- dude how did you forget about the gameboy?? Wait, you were surprised at me saying 21st century, what year.. what year did you go into the Unknown..?” He asks, and Wirt is concerned at how he has to think for a moment

“Last I remember, 1999?” Wirt answers after a moment, And Dippers eyes widen almost comically, his mouth opens and closes a few times before Dipper speaks up

“Wirt.. it’s 2015, how many years is that-“ Before Wirt can even process this, Dipper takes out a calculator not unlike one he had in school (How old is Greg, now? How much of his brothers life did he miss?) Dipper making a strangled, stressed out noise draws Wirt from his thoughts.

“Dipper? Are you ok, how long has it been?” Dipper doesn’t answer, he’s looking at the calculator with shock and horror written on his face, Wirt scoots his body to see what the answer is.

Wirts stomach drops to the floor, it’s been 16 years. Wait, Greg turned 7 just before they got trapped in the Unknown, that means.. oh, that means Greg is well in his 20s by now.

He missed the majority of his little brothers life just as he started to appreciate it, just as he learned his lesson.

He doesn’t notice his vision blurring until it’s just a little too late. Oil drips down his face and he has to use the sleeve of his button up to avoid staining the bed he’s on (it’s not like the shirt is clean, either, the color has long since gone from white to a light grey, and smeared with black from other times he’s cried) Wirt puts his knees to his chest and rests his forehead, sobs wracking his shoulders. He sucks in a breath when Dipper puts and arm around his shoulders, patting him lightly.

“I- I missed his whole- his whole life , Dipper- I missed my brothers entire- entire childhood!” Wirt cries out, burying his head in his knees. Dipper is silent for a moment, offering small apologies and half hugs, before Wirt gets sick of it, he’s tired of dancing around. Wirt pulls away for a second before maneuvering to properly hug Dipper, who freezes before stiffly hugging him back, which just starts the oil tears up.

Wirt can’t believe he missed so much.. 16 years, Greg might have forgotten about him by now, Greg probably has a girlfriend, maybe even a wife at this point. It feels like Wirt couldn't possibly face the brother he had resigned himself to never seeing again, how could he face Greg after being so awful to him, manning up to save him, then presumably dying? How could he just appear, same as he left (minus the Eldritch stuff he has going on) all like “Hey brother I abandoned for 16 years leaving you with nobody to bury, how’s it hanging?” How could he do that?

What could he possibly do? How much has the world changed? Are his- are Wirts parents even alive ? 16 years is so impossibly long, has Greg forgotten him? Has his entire town resigned themselves to never find his body? It’s all too much, Wirt can’t think through the pounding of his head and tears staining Dippers (can he call Dipper his friend now? Can he call Dipper Lumberjack? Is it over? Are they over?) flannel terribly, he’d feel bad about it but he’s so, so tired.

He and Dipper sit like this, with Wirt not being able to explain why he’s so upset before bursting back into tears, but Dipper doesn’t seem to mind, just wanting to help. Soon, Wirts tears dry, and the hiccups die down, Dipper at some point had relaxed, more securely holding Wirt who was gripping onto the other boys flannel like a lifeline.

“So…” Dipper ventures, “Do you uh, wanna talk about it? Not- not that you have to, go at your own pace.. I just- uhm- I just wanna know how I can help is all”

“It’s been sixteen years,” Wirt repeats underneath his breath, a silent crack in between rushed syllables as his shoulders shake with another sob. The number seems so big, so unassuming (it doesn’t occur to Wirt until later that the reason the number seems larger than it is is because it’s been sixteen years since he last sat in a math class. It’s been sixteen years since he last had to spend sixteen dollars on a bag of sixteen oranges in one of sixteen different markets in town) . “I— I didn’t —” he doesn’t know what to add on. He doesn’t know what justifies this feeling of bitter displeasure boiling in his gut; how does he excuse himself from being such a vile person “ — He didn’t—”

Dipper places a hand on the small of Wirt’s back, right between where bones peak through shoulder blades. It’s soothing, something in Wirt’s brain tells him. It’s gentle.

(Gentler than he deserves. 

Hands have broken dirt and dirt has calloused skin; he is a marble statue of time’s worst imperfections. It is gentler than he deserves; all of it. Everything)

“Who?” Dipper asks, all soothing rubs and soft murmurs. Hesitantly, slowly, he places a hand on the top of Wirt’s scalp, arm arranging its way through the spikes of antlers as his nails find the soothing bumps on top of Wirt’s scalp. “You mentioned something about a brother?”

Wirt pulls away at the mention, hands floating up along Dipper’s back; further and further until fingers clench around the cloth that wrinkles at his shoulders. Wirt’s arms go taut as he rests his arms on Dipper’s shoulders like a dancer, forehead falling down to Dipper’s collarbones, where he places the top of his head.

And it is all careful motions. He has already hurt so much and helped so little that it is the small mercies that congratulate him when he does not spear Dipper with his antlers. When he finds the perfect place for the puzzle piece that is his body against Dippers’. When he makes sure his bark is tangled in more flannel then skin. It is everything gentle that Dipper deserves.

“Greg,” Wirt manages, a weak sound. Pitiful, almost. “My brother.”

“It’s okay, Wirt,” Dipper says into his ear, when his shoulders shake again with something that is not quite a sob. His head hurts, he thinks. He wants to go home. “You’re doing great. You can take a break whenever you need to.”

“He’s old now,” Wirt says with a shaky laugh, burrowing deeper into the (slightly sweaty, smelling of corn; smelling of something recognizable) flannel shirt in front of him. There are so many words he could have said—I’ve failed him; what if he doesn’t even remember me?; I’m an older brother through and through, not built to be cared for—and yet so little comes out of his mouth. It’s a disease, he thinks. A curse; like antlers and eyes. “I missed his graduation; his life.”

“You’re not the type of person that’s easily forgettable,” Dipper says again, and his hand slowly leaves Wirt’s back in favor of moving to his temple, where he places a thumb against the side of Wirt’s head, sweeping his bangs away while bringing his head back. Wirt can see gentle (gentle) brown eyes staring back at him. “Tell me more about him.”

Wirt stares, for a moment. It is all he can do to not pull in Dipper again (to say thank you instead of an apology. To tell Dipper that he loves him, he thinks. That he loves that Dipper does not hate his imperfections; that he treats him like this) .

“His favorite subject was music.” He says with a pause, hand slowly leaving where it’s curled in the fabric of Dipper’s shirt. His wooden fingers move down his arm, where after a moment’s pause, Wirt grabs his hand with both of his. “He had a scar—” he places the bark of a finger along the age line of Dipper’s palm, where skin has been bent. His other hand wraps, gently, around the outside of Dipper’s knuckles. “—right here. From falling in a lake when he was four.”

Dipper looks down at their hands, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Wirt wonders where the awkward boy he saw only moments before went; he wonders if this is easier than conversation to Dipper—if there is no reason for him to stutter when it is only them like this. “Tell me more.”

Wirt pauses, if only for a moment. “I miss him.”

And Dipper smiles gently, like it is something Wirt deserves.

Wirt almost can’t bear how kind Dipper’s being, he doesn’t deserve this person, he doesn’t deserve how Dipper makes him feel human again.

Dipper moves his arms in an invitation for another hug, and Wirt accepts, the two slot together like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and somehow it is. Somehow Dipper manages to push Wirt enough to be here, but not so much it scares him off. Wirt wonders how he was so lucky to find someone this amazing, and with everyone else who stuck by Wirt even after learning what happened? Wirt wonders why he wanted to not be there anymore.

And it hits him, it’s because Wirt was exhausted from getting pushed while he was already down, it’s because he wasn’t able to heal from each individual thing, so it all got to be too much.

Wirt hadn’t been strong enough because he wasn’t given the time to strengthen. The thought makes him curl against Dipper tighter. That just makes his friend worried as Dipper makes a confused sound and hugs Wirt tighter.

Why does Dipper do this? Why is he so nice to Wirt? He was the one that lied, the one that intentionally skirted their conversations away from his past and what happened to him, he was the one that fucked everything up! Why is Dipper so nice to him? He can’t contain his words anymore, the hug is nice but it doesn’t quell the guilt.

“… I don’t deserve this, Dipper” Wirt says, ripping the words from the throat, he can’t see it but he feels Dippers confusion and Wirt pulls away from the hug and looks at Dipper, pain filling his face as Wirt confronts his guilt, he doesn’t deserve this peace, this healing, he hurt Dipper so much, he hurt Greg so much, Sarah probably thinks he’s dead or something. Why is Dipper so nice to him despite him hurting Dipper so badly?

“What do you mean? You should get to heal, man” He denies like it’s easy, like refuting Wirts' turmoil is something simple, it burns in a way.

“Not like this,” Wirt responds, half-drunk on the taste of polluted air and whatever tablets the Pines’ family has in their bathroom cupboard. Wirt wonders, for half a moment, if the medicine would make him more sick than the woods—it has been almost fifteen years since he has experienced any modern illnesses, after all. His immune system fights pink-dyed medicine like a martyr in a losing fight. “Not with any kindness. The woods heal all wounds as they deserve to be treated.”

Wirt can see the way Dipper’s brow arches in curiosity, a silent question in the wrinkles of his face. Wirt plays with the loose fabric of the sheets against his thighs, wooden fingers cutting steaks in the cloth. His back is arched like a hill, posture ruined. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You have treated me with kindness ever since we met in the Unknown,” Wirt says, not meeting Dipper’s gaze. His eyes travel on the outline of his face instead, memorizing every scar of acne and sunburnt fat of cheek. Dipper looks like a product of his environment; like an ordinary teenager. Wirt thinks he’s perfect. “How did you do it? How do you do it now?”

(And maybe there’s something to be examined in that. In this adoration. Wirt likes to think that it is nothing more than the devotion of a knight to his prince. Of a maiden to her savior. It’s not love, but rather an act of service paid back in full. Dipper saved him in the woods, but also before that: when he first stumbled through the clearing, when he took Wirt’s hand, when he met him by the river. Wirt owes him his life. It is devotion and not love.

But maybe it could be… one day)

“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about,” Dipper says with an awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I treated you with kindness because it’s the right thing to do— isn’t it? It’s not like you tried to. Well. Kill me, or anything.”

But you thought I would. Comes the traitorous voice in the back of Wirt’s mind. The one that is more of the Unknown than man. “That only deserves courtesy. Not the treatment of a friend.”

Wirt continues at Dipper's honestly confused expression —why is he confused? Dipper’s the one who told Wirt he hated liars, and Wirt proceeded to lie to Dipper, what doesn’t make sense?— “I mean- I lied to you! I hurt you!” Wirt insists, wringing his hands in distress. Dipper stops him by putting a hand on his, understanding and determination on his face.

“Dude, this is gonna sound harsh, but you’re overthinking. Yeah I’m still frustrated you kept stuff from me, but that’s on the back burner right now because I was focusing on making sure you were ok after I literally found you half dead , maybe on purpose-“ Dipper puts a hand up when a Wirt opens his mouth to defend himself. “-I’m not done. Now I’m not gonna push because frankly it isn’t my buisness how good or bad your mental health is. But what is my buisness is what you did after we fought. Wirt, you tried to kill yourself, that’s not something we can ignore, ok?” Dipper explains, looking away briefly, his eyes coming back misty.

“Jeez I’m getting choked up- ok, long winded monologue short, I do not blame you for finding it hard to explain your whole.. situation, I’m still a bit frustrated that all you took from my story about Bill being.. Bill, was that I noconditionally hate liars” Dipper continues, and Wirt gets his thoughts together to question that last part

“Wait- what? Wasn’t that like- the whole gist of it? You despise Bill because he lied to you and your family, and that makes you hate liars?”

Dipper fixed him with a gaze—one lacking judgement and skeptisism, fueled with the dim light of pity between white scleras. “Bill tried to— like . Kill me, you know?”

Wirt purses his lips in response, searching for a reply within the confines of his own mouth. He does not know what Dipper expects for response—Wirt supposes he did know this, yes. He supposes that he did know that Bill is different from Wirt, what with the triangle’s three points and Wirt’s hundreds of sharp antler edges. But Wirt does not know if Dipper counts the trials of miscommunication between them as a false attempt to kill. As far as Wirt knows, Dipper thinks that Wirt only looked at him and saw blood; Wirt only looked at him and saw his lantern.

Wirt only looked at him and saw a rabbit; saw white and friendship and admiration.

“ Wirt, ” Dipper stretches the vowels in his name like Wirt’s reply should be obvious. It isn’t, Wirt thinks. Wirt does not know how to respond to anything Dipper says when the shorter boy looks at him with eyes sharp as those. “As long as you don’t suddenly become evil and try to kill me, we’re tight? You got that?”

And, well, the only words Wirt’s lips can manage have already been said. The air from Dipper’s mouth fills his and occupies so much space that Wirt cannot form his own thoughts; merely echo. “Tight?”

Dipper laughs, something high-pitched. Wirt has been friends and enemies with him long enough (friends and enemies and everything in between) to know that he is embarrassed. Wirt does not have the foggiest idea as to what Dipper Pines could be embarrassed by.

“Yeah! You know—” he elbows Wirt in the side, pulling away. Wirt’s hand slides from where it is coiled in Dipper’s shirt to the end of Dipper’s knee, fingers curling around the bone of a kneecap. He does not know where this desire to be clingy comes from—the urge to grab and hold and bring tight to his skin, like a mother nursing a newborn. “—best bros! Amigos! BFF’s!— tight! ”

“Ah,” Wirt says, slowly. Unsure what to do with this new lack of tension—this breathable air , something he has not known in a very long time—his gaze darts elsewhere and he smiles at where the sheets wrinkle in the sun. “You kids and your slang, I suppose.”

And Dipper laughs. 

The sound echoes against the walls of the room and the rays of light and the taxidermy deer hanging from the corner and fills Wirt’s heart with something light.

It is something light that he deserves, he thinks. Something sweet.

-

When Wirt wakes up again, later. Here and now and there and gone, there is something different. God has taken his manicured hands and shifted the globe on an axis. The earth’s tectonic plates are curling underneath the other, as close as lovers. Wirt has spun in a circle a hundred times with his brother and he is walking across the living room with the water inside of his brain spinning and spinning and.

Spinning.

The room is spinning.

“Dipper,” he manages, voice dry. His stomach feels identical to his brain (water, crashing like waves. Acid against the inner lining of his intestine and neurons against muscle) as he kicks the sheets away from his bed. He does not know if he is going to be sick or faint or something else (something worse) , but in a moment of childhood need he calls for his friend again: “Dipper!”

There is no response. Distantly, blatantly; he remembers Dipper telling him that he would be helping his Grunkle in the Mystery Shack in the afternoon, in case Wirt woke up and he was not there and his sister was not there (and Greg was not there and Beatrice was not there and nobody was there) . 

Quiet footsteps echo across the hall as he pulls open the door to his little enclave in the Pines’ residence, calling Dipper’s name like he will show up in the bathroom mirror; he hoarsely calls Dipper’s name like it is a sick mantra that is stuck in his head. Dipper, Dipper, Dipper.

When he walks into the living room, Dipper’s name still wet on his tongue, there is a man sitting on the recliner that is not Dipper. The old man looks at Wirt with an unimpressed expression, pausing his TV show

“Yeah don’t even try to trick me with those wet ass eyes, Dippers in the gift shop, busy and working right now and you’re going back to bed before you collapse or somethin” he says, and Wirt vaguely remembers Dipper mentioning someone old, is this his Grunkle Stan or Grunkle Ford? The confusion cuts through the mental noise of his brain like a knife, for a second he just stands there, trying to puzzle out which one of Dippers grunkles this is before someone else walks in, someone with a colorful knitted sweater —Mabel, Wirts mind adds— and who looks at Wirt for a second before comically widening her eyes and shouting out.

“Wirt what in the world are you doing out of bed?? I mean I’m glad your feeling good enough to be walking around and all, but I can feel your fever from here! Get back into the bed, shoo, go, also hi Grunkle Stan!” She blurts, the old man, which Wirt figures is Dippers “Grunkle Stan” grunts in greeting, and that solves Wirts momentary confusion, but replaces it with another: where is he? Wait he has to respond, he can’t just stay silent.

“Uhm- sorry?” Even to Wirt, his voice sounds terrible, gone is the low, quiet voice of his previous moment of clarity, and what replaces it is a gravely voice that sounds like he needs water desperately. Mabel winces and Stan looks away pointedly, and Wirt starts to find the floor very interesting, embarrassment coloring his already flushed face.

“Yikes, yeah go back to bed, I’ll grab you some water, Grunkle Stan, make sure he actually goes!” She calls out that last part as she opens a door and leaves the room, leaving Wirt and Grunkle Stan alone, with Wirt fidgeting with his hands. Dippers Grunkle looks at him in an odd way, it makes Wirt just nervous enough to awkwardly wave hello, to which Grunkle Stan snores ungracefully.

“Yeah sure, just wave as if she didn’t just drop that bomb, go on get outta here before Mabel makes you” he says, Wirt nods, apologizing quietly to which Stan waves him off and looks away, ending the conversation and letting Wirt turn and quietly walk back to what he assumes is a guest room, luckily not too far away and not too hard to find, despite the swirling floors and walls of the Shack.

He sits back down on the edge of the bed, crossing his ankles. His gaze falls on the window to his left, gleaming and glittering golden, like a ring in the light of a star. There is the sound of a loudspeaker outside and the crinkle of feedback, and children’s laughing. It is the sound of more people, overjoyed—louder than Wirt has ever remembered human’s as being. It is the sound of laughter and fun and summer , woods forlorn.

Mabel comes through the opened door with a water bottle in her hand, and a small canister of pills in her other. She gleams at Wirt like a dog when she sees him sitting on the bed, and hands him the already opened water (and two pills, long and white and something that Wirt choked on a couple of days ago. It has been so long since he has had medicine of any kind) before sitting down next to him.

Unlike her brother, she does not coax him into lying down; into sleeping underneath the sheets. All she does is kick at the ground with the toes of her feet until she gets bored of that. Then, she opens the window so Wirt can hear conversations—can hear people, old and young, thriving outside—and sits down in what the Pines’ family has dubbed to be ‘Dipper’s’ chair, right in the corner. She smiles at him and does not pressure and waits patiently for him to move under the covers.

And she is nice, but she is not Dipper.

“Thank you,” Wirt says, because he is not an animal. He eventually makes his way underneath the sheets and curls up into a ball and keeps his eyes on the tree outside the window, brown branches hitting the side of the house gently. Outside, there is somebody talking about a cow with two heads. Outside, the loudspeaker crackles like a fire.  

It’s odd, he hadn’t had the time to think about it, but how is he here? Everytime Wirt has tried to leave, the wood emcasing his limbs threatens to consume him, and nausea wracks his stomach.

So how is he out? Nobody in the Unknown is this happy sounding. it’s offputtng after so long of being isolated, and what contact he does get is hostile and wary, people seeing his antlers and running away before he can even say anything. But there’s genuine happiness outside this window, it’s loud enough Wirt can hear it, but not loud enough to drown out his thoughts, or to pick anything in particular out.

Wirt decides, that if he has to be here while he recovers from his.. issue, he’ll listen, both to the residents of the shack (Mostly Dipper, mostly his ramblings and the way his eyes light up when he gets the opportunity to tell Wirt a fun fact), but also to the world outside. Wirts good at listening, he’s had years and years of practice, more than he thought he’d had.

Leaning back against the headboard, and straining his ears, Wirt drinks in the pure sound surrounding him, he can make out Mabel and Mr Stan talking, along with a voice he doesn’t recognize, one that sounds vaguely like Beatrice.

Shit, Beatrice is going to absolutely kill him, first he cuts her off during his and Dippers fight, then he almost tries to- to kill himself to escape the grief, only to fall ill and somehow get taken out of the Unknown without being hurt? Wow, Wirt has really messed up, he hopes atleast that Beatrice’s wrath will be merciful.

———

Wendy isn’t as laid back as she normally is right now, these last few days have been amazingly weird, even for Gravity Falls. First, Dipper is apparently seeing someone new, which is frankly wild to see from an outsider perspective. All according to Mabel atleast, who regularly appears from nowhere (Wendy could pay money to anyone that saw her actually jump, that girls scary sometimes, ok??) to fill Wendy in on what’s been going on, but something has her worried.

Mabel, while yes has been filling her in, appears to now have a mixed opinion on Dippers mystery crush, at first she was excited to see Dipper finally making a friend, but one day she bad mouthed the shit out of this random guy, for apparently keeping a massive and possibly illegal secret from Dipper, and really hurting him in the process. (Emotionally, she reassured after Wendy apparently looked ready to throw down)

But now, after several sessions of bad mouthing, she and Wendy both were filled in by Dipper, that his mystery crush (Whos name is apparently Wirt, which is weird but she can’t judge) apparently tried to 1: kill himself out of pure guilt for lying to Dipper, among a host of mental health issues, which Dipper has theorized to be depression, a form of ptsd, probably an anxiety disorder, and maaaybe being altogether cursed.

Wendy hasn’t actually seen the guy, yes, but she’s heard of him, and been warned incase he starts wandering around while recovering, which is something she now has to worry about since it actually happened a few hours ago while she and Dipper had tag teamed running the Gift Shop, since Soos is on his honeymoon for a while and can’t help.

Doesn’t help that Wendy is about 80% sure Dipper is messing with her about who this guy actually is.

“Ok- so if I’m getting this right, your guy, Wirt, is some kind of forest creature, with massive antlers with flowers growing on him, the weirdest eyes ever, and wood crawling up his arms.” Wendy asks Dipper, once nobody is asking them for anything. Dipper nods, an embarrassed blush crawling up his cheeks as he is likely aware of how unbelievable this sounds.

“Yyyup, that’s him, now I’m- I’m aware that this is kind of weird sounding, but you’ve gotta believe me, I promise it’ll make more sense once you actually meet him” Dipper says, unconvincingly. Wendy raises a singular eyebrow, pouring all of her “yeah sure, and I’m straight” energy into the expression, and Dipper sighs loudly, planting his head on the counter unceremoniously.

“That may be rough, buddy, but I’m gonna have to see him first” she says, and Dipper groans about how that’s literally the same thing Mabel said, which isn’t surprising given Dippers history of failed romance.

“Oh, look alive dude, giant family coming in” Wendy says, mentally bracing herself for impossibly weird questions, chaos, and needing to call Stan so he can call for a bio-hazard waste removal team for the bathrooms. Dipper groans louder as Wendy grins in pure dread as a giant family come barging into the gift shop.

This is gonna be a long, long shift, especially with a cryptid in the shack.