Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a loud, blaring ringing in his ears, and Jimmy woke up with a start, jolting up in a bed, in a room that wasn’t his own. His heart was thudding in his ears, temporarily muting the sound that felt like it was carving its way into his head. He forced his fingers to uncurl from the blanket, slapping a hand blindly, unaware of the way the nightstand cracked under his fists. The sound didn’t stop, and it was with true dread that he realized it wasn’t his alarm, but rather, his phone.

He groaned half heartedly, keeping his eyes firmly squeezed together as he waved his hand, curling his fist weakly as the wisps of smoke solidified into a flipphone. He felt along the buttons, clicking the circular one once he found it, accepting the call. Then he let it drop next to his pillow, the sound carrying over to his ears even without a speaker. He noticed with a slight pass of satisfaction that he felt marginally better. “Mmm…” He mumbled, turning his head over so he could hear the other person better.

“This is… J. Snakes, right?” The other voice said, pitched high with uncertainty. Or maybe that’s just how they sounded. Who was he to judge?

“Mhm.” He grunted out in lieu of a response, cracking his eyes open. The room, not the one at the Shack, was still pretty dark. Why wasn’t the sun burning his pupils?

There was a beat of silence, as if they didn’t know what to say. There was the sound of a clearing throat, and then the person was speaking again. “I need your ‘services’. I’m trying to find a book.”

Jimmy had roused himself as he spoke, pinching at the corners of his eyes as he forced them awake. Now that he was really listening, there was a certain immaturity to his voice. The words didn’t suit him, like he was reading off a script. False with showmanship. He could have sworn he heard this voice before, somewhere. Then it clicked. “Are you Gideon? That kid from TV?”

“Hey! Your card said you’d take anything from anyone!” He retorted, not even trying to defend himself. His voice pitched even higher, and Jimmy rubbed at his ear.

Guilty. Jimmy chuckled to himself, sitting up in his bed. Unpleasantly, he noted that he was soaked in sweat. He couldn’t feel the chill, but he could feel the sticky damp. What was he even dreaming about? The room had light from the curtains, but it was still shadowed in the dark. Was it still early in the morning? He could have sworn he came back late last night. He looked down at the boots that were still on his feet. Looks like I passed out. “What time is it?” He asked, completely ignoring Gideon’s words.

“5…P.M.?” At the lack of response, he added tactfully, “Are you still in bed?”

“Uh, no, ‘course not.” Jimmy insisted, practically rolling off his mattress as he straightened up his appearance, running his fingers through his hair and slapping his cheeks, the sting grounding him. That familiar chill was coming back to him, and he shivered at the feeling that wormed into his lungs. Anxious. The demon looked around the room for his belt, dropping to the floor as he peered under the bed. “Tell me about the book!” He shouted at the phone he left on the sheets.

“It has a six-fingered hand on the cover, cut out of gold paper.” Gideon began, filling in the silence. If he heard Jimmy cursing up a storm, he didn’t say anything. “The book itself is red-bound, can’t really tell what it’s made of, but it's a bit soft to the touch. The corners of the book have the same gold cut-out, but the sides of it are painted in gold, along the pages. It had the number 3 on its cover.”

“Any idea where I can find it?” Jimmy called, having already buckled it into his loops. “It’ll give me a place to start.”

“No, not really!” Gideon rushed, then added quickly, “I guess… Maybe you can look around the Mystery Shack.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the words. His tone sounded suspicious. “I can’t get in right now. It's under new management, or something. But I’ll keep an eye out, I guess.”

“So… Do we have a deal?”

“No, not till I have terms. I’ll call ya back if I think I have something. If not, no deal.” There was an itchy feeling or irritation scratching under his skin, so before the kid could say anything, he hung up the phone, letting it materialize back into smoke once more. He gave a long stretch as he stood up, cracking his neck loudly. He’d get on that in a bit. Right now, he had to pay a little visit to a special someone.

He got on his bike and rode down to Soos’ house, where he knew Stan was staying for the while he was out of the Mystery Shack. He went into the thin slit of the driveway, and knocked on the door, feeling very out of place amongst the comfortable, quaint little house. He tapped his foot anxiously, looking over his shoulder before the creak of the door drew him back, and he grinned at Stan, standing in the doorway. The conman’s eyes brightened when he saw them, but they seemed soft around the edges, tired.

“Missed me?” Jimmy puffed out his chest, feigning normalcy as he pretended for his attention. 

“Not at all.” Stan replied, but stepped back to let him inside, crowding against the adjacent wall. He smiled when Jimmy had to duck his head to avoid hitting the top. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

Whatever emotion he gleaned at Stan’s appearance drained out of him almost immediately. He felt like an empty balloon when he trudged onto the soft carpet, watching Soos play with literal trains on a track. Dipper sat a few feet away, curled up at the foot of the couch, scribbling into the diary he had with him all summer. His sister was seated next to him, watching whatever was on the TV with apt attention, but paused to wave to him when he walked by her, which he returned weakly.

“Why’s Soos playing with toy trains?” Jimmy asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the living room.

“He’s just like that.” Stan said simply, leaning back on his hands on the counter. He sighed heavily, turning back to the man ahead of him. “Do ya need anything?”

There was an awful little thought in his head that made Jimmy want to say something corny like ‘you’, and he couldn't resist the smile curling at the edges of his lips. There was a momentary dizzy spot at the mere action, and he wasn’t really sure if it was a coincidence. So he choked down the words and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, the actual reason he went to bed so late last night. He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to him, practically forcing it into his hands. Stan’s hands were full of the unorganized bills, and he stared at it blankly before giving a confused look to him. “I broke it up for you.” Jimmy tacked on, as if that explained anything.

Stan rolled his eyes and pushed it back into his hands. “I don't need that!”

Jimmy put an arm out, resting it on the counter next to him, if only to steady himself. He kept his eyes forced behind his glasses, and kept his hands balled up in fists, and shoved them in his pockets. “Call it rent, ya know, for all the time I spent in the Shack.”

“I wouldn’t charge ya for rent. And I never asked ya to.” Stan huffed, looking away, but accepting the money nonetheless. Then he stopped, blinking, looking at Jimmy’s face. “Are you feeling okay?”

Jimmy didn’t reply to that. Rather, he gave a curt nod, lifting a hand to rub at his temples. He was sure his face was twisted in a grimace, and he tried to assume a neutral expression. There was this constant feeling of ‘on edge’ , overwhelming in its unfamiliarity. “Fine.” he mumbled, looking away from the other man. There was a warmth on his chest, and his eyes flicked down to the other man, trailing a finger along the slight stretch of exposed skin. He looked at him, worried, and Jimmy felt guilty. His concern was wasted on him. So the demon leaned down, and gave him a quick peck on the lips, if only to reassure him. He smiled into the kiss when he heard a surprised hum. But the biker straightened up just as quickly, and just in time. There was the soft pad of slippers behind him, and he stepped back to let some grandma shuffle into the kitchen. She pulled a dish rag into her hands to open the oven, forcing Stan to move aside awkwardly as well, the kitchen now too cramped to hold all three of them. They would just slip out when she left as well.

But she pulled out a tray of cookies, and offered one of them to Stan, who popped it into his mouth. She turned to him and offered him one as well, and he took it, only because he didn’t want to refuse a little old lady. He held it out in his hands, staring down at the dinosaur shaped cookie when Stan piped up.

“You’re not gonna like those.” Stan spoke through a mouthful. “They’re sugar cookies.”

Jimmy ignored him, took a bite of the corner, and wished he had listened to him. It was sweet, and grainy, and weirdly enough, kind of dry in his mouth. It felt like metal on his tongue, and he choked it down, glad he had taken a small bite, and pawned it to his friend. He turned to the door, and watched for a long second as he took a bite, right over his own, and stepped out of the arch.

“Maybe you should sit down.” Stan called out after him, poking his head around the corner.

“Nah.” Jimmy mumbled, suppressing a shudder. “Just gonna get outta here.” He was starting to feel antsy, like a tiger pacing a locked cage. Once again, he struck with that out-of-place feeling, and decided that he had stayed his welcome for more than the five minutes he had planned upon. He carefully stepped over the train set, making sure he did not disturb its movement, but intentionally knocked the diary out of Dipper’s hand with the heel of his boot. He couldn’t muster any amusement at the way the kid scowled at him, catching in his throat when he saw the cover of it, laid bare on the ground. Right there was the exact cover Gideon had described, the numbers and all.

Dipper snatched the book back protectively, but the damage was already done. This is what Gideon had wanted, in the truest sense. Instinctively, the gears in his head began to turn. There were plenty of ways he could take it, easily too. Give him a bit, and he could figure it out a distraction, if he wanted to be smart about it.

The kid had been attached to it all summer, and it’d take something to get him away from it. Or maybe some softer part of him didn’t want to bother Stan’s great-nephew too much. Annoying and teasing him was one thing, but stealing his favorite book was another. What even was it? Some kind of storybook? Whatever it was, it was important… And it’d be an effort… 

He sighed lightly as he closed the door behind him, lingering on the doorstep. The feeling hadn’t really left him, but the lack of prying eyes made it easier to stomach. He curled his fingers around the smoky haze of the flipphone once more, and if there was a shake to his fingers, he didn’t notice it. He cut Gideon off just before he could say anything, replying a curt ‘no deal’ , before hanging up, shoving it in his pocket.

Right now, the top of his priorities list was getting to the bottom of this newfound sickness.

Chapter Text

Jimmy Snakes left Gravity Falls as soon as he’d given Stan the money, opting to leave town just to take the edge off his nerves. There was some part of him that cringed at himself for running out of town over nothing. Still, it had worked, to his relief. He was in Oregon, just a few towns over, under the excuse that he had some work to get done. Now, he was in some random playground, sitting on a swingset after he hopped the chainlink fence. It was still early night, but the kids seemed to have all gone home. Better for me, he thought, brushing the tips of his feet against the wood chips against the ground, not letting his feet list off the floor.

His quota was pretty close to being done, so he didn't have to worry too much about it. That was the good part about being somewhat self-employed. But now… he wished he had something to do, if only for a longer absence.

He was stalling… better to bite the bullet now. The demon sighed and dragged himself out of the seat, scaling the fence and settling himself back on his bike. His hands gripped the handlebars, slick with sweat, and he took a breath to steady himself. I want to be here, he scolded himself, starting the engine. I came to Gravity Falls on purpose.

He didn’t manage to psych himself, so he just started riding back before he could process it. As soon as he made it pass the welcoming sign, suppressing a shudder, he felt a great shaking underneath his bike. For a minute, he thought that maybe it was coming from him, and he turned it off in the middle of the road. But his bike was completely silent under his body, and he realized that he was in the middle of an earthquake. Right ahead of him, he could see the faintest cracks spread across the ground, like ripples in a pool. He had to resist every urge to make an illegal U-Turn and go back where he came from.

He sped up and rolled over it, making sure his wheels didn’t get caught in the cracks. He didn’t know if the townsfolk felt it as well, or if it was an isolated incident. Still, now that he was here, he knew if he stopped going in, then he would never make it inside. 

The biker slowed down his speed once he made it into town, just to make sure he didn’t hit anyone (like he did that old man that first day in town). It was much later in the night now, and he could see Halloween decorations all over the horses. It shone brightly all the same, and kept distracting him with all the new additions. He could see bags of candy on the sidewalk, and masks littering the ground. There were even faces carved into watermelon, like one would do to a pumpkin. He tapped one with the tip of his boot, smiling.

But there was something… off. It took him a second to realize, but he was startled when he did.

It was dead silent.

He was a city slicker at heart, so it had taken him a bit to get adjusted to the quiet of the forest. And the town itself wasn’t unnaturally quiet, especially during the holidays. Only at night. Gravity Falls seemed like a normal town for the most part, which made it all the weirder when it wasn’t.

Then there was the screaming, high-pitched and ringing in his ears. His head swiveled around to find the origin, chills rising along his back, straining his head to see around the fog which had suddenly started curling around his feet. Now, there was the audible sound of splitting stone, and to his horror, he could literally feel the earth breaking under his feet. He stumbled off his bike at the sight, and he reached behind his shirt, into his waistband to pull out his gun.

There was another scream, much closer to him, and he looked to his left to see a woman cowering against a white wooden fence, shrinking away from the shape of a man looming over her. His arms were outstretched, and Jimmy could see its jaw unhinged in an inhuman manner, and he bit at the safety of his gun, dragging and tossing it to the ground, shooting at the body over her instinctively. He was quite literally shooting blind, and he jerked his hand to the side in some attempt to make sure he didn’t off her instead.

He could see the spray of gore through the bullet that went straight through the man’s arm, and he lowered the gun, squinting. The woman had scrambled away during the incident, and she was nowhere to be found. 

However, to his genuine horror, the man not only stayed dead silent, but completely recovered. With slow, shuddering steps, he straightened to his full height, still hunched over. It jerked towards him, and Jimmy realized that it wasn’t a man, but rather, some kind of monster . Its skin was a sickening shade of green, the flesh sloughing off its decayed form. It had one working eye within its socket, and the other hung out, swinging by the near-transparent optic nerve. Its arms remained outstretched, and it hobbled towards him with a groan, rough from a rotting voicebox. 

Jimmy’s voice caught in his throat, and he froze for a solid second. Then, there was the wet impact of something hitting to the ground, and he saw with mounting disgust that the arm that he had shot through had fallen off completely. The monster remained unphased. The demon stumbled back onto his bike, panting.

He put the hilt of his gun in his mouth, making it very unsafe to carry, but much easier to grab. The biker looked over his shoulder, at the singular creature being left in his dust. Then it dawned on him. Was this what I was freaking out about all of last week?

The rest of the town flew by in a blur, the only sound in his ears the loud rush of the wind mixing into his heartbeat. Subconsciously, he found himself on the dust-beaten path to the Mystery Shack. The ride was bumpy, which left him slightly disorientated. And when he looked into the trees, he realized with genuine horror that hordes of these creatures were coming out, hobbling towards him in a group. When he looked behind him, he saw them encircling him, flanking him on all sides. He didn't even have to know what they were to know what they were after.

Now, he had two choices. He could either be devoured alive by them, or die trying to get out. This was a very exaggerated ‘do-or-die’, but the energy was in the intent.

Maybe he could try to ram through them? It was worth a shot. His key hummed in the ignition, and he kicked his bike into the highest gear, releasing their brakes to shoot forwards, straight into the horde. Almost immediately, they grabbed onto him, digging their rotting nails into his skin as they dragged him off his bike with a yelp. He was pinned to the ground, and he immediately tried to break off their hold. The air was forced out of his lungs, and he threw a fist blindly, putting all his strength into the punch. There was a loud crunch, like a shell cracking, and hot liquid sprayed out, drenching his top half. He had no time to react, immediately kicking out with a leg, soaking himself in the fluid once again. He choked on the pungent scent, flailing out once their bodies began to press down on him. But it was too late. He could feel their hands tearing at his skin, the sudden rush of pain making him cry out, the blood sticking to their hands. There was a hot puff of air over his neck, and he felt those jagged teeth sink into his neck, tearing into the major vein right in his neck. He felt like a prey animal, forced down and devoured. Similar bites were littered around his ankles and wrists, the flesh bending around their mouths. 

Then the weight was lifting off, and he blinked his eyes open, glasses askew, and he saw them pull back expectantly. He panted loudly, the cool air a balm to his lungs, and paused… waiting for something to happen…

And then it didn’t.

He sat up unsteadily, staring at his palms and at the various bites all over his body. The skin, coated in murky white fluid, was beginning to close up, resealing itself just like new. He slowly dragged his gaze up to the zombies, sharing a confused look. They turned to themselves, and groaned before wandering away.

Once again, he was left alone, in an empty forest, nursing necrotic wounds that didn't rot.

Guess I’m not human enough for them, he thought, dusting himself off. By now, the ground was in a practical ravine, the ground in front of him dropping deep, deep, deeper than he could see. It was much too big for his motorcycle, so he had to leave it behind. He ran a soothing hand across the warmed metal, now covered in zombie guts and fluids. I’ll be back for you, old girl, he reassured himself, breaking into a sprint faster than comprehension. 

The Shack property was in a… rough state. The grass was completely mauled. The trees were cracked and stained with paint. For some reason, there were overturned tables outside? Behind it all was the Shack, overrun by the horde from earlier, breaking down the wooden walls of the Shack as they spilled inside.

Cold fear settled into his stomach at the thought of Stan caught under their arms, devoured alive under their rotting bodies. Stan had phoned him earlier about getting the deed of the Shack back, and that he had insisted on throwing a party. He had completely forgotten about it.

He jogged into the crowd, pushing them aside and forcing his way through the literal wall of zombie. The zombies completely ignored him, apparently not registering him as a warm body. The demon peered over them, and saw Soos, of all people, seated in his lover’s signature recliner, watching some drama on TV, lost to the world. He was green, just like the monsters in front of him, but he wasn’t clawing at the windows like them. Jimmy growled at the sight, damping down a hysterical bout of amusement.

“Soos!” He shouted, getting his attention. The handyman gave him a cheerful wave. “Where’s Stan? The kids?”

He gave a simple shrug and turned back to the TV. Jimmy rolled his eyes. So much for the help… He backed out and jumped onto the railing, clambering onto the roof with a wheeze. He had to practically roll himself onto it, and kept himself on it by the skin of his teeth. His boots were not made for scaling rooftops, and he nearly fell off more times than he would care to admit as he tottered over to the window to the attic, the highest place in the house.

He knocked on the window, and sighed with relief at the muffled screams from within. At least they were alive. Then the window was pulled open, and familiar, strong hands were guiding him down.

“Ugh, I feel like a wet fuckin’ dog.” Jimmy complained, shaking his head to clear the sopping wet strands out of his eyes.

Stan's eyes roved over his body, noticing the way the black bile, pungent and sickly sweet, clung to Jimmy’s shirt, slicking down the fabric to cling to his skin, outlining the muscle. It's rotten and thick, and smelled like fermentation, but the slicked down hair with that body? It wasn't a bad look.

“Jimmy!” Mabel exclaimed brightly, bouncing on her heels. “You’re okay!”

“Give a guy a warning next time!” Stan scolded, his grip tightening along his arms. “You scared me half ta death.” Jimmy relaxed in his hold, and saw the way he checked him over for any injuries.

“At least you're not fully dead like they're outside.” Jimmy burst, and cackled at his own joke. When nobody laughed, he fell silent. “Tough crowd...”

“How’d you make it past them?” Dipper accused, rounding on him despite the concern from the other members of his family. His eyes were narrowed, but he looked disheveled, and Jimmy could see several scratches around his neck and arms. 

Jimmy ignored him, not willing to play into his paranoia, and turned back to the other adult. “The Hell happened here? I leave for one day and it all goes to shit!”

“Trust me, Jim,” Stan returned, jumping at the sound of several feet making their way up the stairs. “It's a town problem.” The conman stepped back at the sound, raising his fists, and Jimmy stood right next to him, batting the kids behind their bodies. He took his gun out again once more, pointing it directly at the door, pretending he didn’t hear the way Dipper mumbled behind him.

“Well, at least you can't deny weirdness exists in Gravity Falls.” Dipper chuckled awkwardly, the telltale sound of pages flipping as he talked.

Stan sighed at the words, and returned that tired gaze back to Jimmy. He seemed exhausted. Jimmy wished he could make it so the other man could go to bed, but they were in the middle of the apocalypse, so that was out of the question. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what he was implying. “I’ve always known. I was trying to protect you.”

So… We’re really doing this . “Well, since the cats out of the bag… I’m not human. To an extent, ya know,” Jimmy fumbled over himself. “But I'm sure you got that. Got pretty close that first day, too.”

Dipper eyes flashed. “I knew it! I knew you were lying to me!” He turned back to his uncle, edged with hurt. “How could you, Grunkle Stan!” 

“What was I gonna say, Dipper?” The conman began, defeated. “What could I have said? News flash, kid,” he threw his hands out. “Everyone’s strange in this town. It's like… it all comes full circle.” he turned his gaze to Jimmy. “Even the people out of it.”

There was the dull thud of a book hitting the ground, and Jimmy looked down to see Dipper pouring over its illustrated pages, written in an elegant cursive he couldn't decipher. Mabel had a blacklight abandoned on the floor, and it shone on the pages, revealing something unseen. There were messages in secret ink? 

Jimmy turned his eyes away, not noticing the way that Stan’s eyes widened at the sight of his, his breath catching. 

“The zombies do have a weakness!” Dipper exclaimed, finger trailing down the pages. “We need a three part harmony.”

“What’s a three part harmony?” Jimmy mumbled.

“How can we make a three part harmony?” Dipper thought aloud, ignoring him. “I have a naturally high-pitched scream?”

“I can make noises from my body. Sometimes unintentionally.” He gave Jimmy a wide grin at the confused expression he afforded.

“Boys, boys. I think you’re forgetting the obvious solution.” Mabel commanded, gaining their attention. She mimed holding a microphone to her mouth and singing, and her family groaned. Jimmy looked around confused. “Love Patrol Alpha!”

“What’s Love Patrol Alpha?” Jimmy felt very out of the loop.

“Help us get on the roof, and you’ll see!” She winked at him, and despite the situation, he was reasonably convinced. She did have that charm to her. She probably got it from her uncle.

“I’ll hold ‘em back.” The demon offered, stepping forward and kneeling on the ground. “Stan. Remember that healing thing from a while back? Apparently, it works on their bite too.” He rolled up his sleeve, showing off pristine skin. “Your handyman wasn't so lucky.”

“There's a cure!” Dipper added quickly, helping his sister balance on the nightstand. 

Jimmy helped Mabel up, who gave him a quick ‘thank you!’. Then he helped Stan up, who flashed him a quiet smile. Then he helped Dipper up, who glared at him. And when they began to sing, it was loud enough to literally break eardrums. But to him, it didn’t sound half bad. Not at all.

And when all was said and done, they had managed to save the day, cliche-hero style. Jimmy had leaped down from the window when he was sure that they were all dead, surveying the scene around him.

Stan walked up next to him, putting his hands on his hips. “I could clean for the next decade and it’ll never be the same.”

“That’s the real nightmare.” Jimmy chuckled, nudging him. “A decade of cleaning.”  Then he gasped loudly, tugging his own jacket off and staring at the marks on the back. “Look, they ruined my cut!” He exclaimed, shoving the jacket in Stan’s face. The patches on it were completely covered in black.

Stan scoffed, taking it from his hands and folding it. “I’ll help ya wash it out.”

“My bike looks even worse…” Jimmy continued. “Ya should’ve seen it, babe, I’ll be washing guts out for weeks!” The pet name slipped out unbeknownst to him, and Stan warmed under it. 

And he should have felt like it was going to be okay. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, all that jazz. But that feeling of unease was still wriggling in his gut, burrowing in like a worm. This isn’t the end of it…

Later that night, right after everyone decided to give up cleaning for the night and head to bed, Stan directed him outside of the house, and told him to step into the kiddie pool, which had a few stray chunks of ice and drinks floating around in the tepid water. He flushed, embarrassed, as he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

Stan had tied a hose to the tap at the back of the house, and he was adjusting the setting. He lifted the nozzle to Jimmy. “Sorry in advance, babe.”

“I won't forgive you.” Jimmy said evenly, his last words before he was blasted in the face with ice cold water. He sputtered at the feeling of it dripping into his mouth, and he froze stock-still, like a corpse, as it trickled into his clothes. The spray moved down, getting the black sludge off of him and into the grass.

There was a minor reprieve when Stan leaned forward to take the glasses off his face, trailing the back of his hand down his cheek sweetly before he was being blasted once more.

“My-My boots!” Jimmy gasped, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes as the spray went down to his lower half.

“These need to be washed too… Moses, Jimmy, were you fighting them one-on-one or something?”

You don't even know the half of it , he grumbled to himself, turning around at Stan’s orders so he could get his back.

As Jimmy yelped at the feeling of water soaking him once more, he was unbeknownst to the children watching him from inside the Shack. Both of them were giggling at his unfortunate circumstances, but for completely different reasons.

Chapter Text

Dipper ran over to the two employees of the Mystery Shack, who had agreed to come over on their off day to help discover the bunker described within the Journal. Wendy had just arrived on her bike, and they were going to try to figure out how to get in. But, this announcement couldn't wait for any longer. Dipper pulled his hat low over his head, protecting him from a sun that didn’t quite reach him, and tugged on the hem of the handyman’s shirt. “Guys, you won’t believe what happened a few days ago.”

“You mean aside from the zombie apocalypse?” Wendy winked at Mabel, who giggled in response. She was unusually calm for someone who had to come over at 3 in the morning to give them more cinnamon when they ran out of it mid-curing-zombification session.

“Yes, aside from the apocalypse.” Dipper mumbled quickly, still feeling some guilt about starting the whole thing. He straightened up. “Anyway, I was right! About Jimmy, I mean!”

“This again, dude?” Soos asked, a frown edging his face, but he didn’t do anything to discourage it. “I thought you got over that, like, last month.”

“Eh, it comes and goes.” Mabel added helpfully, which didn’t help Dipper’s case.

Dipper gave a forced sigh, calming himself down before he revealed that. “Jimmy told us he was a demon, right to our faces!”

“Woah, really?” Wendy asked, blinking rapidly when Mabel gave a cheerful nod. “That's awesome! Well, in the way that you were right, not in the way that you kind of have to live with him now.”

“He’s fiiiine.” Mabel whined, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He’s just an ordinary old guy for the most part. He sleeps forever, and eats all of the food, but he doesn't even do that anymore.” She rolled a rock along the edge of her shoe. “He just spends his time hanging out with Grunkle Stan.”

Dipper shook his head, sighing. Clearly, this wasn't the right time or audience. So he flipped through his Journal and revealed the page that had inspired them to come here. He could focus on that at a different time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stan overslept his alarm by a longshot when he woke up that same day. He squinted at it with blurry eyes, the room dark with a sun that had passed a while ago. He put on his slippers with a groan, rolling out of bed so he could finally start the day. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, poking at the skin under his eyes, sagging and dark. He’d been finalizing the portal, and had pulled many all nighters, many of which had begun to catch up to him. A few more days of this, at least a week, if he was guessing, and then his work would have paid off.

He’d be able to get a good night's rest.

So he straightened himself up, and left to do some chores. There were still so many repairs he had to do to the outside. But for now, the first thing he needed to tackle was the dishes, the mountain of which he had been ignoring. Baby steps. Jimmy at least kept the rest of the Shack tidy, but the kitchen was an off-limits zone to him. Self imposed by himself, and externally enforced by Stan. He walked by and saw a sticky note on the counter, which he took off to read. Apparently, the kids had gone off with Wendy and Soos to explore some kind of secret bunker? Well, whatever kept them out of the house. And they’d be fine as long as they were together. He knew Soos was a reliable guy, and Wendy was one tough cookie. 

He’d begun scrubbing at them for a few minutes before he heard the soft pad of feet behind him, the heavy weight causing the wood to creak in its sensitive spots. He startled for a brief second, but relaxed. There was only one other guy in the house it could have been, and it was someone he was happy to see. 

Then there was a warm weight draping itself around and over his back, the coarse texture of facial hair rubbing against the side of his neck, and the strong give of arms encircling his waist. He didn’t pay it much mind as he worked, but he did lean into the hold just the slightest bit, humming softly. 

“I need some water.” Jimmy mumbled into the back of his neck.

“That’s a first. What happened to the coffee?” Stan chuckled, jostling him slightly. There was a damp smell coming from him, and he wrinkled his nose despite himself. There was the pungent smell of mildew. Was he just outside? “What time did you go to sleep?” The question was asked with genuine concern, but it was also out of self-preservation. If Jimmy was out of his room, he could have seen him come out of the vending machine. And that would have been its own problem.

In actuality, Jimmy had never gone to bed. He tossed and turned until he felt like he was going crazy, the heated fabric of his own sheets driving him out, the sick feeling in his stomach causing splitting pangs. Earlier that week, he’d begun a new habit of shaking, a development that both horrified and embarrassed him. He had opted to leave the house and hang around at the edge of the property at just about dawn, smoking till he ran out of cigarettes, and gnawing at his fingers when he did. He stayed there until he saw the kids leaving the Shack, then he slipped back inside. He was never the best at keeping hydrated, and a few sips of water was enough to tide him over most days. But the smoking had made his voice scratchy, like there was sand tearing it up. He couldn't remember the last time a glass had touched his lips.

“Late.” He offered simply, too tired to lie.

Stan paused at that, drying off the dishes with a towel. “Are ya hungry? I can make something.”

“What’re you having?” Jimmy asked right into his ear, swaying with every step Stan took. At this point, he was nothing but a hindrance, but Stan didn’t move to bat him away. He let him stand pressed close, skin to skin.

“Eggs and bacon.”

“...no bacon.”

Stan nodded at the response, and then made his move towards the fridge. However, instead of letting go, Jimmy stayed close, shuffling along with him. It made the short journey much longer, and the faintest tinge of irritation wriggled up inside the conman. But he knew Jimmy was reluctant to let go. “I was thinking of dinner tonight. Maybe I should make something with potatoes?” 

“Ya mean the once-a-week meals you cook?” Jimmy joked, tipping his head forward so he could peer into the fridge with him. 

“I realized Dipper and Mabel need to eat more than whatever junk we have in the house.” He replied, taking the pack of bacon from the fridge and holding it to Jimmy, who held it between the two of his fingers like it would burn him. Stan shuffled them back and set the container of eggs on the counter. The pan was already on the stove, so he poured in a bit of oil as he got the ingredients ready. When Jimmy made it hard to grab a plate, he began to writhe within his grip, jerking to and fro. “Get off of me!”

Jimmy tightened his grip, laughing, which only made the man in his arms try harder to get free. The demon bent down to nip at the tips of his ears, which made him yelp at the sparking pain, as if to warn him. Unfortunately for him, Stan had always been a broken record.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Stan demanded, pushing his face away, making him strain against his hand.

“I can't get enough of ya.” Jimmy purred into the skin of his hand, muffled. “You’re so cute.” He exaggerated the second word, making it come out just a tad mocking, like one would speak to a baby.

“I’m a grown ass man, I shouldn't be.” Stan groaned.

Jimmy let out a breathless laugh, licking at his own dry lips. “Alright, fine, but do this for me first.”

Stan went still in his grasp, turning his head over his shoulder to listen to him. A hand took hold of his chin gently, guiding him closer into a kiss. Stan let himself enjoy it this time, sighing into it when he knew there were no prying eyes. Safe within the Shack. They parted briefly so Stan could deliver a curt, “You taste like cigarettes.”

Jimmy smiled at the words, warm and sweet. “You love it.”

They pressed their lips together again, and before Jimmy could press Stan’s hips to the counter and completely alter the course of the rest of the day, the younger man startled and turned back to the stove. “My eggs!”

He quickly took them off the stove and onto a plate, served with some bacon he had cooked at the same time. Both of them popped with oil, crispy and perfectly salted. He had frying eggs down to an art, if he did say so himself. He made sure to give Jimmy the portion that was more solid, something he could stab easily with a fork, sans bacon. Now that he could get a good look at him, the older man looked distinctly bedraggled. His hair was untamed, more so than it was usually. He wasn't wearing his signature jacket, either. But most striking was his eyes, uncovered and slitted as they watched him as he placed his portion in front of him.

Jimmy took the provided fork and poked at it, uninterested. Stan felt his chest tighten at the sight. He could see that Jimmy hadn't been himself these past few days. Not only was he more reclusive, opting to stay in his room for a good part of the day, but much more tired when he did appear. Moreover, he’d barely been eating. He knew Jimmy didn't have to eat as much as the regular guy, but it was starting to get ridiculous. A small meal could get him through the day. A big one, a few more. Before, he’d even make the time to come sit down and eat with everyone else. But now he barely took more than a few nibbles. He’d hardened his eggs in the hopes that the solid sight would convince him to eat more without any interference. Evidently, that hadn't worked.

“Just eat half.” Stan encouraged, sitting down at the table next to him. He hadn't taken a bite of his own food just yet.

Jimmy looked at him again, at that worried look that pervaded his gaze. Once again, his care was wasted on him. He sighed. He just hadn't had the appetite lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It was kind of starting to worry him as well. If he wasn't trembling in his bed, then he was busy moving about outside, trying to force the jitters out. He’d only ended up exhausted, but he could at least sleep for a little longer before he was torn from his dreams.

Nausea roiled in his gut at the sight of it, and he took a small corner, breaking off a big portion. He could swallow it down quickly, and get it over with. Hopefully he didn't end up throwing it up. He rubbed at his temples as he took a bite, tasting cardboard in his mouth. He could feel Stan's eyes on him as he did, and he took a few more bites before he pushed it away, cupping a hand over his mouth as he swallowed. He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape. Then he turned around to leave, any tender pretext between the two of them now tense and cold.

He never did end up getting that water. 

“Jimmy,” He heard Stan call to him from the table. He froze in the doorway as he continued. Stan fiddled with the utensils in his hands. Jimmy had been fine the last time they spent the night together… and it had been a long time. He had pushed him away so he could dedicate his time to the portal, but now that it was close to its finale, he couldn’t help but think of the time they had left together. The end of summer was approaching fast. Surely he could spare a few nights for him. “Do you wanna come to bed with me tonight?”

An olive branch. Jimmy knew he was trying to reach out to him. But he couldn't think of anything worse than Stan fussing over him as he began his nightly nuisances. “Maybe,” he answered curtly, stepping through and walking back to his room, supporting himself on the wall as he climbed onto the stairs, clutching a hand to his stomach as if he were trying to soothe the food that hadn't made its way down his throat, the sudden sickness coming back full force. He knew he wasn't going to find his way back into the younger man's arms tonight. It’d be best if he forgot about it.

Stan sighed from the kitchen, taking a bite of bacon that had gone cold, congealed with fat. He wasn't even in the mood for breakfast. The only thing he could taste was the worry bubbling up the back of his throat. 

Jimmy stumbled back to his room, that familiar blackness warping his vision, and collapsed on the bed, gasping for air that only made him gag. He tottered to the toilet before anything else, dropping to his knees as he retched the few bites he had taken, running his hands through his sweat soaked hair, heaving around nothing. He rubbed at his eyes, smearing the wetness. Then he gathered himself by the sink for a few minutes, and sped by the kitchen and through the door, faster than he knew the other man would be able to see him. He walked aimlessly till he was somewhere in the woods, under identical trees. 

He saw the others coming back later on in the day, beaten up and running like they had found a monster in the woods. Knowing this town, it was pretty likely that they had. He slicked himself back into the shadow of a tree, melding in until they became one, watching them go till he couldn't hear them anymore.

He wished he had gotten lost in that forest. The forest with eyes that always seemed to stare at him. The forest that had a constant chill no matter the season. The forest that felt like it could go on forever, and never end. He rubbed his hands, shivering. It was with a sinking feeling that he realized the forest felt safer than inside that Shack.

That house was killing him.

Chapter Text

Jimmy walked downstairs, roused from sleep at the sound of Mabel’s shrieking, shrill enough to hear through the walls, multiple floors up. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes, tying his wrap into place, jerking his head back to slide his shades into place. He lingered at the doorway, watching a dejected Mabel abandon the newspaper in her uncle’s hand. He stepped out, at a loss for words when he almost ran into Soos, who had begun to cut a W shape into the collar of his shirt in the middle of the room. The demon decided to keep his mouth shut.

Jimmy turned around to the conman and flexed his hands until he received the paper with a roll of his eyes. Jimmy stared at some girl, who looked about Mabel’s age, posing at the front of the paper. She had way too much jewelry, makeup, and edited sparkles added to her face. The tagline of the page said ‘Pacifica Northwest declares V-necks the look of the season’. His eyes looked up to the girl slumped over the circular table in the den, pouring herself a cup of orange juice, and throwing it back like it was a shot of whiskey. She had been rambling about it all week, and he knew how excited she was for it. He felt bad for her.

“Who’s the Northwest kid?” Jimmy asked Stan, pointing at her face.

“The town’s stuckup princess.” Dipper growled, taking an angry bite of his cereal.

Stan nodded at his words. “They’re the richest family in town. That mansion along the back is theirs.” He pointed in the general West direction, waving his hand.

“Remind me to drain ‘em dry if any of them come to me for something.” Jimmy chuckled, wiggling his fingers.

Just then, the TV began to play an ad, the mystical music accompanying grating on Jimmy’s ears. It said something about golf, and maybe some adventure? Whatever. He wasn’t listening in the first place. But then Dipper perked up, and pulled out what looked to be a scrapbook, pointing out some of the pictures within. He tilted it towards his uncle, but not towards Jimmy, who had to loom over his shoulder to see the pictures. Inside was a little image of Mabel, who couldn't have been older than three. Her cheeks were round with baby fat, and her eyes looked even bigger than they were right now. She clutched a tiny gold club in her hand, and a trophy in the other, and Jimmy found himself grinning.

“Hey, Mabel! You love mini-golf.” Dipper called out to her, abandoning his bowl on the side of the dinosaur head side table. “She’s been amazing at it since we were kids. What do you say? We’ve had a stressful couple of days. How about we take a break?”

“Would kicking all our butts in mini-gold cheer you up?” Stan asked her as she walked over, giving her a reassuring smile. It was only then that Jimmy realized he was holding a frying pan, for some reason.

She looked at the floor, folding her hands together behind her back, bouncing on her toes as she thought about it. Then she broke into a smile. “Maybe a little.”

Then they all began to chant, and before Jimmy knew it, they were marching out of the door single file, along with Soos. Jimmy lingered along the stairs, resting along the solid wood as he waited for them to leave. But then Stan paused at the final step, turning around to beckon to the demon. “C’mon, hotshot. You need a break too.”

“Me?” Jimmy asked, pointing to himself like he wasn’t the only other person left. “But I can’t play golf.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll teach ya. You’ll have fun.” Stan replied, slipping out before he could say anything.

And Jimmy couldn’t really argue with that. So he followed them to their car, sitting into the passenger seat, forcing Soos to be demoted to the middle-back. The biker wasn’t really in the mood to drive, and he was sure Stan wouldn’t let him; He was pretty protective over the Stanmobile. But there was a striking sense of nostalgia, curling around him like a snake once he touched those leather seats… He remembered the last time he had sat with Stan, just like this, without as many people in the back. They’d been leaving a movie. Jimmy gave Stan a longing look.

If he felt it too, he certainly didn’t show it. Stan took the exact same wild turns, having kept the bad habit after all these years. This time, nobody was screaming in the backseat. It seemed like they were used to it.

They got to the Putt Hutt in record time (definitely not because Stan ran every red light they came across), and Jimmy paid for their admission. Then they were directed to the beginning of the course, and handed their respective clubs. Jimmy balanced it on the flat of his palm, catching it before it tipped over and fell. It felt a bit light. Would this really be able to hit it? 

His turn was after Dipper’s in the rotation, and unfortunately for him, he missed every single shot he took. Every swing wound up hitting air, and when it didn’t, it only rolled a few feet in the wrong direction. He covered his face with his hands after a few stages, walking to the back of the line in true shame. He didn’t have to look to know that Dipper was reveling at the scoreboard in his head.

Stan rubbed his back comfortingly. “Its just your aim, Jim. If you fix it, you could hit every hole.”

“My aim is fine!” Jimmy hissed, snatching his club back. “I know my aim is fine. Give me a gun, and I can hit every mark!”

“Well, this ain’t shooting a gun. This is golf.” Stan said matter-of-factly. Soos went up next, and in that time frame, Stan reached out and adjusted the older man’s hands on the club, wrapping them loosely around the textured grip. Then he stepped behind him, pressing himself close and bending them over just a bit, putting his fingers over Jimmy’s. He pulled their arms back and swung them forward, steadying Jimmy’s hands where they faltered, and kicking his legs astride to widen his stance, stabilizing him. The younger man was shorter than him by a few inches, so he rested his forehead on Jimmy’s shoulder, just under the spikes. 

The demon felt warm under his touch. He thought back to the first time they met, when he had to teach him how to ride a motorcycle. Stan’s grip was just as unsure as his, and Jimmy remembered how he had to wrap his hands around his in the exact same way, reassuring him of his own control. The memory was long forgotten, and Jimmy felt a calm settle deep within him at the reminder.

“Now you can try it,” Stan encouraged him, flashing him a thumbs up when it was his turn. 

Jimmy stuck his tongue out at Dipper as he walked up, not bothering to see his reaction when he copied what Stan had told him. He widened his legs, straightened his arms, and bent over. He gave a test swing, gently nudging it closer to the ball. When he felt like it lined up, he pulled his arms back, and swung them forward… completely missing the ball.

“Fuck me!” Jimmy swore, throwing his hands up in frustration. There was a flash of pink next to him, and he looked down to see Mabel walk up to him. She had a sheet of stickers with her, and she peeled one off to stick it on the buckle of his belt. The shiny gold was covered up by a white sticker, and he squinted down to see it say ‘Ur Egg-Cellent’. There was a cartoon egg right next to it, grinning widely. “Thanks, kiddy.” He sighed, defeated.

And although he felt sorry for himself, he was genuinely happy for Mabel when she managed to hit every mark. Any of her earlier sadness seemed to wash away with every stage she surpassed. That was a natural talent!

They were at the final hole in the competition. He had completely given up on trying, opting to stay along the sidelines and cheer her on. Mabel was lining herself to make her victory swing. She paused, wriggling herself into position, and pulled back, throwing her final shot. It went through a ton of twists and turns, which had the group of them by the edge of their seat… only to fall into a puddle of water and completely miss the shot.

“Aw, nuts!” Mabel shouted, tossing down her club. The crowd groaned at her loss, and slowly dispersed. 

Jimmy rubbed at her head, messing up her hair. “You woulda won if the water wasn’t there!”

“Aw, don't worry about it, kid.” Stan added on, bending down to pick up the ball, rubbing it on his shirt. “Jimmy’s right. It’s random. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still better than anyone else in Gravity-”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, another gold ball entered the same hole Mabel had failed in one smooth hit, falling in with a soft thud. Stan shut his mouth immediately, eyes turning up to follow the source. Along the top of the adjoining stairs, stood Pacifica Northwest, leaning a lazy elbow on the railing. At her back were two people, a man and his wife, dressed in the exact same gaudy manner as her. All three of them had an artificial, ‘for-the-papers’ smile on their faces.

She walked up to them, leaning on her club, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t the Pines family.” She pointed to each member as she spoke. “Fat. Old. Lame. Braces. Tacky.” She paused, tapping a manicured finger to her lips, staring at him. “Hm. You weren’t here last time.”

Stan rolled up his sleeve, leaning over to loudly whisper in Soos’ ear. “Would it be wrong to punch a child?”

Jimmy leaned over, tugging Stan to him, and cupped a hand over his mouth. “Her hair is dyed for sure. You can see her roots on her shoulders.” The other man snickered in response.

The two girls had a minor spat, and then Pacifica went to hit another ball. To their horror, she not only made it in one hit, but she also activated some kind of complimentary explosion, bathing the whole arena in red. She cooed at her mockingly before walking away. Mabel growled, visible anger darkening her face. “Oh yeah? I want a rematch! You… You… walking one-dimensional-bleached-blonde-valley-girl-stereotype!”

The crowd went silent. It was a good thing they couldn't see Jimmy grinning ear to ear. Never let anyone think they’re better than you, he thought proudly.

Pacifica snapped her compact shut, rounding on her. Both girls walked forward in a straight line, ending with them face-to-face, a silent challenge. At that exact moment, dark clouds rolled overhead, and Stan broke away from them to stare at them. Weird timing.

Some attendant came by to shout that the park was closing because of the bad weather, and Jimmy missed what they were saying. But then the rain began to fall in sheets, and the Northwests pulled out their umbrellas and walked away, leaving them to get soaked by the rain.

They piled into the car and drove down to some restaurant. Jimmy ordered a cup of coffee, and warmed his hands on the hot mug as they talked. Dipper fed Mabel some chips as they talked, and Stan took a handful on a napkin, edging them towards the biker. Jimmy took one, but nibbled on it throughout the whole visit. Guess he’s still not eating, Stan hummed, worried.

After a bit, Mabel urged them to hurry before they were late, and they drove right through the security post to get to the wall. The gate was locked metal, so they decided to try and break through the softer, nailed together wooden planks. Stan pulled a crowbar out of the trunk, and made short work of the nails. Before Jimmy could offer to pull the wood back, the younger man heaved away a good chunk, creating a crack just small enough for the two twins to crawl through, giving Mabel a gold sticker before she slipped away.

After that, they didn’t really have anything to do, so the three of them trailed their way back to the car, if only to hang out. Jimmy stretched out in the backseat, laying back as if he were in bed. He was too tall for it, so he kept his knees bent. But in the silence of the car, he was acutely aware of the presence of the other two, and it made his skin crawl. He began to bounce his leg, which made the whole car shake. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his lighter. He was going to take a smoke. 

He slipped out of the open door, and Stan rolled down the window. “Where are ya goin’?”

“To smoke.” he waved the lighter at him. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket to pull out his pack, shaking it. It felt lighter than it should, and he opened it, swearing when he saw two of them in the pack.

“You’re finished already? I just bought that pack yesterday!”

“I know, you don't have to nag at me!” Jimmy snapped at him, taking out the two of them and throwing the pack over his shoulder, bouncing off the roof of his car. He flicked the flame of his lighter, lighting both of them as he took a drag, stalking away into the wet, humid night. I’ll be spending a fortune on them soon enough. When he went to put the end of it in his mouth, he realized his hands were shaking once again. He balled them into fists and shoved them deep into his pocket.

What's his issue? Stan wondered, rolling up the window and reclining the seat, trying to ignore what happened. Soos did the exact same thing, turning over to stare at him shirtless, and that was when he decided to leave the car as well, locking his employee inside. He broke into a light jog to catch up with Jimmy, who was already on the other side of the empty parking lot. “Jimmy!” He called out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come back to the car.”

Jimmy froze at those words, taking another drag. He couldn't find it in himself to want to get back in the same car as him. He’d feel bad about his attitude in a bit. Evidently, that was not now. “I’ll find my own way back.” he said coolly, shaking off his hand and walking out.

Stan sighed and walked back to the car. There was no use in fighting him, and even less to dragging him back to the car. This mood of his seemed to be going on for days, and it was starting to hang over everyone else’s head as well. He only hoped he wasn’t snapping at the kids like this as well, or he’d have to have a talk with him.

Still, when the kids came back with Pacifica in tow, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her out in the streets at night. He drove her back to the manor, allowing Soos to fill up the missing seat next to him. And when the fireworks came out to congratulate Pacifica, he wished Jimmy was next to him to complain about it. 

Jimmy wasn’t inside the Shack when he came back. And the next morning, Stan wasn’t sure if he ever came back that night at all.

Chapter Text

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jimmy!” Mabel clapped her hands together, bouncing in one spot as she gleamed at the biker, who had begun to lock down some boxes down to the back of his bike with some racket straps he had borrowed from Soos. They were full of puppets, arts and crafts, and strangely enough, fireworks. The girl had been making a puppet show all weekend, dragging in everyone in the Shack to pitch in, and she had finally decided to unveil it today at the Gravity Falls public auditorium. 

She had more stuff than she could manage, and Jimmy offered to take some with him, if only to lighten the load. He smiled at her kindly. “I’ll be right behind ya.”

“Don’t be late, please!” Mabel insisted, giving her best attempt at puppy eyes.

They kind of worked. Definitely needed work. But Jimmy was already committed to helping her, so they were unneeded. “I won’t. Promise.”

She nodded cheerfully, and ran off to the front of the house to shout some orders at how the boxes were to be arranged. Sheesh. She runs that puppet show like the Navy.

Meanwhile, inside the Shack itself, Dipper’s life was falling apart at the seams (literally). Bill had tricked him into a deal in exchange for the Author’s passwords, but had hijacked his body instead! He watched Bill fall down the stairs, stiff like a plank of wood, and chased after him, his ghost-like limbs difficult to navigate. Instead, he fell through the floor and into the kitchen, where Bill began to pour Pitt Cola directly into his eyes. Dipper felt his own water, as if he were within the body as it happened. 

Bill-Dipper walked over, hitting his limbs on every corner in a way that had to be intentional. “So where do you keep that Journal anyway? It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” He opted to close his hands within an open drawer, stabbing through his skin with the sharp prongs of utensils.

“I’ve hid it!” Dipper snapped, feeling anger bubble within him at the sight, tamping down any residual fear that had begun to gnaw at his seethrough stomach. “You’ll never find it in a million years!”

There was the soft tap of ballet flats on the ground behind them, and both of them snapped to attention at the sight of his twin sister, waving at not him from the door. “Hey, Dipper, I borrowed your Journal to use as a prop in the show I’m-gonna-go-before-you-process-this-sentence, okay, bye!”

Bill broke into a bout of laughter, processing it faster than him by just a few seconds. He flashed a devilish grin at Dipper, one that made him want to wring his neck out. “Sure, sounds great, sister. I’ll see you at the show.”

He ran off after her, stumbling over his own legs, just passing the window. Then he startled, his face twisting in a facsimile of emotion, and he backed up, pressing his face flat against the screen of the window, straining in Dipper’s short body to be able to reach the glass. His breath fogged it up with every exhale, and he squinted. “Yeesh, kid, destiny’s got glasses in store for you.”

I’m never gonna shake another hand in my life, Dipper thought bitterly, swimming up to him as he waded through the air. Still, Bill didn’t take his eyes off the glass, and Dipper couldn’t help the curiosity that took over, floating over his head as he tried to follow his line of sight. What’s keeping him? 

The Dream Demon happened to be looking at what looked like Grunkle Stan, if that all black blob was him, making his way from the back of the Shack, stretching his arms out lazily. He bounced something in his hand, maybe his keys? 

… Maybe there was merit to Bill’s statement. But he wasn’t gonna let him know that.

The conman lifted a hand to his eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. “Do ya think Mabel’ll let us in for free?”

Jimmy wiped his hands off on his jeans, straightening to his full height. “Apparently, the whole thing is free.”

“ What? ” 

“Yeah. It’s for some boy she met. Overheard her a while ago. I think her play has to do with it too.”

Stan balked and looked away, adjusting his hat. “Now that’s just bad business. You should never do all that for some guy.”

“There can be some exceptions,” Jimmy replied, giving him a leering look. Stan slapped him on the arm, and he laughed it off, breaking off his gaze.

Bill rubbed at his eyes and squinted, stepping back as he gave his legs a much needed break. Dipper was practically vibrating in the air, going hazy with all the movement. When Bill didn’t give any comment, he added on frantically, “What is it? What are they saying?”

“Beats me!” Bill grumbled, resuming his earlier position. “I got the human body’s weak sense of everything. It's especially bad with you, trust me.” Before Dipper could defend himself, he continued. “Is that Jimmy Service-Demon Snakes ?”

“Service- what ?” Dipper asked, calming down a brief moment. One good thing about being a ghost was that he didn’t feel any of the physical effects he usually would be at this moment. Sweating, fast heart rate. The usual.

Still, the conversation was still playing out across the back of the yard. Turns out, it wasn’t as private as the two men had assumed. “What? Like letting in a guy for free into a biker gang.”

“ That was for a friend.” Jimmy corrected, testing the give of the boxes by pushing at them. When they felt looser than he would have liked, he began to tighten the straps on it once more.

“If that's what you do for a friend, I'm a bit worried about what you do for everyone else.” Stan retorted, peering into a slightly open box, exclaiming lightly at the same pile of fireworks Jimmy had seen earlier. “Did she get this from my stash?”

“You're special,” The biker replied, fixing him with a stare he couldn’t quite read. “I don't do that for just anyone.” 

Stan gave a low chuckle, but grinned at Jimmy with a soft expression on his face, leaning on his bike with the lightest amount of weight. The demon had stopped fidgeting with the straps, stopping to direct his attention to him, leaning on elbow on a box and balancing his chin on the flat of his palm, bending down just to be eye level with him.

Then out of nowhere, to Dipper’s sheer horror, and Bill’s utter fascination, Stanley Pines leaned up, and grabbed the chain of Jimmy Snakes’s necklace, pulling him down to give his cheek a playful, lingering, saccharine kiss.

Dipper shrieked and covered his eyes, squirming away from the window. He shouldn’t have looked out of the window at all. “Oh my God. I have to die right now .” Then it dawned on him, and he looked at Bill, the only other person in the room, with a look of abject horror. “Oh… my god. My Grunkle Stan… and Jimmy?”

Bill backed away from the window, slowly walking towards the door, his original goal before he got distracted. “Huh. How’d that demon lock down Sixer’s clone?” He tapped a hand on his chin in a manner that made it seem as if he were only copying the motion from someone else, not truly authentic to himself. Then he shrugged, slamming the door right into Dipper’s face. “Who knows, maybe he is smarter than he looks.”

Dipper could see Stan start the car with the rest of Mabel’s friends in the back, and he flung himself in front of it, trying in some desperate attempt to get them to notice him. It didn’t work, and he flinched at the sight of the car speeding through him, peeking his eyes open once it had fully passed through him. He flexed his hands, staring at them in horror. In some twisted way, he still felt every bit as human as he was a few minutes ago. He didn’t like the feeling of being ignored in the first place, but this made it a whole lot worse.

He whipped around to see Jimmy bring his bike to the dirt road, manually dragging it as far as it could go. Bipper walked up to him, grinning so wide that it showed the pinks of his gums. He didn’t blink half as naturally as Dipper did, which made for a very unsettling image. Bill tugged on the edge of Jimmy’s jacket. “Hey, Snakes.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrow, giving what Dipper could only assume was a very weirded-out look.

Bill blinked at him slowly, like a cat, or even a lizard, if he was being honest. “Can I ride on your bike?”

The demon scoffed, turning his handles away from the boy, already pushing it down the dirt path.. “No kids on my bike.” 

Bill bared his teeth at his back, but turned around regardless, back to the front door. Dipper watched Wendy and Soos greet the person who wasn’t him, and his stomach dropped all over again. Once more, he tried to call out to them, passing through them just like a foggy day. In a way, he was nothing more than vapour. They talked to Bill like they didn’t notice it was him, and even for as long as they had known each other, they didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. He didn’t even talk like he did. But they still opened the car door, and let that fake sit in his seat, take his place next to Wendy.

“I’m gonna stop you, Bill!” Dipper spat, pointing at him through the thick glass of the window. “I’m gonna find that Journal before you do, and I’m gonna stop you!”

“But how can you stop me… if you don’t exist?” Bill enunciated slowly, that radio-like quality to his voice getting stronger, more distorted. His neck contorted, shifting towards him segment by segment. His eyes flashed, and there was a yellow, jaundiced color to his sclera. But it had to be only visible to him, right? He bared his teeth in that animalistic way, and Dipper felt a shiver go down his spine. When he looked at Mabel, he could see parts of himself in her face. The shape of her eyes, nose, and jaw. But her reflection was different. When he looked in the mirror, he knew that was him within it. Now, it was uncanny. That face of his staring back at him, out of his control, moving in ways he never could have imagined. It made him sick. He would never look in another mirror again if his life counted on it.

The Bipper broke into maniacal laughter, which carried and rang within his ears as he traveled all the way down, well past earshot. Dipper stared at the empty space in front of him, where the car had been moments prior. And he shook himself out of his daze. 

He had to find and stop him, before anything else happened!

~~~~~~

In the auditorium, Jimmy had been allowed backstage momentarily to help move the boxes inside, before he was rapidly shooed out by Mabel and her ‘Production Crew’. He rubbed the back of his neck, walking down the darkened strip of carpet in the middle, searching throughout the crowd for a face he could recognize. He heard the quiet sound of his name being shouted, and he looked ahead at Stan waving his hand at him above the seats, seated in the second to last seat of the aisle. He walked over, and sat in the final spot, free to take over the armrest on his side. (Soos had looked a bit dejected at the other seat being taken from him, so Wendy quickly traded places, letting him sit at Stan’s left arm).

As soon as he got comfortable, the lights darkened to their lowest setting, dark enough where they couldn’t see their hands in front of them. And then the stage lit up, blinding them with the sudden rush of multicolored, neon lights, and the show had begun. He had actually paid attention to a good portion of it before he got bored, staring at a discolored spot in the carpet ahead of him before intermission started. 

But that was when that chill began to creep up his spine. He groaned, muffling the sound behind his hand, and forced himself to shrink back into the seat, already uncomfortable. He was genuinely sick of this feeling. He was tired of not feeling like himself. He waved away Stan’s concerned hand, deciding to stay in his seat while everyone else got up around him to stretch their legs.

And that sense of wrongness began to buzz around his head, like a tightening band, once those two sock puppets on the stage began to mack on each other with an unusual amount of sound. He leaned forward, and looked up into the rafters, seeing the back outline of a long, black costume, on a boy about Dipper’s age. Actually, that is Dipper, he realized, looking across to see Mabel across from him, returning something to his hand. But instead of pulling her back up, he let her drop precariously. There was a brief moment where Jimmy could see a round stage drop from the scenery before it was rapidly pulled up. Everyone else around him either didn’t notice it, or didn’t deem it significant enough to remember.

He did.

He stood out of his seat, the folding seat of it loudly clicking into its original form. He wasn’t even aware of him doing that until the people around him began to jeer at him, and he ducked out with a few mumbled apologies.

“Jimmy!” Stan hissed under his breath, looping a finger into his belt loops to try and pull him back.

But the biker twisted out of his grip, running to the back and around the front of the stage, where he had been led through a side door just a few hours earlier. There was a little ladder to only one floor of the stage, dozens of them scattered around the back in varying heights due to the lack of established, sturdy stairs. He panted, but not out of exertion, as he dragged himself up the metal rungs, his hands slipping on the cold metal. He had to get to that stage. He had a bad, sinking feeling that he knew what was happening, what could have been the cause of that sickness that had been tormenting him for the past few weeks.

Jimmy Snakes didn’t believe in God, but he hoped to whatever listened to him that he wasn’t wrong, that he had finally lost his shit from spending too much time within Gravity Falls.

But once he pulled himself into the rafters, the edge of his hands fixing around the handle of his gun, he spotted Dipper once more. He had a twisted, cruel look on his face, muscles that wouldn’t normally be active twitching across them, like they had just been used for the first time. He didn’t realize it then, but he was seeing it for what it was now. That wasn’t Dipper in Dipper’s body.

Before he could shout out a warning, and second guess where he was aiming his gun, Mabel tugged Dipper into the wooden bowl she had carved out, falling freely without anyone to support them. Jimmy gasped and dropped his gun, darting over to grab at the rope and pull it back. 

But his fingers closed around air, and the rope slipped through his fingers, brushing against the coarse fabric as it fell, cracking on the ground. He loomed over the edge of the railing, momentarily rendered dizzy from the sheer height of his position, watching as it cracked on the ground, completely ruining Mabel’s props. The two children tumbled out of it, knocking and pushing at each other as they fought for possession of that Journal.

Again with that Journal. He had seen it more times this week than he had all summer. At this point, he was starting to think there was a reason for it. 

He felt along his back for his gun, and panicked when he realized that he didn’t have it. Then he remembered that he had dropped it a few feet back. He turned around with genuine horror as he watched it teeter along the edge of the platform, and precariously dance on the metal. His breath caught in his throat, and he watched, stuck fast to where he stood, as it tumbled off the edge, hitting the ground with a resounding ‘ pop’.

In the dead silence of the auditorium, broken by the sounds of a scuffle, the gunshot echoed across the room, distinctive in its volume. This was a backwater, hick town in the middle of the Pacifica Northwest. Hell, the nearest hospital was two hours away. Everyone here knew what a gunshot sounded like, and there was the shrill sound of screaming immediately.

The sound dug into his head, worsening that tightness that had sprung him into action earlier. Left defenseless, with no options, he ran back to where he came from, jumping from the ladder and rolling on the floor. He was stuck with two choices. One, run out into the auditorium, pocket the gun in front of everyone, and pray nobody could put a name to his face. Or two, run out of the side entrance, and pray nobody traced it back to him.

He stood panting at the side hallway, with what connected the backstage to the outer halls. Through the walls, there was the faintest whistling sound, punctuated by a loud, earsplitting pop. He could hear it through the walls, so it must have been worse within. For a moment, he thought it was another gunshot, before more of them began to sound out, one after another, and sometimes at the same time. He couldn't place the sound right now. He looked to his right, at where his hand rested on the wall, and saw just a few feet away, the red, prominent box of the fire alarm.

Jimmy set his jaw. He pulled on the lever, activating the blaring, flashing red alarms, painting the walls in a red light. And just a second later, the sprinklers in the auditorium trickled to life, splashing water all throughout him, drenching him immediately. 

He needed to find a way to get his gun out as soon as possible. The last thing he needed was another gun charge added to his already terrible rap sheet. But… He also needed to find Dipper, and make sure he was okay. His sister as well. 

As he ran down the halls, trying to find a door to the outside, he began to think. Weeks ago, he had been called out, and given some kind of symbol, written down on a napkin. It showed a triangle, surrounded by a circle with cells, each one having a different indicator inside. He had only known of the idea of Bill Cipher, but once he had found his way into Stan’s Mindscape, he had seen him in person, and its memory had haunted him since. He’d been warned about Stan Pines, of all people, but he had ignored it. The possibility of him being even remotely connected to him seemed crazy, like pulling a feather out of fire. 

But he couldn’t deny that things had only been getting worse for him ever since he found his way back into Stan’s life. 

And he had an idea. Maybe. Just Maybe… Bill Cipher had begun finding his way into the human world.

That was something he couldn’t let happen.

Chapter Text

Jimmy didn’t know how long he had stayed awake for after that night. 

He had locked the door to his room awhile ago, dragging the only chair in the room over, just to wedge it under the doorknob. It had been a full day, as far as he was aware. It was a good thing there was an attached bathroom, so he really didn’t have to leave. Stan had come by a few hours ago, knocking on the door for him to come down and eat, but had left when he refused to answer. 

A little bit later, there had been a few steps that went away just as quickly as they came. Maybe he left something for him at the door.

But he didn’t open it regardless. Right now, he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back to the edge of the tub, rapping his knuckles against the cold porcelain of the bathtub, just to hear it echo. The floor, like everything else in the Shack, was made of wood, warmed by the residual heat from outside. Old houses always did that. The demon swallowed nervously, a tremor rising to his hands, knocking the even rhythm into a staccato, making him ball his hands into fists, switching to flicking his lighter open and closed.

Bill. Bill Cipher. Bill Cipher was apparently out in the real world, and he had possessed a Dipper to try and do whatever he had shown up for.

Jimmy played hotshot when he was in Stan’s mindscape ‘cause he knew nothing could really happen to him as long as the Dream Demon was focused on Stan. He was comforted by the thought that he was limited to dreams, that nothing could really happen unless he made a deal with him, which would never happen. The real world was spared his influence.

Part of him wondered why Bill hadn’t appeared in his dreams yet, either to try and convince him to shake his hand, or torment him into leaving the Shack, but it really wouldn't have mattered anyway. Jimmy wouldn’t remember them upon waking up.

… What if he had entered his dreams already, and he had forgotten…

He pushed that thought away, focusing on the metallic click of the lighter, not dwelling on that thought. The flame started, held, and then was extinguished. Over and over again. Part of him was thinking ahead, telling him to stop wasting the fluid. The other, much louder part of him, told him to do anything as long as he wasn’t thinking about that.

The biker reached into his pocket once again, pulling out a crinkled sheet of tissue paper, the marked ink on it faded and dull after hundreds of times of unfolding and refolding. Pretty soon, it would crumble again. Looking at the way the delicate paper dampened from the sweat on his palms, he thought back to a few weeks ago, when he had thought for a few seconds that maybe Stan had made a deal with Bill.

He had brushed it off then, convinced he was crazy. He was just a human. Bill was literally a demon. Just because Jimmy was unusually attached to him didn't mean that he had some kind of supernatural thing to him. Maybe it was the ‘human side’ of Jimmy winning out or something, attaching himself to Stan like a rat in a glue trap. But if he didn’t find any reason within him to stop, then he wouldn't. It's why he never stopped smoking. What's the point if his lungs heal over any form of cancer?

But now he was thinking about it. Really thinking about it. Meeting Bill Cipher in the Mindscape had been a weird coincidence, but that's all it was. A coincidence. Meeting Bill Cipher a second time in a real body was too unlucky to be true. There had to be some reason he was there. 

No, he was going about this all wrong. There couldn't have been any chance that Stan was related to him. There couldn't have been. He would have found out by now, or there would have been some kind of indicator. Or he would have told hi-

…

Would he have told me?

The gun in his hands didn’t do too much to comfort him at this point. He had been sleeping with it under his pillow most nights, curled under his hand. But now, it felt like a child’s toy, the way a toy knife would do nothing against an actual home intruder. He had to calm down, he was acting mad. Bill couldn’t do anything to him unless they made a-

There was a brief moment of weightlessness to him, where his body didn’t keep him pinned to the ground. Those little swoops of tension that swirled in his belly momentarily when he was on a high ledge, that he had felt last week when Stan had thrown him over his shoulder, just to show that he could. And then he was lifting off the ground, air beneath his body as he rose a few centimeters, where his back wasn’t touching the now-warm porcelain, just for a few seconds.

And then he was dropped back to the floor, landing a bit hard. Like nothing had happened.

He stared at his hands, like he was dreaming the whole thing. He flexed them, staring at the way the muscles moved underneath aged hands, and pinched at his skin. He felt nothing. I have lost my complete fucking shit, rubbing at his face with a hand, pulling himself onto weak knees as he forced himself out of the bathroom. I’m starting to hallucinate in real time. I need to go to bed.

But he couldn’t go to sleep, as the issue remained. The walls in the room had always been a tad lonely, but he had dealt with it. Now, they felt like the bars of a cage, constricting him and chaining him down. He was paranoid, and afraid, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed someone there, just to make it so he couldn’t think of the room around him anymore.

He was cold. So cold. And it was one of the hottest nights of the year. Stan had granted them enough mercy to turn on the aircon, but Jimmy was shaking as if he were a forgotten dog, left alone in the rain, tightening his own grip around his body. His legs felt like lead pipes, refusing to bend as he walked down the hallway, to where he knew Stan’s room would be. But he passed the stairs, and that feeling of ‘what if?’ passed through him once more. What if something happened to the kids?

He listened to the feeling in his chest, not the voice in the head. It didn’t really exist when he was in this state, all animal instinct. He went up the stairs faster than he could comprehend, having to grip the railing so he didn't slam into the adjoining wall. He gripped it harder then, nails prying at the grain. He was over this. He had learned how to control himself ages ago. But here he was once again, fumbling over himself like he was 21.

Jax had helped him sort himself out those first few months. They had lost a lot of spoons to it. And walls.

But he was alone this time. He could feel it all the more now.

He pushed the door open quietly, letting the knob twist under his fingers, peering into the room. It was a mess, with a half-abandoned made up golf court, and clothes scattered all over the room. The white light of the moon beamed through, falling on the figures of two children, sleeping in their beds. Jimmy watched with bated breath, to the way the blankets over them rose and fell. He couldn’t hear their breathing over the beat of his own heart, but that was as good as it was gonna get.

He closed the door, letting out a quiet sigh. He wishes he could sleep like they did, unaware and passive, like the sleep of babies. Surely, they know something’s up. He knew from general inklings that they had met the Dream Demon and survived. How they had done that was beyond him. But they weren’t scared. They carried on as they were. Maybe it was because they were humans.

He remembered being human.

Alright, I have to go to sleep and stop thinking now. This was starting to get to him. He could swallow his pride and just go to Stan and squeeze into his shitty little mattress just to be close to him. The younger man would definitely ask about the shake to his hands, but Jimmy could just give some BS about it and move it. Stan could give up his beauty sleep for just a bit, right?

So he walked downstairs, opened the door to Stan's room, expecting to see him in bed… Where he wasn’t. It took a few seconds for his delayed brain to catch up, but he immediately started to freak out once he did. He turned around and walked out into the hall, biting at his own lips, worrying the flesh till he touched it would split. 

There was a touch of pain, and the soft give of something breaking under his teeth. He could taste the tang of blood. Well, it looks like it already has.

He had to find him. It didn't matter where he was, he had to see him in front of his eyes. Some frantic part of his brain assumed he was dead for some reason, lying limp on the floor, that Bill had just gotten to him somehow. He didn’t want to go out and find his body. The finality of seeing it would probably kill him. He’s fine, he reasoned, flicking through his head. He's spry for his age, and there’s a hundred rooms in this house, and Bill can’t leave a dream. He's fine.

… Unless he had made a deal, which meant that Bill could-

No. No. He was done.

He went to the living room, bracing himself for something. Nothing. Then he went to the kitchen or gift shop, nothing. He lingered outside the bathroom, nothing. He even went to the porch before he really started to freak out. Where was he? He could see the beginnings of the pines in the woods, the fibers vibrant and green. He bared his teeth at them, nigh defensively, and ducked back inside, locking it shut swiftly. He walked straight through the house with conviction, opening the back door to the patio.

He found him then, sitting with a relaxed posture, legs thrown out as he lounged on the couch. There was a beer can gripped in his right hand, and Jimmy let out a cry of relief at the sight, dropping to his knees in front of him, the wood hard and painful under him, burying his head into the other man’s stomach, wriggling his arms around him to tug him close. A support.

He didn’t notice the way the other man gripped the can in his hand, hard enough to dent the metal, or that faint scent of chemicals that soaked into his skin.

“I’m so glad you're okay,” Jimmy mumbled into his warm flesh, gasping out each word, knowing the tremors in his back were visible in this position. “Bloody hell.”

Immediately, there were strong, sure hands rubbing at the back of his head soothingly, running through his tangled hair and pulling back when they caught on a knot, stroking down his damp neck and back to the top. Trying to ease the tension out. “Baby,” Stan whispers to him, his voice raw and raspy, throat now dry with worry. Jimmy knew if he looked at his face, he’d look pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so hot.”

When he didn’t get an answer, those same fingers pressed under his chin, forcing his face up out of the comfort of his skin, into the vulnerable open air in front of him. They held firm when Jimmy tried to twist his head out, gently pressing into the skin as he forced his eyes to hold contact with his own. Jimmy’s eyes were rounded, slitted thinner than they usually were, and they held his gaze now, not trying to resist it. His breathing has slowed down now, a calm settling over him. “You’ve been like this for days.” Stan said surely, each word striking in their finality. There's a finger brushing at the edge of his lips, and Jimmy could see the blood staining it when he pulled away. Stan’s face fell at the sight, and Jimmy wished he had wiped it off before he came here. “C’mon, baby, work with me here.”

The demon’s fingers dug into the rough skin of his legs, digging his nails into the flesh. If Stan felt any pain from it, he doesn’t show it on his face, that stubborn surety honing in on one target. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, and the words die on his tongue. He forced them out anyway. “I can’t sleep,” He chokes out, and blinks his eyes shut, not letting him see the other man’s face as he barrels on. “I can’t sleep. I think I’m having nightmares. I don’t know. I think I’m sick.” The words spill out, incoherent and disjointed, not really making sense with the sentences before. “I don’t know what to do. I’m gonna sound crazy.”

“No, you won't," Stan reassures him, letting go of his face, so he can bury them back into his stomach, rubbing his chin against the fabric of his top.

Jimmy turns his head to side slightly, letting his mouth twist out just enough to mumble the words. “I feel like somethin’ bad’s gonna happen.”

The words hang in the air for a few seconds, unanswered, and Jimmy wants to crawl into his own skin. He should have shut his stupid mouth. But then those fingers were at the nape of his neck once again, and he didn’t feel so bad anymore. “You’re not crazy.” He sighs, not really knowing the right words to say. What could he have said?

“I couldn’t find you in the house,” Jimmy says after a bit, refusing to look at him. Stan doesn’t force the matter. 

Truth was, Stan had seen him moving about the halls when he stepped into the gift shop, the grainy camera sparking to life as it captured his movements. The video was sent to one of the connected desktops in the basement, where he had seen it real time. It was a damn good thing he had chosen that very minute to reference a textbook by the table. He waited till Jimmy was on the front porch before he slipped out, snagging a half-empty can of beer he had forgotten on the counter as he made his way through the back door, onto the patio. He had prayed Jimmy couldn't smell the formaldehyde on him. Either smoking had finally killed his sense of smell, or he was too afraid to care. Both seemed likely.

“Jim, sit next to me,” Stan asked him, patting the spot next to him. Jimmy lingered for a few seconds, pressing still into him before he let himself be tugged to his feet with Stan’s supporting hands, dropping into the space next to him. Those same hands continue to tug at him, and he looks at him, confused, as they bent him to the side. His cheek is pressed to Stan’s lap once more, and those heavy hands were once again in his hair, stroking the side of his face with the kind of tenderness you wouldn’t normally reserve for a man of his age. His hands were clumsy, not really used to doing this, but there was a genuine attempt at comfort, and that was worth its weight in gold.

His legs dangle a bit off the edge, crunched up due to his height. He's twisted a bit uncomfortably on his side as well. But at the feeling, he takes a deep breath, and lets it out, his eyes starting to fall asleep, dragged into the sleepy haze of the summer night, and the hands that stroke his head with a kind of affection he can’t really remember knowing.

“You…” Jimmy mumbles then, words falling out. “You’d tell me if you were hidin’ somethin’, right?” 

A lock of hair falls across his closed eyes, and Stan pulls it back, tucking it behind his ear. “Yeah.” He says, the lie slipping out, smooth and sweet like honey. But when he looks down, the other man’s breathing has already deepened, falling asleep. He sighs at the weight in his lap, comfortable, and not too heavy just yet. He looks ahead at the sky, the sky already lighter than it was when he sent the twins to bed, but still on the cusp of night. Regret simmered in his chest, low and slow in a way that he’s gotten used to. He wouldn't know how he would sleep at night without it, curled up like a rock.

He doesn’t want to lie to Jimmy. And deep down, he knows that whatever it is tormenting him, he’s at the heart of it. There were always some parts of himself that he had never bothered to explain, and Stan had never bothered to ask. They both had things they didn’t want the other to share, and they respected that. Call it denial, call it ignorance, call it whatever. They knew what worked for them. Things always got complicated when people tried to push for more than they could get away with.

And Jimmy had always been touchy about the non-human side of things. Sure, the weird things he could do were a cute party trick once in a while. But when it came down to the nitty gritty, he wouldn’t tell a soul. It was definitely some kind of insecurity, but Stan knew it haunted him when he least expected it.

He knew it was this side of him that brought him to his knees in front of him.

He squinted at the sky once more, the barest hints of the sun slipping out of the gaps between the shifting pines. He didn’t know Jimmy was going to be in Gravity Falls when he had started making the portal, and definitely not so close to graduation day. It must be killing Jimmy to be seen like this, paranoid and sleepless. It reminded him of somebody…

Would he have stopped making it if he knew Jimmy Snakes was coming? 

The answer was no, cold and simple. He might have hesitated, but he would always be drawn to it, like metal and a magnet. 

He tugged gently on an inky black lock, not enough to wake up, just to feel the tension of it as it was drawn taut.

Chapter Text

When they wave goodbye to McGucket, dropping him back home at the Gravity Falls junkyard, Dipper finds himself actually missing him. He was pretty good company, and he could see himself coming back for the older man another day. But now, he turned to his sister, voice dropping low, making sure nobody in the front seat could hear them. The boy reached into his pocket, and pulled out a card, holding it out in the palm of his hand. It's trampled over, with white creases ripping through the black finish, but on the edge of a stained bootprint, you can read the name. ‘J. Snakes’. 

He passes the card to Mabel, who looks at it appraisingly, tapping a finger on her chin. “Needs more color.” She said, squinting at the words.

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees, looking at it. It's not very eye-catching, something that you could miss if you weren’t looking for it. Maybe that was the intention. “But that thing on it, about ‘all deals accepted’...”

His sister turned to him, fixing with a curious look. It wasn't suspicious, and for that, he was grateful. “What’re you thinking?”

“Do you think…” Dipper paused, trying to gauge her reaction. “We could try something about Mcgucket’s memories?” At her shocked look, he rushed to justify himself, looking ahead to make sure they weren’t paying attention. Wendy and Soos were still arguing about music. “The line ‘all manner of creatures’ makes me think it's something supernatural. Since we know he’s not human, do you think he has some kind of deal power, like Bill?”

“Dipper!” Mabel exclaims, flashing a guilty look when her brother shushes her. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”

Dipper sighs, crumbling the card up and shoving it into his pocket. “Yeah… But we're so close to figuring it out. McGucket is our greatest lead… but summer is about to end.” He gestures broadly to the space behind him, though it's not really clear what he means. “The Author’s right at our fingertips…”

Mabel looked at him, at the way he slumped deeper into the seat, looking out the window, resting a forlorn hand on his chin. She knew he did that when he was frustrated, when his eyes would get wet from frustration. This was really important to him, she knew. At the end of the day, all of their adventures had been pieces of a puzzle, to figure out the ‘Mysteries of the Town’. He’d even begun cataloging them in the Journal, mimicking the idol he had never met. He’d been helping her all summer. She couldn’t find any reason to stop him. She reached out a hand, rubbing his arm comfortingly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

So they darted into the Shack with some quick promises to see the others tomorrow, and they wandered past the living room, briefly looking in to see Stan sleeping on the recliner, head lolling on the edge of the cushion, like he hadn’t slept the night before. Still, Dipper leads them to Jimmy’s room quietly, having a sneaking suspicion that their Great-Uncle would stop them if he knew where they were going. They hadn’t seen a lot of the biker these days, either.

At the door outside his room, Dipper hesitated at the quiet hall, the weight of the moment settling in. As such, Mabel raised her fist and rapped on it rapidly, stepping back into line with her brother as they waited for it to open. The door never opened. Moreover, nobody answered from inside the room. There wasn't even any movement from under the door.

“I know you’re in there, Jimmy!” Dipper calls out, a flash of irritation swelling in his chest. “I know you haven’t left the house in days!”

There's a loud, obnoxious sigh from the other side of the door, and the loud thud of something hitting the ground. Mabel flinches at the sound, and for a second, Dipper thinks it was a sound of a body hitting the ground. But there’s some quiet shuffling, and the sound of the door unlocking (why didn’t their room have a lock!), sliding open just enough to let a finger through. Jimmy Snakes makes no effort to allow them in. “Whatddya want?”

Dipper squeezes Mabel’s hand, and she returns it. When she turns to look at him, she can see a tightness to his jaw. His hand has been getting sweatier over the last few seconds, and there’s a strange pallor to his skin. He looks scared, she realizes. Then Dipper shakes his head, and powers on. “I want to make a deal.”

The door opens just a fraction more, a strip of Jimmy's face is visible through the open door. They can only see the corner of his eyes, a bright orange, before the door slides a little bit closer, and their view is obscured once again. There’s something chilling in his gaze, something that makes a shiver travel down Dipper’s eyes. However, the color of them only catches Mabel’s attention. “There’s no way I’m making on with you.

“Why?” Dipper demands, stomping his foot on the ground. “You said you take all deals, unorthodox, too!” He’s frustrated, likely from a whole summer worth of disappointments crashing down. But to his sister, it seems like he's compensating, trying to cover that earlier fear. Distantly, she remembers his recent encounter with Bill, and his possession. In a way, she knew it had messed him up. He didn’t like to talk about it, and would just get quiet when she tried to ask him. 

But sometimes at night, when she woke up from her sleep for a drink of water, she could hear him mumbling his name in his sleep. 

Maybe, in some way, he felt that same kind of reaction to Jimmy?

There’s a scoff from the other side of the door. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

Before her brother can say anything, Mabel speaks up. “You haven’t even asked him yet.” she remarks quietly.

There’s a beat of silence at her words, and she winces a bit. But then he’s speaking once more, tone more even. “Fine. What is it?”

“Bill said you’re a ‘Service Demon.’” Dipper begins, trying to ignore the way his sister stared at him. He had forgotten to tell her that part. In his defense, there was a lot going on that day. “I can only guess as to what that means, but basically, you can do things for a price, right?”

“Yeah…” Jimmy replies, bored. 

He doesn’t sound very sure… Dipper thinks, slightly indignant. He’s not taking me seriously at all! “Can you bring back memories, like, if you forgot them or something?”

There's a dry chuckle from the other side that makes him suddenly self conscious. “Kiddy, you’ve got the wrong idea of what you think I can do. I can only do physical things. Find stuff, trade stuff. If you can hold it in your hand, I can do it. I’m half-human, or something. I can only do human things. Memories are concepts, ideas in your head. What you’re thinking of, that's something only Bill can do.”

Dipper goes quiet, really letting the words sink in. He thinks it over, a tad embarrassed at his own gumption. Maybe he was going about this wrong the whole time. Mabel shrugs her shoulders, tilting her head, and he nods in response. “Fine, then. But just one more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“How can you find those physical things? Is it just something you can do?” The boy’s voice has taken on a new edge, bright and curious like usual. 

“I can't really explain it,” Jimmy begins in a surprising bout of honesty. He didn’t even know why he was entertaining the conversation for this long. “I don't even get it myself. Things just line up easier for me.”

“Then, let’s make a deal. Could you find the name of the Author of the Journals?” His voice pitches higher at the mere word.

The door opens wider now, the sound startling them, and a hand sneaks its way through. It’s closed in a fist. “What are you gonna give me for it?”

“Um… What do you want?” Dipper hurries, staring.

There's a sigh once more from the older man. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m telling ya right now, but just give me something in your pocket.” Dipper pats his down, and only finds the crumbled up card. But something is placed into Jimmy’s awaiting hand, and the boy can see that it's a few pieces of toffee candy from his sister.

The hand disappears for a moment, and there's a chuckle and the sound of the plastic wrapper being unwrapped, and then the hand is outside again. When he speaks, it's a bit affected, like he has a candy melting on his tongue. “Alright, give me your hand.” The biker’s hand is bent at the wrist, intentionally keeping his body hidden from the viewer, but Dipper still cups it eagerly, his much smaller hand dwarfed amongst Jimmy’s. It curls around him for a second, before it’s hidden once again. “Can’t promise it’ll be fast, or if I even find it. But now we have something.”

“Okay.” Dipper says, the fight leaves his body, leaving him underwhelmed. He was kind of expecting more pushback. “Okay. Um. Bye.” And then he’s dragging his sister away, running away from the awkward situation he created.

“It’s gonna be fine, Dipstick,” Mabel assures him once more. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just feel bad, though. I really wish we could help McGucket.” 

“I guess we’ll just have to take the long route this time. We still have the rest of summer. And who knows, something could always pop up.” And when Dipper looks at her face, he feels better afterwards.

Later, that night in their room, Mabel turned over to Dipper's side, just as he was about to fall asleep. “You know, if you wanted to, you could talk about what happened?” Ever since that thought came to her earlier, she hadn’t been able to let it go. It was starting to worry her the way that Dipper was reacting around Jimmy. At first, it was just him wanting to prove a point. But now, it seemed like he was actually pretty nervous of him. She was worried for her brother.

“Maybe later…” Dipper mumbled, looking away from her, at the walls of the room. She thought he was going to pretend to forget, but there was a second of hesitation, and then he was spilling out the truth, words coming out rushed and tumbling over themself. “I didn’t know it was going to happen. He tricked me. I think I fell asleep, and he started changing the things around me to make it look like it was real. There was a timer on the computer, but McGucket told me there was never a data erase on it in the first place.” He groans into his hands, writhing under his sheets at the memory. He’s so ashamed of it all, just remembering how he was played makes him want to go back in time and shake himself awake. “But, I don't know. He took over my body, and then started falling down the stairs and pouring soda into his eyes and staring at the window at Stan and Jimmy kissing or something and then he’s getting in the car with Wendy and-”

“Wait, what?” Mabel shot straight up in bed, turning around to stare at him with wide eyes. There's a beat of silence, and Dipper can literally see what happens before it does. Her mouth breaks into a wide grin, and she practically falls on her face as she launches herself off the bed. She darts over to Dipper’s side and grabs his arm in a vice and begins to shake him, hard. “Jimmy? Grunkle Stan? Together?” She begins squealing loudly enough for Stan to shout up the stairs to go to bed. “Dipper, stop, this is too good to be true! Oh, my god. Oh, my god! My Grunkle’s gonna find love!”

As his sister throws herself back into her back, giggling into her pillow and kicking her legs, Dipper feels more exhausted than he did after fighting for his life, and memories, a few hours earlier. He didn’t mind his uncle trying to get into a relationship… but did it have to be him? Though, there were always worse people he could try to date. Like… Bud Gleeful or something. The thought of Gideon becoming his cousin sent a shiver down his spine. At least Jimmy was nice to him, and they were already friends before this.

Ew… Thinking about his uncle’s relationship was really weird. I wish I could share Mabel’s excitement.

Chapter Text

While Dipper and Mabel occupied themselves with the preparations for Soos’ birthday, Stan remained in the gift shop, taking inventory and restocking the merch on the off day. There was a practiced ease to his movements, apparent by the way he could flatten a box in just a few seconds. You could tell he’d been doing this for a long time. He was beginning to stack some small boxes of the Mr. Mystery bobbleheads when Jimmy Snakes wandered over, plucking one off the top of a pyramid. 

He squeezed it lightly in his hand, looking at the way the delicate corners bent under his grip. Then he exclaimed at the price on the bottom. “Twenty dollars for these?”

Stan slammed the register shut, fixing him with a bored look as he flicked through some bills in his hand. “That’s the discounted price.”

Jimmy balked at that, and leaned on the counter languidly, tilting his head towards him with a mischievous grin. Stan leaned forward as well, but kept his back straight, standing firm against whatever it was Jimmy was trying to egg him on to do. The biker tapped his finger on the accompanying bell. “‘Scuse me, sir. Do I hafta pay the full price?”

The conman paused at that, leveling him with a deadpan expression. “Yes, freeloader.” He opened his hand, flexing it open and closed. “Cough it up.”

“Why? Don’t I have a bobblehead right here.” And just to truly annoy the other man, he poked Stan’s cheek hard, pressing in the tip of a blunted nail just to bother the other man. Much to his amusement, Stan played along, letting his head go slack for a brief second, then jerking it up to nod head side to side.

In that quick moment, he had unpackaged one of the bobbleheads on display, holding it up to his shoulder, shaking it until it began to bob along in tandem. Jimmy laughed aloud at the sight, and tried to grab it from his hands, only for Stan to jerk it out of his grasp. “Not until you pay for it…”

Stubborn streak now ignited, the two of them began to lunge at each other over the counter when Mabel walked by them, dragging a chair that was much too heavy for her on the ground. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. She paused at the sounds of a scuffle, setting it down with a groan, and let her eyes flick over to the two men. Then her gaze lit up.

Jimmy slammed his elbows to the counter, pressing his palms together in prayer, bending his head low. “Please!” He begged, voice increasing in volume. “I’ll do anything, Lee!”

Stan rolled his eyes, shoving the bobblehead into his breast pocket. There were literally ten more boxes in front of him, but the demon was fixated on the one he was holding in his hand. “How about you give me a twenty for it?”

Mabel walked forward a little bit, tilting the chair at an angle to scrape two of the legs behind her. She looked up at them, not quite noticed. “Why do you call him Lee? Isn’t Grunkle Stan’s name Stanford?”

Both of the men snapped to attention at that, eyes darting to take note of her presence for the first time since she walked in. The conman’s face fell, and he looked away, startled, whistling a low tune as he tried to feign innocence. He felt his heartbeat speed up, confronted with a question that, for some reason, he hadn’t rehearsed. This was going to happen sooner or later. Why didn’t he have a proper answer for her?

Without prompting, as if he had read his mind, or maybe heard his heartbeat, Jimmy covered for him. “I’ve called him that for ages. Every guy in the 70’s had a nickname that didn’t make any sense.”

Mabel grinned at that, stifling a giggle by biting the inside of her cheek. Eeeeek! They even have nicknames for each other. A wide grin broke across her face, and she nodded, lifting up the chair with a new surge of energy as she brought it out to the door.

“Don’t drag anything on the floor, pumpkin! It’ll leave scratches!” Stan shouted at her back, leaning over the counter. He slapped Jimmy’s hand away as it took the opportunity to try and snatch the figure from his pocket.

The biker recoiled with a chuckle, fixing him with an imploring stare, keeping that crooked smile. “If it's not Stanley, then what’re you going by now?”

Stan sighed, placing the money back into the register, puffing out his chest in some attempt to fake nonchalance. He made sure his face was passive, the tension in his neck smoothing out. This was an easy question. “Stanford Pines.”

“Pretty similar to your real one.” Jimmy commented idly.

“Yeah, I know,” He looked around as if someone were listening, then tipped his head forward once he deemed it safe enough, lowering his voice. Jimmy copied him, sharing his secret. “Don’t tell anyone. Nobody knows. I’ve been living here under that name for the last 30-ish years.”

Jimmy hummed, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with a finger. Stan could tell he was brimming with curiosity, itching to ask the question. He’d always been a nosy guy. “Who’s Stanford Pines?”

Stan hesitated for a brief moment, opening his mouth to let a half-formed web of lies spill out, hoping his tongue would make up something that his brain could follow along with. At that moment, Mabel chose to run inside, grabbing another chair from the kitchen and dragging it out just like the first one. Jimmy looked away at that scraping sound, and the conman used that momentary distraction to take a breather. “Do ya need help with that, sweetie?”

“Nope, I’m… fine?” She called out, letting out a pained hiss as soon as she said that. There was a loud thump from the living room, and a muffled groan of pain. “Still fine!”

Alright, it was decided. Stan waited for the sounds of scraping wood to leave before he addressed the other man. “Had an estranged brother way back. He died young, never really fixed it.” He swallowed down the bitter splash of bile, hot and acidic. He felt like he could choke on it. “I needed a way to leave some stuff, and there it was, easy as pie.” There was a brief second where he could almost hear Jimmy’s question of ‘why didn’t I know?’, and then he was tacking on a quick, “Didn’t like thinkin’ bout it back then.” 

There was a horrible feeling that overcame him as he said those words. At the end of the day, it was acting, plain and simple. Sixer was going to be back in just a few weeks, so all he had to do was keep the lie up for a little bit longer. What’s a few more days to a couple of decades? He was just playing a role. But, now, even just saying it felt wrong, as if they had finally been given weight. Where was this at the beginning of summer? Why was he only feeling it now?

He’d forgotten this wasn’t new—he had felt it years ago, just as sharply, but had forgotten how raw it was to actually dwell on it.

Sometimes, late into the night, he´d have some documentaries playing in the background of his portal work, just for some white noise. He had managed to finagle the signals to catch it from the satellite dish on the roof. On one of them, he had heard of something that happened to actors, where they could lose themselves in the role, and start to act like the character itself. They genuinely believed they were the character.

In some twisted way, maybe even after all these years as the one and only ‘Stanford Pines’... maybe he half-expected himself to get used to it. Start to wear the name as his own.

He wondered why he still remembered that part. He couldn't remember any of the other random things he played the night after he finished them.

Jimmy nodded along, not really knowing the weight behind his words. How could he? It´s not like he was in his body, playing his role. “Nobody ever questioned it?”

Stan remembered how much of a recluse Ford had been. When they were younger, he really struggled to make his own friends. It couldn't have been much different in this town. Nobody came looking for him. When he first showed up in 1980, he was expecting Ford to be living it up, rich with the merits of his research. 

That never happened. He found his brother half out of his mind, flinching at shadows that didn’t exist. “Nah, he was kind of a recluse.”

“I don’t know what it's like to have a brother.” Jimmy said lightly. There was a cool detachment to the demon, as if he didn’t really understand what he was talking about, and didn’t bother to try. Just something said absently. He looked at his nails briefly, scratching at a red spot of flaking nail polish before he straightened up. 

There was a commotion happening outside of the walls, and Stan twisted out behind the register, finally deciding to see what the hubbub was about. He blinked away something wet from his eyes, and something heavy from his chest. He always felt terrible when he thought about it for too long. At least this time there was an excuse to drop the conversation.

Chapter Text

“Romance is like gum!” Mabel announced, unwrapping a piece of gum she had stolen from her friend. “Once it's lost its flavor, you just cram another one in. 

“Mabel, it's not that easy.” Wendy sighed, hunching in on herself.

“It is, if you're the world's greatest matchmaker!” She cheered, not quite matching the mood. “I've never had an unhappy customer; like Soos and Melody.” She gestured to the employee, who was on video call with his now-girlfriend, trying to make her laugh. “Then, of course, there’s Waddles and Gompers.” She pointed behind them, and Dipper and Wendy turned around to see the two animals taped together, unusually calm for their situation. “Match made!” She pumped her fist in the air. Actually, I know another match that I need to make, a grin spreading across her face, back turned to the other two.

“That might work for a goat and a pig, but Robbie’s a hopeless case!”

“Hopeless case, eh?” Mabel mused with a rising sense of excitement, bouncing in place. Her eyes narrowed, and she pressed her fingers together in contemplation. Maybe she could try to get Robbie a new girlfriend, some way to get his mind off Wendy.

They were in the Gift Shop at the moment, right near the cash register. Jimmy had walked into the room from the back door, peering in for a moment as his flip phone began to ring, intangibly, the sound the only indicator of its existence. He glanced at the number, curling his fingers to summon it for a second. Then he paused. This wasn’t a call that could be overheard.

He quite literally walked by the group, caught up in their own conversation. With a look over his shoulder, he slipped behind the curtain to the roof. Wendy had shown it to him, claiming it to be a secret place only she knew about. He knew for a fact that Stan was only pretending he didn’t know about it. Once he kicked open the hatch on top, he gathered the smoke rising from his hand, shifting it to hold the phone in his mouth as he skittered over loose tiles. He fell back on the beach chair already there, and answered it with a click. “Alright, how serious is that Cipher cult thing. Got some news bout that, maybe.”

There was a deep rumble on the other side of the phone, something inhuman with the tenor in his voice. It was only then that Jimmy realized the sounds of foot traffic coming from a floor below, the sounds of engines rumbling and people talking overpowering the volume. 

“There’s some kind of event going on here. It’s some town-festival-thing, basically Woodstock.” There was a brief interlude from the other side, and Jimmy’s voice rose for a second. “Whaddya mean ya don’t know what Woodstock is? Don’t tell me you're that out of touch with human affairs?” There was confused rambling on the other side, and he continued. “It’s- It’s Woodstock! Some hippie festival way back in the 70’s?” 

He groaned at the voice on the other end.”Alright, don’t laugh, everybody knows about it here. But, the point that I’m making is, a whole lotta groups show up at this place. Most of them hippie communes, and the like. But… this might be a good place for the Ciphertologists as well, somewhere they know they aren’t gonna be questioned for looking different, easily brushed off-” He listened to the other voice interject, then rushed to explain himself, gesturing as though they could see him. “I know it’s been kind of inactive over the last few years, but after what I’ve been telling you about how I’ve been feeling lately in Gravity Falls, I’m thinking it can’t be a coincidence. I don’t think it’s crazy that they would show up here.” His voice dipped again. “And ya know, I starting ta agree with what ya told me then, that this place attracts more weird stuff than it can handle.”

The voice on the other end mumbled something else, and Jimmy beamed, satisfied. “What should I do if I see them? Isn't that a bit extreme? I’d get arrested if anyone sees me.” Another pause. “Okay, well, I’m tired of goin’ to prison. You try it. You’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all, at least in America… I don’t care that it’s probably different now, my point still stands. Everyone would see me if I pulled out a gun–”

“... Fine, I’ll handle it.” He sighed, hanging up the phone. There was no use talking to someone who wasn’t even human in the first place. Of course he wouldn’t understand what it was like actually living in the human world rather than just sending out people like him in his place. But he should at least try to know about it, just to relate to his employees…

He heard some familiar voices chatting with each other over the ledge, and after peaking off the roof, jumped off. He stumbled for a second, groaning at the loud crack from his knees. I’m getting too old for this shit, he remarked stubbornly, shaking off the burn. Just a few feet ahead of him, he saw Stanley Pines, rubbing his hands together as he stared up at a group of hot air balloons. He had a twisted grin on his face, and Jimmy made a beeline for him at the sight. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

“A new money-making opportunity.” Stan grinned, turning to the man next to him. “Plannin’ to stick around for it?”

“Not this time, Lee. Got some last minute stuff. By the way, is there any way to get into town that isn’t the main way, like the way I came in?” The Cipher Cult wasn't a mainstream thing, so if they were out ‘advertising’, then they definitely have some off-channel way of getting in. And if there was a backdoor entrance, there was a high chance they were sneaking in through that. Their numbers weren’t exactly inconspicuous, and neither were their costumes or Gospel. They might be wearing something else, though…

“Sure. There´re ten different ways to get in an´ outta here. Trust me, I’ve found them all. But the main roads are the only one’s big enough for these wagons they’re pulling with them.¨”He crooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the hippies with the slightest look of disdain. “Everything else needs ta squeeze into a car, at best.” He bent down to pick up a wig, dusting it off.

That was something. Maybe it was best to switch topics. “Is there anything cult-y going on here? Small town like this, you’d think there’s some behind-the-scenes funny business?”

“Why, plannin’ to join one?” Stan chuckled, giving him a wink and brushing off Jimmy’s exasperated look. “Well, there’s those nighttime nutjobs in the red cloaks. Freak shows.” He shivered at the memory. “When I first came here, I got jumped by ‘em late at night. I learned my lesson quickly after that. Short summary; Never leave your house at night. And if you do, carry something to protect ya. That’s why I have that studded bat by the door.” He puffed out his chest proudly, already walking off.

It took Jimmy a second to process that statement, and when he did, he jerked up, hot on Stan's heels. “Jumped? And ya didn’t tell me?”

“Tell ya what? I told ya to be careful at night the first day ya came here. Dontcha remember?”

In fact, Jimmy couldn't remember. He had probably forgotten it. Too much on his mind, as of late. He slowed to a stop at that, sighing. “Nevermind. Good luck on your money-making thing.” Already, he was fishing the keys to his bike out of his pocket, missing the odd look Stan gave him as he turned away, lingering. 

In another part of the Shack, at around the same time, Mabel sat in her room, crunched over a tiny table dedicated solely to her little rendition. Decked out in her ‘love costume’, she had a rainbow sweater, with neon pink heart earrings, and even heart shaped glasses. She flipped her hair back, tying it off her neck with a heart-charmed scrunchie. This matchmaking job got serious.

Ahead of her was a table full of crudely-made wooden figures, lovingly handcarved, made to represent the many residents of Gravity Falls town. She had already begun to sort people into a pile, making a new one specially for Robbie. However, there was a potential ‘Future Matches?’ pile, pushed to the side. One of the pairs was Candy and Dipper (very high hopes for this one!). Another one was Soos’s grandma and Stan. 

She paused at this, squinting at the pair before very, very gently, removing Abuelita. There was a fleeting sense of guilt, as if she was ruining a real relationship, as she pushed a random block of wood as a placeholder. Reminder to myself; Make a Jimmy figure. 

There was a real, possible love match between her Grunkle and Jimmy Snakes, and that was worth its weight in gold. 

About half an hour later, Jimmy had already wandered into the beginning of the festival, which had begun to spread out throughout the outskirts, into an open patch of land specifically for large events like these. Some of the tents had already begun to spill out into the main roads, and he had to park his bike along the side of a shop. He began to scan through the crowds of people with a cursory glance. This was his best shot. He stared at their foreheads, searching for a drawn-on eye. He also stared at their shirts, looking for anything well-pressed. Any scrap of white would pop out to him amongst the sea of browns and neons. Right now, he hadn’t noticed a portion of the crowd running in the opposite direction, focused on the people in front of him as he pushed past the bodies.

“Jimmy?” He heard somebody call out to him in the crowd, snapping him out of his focus, and he turned towards it automatically. “Woah, man, is that really you?”

That voice. Raspy, like it had just finished screaming into a mic. And distinctly slowed, like the words were churning slowly through his head. Not. This. Guy.

Instinctively, Jimmy ducked his head, trying to blend in and get lost in the crowd. The issue was that he was over six feet, and decked out in full riding leathers. He couldn’t hide in a corn maze if he wanted to.

A beefy arm was thrown over his shoulder, pulling him down till he was sure he was going to lose balance and smash his head on the sidewalk. And then it was dragging him forward, tensed, like a cat dragged out of a tree. A sweaty hand was ruffling at the hair under his scarf, completely messing up its shape, and he scowled. “Long time no see, buddy. Found love yet?”

Ugh, I thought I shook this guy off. “Well, if you're asking, you probably already know.” He growled through gritted teeth, trying to get him off with no avail.

“Eeeeeyup.” Love God replied, looking at a smudge on his hand before wiping it off on his own cutoff jeans. “There’s this pink, rosy cloud over your head. You’re so not subtle.” He mimed drawing one over Jimmy´s head with his finger, blowing on it like a cloud, cackling at the resounding look of horror on the biker’s face.

Jimmy finally managed to wriggle free, trying to fix his hair. “I’m subtle to everyone except you.”

But Love God had led them to the front of Greasy’s, hooking an arm around him as he dragged him with him. Strangely enough, his grip was disturbingly tight for a guy who probably maxed out at five feet. Try as he might, Jimmy couldn’t get out. So when they entered the diner, he opted to hide in the crowd, pressing himself against the wall as the crowd of people formed around the demigod. Cupid showboated for them, feeding off their worship, calling out to them and assigning them partners. Jimmy had always hated that part about him, that constant need to butt into everyone's business.

He claimed a table and beckoned him over, and Jimmy had no choice but to follow him and sit down, taking slow steps like he was being dragged. He kept his hands folded tightly, his knuckles pale and white, tapping his boot anxiously underneath the table as he stared out the windows. Not only was he being kept away from this very important task, but he just didn’t want to be here with this guy, plain and simple. He wasn't very inconspicuous with his distaste, either.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t notice the way a certain preteen ducked behind the tables, watching them over the slip in the seats. She had been vying for a chance to talk to Love God ever since she saw him a few minutes ago, just to try and find out his secrets. And when she saw the two of them together, she tried to lean closer, unable to hear them over the chatter of the customers. She resolved to slide down her chair, groaning.

Love God had somehow gotten a basket of fries nestled in front of him, and began eating them in bunches. “Don’t worry about it, man, I see your future clear as day.” He mumbled through a mouthful, waving his hand in the air as he continued a conversation Jimmy hadn't been paying attention to. “You´ll have 28 kids, happily married, with a little white picket fence.”

“28 kids?” Jimmy exclaimed, shocking him out of his stupor momentarily.

The demi-god laughed, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Kidding! But some guys are into that, ya know.”

“Trust me, Cupid. There´s not a single guy out there who wants 28 kids…” Jimmy retorted, sneaking a hand across to snag a fry. 

“You’d be surprised.” The God slapped his hand away, fixing the demon with a glare, which he returned with just as much vitriol.

Greedy bastard… Jimmy rolled his eyes at that, pushing himself to his feet and making his way out, not bothering to entertain the conversation any longer. If he couldn’t even snag some food from him, then what was the point…

Mabel waited for Jimmy to leave the room completely, the door swinging shut behind him, before she scrambled into his spot on the table, leaning over eagerly. She’d find out about his love powers if it was the last thing she did!

~~~~~~~~

Several mistakes happened after that, as they usually did when the Pines' were involved. She had taken Love God's potion, and made Robbie and Tambry fall in love. It had been all fun and games at first, but it became clear that there were more consequences from it than she had assumed. Now, her and Dipper had snuck behind the security guards of the Woodstick festival, making their way backstage. Love God was set to perform in a few minutes, so it was almost a guarantee that he was there, practicing his lines.

The area was very un-put-together. In fact, it just seemed like an unpaved parking lot, due to the fact that there were minivans all over the patchy grass. There was a small white van right in front of them, with Love God’s logo painted on the side. Dipper paused them at that, pulling her aside and out of view as they crouched behind the curtain.

The van was opened, the contents within indicating that someone lived inside. Currently, it was thrown about in a mess, with the door swung wide open. They could see Love God poking his head out, recounting the story with no small amount of irritation, though he did seem to be trying to keep a lid on the worst of it. His face was reddened with effort. “I need you to find some kid for me!”

Jimmy Snakes stood ahead of him, leaning down with a hand on the roof of the van, listening intently. He didn’t look as pissed off as he was earlier, nodding along with each word.

“Some little girl was talking to me earlier, right after you left. She was asking about some of the potions I had, and she went off and took it when I wasn´t looking.” His wings fluttered, straining themselves with every irate word. “Braces and long brown hair, like you used to have. I knew I should’ve been paying attention!”

Jimmy had the sinking idea that he knew exactly who he was talking about. There were only so many girls with brown hair and braces in town. He already knew that wherever she was, her brother was most definitely alongside her, either helping her, or making it worse. If he found one, he’d find the other. Why are these two involved in everything?

But he wasn´t going to rat her out, and especially not to this guy. He´d find them himself if he had to. Stan seriously needed to keep a better eye on them. He considered himself a pretty hands-off person, but getting yourself involved in some supernatural shit every other way was starting to get ridiculous! “I can try. I think she should be around here. How’d she get your potion in the first place?”

Love God gestured to his belt, and Jimmy´s face fell. “From this, when I was with my groupies.”

There was a pause, and then the demon began to sputter, trying and failing to lower his voice. “Are you stupid?¨ He hissed, pushing up his glasses when they slid off the bridge of his nose. “Why would you keep that on your person?”

“Because I’m a hippie,” The demigod returned, pointedly staring up, directly into his eyes. “It would totally kill my image.”

Your image is why you're having this problem. Jimmy bit his tongue, hard, and felt the quick tang of iron before the muscle sealed itself up. “Alright, you know the drill.”

“So… about that… I can’t give you anything till I get my bottles back.” Cupid gasped loudly, then ducked his head, wincing. He was chewing on his lip anxiously. “They’re gonna get my wings for this one…”

“They’re gonna get my ass for making a deal without payment. You have to give me something!”

“I’ll get you back, IOU, promise. You can catch up with me after, I´m not leaving tonight.”

Jimmy mulled it over. When he had first met him at Woodstock (don’t ask what he was doing there), he had generally figured out that he could ‘make love happen’, whatever that actually meant. Because of that, there was a general idea of what he could-slash-want, but nothing solid. Alternatively, he could just get something from him, and repurpose it with someone else. Once it was given to him, it was his. But… he did have an idea…

He offered his hand, and they shook hands, making a new deal. A warmth spread from his hand that wasn’t from the Love God, and wanted him to turn West, into the people coagulated in front of the stage. Mabel was likely that was as well. Maybe she was the audience…

Fuck. He was wasting time by getting sidetracked by this. He should have been running alongside the stands, making note of anything unusual, like white collared shirts and black bowties. But the offer of the deal was too tempting, and so was anything he could have received from it. He needed to finish this quickly, and get back to the task at hand.

He broke into a run within the general direction of the audience, trailing along the sides of the crowd, and not actually dipping inside. It would take too long to get out. He didn’t notice the way the twins slipped out of the back of the curtain, once again encountering Love God.

Jimmy gave up pretty quickly after that, about thirty minutes in. He didn’t have the energy to care, nor the dedication to the task like he usually did. He knew he wasn’t allowed to do that, especially if he made a deal, but if his attempt were half-hearted, then it wasn’t like anyone could make him work harder. Hence, loophole.

In actuality, he got distracted halfway through when he looked into the sky, and saw a hot air balloon, falling apart at the seams, falling to the ground in a thick haze of smoke and fire. Most eyecatching of all was the crude rendition of Stan´s face, with his eyes twisted up under his broken glasses. Jimmy had laughed until he felt breathless, and wasn´t in the mood to work after that.

He followed the sounds of screaming to the middle of a park, where he found several people trying unsuccessfully to put out the fire. Stan stood off to the side, laughing at the sight of his failed project. Guess it’s a good thing he didn´t take it too hard.

Jimmy tried to step around the burning fabric when he saw a hand writhing from underneath the carcass. He bent down and flipped the fabric over, and the demigod gasped loudly, coughing wetly as he dragged himself out from under it. Jimmy grabbed him by his elbows, hauling him to his feet as he steadied himself. Once he caught his breath, Jimmy began, “Well, you don’t owe me anything, at least. I didn’t manage to find her…”

“Yeah. I know. Because I found her first!” He yelped, dusting himself off and tugging himself from his arms. He wasn’t one to hold grudges, but he looked very pissed off. 

That would have been the end of that. Jimmy would have scrambled off before he faced any actual criticism, and Love God would have gone to perform, if he still had a voice that wasn’t roughened by the sheer amount of smoke he inhaled. But the demon didn’t leave. He lingered around pointedly, looking at the ground awkwardly. Clearly, he was trying to build up the courage to say something.

“What?”

“How about we make a personal deal? Just me and you, for one of your potions?” Jimmy posed the question awkwardly, cringing as he did. Playing nice was awful.

“Are you serious?” Love God snapped, swaying on his feet with the sheer passion of his words, making him lightheaded. He grabbed his own forehead, trying to stop the spinning. “Didn´t you just see what happened? Nobody’s getting anything!”

“C’mon, lets just think about it,” Jimmy protested, trying to placate him. “I’m not human, for one, so I know that stuff´s not to be messed around with. Two, I’m much older than a preteen, so I'll be very responsible with it. And three… I actually have a use for it, for… myself.” He flushed a bit at the admission, not really wanting to prove Love God right after what he had told him earlier. But now, under pressure, he was actually willing to say it. He wasn't as defensive about it anymore.

Cupid must´ve realized this. He stared at the demon for a good few seconds, making him shrink under his blue-eyed gaze, and sighed. He pulled the rope on his belt up, flicking through the multi-colored bottles one at a time. He said some of the names aloud, many of which were rejected by Jimmy. He said the words, ‘The Baby Potion’, and laughed at the face Jimmy made before setting the rope slack. “I’m out of anything good. Been using my supply alot lately. But if you're willing to be my test dummy, I’ve been making a new mix.” He patted down his shirt, and reached inside, producing a vial no bigger than a double shot. “Something for the older folks.”

Jimmy glared at him, but took it from him nonetheless. It was a bright, sea-foam green, and when he shook the bottle, the contents shimmered and dispersed, like a snowglobe. It was nice to look at. Once again, he held out his hand for him to shake, “Whatever you want, for this bottle.”

Love God looked at his hand, and then back at his face. Again and again, until Jimmy felt like he was being scrutinized, like his future was being read. Knowing him, that was probably exactly it. But there was something earnest in the demon´s face, a kind of singlemindedness. That was normally reserved for things, concepts. Like the way he hated anything sweet. Or the way he didn´t hide his distaste for him. But never for a person… 

As the God of Love… Who would I be to stop it? Cupid shook his head, turning away from the offered hand, much to his confusion. “You can have it for free. Just promise to use it only for yourself, and only to find love.”

The demon blinked. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. But he was nothing if he couldn’t adapt. “Um. Thanks.” He swiftly tucked it away into his jacket pocket, stepping back from the now extinguished balloon, and the demigod in front of it. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but the sun had quickly fallen under the horizon, bringing a muted dullness to the landscape around him. It cloaked the Love God in shadows, and blended the biker into the darkness. He turned on his heel once more. “Ya know, maybe you aren’t so bad after all.”

Before the Love God could return his own retort, Jimmy had already vanished, hand right over his pocket.

Chapter Text

Animals had begun to get agitated. Jimmy couldn’t pretend he didn’t know why.

That welling up feeling only seemed to get worse in town. But, it was softer, muted, a few cities over. Maybe he could completely lose it if he left the state, went to, say, Utah.

He’d just finished handing over a bag of Fairy Dust to a gnome when the birds began to screech, the frantic fluttering of their wings creating audible sounds over the leaves, like striking flesh. The trees began to shake as well, making the whole thing seem as if it had come alive. For a minute, he had thought ‘Steve’ came out of his burrow, before he realized that if he had, then the whole forest would have been flattened by now.

Then small touches brushed along his neck, as if somebody were to trail their fingers through the light hair there, and he shivered, slapping at it. It came away with nothing, but the feeling had spread over his clothes. He looked down to see little hordes of woodland creatures scurrying over his boots, fast enough that he was sure their little hearts would give out, their presence leaving soft taps. Once or twice, a few of them fell into the openings of his boots, disorientated, and he frantically shook them out.

The gnomes ahead of him were long gone by now, but they had no real reason to stick around after he finished getting that bag for them. Like the other creatures in the forest, they had probably realized something was wrong and scrambled away. 

It was actually starting to make him freak out, mainly because little animals like that weren’t supposed to act like that. It was kind of like those animals with rabies that walked towards humans because their brain was so fried, they didn’t know any better. He could make simple creatures do that stuff, but that was controlled, with intention. Now, there was something weirdly intelligent to their panic, as if they knew something he didn't. He wasn’t sure if it was real this time, or if seeing them react like that made him start to feel it too.

There was a brief swooping feeling in his stomach, and he could feel the weight lift off his feet for a few seconds, making him throw his arms out before he was returned to the ground, good as new. Was that real? Whatever was making the animals freak out the same thing that was making him imagine that Gravity stopped working.

By now, the clearly had gone empty, quiet and hushed. He reared back to his bike, still in the same place he had left it, and began to roll it out of the terrain onto the main roads. He waved his hand to summon his phone, popping it in his mouth to hold it lightly within his teeth, taking great care to not crunch clean through it.

He seated himself on the warmed leather once the roads had flattened out, selecting Mabel’s contact from the limited ones he had saved. He would have texted Stan if he could, but the man refused to keep a cell phone in the house, much less learn to use one.

 [Where r u] 

He hated using the text feature on this shitty little keypad. Every number had multiple letters, and all the clicking and deleting drove him insane. There was the intention to ring her, but he wasn’t sure how shaky his voice would sound over the audio.

He stared at the screen for a minute before he realized he wasn’t getting an answer back. That nervous feeling was back, twicefold, before he tried to stamp it down. She’s probably just busy. Forgot to look. Utilizing his touchpad, he scrolled up slowly, squinting at the tiny image on his screen. It was a letter full of golden sheets of paper, and he could make out the words ‘-est’.

Greatest? Least?

Then it clicked. Gold and gauche. Northwest.

I wonder how that happened. Weren’t they too poor for them two weeks ago? But then that made him think. What if something happened to them at Northwest Manor? I should go and check.

And when he turned his engine on, purposefully lowering his speed so he wouldn’t wipe out on a random pebble in his path, Jimmy kind of wished he had something useful ability wise. The fast reflexes were great. So was being able to recover from pretty much everything. But did he have to go so slow? Teleportation might have been nice.

He occupied himself like this before he took a deep turn at the end of town, splitting off to go into, ironically, the Northwest portion of the Gravity Falls forest. Outside of the unguarded golden gates, he stepped off to manually open the doors, breaking the lock with his hands, before he wandered inside. He’d seen the news before he left, the way the Northwests kept their front doors locked to keep the ‘poor’ out. It was snobby, elitist, and just plain gross to look at, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why people were lining up for an event that clearly didn't want them there.

That didn’t stop him from pulling up to the front, a ways off as he lingered along the shrubbery. He could hear some voices giggling, child-like and high-pitched, and he ducked down. There was a small part of him that worried about being kicked off the premises, and he wasn’t going to leave until he saw at least one of the twins.

Dipper was walking ahead of some blonde girl, wearing a suit that definitely wasn’t his, judging by the too-tight collar. He had his journal in his hands, and he rubbed the aged spine of it, as if to soothe himself. The girl next to him looked about his age, with a face full of makeup, and Jimmy recognized her as Pacifica.

But Dipper wasn’t fighting with her. Rather, he seemed to be talking with her, gesturing animatedly in that way he got when he saw something weird. The girl blinked at him, entertained, but with a smirk on her face, as if she were entertaining the conversation. She smoothed her dress out when they paused a few feet away, ambling. 

Right. He was putting an end to that. He sprang up, calling out the boy’s name loudly, and he visibly startled. Strangely enough, he threw his arms around Pacifica, pulling her behind him. Jimmy made a face at that, and Dipper finally caught sight, tensing up as he bolted towards him, slicking his hair back.

“How-” He began, then remembered who he was talking to. “Nevermind. We’re all good here.”

Answering a question I never asked, Jimmy hummed, amused. Maybe this was a sign that they were getting used to each other. “Need a ride back?”

The boy looked over his shoulder for a second, then shook his head. “No, but we can just call if we do. Me and Mabel are gonna stay here for a bit.”

Yeah, I’m sure. Pacifica had wandered a bit away during their brief exchange, and Jimmy took the chance to tease him. “Who’s the girl?”

Dipper’s face flushed red at that, and he began to sputter instantly. “You met her already! What does that- I- She’s just a friend!” He insisted in a way that made it very apparent that that wasn’t all she was. But he darted back to where he came from before Jimmy could force the matter, so he supposed he could let it drop for now.

He retraced his steps, rolling out and into the Southeast side of the forest, down the familiar road of the Shack. To his surprise, his hands had automatically taken him there, letting himself slip into a daze that broke only when he skittered along the loose gravel at the front.

Jimmy parked his bike along the side before he stepped over the steps in one step, slipping his spare key into the lock as it clicked open smoothly, letting it swing open. The door was heavy, and had a tendency to slam against the wall, so Jimmy made sure to keep a level hand on it. Strangely enough, the lights were off, as if somebody had forgotten to turn them on. It was quiet and eerie, but there was a faint hum of noise coming from the den, and he followed the sound to find Stan nestled into his recliner, curled up under several blankets. His eyes were wide, and for some reason, bloodshot, as he stared at the TV like a man possessed. A hand was kept cupped to his mouth, and he breathed slowly, as if waiting with bated breath. Jimmy slipped quietly into the room, silent as a mouse, making sure not to disturb him.

He squinted at the screen once more from behind him, not leaning on the cushions so as to conceal his presence. It was some black-and-white film, with women in extravagant, old timey dresses. This was what he liked to watch? The demon dropped his voice, sneaking down, whispering into the younger man’s ear in an attempt to scare him. “Is there anyone in the house?”

To his displeasure, Stan didn’t react, giving him a silent nod and mumbling the words, ‘party’.

Jimmy perked up at that, resting his weight on the arm of the chair, letting the tension ease out of him. His eyes narrowed, half-lidded, as he reached a calloused hand down, rubbing it along the skin of Stan’s thigh. It tangled in the hair slightly, unkempt as it was, but it only sought to excite him as he squeezed the warmed flesh. Night, alone, with no kids in the house? Opportunities like that were rare. One in a million, if he were to exaggerate. 

Now, the demon leaned his head down, peppering gentle kisses down the side of his neck, trying to encourage the other man. He had fixed his teeth on the corner of the conman's ear, giving him a gentle nip before he was swatted away like a fly.

Jimmy blinked at the loss of his presence when Stan nestled back into his comfortable spot on the recliner, eyes just as fixed on the screen. The demon let out an irritated huff. “Are you seriously cockblocking me for some woman’s drama?” At his absentminded hum, Jimmy sighed, giving up on the beginnings of his plan as he hunkered down, squeezing himself into the slightest bit of space left by Stan’s body just to annoy him, much too small for both of them. He threw his legs over Stan’s lap, clambering on just to make himself a nuisance.

But the conman never complained. In fact, he wrapped his arms around his waist, dragging him on more comfortably, as if he were a doll. It took Jimmy a second to process, but then he was immediately trying to twist free. The conman clung onto him, refusing to let go and shushing his protests when he began to get louder than the screen, and eventually let his arms go slack.

Jimmy let himself drop to the floor stubbornly, pressing his back against the seat firmly, making sure Stan couldn't get a grip on him. He pulled people in his lap, not the other way around, thank you very much! He opened his mouth to sneer at him when Stan cupped his hand over it, muffling him to keep watching the show. With narrowed eyes, Jimmy licked at his palm, but this still didn´t discourage him. Leave it to Stan to make his own antics backfire on him. 

He sighed quietly, leaning back, and eventually Stan let go, bringing his hands to rest on his shoulders. He opted to use Jimmy like a human-stressball, squeezing him till he was sure he was gonna pop when the scenes got too intense, or sad, or whatever else was happening. But it did feel nice on his aching muscles. He should get him to do that again soon.

Comfortable and bored, Jimmy began to feel his eyelids slide shut. Falling asleep at 11? He really was turning into a grandpa. Pretty soon he’d been giving up his bike for an SUV. There was a brief flash of Love God’s words, of the concept of a ‘picket fence’, and the trace reminders of a smile edged his face before he rested his face on the crook of Stan’s neck, managing to twist around at an odd angle to complete the maneuver.

Stan realized he was asleep when his warm breath began to even out, the hairs of his beard tickling at his neck. He guided Jimmy's head to rest lightly on the curve of his knee. He slipped off his shades at that, tucking them into the neckline of his tank top. The biker was by no means heavy for him. Those nights crushed underneath him in his own bed were a testament to that. Rather, Stan didn’t want him to complain about the future crick in his neck. 

Then, just as he had chosen to name it, a ‘Gravity Attack’ happened. Blue light began to surround the lines of everything in the room, organic or not, and everything lifted off the ground. It trembled as it did, unused to the air beneath it. The night before it had been two inches. Now, he could see it was four. They’re getting stronger, he noted, keeping a hand pressed to Jimmy’s forehead, laying it flush against his knee, to reduce the drag when they fell back down. 

And when they did, the biker barely stirred. There was an odd sort of expression to his face. It was relaxed, as all faces did when they were within sleep’s grasp, but there was a tension to it, like a smile that didn’t reach the eyes. His lips were thinned out, pressed together and tight. There was a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows, and Stan rubbed at it until it smoothed out.

Chapter Text

Today’s been good.

That’s really all Stan thought, snagging two cans of soda he kept stashed at the back of the fridge, tucked behind some tupperwares full of leftovers, something the twins both refused to eat.

He chuckled to himself at the memory of Dipper’s face at the sight of them, scrunched up with disgust, and hurried back outside. Earlier that day, the kids had found a forgotten stash of fireworks locked away in one of the seemingly infinite rooms within the Shack. They had set them off on the roof, under his supervision. He was an uncle, which, first and foremost, meant having fun. A very, very, close second was to make sure they were safe.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Today was the day, if his math was right, the portal would reopen. He had managed to slap together a special timer just for this, managing to connect it to the one right above the portal. He’d had it running all week, the sight of the numbers taking the sting out of the low days. And all it took was a spare alarm clock.

Stanford Pines was coming home, after 32 long years on the wrong side of an interdimensional portal. Fireworks seemed like the fitting opening. 

… but for the few short minutes Stan went inside, the first thing Jimmy did was hand a lit match to Dipper, letting him light the firework that was very much still in his hands, shouting at them to back away as he threw it at the last minute. The angle had disrupted the powder within, because instead of exploding in a straight line with their usual angle, the three of them watched eagerly as it popped, raining down on them like ashy raindrops. 

“Don’t let your uncle know,” Jimmy reminded them, pressing down on the smoking tip of Mabel’s hair with the pad of his thumb. 

When he made it back outside, he found Jimmy lounging on the patio couch, leaning back lazily on the ratty cushions. He straightened when Stan handed the chilled can to him, keeping both of his palms pressed against the metal. Stan gave him a passive look, nudging him with his shoe. There was a glaze to his eyes, as if he were thinking of something else. “Color me your colour, hmm-mm, colour me your car…”

Baby, Jimmy grinned, finishing the lyric. Blondie. Couldn’t remember the name of the song, but he knew who sang it. He’d listened to it once on the radio with Stan, and a hundred times after that without him. The conman had hummed in place of the pet name, dropping his voice as he did. 

Where’d the good mood come from? Jimmy thought to himself, taking a hand off the can to inspect the skin, and once he deemed it intact enough, cracked the tab of the soda. Ever since he’d come to Oregon, between Stan and his nephew, he’d heard enough BABBA for a lifetime, “Remind me why I can’t have actual beer?”

Stan sat down next to him, unbuttoning his shirt. His stomach laid soft over the hem of his pants, freed from his girdle, and Jimmy had to pointedly turn his eyes away from it. The conman bumped his shoulder against the demon’s affectionately, playing it off as him getting comfortable. Vying for a moment of contact. The fact was that the couch was big enough for both of them. The issue was that both of them demanded to take up as much space as they could. “Cause’ the kids are here. Don’t wanna be a bad influence.”

“Who cares?” Jimmy replied, waving his hand emphatically. “Every other weekend you’re teaching ‘em a new scam, and suddenly you care about the beer? Hell, give ‘em a sip while you’re at it. We’ve been drinking well before the legal age.”

Probably why we turned out the way we did, Stan rolled his eyes. “I just want better for them.” He said after a pause.

Jimmy sniffed at that, giving him a lingering look, mouth set in a hard line. The sip he had taken fizzled on his tongue, making his eyes water uncomfortably. It wasn’t from the sunlight. When the other man didn’t look at him, he turned away, swallowing with a noncommittal hum. “How… human.” he mumbled quietly.

Stan opened his mouth, but before he could, Mabel bounded over, carrying the remnants of some balloons in her hands. “Grunkle Stan, could we get some more?”

“More? Ya already used them?”

“There weren’t a lot to begin with!” Dipper interjected from his place by the bushes

Stan sighed, picking at a loose thread on the couch. “Fine. Jimmy, go get more.”

Jimmy gave him a dark look, tongue halfway out of his mouth as he spoke around the seed. “Lazy bastard. Get it yourself!”

“You have a motorcycle.”

“And you have a car!”

“Ugh…” Stan reached out limply with a hand, weakly gesturing towards it before letting it fall flat. He laid back, sticking out his tongue as he pretended to keel over. “Too far away…”

Jimmy scoffed at the sight, groaning loudly before he forced himself up, stalking away with his hands on his hips, leaving his drink abandoned on the floor. He ignored the repeated calls of ‘thanks!’, taking out his keys and leaving on his bike.

Stan watched him go before he turned back to the twins, who had taken to chasing each other around the front yard. He narrowly avoided being soaked by a badly aimed balloon, one of the last few. “Alright, alright. I tell ya, it's unnatural for siblings to get along as well as you do.”

“Don’t worry! We've still got plenty of summer left to drive each other crazy!” Mabel chirped, tackling her brother to the ground.

Stan swallowed at that, loosening his collar. His throat felt slightly tight at the sight of the two of them, rolling around in the dirt like it was the least of the worries. The two of them looked a lot like him and Ford, on those tapes their mom had recorded, that he had watched only once and then packed away in a box under his bed. Dipper had a grossed out, panicked look on his face as he only slightly choked, like his brother did. Mabel had his toothy, cheerful grin to her face, that only seemed to brighten her brother’s (alleged) misery. He pushed it down, pinching his cheek to snap him out of this. Ford would be back soon, there was no reason to act as if he were dead. 

Still, he didn't know why he was acting as if they’d act like that again, like they were preteens playing with water balloons. Maybe some part of him wanted it all to “go back to normal”, as if that even existed. They were well past twelve years old, and had too much between them. And yet, he still thought of it as something they could do together again, like sailing on the Stan-O-War. 

“Yeah, plenty of summer left.” He began, pushing himself to his feet and beckoning them over. “Kids, there's something I, uh, something I should tell you.” Stan swallowed again, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. He’d sent Jimmy to get the water balloons so he could try and start this conversation. It’d be one less thing to worry about at the moment, though he now realized he would need to break this down with the other man, too. But now that he was gone, the conman suddenly found himself at a loss for words. “It's um, Well it's complicated. I... I'm gonna go refresh my soda.” The sight of their faces, earnest and trusting, made him sick. Once he was near the back of the house, he took a deep, steadying breath. “Enjoy it while you can, Stan. They'll find out sooner or later…”

A red dot blinded him for a second, then sat on his head. For a second, he thought it was a ladybug, and he swatted at it instinctively. Then more appeared on his body, and he began to panic. “Not again-” 

A heavy weight tackled him to the ground, appearing at his back and knocking the breath out of him. He wasn’t exactly an athlete anymore, and the decades of smoking enough cigarettes to fill a landfill made it hard for him to regain it. Still, the ground beneath him crushed the edge of his glasses, refracting the edge of his glasses so that he couldn't get a clear view of the guy behind him. 

Then more of them began to appear out of the woods, swarming around him and dragging him to his feet in a disorientated mess. And when he was brought out to the front, he could see dozens of them unloading from cars, using their stupid equipment to seal it off. He was slammed against the roof of a car, bumping his head against the hot metal painfully.

“Ah! I don’t understand! What did I do that warrants this much arresting?” He was distantly aware of the kids as he spoke, and he went limp under the agent holding him, choosing not to make a scene, if only to spare them the sight.

“The government guys?” He heard Dipper explain over his shoulder. “I thought you got eaten by zombies!” Damn. I knew I should've taken the phone that night. Hell, he should've unplugged it! Nobody called him on it, anyhow. 

One of the agents came over, bending down to show a tablet to him. Stan snarled at him, hating how prone he was, and then he recognized him. Agent Powers, that blowhard with the mustache. He rolled his eyes. That mustache was the only thing he’d kept consistent over the years. He’d barely gotten off the last run in with this guy, and he was convinced he was off the hook, so long as he kept quiet con-wise. “This is security footage of a government waste facility.” He droned on, half tuned out already by the other man. Now that Stan was forced to focus, he could see the footage of a person in a radiation suit, stealing barrels. “At O’four hundred hours last night someone robbed three hundred gallons of dangerous waste.”

Fuck, I knew there would be cameras. I couldn't see them, though. Where were they? Stan scolded himself, painting on a confused poker face, playing up the outraged innocent. “What? Ya think that's me?”

“Don't play dumb with us, Pines.” Powers said coldly, pointing an accusing finger at his face. Stan wanted to bite it, just to show that stuck up asshole.

Stan gritted his teeth, but loosened his tongue. “But-But I actually am dumb!” He insisted, struggling briefly as he looked back, lingering on the kids, at their shocked and horrified looks. Maybe this’d become something they’d all laugh together at in the future. “Last night, I was restocking the gift shop. I swear!” Of course he wasn't. But he had to save face.

Then the guy dragging him stopped moving, and Stan looked back to see Mabel tugging on his leg, trying to stop him. “You've got the wrong guy! Our Grunkle Stan might shoplift the occasional tangerine, but he's not some evil super villain!”

Powers bent down, eye-level with her, and she stepped back at the sudden closeness. “Listen, kid. We've been watching your family all summer and we've seen some disturbing things. But nothing as dangerous as what your uncle is hiding. Somewhere hidden in this shack is a doomsday device!”

“Don’t talk to her,” Stan growled, reeling back only to be forced forward. “Don’t talk to any of them!” A hot flash of protectiveness rushed through him at the sight, and he would have given anything in that moment to punch powers in that stupid mustache he wore. Thank god Jimmy wasn't here to see this. If Stan hadn’t made a scene, he sure would’ve. “Don’t listen to him, kids.” He shouted as he was shoved into the back of the car. 

“Trigger, you take the children. I'll talk to the old man.” Powers said commandingly, already stepping away from the whole mess. “Sorry to break it to you, but you don't know your uncle at all.”

Stan couldn’t hear anything from the reinforced window of the car, but he pounded the glass with his handcuffed hands, getting their attention for a second before the kids were shoved in a car similar to his own. His skin itched at the thought of them being somewhere he didn’t know, especially at their hands. He glanced discreetly at his watch, about an hour left. He had to stall for time, that was his best bet.

~~~~~~~

Jimmy came back no less than five minutes later, seeing a crowd of black cars by the front of the Shack. He shifted gears on his bike, quietly turning off as he noticed the logos on the side of one. It looked to be a black bird, with the acronym ‘DCU’ on the side. He wracked his brain, but he couldn't remember what it was. Still, anything related to the government couldn't be good, if the copious amounts of yellow tape around the area indicated. He darted behind a tree as a pair of agents looked his way, and he waited for them to pass as he flitted around them, using small, jerky moments that could be passed off as flash of the shadows. He crouched behind a bundle of bushes, abandoning the bag of balloons.

Where’s Stan? The kids? He wondered, looking around for no sign of them. There wasn’t a familiar face within the crowd. Then a car skidded to a stop right ahead of him, and an agent scrambled out, shouting, “Stanford escaped!” The lot of them alerted, and began to pack up their equipment as they scurried off in various directions. 

Oh, come on, Stan. What the hell could you have done this time? Could counterfeiting get serious enough to be visited by the government?

Then he felt it, a tingle down the base of his spine, something he could have brushed off as a weird pass of the leaves. But underneath, where he couldn’t deny it, there was some kind of pull, bringing him towards the Shack. His feet were walking him forwards by themselves, and he didn’t realize it until he slammed against the window with a loud cry. It was already open for some reason, and he climbed in, unaware of himself. 

That draw was bringing him towards the shop, rather than away from it. The complete 180 of sensation was unnerving. He wouldn’t say that there was something good coming from the feeling, like the way an animal would seek out a burrow of hidden food. No, it was something natural, directing, like how a magnet always snaps North to South.

How could he have missed this? Was this what he had been so scared of? The Shack? Was he really so sloppy that he couldn't notice it right under his nose?

There was a brief shuffle of movement ahead of him, and he reached into his waistband, resting his hand on the gun. This guy was definitely going to shoot him first. Unfortunately for him, Jimmy was in a time crunch. Where could this feeling be leading him?

When he rounded the corner, raising his gun, he realized it wasn’t an agent, but Soos. He was standing in front of the vending machine, shrieking once he saw the weapon in his hand. Jimmy pressed a finger to his lips, telling him to shush, and then slipped it away. Soos grinned shakily, still pressed against the glass. “Hey dude- I mean, Mr. Snakes.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jimmy snapped, then forced himself to quiet down. “Soos, what’s going on, why are all those agents outside?”

“I-I don't really know,” he stuttered, looking away for a second, and then throwing his hands up defensively when Jimmy glared at him. “I swear, Mr. Pines told me to protect this vending machine with my life.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. That was… really smart, actually. Hidden in plain sight, like a snake. The first thing raids checked from the FBI was under the bed or behind paintings. “Open it, now!”

The handyman remained uncharacteristically silent, and before Jimmy could try and intimidate him into opening it for him, Dipper and Mabel ran in, panting. “Soos! What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Pines told me to watch this machine!” He repeated himself, turning his attention to them.

“Something dangerous is going on here,” Dipper began, catching Jimmy's attention. Even he could see it. “If he's hiding a secret, we need to find out what it is.” He began to advance on Soos then, painting a strange image of a man being browbeaten by a kid half his height. But there was a new kind of conviction within his gaze, something he’d been seeing more of lately. The darkness of the room only added to the shadows in his eyes. “I need you to step aside.”

“Yeah, we need to prove this was all just one big misunderstanding.” Mabel tacked on helpfully.

“Guys, I know this seems crazy, but I promised Stan I would guard this with my life.” At this point, he was just repeating himself, clinging onto the words like a lifeline

“You won't have any life left to guard if you don't move!” Jimmy snapped, the shakiness to Soo's voice now beginning to annoy it. It was the first thing he had said in minutes. But with every passing one, he felt his hackles begin to rise, on edge and ready to snap, like a bow drawn tight.

“Do you know what’s down there?” Dipper asked, trying to find a crack within his armour.

“No, but I sure as hell can guess.” Jimmy grit his teeth, loudly clicking his jaw together, grimacing as he tapped his foot anxiously. This was taking too long. 

Mabel and Dipper shared a look, and she nodded, walking up quietly. She raised a fist, and rather than throwing a punch, opened it to blow a handful of glitter into Soo's eyes. He shrieked and reeled back, and the twins launched themselves onto him, attacking him and trying to pull him away from the machine. For a brief second, Jimmy stood there, stunned. And then he stepped forward, grabbing Soos by the arm and dragging him forward, aiding them. He was much stronger, and that slight gesture pulled the whole group with him, but not before the door swung open. He briefly saw Dipper tapping in something on the buttons before he was pulled away.

The door slammed into Soos, who subsequently slammed into Jimmy, and they all tumbled to the ground, coughing through as a thick layer of smoke. The opening was now filled with a great blue light spreading out, dimming in a brief second to reveal a set of stairs.

The rest of the group threw themselves to their feet, but before they knew it, the door had shut once more with the momentary flit of silver spurs.

Jimmy had slipped in and closed it on their faces.

Dipper scrambled up, punching in the code furiously, but it flashed a bright red. He groaned, slamming his fists against the glass, and Mabel tapped him for a second. “Maybe it has a cooldown period. Give it a minute.”

Jimmy practically jumped down the stairs, pushing himself off the wall for the mere second of advantage it would give him, rather than turning around. The area was full of computers and technology, things he couldn’t begin to understand. Constant beeping and flashing lights assaulted his senses, and he felt like a bull in a china shop. One wrong move could send it all crashing. He picked his way through carefully, choosing to ignore it for the elevator in front of him. Wherever it was going, the only other way seemed down. 

Once the doors opened, he saw a room uncharacteristically blank. The lack of things around it made it unsettling, as if it were cleared out, cold with the former presence that lived there. All that remained was a desk, right in front of a reinforced window, covered in controls. Looking up revealed a timer strapped to the top of it. Through the glass, there was a great, metallic behemoth of a creation, large and encompassing in its weight, tugging your attention to it. There was a dryness in his mouth at the sight, and he desperately wished for something to wet his throat. The machine flicked on once more, that same blinding, light blue light swirling in its epicenter. His glasses were the only things saving his eyes, but he felt like he wouldn’t be doing much in just a few short moments. “What is this…” 

Then the elevator opened once more behind him, and the rest of the group came tumbling out, antsy in their hesitation. Before Dipper could shout at him, he caught sight of it, and he stepped forward slowly, raising a hand to block the light. “What is all this?”

But Jimmy was quiet, with none of his usual biting remarks. When they looked at him, he was frozen, eyes captured by the light. It brought a glow to his face that made him seem gaunt, and aside from the trembling to his clenched hands, he didn’t even seem to be breathing. 

“I don't understand,” Soos began, not really knowing what to do. “Why would Mr. Pines have all of this?”

“Just like the bunker in the woods,” Dipper noted, leaning forward to inspect the desk.

“This isn't that bad,” Mabel tried to justify, wringing out her hands nervously, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Everyone was caught up in their own heads. “Everyone has secrets!” She took a picture off the desk, a little portrait of her and her brother, and showed it to them. “He loves us, and we love him, right?”

She bit her tongue when nobody replied.

Dipper gasped loudly, pulling out something from the drawers, raising it to the air. “This is impossible. The other two Journals?” His breathing began to quicken as he laid them side by side. “All this time he had them? I can't believe it! Was anything he said to us real?”

Jimmy could taste the fear in those words, and was surprised to find the same sentiments within himself.

“Maybe he's the author-” Soos said gently.

“Or maybe he stole them from the author! Maybe the reason he had all those fake IDs is because he is a master criminal, and this machine is his master plan!”

“Master plan for what,” Jimmy said softly, softer than a whisper. He had an inkling of what Stan had been trying to summon. Bill. 

Dipper, mercifully, had no answer for that, but he opened the Journals, arranging them in a pattern on the desk, creating a triangular shape that matched the display of the doomsday device ahead of them. He took out the accompanying blacklight, and they all gasped. Jimmy waited impatiently for them to read it aloud. "‘I was wrong the whole time. The machine was meant to create knowledge, but it is too powerful.’ ‘I was deceived, and now it is too late.’ ‘The device, if fully operational, could tear our universe apart!’ ‘It must not fall into the wrong hands. If the clock ever reaches zero, our universe is doomed!" 

They all looked at the countdown, with only five minutes remaining. They had wasted their precious minutes arguing. Jimmy was the first to get inside the actual portal room, reflexively twisting around them. Now that he was staring at it in its entirety, the sheer size of it intimidated him, like he were an ant beneath a boot. There was a lever in front of him, and as he stepped forward, the ground beneath him began to shake, holding him in place as he covered his head. Everything trembled ahead of him, but he still had to find a way to see clearly.

“Jimmy, stop!” Mabel called out, clinging to her brother as she followed him in. “We can turn it off!”

He breathed a sigh of relief, stepping back from the swirling depths, back towards the stable wall behind him. To his right hand, he could see Soos, Mabel, and Dipper turn off three keys in their accompanying slots. 

Then the door slammed open, and Stan forced himself out, panting, bleeding, and looking like he had just finished crying. “Don’t touch that button!”

They all were quiet to begin with, but now it seemed upsetting as they stared at him. Jimmy was the first to speak, the words denying what hadn’t been asked. “What… is it?” 

Stan looked at him, really looked at him. There was a frantic, pinned fear to his eyes, and for the first time, it felt as if they were really looking at each. Really speaking to each other. This was the most honest they had been in weeks, when they weren’t dancing around what they refused to speak about. 

Stan had planned for this. He knew one day he would have to reveal to Jimmy the reality of his identity in Gravity Falls. But… he had never thought about what he was going to say. Some part of him had blindly believed that Jimmy would have gone along with whatever he said. Now, he could understand it as simple naivety. “It's not what it looks like…”

That… was the wrong answer. Whatever meager self restraint Jimmy had had, masked by the terror that had been gnawing away at his stomach and heart and head, snapped. There was a deep, boiling rage building up in him. It was incoherent. It was bad. It was tight and painful and everything it shouldn't be. 

He knew he was going to do something he regretted. But that didn’t stop him grabbing Stan by the collar, faster then he could jerk away from, and slamming him against the wall, digging his shoulders into the wall painfully. 

He ignored the horrified sounds of the people behind him. On a good day, he would be marginally worried about showing this kind of violence to the kids. Now, it didn’t seem to matter. 

His glasses have slid off slightly, revealing the vibrant hues of his eyes, flashing brighter than the portal. Stan wheezed at the pressure, and hands scrabbled at his own as they tried in vain to free himself. Jimmy stifled his reaction at his efforts. “I am trying to restrain myself!” He shrieked, voice cracking at the edges, shaking in his anger. 

But Stan’s eyes hardened at the sound, and the desperate hands turned firm. He was trapped, forced into the role of a cornered dog once more, and old instincts came roaring out. He takes his hands off to grab at Jimmy's vulnerable throat, surprising him enough to throw him back and jam a broad shoulder into his chest, stunning him. As Jimmy choked, Stan used his newfound momentum to turn back, pinning him to the wall in the exact same way he had. There was less force to it, as if in the end, he wasn’t really trying to hurt him.

Before Jimmy could process what happened, there was a firm click, and when he tried to raise his hands underneath him to lift himself up, there was the restriction of cold handcuffs chaining him to one of the numerous pipes on the ground. 

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, forcing himself to turn away with a rueful look. “It’s gone on for too long. Can’t be stopped.” That scramble couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds at most, but it felt like hours had passed.

Jimmy had a feral look in his eyes, and he pulled at the chain like a dog chewing its leg off a bear trap. His shades slipped down his nose, and he threw them off, baring his teeth and panting, taking deep jerky breaths like that could calm him. 

The conman turned his attention to the others within the room, who had been watching it all with a wary look, and approached them carefully. “Dipper, please, don't press the shutdown. You gotta trust me”

“And I should trust you, why? After you stole radioactive waste, after you lied to us all summer!” Dipper snapped, stalking forward as he threw his hand in front of his sister, stopping her own movements. At that moment, Jimmy and Dipper were closer than him and Stan, and that sent a shiver down his spine. Jimmy didn't even know whose bed he’d been curled up in all those nights. “I don't even know who you are!”

The demon had finally got his finger under the pipe, and chose to snap it off completely, scattering thick white smoke everywhere. He breathed it in easily, sweet on the lungs after the thick smoke he was used to, thinner and more acidic than water.

“Look, I know this all seems nuts, but I need that machine to stay on.” Stan convinced him easily, keeping a panicked, tight edge to his voice like a gun was pressed to his head, implying something he wasn’t saying. He kept his hands wide and surrendering. 

“Shut it off!” Jimmy shouted, standing up now with a shaky hand, all but ready to dash over and do it himself. 

Stan recoiled at the sight of him freed, and then his watch beeped loudly. “Oh no, brace yourselves.”

A startling hum took over the room, quieting any protests. They were all pointless compared to its presence, anyway. It deepened then, taking on a deep, rich quality as it began to spiral, turning from the light blue of the sky to the dead of night, white spots appearing on it like stars. Or maybe that was their vision.

The ground under their feet began to move as well, and it took them a few delayed seconds to realize that, no, they were the ones moving up, higher and higher, until it seemed dangerous to fall from this height. 

Dipper had latched onto a loose plank of wood, and Soos had clung to a metal wire along the ground. Jimmy hooked his foot around an exposed pipe, like a lifeline. He couldn’t see Stan yet, but he saw Mabel shimmying down a wire like a rope, making her way closer to the lever.

Now he saw that Stan was on the ceiling, and before Jimmy could launch himself towards him, Stan sprang off towards Mabel. 

Soos threw himself onto him, changing his trajectory despite his attempts to shake him off, and then Dipper joined the fray, clawing at him to keep him away from his sister. 

Jimmy seemed to have an epiphany, and he took his chance to reveal his gun, momentarily pointing it at Stan. His hands began to shake. He couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t even wound him. Stan summoned Bill, and he had to kill him, but he couldn’t find it in himself. So he redirected himself to point it towards the button of the portal. Nobody was looking at him, he could do it while their attention was away. And then Mabel was on it, hanging, and he dropped it, gripping it tight enough to bend the metal, the new imprints of his fingers on the hilt. “Lee,” he shouted desperately, begging for his innocence. “You can still get out of this alive!”

“Press the red button, Mabel, Shut it down!” Dipper screamed at her, ignoring the world around him.

“No, you can't, you gotta trust me!” Stan shouted back at her, his voice overpowering Dipper's smaller, angrier one. 

Then a small, hiccuping sound began, and everyone went quiet. Like the world had stopped spinning. “I-I don't even know if you're my Grunkle.” She sobbed, smaller than she had seemed earlier that day. “I want to believe you, but-”

“Then listen to me,” Stan began to ramble, falling into his old habit of running his mouth faster than his brain. It has been used to make a quick sale. Now it was to save his brother's life. He was cut off mid sentence as gravity shifted, pushing them towards the walls rather than the floor, and then he just kept talking. "Remember this morning when I said I wanted to tell you guys something? I wanted to say that you're gonna hear some bad things about me, and some of them are true, but trust me. Everything I've worked for, everything I care about, it's all for this family!”

“He’s lying!” Jimmy shouted at her, thankful he couldn’t see the look on Stan’s face. “Shut it off!”

“He’s right!” Dipper screamed, and didn't that sting? “Mabel, what if he's lying? This thing could destroy the universe! Listen to your head!”

Stan pushed Dipper back, but he dug his nails in, hat flying off to reveal that constellation on his forehead. There were tears in his eyes, but whether they were from frustration or fear or something else, nobody knew for certain. “Look into my eyes, Mabel! You really think I'm a bad guy?”

“Don’t look, Mabel!”  Jimmy retorted, and then he went silent. A quiet hazy calm took over him, wrapping his brain in a softness that rendered him speechless. He knew it was the portal, trying to keep itself open, but his eyes glazed over, not comprehending. “Can’t y'all hear that? He mumbled quietly, a last ditch attempt to break free before he fell silent. Nobody could. Only he did. 

But she did. She, damningly so, looked at her Grunkle, and stared at the softness to his skin, the wide, desperate look in his eyes. The way he looked like he was going to fall apart, one right word away from crumbling into dust. She stared at him, and swallowed, and made her decision in the last few seconds. She let go. “I trust you.”

“Mabel, are you crazy! We’re all gonna-” 

The portal opened. At the end of the day, it opened, and nothing was the same ever since. Jimmy’s endless worrying did nothing to stop it, Dipper’s attempts to find the Author did nothing to slow it.

Ultimately, no matter who came or what happened. There was always one constant.

Stanley Pines opened the portal, and doomed himself in the process.

The word around them began to distort and turn, spinning with a vertigo that threw them around like ragdolls, vainly clutching at whatever they thought could save them. Nothing could, but it was a nice thought. 

There was a horrible burning in his body, spreading through the layers of his skin till it felt like a sunburn, and Jimmy shrieked in agony, letting go of the pipe to twist in pain. The room went dark for a mere second, like the world had restarted, and then it all fell down.

Jimmy slammed the back of his head on the same pipe he had used to steady himself, cracking his head at a loud angle, a sickening snap right before he fell, unconscious.

Stan shouted for him, but then a shadow appeared in the blankness of the opening, and his eyes were drawn to it. 

It stepped out of the portal, pausing, as if to test the firmness of the ground. Then it kept moving forward, resolute and confident, like a soldier in formation, with no thought as to what was ahead, only the ground beneath his boots.

Jimmy’s eyes began to clear, cloudy and murky as he faded back into consciousness. There was a wicked pain to the back of his head, but he couldn’t move his hand enough to touch it, dead like a corpse. There was a figure approaching him, and a little spike of fear arose at the sight of him.

“Who is that?” Dipper asked, voice shaky from somewhere within the room.

There was a sure feeling under Jimmy's skin despite it all. He wanted to open his mouth to say the words to Dipper, to finally finish his end of the bargain they had struck days ago. But his tongue was filled with cotton, and the horror at the sight of him began to abate. He didn’t know what he was looking at, but he knew who it was.

Stan spoke for him before he could. “The Author of the Journals…”

The person from the portal bent down, picking up something from the ground and tucking it into its jacket. Then it lifted its mask off, taking a deep breath of the stuffy air before revealing its face.

It was all hard edges, with a dead eyed look to its face. But it was unmistakable.

It had Stanley’s face.

“My brother.”