He can still hear it in his mind, echoing from the moment he wakes up to the second he closes his eyes, haunting even his dreams.

She's crying; thick, wretched sobs that cut straight through him, and in the background the sound of passing cars is muffled by the rain bashing against the windows. He can feel her pain as she tries to plead for his forgiveness, tries to ask for him to help her just one last time.

They hadn't spoken in months, a deafening chasm stretching between them. It was all because of him. If he hadn't come into her life then none of this would have happened, and in his mind that crescendo of rage is battered by a yearning agony accompanied all too often by the screeching of tires and the caterwaul of metal against asphalt, an accompanying crash leaving him dizzy and still.

He stood, eyes fixed ahead and roaming over the machine before him.

He knows that for anyone else it might be impossible, knows that his sickness is either going to end his life or ruin somebody else's, but in that moment he just can't bring himself to care, a dull roar echoing through his chest and driving him forward.

It had been two years since that day, two years since his heart had been shattered and he'd been left empty and quiet, however even with the weight constantly wearing on his shoulders, even with his pale skin and his dull thousand yard stare and pursed lips, he pressed on, the shadows under his eyes and the void within growing deeper every day.

He'd been here ever since, knowing deep down that it may be futile, but refusing to surrender to that same void. He knew what she would have wanted and he knew what he wanted, and so, faced with the dichotomy, he'd made a choice.

It was so much more dangerous than a mere flip of a coin, yet as the machine whirred to life, pale blue energy sparking before him and casting a fluorescent glow upon him, he found he just didn't care. He hadn't cared for a long time.

At the age of twenty-four, within two years, Dipper had achieved something that went beyond anything his Grunkle Stan had achieved in thirty. His Great Uncle Ford would probably be both proud and terrified, and not in equal measure.

It was almost tragic that they may never know of it.

Slow, almost methodical steps carried him forward, trembling hands raised towards the circle of energy above. He could feel his feet leave the ground, feel the pulsing power flowing through his veins and, for the first time in two years, he could feel hope.

When the light finally settled and everything faded back into darkness the room was still once more, metal and circuitry the only sign of the room ever having been occupied. By the time Ford figured out just what he had done months will have passed, and the man will briefly regret not visiting more often with his brother, will regret not spending more time with him and less time on their boat.

And he'll regret that, as much a loner and an outcast as Dipper may be, he understands.

Mabel isn't good at pretending.

The fez resting on thick, curling locks and the cheerful, upbeat smile she offers are as fake as the lilt of her voice when she laughs, and when the last tourist for the night leaves she pretends she doesn't remember the pitying glances and pretends that maybe they hadn't see through her act.

Her Grunkles had refused to leave her alone in her trials, both of the older men sharing Stan's old room and allowing her to stay in Ford's. She never goes to the attic. She just can't handle the memories, can't stand the shallow dip in her breathing or the racing heart palpitations that leave her kneeling in agony.

A long time ago she'd had the perfect white dress and the perfect husband, with the perfect life on the way. Sure, she had to ignore that broken, empty part of her that yearned for something else, but she had to keep pretending. What she wanted wasn't possible and she had to stay away, because she wouldn't hold him back.

Now she's older and wiser and knows she wasn't holding him back, she was holding him up and she aches and yearns because now it really isn't possible and all she can do is fake it till she makes it.

But she isn't good at pretending, and every now and then a bitter feeling surges through her and she has to close her eyes to ignore the guilty frowns on her closest family's faces, ignore Wendy's wistful gaze as she goes through the motions and ignore Soos' attempts to act like everything's fine. It's not their faults, it's hers, yet even so she feels that alien urge to strike and scream and ask them why they'd never spoken up, never confronted her and stopped her from making the biggest mistake of her life, never stopped her and told her what she was doing to him, and what he might do because of it.

Although it was a scant two years ago it feels like so much longer, as though he's been gone for a lifetime. She remembers the knock on the door in the middle of the night, a soft rap on hard wood, and she remembers her heart dropping into her stomach, terror running through her and, finally, a pitch black despair that consumed her to this day.

Pills, they'd said. An empty bottle and a body and all of a sudden everything she had suffered and adapted for had meant nothing; a waste of months, a loss of years and the end of a marriage she hadn't even known was false.

A choked sob escaped her, a familiar experience repeated throughout the past couple of years, and Mabel slowly knelt by the locked door, shaking and imagining, fruitlessly, that she could hear that old knock, the rap against the shack's screen door, the sound of knuckles leading her to oh-so-slowly push open the door, revealing him with his awkward smile and shadowed, tired gaze and messy brown hair.

A sharp knock drew her from her lamentations and the brunette sighed, wearily standing, adjusting the old red fez resting on her head and hoping this wouldn't be the day someone called her out on her deadened smile. "I'm sorry, but we're not ope-" She froze.

Like a long awaited nightmare or a long-forgotten dream he stood there, nose red with the stuffy summer air and eyes dark yet so full of love. His lips drew into a shaky, hopeful smile, hands slowly retreating into the pockets of his tan long coat, a memento of times long gone. "Hi."

The greeting is so short, but in her mind it reverberates, jumping from one corner to another, swirling and muddling her conscience and leaving her gasping for air.

The spectre of her past reached through her, only this time she can feel such warmth, limbs wrapping around her and those too-alive orbs watering as much as hers. "It's okay. I'm here, Mabel."

And just like that two years worth of guilt comes rising to the fore, tears dribbling down her cheeks and her shoulders shuddering beneath his touch. "H-How?" She whispers, waiting for the cruel punchline that was sure to come. "How are you...?"

Here? Alive? So warm and yet filling her with such a chill, scorching her heart and soul and yet leaving her so, so cold with anxiety and bitter regret?

All of a sudden 'how' seems like too small a question and all she can do is silently wait for her brittle body to shatter in tandem with her mind.

"I... I'm not your brother. But... But I lost my sister, and living in an old shack and running exhibits and pretending for others just isn't enough, and it was either... Either do the impossible or give up." His gaze pleads for her to understand, to just listen to his words and her heart and make a choice, one just like he has. "I'm sorry, I'm ju-just so selfish," And it's recrimination in a way that only her brother ever managed, a kind of responsibility that's a part of his very being. "But I can't be alone. If... If you'll have me..."

She meets his warmth and comfort and his familiar scent of rusted metal, dried wood and something so bitter yet so cathartic, and she knows that despite his words it's the same as always, always her being selfish, forcing him to jump through hoops and grab her and never let go.

But just this once she realizes what he needs to hear. She doesn't speak, instead gripping the stubble-laden chin that could only be so mussed on Dipper, meeting the guilty gaze that could only be so at home on her brother, and the terror lurking behind joy and fear and such memories approach her, welcomed for once by shivering fingers and uneven breath and then lips so soft yet so sweet.

And it's as if the past two years were just a nightmare, washed away in a selfish embrace that should have taken place long, long ago.

The door slams shut unaided behind them as she pulls him in, the orange hues of the distant sunset bathing them in light.

Stan and Ford rarely leave for more than a day and she knows it's because they truly do care about her, and because while they're afraid for her they still want to give her time for herself. She just hadn't appreciated that so much until this moment.

Barely comprehending her actions Mabel practically drags him upstairs, peeling away his coat and clenching at his shirt desperately.

Despite her ferociousness he is in no way idle, pulling at her sweater as though it physically offends him and lifting it over her head, though as soon as it's off her touch is back on him.

And then they finally stop, staring at one another with hunger, searching and mapping every detail and meeting one another's eyes with a startled joy that transcends anything they've ever felt before.

She can see scars that he'd never had before; they're few and far between, and the pale white line across his wrist raises her hackles, however her frantic search for any other signs reveals nothing and she relaxes, though her shivering doesn't truly cease until she runs her hands over his chest, familiar imperfections grazing her fingertips and sending a trill of delight through her like she hadn't felt in years.

His shirt is finally pulled away and she exhales sharply when she spots the thin line across his collarbones, memories surfacing. Even as she swallows she can feel him encircle her with his arms, palms running along her back and freezing. She can feel the small swell of scar tissue beneath his fingers, a remnant of an attempt to fly back when she was ten that had never quite faded, and she slowly smiles, the thought finally permeating that he's here, he's finally here in her bed where she has always wanted him and he's safe and warm and everything she had ever wanted.

The last time she had been with him they had been young, shackled by rules and boundaries and such small cares, yet now they were desperate, exploring every inch of one another with fervent, almost religious, zeal.

Her breath hitches in her throat as she feels his fingers finally leave the odd graze, caressing her back and up to her neck before finally roaming through her hair. She can feel his nose buried within her locks and it hit her that he was sniffing her hair, inhaling her scent as though he were never going to see her again. He'd done it once before and as she remembers she sobs into his shoulder, calming slightly at the feel of lithe yet solid muscle, evidence of a man that refused to stop, a man that was willing to throw away everything for the chance to be with her.

A tingle ran down her neck and she reached up around him, holding him tight even as she wiped at the moisture running in tiny rivulets towards her shoulder. As she realized just what the wet sensation was she tightened her grip, quivering as she basked in his presence. "Thank you, bro-bro. For... For not giving up on me."

The nickname jolts him and he rests his chin on her shoulder, nudging her with his nose. "I could never give up on you, Mabel." He swears.

She hums in acknowledgement, eyes growing heavy. As she starts to relax into his hold she can feel the gentleness in his touch, treasuring the intimacy of his grip and finally beginning to feel like she's home in a way that she hasn't since even before he...

For the first time his actions don't fill her with a blank void, the regret she feels in her heart waylaid by the warm arms cradling her. She can feel his lips press against her forehead and for once she gets a night's sleep without being plagued by the nightmares.

It's dark as she wakes, pitch-black greeting her and filling her with momentary sadness. She attempts to get up, well aware of what awaits her should she try to go back to sleep, only to pause, stilling as she feels callused fingers entwined with her own.

She rolled onto her side, scared of what might greet her. She froze.

Abruptly the events of the previous evening filled her head and her lips parted, slack-jawed as she gazed down at her brother. "Oh. Oh wow."

The reality begins to dawn on her and all of a sudden the heavy loss that has weighed her down begins to lessen, not enough to remove the guilt that fills her, but enough to leave a forgotten spark flaring in her chest, like liquid gold running through her veins.

Errant fingers run across his bare chest, feeling the coarse skin raise in response to the cold. She can feel an ache spreading across her face and it occurs to her that it's because she's actually grinning, widely and freely like she hasn't done in a long time.

He's not the boy she grew up with, but at the same time he is. She sees the reminders written across his body, carved from the many adventures they'd been through when they were young. Above all of that, however, he's someone that loves her. Loves her so much that he did the impossible to get to her.

She must have lay there for hours, staring down at his face in repose and pondering the future; a future without loneliness if she has anything to say about it.

By the time she sits back up and starts to think about getting ready for the day the sun is high and several tour buses have come and gone. It's only the sound of the door opening and the calls of her name that actually get her out of bed however, gently prying her fingers loose with a small kiss and a promise to his sleeping form to be back soon.

The pink slippers she slips her feet into feel much too dull for the day she has ahead and she feels a giggle rise as she pushes open her dresser drawers, reaching in and deciding on a sticker to slap onto the fuzzy footwear.

'Have a beary good day'. With the world forewarned she stepped out of the room, struggling to pull herself from the doorway and treasuring the memory of his smile as he slept.

The floorboards were loud as she walked down the hall, adorned by her old bright purple bathrobe and her fez tipped jauntily on her head. "Good morning!" She crowed as she caught sight of her Grunkle's surprised face.

"Uh- G'morning." He huffed gruffly, brightening despite himself as he took in her beaming smile. He hasn't seen her look this happy in a long time and he quickly waves off Ford as he runs into the room, panicked. "You want somethin' to eat, gremlin?" He smiled, squinting as he decided not to call her out on waking up three hours late.

"Sure! I'mma grab some cereal!" She announced, hopping over to the counter and grabbing the milk.

Stan nodded, sharing a look with his brother.

"So Grunkle Stan, when'd you and Grunkle Ford get back anyway? How'd the fishing trip go?" She queried, absently stirring her marshmallow puffs with some gummy koalas.

"Great! Sixer here finally managed to catch a guppy, so I'm sure that if I give him another five years he might even be able to catch a bass!" He barked out a laugh as his brother glared. "And we got you somethin' too!"

As she looked between the two men and down to their offering she felt a twinge of guilt, the quaint offering bringing to mind the many other gifts her Grunkles had bought back from his day-long trips. "Thanks Grunkle Stan." She spoke softly, reaching out to take the sparkling tape and returning his ecstatic beaming grin with one of her own.

"Well then," Across from the two Ford smiled tightly at his great niece, clenching his hands behind his back. "How would you like it if we took you on a small trip to Washington? I've got something to offer to a senator and Stanley has some stock he needs to collect."

She flinched at the thought of a long trip, immediately easing into a soothing certainty that gave her a heady thrill. "I-Sure, but I want to bring... I want to bring Dipper."

The two older men exchanged another glance, swallowing sharply as they slowly nodded. "O-Okay, Mabel. We'll bring... Dipper."

"You promise?" For the first time in a long time a jolt of mischief ran through her.

"Promise." Stan's voice cracked on the word, and she almost felt the urge to just drop the charade and explain things immediately, however the end result would make it worth it and so, without explanation, she turned, peeking her head out of the kitchen.

"DIPPER!" The name echoed down the hallway and a distant thump had her grinning even as her eyes began to sting. "Could you come down bro-bro!"

The shirtless man that stepped around the corner was scarcely recognizable as the boy he'd once been, yet in two years he honestly hadn't changed that much and she knew as she saw Stan and Ford's faces pale that they had recognized him. "M-Mabel?" He breathed.

She'd never had much of a mind for books, but after... It had happened, she'd gone through the journals, struggling with the material yet learning many things about Gravity Falls. One of those things was that shape-shifters could only copy what they had seen.

Even as Stan's fists clenched she could tell that Ford was cataloguing the smattering of scars across his chest, going beyond most people's observatory capabilities to puzzle out the truth. She could see the instant the truth clicked, mere moments before she felt Dipper's arms once more. "I thought it was all a dream." He whispered.

"I'm here." A tremor ran up her spine and she lightly butted his chin with her forehead. "I'll never leave." She swore.

"What did you do?" The words are hissed warily, spoken with uncertainty and remorse.

Dipper's hold is still tight as he turns and she realizes that Ford wasn't talking to her, that somehow he knows, knows even despite his question but he has to hear it. "What I had to."

She hadn't thought about how he managed to get here, to her, but as she hears the vitriol in her great uncle's voice and the determination in his own it dawns on her that there's only one thing she knows of that might be able to do something like that. "That... It's extremely dangerous, Dipper." His voice is softer now, chiding but without any real feeling behind it and she knows he's glad; Dipper always was his favourite, always the one he found easier to understand.

"It's done Grunkle Ford. And it isn't going to happen again."

Even as he adjusts his glasses she can tell that Ford isn't upset. He just wants to be upset, he'll get over it soon enough

Stan, on the other hand, is stone-faced, an expression that may be a warning sign on others, but is more a beacon for her, displaying his emotions clearer than anything else he could possibly manage. "Grunkle Stan?" She calls, bringing him back to reality.

"Aw, kid," Although he's in his seventies he's still spry for his age, a fact he clearly displayed as he stepped forward and grabbed them both, pulling them in for the biggest hug she'd ever felt. "I am so proud of you." He rumbled.

She looks past him at her other Grunkle and he barely lasts a few more seconds before he swoops in, joining the cluster of familial warmth and entangling himself within their unrelenting hold.

There's tears and words of both happiness and sadness, revelations passing between them and surprises for all, but at the end of the day they're all there together and she feels like, after a long time, she's finally home.