This episode killed me. I've got a lot of emotions and this is essentially the dumping ground for those right now, so apologies if it jumps all over the place - ninety percent of this was written after one am and following a lot of french homework, and let me tell you that is NOT a good time to write about emotionally traumatizing children's shows.

"Well, it's not a permanent solution, but it'll do for now," Ford says, leaning back in his chair and glancing out the window. Dipper follows his gaze, staring out at the empty space where brightly-colored runes flashed mere hours before.

"And Bill can't get through, right?" he asks, hating the obvious anxiety in his voice.

"Absolutely not," Ford says, taking another sip of his Pitt Cola. "That barrier's been tried and tested. It'll hold, thankfully." He flashes Dipper a wry smile. "And I'll admit, it's a lot easier than encrypting our thoughts.

Dipper shifts guiltily, crossing and uncrossing his ankles. He can still feel the pressure of the device on his head, the cold metal edging his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry about that," he mumbles, staring at the ground.

"Don't worry about it, kid!" Ford says, easily. "Like I said, if I had really been Bill, you would've done great." Dipper flushes at the praise, savoring the tiny bubble of pride rising in his chest.

"Thanks," he says. "I learned from the best, I guess."

"And your sister did surprisingly well, too," Ford muses. "We're lucky she came through with that unicorn hair. I'd have loved to have seen her getting the best of them, though."

And just like that, the bubble's popped. Dipper deflates.

Mabel managed to find a creature no one, not even Ford, had been able to get anything out of, and come back with a successful way to protect their family. He managed to, what? Destroy a machine vital to their protection? Nearly erase his great uncle's memories for nothing?

Height isn't the only thing making the alpha twin, he thinks bitterly, taking another sip of his own cola. Whatever Ford thinks, he still messed up today. He might have the smarts to deal with Bill next time, but right now he's just a stupid kid who almost erased his great uncle's memory.

"We're very, very lucky," Ford repeats, absently. His fingers trace circles on the worn table. "I'm not looking forward to dealing with Bill again. Not this soon."

Dipper feels a shiver run up his spine at the mention of dealing.

So it's a deal, from now until the end of eternity!

Eeny, meeny, miny, YOU.

His stomach turns, and he pushes the half-empty soda can away from him, regretting drinking even that much.

"Yeah," he mutters. "We're lucky."

Ford stares out the window, clearly lost in thought. There's a shadow cast over his face – both from the flickering lights of the kitchen and the darkening emotions likely simmering inside him. Dipper traces his thumb against the edge of the can, chewing on his lip. He wonders what Ford would see, if he was still hooked up to the machine.

Did Bill ever possess you?

I'm sorry.

What kind of deal did you make?

I'm sorry.

How do you sleep with those nightmares?

I'm sorry.

Did you ever get over it?

I'm sorry.

Why me?

His next breath shudders. Maybe it's for the best, that he doesn't have it on.

"Well," Ford says, the chair scraping across the floor as he stands up. "It's been a long day for both of us. I'd suggest getting some rest. With the protective shield, we've got nothing to worry about here."

Ford's smile is tired and worn, the lines etched deep into his face pulled tight, but it's a genuine one. Dipper offers his own weak smile.

"Okay," he says. "G'night, Great Uncle Ford."

Ford gives him another smile, this one a hint less weary. He pauses briefly as he passes Dipper, his hand pressing down lightly, ruffling his hair.

"Goodnight, Dipper."

Dipper watches as he heads to the basement, the lights flickering briefly as the hidden door seals shut with a hiss. He stares down at his half-empty can of Pitt Cola.

Images of the shadow-cast triangles in the basement are burned into his head, along with the awful sensation that he's being watched. He doesn't feel tired – every nerve in his body feels on edge, and his stomach still churns in mild nausea. It's a feeling he can't rid himself of, a sensation that's been stewing in his gut ever since he felt the other-wordly pull on his soul as he was wrenched from his body.

The can crumples beneath Dipper's fingers, the sharp crunching noise resonating in his ears. He's never liked being scared. He hates how powerless it makes him feel, how weak and useless.

It'll get better, now, he tells himself. They've got Ford on their side, and he knows how to deal with Bill. Everything will be fine.

Somehow, that doesn't make the cold pit of fear lessen any.

Dipper groans, standing up. Sitting around and stewing about it clearly isn't doing him any good. And Ford was right – he probably should get some sleep. Stan's comment about the bags under his eyes was almost starting to look like genuine concern the other day.

Dipper sighs, feet dragging as he climbs the stairs. He stops at the entrance to the attic, staring. Mabel is already in their room, savagely stuffing her stuffed unicorn into one of Stan's old, rusty chests.

"Um…Mabel?" he asks, approaching cautiously. "Why are you smothering your unicorn?"

"Oh, hey Dipper!" she says, reaching for a unicorn-emblazoned sweater. "I kinda learned unicorns are just big jerks today. So I'm cleansing, here. More stuff for the bottomless pit!"

"Ah," Dipper says, kicking his shoes off and sliding onto his bed. "How were they, um, jerks?"

A shadow flashes across Mabel's face, a brief expression of mixed hurt and anger. "They just were," she mutters, glaring darkly at the pink unicorn. Dipper isn't taking that.

"Hey, they didn't hurt you or anything, did they?" he asks, concern bubbling up in his chest. It looked like the only blood that got spilled was unicorn's, but then he didn't really get a good look at his sister when she came back – and she did look roughed up, with her hair sticking up everywhere and her sweater ripped, and – oh no, what if she'd really been hurt? He hadn't even noticed, he should've been there-

"Dipper, yeesh, I'm fine!" Mabel yelps. Dipper starts, her face suddenly inches from his. "Don't do that," she continues, shaking him lightly. "You looked like a zombie!"

"S-sorry," he manages, rubbing his head. "But seriously, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mabel says, the downcast expression returning. "Or, I am now. Celestabellebethabelle just said some stuff about me."

"Celestabella…who?" Dipper stares. He shakes his head. "Wait, what kind of stuff?"

"Just, y'know, stuff," Mabel mutters, refusing to meet his eyes. Dipper nudges her, and she sighs. "Well, you know how Grunkle Ford said only someone of pure heart could get the hair?" Dipper nods. "Well, she used her magic-glowy horn powers on me and…um…it turned out I wasn't really….that pure of heart after all," Mabel mumbles. Dipper snorts.

"Are you kidding me?!" he says, incredulously, when she doesn't reply. "Mabel, you're like… the best person in this town. Literally!"

"That's what Wendy said, too," Mabel says, flashing him a tiny smile. It quickly disappears. "But she – she said I wasn't. She said I was a bad person."

Dipper suddenly wishes he had accompanied the girls on their adventure. Noodle arms or not, he would've had business with that unicorn.

"Mabel, that's ridiculous," he says. "Whatever 'power' Celestial-bella - or whatever - had is clearly a bunch of b-"

"It was," Mabel says, a note of anger entering her voice. "It turned out she was a big fat liar. She didn't have any powers at all! She was just being selfish and greedy about her stupid sparkly hair."

"Oh," Dipper says.

"So we beat the heck out of her and her friends and stole the hair," Mabel adds.

"Oh," Dipper says. "Um, way to go, I guess. And hey, see? She was just a big fat liar!"

"Yeah, she was," Mabel says, almost darkly.

"She was a liar," Dipper says, intently. "Mabel, you're pretty much the best person I know. And you even came through and got the unicorn hair! We're safe from Bill now, thanks to you."

Mabel brightens at that, but the look she gives him is almost shy.

"I did," she says, her feet swinging. "Looks like you're not the only one who's good with supernatural sciencey stuff anymore, haha."

"Hey, I never said you weren't," Dipper protests. (Has he?) "But I don't think beating a bunch of unicorns to a pulp is scientific, necessarily."

"Hey, guess who actually got the unicorn hair?" Mabel says. "This girl!"

"Alright, alright," Dipper concedes, rolling his eyes.

Her grin slides off again. "Even if I wasn't pure of heart in the end," she mumbles.

"Seriously?" Dipper says. "Mabel, how many times have we said the unicorn was a liar? You're definitely the purest of heart out of anyone in this town."

"If you say so," she says, legs still swinging against the bed.

"And think about it," Dipper says. "If you weren't a good person, what would that make the rest of us?"

Mabel cracks a smile. "A bunch of jerks, probably."

"Worse jerks, anyways," Dipper mutters. "But yeah. You're one of the best people I know, Mabel. Don't sweat it."

"Thanks, Dipper," Mabel says, giving him another small smile. She almost immediately has to stifle a yawn. "Well, today has been crazier than usual, so I'm gonna go to sleep and hopefully not dream about unicorns. Goodnight!"

"Night, Mabel," Dipper yawns, flicking off the light and flopping back onto his pillows. He pulls the blankets up, wriggling until he's comfortable.

He glances over at Mabel, who's immediately flipped to face the wall. He frowns a bit, chewing on his now-abused lip.

Maybe he's just seeing things, but he could've sworn her last smile was strained.

He's back in Ford's lab, surrounded by the awful green glow and hundreds of glaring images off Bill. Eyes, there are eyes everywhere watching him, and Ford – is it Ford?! His glasses are glowing bright yellow, and he thinks – he knows that underneath them Ford's pupils have to be slits, he's not Ford anymore.

"Hand me the rift, boy!"

Messy, underlined writing flashes before his eyes, "TRUST NO ONE" burning red.

Dipper fires the gun. It doesn't hit Ford.

The scene changes, and Mabel's drawing back from him, her eyes narrowed and disgusted.

"Get away from me!" she yells, striking out at him.

"Mabel," he says, weakly. "Mabel, wha - it's me, Mabel-"

"I don't know who you are," she says, and there's no recognition in her eyes. "Leave me alone!"

She runs, runs towards Bill.

"No, Mabel, wait!"

It's too late. Bill's voice, cruel and viciously amused, pours out of Mabel's mouth, her expression a garish mockery of her normal smile.

"Nice try, PINE TREE!" he laughs. "But you just lost your sister!"

"No," Dipper gasps, legs useless as he stumbles forward. "No, please-"

Mabel gives one last awful, grating laugh before her hands wrap around his neck, knocking him to the ground and choking the breath out of him-

The scene changes again. This time he's back on the catwalk, Mabel's sock opera in full-swing below. He's in his body this time, the rope pulling at his hands as Mabel stares at him with wide eyes from the prop, dangling above the stage.

His mouth twists into an unnatural smile, and his arms move of their own accord, his fingers uncurling one by one from the rope – he lets go. Mabel screams as she drops towards the stage - a sharp, ugly crack follows seconds later.

"Sorry, kid, but you're my puppet now!"

Dipper wakes with a scream caught in his throat.

His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, and he realizes he's in his bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his legs. He takes a single, shuddering breath, staring over at the obvious rise and fall of Mabel's chest.

Safe. She's safe.

Tears burn is his eyes as he rolls over, biting his fist in a desperate attempt to suppress his silent, shaking sobs. He hates this, he hates this so much, and he hates-

He hates that it's his fault.

Every fiber of his being screams for Mabel, urges him to crawl into her bed and just hug her, taking comfort in how warm and alive she is, like he did the first few nights after the opera.

But this is his problem, he tells himself. He brought this on himself. He doesn't need to go crying to Mabel and wake her up over this. He's smart. Ford thinks he's smart. He's got this.

He buries his face in his pillow, ignoring the dampness that slowly seeps through the soft fabric, spreading across his cheek.

He's got this.