[I kinda died there for a few days... I'll try edit the next few chapters quickly. Longer chapters mean longer skims. ;P]

He took deep breaths, in and out. He sighed and shook his head. It was fine. He was just... maybe he just couldn't remember? It was fine. He looked left and right, searching to see if anyone had seen his panic. The coast was clear and he just continued reading. 'Trust No One' the journal reminded him upon greeting. Dipper grimaced and closed it. He ruminated the skip in his memory and tried to remember what happened but nothing came up.

At the edge of his vision, a pink blur appeared by the doorway. Dipper smiled and sat up, ready to greet the form. "Hey, Mabel."

She noticeably stiffened, but gave him a relieved smile. "Hey, Dipdop. You doing alright?"

He nodded. "Yeah..." for a breif moment he wondered if he should mention something to her... he decided not to. "Just thinking."

She nodded. "Well, if you need anything I'll be in the room making new sweaters for Waddles." She brought the pig into view, manhandling the creature. "Waaaaaaddddllllleees" she drawled, before walking upstairs.

"I'll come check them out later!" He called after her. She responded with a big 'yuuup!'

Dipper looked back down to the journal, he put his hand over the six fingered golden one on it. He licked his parched lips and pouted. He really needed a drink.

The boy hopped from his chair and walked into the kitchen, it being a break day Stan was sipping a cup of joe at the table. He gave his Grunkle a nod and opened the fridge. "Expired milk, cheap orange juice and Pitt Cola..." Dipper muttered before talking the peach soda.

Blink.

He coughed up the soda, carbonated peach burned through his face. His mouth, his throat, his nose- even his eyes burned! The coughed up soda spilled on the floor and onto his shirt.

He caught his breath, Stan's laughter finally catching up with him. "Where'd you learn to drink? You practically showered yourself in that stuff. Ha!"

The younger Pines forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. When the rubbing turned into clawing, he dropped his hand and felt it twitch and buzz wildly. I have to be alone.

"Maybe you can teach me one day...?" Dipper offered as a distraction. His great uncle put a hand to his chin and looked at the ceiling in thought. At his chance, Dipper dropped the Pitt can and ran off, upstairs.

"Kid!" Stan yelled after him. "Where're you going?"

Ignoring his calls, Dipper zoomed into his shared room and whipped the door closed. He looked down at his energized fingers, giving them experimental touches. His breathing cooled and he sighed, massaging his half- numb hand. His hand moved awkwardly in it's reactions, as if it had to get used to it's anatomy all over again.

"Hey, Dip! Come look at this sweater! It has ham on it!" A beaming voice pierced the silence.

He yelped, spinning towards the source of the noise and hiding his hand behind his back. "Hah... yeah..." he said, distractedly trying to control his hand. Mabel was talking, but by the time Dipper was able to clench and unclench his fist at will, she was snapping for his attention. "-huh?" He asked wisely.

"Dipper. Ugh." Mabel shook her head in mock disappointment. "I asked 'what were you doing' like three times, bro."

Dipper shrugged. "I- uh... spilt soda all over myself and I need a change of clothes." It wasn't a lie. The male twin avoided his sister's intense stare.

Her stare worried, and her expression turned to confusion with a hint of disgust. "How did you spill that much soda?" She said, looking her brother up and down. He was drenched.

"...butterfingersss?" Dipper tried.

Mabel's instense stare returned.

The boy sighed. "Look, I don't know, okay? I-... It slipped." The key to telling a good lie is for there to be truth behind it.

Mabel sighed and looked away. "Dipper. I know I'm not... serious too often and sometimes my solutions come off as... silly. -but I'm your sister. Something's wrong and I'm asking for you to tell me." She looked back and gave him a hopeful smile.

No. He wasn't ready. He didn't even know what was up himself. He can't he can't he can't he can't- they'll just make things worse for eachother. She'll ruin your life, Dipper. Just like twins do. This voice wasn't his- it wasn't him, it wasn't. Listening to it, ugh just hearing it pissed Dipper off. "Why do you even need to know?"

"Dipper, you're my brother. If there's something wrong, I need to help you." She said in a soothing, sweet (but forced) voice.

A small part of the boy reconized this look. It felt... important.

Blink.

He just didn't know how. He came to, and the pink blurb ahead of him was gone, run out of the room. Crying. He stiffened. I have to tell her at some point.

Technically you don't.

But I-

No... you can't hurt eachother if you don't interact.

"I have to at least talk to her." Dipper thought aloud. He ran out the door and down the stairs.

Eventually, he found her in the extra hidden bedroom they found a mind swapping carpet in earlier that summer. She was there, hidden in a ball, her head tucked into her sweater in front of the folding mirrors. He took a glance at himself before kneeling down beside his sister. "...Mabel? Look, I- ...I need to tell you something."

She stayed in her sweater town, sniffling and trying to keep quiet.

"Mabel, I need to- ugh. There's something wrong with my-"

"KIDS!"A panicked scream from their uncle interrupted Dipper. The boy jumped, and Mabel who had stopped sniffling pulled her sweater down only slightly under her eyes so she could see.

Avoiding her brother, she ran to Stan. She was upset. Whatever Dipper had to say he could say it later. Something was wrong. She let a pop of optimism lift a small weight off her shoulders. -but the words that came from her brother's mouth stung. She... needed to think.

Her brother followed, barely keeping up. Or maybe he wasn't trying to?

The kids found Stan in the living room, sitting down in front of the tv with the remote in hand. He seemed to fumble with changing the channel to boxing before they entered. Their uncle smiled, and waved the remote. "Found it- hey, Mabel... what's wrong?"

She sniffled and gave Stan a smile. "N-nothing. Dip and I just had a sm-mall fight." She sucked a breath and turned towards the stairs, watching as her pig hopped down oinking happily. She picked up the oinker and faced her brother, eyes not meeting his. "We'll make up later..."

Dipper held in his sigh for when Mabel was out of earshot. "What happened?" Stan asked.

Dipper sighed. "I wish I knew, Grunkle Stan."

Stan sighed and played with the rubber buttons of the TV remote. "Hey, try to make up by tomorrow. We'll be open most of the day, y'know? I can't my employees fighting."

Dipper smiled warmly at his uncle before taking a seat next to him on the couch, on the floor.

The rest of the day was... boring without Mabel bouncing around. The voice at the back of his mind was getting louder and more active in telling him to read the journal. Although he did open it, he just wrote about the voice. He didn't trust it at all. I mean, trust no one applies to everything. Even things that he doubts is himself.

In the night, Dipper cracked the shared bedroom's door and peered inside. Mabel's form was already on her bed, beathing at a steady pace. Dipper sighed and crawled into bed, wearing whatever he was wearing. He said goodnight and was met with silence. The boy sighed and prepared for some kind of disturbing dream that he won't remember in the morning. Stupid good for nothing nightmares... He thought, letting his eyes drift closed.

"Well, I wouldn't say nothing." The voice said, louder and there. "Without them, you'd die much too early."

It echoed in his dream, everywhere. They spoke. And spoke...

Yet nothing was remembered once Dipper woke.