WINTER 2013

A soft rumble accompanied the otherwise-silent elevator as it trundled up its shaft. Dipper stared at the unconscious stranger, his eyes trailing down to the end of the man's beard as it brushed against the floor. His mind scrambled to make sense of the past five minutes. This man. . . this was Fidds. This was Fiddleford McGucket, who had stolen the Journals, who had erased Ford's mind. This wasn't Stan. This wasn't the person they needed to rescue.

What. . . what had gone wrong?

Mabel stood so close that Dipper could feel her shaking. A quick glance showed stunned tears on her face, and he knew she was just as lost as he was. She had been so brave down in the basement. . . and for what? Pressing that button had only brought pain.

That pain weaved through the Pines' silence, wrapping itself around Dipper's throat and strangling him. He couldn't do this. Someone had to say something, had to do something. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why were they all standing around and letting the silence suffocate them?

When the elevator stopped, Dipper burst from its confines. The tools in his arms jangled against each other as he took the stairs two at a time, running into the gift shop. Immediately, he was greeted with cold air that leaked in through the broken window, but he found he preferred it this way. The temperature matched how he felt; it was only appropriate.

Eventually, the others caught up to him. Ford let go of Fidds long enough to push the vending machine, and it closed with a resounding thud that felt far too final. Then the somber procession continued: Melody and Ford carried Fidds as the twins trailed behind with their armloads of supplies.

To Dipper's horror, the silence followed them.

No. No, he couldn't handle this anymore. "So what now?" he demanded. "What are we going to do now?"

Mabel jumped as if someone had slapped her, and Dipper momentarily regretted his outburst. But it was better, he thought, to startle Mabel out of her stupor than to allow her to sink further into the pain. He kept talking, determined that no one shove him back into the horrible silence. "Well?" He sounded angry — he didn't want to sound angry, but he did.

He looked up to Ford for an answer; in his periphery, he noticed Mabel do the same. But Ford didn't answer. The muscles in his back and shoulder clenched, and he lowered his head. The posture was utterly dejected, and Dipper found it almost worse than the silence.

It was Melody who took charge; it was Melody who answered as she looked over her shoulder. "We're going to take Fiddleford to Ford's room, and I'll tend him there. You kids are going to take all that" — she nodded to the tools and books in their arms — "to Ford's lab."

"What's Ford going to do?" Mabel whispered. She sounded scared.

Ford stiffened further and said nothing.

"Come on, kids," said Melody quietly.

The silence descended again as the Pines walked down the hall. It wasn't much warmer here, and Dipper wondered when they were going to turn the heating back on — this cold made it hard to remember how it felt to be warm. He wanted to push past Ford and Melody so he could run to the lab, drop off his armful of tools, and do the next thing — he had to do things, he couldn't stay still, he had to move. But he didn't dare, though the pace was maddeningly slow.

Finally — finally — they reached Ford's room. Mabel scrambled to open the door for the adults, and they moved sideways through the door, awkwardly, with Fidds' slack body between them. As soon as there was space, Dipper slipped past them and hurried to the lab. He kicked at the partially open door, reveling in the sound as it slammed into the far wall, and dumped his armload. Metal struck metal in a satisfying cacophony as the tools clattered to the ground.

"Dipper?"

He turned. Mabel stood hesitantly in the doorway. She held all three Journals, and they seemed ready to spill out of her arms at any moment. How she opened the door for the adults, Dipper didn't know. He ran to her, ready to take the Journals from her hands and put them on a nearby desk.

She flinched.

Dipper skidded to a stop. "I — I was just going to take the Journals."

Slowly, she held them out, her eyes never leaving him. He took the books and set them on the closest desk. The Journals he treated with much more care than he had the tools, though he wasn't sure why — the tools hadn't done anything, but the Journals had provided the means for this disaster. Their golden hands glinted mockingly up at him.

He tore his eyes away and looked back to Mabel. "What now?"

A new film of tears laced Mabel's eyes. "Dipper. . . there's nothing we can do."

It was the last thing Dipper needed to hear. "I have to do something," he insisted. "I can't just — I can't just stand here, Mabel; I have to do something."

"You could. . ." Her voice cracked. "You could give me a hug."

He stared at her.

"Oh, Mabel," he said. He crossed to her, enfolded her in his arms. She collapsed in his grip, and he quickly found that he couldn't stand either. The siblings sank to the floor together, weighed down by the ashes of their shattered expectations.

Dipper didn't know how long they sat there. He didn't know how many tears were shed. But eventually a voice pulled them out of those ashes. "Mabel? Dipper?"

Then strong arms were around them. Not Ford's arms — Melody's arms. She held the twins tightly, and Dipper felt more secure than he had all morning. Without Melody, nothing would be okay ever again. With her. . . there was at least hope.

"I need to tend to Fiddleford," she said softly, and she moved back to look at them. "Could you. . . can you go and be with Ford? He's turning the electricity back on right now, but after that. . ." She sighed. "I'm worried about him, kids. He needs someone to be with him."

Mabel shook her head. "He needs to be alone."

No. . . that wasn't right. Neither of them were right. "He needs someone to be near him, so he can tell them to leave him alone," Dipper said.

Mabel and Melody looked at him. Quizzically at first, but then understanding dawned in their eyes. Dipper had plenty of experience when Mabel got that way; he imagined Melody did too, with Ford.

"Yes," Melody said. "Can you be that someone?"

It was a cruel question. To ask the twins, who clearly needed comforting, to instead comfort someone else. But Dipper realized that must be Melody's entire job: to be there for Ford, even when she needed someone to be there for her. And now, she was entrusting her job to Dipper and Mabel.

"We'll do our best," Dipper said. He didn't know if he had the ability to support Ford, but he'd do it anyway. Because that's what Melody did.

Mabel nodded her agreement, and Melody smiled at them in thanks. She helped them up and, after sending them down the hall, went back into Ford's room.

Dipper clutched at Mabel's hand, and they walked through the hall together. When they emerged in the entryway, Ford was already in the living room, looking lost and forlorn as he stood alone in its center. The light was on, and Dipper could hear a faint hiss of air as the heating kicked back in.

It took Ford a moment to notice the twins. "Leave me alone," he said, but there was no malice in his voice. "Please."

"Grunkle Ford," said Mabel, and those two words carried an entire conversation. She let go of Dipper's hand and crossed to her uncle, taking his hand and trying, as best she could, to guide him to the couch. She was by no means strong enough to move him, but Ford obediently followed her direction. When he was settled on the couch, Mabel climbed up next to him, likely hoping to gain as much comfort as she gave.

"No," Ford said suddenly. He moved to get up. "No, I can't sit — I have to find him—"

Dipper climbed onto the couch, and the twins held Ford down together. They would have been unsuccessful if he was actually trying to get up, but their uncle quickly caved and sat back down. Dipper agreed that they had to find Stan — but not now. Not while the pain was so raw.

The three Pines sat there, still in pain, but at least they were holding each other. Dipper couldn't handle another silence, though. So he talked. "So that's. . . that's Fiddleford?"

Ford took a shuddering breath. "He looks. . . he looks so different. But it's him."

"He got rid of Stan," said Mabel. She clung to Ford's arm. "What does that mean? 'Got rid of him'? What did he do?"

"He's not dead," Dipper said. He at least could be sure of that. Not only because Fidds had said so, but because Stan couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

"Anything can happen in thirty years," Ford whispered. "Fidds can't know what's happened to him since. . . since whatever happened between them." He sucked in a deep breath, like it was the last one he'd ever take. "He could be anywhere."

"Then we'll look anywhere," Dipper said. And he meant it. "We'll find him, Grunkle Ford."

"Dipper," said Mabel. "Can we. . . can we not talk? Can we just. . . sit here?"

No. No, he couldn't just sit there. But he swallowed his retort and he did anyway. For Mabel. Like he often did.

Time flowed past them, and Dipper felt sidelined from its steady march. But, as much as he wanted to jump back in, he stayed on the couch. He stayed with his twin and his uncle and just sat there. Melody came in and out of the hall, fetching medical supplies and other necessities from around the house. She moved with time, while the rest of them remained outside. Dipper was jealous, until he remembered the task she'd given him. She needed him to be here for Ford.

Eventually, Mabel fell asleep — from pure exhaustion, probably. None of them had gotten great sleep the night before. But Dipper couldn't sleep, not on his life. From Ford's expression, he couldn't either. Ford didn't say anything, and Dipper didn't want to wake Mabel up, so he surrendered to the oppressive silence once again. At least he was sitting with his family this time.

Then the silence was broken, suddenly, by a knock on the door.

Mabel awoke with a yell. Dipper instinctively jumped to his feet. The knock was loud, frantic, almost frenzied. Dipper hurried to the door and checked out the window. The face he saw was not one he was expecting — but then, he wasn't expecting anyone, not anymore.

He pulled the door open before Ford could protest. "Robbie? What's wrong?"

"Where's Melody?" Robbie's expression was haggard and a little wild. "I need Melody."

Didn't they all? "Th-this way, but she's busy tending—" Dipper stopped as he realized. . . he didn't know how to explain.

"Tending Stanley?" Robbie followed him down the hall. "You saved him?"

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. "No," he said. "No, there was. . . someone else."

"What? What do you mean, someone—"

"Robbie?" Melody gently closed the door behind her as she stepped into the hall. "What are you doing here?"

"Melody, I know you're busy with. . . whoever's in there," Robbie said, "but there's a situation. We need your help."

"Who's we?"

"There's been a car accident," Robbie said. "My parents are out there, checking over the people in the car, trying to keep everyone calm, but — they're morticians, not doctors. We need you to make sure everyone's okay."

"I'm — I'm not a doctor either," Melody protested.

"You're the closest thing we have."

Melody blinked rapidly. "I can check the victims over, but we really should get them to a hospital. We can use Ford's car and—"

"We can't go to a hospital," Robbie said. "I — I don't know how to explain. You just have to see." The panic in his eyes told Dipper that there must be more to the situation than just a car accident. "Please, Melody. Please come help."

Melody's eyes flickered between Robbie's face and the door beside her. Then her face settled into a decision, and she nodded. "Okay. Dipper, I need you to watch Fidds."

"But I don't know how to—"

"I know," Melody said. "I know, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Watch Fidds, and if anything happens — if his breathing slows down, if it speeds up, if he gets too warm — then come and get me." She looked to Robbie. "Is it close?"

"Just down the street."

"Good. If you need me, Dipper, just come out to the road and yell for me. Okay?" She started down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder.

"Okay," Dipper called, though he didn't feel that way in the least.

"Thank you, Dip."

Then she was gone.

~~~~~

Mabel found herself fairly disoriented after having woken up so suddenly. She was a little horrified at herself, that she'd been able to fall asleep at all. Given her poor sleep last night, it made sense, but it felt like she'd betrayed Stanley by falling asleep while he was still out there somewhere.

Footsteps sounded in the hall as Robbie returned, followed by Melody. Mabel stared in disbelief as the caretaker grabbed her coat from the coatrack and hitched her first aid kit under an arm. "Melody? Where are you going?"

Melody turned to Mabel and Ford. "I have to go," she said. "Dipper's watching Fidds. He'll come get me if anything bad happens. Hopefully I'll be back soon." With that, she hurried from the house.

Ford stared after her. "What is going on?"

"I don't know." Mabel wished she could go back to sleep. "B-but Robbie looked scared." Saying it out loud only increased her own fear. If Robbie was afraid of something. . . it must be horrifying. She had no desire to discover what it was.

Ford put an arm around Mabel and pulled her close. "Then he probably has good reason."

The words were completely discordant with the gesture. Mabel didn't know whether to feel better or worse.

Not too long after Melody and Robbie left, another knock sounded at the door. Mabel and Ford shared glances. Melody would just walk right in — so who could that be?

Mabel found herself wildly hoping that it was Stanley.

Since Dipper wasn't there to get the door, Mabel or Ford had to. They both stood up and walked to the door. Mabel stayed back as Ford looked through the window at this new visitor.

He looked down at Mabel, confusion knitting his brow. "It's Gideon Northwest."

A strangled sense of relief rushed through her. "L-let him in — I think he ran away. M-maybe he knows something."

Sure enough, Gideon called through the door, "Stanford, please. I can help you."

Ford still looked unsure, but the despair in his eyes won over the suspicion. Anything Gideon could tell them, anything, would be a start. Ford pulled open the door and stared Gideon down. "Do you know anything about my brother?" he demanded.

Gideon glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for pursuers. "Please let me in." Mabel noticed that he didn't have his amulet.

Ford's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Mabel tugged on his sleeve. "Let him in, Grunkle Ford."

Her great uncle stepped aside, and Gideon hurried through the door. "Thank you," he said as Ford closed the door behind him.

"Well?" Impatience grew in Ford's voice. "You said you can help. Do you or do you not know anything about my brother?"

Gideon looked up at Ford with calculating eyes. Then, he did something that Mabel had never seen him do before: He deflated. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to have trouble meeting Ford's eyes.

"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, I. . . I've known your brother my entire life."