My prompt was “More about the psychic insingularity, particularly the ending”. I rewrote this so many times and I’m not entirely happy with it- the ending’s so awkward- but I decided to post it anyway.

Willow was fine.

Well, her Uncle had had a huge mental breakdown and pulled Gravity Falls into the mindscape, and maybe she’d gotten separated from her family whilst searching for the shattered fragments of said Uncle, and yeah, she’d just been chased through the woods by the ghost of her old, slightly murderous English teacher, but she was definitely fine. She was handling this really, really, well actually, she thought, as she stumbled out of the woods.

Upon seeing the library looming above her she let out a choked sob. It wasn’t quite as she remembered it- the large sign reading ‘MYSTERY  HACK’ was enough to give that away- but it was close enough to make her feel safe as she raced inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

Okay, so maybe Willow wasn’t as fine as she thought she was, but she was doing okay.

She continued to do okay as she made her way through the shack, heading upstairs to the attic, her heart beating hard in her chest and her breath rattling in her ears. She gripped the inhaler that she kept in her pocket, trying to slow her breathing.

Her exploration led her to a room she’d never seen before. Actually, that was a lie; she’d seen this room plenty of times. It was just the interior that was different, two twin beds pushed to either wall and a triangular window hung up between them. The room was a mess, bedsheets strewn and messy as if they’d recently been slept in, clothes and paper and just random clutter covering the floor. She found herself smiling as she gazed around, taking in the balls of yarn, the half-knitted sweater, the board connecting clues together that was tacked to one wall.

She turned to leave her mother’s old room when she heard breathing that was definitely not her own.

It was coming from under the bed.

In Willow’s lifetime she’d learned a lot of things, and one of those things was not to poke your nose into something you didn’t understand, because you were bound to get it bitten off. Another thing she’d learned was that you couldn’t find answers if you didn’t ask questions, and so, against her better judgement, she got to her knees and pulled up the quilt to peer underneath the bed.

The boy under the bed was curled up small, a faded brown star-marked cap on his head, casting shadows over his face so that she couldn’t see it at all. He was coloured with orange fear and green mistrust, and his breath was irregular and breathy, almost as if he were crying, or maybe whimpering.

“Hello?” Willow called curiously. The boy stiffened, glancing up at her, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Who’s there?” he said warily, and Willow saw his hand tighten on the trigger of a weapon that had escaped her notice. Was that a memory gun he held? Willow swallowed nervously.

“My name’s Willow,” she told him. “What’s yours?” He didn’t reply, eyeing her distrustfully. She tried again. “Why are you hiding?” she asked.

“Why are you here?” he shot back. Willow paused, thinking for a moment.

“I’m looking for my Uncle,” she told him. “Have you seen him anywhere?” The boy shook his head.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.” Willow considered letting the conversation go, but curiosity was gnawing at her now. There was definitely something familiar about this kid, whoever he was, and she was going to figure it out. “It looks pretty uncomfortable under there. Why don’t you come sit out here with me?” His hand tightened on the memory gun again. “If anyone attacks us, I’ll sort them out,” she promised hastily.

The boy let out a sigh, looking conflicted, before crawling toward her. Willow shifted out of the way, holding up the quilt and dropping it as he passed. She leaned back against the bed, and he did the same, and she saw him clearly for the first time.

Looking back at her was the face of her Uncle, several years younger than she was and a couple of inches shorter. He was still glaring at her suspiciously, but he seemed slightly more relaxed, and, Willow was relieved to note, he had left the memory gun beneath the bed.

She really didn’t fancy having her memory erased.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I know you’re looking for your uncle and all, but why are you still here rather than searching for him?” Willow shrugged.

“I’m curious, that’s all. What’re you doing here?”

“In this room, the Shack or Gravity Falls?”

“Hmm, let’s go with Gravity Falls.”

“Well, our parents sent us here to get some fresh air, or something.”

“Us?”

“Me and my sister, Mabel.”

“Ah. Have you been having fun?” she questioned, and just like that, he lit up. Willow suppressed a smirk.

“Well, I mean, yeah! We’ve discovered so many things! The supernatural is real and it’s all over Gravity Falls! It really all started when I found the journal, out in the woods…” Willow sat back and listened to Dipper tell the story of how her mother had once dated a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat. It wasn’t a story she’d never heard before, but it was fun to listen to, and before she knew it she was laughing along and interjecting comments and jokes into the narrative, causing him to laugh.

When the story was done, Willow continued it with, “That reminds me of this one time, me and my siblings…” She told him about how her family was familiar with the gnome villages of Gravity Falls, but the ones outside of the town were unfamiliar with them, and so had run into some trouble when they’d attempted to kidnap Hank to be their prince.

When she had finished, Dipper said, “Wow, gnome kidnappings must be really common.”

Willow snorted. “I wonder how many people have fallen victim to matrignomy?”

“If anyone has, it’s far too many.” He grinned, and his eyes widened. “Oh, I’m Dipper, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Dipper,” Willow said with a smile.

Before she knew it, she and Dipper were in a tangle of stories, telling one after the other, laughing together like this wasn’t quite possibly the weirdest situation she’d ever found herself in. And the night wore on, the two of them relocating from the floor to the bed at one point, disappearing downstairs to collect snacks and drinks, sprawling out and chatting like old women on a bus, or teenage girls at a sleepover.

Willow didn’t notice that the sun had both set and risen until she heard the door downstairs open and her mother yell, “Willow? Willow! Are you here?”

“Upstairs, Mom!” she called back, noticing for the first time how her throat was aching. Across from her, Dipper’s eyes widened.

“Tell her to go away,” he said, reverting to the distrustful state Willow had met when she’d first peeked under the bed.

“What?” she asked. “Why? That’s my mom, she’s not gonna hurt you.” Dipper shook his head.

“No, no, she’s gonna try to make us get back together, she can’t make me-” He broke off as Willow interrupted.

“Wait- you know? You know what’s going on?” Dipper froze.

“Well, I-”

“You- You- why?” Dipper shrugged, looking down.

“I’ll explain, I promise, just- just make her go away.” Willow glanced from his defeated expression to the door, and gave a sigh.

“Fine,” she said, and called out, “Hang on, Mom, don’t come in!” She heard footsteps stall outside the door.

“Willow? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine Mom, it’s fine, just- go downstairs. I’ll be down soon.” They waited in silence, and Willow hoped her mother wouldn’t come barging in.

“Well… Okay,” Mabel said, sounding suspicious. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay,” Willow promised. “Thanks, Mom.”

They sat in silence until the footsteps had faded away, and Willow turned to give Dipper a pointed look. He squirmed uncomfortably.

“I don’t want to go back,” he admitted in a rush. “I don’t want- want to be-” He gave a frustrated sigh. “It, It scares me Willow. I scare me. I don’t want to be that.”

Willow felt her heart clench up in sympathy. She could see the genuinity spilling from him in waves, feel in her bones. But, despite that, it made little sense.

“Dipper…” she said, voice pained. “It’s- it’s already happened. You can’t change the past. You can’t run from something that’s already happened.” He folded his arms.

“I can try!” he cried. “If I just stay here, I can stay like this-”

“And then what? Gravity Falls remains in the mindscape? Everyone is plagued by their memories and assorted demons for eternity?” She gazed at him pleadingly. “Dipper, please, you have to. You can’t trap us here forever.”

He shrugged listlessly, his face so helpless it hurt to look at. “I’m trapped here forever,” he told her.

Willow gave a strangled cry, and reached out, pulling him into a hug. He froze, confusion rolling off him in cinnamon waves, before melting against her shoulder. “Idiot,” she whispered. “You’re not trapped here as long as we want you in the real world.”

“You’re not going to be around forever,” he told her.

“Yeah, but then there’ll be someone else. And after them, there’ll be others. You’re not- You’re never gonna be alone, Uncle Dipper, can’t you see that?”

“I-” He sighed. “Thanks, Willow.” They broke apart, sitting back, and Dipper sniffed, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a broken whisper. “I’m so, so scared. I don’t want to be like him.”

“You don’t have to be,” Willow replied, sliding off the bed and holding out a hand. “Come on, let’s go find Mom. Get you back in one piece.” Hesitantly, he took it, and allowed her to pull him to his feet. “You can trust us, Dipper.”
“I know,” he said with a smile. “Lead the way, Willow.”

And so she did.

–

Willow was fine.

Uncle Dipper was back in one piece, and his mental breakdown seemed to be, for the most part, over. The world was back in colour, the nightmares in the woods were gone (thank God), and everything was back to normal (which meant school, which was incredibly painstaking and made Willow wish for another day in the mindscape).

Uncle Dipper had been quiet and largely apologetic for the event (which people were now calling the psychic singularity). He seemed embarrassed, even, that his breakdown had affected people on such a grand scale. Willow knew he’d talked about it with her parents, and that the subject had been laid to rest, but she couldn’t help but wonder.

Wonder what had caused it. Wonder about the aspects of her Uncle’s personality she’d never seen before, but had had the pleasure of meeting. Wonder about the Dipper she’d sat with, laughing and talking with for an entire night.

She wondered if he remembered that.

And wasn’t the only way to find out to ask?

“Hey, Uncle Dipper,” she said one night, catching him alone in the empty kitchen. It was almost a given he’d be there; he tended to lurk by the fridge to join the triplets if they ever wanted a midnight snack.

“Hey, Little Fighter,” he greeted with a grin. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering…” she said, voice faltering. She paused and steeled herself. “Do you… remember? I mean…” His smile dropped.

“Ah,” he said. Then, “Yeah, I remember.”

She glanced up at him. “What were you so afraid of?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Lots of things. Bill Cipher. The future. The transcendence. Dying. Seeing everyone die.” He paused. “Being left alone.”

“Oh.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Is it really that bad?” she questioned. “Being like this?”

“It’s… Well, it’s not a future I would’ve picked. If I could go back and change it somehow, without causing the end of the world or putting someone else in my place, believe me, I would. But…” He smiled at her. “It’s not as bad as you’d think. I have you, don’t I? And Mabel, and Henry, and Hank and Acacia, and Stan, and… everyone. And while I never planned this… It’s not the worst life I could’ve ended up with.”

“Oh.” She yawned.

“Go to bed, Little Fighter,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Sure, Uncle Dipper,” she said, turning to leave. She paused by the doorway, hovering and looking over her shoulder. “Thanks. For telling me, I mean. And… for trusting me.”

“No problem.”

She left, his emotions washing over her, an odd mixture of nostalgia and worry and happiness and comfort and something else she couldn’t name. Something bittersweet, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

–

Alcor watched his niece go, and thought about her words. Thanks. For telling me, I mean. And… for trusting me.

TRUST NO ONE, the book had said. But Dipper had trusted Willow, even in his fractured and fearful state. He didn’t understand why he had, either.

I trust you, Willow, he thought, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the fridge door. You just worry about yourself.