After presents and dinner, after the cake fight that Mabel and Dipper had gotten into, after Stan hosed them off despite the fact they were still in the kitchen, getting water and cake everywhere, after the babies had been put to bed…. After all that, it was only Mabel and Henry in their bedroom.
Henry swallowed as Mabel got ready for bed, braiding her hair, slipping on one of his old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pajama pants. There was no need to be nervous, he reminded himself for the hundredth time; Mabel loved him and even if she didn’t care for this gift, it wasn’t like it was going to destroy their relationship or anything silly like that.
Mabel did her nightly “jump on the bed and send all the pillows flying off” plop next to her husband.
“I…I got one more present for you,” Henry finally managed to get out. Mabel cocked her head at him.
“Ohhhh?”
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Mabel did so, and Henry fished under the bed for the gift. He placed it in Mabel’s hands, and she opened her eyes before Henry had a chance to say so.
It was a large book, about the size of most photo albums, and bound in simple brown leather. On the cover was the only picture they had gotten of all seven of them in the hospital the day the kids were born; Dipper had been physical for most of that day after the kids were delivered but it had been tricky finding someone to take a picture that included a demon.
A soft sigh of surprise escaped Mabel’s lips. “Oh Henry-”
She opened the book. Inside were pictures that he had taken while she was pregnant, records of doctor’s visits and ultrasounds, guest lists from the three separate baby showers that had been thrown. There was Mabel asleep on the couch, Dipper curled protectively around her stomach. Mabel, floating in the town lake at eight months, looking like a big stripey beach ball with legs and brown hair attached.
Then the color of the pages changed from light blue to a pale yellow, the first yellow page showing Mabel getting ready to be wheeled into the operating room, a wan looking Henry decked out in scrubs following near by. Tiny tufts of hair gently clipped and placed in small plastic bags that were attached to the page. Four hospital id bracelets; one large and the other three impossibly tiny.
Tears tracked down Mabel’s face as she went past pages that recorded monthly statistics about their children’s growth and development. Pictures of Dipper holding all three of them in his arms at once and blowing blue fire to make them giggle, of Stan rocking Hank to sleep, of Mabel burbling Acacia’s belly.
Finally she reached the end where there was a spate of blank pages. She looked at Henry.
“I can’t really scrapbook, so I left those for you to keep going if you wanted,” Henry explained.
Mabel looked at the scrapbook he had spent the past year making, then up at her husband, then burst into tears.
“Oh gosh, Mabes are you okay sweetie? Did I get something wrong? Did-”
Mabel quieted him by planting her lips on his and proceeded to give him the biggest, sloppiest kiss he had had since their wedding.
She pulled him into a rib breaking hug.
“You are ridiculous,” she said, her voice muffled in his chest and stuffed up with snot and tears. “This is the most amazing, wondrous, fantabulous present I’ve ever gotten. I…Henry…”
It wasn’t often that Mabel was at a loss for words, and Henry marvelled that he had done that to her.
“I love you, you ridiculous ginger moose. Thank you so much. This is… this is the best birthday gift I have ever gotten.”
She looked down at the book in her hands, and then shyly looked back at her husband.
“And if you want to, I think you should keep adding too it.”
In the TAU chat it was mentioned that Henry doesn’t have a star name.
I did some digging, found the perfect constellation for him, and thought up a rough little scenario. If someone wants to fic this they’re welcome.
• It’s well known that Mabel’s true name is Mizar, and Mabel and Henry of course know what Alcor has decided to bestow upon the triplets • but Henry doesn’t know if he has a ‘true’ name • he just assumes it’s his own name or something • but then one day Dipdop accidentally lets slip the name, “Sarva” when talking to/about Henry or something and Henry’s like ??? • Henry asks Dipper what this is but Dipper won’t tell him. • so he consults the library to try to find out about what this could be • he looks in constellation books because he knows alcor names people after stars and constellations • he looks in typical western mythology and constellation books but can’t find a sign of it • eventually he turns to Arabic, Chinese, Egyptian, Native American mythologies and constellation myths, but he still can’t find anything and it’s beginning to bother him • is he gonna have to look through every mythology on earth? did Alcor just pick some random name? • but then finally he finds a little slim book, dusty and obscure, about Lapland and Sami mythology • he skims through it, really bored of the search by now • not really expecting to find anything, but then there it is. • Sarva. • The Moose. • Dammit Dipper
I did some research on the other star names as well and drew this picture! (Mizar’s girdle has 3 large pendants and 3 small ones for the adults and triplets respectively!)
“Grunkle Stan?! Grunkle Stan where are you? I got a guy named Big Lou on the line for you in the Library and he sounds kind of mad and oh-!”
Mabel peered at her great-uncle, who was currently sitting at the desk in his office. He was looking at a large picture frame in his hand, bright pink and glitter, and didn’t seem to notice that Mabel was standing in the doorway. Mabel had made the frame for him for Stan’s birthday a few years ago, putting together several pictures that had been scattered around the house.
There was Stan and her and Dipper on his crappy old fishing boat. Her in a gown and robes, and a corporeal Dipper crying golden tears the day she graduated high school. There was Stan on the day of their wedding, eyes suspiciously red as he stood in between her and Henry. Grunkle Stan holding the triplets in the hospital, tiny heads capped with two green caps and one yellow cap popping out of his arms. Grunkle Stan and the triplets all covered in chocolate cake and whipped cream at their third birthday party.
And a picture she had found in the cracks of the parlor floorboards, of Grunkle Stan and his brother, sunburnt and standing next to a wreck of a boat, the words “Stan-o-war” freshly painted on.
Mabel had a feeling that she knew what was wrong.
“They won’t stay mad at each other forever, you know?” she said quietly, finally getting his attention. His head shot up and he stared at her.
“What are you talking about kid?” he asked, playing dumb.
“The kids. They’ll get over it in like, an hour, and be back to normal, I promise.” From what Mabel could tell when she had gone into the living room to break the three of them up, Willow and Acacia had gotten into a fight over who could have the last of the red gummy bears in the bag. Hank had tried to intervene by reaching in and stuffing all of them in his mouth, which made perfect sense to her son, but only made his sisters turn on him. Mabel had heard the sound of their squabbling all the way across the Shack, and had to leave her desk for a second to break them up. Currently there were three very upset five year olds positioned in time out in the corners of the living room. She planned on giving them a few minutes to stew, before letting them free. Mabel hadn’t realized that Stan must have heard them fighting from his office.
Grunkle Stan said nothing, but Mabel noticed his thumb rub the corner where she had put the picture of him and Ford. She went on.
“Yup, they’re just like me and Dipper at that age. Did I tell you about the time we were fighting over who got to play with the cool Barbie, and we both fell down the stairs because we were in the hall?” Mabel forced a laugh. “Scared the flip flop out of Mom, I can tell you that!”
He harrumphed. “Sweetie, I’m not stupid, I know kids fight, sheesh, tell me something new.” But Mabel could see his hands tighten on the frame and shake a bit. She sighed. They could dance around in circles for an hour because Stan Didn’t Talk About Feelings or she could be blunt. She chose blunt.
“They’re not going to end up like you and Ford.”
Grunkle Stan snorted. “I wasn’t worried about that at all; hey did I hear the phone ringing in the Library I can go get that-”
Stan put down the picture frame and got up from his desk, but before he even had stepped around, Mabel’s arm had shot out, barring the doorway.
“I mean it Grunkle Stan. I know it sc-” She thought about her Grunkle, and chose a different word instead. “-worries you when the triplets yell at each other. But they will never end up like you and your brother, I promise.”
Stan looked away, and rubbed a hand over his face. Quietly he said “I didn’t think we’d end up that way but we did.”
“Yeah but you know what the kids have that you two didn’t?” She pointed at herself with both thumbs. “MABEL!”
A weak smile broke on Stan’s face despite his best efforts. Mabel launched herself at him and grabbed her great-uncle in a massive hug.
“Mabel, kiddo you’re going to break my ribs-”
She let him go and poked him in the stomach. “The kids will be fine because you and me and Henry and Dipper….we make sure to let each of them know that they’re special in their own way, that we love them for them, we don’t compare them or make them feel like crap or any of that.”
The term “unlike your parents” lingered in the air, unsaid but understood.
Stan rubbed the back of his head, still obviously not completely convinced. Mabel smiled softly and took her grunkle by the hand.
“Here, I’ll show you.”
They made their way quietly though the house and to the living room. They peeked through the door way. All but one corner held a small red-head looking both at the wall and not as sorry as Mabel would have liked, but eh, they were five.
“Will. Case.” Hank said from his corner. “Guess what?”
Willow snerked. “What Hank?”
Hank paused for a second and then whispered, “Butts.”
Both his sisters broke out into furious giggles and he joined them. They calmed down, and then Acacia said, “Guess what?”
“What?”
“….double butts.”
The three of them burst into simultaneous peals of laughter, and Mabel looked at Stan. His eyes looked suspiciously moist, and Mabel pretended not to notice.
She put her hand into one of Stan’s.
“They’ll be fine because they got us, and they got each other. Now go pick up the phone while I let them out of time out. Pretty sure Big Lou just got even madder waiting for us.”
Hey! It’s the grand finale of the “Sense Of Humor” saga! Melancholia goes batshit, makes some terrible decisions, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. So sit back and enjoy!
—————————
Melancholia was going to die today. He was certain of it. He’d only been around for a couple years now, but to be entirely honest, he could care less. Part of the point of Melancolia was STUDY. Over the centuries, generations and generations of his forebearers had learned as much as they could. Not like Phlegmus, who learned to USE her knowledge and effect the world. Melancholias learned so that they could horde away the knowledge, preserve it forever like stones in the Earth’s heart.
He would die today. You didn’t just flaunt the Dreambender and expect things to end well. But it was all in the name of knowledge. Preserving it until the very universe itself collapsed in on itself at the end of time.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
—————————
The time for subtlety had passed. The Pines were on edge now, after the story of the three dead bodies, one leaking the same mysterious substance that had nearly killed Henry all those months ago. They knew something was stalking them, had told Alcor, and now they hoped they were safe.
When the stones had risen from the very earth around the Mystery Shack and began smashing down walls like Gaia herself had had enough, and tarry mud bubbled through the gaps left, they weren’t as surprised as many would be in such a situation.
When the mud coalesced into a form akin to a large, earthen beast, complete with flowing pine-needle fur and fangs of solid obsidian, they were even less surprised.
And when the creature began speaking in the voice of that same dead waiter from last week (granted, with heavy demonic distortion), they were so unsurprised it was surprising.
H͘Ę͘L̀L͞O.̸̛ ̶I̴’͞͝M ̧̛͡Ǵ͝O̡͜͏I͟N҉G̵̡ ̵́T̴͠͡O̶͞͡ ͏̶̧N̡EE̡͢͡D ̡T̢̧̢O̧͢ B̧҉̡O͟R̨R̨̕OW ̸͘M͞Á̕͜BĘ͠͏L̛͡͝ ͘F̛ƠŖ́ ̴́A̸̛ ̴M͟͝O͠M̴E͜N͟͡T͢͟.́͠Melancholia managed to get out through his new beastly form’s mouth…
“Go back to hell!” Mabel’s voice called out from within the house, shortly before a heavy explosive impacted into Melancholia’s muck and blew his construct’s head into a spray of tar and stone. The headless construct stood there a moment, as if considering its new lack of a head, before a sigh emanated from within it.
O̶k̀͜à͠y̡,̀͠ ͟s̸̡̢o͟ ̡͜͠it̷͝’̢͘ś̴ ̨͜͜g̡ǫn̡n̛͘͠a̢ ̢͞͝be ͘li̶̴k̷̶e ̸th͜͠i̧ş̵̕.̢. The beast rumbled, shortly before reforming a head and opening its mouth wide, several tendrils of thick mud oozing into the house and probing wildly. In a few moments, Henry and Mabel were caught in the tendrils and dragged outside.
Ş́è͠e̛,̶ ͞I ̶d̛i̡d̸̕ń̛͝’́͜t ̴͢w̛͢àn̨̛t̴ ̧͘t̡̀͟o̴͢ ̷͢d͜ǫ̷̶ t͘h̢i͞s̴̶.͘ ̢A͢l̷͡l ҉͘I͞͡ ̧͝w̡a̶s̴͞ g̶͏ǫ҉nn̢̛a ͏͝d͜o̵̷ ́w̷̶as̸̵ ͡a͟ ļi̴t̸t̸͘͠l͏͜͡e̢͝ ́pó͏ś̷śe̷ş͡s̷͢͟i҉̢o̕n̨,̢͜͝ ̵͘j̶̕usţ͘͝ ţ͝ơ ̧̡ş̨e̷̷͟e̸̷ ̴̡͡w̡ḩ͘̕a͝t̵͠’̨d̀́ ͢h̛a̡͡p͜͜͞pe͠͝ņ͏.̴͏Melancholia said, almost sounding a bit regretful through his demonic roaring.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you…” Mabel said, struggling against the thick muck holding her in place and severely hampering her movement, “But people don’t generally like being possessed!”
Henry chimed in. “Yknow, considering you almost killed me and all, I feel the need to back her up.”
Melancholia was silent a moment, before a single eye rose from the muck, considering Henry carefully. Perhaps trying to drudge up a memory through his insane fervor for knowledge, even though he’d seen the man less than a week ago.
It was all the gap Henry needed. In a moment, the Huntsman was out, and the tendril holding Henry in place was severed, dropping to the ground with a “SPLAT” akin to a dropped punch-bowl full of pudding.
O̡͘h,̵̸̀ ͡w̧o̧̡͢w,̛̀͘ ҉g͜͏̡ǫ̶͠s̴̛h̕,̕ ̷́th͠a͘̕͢t̀̕ ̀̕w̵as̷̴͠ ̨͢͝i̵m͜͠p͘o̡l̵i͠t͡҉e͘.̡͟Melancholia rumbled, the eye now examining the sludge-covered Woodsman. B͟u͜t̵͢ ͏g̨͘u͠͞e̛s͢s̴͘ ẃ͡h͏͝͡at,̷͢ ͏̧͢do̡͝͡e͠-̨̕͞boy̴̕?̵ Ỳ̶̕o̢ư’̶̷r͝e̕҉̕ ͡nót҉ o̢n ̴̨y̵͞o͏̶́u̢͡ŗ̸̷ h̨͝om̸e҉ ̶̀͞t̵͘u͘͜͞r͟f͟͝ ̡a̶̴͝ny̴m̴o̸̷ŗ̀e̡̢͝.̡́͡ ͢Bĺàćk B̸̢i͟͠l̸̴͡e̵̸ ͘͡͠r̨e͝͠p͢r҉͟͜ese͠nt̨̡s͟͝ ̧t͞͠h͢e̢̡͝ ̶͏Ȩ̢͡a̡r̷ţ̛́h͞͡.̛͟The voice continued, a perverse grin spreading across the construct’s muddy face. Y͜͠o̢̕u̧’̢r̢͡͝é͏̶ ͝p̷͟͞la̸̢yįn҉g̡̛̀ ̷b̢y̵̢҉ ̕M͢Y̛ ̢r͟u͝l̡e̶̛s͏̢,̢ ̢͜n͠o̸̡͞w!̴̷̕
Spires of stone began to erupt from the ground, seeking to impale the Woodsman and nip this issue in the bud. But Henry was much more graceful than he looked, dodging the spires with ease and hacking at the construct, hardening the mud to dirt through the heat of the flames.
Mabel, taking advantage of this distraction, managed to free an arm from the sludge, grappling hook in grasp. At which point, in a rather shrewd tactical move, she fired the hook at the exposed eye on the construct. It burst on impact, watery black bile gushing from the ruined ocular orb.
S͡ƠN̵̕ O͢F͏̸ ̢͢͠A͟ ̕BI̵TC̸̛H!̨Melancholia screamed, his tendril releasing Mabel and dropping her to the ground.
The Woodsman was putting up a rather admirable fight against the beast, even with its great size and seemingly limitless supplies of mud to work with. Several limbs had been hacked off, and in its rush to replace them the beast was depleting its supplies of mud, gradually growing smaller. In a few moments, it may be small enough to banish or otherwise take care of…
Until, of course, Melancholia pulled out his trump card. Three tendrils whipped out of the beast, and crashed through the attic window. When the triplets screamed, both Henry and Mabel stopped what they were doing. A sick grin spread across Melancholia’s face as he dragged them from the attic, barely noticing or caring as a shard of glass sliced across Acacia’s face, dangerously close to her eye.
“A̕l҉͝r̡̛̀ig̀͠hţ͘,͞ ̡I͘͝ d́́ìd͟n͘’̴̢̕t̢ ͜͞ẁa͢n̵̨͟t͏ ̵͘͡t̷̢͟o͏́ ̛͠d̶̢o͟҉ t̶his.̵̕͢ I͞ ̧͘r͠e̴͝a̧͞l͞͏lỳ̨ d̡͜i̸̶̕d́ņ’͝t̴̛͟.̢”Melancholia began, waving a tendril like some would wave an arm. “B͟͡u͠t ͘͠A̵̶Ṕ̡̨P̀AR͢Ȩ̷Ǹ̴TL͡Y ̡̨́t͡h̀҉̢e ̶͟͠t̛͡͏w̢͞o ͠of ҉̛y̷o͏̢͏u̸̕ ͝j̶̵̀u̡͘s҉t ̀͞d͝ǫn͜͝’́t ̸͢͝f̸̶͜e͡e̵l̸ ̨͢l̕i̷̢͏ķ͞e͡ ̢c͢͝ơ͟ó̸p͟҉e͏̢r̷̀̀a̛t̡͞ing̛.͢ ̕͝Į̷t’ś͡ ͞͠ki͠n̡d̷a̶͠ ͡s̸͟͠ad̷͢,̸́͘ r̕ea҉l͜ly̡̡͘.̨̕͡”Melancholia continued.
He looked over the triplets critically, like the small humans were some disgusting insect instead of children. Eventually, he brought the tendril holding Hank directly up to his mouth, the jagged stone teeth dangerously close to the child. “Ņow, ̨ęi͠t͘her ͞th̷e bo͡th ̨of ͡y̵ou̴ s͢t̕aǹd̸ ̛d͞own̸,҉ ͜o͟r Į ̸bi̕te ̸H̢uḿan ̸J͡r͜ h̨er͏e’̵s ͏head u͜n̕t͟i͘l͝ ̕I hit ͏gr̕áy mat͞t͏er.̛ T̸hér̢e̢’s ̷more tha̧n̴ ͡on͏ę way ̵t͜o ̷gąin ͘kn͘ow̛l҉ed̡g̀e,̵ ͡and͡ ͢Í’̕m̵ n͢ot ́p͘ic̡k͏y̢.̛”
For one terrible moment, it looked like he was about to follow up on his threat. Until, of course, a single, dangerous voice sounded from behind Melancholia.
“P͡ut̀ ͝h҉im͏ ̶D͡ÒWN,̡ ͟M̨e̵l҉an͞ch̀o̶li̴a.“ Alcor said. His voice dripped with sheer fury and hatred, as if he was restraining himself from blowing the beast to pieces right then and there.
In a moment, the triplets were on the ground, and Melancholia had turned to face Alcor. ”Oh͟, ̸wow̕, ̨s͝h҉o͠u̢l͝d’̛v̢e͜ see͠n̡ t̶his ͠c͜o̵m͜i̕n̡g.̛ ͘Look,͟ ̢Al͢cor͞, I ju͢st ̛w͘a͜nted͡ t͢o ̷t͟r͟y̷ ̢somȩth͜ing, and ̛t͠he̸n̕ I͞’ll b҉e̴ ͡on̛ ͟m̨y̵ ̢w̵ay.͢”
“L҉̶̸͢e̶̢̧a̵̶҉v͜͠è͞.̵̴̨̨ ̀́͢͟͞N͘͟o҉̸w̛͢.̨́" Alcor’s voice was quiet and level, but there was such venom in it that it was a miracle Melancholia didn’t drop dead hearing it.
”P̀le̡a͡s͏e,̷ ͘A̴l͡c͝or, a͡ seņs͘ib͢le ̶d͢e̴m͠on͡ ҉l͠ik͢e y̨o͢ur͘śel̴f̀ M̴U͡ST͘ ̸see t̢he̵ im҉p̡o͡r̵ta͞n͞çę ͜in͞ ̴k͏nowl͡e͞dg͢e!“Melancholia stated, condescendingly, as if he couldn’t BELIEVE that Alcor was just being so UNREASONABLE. ”It’̛s͠ a͝n éxp̶e͜ŕi͘men҉t!͞"
Alcor was fuming so hard it was a small miracle steam wasn’t coming out of his ears. “G̢͘E̶̛͟͢T̷́͜͞͞ ͞͡Ơ̷U̢T̢҉!̨̡̛͘”
Melancholia laughed. “W͜h͡a͟t, d҉ò y͢ou͝ ͜th̴ink te̡l҉lin̨g͏ m̛e̶ ̡to̢ go҉ ̸wi͢ll̕ ҉ju̴s̶t ͞makę ̡it all̴ bétt̢èr?̨ That͏ a͠f̛ter I’̕m͢ ͝g͞o̷ne ̧n͟obòdy’s͘ ͢e̴ver gon̷n͏a WON̸DE͠R͟?”Melancholia laughed again, a harsh titter that pointed to how much he’d lost it. “Ýou’́r͝e a̷n ̴a̶n̵om̀a̸l͞y,̛ ̧Alc̕o͘r!҉ A̶ d̴am͘ņ f͟a͟s̴c͘ina͞ting͝ ͜one,́ ͢t҉o͜o!̕ ̢You͞’r̴e ̕a ̵com͏p̷lete ̡out͏l͜ier!͢ E͡ve͘r͏y͝thin͞g ҉w̛e k̛now͜ i͞s w̛r͢o̡ng, and̴ ͏y̶ou’re̵ t̢h͟ę o̷n̛e̶ ͜wh́o ̷sh͟owed́ us̶!̨”The laughter continued, growing in volume, getting more jovial, until eventually Melancholia’s form was wracked with full belly-laughs. “G̸o ҉on̛ ̢a̵h҉èa̧d!͟ ͜K̨i̡l͘l͝ ̷me! ͜T̀here’l͘l̵ ̵b̡e ͠ot͏he̸r͘s! ̵So̴ ̨m̨any ҉others̢ ͏l͘o͠o͜kinǵ t͟ò ͢LEA̸R͜N̛ and ͡ŚEE ͜and͏ ͟U̧N̶DE͢R͞STA͘N͞D! ͢You̡’͏v͜e ҉d͘am̴n͢ed ̵th̶em͞ wìth͜ ͏ýo͡u҉r ̕v̧er͟y̧ exi̡ste҉n̨ce, ̧Alcor̀,͝ ̡an̢d Į’͢m o͏nly͏ ̀t͠hé ̛b̵egi̕n̸n̷ing͏. T̵hi̧s i̸s̕ your͜ fa͞ųlt,́ Ąl̵ço҉r̨. ͟Y̸ou̴rs.́”
Before anyone could react, Melancholia suddenly lunged for Mabel, mouth wide open, intent on biting her in half. If he couldn’t understand, nobody could!
Until he was stopped in his tracks by a flaming spear of sheer demonic energy, directly through the beast’s head. While this would normally be no problem to the construct, the spear, being formed of pure demonic energy, is more than enough to mortally wound Melancholia.
The construct stands for a moment, before completely dissolving, flooding the area with thick mud and large shards of stone. The only living remnant a small pool of black bile, bubbling and steaming.
“Is… is this what death feels like?”Melancholia’s voice sounded, surprisingly small and childlike. “Oh my god… it’s… fascinating… I… think I get itnow…”A single eye floated to the surface of the pool, examining Mabel closely. “I don’t think I can apologize… but I think it’s alright. I UNDERSTAND… I finally…understand…”
Somehow, everyone was aware when Melancholia finally died. A sensation akin to a great weight lifting off everyone’s shoulders. They felt… happier. They hadn’t really noticed the sensations of sorrow and desperation pervading the area, but it was gone now. Melancholia was well and truly dead. The bile he was formed of churned for a moment, bubbling intensely like it was about to blow, before sinking into the earth and disappearing.
————————————–
Hours later, or possibly days or even months, the new Melancholia opened her eyes. Rising in her true, beautiful form, she examined her surroundings. So this was life, huh? Fascinating. She’d need to learn more.
Suddenly, there was a polite voice, clearing their throat, as if they’d been waiting for her to get acclimated. “Uh, hey, new Melancholia? I’m Chole. We need to talk…”
Dipper didn’t take his object form too often. It made him think of another floating object, and the less he thought about Bill, the better.
That being said, it was useful at times. People saw a floating star and underestimated him, let their guards down, made it easier to wheel and deal and trick them…
Like now for instance.
“G̵̡lob̕al̀ do̡͝ḿ͡í̛n҉a̧͟t̡͜io̡͝ǹ͜ ͏̵e̢͝h͞?̧” he said, looking at the supplicant kneeling on the floor. Honestly, this was way too easy, even in this form. Dipper couldn’t wait to see the look on this dude’s face when he delivered in the form of basketballs and snow globes and-
His whole body thrummed as he felt Mabel yanking on the link between them, trying to get his attention.
“
Ho͝ld ́on̴ a s҉ećond̛; ̧I ͠ńe̢e͢d ̷to ͠p͞rep͟aŗe̛ my̕se͏lf̷ ̀for ͝a ţas͞k͞ ̧of ͘tḩi҉s͏ ͢m̀ag͜ņítu̶d̸e,” Dipper told the kneeling man on the floor, lying through his teeth.
“Is everything okay Mabel?” Dipper asked so only they could hear. “I’m kind of in the middle of something-”
“What did you give them?”
“Excuse me?”
Mabel’s voice was low and cold. “I said, what did you give the kids?”
Dipper’s mind raced, trying to remember what had happened so far today. He had gotten the triplets out of bed, helped them shower and brush their teeth, got them into their clothes, made breakfast and because they had been so good-
“Um, I found some of your leftover Smile Dip and I let them have it because they’d been good all morning and-”
“You gave them what?”
In the background Dipper could hear crashing and screaming.
“Is everything okay Mabes?” Dipper tentatively asked, having a feeling that his twin was about to chew his ass out.
Her breathing was audible over their connection, even though he was currently somewhere in Florida.
“Brother,” Mabel began sweetly. He was fucked.
A voice from behind and below him asked, “Um, is now a bad time my Lord?” Dipper covered the image of his sister’s face, ignoring her indignant squeak, and turned around.
“
Pat͟i͞en͡ce.͏..u͝n̸le͜s҉s yo͟ư ̀d͠o͏n’͏t͘ ̛wàn̛t ̕t͢o rųl͡e ̨t̶he gl͝o̶be?” he replied tersely. The summoner squeaked and went back to bowing deeply. That taken care of he turned back to his call.
“Dipper,” Mabel continued in that falsely calm voice, “there’s a reason we don’t give the three year olds much sugar. Let alone high octane sparkly pink and blue explosion sugar that’s banned in three countries.”
He winced. “Um, I can-”
“It wasn’t even lying out! I put it on the one shelf they haven’t figured out how to climb up and reach yet! What made you think it was okay to give it to the triplets?!”
“Well, they were really being well behaved-”
Mabel usually wasn’t one to lose her temper but at these words she snapped.
“They aren’t now Mister Man! Acacia has been running around the house and climbing on everything and she’s already knocked down every chair in the house. Hank wants to beat on everything to make music and he keeps thumping on the walls and the floors and almost all the researchers in the Library have left for the day! And it’s long past time for Willow’s nap and she’s been crying because she’s tired but can’t sleep for half an hour and-”
Mabel took a deep breath.
“I know you’re the uncle and that means you do fun cool stuff with the triplets, but just, I don’t know, maybe think next time?”
“I’m….Mabel, I’m sorry. I just, they were being so sweet this morning, and I couldn’t find the grapes you have for them and..and…”
His wings drooped.
“Hey,” Mabel went on, voice slightly softer now. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes. I’m sorry I went off on you.”
Dipper smiled (though in this form, that just meant he glowed brighter.) “Well, I did kind of deserve it. How can I make it up to you?”
“Get your butt back here as soon as possible and help me wrangle your nieces and nephew.”
“Can do,” he replied, and hung up.
Dipper turned back to his summoner, who by now was quivering not only with anticipation, but with the effort of holding one really awkward position for a long time.
“
À̤͙͚̬͇̗r͏͇e̜͓̬̪̥͔ ͉̼̱͔̩͔͡y̭̯̞̪o̺̖͝ư̗̫ ̧̳̥̠̼ṛ̮̟̞͇͉ȩàḍ̸̤̤y͓̱͟?̭̬͞ ̧̮̰̪
“ Dipper asked. Oh this was going to be excellent–
(The energy he received from the deal came in handy when he got home and spent the next seven hours chasing three over excited toddlers around the Shack.
Dipper swore to himself never to give the kids Smile Dip again, and then broke his promise a year or two later).
When the kids were
seventeen, they had taken the seeds from one of Henry’s apples and buried them
out back, to see if they would grow. Mabel wasn’t sure what surprised them all
more-that they sprouted at all or how fast they had grown. In two years there
was a mature tree in their yard bearing fruit. Countless pies, sauces, butters,
and gallons of juice had been made from the apples that had burst off of that
tree. Picnics and parties and the occasional night outside all held under the
increasingly large canopy of the apple tree.
When it came time to bury
Henry there had been absolutely zero question as to where they would lay him to
rest.
Mabel shoveled another
heap of dirt into the hole where they had buried her husband. When she had told
the kids and Dipper what she wanted to do, they tried to talk her out of it at
first. It had lasted all of two minutes before the four of them backed down.
The dirt, the work, was
far, far lighter than she had thought it would be, the labor not wrecking her
body like she had expected. Too late she had remembered that Dipper had been
the one to give her the shovel.
Well.
She shouldn’t blame him.
And it wasn’t like she
had a death wish (right? Right.)
Inside the Shack, the
wake was raging, the beams of the old cabin shaking with music and tears and
laughter and stories and their horde of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
There had been a service, and Mabel had to guess that it was a good one. She
hadn’t heard a word of it, hadn’t heard her children or grandchildren speak,
hadn’t felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder the whole time.
All of her attention had
been focused on the simple coffin that was slowly but surely lowered into the
ground.
The triplets and Dipper
had tried to stay out here with her, but her stony silence had sent them in one
by one, until she was left alone under the apple tree, a shovel and a pile of
dirt to keep her company.
She was being selfish, a
part of her knew this. She knew Acacia and Hank and Willow were reeling as much
as she was, the loss of their father as much of a gaping hole for them as it
was for her. A tiny part of her was
worried that she was rubbing it in Dipper’s face, that one day it would be him crying
over her grave while she went on.
That part of her was only
a small part though. Today she didn’t want to be smiley happy Mabel, Mabel who
put others first.
Today it was only her and
her grief and her husband in the fucking ground, dead.
The last shovelful of
dirt landed in the pile, and she patted the dirt down flat with the shovel.
She looked at the turned
earth at her feet, another firm reminder that she and Henry were now
permanently apart. Another reminder that his body slept below and his soul was
somewhere else being welcomed back into the world. Dipper had offered, shyly
and hesitantly, to let her know who Henry was now, but she had gently turned
him down. Henry was on his next adventure now, and it was good enough to know thanks
to Dipper that he had been born to a family who loved him (or rather, her now)
dearly.
That was little to no
comfort right now to be honest.
She felt her knees begin
to give out under her, and she lowered herself to the ground, laying her back
against the trunk of Henry’s tree before she lost control and hurt herself.
Eyes that had remained dry throughout the whole ceremony suddenly weren’t, and
huge, heaving sobs began to tear out of her body.
He was gone. Her husband
was gone and Mabel was left with the stone cold certainty that it wasn’t
supposed to be this way, that they were supposed to have gone together.
They were supposed to
have gone together, but he had burnt himself out, flaming higher and higher
until she had fallen asleep to the usual sound of his rapid heartbeat and woke
up to see his chest failing to rise, a smile on his face and his eyes closed
permanently. in
At some point she had
toppled over and her face was lying in the dirt as she sobbed, and it was
probably very melodramatic but Mabel didn’t care anymore. Logically, in the
back of her mind, she knew that she was going to get up at some point and go into
the Shack. Get up and comfort her children. Get up and keep on living because
that was what Henry would have wanted.
But here and now, she had
lost Henry, and it felt like she had lost half of who she was, more than half
honestly. He had been her rock, her shelter for sixty years and Mabel had no
idea what she was going to do without him.
Under his tree she curled
up into as much as a ball as she could at her age. Fuck everything and everyone
else, all she wanted to do now was die, wanted her body to sink in the ground
and join his, wanted to go to sleep and never wake up and maybe find herself
where he was….
An apple hit her on the
head and drew her out of her thoughts.
“Owwww.” Mabel rubbed her
head and she knew there’d be a big lump on her skull come morning.
She picked up the apple,
massive and ruby red in her hands. Mabel looked at it for a minute, noticing
every pit in its skin, the sign of the elements writ large on it.
A laugh tore out of her,
despite everything that had happened in the past week.
“I am being a goof aren’t I?” Mabel spoke out loud, a laugh coming to
the surface even through her tears.
She took a bite out of
the apple, winced at the horribly bitter taste of the skin, moaned at the
sweetness of the flesh.
Mabel wasn’t over this.
She never would be.
But in the house was her
brother, and she could feel the worry coming off of him in waves. There were
her children, who were as lost as she was. And there were the grandkids who
were worried that they’d lose her as well as Pop Pop.
Mabel knew that she would
spend another hour or two prostrate in the dirt, like she knew she would again
and again over the next few weeks, hell even the next few months.
But it was for them that
she would pick herself up and keep on going.
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