#-- 'if every time you said 'diet coke!' a diet coke immediately manifested in your hand you would become an asshole too'

[wyldblunt]

i feel like with the way we talk about our co-commanders it comes off that glyndwr is always the squalling tantrum-throwing impossible-to-work-with workplace diva and in comparison alan is a beatific ever-smiling angel endlessly cleaning up everyone's messes. In The Name Of Duty. but i feel it's important to know that alan also absolutely 100% has Main Character Syndrome he is just much better at repressing it

[utukkigirl]

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues, Chapter 7

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues A Gravity Falls Fanfic by Krista Perry I own nothing.

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Chapter Seven

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 Dipper woke, gasping, sitting up in his bed, clutching the front of his shirt as his heart nearly beat out of his chest, and immediately scrambled to his feet, jumping to the floor, getting ready to run. There was a threat, there was danger, he heard that dark laugh, he could smell death…

He blinked. He was in the attic. He turned around in a circle, tensed, breathing hard, eyes searching for a threat that was suddenly not there. “What…” he whispered, confused.

And then, as his adrenaline ebbed slightly, he realized. He hadn’t woken up. He had fallen asleep, and he was in his mindscape.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was so confusing. One moment, he was a deer. He was with Mabel and… and a woman who could only be a magic forest creature of some kind, if her strange wooden skin and green hair were any indication. They were going somewhere. Mabel had wrapped him in a blanket and put him in her backpack, and how weird was it that he was small enough to fit in her backpack?

Mabel had put on the backpack, and he could feel the solid, comforting warmth of her back through the fabric. He had poked his head out from underneath the flap as they went out the back porch, and then….

… then he had heard that terrible demonic chuckle, had smelled the stench of an unnatural predator, and panic had flooded his simple deer brain. He had thrashed frantically, desperate to get away, to escape, but suddenly Mabel was there trying to hold him still, and the wood woman put her hand on his head and…

And now he was here. Asleep. Standing in the Shack’s attic in his mindscape with an out-of-control flight instinct still rushing through him, urging him to run from a threat he was incapable of escaping, since it existed in the waking world.

That magic forest lady had touched his head and put him to sleep against his will, and he suddenly realized he probably couldn’t wake up right now even if he wanted to.

And that threat was still out there, and Mabel was still out there, and he didn’t have any way to warn her, because she and that forest lady thought he was just a dumb deer having a freak out. Augh! Dipper pulled at his hair in frustration. What was he supposed to do now?

Well, he couldn’t just stand around here, that was for sure. He felt jittery with excess energy and the absolute need to be moving. He rushed out the attic bedroom door…

…and found himself in the upstairs hallway of his home in Piedmont.

He was facing the bathroom across the hall from his and Mabel’s bedroom. He turned around, only to see the battered open door and attic bedroom of the Shack instead of the regular bedroom that usually occupied that space. Interesting. Did that mean he had come to view the attic as more of his real bedroom than the one at home?

His heartbeat slowed and his breathing came easier as he found himself in the place he had grown up; a place that always meant comfort and safety and family. He hadn’t been homesick at all during his stay at Gravity Falls because there were so many mysteries, so many things to discover and explore. But now, as he thought about his current predicament, and realized he might never see his home again -- might never see his parents again – he was hit with a wave of homesickness so painful and overwhelming, he felt like throwing up.

And he could hear voices in the house. Familiar voices. Welcome voices. He took a few steps down the hall to the next room – a room that was supposed to be his sometime in the future when his parents decided he and Mabel were too old to share a room. But he opened the door and found the room as he left it -- filled with shelves and stacks of old books. Books his mom had never had the heart to part with and put up for sale at The Literate Owl, the second-hand bookstore she owned on Piedmont Avenue.

And there she was, a mere ghost of a memory, wearing mom-jeans and her favorite vintage Duran Duran World Tour 1987 t-shirt, her long brown hair piled up in a messy bun stuck through with a knitting needle. She was pulling an old hardback off the shelf and turning to hand it to a younger him, who was probably eight or nine from the look of him.

“Here you go, hon,” she said, and Dipper watched his younger self take it reverently.

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” his younger self read, then looked up at Mom. “You think I’m ready for this?”

Mom laughed. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings, and had the audacity to tackle The Silmarillion.” She reached down and ruffled his hair. “I think it’s safe to say you can handle this, my brilliant boy.”

Young Dipper grinned up at her with delight, and Dipper had to close the door against them both, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat and the deep, hollow ache in his chest.

He could hear more voices, more memories, manifesting throughout the house and, for a moment, Dipper considered retreating to the attic bedroom.

But no. Though his pulse was slowing back to normal, he was restless. He didn’t want to be stuck in the attic, waiting for who knows how long until he could wake from a magic-induced sleep, just to be a stupid baby animal again.

So he turned the hall corner, and there was the little alcove with a window bench, covered in skeins of multi-colored yarn and bathed in morning sunlight. Mabel sat on the bench, alternately humming and singing a song from some boy band while she knitted something that was probably a sweater for one of her stuffed animals.

“Mabel?” he said, hesitant hope sparking in him.

But she didn’t acknowledge him. She just kept swaying in time to the music in her head while she knit.

Dipper frowned. “Mabel?” he tried again, walking closer. He had been able to interact with memory-Stan when they were in his mindscape. Why wasn’t this working? He didn’t care if this Mabel was just a memory, he really needed to talk to someone. When she still didn’t respond, he walked right up next to her and waved his hand in front of her face. “Mabel, come on, please—“

He broke off as his hand passed right through her.

He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump. Great. Even his memories that weren’t hiding behind doors were intangible and non-responsive. This just got better and better.

Beyond the alcove were the stairs that led to the main floor, and across the hall from the stairs was his parents’ bedroom. He was planning to skip that door and just go downstairs, but to his surprise, the door was already open. Unable to squash his curiosity, he looked inside.

There, inside the room, crouched on either side of the French doors that led to a small balcony, were him and Mabel, eavesdropping on the conversation their parents were having just outside.

Dipper huffed a short laugh. This memory was fresh, from just before the start of summer. Still, it would be interesting to re-live it, knowing what he knew now, so he walked right up to the French doors. The Dipper and Mabel on either side of him were straining to hear Mom and Dad, casting meaningful glances as each other, right through him. Talk about feeling invisible.

Mom and Dad were lounging on deck chairs, watching the sun set.

“I don’t know,” Mom said, sipping her Diet Coke. “I can see a couple of weeks, or even a month, but… the whole summer? I know Uncle Stanford said he didn’t mind, but that seems like a huge imposition.”

“Naw,” Dad said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “It will be good for all of them. Uncle Stanford’s been up there alone since before Uncle Stanley died, and it will be good for the kids to visit him up there for a change. When he visits us, it’s just for an afternoon while he’s on his way to somewhere else, and the kids barely get to know him.”

“But that’s not our fault. I know we’ve made it clear he’s welcome to visit for as long as he likes.”

“Yeah,” Dad said, “but that’s not the point. One of my best childhood memories was the two weeks my dad sent me to stay with him. He plays the grumpy old man well, but stick around him long enough and you’ll know nothing means more to him than family. I always wanted to go back every summer, but Dad kept me busy with other things.”

Mom laughed. “Maybe that’s because you came home from your stay claiming you saw Bigfoot.”

Dad straightened with mock indignation. “For your information, my dear, I did see Bigfoot.”

“Yes, yes,” Mom said, grinning. “And the seven dwarves. How could I forget?”

“They weren’t dwarves,” Dad said. “They were more like living lawn gnomes.”

“Because that’s so much better.” She was openly snickering at him, and Dad grabbed one of the chair pillows and swiped playfully at her. “Hey,” she protested, holding up her soda can. “Watch the drink.”

“Unbelievers,” Dad intoned, “must go thirsty.” And he grabbed the can away from her. “Hey, it’s already empty!”

Past Dipper and Mabel knew what that meant, and were already scrambling to their feet to scurry out the door before they got caught. But Dipper stayed to watch what his past self had only heard while fleeing.

“Get me another one, please?” Mom said, smiling and batting her eyes.

Dad groaned and got to his feet. “You know I hate when you do that.”

“Stop jumping to please me when I do it, and I’ll stop doing it.”

They both laughed. It was an old game, almost like reciting a script at this point, and Dipper found himself blinking back a stinging wetness in his eyes. The homesick ache in his chest was so all-consuming, he didn’t even flinch when Dad opened the doors and walked right through him.

Both his parents vanished as the memory ended.

Dipper turned and ran out of his parents’ room, unwilling to see what memory might manifest next. He could hear more voices in the house. From downstairs in the sitting room, he could hear his own voice crow in triumph and Dad’s answering moan that always followed when he beat him in a game of chess. He could hear Mom and Mabel singing 80’s tunes at the tops of their lungs in the laundry room as they folded clothes. And there was Mom telling him for the last time to take out the trash before he lost his video game privileges, and his voice responding, Fine, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh!

He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. The front door was just a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. The longer he stood there, the more the memories manifested, until the house was full of voices and images of himself and Mabel and his parents, fading in and out of existence. He needed to get out of here before his homesickness overwhelmed him. But as he started down the steps, Mom and Dad rushed to the door, Dad shrugging on his coat while Mom handed him a thermos of coffee and a leather briefcase. They pecked on the lips, and then Dad was gone as Mom closed the door.

For a moment, Dipper thought she was going to walk away and disappear, but then she looked up at him. “Mason?” she said, and Dipper froze.

“Mom?” he said. His heart was suddenly in his throat. She could see him?

She reached out to him and gave him a tired smile. “Come here, hon.”

And at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run to her and be gathered into the comfort of her arms. “Mom,” he said, his voice wobbling unsteadily, and he took a couple of steps down…

…when a much smaller, younger memory of himself ran right through him, rushing down the stairs and into her open arms.

Oh. Of course. Right.

Dipper turned away, trembling hands grasping for the wooden railing and clenching it like a lifeline. And if his face was a little wet, well, what of it?

“Did Daddy and I wake you?” Mom asked.

His younger self nodded. “Where did Daddy go? It’s still night time.”

“Well,” Mom said, and if Dipper closed his eyes, he could almost feel her running her fingers gently through his hair. “Daddy is the orthopedic surgeon on call at the hospital. That means if there’s an emergency and someone gets hurt in the middle of the night, he’s the one who needs to go help them.”

“Oh. I guess that’s okay, then.”

Mom chuckled. “Yes, it’s very much okay. So, is Mabel awake?”

“Nope. She’s still sleeping.”

“You should join her. You don’t need to worry. Everything is fine, and Daddy will be back when he’s done.”

“But I’m not tired now.”

Mom sighed, weary and amused. “Let me guess. You want me to read to you.”

“Yes! Yes yes yes!”

Mom laughed. “All right, settle down. Let’s go find a good book.”

She would read to him until he fell asleep, nestled in the crook of her arm, Dipper knew. And then he would wake up in the morning in his own bed.

Dipper didn’t wait until the memory left the room. As soon as they were clear of the door, he ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He stood on the front porch, sucking in deep breaths, wiping surreptitiously at his face and trying to still his shaking hands.

Okay. That… really, really sucked.

And it was still sucking, because right in front of him were Mom and Dad, dressed in their gardening clothes. Mom was trimming the hedges on either side of the stone path that led from the sidewalk to the front porch, and Dad was mowing the front lawn. And as they faded, there he was, no older than five, riding his bike down the sidewalk with no hands and yelling, Look, Mabel, look! She responded with, Oh yeah? Watch this! No hands and eyes closed! Upon which she promptly rode her bike into the mailbox.

As his younger self hurried to his wailing sister’s aid, Dipper jumped the hedge and ran down the narrow, tree-lined street, not caring where, as long as it was away. Some place where no memory could remind him of what he had lost.

No matter how he looked at it, his life was cut short. He would spend the rest of it living whatever deer lifespan he had. His family would probably take care of him, making sure he wouldn’t die prematurely at a hunter’s hand, only for him to die at the ripe old age of eighteen or twenty. But even if he was with them, he would never understand them or experience that familial love he longed for, trapped in the limited moment-to-moment awareness of an animal.

Awake, full of slow, simple thoughts and mindless instinct. Asleep, fully aware, haunted and yearning for what he could never have again.

So he ran blindly through his mindscape, faster than humanly possible. And though he tried not to look, he still caught glimpses of places from his past. The Eggbert Elementary playground. The vast Mountain View Cemetery, so much cooler than the park with its monuments and mausoleums; its stone angels and guarding sphinxes that were perfect for twilit games of hide-and-seek with Mabel. Professor’s Games and Comics with the weekend DD&MD tournaments. The seemingly endless winding streets of hills and houses and shady walkways that lent themselves so well a pair of twins looking for adventure, real or imaginary. Shepherd’s Canyon, that ran almost all the way to…

…the Gravity Falls Water Tower, and suddenly he was out of Piedmont, but this wasn’t any better. There was the arcade, and the Northwest Mansion, and the lake, and Greasy’s, and, of course, the Shack, all swarming with familiar wraiths of memory. He kept running.

No more home, he pleaded silently. He felt like there was an empty, aching hole where his heart should be, and he felt the wind drying the tears on his cheeks. Let me be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

When he finally slowed and came to a stop, Piedmont and Gravity Falls were long gone, and he found himself in a forest where he didn’t recognize anything. There were no rising cliffs, no landmarks. Just woods as far as he could see… but there were no pine trees. No conifers at all; just deciduous trees in all their green, broad-leafed glory.

The relief he felt at leaving the painfully familiar behind was almost palpable.

And this place… it was beautiful. Peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the forest canopy, and the air was cool and smelled of damp earth, old leaves, and a sweet hint of distant honeysuckle. He could hear a gurgling stream nearby, and cheerful birdsong, and the hum of insects.

Just being here made the tight, twisting lump of anxiety in his chest loosen slightly.

He walked toward the sound of the stream, and came out into a clearing, at the bottom of a small waterfall cascading over mossy stone and pooling in a small pond before rushing on downhill. The grass near the pond looked soft and inviting, so he went over and sat down, and again felt that knot in his chest loosen. The blades of grass felt like silk between his fingers.

Dipper took a deep, cleansing breath. This… this was okay. He could stay here until he woke up, he decided. It made him feel a little better -- his mind couldn’t be completely messed up if it could conjure a place like this for him. The natural beauty of the place eased the consuming ache of his loneliness.

He had been sitting a while when a man emerged from the other side of the clearing.

Dipper looked at him, a little surprised, but not alarmed, since this man was obviously a construct of his mind as well. He looked like he had stepped right out of a DD&MD manual, tall and pale, with long black hair that fell past his shoulders. He was wearing ornate robes of swirling blues with silver filigree lining. Floating in an arc above his brow was a crown of seven jewels shining like stars.

As the man stepped forward, Dipper raised an eyebrow at him. “Please tell me that you’re Elrond, and that I’ve somehow created Middle-Earth in my mindscape,” he said.

The man tilted his head slightly and smiled a little, but said nothing, so Dipper went on. “Because you’re pretty much exactly how I always pictured Elrond from the books. I mean, no offense to Hugo Weaving; he did a great job with the roll in the movies, but sometimes he would get this look on his face, and I’d expect the next words out of his mouth to be, ‘Mister Anderson,’ and that the movie would turn out to be just part of the Matrix. That always kind of threw me off, and… I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Not really the first impression he wanted to make with Elrond, but hey, this was his mind, and this man was the first person to look at him and really see him. It was nice to speak to someone who could actually listen, even if he was imaginary.

“I am not Elrond,” the man said, and Dipper was impressed with quiet echo in his voice that gave him a distinct aura of non-aggressive power. Nice.

“Oh?” Dipper pulled up some of the grass by his legs and twisted the blades in his fingers. “Who are you, then?” He was mentally going through a list of potential tall, mystic-looking dark-haired characters he knew of, when the man spoke.

“An interested party.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at the indirect answer. “Interested in what?”

“You.”

Dipper scrambled to his feet, alarm bells ringing in his head. Okay, maybe this guy wasn’t a construct of his mind, and if so… what the heck was he doing here? How was he here? None of his immediate guesses were in the least bit comforting. Was this guy a friend of Bill’s? He backed away as the man started walking toward him again, and when the man reached the flowing pond between then, he kept walking, his feet hovering a few inches above the water.

“Okay,” Dipper said, wincing as his voice broke on the second syllable. He raised his hands as if trying to ward him off. “You just stop right there. Don’t come any closer!”

The man stopped just shy of the bank on Dipper’s side of the pond, looking at him calmly.

Surprised, Dipper lowered his hands slightly. “What do you want?” he said, tensing and ready to run at the first sign of threat.

“I came to see if my Lady was correct.” The man’s smile was as gentle as his voice was quiet, but Dipper didn’t dare let his guard down. Too many monsters were all smiles and friendship until they were ready to eat your face off. “She said you are one of mine. I have come to confirm her assertion.”

“Wait, what do you mean, one of yours?” Dipper didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I don’t even know you, so… pretty sure, not one of yours.”

The man didn’t respond except to look at him. Or rather, Dipper realized, look at his forehead.

Wait, was this about his birthmark? Almost automatically, he reached up and pulled the brim of his cap down in case his hair wasn’t covering it completely, but the man continued to stare as if nothing was in the way.

“Ah,” he said. “Ursa Major. Odin’s Wain. Butcher’s Cleaver. Guidepost.” His smile warmed. “You are one of mine.” He met Dipper’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You have wandered far, child. Dare I say, had you not inadvertently twisted the threats of fate, you would have wandered farther still.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, probably with more force than necessary, especially since it wasn’t exactly true. He looked at the man’s floating crown of gleaming stars, thought of his birthmark, and had an absolutely crazy idea of what the man meant. It made him feel sick to his stomach. This was stupid. This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. “Go away and leave me alone!”

The man gave him a patient look. “Humanity ill-suits you, child. I think you will be well rid of it.”

“Okay, nope, no way, I don’t think so!” Dipper shouted, backing away and waving his hands. “Whatever crazy thing you think you have planned for me, just forget it! I happen to like my humanity! A lot! So… so back off!”

“You do?” The man’s expression turned puzzled. “Unexpected. And yet, at the moment, you are not human.”

“That wasn’t exactly my decision,” Dipper said, nearly snarling. “And it doesn’t matter what my body looks like, I’m human right here!” He pointed at his head. “And I plan to stay that way! Besides…” He felt his cheeks heat slightly, and looked down and glared at the grass. “This whole stupid deer thing is only temporary.”

“Is it?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Dipper insisted, clenching his fists at his sides. “Mable and my grunkles will find a way to break the curse. I know them. They won’t stop until it’s broken.”

“That is true,” the man said, and Dipper looked up in surprise. “And yet, should they find the solution, they will not use it, for there is but one way to break the curse. The dream demon used an other-dimensional artifact of immense dark power to change your form. Only death can free you from its influence.”

Dipper paled. “… what?” That… that couldn’t be right. Death? Only death? Sure, he’d had his pity party where he internally moaned about being cursed until he died, but always, underneath that, there had been the spark of hope that his family and friends would be able to save him somehow.

The man’s expression softened with sympathy. “Do not despair. At this moment, your twin sister and a dryad are bearing you to the Lady, for she desires to help you.”

Dipper looked up, latching on to the man’s words. “The Lady? Who is she? Can she really help me?”

“She has many names and many aspects, but in this time and place, she is known as the Mother of the Wood. She is my Lady, and I am her Lord.”

Dipper blinked. “Oh.” He swallowed hard as he grasped the implications of what the man said. His heart pounded, and he could feel his pulse in his head. He had hoped that he would be able to solve the mysteries of Gravity Falls, but this was so far beyond him, he really wondered if he would throw up. Was it even possible to throw up in the mindscape? If so, he was probably about to find out.

Deep breaths. Try not to puke in front of the, uh, sky entity or deity or whatever.

“So,” he said, when he managed to push back most of his nausea. “She can help?

“We can,” the man said. “You are one of mine, and I would help you also. But we will not force this help upon you. You must choose to accept it.”

“Well, of course I want help,” Dipper said, confused as to why it would even be an issue. “You think I want to be a stupid deer for the rest of my life?

The man extended his hands, palms upward. “Two paths lie before you in the immediate future, and you must choose one,” he said. “Both offer escape.”

Dipper nodded eagerly. Two paths. A choice. Right. So far, so good.

“The first path is dying like any other mortal.”

Dipper was getting impatient. He already knew one of the paths was death, the man had just told him so earlier. Why would he choose that? “And the second path?” he asked.

“Is like unto it,” the man said. “For you must still die for the curse to release you. However, the Lady and I can hold your soul before it flees into the infinitude, and remake you, that you may yet live in this world.”

Dipper stared at the man, stunned. “Re… remake? What does that mean?”

“It means,” the man said soberly, “that you would be human no longer. You would become a new creature entirely. This is the choice.”

Dipper shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the man’s words. “I… but how would…” He didn’t even know what to say. His choices were death, or death and being changed into something else entirely? What kind of choice was that?

“What about my life, my memories, my family?” he asked. He thought about Mabel, about Mom and Dad, about Great Uncle Ford and Grunkle Stan. The thought of losing them forever had pained him enough that he had run away in his own mindscape. “Would I still have them? Would I still be me?” He didn’t want to lose himself being remade, any more than he wanted to lose himself as a stupid deer.

The man gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Your soul is strong and bright, child. You are one of mine, yet you cling to this human life with a fierce resolve. It is possible you will keep the memories and experiences from this life, should you choose to accept our aid.”

“Possible,” Dipper said, his heart sinking. “But not a sure thing?”

“What you carry over would be entirely up to your strength of will,” the man said. “You have but a brief time to consider your choice, for your fate approaches you swiftly. I will leave you now, but know that when your choice is made, the Lady and I will be aware, and we will act accordingly.”

Before Dipper could even protest, the man faded from view, leaving him alone in the clearing once more.

“Well… okay,” Dipper said, waving at the spot where the man used to be. “Great. Nice talk, then. Thanks a lot. I’ll just contemplate my apparent imminent death all by myself now.”

He felt numb. There was only so much crap a guy could take, after all, before each new surprise just impacted uselessly on the surface.

Dipper turned and walked away from the clearing.

“Welp,” he announced to the surrounding forest. “I think it’s safe to say that this is the worst day of my life. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was human. Now I’m a cursed, sleeping fawn who is about to die. Why? I don’t know! I’m asleep!”

Dipper found that ranting at the forest was not especially helpful. He kept walking.

Here he thought that seeing his memories brought to life sucked, because of the sharp, hollow pain of homesickness they inspired. But that paled in comparison to this. One way or another, he was apparently fated to die. He could choose to come back, but as what? The man hadn’t said, and he had been too overwhelmed to ask. He thought of some of the creatures he’d read about in the journals, and groaned. And to become one of those things, and not even remember ever being human, being himself? Death might be better.

But what about Mabel? What would she do? What about Mom and Dad and Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford? He couldn’t leave them like this! Especially Mabel. If he died, it would destroy her. He knew, because of the keen spike of terror he felt at the thought of losing her. But would it be any better for her if he lived, but didn’t remember her?

Dipper suddenly regretted running away from his memories of Piedmont and Gravity Falls. He wanted to see Mabel again. He wanted to see Mom and Dad and his grunkles, even if they were just shades of the past. He wanted to see Wendy and Soos. He wanted to remember them all, and hold on to them with all his might.

Home, he thought, his walk slowly gaining speed, turning into a run. I want to go home.

But then a green-haired woman suddenly appeared in front of him, and he only just managed to stop before plowing into her.

“You!” he said, realizing that he recognized her as the dryad who was with Mabel.

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Dipper?” she said.

What in the world was going on now? “Yeah?”

She stepped closer to him, reaching out, and he instinctively took a step back. “Dipper, you’re… I don’t believe it…” Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Mabel, he’s right—“

“You’re with Mabel right now?!” Dipper interrupted. “Is she okay? Is she upset? She hasn’t gone to sweater town at all, has she?”

She looked at him and her eyes lost that glassy look. “Yes, she’s right here… Hold it!” The dryad held up her hands. “Just give me a second to explain. I can’t talk to both of you at the same time.”

Dipper understood immediately. Somehow, this dryad – the same one who put him to sleep, he noted irritably – had connected with the human part of his mind, while still being in the waking world.

Her eyes lost focus again. “Dipper is in there,” she said, pointing at the ground, and Dipper could only guess that this mindscape version of her was mirroring her actions in the real world. “You remember the light-shining-through-the-paper metaphor I showed you back at the Shack? When he’s asleep and I try to communicate, it’s like I’m on the other side of the paper!”

Okay, she lost him. She had to be talking about something she had done when he was awake and his comprehension skills were practically nil.

She seemed to be listening to something Mabel said, because she replied, “He’s… just kind of wandering through a forest in his mindscape.”

Dipper felt a little insulted. “Hey, I’m not just wandering.”

“What?” she said, focusing on him again. She looked around at his mindscape forest. “But you are.”

“I am not,” Dipper insisted, folding his arms in irritation. “It’s my mindscape. I know exactly where I’m going.”

She smirked at him, and he suddenly realized he was being teased, which did nothing to improve his mood. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, before looking off into the waking world. “He is striding with great purpose through a forest in his mindscape.”

“Ugh.” Dipper put his face in his hands. “That isn’t any better.”

“How is that not better? I specifically rephrased so it wouldn’t sound like you were aimless and lost.”

“Look,” Dipper said, raising his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

The dryad grinned. “Mabel, you never told me how delightfully easy it is to tease your brother.”

Dipper groaned. Here he was, with the perfect opportunity to communicate with Mabel, even indirectly, and let her know what was going on, and his messenger was wasting time messing around. “You don’t understand,” he said, straining to keep his temper under control. “I need you to give her an important message!”

But as he spoke, he saw her glazed eyes and realized she was listening to Mabel, not him. After a few moments, she turned her attention back to him, and her smile seemed more genuine, and less irritating. “Mabel wants you to know that we’re taking you to Mother to break your curse.”

“I already know that!” Dipper said, spreading his arms in exasperation. “Listen, please! You need to tell Mabel that a man came to me here in my mindscape, only he wasn’t just a man. He was tall and pale, and he wore a crown of floating stars! He told me that you were taking me to his Lady to help me, but that I would have to die to break the curse, and that I could choose either to stay dead, or let them change me into something else, but if they do change me, I might not remember her!”

The dryad stared at him, a stunned expression on her face.

“What are you waiting for?” He was practically pleading. “Tell her!”

She nodded and waved off to the side, as if hushing Mabel. “He says he already knows. A… strange, pale man told him. He was wearing—“

And then, right before Dipper’s eyes, she vanished.

He stepped forward. “Dryad?” he said, but she remained gone. Apparently the connection had been lost.

Well, at least he had given her the message to relay to Mabel, and even if it was a bit incoherent, he hoped that she would get the general gist of it so that she wouldn’t be completely blindsided by whatever was coming. That gave him a small measure of comfort. The dryad’s connection, irritating though it might have been, was an unexpected gift. Especially when he thought his only contact with any of his family would be with their memory ghosts.

And speaking of, before the dryad showed up, he had been headed back home.

He had only taken a few steps before he was overwhelmed with sudden agony shrieking through his entire body, setting every nerve on fire, and he crumpled to the forest floor, too surprised to scream.

The mindscape around him flickered, and the forest faded to a blank, grey fog. He could taste blood in his mouth, and every breath caused stabbing pain. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs and he thought they might be broken.

He had the disorienting sensation of his consciousness flickering awake into blank, terrified fawn instinct, then fading back to human, jolting awake, and fading again, and he was in so much pain his human mind wasn’t much more coherent than his small, confused deer brain, and he could barely tell them apart.

The grey fog around him began to darken, and it dawned on him that he was dying.

I’m dying. No, Mabel, is she okay, I’m dying. I don’t want to die. Mabel! She was just with me a few moments ago and I’m dying, is she okay? I don’t see her! Where is she? Mabel!

I don’t want to die.

Help me. I don’t want to die…

----------------------------------------------------

Almost there… stay on target…

 A/N: I know, another evil cliffhanger, but hopefully this chapter will add insight into the previous chapter and what is to come. I think this is the fastest I’ve posted another chapter of this fic, but that’s because I’ve finally reached the part of the story that was written in my head before everything else.

Another major contributing factor to my increased writing speed is all the lovely reviews and comments. Likes and Kudos make me giddy with happiness. Thank you all for your support. And please, if you feel so inclined, let me know what you think of this chapter. That would totally make my day. :)