#he think he is soo cool look at this goober !!

[koriweb]

Eyy, the ol’ classical sun :D

[lostnfounder]

chase you should atleast go black highlights. You’d look soo fuckin cool. A reall goober frfr

i know right. i need him to be emo with me!!

but i think he threw away the dye in the middle of the night because i can't find it. so. damn.

[toothpastecanyon]

A Name From the Mailbox, Chapter 1

Dipper finds out the author's name before Not What He Seems. It's not the person he expected.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

“Step right up to the Mystery Shack, folks! Name’s Stanford Pines, Mr Mystery!”

Dipper looked up as Stan came through the door. He watched his uncle shoot him a winning grin before turning it on a group of unsuspecting tourists.

“This right here’s the gift shop! I know this kinda place is usually the last stop at your museum or whatever, but we do it different here, folks! Look around; everything’s weird, and it’s for sale! Buy something. Seriously, we’re not moving on till everyone buys something.”

He looked at the tourists milling about the counters, and jumped slightly when Stan appeared next to him.

“How’s it hanging, kid?”

“Wh-what?”

“You look like you seen a ghost or a shower or something.” Stan flipped up his eyepatch. “You been staying up too late again? I told you you were working the till today.”

He stared at his uncle’s face. Underneath the table, his hands clenched a piece of paper.

“Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I… can I ask you somethi-“

“Hey, tourists coming your way.” Stan jumped up. “Tell me after the tour, eh?”

“But-“ Dipper watched him walk off. He made a face, and looked down to the note in his hands he’d taken from a mailbox in the woods.

WHO IS THE AUTHOR? It read.

THE AUTHOR OF THE JOURNALS IS STANFORD FILBRICK PINES.

“You like that shirt, kid? If you throw in another one, I’ll make it two for the price of three!” Stanford Pines stood before the line, leaning on his cane. “No refunds!”

    Dipper frowned.

______________________________________________________________

    “There’s no way he’s the author.”

    “Aww, c’mon, Dipper!” Mabel swung her feet as she sat on her bed. “You said the same thing about McGucket, and look what happened there! Maybe Grunkle Stan really wrote it?” She grinned. “Maybe he knows about unicorns! We should ask him, Dipper! Dipperrrr!”

    Dipper stood in front of his corkboard. He pressed Stan’s picture against the centre, and then hesitated. “It just… it doesn’t line up. If he’s the author, what’s the deal with the six fingers? And the whole Mystery Shack thing - why would he just drop all his research to open a tourist trap in the middle of nowhere?”

    “Maybe he’s doing it in secret?”

    “Maybe, but… it just doesn’t make sense that it’s him.” He rolled his eyes at the photo of Stan posing with his wax twin. “I thought that the author was gonna be someone who actually likes the supernatural, for one. Stan doesn’t even want to talk about it with me.”

    Mabel watched him sigh, and slump against the bedrest. She came over, and put a hand on his shoulder.

    “Hey, bro, maybe you should tell him!”

    “Why? It took raising the dead for him to admit magic exists at all. I don’t think he’d admit to it even if he was the author.”

    “Oh, yeah, karaoke night! We should do that again!” She giggled at his expression. “I’m joking, goober. But really, you should just ask him. He promised to be more honest with us, right? Maybe if he knows you know, he’ll know it’s okay to let you know what he knows, you know?”

    “What he promised was that he wouldn’t keep any more secrets,” Dipper muttered, but he rose to his feet. “Fine. I guess it’s worth asking first. You think he’s in the living room?”

“Yeah, I saw him watching that weird fancy soap opera when I went to find Waddles. He tried to change the channel before I saw it, but he can’t hide anything from me!”

“Apparently, he can.” Dipper picked up the journal, stared at it for a moment, then put it under his arm. “Let’s go, Mabel.”

The two of them made their way down the stairs, and into the hallway. The light of the TV left a harsh glow on the floorboards as they stepped into the living room. Stan was sitting there in the dark; Dipper looked at his face, and for a moment he really tried to imagine Stan as the author, as the man who’d spent years in the forests of Gravity Falls, who’d made dozens of intricate illustrations and detailed notes on the oddities within…

Then Stan met his eyes, and he jumped. Stan jumped too, and quickly changed the channel.

“Oh, kids! I was looking for something to watch, but there’s, uh, nothing on.” He coughed. “You wanna put on a movie, or something?”

“Ooo, Dream Boy High!”

“Mabel!” Dipper shot her a look. “That’s not why we came down here.”

“Awww…”

“Oh yeah?” Stan scratched his chest. “What’s up, kid?”

Dipper took a deep breath. He clenched the journal against his chest. “Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“You know the, uh, the journal, right?” He watched Stan’s face carefully. “I’ve spent - we’ve spent, um, all summer so far trying to figure out who the author of it is, and - you’ve lived in Gravity Falls all your life, right?”

“More or less.” He frowned. “Why? I told you, I don’t know nothing about that spooky journal of yours.”

“But we’re starting to think you do, Grunkle Stan! We think… you’re the author!” He waited for Stan to say something, but he just furrowed his brow and turned up the TV. “We found this - this mailbox in the woods that knows everything, and we asked it who the author was and it said Stanford Pines!”

Then Dipper saw it: a flash of something across Stan’s face. He stared at Dipper for a moment with wide, shaken eyes, and Dipper blinked.

“It… it’s true! You are the author!”

“Stanford…?” Stan shook his head. “Kid, I’m not the author.”

“But-“

“You found this out from what, a mailbox in the woods? Oh yeah, that’s a real smoking gun.” He chucked, but now Dipper heard something distinctly forced in it. “You really, heh, really found me out!”

“But Grunkle Stan-”

Stan stood up quickly. “Hah, listen, kid, the only thing I’ve been writing for thirty years is attraction signs, and I pawn most of that off on Soos! You really think I’ve got time to wander off into the forest and write all the stuff that journal’s talking about? I got a business to run!”

“But it was an all-knowing mailbox, it couldn’t be wrong…” Dipper clicked his pen. “What about that boarded-up room in the shack, with the mind-switching carpet? That doesn’t make sense, someone had to have made that, and you said you had this Shack built yourself!” He followed Stan into the kitchen. “And hey, why’d you build it so far out of town anyway? And right next to the secret bunker and where this journal was hidden?”

“Secret bunker?” Stan raised an eyebrow. “When’d you kids go down a secret bunker?”

“Like a week ago!” Mabel grinned. “We fought a shapeshifter and Dipper’s inner emotions!”

He frowned. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you kids went down in some spooky bunker? I thought you promised not to go looking for trouble with that journal!”

“And I thought you promised you didn’t have any more secrets!”

“And I don’t!” Stan shook his head. “Yeesh, kid, I mean, I don’t know what to tell you! I’m not your nerdy author!”

“But-”

He grabbed the journal. “And I’m taking this stupid thing.”

“Hey, Grunkle Stan!”

“I should’ve done it the second I laid eyes on it. You kids get into enough trouble without a literal roadmap to all the weirdness in this place.”

“No! You can’t do that!” Dipper clenched his fists. “Give it back!”

“Whoa, Dipper, calm down, alright?” He stashed the journal under his arm. “Look, it’s for your own good. Your head’s getting way too wrapped up in this mystery stuff; I think you could do with a break.”

“But I’m so close to getting to the bottom of all the big secrets of this town! You can’t take it away now!”

“I’m sorry, kid, but I just can’t trust you with it!” He tried for a grin. “C’mon, how’s about we have some real summer fun rather than this conspiracy junk? Y’know, put on some popcorn, throw on a show… heck, I’ll even let you pick. Don’t get used to it, alright?” He chuckled. “So, what do you say, kids?”

“Yeah!” Mabel looked to her brother. “You should pick Dream Boy High, Dipper! Dipper?”

Dipper looked up at his Grunkle’s face for a moment, took a deep breath, and then spoke. “I say,” he started, “I’m gonna go to my room, and I’m gonna find out what you’re hiding from me, journal or no journal!”

Then he turned and walked out of the room. Stan watched him go, then looked to Mabel, who shrugged.

“I guess he’s not up for it tonight? Anyway, I’ll get the popcorn on, Grunkle Stan-”

“Hey, hey, hold your horses.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You know, it’s gettin’ late and all. Let’s do this some other time, okay?”

“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You just want to watch your old man soap opera, don’t you!”

“Heh, sure.” His smile faded a bit. “That’s my secret.”

“Okayyy, but I say we are gonna watch Dream Boy High together this summer!” She gave him a hug. “Night, Grunkle Stan.”

“Night, pumpkin.”

She made her way towards the doorway, and then stopped. “Oh, and Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

There was a pause. “Are you the author?”

“What?” He blinked. “No. I have no idea what Dipper’s talking about.”

Mabel grinned. “Yeah, I kinda thought so. It sounded really cool, but can’t see you writing that journal.” She looked up at him. “You sure you don’t know anything about unicorns, though?”

“No, kid. I had a horse with a cone taped on its butt once, though. The Corniune!”

Mabel giggled, and they both shared a laugh at that. She stepped away.

“You’re silly, Grunkle Stan. Love you, enjoy your old man show!”

“Goodnight,” Stan said, and watched her skip up the steps. He heard the attic door open and shut, and then sighed. The smile fell from his face, and he stood up, brushed himself off, and looked down at the journal in his hands.

Six golden fingers gleamed at him from the cover, and he rolled his eyes.

“All-knowing mailbox in the woods, huh.” he muttered. “Thanks for telling me about that one, Poindexter.”

[astridianmayfly]

Handyman

I’M BACK TAU LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!!

---

1. The Comedian

“Dipper! We have much to discuss!”

Soos smiled as he watched Dipper fade into the circle nonchalantly. Fluffy brown hair and a wilting suit greeted Soos and his childlike greeting. Tired (powerful, golden) eyes stared at him from inside the circle. “Hey, Soos.”

“So Mr. Pines told me that you and Mabel are comin’ up Gravity Falls this weekend! Are you excited?”

Something froze in Dipper’s face. But as soon as the expression came, it was replaced with a forced smile. “Yeah, Mabel's really excited to be coming to school here. She's got a lot of friends in her grade.”

Soos, to his enduring credit, did not question the unusual circumstances of the twins moving towns and schools in the middle of high school. Or the fact that Dipper only talked about Mabel's prospects. He knew that the discussion about the process of the move to the Falls had been riddled with the awkwardness of Mark and Anna’s lack of understanding of this new world they lived in. “Cool! So anyway-”

Dipper cut him off mid-sentence. “I'd love to stay and chat, but I can't be here for long unless we make a-” his mouth puckered- “deal.”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot.” Soos grabbed a couple bags of chips out from a stash he had under the counter. He tossed them at Dipper in the circle. “How much time?”

Dipper stared at the bags and made an executive decision. “I'd say something like 45 minutes.”

(If it weren't Soos, the chips would be worth way less. But. The Family Exception was still intact, and Soos was as good as a Pines.)

“I actually need some help from you, dood.”

Dipper smiled. “What this time?”

Soos gave Dipper a faux serious face. “It's really serious, dood.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Wanna go under the porch and stick money into the cracks and see Stan’s reaction?”

“Was that even a question? Also, I'm putting a bucket of ice water above the door. It's always good to be prepared.”

“I’ve heard mayonnaise is better.”

“Don’t push it, old man.”

2. The Electrician

Splintering but soft cedar wood adorned the carved door of Soos’ second home, a rickety old weather vane creaking softly as the luminous suns of other galaxies beamed into focus. It was a breezy midnight, emerald evergreens rustling unsurely as the wind roped and snatched at the pine trees decorating the remote shack. He wasn’t positive why Stan had asked him to come to the house, but he said it was something about an electricity error. Soos observed this to be true, the usual golden glow of the lantern in the front of the house was absent from view.

A precocious gale grabbed at Soos’ skin, goosebumps rising to greet the eerie morning. With the change of wind Soos was reminded of just how cold autumns in Oregon were. He reached to knock a third time (having misplaced the pair of keys Mr. Pines gave him) when the door abruptly swung open. With his weight placed in the balls of his feet, Soos nearly fell over by the surprise of his handhold removed. After readjusting his balance, Soos took one look at Mr. Pines at the front door and had to do a double take.

Stan looked like a wreck; his shirt untucked,  buttons undone, and tie untied around his neck. His burgundy fez was practically defying gravity at the corner of his scalp. Soos supposed the only thing holding it up was the friction of unruly, greasy hair. He looked more wrinkly than he should, even for an older man, and his mouth was downturned into an unrelenting frown. His brow was furrowed and his posture bent with the labor of hardship.

He looked like a father.

With an arm bent casually on the frame, Mr. Pines scratched his head and greeted Soos bluntly: “Hey Soos. Electricity’s off.”

Soos pointed up at the forlorn lantern. “I noticed.”

“I’ll help you fix it, but could you get a move on? I was in the middle of something,” Stan said gruffly, ushering Soos into the house.

Soos had a suspicion that Stan wasn’t the one in the house who cared if the electricity was back on or not. But he complied.

“Sure thing, Mr. Pines.”

Soos meandered into the house, a hard feat; with six cardboard boxes stacked up at the entrance. “Don’t mind those, it’s just the kids’ stuff.” Stan mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “I told them that people were gonna have a hard time getting in, but did they listen? “Noooo Grunkle Stan, we don’t wanna….”

Soos had almost forgot Dipper and Mabel were at the house, and had arrived three days prior. He was fixing a floorboard upstairs when the twins got to the Shack (their new home), and only saw a flash of Mabel’s sweater before she disappeared into her room and closed the door. She chattered for a bit, to who he assumed was Dipper, and then exited the room when Mr. Pines yelled to them down for dinner. She shrieked “Coming!” and was about to plummet down the stairs until Soos called out to her across the hallway.

“Sup, dood?” He said with open arms.

Naturally, Mabel came barreling towards his embrace at the speed of light. “Ohmigosh Soos! I missed you so much!”

Soos laughed. “We’re like, roommates now! ‘Cept Stan only lets me sleep in the break room on Saturdays. Something about ‘being an adult now’ and ‘just get married already…’”

Mabel snorted and jokingly punched his arm. “Soos, you are just too funny! How’s Melody?”

He beamed. “She’s doing great! Hey there, Dipper!”

Soos directed his question to the left of Mabel, praying that he was standing (floating) there. He always did this after the incident that racked the world the summer of 2012, and had left Dipper invisible and slightly demonic. Soos believed that he was there, not only because he had utmost faith in Mabel, but also due to the fact that Dipper had a presence. After that fateful event during the summer, during the couple days where the town was convinced Dipper had died, he would often feel the hairs on the back of his necks stand up randomly. Upon checking the thermostat, he one time watched the temperature drop by a couple degrees and then shoot back up again. Soos, at the time, had passed off these events as unrelated and insignificant occurrences. But in hindsight, he was almost sure an intangible Dipper was hovering past him, screaming for recognition.

Mabel smiled. “Dipper says he’s doing okie-dokie.”

Soos was about to say something else to Dipper, when he was interrupted by Mabel conversing with the air. “Dipper, there’s no way I’m repeating th- Can you stop interrupting me? Thanks. What? Oh yeah, I’ll tell him.” Mabel shifted her gaze back to Soos. “Dipper says that he’ll tell you where your missing screwdriver is if you give him a piece of candy.”

Soos grinned. “Sure thing dood! I’ve been looking for that all day.” Soos grabbed a skittles packet out of his pocket. He tossed it to Mabel, who handed it to thin air. Soos tried not to gape as the packet disappeared out of the air, but internally he shrugged and thought to himself: Honestly? I’ve seen weirder.

Soos was shaken out of his memory by the whine of floorboards coming from the upstairs. Stan grumbled.

Soos peered up at the peeling ceiling. “What woke them up?”

Stan gave Soos a frighteningly soulful gaze. “They’ve been awake the whole night, apparently. I woke up to every single lightbulb in the house breaking.”

“How did that happen?”

Stan didn’t answer his question. “I'm going to grab some spare light bulbs in the basement.” He typed in the code to the vending machine and ventured downstairs.

The house went quiet for a moment, and Soos heard whispers from the top of the stairs. He only caught snippets of what assumed was the twins talking.

“Dipper…”

“All my fault…”

“It's not a big deal….a goober…”

“.....is Mabel.”

“No one cares…. Soos will fix it…. Stan called…”

He only heard something else, something that could only be described as a sniffle. The house tremored with the sob, and settled down until nothing more remained.

The house plunged into darkness, and Soos was left to stare at the glass on the floor. It glimmered like the eyes of a crying child.

Soos went to the front hall closet and grabbed the broom. Broken parts had no place in his home.

3. The Contortionist

Soos was in his break room, and the walls were screaming.

They thrummed in and out, ebbing and flowing. Soos had tried the door when the earthquake-like effects had begun, but his efforts were useless. It didn't seem to be locked, almost like the actual door was glued to the frame. He felt the wood, hoping to force it open, and yelped when a piece of it splintered off and jammed itself into his finger. From under the door, an incredibly bright light shone.

And there was screaming. Anguished screaming.

All of a sudden, the walls were pressing in.

His heart in his throat, he could only do so much as whimper as the walls caved in-

-He woke in cold sweat.

Justadreamjustadreamjustadreamjustadream

Soos didn’t think he was going to sleep in the break room anymore. It didn’t really seem like a game, suddenly.

He returned to sleeping, however, and found that the rest of his dreams that night were padded with fluff and grass.

And strange-looking sheep, for some reason.

4. The Thrill Seeker

Mabel was sad.

Some days the sun was shining, and some days it rained. But when it was too hot to bear in the dead of summer, it suddenly became fun when she declared to race around the house to see who could find the fans fastest, and then it wasn't so bad anymore. In the middle of winter, the miserably frigid air indicated a game to see who could make the most snowballs, and you would feel yourself warm from the inside. With Mabel, the blah stratus clouds of a lazy Sunday became sugar-spun silver and thunder the burp of a god. The world could be raining around them, and Mabel would play games to see who could catch a souvenir of their broken sky. They said love was a weakness, but her positivity ignited everyone into action against the evil.

The sharpest knife was her sadness, and it clawed at Soos’ heartstrings. “What's got you down? Talk to Soos. According to Wendy, I'm like, a genius at this kind of thing.”

Mabel sighed. “It's not a big deal! It's just, well… you know those annoying bird-faeries?” Soos nodded solemnly. “I left the window open for them, because I saw a small colony of poor little ones struggling to make a nest.”

Soos closed his eyes profoundly. “Mabel, you are a saint.”

Mabel smiled sadly. “Yeah, yeah. Well anyways, they took my knitting needles, which was fine, I didn't really need that pair anyways. I had a better pair, pink bedazzled ones! And then they took those to make their nests, which was a little disappointing, but I could always make another glitter pair, so I didn't really mind. But today I woke up and twenty of my best sweaters were-” She sniffed- “stolen! I thought Dipper or Stan might've moved them or pranked me or something, but when I walked outside today the dumb birds had a mansion- nest!!”

“It's ok to be sad, Mabel! I know how hard you worked on those.”

Mabel sighed. “And it wasn't even that that made me sad. I had some gifts in there for holidays and upcoming birthdays and stuff. I know I'm being selfish to be so upset about something so silly, but,” she paused. “I really, really liked those sweaters. They were really authentic, you know?”

Soos let out a deep sigh. “I know how the ruining of hard work can be discouraging. It is important to remember that the value is in like, experience and stuff.”

Mabel gaped. “You’re so wise, Soos!”

Soos was on a roll. “One time I went to the store, and I put the interesting divider in my pile. But the lady working there just glared at me and put it besides my stuff. She does the same thing every single time! It would make such a cool sword. I'm on a conquest to buy it, and nothing will stand in my way!” He punched a fist in the air.

Mabel stood with a determined gaze and grabbed Soos’ shirt collar. “Do you want that super cool sword thing?”

Soos looked Mabel in the eye. “More than anything else in the world.”

Mabel punched her fist in the air. “To the GROCERY STORE!!”

***

They came rushing in later, disheveled and sweating. Mabel had a squirrel in her hair and Soos’ shirt was ripped. But the heroes prevailed; Soos was clutching three or so of the dividers. Mabel slammed the door behind her. Through heavy breaths, she unenthusiastically high fived Soos and walked sluggishly towards the living room. The hard labor of their quest warranted rest, hence Mabel then tossing her sapped limbs onto the ragged couch.

They heard the unmistakable voice of Deputy Durland cawing from outside. “You can run, but you can't hide!” A bell jingled outside to combat the unmistakable sound of sirens growing louder and louder. Mabel opened the door, screamed, “The only thing you cops hide from is your feelings!” And promptly proceeded to slam the door into the faces of the expectant police people.

Dipper floated in. “Mab- what the hell.” He was about to do the meme-esque-back-out-slowly-this-trecherous-situation-does-not-involve-me retreat when Mabel interjected with a show-and-tell attitude. “Hey Dipper! Wanna see what we stole?”

Dipper stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Stealing is illegal, Mabel.”

“Well, duh! But it was for the greater good. Look what we got!” Mabel ripped the dividers and stuck them in front of his face.

“Agh Mabel, get th-those out of my face.” Dipper pushed the things away from himself. Mabel glanced towards the door. “We should lock that.”

“They can't search the house without a warrant.” Dipper said, deadpan.

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that Durland actually knows how to read, let alone is actually aware of fancy-schmancy amendments.”

“Well anyways, why did you need those? I could've gotten them for you.” Dipper squinted. “Are those the dividers they use in grocery stores?”

“Yes, they are. And we decided to get them because it’s the journey that matters, not the destination.”

Mabel high-fived Soos while he put his hands to his face. “Mabel. So profound!”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Mabel's not the profound one, Ralph Waldo Em-”

“Blah blah blah, sorry Dipper,  I don't speak nerd! But we have an extra sword thing if you want it.” She held the third one out for him to see.

“Come on dood, Mabel and I were gonna duel with them!” Soos gave Dipper an expectant expression.

Dipper tried to condescendingly raise an eyebrow, but failed miserably. Mabel noticed and snorted, before breaking down in peals of laughter. She punched Soos’ arm. “You better spoof up your video editing, we’re gonna need to make a compilation of this. Or better yet, a gag reel to that catchy voice-cracking remix you have buried somewhere.”

Soos cocked his head. “Why, exactly?”

Mabel (expertly) wiggled her eyebrows. “Blackmail.”

Dipper (clearly) did not like to be made fun of. To spite his sibling, he exalted an, “En gardé!” He snatched one of their swords out of Mabel's hands and floated away with his pilfered weapon.

Mabel put her weapon at the ready, and handed hers to Soos. “No fair! You have the advantage! I’m calling foul on that, mister! Put your feet on the floor and hands in the air!”

Soos chased after them, armed with his divider. “Surrender our property!”

(When Stan came in later after talking with the cops, he made them relinquish their weapons. As he walked away, he was heard grumbling, “If you guys are going to steal, at least steal something useful.”)

5. The Laughing Machine

Soos woke up to the smell of blood, a distinctly iron tang. The walls of the break room had actually not closed in, but Soos still felt his chest tighten at the thought of being in the break room for a second longer. He frenetically jiggled the handle, hoping it wasn't locked. To his relief, the door creaked open and he burst outside-

-only to find a scene straight out of a horror game.

Every light was flickering, and blood was on the walls at the consistency of Christmas decorations. Soos proceeded with extreme caution. “Doods?”

And then suddenly, a scream.

Soos ran.

Stan and Mabel sat next to a small (boyish) shadow of ebony sitting on the floor, (pouring and splashing and pulsing and screaming). Mabel was deadly calm, a somber stare issued in the tremoring phantom’s direction. She held his (Dipper’s, it had to be Dipper’s) hand in a tight grip, while Mr. Pines sat in a weary stool pulled up next to the pair of them. He was hunched, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. Soos didn’t mistake Stan for being unaware; his eyes had the same determined and serious weight as Mabel’s. And as for the demon(the child)?

His eyes were dead. That was the only possible way to describe those open, scarred orbs, unblinking with complete and utter terror. Occasionally, he would close his eyelids, as if attempting escape, attempting sleep, trying and clawing out of a prison of mental torture.

Poison gold poured out of his eyes, tributaries of teary angst and martyrdom;  he quivered and caved in on himself. The noise, the thousands of bees carving chalk-laden forks onto plates, bawling with the weight of an eternal, immortal burden. Wailing, screaming, yelling, shouting for an ally, a friend, a savior

(a handyman.)

The eyes snapped up. Golden. Predatory. Saddened. Decayed. And they were searching Soos’ being, his soul, and he was as exposed as a dissected frog on a lab table.

A voice echoed off the walls. The doom of power and the demon had a verdict.

I̬̣ ͔̟̜͖̕s͇̞̫̹̜̻a̙̱w͍̱̺ ̸̠̪y͍̝̤͔ͅò̮͈u ̠̼̺̲̝d̤͎͔͕i̻̞͖e̮̯̠, the demon (Dipper) said.

Soos scratched his head.

“Ok, so that’s cool and all, but like how does it happen? Is it like, gruesome? Or wait, please don’t tell me that it’s by eating too many burritos. I don’t want to prove Abuelita right! I really don’t want to suffocate, I seriously hope that isn’t it! Do I die a hero? That would be total badass. Do I-”

He stopped talking. Mabel, Stan, and Dipper all stared at him. Dipper’s eyes were lighter, and suddenly, the shadows the room was wreathed in disappeared. Dipper opened his mouth to breathe, and Soos feared for the worst.

The reaction threw him for a loop.

Dipper was laughing.

“Oh man, Soos, that was one hell of an exorcism.”