Chapter Text
There was the familiar howl of instruments declaring urgent messages of some sort, only a bit less crazed than last time, given the man behind the controls soothing them. The last time, Stanley had been too busy trying to convince his great niece and nephew to please for god’s sake don’t press the button. Now there was Stanford expertly canvassing the control panel, a stunted tension choking the occupants of the small room despite his comforting competency. Mabel fiddled with a loose string on her sweater, all the warding off she’d done of the reality of the last two years beginning to crash through her defenses, now that that reality would be shifting again. She watched the lights surrounding the portal pulse rhythmically. The center began to whirl, unearthing a blinding light from its depths, which glared against the tinted windows of the operations room. Gravity in the basement hiccuped, supplies drifting up with an exhale, then clattering back to the cement. It was already too loud, though. The sounds of the tools meeting the ground merely fed into the chaos of noise, supplying metallic undertones. She wondered how they managed to hear each other, last time. Not the first time, she had come to learn. The second generation Pines twins had only added a chapter to the developing story. A story that would hopefully end here. A story that would end with Dipper.
Two years ago since she last saw him, and now the timer blaring LED anticipation stated there were twenty seconds left till the wait would end. Nineteen. Grunkle Stan stares up at the newly arrived, not diverting his eyes as he answers. Eighteen. The author. Seventeen. Dipper’s sputtering lapses into a shout as something else emerges from the portal. Sixteen. A tentacle flails around the room. Reaching. Fifteen. Mabel’s shoved out of the way, a pine tree flashing across her vision. Fourteen. A limb secures itself around Dipper’s waist, and it yanks. Thirteen. Dipper is on the other side of the portal. An arm's reach away. A million dimensional planes away. Twelve. The portal collapses in on itself. Eleven. It's only the same as it's always been. An Earth-made invention, only astounding in its capabilities. Capabilities now ceased. Ten. Words are impossible to grab from the brain, much less form on the tongue. All is silent. Nine. There are other things needing to be addressed. The other thing doesn’t quite understand the importance of the Dipper thing. Eight. Explanations that seem irrelevant. Seven. An approximation. Two years. Two years is a hyperdrive estimation to capability restoration. Six. A police station. A faux story. The only lie Stanley seems to have a hard time committing. Five. Enduring community organized searches through the forest, scouring for what won’t be found. Four. The departure. Gravity Falls fading into the distance. The empty seat in the car screaming, impossible to ignore. Three. A return two years later. Maybe the cold drift lurking at Mabel’s side will finally dissipate. Maybe the guilt hunching Stanford's shoulders will diminish. Maybe Stanford will understand. But maybe not. Two. Two seconds until they find out.
One. A haze of electricity and something complicated spark from the machine. The noise inverts, palpable silence crowding the space underground. The vacuum of sound seems to forbid speaking by setting a precedent none of the three in attendance are eager to break. They wait, tongueless. Their attention transfixes on the portal, the harbinger of reconciliation. Everything can finally be as it should be.
They wait. Any minute now.
They wait, restraining the hope from bleeding out of themselves with unfounded promises. Any minute now. Any minute now.
Noxious doubt obscures the portal, beckoning attention now to the clock ever putting seconds between them and reuniting. At one point, they’ll have to give this up. The machine can’t function continuously. But for a little while longer, they want to be suspended in possibility. Once this moment ends, they’ll have to accompany the rest of the community in their assumption. That there’s nothing left to be found. Nothing worth waiting for.
Mabel sees Stanford’s hand twitching, drawing closer to the shut-off switch. Soon. She casts a desperate look towards the portal, as if urging it to spit Dipper out already. In turn, Stanley stays very still. If his brother presumes that his moving signifies his finally growing restless of the situation, then he’ll sooner shut it down. So he becomes a statue. He’ll give nothing away, not until that little wimp comes bursting through the blue sheen, journal in hand.
Stanford’s eyes shift towards Stanley, pulling up breath in the beginnings of a sigh. The inhale pauses, a crackle resonating through the quicksand of silence. Either it was Dipper, or they left the portal open too long and someone or something stumbled upon the entrance. A sneaker steps through the entryway, strapped to the makings of a snow shoe. An arctic drift filters in through the opening, following the slight figure as it completes its arrival. There was a piece of scrap cloth wrapped over the lower half of their face, knotted in the back. Bulky goggles obscured the eyes, veins of ice splintering the lenses. Still, it was undeniably him. His birthmark was visible, his hair now pushed back to reveal it. Plus his vest was still intact, worn over some sort of parka that he hadn’t gone in with. He scanned the empty room slowly, the Pines having learnt their lesson of being in proximity to the portal while it was activated. Dipper began to unravel the defenses he’d managed against the habitat he’d just exited. He pulled at the cloth and goggles, until they were bundled at his neck. He had a bandage wrapped across his face, veiling the right eye and tucked behind the left ear, meeting the piece of gauze that swept under the right. It was stained by something unidentifiable, but its presence paled, considering. Shock resonated through the other room, Dipper looking too familiar to the images of him in their minds. He hadn’t aged a single day, at least not physically, though there were some things marking time’s passing. An obvious gauntness, hard edges and darkened planes, replacing his baby cheeks. Something less identifiable, too. In his one eye there was a severity speaking volumes as to what he endured on the other side, accompanied with something so bleak it swallowed one whole if they were to face it head on.
The machine whirled off, casting Dipper in shadows sprouted from the light inside the control room where the trio gathered. Mabel was only just able to convince her parents to let her return this summer, a difficult task given the recently written history of this place, or she would have missed this moment. As Mabel slammed through the dividing door, Dipper tilted his head upwards, giving a glance to the left, at seemingly nothing. He murmured something and then gave a single curt nod, just before Mabel lunged across the divide separating them, sweeping him up in a hug.