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Mabel Pines is alive. She survived unimaginable horrors, she fought a demon.
Mabel Pines doomed the world to end, handing it over for just a little more summer, and then she saved it, all in the span of three days.
Mabel Pines is home now. She is back in Piedmont, in California. Not in Oregon, and certainly not in Gravity Falls. This shouldn’t feel as wrong as it does.
Mabel Pines is sitting at the kitchen table, the ceiling lamp lighting up the otherwise dark room, and in front of her is a mug with perfectly made hot chocolate. It has marshmallows on top, and the blue and green sprinkles she used to like. And her dad made it, which makes it even more perfect.
Mabel Pines stares at the perfect hot chocolate and wants to cry.
-
The first time Mabel had a nightmare after Weirdmaggedon, she walked into the kitchen at three AM, only to find Grunkle Stan already there. He was wearing his usual attire of a tank top and boxers, and Mabel was too tired to find it gross.
Stan made them both hot chocolate. The cacao powder came out of a yellow plastic bag that Mabel vaguely recognised as the one she picked out on their latest grocery trip. It had pink butterflies printed on the front, which matched horribly with the yellow background. It was the main reason she had wanted this particular one in the first place, and Dipper and Stan had known better than to fight her on it.
It was one of the cheap brands that had more sugar than actual chocolate and tasted like rotten candy. Not that Mabel knew how rotten candy tasted like, she always ate hers before it could go bad.
But, while it tasted like crap, it calmed her down. It was too sweet, and she burned her tongue a little, but it was the best hot chocolate she ever had. Because Grunkle Stan made it. He pulled a funny face as he tasted the sugary drink and made Mabel laugh through her tears, and he complained about “stuff like this ruining his old-man-teeth” and that “he didn’t want to spend money on dental implants, just because she had a thing for funny packaging.”
The TV hadn’t provided anything child friendly at three AM (not that Mable would have minded, she had seen worse) so Stan insisted on taking another look at her scrapbook. They stayed on the couch that night, Mabel's scrapbook in Stan's lab, his grand niece curled up at his site.
She has a photo of that moment now. It was taken with Ford's camera, the good one, that made every picture it took look like it was made by a professional, no matter how shaky the hands were that pressed the buttons. Dipper made it when came down for breakfast the following morning, and then promptly showed it to Ford. Stan had not been amused by his twin getting more blackmail material, but when Mabel had begged him to let her put it into the scrapbook, he let her.
Now, she’s back home, and everything is way too similar and way too different at once. Mabel is kind of used to the Nightmares (with a capital N) at this point. They come and go as they please, but it’s always the same pictures that they are painting in her mind, so it’s easy to tell what is real and what is not.
In some of her Nightmares (capital N), Bill stands tall, glowing red and yellow and black. In his eye shines the pine tree symbol, and to his feet lies Dipper, head twisted in an unnatural way, eyes glossy and skin pale. In others, Grunkle Stan stares at her with hatred. Sometimes he screams that he hates her, sometimes he just stands there with an unbearable expression on his face. Sometimes, Ford tells her that it’s all her fault, and that she was the reason Weirdmaggedon happened in the first place.
Those are the easiest to differentiate as not-real. Because Dipper is alive and, at least physically, well. Because Stan would never scream at her, no matter what, much less tell her that he hates her. Because Ford would never blame her for Weirdmaggedon. He is too busy blaming himself.
What's worse is when Dipper’s eyes turn yellow in her mind, when Stan looks at her as if he can’t remember who she is, and when Ford turns the memory-gun on his brother.
Because those aren’t just Nightmares, but Memories (capital M), and Memories are way more difficult to leave behind.
So, yeah, Mabel can deal with the Nightmares. However, what she, for some reason, can’t deal with, is her own father.
Because, back in the Mystery Shack, when one wakes up in the middle of the night for whatever reason, they go down to the kitchen and most of the time, they aren’t alone in there for long. Either someone is already there - because of Nightmares that then caused a panic attack (Dipper), waking up and not knowing where they are (Grunkle Stan), or a simple fear of falling asleep (Grunkle Ford) - or someone will come eventually, for one of the already mentioned reasons.
Now, she sits at the kitchen table, which is way to clean, in a kitchen that is also way too clean - with no coffee stains basically everywhere, no alien technology in the corner and no glibbery-mystery-slime from magic mushrooms that had been lazy thrown into the fridge, unlabeled of course, so that one might mistake it for pudding and eat it (Grunkle Stan had spad it out with a disgusted scream and given all of them a heart attack at the sudden movement).
And the damn lamp was flickering, because Ford wasn’t here to invent an infinite light bulb that would burn all eternity and not flicker for a single second.
Mabel sits at the kitchen table and her father is here. Woken up by feet tapping on the floor and chairs being moved - Alex Pines was a light sleeper. And when he saw his daughter in the kitchen, he made her hot chocolate. This, at least, is normal. But still not quite.
When Alex Pines appeared in the doorway, Mabel almost jumped and hid under the table. Her father is taller and skinnier than her Grunkles, and to see his unfamiliar shadow (which shouldn’t be unfamiliar, because he’s her dad ) had scared the crap out of her.
And now, he was sitting across the table, a mug with tea in his hands. Another thing that was painfully different. No other Pines family member Mabel knew liked tea. Maybe Grunkle Ford did at some point, but now he only drinks coffee.
“Sweetheart,” he says, and she hates it and loves it at the same time, “what are you doing up at,” he takes a look at the clock on the wall, “four in the morning?”
Another difference. Mabel just can’t stop noticing those. Back hom - back in the Shack, no one had to ask why she was the way she was, they all knew. They all knew exactly why.
It feels unfair to complain about something like that, because of course it’s not her dad’s fault. He can’t know, he can’t ever know, and he won’t.
He holds the mug with both hands. They cover up the yellow stars and pink hearts that are painted on the porcelain, but she knows they are there, because she was the one who put them there.
“Sweetheart?”
The affectionate nickname feels wrong on her, somehow. Old-Mabel was a sweetheart, and a honey, and a treasure. Old-Mabel didn’t cause the end of the world. New-Mabel, however, did. New-Mabel was not a sweetheart. She felt unworthy of that title.
She stares at her chocolate, the marshmallows are slowly melting in the hot liquid.
“I was just…” she pauses. “I couldn’t sleep.”
It’s a bad lie, because it’s the most obvious one. The voice telling her that sounds suspiciously like Grunkle Stan.
Her dad lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn’t call her out on it.
“Any particular reason why?”
Because everything feels wrong, because her mind won’t let her forget, because she is a selfish person who traded the world for just a little more summer.
But Mabel can’t say that, so instead she forces a fake smile on her lips and shrugs.
“Just the ideas running wild, you know how it is! I had this cool idea for a Waddles themed sweater and I just had to try and make it, but then I noticed that I am out of yarn so I-”
The happy, sunny tone she forced her voice into doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, and her dad thinks so as well. She sees it in the way his eyebrow lifts up just a tiny bit more, and how his gaze is fixed on her, trying to figure her out.
Mabel sighs and tries a different route.
“It’s just loud, I guess. More traffic and light and shi- stuff. ”
Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford never cared when they cussed, but her father sends her a sharp look.
Her lie isn’t even a lie. It is more loud, and bright, and just more, you know, city-like in Piedmont.
No more pinetrees right outside her window, so tall that she couldn’t see the sky when walking underneath them. No more screams and howls of wild creatures at night, instead all she hears are cars driving on the street, and sometimes a dog barking at a squirrel. But that’s about it.
The best lie is the one that has a peace of truth in it.
This time, Mabel isn’t just imagining it, that’s definitely Stan’s voice talking to her.
Her dad buys it. He nods approvingly, his head tilted slightly to the left, the way he always does when he agrees with something.
“Need time to get used to the city again, I get it. When I was your age - or maybe I was a bit older actually-” he trails off. Telling her about the time he spent his holidays in a summer camp in some village in Ohio, or some other state starting with O, and Mabel pretends to listen and nods when she deems appropriate.
She is a master in acting like she’s listening. All Dipper's boring nerd talk prepared her for it.
And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? Mabel never listens, she only talks. If she would’ve listened, she never would’ve given Bledin - Bill - the rift.
I am a bad person. A bad sister and a bad niece. Mabel thinks, and it hurts because it is true. Sometimes, she wishes someone could go into her mindscape and start to beat up all of her bad thoughts. Everytime they speak the undeniable truth, and it hurts so bad like someone shot an arrow through her heart, leaving a gaping hole.
Her chocolate isn’t hot anymore, just slightly warm and still untouched, because Mabel is a selfish girl who desperately wants the cheap chocolate from the Gravity Falls grocery store, not the good chocolate that her parent’s only pull out for special occasions. She is a selfish girl who yearns for a hug from her Grunkles and the summer sun blinking through the pine trees, a grappling hook in her hand, her brother watching her back like he always does when they enter the forest.
The pain, a weird mix of nostalgia and yearning and bitter sadness and guilt, hits her with all its might, and suddenly, Mabel is fighting tears. Which is weird, because Mabel hasn’t cried since they arrived in Piedmont a week or so back. Not when they stepped on the bus, not when her parents hugged her after not seeing them for two months, not when she was allowed to keep Waddles and not when she entered her room that didn’t feel like hers any longer. But now, it takes all the knowledge about pokerfaces her Grunkle gave her to not start sobbing right here and now.
“- and then the pig started flying!”
“Mhm.” Mabel makes, before her mind catches up. Stupid, stupid Mabel.
Her dad chuckles. “Knew you weren’t actually listening, pumpkin.”
Pumpkin, another nickname she isn’t worthy of anymore. The tears burn behind her eyes, but she manages to hold them back for just a little while longer.
Mabel stands up from her chair, cold and naked feet touching the stone tiles. She used to wear slippers when walking around the house, but she doesn't anymore. They are too, well, slippery. Too difficult to run, much less fight in, because what if she has to? No, she rather walks on her bare feet and risks getting a bit cold.
“I think I am going to sleep now.” she says and takes a step towards the door.
Her father frowns. “But you haven’t even touched your drink-”
Yeah because it’s not the right one, not the one that normally comforts me after waking up from Nightmares about fighting a yellow triangle demon-
But she can’t say that.
“I am just,” Mabel fakes a yawn, “really, really tired. I could hypernate - hiper- hiber- whatever.”
Her dad looks confused by her sudden retreat, but she just can’t help it. If she won’t go now, she will cry. Mabel can feel it bubbling in her chest.
“Thanks for the chocolate, and sorry for waking you up.” she manages to choke out, then she turns and makes a run for it. Up the stairs, they don’t creak under her weight, they are stone not wood, and past the doors in the hallway - Mabel breathes hard when she enters her room and somehow manages to not slam the door shut behind her but closes it slowly.
The light in her room is still turned on, she must’ve forgotten it after leaving to go to the kitchen. The walls scream at her in bright purple and pink, with stars painted to the ceiling and yarn all over the floor, exactly how she left it.
It doesn’t feel like hers anymore, even though Mabel was the one who picked all of the colors, who spent days decorating and painting and crafting to make herself feel at home here, who spent months adding more and more little details. Stickers on the desk and bed frame, the pillows and stuffed animals and knitted blankets. The girl who made this room feels so far away now - Mabel doesn’t know if she can be her ever again.
She misses the attic. She misses her Grunkles, and Soos and Wendy and just everyone. Even Pacifica.
Suddenly, Mabel is glad Dipper is in his room and Waddles is downstairs - because as she throws herself onto her bed and begins sobbing, she is sure she would have woken them up.