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Dipper took a slow breath in and forced his eyes open. He was sleepy. This stuff always made him sleepy, and with the crickets outside, he couldn’t help the looseness of his muscles. He let his head fall back, and it landed gently on Ford’s shoulder.
Ford stopped talking, but only for a moment before he continued his half-mumbled, half-yelled story about an alien he’d ‘encountered’ a decade or three ago.
“And they, um, she had this - well, it wasn’t really a penis ,” Ford gestured wildly, and Dipper turned his head enough so he could watch Ford’s hands out of the corner of his eye, back flush against Ford’s.
“It was quite flexible, and, er, quite large, actually, but in their culture, whoever has the smaller, er, appendage has to become pregnant, and I didn’t want to offend her - she was the queen - so I had to hope and pray that -”
“She was the queen?” Dipper mumbled. He swiveled his head until his neck ached and his brow bumped Ford’s chin. “You fucked - the… you fucked a queen?”
“Oh, yes.” Ford waved his hand dismissively, and Dipper’s eyes slid up to wander across the popcorn ceiling, still slowly blinking.
“Huh.” He held his hand out, and Ford easily passed him the bong. The plant burning in its bowl was blue - cyanocannibis, Ford called it. ‘None of the lung contaminants and all of the fun to be found at college parties.’ Dipper could tell it was a clever tactic to keep him focused on their work, and on Ford.
He didn’t mind. He didn’t need an incentive to trade time with regular, boring 18 year olds for time with his awesome grunkle. He took a hit, and breathed out a cloud of pretty blue smog.
“Wait, so,” Dipper blinked, brow screwed up with concentration. “Did you like, break out the measuring tape, or what?...” He had to admit that this kind of conversation would, to most people, be strange to have with your great-uncle, but he and Ford weren’t like that.
Plus, they were both high, and Dipper couldn’t quite recall what sober Dipper would think anyways.
“Heh, no. We just, erm, compared visually, but it didn’t turn out too poorly for me, because I won the measuring contest, heh. I suppose she may have used my DNA for her next brood - their species, they can take small segments of the DNA of other species and incorporate it into their own. Fascinating stuff.”
Ford trailed off, then continued on with a shrug. “So I, I don’t suppose I do have an alien child running around, as you’d put it, but I like to think the species might’ve gained an extra finger, they’re like bees you see, the whole generation is from the queen’s brood, so that little DNA trick was a clever way to keep genetic diversity! The penis thing, well, that’s just cultural.”
Dipper spaced out a little bit around the ‘won the measuring contest’ bit, until Ford suddenly became silent again, and he realized it was his turn to speak.
“How big was it?” he asked, which was a frankly inane question to be asking his uncle, but he was high.
Ford’s eyelids fluttered, and his brows pulled together in confusion. “Hers? It was, hm, it-”
“No, yours,” Dipper interrupted, and Ford let out a quiet ‘ah.’ “I just mean, like, is it average, or, um. I… that’s a weird question, right? Never. Mm. Nevermind.” He was curious, in reality, but not for perverted reasons, or something. He just… Well, he’d been hoping to ask about this anyways…
“No, no, it’s alright, my boy,” Ford assured, and Dipper’s stomach stirred warm and fuzzy. “Weird isn’t bad, remember? And it’s - well, I would say quite above average. Hers was average size - for a human male, at least - and I was fairly larger. Does that answer your question, Dipper?”
Dipper nodded hazily, licking his lips. His mouth was dry - the weed again. “Uh, yeah,” he replied, voice barely a whisper. “But it’s, like, being below average is, it’s okay, right?”
“It’s - yes, that’s fine. People make, hm, well, they make a big deal about it, sometimes, but it’s perfectly alright. Is…” Ford’s voice lowered, which was entirely unnecessary. “Is this a personal issue, or?...”
“No, no,” Dipper stuttered out with a nervous laugh. “No, I mean, I’m still growing, man, so no.”
Ford paused. He turned his head - Dipper could feel his stubble grazing his forehead. “Erm, actually,” he began, slowly. “Most boys have already reached their final size around your age.”
Dipper’s nervous chuckle, and his smile, fizzled out. He sat up, eyes wide. Ford, behind him, scrambled to keep upright, having been leaning into Dipper’s back as much as Dipper was leaning into his.
“Really?” Dipper shuffled until he was facing Ford, feeling a little nauseous. Ford did the same.
“Yes?...” Ford grimaced at the sight of Dipper’s expression, which he hadn’t realized he was making. “It’s - it’s alright if you’re small, Dipper, I’m sure you’re still adequate.” Dipper groaned and buried his face in his hands at the word. “Okay, so perhaps that wasn’t the best word to use, but it’s nothing to have so much grief over.”
“It is , you - you wouldn’t get it! You’re so cool, and handsome, and smart, and I’m just - just that weird guy who plays with dead animal parts in the basement with his uncle.”
Ford huffed. “Well, for one, I’m also the weird guy in that example, and two, do you think I wasn’t also ‘just that weird guy’ when I was in college? I mean, Dipper, I wasn’t as skinny as you are, but I was still rather skinny, and - oh, that didn’t come out right, did it?...”
Dipper deflated. “No, I don’t think so.” He pulled the bong back from Ford and took another hit in an attempt to quell his ample nerves, but the effect lasted only a few moments before he was mortifyingly embarrassed again. He groaned. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid. I’m just… Ugh.” He gestured vaguely.
Ford’s hand landed on Dipper’s shoulder, grip firm. “No, Dipper, you are not ‘ ugh .’ You are a very handsome young man, and I’m sure you could gain some muscle if you put your mind to it, but you are perfectly fine the way you are, alright?”
Dipper wavered, lips pulled into a thin frown, and Ford gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “Fine,” he sighed, but couldn’t help but curl into himself. “Can’t fix a small dick, though,” he mumbled, half-hoping Ford wouldn’t even hear him. He wondered if Ford was even still high. That would make this conversation feel even more awkward - Dipper hadn’t even thought that was possible.
Ford gnawed his lip. Dipper watched as his eyes flicked to the side, then back to Dipper, and he played with the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and he wondered what he was thinking.
“Would you like to see something?” Ford finally asked, after overcoming his hesitance, and Dipper’s brain stalled. No way , he thought dizzily, which was a weird reaction to what he thought Ford was proposing, but really, there was no way. That would be too weird.
“Sure,” Dipper breathed anyway, part of him hoping Ford was actually about to unzip his pants, and he was not about to examine why. He really didn’t need that right now.
Instead, Ford stood up, and Dipper pushed down his - completely uncalled for - disappointment. Ford held a hand out, and Dipper grabbed onto it and pulled himself up by wobbly legs. When Ford started towards some unknown destination, all Dipper could do was stumble after him.
Ford’s pace was irritatingly quick, especially for a guy that was supposed to be high right now. Dipper was only certain that he still was from his occasional stumble, and the way he braced himself on the couch on his way to the door.
“Where are we going?” Dipper asked as he fought to keep up with Ford. “Outside,” Ford replied rather vaguely, with a ‘come-hither’ from where he stood at the door. Then, he stepped through it.
Dipper frowned before following Ford out, letting out a little sigh as the cold night air hit his face. It was fall, and the chill had truly set in.
It had been weird to be in Gravity Falls during the winter, at first, when Dipper had become Ford’s apprentice a few years after his original offer - after Weirdmageddon. With college approaching, and with him looking for apprenticeship opportunities to pad his resume, it had just made sense.
It had made sense to stay with him, too. Considering his 12 pHds, he was more qualified to teach Dipper than anyone. Dipper hadn’t wanted to leave Ford’s side, but he had to drum up plenty of good excuses not to. And Stan and Mabel, they were fine. They were happy. Dipper still got to see them, even if Stan and Ford disagreed on the whole “Dipper-not-going-to-school” situation, and Stan and Ford still got to sail out a few months of the year.
For the rest of it, though, Ford was his . The bite of crisp September air, and the oaky scent of dead leaves carried by the breeze - which Dipper would never have had during their young summer visits - was just a reminder of the fact.
“Come on!” Ford called from a little ways off, and Dipper was struck from his thoughts. He scampered over to Ford, who stood on a hill just before the wall of pines on the treeline. Ford was looking up, so Dipper did, too.
The sky was clear tonight. Dipper knew immediately what they were out here to do, even if he didn’t know why. It was a good spot that Ford had picked, far enough from the shack that it wouldn’t block out any of the sky. Far enough from the trees that they wouldn’t, either.
“Sit down,” Ford said, already settling, and Dipper did, too. The grass was wet from the night, turning his pants just a little damp and, where the cold beads of dew met his bare legs, making him shiver.
“So…” Dipper trailed off as he tried to get comfortable - some position where the grass wasn’t poking him. The stars were pretty, but… “What does this have to do with, well, my problem?” His cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment, but it was hard to feel too out of sorts when the night was this nice, and when he was still just high enough to float.
“Up there,” Ford pointed up - probably to some specific constellation, but Dipper couldn’t tell until he told him. “Find the Big Dipper for me, will you?”
Dipper nodded. “There,” he said, pointing even though Ford was already looking at it. Unthinking, Dipper’s damp fingers grazed his own birthmark, before he let them fall back down to the dewy grass. “The Big Dipper.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ford asked.
Dipper nodded, uncertain where Ford was going with this. “Yeah?...”
“And it is part of another, larger constellation as well, as I’m sure you know. Ursa Major. One of my favorite constellations, in fact.” Dipper repressed a smile. Of course Ford had a favorite constellation - and not one, but multiple.
Though, it wasn’t like Dipper could talk. He had a favorite, too, though he wasn’t sure how unusual that was considering it was printed onto his head at birth. That, at least, was unusual.
“...But just because Ursa Major is my favorite, that does not mean that the Big Dipper is any less beautiful to me. And just because the Big Dipper is only a portion of Ursa Major - is smaller by nature of that - that does not mean it is less beautiful. It has its own identity, its own cultural relevance - in fact, it even points the traveler’s way to Polaris.”
Dipper followed the trajectory of Ford’s fingertip as it moved, along the outer cup of the Big Dipper, across the expanse of stars between it and the North Star, then stopping. He didn’t understand what Ford was saying. He couldn’t.
“Further, Polaris forms the tail of the cluster of stars that we call the Little Dipper. And this cluster of stars, it’s the companion to the Big Dipper, but to Ursa Major as well. In that case, we call it Ursa Minor. This cluster of stars is smaller than Ursa Major, of course, and even smaller than the Big Dipper. The Little Dipper is small, but it is beautiful in its own right, just as the Big Dipper is.”
Ford and Dipper sat in silence for a while, with that. Dipper didn’t know what to say, and Ford had said his share.
But then, Ford said something else - well, he didn’t say something, per se. He turned to Dipper, and he was close, and he brushed his hair back, away from his forehead, with the back of his hand, and Dipper’s breath caught. His fingers - more calloused than Dipper’s own, though Dipper was certainly working on that - traced his birthmark.
‘Do you understand?’ Ford’s eyes asked, as cool and undisturbed as a pond on a still night. Dipper stared back, as caught as a rabbit with its leg in a snare. He opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded.
Ford smiled, ruffled Dipper’s hair affectionately, and suddenly, was pulling himself to his feet. Dipper just watched, still blinking up at him like a dazed animal as Ford brushed the grass off of his pants and offered his hand again. Dipper took it.
Back in the shack, they finished up their bowl and ate some chips to go with it, shoulders pressed together where they both leaned against the coffee table.
Dipper took a hit, and his head spun with the THC. He breathed out a misty blue cloud, the same sort as before.
This time, as it glittered in the lamp light, it looked to Dipper like stardust.