The Things We Leave Behind (Gravity Falls Fic)

Chapter 42: A Different Kind Of Normal

This chapter is the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

Saige:

Things were... tense... to say the least... in the days that followed the incident. I don't know what happened between the brothers after I left, but the two of them could barely be in the same room together for any length of time without exploding into a fight or walking out altogether. I'm not sure if I should say "fortunately" or not when I mention that those times were few, due to Ford's lack of appearance. But when he wasn't in his lab, and Stan wasn't too busy cheating unsuspecting tourists out of their money to notice his presence, they were bickering like cats and dogs.

Work was a nightmare. It was as if Stan needed a distraction (any distraction) from Ford and wasn't afraid to use his power over me as an employee to get one. He would spend as much time as possible ordering Soos, Wendy, and me around the Shack, giving us pile upon pile of busywork to do just because... well, because he can, I guess.

But other than the back-breaking mountains of useless things he was throwing on us - "Saige, go dust off the t-shirts on the top rack..." "...Wendy, rearrange all the snowglobes into alphabetical order by color and size..." "...Soos, empty the garbage cans onto the ground and then clean it up again..." - things were pretty much back to normal. And despite the events of the past... how long has it been... week or so? The Shack was still standing, the town wasn't aflame, and the world hadn't ended.

Although, for a minute there, we thought it might.

Of course, there were still many questions left unanswered, which Dipper made certain to remind Ford of every time he got the chance to nag him about it. And to be honest, I've sort of been itching to speak with him myself. Not for the same reasons as Dipper - well, no exactly the same.

I like to think I know the secrets of the multiverse better than the young boy, but in all honesty, after all I've studied, after everything I've been through, I'm still pretty in the dark about most things. But to be honest, I'd say I know more about a universe 3 billion lightyears away than I know about myself.

What was I talking about?

Oh, right, the Shack.

Everyone is grateful that our workplace (and home, for some) is still in its everyday state of decay, rather than an accelerated version of that. Nothing really seemed to have changed.

I was less than jubilated by the prospect of the weekend. Asha and the other Cabin members had been bombarding me with questions about where I had disappeared the day Ford returned ever since I got home from that little adventure in the rafters. Because I'm done with lying - at least to my friends - I have told them straight up that I'm not supposed to talk about it.

Stan and Ford don't know how to deal with the whole... identity theft thing yet, or how to explain what happened to the original Stanford Pines for all those years, so until further notice, the situation is supposed to be pretty hush-hush.

I had gotten so annoyed with their nosiness - Cassie's especially - that despite how great a toll it took on me, I had started working late, so I was never home to deal with it. Marcy and Angel could hardly get anything out of me at work, since I pretended to be really focused on whatever cheap, fake knick-knack I was maintaining whenever they tried. And thus, I've been avoiding them all week.

But with Saturday on its way, I knew that I was going to be stuck at home with all that electrified inquisitive atmosphere, and I didn't want to chance letting anything slip. I was pretty sure that nothing about the secrecy status of the Ford issue would change by tomorrow, so I was in a rut. I had to figure out an excuse to be out all day. I kind of wanted to go somewhere to be alone. Maybe I could finally get some work done on the portal for the Ooolanders.

But where would I go? More importantly, where would I tell the others I was going?

An idea struck me. Literally. While walking outside on this windy night towards the path that led home, I was slapped in the face by a flyer that had been ripped off a light post nearby. I peeled it off and read it, blinking. It was perfect.

---

The next morning, I got up bright and early, making sure I was awake before everyone else and filling my satchel with a small couch pillow, my journal, some paper and pencils, a granola bar, and a bottle of water. I threw my hair into a bun and left a note on the kitchen counter, tacked to the flyer from last night.

"THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER ON THE BETSY SIDE," the flyer screamed at me in big, bold lettering, "COME WATCH GRASS GROW AT THE GREENER GRASS FESTIVAL ON SATURDAY, XX/XX/XX! BE THERE OR BE A WEED! BETSY'S GARDENING SHOP, GRAVITY FALLS, OREGON."

No one would follow me there.

Heck, I wouldn't follow myself there.

I rolled my shoulders and cracked my knuckles before heading outside, not worrying about the door slamming behind me. I wasn't sure if I would be able to find the place I was looking for, but just in case I got lost, I had my shiny, new, updated UTD to zap me back to the cabin if ever the need arose.

I started down the path that I would normally take to town, but at the clearing, I cut off through the trees, swatting bugs and pushing sagging branches, heavy with pine needles, out of my way. I kept my eyes above me, waiting for the tops of pines to morph into a navy blue oak canopy.

To my delight, it didn't take long for that exact thing to happen, and pretty soon, I pushed through some ferns and crashed through the underbrush into the butterfly hollow. It was just as beautiful as I remembered it, and secluded, perfect for my current needs. Cassiopeia's glittering brothers and sisters dazzled around the cavernous hollow like diamonds drifting through the air.

Or ghosts...

The words echoed in my head clear as day and I shivered, trying to push that thought to the back of my mind. I was determined not to think about him today.

Careful not to disturb any of the butterflies, I picked a spot next to an oak's trunk to set the pillow I had brought and sat down, leaning my back against the bark and pulling out my materials. In my right hand was a pencil; in my left was a granola bar.

And I worked for what seemed like ages, immersing myself in the spells and the notes in red and the symbols in charcoal imprinted on the book's yellowed pages, inked memories left behind by a girl just like me... only a little... lighter.

I had a slight feeling of being watched, but I figured it was probably Riley, keeping an eye on me, and brushed the feeling off, perfectly relaxed.

Of course, nothing peaceful lasts forever.

I saw his shadow before I heard his footsteps... stretching over me like a great beast determined to snuff out the butterflies' light.

I sighed, not even bothering to put down the pencil as I voiced, "Hello, Bill..."

He kneeled down in front of me, and I had light once more, and he said, curiously, "What are you working on there, Operator?"

"Netherling magic..." I mumbled, absentmindedly, managing to refocus my attention on my navigation spells, "...to get the Ooolanders home."

He blinked his only visible, long-lashed, clear blue eye, "You can do magic?"

He said this as if it was the first time he'd heard it. After all of his stalking, he still hadn't recognized my abilities? Of course not... That wasn't what he was worried about.

I sighed, "Yes, Bill. I can do magic."

He crossed his legs, watching, "I mean, I knew you could do magic... I guess its just now really clicking." I didn't respond, and he seemed to be reading the symbols, following along as I wrote, copying down things from the book. The first symbol in every line was the one drawn in red on my black hoodie that I wore most often - the one that spawned his nickname for me.

He seemed to take great interest in my work and stayed silent, politely letting me do my thing. I appreciated that. Despite the interruption, he was still allowing me to get back on track, which was actually really thoughtful of him.

After about another thirty minutes of silents, the only sound the fluttering of butterfly wings and the occasional rush of hot, summer wind, I closed up my journal and bound it with twine, placing it and all my notes and pencils back in my satchel.

"Leaving so soon?" He queried suddenly, seeing me pack up. His tone was playful, with a hint of disappointment.

I bit my lip, pausing, my hand half in my bag to return my water bottle, "Um... well... I can't sit here all day, can I? I did what I needed to do, so... I can go now." However, I knew if I went back to the cabin, I was bound to be tackled and held captive until I answered all my info-hungry friends' questions.

His eyes scanned my face, dubiously, "Yes, you can... but do you want to? I saw your little white lie by the kitchen counter - you've prepared to be gone all day long. You don't have to return yet if you don't want to."

My voice fell flat as I stared at him, scowling, "You were in my cabin?"

He waved it off with ease, "Oh, I'm always in your cabin. Either that, or I'm in my own home, planning my-"

He paused, glancing away before meeting my eyes again, "...working."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't ask any questions, knowing I'd get about as much out of him as I would out of a pinecone.

"You know I don't want to go back yet," I said with a sigh, giving in, "but what am I supposed to do until then?" I looked around the hollow, "This place is amazing, but its not like there's much fun to be had..."

He made a face like he was thinking, and then slid his hands over mine, standing up and pulling me to my feet with him. I blinked at him quizzically, "Uh, what are we doing?"

He walked backwards, leading me to the center of the clearing, and pulled me close to him, wrapping his left arm loosely around my waist and intertwining our fingers with his right. I blushed, still not sure what he was up to, as he said, "We're going to have some fun."

Without giving me a chance to assess the situation, he started to sway with me, rhythmically, as if he was responding physically to a song I couldn't hear.

I was about to ask what he was doing again, when he spoke softly, "I didn't get to be your date to the Northwest's party... Plus, I helped save your life, so I think you at least owe me one little dance."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, "You didn't 'save my life'. I was doing just fine on my own, thanks."

When I returned my gaze to his, I wasn't surprised to see his unamused expression. I blinked, and then sighed, some small (yet strong) part of me saying he was right. Even if it wasn't necessary, it was still pretty selfless.

I could give him one dance...

I swayed with him, not sure how he could be so confident without any music, but as I listened closely, I could hear the wings of the butterflies breathing out a quiet beat and the hushed breeze rustling the leaves in a peaceful melody. At this, I smiled slightly, loosening up a bit.

"Now you're getting it," he chuckled, spinning me and then pulling me back to him, gently.

We must have spent all day that way... dancing and laughing. And for once, I didn't feel like he was using me - and for once, when I looked into his eyes, I didn't see dishonesty, but rather a sort of glimmer of happiness and hopefulness reflected in his azure irises.

But the whole time, I felt a different pair of eyes on me from somewhere in the forest.

And something in that feeling seethed with jealousy... as if Riley and Bill had swapped personalities for the day.

Everything was back to normal... just... a different kind of normal.