Gravity Rises (S3)

TTF: Part Thirteen

WINTER 2013

A soft rumble accompanied the otherwise-silent elevator as it trundled up its shaft. Dipper stared at the unconscious stranger, his eyes trailing down to the end of the man's beard as it brushed against the floor. His mind scrambled to make sense of the past five minutes. This man. . . this was Fidds. This was Fiddleford McGucket, who had stolen the Journals, who had erased Ford's mind. This wasn't Stan. This wasn't the person they needed to rescue.

What. . . what had gone wrong?

Mabel stood so close that Dipper could feel her shaking. A quick glance showed stunned tears on her face, and he knew she was just as lost as he was. She had been so brave down in the basement. . . and for what? Pressing that button had only brought pain.

That pain weaved through the Pines' silence, wrapping itself around Dipper's throat and strangling him. He couldn't do this. Someone had to say something, had to do something. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why were they all standing around and letting the silence suffocate them?

When the elevator stopped, Dipper burst from its confines. The tools in his arms jangled against each other as he took the stairs two at a time, running into the gift shop. Immediately, he was greeted with cold air that leaked in through the broken window, but he found he preferred it this way. The temperature matched how he felt; it was only appropriate.

Eventually, the others caught up to him. Ford let go of Fidds long enough to push the vending machine, and it closed with a resounding thud that felt far too final. Then the somber procession continued: Melody and Ford carried Fidds as the twins trailed behind with their armloads of supplies.

To Dipper's horror, the silence followed them.

No. No, he couldn't handle this anymore. "So what now?" he demanded. "What are we going to do now?"

Mabel jumped as if someone had slapped her, and Dipper momentarily regretted his outburst. But it was better, he thought, to startle Mabel out of her stupor than to allow her to sink further into the pain. He kept talking, determined that no one shove him back into the horrible silence. "Well?" He sounded angry — he didn't want to sound angry, but he did.

He looked up to Ford for an answer; in his periphery, he noticed Mabel do the same. But Ford didn't answer. The muscles in his back and shoulder clenched, and he lowered his head. The posture was utterly dejected, and Dipper found it almost worse than the silence.

It was Melody who took charge; it was Melody who answered as she looked over her shoulder. "We're going to take Fiddleford to Ford's room, and I'll tend him there. You kids are going to take all that" — she nodded to the tools and books in their arms — "to Ford's lab."

"What's Ford going to do?" Mabel whispered. She sounded scared.

Ford stiffened further and said nothing.

"Come on, kids," said Melody quietly.

The silence descended again as the Pines walked down the hall. It wasn't much warmer here, and Dipper wondered when they were going to turn the heating back on — this cold made it hard to remember how it felt to be warm. He wanted to push past Ford and Melody so he could run to the lab, drop off his armful of tools, and do the next thing — he had to do things, he couldn't stay still, he had to move. But he didn't dare, though the pace was maddeningly slow.

Finally — finally — they reached Ford's room. Mabel scrambled to open the door for the adults, and they moved sideways through the door, awkwardly, with Fidds' slack body between them. As soon as there was space, Dipper slipped past them and hurried to the lab. He kicked at the partially open door, reveling in the sound as it slammed into the far wall, and dumped his armload. Metal struck metal in a satisfying cacophony as the tools clattered to the ground.