News hadn't yet spread to Mr. and Mrs. Pines on Dipper's disappearance. It took all of three days to gain their permission for the twins to "attend" school in Gravity Falls, and thirty minutes for Stan to forge enrollment papers. An old voice-enhancer took care of long-distance phone calls, in which Mabel soothed her parent's worries on one end, and only moments after did the exact same thing posed as Dipper.

Christmas had been a bit of an issue, made near-disastrous when their parents insisted on coming up to visit; nothing Ol' Man McGucket's weather-manipulator couldn't fix. The biggest blizzard on this side of the country and Mr. and Mrs. Pines were forced to retreat back to California.

Smooth as things were going, almost six months without direct contact was cutting it close. No one was sure what to do if spring break rolled around and Dipper was still missing. Ford suggested water-proof clones. Stan knew a guy from the Bronx who was around the kid's height, more or less, with hair around the same shade; if they could only do something about the crack addiction. In all their concern, Mabel was the one to remind them the end-goal wasn't to replace him, but to starve off attention; as it stood, only a hand-full of people knew Dipper had been kidnapped in the first place, the rest persuaded to believe he'd left for Piedmont.

It was all Mabel could do when passer-byers asked about him to maintain face, even as her chest hardened and it became difficult to breathe. The brunt of pressure was on her shoulders, after all.

Beast was sympathetic to her cause, even at the height of Mabel's spiralling temper; Beast's answers were vague as always. Almost mockingly so. If Mabel were (for example) to ask what time it was in Dipper's location, Beast would reply with something along the lines of "Sun is up." The weather was "wet." His surroundings were "dark." On good days, Mabel marked off entire continents. On bad days, she pulled out maps of solar systems. On even worse days, she set the entirety of them on fire, before storming off into a field to clear her head.

It was hard not to notice the glaring differences between how she went about things, and how she assumed Dipper would have, had he been by her side. He wasn't just smart, after all. He was clever. His mind was a plethora of observations. If he couldn't get the answer right away (and he hardly ever assumed he would), he played his strings one by one until striking a tune that led an entire melody. Or, in simple terms, he knew what the hell he was doing when it came to looking for clues, which she did not. She was a quick sweep-over; he was the fine comb.

Beast was always gentle with her, and far more patient than anyone else might have been. She found ways to coerce Mabel back inside each time, even when the girl assured her she had nothing left to ask. Mabel found herself time and time again lounging on Beast's rug, late into the nights.

If the days ran long, Beast offered berries dressed in poppy-seeds. If they were short, she prepared small mint-drinks sapped in passion fruit. Urgent or not, Mabel found herself slowly looking forward to the commutes she made to the witch's home, who seemed just as avid on finding Dipper. She often met Mabel at the edge of the coven's barrier with a hurried "Come, come," and a thing of beets under her arm.

It was obvious Beast enjoyed Mabel's company, lonely as she was. While Mabel enjoyed it right back, their time together was clouded by the nature of which they had met in the first place. Beast often strayed off course -explained the patterns of the stars, the healing properties of malachite. It irritated Mabel, who was so easily distracted by her friend's intricate descriptions and anecdotes that she'd forget (if only for a moment), before remembering herself and forcing the conversation back on track.

Who could blame Beast? She had no one else to discuss these things with.

Their search was a steady flat-line. Beast, despite herself, avidly implored Mabel to seek help elsewhere when the questions all led down the same path; Cannot say. Mabel relented. With her brother in mind, she knew then that Beast also needed a kind of help. They had been alone in those months; Beast was an outcast. Mabel only cared to track down her brother. As summer rolled into fall, it became avidly clear they were one in the same. Selfish maybe, perhaps even naive, but of everyone she could have found, Mabel was glad to have met Beast, and was thereafter convinced it would be this witch to lead her to Dipper.

Wishful thinking.

It had been an icy March. Mabel returned from the coven a little after lunch, the hot sun creating wisps of fog through meadows of tall, frozen grass. Beast had fashioned her with a tight straw-bracelet which she wore around her wrist, swinging her arms at the sight of the Mystery Shack. As she approached, Mabel saw more and more of what looked to be a limousine, only to grin when Pacifica came around the porch, waving a timid hand.

"Paz!" Mabel called out, doubling her pace. She trotted up the porch steps, throwing her arms around Pacifica, who stiffened with a slight pinch to her features.

Pacifica quickly wiggled out of the hug. "Mabel. Hey." Her smile was tilted down at the corners. "You're-. Here. Mr. Pines said you wouldn't be back 'til late."

If Mabel happened to notice her friend's slightly inconvenienced tone, she neglected to mention it. Instead, she let out a soft laugh, averting her eyes before speaking. "He did? Oh- well. Yeah. I don't know. We weren't making as much progress as we would have liked today, so." Mabel trailed off, rocking on the balls of her feet. She wore a crooked, weak grin; clearing her throat helped rejuvenate it. "But, what're you doing here? Gosh, I haven't seen you in forever."

"It's been two days."

"And I missed you!"

Pacifica snorted, shaking her head. "Yeah, I-. Same." The girl shifted side to side, rubbing her arm. "Mabel... Can we, like..?" She gestured awkwardly at the couch out on the porch for the two to sit. Mabel's eyes went wide only a second before schooling her reaction; Pacifica couldn't stand the washed-out orange, mildewy cushions, and abandoned hornet's nest.

"Uh... okay?" She replied, settling herself in next to Pacifica, who suddenly looked too serious to notice what she was sitting on. Mabel shifted awkwardly. "Am... Am I in trouble? Are you suing me?"

That (thank god) snapped Pacifica out of it just a little. She gave Mabel an incredulous look before snorting. "Oh, shut up. You're worse than Dipp- er." Pacifica clamped her mouth shut. The smile she'd been sporting dissolved, just as Mabel's became intensely wider, looking at her, then away, making Pacifica cringe. "Sorry. I'm guessing you guys haven't found anything yet..."

"We're getting there!" Mabel reassured. "He's somewhere... on Earth... Probably." When Pacifica gave her a pitying look, Mabel had to physically resist the popping sensation that formed at the back of her throat. Swallowing, she tried to maintain her composure. "How've you been? I heard you bought a ferret!"

Her friend, worried as she was, let it go just as quickly, resigned to Mabel's dodging; they hardly mentioned the space between them, reserved for a boy neither had seen in half a year. Instead, she rolled with it like everything was Cashmeres and Prada. "A vintage La Crullia Manturio, flown all the way from Paris, actually." Mabel looked at her puzzlingly. Pacifica sighed. "It's a scarf."

"Oh." Mabel replied. Her lips curled in while the rest of her leaned out. "Have you named it yet?"

"What? No. Mabel, that's like, literally so creepy."

"Naming your pet is not creepy!"

"It's not a pet! Oh my god. Would you just-?" Pacifica drew a hand down her face, steadying herself. She took a deep breath, shifting until her knees bumped against Mabel's. "Look, I came here to confess something to you." Pacifica's hand curled around her friend's, strangely warm and stiff like hot metal.

What else was she expected to make of the atmosphere?

Mabel gasped, quick to observe their fingers interjoined, and her friend looking uncharacteristically nervous. A sudden flattery washed over her, as well as a bit of apprehension to her friend's timing. She covered her mouth, red creeping into her cheeks with a scandalized "Omg, Paz-."

Pacifica threw a hand over her eyes. "Oh, Pu-lease! Don't even think about it." She hissed, only to stop. She squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose before reanimating the same serious expression. Mabel's playful demeanor quickly melted away at Pacifica's inability to maintain eye contact. "It's about Dipper."

Mabel froze, back going rigid. "...Dipper." She echoed with an unreadable expression; something between robotic apathy on her face, and horror-infestation in her gaze.

"Yeah." Pacifica confirmed.

Mabel didn't seem to understand. "My brother. Who's been-. Who's gone?" Pacifica's hand shook only an ounce before clamping down on hers.

"Yes, yeah. Him." She assured. Mabel went still then, staring at Pacifica like she'd grown a second head. She looked bafflingly from their hands, to Pacifica's face, to the widespread view of the front porch. A shiver rode up her spine, forcing a gasp from her lungs.

"You found something..." Mabel's heart droned at the sight of Pacifica's head slowly tilting itself up and down, up and down. Her friend's mouth moved, only to clamp shut just as quickly. Beads of sweat accumulated on Pacifica's brow, giving Mabel the greatest scare of her life; Pacifica Northwest did not sweat.

Slowly, uncertainly, she began."You have to promise, you won't get mad at me."

Mabel drew her eyes up at the girl gnawing her lower lip, hair frizzing from the humidity, mascara unable to hide away a sea of guilt. She felt cold. "...why would I get mad?" Mabel, suddenly sick to her stomach, began to draw her hand from Pacifica's, only for the other's grip to tighten. She could feel her heartbeat through the marrow of her bones.

Pacifica gulped, forcing herself to look Mabel in the eye. "You remember how I said-? Um. We had, like, that girls' night thing last year, and like-. Christ. Okay." She stammered, drawing a hand down her face, forcing herself along through gritted teeth. "You know how we played truth or dare?"

"Pacifica, why would I get mad?" Mabel pressed, using their combined sweat to yank her hand from Pacifica's grip. Her friend sat, stone-faced, before responding.

"I did find something." Pacifica admitted. A tongue slid over her lips, dry, before pushing ahead. "Girls' night, I um-. I told you about a type of... er, entertainment I liked to watch online. You know, uh." She coughed. "Yeah... Mabel?"

Mabel's eyes shot wide, only to turn defensive. Her gut clenched at the memory of giggles and hot skin over her cheeks, leaning in as Pacifica cupped a hand over her ear and whispered one of many secrets that night. Something that, at the time, Mabel teased her for, unaware it would turn around to bite them in the asses later. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Pacifica shook her head numbly, bearing her face like it physically pained her to go on. "I don't-. Oh my god, Mabel." Her head sank into the bends of her knees before rolling back up, looking at her, looking away and groaning sadly. "I was-. Browsing. Online. You know. There's this one site I go to for-. Boys, doing-. Like-. Boy things." Her hands rolled around each other, and Mabel focused on it with otherworldly precision.. She watched Pacifica; a dangerous animal.

"I didn't... Mabel, I swear to god, I didn't-. I wasn't looking for it. It just-. It was just a fucking..." Pacifica suddenly covered her trembling lips. Her mouth turned down in an ugly, silent cry, eyes clamped shut with her fist resting against her forehead. She took one loud, long breath through her nostrils. "I didn't know some of that stuff was- real. I thought it was like fake or role play or whatever."

When her head tilted up to read Mabel's reaction, it was as blank as it was terrified. She didn't move an inch through Pacifica's floundering, but in doing so, exposed the waves of panic she was harboring. Even a slight twitch of her eyelid gave it away, just a little.

"I found a video... Two days ago." Pacifica admitted. "Of Dipper."

All of a sudden, the floor was giving out below her, and Mabel was up in the air.

"...what?" She felt herself lean back in her seat, the sensation close to plummeting. Where it felt she had spiralled down a cliff, her head only lolled against the couch's back cushion. A flash of memory. The magazines she kept under her pillows back in Piedmont. Pacifica's favorite secret sites, her favorite secret pictures, her favorite secret videos.

But, she couldn't mean-

Those videos?

Mabel had never before thought to judge Pacifica's taste; they both loved the look of men, and enjoyed their views in full, so searching for men together hadn't seemed like an issue. Until it was. Before, the videos had been no more than ridiculously foul-titled fantasies (Buzz-words like "Barely legal" and "First time" smacked on amature recordings of bathrooms and back seats). Now, they were terrifying just to imagine.

"Underage boy forced to cooperate" was floating around somewhere on the internet under the guise of make-believe.

"It's-. Mabel, I swear. I swear, I would never watch something like that. I swear, I just. Like-. I had no idea."

Pacifica combed a hand through her hair, not daring to meet her friend's shocked expression. "Mabel, I didn't know."

She really hadn't meant to stumble upon it, and when she did, was appalled to find she recognised the freckles lined at Dipper's back, the shape of his curls, the throw of his voice. When she realized, Pacifica snapped her laptop shut with a caw, almost mistaken for a shout of pain. For two days, she sat on the video, harboring the intense knowledge that having found it was vital, but admitting its existence would mean immediate exposure on her part. Guilt ate her from the inside out, until the truth was practically pouring out of every hole.

Mabel's eyes were level but clouded. In the midst of Pacifica's ramble, she repositioned her hand overtop the other's, stealing the last of her words away. With a blink and a gulp, Mabel led on horsley.

"Is he okay..?" Her head bent at the sight of Pacifica's gaze muddling. Instead of a response, the girl repeated herself.

"I would never watch something like that."

***

Good things came in small packages for everyone but the Pines family, who received theirs in a revolting, unsavory wrapping.

There wasn't a tech-wizz amongst the citizens of Gravity Falls. Even if there were, an IP address could only get them so far. In the end, their only real option was to dig deeper into the source; Pacifica remembered the video's title and the site she'd found it on.

Everything about it made Mabel hysterical in torturous razors and sparks. For a moment, she couldn't stand, and after, was entirely too dehydrated to cry.

Even giving Stan and Ford a head's up couldn't save them; one look, Ford clutched his chest, Stan barrolling for the bathroom. The initial shock never went away, but loomed overhead throughout the course of their investigation; disclosing the news to her uncles had been hard enough, made worse at the sight of those same grown men breaking into pieces, and a nude, unsavory emotion rubbing up Mabel's sides, letting her know she wasn't supposed to see it.

It was one of those run-down websites with fonts that washed out against its ugly background (Pacifica preferred unmonitored sites; the mass of videos were grainy, low-resolution, filmed on hand-held cameras, which she had explained months before to be "more authentic," like indulging in exotic foods with foul odors.)

They investigated the original poster, who went by the name "Skeeze," behind the profile picture of a handsome, naked man in his twenties, a cat curled over his private parts. Mabel was sure whoever hid behind that profile had a big fat beer-gut with hair in their belly button, and didn't know the first thing about owning a cat, or even a plant for that matter.

The website itself didn't have any options to chat, but in Skeeze's bio was the link to a small forum, simply titled "Friends of Salling." Hidden behind innocent questions asking for name, sex and age, was a cluster of thirty or forty people on one consecutive message board, rapid-firing gifs and photographs of pornography. There, again, was Skeeze, this time behind a profile picture of underdeveloped, hairless genitals. Mabel's stomach turned, at which point her uncles ordered her out of the room.

It was almost insultingly easy to shoot Skeeze a message, posed as one of the many frequent members of Friends of Salling; casual, so as to not raise suspicions. A quick hello. Small talk. Skeeze was deceivingly friendly, though "friendly" on a forum dedicated to circling child pornography was hardly impressive. Instead, it was revolting, uncanny; a dog with limbs contorted to bend like human's.

Less than an hour.

It took less than an hour to get the information out of him, down to an address and residence's name, even though Mabel had spent nearly six months researching the vague "smells of sea," and "sunshine" area, which just so happened to be Newkinly, Florida, east of Lakewind road. Skeeze hadn't given the location up for free (Stan's wallet turned over fifty dollars in hellfire and a generous "Fuck you"), but otherwise, the transaction was like buying a candy bar or tickets to the movie.

Six months to waste.

Despite that, it was hard feeling the time stolen away from Mabel at the height of her relief as she raced through the trees, a bright smile on her face, into the Whirling Coven. Stan had given her an hour to be there and back before they packed their things to head in Dipper's direction.

Tripping over untied laces, Mabel practically launched herself through the coven's barrier, whipped with the sensation of plummeting, only to resurface among bushes of pawpaw. She trampled through her usual route to find the witch, who was passing the time with chores, her red rugs and wool sheets hug on a tightly woven clothes line.

Mabel could hardly contain herself at the burning corners of her lips, a cry and a laugh wrapped in one as she called out "Beast! Beast!" from afar.

The witch turned from her work, stoic all but a smile, then a frown flashing over her features. "Mabel." She paused in her chores, lowering the straw basket against her hip with the added motion of her beckoning hand, drawing Mabel's attention towards the tent. She lifted a white curtain for her. "Hurry; there is news... You were not here the day before-." Mabel knocked the breath out of Beast as her face collided with the witch's torso, arms wrapped tightly around her. Puzzled, Beast placed her hands on the young girl's shoulders, not warding her away, not drawing her in. "What is this?" She asked, to which Mabel pulled her in closer with a grin.

"The world's biggest, tightest hug!" She assured. Beast's frown eased into a neutral expression, hand placed peacefully atop Mabel's hair.

"What has happened?" The witch's fingers carded through her hair, undoing burs and knots, voice laden in confusion. "What is the occasion?"

Beast could feel the smile pressed into her stomach, and Mabel's giddy snicker doused in undertones of fatigue and relief. There was a squeak, a giggle, and then Mabel spoke. "We found him, Beast! We found Dipper!" She cheered into the witch's torso before pulling away and gazing up at her. "All this time, he's been in Florida, with-. With the sun, and-. And the ocean! That's what you meant, right? You were trying to tell me he was in Florida!"

Beast stared at her suddenly, the quietest of shocks drawing over her eyes, a wild, frantic thought, before she gave a more level, plain reaction.

"You seem to be in high-spirits." She replied, moving to slide her rugs from the clothes line over her arm, stealing her features.

Mabel laughed at the inherent understatement before scurrying to her side. "Obviously! Oh my gosh, when I see him-! Oh, you have to meet him! He is the lamest, you'd love him!"

A pause; Beast rolled the first rug, tucking it into the basket. "I like to think so."

"Everything's gonna go back to normal after this; I couldn't have done it without your help." Mabel went on, rounding the witch for a constant wage of her response. Endearment foamed from her heart, seeing the weak grin on Beast's lips where the making of a grimace laid thick. When the witch rolled another rug, strangely indifferent to the good news, Mabel placed a hand over hers. The witch met her gaze slowly. Mabel smiled back. "So... Thank you. For sticking with me, I mean. I don't know how I can ever repay you." She assured, her eyes growing soft.

Beast stared a moment too long; long enough to give away the deep-seeded pain flashing across her own features. She dropped the sheet she had been folding into the basket, grabbed her laundry by its woven handles and nodded her head towards the tent.

"Come inside."

Mabel blinked, taken aback by her solemn tone. "Oh, well, I can't stay long. I'll have to-."

"Come inside." Beast persisted. "Is bad news."

That caught Mabel's attention. She was quick to ask. "Are your meadowsweets alright?"

"They are fine." Beast edged into the tent. "You are not."

"Me?" Mabel gasped. "What's wrong with me?"

"Come."

"Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No."

"Do I smell-?"

"Please; come." Beast implored with a lean, arm weak from the weight of her laundry basket. Catching her friend's eye, she repeated herself. "Is very bad news."

"Oh. Whoa, alright. We're a party pooper today. What's wrong?" Mabel ducked under flaps of rabbit skin to the naked floor of Beast's tent, hard and unyielding without their usual cushioning. Watching the witch meticulously unfold her laundry, Mabel helped lay down the first rug.

Beast kept her voice level. "You are mistaken."

Mabel cocked a brow. "About... Something being wrong?" She asked.

Beast shook her head. "No. That is correct." She spread the rug wide with her feet, covering as much space as she could before drawing out a second one. "Your optimism is premature."

Mabel grabbed the opposite ends of shaggy, soft fur, pulling the fabric till it covered her side of the teepee. "'Premature,' as in opening Christmas presents early, premature? Or a wet baby fetus, premature?"

Beast only sighed then, leveling her with pitiful eyes; ones Mabel often directed her way. The witch stopped her work, gestured to sit, doing so herself with a flurry of the simple white sash wrapped around her waist. Mabel followed suit. Again, she sighed.

"Your trip will be in vain, should you journey it." Beast's hands folded into her bear lap, sitting straight and unbroken by her own words, even at the slight crumble of Mabel's posture, which quickly realigned itself to challenge the other's.

"What're you talking about? It's totally worth it if I get to see Dipper again!" She laughed uneasily, pulling at her sweater's collar. Mabel's body angled away from Beast's, cradling her heart against her chest, her piercing gaze racking over the woman. "Why... Why would you say that?"

Beast pulled a breath through her nose, pushing out from the mouth. "I am afraid..." She lowered her head in condolence. "Where he once was, he no longer is."

Her words visibly confused Mabel for all but the moment she chose to respond. "...What? What do you mean?" Mabel asked.

The witch's head rose to reveal a tight, small grimace. "It is difficult for you, I am sure."

"But, no-. No, he's-." Mabel stumbled, burying her eyes under her palms, voice unsure. "He's in Florida, though."

"Where he once was-."

"He's in Florida." Mabel insisted again; firm, defensive. Beast watched her take a hand through her hair, taming the bubble of panic in her throat like a landmine. She met the witch's gaze with a challenge, as though Beast were lying, and sure that she actually was, for whatever reason. "Newkinly Florida, on Westmore Everdale. We just had a guy tell us himself."

Beast dropped her eyes. She turned to unfold another sheet from her basket. "I am sorry, Mabel."

"Sorry for what? Dipper's-. We're going after him in less than an hour."

"Will not be there." Beast persisted, much to Mabel's displeasure.

"Why not?" Mabel snapped.

"Cannot sa-."

"Please, don't-!" Mabel stopped herself then, the rise in her voice more than she'd intended. Her fists curled, uncurled, eyes clamping shut before opening with fax certainty. She spoke through her teeth. "-Say that, alright? He's in Florida. I can feel it."

Beast's reaction was as pale, as unaffected, as a motionless picture, though insightful from the chin rising. Her lower lip pressed up, eyes soft, a wise tilt to her head. "If that is what you believe." She paused, examining the girl. "Is it?"

Mabel scoffed. "Yes. Why are you even asking?" Beast's unwavering expression bore through her chest. She swallowed at the first break of sweat. "...I wouldn't know where else to look if he weren't there."

Beast hummed. "It is a wide world. He could be many places."

"Including Florida." Mabel shot back. Her lips curled in at the witch, who (as she'd done before) sat, plain faced, with a level of knowledge unmatched. Still, Mabel toughened her features. "He's in Florida."

"You believe that?" Beast asked again, narrowing her eyes; the first sign of life in their conversation, and Mabel quickly reached for it.

"What am I supposed to believe?!" Mabel burst to her feet, hands flying at the sudden build in her throat, unequip to hold back every accusing tone. Her legs felt cramped and stiff from where she'd had her knees pressed against thin rugging, but fought through it for a sense of justification in her outburst, looking down at the witch as though she were to blame.

"I am trying to help." Beast carried on without doubt, her hand petting a spot beside her for Mabel to ease back into. The girl didn't move; Beast did not press it. "You do not want to find his old cage empty. It will be painful."

The infuriation of good news being stripped from between Mabel's fingers was hot and calloused her hands. Her teeth ached with building pressure; gnawing, disgusting words she wanted to curse at Beast, who only told her the truth, and never the blurred, half-lie she could stomach. There was pain, obviously. A sense of hopelessness at the rise and fall of her expectations. More than that, Mabel felt regret, self-pity, and reluctance to accept Beast's prophecy. Despite herself, she knew better than to doubt.

A groan burrowed into her throat. "But, if he's not there-." She stopped short, watching Beast's gaze avert. Mabel sank to her knees. "...Cannot say. Yeah. I know." A terrifying thought washed over her, one she couldn't stand to ignore. Beast would tell her, wouldn't she? She'd tell her if he was...

"...Is he dead?"

Beast shook her head. But-. "He is out of body."

"What does that mean?"

"He is trying to preserve himself."

"Preserve," as in he was fighting violently to stay alive. As in he had been kidnapped, mistreated, and was actively being-. A word Mabel couldn't say, even in her own mind. Dipper was trying to preserve himself, and somehow... left his body to do so. A dizzying thought. So many things Mabel couldn't be a part of.

It was changing him.

"What happened?" Mabel felt her stomach twist, her toes curl. She needed to hear it. Suddenly, Mabel had to know, like catching up on the latest news, politics, the future of her country. It was a requirement to keep up to date.

Dipper couldn't leave his body. Never before.

This was new. Different. He was transforming without her. He was even farther away than the first time.

Beast heard the frantic unease in her voice, and knew that dread to be a copy and paste of her own. The sheet she unfolded worked to tuck under her butt so she could sit even higher, even straighter. "Many things. Do not want to know-." Mabel slammed her hands down suddenly, leaving hot prints in the rug.

"I deserve to know! The only reason this is happening to him is because I messed up!"

"It does not change things." Beast replied, turning to store her basket away behind her. When she turned back, her face was firm and unchallenged. "Your punishment is guilt; your redemption comes through finding him."

"I can't find him, though!" Mabel cried out, startling Beast just a bit. She threw her head back, slamming a hand over her eyes. "Do you have any idea how impossible this is? Do you have any idea?"

"You will find him."

"But, if I can't?!" Mabel croaked, running her hand from her eyes to her neck, resting it almost in warning. It hardly took anything to make her tear up those days, and at the height of her relief, to find she was back at square one, it was no wonder her voice wavered, her cheeks lined with tears.

Mabel felt hot in the face, her throat closing and closing and closing until she realised it was the tight squeeze of her own hand, which she quickly drew away. "If this is just, ya know, my big screw-up. The thing that-." She grimaced, the full weight of her mistake piling sandbag after sandbag over her shoulders; enough to overwhelm her, but not nearly enough to mercifully squish her with one massive stomp. Mabel sighed a rough, tired sigh. "The thing I'll never live down... What if I can't fix it?"

Beast reached out to rest her hand atop Mabel's, a confident glint to her gaze. "You will not give up in the meantime."

"I guess not, but..." Mabel took the witch's hand, and with her free one, wiped the tears from her cheeks. "If I do, how am I supposed to face him after all this?"

There was silence again. Beast said nothing, beginning to draw her hand back, only to feel Mabel resist the separation. She left it in the girl's grip then, instead using her other to fetch what was seated on the shelf behind her.

"I have a gift." Beast said, revealing a small black sack sewn out of dark roots, which she placed peacefully before Mabel.

Mabel looked to her friend, then to the small package, slow to remove herself from Beast's reassuring hold. She pulled it up by it's dry weed draw-strings, a weak show of gratitude in her smile, even at the puffiness of her eyes. She sniffed, rubbing at the dry tracks on her cheek with her shoulder as she unwound the weed, pulled open the flaps, only to gasp at what she found inside. There, among fresh, fuzzy leaves, were the star earrings Mabel had traded away six months ago.

"My-..." Mabel blinked in confusion, tilting the sack so they would roll from the bag into her hand. She let out a breath at the familiar weight; a shaky, uncertain smirk, only to lower them from her view. "But-. I gave these to Costmary..." She examined Beast, half-expecting the witch to faze out of view like a dream as the earrings in her hand became strangely hot.

"She trade them back for something of mine." The witch explained, vague as always. Her eyes drew up only a second, and for once, Mabel knew exactly what she meant.

The bandana wrapped around Beast's forehead, Mabel realized, had a small lump of cloth under its wrapping. Where her third eye usually lay was the subtle smell of blood, the witch's skin lighter than usual. A chill rode up the girl's spine.

"Beast..." Mabel breathed, sliding a hand over her mouth. Her head shook slowly at Beast's gentle, confirming grin. "Beast, you didn't."

The witch, present to Mabel's own discovery, reached up to unwrap the cloth over her forehead. Sure enough, the socket of her third eye was sunken, purple; Beast laughed quietly. "Could not help you with this hex. T'was useless to hold onto." She insisted, the lid peeping open to reveal an angry pink wall of flesh, shadowed in the darkness of her skull.

Mabel clenched her stomach, sick at the sight, and even sicker imagining the process. Had Beast done it herself? She couldn't bear the thought. "But- but, your eye." Mabel mourned, casting her gaze away. As she did, a cold, sad realization suctioned the breath out of her and she croaked, "You can't... Do the thing without it," In horror. Her brows knit together, dread deeper than before. Beast only chuckled.

"Divination is worthless to me now."

The air in Mabel's lungs was thick, panic sure to pulse through her chest with each passing thump. "No, but-. How am I supposed to..?" She tried to explain. The words in her head became more frantic at Beast's unwavering nonchalonce. "I can't-. You could at least see him. Maybe-."

"Need me, not. Was a lie." The witch waved her worries off, dust to the wind. Even with Mabel's words growing thicker and thicker, Beast ignored them. "Go. Put them on." She gestured fluidly with her hand, eyes soft, back straight, a vision of wisdom. The words died. Mabel, trampled as she was, couldn't find the power to challenge her, or reason to resist. There was one final word of protest, a single "but," only for hopelessness to seep through her muscles. Her head lowered as she clipped the earrings into place.

Instantly, there was a change. Liquid-fire pouring down her throat, the sweet flow of lilac. Tingling, burning stones on her fingers, and an uncontrollable, unmatched heat in the hollow of her breast. She gasped at the whiplash sensation; as quickly as it came, it passed away into hard, cold nothing.

"Whoa." Mabel cracked, her body trembling in shock, nails like outlets and bones like wires. For a moment, she couldn't move. It was Beast who coaxed her out of the trance that had her eyes locked on the long scrape on her knee.

"They are sentimental to you, true?" The witch asked. Mabel wet her mouth, dry like sandpaper, blinking rapidly. She grabbed onto as many phrases as she could, trying to regain some level of coherency.

"Yeah, uh." She replied, forgetting and then remembering Beast's question. Her head rose, and it was like dumping all the garbage in her mind down the spine, making for plenty of fresh, breathable room. The hot sting of her earrings was now a thumb massaging the back of her neck, and she melted at the sensation before continuing on, coherent and present. "Dipper bought them for me when I first got my ears pierced. He knows how much I love rainbows."

Mabel's hand went up to touch the earrings, feeling the backs set in place, the metal presenting a strange, almost soft texture to them. As she examined the change, Beast led on in a near-whisper.

"Do you feel it?" She asked with a smile; a proud, mischievous play along the lips. She leaned out, hands on her thighs, eagure and pleased even at Mabel's slow, shaking head.

"Feel what?" Mabel asked. Beast scooted in closer so their knees touched and her hands could draw over Mabel's ears, cupping them tightly.

"Pull. There is a pull. Focus." Her hands were cold, hard and rigid with scars, yet felt smooth against the girl's face. "You must focus to maintain it." Beast implored. With her hands still over Mabel's ears, she lowered her head, signalling Mabel to do the same. What else could she do, really?

Eyes shut, ears covered, there was nothing but the feel of hands on her face, the clothes on her back, the hard floor and soft rugs. Her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth, blood coursing, hair tickling, her left sock bunched up in her shoe.

But, beneath it all, something tiny. A grain of sand. An ant in her hair. The thinnest, most fragile string wrapped behind her eyes, not pulling, but breathing against her neck through a delicate vail. It was like the Earth being split into four corners, and her body, if Mabel were to listen very closely, gravitated to one side. It was such a passing tingle, the feeling washed away as soon as her mind wandered into tens of thousands of other thoughts, and yet her head shot up, pupils turned to tiny brown dots, surprise and amazement rolled into one.

"It's-... It's a GPS!" Mabel gasped, jumping back as a shockwave coursed through her body. She grabbed Beast's hands from her ears, pulling them against her chest. "Is that him? Is that what I'm feeling?"

"It is." Beast eased off her knees, bringing the two of them to a stand. "They will take you far, if you let them."

Mabel scrunched her eyes shut again, nose wrinkled with the concentration of a bull. "Yeah. Yeah, I can-. Sort of-." Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth, face turning red at the elusive draw of that string in her mind, brushing against and ducking out of her hands, hardly more than half a hair. "He's... Left-ish." Mabel peeped her eyes open to see the slight fall of Beast's face, who became suddenly bashful at the remark.

"Apologies; are very weak. Would have been stronger, had your brother held them longer. It is-." The full throw of Mabel's arms around her neck put her at a loss for words. There was a shudder, Mabel's throat thick with tears, gratitude and relief wet against her shoulder. Beast, slow as to not scare her away, returned the gesture with resignation.

"They're incredible." Mabel thanked her a thousand times, and a thousand times after that, the boney line of her throat swallowing against Beast's shoulder, a feeling that never dissolved once it became known. The witch eased into their embrace with every passing word, her skin warm, the first it had been in years, feeling so silly and human; to think Mabel was the one thanking her. It was honestly laughable.

"I try." Beast cooed, pulling away. She hoped only for the best.