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Stan Pines saw a striking similarity in Dipper to a man he used to know.
Stan Pines would've preferred to not worry about it, but he couldn't help himself.
The kid was too curious for his own good. And his nose was always buried in that journal.
Dipper was smart enough to know the dangers. Stan just wished that would stop him.
But it never did.
After every adventure, Stan was relieved to find the twins alive and safe. They were strong, but they were little.
Stan kept a close eye on them. He knew how distressing a life in Gravity Falls could be.
Stan noticed the way that Dipper began to point out sounds no one else could hear, and see shadows no one else saw.
He was too much like Ford. It hurt to watch.
But Dipper was okay. Stan could see him standing in front of him every day. He was there.
After Mabel's sock puppet rock opera, Stan was worried.
Dipper was barely conscious and all he could say was "ow" on the ride home and as Stan tended to his… strangely shaped wounds.
Stan didn't ask him to explain because Dipper didn't seem to have the words to.
Stan barely slept a wink that night.
The injuries were tended to, but what Stan couldn't see was whatever mental scars were left.
Stan knew the paranormal could mess with someone's mind. He'd… seen it.
His brother was always anxious, but their brief and last encounter had scared him. The paranoia had absolutely taken over; it had completely distorted his disposition.
And he was an adult.
Dipper was only twelve.
And Stan knew Dipper had anxiety. After growing up with Ford, it was easy to spot and help with.
Dipper had always tried to hide it.
Sometimes, his hands shook after adventures, and he would shove them into his pockets or hold them behind his back.
Stan could only wonder how Dipper reacted to each dangerous journey when he was alone.
He wondered whether Dipper ever even let himself fall apart a little.
Dipper slept in the next morning. Until the evening.
Stan had been routinely checking on him. He had looked so weak.
Once it had been a full twenty-four hours, Stan gingerly woke him up, by saying his name, because tapping his arm would have just hurt him more.
"What…?" Dipper opened his eyes. His gaze seemed so distant. "Grunkle Stan," he said in a voice weak and frail.
"Hey, kid, how are you feeling?" Stan asked.
"Um… good morning…". Dipper blinked slowly. He looked so out of it.
"Ain't quite morning anymore."
"What?" Dipper glanced at the dark sky through the window and sat up sharply. " Ow! " He gasped and tears pricked at his eyes.
"Careful!"
Dipper nodded, and his gaze was still far away. "What ha—"
Dipper's eyes widened.
"Dipper?"
"I remember…" Dipper mumbled.
Was he talking to himself?
"God, I'm so stupid," Dipper muttered to himself as he brought his fists to his eyes and shut them tightly.
Stan could see his hands starting to shake. He spoke softly.
"Dipper, it's okay—"
"I know," he looked up. "I'm fine… I promise."
Dipper held his hands behind his back. He wouldn't stop hiding even when he winced at every movement.
"I'm always here to talk, you know that right?"
Dipper glanced away and nodded wordlessly.
Then, there was a beat of silence.
"Uh, you want some food?"
"Okay."
Dipper didn't say much for the rest of the day.
The next day, Dipper was back to his and Mabel's usual shenanigans, this time being setting Soos up on a date, but Stan could see that something had shifted.
At times, he saw Mabel being gentler with him. He saw them whispering solemnly.
He was glad Dipper had her, but it didn't erase his concern.
Dipper's eyebag situation never improved. Stan didn't want to assume, but nightmares were no stranger to a man living in Gravity Falls.
The days continued to pass, and then one night, Dipper and Mabel came home from a party at the Northwests'.
Mabel went straight to the attic to change into comfier clothes.
Dipper went to the kitchen.
"Whatcha doing?" Stan asked from the couch.
"I need a soda," Dipper said, and his voice broke at the end of it. The sound of heavy breathing ensued.
Stan got up and walked over to Dipper. His heart hurt seeing Dipper flinch at the sudden noise. He had been doing that more frequently lately.
"Dipper, uh," Stan trailed off. The kid clearly didn't want to talk. What was he supposed to say?
Dipper opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Pitt Cola. His hands shook more violently than usual. Stan thought he might drop it.
"How are you feeling?" Stan asked.
"What?"
Maybe Stan could snap Dipper out of whatever anxious thoughts swirled through his brain by distracting him through conversation.
"I mean, like, are you sore anywhere? After Mabel's puppet show—"
"I'm fine," Dipper cut him off, turning pale as a ghost at the mention of that day.
"What happened back there, anyway?" Stan asked despite the potential consequences.
Dipper opened the tab of the can he was holding and stared at it, not taking a sip. His hand was still trembling.
"Nothing. I just got a little bruised," Dipper answered.
Dipper was stubborn, but Stan was too. Being subtle was getting him nowhere.
"Kid, look at me."
Dipper kept staring at his cola, but it seemed like he might have been staring straight through it.
Stan put a hand on his shoulder and he tensed up, but he did turn to make eye contact.
Stan knelt down to match Dipper's height.
"Can you tell me what's going through your mind right now?"
Dipper shook his head.
"Why not?"
Dipper turned his body toward Stan.
"You'll think I'm crazy," he whispered with wide eyes, as if speaking any louder was deadly.
Stan did think that of his brother at first, but after living in Gravity Falls for so long, he understood how it could mess with someone like that.
"Try me, kid."
Stan watched as Dipper's fragile and unpersuasive poker face melted into something slightly more genuine.
Dipper took in a shaky breath and directed his gaze toward the can in his hand rather than at the man standing before him with open ears.
"I… I keep feeling like I'm… like I'm being watched. And I—I keep hearing things and seeing things, and that might just be from not sleeping," Dipper spoke very fast. The words tumbled out of him as if he had no control over them. What concerned Stan most was his newly shaking like a leaf, and his increasingly staggered breaths.
"Because I know that sleep deprivation has its series of sucky side effects, and maybe my brain is just playing tricks on me—it probably is just playing tricks on me, and—and I shouldn't trust it, but it just keeps getting harder and harder to tell—"
"Breathe."
Upon the interruption, Dipper paused to take a few breaths, and though it didn't look like it helped much, he continued to talk. The floodgates were open and there was no closing them.
Stan watched him unravel.
"I feel like I can't trust anyone except Mabel, but I don't want to burden her with all of this because that's not fair to her because she has her own life and her own problems, and she shouldn't have to hear me freaking out about mine—"
He flinched at the sound of a clatter. He'd dropped the can of Pitt Cola, and it was spilling onto the floor.
Dipper only stared at it, too stunned to pick it up, it seemed.
Stan picked up the can and placed it back down, right side up, to stop more from spilling. He'd clean it later; there were more important matters to deal with at the moment.
Dipper remained silent with his gaze fixed on the spilled soda. His eyes were glazed over. He looked completely out of it.
"Dipper?" Stan lightly squeezed the shoulder he was holding.
After a few seconds, Dipper blinked in realization. "Sorry, I, uh, sorry—"
His breathing was getting faster.
"Hey, it's okay."
Dipper shook his head and brought his hands up to cover his eyes.
"It's not."
The small, teary, broken voice tore into Stan's heart. He knew Dipper wasn't only talking about the soda.
The poor kid was wiping his tears as fast as they fell. Even now, he was trying so hard not to show his pain.
"Maybe it's not okay now, but it will be."
Dipper didn't react to his words. Instead, Stan heard him starting to gasp for air.
Stan put a hand on Dipper's other shoulder to keep him upright.
"Slow down, Dipper, deep breaths," Stan said softly.
"I—I can't," Dipper whispered, barely getting the words out between breaths.
Dipper was crying and fully hyperventilating now, and it seemed to be freaking him out more.
He was having an anxiety attack.
Stan slid his hands down from Dipper's shoulders and lightly squeezed his arms. "You're okay, Dipper. I've got you. Can you hear me?"
Dipper nodded. He was still covering his eyes.
His legs were trembling so badly Stan wondered how he was still standing.
"Can you sit down?"
Dipper drew his hands away from his face and held onto Stan's arms to guide himself to the floor.
Dipper opened his eyes.
"I'm gonna pass out," he managed to say.
"No, you're not."
Dipper let out a choked sob.
"I'm sorry."
Ford would always say that too.
Stan clasped Dipper's hands in his own. He looked so broken.
"Dipper, can you name five things you can see?"
"Why?"
Stan felt the slightest bit of relief upon finding that Dipper, even in this state, still followed the urge to question.
"It'll help you breathe easier."
Dipper blinked away some more tears. "Uh… you, and—" Dipper's breath hitched. "I—I don't know."
"Look around."
"Um…" Dipper's eyes darted around, "a can, the floor…"
His eyes got that same glazed over look from earlier. Stan wished that he could pull all the horrors out of Dipper's mind and fight them himself.
Dipper shut his eyes and shook his head. "I can't."
Stan was relieved to hear that he was having an easier time getting words out than before.
"Grunkle Stan, I can't do this."
And he seemed to be getting some air back into his lungs.
"I can't do this anymore."
At least he could breathe again, shallowly, but breathing nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he said.
It hurt to hear it every time.
"You don't need to apologize."
"Yes, I do."
"Nothing is your fault."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's n—"
" Yes, it is! " Dipper shouted at a volume Stan feared would wake up the entire town, not to mention his sister upstairs.
Dipper tore his hands away from Stan's and stood back up. He had a crazed look in his eyes that made Stan's stomach drop and left him at a loss for words.
"I… I'm…" Dipper grabbed onto the fridge handle to hold himself up. Then, he stared into Stan's eyes with horror. "I messed up, Grunkle Stan. Badly."
"Kid—"
"It's my fault! I… I…" Dipper trailed off. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. Stan could see the fatigue hitting him.
"Dipper, listen to me."
Dipper let out a shaky sigh and wiped the tears from his droopy eyes.
Stan took his silence as an invitation to continue.
"You're a kid. Kids mess up. It's normal. You hear me?"
Dipper nodded with closed eyes.
"What's not normal is this town. It's weird, and it's dangerous. And that's not your fault."
"I'm going insane," Dipper whispered.
Stan wrapped his arms around Dipper and pulled him close. Dipper let go of the fridge and leaned into the hug, keeping his arms hanging at his sides.
"It's going to be okay," Stan said. He felt Dipper tense up at the words.
He didn't believe them.
Stan couldn't blame him; he wouldn't have believed those words either with the life he'd led.
"I'm so tired…" Dipper mumbled.
"Let's get you to bed," Stan said, more to himself, as he picked up Dipper and carried him up the steps.
Stan opened the door to the attic to find Mabel awake in bed with wide eyes, hugging one of her stuffed animals.
"Is everything okay?" she asked quickly in a hushed voice.
Dipper was fast asleep in Stan's arms, finally breathing deeply. He looked so small. Maybe he would get a full night's rest for once. One could only hope.
"Yeah. Dipper fell asleep downstairs," Stan said as he gently placed Dipper onto his bed and tucked him in.
"I heard yelling."
Stan sighed before turning to face her. "Everything's gonna be okay, kiddo. I promise. Now you two both need your rest after whatever it was you got up to today, ya got that?"
She nodded, then laid back down, facing Dipper. She wanted to keep an eye on him.
Stan smiled sadly.
He knew the feeling.
Stan would do anything in the world to keep that promise. Especially with what he knew was coming up.
The door of the attic was left open ajar that night as Stan headed for the basement, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.