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Chapter Text

Mason was considering throwing himself out the classroom window. Not seriously considering it (though if this lecture went on much longer he might), but the fact the idea came to mind at all only emphasized how dreadfully boring the day had been.

It hadn’t started off that bad. Grunkle Stan had made bacon and eggs for breakfast, Mason left the apartment with time to spare, and the weather was like something out of a postcard. Heck, their across the hall neighbor Wendy (who Mason definitely did NOT have a crush on), had even invited him to join her group for dinner at some new burger place. Yes, the day had been just fine. Until the famously boring Mr. Befufftlefumpter was revealed to be the substitute for his last class. Now Mason fought to stay awake as the impossibly old man droned on about the inevitability of death or something like that.

After ten more minutes of fighting to feign attentiveness, Mason finally gave up and started staring out the window instead. 30 more minutes, just 30 more minutes and he could talk to Wendy about that potential dinner.
       

Before Mason could fully lose himself in daydreams of the redhead, he spotted a small black object falling past the window. Such a sight would have been uninteresting were it not for the fact that this particular class was located on the top floor of the building.
       

Someone must have snuck onto the roof, Mason reasoned. After all, there was nowhere else the thing could have fallen from.

Mason wasn’t sure why he went to search for the thing the moment class let out, particularly when the alternative was meeting with Wendy, but he searched all the same. Something about that falling object just refused to be left alone. It almost reminded him of- no. He didn’t want to think about that. After enough poking about the courtyard, he finally located the object that had drawn him.
       

It was a book. A flimsy black-bound notebook from the looks of it. Yet something about the bundle of papers seemed almost sinister.
       

But that’s silly. A scary notebook? Get a grip Mason, you're not twelve anymore!
       

He flipped the book over to take a look at its front cover, and for a split second his blood ran cold. Scrawled on the black cover were the words “Death Note” with a slit eye drawn in place of the “o”. Somewhat uneasily, Mason opened to the first page. The same scrawling handwriting visible on the front spelled out a list of some sort, with the word “Rules” filling the top of the page.
       

Mason glanced at his surroundings with the strange feeling that he shouldn’t let anyone else see the odd notebook. Certain he was alone, Mason began to read.
       

“Rule Number One, the human whose name is written in this book will-” he couldn’t read the last word aloud. It wasn’t possible. This had to be some kind of sick joke, or a chain letter. And yet the words spelled it out, plain as day. The human whose name is written in this note will die.
       

Mason shook his head, dispelling the panicked thoughts. Worrying would do him no good, especially over something so silly. A killer notebook? The concept was ridiculous. He moved to place the notebook where he found it before changing his mind and shoving it into his satchel. Grunkle Stan would probably get a kick out of the whole thing. A killer notebook was exactly the kind of thing he used to tell Mason and- Mason stories about. They’d both have a good laugh and Mason could burn the dumb thing tomorrow. Right now, his primary objective should be getting back to the apartment in time to take Wendy up on her offer.

Chapter Text

Despite walking at a pace so brisk it just barely managed to avoid qualifying as a jog, Mason arrived at the apartment building only to have Soos, their doorman, inform him he had just missed Wendy and her crew. Mason clutched the strap of his satchel, silently cursing the notebook that lay within. He considered trying to find the burger place himself, only to realize he’d forgotten the name.
       

I can just feel that this is going to be one of those times when as soon as someone says the name I’ll want to smack myself for forgetting something so obvious.
       

After a brief elevator ride, Mason stepped out on the appropriate floor automatically walking towards the apartment as he fished for the keys in his pocket. It was thanks to this sense of routine he almost didn’t notice the sticky note on the door. Peeling the yellow square off revealed the slip of paper to be a note from Grunkle Stan.
     

 “Dipper,
              I’ve been asked to work late tonight. Order take-out for dinner, the money’s on the table. Love ya kid.
       Stan”
       

Despite himself, Mason couldn’t help smiling at the affection in the note. Ever since he’d lost his parents, the gruff old man who took him in had made it his goal to tell Mason he was loved every day. A sweet gesture, likely in memory of-no. He didn’t want to think about that. He promised himself he’d stop thinking about that and yet he’d almost done it three times before he even got home.
       

Tossing the note aside, Mason walked to the main table, immediately spotting the money Stan had left for him.
     

 Not enough for Italian, but just enough for Chinese.
     

He called in the order and turned on the TV as he waited for the food to arrive. Maybe he’d be lucky and there would be a Ducktective rerun on. Vaguely listening to the newscast on at the moment Mason pulled his folders out of his satchel, flipping through them one by one to ensure his assignments were completed. As he began to debate on whether to start on tomorrow’s assignments a name drew his attention back to the TV.
       

“That’s right, Sandra!” A remarkably ugly reporter commented cheerfully. “Things have gone horribly wrong at the opening for Alcor’s Astral Burgers!”
       

Mason leaned towards the screen.
       

Isn’t that where Wendy was headed? At least now I know why I forgot the name, it’s awful.
       

The oddly upbeat reporter (apparently named Toby Determined) continued. “About 20 minutes ago, the police received a call saying a man walked into the diner with a gun. He is now holding the patrons and staff hostage until his friend is released from prison. Officers have identified the assailant as Rico Rodríguez, notorious gang leader and drug dealer.”
       

Mason felt like his heart had jumped into his throat. That guy was in there with Wendy? That guy, with a gun, was in there with Wendy? He looked up the diner on his phone. It was too far away to get there in any timely fashion. He could try calling Wendy, but what if that only made things worse. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing! Not after-
       

The corner of his satchel caught his eye, or more specifically the bit of black poking out of it. Hesitantly, Mason withdrew the notebook once more taking in the scrawling title. He flipped to the rules and began to read through them as quickly as possible.
       

“Rule number one, the human whose name is written in this note will die. Rule number two, the note will not take effect unless the victim’s face is kept in mind while writing a note. Rule number three, if a cause and time of death are not specified the victim will have a heart attack 40 seconds after their name is written and die. Rule number four, details of the death need to be written in the six minutes after the victim’s name is written.”
       

Mason looked back to the TV, where the report was now displaying a headshot of the assailant.
       

Maybe this is all made up. But if it’s real…
       

Taking a deep breath, Mason picked up a pen and turned to the next page finding it completely blank.
       

I can’t lose anyone else.
       

Picturing the headshot, he quickly wrote “Rico Rodríguez” along the top of the page and began counting to 40. Seconds had never seemed to stretch so long as he stared at the television, desperately waiting to see if the impossible could happen.
       

At long last, the 40 seconds passed. The reporter continued to prattle on mindlessly.
       

Mason scoffed. Of course, what was I thinking?

He pushed away the notebook and reached for his phone. Maybe Grunkle Stan could help?

At the very least, he’d be able to calm Mason down. Before he could dial the number,

Toby's change of tone drew him back to the TV.
       

“What’s that? Really? Well, good news folks!” Toby cheered, his excitement seeming far more genuine now. “The hostages are coming out of the building, everyone’s unharmed! Several hostages say Rico appeared to have a heart attack!”
       

Mason was torn between extreme feelings of relief and astonishment. The notebook, no, the Death Note really worked. It was thanks to his simple action of writing a name that all those people on the screen were safe. Yes, this also meant he’d technically killed a man, but who was going to miss a drug dealer?
       

Mason smiled as he watched the hostages continue to exit the diner, some greeted by relieved friends and family. One life, one soon to be forgotten name, in exchange for all these innocent people going home with little more than a scare. That was worth it. That was justice. That was what the world failed to give- holy Moses he almost did it again!
       

As he suppressed the thoughts that made his chest ache, an idea came to him, almost like a little voice whispering in his mind. Why stop here?
       

Mason grabbed the remote, spending the next hour flipping through channel after channel until he found a headshot. This one hurt women, this one locked her children in a closet, that one set fire to a highschool, all of them could only benefit the world by leaving it. Every name brought him a sense of satisfaction, knowledge that he’d single-handedly made the world safer.
       

A knock on the door broke Mason from his reverie.
       

“Hey Dipper, a guy brought your food to the lobby and I thought I’d make his day a little easier by bringing it the rest of the way. On an unrelated note, you might be short a couple fortune cookies. Sorry dude.”
       

The voice of the kind-hearted doorman was a call back to reality for the young man.
       

“I think that’s enough for today,” Mason muttered horsley.
       

“What was that dude?” Soos asked from the other side of the door.
     

Mason moved to open the door, smiling brightly at the doorman. “I said I don’t mind. I never eat the fortune cookies anyway.”
       

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” Soos responded as he passed the take out containers across the threshold. “Did you find something to do after Wendy and the gang left without you? Cause if not I know some great anime you could watch!”
       

Mason chuckled at the doorman’s enthusiasm. “Thanks Soos, but I’m trying to get ahead on my assignments. You’ll have to save your recommendations for another time, maybe this summer?”
       

“Sure thing dude,” Soos turned to leave.
       

“Wait!” Mason called, placing a hand on the doorman’s shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

Soos turned back to face him, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you havin’ one of- of those days again? I can grab some comfort nachos or something.”
       

“No, but thanks. I was just wondering if, hypothetically, you could get rid of every criminal in the world, would you?”
       

Soos shrugged. “I dunno, is this a superhero sorta thing? Cause that’d be awesome!”
       

Mason shook his head, “Never mind, I don’t know what I was thinking. See you tomorrow Soos, have a good night.”
       

“You to dawg.”

Chapter Text

Stan tapped his fingers on his desk, glancing back and forth between the computer monitor and his phone. Dipper would be fine, he was 19, he didn’t need his great uncle checking in on him. I’m sure he’s sitting at the table, studying away without a care in the world like that’s actually a fun way to spend the night. Still… it couldn’t hurt to call.

Before he could reach for his phone, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around revealed that someone to be Officer Blubs. “Hate to bother you Detective, but the Chief wants you in his office.”

Stan slowly stood from his chair. “Got any clue why?” Blubs just shrugged.

Stan walked the short distance to the Chief’s office, wordlessly grumbling the whole way. Getting called by the Chief had even odds of being good news or bad news, either way, it’d mean more paperwork. He rapped on the oak door. “Chief Cutebiker?”

“Come in Stanford, I could use your opinion on this.” Tyler Cutebikier responded as he leaned over his keyboard, squinting at the computer monitor.

“What’ve we got this time? Thief? Kidnapping? Drug ring?” Stan said as he leaned across the desk in an attempt to see the screen.

Tyler shook his head. “I’m not sure what to call it. All I know’s that, for the past hour, every criminal that’s been broadcast has died within a few minutes a’ being mentioned. I don’t wanna say it’s murder but-”

“It ain’t natural,” Stan finished for him, trying to ignore the chill running down his spine. This was the sorta thing he’d put in a campfire story to spook the kids, not something he’d hear on the job. It almost reminded him of-

Chief Cutebiker was snapping his fingers inches from Stan’s nose. “Stan? Did you hear me?”

Stan shook his head, willing away the unpleasant memories. “Sorry Chief, got lost in my head for a minute. You were sayin’?”

Tyler gave him a brief look of sympathy before repeating himself. “I said, I’m gonna give it two more days. If the pattern holds… Well, then we have a serial killer on our hands. And you’re gonna git ‘em.”

* * *

After Soos left, Mason ate his dinner, cleared his place, then wiped the table and swept the floor for good measure. Yet even as he occupied himself with these simple tasks, he found his thoughts drifting to the Death Note.

The news is still on, Grunkle Stan’s still not back, that page could still fit quite a few more names… it could only help. “Maybe...” He muttered.

“I say go for it!” A voice to his left suggested.

Mason started, immediately turning to the source of the voice. A yellow triangle dressed in a top hat and bowtie hovered in the air near his shoulder, his singular eye curved in Mason assumed to be a mouthless smile. “If it weren’t for the killer notebook, this would be the weirdest part of my day,” Mason deadpanned.

“Would it help if I told you that’s my killer notebook?” The triangle asked.

Mason reached behind the chair where his satchel was hanging and withdrew the Death Note. “Well, the eye does match.”

The triangle laughed, a high-pitched somewhat eerie noise. “I like you already, kid. Everyone else I appeared to freaked or assumed I was a hallucination. But you, you know how to roll with the weird, I can respect that. You deserve a prize! Here!” The triangle held out a flower with a strange yellowish-white color. “Have a chrysanthemum made out of human toenails!”

Mason tried not to look too disgusted at the triangle’s idea of a “prize”. “I appreciate the gesture, but- no, just no. Are you here to get your notebook back?”

The triangle tossed the flower behind him, the unsettling flora vanishing the moment it left his hand. “Nah, I dropped that thing on purpose!”

Mason tilted his head in confusion. “Did you intend for me to find it?”

The triangle moved his hand in a “so so” gesture. “Not you specifically, but I was hoping a human would pick it up. You see, I’m a servant of death which means it’s my job to kill people when their time’s up. But you know how routines are, day after day of the same thing gets boring. So I thought to myself, what’s more fun than killing people? Watching people kill each other! And you’ve done a bang-up job of that!” Suddenly the Death Note was in the triangle’s hands, flipped open to the page Mason had been writing on. “48 people in only 60 minutes, you’re really going for the gold star!”

Mason snatched the book back defensively. “I’m not just mindlessly killing people!”

The triangle held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I never said you were. I know full well what those people were. Thieves, pedophiles, murderers, you’re really doing the world a favor getting rid of them! I just like to watch.”

Mason eyed the triangle suspiciously. “If all you want to do is observe, why reveal yourself to me?”

The triangle removed his hat. “I have a couple of questions. For example,” he reached inside the tophat and removed a framed photograph containing an achingly familiar picture. “Seems you’ve got a sister, a twin if I had to guess. She decide to move away for college or something?”

Mason stared at the photo, at the bright-eyed girl giving a braces-filled smile to his image. “Mabel… Mabel died. We’d just turned 13, Grunkle Stan had his first case. There was this guy and I-” He stopped himself. He’d promised Grunkle Stan he’d stop thinking about it. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

The triangle rolled his eye. “Well there’s no need to be dramatic, it was just a question. Based on your attitude I’m guessing this “guy” got away?”

Mason tensed, his hands clenching tightly around the Note. “I said I don’t like to talk about it. Got any other questions?”

The triangle held his hand slightly above his bowtie in an attempt at a “thinking” pose. “Nah. But it's not like I’m going anywhere! From this point on I’m watching you 24/7 and if I ever get bored,” The triangle turned red as his voice distorted. “YoU’lL gEt tO JoiN yOuR siSteR!”

Mason swallowed, his hands shaking with the fear he refused to display on his face. “If you’re gonna follow me around all the time you should really give me something to call you. I’m kind of tired of thinking of you as triangle.”

The triangle returned to his far less menacing yellow, extending a hand for Mason to shake. “Call me Bill.”

Chapter Text

Over the next 48 hours, Mason found himself falling into a routine. Wake up, walk to school, muddle through classes, walk home, then write as many names in Death Note as he could before Grunkle Stan got home. It was a simple, but effective pattern, usually resulting in around 75 less criminals every day. He’d been so sure he still wasn’t making a big enough difference, so it was a shock to discover how many people had already taken notice.  

Mason sat before his laptop, staring numbly at the headline that had been sitting in his recommended news. Beside him, the now ever-present Bill chuckled.  

“ Seems you’ve become a bit of a celebrity, kid. ” 

Mason was too shocked to respond, instead choosing to read over the article for the umpteenth time. 

“In the past three days, Piedmont has seen a dramatic drop in crime. Locals credit the change to a supernatural force killing criminals as punishment for their misdeeds. This mystery killer has been popularly nicknamed Alcor, as a reference to the location where these bizarre killings began.  

* * *

“While the public is split as to the existence of Alcor, this unusual phenomena cannot be ignored. Continued on page 47.”  

Stan looked up from the article the Chief had handed him. “So I’m guessing you want me on the case.” 

Cutebiker actually looked a bit nervous. “Yes and no. I want you on the case, but not by yourself.” 

Stan snorted. “Please don't tell me you promoted Blubs to Detective, you know he’s gonna insist on bringing Durland everywhere .”

The Chief shook his head. “Have you ever heard of L?”

Stan placed the Alcor article back on the desk. “Who hasn’t? The guy’s practically an urban legend.” 

The Chief smiled. “That he is. He’ll also be your partner for this case.” 

If Stan had been drinking anything just then, he would’ve done an impressive spit take. “How on earth did you get L?” 

Cutebiker shrugged. “I didn’t. He came to me. Said this sorta thing was exactly the type of unusual crime he’s interested in. Even offered to work for half his going rate.” 

Stan couldn’t help but be a bit skeptical. “And he knows he’ll be working with me, an average police detective.” 

The Chief gave him a pitying look. “Aw, don’t sell yourself short Stanford. You’ve been off your game a little since the,” he cleared his throat. “Unfortunate situation with your niece, but you’re still the best detective this station’s ever seen.”

Stan glowered at the Chief. “Ya still haven’t answered my question Cutebiker.” 

The Chief shrunk in his seat. “No. But he’s supposed to call any minute, I’ll explain the situation then.” 

Before Stan could express his exasperation, a chime came from the Chief’s computer. 

Cutebiker brightened. “That’d be him right now.” He tapped a couple of buttons and the screen morphed into a deep red, with the letter L drawn in fancy gold calligraphy. 

A heavily distorted voice emanated from the speakers. “ Greetings, Chief Cutebiker. I am L. I’m glad you chose to accept my offer. ” 

Chief Cutebiker spared Stan a quick glance before replying. “It’s an honor to receive your assistance. However, I have a condition before we begin.” 

“ Oh? ” L responded, his voice sounding vaguely inquisitive through the layers of distortion. “ And what would that be? ” 

Cutebiker gestured for Stan to move around the desk. “I’d like you to work with our resident Detective, Stanford Pines.” 

There was silence on the other side of the call for a good minute before L replied. “ While I typically avoid collaborations, my assistant and I have agreed to make an exception for Detective Pines. Now, would you mind if I review the facts of the case? ” 

Cutebiker looked to Stan. “Your case. Your choice.” 

Stan returned his gaze to the screen. “Knock yourself out.” 

L seemed to clear his throat before proceeding. “ Three days ago a number of criminals began dying of what seems to be heart attacks. The first of these was Rico Rodríguez. The only constant through these deaths was that every criminal died shortly after appearing on a news broadcast. This trend has continued ever since, resulting in a death toll of roughly 198 as of now. Am I correct? ”  

Stan nodded. “Spot on.” 

L continued. “ The killer has been named Alcor, after the diner Rodríguez died in. He only ever kills in the late afternoon and evening. He only kills criminals shown on public broadcasts. These particular facts have led me to believe Alcor is, in fact, a student. The hours he kills correlate to those a student would have off. The use of only public broadcasts to identify his victims indicates he does not have the money to pay for network television, another thing common with students. ”

An image flashed through Stan’s mind. Dipper. Dipper, who spent those same hours studying like mad. Dipper, who let those same broadcasts drone on in the background. Dipper, who, according to L, might very well share classes with a serial killer. 

“We should issue a warning,” Stan muttered. 

“ I beg your pardon? ” L inquired. 

Stan raised his voice. “I said we should issue a warning. Schools will want to know they might be educating a mass murderer, parents too.” 

L sighed. “ While I sympathize with your point Detective, we can’t just shut down every college in California. We’d have to narrow it down first. ” 

Stan glanced down, catching sight of his hands, and all but felt a cartoon lightbulb ignite above his head. “I think I’ve got an idea on how to do that.” 

Chapter Text

With all the overtime Stan had been doing recently, it was actually a surprise to Mason when he awoke to the sweet smell of pancake batter Saturday morning. Sure enough, when he sluggishly shuffled into the kitchen Stan was there, singing one of his little nonsense songs and flipping their customary Saturday Stancakes.  

Mason smiled. “And here I was starting to think you’d become a vampire.” 

Stan scoffed. “Just because I’ve been busy? Please. You know if I became a vampire there’d be much more chaos.” 

The two laughed as Stan divided the Stancakes between their two plates. Bill moved from his usual place over Mason’s shoulder to poke at one of the sweet circles. 

“ Is that hair? ”

Mason lightly bobbed his head in a miniature nod. “Can’t have Stancakes without hair.” 

Stan poked him with his fork. “Ya got that right kid!” 

And that’s how it was for the next ten minutes. Pleasant conversation, pulling the occasional hair from their breakfast, the odd comment from Bill, the perfect way to begin a Saturday. But it was the next part of their little tradition that had Mason battling his childlike excitement. Every Saturday Grunkle Stan brought new tales from the station, from the latest stunt Blubs and Durland tried to pull off, to the newest case Stan had been assigned to. And with how long he’d been working recently, there had to be a new case.  

Mason stood and cleared their places, practically bouncing to the sink in his eagerness. “So what’s the new case?” 

Stan gave him a sly smile. “Who says there’s a new case?” 

Mason tossed his head back, letting a childish whine creep into his tone. “Grunkle Stan…” 

Stan made a gesture of mock defeat. “Alright ya little gremlin. Sit down and I’ll tell ya.” 

Mason rushed to his chair. Stan only said that when the case was a really interesting one. He leaned forward, unable to keep the exuberant smile off his face. “So? What is it?” 

Stan leaned back in his chair, his eyes getting that distant look they always did when he told a good story. “Well, first things first, this case is big. Big enough for the Chief to decide your Grunkle needed a partner, and not just any partner,” He paused for dramatic effect. “L.” 

Mason’s eyes went wide. He’d heard about L, anyone with the slightest interest in mysteries heard about L, the guy was the modern Sherlock Holmes! “What was he like?” He asked with breathless excitement.

“A computer screen,” Stan replied dryly. “Guy’s super paranoid about his secret identity or whatever, so I’ve only talked to him through video calls. You only see the letter L and you only hear a voice more garbled than Darth Vader’s. But the stories aren’t exaggerating how smart he is. He had all the information we’d been struggling with, and in less than five minutes he’d deduced the killer’s occupation.” 

Mason cut in before Stan could continue. “The killer?” 

Stan nodded. “Some guy called Alcor.’ 

Mason felt an icy pulse throughout his body as his giddiness shriveled up inside him. Him. The new case, the one big enough to attract a legendary detective like L, was him. His great uncle, the last piece of family Mason had left, was now responsible for hunting him down. And for what? Because he had the guts to do what no one else was willing to? To make a difference that truly mattered? To save countless lives? 

A small hand on Mason’s head drew him from his mental turmoil. The golden triangle the hand belonged to lightly stroking his hair while speaking in an oddly soothing tone. “ Look at the bright side kid, he clearly doesn’t suspect you. ” 

Mason followed Bill’s gaze back across the table where Grunkle Stan was still telling his story, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was sitting across from the very killer he was searching for.  

Bill continued. “ If I were you, I’d use him. Let him tell his stories, let him give you precisely the information you require to stay one step ahead. He’ll have to give up eventually. ” 

Slowly, Mason allowed himself to smile again. Bill was right, this was a golden opportunity to ensure he was never caught. He continued listening intently until Stan glanced at his watch. 

“Well, that’s all the time I have for today Dipper. I’m supposed to be at the station for another call with L in half an hour.” Stan stood, collecting his badge and wallet before walking to the door. “I should be back in time for dinner, don’t hesitate to call if you need me back sooner.” He paused as he reached the threshold, glancing back at Mason. “I love you.” 

Mason smiled. “Love you to Grunkle Stan.” 

Stan nodded, turning back to the hallway and leaving for the day. The minute the door closed behind him, Mason grabbed the Death Note from his room and got to work. 

It was relaxing, almost. The steady drone of the news, the soft scritching of his pen against the Note. Hours passed as Mason leisurely filled another two pages, a personal record. Mason found himself sinking into contentment, until a buzz from the TV interrupted him.  

The screen displayed the California flag as a robotic voice announced, “ The program of your choice has been interrupted for an emergency statewide broadcast, it will resume when the broadcast has concluded. ” The flag remained for about thirty seconds more before the image changed to a large man dressed in an impeccable purple suit sitting at a desk.  

The man cleared his throat before speaking. “Greetings ladies and gentlemen of the great state of California. My name is Laurence Xanthar, but you may call me L.” 

Beside Mason, Bill chuckled. Mason could guess what he was thinking. For such a smart detective, this is a stupid move.  

Laurence was still speaking. “I have a message for the one they call Alcor. Stop this foolishness while you have the chance. I’m sure you think you’re making the world better, more peaceful. That the people you killed deserved it. You’re wrong. You don’t improve the world by killing killers, you only stoop to their level.” 

Mason saw red. How dare this man claim he was the same as those scum! His eyes settled on the little nameplate sitting in front of the man, then his face. He pulled the Death Note closer and quickly wrote Laurence Xanthar in an angry jagged scrawl. He began counting down from 40 as returned his attention to the screen, a smirk on his lips. 

Sorry L, but you pissed me off. 

As Mason’s countdown struck zero, Laurence clutched at his chest, the color draining from his face. A second more, and he lay collapsed over the desk, his nameplate knocked to the floor. But just as Mason began to sigh in relief, the screen changed once more. 

A golden L appeared over a deep red background, accompanied by a heavily distorted voice that sounded like a thousand AIs speaking at once. “ Hello Alcor, I was wondering when you’d take the bait. I am the real L. Laurence Xanthar was a death row inmate belonging to the famous Cipher gang. This was his sentence. Had you failed to fall for this little ruse, he would’ve died anyway. But you didn’t disappoint. ” L paused for a moment, almost as if he wanted to let the information sink in. The silence had just started to become uncomfortable when he resumed. “ By displaying your little talent, you have proved, without a doubt, that the recent deaths were nothing short of murder and given me all the justification I need to bring you to justice. Rest assured, I will not tire, I will not cease, I will chase you down and let the world see you for the monster you are. And if you doubt my ability, I have one last little tidbit for you. This is not a state broadcast. Laurence Xanthar has been appearing on Californian’s TVs all morning, a city at a time. This specific broadcast was only shown in Piedmont. I know where you are Alcor, ready or not here I come. ” 

Chapter Text

Stan strolled into the station, feeling as though he was walking on air. Alcor had fallen for his “fake L” scheme hook, line, and sinker. Even the great detective himself had thought the con a stroke of genius. True, the broadcast had only proved that Dipper was truly in potential danger at school, but a quick call to West Coast Tech had solved that. As of Monday, all classes would be conducted virtually, on highly monitored sites, and away from any psychotic classmates for the next week. So yes, Stan felt he’d earned the right to feel good about himself today.  

He could only hope today’s meeting with L would go just as well. Chief Cutebiker had temporarily converted the break room (aka the interrogation room distinguished from their other interrogation rooms by the presence of a coffee machine and a set of donated curtains) into a meeting space for L’s long video calls. This meant Stan had both a private space, and all the coffee he wanted for today’s discussion, so the odds were already in his favor.  

This must be what optimism feels like.  

* * *

One jaunt through the hallway (and one cup of coffee) later, Stan found himself once more before a red screen, the distorted voice of L already spilling from the speakers. 

“ You seem in a good mood today. ” 

Stan shrugged, “My plan worked and my nephew’s safe, why shouldn’t I be?” 

“ Ah yes, your nephew. I hoped to talk about him today. ” 

Stan got that same shifty feeling in his guts that popped up every time someone stared at his ID just a second too long. “What about him?” 

L’s next words were blunt. “ Have you considered him as a suspect? ” 

Dipper? A suspect? The thought made him ill. “Of course not. I know the kid. He may not be particularly social, but he’s no serial killer.”  

There was a sound from L’s end, the ruffling of papers? “ You must admit Mason has a troubled history at the very least. Orphaned at twelve, sister dies the next year, moving directly after that, it must have been hard on “the kid” as you call him. ” 

The last shred of joviality Stan had from that morning faded at the reminder of Mabel. Sure he hadn’t known her particularly well, heck he could count the number of times he’d seen her on one hand, but she had mattered to Dipper, and Dipper mattered to him. 

“That year was hard for both of us,” he muttered gruffly, visions of six-fingered hands flashing in his mind. “I still don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“ You can’t blame me for being curious, ” L replied in a cool, yet defensive tone. “ Your nephew’s a student, in Piedmont, who has the motivation to target criminals. ” He paused, before letting out something like a sigh. “ On the other hand, we still don’t know enough about Alcor to reasonably tie the two together, so I’ll let it drop for now. ” 

“Gee, thanks,” Stan responded sarcastically.  

“ You’re welcome. ” L deadpanned. “ Now, as I was saying, we don’t know enough about Alcor, specifically his method. ” 

“His methods are the stuff of ghost stories L, how do you expect us to find out more?” Stan asked. 

L didn’t miss a beat. “ There’s a logic to everything Detective Pines, even phenomena strange as this. For example, after reanalyzing the exact times of his victims' deaths in regards to the broadcasts they appeared on I’ve noticed that his victims only die after their face is shown on TV, not after their name is mentioned. ” 

Stan narrowed his eyes. “So you think Alcor has to see them to kill them.” 

L made an affirmative sort of humming sound. “ I’d like to test this theory by requesting the local stations to refrain from displaying headshots. Would you make the call? ” 

Stan nodded, pulling out his phone. “Whatever ya say, pal.” 

Chapter Text

Mason was frustrated. Not only was he spending even more time cooped up inside the apartment thanks to his new virtual classes, but for some reason, the news had stopped displaying headshots of the criminals they reported on. Even after turning to online news sites he still wasn’t discarding anywhere near the number of criminals he had before.  

“This is all L’s fault,” he growled as he paced the length of his bedroom. “He must have deduced I need both a name and face to execute criminals and warned the stations, why else would they change their method of reporting so suddenly?”  

Across the room, Bill watched his pacing with an almost bored expression. “ I didn’t think you were the type to overreact, especially over something so minute. ” 

Mason bristled at the comment, turning to glare at the triangle. “Minute? What about this situation is minute? He’s getting too close Bill! What happens if he finds the Death Note? If he finds me?” 

Bill rolled his eye. “ He sounds like a wackjob is what happens. I mean, even you thought the idea of a killer notebook sounded ridiculous! ” 

“Before I saw it in action, yes. But people have seen it in action. They already believe I’m some kind of supernatural force, what’s to stop them from believing in the Note itself?” 

“ I just think you’re not considering all your resources here. ” 

Mason paused, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What resources?” 

Bill floated out to the hallway, Mason following close behind. “ Your grunkle’s on the force, right? Which means he has access to all sorts of records, case files, criminal databases, and- ” 

“Headshots,” Mason finished, his eyes growing wide in realization.  

Bill’s eye curved in a mouthless smile. “ Now you’re getting it. All you have to do is get into his account and not only will you have more criminals than you know what to do with- ” 

“I’ll be able to monitor their progress on the case!” Mason exclaimed, feeling a rush of giddiness. He rushed into Stan’s room without a second thought, making a beeline for the beat-up laptop sitting on the card table Stan generously called his “desk”. Pulling a USB from the many odds and ends in his pockets, the brunette navigated to the police database only to be greeted by a request for a password. Mason stared blankly at the screen for a moment before noticing the small blue text at the bottom. 

“Answer your security questions for a hint?” He read aloud before shrugging and clicking on the link. How hard could Grunkle Stan’s security questions be?  

The first three were easy. What’s your favorite food? (Toffee peanuts.) What was the name of your first pet? (Shanklin.) What was your first car? (An El Diablo.) It was the last one that made Mason pause. 

“ What’s your middle name? ” A simple question, but one loaded with memories. 

* * *

Mason stood before his bed in the attic, shoving his belongings in a suitcase as he forced himself to ignore the empty bed behind him. He couldn’t stay here anymore, not when everything around him constantly reminded him of his missing half, and not where everyone knew Stanford Pines had six fingers.  

The sound of footsteps drew his attention to the door, where a gruff voice asked, “Can I come in?” 

“Sure,” Mason replied, feeling the rough rawness of his own voice after so much sobbing. 

The door creaked open, revealing the haggard face of his other grunkle, the one he hadn’t known about until Grunkle Ford made that fateful call.  

The man silently sat on the bed beside Mason’s suitcase. “I’d ask how you're doin’, but we both know that’s a stupid question.” 

Mason nodded in agreement. 

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a weariness that made him look ages older than he actually was. “I wanted to thank you for what you did back there, coverin’ for me. That was quick thinking.” He looked to Mason with a teary gaze. “No wonder my brother liked ya.” 

Mason nodded again, fighting the sob that threatened to burst forth at any moment. 

The man set his hand on Mason’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m gonna need you to keep doin’ that if we’re gonna stay together. I know I told ya before, but you deserve to know why.” He looked away for a moment, refusing to meet Mason’s eyes. “Long story short, I’ve done some things in the past I’m not proud of, things that’d make child services take you away if they found out. So if anyone asks, my name’s Stanford Filbrick Pines, okay kid?” 

Despite Mason’s struggle, a few hot tears ran down his cheeks, their trails blending with countless others. “Can I call you Grunkle Stan?” 

Stan's arms encircled Mason in a firm, warm hug. “I’d like that kid.” 

* * *

“ Kid? Do you know the answer or not? ” The sound of Bill’s voice drew Mason from his memories.  

Rather than reply to the triangle, Mason simply typed “Filbrick'' into the final box and pressed enter. Within seconds the screen changed to the database’s homepage. After setting a program to save the permissions for the site to the USB, Mason began searching the case files, smiling when he finally stumbled upon one labeled “Alcor Case ”. 

“Now let’s see what L’s been up to,” Mason said with a smirk as the file opened. His smug sense of victory vanished quickly upon reading through the file. “He already suspects I’m a student?” He’s closer than I thought.  

Bill chuckled. “ I can think of a few ways to shoot holes in that theory. ” 

Mason smiled, his brief sense of fear fading at the triangle’s words. “As can I. But first,” He swiveled to face Bill. “Tell me, how complicated can I make someone’s death?” 

Bill’s laughter began to take on a bit of a sinister edge. “ Oh, this is gonna be fun ! ” 

Chapter Text

Stan had gone to sleep filled with nothing but confidence for the coming days. L’s little test had not only worked, but significantly decreased the death toll as well. And with similar warnings sent to any news outlet willing to listen, that number could only keep going down. So when Stan arrived at the station the following day only to be immediately rushed to the “meeting room” by a frantic Officer Durland, he knew something must have gone horribly wrong.   

L’s now all too familiar insignia was already displayed on the screen, his silence somehow managing to have an air of impatience to it.  

Stan waited for Durland to exit the room before turning to the monitor. “What happened L?” 

“ Alcor’s upped his game, and his attitude. ” L stated. “ As of 1 am this morning, an imprisoned felon has died every hour on the dot. ” 

Stan looked at his watch. “Eight fifteen, eight guys?” 

“ Precisely, ” L affirmed. “ The odd part is, Alcor actually wants the credit for these murders. ” 

“Whaddaya mean?” 

“ To put it in schoolhouse terms, he’s signed his work. ” L said before changing his screen to images of several collapsed men in prison jumpsuits, all sprawled in separate cells. Beside every one of the bodies was the same message, written in what Stan had to assume was blood. ‘ Nice try L, but you’ll have to do better than that. - Alcor’. 

Before Stan could respond, his phone’s ringtone cut him off. 

“ You might want to get that, ” L said dryly. 

Stan pulled his phone from his pocket, an unknown number displayed on the screen. Normally he’d ignore such a call, telemarketers and all that, but something deep in his gut told him to answer. He held the phone to his ear. “Hello?” 

“ Hello to you as well Detective Pines, ” The distorted voice of L replied, his tone slightly tinier when coming through the small speakers of Stan’s phone. “ Don’t acknowledge it’s me, pretend you’re speaking to an old friend or something like that. ” 

Stan obliged. “Been a while since I heard from you.”

“ We can’t trust the department anymore. To be honest, I’m still not certain I can trust you either. But I need your help, so I have no choice. ” L murmured. 

“Why the trust issues all of a sudden?” Stan asked, his light tone contrasting his cold fear at the idea of the station being compromised. 

“ Do you recall my conclusion that Alcor must be a student based on the time of his killings? ” 

“Of course.” 

“ These killings all occur at very specific times, and with a death each hour it seems like it would be impossible for a student to both participate in the killings and maintain their usual schedule. ” 

Stan wasn’t sure how this was supposed to connect to the department. “Yeah, so?” 

“ Alcor likes remaining unknown, he wants to stay in the shadows, so why would he do anything to call attention to himself? Unless he wants to misdirect us from our previous conclusion, a conclusion that was noted in only my personal notes and the official case file, ” L paused, giving Stan plenty of time to conclude his line of thinking. 

The only way Alcor could know about their suspicions would be by gaining access to the case file. And given how high priority the case was, if he had access to the file he likely had access to the rest of the station's data as well, including the security footage in this very room.  

Stan swallowed, glancing briefly in the direction of the camera before responding. “So what now?” 

“ Make an excuse to leave the station, but don’t give any indication it’s related to the case. Turn left, then walk five blocks. You’ll come to an expensive coffee chain. Order a pastry of your choice, then sit in the corner booth furthest from the door. Speak with the first person who orders you a coffee. We’ll continue our discussion then. ” And after those clipped instructions, L hung up.  

Across from Stan, L’s voice poured out of the monitor once more. “ My apologies Detective Pines, but something urgent has come up and I must leave. ” 

Stan nodded, “Yeah, okay.” 

He left the room before the monitor shut off, repeating L’s instructions in his head. 

* * *

One excuse, five blocks, and an overpriced cinnamon roll later, Stan found himself sitting in the instructed corner booth, drumming his fingers and wishing his seat had a better view of the front. Based on the nature of the directions, he could only assume L himself was coming to meet him. The thought filled Stan with a sense of giddy anticipation, similar to when he’d opened his Hanukkah gifts as a kid.  

He tried imagining what L’s voice sounded like without those layers of distortion, what L looked like, how old was he, how did he dress? It was a strange feeling, to know enough about someone to work with them and yet not know anything about them at all. Not to mention the way Dipper admired the guy, what would he say if he knew his old Grunkle Stan was about to be one of the few people to see the famed detective face to face. 

Stan was pulled from his thoughts by the presence of a coffee cup being placed in front of him. He turned to greet the man only to feel like the floor had dropped out from under him. 

Because the man standing before him was supposed to be dead seven years ago.

Chapter Text

Time. 

What Stan wouldn’t give for more time. 

Time enough to grab more than one of the kids, to pull Ford along before the hallway collapsed like wet sand, to at least say goodbye. 

But the universe had never cared for giving Stan what he wanted. 

He just had to hope there’d be time enough to get out of this hellhole, to get the boy stumbling at his side somewhere safe enough to grieve.  

He kept his eyes fixed on the doorway, the sunlight beyond impossibly bright. They could make it, they just needed to be faster. 

“Almost there!” He exclaimed horsley, daring to spare a moment to smile at the boy. 

The boy didn’t see it, too focused on the door. At least he was running. At least he wanted to try living in a world that no longer held his twin. Stan wasn’t sure he could do the same in his place. 

They were almost to the doorway, a few more paces would close the distance, but Stan saw the cracks in the ceiling. He stretched out his arm, catching the boy a moment before the door collapsed in front of them. The two braced themselves, waiting for the crushing weight of stone, but it never came. 

Stan looked up. Maybe the universe wasn’t on his side, but it was certainly on the boys. Two larger stone slabs had caught, holding the rest of the rubble above them.  

“Stan?” The boy’s voice was shaky, hesitant, a tone Stan had yet to hear from Ford’s supposed apprentice. “What do we do now? The door’s blocked.” 

Stan looked at the pile of rocks that had once been a doorway, and maybe it was eyes playing tricks on him, but he swore he could glimpse a minuscule sliver of that light. 

Stan removed his jacket, placing it around the boy’s shoulders. “Watch the ceiling kid, let me know if anything starts moving.” 

He didn’t wait for the boy to respond, just turned to the doorway’s remains and started pulling rocks, searching for that sliver of sunlight.

The minutes seemed to stretch for hours, Stan’s progress feeling painfully slow, until at last he’d cleared a gap large enough for the boy to wriggle through.  

“Kid-” 

“Dipper,” the boy corrected.

“Dipper, I need you to go through this hole, I’ll boost you up,” Stan instructed, lacing his fingers in preparation. “Once you get out you can go get help.” 

“Your hands are hurt,” Dipper murmured as he approached Stan. 

Stan inspected his hands numbly. They really were quite a mess, ripped and bloody thanks to the jagged stones. He couldn’t find the energy to care about how they felt. 

“It looks worse than it is, now climb up.” 

Dipper obeyed, using Stan’s hands as a step to get up to the hole, then pulling himself out. 

The minute he was out of sight, all the pain came rushing back to Stan. He was beaten and scuffed up, his aging muscles pulled in so many ways that they shouldn’t, but nothing hurt more than the ache in his chest. Ford was dead. His brother, his twin, his Co-Captain of the Stan O War, was buried under so much rock never to be seen again. And why? Because yet again Stan had failed him. 

Some dark part of Stan hoped Dipper wouldn’t come back, that no one would come, that world would just leave him to rot. It wasn’t like he was good for much anyway. Just a washed-up old conman with no talents but failure. 

Stan stayed that way, collapsed on the floor of the hallway with nothing but his worst thoughts for company, until the sound of a siren drew him back to reality, back to that gap in the doorway. It was much darker now, illuminated solely by the flashes of red and blue that could only come from a police car. Several voices collected on the other side of the wall, Stan couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. He was tired, so tired, and the cool rock had grown so comforting. Darkness loomed, and Stan let it overtake him. 

The next time he opened his eyes, Stan found himself on a stretcher, being loaded into an ambulance. He tried to get up, but the firm hand of a young medic kept him down. 

“Don’t worry Detective Pines,” the young man soothed. “We’re taking you to the local hospital, your nephew’s there already.” 

Stan raised an eyebrow. Detective? He wasn’t a detective, wasn’t anywhere close, but Ford- Oh, that was it. They must have mistaken him for Ford. He would have corrected them, but sleep was already pulling him back into his clutches. 

* * *

Stan next awoke in a hospital bed, the warm form of his great-nephew curled against his side. Stan stared at the boy, finding himself oddly hypnotized with the preteen. This kid. This kid had already lost so much, and all the universe had left him was an old man with a criminal record longer than most novels. But if anyone could bounce back from this sort of thing, it would be him. Dipper was smart, Stan knew that. His brother wouldn’t have had such an interest in the kid if he wasn’t. 

Stan curled an arm around the brunette, his movement causing the boy to stir. 

Dipper sleepily blinked for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “You’re okay.” 

Stan ruffled the kid’s hair in a playful manner. “Thanks to you champ.” The moment in the ambulance returned to him. “Though they think I’m the wrong guy.” 

Dipper averted his eyes. “I told them that. Grunkle Ford mentioned that you’ve got a bit of a record, so I told them you’re him.” He made eye contact again. “I didn’t want you to get arrested.” 

Stan could read between the lines. Dipper was desperately clinging to the only family he had left. And while the idea of impersonating his now-deceased brother made his skin crawl, he couldn’t fault the kid’s logic. 

He pulled the boy closer. “Good thinking Dipper.” 

Chapter Text

Stan gaped at the man before him, subconsciously cataloging every detail of his appearance. Same glasses, same fluffy gray hair, same incredibly dorky trenchcoat, different turtleneck sweater, all undeniably Ford. 

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch the living daylights out of the owlish nerd, or hold him tightly and never let him go. In the end, only one thought was processed enough to make it out of his mouth. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

Ford had the decency to look somewhat abashed as he slid onto the bench opposite Stan. “Admittedly, that was my intention.” 

Stan wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “You wanted me to think you were dead? You wanted Dipper to think you were dead?” 

The polydactyl held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I didn’t want to hurt you if that’s what you’re implying. On the contrary,” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “I wanted to keep you both safe.” 

Stan's shock was beginning to morph into anger. “Safe? And what exactly would grievin’ an extra family member keep us a safe from?” A thought crossed his mind. “Mabel’s not alive too, is she?” 

Ford shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I came across her body as I escaped the warehouse.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I would have recognized her if not for the sweater.” 

Stan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the mental image of that sweet little girl, mangled beyond all recognition. “You still haven’t answered my other question.” 

“And I won’t,” Ford responded sharply. “I’ve seen things Stanley, things you wouldn’t believe if I told you, things no one should ever see.” 

“And I’ve chewed my way out of a trunk, it’ll take a bit more than vague threats to scare me off.”  

Ford chuckled dryly. “You said the same thing when I called you seven years ago, and look where that got us now,” He leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “ Detective Pines.” 

Stan cringed. “Yeah, sorry about that, but it was either pretend to be you or leave Dipper to the whims of the foster system.” 

Ford settled back in his seat. “In another world, I would be upset about you taking my name, but it’s actually worked out for me quite well. Much easier to go under the radar when you're nobody.” 

An awkward silence settled over the two after that, both men fiddling with their cups only to take a sip every now and then. Eventually, Stan couldn’t take it anymore. 

“So you’re the famous L, huh?” 

Ford shrugged. “Yes and no. I do the talking and aid in the investigation, but my partner’s the real force behind the name.” 

It was Stan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That Fiddles guy?” 

Ford snorted. “Heavens no, his wife would never let me hear the end of it if that were the case. No time to run his company and solve crimes, you know? No, my partner’s someone else. Don’t ask me anything else about them, they value their anonymity and I intend to respect that.” 

Stan found a past discussion with L drifting back into his mind. “Was it your partner who suspected Dipper?” 

Ford averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, that suspicion is entirely my own. I don’t want to accuse him of murder any more than you do Stan!” He clasped his hands together, still refusing to meet his twin’s gaze. “But we can’t rule out the possibility just because we don’t want it to be true. Because if the worst comes to pass,” He looked up at Stan, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Do you really want to be the detective who defended a mass murderer?”  

Stan didn’t respond, just stared resolutely at the polydactyl. I don’t need to consider this question, Dipper’s not a killer, that would be ridiculous. 

Ford seemed to guess his thoughts as he leaned back and sighed. “I wouldn’t be mentioning this if I still didn’t believe it was a possibility, but the fact that Alcor managed to gain access to police information only narrows it further in his direction. Mason’s an incredibly intelligent young man, I have no doubt he could either hack your account or simply hack the database altogether. You have to admit it looks quite suspic-” 

Stan cut him off with a growl. “You better stop talkin’ about this Ford!” 

Ford blanched, quickly settling into a look of resignation. “Very well then, but I want you to keep the possibility in mind. As for Alcor, I have a plan to narrow down the suspects.” He pulled a tablet from some inner pocket of his coat, turning the device on to display 20 or so students, all from different schools within Piedmont. “These are the twenty students whose schedules fit the original killing pattern, live in Piedmont, and would be capable of obtaining police information. I’ve called in some favors with the FBI, so for the next two weeks or so each and every one of them will be tailed by an agent in public and monitored through their phones in private. If all goes well, one of them slips up and reveals themself to be Alcor. If it goes poorly, we should at least be able to disprove a few of them as suspects.” 

Stan looked at the photos, flashes of prison cameras watching his every move coming to mind. “This is a disgusting invasion of privacy Ford, are you at least getting consent first?” 

Ford seemed a bit baffled. “Well if we warned the suspects they’re being watched, Alcor would be able to feign innocence.”    

Stan groaned. “I know that! I meant from their families or something! For Pete's sake Ford, some of these kids are still minors!” 

“Invasions of privacy are acceptable if it’s in the name of saving lives! Especially since it’s not just convicted felons at risk anymore!” 

Stan’s reply died in his mouth, confusion overtaking his features. “Whaddaya mean? I thought that was Alcor’s whole MO?” 

Ford tapped the tablet again, switching the screen to a web page titled ‘Eyes of Alcor’ . “This site went up five hours ago, and is already gaining popularity among those who admire that psycho.” He scrolled down the page, revealing headshot after headshot, each with a name and list of crimes beneath them. Some were faces Stan recognized from the station’s database, but far more were faces he’d seen on the streets. 

Ford continued. “People are posting who they want Alcor to kill, and I’m willing to bet most of these entries aren’t entirely honest.”  

Ford kept talking but Stan tuned him out. He could already picture the anarchy. An angry child posting pictures of their parents, paranoid shoppers snapping a quick picture of a “shady” employee’s name tag, real criminals letting Alcor do their dirty work. 

“The city’ll kill itself,” he murmured, his voice hushed with horror.  

Ford switched the screen back to the students. “So?” 

Stan sighed. “What do you need me to do?” 

Chapter Text

Bill had been acting strange all morning, namely in the fact he’d been quiet. Ever since the dapper Dorito had started watching Mason he’d behaved like a rowdy spectator, constantly reacting to the events surrounding Mason or gabbing his ear off with some new suggestion or observation. There were even a couple of times when he’d start shouting in the middle of the night just because costing Mason precious hours of sleep was “funny”. 

So yes, it was extremely odd that Bill hadn’t made a sound so far this morning, but Mason wasn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. Okay, he absolutely was the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he’d make an exception for this. Frankly, he found the silence somewhat blissful, especially since Profesor Lawliet could be a bit of a mumbler.  

“ Hey, Constellation Face! ” 

Good things never last.   

“What do you want Bill?” Mason grumbled. 

“ Well I was planning to help you, but if you’re going to be ungrateful… ” 

Mason buried his face in his hands, sighing in exasperation. “What do I need your help with oh all-seeing one?” 

“ No need to be sarcastic. As for my help, I just figured you’d want that guy who’s been following you all morning off your back. ” 

Mason stiffened. “What guy?” 

Bill twirled his (suddenly there) cane idly. “ The meat bag in a suit who “just happens” to admire the scenery six to ten feet behind you at all times and is currently standing outside the main gates waiting for you to leave. ” 

Mason peeked out the classroom window in the direction of the gates. Sure enough, a man in a black suit was standing just to the left, the direction of Mason’s route home.  

He turned back to the front of the class, his mind racing. Guys in suits, specifically guys in suits following him likely meant one thing. Someone had taken notice of him, someone with resources. The odds of something like this working in his favor were very slim. 

He felt the metaphorical light bulb go off above his head as a grin stretched across his face. Slim, but not impossible.  

As soon as class let out Mason flipped through his contacts. It was possible to pull this scheme off on his own, but it would be less suspicious if he had an unwitting accomplice. 

Soos picked up on the third ring. “Hey dude, what’s up?” 

Mason summoned his best salesman voice. “Did you know there’s a national doorman’s day?”

“Seems improbable, but I like it. Is it today?” 

“You bet it is! Happy national doorman’s day Soos!” Mason exclaimed, ignoring the strange looks his classmates gave him. 

“Aw, you didn’t have to call just to wish me that,” Soos replied, sounding a touch embarrassed. 

“I’m not, I’m calling to ask if you’ll come with me to the arcade downtown, my treat.” 

“I dunno dude, I told Abuelita I’d drive her to her knitting circle.”  

“Please,” Mason begged, letting a bit of his unease bleed into his tone. 

Soos was quiet for a moment. “It’s not national doorman’s day is it?” 

Mason sighed, “No.” 

“ Play on his flesh sack sensibilities, ” Bill whispered from his place over Mason’s shoulder. 

Mason leaned against the nearest wall. " Studying doesn’t leave you with much time to make friends you know?” 

He could practically taste the sympathy in Soos’ response. “You don’t have to make excuses if you want company dawg, I’d be glad to come with you.” 

The stretched grin Mason had been holding softened into a genuine one.  “Thanks Soos, you really are the world’s best doorman. I’ll meet you on the bus.” He ended the call before Soos could reply, then switched over to his browser. 

Now for part two.  

* * *

After ensuring his pawns were in place, Mason exited through the main gate making certain to pass in full view of the man in the suit.  

“ Alright, he’s on your tail, ” Bill said after a few paces. 

Mason gave a slight nod to acknowledge the triangle’s observation, doing his best to remain relaxed and casual. The last thing he needed was to give his little stalker any kind of warning. He continued walking to the nearest bus stop, using the reflections in the store windows to confirm the continued presence of the suit.  

The glass semi-dome of the bus stop came into view, a short man in a raincoat hunched on the bench. Behind them, the bus was rolling into view. 

Perfect timing.  

Mason boarded the bus behind the man in the raincoat, immediately seeking out the familiar bulk of the doorman. 

“Dipper!” Soos called, waving at the brunette enthusiastically. “I saved you a seat!” 

Mason smiled and waved back, “Thanks man!”

Soos had chosen a pair of seats near the back, the seat behind Mason’s conveniently empty. Mason settled next to the doorman, all the while vaguely aware of the suit moving to sit behind them. Time to convince this guy he had a social life.  

He turned to Soos. “I say we start with Fight Fighters, loser buys nachos.”  

Soos raised his eyebrows. “You hope to defeat me when nachos are on the line?” 

Mason grinned. “I know I can.” He raised a fist. “Pterodactyl bros?” 

Before Soos could return the gesture, the man in the raincoat stood, pulling a gun from his pocket and pressing it against the driver’s head.  

“Nobody move!” He shouted, turning to the rest of the bus. “If any of you want to get downtown without a bullet in your skull you’re gonna shut up and do exactly what I say!” He pulled a necklace out from under the raincoat, a ratty thing made of what appeared to be twine and human teeth. “Or you can join the rest of my collection.”

The bus went silent as the passengers glanced at each other, conveying with their eyes and expressions what exactly they thought of this turn of events.  

Mason reached into his pocket and pulled a slip of paper out, turning the scrap in Soos’ direction to reveal the message written within.  

‘ I’m going to lure him back here and grab the gun.’ 

As he moved to put the paper back a hand landed on his arm.  

“Don’t do it kid,” the suit muttered, keeping his eyes on the front of the bus.  

“Why not?” Mason whispered. “Nobody else is going to do anything.” 

“I work for the government, I’ve seen this all before. Someone tries to be a hero and all they get is hurt. Just sit tight and I’ll try to contact my superiors.” 

Mason narrowed his eyes. “Please, I’ve heard about this kind of scam before. One gunman threatens the crowd while another pretends he’s there to help. In the end, they get away scot-free because they convinced everyone to “sit tight’”.  

The suit sighed. “No, I’m really part of the government. Here.” 

An ID was pressed into Mason’s hand. 

Agent Jeff Trigger, alright then.  

“Okay Agent Trigger, I’ll listen,” Mason mumbled as he returned the ID. However as the ID left his hands, the scrap of paper he’d been holding with it fluttered to the ground, in full view of the gunman. 

“What’s that?” The man in the raincoat growled as he walked the length of the bus. Training the gun on Mason, he bent to retrieve the ripped square of paper. He turned the note over… and chuckled. “Cheat codes? You’re a brat after my own heart.” He stood back up, turning to hand the note back to Mason, and froze. The necklace of human teeth rattled against the plastic of the raincoat as the man began to quake, his eyes fixed on the spot where Bill still hovered. 

* * *

“Bill?” 

“ Yeah, kid? ” 

“Why can’t Grunkle Stan see you?” 

“ Nobody can see me! Not without touching the Death Note first. ” 

“So anyone who touches the Note can see you?” 

“ That’s one way to put it. ” 

“Interesting…” 

* * *

It took all Mason’s willpower not to grin like a sadist as the gunman began to back away from the triangle. 

“It’s not possible,” the man muttered repeatedly, his gun clattering to the floor. He whirled around to the entrance, screaming. “Stop the bus! I want to get off! Let me off!” 

The driver hit the brakes, staring at the gunman with a puzzled expression. 

The man flew off the bus, stumbling a few paces away and falling to his knees, his back heaving as if he was about to vomit. 

He never saw the car coming. 

* * *

Mason waited until Professor Lawliet had left to slip back into the classroom. After a brief check to ensure no one was watching, he pulled the Death Note from his satchel and added a new entry. 

‘ Bruxter “Teeth” Dente- Boards the 4:30 bus headed downtown with the intent of hijacking it. After about ten minutes he sees a creature that no one else sees and runs into traffic from fright. He is hit by a car and dies immediately.’ 

Chapter Text

For Agent Jeff Trigger, the day began just like every other day had since he’d been put on this ridiculous assignment. Get up, get coffee, review the files on his suspect, then walk three blocks to the nearby apartment complex so he could spend his day stalking a teenager. This is what the hard-earned money of the good taxpaying public was going to. Stalking teenagers “in case” they were using magic to kill people. 

As if the assignment itself wasn’t ludicrous enough, the “suspect” they had him tailing only made it worse. As far as Trigger was concerned, Mason Pines had no business anywhere near a suspects list, let alone on it. The kid had nothing to gain and everything to lose, not to mention the fact that he lived with the detective heading the case alongside L. Surely someone would have noticed long before now if the guy was offing people in his spare time. 

And L, that smug know-it-all who didn’t have the guts to show his face, Trigger was going to have some words for him when this was over. This was not what you used government agencies for!  

For now, he just had to deal with it until the two weeks were up. Then he could cash in on those vacation days Powers owed him. On the bright side, it was Saturday, so he wouldn’t have to spend hours standing outside West Coast Tech pretending he had a reason to be there. Maybe the kid would spend the day at an arcade again. 

Trigger reached the complex just as the suspect was leaving. That arcade theory was already seeming more likely. He kept in step with the teen as he strolled past the bus stop that Jacker had gotten on yesterday. Every now and then the kid would stop, prompting Trigger to find something to feign fascination with until the suspect started moving again. This continued until they reached the bustling crowds of the nearest train station. Apparently, the kid planned to travel today.  

Before Trigger could follow the suspect across the turnstiles barring the entrance, a scream drew his attention back to the street. It didn’t take long to notice what had caused the distress, not when more and more of the people around him began to point it out to their fellow commuters.  

Dangling from the window of a shop across the way was the body of a man, swaying slightly in the breeze, a noose constructed out of what appeared to be various garments from the window display tight around his neck. But none of that was what gave Trigger pause, no, it was the posterboard clenched in the corpse’s hands that made his blood run cold. There, written in plain black marker were two words, ‘Hello Trigger’ .

“Like it?” A male voice inquired from behind Trigger. 

He began to turn towards the source, but the voice stopped him.  

“Don’t turn around, I happen to value my anonymity.” 

Trigger froze. “You’re Alcor, aren’t you?” 

He could feel the warmth of the man’s breath on his neck when he replied. “In the flesh. Congratulations Agent Trigger, you’re the lucky suit who gets to talk to me.” 

“What do you want?” 

The man pressed something into his hand. “You’re going to go straight to the green line without looking back. You will sit in the seat closest to the door on the other side of the train, and once you’re there you’ll answer when I call. Fail to follow my orders and you die. Do you understand?” 

Trigger nodded, chancing a glance down at his hand to see the item Alcor handed him was an old flip phone.  

The man’s hand briefly touched his shoulder. “Very good, now go.” 

Trigger turned in the direction of the platform the green line would arrive on, taking great care not to look behind him. Maybe if he did what this madman asked, he’d survive long enough to get some kind of clue back to Powers, or even L.  He’d heard Alcor’s voice after all, that had to count for something. 

The train arrived just as Trigger made it to the platform. Only a few others were there, the rest must have been distracted by Alcor’s “demonstration” near the entrance. He entered the train, walking directly to the seat Alcor had indicated. He’d just barely sat down when the flip phone in his hand rang. Alcor was watching.  

Taking a deep breath, Trigger lifted the phone to his ear and answered. “Hello?” 

“I’ve been thinking, and it’s unfair to ask you to do anything for me while offering nothing in return, don’t you think?” 

Trigger swallowed. “Just don’t kill me, please.” 

Alcor laughed. “So tense! And here I am trying to do something nice for you.” 

“What are you offering?” 

“You do everything I ask, and I’ll let you see my face.” 

Trigger very nearly dropped the phone. “Are you serious?” 

“Absolutely. But you must do everything I ask.” 

Trigger glanced around the train car. “Alright.” 

His response seemed to please Alcor. “Very good. Now, above your seat, there is a briefcase. Grab it.” 

Trigger stood and looked at the baggage rack above his head, sure enough, there was a black briefcase. Gently removing it, he sat back down and placed it on his lap before lifting the phone back up to his ear. “Now what?” 

“Inside the briefcase, you will find a blank sheet of notebook paper and a pen. Remove them from the briefcase and prepare to write.” 

Trigger did so, noting the torn edge of the paper. It seemed Alcor wasn’t inclined to purchase looseleaf. “What do you want me to write?” 

“For now? Nothing. I want you to answer some questions first.” 

Trigger absently toyed with the pen. “Ask away, just get this over with.” 

“Are you working for L?” 

“I work for the United States government, L just requested our assistance in this investigation. I don’t answer to him.” 

“But you are looking for me?”  

“Yes.” 

“How many others are with you?”  

“Nineteen, twenty counting me.” 

He could feel Alcor’s smile in his reply. “Thank you Agent Trigger, you’ve told me everything I need to know. Are you ready to end this?” 

Trigger sighed in relief, “Yes.” 

“Then write the names of the nineteen agents working with you on that paper. I’ll retrieve it from you at the next stop.” 

Trigger touched the pen to the paper, only hesitating briefly. It would all be worth it when he saw who Alcor was. He would go back to Powers, identify the appropriate suspect, and this nightmare would finally be over. All it would cost was some names. He wrote every name as quickly as he could, hoping the rough handwriting would make it harder for Alcor to read. Once he finished, he lifted the phone back to his ear. 

The sound of Alcor’s laughter greeted him. “Congratulations Agent Trigger, you just killed the rest of your unit.” 

Trigger felt sick. “What? What do you mean I killed them?” 

“That page you wrote on is a piece of a little something called a Death Note. By writing their names, you sealed their fates.” 

The pen fell from Trigger’s hand, but Alcor didn’t stop talking. “Don’t feel too bad though, it’s not as if you were in control of your actions. You see, I wrote your name into the Death Note, I drafted this exact situation, just as it’s occurring now. And when you see my face, you’ll die. This way, we both get what we wanted.” 

The train ground to a halt. The doors across from Trigger opened. And as his eyes met the face of the boy he’d been following, Trigger felt his heart pulse painfully in his chest.

And through it all Mason Pines smiled, a glint of yellow in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Stan shoved his way into the coffee shop, brushing past the morning rush of students and businessmen. Ford could be as cryptic as he liked, but Stan knew the sound of his twin’s panic too well. Something had gone wrong. 

Sure enough, when he slid into the opposite side of the booth he was met with the same wild eyes he recognized from high school stress and that one fateful summer. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask but, what happened?”  

Ford stared at the table intently, weaving his fingers around each other in a quick, repeated motion. “Do you remember my plan to have the suspects tailed?” 

Stan leaned back with a groan. “You mean the gross violation of privacy? Yeah poindexter, I remember.” 

“They’re dead.” 

That was certainly not what he’d expected. 

“All of them?” 

“ All of them.” 

Stan swore under his breath. “How?” 

Ford had switched from fiddling with his hands to drumming his fingers on the table. “If I knew, this investigation would be over already.” 

Stan ran a hand through his hair, still somewhat in disbelief. “So what do we do now?” 

Ford still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re going to hate this.” 

“Best to get it over with then.” 

Ford took a deep, shuddering, breath. “The first of the agents to be found dead was Jeff Trigger, the man assigned to Mason.”

Stan clenched his fist. “I thought we agreed to drop this Ford.” 

“You can’t keep living in denial Stanley.”

“You’re not dropping it, Ford!”  

“I can’t!” Ford shouted, only to curl in on himself as he recalled their location. “I can’t,” he repeated breathlessly. “I failed to protect our family once Lee, I won’t do it again. Even if the threat lies within us. Besides, it’s out of my hands now.” 

Stan leaned forward, his tone dropping to a growl. “What do you mean?” 

“My partner,” Ford replied, his eyes finally meeting Stan’s. “They’ve decided to investigate Mason, personally.” 

“Tell them not to.” 

Ford chuckled. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that Stanley, they’re at West Coast as we speak.” 

It took all Stan’s willpower not to swear. Loudly.

* * *

Mason had come to determine that the only thing more aggravating than essays, were pop quizzes. Though that conclusion may have been biased by the pop quiz he was filling out at the moment. What kind of creative writing class even gives pop quizzes? 

“ You could always kill the professor! ” Bill chipped in from his customary place above Mason’s shoulder. 

“I need the credit,” Mason muttered in response. 

“Please refrain from speaking during the quiz Mr. Pines,” Professor Clawthorne called from the front. 

Mason took a second to glare at Bill before returning to the prompt. 

‘ Write two paragraphs about an everyday object as perceived by an outside civilization. What would they call it? What would they assume its purpose was?’ 

Just as Mason began to draft a response, a ball of paper hit the back of his head. 

Oh, so I get called out for talking, but other students can throw things and that’s just fine?  

He picked up the wadded notebook paper and unraveled it. Nothing. No note, no drawing, no failed prompt, nothing. Apparently, someone was just throwing paper for kicks. Angrily crushing the paper in his fist, Mason returned to the quiz and refused to look up until he’d finished. 

As he gathered his things and moved to the front of the classroom to turn in his attempt, he vaguely noted footsteps behind him but chose to ignore them. Writing in the Death Note was going to feel so good after this. But the footsteps didn’t stop when he left the classroom, if anything, they got faster. Mason picked up his pace.

“Hey!” A girl’s voice called from behind him. “Hey, wait up!” 

Mason rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in conversation at the moment!” 

“Geez, if I’d known trying to get your attention was this hard, I wouldn’t have bothered.” 

Mason turned around with the intent to tell the girl to go away, only to feel the words die in his throat. 

The girl looked so much like Mabel. 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that the girl was a perfect replica of the brace-wearing girl from his photographs, far from it. Her face held the angles of adulthood, her curly hair was chopped off before it reached her shoulders, and the sparkly white sweater was far plainer than anything his twin would wear. But she looked much like he had imagined on the days when he’d let himself dream Mabel was still just a head turn away. It hurt worse than he could have conceived. 

 “You alright?” Not-Mabel asked, waving a hand a few inches from Mason’s nose. 

Mason pushed the hand away. “Who are you?” 

Not-Mabel smiled brightly, a perfect mimic of the smile from his memories. “The name’s Elle Forrester, but you can call me the girl of your dreams,” She giggled. “I’m joking, your face was hilarious though.” 

Mason’s brain still struggled to comprehend the girl’s appearance. “I’m-” 

“Mason Pines,” Elle finished. “WTC’s youngest senior and the world’s biggest dork. I know exactly who you are.” 

“Right.” Was the floor tilting or was it just him? 

“ Get a grip Pinetree, ” Bill chided.

Mason shook his head. He was an intelligent adult, he would not be made to look like a fool just because some stranger bared a passing resemblance to his deceased sibling. 

He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “May I ask why you wanted my attention?” 

“You’re related to the detective handling the Alcor case right?” Elle chirped, still smiling. 

Mason simply nodded in reply. 

“And you would consider yourself trustworthy?” 

Another nod. 

Elle leaned toward him, her voice lightening into a conspiratorial whisper. “Then can I trust you with a secret?” 

Mason bit his lip. It was too much like being twelve again, like Mabel whispering the name of her latest crush in his ear. “You can tell me anything.”

Elle leaned closer still, cupping her hand in the space between her mouth and his ear, her voice little more than a breath. “I’m the one who’ll catch him... I’m L.”

What function Mason’s brain had retained after the shock of seeing Elle died. The world was spinning fast, too fast. His lungs failed to pull in more than short bursts of air. L was there, she was RIGHT THERE! Had she figured him out already? If not, his current reaction was hardly helping things. 

He dug his fingers into his arms, desperately willing his body to calm, his breathing to slow. The world began to come back into focus around him. 

“I didn’t realize that would make you freak out that bad,” Elle commented, her head tilted like a puzzled dog. “You okay?” 

Behind her, Bill narrowed his eyes, well eye. “ Way to go star-head, if she didn’t suspect you already she definitely does now. ” 

“I know,” Mason growled through his gritted teeth. 

“Know what?” Elle asked. 

Mason pasted on a smile and prepared to do what Stan had taught him best, lie through his teeth. “I know who you are too, I’m a big fan of your work!” 

Elle was back to smiling. “Great! Then you won’t mind if I interrogate you, right?” 

“Interrogate?” 

Elle pulled a legal pad and pen from seemingly nowhere. “Of course, you’re a suspect after all.” 

It was about this time that Bill would usually chime in with some snarky and/or disturbing comment, but the glowing corn chip was oddly quiet, his gaze fixated on the girl in the sparkling sweater. 

Perhaps it was because of this unusual behavior that Mason didn’t notice his next question until it was coming out of his mouth. “Why would a great detective like L give their identity to a suspect?” He clamped a hand over his mouth. Hopefully, that would be written off as a normal question. 

“Because I wanted to see how you’d respond,” Elle replied casually, scribbling something on her legal pad as she did so.  

“But why?” 

“Because at this point there are two possibilities. One,” She held up the pad. “You’re Alcor and this information has thrown you off.” 

Mason interrupted. “My uncle’s been telling me about the case and, according to him, Alcor only needs a name to kill. If I was Alcor, didn’t you just give me what I need to kill you?” 

Elle scoffed. “First of all, you’re wrong. I’ve deduced Alcor requires a name and face to kill. And as for your point about you potentially killing me , I’m not worried about it.” 

“So you think I’m innocent?” 

Elle bit her lip before responding. “I want to, but I can’t. Too much evidence points in your direction.” 

Mason stepped forward. “Then why aren’t you worried?” 

Elle smirked. “I took precautions.” 

“ Odds are she gave you a fake name Pinetree, ” Bill said without lifting his gaze from Elle. 

Mason nodded. “Alright, I get it. So, what will it take to convince you I’m innocent?” 

“Nothing,” Elle stated bluntly. “That is, if you’re truly innocent. I’m just gonna hang around and get to know you. Once I feel that I do, I’ll either trick you into confessing you’re Alcor or I’ll invite you on to the case and we’ll be Mystery Buddies! How’s that sound?” 

Mason’s smile became a touch more strained. “Perfect.” 

Elle beamed. “Great! Wanna get a milkshake, future Mystery Buddy?” 

Mason felt that squirmy sense of panic rising again. 

Calm down. So what if L has decided to personally mess with me? I’ve seen her face. 

He adjusted the strap of his satchel as he resumed walking to the entrance, Elle keeping in step right beside him. “If you’re buyin’ future Mystery Buddy.”  

All I need is her name. 

Chapter Text

Numb. That was the only way Dipper could describe his feelings as the bus bumped along the poorly maintained road. Within 72 hours he had lost his parents, his home, and any belonging that couldn’t fit in the duffle bag child services had given him. And all because some guy had been too busy gabbing on his phone to watch the light. 

A hand reached across the seat and grasped his, sending a pulse of warmth through the numbness. Mabel. 

“I think I’m gonna call Great Uncle Stanford Grunkle Ford for short, what do you think Dip-Dop?” She asked, her smile pulled wider than normal in an attempt to conceal the sadness in her eyes. 

Dipper shrugged. They both knew very little about Great Uncle Stanford, couldn’t even recall meeting him before. And yet here they were, traveling to a little logging town no one had ever heard of to stay with him, forever. Or at least until they turned 18. 

Mabel continued talking, ignoring his lack of response. “I think he’ll like it. It just sounds a little more personal, you know? Like the difference between calling someone Grandpa and Grandfather. Or maybe he won’t like it. Maybe he likes sounding kinda formal. Either way, he’s got to be nice, he’s adopting us after all.” 

“He’s our last living relative,” Dipper pointed out. “I don’t think he had much of a choice.” 

“He coulda said no,” Mabel said as she looked out the window. A moment passed before she piped up again. “I wonder if he’ll let us get a pet, since we had to leave Whiskers behind and all.” 

Dipper shrugged again. “Who knows?” 

They passed the rest of the bus ride in silence, their clasped hands passing along everything they wouldn’t say aloud. Their worries, their fears, but most of all their promise that no matter what awaited them beyond that last stop, they’d stick together. 

* * *

It simultaneously felt like forever and all too soon when the bus rolled to a stop, the driver calling for anyone getting off at Gravity Falls. The twins exchanged a brief glance as they picked up their duffle bags and meandered to the front. 

There was only one person standing beyond the glass panes of the bus doors, an older man in a tan coat and turtleneck sweater. 

“That has to be him,” Mabel whispered.  

The doors opened and Mabel shot forward, greeting the man with an exuberant grin. “Hi, I’m Mabel and this is Dipper! Do you like sweaters? I know how to knit them! Can I make you a sweater? Can I call you Grunkle Ford? Can we get a pet, we had to leave our kitty!” 

The man seemed a bit stunned, his hands dropping from where he’d been holding them behind his back. “Um, hi, yes, that’s very nice, I accept your offer, you may, and no, no pets.” 

Dipper noticed the ma- Grunkle Ford’s hands. “You have six fingers?” He found himself asking. 

Grunkle Ford began to move his hands behind his back again, but Mabel grasped one before he could complete the motion. She weaved her fingers between the older man’s.  

“It’s like your hand was made to hug all my fingers! You must give the friendliest handshakes!” 

The tension seemed to melt out of Grunkle Ford at that moment. “I’ve never had someone describe it that way before.” 

Mabel shrugged. “I have a talent for descriptions.” 

Ford smiled, “So you do.” He picked up Mabel’s duffle bag and began to reach for Dipper’s. “I’m parked about a block away if you’d like me to take your bag.” 

Dipper hugged the duffle to his chest. “No thank you.” 

Grunkle Ford turned back to Mabel. “I suppose I should have asked before taking yours.” 

Mabel waved her hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m fine with you carrying my stuff. Dippin’ Dots is just a little paranoid around strangers.” 

Dipper bristled. He wasn’t paranoid, just cautious. Mabel could believe everyone had a sunbeam of goodness buried within them, but he preferred to be realistic. Better to suspect the worst and hope for the best than see the world through rose-tinted glasses. This way, he saved himself the hurt. 

It seemed in the midst of his musings they’d managed to walk the distance to Grunkle Ford’s car, a beat-up old thing that looked like it was held together with duct tape and a prayer. 

“A fellow named Steve dropped a tree on it,” Ford explained. “I’m in the midst of obtaining a replacement.” 

After a fight to get the duffles in the dented trunk, admitting defeat and shoving the bags in the backseat, a round of rock paper scissors to see who’d be riding up front, and a brief victory dance from  Mabel when she won, they were finally off to Grunkle Ford’s house. 

“So Dipper,” Ford said as he glanced in the rearview mirror. “What sort of things are you into?” 

Dipper fidgeted a bit. Why couldn’t he keep talking to Mabel? “Umm… Well, mysteries I guess.”

Mabel nodded. “And he’s really good. He figured out all The Sibling Brothers books before he got to the end and guessed the plot twist in Ducktective!” 

“That so?” Ford asked. 

“I guess,” Dipper murmured in reply. 

“Maybe you can help with some of my cases then.” 

Dipper perked up, his inner mystery geek squeeing. “Your cases? You’re a detective?” 

Ford chuckled. “They really didn’t tell you anything about me. Yes, I’m a detective. I take cases from all across Roadkill County.” 

“And you’ll let me help? With real cases?” 

“Only from the safety of the house and with my supervision, yes. You can consider yourself my apprentice,” Ford seemed to second guess himself, glancing back at Dipper. “That is, if you’d like.” 

And for the first time since the accident Dipper smiled, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Mabel squealed. “I’m gonna make you both matching sweaters! They’ll say Mystery Buddies, or something like that.”

“The Deductive Reasoning Duo?” Ford offered. 

“Detective Dudes?” Dipper added. 

“Sherford and Dipson!” 

“That just sounds like weird versions of our normal names!” 

And so that’s how their first moment as a family happened, suggesting increasingly terrible suggestions for Mabel’s sweaters. 

Chapter Text

“I want to meet ‘em,” Stan declared. 

Ford sighed. “It’s not that simple Stanley.”

Stan’s hands balled into fists. “If your “mysterious partner” is planning to spend time around Dipper, who you claim might be a killer, I don’t see why I need to be kept in the dark.” 

“Lee, I promise I have a good reason for concealing my partner’s identity. Can’t you trust me?” Ford was giving him that same puppy dog look he’d fix Ma with whenever he wanted to stay up past his bedtime as kids. 

It was not effective. “Trust is a two-way street, genius. How am I supposed to trust you when you don’t trust me?” 

Ford opened his mouth to reply, but Stan cut him off. 

“And I swear, if you bring up that stupid science fair project one more time, I’ll slug ya. I don’t care how many people are watching!” 

Ford shut his mouth with a sheepish expression that made it clear that’s exactly what he was about to do. “I haven’t brought it up that often.” 

Stan snorted in reply. “Yeah, and the sky’s only kinda blue.” 

The polydactyl slumped in his seat. “I’m not trying to keep you in the dark out of spite, Lee. I just don’t want you hurt.” 

Stan folded his arms against his chest. “And how would meeting your partner hurt me? Cause from where I’m sitting, that sounds an awful lot like a convenient excuse.” 

Ford didn’t reply, just stared at a point past Stan’s shoulder. Before Stan could ask what had grabbed his attention, his brother abruptly stood, jostling the table and sending lukewarm coffee straight into Stan’s lap.  

“Watch it Sixer!” 

Ford rushed to Stan’s side, immediately moving to sop up the mess using a combination of napkins and notebook paper, both of which were already in his pockets. 

“This happen often?” Stan asked. 

“You and I both know I can be a bit enthusiastic at times,” Ford muttered. He sighed, his frenzied mopping slowing. “Would meeting my partner really mean that much to you?” 

Stan shrugged. “I dunno, I just… I don’t wanna be your pawn.”  

The words seemed to pain Ford, his face twisting like he’d tasted something sour. “I  can assure you, that will never happen again.” 

Stan dropped his focus to the table, staring at the sticky brown residue the napkins left behind. “You can say it all you like-” 

“But actions speak louder than words,” Ford finished. “Very well then Stanley.” He gestured towards the front of the shop where a young lady emerged from the crowd. “Meet my partner, Miss Elle Forrester.”

“Greetings,” the girl said with a friendly wave. 

It took a moment or two for Stan to place why she seemed so familiar. “Mabel?” He murmured.

Ford cast a pitying look at him. “She does resemble her, doesn’t she? Now you see why it hurts.” 

Stan couldn’t tear his eyes from the girl. “How long have you two been working together?” 

Elle answered for Ford. “For as long as L’s existed. I investigate, Ford keeps the files and does the talking.” 

The pieces snapped into place in Stan’s mind. “L. Elle. You’ve literally just been using your name all this time!” 

Elle shrugged. “The first cop we collaborated with wrote it as a letter instead of a name and it just kinda stuck.” 

Ford gestured for Elle to sit. “Would you care for a drink, Miss Forrester?” 

Elle slid into the booth across from Stan. “No thanks, I just had a milkshake.” 

“I thought you were meeting the suspect?” 

“I did. We got milkshakes.” 

Stan laughed. “I like this kid!” 

Elle giggled. “I like you too!” 

Ford tapped the table. “As much as I’m glad you two are getting along, we should really focus on the investigation. Lives at stake and such.” 

Elle nodded, her expression hardening into a solemn gaze that seemed out of place on a face so similar to Mabel’s. “Right. So, based on my first meeting with the suspect I can conclude that he definitely has the potential to be Alcor. He has the technical knowledge to hack the police database, a study schedule that fits with the early killings, he totally freaked when I told him who I am-” 

“You told him?” Stan asked. 

Elle just continued on. “And his favorite flavor is vanilla. Vanilla! The blandest of all flavors! You don’t pick vanilla unless you’re a psycho!”* 

Ford raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think that last one counts as evidence.” 

Stan glanced between the two, flabbergasted. Why was he the only one concerned with the fact that Elle was sharing her identity with suspects? Surely Ford felt some sense of responsibility towards this girl if they’d really spent several years working together? 

Elle blew a raspberry in Ford’s direction. “I’m still counting it. I kinda hope he isn’t Alcor though, we had a fun time getting milkshakes. He’d make a great addition to the team.” She turned to look at Stan. “You both would.” 

Stan smiled as he tried to imagine it. Dipper, Ford, and Elle all hunched around a forensics report, trading theories while Stan ordered takeout. Everyone gathered around the television trying to guess the ending of a cheesy mystery flick. Sitting around the dinner table and laughing at a dumb joke Stan got off an Amusement Taffy earlier that day. Feeling like a family again.  

Ford’s voice broke the illusion. “You can’t write off a suspect just because they’re likable. Some of the world’s most twisted minds can hide behind a smile.” Stan could tell by Ford’s grimace exactly who his twin was referencing. 

Elle placed a hand on the Polydactyl’s shoulder. “I’m not writing him off, just being optimistic.” 

Stan gave Ford a pointed look. “Wouldn’t hurt you to adopt some of your partner’s philosophy Poindexter.” 

Before Ford could reply, Stan’s phone began to ring. “Station’s calling.”  He muttered as he answered the phone. “You’ve reached Detective Pines.” 

“Stan!” Chief Cutebiker frantic voice greeted him. 

“What’s wrong Chief?” Stan asked as he switched the call to speaker. 

“We just received a video file from the local station, they say Alcor sent it with a typed message to show the video on Friday. It’s predicting deaths, Stan.” 

Stan looked across the table at the two detectives. Both nodded. 

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

Even with lives at stake, Stan was tempted to punch Bud Gleeful in his smug stupid face. Of all the channels Alcor could've chosen to send his message, he just had to pick the one with a knack for irritating Stan.

The Tent of Telepathy broadcast had been around for years, and been a thorn in Stan's side for almost as long. A ridiculous hub of celebrity gossip that was only ever verified by the Gleefuls' supposed psychic abilities, its original moneymaker had been Bud's son, an entitled brat people inexplicably found adorable. Since said brat was no longer available, Bud had tried to fill the void. It had not been effective. Not that any of that stopped Bud from talking to Stan in that same condescending tone.

"As much as I understand the "importance" of your investigation," Bud said as he leisurely stirred his coffee. "I'm afraid I can't give you the file. Y'see, the channel's had a bit of slump recently and I simply can't afford to give away such a juicy bit'a news."

Stan glared at the man. "This isn't gossip, Bud. Alcor intends to kill those people! We need that file as evidence, and I'm not afraid to use my legal right to confiscate it."

Bud paled ever so slightly. "Now Stanford, there's no need to be cruel. I'm more than happy to make an exchange."

Stan rolled his eyes. "This isn't a negotiation Gleeful. You'll hand over any and all media from Alcor, or I'll call the boys in and we'll do it by force. And you really don't want option two." He leaned closer. "Blubs and Durland can be very enthusiastic."

Bud frowned. "Very well then, but surely you can spare a little information for a strugglin' businessman?"

"What kind of information?"

Bud rose from his chair and walked to a file cabinet in the corner. "I couldn't help but hear that L is workin' on this case as well."

Stan shifted in his chair. "What about it?"

Bud unlocked one of the drawers and began rifling through it. "Surely you've got a bit of gossip about 'im?"

Stan smiled as he laced his fingers together, his tone dropping to his usual "sales" pitch. "Oh I definitely do, I'm just not sure you'll believe me."

Bud chuckled. "At the very least, a good story might help me find this evidence of yours a bit faster."

Stan shrugged. "Alright then, but don't say I didn't warn ya." He took a deep breath as he paused for dramatic effect. "L's a sphinx, a genuine sphinx. He fell through a wormhole and was seized by the government. Now they use his mythic wisdom to solve unsolvable cases."

Bud didn't respond, just gave Stan a skeptical look.

Stan raised his hands. "Okay, ya got me, he's not a sphinx. He's actually my long-lost twin brother who works with what seems to be a clone of my dead niece."

Bud shoved a plastic baggie containing a USB and a piece of paper at him. "Just get out of my studio."

Stan took the bag and gave Bud a mock salute. "Pleasure doin' business with ya Gleeful."

Stan ran back to the coffee shop as fast as his legs could carry him.

"We should really set up an alternate meeting place," he wheezed as he slid back into the booth across from the two detectives, who had apparently been playing tic-tac-toe all this time if the paper in front of them was any indication.

Ford chose to ignore his statement. "Did you get the video?"

Stan pulled the plastic baggie out of his pocket. "Yep. Whatever's on here, Gleeful wasn't ready to give it up."

Elle winced. "You had to deal with the Gleefuls to get this?"

Stan smiled. "Glad to see someone understands my sacrifice."

Ford lifted the baggie. "Do you mind if we take this back to our headquarters for analysis?"

"Unfortunately yes," Stan answered as he took the bag back. "I still have to bring this back to the station. Dust it for fingerprints and such. I'll send you a copy of the files, but I can't do much more without giving away your identities."

Elle placed her hand over his, her touch surprisingly cold. "We understand. Thank you for your help Stan, we really couldn't do this without you."

"Just send us that video as soon as you can," Ford added.

Stan stood. "Will do." He turned to Elle and mimed the action of tipping a hat. "Pleasure meeting you Miss Forrester."

She smiled. "I hope to see you again soon."

Later that evening, in an upscale hotel, two detectives sat bent over a computer screen, a bowl of jellybeans split between them. On the screen, an image of an eye with a slit pupil was displayed over the distorted recording of a person's voice.

The girl reached for the sweets. "What do we do?"

The man sighed wearily. "We broadcast it."

"What about the people?"

"You know as well as I do that they're dead already."

"Then why show it? Why give the public more reason to fear Alcor?"

"Because I suspect we'll get an interesting reaction."

Three days later, the Tent of Telepathy played the video, and the people of Piedmont were glued to their screens.

"People of the World, I am Alcor. I have seen the wickedness of the world, and, unlike those who claim to protect it, I intend to rid our society of its corruption. I have no intention to harm the innocent, and no ill will to those who pursue me. I only wish to do what the law cannot.

To those who doubt my power, a demonstration. Please turn your attention to the male news anchor on channel 27. For the sake of his wife, I will refrain from detailing his crimes. In exactly 10 seconds, he will die. 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

In a well-known studio, a man collapsed into his coffee mug.

" Still believe I'm a hoax? Very well then. Check channels 4, 15, and 32. In thirty seconds, each of the liars on-screen will die simultaneously, each holding up two fingers on their left hand. 27, 28, 29, 30."

People frantically turned to the indicated channels, and it was as Alcor said.

"This should be more than enough proof of my capabilities.

To those who fear me, you only have cause to do so if you've lived a life of treachery. To those who thank me, you are the enlightened among your world. And lastly, to the bold forces of the law who wish to stop me, we are on the same side. Give up your pursuit, and I shall forgive you on the basis of misunderstanding. Continue to chase me, and I will have no choice but to dispose of you. The world should not be spared betterment because of your baseless compassion for the scum of humanity. You have two days following the date of this broadcast to respond. Tick tock, I'm waiting."

A pen dropped from Mason's hand, spattering little bits of ink on the pristine pages of the Death Note, but he took no notice. In his mind, a single thought echoed endlessly.

That's not me.

Chapter Text

Mason stared at the screen with a look of utter disbelief. Who could possibly have the gall to impersonate him? 

Bill seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “ Seems someone’s stealing your gimmick Star-brain. ” 

“People are going to think this is me.” 

Bill rolled his eye. “ Yeah, I think that’s the point. ” 

“I can’t let someone paint me as a raving loon!” Mason cried. “How are they even doing this? It shouldn’t be possible without-” He cut himself off, a new question forming on his tongue. “Are there other Notes Bill? Others like you?” 

Bill raised his arms in a sort of shrug. “ If there are others, I’ve never met them. ” 

“Is there any way to kill like this without a Note?” 

“ Not unless biological warfare has advanced significantly in the past seven years. ” 

Mason turned back to the screen with a thoughtful stare. “Do you think L knows that’s not me?” 

Bill narrowed his eye. “ I know where this is going, and you need to drop it. Getting involved with the investigation will only be trouble. ” 

“Or it might be exactly what I need to prove my innocence,” Mason countered. “After all, why would Alcor want to help the people chasing him?” 

“ To convince them of his innocence, ” Bill replied dryly. “ They’re gonna see right through you kid. ” 

The sound of a key in the apartment door lock kept Mason from responding. 

“Hey Dipper,” Stan greeted as he walked through the door. “I’m guessing you saw the whole Alcor thing just now.” 

“You knew about it?” Mason asked. 

“Course I did, though I had to deal with Gleeful to do so. 

Mason scowled as the bright shirted man came to mind. “Please tell me you gave him a hard time about the whole thing.”  

Stan shrugged. “I told him L was a sphinx, don’t know if that counts.” He pulled a beer from the fridge before settling down in his usual seat at the table. “So how’s it been goin’ in Dipper land recently? Since we haven’t been able to talk much thanks to the case.” 

Mason twidled his thumbs idly. “Things have been okay. My grades are still good.” 

Stan nodded. “Alright, good to hear.” 

The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before Mason spoke up. 

“About the message from Alcor…”

Stan took a sip from his beer. “What about it?”

“I don’t think it’s Alcor.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Mason’s mind raced as he tried to find an excuse. 

A nudge at his side drew his attention to the triangle floating there. 

“The reporters,” Bill whispered. 

“The reporters,” Mason repeated. “They don’t match the profile of Alcor’s usual victims. His targets are usually convicted criminals. The four reporters killed weren’t convicted for any major crimes.” 

“He killed Xanthar,” Stan pointed out. “As well as several FBI agents who were helping with the case. He might just kill anyone who gets in his way.” 

“And how were the reporters doing that?” 

“All four of them openly opposed him. Said he was just as much a criminal as his victims were. Based on the timing of Xanthar’s death, it seems like he doesn’t like people doing that.” 

Mason sighed. “Okay, so I might be wrong. Can you at least pass my theory onto L?” 

Stan took a long draw from his drink, setting it firmly on the table. “How’d you like to do that yourself?” 

Mason felt like a herd of butterflies had been stuffed in his chest. Was he nervous? Giddy with excitement? He couldn’t be certain. All he knew was his heart pounding a million miles a minute as Stan fiddled with the computer.  

Depending on the outcome of this conversation, I’ll either cement myself as L’s ally or seem more suspicious than ever.

“Okay,” Stan muttered. “Just give it a second to connect and here we go.”

The screen changed to the familiar image of an elegant letter L over a deep red background as the computer’s tiny speakers crackled with a distorted voice. “Detective Pines, this is unexpected.”

Mason couldn’t help the puzzled expression that crossed his face. 

I’ve already met L in person, why’s she hiding now? 

Stan was apparently thinking along the same lines. “Is this really necessary? You told me you’ve met Dipper already.” 

“False security has been the downfall of many. There’s always the potential that our communications could be hacked. So I’d prefer to conceal my identity when we aren’t speaking face to face. But that has nothing to do with why you’ve called. I assume Alcor’s little message played a part in this?” 

“Dipper has a theory he’d like to share with you,” Stan said as he turned to Mason. “Just tell L what you told me.”

Mason took a deep breath. “I think the message was sent by an imposter. A second Alcor, so to speak.” 

“West Coast Tech is wise to laud you as their greatest student. I had come to a similar conclusion myself, though I’m curious to hear your reasoning.” 

“Alcor’s primarily targeted convicted criminals, the reporters killed today, don’t fit that mold.” 

“Incorrect. Alcor targets anyone impeding his so-called justice. While today’s victims are far less active than previous ones, they still fit the profile. The key difference is the fact that there is a message at all.” 

Mason frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Alcor doesn’t seem to care for attention. Any more eye-catching interactions have been for the purpose of misleading, or even killing me. This second Alcor wants the public’s attention, they’re encouraging the following the original Alcor ignored. If I had to guess, I’d say their ultimate goal is to get the attention of Alcor himself.” 

“I see,” Mason replied. “Who’d be motivated to do that?” 

Stan pressed the mute button on the computer before L could reply. “Alright smarty-pants, I’m glad we’re making progress, but in case you haven’t noticed it’s late and last time I checked we all required sleep. We can continue this tomorrow.”

He unmuted the computer, allowing L to speak again. “Very well then. Dipper, you’ve intrigued me. I’d like you to accompany Detective Pines tomorrow. We will meet at the Twin Oaks Hotel, Room 156. Unless you’re no longer interested in the case?” 

Mason shook his head. “I’m interested.” 

“Then I look forward to working with you.”

Back in the hotel room, Ford pressed the button to end their conversation, watching as the video feed of his brother and his former apprentice faded to black. 

A cold hand pressed over his own. “You okay?” 

Ford turned to face his partner, plastering on a strained smile he knew she’d be able to see through. “As okay as I can be, given the circumstances.” 

“Aren’t you excited to see him again?” 

“Under different conditions, I would be, I am! I just… I can’t let myself forget he’s a suspect, an incredibly probable one at that!” He sagged back in his chair. “He’s going to hate me.” 

“He could never.” 

“I abandoned him at what was likely a highly traumatic time. I’ve lied to everyone about my very existence. I’m still lying to them now.” 

Sweater-clad arms wrapped around him. “You did what you thought was best, and you’re doing it for a good cause.” 

He buried his face in her hair, ignoring the chill that pulsated from her body. “I’m worried that this may be all my fault.” 

He felt her shake her head. “It’s not, it never was.” She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “It’s Bill’s.”

Chapter Text

The nervous churning in Stan’s gut had not disappeared with a good night’s sleep. If anything, it had gotten worse. 

Dipper was going with him today. Dipper was going to learn that the detective he’s idolized was aided by the family member they’d mourned. All he could hope was that Dipper wouldn’t be mad at him for hiding that fact, even if he hadn’t known for long himself. 

And even if Ford still won’t tell me why.  

A rhythmic knocking on the apartment door started him from his thoughts.  

“Stan,” A familiar female voice sing-songed. “Are you up yet?” 

He opened the door to reveal Elle, still wearing the same sparkly white sweater and bouncing on her toes. 

“Thought we were meeting you at the hotel.” 

Elle shrugged. “I’m impatient. Is Mason up too?” 

“Not yet,” Stan answered as he ambled over to the kitchen, “But breakfast ought to do it.” 

Elle followed closely behind. “Are you making Stancakes?” 

Stan peeked over his shoulder at her as he reached for the mix. “Ford tell ya about those?” 

Elle seemed to tense up for a split second. “Yep, he actually talks quite a lot about you. I think he misses you, both of you.” 

Stan chose to ignore that comment, focusing on searching the cupboards for the cooking oil. “He expecting us at a certain time?” 

“Not really, just before lunch.” 

“And he’s okay with you comin’ here on your own? Despite the fact Dipper’s a suspect.” 

Elle snickered. “You wouldn’t be asking if you knew how many times I’ve saved his butt in the past.” 

“I can guess,” Stan said as he flashed her a quick smile. “Ford was always too focused on his nerd stuff to realize when he was about to walk into trouble. Guess some things never change.” 

“Yeah,” Elle replied softly. 

Any further conversation was cut off by the sound of a groan. A moment later, Dipper stumbled out of his room, hair fluffed up in that uneven manner that meant he’d actually gotten some decent sleep last night. He paused in the kitchen doorway, blinking blearily at Elle with a puzzled expression. 

The girl waved from her spot beside Stan. “Good morning Sleeping Beauty!” 

Dipper squinted. “What are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to escort my Mystery Buddy!” 

“Is this cause I’m a suspect?’ 

Elle smiled slyly. “Maybe.” 

Stan poured the beginnings of the batter onto the now oiled skillet. “Get dressed kid, we’ve got quite the day ahead of us.” 

The Twin Oaks Hotel turned out to be quite a swanky place. All marble columns and fancy gold painted woodwork. It was enough to make Stan nervously eye the security, old instincts screaming they were about to throw him out. 

Elle took no notice of his nerves, cheerily skipping as she led them to the elevator. “Room 156 is on the top!” 

As the three boarded the small box Stan found himself watching Dipper’s reflection in the elevator’s mirrors. 

He shouldn’t go in there blind. 

Stan cleared his throat. “Dipper there’s something you should know, about L.” 

Dipper raised his eyebrows and gestured to the sweater-clad girl. “I’ve already met Elle.” 

Elle tilted her hand in a so-so manner. “It’s really more of a duo situation.” 

Stan nodded in agreement. “And her partner… he’s, well, I’m not sure how to put this.” 

The elevator chimed, the doors opening to reveal a short hallway leading to a door marked 156. 

Stan clasped Dipper’s shoulder before he could step out. “He asked me not ta tell you about him. If he hadn’t I would’ve said something sooner. I don’t want to hide things from you.” 

Dipper scoffed. “You’re probably working yourself up over nothing Grunkle Stan. Now let’s…” 

Dipper trailed off, his eyes locked on the end of the hallway. Following his gaze, Stan could see why. There stood Ford, framed in the doorway, the light of the hotel room practically giving him a halo. 

“Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked in a quiet, broken voice that sounded all too similar to the shaking 12-year-old Stan had embraced in a hospital room 7 years ago. 

Ford couldn’t even vocalize his answer, simply nodding as his breath hitched.  

Stan watched a whole parade of emotions flicker through his nephew’s face. Shock, hurt, anger, wonder, sadness, joy, betrayal, and finally acceptance.  

Dipper bolted forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Stan’s twin. “You’re alive!” 

After a moment’s pause, Ford returned the hug, one six-fingered hand combing lightly through the young man’s hair. “I am. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I was keeping you safe.” 

“From what?” Dipper asked, breaking off the hug but still standing close. 

“I’ll tell you when this mess is over,” Ford promised before finally meeting Stan’s eyes. “For now, I believe we have a copycat to catch.”

Dipper wiped his eyes. “Right. So what kind of person wants Alcor’s attention?” 

“A disciple,” Ford replied as he led their little party into the room. “Someone who views Alcor on a level similar to a deity. They believe Alcor is worthy of devotion and want others to display said devotion as well. They’re also not afraid to pull dramatic stunts to achieve this.”  He directed them to a table cluttered with various monitors. Some were playing the second Alcor’s broadcast, some had profiles of past victims, and one was turned to the news. “But far more interesting is the fact that whoever they are, they expected us to figure them out.” 

Elle walked over with an additional laptop, the screen frozen on a paused video. “This played early this morning.” 

As she hit play, a familiar eye appeared accompanied by the same distorted voice as before. 

“ People of the world, this message is not meant for you. People of the law, don’t be too angry with Mr. Gleeful for hiding this tape from you. I made it very clear that if this message ever found its way into your hands his life would be forfeit. 

Now for this message’s true recipient. Hello Alcor. I’m terribly sorry for impersonating you in my previous messages, but I felt it was the best way to ensure I was heard. You may call me Megrez. I wish for nothing more than the chance to aid you in your mission to cleanse the world of the wicked, nothing more than to see your face that is. Meet me at the origin of your name this Thursday and we can show each other our notes. I look forward to serving you. ” 

Stan was the one to break the silence when the video concluded. “So we’re gonna try and catch this meeting, right?”  

Ford nodded. “Precisely. That’s actually why I wanted to involve Mason.” 

Dipper tore his eyes from where they’d been fixated on the screen. “What do you mean?” 

“As I’m sure Miss Forrester has mentioned, you’re a suspect,” Ford stated as he began to pace. “That means you fit the profile of Alcor well enough for Megrez to believe you are him. You’ll attend this meeting wearing a recording device and, if all goes well, convince Megrez to reveal themself to you.” Ford paused in his movements. “That is, unless you don’t want to, I’d rather not force you into anything.” 

Dipper looked to Stan as if silently asking permission. Stan shrugged. “You’re legally an adult kid, nothin’ I can do to stop you.”

Dipper turned back to Ford. “I’ll do it. I’ll pose as Alcor.” 

Unseen by most of the room’s occupants, a one-eyed triangle cackled, enjoying the best show of his life.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday Mason was seething, pacing the short span of his room like a caged animal. Bill, as usual, simply watched.

"He's alive, he was alive this whole time Bill!"

The triangle rolled his eye. "Yes, I believe we've established that Pinetree."

"He was alive and he left me!"

"Yeah, he's a jerk, can we move on now?"

Mason ran his hands through his hair. "He left me and I can't even act mad about it, because if I'm anything less than the 'sweet little Dipper' he remembers, he'll only suspect me more!"

Bill sighed. "As much as I love all the drama your family gets wrapped up in, don't you have bigger things to worry about? Like Megrez?"

Mason scoffed. "They can't approach me if they can't identify me, and it's not like I'm going to walk in waving my Note around."

Bill floated closer. "Let me let you in on a little secret about the Notes, none of them work on their own."

"What do you mean?"

"Every Note has something like me bound to it—a ghost, a demon, whatever you want to call us. We spread death because death is a part of us. A note without one of us? Just another book."

Mason crossed his arms over his chest. "I fail to see how your trivia relates to the situation at hand."

"We can see each other idiot! If Megrez's little companion happens to be a chatterbox, they'll tell Megrez you're Alcor. Megrez will approach, and you'll be down a potential partner."

Mason glared at the triangle. "Who says I want a partner? I've been handling things just fine on my own."

Bill threw one of his noodle-like arms over Mason's shoulders. "You heard what ol' Six Fingers said, Megrez sees you as a god. Contact them as Alcor and they'll jump to do your bidding. The very picture of perfect compliance."

"That would be nice…"

"Then find a way to keep their cover."

"I have an idea."

The next morning Mason found himself knocking on the door to the apartment across the hall.

The perfect woman that she was, Wendy Courdoroy didn't keep him waiting. She answered the door with a smile, her scarlet hair dancing in the slight breeze of the nearby AC unit.

"Hey man, been a while since I last you. How're classes?"

Mason shook himself out of his daze. "Hey Wendy, classes are good. I was wondering if you'd be interested in going out for lunch? Maybe bring some of the crew?"

Wendy leaned against the doorframe, her eyes twinkling like- Get a grip, Mason!

"The crew's all doing their own things today, but I'm free. Got a location in mind?"

Mason took a deep breath. Here's the hard part. "Alcor's Astral Burgers?"

Wendy paled for a split second before returning to her relaxed smile. "Sure thing, gotta make up for that dinner you missed somehow. Meet ya during lunch hour."

Mason waved goodbye as he returned to his own apartment. "See you then!"

Bill eyed him skeptically. "And just how is getting a date with Red gonna help?"

Mason felt his cheeks heat. "First of all, it's not a date. Second, so long as she stays near me, Megrez's 'companion' as you called it, won't be able to tell which one of us you're following."

Bill chuckled. "See, this is why I like you kid, you're not afraid to utilize your connections. So many people get so uptight when you tell them to use their friends."

"Don't praise me until after it's worked."

Alcor's Astral Burgers (the name still sucked) managed to be both exactly like Mason imagined and not at all similar at the same time. The interior was an odd combination of 50s diner and what he could only describe as 80s sci-fi. Tacky, but marketable.

The outside was the part that truly caught him off guard though. The building's exterior had been entirely covered in various items devoted to Alcor. Some were newspaper clippings, some were handwritten notes, but most revolved around the hostage situation that had started it all.

Beside him Wendy marched ahead without so much as glancing at the collage, leading him to a small table by the papered-over windows.

As he sat, Mason felt the slight tug on his shirt collar indicating where the small microphone the others would be listening in on was clamped.

Wendy handed him a menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers. "I'd give you a recommendation on what to get, but we never got our orders that night."

Mason fiddled awkwardly with the laminated paper. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Wendy shrugged. "Not really. I'm already having to see my old therapist again."

"You have a therapist?"

"I had a hard time after losing my mom." She flipped the menu over to inspect the back. "I'm better now, but in a way, I think losing her almost helped with the whole hostage thing. Worst case scenario, maybe I'd see her again."

Mason fidgeted in his chair. "Oh, are you mad that Alcor saved you?"

Wendy looked up from her menu. "Course not. That was just… something I told myself to keep calm. We had enough people freaking out already, I didn't need to add to it. But enough with the serious stuff, we're here to have lunch." She lifted a hand to flag down a waitress.

Mason took the opportunity to look back at Bill. Even if his "companion" spotted Megrez, it was unlikely he'd point them out, but if Mason paid attention, maybe he'd notice if anyone caught the triangle's eye.

The sound of snapping drew his focus back to Wendy, who had apparently been trying to get his attention.

"You good man? You kinda zoned out there."

Mason smiled. "Sorry, just thinking about what to order."

Wendy playfully punched his shoulder. "It's not the end of the world if you choose the wrong sandwich."

"Maybe I'm picky."

"Says the guy who had pizza-flavored cake at his birthday."

Mason felt his smile strain. "You know that wasn't my idea."

This was the one downside to spending time with Wendy. Unlike Soos, who was apparently also from Gravity Falls, she had still been there when they lost Mabel. And while they'd never been particularly close to the troublemaking redhead then, he couldn't help but wonder if she and her friends intentionally chose to attend college where he and Stan had moved to keep an eye on him. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like he laid awake at night thinking about it.

A waitress finally arrived to take their order at that point, allowing the conversation to wander away from painful topics. Instead, they compared unfair professors, odd essay prompts, and lighthearted vignettes from their personal lives. Throughout it all Mason continued to watch Bill, but if the triangle saw anything of interest he kept a good poker face.

Their food was nearly finished when a girl with pink hair approached them, repeatedly glancing at Wendy.

It didn't take long for the redhead to notice. "Did you need something?"

The girl stepped closer. "I'm sorry I just had to ask, are you one of the hostages from the first killing? You look a lot like one of the girls from the footage."

Wendy reached for the basket of fries they'd agreed to split. "I am."

The girl's face stretched into a smile that bordered on manic. "You must feel so honored to be favored by Alcor."

The fry Wendy had grabbed was slowly being crushed between her fingertips. "There's nothing honorable about being involved with that psychopath's games. I'm just glad I lived."

The girl leaned forward, pounding her hands on the table. "He's not a psychopath, and if you can say such things, you're clearly too ungrateful to be worth his time! I hope next time you're in danger and he doesn't help, you remember this moment." With that, the girl left in a huff, slamming the door shut behind her.

Mason turned back to Wendy. "That sort of thing happen often?"

Wendy sighed as she tossed her smashed fry back into the basket. "Unfortunately. They only showed me in the initial coverage, but apparently, that's enough to get the crazies crawling out of the woodwork." She pushed the remains of her sandwich away. "I'm not really hungry anymore."

"I'll pay."

Stan was kind enough to avoid referencing the failed attempt to bait Megrez when Mason got back. Just clasped his shoulder and continued on as if it were just another day. From there, the evening proceeded without anything of note until Stan retrieved the mail later that day.

"Hey Dipper looks like you won some kinda contest."

Mason looked up from his homework in confusion. "I don't remember entering a contest."

"You've got somebody trying to scam you then." Stan handed him a large envelope with the words 'You've Won!' printed in metallic ink. "Don't give them any personal information."

Mason peeled back the flap of the envelope, sending two slips of paper tumbling out onto the counter. He picked up the larger of the two and began to read the pre-printed message aloud.

"Congratulations lucky fan! You have been chosen from over 500 entrants to receive a VIP package at…" he squinted at the name. "Pacifica Northwest's upcoming concert. Simply show your exclusive ticket at the security checkpoint to receive a front-row seat, free concessions, autographed merchandise, and a backstage meeting with Pacifica herself. She looks forward to seeing you!"

He turned the postcard over to reveal a picture of a blond girl holding a microphone, then slid the card to Stan. "Ever heard of her?"

Stan looked at the card. "She's been cast in the remake of The Duchess Approves, but that's all I know. Is the ticket in there?"

"Yeah." Mason picked up the slim rectangle labeled VIP, but something felt a little… off. He ran his fingers across the back. Slight indentations. Someone had written on this. He flipped the ticket over but it appeared blank.

Mason stood up with the ticket in hand. "I'm going to look this contest up, I'll be back." He then strode to his room without waiting for a reply.

After rifling through his drawers for a bit he found what he was looking for. A small black flashlight with an oddly colored blub. He hit the switch and shone it on the ticket. Sure enough, the blacklight revealed a glowing message on the back.

Oit fl fwgk isr rvh Oegrv.

Gibberish to most, but Mason knew a cipher when he saw one.

Outside the building, a girl in a limo removed the last of the pins securing the pink wig to her head. A blue-clad figure sat across from her, not that anyone looking through the windows would see him.

"Yer sure ya want to do this? It'll cost ya."

Pacifica Northwest smiled. "He saved my life, and unlike others…"

She stroked the spine of her Death Note. "I'm not ungrateful."

Chapter Text

Concerts had never been Mason’s scene. The crowd, the lights, the unholy combination of body odor and no personal space, it all seemed closer to a stress dream than a good time. 

This concert in particular was even less his thing than the few Wendy’s crew had brought him to. Everything was brightly colored in hues of pink and violet that made his eyes water, though that could also be the abundance of perfume worn by the concertgoers. In addition, he seemed to be both the only guy there and the only one out of middle school. 

Wincing as yet another pair of pre-teen girls shrieked, Mason strode to his seat, pausing only to flash his VIP ticket at the security guard monitoring the front row. Bill floated closely behind. 

“I’ll never understand why you people use the same sound to express both excitement and fear, doesn’t it get confusing?”  

Mason sat down. “It certainly gets painful. I swear girls can reach pitches only dogs should hear.” 

“Well, you’d better get used to it, this thing’s supposed to take a few hours.” 

Mason groaned. “This girl had better be useful.” 

“It’s him, he came!” Pacifica squeaked as she watched the front row through the security feed.  

A hand tapped her shoulder. “Maybe we should take this back to yer dressin’ room? People are starin’.”

Pacifica flashed a smile at her blue-garbed companion. “Oh Giddy, I’m a child star, people expect me to be some degree of crazy. You should know about that.”

Pacifica was only about twelve when the Tent of Telepathy changed spokesmen, but it had been difficult to forget the outrageous hair and cutesy mannerisms of its original face. Imagine her surprise when Alcor’s gift had arrived with the pale brat included.  

When she had first seen him, Gideon Gleeful looked exactly as the missing person's photo depicted him. Short, pudgy, and wearing one of his many powder blue suits. But their time together had changed that. He now stood at equal height to herself, hair combed into a much smaller version of his usual style. The suit hadn’t changed. 

“Even so,” the pale boy retorted, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “Talkin’ to yerself might be a mite too crazy.” 

The singer rolled her eyes. “Quit whining and just let me enjoy the moment killjoy. Alcor actually accepted my invitation!” 

“Or he’s a regular guy who took the opportunity for a free concert and completely missed yer little code.” 

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s too smart. Not to mention,” She tapped the screen. “He looks miserable.” 

Gideon leaned against a speaker. “Not a fan then? Doesn’t seem like that’ll help your proposal.”

A stage manager came to adjust her microphone as the opening band walked onstage. “I’ll just have to put on a good show then.”

This was hell. Mason’s own personalized hell. Aside from one song he’d found himself tapping his foot to, it was all just over-produced drivel covering the same range of topics Mabel’s sleepovers used to. Boys, kissing, kissing boys, thinking about kissing boys, etc. It was all made even more unbearable by the sea of high-pitched screaming, space crowding, and cheap body spray.  

Bill seemed amused by his plight, pointing and laughing as Mason’s foot was stomped on by the enthusiastic fan next to him for what felt like the thousandth time. 

Finally, FINALLY, the last note of the final song faded out as the blond waved goodbye before lowering through a trap door.  

“About time,” Mason muttered as the security guard from before approached him. 

“If you’d follow me, Miss Northwest is ready to see you now.” 

Mason nodded in reply, tailing the security guard through a door marked ‘Staff Only’ into a small room where a familiar looking blonde awaited him on a couch. 

Pacifica made a shooing motion to the guard. “Leave us, I promised him a one-on-one meeting.” 

Mason waited to speak until the sound of the guard’s footsteps had faded. “You were the one at the diner.” 

Pacifica beamed. “I knew you’d figure it out! See?” She turned to her left as if addressing another person. “I told you he’s smart!” 

Mason looked at the empty space quizzically. “Is that your companion?” 

“Oh, right, you can’t see him!” She reached under a couch cushion, pulling a notebook that bore only a slight resemblance to Mason’s. She held it out to him with a smile. “We can fix that.” 

Mason reached out to touch the note, but Bill quickly flew in front of his hand.

“You don’t want to do that, trust me. Bad things happen when the power of two Death Notes directly interact.” 

Mason pulled his hand back. “My companion says we shouldn’t touch each other’s notes.” 

Pacifica drew the book back to her chest, glaring at the empty space again. “How come you didn’t say anything?” 

Mason made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind that, how did you find out I’m Alcor? Can L use the same method?” 

The singer snorted. “Not without this he can’t.” She waved the navy-blue notebook. “Each note comes with two things, the power to kill they all share, and an individual companion. Each of those companions has different gifts that become a part of the user if they wield the power often enough.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “My companion’s gift is sight. So long as I hold the notebook, I can see the name of anyone. Anyone, that is, except a fellow Death Note holder.”

Mason added the information to his mental catalog on the notes. “So you just waited until someone walked into the diner with no name.” He grinned at her. “Not bad.” 

Pacifica flushed. “I know it would’ve been smarter to keep my distance, not draw attention, but I just had to meet you.” She stared intently at him. “You saved my life, you set me free.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “And just how did I manage to do that?” 

“You killed my parents. Just like I knew you would. You even made it look like an accident, just for me.” 

Mason hadn’t made anyone’s death look like an accident, but he wasn’t going to correct her. If Pacifica believing he killed her parents kept her on his side, he’d run with it. 

“So this sight, you could use it on L?” 

She nodded. “Absolutely.”  

“Then we need an excuse to stay close, so she’ll have no choice but to approach you.” 

Pacifica became suddenly fascinated with the floor. “I could be your girlfriend.” 

He shrugged. “I guess that works.”

In the far-left corner of the room, Gideon fidgeted anxiously as the golden triangle floated over to him. 

“Why Gideon Gleeful, my old friend! How’s the afterlife been treating you?”

“Cipher,” Gideon greeted coldly. “What do you want?” 

The triangle’s eye widened in mock surprise. “Can’t a former friend say hello without an ulterior motive?”

Gideon glared. “I'm not yer friend. You killed me.” 

The triangle’s hue shifted to red. “And I’ll do a lot worse if Blondie back there screws up my plans. So make sure you keep your mouth shut.” 

Gideon fought the urge to shiver. “On one condition.” 

“You’re in no position to be making demands short stack.”

“Don’t hurt her.”

“Stay in line and that won’t be a problem.” 

Gideon extended his hand. “Shake on it?” 

“It’s a deal.”

Chapter Text

“ Greetings, you’ve reached L. You have five seconds to hang up if this is not related to my current case. ” 

“It’s Mason.” 

“ Oh, Dipper! Just let me turn the modulator off. Is this about the case?”

“Actually, I was trying to reach Elle.”

“I’ll put her on.” 

“...” 

“Hey Mystery Buddy, how’s it hanging?”

“Do you like mini-golf?”

“Absolutely! Why do you ask?” 

“I’ve been thinking and… I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend. Since we’re getting to be friends and all.”

“Girlfriend? Is it Wendy? It is, isn’t it!”

“No. Also, how long have you been stalking me?” 

“I’d tell you, but it’d give you nightmares. When do I get to meet this mystery girl?” 

“We’re meeting up at the Putt Hut on 8th Street after lunch.” 

“I’ll be there, can’t wait!” 

“Neither can I.”

Despite only having a fake girlfriend for about three days Mason could already conclude it was exhausting. Pacifica constantly bombarded his phone with a seemingly endless stream of inane updates about her day. And that was just when she wasn’t leaving hints of “a special someone” online. Extremely unsubtle hints. At this rate, he’d be fighting off paparazzi by the end of the week. 

But she was also capable of telling him “Elle Forrester’s” real name. He just had to put up with her until then. He’d find some way to dispose of her afterward. 

Before he could ponder any further, a familiar girl in a white sweater passed through the entrance to the course. Showtime.  

He waved her over. “What took you so long?” 

Elle shrugged. “Oh, you know, case stuff. Now let’s get to the true topic of interest!” She leaned closer, a teasing grin on her face. “Where’s your new girlfriend?” 

“On her way, she had to finish up at work.” 

“Well, I suppose that gives you more time to prepare for seriously getting your butt kicked, because I happen to be pretty dang good at this game.” 

Mason looked at the entrance. “Not that much time apparently. She’s here.”  

Pacifica sashayed up to the pair, looking every bit like a walking advertisement for the latest in golf gear and fashion. Without so much as looking at Elle, she leaned forward to kiss Mason on the cheek. 

“So, where’s-” 

Before she could say another word, Elle shoved a sheet of notebook paper in the blonde’s face. Literally. 

“Can I have an autograph? I’m a huge fan.” 

Pacifica seemed somewhat surprised but quickly recovered, taking the paper with a smile. “Of course, anything for a friend of Mason’s.” 

Elle beamed, bouncing on her toes as Pacifica began signing the paper. “Just your first name please, I’ve got several boy bands I wanna save space for.”

Pacifica handed the paper back. “Well, now that that’s over with,” She extended her hand. “Pacifica Northwest, Mason’s told me quite a bit about you.”  

Elle jovially reciprocated. “Elle Forrester, magazines have told me quite a bit about you. You golf?” 

“Both mini and actual, I had to take special lessons back when I was ten for my role in-” 

“Fore Gone! The movie with that guy who adopts an orphan with the intent of molding her into a golf star so he can profit off her glory. Was it really based on a true story?” 

“I mean, we pulled like five things from actual events, so it counts as Hollywood true.”

Mason cleared his throat before they could get further off track. “Why don’t we continue this conversation during the game? Elle here says she’s a talented player too, so it should make for an interesting competition.” 

Pacifica nodded, reaching into her bag. “Sounds fun! I’m pretty sure I’ve got something to keep score on somewhere in here.”

She made a show of digging around before pulling out the navy notebook. “Here it is! Now, do you want to start or should…” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the spot above Elle’s head. 

“Pacifica?” Mason prompted. “We’ve got a game to get going.” 

The blonde shook off whatever had come over her. “Right, of course! Just got a little distracted by something.”  

The rest of the game remained thankfully free of any other odd hiccups, though Elle apparently had a habit of mumbling to herself when lining up a shot. Fortunately, Elle’s eccentricities seemed to make it easier for her to overlook Pacifica’s little slip-up earlier. That, and she was apparently really into mini golf, turning what was meant to be a mere distraction into an intense contest. And while it was successful in keeping Elle occupied, it also left Pacifica with no time to discreetly pass on Elle’s real name.  

“Any suggestions?” Mason asked Bill, who, as it often seemed to be, was much quieter whenever Elle was around.  

“Nothing that wouldn’t get our investigative annoyance’s attention as well,” Bill muttered. 

Mason sighed. “How many holes are left?” 

“Last one!” Elle chirped. “Be ready to comfort your girlfriend when I win!”  

Pacifica allowed the sweater-clad girl to drag her along. “We’re only tied because that random windmill hole decided to screw me, so don’t get your hopes up.” 

Elle waved her off. “Oh sure, blame the windmill, classic excuse. Now,” She placed her ball down. “Prepare to witness the power of raw talent!” She raised the thin club- 

The familiar sound of a police siren sliced through the air as a small swarm of officers burst through the gate. Heading straight for them. 

Before Mason could fully process the sight, the officers surrounded them, closing in on Pacifica. One pulled her arms behind her back to cuff her while another slipped what looked like a sleeping mask over her head.  

Stan emerged from the mass of uniforms. “You alright Dipper?” 

Mason looked from him to Pacifica, who now had a gag added to her ensemble. “Grunkle Stan? What’s going on?” 

Stan placed a steadying hand on Mason’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but we did a more thorough search of the Tent of Telepathy’s broadcast station. Hair belonging to the Northwest girl was found inside.” 

“Maybe she was a guest on the show?” Mason suggested. 

Stan shook his head. “She’s never even been invited. There’s no reason any trace of her should be in that studio unless it was attached to the Megrez tapes. Guess she got sloppier with her later submissions.”  

A scream cut off any rebuttal Mason could have offered. 

“GIDEON!” 

Elle followed the group of officers dragging Pacifica towards the back of a van, the blonde wailing all the while. 

“Gideon! You have to help me! What do you think will happen to you without someone to use your book?” 

The pale boy keeping pace at her side looked on indifferently. “Ah managed fur seven years without ya. Ah can handle more.”

“You need me!” 

The boy glanced back at Elle. “Ah really don’t.” 

Elle gave the boy a small smile before breaking off from the group and pulling out her phone.  

One ring in Ford picked up. “What’s happened?” 

“I just saw Gideon Gleeful.” 

“And Pacifica?” 

“Has a notebook.” 

“That’s all of them then. You understand what this means?” 

Elle took a deep breath. “It’s time to end this.” 

“Tell Stanley to bring Dipper to warehouse 18 on Dock F by noon tomorrow.” 

“I will. See you later Grunkle Ford.” 

“See you then Mabel.”

Chapter Text

After officially living with Grunkle Ford for two months Mabel could conclude she liked it. He had lots of exciting stories from his job, gave occasionally stiff but always warm hugs, and he collected jellybeans, which was almost as good as collecting stickers.

Of course, the best part about him was how well he got along with Dipper. After the accident, her brother needed a friend, someone who shared his interests. And while Mabel had tried her hardest to seem interested in unsolved cases and nerdy dice games, they'd both known she was faking.

The only downside to how well her two nerds of a feather had flocked together was that she tended to get left out. Not that they did it on purpose or anything. They just got so wrapped up in their different things they'd forget she didn't have anything to do. But it was fine, she could handle a little boredom if it meant keeping her family happy. Plus, every now and then, they'd make an attempt to include her. Like today.

Mabel and Dipper sat at the kitchen table, watching as Ford paced back and forth with a solemn expression she liked to call his "case face".

"I didn't want to involve you in this," he said, his tone clipped and sharp. "But it's become personal."

Dipper fidgeted. "Is this about your big case? The one you said was too dangerous for me to help with?"

Ford nodded. "Precisely. For nearly a year now, I was assigned to a case centered around a substance originating from somewhere in the county, a drug called Mindscape. The stuff is highly addictive, with a fifty percent chance of killing the user every hit, but many seem to find the potential high worth the risk. This month alone more than a thousand people have died as a result of Mindscape use."

He ran a hand through his hair. "No one knows where the drug is manufactured, our only lead is testimony from some dealers that their suppliers answer to a man called Cipher. Or at least, that was our only lead."

Ford took a deep breath, placing his hands on the kitchen table. "Recently I discovered my estranged brother is one of Cipher's mules. I've invited him here in the hopes of convincing him to act as an inside man for the investigation. He's due to arrive this evening. I can't be certain of how he'll react, so I think it would be best to take some precautions. You both know where the landline's located?"

Mabel nodded, watching out of the corner of her eye as Dipper did the same.

"And you've memorized the local department's number?"

Another nod.

"Good. Don't hesitate to call if things become violent."

Mabel chuckled uncomfortably. "Aw, come on Grunkle Ford. He's your brother, he wouldn't hurt you."

Ford smiled, lifting a hand to gently pat her head. "I wish I could say that I knew that, but Stanley and I… we don't have the kind of relationship you and Dipper have. He's hurt me once before."

"Maybe it was an accident?" Mabel suggested.

Ford's smile dropped. "Maybe."

The impending arrival of their mysterious other Grunkle made dinner a tense affair. Dipper kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the door, Ford's plate of mac n' cheese had been so thoroughly mashed it was unrecognizable, and Mabel found herself picking at a loose thread on her sweater. It was almost a relief when they heard the dull sound of knuckles on wood.

"I'll get it!" Mabel cried, leaping out of her seat before Ford could protest. Dashing to the door, she opened it with a wide smile. Seeing the man on the other side, she gasped. "Grunkle Ford! You never said you were a twin!"

Ford's tan trench coat appeared in the corner of her eye. "I didn't feel the information necessary," then more hesitantly, "Hello Stanley."

Stanley looked almost identical to Ford if Ford was heavier, poorly washed, and missing his bonus fingers that is. His hair looked recently cut, but uneven, and while his clothes were decent, none matched, like he'd pulled them at random.

Stanley looked from Mabel to Ford. "You got a kid?"

"I am the legal guardian of Shermie's two grandchildren."

Mabel took the opportunity to extend her hand. "Hi, Grunkle Stanley! I'm Mabel! Do you like sweaters? I can make you one!"

Stanley grinned. "That'd be real nice kid, but you can just call me Stan."

Mabel nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright Stan. Did you eat? We're having mac n' cheese."

Stan snorted. "Of course you are, it's one of five things Sixer can cook!"

Ford huffed. "You'll find my culinary skills have much improved since high school."

Stan stepped inside and the two men walked to the kitchen, sharing horror stories of burnt meals past in a jovial tone. Mabel followed close behind, thinking maybe things might work out after all.

The conversation stayed pleasant until everyone had finished eating, then Ford's face settled back into detective mode.

"I'm very glad you've come Stanley, but I'm afraid this is no mere visit."

Stan frowned. "What, you need help with the kiddos or something? Cause I'm not sure I qualify as a responsible adult."

Ford settled his hands on the table, lacing his fingers together. "I know you're working for Cipher. I want your help to bring him down."

Stan stiffened. "That's a tall order, Poindexter. I mean, I don't even work for him directly! I work for some chick who works for him. And even if I did work for him directly, it still wouldn't do ya any good!"

"What do you mean?"

"Cipher's extremely paranoid. Always wears this freaky mask that filters his voice. Even his inner circle wouldn't recognize him without it."

"Then we just have to get you even closer to him. He's bound to slip up at some point."

"And if you do catch him, what then? What happens to me?"

Ford took a steadying breath. "I don't know, but if I catch him, it will be thanks to your help. I'll do everything in my power to get your slate wiped clean, see that you're formally forgiven for any transgressions."

Stan exhaled, a harsh hiss through his teeth. "Fine. You've got yourself a man on the inside."

Mabel struggled in the wooden chair she'd been tied to, feeling the sting of the rope on her wrists, and silently cursing herself for being so gullible.

Gideon had shown up out of nowhere, bursting with southern charm and a mutual affection for the sparkly things in life. They got ice cream, climbed rooftops, saw a movie, it was really starting to feel like she made a friend. Then he had to go and ruin it by being one of Cipher's minions. Grunkle Ford was gonna give her such a lecture when he saved her.

The pink-haired woman who'd been guarding her jabbed her side. "Look alive Sparkles, seems the boss wants to meet you."

"Now? Mabel whimpered.

"Now." A third voice confirmed, the tone high and vaguely electrical. Footsteps gradually approached her chair, stopping for a moment before she was whirled around and face to face with her captor.

Cipher towered over her, dressed in what looked like an odd Halloween costume. His clothes were mostly stiff and formal save for the yellow brick-patterned coat and matching mask with a single slit pupil eye. Something behind the mask illuminated the eye, making it feel like a searchlight hastily carved into a face. She scoured his appearance, but not a single identifying feature showed. Skin was concealed by black fabric, and the yellow hair poking out from behind the mask was far too bright to be natural.

"Leave us," he ordered her pink-haired guard.

The woman sauntered off to somewhere behind her, leaving Mabel alone with her ghoulish captor.

"Well, well, well, well, well, seems you've taken a bad turn starshine. Your great uncle must be worried sick."

Mabel glared at him. "He's going to find me, and then you'll go to jail."

Cipher chuckled. "Your optimism is impressively stupid. The whole reason you were lured here was so he would follow. After all, I need his help with something."

"He doesn't do drugs."

"Oh, the drugs were never the point. They were just a convenient avenue to finance these." He held a set of black notebooks in front of her face.

"You're… writing a novel?" Mabel guessed.

"I'm writing a new chapter in human history. You see, these books are very special. Created by exorcists to trap demons, they can also hold human souls, human life. Once a spirit is bound to its pages, the holder can use those bonds to death to steal lifespan from others and make themself immortal. And after what a pain old Fordsie's been to me, it only makes sense to use him as my final stepping stone to eternal life."

"You're going to kill him," Mabel whispered in horror.

"And you're my bait. After all, what hero can resist a damsel in distress?"

Before Mabel could respond, she heard the distant sound of her Grunkle calling her name, and though she couldn't see it, she could feel Cipher's grin.

"About time IQ!" Cipher taunted, facing the hallway on the left side of the room, his back to Mabel.

"I don't know what you want Cipher, just please don't hurt her," Ford pleaded, slowly inching his way down the hall, his gloved hands held high in surrender.

"I want to make a deal Fordsie. An exchange. Your life for hers."

"Why? Why does someone have to die?"

"Why are you asking questions? Isn't shooting star's life more important than your silly little answers?"

Warm air tickled the back of Mabel's neck.

"Don't move," Ford, the real Ford, whispered in her ear. "I'm not sure how long Stanley can keep Cipher occupied."

"What about the lady? She's back there somewhere," Mabel murmured.

"I may have asked Dan for some of his bear tranquilizers."

"Not another step!" Cipher shouted, the hand not holding the notebooks reaching into his coat to pull out what looked like a weird key fob. "I've got this entire warehouse rigged to blow the minute I push this button! If I go down, you and your precious little niece are coming with me."

Stan stepped back, never letting his impression of Ford slip. "No one's going down, I'm staying away, see?"

The ropes around Mabel's wrists loosened.

"When I tell you, run the way I came and don't look back," Ford said lowly.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Now get ready."

Mabel nodded.

Ford's hand pressed against her back. "In three, two-"

"There's two 'a 'em?" A familiar southern drawl exclaimed.

Turning back toward the hall Stan stood in, Mabel's heart sank as she saw Gideon Gleeful with Dipper close behind.

Stan glanced back at the boys, his jersey accent slipping out despite himself. "What are doin' here?"

Dipper flushed. "I came to save my sister, I made Gideon show me the location."

"If you're not Ford then-" Cipher whirled around, the light of his eye briefly blinding Mabel. "Oh ho ho, very clever IQ. Almost got away with it too!" He looked back in Dipper's direction, and Mabel could picture the smug grin concealed by his mask. "If it weren't for that meddling kid. Ah well, works in my favor." He dropped the notebooks and pulled out a knife. "Let's make this slow, shall we?"

Taking advantage of Cipher's distraction, Mabel leaped out of the chair and grabbed the notebook from the floor.

"Hey, Cipher!" She yelled, pulling one notebook from the set. "Think these things will still work if they're missing pages?" She opened the notebook and began to pull at the blank paper inside.

"You little brat!" Cipher shrieked, lunging at her.

Mabel felt Cipher's full weight as he wrestled the book from her grasp, felt Gideon's pudgy little hands on her shoulders as he got involved, felt the leather of the book finally leave her grasp, but most terrifyingly of all…

She felt the detonator click.

Chapter Text

Ford’s vision was consumed by a blinding white. And for a moment, all he knew was pain. When the burning sensation finally faded enough for his reason to return, he sat up to regain his bearings. 

Jagged bits of broken stone closed in the space around him, a slim beam of pale sunlight filtering in from far above his head, pointing like a spotlight to the pool of blood just reaching his feet. Tracing the ruby puddle back to its source left him feeling like his heart had fallen to his stomach. 

There, under a particularly large piece of debris, was a single, almost doll-like hand, garbed in a familiar sweater sleeve. 

Ford’s lips mouthed the word “No,” but he failed to push any sound past them. Collapsing onto his knees, he reached for the small hand, interlacing the cold fingers between his own as if warming them might somehow conjure Mabel back to life. Of course, nothing happened. 

A sound finally emerged from his throat, a choked, screeching sound, like the final cry of a dying animal. The sounds only grew more pained as his shoulders shook and two small clear puddles joined the red on the floor.  

When his voice had faded too much to scream, he rasped a single phrase. 

“I’m so, so sorry Mabel.” 

It was only then that it felt right to release his grasp on her hand. 

He sat back, only to feel something brush against his coat. Looking down to inspect the offending item, he found a notebook, of a similar size and thickness to the ones Cipher had been waving around, but bound in magenta instead of black. Bright stickers, all some form of star, were plastered across the front so thoroughly they almost hid it’s true color. 

Despite the ragged feeling in his soul, Ford couldn’t help but smile as he reached for the book. It seemed so much like the sort of thing Mabel would adore, perhaps he could keep it as a memento of the vibrance she had brought to life. His fingers brushed the cover- 

“Grunkle Ford?” 

Ford whipped around, staring agape at the sight before him. Mabel, perfectly unharmed, wearing the same sweater he could see on her corpse just behind her. She looked confused. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, reaching a hand to his cheek. Her touch was cold. 

“You’re a ghost,” he breathed. “You must be.” 

Mabel’s brows furrowed in a further expression of befuddlement. “What do you mean? I just passed out that’s all. Dipper does the same thing if he doesn’t drink enough.” 

He pointed a shaking finger to the hand behind her. 

She turned, and her face went inhumanly pale. “Oh.” 

She curled into a ball beside him, a slight chill radiating from her figure. “I’m dead. Oh my gosh, I’m dead. IdiedandI’mdeadandI’mstillhere.” 

Feeling somewhat guilty for spawning this meltdown, Ford placed a hand on Mabel’s back before pulling her into a hug. 

“It’s not alright, but I’m here for you regardless.” 

They stayed like that for a while, the puffs of cold air against Ford’s neck the only confirmation that he was not in fact holding a corpse. 

Once Mabel had calmed, Ford craned his neck towards the slowly dimming spot of light. “Think we can get out of here?” 

Following his gaze, Mabel nodded determinedly.  

It had gone from dim to dark to daybreak by the time the pair finally climbed their way out of the rubble. 

Ford was quick to start walking in the direction of the local police station, but a tug on his coat stopped him. He turned, finding Mabel standing by the hold they’d just climbed out of, her eyes wide with urgency. 

“You need to get the book. I can’t leave without it,” She stated flatly.  

“What makes you say that?” 

She shrugged. “I just know.” 

And that was how they discovered Mabel’s soul was bound to the notebook.  

The months after that were filled with other discoveries. Stanley had assumed Ford’s identity for some reason, and while Mabel’s book was indeed one of the three Cipher had been holding, the other two had disappeared, seemingly stolen from the broken remains of the warehouse. 

Mabel’s new nature was also an interesting puzzle. She knew quite a bit about how the notebook’s magic worked, but only when the occasion prompted it. Her appearance changed, but only if she’d actively thought to change it. She could eat, but never needed to. She produced no waste. She didn’t show up on any form of recording device or appear to anyone’s eyes unless they’d touched the notebook. Any items she interacted with in this invisible state seemed to fade from notice, but not disappear. 

With Mabel’s newfound skills and Ford’s prior experience, it seemed only right that they take on the duty of finding the other notebooks before they had the chance to cause harm. But with one of them existing as a legal nobody and the other basically a ghost, they’d had to get creative with how they did so. 

“I can’t thank you enough for your help on this case,” the young officer, (his badge read Grayson), said to the pair with a smile. “Wilson’s been evading us for years now.” 

“It was no trouble,” Ford replied, watching Mabel out of his peripheral. “I’m only disappointed the fiend had nothing to do with my larger investigation.” 

Grayson nodded sympathetically. “Still, you gave us the lead we’ve been waiting for, I at least need to know what to call you when the papers come calling. I can’t let you go uncredited. Doesn’t have to be your real name, just something.” 

Ford spared a quick glance at Mabel, who was chewing on her hair in thought. 

“Elle,” She decided after a moment. “Short for Mabel.” 

“Elle,” Ford repeated for the benefit of the officer, who was entirely unaware of the dead girl standing beside them.  

Grayson pulled a small notepad from his belt. “L it is then.”  

They’d been chasing cases of suspicious deaths that could possibly be the work of the notebooks for roughly seven years when criminals started dying by the dozens in California.  

“Where do we start?” Mabel asked as she swiped a few jellybeans from his bowl. 

Ford tapped away at his laptop. “Seems the first case occurred in your old hometown.” 

She leaned on his shoulder. “Do we have any contacts in Piedmont?” 

“Not yet, but I think our reputation will proceed us.”  

“Are you going to record a video message?” 

“That i s the expectation at this point.” 

“Can I write the script?” 

“But of course.” 

The pair sat in front of the intercom system they had specially built for their calls as L, waiting for the clock to hit the time they’d agreed on with Cheif Cutebiker. 

Mabel leaned forward, a teasing smile on her face. “You know you could always let me do the talking.” 

Ford straightened their notes on the case. “I would gladly let you do so, but we both know they wouldn’t be able to hear you.” 

Mabel sighed. “Being dead sucks.” 

Ford moved closer to the microphone as the video screen flicked on. “I’ll take your word for it dear.” Then he hit the intercom button.

“ Greetings, Chief Cutebiker. I am L. I’m glad you chose to accept my offer. ” 

“It’s an honor to receive your assistance,” Chief Cutebiker responded. “However, I have a condition before we begin.” 

“ Oh? ” Ford asked, looking at Mabel. “ And what would that be? ” 

Cutebiker waved someone from out of frame over. “I’d like you to work with our resident Detective, Stanford Pines.” And there he was, Stan, wrinklier and more well-groomed, but undeniably him. 

“It’s like the Cipher Case all over again,” Ford muttered to himself. 

Mabel placed a chilled hand over his own. “But we can do better this time, right?” 

Ford simply stared at the screen for a bit, absorbing the image of his twin. “Right.”

He pressed the button again.

“ While I typically avoid collaborations, my assistant and I have agreed to make an exception for Detective Pines. Now, would you mind if I review the facts of the case? ” 

Stan quickly proved himself a valuable partner, his natural talent for trickery proving their greatest strength against the killer known as Alcor. He even took Ford’s involvement in the whole affair in stride. And thanks to her close ties with the notebook, Mabel was there for it all. 

  Which also meant she was well aware when Dipper became a suspect. 

“He looks so different now,” She mused, tracing over Dipper’s most recent school photo on the laptop.  

Ford placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s what happens when you grow up.” 

Mabel tilted her head thoughtfully. “What do you think I’d look like if I was his age?” 

Ford stared down at his niece, whose appearance still matched the scared twelve-year-old from the ruins of the warehouse other than her different sweater. “You’d be beautiful.” 

She smiled, displaying the braces no dead girl needs. 

The next morning, she greeted him in a perfect replication of her twin’s photo. Her appearance went through a few minor tweaks in the days that followed, eventually settling on a more feminine figure with hair only slightly longer than Dipper’s curls and a glittery white sweater.  

She took advantage of her new height to press her forehead against Ford’s rather than burying her face in his shoulder, Ford found he didn’t mind the change too much. 

Stan folded his arms against his chest. “And how would meeting your partner hurt me? Cause from where I’m sitting, that sounds an awful lot like a convenient excuse.” 

Ford stared at Mabel over Stan’s shoulder. 

Are you sure about this? His eyes asked. 

She nodded in confirmation. “You make sure he can see me, and I’ll walk around to the front so it looks like I just came in.” 

Ford took a deep breath, then abruptly stood. Mabel pushed over his cup of coffee as she walked past in the direction of the front door. 

“Watch it Sixer!” Stan yelled. 

Ford pulled napkins from his left pocket and a torn sheet from Mabel’s notebook from his right, quickly moving to sop up the spilled beverage. After cleaning a bit, he brushed the soaked paper against Stan’s hand. 

“This happen often?” Stan asked. 

“You and I both know I can be a bit enthusiastic at times,” Ford muttered. He sighed, his frenzied mopping slowing. “Would meeting my partner really mean that much to you?” 

Stan shrugged. “I dunno, I just… I don’t wanna be your pawn.”  

Ford’s face twisted, Stan’s words calling to mind his brother’s previous occupation as Cipher’s drug mule. “I can assure you, that will never happen again.” 

Stan dropped his focus to the table, staring at the sticky brown residue the napkins left behind. “You can say it all you like-” 

“But actions speak louder than words,” Ford finished. “Very well then Stanley.” He gestured towards the front of the shop where Mabel was making her timely “entrance”.

“Meet my partner, Miss Elle Forrester.”

  “So, how did you orchestrate Dipper’s seeing you?” Ford asked later that evening. 

Mabel blew a strand of hair from her face. “Wasn’t hard, just threw a page from the notebook at him. It was almost adorable how grumpy he looked about it.”  

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, like this,” She pulled her face into a dramatized scowl. 

Ford laughed. 

Sneaking Pacifica a touch of the notebook paper would be a bit harder to do without raising suspicions. Dipper could see Mabel after all. 

Ford watched the mini-golf course from a distance. He could only hope their half-cooked strategy from last night paid off. He watched Dipper note Mabel’s approach and found himself chuckling when Mabel literally shoved a sheet of her notebook’s paper into the Northwest girl’s face, shouting about an autograph immediately after. 

He also noticed Mabel’s quick look at the air beside Pacifica. A look that built into full-blown conversation and intent stares as she played through the holes, her eyes darting to different spots of emptiness throughout the game. 

Ford could only imagine that’s what he looked like to someone who couldn’t see Mabel. 

His suspicions were confirmed when Mabel called him afterward. 

“What’s happened?” 

“I just saw Gideon Gleeful.” 

“And Pacifica?” 

“Has a notebook.” 

He sucked in a breath. Counting the one Dipper no doubt carried… “That’s all of them then. You understand what this means?” 

Elle took a deep breath. “It’s time to end this.” 

“Tell Stanley to bring Dipper to warehouse 18 on Dock F by noon tomorrow.” 

“I will. See you later Grunkle Ford.” 

He locked eyes with her across the parking lot. “See you then Mabel.”