Dipper wandered, though for how long he did not know.

Had it been hours?

Days?

Months?

… Years?

It was all so... gray.

Gray clouds, gray skies, gray sand that he trudged through and gray waves of crashing ocean against the shore. What few patches of grass (gray, of course) that actually managed to sprout up were long since dead. The air felt cold against his skin and he pulled his vest a little tighter around him, forcing himself to continue along the coastline. Although for what, he had no idea. There was the odd prickle in the back of his mind that implored him to continue, to see all that there was to see, even if it meant following until the end of the ocean itself. Another part of him urged to turn back before it was too late, but it was surely irrational. Then again, it wasn't like much seemed rational at the time.

Whatever time it was, anyway.

He took a momentary glance backwards to see just how far he had traveled.

He had no footprints.

Dipper fought off a rising surge of panic that clawed it's way into his chest. Was he like a ghost? Could he really not leave a mark at all?

And did it really even matter if he was all alone?

Alone.

The word rang horribly in his head as he desperately pushed onward, searching for something that he had not yet identified. Maybe if he just kept going he could remember why he started in the first place. Maybe –

Dipper jolted awake, soaked with sweat. He thrashed momentarily before he realized just how deeply he was buried in his blankets, forcibly shoving off the heavy quilt and taking shallow gulps of air.

Of course, there was no endless gray beach. It was just a dream.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed down the yawn that insisted upon making itself present, his foggy mind still hazily remembering the unpleasant dream. He wasn't even sure if he could call it a nightmare, as it wasn't terrifying (on second thought cursed to wander in the same direction fruitlessly and endlessly was fairly terrifying) but the heavy feeling in his chest remained. It had just been... unpleasant. He mulled it over for a minute, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair and finally giving in to the yawn. He'd probably forget all about the dream by the time breakfast was over.

He reached around his bed half blind, stifling another yawn as he searched for his journal.

And then he realized that, for some reason, he was on the floor.

It wasn't a dream.

It all came rushing back in an instant, and once again Dipper felt as if he had been struck with an electric shock.

He had given Princess Luna his bed for the night. However, his bed was empty, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that she had actually made the bed, unlike Mabel's messy half of the room. It was either that, or she had simply not slept at all.

Dipper pulled himself from the blankets and folded them neatly, cracking his stiff back from sleeping on the hardwood floor with a grimace. Both Mabel and Luna seemed to be gone, even though a glance out the window displayed that it was still early morning. A bird chirruped somewhere from within the tall pines.

In other words, it was suspiciously silent and it was seriously putting Dipper on edge.

He hadn't bothered to even undress the night before aside from slipping off his vest and hat, and he quickly reclaimed it as well as stuffing the journal into the inner pocket. There were simply too many questions bouncing around his head. Dipper almost bolted down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and clicking one of his newer pens through his fingers as he did so. There was nobody in the living room where the rickety old television sat, and he caught his reflection in the fish tank holding one of Grunkle Stan's 'mysteries'. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was a mess peeking out from under his cap, and the sleep lines on his face were apparent and plain. He rubbed his cheeks roughly a few times to no avail.

He heard a strangled coughing coming from the kitchen and investigated immediately. Much to his surprise, he found Princess Luna in her same navy blue dress with her legs pulled up at an odd angle underneath her in the chair, while his sister sat across from her at the kitchen table filling up a glass with what he assumed was motor oil and glitter from a pitcher.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Mabel chirruped before taking a long swig of her drink.

“Mabel, are-are you drinking gasoline or something?” Dipper couldn't help but ask as he stared.

“She calls it 'Mabel Juice',” Luna carefully pushed her own nearly full coffee mug away from herself, watching it scoot across the table. “It is, er... quite the concoction.”

“I made it with coffee, energy drinks, and orange juice!” Mabel puffed out her chest proudly. “Want some?”

“Why are there plastic dinosaurs in it?” Dipper poked at the pitcher in blatant disgust.

“Uh, for texture. Duh.”

“I think I'll pass,” he frowned. “We're getting sidetracked, I actually had some questions-”

“You're not the only one.”

Dipper jumped at the sound of Grunkle Stan's voice directly behind him, and he quickly sidestepped to allow the older man entrance. Stan wore nothing more than a stained old white tee shirt as well as a pair of boxers. He held a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other, and he slowly crossed his arms to level a stare at Luna.

“I wouldn't drink that, if I were you,” he added.

“Good morning, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel hopped off of her chair and carried the pitcher with her. “I made Mabel Juice, want some?”

“No thanks, honey. I've already met my yearly seizure quota, but thanks for the offer.”

“More for me then,” Mabel shrugged. Luna looked as if she were about to stop her but Mabel chugged straight from the pitcher anyway, eventually letting out a loud belch.

“So anyway,” Grunkle Stan took a seat at the head of the table, shuffling his slippers along the floor as he sat. “Can't help but notice that you're still in my house.”

“I do not believe that we have been formally introduced,” Luna bowed her head respectfully, folding her hands over one another atop the table. “'Tis a great honor to meet the owner of such a lovely home.”

“Owner and proprietor of the Mystery Shack, that's me,” Stan said in a rehearsed tone. “By the way, I'm charging you rent for sleeping here. This isn't a hotel, sister.”

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper scowled indignantly. “You can't just-just charge her for sleeping here!”

“Yeah!” Mabel slammed the pitcher down on the table, splashing potential deathliquid onto the surrounding area. “You can't charge someone for sleeping when they didn't even sleep!”

“Wait, so that's what that noise was?” Grunkle Stan blinked, rearranging his square spectacles. “Huh. I thought those giant rats just got in again.”

“Wait, since when have there been gigantic rodents?” Dipper asked uncertainly. He flicked through the journal and thumbed over a couple of entries on giant animals, uncertain.

“Oh, please,” Mabel rolled her eyes. “Rodents of unusual size? I don't believe they exist.”

There was a loud bang! that caused everyone in the kitchen to jump. A set of loud, heavy steps came thudding toward the screen door, and it was pushed roughly to reveal a very out of breath and sweating heavy set man with a brown cap, his worn shirt displaying a large faded question mark. He held a broom in one hand, a trash can lid in the other.

“I got here as soon as I got the message, Mister Pines!” Soos shouted, brandishing the broom. “Don't worry boss, they're not gonna shut us down because of pests!”

“False alarm, Soos,” Grunkle Stan grunted. “No rats, just a hobo.”

“... You want I should use the broom, boss?”

“Nobody is getting hit with a broom!” Dipper insisted, slamming his journal shut and slipping it back into his vest. “And she's not a hobo, Luna is just-just, uh...”

“A nomad?” she added helpfully.

“Yeah!” Dipper clapped his hands together. “See? Not a hobo.”

“I believe the correct term would be 'squatter',” Stan grumbled before taking a swig of his coffee. He then shuddered.

“... Mabel, sweetie.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan?”

“You filled the coffee pot with 'Mabel Juice', didn't you.”

“Well, what else am I gonna make it in?”

“It's really not so bad once you get used to the burning sensation,” Luna added.

“I think you fail to understand the gravity of the situation,” Grunkle Stan said quietly, leveling a very strange stare at her from atop his glasses. “And that still doesn't answer any of my more pressing questions,” Stan continued with a frown. “Like, 'why are you in my house,' most prominently. And the hair thing that you're doing, with the stars? It's creepy.”

“I suppose...” Luna began after a long pause, taking a deep breath. “That if you were to know the full story, I would have to go back to the beginning. You see, a very, very long time ago, in a place far, far away, there existed a land called Equestria...”

Author's Notes:

I'm back, minions.