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Dipper found himself commonly embarrassed whenever The Author Great Uncle Ford was around. Since the moment he’d first seen the older man, he’d been so jittery and excited — he couldn’t stop moving. He’d chewed through so many pens in such a short amount of time, and he’d probably worn down the floor in his and Mabel’s room with how much he paced.
He also found himself making lots of… noises. Trilling, mainly — he’d roll his r’s in such a way that almost sounded like birdsong, or sometimes a cat’s meow, or the cooing of a pigeon — but there were some other sounds that came about, as well. Mostly nonsensical sounds with no real source — sounds that were just that, sound. Almost like babbling, sometimes.
It felt… silly. He felt silly. It was embarrassing, and stupid, but he couldn’t help it— it just happened when he was excited. Whenever he’d realize what he was doing, he’d stop immediately, and thankfully, no one had said anything. But occasionally, he’d catch Ford staring at him with some sad, forlorn look. For what, he didn’t know — but he shrunk a little whenever he saw it, anyway.
But today— Today, Dipper was going to be better. Today, he was going to go out with Ford to help him with his research, and he was going to be quiet and he wasn’t going to chew on his pen or clap his hands or get too excited. He was— He was going to be normal. That’s easy enough, right?
“Oh, it’s been years since I’ve been down this stretch of the woods,” Ford said, his hand running down the bark of a tree. “Those orchids shouldn’t be far from here. You’ve got Mabel’s grappling hook, yes?”
Dipper nodded, grinning. “Yeah! I didn’t think she was gonna give it to me, but she seemed weirdly okay with it. I might’ve accidentally agreed to something I shouldn’t have, but, uh, hopefully not.”
“I was fairly surprised, too. She seems rather… ah, not possessive… protective, I suppose, for lack of a better word, of that thing. I would have taken a different one from the gift shop, but Stan told me she’d taken the last one.” Ford stopped walking, then, turning his head up to the sky. “All right… I believe this is where I saw them. Or, well, where I saw the petals. Hand me the grappling hook?”
Dipper dug through his backpack, handing the tool to his great uncle wordlessly — then, letting out a surprised shout as he was yanked into the air.
“A warning would’ve been nice!” He laughed, clinging onto Ford’s trenchcoat as tight as he could. Ford chuckled against him as they reached the top of the tree, pulling them both up onto the nearest stable branch.
“Warnings only would’ve made both of us more nervous, my boy,” said Ford, setting him down. “Now, the flowers we’re looking for…”
The two searched the tree’s canopy for a while, looking for any traces of unnatural color or root. Dipper found himself working outward, using his light weight to his advantage on the tree’s thinner branches.
“I found one!” He exclaimed, swiftly bending down to pluck it from the twig it was growing out of. His hands shook with excitement as he let out a long trill, gripping the plant as tight as he could so as to not drop it.
It wasn’t the best idea to hold it like that, he realized, as he saw how he was almost crushing the stem. He loosened his grip a tad, holding it close to his chest.
He stopped his trilling when he heard rustling from above, realizing Ford could’ve probably heard it. Oh, god— what if he asked about it? What if he thought it was annoying? What if—
“Oh, great job, my boy!” Ford called, carefully dropping down a couple branches to meet Dipper. “I had no luck finding any, but just the one is enough. Come along, let’s go examine these in the Shack.”
Getting down was a bit harder than getting up, but with just the right of encouragement from Ford, Dipper made his way down alongside his uncle. It didn’t take them too long to get back to the Mystery Shack, sitting down at the kitchen table together while the rest of the family was off doing who knows what.
“You know, Dipper… you don’t have to hide it from me,” said Ford, gently, as he separated the roots. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, careful not to damage the mysterious, orchid-like plant any further.
“…What do you mean?” Dipper asked, looking up from his notebook. He clicked his pen a couple times, if only to soothe his nerves. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m hiding anything from you,”
Ford hummed, setting the flower aside as he finally got the roots off. “I suppose I should be a bit more specific. You don’t have to hide your stims, Dipper. It’s natural among neurodivergent folk,” he explained, “And some neurotypical people, as well. You know I’d never judge you for it, right?”
“Stims?” Dipper tilted his head, squinting at Ford. “I don’t get what you mean by that.”
“Stimming? Self-stimulatory behaviors? Like when you flap your hands, or click your pen, or make those trilling sounds.” Ford now put everything in his hands down, focusing his attention on Dipper. “It’s typically a repetitive movement or sound. I do it, too — mine aren’t usually noticeable, but I’m sure you’ve seen me counting my fingers, pacing, or humming a tune to myself on various occasions.”
He thought for a moment, going back through his memories — and found himself nodding. Ford did do those things a lot. “Oh,” he said, simply. “So… so you’re saying I do that? I stim?”
“If I’m right about what I’ve picked up on, yes,” Ford replied, a friendly smile on his face. “And that’s perfectly healthy and okay. I won’t think you’re weird if you stim around me, my boy.”
Dipper squirmed a little in his seat, but nodded. “Okay,” he said, ignoring the nerves that bubbled up in his chest. It was— reassuring, in a way, to hear that, but it was also all the more terrifying. Because now someone knew, and not only did they know, they also said it out loud. They put a name to it.
But the person who knew wasn’t a bad person. It was The Author — it was his Grunkle. It was Ford. He wouldn’t lie about this, of all things.
He let out a short, shaky warble — a test. A quick assessment, to check if it really was okay. To check if he meant it.
Ford smiled, then did something Dipper wouldn’t expect in a million years — he tested the sound in his mouth, then copied it right back to him, a loud trill escaping his lips.
Dipper grinned, kicking his legs in excitement. He trilled back, louder this time, and received the same response.
“They remind me of the creatures I met in Dimension 28~A. The trills, that is,” Ford said, after a bit of back-and-forth warbling. “They were kind creatures. Not exactly sentient — not in the same way us humans are — but kind. They were aware that I was different, and they… made sure to protect me. They communicated through chirps and trills and purrs — all sorts of sounds similar to the ones you make.”
“Oh, really?” Dipper clicked his pen, doodling little stars in the corners of his notebook. “Will you tell me more about them? After we finish with the orchid, I mean— we still have to— there’s— yeah,” He cut himself off, hoping Ford would get what he was trying to say.
Ford chuckled. “Of course, my boy. I’ll tell you all about them once we’re done. Now, let’s see… it looks like the anther cap is different to a typical orchid, see?”