Mabel's face was a snotty mess. Her jeans were soaked through. Her entire body was freezing, except where her breath dissipated across her sweater, which was pulled up around her chin. Even that was only a temporary relief from the biting cold. Her tears were even starting to freeze to her face — she felt them with her cold fingers as she tried to warm her hands with her breath.

She had to move; she had to get out of here; she had to get back to the bunker or somewhere — somewhere out of the cold, somewhere warm. But she couldn't. She couldn't force herself to move any more than a violent shivering. She was just too cold and too hurt to care.

The wind whistled through the trees, rustling pine boughs and dead aspen branches. Maybe it was delirium from the cold, but it almost sounded like there were whispers floating on the wind, swirling around until they reached her ears. Huddled in the snow, all Mabel could do was listen.

Gone, the wind whispered. Gone. Journal — gone. Gideon — gone. Ford — gone. Dipper — gone.

Gone. . .

Gone. . .

Pine tree. . .

Mabel looked around, startled. That last whisper. . . It had been louder. Closer.

It was then, when she lifted her head enough to see her surroundings, that she realized the world had turned grey.

A yellow flash in her periphery jerked her head over to look at it. There, floating above a pine bough, was a bright yellow triangle in a top hat and a bow tie.

Bill Cipher.

Mabel was too shocked — and cold — to say anything. So she just stared.

"Pine Tree," the triangle said, still doing the whispering wind voice, but with multiple layers of sound. Then his eye met Mabel's. "Oh," he said, his voice springing up to normal. "You see me."

"Wh-what do you want?" Mabel tried to say. It came out as a weak breath, barely resembling the words.

Bill seemed to understand her anyway. "To help you, Pine Tree," he said. He floated down from the branch, closer to her. She shied back slightly, but she didn't have enough energy to move far.

"Help me?" she asked. This time, her voice came out a little stronger. It wasn't quite as cold anymore; maybe that had something to do with the greyscale forest. "Y-you helped P-Pa — her."

Bill shrugged his thin black arms. "I'm a free agent. You're in my best interests now, kid."

"Y-you hurt my brother." She wanted to shout it, but she could barely force it from her lungs. So. . . cold. . .

"Ah, yes, your brother. He's the center of all this drama, isn't he?"

"You p-p-probably helped kid-kidnap him," Mabel managed.

Bill gasped. "Me? Kidnap your brother? Nonsense. Pacifica is on her own now, Pine Tree. Like I said, I want to help you."

Mabel breathed into her hands, trying to return the warmth to her fingertips. The heat only lasted for a second. "I-I d-don't want y-y-your help." Her teeth were chattering. "I j-just want my b-br-brother."

"I see," Bill said. "I can arrange that."

His glow suddenly intensified. The yellow light grew lighter and brighter until she could no longer make out Bill, just this white glow that seemed to be taking the shape of—

Dipper.

"N-no!" She forced the word out through her cold lips. The white glow froze; the outline of Dipper's face was visible in its light. She could see the shape of his hair and cheek, framing his eyes. Those eyes, however, weren't his own. Though they were faint, she could see that they were yellow with slitted pupils.

The white shape reversed until Bill was back. His yellow one-eyed form looked down at her with what she thought was supposed to be pity.

"I w-want my r-real brother," she stammered.

"Of course you do, Pine Tree," Bill said. "And who's going to help you rescue him? Ford? He attacked you, and if he found out you lost his Journal, he'd go ballistic."

"H-how did you—"

"And then there's Gideon. He stole the Journal from you without a backwards glance. How could you trust him again? He left you alone to freeze out here."

He did. Another burst of shivers racked Mabel's body.

"So that leaves me. Let me help you, Pine Tree. We can get Dipper back together."

Mabel hesitated. He might be her only option. She should at least try, right?

"Wh-wh-why do you c-call me P-Pine Tree?"

Bill shrugged. "You're sitting under one, aren't you? Come on, that's not what's important right now. Your brother is out there with Pacifica, waiting for you to come save him." The triangle floated closer to Mabel and stretched out his hand. Blue fire flickered around it, instantly warming the surrounding area. Mabel could feel the warmth. She needed that warmth. . . .

"Shake my hand," Bill said, "and we'll go save Dipper. Together. What do you say, Pine Tree?"

Mabel raised a trembling hand.

Her fingers were shaking from the cold, but the closer she got to Bill's hand, the warmer she became. The heat from the fire felt so soothing on her freezing hand. . . .

"Mabel! Where are you?"

This shout — distant, but loud — startled Mabel, and she jumped back. Her vision muddied with the sudden motion; when she got her bearings, Bill was nowhere to be seen.

"Bill?" she whispered, looking around as frantically as her frozen body would allow. But there was nothing. No Bill, no yellow glow, no blue fire. Her surroundings were no longer in greyscale, either. "Bill, where are you?"

She received no answer.

A cold dread — somehow colder than the swirling wind around her — swept through Mabel. Bill was gone. After all that talk of Mabel being abandoned, after all that talk of helping her. . . in the end, Bill had abandoned her, too.

Mabel curled up again, trying desperately to retain whatever warmth she could. She thought she'd been alone before. She thought she'd been rejected. But now, alone in the cold, willing to enlist the help of a demon, who had then left her just like everyone else. . .

She let out a loud sob.

"Mabel?"

Her head lifted.

There was that voice again, she realized. The one that had startled her. That sounded like. . . like Ford's voice.

"Mabel!"

A surge of hope raced through Mabel's veins, almost warming her — but it quickly dissipated into a numb fear. Ford. . . Ford hated her. Ford hated her for hiding his Journal from him. And now—! Now his Journal had been stolen. Mabel's feeble heart beat faster. He would hate her even more. He would abandon her in the cold, just like everyone else.

"Mabel, please answer me!"

Answer him, her brain urged her. Answer him — he can get you out of the cold. But she didn't want to see those terrible, angry eyes again. . .

But she had to, if she wanted to get out of the cold.

"Over here," she called — but her voice was weak. She tried again. "I'm over here, Grunkle Ford."

"Mabel!" He didn't seem to have heard her.

She tried again and again, until she heard footsteps from the side. She would have looked toward the sound, but she didn't have the strength to turn her head. "Grunkle Ford," she whispered.

Then he was beside her. Warm arms wrapped around her, blocking the relentless wind. Those arms pulled her against a soft red turtleneck; they bundled her in a rough trenchcoat.

"F-Ford?" she whispered. The cold started to ebb away as her cheek rested against his chest. Her fingers curled under his.

"I've got you," he said. "Mabel. . . I've got you. It's okay."

Mabel's throat constricted and she let out a tearless sob, throwing her arms around her great uncle. Ford found her. He didn't hate her. He was chasing away the cold. . . .

"Mabel. . . I'm so, so sorry," Ford whispered, stroking her hair. "I should never have driven you to run away. I'm sorry."

She curled up tighter in his arms. He stopped stroking her hair and moved to gently massage her fingers, trying to get the heat back in them. He was muttering to himself; Mabel wondered if he thought she couldn't hear. She caught things like, "Could have died. . . all my fault. . . hypothermia, possibly shock. . . have to get her out of the cold."

After a few minutes — or maybe more — Mabel felt warm enough to try to look up at her uncle.

"Th-thank you," she whispered.

"I don't deserve your thanks," Ford said. Continuing more gently, "Mabel, I lost my temper and I acted as if a book were more important than you. My Journal should not come before family. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

She started to nod — then stopped. A stone of dread sunk into her gut.

The Journal.

"Ford. . . ," she said, and her voice was shaky. "The Journal. I-it's gone." She buried her head in his chest again to avoid seeing the expression on his face. "It was stolen," she continued, her voice muffled in Ford's sweater.

"What? By whom?" Ford asked. Mabel could tell he was trying to control himself.

"Pacifica has it by now." Why else would Gideon have stolen it, if not to give it to Pacifica? Why did she think for even a second that he wasn't working with her? That he wouldn't betray Mabel for her? "I'm sorry," she cried. "I shouldn't have hid it from you, and now it's gone, and—"

Ford gently lifted her head in his hands. "It's all right," he said, looking her in the eyes. "It's just another reason to get the Museum back."

She gazed up at him, judging his sincerity. Did. . . did he really mean it?

"Y-you mean—?"

He smiled. "Yes. We're going to go get your brother back. It shouldn't have taken a kidnapping for me to get my priorities straight. I brought some. . . resources, in case you had already gone and tried to rescue Dipper yourself." Mabel shifted her gaze to a black duffel bag in the snow. "And now, we're going to get your brother, our house, and my Journal. Sound like a plan?"

She looked back to Ford, and tears welled up in her eyes. They were warm and wet, and she smiled through them at her great uncle. "Sounds like a plan." Using Ford's shoulder to steady herself, she got to her feet. "Let's go."

Ford grabbed at her hand as she swayed in the snow. "Not quite yet, young lady," he said, some of his sternness returning. "First, we're going to Melody's. You nearly contracted a serious case of hypothermia, and if you think I'm going to let you out on a rescue mission without some time in front of a fire and some homemade hot cocoa, you've got another thing coming."

His tone hit Mabel before his words did: For a moment, she deflated, but then the full meaning of his words settled into her mind. She looked at him in surprise. "Melody? Is she going to help us?"

Ford shrugged and got to his feet, still holding Mabel's hand. "Well, like you said last night, she deserves to know where you are. And I have a feeling she'll be of great help once she finds out one of her charges needs help." He said this last part with a smile. Mabel, remembering the look on Melody's face when she encountered her last night, agreed.

"Think you can walk?" Ford asked.

Mabel glanced down at her trembling legs, then looked at the knee-deep snow surrounding them. She could, but it certainly wouldn't be fun. She'd probably run out of breath within the first couple steps. She shrugged, but the look on her face said she'd rather not.

"Here," Ford said. He picked up the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulders like a messenger bag. Then he bent down. "Climb up onto my back."

Mabel weighed the pride of walking herself versus the ease of getting a piggy-back ride; quickly, she decided that pride had no place with hypothermia. She climbed onto Ford's back, and he stood up, linking his arms under her knees to keep her up.

"To Melody's?" Mabel asked, grabbing onto Ford's shoulders for balance.

"To Melody's," Ford confirmed. He sounded almost like a captain, ready to send his spaceship across the galaxy.

They set off. Ford's long legs got him through the snow much faster than Mabel would've been able to handle. She clung to Ford's shoulders, and his body heat kept her warm. She much preferred this situation to whichever Bill was going to offer her.

And Ford didn't hate her. Not even after losing his Journal.

Feeling drowsy, content, and still somewhat cold, Mabel rested her chin on Ford's shoulder and closed her eyes.