Mabel wanted nothing more than to go save her brother. Currently, however, she was pacing around in a small clearing, muttering to herself.

The Journal was open in her arms; as she circled the clearing, she looked down at it, occasionally flipping pages and chewing on a strand of hair (since she didn't have a pen to gnaw on). She was surrounded by a few trees and logs, but she hardly paid attention to them as her feet paced the snowy, muddy ground. She had attempted to sit earlier on a log that had been slightly tilted and leaning against the base of a tree; but when it had all but collapsed underneath her and gotten the seat of her pants wet and dirty, she had since opted to stand.

She'd been standing for hours.

Random sticks and pine needle bunches stuck out of pages of the Journal. She'd put them there as bookmarks when she'd gotten her hair stuck in some merciless, low-hanging branches and had loosened some pine boughs while detangling herself. (She stayed well away from said branches now.) At first, she'd tried to arrange the "bookmarks" so that their placement on the page marked the level of usefulness or importance; but walking around jostled them, and she'd since given up.

Plan. She had to make a plan.

Currently, she was studying the page on the Crystalline Cavern, the site of one of her adventures (or maybe mishaps was a better word) where a bunch of magical clones of her had been created. Maybe. . . when she had first encountered the clones, they told her the Cavern knew what she wanted. If she returned to the Crystalline Cavern with a specific desire to save her brother, would it create more clones that would help her?

It was a desperate stretch. After all, the clones had almost ruined her life last time. But, after hours of pacing, studying, thinking, and occasionally crying, she was pretty desperate.

Dipper was still in the hands of Pacifica. Mabel was still here, being useless. Unless a Portal Potty appeared right in front of her that would lead her to her brother, she was stuck on ideas. She couldn't use weapons. She didn't have magic. She didn't really even know where she was. All she had was a stolen Journal, a Grunkle who hated her, and a brother who was in trouble.

It seemed she couldn't help him.

No. No, she had to help him. She had to! She just had to keep looking. It was early afternoon, from what she could tell. She still had some daylight; she still had some time left. She could do this.

She swayed on her feet, and the Journal nearly fell out of her arms.

All right, she needed a break. She was getting dizzy from all this standing and pacing and reading. Suddenly a wet seat didn't seem too bad. She stumbled back over to the log, found a relatively dry place near to the ground (where she hoped it wouldn't collapse), and sat. She stored the Journal in her jacket. She could get back to it in a minute. She just. . . needed a moment.

She closed her eyes.

There was a rustling sound, and her eyes flew open. How long had they been shut? How long had she been sitting there? One minute? Ten? What was that sound? It was like. . . footsteps. Near her. Oh, no. It wasn't Ford, was it? Or Pacifica!

The more she listened — trying very hard not to breathe — the more it seemed the footsteps weren't coming towards her or walking away, just walking nearby. Maybe it was a magical creature; or maybe it was Ford, and he just couldn't find her. Or maybe — dared she hope? — maybe it was even Dipper!

But, in case it wasn't, she kept very, very still.

Until her log collapsed beneath her.

Mabel shrieked as she was dumped on the ground, landing among mildew-y wood and snowy mud. Ew! She leapt to her feet, trying to brush off her clothes, which only resulted in her hands getting all filthy — and then she remembered the footsteps.

What was it that Ford sometimes said? Oh, criminy.

She held her breath as she heard the person — creature — thing start heading towards her. Should she hide? Should she run? Would it work?

Too late.

"Who's there?" a voice asked. Strong, a bit deep, but also laced with youth.

Gideon Northwest.

He stepped into the clearing, looking as surprised as Mabel felt. He wasn't the person she had been expecting, but in this moment he was much better than Ford or Pacifica. The two stared at each other for a moment before Gideon cleared his throat. "Hello, Mabel."

Mabel narrowed her eyes slightly. "Hi." Why did he look. . . almost. . . nervous?

"What are you doing out here?"

Mabel shrugged. "Oh, you know, just waiting around for some monster to come eat me. You?"

"What?" Gideon asked, looking confused.

Mabel sighed. Her sarcasm must be lost on him. "I'm out here. . ." How to answer? Was Gideon involved in any of this? At the moment, she couldn't remember. In her desperation about her brother, all she could think about was the incident with the clones, where Gideon had sprung her from the cave where she'd been held captive and helped defeat the clones.

Maybe. . .

Maybe he could help.

Before the rest of Mabel's mind could respond to this thought, words were tumbling from her mouth. "I've run away from Ford — long story — and I'm pretty sure he hates me now. I haven't seen sunlight in three days, but now I've been outside for hours, and I'm getting sick of it. Dipper has been kidnapped, and he — Ford, I mean — doesn't even care, and now I'm out here all alone, and I have no idea how to fight Pacifica — who stole our house of all things — or how to get Dipper back, and I'm going crazy! C-can you help me? P-please?"

It was pathetic, she knew. All of it. But it was out, and she couldn't dwell on that right now.

Gideon just blinked in response at first. "Mabel," he said slowly, "I—"

"Please help me! I know you know Pacifica — and I dunno, maybe she even thinks you're on her side — but—" Mabel suddenly gasped. "Y-you didn't. . . help kidnap Dipper, did you?" Her voice was small.

An unreadable expression passed over Gideon's face. "No, of course not," he said. Somehow Mabel could tell it was the truth. She sighed in relief.

"Then — then can you help me save him? I know you don't like him — o-or me — very much, but I've been out here for hours, and I have absolutely no clue on how to get him back, a-and I don't even know if he's okay!"

Gideon seemed overwhelmed by her tsunami of words, but Mabel couldn't really stop once she started. She forced herself to shut up and wait for an answer.

Gideon took an infuriatingly long breath. "All right," he said. "I'll help you save your brother."

A flood of anxiety and worry poured from Mabel into the snow. He was going to help her. Gideon was going to help her, and he had an amulet, and he could save Dipper. Gideon was going to help her.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had flung her arms around him. "Thank you, thank you! You have no idea how—"

She didn't get to finish, partly because she realized what she had just done, and partly because Gideon had shoved her off him. "You're filthy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Don't touch me, okay?"

"I k-kinda fell off a log," Mabel said apologetically. She took another step back from Gideon. She hadn't wanted to hug him; it had just happened. "S-so, um, I was trying to make a plan just now, and I know you have an amulet, but Pacifica does too, so I was thinking. . ."

She pulled the Journal out from her jacket and flipped open to one of the pages that had a small pine bough holding her place. "There's this thing that—" She stopped. Her eyes had glanced up at Gideon just in passing, but when she saw the look on his face, she did a double take. Gideon was staring at her — staring like he had never seen a human girl before. "Wh-what?" Mabel asked slowly.

Gideon's eyes flicked down to the Journal, then back to Mabel's face.

"What, this? Oh, um—"

But she didn't get to finish, because Gideon snatched the Journal from her arms.

"H-hey! What are you—!" Mabel lunged for the Journal, but Gideon already had it. His amulet flared blue; he jumped away from her, his magic carrying him a few feet away.

"Gideon, w-wait! What are you doing! Th-that's mine! Gideon!"

She ran after him, shouting; but he was running, too. It didn't take long before he lifted above the snow, his amulet carrying him, and zoomed away from her. Mabel kept running; tears streamed down her face as she screamed at him to stop, to give it back, to come back. But he had led her to an area where the snow was knee-high. Every step was labored; every movement was slowed by dense, deep snow. She got tired fast; and before long, she collapsed in the snow.

Gideon was nowhere in sight.

Mabel screamed his name one more time before dissolving into sobs. The snow was cold, and it seeped through her jeans, but she didn't care. Gideon was gone. He had promised to help her, and then he had stolen her Journal and run away. Mabel didn't even know why. All she knew was that her hope had been snatched away, along with her only remaining resource.

She was utterly alone.

She forced herself to get up and half-crawl over to a pine tree. She ducked underneath the branches, where there was only a thin layer of snow around the trunk, and sat back down, leaning against the tree trunk.

Then, she let herself cry.