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Mabel’s sitting on the couch. She’s in the Shack, a scratchy warm blanket across her legs, her knitting needles clack-clack-clacking as something plays on the TV. There’s voices coming from the kitchen--Henry, she thinks, and one of the kids… Acacia, probably. What did Mom say last Christmas?
“Wow, Mabel, she’s certainly got her volume from you!”
“Last Christmas?” Normal-Mabel’s earrings jangle as she tilts her head. “Is that really the last time you saw Mom?”
Clack-clack-clack, go Mabel’s knitting needles. It’s like she’s a kid again, watching Saturday morning cartoons with her brother; no children to chase after, no worries except what episode’s on next, no bleeding walls to clean up or forks to pick out of Dipper’s arms-
“Whoa, back up,” said Normal-Mabel. “What was that last bit again?”
In fact, it’s so peaceful, so relaxing that it hits her: no, this isn’t right, is it? She can hear Acacia, she should see if Henry needs some help-
“Whoa, whoa!” Normal-Mabel put a hand on her shoulder. “Your Henry’s fine, don’t worry! He told you to relax!”
Mabel looks up at Normal-Mabel. She grins a sparkling smile, and holds up a cast covered in signatures.
“My Henry told me the same thing. He’s such a dreamboat, isn’t he?” With a chuckle, she points to his tiny message. “Gotta work on his penmanship, though. I mean, seriously, I gave him all my glittery pens and he chose dark blue?! You’re not signing a tax return, silly!”
Slowly, Mabel looks down at her own cast. Clack-clack-clack, go the sound of knitting needles. She blinks. “I’m dreaming.”
“Yeah, doy.” Normal-Mabel ruffles her hair. “You’re on, like, a ton of drugs. How’d you hurt your arm that bad? All I did was fall out of a tree trying to rig up my flying Waddles contraption for the kids!”
Flying Waddles contraption; hah, that’s something she could ask Dipper to do with a snap of his fingers. She actually did once ask him to give Waddles wings, but, typical Waddles, he was too interested in napping to use them.
“I guess pigs can fly,” Willow had giggled, “They just don’t want to!”
“Aww, that’s a cute story!”
Mabel stares at Normal-Mabel. It seems, at first, like there’s hardly a difference between them at all; she’s wearing the same ‘FUN MOM’ pink sweater, the same sparkly smile that hurts her cheeks on good days. She’s even got a few of the same wrinkles.
“Ruude,” Normal-Mabel crosses her arms. “I’ve got kids too, you know!”
But not the same scars.
“Oh, yeah?” Normal-Mabel rolls up her sweater. “What about our C-section? That’s pretty gnarly.”
Mabel looks down. With her good hand, she grasps the blanket, and pulls it away. Normal-Mabel gasps.
“Oh my stars, Mabel, are you okay? What happened?!”
“That’s… that’s why I went to the hospital, I think.” Mabel looks down at the gaping wound in her chest, the rip in her sweater stained blood-red. “I went cultbashing and… and they got me really bad. Dipper had to…” Her breath stops. “He had to take my soul. There was no other way, I-I was gonna…”
Normal-Mabel’s gone pale as a ghost; her hands are over her mouth as she stands speechless. She looks like she’s going to be sick, and Mabel tries for a smile.
“But… but it’s okay, he saved me! Dipper saved me!” She looks at her cast, and snorts. “And I guess I broke my arm as well, I didn’t realise. The, hah, the things you don’t notice when you’re bleeding to death, am I right?”
“That’s horrible!” Normal-Mabel manages. Her eyes are wet with tears.
“Hey, hey, it’s fine, I’m fine!” Mabel puts up her hands. “That’s just… it was bound to happen sometime. That’s the kind of life we live, right?”
“Not we!”
“No, I-I mean, me and Dipper. Mizar and Alcor, that whole cultbashing stuff. Not we as in…”
Mabel trails off. It’s hard to look at Normal-Mabel all of a sudden; that wide-eyed horror feels so childish to her, now… but isn’t that how anyone would react to what had happened to her? Isn’t that how anyone would react to this world of blood and souls and demons and murder, her world?
Anyone normal, at least.
“Is that why you call me that?”
Mabel zeroes in on Normal-Mabel’s cast, counts the signatures. She can’t raise her eyes any higher.
“Normal Mabel,” says Normal-Mabel. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“What I think of you?” Mabel scoffs. “You’re acting like that’s a bad thing.”
Oh, come on. We’ve never wanted to be normal!”
“Yeah, but there’s normal, like, I dunno, being an accountant, a-and there’s normal like not getting stabbed by a cultist!” Mabel scowls. “And you know that! You were acting like it’s soooo horrifying to have my life a second ago, so good news, you don’t! You’re normal, okay? You’ve got your stupid normal life where Mom and Dad can babysit, and you’ve never had to kill anybody, and your Dipper’s not probably having a breakdown in the Mindscape right now that you’re gonna have to deal with… you’ve got it good, okay! Trust me, you don’t want my life!”
“Yeah, but…” And suddenly blood is soaking Normal-Mabel’s sweater. She looks down, and then meets her glare with a sad, tired smile. “I don’t really exist, do I? So it doesn’t really matter what I want.”
“So none of this matters?” Mabel makes a face. “Man, why couldn’t I have a fun fever dream?”
“Sorryy. We could talk about something fun if you like!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah! Ask me anything!”
Mabel thinks for a moment. She glances down at her cast, at all the signatures she vaguely remembered people doing while she was in the hospital. But there’s one big blank part on the front; oh, yeah. She’d wanted to save that part.
Running a hand across that empty space, Mabel smiles. “So, how’s Dipper in your world? Does he end up doing that ghost hunting show he always wanted?”
And she waits, but only silence answers her. When she can't bear it any longer she looks up, and sees Normal-Mabel turned away, her hand covering her trembling mouth, her eyes welling with wordless tears.
All Mabel can do is nod. “Yeah,” she breathes. “That makes sense.”