Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Acta Sanctorum - Latin, meaning “Deeds of the Saints”

—

Prologue: Change

Dipper Pines popped a piece of gum while his left arm pumped a dumbbell and the right scribbled messily in his notebook. His college professor had assigned the project only a week ago, but he was already behind. It’s not like engineering was hard, it was just that he’d chosen physics as his minor and other electives that were unfortunately overloading him. He should’ve known better than to take on the creative art class. And psychology. And jazz band.

It was fine, though. Once he finished this last project and a few other menial things, he’d have the summer off and he and Mabel would be back in Gravity Falls. Then he’d have plenty of time to work more on his journal—of course, based off of Grunkle Ford’s, but his own all the same. He could camp more often like he wanted, and he’d even earn a little money working at the Mystery Shack (Soos was a bit more forgiving than Grunkle Stan). And if that wasn’t enough, he’d at least have more time with his twin, as well. 

Being in college while she was still a high schooler was difficult. They’d never been apart for long stretches like these, but with him getting to graduate high school early and enter college on scholarships and grants… It was too good an opportunity to let go—and they didn’t want to end up resentful like their great uncles. So, Dipper had left for Stanford University while Mabel stayed in Piedmont. It truly wasn’t too far away, but Dipper had a lot of work cut out for him every semester. He was in his third already and barely had enough time to call on occasion.

Speak of the devil—Dipper’s eyes flicked to his chirping phone and popped another bubble of gum. Pausing his activities, he picked it up to see Mabel’s text. Facetime Dipstick? I know ur not in class! He rolled his eyes and clicked the video button.

“Hey!” Mabel shouted, smiling from ear to ear with recently brace-less teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Working on a project,” he replied dismissively. “What are you doing?”

Mabel squinted. “Wait—is that—did you get your ears pierced?!”

Dipper cringed inwardly. “Just the one,” he finally relented, tugging on his left ear. “Carsen convinced me. He says it looks good.”

“And you got it double pierced! Jeez, how long has it been since we spoke last? Those look completely healed!” Mabel was donning a shit-eating grin, giggling with either excitement or cunning. He couldn’t tell. She would go tell her friends if she thought it looked dumb.

“Yeah, I got them about two months ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I dunno, because you always criticize the way I look?”

“Well, who can blame me when all you wear are black hoodies?”

“Says the girl who only wore sweaters for a whole year.”

Mabel’s mouth screwed into a frown as she stepped back from the camera and displayed her outfit—which was just mid-rise jeans and a rainbow crop top. “Hey, I’ve improved a little, okay? You , on the other hand, have only switched from cargo shorts to pants. Suck on that.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and popped his gum again. “What did you wanna talk about, anyway? I gotta finish up this part of the project, and then I have jazz band.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Mabel snickered. “I wanted to ask if you—we—still plan on going to the Shack this summer.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Weeelllll….”

“Why, Mabel? What’s going on?”

“Ugh, don’t worry, I’m still going! Just… not for the first two weeks…”

Dipper blinked for two, three seconds, frozen in place. And then his eyebrow hiked up in confusion, head tilting. “Really? That’s it?” he asked incredulously. “That’s what you were stressing over?”

Mabel’s mouth dropped, her face twisting into outrage. “That’s it?!” she blurted. “What do you mean, that’s it?! Aren’t you curious about where I’m gonna be? Or upset that we’re gonna be apart for two weeks longer than normal? What—what do you mean, that’s it?!”

“Jesus, relax, Mabel,” Dipper chastised, raising his hands in mock defense. “It’s just two weeks. I’m sure wherever you’re going, it’s gonna be somewhere exciting and fun and sunny, and you’re gonna enjoy yourself. Why would I be worried? You’re just as responsible as I am. Just a little weirder, y’know.” He added a grin at the end to soften the blow.

Mabel stared in shock, completely flabbergasted at his words. “But—”

“Don’t worry, Mabel. Like I said, it’s only two weeks. It’s not like things are gonna change that much.” 

Chapter Text

The Reveal at Mabel’s Graduation

The minute Dipper turned eighteen, he’d steamrolled into a tattoo parlor with his sketches in hand and requested an appointment with an artist. She was the coolest person he’d ever met during his college years, that was for certain. 

“Hey, Dip,” Ivy smiled, jeweled teeth glinting in the dimmed light of the parlor. “Ready for round three?”

“Absolutely,” Dipper replied, smiling back as he pulled his hoodie over his head.

“Got your snacks? Water? Gonna be a long six hours, buddy.” Dipper lifted his tan backpack in answer. “Awesome. Come on back and we’ll get set up.”

Dip set his stuff down in the guest chair beside the floor-to-ceiling mirror and turned to look at himself. Without his hoodie, he wore a plain red tee paired with faded jeans and his only pair of black Converse. Brown hair, which had grown long enough to pull into a ponytail, had been brushed back and parted to the side to reveal half his birthmark. It was now so normal to his look that nobody commented on it anymore. And on both his forearms—from the previous two sessions—were inked with protection runes.

He knew it was a little…paranoid (to an outsider, at least) to have them drilled into his skin forever. But it was essentially no different than Ford’s metal plate. So, with that logic, he was here for his third session to have his upper left arm done—including his inner and outer elbow, which he was not looking forward to.

Bill Cipher was the most dangerous demon he’d encountered before and since Weirdmageddon, but that didn’t mean other demons (whom or which logically had to exist) weren’t as deadly. Dipper reasoned that he couldn’t be too careful. He could handle vampires, ghouls, ghosts, and other strange creatures. Those were a breeze. But demons? Who could enter your mind through manipulation and deception? Nuh-uh. He wouldn’t take the chance.

Therefore, he had studied and studied and worked himself into the ground every chance he had to reveal the best possible protections. Against demons, specifically.

“Take a seat,” Ivy said, patting the plastic-wrapped black chair. Dipper grabbed his phone, water bottle, and a pack of fruit snacks before getting comfortable. His left arm rested on the stand while Ivy began her process. Clean the skin, shave it, meticulously place the stencil, inspect it. Dip watched in fascination. If he weren’t studying engineering and physics—and eventually onto other sciences—he’d probably take on the monumental challenge of being a tattoo artist. He was decent at sketching, but it was nothing compared to Ivy’s ten years of experience and articulate style. Her attention to detail was why he’d chosen her.

“How does that look?” she asked.

Dipper turned his arm back and forth, making sure the lines matched up to his liking. If nothing connected properly, then the runes would be for naught. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Ivy nodded and began to wrap her tattoo machine in pink mesh then pour her black ink into its tiny cup. “Y’know, I never asked before, but why are you getting these symbols? I don’t usually pry into clients’ business, but I’m really curious this time. I’ve never seen this stuff before.”

“Really?” Dipper blinked at her in surprise. “With you being a witch, you’ve never seen this?”

“Hey, I just play with crystals and healing stones,” she chuckled. The machine clicked on, and the buzzing sound made him gulp. The tattoos on his forearms didn’t necessarily hurt, but today she’d be starting at his elbow, per his request. And he knew that would really sting. “I don’t even worship a deity. Like, I’m not specifically paganistic or religious by any means like other witches. I just make sure my house and family are protected from negative energies. Anyway, I recognize a few of these markings, but I don’t know what it all means put together.”

“They’re protection runes,” Dipper revealed, leaning his head back and tensing as the needles began digging in. “For guarding against demons.”

Ivy hummed in thought as she traced over her stencil. “Interesting. I’ve seen something like that before, I think. But these look different.”

“Yeah, these ones are ancient. I had to dig really deep to find them.”

“So, what, are you, like, being stalked by a demon or something?”

“No, not necessarily. But I might be eventually, and I’d rather not take the chance. These will stop the demons from possessing me.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ivy dipped into her ink and went back in, stretching his skin to get the perfect lines she was known for. “What if you need, like, salt, or sacrificial blood, or something?”

Dipper shrugged one shoulder. “Then I guess I’ll just look like a guy with strange tattoos.”

Eventually his arm went numb from the harsh attention of the needles, and he was finally able to lean back and fully relax. He chewed on his fruit snacks and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through the occasional burn of pain. Ivy asked if he was good every once in a while, and he always nodded. The inner elbow wasn’t going to be as bad as the outer. Once she hit close to bone, he was probably going to be gritting his teeth.

Ivy moved up towards his inner bicep first, though, apparently deciding to give that area a break. But the way she positioned his arm, his palm was resting under a very full breast. Dipper’s face went beet red. “Ivy—“

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered, concentrating on her next lines. “It’s fine, it doesn’t bother me. Just don’t grab it and there won’t be any problems.”

Then Dipper hissed as she drew up towards his armpit. “Son of a bitch,” he said through a clenched jaw, the rest of his body just as tense.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby,” Ivy grinned.

-

“Hey, man, how’d it go?” his roommate asked casually.

“It was fine,” Dipper shrugged, dropping his bag unceremoniously into his desk chair. “Elbow was the worst part, like I thought. Jesus, will you ever pick up after yourself? Look at your side of the room!”

Carsen glanced around at the clothes strewn across the bed and floor, the empty cups of noodles stacked on his desk, the random bits of trash. Then he grinned and flipped Dipper the bird. “I keep it this dirty just to piss off your uptight ass. C’mon, Mason, lemme see the new ink.”

Carsen was just two years older than him but they took all the same classes for engineering. He was taller, blonder, naturally sun-kissed, blue-eyed, had an easygoing smile that drew everyone to him like a magnet, and was overall the perfect California boy on the outside. He even surfed, to top it all off. Living with him, though, was a different story.

Dipper sighed at the use of his birth name. He should’ve never told Carsen what it was. Regardless, he pulled off his hoodie and displayed his arm that was still wrapped in transparent plastic.

Carsen pursed his lips. “Still weird like the others,” he nodded, as if he were confirming Dipper’s strangeness. “Why don’t you get something cool, like a dragon or something? Also—I know I’ve asked this before, but how the hell do you pack on all that muscle so easily? I can’t figure it out. Are you on steroids?”

Dip rolled his eyes and laid on his perfectly made bed, staring up at the ceiling where he’d taped pictures of him and Mabel and everyone he cared about. “No, for the last time, I’m not on steroids,” he scoffed. “I just eat healthy most of the time. You should try it.”

“Ugh, like those crunchy water leaves?”

“Jesus Christ, do you mean lettuce? Dude—“ Dipper cut himself off, dragging his hands over his face and laughing out of pure disbelief. “How do you stay so skinny while eating just straight junk food all the time? That’s insane.”

“I dunno. Lucky genetics?”

“Asshole,” Dipper muttered under his breath. He had one particular uncle who proved that his genetic code wasn’t as good as Carsen’s. Not that body shape was particularly important, but Dipper wanted to be strong, healthy, and nimble enough to combat the supernatural. Grunkle Stan was pretty stout, but the man wasn’t very fast or flexible.

“Hey, by the way, can I come with you to see Mabel graduate?”

Dipper frowned and turned his head to look at his roommate. “Why?”

He scowled and sat up to throw an old, unwashed bundle of socks at Dipper—who dodged easily by cringing away in disgust. “Because you’re borrowing my car, first of all. Second, I wanna meet her in person. I see her all the time on video calls, but it’s like… I dunno, really impersonal online.”

Dipper groaned in exasperation. “Just because you have a crush on my twin sister does not warrant you an invite to her graduation ceremony.”

“I’ll put up the extra money for your gift. C’mon, Dipshit, I know you’re broke, especially after that new tat.”

Okay, he had a point. He had a bit put back in savings, but that was for emergencies and travel funds. And he really didn’t feel like taking out another student loan when he was about to make money at the Mystery Shack in just a few weeks. He could do a few odd jobs around the university in his very spare time, but… Why should he? When money was being offered up on a silver platter, right here, for a simple little request?

“Fine,” Dip agreed. “But—you also have to pay for road snacks. And a new jacket. I saw a leather one at the mall the other day that I wanted.”

“Alright, but only if you agree to a haircut. You look cheap as hell.”

He sighed. Rich people sure had a way with words.

-

Mid-May: Graduation Day

Dipper blew out an impressed breath, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Mabel’s graduation ceremony was semi-formal—which he’d had no idea what to do with. Carsen, thankfully, had much more fashion taste than he did, having grown up with money. He wore some pressed black slacks and a green button down, both borrowed from Carsen. No hoodie or Converse in sight. And the tapered haircut had cleaned him up too, he admitted begrudgingly.

Carsen had gone with a lighter color palette, dressed in tans and whites, also in slacks and a button down. He came over to Dipper’s side and clapped him on the shoulder, grinning proudly. “You look like you could actually get laid,” Carsen laughed, clearly bragging about his ability to make Dipper look less unhoused.

“Asshole,” Dipper replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Here, take this belt. It’ll match your earrings. Do you need a watch? I have a few you can borrow.”

“Uh, sure.”

Once they got in the car and grabbed a meal, they were on their way. It was about an hour and a half to Piedmont without traffic, so it wasn’t too long of a road trip… If he didn’t have to ride with dingus in the passenger seat. Carsen was a certified yapper when he became bored. He could talk anyone’s ear off about anything, and today it was the time he won a chess tournament in high school against his teacher. Which, in Dipper’s opinion, might have been his most redeemable quality. Like there was a little dork in there somewhere under all the cool bravado and messy habits.

The high school, as expected, was packed with cars and people filing into the large auditorium where the ceremony was to be held. Dipper checked his phone. His parents were seated close to the aisle on the left. “Come on,” Dipper muttered, grabbing Carsen by the arm to drag him through the swarms of families.

The inside of the auditorium was decorated lavishly with giant flower arrangements at every corner and twelve-inch wide, silk white ribbons that bordered the vast stage. String lights looped along the aisles of chairs, twinkling a soft white color. The band—just a handful of students—sat in a corner with a microphone before them to make sure the entire audience heard when they played Pomp and Circumstance. And all the graduates sat in their own seats on stage already, prepared to be called by name to receive each diploma. It was a relatively small high school, so the ceremony probably wouldn’t last more than two hours.

He immediately recognized the backs of his parents’ heads as they approached. “Mom, Dad!” he called, raising his hand to wave at them. However, when they turned, his mother’s face morphed from happy to pure shock, and his dad’s expression had fallen into something like mild disappointment.

Shit. Mabel hadn’t told them about the ear piercings.

Dipper sighed to himself in resignation. “Hey guys,” he greeted deflatedly. “How are you?”

His mom stood to hug him and she whispered in his ear, “You look like a thug, honey.”

“Oh, give me a break,” he scowled, going to hug his father. “Mabel can have all the ear piercings she wants, but I can’t?”

“You’re not a girl,” his father grunted.

Dipper rolled his eyes. “That’s sexist, by the way. And—y’know what, just for some icing on the freaking cake, here. Look.” Dip yanked his sleeve up to show them his tattoos.

His mother gasped dramatically, clutching at nonexistent pearls. “Did you seriously put that on your body?!” she gaped. “Mason Jude Pines!”

“Good Lord, Dipper,” his dad sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

Mrs. Pines frowned harshly, glaring at Dipper, who only glared right back. “I’d pull you out of that college if I had the ability to,” she seethed. “Who’s your friend, Dipper?”

Carsen, who’d been standing back watching the family drama unfold, finally stepped forward with an uncertain smile and an outstretched hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Pines, my name is Carsen Hernandez. It’s nice to meet you.”

Both his parents shook his hand, smiling back politely, but still clearly displeased with their son. After they all took their seats, Dipper blew out a frustrated breath. “Sorry about the earrings, man,” Carsen whispered on his right. “I didn’t think your parents were like this. You and Mabel seem so much more chill.”

“Not your fault, dude,” Dipper replied. “They’ve been really weird the past few years. I do a lot of things that piss them off now.”

Luckily, they didn’t have to continue interacting with his two problematic parents. The graduation ceremony proceeded quickly and smoothly thanks to the minimal size of students. When it all ended, everyone stood and applauded enthusiastically, every student on stage donning a winning smile and waving both arms in the air. Dipper knew the feeling: to finally be done with that chapter of life. Whether it was happy or miserable, high school was over and adulthood was finally beginning. Freedom was beginning.

The whole family had agreed to meet outside instead of battling the crowds inside, so Dipper and Carsen followed his parents to the courtyard near the entrance of the school to wait for Mabel. She was probably going to take a while since she wanted to hug all her friends and stuff. Dipper sat on a bench with his chin in his hand, scrolling on his phone while Carsen fidgeted next to him, checking his Rolex every other minute. His parents glared over at Dipper from a few feet away, but he ignored it as he had been for the past hour and a half.

“Dipper?”

At the sound of his name, he lifted his head and glanced around— “Pacifica?” he gaped, brown eyes bulging out of his head. What the hell was she doing in Piedmont?

The last time he’d seen her was three summers ago when they were fifteen. Then, baby fat had still clung to her face, which had always had too much makeup covering it. They hadn’t truly interacted much. Just polite looks as he and Mabel passed by in town.

Now, though, she had grown taller and slimmed down. She wore a long strapless dress in a deep maroon shade, silver heeled sandals, a silver chain with a single diamond that dangled in the hollow of her throat, and more silver in the form of bangles and rings. She’d also taken the volume out of her hair so that it laid flat and sleek down her back, though those signature bangs remained. And her face, now clean of the heavy makeup, looked more like glass. Defined cheekbones, flushed with a pomegranate color, and pouty lips painted nude to surely showcase those feline blue eyes framed with fluffy black lashes and simple eyeliner.

The only thing that hadn’t changed, and probably never would, was that expression. Haughty was the adjective Dipper thought of. Like she was always looking down her pointed nose at others, despite them being just as human as she.

She approached regally, walking down the concrete path as if it were a red carpet. Dipper stood and crossed his arms. “Whoa,” Carsen mumbled under his breath next to him, “who’s the hottie?”

Pacifica seemed to hear him, though, and flicked her eyes to Carsen as she stopped before the both of them. However, she didn’t deign to answer and returned her unimpressed gaze to Dipper, who snorted a laugh—then tried to cover it with a cough behind his fist at Carsen’s seething look towards him. “What’s up, Pacifica? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Mabel didn’t tell you?” Pacifica inspected her French manicure. “We hit it off a few months ago. She invited me to come tonight.”

He nodded. “That’s cool.” He suddenly realized that he was a tad bit taller than her. If she took off her heels, he’d tower over her by a whole head. And then he hadn’t said anything for too long. “Yeah, um. How’s school going? Do you have graduation soon, too?”

She smiled, but it didn’t truly reach her eyes. It was just dead, something she’d probably use to impress her parents’ rich shareholders or stockholders or whatever they were. Parents like hers wouldn’t have friends, that was for sure. After they had lost their house during Weirdmageddon, they once again rose to power and wealth through tax evasions (there was just no other logical way, Dipper knew). And so, Pacifica had returned to the high life. It was all in the Gravity Falls newspaper. “I graduated last December since I was homeschooled by the best tutors.”

Wow. What a giant, glaring brag. Dipper sucked on his teeth; he wasn’t about to be outdone by some stuck-up rich girl. “I graduated almost two years early because I’m a goddamn genius.”

“I know,” she shrugged, tossing some stray hair over her bare shoulder. “You’re very impressive for someone like yourself.”

Dipper raised his eyebrows. “What the hell do you mean by that?” he retorted, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Oh—a poor person. That’s all.”

“Why do you always think you can just throw money at everybody—“

“PACIFICA!”

Dipper, Pacifica, and Carsen all turned their heads at Mabel’s squeal. She shuffled-slash-ran down the concrete path in her wedges, baby pink corseted dress, and her black graduation gown, sporting a bright smile. Curled brown tresses bounced behind her. Carsen released a breath, making Dipper turn his head in annoyance, but then something caught his eye. 

Pacifica was smiling… softly now?

Mabel bounded into Pacifica’s arms, hugging her tightly and squealing like she was twelve again. Pacifica returned the embrace with light, awkward pats on his twin’s back. “I’m so glad you could make it, Paz!” Mabel grinned. “I know your parents had that dumb party thing.”

“Yes, yes… Okay, that’s enough hugging. Thank you.”

Dipper’s mouth was close to falling open. What the hell was going on? Was Pacifica— Paz? The fuck? —showing affection?

Mabel pulled back with a good-natured giggle and turned to Dipper. “Hey, Dip-Dop!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, too. He returned it automatically, still shell-shocked. “You clean up good!” Mabel pulled back and held him by the shoulders. “Look at that haircut! And no hoodie!”

“You can thank me for that,” Carsen cut in proudly, offering an arrogant smirk.

Mabel blushed and stepped up to give Carsen a hug, as well. Dipper glared at him, but he didn’t see as he pulled her close. “Hi, Carsen,” she greeted, much softer than she had been with Dip or— Paz . “I’m glad you came to see me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he swore as they pulled away from each other.

“Alright, alright,” Dip interrupted, pulling Mabel away by her hand. “No need to get all poetic.”

“No need to get all protective, Pines,” Pacifica shot at him. “Mabel is an adult. What’s-his-name is an adult—”

“Carsen,” Carsen deadpanned.

“Yeah, whatever. They can flirt without your permission.”

Dipper wanted to scowl at her, but when he looked over at Mabel, she did look kind of pouty… Ugh. Of course, of course, the crush would have to be mutual. This was going to be so weird. He sighed aloud, dropping his head back. “Just don’t do it in front of me or our parents,” he pleaded.

“Done!” Mabel clapped, back to her grinning self. “Now, speaking of, let’s go get them and head to dinner!”

-

Paz tagged along, of course. Which wouldn’t have been the worst thing, he admitted, if he’d had the chance to at least be a seat away from her cavalier attitude. But he didn’t want to be next to his parents, so he was stuck between Carsen and Pacifica at the round table.

Mabel had chosen an upscale restaurant about forty minutes outside of town. She’d made the reservation weeks ago, and their parents would thankfully be footing the bill. As Dipper glanced around at the expensive linens, dim lighting that encouraged dim conversation, black accents, exposed brick… freaking two wine glasses per person. He felt a little out of his element.

He opened his menu, scanned the items, and found that he couldn’t understand how to pronounce most of it. It all looked European or French or Latin. And he wasn’t anything close to being a language major. Pressing his lips together unhappily, Dip slid his eyes over to Pacifica whose sharp blue eyes also roamed the options.

He thought again about that moment when she’d seen Mabel running towards them. Now that he’d had some time to adjust, it was kind of endearing. In an eerie, this-is-too-weird-and-out-of-character-for-her way. But… He liked it. It made her look prettier.

And, yeah, he could admit that out loud without a hit to his pride. He was an adult, even if he was kinda petty. She was pretty. Stunning would probably be more fitting, but he wasn’t willing to go that far.

“Like what you see, Pines?” she murmured, turning her head in a way that made her diamond studded earrings glitter, yet her gaze never strayed from the menu.

Dipper blushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring, but he steeled himself against her taunt. He refused to let her win, to look down on him, to underestimate him, just because he wasn’t rich or conventionally attractive. “It’s certainly not a bad sight,” he smirked faintly, false bravado in full swing. (He’d observed Carsen flirt here and there and had picked up a few little idiosyncrasies.)

She tried to hide it by shifting in her seat, but Dipper caught the jolt. The slight widening of her sultry eyes. The flaring of her nostrils. Oh, yeah. He had the upper hand now.

Taking a page out of Carsen’s book, Dipper turned his body slightly towards her, leaning his back against the tufted chair while resting his hands on the tops of his thighs casually. And he tilted his head, licking the back of his teeth so his jaw flexed. Pacifica finally glanced over at him, a tentative smile tugging at her full mouth, eyes trailing him from head to toe.

“Are you peacocking right now?” she asked in a quiet voice, full of teasing humor.

And just like that, Dipper had lost. Sighing through his nose, he dropped his head and chuckled incredulously behind his fingers. He should’ve known better than to challenge someone like Pacifica when it came to looks. “Look, Paz,” Dip licked his lips as he leaned in closer to her, keeping his voice down, “I have no idea what the hell I’m looking at on this ridiculously extravagant menu.”

Pacifica seemed to hesitate for a split second before bending forward, too. Dipper, despite himself, froze in place, captivated by the way her blue eyes seemed to darken from baby to electric. And there was a thin band of gunmetal silver around the iris… “Is Mason Pines asking me for help?” she whispered, tilting her head ever so slightly.

Dipper was suddenly speechless. Not only was she breathtaking this close—she was fucking right. He was asking for her help, after he’d already made up his mind to try and outdo her. His jaw clenched as he gnashed his teeth in frustration. Pacifica smiled, taunting and triumphant but still quiet. Like it was her own, personal victory. “Your face is too cute to try that thing you did earlier,” she murmured, casting a glance at his lap. “Maybe you should stick to your studies, nerd boy.”

His face went up in flames. He was caged now—he felt like she’d attacked at every angle of him and, yeah, fucking won. Son of a bitch.

Dipper was out of his depth right now, that much was clear. There were too many variables working against him to even have a chance of winning. He sat back in his chair and pressed his lips into a thin line, deciding to focus instead on the conversation between his parents, Mabel, and Carsen.

“Are you disappointed that Candy and Grenda couldn’t be here?” his mother asked, reaching out with a sympathetic hand to pat Mabel on the arm.

Mabel nodded with a slightly sad smile. “Yeah, they both had college stuff tonight,” she shrugged. 

In her freshman year of high school, Mabel had gotten extremely ill with pneumonia (and a multitude of other things) and missed a lot of school due to being hospitalized often. Dipper had wanted to help, but she refused, claiming that she could catch up herself. Plus, Dip was already taking a few college courses at that point and probably wouldn’t have been a great tutor. But, she had missed so much that she was unable to handle the workload and needed to end up repeating the year—which meant that all her friends had graduated a year ahead, and therefore explained Candy and Grenda’s absence. 

She continued, “But they plan on traveling down this weekend before I go on my trip with Carsen!”

Dipper choked on his water. “I’m sorry, what?” he interjected, glancing between them all.

“Yes, um…” Carsen began nervously, his leg bouncing under the table. “Mabel and I actually wanted to tell you all something tonight.” His parents looked apprehensive.

Mabel leaned her head on Carsen’s shoulder and grinned widely. Her happiness was crystal clear. “We finally made it official!” she declared. “Carsen and I have been talking online for a few months, so we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend!”

Dipper groaned aloud, “And to celebrate…”

“Yes, I’m the one who bought the tickets for the two-week cruise,” Carsen explained. “We’ll be heading to Alaska and back.” A cruise? Mabel didn’t mention a cruise… Then again, thinking back, Dipper didn’t even ask.

He looked over at his parents, who had gone pale as ash. He didn’t blame them, either. Mabel hadn’t thought this through—one, she was going to be attending a cruise with someone who would turn twenty-one just before summer began. Which, in turn, would mean he could buy her alcohol on this trip. Two, she was just springing this on them—wait. Wait, no. Was she doing this on purpose? Dumping news on them in public like this so they couldn’t react wildly? It was the same thing that had happened earlier with his earrings and tattoos (he still partially blamed Mabel). If either of them had revealed any of this at home, it would likely be a screaming match.

Now they had no choice but to behave.

Mabel, you cunning social genius, Dipper thought in awe. He wondered where she picked up such a tactic.

“I need to give her more credit,” Pacifica said beneath her breath.

“Wow, honey,” their mother chuckled, “that’s…” She blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s a really generous gift! C-Congratulations…”

“How old are you again, Carsen?” Mr. Pines asked weakly, looking like he was about to pass out.

“I’ll be twenty-one in a week, sir.”

“Oh, god,” they both bemoaned, heads dropping.

Pacifica laughed silently.

Mabel sat up a bit, worry beginning to creep into her expression. But Dipper made a sharp noise, and she turned her head to him—he shook his head firmly. They had to stop being controlling the way they had been for the past two years. It was enough. They were both almost nineteen, and more than capable of making informed decisions. Mabel seemed to understand implicitly—probably that weird twin connection thing. So, she sat back in her chair, Carsen rubbing her back.

Dipper wasn’t sure how he felt about it, yet. The dating thing? Sure, they were pretty close in maturity rather than age. They were both equally messy, so at least they had that in common. He didn’t even know when they had started talking—or when Carsen had gotten ahold of Mabel’s number. Either way, she was going on a cruise with someone she barely knew. He’d need to talk to her soon, without Carsen present. Even if that man was kind of his friend and roommate, Dipper had only known him to be a fuck-boy despite his evident intellect, and Mabel was too trusting of a person. Something felt off about the whole thing.

And then the waitress came over, which only brought him back to his other unsolved problem. He still hadn’t picked something to eat—though not by lack of trying. His palms became clammy.

Suddenly, Pacifica leaned over and placed her perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. “I’ll give you a crash course if I can call in a favor someday,” she murmured.

“Done,” Dipper muttered without any thought to what her bribe might eventually mean.

Pacifica pointed at a few items on the menu while the others began ordering. She spoke so quickly that he almost couldn’t catch anything she said. “Roast chicken with garlic mashed potatoes, glazed red salmon with cilantro rice, New York strip and choice of sides, shrimp and linguine pasta with a creamy red sauce.”

“What are the sides?” Dip whispered in a furious panic. The waitress had already taken his parents’ orders and was now helping Mabel. Then it would be Carsen, then himself, and Pacifica last.

“Steamed veggies or chips—sorry, fries. Forgot you’re uncultured.”

“There’s only two?”

“I’m trying to make it easier for you to choose, idiot,” she hissed. “Now what do you want?”

“Jesus, sorry. Chicken and potatoes.”

“Okay, say it like this.” Pacifica alliterated the phrase, and he repeated it back. Then she nodded, a pleased expression settling over her face. Dipper smiled a bit, too, relieved that he wasn’t going to embarrass himself in front of the waitress now.

The rest of dinner, however, was unfortunately quiet and tense.

-

Mabel hugged their mom, who whispered in her ear something Dipper didn’t catch. But judging the cringe Mabel did, it probably wasn’t good. “Bye, guys,” she waved them both off as they entered their car. “Love you!”

“Well,” Pacifica smirked, standing next to Dipper. “That was entertaining.”

Dip crossed his arms and glared down at her. “I’m glad my family dynamic is something you find funny,” he said sharply. “Could you at least have a little empathy? Or are you always this fucking malicious?”

Pacifica’s face fell into aloofness, baby blue eyes losing all humor and returning to that shadowy, arrogant state. Her lips curled into a bland smile. “You’re a little different than you used to be,” she said softly.

All Dipper’s steam dissipated, taken off guard by her words. When he looked harder, he reconsidered straight arrogance and thought maybe it was something else. Had he actually hurt her feelings? It took him another few seconds to respond. “What do you mean by that?”

Her head tilted as her eyes roamed his face. “You have sharper edges,” she eventually stated. “It’s refreshing.”

Was she complimenting him right now? What the hell was going on tonight?

“Have a good night, Dipper,” she finally sighed. “I’ll cash in that favor soon.”

Then she turned and sauntered down the sidewalk, leaving Dipper to stare after her in confusion.

“Ooooh, what’s going on there?”

Dipper grimaced, grunting under the weight of Mabel’s slamming hug from behind. “Absolutely nothing,” he replied adamantly. “I need to talk to you, Mabel.”

His twin groaned long and suffering, releasing him to come around and pout in his face, as if he were the one being ridiculous. “What is it? Carsen went to buy me some chocolate, so you don’t have long.”

“Mabel—“ Dipper paused to sigh, rubbing his temples with both hands. “What are you doing? Why are you going on a cruise with Carsen?”

“Um, it’s a cruise? What do you mean, why am I going? It’s a no-brainer, Dip.”

“Yeah, but with Carsen? You don’t even know him!”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s a stranger at first,” she said with a satisfied look. “Besides, I’ve been talking to Carsen for a while now. I trust him. I’ve never once had a bad feeling!”

Too bad her sheer optimism often blinded her from reality. Dipper sighed regardless, dragging his hands over his face. “I hope you realize how crazy this is,” he groused. “Please, god, Mabel. Just think more about what you’re doing before you actually decide to go forward with this.”

“Hey,” she said soothingly, causing him to peek out from between his fingers. “It’s okay. I’m an adult. I mean, barely, but… You gotta let me figure it out. I know you had a head start by going to college, but I can be just as responsible as you. You’re the one who told me that.”

Dipper inspected her. They shared so many features—the chocolate brown eyes, button nose, softer jawline. There were subtle differences that had to be searched for. But overall, they were undeniably siblings. And Dipper knew that look in her eyes. That was the signature stubbornness the Pines family could be known for.

“Okay,” he relented. “Awkward sibling hug?”

“Awkward sibling hug,” she grinned, stepping into his outstretched arms. “Love you, Dipper. Oh, and thank you again for my graduation present. Waddles and I needed some new matching shoes.”

Chapter Text

Return to Gravity Falls, Oregon

Even though it was the beginning of summer, the rain hadn’t let up for four days now, leaving Dipper at the register, staring out of the window to the Mystery Shack’s Gift Shop, chin in hand and blinking lazily. Soos was doing weekly paperwork, and then he had some maintenance work later, which left Dipper utterly bored. The twin grunkles were still off on whatever new adventure they had conjured up, so that was out of the question, too. Mabel was on her cruise. Wendy had some kind of family thing going on for the entire summer, so she definitely wasn’t available to hang out. It was just him. Sigh.

He gazed down at his journal that sat open on a blank page, waiting to be filled with more paranormal mysteries and cosmic anomalies. He planned on camping this weekend, but with the way the weather was looking, he didn’t have high hopes. Frowning to himself, he grabbed a pencil and began sketching random lines. The scratching of lead against paper was familiar and relaxing, and soon enough something began to take shape. It was a constellation, that much was clear. He added towering mountains, a sea of pine trees below it, all surrounding a giant lake that reflected the stars above. But… something was missing.

Dipper reached into his backpack beneath the counter and dug around for his favorite colored pens. He’d brought a gold one, he was sure… Ah-ha, there. Returning to the picture, he began using the other colors to form a rip in the sky, where the gold dripped into the lake like it was made of liquid.

He took a black pen and traced over his pencil marks, then at top marked his name and the date, leaving it nameless. It was far from perfect. But it felt— What did it feel like? Dipper chewed on his writing utensil, trying to untangle the sensations this random sketch provoked, until he was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the tinkling of the bell from the gift shop door.

“Hi, welcome…” Dipper trailed off as he saw none other than Pacifica Northwest.

Well. He did complain about not having company. The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor, he thought, as she stood in front of the door with crossed arms and a sharp smile.

Dipper sighed to himself and readjusted his baseball cap before sliding his journal to the side. “Hello, Paz,” he droned, once again returning his chin to his palm as he propped himself against the counter. “How can I help you?”

Paz’s platinum hair was pin straight again, laying flat along the back of her black pea coat overtop what was probably the most ridiculously expensive designer plum shirt and wide-legged jeans. She walked towards the counter—prowled, more like it—in shiny black and heeled boots that made powerful echoes of her footsteps. When she finally reached him, she mirrored him perfectly and tilted her head a bit, her smile softened to something more like saccharine, canines glinting.

Dipper was one, suspicious, and two, annoyed. Who the hell dresses up so fancy during weather like this? There wasn’t a spec of mud on her. Someone probably even held an umbrella for her as she walked the ten steps from the driveway to the door. Insane. Dip himself was dressed pretty cozy, in just old jeans and his reliable black hoodie. If he wasn’t at work, he’d probably be in sweatpants instead.

“Hello, Mason,” she greeted. Dipper closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. Too many people knew his real name. “It’s nice to see you looking grimy again.”

“Go bleach your roots,” Dip deadpanned.

Her smile dropped immediately and those baby blue eyes narrowed. “I’m here for my favor.”

A smile graced his features, innocent in its appearance but poorly masking his next words, because he honestly couldn’t be bothered to care. “Actually, you can fuck off to whatever kind of soirée you just came from. I’m not doing anything for someone who just blatantly insults me.”

“You do things for Mabel all the time.”

“Yeah, but at least she apologizes later.”

Pacifica couldn’t retort that. He smugly crossed his arms and stared her down, chocolate brown versus critical, icy blue. She pursed her glossy lips before finally glancing away. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’m sorry.”

VICTORY TASTES SO SWEET! he inwardly shouted.

Dipper hid his grin by shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Well, it’s not the best apology I’ve ever heard,” he taunted, “but I suppose I can still accept it. So? What do you want?”

Pacifica sighed and blinked her gaze back to him, clearly unimpressed by his jab. “Whose old motorcycle is parked outside?” she asked, jerking her chin towards the door.

Dipper raised an eyebrow in confusion. Didn’t she want something from him? “Um, it’s mine,” he answered cautiously. “I fixed it up with Soos last summer as, like, a side project.” Plus, it was nice to have his own ride—even if he was driving illegally due to the lack of a motorcycle license. Or plates. Now that he thought about it, the cops in Gravity Falls really needed to pay attention more (not that he was complaining, Universe).

“Take me for a ride,” Paz ordered. 

Dip frowned at her. “I’m not a chauffeur.”

“You are today.”

“Is this the favor? What am I supposed to be doing here? Where are we going?”

Pacifica sighed and tapped her fingers on the countertop. “You certainly have a lot of questions when you’re supposed to be doing what I say.”

“You’re insufferable.”

A faint, humored smile crossed her face. “Are you gonna drive me, or do I have to threaten you?”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “You’re also full of shit,” he stated, glaring down at her. Pacifica’s smile never left, but her eyes seemed to darken. He could see that silver outline again. Wait—Dipper squinted. “Did you put on makeup today?”

Pacifica kind of flinched, and a soft blush touched her cheeks. “W-Well… not really,” she mumbled, darting her eyes between his warily. “It’s just some mascara. Why? Does it look bad?”

He blinked in surprise, a little confused by her reaction. Since when did she care about his opinion? “No, it doesn’t,” he answered honestly. “You just look normal, is all.”

“Whatever—shut up, loser,” she snapped, though it lacked conviction. Her eyes averted, looking everywhere but at him. “I had to give my skin a break.”

Okay, whatever that meant… “Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Dipper sighed. “I’m running out of patience, here.”

She cleared her throat and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “The favor is actually two parts. This is the first.”

“What? Seriously? Come on, Paz, I hardly think some help with a confusing menu is equivalent to this amount of work.”

Pacifica returned her gaze to him, returned to that confident stare she always seemed to have. “You’re the one who agreed,” she purred, her perfectly white teeth bared in a roguish grin. “We never spoke about the terms.”

Dipper could’ve sworn a vein popped out on his forehead. “Yeah, because you were being fucking rude,” he exclaimed. “As usual!”

“I never claimed to be nice,” she retorted, glaring at him from under her blonde fringe. “Just get the helmets and let’s go.”

“To where?!”

-

He had to take the backroads instead of the highway, for obvious reasons, so it took them an hour and fifteen minutes to get to wherever she had directed them. He felt bad for closing up and just leaving Soos all by himself, but honestly—he might have clawed his eyes out if he’d had to stay another six hours in that overpriced shop. He wondered what it said about himself that he’d rather spend time with Pacifica Northwest than choose peace.

Dipper placed the bike on its kickstand, turned off the ignition, and patted Pacifica’s hands, which were still gripping his midsection. The entire ride, she’d held on for dear life, as if she’d fly off any second. He was just glad she’d given him an address to use in his phone rather than her giving him directions by yelling in his ear. That would’ve been annoying.

Shakily, Pacifica released her grip on him and scooted back, removing her inner thighs from his rear. Dipper stepped off first and held out his hand for her, which she surprisingly took. Then she took off her helmet after he did, and he almost wanted to smile.

“What?” she blurted, seeing his expression. “Oh my god, what is it? Is there something on me? Get it off!”

“No, no,” he laughed. “It’s just… Have you ever ridden a bike before?”

Paz flushed bright red and took his backpack off her shoulders to shove at him. “Are you trying to say I look bad?” she snapped, bending her knees as she looked in his tiny side mirrors.

“Not at all.” In all honesty, she looked like a half-drowned rat. The rain hadn’t let up completely on their ride over and had effectively soaked both their clothes, though she was technically in better shape than him. But the helmet had not done anything to help her look. The ends of her hair had a slight wave to them now due to the weather, and the top had lost the sleekness, replaced with frizz.

But he elected not to tell her any of that. She might actually rip his head off. Or cry. Neither of which he wanted to deal with.

“Where are we?” he asked instead, placing both their helmets on the seat of the bike and hauling the backpack strap over his shoulder.

The building before them was stark white with black accents and sat on a cracked concrete lot. It was pretty small for what he assumed was some kind of business, since there were only… four defined parking spaces, only two filled—his, and another with a basic black sedan. The strange thing was that it was surrounded by wilderness. The nearest town was at least eight miles away.

“You’ll see,” Paz said vaguely. “Come on, nerd.”

Frowning, he followed behind her. They were parked at the back of the building, so she led him along the sidewalk to the front, where the patio and glass doors had been decorated with greenery and delicate flowers. The name of the building had been scrawled in looping cursive letters on the door, but Pacifica had opened it too quickly for him to read. Then they stepped into the foyer together, a blast of cool air and the faint summer smell of coconuts encompassing them. The floors were a dark stain that provided an elegant contrast to the clean white walls and white trim. Candles flickered on corner tables to warm up the space—which looked to be a men and women’s boutique. Dipper was suddenly nervous. What in the hell did Pacifica need him here for, when she could have paid for a ride from anyone? When she could’ve used, like, a limo service or something?

“Welcome to my favorite place in Oregon,” Paz smiled, glancing around with relaxed shoulders. Dipper was again taken aback at the softness and serenity he saw in her. “ Graceful.”

That was certainly the word to use, Dipper thought as he took in the displayed mannequins draped in sophisticated and expensive fabrics. There were mostly muted colors, beautiful patterns etched into each piece. Everything seemed very intentional, as boutiques typically did.

“So… why are we here?” Dipper asked, feeling like he was incredibly out of place.

Pacifica took a deep breath before turning that smile to him, crossing her arms, and replying, “The second part of the favor involves you joining me at a party tonight.”

Dipper blanched.

Paz bit her lip and fidgeted in place. “Look, my parents wanted me to meet this guy. He’s one of their icky partner’s sons, and they expect me to be his entertainment while he’s in town for the next two days.” Her nose crinkled. “This dude’s father is snobby as hell, even for me to put up with, so I don’t really think his son will be any better. Plus, it’s not like I’m some show pony or entourage, y’know? So, you’re gonna be my buffer until they fly back home.”

“I don’t think I’m really the right kind of person you want as arm candy,” Dipper gulped.

Pacifica shook her head, grinning smugly. “No, you’re the perfect arm candy. Not only do you look pretty decent when you wear a suit, you have the ability to be rude to these people, while I don’t really have that luxury. I mean, of course you need to be a little passive aggressive with it. But still, rude.”

Dipper blew out a long breath, eyes dragging up to the coffered ceiling. “…I have some conditions.”

“What? No. This is my favor. You can’t change the rules.”

“We didn’t sign a legal contract or anything, Paz, so either hear me out, or I can leave,” he scowled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Paz huffed and crossed her arms again. “Fine,” she muttered. “What are your conditions?”

“One: I expect to be fed. Whether that’s at the party or somewhere else, I don’t care, but it’s gotta be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Done.”

“Two: I’m only staying for two hours, max.”

“Done. But I need you to be the one to make a creative escape.”

Dipper chewed on his cheek. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “Three: I’m not paying for anything. Not the tux you want me to wear, not your dress, not the food, not the gas money to get there, nothing.”

Pacifica batted her eyelashes and pouted. “You won’t even get me flowers?”

Dipper flattened his expression. “Not even a petal.”

Paz rolled her eyes. “Fine. Done. Can we shop now?”

Dipper shrugged and offered a genuine, lopsided smile. “Sure. It’s your favor.”

She opened her mouth presumably to say something—he imagined it was something snarky—but then she blinked away and started her trek further into the shop. Dipper followed behind, happy and pleasantly surprised that she’d actually agreed to his terms. He expected a lot more of a fight. That probably meant this guy was supposed to be a real stick-in-the-mud. She was desperate.

“Alright,” Paz tutted, “which style dress will piss my parents off the most?”

As she flipped through a rack of gowns, Dipper quietly pulled out his journal and began scribbling. Pacifica, or more recently known as Paz, claims that I’ve changed, but I think she’s the one who’s different. When I knew her before, she rarely ever challenged her parents. I’ve only known of her doing it once, when she got rid of the ghost haunting the Northwest Manor. They used to control her with a bell which was majorly creepy. But now she’s seemed to find her own brand of justice by defying them at their ridiculous parties—and has now dragged me along for the ride. Not gonna lie, it might be cool to see it happen in person.

“Do you think this is appropriate for a black tie event?” Pacifica asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. She held up a floor-length gown, but that was the only thing he could say was “black-tie appropriate.” It was some mixed shade of bright purple and pink, impossibly shiny, and the neckline had a plunging V-shape that he was sure could be considered scandalous. He shook his head and she gave a pleased smile. “Wonderful. I’m gonna go try it on. Find something to do, I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

Dipper shrugged, knowing he was well out of his depth with stuff like this, and sat on a nearby chaise lounge to flip through his journal. It was only Thursday, so if the rain let up by Saturday, he could still go camping. He’d just be a little wet—nothing some waterproof supplies couldn’t help with. He’d have to see if Gravity Falls had the weather protection he needed. If not, then he’d have to make a trip out of town. He turned to his most recent drawing and gazed at it thoughtfully, puzzled. He felt like he’d seen it before; the woods and the mountains and the lake. Not just in his dreams, but somewhere else, too.

“Dipper, what do you think?”

He raised his head from the page and laid eyes on Pacifica Northwest, who stood on a small display stage like a real-life Barbie, hands on her tilted hips. She looked like an airbrushed model—even with the minimal makeup and slightly messy hair. The dress had a heart-shaped neckline and slouched straps that hung halfway down her biceps, and he was right about the plunge. It reached well past her breasts. Not only that, there was a slit in the leg that rose dangerously close to her hips. Dipper couldn’t help staring, his eyes following the shape of her thigh down to her bare, pointed toes.

“Dipper.”

“Yeah,” he blurted, darting his gaze back up to her face, heat stinging the back of his neck. “Kinda looks like a prom dress.”

Pacifica’s face scrunched up in disgust, but then she seemed to reconsider. “Yeah,” she agreed, an evil little grin spreading across her face. “I mean, I’m not used to making such a bold choice at these events, but I think with you there, I won’t be so nervous about it. Okay, now to choose something for you.”

Damn, she was siding with him again? Two for two. He wondered how many more surprises he would be handed today.

-

Their outfits were carefully bagged to protect against the weather on their ride home. Since Dipper was driving, she’d had to hold them between her chest and his back, plus she had to wear his backpack. She looked so uncomfortable that he had to laugh—which she grumbled under her breath at. But she still found a way to choke the breath from him as she squeezed his middle.

“Okay,” she huffed as she handed the garment bag and his backpack to him. “I’ll come pick you up at nine-thirty. Party starts around ten. Be ready, or I’ll threaten you again.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and checked his phone. It was only seven, but the sun hadn’t completely set due to the long summer days. “Yeah, whatever, Paz,” he muttered. “I’m telling you, that food better blow me outta the water.”

“Don’t worry, nerd boy. You’ll probably cream your ratty impoverished pants.” A modern blue sedan with black-tinted windows pulled up, the crackle of gravel under the tires pulling their attention away for a second. “There’s my ride. Listen, Dipper,” Paz started hesitantly, and Dip blinked down at her, shocked yet again by her demeanor. “Thank you. For helping me.”

He almost wanted to tease her, but figured she didn’t usually do this—and he really didn’t feel like pissing her off when he was getting a genuine reaction. So he gave her his crooked smile. “You’re welcome.” See? He could be nice sometimes.

Paz blinked and then blushed, flipping her hair as she spun on her heel. “Whatever,” she barked. “Be ready, loser.” And she stalked off.

Dipper sighed to himself.

The next two hours were spent showering and shaving and prepping for Pacifica’s party. He was grateful that Soos had added an additional bedroom to the Shack; he liked that this door had a lock. Nobody dared to use Grunkle Stan’s room, Soos used that old room that had the weird carpet, and he and Mabel had outgrown the attic a while ago, so it was used for storage now. And Soos’s grandmother had been moved into an old folk’s home last year due to health concerns, which meant the extra room was Dipper and Mabel’s for the taking. Though, it was just Dipper’s now, at least until Mabel came back from her cruise.

He found the process of “getting ready” exhausting. He didn’t like all the pressure of looking his best, when it shouldn’t have even mattered. If he was clean and had clothes on, why did he have to be judged? But he sucked it up tonight because he had agreed to Pacifica’s favor. And he did have to admit that the suit Paz had chosen for him was pretty snazzy. The entire thing was black, but his shirt had been swapped for the same color as Pacifica’s dress—the lady who’d helped called it fuchsia.

Dipper combed his hair back, staring at his birthmark. It would probably garner a lot of attention since it was so strange, and these people didn’t truly have a lot of decorum when it came to commenting on people’s bodies. But he supposed that might be just what Pacifica wanted: to take the attention off herself, even if her dress was eye-catching. He didn’t know. It was all backwards.

“Wow, dude, lookin’ fancy,” Soos praised as Dipper passed the living room where he sat watching the television. “Where you goin’?”

Dipper tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “To a party,” he replied dejectedly, shoulders slumping. The closer the time came, the more anxious he felt.

“I thought you liked parties, dude.”

“Not when they involve Paz’s crowd…”

Soos’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Paz? Who the heck is Paz?”

There were two consecutive honks outside, drawing their gazes to the front door. Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Pacifica Northwest.” Soos made a sound of realization, but Dipper was already on his way outside to meet his quote-unquote date. The blue sedan from earlier was parked neatly in the driveway. Nobody came out to greet him, so he went around to the back seat and hoped Pacifica was on the other side, or at least saw him and scooched over.

He opened the door and slid into his seat, the scent of a fresh, new car enveloping him. Then another aroma, warm and dark, made him turn his head, and he was suddenly starstruck by the sight of his companion. She’d curled her hair into gentle waves that fell around her shoulders and down her back. Her skin glowed in the low light of the car, seeming to literally sparkle at every shift of her body. She sat up straight, one naked leg crossed over the other. A simple silver necklace inlaid with tiny crystals sat at her throat, her pointed stilettos and dangling earrings matching perfectly. She was the picture of sophistication, even if she didn’t adhere to the black tie requirement.

Then she turned her head, as well, laying those almond-shaped blue eyes on him. She’d done her makeup again. Lashes fuller, some kind of sparkly eyeshadow, glass skin flushed with that pomegranate color he’d seen before, and her lips were the same shade topped with gloss. “Good evening, Dipper,” she smiled, her voice resembling something like smoke or shadow in its low tone. “You look nice.”

Dipper finally shut the car door and took a deep breath to steady himself. Just because she was attractive didn’t mean she was a good person. (Okay, he was going a little far with that—maybe replace “good” with “decent”.) “Is that a compliment, Paz?” he smirked, looking to gain some clarity back. He didn’t want to be blinded by her all night. It was ridiculous that he even thought that way in the first place.

“It was,” Pacifica answered. Dipper stiffened— “But I take it back, loser.” Ah, there she was. “Aren’t you going to tell me I look pretty?”

“Well, you’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s for sure.”

She only laughed and ordered their driver to take off. Dipper eyed her curiously. He was sure that comment would’ve made her irritated, but… “You seem to be in high spirits,” Dip said hesitantly.

Pacifica nodded, that smile holding as she pulled out a compact mirror and touched up her lip gloss. “Of course I am,” she replied. “I get to insult my parents and some random douche at the same time.”

“At my expense,” Dip inserted dryly.

“That’s certainly a perk. Look, I know I’m not usually so touchy-feely, but I really do appreciate you doing this, Dipper.”

Okay, he knew Gravity Falls was a weird place, but this was downright creepy. Dipper almost wanted to jump out of the moving car. She had been alarmingly amicable towards him all day.

“Oh, and we’re gonna have to call you by something other than your nickname,” she remarked casually.

“What?”

“Well, don't you want to protect your identity? What if my parents see you around town and decide to pull some shady shit to make your life miserable? Trust me, with you looking like this, they won’t recognize you, and you don’t want your trademark name traced back to you.”

“Ugh… fine. How about we just use my real name? Or my middle name?”

Pacifica shrugged. “It’s up to you. Just pick something you’ll respond to easily.”

“Mason, then.”

“Wait—what’s your middle name?” Paz inquired, turning her full attention to him.

He debated on whether to tell her. He already didn’t like when people used his first name. It was just annoying to hear. “It’s Jude,” he revealed, the wariness clear in his voice. He hoped this wouldn’t blow out of proportion. He just wanted to be Dipper.

Pacifica hummed quietly and nodded. “That’s pretty nice, actually. Mason Jude Pines.” Her voice was soft, as if her tongue turned the name over in her mouth in thought. 

Double creepy—she wasn’t insulting him?

But, even more troubling—he kind of… liked the way she said it? Maybe— definitely not in a romantic way, but in a warmhearted way.

“What?” Pacifica asked, raising her eyebrows at him. He knew he was staring, but he was just… flabbergasted. Paz pursed her lips, poised to say something probably snarky, but then her eyes tracked something outside, and her expression went slowly blank, causing Dip to look where she had. And there it was—the gates to hell.

Ahem, sorry. To the new Northwest Estate.

It was obviously a newer, possibly renovated, mansion, and it was noticeably smaller than the old one they had, but no less extravagant. The gates were made of black wrought iron, bordering the entire property. The landscaping had clearly been done professionally with newer trees and flowers currently being sprinkled from the ground. There was a huge circular drive that surrounded a two-tiered fountain, and it eventually led up to the front door, doubled and wooden, flanked by tall windows, and ambient lights were hidden all around the exterior. Definitely Gregorian style, yet it lacked the brick and was instead stuccoed and painted white. It was begrudging to admit, but it was more tasteful than the previous one had been.

Even when the car stopped, Pacifica hadn’t moved an inch. Dipper felt uneasy, but he still got out and moved to her side, offering his hand for her to step out—yet she still didn’t budge, frozen in her seat. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Dipper leaned into her space and grabbed her hand tightly. “Paz,” he murmured.

She blinked once and turned her head, nearly brushing her nose with his. “You can’t shut down on me, Paz,” he said lowly. “Come on. I need you to be your best, most passive-aggressive, cunning, asshole-ish person you’ve ever been tonight. ‘Kay? Can you do that for me?”

Paz blinked again, then a few more times, taking a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Dipper picked her hand up and spoke against her knuckles. “I’m doing this for show, so don’t let it get to your head.” Paz shot him a scathing look and he laughed under his breath. “There she is. Come on. Don’t let these people get to you.”

In a way that he had since he exorcized that ghost at the original manor, he understood her. Don’t disobey us. You’re not supposed to lose. You don’t get an opinion. It must be hard being told exactly what to do every step of the way. And even more terrifying, if she were to break herself away from it all, she’d be left with nothing. No furniture, no car, no money, no food, no shelter. Her rich friends would shun her, and, knowing Pacifica, her pride would bar her from asking for help. She’d be at rock bottom.

Dipper helped her out of the car then offered his arm, where her perfectly manicured nails curled around, and led them through the heavy doors into the foyer.

Chapter Text

The Supernatural Discovery

Their shoes made echoing clicks upon the black and white diamond tile as they walked, and slowly the sound of stringed classical music began floating through the air. Ugh, of course it would be this. Dipper loved music (duh, jazz band), but this particular composition was just fucking pretentious. Too many thirty-eighth runs and not enough bass and—ugh. So much to complain about. Maybe if the composer had added a little piano, some percussion, a damn flute or something to make it lighter?

There was a sitting room to their left with an intricate fireplace and a study housing shelves upon shelves of books to the right. The grand staircase was directly ahead and in the middle. Pacifica guided them to double French doors to the right (matching ones to the left), and inside was a grand room with luxurious, golden brown velvet curtains bordering the windows that allowed sight into the back yard. There were also tables to the left overflowing with an array of different foods, all sat on white linens and wooden boards. He’d heard it called something like charcuterie. Meats, cheeses, crackers, fruits, and desserts. His mouth watered—he’d definitely be eating some of that (but he’d never consider it the meal he was promised). Behind the tables was a door where staff rarely came in and out of, which he had to assume was a kitchen. The band he’d heard was just a quartet of strings. Cello, two violins, and a viola. They were set up to the right of the room, blocking another door to who knew where.

Dipper was actually surprised how small the party seemed to be. He counted… maybe fifty people? Sixty? They had all broken into groups around the room, the sounds of low conversation blending in the most annoying way with the live music. Already irritated and nervous, Dip sighed through his nose, glancing around automatically for a place to go and hide. He really didn’t want to talk to people like this—all dressed to the nines with snooty expressions and bad plastic surgery, and most of all no respect for those who had less than they did.

“We gotta find my parents,” Pacifica murmured next to him, determination making those aqua eyes shine in the subdued lights of the ballroom-esque room. “They’ll probably be with the Marrs.”

Dipper assumed she meant the guy and his dad they were meant to be low-key insulting. “What’re their names, again?” he muttered as they began walking again. Well, it was more like roaming as Paz’s gaze flitted over every face they passed.

“The father is Jameson Marrs, and the son is Sebastion Marrs. They’re both ancient; the dad is like somewhere in his seventies and the son is mid-thirties.”

“Jesus, and your parents want you to hook up with this guy?”

She grimaced. “That’s my theory. They’re looking to close some kind of deal with Jameson, so they want Sebastion pleased in some way, too.” Her fingers dug into his elbow as she stopped them in their tracks, a few feet away from the quartet. “There, by the windows.” He tracked her line of sight and found a group of four standing next to the curtains, each with a sparkling flute of champagne and chatting up a storm. He recognized Paz’s parents immediately. They hadn’t changed a bit. The other two were tall, stocky men with their backs turned to them, though both had long, inky black hair pulled into smooth ponytails.

Dipper began to step towards them, but Paz didn’t budge an inch. He glanced down at her and saw that same blank, empty expression she’d had at the car. “Pacifica,” he whispered, patting her hand gently. “Hey, remember what I said? You need to channel that inner asshole. Come on, we look weird just standing here…”

“I…” she breathed, eyes fluttering. “Can you take me to dance, first?”

“Sure,” he murmured, leading her to where a few other couples had centered on the dancefloor. “What’s going on, Paz? You look nervous.”

She gazed down at her feet as they joined hands and squared up their dance space. Dipper automatically led her into a waltz (he could now thank Mabel for making him take dance lessons with her), waiting for an answer. “My relationship with my parents is complicated,” she finally said softly. “I love them. They’re all I’ve ever known. I know their…need for wealth…comes from wanting the best for me. And I know their mannerisms rubbed off on me. But I just…There are things that I want that they don’t agree with, and will never agree with.”

“Like what?”

Paz smiled grimly and shook her head. “I can’t say it out loud. It’s kind of like a wish. If I tell someone, it won’t come true. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Dipper was…struggling with this new image of Pacifica. She’d been acting like a real person all day, but then she’d turn around and do all this extravagant show for her parents, who she’d admitted were greedy and vain, who she didn’t want to be like but also didn’t want to displease? God, what a confusing run-on sentence-slash-question. He didn’t know how to respond, so he did what he knew best when girls were feeling anything outside his scope of understanding. He brought her closer and pressed his cheek to her temple, still stepping through their slow waltz, carefully half-embracing her. He kept his hug light, in case she wanted to pull away. But she didn’t.

They turned once, and Pacifica froze in his arms for a split second. “They saw us,” she whispered into his shoulder, her tone edging on frantic. “They were looking.”

“Well…” Dipper replied gently, “Isn’t that the point? Don’t worry, Paz, I’m here to back you up. But don’t think you’re getting out of buying me that dinner.”

She pinched the back of his arm and grumbled, “Asshole,” but there was a smile in her voice that betrayed her. 

The song ended, and Dipper finally pulled back. She still looked apprehensive, but at least there was life in her eyes. “Hey,” he said, brushing a stray piece of hair back into its place. She blinked away from her parents to gaze up at him, and he gave her a genuine, reassuring smile that he hoped eased her nerves. “I don’t know how intense things are with your parents, but if they’re anything like mine, you just have to do things first and ask for forgiveness later. There’s always the chance of hurting them, yeah. But your life needs to come first.”

“I don’t think you really understand…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“‘Course I do,” he grinned, pulling up his sleeve just enough for her to glimpse the tattoos an inch above his wrist. “My parents found out about these at Mabel’s graduation.” Paz’s mouth dropped, making him laugh cynically. “Yeah, they were pissed. I had to listen to them bitch for two hours on the phone about how irresponsibly I’m spending my money and time at college, and how ‘they’ve done everything for me’ and I’m ‘disrespecting them,’ as if they didn’t choose to have a child in the first place.” Dipper shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t really know what happened to them, but it’s like as soon as Mabel and I became teenagers, they started to change into monsters. They didn’t like anything we did. Or do. Not unless it aligns with their beliefs or brand or whatever.”

Another song started, and Dipper began dancing anew. Pacifica shook her head, too, following his lead for a few moments before finally responding. “Yeah, Mabel mentioned that they were difficult,” she said softly. He spun her delicately, her dress billowing around tapered legs, and then brought her back in, pressing his palm against the dip in her spine. “Still,” she continued, “I don’t think they’re as…difficult as mine.”

“Do they still use that bell?” Dipper bit out, bitterness in his tone.

“No. They retired that a while ago. They’ve always expected a lot out of me, though. It’s a lot of pressure, I guess, when I really think about it. But I don’t like to.”

“And now they want you to sell yourself out to a man in his thirties just because they want to keep being rich?”

Pacifica sighed, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. “And I quote, ‘Pacifica, you are the prettiest girl in this whole town. Why are you throwing all of that away on these ridiculous college courses?’” She sighed again, the frustration palpable.

Dipper lowered his head, his cheek resting against hers, and he spoke lowly in her ear. “I don’t know what’s happened to you recently, Paz…” He paused, wondering if being honest with her would make her embarrassed or just inflate her ego. “But it’s been creeping me out how much kinder you seem,” he finished anyway. “And honestly, someone with character and personality is much more preferable to someone who just has money.”

Her voice was soft and low in response, the breath of her words warming his skin. “Are you complimenting me, Pines?”

“It was more of an observation than anything. I still think you’re a conceited, annoying pain in my ass.”

“Oh, come on—I complimented you earlier tonight—”

“Which you took back.”

“Whatever. Whatever,” she repeated, irritation creeping into her tone. “I mean, what kind of guy takes someone on a date and doesn’t even tell her she looks drop-dead gorgeous?”

Dipper rolled his eyes and groaned under his breath. “Jesus Christ, Pacifica, this isn’t even a date, you coerced me here on my inability to go back on my word.”

“Why can’t you just say it?” she barked, glaring at him now.

“Why do you keep fishing for compliments?” he shot back. But it ended up being too loud, and the crowd around them paused to stare. Dipper blushed and ducked his head slightly as he twirled Paz around for the last few bars of the song. “Thanks a lot,” he groused. Petty to say, but he couldn’t stop it from slipping past his lips.

“Oh, so it’s my fault? And I’m not fishing for compliments, I just—”

She stopped so abruptly that he frowned down at her, head tilting in confusion. She’d averted her eyes, scowling off to the side. He sighed through his nose; of course. She was insecure. She was used to people always commenting on her appearance, praising her for simply being beautiful. Growing up with Mabel gave him at least some insight into girls. “You did stun me when I got in the car,” he admitted begrudgingly, shrugging one shoulder.

Paz did that same reaction he’d seen at the graduation dinner. The controlled shock at his words. Yet somehow, he felt like they were on equal footing this time. “Whatever, loser,” she muttered, a blush darkening under her makeup and along her neck. “You didn’t have to give me a pity compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” he said in exasperation, bringing their dance to a final stop. “I’m being serious—you know what, let me just shut up. We need to go see your parents, right? Put on your game face, Northwest.”

“Oh, god, oh crap,” she breathed, panic flashing in her eyes. Then she took a deep breath, and as she blew it out, that blank, placid expression slid over her face like a sheet of gossamer. Dipper actually shivered at how easily she did it. Wasn’t that like a psychopathic tendency or something? Either way, he led her through the throngs of people by her suddenly clammy hand, pausing only to grab them both a glass of champagne. He usually wouldn’t condone underage drinking, but maybe tonight could be an exception.

Dipper locked eyes with Pacifica’s father, and the deep frown reminded Dip of his own dad. Preston Northwest bent down to his wife, Priscilla, and murmured something that made her nod slightly. Dip set his jaw, knowing they likely were going to say something offensive to their daughter. Well, he’d just have to leave no room for them to talk.

Then his eyes slid over to the two men they were supposed to be meeting. They had turned, likely noticing the Northwest’s darkened expressions, and Dipper inspected them critically from their shiny black shoes up. Expensive black and white tuxes, diamond encrusted watches, and finally their faces, almost identical in the sharpness of their bone structure, black hair, and deadened gray eyes.

Dipper stumbled briefly, a coldness brushing over his skin. Ever since Weirdmageddon, he’d had these strange, brief moments of knowing, almost like premonitions, of the paranormal. And that coldness, that haunting feeling, was here at the party, undeniably embedded in these men’s eyes. Son of a bitch. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with tonight.

Fuck, what were they? What was most likely to come out at night in disguise? Ghosts? Shapeshifters? Vampires? They were all pretty decent at hiding in plain sight. Damn it, how the hell was he going to defeat them and protect all these people? There was a petty voice in the back of his head that wondered if they deserved to be saved, but he brutally shoved it away. Now wasn’t the time for intrusive thoughts.

They were just ten feet away now; the taller one, who he assumed was Sebastian, smiled widely, baring his bright white teeth. Was Dipper imagining things, or did that look seem feral? Inklings of fear began to lock his legs, and he slowed in his pace towards them, his breath coming in shorter spurts. Chills upon chills crawled and tapped like spider legs along his spine. He gripped Paz’s hand tightly, and before he knew it, they both stood before the four people who all donned variations of delight and displeasure. Well, two creatures and two horrible parents.

“Good evening, Pacifica,” Preston addressed gruffly. Up close, Dipper could see the beginnings of gray creeping into his hair and thick eyebrows. “Glad to see you could spare some time for your parents for once.”

“Yes,” Priscilla agreed icily, a tight smile making its way to her face. “I’m certainly happy to know you’re here and not skulking off to wherever you go on the weekends.”

Pacifica clearly stifled a sigh; it was obvious she was struggling to keep that blank facade in place. Dipper spoke up, avoiding eye contact with the Marrs to the left and instead locking eyes with her parents. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Northwest,” he greeted cordially, consciously lowering his voice an octave and adding that same snooty tone they harbored. “My name is Mason Chevalier. I’m surprised Pacifica didn’t tell you she spends her weekends with me.”

That statement was certainly bold—Paz tightened her fingers, and her parents flinched ever so slightly. “R-Really?” Preston stuttered. “Well. She certainly hadn’t mentioned you, boy. I suppose you’re just…not that important to bring up in conversation.” By the end, Preston’s voice had turned smug.

Dipper-slash-Mason smiled blandly. “I think it’s more of she loathes to speak with the two people who cause her the most grief.” Then he turned his head, trying not to gulp as he blinked in the most unimpressed way he could muster. “Forgive me, I’ve seemed to ignore your company. Please, Mrs. Northwest, could you introduce me to the lovely couple?”

Two birds, one stone. Ignore Preston for Priscilla, making the man glare in outrage, then address the flown-in Important Guys as gay (not that there was anything wrong with being part of the community—he just knew these uppity assholes hated to be called anything other than straight because they were still stuck in the white supremacist mindset which had no room for anything other than that agenda). It didn’t seem to bother the Marrs too much, likely seeing through Dipper’s taunt, but at least it pissed off Preston.

“Ahem,” Priscilla cleared her throat, “this is Jameson Marrs and his son Sebastian Marrs. They deal with imported goods from—“

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dipper-slash-Mason half-smiled, speaking over Priscilla. “I was told Sebastian was meant to accompany my date tonight. I’m quite sure you can understand our discomfort with such a proposition.”

Jameson remained silent, flat gray eyes merely observing. Sebastian grinned in the same devilish way from earlier, sending another set of chills through Dipper. He casually half-stepped further ahead of Pacifica, guarding her physically in a display of defense. “Yes,” Sebastian said, his voice made of pure black silk, “I had been under the impression that Miss Northwest was to provide some company for me while my father spoke with her parents about some financial advantages in trading.”

“I’m curious,” Paz broke in, slightly shocking Dipper with a California Valley-Girl tone. “Is there a reason you will not be participating in their conversations? A lack of literacy, perhaps?” she smiled, tilting her head innocently.

Sebastian chuckled, and her scathing question even drew a humored smirk from Jameson. Her parents, however, grew red in the face, disbelief and outrage screwing up their once even expressions. “Far from it, Pacifica,” he crooned, teeth glinting as those same gray eyes as his father’s trailed up and down her body hungrily. Dipper bristled. “I find their conversations to be rather boring, truthfully. I’m more attracted to the bloody bits of the business.”

Dipper narrowed his gaze, mouth flattening into a hard line. He still couldn’t tell what kind of creature stood before them. Ghost, shapeshifter, or vampire? He’d have to corner one or the other somehow to actually reveal its identity. A ghost was relatively easy to take out. The other two, not so much. He’d have to sneak around the estate to find the necessary tools for each option, but he’d have to do it before he cornered them, otherwise he was just asking to be killed.

“How charming,” Paz droned, looking down her nose. Usually that irritated Dipper, but seeing it directed towards these people was rather amusing.

“Pacifica,” Preston said sharply, causing her head to turn, the faintest bit of fear flashing in her aquamarine eyes. “Watch your tone.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Northwest,” Sebastian smirked, not taking his eyes off Pacifica for even a second. “I’m not offended in the slightest.”

Jameson finally spoke up, his voice just as smooth and alluring as his son’s. “Preston, Priscilla—let’s leave our children be,” he suggested, a hint of a smile gracing his too-young features. If Dipper didn’t know that he and Sebastian were preternatural, he’d probably just assume it was botox that kept their skin so tight and clean. “I’m sure they’re quite capable of enjoying the party without us. How about you show me that new fountain you were telling me about, the one you had installed in the back garden?”

Paz’s parents agreed, but before the trio left, Priscilla stepped closer to Pacifica and whispered in her ear. Dipper barely caught the hissing words, “...your room for a week for this little stunt you pulled.” Pacifica hesitated, then nodded and smiled politely, keeping her face carefully void of a reaction. Dipper wasn’t so skilled, and he felt his eyes go cold as he stared after Priscilla, Preston, and Jameson walking away.

“You’re quite the cunning little fox, aren’t you, Miss Northwest?” Sebastian commented, a dark snicker following. Dip and Paz both leveled their own glowers on him, sharp and annoyed respectively. “You know, if you had just obeyed your parents, I could have satisfied you more than this unrefined boy.”

“Mason satisfies me plenty,” Pacifica replied smoothly, tilting her chin upwards to look down her nose again. Dipper blushed slightly at the implication, but he was mostly surprised by the sudden change in her expression—mild to qui vive. Like she was…defensive of him, rather than the other way around.

Dipper broke in, a rocky edge to his tone, “Besides, I hardly think it’s up to her parents with whom she chooses to spend time with. Or what. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sebastian flicked his gaze to Dip, those dead eyes lighting up with interest or humor or delight. Dipper couldn’t decide. “Ahh. You’re very observant, aren’t you?”

Paz swiveled her head between them. “I don’t appreciate being left out of the loop,” she scowled.

Dip snorted softly with a sardonic smile, reserved to the fact that he had effectively ruined his chances of getting the man-creature alone. There was no turning back now, but damn his arrogant mouth. “Well, I suppose if I hadn’t been here, Sebastian would have whisked you off to a dark corner and killed you. He, or it, is a supernatural creature. A dickhead wolf in sheep’s clothing, to be sure. So what are you?”

Sebastian smiled again, baring his teeth in an aggressive display. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, then I’d rather allow you to experience it for yourself, child.”

Shit—what did that mean?

Everything happened within seconds; suddenly, Pacifica let out a yelp, Dipper’s eyes flicked away from Sebastian to her, and then her hand was being ripped out of his grasp. Then he was by himself. She and the entity were gone as if they’d never been there. Panic burst through him, and his head swiveled around the room, searching frantically for the two, but they weren’t here, they weren’t here. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Dipper ran to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared outside, his heart thundering in anticipation. Nobody was out there, either—NO, WAIT! In the back corner near an ostentatious water fountain. A cluster of shadows. Goddammit, couldn’t the Northwests have invested in some brighter lights? Cold sweat broke out over his skin like a second layer as he sprinted through the kitchen, just a flash of white to him, and out through the back door, leaving behind a shocked group of staff that he didn’t really give two shits about upsetting.

The closer he got to the fountain, the more dread gathered in his belly like a block of lead. Nevertheless, even as his legs grew heavier, he pushed himself towards it, towards the danger, into what could possibly be a future murder scene. He didn’t have a damn thing on him to protect himself, either. Outstanding.

The run had taken less than ten, fifteen seconds, but by the time Dipper had arrived, the shadows had moved behind a towering hedge of blood red roses and he was panting. There was a stitch in his ribs that sent painful surges through him, but he ignored it. He had to save the Northwest family (again). Tremors made him move slower, yet he powered through and stepped around the bush and was met with a horrific, grisly sight.

Preston and Priscilla Northwest lay in heaps, pale and breathing ever so faintly. Jameson crouched over them, but he glanced up with neon red eyes, mouth—no, maw, dripping with viscous blood. Dipper’s hair stood on end, knowing he was looking a ravenous vampire in the face.

A gasp tore his attention away.

What he saw made his heart sink.

Pacifica’s body was actively growing limp in Sebastian’s arms while his mouth devoured her throat, jaw working as he ingorged himself. Bright blood stained both of them. It was down the front of her dress and his white shirt. Rivets of it. Her blue eyes grew dimmer as they stared up at the night sky, her lips parted as if to cry for help.

He—he—

Vampire. Vampire. The vampire is eating Pacifica. Fucking MOVE, you dumbass!

Dipper’s eyes scanned the things nearest to him and stupidly grabbed the first thing he saw, which happened to be a palm-sized stone that hid amongst the rose hedge. And then he threw it. Jesus fucking Christ, he was an idiot when he panicked. The rock landed square in the center of Sebastian’s back, and the vampire’s eyes popped open, the same glowing ruby of his father’s. His jaw unhinged like a snake from Pacifica’s throat and a mouthful of blood spilled over his chin. Nausea rolled in Dipper’s gut.

Sebastian turned his head to Dipper, meaning he now had two hungry vampires’ stares on him. Fucking awesome. “Mason,” Sebastian purred, drawing his name out, though it sounded garbled and thick. His mind screamed danger! danger! run! get away! But Dipper didn’t budge an inch, frozen by that glare. “I knew you’d come for her.”

He couldn’t even speak. Come on, Dip, you moved once, you can do it again. Come on. Move, move. 

“Dessert, Sebastian?” Jameson asked, stepping over his victims who were likely taking their last breaths.

Sebastian chuckled, dropping an unconscious Pacifica to the ground with a sickening thud. Dipper even swore he heard one of her bones break. “I’m not sharing, Jameson,” he grinned manically, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him.

He wanted to make sure Paz was alive, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stalking predator. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jameson move too. Fuck. Even if he ran away, they wouldn’t let him get far. They’d probably chase him, toy with him, until his adrenaline wore off and his fear slowed him down, made him clumsy. There was a quote that came to mind that he’d read once, from Fyodor Dostoyevsky. “People speak sometimes about the ‘bestial’ cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” And even though these vampires were no longer men, Dipper was certain they had retained the cruelty that humankind was capable of.

Finally, somehow, his left leg took a step backward. Sebastian’s eyes zeroed in on his movement, his smile widening. Fangs, a mouthful of fangs drenched in blood, fangs that would soon be chomping at his own throat. Goddammit, if only he had some holy water, or a wooden stake—

Dipper, you fucking idiot, go break off a branch from a tree, he hissed at himself.

Yeah, easier said than done. He just had to hope the vamps would allow him a head start. And then he’d have to get close enough to attack them. Two on one weren’t good odds, especially since he’d only have time to get one branch—one that hopefully broke off easily enough and was the right shape. Which one was the Master, though? To kill the whole nest of vamps, one had to get the main guy. Then the vampire’s venom would weaken and dissolve in the body it infected. He was thankful for that. If it escaped as vomit, or feces, Dipper wouldn’t dare touch the victim. He often wondered if that made him an asshole, just because he was squeamish about those two particular things. Fuck, Sebastian was closing in.

“Dip…per…”

The raspy whisper caused Dipper to freeze, caught between insurmountable fear and hope. It drew everyone’s attention, three sets of eyes landing on the girl who’d spoken. Dipper released a mixture between a breath and a sob as he saw Pacifica’s eyes lock in on him, growing more and more red by the second. She was changing. Did that mean her parents would change, too? He darted his gaze over to them quickly, just a glimpse, but they were stirring.

Okay—fuck—okay. Five vampires. Okay.

“Dipper,” Pacifica gasped again. Her head could barely lift from the ground. Her skin had paled to a paper-white, contrasting the blood starkly. Her hair had been soaked in the blood, too, sticking to her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. “Dipper.”

Stake. He had to find a stake. No—he had to find the Master vampire.

“My, my,” Sebastian tutted, turning his head to Dipper and laughing quietly. Darkly. “She started changing quicker than I anticipated. And it seems she found her first prey.”

Which one was it? Dip looked between Sebastian and Jameson, their forms blurring in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, little lamb,” Sebastian teased, stepping aside as Pacifica began to rise. “It won’t hurt too badly. In fact, it’s quite pleasurable once you start dying.”

The older one? No, he seemed too obedient, too compliant. The younger one, then.

“I’m… hungry…” Pacifica whispered. Her voice sounded like it had been raked over hot coals.

“Yes, my dear,” Sebastian crooned. “Go ahead, drink till your heart’s content. Drain him. Then you may join us and your parents in our coven.”

Dipper took another silent step back. Jameson, to his left, chuckled, and Sebastian joined in. “Run if you wish,” he offered. “You’ll only be prolonging the inevitable. Oh, and just in case it wasn’t clear before—you’ll be killed instead of Turned.”

He stared at Pacifica, who was now on her feet, her chest heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing. She’d attack him at any moment. He had to run now. Heart in his throat, Dipper spun on his heel and began sprinting, adrenaline pumping through his muscles, nearly hyperventilating at the rageful scream Pacifica released. Tree, tree, find a tree—

An old oak on the opposite end of the yard came into view, towering and sagging in its age. Its branches even reached the ground, as if to rest. Dipper pushed his legs harder. He had to get there before Pacifica, or any of them, caught up. Before Preston and Priscilla changed fully and became as hungry as their daughter—if they did, the whole party would turn into a slaughter. New vampires were notoriously vicious. Come on, come on.

Yes! Dipper grabbed the first medium-sized branch he saw and yanked with all his might—

Suddenly, his air was being cut off. That was Pacifica’s arm against his throat. Trying to suck in oxygen, he flailed in her grasp, scratching uselessly at her elbow. His head was already becoming fuzzy. Not good. No air equaled illogical decisions. Or no decisions at all.

“You smell good,” Pacifica purred in his ear. She was pressed along his back, and then she kicked him behind the knee, causing him to fall. Pain racketed up his thighs and flashed in his shins.

“Paz,” he choked out. “Paz, please!”

She rumbled a moan and grazed her lips under his jaw. She couldn’t hear a damn word he said—not through the haze of her thirst. Fuck, why did vampires have to be so strong? Dipper, panicking now, was thrashing in her arms, desperate to get away from those powerful, deadly fangs.

Tree. There was a tree in front of him. Yeah, that’s right—he was supposed to grab a branch. Broken branch equaled makeshift stake. Stake a vampire and it dies. Stake the Master and the whole clan dies. Grab the branch. Get away from Paz. Grab the branch. Branch branch branch. Stab her? No, the Master… Who was the—

Dipper shouted in agony as Pacifica sunk those razor sharp teeth into the side of his neck like a warm knife into butter.

White hot, excruciating pain. Pain pain pain suffering anguish torment. Stop stop, he wanted it to stop, it hurt, his neck and shoulder throbbed and burned, stop please stop. Then his eyes opened—he hadn’t even realized they had shut—and he could see the tree in front of him. He couldn’t breathe, but he could see. And his body was growing weaker, but that meant she was loosening her grip. Her swallows were becoming more relaxed, too. He could feel her coaxing tongue brushing against his over sensitive skin.

He just had to wait.

It was seconds, but it felt like hours. This was a gamble, an insanely risky gamble. The longer he sat there losing blood, the stronger she would be. He was just betting that as a “newborn,” she’d think she was in control.

Wait. Waiting. Dizzy, so dizzy. Wait.

NOW—

Gritting his teeth, Dipper gathered his remaining strength and reached behind himself to dig his fingers into Pacifica’s hair, and then he tossed her over his shoulder, ripping her teeth out of himself in the process which only offered a whole new wave of pain, and Paz’s yelp sounded so much like herself that he almost stopped to check on her, but he couldn’t, he had to grab the damn stick, GRAB THE DAMN STICK—

The branch came off the oak with a loud snap and crackle of brittle bark. Okay, run run run run go go go don’t stop don’t quit I know you’re close to fainting but you gotta keep going Dipper you can do this you can kill him KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER!

Paz was behind him. He could hear her heels digging into the sod, her heavy breaths accompanied by an undercurrent of dark laughter. But he rounded the corner of the bush quicker than her, pale face twisted with rage, weapon (broken stick) raised in the air.

He’d never be able to describe how deeply satisfying it was to see Sebastian’s face blink away from its amused expression to pure shock.

Dipper didn’t even give the other three vampires to the left a moment of his time. He didn’t stop at all. He ran straight to Sebastian, who could only take a half step back, and Dip leapt into the air. 

He brought the stake down, spearing it directly into the center of the vampire’s chest.

They both rolled to the ground, but Dipper didn’t let go of the branch, he refused to. Even when Sebastian growled ferally and coughed old blood in his face, he held on, digging it in deeper as he landed atop the creature. “No,” Sebastian grunted, wheezing as the wood began to slow him down. “Get off! You can’t…ruin…everything!”

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Dipper hissed, bearing down on the stake. “And I don’t fucking care, either.”

A collection of gasps came from a few feet away, and then it was the sounds of bodies hitting the ground. Dipper didn’t look anywhere but into the dead, gray eyes of his predator and victim. He was slower, sure, but he wasn’t dying. Yelling his frustration, Dipper glanced around at the ground and found the stone he’d thrown earlier. He snatched it up without a second thought and slammed it down on the vampire’s head.

The sound of skull crunching wasn’t enough to stop him. He did it another time. Once more. Then on the throat, hoping that with enough force, he could decapitate it. Blood, dark and old yet still warm, spurted and splattered Dipper on every conceivable surface.

He didn’t know how long it took, but when he stopped, Sebastian was no longer recognizable. All that was under him, all over him, was mushy gore.

Then his eyes rolled backward as he fainted.

-

“Dipper… Dipper!”

Inhaling so sharply that it hurt his esophagus, Dipper lunged awake, swinging an arm out in front of him.

“Fuck—ow!”

Slowly, everything came into focus. The blood-soaked grass under him. The body he’d battered to hell inches away. The girl with platinum hair falling into her normal-colored blue eyes. She sat in front of him, rubbing her shoulder that he’d punched. And there were three bodies groaning further behind her.

He blinked into consciousness. “Pacifica,” he breathed in relief, tears springing forth unbidden. “Holy shit. It worked. I was right.” He’d killed the Master vampire, and now the Northwests were back to normal—they were human again. Jameson, too. No innocents had been killed.

Pacifica looked so real and human and alive. Her neck had healed completely from Sebastian’s bite—vampire superpower. Dipper ran his bloodied hands over his face, uncaring of the mess. Alive, Jesus, he was alive, they were all alive.

“Dipper. We need to get you to a hospital.”

He paused a second before laughing. He couldn’t tell if he was laughing out of shock or irony or just pure joy. “I’m good,” he finally smiled at her, ignoring the look of incredulity. “You didn’t inject any venom. I never Turned like you.”

Paz frowned at him. God, it was nice to see such a human reaction. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, eyebrows furrowed as she glanced down at her lap. “I don’t even… I can’t remember anything but being hungry. I can’t believe I got Turned into a vampire.”

“Well, you do live in Gravity Falls,” he smirked. “Don’t feel too bad, Paz. We’re all alive.”

Pacifica glanced up from under her lashes, her lips set in an unhappy pout. Then, surprising him, she reached her hand out and pressed her fingers to the right of his neck, barely touching beneath his wound—which, now that he noticed it, pounded in acute pain and was probably oozing blood from the punctures. “Pacifica, you didn’t know what you were…” Dipper trailed off when he caught the angry-guilty kind of look in her eyes. Then he pressed his mouth into a grim line and turned his head to the side, letting her see.

“God, Dipper,” she whispered in horror. He hadn’t seen the wound, obviously, but it was probably terrible based on the way it hurt. Her hand traveled up to his cheek, cupping it. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so, so sorry. Come on, we have to get you to a hospital.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I have to deal with Jameson. You can talk to your family and make sure your back yard gets cleaned up. Try not to freak anyone out.”

“Then we’ll go to the hospital?”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Sure. We’ll say I was attacked by a rabid raccoon or something.”

Pacifica’s mouth tensed, eyes flashing, but then she was up and making her way to her parents, and Dipper was left feeling probably as guilty as she was. Sighing, he moved carefully to stand, yanking the stake out of the dead vampire. Then he was towering over Jameson, pointing it at him, waiting for him to fully come to.

It took a few seconds, but once Dipper tapped the end of the spear to his breastbone, Jameson’s eyes snapped open. “Good morning, sunshine,” Dipper grinned, tilting his head mockingly.

Jameson groaned, rolling onto his side and curling into himself. “Why does my body hurt so badly?”

“Dunno,” Dip shrugged. “I guess it depends on how long you were a vampire. You’re human now, so maybe your body is deteriorating from the inside? Or it could be that you just passed out and hit solid ground. That always kicks me in the ass. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Human?” he gasped, gazing up at Dipper with wide eyes. Huh—they were hazel. “You killed Sebastian?”

“Yep. Staked through the long-dead heart.” Dipper pressed the tip of the stake into Jameson’s cheek, smearing undead blood there. “Now, you have two choices. You can get up, walk away as a human, and disappear. Become a brand new person. Or—I can kill you right now. Which, let’s be honest, is an ending you deserve.”

Fear crept into Jameson’s eyes, and he shook his head frantically. “No, no killing necessary. I’ll go. I’ll even take Sebastian with me—“

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Dipper glared, digging the spear further into his cheek. Jameson winced. “Hell no. The body stays with me until he’s dust at sunrise.” If Jameson took Sebastian to another coven and they revived him with undead blood, he’d come back and then the whole process would start again. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Jameson scrambled away and limped out of the back garden, leaving only the sound of Pacifica’s gentle murmurs and her parents’ confused and frightened voices. Sighing, Dipper returned to Sebastian’s body, easing to a part of the ground that wasn’t soaked through. Nausea rose in his throat, staring at the mess he’d made.

He wondered heavily what separated himself from the monster he’d brutally murdered without question.

Dipper’s hands and lips trembled. He didn’t know.

Chapter Text

Unmasked

Pacifica’s parents dismissed everyone at the party via one staff member, including the extra hired help, much to their chagrin. After the house—mansion—was cleared out, the only two employees who had been made privy to the gruesome situation outside came to help clean up what they could. They made no complaints, especially after being promised overtime pay. Dipper idly assumed it had to be a lot for them to remain silent. He wondered if they would gossip about it later. Maybe tell their kids someday about how their boss and his wife had been attacked by creatures of the night. Would they leave out the part where Dipper had beaten one to death? Would they tell them how he’d instructed them to chain up what was left of the body for it to burn once the sun rose?

He was numb as he followed Pacifica. They passed through the screened in porch, the kitchen—the same way he’d gone to go outside—then towards the foyer where they climbed the grand staircase. He was glad they didn’t have carpet. They were tracking mud and blood all over the hardwood floors. Another thing to clean.

“This is my room,” Pacifica said softly, opening the door to a room tucked in the back corner. “There’s a bathroom attached over there. I’ll go get you some clean clothes.”

Dipper nodded silently, looking around as she left on hesitant feet. There was a big window that had to overlook where the crime scene was; he was grateful her curtains were just opaque enough. He’d seen enough of it to be burned into the back of his eyelids. Her bed sat in the middle of the room, much larger than was needed for one person, decorated in varying shades of deep blues and purples. A vanity and a dresser on the left wall next to the closet. And the ensuite on the right behind a sliding door.

It was spacious and pristine, tiled white from floor to ceiling. The only wood tones were the cabinets under the double sink, a linen closet, and a teak wall in the standalone shower. Dipper gazed longingly at the soaker tub, wishing he had enough time for a bath. But Paz would be back soon, and he only needed to clean off what he could until he got fixed up at the hospital. Resigned, he grabbed a bar of soap from its dish and turned the water on in the sink, as hot as he could suffer through.

Did marble stain? He hoped not as he watched the old blood wash down the drain, mixed with the steaming water and soap bubbles.

His fingers began trembling again. Damn it. It was all under his fingernails, too. Dipper scrubbed aggressively, eventually having to remove his jacket and shirt to wash up to his elbows, as well. When he looked up, catching the sight of himself in the mirror, he swallowed audibly. Then he moved to his chest, shoulders, throat, jaw, face. Everywhere. Everywhere. It was everywhere.

Knock knock knock.

Dipper jumped, dropping the soap with a thud, noticing grimly that it had turned from white to pink. Blowing out a breath, he shook his head at himself and braced his hands against the counter. “Yeah,” he croaked, “come in.”

Pacifica stepped through the door carefully, neatly folded clothes in her arms. “Hey, I…” She trailed off; Dipper flicked his eyes to her image in the mirror. She had changed and cleaned up, but a wave of frustration and guilt hit him when he saw her own ashamed expression. Then he looked to himself, seeing through her eyes—Dipper, leaned over the messy sink, dripping in suds and resembling a brick wall in how tense he was. And also looking like something out of a slasher film considering his wound had begun bleeding faster. He hadn’t even felt it since walking inside. He still didn’t feel it. He wondered if that was bad.

“I’m fine, Pacifica,” he mumbled, dropping his head between his shoulders. Hiding, because he was a liar. “You can leave the clothes.”

“Take a seat, Dipper,” she ordered, her voice gentle. Too exhausted to argue, Dipper shuffled back to the toilet and slumped against the cold porcelain. Meanwhile, Pacifica set the clothes on a clean surface and grabbed a white washcloth from the linen closet. She dipped it in the hot water still streaming from the faucet before kneeling in front of him, bracing one hand on his knee. A knee that was still bloodied; it painted her palm and fingers instantly.

“You almost got soap in the…bite,” she murmured, visibly struggling with the last word as she wiped carefully around the area.

“‘S’fine.” He barely got the mushed sentence out—really more like a syllable. And a half.

Pacifica went quiet as she continued to wipe him down, much softer than he had been. Dipper stared outwardly at her as she did. Her makeup was minimal again, as it had been earlier in the day. Jesus, that felt so far away. She wore a cream sweater and a pair of jeans now. And her hair had lost all the curl, now merely braided back. It was wet, too. She must have showered. How long had he been in her room and bathroom?

“I heard what you said to Jameson,” she said softly, suddenly, glancing at him. “Did you mean it? Would you have killed him?”

Dipper shook his head in small motions. “It was just a bluff.”

“Why are you all in your head about killing Sebastian?”

He froze, but she continued to wipe away the evidence of his first murder. First—fuck, hopefully only. “You lost all confidence when Jameson left,” Pacifica added. “You completely shut down.”

“I…” Dipper breathed in shock, shaking his head again. “I didn’t even stop. I killed him without a single thought.” That was a lie, too; he’d thought about nothing but killing him.

“You mean like he did to others?”

“...Yes. Like him.”

Pacifica snorted faintly. “He murdered innocent people, Dipper—he told me that. He changed humans into vampires without their consent. He probably did a number of other atrocities that I refuse to name.” She lifted her eyes to his, the earnestness in those blue depths stealing his breath. She brushed the washcloth over his eyebrow as she persevered. “You are nothing like him. You protected my family and a whole room of strangers. And you stopped him from hurting anyone else in the future.”

“But, I…” Dipper’s chin wobbled, hot and salty tears resting in his waterline. There was a lump in his throat, making his voice thick, slow, bulky. “I destroyed him.”

“And he’ll be destroyed again in the morning. You think he had another fate coming? Dipper. The difference between you and him is that you care about the lives of others. And in my opinion, if you have to sacrifice one life for hundreds, thousands of others, then a monster’s isn’t the worst choice.” Pacifica dropped the towel and swept her knuckles along his cheekbone, picking up a few tears along the way. “You did what you had to do. He would have killed you. I would have killed you. So get out of your head and move on.”

Dipper laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “That last sentence could’ve been nicer,” he accused, giving her his lopsided smile.

She smiled back, a hint of relief in her eyes. “I never claimed to be nice.” Dipper nodded, leaning into her hand, surprised that her words had actually comforted him. He’d move on. It’d be a bitch to work through, but he’d return to normal somehow. Paz cleared her throat, retracting her hand and grabbing the washcloth to once more clean him up. “Don’t forget, I’m still taking you to the hospital.”

Dip groaned, rolling his eyes. “Do I have to? I feel fine. It’ll probably heal up in like a week.”

“Yes, you dumbass.”

-

He supposed he might have been proving Pacifica right by getting on his bike Saturday morning, determined to find his camping gear like he’d originally planned. Yeah, it was a dumbass move to ignore the doctor’s Rest Decree, but it was his first weekend in Gravity Falls, and Mabel would be back by the end of next week. She’d have activities listed down every page in a one subject notebook for them—and he’d have to do at least half of them just to get some of her energy out. He swore she was like a golden retriever sometimes. Either way, he was going to hike up his favorite trail and enjoy a quiet night drawing the constellations, roasting marshmallows, and taking a much needed break from society.

Dipper hopped on his bike and drove onto the street, his new items tucked safely in his backpack, and glanced around for a restaurant, his stomach cramping in hunger. There was a diner, a few fast food joints, and some other pricey places that he didn't intend on stopping at—but nothing really sounded appealing, anyway. Just as he had resigned to being hungry until he returned home, that's when he saw some balloons tied to a stop sign near the edge of town.

On the sign was a poster board zip tied to the pole, reading in big sharpied lettering: Bailey's Benefit - Ten Dollar Plates. He peered down the road with the decorated stop sign, spotting another few road warnings with balloons bobbing in the wind. Dipper followed the trail of rainbows, and when he finally reached the end, he was surprised to find a giant, dilapidated old barn in a field, crowds spilling out of the entrance, and the scent of grilled meat in the air.

Dipper parked, pulled his backpack over his not-sore shoulder, and strode casually to the line that reached past the fence. He didn't know who Bailey was, but he supposed this was a better way to spend his money than giving it to a greedy corporation. The line moved quickly, to his delight; soon enough, he was at the wide entrance, inhaling the scents of barbecue and burning coals.

The barn had been emptied of farm equipment and was instead lined with rusted and new grills alike to the right. To the left were long tables filled with mass-prepared batches of vegetables and other sides. He copied everyone in front of him by grabbing a paper plate and a package of plastic silverware. By the time he reached the end of the line, his plate was piled with food that was already making him drool. He grabbed a water and a Coke, tucking them in his elbow as he reached in his back pocket for his wallet, balancing his plate in his free hand, too.

Shit. He stared at the two dollars in his wallet. Had he really spent that much on his camping supplies?

"Excuse me," the lady before him said gently. He stood before the last table, where everyone was expected to pay. "Is everything okay?"

Dipper grimaced, shoving his wallet back into his pocket and trading it for his phone. "I'm so sorry. Do you accept Cashapp?"

The woman, middle-aged with smile lines and crow's feet, Oh'ed and started searching under her metal cash box, frowning when she moved some other papers around. "Damn, I swear I just... Hey, Paz! Do you know the handle for the Cashapp?"

P—what—who?

Dipper’s jaw dropped as none other than Pacifica Northwest came around the side of the barn, looking nothing like the rich girl he’d grown so accustomed to. Her hair was in a bun atop her head, bangs brushed to the sides and clinging to her sweaty temples. No makeup to be seen, not even mascara. Baggy band t-shirt from the nineties and cutoff jean shorts. Legs covered in splatters of mud leftover from so many rainy days. Sun-bleached, dirty sneakers.

What the hell. Pacifica caught sight of him, and her once content expression fell too, a perfect mirror of his. Except, a wide, shit-eating grin crossed his face immediately after, and he had to actually set his items down before his laughter burst out.

The cashier swiveled her brunette head as Dipper doubled over, wiping at his eyes. "Pacifica," she asked, an eyebrow reaching her hairline, which only made him laugh harder, "do you know this guy?"

"Unfortunately," Pacifica grumbled as she approached. "Here's the Cashapp handle, Mrs. Bennett," she said, handing a paper to the woman. "You should probably tape it down this time so it doesn't fly off anymore."

Dipper sucked in a long breath, trying to calm down. But then he saw Pacifica's sour expression and he giggled again.

"You're right," Mrs. Bennett smiled. "Thank you. Um...would you and your friend like to go talk or something?"

Pacifica reached across the table and smacked Dipper across the head, making him gasp and wince. “Not until he pays for his plate of food,” she snapped, hitting him again. “Shut up, Dipper, Jesus. That’s enough.”

“Ow, ow—okay,” Dipper scowled, finally sober.

“You’re holding up the line!” Pacifica hissed. “Hurry up!”

“Okay!” Dipper shot back. He paid as quickly as he could, grabbed his food, and made sure Pacifica followed him to the nearest semi-empty table. Mrs. Bennett watched them all the way to their seats.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pacifica whispered angrily, fire in her aquamarine eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered back, yet he was much more joyful. This was an exciting revelation—Pacifica Northwest, leading a double life? What in the Hannah Montana… Oh, he had to put this in the journal. 

“I’m—“ Pacifica sighed shortly, dropping her head in her hands. “Oh my god. You’re not supposed to be here, you’re on bed rest. You still have fucking gauze taped to your neck!”

Dipper shrugged, smiling with all his teeth as he rested his chin in his palm smugly. “So, you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Paz groaned and thunked her forehead on the plastic table top. “I’m—I’m here for Bailey.”

“And who is that, exactly?”

“She’s the owner of Graceful. We volunteer at the soup kitchen together. And the animal shelter, sometimes.”

Dipper’s hand slowly fell into his lap. “Okay…” he mumbled, trying to absorb the fact that she had begun volunteering in her spare time. “Why?”

"Bailey has stage three breast cancer. She can't afford the medical bills and keep her shop open. Her partner works, but it's not enough." Pacifica finally raised her head and looked around, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The whole town is raising money for her. The owners of the soup kitchen had the idea, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett."

Dipper paused. Something didn't make sense... "Paz, why can't you pay for her bills?" Dipper asked, frowning.

"Well..." She trailed off, chewing on her unglossed lip. "Because these people don't know who I am," she finally explained, dejected. "I gave them a fake last name when I started volunteering a year ago. I come here every weekend without my parents knowing. They think I'm out on the boat, and they never check, thank god—but they do suspect I'm not where I say I am." She sighed, crossing her arms.

"That...still doesn't make sense to me."

"I tried—I tried to pay her bills. I have enough saved up. I told her all about me. She knows I'm filthy rich, but she didn't want my money. She told me to keep it and use it like I intended. And she knows that if I do pay her medical bills, my parents would see that massive amount leave my account and question me. She doesn't want my fake identity here being shot to hell."

Fake identity? Dipper shook his head, flabbergasted. "You...I don't... When did all this even happen? What started this?"

Pacifica squirmed in place, uncrossing and recrossing her arms. “I just—I was in a tutoring session one day—class, I guess—and I just got so sick, suddenly, of hearing about how much it cost to teach me, and how I should be learning how to sit and look pretty, like a princess, or how this was all going to be useless when I get married, and I just—“ Paz paused her aggravated rant, pressing her lips into a harsh line and looking up at the sky. When she glanced back at him with glossy eyes and a thick voice, he almost wanted to cry, too. “I realized I didn’t want to be what my parents wanted. I didn’t want to end up like them. Bitter, y’know?” Paz sniffed and brushed the back of her hand against her nose. “And unkind. I wanted to learn things that rewarded me. Because I saw all these women in the workforce, and everyone else too, striving for what they have, and… 

“They all looked so much happier than me.”

Dipper turned his head when her voice broke, hiding his own heartbreak. God, that was fucking sad.

"Dipper, you can't tell anyone about this," Pacifica pleaded. "I need things to stay normal for now."

Normal? Nothing about this was normal! Ughhh, what the hell was he actually supposed to do with this information? Expose her? No way—just looking at her, the way her shoulders sagged, was enough to make him recoil from the idea. Dipper covered his face with both hands, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. The stress alone from keeping a secret this big would give him a headache. 

"Soon enough I'll have all the money I need saved up—my own, hard-earned money—to get my own place, a car, and everything else I need. I've done all the research. I know exactly what I have to do."

He peeked through his fingers, seeing the desperate hope, that earnestness, in her expression. Holy shit, this was real. This was so insane that this was happening in real time. And it explained so much—the softness, the creepily genuine compliments, the handful of conversations they’d had since Mabel’s graduation. Holy shit. 

“Please, Dipper,” Paz insisted firmly. “Don’t say anything. Call it a favor. I’ll pay you back someday for it.”

Well, if she was offering. “Sure,” he replied, blowing out a sigh. Unbelievable, honestly, this whole situation. Even if he did out her, who would believe him? She’d smash his phone if he took photos. Jesus fucking Christ.

Relief flooded across her face and she smiled brilliantly, like a thousand suns. “Thank you,” she said, soft and grateful. “I’ll let you eat now.”

“Wait—“ Dipper blurted as she stood from the table. “Have you eaten yet? I can share.”

“Oh, um.” Paz blinked, brushing her bangs even further back. “Yeah, sure,” she agreed, smiling again. It was polite, but still genuine. And still weird to see, after having the rich-girl image ingrained for so long. “I gotta make sure it’s okay with Mrs. Bennett first, so I’ll be right back.”

Dipper watched her as she left. After all he had witnessed from her, it made a little sense. Especially when explained. This must be a way to get away from her parents without hurting them. But if they found out, it would likely ruin everything they’d built—their image, her trust fund. (Obviously, one had more weight than the other.) But wasn’t that the eventual point? For her to break away from them and live independently? Isn’t that what everyone wanted? Freedom?

His can of Coke opened with a hiss of carbonation, and he sipped it in contemplation, keeping his observant gaze on Pacifica as she talked warmly to Mrs. Bennett. He was cast a few uncertain glances, but Pacifica soon came back with a Diet Coke, a package of her own utensils, and a plate.

“I have a question,” Dipper stated eagerly, hungry for more information.

“Another?” Paz raised an eyebrow as she scooped portions of food for herself.

He ignored that. “What kind of job have you been doing to earn money?”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “well, most of the time I waitress at one of the mom-and-pop restaurants. It was frustrating at first, figuring everything out, but the tips are good and the people are nice. It’s only on the weekends, of course, so it’s taken a long time to build up a lot.”

“What about your identity? What about the paperwork?”

“They agreed not to say anything as long as I work the truck on Saturday mornings.”

“How do you get back and forth? Don’t you have a personal driver or something?”

Pacifica pointed at his plate. “Eat,” she ordered, then dug in too. Frowning in mild aggravation, he took a few bites (it was delicious), then dove straight back into his interrogation. He wished he had his journal on him today.

“So? The driver situation?”

Paz rolled her eyes and sipped her drink. “Yeah, I have a personal driver. He picks me up at four A.M., drops me off at the dock where my boat is, then Mr. James, the restaurant owner, picks me up and then I start work around five-forty-five.”

She owned a boat. Not a family boat. Her own personal one. Yeah, that tracked. “But you’re off the clock this Saturday?” he said, tilting his head.

“Yeah, Mr. James closed for the weekend to help with today’s benefit. There’s another event tomorrow. He’s around here somewhere.”

Dipper hummed in acknowledgment, nodding and returning to his food to turn over the information in his head. She sure was a busy person. Busier than him. He glanced up once, noticing faint shadows under her eyes. She looked so…human. Oh, that reminded him— “How are you feeling, by the way?” he asked quietly. “And your family?”

Paz picked up on the underlying question by his solemn tone. “They’ll be fine,” she grimaced, shoving her remaining food around with her fork. “I mean, I hope they will. It isn’t like they’d talk to me about it.”

“What about you?” he murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I, um…” She shook her head, bit her lip. “No,” she finally answered. Her voice was hushed, eyes dim as they stared down at the table. “I don’t know. Not right now.”

“I’m here, y’know,” Dipper said with solemn eyes. “If you want me to listen, I will.”

Paz held his gaze for a few beats too long—Dipper felt like he was being inspected. “Thank you,” she replied finally, serious in the way she set her eyebrows, lips barely moving as the words passed. “Dipper, what…I mean, are we…friends now?”

He blinked. And blinked again. Thought about being sarcastic, but… “I guess we kinda are,” he smiled warmly. “Trauma-bonded, too. Definitely the weirdest dynamic I’ve ever seen in a friendship.” He caught the pleased grin she tried to hide by ducking her head.

She recovered a second later, asking curiously, “So what are your plans for tomorrow? We could use some help with the event if you’re up to it.”

“Oh, sorry, I can’t. I’m going camping tonight and tomorrow.”

“Camping?” She tilted her head, a mocking smirk crossing her face. “I thought nerds didn’t go outside.” Dipper’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh, hey—I actually had a question for you. Well, more of a request, really.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s an elderly woman, Mrs. Holmes. She’s a widow. She thinks her husband is haunting their home.”

“Ah,” Dipper nodded. “You want me to check it out?”

“Yeah. I’m coming with you, though. She doesn’t trust men much. She always says it’s a miracle she married one,” Paz said with a soft chuckle.

“Okay, well, the only time I can go is after my shift at the Mystery Shack on Monday.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” she shrugged. “I’ll drop by, then you can drive us. Give me your phone.”

Her sudden order made him blink, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

She held her hand out expectantly. “Your phone? So I can put my number in there?”

“Oh.” He handed it over and got it back a few seconds later, only to purse his lips at her contact name. Paz Noir, with a sparkle emoji, a pair of lips, and a rose. “Noir? Is that really the last name you chose?”

Paz smiled, tilting her head in that haughty way he was so accustomed to. “I think it’s quite fitting,” she declared, smugness, or possibly pride, radiating from her. “Sophisticated, don’t you agree?”

Dipper shook his head and laughed. “Whatever you say, Paz. I gotta get going. Talk to you later.”

-

The trail was two miles up the side of a small mountain; then there was a clearing where hikers could rest, or campers could camp. Dipper decided this was a good place to settle, though he did move further into the woods than others would have. He set up everything quickly with practiced, confident movements. By the time he was finished, the sun had set, and he was climbing a thick tree to get an unobstructed view of the night sky.

Millions of glittering stars dusted the heavens. Too many for any one person to count. It was captivating—how vast space was compared to Earth, or even the galaxy he resided in. He wasn’t even a tenth of an atom. And the things smaller than him, including atoms… How humbling it was to realize it all, even in the smallest capacity his mind could handle.

His eyes darted back at forth between the journal in his hands and the blanket of sparkling blue above him, half-clouded with possible rain. Up to the right was his namesake, the Big Dipper asterism, part of the Ursa Major constellation. He tracked the circle of other asterisms that made it all up, awed like he always was. Well—to be fair, he’d only grown fond of the stars in recent years, after he’d turned thirteen. He was connected to it all somehow. It wasn’t just a birthmark. He felt it.

Dipper checked his watch after finishing his third sketch, surprised to find that it had already been three hours. He stretched as much as he could on his sturdy branch and made his way back down the tree so he could start a fire and eat something warm. The rain was due in an hour, so he had to move swiftly.

It was all muscle memory by this point. Gather the kindling, light the fire, cook the food on the pan (sausage, potatoes, and onions—killer dinner). Drink some water. Dipper finished up and cleaned his campsite efficiently before sliding into his tent and flipping through his journal one more time. It was filled with entries of people he found interesting, sketches of landscapes, constellations, and of aforementioned people, and of course the paranormal. 

He thought back to the other night, his fingers lingering on the bandage taped to his neck. It had only happened two days ago, but it felt like weeks. Months. The bite only hurt when he focused on it, but it was already beginning to scab over. Soon enough, it would just be a silver scar. He still felt immensely guilty for his brutality, but it was fading too. Slowly, minusculely. He feared it wasn’t the same for Pacifica.

She put on a brave front, but Dipper had a plethora of experience in reading Mabel’s facial expressions. It was easier for him to see the shadows in her eyes. He wondered if she was healing on her own, or if she was just ignoring the whole thing. Could be. It was what her parents were doing, and had always done. Could be a learned trait.

He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the light sprinkle of rain on his tent. Friends. Barely, but yeah, they were. If Mabel could do it, he could, too. She probably saw what he was able to see now.

She was more different than he ever imagined.

-

The next day, he awoke at dawn to the peaceful sound of birds singing. The breeze was invigorating, filled with scents of freshly watered plants and soil—life. He breathed it in. Listened to the wildlife around him. Stared at the sky through the shady trees as the sun slowly breached the horizon.

This is what he loved about camping. The simplicity, the absolute tranquility of nature at work.

He ate a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and half an apple. Then he hiked further up the mountain, journal and snacks tucked into his backpack, looking for another landscape to sketch. It wasn’t like anything else wasn’t worth recording—everything was beautiful in its own way—but he was looking for something that evoked a feeling.

Finally, he came to a resting area and sat on a bench near a miniature cliff that provided an adrenaline-inducing view. Down the side was a sea of pine trees, and below that was a small lake shimmering next to the base of the mountain, probably two miles or so away from where he was. Birds swooped overhead, crying their joy in their mid-morning flight.

Dipper squinted. Wait. Had he…? He pulled out his journal and flipped to his desired page. Yeah, this was it. This was what he’d drawn Thursday morning. The nostalgic one with liquid golden stars. It was just at a different angle.

Strange. He hadn’t recognized it before, but now it was irrefutable.

Frowning, he turned to a clean page and began drawing his current point of view. He’d gotten the shape of the lake wrong, and there were more trees than he’d previously imagined. But it was certainly the same—he was just staring at it from above rather than below. All that was missing were the stars. The waterfall of gold in the sky.

Something nagged at him the rest of the day, like an occasional poke against his back. Enough to get his attention, to be sure, but there was no context. Why was he agitated? He trusted his gut more than anything, however this time…he just wasn’t being pointed anywhere.

Back in his tent, afternoon heat pressing down on the Earth, Dipper sighed through his nose and turned his phone on to check the weather once more. There wasn’t much service up in the mountains, of course, so it made the loading speed crawl at a snail’s pace.

Ding. Ding.

Dipper ignored his messages in favor of waiting on the weather app to load completely. Okay, no rain, partly cloudy, sixty degrees Fahrenheit through the night… Not bad. He probably wouldn’t even need his sleeping bag most of the night.

He moved onto his texts. Only one from Mabel, a selfie of her and Carsen with the caption: Love you!

Man, how sad was that? Practically zero friends—

Dipper went to Paz’s contact and typed out, So what’s the event about anyway?

Her response came a few minutes later. Wine tasting. Know anything about that, loser?

D: You act like being an oenophile is something to brag about. No way that’s what you guys are doing.

P: Fine, it’s an auction. But I am drinking wine.

D: What’s being auctioned?

P: Some autographed stuff, some antiques, whatever else. I’m leaving soon, though. All I did was help set up chairs this morning.

D: Sounds thrilling.

P: Oh it is. You’re missing out on the adventure of a lifetime.

D: How are you getting home?

P: Worried about me, Pines?

D: Well. You are drinking.

P: I don’t even have my license yet.

D: So… you have a boating license but not a driver’s license?

P: It’s not that weird, Dipper…

D: Not weird. It’s just rich person behavior.

P: Mrs. Bennett will take me back to my boat and then Graham will bring me back to Hell. Satisfied?

Dipper frowned a bit. Did her tone change? Yeah. See you tomorrow, Paz.

He didn’t get a response.

Chapter Text

Goodbye

“You know you still owe me dinner.”

“Ugh, seriously? You’re still on that?”

Dipper scowled in irritation. “Hell yes I’m still on that. I never got paid for going to that stupid party. And I saved your life, so maybe a little thanks are in order?”

Paz smacked the back of his head. “Real humble, Dipshit,” she snapped, ignoring his hiss of pain. “Being a hero wasn’t enough? God, it’s like, you’re the exact opposite of Mabel sometimes.”

“We’re siblings, not carbon copies of each other.”

“Twins.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath, “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

“OF COURSE I’M IN A BAD MOOD,” she shouted. Suddenly she resembled a cartoon character with the way her eyes blazed. He could almost see steam shooting out of her ears, or her hair rising in tendrils of flame. “YOU’RE BEING AN ASSHOLE!”

“Jesus, stop yelling!” Dipper barked. “Just—go over there and play your freakin’ Game Boy! I still have an hour left.”

Paz muffled a squeal, fuming as she stomped over to the chair in the corner and slammed down into the seat. Dipper dragged his hands over his face. Why, why, why did she have to come early and pissed off? As soon as she stepped foot in the gift shop, her eyes had landed on him, sharp as ever, and her mouth twisted into a grimace. Like she loathed him all of a sudden. Weren’t they supposed to be friends? The minute he commented on her emotional state, she’d gone from icy, to annoyed, to downright stormy.

So that’s where they were: Monday, five P.M., Dipper at the register and Pacifica in the corner, both indignant as hell, glares on both their faces. He didn’t know what he did. Maybe it wasn’t him at all. Either way, she was taking her anger out on him, and it was aggravating.

A few minutes passed. Dipper’s vexation only grew as Pacifica’s video game sounds beeped and beeped and beeped incessantly. “Could you turn that down?” he said between gritted teeth.

“I’d rather gouge my own eyes out,” Pacifica retorted, flinging daggers with those crystalline orbs.

“Dramatic b—”

“Don’t even finish that thought!” Paz snarled. “If I hear you again, I’m gonna stomp on your stupid throat.”

Dipper shook his head, exasperated. “Jesus fucking Christ. Get your shit. I’m closing early so we can just go and get this thing done.”

“Fine,” she glared. “But just to be clear, I’m not thrilled about riding so close to you.”

“As if I’d expect Ice Queen Pacifica to be.”

“Are you calling me prudish?”

“I’m calling you glacial.” He didn’t even know what that meant. He was just spewing shit to piss her off at this point. “Why are you just sitting there? Get your shit, let’s go!”

-

Pacifica squeezed the breath out of him, just as she had last time he’d driven her on the bike. In his backpack—that he’d forced Paz to wear—was his journal (for documentation), an EMF reader, and a spirit box. If it was just a normal haunting and not some supercharged monster ghost bent on revenge, he’d need these things to communicate. He’d forgone a camera. He wasn’t really looking to prove the existence of ghosts (he already knew they existed). He was just going to be there to move it on. Hopefully.

The sun hung low in the sky, dripping gradually past the horizon to eventually slumber. Dipper kinda wished he was getting ready for bed, too. But he had already made a promise, and he wasn’t about to let a little old lady be haunted for the rest of her short life.

When they arrived at the house, Dipper was instantly charmed. It definitely had that old lady cottagecore vibe, with an abundance of flowers and vines crawling on the siding and hanging off the porch. He and Pacifica walked in tense silence to the powder blue front door and knocked a few times. The tiny woman who answered had to be in her late seventies, maybe early eighties. Her hair was a dull gray, curly and cropped, bifocals resting at the bridge of her hooked nose, and sagging wrinkles everywhere. “Oh, Pacifica!” she exclaimed, smiling sweetly at her. “Come in, come in.”

Dipper followed cautiously behind Pacifica, unsure if he’d been included in the invitation. The three of them stood in the foyer for a few moments, giving him a chance to look around. It was cozy: warm tones, lots of patterns, pretty knick-knacks on the walls. “You must be Mr. Pines,” the elderly lady greeted cordially.

It seemed like he was worried for nothing. “Oh, you can just call me Dipper,” he said, giving her his best lopsided smile.

“Well, thank you for coming, Dipper. Pacifica tells me you’re some sort of ghost hunter?”

“Yes ma’am, kind of.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Edna,” Paz assured gently, a soft smile gracing her face—for the first time since he’d seen her today, he noted dismally. “Dipper’s going to take care of you and your house.”

“Come on into the kitchen, I made some dinner for us all. I hope you like pancakes,” Edna said. Dipper, now much more relaxed, trailed behind the two women into her pastel yellow kitchen adorned with cutesy flowers and white trim. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the space. Dip inhaled deeply as he sat at her small rounded table, dropping his bag behind him. Pacifica sat next to him. She’d dressed casually in some kind of baggy black cargo pants, another band t-shirt, and the same sun bleached sneakers. He’d worn something equally as comfortable, but he didn’t look near as stylish in just ripped jeans and his black hoodie. Pretty much what he liked to wear all the time.

“You know, I never really believed in ghosts until John died,” Edna commented with a gentle, sad sigh. “It’s been going on for two years now. All the knocks and footsteps and what have you. I just want him to be at peace.” After she smiled wistfully, she set their plates down in front of them.

“Did you experience anything before John passed?” Dipper asked, wondering if maybe his death just made activity pick up.

Edna shook her head, though. “Never once in my life have I ever experienced anything like this.”

Dipper hummed in acknowledgement, taking a bite of pancake drizzled in syrup before reaching for his journal. Pen poised, he continued, “What else has been going on?”

“Oh, well… I have a lot of dreams.”

“What are they about?”

“John, mostly. It’s never anything bad. I think he just wants to talk to me, but I can never remember what he says…”

At her downcast expression, Pacifica reached out her hand and rubbed Edna’s arm, who in turn gave her a reassuring half-smile. “Anything else?”

Edna pursed her wrinkled lips in thought. “Sometimes I see him. But I can never tell if it’s just my imagination or if it’s really him.”

“What does he look like?”

Edna stood from her chair with an old-lady grunt, then grabbed a frame off a shelf. “This is the last picture ever taken of him.” Dipper had meant to ask what the vision of him looked like, to see if it was her imagination or if it was an apparition. But he felt it might have been rude to correct himself, so he took the frame and stared at the photo of John. He was square-faced, with old fashioned reading glasses and an easygoing smile, as wrinkled as his wife. “He was the love of my life,” Edna added.

“How long were you two married?” Pacifica asked gently.

“We got married in nineteen-fifty-two, when we both turned eighteen. He spent two years before that, while we were in high school, trying to court me,” Edna smiled, laughing softly. “I had been so bitter towards men for so long that it was hard to believe he wanted to actually marry me. My father and brothers weren’t very nice people. But, eventually, he won my heart. We’d be married sixty-seven years by next month if he hadn’t died.”

“You miss him,” Paz murmured. Dipper saw her eyes sparkle.

“Of course I do, honey,” Edna nodded, her eyes softening. “I think about him everyday. Sometimes I’ll be watering my flowers, or crocheting on the couch, and I just wish he was there next to me. Talking about whatever nonsense he felt like. Holding my hand. Making me laugh. Grief doesn’t ever leave, sweetheart. You only grow around it. And I’m sure when my time comes, I’ll wish he was there with me.”

Dipper swallowed against the lump in his throat, staring down at the few words he’d written. And then he started scribbling in shorthand her story a few spaces down. He wanted to preserve her words. It was a good love story that he didn’t want to forget. And maybe he’d publish it someday, to make it immortal. Or perhaps he’d just keep it to himself and refer back to it when he felt lonely.

“I’m sure he misses you too,” Pacifica told her, giving a tiny smile. “What were your favorite things about him?”

“Oh, he was quite a talented man,” she grinned. “He was a great storyteller. He loved to play guitar before the arthritis settled in. He cared meticulously for me after the birth of our daughter—didn’t shy away from a single thing. He was a good soul, a wonderful father… I couldn’t have been given a better blessing than him.”

God, old people were precious sometimes.

“That’s enough of that,” Edna sighed, though love still shined in her eyes. “How did you two meet?”

Pacifica glanced at Dipper the same time he glanced at her. Both grimaced at each other, their disdain from earlier returning. Paz turned back to Edna and smiled tightly. “We just became reacquainted recently at his twin sister’s high school graduation,” she explained. “She and I are good friends.”

“But you two knew each other before?” Edna asked.

“Barely,” Dipper answered, giving the same uncomfortable expression as Paz. “We didn’t like each other much back then.”

Edna shifted her gaze between them for a moment. “It seems you two don’t like each other now,” she chuckled. “Oh, but don’t you worry. Things always work themselves out somehow.”

“I’m not worried in the slightest,” Paz sniffed, casting a nasty glare over at Dip. “He can shove it for all I care.”

Dipper’s eye twitched, jaw clenching, ire rising. “I dunno what’s got you all uptight this time, but I didn’t do anything—“

“Whatever, loser,” she interrupted. “I don’t care.”

Fuck you. The thought was so strong that it sat on his tongue heavily, ready to jump, but his clenched teeth kept him from speaking. Also, he didn’t want to curse in front of Edna. “Whatever,” he grumbled eventually. “Mrs. Edna, when should we start trying to contact your late husband?”

“Oh,” she mumbled, looking uneasily at him. “Well, the sounds usually start sometime around midnight. It wakes me up most of the time.”

“Hopefully that’s not the case tonight,” Dipper said gently.

“Oh, but, I was…” Edna trailed off, frowning. “I was hoping to speak to him before he left. Or at least, maybe you could give him a message for me?”

Pacifica grasped Edna’s hand and rubbed her thumb across her knuckles in soothing motions. “Of course. We’d be happy to relay whatever you want. We just want to make sure you get your rest.”

She smiled gratefully and patted Pacifica’s arm. “In that case, I think I’ll retire now. Be sure to finish your dinner before it gets too cold to eat.”

Edna left, her plate only half eaten, making Dipper look down at his own food. He’d only taken a bite, too enthralled with Edna’s adoring words about her husband. He wanted to eat more—because it was absolutely scrumptious—but Paz’s attitude towards him had ruined his appetite. He studied her while she took silent bites of her pancakes, wondering what in the world had made her suddenly hate him.

She noticed his stare, stopping mid-bite to scowl. “What?” she barked, eyes narrowed as she frowned harshly.

Dipper wanted to try a new approach. Maybe catch her off guard, shock her out of the animosity. So he smiled, lopsided and innocently. “Nothing,” he murmured, tilting his head and dragging his gaze over her.

Paz stiffened and turned bright red, eyes widening fractionally. Ha—victory. “Who the hell do you think you’re ogling?” she exclaimed, incredulous. (Okay, slight victory—she was definitely still mad.) “Keep your eyes to yourself, lecher!”

“Lecher?” Dipper repeated, his voice carrying the faintest of a laugh. “What makes you think I’m lecherous?”

Pacifica paused, then a mischievous, belittling glimmer flashed in those icy eyes. “Oh, so you’re a virgin. Got it.”

Dipper groaned under his breath. “Please. You can leave that asinine bullshit in the twenty-tens.”

“Oh, but I bet you’re completely a virgin. Maybe a kiss here and there.” Pacifica leaned over the table, grinning tauntingly, her voice lowering to a husky whisper. “But you’ve never really touched a woman, have you?”

Dipper frowned, avoiding the urge to swallow. She wasn’t about to make him feel bad for his (non-existent) sex life.

“Never had a girl sit in your lap,” she murmured, glancing down. Smirking. “Never ran your hands across bare skin. Never heard that little whimper in your ear.”

He held his breath. No, he’d never had any of those things. He’d gotten close… but it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of that it hadn’t happened for him. “And I assume at your big age, you’ve had all the sex in the world?” Dipper asked mockingly, tilting his head, eyebrows set into hard lines.

Her grin expanded. “Certainly, nerd. Pretty girls like me get whatever they want.”

“It’s funny how you think that’s something to brag about,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Pacifica’s face fell into something angry. “It’s funny how you think I need your approval,” she hissed. “I can do whatever and whoever I want.”

“Hmm. Must be exhausting, always needing validation.”

“Fuck you, Pines. This is exactly—“

“I’m terribly sorry,” Edna broke in, startling them both as she shuffled back into the kitchen, holding a scrap of paper in her hand. “I completely forgot to give you my message. Hopefully I will wake up when you start speaking to John, but… Anyways.” She smiled kindly and handed the paper to Paz. “Make yourselves at home, alright? Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he and Paz echoed.

Dipper sighed through his nose, staring in concern at Pacifica. His new friend, supposedly. But how were they gonna be friends if all they were gonna do was argue? “Paz,” he began hesitantly. “Will you please tell me what’s going on? I don’t want to keep fighting like this.” Banter, sure. Teasing, whatever. Sarcasm, great. But screaming at each other was exhausting.

She pressed her lips together, eyes turning dark, stormy. “Fine. All you do is act like I’m a spoiled bitch,” she glared. “Even after everything I told you, after everything you’ve seen and that we’ve been through, you act like I’m worthless.”

What? The hell? Hello?

Dipper’s eyebrows screwed up in confusion. “When did I ever say you were worthless?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t have to say it,” she snapped. “I can just tell. That comment about my boating license? Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

The text? Oh, good god. “Pacifica, I didn’t mean—“

“Save it, Dipper. I’m not some stuck up rich girl anymore.”

“I know that,” he stressed, huffing out a frustrated breath. “I don’t think you’re worthless, Paz. It’s just jarring to see you change so much.”

She rolled her eyes during his sentences. “Oh, fucking—whatever, you asshole.”

Anger rose in him, making him stand from his seat and brace his hands on the table. “Do you think it’s fucking easy for me to be friends with someone who grew up with everything? You talk so casually about money like it grows on trees! You’ve never had to go hungry. You’ve never had to choose one thing over another. There are people who don’t have a dollar to their fucking name and are going into debt while the rich profit off of them!”

Paz stood as well, her ire twisting her mouth into a snarl. “That’s my parents—not me! You really think I’m that low? I am self aware, you know! I have empathy! I’m not just standing by!”

Dipper deflated slightly. She was right—she wasn’t doing nothing. Shit, had he been prejudiced against her without realizing? After all that talk about understanding her, he’d still basically called her…worthless. If he really dug deep, he could see where she was coming from—why she was so offended when she had worked so hard to be something more than just a rich white girl. “I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, gazing down at his hands. “I don’t mean to discredit you.”

“I don’t care what you have to say right now,” Pacifica declared, voice full of resentment. “I’m going to sit outside Edna’s room. Don’t bother me until you contact John. Then, once this is over, we don’t have to talk anymore.”

Dipper’s guilt gnawed at him as he watched her leave the ironically happy kitchen.

-

He sat on the couch, flipping through his journal, until midnight rolled around. Then he grabbed his spirit items and headed down the hall to where Paz lay flat on her back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. “Ready?” he asked quietly.

She took a deep breath and glanced at Edna's door. “Do you think we should wake her anyway?” she murmured, blue eyes shining even in the dark. “So she can talk to the love of her life one last time?”

“We can,” he replied, voice gentle. He crouched before her, pressing his lips into a thin line. “But there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to see or hear him.”

“I think we should,” Pacifica whispered. It seemed all her anger had fizzled out, leaving behind this quiet, somber version. “Do you think there’s a way for John to possess one of us for a minute?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dipper said reluctantly. “We’re not mediums. Something bad could happen to us.” The memory of being possessed by Bill made him shiver—he genuinely didn’t want to feel that ever again.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess you’re right.” Paz stood silently, running her fingers through her blonde locks, then entered Edna’s bedroom. Dipper followed a moment later, standing just past the doorway and watching her wake the older woman gently.

“Hmm? John?” Edna mumbled as she came to.

“Not yet. We’re about to start now. Here, let’s sit you up…” Paz looked over to him calmly, but…something was off about her. Oh; indifference. That’s what that was. Dipper’s guilt ripped through him again. “Go ahead, Dipper.”

Swallowing, Dip pulled out the EMF reader and spirit box, turning them on and setting down the box. He held the reader in the air, slowly walking around the room. Nothing lit up, but he didn’t expect it to immediately. “John,” he called out, “my name is Dipper. I’m here with your wife. Can you say something?”

The room fell into tense silence. He tried again after a few minutes. “I’m looking for John Holmes. Are you there?”

“...John…”

Dipper glanced at the spirit box. “Is that you, John? Can you say something else?”

“...Ed-na…”

Paz and Edna gasped quietly, eyes wide. Understandable. It was an intelligent response. “John, I’m here,” Edna said weakly. “I’m here.”

Dipper’s heart ached, but he pushed forward. “John, is there a message you want to relay to your wife? She’s listening.”

“...En-er-gy…”

He nodded. “Do you need energy to speak? You can use my energy. I don’t mind.”

“...I’m…here…”

“You’re here? Thank you. Thank you for being here,” Dipper said. He looked over to Edna and Pacifica again. Both women's eyes were shining with tears. “You can use my energy to speak, John.”

Silence ensued, but at least the EMF reader lit up. Dipper stayed quiet, too, waiting to see if John would drain him. But nothing happened, and Edna spoke up. “John, honey,” she croaked. “Are you still there?”

“...Sad…”

“Sad? Why are you sad?” Dip asked, trying not to choke up from the old-lady whimper Edna made.

“...Ed-na…”

Still, Dipper felt normal. Maybe John didn’t know how to take energy from him. Frowning, he stared over at Edna and Paz. What if he did let John possess him? “John—if you have something to say, you can use me. I give you permission.”

Paz looked up from the spirit box, meeting his gaze. He nodded, smiling gently to answer her unspoken question: Was he really agreeing to possession? Even though he didn’t like it when it happened with Bill, he was willing to do it this time. He wanted Edna and John to speak. He didn’t want their story to end. He wanted their love to last forever… He wanted to believe it would, because seeing his parents’ love disintegrate had been difficult, to say the least. Discouraging.

“...Dip-per…possess…”

He blew out an impressed breath; it was the most intelligent response he’d ever gotten. “Yes, John,” he nodded. “You can possess me. You can talk to Edna one last time before you go.”

“Oh, John, dear,” Edna murmured, her voice thick. Dipper gave her a reassuring smile as well.

“...Ed-na…”

That was the last thing he heard from the spirit box before his head began swimming. This time was different—he wasn’t launched out of his body. It was more like he shared the space with John. Edna had been right; he could feel the gentle nature of his soul. And he was sad. He missed her more than anything.

Dip’s mouth moved, and his voice spoke, but it wasn’t him—John was using his body to communicate. All of Dipper’s sensations were fuzzy, like the old TV’s with the static picture. “Edna,” he murmured. “I’m…here.”

“John?” Edna replied, standing slowly from the bed, her nightgown swishing around her knobbly knees. Paz stood next to her, both ladies gripping each other’s hands. “John?”

Dipper looked through John’s eyes. It was like a filter of blue gauze. “I miss you,” John-slash-Dip said faintly, face softening. “But you have to…stop worrying…about me.” John was struggling to hold onto Dipper’s body, so the words came out muted and hazy.

Edna stifled a sob, sniffing and wiping at her tears. “How can I? I love you. I miss you. Are you at peace? I want to see you all the time. I don’t know how to stop worrying.”

“I’ll be…going soon,” John said. “But I will…be waiting for you… And you’re…going to have…so many stories…to share with me… And we will…laugh again…until our bellies hurt… So I need you…to look forward…to that…”

Edna was fully crying now, making John’s heart squeeze painfully. “Don’t cry… Edna…”

She laughed-half-sobbed once. “I know,” she choked out. “I need to say something, too. Even though your chair is empty now, I still can’t bring myself to sit in it. It hurts a lot. But then I remember just sipping coffee with you right there, watching the sunrise and the birds. And then I feel a little better, knowing I’ll always have those kinds of memories. I love you, Johnny. You can move on. I promise I’ll stop worrying so much somehow. And I’ll see you later, okay?”

A sense of peace settled over John, like the soft light of dawn. “Good,” John sighed, loosening his fingers on Dipper. “Love you.”

Dip blinked a few times, casting away the gossamery feeling of John’s possession. Then the EMF reader, still gripped in his right hand, went completely dead. The room felt lighter, even through the emotions he could sense from all three living humans. John had left, really left—and he’d gotten to speak with Edna.

“Are you okay, Dip?” Paz asked, breaking the silence. He nodded.

“Thank you so much,” Edna gushed quietly, wiping her face. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this. You two…you’ve both eased my heart.”

Paz patted Edna’s hand, smiling softly. “You’re welcome,” she said, warm and happy. “I’m glad we could help.”

Dipper walked over to them both, embracing Edna snugly. “John loved you,” he mumbled, tears resting in his waterline. “Down to his very core. After his heart attack, he was worried about you, which is why he stayed. He wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself. But then he couldn’t leave, because he had to say those last words to you. He was peaceful when he left because he could finally tell you what was on his heart.

“So cry for a little bit longer if you need to. But pick yourself up and keep living, because that’s what he wanted the most.”

Edna wrapped her frail arms around his middle and cleared her throat, sniffing like she was fighting off more tears. “I don’t know how to pay you back,” she murmured, voice breaking. “You are truly kind. Just like John was. Thank you for telling me what he felt. Knowing everything is the most gracious relief.”

Dipper nodded and pulled away, smiling through his grief—partly his, partly John’s residual feelings. “Are you going to be okay now?” he asked gently.

“I believe so,” she sighed, eyes shining.

“Then we’ll get going so you can get your rest.”

He and Paz helped her back into bed before heading out, shutting the door behind them quietly, as if afraid to disturb the newly peaceful house. Dipper’s hand rested on the doorknob for merely a second, praying Edna continued to find new ways to live and cherish John’s memory. Then he and Pacifica were grabbing their belongings and using Edna’s spare key to lock her front door.

“That was…” Paz murmured, staring at the door with a melancholy expression, “incredible…”

Dipper inhaled deeply, the scent of the summer night filling his nose. “You hungry?”

-

The entire act hadn’t taken long; as Edna had said, John had turned up around midnight, and then the session lasted a total of forty minutes. Which meant that diners were still open, and Dipper was thoroughly exhausted. He needed someplace to replenish his energy. A diner with greasy food and a crispy Coca Cola had to be the perfect antidote. Ghost hangovers felt about the same as alcohol, he discovered.

He took the roads slower than normal, cautious about falling asleep behind the handlebars. Though Paz’s painful grip might have kept him awake anyway. They arrived at the only open diner, neon signs blinding in the dark and attracting a few other customers than himself and the blonde who tagged along. Even from the street, Dipper could smell the heartburn waiting for him.

Inside, the two slid into a booth opposite of each other. The waitress arrived with menus and a bored face, taking their orders on her notepad. Then she left, and Dipper set his gaze on Pacifica.

She sighed, tossing some hair over her shoulder. “What, Dipper?” she intoned. “I assume you have something else to say.”

“Yeah,” he admitted easily. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

Paz scoffed, rolling her eyes while she sat back and pressed her lips together. “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before spouting off whatever comes to your giant head.”

Giant? Okay, maybe he deserved that. “Please, Pacifica,” Dipper exhaled, determined. “I’m sorry for treating you like you’re rotten. I know that must have irritated you. I promise to never do it maliciously again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

He grinned faintly. “Well, I assume we’re gonna fight again someday. I’m sure I’ll need to tease you about it in the future.”

The waitress dropped off their drinks and food (in record time, yay), and Dip dug in immediately. Pacifica semi-picked at her plate; he felt her stare on him, but he knew she was mulling something over. “You don’t look very sorry,” she mused aloud, tilting her head with a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.

He paused. “I am, I can assure you,” he said, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, I suppose…” She dragged out the last word, crossing her arms. “I could forgive you. If you got on your knees and begged.”

“Oh. That’s it?” Dipper slid out of his seat and kneeled before Paz. Her eyes went wide, mouth dropping as a blush spread over her cheeks. He ignored her as she asked what the hell he was doing—what she demanded, duh—and took her hand in his. “You forget, Paz,” he smiled humorously. “I’m a weird nerd with a twin sister just as unordinary. I’m not opposed to humiliating myself. Especially if it means I can gain my new friend’s trust.”

“J-Just because you’re apologizing doesn’t mean I trust you!” she exclaimed, clearly scrambling and ruffled by Dipper’s willingness to go the extra mile.

“Then I’ll work at it,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, Pacifica. Genuinely. I don’t want to fight. I don’t like seeing you angry. I don’t like being angry. I want us to be friends.”

Paz gazed down at him, staring with sober eyes. “You’re serious,” she stated, and he nodded. “And you won’t treat me like I’m a rich airhead?”

“I won’t, I swear.”

She bit her lip before a tiny smile emerged, sending a wave of relief through him. “I guess I forgive you,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers. “Thanks, Dip. Sorry for screaming at you.”

Dipper ran his thumb across her knuckles then dropped her hand as he sat back down. “It’s fine,” he chuckled. “I deserved it this time.”

As he finished up his plate, Pacifica spoke up again. “Dipper… What made you want to apologize? I was so horrible to you over a misunderstanding. I’ll probably do it again, too. Why aren’t you just…I dunno… Why are you being so nice to me?”

He was a little surprised by her awareness; yeah, he could’ve just moved on instead of trying again. He could have stopped the friendship there and saved himself the aggravation of Pacifica’s well-established bad attitude. But he thought about it, and… “I said it before, but I don’t like being angry,” he said somberly. “I mean, look what I did to Sebastian. And before you say it, I know already. It was basically unavoidable. However…in hindsight, the rage I felt that night was terrifying. Knowing I’m capable of something so brutal is terrifying. So I think I’d rather learn to love people than hate them.”

Pacifica visibly stiffened, then slowly relaxed, her eyes soft and pretty. “Yeah,” she whispered, her face so full of emotion that Dipper’s breath caught. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

She was mesmerizing when she unmasked. Jesus. “You still owe me dinner,” he muttered, deflecting that damning thought.

Her eyebrow twitched. “Consider this dinner, then,” she gritted out, turning her head away in irritation.

“What? No, you promised something fancy!”

“Yeah, well. This is payback for being an asshole, so suck it up.”

Chapter Text

Don’t Go In

There were monsters in the lake.

Logically, of course there were. He’d seen one his first time coming to Gravity Falls. But that fact made his investigations no less eerie. Two tourists this last week had already drowned, which wouldn’t be too mysterious to a simple policeman or detective…that didn’t know about GF’s paranormal and supernatural phenomena. A normal person with no experience regarding it would likely brush it off—and the cops in town seemed either too oblivious or downright ignorant to look further. Or maybe they just didn’t want to be bothered with more crap like Weirdmageddon. So Dipper took it upon himself to skulk around the lake at night with his camera and journals in tow.

And Pacifica, who’d taken it upon herself to join him.

She’d been at the gift shop three days straight now. Which wasn’t a problem in and of itself, but it was just…strange. He hadn’t invited her. She had shown up on her own, claiming she wanted to hang out. Which was fine? He guessed? Soos didn’t seem to mind.

He didn’t know why he felt weird about it. Maybe he was still getting used to her new persona. When away from her parents’ crowd, she was decently nice. Certainly not friendly, but nice.

So there they were on Friday night, just before midnight, squatting along the tree line and staring at the dark, ominous waters.

“Are you sure you’re not just being paranoid?” Pacifica whispered, her face scrunched up in skepticism.

“Two adults drowning in the same week?” Dip muttered, flipping through Journal 3 and his own—still unnamed. “Both at sunset, might I add.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been at this for three nights now. We haven’t seen anything. I’m losing beauty rest.”

“No one asked you to tag along,” he pointed out.

Paz shrugged, tossing her braided pigtail over a shoulder. “I thought this would’ve been interesting.” 

“Well, I can’t do a stake-out. Those take hours that I don’t have, since I have to open and close the shop. So we’re stuck doing this until we do see something.” Dipper sighed, closing both journals and tucking them in his backpack. “I don’t really know what we’re even looking for. I wish I had the first two of Ford’s journals, but he took them when he went on yet another expedition with Stan.”

“Hmm. You twin types are real buddy-buddy, huh?”

“What does that mean?”

Pacifica shrugged again, looking a bit uncomfortable now. “I dunno. I don’t have a sibling or anyone I’m really close to. So it’s just weird seeing that…dynamic up close.”

Dipper snorted humorlessly. “We’re not as connected as you think. Stan and Ford didn’t speak for years because of some major misunderstandings. Mabel and I still fight sometimes.”

“Yeah, but…” Paz drew circles in the dirt with her nail, resting her chin on her knees. “You still depend on each other in the end, right?”

“Always,” he answered automatically.

“I’ve always wanted something like that. Even when I pretend I don’t.”

Dipper fell silent for a few beats. Then tried to break the ice with light teasing. “You get kinda emotional at night, don’t you?” he smirked.

She tossed a pessimistic glance his way, but didn’t really reply. Jeez, talk about a frigid temperament. 

They fell into another quiet spell, leaving Dipper to his wandering thoughts as they stared back out at the lake. Mabel would be back Monday afternoon, according to her most recent text. He could barely believe it’d been almost two weeks of summer already; between the vampire incident, discovering the new side of Pacifica, and the sad ghost story, it felt like barely any time had passed. He had the grim predisposition that there’d be a lot more to deal with in the near future, but he sincerely—and/or figuratively—knocked on wood.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he scanned the murky waters ahead with alert eyes. Not even a ripple disturbed them. Sigh. Paz was right. He worried they might spend another fruitless three hours and miss out on another good nights’ sleep.

“Dipper…”

He turned his head at her cold, shaky whisper, instantly feeling that creepy, skin-crawling premonition-thing. “What?” he replied breathlessly, trying to follow her line of sight but seeing nothing in his furious darting. “Where?”

Another glance at her and he noticed she’d gone paler than normal. “The right edge. I saw something.”

“What did it look like?” Dipper pulled out his camera and zoomed in, immensely grateful he’d saved up for something this nice. However, there was nothing there. No ripples, no footprints, no disturbance whatsoever. He lowered the machine, frowning.

“I don’t know…” she shook her head slowly, as if confused. “Gray? Sickly? Gangly, kind of, I think… I dunno, maybe I was imagining things…”

“No, if you saw something, I believe you,” he said firmly, squeezing her shoulder assuringly. “We might just have to wait again.”

Paz shivered despite the humid summer night, staring down at the scribbles she’d done in the dirt. Dipper couldn’t blame her for being freaked out. It wasn’t like she had immersed herself in this life; in all honesty, she’d probably separated herself from all things paranormal and avoided it like the plague. As she should. He knew he was the weird one in this scenario. Resigned to sitting back and being patient, he scooted closer to her and…

Was someone singing?

His head turned automatically to the alluring sound. His breath was stuck in his throat, some kind of thickness and desperation coating his tongue. Fingers trembling, Dipper stood on suddenly numb legs and longingly looked for the source. Who was it? Where were they? The song was so beautiful; he had to know.

As he approached the lake, rickety and waterlogged boards of the deck shifting under his weight, the color of the water changed before his very eyes. From gloomy and nearly threatening, it slowly began to sparkle the most gorgeous blue, like the deep sea. It was breathtaking. He sank to his knees and reached for it, captivated by its beauty. 

Just before his fingers could brush the glittering surface, he heard his name whispered against his ear. Coldness blanketed him instantly, making him pause. His entire being was strung more taut than a tightrope—had he even taken a breath since the song began?

Then there was a woman. A stunning woman, staring into his eyes. Dipper blinked, shellshocked by her, wondering where she’d come from and then realizing he didn’t care. She had the most illustrious pale skin, long black hair that spiraled down her naked shoulders, and a smile that made Dipper’s heart pound painfully in his chest. She raised a hand from the water and cupped his cheek, delicate fingers tracing the shape of his jaw. It took him a belated second to realize the moan afterward had been his.

The woman rose further out of the water, coming closer to him. She was so perfect. Every curve, every shadow, every highlight. She was like a dream. He never wanted to wake up. He wanted to feel what it was like to kiss her. To be wrapped in her arms for eternity.

“DIPPER!”

Irritation flickered in the nameless woman’s glasslike eyes. It was quick, barely a flash, but it was enough.

Dipper sucked in a breath, oxygen returning to his deprived brain.

This was a fucking siren.

And her lips were inches from his.

“DIPPER! PLEASE! LISTEN TO ME!”

Fear took him over quickly, but she could sense it. The siren’s fingers dug painfully into his head, nails surely drawing blood. Her look of desire had morphed into rage, lips curling back to reveal teeth that seemed a little too sharp now. She retained her beauty, but it wouldn’t be for long. If he struggled, she’d turn monstrous and drag him to a watery death. Fuck, what was he going to do?

“LET HIM GO!”

He could vaguely feel someone tugging him away, but the siren’s grip was too secure.

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll kill her,” the siren hissed softly, her breath wafting across his mouth. Even in her ire, her voice was melodic.

Pacifica. Goddamn it, that was her, trying to save him! Dipper whimpered pitifully, blinking away tears of helplessness. He felt so fucking stupid for not having guessed it. The tourists she’d chosen were two men about his age and build. Sunset, drownings. Reports saying they’d seemed entranced, desperate and distracted, claiming their need to go to the lake with some lame fucking excuse. It was to see her, because she’d lured them in with promises of love.

Then she’d taken them below and sealed the deal. Likely in more ways than one. But this was not how he expected to lose his damn virginity.

Blood dripped down the back of his neck from where her claws bit into the delicate skin of his scalp. “Please, don’t,” he whispered, voice failing him. He wasn’t sure why he was pleading for his life; he knew it was useless when she’d set her sights on him. Maybe it was some kind of last-ditch effort humans did automatically. A life preservation attempt.

“Kiss me, Dipper,” the siren smiled, and that slimy feeling of adoration slithered through him—though now that he was aware, it didn’t have the same effect. “Kiss me, and you’ll feel better. It will be peaceful.”

I don’t wanna die, he thought even as his eyes shut. I don’t wanna die. I wanna see Mabel. And Carsen, and Soos, and Wendy, and my parents, and… Pacifica.

Where had her voice gone? Had she stopped trying to pull him back? Was he on his own?

God, what had he even done in life? He still wanted to travel. He wanted to get on a plane. To see an eternal flame, go to a concert, eat exotic food, learn more about the world and how it worked.

He wondered if death really would be peaceful, like the siren claimed. He hoped it was like falling asleep under the stars. He hoped it was like being hugged by Mabel. He loved her hugs.

He was cold already. The siren had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fins brushing his legs. Had she brought him below the surface? He couldn’t tell. He was breathing. He thought.

“Don’t worry, guys,” his mother smiled gently, cupping his and Mabel’s cheeks. “Your Great Uncle Stan will make sure you have a great summer, I promise.”

“But what about you and Dad?” Mabel asked hesitantly. They both knew something was amiss with their parents, and had been for some while. That feeling of dread sat in both their chests, all day and night. Especially at night, when they could hear faint arguing from their parent’s bedroom.

Mom’s eyes tightened around the corners. “We’ll be just fine,” she nodded, though her voice was different. Sharper. “We have to work anyway. You guys would be bored out of your mind if you stayed here this summer.”

Then she kissed their foreheads, and they loaded up on the bus, waving despondently as it rumbled away.

Oh, great. His life was flashing before his eyes. Heartache and—even though he didn’t want to admit it—homesickness washed over Dipper, bringing more tears to his eyes. He wanted Mom and Dad back. The way they used to be, before everything fell apart.

Mabel squeezed him so hard that his breath huffed out of his lungs. “You’ll visit on breaks, right? And FaceTime me every day?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Dipper leaned his head on hers and chuckled—what little he could. “Of course I will,” he promised gently, rubbing her back in soothing laps. “It’s just college, Mabel. It’s not like I’m going to the other end of the Earth.”

“I know, I just…” She sighed then, casting a glance at their parents, who were speaking with another set of parents they’d met in church. “I dunno how I’m gonna manage those two without you,” she grinned, only half-joking.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re much more capable than me in that department.” Dipper pulled his backpack over his shoulder and stepped back towards the car that held all his belongings, staring at his twin. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was terrified to live on his own. Mabel had been his support system for so long. His jaw tensed as he felt a flood of emotion rush to the surface. “I love you,” he said weakly.

Mabel’s chin wobbled. “I love you, too,” she whispered, brown eyes glittering. “I’m so proud of you.”

He hugged her again. “I’m proud of you, too. I’ll see you soon.”

A choked sob slipped past Dipper’s lips. Mabel. He wouldn’t be able to see her, ever again. Or anybody he’d ever cared about. Fuck—how did this happen? How could he have let this happen?

“Oh,” the siren breathed. “Your sadness smells so sweet…”

What was the point of it all? What was the point of all the pain, heartbreak, and regret? Why did he have to endure so much trauma? Anger and frustration tainted him. Why did he have to die now when he hadn’t even lived?

“You’ll taste heavenly,” she murmured against his throat. Disgust roiled in his gut and he jerked his head away. He still wasn’t sure if he was breathing, or if he was under water, or if he was even dead yet. Maybe he was hallucinating while she sucked the very soul from his body. He hoped Paz wasn’t watching. He hoped she had run away by now. He didn’t want any more death on his hands.

He remembered the night he’d killed Sebastian. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten, though; the memory was always under the surface, reminding him of the monster he had been. Could still be. He recalled the blood under his fingernails. The sensation of bearing down on the stake. The sound of flesh and gore ripping and then pounded into the ground by his very fists.

Why didn’t he have that strength now? Was it the siren sapping him? He didn’t know. The song still played, carrying dark evocative notes that he’d never be able to play himself. There was another thing he would be missing—learning another instrument.

“Wrap your arms around me,” the siren ordered softly, encouraging and enticing. So enticing that he did as she said. “This won’t hurt a bit, my love,” she smiled, lovely again as she ran a delicate, pale hand through his hair. He sighed and leaned into her precious touch. It soothed him. He closed his eyes. This was it.

Then a pair of lips were on his own, so achingly gentle that he sighed again.

This was it.

He was dead now.

-

Dipper had to be dreaming. That explained the euphoric feeling, the sense of floating. The girl above him with bright blue eyes, gunmetal silver around the iris. Blonde hair coming out of their braids as she faded in and out of sight. And her angelic voice, so much sweeter than anything he’d ever heard.

His chest hurt, though. And his lungs. His ribs, his face.

Dipper ignored all of that and focused only on the girl. She was upset about something. Her eyes were panicked, teeth bared as she cried something. He couldn’t determine what it was. She was incoherent. This upset him, too, like he could feel her own emotions in his heart.

He tried to reach up and grasp her hand, but his body didn’t respond. She needed to know he was fine. She didn’t have to worry.

-

“Are you sure he’ll be waking up today? I mean, he drowned. Drowning victims don’t usually have great odds, right…? I mean I hope I’m wrong, I just—”

“Please rest assured, Miss Northwest,” replied a man’s voice. “You brought him to the hospital in the nick of time. He’ll make a full recovery. And I truly even doubt he’ll develop any long-term complications.”

A short sigh of acceptance. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor Paisley.” There was the sound of a door shutting, a set of footsteps, then a weight settled to the side of him.

Dipper forced his head to turn, ignoring the bruise-like pain that accompanied the movement. His eyes crept open just enough to see the platinum head of Pacifica Northwest laying in her arms on a hospital blue blanket. The last he recalled, her hair had been in twin braids, but now it fell over her back in stiff locks. She still wore the black tank top from before. How long had they been here? What happened?

“Paz,” he tried to say—but it came out too raspy to allow his voice to come through. However, it was enough to get her attention. She shot up, eyes darting to him in shock.

“Dipper!” she gasped. “You’re awake! Oh my god!”

“Hey,” he breathed, blinking slowly. Even that hurt.

Pacifica clamped a hand over her mouth, bowing her head briefly. “Sorry,” she whispered, muffled. “You’re probably wondering what’s going on.” She raised her eyes to him, smiling shakily and brushing back her hair. She was unkempt, like the day he’d seen her at the cookout benefit thing. “What do you remember?”

“I…” The word came out rough, gargled. His throat was ravaged and swollen, barely allowing the action of breathing. So he decided to press his lips together and carefully shook his head once. Ow.

“Oh, right,” she murmured, nodding in agreement. “Of course. You’re probably in a lot of pain. I’m sorry. You, um…” Paz trailed off, eyes falling to her clasped hands. 

Dipper grunted once, fingers twitching next to hers. She glanced at him, then his hand, and he moved his fingers closer, brushing her skin. Pacifica swallowed and slid their hands together; he let out a small sigh, both from pain and relief.

“You drowned,” she finally said, quiet and somber. “The siren pulled you under. I was freaking out—I had to run to the shack nearby and find something. I don’t really know what it was. Could’ve been an oar, or a machete, or anything. I just know it was in my hands and then I jumped into the lake after you two. I injured her somehow, pulled you out, did CPR. Then I called nine-one-one and here we are.”

Dipper felt something tighten and simultaneously ease in his chest—she had saved his life. She hadn’t left his side the entire time he was unconscious, either. Her hair was unwashed, stiff from the lake water, and she had bags under her eyes… She was exhausted. She probably hadn’t even slept.

“Thank you,” he whispered, despite the pain it caused.

Pacifica gave a short smile, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles softly. “I couldn’t just let you die,” she shrugged, as if it were no big deal. Then she took a deep breath. “The doctor said you’re probably gonna feel like shit for a few more days. Maybe a week.”

“Mabel…” Dipper croaked. “Monday.”

“Yeah, she’ll be back Monday,” Paz nodded. “She told me Carsen will be with her. He’s gonna stay at the Mystery Shack for a few weeks with you and her. Soos already said it was fine.”

Ugh, of course that messy asshole was gonna stick around. As if Dipper didn’t spend enough time with the slob. “Did you…” Dip mumbled.

“Tell her?” she finished. “Yeah, I let her know you were in the hospital. You should be released tomorrow, so you’ll have some time to readjust at home.” Paz’s eyes landed on his throat, lingering on the right side. “I never told her about the vampires,” she whispered, lips barely moving.

He shook his head, indicating he hadn’t either. “Doesn’t—hurt,” Dipper assured, voice raspy, smiling gently. He only spoke of the bite scar she stared at. Not his current condition—he actually hurt all over.

“I wish…” Pacifica breathed, eyes fluttering as she struggled for words. “I wish I hadn’t accepted the invite to that stupid party. I could have saved you from all that… garbage. Pain. All of it.”

Dipper shook his head a little, lips pressed into a firm line as he gripped her fingers a little tighter. “That wasn’t your fault,” he mouthed, the words barely passing as a whisper. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“Do you still think about…Sebastian?” she murmured, glancing at him so quickly that it was just a flash of blue.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “All the time.” It was hard to forget.

Paz caressed his knuckles, staring down at the scratchy bedsheets with a forlorn expression, mouth pulled into a frown. “Me too,” she admitted softly. “I was very…impressed with you.” She smiled, quiet and—perhaps affectionate? But it fell just as quickly as it appeared. “Mostly, though, I was ashamed that I had hurt you.”

Dipper was at a loss for words. He didn’t realize his near-drowning was going to make her so emotional.

“I felt so small, knowing that I’d let that asshole take advantage of me,” she murmured, eyes glazed over as she stared at nothing. “I remember how amazing it felt to be a vampire. Full of power. But the thirst was…insane. It trumped everything else. Even—“

Suddenly a nurse burst into the room, cutting off Paz and startling Dipper. “Oh, good!” the lady smiled, “you’re awake! I just need to check a few things out and then you can get back to resting.”

The nurse shuffled around him, taking vitals and effectively putting space between him and Paz. “How’s your pain, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever felt in your life?” the woman asked, writing down his blood pressure results.

“Ten,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll order some pain meds and come back later.”

Then she left, and there was a wall of silence between him and Paz now and he didn’t know how to break it. So he just reached his fingers out for hers again. She noticed, barely grinned, and held his hand once more. Dipper closed his eyes and sighed, wincing from the stitch of pain on the left side of his ribs.

“You should probably go home,” he murmured after a bit, eyes still closed.

“What? No. Why? I can’t just leave you here.”

“I’m okay, Paz.” He smiled faintly. “Go shower for the both of us.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp and he peeked at her, surprised to see her blushing, lips pressed into a thin line as she stared up at the ceiling. Wait, what did he say? “Yeah,” she huffed before he could ponder further, “I do feel pretty gross. I’ll ask the nurse to help you bathe, too, so you can come home without stinking to high heaven.” Paz gave a final, rueful smile before standing and taking her leave, dousing the room in silence save for the beeps and drips and sighs from medical machines.

It was only a short while later that he realized the siren was still alive.

-

He stayed in the hospital a total of two days, one more than they’d originally thought. The nurse had helped him bathe—which was only a wipe-down with “bath cloths”—and she also helped him begin to move around. It was hard to push through the pain, and that’s how they found out he probably had a minor fracture or break on the left side of his ribs. Whether it was from the drowning (read: siren monster) or from Paz’s CPR (unlikely, but adrenaline did spike people’s strength for a short time—he would know), it was up in the air. They taped up his side and prescribed more pain meds (and rest) since there was basically nothing else they could do for ribs. Man, if only he lived in some kind of sci-fi world. If only.

That put him getting discharged mid Monday morning, just before Mabel was set to be home. Pacifica helped him get home in her fancy blue sedan with its complementary driver (who had impeccable skill in driving around the many potholes on shoddy roads into GF). Dipper wanted to laugh when they pulled up to the Shack, catching sight of a big banner that said, “Welcome Home Mabel!” Only there was a rectangle of his name taped next to hers, clearly put up as an afterthought, clearly because getting his ass handed to him by a siren wasn’t in the weekend-slash-Monday plans.

As Paz helped him out of the car, Soos stepped out of the Shack, waving with a huge, warm smile that could be seen for miles. Dipper was relieved for two reasons: one, that he was on pretty decent painkillers so he could walk albeit slowly, and two because he was finally home. Hospitals weren’t exactly fun. Now he could actually sleep, uninterrupted, on his memory foam mattress and special cooling pillow and actual clothes, not those shitty paper gowns. (Side note-slash-honorable mention-slash-a second thank-you to Paz for bringing him some sweatpants and a t-shirt for him to leave the hospital in. They weren’t his, so she must’ve bought them—when he tried to ask how much he owed her, she’d rolled her eyes at him, claiming it didn’t even put a dent in her funds. So he’d left it at that.)

“Hey, Soos,” Dipper said, exhaustion clear in his voice and in his body as he leaned on Pacifica. But he still smiled back at his friend.

“Welcome back, dude,” Soos cheesed. “I heard a siren roughed you up.”

Dipper sighed, long and suffering. “Yep. It sucked.”

Soos laughed and stepped aside, allowing them entrance to the Shack doors. “You get a little more reckless every year, you know that?”

Paz eyed him curiously and Dipper flushed, embarrassed. Last year, he’d gotten tangled up with another monster—a freakin’ windego, of all things. Luckily, he’d read up on them before confronting it in the woods, but it scarred him up pretty good during their fight. He’d still won, though, so fuck that windego guy. (It had run farther North, which he considered a win, at least.) The scar was a silver, ragged gash that started from mid-thigh up to the tip of his hip, and it annoyed him every time he saw it in the mirror. He’d had to go to the hospital for that one, too; the nurses in the Emergency Department asked their questions, of course, but he just told them it was a bear. Which they berated him for, as they should, because what dumbass tried to fight a bear?

“I cleaned up your room so it would be easy for you to move around,” Soos said, following them into the house. “I didn’t really know what was what, though. Hope I didn’t mess up your study material or your journals.”

“That’s okay, Soos,” Dipper assured, shuffling carefully down the hall to the back of the Shack towards his bedroom. It was likely messy, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. “I appreciate your help.”

“Of course. Oh, I set up another cot in there, too, so Carsen can bunk with you.”

Paz pushed open the door for him as Dipper groaned at the mention of his roommate. “Why can’t he stay in the attic?” he complained. “Throw Mabel up there, too, while you’re at it.”

“Holy crap,” Paz muttered beside him, blue eyes darting around the piles and heaps of research material, camping equipment, and—even more embarrassing—a full, giant hamper of his dirty clothes he’d yet to wash.

“Shut up, Paz. I’m not normally this messy,” Dipper mumbled as they made their way to his unmade bed.

Soos crossed his arms and frowned at him. “Mabel is still really young, and I don’t like the idea of them sleeping in the same room.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “You do know they’ve been alone together for two weeks? They’re adults, Soos, and so am I, and I don’t want Carsen in my space if it’s unnecessary.”

“Um, I wanted to ask if I could stay, too.”

Dipper and Soos blinked in shock at Pacifica’s non-question. Soos spoke up first. “Well,” he shrugged, frown disappearing and morphing into something kinder, “I suppose that would be alright. To help Dipper, right?”

“Right,” she nodded, making Dipper’s mouth fall open. “I could stay here for a few days, at least until he feels comfortable enough to move by himself.”

“I can just get a cane,” he blurted incredulously. He was promptly ignored.

“Absolutely! I think this is great! The more, the merrier! I’ll go set up another bed for Carsen and Mabel in the attic, then!”

Paz sat gingerly beside him on his bed, smiling over at him, though he couldn’t tell if it was smug or just warm. “Looks like I’ll be your roommate instead,” she said, bumping shoulders.

Dipper felt trepidation at that sentence. A girl—woman—not Mabel—would be sleeping in the same room as him. God, he didn’t do gross stuff unconsciously did he? Dip swallowed nervously. “Yep,” he agreed weakly.

Paz rolled her eyes and stood up, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. “Don’t sound too excited, Dip,” she grumbled, narrowing those blue-and-silver eyes into daggers. “I’m not that bad to hang out with, am I?”

“N-No, not at all,” he sputtered.

“Then what? Why do you look so freakin’ pale?”

“I just—nothing, I’m not pale, Paz, okay?” Dipper sighed and avoided her gaze. “How long do you plan on staying, anyway?”

“I dunno. A week, maybe, at the most.”

Whew, okay. A whole week with Pacifica. Ugh, he wished he had cleaned his room before all this shit had gone down. “Alright,” he murmured, his thoughts turning to the siren. “You know I have to go back and stop that thing, right?”

“What?” Pacifica sat back down, blonde hair falling over her shoulder in perfect waves. “Excuse me?”

“The siren in the lake. She’s still alive and we both know it. I have to go back and stop her before she drowns some other unlucky guy.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she snapped, glaring at him. He glared right back, though. “After everything that happened this weekend, you want to take her on again? What if she sings again? I can’t hear that shit, Dipper! I didn’t even notice you’d left until she was pulling you into the water!”

Dipper frowned. “You’re not going with me this time,” he stated.

Paz paused. “Pardon the fuck out of me?” she replied slowly, her rage a living thing in each word.

“I’m not putting your life at risk again,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I’ll go by myself and bring earplugs.”

“Earplugs,” she repeated. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dipper, you can be so dense sometimes.” Paz sighed harshly, rubbing her forehead. “You are not going alone. And definitely not while you’re healing. If another person drowns, then I’m sorry—but there’s no point in going alone when you can barely walk without being drugged. She’d kill you in a second.”

“I can’t just let her keep murdering people,” Dipper mumbled helplessly.

“I know it sucks,” Paz said, softer this time. “I know it’s a lot on your conscience. But it won’t do anybody any good if you die, too.”

Dipper pressed his mouth into a thin line…and finally nodded. She was right, no matter how dark the truth was. He just had to hope nobody else would dare venture close to the lake until he was strong enough to stop the creature. He wanted to avoid killing it, at least—hopefully he could trap her or offer her something in exchange for leaving Gravity Falls. Though he doubted she would. And even then…

“Lay down,” she ordered gently. “Get some rest before Mabel gets here.”

Dipper obeyed, falling asleep quickly with Paz’s fingers brushing his hair back.

-

He only slept an hour yet miraculously felt more rested than he had in the hospital. He decided to take his chance with a shower, though his legs shook a bit from standing so long. He had to ask Paz for help after he finally dressed himself to walk out to the kitchen and take a seat at the table. It was almost one o’clock now; Mabel would be home any minute.

Dipper took half of a painkiller to lower the constant ache of his body. He wanted it to go away, but he also didn’t want to be loopy.

“I feel like I haven’t seen Mabel in forever,” Paz remarked, resting her chin in her hand.

Dipper smiled, knowing the exact feeling. “She must’ve had a good time on the cruise,” he said. “She barely texted anybody.”

“Well, that could’ve just been because there’s no service towers in the middle of the sea. Or Alaska.”

“There’s service towers in Alaska, surely.”

Paz raised an eyebrow. “You really wanna argue with the rich girl?”

He laughed lightly, ignoring the instant sharp pain in his ribs. “Not really,” he replied. “I seem to lose every argument I start with you.”

“Maybe you’re just not as clever as you think,” she purred, fluttering her lashes demurely.

Dipper squinted. “Is there something in your eye, or…?” Paz flushed and glowered, glancing away. “Yeah. Thought so. Don’t fake flirt with me, it won’t work.”

She fell quiet, and it almost looked like she was pouting, but then Dipper heard the crunch of tire atop gravel and his attention was drawn away.

He walked to the door, Paz supporting him to his right, Soos following behind, and watched the bus drive away, revealing the sight of his precious sister…and her boyfriend. It wasn’t that Dipper disliked Carsen. He was just…difficult to live with. And maybe he was just a little overprotective. A little. Dipper smiled widely anyway, waving as Mabel sprinted for them, her grin growing as she came closer.

“DIPPERRRR!” she squealed, skidding to a halt before him.

“Thank god you didn’t slam into me,” Dipper teased. “That would’ve sucked.”

Mabel went in for the gentlest of hugs, and suddenly he was overcome with emotion—he really had almost died without smelling her familiar rose scent, felt her soft hair on his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking away tears. “Me too.”

“Hey, bro. Long time, no see.”

Dipper released Mabel and half-smiled at Carsen, who had drug their two bags of luggage to the door. “What’s up? How was the trip?” he asked, merely out of politeness.

“Ohmygod, it was so fun!” Mabel gushed, eyes shining brilliantly as she bounced in place. “We got to see whales, Dipper!”

“How’s about we all get inside so Dipper can sit down?” Soos interrupted kindly.

“Yeah, you’re getting kinda heavy,” Paz muttered.

“I swear to god, if you’re gonna complain after you offered to help me…” Dip gritted out, glaring over at her.

Mabel and Carsen laughed, then they all shuffled inside the Shack, and Dipper was suddenly reminded of how small the house was. It was going to be quite a crowded week. After they all settled into the living room, luggage put away, Mabel launched into a long-winded, one-sided conversation about their cruise. Dipper stared at her, smiling softly, noticing that everyone else had about the same expression of adoration.

Paz leaned in close to him, lips beside his ear. “I’m surprised her mouth isn’t dry from yapping so much,” she snickered quietly.

Dipper almost snorted. “She is usually just one stream of consciousness,” he agreed in a murmur. “She’ll get tired soon, though.”

“I can hear you mumbling under your breath,” Mabel interrupted (herself and them), “and I don’t appreciate your lack of attention.”

“Mabel,” Carsen chimed in, in a voice Dipper had never heard before (since when is this douchebag sweet?), “I think you’ve pretty much covered everything. It’s been an hour.”

“Oh,” Mabel said, deflating slightly with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I got too excited.”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting hungry,” Soos said. “What does everyone want for dinner?”

The rest of the night was uneventful. Soos went to pick up pizza, they ate between more lively conversation, Dipper took another pain pill when his breathing got a bit too labored, then they watched some ridiculous TV show on Grunkle Stan’s shitty cable channels. All in all, Dipper was glowing with happiness. Mabel was home, and he’d have the rest of the summer with his twin, his only family that didn’t make him miserable.

“Goodnight guys,” Mabel grinned, walking upstairs with Carsen, hand in hand.

“Night,” Dipper, Paz, and Soos echoed.

Then Soos retired, as well, leaving him and Pacifica alone.

Ohhhh, crap. That’s right. Dipper and Paz would be sharing a room. Would he even be able to sleep?

Paz seemed to notice the anxiety in his face and rolled her eyes. “Come on, you prude,” she grumbled, wrapping her arm around his waist and supporting his right side, helping him slowly walk to his—their—room.

“Prude? What makes you think I’m a prude?”

“Oh, please. I’m smarter than I look, Pines. Did you think I wouldn’t figure out that you, the only virgin in this house, would be totally fine with a smoking-hot woman in the bed next to yours for a week? What’s the matter, huh? Do you think I’ll take advantage of you?”

Dipper blushed furiously and stuttered. “Wha—I—that’s—I’m not the only virgin! I’m pretty sure Soos is still…” He trailed off, because he wasn’t sure. And even though he hated it, and would never admit it aloud, Mabel and Carsen had surely done something.

“Soos? The almost-married guy who’s probably even kissed more girls than you?”

“I’ve kissed plenty of girls!” Dip said defensively.

They finally reached his still-cluttered room and she set him on his bed, smirking. Then he realized she’d caged him in with her arms, blue eyes blazing, blonde hair falling over the both of them like a curtain. Dipper wanted to shrink back, but one—he still hurt too much, and two—that would be like giving up. Like losing to her. And he despised that thought more than anything. So he narrowed his gaze, a new fire in his chest, as he met her head-on.

“Really?” she purred, her voice made of velvet. “Care to prove it?”

His eyebrows drew together, jaw setting. “Sure you could handle it?” he challenged.

Somewhere, in the very back recesses of his mind, he liked their dynamic. Where half the time they argued, or bickered, whatever it was called. And the other half, they understood each other and were friends who comforted one another.

“Oh, I doubt you’re that good,” she chuckled, eyes darting to his mouth. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Pines. I’ve had kisses and touches that would melt your pretty little head.”

He was so fucking tired. Tired of being made fun of. Tired of being mocked for being a virgin—as if that was something inherently wrong? Tired of being forced into situations he wanted nothing to do with, like those stupid fucking parties Carsen always wanted to attend. And like this, right now—where he was being cornered, stared at like he was a fucking piece of meat. Like he didn’t matter. He wanted to matter. That’s why he was a virgin. What was the point in having sex if it meant nothing?

Dipper sighed again, the exhaustion clear in his voice as he looked away. “Y’know, Paz, I’m not really in the mood to do this with you,” he mumbled. “Let’s just go to sleep. Please.”

Pacifica paused visibly, then slowly pulled away in silence.

And they both laid down, a brand new, awkward rift between them that he didn’t know how to—or even currently wanted to—bridge.

Chapter Text

Up And Down, Up And Down

The next day, Dipper and Pacifica worked on organizing his mess of a room (that he was supposed to share with Mabel like they did every summer)—in silence. He moved too slowly for his liking, and Paz looked like she wanted to lop his head off. Dipper was really frustrated with the process of healing. He wanted to walk normally, without Pacifica Northwest right next to him because she was somehow now his Number One enemy again. 

He hated that. They had finally gotten to a place where they could look at each other without scowling after five minutes. Now all that was undone because, what, they couldn’t avoid arguing with each other? She couldn’t stop making fun of him, and he couldn’t stop from getting defensive? As if this whole thing was his fault anyway! Why should he have to put up with her nasty attitude? Why should he have to make himself uncomfortable? It was all bullshit.

He did find that sleeping was easier than he originally thought. No longer nervous since the irritation at Paz overshadowed, it claimed him quickly, along with the help of his pain medication.

They didn’t speak on day two, either. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, he could tell the tension between them was palpable. And that was annoying.

But on the bright side, Mabel filled the silence plenty. She occupied everyone with board games or talking or singing or laughing at something Carsen said—which was usually something Dipper found deplorable. That could’ve been just because he didn’t want the asshole there. Didn’t he have to deal with him enough at college?

Then the third day came. Dipper woke up feeling quite rejuvenated and energized. It didn’t hurt to breathe anymore, and his legs felt much stronger when he stood up straight. Oh, man, what a relief; this meant Pacifica could back away and stop looking at him like…like he had hurt her. Dipper didn’t understand a fucking thing about what went on inside her head.

This also meant that he would be able to confront the siren again. Luck was in his favor: there had been no more drownings as of late. Which, if he was being honest, he found a little suspicious. He seriously doubted Paz had actually killed the creature, so what the hell was she planning? He hadn’t the faintest clue. Yet.

“You’re not planning on going back to the lake today, are you?”

Dipper raised his head and met Pacifica’s eyes, gazing at her curiously from across their shared room. Her face was stony, mouth drawn in from obvious displeasure. He wanted to tell her it was none of her business anymore. But that thought made him feel guilty for some reason, and he had to swallow a growing lump in his throat. “Not today,” he answered honestly, quietly. “But soon.”

Pacifica shifted subtly on her borrowed bed, putting an edge of confidence in her gait. “I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-fact, staring at him plainly.

“I know.”

“Wait—what? I thought you would argue with me.”

“We’ve already argued about it,” he replied, returning his eyes to the journal before him. “I know what to do with the siren now, and I’ll need your help to kill it.” Dipper had taken most of yesterday to read up on the not-so-mythical sea creatures. Now he was just reviewing notes, in case he had missed anything important. Not likely, but still.

“Kill it? By the way you talked about it before, it kinda seemed like you wanted to avoid that.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not going to be that easy this time. Even if she relocated, she’d still murder more people. I can’t let that go on.”

“Okay,” Paz said slowly, “so…how do we kill her?”

“Bait her.”

“Oh. Do we need to go get, like, a can of tuna or something?”

Dipper burst a laugh. “No,” he grinned, shaking his head. “I’m the bait. That was funny, though.”

Paz sat up straighter, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?” she blurted. I mean, yeah, a little, he thought. “You can’t be the bait! How the hell are you gonna kill it if you’re the bait? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Like I said before, I’ll use earplugs,” Dip smirked.

She threw a pillow at him, which he caught. “Don’t be a smartass,” she scowled. “How are you really going to kill this thing? Be honest.”

“I am being honest,” he insisted, raising his right hand and then making a show of crossing his heart. “I’m gonna have earplugs, which only muffle sound. I’ll hear the song, follow her to the docks, and you’ll be right behind with a knife.”

Pacifica paled visibly. “A knife?”

“Yep. And then I’ll take the earplugs out to fall completely under the spell—assuming I’m not already—then you’ll stab me super quick, then stab her right after.”

“Ohhhh my god.” Paz blew out a long breath, her eyes even wider than before as she stared down at the floor. “Oh my god. Dipper—” She whipped her head to him, panicked. “I can’t stab you! Why do I need to stab you? No, wait. Stop. What the fuck is going on…”

“To kill a siren, you have to stab it in the heart with a blade dipped in the blood of someone who is under its spell.” Dipper smiled at her—and if he was being honest with himself, he was a little smug. Maybe this would stop her from being so fucking mean all the time.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But he wasn’t about to argue with himself.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, keeping his tone light and confident. “You don’t have to push the knife in too deep. Just a quick cut and you’ll be set.”

“Dipper!” she hissed. “I’ve never stabbed anyone in my life!”

“Consider it a new adventure. Just slice me on the arm or something.”

“Do you even own a knife?”

“Yeah. Of course I do. And a machete. You don’t think I can go camping and cut all that firewood with my bare hands, do you?”

Pacifica shook her head in disbelief. “Are you gonna tell Mabel? Carsen, Soos?”

“Why would I? The plan is gonna work. It’ll be over in less than an hour.”

“And why do you think that?”

Dipper clicked his tongue. “I imagine she’s holding a grudge against us,” he replied eventually. He’d had the thought in the back of his mind for a while now. “I’m gonna wait a few more days. If she hasn’t attacked anyone by then, then my theory is basically proven. And she knows I’ll come back—I mean, we stalked her for days before she finally attacked.”

Paz shook her head again, mouth twisted. “This is insane,” she muttered. “You’re insane.”

“All the best people are.”

“What day is this happening? I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this…”

“Friday. Or Saturday, depending on how I feel and what plans are brewing in Mabel’s head.”

“Oh,” she hesitated. “I, um. I have to attend another one of my parents’ soirées on Friday. For appearances, you know. And then I have to go back to work Saturday and Sunday.”

“Shit. I guess we can push it back to Thursday.”

“That’s today, dumbass—“

“Can you please stop insulting me in, like, every sentence that exits your mouth?” Dipper interrupted, glaring at her, notes forgotten. “It’s getting really fucking old.”

Paz shut up immediately, something flashing in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, surprising him. “I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

Dipper sighed inwardly. “Okay, so not today, obviously. Can you skip the party Friday? I’d rather not wait any longer than we have to.”

“No,” she replied glumly, propping her chin in her palm. “I skipped last week, so if I don’t show up tomorrow then I’ll be royally screwed.”

Out of what? Didn’t she hate these things anyway? “Do you need me to go with you?” he asked—which was really fucking weird, because he didn’t even want to go. Maybe he felt bad about…everything. He didn’t know.

Paz perked up, a smile shining in her eyes. “Really, you would? You could be my excuse for skipping early. And then we could go do your thing.”

Ah, hell.

“Yeah,” he smiled back, though his was much duller.

-

Later that night, he and Mabel were sitting at the kitchen table while Carsen and Pacifica argued about the best chess moves in the living room. Soos was visiting his grandmother in her nursing home, so he was going to be absent from the commotion for most of the night. (Lucky bastard.)

Mabel, across from him, took a drink of her water, staring over the cup at him with bright eyes. Dipper took a bite of his grilled cheese, frowning. What was going on inside her mind? He didn’t have to wonder for long.

“So. What’s the deal with you and Pacifica?”

“What do you mean?” he replied coolly.

“You and her seem to be really close, if you catch my drift,” she grinned—always a sponge for gossip.

“Actually, I don’t.” He did, though.

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dipper. The sexual tension is through the roof! I can feel it all the way up in the attic, for crying out loud.”

“You are so far from the truth it’s laughable,” Dipper shook his head. “Paz is my friend—kind of—and that’s all.”

“Kind of?” she gaped. “What does that mean?”

He frowned again, propping his chin in his hand and glancing over to the woman in question. She was arguing animatedly with Carsen, who just looked entirely too arrogant. He was in for a surprise when that sharp tongue finally cut him down. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “She’s so hot and cold all the time. We have a hard time getting along.”

Mabel followed his gaze. “She has a hard time keeping friends, that’s for sure,” his twin said softly. “Real friends, that is. I had to bug her for months to hang out with me.”

“You must’ve softened her up,” Dipper chuckled. “She basically hasn’t left my side since I got here.”

Mabel swiveled her head so quickly he was shocked it didn’t twist off. “What? What else haven’t you told me? What happened while I was gone?”

Dipper recounted everything—from the incident with the vamps, pointing out his faintly pink bite scar, to the benefit where he saw her double life, to John and Edna, then the most recent episode where he drowned and Paz basically saved his life. All throughout, Mabel’s mouth hung open, coffee-colored eyes bugging out of her head.

By the end, though, she was scowling intensely. “I swear to god, if you weren’t still recovering, I would hit you,” she nearly snapped. “Why haven’t I heard any of this yet?! I’ve been back for four days!”

“I dunno,” Dip exhaled, rubbing his fingers against his eyes. “Everything’s been really weird. First of all, I wasn’t expecting her to even hang around. Second, I was blindsided with the fact that Carsen is staying with us—I thought it would just be me and you, you know? We don’t get to see each other often.” Dipper paused to look at her meaningfully. “I was kinda hoping we’d just have a regular, stress free summer.”

“Aw, Dip…” Mabel stuck her bottom lip out and came over to his side, hugging him gingerly. “I’m sorry you went through so much,” she mumbled. “But I am happy Paz was here to support you.”

“More like annoy me,” he grunted petulantly.

Mabel pulled back and smiled in her own gentle way. “Give her a little grace,” she murmured, encouragement in her voice. “She’s gone through a lot more than you think. She puts on a big facade most of the time, but… She’s probably just as damaged as we are.”

Dipper softened, glancing back at Pacifica. She was smiling triumphantly, those blue and silver eyes glinting with the haughtiness she was known for. She’d won the argument, as he’d guessed. 

“I know,” he replied, nearly inaudible.

-

Dipper was scrolling on his phone in bed, just catching up on whatever was online, when Paz suddenly spoke up from her own bed (technically Mabel’s).

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to battling the siren tomorrow night?” she half-whispered.

“I’m more concerned about your parent’s dumb party,” he muttered, clicking his phone off and setting it on his nightstand next to the lamp. “Especially considering what happened last time.”

“The same could be said for me. But seriously,” she paused, sitting up slightly, “how are you? Are you okay, you know?”

Dipper turned his head, keeping his expression leveled and calm. “Yes, Paz,” he said simply, serenely. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Her eyes flickered in the dim light, lips parting, and he was suddenly struck by her beauty yet again. She didn’t wear any makeup, her hair had been loosely braided back, and her pajamas were some kind of silk set that shimmered when she moved. It bugged him that he noticed those kinds of details about her so often. “I’m sorry, by the way,” she mumbled. “For making you uncomfortable the other day.”

Dip felt his heart twist a bit in his chest. “And I’m sorry for being…weird about it,” he replied lowly. “I should have just said something.”

“Can I…” Paz bit her lip and looked away, fingers moving in an anxious expression. “Never mind.”

“What?” he asked, wildly curious and, strangely, nervous all of a sudden.

“I was just going to ask…” She sucked in a breath, shifting in place. “If I could hug you.”

“Sure.” Fuck, he answered too fast, didn’t he?

It didn’t matter, though, because Paz turned her blue gaze back on him and smiled, small and shy—it was extremely unlike her, but it made her look pretty. 

She slid out of bed and padded to his side, and he sat up on his own in anticipation of her embrace. Pacifica bent towards him, slotting one knee between his thighs, and wrapped her slim arms around his shoulders, enveloping him in her warm, smokey and vanilla scent. Dipper hugged her back, hands splaying across her back as he tucked his face into her neck and basked in her softness.

Her chest to his, he could feel her heart pumping, strong and sound and steady. He sighed contentedly, pulling her closer, lulled by rhythmic thuds. “I think this is the first time we’ve ever truly hugged,” he murmured, voice low and velvety.

“Yes,” Pacifica whispered. Her words came out in a hesitant way that felt almost…intimate. “It’s nice.”

He had the feeling she didn’t engage in hugs very often. Which only made him tighten his grip. How sad to go through life without this simple comfort.

Pacifica pulled away eventually, keeping her eyes down, but he still saw the particular shine that tears made. He told her goodnight, she reciprocated softly, and they both turned their backs to each other for the night. Dipper didn’t know about her, but his heart stayed in his throat until his eyes grew heavy and sleep finally blessed him.

-

Friday morning, Dipper took a deep breath and realized he had zero pain. Hell yeah. Score on healing faster than anticipated. He turned over and blinked rapidly from the sunlight streaming in from his window, taking another pain-free, relieved breath.

Then he recalled last night, and his heart skipped as he darted his eyes to Pacifica Northwest across the room.

She was still slumbering, her face as peaceful as the morning currently was. He allowed his eyes to wander, taking in the height of her cheekbones, the point of her nose, the gentle shape of her mouth, her tapered chin. He stared without hesitation, without the contempt he had been harboring recently. He kinda saw her as just…a girl. One who had too many burdens, certainly.

He decided he would hug her when she needed it from now on.

Dipper finally slid out of bed and began his morning routine—shave, shower, brush his teeth, get dressed. He noticed in the mirror his hair was getting shaggy again, so he pulled it back into a ponytail, a few stray locks falling over his forehead, birthmark on display as usual. Satisfied, he stepped out of the steamy bathroom—

And nearly bumped into Pacifica.

“Oh, hey,” she blurted, blinking up at him. “Sorry. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied, giving a lopsided smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“F-fine,” Paz mumbled. Her hair had been taken out of the braids, leaving frizzy waves to fall around her shoulders, bangs out of their normally tame fringe too. She looked so normal that Dipper grinned a bit wider. Plus, he was in a good mood from feeling like himself again. Paz raised an eyebrow. “What are you smiling like that for?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, casually tapping a gentle finger under her chin.

She swatted his hand away, blushing slightly. “Don’t…never mind. Excuse me, I need the bathroom.”

Dipper stepped aside, almost laughing at her second, slightly suspicious glance. Then the door closed and he was left to his own devices. He decided to go make breakfast for everyone—it was only eight-thirty, so by the time he was done, everyone should be awake. Then he’d have to run the shop for about half the day, spend some more time with Mabel (and Carsen), attend the party with Pacifica for a few hours, then finally kill the lake siren. Simple.

He cooked egg bites because it was easy. After that, he checked his phone, only to find that Mabel had texted him. 

Carsen and I left on an early morning date! We’ll be back around lunchtime! 

Dipper sighed. Oh well. He’d see her all day Saturday, at least.

Two minutes were left on the timer when Paz finally emerged with perfectly done hair and makeup, and of course an outfit that likely cost more than what he made in a week. Meanwhile—as per usual—he just wore simple, worn jeans and a black shirt. “Hey,” he greeted, “you hungry? I made breakfast.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said politely in return, brushing her straightened hair over her shoulder as she took a seat at the small kitchen table. 

“It’s just us and Soos today,” Dipper said while he waited for the timer to finish, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Mabel and Carsen left early this morning.”

“Do you have to work at the gift shop again?”

“Yep. Just a half day, though, like earlier this week.” Soos had been gracious to let him rest. Thank god. He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to sit at the register for a full eight hours a day. But it would be back to the regular scheduled hours by next week.

“Will you be okay by yourself?” Paz asked, looking down at her hands with a small frown. “I have to go get my nails refilled.”

Dipper didn’t really know what that meant. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I don’t really need you bugging me anyway,” he added with a playful grin. She shot him a warning look. 

Beep. Beep. Beep— Dipper turned the oven off and pulled the food out, dumping it into a bowl, then grabbed the cheap paper plates from the cabinet. “Breakfast,” he announced, setting it all down between him and Paz.

“This is really good,” Paz mumbled between bites. “How’d you learn how to cook?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Kinda just picked it up. I like finding hobbies. Plus, if you can’t cook while camping, you’re kinda put in a shitty position.”

“I can’t even cook grilled cheese.”

“Wow. Pacifica Northwest isn’t good at something?” Dipper laughed at her scowl. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll teach you someday.”

Pacifica eyed him, those aquamarine jewels glittering with curiosity. “What’s your favorite color?”

Um, okay. Weird question. “Green, I guess, would be my first choice. Or black.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Then she dusted her fingers off and stood from the table. “Okay, I’m going out. Good luck in the shop today. I’ll see you for lunch.”

-

Dipper was practicing a new card trick—something he’d picked up this week during the healing process—when the bell rang from the shop door. He raised his head, half-smiling at Paz as she walked through the door, two plastic bags in her hands. “Please tell me that’s food,” he begged, setting his cards down at the same time she approached the register.

“Yep. Hope you like Chinese.” He inhaled deeply, the scent of orange chicken and vegetables making his mouth water. Dipper promptly tore open the bags and set the food out on the counter as Pacifica grabbed the spare stool from against the wall. “So, any customers today?”

“Nope,” he said. “It’s been slow all week. Kinda weird because the Shack gets a lot of traffic during the summer months.”

“Maybe the drownings scared some people away,” Pacifica offered, grabbing chopsticks and digging into her chosen plate.

Dipper shrugged. It was probably true, but he wasn’t about to question it—slow business meant he could chill. “How was your nail appointment?” he asked with a mouthful of chow mein.

Pacifica displayed one hand proudly, grinning like they were a trophy of some kind. Dipper looked at her fingers, catching the sight of a forest green chrome that shifted to dark golds and pinks. “Very pretty,” he murmured, trying to ignore the little pleased feeling in his chest that she’d gotten his favorite color. Was that why she’d asked?

“It’s gonna match my dress tonight,” she claimed, turning her hand this way and that. “I placed the order this morning for it, and for your suit as well. I just have to pick it up by five.”

“We’re going all the way to Graceful again?” he groaned.

“No,” she scowled, “but you don’t have to make it sound like such a chore. I contacted our family’s tailor.”

Her family’s tailor? Oh, right. She was still rich. Well, it had its perks, that was for sure. Dipper kept his mouth shut, remembering the last time he mentioned anything about it they got into an argument. “Okay. I assume we’re taking the fancy blue car?”

“We could take your bike, just to piss off my parents.” Then she made a face. “But I’d rather not push our luck since your body is still recuperating.”

“My body’s fine,” he defended, standing and flexing his arms. “See? Strong as an ox.”

Paz stared for a second too long, then blinked away—which kinda inflated his ego, not gonna lie. “Yeah, sure,” she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We can take the bike if you want.”

He cleared his throat and sat back down. “At least that way we can head straight to the lake afterwards.”

Her lips flattened, discomfort written across her face. “I still don’t like that idea,” Paz quietly complained. “I don’t want to stab you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Really? You don’t wanna release all that rage you’ve had bottled up for years? C’mon, think about all the things your parents have made you do or put up with. All the sleazy guys who are too old to hit on you.”

“It’s not really rage anymore,” she argued. “It’s more like…resignation. Disappointment.” Pacifica shoved her fork around in her half-eaten food, gazing at nothing. “And I’ve never even held a knife before. What if I cut an artery on you by accident or something? You’d bleed out before I could get you to a hospital.”

“Not likely,” he retorted. Then he paused, setting his chopsticks down. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“What?” She blinked up at him in surprise, eyes following him as he went to the door and locked up, flipping the sign on the door to “closed.”

He grabbed her hand and led her into the house, back into his room where they had stuffed his camping supplies in the corner. “I’ll show you,” he repeated, shuffling through until he found his serrated switchblade. “Here,” Dip said, placing the metal handle in her palm. “Grip it.”

She eyed him warily, but did as he asked. “Tighter,” he ordered, and her knuckles went white. “Good. Now, when you go to slice me, aim for the bicep or the top of the forearm. And when you stab the siren, it has to be through the heart. It’ll be slightly off center to the left.” He grabbed her hand holding the knife and gently pressed the tip to his chest. “Right here. Then you need to push in with your whole body weight. With force.”

Pacifica bit her lip, blanching. “I get the theory,” she whispered, “but I don’t know if I can do it.”

Dipper smirked. “For someone so blasé about the death of monsters, you sure are timid about violence,” he teased, referencing what she’d told him about Sebastian.

“I just…” Paz sighed, dropping the knife and setting it back down near the supplies.

“Paz, hey,” Dipper said soothingly, lifting his hand to her shoulder unthinkingly. “I trust you. You can do this.”

Pacifica gazed up at him with those blue and silver eyes, making his breath catch. And his hand slowly fell down, grazing her elbow, wrist, then rested near her fingers. “I know you’re nervous,” he continued, his voice low, nearing a whisper. “But I believe in you. Okay?”

“I, um…” she breathed, eyes flickering.

God, she was so damn pretty. His gaze roamed her face as his fingers slowly began to slip between hers. Should he hug her again? That sounded like a good idea. He liked the way it felt last night.

“Dipper! Paz! Soos! We’re home!”

Dipper and Paz jumped apart at the same time, spell broken. His heart spasmed in his chest, a heated flush creeping along the back of his neck. And without a word, he and Paz walked out to the living room to greet Carsen and Mabel. He didn’t know why, but that awkward barrier between him and Pacifica was suddenly back—but this time, it was different. Not angry or upsetting or anything like before. It was…he didn’t know. Shy?

How would it break this time?

-

Paz arrived with the outfits by six, which of course led to a barrage of questions from Mabel. Then a squeal of excitement. Then a litany of begs.

“Please, please, please, can Carsen and I go? I promise we won’t be in the way! I’ve only been to one other of your parties!”

Paz sighed in irritation. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. You and your friends obliterated the food table.”

Mabel pouted, bottom lip stuck out in exaggeration. “I’ve grown since then! I swear, I’m so much more mature than when I was twelve!”

“Mabel…” Pacifica sighed again, rubbing her forehead.

“I’ll keep her in check,” Carsen offered—clearly too overconfident and unaware of how excited Mabel got at parties. Fancy or not. Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Do you even have anything to wear? This is black-tie stuff. You can’t wear anything frilly or too showy.”

Dipper snorted from his spot on the couch, remembering the prom-style dress she wore last. But then he got a scathing look from Paz and he raised his hands in mock defense.

“I’ll go to the mall and find something. And I’ll be ready before you guys leave. I swear!” Mabel—good fucking god—even got down on her knees and clasped her hands together. “Please! I love parties, Paz!”

Paz had her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally let out a small, soft smirk. “Fine,” she agreed. Mabel squeaked and leaped to her feet, trapping Paz in a bear hug. “But, you have to be ready by nine. And we, uh…kinda have to call Dipper by Mason in front of my parents. Long story, but those are the rules.”

“DONE!” Mabel shouted as she raced to find Carsen’s keys. (He’d convinced one of his surfing buddies to drive his car up for him.) Then she dragged him out of the door, leaving him and Paz alone once more.

Though she just handed him his garment bag, keeping her eyes away from him. He grimaced and took it. “Are you getting ready first, or should I?” he asked.

“You can,” she mumbled. “It’ll take me about two hours to do everything, so…”

Soos walked in, hanging the Shack keys on the wall next to the gift shop keys. “Hey dudes,” he smiled. “What’s up?”

“Going to another party,” Dipper grumbled as he finally went to the bathroom.

He had to admit, he was impressed with the Northwest’s tailor. The black suit was fitted perfectly, from the shiny shoes up to the blazer with silk lapels. And the shirt to accompany it was that dark forest green, same as Pacifica’s nails. Again, he slicked back his hair, then sprayed on his cologne, and stepped out to tell Paz to begin her routine.

“All done,” he announced, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Paz looked up from her phone, doing that concealed shock thing he’d seen her do before. The widening of her eyes, the flared nostrils. “Good,” she said weakly, “that’s good. I’ll go and…get dressed, too, then.”

She kept her head down as she passed him, and his eyes followed her, tightening uneasily. It was still awkward. He hoped it wouldn’t last through the night. As he waited for her—and eventually Mabel and her boyfriend—he practiced his cards…scrolled on his phone…sighed a little…stared at the ceiling…munched on some tortilla chips…thought about what Pacifica’s first cooking lesson should be…probably food safety, like washing hands and avoiding cross contamination…maybe she already knew that, though…ate some more chips. Should he go with her to that mom-and-pop restaurant she worked at this weekend? It’d be interesting to see her hustle and bustle.

Finally, an hour and a half passed and Mabel burst through with a shopping bag, Carsen behind her. But she didn’t even pause, rushing upstairs. Alone again, since Soos had to review some kind of paperwork.

He was beginning to doze when he heard the sound of heels against the hardwood floors located in the hallway. Dipper stood up, stretching and yawning, and was then floored by the sight that emerged.

She wore a gown made of silk or satin or something similar, black that shifted into green near the hem. The neckline was more modest than the last one he’d seen, reaching the base of her throat. And the rest of her was dipped in gold—rings, arm cuffs, dangling earrings. Her skin shimmered like last time, too, and he could even smell her from where he stood.

Then her eyes lifted to his, dusted with dark shadow and black lashes, highlighting that unique blue and gunmetal silver. Her lips stretched into a white smile, transforming her entire face from demure to gentle. “Hey,” she said softly. “Ready?”

His mouth was suddenly dry. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I’ll, uh…let Mabel know we’re leaving soon.”

-

Paz made him take the roads slowly, so as not to mess up her hair—in which she also refused to wear the helmet. He did the same, though, by her insistence that he’d also mess up his hair. Either way, she still kept a death grip around his waist, dress carefully bunched up around her thighs, which was…mildly distracting.

When they pulled up, Dipper helped her off and asked, “So, do I have to fend any suitors off tonight?”

“Thankfully not,” she muttered, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her gown. After she felt presentable, her face slipped into that cool, haughty mask. “Let’s go, Mason.”

Dipper held out his arm for her, ignoring the pleased feeling in his chest when those green nails curled into his elbow. They walked inside the Northwest Estate; he was unsurprised that nothing had changed, but this time he was the one who led her through the doors into the ballroom. Again, music to the right, food to the left, crowds of snobby people in the center.

Dipper bent down to murmur in Pacifica’s ear. “Do you want to greet your parents, or would you rather dance first?”

She flipped her gaze up to him, gazing at him for a moment too long, making his heart leap into his throat. “I think I’d like to dance,” Paz replied, voice as rich as velvet.

Why was he so nervous? Dipper led her out to the edge of the dance floor and pulled her in, and he thought again about the way he’d held her hand earlier in his bedroom. He wondered if that was what she thought about too as they began moving, eyes never leaving each other’s.

“Where did you learn to dance, by the way?” Paz asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Oh,” he smiled, lopsided and slightly sheepish. “Mabel roped me into it like two years ago.”

“Good thing she did,” she nodded. Then she smirked. “You’d look pretty ridiculous if I had to lead.”

A muscle feathered in jaw as he sucked on his teeth. He didn’t really have a retort to that, so he spun her instead. “What do you have planned after your shift tomorrow?” he asked, trying not to feel that awkwardness.

“Not really anything,” she said. “Usually I would go to the soup kitchen or the animal shelter, but when I called, they said they won’t need any help this weekend.”

Suddenly—shit, he hadn’t even thought about it. “You missed last weekend,” he realized softly, wincing. “Because I was in the hospital.”

Paz rolled her eyes slightly and smiled. “It’s fine, Dipper,” she assured him. One of her hands rested on the back of his neck, and she rubbed some bare skin with her thumb, sending chills across his skin; his breath hitched. “They understood that I had an emergency. It’s the first time it’s ever happened, so they were very kind.”

Dipper rubbed his lips together and slid his hand to the base of her spine from where it laid on her waist, effectively pulling her closer. “Sorry anyway,” he half-whispered, darting his chocolate eyes between hers.

Pacifica’s own eyes blinked rapidly as she stared up at him. “It’s fine,” she repeated in a breathy voice.

He glanced down to her mouth and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. She’d done CPR for him before, but he hadn’t been conscious. That wasn’t even remotely the same as a kiss.

Whoa—stop. Pump the brakes. Kiss her? He wanted to kiss her? “I think I need a drink,” he blurted, stopping them mid-dance. He only saw her expression of confusion before he turned on his heel and headed to the left of the room, leaving her by herself.

What the hell. What the hell. Dipper took two glasses of champagne and downed them in seconds. What was going on with him? Just a day ago, he was basically cursing her name. Now he wanted to fucking kiss her? No, he couldn’t. She probably didn’t even like him like that. They were just friends. Friends who’d gone through more in two weeks than anyone should have to deal with in a lifetime.

Wait, yeah—that was it. They were trauma bonded. He’d even said that before, at the benefit. This was just a weird survivor’s guilt thing. He felt like he owed her something for saving his life. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay.

Dipper sucked down another glass of champagne—the stuff was good—and turned around, sweeping his gaze about the room to try and find her. Damn, he’d actually left her alone. Jesus, he felt like a dumbass. But he was having a freak-out; didn’t that grant him some slack or something?

He didn’t see her. Suddenly, fear gripped him like a vise. Did another vampire or monster alike sneak off with her?

Hold on. Was that Mabel and Carsen? The couple turned a circle on the dance floor—yes, it was. Terse, Dipper took long strides and reached them, tapping Mabel on her shoulder and pausing their dance.

“Dip—I mean, Mason, hey,” his twin smiled, literally glowing in her deep maroon gown and silver jewelry. “I’m glad Pacifica gave that guy our names at the door. I was nervous, he looked so intense—“

“Where’s Paz?” he interrupted. “Have you two seen her?”

Mabel looked at Carsen, and he shook his head. “No, sorry,” she shrugged. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Dipper huffed, clenching his jaw as he frowned and promptly left to see if she’d disappeared to the right side of the room. That search proved to be fruitless, too. Panic was beginning to set in. Just as he was about to head up to her room, he ran into none other than Preston and Priscilla Northwest.

“Well,” Preston haughtily began, “if it isn’t Mason.”

Dipper sighed through his nose. Goddamn it.

“Back to ruin our daughter, I presume? She didn’t attend my wife’s birthday party last week.” Priscilla sniffed, as if she were actually offended. As if she actually cared.

Dipper groaned inwardly. Of course it was her mother’s birthday. Fucking hell. “Listen, I apologize, but we were preoccupied.”

Preston narrowed his eyes. “I hope with nothing inappropriate. You are apparently courting my little princess, are you not? Without my permission, no less.”

He didn’t fucking have time for this. “Pacifica is her own person, asshole,” he snapped. “She can date whoever she wants. You don’t get a say in it.”

Priscilla clutched her pearls as Preston simultaneously flinched back, faces twisting with apparent disgust. “You dare speak to me—“

“You don’t own me, either,” Dipper scowled. “I can speak however the fuck I want. Now, move.”

Dipper rushed past them, slamming his shoulder into Preston’s. He didn’t give two shits about what they thought of him. And they obviously held no gratitude towards him for saving their damn lives the last time he was here. So fuck them. They could go to hell.

He took the stairs up to Pacifica’s bedroom two at a time, ignoring the gut-roiling memory of the blood he’d tracked on the hardwood floors previously. He knocked rapidly, hoping she was here and not being murdered somewhere in a dark corner. Come on, come on. He knocked again—

Dizzying relief flooded him immediately as Paz ripped open her door, an expression of irritation and something snarky about to leave her mouth. But he spoke before she could. “Oh, thank god,” he breathed, knees threatening to buckle.

“Dipper?” she blurted in confusion. “What—“

He yanked her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I thought you got kidnapped again,” he mumbled into her hair. “Jesus Christ, Paz. Why did you disappear?”

Paz wrapped her arms around his back and patted him gently. “You left me there, dumbass,” she retorted, a laugh in her voice. “I was gone for, like, five minutes.” She went quiet, and he just breathed her in, basking in her…alive-ness. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize you’d get so freaked out.”

“I just…last time…”

“I know,” she soothed, gripping him tighter. His heart flipped. “I’m okay… I hope you realize the irony in this.”

“Huh?”

She pulled back and stared up into his face, her expression so honest and tortured that his throat grew a lump. “I feel the same way about the siren,” she whispered. “Everything could go so wrong tonight.”

“I said I trusted you, and I mean it,” Dipper told her softly. He pulled her back in, taking a deep breath. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

He really did mean it. No bad gut feelings came forth when he considered his plan. He was confident they could pull it off.

"Pacifica Elise Northwest."

They both turned to look at the seething rage boiling in Preston’s red face, Priscilla behind him gazing on in either horror or scandal.

Oh, shit.

“Daddy,” Pacifica blurted, shoving Dipper away immediately. It irritated and hurt him at the same time, which was confusing as hell.

“Get away from that boy this instant,” Preston thundered. There were forehead veins popping up, and Dipper had to stifle a laugh.

“Daddy, what’s—“

“That boy is never allowed back here, do you understand me?!” he shouted. “You are never to see him again! He is unsuitable for you!”

Pacifica’s face contorted into anger. “What are you talking about?”

Oh, shit. Dipper fucked up. He fucked up badly. Shit.

Preston came closer, Priscilla on his tail, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. “He just berated us, disrespected us, in our own home! And you dare stand next to him after the way he acted? After all we’ve done to make your life comfortable? All the education, all the things we’ve given you?”

Pacifica looked at Dipper, shock and confusion flashing in her eyes. “What happened?” she breathed. Then back to her father, “What happened?”

Preston reached out and grasped Pacifica’s upper arm, making her yelp, and Dipper acted on pure instinct. On pure hatred. He slapped his hand down on Preston’s outstretched wrist, stopping everyone from moving. Freezing the entire moment. “Let her go,” Dipper warned in a dangerous tone, expression stormy and cold.

“You’d release me, boy, if you know what’s good for you,” Preston spat.

“Pacifica,” Priscilla finally spoke up, her voice shrill, “come here.”

Pacifica looked torn, eyes darting between all of them.

“She’s not some fucking object or trophy you get to order around and manipulate,” Dipper ground out between his clenched jaw. “Now let her go before I snap your wrist like a twig.”

Preston finally hesitated, clearly calculating Dipper’s seriousness. Then he released his daughter, and Dipper threw the man’s wrist out of his grasp like it was unbearable to touch any longer. Preston leveled his gaze on Paz, his fury dimmer but still present. “Don’t expect to be welcomed back in this house, girl,” her father said bitterly. “Thanks to this…deadbeat, you are no longer a Northwest.”

Pacifica sucked in a shocked breath, hurt coloring her expression and blanching her skin. Dipper’s anger fizzled out into guilt—regret—sorrow. Fuck. He had done this. This was his fault. Preston turned on his heel and yanked his wife away, who merely glanced back with a look of despair. Then they were alone in the hall, surrounded by deafening silence.

“Wh…what just happened?” Paz rasped in horror.

“I’m so sorry,” Dipper croaked, knowing the words felt empty, worthless, but having no idea what else to say.

Pacifica whipped her head to him, clearly pissed. “What did you do?” she snapped. But then her face fell, tears gathering in her eyes. Fuck. “N-never mind, it doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, shaking her head as she stared back down at the floor. “I…I don’t know what to do…”

“Come on,” Dipper murmured, slipping his hand in hers and leading her downstairs. “You can stay with me.”

Pacifica followed silently, allowing Dipper to lead her out of the house. He sensed she didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to think. And he’d been there before—so he took control, speaking to the doorman when she couldn’t, guiding her onto his bike parked near a tree.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dipper said softly, and she woodenly wrapped her arms around his waist.

Chapter Text

Can We Just Pretend?

He took her back to the Shack. Dipper guided her to the bedroom, setting her on his bed. Just as he began to pick out some clothes for her to wear from her bags, she finally spoke.

“What did you say to them?”

Dipper swallowed thickly, movements slowing as he responded quietly, “Basically what you heard. Told them you’re not their property. Cursed at them. Shoved your dad out of my way so I could go find you.” He turned around, a set of pajamas in his hands, eyes tight like his mouth. “I know it doesn’t make much of a difference now, but I really am sorry, Paz. I wasn’t thinking straight. I acted like an asshole and you’re the one who got punished for it.”

“No, I…” She trailed off, eyes flickering. “I think…this was a long time coming. I just didn’t realize how horrible it would feel.” Her head tilted up to him, an expression of sorrow marring her features. “What am I going to do?”

Dipper set the clothes down and knelt before her, holding her ankles. His fingers felt brittle. “I don’t know yet,” he murmured. “But I’ll help you figure it out, okay? It sucks right now. It probably feels like the world is gonna end, right? But it’s not. We just have to take it one day at a time.”

“You’re just regurgitating what the adults say,” Paz accused, but it came out so weak that it lacked the venom he imagined might accompany the words.

He smiled gently, tilting his head. “You do realize we’re adults now, too, right?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes—the first sign of herself that she’d shown since the incident. Then her gaze landed on the pajamas by his knees. “What are those for?”

“We’re staying home tonight,” he stated simply. “No sirens.”

“What?” she said sharply, frowning. “No. I want to get this over with.”

“I thought you didn’t want to?”

“Dipper, honestly—I think I found that rage you were talking about. Get me some different clothes. I need to murder a siren.”

-

The night was eerily quiet and calm, no other sounds than him and Pacifica’s footsteps in the dirt. No owls, no crickets, no frogs. Just denim scratching and tennis shoes.

Dipper felt uneasy. Not about the siren, but about Paz. Her face had hardened to steel, and it stayed that way as they took their place among the edge of the tree line. He worried that maybe she wasn’t going to process being basically homeless properly. Should he contact a therapist for her?

He remained silent, though, sensing that whatever he said would be brushed off. He didn’t know why he agreed in the first place. Maybe it was the fire he saw in her eyes—the long-stored anger and frustration of being reprimanded by her parents for being less than perfect in their eyes. And he understood that to a certain degree.

Perhaps this would be cathartic. He hoped.

Dipper handed her his knife without a word and inserted his earplugs. It was only a matter of time now. There was a slight chance the siren had cut her losses and moved on—but it was unlikely. 

Pacifica stared out at the lake while he stared at her from the corner of his eye. She was still on edge, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from her parents or the determination to kill a monster. Or both. Dipper had the urge to reach out and take her hand, to reassure her that everything would be fine eventually, but he resisted. He didn’t really know what to do with this new version of her.

“My love…you came back for me…”

Dipper raised his head, staring out at the dock. That whisper. It was her. It was so much sweeter than last time. Oh, and her music, god, the music. He recalled with perfect clarity the heartbreaking smile of hers, the feline shape of her eyes, the red, sensual silk of her voice.

His feet carried him to the dock where he knew she waited. She lifted out of the water gracefully, midnight hair clinging to her illustrious skin. “My love,” she crooned. “Come join me.”

He wanted to. Fuck, he wanted to. It would feel so amazing to fall into her arms again. Dipper released a breath of relief when his hand grasped hers, warm and inviting. Why had he even left her before?

Abruptly, there was a rip of pain on his tricep; he winced, then when he glanced into his lover’s eyes, he noticed a glimmer of rage.

“Get the fuck away from him!” came a roar.

Pacifica. Pacifica was here—their plan—

The gossamer of the siren’s call fell away, dimming everything back to normal. He was leaned over the dock, about to dive into murky waters to his death (again). The once beautiful woman before him turned grotesque and gaunt, like a skeleton dipped in gray wax. Her eyes were light blue spheres that struck cold fear into his heart; rotted lips pulled back into a fierce snarl, revealing razor sharp black teeth. And the screech that followed could’ve easily burst his eardrums.

Dipper yanked his arm out of her grasp, breath coming in short spurts, and he scrambled backward.

Only to bump into Pacifica’s legs.

The only thing he heard before a splash was her startled cry.

“NO!” Dipper screamed.

The siren shrieked a laugh and disappeared beneath the surface.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He didn’t think twice. He dove in, too.

Couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Dip was reaching blindly, desperately hoping to grab onto either of them. The water was warm, at least. What a strange thing to notice.

Something bumped his hand. Dipper swam forward and gripped with all his might, praying it was Pacifica. His lungs were burning already. Goddamn it—she had been right. He should’ve listened. He should’ve found another way, brought Mabel or Carsen.

His head broke the surface of the water, sucking in precious air as he blinked rapidly, trying to see. Whatever he dragged with him was resistant, thrashing behind him as he struggled to get to the dock. Only pure adrenaline and the need to save Paz kept him afloat.

Dipper’s free hand slammed upon the dock and he slung his other arm forward, his entire body straining with the weight behind him. There was a flash of pale skin—holy fuck, it was her, it was Paz, he’d gotten to her—!

Under their feet, Dipper felt rather than heard a shrill noise, traveling up from his soles to his scalp. And then they were both being yanked down, ripping them from their chance of life.

Dipper kicked with all his might, lungs on fire, fear and rage pounding through his body. He finally hit something and the siren screamed again. Dip kept his white-knuckled around Paz’s arm, refusing to let go even as she kicked and thrashed as well.

Suddenly, she was lighter—the siren let go. Dipper immediately began swimming back up, needing air, needing a second to run, to gather their bearings.

Once again, he breached the surface, thankfully much closer to the dock than before. “Swim, Paz!” he gasped out, continuing to drag her with him.

Wooden planks—the dock. Lift. Himself, then Paz. They both panted heavily as they rolled onto their backs. Hopefully with a few blessed seconds of reprieve.

The siren was still alive, though. Dipper couldn’t rest. He knew it might be impossible, but he twisted around, searching for the knife.

Hope surged through him as he spotted it. A fucking miracle, thank god. Dip scrambled for it, grateful that Paz had lost her grip as she’d fallen, and within a second, the metal handle was in his palm. Another stroke of luck: his blood still coated the blade.

Paz was still catching her breath as Dipper rose to his feet, eyes frantically darting across the lake. “Come on, you bitch,” he muttered, “where are you?”

There were dark shadows, swishes under the water, that Dipper gritted his teeth at the sight of. He couldn’t tell if it was her or a giant fish—which was entirely too plausible for comfort. This siren was fucking with him. But he wasn’t going to let her get the last laugh. No, he’d be ramming this knife into her chest like he had Sebastian, and he might not even care how much of a monster it made him.

A screech, so high-pitched it made Dipper’s chest rattle, came from behind both him and Paz, who was just beginning to climb to her feet on wobbly legs. He flung himself around, inhaling sharply as he just barely caught the sight of the siren leaping out of the water like a dolphin, that same gaunt face locking onto his. Dipper bared his teeth as he roared back, raising his knife.

Her face blinked in shock as it sunk into her chest cavity.

It felt hollow, but he knew it struck true by the way her air hissed out.

She slumped against Dipper, but he braced his knees and tossed her over his shoulder and onto the deck, knife still in his hand.

It was done.

Fuck, it was done.

After the thump of the siren’s lifeless body, everything fell silent, save for the two humans’ breaths. Dipper’s head pounded, adrenaline slowly wearing off. It almost felt as if he had drowned again—perhaps he had just pushed himself too much. Another thing Paz would end up being right about, though he couldn’t remember if she’d said as much aloud or not.

The knife clattered to the wooden planks as Dip dropped to his knees, feeling heavier and heavier as time passed. His eyes landed on Paz, who was in a similar position, chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. She met his gaze and held it.

“Sorry,” he rasped eventually, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t mean to fuck up that badly.”

Pacifica smiled back briefly. “I told you something bad would happen,” she responded, but it lacked substance. “Can we go home now?”

Dipper glanced at the siren, face hardening. “I gotta dismember her body. I’m not taking the chance that I didn’t fully kill her.”

“God, Dipper…” Paz whispered, strained. She was horrified—not that he blamed her. “Well, I…how long is this gonna take?”

“Dunno. I’ve never done this before.”

Paz sighed harshly, gripping her bangs as she shoved them back. “Can’t we just come back tomorrow?” she pleaded. “I feel gross. There’s some kind of slimy thing stuck in my bra. My hair needs to be washed. I don’t even know if these clothes can be salvaged. Please? I just want to leave and take a shower before I have to be up before dawn to go to work.”

“I’m sorry, Paz,” he shook his head. “I can’t take you home until the job is done. Just go chill on the bike and I’ll be there soon.”

“No, I’ll…I’ll stay,” Paz said reluctantly. “I don’t really want to be by myself.”

Dipper’s lips thinned out, but he didn’t argue. He knew she was a little fragile, considering. Then he turned to the siren and began hacking away, holding his breath to avoid the smell of blood. Though it certainly wasn’t a pretty sight—maroon and viscous, it spilled over the wood and his hands and up his arms and it didn’t help that Pacifica gagged in the background. Dipper coughed through his own disgust, pausing only to take deep breaths through his mouth. Two arms, gigantic fin, then finally the head, midsection falling away. The worst part about it all was sawing through the bone with such a small weapon. He should’ve brought his machete.

“Okay,” Dipper announced, his voice thick from the bile in his throat. “I’m gonna haul all the parts into the woods so she dries out or gets eaten by a pack of wolves or something.”

“Eugh…” Pacifica shuddered. “You look like you just walked out of a slasher film.”

Dipper gave a dry laugh. They had just lived through a slasher film. “Are you coming with me?”

She made a face. “Do I have to help if I do?”

“Yes. It’s that, or sit here with an actively rotting corpse.”

Pacifica sighed despairingly, resigned. “I have to shower anyway, I guess.”

They both took a limb and lugged them far into woods away from the brackish lake, blood dripping behind them. He’d have to make sure to cover that trail and wash the dock off before they left officially for the night. Then came the fin. Then Dipper lifted the torso, leaving the head for Pacifica, who gagged again. Not that he blamed her. It was pretty fucking grotesque. After that, he scrubbed the blood into the dirt on their way back, erasing the evidence. It wouldn’t keep any animals away, but a stray civilian would be none the wiser, at least.

In the little shack nearby, he grabbed a bucket and an old broom so he could clean off the dock. Then he’d clean himself off the best he could, and then they’d be home free. Finally.

“I didn’t realize killing a monster would require so much cleaning,” Pacifica commented as he threw the last bucket of water against the planks.

He kept a snarky reply behind his teeth and tossed the bucket and broom onto the shore. “Almost done,” he promised, smiling grimly at her. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going? I thought—“

Dipper cut off her words by grabbing her hand and tugging her to the edge of the dock. “I’m not getting on my bike drenched in blood,” he stated. “Ready? One, two—“

“Shit.”

“Three!”

He pulled Pacifica into the water via cannonball—the only appropriate way. The water was warm, like before, though it felt much more peaceful without a siren nipping at their feet. They both swam to the surface, gasping in a breath of air as their hands wiped away water from their eyes.

“You know,” Pacifica scowled, “I didn’t really feel like going for another swim.”

Dipper laughed, knowing she was all bark and no bite. “You’ll be fine,” he promised, gliding closer to the dock so he didn’t have to tread water, Paz following. “This way, we don’t have to get sand and rocks all over us if we’d washed up by the shore.”

Paz rolled her eyes, but he just smiled and bumped her shoulder with his own, both holding onto the wooden platform, though neither made a move to get out. “It’s kinda quiet now,” she murmured, looking around. “But not like before. It’s more peaceful.”

Dipper nodded, listening to the water lapping at the wood, the late night birds flitting from tree to tree, the even smaller creatures singing their own cascadence all around. “With the siren gone, it’s safer. Animals tend to sense threats better than humans. That’s why it feels creepy when everything goes silent; because it’s our own way of sensing danger.”

Paz leaned her head on her hands, leveling him with a gaze that was full of gratitude. “Thank you for saving me again,” she said softly, her eyes nearly pure silver in the moonlight.

“You saved me, too,” Dipper pointed out in a breathless whisper.

“You still have one up on me, though,” she countered.

“Why does it have to be a competition?”

“Because I still owe you something. That’s why.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he argued, frowning. “Especially not after what I did tonight.”

Pacifica closed her mouth, pain flashing across her face. “I don’t…really want to talk about that right now.”

“You’ll have to at some point, Paz.” Dipper reached out and laid his hand against her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray water droplet. “Please tell me you’re not just going to bottle it all up.”

Paz’s lips parted, her eyes darting back and forth between his. She almost looked like she wanted to cry—but then she moved back by the slightest inch, away from his hand. “I’m fine,” she breathed, turning her head and therefore breaking eye contact. “Can we go?”

Dipper closed his hand into a fist under the water and nodded.

-

The ride back dried them out a little, but not enough to his liking. They removed their shoes at the door and made their way quickly and quietly to his room, which was thankfully just a few steps away from the bathroom. “You go shower first,” Dipper said, beginning to strip his t-shirt and tossing it into his hamper.

Pacifica silently plucked some clean clothes from one of her (many) bags, blatantly avoiding her eyes, like she had at the lake. It was somewhere around one in the morning—he wasn’t looking forward to waking up at four to take her to work, but it was his fault in the first place for fucking things up with her parents, so the responsibility obviously fell on him to make up for it in some way. He hoped he was doing enough.

Dipper filled his time by doing some laundry, as quietly as he could so not to wake the whole house. Paz emerged fifteen minutes later, faster than he had anticipated, with her dirty clothes in hand. “Where’s the hamper?” she mumbled, keeping her eyes down.

It was then that he realized he was just in damp underwear, and he was probably making her uncomfortable. “Laundry room,” he answered, slightly embarrassed. She passed him, and he took the chance to go shower, too.

The water was hot and soothing, the pressurized stream doing wonders for his tense muscles. He scrubbed his skin until it went pink and tender—then realized his cut on the back of his arm had reopened and began bleeding again, which was fucking great—washed his hair twice, tried to clean under his fingernails the best he could. Dipper thought about everything from the night—but especially about how he’d felt…nothing. From killing the siren. No remorse, no doubt. He hadn’t felt like a monster when driving the knife through her body, not like he had with Sebastian. He wondered why that was.

When he got out, he made sure to dry off quickly and begin to wrap his arm in gauze, careful not to drip blood all over the place. He didn’t want to really clean the bathroom on top of everything else. Sweatpants, t-shirt, brush his teeth, then to bed for a few hours of sleep before he had to be up to take Paz to work. He hoped there was some kind of inn or hotel he could crash at in the meantime.

Most of all, though, he hoped they could stop being so damn awkward and tense around each other. He hoped she wouldn’t push him away after he’d finally decided to…be a better friend? Is that what he was doing?

After what he’d said to her parents, knowing how she felt about everything, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Dipper crawled into bed after clicking his lamp off, exhaustion weighing him down as if irons were chained to his arms and legs. Paz was already in her borrowed bed, tucked snugly in her blankets with her eyes shut. He didn’t know if she was truly asleep, but he wasn’t about to ask.

“Dipper.”

Her voice came as a soft sigh, and he turned his head towards her direction. He couldn’t see anything except her shape in the dim moonlight from the window. “Yeah,” he whispered back.

“Can I…” She paused, the silence pregnant and heavy. “Never mind. Don’t forget to set an alarm.”

He deflated a little. “Yeah.”

-

Running on nothing but two and a half-ish hours of sleep was not something he wanted to repeat. Luckily they didn’t crash on the drive to her job, though the road noise threatened to lull him to sleep a few times. When they arrived at the restaurant, it was five thirty in the morning, the sun just barely beginning to crest the horizon. “Thanks for dropping me off,” Paz said, standing at the back door with her restaurant keys in hand, waiting on the food truck to show up.

“No problem,” Dipper yawned. “I’m gonna go crash at the nearest motel. I’ll text you. You’ll call me when you’re done, right?”

“Yeah. Be careful.”

“You too. Don’t fall asleep on the job.”

He made it to a cheap motel, grateful they didn’t ask for an ID, and slipped into a room that smelled like cigarettes and toilet cleaner. He closed the plaid curtains, turned the old AC unit on, and collapsed onto the squeaky queen sized bed, trying not to think about how often they actually washed the sheets here. Thankfully he had the forethought to text Paz where he was, along with Soos and Mabel. Then everything faded to black—blissful, restful black.

Sometime later, his phone rang loudly and offensively on the nightstand. Dipper groaned under his breath and reached for it, hitting the answer button. “Hello?” he grunted, not even bothering to check who called.

“Dipper? Jesus, I’ve called you like eight times. Are you still sleeping?”

Dipper inhaled sharply and sat up, squinting at the clock on his phone. It was two in the afternoon. “Shit, Paz, sorry,” he rushed out, standing to grab his stuff. Keys, backpack, room key. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The rumble of his bike woke him all the way up, so by the time he pulled into the parking lot, he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Pacifica, however, was quite the opposite—dark circles under her eyes, tendrils of platinum hair slipping out of her loose ponytail, and uniform (jeans and a branded t-shirt) stained with coffee and remnants of ketchup. She leaned against the back door, fingers rubbing her temples. “Hey, Paz,” Dipper greeted, still a bit ashamed that he had slept through all of her calls. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled, shuffling to his side. “Can we go back to the motel? I need to sleep. For, like, the rest of my life.”

“Absolutely,” he promised firmly. “I’ll drop you off first and then I’ll go grab some food for us.”

“Just nothing breakfast or diner related,” she yawned as she threw her leg over the seat and latched to his back snugly. “I cannot take another inhale of grease.”

He took her back to the motel and got another key card from the desk so she’d have an extra, then made his way to the dollar store to grab easy foods to snack on later. All in all it took him fifteen minutes, but he didn’t expect her to be fully asleep by the time he made it back. He figured she might have waited or freshened up or something. Seeing her lay on the bed, still in her uniform and even her shoes, made him soften visibly. She had been running on just as much sleep as he had, and certainly more anxious.

Dipper didn’t think twice about taking her shoes off and setting them to the side, then covering her with the blanket before laying on the other side of the bed to rest some more, as well.

-

By the time he woke again, it was dark outside. Dipper inhaled deeply, blinking away the sleepiness, and stretched his arms out, only to find the bed was empty. He sat up, glancing around. Paz had apparently woken before him, the evidence provided in the open bag of chips on the table under the window. But now she was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she was in the bathroom, he concluded.

He went over to the chips himself and began munching while he checked his phone. There were a few texts. One from Mabel and one from Soos, both saying they could cover the gift shop for the weekend and not to worry. And one from Pacifica: 

I’m going to buy some new clothes over at Target a few blocks down. Be back by eight-ish. I also have to work tomorrow again, so we should just stay here at the motel until after my shift.

Dipper nodded to himself and texted back. 

Yeah, that makes sense. See you soon.

It was seven-thirty now, so it wouldn’t be long until she arrived. He should probably shower while he still had time. He dug through his backpack and pulled out the t-shirt and sweatpants rolled up at the bottom for emergencies, then made his way to the bathroom that faintly smelled of bleach.

-

[Paz]

Clearance. Clearance. Clearance. 

The word reverberated through her mind as she picked through the racks of clothes at…Target. She needed a pair of jeans, a shirt, socks, and underwear. Pajamas, too, if she felt like she could afford it. And hopefully she could find some decent travel sized hygiene products—the one bar of soap at the motel wasn’t going to cut it.

Clearance. Clearance. Clearance.

Jaw set, Pacifica settled on something that would’ve made her parents gasp in horror and made her way to the other side of the store. The thought of her mother and father only made the rock in her stomach somehow denser. She wanted to throw up.

The sight of their faces… Their blatant prejudices…

Just as she was about to leave, Pacifica turned her head longingly to the grocery isles. She yearned for a vegetable. But she already had a cart filled with things… Groaning under her breath, she pushed the cart towards the food and grabbed a cucumber and a fruit smoothie—the only “treats” she allowed herself—then booked it to self checkout.

In the grand scheme of things, sixty bucks wasn’t going to bankrupt her, considering she had almost fifteen grand set aside (between working and squirreling away her parents money over the past year), but she kind of hated having to swipe her card. One, because she knew how quickly it disappeared if one wasn’t frugal. Two, because it was her hard-earned money—and sixty dollars was, by the minimum wage’s standard, at least an eight hour shift. Eight hours, for clearance items? Diabolical. And three—because she shouldn’t have to be spending her money on shit at all. (And, let’s be clear, her “parents’” money was her money, as far as she was concerned, especially after all the crap she had to put up with from them.)

She didn’t blame Dipper. She held no grudge or ill will or resentment towards him in any capacity. In fact, she was downright touched, smitten even, that he had stood up for her.

She was pissed because her parents, who were supposed to love and protect her, didn’t care. They didn’t care about who she was on the inside. All they cared about were looks—how they looked. And a daughter who was “defiant” in any shape or form just wasn’t feasible in their eyes. All the while…she just wanted to be a good fucking person.

And how did her parents—the universe—respond to such dreams? By shitting on her.

Of course she was angry. Hurt. Betrayed. Disgusted that she had to buy fucking clearance items. Maybe even a little ashamed, but she wasn’t touching that subject with a ten-foot pole.

And she was tired. Bone-tired. From having to deal with her parents, to having a near-death experience via siren, to working an eight-ish hour shift on two hours of sleep with nothing but coffee and toast in her system, to this. Shopping at Target for the first time in her life for stuff to hold her over in that gross motel room until she could make it back to god-forsaken Gravity Falls and live in a tiny shack with five other people for the foreseeable future.

Was this rock bottom? It felt like it.

At the very least, she had Dipper. Other than her job, he was her last shred of hope. Her glue. Because if he hadn’t been with her this entire time, she would’ve given up from, what felt like, the sheer weight of the world on her shoulders.

She was grateful for him, that was for certain. And yet, she had no clue how to express that to him.

The walk back to the shoddy motel took about forty minutes, putting her arrival around eight-fifteen. A flutter of nerves whooshed through her chest as the memory of waking up next to him on the singular bed resurfaced. He looked peaceful in his sleep, curled up with his messy brown-haired head resting atop his tattooed arm. She’d never slept in the same bed with another person before, so needless to say it was a tad disarming. Let alone the fact that it was Dipper.

Mason Jude “Dipper” Pines. He was petty to those he didn’t care about, and fiercely protective over the ones he did. Smarter than she was, but not nearly as quick-witted, which was more endearing than she ever let on. He had saved her life twice now, with no expectation for her to pay him back. It was a strange notion—both the twins were strange in that sense. All Pacifica had ever known were transactional relationships, but they…they never asked for anything in return. After talking to Mabel for so long, and eventually realizing her own desires, it was what had pushed her into changing her outlook on life. She still had a lot more growing to do, that was for sure.

And now Dipper was changing her life, too.

She often imagined his heart, his personality, as something fragile, like a flower or something equally as hopelessly poetic or romantic. But she was the poison, the frost that would eventually kill it.

Then again, Mabel had changed her in ways she couldn’t have imagined for herself previously. And her frost hadn’t killed off Mabel. Why did everything have to be so black and white for her? Why couldn’t she accept that he was a good thing? Why was everything so confusing and contradictory? Nothing made sense.

Maybe that was why she kept pushing Dipper away any time he gave her that lopsided, heartbreaker smile. She didn’t want to poison him. She wanted him to keep thriving, to keep being happy. Her life was too messy and dramatic for someone like him—for someone who liked camping and hunting monsters and exploring the unknown. She wasn’t adventurous in the slightest. If she stayed near him for too long, he’d be shackled to one place, because she was too afraid to take more than one baby step at a time, versus his leaps and bounds.

He was too good of a friend for her. Mabel, too.

Steeling herself, Pacifica tapped the card to the sensor and let herself into the room (that honestly looked a lot like those off-the-wall prop-type rooms from Supernatural), dropping her two plastic shopping bags onto the table. The shower was running, meaning Dipper was occupied. That was good. She didn’t know how she was going to look at him at the moment without blushing, avoiding his chocolate eyes, or crying. Or all three.

Paz took the time to finally check her phone, since she’d been avoiding it for the past…however long it had been since the party. Almost twenty four hours, right? Math was too complicated right now. There were a lot from Mabel:

11:24 P.M. Hey, why’d you guys leave so early?

12:01 A.M. I don’t know what’s going on, but Dipper seemed really…unwell earlier. Are you two okay?

9:14 A.M. Hey Paz, I know you’re at work but I was just checking in on you. Please text me back xoxo

12:45 P.M. Love you girl, please let me know what’s going on. 

1:00 P.M. Sorry I know I’ve texted a lot, but I’m just worried. I’m here for you if you need girl talk okay? Xoxo

Pacifica smiled a little and shook her head. That girl had more energy than she knew what to do with.

Then it was the messages from her parents. The reason she’d been avoiding her phone altogether.

Anxiety was a pit in her stomach and nausea roiled in her throat as she read, unable to look away. First, from her father:

10:58 P.M. You are a disgrace to the Northwest family. I will be revoking all your assets as of tonight. You have disobeyed me and your mother at every turn for too long. We put up with it because we thought it was merely a teenage phase and you’d come to your senses. But clearly you have no respect for us or this family. Do not try to contact us or anyone associated with us, or we will take legal action. There are freedoms to being an adult, but there are also consequences, and now you must find that out on your own.

Pacifica exhaled, though it gave her no relief. There was a mix of disappointment, heartbreak, and anger. Who was he to blame her for everything? Who was he to lecture her? Shakily, her thumbs tapped to her mother’s message.

12:00 A.M. I can’t believe you, Pacifica. I am so sorry for the way you’ve turned out. I should have done better to raise you. You are so selfish, and flagrantly ungrateful as to what we’ve done to make your life as comfortable as possible. Go ahead and do what you want, because we are done trying to help you be better.

Be better? Selfish? Ungrateful? A salty lump grew in the back of her throat. For some reason, she had been holding out hope that her mother would have been on her side. But that hope was quickly dashed, fizzled out into charcoal.

Pacifica swiped at a few tears, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing. This was so fucking unfair. She just wanted to curl into the fetal position and tuck her hands into her chest. She wanted parents who cared more about morals than status. She wanted a mother and a father who hugged her when she was sad or struggling. She wanted to stop caring about them, but instead found herself hating them—and if she had learned anything about hate, it was on the same coin as love. And she didn’t want to love them anymore.

She wished she could turn off her feelings.

She wished she could stop existing for just a moment; then, maybe, she could slow down and learn how to breathe around this grief.

Pacifica ran her fingers through her hair, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm her mind. It didn’t work, but she kept doing it until it suddenly became quiet. The shower had turned off, which meant Dipper was about to emerge. She clicked her phone off and slid it away from her, sniffling and rubbing her eyes aggressively to stop the tears. How absolutely ridiculous for her to be crying over people who didn’t give a shit about her. Not in the ways that mattered. She didn’t want Dipper to see that. It was weak and stupid, like crying over spilled milk or whatever the saying was.

Her eyes lifted as he opened the door, steam billowing out in a giant cloud. Pacifica despised the flash of heat from the sight of him in just sweatpants, gritting her teeth against her inevitable blush. She’d seen him shirtless a few times now; it should’ve been easier to ignore, but it wasn’t. How he’d gained such muscles at his age was beyond her. But she didn’t want to be attracted to him. If she was, that meant it would only be harder to push him away, harder when she eventually did, and he accepted that she couldn’t have anything to do with him.

“Hey,” Dipper said, surprise in his voice. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

“Yeah, I just came in a minute ago,” Paz said—more like croaked. She cleared her throat discreetly and smiled for good measure.

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” he asked as he pulled on a dorky shirt with a Rubik’s Cube on the front.

“Yeah,” she nodded, ignoring his first question. She didn’t really have an answer she wanted to give.

They proceeded to dig into the snacks he’d bought earlier that day in companionable silence, Pacifica sneaking glances at him, and him sneaking the same looks—just less inconspicuously. She knew he thought she was close to losing it, and he wasn’t far off. Another incident and she might have a mental breakdown. She just wanted to sleep for a few days. Maybe that would help.

Pacifica could see it in Dipper’s eyes. He wanted to say something, to help. But she didn’t know what else he could do other than what he was already doing. It made her heart ache, knowing how guilty he must feel for something that had been inevitable—her parents’ faults were no one else’s to bear but their own. And she knew logically she shouldn’t be concerned over them either, but the heart was fickle like that.

Eventually, Paz went to shower too, grateful she’d bought all the things she needed to feel human. When she emerged, she found Dipper sitting upright on the bed, arms crossed over his stomach and head leaned back on the wall. Butterflies spawned in her belly, but she managed to ask in her default haughty tone, “Are we sharing again?”

Dipper opened those beautiful, coffee brown eyes and shifted his gaze to her, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Her breath caught. “We don’t have to,” he assured gently. “I can sleep on the floor—“

“No,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “It’s fine. I don’t…really mind.”

Damn it. This happened way too often. She would have the opportunity to put some distance between them, and then her mouth would say the exact opposite of what her brain said.

Dipper closed his mouth in an attempt to hide his growing grin, but it was futile, and it only made her blush and frown, glancing away. Regardless, she made her way to the other side of the bed, sliding under the scratchy sheets. He joined her, turning off the lamp and bathing the room in darkness before laying on his side, facing her.

Everything was suddenly silent, save for their breathing. Pacifica’s heart was in her throat. They were mere inches apart. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted. She did want to, but it was a bad idea.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” The lie came out as a whisper.

“Do you need anything?”

Parents who cared. A break. Peace.

Tears grew in her eyes again, her chin scrunching up as she tried to hold them back. “I don’t know,” she finally breathed, unable to hide the pain in her voice.

Silently, Dipper brushed the back of his hand against her arm, slowly trailing up to her shoulder and then to her back, flattening his palm between her shoulder blades. She held her breath as he pulled her in, his clean scent invading every part of her as her nose pressed into his chest. Pacifica spread her hands out over his torso, merely allowing herself to feel. She could do that, right? She’d just had the shittiest twenty-four hours of her life. This one little indulgence was okay, right?

He was warm under her tentative fingers. She could feel his muscles tensing with each inhale and exhale he made. A hum in her throat, Pacifica finally relented and wrapped her own arms around him, returning his embrace. It soothed her heart, yet simultaneously sent it thrumming.

“I hope this is okay,” he murmured. The depth of his voice vibrated against her cheek that rested on his peck.

Pacifica pulled back slightly to look up at him. The only illumination was the dim street light outside peering in through the curtains, providing just enough to barely see the shape of him, the glint of his eyes. He looked down at her, too, and Paz couldn’t help but sigh, “It’s fine.”

Dipper’s fingers brushed away some hair from her forehead, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Good,” he replied, though it was distant.

Paz swallowed, knowing she was in dangerous territory with herself. Things were awkward enough as it was—if she kissed him, if they kissed, everything would be worse. She was supposed to be keeping him at a distance, goddammit. And yet her mouth spoke without her permission. “Yes. Good,” she echoed faintly, focused on the hard beat of his heart once again under her palms.

He leaned in. And she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t move, mesmerized by the thought of what it would feel like to kiss him.

There was a moment of contact, just a brief touch, a brush, of his lips. Pacifica released a huff of breath, possibly her last one as her head began swimming. And then he bent in again, fully pressing their mouths together, and Pacifica was being Kissed, capital “K,” well and truly, by Dipper Pines.

He knew what he was doing, that was for certain. His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb smoothing gentle strokes under her ear and sending intimate shivers through her body. Her top lip was captured between his and he very carefully pressed his tongue against it. Paz breathed something between a moan and a sigh, her fingers curling in his shirt as she opened her mouth to reciprocate.

His knee slipped between hers as they drew closer, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. His mouth pressed harder, pushing and pulling and making her feel warmer and warmer and, at the same time, weaker than she’d ever felt before in her life.

And that was enough to cause her to stop.

She pulled back, gently pushing on his chest and away from her. Her hands gradually loosened as she stared at his mouth, still parted and panting softly. Paz glanced up to his eyes finally, charmed by how bright they suddenly seemed…and also terrified at the undeniable want.

She couldn’t do this to him. She was poison. She would drag him down if they continued. He was so much better than she was, so much stronger, resilient, empathetic. All the traits she coveted, yet refused to steal from him.

“Paz…?” he murmured hesitantly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I, um… Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Pacifica pushed on his chest more, separating them further, and he released her, though his hands lingered; it almost tempted her to go right back. Almost. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but she saw him frown from her peripheral vision. “I…sure…” he mumbled.

Pacifica turned around and took a deep breath. Her lips burned until she fell asleep hours later.

Chapter Text

The Creepies Are Actually Sinister

[Dipper]

Mabel was in charge of the gift shop today, which thankfully gave him a much-needed day off. He lay in the grass outside, inhaling the nature around him, allowing the sounds of the breeze rustling the trees and tiny critters darting through the forest to calm him. The last few days had been hectic to say the least; Dipper needed the serenity.

It still didn’t erase what happened.

Some kind of emotion he couldn’t identify had taken up residence in his chest, threatening to crawl up and out of his throat in the form of a scream. He’d obliterated whatever delicate relationship Pacifica had with her prissy-rich-bigoted-prejudiced-assholeish parents. No matter what he thought of them, however, she clearly cared about them—especially if her strange off-ness and silence on the subject was any proof. Not that he needed any.

Then…he’d kissed her. Like a fucking idiot.

Dipper groaned aloud and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, grimacing at his own stupidity. Of course she had pulled away. Who’d want to kiss the guy who just turned her life to shit? It had still hurt; the kiss itself was nice. Warm. But he understood why Paz had stopped, why she had barely even looked at him the past two days since then.

Jesus fucking Christ. He couldn’t believe how dumb he was.

Sighing, Dipper rolled over onto his stomach and laid his head onto his crossed arms. The tattoos were still unfinished. He had to go back to see Ivy in three weeks to complete his other bicep. In the meantime, though, he’d just have to glare at the blank space above his right elbow.

Frowning, he traced the intricate lines along his forearm. Dipper often had gut feelings about things nowadays, and today was no different. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he was being stalked. For the past day and a half, he had caught himself looking over his shoulder, shivering from the creepy spider-leg-crawlies up his spine, and staring off into space as his memories returned to the notorious demon, Bill Cipher.

No doubt, Bill had been the most diabolical, evil force he’d ever encountered. He only hoped Bill was the only diabolical, evil force. However, based on his experience, the Bad Luck Vibe he gave off, and this weird stalker thing he was sensing…he didn’t put much faith into that hope.

There was nothing more harrowing and disorienting than being possessed by a demon. Shoved out of his body to merely be an onlooker as Bill wreaked havoc—it was insane, in a word. In the end, he hadn’t been helpless, but it had still been the worst experience of his life. An experience he never wanted to repeat.

The old couple he and Paz had helped was different. He’d chosen then. Consciously. He had been informed. But Bill had tricked him. Dipper shuddered, remembering the way his body had felt afterwards: ragged (admittedly, that had been his own fault), and slimy—oily—like Bill had left a film of grime inside him that he couldn’t scrub away. It had taken days to fade.

Nausea rose in his throat and he took a deep breath, trying to banish the memories.

No matter what, he needed to keep an eye on his surroundings. Some kind of creature was watching him; it could be watching the others around him, as well. Dread made his stomach drop and he sat up quickly to look over towards the Shack a hundred feet away. Pacifica sat on the porch in the shade, reading some kind of book. Soos was visiting his grandmother today, so that meant the house was left in his and Mabel’s care. His eyes drifted to the gift shop door where he could see his bubbly sister laughing at something Carsen said, who sat on a stool beside her.

Dipper clenched his jaw. He didn’t know why, but Carsen was beginning to really irritate him.

Sighing after a minute, he shook his head. He was being stupid. And overprotective. He’d never liked any of Mabel’s other boyfriends either. Take a chill pill, Dipper, he thought to himself.

He glanced back to Paz, mouth thinning out as he once again remembered everything that had happened this past weekend. He wished he could undo it all. He almost wished he could push her out of his life—at least that way, she’d be safe from his chaotic environment—but he knew he’d regret it. Dipper would miss her. He liked her, which probably wasn’t smart, yet he couldn’t seem to care.

She had seen all the crazy things he dealt with. And she hadn’t run away from it. Other than Mabel, he’d never met anyone as resilient and brave and compassionate. Even if she didn’t outwardly show it.

Sighing again, Dipper rolled onto his back, grass poking through his thin t-shirt, and stared up at the baby blue sky. A few white clouds floated along their merry way—entirely at odds with how he felt. He wanted to talk to Grunkle Ford about everything. Surely he’d have an answer to something.

Emotions, too many to decipher, swirled throughout his body, his heart, even long after he fell into a light sleep.

-

[Paz]

Pacifica placed her bookmark between the pages and set her book down before standing and stretching her arms above her head. Today had been a fairly lazy day. Thank god for that. She didn’t know if she could take another action-packed-thriller-A24-film-type of activity.

Then again, there was always a calm before the storm.

That stray thought made her frown grimly.

Her parents had not contacted her since their last messages, which still sat unanswered in her inbox. Pacifica hadn’t reached out, either, worried they would keep their promise to “take legal action.” They were just malicious enough to do it.

She’d told Mabel about what happened when they came back home. The true friend she was, Mabel had held her and just let her cry in her own quiet way. She hadn’t told her about the kiss, though. For some reason, she wanted to keep it to herself. It felt like if she talked about it, the magic of it would disappear, and she wouldn’t have anything good to dream about anymore.

Pushing the memory out of her mind, she cast one last glance to Dipper who lay in the grass a ways away from the Shack. He’d been laying there for almost an hour now, but she had been hesitant to ask if anything was wrong with him. In fact, she’d been hesitant to even look him in the face. She didn’t really know what to do.

Pacifica swept her platinum hair away from her neck, wishing she had chosen shorts to wear rather than long, suffocating jeans, and made her way to the gift shop. She wanted to check on Mabel.

The girl—and Pacifica only said girl in the way that she felt ten years older than Dipper’s twin, somehow—was quite enamored with Carsen, the Cali surfer dude who seemed to be an insufferable thorn in Dipper’s side. He surely complained about him enough; not to mention the sidelong scowls and frowns when Carsen opened his mouth. To be fair, he didn’t really say anything of worth, despite majoring in the same field as Dipper.

But what bugged Pacifica the most was the way Mabel acted. Maybe it was the new “boyfriend” status that reduced her to a gooey, blushing mess around Carsen, but Paz had a sinking feeling in her gut. Intuition, she guessed, or perhaps from experience, when she had gone through a phase in which she had a heart-throbbing crush on someone and therefore ignored her (so-called) friends at the time.

Not that Mabel was ignoring anybody. But she certainly wasn’t engaging with them, either.

Paz peeked through the window to the gift shop, spotting Mabel and her counterpart both sitting on stools behind the register. Carsen leaned towards Mabel with a mischievous grin and said something that made her throw her head back in laughter. Pacifica’s perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together as doubt began to creep in. Perhaps it was just some kind of honeymoon phase they were in. They looked completely normal.

Regardless, unwilling to let go of her bad feeling, Pacifica kept watch for another few minutes. God, maybe she was being overprotective like Dipper. Or worse, paranoid. (Dipper didn’t have to say anything—she could see it on his face.) How annoying was that?

Then, Mabel stood and stretched, saying something to Carsen before skipping towards the restroom. Pacifica sighed, beginning to pull away from her spying place—

Paz tensed, narrowing her eyes as Carsen’s smile fell, and his face morphed into a desolate, bleak expression.

A shiver crawled across her back, down her arms, prickling her scalp. Her heart stuttered as an inkling of…was it fear? Panic? Anxiety?

His eyes turned almost gaunt as they darkened from their easy-going sky blue to something…ominous. Those very insidious eyes stared out of the window encased by the door, peering outside to—towards Dipper. Pacifica quickly glanced at him, as well, her throat as tight as a vice. She could barely breathe.

He still lay in the grass near the tree line. That was a small relief.

Paz shifted her gaze back to Carsen.

Primal fear struck true to her heart, and she gasped as she locked eyes with him.

There was a moment of clarity as she realized some kind of wrongness surrounded him—

Unsafe, her body pulsed, screamed.

But then she blinked, and he was smiling at her. There was light in his face. He waved at her, exhibiting the friendliness he’d shown since she had met him.

What the hell?

No. No way had she just imagined the last three seconds.

Pacifica finally took a soft inhale of breath, returning precious oxygen to her brain. She backed away slowly, watching his expression turn confused, then she swiftly returned to the Shack, nearly sprinting as she made her way to Dipper’s room.

She stared hard at the stacks of books on his side of the room that had even creeped towards her side.

There had to be something in those tomes that would explain what she had seen.

Setting her jaw, she picked up the first book she saw.

-

[Soos]

Soos swallowed thickly at the sight of his grandmother lying still in her sleep, yet harboring a look of discomfort. Eyebrows drawn close, a sheen of sweat coating her sweet, old face. She was like this most days, now. Some kind of illness had attacked her immune system; the doctors couldn’t find anything in her bloodwork, CT scans, MRI scans, x-rays, or even heavy metal poisoning screenings. There was no cancer, no swelling of any organs, no extra fluids where there shouldn’t be—nothing out of the ordinary. Very simply just old age.

“There’s nothing else you can give her for pain?” he asked sadly, glancing at the middle-aged nurse.

She pressed her mouth into a thin line, a mixed expression of sorrow and regret making her eyes shine. “No, Mr. Ramirez,” she said in a soft voice. “I’ve already given her all I can.”

He nodded before she left, returning his eyes to Abuelita, wishing he could take away all her sickness. He’d inherit it himself in a heartbeat if it meant her wellbeing. “I’m sorry, Abuelita,” he whispered, rubbing the back of her wrinkled hand.

He couldn’t leave her anymore, not when her condition was getting worse by the day. He needed to be with her when she was awake, which was apparently seldom lately. Swallowing again, Soos reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing Dipper’s number.

“Hey, Soos,” Dipper answered quickly. “How are you? How’s Abuelita?”

His sigh was uncharacteristic in its crestfallen tone. “She’s…not doing well,” he mumbled, blinking away tears. “The doctors told me today that—that she has a few weeks left.”

Dipper was quiet for a moment before he replied gently, “I’m so sorry, Soos. What can I do?”

“I need you and Mabel to watch over the Shack. I just can’t leave her here, man…”

“Hey, dude, don’t apologize—Mabel and I can take care of everything. I’ll bring you a bag of your clothes and stuff, too. Don’t worry about anything over here, okay? Just stay with Abuelita.”

“Thank you,” Soos choked out, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s no problem,” Dipper murmured. “I’ll see you in about two hours.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Soos laid his head down next to Abuelita’s hand, no longer able to hold the tears back as they leaked out.

-

[Mabel]

Mabel Pines hummed to herself some old-timey nursery rhyme as she counted the money in the register for the second, and last, time. Her lunch break was nearing, so she’d be closing up the gift shop for about an hour while she ate whatever was left in the fridge. She was starving.

For the fifth time that morning, Mabel glanced out of the window towards her twin brother. Something was going on with him, but she knew from past experience not to push him. When he was really ready to talk, he’d approach her. Shoving him into whatever confession he was holding onto would only make him extra sassy, even distant. Things used to be different, though—before their parents took a hard right turn into the (frankly, contradictory) Christian-slash-Republican movement. They used to talk about anything and everything all the time. But since he’d gone to college, and their parents had essentially ruined the vibe, they had grown apart.

She’d long ago come to terms with it. People were meant to change, to grow up, to grow differently. They were just at different places in life, and that was fine. She did miss him, though.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars exactly,” Mabel announced, smiling over at Carsen.

“Awesome,” he grinned back, beautiful blue eyes gazing at her adoringly. “Let’s go eat, sweetheart.”

A swarm of butterflies flew through her belly and up into her chest, the warmth of his pet name nestling deep inside her. She flipped the sign to the shop, then skipped after Carsen, who was already making his way back towards the interior of the Mystery Shack, and then through to the home part of everything. Since her two grunkles had gone off on their brotherly adventures, the house had started smelling a hundred times better—Soos had become nose-blind eventually, so she and Dipper always shampooed the carpets and cleaned everything with something lemon-scented. Thank god, too. How embarrassing would it have been if she brought Carsen into something so gross?

They made their way to the kitchen, Carsen grabbing a seat while she raided the fridge. “Let’s see…ham, cheese, mayo, lettuce, tomato—surprised those are in here,” she muttered under her breath as she grabbed the ingredients, then lastly the bread. “Do you want anything, babe?”

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now,” Carsen answered.

Mabel shrugged and assembled her sandwich before snagging some pretzels and tossing those on the plate, as well. She sat next to Carsen, bumping his shoulder playfully with a sweet smile, then immediately dug in. “That looks good,” he commented, and she nodded vigorously.

“It is good,” she said around her food. “You’re missin’ out.”

Carsen brushed her bangs away from her forehead and kissed her temple, soft lips lingering. She would’ve had the decency to blush, but she was too hungry to be preoccupied by his charms. “After you’re done, we should head upstairs,” he murmured.

That made her pause, darting her eyes to his slightly darker ones, actually blushing this time. She swallowed ungracefully and placed her sandwich down. “What did you have in mind?” she asked softly.

“Hmm…” Carsen trailed his fingers through her hair, around her ear, then down the side of her neck. She shivered. “Maybe,” he whispered as he leaned in, replacing his fingers with his mouth, “I could start here. Maybe I could move further south…” His lips paused at her collarbone, bared by her spaghetti-strap shirt. Mabel leaned her head back and sighed with pleasure. “Maybe even take this off…” Without her realizing, his hand had snuck around to her back, and his fingers made little circles against her skin, just above the clip of her bra.

“I’m, uh,” she breathed, “really hungry—can you wait a little bit?”

Carsen laughed gently and pulled away, though his warmth never left her. “Yeah, we can wait,” he assured with a nod, his teeth shining through his grin. Mabel kinda laughed at herself, too, but still went back to her food. “So, do you know what’s going on with your brother?”

She shook her head, taking another bite and speaking around it once more. “No, but he’s acting super weird, right? I dunno if it’s something to do with Pacifica, or maybe something else, but—“ Mabel frowned, swallowing down her bite. “I’m worried, honestly. We don’t speak a lot anymore since he left for college, so it almost feels like…like we’re not twins anymore.”

The statement made her heart throb painfully.

Carsen looked at her serenely, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “You know that’s not true,” he said gently. “All he ever does when he’s at college is talk about you. I think it’s his own weird way of being close to you, even when you guys are far apart.”

Mabel smiled faintly. “Really?”

“Yes, sweetheart, really. He never shuts up.”

Laughing, Mabel shook her head. “He’s never been able to shut up about anything,” she grinned. “Then again, neither have I.”

“Yeah, but your yapping sessions are so much cuter.”

“Well, thank you,” she replied, planting a sweet kiss on his mouth. “I’m kinda surprised you noticed he was being funny.”

Carsen shrugged, shaking a hand through his wavy blonde locks. “I mean, I’ve lived with the guy for a while now. He’s a paranoid person to begin with, but something’s different. Do you think all this paranormal stuff he messes with is affecting him?”

Mabel sighed and popped a pretzel in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I have no clue. I don’t think it has before, at least not in this way. It’s still crazy to me that he told you about all the stuff that happened to us seven years ago.”

“Well, I was persistent when I asked about his tattoo obsession. He was pretty religious in making sure it was all done correctly. Couldn’t help but be curious.”

“Yeah, Bill was…” Mabel trailed off, eyes becoming distant. “Challenging,” she finished. “Dipper has every right to be paranoid about demons, even if they’re not Cipher’s.”

“Bill Cipher,” Carsen murmured. “What was he like?”

“Terrifying. Powerful. Deranged, I’d say. He never possessed me, thank god, but I did make a stupid deal with him. I was young and hurting—I didn’t want the summer to end at the time, because I knew if we went back home, we’d have to face our parents’ divorce. Which hasn’t happened—yet—but we weren’t stupid. We knew the basics of what was going on with them. And if we went home, if I went home and Dipper stayed with Ford… Anyway, I made a deal with him that I would get to stay in my own little dream world and never face reality.” Mabel paused in her reverie, smiling. “Even though it was hard, I’m glad Dipper saved me from that. I’m glad we went through the hard stuff, now.”

Carsen smiled, too, brushing his thumb along her cheek. Mabel leaned into his touch, grateful that he’d listened. “Bill Cipher is someone I never want to see again,” she admitted softly. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

-

[Dipper]

Dipper stared at his phone unblinkingly, heart in his throat. Soos had to be in incredible amounts of pain. He just wished there was more he could do to help, but he was neither a doctor nor a therapist. All he could do right now was take care of everything here for his friend.

Grunting as he stood, Dip strode back into the house towards Soos’s bedroom, yanking a duffle bag from the closet and neatly placing multiple items of clothing inside. His mind flashed back to a few nights ago, when he had done this for Pacifica for completely different reasons. He was getting tired of packing fucking bags, to be honest. Why did everything keep going to shit?

Why did he keep coming back to Gravity Falls, when he knew it was this place that made everything shitty?

Dipper shook his head, blowing out a harsh breath. He had no choice but to come back. There was nobody else who wanted to help. He felt, in his own cells, that he needed to be here.

But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Finally, Soos’s bag was filled with essentials, and Dipper took it to the front door. He backtracked to the kitchen, where Mabel and Carsen were speaking softly to each other, sitting closer than Dipper liked. “Hey,” he said sharply, clearing his throat. They both glanced up, both smiling identically. It was kinda creepy… Shaking his head, Dipper leaned against the wall next to the fridge. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Mabel chirped. “What’s up?”

Dipper’s eyes fell as another wave of sadness and helplessness washed over him. “Abuelita is sick,” he mumbled. “Really sick. She has a few weeks left.” Mabel gasped, and he nodded in response, grimacing. “Soos is gonna stay with her, so he asked us to take care of the Mystery Shack while he’s gone—but I have to take his overnight bag up to the nursing home.”

“Okay,” Mabel murmured, a tinge of gloom in her voice.

“Where’s Paz?”

“She’s not outside still?”

“Not that I saw.”

“I think she came inside like thirty minutes ago,” Carsen chipped in.

Dipper nodded and immediately turned on his heel, heading towards the bathroom, assuming she was there. But after knocking with no answer, he opened the door to his bedroom, their shared space. He blinked at what he saw.

“Uh, Paz?” he frowned, closing the door behind him automatically. “What are you doing?”

Pacifica looked up from one of his books—Scottish Fairy Tales, Folklore, and Legends. Her face was pallid, almost sweaty, and her hair was roughly pulled back into a bun, as if she had done it in an uncaring haste. “Dipper—” she blurted, standing so quickly it gave him whiplash. “I need to talk to you!”

He approached her and took the book from her hands gently. “Okay,” he nodded, still frowning. He was so confused—when had this stuff ever interested her? “What’s going on? Why do you look so disheveled?”

“I can’t find anything in your books,” she rushed. “I’ve already been through three of them. I mean there are similarities, but nothing matches up perfectly with what I felt. His eyes, Dipper, they were insane—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he interrupted, setting the book down and resting his hands on her shoulders. “What similarities? Whose eyes?”

Those aquamarine jewels, lackluster in this moment, stared up at him, wide and nervous. “Carsen,” she breathed, horror prevalent in every letter of the name.

Dipper was suddenly uneasy. Carsen? Mabel’s boyfriend and his roommate? No way—that guy was a total airhead, aside from his intelligence when it came to their college classes. But…he couldn’t deny Pacifica and the way she looked. She was clearly shaken. It was impossible for someone who looked like that to be mistaken.

“What did you see?” he finally murmured.

Relief glimmered in her expression, which made him feel inexplicably guilty despite his choice to believe her; as they sunk onto the mattress she’d occupied moments ago, Dipper’s hands slid down her arms to grasp both of her own. Her fingers were cold and clammy. “I went to check on Mabel earlier,” she explained quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was looking through the window. Everything seemed fine, at first. Then Mabel left, and I saw…” Pacifica swallowed audibly. “He was staring at you. Then he looked over at me, and his eyes…” She paused again, shuddering. “It almost felt like—I don’t know—black. And old, like hundreds of years old. Then I ran back here, because I know I didn’t imagine anything. I felt it, Dipper. There’s something weird about him.”

Dipper inhaled softly, nodding in acceptance. “Okay,” he breathed, “I’ll look into it. I’ll watch him.”

Pacifica’s hands squeezed his tightly, her face turning desperate. “Dipper.”

“What?” he responded, almost wincing from her grip.

“Promise me you aren’t going to do anything reckless. Promise.”

His breath stalled, gaze caught in hers. She was really freaked out—not even Sebastian or the siren had done this to her. If Carsen was a supernatural being in disguise, he was certainly a professional when it came to hiding in plain sight. Unless Carsen had suddenly been possessed, which seemed more likely to Dipper, but… Either way, Pacifica was deeply disturbed, down to her core.

So Dipper nodded, swallowing nervously as he decided to lean into her and carefully, purposefully, press his forehead against hers. “I promise,” he murmured.

He didn’t know why he was doing this—getting so close to her again when she had pushed him away last time. Welcome to part two of the “How To Be An Idiot” series, by Dipper Pines. But then her soft sigh wafted against his mouth, and he didn’t really care anymore. He just wanted to be near her. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to be the one she wanted comfort from.

Taking one more chance, Dipper pulled his hands from hers and placed one on the back of her neck, the other resting on her spine. And he pulled her into an embrace. His chest tightened when she returned it instantly, scooting closer to press her torso to his and circle her arms around his back. “Thank you,” Paz mumbled into his shoulder.

He allowed the silence to envelop them for a few moments, hoping his heart wasn’t beating too loudly. Then he remembered his original mission. “I have to go in a little bit,” he whispered.

Paz pulled back to look at him, though her arms never left their position—which coincidentally left her face entirely too close to his for the second time in less than five minutes. God, he wanted to kiss her again. “Where?”

“Soos’s grandmother is dying. I have to bring him some stuff.”

Her eyes tightened along with her mouth. “Okay. What about Carsen? We can’t just leave him with Mabel.”

Dipper hated saying it, but he did it anyway: “If Carsen, whatever may be happening with him, hasn’t killed her yet—or any of us—then I doubt he’ll do it today.”

Pacifica shook her head vigorously. “No, you don’t get it, you didn’t see him—”

He hushed her gently, bringing his hand from the back of her neck to her jaw, brushing his thumb once over her cheek, unable to resist. “I don’t really have a choice, Paz,” he said, frowning. “I made Soos a promise.”

“You made me a promise, too!” Frustration was beginning to shine through the fear on her face, making her eyes shimmer.

“I know. This isn’t reckless, though. I have to bring this stuff to Soos, then I’m going to be in charge of the Shack until his grandmother either miraculously pulls through, or unfortunately passes away. And I need you to stay here.”

Pacifica’s mouth dropped in outrage. “What? No, I don’t want to stay near him without you—”

“You have to. I can’t, don’t, and won’t trust anyone else to take care of Mabel.” Dipper’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then darted back up to her gaze that had instantly morphed at his words. “I need you to be brave, Pacifica. I need you to be the bitch I know you can be.”

She frowned, eyebrow twitching. “I don’t appreciate your backhanded compliment,” she grumbled, irritated.

He smiled, tilting his head slightly. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think you’ll get a genuine one until you kiss me again.”

His face fell after the words left is stupid mouth. Fuck. That was a stupid thing to say.

Pacifica froze for only a second, then raised one eyebrow. “So I have to pay for compliments? You’re the worst.”

Dipper laughed nervously, finally pulling away from her completely. He had to get some space, or he’d fuck everything up again. He didn’t even know what she meant. He’d have time to ponder it later, but not now—not when he was in her same vicinity. “I’ll be back in an hour or two. Call me immediately if something goes wrong.”

“Be careful,” was her soft reply before he left the room, trying not to claw at his chest.

He strode back to the front door, swiping his keys from the hook and the helmet from the end table. He passed the kitchen on his way and noted that his twin and Carsen were still at the table. “Be back soon, Mabel!” he called out as he pulled on the helmet.

“Okay! Tell Soos I love him!”

Dipper paused at the door, trying to feel for that premonition he always got around dangerous entities. But there was nothing. Uneasy once more, he walked out towards his bike, bag slung over his shoulder—and then he felt it. The Creepies, he was calling it, from the stalker, completely different from the premonition tingle. He had to force himself not to look over his shoulder. He didn’t know if Carsen was the source of it or not; however, if he was, Dipper couldn’t let Carsen know he knew.

He had to play his cards very carefully. But that was harder said than done when he didn’t even know what was in his hand.

-

[Paz]

She stared at the door for an embarrassingly long time. She was caught between too many emotions. Torn about Dipper wanting to kiss her again. She wanted him to, but it was a bad idea. It was a bad idea, she repeated to herself.

And then, behind that door, in the kitchen…was Mabel and Carsen. He was a danger. She didn’t know what kind, but the fact was irrefutable. Which meant that all of them were in danger.

Paz imagined this is what she’d feel like if she had a sister of her own—fiercely protective. Just the thought of something causing her harm raised a rageful fire within Pacifica, and she had to take a deep breath to tamp it down. She didn’t know what Dipper even expected her to do in an emergency situation. How was she supposed to fight Carsen when she couldn’t even kill a siren? Or resist a vampire? From what she felt earlier, Carsen was certainly stronger than either of those monsters. And if or when he did attack, what the hell made Dipper think she would just be able to pick up her phone? Muttering under her breath, she set his number as the emergency contact and put it on speed dial, just for good measure.

Pacifica turned her gaze back to the stacks and stacks of books. She still hadn’t found anything of use, which was beyond frustrating. But she still had to look. There had to be something.

Keeping an ear open for any disturbances, she picked up the next book and began skimming.

Chapter Text

Cataclysmic

Dipper had underestimated the amount of work it took to keep the Mystery Shack up and running. It also still slightly irritated him that everything here was fake, but it brought in business that Dipper couldn’t, and had no right to, turn away. Soos, after taking over, had chosen more solid business hours to keep a schedule. Monday through Friday, from eight ante meridiem to five post meridiem, the Mystery Shack and accompanying gift shop was open. He had to do tours when the tourists came, clean up after them, count money (both in USD and foreign currency, because for some stupid reason, Soos hadn’t gotten rid of Stan’s stupid fucking rule of “accept all kinds of money”), and then he had to check in on Mabel who stayed in charge of the gift shop, though there was nothing he really needed to worry about when she was in charge. It was the fact that Carsen didn’t leave her side for a second. Then, there was all the paperwork. Organizing bills, double checking waivers were in place—and yes, they were needed—updating permits, and the like. Soos was an entrepreneurial genius, because Dipper hated every fuckin’ second of this.

By the time Saturday arrived, he was bone-tired. He was grateful that Mabel had taken up cooking dinner most nights and ordering takeout on the others. Unfortunately, it also just reminded him that he was supposed to start cooking lessons for Paz. And then, speaking of the blonde, it was becoming increasingly difficult to be around her. Not because they were arguing, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her, which should’ve been the furthest thing from his mind. It was irritating.

It was also irritating that he hadn’t felt the Creepies for the entire week. Either Carsen had stopped watching him, or his possessor had left. Dipper didn’t feel like either of those suggestions were true. So, that meant something else was going on. Or, the third option, Carsen had noticed Dipper’s noticing and hidden himself more thoroughly somehow. That was the most concerning.

But Carsen continued acting like his normal Californian surfer self. Too flirty, too confident, and too conversational. Dipper was frustrated with his lack of progress in finding something condemning on his roommate. Meanwhile, Mabel was just as oblivious as before—neither he nor Paz had told her, in case Carsen had some dark ideas up his sleeve. Based on what Pacifica had said on Monday, he had stared at Dipper for a moment, meaning two things were possible: one, Carsen (or the entity possessing him) had his sights set on Dipper’s demise, or two, he was looking to get Dipper out of the way to do something to Mabel. What, he didn’t know. Which meant, to Dipper, Mabel was the first priority when it came to safety.

There was another problem that arose with that, though. Since they didn’t know what Carsen was, they had no way of knowing how to protect Mabel, or themselves, against him. There were too many possibilities on what he could be. Sure, lots of weapons and even incantations could battle and/or coincide with whatever kind of monster he was, but without knowing for sure—he just felt helpless and vulnerable.

“Good morning,” Paz yawned from her side of the room. 

Dipper glanced over, seeing her arms stretch far above her head. Against his will, his eyes zeroed in on the smooth patch of skin revealed when her shirt rode up—he could see her bellybutton, and lower than that were hipbones, just barely hidden by the elastic of her silk shorts. Jesus.

“Morning,” he mumbled as he quickly averted his eyes, heat crawling across the back of his neck.

“How did you sleep?”

Like shit, he thought. “Fine,” he answered. “I’ve been up for a little while, though. What about you?”

Paz sat up and rubbed her eyes, then pulled her platinum locks over her shoulder. She looked at him for a belated second and turned her head quickly. “Fine,” she mumbled in echo. Dipper squirmed as another flash of heat whooshed over his skin. She cleared her throat and said, “What are your plans for today?”

Crossing his arms and sighing aloud, Dipper rolled onto his side, facing her. “Dunno,” he shrugged. “Did you have something in mind?”

Her lips twisted into a half smile. Dipper’s breath stalled. “I was kinda thinking about breakfast,” she admitted, tilting her head in a way that made her eyes catch in the light and the sun rest on her cheekbones.

“Well, good thing I was just thinking about teaching you to cook,” Dipper replied, trying to smile back, but his heart was in his throat, so it was hard. Then her face fell, and he was able to laugh.

They took turns in the bathroom getting ready. Dipper picked his usual worn jeans and black t-shirt, and Pacifica actually chose what she’d worn at the motel last weekend—flowy teal yoga pants and a white tank top that scooped low. Dipper remembered it being just as mouth watering as last Saturday—but he kept his eyes studiously trained away from her. Even in casual, lazy clothes, she still looked incredibly stylish and perfectly put together. He was glad she had called into work again, claiming another family emergency. He hoped she wouldn’t get into too much trouble with her boss, but he was still grateful for her presence. Dipper imagined she didn’t want to leave Mabel’s side (and hopefully his, either, but that was a selfish hope).

“So,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips and leaning to one side. “What’s first?”

“Wash your hands.”

Pacifica glared slightly, but did as he ordered. When she came back, she raised an eyebrow, waiting for the next step. “Grab a frying pan. It’s the pasta-bowl looking one with a handle. Okay, now get the bacon and eggs. Pan goes down on the burner, turn the knob to ignite it, then wait for it to heat up.”

“How long?” she asked, frowning as the gas stove clicked. 

Dipper smiled humorously and came up behind her, reaching over her shoulder to press the knob in and turn it correctly. “It should take like five minutes,” he answered lightly.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Dipper froze, realizing what he’d done. Chest brushing her shoulders, thighs almost pressed to her backside, he towered over her. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, blushing like a fucking schoolboy. PART THREE ON HOW TO BE AN IDIOT. The fire came alive on the stove, and Dipper finally let go of the knob and stepped away.

The next few minutes were awkward agony. “Get the bacon and lay down three or four slices,” he muttered with crossed arms, an extra two feet away from her now. “Once it shrinks, you can flip it.” Dipper took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m going to wake up Mabel and Carsen. Be careful, that grease will burn you.”

Pacifica didn’t say anything as he left to climb the stairs to his and Mabel’s old childhood room. Jaw still clenched from his stupidity, he knocked on the door a few times. “Hey guys,” he called. “It’s almost nine. Time to get up.” Normally, he’d let everyone sleep in, but with the new information about Carsen having come forward, he couldn’t let them out of his sight for longer than necessary.

“Ugh—Dipper!” Mabel groaned from inside the room. “Go away! I’m not doing anything today.”

“We’re kinda busy, anyway, bro,” Carsen added, a smirk in his voice.

Dipper gagged. “Don’t say anything else,” he snapped. “Just…come downstairs soon.”

Shuddering, Dipper took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get away from them. Despite his desire to protect Mabel, she and Carsen were still—unfortunately—involved. And he didn’t want to think about that at all, let alone get in the middle of it. Thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, Dipper’s attention was captured by Pacifica’s panicked face and the growing flame in the middle of the pan.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, rushing forward and grabbing a handful of flour from the jar on the counter to toss onto the fire. It was doused immediately, but it clearly ruined the bacon. Laughing incredulously, he looked over at Pacifica who looked close to tears. He laughed again, covering his mouth with his hand. “How in the hell did you do that?”

Pacifica scowled at him sharply. “Shut up, you dickhead,” she barked. “I’ve never cooked before!”

“You look like you’re about to cry,” he snickered.

“I’m not crying. My mascara is too expensive.”

“Just go sit down, princess,” Dipper teased mockingly. “I’ll finish cooking.”

Paz blushed and pouted simultaneously, but did as he said. Dipper reset the kitchen in just a few seconds, and began recooking the bacon. “So I was thinking,” he said over his shoulder. “What if we all went camping tonight?”

“All of us?”

“Yeah. It would be a good way to pull Mabel away from Carsen for a little bit,” he mused quietly. “At least to talk to her. See if he’s been doing anything suspicious.”

Paz stood and came to his side, placing manicured fingers on his arm. He tried not to flinch at her touch. “I don’t know if Mabel would’ve noticed anything, even if he has,” Pacifica responded softly. “She seems to really like him. You know how she is. She doesn’t really see the bad side of things like we do.”

Dipper swallowed, gazing down at her, almost getting lost in the blue, the gleam of that gunmetal band. “I still think it’s worth a try,” he murmured. “I don’t have time to watch their every move with Soos gone. You don’t really know what to look for, and even if I told you, you wouldn’t know what else to do other than tell me. And I don’t have the time to stop everything.” Unless their lives were in immediate danger, of course, but he felt like that was a given.

Pacifica dropped her gaze, nodding. Her fingers trailed down to his, squeezing his hand gently. “If you feel like this is a good idea,” she said, “and you feel like you can handle it, then I’m with you.”

He had the urge to kiss her again, so he inhaled deeply and pulled back a few inches, turning his attention to the bacon. Just as he was about to take his hand back, Pacifica threaded their fingers together; his heart leapt and he darted his eyes back to her, a deep ache growing as he saw her gaze. She looked…like she wanted to kiss him, too. But that had to be his imagination, right? They were friends, tentative ones at that. He’d ruined her life just a week ago. Was she coming closer? Dipper was lightheaded.

“Hey, guys what’s for…breakfast?”

Dipper and Paz separated immediately, ripped apart by Mabel’s interruption. By the sound of her voice, she knew that she had caught them in the midst of something. And it certainly was something, but Dipper had no fucking clue what. “Gooood morning,” Mabel drawled, grinning mischievously. “How are you two?”

“Great,” they both answered, Dipper tightly and Paz too bright.

“Mm-hmm,” Mabel said, smiling even wider. “Looks like it.”

“Where’s Carsen?” Dipper asked. 

“Bathroom. Why are you trying to—”

“Wanna go camping tonight? All of us, I mean.” Dipper smiled at his sister, trying to convey that he did not want to talk about his and Paz’s weird dynamic in front of her.

Mabel lit up with joy, effectively distracted. “Absolutely!” she gushed. “That sounds like fun. I don’t think Carsen’s ever been, at least not in Gravity Falls. I’ll have to go shopping, though, I know you don’t have enough gear for all of us—Paz, do you wanna come with me? Or maybe,” she smirked, “you’d like to stay here with Dipper?”

Dipper glanced at her before he could stop himself, watching a blush bloom across her cheeks. “Maybe we can all go,” she mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never been camping.”

“Alrighty,” Mabel sang, bouncing out of the room.

Pacifica shot a glare over to him, and he glowered right back—as if the whole thing was his fault.

-

Mabel bounded down the aisles, Carsen half-jogging behind her, leaving Dipper and Paz to stare after them. He was growing more and more uneasy seeing them together, knowing the danger Carsen presented. But he couldn’t necessarily approach it head-on without knowing all the facts. Well, he could, but it would be a dumbass move.

Dipper began his trek down the aisle, too, frowning to himself. He wasn’t sure how he was going to even start a conversation about Carsen with Mabel. He didn’t know how to make the words sound innocent. So, has your boyfriend looked like a monster in disguise recently? Do you think he’s going to kill us all in our sleep? He scoffed aloud. Yeah, right.

He and Paz stopped at the tents; just as he grabbed one, Paz stopped him. “Do you really think a tent is necessary?” she asked, pursing her lips. “I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna go camping that often. We can share for one night.”

Dipper’s heart skipped. “A-Are you sure?” he almost whispered. “The tent I have is pretty small. We’d have to sleep really close together.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to try anything, are you?”

No. Yes. Dipper couldn’t answer honestly, so he swallowed and pressed his lips into an uncomfortable line. “Let’s just get another sleeping bag, then,” he mumbled eventually, leading her further down the aisle. He pulled a simple black one off the shelf, then turned around to grab more essentials.

“Goddamn, how much do you need to go camping, anyway?” Paz muttered, eyeing the basket of items.

“More than you think,” he replied off-handedly, throwing more in. “Will you go check on Mabel?”

She left silently, giving him a second to actually breathe. Okay. So. On top of talking with Mabel about the potential dangerous entity Carsen may be, he also had to share a tiny space with Pacifica and not kiss her. Technically, he shouldn’t even be thinking about touching her, but he couldn’t control all his thoughts. Fine. Fine, he could do that. He’d been sharing a room with her for a week now; he could handle one night of—almost—sharing a bed.

He could.

-

They all went to his favorite mountainside. The two mile hike took an hour longer than usual, only because even though Pacifica was in decent shape, she’d never been hiking before in her life. It was hilarious watching her heave for air every time they stopped for a break. When they finally reached a clearing, Dipper announced their final arrival, and Paz dropped to her knees with a relieved groan.

“I’ll start the fire,” Mabel chirped happily, skipping into the woods.

“I’ll set up the tent, I guess,” Carsen chuckled.

Dipper watched Carsen carefully, looking for any change in his expression. But he looked like the same guy he’d known for a little over a year. Nothing dark or unusual in his eyes. No premonitions, and no Creepies. It was almost enough to make him doubt—but then he saw Paz doing the same thing he was, and he was back to being convinced that something about Carsen had to be wrong.

“What should I do?” Paz finally asked, approaching Dipper and sticking close to him. Close enough that their bare arms brushed.

He hated that she wore that outfit—biker shorts and a cropped tank top. It was too much skin. And she’d tied her hair up, revealing neck and shoulders and collarbones… “Grab these rods and start connecting them,” Dipper said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

They all worked in relative silence until Mabel came back, a giant bundle of sticks of all sizes in her arms. Soon, everything was set up and completed, the crackling fire dissecting the space between their two tents. The sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon by the time they all settled down to eat.

“So,” Mabel piped up, grinning widely. “Any scary stories tonight, Dipper?”

He rolled his eyes. “None that we haven’t lived through already,” he muttered.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be so crabby! Tell me about the siren. Or the vampire. I wasn’t there for those.”

Dipper was suddenly cold as he remembered the night Paz and her parents had been kidnapped, and nearly Turned into vampires themselves. The disbelief and outrage on Sebastian’s face as Dipper allowed gravity to pull him down, ramming a stake into his heart. The unending blood that coated his skin as he pounded the flesh and organs and bone into the very earth he so loved.

He blinked out of his reverie as he felt a subtle touch on his lower back. Dipper looked at Paz who sat next to him, gazing up at him with the very same expression she had that night.

It wasn’t that he was against killing out of necessity—it was the bitter fact that he’d been as macabre as the monsters he faced.

He hadn’t told Mabel everything about the vampire incident. Shame colored him, shades of sickly green, pale blue, and yellowish-purple, as he glanced at his twin briefly—but even now, he couldn’t force those words out. He didn’t want to relive his self-loathing, nor the gruesome act he’d inflicted.

And he especially didn’t want his sister, a warm and caring and gentle and loving human, to know what he was capable of. To taint her with the knowledge of his deep-rooted bloodlust was unthinkable.

“Maybe another time,” he said hoarsely, barely adding a smile to hide his distress.

Mabel frowned at him from across the fire. Dipper cringed inwardly. He knew that look. She could tell something was up, that he was lying about something. Which meant she would seek him out soon. He only hoped he knew what to say when she did.

“Wait,” Carsen said incredulously, “you really fought a vampire?”

“Well,” Mabel replied, raising an eyebrow at him, “we did tell you Gravity Falls is kinda…supercharged with weirdness.”

“Dipper once exorcised a vengeful ghost from the Northwest Mansion,” Pacifica added. “It was very heroic, as I’m sure Mabel can attest to.” Dip could’ve fucking preened at the word “heroic.” For some reason, it sounded a million times more flattering coming from her than anyone else. But then Paz’s face fell slightly, and he was reminded yet again of the damage he’d caused involving her family. He was just a walking fucking disaster, huh? Goddammit.

“Oh, I don’t remember that too much,” Mabel laughed. “I was busy trying to flirt with Marius von Fundshauser. It was terrible.”

“Who the hell is that?” muttered Carsen, clearly confused.

“Nobody, sweetie,” she smiled sweetly, patting his knee.

“There was also a siren?” the Californian asked, turning to Dipper.

“Yeah, she was how I drowned.”

“You fought a siren last week?!”

“Well…yeah. I guess.”

Carsen shook his head in disbelief. “Do you three have a death wish or something?”

Dipper laughed under his breath. It was ironic that those two monsters might not even come close to what Carsen was hiding.

“At least we’re not boring,” Paz drawled, tilting her head at Carsen, lips pursed, blue and silver eyes glinting with challenge. Dipper had to hand it to her, she was a great actress when she needed to be. “Unless, of course, you have a story of your own that would trump ours.”

Dipper tensed when he saw Mabel’s expression—suspicious and maybe even defensive. So she knew knew something was up. Then his eyes shifted to Carsen, a slight twinge of dread taking up residence in Dipper’s chest as he saw Carsen’s frown, eyebrows drawn. The guy undoubtedly recognized Pacifica’s taunt.

“Not one of my own,” Carsen said flatly, “but I did read something for my lit class once.”

“And I presume you believe it’s more carnal than our lived experiences?” was the smooth reply Pacifica made.

Carsen sat up straighter, somehow perfectly copying the way Paz tilted her chin to look down her nose at someone she deemed lacking. It was so uncanny that Dipper shuddered. He hated that look sometimes. “Your assumption is incorrect,” he said, staring daggers. Still, there was none of that malice Paz had seen on Monday. “I’m sure you guys have been through shit I couldn’t even begin to imagine. But just because I’m ignorant to your obviously chosen lifestyle doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m stupid for not doing so. Not everybody wants to put their lives in danger.”

Paz narrowed her eyes, glaring like she could light him on fire with just her mind. Dipper wouldn’t be surprised if she could, but— “Okay, I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Dipper cut in, interrupting Pacifica’s incoming retort. “I think it’s just that the way you asked if we had a death wish, kinda made it sound like you were mocking us. Not saying that you did, but it’s not like we actively seek out monsters wanting to kill us. Well, at least not these two. I’m the one who’s most involved in it all.”

From the corner of his eye, Paz gave him a sharp look, and like she did before, he ran a thumb along the dip in her lower spine, meaning to soothe her. Thankfully, Carsen relaxed at Dipper’s explanation, sending a dizzying wave of relief through him. He did not need a confrontation tonight, not before he talked to Mabel and hopefully pulled her away—at least a little. “What was the story for your literature class, anyway?” Dipper asked casually, giving a crooked smile.

“It was World Literature, and we were studying the Roman Catholic movement. I had to do an essay on how it affected European society, but while I was looking through all the library’s history books, I found this one about a group of people called the…ugh, what was the name…? Cifra Sanctorum!”

“Cifra?” Pacifica interrupted, leaning forward with intense aquamarine eyes. “Isn’t that ‘cipher’ in Latin?”

Ba-dump.

Alarm and a perpetual foreboding flooded Dipper. His face drained of all color, apprehension gripping his throat from the inside. What were the odds that Bill Cipher had been able to get to this dimension before he came to Gravity Falls?

Pretty high, he hypothesized.

“Um, yeah,” Carsen answered, slightly surprised. “Did you study Latin?”

“I had an extensive and pricey education,” she said softly. “The Saints of Cipher, you said?”

“Yeah. They followed someone called Æthelweald. Under his rule, they apparently were aligned with demons. Like Catholic-type demons. Hellfire and all that.”

Dipper blew out a silent breath. He was still wary, but it certainly didn’t sound like something Bill would condescend to…

“The stuff they described in the book, though…” Carsen shuddered, a faraway look in his eye as he stared into the fire, shadows dancing on his angled face. “It was sickening. Their ‘motto’ was vincere aut mori.”

“Conquer or die,” Pacifica murmured along with Carsen.

Dipper shivered, a chill down his spine. That was fucking eerie.

“Okay,” Mabel laughed nervously, “I think that’s enough scary stories for tonight. I’m going to lay down. Coming, babe?”

“‘Night, guys,” Carsen grinned, hopping up after Mabel, and leaving Dipper and Paz by themselves.

“You don’t think…” Pacifica began quietly, glancing up at him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and squeezing tightly. She was as clammy as him. “It has Bill Cipher written all over it. But Ford told us he hadn’t been able to get out of his dimension before, right?”

“Bill could’ve lied. He did it all the time.”

Dipper shook his head, trying to rid himself of the haunting memory of the evil triangle. “It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. “Bill’s gone. It’s just an old story.”

-

Dipper’s eyes snapped open, mouth parting with a startled gasp. His entire body was tense, strung as tight as a wire, and his heart pounded deeply, heavily in his chest. Why was it in nightmares he could never run fast enough? Like trudging through viscous tar, weighing him down with every step.

He took a few measured breaths, then glanced at his phone laid next to his head, groaning quietly when he realized he’d only been asleep for two hours. After all the effort it took to ignore Pacifica’s presence, it would’ve been nice to at least sleep until sunrise.

“You okay?”

Dipper turned his head towards her as he lay on his back, hands crossed over his stomach. “Sorry,” he whispered back, “didn’t mean to wake you.”

Pacifica yawned behind a manicured hand and blinked sleepily at him. “‘S’fine,” she mumbled. “Bad dream?”

It was nearly pitch black in his tent, but her eyes seemed luminescent in the night. He could barely make out the noble, regal angles of her face, but the blue glow half-hidden by her drowsy lids and messy bangs…

“I don’t remember it,” he said softly, distracted by her undeniable beauty.

“‘Kay,” she sighed, closing her eyes and turning onto her side, facing him, and tucked a hand under her cheek.

Dipper studied her, wishing the moon was brighter. Wishing she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her. When she opened her eyes once more, Dipper didn’t even try to hide or look away. He liked her eyes—he liked her—and he didn’t want to pretend otherwise. He guessed that’s what made him a fucking goon. Idiot, Part Four.

“Why are you staring at me?”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Staring at you seems to have the benefit of calming me down,” he replied. And it was true—he felt much better than a minute ago.

“As it should,” she smirked. “My radiance is unmatched.”

Dipper carefully lifted his fingers to her forehead, brushing her bangs to the side as he trailed down her temple, behind her ear, then lingering on the side of her neck. Pacifica froze under his touch, lips parted and eyes fractionally wider than before. He’d shocked her yet again; he was beginning to love this look on her.

But—that wasn’t desire. It was just astonishment. Stunned that he would be so bold as to try and make any kind of romantic connection with her. So Dipper reluctantly began to pull his hand away, knowing she didn’t want his touch.

Until her hand darted out and grasped his.

His breathing paused, and so did all sounds around him. Pacifica bit the inside of her lip, gazing at their hands. Her palm was profoundly warm against his knuckles. “Dipper,” she breathed, finally turning those oceanic eyes to meet with his.

His heart thumped, jumping wildly inside his chest cavity. “Paz,” he said weakly. Fuck, she was so goddamn pretty. And the way she was looking at him. Like she was trying to say something mortally fatal, like she wanted him.

Please, god, say it, Paz. Say you want to, he begged internally.

“I—can’t…”

His heart crashed, plummeted, making him groan aloud. “Don’t,” he pleaded softly, reaching his hand back to her face and cupping her cheek. “Don’t say that.”

Paz squeezed her eyes shut, nails biting into his wrist.

Dipper came even closer, pressing his forehead to hers, nearly hyperventilating from how much he felt. Heart still racing, body thrumming with the ache, the need to be close to her. And his emotions: guilt and shame, nearly overshadowed by his longing. He wanted her, but he shouldn’t. She didn’t want him, and that should’ve been enough to get him to leave it alone—but how could he when she looked at him like that?

“Don’t tell me to stop,” he breathed, and impulsively grasped the back of her neck to yank her to his mouth.

This kiss was certainly more heated than the last. Dipper, in his desperation, consumed her. Biting and licking at her lips, swallowing the wonderful sound she made—god, like a cross between a relieved sigh and a tender whimper. Both of her hands held either side of his jaw, and she pulled herself as close as they could possibly get with separate sleeping bags dividing them. He had a sudden vitriolic hatred towards the stupid things.

Her gasp filled his mouth as he slid his tongue alongside hers, grunting at the warmth. But Paz moved her hands to his shoulders and pushed against him, signaling for him to stop. He broke the kiss, panting, and grabbed her wrists, quickly pinning them above her head as he rolled on top of her. She stared up at him, face flushed; her expression was so complicated and conflicted that he couldn’t discern anything.

“Let me go,” she whispered, near silent.

Dip clenched his jaw. “Just tell me, Pacifica,” he murmured, frowning at her. “I’m sorry about what I’ve done to you. About what I let happen. But you…do you?” He couldn’t force out the real questions he wanted to ask: Do you feel the same? Do you crave me, too?

Pacifica’s mouth thinned out, and her eyes hardened into stone. “Let me go, Dipper,” she repeated, voice hard.

“Please,” he moaned painfully, squeezing her wrists and dropping his head. Her bangs brushed his forehead. “Don’t, Paz.”

She remained silent for long, agonizing heartbeats. Defeated, Dip loosened his grip and slowly pulled away for a second time, uselessly hoping she would—

“One more.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. He was still rolled atop her, the weight of his legs locking her to the ground, though he’d already released her hands, leaving his own braced astride her shoulders and hers resting loosely in place. Again, he hated the sleeping bags that kept them separated. “What?”

“One more, and that’s it,” she whispered, eyes roaming his face. She was trembling. “One more and we don’t talk about it anymore.”

No talking about it? Well, that didn’t necessarily mean this wasn’t going to happen again… Loophole. Dipper nodded and took the chance; however this time, he went considerably slower, wanting to savor it all, brand the moment into his brain.

He shifted his weight onto one elbow while his other arm unzipped his sleeping bag completely, and kicked it off in gentle motions. Then he unzipped hers as well, noting that her breathing pattern had become faster. Holding back a smile, Dipper fully adjusted so that he was entirely above her, shaggy hair hanging down around his face as he gazed at her. Lips parted, she stared right back; he still noticed the conflict in her expression, but he thought he picked out…yearning there. He could only hope.

Dipper brushed his mouth against hers.

She moved languidly with him, arms coming up to wind around his neck. Slowly, carefully, purposefully, he pressed his body along hers, legs first, then hips atop, stomachs, and finally chest. He quivered against her, imagination running wild. She felt fragile within the cage of his tensed muscles. The knowledge that he could overpower her was inherently a toxic mindset, yet he couldn’t deny it was an addicting poison.

Just as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth for the second time that night, he boldly wrapped his fingers around her thigh and hitched it up to his hip. Pacifica whimpered, fucking god, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck—then rolled her pelvis. Dipper’s hand shot from her leg to her waist, groaning low in his throat as he reciprocated, holding onto her for dear life.

He was falling. If they kept going, he’d never stop…

And she’d never trust him again.

With monumental effort, Dipper left her lips, panting against her mouth. “Sorry,” he murmured eventually. “Don’t know what came over me.”

Pacifica laughed softly.

-

He awoke too hot, but only because he was wrapped around Paz’s sleeping form, so he couldn’t complain. Sighing in content, he buried his head into the crook of her neck, tightening his arms around her waist as he pulled her closer, back pressed against his chest. He wasn’t sure how he managed to fall asleep again last night. With their kiss (-es, plural, they’d had multiple, he’d like to note) fresh on his mind, it was a miracle he’d been able to calm his boner down.

Speaking of, it was going to become a problem here soon. Yet Dipper inhaled the faint scent of coconut shampoo anyway, absentmindedly stroking his thumb back and forth across her lower ribs. Paz mumbled something, shifting slightly. “Are you awake?” he whispered. Judging by the light outside the pale beige tent, it was probably an hour or so after dawn.

“No…too early…go back to sleep…”

Dipper grinned, pressing a kiss to the back of her ear. “Cute.” Then he licked the shell of it, from her lobe to the helix, pausing to drag his teeth along the cartilage.

Pacifica gasped, “Dipper—“

“Just to be clear,” he murmured, “this isn’t a kiss.”

“That wasn’t my point last night,” she breathed as he trailed to her shoulder.

Dipper hummed, distracted by the smoothness of her skin. His hand crept under her loose shirt that she’d chosen to sleep in, pressing his palm lightly against her stomach. She gasped again, arching into him.

“Dipper, please,” she whined.

“What?” He took his other hand and caressed the outside of her thigh, slowly finding his way up to her hip. His fingers wrapped around the bone as she arched again. Fuck, she felt good.

“Y-You need to stop!”

Dip bit the nape of her neck lightly. “Do you really mean that?” he asked softly.

She froze, and ice cold trepidation doused him. “Get off me,” she ordered, unforgiving.

Dipper swallowed, knowing he’d fucked that up big time. He released his hold, and she sat up, pulling as far away from him as possible. When she looked down at him, her face was colored with rage. “When I say no,” she seethed, “that means no. That doesn’t mean you get to question me or convince me otherwise. Not only that, you knew what I meant last night.”

He sat up as well, heart thumping painfully. “Paz, I’m sorry,” he said weakly, reaching for her hand.

She slapped him away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You…you—“ She cut herself off, shaking her head vigorously.

And the worst of all, Dipper saw tears in her waterline.

“I’m sorry, Paz,” he repeated in desperation. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Yes, you did!” she snapped. “You absolutely meant to. You want to have sex with me, so you crossed my boundaries.”

Dipper flinched. Is that all she thought he wanted from her?

“You know what I meant—Dipper, I can’t do this. You have no idea—you just—“ Pacifica buried her face in her hands. “I can’t, Dipper. That’s it. End of story. Please, just stop, because I can’t.”

He clenched his fists to stop the trembling in his fingers. Of course she couldn’t. He’d pushed her too much. He’d obliterated the fragile bond between her parents. He’d put her in danger thrice now—four times, if he counted Carsen.

She didn’t feel the same. Last night was just pity. She felt bad that he cared for her and she didn’t.

“Yeah,” he mumbled hoarsely, staring down at his lap. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t—it won’t happen again.”

This was so fucking humiliating on so many levels.

Paz left the tent silently, and Dipper sat in the quiet for a few moments before ramming his fist into the hard ground.

-

Pacifica rode with Mabel in Carsen’s car, which prompted Mabel to pull Dipper aside when they got home.

“Dude,” Mabel murmured as she shut his bedroom door behind them. “What the hell?”

“Jesus Christ, don’t, Mabel,” he groaned as he flopped down on his bed. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Don’t what? I didn’t do anything, but you clearly did. What happened?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. But I could see it on her face.”

Dipper wondered if Mabel had seen the same betrayal he had. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t even want to think about it anymore—there was a pressing weight on his chest. It was hard to breathe around. He felt ten times heavier.

Again. He had ruined everything again.

“What,” Mabel repeated firmly, “happened?”

Dipper peeked at his twin sister. There were two reasons he didn’t want to say anything. One, being the most prevalent, she could possibly relay information back to Carsen, who they had no idea what kind of threat he posed and therefore could use said info against them somehow. (Which was a very dark possibility.) Two, he didn’t know how Mabel would react. Dipper had pushed Pacifica too many times, and now…now he was sure they were done for. There wasn’t even a chance they could be friends after all that. She didn’t trust him anymore. And she certainly shouldn’t. Paz would move out of the Shack to avoid him, she’d block his number, she’d disappear from Gravity Falls never to be seen again, and it was all because of him.

Pathetic. Pathetic, worthless—and worst of all, an assailant.

She had been right. He didn’t listen to what she had been telling him. He had done what he wanted and completely ignored every signal she had sent. He’d even fucking guilt tripped her into it.

“I fucked up,” Dipper finally breathed, lips trembling as pain and regret laced his voice. “I fucked up so bad, Mabel.”

The mattress dipped as Mabel sat next to him. Her hand rested on his forearm, gently tugging. “Hey,” she soothed, “I’m sure it’s not that bad. It was just another argument. You guys will get through it.”

“No, I…” Dipper turned on his side, curling into himself. He swallowed before glancing at her. He was sure all his emotion was written on his face. “I forced…myself…on her…”

Saying the words aloud made his mouth taste bitter.

Mabel’s mouth dropped, horror flashing in her eyes. “You raped her?” Her hand slipped from him, backing away.

Dipper shot up, gripping Mabel’s wrist. “No!” he blurted, nearing a shout. “No, I didn’t!” She relaxed, sitting back beside him, wary now. God, that fucking hurt. “I kissed her and she told me to stop. That’s all, it never went past that. But she told me to stop twice, and I…” He trailed off, throat tightening as tears gathered. “She’s not going to forgive me, Mabel.”

“Oh, Dipper,” she murmured, gazing at him with sympathy. “C’mere.”

She opened her arms and he fit himself there, taking a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry that happened,” she went on. “Why didn’t you stop?”

“I thought—I thought she felt the same. But she doesn’t.”

“Did she say that?”

“She didn’t have to.”

“What did she say?”

“She just kept repeating ‘I can’t’.”

“Well…we don’t exactly know what that means. I can talk to her. She might tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mabel,” he hedged, finally pulling out of the hug. He wiped at his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “I know you guys are friends, but I don’t think this is something she’d open up about.”

“Hey. She tells me things,” she frowned.

He shook his head, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “This isn’t something she’s going to forgive,” he mumbled. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Mabel sighed, patting his hand. “Give it time, Dipper. She’s not an easy person to get close to. Make it up to her.”

“How? How can I do that when I disrespected her like that?”

“Small steps, Dip,” Mabel said confidently, her voice just as soothing as before. “Keep your distance, but tell her you’re sorry. I mean really tell her. You’ll find a way.”

He nodded, knowing it was useless, no matter how reassuring Mabel tried to be. She stood and headed to the door. “Wait,” he called. She turned. “Don’t tell Carsen anything.”

Mabel tilted her head curiously. “Why…?”

Fuck—okay. Here was his chance, his opening. (It was frankly ridiculous that he had to deal with this on top of everything else.) “I don’t trust him, Mabel,” he said carefully.

Her eyebrows furrowed over confused brown eyes. His eyes. “What? Why? He’s your roommate.”

Dipper exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, there’s something I need to… I mean, I just… I don’t really know how to say it.”

“Just say it, Dipper.”

“He makes me uneasy. I don’t think he’s who he says he is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He hasn’t done anything weird or suspicious?”

“No—will you stop beating around the bush?” she demanded. “I know you’re keeping something from me. Don’t think I didn’t catch it on your face last night. Pacifica, too.”

Dipper crossed his arms, eyes hardening. “Pacifica saw him staring at me last week.”

“Okay?” she said, the irritation becoming clear in her face, voice, and body language. “So what?”

“You didn’t let me finish. She said he looked different—like, supernaturally different.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Dipper. You’re paranoid. On top of that, I think you might just be overprotective. And maybe a little jealous.”

“This has nothing to do with your relationship,” he argued, completely bypassing the jealousy jab. Because he wasn’t. “We think he’s hiding something.”

“And what proof do you have?” she snapped. “Other than some look Pacifica thinks she saw.”

“You think she’s lying?” Dipper shot back, standing quickly to her defense. “You think I’m lying? After all the shit I do with the paranormal and supernatural world, you think I’m lying?”

“I think you need a break from it all,” Mabel scowled. “You had back to back experiences while I was gone. Even when we were kids, you at least had like a week in between stuff to recover. Then, may I remind you, you spend months away from Gravity Falls during school—“

“Mabel!” he burst out angrily. “This isn’t paranoia! I believe Pacifica, and you should, too!”

“Well, I don’t!” she shouted. “You need to calm the fuck down! Carsen and I will go stay at a hotel for a few days. You can tell Soos it’s my fault the Mystery Shack is on hiatus.”

With one last indignant look, Mabel slammed the door behind her, leaving Dipper panting with anger and frustration. And heartbreak—from his sister, from Paz, from himself.

Chapter Text

Humiliation

[Mabel]

Mabel Pines sighed softly as she gazed up at the hotel ceiling fan, watching it turn round and round. Recalling the stricken face of her brother, she yet again wondered if maybe she had overreacted. But there was no way—Carsen wasn’t like that. He was kind and flirty and wonderful. He’d never done anything like what Dipper suggested.

Just last night, he’d said he loved her. Those sky blue eyes boring into her, smiling with affection that Mabel had no way of denying. Carsen, in the weeks they had been together already, had proven his love.

“Hey,” he said beside her, “stop thinking about it.”

“I can’t,” she mumbled, rolling onto her side to face him. His expression was open and sympathetic. Dipper was wrong about him. She could see it. “I feel bad that I yelled at him after he dumped his heart out to me. After he got dumped.”

Carsen grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he told her. “He’s just going through a rough time. Give him a few days and then you can text him.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled, scooting closer to tuck herself into Carsen’s arms.

-

[Paz]

There were three things to stare at: the front entrance, Dipper’s bedroom door, and her phone. Mabel had stormed out hours ago, dragging Carsen behind her, after a brief screaming match with Dipper. Pacifica had never heard them argue like that before. It was jarring. In her head, they were joined at the hip—inseparable, and incapable of fighting. Pacifica hadn’t heard anything, but judging by Mabel’s text saying she and Carsen would be gone for a few days, it had to be bad. Dread spread through Paz’s chest, spidering like cracked glass.

Pacifica hadn’t worked up the courage to go check on Dipper. She was still angry and hurt that he’d done what he did. He didn’t understand her, and he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what she was like, how she’d grown up. There was no room for him in her life, in her heart—not the way he wanted.

It would be smart for her to leave. To pack up all her bags and text her rich friends. Lie to them about what happened with her parents and claim wanting to have a sleepover. She could couch-hop until she figured out exactly what she wanted to do.

She could return to her parents and apologize—cut out Dipper completely. Become a Northwest again and fully embrace their ideals.

But then, where would that leave her? Without convictions. Without her freedom. Without Mabel. Without Dipper.

She couldn’t leave. Not yet, at least. She had to help Dipper and Mabel find out who or what Carsen was. Beyond that, though, she didn’t really want to leave. They were precious to her; they were the only people who accepted her for who she was, and who she was trying so hard to be.

Mouth tightened, Pacifica finally rose from the couch, padding softly down the hall. She knocked on the door as quietly as she could, but he didn’t answer, so she slowly pushed it open. Her heart sank a little when she saw him asleep on his bed, curled into a ball with a scrunched face. He looked so small lying there.

Pacifica knelt beside him, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “I wish it could be different,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her breath. “I’m sorry, Dipper.”

Allowing her eyes to linger only a second longer, she eventually turned to the books in the corner. They hadn’t held any insight to what might be happening with Carsen—not that she exactly knew what to look for. Frowning, she looked a few feet over, spotting Dipper’s journal, along with Ford’s old collection. Would it be an invasion of privacy if she flipped through them?

Fingers shaking, she stood and made her way to them, taking in the old binding of Ford’s journals, then the leather cover of Dipper’s. Each had worn pages sticking out. She picked up Ford’s first journal, figuring it was best to start at the beginning—but it only described creatures she’d already read about, and things about Gravity Falls she vaguely knew. Same with the second and third.

She wrapped her fingers around Dipper’s book, glancing at him while biting her lip. He probably didn’t have anything on what Carsen might be, otherwise he would have mentioned something. But…she looked back at the journal and flipped it open.

He was an excellent artist. The pencil and pen strokes were steady and sure, depicting different visions of the stars. Sometimes, there was even a monster, or more intriguing, a person. She turned a page and stared at some familiar markings—his tattoos. The entry was merely a sentence: demon protection runes. So he’d done research on demons?

Swallowing, she thought back to Carsen’s story. The Saints of Cipher—Cifra Sanctorum. Those so-called Saints were involved with demons. And, knowing Gravity Falls, it couldn’t be a coincidence that Bill Cipher was unconnected. He was a demon, too, right? Technically?

Paz turned to the next page, where more had been written. She didn’t understand a thing. There was something about exorcisms, priests, Catholicism, the Devil… Was all of this really real? It seemed so far-fetched.

She turned the page again, but it merely returned to monsters of all kinds. Ford had written a bunch on them already, but it seemed Dipper had added more information. She kept flipping, flipping. There was a beautiful drawing of a lake; gold liquid rained from the starry sky. Then she caught her name in passing, and she paused.

Pacifica, or more recently known as Paz, claims that I’ve changed, but I think she’s the one who’s different. When I knew her before, she rarely ever challenged her parents. I’ve only known of her doing it once, when she got rid of the ghost haunting the Northwest Manor. They used to control her with a bell which was majorly creepy. But now she’s seemed to find her own brand of justice by defying them at their ridiculous parties—and has now dragged me along for the ride. Not gonna lie, it might be cool to see it happen in person.

Her smile was fond, with a bitter edge. He made her sound like some hero—which was far from the truth. Another reason she couldn’t let him get close.

I killed a vampire tonight. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve never really killed anything. I can’t get his blood off me.

Paz gazed at that entry for a long moment. Those two entries were on the same night. To go from optimistic to traumatized… Her eyes moved on as she breathed around the pinch in her chest.

Paz is Hannah Montana.

Despite herself, she giggled.

There was another drawing after that—another lake. Wait…were they the same? She flipped back and forth. Yes, but the other was missing the gold. Confused, Pacifica left it alone and kept reading.

Edna and John Holmes. John passed two years ago, leaving Edna to herself. But he came back to watch her. In love even after death. Note: don’t be like my parents. Be like John and Edna.

Pacifica smiled again, the memory of that night warming her.

I drowned via a siren this past weekend. I remember my life flashing before my eyes. Then I saw Paz. She was freaking out. When I woke up in the hospital, she hadn’t left my side. I think I’m

The words cut off there, which was mildly frustrating. It was the first entry he hadn’t finished.

I killed the siren. For some reason, I don’t feel like I did with Sebastian. Murder is a slippery slope, I suppose. But perhaps my major fuck-up tonight overshadows the slaughter. I hurt Pacifica.

She shut her eyes tightly. No, you didn’t, Dipper, she thought. They did. It’s them.

Something is wrong with me. I kissed her the other night. I know I shouldn’t have. She doesn’t want someone who ruined her life. I’m trying to help, but I don’t feel like it’s enough.

A salty lump grew in her throat. “It’s enough,” she breathed.

Paz says she saw Carsen as a supernatural creature. Something with his eyes. I keep having these feelings that someone is staring at me. My gut tells me the two things are connected. I have to figure out what’s going on before something bad happens.

Pacifica gingerly set the book down, turning to look at Dipper, who still slept fitfully. He was the hero. How did he not realize that? He had protected her through every trial—vampire, siren, her parents. And now he wanted to protect her from Carsen, despite her abrasive nature. He was still staying beside her even though she’d pushed him away twice. Even though she had been so harsh.

Her heart was torn. She didn’t deserve him—and he didn’t deserve her cold treatment. 

But she didn’t know any other way to keep him safe from herself. He needed someone who would love him softly. She was not that person. She didn’t know how to love like that.

-

[Dipper]

Sleep paralysis was the worst thing on earth—there was the scientific explanation, of course, which should have taken the fear out of it all. But waking up in the middle of a REM cycle and being unable to move as a dark figure from his imagination stared over him was still frightening. He was grateful when he was finally able to take a sharp, splintering inhale.

He sat up in bed, still fully dressed, sweating buckets. He didn’t know what kind of nightmare he had. It was already slipping away. Taking measured breaths, he blinked through the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. The old alarm clock read it was after midnight—he’d been asleep for three hours. Thirteen hours after Mabel had left with Carsen.

Dip rubbed a hand over his sternum. Two fuck-ups in one day. He was the unluckiest motherfucker to be around.

His eyes drifted to Pacifica’s empty bed. It was made up as usual. He didn’t know if she had left or not. Her bags were still at the foot, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened. Without looking, Dipper grabbed the knife he’d hidden under his bed after learning about Carsen and shot out of bed, guarding on instinct.

But then Paz stepped through. A rush of relief spread through him, and remorse directly after. He dropped his stance, tossing the knife on his bed as Pacifica looked at him, her expression dumbfounded. “What the hell was that?” she asked, full of laughter.

“You freaked me out,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. He sat back down and ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair. “Sorry.”

Pacifica approached his field of vision, but he kept his eyes off her. He didn’t know if he could even look without falling to pieces. “Dipper,” she said softly. “I need to apologize.”

Wh—huh?

Dip, without thinking, blinked up at her. “For what?” he frowned. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was really mean to you this morning,” Paz murmured, sitting beside him. Her knee brushed against his thigh, and he almost jerked away. “I shouldn’t have yelled. And I also shouldn’t have encouraged anything. I was leading you on without realizing it. I’m sorry.”

Dipper’s hands clenched into fists. Shouldn’t have encouraged him? Leading him on? So—he just imagined all the moments she looked at him like she cared? Not only that, she was somehow making this her fault? What the fuck kind of backward shit was going on? Why was she making excuses for him? “Are you being serious right now?” he demanded, his voice taking on a lower octave in his outrage.

“Um—y-yeah,” she stuttered, taken aback by his reaction.

“This morning was humiliating enough for the both of us, Pacifica. If you wanted to kick me while I’m down, you sure as hell nailed it.”

“What? No, that’s not—“

“So what’s your point, then?” Dipper stared at her, jaw clenched. “Why the sudden apology?”

Pacifica’s eyes flashed with anguish. Sometimes, he hated that he could read people so well. Then her face grew darker, lowering into a glare. “I was going to say I’d like to move past it,” she snarked, “but maybe I should rethink my decision.”

“Maybe you should,” he snapped. “Why would you stay friends with someone who assaulted you? Why would you put yourself through that?” He didn’t fucking understand her.

Pacifica gaped. “Assaulted me? Dipper, I don’t feel that way.”

“But you should, because I did. There’s no other word for it. You had every right to yell at me—and now you’re taking it back? That’s bullshit, Paz!” Dipper stood up and took a few steps away, nearly fuming. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. She should be gone.

“Wait, so, you’re offended because I disagree that you assaulted me?”

“I’m offended because you keep accepting abuse from people who are supposed to care about you!” he shouted. He turned away from her, tugging at his hair as he tilted his head toward the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, Pacifica! I don’t deserve forgiveness after what I did. Your parents never deserved your forgiveness. Yet you keep going back. That’s insane to me.”

“Well, what about you?!” She stood, too, yanking on his arm to spin him around. “You stayed with your parents, and they’re horrible, too!”

“No, I didn’t,” he snarled. “I left for college. But Mabel was by herself, so I stayed nearby in case she needed me. I never stayed for them.”

Pacifica pressed her lips together, blue and gunmetal eyes darting between his. “You stayed near me,” she said softly. “I treated you horribly, and you still stayed.” Dipper’s breath was stolen; he was frozen in place. “ And you say you don’t deserve my forgiveness?” She shook her head, glancing down. “I think you’re the one who deserves it the most.”

“You are so backwards.”

She pursed her lips, frowning up at him.

“And exhausting,” he added, sighing as he crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser behind him. “And dreadful, and you stress me out more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“You know, you’re not very good at flattery.”

“But you’re also kinda my best friend,” he murmured. Her eyes flared with surprise, and he resisted the urge to pull her into an embrace. He actually refused to touch her—unless she asked. “I don’t want to lose you because we’re both just monumental dumbasses. So guess I accept your fuck-ass apology.”

Paz’s mouth looked skewed as she tried to hide a grin. “And I guess I’ll start telling you to look both ways before you go fuck yourself,” she replied smoothly.

An awkward, uncomfortable relief settled over him. Somehow, he felt like this was the most normal they’d been with each other in weeks. But the damage was still done, and Dipper wouldn’t forget any of it. So he merely smiled back, faint and perhaps a little wistful, and said, “Up for another cooking lesson? I’m hungry.”

-

It was close to two in the morning when Dipper finally decided to get up, unable to sleep. Careful not to wake her, he crept past Pacifica and left the room to climb up to the attic. The window up there creaked softly with age as he pushed it open, and he crawled out onto the roof. This was one of his favorite places to think. To slow down and stare at the stars.

The shingles poked his back as he laid down. He found the shapes he’d studied extensively in the galaxy above him, tracing them with his eyes. As always, it was humbling knowing how small he was compared to everything else in the universe.

It was unusually chilly tonight, the wind tossing his hair however it wanted. Dipper didn’t mind, though—it was relaxing in a way. He didn’t have control over the wind, and so seeing it use its freedom was resplendent, if that made any sense.

He didn’t feel like the wind. He felt like a pine tree, ironically. Unable to move, rooted to Gravity Falls by some inexplicable force. Even after Weirdmageddon, Dipper was pulled in; he was meant to be here. Something was unfinished.

Was it because monsters still flocked here? Or was it because…

Dipper shook his head. Bill Cipher was dead. The story from last night was just that—a story. No matter if it was true or not, there was no proof that Bill had anything to do with the Saints of Cipher.

Still, it nagged at him.

He raised his left arm in the air. The point of his tattoos were to fend off demons like Bill. While he knew Bill was a different kind of demon, it gave Dipper some comfort anyway. At the very least, it would keep the typical demons…away…

Dipper sat up straight. The Saints of Cipher were Catholic-based. These tattoos were fashioned with Catholicism in mind, since the demonology research he’d done was centered around it. It seemed the most reliable.

This couldn't all be coincidence.

Dipper flew downstairs, nearly tripping over his feet. He had to get to his laptop. And his journal—he needed that, too. In his rush, he didn’t think to be quiet when he stormed into his bedroom, snatching both items off his desk and sitting on his bed. He yanked open the computer, mind racing as he waited impatiently for it to boot up, tapping his fingers against his book.

“Dipper?” Paz mumbled from her side of the room.

“Sorry,” he muttered softly, typing in his password. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.”

“Why are you up at…two thirty-six in the morning?”

“Had something on my mind.”

He pulled up Google, grateful he and Soos had decided WiFi was a good idea. Otherwise, he’d be utterly fucked right now. Saints of Cipher yielded no logical results, even after searching through multiple websites, and he growled under his breath. “Paz, you still awake?”

“What’s up?” came her grunt of acknowledgment.

“How do you spell Saints of Cipher in Latin?”

Pacifica slowly rose onto her arms. “Why? What’s going on?” she demanded, then came over, pressing against his side as she looked at his laptop.

“I just had a thought,” he explained, becoming more agitated as time passed. “How do you spell it?”

“C-i-f-r-a S-a-n-c-t-o-r-u-m,” Paz said, and he copied every letter.

The only thing that came up were things for music and other websites in languages he couldn’t read. He added “Catholic” after it—and he found something about a chapel in the seven hundreds. Okay, right direction at least.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Pacifica murmured, glancing at him nervously.

Dipper held out his arm. “See my tattoos?” he asked as he continued scrolling. “They’re protections against demonic possession. The symbols come from Roman Catholic demonology. The Saints of Cipher were Catholic. Cipher, as in Bill Cipher, a demon looking to become three-dimensional. Who else would need a following like that? He has to be connected. And me—I keep gravitating back to Gravity Falls. I obsessed over demons for years after Bill. I had to get these tattoos. It was compulsive.”

“What about Carsen?”

“I feel like he has something to do with it. With Bill, with the demons. What did his eyes look like, exactly?”

Paz gulped, looking at the laptop distantly. “Black, like I said before.”

“What did they feel like?”

She shuddered. “Again, old. Centuries.”

“Anything else?” Dipper urged. He felt like he was on the precipice of something—he was so close to the truth; he felt it in his bones. Pacifica hesitated, biting her lip, and he let out a huff of frustration. “Please, Pacifica, what is it?”

“I was just thinking…about Mabel. If Carsen is connected to all this, what does he want with her? Why not go directly after you? He was your roommate for like a year, right?”

A frigid shiver blanketed him from head to toe. “I don’t know,” he murmured, ignoring her last question. His eyes returned to the computer screen. He hadn’t found anything else useful on the Saints. Was Carsen lying about them? “Is Mabel the real target here?”

“Why would she be?” Pacifica frowned. “He was staring at you.”

“Maybe to get me out of the way. But why would he want Mabel only? She doesn’t dabble in shit like this anymore. What would he even want with me? How does it connect to Bill and the Saints of Cipher?”

He was stuck at a roadblock. Without more information on the Saints, they wouldn’t get any answers. “I need to make sure Mabel comes back tomorrow. Or, today, technically,” muttered Dipper in addition, biting his thumb. He glanced down to his journal and eventually flipped it open to the few pages of research he’d done for his tattoos. It was old words and symbols all put together, connecting in creative ways on his arms made by Ivy so it didn’t look so jumbled on his skin. But there was nothing there that he didn’t already know, hadn’t already researched. Nothing he’d ever come across mentioned the Saints of Cipher—Cifra Sanctorum.

“I hope you excelled in Latin,” Dipper scowled as he shut the book and laptop. “We’re going to the library tomorrow.”

-

[Paz]

She bit her lip anxiously, worried about Dipper and Mabel simultaneously. Carsen was definitely a major threat. Not knowing when he would strike was agony, as well as not knowing the guy’s motive. And especially not knowing what he was. Dipper had stayed up another hour, pacing and muttering to himself, before Pacifica had become too exhausted and could no longer hold her eyes open. Consequently, she’d fallen asleep on Dipper’s bed; when an alarm sounded at eight in the morning, jolting her awake, she glowered at it, then at Dip who slumped against the wall in her bed across the room.

Now, she was waiting for him to get out of the shower as she tried to make breakfast—and failing miserably, again. She’d burnt the toast already, and she hadn’t known when to pull the bacon out, so the first batch was burnt too. Hopefully the second batch will turn out better…

Paz raised her head as footsteps came down the hallway. Dipper was frowning at his phone, brown curls hanging over his forehead, dressed in ripped jeans a black shirt that may have been a little small for him by the way it hung too short around his hips. She averted her gaze instantly—don’t look at his hips anymore, stupid, she scolded herself.

“Hey,” he muttered as he passed by to sit at the old wooden table. She tried not to, but she inhaled his rich alpine scent anyway. “Thanks for cooking.”

She flipped the bacon, standing as far away as she could to avoid the popping grease. “I wouldn’t thank me, yet,” she told him cautiously. “I burnt the first three slices. And I still don’t know how to cook eggs.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What’s wrong, Dipper?”

He sighed harshly, dropping his phone onto the table top before him. “Mabel hasn’t texted me back yet. It’s been like thirty minutes.”

“Well, it’s still early. She’s probably still asleep.” Dipper nodded, resting his chin in his hand as he stared out the window. Paz sat beside him, placing her hand over his free one. He cut his soft brown eyes to her, and she was almost breathless as she saw the anxiety there. “It’s okay,” she said regardless, offering a slight smile. “She’s fine, I promise.”

“But what if she’s not?” he demanded. “She’s with Carsen. We have no idea what’s going on. About anything.” His head dropped and he ran a hand through his damp hair.

Pacifica wrapped her arms around his shoulders—which, after realizing she did so, was a bad idea. Because when he turned to her fully and pulled her closer, hands splayed across her back, her heart flipped way too many times. But then he tucked his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, exhaling softly, and she automatically shifted her arms to wind around his neck, one hand cradling the back of his head. It was wildly out of character for her to be so touchy—but she hadn’t even thought twice. She needed to start doing that.

“Your bacon is burning again,” he mumbled.

Gasping, she bolted to the stove.

-

Somehow, she was still getting too close to him, though this time was technically unavoidable. With no other vehicle, the motorcycle (death trap, actually) was their mode of transportation to the local Gravity Falls library. By the time they arrived, it was already nine thirty and Mabel still hadn’t texted, which visibly darkened Dipper’s mood.

The smell of musty old books and layers of dust filled her nose as they walked down the aisles. After speaking with the librarian at the front desk, he led them to the history section, directing her to look there while he went to religion to pick out his own relevant selections. Pacifica frowned at the shelves, running her finger across the dirt and grime built up from neglect. What was she even looking for…?

After fifteen minutes of searching the multitude of books, Paz picked out five that seemed most promising, sitting down at the desk pushed against an empty wall. All covered the expanse of Europe’s ancient histories, but two branched out to world history; she was hoping if she couldn’t find anything buried in Europe, there might be something hiding elsewhere. But after scanning through each text, she couldn’t find anything that caught her attention. Nothing that was relevant. Just basic information that anybody would know.

Dipper appeared at her side after she shut the last book with a low growl. “No luck?” he asked grimly.

“No,” she shook her head. “I think I’m gonna try language. If this book Carsen mentioned had some Latin, we might find something. What about you? Anything interesting?”

Dipper sighed, crossing his arms—she cursed when she caught herself ogling the corded muscle beneath tattooed skin—and leaning against the desk where she sat. His thigh was unbearably close to her hand, so she crossed her arms, too. “No,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the ground. “All they had on Catholicism was the stuff everyone knows. They believe in God, the holy trinity, the world is sinful, etcetera. I’ll probably look through the history section and see if I can find something different than you.”

“Sure. Meet back here in ten.”

Pacifica went to the front desk. She didn’t really know where to look for language—the library was small, but also so old and decrepit that it lacked true organization and proper labels. Plus, she was pretty sure only two people actually worked here, which was certainly not enough employees.

Without realizing, she took a glance out the window, only to have her breath leave all at once. Right outside was a rando handing out newspapers—with her face printed on the first page. Paz darted to the glass, staring out in rapt attention. What were the words…?

PACIFICA NORTHWEST: BETRAYER!

Dread blanketed her, sending a chill through every limb.

She didn’t know how she had missed it earlier; had this guy come after she arrived, or had she been so distracted that she didn’t notice?

Pacifica ran outside, ignoring the looks of surprise as she snatched a paper from the guy and read as quickly as she could.

Preston Northwest, esteemed descendent of the founder of Gravity Falls, has revealed that his daughter, Pacifica Northwest, has officially been revoked of the Northwest name and therefore no longer a member of the family! “Pacifica has made her choices not to be involved in our business affairs,” Preston says in an interview. “We cannot accept any weakness when it comes to the future of the family, and the future of the town.” Does he mean that Pacifica will be pursuing another career path, or has something more dramatic happened within the family?

Pacifica lowered her icy, rage-filled eyes onto the man standing at the corner. He shrunk back as she bared her teeth. “Did you write this?” she hissed.

“N-No!” he stammered. “I just sell them!”

“Yeah? Well, Preston Northwest’s words aren’t even worth a fucking penny.” Pacifica tossed the paper at his feet, the thin paper making the most satisfying sound of rips as it landed. “And you can tell the so-called journalist to quote me.”

Heart hammering, Pacifica stormed back inside the library. Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to dampen her ire. Who the fuck was her father calling weak? He’s the one who—

“Fuck!” she spat, dropping onto her haunches. She put her head between her knees, clutching her hair. The pain in her scalp was a welcome difference to the pain in her chest. Her father was weak. He couldn’t tell the town of their family’s fake history. He couldn’t give up his money. He couldn’t love his daughter!

Tears grew in her eyes, and she hated that. She hated that he was slandering her in some stupid newspaper or tabloid or gossip magazine bullshit, just because she didn’t follow the path he wanted for her. She hated that he couldn’t put aside his asinine pride for one fucking second.

Why didn’t he love her?

Why did she have to see everyone else around her with caring families? Ones that didn’t get into screaming matches. Ones that had family nights. Ones that didn’t put so much goddamn pressure on their sons or daughters to be the best, to be so fucking perfect all the time.

What did she do to deserve this treatment from them? From the universe? She was trying to be better! She was trying!

Why wasn’t it working?

What was she doing wrong?

What was so wrong with her?

“Paz? Paz!”

She sobbed once, angry that it slipped from between her gritted teeth. Angry that she was crying at all.

Dipper’s hands covered hers as he knelt over her, his warm presence enveloping, banishing the dark, harsh thoughts. She breathed deeply—she didn’t want him to see this…weakness. Was her father right? Was she weak?

“What happened? What’s going on?” he murmured, his voice soft and worried. She hated that, too. Why did he have to be so caring? Why did he keep coming back when all she would do was hurt him? Even though they’d gotten over their hurdle last night, she was still supposed to—no, going to keep him at arm’s length.

“Nothing,” she rasped past the lump in her throat. “I’m f—“

“Don’t say that,” he interrupted firmly. “Don’t lie to me.”

There was that word, again. Don’t.

Pacifica clenched her jaw to keep her lips from wobbling and looked up at him. His brows were knitted over those gentle, round, pure eyes that were made of smooth, melted chocolate and caramel. Every time he leveled those eyes on her, she felt like…like…like he could see into her soul. Like he could take up every bit of space in there and thaw the ice encrusted along the walls inside her.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, grateful her voice remained steady, though it almost lacked the breath needed.

She didn’t want to do this with him. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Dipper pressed his mouth into a thin line, clearly unbelieving. She didn’t blame him. “Let’s keep looking for this stuff on the Saints,” she continued, standing and clearing her throat. “We need to hurry. Has Mabel texted you back yet?”

Standing next to her, he did the very thing she was uselessly hoping he wouldn’t—Dipper turned his head toward the window. Shit. His eyes narrowed, then widened when she was sure he saw the same thing he did.

And then he strode out in long, powerful steps, shoulders tight as he slammed the door open.

Pacifica swallowed, trying to fight her simultaneous attraction and nervousness. What was he going to do? His temper might have been worse than her own.

She didn’t hear the words, but she heard the booming shout of his voice as he berated the guy on the street, and she saw Dipper grab a handful of the papers and rip them straight down the middle. Jesus—she knew he was strong, but she didn’t know why she hadn’t realized how strong until now. He’d killed a vampire and a siren right in front of her, but maybe she had just attributed that to adrenaline.

The guy visibly paled, becoming smaller as Dipper growled down at him, towering like a mass of unadulterated hatred. Paz shivered. She was shocked the regular person hadn’t blatantly run yet. If Dipper ever looked at her like that, she would be terrified.

After spitting at the dude’s feet—which was almost just as shocking—and stupidly, stupidly hot—Dip barged back inside the library, his face a cloud of thunder and seething agitation. Outside, the seller gathered all his things and took off, leaving other bystanders staring outright, but not daring to come closer to the commotion. God, if someone got any of that on video, it would go viral. Which was embarrassing, but…

Paz couldn’t stop her heart from racing no matter how many deep, inconspicuous breaths she took.

Dipper had just defended her honor yet again.

And he still didn’t think he was a hero?

Fuck, she wanted to kiss him again. Her whole body tingled with the need for it.

Bad idea, her mind whispered.

But she didn’t listen.

Instead, she grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the back of the library, finding the darkest corner where nobody would see them. She could think about the implications, or even consequences, later. Meanwhile, Dipper had a lot to say.

“I’m sorry, Paz, I wasn’t thinking—I just got so pissed, I should’ve asked you before I went outside—I can’t even remember what I said—I’m so sorry—“

“Shut up,” she breathed before rising onto her toes, gripping the back of his neck, and smashing her mouth against his.

She had expected him to be surprised—after all, she had said nothing more would happen. But instead, he made a low sound in his throat, similar to a grunt, and responded instantly by cupping her face with both hands and backing her against the wall. His body had to have been made from steel by the way it felt fully pushed against her. His breath invaded her mouth just the way it did two nights ago, and she moaned the same way she did then as his tongue curled around hers.

Pinned to the wall, Pacifica’s veins were filled instantly with molten lava when Dipper’s hands left her face to wrap around her thighs and lift her up. She tightened her legs, squeezing his waist, becoming lightheaded as she felt him shudder and groan.

Suddenly, he yanked his head back with a startled gasp, shocking her, too. “I thought you couldn’t do this,” he rasped, panting and staring at her with panicked eyes.

“Worry about it later,” she rushed out, chasing his lips once more.

“But I—“ Paz cut him off with another heated kiss, running her hands through his hair. Dipper groaned again, voice rumbling, vibrating against her lips. His hands traveled all over—from her legs, to her waist, to her hair, back down to cup her ass. She whined softly, growing hotter with each second that passed. Then he rolled his hips into hers, provocative and slow and downright fucking erotic.

She broke from him, gasping for air as blood pounded in her ears. His mouth immediately descended upon her throat, teeth closing around her skin as he sucked gently. Her head thumped against the wall, arching while tugging his hair to bring him closer. She didn’t know why she had been avoiding this. It felt so good to be held by him, to be kissed so thoroughly.

“AHEM.”

They both jolted at the irritated voice, breaking apart so quickly it made her head spin. She looked up to see the librarian from earlier, glowering at them over her bifocals. Pacifica flushed bright red, covering her mouth with her hand.

“This isn’t the place for that, kids,” the middle-aged woman scolded, voice made of pure ice. Then she shook her head and turned on her heel, muttering under her breath.

Pacifica blew out a long, horrible sigh after she left, bracing her hands on her knees. Her body, despite the embarrassment, was still entirely too warm. “That was…not ideal,” she mumbled.

Dipper sank to his knees beside her with a suffering groan, one arm wrapped around his middle while the other held his face. “No kidding…” he whispered. When she peered at him, the back of his neck and the little bit of cheekbone she could see was crimson.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, just…need a minute.” His voice was weak, and he refused to look at her. She frowned for a second before it dawned on her, and she blushed again. 

“Sure,” she breathed nervously, “I’ll just…go look for more books…”

Why was she so damn jittery? She’d done plenty of sexual things with her past boyfriends. Was it Dipper who made her like this? Never had a boy been quite so enamored with her. The other ones had been enthusiastic about being with her, sure, but Dipper was…intense. Deliciously intense. The way he looked at her, the way he protected her at every turn, the way he made her feel engulfed by flame and simultaneous solace. It was truly unfair how goddamn perfect he was.

She had reached the language section, her original goal before she got sucker punched by the newspaper and then her all-consuming desire, but ten minutes had passed, and Dipper still hadn’t come to find her. Was he still…“calming down”? Or did he regret what just happened? Did she completely obliterate their already shaky relationship? Did he despise her now?

Biting her lip, she loaded all her chosen books into her arms and slowly began her walk back to him. Either he was still at the corner where she’d brought him, or he had trekked back to the desk on the far side of the library. The first spot was empty, making dread sink inside her stomach. However, it didn’t disappear when she found him at the latter location, sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. And his phone opened before him.

“Hey,” she said softly, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“What?” He raised his head, tired eyes meeting hers. “Oh, yeah. Mabel texted. She said they’re gonna stay at the motel for a few more days…and not to bother her.”

His voice was despondent; it made her heart throb painfully. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Do you think she hates me?” he whispered, torture written across his face.

Pacifica quickly set the books down and came to his side, cupping either side of his jaw and running her thumbs along his cheeks. “No, not at all,” she assured. “I think she might be a little sore from your argument. But she could never hate you, Dipper.”

His eyes closed as he blew out a sigh from his nose. “I don’t want to make her angrier by showing up. But what about Carsen? How can I just leave her with him? I should be crashing into that motel room and—“ He inhaled sharply, cutting himself off.

“And what?”

Dipper didn’t speak for a few agonizing moments. “Killing him,” he finally answered, lifting those coffee orbs.

She saw the truth, vast and cuttingly honest, in his words there, yet she still frowned. “The reason you’re not is because you have no proof. What if I was imagining things? Not saying you don’t believe me, or that what I saw didn’t happen, but if Carsen never revealed himself and you killed him as he is now, presenting as a human, you’d not only have a real murder charge, but you’d lose Mabel forever. That’s what’s stopping you.” 

Like he had done to her before, she pressed her forehead against his. She supposed it was their way of comforting each other. “Dipper, you have a good heart. That’s not a weakness. Don’t tear yourself apart over this when it’s out of your control.”

He covered her hands that still held his jaw, and he nodded softly in her grasp. “Thank you,” he murmured. He opened his mouth to say something more, but palpable hesitation made him close it back.

“What is it? Tell me,” she said, shocked to hear it come out as a purr.

“I, um…I know this probably isn’t even something that should be concerning me, but…why did you kiss me?”

Apprehension tensed her body, and she held her breath. She kissed him because she wanted to. Because it had been an impulsive thought. But she wasn’t supposed to. She was meant to be staying away from him. However, as time passed, she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t working. The longer she stayed, the closer they became, and…she didn’t want to be apart from him.

Could she trust herself not to hurt him?

Could she treat him with the tenderness he deserved?

She didn’t want to be like her parents. Growing up, she had watched their dynamic, thinking it normal. Her father, always in control of every aspect of his wife and daughter’s lives. Getting pissed any time either of them messed up or deviated from his expectations. And her mother, though in public acting polite and beautiful like a doll, was often blank and submissive to Preston. But after Pacifica had slowly seen more of the world, the way husbands and wives really treated each other, acted as a team and not as if the marriage were a dictatorship… Pacifica had firmly chosen to be nothing like them. She wanted her and her partner to be on equal footing.

But the sting of her father’s words still lingered in her heart—she was still like them. Both of them. Weak in the way her mother was, never standing up for herself when it really mattered. And weak in the way her father was: too prideful, and comfortable, in her upbringing.

She wasn’t strong enough to be someone that could love Dipper.

Her hands slowly pulled away from him, as well as her face. The guarded expression she saw in his eyes, set in his jaw, was staggeringly painful. Yet she didn’t return to him. “I don’t really…” she whispered, gulping silently. “I’m not…I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

He was quiet for a few moments, eyes pointed at the floor, hands loose in his lap. His face was shaded by the curtain of his beautifully curled brown hair. She almost took it back. She almost admitted that she was lying—at least partially—and crawled in his lap to wrap her arms around his shoulders and finally breathe him in. Or perhaps she would have even asked if he would wait for her.

But he spoke before she did, and it knocked the floor out from under her feet.

“Pacifica,” Dipper responded, his voice hollow. “Don’t touch me again.”

Chapter Text

In The Beginning

700 Common Era

In the beginning, it was painful. Excruciating, thunderous, pounding agony would hit them as a hammer would upon white-hot steel. Sparks like molten stars flashed behind their eyes, tingled in their fingertips. Yet they bore this pain for the glory they knew would come. Master Æthelweald would bestow upon them powers the devil himself could not imagine. The Master’s followers knew this from the time they had first laid their cursed eyes upon him. There was something the devil could never offer, for he lacked the initiative. Master was looking for something; something he would not relent or forget about—and he needed an army to look for it.

Master Æthelweald plucked a few hundred demons from Hell, yet not all survived the transition. To slither into a human body was torture untold, and two hundred of their kind simply vanished into nothing. The remaining hundred or so that survived took an inexhaustible amount of time to adjust. It was months before Master Æthelweald approved their long-awaited venture into the human world. 

Hell did not stink as badly as the human world. The stench of illness was overwhelming; humans were undoubtedly fragile. Anything could kill them, from a simple bug bite, to a chest cold, to decapitation. It took much more to kill demons, in which Audaxa Eternum was grateful. Grateful to be a demon, and grateful he had survived Master Æthelweald’s metamorphosis. Grateful that he had the will to endure.

The body he inhabited, however, did not have the same will. It only lasted ten measly years before it began to decay into rotting, blackened flesh. The mere heat of a demon’s soul was enough to singe the body into oblivion, like fire to parchment. Therefore, Master Æthelweald had to transfer them to another body, and another, and so on. By the time they reached the fourth, most demons had learned how to do it on their own through the witches’ black magic who lived in the villages. Ones who had not learned had been executed—there was no room for weakness in Master Æthelweald’s army.

They hid well under the guise of the rising of the Roman Catholic Church. Fools, those humans were, believing that the army of demons were in fact like them and revolted against such evils. But evil was everywhere. It was soaked into the very Earth. It was inescapable.

Humans made it worse. Battles. Famine. Disease. Greed. Each of them coveted a blackness in their hearts; some hid it better than others, but it was there in every single one of them.

That was the most disgusting part about them.

In truth, Audaxa hated having to wear their ridiculous meat suits. But he would never voice his complaints. Instead, he used his rage and seething hatred to fuel his need to become a Saint.

Master Æthelweald was looking for something important. Some kind of hint or clue on how to become fully physical on Earth—in the human realm. And it was his army’s job to search for it. Master could not leave their church. He said it was some unearthly phenomena that allowed him to stay there, a mysterious and preternatural rip in space—and soon, it would close up, leaving him in his own dimension without a way back.

All he wanted to do was exist, and that was something all of his demon followers could understand.

Master promised the first ten demons to find the best evidence on how to bring him fully to the human realm would be gifted powers beyond the scope of reality. It certainly wasn’t unbelievable, either. He had already blessed them with the ability to inhabit a human—the ones who died simply weren’t strong enough on their own. And that meant Audaxa was strong enough. He was going to become Saint Audaxa Eternum, zealot of Master Æthelweald, most powerful and dangerous of demons to ever exist.

“Ad maiora natus sum,” he murmured to himself. 

Chapter Text

Dissonance

Dipper stared at the stove absently, waiting on the Mexican rice to finish steaming. So much shit was going on—yet he felt numb. Was he blocking it out? Did he not have any more room to feel anything? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t too keen on finding out, anyway.

A day had passed since the library visit, and all the crap that had gone down, but no progress had been made. He had decided to call one of his professors since he and Paz hadn’t found anything of worth, but it would take the guy a few days to track down what he was searching for, especially since there was nothing on the internet. Mabel hadn’t texted him either, though her location remained at the motel on the opposite side of town. Dipper was tempted to text Carsen, but he had a hunch it would go unanswered. Besides, he didn’t want to talk to the bastard.

It made him sick to his stomach, but he hadn’t told Soos about anything. He didn’t want the poor guy to worry himself about the Shack when his grandmother needed the attention more. Dipper would just have to work for free when they figured all this shit out.

They—who did that include, exactly? Himself, for sure. But not Mabel. Not Soos. Neither of his uncles, who were out galivanting across Europe for all he knew and probably wouldn’t be able to do much more than he was at the moment. That left Paz.

They hadn’t spoken a word since yesterday. Hadn’t even looked at each other. He had slept on the couch last night to avoid her. That made him sick, too, but…fuck, he didn’t know what to do. He wished he could talk to Mabel—the Mabel she was before Carsen came along. He wished he didn’t feel so alone. So discarded.

Pacifica had been cruel. There was no getting around that. And he didn’t know if he could really forgive her. 

He had been cruel, too, if the look on her face yesterday had indicated anything—he didn’t care.

All he wanted was to get Mabel back. Away from Carsen, whose biological integrity was still questionable. And he was days away from that answer.

Which left him in a sort of limbo. He didn’t know how to proceed. Going after Mabel could make things worse; he wanted nothing to do with Pacifica at the moment; and he couldn’t bother Soos while he was grieving, nor his Grunkles who’d probably be even less helpful (no offense to Soos).

Dipper blinked out of his thoughts as the timer for the rice beeped at him. Mechanically, he spooned the meal he’d cooked for himself and Paz—rice, baked chicken, and sautéed bell peppers and onions—onto plates, and set it down on the table before walking to his bedroom door—which, in hindsight, was a little ridiculous that she was occupying it—and stiffly knocked.

“Yes?” came her soft response.

Her voice made his throat tighten on the inside.

“I made dinner if you’re hungry,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady and void of emotion. She didn’t need to know he was bothered. They could go back to being strangers for all he cared…

“Oh. Thank you,” Paz said, her shock muffled but apparent even through the door. “I’ll, um…be out shortly.”

He stood motionlessly for a moment, paralyzed by the tear in his heart. He wanted to scream at her all of a sudden. But mostly, he just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to be near her anymore, because she only seemed to torment him. And yet, he couldn’t seem to leave.

It took another few seconds before he was able to force his head to shake and spin on his heel, heading back to the kitchen to grab his plate and eat in the living room, his unspoken quarantine.

She emerged minutes later, but he refused to glance at her. He heard her sigh, shuffle around the kitchen, then pause at the threshold of the living room, ten feet from where he sat in the old recliner. “Dipper?” she began softly.

He didn’t know why, but he said, “What.”

“If you…y’know, want your room back, I can go sleep in the attic.”

The sentence shocked him so thoroughly that his head snapped up, staring at her in disbelief. The sight of her blue eyes, gentle and guarded, made his heart thud with something akin to dread. “What?” he repeated.

“It’s your room,” she mumbled, glancing away briefly. “And I’m not even supposed to be staying here. So…”

She was guilty? For kissing him the other day, or for having her life ripped away in one night? Dipper pressed his mouth into a thin line. How did he continue to fuck up, one time after another? When would it stop? “It’s fine,” he said flatly. “I’m good out here.”

He didn’t want to stay in the attic—it was just a reminder that his sister was gone.

“Oh. Um. Yeah… Totally. I’ll just…head back, then.”

God damn it. “Wait—“ Dipper sighed, jaw set as the words made it past his irritation and own ongoing guilt. “You can hang out here and eat. If you want.”

What the fuck was wrong with him. Did he want to punish himself?

Without a word, and without him taking another glance her way, Pacifica sat on the floor to his left. Even though it was plenty cool in the house, he could feel the heat radiating off her body against his calf through his threadbare sweatpants. Like he was attuned to her. Which was a thought he no longer wanted to entertain—so Dipper turned to the television, locking his attention onto the shitty civil court case that had been playing in the background.

-

Another two days passed. Two days of awkward silence, suppressed anger and annoyance when he saw her, and slow, poisonous guilt each time she tried to speak to him. But then he got the phone call he'd been expecting—and dreading.

"Hello, Mr. Pines," the professor greeted, his usual chipper voice making Dipper perk up immediately.

"Hey, Mr. Gonzales," he replied. "Thanks for calling. Were you able to find anything?"

"No, unfortunately. I'm sorry. However, I ended up speaking with one of my colleagues over at Yale I met a few years ago. She has a minor in religious studies. She said when she took a mission trip during her time as a Catholic that she was able to tour much of Europe and Germany."

Dipper's breath stalled.

"She'd only come across a singular story similar to what you'd described, and it had been passed down through family generations. She was sure most of it had been mixed up, or diluted, as those stories tend to be. But, either way, it was quite disturbing... The person who told her the legend said he was a descendent of a demon. Yet, this demon was not made from Lucifer—it was made from another creature. Something of black mist with one all-seeing eye. This creature was said to be one of the most bloodthirsty, cruel, sadistic things in existence. It infiltrated the Church, tortured its own kind and humans alike. It was said to be looking for something. A way into life itself, though it was not dead nor unalive. Merely...it existed, and that was all."

"Do you..." Dipper murmured nervously. "Do you know what it was called?"

"Æthelweald. The Latin translation would mean something like 'noble,' 'ruler,' or 'prince'."

Was it Bill? "Did she mention anything about the Saints of Cipher?" Dipper asked.

"Again, no, I'm sorry to say. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Pines?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

They hung up, and Dipper was left feeling more heavy than before the call.

-

Was his only choice to confront Carsen?

Should he wait for Mabel to come back? Try to convince her again?

Should he call Ford after all? What kind of advice would he give? Stan would say to meet it head-on and kick ass. Ford would be matter-of-fact. Find all the inaccuracies with Carsen that Dipper could possibly remember (which were none). If Carsen was a demon, he was a damn good one. And if he was as old as Dipper suspected, it was no wonder. He was probably stronger than his imagination could dream up. Then Ford would likely find a way to drag him out in the open—which was out of the question now that Mabel was a hostage.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Hey."

Dipper lifted his head from his hands, glancing at Pacifica who lingered in the threshold of the living room. Her face was nervous, like it had been the last three days since the library. As if she were scared of talking to him. Which she should be—not that he'd do anything to her. But he might say something horrible again.

"Hey," he murmured, sitting back against the chair. He was on the floor, trying to ground himself. Trying not to spiral.

"I...I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About...us."

Exhaustion pulled at his limbs as he looked at her again. "What about us needs a discussion right now? In the middle of my sister being kidnapped by a demon. What warrants either of our opinions when I have no clue what is happening to her?"

Pacifica blanched, half-flinching as she looked at her feet. "What are you going to do about Carsen, then?" she asked softly.

"I don't really have any other choice than to confront him. If Mabel doesn't come back by Sunday, then I'm going after them."

"And I suppose you think you're doing that alone." She fixed him with a steady gaze, mouth set.

Dipper's eyebrows drew closer, glaring. "You're not coming with me."

"The fuck I'm not," she shot back. "Mabel is my friend. Before you ever were."

"So what? She's my sister!"

"Oh, and just because sister trumps friend, you think I'm going to let you face a demon by yourself?"

"You don't really have any say in it, Pacifica," he snapped.

"What, you think I'm not strong enough? You think just because Daddy threw me out that I'm a whimpering little girl?"

"That's not what I think at all."

"Then what—I'm a manipulative bitch, right? I kiss you and then I blow up in your face. That's why you won't talk to me?"

Dipper stood from the floor, spine straight, towering above her. The lamp behind him cast his shadow across her emotive face. "Fucking kind of! I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do? Every time I turn around, something is falling apart. I fucked up your family, you nearly died multiple times in my care, we seem to keep forcing ourselves on each other and it's not fucking working. And like that's fine, I guess—"

"It's NOT fine!" Paz shouted, fury simmering in her eyes. "I was being a horrible person and you were letting me get away with it!"

"I'm not responsible for your actions!"

"No, but I expect you of all people to hold me accountable for them! You're the only person who argues with me, Dipper! I need that!"

"I didn't let you get away with shit, by the way—I told you not to come near me."

"No, you said not to touch you."

"You know what I fucking meant!"

"Whatever, asshole!"

"Manipulative bitch!"

"There it is! Fucking finally!"

"You want me to insult you?!"

"It's better than the silent treatment!" she snapped. "I hate not talking to you! I hate being apart from you. It's like I..." Her eyes flickered as her voice fell off, but they never left his, and it doused all the steam inside him. "It's like I lost my best friend. And I've never really had one before."

Dipper swallowed against the stupid lump in his throat. "Don't," he gritted, jaw tight. "Don't make me feel bad for you right now."

"I'm not trying to," she stressed, a plea in her voice. "I'm just trying to talk to you. I don't know how else to do it."

That's right. She didn't grow up with a sibling to keep her in check. She grew up with parents who didn't give a fuck about her. She didn't have a Grunkle Stan who was more crazy than he was sane. She never had friends who wanted to know who she was—only how much she could buy.

Dipper shook his head, chin scrunching as he fought the tears welling in his eyes. "I don’t know what to do, Paz,” he whispered. “About any of it.”

Pacifica gazed back at him with the same hurt he harbored. Was that all they were meant to do? Share pain? “I know some of it’s my fault,” she breathed. “And I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to make things worse, but…it seems like that’s all I’m good at doing recently.”

He barked a cynical laugh. “Looks like we’re in the same boat.”

Paz hesitated, debating something in her mind, and then— “I know you’re probably still angry with me. Which is valid. But I could personally use one of those hugs you’re so good at.”

His heart was already thumping too hard, and he knew his emotional state was shit. That sentence, request, nearly made him crumble to dust. Dipper nodded, opened his arms, and inhaled Pacifica’s warm scent as she stepped into him, cheek against his aching chest. Her fingers pressed into his back gently, and Dipper laid his chin on her head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. 

The world went quiet. Still. All that existed was him and her, holding each other together.

“Do you promise to keep arguing with me?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Do you promise to hug me when I ask?”

“Only if you do the same.”

Pacifica leaned back a little, gazing up at him with eyes that looked like stained glass. “Okay. I promise,” Paz murmured.

He didn’t care if all they did was share pain—he didn’t care if things exploded like an atomic bomb. She was his friend now. Dipper brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, his heart flipping in his chest when she shut her eyes and leaned into the touch. But he didn’t kiss her, even though he wanted to. He merely pressed his forehead to hers, the tips of their noses brushing, and went silent again.

He stayed in his room that night, staring at Paz while she slept, a whirlwind of emotions below the surface of peace he was reluctant to give up.

-

"I just called my job and let them know I won't be coming back."

Dipper blinked at her, surprised at the sudden admission. "Why?" he asked simply.

Pacifica stared down at the phone in her limp hands, expression smooth. She had just come inside from sitting on the porch in the early afternoon. He hadn't known she was making a phone call. "Multiple reasons," she shrugged. "I'm going to keep calling out as long as this problem with Carsen is still going on. And I don't want to leave them high and dry every time. This way, they have a way to cover the shift instead of scrambling at the last minute."

"That was kind of you," Dipper said softly, even if it shamed him further that she'd had to give up her job for him.

She shrugged again. "I think my time was over at that job, anyway. I don't have a lot of funds, but it's enough to get me through for a few months realistically. Once I'm on my own, at least." Her eyes flicked up to his. "Which brings me to my next subject."

Dipper held his breath. She's moving out, he thought with a glimmer of panic. She's leaving. As she should. Why would she want to stay with me?

"I want to break into my parents' home and steal my shit back."

His mouth fell open, a bewildered laugh following. "Excuse me?"

Paz smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Well, to be honest, it's less breaking in and more like visiting in the middle of the night, since I know how to bypass their alarm system."

"What kind of ‘shit’ are we stealing?"

"My jewelry, my electronics, my designer bags," she listed on each finger, as if they were trivial things. "I also have another stash of cash hidden there."

Dipper shook his head, laughing again. "And how do you know they haven't thrown it all out by now?"

"My mother is sentimental. She's probably convinced my dad that I'll come back after my little 'toddler fit.' Honestly, she might be roaming my bedroom daily." Although she said it flippantly, those ocean eyes glittered with something like regret, or longing. He didn't really know how she truly felt about her parents, but he had an idea if they were anything like his own.

"Okay," Dipper said, blowing out a breath, "um. When, exactly, did you want to do this?"

"Tonight, preferably."

-

Midnight struck, and Dipper glanced over at Pacifica. She was dressed head to toe in black, and even though they weren't her own clothes, she still made them look more expensive than they were. She was currently twisting her hair up into a black cap, the lid of it clenched between her teeth. Dipper, confident in the shadows he hid in, allowed his eyes to roam across her, feeling heat simmer beneath the surface of his skin as he took in the nape of her neck.

When she secured the hat, she breathed deeply and looked up at the house, mouth tight. Dipper shifted his gaze to follow hers, wondering which memory was crossing her mind. Was it one of the ones he was involved in, or was it one of her own? "What are you thinking about?" he murmured.

"Just...a lot of things," she replied softly. Her voice barely rose above the wind that sang above them. All the bugs had quieted down for the night, but he could still hear a few critters in the distance, which was comforting. "You know, they didn't always used to be... When I was a little girl, before I started school, they used to be very doting. Adoring. I remember always eating together at the table and laughing at something my dad did, like make stupid faces. Or my mom brushing my hair and singing to me."

"Yeah," he whispered. He had the same kind of memories.

"But they're not those people anymore," said Paz. "They've changed. And so have I."

Dipper slid closer and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, proud of the conviction he saw in her. "Let's go."

Pacifica led them around the house to the entrance of a basement, pulling out a key hidden among a pile of bricks and cement blocks. Dipper glanced around the area, searching for cameras. There was one at each corner of the house, but neither had a light he could see. Either they were turned off, or they were just for show, or Paz knew how to disable the cameras along with the alarm system she’d taken down ten minutes earlier. He was impressed. She must have gotten sneaking out of her parents’ house down to a science. It was also incredibly arrogant of the Northwest's not to change their codes every once in a while.

They slipped inside the basement on silent feet, both using their phones as flashlights as they navigated the dusty and cluttered space. Pacifica was sure in where she stepped, and Dipper followed diligently. When they came upon a short flight of stairs, he placed his feet where she did, not a sound between the two of them. It was a science, then.

The door at the landing opened quietly, hinges whispering in protest from underuse. Yet the hallways remained dark and undisturbed. Everything was just as pristine as he recalled. Marble tiled floors, ornate rugs, heavy oil paintings that hung along the walls next to sconces that remained dark. However, he was in a part of the manor he had not been yet. It was unusual how such large houses had so many rooms, yet all looked exactly the same. Pacifica led them to the left, leaving the door behind them open for escape later. 

Around the corner was another hallway with two doors flanked on either side. She picked the one on the right and climbed up another set of stairs, these ones made of newly polished wood. The space was as narrow as a closet, and Dipper had the sneaking suspicion that this used to be a servant’s path. Either way, it opened up to a library, small and cozy. Paz paused, glancing at the shelves and a corner where a tiny bench sat under a window. “This used to be mine,” she whispered, eyes forlorn.

But before he could try to comfort her, she shook off the nostalgia and headed to yet another door—what else did he expect?—that brought them out to the landing above the grand staircase from the lower level of the house. Which meant that her room was just down the corridor.

Pacifica strode confidently towards her old room, hand reaching for the knob.

But Dipper heard something.

His hand darted out and snapped closed around her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. She whipped her head to him, a question poised on her lips, but he put a single finger to his mouth as if to say shh. They both stilled, and there it was. Sobbing. From inside her room.

Paz stepped closer, pressing her ear to the door. Her eyes tightened. “It’s my mom,” she mouthed to him.

He felt his heart strain at Pacifica’s expression. “We have to hide,” he whispered back, desperate to get out of sight.

She hesitated, but finally nodded, pulling him into the spare room across the hall. It was bigger than the Shack altogether, it felt, and was vastly empty. She left the door cracked so they could listen for her mother’s leave and sat beside it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely rising above his breath.

“Fine,” she murmured. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes. So he took her hand instead, rubbing soft circles on the back of her hand.

Stealing their breath and freezing them in place, footsteps from far down the hall scuffled on the hardwood floors, coming closer and closer. Dipper and Paz pressed their backs tight against the wall as they stood, straining to hear. Her bedroom door opened, and then a deep, heavy sigh.

“Priscilla. Come back to bed.” Preston’s voice was hard and unforgiving.

A choked whimper from the woman. “I miss her so much.”

“She did this to herself,” Preston snapped. “If you would like to join her, feel free.”

Dipper had the feeling they’d had this argument many times over. It sounded like his own parents.

“No, no, no,” Priscilla said quickly, her steps rushing toward Preston. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know what happened to make her change all of a sudden.”

Preston sighed again, exasperated. “It doesn’t matter. If she shows her face on this estate again, I’ll have the cops throw her in jail. And you, if you don’t get back in bed and drop the goddamned subject.”

“Yes…” Priscilla responded softly, a hint of regret and hesitation in her voice. “Of course.”

Their footsteps began fading, and Dipper finally looked at Pacifica, whose face was stricken between rage and sorrow. He saw her pulse fluttering at her throat. “That fucking—” Paz cut her own mutter off, drawing in a sawed breath.

“Hey,” he soothed, “it’s fine. You have done nothing wrong.”

Outraged blue flashed to him. “I know,” she said defensively.

“It’s not your fault,” he went on, repeating the mantra he’d had to say to himself those few years ago when his parents had turned on him and Mabel. “They’ve made their decisions. You’ve made yours.”

“I know.”

“Pacifica—” He stared at her with hard, unwavering eyes. “Listen to me. They are not your burden anymore. You have done nothing wrong. And it’s not your fault.”

Her lower lip tightened along with her chin as the words finally touched her. “It’s not her fault, either,” she whispered, darting her eyes between his own as she gazed up at him. “It can’t be. Not with the way she sounded. Not with the way she’s followed him all this time.”

Dipper’s mouth thinned as he nodded. “I know. But we can’t do anything about that right now. We need to get the things you need and go. You can reach out to your mom later if you want to.”

Pacifica took a few more ragged breaths before she nodded, too. “You’re right. Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”

When they made sure everything was as quiet as a graveyard, they snuck across the hall and entered her bedroom. Paz had been right; her mother hadn’t let anybody touch the room. Even dust had accumulated on the dresser. She ignored everything but her closet, striding straight for it and tossing two small, nondescript bags his way. “Jewelry stand with the mirror. Grab it all,” she ordered. 

Dipper blew out a long breath as he opened the jewelry stand. Jesus. How did he forget her wealth so often? He picked up dainty tennis bracelets, dangly earrings, silver and gold necklaces, rings of all sorts of colors, pearls, diamonds, emeralds, amethyst, sapphires…his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at each piece. “Is this all?” he asked.

“Check the bathroom, too.”

Of course there was more.

He left her to rummage through the closet and her dresser, entering her ensuite. It was just as he remembered, all white with touches of teak wood. Again, he would kill to have a bathroom like this. But then his eyes strayed to the sink, and the memory of once-white soap and pink-stained hands made him nauseous. Dipper didn’t think he’d ever be free of that night.

Holding his breath, Dipper searched through shelves and drawers, grabbing the stray amounts of jewelry and other trinkets that looked expensive, being sure not to disturb anything. When he came back to the room, Pacifica was shoving one last designer bag on her shoulder—five or six, at least, hung behind her back. On her other shoulder was a backpack, though he wasn’t sure what she’d packed in that. “Do you need help?” he asked with a laugh in his crooked smile.

She glared at him, blushing. “No,” she shot back. “Come on. It’s nearly one-thirty and the alarms will be back on at—”

They both paused at the sound of footsteps once more—her mother or father? Or someone else? Dipper rushed across the room and shoved her into the closet, trapping her between him and the door as he closed it behind them. As the footsteps came closer, her breathing became more panicked, so he clamped a hand over her mouth.

He hushed her with his eyes, keeping his fingers secured across her face. This close, he could feel the heat of her body, her racing heart. If he just removed his hand, he could kiss her again… But that was what made everything go to shit between them. So he forced himself to remain still, keeping his expression serious, hard, and unforgiving.

The footsteps paused at the door, then came inside and made a circle, the sound of rustling fabric following. There was a sigh, quiet and mournful.

Pacifica, after yanking her face away from him, barely cracked open the closet door for them to see the disappearing silhouette of her mother in a nightgown and slippers.

Paz slipped out of his grasp, quicker than he thought she could, and swiftly made it to the door. “Mom!” she whispered, voice cracking.

There were a few tense beats of silence, Dipper standing behind her protectively. Priscilla Northwest had paused in the middle of the hallway, then turned slightly, and stared at her daughter and himself in disbelief. “Pacifica?” she breathed.

“Mom, I…” Paz’s voice was thick, and though he couldn’t see her face, Dipper assumed it was just as heartbroken as her mother’s. He hadn’t planned on a confrontation—in fact, it was the last thing he’d wanted—but it was too late now. 

“You really don’t believe I’m that horrible, do you?”

Pacifica’s question was filled with pain. It tore Dipper’s heart to shreds.

Priscilla’s eyes flickered, the harsh aged lines of her face deepening as she frowned, close to tears. “No, baby.”

“I…I can’t stay. Please, don’t tell Preston I was here.”

Preston. Not Dad. Dipper wanted to place a hand on Pacifica’s shoulder, but he was afraid he’d shatter the moment.

Her mother caught the distinction, too. “I won’t,” she promised. “But will you…come back one day?”

Paz hesitated. “I meant that…I can’t stay—ever. I can’t be around him. I can’t make myself smaller anymore.”

Priscilla clutched at her chest, over her heart. “I know,” she whispered eventually. “I love you.”

Pacifica made a whimpering noise before quietly running to her mother and locking her in an embrace. With the hall so silent, Dipper could still hear every word whispered. “I’m sorry,” Priscilla said, “that I didn’t realize how precious you are until you left. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother to you.”

“I know,” Pacifica choked out. “I know, Mom. I hope you can leave one day. Whatever is going on, I hope you can get out of it.”

-

The next day, Saturday, Dipper drove three goddamn hours away to sell her jewelry to multiple jewelers. Some she knew and met with a warm smile, and some she had to charm into giving her the highest price she could haggle. Eventually, much to his shock and awe, she sold most all of it for a whopping six thousand dollars—which was fucking ridiculous, though she said it was much less than what she was hoping for. Most of it went to her personal bank account that she’d hidden from her parents, while a small chunk was left in her wallet. He’d never even seen that much cash in his life, and she handled it like it grew on trees. Then they sold her bags and other things to a pawn shop, which was another thousand dollars. By lunchtime, he was exhausted and mind-blown.

Later, they sat on a bench in a park he hadn’t bothered to look at. “I’m hungry,” she commented, smiling over at him as he stared at her purse that held her wallet. There was just so much money in there. “What do you want to eat today? Anything you want, my treat.”

He shook his head in a dazed way. “I can’t even think about food right now,” he mumbled, glancing up at the sky. Along with their crazy trip, and last night, his mind was on Mabel. She was supposed to come back tomorrow. And if not…

“Well, do you want to go back home? We can order a pizza. It’s supposed to rain tonight so we can just pig out and watch movies.”

Dipper sighed and let his head drop into his hands. “I don’t know, Paz. I’m just…stressed out about Mabel right now. I can’t really think. Or decide on anything.”

Pacifica slid closer and placed a hand on his knee. “Okay, then,” she said softly. “I’ll decide for you. You won’t have to worry about deciding on anything.”

He met her eyes, breath catching at the utter kindness there. He wondered if she had forgiven him. Or if he had forgiven her—it certainly felt like it. Or maybe there was nothing to forgive, anyway. Perhaps this was the way they were. Would always be.

If they stayed together, that is.

The thought made his mouth taste bitter, but he smiled through it gratefully, nodding in agreement.

-

[Mabel]

Where…am I?

The girl glanced around with blurry vision, unable to make out anything but vague shapes. She felt a hard slab of stone under her body; the chill of it seeped into her bones, and she had the sense she’d been unconscious and shivering for hours by the way she ached. She wanted to open her mouth to speak, but nothing happened when she willed it.

What was the last thing she remembered? She had just gotten back with takeout for dinner in the motel room with Carsen. Her boyfriend. Where was he? Was he okay?

She blinked rapidly, turning her head slightly, then whimpering as blinding pain laced her skull. Did she have a concussion? Or worse? What was worse than that? She couldn’t recall.

“Shh,” someone hushed, their voice far away. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry. But I truly didn’t have any other choice.”

Panic began bursting in her chest, threatening to rise up as a wail in her throat. Carefully, and ignoring the agony of moving her head again, she looked over to where the voice came from. They certainly didn’t sound sorry. Who was it? Had she been kidnapped?

“You would have screamed the whole way here,” they continued to explain. “I had to make sure you didn’t wake up for a few hours.”

You couldn’t have just drugged me instead?

She supposed she must have said it aloud because the person laughed. For some reason, Mabel couldn’t get a grasp on whether it was male or female. It sounded like an amalgamation of both, layers of hatred and violence and cruelty packed into each word spoken. Perhaps it wasn’t even a person—she had been in Gravity Falls before being taken to…wherever this was.

“Well,” the creature said, a smile in its voice. “It was much more fun this way, sweetheart.”

Finally, she felt her mouth crack open, dry and raw at the same time. “Who are you?” she rasped.

“You don’t recognize me?” The creature stepped closer, each footfall echoing in her head like the throb of a headache.

Her breath caught as fear and horror washed through her like blood dripping into water.

The question she asked shouldn’t have started with who—it should have started with what.

Because not even a scream could tear from her throat as she stared, petrified, at the eldritch nightmare before her.

No…

Please…

No…!