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Chapter Text

Dipper gritted his teeth, narrowly slipping past another strike from the demon Thal’zhebad – a towering dragon with the head of a lion. But his timing faltered again, and the beast unleashed a curse that froze him in place. With his health already nearly depleted, Dipper groaned, resigned to his defeat.

“I’m hearing lots of curse words…” came a smug voice through the headset. “Maybe you should try another game, dork. You might not be good at this one.”

“Real helpful, Paz.”

“It’s Pacifica.”

“Whatever.” Dipper let out a heavy sigh as he clicked back to the game map, retreating to his fortress.

It had been six months since their first summer together, and three months ago, over winter break, Pacifica had asked him if he’d ever heard of Bloodcraft: Overdeath. Of course he did; he’d been grinding through the levels since he was seven. Yet somehow his level 120 paladin kept getting demolished by her level 100 knight.

One thing led to another, and soon he was her “second knight” in Roadkill County’s Biannual Bloodcraft Brawl. Against all odds, they’d won. And somehow, since then, Saturday nights had turned into their gaming ritual.

“You know, I still can’t believe you’re the legendary PlatinumPAZ,” Dipper muttered as he adjusted his armor stats.

“Of course I am,” Pacifica’s smug voice crackled through his headset. “By the way, you should really work on enchanting the weaker parts of that armor.”

“You’ve killed me like, six times, in that global battle royal event last year.”

“Hey, to get where I am, you have to kill everyone at least once or twice,” she replied. “Not sorry about it.”

“That said, I’m not too sure about that golden-platinum armor you’d won from that event,” Dipper remarked. “It doesn’t really suit you.”

“Maybe not,” Pacifica admitted, “but it’s got all the ultimate enchantments and defenses. Still, honestly? A level 75 silver-platinum set handles most monsters just fine.”

“Then if it’s overrated, or if you don’t even need it, why not sell it on the traders’ market?”

"It’s still limited edition," Pacifica shot back. “Makes a fine trophy for my fortress.”

“Like one of your dresses?” Dipper teased.

“A wide selection of only the best… for the Northwests, of course.”

“Even with all your wealth gone?”

“Puh-lease. We may have lost the Manor, but we’re doing just fine in our new maisonette and our butler. You two should come by when you’re back in the Falls.”

“An exclusive invitation, huh? I’ll gladly accept.”

A brief silence followed, only broken by the clattering of keys.

“Hey, still up for another round?” Pacifica asked. “I could give you more tips on optimising your armour and sword stats to beat that dastard Thal’zhebad. Honestly, it’s not that hard; you just need a couple of enchantments-"

“Nah, I’m pretty beat.” Dipper shook his head, enlarging the video call window to get a clearer look at his friend. “Not really in the mood to keep going. Besides, don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

“You know I don’t take Sunday mornings anymore,” Pacifica replied, leaning back in her chair. “The breakfast rush is insane, and Susan only pays me two extra bucks an hour. Totally not worth it.”

“You’re still a pampered heiress,” Dipper scoffed. “I thought you took that waitress job for reasons other than money.”

“Yeah, well… it’s still gotta be worth my time, dork,” she muttered.

“Mabel says you’re getting the hang of it, though,” Dipper remarked.

“Definitely better than my first day,” Pacifica mused. “I suppose Mabel told you-”

“Yeah. You mixed up a bunch of orders and dropped a whole stack of plates,” Dipper cut in. “I remember; you told me back in January.”

Pacifica chuckled. “I’m surprised you can still remember that.”

Dipper’s cheeks warmed up a little. “Hard to forget when you described it as ‘the most humiliating day of my life. Honestly, I’m more impressed you didn’t quit.”

“Mabel was very encouraging,” Pacifica said. “Plus, Wendy drops by a lot. Sometimes asking me how things are going…”

“Yeah, I remember you two talking about stopping a very botched and pathetic attempt at a robbery,” Dipper said with a nod. “Those thugs trying to take advantage of the free coffee refill.”

“You do have a good memory.”

“Complimenting me again? What is this… do you have some kindness quota to fulfil before the week’s over?”

Pacifica huffed. “Keep it up and I’ll let Thal’zhebad lop off that oversized head of yours next time. And for the record, you once told me I don’t need a reason to be nice.”

“That’s… true,” Dipper conceded. “Fair point taken.”

Another silence settled between them, filled only by the swell of the game’s orchestral soundtrack in the background.

“How are things with your… family?” Pacifica ventured.

“Pretty great, really. Mabel just came in second at last week’s science fair; much thanks to Waddles, honestly. In fact, the teachers were so impressed that we both got invited to the Junior State Science Fair.”

“That’s neat. Congrats!”

“And the Grunkles left Seychelles a few days ago; they’d faced some rough waves but they’re totally fine. They’re headed for Réunion Island next, then Madagascar. They’re cataloguing some aquatic serpent species in the Indian Ocean.”

“Yuck, snakes.” Pacifica made a face, and he couldn’t help grinning at her reaction. “And, um… your dad?”

“Well, you know he quit his IT job, so he’s around the house more, helping with the chores and everything.” He shrugged. “He’s still picking up smaller projects here and there… like helping my mom revamp her museum’s website. But yeah, he’s still hoping to land something more permanent.”

“That’s… good. At least he’s keeping busy. And staying close with you guys.” Pacifica twirled her hair. “I guess your mom must be glad to have the extra help with the museum.”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She pretends it’s just about the website, but honestly I think she likes having him around more. Even Mabel says it feels like they’re finally figuring stuff out.”

“That’s… actually really nice to hear,” Pacifica admitted, her voice softer than before. “I mean, it’s good things are settling down on your side. Not like my parents.”

“Your parents still fight?” Dipper asked, raising his eyebrows.

“They’re still trying to keep up appearances as the town’s ‘perfect couple’.” Pacifica sighed, her tone edged with bitterness. “But behind closed doors… it’s pretty frosty.”

Dipper frowned. “I’m sorry, Paz. That must be very rough.”

“I’m kind of used to it by now.” She gave a little shrug, though her voice wavered. “I mean, you know my Mom’s a literal trophy wife, and my parents’ been like that before we lost all our wealth, so nothing’s really different. My parents don’t really love each other… don’t think they really know how to. Actually… it only got worse without money to soothe things around. At least now I don’t have to keep pretending to be their perfect daughter anymore.”

“Well, that’s at least a silver lining. Otherwise they’d have made you quit that diner job,” Dipper said.

“I made sure I had a contract,” Pacifica replied with a wry smile. “My dad only respects those. He’s a businessman, after all.”

Dipper tilted his head as Pacifica’s moved her mouse sharply. “Wait… are you actually playing another round right now, or just chatting with me?”

“Just a small mission. Someone was trying to raid my gold vault so I’m boosting some defences.”

Dipper chuckled. Honestly, her fortress was as impenterable as Fort Knox. Or even Area 51. She’d got triple-layered walls manned by orcs, enchanted turrets, and a moat full of lava hydras. Who in their right mind thinks they can even scratch that?

“Something funny, Pines?” Pacifica asked.

“Nah, nothing, really. Just thinking someone has to be both dumb and desperate to raid your fortress.”

“Well, it’s free loot for me every time they fail.”

“Remind me never to cross you again in this game.”

“Don’t worry, Pines,” she teased. “If you ever did, I’d make it quick.”

Dipper chortled again. Maybe he should also try to boost his own fortress’ defences too.

“Honestly, I couldn’t wait for you two to come back,” Pacifica interrupted his thoughts. “Things are… kind of dull here without you.”

“Haha, that’s exactly what Wendy told me too.” Dipper chuckled. “And yeah, Piedmont’s boring in its own way. Sure, there’s the sun and the summer beaches… but no mystery hunting. No gnomes, no vampires. Mabel and I thought we’d found a ghost at an abandoned convenience store in the next neighborhood, but it turned out to be a raccoon infestation.”

“Raccoons. Wow. Thrilling.” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “I still have gnomes going through the Diner’s trash. Wanna trade?”

“Heh, fair point. Still… I can’t wait to be back in the Falls.” Dipper grinned to himself. “Ford and I are already talking about various ways to collect data for the Grand Theory of Weirdness.”

“The what now?”

“Basically what connects all the weirdness. From ghosts and werewolves to erratic ex-presidents and invisible wizards… sure, we know about the weirdness magnet. But we’re wondering whether there’s some quantifiable parameter of weirdness that-”

“Ugh… save me the nerd talk. You’re boring me to sleep.” Pacifica groaned, but the way she leaned closer to the screen betrayed her curiosity.

Dipper smirked. “You say that, but you’re still listening.”

Pacifica crossed her arms, feigning indifference. “Only because it’s really dull here. Sure, sometimes there’s a werewolf harrassing Wendy’s ass or pixies making a mess in the trash, but… it’s not the same without you around. Or Mabel’s sleepovers. Candy and Grenda are fine, but it feels different without her.”

The call went quiet for a beat, though not in an awkward way. More like the kind of silence that settled when both were content just being there.

Then a small yawn slipped through Pacifica’s mic.

“You’re getting sleepy already?” Dipper asked.

“Your sleepiness is rubbing off on me,” she countered with a faint smile. “Anyway… I really can’t wait for you guys to come back. Just promise me one thing: don’t dive into something insane without backup when you come back. I know you’d like to go mystery hunting right away.”

“What, like a second knight at my side?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Don’t forget who bailed you out when that creepy ancestral ghost tried to end you. And that weird Mr. What’s-His-Face guy.”

“Point taken. Though, honestly, Mabel’s usually the one saving my butt. But if she’s busy with Candy and Grenda… well, I guess that spot’s kind of open, so-”

“You’re unbelievable.” Pacifica cut in sharply, though her words carried more fluster than anger. She shook her head. “Forget it. I’m just really tired after a long shift.”

Dipper’s grin softened into a nod. “Yeah, I should probably hit the hay too. Same time next Saturday?”

“Sure. See ya.”

They ended the call, with both their laptops shutting down. At 3:15 a.m., both sank beneath their blankets, the exhaustion of the day finally pulling them under. Neither knew it, but each drifted into sleep carrying the other into their dreams.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Stan: Hey, Pumpkin, congrats again on making it into the Junior State Fair! So, what’s the deal with Dipper these past few nights? I keep seeing him online when you two should be asleep. And Poindexter says he’s not the one on those late night calls. So who’s he talking to?

Mabel: Ooohh… Shall I tell you?

Stan: Just spit it out already.

Mabel: He’s chatting with a secret admirer from Gravity Falls!

Stan: A secret admirer, huh? …Wait a second. Don’t tell me it’s that Northwest brat. He hasn’t shut up about her for weeks.

Mabel: Ding! Ding! Ding! Right on the money, Grunkle Stan!

Stan: Really? Her? Wow. Never thought Little Miss Princess would give Dipper the time of day.

Mabel: Well, they’ve been staying up super late playing video games together.

Stan: She plays video games? Huh, thought she’s the type to go fox hunting or pony riding.

Mabel: Oh, come on, Grunkle Stan! She’s changed a lot. She’s like… way less snooty now. And didn’t you remember that she risked her life saving us from those ghosty-whatsits?

Stan: Yeah, yeah, I remember. Still, I gotta keep an eye on her. Last thing I need is my great-nephew getting swindled out of his allowance by some fancy-pants heiress.

Mabel: Relax! She’s actually nice. And she’s even working at the diner now. Honestly? I think she’ll make Dipper really happy.

Stan: Huh. Well, long as he’s got someone to talk to. But tell me, Pumpkin: are you putting on your matchmaking glasses again?

Mabel: Matchmaking’s always in session! It’s just harder to ship when they’re, like, hundreds of miles apart.

Stan: Heh, yeah, I get it. Was this close to typing her an email telling her to ask him out already. But, eh… not sure how that’d work.

Mabel: Gotta catch the school bus already, Grunkle Stan. I’ll check in with you guys later!

Stan: Right, right. Don’t go around spraying glitter in the corridors again. And certainly not all over your brother.

Mabel: No promises! Byeee!

Chapter Text

Well, the day finally came. Something inevitable, yet still hard to accept.

Wendy left town today. It feels surreal that it’s actually happened. Saying goodbye was tougher than I expected. I just wish we’d had more time for adventures and the usual mischief before she had to go.

She promised to come back to the Falls now and then once she’s settled in her new place, but it won’t be the same as having her here every day. I’ll surely miss our late-night B-movie marathons and the way she always knew all the best tricks for surviving in the woods, especially when it came to dealing with whatever paranormal thing happened to be lurking. Tree climbing, makeshift traps… all the stuff she made look easy.

No matter what, I honestly wish her nothing but the best. She’s already been through so much this summer, and somehow she’s managed to keep her head steady through it all.

Truth be told, Wendy Corduroy hadn’t expected such a crowd to see her off.

Her dad was there, of course, with her three rowdy brothers in tow. The twins stood close by, along with their friends Pacifica, Grenda, and Candy. The Grunkles had come to see her off too, along with Soos Ramirez and Melody – her bosses, and in their own way, part of the family.

Some of her old crew had turned up as well – Tambry, Robbie, and Lee. Even Thompson managed to drop by despite being swamped with preparations for his move to Berkeley. Nate couldn’t make it; he’d already left the Falls a few weeks earlier for a new job in Seattle.

“You didn’t forget anything, did you?” her Dad, Dan Corduroy, asked. “I could always get ‘Handy’ Dave to haul the rest of your stuff from your room-”

“No need, Dad.” Wendy chuckled. “These three boxes are all I really need. Clothes, my guitar, and, uh… the axe. The rest can stay until I figure out the new place.”

“That’s good.” He gave her shoulder a firm pat. “Just promise me you won’t get into trouble on the way, or once you reach Portland. Text us every day during the trip, and call once you’ve made it there, alright?”

Wendy rolled her eyes, though a smile smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, Dad.”

“Hey, so… is her room ours now that she’s gone?” Gus piped up.

“No way.” Marcus elbowed Gus. “I called dibs first. I need the space for my weights.”

“You don’t even lift half the time,” Gus shot back. “Besides, I want it for my woodcraft collection!”

“Uh…” Kevin raised a hand. “Why not turn it into a gaming and movie room?”

“Knock it off, you three,” Dan cut in, folding his arms. “The room stays exactly the way it is. Nobody touches it until Wendy comes back. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Wendy added with a grin, “and if you even think about stepping into my room without permission, I’ll come back with my axe.”

The boys groaned in unison.

“Unfair!” Kevin huffed. “She’s not even living here anymore!”

“Yeah,” Marcus muttered, crossing his arms, “dead girl walking, but the room’s still hers.”

“Hey!” Wendy laughed, swatting his shoulder with her hat. “I’m not dead, just moving.”

“Moving on,” Gus teased, which earned him another round of shoves from his siblings.

“That’s a little too grim for a send-off, don’t you think?” Melody remarked.

“Yeah, I’m with her on that,” Robbie said.

“Right, knock it off, guys!” Mabel chimed in, hands on her hips. “We just had a super nice send-off party, so don’t ruin the mood!”

After the bickering died down, everyone began giving their proper goodbyes.

“So proud of you, kiddo,” Dan said, pulling Wendy into a quick hug. “Go make the most of Portland, alright?”

Wendy smiled, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “I will, Dad. Thanks for everything.”

“Send us pics!” Gus called.

Kevin shrugged. “Yeah… and, like Dad said, stay out of trouble. Or at least, don’t get caught if you do.”

“You know me.” Wendy gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Take good care of Mabel while I’m gone.”

“Heh, obviously.” Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “No worries there. Dipper’d come after me if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I would.” Dipper tried to look serious, but the effort only earned laughter from the Corduroy siblings, Mabel, and Pacifica.

“Quit it, dork,” Pacifica teased. “You look constipated.”

“Right… okay,” Dipper muttered, relaxing his shoulders in defeat.

Wendy turned back to her brothers. “Seriously, you three are the most lovable pains in the world. Just pitch in more around the house, and don’t give Dad a stroke while I’m gone, deal?”

“No promises,” Gus said, crossing his heart. “But yeah, we’ll try our best.”

“Yeah. We’ll miss ya, sis,” Kevin nodded as he gave her a tight hug.

Her friends stepped up next. Dipper’s grin was half teasing, half genuine. He’d grown so much over the past three years that he nearly matched her height now.

“Well, can’t believe this day is actually here,” he said. “Honestly, you’re one of the coolest friends I know, and this place won’t be the same without you. I’m really gonna miss our movie marathons and all the mystery-hunting we had.”

“Relax, pipsqueak.” Wendy smirked, pressing down the ushanka – once hers – over her friend’s head. “You’ll still have plenty of other weird stuff to keep you busy. Plus, you’ve got your sister and your girlfriend to watch your back. Or well… I’m just a call away if you ever need backup.”

Dipper chuckled. “Guess that’s true.”

“If anything, I should warning you guys not to get yourselves killed on whatever weird stuff you get up to before I return.”

Dipper offered an unapologetic shrug. “Well, considering how unpredictable things have been these past few weeks…”

“…we caaaan’t really make any promises,” Mabel finished.

“One of the Principles of Anomalous Phenomena,” Ford chimed in. “Similar to entropy, where disorder represents the natural state, unpredictability accompanies spontaneity.”

“Zip it, genius.” Stan nudged his brother. “Save the lecture for later.”

“Well, at least make an effort,” Wendy chuckled as she glanced between the two twins. “Do it for me.”

Mabel let out a dramatic sniffle, throwing herself at Wendy into a hug. “Don’t you dare forget us, Wendy Corduroy! Or our epic sleepovers!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wendy laughed, ruffling her hair.

“Promise us more sleepovers when you come back!” Candy called.

“We’ll have the most epic sleepovers!” Grenda boomed, pulling Wendy into a bear hug.

“Umph…” Wendy choked. “I can’t breathe, Grenda!”

“Oh, sorry!” Grenda released the hug.

Wendy wheezed, catching her breath with a lopsided grin as she readjusted her Pine Tree cap. “Guess I’m really gonna miss those hugs too.”

Grenda beamed. “Don’t worry, I’ll save up plenty more for when you come back!”

Everyone burst into a round of laughter. Then Pacifica came forward next, her usual composure slipping just enough to show how much she was holding back.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally just sighed. “Okay, so… I’m still not great at this whole sappy goodbye thing.”

“That’s okay,” Wendy prompted with an encouraging grin. “Just say what you want.”

Pacifica drew in a breath, her voice softer now. “Well… I’ll miss you. A lot. You were actually the first real friend I had in this town when I needed one. Honestly… you’ve been like a big sister to me. I liked that you always checked in, asked how I was doing, even when my family wasn’t exactly the best, or when I wasn’t exactly the friendliest person to be around. Especially after that summer.”

Wendy’s smirk melted into something gentler, her eyes softening as she listened.

Pacifica shifted, glancing down at her shoes before forcing herself to meet Wendy’s gaze again. “You didn’t treat me like some washed-up brat who needed pity and fixing… you just treated me like a person. Like a friend. That meant more than I could ever say.” Her voice wavered a little more. “So yeah… I’m really going to miss you.”

Wendy didn’t say anything, just pulled Pacifica into a hug, one firm arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Pacifica Northwest,” Wendy said with a quiet chuckle, “you’re one of the toughest, coolest people I know. Don’t let anyone, especially your parents, make you forget that.”

“Of course I won’t,” Pacifica murmured, continuing to hold onto the hug longer than she would normally have.

“Are those tears on my jacket?” Wendy muttered, rubbing Pacifica’s back. “It’s okay…”

“Never thought the Red Menace could make such a difference in people’s lives,” Stan commented. “Including the Princess.”

“Yeah,” Thompson murmured. “She also did encourage me to stand up more for myself.”

Pacifica pulled back just enough to shoot him a glare, her eyes glassy. “Shut up, old man.”

That sparked another round of chuckles from the room, even from Wendy, who gave Pacifica one final pat before stepping back.

“Hey, don’t ruin my rep, alright?” Wendy teased, smirking as she wiped her own eye with the back of her sleeve. “People are supposed to think I’m too cool to care.”

“Too late,” Kevin piped up, still sniffling but grinning ear to ear. “You’ve officially been exposed as a big softie.”

“Well, she’s always been one,” Dipper remarked.

“And hey, keep an eye on Dipper,” Wendy added. “He’s not as fearless as he acts.”

“I know.” Pacifica rolled her eyes before she nudged her boyfriend. “I told you so.”

The old gang stepped up for their turn. For once, Tambry actually set her phone aside, grinning at her long-time friend. “Portland’s lucky to have you. Don’t become too much of a city girl, yeah?”

“Of course I won’t,” Wendy grinned, bumping fists with her. “Stay weird, Tambry.”

“So… this is pretty surreal. You leaving and all.” Robbie shuffled forward in awkward steps, hands shoved deep in his skinny jeans pockets. “Honestly, thanks for sticking by me, even when I was being a total idiot. You’re a good friend, Wendy. I shouldn’t have taken that for granted.”

“Hey, we all grow up eventually,” Wendy replied, giving him a brief but genuine hug. “Take care of yourself, Robbie. And maybe lay off the bong for a while.”

Robbie smirked. “No promises. But I might start showering more often.”

“He at least now bothers to shower in the mornings,” Tambry added.

“So that’s where all the conditioner went.” Wendy laughed just as Lee stepped up, his usual laid-back grin in place.

“Gonna miss having you around to keep us in line. Hope you’ll made it big there. Just don’t forget us small-town losers when you’re living it up in the city.”

“Portland’s not exactly New York, dude,” Wendy teased, slapping on her friend’s shoulder. “But yeah, I get what you mean. You guys are unforgettable.”

“Yeah, but erm…” Lee’s grin wavered for a second, and he scratched the back of his head. “Just kinda hope you won’t forget me either. You’re lucky, y’know, getting that spot in college.”

“Hey, listen…” Wendy said, squeezing his shoulder. “Take the time to figure yourself out, alright? And at least try not to blow up the town while I’m gone.”

“No guarantees.”

“The assistant manager position at the theatre’s always open, Lee,” Thompson said.

“Bump up the pay, and maybe I’ll consider it.” Lee chuckled.

“You’re incorrigible.” Thompson shook his head as he stepped forward. “Well, Wendy, I really need to thank you for encouraging me to actually speak up for myself sometimes.”

“To be fair, I haven’t always been the greatest friend to you either,” Wendy confessed. “But that changed when, well, you remember Dr Passuum? The guest speaker at our school last year? She really pushed me to rethink things.”

“She actually helped me a lot too,” Thompson concurred.

“She’s right; you’ve always had it in you. You just needed a little nudge. I’m proud of how far you’ve come… and don’t think I won’t be keeping tabs on you, either.”

Thompson nodded. “Thanks… Wendy. Really.”

“And how can I forget the two of you?” Wendy turned to Soos and Melody, both wearing matching emotional expressions. “Soos, you’ve been an awesome co-worker, a great friend, and an even greater boss, and it’s been an honor working for you these past few years.”

“Wow… thanks, dude.” Soos said, his voice already wavering. “You’ve been an amazing employee and friend. The Shack won’t be the same without you taking charge when things get crazy.”

“Which happens more often than it should,” Melody added with a knowing look. “Seriously though, Wendy, you’ve been incredible. We’re going to miss having someone reliable we can count on.”

“You two actually think that of me?” Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Let’s be real, I hardly ever did much around the Shack… like, ever.”

“Yeah, but even when I wasn’t around, you still stepped up, handled the crowds, and helped where it counted,” Soos said. “And don’t forget, dude, you were there when Estanislao was born! That meant a lot.”

“Gotta thank you for keeping your cool and helping us with that,” Melody added. “Plus you’ve been encouraging, brave, and kind. We’ll surely miss your energy and charm around the shop every day.”

“You two are the best bosses ever,” Wendy said, moving in to hug them both at once. “Also… Soos, I confess. I was the one stealing all your cereal bars from the back. Sorry, man.”

Soos laughed. “It’s all good. Honestly, who could blame you? And hey, at least it wasn’t from the vending machine.”

Wendy smiled. “Take care of Estanislao for me, alright?”

“Hey hey hey…” Stan pushed his way forward. “As touching as this moment is, let’s not forget about the guy who got ya this job at the Shack in the first place.”

“I’ve given you enough credit already, old man!” Wendy rolled her eyes at Stan. “What more do you want from me?”

"Nothing!” He waved a hand away. “I just serve to remind.”

“But seriously, if not for you, I’ll probably be stuck at my cousin’s logging camp upstate.”

“What’s wrong with Tucker’s camp?” Dan grumbled, then glanced at Stan. “But yeah… Seriously, Stan, thanks for looking out for my daughter.”

“See? Finally, someone here who appreciates me!” Stan declared.

Dan coughed. “I’m still waiting on that free pizza you promised four years ago.”

“Anyway-” Stan turned back Wendy with uncharacteristic sincerity. “Kid, you’ve got guts and brains – that’s a rare combination. Don’t let the big city change that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Pines,” Wendy said, accepting his gruff but affectionate shoulder pat.

Then, last but not least, Ford stepped forward. “Wendy, I must say your practical problem-solving skills and level-headedness have been invaluable. Even though we’ve embarked only on, well, very few encounters with anomalous phenomena. But that said, Portland is gaining a remarkable young woman.”

“Thanks, Dr Pines.” Wendy was a little astonished that Ford would have some words to say for her. “Say, erm, try to keep these knuckleheads out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Ford managed a small smile. “I’ll do my best, though you know how trouble seems to find us given the scope of our mission.”

“Good luck with that Grand Theory.”

“Enough with the fancy words, Sixer.” Stan nudged his brother. “We can’t keep her standing here all day.”

“Stan’s right.” Dan clapped his hands. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get Wendy’s stuff loaded up so she can hit the road before it gets too dark.”

The group mobilized at once, helping carry her boxes to her beat-up old pickup truck. As they loaded the final box, Wendy took a moment to look around at all the faces gathered there – her family, her friends, her chosen family. Her throat tightened.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying across the small crowd. “All of you. For everything. For being there through all the weirdness and chaos, and for giving me the best send-off a girl could ask for.”

Dan gave a small, proud nod. “Go on, kiddo.”

She climbed into the driver’s seat, rolled down her window, and grinned at the assembled group one last time. The Pines family, her friends, her dad had become an unlikely crowd that had somehow become her world. Soos had an arm around Melody, still wiping his eyes. Mabel held Waddles up like he was a teddy bear, while Robbie shoved his hands in his pockets, doing a poor job of looking casual. Stan stood with his arms crossed, but even from here Wendy could see his eyes were misty. Ford gave her a dignified nod. Pacifica, Grenda, and Candy huddled together, waving like they weren’t ready to stop. Even Thompson managed a shaky thumbs-up.

“Don’t do anything too crazy while I’m gone, okay? Well... maybe just a little crazy. It wouldn’t be Gravity Falls otherwise.”

“Bye, Wendy!” Kevin called.

“Don’t forget to text!” Dipper added quickly.

“Drive safe!” Soos bellowed.

“And call if you need anything!” Melody chimed in.

With a final wave and a honk of her horn, Wendy Corduroy pulled away from her family’s cabin. As the truck rounded the corner, Wendy glanced into the rearview mirror. They were all still there, still waving, still watching. She pressed her lips together in a smile, blinking hard as the image shrank smaller and smaller, until the turn took them out of sight.

Only then did she let the tears slip down, quiet but full.

The road stretched long ahead, the city waiting, but in her heart, Gravity Falls would always be home. She drove on, carrying the love of that little town with her into the next chapter of her life in Portland.

Chapter Text

“Paz! Paz!” Mabel’s urgent voice rang as she burst through the Diner. “There you are!”

“What is it now?” I asked, balancing a tray with pancakes and a cinnamon frappe for the man at booth thirteen. “Can’t you see I’m working?”

“But this is an emergency!” Mabel insisted, trailing behind me. “Didn’t you get my text?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m not allowed to check my phone while I’m working-”

“Dipper and Ford are in danger!”

I stopped in my tracks. “Dipper…? What did that dork get into this time?”

“I’ll explain outside!”

“Wait!” I barely placed down the tray on a nearby counter before Mabel had grabbed my sleeve, pulling me toward the door. I called over my shoulder, “Susan! Sorry, but it’s a friend emergency!”

“It’s fine, my dear,” Susan said, swooping in to deliver the tray to the wide-eyed customer. “Don’t worry, stuff like this happens pretty much daily…”

“Are you sure they’re around here?” I asked as we navigated through the dense undergrowth. Gnarled pine trees towered over us, their gnarled branches creating a canopy so thick that only scattered beams of afternoon sunlight managed to pierce through, casting eerie shadows that danced across the forest floor.

“Not far ahead!” Mabel said, her knuckles white as she gripped a weathered wooden box against her chest. “But be careful! Here, up this ridge!”

Right, you might be asking what was going on. To cut to the chase, my wonderfully reckless boyfriend and Ford had set out on what should have been a simple research expedition to study the local Question Quill migration patterns. These peculiar bird-like creatures were known for their relatively docile nature and predictable seasonal movements. However, what neither of them anticipated was-

“Oh my gosh.” I gasped.

At the middle of the clearing beneath us were them, alright. But they stood motionless as marble sculptures, their bodies locked in mid-stride as if time itself had stopped around them. Ford’s weathered hand was still outstretched toward Dipper, perhaps trying to pull him back. Dipper remained frozen with one foot forward, his ushanka slightly askew. His eyes were wide with an expression of startled realization that might’ve been highly comical if it wasn’t for the unsettling atmosphere thick in the air.

Scattered at their feet lay several Question Quills, just as motionless. A few had their wings spread as if caught mid-flight, feathers suspended in the air like fragile glass, denied even the chance to escape.

Here, everything was as quiet as a graveyard, safe for a metallic chirp of an incoming cardinal.

“That little creature must still be pretty close by,” Mabel murmured, narrowing her eyes.

“So what’s your plan?” I asked in a low voice.

“I’m thinking that we should lure it out, then we trap it in this box.”

I blinked at her. “That’s your plan?”

“Hey, it’s a start!” Mabel protested. “Plus, I gotta admit, I’m not so great at this mystery thing.”

“Quiet!” I urged as something rustled nearby. We lay flat on the grass, the hair on the back of my neck rising in panic. “Do you have Dipper’s journal?”

Without hesitation, Mabel shoved it into my hands. I flipped through the familiar fresh pages, praying that somewhere in these scrawled notes, there was something, anything, that would help us in this predicament.

“Got it,” I murmured, scanning through the entry. “Mabel, stay close with me. And whatever you do, keep your eyes down.”

We began crawling our way through the grass. Seriously, this whole situation was very much like the Gargoyles’ Galleria in Bloodcraft: Overdeath, where we had to battle against the Grigorios’ Grotesque Gargoyles whose direct eye contact meant instant petrification. The best way to evade them was skulking in the corners and-

Mabel yelped as something thud next to her. My head snapped toward it – a cardinal, rigid as stone, toppled into the dirt. Its wide, glassy eyes mirrored Ford’s and Dipper’s.

My stomach dropped. The creature must be very close by.

The underbrush shifted again. A low, rattling trill vibrated through the clearing, like dry reeds scraping together in the wind. My grip on the journal tightened.

“Don’t look up,” I hissed.

Mabel shuffled closer until her shoulder pressed against mine. She held the wooden box tight to her chest. “Pacifica… I think it’s circling us.”

“I’m very much aware of that, thank you.” I gritted my teeth as my heart continued to hammer against my chest. Truthfully, my plan was for us to crawl up to the nearest tree before trapping the creature. But now, we are trapped here…

“Actually, Paz, I have another idea,” Mabel whispered. “You only turn to stone if you look right at it, right?”

“…yes?”

“Then here’s the plan: you give me the signal, and I’ll run. It’ll chase me. While it’s distracted, you throw your cardigan over it, and I’ll slam this box shut.”

“You’re sure? There’s also the venom-”

“Positive. I trust you, Paz.”

I stared at her, part of me wanting to call the idea reckless, the other part knowing it might be the only shot we had. My cardigan wasn’t exactly any sort of enchanted armour, but then again, the twins had survived plenty of bizarre encounters with nothing more than everyday stuff. Leaf blowers against gnomes, anyone?

If Dipper’s entry was right, the creature’s power came from its gaze. Cover the eyes, break the spell.

Simple in concept, at least.

“Alright,” I whispered. “On my count.”

The grass around us shivered despite the complete absence of any breeze. A shadow slid across the clearing, silent and serpentine, moving just beyond the edge of vision. My pulse hammered harder.

“One…” I steadied my breathing.

“Two…” Mabel coiled like a spring beside me, every muscle ready to explode into motion, her grip on the box unwavering.

The trill rose again, sharper this time. Much closer.

“Three!”

Mabel launched herself from our hiding spot, crashing through the ferns and roots. The rattling cry snapped after her at once, like a crack of a whip.

I sprinted after them, yanking off my cardigan and flinging it wide toward the dark blur that lunged for her.

The small creature shrieked, thrashing with furious strength under the heavy fabric.

“Now, Mabel!” I shouted.

She spun around and slammed the box down over the writhing mass. The impact rattled the clearing with an otherworldly hiss, then… silence.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

“…Did we just do it?” Mabel panted, eyes wide. Her hands were still clamped on the box.

“I think… we did.”

Truth to be told, I did not expect that to work so well. We subdued the creature in five seconds flat. That must be a record.

“Come, Paz!” Mabel got up. “We still got to take care of those two…”

Thankfully, the de-petrification process is simple. especially with all the ingredients available in Ford’s underground lab. Start by stewing some mature mandrake roots for an hour. While that simmers, combine three teaspoons of nitric acid with exactly seven teaspoons of pure alcohol. Boil this mixture for three and a half minutes, then add ground, dried chamomile flowers along with three to four fresh mint leaves. Stir clockwise three times, and add the mandrake roots once they are done. Finally, pour in two cups of spring water and stir counterclockwise until the mixture is moss green. Add some sugar and sprinkles for taste (Mabel insisted).

I poured the brew into their mouths and, within a few minutes, the petrified sheen on Dipper and Ford began to crack like ice under sunlight.

Ford blinked before coughing. “Ah… what in the-?” He flexed his fingers, testing movement. “Stan… Mabel… Pacifica…?”

“Gotta say, it’s real freaky to see you frozen as a statue like that,” Stan commented before turning to us. “For a sec, I thought you guys brought in Soos’ carved masterpiece of my likeness.”

Dipper’s gasp came a moment later. His shoulders jerked as colour flushed back into his cheeks. He staggered forward, nearly falling if Mabel hadn’t thrown her arms around him.

“Dipper!” she cried, relief bursting out of her voice.

“Mabel?” His voice was hoarse, dazed, like someone waking from a bad dream. He rubbed his eyes, still unsteady on his feet. “What… what happened? Last thing I remember was-” His gaze darted to me, then to the wooden box trembling at Mabel’s feet. “Wait, you caught it?”

“Relax, dork,” I said, folding my arms to mask the adrenaline still pounding through my veins. “Mabel and I handled it.”

“Contained?” Ford followed Dipper’s eyes to the crate. His brow furrowed, then lifted in astonishment. “You two… you actually managed to trap it?”

“Yup! Teamwork makes the dream work!” Mabel exclaimed, still hugging Dipper. “Though really, it was Paz who managed to think of a proper plan to trap it.”

“Don’t say that.” I shrugged. “You were the one who improvised when things went sideways.”

Ford chuckled. “We should count ourselves very fortunate this basilisk is still very small. Otherwise, staring right into a full-grown specimen would mean instant death.”

Mabel shuddered and clutched the box tighter. “Yikes.”

“Guess that means we’re retiring this little guy before it gets any bigger,” Stan said, jerking a thumb toward the trembling crate. “Don’t suppose we can just chuck it into the lake and call it a day?”

“I still intend to study this curious specimen. Basiliks are extremely rare, especially in this region. Of course, we would take the necessary precautions. I’ll need to talk with Fiddleford about this on proper containment procedures and safer observation methods…”

“Well, erm… Sorry for dragging you two in this mess.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, finally steady on his feet. “I should’ve been the one protecting you two. Instead, I got turned to stone.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault you got petrified by a basilisk,” I snorted. “ It’s not like you went hunting for it on purpose; you just got unlucky. Didn’t Ford literally said they’re rarer than rare?”

“As extremely rare as stumbling across a mountain ice troll in the desert.” Ford nodded, adjusted his glasses. “Remarkable work, both of you. Especially making the depetrification draught. You succeeded what many seasoned hunters couldn’t.”

“Thanks.” Mabel and I offered grateful nods.

“Needless to say, accident or not, y’all shouldn’t embark on any more daredevil adventures for now,” Stan gruffed before his gaze swept toward Ford and Dipper. “Especially you two numbskulls; you might have recovered but you two need real rest.”

Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a sharp glare. He deflated with a sigh. “…Point taken.”

“Good. Soos’ Abuelita’s already cooking dinner, and I’ll have Mel and Soos keeping watch over you knuckleheads,” Stan went on. “She makes those tacos I like… mm.”

And that’s how Mabel and I rescued those two dorks back from what could’ve been mortal peril. Honestly, I doubt it’ll be the last time we have to bail them out. Stan’s right, they can be downright reckless, “precautions” or not. I mean, they don’t even bother with lab coats in the basement lab! Still, I suppose this is just what life with Dipper is going to look like… and I’d better be ready for it.

Chapter Text

Mabel was early in the Diner; Dipper was still tied up helping Ford wrap up his research on the Calapooya Yetis, and Pacifica was at Wendy’s trying on a new set of winter clothes. She nursed her mug of hot cocoa, scanning the door for the others.

“Oh, um- hey!” Kevin’s voice cut through the diner's ambient chatter. He slid into the booth across from her, his jacket still damp from the evening air, bringing with it the faint scent of ice and pine.“Um, the others haven’t arrived yet?”

“Yeah… my brother’s still busy with some dorky weird research about yetis and Paz and Wendy are doing some girls stuff… didn’t you come from Wendy’s?”

“Oh, actually I came from a friendly hockey match today,” Kevin said with a grin – one of those sharp, confident grins Mabel always found hard to ignore. “Managed to crush the Roadkill Krakens. Well, it was another team from over the valley.”

“Ah, I see,” Mabel murmured, trying to sound casual while secretly thinking he looked way cooler than usual.

“Can I get you two something to eat?” Lazy Susan appeared at the table, a notepad in hand.

“Oh, um… can we wait a bit?” Mabel asked, twisting the napkin in her hands. “Till the others show up?”

“Yeah, no rush.” Kevin chuckled.

“The others?” Susan raised an eyebrow. “My dearies, this booth is booked for only the two of you this evening.”

Mabel’s eyes went wide. “W-what?”

“Pazzy made the arrangements,” Susan explained, her lazy eye drooping over her eyelid. “Everything’s on the house tonight. What would you like to order?”

Mabel and Kevin exchanged a glance, the realization slowly sinking in. Mabel’s cheeks flushed as she tried to keep her composure, and Kevin’s grin widened, clearly amused by how flustered she was.

“I’ll have the double chocolate waffle with extra whipped cream… and maybe the strawberry sprinkles? Make that two for Kevin too!”

Kevin waved a hand, chuckling. “Appreciate it, but I’ll stick with the bacon and cheddar omelette… and a large coffee. Gotta keep my energy up, you know. And well… a plate of nacho chips and cheese to share between the two of us?”

Susan nodded, jotting down their orders. “Coming right up! You two enjoy your evening now!”

She shuffled away, leaving the two of them in the suddenly quiet booth.

Mabel let out a long sigh, leaning back against the seat. “Ugh… I can’t believe the others just ditched us like this. Usually I’m the one matchmaking people, not the other way around!”

“So… is this a date?” Kevin tilted his head.

Mabel froze mid-sigh, cheeks pinking and flaming. “Uh… well… maybe just a… uh… dinner hangout? Just the two of us?”

“Works for me either way,” Kevin replied with a teasing chuckle, though his eyes still held sincerity.

“And to think I bought tickets for the newest Pony Heist 4 tonight…” Mabel rummaged through her small handbag, pulling out a bunch of tickets.

Kevin shrugged, easy as ever. “Then we won’t waste them.”

“Yeah… yeah…” She flashed a nervous grin as she shifted in her seat. “So… uh… how was your hockey match today? Crushing the Roadkill Krakens, you said?”

Kevin waved a casual hand. “Honestly, I spent most of it warming the bench. But someone tried to cheap-shot my buddy Samuel in the second half, and they gave me the penalty shot. Managed to score the game winner.”

“That’s still amazing!” Mabel’s eyes lit up. “I really wish I’d taken up hockey. I mean, I can skate and I can play floorball… just not both at the same time!”

“You’d pick it up in no time. You skate very beautifully, you know. Back at the Lake,” Kevin reassured. “Anyway, we’ve got practice this Thursday. Wanna come and join us?”

“Sure!”

Kevin drummed his fingers on the table. “So, er… do you play any other sports back in Piedmont?”

“Eh, not really.” Mabel shrugged. “My brother’s in athletics and robotics, but I stuck to theater. I guess I’m more into the arts. But I know a little boxing too! Grunkle Stan taught me a few tricks.”

Kevin’s eyebrows lifted, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “Boxing? Seriously? That’s actually really cool. You know, my dad drags the four of us through apocalypse-style training every Christmas. So, yeah, I picked up karate and learnt a few tricks to take down a bear.”

“Shut up, that’s amazing!” Mabel leaned forward, her previous nervousness evaporating. “We should totally spar sometime!”

“What, like how Dipper and Paz do their fencing thing?” Kevin laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Fair warning though: I might go easy on you and still win.”

Mabel gasped in mock offense. “Take it easy on me? Excuse you, between Dipper and me, I’m the boxing champ. I’m the alpha twin, after all.”

Kevin leaned in with a smirk. “Well, I do chin-ups and weightlifting every morning and evening.”

“Oh really? Wendy told me you just throw axes for like twenty minutes and then game until 3 AM.”

“Hey! That’s- Okay, sometimes. But not always!”

They both burst into laughter, the awkward tension giving way to easy banter. Just then, Susan reappeared and slid a plate of nacho chips with a steaming bowl of cheese dip onto their table.

Mabel wasted no time grabbing a chip, dunking it into the gooey cheese and crunching loudly. “Mmm! Okay, this is basically heaven in snack form.”

“Dipper warned me you’re a nacho fanatic.” Kevin reached over, taking a chip for himself. “Might wanna pace yourself there, or you’re going to choke.”

Mabel wrinkled her nose at him. “You sound just like my brother.”

“Hey, I’m your date tonight. Gotta look out for you, after all.”

Mabel giggled, dipping another chip into the cheese. “Well, I guess you’re a pretty decent stand-in then.”

Kevin grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I try my best.”

“Oh yeah? Watch this!” Mabel balanced a chip on the edge of the bowl before popping it into her mouth in one smooth motion.

“Woah… impressive.”

“Of course!” Mabel puffed out her chest. “Years of experience at the Snack Sportlympics.”

Kevin laughed, shaking his head. “Snack Sportlympics, huh? Never heard of it.”

“A Pines annual eating competition!” Mabel popped another chip into her mouth, though more normally this time. “Besides hockey, does your family play any competitive sports? I think Wendy mentioned hunting or something.”

“Well, we’ve got the annual lumberjack games every summer.” Kevin leaned back, his expression shifting to something between pride and exhaustion. “Axe throwing, log rolling, speed climbing – the whole package. Pretty brutal, honestly. Makes Dad’s apocalypse training look easy.”

“Here, eat more of these.” Mabel pushed the nacho plate closer to Kevin’s side of the table. “You look like you need your strength way more than I do.”

Kevin chortled. “I’m a tough guy, you don’t need to worry about me.”

They dug in, the banter flowing easily as the diner buzzed softly around them. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had melted away, leaving just the two of them, nachos, and a laughter-filled booth that seemed to shrink down to their own little corner of the universe.

When the last chip disappeared from the plate, a new wave of aromas drifted across the diner – the sweet, buttery scent of waffles mingling with the sharp, savory sizzle of bacon. Susan scooped up the plates and slide them onto the table with a cheerful hum – Mabel’s mountain of waffles crowned with whipped cream and sprinkles, and Kevin’s steaming omelette with a mug of coffee.

“Dig in, lovebirds!” Susan winked before bustling off, leaving Mabel red-faced and Kevin trying hard not to laugh.

“Lovebirds,” Mabel muttered, stabbing her fork into the waffle like it had personally wronged her. “She’s lucky I like her food too much to protest.”

Kevin smirked, slicing into his omelette. “You have to admit, she’s not wrong. This does kinda look like a date.”

Mabel stuffed a bite of waffle into her mouth, avoiding his gaze. “Mmph- maybe… but only because Paz and the others tricked us.”

“Sure,” Kevin said, clearly amused. He took a sip of his coffee before adding, “Not that I’m complaining. Beats eating reheated pizza and fighting over it with my brothers.”

“Haha, I can totally relate,” Mabel said, crunching into her waffle. “Dipper’s always stealing my snacks or sneaking bites of my ice cream. Being twins means we end up sharing way more than I ever agreed to.”

“At least you only have one to wrestle with,” Kevin sighed, savouring a forkful of omelette. “Try dealing with three. Gus is always grabbing my axe to mess around with, Marcus hogs the computer and even my weights, and Dad goes easy on Wendy, so she gets first dibs on just about everything.”

“Really?” Mabel arched her eyebrows. “That’s funny; Wendy always tells me you’re Dan’s favorite. And that she’s always stuck having to do the chores.”

“Don’t believe her,” Kevin said with a shrug, though a wry smile crept in. “Though… okay, the chores part is true. But I’m trying to help out more, really.”

“You really have a full house,” Mabel remarked.

“Kinda,” Kevin admitted. “That’s why I like getting out whenever I can. Hanging out with you guys, going on adventures… it beats being stuck in that madhouse.”

Mabel pushed a forkful of waffle through a pool of syrup, her expression softening. “Yeah… it is kind of nice. Just the two of us like this.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished their meals, broken only by the clink of silverware and the ambient chatter of the diner. Kevin leaned back in his seat, setting down the last of his coffee. “Alright, that’s me done.”

Mabel speared the final corner of her waffle and popped it into her mouth with a satisfied sigh. “Same. Susan’s waffles never disappoint.” She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then grinned. “Good fuel for a movie marathon.”

Kevin smirked, sliding out of the booth. “You’ll need it. I heard Pony Heist 4 would run for nearly three hours.”

Both chuckled as Kevin moved ahead to hold the door open. Together, the pair stepped into the cool evening air, the diner’s warm glow fading behind them. Ahead was the promise of popcorn, a giant screen, and a night that – for once – was just theirs.

“Psst! Quick, they’re moving!” A bush rustled urgently across the street, its branches shaking with barely contained excitement.

“Copy that.” Dipper clicked on his walkie, his tone grave. “Operation Waffles and Nachos is officially underway.”

“Dude, you’re taking this a bit too seriously,” Wendy nudged him. “It’s just Mabel and my brother hanging out.”

“Gotta agree with Wendy on this one. You’re taking this more seriously than your sister, and that’s saying something.” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “And ugh, the thorns! And it’s freezing here! Remind me why I agreed to this?”

“You two planned this,” Dipper shot back, adjusting his position to peer through a gap in the foliage. “I’m just making sure this doesn’t fall apart.”

Wendy’s smirk softened a little. “Well, she did look pretty happy hanging out with Kev.”

“They’ve known each other for ages,” Pacifica added. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this actually turned into something real.”

Just then, a twig snapped under Dipper’s knee. The three froze, wide-eyed. Across the street, Mabel turned her head slightly, as if sensing something, before Kevin said something that made her laugh, pulling her attention back. They continued walking, oblivious.

The spies exhaled in unison, sinking deeper into the bush.

“Close call,” Dipper muttered.

Pacifica grinned, tossing a pine needle at him. “Next time, genius, let’s not stake out a date from inside a thorn bush.”

“C’mon, guys, we need to move.” Wendy carefully extracted herself from the bush, twigs clinging to her flannel. “If we’re going to make it to the theater before them, we need to go now. And Thompson better have handled his part of the setup, or I swear…”

“Welcome, the couple of the night!” Thompson, manager of the Royal Ragtime Theater, called out with a grin. “Let me guess… two tickets for Pony Heist 4?”

“Yep!” Mabel handed the tickets to Thompson.

Thompson examined them, raising an eyebrow. “And no outside snacks? No secret candy bars tucked away?”

The two shook their heads.

“Perfect! You both get a free upgrade to the VIP lounge, with unlimited Pitt and bottomless popcorn included!”

“Oh, wow!” Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “Come on, Kev!”

“I’ve heard the VIP lounge has super-comfy seats and immersive audio,” Kevin remarked.

“Originally, it was built for the Northwest family,” Thompson explained, leading the two down the hallway. “Back when Mr. Preston owned this place, he wanted deluxe rooms. But the family realized it was cheaper – and more convenient – to watch movies at home. Apparently, they can’t tolerate the stench of commoners. So… here we are.”

Mabel practically dragged Kevin through the velvet ropes, her eyes wide as they stepped into the VIP lounge. Plush, oversized chairs lined the room, each angled perfectly toward the giant screen. Soft, golden lights cast a warm glow, and the subtle hum of hidden speakers promised audio that would make them feel part of the movie.

“Whoa…” Mabel breathed, sinking into one of the chairs and stretching her legs. “This is… amazing!”

“Yep, better than Dad’s armchair at home,” Kevin said, allowing himself to fall into the chair.

“I’ll bring in the cart,” Thompson said with a grin. “Just kick back and enjoy. The movie’s starting soon.”

As the previews rolled, the chairs vibrated gently with the bass, letting them feel every explosion, gallop, and whispered line. Mabel’s grin was unstoppable. “Kev… this is going to be the best movie night ever!”

Kevin smiled, letting himself sink into the experience. “Yeah… it really is.”

Soon, the title Pony Heist 4: The Unnecessary Sequel but The Studios Wanted This appeared on the screen with a dramatic fanfare.

A small cart glided over, piled high with popcorn and an assortment of drinks. “Bottomless, as promised,” Thompson announced with a mock salute before slipping out of the lounge.

Mabel snatched a bucket of popcorn, shoving a handful into her mouth. “Kev, you have to try this!” she insisted, pushing the cart toward him.

Kevin picked a piece, pretending to be unimpressed. “Not bad,” he said – but his eyes betrayed him. The rich butter with a hint of caramel was impossible to resist. “Just don’t finish it all.”

“Impossible!” Mabel exclaimed between bites. “It’s bottomless!”

The chairs rumbled gently as a rather gaudy chase scene of multi-colored ponies erupted on the screen. Kevin leaned back, grinning as Mabel dove for more, fully immersed in the movie and the feast.

“You know, I’ve got a whole arsenal of Pony Heist jokes ready,” Mabel said, pulling out her scrapbook.

Kevin raised an amused eyebrow. “They better be good.”

“Right…” She flipped a page. “Why did the pony refuse to play cards? Because he was afraid of being saddled with a bad hand!”

“Oh. Haha.” Kevin tried to suppress a laugh, but he instead burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. “Okay, that’s actually hilarious!”

“I knew you’d like that one!” Mabel said, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “What do you call a pony who can’t stop stealing? A filly-nthropist! Get it?”

Kevin groaned playfully, then doubled over laughing. “Alright… that one was even better. You’re unstoppable!”

For a moment, the world outside the VIP lounge didn’t exist. Just the two of them, the buttery popcorn, and the thrilling chaos of Pony Heist 4.

Finally, Mabel leaned back, sighing happily, a triumphant smear of butter on her cheek. “Best. Movie. Night. Ever.”

Kevin laughed, reaching over to wipe it off. “Yeah… I’d say that’s about right.”

The lights dimmed, the rumble of the chairs carried them deeper into the story, and for once, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

As a genuine small-town diner, Greasy’s Diner (We Serve Food!) often stayed open well past midnight, catering to a steady stream of loggers, lumberjacks, bikers, and passing truckers – people who worked long hours and didn’t mind paying for anything even vaguely edible.

Nevertheless, everyone accepted – with no small amount of mild grumbling – the diner’s most recent policy implemented during the summer: the doors would be locked at 8:30 p.m. sharp. No exceptions. But the lights never dimmed after closing, with the curtains drawn tight.

A few observant patrons might notice the platinum-haired young woman who always worked this shift, quietly taking the last-minute orders. Yet she never revealed the reason for the early closure. Some guessed it was for nightly audits; others whispered it had to do with the arrival of a secret ingredient for Susan’s coffee brew. Rumors circulated that two shadowy figures slipped in as soon as the last customer left – but so far, no one had discovered who they were.

“Better eat quick, Mr. Mayor,” the waitress warned as she slid a plate of late-night supper in front of him, before her tone dropped into mock seriousness. “It’s Thursday, and you know what happens… after hours.”

Tyler Cutebiker gave a solemn nod before digging in with gusto. A few lumberjacks, less brave than they appeared, slipped out quietly –leaving their bills and neatly stacked dishes behind in fear of Lazy Susan’s strict policy.

Pacifica Northwest allowed herself a soft giggle as she gathered up the plates, tucking the cash into the register and setting aside the extra change for the tip jar.

“Eh, Miss Penny?” Tyler asked, stumbling over her name as usual. “Could I get the rest to-go?”

“Of course, Mr Mayor,” she replied.

Within minutes, Tyler was shuffling toward the exit with his takeout container, tipping his hat.

“You’re a treasure as always, Miss Penny!” he called cheerfully as he stepped out into the night.

“Thanks,” Pacifica said under her breath. She moved to the entrance, turned the key, and with a satisfying click, locked the diner doors tight.

“Is the coast clear, my dear?” Lazy Susan asked, peeking out from the kitchen.

Pacifica nodded. The diner had fallen silent, save for the low hum of the neon sign outside. She untied her apron, folded it neatly, and slid into the corner booth. Her eyes flicked to the curtains, where two shapes darted past in the glow of the streetlight, before the knock came at the back door – three sharp raps, followed by two quick taps.

Susan moved over and unlatched it. In stepped Stanley Pines, pulling his jacket closer, with Melody close behind.

“About time,” Stan grumbled. “I had to sneak past three squirrels just to get here. Feisty little devils.”

“Don’t act so dramatic, Stan.” Melody rolled her eyes, hanging up her coat. “Soos knows we’re here anyway – he’s watching the kids.”

Stan scoffed, “Let’s cut the chit-chat and get to the real reason we’re here.”

After Susan ushered the two guests into the corner booth, she went to retrieve a battered case from under the counter, setting it down on the table with a flourish. “Poker night, folks. Ante up.”

“Heh, time to make some easy money off you suckers.” Stan rubbed his hands as Susan flipped the case open to reveal neat stacks of chips and a deck of cards.

“Stan, last week you lost three times in a row,” Melody said, flashing him a teasing smile. “Pretty sure you’re the easy money.”

“Bah,” Stan waved her off. “That was all part of my strategy. Lull you into a false sense of security.”

Pacifica shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “Save the trash talk for when you actually have chips to back it up, Stan.”

“Hey now,” Susan chuckled, settling into her seat. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to relax.”

The chips clattered, cards slid across the table, and with a bowl of pretzels on the table, the secret Thursday ritual began.

“You know what your problem is, Mel?” Stan asked as he dealt the first hand, his movements quick and confident. “You’re too honest. Poker’s all about deception, misdirection-”

“Is that why you keep telling everyone your ‘strategies’?” Pacifica interrupted, examining her cards with a poker face that could cut glass. “You’re an open book, Stan.”

“I'll have you know I’m a master of psychological warfare,” Stan declared before frowning at his hand.

“Stan, your left eye twitches every time you get bad cards,” Susan said.

“What? No it doesn’t!” Stan’s eye gave another telltale flutter.

Melody burst into laughter. “And there it goes again! Ah, Stan… This is going to be easier than I thought.”

“Y’all are ganging up on me,” Stan grumbled, though not without warmth in his voice. “Fine, fine. But when I’m counting my winnings later, don’t come crying to me.”

Pacifica slid two chips forward. “I’ll call your bluff on that too. Literally.”

“So, Mel,” Susan said, squinting at her cards, “how are things at the Mystery Shack? Business picking up with the summer season?”

“Not bad,” Melody replied, tossing in her ante. “Soos and I are getting ready for the new Shack fair next week. Though we had to clean up after that whole Hawktopus raid – and then talk with Ford about upgrading the gnome repellent. Otherwise, we’d be stuck answering some pretty awkward questions from the tourists.”

“The leaf blowers don’t work anymore?” Pacifica asked, casually tossing her chips.

“Someone’s gotta stand out there in the hot sun to drive every one of those pests away,” Stan said. “And that won’t be me! I’m retired!”

“Funny,” Melody said with a sweet smile, “you didn’t sound retired when you were still hawking those new bobbleheads with Soos. And demanding a cut of the sales.”

“That’s different.” Stan waved her off. “That’s my loyalties on the line.”

Susan chuckled, taking a pretzel stick from the bowl. “Well, you’re lucky dearie Stanford’s got the scientific know-how. Otherwise, you’d all be drowning in gnomes by now.”

“Ugh, can we please talk about literally anything else? I’ve dealt with enough craziness with the twins, already, what with giant bugs, sentient dinkies and multi-headed wolves…” Pacifica rolled her eyes as she studied her cards. “Honestly, I’m more interested in how much I’m about to win.”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Nice try, Princess. But don’t try to bluff me. I invented bluffing.”

“Uh-huh,” Melody said sweetly, setting down her cards. “Funny, because you also invented losing.”

Stan’s jaw dropped as she revealed a flush.

“Guess I did inherit a little luck,” Melody teased, sweeping the pot toward herself.

“Not so fast.” Pacifica leaned in with a smirk and slid her cards onto the table – a perfect straight flush.

Stan’s jaw, already halfway to the floor, dropped the rest of the way. “No way!”

Susan let out a delighted laugh. “Well, butter my biscuits, the kid’s cleaned the house!”

Stan eyed her with mock suspicion. “I gotta say… you’re really good at this for your age. Almost suspiciously good.”

Pacifica shrugged, gathering her winnings. “I learned from watching my father play with his business associates.”

Stan barked a laugh. “Ha! That explains it. Not surprised, seeing your Dad’s pretty rich.”

“Actually, no.” Pacifica shrugged. “Dad usually lost to his guests. So I learnt from him how not to play.”

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid, you’re dangerous. And I like it.” He jabbed a finger across the table. “But don’t think you’re walking away with my cash that easy.”

Melody leaned toward him. “So what did you get, Stan?”

Stan sighed and laid down his cards. A straight. “Yeah, yeah. Go on. Laugh it up.”

Both Pacifica and Melody exchanged amused glances, chuckling at Stan’s misfortune.

“Alright, children, let’s see if lightning strikes twice.” Susan gathered the cards and shuffled them with a flourish. “Fresh hand, fresh start.”

The game continued with playful tension – chips clinking, cards sliding across the table, occasional bursts of laughter and groans. Pacifica raised, trying a subtle bluff, while Stan muttered under his breath about “kid luck.”

Melody matched each bet with quiet confidence, her poker face giving nothing away. Susan watched with growing amusement as the three of them squared off.

Finally, the hands were revealed. Pacifica had a strong pair. Stan’s straight was good – but Melody’s hand?

A full house.

“Woo! Lightning does strike twice!” Melody declared, sweeping the chips toward her with a victorious grin.

Stan let out a dramatic groan. “Again? I- I can’t believe this!”

“She wins this one.” Pacifica smirked, tossing back a wink. “Looks like luck’s on her side tonight.”

Susan clapped her hands softly. “Well, well. That’s what I call a nice little round – bluffs, luck, and just a little chaos.”

“I guess practice does pay off…” Melody leaned back in her chair. “Even if it’s just me playing for fun.”

Stan shook his head, still in mock disbelief. “Next round, I swear, I’m walking away a winner.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that, old man.”

The cards were shuffled again, and the third round began, the cozy chaos of the diner’s secret poker night carrying on well past the ordinary closing hour. The chips clinked as everyone tossed in their antes.

Melody leaned back with a smirk. “Stan, you sure you wanna keep bleeding chips like this?”

“Well, have to lose some before you win more,” Stan replied, scanning his new hand. “Ohhoho… an interesting pair, wouldn’t you say, Susan?”

“Promising,” Susan said with a wink. “Better than last round, perhaps?”

“Exactly,” Stan said, tossing in more chips. “I’m feeling lucky this time. Third’s time the charm.”

Pacifica studied her new hand, keeping her expression perfectly neutral. Then, with an almost lazy shrug, she pushed forward another stack of chips – more than anyone expected. “Raise.”

Melody’s brows shot up. “That’s bold.”

Susan chuckled, fanning herself with her cards. “My, my. Someone’s feeling confident.”

Stan squinted at Pacifica, suspicion written all over his face. “Princess, I know that look. You’re bluffing.”

Pacifica smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve got a winning hand again.”

Stan stroked his chin, muttering. Then he slapped down another pile of chips. “Double or nothing. Kid’s due for a fall.”

Pacifica met his gaze steadily and matched the bet without hesitation.

Melody folded immediately. “I’m not getting caught in whatever psychological warfare you two are waging.”

Susan followed suit. “Too rich for my blood, dearies.”

“Can’t lie, though.” Melody’s eyes flicked between the two. “This is getting fun.”

The bets built higher, chips stacking like little towers between them. Finally, with the pot fat and glittering, Susan called for the reveal.

One by one, cards hit the table. Melody had a modest two pair. Susan revealed a flush. Stan grinned wide as he dropped a full house.

“Ha! Finally, the champ is back!” he crowed, reaching for the pile-

-until Pacifica slid her hand down with a deliberate slowness. A lowly pair of sixes.

Stan froze. “Wait. That’s… that’s garbage.”

Pacifica leaned back in her chair, grinning ear to ear. “Bluff.”

Melody burst into laughter, nearly toppling from her seat. Susan slapped the table, wheezing.

“Oh… she managed to outbluff him, alright!”

“And a pair of lowly sixes against a full house,” Melody said. “Pacifica, I got to admire your confidence.”

“It’s nothing.” Pacifica chuckled. “You just have to bet like you mean it. Sometimes, people give up before you even show your cards.”

Stan gawked between her and the pot. “You mean I risked double or nothing against that?!”

Pacifica sweetly stacked her winnings. “And you walked right into it.”

Stan buried his face in his hands. “Kid, you’re evil.”

“Learned from the best,” Pacifica said, leaning back into the chair.

The group played a few more rounds, laughter mixing with the clatter of chips and the shuffle of cards. Pretzels dwindled to crumbs, and the clock on the wall edged past midnight.

Susan yawned, stretching her arms. “Well, I’d say that’s enough excitement for one Thursday night. My old bones need a rest.”

Melody nodded, gathering her things. “Yeah, we should probably call it. Soos’s probably wondering where I am. Thankfully, we’ve got back-to-back tours starting at ten tomorrow.”

Stan grumbled but pushed back from the table. “I can’t believe I got outbluffed by a kid with sixes.”

“You still cleaned up plenty from me,” Pacifica said, stacking her winnings with a small, satisfied smile.

Melody laughed, nudging him. “Come on, it’s Thursday night fun. Don’t let a little pair of sixes get under your skin.”

Stan huffed, but a reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah… but next week? Oh, next week, I’m coming for revenge.”

Susan winked at Pacifica. “Sounds like you’ve made yourself an enemy, dear.”

“What else is new?” Pacifica shrugged, then stood and grabbed her jacket. “Speaking of enemies, I’ve got to help Dipper haggle with a hag for some curses and fairy dust in the Crawlspace tomorrow.”

“Crawlspace?” Susan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The underground market,” Pacifica explained. “I’ll tell you guys more next time.”

Their final round of goodbyes echoed through the empty diner as they gathered their coats and headed back into the Gravity Falls night.

Chapter Text

Thanksgiving always meant pumpkin pies and turkey sandwiches. And, of course, the seasonal Mabel Juice with twice the amount of pumpkin spice.

This year was special, though. For the first time, Mabel and I invited our friends from Gravity Falls over to celebrate: Pacifica, Wendy, Grenda, and Candy. Unfortunately, Soos and Melody couldn’t make it (Soos’ Abuelita got very sick), but the Grunkles would be spending the holiday with them instead.

Our smaller house wouldn’t have been able to fit everyone comfortably anyway, but that didn’t dampen the excitement at all. Far from it. Mom was practically bouncing off the walls at the thought of finally hosting our Gravity Falls friends, and, if I’m honest, she seemed just as excited to meet my girlfriend at last. Dad, meanwhile, was doing his best to help with the preparations – though with him, as the saying goes: too many cooks spoil the broth.

He and Mabel were in charge of making the pumpkin pie. Mom handled the turkey while I prepared the mashed potatoes. Mabel took on the task with great enthusiasm, bouncing around the kitchen in her brown sweater of a turkey on the front and cornucopia earrings. Bowls, measuring cups, and a small mountain of ingredients quickly took over the grey-speckled counter.

“Easy on the nutmeg this time, Mabel,” Mom cautioned, eyeing the cloud of spice hovering over the batter.

“Too late!” Mabel squealed, dumping half the jar in with a flourish.

Dad was leaning over the oven, squinting at the pie. “I think it needs… yep, at 450 degrees! That’ll cook it faster.”

I gave him a side-eye. “Dad… it’s already on the highest setting. And I don’t think that’s how baking works.”

“Trust me with this one!” he said with a dangerous, confident grin. “That’s how you get golden perfection!”

“Dear,” Mom urged. “You are only supervising. The recipe is mine, and Mabel knows what to do. You’re just making sure she doesn’t pour the entire sugar jar in.”

“You have a point, Sarah,” Dad conceded, holding up his hands. “I just- well, I don’t like doing nothing.”

“Then keep an eye on the clock and let us know when the guests arrive, David,” Mom said firmly. “Or you can help with the decorations.”

“Too bad Grandpa Sherm couldn’t make it this year.” Dad let out a wistful sigh. “He and Ma are off in Switzerland…”

The mashed potatoes were soon done and Mom went ahead with the coleslaw. Mabel slid her pie into the oven with a triumphant “Ta-da!” just as the doorbell chimed through the house.

“I’ll get it!” She dashed off, her turkey earrings jingling.

“Careful, Mabel!” Mom exclaimed, catching a teetering mug before it could shatter.

I followed behind to make sure she didn’t tackle anyone in her excitement, not that I wasn’t just as excited.

“Hey, you’re here!” Mabel cheered, flinging open the door wide enough to nearly knock over the coat stand.

Wendy stood in the doorway with her usual lazy grin, a grocery bag slung over her shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving, dudes.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Mabel clapped her hands.

“I’ve got to admit, I really miss this drink,” I remarked as I lifted out an entire case of Pitt Cola from the grocery bag. “Always wondered what they put in this drink.”

“That will go great with some plastic dinosaurs!” Mabel said, her mouth already watering at the thought of recreating the Gravity Falls edition of Mabel Juice.

“Hey, don’t forget about me, you dorks.” Pacifica appeared right beside Wendy, balancing a white bakery box in both hands like it contained treasure. “I brought pecan tartlets. Fresh, obviously. Don’t drop them.”

“Looking good, Paz,” I said, carefully accepting the precious cargo. “Rather classy.”

Grenda pushed her way in next, booming, “HI, MABEL! HI, DIPPER!” while Candy adjusted her glasses and waved politely, holding out a neatly wrapped tray. “These are sesame cookies. I baked them myself.”

“Neat!” Mabel beamed.

“Dipper, Mabel! Let them in already!” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Oh yes, oh yes! Come on in!”

We all entered the house, and Dad rushed forward to us, hands thrown wide. “Welcome, welcome! Make yourselves at home. Just leave your shoes near the clothes rack. You must be the friends my kids won’t stop talking about.”

Pacifica gave a stiff little nod before loosening up at Dad’s warm grin. Wendy tossed a casual wave. Candy bowed politely. Grenda just shouted another hello that shook the lamplight overhead.

A pink butterball of a pig came trundling down the stairs. As soon as Waddles laid eyes on the familiar faces, he beelined straight to them with an excited squeal.

“Hey there, pig dude.” Wendy crouched down, scratching behind his ears as Waddles let out a happy snort.

“He’s adorable as always,” Candy murmured, her voice soft with genuine affection.

“Where’s Furball?” Pacifica asked, glancing around. She meant our cat – the perpetually disgruntled feline overlord of the household.

“Ah, she’s…” But my answer was interrupted by a low yowl from behind the sofa.

Furball, our family’s grumpy tabby, padded down one step at a time with the kind of disdain only a cat can carry. She stopped halfway, glaring down at Waddles like he’d committed some personal crime by existing in her line of sight.

Pacifica’s face lit up. “Furball! Hey, girl.” She crouched slightly, holding out a hand. “Remember me?”

Furball regarded her with narrowed eyes, flicked her tail, and then, hopped the last step and went straight to Pacifica, rubbing against her knee with a loud purr.

“Wow,” Wendy said, raising an eyebrow. “Guess the cat’s got favourites.”

I shrugged, scratching my head. “Well, Paz came over last Easter and I’ve never seen my cat warmed up to anyone that fast. It usually takes her weeks just not to mess with people’s hairs.”

“She got attitude,” Wendy remarked to Paz. “Reminds me of someone.”

Waddles, undeterred, let out an indignant oink and trotted in a circle like he was trying to prove he was clearly the superior pet.

“Oh… Poor Waddles feels left out!” Candy exclaimed, straightening up. “I didn’t think pigs could be this jealous.”

“Pet showdown!” Grenda boomed. “Pig vs cat, who would win?”

That’s when it happened.

The faintest whiff of something burning. Then, a curl of smoke slithered out of the oven.

“Uh, David?” Mom called from the kitchen, alarm creeping into her voice.

I turned just in time to see smoke spill into the kitchen like a ghostly cloud. The smoke alarm wailed, shrill and accusing.

Everyone froze for half a second before Mabel shrieked, “The pie! Save the pie!” and dove for the oven mitts.

Dad flapped his arms uselessly like that might push the smoke away. Mom ran for the windows. Meanwhile, our friends just stood in the hallway, wide-eyed, watching our Thanksgiving preparations spiralling into chaos. I could only sigh as I retrieve a stool to shut off the alarm overhead.

“Well, it’s definitely not thanksgiving until you set off the smoke alarm,” Wendy quipped. “Don’t worry, this happens in my family too.”

The “golden perfection” Dad promised was more like charred black with only the faintest trace of pumpkin scent.

“At least the pie isn’t on fire,” Pacifica remarked, wrinkling her nose.

“And the turkey too,” Mom said, fanning smoke out the window. She took a steadying breath. “Alright, everyone, give me a few minutes to get the other dishes sorted. Make yourselves comfortable, okay?”

We shuffled out of the kitchen. Mabel, still clutching the oven mitts like war trophies, turned to our friends with a sheepish grin. “So… uh, welcome to Piedmont?”

“It feels like home already!” Grenda boomed.

“How’s the trip down to California?” Dad asked, scratching his head. “You guys took the bus, or something?”

“Nah, I drove us all the way here,” Wendy replied. “I got my license last month.”

“Nice! Though that must have been quite a road trip.” Dad nodded. “C’mon, let’s move to the living room. Why are we crowding around at the hallway?”

We settled down in the living room, everyone finding their preferred spots on the couch and chairs.

“Paz, wanna play a round of Bloodcraft?” I asked my girlfriend.

She tilted her head, considering. “As much as my hands are itching for the controls, I’m still a bit tired.”

“Well, why not a round of Thanksgiving crafts?” Mabel asked, hauling a bulging craft bin onto the coffee table with a dramatic thud. “We haven’t finished decorating yet!”

“Crafts?” Wendy grinned, slumping into the couch. “That’s more my speed than video games.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. What kind of crafts?”

Mabel threw the lid open like she was unveiling treasure. Inside was an explosion of construction paper, glitter glue, googly eyes, feathers, pipe cleaners, and half a dozen half-finished turkeys made from traced handprints. “The best kind. Hand turkeys, turkey hats, cornucopia collages, pilgrim puppets—you name it, I got it.”

“THIS LOOKS AMAZING,” Grenda bellowed, already grabbing a glue stick.

Candy adjusted her glasses, carefully lifting a packet of glitter and some square papers. “I could make some origami turkeys.”

“Ooooh, fancy,” Mabel gasped.

“Alright, folks,” Dad said. “Just be careful with the scissors, and ensure no one’s covering the entire house in glitter this time.”

“Relax,” Mabel said innocently, even as she secretly popped the lid off a tube of orange glitter glue.

The room filled with laughter, chatter, and the sound of furious crafting while the kitchen clattered faintly in the background.

By the time Mom called us to the dining room, the smoke had cleared, the food was all ready, and Mabel had managed to glue three hand-turkey hats to the lamplight above the living room. Pacifica and I had managed to assemble a Thanksgiving wreath, which now hung crookedly but charmingly on the wall.

The table groaned under the spread: golden turkey, mashed potatoes with slightly suspicious marshmallow chunks, a giant bowl of coleslaw, stuffing, gravy, and Pacifica’s perfect pecan tartlets shining like they belonged in a gourment magazine. At the far end sat the pumpkin pie – still salvageable, if you don’t mind the blackened crust lurking beneath a generous layer of whipped cream.

“Looks amazing,” Wendy said, dropping into her chair and immediately grabbing for a drumstick. “Smells like Thanksgiving should.”

“Don’t touch until we say grace!” Mom chided.

Everyone sat, plates ready. Grenda squeezed in beside Mabel, Candy tucked neatly at her side, and Pacifica sat next to me with Furball draped smugly across her lap. Waddles snuffled hopefully under the table, already planning his heist.

Dad cleared his throat. “Alright, everyone. Before we dig in, I just want to say… I’m thankful. For family, for friends, for having this house filled with laughter instead of silence. Even if…” He glanced at the pie, then gave a lopsided grin. “…even if the desserts don’t always turn out well.”

That earned a round of chuckles.

We all joined hands – Pacifica looking slightly awkward but going along with it, Wendy giving Mabel a reassuring squeeze, Candy bowing her head politely.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mom said warmly. “Now dig in before it gets cold.”

Forks clattered, plates filled, and conversation quickly rose like music. Wendy told a story about her disastrous first driving test, Grenda loudly complimented every dish she tasted, and Candy launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation of the chemistry of caramelization with my father.

“Your mom’s coleslaw is splendid, I must say,” Paz remarked. “Better than my family’s chef at home.”

“You still have a house chef?” Mom asked, raising her brows with a mix of curiosity and surprise.

Pacifica gave a little shrug, twirling her fork in the salad. “Well… yeah, technically. But it’s not what it used to be. We used to have an entire staff running my family’s mansion – groundskeepers, maids, chauffeurs, the whole works. Now it’s just Gregory the butler and Rosa the cook in a maisonette. Plus my own pony. Kind of… scrapping by, at least. Compared to before.”

Wendy nearly choked on her pumpkin spice. “Wait… you call that ‘scraping by’? With a butler and a cook?”

Pacifica smirked. “Yeah, I know how it sounds like. Trust me, I get it. It’s just, well, when you grow up in a house where every meal came with three forks and two glasses of wine – don’t worry, non-alcoholic for me – it’s quite a huge reality check.”

“Must have been quite an adjustment, I must say,” Dad remarked.

“That’s nearly a year ago.” Pacifica shrugged before biting off a drumstick. “But don’t worry, my family’s doing fine in the mansionette since then.”

“Have more of the coleslaw, dear,” Mom said. “If I recall correctly, you’re working at a diner now? How’s that going?”

“Oh, can’t deny it’s tiring,” Pacifica said as she grabbed some of the chicken bites. “But honestly, I enjoy it. Susan’s been wonderful to me, and I’ve got the hang of everything by now.”

“She actually got promoted to assistant general manager now,” Wendy added.

“Really?” Dad’s eyebrows shot up as he helped himself with the beef casserole. “Assistant general manager already? That’s quite impressive.”

“ It mustn’t have been easy, especially at your age. You must be proud.” Then Mom turned to Wendy. “And what about you, dear? Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Wendy, Wendy Corduroy,” Wendy answered with a little grin.

“Ah, of course!” Mom’s eyes lit up. “You’re the one who’s working at Stan’s Mystery Shack, right?”

“Yeah, that was me.” Wendy chuckled with a nod. “Though can’t deny, I didn’t do much work there. The pay’s much better, though, especially with my new bosses.”

Mom gave a knowing nod. “Soos and Melody, yes? I’ve heard they’re good people. Shame they couldn’t make it tonight…”

“You’re still in school, aren’t you?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, my last year at high school,” Wendy replied.

“So… any plans after that? Like college?”

“Well, been applying for a few places.” Wendy pursed her lips a little, poking at her pork chops before answering. “But if none of that works out, I’m thinking of going backpacking for a while. Just… exploreing more of the world on my own.”

A pang flickered through me at her words; I wasn’t exactly looking forward to Wendy leaving Gravity Falls.

Mom offered a gentle smile. “You’ll find your place, dear. Everyone does, eventually.”

“Say, erm… who’s the girl who got engaged to some… Australian baron?” Dad asked, glancing between Candy and Grenda.

“Oh, you mean Grenda!” Mabel waved at her friend. “And it’s Austrian, not Australian.”

“Yeah!” Grenda thumped the table proudly, making the gravy slosh. “Marius von Fundshauser the Third. He’s soooo dreamy. Bit clingy, though; I almost couldn’t make it to this party.”

“Wait, hold up.” Dad blinked. “Are you sure he’s real? Not, you know, some Nigerian prince scam?”

“He’s real!” Mabel insisted. “We met him before! He has a yacht and everything!”

“He’s my friend, yes,” Pacifica added. “Our families know each other – he was at one of my parents’ galas years ago.”

“Well, dear,” Mom chimed in, giving me a pointed look, “if our son can end up with a rich heiress for a girlfriend, I suppose it’s no surprise her friend wound up with a baron.”

“Yeah!” Grenda raised her hands. “Thanks for the validation, Mrs Pines!”

“And erm, we can’t forget the little Korean miss too.” Dad turned to Candy. “Candy Chiu, right?”

“Annyeong! Yes, I am.” Candy adjusted her glasses. “So, er, yeah, I’ve been working closely with Mr McGucket- well, Doctor now. He finally got his doctorate very recently.”

“McGucket?” Dad tapped his fingers, frowning a little. “I think I heard of him before… Do you mean Dr Fiddleford McGucket, that eccentric inventor from Oregon?”

“Yep, that’s the one!” Mabel jumped in.

“Mabel, don’t interrupt our guest,” Mom admonished gently.

“Yes, the very same,” Candy confirmed. “We’re actually starting a new technology company together – McGucket Technomajigs. We already have several prototypes in development, all with government funding. It’s… very promising.”

“Sounds interesting,” Mom remarked.

Dad leaned forward to ask, “What sort of prototypes?”

“Mostly robotics,” Candy answered. “We’re focusing on practical innovations: solar-powered wheelchairs, advanced prosthetic arms, assistive tech. Things that can really help people. ‘Improving in innovating people’ – that’s what he said.”

“Ah, I dabbled a bit in that field before, though more on the programming side,” Dad said, offering a small nod. “I used to work with computers, until my company got acquired and, well… I was one of the many laid off.

“There are even openings, too,” Candy added, glancing around the table. “Dr McGucket is always on the lookout for new hires.”

Mom’s eyes lit up as she turned to Dad. “Well, David, maybe that’s something you could apply for?”

Dad froze, fork of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. “Me? Working for that McGucket?” He gave an uneasy chuckle. “Well… I do have a lot of free time these days… And I haven’t heard back from Dave in Palo Alto…” He shrugged. “Might be worth a shot.”

“You should, really, Dad,” Mabel said. “He might be a little… not that right in his head but he’s also super brilliant. He made a toothbrush that sings lullabies, and a toaster that keeps raccons away while toasting your bread to near perfection! Who wouldn’t want to work for someone like that?”

“That toaster also launches fireworks if you’re not careful,” Pacifica added with a small smirk.

“A feature, not a bug,” Candy joked.

“Look, Dad.” I swallowed my roast chicken. “I won’t lie – he’s quite unpredictable at times. But he worked with Grunkle Ford during their research days in Gravity Falls. He’s genuinely one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. If you worked with him, it’d honestly be pretty cool.”

Dad chuckled, though a little nervously. “Well, maybe. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to send in a résumé. Worst case, I get turned into a guinea pig for one of his crazy contraptions.”

Mom reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’s worth considering, David. A step forward is still a step.”

Candy nodded, pushing up her glasses. “I can put in a good word, too.”

“Thanks, Candy.” Dad gave a sheepish grin. “Maybe this Thanksgiving isn’t such a disaster after all.”

Dessert rolled around, and we almost forgot about the burnt crust until Pacifica coughed on a stubborn bite, with Wendy quickly coming to her rescue. Thankfully, Pacifica’s pecan tartlets swooped in to save the day, accompanied by the ice cream Wendy had brought and Candy’s perfectly baked sesame cookies. Plates piled high, laughter bounced around the table as we swapped stories and got to know each other better.

Despite the minor mishaps and charred edges, it was, without a doubt, one of the most unforgettable Thanksgivings yet.

Chapter Text

Lately, Gravity Falls had been plagued by a curious rash of scampfire outbreaks, putting a significant strain on the town’s already small and woefully ill-equipped fire department. Normally, those mischievous little flame-creatures kept to the forests on the outskirts, but this time they were spreading further into down – dangerously so.

With Stan and Ford off handling a haunting at the Yumberjacks, it fell to us to track the source of the scampfires. Paz and Mabel were tied up at a sleepover with Candy, which meant tonight’s mission was just Wendy and me. It had been a while since it was only the two of us, and something about it brought back memories of that first summer – of sneaking into the abandoned Dawn2Dusk and feeling like this town still held secrets just waiting to be uncovered.

Wendy and I followed the flicker of stray embers and the faint trail of singed grass until it led us to the edge of town. In the moonlight loomed an abandoned warehouse, its jagged windows glowing faintly with the restless shimmer of firelight.

“Bingo,” Wendy muttered. Through the glass, we could see the scampfires flitting about like fiery insects – each one dangerous enough to reduce the place to ashes in minutes.

“Looks like a whole colony,” I whispered. “This has to be their nest.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Wendy asked, her hand drifting to the crossbow slung over her shoulder. “Dr Pines said water takes them out very easily.”

“That would’ve worked, if the tank wasn’t busted.” I pointed toward the cracked, useless tank perched on the roof. “And there’s no stream nearby. They picked the perfect hideout; no wonder why they’re thriving.”

Wendy squinted, then tilted her head toward a tangle of metal piping snaking up toward the broken tank. “What about those pipes?”

I followed her gaze, tracing the pipes as they vanished up the cliff. “If those still connect to the main line, we could reroute the water. Flood the place from the above and the inside. That’s, of course, if we could get into the compound and crank the valves without getting roasted alive.”

“This looks fun,” Wendy remarked.

“Not the word I would use, but okay.”

We circled wide, keeping downwind and downhill where the smoke drifted away from us. The grass was still warm beneath our boots, dotted with faint scorch marks, but we stayed low until we found a charred hole in the rusted fence.

Wendy crouched, loading a flare into her launcher. “Alright, let’s give ’em something to chase.”

The flare hissed to life and streaked across the yard in a blaze of red light. In an instant, half the swarm of scampfires scattered after it, buzzing like angry hornets toward the distraction.

“Nice shot,” I whispered as we slipped through the gap.

“Here.” Wendy scooped a rusted prybar lay discarded near the fence and passed it over.

“Thanks.” Together, we crept toward the side door – our best guess at the quietest and safest way in. I tightened my grip, and with a sharp grunt, wedged it into the warped warehouse door.

“C’mon… C’mon…” I grunted. “Ah!”

With a burst of determination, the lock snapped and the door screeched open.

“I knew you had it in you,” Wendy affirmed with a crooked grin, tucking the prybar into her belt as we slipped into the warehouse.

The room beyond was mercifully quiet, sealed from the rest of the warehouse. Piles of abandoned gear sat waiting for us: coils of rope, a wrench, spare gloves, even a bucket.

“All pretty useful,” I muttered, keeping my voice low as the faint cackling of the scampfires echoed beyond the walls. I pulled the gloves on while Wendy tested the rope with a sharp tug.

“Hey… there’s a map over here,” she whispered, beckoning me toward a faded chart pinned to the wall.

My finger traced the thin blue line of pipes. “Valve box is here… opposite side of the warehouse.”

Wendy turned and peered through a dusty window in the only connecting door. Beyond it, scampfires flitted through the main hall, darting between the racks like restless fireflies. She exhaled slowly. “Across that. We’ll have to stay low, keep quiet, and be quick.”

“I know.” I tightened my grip on the wrench, jaw set.

“Alright, Dipper,” she smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Ready to dance with fire?”

We traded a quick look – silent, steady agreement – before easing the door open. Smoke curled through the gap, and the distance to the valve box already felt twice as long as it had looked on the map.

The hall stretched out wide and cavernous, rows of skeletal racks looming like scaffolds. Between them, the scampfires drifted in restless clusters, ember-eyes pulsing, smoke tails twitching as they swarmed over crates and girders. A single wrong move and the whole swarm would turn.

“Valve box is dead ahead,” I whispered, spotting the faded red tap symbol painted on a corroded column at the far side.

“Lot of ground to cover,” Wendy muttered. She thumbed a fresh flare into her launcher. “We’ll split their attention. You move when I fire.”

She stood just enough to get a clean shot, then squeezed the trigger. The flare screamed down the aisle, ricocheting off steel beams in a shower of sparks.

The scampfires shrieked, the swarm scattering toward the decoy, wings beating with the sound of a brushfire. That was our cue.

“Go!” Wendy barked.

We bolted low between the racks, my boots crunching over glass shards, Wendy’s shadow at my side. A stray scampfire peeled off from the swarm and zipped at us, spitting sparks. I swung the wrench hard, striking it with a dull clang. The thing burst apart in a hiss of embers.

Two more darted from the side, ember-eyes glaring. Wendy spun, launcher raised, but they were too close. She kicked one mid-air, sending it into the wall with a hiss, while I smacked the other down with the flat of the wrench.

“Keep moving!” she shouted, smoke curling in her hair.

The swarm was already catching on to our deception. The flare spluttered out, and a dozen heads turned back toward us, glow spreading like wildfire.

We sprinted, vaulting over broken pallets and barrels. Sparks hissed past our ears like angry wasps. The air behind us roared – like wind through a bonfire, growing louder by the second.

“There!” I gasped, pointing at the valve box barely twenty feet away.

“Cover me!” Wendy snapped, planting her feet and loading another flare.

I skidded to the valve, jammed the wrench into place, and twisted with everything I had.

The metal shrieked. Something hot stung my arm – one of the scampfires clipped me, spitting sparks across my sleeve. I clenched my teeth and kept turning.

Behind me, Wendy fired. The hall exploded in red light again, the swarm veering wildly as she drew their fury.

With a final wrench, the valve wheel spun free – hissing water through the pipes overhead.

Sprinklers coughed, then burst alive. A cold downpour sheeted the hall, dousing sparks, soaking us to the bone. The scampfires screamed, wings sputtering, embers hissing out one by one as they dropped like burnt-out matches to the floor.

Silence finally fell, broken only by dripping water and the faint ping of cooling metal.

I leaned on the wrench, chest heaving. “That… was way too close.”

Wendy smirked, wiping water from her eyes. “C’mon, Dipper. Admit it – that was kinda awesome.”

“Y- yeah… Do you think they are all gone?”

Wendy slung her flare launcher back over her shoulder and scanned the dripping racks. Ember fragments lay scattered across the puddled floor, dark and lifeless. Not a single glow remained.

“We better check outside,” she said, brushing wet hair from her face.

I nodded, every step squelching as we made our way outside.

The night air felt cooler, cleaner. Smoke still hung in ragged curtains, but the furious buzzing was gone. The scampfires that had haunted the fence and rafters were nowhere to be seen.

For the first time since we’d spotted them, the grounds were silent. Just the wind moving through blackened grass, and the faint hiss of cooling steel.

Wendy let out a long breath, shoulders easing. “Guess that’s that.”

“Yeah.” I managed a faint laugh, wiping water from my brow. “We actually did it.”

For a moment, we just stood there together, drenched and shivering, but alive. The warehouse loomed behind us like a drowned giant, steam rising from its walls.

“Not bad teamwork, Pines,” Wendy said, giving my shoulder a quick, approving clap.

Despite myself, I grinned. “Not bad at all.”

We lingered in the yard for a while longer, letting the night settle around us. The warehouse groaned faintly as water dripped from its beams, but otherwise, everything was still.

Then the crunch of gravel broke the silence. Headlights swung across the blackened grass, and a familiar battered pickup rolled to a stop.

The window cranked down, and Soos leaned out, eyes wide. “Dudes! You’re alive! Thank goodness. Mel and I were worried, but Estanislao was at the doctor’s-”

“Relax, Soos,” Wendy called back with a tired smirk. “We handled it.”

“You handled it? Whoa.” He climbed out, boots squelching in the damp ground. “Mr Pines Two gonna be proud. But, dudes, you two look like you went through a hurricane. Let’s get you back to the Shack before you catch pneumonia or worse.”

“Nothing’s worse than getting burned,” I muttered.

“Dudes, not funny.” Soos’ grin flickered into a worried frown. “If the Stans find you in bad shape, I’m toast.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” Wendy said, brushing soot off her sleeves.

We clambered into the pickup, and Soos drove us off. In the rearview, the warehouse shrank into darkness, smouldering, silent, and no longer a threat.

My phone buzzed.

Paz: Discovered the scampfire colony?

I glanced at the screen and smirked, typing back quickly.

Me: Yep. All handled. Warehouse is clear.

Almost immediately, another buzz:

Paz: WHAT?! You didn’t tell me you guys were going in there?!

“Wait… what? I did not?” I muttered, scrolling through the thread. Sure enough, my earlier message had only said we were taking care of it – no mention of actually storming the warehouse.

Me: Sorry, Paz. Should have been clearer. We’re fine now, don’t worry.

Paz: SORRY? You have the audacity now to say SORRY? You could have been hurt!

I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking how to salvage this situation.

“Invite her to our place next Saturday,” Wendy suggested.

“W- what?”

“You know, she likes those cheesy movies.”

“Hmm… alright.”

Me: Okay, okay… How about this Saturday we hang out at Wendy’s place? Catch up on The Vampire Banshee: The Screeching?

A pause, before Pacifica texted.

Paz: Fine. You’re lucky I’m having fun with Mabel and Candy right now. Just make sure you are back in the Shack, and no more late-night detours.

Me: Yeah, of course.

The screen buzzed one last time before going quiet. Paz’s thumbs had done their work, and now we could finally relax.

The pickup rumbled toward the Shack, and in the glow of the headlights, Gravity Falls felt calm again, if only for a little while.

Chapter Text

“Well, can’t forget the last Enter-N-Exit Burger before we leave California,” I told Mabel as we hopped off the Speed Beaver bus. The rest stop – positioned just shy of the California–Oregon border – sprawled before us like a concrete oasis in the desert of asphalt and chain-link fences.

“Ah… Enter-N-Exit!” Mabel sang out, skipping ahead. “Where burgers are crafted the old-fashioned way! No freezers, no microwaves! Just pure, unadulterated cow essence and impending food poisoning!”

It’s become kind of a tradition for us – one last Enter-N-Exit burger serving as our farewell kiss to California’s overbearing sun before Oregon’s towering forests claimed us for another summer of supernatural shenanigans.

The glass doors gave their usual sticky resistance before swinging open, and instantly we were hit with that familiar oily stench. Grease clung to the air, thick enough to season fries with, and the floor tiles had that perpetual tackiness you only find in places that mop with the same water all day.

Understandably a few others (like my girlfriend) would treat this place like a biohazard site. But we still welcomed the lukewarm ketchup packets under the soda machine, fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry hornets, and that faint charred smell of burgers cooked a little too long on the grill.

Mabel inhaled dramatically, spreading her arms wide. “Ahhh, the sweet aroma of clogged arteries!”

I nodded, suppressing a grin. “Nothing quite captures the essence of tradition like the lingering specter of food safety violations and existential dread.”

We slid into a booth that was missing one screw, so the whole table rocked like a carnival ride.

“I’ll go and order,” I said, putting down my backpack. “I suppose you’ll want the usual?”

“Of course!” Mabel shot finger guns across the table. “Triple Patty Tower with extra cheese! And fries! With that special green sauce! And can’t forget the sundae too!”

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes before heading to the counter. The menu board still had a couple of lightbulbs burned out, so “Bacon Burger Deluxe” read as “acon urger elux.” The guy behind the register looked like he’d been awake since the Carter administration, but he nodded when I gave him our order like he’d heard the same insanity a hundred times that day.

“The total comes to six dollars and seventy-five cents,” the guy murmured. I handed him a ten and told him to keep the change. He nodded and, with a grunt, shuffled off toward the kitchen.

“Hey, pretty lady,” a voice drawled from behind me. “You come here often? Or are you just here to brighten up my evening?”

I turned, already half-dreading what I’d see. Sure enough, a guy in a leather jacket two sizes too small stood at our table, flashing a toothy grin at my sister. His hair was greased back like he’d been stuck in a time warp from the 1950s.

Mabel blinked at him, then tilted her head. “Huh. You sound like you swallowed a jukebox.”

He ignored her quip. “Is this seat taken?”

“That… depends.”

He chuckled, trying to remain cool. “I’m just saying, a girl like you shouldn’t be eating alone. How about I treat you to a shake?”

“Hmm, a shake?”

“Yeah. So, chocolate? Rainbow sprinkles?”

“Do you ask that to every girl on the road, or am I just, like, your lucky Tuesday?”

The guy’s grin wavered a little but snapped back in place. “Nah, you’re special. I can tell. I’ve got an eye for these things.”

“Oh yeah?” Mabel scoffed. “Well, I’ve got an eye for weirdos, and it’s twitching real hard right now.”

He laughed a little too loudly, glancing around like he expected applause. “You’ve got spunk. I like that. C’mon, come with me for just one drink. What’s the harm?”

Wham

Before I could react, Mabel’s fist shot out, right square in the guy’s jaw. He staggered back, eyes wide, clutching his face.

“Whoa! What the-” he sputtered, trying to regain his cool, but it was clear he’d lost the upper hand.

Mabel straightened, hands on her hips. “The harm? The harm is me not deckin’ creeps like you! Don’t ever, ever harass someone just because you think you’re charming!”

He mumbled something incoherent and stumbled toward the exit, clearly deciding that getting a burger elsewhere was safer than trying to impress my sister.

I shook my head, half in awe, half in disbelief as I moved over. “Mabel… you just-”

“Order Two Twenty-Eight!” the man at the counter yelled as he slid our trays at the counter.

I blinked, looking down at the trays loaded with greasy perfection: two triple-patty towers, mountains of fries, and two sundaes dripping with chocolate and caramel. Mabel’s eyes sparkled.

“Finally! The true reason we’re here!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “Justice served… and burgers received!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I placed down the tray. “Yeah, justice and burgers.”

We dove right in, Mabel shoveling fries into her mouth while still managing to stab a patty tower with her fork. “I’m telling you, Dipper, nothing tastes as good as a victory burger!”

I picked up my own and took a bite, the familiar oily goodness filling me with that oddly comforting mix of nostalgia and satisfaction. “You’re right. Still as good as always. I say, you’re lucky Stan gave you those boxing lessons.”

“Alpha twin! Alpha twin!” She pumped her fists up in the air.

I laughed, shaking my head as I swiped another fry. “Yeah, you definitely showed that jerk who’s boss.”

Mabel grinned through a mouthful of cheese. “Psh, please. I’ve been training for life, Dipper. Burgers, creeps, interdimensional monsters – bring it on!”

I raised my soda cup in a mock toast. “To Mabel Pines: defender of rest stops, puncher of creeps, and consumer of structurally unsound burger towers.”

“Here, here!” Mabel clinked her cup against mine, nearly spilling both in her enthusiasm.

We ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the distant sizzle of the grill providing our soundtrack. Through the grimy windows, I could see the Speed Beaver bus idling in the parking lot, the driver probably grabbing his own questionable meal somewhere.

“You know,” I said, dragging a fry through the mysterious green sauce (which I believe is some variant of mustard), “Pacifica would've had a heart attack watching you eat here.”

“Oh, totally. She’d probably whip out a magnifying glass to inspect the floor tiles.” She attempted a posh accent: “‘Mabel, do you realize when they last sanitized these tables? This grease is practically a geological formation!’”

I snorted. “Pretty accurate, actually.”

“I know, right?” Mabel took another triumphant bite. “The funnier thing is that she’s working at Greasy’s, which has equally sketchy health standards."

“Well, not anymore,” I corrected. “She’s actually transformed that place. Made it way more welcoming and clean. They scored a B rating during last month’s inspection. She’s got a valid point, honestly, about only eating where it’s actually clean enough to eat.”

“Says the guy currently eating here!” Mabel pointed out.

“Touché.” I took another bite of my burger. “But yeah, this definitely stays between us. Pacifica doesn’t need to know about our sacred tradition of questionable rest stop dining.”

“Agreed. Some things are meant to stay between siblings.” Mabel grinned.

I leaned back, taking in the chaotic calm of the little diner: the hum of the fryers, the murmur of other late-night patrons, the faint smell of grease mixing with the salty air outside.

We’re turning sixteen soon, and it’s striking how much Mabel has changed. She’s more independent, sharper, and resilient – hardly the whirlwind of uncertainty she was three years ago, when every step into the future felt like a gamble.

And, of course, there’s Kevin Corduroy. Somehow he’s managed to keep up with her boundless energy and unpredictable antics, and they’ve been going steady ever since that last wild summer. It’s… kind of impressive, actually.

I sighed, chewing on a fry as I let my thoughts drift. It’s funny – watching my twin grow up. She’s fearless in ways I’ll probably never fully be, and yet… I admire her more than ever. I think that’s what growing up is really about: figuring out who you are, learning from the ones around you, and maybe, just maybe, letting yourself enjoy the ride.

Outside, the wind swept across the California-Oregon border, but inside, we were safe, fed, and undefeated. At least until our first proper adventure in Gravity Falls.

A honk cut through the air.

“Oh no, the bus is leaving!” Mabel shrieked, snatching her sundae. “Race you to the bus!”

“Hey, wait for me!”

And just like that, we bolted out the door, laughing and dodging cars, ready for whatever the road – and Gravity Falls – had in store next.

Chapter Text

The TV announcer’s voice boomed, “And now back to: Why You Ackin’ So Cray-Cray?”

“Heyyyy everyone!” Sassica, the glittering host, strutted onto the stage. “This is the episode you’ve all been waiting for! The one where we crown…”

“The ‘Most cray-cray couple of the year’!” Mabel and Pacifica chorused along with the audience.

Dipper rolled his eyes as he entered the living room, balancing a bowl of popcorn. “I cannot believe I’m actually watching this with you two.”

It was another Saturday night at the Shack. Melody and Soos had left for a date at the Club. Stan and Ford were inspecting the equipment on the Stan O’ War II in preparation for their next voyage after summer ended. That left him stuck with Pacifica and Mabel for the finale.

Pacifica smirked, snatching up a handful. “Says the guy who tried to rig the votes for Bruce and Vanessa last season… and still lost.”

“That was one time,” Dipper muttered.

“Shh!” Mabel hissed, her eyes glued to the screen. “They’re interviewing Walter and Angelica now!”

The lights swung to the first pair – Angelica and Walter. Angelica, with a mane of perfect curls, squeezed Walter’s arm tightly. Walter smiled, but his eyes darted nervously toward the floor.

“So,” Sassica asked, “how did you two meet?”

“At a coffee shop,” Angelica answered, her voice smooth.

“Actually, it was at a bookstore,” Walter interjected, then quickly amended, “I mean – there was coffee at the bookstore café.”

The audience chuckled, and Angelica’s grip on his arm visibly tightened.

“Hey now, don’t act so cray-cray,” Sassica purred.

“I always find there’s something suspicious about those two,” Dipper remarked. “Whatever they share never always add up.”

“Oh, please, they’re just nervous,” Pacifica replied. “Besides, Walter suffered a terrible accident midway through the season, which explains why his memory’s unreliable.”

“Assuming that accident actually occurred,” Dipper countered.

“Quiet, you two!” Mabel hissed as Sassica walked up to the next couple – Nigel and Jennifer. Nigel wore an oversized bow tie, while Jennifer seemed perpetually distracted by her phone.

“He wrote me poetry,” Jennifer answered flatly.

“And she inspired my greatest sonnet,” Nigel added, placing a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Can you recite it for us?” Sassica teased.

Nigel cleared his throat and stumbled through:

“Her eyes, like stars, they shine so bright…
Uh, uh… guiding me through… every night.”

Jennifer yawned so widely it nearly dislocated her jaw.

“Beautiful! That’s so cray-cray!” Sassica beamed regardless. “Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The audience applauded with great enthusiasm.

Pacifica wrinkled her nose. “That poetry was utterly dreadful, honestly. I’m not sure if Nigel is really a poet.”

“Oh, come on! They might look like they don’t care about each other, but you can tell they're completely devoted to each other!” Mabel protested.

“Won’t say that relationship’s fake, but definitely have some serious issues to work out,” Dipper remarked.

Next up was the show’s beloved gay couple – Boris and Wildred. Boris had the built of a retired wrestler, thick-armed and gravel-voiced. Wildred, by contrast, was lean and lanky, having once proclaimed he sustained himself exclusively on cider and soup.

“He prepares soup for me every Sunday,” Wildred said proudly.

“And he once arm-wrestled me into submission,” Boris boomed.

The crowd roared with laughter, but Dipper scribbled furiously in his notes.

“And last but not least, we have Andrea and Felicia!”

The audience clapped as the two women appeared, perfectly composed, fingers intertwined.

“We met at the salsa episode,” Andrea said.

“And haven’t stopped dancing since,” Felicia finished, flashing a warm smile. Their perfectly coordinated responses drew an appreciative murmur from the crowd.

“So now, we shall give you some time to deliberate before the elimination round! When we decide who is the fake couple, and who wins the ‘Most cray-cray couple of the year’!” Sassica declared, throwing her arms wide.

The studio burst into applause, the stage lights flashing in sync with the crowd’s enthusiasm and cheers.

The screen cut to commercials, and Mabel immediately spun around on the couch. “Okay, time to vote! Who do you think is faking it?”

“Walter and Angelica. No question,” Dipper said, leaning forward. “Their stories don’t match, and Walter looks like he’s being held hostage every time she touches him.”

Pacifica shook her head. “Nope. Nigel and Jennifer. Did you see her yawn right in his face? Zero chemistry. Total performance.”

“Uh… maybe she was just tired,” Mabel protested. “True love doesn’t always sparkle, Paz!”

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying it could be Boris and Wildred, or Andrea and Felicia?”

Mabel deflated, slumped back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know. Why do they even have to add this ‘fake couple’ segment? It just makes everything more confusing!”

“Honestly,” Dipper said, “it’s because a lot of couples on this show were actually faking it to chase the prize money.”

“Like my parents,” Pacifica said, rolling her eyes as she recalled another desperate attempt by her parents to recall their wealth. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Andrea and Felicia could be faking it, sure. They’re too perfect – maybe it’s an act to fool us.”

“Yeah… remember Jason and Emily?” Dipper said. “Nominated most cray-cray couple for last year? Turns out they have been faking it the entire show.”

“And it went to Lisa and Danny.” Pacifica nodded. “Whose indifference act is… an act.”

“This show is really cray-cray!” Mabel groaned.

After the advertisements for discount mattresses and miracle hair tonics ended, the show returned, the lights brighter than ever. Sassica’s grin stretched impossibly wide.

“And now,” she announced, voice teasing with drama, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The Most Cray-Cray Couple of the Year! But first, a word from our sponsor!”

“It’s irritating that they keep sneaking in ads,” Dipper groaned, leaning back in his chair as Sassica extolled the miraculous benefits of the Owl Trowel.

“They’ve begun to introduce ads on EyeTube,” Pacifica said, scrolling through her phone. “Well, revenue has to come from somewhere.”

The commercial ended, and the studio lights dimmed a little, leaving only the stage glowing. Sassica spun dramatically toward the row of couples, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“But first,” she purred, leaning into the microphone, “the elimination round. Which couples have truly been faking it all along?”

A hush fell over the audience. Even the laughter and chatter from earlier had faded into an anticipatory silence, broken only by the soft hum of stage equipment.

The camera slowly zoomed in on the first couple. Angelica and Walter stiffened under the spotlight, Angelica’s curls bouncing as she fidgeted nervously, and Walter’s hands twitched at his sides.

Sassica let the moment stretch just long enough to make everyone squirm. “Remember, viewers,” she continued, voice low and conspiratorial, “some couples are not what they seem… and one pair might just shock you completely.”

Then the camera panned to the other couples. Nigel and Jennifer sat side by side, Nigel’s oversized bow tie askew and his hands clasped awkwardly in his lap. Jennifer, meanwhile, scrolled absently on her phone, barely glancing up, though her lips curved into the faintest, forced smile whenever Nigel tried to catch her eye.

Boris and Wildred filled the frame next. Boris’s broad shoulders slumped slightly as he tried to maintain his tough-guy posture, while Wildred adjusted her dramatic scarf for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes darting toward the cameras with an almost rehearsed precision.

Finally, Andrea and Felicia appeared, hands perfectly intertwined, their smiles pristine and synchronized. Every movement seemed rehearsed, every glance calculated – a picture of perfection that somehow felt… too perfect.

Sassica’s voice sliced through the tension. “Well, viewers, you’ve seen all the couples up close. The question remains: who is faking it, and who deserves the coveted title of Most Cray-Cray Couple of the Year?”

The audience leaned forward, murmuring and whispering, the anticipation building to a tangible fever. Even from the couch, Mabel’s fingers were clenched together in excitement.

Mabel clutched the edge of the couch. “Ohhh… I can feel it! This is going to be epic!”

“Definitely Angelica and Walter,” Dipper murmured.

“My money’s on Andrea and Felicia,” Pacifica said.

A drumroll sounded in the studio, echoing in the living room. The three friends exchanged wide-eyed glances, knowing the moment of reckoning was just about to hit.

“And the fake couple award goes to… all of them!” Sassica declared, gesturing to all the couples. “Every single one of these couples has been faking their way to the top!”

Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica blinked in shock.

“Wait, what? All of them?” Dipper sputtered.

Pacifica groaned. “Figures.”

Mabel blinked. “Every single one? That… that’s can’t be right! Then who’s this year’s winner?”

The couples visibly relaxed, their performances finally over. Sassica allowed the silence to linger, savoring the confusion. “But wait… the ultimate Most Cray-Cray Couple of the Year – the pair who truly takes the crown…”

The camera swung dramatically to a shadowy corner of the stage. Spotlights snapped on, illuminating a familiar figure. Mabel’s jaw practically hit the floor.

“Casey?” Dipper whispered, eyes narrowing at the show’s producer.

Sassica threw her arms into the air, confetti cannons erupting in a glittering cloud. “…is none other than… me and Casey!” she announced, bouncing with glee.

The audience erupted into cheers, boos, and a few shocked gasps, some of them hurling popcorn in disbelief. Mabel leapt from the couch, pointing and squealing.

“I knew it! I knew they were dating all this time!”

Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew this show was cray-cray… but this? This is next-level insane.”

Pacifica groaned, sinking back in her seat. “This… this is chaos. Absolute chaos.”

“And now I’ll be taking my extended leave,” Sassica said, beaming along with Casey. “I’m done with this entire cray-cray circus!”

The boos and groans erupted into full-blown pandemonium. Audience members surged toward the stage, some clambering over seats.

“This is a scam!” someone shouted from the upper balcony.

“We voted for weeks!” another voice cried out, their indignation echoing through the chaos.

“Wait, hey now! Don’t act so cray-cray!” Sassica yelped as someone’s purse went sailing past her head. Security guards rushed forward, forming a hasty barricade between the stage and the advancing crowd. The fake couples scattered in different directions – Angelica grabbing Walter’s arm so quickly he stumbled, while Jennifer finally looked up from her phone with genuine alarm.

“I think we should’ve seen this coming,” Boris muttered to Wildred as they hurried offstage.

“I have to say Boris is right,” Dipper remarked as the screen cut to a cherry interlude of jingles.

“Sassica has been saying she wants to step down from this show for a very long time,” Pacifica said. “I was hoping for a more graceful exit.”

“Well, the studios kept forcing her to continue the show,” Dipper pointed out.

“This episode is going to go down as one of the most notorious moments in television history,” Pacifica declared with a sigh. “Even more scandalous than the Winter on the Horizon finale. I better check on Susan; she’s been hooked on the show since the very first episode.”

Mabel flopped back against the couch, popcorn tumbling from the bowl. “Seriously! Confetti, chaos, purses flying – everything – this is like the craziest episode ever! You have to admit, it was pretty cray-cray!”

“Well, that’s enough TV for tonight,” Dipper said, getting up from the coach. “Ugh, tell me not to watch this show again!”

“That’s what you said last season!” Mabel and Pacifica chorused in unison before bursting into laughter.

And so concluded one Saturday night of watching an infamous reality show that had spectacularly backfired on its audience’s expectations.

Chapter Text

“And this one goes straight into the trash,” Dipper said, tossing a wrinkled envelope into the growing pile of rejects. It bounced off the pile and rolled across the worn carpet.

“Nope, not interested in your ‘exclusive broadband upgrade package’, Gravit&t. Your rates are way too high,” Pacifica murmured, throwing a red, glossy leaflet aside. “And who the hell would buy ‘Holes with Umbrellas’?”

“Beats me.” Dipper squinted at the next envelope. “Oh wonderful, Zykrax is trying to sell me health supplements ‘to boost my manliness’. And… of course, right behind is a lawyer offering his services for people affected by Zykrax’s pills.” Dipper flung both letters aside with a disgusted flick of his wrist. He picked up the next letter. “Wait, listen to this gem…”

“What is it?” Pacifica leaned closer.

Dipper adjusted his glasses a little before reading the text aloud, “‘A listening device that actually listens to you! Introducing A.L.I.C.E.: Always Listening, Innocently Capturing Ears.’”

“‘Innocently’?” Pacifica’s laugh was sharp and incredulous. “That sounds like a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen. Please tell me you’re not actually considering buying that thing, dork.”

“What? No! Of course not!” Dipper’s face flushed a little. “Though… I mean, it does mention some potentially interesting features in the description…”

“Oh my god. Geez, no. Absolutely not.” Pacifica snatched the flyer from his hands and tossed it aside as though it might contaminate her. “Why would anyone willingly pay for this garbage? To ask what the weather is? Order groceries? Get takeout recommendations?” Pacifica furrowed her brows. “I literally have a butler for all that. Why would I shell out money for some creepy robot to eavesdrop on my private conversations?”

The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty windows of the Mystery Shack’s living room, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Both of them sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by towers of envelopes, flyers, and what appeared to be several years’ worth of accumulated mail that Soos had been “meaning to organize”.

Dipper reached for another stack, this one bound together with a rubber band that snapped when he pulled it. “Oh great, now we're getting into the complaints department.”

“The complaints department? Now, this should be interesting,” Pacifica said.

“Let’s see…” Dipper tore and unfolded the first one, the paper crackling with age. “‘Dear Mr. Pines, I am writing to express my extreme disappointment with the so-called “Sascrotch” exhibit. Not only was it clearly a mannequin covered in carpet samples, but it also smelled like wet dog and moth balls.’” He snorted, unable to suppress a grin. “They aren’t wrong about the smell.”

“Isn’t that letter from like, four years ago?” Pacifica squinted at the year on the faded stamp.

“Yeah, back when Stan was running the Shack.” Dipper shrugged, crumpling it up. “Ah yeah, and this one wanted to sue us over the mystery meat corndogs back at the Mystery Fair.”

Pacifica grabbed the next letter, scanning it with growing amusement. “Oh my god, listen to this one. ‘To whom it may concern, your “Bottomless Pit” attraction traumatized my son. He now refuses to use the bathroom alone and insists we check the toilet for portals to other dimensions.’” She glanced up, lips twitching. “Honestly? Valid concern.”

“In Stan’s defense, he did post that disclaimer about not ‘assuming liability for disappointment, strange rashes, or accidental plunges into the Bottomless Pit’,” Dipper said. “And technically, the Bottomless Pit isn’t really in our property.”

“Here’s one from someone who’s clearly shares my father’s complete lack of humor,” Pacifica continued, holding up a letter written on expensive-looking stationery. “‘The “Cornicorn” display is offensive to those of us in the cryptozoology community. A unicorn made out of corn is not scientific research, it’s a mockery.’” She paused. “Wait, there’s more. ‘P.S. I would also like my fifteen dollars and thirty minutes of my time refunded’. This sounds like Ford, but much more obnoxious.”

“Well, good luck with that. Grunkle Stan puts the ‘fun in no refunds’,” Dipper said as Pacifica added it to the rejection heap. He unfolded the next complaint. “Hmm… ‘I specifically came to see the World's Most Distracting Object and found it to be only moderately distracting at best. My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.’” He looked at Pacifica. “They actually managed to spell ‘immeasurable.’”

“These people need hobbies,” Pacifica muttered, though she was clearly enjoying herself. She pulled out a letter written in red ink. “‘Mr. Pines, your establishment is a DISGRACE. The “Rock That Looks Like a Face” is just a regular rock. I drove four hours for this. FOUR HOURS.’” She paused, studying the signature. “This is signed by ‘A Concerned Geologist’.”

“Ah, the Rock that Looks Like a Face.” Dipper glanced at the rock, now on proud display in the living room. “Is it a rock, or is it a face?”

Pacifica smirked. “I think it’s a metaphor.”

“Does Susan’s Diner ever get complaints this ridiculous?”

“Well, mainly complaints about the food being either too salty or not salty enough,” Pacifica said, setting aside another letter. “Or sometimes about the coffee being too lukewarm. Oh, and there was that one time someone complained that Susan’s lazy eye was ‘looking at them a little too judgmentally.’ Like, how do you even respond to that?”

“I dunno.” Dipper tossed another bunch of letters aside. “Well, we better organize them faster, or Melody’s gonna kill us.”

The afternoon stretched on, marked only by the steady rhythm of tearing paper and the occasional exclamation of disbelief. The reject pile had grown into something resembling a small mountain range, complete with valleys and peaks formed by the varying thickness of promotional materials. Somewhere in the distance, the Mystery Shack’s ancient pipes groaned, accompanying the muffled murmurs of Soos leading another tour.

Pacifica reached for what appeared to be an official-looking envelope, this one sealed with actual wax that had long since cracked and peeled. “Oh, this looks fancy.”

“Maybe it’s something important?” Dipper suggested, moving closer to take a better look.

Pacifica took out the letter from the envelope, squinting at elaborate calligraphy. “Huh, an invitation to a ‘Cryptid Convention and Supernatural Soirée’ fifteen years ago. Addressed to a Stanford Pines.”

“Oh, that must be from West Coast Tech.” Dipper examined the faded seal. “Maybe I’ll pass this over to Ford; he’ll definitely want to take a look at this.”

Pacifica tilted her head. “Think he’d still care about something that old?”

“Knowing him?” Dipper offered a faint smile. “Yeah. If the sender’s still around, he’ll track them down. For him, it’s never too late when it comes to weird science. I mean, how many around are really into this field?”

They fell back into a comfortable rhythm, the steady rustle of envelopes filling the Shack’s living room. For a while, it was quiet – until that familiar voice broke through like a confetti cannon.

“Oh great, the adorkable couple of the year is here!” Mabel’s cheery voice arrived three seconds before she did. She bounded into the room with enough energy to make the floorboards protest, her sweater – today's featured neon pink with a sequined narwhal – catching the late afternoon light like a disco ball. “How’s the mail sorting going, lovebirds?”

“Productive,” Dipper said dryly as he organized another stack. “I thought you were still over at Kevin’s place.”

“Oh, he and Wendy ran out to grab groceries,” Mabel replied, planting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the chaos. “So! Which one’s the junk pile? I need fresh material for my scrapbook-slash-craftocalypse.”

“Over there, Mabes.” Pacifica gestured toward a particularly colourful mountain of leaflets. “But maybe wait until Melody gives the all-clear. We don’t wanna accidentally glue a tax document to your glitter project again.”

“Hey, that made for a beautiful collage of civic responsibility!”

“In fairness, Stan never bothered to fill out his tax documents.” Dipper shrugged.

“Hey guys, how’s it-” Melody appeared at the doorway, taking in the paper archipelago that had colonized every available surface in the living room. “Oh, still halfway through, I suppose?”

“Well, we managed to sort them into the junk pile, the complaints pile, the ‘maybe important’ pile, and the ‘others’ pile,” Dipper said.

Melody crouched down to reach for the nearest stack. She picked up a few letters, her fingers moved quickly through the pile, occasionally pausing to read a few envelopes that caught her attention.

“Okay, this is actually pretty good work,” she admitted as she reached to the end of the stack. “Though I’m not sure why you kept this one in the ‘maybe’ pile.”

She held up a fluorescent green flyer advertising “Curzon’s Cursed Amulets – Buy Two, Get One Free!”

“Oh, that’s also for Ford and myself to check out another time,” Dipper admitted.

“So can I take some of these?” Mabel had already gravitated toward the discard pile like a magnet, her hands hovering over the colorful array of marketing materials with the reverent attention of an artist selecting a palette. “This expired coupon for expired pizzas would look amazing in my ‘Foods I’ll Never Forget’ section!”

“Hold on, let me finish checking first.” Melody stood, brushing dust from her jeans, and moved to examine the reject pile more thoroughly. She crouched down again, sorting through with practiced efficiency, occasionally pulling something out. “This one’s actually the invoice for the new batch of eyebat keychains, how did you guys miss that? And this…” She held up an official-looking envelope with the county seal. “This is a permit renewal notice for our tour operations. Definitely not junk.”

Dipper and Pacifica exchanged guilty glances.

“In our defense,” Pacifica ventured, her voice taking on that carefully measured tone she used when talking her way out of trouble, “it was buried under seventeen mattress sale advertisements and something called ‘Bigfoot’s Guide to Big Savings’.”

“Which are clearly junk,” Dipper was quick to add.

Melody sighed. “You two should really be more careful… alright, set this aside for now. Abuelita made tacos for you guys. After you’re done, take these into the office. Soos and I will finish sorting the rest later.”

“Sure!” Both teens exchanged sighs of relief. The promise of Abuelita’s cooking was enough to make even the most tedious task worthwhile – and also a merciful reprieve from mail-sorting duty.

As Melody retreated toward the kitchen, Dipper looked at Pacifica, then at the remaining mountains of unsorted mail that still dominated the landscape of the living room.

“Next time Melody asks us to ‘help organize’, something, remind me that I have another important appointment." Pacifica brushed dust and paper fragments from her clothes with fastidious precision. “Somewhere far away. Possibly in another state.”

“Agreed,” Dipper said. “Though the complaints were pretty entertaining.”

“The Concerned Geologist was my favorite,” Pacifica admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Four hours for a rock.”

“A rock that looks like a face,” Dipper corrected solemnly.

“A metaphor,” they said in unison before laughing.

“Come on, slowpokes!” Mabel peered out of the kitchen, her arms overflowing with her scrapbooking haul. “Abuelita’s tacos wait for no one! And I heard she made the good salsa – the one that makes Soos cry happy tears!”

And so their afternoon of mail-sorting wound down with tacos and laughter. It wasn’t as thrilling as taking down scampfires or wrestling multi-headed wolves, but Dipper found he didn’t mind. These slower summer days – the easy kind spent with friends, family, and Pacifica by his side – had their own kind of magic.

Chapter Text

“Where, where’s the Journal?” Mabel ran across the catwalk. “Ah found it!”

She dived into the cake structure dangling above the stage, which hung thick with smoke and strobbing lights and the electronic tension of a disaster brewing. Mabel’s fingers trembled as they traced the worn pages of the Journal, her eyes sweeping over the incomprehensible symbols.

“Come on, come on now,” Mabel murmured to herself. “There must be a way to get Dipper’s body back!”

“Oho, but why would you want to do that?”

Her brother’s voice – unnaturally malicious – slithered through the air like smoke. Mabel's head snapped up, her heart dropping into her stomach like a stone through water.

Bill stood on the catwalk above, wearing her brother’s body like an ill-fitting costume. Stage lights blazed behind him, casting sharp shadows across features she’d known her entire life, but the expression he wore – that wide, unnatural grin that stretched too far across Dipper's face – belonged to something ancient and terrible. His pupils were blown wide with manic energy that made her skin crawl.

One hand gripped the cake rigging with casual confidence, fingers drumming an arrhythmic pattern against the rope.

Mabel gasped. “Bill Dipper! Or Bipper.”

“Shh! You wouldn’t want to ruin the show… Whoops!” He briefly released the cake, sending Mabel plummeting, before catching it again. “It’s slipping! How’s about you hand that book over?”

The blood rushed to Mabel’s head, the world tilting at a nauseating angle. But even through the vertigo and terror, her grip on the Journal remained ironclad. Her voice emerged stronger than she felt, powered by something deeper than courage – sheer stubborn sibling loyalty.

“No way!” Mabel shot back. “This is Dipper’s! I’d never give it away!”

“Hmm… but you didn’t seem to have a problem taking it for your own play, ditching him when he needed you. So come to your senses, Shooting Star.” He hardened his look as he drew Mabel level to him. “Give me the book, or your play is ruined.”

“Never!”

Instead of retreating, she lunged forward with the reckless bravery that had always been her signature move. Her hands shot out and grabbed Bill's stolen wrist, yanking him toward her with all the strength desperation could provide. His eyes widened in genuine surprise – just for a heartbeat – before both of them tumbled into the massive wedding cake structure.

Meanwhile, Dipper, speaking through Puppet Stan, announced, “I’m giving you away. You are a woman now. Waddles, the rings!” The puppet squealed. “Wait, what?” Dipper looked up to see the falling cake. “Oh no.”

The cake structure crashed to the floor as Mabel and Bill tumbled out, grappling over the journal while lasers and fog filled the air.

“Brrr… your hands are cold!” Mabel yelped as Bill's fingers – Dipper’s fingers, but wrong, so terribly wrong – clamped around her wrists with inhuman strength, “Get out of my brother’s body, you evil triangle!”

“Ohhoho, you really think you can win this?” Bill taunted. “I’m a being of pure energy! You’re just a silly little girl who ruins everything she touches!”

“I’m not letting you hurt my brother!” Mabel screamed back.

“Oh, but I can!”

Bill snapped his fingers. Above them, one of the stage lights tore loose from its rigging, sparks showering down in a brilliant cascade as it smashed into the elaborate set pieces below. The electrical fire caught immediately on the painted cardboard and fabric, flames licking up the backdrop with terrifying speed.

“No! My play!” Mabel cried out.

Bill seized the opportunity as he grabbed the Journal, cackling as the fire spread. The fog machines were still pumping out thick clouds that now mixed with smoke, obscuring everything in a nightmarish haze. Through it all, Bill’s laughter rang out, distorted and wrong.

“Looks like your precious show is going up in flames anyway!” he crowed from afar, the flames reflecting in those possessed eyes.

“No!” She glanced around as the fire surrounded the both of them, watching in horror as everything was consumed by the flames – the puppets, the props, the cake. “Where’s Dipper? Where’s everyone-”

Mabel gasped awake, her heart pounding. She blinked rapidly, disoriented, before realizing she was having her afternoon nap right next to the crackling fireplace in the Shack’s parlour. Winter had settled in, and a snowstorm raged outside, the wind howling against the windows.

“Oh… it was another nightmare again,” she groaned, shivering. “Damn Bill…”

She pushed herself up from the rocking chair on unsteady legs before descending the steps to the living room. The cuckoo clock showed it was half past four. Dipper and Pacifica should be returning from the Christmas market any moment now.

Right on cue, the door opened, bringing in a gust of cold air along with Dipper and Pacifica. Both were bundled in winter coats and shaking off snow as they entered.

“Oh, Mabel, there you are!” Dipper stamped his boots on the mat. “Sorry we left without you, but we need to get everything before the market closes early today. We got those hand-carved ornaments you wanted, Mabel.”

Mabel managed a confident smile. “Ooh, nice!”

““And I found the most gorgeous wreath for the Shack’s front door.” Pacifica set down her own bags, pulling off her gloves. “Real pine and everything. Think Soos would greatly appreciate it.”

“Let me help you with the bags, Paz.”

“You don’t have to-!” But as soon as her hands brushed against Dipper’s, she immediately pulled back. ‘Geez, Dipper, your hands are cold! Didn't you wear gloves?”

Dipper scratched his head. “Well, even with the gloves, my hands get cold very-”

“Stay away from him!” she shouted.

Dipper and Pacifica turned to look at her in confusion, their expressions mirroring each other's bewilderment. Snow was still melting in their hair, and they both stood frozen in the doorway.

Dipper took a hesitant step forward, concern replacing the confusion on his face. “Mabel? Is everything alright? You okay?”

She was staring at him, her breathing shallow, unable to shake the lingering dread from the nightmare. Even though she could see it was really him – her brother, safe and whole – the fear clung to her like smoke.

Pacifica’s expression shifted to concern. “Mabel, what’s wrong?”

“Now now, what’s with leaving the door wide open?” Stan’s gruff voice preceded him as he appeared from the storage room, wiping his gnarled hands on an oil-stained towel. “Trying to warm the whole damn forest outside? I tell ya, I ain’t made of money – the heating bill’s already through the roof with this blizzard!”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Stan, it’s Mel paying for the heating…”

“I’ll close the door.” Dipper shuffled and pushed the door shut before turning back to Mabel. “Hey, it’s alright, Mabel. It’s me.”

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here, pumpkin?” Stan’s expression softened from irritation to concern as he moved closer, seeing how Mabel just stood frozen. “Did ya see a ghost outside? Or is there something wrong? Talk to me, kid.”

“I- I.” She struggled to form words, her throat tight. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Deep breaths… deep breaths…”

“She had another nightmare, I suspect,” Ford’s measured voice announced his presence as he emerged from the hallway, adjusting his glassess. His expression was professionally calm but tinged with sympathy. “It’s alright, Mabel. The same one again?”

She nodded.

Ford turned to his twin brother. “Stanley, prepare some red tea. I have a box in the kitchen cabinet, second shelf. I find that tea is remarkably effective in calming frayed nerves, particularly after episodes of acute anxiety…”

“He… he possessed you again,” Mabel murmured as she cradled the steaming mug of red tea in her hands. “And there was fire, and everything was burning, and I couldn’t find anyone, and-” Her voice cracked, the words tumbling out faster and faster.

“Hey, hey,” Dipper interrupted gently, squeezing her hand tighter. “I’m right here. See? Bill’s gone for good, and Ford has protected us all with unicorn hair. No triangular jerks are allowed in my temple.”

He attempted a weak smile, hoping to coax one from her.

“It might have been years, but the mind doesn’t easily forget such profound violations of reality.” Ford’s voice carried the weight of experience, of someone who understood with terrible intimacy what it meant to be tortured, manipulated, and psychologically shattered at the hands of Bill Cipher. “As my friend Fiddleford also discovered, the neural pathways carved by trauma run deep. Time doesn’t simply erase them, nor do memory guns.”

“I still have nightmares about him too,” Pacifica admitted in a small voice as she wrapped an arm around Mabel’s shoulders. “About being turned into a tapestry, frozen and helpless while you all just... stood there.” She shuddered. “About watching everyone I knew– my parents, the townsfolk, everyone – get transformed into grotesque throne decorations for that monster.”

“You wanna know something, sweetheart?” He rubbed his jaw roughly. “I still wake up sometimes thinking I’m back in that damn Fearamid as his wax statue. Seeing my brother turned to gold, watching everything happen but not being able to move a single muscle, to help, to do anything useful as that psychotic Dorito took me prisoner and paraded me around like a trophy along with Poindexter. Unable to protect you kids. That’s what gets me – the helplessness.”

“Stanley…” Ford’s voice was soft with understanding.

“And don’t even get me started on the nightmares about almost losing you,” Stan continued, his eyes fixed on Mabel but clearly speaking to Ford as well. “That the triangular bastard decided to vaporise any of you just for kicks before we could stop him. Or that he saw through our little trick with the outfit swap before we could punch him to therapy.” He shook his head. “Point is, kid, you’re not alone in this. We all got scars from Bill. Some you can see, some you can’t.”

Outside, the wind had died down somewhat, the storm’s fury temporarily spent.

Mabel took another sip of tea, feeling the warmth spreading through her, though whether it was from the beverage or from being surrounded by people who understood, she couldn’t say. “He was in Dipper’s body again,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t tell at first. Not until it was too late. He destroyed my play, everything was on fire, and then I couldn’t find any of you, and I thought-” Her voice broke completely.

“But that didn’t happen,” Dipper said firmly, turning to face her fully. “Look at me, Mabel. Really look.” He pointed to his eyes. “No slitted pupils. No glowing yellow. No deals, no possessions. Just your dorky brother who spent forty-five minutes at the Christmas market trying to find the perfect ornament because I knew it would make you smile.”

Despite everything, Mabel’s lips twitch upward a little.

Pacifica squeezed her shoulder. “And for what it's worth, I have nightmares where you all got permanently turned to wood and I had to make a deal with Bill to change things back to what they should be. To go back to my old life.” She looked down at her hands. “But I didn't. We didn’t. None of the worst-case scenarios actually happened.”

“Well, except for the apocalypse,” Stan interjected dryly. “That actually did happen.”

“Not helping, Stanley,” Ford muttered.

“But we survived it!” Stan continued. “We beat him. That triangle thought he was so smart, so powerful, but you know what? He lost. To a bunch of humans. To family.” He pointed at Mabel. “He’s gone, kid. Erased. Whatever nightmares he left behind, they’re just echoes of his pathetic self. They can't hurt you anymore.”

Ford leaned forward in his chair. “Though I must add, the psychological impact shouldn’t be dismissed entirely. Stanley, you might be correct that Bill is gone, but trauma is… remarkably persistent. But that said, it’s not a weakness to be affected by what we had experienced.”

“So the nightmares might not go away completely?” Mabel asked.

“As much as I hope that would happen, no, they won’t,” Ford admitted. “But what matters is that we face our fears together, as we’d faced him. I must add that in all my years of research into the anomalous and the supernatural, I’ve learned that the human capacity for resilience is perhaps the greatest mystery of all. We carry our wounds, yes, but we also carry our victories. We remember the terror, but we also remember that we survived it.”

“Besides,” Stan added with a crooked grin, “if that triangle ever did somehow find a way back- which he won't, of course, because that frilly guy took care of him- but if he did, we’d just punch him into oblivion again. We’ve got the routine down pat now.”

Mabel let out a shaky yet genuine laugh. “You can’t just punch every problem away, Grunkle Stan.”

“Let’s perhaps not encourage violence as a primary coping mechanism, Stanley,” Ford remarked, though not without the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Awkward sibling hug?” Dipper offered.

“Just a simple sibling hug.”

The two pulled close, their arms wrapped around each other.

“We’re okay,” Dipper murmured into her hair. “We’re all okay. And we’re going to stay okay."

“I know,” she whispered back. “I know we are.”

“Now, are we going to let a stupid nightmare ruin our whole afternoon?” Pacifica was already gathering up the shopping bags from the Christmas market. “Because I didn’t freeze my designer boots off finding the perfect wreath just to let it sit in a bag. And Mabel, you still haven't seen those ornaments we got you.”

“She’s right.” Dipper chuckled. “We got one that’s a carved wooden shooting star, and another one that’s this intricate pine tree…”

Outside, the snow continued to fall in thick, soft flakes, covering the world in gentle white. The storm had passed, leaving behind only the quiet peace of a winter afternoon. Inside the Mystery Shack, surrounded by family and the warm glow of firelight, Mabel examined her new ornaments with growing excitement, her laughter mixing with Dipper’s explanations and Pacifica’s commentary.

The nightmares would come again – that was certain. But so would the mornings after, filled with hot tea, gentle hands, and the unshakeable knowledge that she was loved, protected, and never, ever alone.

Chapter Text

“Sweetie, your father and I have decided to let you keep Waddles,” Mom announced.

“Yay!”

A smile tugged at Mom’s lips. “If Grunkle Stanford in Gravity Falls could make it work, then there’s no reason why we can’t handle one pig.”

Dad held up a finger. “But if Waddles becomes a problem or if he’s too expensive to take care of, we'll have to send him back to the Falls."

“He won’t be too much of a problem and he won’t be too expensive!” Mabel bounced on her feet. “You’ll love Waddles, I promise! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Just take care of him properly – feeding, bathing, the whole deal,” Dad warned. “I’m not going to be on poop cleaning duty.”

"Oh, not to worry about that!"

“Yeah, Dad, if it’s someone on poop duty, it’d be me.” I sighed, already resigned to my fate.

A sharp meow cut through the moment. Furball sat perched near the stairs, regarding the porcine interloper with unmistakable hostility.

Waddles returned the stare with an aggressive snort. As it turned out, convincing our parents had been the easy part – the real challenge was just beginning…

Sure enough, trouble erupted three days later.

Thankfully, Dad had gone with Mom to buy groceries, so it was just Mabel and me dealing with the wreckage of an all-out war between Furball and Waddles.

The living room looked like a disaster zone. The coffee table lay on its side, magazines scattered across the floor like confetti. A lamp teetered dangerously near the edge of the end table. Claw marks scored the couch cushions, and – oh geez – was that mud? Please let that be mud.

“This is bad,” I muttered, surveying the damage. “This is really bad.”

Waddles stood in the corner, letting out an indignant huff. Furball had retreated to the top of the bookshelf, tail lashing back and forth like an angry whip. We’d piece together later that Waddles had devoured Furball’s treats, triggering this whole catastrophe.

“It’s not that bad!” Mabel grabbed a throw pillow and tried to fluff it back into shape, only for the stuffing to spill out through a fresh tear. “Okay, it’s a little bad.”

“Mabel, they’re going to be home in an hour!” I started gathering the magazines, my hands already shaking. “If Mom and Dad see this, Waddles is on the next bus back to Gravity Falls.”

“I know, I know!” Mabel rushed over to help me right the coffee table.

“And how exactly do we explain the couch?"

“Er… say an ax murderer tried to break in and slashed the couch?” She offered me a hopeful smile. “Come on, Dip. We’ve faced weirder problems than this.”

“Yeah, in Gravity Falls. Not here in boring, normal Piedmont where serial killers don’t randomly attack furniture!”

We could hash out our story later. Right now, we had a crime scene to sanitize.

Between adrenaline and Mabel’s emergency sewing skills, we managed to restore our living room back to what it was by the time our parents’ car pulled into the driveway.

“Well, look at this!” Mom beamed as they walked in. “Did we skip right straight to weekend spring cleaning? Though… what happened to the couch?”

“Furball had a rough day,” I explained, rubbing the back of my neck. “We caught him going to town on it, but Mabel patched it up.”

Furball let out a betrayed yowl, but I shushed him before he could testify.

“Mhm… And you’ve dusted the coffee table.” Mom paused, wrinkling her nose. “Though you may have overdone it with the air freshener.”

Dad sniffed. “Do I smell-”

“Let me get those groceries!” Mabel lunged forward, practically wrestling the bags from their hands. “What’s for dinner tonight, Mom?”

Crisis averted. For now. But clearly, Waddles and Furball needed some serious peace negotiations.

After some calls and emails with our Grunkles, we came to the conclusion that some co-parenting was clearly in order. Waddles was navigating a new environment with an established pet already claiming territory, and – I had to admit – both Mabel and Stan had pretty much let him run wild back in Gravity Falls.So, our grand adventure for the weekend was teaching Waddles not to act like a bull in a china shop.

Mabel took the lead, of course. She printed out an entire “Piggy Training Schedule” in pink marker and glitter pen, complete with stickers for good behaviour. Every time Waddles followed a command, he got a treat and a gold star. Every time he didn’t, she gave him the Look – the one that could make even Grunkle Stan rethink his life choices.

“Sit, Waddles!” Mabel commanded, holding up a piece of lettuce.

Waddles blinked, made a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and flopped onto his side.

Mabel clapped her hands. “Close enough! Ten out of ten for enthusiasm!”

“You’re supposed to be firm with him, Mabel.” I rubbed my temples. Nearby, Furball stretched and yawned, observing our training session with what looked very much like mockery.

“I am being firm!” Mabel protested, scratching Waddles behind the ears. “Firmly supportive!”

“That’s not-” I sighed. “Never mind. Let’s try ‘stay.’”

We positioned Waddles near the couch and Mabel held up her hand. “Stay.”

Waddles looked at her, then at me, then at the kitchen. Then waddled directly toward the kitchen.

“Waddles, no!” I called after him.

He paused, glanced back, and continued his journey with renewed determination.

Furball’s tail swished with what I could only interpret as smug satisfaction.

“So, how’s training Waddles?” Wendy asked over video call that Sunday evening.

I scratched my head. “Well, we’d made... progress. Sort of. Waddles had at least learned that ‘sit’ meant something, even if his interpretation was ‘eventually lower your rear end within the next thirty seconds’. And ‘Stay’ had evolved from ‘immediately bolt to the kitchen’ to ‘wait five seconds, then run away’.”

“So, baby steps.”

“At least he’s not charging through the hallway like a pink bowling ball anymore,” I said. “So, yeah, you can say that.”

“Honestly, that’s way better than I expected.” Wendy smirked from her end of the screen, leaning back in her chair at the Mystery Shack gift shop counter. “Remember when he kept trying to eat my ushanka? How’s that holding up, by the way?”

“Still safe,” I replied, grabbing the hat from my desk and holding it up to the camera.

“Wendy, are you talking with your friends again?” Melody’s voice called from off-screen. “I told you, no video calls during- oh hey, Dipper.”

“Hi, Melody,” I greeted. “Sorry, I thought Wendy was on break.”

“She is now.” Melody shot Wendy a pointed look. “Wrap this up in five minutes or I’m docking thirty minutes from your shift today.”

“Aw man,” Wendy whined. “There’s literally nobody here right now!”

“I’m paying you to watch the counter,” Melody snapped. “If you’re that bored, you can refold the T-shirt display.”

“So… new management’s working out well?” I asked with a grin as Melody left.

Wendy sighed. “She’s tougher than Stan ever was. Look at this – I have to wear an actual uniform now.” She waved at the Shack polo shirt. “And she charges me if I grab anything from the vending machine. Though, I’ll admit, she actually pays me on time and gave me a weekend raise. Plus Soos covers for me sometimes, which helps.”

“Sounds like a mixed bag.” I nodded. “Anyway, back to Waddles. Honestly, I’m starting to understand why Mom and Dad were pretty nervous about letting Waddles stay here. He’s got the appetite of a vacuum cleaner and the awareness of a runaway tire.”

“Hey, don’t be too hard on him,” Wendy said. “Pigs are smart. He’ll get there eventually. Just gotta keep at it.”

“That’s what Mabel thinks too. And honestly, even though she’s lenient, she’s been surprisingly disciplined about not overfeeding him. She even checked out this book called ‘Raising Your Inner Piggy’ and keeps calling Ford for advice.”

“Positive reinforcement, I see.”

“Yeah, while I’m on damage control and janitoral duty. We still a long way to go for potty training.”

“You know, you sound like you’re actually enjoying it. Caring for that pig.”

I paused. “Maybe I am. It’s kinda like when we first got Furball as kids. She was easier, though – adopted her as a kitten, and cats basically raise themselves. But now, besides the training, we’ve got to broker peace between two territorial animals.”

“Sounds more chaotic than half the stuff we dealt with in Gravity Falls.”

“True. After time travel and near-apocalypses, I’d rather take training a stubborn pig.”

Wendy offered a small grin. “Guess not every adventure needs a mystery, huh?”

“Guess not.”

Just then, a loud crash echoed from somewhere off-screen, followed by Mabel’s voice yelling, “HE FOUND THE LETTUCE DRAWER AGAIN!”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “And there goes the peace.”

Wendy laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “Good luck, co-parent! I better end the call now or Melody’s gonna kill me.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it. Good luck to you too.”

I ended the call, got up, and hurried toward the kitchen downstairs – already hearing Waddles’ triumphant squeals and Mabel’s panicked laughter.

Somewhere deep down, I knew this was just the beginning.

The household had finally gone quiet. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting silver squares across the darkened hallway. The Supreme Leader sat perched on the sill as she always did, tail wrapped neatly around her paws, gazing out at the suburban night – the distant streetlights, the rustling trees, the occasional passing patrol car.

A soft oink broke the silence.

Her ears swiveled back. She turned her head slowly, regarding her approaching subject with cool indifference.

Waddles shuffled forward, something clutched awkwardly in his mouth. He stopped a respectful distance away and dropped it at the base of the windowsill – a small crinkly bag of premium cat treats. The expensive kind that lived on the top shelf of the pantry.

For a moment, they stared at each other.

Then Waddles gave a low, (almost) apologetic grunt, before he turned and waddled back to Mabel’s bed.

The cat watched him drift to sleep, whiskers twitching. After a deliberate pause, she hopped down from the sill, sniffed the bag with careful precision, and dragged it closer with one paw.

A peace offering. How… adequate.

She settled down, tearing delicately into the packaging with her teeth. The treats were acceptable – she’d grant him that much.

Still, she thought as she crunched thoughtfully, he remained an oaf. A well-meaning oaf, perhaps, but an oaf nonetheless.

She glanced up at the beef-witted creature as a sleepy snort drifted out of his snout.

Her tail flicked once, almost approvingly.

Tolerable, she decided. The insolent swine was tolerable.

For now.

Chapter Text

I didn’t mean to do it.

That’s what I kept repeating in my head as I sat frozen at the desk, staring at Taka’s sea foam green hoodie draped over the chair – now sporting a massive, spreading stain of dark purple grape juice.

The glass had slipped. That’s all. Just tipped over as I’d been reaching across the table for my sketchbook, and the juice splashed directly onto the hoodie Taka had left on the chair next to me last night.

Their favorite hoodie. The one Auntie Mabel had given them two years ago. The one he wore constantly, the one they’d practically lived in regardless of the weather.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I whispered, grabbing a towel and dabbing frantically at the stain. But the fabric just absorbed more purple with each press, the color spreading like some kind of unstoppable plague across the soft material.

This was bad. This was really bad.

“Nilam?” Mom’s voice drifted from downstairs. “Everything’s okay up there?”

“Fine!” I called back, my voice pitching higher than intended. “Everything’s totally fine!”

Everything was not fine.

Maybe I could throw it in the wash? Dad had this almost supernatural ability to eliminate stains – curry, paint, even that time Taka somehow got motor oil on their pants.

If only Nita was here. But she was at Zoe’s for the afternoon.

And if Mom found out…

I pressed the towel harder against the stain, watching helplessly as the purple continued to spread.

Wait. Nita. I could text Nita.

I grabbed my phone and stuffed the hoodie under my arm, glancing toward the hallway. Mom was still downstairs – I could hear her humming in the kitchen.

Moving out of my room as quietly as possible, I crept across the hallway and-

“Nilam, sweetie, do you want a snack?” Mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

I froze mid-step. “Uh, no thanks! I’m good!”

“You sure? I’m making some grilled cheese!”

“Maybe later!” I squeaked before diving into the bathroom, shutting the door behind and locking it with shaking hands.

Safe. For now.

I dumped the hoodie in the sink and pulled out my phone, fingers flying across the screen.

EMERGENCY. I spilled grape juice on Taka’s hoodie. His favorite one. HELP.

I hit send and waited, heart hammering. The little “delivered” notification appeared, but no response. Come on, Nita. Check your phone. Please check your phone.

Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Nothing.

I looked down at the hoodie in the sink, the purple stain even more horrifying under the bathroom’s bright lights. Maybe I could just rinse it here? That’s what people did with stains, right? Cold water? Or was it hot water?

I turned on the tap and held the stained section under the stream, watching the water turn faint purple as it swirled down the drain. The stain lightened a little – but it was still very, very visible.

My phone buzzed.

Nita: WHAT?? How bad is it???

I snapped a photo of the stained hoodie before sending it.

Me: Bad. Really bad. What do I do???

Nita: Okay don’t panic. Where are you?

Me: Bathroom. Locked in.

Nita: Good. Do NOT use hot water. Cold only. And check under the sink for Dad’s stain remover spray.

Me: Which one?

Nita: Should be the blue one.

I crouched down and yanked open the cabinet under the sink, shoving aside toilet paper rolls and cleaning supplies. There – a blue spray bottle labeled “Stain-B-Gone.”

Me: Found it!!!

Nita: Spray it on the stain, let it sit for 5 minutes, then rinse with cold water. And DON’T rub it. Just blot.

I followed her instructions to the letter, spraying a generous amount onto the purple blotch and setting a timer on my phone. Five minutes. I could do this. Everything was going to be fine.

“Nilam?” Mom’s voice came from right outside the door. “You’ve been in there for quite a while. Are you feeling okay?”

My blood turned to ice.

“I’m fine!” I said at once. “Just, uh… washing my face!”

“For ten minutes?”

“It’s a… thorough wash? Trying to deal with a pimple!”

A pause followed before Mom said, “Alright, well, don’t use all the hot water.”

“I won’t!”

I let out a shaky exhale as her footsteps retreated down the hallway, before checking the timer once more.

Four minutes and thirty seconds to go.

This was going to be the longest four and a half minutes of my entire life.

The timer ticked down with agonizing slowness, each second stretching impossibly long. Three minutes. Two minutes. One minute.

Finally, my phone buzzed. Time’s up.

I grabbed the hoodie and rinsed it under cold water, blotting carefully with a clean towel just like Nita said. The purple was definitely lighter now, fading as I worked-

Wait.

I held the hoodie up to the light, my stomach dropping straight through the floor.

The stain wasn’t purple anymore.

It was pink.

Bright, unmistakable, bubble-gum pink, spreading across the seafoam green fabric like some kind of horrific tie-dye experiment gone wrong.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no! This is worse! This is so much worse!”

My phone buzzed.

Nita: How’d it go???

Me: IT TURNED PINK

Nita: WHAT

Me: THE STAIN IS PINK NOW. BRIGHT PINK. WHAT DO I DO???

Nita: okay okay don’t panic. Maybe it just needs to dry? Sometimes colors look different when wet???

Me: NITA IT’S PINK

Before she could respond, a series of footsteps thundered up the stairs.

“Nilam!” Taka’s voice came from right outside the door, followed by rapid knocking. “Open up! I really need to use the bathroom!”

I froze, clutching the pink-stained hoodie to my chest.

“Um, occupied!” I called back.

“I know it’s occupied, that’s why I’m asking you to un-occupy it!” More knocking, more urgent this time. “Seriously, I shouldn’t have taken up Stan’s dare to try his spicy taco and now-”

“Use Mom and Dad’s bathroom!”

“Mom’s in there! Come on, Nilam, this is an emergency!”

My mind raced. The hoodie was soaking wet and very, very pink. There was no way I could hide it, no way to get it out of the bathroom without him seeing-

“Nilam, I’m not joking, I’m about to-”

“Okay, okay!” I shoved the hoodie behind the bathroom trash can and unlocked the door.

Taka barely glanced at me as he rushed past. “Thank you, oh my god-”

The door shut. The lock clicked.

I stood in the hallway, heart pounding, before realizing my fatal mistake.

The hoodie was still in there.

With Taka.

“Oh shit oh shit,” I murmured to myself. Maybe it was time to escape to Canada. I returned to our bedroom, closing my sketchbook, gathering a few clothes when-

“NILAM!”

The bathroom door banged open. Taka’s footsteps stomped down the hallway – fast, angry footsteps that made the floorboards creak, before our bedroom door flew open.

Taka stood there, holding their hoodie at arm’s length like it was a dead fish. The pink stain was even more visible now, practically glowing against the seafoam green.

“Is this,” he said slowly, his voice dangerously quiet, “my hoodie?”

“Um…” My brain scrambled for literally anything to say. “No?”

“No?” Taka’s eye twitched. “This isn’t my hoodie? The seafoam green hoodie that Aunt Mabel gave me? The one that was on this chair this morning?”

“Maybe it’s… someone else’s seafoam green hoodie?”

“We’re the only people in this house!”

“Maybe Mom bought a new-”

“Nilam!” Taka held the hoodie higher, the pink stain seeming to spread even further under his furious gaze. “What. Did. You. Do?”

I took a step back. “Okay! It was an accident! I was reaching for my sketchbook and the grape juice just- it slipped, okay? And then I tried to clean it but the stain remover made it worse and-”

“You STAINED my hoodie?” Their voice was rising now. “My favorite hoodie? And then you HID it in the bathroom?”

“I was trying to fix it!”

“By turning it PINK?”

“That wasn’t on purpose!”

“What’s going on up here?” Mom’s voice called from her bedroom.

We both froze.

Taka looked at me. I looked at Taka. The pink-stained hoodie hung between us like damning evidence.

“Nothing!” we both yelled in unison.

Footsteps in the corridor. Mom was coming.

“You are so dead,” Taka hissed.

“I know,” I whispered back.

Mom appeared, looking between the two of us with that particular expression that meant someone was about to be in serious trouble.

Then her gaze landed on the hoodie in Taka’s hands.

“Is that…” She stepped closer, squinting at the large pink stain. “Nilam, what happened?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I spilled grape juice on it,” I finally admitted in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to clean it with Dad’s stain remover and it turned pink and I’m really, really sorry-”

“You WHAT?” Taka exploded again.

“Taka, calm down,” Mom said at once, but she was still staring at the hoodie with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Nilam, hon, did you use the blue bottle or the red bottle?”

I blinked. “Blue?”

“Oh no.” Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s color-safe bleach, not stain remover. The stain remover is the red bottle.”

Taka’s jaw dropped. “So she BLEACHED my hoodie?”

“Accidentally,” I corrected weakly.

“ACCIDENTALLY?”

“Alright, both of you, enough.” Mom held up a hand. “Taka, I know you’re upset, but yelling isn’t helping. Nilam, why didn’t you come get me when this happened?”

“I…” I stared at my feet. “I thought I could fix it myself. I didn’t want you to be mad.”

“And now I have a ruined hoodie!” Taka shook it for emphasis.

Mom sighed. “Let me see it.” She took the hoodie from Taka and examined the damaged more carefully. “Well, I might be able to save it, but it’s going to take some work. And there’s no guarantee it’ll look the same.”

“Great,” Taka muttered. “Just great.”

“Worst case scenario, Mabel can knit you a replacement.” Mom turned to me. “Nilam, apologize to your brother.”

“I’m sorry, Taka,” I said quietly, meaning it. “I really didn’t mean to ruin it.”

Taka crossed his arms, still glaring. But after a moment, some of the anger seemed to deflate. “Just… stay away from my stuff, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Mom glanced between us. “Taka, I’ll try to fix this. And Nilam, you’re helping me with this. It’s only fair since you created this mess.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And from now on,” she added sternly, “if there’s an accident, you come straight to me right away. No hiding in bathrooms trying to fix things yourself. Understood?”

“Understood.”

She left with the hoodie, leaving Taka and me alone in awkward silence.

“For what it’s worth,” I said after a moment, “it actually looked kind of cool?”

Taka gave me a flat look. “Don’t.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They let out a heavy sigh. “At least you didn’t damage my Orion Journal.”

With that, he shrugged and walked out of the bedroom.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out to see Nita’s latest message:

Nita: I’m coming home RIGHT NOW. What happened???

Me: Everything that could go wrong went wrong. I’ll explain when you get here.

Nita: Is Taka going to kill you?

I glanced outside.

Me: Maybe.

Nita: I’ll bring snacks for your funeral.

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

Almost.