Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Pacifica Northwest wakes to birdsong. 

Her eyes flutter open gently, the gauzy pink canopy of her bed still blurry but slowly coming into focus. She stretches her legs out under her heavy, plush duvet, pulling her arms languidly above her head. The lure of sleep still pulls at her, and she indulges in a few more luxurious moments of peace in her bed before the birds’ singing becomes marginally louder. 

Yes, yes, I’m getting up, she thinks, pretending for a moment that she’s a fairy tale princess and her animal companions are attempting to rouse her. It’s a fantasy she tells no one about, because, like, how lame, but she figures a little private daydreaming here and there never hurt anyone’s social cachet. 

Her bedroom window is slightly ajar, and she feels a welcoming, warm breeze waft in. The birds grow louder, insistent that she leave her fluffy refuge. With a yawn and another slow stretch, she pulls back her soft covers and twists to lower her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers resting perfectly situated next to her bed. She’d put them there herself last night, just for this moment. Who said self-care had to be expensive?

Well. Who said it had to all be expensive?

The birds grow louder, and for the first time, she feels marginally annoyed. She pushes the feeling aside. She’s going to have a perfect day. Good attitude, good day. 

Forget that her whole life is getting turned upside down. 

She wanders up to her vanity, leans on the glossy wood with one palm, and peels away the silicone under-eye patches from her face. Tosses them aside. Her phone buzzes from where she left it on the vanity’s surface. Her breath catches. Damn it. Her eyes jump down faster than she can stop them. It’s a text, but only a spam ad. She doesn’t let herself focus on how her heart sinks. 

The birds sing louder still. 

She straightens her back abruptly, pulls out her hair from its protective sleeping cap and loose braid. Her perfect tresses tumble down around her shoulders. Another buzz. Her eyes snap down. It’s her mother this time, reminding her to do her morning teeth-whitening routine. She throws the phone on her bed, a little too roughly. 

The birds are positively belting now. 

She pulls open the double doors of her ornate armoire. She has a normal walk-in closet as well, of course. But her special outfits go in here. It feels a little magical, whimsical in a way she secretly likes. She shuffles through her finest gowns until her fingers settle on her chosen dress. It’s a simple one, but a favorite, and she always feels good in it. She smiles as she pulls it out and is just about to spin it around to drape on her dressing screen when her phone buzzes again from her bed. She freezes, her eyes jumping to it immediately. She tries to stop herself from running over there, she really does, but it’s a hopeless endeavor and a moment later the device is once again clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. 

Her chauffeur, asking when she wants to leave. 

“Ugh!” she cries, once more throwing the phone aside. 

The birds screech at her.

Eyes narrowed, she marches over to her fancy imitation-sunrise alarm clock, complete with a whole plethora of nature noises pre-programmed to “wake you to your best self.” Her palm comes slamming down on the top button, and the bird sounds fall silent. 

So much for being a fairy tale princess. 

Pacifica huffs as she straightens herself. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Fairy tales aren’t real anyway. Princesses don’t live in towers. They don’t fall in love with peasant boys. Especially not ones that—

Nope. Doesn’t matter. Moving on. 

She tosses on some music and moves through the rest of her morning routine quickly and with almost automatic precision. Wash, buff, lotion. Scrub, oil, blow-dry. Primer, foundation, setting spray.  

When she’s all done, she eyes herself in the gleaming, floor-length mirror of her bedroom.

Make-up? Flawless. 

Hair? Glossed. 

Outfit? Tailor-made. 

She flips her hair over her shoulder and then peers over said shoulder to focus on the clear, baby-blue eyes of her reflection. 

“Alright, girl,” she advises herself. “This isn’t how you thought this year would go, but it’s what you got so you’re going to make the most of it.” She gives herself a determined nod, then turns on her heel to snatch up her purse and class registration papers from where they both sit on her wide oak desk. 

Truth is a lot has gone differently over the last few months than she’d expected. The most outwardly obvious being that she was transferring out of Northwest Academy, where she’s been enrolled since pre-Kindergarten. Practically since she exited the womb.

 (“Never too early to begin training—er, I mean— education,” her father had explained.)  

Never mind that the school is freaking named for her family— that hadn’t mattered when her mother had sat her down and explained that one of her father’s ill-advised investments had gone belly-up, and, well, they had to choose between the yacht and her tuition. Pacifica knew right away which would be the first the go. 

Sending her to Gravity Falls High could be spun as an act of practical education. Shipping her off for a year among the common folk. 

(“Like studying abroad!” her mother had tried.) 

Let her see how their minds work, her parents had reasoned, so when it’s her time to take her place in society she could consider how to best manipulate—uh, lead —the masses and keep her position at the top. It was a weak excuse at best, but better in her parents’ minds than having to explain why they went from a 70-foot pleasure craft to a dinky speed boat. Nope, this was the only logical choice. 

And it doesn’t matter, Pacifica assures herself in the mirror. She wasn’t happy at the academy anyway, and the most important thing at this point is just getting a perfect diploma and getting out. Out to where… well, she thought she had all that figured out, but then a stupid boy had to go and throw a wrench in that—

But whatever . Fine. She’ll figure it out on her own. Out somewhere is the point. Somewhere where she can make her way in the world. 

And that’s what her plan comes down to. Good grades, good extracurriculars, stay out of drama and keep her head down. Oh she’ll be friendly with people of course. She doesn’t want to be miserable. But she doesn’t have any intention on getting involved in cliques or angst or dating or any of all that. Besides, she knows all too well what can happen when you let people get too close. She’s not about to make that mistake again. 

Who cares about the fact that her best friend just like totally disappeared on her and she can’t seem to stop thinking about him and how dorky and dumb and sweet and funny he is and god how much she misses—

No. She snaps her head up, stopping just short of slapping herself across the cheek. Instead, she texts her chauffeur that she’s ready to go.

So yeah, regardless, this year is going to be good, she tells herself. Never mind that she knows like three people at GFHS. Never mind that her parents have none-too-subtly hinted that the future of their family rests on her shoulders. Never mind that her favorite person in the world, the boy she thought she’d be facing whatever her future is alongside just completely ghosted her out of literally nowhere four months ago. Who cares? 

Not her. Her hair is perfect, her heels are high, her lips are glossed and her confidence is at one hundred. She’s about to start the rest of her life. And nothing will hurt her, because there’s only one person who can and he’s six hundred miles away.

Dipper Pines wakes to the screaming of some godforsaken feathered menace.

He rolls over in his small twin-sized bed, plants his face in his lumpy mattress, and tugs his thin pillow over the back of his head to cover each ear. 

It’s no use. His tormenter seems to have only hopped closer to Dipper’s open bedroom window, and the tiny terror screams louder than ever. Dipper considers getting up to close the window, but there’s no AC up here and he knows the room tends to get stuffy, especially in the late summer months. He’s familiar enough with it by now. 

So he tries hard to ignore the bird and go back to sleep. It’s a big day and he knows he’ll do better with as many minutes of shut-eye under his belt as he can manage. 

The bird disagrees. It screeches and screeches until finally with an exasperated huff Dipper throws off his old quilt to march over to the window and face his audio-assailant. Yep, right there perched just below his windowsill sits a small mockingbird. Of course. He’s got his back to Dipper at first, facing the forest, but must sense his audience because he hops around in a circle to face inward. Dipper tries to shoo it off the ledge, to go get it to spread it’s morning cheer somewhere else, but the bird just hops barely out of reach and lets out the loudest screech yet. 

“God, seriously, man? Today?!”

The bird just tilts its head and lets out another series of calls.

Dipper gives up on winning this battle. With one last forlorn look at his bed, he shucks on some sweatpants from where they were left haphazardly on the wooden floor, sniffs some socks and deems them good enough for family breakfast time. He heads toward the stairs. Mabel had said she was going to make confetti pancakes to celebrate their first full day back in Oregon. He’s pretty sure the confetti will just be sprinkles but you never really do know, so perhaps it’s best he’s awake now anyway so he can supervise. It’s weird not sharing the attic with her, but they both decided that while a couple months out of the summer was no big deal, it might be kind of annoying and impractical and gross to have to spend a whole school year in such close proximity with each other. 

Dipper had offered to take the attic, AC-less though it was, and Mabel set up in one of the Mystery Shack ’s seemingly endless number of random overlooked dens.

It had all started just before the end of Junior year. Their dad had moved to Atlanta following the divorce years prior, so when Dipper and Mabel got home that afternoon after school to find he and their mom sitting together in their Piedmont living room, it’d been a surprise to say the least. 

Their mother, the college professor, had gotten a new job. Beginning the upcoming school year. In Southern California. 

(“I’m so sorry, kids. We never would have wanted things to work out like this.”

“It’s okay, mom. We know you can’t pass this opportunity up. We understand.”

“So… we’ll leave it to you two. Sunny LA or humid, buggy Georgia,” smiled their mom.

“Land of southern hospitality and green grass, or vanity and concrete,” their dad added, shooting a teasing smirk at their mother.

It was weird, honestly, how much better they got along now that they’re divorced.)

Georgia would have given them the time with their dad that they’d been sorely missing over the last few years. But staying in California would provide the least disruption—they could still call their friends and be in the same time zone, wouldn’t have to update their driver’s licenses, but…

Dipper remembers feeling his brain spiraling. Inconsequential details threatening to overwhelm him into decision paralysis. Thankfully Mabel had spoken up, throwing in the dark horse candidate of doing away with all this pesky choosing-between-parents business and just moving to Gravity Falls for the year. Surprised and a little bit stunned he hadn’t thought of it himself, Dipper’s heart rate had picked up with hope. Their parents’ faces had both fallen just a bit, but they’d passed a look between one another that seemed to contain an entire conversation neither Dipper nor Mabel could bear witness to, and then with an understanding nod and only slightly reluctant smiles, had agreed to call the grunkles and see if it could be arranged—with the promise that the twins would stay home over the summer and split the holidays between them of course. 

Dipper had nearly sprinted to his room with excitement. It wasn’t like he hated Piedmont High. He’d made a few good friends, but he’d never been able to shake the feeling that his destiny and heart rested about a seven-hour drive north. And now he was going to live there. Not just for the summer, but for the whole school year. He’d be able to see the town through three seasons he’d never experienced. Be able to dig out a proper place for himself. Connect with Stan and Ford and Soos and Wendy on a level heretofore impossible. And Pacifica! They could be together all the time. He could tell her how much he thinks about her. They could make it work. Be a real—

He’d stopped on the stairs. Be a real what?

It was no secret that he thought she was pretty. She knew that. He knew that. 

And it was no secret he loved spending time with her. They both knew that too. 

It certainly wasn’t a secret that Mabel already had her bridesmaid dress picked out, as well as half her wedding speech written. 

And if he was really, truly honest with himself, he knew he liked her as more than a friend too. Maybe even loved her. But with the distance it had never really seemed to be a real possibility to him, so there was no reason to explore the feelings too hard. He could just long for her quietly and feel sorry for himself about the hands of fate and deal with whatever real hope he had when they both went away to the same college, just as they had planned to. And it was fine when that was still over a year away. He had time. 

And now he didn’t. And he was freaking out. 

So he’d done the most reasonable, most ill-advised thing a sixteen-year-old with social anxiety and no idea how to handle these feelings would do. Ignore her.

It’s not like he meant to, of course. He’s not a jerk. But when she’d texted that night (“ughhh worst day today - game later?“), he just didn’t know what to say all of the sudden. And that was a weird feeling, especially with Pacifica whom he’d almost never not freely expressed his thoughts with. He’d told himself he’d respond the next day. He’d have his worries under control by then. And then the next day he found the conditions were still not optimal, so it could wait until the next day, surely. 

And so it went on for weeks. Her texts became increasingly agitated—ranging from worried to confused to angry, and he knew he’d dug himself into a hole he needed to explain. But how was he supposed to now not only explain why he’d disappeared on her but also that he was moving there in a few months?! It was too much. He’d figure it out the next day, he decided. Again and again, he decided this. And weeks turned into months.

And now they were here, grace period for explanations long expired, and he had no idea what he was going to do.

It’s only when Mabel clears her throat loudly that he realizes he’s somehow made it down to the kitchen and has been awkwardly standing in the doorway for lord knows how long. Dipper shakes his head, clearing the cobwebs of worry from his mind. 

“Back on earth?” Mabel asks good-naturedly as she flips a multi-colored pancake. 

“Yeah, sorry, just got caught up in my head.”

She gives him an understanding smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to her at some point,” she ventures, reading his thoughts. “She’s going to hear we’re here, or we’ll run into her or something. That would be way more awkward than just reaching out now.”

“Or I just hide for a year,” he suggests. “Or fake my death. I think that’d be better than facing how pissed she must be, honestly.”

“She’s only going to be more pissed the longer you wait. Come on, just call her.” Mabel sets down the spatula and holds up an imaginary phone to her ear and mimes talking into it. “‘Hi, Pacifica! It’s Dipper. Look, I’ve been a giant idiot but it’s only because I’m secretly in love with you and can’t handle my emotions. How about I buy you a smoothie and you tell me all the ways I suck and then we go make out by the lake? Perfect, see you then!’” She drops her imaginary phone and turns back to Dipper. “Would that be so hard?”

“Okay, one: I’m not in love with her. I just waited too long to tell her we’re moving here and now it’s weird.” Mabel scoffs loudly and rolls her eyes, which Dipper ignores. “Two: I will call her and apologize. I just gotta get through starting a new school first, okay? Like, one thing at a time. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. She’s probably busy getting ready to start her own school year anyway.”

“Okay but if I run into her first, I am not taking the blame for us not telling her. I will throw you right under that bus, I hope you know. She’s already kind of peeved that I haven’t given her answers as to why you disappeared on her.”

“Wait, she asks about me?”

“Duh. But like, in her Pacifica way. Like she doesn’t want to admit that she wants to ask.”

“Examples please.”

“Ooh, look who’s suddenly all curious about what the girl he’s totally not in love with is asking about him.”

“Mabel.”

“Maybe later.” Mabel waves her hand dismissively. “We gotta get going. Go shower—you stink. I’ll have these ready by the time you’re done.”

With a groan and a glare at his sister, Dipper pulls himself back upstairs and runs through his routine. Scrub, rinse, towel. Done. As he dresses, he forces his brain away from the Pacifica problem to the much more present problem of starting a new school, choosing classes, and making friends. But maybe he doesn’t need to make too many of those. It’s just one year, and he’s focused on getting the grades he wants so he can get into the college of his choosing. He and Paz did have that all sorted out, but, well, he’s not really sure what her plans are now so maybe it’s best to keep his options open too. 

Ugh, there he goes thinking about her again. He’s really got to patch things up, he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t soon. He resolves in his mind that he will, just as soon as he gets through today. 

He scarfs down his breakfast (the “confetti” was indeed sprinkles and not paper, thankfully), helps Mabel clean up, and they both snatch up their registration papers as they head for the door. 

“Ready?” Mabel asks, looking back with a supportive smile as she pushes open the door and the early morning light pours in.

“Nope,” Dipper replies. He gives her a wry smile. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Text

Dipper slams the door shut on his hand-me-down pickup truck, brings his hand up to shade his eyes as he takes in the facade of his new high school.

“The beavers, huh?” he asks, reading the banner hung outside the school gymnasium. 

“I mean, it makes sense,” Mabel reasons, shutting her own door and following him across the parking lot. “Lots of, like, lumber and I dunno… dams… around here?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says to his sister. “But we were the mountain lions before. Our old mascot is literally a predator to our new one–doesn’t that strike you as a bad omen?”

“Beavers are industrious and dedicated animals. And like, no offense to mountain lions but I’m pretty sure they kind of just chill on their own and have a pretty lonely life hunting and sleeping.” She shrugs. “I’d rather be a beaver, given the choice.” 

“Fair enough. Here we go then.” He holds the door open for his sister and the two make their way into the busy gym. They’re immediately greeted with a line of students that feels about a mile long, all apparently waiting to register for their new school year. Around the gym various clubs and extracurricular groups have set up tables—each staffed by kids their age handing out flyers and passing around sign-up lists. Dipper doesn’t spare a second glance toward the athletics section, but does notice a DD&MD Club against the far wall that he makes a mental note to check out later. 

“So what kind of torture are you signing yourself up for?” Mabel asks with a nod toward Dipper’s registration form. 

“Honors and AP down the line,” he says. “Gotta make sure colleges like what they see.”

“Eh, you’re a shoo-in,” Mabel says.

“What about you?”

Mabel holds up her registration sheet, which Dipper notices has been filled out with glitter gel pen. He eyes it closely. 

“Mabel,” he says, taking it from her. “You can’t take all electives. You need the right credits.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dear brother. Our old school’s graduation requirements were stricter than this one’s, so actually , I’ve already taken all the classes I need to graduate here.”

“You still gotta think about your future. Colleges aren’t going to be impressed that you got an A in the History of Ice Cream.”

“Who says I’m going to college?”

“Mom’s a teacher– she would literally kill you.”

“Fine, maybe I just take a gap year then.”

“So you apply a year later with the same transcript. It still needs to be impressive.”

“Fine,” Mabel moans, taking her registration form back. She scribbles on it in a few places and then thrusts it back in Dipper’s hands. He eyes it, sees that she’s crossed out a few of the more ridiculous electives, left all her art classes, and added a respectable AP Literature, World History and Study Hall. “Better?”

Dipper nods approvingly and pats her on the shoulder. 

“Let me see yours,” she says. “Now I gotta make sure you take at least one fun class.”

“Oh no, no way.”

“This is how the twin thing works, Dipper. We help keep each other balanced.”

“Fine.”

“I think you can lose AP Chem. You already took that last year at home.”

“Yeah but I got an A-. If I re-take it here and do better I’ll be able to show universities I’m capable of growth.”

Mabel shoots him a skeptical look before crossing it out in glittery, purple gel. “Hm,” she says, looking down the list. “Hey! You’re not doing band? But you love the sousaphone!”

“I gotta stay focused. Colleges don’t care if I can march around and play ‘Sweet Caroline’ at the same time.”

“That’s literally not even true. They want to see a well-rounded application.” She holds up his form. “And you’re sort of giving sociopath with this.”

Dipper sighs but wonders if she’s right. It’d be an easy way to meet people too. 

“Alright,” he agrees, and Mabel grins as she draws a little check mark and a heart in the square next to it.

Half an hour later they’ve reached the front of the registration line, and a weary-looking school counselor takes their sheets and looks them up and down. She raises her eyes at Dipper’s aggressive class requests. 

“Are you sure about this, Mr. Pines?” she asks. “No offense to our locals… but you aren’t exactly facing stiff competition here. There’s only one other senior registered for this many advanced courses. Not much competition for Valedictorian if that’s your aim.”

“I’m sure,” Dipper confirms. He doesn’t care much at all about being Valedictorian, though now that she mentions it… 

The counselor makes a doubtful expression but takes both his and Mabel’s forms, files them in a folder labeled “P” and invites them to explore the rest of the registration fair. 

Mabel takes off toward the clubs, and Dipper wanders over to the band table to introduce himself. He’s surprised to find Kevin Corduroy, Wendy’s younger brother, leaning back with his feet propped up, strumming on an acoustic guitar. 

“Pines?” Kevin says in surprise as Dipper waves sheepishly. 

Dipper and Kevin aren’t really more than acquaintances, but Dipper’s been over to his house enough times to know that the guy is friendly enough, even if he was a little amused by Dipper’s friendship with Wendy in the beginning. Dipper can’t blame him. It was pretty obvious he was crushing hard. 

“Hey man, uh, yeah. Surprise?”

Kevin puts the guitar aside but remains reclined. “Oh yeah,” he says, nodding a bit. “Wen said something about you guys moving here this year. Totally forgot, man. How’s it going?”

Dipper shrugs, trying to play it cool and sensing that this is an Opportunity to Make a Friend, which really is making it unhelpfully hard to achieve any degree of coolness. 

“You know, just trying to get organized.” Organized ? Dipper inwardly reprimands himself. Cool kids don’t prioritize organization. “I mean— just getting used to stuff. Are you in band?” There, normal conversation topic. Thank goodness. 

“Yep, four years and counting.”

“You mean three, this would be the year that you’re ‘counting.’” 

Kevin gives him an amused kind of look, but doesn’t seem offended by the correction. “Wendy said you could be kind of pedantic. But no, it’s been four years. I’m what you would call a super senior. Didn’t graduate last year.”

Shit . 

“Oh, I’m sorry, dude. I just thought we were the same year.”

Kevin laughs. “Well, we are now!”

Dipper wants to slink away and hide for already managing to put his foot in his mouth. What is it with Corduroys and being so freaking chill? It’s unfair. Thankfully, Kevin seems to sense his spiral and jumps in to save him. 

“Hey,” he continues, finally leaning forward in his metal folding chair to put his feet on the ground. “It’s cool. I’m not insecure about it. I could have graduated; I just spent too much time goofing off.” He shrugs. “It’s for the best that I’m doing a redo.”

“Well, you have a good attitude about,” Dipper says. “And honestly, it’s nice to see a familiar face here.” Dipper had thought he would recognize more people, but it turns out there’s a big difference between spending a few summers and being a full-time resident. “I, uh, actually just registered for marching band. Is there, like, an audition or something I need to sign up for?”

“No shit, what do you play?”

“Sousaphone.” 

Kevin waves his hand. “You’re good. No way anyone would lug one of those around and not know what they’re doing at least a little. I’ll vouch for you with Mr. K. That’s our new band director. He’s chill.”

“Thanks, man,” Dipper says, already feeling little lighter and more optimistic about the direction his year seems to be taking. Mabel was right. An extracurricular will be good, and he’s already made a friend— or at least laid the groundwork for one. Actually, that gives him an idea. “You know,” he continues. “Mabel and I are going to have our birthday party soon. It’s on Wednesday but we’re having the party on Friday at the Shack. Kind of a last blowout before school starts, too, I guess. You wanna come?”

“For sure, wouldn’t miss it. Wendy was always talking about how the Shack had the best parties. I’ll get to rub getting to go in her face for being a smarty pants and going away to college.”

“Cool, anytime after 7, see you then!”

Dipper and Kevin exchange waves, and Dipper turns to go in search of his sister, feeling pretty proud of himself. He finds her talking with a circle of girls who seem to be involved in some sort of baking club. He can see that she already has half a dozen names and phone numbers and club names scribbled onto the back of a flyer she picked up somewhere, and Dipper’s relieved that she seems to be getting a strong start on the social front. Not that there was ever any doubt.

“Well, I for one think this is going to be the start of a great new adventure,” Mabel chirps a moment later, as they make their way toward the exit of the gymnasium. 

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees. “You know what? I do too. I was feeling really anxious about this, but is it weird that I’m kind of excited now?” Dipper turns to his sister to give her a smile, but he’s confused when he sees her expression. She’s staring somewhere past his shoulder, eyes wide and face paling. “Mabel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” Mabel says slowly, not taking her eyes from beyond him. 

Dipper’s stomach drops, and somehow, before he even really knows, he knows . In his gut. Like some sort of fundamental truth. Or the feeling you get when you know you’re about to get into a car wreck and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And he knows he’s completely and totally screwed. 

Slowly, trying to delay the inevitable, he looks over his shoulder and lets his body twist in turn as well. His eyes follow the invisible path set out by Mabel’s stare. Over the glossy wooden flooring of the basketball gymnasium, past the mix of flip flops and tennis shoes of his new classmates mixing and mingling, over, over, landing on a pair of expensive-looking heeled boots, faced toward him. His gaze tracks up toned, tanned legs held in a wide, aggressive stance. Up a short, tight lilac dress slightly obscured by tightly crossed arms and framed by wisps of long platinum blonde hair, and up to a very familiar, very pretty, very angry- looking face. 

The second he lets his eyes reach Pacifica’s, her mouth pulls into a tight line and her eyes narrow, and Dipper knows right then that if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. 

Pacifica had seen the Pines twins the second they entered the gym, as a matter of fact. She has excellent observational skills, thank you very much. Call it a talent, call it a trauma response from growing up in a house where reading the room was practically a survival skill. Whatever. Point is she’s had plenty of time to have a little internal freak out, run to the bathroom, splash her face with about a gallon of freezing cold water, meticulously reapply her makeup so she looks flawless , take her deep breaths, and come up with a strategy as to how to deal with whatever the heck is going on.

What are they doing here ? she’d asked her panicked mirror-self. Well, the answer to that was obvious. It’s registration day. They were holding registration papers. In the registration line. They were obviously here to sign up for classes. Same as her. Her brain tried desperately to come up with alternate explanations, but she knew it was in vain. 

What were they going to do when they saw her?

She would have told Mabel she was transferring, of course— except by the time she knew it was happening, Dipper had been blowing her off for almost a month and she wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of knowing anything about her via Mabel’s big mouth. Pacifica loves her, but that girl cannot keep a secret to save her life. So nope, this was to remain information for her and Gravity Falls residents alone. Which the Pines twins apparently now are. 

So how to play it was the question. 

Okay, ideas. She could go up and say hi and pretend that everything was totally normal—that she hadn’t spent nearly half her summer crying herself to sleep and drafting and deleting alternating angry and sad text messages to him in her phone’s notes app. No, her sense of justice and pride quickly rejected that one. 

She could walk right up to them, pretend she didn’t recognize them at all, like they never really mattered to her. But no, Mabel would call her bluff for sure , and all that would really prove was that he’d gotten to her.

She could avoid them and hide in this bathroom until they left, but what good would that serve? They’d just be delaying the inevitable, and besides, it was a good hair day for her and she’s not about to gamble with the possibility of their inevitable reunion falling on a just “okay” one. 

Besides, she wasn’t really mad at Mabel. Annoyed, sure, but Mabel didn’t ghost her and she knows the girl well enough to know that the secrecy must have originated with Dipper. True, Mabel couldn’t help herself with secrets as a general rule, but she did try to be a good sister. 

Pacifica would still punish her a little, of course. But just a little. 

Alright, so a combo method then. Just be a little cool toward Mabel, and pretend Dipper doesn’t exist. Yeah, that made sense. That’s what he’d done to her, wasn’t it? She’d straightened up a little, pushed back from the bathroom counter to pull back her shoulders and smooth her hair. She’d just give him a taste of his own medicine. To remind him he couldn’t hurt her. Well, to pretend he couldn’t. 

But this did throw a wrench in her “under the radar” plan for the year. If the Pines twins were going to be here—specifically if Dipper was going to be here—walking the same halls as her every day and sharing a cafeteria and oh god what if they have classes together... she shook her head to stop the panic. Point is a little social clout might not be the worst thing to keep in her back pocket, just as a bit of a shield. She couldn’t stand the idea of him seeing her walking through the hallways alone. Some followers would be good insulation from her hurt feelings. 

So she’d made sure that she looked as beautiful as she ever did and marched herself right on over the Cheer sign-up table. 

“Is there, like, a try-out, or something for this?” She’d asked, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder. 

The girls behind the table had gaped, whether from her attitude or the fact she was in the gym at all, she didn’t know and wasn’t going to ask. One girl, a brunette sophomore, spoke up finally.

“Uh, yeah, it’s Tuesday at 4—mmph!”

The girl who had spoken up was silenced by a senior, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth. 

“You don’t need to try out, Pacifica,” corrected the senior. “We’d love to have you.” 

“Cool,” Pacifica replied with an indulgent smile and a hand on her hip. She eyed the group of girls, pointed at two who stood on the sidelines. “You two busy?”

The girls each shook their heads. 

“Perfect, come with me.”

She could hear the older girl reprimanding the younger as she walked away with her two new followers in tow. ( “Do you know who that was?! You never ask Pacifica Northwest to try out for something!” )

The Pines were done with registration by then and making their rounds at the fair, wrapping up from the looks of it. She scanned the gym, looking for a spot with good lighting and maximum dramatic impact, found her position, and loosely gestured for the two girls to come too. It was honestly embarrassing how quickly they trotted after her, how they copied her pose. 

And then, feeling a little silly, she waited. She did feel a little zing of excitement the minute she registered that Mabel had seen her. Dipper’s posture had stiffened a few seconds later, and she relished in the slow, terrified way that he turned around. That’s right, jerk. Be scared . 

His horrified expression touched her in a weird way that she knew came from an unhealthy part of her brain. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t look so scared, her hurt mind reasoned. His wide eyes and pale face reassured her. It was weirdly exhilarating, knowing that she had this power. It reminded her of her mean girl days a little. Maybe there was something to that.

On the other hand, this was Dipper. Her Dipper. Looking terrified. And a healthier part of her sort of hated that she elicited that response. She wanted him to be happy to see her. 

God, this is so freaking confusing!

At any rate, this is the strategy she’d decided to employ and it was too late to go back now… because he’s walking over to her. 

Dipper’s steps are slow and measured, like he’s having to physically drag one foot in front of the other. 

Mabel actually ends up reaching her first, bounding forward a couple of steps at the last minute, apparently to save her brother, who is now looking at his shoes. 

“Hey, Pazzy!” Mabel says, her enthusiasm laced with a decent measure of guilt. “Surprise?” 

“Mabel,” Pacifica says, nodding and working very hard to keep her tone level and betray nothing about the storm of emotions going on inside her right now. “It’s nice to see you,” she adds, just as even. 

Mabel’s face falls and Pacifica’s heart clenches. This isn’t her fault. So she gives the girl a small, quick smile as well, and Mabel relaxes a bit. 

Dipper clears his throat and finally looks up to meet her in the eyes. He pulls his hand out from his pocket and gives her a sheepish wave as he opens his mouth to speak. She hates the little thrill that goes through her stomach when her eyes look into his. That familiar mix of browns. It hurts.

So before he can say a word to twist the knife even more, she cuts him off. “Hello, empty space of nothing but air.”

Dipper’s cheeks redden, but he seems to have a good sense to look a little bit ashamed at least.

“Pacifica, I know I probably owe you an apology,” he tries again.

“Why would an empty space of air need to apologize to me?” she responds, tilting her head.

“Paz,” Mabel butts in. “We both know that we should’ve told you we were moving here.”

Pacifica pulls her eyes from Dipper to examine Mabel. “Yeah, you should have. It’s weird that you didn’t.”

“I know,” Mabel agrees hurriedly, nodding her head. “We’re really sorry.”

“It’s whatever, you can make it up to me, Mabel .”

At this point for some reason one of the girls she pulled over decides that she needs to have an opinion on anything that’s going on. She steps forward with her chin jutted out and a hand on her waist of her cheer skirt. 

“Pacifica doesn’t need freaks like you two, anyway,” she sneers. “She’s with us now.”

Pacifica startles and gapes a little at the audacity. Annoying little sycophant. Well, this one has to go. 

Dipper’s head snaps to her. “Hey, don’t call my sister a freak.” 

Mabel just tilts her chin, face curious but otherwise unreadable. “A cheerleader?” she asks.

The girl goes to open her mouth again and takes a step toward Dipper, but Pacifica raises her hand.

“You can leave,” she says to her.

The girl spins to look at Pacifica, looking a little betrayed and clearly having expected a different response, but does slink off a second later, her friend following with wide eyes. 

“Thanks, Cif,” Dipper says.

“Didn’t do it for you, empty waste of space.”

Dipper groans and rolls his eyes. “Will you just let me apologize, please? I can explain.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pacifica lies. “So there’s nothing for you to apologize for and no reason for this conversation to continue!”

The old lights of the gymnasium choose this time to flicker for a moment, and Pacifica is pleased at the dramatic timing.

“We’re celebrating our birthday at the Shack this Friday,” Mabel says, stepping forward to tug at Pacifica’s hand lightly. “We’d really love for you to come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll text you the details.”

The girls each nod at one another, and Pacifica thinks this is a perfectly reasonable place for the conversation to end, but Dipper must have a death wish because he decides his voice needs to be heard once more. 

“Pacifica,” he says, a little pleading. “Come on, you’re being unreasonable.”

Pacifica twitches. She doesn’t look at him but does tilt her head. “Weird. Mabel, did you hear that? It almost sounded like the wind, but way more whiny and obnoxious than normal.”

Dipper turns redder and his eyes narrow, patience apparently exhausted. Where he even gets the nerve, Pacifica has no idea.

“Look,” he begins, tense. “I know you’re mad, and that’s valid, but you won’t hear me out and I don’t think that’s fair and you don’t have to be such a b—“

“ Dipper !” Mabel cuts him off as Pacifica gasps.

“What?! I was going to say ‘brat’!” he argues.

“It doesn’t matter!” Mabel chastises. “I’m sorry, Paz. We both are. I’ll catch up with you soon. It was good seeing you. Please come to our party.”

Before she can respond, Mabel is dragging Dipper away toward the exit. She watches as Dipper looks over his shoulder at her and tries to say something again. The desperate look on his face breaks her heart for a moment, but not enough to stop the pleasure she takes in the whack upside the back of the head that his sister delivers to him before they disappear behind the heavy gym doors. 

Chapter Text

Dipper keeps his eyes focused on the road, hands firmly gripping either side of the steering wheel, as he tries to figure out what to say to break the silence that has filled the cab of his truck since he and Mabel climbed into it and started their way home. 

That was… not ideal. He’d really been hoping to have time to figure out exactly what he was going to say to explain his absence to Pacifica without giving away his true feelings or creeping her out, but seeing her there at the fair had sent him into enough of a panic that his brain kind of just went down to 30% functionality. He can admit that much, at least. But her response, the cold shoulder, still stung. And he feels she could have at least heard him out a little, right?

Besides him, Mabel flips through their class schedule booklet, ignoring him completely. 

“Well,” he says, finally, not able to stand the silence any longer. “That could have gone better.”

Mabel examines him, looking a little incredulous.

“No shit, Dipstick. What’s wrong with you?”

He stiffens. He knows he was in the wrong, but he did try… “I just tried to talk to her! She’s the one who was literally acting like I didn’t exist.”

“Oh gee, like how you did to her all summer?”

Dipper keeps his eyes narrowed out the windshield. Deep down, he knows she’s right, but the wounded pride he feels at one of the most important people on the planet to him acting like he didn’t matter is still raw. “She could have at least listened, then blown me off if she didn’t like what I had to say,” he says.

“She’s hurt, Dipper,” Mabel tries to reason. “And now she’s mad at both of us, so thanks for that.”

“She’s not mad at you,” Dipper huffs out. “She would at least talk to you.”

“She’ll come around with you, too,” Mabel says with a sigh and a roll of her eyes that Dipper just barely catches. “She was probably really surprised, shocked even.”

Dipper doesn’t respond, but twists his mouth up in doubt as he turns the truck onto Gopher Road and toward the Shack .

“Look at it from her perspective,” Mabel continues at his silence. “You disappear for four months—a few of those months ones that she was probably expecting you to be up here for. And all summer I’ve been making excuses and avoiding any sort of reference to this year, which probably made her confused, too. And then look what happens! We show up on registration day out of the blue! Of course she was caught off guard.”

“I don’t even understand why she was there,” Dipper says, avoiding how much sense Mabel is making.

“Me either. She didn’t mention anything to me about transferring, but she must be. Seems like she’s got a lot going on. Probably would’ve been nice to have had her best friend to talk to about it.”

“You’re her best friend.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m her best girl -friend. But you were the one she confided in. You were her rock. Her… I don’t know, her person.”

Dipper feels the frustration in his gut twist into that familiar pain of guilt. She’s his person too. Or at least she was. And he wants her to be still. He shoves the feeling down. “But she wouldn’t even let me explain,” he says miserably. 

“Okay, let’s say she had. What would you have said? ‘Hey Paz, sorry I kind of freaked out on you. Turns out I’m madly in love with you and for some reason that made me push you away’?”

“I can’t tell her that,” Dipper laments, turning to his sister.

“Is that you admitting it?” Mabel leans forward across the cab a bit.

Dipper looks back at the road. This whole thing is such a disaster. He has no idea how to begin navigating his way out of it, if there even is a way out. And as upset as he is feeling at the moment by her reaction toward him, there is a sensible voice in his head—that perhaps by no coincidence sounds a lot like his sister—telling him that he shouldn’t really be that surprised by her reaction. He’d been anticipating it after all. He just wasn’t anticipating having to face it today. 

But seeing her just now in the gym was painful for another reason, too. When he had seen her standing there, even as embarrassed as he was, every single nerve in his body had been screaming at him to just pull her into his arms. To hold her and not let go. To tell her how much she means to him. 

He misses her. More than he had even realized. And it’s a hard emotion to carry. He doesn’t want to do it alone, and thinks he is willing to be at least a little bit honest about it—at least with Mabel.

“It’s complicated,” he admits eventually, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly. “But… yeah. It’s probably fair to say that I got a little bit freaked out because I might have some more-than-friendly feelings for her.” He winces and prepares himself for the inevitable shriek of joy that he expects Mabel to let out. But it doesn’t come. He looks over at her.

His sister is just looking back at him with a soft and proud smile on her face. She reaches out to place her palm on his forearm. “I’m glad you told me. I mean, I’ve known. Because I’m not an idiot. But it means a lot that you’re willing to trust me with it.”

Dipper feels his eyes go wet. “Doesn’t matter now. She clearly hates me.”

“Oh, Dipper,” Mabel says reassuringly. “She doesn’t hate you. Not forever.”

“I’m sorry this is affecting your relationship with her.”

“Eh, it’s fine. You’re right—she didn’t seem that mad at me. Besides, she’s gonna have to get used to a lot more of me soon anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’ll be seeing her every day during cheerleading practice.”

“ What? ”

“I looked it up!” Mabel grins, flashing the class schedule at him. “Study hall and cheer are the same period. So I can just switch over.”

“Mabel, since when have you wanted to be a cheerleader?”

“Why should that matter? It sounds fun, and Paz will be there.”

“But those girls are like… well, you know.”

“No, I really don’t know, Dip. What do you mean?”

“Like— cheerleaders. ”

“I know you’re too enlightened a man to be making generalizations about women, so you must mean something else.”

Dipper huffs. She has him there. 

“What about Candy and Grenda?”

“What about them?”

“You’re not going to just ditch them, are you?”

Mabel looks insulted. “Of course not! Need I remind you of the ancient, wise adage ‘make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other’s gold?’”

“Ah, of course.”

Mabel continues her recitations. “‘A circle is round, it has no end, that’s how long I’m going to be their friend.’ All of them.”

Dipper rolls his eyes but smiles. “Glad to hear it.”

“Great! So we’re in agreement. I’m going to try out for something fun that will be a way to make friends and stay active and fill up my Friday nights, and you’re going to stop being a sourpuss and focus on repairing your relationship with my future sister-in-law.”

“I’ll talk to her at the party, if she comes,” Dipper agrees, blushing a bit at Mabel’s suggestion. 

“Call her before then.”

“She won’t answer.”

“Call her anyway.”

“I’d rather just talk to her in person.”

“Dipper, I love you, but I don’t think you realize how deep you are in groveling-is-the-only-way-out territory. You have to call her before. Beg her. Call her again. Send flowers. Beg again. Send chocolates. Call again. Take out a skywriting ad if you have to. Show up at her house. Then talk to her at the party. Trust me, I know girls. Call her. Today.”

Dipper studies the road for a bit, considers that perhaps his sister, an actual girl, knows what she’s talking about. But he still hasn’t figured out what he’s going to say. And it needs to be perfect—he can give himself tonight to figure that out, right?

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” he says with a resolute nod of his head. 

“God help you, I give up.”

Pacifica slams shut the door of her town car with the furious wail and begins tromping her way up to her wide front doors, wiping under her eyes to try to rub away where her tears have smeared her mascara. She didn’t even wait for the driver to come around let her out like a proper lady. She’s just desperate to be inside and in the safety of her bedroom where nothing can touch her. 

How dare he? Who does he think he is? Doesn’t he know who she is? Disappears for months on end and then just shows up out of the blue from absolutely nowhere and just wants to pretend that it’s no big deal? What did he think, that she was just going to forgive him with a “no biggie, it happens,” and they could skip off to the diner hand-in-hand? Does he think that she’s that desperate for him? That he can just treat her this way, kick her like a sad puppy and that she’ll just roll over and ask for more?

It all explains why Mabel was being so cagey and weird all summer, too. A fresh wave of anger at him washes over her. If she hadn’t transferred from her private school who knows when she would’ve learned that they moved. God this is so embarrassing. She hates emotions. Well, fine , she thinks. If he can live without her, then she can live without him.

She drops her purse in the front entry foyer and turns to make her way upstairs, but before she can, she’s interrupted by the sound of the melodic tinkling of a handbell, followed closely by her mother‘s lofty voice drifting in from the drawing room. 

“Pacifica!” her mother calls out. “Come in here a moment, darling!”

She freezes, fighting her instincts and trying to will her feet to nevertheless carry her upstairs, but in the end years of training overrule her wishes, and she begins to make her way into the adjacent room where her parents both wait.

Her father reclines in a large armchair next to the fireplace, which is inexplicably lit despite the warm weather outside. Dad does have a thing for drama , Pacifica notes irritably. Her mother, for her part, rests in a matching armchair on the opposite side of the hearth, flipping through a society magazine while a maid kneels beside her working on her manicure.

“Take a seat, dear,” says her father as he puts down his newspaper. Who reads a physical newspaper in 2016?

Pacifica perches herself on the edge of one of the stiff couches and waits expectantly, hands folded carefully in her lap.

“How was your first day at… school —if you can call it that,” her father chortles, laughing at his own joke. Like it wasn’t him who sent her there.

“Today wasn’t the first day,” Pacifica says. “Just class registration.” She glances at the clock on the wall. It’s not even 11 AM. Did they really think that she was back from school already? Before the lunch hour? “It was fine, though. I got all the classes I wanted.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” her father says. “We need your transcript in impeccable shape if you’re going to get into Davenport.”

Her parents have been set on her going to Davenport University, a fussy, regional private college, since she was old enough to talk. It’s where her father went and where her father‘s father went and her father‘s father‘s father before them. Nestled deep in a remote part of the Pacific Northwest woods, it was about as sheltered and insulated from the rest of the world as you could find. Exclusive and secluded and controlled , it was exactly what her parents had always had in mind for her. 

While it did have an excellent academic reputation, it wasn’t valued by the Pacific Northwest elite so much as a school as it was for being a matchmaking service for the Who’s Who of Oregon and Washington. All of the wealthiest kids went there, and almost all of them left with an equally wealthy spouse. 

“Of course, father,” Pacifica agrees, crossing her fingers on one hand while she conceals it with the palm of the other. 

The truth of the matter is that Pacifica doesn’t really have any intention of going to Davenport. Up until a couple months ago, she thought that she and Dipper had plans to go to the same university, and while of course that’s been thrown out of the window by now, she still doesn’t think that the snobby rich kids’ school is the path that she wants for herself. But her parents don’t know that yet.

“Frederick and Teddy will be here this weekend, and we expect you to put your best foot forward,” her mother chimes in.

Pacifica rolls her eyes, not able to help herself. “Oh my god , not this again, please.”

“He’s a perfectly respectable young man, Pacifica. You would be lucky if he took an interest in you.”

Frederick Arthur Davenport, heir to the Davenport fortune and descendant of the university’s founder, was one of her father‘s best friends from college. By Northwest standards, anyway. They were really more like peers engaged in none-too-discreet competition with one another, acknowledging that from time to time it made practical sense to align their interests. Frederick’s son, Frederick Theodore Davenport—more frequently referred to as Teddy—was the same age as Pacifica, and her parents had been encouraging a match between them since she hit puberty.

Teddy wasn’t awful , but he was a snob, to put it lightly. Pacifica wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was a jerk or completely reprehensible, and he dressed well and was certainly attractive enough, but his pretension was enough to put her off any romantic interest. That and the fact she’s been in love with her best friend for four years. 

Teddy’s snobbishness she could tolerate well enough as an acquaintance—she’s extremely accustomed to people like that after all, and still retains a non-zero trace of it herself if she’s really honest. But the thing that makes Teddy so annoying to be around, the sin that cannot be forgiven, is just how freaking boring he is. He talks of nothing but horses and money and hunting and boating and if she has to sit through another “funny story” about his investments she might actually die. 

But she also knows that all of her objections to the boy will at best fall on deaf ears, and at worst will be points in his favor as far as her parents are concerned. So she leaves that be. 

“Mom, he’s fine,” Pacifica responds irritably. “I’m just not interested in him in that way.”

“And what are you interested in, Pacifica?” Her mother drawls disdainfully. “Floppy-haired street urchins?” 

“No,” Pacifica bites out, wounded. Her mother‘s accusations are hitting too close to home, striking a sore spot. “I don’t even talk to Dipper anymore.”

“Small mercies,” muses her father with a raised eyebrow. “Frederick and his son will be here until Sunday. See that you’re on your best behavior. I expect you to entertain the boy. If he takes a liking to you, that will secure your spot at the school.”

“ Excuse me , so you want me to just—what?—sell myself so that I can get into the college that you want me to go to?”

“The college you want to get into, also, Pacifica,” her father reminds her pointedly. “And don’t forget that while they’re here.”

“This is ridiculous, you’re basically asking me to whore myself out.”

“ Language , Pacifica!” her mother exclaims. “I don’t know what happened to that polite little girl we raised.”

“Really, dear, you’re being dramatic,”  says her father, sounding bored. “You wouldn’t have to date him forever. Just get him interested enough that he makes a recommendation to his father. Then once you’re at Davenport you can find someone we all approve of. Your grades are very good, but you’re not exactly helped by the situation you find yourself in now, what with the… transfer, and all.”

“That wasn’t even my choice.”

“Sacrifices had to be made. Finishing out your education at the Academy would’ve given you a leg up, of course, but the owner’s son being infatuated with you will be just as effective. It was a matter of practicality.”

Her father shakes out and raises his newspaper once more, leaning back in his ostentatious armchair, and Pacifica knows the conversation is over. 

“May I be dismissed?” she asks her mother, who has also returned to her magazine. 

“Of course, dear,” her mother responds distractedly, having already moved on from the conversation. “Don’t forget to do your weigh-in.”

Pacifica rolls her eyes and makes her way out and into the foyer, up the sweeping marble staircase that leads to her bedroom. Well today is barely four hours over and already a disaster. She lets herself fall backward onto her bed, eyes trained on the canopy just as they had a few hours earlier when she’d been so determined to make the most of it all. 

She thinks back to the look of Dipper’s face from the gym. There was the initial fear, and then of course his annoyance toward the end, but in between the two, during the couple of times he had tried to talk to her she’d seen something written on his features that she didn’t know what to make of. Hope, maybe? 

Her eyes drift over to her nightstand, and she lets her body follow as she rolls over on her stomach and stretches to reach her arm out and tug open the top drawer. She pulls out the picture frame that rests in there face-down, and takes a deep bracing breath before flipping it over to study the faces that greet her. 

Her and Dipper, both grinning broadly in a selfie she’d snapped the summer prior. They’d been stopped at the top of the ferris wheel at the Mystery Fair. Originally the plan had been for Mabel to go up with them as well, but at the last second she “had to water her plants” and ran off leaving Dipper and Pacifica to ride it alone. Pacifica hadn’t been mad about that at all. She recalls the butterflies in her stomach the whole ride up, the way she’d coyly suggested a photo at the top and used it as an excuse to scoot closer and nudge his arm until he slung it around her shoulders. She can still feel, even now, how nice and comfortable it had felt to be tucked in so close to him, the way his fingers had hesitated before curling tightly around her shoulder. 

She’d really thought he was going to kiss her, too, once she’d snapped the picture. He’d left his arm around her and when she turned to face him, his cheeks were almost scarlet. It was going to happen, she was sure of it. She even remembers the awed look in his eyes just before they had jumped down to her lips, how his body shifted forward, his free hand rising from the place where it had been resting on his lap to move toward hers. She’d held her breath, tilting her head and trying to signal with her eyes that yes she wanted this and please, don’t make me wait any longer when—the ferris wheel jerked and started moving again. Tragically, it had broken the spell, but she had consoled herself with the knowledge that she still had the photo to remember the time they’d almost finally crossed that line. And it was just a matter of time, she’d been so sure.

So how could he have just disappeared on her? Not even a goodbye? Not even an explanation as to what she did or why he’d changed his mind or if he’d met someone or any of the other hundreds of reasons her mind had come up with to explain his sudden non-existence from her life? Just gone?

She doesn’t realize that she’s crying again until she sees the splotch of salt water hit the glass of the picture frame. She rolls over onto her back and holds the frame to her chest, feeling stupid. 

Maybe he’d call her now. Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation that she’d simply missed somehow in her endless summer ruminations. She glances over at her phone, beside her on the bed. Maybe now that they’d seen each other, he would remember how important she used to be to him and reach out. He had tried to explain something to her at the registration fair this morning after all. 

She decides she’ll give herself until 9 P.M. to hold onto that hope. After that, it’s just too pathetic. But she can’t just sit here and stare at her phone for nine hours. Maybe a little digital detox is in order. Feeling a little reinvigorated, she jumps up from her bed, makes her way over to her desk, opens a drawer and places her phone in it face-down. She finds the key that will lock the drawer, twists it in, and slips it into her pocket. She goes to leave her room but notices the picture frame where it still rests on her bed. It’s back in her hands before she can stop herself. 

She searches Dipper’s brown eyes for some sort of clue as to the reason for his exit from her life, but he just looks… happy. She blinks. Just once more , she tells herself, and then raises the picture to press her lips to it softly. 

Seconds later the frame is back in its home in her nightstand, drawer shut, and she’s on the hunt for a maid who she can task with holding onto her desk key, because there is absolutely no way she can be trusted not to check before 9 PM. 

It ends up being a pretty good day, all things considered. She goes for a run, does some yoga, begs her maid for the key, practices piano, begs for the key, has a silent dinner with her parents, begs for the key, distracts herself with some English drama, and finally, finally, has her key returned to her once the grandfather clock in the hall strikes nine. Though she’s ready to lose her mind, she supposes she’s impressed by the maid’s resolve. 

She stops by the kitchen for a sparkling water before making her way up to her room, just so she can convince herself she isn’t totally desperate. 

But no more than two minutes later she’s jamming the key into its hole, frantically jiggling it to convince it to catch on the lock and then— yes! The drawer unlocks, slides open, her hand darts in and there! A text . A text! Not a call, no, but a text is better than nothing. A text is still—

It’s from Mabel. Her heart plummets into her stomach. 

Well that’s it then. Her last bit of hope gone. He’s obviously done with her for some reason, and she isn’t even going to get an answer, apparently. She forces herself to blink back the tears that threaten to spill over, swallow down her disappointment as she reads Mabel’s message.

Mabel Pines ✨⛳️💖 : Hey girlie!!!! I know today was so weird and I know I said it before but I’m so so so so so so so so so so so sorry and I love you and miss you and so does Dipper he’s just a dummy

She barely registers what it says. Her heart is still focused on patching itself up. She pulls her shoulders back. Her mind starts coming up with survival tactics. She’s still Pacifica Northwest, after all. She can get through this. She’ll just make sure she’s surrounded by people at all times he might present. She’ll get the best grades. She’ll stay busy, popular. She’ll look hot every single day . She’ll make his life hell and make him realize how amazing she is and what an idiot he was to just cut her out of his life and think he could survive it. 

Her eyes fall back down to her phone. She navigates to his contact, scrolls to the bottom, and hesitates only a second or two before tapping the “block caller” button. There, done. Decided. She wipes her tears away and swipes back to her texts and realizes there’s one more from Mabel there. 

Mabel Pines ✨⛳️💖 : Anyway please please please come to our party it’s Friday at 7 at the shack. 💕💕 I miss you plz plz come

Right, the party. Should she go? She’d like to see Mabel. And it would be an opportunity to look hot and untouchable… she’s got a new party dress that she knows she looks amazing in. It’s Friday though. She’s been charged with entertaining Teddy this weekend. He’d be wildly out of place at a party at the Shack but probably is mannered enough not to say anything. Probably. Maybe. But that’s not Pacifica’s problem at any rate.

And Teddy is… not horrible-looking. She tries to imagine how it would look, her walking in with this handsome stranger. She pictures the look on Dipper’s face. He doesn’t need to know she can’t stand to be around the boy for more than five minutes. Her head feels a little light and there’s a curious feeling of power invading the more reasonable and grounded corners of her mind. She types out a response to Mabel, ignoring the twist in her gut.

Pacifica Northwest: I'll be there. Can I bring a friend?

Chapter Text

“So it’s… an actual shack then, literally?”

“It’s not that bad, come on.“ 

Pacifica gives her companion for the evening, the tall, sandy-haired boy decked head-to-toe in designer menswear, a sidelong look as he takes in the dilapidated old house. He continues with his observations. 

“I assumed it was just a name—“ 

“—why would it be called that if—”

“—like Grandfather’s summer home in Rhode Island. It’s called Davenport Cottage, as you know, but at 47,000 square feet it’s hardly actually a cottage, of course.” He says it like he’s made the funniest, most charming joke in the world, chuckling a bit at his own apparent wit.

Pacifica turns to face the trees and rolls her eyes. 

“Well, this is actually a shack,” she replies. “Let’s go.”

“Is it a theme party, then? Mother threw the most marvelous Hawaiian-themed party for Memorial Day, did I tell you? There were actual Hawaiians to provide the entertainment. We had them flown in.”

“It’s not a theme party, Teddy, they just live here.”

“How fascinating. Father’s valet, Taylor, grew up in a real farmhouse. Can you believe that? He didn’t even have his own bathroom. He’s so grateful to be working for us now, I’m sure.”

Pacifica stifles her groan and tugs on Teddy’s wrist, pulling him across the gravel parking lot and toward the Shack’s entrance. She’s been with him for a grand total of thirty minutes and can already feel her soul trying to escape her body. 

The twin’s great uncle, the not-hot one, is leaning against the door with a soda when they approach it. Teddy goes to hand him his coat, and Pacifica bats it down.

“Hey, Blondie,” Stan greets, eyeing Teddy up and down. “Admission’s twenty bucks.”

“Can it, Stan,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You know I’m a VIP here.”

“Oof, sassy tonight,” Stan chuckles and takes a sip from his can before belching loudly and jerking his thumb at the door. “Have a good time, kid.”

The two step into the spinning, multicolored lights of the party. Her eyes immediately begin to scan the room; she doesn’t even try to pretend to herself that she doesn’t know exactly who she’s looking for. In a far corner, Soos stands in as a DJ, just like he did the very first time she ever came over here, at another party that feels like a different lifetime ago now. She sees some random kids from school—new friends of Mabel’s, most likely—including some of the more welcoming girls from the cheer team. Candy and Grenda are there as well, chatting with one of the Corduroy brothers before running up to help a quite pregnant Melody restock the snack table. 

Pacifica had gotten here a very fashionable two hours late, hoping to look busy and disinterested, and will tell no one that the entire last hour was spent meticulously curling her hair to just the right amount of wave and calculating the exact correct amount of eyeliner to apply to achieve the “effortlessly stunning” look she’s going for tonight.

She continues scanning for Dipper, but is interrupted by a blur of hot pink and fairy-lights streamlining toward her, curly brown hair flying behind her.

“Pazzy!” Mabel squeals as she envelopes Pacifica in a crushing hug. Pacifica, experienced in the hugging styles of one Mabel Pines, makes sure to quickly suck in a gasp of air before her lungs are restricted. Mabel releases her only a solid twenty seconds later, then turns to take in Pacifica’s companion with wide eyes.

“Um, hi!” she says, finally. 

Pacifica shakes out the remains of Mabel’s embrace and gestures to the boy. “Mabel, this is Teddy. Teddy, Mabel—the birthday girl.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Teddy says, flashing Mabel a practiced, paper-white smile. “Your, eh… residence here is quite… novel.” He holds out a smooth, tanned hand to her.

“I know, right?!” Mabel says, bouncing a bit as she reaches her hand out to shake Teddy’s. Pacifica watches as Teddy winces under the girl’s enthusiastic grip. “Not too many people who can count both a Sascrotch and Beavercorn as roommates, am I right?!”

“Eh, yes, I’m sure,” Teddy agrees, looking confused. “So, Mabel, was it? Lovely name. I had an au pair named Mabel once. This was in Paris, so she wasn’t with us for long, but I think she rather enjoyed being swept around the countryside with us on holiday. Grandfather has connections in the Bordeaux region, of course. It was actually the funniest thing, Grandfather’s associate had made arrangements for us to stay with a friend of his at Chateau Merrin, but the driver got all mixed up and took us to Chateau Maron instead. It was hardly more than a homestead! I had to sleep on a couch . Can you imagine? Of course we had it all sorted the next day, but the family was lovely and we made sure to send them a new tractor at Christmas, so it really ended up being such a fortunate mistake for them, and the funniest little adventure for us.”

Mabel blinks. “Uh, cool! I’ve never been to Paris. Well, not Paris, France. I’ve been to Perris, California. But that’s spelled differently anyway so I don’t know if it counts for anything. P-E-and, uh, I think the rest might be the same. There’s a lake there with some sort of special kind of fish. Well, it’s a reservoir, actually, I think. But anyway that’s what my mom does for a living, studies fish. And teaches other people to study them. Like the kind of fish in lakes and rivers and streams. Not on our plates. Although I suppose in the end they really are the same…“

Pacifica watches Mabel ramble, a little impressed and certainly amused by the bewildered expression on Teddy’s face. She doesn’t know if Mabel is purposely trying to give him a run for his money or not, but she’s not complaining.

“Ah, fascinating,” the boy breaks in eventually, looking around the room. “I hate to be a bother, but could you direct me to the cloak room?”

“The what now?” Mabel asks.

“He wants to know where to put his jacket,” Pacifica translates.

“Oh! Wherever!” Mabel gestures to a couch in the corner where piles of purses, backpacks, and coats rest in a small heap.

Teddy eyes it with skepticism. “I mean no offense, of course. It’s just that this is from Milan, you understand. It’s actually quite amazing how I ended up with it. Father was in Luxembourg—on business, naturally—and the jet had to make an emergency landing in—“

Okay, that’s enough of that.

“There are a bunch of rooms down that hall,” Pacifica interrupts with a gesture toward the back corner. “Maybe one of them has cedar paneling.”

“Marvelous!” Teddy exclaims as he saunters off.

Mabel watches as he walks away, looking puzzled.

“Seriously?” she says, turning back to Pacifica once the boy has disappeared around the corner.

“What?” Pacifica says, feigning ignorance.

“Who’s the walking trust fund?”

“My boyfriend,” Pacifica sniffs.

“Ha! Yeah, right. No, seriously.”

“Seriously!”

Mabel raises a skeptical eyebrow. “That boy would be six feet under by now if he were ever at any point your actual boyfriend.”

Pacifica pulls her mouth into a tight line, annoyed at how well Mabel knows her. “Ugh, fine,” she relents. “He’s a friend of the family. I’m just babysitting him while my parents schmooze with his.” She points a manicured finger at Mabel’s nose. “But don’t tell Dipper that!”

Mabel’s eyes light up. “Why? Are you trying to make him jealous ?” She elbows Pacifica with a sly grin. 

“No,” Pacifica bites out. She crosses her arms. “I just don’t think he deserves to know anything about me right now. I’m still mad at him.”

“Does that imply you might not be someday?”

“Doubtful.”

“But there’s a maybe there.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll take it.”

Pacifica needs a subject change, stat.

“Congrats on cheer, by the way,” she tries, wandering to the snack table. “I hear you killed it at try-outs. They said you were, uh, enthusiastic.”

“Thanks!” Mabel chirps, effectively distracted. “I’m so excited we get to do it together. And it’ll be nice to get to know some more people.”

“Why did you guys move here, anyway?” Pacifica asks. She decides that’s a normal enough question to ask one of her best friends. Doesn’t have to have anything to do with her twin. 

“Mom got a new job.” Mabel shrugs. “We decided if we had to move anyway, it might be fun to be around our favorite people in the world.” She hip checks Pacifica playfully.

“Oh, so when did this get… decided?” Pacifica tries to keep her voice casual.

“Bit before the end of last school year.” Mabel pauses and gives Pacifica a somber look. “I’m really sorry, again, that I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sure you had a reason,” Pacifica says, trying for indifferent. She glances over to see Mabel’s warm, open eyes on her, and decides she might as well drop the act at least a little. “Something to do with Dipper, I’m guessing…?”

Mabel looks to the side and rubs her elbow. “Yeah, it was just that I promised him I wouldn’t tell you until he did…”

“But why?”

Mabel straightens up, faces Pacifica with sudden determination. Her face is drawn tight and serious. “Okay. So there is a why. That’s important for you to know. And I want so badly to tell you. I really do. Like, girl honestly you have no idea how much I want to tell you this particular why. But I shouldn’t. I promised.”

Pacifica crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to make you choose between us, Mabel. I just can’t help but notice that the timeline of you guys deciding to move here and Dipper going all Casper-the-Unfriendly-Ghost on me kind of lines up one-to-one.”

Mabel throws her head back as if she’s in agony. “I know!” she wails before stamping her foot and focusing again on Pacifica. She grabs her by the shoulders. “Can you guys just talk, please? This is driving me crazy.”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Pacifica huffs. 

“But you’re soulmates!”

“He doesn’t even want to be my friend.”

“Yes, he does!” Mabel squeezes her eyes shut and physically constricts her body. “Ugh, I wish I could tell you but I can’t.” She opens pleading eyes on Pacifica. 

“Relax, Mabel. You’re going to give yourself greys. Look, let’s just change the subject for now, okay?”

“Fine, fine…” Mabel looks to the side and picks up a piece of candy from a table, spins it in her hands a few times before looking back over at Pacifica. “I was, uh, thinking about getting some people together to play a game or something later,” she says, a little too casually. “You in?”

“Depends…” Pacifica eyes Mabel suspiciously.

“Spin the Bottle?” Mabel suggests, tossing Pacifica an exaggeratedly innocent smile, stopping just short of plopping an imaginary halo on the top of her head.

“Absolutely not,” Pacifica deadpans.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Mabel tries again.

“Mabel, that’s basically the same game but longer and more—“ She cuts herself off, an idea occurring. “Actually… sure. But on two conditions.” She raises her hand to count off. “One: Dipper has to be there.” Mabel grins broadly. “No, no, not what you’re thinking,” Pacifica corrects quickly. “Not that. My second condition is that you have to rig it so Teddy and I get picked to go together.”

Mabel’s excited grin morphs smoothly into a knowing smirk, and she raises an eyebrow as she plants a hand on her hip. “And you still want me to believe you’re not trying to make Dipper jealous?”

Pacifica tosses her hair. “I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with him having to wonder a bit about what’s going on in my life.”

“Sure , sister,” Mabel says, rolling her eyes. “You’re just lucky I think he deserves it. But, uh, hey, you’re not actually going to make out with Teddy, are you?”

“Ew, of course not. Why?”

“I mean, he is pretty cute. I might wanna… but I don’t really want sloppy seconds, no offense. Especially if you’re going to be making out with my brother tonight too, which I still feel is quite likely.”

Pacifica ignores the last bit. “Ugh, god girl you can do so much better.”

“You just say that because you’re the type to fall in love once and never want anyone else. Case in point.” Mabel gestures vaguely into the house, presumably in the direction she assumes Dipper is. She adopts an affected stance, pulls a dramatic hand to chest. “I’m a free spirit. Oh, someday I’ll meet the person who can tame my wild heart, but tonight is just about the eye-candy.”

Pacifica coughs out a laugh and waves her hand in front of her benevolently. “Be my guest.”  Mabel grins and runs off in search of her prey. Pacifica shakes her head affectionately as she watches her go, then freezes. “But not in front of Dipper!” 

Mabel stops and turns back to her, grinning conspiratorially. “Duh.”

Teddy must escape Mabel’s attentions though, because a few minutes later he wanders back up to Pacifica, astounded at the marvels the Shack has to offer. 

“There’s a pig inside the house, Pacifica. A pig! Of course, we have a herd of them on the ranch in Montana, but have you ever heard of such a…”

He goes on like that for awhile, “entertaining” various partygoers in turn, but Pacifica stops listening. Her eyes are back on the party, searching for a certain dork. She’s just about to give up and suggest that she and Teddy take their conversation to the kitchen, just to… see who might be in there… when— oh! Yes! Across the room, glaring at her with a wide stance… her prey.

And shit. He looks good. He’s dressed simply - dark jeans and a flannel rolled up to his elbows, forearms crossed over his chest. No hat, so his curls fall messily over his forehead. The frown on his face is equal parts frustrating and pleasing. Frustrating because of how annoyingly attractive it is on him, and pleasing for the knowledge that she’s gotten under his skin. Terrible, perfect.

She straightens herself up and pulls back her shoulders, juts out a hip and tosses her head from him, laughing and pushing lightly on Teddy’s chest.

“Oh my gosh,” she coos loudly. “That’s hilarious. You’re so funny.”

Teddy looks surprised, maybe even a little confused, but chuckles good-naturedly and continues on with his story. Something about inheritance taxes. 

Pacifica fluffs up her hair and touches a delicate fingertip to her lips—still perfectly glossed, good. 

She hazards another glance over her shoulder in the direction Dipper was. He’s not there anymore. Shit, oh well. Her posture drops along with the act and she’s just about to once again suggest a change of venue again when she feels a warm hand at her elbow. She jumps. 

It’s him, of course. How the hell did he get over here so fast?

“Hey, Cif,” he says, straight-forward and weirdly confident. “Can we talk?”

She startles, not expecting him to have been so direct, struggles to recover her posture and attitude. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy right now. Teddy here was telling me the funniest story.” She turns back to Teddy, who is looking between the two of them like he was the one who walked in on something instead of the other way around. “Go on, Teddy, you’re just so clever, and I can’t wait to hear the rest.”

Besides her, Dipper snorts, and she realizes she doesn’t really know how long he’d been standing there before saying something. 

“Good joke?” Dipper asks, looking amused.

“Well,” Teddy says, scratching his neck. “Actually, I was just talking about the problems my family had with the estate after my great-grandfather passed this last spring.”

Oh.

“Ehm, yes,” Pacifica says, catching Dipper’s knowing smirk. “Well, I suppose you really had to be there.”

“I’m sure,” Dipper says, stepping forward to extend his hand to Teddy. “Hi, I’m Dipper Pines.”

“Oh, Mabel must be your sister then!” Teddy says, clasping his hand in the other boy’s. He winces. “Oh! My, you both have quite the grip, don’t you?”

Dipper shoots Pacifica a smug smirk, and she huffs. 

“Teddy Davenport,” Teddy continues, only just barely succeeding in pulling his hand from Dipper’s. “Of the Evergreen Crest Davenports.” 

“And how do you know our Pacifica here?” Dipper asks with a nod down at her.

Pacifica’s heart flips at the use of the possessive, but she quickly stifles it and replaces the feeling with irritation. Of course he would just ask directly. There goes her ruse.

“Oh, Pacifica and I are old childhood friends. We’ve known each other since we were both tykes, running around the club, stealing our parents’ croquet mallets and the like. Actually I do have a funny story about that—“ 

“Teddy,” Pacifica interrupts. “Can you go get me a soda, please?”

Teddy looks around. “I don’t see a waiter.”

Pacifica points to the kitchen and the boy blessedly wanders away, whether to find the soda for himself or continue his hunt for a server, Pacifica doesn’t know and doesn’t care. 

“Wow, what a fascinating guy,” Dipper says, looking entirely too pleased.

“Oh like you know anything.”

He turns to her, looks down, and she tries to avoid eye contact. Fails. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in almost exactly a year, and Pacifica is a little taken aback by how much taller he’s grown. She didn’t have to look up so much last summer. She must not have noticed it at the registration fair, given her shock, but there’s no denying that he’s filled out. She feels her cheeks go hot. 

“So are you acknowledging my existence now?” he quips with a raised eyebrow. 

His newly broadened shoulders are immediately forgotten as her irritations come roaring back in.

“I don’t know, are you acknowledging mine?” 

“I can explain—“

“Save it.”

“Cif—“

“Why should I listen?”

“Because— I…” he seems to struggle for the words, then shakes his head and turns back to her. “Why’d you bring that guy here anyway?” he asks, tone a little harder. 

“He’s a friend, it’s called being polite.”

“A friend, or a friend of your parents’?”

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“I dunno, maybe because you brought another guy to my birthday party.”

“‘Another’ guy?”

“A guy.”

“I’m sorry, are you the only male allowed to exist?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure felt like it. Unless you had a problem with me bringing a guy, specifically.”

“It’s just rude to show up with someone who wasn’t invited.”

“I asked Mabel. And for the record, I don’t need your permission to do anything. I’ll hang out with whoever I want. I’ll be friends with whoever I want. I’ll date whoever I want, and that’s none of your business.”

“Please," he says, rolling his eyes. "You’re not dating that guy.”

“How would you know?” she demands, annoyed.

“Because I know you!” He throws his hands up. “You can’t stand guys like that.”

“What would you know about what I can’t stand?”

“You’re my best friend, Pacifica.”

“Best friends don’t just go poof into the ethernet.”

Inexplicably, Dipper laughs. 

“What?” she bites out.

“Ether.”

“Huh?”

“You said Ethernet, like a computer connection. You meant ether.”

Pacifica’s cheeks flush. “Oh my god I will literally kill you.” 

“Come on,” Dipper says, grinning as he ducks in closer, making a move for her hand. “You miss this.” He tilts his head, forcing eye contact. “You still care. If you didn’t you wouldn’t waste your time getting so upset with me.”

And then his fingers actually do make contact with hers. Just a bit. The tiniest touch his fingertips hooking on hers. And she’s horrified with herself because she’s so close to just giving in and falling into his arms. But then she remembers. And the crooked smile that starts to bloom on his face does nothing to quell her irritation, thank god. 

“Shows what you know,” she says, pushing back and jutting up her chin. 

She spins and storms away, wondering if that was a sigh or a snort of laughter that she heard behind her. 

Dipper had not been having a good night. He knew he should try to. He knew it was his birthday party and the beginning of Senior year and an opportunity to meet new people and start the year strong and all that, really. But he’d been busy. 

Busy… well, moping. 

He had tried calling Pacifica the day after the registration fair, as planned, only to be hit with a jarringly unexpected “your call cannot be completed as dialed.” He held onto the hope that she was just temporarily out of service or had changed her number for about thirty minutes before caving and asking Mabel to try calling on her phone. Mabel’s went through, of course, and after she’d made a quick excuse about a butt dial and hung up, Dipper immediately tried from his cell again. Same result. There was no getting around it. She’d blocked him. 

Still, Mabel had told him that she was planning on coming to the party, so he’d been anxious to talk to her. He’d figured that if he could just get her alone for a few minutes maybe, maybe he could reason with her and get things going in the right direction at least. Dipper had been hiding out on the landing when she’d walked in, which fortunately or unfortunately gave him a bird’s eye view. The first thing he noticed was her, of course. She looked as flawlessly and effortlessly beautiful as she ever did, strutting in like she owned the place in a dark red party dress that made his pulse race. 

Dipper was very familiar with Pacifica’s different levels of ‘hot.’ There was Everyday Hot, where she seemingly just existed and by definition was extremely attractive, because it was just a fact of life that she was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever known. There was Adventuring Hot, where she toned down her makeup just a bit and pulled back her hair and wore shorts instead of a skirt or dress. Dipper thought this might be his favorite, not only because she was obviously the most comfortable in it, but it was a look she didn’t let everyone see, and he was glad he was one of the few who did. But tonight she’d opted for the rarest. The most elusive and frankly scariest kind of Hot. 

Hot Hot. Bombshell Hot. Smoke Show Hot. The kind of hot that meant he already knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off her all night. 

He’d watched as his sister barreled into her with a giant bear hug, and wished he was able to hold her just as long as Mabel did. Or longer, really, if he had it his way. 

But then alarm bells went off in his brain. Some guy that Dipper hadn’t recognized had extended his hand to shake Mabel’s. And Pacifica seemed to be gesturing between the two. An introduction? Random Guy, with his polo shirt, boat shoes, and shorts with little lobsters on them, certainly seemed like someone from Pacifica’s tax bracket, but it would have been weird for her to bring some other guy to his birthday party. 

And then it had hit him. That’s exactly what she’d done. She’d brought some other guy to his birthday party.

Dipper had pushed back from the railing and stalked into the upstairs bathroom, splashed cold water on his face in an effort to calm himself down. What. The. Hell . He’d lost count of the deep breaths he’d taken before someone knocked on the door loudly demanding to use to facilities. So he’d pulled back his shoulders and re-entered the party to try to distract himself. Limited success on that front. He found Kevin in the kitchen talking to a pretty blonde girl Dipper assumed was his girlfriend, made some small talk, and wandered away without remembering a thing about what they’d discussed. Candy and Grenda had regaled him with tales from their respective summers, but Dipper hardly heard Grenda’s emphatic descriptions of Austria’s wildlife or Candy’s tittering tales of summertime hookups at her Engineering Camp. So busy was he looking over his shoulder and scanning the room for any sign of Pacifica and her… whatever he was. 

Then he’d spotted her, twirling her hair and laughing and bestowing playful shoves on whoever-his-face-was. His stomach churned, but then… she changed, like an actress relaxing after a scene was done. And she’d yawned, rolled her eyes, and began looking furtively around the room as though she was searching for anything else to occupy her. 

Interesting. 

He’d been pretty aware of the fact that he was openly staring at her by then, but couldn’t bring himself to look away, not even when she’d caught him, locked eyes, and immediately turned to begin her act anew. Yep, this was weird. Feeling a little emboldened by her strange behavior (curiosity had always been one of his driving character traits after all) he’d decided to see what was up. He could fake some bravado for a few minutes. 

And while no, the conversation with her and the guy—Teddy was his name apparently, like some sort of purebred cocker spaniel—hadn’t calmed all his anxieties exactly, as soon as he heard the guy launch into one of his stories he felt pretty certain, maybe not as certain as he let her think, but pretty darn certain, that there was little chance for real romance there. The guy was, at worst, a friendly hookup, Dipper reasoned. A fling. It still did only a little to settle his heartbeat, but he wasn’t going to let her see that.

He’s startled from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. 

Mabel, grinning and handing him a punch. “Come on, brother! You only turn seventeen once!” 

Dipper mumbles a thanks and resumes his observations, watching as Teddy regales a small group of teens with some story of another, and Pacifica feigns interest. The boy is the only one who laughs at what must have been the punchline.

Dipper gestures across the room with his punch. “What’s her relationship with that guy, anyway? Like for real. I know they grew up together, but is there anything going on?”

Mabel is quiet for a second. “Uh.”

He examines her. “Mabel?”

“I dunno.”

She’s being cagey. Something’s up.

“Mabel, what aren’t you telling me?” he asks.

“Nothing!”

His stomach drops. “Wait, they’re not actually together, are they?”

Mabel’s mouth twists up in apparent consternation, and he watches as she wages a small internal war. He takes a step in closer, knowing that if he keeps his focus on her she’ll crack eventually. 

Mabel stamps her feet and lets out a frustrated groan. “Okay no, he’s really just a friend. She doesn’t like him like that.” She turns to Dipper, pointing him his face. “But don’t tell Pacifica that I told you that!”

“Why wouldn’t she want me to know that?”

Mabel’s eyes go wide. “Um.”

“Wait, is she trying to make me jealous?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t not say that.”

He turns back to think and doesn’t notice as Mabel takes the opportunity to flee the conversation. He’s too busy pondering this new information. Pacifica brought a guy to his party, not because they’re dating but so that he’d get upset? What’s she getting at? He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice how much time has passed when Kevin comes up and taps him on the shoulder. He jumps.

“Whoa!” Kevin says, raising his hands. “Sorry, dude. Your sister asked me to grab you.”

“What?” Dipper asks, a little dazed. “Where’d she go? She was right here a second ago.”

Kevin shrugs. “She’s gathering people for some sort of game. Said you’d be interested.”

Dipper’s still a little lost in thought so he just follows Kevin backwards into the house, down a hallway and into the room Mabel had chosen as her own for the year. In daylight hours it’s already a wash of colors and glitter, but now at nighttime, lit up with neon signs, string lights, and an actual lava lamp, it’s positively psychedelic. A small group of kids their age are scattered about in various states of sprawl, including the object of his thought spiral herself. 

Pacifica sits perfectly perched on Mabel’s bed, examining her nails and swinging one leg in front of her. Her eyes flash up when he walks in the door, and since he was already looking at her ( of course, he was already looking at her, ugh), they lock eyes for a beat before each quickly turns to the side. 

“Alright, party people,” Mabel says, finally entering the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click and kneeling in front of the loose circle. “Gather round and grab your chapstick, because it’s time for…” She leans forward, a wicked grin on her face as she waggles her fingers in front of her like she’s about to tell a spooky story. “…Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Dipper groans and tosses his head back against Mabel’s dresser. 

“I’m not familiar with that game, Mabel.” Teddy chimes in. “Is it any relation to the Swiss Sieben Minuten im Himmel? Because when I was in boarding school—“

“Eh, no,” Mabel says, interrupting quickly. “This baby is All-American. Random pairs in this very room will be sent off to share in one of teenagedom’s most sacred of traditions. House rules are anything goes— pending consent and excluding siblings, of course, because ew. Everybody gets a turn to pick who goes off with who, and since it’s Dipper’s and mine’s birthday, we’re up first.” She plops backward on a fluffy pink area rug and gestures widely toward Dipper. “So take it away, Dip!”

Dipper scrunches his face up but decides there’s no use fighting it, and so begins his scan of the room’s faces, doing everything he can to avoid Pacifica’s.

He sees Kevin and the blonde from the kitchen, both sitting across from him, and figures an actual couple might be a boring but safe choice.

“Um, Kev and…?” He winces and trails off lamely. She totally told him her name earlier in the night, but he had absolutely not been listening.

“Madison,” she offers up graciously. 

“Right, sorry. But yeah, you two.”

Kevin and Madison look at one another, shrug, and head out of the bedroom. 

Silence falls on the bedroom as the remaining teens look around one another, and then, breaking the silence—Teddy.

“This room reminds me of a yacht party the club threw last spring. The theme was the 1970s and mother had all the fixtures replaced with disco balls. The stewards all wore bell-bottoms and roller-skates. We realized later of course was perhaps not the best choice for a boat, but thankfully we only had one overboard so really it was—“

“Okay!” Mabel says, jumping to her knees. “You know, I don’t see why there’s any reason that the next couple has to wait. Do you guys?”

The group consensus is a tacit ‘no,’ and Dipper watches as his sister scans the room, tapping her chin in deliberation. Pacifica shifts on her seat, smooths down her dress as she uncrosses her legs. 

“I choose…” Mabel begins theatrically. “…Pacifica and Dipper!”

Dipper scowls at his sister. “ Mabel!” 

Pacifica blinks, apparently surprised for some reason, but quickly smooths her face into its previous state of unaffected indifference. 

“Sure, okay,” she says.

“What?” Dipper nearly chokes.

“I said it’s fine. Let’s go.”

“Uh.”

“Are you coming or not?”

Dipper’s mouth makes several attempts at words, all of which are unsuccessful because his brain is having really a quite hard time processing that she’s actually okay with this. After several long agonizing seconds of wide-eyed rebooting, he’s able to muster out a “yeah, coming” and scrambles up on wobbly legs to follow her into the hallway. 

Pacifica marches herself down the long hallway to a supply closet that Dipper knows pretty much only contains brooms and some back stock for the gift shop. Dipper watches her long blonde hair swing behind her, calling him forward like a hypnotist’s pendulum. 

She tugs open the closet door and looks over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow. “Still coming?”

The party lights dance on her cheeks and catch on her lip gloss. He swallows. “Yeah.”

He squeezes in behind her, closing the door behind him, and holy crap they’re close. It’s dim in here, but a little light sneaks in through the cracks in the door, and as his eyesight adjusts he’s able to make out the outline of her dress, the outline of her… well, never mind. 

Pacifica seems extremely unbothered, which makes absolutely no sense. She just takes out her phone, sets a timer, and reaches past him to perch it on the shelf behind his head.

“Okay,” she says, stepping back just a bit and bringing her eyes up to his. “You have seven minutes. Go.”

What on earth was going on? First she totally blows him off, then she shows up at his own birthday party looking like that with some random guy on her arm, apparently just because she knows it’ll piss him off, but then she tells him off, and now she’s perfectly okay slipping off to a broom closet with him? He is utterly bewildered, to put it lightly, but a very primal part of his brain is screaming very loudly to shut up and not ask questions at this exact moment.

“Uh, okay, well I guess I’ll just…” He places a hand on her waist, begins to raise his other to her neck as he dips his face down to meet hers and—

Pacifica gives an indignant squeal and pushes him back.

“Not that, dummy! Seven minutes to explain yourself!”

Oh. Shit. He feels his face go hot and is thankful for the dim lighting in the closet. That… does make more sense. Stupid hormones. 

“Idiot,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her. Even with that dim lighting he can tell that her face is red. 

“Right, yeah, wow. Sorry. That was… yeah, I’m sorry. Okay.” Come on, brain, you can do this. The thoughts, practiced ad nauseam for days on end, queue up quickly then and escape his mouth just as fast. “Okay, yes. So what happened is this. Mom moved to LA. So we had to decide where we were going to finish senior year—“

“—Mabel already told me that part. Skip to the part where you ditch me.”

“Sure, sure. Sorry. So, we decided to come here—“

“But not tell me.”

“I wanted to tell you, really I did, but—“

“But you didn’t.”

“Because every time I did I couldn’t find the words and too much time passed—“

“You couldn’t find the words?”

“No.”

“How about ‘Hey Pacifica, we’re moving to Gravity Falls in a few months’?” 

“Well, yeah, I guess in retrospect—“

“So you can see why I just don’t buy that.”

“It wasn’t that simple though, I—“

Pacifica raises a hand, counts out the words off on her fingers as she speaks. “See - you - in - August.” She holds up her four fingers. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

“No, I mean, I just got in my own head—“

“What on earth is there possibly to get in your head about?”

“Pacifica! If you’d just let me explain.”

Pacifica huffs and crosses her arms, settles her body weight onto one hip and gives him an expectant look.

He takes in a deep breath, conscious of the fact that the clock is quite literally ticking. Still, he needs to get this right.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, slowly and working to keep his voice low and frustration minimal. “Look, I got all twisted up. I overthought things. And then I let so much time go by that I didn’t know how to say anything at all, which just made it worse. So I hid and procrastinated. Which wasn’t okay.” He swallows and wonders what she would do if he tried to reach for her hand right now, decides it’s better not to risk it, especially given his misunderstanding moments earlier. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you. Let me make it up to you. Please.”

Pacifica is quiet for a long time, and Dipper wants to look over his shoulder to check the time. She only gave him seven minutes and if this doesn’t work…

“You still haven’t told me why you… got twisted up, or whatever,” she says eventually.

He looks at the ceiling and stifles a moan. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

Dipper clenches his fists in an attempt to abate his frustration. Why can’t she just trust him? Why can’t she just let it go? Or better yet, why can’t he just tell her? She’s certainly acting like she might, maybe, return his feelings. Or just want to murder him. It’s really so hard to tell with her.

A few long seconds pass, maybe minutes, while he tries to find the words, and eventually she just sighs and lets her head fall back against the wall behind her for a second. “Okay,” she says, sounding tired. Her head pulls back upright and her eyes jump up behind him. He assumes she must be watching her phone’s timer. A look passes over her face, too fast for him to catch. But then she shifts her weight and leans further back against the wall, her head tilting as she examines him. A tiny, amused little smirk dances across her lips.

“You really thought I came in here to make out with you?” she asks, sounding teasing. 

It’s a far cry from where he was hoping this conversation would go, but at least she’s talking to him and not yelling, so maybe this wasn’t such a loss after all. He’ll take it, at any rate. 

“Well,” he says, feeling sheepish. “It’s just—that’s how the game works.”

“True.”

“But,” he adds quickly. “I realize how nuts that sounds, looking back on it.”

He expects her to make fun of him, to demand another apology but—

“It’s not… a crazy thought,” she says, her eyes meeting his. 

Um.

“It’s… not?” he asks, slowly.

She pushes off the wall. “No, I mean, it’s the point of the game, right?” She closes the small gap between them, mere centimeters separating their chests. “Seven minutes that don’t have to count for anything?”

“I…” Sure, that’s the point he supposes. But he wants them to count.

She brings her hand to his forearm, lets one finger run up it slowly, all the way up to rest above his rapidly pounding heartbeat. “Maybe, since we’re already here…”

His rational brain absolutely shuts down. Full stop. Honestly, is she some sort of witch? It’s like he’s enchanted. She leans in slowly, tilting her head up and letting her eyes drift shut. He can smell her perfume, deep and floral, and oh god, oh god is this actually happening? Does he want it to happen if it’s not for real? Well of course he does, some deep part of him screams. And so he closes his eyes too, drawn in by her magic, and lets his lips drop down to seek out—

The alarm from her phone pierces the space between them. 

He jumps, opens his eyes. Her eyes flash open too, and the second he sees how delighted with herself she looks, he knows he’s been played. 

“Oops, guess that’s time!” she says, snatching her phone.

That sneaky little …

“You planned that!”

“Maybe. You’ll never know.” She shrugs as she silences the alarm and makes a move for the door.

He gapes at her. She’s playing so dirty. At his sides, his fingers itch to just grab her by the waist, pull her back and finish what they started—but then she’s swinging open the closet door and he’s blinded by the pinks and blues of the party lights, and she’s gone. The closet door swings shut in his face. What the hell was that? Dipper lets his shoulder sag and his forehead drop to rest against the doorframe, dreading the moment he has to re-enter the party. If this is indicative of the year to come, he’ll be lucky if he makes it to graduation. 

Chapter Text

“And this corner represents my friends back in Piedmont, and this corner our family, and here at the top our Gravity Falls friends and in the center my manifestation for the year ahead…”

Dipper shoves his hands in his pockets as he listens to his sister explain the artistic theories she employed to decorate the interior door of her school locker.

“Manifestation?” he asks. 

“Yep! It’s like a vision board, you know? Make your reality what you want it to be.” Mabel rolls a hand. “And all that.”

Dipper peers a little closer to examine Mabel’s hopes for the year ahead. She’s printed out a few generic images from the internet— a bonfire, a corsage, cheer pom-poms, some paint brushes, a graduation cap. Mabel seems to be dreaming up a senior year right out of a teen drama. Interspersed among the print-outs are photos of their friends, all decorated with sparkly stickers. He forces himself to ignore the small picture of him and Pacifica, arms wrapped around one another, as well as the small sparkly pink heart sticker Mabel affixed to the corner of it. 

He and Mabel had arrived early to their first day of school to walk the grounds, make sure their lockers worked, scope out the best places to sit in the cafeteria at lunch— just generally get acclimated. Gravity Falls High has certainly seen better days. The main building looks like it was built sometime in the early 1930s or 40s— large and brick and boring, but there are add-ons here and there that betray the passage of time. Not much, mind you, but a modern drinking fountain has to count for something. Outside of that it’s all worn-in checkered hallways, long rows of beat-up lockers, and flickering fluorescent lighting. 

The lockers are the type that take up half the wall, one stacked on top of the other. Mabel has the one directly above him, and he supposes the gentlemanly thing to do is not complain about it. And she is the alpha twin after all. 

“Welp, bro-bro,” Mabel says, swinging her locker door shut with a satisfying metal click. “I’m off to home room. I wanna get there early so I can say hi and introduce myself to everyone as they walk in. See you in second period!”

He smiles and give his twin a lazy farewell salute as she runs off to force a dozen or so strangers into either willing or unwilling friendship. Dipper drops to one knee to fiddle with his own locker until it opens, and begins unceremoniously unpacking a backpack’s worth of advanced textbooks. Cautiously, very cautiously, he considers that he’s having an okay start to the school year. Granted, it’s barely 7:45 A.M. on the first day of school, but he’ll take what he can get. 

Around him, the sound of his new peers arriving begins to fill up the hallways. Among the shouts of greetings, lockers being opened and slammed shut, sneakers skidding and squeaking on the newly polished linoleum, he doesn’t notice the clack of heels approaching him from his immediate left, or when they stop abruptly.

“I like you on your knees, Pines. It’s a good look.” 

Dipper freezes at the sound of her familiar voice. Their near kiss from the party is fresh in his memory. (Or was it ever really even a close call? He’s replayed the moment in his mind a hundred times and still isn’t sure.) From his peripheral vision, he can just make out a pair of canvas wedge heels. There are white ribbons of some sort sprouting from the shoes and rising to twist around thin, tan ankles, tied in perfect bows. 

He clenches his jaw. An intrusive thought suggests that it would be really great to just grasp her by those ankles and tug her to the ground with him to—to… what? His pride and hormones disagree on that front. 

Instead, he just props an elbow on his raised knee and lifts his head to give her a tired look. 

“Here to dole out more punishment, Pacifica?”

Pacifica huffs and drops her equally heavy backpack. “You wish I had nothing better to do than think about you.” She turns and begins fiddling with the dial on the locker in front of her, the one immediately to the left of Mabel’s.

“No,” Dipper groans, disbelieving. “Did you plan this?” he asks, gesturing at the locker. 

“Again, you wish.”

“So you expect me to believe that it’s just a wild coincidence that I ended up with a locker positioned in such a way that I will literally be kneeling before you multiple times a day?”

Pacifica shrugs. “Maybe it’s just the universe reflecting the natural order of things—“

“—oh, real nice—“

“—or,” she continues, ignoring his interruption. “We’re just victims of the alphabet. Or did you forget your ABC’s already? Jeez, public school must be worse than I thought.” 

Dipper opens his mouth to argue but she takes a step back to continue. 

“L-M-N-O-P, in case you needed a refresher.” She points at her own locker. “Northwest, that starts with an N, you see.” She points below hers. “Some rando.” Points up at Mabel’s. “Pines—P—Mab-el.” At his. “Pines—P—Mor-on—oops, I mean Mason.”

Dipper flushes red but still manages to get to his feet and kick his locker shut. He’s had a few days to think about how he wants to approach Pacifica. He’d already tried being nice. That got him nowhere. He’d tried apologizing and explaining. Well, mostly. Also no movement from that. He’d even tried flirting a bit. Uh, kinda. But anyway. Nothing seemed to result in any progress, and she seems determined to be antagonistic and upset, so he figures he might as well meet her where she’s at. He has his pride, after all. 

Plus, a secret, small part of his brain suggests… pushing her buttons is sort of fun. Affectionate antagonism had been a hallmark of their friendship, and even if this isn’t exactly affectionate, necessarily, it’s still better than her totally flat out ignoring him. So he can play ball. 

He raises an arm to rest it on the top of the door of Pacifica’s. “It’s possible. But could also be a convenient cover. It’s equally possible that you slipped the administration a fifty so that you could be here and continue whatever revenge plan this is that you have going.”

“You are literally so full of yourself.“

He scoffs. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m one to talk? I’m just minding my own business trying to off-load some books.”

“Offload them into your originally assigned locker then.”

Pacifica cuts her eyes at him and opens her mouth to respond, but then a small voice clears its throat from somewhere behind him. Dipper turns to see a meek-looking girl with wide, innocent brown eyes looking between the two of them. “Sorry,” the girl begins. “It’s just that I think that’s my locker.” She points down at the locker below Pacifica’s and to the left of Dipper’s. “I’m Susie. Susie Oglethorpe?” she offers up in explanation as she holds up her class schedule, points to the locker number listed at the top. Ah, right. The rando. 

“Oglethorpe?” Pacifica asks, eyes gleaming. “What a beautiful last name. Would you mind spelling it for me?”

“Um,” the girl begins.

“Ignore her,” Dipper interrupts. “She’s just roping you into a point she’s trying to make.”

“A point I’m making, Dipshit.”

“Fine, okay?” He sighs and looks at the ceiling. “You win. You didn’t pay off the principal for a locker placement.”

“Thank you, now you need to apologize.”

His eyes snap back down to hers. “For what!?”

“For letting your big head presume my entire life revolves around you.”

“I literally never—“

“And you need to admit you were wrong.”

“This is the stupidest—“

“Um,” Susie juts in, and both Pacifica and Dipper stop and turn to her as if they’d forgotten she was there. “You know what? Nevermind. I’ll just… take these with me.” She runs off, armful of textbooks clutched to her chest, and is gone before either Dipper or Pacifica can stop her.
The tardy bell rings just then, and Pacifica pulls a small purse high up on her shoulder as she quickly pulls out a textbook and notebook from her open locker. 

“Great, you’ve made me late,” she snipes. 

“You got here all of three minutes ago. It’s not my fault you don’t have good time management skills.”

Pacifica grabs her locker door and tugs on it, causing Dipper, who was still propped against it, to stumble forward a bit. 

“Still made time to be right about the alphabet.”

“Oh god, this is the most boring argument we’ve ever had.”

She goes again to slam the locker door shut. “And the last one we ever will because I’m never talking to you agai—“ The sound of metal clanging against metal is followed immediately by a loud yelp from Pacifica. She winces and pulls her left hand to her mouth, begins sucking at her index finger.

“Are you okay—?” Dipper begins, frustration falling from him. 

“I’m fine,” she bites back. “Broke a nail though,” she adds, pouting and looking at her manicure with a frown.

Dipper can’t help the laugh that escapes from his throat, but he’s also not surprised when she shoots him a scowl and turns on her heel to make her way down the hallway behind them. Dipper, whose class is also in that direction, has no choice but to follow her as he tries to stifle his amusement.
Keeping a couple of paces behind her, he pulls out his class schedule and flips it over to study the map he’d drawn out to help navigate this way between classrooms. AP Government is up first, which should be just up here on the right if his estimation is correct…

“Could you, like, not stalk me, please?” Pacifica interrupts his thoughts, tossing yet another glare at him over her shoulder.

“Literally just going to first period.” 

She draws her eyebrows together in a frown and comes to a stop a few paces later, turns on point to face him dead-on. “Let me guess,” she says, gesturing to the door to his right. It’s his first period classroom. Their first period classroom, apparently. 

Dipper grins wryly and strides forward to pull open the classroom door.  “After you, princess.” 

Pacifica turns up her head and marches herself into the room, and Dipper follows close behind. 

“Ah, here they are,” says a gruff voice from their right. “A Miss Northwest and a Mr. Pines, I’m assuming?”

Dipper turns to see a man in his late 50s leaning back in a creaky desk chair, legs both propped on the desk before him and hands laced together across a beer gut to rival Grunkle Stan’s. He wears khaki slacks that look like they’ve seen a few too many runs through the washing machine and a crisp yellow polo with “Gravity Falls High Football” embroidered in a corner. Atop his white-grey hair rests a matching cap. 

“Sorry, Mr. Greski,” Pacifica begins. “I would have been here on time, but there were unforeseen circumstances that—“

“Coach Greski, Miss Northwest,” their teacher corrects, pointing at his cap. “Sit down, you two. You’re both new, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time, but for future reference: class begins at eight a.m.” He raps a dry-erase marker against his desk and straightens up. “All right, brats, notebooks out.”

Dipper turns to face the classroom. They’d spent so much time bickering on their way over here that there are only two seats left, both conspicuously empty at the center of the classroom—one front and center and the other directly behind it. Pacifica strides to the one in front, drops into it primly, and takes out her notebook and a hot pink pen. Dipper follows after her lamely and lets himself fall into the seat behind her. 

Their teacher-slash-football coach starts by writing the word “FEDERALISM” in all-caps across the whiteboard, and Dipper takes out his own notebook to begin jotting down notes. 

Out of nowhere, a lock of platinum blonde hair is tossed and falls on his notebook before him. He scowls and brushes it to the side, but it’s immediately followed by a second. Again, he shoves it off, only for another, from the other direction this time to take its place. He groans and kicks Pacifica’s chair, but she just leans back a shakes out her entire mane to allow it to cascade across his desk. Having had enough, Dipper takes out his heavy textbook and opens it to a random page, drops it across her hair to pinch it in place. Pacifica reacts to the noise behind her with a startled jump, causing her to lean forward. Her hair catches and she yelps. Dipper stops his chuckle a second too late, and Coach Greski looks over from the board with a scowl. Both Pacifica and Dipper fall silent, but it’s too late. 

“Keep the schoolyard mating rituals outside the classroom, thank you very much.”

Dipper feels his face flush as around him his new classmates let out a small, uneven chorus of snickers. Pacifica quickly gathers all her hair and brushes it around to her front, well out of Dipper’s way which is a blessing, but unfortunately does expose her neck to his view. Unconsciously, his eyes focus on the smooth skin. He blinks. It’s 8 a.m., man, get a grip. 

She’s in his second period class too, but thankfully they share that one with Mabel. The assigned-seating chart this teacher has decided to deploy makes them victims of alphabetical order once more, but at least Mabel separates him and his tormenter. It’s only a minor relief though, because at one point Pacifica reaches across the desk space in front of Mabel, ostensibly to oh-so-graciously turn a page for her, and in the process very obviously and intentionally knocks Dipper’s pen off their oversized, shared desk. Dipper stifles his reaction, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, and moves to slide out of his chair and duck under the table. Of course, he realizes seconds later, this was her plan all along, because there just past his sister’s jeans, he’s greeted with the long, long legs of Pacifica, one crossed over the other and swinging idly. He swallows, and she’s smirking when he rises back to his seat. 

He positively bolts from AP Literature once the bell rings, and so she follows him this time to third period, science. He spots Candy before she does so he feels no shame in calling dibs on her as a lab partner. Pacifica looks annoyed for a second but then just shrugs, scans the room, and saunters right up and over to an empty seat next to a bespectacled but none-too-ugly teen boy with brown curly hair that looks remarkably like Dipper’s. The boy looks up in surprise and blinks as Pacifica extends her hand. Dipper glowers as he watches the girl give the other boy an overly sweet smile, eyelashes fluttering exaggeratedly before her clear blue eyes snap up to meet his. 

He finds some respite in band, thank goodness. He doesn’t think that his heart would be able to take another hour of this. 

He’s actually having some mixed feelings about band, even after admitting to Mabel that she was right to encourage him to sign up and discovered that Kevin was a member too. He’d done marching band at his old high school during freshman year. It had been, to say the least, a lot. Long practices after school, drills spent running the football field to build endurance, nearly every Friday night spent playing the soundtrack for football games and cheerleading routines. It wasn’t that it wasn’t fun or rewarding, but after that year he’d found that he was more at home in a smaller ensemble. Piedmont High was much bigger than Gravity Falls High and had not only a traditional marching band, but also concert and jazz band, as well as smaller still competition groups. He’d found jazz band to be his comfort zone. He appreciated the smaller, less intimidating scale, as well as the opportunity to get a little bit more creative.

Here, it was just… band. One period, one group of kids. It feels like everyone is turning to look at him as he walks in. All these kids have known each other since they were in Kindergarten, most likely. School bands are a family, and here he is some newcomer trying to enter uninvited. His stomach churns. Maybe this was a mistake.   

Out of nowhere, Kevin Corduroy appears in his vision. “Hey, man! Glad to see you made it.” He slings an arm around Dipper’s shoulders. “Here, let me show you where they store our instruments.”

Dipper startles. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

The two settle down in they respective sections, both near the back, and Dipper begins to prepare his sousaphone as Kevin messes with a very beat-up looking trumpet.

“So, uh,” Dipper begins, feeling dumb, “I guess everyone here has been playing together a long time?”

“Pretty much since we were in diapers,” Kevin confirms, looking over his shoulder back at Dippe. His eyes widen in understanding. “Oh! But hey don’t let that stress you out. Everyone’s super friendly. You’ll be a part of the crew in no time. Here, let me introduce you some.” Kevin gestures around the room, pointing out some people Dipper already knows—like his girlfriend Madison, who waves sweetly, and Candy, a salute from her—as well as some new folks. Dipper feels the butterflies in his stomach settle a bit. 

“So, happy first day, eh?” Kevin continues. “How are you holding up so far?”

Unbidden, a picture of long tan legs, smooth blonde hair, and icy blue eyes flashes in his mind’s eye. 

He swallows. “You know, I’m surviving.”

“I had a good time at your guys’ party last Friday,” Kevin says. “Thanks for inviting us.” He seems to want to say something more, but hesitates. “Couldn’t help but notice though… everything okay between you and Northwest?”

Truth be told, Dipper had kind of expected something like this to be coming at some point. The tension between them after they returned to the party hadn’t exactly been subtle. He tries to adopt a neutral-looking expression. 

“Oh, yeah, man. We’ve just grown apart, you know.” He shrugs. “Can make things awkward.”

Kevin gives him a curious glance. “Wen always said you guys were two peas in a pod.”

“We were,” Dipper says, focusing to keep his voice even and light. “So how is Wendy?” He hopes the change in subject isn’t too abrupt. 

Kevin gives him an amused sort of look. Dipper can’t really blame him. The most Kevin has known of him up to now, aside from the whole Weirdmageddon of it all, is that Dipper is his older sister’s slightly younger friend who may or may not have had a pretty massive crush on her once upon a time. At least, that’s probably why Kevin is looking at him like that. 

“She’s good,” Kevin says, either falling for the distraction or reading the room to take pity on Dipper. “Really likes Oregon State. Honestly though, I figured you’d know as much as I do about how she’s doing.”

Dipper shrugs. He still talks to Wendy enough, but after she left for college there was a definite shift in their friendship. Not that Dipper’s too sore about it. These things happen, and Wendy is in a new stage of her life now. She shares updates about college life in the Mystery Shack group chat, and they text here and there individually, but Dipper tries not to reach out too much. Who wants some annoying kid from back home blowing up your phone as you try to make your way in the cool new world of adulthood?

“She’s busy, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kevin agrees. “But hey! She comes home for weekends every now and then. She’ll be around I bet. She always has tips to give me about the band. Can’t stay away too long.”

“I didn’t know Wendy played an instrument,” Dipper says, surprised. 

“No, no. Not Band— my band. Like a garage band with the guys and Madison. Wendy has opinions on the vibe. Hey, you should come by sometime. Maybe we can try to bring in some brass. Sort of a ska-feel or something…”

Dipper’s heart leaps. He’s not going to pretend he knows a damn thing about garage bands or vibes or any of that, but the idea of being invited to something by a cool, older classmate holds universal appeal. And, let’s be honest, he needs friends.

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” Dipper begins, nodding maybe just a bit too excitedly before being cut off by the rapping of some knuckles against the table at the front of the band room. A tall, lean, young-ish looking man with messy, pushed-back hair and a rolled-up button-down makes his way around the front to lean against it, arms propped back against the hardwood. Mr. Kirkpatrick, the new band instructor, Dipper presumes. 

He presumes correct, as he finds out from the man’s introduction a moment later, although he insists that the kids call him “Mr. K.” He can’t be older than twenty-five, which makes sense once he explains that this is his first teaching job out of his master’s program. A few of the girls in the flute section whisper to one another and giggle. 

Mr. K. hands out sheet music for the year, and Dipper is surprised at the number of pieces he doesn’t recognize. Not a ‘Sweet Caroline’ to be found. Their director explains that while, yes, they will have to learn some pieces designed for “cheerleaders to jump around to” their focus is going to be on concert arrangements, more avant-garde and unorthodox than you’d typically find at a high school. Dipper flips through the sheet music, his excitement growing. This is his wheelhouse. Things are really beginning to look up. 

“But first,” Mr. K. says, raising his hands to the class in good-natured resignation. “Homecoming is in three weeks. So, cheerleader music it is.”

Well, that’s just the way of things, Dipper concedes internally as he picks up his instrument. 

Lunch follows fourth period, and Dipper readily accepts Kevin’s offer to join him and some of the other Senior band kids. Mabel finds him in the cafeteria a bit later and offers to eat alongside them too, but Dipper can see the social butterfly in her yearning to fly free, so he assures her that’s he’s got this and she flounces off to bounce from table to table. 

He lets himself get swept up in the conversation and summertime story-swapping of the kids around him. He’s beginning to feel so much better that he only notices Pacifica at all when Mabel trots up to a table full of pretty girls that he assumes must be the cheer team. He forces himself not to look at her. She was driving him crazy all morning, but he’s begun to start to feel more confident and he’s not about to let getting caught looking at her spoil it. Let her look. Let her try to flip her hair and laugh and prove whatever it is she’s trying to prove. He’s not going to let it bug him. Well, that’s a lie, but he’s feeling a renewed determination not to let her see that it bugs him. 

Of course, he’s only a man. 

Just a peek, he tells himself. His eyes meet hers the very second he looks up, and wow, isn’t that something? Her eyes widen, and she looks away quickly. He takes immense satisfaction out of the fact that she was the one staring. And also at the way her face flushed once he caught her. 

By now he’s figured out who the other senior who signed up for all the same advanced courses as him is, so he assumes he’ll have the pleasure (or displeasure, he really hasn’t decided yet) of sharing the remainder of his day with her as well. No matter, he tells himself, resolve growing. He knows she wouldn’t be so gleeful about tormenting him if she didn’t still care on some level. 

He’s also just generally feeling better after band and lunch. He’s found a place here, and this is his school as much as it is hers. He leans back in his chair, examines her once more from across the cafeteria as the lunch bell rings. Plus, turnabout is fair play. 

Chapter Text

“Hola, chicas!” Mabel grins out as she squeezes herself in between Pacifica and one of the other cheer girls—Katy, she was at the twins’ party too—and slings an arm around each. Pacifica had watched, amused, as Mabel did her first-day-of-school social rounds. She’s just come over from visiting with Candy and a few others Pacifica doesn’t know. Grenda must have gotten stuck in the other lunch period. 

“Um, hello?” Pacifica says, pushing Mabel lightly as soon as she’s sat down. “No apology?” 

“Apology for what?” Mabel says, drawing an astonished hand to her chest. “I’ve given all my apologies!”

“You know what!”

“Do not.”

“You should.”

Mabel pops one of the grapes from Pacifica’s lunch in her mouth. “Let’s assume I do. Why are you bringing this up now anyway? I saw you in second period.”

“I obviously couldn’t bring it up with him there.”

“Who?”

“Mabel,” Pacifica sighs, exasperated. The Pines twins will surely be the death of her. 

Mabel grins. “What?”

“Will you stop playing dumb?”

She lets out a short, delighted laugh. “Okay. But no, if you’re referring to my genius decision to select you and Dip-Dop to pair up during the seven minutes game, I will not be apologizing for that. You should be thanking me.”

“We had a plan!” Pacifica argues. “You were supposed to help me make him mad!”

Mabel shrugs. “I had a better plan.”

“What’s the deal with you and her brother anyway?” Katy interrupts. 

“Nothing,” Pacifica bites, gripping the wooden lunch table in front of her.

“They’re in love,” Mabel coos at almost the same time. 

“Mabel!” Pacifica turns to Katy. “We’re not. We used to be friends. Now he’s dead to me.” She grips the table even tighter, winces when a bit of splintered bit of wood pierces her finger. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Katy muses, watching Pacifica from the corner of her eye. “He’s pretty cute.”

Mabel grins mischievously, and Pacifica cuts her eyes quickly at Katy. She isn’t sure if she’s trying to give off “whose friend are you?” or “don’t you dare touch him,” but the effect is the same either way. Katy smiles lightly and rears back to raise her hands in a show of forfeit. 

“Anyway,” Pacifica says in a tone she hopes signals the end of the conversation. “Moving on. Weekend plans, girls?”

The girls at her table erupt into a flurry of excited proposals, and Pacifica listens absently as she considers her surroundings. She’d sat with the cheerleaders because 1) they’re really the only people she’s met so far and 2) honestly, most of them aren’t half-bad. The ones who do kind of suck seem to prefer to keep to themselves in a tightly-knit clique anyway. Pacifica can see those girls now from her peripheral vision, sequestered at the table to her group’s left, where they can pass judgment on everyone else from on high. She knows that a few years ago she probably would have been over there with them, but doesn’t feel any regret about where she is now. She supposes she does have Mabel to thank for some things. She doubts they could have provided half as decent a friendship.

Speaking of, however, Pacifica notices that the volume of the girls at the table next to theirs has lowered. Out of the corner of her eye she can see that they’ve started whispering to one another. Ugh, when will people learn that you actually attract more attention by doing that than if they’d just kept talking at their normal level? Whatever. 

The girls look up from their huddle just then, and their designated leader, Bethany, calls over.

“Pacifica, you should come sit over here.” She makes room by scooting to the side, pats the new spot beside her. 

Bethany is blonde senior who had first extended her the invitation to join, and she turned out to be the captain of the squad, as well as the reigning queen bee of Gravity Falls High, for whatever that’s worth. Pacifica thinks she’s… whatever. A bit of an attitude, sure, but she’s not a complete jerk. But also nothing special. Pacifica knows better than to believe that one girl really can rule an entire school by pure force of sass, anyway. To really be a leader, to influence people and events and trends requires a more subtle approach. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but it’s a delicate dance, and one Pacifica thinks she’s gotten pretty good at over the years. 

Anyway, Bethany’s fine as far as small-town high school queen bees go, is her point. But she lacks the skill to really have any sort of lasting impact, and Pacifica doesn’t have any interest in being one of her underlings. Although, to be fair, Pacifica doesn’t have an interest in being anyone’s underling. 

Maybe if Bethany at least had the social grace to make some sort of reason for her invitation to Pacifica specifically, she would have considered a conversation. A ‘hey new girl, let’s get to know you’ would have been tactful at least, so the others didn’t feel excluded. 

But probably not. Pacifica doesn’t go to people. People come to her. 

“I’m good!” she tosses back over to the other table. She makes sure to send an easy smile hot on its tail. 

Bethany’s eyes widen a bit, but she recovers, turns back to her girls. 

Mabel gives Pacifica an impressed look. “You never lose your touch.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replies, airy, but still gives Mabel an appreciative, secret smile. 

The conversation turns to strategizing plans for their homecoming routine, and Pacifica takes the opportunity to surveil the cafeteria. Just to… get an idea of the lay of the land. She lets her eyes dance over the tables before landing on one in particular. A mix of boys and girls, talking animatedly about god knows what. Probably table-top games. On one end, fully engaged in whatever the topic is, sits Dipper. He looks far more relaxed than he did earlier in the day, very much at home. Well, she muses, guess he found his people. 

She’d been enjoying messing with him this morning. She’s still confused and hurt about him ghosting her, of course. But the way he’d been just so ready to lean in and kiss her in the closet at their birthday party had given her the ego boost she needed to patch up those wounds a little, at least superficially. No, she may still not know why it was so easy for him to just disappear on her, but at least she knows he thinks she’s hot. So that’s what she’d decided to lean into, can you blame her? Maybe it’s a tired strategy, but she’s a tired girl. At least when it comes to this boy. 

She watches as he smiles at someone’s joke, and tries to ignore both the surge of affection and jealousy that rises in her chest. In the back of her mind she tells herself she’ll look away in a just a second, or maybe another second, okay, maybe just one more—

His eyes jump up to meet hers. Shit. Her face burns and she looks to the side. 

Okay, Pacifica. That’s okay. So he caught you looking at him, no big deal. You’re allowed to look around the room, aren’t you? Maybe he didn’t see. Maybe he wasn’t looking at you anyway…

She decides to risk another glance. Immediate regret. His eyes are still locked on hers, but this time there’s a stupid smug smirk plastered on his face. He knows he caught her. He lifts his chin in greeting, just so, before letting his eyes move toward his lunch table companions, easy smile still lingering on his face. 

Dammit, she thinks, fuming at herself internally. She was supposed to have the upper hand. She did have it all morning, too. But with one reckless slip on her part and one undeservedly cocksure smile on his, he’d had her blushing like an idiot. Okay, this is fine, she tells herself. She has the whole rest of lunch to ignore him. Keep her cool, look happy. She’s fine. She has time. 

The bell rings, and around her students rise in unison like the waters of a flood. Ugh, never mind. 

Pacifica is pretty smart. When she’d realized that she and Dipper shared the first three periods together and had their respective electives at the same time, she’d run a quick logic game in her head and figured out that, statistically, it’s pretty darn likely that they share the rest of their classes too. She knows Dipper well enough to know he probably opted for all the most advanced courses, just as she did, and they’re only offered so many times at such a small school. 

Mabel and Katy wave their goodbyes and walk off to their next classes, and Pacifica makes her way to Spanish. 

Dipper’s already there, seated at a two-person desk far in the back, and since he’s still got her a little off her game she decides to opt for a seat near the front to collect her wits and come up with a plan to win her advantage back. Plus, from here Dipper’ll just have to stare at her and notice every time her hand flies up before anyone else’s and be begrudgingly impressed with how multilingual she is. On top of being hot. Yeah, good plan. So long as he stays put. 

Minutes later a frantic-looking boy runs in just as the tardy bell rings, looks around for other options further back, and finding none, sighs and settles into the empty seat at her desk in the front row. Safe, she thinks, and moves to get herself ready for class. 

“Hey, you wanna switch with me?”

Pacifica jumps and twists in her seat to see Dipper standing over the boy next to her. The question is posed to him. The boy looks over his shoulder at the empty seat Dipper nods toward in the back of the room.

“Seriously? That would be awesome,” he says.

Dipper shrugs magnanimously, like he’s just the most generous person on the planet doing this out of nothing from the kindness of his heart, and the boy quickly gathers his books and darts toward the back. Dipper slides into the vacated seat and gives Pacifica’s glare an exaggeratedly confused tilt of his head. 

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. 

“You’re impossible.”

“I just like the front.” He shrugs. 

The double desks in this classroom must be older than the ones in the others because they’re far smaller. The sleeve of Dipper’s flannel brushes up against her arm as he takes out his books and gets settled in, and Pacifica is pretty sure that she can smell his body wash or deodorant or something. It’s familiar and comforting, and makes little electric zings go off her brain. Ugh. 

Their Spanish teacher rushes in just then, a plump older woman with frizzy red hair streaked with white. She introduces herself as Señora Butterfield and proudly informs them all that she’s the most seniored faculty on staff. 

“They almost got me to retire last year. I even put in mi renuncia, but then the young lady they hired ran off to Vancouver, and with no one else to call: ¡Aquí estoy!” She clears her throat and begins writing on the board. “Bueno, mis niños lindos, abran sus libros de texto en la página catorce y saquen sus cuadernitos. Vamos a empezar repasando lo básico de Español Tres, ¿sí?””

The class obeys, and as the soft sound of pages being ruffled fills the air around her, Dipper leans in closer still. Pacifica tries to ignore him, just flips open her blank notebook and plucks her trusty pink pen from where her pencil case rests on the table. 

“Hey,” he says, from very close to her right. 

She ignores him. 

“Pacifica,” he whispers. 

She ignores him still. 

“Cif,” he insists, and even though she can feel that he’s leaned in closer still, even though she’s pretty sure she can feel his breath on her neck, her resolve crumbles and she turns abruptly to face him. 

“What?” 

Big mistake. 

Her eyes lock on his, which isn’t hard to do since they’re barely inches away from her. Their noses could touch if she just leaned in a little to her right. His eyes widen briefly, delight passing behind them, and his slightly open mouth curves into a smile. He starts to lean in and her brain goes haywire. He’s not about to try to kiss her, is he? Right here? Right in front of literally their entire class and teacher and—

He reaches past her, snatches a pen from her case. 

“Can I borrow this?”

She balks, and he just smirks.

“What?” he continues. “Did you think I was going to do something else?” 

She ignores him for the rest of the period. 

Their desks are arranged in large groups in Calculus II, and Pacifica makes a point to let Dipper go in and choose his seat first before picking out one for herself that’s within his sightline, but arranged in a way so that her back will be turned to him. There, let him be the tortured one, just like it should be. 

About halfway through the class, she feels something light hit the back of her head. She pauses, considers that she might have just imagined it. Probably did. But a second later, there it is again - a light smack to her shoulder this time. She twists around and notices two small bunched-up pieces of paper on the ground. Reluctantly, trying to avoid the attention of the teacher, she leans down to pick them up and smooths each out on her desk. They’re blank. 

She looks over her shoulder at Dipper, who is studiously ignoring her, jotting down notes. 

Whatever. She turns back around. 

Another flick to the back of her head. Another paper ball. She smothers a growl as she snatches it up. Another blank. She shoots Dipper a glare that he, once again, ignores in favor of taking notes. 

Again. Another blank paper. Another glare that’s met with the very picture of innocence.

And again. 

Once more. 

She’s just about had it by the time the seventh bunched-up ball of paper hits her. Furiously, more than anything just angry at herself for even playing this game at all, she smooths out the paper. This one is not blank.

Stop staring at me, it reads. 

Pacifica feels the indignant fury of a thousand pissed-off teenage girls rise up in her soul, and she doesn’t even try to hide how quickly and with how much force she spins to send him the meanest, most vindictive scowl she can manage.  She wishes she could actually send daggers from her eyes. 

Infuriatingly, he just gives her a crooked half-smile and points toward the board in a silent “pay attention.”

She is literally going to kill him. 

She thinks she’ll be safe in their final class, AP Psychology. They’ve received assigned seats here, but they must be at random because they end up on different sides of the classroom. The teacher goes over their syllabus and the plan for the year, wrapping up by explaining that for their final they’ll be pairing up in groups of two to give a presentation on the topic of their choosing. Unexpectedly, their teacher releases them with a wave of her hand and tells them to get into their chosen pairs now. Like, right now. 

Pacifica freezes. Her eyes dart to Dipper’s in warning. Don’t you even think about it. His meet hers, excited and full of mischief, and he’s up and out of his chair and in front of her before she can run. He squats next to her desk, one hand on top of it and the other at the back of her chair, effectively blocking her escape. 

“What do you say?” he asks.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll let you choose the topic. Whatever you want.” He gives her a beguiling look.

Pacifica has no intention of agreeing, but can’t resist an opportunity for a good jab. She grabs her textbook, flips it open to the table of contents and runs a finger down the list. “How about defense mechanisms? Some people are so good at pretending they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Defense mechanisms would be good. Maybe we can get to the bottom of why some people refuse to accept apologies.”

“Ooh,” Pacifica coos sarcastically, pointing to another subject. “Cognitive dissonance? Like saying you care about someone and then treating them like crap?”

Dipper leans forward and lowers his voice, but keeps his tone light. “Or receiving an explanation but just not trusting it?”

“Hilarious that you considered that an explanation.”

“Hey, I thought we were just coming up with a topic here.”

Pacifica rolls her eyes. “I see here in the Freud unit that there’s a topic called ego - maybe we can learn why some people think that they’re just oh-so-much more important and intelligent and all-around better than others?”

Dipper smirks. “Well, at the risk of sounding oh-so-much more intelligent than others, that’s actually not what ego is referring to in that context.”

Pacifica growls. “Right, my bad, I see it here. What you have must be a superego, right?”

From the front of the room, the teacher claps her hands to get the students’ attention. “All right kids, looks like everyone is paired up, so back to your seats. You can choose your topics outside of class time.” 

Pacifica’s jaw drops. She spins back to face Dipper, who looks pleased as punch as he rises back to his full height. He raps on her desk twice and gives her an annoyingly proud quirk of his lips. “Guess we’ll just have to figure it out later.”

She can’t believe she fell for that. Hook, line, and sinker. What is wrong with her?

Eventually, the bell that signals the end of the day does finally ring. Pacifica flees the classroom to gather up her personal belongings from her locker, ducking around a very alarmed-looking Susie Oglethorpe and making her way out to the school’s designated pick-up area. Her driver is usually pretty good about being on time, but after the afternoon she’s had she’s unreasonably annoyed that he isn’t already here waiting for her. 

She squeezes her arms around her middle and clutches the straps of her backpack, wedged heel tapping on the sidewalk as she narrows her focus on the road from where she expects to spot her family’s sleek town car emerge. 

A soft arm laces itself through one of hers, a head of curly long hair moving to rest on her shoulder.

“Could I convince you to let us take you home?” Mabel asks, squeezing Pacifica’s upper arm and looking over at her beseechingly. 

Pacifica scoffs, but there isn’t much venom behind it. “Nice try.”

Mabel shrugs but smiles. “Gotta do what I can.”

Dipper wanders up from behind his sister, looking annoyingly ready to continue to pester her. “What, you don’t have your very own Malibu Pacifica convertible?”

She sniffs. “Driving is manual labor. Manual labor is for peasants.” 

Mabel looks between the two of them. “Yikes, what happened after lunch?”

“Your idiot brother has been spending the last half of the day trying to drive me insane,” Pacifica tells her.

Dipper scoffs and crosses his arms in front of him. “Oh like you weren’t doing the same thing to me in the morning half.”

“I was very much focused on learning, thank you very much.”

“Give me a break.”

“Oh hey!” Mabel interrupts, pulling Pacifica in a little closer as she kicks Dipper’s shin. “Look, Paz.” She pulls out a flyer, shoves it under Pacifica’s nose. “Homecoming Queen nominations are tomorrow at lunch. Want me to put your name in?”

Pacifica examines the flyer. She doesn’t need to win a contest to know she’s pretty, and she has enough crowns to fill up her trophy room at home already, so she hadn’t really considered it, truth be told. Her twelve-year-old self would be horrified at her ambivalence. 

Dipper snorts. “Those things are rigged.”

Pacifica lets her eyes glance up at him.

“What do you mean?” Mabel asks. 

“These kids have known each other forever. It’s always the girl who’s dating the quarterback, or the head cheerleader, or just like, whoever the hottest girl in school is.”

There. There. She knows just how to regain the upper hand again, and he’s practically set the snare for himself.

She plucks the flyer from Mabel’s hands. “Hottest girl in school? Well, that’s obviously me.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Dipper continues, unknowingly digging his own conversational grave.

She takes two long strides in his direction and sends him a pointed look, really leaning into it. “What?” She pauses, leans in closer still. Relishes how his cheeks color. “So you don’t think I’m the prettiest girl in school?”

Dipper goes still, mouth falling open in a small ‘o’ as he realizes his mistake. She can see his brain working through how to answer. It’s a trap. She knows it. He knows it. She knows that he knows it and that he knows that she knows that… whatever. He settles on a response, tilting his head as he waves his hand, obviously shooting for casual and sarcastic. “Sure. Humblest too.”

But his voice still wavers a little.

Pacifica smirks, self-satisfied. She turns Mabel. “Go ahead and put my name in.” 

Her driver pulls around the corner. Finally. “Looks like I gotta go,” she continues. She leans in to give Mabel a hug and air-kiss near the cheek, then turns to Dipper. She walks right up to him, stares him down. His cheeks redden even more. She’s won this round and they both know it. At least she’s ending the day on top. Small victories. She tosses her hair. “Well, see you tomorrow.” 

And with that she’s off. Not a backward glance. She lets her driver open her door for her, drops gracefully into the backseat, waits for him to close the door separating her from the rest of the world… and lets out the loudest, most exasperated groan of her life. 

Chapter Text

Dipper really does try to stay on top of his game when it comes to Pacifica in the following weeks. And for the most part, he thinks he’s doing pretty okay. He doesn’t lay on the attention-seeking as thick as he did the first day of school— he does have to keep his grades up after all— but he makes sure to sprinkle in enough wry comments and playful jabs to keep her from completely shutting him out. He knows she can’t resist an opportunity to spar with him, and it’s really all she seems to be responding to at this point. Even if her responses mostly consist of eye rolls, sassy one-liners and annoyed scoffs.

Still, it’s better than nothing and Dipper thinks he’ll be able to wear her down eventually, assuming he’s able to keep his cool.

There are challenges though. 

Challenges like the rotation of flouncy sundresses that he assumes must be specifically designed to drive him to the brink of madness. How on earth is he supposed to focus on learning about the structures of government when from in front of him she sweeps her hair up into a high twist, uses a pencil to hold it in place, and gives him such a distracting view the freckles that dot her shoulders and upper back? Or on conjugating Spanish verbs when he has to bear witness to the way her skirts dance around her thighs as she floats into class and takes her spot so temptingly close to him?

There’s also the swimsuit she chose to wear that one Saturday when nearly everyone in their year had gone to the lake to enjoy the last bits of the warm weather. He’d been unable to do anything but stare as she toyed with the straps at her shoulders, chatting with some guy from the football team and tossing him the occasional haughty glance. Mabel nearly had to dump her entire water bottle over his head to get him to snap back to reality when she had taken a dip in the lake and then, upon reaching the shoreline, slowly stood and began sauntering back up to the beach, water droplets dripping from her hair and catching the light. 

But the worst comes every Friday. Because Fridays are game days, and those are the days the cheerleaders wear their uniforms to school. He knew she would look cute in the black-and-gold matching set. He’s been anticipating it, even. But he hadn’t been prepared for the way his pulse would start to race or how his cheeks would go so incredibly hot the first time he saw her walking down the hallway toward their lockers in that little skirt, her hair pulled up into a high pony and topped off with a matching bow. He knows it’s cliché to be so into it, but he can’t bring himself to care. The only bad thing about it is that he can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence when she’s looking like that, which really is throwing a wrench in his whole banter-until-he-wears-her-down-and-she-forgives-him plan. 

Football season can only last so long though, thankfully, and since Gravity Falls High’s team is frankly pretty darn terrible, at least he won’t have to worry about any sort of postseason extended torture. By the time the homecoming game rolls around, he’s even convinced himself he can survive it. In a way. 

Shamelessly, he watches her from his spot with the band in the bleachers. They’d already finished their halftime routine, so now all he has to worry about is getting through the few more school spirit songs they have left to play and trying not to look too desperate to run onto the field and grab her and kiss her in front of the entire student body. He decides he only has the energy for one, and since giving up on playing music isn’t an option, he doesn’t stop himself from his mournful gazing. 

“Pines!” shouts his band director when they stop for a break and the pre-programmed music from oversized speakers takes over for their instruments. Their teacher takes a swig from his water bottle, then points it at him. “Eyes on your sheet music, not the girls!”

Dipper feels the tips of his ears go hot, and from the row in front of him Kevin lowers his trumpet and twists back to face him. 

“Things still weird between you and Northwest?”

“You could say that,” Dipper admits. 

He’s not about to pour his heart out to Kevin just yet. They’re getting to be solid friends but are still very much in the early stages, so most of their emotional closeness amounts to “crazy week, huh, man?” followed by a “for sure, dude.” 

They’ll get there. 

Kevin lets it go, and Dipper is grateful. The two boys turn their attention to the field, where a linebacker from the visiting team executes a pretty rough-looking tackle against one of their own players. Dipper winces, and Kevin lets out a low whistle. 

“Yep,” Kevin says. “We’re pretty overdue for a cursed year.”

“A what now?” Dipper asks. 

“Oh, you haven’t heard about that yet?”

Dipper shakes his head. 

“It’s like an old urban legend,” Kevin explains. “Every thirty years or so, the school has, like, a really bad year. Not just in sports either. We’re talking unexplained accidents, bits of the campus falling apart, even a death once or twice.” Dipper’s head pops up at that, and Kevin nods. “Yeah, scary shit. Then the next year: back to normal. Normal as it can be. But anyway, so they call them the cursed years. Usually ushered in by a really shit football season. Though, that happens every year, so…”

Dipper tilts his head. “Every thirty years, exactly?”

“Give or take.” Kevin shrugs. “The last one was in the 80s, so everyone’s convinced we’ve got one coming soon.”

“No sort of connection between the years?” 

“Not as far as anyone can tell,” Kevin says. “They’re just like, really shitty. Bad luck all around. Then again, it could just be that the school is getting old. Not much budget for repairs, you know? Things are bound to fall apart eventually.”

“Seems like too regular of a pattern to be a coincidence, though,” Dipper says. “Especially here.” His mind starts to spin with theories, but then from the corner of his eye he can see that the cheerleaders are lining back up at the edge of the field. 

Kevin nods. “Yeah, I’m a believer too. The next one will be… number five I think? If my math is right.”

“That’s a lot,” Dipper says, eyes fully back on the track. He notices how there seems to be some sort of shimmer on Pacifica’s shoulders, a glittery makeup catching on the stadium lights above her. Huh, must have been his sister’s doing. It wasn’t there in class this morning. 

“I know, the school was founded in, like, the 1890s, so yeah I think—”

“Yeah, interesting,” Dipper mumbles as he watches Pacifica shift her hips from one side to the other in tune with the music coming from the speakers. 

“All right,” Kevin laughs. “Well, I can tell I’ve lost you.”

Under normal circumstances, discussion of curses and legends and mysterious accidents would have his undivided attention, but he’s willing to admit he’s getting a little distracted. But honestly who wouldn’t be when the girl you’re maybe a little mildly obsessed with keeps tossing her ponytail and sending smirks in your direction as she kicks her legs sky high?

Somehow though, Dipper manages to shake himself out of his daydreaming. “Sorry! No, no, I’m here.” He feels his cheeks go hot again and gives Kevin a self-conscious look. “It’s just, uh, I guess I maybe miss her more than I wanted to admit earlier.”

Kevin gives him an inquisitive look. “And you guys never… you know…?”

Dipper shakes his head from side to side. “Nope. Very platonic.” 

“Oh come on,” Kevin says, voice dripping in skepticism. 

“Really. Nothing’s ever happened.”

“That’s not the same thing as being platonic, though.”

Dipper coughs. He’s got him there. “Well,” he begins. “I guess I’ll just say then that I really don’t think anything’s going to happen.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Kevin says, stretching back his shoulders. He gestures to the field. “She’s been eyeing you up as much as you have her.” 

Dipper looks back down at the field, and sure enough, just as Pacifica is coming up from a back spring, her eyes jump right to him—almost like she was checking to see if he was watching. Dipper wipes a hand down his face to try to hide his blush, but also enjoys the jolt of confidence both this and his new friend’s assessment gives him. “Hey, wow,” he says, trying to stifle the smile that tugs at his lips. “Looks like we’re about to start up again, better get set up.” Dipper gets his instrument back into position even though almost none of his bandmates around him have, and Kevin gives him one last smirk before turning back around. 

Down on the field, Pacifica smiles to herself as she finishes up their routine. She knows she’s getting just a little bit too much pleasure out of the fact that she keeps catching Dipper openly ogling her. But she refuses to let herself believe that it means anything as far as her feelings are concerned. She knows she looks hot, and she enjoys the tortured look on his face. That’s all. Has absolutely nothing to do with the little electric jolt that runs up her spine each time his eyes meet hers. Nope. Not at all. 

“Hey, Northwest! Look alive!”

Pacifica spins to see their captain, Bethany, waving her over to come collect her cheer box for their next set.

Oh, she supposes she has been just standing here spacing out for a second, huh? Whatever. 

She jogs over to grab her box, which is really nothing more than a painted wood milk crate, and begins tugging it into position as the girls around her chat during the break. 

“You got a date for the homecoming dance yet, Pacifica?” Katy asks once she’s put her own box in place. Mabel, smelling gossip, probably, appears at her side from out of nowhere.

Pacifica puts a hand on her hip. “Please. With these boys? No thank you.”

“I heard that Josh Winthrop asked you when we were all at the lake.”

“He did.”

“And Andrew Chan last week.”

“Yep.”

“But you said no?”

“Sure did.”

Katy gives her a bewildered look. “They’re some of the cutest guys in school.” 

Pacifica examines her nails. “Oh, are they?”

Katy and Mabel exchange a look, and Pacifica has the feeling that there’s some information being passed between the two of them that she’s purposefully being left out of. She senses a conspiracy.

“What is this?” she continues, pointing a finger between the two them. “What secrets are happening here?”

“Nothing,” Mabel sing-songs.

Pacifica rolls her eyes. “Well, who are you guys going with anyway?”

Mabel tosses one of her pom-poms in the air. “I’m going stag too. Not ready to tie myself down in a school full of new cuties.”

“Katy?”

“I thought I might ask Rebecca Thomas.”

“The mock trial nerd?” Pacifica asks, disbelieving. 

“Didn’t you do mock trial at your old school, Pacifica?” Mabel asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, that was different. Anyone who wasn’t planning to major in art history was going into poli-sci or pre-law. It was very competitive.”

“All I’m hearing is blah-blah-blah-blah rich people nonsense,” Mabel says. She reaches up to twist one of her curls around a finger, twirling it in an innocent way that Pacifica knows means trouble. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black though, don’t you think? Everyone knows you like ‘em nerdy.”

Pacifica ignores this in favor of stepping up on her painted crate, ready for the conversation to be over so she can get back to dancing and drawing the attention of the crowd. For no particular reason. 

“Hey, Mabel,” she hears Katy ask, a little too loud. “Who’s your brother going with again?”

“Well, no one, not so far as I’ve heard anyway.” Pacifica can hear Mabel’s exaggerated grin. “Why ever do you ask?”

“Oh nothing,” Katy says, sounding about as natural as a D-list soap opera actress. “I just heard a rumor.”

“A rumor?!” Mabel exclaims, even less convincing than Katy. “Do tell!”

They go on like that for awhile, and Pacifica sends her eyes sky high as she listens to their theater.

“Well,” Katy stage-whispers. “We have to keep it a secret…” 

“Oh you know my lips are sealed, girl,” Mabel replies, overly solemn.

“Well gosh, I’m not sure if I should say, actually.”

“Surely you can share something.”

“Well, okay. I’ll just say that I heard that someone, someone really popular and pretty and blonde has developed a bit of a crush…”

“Oh! Popular and pretty and blonde— who could that be?”

“Well she’s up for homecoming queen, so if she wins I’m sure there will be no way he could say no when she asks him out.”

“Oh definitely not. Who would say not to the homecoming queen?”

“No one I know!”

“Can’t wait to see who it ends up being…”

Pacifica has had just about enough. She turns to them both, glaring down at them until they look at her. “You guys! I’m not going to ask Dipper out, okay? Would you give it a rest?”

“Who said we were talking about you?” Mabel asks, tilting her head and giving Pacifica a curious look. Pacifica actually can’t tell if she’s being genuine or not, which sends the smallest prickle of anxiety stirring in her gut.  

“Who else could you be talking about?” she asks, trying not to betray her worry. 

Katy and Mabel don’t respond, just look at one another before turning in unison to look at their cheer captain. 

Wait. Bethany?

No, no way. They’ve got to be joking. 

“Are you serious?” Pacifica asks before she can stop herself. 

“Do you care?”

“Of course not! It’s just—that’s crazy.” 

Mabel and Katy each look at her, deadly sobriety written on their features. Pacifica begins to feel the blood drain from her face. 

She really hadn’t considered this as a possibility. She should have, she realizes. She still thinks Dipper’s cute after all. And fine, yes, she’s willing to admit it, okay? So Mabel’s right, maybe she likes her boys kind of on the nerdy side. It’s the Indiana Jones effect, you know? Who doesn’t love a guy with glasses and rolled up sleeves who cares about stuff and gets excited and can open your eyes to new and exciting ideas? Who is smart? Who makes you laugh? But, Dipper is her nerd. She called dibs. Even if she’s currently capital-M-mad at him. No, not currently—for forever. Well, until further notice. Whatever. Point is, she’s allowed to flirt and date and, more honestly, pretend to date, but him? Absolutely not. That’s unthinkable. But then again, wasn’t that one of the things she’d been afraid of this summer when he disappeared? That he’d found someone else? So maybe it’s not such a crazy thought. Has she been too rash with her decision to cut him out? What if some other pretty girl swoops in and—

She stops short, because Mabel and Katy’s expressions have changed completely. They’re both watching her spiral, amusement dancing behind their eyes, each struggling to bite back laughter. 

“What?” Pacifica bites out, looming over them from her box once more. 

Together, they explode into a fit of giggles, only gathering themselves when Mabel catches her breath enough to speak.

“We were totally messing with you, Paz. I don’t know if Bethany even knows who Dipper is.”

“That was so mean!” Pacifica wails.

“Oh?” Mabel asks, grinning. “Why was it mean?!”

Pacifica groans. She fell for it. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, just admit you still care about him.”

“I don’t!”

“You do.”

“No, I—“

“Watch out!” screams Katy’s panicked voice. 

Pacifica barely has time to see the blur of burly boys tumbling toward her from the field. A tackle gone very off-track. Before she knows what’s happened, Mabel’s arms are around her waist and yanking her from her box, and the two girls are falling into the dusty track in a heap. The boys continue their uncontrollable path, stumbling into and breaking her crate with their weight. From somewhere beyond the dust cloud, she can hear Coach Greski yelling profanities at the pile of football players. 

She coughs as the dust settles and rolls off a moaning Mabel.

“Are you okay?” Pacifica asks, rising to her knees and bending over her friend. 

“Fine…” Mabel says, opening her eyes but looking a little dizzy. “Jeez, you’re heavy. Maybe you should try out for the football team instead.”

Pacifica glares and pushes Mabel lightly on the shoulder, but does still offer her a hand to pull her up to her feet. She looks down at her uniform. Covered in dust, the both of them. 

“Mabel! Pacifica! Are you okay?” Dipper’s frantic voice calls from the stands. 

Pacifica turns to see that he’s abandoned his spot in the bleachers and is leaning over the railing at the very front. Practically ready to climb over. She spots Wendy’s brother in the back who seems to have been tasked with juggling both his instrument and Dipper’s—no easy job. Good for him. 

Mabel brushes the dust off her skirt and Pacifica rolls her eyes. 

“We’re fine, Pines!”

“Just practicing our tumbling— eh, eh?” Mabel says, jabbing Pacifica in the ribs. Pacifica fights the urge to say something mean. She did just save her from being an unwilling participant in the game, after all.

Bethany runs over to them with what appears to be genuine concern painted on her face. “Oh my god, are you guys okay?!”

Both Mabel and Pacifica assure her that they’re fine, and Bethany puts a hand on Pacifica’s shoulder. 

“That’s good,” she says. “Because we have to go get changed. Which, like, I guess is lucky considering you…” She trails off and gestures to the front of Pacifica’s uniform, still hopelessly dusty. She nods toward the field. “Game’s over. We lost— which, like, duh. But they’re about to start the homecoming court announcements.”

Pacifica grimaces and tries to smooth out her clothes before deciding it doesn’t matter. Instead she moves to follow Bethany to the makeshift changing rooms that have been set up under the bleachers. She’d only found out that she needed a gown to change into for tonight like, two days ago. Thankfully she has those in spades.  Apparently, public schools announce their homecoming queens and kings at the game? For some reason? At her old school it was at a formal banquet, like civilized people, but she supposes beggars can’t be choosers. Ugh. As she follows Bethany to the changing rooms she wonders why she even let herself get swept up in this stupid popularity contest. Who is she trying to impress, anyway? 

From the corner of her eye, she catches a familiar mop of curly brown hair and warm brown eyes, both belonging to a boy who still looks like he’s about to hop the railing and race toward her. Oh. Right. So annoying. 

Dipper watches as Pacifica follows the head cheerleader and a few other random girls behind the bleachers, and reluctantly turns to make his way back to his seat to relieve Kevin from the responsibility of his sousaphone. He feels a little bad about how he just sort of dumped it on the guy. 

“They okay?” Kevin asks as he sits back down. 

“I think so. Seemed fine anyway.”

The boys sit in heavy silence for a second, and Dipper considers whether or not to bring up what’s really on his mind. Thankfully, Kevin does it first. 

“So that was weird though, right?”

“So weird!” Dipper exclaims. 

“Like we were just talking about accidents—“

“—and then that happens!”

“Go check on her, man. I take care of your shit. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“Dude! If there was ever a time for a freaky curse-y accident to happen, it’s during the Homecoming Queen announcement.”

Dipper doesn’t need to be told twice. “Thanks, Kev.” And then he’s off, bounding down the bleachers and tossing haphazard apologies behind him to the classmates he bumps into. 

Moments later Dipper is under the bleachers, pacing back and forth outside the tent set up for the nominees to change into their dresses for the ceremony. He realizes pretty quickly that this is actually pretty major creep behavior, no matter how honorable his intentions, so he moves deeper under the bleachers and into the shadows, which actually probably isn’t helping the creep vibes, but hey, he’s working with what he’s got here. 

About fifteen minutes pass before the girls start emerging, and he’s this close to having talked himself out of the whole endeavor when he finally sees Pacifica. His heart leaps up into his throat. She’s wearing a dress he’s unfortunately pretty familiar with. It’s the same one she wore to the gala her parents hosted last summer, a deep midnight blue encrusted in crystals that make her look like the night sky. He remembers how she’d grinned up at him as he swung her around the dance floor in a silly, joyful mockery of all the somber waltzing going on around them. Fuck. Had she worn this on purpose?

“Cif,” he says, striding forward and reaching out to take hold of her wrist. 

Pacifica startles, but doesn’t sneer or glare at him or make any of the other expressions he was afraid she might. She just looks surprised. 

“Dip, what are you—?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Uh.” She glances obviously at the other girls. “Kind of in the middle of something.”

“I—I know, it’ll just take a second.”

One of the other girls eyes him curiously, then turns to Pacifica. “You okay?” she asks.

Pacifica nods at her. “Yeah, I’ll catch up in a sec.” Once they’ve wandered off, she turns back to Dipper, tugs her wrist from his grasp, and crosses her arms. “Okay, Pines, you have like literally two minutes. I’m about to go win a contest for being hot, unless you forgot.”

Dipper swallows the instinct to needle her, to poke fun at her arrogance. Not the most important thing right now. Besides, she’s probably right. 

“I just—“ He stops short. Wait. What the heck did he come down here to say? Hey Pacifica, so about fifteen minutes ago I learned the school might, possibly, according to one super senior who might maybe be a little bit of a stoner (Dipper hasn’t confirmed or disproven this, but he has his suspicions), be sort of cursed, and for some reason that means you might be in danger and no, that definitely isn’t just my paranoia acting up because I’m crazy in love with you?  He blinks. “I, uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay. From when the football guys sort of almost ran you over.”

Pacifica raises an eyebrow at him. “Really?” 

Dipper swallows and looks up at the bleachers above them. He shakes out his shoulders, trying to release his anxiety. “Well, no. No. I just… I’m worried about you. I heard some stuff—“

“What kind of stuff?”

“Like… curse… stuff?”

“Curse stuff,” Pacifica repeats, deadpan. 

Dipper winces. “I know it sounds stupid, but you of all people should know that curses are real—“

“Obviously I know that curses are real,” she says, taking a step closer to him and putting her hands on her hips. “What I don’t know is why you’re bringing this up literally right now because that seems like weird timing, unless you were just trying to get me to pay attention to you, or, I don’t know, stop me from winning this and having something in my life that doesn’t center around you.”

That takes Dipper aback. “I never said you didn’t have things that weren’t about me—“

“Never said you said it.”

Dipper groans and throws his hands into his hair, pulling at it in frustration for a second. “Pacifica, I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!”

Pacifica scoffs but says nothing, and Dipper takes advantage of her momentary disarmament to reach for her hands again, pulling her toward him. 

“I do,” he says, not caring how desperate he sounds. “Just— just please be careful. You’re gonna win. We both know it. But if it seems like— shit I don’t know— if there’s an explosive in the crown or if one of the other nominees has a machete up her skirt or something— just please, please be careful.”

“You sound insane.”

“I know!”

They’re both silent after that, and a beat or two passes before Pacifica seems to register that he’s still holding her hands in his. She looks down at them, not quite frowning but certainly not smiling either. She pulls them from his grasp, and he lets her. 

“I’ll be careful,” she says, quietly, not meeting his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he responds, just as quiet. 

She makes to go, but before she steps out of the shadows and back under the stadium lights, she turns back to look over her shoulder. “You still sound totally mental.”

Dipper shoves his hands in his pockets and lets a small, self-deprecating laugh escape his lips as he kicks at the dirt in front of him and shrugs. He looks up to meet her eyes. “Guess that’s just what you do to me.”

He feels his cheeks warm immediately, but is calmed when he notices how hers have gone pink as well. 

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” she says. And she leaves before he comes up with a response. 

Dipper takes in a deep, deep breath and lets it out slowly, willing his shoulders to relax as he looks up at the steel above him and tries to calm himself down. He gives her about thirty seconds of leeway before following the path she set out back toward the field. He finds Mabel hanging out near the fence. She waves him over and gestures toward the space next to her that she’s apparently saved for him. 

“What was that all about?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Good luck kisses?”

He lets out a dark laugh as he leans his forearms against the top of the railing. “Yeah, right. Nah, just, uh… I dunno. Let’s just watch the ceremony.”

Mabel examines him but eventually does nod and turn back to the field where the nominees have taken their places, each bearing a sash reading “Homecoming Princess” as they stand primly, waiting to see who will be crowned fairest of them all. 

Pacifica wins. Of course she does. She wins everything. 

And to both his relief and surprise, nothing happens. No exploding crown. No vindictive competitor. Just his perfect, pretty girl, walking up to accept her crown and roses, and the curious, lingering look she gives him as she lets the boy who won King escort her off the field.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Dipper approaches his great uncle while he works on the family TV— something about trying to tune it to get stations from other dimensions? Dipper questions the wisdom in this given the family history, but decides it’s not a fight worth picking. 

“Hey, Grunkle Ford, can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly!” comes the muffled voice of Ford from behind the set. A spark goes off from the back of the television, and Ford pulls back to wipe it from his brow and turn to Dipper.

“Did you ever hear anything about a curse on the high school here in town?” Dipper asks.

“A curse?” Ford rubs his chin. “No, I can’t say I have. Though it certainly wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility. What can you tell me about it?”

Dipper shrugs, feeling a little sheepish. “I don’t know much. Just rumors, really. Something about a lot of bad luck happening every thirty years or so. Last time would have been some time in the ‘80s?”

“Well,” Ford says, looking thoughtful. “You’re really better off asking Stanley about that. I was only in Gravity Falls for a very short portion of that decade before I fell into the portal, you know. But I’ll try to think back on whether or not it ever came up in my research.”

“Right, right…” Dipper says, turning to where Grunkle Stan sits in his armchair, reading a magazine while he waits for the television to be fixed. “Well, Grunkle Stan, can you tell me about Gravity Falls in the 80s?” 

Stan lowers his magazine, leans back with a wistful look on his face. “The 80s? Oh, the 80s were a glorious time! Hair was big, shorts were short. Economy was booming so every sucker out there was looking to spend their extra dough on some doo-dad or gizmo that promised to make their life better. Oh, what a time, why I—“

“No,” Dipper interrupts, feeling impatient. “I mean like weird stuff. Like, you know, Gravity Falls stuff. About the high school maybe?”

“Dipper, I know you’re somewhat naïve to these types of things, but people tend to find it a little bit creepy when grown men hang around a high school without a reason for being there.”

“Come on, man.” Dipper stifles a groan. “It’s a small town. If something weird happened, word would have gotten around. Like something that might’ve made it into the papers?”

Stan scoffs. “Well hell if I know! Go look at the papers, then.”

Dipper does plan to do that, but the 1980s was a long decade and that’s really the only direction he has so far, so he was kind of hoping someone might be able to narrow the beginning of his investigation a little. He rolls his eyes a little and prepares to head toward his room, when Stan interrupts his exit. 

“But come to think of it,” Stan says, scratching his belly as he looks toward the ceiling in contemplation. “I do sort of remember some sort of issue with the theater. I think. I know they rebuilt it, at any rate. Jokers who did it got the job for a steal. I put in a bid too, but then it was all ‘we can’t hire someone who doesn’t have a contracting license’ this and ‘it’s a massive liability and also illegal’ that.”

“The theater,” Dipper repeats, ignoring the other parts. “Well, at least that gives me somewhere to start.”

“Kid,” Stan says. “Schools fall apart sometimes. Especially ones that were built over 100 years ago in the boondocks and don’t have any money for repairs.”

“Maybe,” Dipper says. “But if something strange is happening, I have to get to the bottom of it.”

“Something strange?” Ford interjects. “What’s happened?”

“Uhm,” Dipper begins. “Well, nothing really. A, uh, a moment at the game last night… some football guys kind of fell into the cheerleaders.”

“Football players fell,” Stan echoes, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah.” 

“During the football game? A game where a pretty major point is trying to get the other side to fall and drop the ball?”

“Well, yes…”

“But this was a big accident?” Ford chimes in. “People got hurt?”

“Not exactly, no…” Dipper admits. “But it wasn’t just that they were tackling each other! They went way out of bounds and practically ran into the cheerleaders who were well off on the sidelines. Like they would have had to have been paying no attention. It wasn’t normal at all.”

“Ah, right, the cheerleaders,” Stan says. “Of course, you’re just worried about the cheerleaders. Or, is it ‘cheerleader’?”

Dipper feels his ears go hot. “Look I’m not saying it was a massive thing or whatever but it was weird and Kevin and I were just talking about the curse and if there is one then I think I should try to get to the bottom of it before anything weirder happens.”

Dipper watches as Ford and Stan exchange a look, which only spurs on his frustration more. They weren’t there, they don’t understand. 

“Dipper, my boy,” Ford starts, in a calm tone that just pisses Dipper off more. “You know that I’m more eager—sometimes too eager—than anyone to attribute supernatural explanations to common phenomena. But I do have to agree with Stanley here. This… football accident doesn’t seem that unusual. And as far as the theater being rebuilt, well, public school infrastructure failing isn’t exactly uncommon.” Dipper crosses his arms, but Ford continues. “Besides, cyclical curses don’t typically follow the pattern you’re describing. If it were exactly every 30 years, or always on the first full moon, something of that nature… that would make sense. But 30 years ‘give or take’ would be a strange curse for someone to create. Whoever placed it would’ve had to have specified the exact years it was going to arise—and for what reason? He’d have to be able to predict the future. The only other explanation would be if there was some sort of factor in common that happened to trigger the curse roughly every 30 years. It’s possible, of course. But you would have to find out what that common factor is to determine the origin of the curse and whether or not it’s prone to be reignited this year or not.”

“Exactly!” Dipper says, leaning forward. He knows Ford and Stan still don’t believe him, but at least Ford gets his logic. “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I just need to figure out when the other years were and find the common denominator between them all. That shouldn’t be so hard.”

“It would take some digging,” Ford warns. “I’ve never even heard of this legend. I doubt you’re going to find a ‘list of cursed years’ tucked away in the city archives.”

“I gotta try,” Dipper says, resolute. “I have a bad feeling.”

His Grunkles exchange another look before Ford tries once more. 

“And you’re sure you’re not just trying to distract yourself from… other issues?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dipper mutters as he takes to the stairs.

Several hours later, Dipper is tearing apart his closet, throwing his few pairs of slacks, button-down shirts, and ties onto his bed and frowning as he mixes and matches them in various color combinations. 

“Knock, knock!” Mabel announces, barging in and not actually knocking at all. “I… whoa—“ She takes in the mess of clothing. “What’s happening here?”

“I gotta figure out what to wear to the dance tonight,” Dipper replies, barely giving her a glance.

“You’re going?” Mabel asks, sounding incredulous.

“Of course.” Dipper waves a hand dismissively. “Why wouldn’t I go?”

“Oh gee, I dunno, because you haven’t gone to literally any dance in our last three years of high school.”

Dipper shrugs. “Well, I am now. People can change.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They can.”

“And this has nothing to do with—“

“It has a little bit to do with her,” Dipper admits, trying to stop her from going down this path. “But mostly I need to investigate. And this is the perfect cover to be at the school after hours.”

“Investigate what?”

“The curse!”

“Oh, brother.”

Dipper ignores his sister’s skepticism and returns to his clothing analysis.

“I’m kind of disappointed you just decided to go all on your own,” Mabel continues, sitting down in his desk chair and spinning in a circle. “I had a whole PowerPoint made to try to convince you.”

“Well, you can still help me. I have no idea what to wear. I left my suit at Mom’s and—“

Mabel stops spinning. “I have your suit,” she says, matter-of-fact. 

“What?”

“I had Mom send it up. It was part of my plan.”

Oh, thank god.

He grabs Mabel by the shoulders, pulls her forward in the chair, and plants an overly dramatic kiss on her forehead before pulling back. “What would I do without you meddling in my personal life?”

“Probably die alone,” Mabel says, sounding smug.

“Yeesh. Dark.”

“Truth hurts. Can I convince you to at least ask her to dance?”

“Mabel, you know I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, but she does.”

“There’s no way she’d say yes.”

Mabel shrugs. “You might be right, but at least it would show her you’re trying.”

“I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea?”

“The idea that I am trying to get with her.”

“Are you not?”

Dipper winces. “Well, eventually, yeah. I mean, I hope so, maybe… but I don’t wanna freak her out. Or make her think that’s all I care about.”

“I really wish you guys would just start being honest with one another.”

“I’m trying! But all she wants to do is argue with me. That’s all I’m getting from her right now. I’m just working with what I got.”

“Look,” Mabel says. “I am as endlessly entertained by your guys’ bickering and bantering and teasing as the next person, but doesn’t it feel like maybe you’re avoiding having an honest conversation? Like maybe you’re afraid to?”

“I can’t be totally honest with her yet,” Dipper argues. “Once she softens up a little bit, I’ll think about it then.”

“I think you might be underestimating how stubborn Pacifica can be. Both of you, for that matter. This dancing around could last forever if you don’t do something.”

“Well, it’s not gonna happen tonight,” Dipper says. “Tonight‘s about figuring out what this curse nonsense is about.” Yeah, he tells himself. Good reason. Makes sense.

Mabel groans. “We don’t know if there even is a curse! It’s just rumors. One accident during a contact sport does not a curse make.” She stands and pokes him in the chest. “I think you’re just trying to distract yourself.”

Ugh, stupid family knowing him so well. Okay, sure, maybe it’s a bit of a distraction. But he really is worried, too! Two things can be true!

“Mabel, you and I both know better than anyone else that when weird stuff happens in Gravity Falls, it’s never nothing.”

Mabel hops out of the truck as soon as Dipper’s put it in park. He watches as she runs across the parking lot in her sparkly pink dress, making her impossible to miss, and runs up to hug Candy and Grenda. Dipper locks his truck and follows after at a slower pace, waving his hellos, mind already on the mission before him. The group enters the school foyer together and Dipper declines the girls’ invitation to take to the dance floor with them.

“The time for that is later, ladies. Right now I have to prioritize making sure no one gets hurt.”

Mabel rolls her eyes but still gives him an affectionate push. “Go on then, dear dorky brother of mine. Get it out of your system and then get back here ASAP so your lady can see you all dressed up.”

Dipper turns to hide his blush. He knows he’s never going to be suave or charming or any of the adjectives used to describe the men in the romance novels that Mabel keeps hidden from their parents, but he is pretty proud of how he looks tonight. The suit was a present from his parents before a cousin’s wedding, and it’s the first he’s had that was really tailor-made for him. The way it seems to improve his posture and stature all on its own does do wonders for his confidence. So yeah, he’s also looking forward to Pacifica seeing him in it.

But first, the investigation! He tells himself that he’s choosing to do this first because he’s got his priorities straight, but if he’s really honest with himself, he knows it’s because if he chooses to go flirt and banter with Pacifica first, he’ll never leave.

So while the girls take off down the hall in the direction of the gym, he goes in the opposite direction, in search of the school’s theater. The long, scuffed up halls of Gravity Falls High are dark, dimly lit only by the faint glow the emergency exit signs. Perfect cover, but it does send a small shiver up his spine. Approaching the theater, he finds that the double doors that lead to the auditorium are locked, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Thankfully, this doesn’t present an issue for him thanks to Grunkle Stan’s insistence that learning to pick locks is a necessary life skill. Moments later, he has the thick wooden doors swinging open and he’s slipping behind them sight unseen.

The auditorium is pitch black and deadly quiet. The carpet beneath his feet is old and worn, and as he makes his way down the aisle he can tell that that floor is sloping gently beneath him as it leads down to the stage. He takes out his phone and flips on the flashlight feature, shines the light on the walls. It’s not strong, but he can make out his immediate surroundings well enough. The interior is made from the same worn brick as the rest of the school. It looks original, not like something that would’ve been rebuilt 30 years ago. Maybe Grunkle Stan was wrong—wouldn’t be the first time. Still, this is his first lead and he’s gonna see it through. He spends a few minutes searching the auditorium for anything that seems out of place. A demarcation in the room’s structure, an abrupt change in the brand of seats or carpet or… anything, but comes up short. Nothing. 

Frowning, he makes his way further down to the stage, carefully walking up the stairs on one side and pushing past the heavy drapes that make up the wings to investigate the backstage. His faint light catches on the ropes and pulleys of the curtains, a well-worn wooden stage, electrical boxes on the back walls and then… 

There! On the far back wall, a glint of bronze, a small placard mounted on the brick. He hurries over. It’s a dedication plaque. Dipper squints his eyes and holds the light at an angle to read the inscription. 

Gravity Falls High Main Stage. Completed July 12, 1985, to replace the original, burned September 29, 1984. Dedicated in memory of Juliette Fairchild.

Dipper’s heartbeat doubles over. This is it. His first lead, and it’s a good one. He snaps a picture of the plaque and commits the name Juliette Fairchild to memory, just in case. He doesn’t know of any Fairchilds in Gravity Falls, though he supposes the family may not have wanted to stick around after the death of a daughter. Still, it’s a good start. And he has a year now. If he can just find a connection between the 1984 - 1985 school year and the one he’s in, he’ll know that they need to be careful.

“Wow, thanks, surprisingly informative dedication plaque,” he muses aloud as he mulls over the information. 

His eyes fall on the second date on the plaque. September 29th. It’s October 1st tonight. Not exactly the same, but close enough to be yet another strange coincidence. He pauses. A suspicion prickles in the back of his brain. Quickly, he takes his phone back out and navigates to his calendar app, then switches the dates to 1984 to see if his intuition might be right. His blood runs cold. September 29th of that year was a Saturday. Tonight‘s a Saturday. If his concerns are correct, and Gravity Falls High’s traditions haven’t changed, which he is pretty certain they likely haven’t— that night would’ve been the Homecoming Dance, too.

He swears aloud and spins on the spot, jumping off the stage and running up the aisle toward the exit. 

Okay, Dipper tries to reason with himself. He doesn’t know for sure if there is a curse or not or if this is just another coincidence… but in the off chance that bad things are ahead—and the sinking feeling his stomach tells them that they are—there’s a good chance that something could happen tonight. And he’s over here by himself, instead of with the two most important people in the world to him. His sister is in that gym. The girl he’s crazy about is in that gym. As well as half a dozen or so classmates he is relatively fond of. And the rest that he would at least prefer not to see harm befall.

He pushes open both heavy doors, lets them crash shut behind him. He races down the hall in the direction of the gym, skids around a corner, then takes off again running, jumps over a wayward backpack some kid must’ve left out, rounds another corner, and there, finally, he’s at the gym doors. He grasps the handles, one in each hand, and uses his weight to pull them back, heart in his throat about what he might find on the other side.

It’s a dance.

The lights are turned down low and a disco ball hangs from the center of the ceiling, reflecting multicolored lights around the wide room. Bass reverberates in the air around him, thumping in his chest rhythmically to match the overwhelming volume of the dance music blasting from the speakers. His classmates are everywhere, dancing, chatting, flirting. Normal.

He squints his eyes, looking for Mabel and Pacifica. He spots Mabel first, dancing with a mix of friends near the center of the room. Mabel sees him and waves excitedly as he makes his way over in long strides. 

“Mabel,” he gasps out once he reaches her, grasping her shoulders. “Has anything weird happened so far? Are you all okay?”

Mabel gives him a funny look. “Everything‘s fine, weirdo.” She pulls back, looks at him carefully. “Are you sure you’re doing all right? I know you’ve got a lot on your mind but—“

“Where’s Pacifica?” Dipper asks.

“She had to go off to get ready for the Homecoming court dance.” Mabel points to the far side of the room. The gymnasium is the type that kind of doubles as an extra auditorium, so there’s a very basic stage carved into one long wall. Much smaller than the main theater, but good enough for awards ceremonies, judges’ tables for this competition or that, whatever extra space the school might need it for. Dipper sees Pacifica standing up on it with the rest of the homecoming court and some photographers, smiling and posing as her picture is taken.

He clocks how pretty she looks—of course he does, he can’t help himself—but doesn’t give himself time to think about it as he starts pushing his way through the crowd to make his way toward the stage.

Trying to stay out of sight, he takes the side steps up to the stage two at a time, then makes sure to stay off at the side and against the wall. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, just that he’s following instinct to be close to her. From his elevated viewpoint he can keep one eye on her as he scans the room for any signs of trouble. But… it all looks pretty normal. Kids are dancing, having fun, chatting and mingling. No signs of a fight or a fire or malevolent spirit or any sort of impending doom. 

Once again, his rush of adrenaline begins to settle and he starts to feel a little silly. Maybe he is letting his anxiety get the better of him. From his place on the stairs, he can see that the homecoming court appears to be wrapping up their photos. He can’t stay here like some sort of paranoid creep. He turns to go and disappear into the crowd. The court is heading down the opposite staircase, so if he can just get to the bottom of the stairs then he’ll be in the clear. 

“Dipper?” Pacifica’s familiar voice asks, stopping him in his tracks. 

Dipper spins around and there she is. At the top of his stairs, hand on each hip, looking down on him irritably. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, sounding more exasperated than anything else. 

Dipper takes a step or two back up the stairs, wincing a little bit at his bad luck. “Okay, I know this looks bad.”

“It looks like you’re following me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I kind of was.” Quickly, he puts his hands up in supplication. “But not to be creepy or anything like that! I just—I got worried. Again.”

“And it’s another coincidence that you happen to get worried just before I’m supposed to go dance with the most popular boy in school?”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t look suspicious, but the curse...” He trails off lamely, aware of how dumb he sounds.

Pacifica examines him for a long time, then seems to make up her mind about something. 

“No,” she says. “No, I’m not accepting that again.” She leans down to grab him by his wrist and tugs him roughly the rest of the way up the stairs, pulling him back onto the stage and further into the shadows of the wings. She stops them between two heavy curtains, effectively obscured from the rest of the dance. Just enough light filters in so that he can still make out her features, however—how frustrated and confused she looks. 

“You want to talk? Let’s talk.” Dipper goes to open his mouth, but she stops him with a finger to his lips. “No, me first.” He tucks his chin and listens obediently. “I don’t get you, Dipper. You’re just gone, not a peep, not a proper explanation— then you swoop back up into my life and suddenly can’t leave me alone.”

“I know,” Dipper says, trying to keep his voice earnest. “And I already tried to explain that I didn’t mean to ghost you. I just procrastinated and it got really bad and I spiraled and—“ 

She holds up a hand to stop him, and he does.

“You’re right, we’ve been over that before. And I still think it’s bullshit. But I also don’t get why you won’t leave me alone now.”

That stings a little. “Because… I don’t want to leave you alone. I want us to be close again. I always wanted us to be close.”

She sighs, and in the dim light he can see how she’s crossed her arms over her front and turned her eyes to the side.

“It’s true,” he tries again, Mabel’s advice from earlier echoing in his brain. “I just…” Come on, man. You can do this. “I never should have run away from you. That’s like, the opposite of what I want.” He sees her eyes flit up to his at that, and it emboldens him just a bit. “I was afraid that with me moving here… I don’t know. I guess I was afraid things would change.” He pauses. That’s not quite right. “Or, actually…” He forces himself to look into her eyes. “I think I was more afraid that things wouldn’t change.”

That catches her curiosity, he can tell. 

“That things wouldn’t change?” she asks.

“That we wouldn’t… get even closer,” he says. He takes in a quick breath, lets the rest spill out before he can change his mind. “Pacifica, I think about you so much—“

Her eyes flash. “Well, that’s tough.”

Dipper’s heart clenches, and his heartbeat escalates rapidly, panic spinning in his head and muddying his thoughts. “No, you can’t honestly mean that. Come on, Pacifica. It’s me. And you. Don’t you want to be close to me again, too? I don’t mind if you don’t feel the same way about me. I just want to be—”

“I don’t.” 

Dipper feels like the very ground beneath him is shaking. No, no, she can’t mean that. He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

Pacifica doesn’t say anything, and he forces himself to give her space to respond. He tries desperately to read the expression on her face, to figure out as much of it as he possibly can in the low lighting. Every now and then the disco ball shoots off a flash of color on her features. He tries not to let the dizzying lights unground him even further. A quick flash of blue lights up her face, and he can see the tears swimming in her eyes and the way her bottom lip quivers.

“Cif…“ he starts, reaching forward to tug at her crossed arms, not able to help himself.

“No,” she says, barely a whisper, pulling back. “You left me. No, I don’t want this.”

Dipper feels the panic rising in his chest again. This can’t be the end. He loves her. Once again, he feels like he can feel the stage floor beneath him trembling, giving way, mirroring the way he’s completely falling apart and— 

Wait, no. It actually is shaking. Pacifica seems to sense it too, because she uncrosses her arms and looks at him, a confused question written on her features. 

Above him, he hears a loud cracking noise, like masonry crumbling. His eyes shoot up just as hers do, but he can’t see anything. What the… He squints to try to make out anything. Just then, there’s another loud noise, snapping this time, and one of the curtains beside them begins to fall abruptly. He can tell it’s going to end up shrouding them both with the path it takes, so he snatches her hand and begins pulling her quickly toward the edge of the room. She stumbles after him, and he can feel how she begins to trip, so he stops half a second to reposition—wraps his arm around her back and under her arms— before dragging her along once more.

Another loud cracking, another curtain beginning its descent. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal hitting the stage floor— the heavy steel rods and chains holding up the fabric crashing to the wooden floor. It must have just missed them. He pulls her closer to him and dodges another falling curtain. The fabric won’t hurt them, but if they get caught in it whatever else is falling from the ceiling above very well could. 

They reach the far wall, and instinctively he pushes her against it, covering her smaller frame with his own. One arm wraps around the small of her back to hold her in place while the other reaches over to shield the top of her head. Her arms press into the space between them, fingers gripping his shirt as she trembles against him and buries her face in his chest. 

He holds them both in this position as he listens to the continued sound of the heavy rods breaking from their holds and both steel and fabric falling to the ground. 

Oh my god, he thinks. I was right. Something’s happening here. Somewhere in the back of his mind the faint satisfaction of vindication shouts in triumph, but that’s entirely overpowered by the far more pressing and immediate need of keeping Pacifica safe. 

Eventually, the sound of cracking and snapping and clanging does end, and all he can hear is once again the sound of the outrageously loud music, still thumping it’s rhythm through the rest of the building. It hasn’t stopped. Was it really loud enough to drown out the sound of the wings collapsing around them? 

Tentatively, Dipper pulls back his face from where he’s tucked it against hers and looks over his shoulder. He can see the outline of the mess behind them, still and calm. Pacifica begins shaking in his arms more violently, and he pulls back to look her. He keeps the arm wrapped around her center in place, but lets the one covering the crown of her head fall so that his palm can cup her cheek.

“Hey,” he begins. “Hey, you’re okay. It was just… an accident. Or something.” He doesn’t believe that, not for a second, but right now all he cares about is calming her down. 

Here, tucked even further off to the side of the backstage, it’s even darker. He can just barely make out the silhouette of her face. A reflection of faint light from the disco ball once again dances across her features—green—and he can see the tears spilling over her cheeks. 

He brings his forehead down to hers, rubs soothing circles at the small of her back, and strokes the thumb that cups her face just under her eye, wiping at the tracks of saltwater. He’s operating on pure instinct here, and follows it to begin rocking her back and forth in his arms. 

“I’m sorry…” he says. “I’m sorry I scared you with all that talk of curses and shit. We’re okay. Nothing happened. Just an old school.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, him doing all he can to calm both himself and her, her clutching at his shirt as her shuddering gradually slows. Eventually, she stills but maintains her grip on him, and begins taking in deep, slow breaths. 

“That was… weird,” she says eventually, and they’re so close he can feel her breath on his chin. 

He hums an agreement and pulls back a fraction to try to get a good look at her. His hands stay where they are. “Are you all right?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and low.

“Mhm,” she says, nodding gently. Her bangs tickle his forehead. 

“Good.”

He should let go. He knows he should. But she isn’t. And he doesn’t want to. He’s not about to thank a vindictive curse for bringing her into his arms like this, but he’s also not about to waste the chance to show her how much she means to him, to comfort her, to love her. 

Her fingers loosen their grip on his shirt, but don’t leave his chest. Instead, her palms just press lightly against him. His own grip around her loosens a bit as well, and he slides the arm wrapped around her back to come rest at the side of her waist instead. His heartbeat begins to pick up again, but he knows it’s for an entirely different reason this time. 

The light flashes just right again—yellow—and he can see that she still looks scared, though not quite in the same way. The light catches on her wide eyes, locked on his. Her lips part a bit. “Dip…” she whispers. 

A gravitational pull brings his forehead back down to hers, and they’re so close that the tip of his nose brushes against hers as well. He lets it move over her in gentle circles, enjoying the teasing sensation. 

His eyes are only barely open at this point. A light from the dance flashes once more, pink this time, and he can see that hers are closed.

It’s like he doesn’t even decide to do it. It’s just that one second they are nose-to-nose, lips inches apart, then the next his head is tilting and pressing in closer, then the following his lips are brushing against hers— just the slightest bit of connection sending electric sparks from where they make contact. And then—then it’s happening for real.  

Pacifica whimpers in his arms, and it’s the most intoxicating sound he’s heard in his life. There’s absolutely nothing that could stop him from closing the gap between them fully and pressing his mouth solidly over hers. So he does. And she positively melts into him.

And oh god, this is the best moment of his life. He should’ve just done this from the beginning. Screw talking, screw banter and pushing each other‘s buttons, and absolutely screw ignoring each other and playing games. He should’ve just kissed her like this, right from the start. Who needs words when you have this? 

Pacifica lets out one of those addicting little whimpers once more and grips onto his shirt tight again. He moves the hand cupping her face to the back of her neck, tilting her head so that he can deepen the kiss. Her hands release his shirt and slide up his chest, finding their home at the back of his nape, tugging lightly at his curls.

Something ignites low in his gut, a fire. It’s one he’s very familiar with, but had heretofore been unable to feed. He presses forward deeper still, anything to soothe the need coursing through his veins. Just to be closer to her in every way he can. 

Chapter Text

Pacifica feels like she’s floating on air.

Or maybe like she’s drunk or high or honestly she doesn’t know what. She doesn’t have words for the dizzying euphoria she’s experiencing as Dipper Pines kisses her. This is what we should’ve been doing all along, she thinks. Why on earth has she been shutting him out when she could be doing this? The hurt part of her heart weakly attempts to offer up an explanation, but is quickly silenced by the way Dipper gently presses her back against the wall and brings their bodies flush together from shoulders to knees.

It’s so good. She wants to do this all the time. Some sort of unknown need drives her to push her hands even further into his curls. He lets out a groan that she can feel in her own chest, pressed as close as they are. He breaks their kiss but doesn’t let go, just starts pressing his lips against her cheek and jaw, under her chin… 

“I’ve missed you so much, Cif,” he says, and it sounds almost like a plea, like he’s begging for something.  

Her head goes a little fizzy and bubbly, but in the back of her mind something catches uncomfortably.

I’ve missed you… I’ve missed you… 

The words echo in her brain, and her heart tries to make sense of them. 

She missed him too… but he was the one who left. 

He had been missing her because he left. 

He hurt her. He could still hurt her. 

She pulls back a fraction, tries to ignore how impossibly wonderful the warm, soft kisses that he starts applying to her neck feel. No, she can’t let him just pull her back in like this. It’s not about winning, it’s about protection. She wants him, and now he knows it. Damn it. With that power… well he could do all sorts of things. Like break her heart all over again. What’s to stop him?

She pulls her hands down from his hair, plants them on his chest instead.  He’s so warm, so welcoming, so tempting… she could just keep doing this, keep giving in…

No.

Remember the pain. 

She pushes him back a bit, putting a few inches of space between them. Forces herself to breathe, to get the words out. Ignore what she really wants. 

“I missed you too,” she says, hard, channeling all of the hurt and anger and frustration that she’s felt over the past months into it. It’s an accusation, not a confession.

He must catch the shift in tone because he stills instantly. He doesn’t fight her when she pushes him off her a couple more inches. He pulls his lips from her and she feels the pang of loss deep in her chest, but doesn’t let herself linger on it. 

His hands, however, remain tightly grasping her, not letting go. His eyes jump wildly between hers.

“Cif…” he says. “No. I know. I’m going to make it up to you, I promise you.” He sounds desperate.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. She can’t trust him.

“This was a mistake,” she says. She can feel the tears coming back to her eyes.

“Okay,” he reasons. “It was too much, too soon. But, I still haven’t told you, not really—“

“Stop it.”

“No. No, you have to—“ 

“I don’t have to anything, Dipper,” she says, wiping at the tears now running down her cheeks. 

“Pacifica,” he cries out, and her heart aches when she sees the tears welling up in his eyes too. “I love you.”

He loves her. There it is. Or, more properly, he thinks he loves her. Because when you love someone, you don’t abandon them. She could never have abandoned him. It doesn’t make sense. But then again, he’s a different person than her, with different anxieties and ways of approaching problems and—

No, no, she tells herself. It’s not that complicated. He ditched her. That’s all she needs to know. 

“I don’t believe you,” she says. 

Is that true? She isn’t sure. 

He shakes his head, eyes focused and serious. “I’ll prove it to you.” 

That’s no good. He’s going to talk her out of her resolve. She knows he can do it, too. That’s how weak he makes her. No good. Not at all. 

“No, Dipper,” she says instead, digging deep to bring all the hurt she can to the surface. “I needed you this summer. You were my best friend, and I needed you.” She feels her face grow hot, and the words begin to just spill out. It feels good. Cleansing. “I sent you so many fucking messages. Called so many times. Cried myself to sleep, felt like a complete idiot every time I got your voicemail. You broke my heart. And just when I start to think I’ll be okay, here you are again, just, like, expecting that I should forgive you and everything can pick up where it left off—“

“I don’t—“

“Yes, you do! For fuck’s sake, Dipper, you just kissed me!”

“I thought you wanted—“

“I did! I mean—I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I think— I think I want you to just leave me alone.”

It feels wrong the moment it leaves her lips. That’s not what she wants. What she wants is for him to undo the pain of this past summer. To fix it. To prove to her that she can trust him again. She wants him to kiss her more, to hold her close and make all her frustration and anger fade away. She wants him to be there for her, always, forever. But… she can’t tell him that. Then, if he does it, she’ll always wonder if he was just doing it to get back in her good graces, not because he really wanted to. 

Dipper just looks at her, expression helpless and heartbroken. She fights the instinct to tell him she takes it all back. She didn’t mean it. She wants to run into his arms and hold him and soothe him and tell him ‘No, no, never mind. None of that is true. I love you too.’ 

Instead, she swallows and pulls back her shoulders, meets his eyes with steely determination. 

He studies her for another long beat, then lets his shoulders sag. His head follows suit and looks at the floor. Open his mouth to speak, but then—

An enormous crashing noise comes once again from above. Both Pacifica and Dipper spin to look at the ceiling above the stage. 

The last remains of steel chains and plates begin coming down, but they’re not alone this time. Bricks from the ceiling are falling, too, slamming into the stage with loud crashes. Large pieces of timber beams, electrical wires… it’s all coming down in a cloud of dust and sparks. 

The screams of their classmates come next, apparently finally aware of the disaster occurring just yards away. 

Dipper pulls her to a corner of the stage, pressing her once again against the brick wall and shielding her as the center of the ceiling caves inward and falls to the floor in a deafening crash. 

Pacifica removes her face from where it’s hiding in his chest to look over his shoulder. She sees a large stage light begin to make its descent. It had been lit moments earlier, shining a light toward the disco ball in the center of the gym. As it falls from its bearings, she sees it flicker out only seconds before it hits the pile of debris below. Her eyes widen as she sees the flurry of sparks it gives off.

It only takes a couple seconds for the flames to start. Pacifica clutches to Dipper’s chest as she watches the fire grow. One spark catches on a plank of timber, quickly growing into a bright column of orange and yellow heat. Another falls on a curtain nearby, spreading even quicker, licking a path across the fabric and finding purchase among the mess surrounding it. In less than thirty seconds the entire pile of debris has turned into a bonfire.

Dipper is watching too, holding her close to him and seemingly struggling to decide what to do. But what is there to do? They’re stuck. Cornered by the flames and debris. They inch closer, and there’s simply nowhere to go.

She looks up into Dipper’s eyes and is horrified to see how she can see the reflection of the fire dancing in them, closer and closer. Is this the last time she’s going to see these eyes? That lovely warm brown? Not lit softly, as if by the flickering of the old lamps in the Mystery Shack, or the stars above, or even the gross fluorescent of their high school hallways, but by flames about to snuff out their lives? That just doesn’t seem fair.

Those eyes narrow just then, looking resolved, and dart down to her. 

“I need you to trust me,” he says. “Not for forever. I get that now. But for right now.”

“I do,” she says quickly.

“Okay,” he says, sounding determined. “Then let’s go.”

He grabs her hand and then they’re off. He rushes them alongside the wall, avoiding the flames as much as possible but still far closer than anyone would be comfortable with. Deep in the back of her mind she thinks that it’s a crazy decision. But there’s an overpowering sense in her that if this is where he’s leading them, then it must be correct. So she has to follow him.

They manage to skirt the flames until they reach the stairs leading down to the rest main room of the gym. Through the smoke and flames, Pacifica can see that most of their classmates seem to have fled the building. A few figures remain, running back and forth. She thinks she catches a flash of glittery pink among them. Mabel. Of course. 

There’s a large beam blocking their path. The flames that lick up from it essentially make a wall of fire. They burn hot—orange and purple— reaching up towards the ceiling, several feet above Pacifica’s head at least.

“We have to jump through,” Dipper says from beside her.

She turns her face to his. “You’re crazy.”

“You just said that you trusted me.”

“Do you know what you’re talking about?”

“Not really, but we have to try.”

“I don’t-“

“Pacifica. Trust me.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

He wraps an arm around her waist again and she only has an instant to note the familiar comfort before he’s pulling her into a run. Up, up, and forward, they rush towards the beam, and then he’s shouting to jump, and they are. Up and over and directly through the flames. She holds her breath as they jump through, and then they’re on the other side.

They made it. They got out. Dipper pulls her down the stairs and they tumble on the floor of the gymnasium in a heap.

“Shit!” Dipper says, extracting himself from their pile of limbs. He points at the hem of her dress, which she now realizes has caught fire. She feels the strong, burning sensation of flames licking at her skin as they burn at her dress and inch higher.

Dipper tears off his suit jacket and begins hitting it against the flames, slowly but surely extinguishing them. She whimpers as they gradually fade. A voice in her brain that sounds a lot like her mother worries fleetingly that she’ll have burn scars.

The sprinklers installed in the ceiling choose that moment to finally respond. In an instant, the gym is drenched in water. The stage is a lost cause of course, as all the apparatus in the ceiling above it, including the sprinkler system, is currently ablaze, but at least this will help prevent the spread.

Once her dress has been extinguished, Dipper collapses next to her on the gym floor and tries to catch his breath. Pacifica knows they need to get outside, away from the smoke, but she just can’t will her legs to begin moving quite yet, and the cool water raining down from the ceiling feels good on her skin.

The two watch as the fire slowly burns itself out. 

A few teachers run up to fight the remaining flames. Señora Butterfield makes a valiant effort to put out the last bit of flame in one corner using the sole of her shoe, but thankfully the band director takes over with an actual fire extinguisher. The fire department, such as it is, does arrive eventually, but by then there’s not much left for them to do. Chalk one up for public school educators, Pacifica supposes. They get the job done, that’s for sure. 

Dipper rises eventually, wincing as he does so, and offers her a hand. She grasps it and lets him pull her to her feet. He laces their fingers together where they connect and begins leading her to the exit. 

“Oh my god!” Mabel screams the second they’re outside. She runs up to them and pulls them both into a tight embrace. An arm around each. “Are you guys okay? I was just dancing, and then all of a sudden we heard this crashing and looked over and everything was caving in. And then the fire, and then I couldn’t see you guys and nobody knew where you were and I tried to stay and look for you but then they made me evacuate too and—“

Her brother cuts her off. “We’re fine, Mabel. Don’t worry. We’re all okay, I promise.”

“What the hell was that?” she asks.

“Well,” he says, coughing a bit. They did inhale a lot of smoke. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, that was the entire roof of the stage crashing in on itself for absolutely no reason. Which could just be a freak accident, sure. But that would be a pretty wild coincidence, considering I just found out tonight that almost 30 years ago, also on homecoming night, the other stage in this school also burned to the ground. So, if I had to guess…”

“Okay,” Mabel says. “You might be right about this curse.”

Pacifica has kind of figured he was right about it from the start, to be honest. Even when it seemed a little crazy. He’s usually right about those types of things, after all. 

It’s only around then that Pacifica realizes that hers and Dipper’s hands are still tightly laced together. Her heart catches at the sight. Slowly, and a little regretfully, she untangles her fingers. Dipper looks down, frowning suddenly, but doesn’t stop her, and her heart sinks a little. 

“I should get going,” she says. “My parents will be... well, I should go home.” 

Mabel passes Pacifica her purse—she must have saved it—and Pacifica takes out her phone to text her mom. 

Big fire at school. I’m okay but the dance ended early. Can you come get me?

Dipper and Mabel wait with Pacifica for her ride to come. Dipper’s fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and she can tell he wants to say something but can’t quite get the words to leave his mouth. 

Eventually she sees the familiar headlights of the family town car approach. Her chauffeur pulls up and gets out, rounding toward the back to open the back door. She can see that the interior of the car is empty. The school literally catches on fire and her parents still can’t even be bothered to drive down themselves? Or at least come? Whatever. She shakes off the hurt. 

She waves a goodbye in the direction of Dipper and Mabel and begins hazily making her way toward the car. A hand on her shoulder stops her. She turns. Dipper. 

“I just… are we okay?” he asks.

She looks up at his face, right into his eyes, dark and shadowed under the night sky. She can see how the light of the moon reflects off their glassy surface. 

Are they okay? How is she supposed to answer that? Are they? 

Of course not. But her brain can’t think of anything more to say. She can barely think at all after the events of the last twenty minutes or so. She’s just tired. From everything. 

So she just keeps her focus on those eyes and lets the first thing that comes to mind come out. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight,” she says, voice hoarse. “I’ll see you in class.”

She tugs her gaze away from his and climbs into the rear of the car, willing her body to relax against the soft leather. She doesn’t let herself look out the window as her driver pulls away. 

Chapter Text

It’s been two weeks since Homecoming, and Mabel Pines is about to lose her everloving mind. 

Neither Pacifica nor Dipper will talk to her about what happened that night. She knows something happened because, like, come on. Duh. Also, they came out of the gym holding hands! And then kept holding hands! But then the mood had shifted and there was no goodbye kiss or hug or anything, and since then Dipper and Pacifica have barely exchanged more than distant greetings with each other. 

Pacifica flat-out refuses to discuss it at all. She all but dropped Mabel the following Monday during cheer practice when Mabel had asked what happened. “Nothing!” she had insisted before slipping in some mud herself and falling flatly on her rear, which actually had been kind of funny and Mabel considered it just payment for her refusal to divulge anything, but it had also ended the conversation rather abruptly. 

Dipper is giving her a little more, but only just. He said something about “wanting to give Pacifica space” (Space?! Space?? No! No space! That’s exactly what got them into this problem!) and implying that she didn’t want him to talk to her, but mostly he’s just been moping around the house. He hasn’t even really been going on about the apparently-an-actual-thing curse anymore, either. He just plops in front of the TV with a soda and some chips and Ghost Harrassers—the same DVD set Pacifica gifted him all those years ago—letting out the occasional heavy sigh or moan.

Mabel shares second period with them, of course, plopped smack dab between the two at their long table. She had been hoping to try to coerce a conversation or two there, but Pacifica just calmly busies herself when Mabel is engaged in conversation with Dipper, and as soon as Mabel shifts to chat with Pacifica, Dipper turns his head to his notes and bows out. Come on, guys! she thinks, frustrated. I’m trying to bridge a gap here! Your future children’s lives depend on it!

Pacifica seems to be carrying around a lot more of her books than necessary, and Mabel figures out by Thursday that she’s doing it to avoid running into him in the hallway. 

Dipper stares at her unattended locker morosely, and Mabel has to shove him down the hallway when the bell rings to get him to move at all. 

The worst part of it is that neither of them even really seems all that mad. Somehow that was better. It’s not like before, when they were poking each other’s buttons and tossing snide remarks back and forth that anyone with eyes could identify as attempts to goad the other into some sort of connection. Now they just seem sad. Pacifica isn’t angry. She’s just quiet, dulled. Dipper isn’t frustrated. He just seems lost, adrift. 

And Mabel knows they still want each other’s attention, too!

It’s betrayed by the way Dipper lingers in the parking lot as they leave each day after class, walking slower than necessary and looking dismally over his shoulder at the school pick-up area. And by the way Pacifica smooths down her hair and reapplies lip gloss obsessively during lunch, casting furtive looks at the band table every ten seconds. 

Mabel has decided that enough is simply enough. It’s been two weeks. Two whole weeks! That’s enough space, she thinks. That’s enough moping. And it’s time to get “Project Mabel Gets a Niece or Nephew (Someday)“ back on track. 

“I dunno, girl,” Wendy says through the phone after Mabel regales her with everything that’s happened thus far, as well as her determination to make them work it out. “It seems like both of them are dealing with a lot of emotions here. Don’t you think it might be better to let them work it out on their own?”

“Absolutely not!” Mabel flops on the floor of the living room, stretching her out legs above her. Dipper is at marching band practice tonight, so she’s taking full advantage of being able to claim the living room for all her own. “Letting them do that is what got them into trouble. This requires an expert’s touch.”

“But you don’t really know all the details about what they might be feeling.”

“So I’ll find out.”

“It might not be that easy.”

“Wendy, trust me.” She sits up, feeling determined. “I know what I need to know. Which is that they’re both nuts for each other, but won’t tell each other for some stupid reason. They just gotta spill the beans and it’s all uphill from there!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. It sounds like Dipper pretty royally screwed up.”

“He did,” Mabel agrees, nodding her head sagely even though Wendy can’t see her. “And he’s got a lot to atone for, but I’m sure if he just tells her why he really freaked out, the power of true love will heal all.” 

“Just promise not to meddle, Mabel. I’m serious. They both mean too much to you. You’ll never forgive yourself if you mess something up between them, or even just between you and one of them.”

“I won’t meddle…” Mabel loops a strand of hair around her forefinger, begins playing with it unconsciously. “I’m just looking for opportunities to push them in the right direction.” 

“That’s meddling!” Wendy cries.

“It’s not!” Mabel argues. She can feel the frustration rising in her chest. “Besides, even if it were… You don’t understand. You’re not here. You don’t have to see every day how miserable they both are.”

Wendy sighs. “Okay, that’s true. And I know you’re just trying to help… Just— be careful. This isn’t some silly puppy love crush. You know their feelings for each other are deep— and complicated. That means the hurt is going to be deep and complicated, too.”

“Exactly why they need someone to help them focus on what’s important.”

Wendy apparently gives up after that, and the two chat for a good while about other topics— the new girl Wendy has started seeing, Mabel’s college application plans, town gossip, before Wendy admits that her yawns are getting a little uncontrollable and that she had better start turning in. She promises to visit home soon, and they say goodnight. 

Mabel stares at her phone, reflecting on Wendy’s advice. She told her she wouldn’t meddle. And she meant it. Really. 

But this is getting ridiculous. 

And it’s not meddling to just facilitate times for them to talk. Like the thing with the closet! That wasn’t so bad. Sure, they seemed tense afterward, but at least Pacifica started acknowledging Dipper’s existence. 

Mabel wanders down the hall, flicks on the light to her bedroom. A cozy sheen of pink tint begins to emit from the ceiling fan light fixture above. She’d switched out the normal, boring lightbulbs for colored ones the first day she moved in. Normally she’d flip on her nightstand (green) and desk lamp (orange) and maybe a few of the others until the whole room was a wash of colors and fun, but tonight’s planning session calls for a particular mood. She taps her chin, thinking. 

She leaves the room pink and plugs in the fairy lights over her bed, which twinkle charmingly. It feels stereotypically feminine, sweet, and most importantly, romantic. She needs herself in the right headspace if this planning session is going to go well, and she needs it to go well. 

She roots through her desk drawer until she finds what she’s looking for— a worn, faded scrapbook. But she’s not done. She needs her pièce de résistance! She keeps digging, tossing aside this random bit of flotsam and the next until she finds her treasure. The heart-shaped sunglasses have seen better days, but they are tried and true and she needs all the matchmaking power she can get right now. She plops them on her face, looks up to smile at herself and shoot her reflection a finger-gun and… they’re too dark for inside. In the dim moody lighting she can barely make out her reflection. 

Okay nevermind. She’ll save them for another day.  

She flips through her scrapbook to a page in the back, where she shoved in a few pieces of notebook paper covered in notes. Finally, she finds the one she’s looking for. 

Mabel’s Big Book of Tropes 

It was actually just a notebook, and now just a few pages torn from that notebook, but that doesn’t matter. Alliteration is important.

She makes he way down the list, crossing out ideas and adding annotations to others where she sees fit. 

Forced proximity - yes, good

Only one bed - a classic 

Fake dating 

And they were roommates 

Snowed in - potential… 

One of them gets injured, other one plays nurse - ouch, final resort only 

The grand gesture - tbh a necessity regardless of any other plans

Drunk confessions 

Running to the airport - putting a pin in this to reconsider for winter/spring break. Ugh if it takes that long I will probably need a more nuclear option though! 

Bet/dare - hmm…

Secret relationship - is it possible they’re already together and this is just a massive con?? Where are the cameras??

Dancing in the rain - so romantic but prob will only work after they’re together to further cement their love. otherwise Paz might just be grumpy that she’s wet

Soulmate bonds - well they are soul mates. Probs some witch around here who could make it official with a magic binding mark. Then they’d have to work it out. Maybe best to keep this as the emergency if all the plans fail

Mabel leans back in her desk chair and stares at the ceiling, her fingers tented as she thinks. 

Okay, ideas, ideas….

She lets her chair fall forward and begins scribbling furiously. 

Idea #1. Find cabin in the woods. Note: must be CUTE cabin. Cozy, with a fireplace. Remove all items from said cabin, save one (1) bed, one (1) large blanket, and full supply of firewood. (Also fire starter. Dipper never did get that Cub Scout patch.) Strategically wait until night with heavy rainfall forecasted. Invite both Dipper and Pacifica on hike separately, tell them to meet at cabin. Never show. Storm starts, D + P go inside to find shelter. Romantic perfection ensues. Possible con: Might be too romantic. Strong likelihood of unprepared, unprotected shenanigans and mom would kill me if Dipper got her preggo because of this. 

Idea #2. Ghost hunt! Remind them of their roots. Must find ghost though. And ghost would have to be amenable to participating in a setup and not actually killing them. Ghost also ideally is a romantic enthusiast, otherwise may not be able to trust their intentions. Hm. Must keep my eyes open. 

Idea #3. Lock them in a closet. Kind of already tried this. Mixed results. Might still work but they would catch on. Also not entirely sure what happened last time.

Idea #4. Lure both to the lake for a midnight swim under the stars. Pro: super romantic. Various states of undress. Con: tbh it’s getting kind of crisp here at night. hypothermia ≠ romance. 

Mabel throws down her pen and lets out an annoyed grunt. She’s pulling up short. Maybe Wendy was right. There is a lot that she still doesn’t know about where they each stand. Really essential factors that have to be weighed for her to develop a plan that will work. 

She’s going to have to go right to the source. 

A new week rolls around, and Mabel decides to start with Pacifica. She’s the harder nut to crack, but Mabel likes a challenge. 

“No thank you.” Pacifica says, flatly refusing once more as Mabel slips into her spot next to her at the lunch table and begs to talk about it. Pacifica takes out her Spanish notebook and begins reviewing her notes instead. 

“Oh come on, Paz,” Mabel moans. “I can’t stand to see you two like this.”

“Like what?”

“Well, to start with you— you’re just so completely focused on school, I’ve barely seen you without your nose in a book!”

“That seems perfectly responsible.”

“Not when it’s just so that you can avoid thinking about what’s really on your mind.”

“Who said anything is on my mind?”

“Can we just stop with that pretending now? We both know something happened between you two.”

Pacifica’s expression tells on herself in the way her eyes widen slightly and her face pales. 

“He didn’t tell me anything!” Mabel adds quickly. “I can just tell.”

Pacifica frowns down at the table. “Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine. That’s fair. But please don’t shut him out.”

“I’m not shutting him out. I can’t. We have every class together. I’m just not letting him in either.”

“But why?”

“I don’t trust him,” Pacifica says flatly. 

“What would it take for him to earn it back?”

“A miracle.”

“Pacifica.”

“Mabel,” Pacifica says, a warning in her tone. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mabel decides to drop it. For now. This is going to be a harder challenge than she anticipated, but she can sense Pacifica shutting down. Maybe bite-sized encouragements are the better way. She can bring it up again tomorrow. 

Silence falls between the two girls as they dig into their respective lunches— Pacifica’s a Caesar salad (light dressing) with smoked salmon, and Mabel’s leftover lasagna. Around them the other girls chat, but Mabel notices that Pacifica isn’t really listening to them, so she stays quiet too. 

“So…” Pacifica says, eventually, speaking quietly enough that Mabel knows she’s addressing her only. “What about him?” 

‘I thought you didn’t want to talk about it!’ is the first teasing retort that comes to Mabel’s mind, but she silences it. This is a delicate dance. She doesn’t need Paz shutting down again.

“What about him?” she asks instead. 

“Well,” Pacifica pushes a bit of salmon around on her plate, avoiding eye contact. “You said you can’t stand to see ‘us’ like this. And you made your point about how you think I’ve been acting. So… what about him?” 

Mabel practically climbs on the table. 

“Completely miserable,” she assures her, a little too enthusiastically to be considered empathetic. “All he does is go to school and do his homework and watch that dumb ghost show you guys like so much.”

“It’s been like a week,” Pacifica says dismissively, though Mabel catches the piqued interest written on her features. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

“I don’t think so.” Mabel shakes her head. “He’s pretty heartbroken.”

“Well, now he’ll understand how I felt all summer,” Pacifica mumbles. 

“I don’t think you really want him to be hurting.”

“You think I’m nicer than I really am.”

“I know you’re nicer than you think you are.”

Pacifica huffs, and Mabel decides to try another strategy. 

“What if we all did something together?” she asks, trying to inject as much optimism into her voice as she can. “A hike or a picnic, maybe? Remind you of old times?”

Pacifica studies her lunch for a long moment. Is she thinking about it…? Yes! This is going to be easier than Mabel thought. Just set up a romantic picnic, leave the two of them alone and—wait, no. No. Is that… crying? Mabel looks a little closer and yep, tears are beginning to well in Pacifica’s eyes. Oh no. Oh no no no. This was not the plan. Pacifica is staring miserably at her salmon like it was the one who broke her heart as the water threatens to roll over onto her cheeks.

“I don’t want to be reminded of old times,” she says bitterly. She stares at her lunch another few beats, and Mabel senses she might have more she wants to say. 

But wait, does Pacifica actually think Dipper would ever hurt her again? She takes in the downward turn of Pacifica’s lips, the sadness behind her eyes. She looks… awful. That same flavor of misery Dipper’s had all week. Heartbroken, mournful, hopeless. It’s evident she’s longing for him, but her self-preservation instincts are just too strong. 

Panic strikes Mabel square in the chest. Hard. This is worse than she thought. 

The silence drags out between them further, until Pacifica lowers her eyes and sighs. “I’m gonna go. I’m not hungry.” Pacifica rises and unceremoniously dumps her salad in the trash, before taking off across the cafeteria toward the exit. Mabel’s on her feet in an instant and chasing after her. She chances a glance toward the band table, where she meets Dipper’s fraught expression. ‘What did you do?!’ he mouths at her, gesturing toward the path Pacifica took off in. 

Mabel just waves him off, trying to fake a confidence that she isn’t exactly feeling. Was Wendy right? Is she in over her head here?

Mabel finds Pacifica around the back of the cafeteria, leaning against the red brick exterior with her face pointed toward the sky, eyes closed. 

“Hey,” Mabel says, approaching her slowly. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed things.”

“It’s okay,” Pacifica sighs. “I know your heart is in the right place. It’s just hard.” She looks down at her feet. The silence stretches out between them, awkward and heavy. Mabel doesn’t know what to say. She’s still struggling to come up with a response when Pacifica takes in a small breath. Her next words are so soft Mabel barely catches them. “It still hurts,” she admits, barely a whisper. 

Mabel softens her own voice, the gravity of Pacifica’s hurt setting in. She takes a few tentative steps forward and places a soft hand on Pacifica’s forearm. “He would never hurt you,” she says. 

For the first time in the whole conversation, Pacifica makes eye contact. “But he already did,” she says simply, logically—like it’s obvious. Which, it sort of is…

Mabel squirms. “Well, yes. Okay. But, he wouldn’t again…?” she tries.

“That’s the whole problem, Mabel. I don’t know if that’s true.”

If she just knew. If she only knew how much Dipper really feels for her!

“You care, though, right?” Mabel ventures. Testing waters. “About him?”

Pacifica looks back down and takes another beat before answering. “Obviously, I care,” she mutters eventually. 

“So why not try to fix things?”

Pacifica sighs and frowns again. “You don’t get it… It’s too risky.”

Okay, this is enough of this. Sorry, Dipper. I know you swore me to secrecy but these are dire times.

“Paz, I don’t think you know really just how much Dipper cares about you. And it really shouldn’t come from me, but—“

“He told me he loves me.”

Mabel blinks. “He— what??” she sputters out. 

“The night of the dance. He told me he loves me. That he wanted to start over, basically.”

Mabel is really having a hard time keeping up here. This whole time she figured the thing holding them back was not being honest with one another, but if Dipper already told her…

“Then what’s the issue?” Mabel asks, trying to stop herself from sounding too aghast. “He loves you! You love him! Don’t pretend you don’t. You should be together!”

“The problem is that people who really love each other don’t leave. They don’t get freaked out by commitment or pressure or whatever and ditch their person. And Dipper did—“

“I don’t think it was as simple as that—“

“He was my best friend. And he got in his head about us and that caused him to leave me. When I needed him. Even if it was just temporary or a freak out or whatever. He was my best friend, my person, and he was able to leave me.” Mabel’s heart clenches as she sees the tears begin to roll down Pacifica’s cheeks. “And honestly, I don’t have many friends. Not real ones anyway. So, like, I needed him, you know? And I relied too much on him. I know that now. And I know I can’t do that again.”

“Oh, oh Paz…”

“I felt so alone, Mabel. All summer.” Pacifica’s blue eyes search out Mabel’s, almost like she’s pleading. So unlike her that it’s a little unsettling. “I hadn’t felt that alone in a long time. Not since meeting you two. And when you guys came along—when he did—“ Pacifica lets out a small sob. “—I thought that finally I’d felt what it felt like to be really loved by someone. In whatever way, you know? But, either I was wrong, or love just isn’t really what I was hoping it would be.” Pacifica chokes back another sob, and Mabel steps fully forward to envelope her in a hug. 

Pacifica keeps her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso, but Mabel doesn’t let that stop her from squeezing tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Pazzy,” Mabel says after Pacifica’s crying calms. She pulls back to face her. “I— I won’t push the point.” She chews on her lip a little. Thinking, weighing. “…But, please know that he does love you. But like, even if he lets other stuff get in the way of that and messes it all up… you’re not alone. You’ve got me. And I know the cheer girls are kind of new but they care about you too. And Wendy. And I know you were never close with Candy and Grenda, but trust me, they’re real ones.” 

Pacifica still holds her arms around her middle, but does maintain cautious eye contact while Mabel talks. 

“Point is,” Mabel continues. “You’re not alone. And so many people love you. You don’t have to be afraid of that.”

Pacifica doesn’t answer, but does look to the side for a minute before nodding curly, blinking back what appear to be a brand new round of tears. 

Crap, this is a lot more complicated than Mabel thought.

Mabel gets home from school to find Dipper once again in the living room, lights off, watching his dumb ghost show. He’s on the floor in front of Grunkle Stan’s old chair, slunk down so far that he’s practically lying horizontal on the musty old carpet. 

“We’ve got a problem, brother…”

“Hm?” he grunts, slipping a little further down.

“Well, as you know, I talked to Paz today, and I’m afraid the situation may be even more dire than I had originally thought.”

Dipper moans and lets his body slip entirely to the ground, head hitting the floor with a soft thump. He stares at the ceiling, unfocused.  “Has she sworn to hate me for all eternity?”

Mabel shakes her head even though Dipper’s gaze remains on the ceiling. “No, no. She doesn’t hate you. I don’t think she could ever hate you, not really.”

“Then what’s the new problem?”

“She’s in love with you.”

Dipper tilts his head up, eye flashing. “Did she tell you that?”

“Well, not in so many words.”

Dipper’s head flops back down. “Right. Well, 1) heavy doubt on that. 2) Even if she does, this is a problem… why?”

“Because she is so deeply in love with you, that anything you do to let her down or hurt her or whatever is going to hurt a hundred—no, an infinity times more.” Mabel begins pacing the room as Dipper watches from the corner of his eye. “I knew she was hurt, and mad. But this is like… real hurt. Like absolute and complete hurt. Heartbroken hurt.” She turns to him, taking in a breath like she’s about to give a tough medical diagnosis. “This is gonna be a longer road to recovery than I had hoped.

“I’m not sure there is a road to recovery,” Dipper says, digging the heels of his hand into his eyes.

Mabel crosses her arms and tucks her chin to look down at him. He arranges her face into a scowl in the off-chance he looks up at her. “So you’re just giving up then? Gonna just feel sorry for yourself and cut your losses?”

“No... of course not. No. I’m just not feeling great about my odds.”

“She loves you. And by the way, yes, she told me you told her you loved her too— ballsy move, bro-bro— Anyway, but I know she loves you. You don’t have to believe me but I’m right. She’s just, like, super duper scared. And I think that’s gonna be your problem.” 

“She seemed scared that night of the dance too.” Dipper says, looking pensive. “I hated seeing her like that.” He swallows. “She was crying.”

“Are you finally ready to tell me what happened there?” Mabel asks. She kneels down next to her brother. 

“Do I have to?”

“Well, no, not necessarily.” Mabel tries to keep her voice gentle. “But you do have a love expert as a sister. Seems like an awful shame to waste that opportunity, especially since you seem in desperate need.”

“I kissed her.”

That was not what Mabel was expecting him to say. She just blinks for a few seconds, processing. Dipper kissed her? Dipper Pines, Mr. 36-Step Plan for Heating Up Soup, just up and not only told Pacifica that he loves her, but kissed her too? Man, he really does become someone else when he’s around her. 

“What did she do?” she asks.

“Kissed me back, at first anyway.”

Mabel knows this is just small part of a much more complicated and longer conversation, but she also knows that her brother’s first kiss with a girl that he’s been crazy about for the last five years is probably a big deal. And that he may want to talk about it a little bit.

“Well…” she begins. “How was it?”

Dipper sighs and gives her a small, sad smile. “It was perfect. Everything I’ve always wanted. Never wanted it to end. Want to do it again so, so badly.” He moans and throws his head back again, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Well, that’s the goal then,” Mabel says, getting back to business. “And we’re going to make it happen.”

Dipper turns to look back up at her, looking mildly concerned. “You’re not going to come up with some sort of crazy plan are you?”

Mabel huffs, feigning insult. “Hey, my crazy plans have gotten us out of more than a few jams in our days.” She pauses, thinking a bit. But this is all so much more than she thought. Wendy was right. Darn her experience and near-mature prefrontal cortex. “But… no. I won’t meddle. But I will be here for both of you.”

“I’m glad,” Dipper says, looking blankly at the ceiling once more. “I’m glad she has you,” he adds.

“It was weird,” Mabel says. “I could tell that she was upset over the summer, but she was still mostly herself. You know… attitude, sass, all that. This is… this is something else.”

“That’s the part I am having trouble wrapping my head around, too. I mean, this is Pacifica. Take-no-prisoners, Queen-B-in-charge Pacifica. And she cried, she was crying.”

“Pacifica isn’t as tough as she looks on the outside.”

“I mean, I know that. I just didn’t think she would cry over me... I feel like shit. I didn’t think I was capable of doing that.”

“We’re all capable of making mistakes and hurting people, Dip.”

“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean… I didn’t know she could ever be that upset over something I did.”

Mabel tilts her head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean. I knew when I ghosted her this summer that she’d be mad. And hurt too, sure. But mostly I figured she’d just be… insulted. That I dared to ignore her. The ‘don’t-I-know-who-she-is, she could buy-and-sell-my-whole-family’ of it all—“ Mabel laughs a little. They both know Pacifica doesn’t mean it when she says things like that, but Dipper does do a pretty good impression of her. “But you know, she’s Pacifica Northwest. And I’m just me.”

“‘Just you’ saved the world.”

“Contrary to popular belief, turns out that doesn’t actually make you that popular with girls.” Dipper gives her a self-deprecating smirk. 

“What are you even talking about? So many girls have liked you!”

Dipper rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“I’m serious! There was Ashley Brinkleton in 7th grade. Abby Wright in 9th. Lizzy Caruso from the synagogue. Kristy Hernandez in 10th. Even Candy liked you for a minute there! You’ve just been too obsessed with Paz to notice.”

Dipper quirks an eyebrow, looking amused. “You really kept a record of all this?”

Mabel scoffs. “I’m insulted! Of course I did.”

“Look,” Dipper begins. “Those girls were all nice. But they’re not Pacifica. She’s… she’s so incredibly out of my league.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mabel.” Dipper goes to argue again but Mabel cuts him off.

“No,” she says. “Nope we are not doing the negative self-talk thing. You are the bravest person I know. You care about others. You’re loyal and determined and smarter than you have any business being. Dipper, you’re amazing! That’s why she fell for you. And yes, she’s amazing too and yes she’s Pacifica-freaking-Northwest, but don’t forget that you’re Dipper-freaking-Pines! Pacifica would— nay— will be lucky to call you hers.”

Dipper’s cheeks tinge pink. He turns his face to the side, but Mabel still catches his small smile. 

Alright, time to bring this pep talk home. Wrap it up, Love Expert. 

“You hurt her,” Mabel says softly. “And I know, I know—you didn’t realize how much you hurt her because you didn’t realize how much you mean to her. But now you do, thank goodness. You’ve told her how you feel, and that’s great, but now the problem is that she doesn’t trust you or your feelings. You hurt her and could do it again—”

“I would never—“

“I know that. And you know that. But…” She rolls her hand in front of her, inviting him to finish the thought.

“…Pacifica doesn’t know that,” he admits. 

“Exactly.”

“But what am I supposed to do about it?”

Mabel tilts her head. “I think you just be there for her. Be consistent. In whatever way she lets you. And stop feeling sorry for yourself.” She pauses. “I think it’s gonna take time, Dip.”

Dipper doesn’t say anything for a long while. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks. Mabel stands by at the ready, not pushing him, just letting him work out his thoughts. After a few long minutes, he sits up and leans back on his palms. He looks at Mabel, still not saying anything, but she can see that a little bit of hope and determination has returned to his features. 

She rises to her feet and leans down to give him a hand, pulls him upright too. He brushes some wayward dust motes off his jeans and pulls his shoulders back, sending his sister a resolved nod.

“So,” she starts. She gives Dipper a pointed look that says there’s only one correct way to answer the question she’s about to ask. “You up to the task? You willing to do what needs to be done to win back the trust of your lady love? Be there for her, be patient, be her friend? Even if she doesn’t want to let you at first?”

Dipper nods again, solid and sure. “Yeah, I got this. I have to.” 

Mabel examines him closely, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. Pacifica is her friend too, and if Dipper hurts her again she will probably actually have to murder him herself. Finding nothing but determination, she returns his nod and slaps him on the back. “Well get to it!”

Mabel heads back to her room, the emotional weight of the day beginning to find its way into her bones. She feels somehow both heavier and lighter. 

She spies her combination scrapbook-brainstorming notebook on her desk and decides a few more looks can’t hurt. 

She flips open to a random page. This one’s blank, but she’d already written in the title. Dipper and Pacifica’s First Kiss.

She cringes a little at her younger self. Did she really expect to be present for that? Much less to take a picture? Well… yes. But she realizes now that it’s probably better that they had a private moment, even if it did blow up in their faces. 

Another page flip. Senior Prom.

This one’s empty too, of course. Doesn’t mean it can’t end up being filled with happy memories eventually, though… She can still hope, right?

She decides to go backward in time a little, just a small jog down memory lane. 

She flips a few pages back, to a colorful layout chronicling a hike they took deep into the woods during their third summer here. It’d been a good-sized group— Dipper, herself, and Pacifica, of course. But also Wendy, Candy, Grenda, some guy Wendy was seeing at the time, and a few of the gnomes that started trailing after them about halfway through the hike. At some point on the way back, a completely harmless, completely non-paranormal squirrel had jumped onto the trail in front of their path, and Pacifica had positively squealed as she ran from it and, in a remarkably unladylike fashion, clambered onto Dipper’s back. Dipper had voiced his protests, of course, calling her a princess and scaredy-cat and ridiculously pampered… but he also didn’t put her down. Mabel would like to be able to say that Pacifica rode piggyback like that on Dipper’s back for the whole rest of the way down the mountain, but in reality it had been maybe another five minutes. Dipper was still very much pre-growth spurt at this point, bless his heart. But regardless, it had been adorable and Mabel made sure to snap a picture before he’d rudely dumped her back on the trail. 

She lets her fingers dance through the sides of the pages, flips to another at random. This one is a compilation of random summer events, some including those two, some not, but her eyes drift to one picture in particular. It’s from a movie night they hosted the summer before Junior year. They’d all piled into the Shack living room, pulling together every blanket in the house to make a communal nest for them all to cozy up in. Pacifica had chosen the spot next to Dipper, which he later would swear was nothing, but Mabel knew better. By the time they’d finished the movie, a campy rom-com about college acapella groups, Pacifica had fallen asleep tucked just oh-so-perfectly on Dipper’s shoulder, and Dipper—still awake—had turned beet red. Mabel had suggested they call it a night at that point and turn in for bed, but wouldn’t you know, Dipper insisted they watch the sequel right then. Despite complaining the whole way through the first one. Mabel didn’t tease him too much about his obvious desire to prolong Pacifica’s cuddly nap at the time, but she did point out the sweet, shy smile he bore in the photo she took to him later, just to make sure he knew he couldn’t pull a fast one over ol’ Mabel.

Mabel feels a small warmth grow in her chest at the memories, and a smile tugs at her lips. Okay, one more… 

She flips the page, and oh this is a favorite! It’s from just this past February. Dipper and Pacifica had made a habit of video calling each other before bed a few nights a week. (And they actually thought there was any way people wouldn’t see that they’re in love?!) This one was from one of those nights. Mabel had made her appearance on their call earlier in the evening, then retreated to her own room to finish some much-procrastinated-on homework. From her room she could hear their muffled conversation—nothing specific, just easy chit-chat punctuated here and there by Pacifica’s giggles or Dipper’s awkward-but-endearing chuckles. But after awhile it went silent. Mabel assumed that they had ended the call, so she ventured to her brother’s room to say goodnight. Her light rap at his door had gone unanswered, so she gently pushed it in. And was met with the cutest scene she had ever seen in her life. Dipper was passed out on his bed, snoring lightly, face peaceful and undisturbed. Across from him on the bed was his laptop, casting a faint glow on his features. From the laptop speakers Mabel could make out the distinct sound of a complementary set of faint snores. Mabel had swallowed her squeal of excitement, then gently tip-toed over to her brother’s bed to carefully lift the laptop and place it on his nightstand instead, making sure to plug it in while she was at it. There. Adorableness, but also no risk of the laptop overheating on the bed and burning the whole house down. If Dipper noticed that she had moved his computer, he never said anything, and she decided she wouldn’t either. The moment seemed a little too intimate to discuss. Something about talking about it might have taken away from its sweet purity. But she’d still gotten her photo, of course. 

Mabel sighs and closes the scrapbook. So many good memories. So many that were completely unplanned. Maybe it’s better this way… 

She’ll still be there for them, of course. In whatever ways they each need, together and separately, but maybe it is best to relinquish control of the situation. It’s Dipper and Pacifica, after all. And yes, they’re both dummies, but they love each other. Not just romantically–though that is a given–but in the deep, selfless kind of way that really only comes from the most meaningful of connections. Mabel nods to herself, then decides to get ready to bed.

True love does conquer all. And it will. Mabel still believes that. Even if it’s driving her bananas at the moment. 

Chapter Text

“Pines?”

“Dip.”

“Mr. Pines?”

“Dude.”

“Mason. Pines.”

“Dipper, he’s talking to you!”

Huh? Dipper tears his eyes away from the open door of the band classroom, from where it leads into the cafeteria—where he’s apparently been staring for at least the last several minutes. It’s an exceptionally blustery day, so the cheerleaders have taken to practicing in there today. And it’s causing problems for Dipper’s focus, to say the least. Not that it’s been all that great lately anyway, if he’s honest.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Sorry. I’m here.”

His band director, Mr. K, just leans back against his table and raises an eyebrow. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Pines.” A wave of muted laughter echoes through the room from his classmates.

Dipper flushes.” Yeah, sorry. I just kind of spaced out.”

“Evidently.” Mr. K chuckles a bit and turns back the board to continue his explanation of the routine they’ll be taking to the regional competition in a few months. “Anyway, as I was saying…”

But only a few seconds later, Dipper once again feels his mind depart the room. Though this time, he can at least pretend to pay attention a little better. He’s been getting practice after all. To say he’s been a little unfocused lately would be an understatement. Well, that’s not quite right. He’s focused, but almost exclusively on how to win back Pacifica’s trust. He’s feeling a heck of a lot more hopeful and determined after his talk with Mabel the other night, but that doesn’t mean things are back to normal. Far from it.

Pacifica is still barely giving him more than the time of day, but she’s also not really ignoring him, per se. And he can’t even say that she’s being cold, either. He kind of thinks that would be better, honestly. She’s just acting… normal. Not “them” normal. But the way that she would act towards basically any random classmate.

It’s driving him crazier than if she had just sworn to hate him for all eternity.

It was called into focus yesterday afternoon, when he’d approached her after Psychology as they walked toward their lockers. Their teacher had given the class a final reminder that the pairs needed to submit their project ideas to her by the end of the week. Heart in his throat, he had approached her with a proposition.

“Hey, so, I know things aren’t great between us right now. So I just wanted to say that I understand if you want to switch partners. Like, I’m sure I can find someone who will want to pair up with the great Pacifica Northwest, and I’ll try not to make whoever is left behind feel too—“

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, voice light.

“It’s fine?”

“Yes. It’s not a big deal. We should decide what we want to do, though.”

“And you sure you’re okay with that? Even after…?”

“It’s only a project. It won’t last forever.”

Dipper had felt a pang of panic wrap itself around his heart at that. That’s true. It wouldn’t last forever. Shit. But at least she’s still okay with working together. That’s something, right? Or is it actually a bad sign that she seems so unbothered? Her frustration at him, that fire, had sort of been what was reassuring him over the last few weeks. And just as it had convinced him that she still cared, her now casual nature disarmed and unsettled him.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, do you want to meet up after your shift today to try to figure out what we’re doing?”

“I can’t tonight,” she said simply and without venom. Just a fact. 

Why not tonight? His anxiety internally demanded an answer. What was she doing tonight? Was she going out? Was she seeing someone? Had he already lost her?

“Um, okay,” he said instead. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s busy, too.” She spared him a glance. “Sorry,” she added quickly, mechanically. 

“Okay…” Dipper started again, trying to push down the sparks of frustration growing. Stay patient, man.

They’d reached their lockers by then, and she stopped and turned to him. Gave him a what looked like a carefully detached look. “How about you just email me a couple ideas and I’ll pick one? Or vice versa.”

Dipper’s heart sank a little. He had been hoping they’d be able to get some actual time alone. Maybe talk about it over a shake at Greasy’s… 

“Okay, yeah, sure. That works. I’ll send you some tonight.”

“Cool,” she said simply, before turning back to her locker to begin fiddling with the combination lock. 

Both she and Dipper packed up their backpacks in silence. She finished first, gently pushing the locker door shut until it clicked. She turned to go, but then paused—just the smallest hesitation. Dipper watched her cautiously, not daring to move himself either. She turned to glance over her shoulder, still not making eye contact with him but at least giving him the benefit of seeing her expression— guarded, still aloof. 

“Have a good night,” she’d said. 

He’d swallowed down the lump in his throat before replying. “Yeah, you too, Cif.”

And then she was down the hallway and stepping out into the crisp Autumn afternoon, gone. 

Dipper had stood by his locker, feeling lost, for longer than he’d like to admit now. It had been the longest conversation they’d had since the dance, and he truly hadn’t known what to do with the battle of conflicting emotions going on inside of him. Had it been a step forward? A step back? Was her being polite a good or bad sign? Could he take hope in the way she’d paused to say goodbye? Or the fact that she was okay pairing up still? Had there been anything he missed? A non-verbal clue or gesture or tone or something he should have caught that would provide clarity? He wishes he could have a recording of it to play back over and pick apart.

He really is trying to be patient, though. Honestly. Now that he understands how badly he hurt her, he also understands that it’s probably going to take a long time to heal it. But damn it’s hard. He isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that they share six out of their seven periods. On one hand, it’s great that he gets to see her so much, on the other, her casualness is like a stab in the gut every time. 

There is a practical benefit, however, which is that he’s able to keep an eye on her and try to keep her safe from any paranormal challenges. Nothing else has happened since the dance—not to his knowledge anyway—but now that it’s all but been confirmed that something is afoot, he likes that he can keep her close. 

Which is why band is a problem, and why he’s particularly prone to distraction in it. Because it’s the one period they don’t share together, and as such, it’s also the one where he is the most anxious. What if a sinkhole spontaneously emerges on the football field? What if one of the stadium lights abruptly falls over and crushes her? What if one of the other girls drops her onto a long-buried land mine? Why there would be landmines in central Oregon, he isn’t sure, but that’s not the point! Or what if she just tries to do a flip and lands it wrong and breaks her neck? Something is seriously wrong here, and every minute that she’s out of his sight is a moment that he’s stressing, to put it lightly.

So at least he could keep an eye on her today. Although that’s been distracting for a different reason… which he knows he shouldn’t think about too much in the middle of class.

The bell rings to dismiss them all for lunch, and Dipper gathers up his things to go. He’s eager to get to his normal spot, which, if she sits in her normal spot, puts her right in his line of sight. Is he getting a little stalker-ey? Maybe… But these are not normal times, and if he doesn’t—

“Mason?” the inquiring voice of his director interrupts both his thought spiral and his exit. “Would you stay behind a moment?”

“Oh,” Dipper says, turning reluctantly. “Yeah, for sure.” He waves off Kevin and the others. Maybe Kevin will save his seat…

“So,” Mr. K begins after the others have left the room. “I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t really been yourself lately.”

Dipper squirms. He so doesn’t want to have this conversation. How can he get out of it as quickly as possible? “Yeah, I guess I just have some stuff on my mind. I’m sorry, I won’t let it get in the way of learning the routine…”

Mr. K raises his palms and shakes his head. “I’m not here to give you a hard time.” 

He lowers them and gestures to a seat in the front row, inviting Dipper to sit. Dipper accepts his fate and settles into it.

“Actually,” Mr. K continues. “I was kind of hoping that you might talk to me about whatever is going on… Girl troubles, I’m guessing?”

Dipper blushes. Oh god, is he really that predictable and cliché? “Um, yeah, I guess you could say that,” he admits, avoiding his teacher’s eye contact. 

“Something to do with the particular cheerleader, maybe?”

Oh god this is so humiliating. Is his longing so obvious that the teachers are noticing it?

Mr. K saves him from answering. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. But, if you’ll take some advice from an old man…“ Dippers swallows the scoff that rises to his throat. Mr. K is barely out of college… but Dipper knows he’s trying. Don’t be an ass, man, he tells himself. Mr. K doesn’t seem to notice Dipper’s skepticism. He just takes a sip from his water bottle, clears his throat, and settles back on the table, looking thoughtful. “Girls… well, they don’t tend to like guys who chase them around.” He raises an eyebrow at Dipper. “Or who watch them while they’re not looking.” Dipper feels his ears burn even hotter than they were a second before. “So maybe it would be best if you found something else to occupy that brain of yours? Mr. Corduroy invited you to join his garage band, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did.” Dipper nods quickly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him about that. You’re right, it would be good to be busy.” He rises from his seat and hopes this will appease his teacher. He’s so beyond ready for this conversation to end. 

Mr. K just examines him for a beat, but then tilts his head and gestures toward the door. “Well, I think I’ve made my point. Go on then.” 

Dipper bolts toward the cafeteria, but something about Mr. K’s advice nags at him. Girls don’t like guys who chase them around. And though he’s been trying to respect her boundaries, not push too much, he does have to admit that he’s done little but watch or think about her for the last two weeks. And that can’t be healthy… Maybe he does need to focus on something other than Cif. He’s not about to give up on her, obviously, but he can be productive in the meantime.

Kevin’s band is a promising prospect, and he wasn’t lying when he said that he had been meaning to follow up with him about that. He just got in a little bit thrown off track by other things. Things like a vague and apparently extremely savage curse threatening everyone he cares for most. So maybe that’s the better place to start, if he’s looking to occupy himself. He has been a little ashamed that he let his investigation fall to the wayside in favor of wallowing in his misery, anyway. Mr. K was right—he hasn’t been acting like himself.

Mabel had talked a lot the other night about how great he was, and how that was the person that Pacifica had fallen in love with. It’s probably time to start being that person again. And solving this mystery is the perfect place to start.

He decides to start where all great investigations begin: the Internet.

Unfortunately, his search for Juliette Fairchild Gravity Falls High comes up short. She did die in the 80s though, so it’s understandable that she wouldn’t have a strong digital footprint. He tries a few other inputs.  Fairchild family Gravity Falls, Juliette Fairchild obituary, Juliette Fairchild fire. Nada. 

Absolutely nothing comes up on her family either. They really must have gotten the heck out of dodge. 

Well, thankfully, he knows just the place to find lists of residents from decades ago. 

He pulls his truck into the parking lot of Greasy’s diner and makes his way across the parking lot, leaves crunching between his boots and the gravel, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat to brace against the wind. For some reason, Lazy Susan has decided to save all of the old town phone books dating back to the 1970s. Pacifica complained about it to him more than once, about the way they took up space in the supply room just gathering dust, but Dipper’s feeling pretty darn thankful for Susan’s hoarding habits now. 

The fact that he decides to pay the diner a visit during a time when he knows Pacifica will be working… well, that’s just a complete coincidence, of course. 

She sees him the second he walks in. He raises his hand in a casual gesture of greeting, making sure to send along a small sheepish smile for good measure. He tries not to read into the soft flush of pink that colors her cheeks before she straightens her back and walks forward to seat him. 

“Hello, Dipper. Would you like a table?”

“I’m actually here to talk to Susan. Maybe I can wait at the counter?”

Pacifica waves him toward it and goes back to check on another table in her section. And if Dipper chooses the seat nearest to the coffee maker she keeps returning to… well, that’s just a coincidence too. 

Susan is utterly tickled to show him her collection of phone books once he explains his strange request, and she waves at him to follow her into the back supply room.

“These could be worth good money someday!” she explains, holding up a yellow book with 2002 written across the front. “They’re basically collector’s items! I keep offering to sell them to the historical society.” She shrugs. “They’ll see the light someday!”

“Eh, for sure!” Dipper says, trying to sound encouraging. 

Susan leaves him with the stack of books, and he zeroes in on one in particular. Telephone Directory: 1984. He has to hand it to Susan—at least she kept them in order. Plopping himself on the floor of the supply room, he starts flipping through the last names. “Fagan… Fahey… Fairbanks…” he reads aloud to himself. And then his heart leaps. “…Fairchild!”

Fairchild, L. 

    14 Meadowlark Ln., Grv. Flls, OR ..... phone unlisted

Dipper pulls out a notebook and pencil from his coat’s interior pocket and scribbles down the address, before rising, putting the book back in its place, and heading back out to the dining room. He has what he came here for… but he could stay for a coffee, right? Nothing weird about that. 

By the time he actually does leave, he’s had three cups of coffee, one tuna melt, a pile of french fries, two Arnold Palmers, and a slice of pecan pie. He’s absolutely stuffed and knows he can’t order anything else without his obvious lingering becoming even more obvious. Pacifica politely gives him his bill, and Dipper hopes he didn’t imagine the small, amused quirk to her lips that he thinks he catches as she turns to go.

He leaves some cash on the counter, along with an intentionally generous tip, and makes his way back out toward his truck. Back when they still talked about real stuff, Pacifica would tell him about how she was trying to save money so that she could escape her parents’ control. It was part of their plan to go to college together. To run away, basically. Well, maybe that’s a little melodramatic, but he knows the Northwests would have seen it that way. He’s not really sure where her plans stand now, but he’s reassured by the fact that she’s still working at the diner. It’s a sign that she’s still focused on her future, at least. Whatever that might be. 

Dipper sighs as he settles into the driver’s seat of his truck. He’s obsessing over her again. He cranks the keys in the ignition, encouraging the old engine to turn over, and tries to refocus his mind on the task at hand. It’s starting to get dark earlier, so the sun is already making its way below the treeline, but Dipper reasons that as long as it’s still daylight, at least a little, paying a visit to the old Fairchild home is fair game. 

So when his truck finally does start up, he directs it in the direction of the neighborhood his phone’s map application says Meadowlark Lane is in. It’s a nice neighborhood, not as fancy as the one Pacifica and her parents moved to after they lost their mansion, but still firmly of the upper-middle-class variety. He finds Number 14 in short order. It’s a slightly outdated-looking split-level ranch-style home, but it’s been well-maintained and the yard is nicely landscaped. If some sort of tragedy befell the family that lives or lived here, the house bears no sign of it. 

A kindly-looking old man answers the door–a kindly man who explains that he is not a Fairchild, but he does recall them from when he purchased the home. Only vaguely. They kept to themselves. He bought the house for well-below the market value. It’s priced to sell fast, his realtor had explained. He’d always wondered why they were so eager to leave the town, but the few times he mentioned it to his new neighbors, they’d just shook their heads in that “such a shame” kind of way and said it wasn’t their place to say. 

“Do you know where they moved to?” Dipper asks, praying that this isn’t the end of the line of clues.

The old man raises an eyebrow at him. “Curious young man, aren’t you?”

“I, uh, well, I found something that belonged to them. At the high school. Their daughter went there. It’s… sentimental. Just wanted to see if I could track them down.”

The man eyes him skeptically, but must decide he doesn’t care enough. He shrugs. “I have the city name. It would have been on our contract. Give me a moment…”

He wanders off into an adjoining room—an office, Dipper figures—and Dipper stands in the man’s foyer, trying not to feel awkward or guilty about the lie. 

The man shuffles back in a few minutes later, holding a Post-it out to Dipper. “Here you go, son. Strange though, I don’t seem to recall a daughter…”

Dipper takes the note, trying not to look too eager, and gives the man his thanks before heading down the driveway and back to his truck. He only lets himself look at the note once he’s back in his cab. Something about unearthing new clues feels special, something to be savored. He looks down and flips the small paper over. 

Evergreen Crest, Oregon is written in the man’s shaky script. Evergreen Crest. Why does that sound familiar? 

Well, he’ll have to figure it out later. It’s well past sunset and getting dark. He really should be getting home. He needs to brainstorm project ideas and send them to Pacifica. He’d told her he would send her a couple tonight, and he is not about to risk letting her down, not even in small ways. The name of the game right now is consistency and reliability. 

Later that night though, sitting at his desk and flipping through the pages of his AP Psych textbook, he feels the task is easier said than done. Everything about every interaction he has with Pacifica matters right now. Even something as mundane as picking a topic feels like it could carry some import. It’s an opportunity to prove himself. Each small interaction or communication is a chance, and he’s not going to waste a single one. 

Dipper flips to the table of contents and stares, willing the book to speak to him, to tell him how to use this opportunity to maximum effect. 

Then, he blinks. And it comes to him. He feels a smile tug at his lips, and a warm swell of hope fills up in his chest. Still smiling to himself, he flips open his laptop and begins composing his email.

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Psych Project

Hey Cif,

I hope you had a good night after your shift. I thought of a couple ideas. Feel free to reject any/all, but I think they could be really good… they’re all things I’m very committed to learning more about, either way.

1) Perceived Social Hierarchy and Its Effects on Confidence in Relationships
Hypothesis: Exposure to high-status (read: stunningly pretty, funny, smart) peers decreases confidence and increases self-consciousness in more “average” adolescents.

2) Anxiety’s Effect on Response to Uncharted Territory
Hypothesis: High anxiety is correlated with higher avoidance behavior in unknown situations, leading to (drastically) less desirable outcomes. 

3) Potential for Growth in Anxious Individuals
Hypothesis: Individuals who learn emotional regulation (ie. learn to deal) can grow to exhibit lower rates of avoidance in social situations, leading to greater intimacy and connection. 

The next is my favorite one though. And you could pick which hypothesis feels the most right to you…

4) Effective Methods for Earning Trust Following Abandonment
a. Hypothesis: Repeated verbal apologies (ie. groveling) results in eventual forgiveness and relationship repair. 
b. Hypothesis: Extravagant gifts and thoughtful gestures (jewelry? flowers? dates? homemade meals?) encourages re-connection and closeness.
c. Hypothesis: Perseverance (consistent, reliable actions) in relationship maintenance leads to increased emotional security and trust— in time. 

Just let me know, Cif. I’ll do anything. 

- Dipper

Pacifica reads the email a second time over. Then a third.

There’s a familiar fluttering of pleasure tickling her somewhere in her chest.

Shit—no! Ignore that, girl.

After their kiss—and holy crap that kiss… she keeps replaying in her mind, even though she knows she shouldn’t— well, she resolved that the best way to deal with her uncertainty was do absolutely nothing at all. She’d said her piece, poured her heart out. Not once but twice in fact! And she knows Mabel well enough to know that the girl would have passed on at least some of their conversation to her brother. So there’s really nothing for her to do, she reasons. She was honest, and so was he, and that is fucking that. 

She’s in a safe little cocoon now, and it’s not so bad. She’s all alone in that cocoon, sure, but at least she knows she’s not giving him the chance to break her heart all over again.

But… maybe there is a little bit more to it, also. She knows that “testing” people is a pretty toxic approach but she is curious to see if he will keep up his pursuit of her attention. For purely scientific reasons, of course. 

She certainly has noticed how attentive he has been to her over the last few weeks, and she can’t say she hates it. She’s seen the way his eyes look around a room until they find her, the way he always waits to let her leave a room first so he can follow behind. He’s not being creepy or anything like that. (Though she definitely did put a little bit more swing into her hips today during cheer practice once she realized the door to the band room was open.) He’s just… there.

And she just doesn’t know what to do with how that makes her feel. It feels like her emotions are swinging wildly from minute to minute. One second she wants to bury herself under her bed covers and never have to talk to him again, and the next she’s just barely stopping herself from running all the way to the Mystery Shack and banging on the door and throwing herself into his arms. 

It’s just, like, so much to deal with. Which is why she’s decided to do nothing. Let him be the one to figure out what to do. 

Even so, she re-reads the email one more time. Briefly letting herself enjoy the little butterflies that dance in her stomach… but just a little. The safety cocoon only allows for so much hope before it’s rendered ineffective. She clicks the reply button, thinking. 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Psych Project

Number 4, hypothesis C. 

Meet me Thursday after school in the library?

- Pacifica

She bites her lip as she hits send, and watches the screen too long. His response comes in barely a minute later. 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Psych Project

Perfect, I’ll be there. Good night, Pacifica. Sleep well. - D

She does sleep well. And when she wakes in the morning, she tries to hold onto the last threads of whatever it was that she was dreaming about. The images are gone, but the feelings linger— warmth, security, belonging. It’s been a while since she had a dream that left such pleasant tendrils in her mind. 

She used to dream about her and Dipper all the time, of course, and if her memories of how those dreams made her feel are any comparison, it’s pretty darn likely he featured in this one too. She’d get them over the summer sometimes too, but those were always so much more bittersweet. She’d still enjoy those couple of seconds of comfort upon waking, before reality hit, but then they were always quickly followed by a sinking in her heart when she remembered the truth of their situation, remembered just how far from reality those dreams really were at the moment. 

Here, this morning, it’s a little different. The feelings linger, and she doesn’t force them away. A small indulgence, just a little treat, she tells herself. Then she can wrap herself back up in her protective layers. 

She rushes through her normal morning routine, then begins to head downstairs to meet her driver. She’s crossing the marble floor of their foyer, her driver just about to swing open the heavy front door for her, when her mother’s voice floats in from the dining room. 

“Pacifica! Pacifica, come in here!”

She stifles a groan, briefly considers pretending she didn’t hear. But whatever it is her mother wants to tell her is still going to exist once she’s back in the afternoon, and she figures she might as well rip the band-aid off now. 

She finds her parents seated at either end of their long dining room table. Her father, like always, has his nose stuck in the newspaper, and her mother is cutting into a grapefruit. 

“Pacifica, we’ve been invited to weekend with the Davenports at their lake house,” her mother says, without even deigning to make eye contact. “Three weeks from now. Make sure you clear your schedule.”

Ugh! Teddy?? Again?!

Pacifica doesn’t even try to hold back her groan this time. “Mom!” she whines. “Do I really have to? Can’t you guys just go without me?”

“Nonsense,” her mother says crisply. “This is all being arranged for you.”

“But I just saw him!” 

“That was well over a month ago. We need to make sure you’re fresh in his mind.”

“Mom, I really don’t think he likes me like that.”

“Precisely why this still requires so much work.”

Her father chooses to lower and fold his newspaper, picks up his fork to spear some sausage. “Listen to your mother, Pacifica. This isn’t open for discussion.”

“But I have a game that Friday!” she says, suddenly remembering. “The rest of the team—they need me!”

“I said this isn’t open for discussion,” he repeats, a little firmer.

“I’ll make sure to schedule you in for a trim and root touch-up with Evaristo,” her mother adds. “And tell Margo no more sweets before bed until after the trip. Actually…” She pauses, finally looks at Pacifica only to give her an appraising once-over. “Hm. Better to just cut them out entirely, I think.”

Pacifica wraps her arms around her stomach. It’s hopeless. “Can I go to school now?” she mutters. 

“Speak clearly, dear,” reminds her mother. “No slouching.”

Pacifica sighs and straightens her back. “May I go to school?” she repeats, making sure to exaggerate her enunciation of each word. 

Her father just sniffs and nods, and then his newspaper is right back in its home, obscuring his face. Her mother is already once again distracted by her sad-looking citrus. 

Good family meeting, Pacifica thinks bitterly as she makes her way out to the car. 

Wednesday crawls by, and then it’s Thursday, the day she plans to meet up with Dipper to sketch out their project. In the library. Together. Alone. She makes sure she looks good every day, because duh, but she doesn’t think she can be blamed for getting up just a little bit earlier this morning to make sure her hair and makeup are just right.

She goes through the rest of her day as normal. Keeping him at that same safe arm’s length and doing her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. This is so stupid, she tells herself. She sees him all day, every day. But, that’s definitely not the same thing as being one-on-one in a private setting, and her heart knows that too. She’s treading into dangerous territory. Ugh, why didn’t she take him up on his offer to switch partners? She told herself it was because she was just trying to treat him the same way she would treat any other acquaintance, but if the way she keeps fussing with her hair is any indication, there was probably more to it than that.

The final bell rings and she makes a hasty departure from their classroom. It’s kind of stupid because they’re both going to the same place— their lockers, and then the library, but it feels safer to run ahead. She doesn’t want to get there first though, either, so she makes a pit stop in the girls’ restroom, one last examination in the mirror before she decides it’s safe to head to the library.

When she gets there, heart in her throat, she forces herself to relax. Forces her arms not to hold her textbooks so tightly to her chest, forces her facial expression into trained neutrality. She wanders toward the back corner. She’s not sure why she figures he’ll be there; it just felt right. But her instincts are correct, because there he is: set up in a corner at a small table with room for no more than two chairs, a stack of books piled around him. He’s already got his AP Psych book flipped open to the section they’ve decided to dive into. His face is down, elbows on either side of the book and fists propping up his head. His flannel’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and a curl of hair falls on his forehead. That’s nothing unusual, but there’s something about the look in combination with the studious setting and quiet hazy light of the library that makes it unfairly attractive.

Without the warning that her heart and pride would have appreciated, he looks up abruptly. He almost looks a little bit surprised, like he didn’t think she’d actually show up, but his expression relaxes a second later. “Hey,” he says. “You made it.”

She works to keep her face neutral and just gives him a small nod. Deep breath in, breath out. But not too deep—can’t let him notice the rise and fall of her chest. 

Neither moves for a moment. Just as the awkwardness is about to set in Dipper jumps from his chair, wood-on-wood scraping as it pushes out against the old floorboards. Pacifica startles and takes half a step back as he rounds the table and grabs the back of the chair intended for her, pulling it out as well and gesturing to it awkwardly with his other hand. His face colors a deep red at practically the same time, and he freezes a moment before stepping backward, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, that was weird,” he says. His eyes are anywhere but on her. “I didn’t know if you were waiting for…” 

And it’s just so frustratingly endearing. 

Pacifica tries to stifle the laugh that escapes her lips, with only partial success. Well, at least it broke the tension. “Dork,” she says.

His shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a small chuckle too. “Yeah, I guess,” he says as he makes his way back to his own chair and sits back down. 

She nods towards his textbook. “Gotten very far?”

“A bit. I did some reading last night, but I was thinking that we could start by reviewing the section.” He pauses for a second, then continues. “And you know, we don’t actually have to do it exactly what I suggested. I realize it might be a little bit on the nose.” He looks up at her, gives her a small crooked smile that is not helping the butterflies situation still waging battle in her stomach. 

Pacifica bites back a smile and works extra hard to keep her expression neutral. “Yeah, a little bit. Maybe for now we just tell her that we’re studying perseverance, and then as we learn more about it we can focus in more.”

“That sounds good.”

She flips open her notebook and textbook and turns to the same page he’s on.

Dipper’s eyes scan over her notes. The corner of his mouth twitches as he holds back an amused smile.

“What?” she can’t help but ask. 

“Nothing,” he says. “I just think it’s funny how you write with that pink pen all the time.”

“It’s aesthetic,” she argues.

“It makes your notes impossible to read.”

“I can read them just fine, thank you very much,” she says. “Better than your chicken scratch, anyway,” she adds with a nod towards his own scrawl.

“Hey, my handwriting is just fine, too. Just because not everyone takes the time to do little hearts above every one of their I’s…”

Pacifica feels her cheeks warm. She loves it when he notices little details like this about her. She forgot how much she loves that. 

Wait. No. Cocoon. The Cocoon! 

She looks down at her textbook and picks up her pen. “We should probably get started.”

He nods his agreement and turns back to his book, too. They read independently, each jotting down their own notes for areas of exploration and ideas that they could draw from. It’s quiet in the library, which, of course it is, Pacifica thinks—it’s a library. But she wishes there was a little bit more noise to cut the tension between them. It’s not really a bad tension, or even an awkward one. It’s just… heavy. There are words unspoken here, but she’s not sure what they are or if she even wants to say them.

She does her best to keep her eyes focused on her work as she keeps up her reading, but she can’t help but get distracted. The sun is beginning to fall lower in the autumn sky, casting warm rays of light in through the dusty library windows. The streams catch on the dust in the air, creating a pretty hazy effect around them both. Speckled light lands on his shoulders and highlights his curls. 

Dipper is still focused on his work and doesn’t seem to notice her attention. His hand is gripping his pencil tightly. She’s distracted by the way that his forearm muscles flex when he scribbles out one thing or haphazardly highlights another. At one point, he reaches an arm behind his head, pulling on one side to stretch out the muscles between his shoulders and neck. It’s stupid really, how attractive that one small gesture is.

Her heart does a little flip. Crap. This was such a mistake.

A good hour drags on like that, and Pacifica really does do her best to actually get some work done. It’s getting more difficult to maintain her focus though. And not just because of the boy in front of her. When she realizes that she’s read the same paragraph three times over and not absorbed any of it, she knows that her attention span is wearing thin. She glances at her watch. The school library is going to be closing in the next 30 minutes or so anyway.

She lets her eyes drift up to his. “I’m getting a little burnt out, I think.”

Dipper’s eyes jump up to hers. “Right,” he says. “Right, sure.” He rubs at his mouth, looking around. “Um, yeah. Maybe another fifteen minutes and we call it?”

Pacifica nods. 

He looks out the window. “I mean,” he continues. “Unless you have something you need to get to?”

“Nothing but an empty house,” she says, shrugging. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Hell if I know. Some event.”

He looks back at his book. “Um, so, what are you going to do for dinner then?”

“Dinner?”

Dipper looks up at her briefly, small smile tugging at his lips. “You know, third meal of the day? Commonly composed of a protein, vegetable, and starch?”

Pacifica blushes, then rolls her eyes to try to distract from it. “I know. I just didn’t know why you were asking.”

She does know. 

Dipper keeps his eyes on hers. “Would you want to—“

“Hey, Dipper!” interrupts a cheerful feminine voice from Pacifica’s right.

Irritation flares low in her gut. Pacifica looks up to see who had the utter gall to interrupt their almost-moment. It’s a girl, of course, which makes her immediately even more annoyed. 

She’s got a cute enough face. Strawberry blonde hair that goes a little bit past her shoulders in big barrel curls. She really should have brushed them out. Too much blush, and her complexion would do better with a different shade anyway. Hazel eyes—pretty, but not as pretty as Pacifica’s own sky blue ones. Big smile. Too big.

“Oh, hey!” Dipper says. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” the girl says. She looks at Pacifica but doesn’t acknowledge her, which, like, rude. She turns back to Dipper. “Hey, so I’m glad I ran into you, actually. Kevin told me that he talked to you about maybe joining our band. Are you still interested?”

A band? Like, a garage band? With hours spent practicing and getting on stage and performing to crowds of strangers? Strangers who might include pretty girls?

“Yeah, for sure!” Dipper says, more enthusiastically than to Pacifica’s liking. “Honestly, I’ve just been kind of busy getting used to things here and—“

“Totally!” the girl chirps. Pacifica thinks she notices a rosy flush on her cheeks, but she might be imagining it. “I mean, that makes sense. But, I wanted to let you know that we’re actually going to be playing the Halloween Haunt next Friday. So like, you should come! You’ll get to see us and decide if it’s your thing or not.”

“The what?” Dipper asks.

Madison points to a poster hung behind her. “The Halloween Haunt. It’s not really a haunted house or anything scary, more like a party. Not quite a dance. Just kind of a chill thing that the student body government puts on every year in the cafeteria.” She starts playing a curl. “Too much weird stuff goes on in this town over Halloween—I think they like to have some sort of organized chaos for us. Keeps us out of trouble, you know.” She shrugs one shoulder and giggles a little. 

Pacifica wants to punch her in the face.

“Oh,” Dipper says. “Yeah, that sounds cool. I’ll stop by.”

“Actually,” continues the girl, still here for some reason. “We’re practicing at Kev’s sometime this weekend, too. Want me to text you?”

“Uh, for sure,” Dipper says, clearly caught off guard. “I mean, yeah, that would be good. I don’t really know how I’ll be able to contribute, though.”

The girl just keeps up with that stupid, dumb smile as he scribbles down his number on a scrap of paper and hands it to her. “Oh we’ll find something for you!” she says. “Kevin says you’re really smart. I bet you could learn anything.”

…Excuse me?

“Oh, um, thanks!” Dipper says, cheeks coloring as he clearly struggles with a response. “Um, I guess we;ll see.” He looks around a bit. “So, what are you doing here so late anyway?”

“Flipping through the old yearbooks,” she says, holding up a book with 2007 emblazoned across the front. “I’m on the Prom committee. Just making sure we don’t repeat themes from too recently.”

“A yearbook,” Dipper says, sounding a little distant. Okay? Guess we’re just naming objects now. 

“Yep! Super helpful,” the girl says. “But I have to look through them here. They don’t let us check them out. And trust me, you do not want to get on Ms. Harris’s bad side.” She grins a little wider and winks. Winks! Who actually does that?!

Okay, it’s clearly time for this girl to go. Pacifica clears her throat. 

“Dip, we really should stay focused here,” she says, working hard to keep her voice as sugary sweet as possible. She looks at the girl. “Sorry.”

The girl turns back to her, only the second time she’s looked at her this entire time. “Sorry, Pacifica,” she says, looking far less sorry than Pacifica thinks she should, and very much still not leaving for some reason. 

Dipper clears his throat. “No, it’s okay. But yeah, we probably should—“

“Have a good night,” Pacifica says, not really trying to hide the saccharine venom from her tone. 

The girl nods and turns back to Dipper, fingering the note with his number between her digits. “Well, see you soon!”

“Have a good one.”

The girl gives the two of them one last appraising look, then a final too-wide smile and turns to head off down a far aisle. 

“Who was that?” Pacifica asks as soon as she is out of earshot.

“Madison,” Dipper says, far too simply. 

“Madison, who?”

“Madison Hauser.”

“How do you know her?”

He gives her a curiously raised eyebrow. “From band.”

“…Oh.”

She tries to return her focus to the textbook in front of her but from her peripheral vision can see how Dipper keeps his eyes on her. The way he watches her with a bemused smile gradually growing on his face.

She knows him well enough to know that he looks like he’s about to say something snarky. But then he just looks down at his textbook, too, smile shifting to a little more private and sincere. 

“She’s dating Kevin Corduroy,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the note of reassurance in his voice. “That’s how I know her.”

“Oh,” she repeats, not really feeling all that reassured. Boyfriend-shmoyfriend. She knows flirting when she sees it. “Seems nice.”

Dipper just shakes his head a little bit and keeps up with that infuriating, private smile.

They study in peace for another ten minutes or so, but Pacifica can’t help but notice that Dipper keeps glancing up and toward the direction that Madison went. Why? She doesn’t like it, at any rate. And she really doesn’t like it when a couple of minutes later, he excuses himself and crosses over there, disappearing into the stacks. 

Um, what the actual heck?

Dipper wouldn’t try to make a move on one of his friend’s girlfriends, would he? And with her right here?! No, she tries to reassure herself. There’s no way. He didn’t seem all that interested in her, anyway. And besides, she really shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe Madison just was being nice. Nice and pretty and giggly and blonde-ish. But whatever. 

About five minutes pass where Pacifica’s brain oscillates wildly between these empty reassurances and imagining wild library affairs—based on, admittedly, basically nothing—before she slams shut her book, snatches up her phone, and stalks after and into the direction that they both went.

She rounds the corner leading to the yearbooks and… nothing. They’re not here. What the fuck? Was she right? Have they run off to go flirt in some sort of other corner where she’ll never be able to stop—

“Hey,” comes Dipper‘s voice from the floor below her..

She looks down to find him sitting cross-legged, alone, with a yearbook open on his lap.

“Hey,” Pacifica echoes, looking around for sign of the interloper. “What are you doing? Where’s that girl?”

Dipper looks up at her confusedly. “I don’t know. Probably went out the other way.” He nods down the aisle to the other exit. 

Oh. Right. 

Pacifica shifts her weight. “So, um, what are you doing here then?”

Dipper arches an eyebrow. “You promise not to call me crazy?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

Pacifica huffs. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me anyway?”

He gives her a long-suffering look, then sighs. “Yes.” He pats the ground next to him, which is a ridiculous suggestion given the skirt she’s wearing, and she makes sure he knows it with the way she glares at him. 

“Okay, yes, fair,” he says, rising to his feet and guiding them both back over to their table. 

He doesn’t sit down, but lays the yearbook open on the table. He leans over it but scoots to one side so she can do the same. 

“This—” he says, pointing at the row of photos before them, “—is the class of 1985.”

“And...?”

“And, this was the year that the theater stage burned down, remember how I told you?”

She does, so she nods. 

“And this—” He points at a girl in the row of faces. “—is Juliette Fairchild. She died that year.”

“How do you know?”

“There was a memorial plaque for her in the back of the theater stage. The new one.”

Pacifica examines the girl’s picture closely. She’s pretty. Her hair is big and curly—very 1980s. It’s a black and white photo, so she couldn’t say for sure, but it looks light—blonde or a light red probably. She has a sincere-looking smile that makes Pacifica’s heart ache. “And so she died in the fire?”

“Yeah, but get this— there’s absolutely no reference to her dying at all in this yearbook.” He flips backward a dozen or so pages, toward the front of the book, and points to a picture of a burnt stage. “See? They talk about the fire. Homecoming night— just like ours— but there isn’t any reference to her at all here.”

Pacifica frowns. “No in memoriam page or anything?”

“Nope.”

“How sad.”

“Well, that’s what I thought at first, too.” His brows furrow. “But the more I think about it—it just doesn’t make any sense. There’s got to be more going on here. Like maybe someone was trying to erase her. ”

Pacifica frowns too, thinking. “You said there was a plaque in the theater?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s go see it.”

Dipper turns his face to hers quickly, blinking. “Oh, well, actually—“ He takes out his phone, opens the photos app. “I took a picture, so…”

Pacifica knows it’s rude to look over someone’s shoulder when they’re scrolling through their photos, but she does it anyway. Unfortunately, the small squares give away little information as to what Dipper has been up to in his personal life recently. A photo of the sunset behind some trees. Waddles sitting at the kitchen table in the Shack. A screenshot of a meme he must have thought was funny. He finds the one he’s looking for and hands his phone to her. 

She squints as she zooms in on the photo and reads aloud. “July 12, 1985.”

“That’s when the stage was completed, when the plaque was dedicated, I guess, but the fire—“

“Was on Homecoming—I know,” she interrupts, a little annoyed. She knows how to read. And she was listening. 

“So it doesn’t add up,” he goes on with his rambling. “If she died in September— I mean these yearbooks aren’t sent off for printing until like—late spring, maybe? There should be something in here about it. Unless someone intentionally wanted to avoid some sort of record—“

“Or she didn’t die on Homecoming,” Pacifica says.

He stops. “What?”

“You’re assuming she died on Homecoming. That she died in this fire.” She points to his phone screen. “It doesn’t say that here. Just that the stage was in her memory. She could have died after the yearbook was printed.” 

Dipper blinks, then frowns, turning back to the book before them. He flips to the index, scrolls down until he finds her name, and the list of pages she appears in next to it. There are a lot of numbers there. Jeez, girl was involved, Pacifica thinks.

He flips through the pages. Madrigals, Glee Club, National Honor Society, Color Guard and—

“Theater,” he says, examining the page closer. There’s a picture of her, dressed up in a pink dress with a full skirt, standing center-stage on the school’s backup stage— the one in the gym, the one that burned down this year. Below it a caption reads: Juliette Fairchild as Kim in Bye-Bye Birdie.

“She was a theater kid,” Dipper says. So that’s why—“

“—that’s why the stage was dedicated to her,” Pacifica finishes for him, feeling a little smug. 

Dipper’s shoulders sag and his whole body follows suit until he’s slumped in his chair. 

Pacifica frowns. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“This was my biggest clue as to what’s going on here. Pretty girl dies in a fire on Homecoming. Fire on our Homecoming night, another pretty girl—“ he waves in her direction ”—almost dies. But now… now I have even less information on what happened to her. Or if it’s even connected to us.”

Pacifica crosses her arms. “Well, that’s not true. Now we know she died sometime between this printing and July 12th. I bet there will be a date in here saying when they were finished.” She tugs the yearbook out from underneath his forearms, holds it as she flips to the first few pages. “See! There!” She points. “Printed May 1985. Bostens’ Inc. I told you. That’s useful!”

She holds the yearbook back out to Dipper, who takes it from her, still looking a little sour. He’s quiet for a second as he looks down at the book again. “I guess you’re right. It’s just...” He trails off. 

“What?”

He looks up at her. “I wouldn’t have put that together without you.”

She blushes. “You would have eventually.”

“I dunno about that,” he says, shaking his head a little. “You’re better at zooming out. Seeing the big picture. I get caught up in jumping to conclusions and miss things.”

Well, that is very true, Pacifica thinks, a little bitter. But she senses this isn’t the time to agree. 

So she just shrugs and begins packing up their things; texts her driver to please pick her up in fifteen. “Well,” she says, sliding her textbook into her backpack. “I guess it’s a good thing I was here.”

He looks up at that, looking a little less frustrated than he did a moment earlier. “Yeah, it is.”

“You ready?” she says, pulling her backpack off the table.

“Yeah,” Dipper says, rising and haphazardly shoving his books in his own backpack. He shakes out his shoulders, and Pacifica tries not to watch. He holds up the yearbook. “Do you…”

“…think the librarian would notice if you took it?” She smirks, despite herself. “One: No. Two: Who cares?”

He gives her a smirk in return as he slips the yearbook into his backpack. 

She has to look away to hide the way her cheeks burn. 

They exit the library and head into the hallway. Schools this late at night always feel weird to Pacifica. It’s like they’re in an alternate dimension. Too quiet, dark. Too lacking in life. The silence is a lot. It forces her to think. Ugh, gross. 

“So are you really going to join Kevin Corduroy’s band?” she asks after a few moments.

“Was thinking about it,” Dipper says.

“But you don’t play anything other than sousaphone. Not exactly normal for a teenage garage band.”

“True. But I hear it’s pretty easy to learn the triangle. Or maybe tambourine?” He grins at her, and her heart does an annoying flip.

Dipper pushes open one of the heavy double doors that lead from the main school entrance and out toward the steps and driveway. They step out together into the cool October air. She shivers a little. Her driver isn’t there yet. She spots Dipper’s truck far off in the parking lot, one of the few remaining vehicles. 

She can see him go to open his mouth, hesitate a second, then plow on forward. “Do you want a ride home?” he asks. His eyes are wide open, and her heart aches at how hopeful they look. 

“I already called my driver,” she says, the barest hint of regret slipping through. Gotta work on that.

Dipper nods. “Right. Okay.”

She chews on her bottom lip a little. “But thank you,” she adds. 

“Of course.”

She thinks he might make a move to leave, but he just hooks his thumbs into the straps of his backpack and tilts his head up to look at the stars, just blinking into focus in the purple-pink sky above them. 

“Mabel got a ride home with someone else?” Pacifica asks after a few moments.

“Grenda.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

She decides to look up at the stars, too. She holds her backpack in front of her by its top strap, trying to focus on anything other than the boy beside her, and the troublesome warmth weaving its threads around her heart. 

“You don’t have to wait with me, you know,” she says, voice quiet as she risks a small glance at him.

He keeps his eyes skyward. “I know.”

They don’t say anything more, but he stays. And when, a few minutes later, tucked safe and sound and alone back in her car, she lets herself peek out the window to watch him walk to his car, she realizes that he might just prove her fears wrong after all. Maybe. 

Chapter Text

Dipper’s eyes blink open, and at first the only thing he can see is blue. Different shades— a deep midnight framing his vision, a lighter, silver shade somewhere more centered, various blobs and blurs of different gradients spotting here and there. He squints and the shapes begin to take form a bit more. A window, a dresser… oh, his room. Of course. He reaches over to his nightstand and gropes around for his glasses. 

Everything comes into focus a bit more after that. It’s some time in the middle of the night. He’s in the attic on top of the covers of his bed. Still in his clothes from earlier today, from the feel of it. Moonlight, brighter than he’s used to, pours in through his window. What time is it? He glances around for his alarm clock; his motions still feel heavy and slow from sleep. The green light of the clock is still blurry when he looks at it. One A.M.? One-something, maybe?

He flops backward on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing he recalls is coming up here to escape the madness of the slumber party going on downstairs. Mabel, Candy, Grenda, their new friend Katy, and Pacifica. He might have been able to withstand the games, giggling, karaoke and make-overs, but he’d taken one look at Pacifica in her oversized sweatshirt (“she should be wearing mine” an embarrassing part of his brain had whispered) and teeny-tiny sleep shorts, and knew that if he wanted any chance of surviving the night without being slapped across the face for staring, he needed to exit ASAP. 

He doesn’t remember turning his lights off, so maybe Mabel snuck up at some point and did that for him. She must have opened the window too - he shivers as a cool breeze wafts in through it. He’s up and in front of it before he realizes, slamming it shut. The coolness lingers in the room, though. Hazily, he makes his way back toward his bed, collapsing on top. He’s cold, he should get under the covers, but the thought doesn’t make it from his brain to execution. He’s tired. He should try to sleep. Yeah, that makes sense. He can already feel his thoughts start to drift, shifting into dreams. 

The familiar creak of his door opening brings him back. He doesn’t move to get up; he’s too tired, but his eyes travel to the door swinging inward slowly. 

He sees her hair first. Platinum blonde reflecting the moonlight. Pacifica. Pacifica is in my room. Why?

“Dipper?” she asks. Her voice sounds far away and muffled, like he’s underwater almost. He’s still half-asleep, maybe.

“Hey,” he says. He tries to prop himself up in a bed a bit, and manages to rise to his elbows. Why is he so tired? He can’t think straight. “Is everything okay?”

Pacifica hums a yes and enters the room fully, clicking the door shut behind her. She turns to him. He can’t make out her expression well with the light from the window behind her, but he can see that her normally baby-blue eyes are dark and focused. 

“I wanted to see you,” she says. She still sounds distant, but his heart swells at the words. He watches, captivated, as she takes slow steps toward his bed. 

“I-I’m glad,” he says, voice gravelly. “I wanted to see you too.” 

She sits down on the edge of his bed, so light he can barely feel it, and twists to face him. “Why did you leave?”

“Leave?”

“Downstairs.”

“Oh, well, you guys were doing your own thing, I didn’t want to…” He can’t even finish the thought. 

Her face seems a little more illuminated now. Maybe his eyes have adjusted. She studies him, eyes sharp and thoughtful, and then leans down— all the way down— to bring her lips close to his ear. “I saw you watching me.”

Oh god, oh god, what is he supposed to do with this?

She pulls back only a little, and her eyes drift down to his face, neck, chest. There’s something there. Something he recognizes immediately because he feels it nearly every time he’s in the same room as her, or just simply when he has the space to let his brain wander. Desire. 

Holy. Crap. 

“Well,” he says slowly, pulling on some courage he didn’t know he had. His hands grip the bedsheets beneath him. “Is that a problem?”

She smiles, then tucks her chin and shakes her head slowly from side the side. Her eyes stay locked on his. 

Fuck. 

And then, before he can even register how it’s happened really, she’s above him. Straddling him, he realizes. His eyes trace down the length of her thighs, one on either side of his stomach, knees pressing into his mattress. He looks up, and her face is swimming just directly above his, her long hair, silver in the moonlight, falling down on either side to cage them both. 

“I like it when you look, Dipper,” she says. “But just you.” 

Fuuuuuck. 

She isn’t touching him yet, and his brain can’t seem to make up its mind about whether or not to reach up to her himself. It would feel so good to run his hands up her thighs, to squeeze her hips. But she needs to make the first move. She needs to, oh god, he needs her to—

She arches her back and leans down again. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant, Dipper.” She drops to her elbows, bringing their faces—their lips—so incredibly close, then reaches up to trail her hand lightly—god so lightly he’s not sure he can even feel it, maybe it’s in his imagination—slowly down his chest. Her fingers trace down his sternum, over his stomach, to reach his belt, where they dance lightly across the top of the leather.

It’s only now that he notices what she’s wearing. Her cheerleading uniform. When did she get into that? And why? Whatever, it’s hot as hell, don’t question it, man.  

“I miss you,” he chokes out, not caring how desperate he sounds. He wants to reach up, to grab her waist and pull her down to him, but can’t manage to lift his arms. They’re weighed down by lead. The blankets? No, he’s not under the blankets.

She leans down again, lips ghosting his cheek. Her breath is cool, cold even. He shivers again. “I miss you, too,” she whispers.

And his eyes blink open, morning light bright and abrasive as it rouses him from sleep. Real sleep. 

He groans and rolls to his side, burying his face in his pillow as he helplessly pounds his fist into the mattress he lies on. He did fall asleep in his clothes, on top of the covers, but the only thing that helps explain is why he’s so cold. He pulls his face from the pillow, glaring at the open window across the room. He remembers opening it himself now, right after retreating upstairs following his escape from the sleepover. He had been, uh, very warm, and thought it might help him calm down. He must have passed out without closing it. 

Reality crashing back in, he rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling. The light isn’t bright enough for it to be too late in the morning. The girls will still be downstairs. Maybe if he gets up now he can beat them to the bathroom to get the first shower in. He knows he needs one. A very, very cold one. 

When he finally wanders downstairs he sees that the girls are all still passed out in their sleeping bags. Except for Pacifica. Her bag is gone entirely, along with her purse and backpack. He makes his way into the kitchen, where he finds his Grunkle Ford sitting with a hot cup of coffee, tinkering with some gizmo or another. 

“Morning, Ford,” he says. “Um, did Pacifica leave?”

His entire family knows he’s helplessly smitten. There’s really no sense in hiding it. 

“Oh,” Ford says, looking up from his work. “Well, good morning, Dipper. Yes, I’m afraid she did. She said she had an early shift at the diner this morning.”

Right, of course. Pacifica always opens on Saturdays. He kicks himself inwardly. He should have gotten up earlier. Maybe he could have given her a ride. 

Ford rises and pats Dipper on the shoulder as he walks over toward the coffee maker. He pours Dipper a cup and gestures toward the table. “Actually, my boy, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something, so I’m glad you’re up. Do you have a moment?”

No, he thinks. He’s busy coming up with a reason that the Shack’s coffee isn’t good enough so he can slip off to the diner. But instead, he nods and shuffles over to the table. 

“So, ah, I understand that you and Ms. Northwest had a bit of a falling out.” Dipper raises his head. “Mabel told me,” Ford explains. He taps a pen on the table. “But I also know that you two had plans to go to college together, so I’m assuming that those are somewhat up in the air at the moment.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe assumption.”

“Well, with that all in mind, have you given much thought as to where you want to go? Deadlines are approaching soon. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t really. He thought about it enough to have some contingency plans in place, of course. But nothing felt right.

“Um, I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll apply to some of the UCs. Maybe Stanford, but that’s probably a reach.”

“Have you considered West Coast Tech?”

He winces inwardly. He knows that Ford would love nothing more than for him to fulfill the dream that he never got to.

“Well, I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure I would get in.”

“Oh my boy.” Ford laughs a little. “You don’t need to worry about that. First of all, you are more than up to the task. But also, well,  I’ve only been back in this dimension for about five years or so, but I’ve managed to reestablish many of my professional connections. I know at least three open-minded professors there who would be willing to write you glowing letters of recommendation. I may have somewhat unorthodox reputation in the scientific community, but that doesn’t mean that the company I keep is entirely composed of outcasts!” 

He laughs again, and Dipper chuckles awkwardly.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ll definitely consider it,” he says. ”Southern California… Would be close to Mom, I guess.”

“Oh, I know you had your heart set on going to school up here, but it would be such a wonderful opportunity. I would hate to see you waste it.”

“For sure. No, I mean, I get it. I’ll think about it. Seriously.”

His hesitancy isn’t just about Pacifica, really. It’s a big part of it, for sure, but even if she were a non-factor, something is holding him back about WCT. He feels a little stupid about it— it’s one of the best schools in the country, it’d be an enormous opportunity to go there, but it also feels limiting in a way. He enjoys science, technology, and math, for sure, but is he really destined to make a career from it?

Well, maybe. But he just isn’t sure.

He also really likes writing. Part of the fun of research isn’t just unearthing the secrets of biology or physics or astronomy or whatever else— it’s the story those secrets tell. So maybe he would be better suited to being an author. Or an investigative journalist. Or maybe he should study anthropology and travel the world learning about different cultures. Maybe he should study law or forensics and become a private investigator. The possibilities just feel so endless, and he doesn’t know if he knows himself well enough to make a decision right now.

He’s excited to go to college. He’s been looking forward to it for years. But the thought of committing to one or the other always leads to him feeling like he wants to run away or lock himself in his room or he doesn’t know what. He can feel the way the anxiety is beginning to creep up his spine, even now. Enough of this. 

“I gotta get going though, Grunkle Ford,” he says, taking small backward steps toward the doorway. “I’m supposed to meet up with Wendy’s brother later and I have a lot to do before then.”

“Oh! Another of the Corduroy clan?”

“Yeah, we’ve kind of become friends? He’s got a band that I might be interested in joining.” He shrugs. “If I can figure out how I could be useful, anyway.”

Ford sits back and looks wistfully at nowhere in particular, lost in the past, apparently. “I’ll admit, I’ve always been envious of those with a penchant for musicality. Fiddleford is quite good on the banjo, did you know that? Maybe he could teach you.”

Dipper thinks about how that would look. Hey Kev! Thanks for letting me join you guys. Can I interest you in an Appalachian folk song?

“Maybe!” he says over his shoulder as he flees the room. 

Dipper pulls up outside the Corduroy cabin at precisely 10:22 AM, eight minutes earlier than Madison‘s text had said to arrive. It’s been a while since he’s been here. All those movie nights with Wendy feel like ages ago. He feels a flicker of guilt at not having reached out to her much this year. Should he have said something before striking up this friendship with her brother? Would she care? Well, no. She’s so chill, he knows she’d be happy, but for some reason it feels like something that he should’ve talked about with her first. He makes a mental note to reach out to her soon.

A few other cars are scattered around the Corduroy’s dirt driveway. He recognizes Kevin‘s Jeep only because it once belonged to Wendy, but none of the others.

There’s a standalone garage back behind the cabin, and Dipper can hear stray notes of music escaping from around the corner. Shoving his hands in his pockets and trying desperately not to feel shy, he forces one foot in front of the other and into unknown social territory. Calm down, he tells himself. He knows all of these guys, after all. They’re nice. Sure, he doesn’t know why they even want him to join or what he could contribute, but it’s nice to be included. Maybe he can just be, like, a stagehand and hang out. Or help them lug around their instruments. Or run the soundboard, maybe? That seems like something he could be okay at.

“Hey, dude! How’s it going!?”

Dipper spins at the voice and is nearly knocked off balance by the firm punch to the shoulder he receives from one Wendy Corduroy. 

“Wendy!” he gasps out. “Holy crap! What are you doing here?”

“Dude, this is my house. Obviously.”

“But—“

“Visiting for the weekend,” she explains with a grin. She walks up and ruffles his hair. He feels guilty that he’s not wearing her ushanka.

“Wow, man, you’ve gotten even taller since I last saw you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, shrugging. “Uh, that’ll happen.” He might not like her like that anymore, but she’s still a pretty and cool girl— well, woman—and those are intimidating no matter how much you’ve grown.

Wendy laughs, loud and open, and Dipper is grateful for her presence. 

“So how have you been?” she asks. “Can’t believe I have to hear all about your life from my little brother!”

Dipper chuckles, pushing down that same feeling of guilt. “Yeah, crazy how things go.”

“How’s life as a Beaver? I still can’t believe you guys live here now.”

“It’s good! I mean, the school part is good.” He looks at her sideways as they walk toward the garage. “Um, I’m sure you heard about the fire, though?”

Wendy nods. “Yeah, man. That’s wild. And no word on what caused it?”

“Well, they said it was electrical.”

Wendy crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “And the roof caving in, that was electrical too?”

“I know—crazy that they expect us to believe that,” he says. Wendy hums and he continues. “But the teachers are nice enough, and I got all the classes I wanted. That kind of stuff is going fine.”

“You got Coach Greski for Social Studies I’m guessing? Man, that guy is a nut.”

Dipper chuckles. “Oh yeah, for sure. He’s always going on about how he has to ‘teach us how the world really works’—“

“—before you go off to college and get your head filled with ‘liberal nonsense’?” Wendy finishes for him.

“Yep!”

Wendy laughs. “Man, some things never change.”

Dipper snorts, already feeling infinitely more comfortable here than he did a few minutes ago.

“Although,” she says, eyeing him sideways with a knowing look. “I hear that some things have changed…”

Oh no. 

Dipper blushes. “Uh.”

“Trouble in paradise?” She elbows him. “You know you can talk to me about this kind of stuff, right?”

The ache of guilt builds. He really should have reached out to Wendy about his troubles with Pacifica. Mabel’s great to talk to, but if ever there was someone to give him calm, reasonable advice, it’s Wendy. “Yeah,” he admits. “But… maybe we can talk about it another time?”

Wendy gives him a sisterly smile. “All right, fair enough,” she says. She swings an arm around his shoulders and tugs him forward toward the open garage door. “Come on, let’s get you inside so we can turn you into a regular rock star, huh? All girls love rock stars.”

If he were to google “super cliché suburban garage band,” the setting before him is pretty much exactly what he’d expect to find. There’s a frayed carpet laid out on the floor with a slightly beat-up-looking drum set resting on top of it. Kevin sits on an overturned plastic bucket fiddling with the knobs on one of the amps, while Madison and another guy that Dipper knows from band, Alex, chat in the corner while Alex plucks at a bass guitar. A few boxes of black t-shirts with what must be the band’s logo sit resting on an unused washer and drying in the corner, next to piles of the Corduroy family’s recreational gear and gardening supplies. Someone’s hung a string of lights from the ceiling somewhat sloppily, but that’s about it as far as decor. It’s comfortable and unpretentious. Cozy, even. 

“Hey man, you made it!” Kevin says cheerfully, before his face drops and he groans at the sight of his sister. “Wendy, don’t tell me you talked him out of it. We barely got him to agree.”

“What?!” Wendy says, sounding aghast. “I’m totally supportive of this!” She walks over to Kevin and gives him a noogie. “I mean, I did tell him that you guys were losers and that he could do a lot better, but…”

Kevin frowns and pushes his laughing sister off him, but without too much force. 

Dipper shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes in the scene around him. “So, pretty good stuff you guys got here. Um, do you have a name?”

“We have a name,” Madison says, stepping forward a bit and rolling her eyes. “It’s awful.” 

“Hey!” Kevin says, picking up a drumstick and pointing it at her. “I won’t be having you disrespecting Moldy Pizza.”

Dipper tries to hide his cringe, but Kevin catches it. “I’m just kidding,” Kevin says, leaning back with his hands on his head. “We know it’s pretty bad. We came up with it on the fly. One of those last-minute, name-the-first-thing-you-see type of things. We’re open to suggestions if you have them.”

“I’ll have to brainstorm,” Dipper says, trying to sound easy-going. His inner critic cringes even more. Brainstorm? What kind of cool kid brainstorms?

“Well, don’t just stand there, dweeb,” Wendy says to her brother. “Show him around. Tell him what’s up.”

Kevin stands and brushes some dust off his jeans. “Right, so here’s the team. I’m on guitar and lead vocals. Alex on bass. Madison does vocals sometimes, too, and keyboard when we need it, but mostly she hangs around and criticizes us.”

“Hey!” Madison says. “I provide valuable input.” She turns to Dipper. “I also let them know when they sound like shit.”

Dipper counts the people in the garage. They’ve run out of band members. He eyes the vacant drum set, sensing where this might be going.

“And drums…?” he asks.

Kevin grins. “Glad you asked, man. That’s where you come in.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Dipper says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “And I don’t know if I misled you or something, but, uh… I don’t know how to play the drums.”

“Oh, I know.” Kevin flips the drumstick he holds in the air, catching it deftly before pointing it at Dipper. “I’m gonna teach you. See, we had a drummer—Jack—but he had the nerve to go off to college last year. He’ll be back for the Halloween party, but we really can’t rely on him long-term, so.” He tosses the drumstick to Dipper, who just barely manages to catch it. 

“I mean, I appreciate the confidence,” he says. “But I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You really should trust him, Dipper,” Wendy chimes in. “Kev’s being modest, but he’s basically a musical prodigy. He can play and teach pretty much anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Kevin says, stepping forward and putting a reassuring hand firmly on Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna make you do anything today. Madison will play my part on the keyboard and I’ll cover drums. All I want you to do is listen for the beat. Try to pick up on the rhythms and get a sense for how they support the rest of us. You already understand that from the sousaphone— I really think you’ll get it in no time.”

Dipper looks at him skeptically, but Kevin continues. 

“Here, come sit here.” Kevin goes to pull his upside-down bucket behind the drum set, positions it next to the stool behind the drum set. Dipper plops down, feeling uneasy, as Kevin sits down on the stool (drum throne, he will later explain, is the proper term). “Don’t overthink it,” Kevin goes on, handing Dipper another drumstick. “Just clap along to the beat if that’s easier, or if you’re comfortable enough with it, tap the sticks on your knees.” He shows Dipper the proper way to hold them, then gives him another confident grin. “You got this, man! I’ve heard you in class. You have the skill, you just need to learn the motions.” He elbows Dipper in the ribs. “Don’t take it too seriously. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Fun. Okay, sure. Dipper doesn’t think there’s anything fun about being thrown in to do something he’s literally never done before, but… well, he can try, right? Sure, okay, maybe. He’ll try. 

So he does.

And, honestly, it does end up being fun. 

Kevin starts them off with a slow beat that Dipper is able to match without too much effort, once he manages to turn his brain off and just feel the music. The sound of the song begins to drown out the insecurity in his mind. Alex’s bass and Madison’s keyboard fill in the empty spaces and Kevin’s vocals top it all off. Dipper finds himself smiling, even, just moving along to the song and even improvising here and there— the drumsticks silently beating against his thighs and he lets himself have fun with it. Every now and then that creeping feeling of insecurity does crawl up in his brain, of course. Everyone else is playing actual instruments and he’s just tapping along at nothing, but Wendy’s proud grin and Kevin’s enthusiastic whoops and Madison’s bouncing hair and Alex’s laughs when he plays the wrong notes go a long way to silence those feelings. This is so unserious, he realizes. Cool, even. 

They go through a few songs before taking a break, and Kevin invites Dipper to sit on the drum throne to test out how it actually feels. He corrects Dipper’s grip on the drumsticks once more and lets him have at it. The first few times Dipper hits one of the drums or cymbals, it sounds like nothing—random, clumsy noise. But he keeps trying, testing out different rhythms and pressure, feeling surprised at the way the vibration echoes through his arms when he strikes it this way or that. He’s going to have to start working out more, he realizes. Carrying that sousaphone around is certainly no joke, but that’s more of a core strength issue— this kind of movement calls for a different type of upper body strength, something more nimble. 

By the end of the jam session, he realizes that he’s extremely, super into this. Dipper doesn’t think he has the type of brain that could ever be fully silenced, not really, but being here with these guys, just listening to the beat and letting loose, it’s as close to a mental break as he’s ever going to get, and that’s something worth being grateful for. 

Chapter Text

“Wow, what are you doing so far from Heaven?”

Pacifica rolls her eyes before turning around to face the boy behind her. Chad? Brad? She can’t remember. She gives him something between a smile and a sneer. He won’t be able to tell the difference. 

“Charity work,” she quips, tilting her head a bit.

The boy laughs, hollowly—a little too slow to get the joke right away.

Beside him, another jock rolls up, edging the first one out of the way so that he can put himself in Pacifica’s line of sight.

“Damn, Northwest, you looking to save any souls tonight? I’ll volunteer.”

Pacifica sighs. Okay, she really should’ve expected this when she chose to dress up as an angel tonight. She turns to Idiot Number Two.

“Sorry,” she says, keeping her voice sickeningly sweet. “I don’t do lost causes.”

Idiot Number One and Idiot Number Two look at each other, clearly not sure if they’re being flirted with or insulted. 

Pacifica turns on her heel and moves deeper into the crowd, leaving them to puzzle over the answer. 

So yeah, she decided to go to the school’s party. So what? It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this town on Halloween. Sure, she could’ve gone with her parents to that ritzy costume party a couple of towns over. And yeah, she could’ve skipped the party at the school entirely and just gone straight to the after-party that the baseball guys had invited her to earlier in the week. Heck, she could’ve just stayed home the entire night binging trash TV and giving herself an at-home spa night, enjoying the empty house. But for some reason, none of those things sounded appealing… 

Doesn’t have anything to do with Dipper, though. 

But. Speaking of, where is he?

She stands on tiptoe to scan the room. 

The party isn’t awful, she reasons, eyes traveling the dim, dressed-up cafeteria. The student body government has obviously done their best with what they’re working with. The regular fluorescent lights have been shut off entirely, replaced with green and purple bulbs that do absolutely nothing for anyone’s complexions, some black lights that seem to be serving only to draw attention to the bits of lint on the costumes, and the occasional strobe light which really just give her a headache. But still, beggars can’t be choosers.

She thought longer than she would admit to anyone about what to wear tonight. It had to strike a balance, you know? Hot enough to make an impression but not so hot to make it look like she was trying. In the end, she went with something simple. White stockings leading up to a gauzy skirt. A tight corset encrusted in crystals. Tall white boots with a fur-trimmed cuff. Fluffy white wings. And topping it all off, a headband supporting a sparkling halo. Crystals for that, too. See? Simple. Not a diamond to be found.

Point is—she knows she looks hot, and soon so will everyone else. Everyone else who is at the party anyway… she keeps looking. For no one in particular. 

Another jock intercepts her view, his big boxy build suddenly far too close for her liking. 

“Shit, Northwest,” he says, grinning like he’s the cleverest guy on the planet. “Did it hurt?”

Pacifica puts a hand on her hip and keeps her face neutral, not giving him anything. 

The boy continues. “Like, when you—“

“—fell from Heaven,” she cuts off, rolling her eyes. “I know.”

God, these boys are so boring. 

She pushes past Idiot Number Three and keeps scanning the crowd. 

Things have been relatively okay between her and Dipper since their first study session in the library. It was… comfortable, being near him. And that’s whatever, she thinks. There’s nothing wrong with familiarity. She can be cordial. And she can look gorgeous while she does it. It doesn’t mean anything. 

They’d worked together on their project again this past Thursday. They’ve been making really good progress, honestly. They’re both pretty smart, and there’s an ease to working on something with him that she tries not to think about too hard. They might even finish the project in the next couple of weeks. At a certain point she had suggested as much, and hadn’t missed how his face had fallen and paled. They’d worked together in silence for another few minutes before he cleared his throat and suggested that maybe, just an idea you see, like, no pressure, but if it made sense… maybe they could work on their other classes together too. (“I mean, we have the exact same schedule, you know? It sort of, just, uh, makes sense? If you want?”)

It absolutely didn’t mean anything that she had said yes to that, either.

Anyway.

At least another four or five idiots have the nerve to think that they have any chance of her responding positively to their stupid pick-up lines. She stops looking so intently for Dipper and just begins searching for anyone she knows. Anyone who she can occupy herself with so she can stop having to come up with ways to shoot these guys down. She’s running out of creativity. She sees familiar faces, classmates, but no one she’s ever really interacted with. This is the problem with popularity, she realizes. Yes, she might be pretty and blonde and rich. But when you keep to a limited number of people, you really don’t have that many friends. Everyone knows you, but you don’t know everyone. It can be kind of lonely sometimes.

She’s just about had it with this whole outing when Mabel’s shimmering, glittery face pops up into her vision.

“Hey!”

“Oh thank god,” Pacifica says, not caring how relieved she sounds. “I could not take another second of this place.”

Pacifica pulls back to examine Mabel. She’s a sparkly, glowing, perhaps actually, literally illuminated ball of color. But… what is she? A fairy? A unicorn? Some sort of combination, maybe? Whatever, she’s Mabel is what she is. 

Mabel gives her her own up-down and lets out a low whistle.

“Dang, girl!” she says. “You look so good! Man, my brother’s gonna lose it.”

Pacifica looks quickly to the side to hide her sudden smile. “Like I care,” she says, not even convincing herself honestly. She looks around again a bit, trying to seem casual. “But, um, speaking of Dipper. I guess. Where is he?”

Mabel gives Pacifica a half smile and nods her head toward the stage, where a few microphone stands and a drum set have been set up. “Helping Kev get the band ready. I think they’re still out back.”

Oh. Out back. Where she can’t see him. And has no reason to be. Super. 

She blinks and tries to snap herself out of it. This is crazy. She’s still mad at him. She still doesn’t trust him. She needs to stop looking for him like a little lost puppy. 

“Let’s go find the rest of the cheer squad,” she says, turning abruptly to Mabel. “There has to be something to do here.”

Something distracting to do here, is what she doesn’t say out loud.

They find the other girls huddled in a group near the drinks station with some of the aforementioned baseball guys. 

Katy trots up, conspicuously koozie-clad glass bottle in her hands. “Hey girls! Look what my sister bought for us.” She gives Pacifica and Mabel a conspiratorial look and pulls down the koozie a bit to reveal the bottle’s label. It’s a wine cooler. “Want one?”

“Ugh, pass,” Pacifica says automatically. 

“You don’t drink?”

Not really, not a lot. But that’s not really her issue here. She’s had alcoholic drinks before— at parties and fancy dinners and galas and whatever. But, like, champagne. Or a nice red from the Bordeaux region. Even a Napa Cab if there was nothing better. You know, normal stuff. 

“Not that,” she says. 

“They’re good. And only like 100 calories.”

“They’re filled with sugar. There’s no way that’s true.”

“Your loss,” Katy says, shrugging and taking a small sip of what is surely barely more than Hawaiian punch syrup and Everclear. Pacifica doesn’t miss how Katy winces a bit the second the liquid hits her tongue. ‘Good.’ Sure. 

Outside, Dipper huffs as he heaves an amp out of the back of Kevin’s Jeep and carefully lowers it near the back entrance to the cafeteria. 

“Jeez, man,” he says as Kevin walks up, guitar slung over his back. “I’m not going to be able to lift my arms to play at all if this is what the setup is like each time.”

Kevin slaps him on the back good-naturedly. “All part of the training regimen!” 

Kevin actually had sent him home last weekend with instructions for practice drills for the drums, and a gentle reminder to not forget to work in some push-ups. Dipper, ever the good student—and relieved to have something to focus on other than school, curses, and the girl presently driving him insane—had been eager to oblige. 

That said, he’d been dreading tonight just a little bit. Sure, he’s nowhere near being ready to perform with them, but he knows he’s going to have to watch the band’s original drummer, Jack, and from the way Kevin talks about him you’d think he was John Bonham reincarnated. So Dipper knows he has big shoes to fill, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing exactly how big. 

But now that he’s here, he’s glad he came. Jack is just as cool as Kevin had said— all easy smiles and reassuring jokes— and Dipper has to admit, there is something cool about being “with the band.“ He feels cooler, less awkward and more like he has a role, or a job. He doesn’t have to wander around to make small-talk with classmates, or—god forbid—dance. He doesn’t have to figure out how navigate the party at all, because he’s part of it. Almost, anyway. It makes him stand up a little taller all the same.  

He did totally forget that he needed a costume though. Up until about 4 PM this afternoon when Mabel had accosted him about it. He had absolutely zero time, interest, or energy for that, so he’d just pulled his rattiest old black t-shirt out of the back of his closet, found a white paint marker in his sister’s craft box, scribbled “GO CEILINGS!” across the chest, and called it good. A ceiling fan, get it?

Mabel had hated it, but it was too late for her to do anything but complain. 

He and the other guys begin carrying the remaining equipment into the cafeteria and Dipper’s eyes automatically begin scanning the crowd for any sign of platinum blonde. He hadn’t exactly been smooth when he’d awkwardly pointed at the sign in the library and asked if she was going, and she hadn’t exactly said for sure either way (“If there’s nothing fun happening.”), but he still has a feeling she’ll be here.

And he’s right. He doesn’t see her until he’s up on the stage itself, assisted by the elevated vantage point. She’s standing near the snack table, looking every bit like a queen holding court. The crowd that has assembled in her orbit is composed mostly of guys, Dipper notes, much to his consternation. But he also can’t blame them. 

She’s wearing an angel costume, and Dipper doesn’t think there’s an angel in Heaven that could actually hold a candle to her. In a sea of cheap, tacky outfits, she’s a princess. No, a goddess. The light catches her lips just as they widen into a smile. It’s being given to someone else, yes, but his heart flips just the same. 

“Look alive, Pines!” Kevin grins at him, pushing past him with his guitar.

“Right! Yep! Very much alert and focused on the task at hand!” Dipper straightens and tries to remember what he was supposed to be doing. 

“You were taping down the cables,” Madison says, walking up and looking a little bit amused. She smiles at him. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He’s talking to her again. 

Pacifica glowers from her spot in the crowd. 

She’d finally found him, finally, and he’s talking to that girl. The one from the library. The one with the overly-done curls and stupid laugh and too-big smile.

Madison. 

Pacifica had never been good at remembering people’s names, call it a leftover habit from being a bit of a brat when she was younger (not that she’s completely graduated from brat-hood anyway). But she remembered this girl’s name. Not that she’d let her know it, though, next time they meet. 

“Let’s dance,” she says, grabbing Mabel’s hand and pulling her into the center of the room. She’s not going to let Dipper know that she’s seen him, or cares, but she knows he’ll notice her if she’s closer up. 

The current music—some sophomore’s phone hooked up to a speaker in the back—will have to do until the band is finished getting set up. She pointedly does not look at the stage as she dances. Well, maybe a peek here and there, but only when she can quickly turn her head away and pretend it was just an accident. Eventually, Dipper seems to have disappeared, but the others are beginning to take their places and warm up. The girl is on the keyboard, she notices. Pacifica internally bets that she has nothing on her. Twelve years of piano, taught by the most expensive instructors from Austria, thank you very much. 

Wendy’s brother, Kevin, leans forward on the mic and taps it, looking every bit the amateur rock god. Too cocky, but there’s something kind of endearing about it, she supposes. Like when little kids dress up in adults’ clothing for school plays. There’s another boy she vaguely recognizes, and another she doesn’t at all, who each take their places with the bass and drums, respectively. 

“Hello, Gravity Falls High!” Kevin yells into the mic, again playing into the lead singer thing thing just a little bit too much. “How we doing tonight?!”

There’s a respectable cheer from the crowd, mostly drunk kids probably, but it makes the whole thing less cringey so she supposes it’s for the best. There’s a loud screech from one of the amps, a quick flip of a knob by Kevin, and then the guy on drums is leading them off. They launch into something pop-punky and around her the crowd begins to bounce.

And you know what? They’re not awful. One might even say okay. Not good but okay. They might be able to reach good if they got rid of the girl, she thinks. Admittedly, she doesn’t really have a particular reason for thinking that, but she decides she doesn’t need one. 

By the time the band takes a break five or six songs later, she has to admit that she’s actually having a lot of fun. If her parents had seen her, they’d be appalled. What do you mean their precious baby girl is jumping around screaming and laughing with a group of sweaty middle-class nobodies? It feels unnatural for her too, of course, but maybe that’s just called growth.

She’s fanning herself and catching her breath when she notices Dipper scramble back up on stage. He’s being beckoned over by the guy on the drums, Pacifica notices. He’s handsome, she thinks vaguely, tall with sandy-blonde hair and a loose smile. He caught her attention while he was playing. Not in any sort of serious way, of course, but he’s a cute guy. Can you blame her? But what had really drawn her in was the way he played. So loose and reckless, lost in the moment and giving his all so that he and his bandmates could make a good time for her and her classmates. She’d always thought that the strength and power that drummers seem to summon was sort of hot. 

Her curious eyes watch as Hot Drummer Guy and Dipper chat with each other. Hot Drummer Guy has his sticks in one hand, tapping them loosely against the palm of his other as he explains something to Dipper, who is listening carefully and nodding along. Then something really weird happens. Hot Drummer Guy steps aside and gestures for Dipper to sit behind the drum set, which he does. 

Wait, Pacifica thinks, a little butterfly of anxiety stirring in her chest.

Dipper looks weirdly comfortable behind that drum set—too comfortable. And there’s absolutely no way for her to look away as he takes the sticks from Hot Drummer Guy’s extended hand and experimentally begins tapping out a rhythm. The speaker music is back so she can’t hear whether it’s any good or not. Probably not, judging by the way Dipper winces and smiles sheepishly at his new friend. The guy just encourages him to try again, and he does. This time it must go a lot better because a grin explodes on his face, and it’s like she can see the tension leaving his body. He leans forward on his knees, legs spread wide as he examines the drum set and listens to the guy beside him talk. 

It’s stupidly hot. Why is it so freaking hot? 

Pacifica fans herself and looks quickly from left to right in search of some water or soda. She needs to cool down. 

She hadn’t known what she was really expecting when he told her he was going to be joining the band. She wasn’t joking when she said that the sousaphone wasn’t exactly normal garage band material, but she supposes she figured they’d find a way to work it in? Or maybe some sort of other smaller brass? Or that maybe he really would just kinda hang around and help out, provide manual labor or whatever. 

This, this she had not been expecting. 

The drummer?!

She is so screwed.

She begins pushing through the crowd, trying to get to the drink table as fast as she can. She’s trying really hard to get rid of the image of a more confident, more experienced Dipper behind that drum set, pounding them as relentlessly as the other rando had. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

This is not going to be good for her promise to herself that she would keep him from working his way back into her heart. 

Oh, Pacifica, but was he ever really out of it? 

Oh, shut up! she argues with herself.

And she knows other girls are going to notice him too. What the heck is she supposed to do about that?!

Speaking of other girls… from the corner of her eye Pacifica sees that the rest of the band members are taking their place back on stage. Dipper is getting up from the stool he was sitting on and handing the drumsticks back to Drummer Guy with an adorable, grateful smile. But then that girl, that freaking girl again, is walking straight up to him, to her boy, and reaching out to give him a light push on the chest. 

And he laughs! HE. LAUGHS. 

Pacifica knows—she knows—that it’s wrong to be this possessive about people. But right now all she can think of is that she is the only one who should be able to make him do that. Her and Mabel and maybe sometimes Wendy, but that’s it! 

Ugh, where are the freaking drinks? This is why it sucks to be poor. Where’s a waiter when you need one!? 

“You okay, girl?” comes Katy’s concerned voice from her right. 

Pacifica spins to her, startled. Her eyes dart down to Katy’s wine cooler. That’s it. She needs to calm down. 

“Give me that,” Pacifica says, reaching out and snatching the bottle from her.

Katy gives her a confused look. “I thought you said—“

“Changed my mind.”

Pacifica takes two quick sips from Katy‘s drink. She was right, it’s disgusting. Sickeningly and syrupy sweet. Pacifica winces but then takes one more sip for good measure.

Katy takes the bottle from her, looking worried. “Are you okay, you seem—“

“I’m fine!” she snaps. 

There’s absolutely no way that three sips of a 3.2% ABV beverage is going to get her drunk, so maybe it’s the placebo effect, but almost instantly her limbs begin to feel looser and her head a little lighter.

Mabel wanders up from one side, lightly grasping Pacifica’s shoulder, throwing her a little bit off balance.

“Are you okay, Paz?” she asks. “I thought you were having fun, but you ran off kind of out of nowhere.”

“Duh!” Pacifica chirps, suddenly feeling a lot better. “Why wouldn’t I be having fun?” 

Mabel looks at her funny. “Are you sure?”

Pacifica giggles. Why is she giggling? “I’m awesome!” It’s sort of hard to get the words out for some reason. It’s like she’s having to think extra hard to make her mouth make the shapes she needs it to. Whatever. “No seriously,” she continues, feeling the ground shift underneath her a little bit. “This is super fun. They’re really good. And Dipper should totally, totally take over for that drummer guy.”

“Yeah,” Mabel says, slowly and still eyeing Pacifica curiously. “I think it’ll be really good for him. He’s been practicing a lot this week.”

Well, there it is! Confirmation! She’s fucked! 

“Awesome!” Pacifica says, leaning too far forward. “That’s awesome. I’m so hap—“

She stills. A some point she must have raised her hands to Mabel’s shoulders. When did that happen? She can feel that Mabel is standing perfectly still, but the girl sways in Pacifica’s vision. 

“Paz,” Mabel says. “How much did you have to drink?”

That’s it, some fuzzy part of Pacifica’s brain realizes. That’s what this feels like. She feels like she’s drunk. It’s only happened once before, at a Christmas party her parents took her to where she kept sneaking champagne flutes without realizing how strong it was.

But that doesn’t make any sense. She had three sips. How would that…

It’s getting worse. She realizes she’s been staring at the floor. She manages to lift her head and immediately regrets it. The room is jerking and spinning around her. She tries to focus on Mabel, but finds that her eyes keep drifting all over her multicolored outfit. The colors, so cute earlier, are now blending together to make her feel sick.

Oh god, she needs to lie down. Her heartbeat picks up as some form of panic sets in. This isn’t normal. Something‘s wrong.

She clutches Mabel‘s arm.

She needs to get to somewhere safe, to somewhere safe, to somewhere…

To someone safe. 

Mabel’s safe. But Mabel isn’t what she wants right now. 

With sudden focus, she begins pushing forcefully through the crowd, not bothering to apologize when she bumps into this person or that—the sea begins to part for her. And then, her eyes lock onto those familiar brown ones, wide and alarmed from across the room. She stumbles forward toward them. 

After the band had taken their places for their first set on stage, Dipper had stood off to the side to watch them. Jack is really good, but instead of this making Dipper feel intimidated, it’s motivating. Maybe the energy and excitement from the night is doing something to his perspective.

And Jack’s nice too! He took his entire break to work with Dipper through some drills while the others went off to grab a drink and mingle for a while.

When the band began their second set, Dipper took his place once more off to the side of the stage to watch. Only once or twice did he let his focus shift out to the crowd. He still made a point to keep tabs on where Pacifica and Mabel were, just in case something weird happened, and for the most part, they seemed to be just hanging out with their friends, bouncing along to the music. It made him happy to imagine that maybe someday she’d be dancing and smiling up at him on stage. But he tried not to let himself get his hopes up. 

Which is why it’s a little bit surprising when he looks over to see her pushing through the crowd, heading toward him in a beeline. Something is wrong, he can tell right away. Forget the fact that she’s clearly heading straight for him after months and months of making him chase her. No, there’s something about her gait, the haziness in her expression. 

His feet are moving in an instant, and he pushes his way past people to try to meet her. Some idiot dressed in a giant inflatable dinosaur costume steps in his path, and it’s all Dipper can do to not hurl him to the side.

But they do make it to each other, and from up close he can see how right he was to assume something was wrong. Her eyes are unfocused as she looks up at him. She’s swaying on her feet, and he grasps her elbows to help keep her still. 

“Pacifica? What’s wrong?” 

“Dip…” she begins, voice unsteady. “Dipper.” She blinks up at him a couple times, her mouth opening and closing, as she seems to struggle to find words. Her hands raise to rest on his chest and her fingers grip at his shirt. “I don’t… I don’t feel good.”

Wait. He examines her more closely, trying to look into her eyes in the dim, flashing light.

“Cif, are you drunk?”

Pacifica shakes her head back and forth loosely. “I- I don’t know. I just had a couple sips…” She trails off.

Dipper grips her elbows tighter. “Of what, straight vodka?!”

Mabel, who had been chasing after Pacifica, finally catches up and must’ve overheard. “It was just Katy’s wine cooler,” she explains. “She had like two sips. I was there the whole time.”

Fucking hell. His mind jumps to the worst possible conclusions.

“Then Katy must’ve given her something,” he says. He slips his arms around Pacifica’s upper back and pulls her into his chest as he starts looking around the room. “Where is she?”

“No!” Mabel says. “She wouldn’t. Besides…” She scratches at her cheek and looks to the side. “I had a couple sips too. And I feel fine.”

Dipper turns back to Pacifica. “Tell me what you remember. Did anyone slip anything into your drink, give you a stick of gum, some candy, anything? Come on, Pacifica. What do you remember?” His heart is beating too fast, but he tries to stay focused. 

Pacifica just leans into him and shakes her head against his chest. She mumbles into his shirt. “No. I… dinner at home… came here. Hah-had a Coke from the tub over there. Sealed. And then— then I just wanted to try her drink. But, but that… that s’all.” She starts to cry. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. Please don’t be mad.”

Dipper‘s heart melts. “Cif, no.” He lets go of her elbows to place a palm on each side of her face and raise it. “Come on, look at me. I’m not mad at you.”

She blinks up at him, and his heart could burst at the sight of the tears swimming in her eyes. Stupid, idiot, look what you did. “I’m not mad. Not at you. But this isn’t normal, so someone must’ve been trying to hurt you. And I need to figure out who.”

Mabel jumps in again. “Dipper, I promise—no one did anything to her, I’ve been with her all night.“

Dipper ignores his sister and keeps his focus on Pacifica. “Those guys you were with over there. Who are they? The football guys, right?”

“Yeah,” Pacifica mumbles. “But they wouldn’t…”

“Pacifica, I need names. Tell me their names.”

Mabel interjects yet again, grasping him firmly by the shoulder. “Dipper!” she says firmly. “I’m telling you. No one did anything to her. I don’t know what this is. Maybe she has a sensitivity to alcohol or something.”

“I don’t though!” Pacifica cries. “I’ve had champagne with my parents before. It never feels like this.”

Dipper turns to Mabel. “See!” he says. He moves one hand to Pacifica’s lower back and gestures to her with the other. She sways forward a little, and he wraps a hand around her waist to steady her. 

“I’m not saying I can explain it,” Mabel says. “But I’m telling you that I’ve been with her. This was weird; it came out of nowhere. But no one slipped her anything.” Mabel hesitates, looking around, then leans forward to whisper, “What if it’s the curse?”

“The curse!?” Dipper can’t stop himself from raising his voice. He lowers it when he feels Pacifica flinch against him. “Curses don’t drug people, Mabel. Creeps trying to take advantage of girls drug people.”

Pacifica pushes back from him. “No. Stop it! Don’t fight. I won’t be the reason you guys fight.”

This cools Dipper’s anger immediately. On the surface, anyway. “Okay,” he says, swallowing down his frustration. He still doesn’t buy it, but he can figure it out another day. “Okay, I’ll drop it.”

She pokes him in the chest. “Apologize.”

He turns to his sister. “I’m sorry, Mabel.”

Pacifica leans into him again. “Can you just… can you just take care of me?” She grips his shirt. “Please?”

He feels the breath get knocked out of him a little bit as he looks down at her. She nuzzles into him, her hands holding onto him so tightly. She came to him, he realizes. She was scared and she came to him. His heart swells, and he wraps his arms more snugly around her waist. “Yeah. Yes, of course—“

He cuts himself off because he can say something stupid. Like sweetheart. 

Dipper shifts her in his arms a little bit so that she’s at more of an angle than head-on, then slips one of his hands around her back so he can support her as he walks them both toward the exit. Mabel flanks Pacifica’s other side, encouraging her to walk a straight line.

Over the top of Pacifica’s glittering halo, Dipper spots Kevin and Madison, each staring at him in concern. Sorry, he mouths at them before pointing at Pacifica and then at the door. 

With some considerable effort, they’re able to get her to Dipper’s truck. He tries to prop her up in the passenger seat and move around to the driver’s side, but it’s no use because she won’t let go of his shoulders. When she reaches up to wrap her arms around his upper back, then buries her face into the crook of his neck, mumbling “no, no, no, stay” over and over, he knows it’s a lost cause. Besides, how could he say no to that?

So with only a little bit of trepidation, he hands his keys to his sister and climbs up into his own passenger seat so that Pacifica can continue burrowing into him. 

Mabel‘s usually a terrifying driver, but Dipper appreciates the fact that she’s taking it slow and careful tonight— both for his own anxiety’s sake and Pacifica’s presumably spinning head. She’s still snuggled into him, her shimmery nylon-clad legs pulled up and over across his lap and halo knocking into his chin occasionally. Under any other circumstance, he’d be over the moon with this arrangement, but right now his concern for her—and anger at whoever did this—is overpowering any enjoyment. 

“So, back to the Shack, right?” Mabel asks. 

“Definitely. We can’t take her home like this. We can, uh, come up with some sort of excuse to give the Northwests.” He looks down at the girl in his lap. “Besides, I think we should keep an eye on her.”

She must fall asleep at some point, because the iron grip she had on him loosens and her breathing evens out by the time Mabel pulls the truck into the Shack’s gravel driveway. 

Finding a strength he really didn’t know he had, Dipper manages to scoop her up in his arms and carry her sleeping form all the way to the Shack’s bathroom without rousing her. Mabel lowers the toilet seat lid and Dipper carefully deposits her on it, gently pulling her halo headband from her head and running the back of his fingers down the side of her face in an attempt to wake her. 

She blinks her eyes open and looks around the room confusedly, but they are able to get her to a place where she’s able to sit up and Dipper slips out so Mabel can help her change into some borrowed pajamas. Dipper waits by the door, listening to Mabel’s gentle coaxing, Pacifica’s argumentative mumbles, and the occasional huff of annoyance from each. Mabel must manage to get her changed though, because a few minutes later she’s opening the door with a marginally more coherent Pacifica in tow. 

“She can sleep in my room,” Dipper says. Off Mabel’s suspicious look, he adds: “I’ll take the couch.”

The two manage to get her into his bed without too much trouble, and Dipper watches as she burrows into the blankets and sighs contentedly. She’s still pretty loopy, but seems to be coming down from whatever was affecting her earlier. 

“I’m going to go get her some water,” Mabel says. “For the morning.”

She slips out the door and Dipper is left watching Pacifica try to get comfortable. Hit sits on the edge of the bed and lifts a hand to brush her bangs away from her forehead. 

“Can I get anything for you?” he asks, trying to keep his voice soft. 

“Mmm,” Pacifica says, opening her eyes slowly to look up at him. “No, I think I’m…” She trails off as her eyes fall down to his chest. “Wait. Turn this way, let me read your shirt.”

Dipper smiles and obliges her, tugging on his shirt to pull it straight so she can read it. Her eyes squint, then widen in delight. The most life they’ve had in them since she went to him on the dance floor. 

“Hah!” she laughs. “A ceiling fan. That’s funny. You’re funny…” She falls back and lets her eyes close. “I should tell you that,” she adds quietly. 

He smiles a bit more. “Well, you kinda just did.”

Her eyes stay closed, but she manages to mumble out a response. “Yeah,” she sighs. “I guess I did. But you are. I should tell you nice things more.”

Dipper feels his cheeks warm. “Well, I would like that.” He decides to press his luck. “Is… is there a reason you don’t?”

Pacifica seems to find a little bit of alertness at this. Her eyes blink open. “Oh no. No, no, no,” she says. She wags a finger at him sleepily. “Don’t you go trying to pull secrets out of me while my defenses are down.” She drops her hand—right on his—and closes her eyes again, voice going soft. “I know what you’re up to, mister…”

Dipper chuckles a bit. “Okay, I won’t. At least not right now.”

“Good,” Pacifica mumbles. “That wouldn’t be fair…”

He smiles down at her, lets his thumb stroke the top of her hand. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Sneaky boy…”

Her breathing evens out, so he rises from the bed and pulls the blankets up to her chin. He hears the door open when Mabel pushes on it, and puts a finger up to his lips to make sure she knows to be quiet. 

Mabel’s holding a water in one hand and the home’s jack-o-lantern in the other. Dipper takes the water from her and puts it on his nightstand before gesturing toward the pumpkin questioningly. 

“Ambience,” Mabel whispers. “And a little bit of light. I figured you’re probably going to want to keep watch for a little bit…”

Dipper smiles gratefully as he watches Mabel light the candle. A sudden pang of guilt hits him as he thinks back on how he argued with her earlier. 

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice quiet as he approaches her. “I’m, um, sorry. About how I talked to you at the party.”

Mabel gives him an understanding nod. “Thank you… It’s okay. I know you were just being… protective.” 

Dipper looks at the floor. “I saw all those guys hanging around her. I think I got a little jealous. And then suspicious.”

“It still is weird, though.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees, looking at Pacifica. She looks so small and vulnerable. His heart twists with a mixture of fear, love, and anger. 

Mabel wishes him a good night and he settles into his desk chair. He wonders if it’s creepy, just watching someone sleep. But sitting here, the room gently illuminated by the glow of the flickering jack-o-lantern, it doesn’t feel creepy. It feels like he’s doing his job. What he’s meant to be doing. Keeping her safe. 

Eventually, his eyelids begin to feel heavier and his thoughts become hazier, so with a little reluctance, he blows the candle out and begins to make his way toward the door. But not before one last glance at her sleeping form, and a renewed promise to himself to do everything in his power to keep her from ever being afraid—or hurt—again. 

Chapter Text

Pacifica is somewhere new. A bed? No, a couch, she thinks. Not a normal couch. More like a chaise. Soft, luxurious. She has a woven blanket wrapped around her legs. There’s something warm and solid behind her.

Her eyes flutter open. The ocean. Wide and expansive and calm before her from where she sits on the home’s back balcony. The roar of the waves crashing is quieter than it was earlier this morning. She can even hear the seagulls squawking from down the beach. Mixed in with the scent of the sea-spray is something different— something woodsy and familiar. Comforting. The sun is still high and warm in the summer sky, but the breeze that tickles her bangs against her forehead is refreshingly crisp. She shivers as a brisk gust penetrates her light blanket. 

The solid warmth behind her shifts, and two strong arms move to circle her waist.

“Too cold?” Dipper asks. 

Of course, that’s the warmth—her husband. 

Pacifica snuggles backwards into his chest, pulling his arms further around her. “No,” she smiles. “Perfect.”

She can feel his chest vibrate pleasantly as he hums his own agreement with her assessment. “Perfect,” he echoes, his lips brushing the top of her head. “Perfect.” A kiss to her temple. “Perfect.” One to her cheek. “Perfect…” Her jaw. 

Pacifica squeezes her legs together and closes her eyes, snuggling even further backward into his embrace, luxuriating in his affection. His hands begin trailing down her sides. She’s so lucky, she thinks. How did she get so lucky? She wants to stay right here forever. Nothing more. Nothing less. This is peace, this is love, this is her life… and she’s so happy. 

The dream begins to slip away, and as much as she tries to hang onto it, it’s no use. Pacifica’s conscious mind is taking over, taking inventory of what’s real and tangible around her. 

The emotions linger, though, like always. That warmth. 

She sighs and snuggles into the fleece sheets beneath her, unwilling to open her eyes and wondering if she refuses to, if the dream will come back. The sheets are soft, not from being made from any sort of expensive material, but the type of softness that comes from repeated washings and wear. They smell good, she thinks. Woodsy and fresh, like the smell from her dream. She tugs the top sheet up to her nose, seeking more of the comfort that comes with the scent. 

But… this isn’t what her room smells like, some part of her brain points out. Who cares? asks another. Kind of important to know where you are, the first part argues. Fine, fine…

Her eyes blink open, and her brain struggles to make sense of what it’s seeing at first. It’s bright. No blackout shades like at home. Wood-panelling. Flannel linens. A messy desk. 

Oh, the attic. The twins’ room. No, Dipper’s room. Dipper… last night. It’s coming back to her slowly. 

She remembers most of the party. The jocks, the band, dancing, her little freak out… and the drink. Yes, the drink, that’s it. She groans and rolls onto her stomach. Oh god, it’s coming back now. Blurry, but there. Seeking Dipper out, some sort of argument between the twins, getting in the truck, then it’s just [scene missing], [scene missing], [scene missing], until one last wonderful image of him tucking her in, and the rush of affection she felt. 

Oh god, but there’s so much missing information. She didn’t do anything embarrassing, did she? How did she end up that drunk in the first place?

Speaking of, the effects of a small hangover are beginning to make their presence known. Her throat feels uncomfortably dry, and she notices the water that someone must have left out for her on the nightstand. She sighs and snuggles into the sheets once more, pulling the blankets up and over her head for one last moment of indulgence, before forcing herself to toss them back and sitting up. She downs the water in one go. 

Now what? Her eyes glance at the alarm clock. 7:17 AM. Still early. She supposes she could wander downstairs and see if anyone is up. She wonders where Dipper slept last night. Her cheeks warm at the memories of how sweet and protective he was with her. They’re hazy, but undeniably etched in her brain. Will he bring it up? Should she? 

Her eyes wander around the room. It feels a little invasive to be here without him, but she can’t bring herself to leave either. Being surrounded by his things… it feels like a treat almost. A little lingering won’t hurt, right? She’s not gonna be snoopy. Not too much. 

She rises and drifts over to his desk, letting her fingers trail over the items on the top surface. It’s mostly school stuff— notes and pens and textbooks, but also a weird multi-sided die that she thinks is from that nerdy game he likes to play, a hardback copy of the most recent installment in that sci-fi series he wouldn’t shut up about last spring, a compass, some maps of the woods surrounding the town, and—oh. 

Her fingers wrap around the DVD box set so that she can lift it up to inspect it. It’s the one that she gave him for his 13th birthday, back during that very first summer. She didn’t know he still had it. You can get every season of that show streaming online these days (not that she’s ever watched it, nope...), but this looks like it’s been handled recently. The box is nearly falling apart, well-worn and well-loved. 

She puts the box aside and looks around the room some more, looking for any other sign of herself. Nothing jumps out to her immediately, and her heart begins to sink. But still, there must be something… she wants there to be something. She wants there to be a lot of somethings, actually.

A knock on the door startles her out of her search, and she spins quickly and jumps to the bed, trying to look like she just got up. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” comes Mabel’s soft, singsongy voice from the doorway. Her head pokes through a second later.

Pacifica rubs at her eyes and yawns exaggeratedly. “Hey…”

“How are you feeling?” Mabel asks, stepping into the room more fully and sitting down next to Pacifica. 

“I’m okay,” she says, shrugging. “Just a little embarrassed.”

“Hey, no, don’t say that,” Mabel says. “None of that was your fault. I was there with you the whole time.”

“Yeah, doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.”

Mabel shrugs. “Yeah, suppose so. If it makes you feel any better, you really didn’t do anything too bad. You’re actually pretty sweet. It was cute.”

“Sweet?” Pacifica raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Well, maybe not with everybody…”

“Oh no, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you were very affectionate with a certain somebody.”

Pacifica groans and flops backward on the bed. “No, no, no, don’t tell me I kissed—“

Mabel chuckles and tugs Pacifica back up. “No, no, you didn’t kiss him. Don’t worry. You just had a little baby koala grip on him all night. It was cute! You wouldn’t let go. I had a heck of a time even getting you into these pajamas. You kept demanding that he come back.”

Pacifica gives Mabel a deathly stare that she hopes underlines how serious she is. “You can never tell anyone about that.”

Mabel gives Pacifica a solemn nod and crosses her heart. “I promise.”

“All right,” Pacifica says, standing and deciding that she’s had just enough of this conversation. “Let’s get this over with. I gotta get home, and I could seriously use some coffee. Like a gallon.”

Mabel lends Pacifica some tennis shoes and a sweatshirt that she can put over her borrowed pajamas, and together the girls make their way down to the kitchen. Pacifica can hear their Great Uncle Ford talking as they begin to enter the room.

“…and there’s a groundbreaking new Geobiology program that I think you would really enjoy. My former colleague, Dr. Zhang, pioneered the leading study, and he’s really quite eager for some bright minds to join, I—“

“Pacifica!” Dipper exclaims, cutting off his uncle and rising from the kitchen table from where he had previously been slumped. He starts walking toward her, eyes wide and worried. “How are you feeling? Are you dizzy at all? Do you need to go sit down?”

She shakes her head, hoping that he doesn’t notice her blush. “I’m fine. Seriously. I’m all good.”

Dipper’s eyes cut quickly toward his uncle and then back toward the girls. “Well, hey, why don’t you go into the living room anyway and rest for a second? I’ll bring you some coffee.”

“I can pour it,” Pacifica offers.

“I insist,” he says. He’s all but pushing them out of the kitchen. Weird. Why doesn’t he want her in there?

The girls settle on the couch and Dipper comes out a couple of minutes later, three mugs of coffee balanced between two hands. He hands her the mug that she always chooses when she’s over here, a thick white one with pink hearts. She blows on the coffee and takes a sip. It’s perfect, just how she likes it. 

Pacifica is grateful that Dipper doesn’t force her to talk about last night too much. He just asks her about 300 more times if she’s feeling okay, and to let him know if she ends up remembering anything else from the night. The idea that he hopes she will tell him, expects it even, like it’s his responsibility, does something funny and certainly not unpleasant to her insides. 

“I will,” she promises.

Once her coffee is gone, there’s really no reason for her to linger around anymore, so she goes to grab her phone and text her driver to come pick her up.

Dipper must sense what she’s thinking, because before she can even find the chauffeur’s thread, he’s standing up to grab his jacket and keys.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to.” 

She senses the competing parts of her brain gearing up for a battle, but before it can begin in earnest, he keeps talking.

“Please let me, Pacifica. I promise it’s not entirely altruistic. I was freaked out last night too, and… I just wanna make sure you get home safe. I’ll feel better if I do.”

Both sides of her brain lay down their swords.

“Alright,” she says.

Dipper goes out to the truck first to get the engine started and try to get the heat going. It’s a pretty chilly morning, so Pacifica is grateful. Dead leaves whip around her ankles in the breeze, and she shivers as she hugs Mabel goodbye and climbs up into the passenger seat. It’s such a far cry from the warmth of his bed, from whatever her dream was, that she is almost tempted to suggest they just all go back inside so she can return to that little safe haven. 

“Sorry,” Dipper says as he finally is able to get the heat working and turns the wheel to navigate them out of the parking lot. “She’s, uh, seen better days.”

Pacifica remembers when he first got the truck. It was a hand-me-down present from Soos on Dipper’s 16th birthday last summer. Dipper didn’t have his license yet so his Grunkle Ford had to drive it to California while Stan, grumbling, followed behind in his own car so that the two of them could get back home eventually. Pacifica has never actually seen him drive it. Not aside from the occasional distant view in the school parking lot, or the celebratory videos Mabel would send her last school year after he passed his behind-the-wheel test.

She finds herself staring at the way his hands grip the wheel, the way his careful eyes check the mirrors every so often. He’s a good driver, she realizes. Alert and aware. She feels safe here in his passenger seat. She also feels a sense of deep envy of everyone else who gets to sit in it more frequently. It feels like it should be her spot. 

God, why does it feel so good?

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks after a while, glancing over at her. “You seem pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, no. I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Dipper’s quiet for another second, his mouth twisting up a bit as he refocuses on the road in front of him. “I’d like to hear what you’re thinking. If you’re okay sharing.”

Pacifica feels that same little bit of warmth and safety bubbling in her again. She lets herself smile. Just a little. “I was thinking about… how nice you were last night.” She looks over at him, willing herself to be brave. They’re in her neighborhood; this drive will only last so much longer. “You were there for me, again. You didn’t have to be.”

They’re pulling up her street now, and Dipper has the good sense to stop the truck just out of sight of the front door. He kills the engine and glances a little bit to the side, in her direction, but not quite meeting her eyes. He’s silent again for another few heartbeats as he presumably finds his words.

“I did have to, though. And that’s not to say that I didn’t also want to be there for you, because I did. It’s just… that it also doesn’t really feel like a choice anymore. More like, just a fact of life. And I recognize that that sounds hypocritical because there was a big period of time this past summer when I wasn’t there for you, and that was so stupid and my own fault. But now… especially knowing how much that hurt you…” He looks up at her. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing anything else. I’ll always be there for you.”

Pacifica keeps her eyes locked on his, her heart full and her head light and dizzy as his words sink in. 

Dipper looks at the ceiling and laughs a bit to himself, self-deprecating. “And I realize how freaking cheesy that sounds, and you probably think I’m a giant loser for saying so…” He lets his eyes fall to their hands, both rest on the center bench seat, a foot or so of distance between them. “…but it’s the truth.” He looks back up at her, all sweetness and sincerity. 

She lowers her eyes but smiles, letting his declaration sink into her psyche before slowly raising her eyes back to his and leaning in just a bit. Just the tiniest bit. He probably won’t even notice. “Hero complex, much?” she asks, giving him her most flirtatious smile. Just for fun.

Dipper’s eyes jump from her eyes to her lips, just for a second, and he definitely leans in. “With some people, yeah.” 

She feels her cheeks burn. 

Crap. What now? She has no idea. So instead of thinking, she gives him one more ’thank you’ and one more smile and leaves before she does something stupid. 

But she grins the whole, long walk up her driveway. 

She hears the arguing before she’s even opened the front door. It’s louder when she’s in the foyer, though still muffled by the heavy mahogany doors of her father’s study. It’s weird for her parents to be up this early the morning after a party. Usually when they’re out late, her father doesn’t come down until ten at the earliest, and her mother just takes her breakfast in her room. Actually, though, that’s been happening more and more frequently in recent years, even on nights when they haven’t been out. 

She tiptoes a little bit closer to the closed doors. Close enough that she can make out the words but still pretend she was just passing by should one of them storm out.

“Embarrassing, Priscilla,” shouts the voice of her father. “Humiliating! How am I supposed to explain—“

“You don’t have to explain, Preston!” her mother shouts back. “We just won’t go. It wasn’t a serious commitment. I just thought it would be—“

“Just thought what? That it would be a good idea to commit ourselves to three weeks at Val d’Isère that we absolutely cannot afford?”

“We’ll make an excuse! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t you realize what it’ll look like if we back out? The rumors are already a problem. If people discover the truth of our financial situation, we’ll be ruined. No one will ever invest with us again.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?!”

“I want you to stop making promises we can’t afford! I want you to stop spending money on the items that we don’t need! For Christ’s sake, Priscilla, who needs $1,500 face cream?”

“I don’t know Preston, who needs a $5,000 tie clip?!”

“That’s different! It’s an investment. A mark of status. It projects power and confidence.”

“Having a beautiful wife used to be something that projected power, too—that you cared about!”

“I still care about that! Ah, I mean—you’re still beautiful, is what I meant to say.”

There’s a pause. And heavy scraping, like someone pushing back a chair. 

“I’m bored, Preston. I don’t have anything in this life anymore. I can’t spend money to keep myself young, Pacifica barely wants to be home, I can’t even think about ski trips without you—“

“—I’m not saying you can’t go skiing. I’m saying that Vail is just as good as the French Alps and—“

“—That’s not the point!”

Pacifica’s palms must’ve been getting sweaty, because her tightly clutched phone slips from her hand and falls to the ground, crashing against the tile of the foyer.

Inside her father’s study, both voices fall silent.

Pacifica is kneeling down and scrambling to grab her phone when the door opens and her father walks out. His face looks drawn and tired. “Pacifica. We, ah, didn’t realize you were home. I hope you had fun at your party last night.”

He walks off without another word, leaving Pacifica to straighten up and carefully enter the study. 

Her mother stands at the window, looking out with her back turned to the rest of the room. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, just a little, and Pacifica knows right away that she’s been crying, though she won’t let it show. “Hello, darling,” her mother says, obviously trying to keep her voice steady. “How was your sleepover?”

Sleepover? Oh, Mabel must’ve called. 

“Yeah, it was fun,” Pacifica says, rubbing at her elbow. “We just did girl stuff, you know? Facials, talked about boys. Things like that.”

Her mother’s lips tug into a somber smile. She looks wistful and far away. Numb, even. “Youth is a wonderful thing, Pacifica. You should treasure it.”

“I will—um, I mean, I do.”

Her mother turns back to the window. “Don’t forget about next weekend,” she says hollowly. 

“Next weekend?”

“The Davenports, dear.”

“Oh, right. No, I didn’t forget.”

“Lovely. It will be lovely.” She trails off, and Pacifica takes this as permission to exit. 

She leaves the room as quietly as she can. Her mom is still staring blankly out the window. She didn’t even comment on Pacifica’s outfit. 

As she wanders up to her room, Pacifica contemplates the family situation. She knew that things were tougher than they had been, financially. That was the whole reason she had to go to public school. She didn’t realize it was this bad, though. Just a few years ago, her parents would never have been bickering over $1,500 moisturizer or $5,000 men’s accessories. That was pocket change. They used to vacation in the Alps annually. Sometimes more. 

It’s not like she really needs that type of lifestyle. It was fun while it lasted, but she’s gotten relatively used to the new way of things. She still has her driver, she still has gourmet meals prepared for her daily, she doesn’t have to worry about clothes or college fees or going out with her friends. Or does she?

From the way her parents were arguing, it almost sounded like they’re broke. Or worse. 

She thinks about her mom. Pacifica gets frustrated with her mother‘s vanity, but she tries not to hold it against her too much. It’s how she’s lived for the last 20+ years. Plus, that was kind of the deal when she married her father. Be beautiful, host parties, raise a perfect daughter, and in return, you get everything else taken care of for you. Caviar on tap, champagne fountains. Winter skiing and summer boating. She just had to give up everything else that she ever could have done. And now what? She’s trapped. 

Maybe pushing her toward Davenport isn’t entirely about the status, Pacifica wonders. Maybe it’s about security.

Pacifica paces in her room for a few minutes, looking for something to do to take her mind off the stressors of the last twelve hours. Her afternoon is booked, meticulously scheduled by her mother (or her mother’s assistant, more likely). Tennis at one. A manicure at three. Pilates at five. Her morning would normally be taken up with a diner shift, but once Susan found out about the Halloween party, she’d insisted Pacifica have the morning after off. (“You’re only young once, dearie! Live it up! And make sure to dance with the Pines boy. He spends more money on coffee here than anyone I know…”)

Ugh, she really could use something to do. She opts for a run. It’ll be a good warm-up for tennis later. 

She takes the trail at the back of their property. It weaves through a pretty part of the woods, eventually giving way to a meadow that opens up into the city park. If she’s too tired for the run back, maybe she’ll do some window-shopping to cool off, or go say hi to Susan, or just wander aimlessly until her parents notice she’s missing and get worried. 

She walks one of the park’s trails, lost in a fantasy about that— her parents’ distraught faces, the way they might call out her name, maybe her mother would run up and scoop her in her arms like she did when she was little. ‘Oh my dear! We were so worried about you! I don’t know if you knew, but we’ve been having some marital problems, but none of that matters now! You’ve reminded us of what really matters, and we love you so, so, so much!’

Pacifica wraps her arms around her middle. What a joke. That’s not how her parents show their love. They show it with ponies and dresses and high expectations. She frowns. But is that really for her? Or them? She thinks she knows the answer deep down, but god, could anyone blame her for wanting to think it was about her? For wanting to make her parents proud of her? It’s, like, biological. A survival instinct passed down through generations. 

“She was all over Mabel’s brother. Didn’t you see?”

Pacifica jumps at the familiar voice. She’d know it anywhere. She listens to it shout out commands five days a week. Bethany, her cheer captain. 

She jumps behind a large tree and tries to keep her breathing quiet as more voices join in, growing louder. 

“I think they have some sort of history.” That one’s familiar too. Another cheer girl. One of Bethany’s followers. Annie? “They both fought that weird triangle that—“

A third voice jumps in, loud and squeaky. “Anna!” Ah. “We’re not supposed to talk about that, remember?!” 

“Oh, whatever!” Anna argues. “I’m just saying I think they’re friends. Maybe more. They flirt, like, all the time. Oliver has Spanish with them and says they’re always looking for excuses to be all over each other.” A pause. “Do you think they’re doing it? I could see it.”

“Ugh,” Bethany’s voice groans. “He could do so much better.”

“He’s kind of a dork.” That from the third one. 

“He literally saved the town.” Bethany. 

“She was there too!” Anna. 

“Again, we’re not supposed to—“

“I know, I know. Jeez.”

Bethany jumps back in. “I’m just saying it’s kind of pathetic how she threw herself at him.”

“No, I think he likes her, too.”

“For now.”

“Bethany, don’t be mean.” 

“I’m just being honest. He’s, like, the smart type.”

“She’s smart, too.” Anna, again. Pacifica is beginning to like her.  

“It’s different, though.” Bethany again. “She’s had private tutors since she was a baby. He’s naturally smart. Katy said that Mabel said that he’s going to some sort of genius college after high school.”

What? Pacifica’s mind jumps back to the kitchen this morning— Ford talking about some program… 

“Maybe Pacifica is going there, too.”

“No way. She’s too pampered. There’s no way she’d cut it in the real world.” 

“Please. You’re just mad she beat you for Homecoming Queen.”

“I mean, yeah, I think it’s a little weird that she was able to just waltz in and become Miss Popularity overnight.” Bethany gasps. “Do you think she’s putting out?”

“Not unless it’s with Dipper…”

Bethany hums. “You’re probably right, she’s got virgin written all over her. You know she can’t even drive, too, right?”

Pacifica lets her back slide down against the tree she’s been hiding behind as the voices wander away. She decides pretty quickly that she doesn’t really care that Bethany was talking shit about her behind her back. She’s just a local mean girl who probably already peaked during Junior year. It’s expected. 

But the things they were saying hit her squarely in the chest. She knows about West Coast Tech, about how Ford kept encouraging Dipper to explore it as an option. Dipper would sometimes bring it up last spring when the they were fantasizing about a shared future. Only in passing though. Just to mention that he’d have to explain to his family that he was turning it down. He didn’t seem upset about that though, so to hear that he’s now taking Ford up on it, well… 

Pacifica tries to shake those feelings as she begins the long walk home. No, this’ll be good for Dipper. He is really smart. He deserves to go to a great school. This is the best thing for him. Better than waiting around for a pampered princess. 

She is spoiled. She knows that. But she can’t help that buying things is how her parents have shown affection since she entered this world. Whatever bit of it they are capable of. Has she been ungrateful? Taken it all for granted? 

She ponders this as she makes her way back up the trail to her home. The trees around her in this part of the forest are still green—pine trees don’t really lose their color in the same way that others do—but the air bites at her nose in the way that seems to signal that winter is on the way. 

Eventually she reaches her back gate. She stops for a minute to look at the grand house, the sweeping lawn. It’s nowhere near as massive as Northwest Manor, but it’s more than most could ever dream of. She feels a twist in her gut. Her parents have given her… everything. Well, everything tangible anyway. Is she really going to turn her nose up at a great school, a great future, just because it doesn’t fit in to her childish fantasies? 

She goes through the motions of the rest of her day. Tennis. Nails. Dinner. Her tennis coach scolds her for missing three overhead shots in a row. Her nail technician asks if she’s sure she wants black. Her parents… well, her parents don't say much of anything, aside from reminding her to sit up straight and stop frowning. (“Wrinkles, dear.”) She knows it’s because they care. 

By the time she’s made it to her room that night, her brain is fuzzy and tired from overthinking, and she’s not sure she would be able to tell the difference between left and right, much less right and wrong. 

She sits down at her desk, stares out her window at the grand, sloping lawn below. She tries to imagine what type of scenery she might be looking at this time next year. A cityscape? Another forest? Some distant European countryside? A campus plaza? Or… this one. Just the same. 

She snaps out of it. 

What is she thinking? Of course she needs to go to college. She can’t just sit around and stall and hope that somehow the clock will wind back six months to when she was actually excited about the plans she had. 

Pacifica pulls out her laptop and searches “Davenport University.” As much as it’s been assumed to be a given since she was in preschool that she’d go there, she’s never actually looked it up. 

It’s pretty, she thinks, swiping through the promotional materials on the homepage. The main building is large and in the French Baroque style. It would look perfectly at home in the countryside outside Versailles. Actually, she wonders if it’s even original to Oregon. She knows that for a while it was very much en vogue for wealthy American families to have European buildings dismantled and brought over to the US. The forest around it is pristine. Miles and miles of untouched evergreens. 

It wouldn’t be awful, she thinks. Just four years. She still doesn’t have any intention of using it as a matchmaking service, but she knows that its graduates all go on high-status, lucrative jobs— should they choose to work at all. Then maybe she could help her parents. Maybe they wouldn’t fight so much. Maybe her mom would be happy again.

Maybe she could even convince Dipper to—

She stops that thought in its tracks. He would hate someplace like this. Too manicured, too landscaped. 

Plus, he has bigger things ahead of him. She’d just be holding him back. There’s no sense dwelling on her daydreams.

And… if they’re destined for separate futures, well, then she really doesn’t have to worry about becoming close with him again. There’s no risk. They can be friendly, maybe even friends. But with a built-in expiration date, her expectations will be managed. So it’ll be safe to let him in a little. 

She nods. Seems sensible. 

The application doesn’t take her long. The private tutor she had at her old school had already prepared a resume for her that only requires a little bit of updating, and the fairly intense school counselor there had made sure she had her personal statement ready to go since age 15. Besides, at colleges like this, it’s really more about who you know. Her parents aren’t wrong about that. She hits complete, and it’s done. 

Suddenly unbearably tired and shivering, she changes into pajamas quickly, forgoing her usual 12-step skincare regimen entirely. She pulls back the plush duvet on her bed and slides under the blankets. They’re soft and silky, but she can’t get comfortable. It’s all wrong somehow. She tosses and turns, trying to find that same feeling of safety from when she woke up. That warmth, where did it go? She closes her eyes, willing sleep to come. Maybe if she really tries to focus on that feeling from this morning—belonging, safety, love—maybe the dream will come back. 

Chapter Text

“Highlighter.”

Dipper raises his eyes from his textbook to look across the library table where Pacifica sits. Her head is still down as she reads from her notes, her bangs obscuring most of her face. Her right hand is held out to him, palm up. 

Dipper suppresses an amused eye roll as he digs into his pencil pouch and reaches across to place a yellow highlighter in Pacifica’s expectant hand.

A few minutes pass. 

“Pen.”

Her hand is out again. He passes her his ballpoint. 

Another few minutes.

“Highlighter,” she repeats, before adding: “Pink.”

He hands her the requested item, but can’t resist giving her some sass about it. “As you wish, your highness.”

Pacifica’s eyes dart up as her fingers wrap around the pink highlighter. “Is there a problem?” she asks. Dipper is relieved to hear her tone is all teasing. 

“Not at all,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Just concerned I might be neglecting the princess. Is there anything else your heart desires? Anything I could fetch for you? A Norwegian sparkling water? Servant to rub your shoulders as you work?”

Pacifica’s lip twitches, and she covers it up with a huff and toss of her hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re recognizing your place, peasant boy.” She sighs dramatically. “But no, I’m feeling benevolent today. You just sit there and be at the ready.”

“I live to serve,” Dipper smirks.

Pacifica smiles, pushing out her chair as she rises. “Sit. Stay.” She reaches over and pats the top of Dipper’s head twice. “Good boy.”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Oh, downgraded to pet now?”

“Please, you’d be so lucky.” She boops him on the nose with one manicured finger tip, then straightens up. “I’m going to the bathroom—I need you to watch my stuff.” She points at him. “That purse costs more than your house.”

Dipper feels his cheeks warm pleasantly, and he shakes his head as she walks away. He knows the thing about the purse isn’t true. He was there when she got it. At a cute little craft fair the summer before Junior year. Mabel had told her that the sky-blue bag would bring out her eyes. At the time, Pacifica had turned her nose up at the idea of wearing someone’s “art project,” as she put it, but she bought it anyway, and it’s become a regular part of her rotation. No one calls her out on it, though. They value their lives.

A faint buzz interrupts his reminiscing. He looks up and sees that she’s left her phone on the table, face up.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look. But, well, it’s not really snooping if his eyes just happened to fall down on the screen, right? So long as he doesn’t get up from his seat, or move around the table, or touch it, or anything like that. Yeah, he thinks, this is like Fourth Amendment search and seizure stuff. They just did a whole unit on it in AP Government. You don’t need a warrant to use evidence that was left out where anyone can see it. If it’s in plain view. Feels like the same thing.

He leans forward across the desk as far as he can without letting his bottom leave his seat. Okay, maybe it leaves it a little bit. 

Theodore🤮:
Mother asked me to remind you to pack your leather boat shoes, not your canvas boat shoes. I told her you weren’t a plebeian, but she insisted.

Dipper frowns. Pacifica had mentioned that she was going out of town this weekend, but she didn’t say where. He knows that she isn’t into this guy, but he still doesn’t like the idea of them being forced together. 

Plus, she and him have been getting along so much better the last couple of weeks. He was actually considering maybe asking her if she wanted to hang out this weekend, finally do something outside of school. Maybe they could work on the mystery of Juliette Fairchild, or she could help him pick out a new winter jacket at the mall, or maybe go to the movies… 

Pacifica returns from the bathroom grumbling. “I’m never going to get used to these paper hand towels. Cloth is so much nicer! And it’s more environmentally friendly. What—they can’t send linens out to be laundered at this school?”

Dipper snorts. “Have you seen some of those freshmen? They’re grimy. I don’t think that there’s any amount of bleach that could really ever clean a used hand towel here.”

“You used to be kind of grimy,” Pacifica says, wrinkling her nose as she takes her seat again. “I remember when you only showered once a week.”

“I’ve matured. I got people to impress now.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Oh? You’ve got people?” 

“Well, person.”

A little bit more of her smile peeks through, and Dipper’s heart leaps. Success. 

He begins tapping his pen against the table, trying to seem nonchalant. “So, where did you say you were going this weekend again?”

She bites her bottom lip. “I don’t think I did… My parents are making us go up to spend the weekend with Teddy and his family. You know, the guy from your party?”

Dipper snorts. “Yeah, I remember.”

She lets her eyes rise to his, looking at him through her lashes. “That was… sort of mean of me to bring him there.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees. “But I sort of deserved it.”

She smirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“What’s the deal with your parents trying to get you guys together anyway?”

Pacifica sighs. “Well, aside from the obvious…” She waves her hand in his direction. As though he’s supposed to understand what she means. He does not. What’s obvious? “His family owns the college they want me to go to. They think that if he falls in love with me, that’ll guarantee me a spot.”

“You could get in anywhere all on your own.”

“Well, maybe.” She says, cheeks turning a little pink. “But they’re not taking any chances.”

Dipper lets this sink in for a bit. The whole ‘college of it all’ is a topic he’s been trying to avoid. Maybe a little bit in denial about the inevitability. 

“Well,” he begins. “Do you want to go there?”

Pacifica looks out the window for a minute, looking pensive. “I mean, I don’t know… It really is a nice school. And it would make my parents happy.” She turns back to look at her textbook. “But no, not really. But I can’t think of anywhere that I do, either. So, like, I applied, you know. Because why not?” Her eyes jumped up to his, and for a second he thinks that the question isn’t rhetorical. 

“Oh, okay, yeah. That’s… rational,” he says. The words feel heavy and sticky in his throat, like they don’t really want to come out.

“So,” she says. “I hear you’re going to West Coast Tech?”

“Oh, um,” he begins, stalling while he tries to come up with an answer. Is he? He doesn’t know. Something about having this conversation with her feels like they’re cementing their fates. He feels his brain resist. “I mean… that’s where Ford wants me to go. So, maybe. I mean, it is a really good school, too…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Well, this is depressing. Shouldn’t they both be excited about next year? The tone is such a far cry from their old conversations about college, when they would stay up into the early hours of the morning texting each other links and gushing about this campus or that. 

(‘Check out all the nerd clubs at this one, you’d be right at home.’ 

‘Oh please, you know you’d be right there with me.’

‘Hmm maybe. If you make it worth my while.’

‘I think I can do that.’

‘Oooh pray tell.’

‘Nope, can’t reveal my strategies until they’re ready.’

‘You’re such a dork.’

‘You love it.’)

Dipper clears his throat and checks his watch. “It’s getting pretty late. We probably should wrap things up. Same time next week?”

“That’s Thanksgiving,” Pacifica says. “You’ll be in Georgia.”

“Oh, right.” Dipper feels bad for a moment. He had completely forgotten that he and Mabel were going to go see their dad in Atlanta. “Um. Tuesday?”

“Can’t,” Pacifica says. She rolls her eyes. “Cheer regionals are coming up. We have practice every day after school next week.” She begins putting away her notes, absently shoving her books into her bag. “Why don’t you just text me when you’re free? We’ll figure something out.”

Dipper’s eyebrows shoot up skyward as he raises his eyes to meet hers and gives her a crooked smirk. Finally.

“Well,” he begins slowly, and the hint of amusement in his voice must make her look up. “I’d love to, but you’d have to unblock me first…” He gives her a small, teasing smile.

She blushes a little bit. “How did you know I blocked your number?”

“Uh,” he laughs a little. “It seemed pretty obvious when none of my calls or text messages would go through.”

“You called me?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

A beat passes, and Dipper lets the silence compel her to ask what she’s so clearly trying to hold back.

“So…” she begins. “When did you do that?” She bites her lip again. “After the dance?”

Dipper shakes his head. “After registration. The day after. Uh. A lot.” He looks up at the ceiling. “And then maybe a few hundred times since then, too.”

Her cheeks go pink. “Oh,” is all she says. 

“Yep.” 

“That’s the night I did it,” she admits. “Blocked your number, I mean. On registration day.” She looks almost regretful, and maybe a little embarrassed. 

Dipper just looks down momentarily as he shakes his head and smiles grimly to himself. He should have known Mabel was right when she told him to call that night. 

Pacifica looks down and to the side, then begins twirling her pen (well, his) between her fingertips. “So…” she says after a few beats. “What did you want to tell me?

He looks back up at her, sensing an opening. “I wanted to explain. To say I’m sorry. And how much you mean to me. To promise never to do it again.”

She looks up at him again, expression guarded but a little hopeful. 

“Would you have answered?” he continues, his voice a little unsteady. Unconsciously, his hand scoots forward a little on the table. “If I had called earlier, I mean. Like, when we first got here. Or before.”

Her eyes flit down to his hand, then back up to his face. She opens her mouth, then closes it, looking between his eyes for a second longer before she answers.

“Yes,” she says, voice a little quiet.

He takes a breath to tell her how much he regrets that he didn’t, that he thinks all the time about how different things might have been, but before he can there’s another buzzing from the table. His own phone this time. Pacifica’s eyes jump down to it just as his do. 

It’s just Madison. He pushes the phone to the side and tries to figure out where their thread of conversation had left off.

“Who’s that?” Pacifica asks, even though she definitely saw. Her voice is sharp, completely shifting the mood from moments earlier. But maybe he can get it back on track. 

“Madison,” he answers anyway. “Probably texting about practice this weekend. Anyway, I—“

“Read it.”

Dipper puzzles at her strange insistence, but does open the text. “Yeah, she’s just saying to get there early. Kev wants to practice one-on-one to help me get up to speed.”

“Why doesn’t Kevin text you?”

“I don’t know. He’s not a big texter. They’re probably hanging out and she just did it for him.”

Pacifica pauses, frowning and tapping her nails against the wooden desk. “I think she likes you,” she says after a second.

Dipper nearly chokes as he lets out an involuntary shout of laughter. Some random library-goer hushes him, and he lowers his voice as he leans across the table. “She absolutely does not like me. She’s with Kevin, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean anything. People get crushes while they’re in relationships all the time. The good ones break up with their boyfriends before they do anything about it, but—“

“Cif, she is not into me. I promise you. I’d be able to tell.”

Pacifica gives him a skeptical look.

“What, I would!”

“Whatever you say.”

Dipper studies her. Is she jealous? Oh my god. She’s totally jealous. 

Instead of saying anything, he just smiles and shakes his head. He knows Madison isn’t into him, but he makes a mental note to be very careful not to bring her up too much around Pacifica. She’s always been a bit possessive. He doesn’t need her getting into her own head. Time to change the subject, he thinks. 

“Where do they live anyway?” he asks. 

“Who?”

“Richie Rich and his family.”

“Oh. A couple of hours north of here. Near Mount Hood, I think? Evergreen Crest.” She gets to her feet and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s a small town. Kind of like here. They’ve got a lake too. That’s what we’re doing—taking their boat out or something.”

Dipper stopped hearing anything she said after “Evergreen Crest.” 

That’s why it sounded so familiar! 

He slams his hand flat on the desk, causing Pacifica to jump.

“Jeez! What was that for?” she asks. 

Dipper is already rifling through his backpack, moving to pull out his journal. He flips it open to a page near the middle, then spins it around to shove it across the desk at her as he moves around to her side.

“Look!” He points at the page where he’s taped the Post-it.

Pacifica’s eyes dart down curiously. “What exactly am I looking at here?”

“Remember how I told you that I went and talked to the guy who bought the Fairchilds’ old house?”

Pacifica nods.

“That’s the name of the city that he gave. That’s where they moved to.”

Pacifica’s eyes widen a bit. “That’s… a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees. “But it’s also perfect. If you’re going up there this weekend, you can look around town a little bit. See if they still live there.”

Pacifica looks a little wary. “Dipper, I don’t think you really understand how these people live. We’re not gonna be hanging out at diners or strolling down Main Street. The most interaction we’ll have with regular people will be them serving us hors d'oeuvres at the yacht club.”

“Well, maybe what’s-his-face will know something.”

“Teddy.”

Dipper rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

Pacifica wrinkles her nose. “I sort of doubt it, but I’ll ask.”

“Okay, but try to be discreet about it. First rule of an investigation. Remember?”

Pacifica smiles. “Don’t let anyone know you’re investigating them,” she recites. “I know.”

“I’m just saying—remember when we were trying to figure out who took Multibear’s embroidery kit? And you totally spilled the beans to Lazy Susan—our prime suspect!”

Pacifica looks up at him, eyes sparkling. “Yes, but that didn’t even end up mattering because it turned out it was Jeff the whole time!”

Dipper smiles down at her. “My point stands.”

She cranes her neck back, and her smile turns teasing. “I’ll be careful…”

They’re so close, and he’s really not ready to let this moment end. He pushes just a bit further, ducking his head so his forehead is only a couple of inches from hers. “You gotta be better than careful,” he says, lowering his voice. “You gotta be sneaky.” He gives her a smirk. “Do you think you can do that?”

She smirks right back at him and rises to her tiptoes, chin jutted up confidently. His heart flips. If she asked him to propose right now, he wouldn’t hesitate. “I can be sneaky,” she whispers. 

That’s my girl.

Well, not quite. But he thinks he’s getting there.

“Hell yeah, man! That was awesome!”

Dipper wipes the sweat from his brow and grins up at Kevin. “Okay, that was fun.”

“You’re killing it, dude. I told you that you’d pick it up in no time.”

Dipper does feel pretty good about how much progress he’s been making. It’s only been a few weeks, but he’s already gotten pretty good at learning the limb independence needed to play more than a couple of basic beats. He still keeps his tempo a little slow, but he’s getting there. 

“Thanks, feels good to have something going my way,” he laughs. 

“I guess the curse doesn’t affect everyone, huh?” Kevin grins out.  

Dipper and Kevin have already come to the mutual agreement that they’re 100%, definitely, absolutely living in a Gravity Falls High Cursed Year™, and Dipper has already hounded Kevin for everything he knows, which is apparently not much beyond the rumors that 1) it exists, 2) no one’s parents believe in it—despite living in the town literally known for its weirdness. Apparently, the pull for adults to doubt teenagers is just too strong. 

But Kevin’s comment does bring up something Dipper’s been mulling over. “Hey, uh, you ever hear of the curse targeting one person?” he asks, frowning as he practices spinning a drumstick in one hand. It’s a new trick Kevin taught him. Useless, but it looks cool, Kevin had explained. Dipper agrees. 

Kevin leans back on the ratty old couch and stretches both hands behind his head. “Nah, but we don’t really know anything about it, so I guess it’s possible. What makes you wonder?”

Dipper chews on the inside of his cheek. “Well, it sort of seems like a lot of the bad stuff has been revolving around Pacifica. Like, the fire at the dance started while we were, uh, talking—on the stage.”

“You mean sucking face.”

Dipper blushes. “That too…” He clears his throat. “And now she was the only one affected at the Halloween party—“

“She was not the only one at the party who got wasted that night.”

“But she was the only one who didn’t drink enough to get like that.”

Kevin frowns. “And you’re sure no one slipped her something?”

Dipper sighs. “No, but both she and Mabel insisted. And… if it was the curse, maybe it makes sense? Some sort of, I dunno, enchantment or something?”

“That does what? Makes her sensitive to chemicals entering her bloodstream? By that logic every time she eats a candy bar she should be bouncing off the walls.”

“I know...” Dipper furrows his brows, staring at the drum kit before him. “I can’t figure it out either. But if she says she knows no one gave her something, I believe her. So it has to be some sort of supernatural thing. Which means it was directed at her alone.”

Kevin hums. “You sure you’re not just a little fixated on her specifically?”

“That might be true too…”

“She’ll come around,” Kevin says, sounding way more confident than Dipper feels. “Just give her time.”

“Yeah, I’m trying,” Dipper says. His heart clenches a little, remembering their last encounter in the library, how much better it felt. It was like they’d turned a corner, or maybe were beginning to, at least. 

He spins the drumstick in his hand again, trying to bring himself back to the present. “So, you got any plans for Thanksgiving?” he asks Kevin. “Wendy coming home?”

Kevin stretches backward on the couch. “Yeah, she is, but I’m gonna go up and see Jack.” Kevin folds his hand on his belly and turns his face to Dipper. “He agrees with me, by the way. He said you’re a natural.”

Dipper chuckles, self-conscious. “He’s nice.” Dipper was appreciative of the time Jack, the band’s old drummer, had spent giving him tips at the Halloween party. 

“Yeah, he is,” Kevin agrees.

“He’s not coming home for Thanksgiving then?”

“Nope, finals loom on the horizon. Seattle is just too long a drive. Would cut into his study time too much.”

That is a long drive… But Kevin is making it. Dipper didn’t realize they were that close.

“That’s really cool of you, man. Going up to keep him company.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t get to see each other as much since he went to college.” He sighs, then shrugs. “Long-distance. It is what it is.”

Long-distance… friendship? Well, okay, sure. That’s a thing.

“Where’s he go again?” Dipper asks.

“U-Dub.”

“Oh, wow. Good for him.”

“Yeah, Seattle’s awesome, too. I was so pissed when I didn’t graduate last year. It was my own fault, but I keep thinking about how if I had, I’d be up there now too.”

“At UW?”

“Puget Sound Conservatory of Music.” Kevin shrugs again. “But, I got accepted early admission this year. So as long as I actually graduate this time, things won’t be so hard next year.”

Dipper frowns. ‘So hard?’ 

“You guys must be close,” he says.

Kevin gives him a funny look.

Dipper stares back. “What?”

“Dude,” Kevin begins. He sits upright and leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees, tilting his head. “You know Jack’s my boyfriend, right?”

Dipper did not know that. 

He sputters. “W-what?”

“Oh, dude,” Kevin groans, looking at Dipper like he’s just admitted he hates puppies. “Don’t tell me that’s a problem for you.”

“No!” Dipper says quickly, waving his hands in front of him. “No, not at all.” Dipper feels like his brain is just trying to catch up. “It’s just, so wait—are you in like a poly thing then…?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“Well, Madison…?”

“What about her?”

“Did you guys break up?”

Kevin looks at him like he’s grown a second head, then absolutely bursts into laughter. “Oh god, gross, man! Madison and I aren’t a thing. She’s like a sister to me.”

“But— I… you’re always together!”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend.”

No. No, no, no. This is so bad. 

“But, the kissing game,” Dipper continues, like he’s trying to convince Kevin that actually, in fact, he is dating this girl. “Seven minutes, at the party—“

“Yeah, we had a good laugh about that. We just went in the other room and talked about all you guys.” Kevin waves his hand lazily. “No offense—we just didn’t know you all that well yet, so.”

Dipper begins sucking in shallow breaths, and Kevin must notice. 

“Look, man,” he continues. “You seem really concerned about this—are you sure you’re not harboring just like, a teeny tiny bit of homophobia? It’s okay, we all have stuff we need to work through. You can be honest—”

Dipper shakes his head, eyes on the floor. “No, no, it’s not that. I promise. It’s just—“

“What?”

He looks up. “Pacifica is not going to like this.”

Kevin frowns. “Why?”

“She thinks Madison likes me. And I told her that’s impossible because she’s with you, but she doesn’t believe me. And I know Madison doesn’t like me, but Pacifica is kind of the jealous type, and things are so, um, delicate between us right now… I just mean I really don’t need anything making her insecure. So it was really convenient, you know? When you and Madison were a thing.”

“Gross.”

“You know what I mean.” Dipper taps the drumsticks against his palm, thinking. He looks up at Kevin, eyes wide and hopeful. “Hey, maybe you can just tell Cif you are? Maybe she doesn’t need to know?”

“Dude. No.”

Dipper frowns. “I know, I’m sorry.” He stares at the carpet a bit longer, then decides to try again. “Can you just tell her that Madison doesn’t like me? Let it slip or something?”

Kevin rubs at his neck. “Well, no…”

“Why not?”

Kevin stares at Dipper. “‘Cause, uh, she does.”

“What?”

“Madison likes you.” He grimaces before looking up again. “I kind of thought it was obvious?”

“It was not obvious!”

“You are so oblivious, man.”

“How was I supposed to know that!?”

“I dunno!” Kevin argues. “Vibes?” He leans back and sighs, looking contemplative, drumming his fingers on his stomach. “I mean… I guess the more I think about it, it kind of makes sense. You’re so hung up on Northwest. You could probably have the entire dance team jumping naked in front of you and not notice if Pacifica were in the same room blowing you a kiss.” He gives Dipper a knowing smile. “Or flipping you the bird, for that matter.”

Dipper barely hears him. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

“Oh! Don’t worry, man! I told Madison you’re basically hitched. She knows it’s not going to happen.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t want her getting her hopes up. Besides, everyone knows you and Northwest have the hots for one another.” He gives Dipper a look. “You’re not subtle. Even Mr. K. was asking me the other day if you two had finally gotten together.”

“Oh my god that guy is way too invested in our lives.”

“Yeah, bit of reliving the glory days going on there for sure. But, I just mean— you really don’t have to worry about Madison. She gets it. It’s just a crush—she’ll get over it.”

Dipper hopes that’s true, because he really doesn’t need complications right now. 

“Hey, Grunkle Stan, you ever been in a situation where a girl liked you, but you didn’t feel the same way about her?” 

Stan looks up from his side of the kitchen table, from where he sits across from Dipper, who has been absently flipping through the 1984-1985 yearbook for the umpteenth time that week.

“Oh boy howdy, have I!” Stan chuckles. “Why, back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, your uncle was a regular heartbreaker. The ladies were lined up around the block trying to get a piece of ‘ol Stan here. Shame there just wasn’t enough to go around for everybody.” He leans back in his chair, waving his hands animatedly in front of him as he paints the scene. “Women everywhere! Flinging themselves at the door—crying, begging, pleading—“

“Uh. Right,” Dipper interrupts. “Well, what do you do about it? Do you just let them down easy, or avoid the whole thing entirely…?”

“Why are you asking about this, kid? I thought you liked Blondie.”

“No, it’s not about her. There’s, uh—“ He scratches at the back of his neck. “—someone else.”

“Well, how about that!” Stan says, grinning with pride. “A chip hold off the old block, huh? Who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Just a girl from school. But I gotta figure out what to do about it.”

“Well, heck, I don’t see why you don’t use the situation to your advantage.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re trying to get the princess back, right? Waking up the little green-eyed monster in her might not be a bad thing.”

Dipper frowns at his great-uncle. “Stan, I’m not gonna do that. For one, it wouldn’t be fair to Madison. And two, I’m not gonna be playing games with Pacifica. I’m in it for the long haul with her.” He lets out a small breath. “No matter how long that haul is…” 

Stan shrugs. “Suit yourself. Then I say you just ignore it, wait for it to go away. Women are fickle; she’ll move on.”

“Yeah, that’s probably right.”

It has been fine so far, actually. Madison showed up to band practice about fifteen minutes after Kevin and Dipper’s conversation ended the day prior, and she didn’t seem weird at all. Maybe she’s already over it. Probably best not to dwell. Dipper looks back down at the yearbook. So far the librarian doesn’t seem to have noticed that it’s gone missing. Or if she has, he hasn’t heard anything about it. Once again, he flips through the pages, reading and rereading—trying to identify anything he might have missed. He sighs.

“Something got you down, my boy?” Ford asks as he strolls into the kitchen.

“Girl stuff,” supplies Stan.

“Ah, the fairer sex,” muses Ford. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe.”

“It’s not just that,” says Dipper. He gestures to the yearbook. “I’ve totally hit a dead end with figuring out what’s going on at school. Or how to stop it. I’ve got the name of a city—and Pacifica is working on that—and this. But it’s not giving me anything.”

Ford peers over Dipper’s shoulder. 

“See this girl?” Dipper points at the picture of Juliette on stage. “She died. But there isn’t any record of her death anywhere. Not in the city records, not in the newspapers, and not in here. I’m coming up short on research options.” 

Ford hums. “I… might have something that could help you get more information from this yearbook.”

Dipper looks up hopefully. “Really?”

Ford shuffles around in his trench coat, which he’s inexplicably wearing inside, then pulls out a large magnifying glass from one of its endless pockets. 

“This,” Ford begins, holding the object aloft, “is the Remembering Glass. Hover it over any printed image and you’ll be granted the opportunity to ask the subjects any question you want. Whatever they knew in the moment that the photo was taken, you can ask about. They still have free will and their personalities, so there’s no guarantee they’ll answer, of course, but it’s worth a shot.”

“That’s amazing,” Dipper says, taking the magnifying glass from his uncle and turning it over in his hand. “How does it work?”

“Well, hah, you see I’m not sure about that. I, uh, liberated it from the U.S. Government in an alternate dimension where I worked for the State Department briefly.”

“This seems pretty powerful,” Dipper says, examining a red velvet tassel tied to the tip of the handle. “It could be used to solve cold cases, pick the brains of famous philosophers and historical figures—”

“Exactly why the government is so keen to keep it out of civilian hands!” Ford explains. “Far too many secrets they want to keep hidden.” He laughs and waves his hand. “But I don’t see the harm in letting my teenage grandnephew play around with it.”

Dipper wonders about the soundness of that reasoning, but…

“Thanks, Grunkle Ford!”

“Just make sure you’re in a safe, private environment when you use it. This isn’t a device for use in public. Best to have a trusted individual with you too, just in case.”

“Don’t worry, Ford, I’ll be careful,” Dipper says, rising quickly from his seat at the kitchen table and stashing the magnifying glass in his backpack, along with the yearbook. He’s not sure what he’ll be able to get from interrogating yearbook photographs, but hey it’s something, and he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I should get going, though, I want to get a run in before the sun goes down.”

Ford and Stan wave him off, and he changes into his running shoes and a hoodie before heading out the front door. He shivers, jumping up and down in place for a minute to get his blood pumping. It’s getting downright cold these days. No snow yet, but the air bites at his nose and the tips of his ears. He and Mabel will be flying down to Atlanta to see their dad for the long holiday weekend in just a few days, and he wonders briefly if he’ll miss the first snowfall. That would be a shame. 

As he takes off down the road, he lets his mind wander to Pacifica again. He wonders if she’s having any fun up in Evergreen Crest with the Davenports. He can’t imagine being stuck on a boat in 40-degree weather is really the best time, but then again he can’t pretend to understand rich people hobbies. Not for the first time this weekend, he wonders if he should try texting her. He sort of assumed, based on their conversation the other day, that she’s unblocked him, but he’s been too nervous to test out the theory. Maybe she changed her mind. Or forgot. He doesn’t want to seem needy or obsessed. Even though, well, he is. 

As he jogs, he decides there’s no harm in trying to come up with something he could, in theory, try texting her. 

Maybe something lighthearted and flirty? ‘Hey Cif, how goes life on the Seven Seas?’ He cringes the second he thinks it. Too forced. Plus, she’s on a lake. 

How about a simple ‘What’s up?’ No. He shakes his head. That’s no good either. She’ll see right through any attempt at coolness. 

He could say what’s really on his mind. ‘I miss you so much. I know it’s only been three days. Please don’t have a crazy change of heart and fall in love with this idiot your parents are trying to set you up with. Please don’t let them brainwash you or trick you or force you into it. Please be thinking of me too.’ Dipper sighs and slows down to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. 

No, he tells himself, just be patient. She has his number. She knows he asked for updates. Maybe she doesn’t have service anyway. He can wait until he sees her at school tomorrow. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he nearly jumps up a foot before shoving his hand down into his pants to grab at it. 

His heart leaps when he sees her name pop up on his screen. Surely, this is fate. The cosmos aligning.

Pacifica:
Who seriously decides to go yachting in November? The lake has ice chunks floating in it for gods sake

Below her text is a photo taken from the interior of what is, presumably, a very nice boat. It’s facing out over the wide bow. Dipper sees a beautiful wood-lined deck, and beyond it, grey icy waters littered with white caps and a snowy shoreline. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he types out a response. 

Dipper: 
I’m glad you’re able to stay inside. How are the digs?

‘Digs’? he asks himself. Dork. 

Pacifica: 
We’re only on the water for today. It’s been too stormy
My room in their house is crazy though
Reminds me a lot of my old one. Four chandeliers

Dipper really does try not to let the difference in their respective lifestyles bother him. And for the most part, he doesn’t care. He’s proud of it, even. People like the elder Northwests and Davenports are leeches on society, in his mind. Who should have that kind of money, anyway, when others are just struggling to get by? But there are times… well, there are times when he feels pangs of insecurity about it. He’ll never be able to give Pacifica four chandeliers. He doesn’t think that she wants that anymore, anyway, but he can’t help it. He’s only human, and it does get to a guy sometimes. 

Dipper:
Only four? Don’t they know who they have staying with them? 

Pacifica:
Pfft
I know right?

Dipper:
Come stay at the Shack
I’ll give you two night lights, a lava lamp, and a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling
All vintage

Pacifica:
Oooh
Sounds enticing
Does the lightbulb flicker creepily in that way I like?

Dipper: 
Of course
But I’ll shake it around a little too
Just to make sure

Pacifica:
Count me in

Dipper is aware that he is standing on the side of the road, shivering in the cold, fingertips absolutely freezing as he taps on his phone screen, grinning like a complete idiot. 

Pacifica:
Bad news though
Teddy has no idea who the Fairchilds are
But
I told him I was trying to track them down bc they may be secretly related to King Felipe VI
Good to have friends in high places and all that
Trust me, if they’re here, he’ll find them

Dipper:
Smart thinking
I haven’t gotten anywhere either
But Ford gave me something that might help

Pacifica:
Mad scientist magic?

Dipper:
Something like that
But probably safer to talk about in person 
When do you get home again?

It’s Sunday evening. Dipper had kind of assumed that she’d be back at school the next morning, but if they’re still out on the water…

Pacifica:
Ugh
Not til Tuesday night
I was tricked
But
At least that means I get to miss cheer

Dipper:
Won’t Bethany be mad?

Pacifica:
Bethany can cry me a river

Dipper wonders briefly what that’s about, but lets it go. Something else is catching his notice. If she’s not getting home until Tuesday night…

Pacifica:
When are you are and Mabel leaving again?

Dipper: 
…Tues night
Our flight is Wed morning 
So we’re driving up the night before

Pacifica:
Oh

Dipper:
Yeah

Pacifica:
Well
I’ll see you when you get back
Which is…?

Dipper:
A week from today

Well, crap. There's a bit of a pause before Pacifica responds. He watches the bubbles appear once before disappearing and coming back only briefly the second time. 

Pacifica:
A week of peace
No know-it-alls making fun of me when I mix up my Spanish conjugations
Or telling me I’m too rich to understand Great Expectations 
Sounds pretty okay to me

Dipper:
Ha-Ha

Pacifica:
But
Text me when your flight takes off?
And when you get to Atlanta 

Dipper:
I will
Text me when you get home safe?

Dipper bites his bottom lip as he watches for her response. This, this is surely a turning point. 

Pacifica:
I will
Dork

He smiles to himself, then turns around to begin the long, freezing walk back to the Shack. He barely notices the cold. 

Chapter Text

“Margo! Margo, get in here!”

“Yes, Madame Northwest?”

“Margo, what is this that I’m looking at right here?”

“The mashed potatoes, Madame.”

Pacifica looks up from her spot at the far end of the kitchen counter. She’d been doing her assigned reading for the break from this corner for most of the morning, enjoying the sounds and smells of their cook preparing the family’s meal for later today. Her mother has only occasionally interrupted, but Pacifica has noticed that her appearances have gotten both increasingly frequent and increasingly frantic as they neared the afternoon. Her wine glass keeps refilling and emptying, too. 

“No, no, no, this does not work, Margo!” her mother cries. “Grandfather Northwest does not eat potato skins.”

“But that is where the nutritional value—“ Margo tries.

“I don’t care about the nutritional value. Make it again.”

“Madame, but I have already used all the potatoes.”

“Then take out the skins!”

“I do not think that is possible.” Poor Margo examines her dish of mashed potatoes. They’re topped with melted butter and chives. Expertly arranged. Pacifica thinks they look pretty good. “Perhaps he could just skip this dish?”

“Impossible,” says her mother, already looking back toward the hall. “I don’t care how you do it, but make them again and make them right.”

“I would have to go to the store, but the turkey is nearly finished, and the pies have to be timed—“

“Then send Jacque!”

“Madame, you must recall, Monsieur Northwest let Jacque go…”

So that’s what happened to him, Pacifica thinks. She had noticed that their household staff seemed to be slimming down. She had the good sense not to bring it up to her parents, though.

Pacifica’s mother pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Then what do you suggest we do? I need the potatoes done properly and I need them ready within the next two hours.”

“Perhaps Stefan—“

“Stefan is off today. He insisted. ‘Family.’” She makes air quotes around the word. “We only agreed because we didn’t think there would be a need for our chauffeur on a day when we had planned to spend the entire day at home! No one could have predicted this!” She gestures at the offending potatoes.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Margo says, beginning to squirm. Pacifica can see the panic rising in their cook’s eyes. “Perhaps I can call—“

“I’ll go,” Pacifica says. 

“What?” Her mother spins to her.

“I’ll go to the store,” Pacifica repeats. “To get the new potatoes. If I leave right now—“

“That’s ridiculous,” says her mother. “How are you going to get there?”

“I’ll ride my bike.”

“You don’t have a bike.”

Pacifica falters for a second. She forgot that her mom doesn’t know about her bicycle. It was a hand-me-down from Melody, a tiny bit of freedom that she keeps hidden in the gardener’s tool shed, where her parents would never think to go.

“I got it from school…” she says, slowly, thinking. “I decided to incorporate it into my exercise routine,” she adds, finding her lie. “I gained three pounds last month—thought it might be a good way to lose the weight.”

“Three pounds? For heaven’s sake, Pacifica. No pie for you tonight. I really thought that cheerleading would be good for you.” She rubs at her temples. “It must be all the processed food they feed you at that place. Margo will pack all your lunches from now on. Won’t you, Margo?” She looks at the cook, who nods despite being arm-deep in cranberries. “I don’t want you touching anything served on a plastic tray, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom. I understand.” Pacifica closes her book and tucks it under her arm. “How many potatoes do we need, Margo?”

“For an individual serving, one or two should be fine,”  the woman replies.

“No, not an individual serving,” corrects her mother. “You’re making them over entirely. The whole dish.”

“Then perhaps ten,” says Margo. Her voice is the type of measured and calm that only happens when someone is trying really hard not to lose their shit. 

“Make it fifteen, Pacifica,” says her mother. “Grandfather likes a surplus.”

Pacifica nods and leaves the kitchen before her mom can change her mind about letting her go. Truth be told, she’s thankful for the excuse to escape the house. Her mother always gets like this when her grandfather is coming over. Grandfather can be a lot, to say the least.

She snatches her backpack from the coat room and slips out the side exit, heading towards the garden shed. As she makes her way across the chilly yard, she feels her phone buzz in her coat pocket. She knows who it is before she’s even reached to grab it.

She did text Dipper when she got home from Evergreen Crest on Tuesday night. And he texted her the next morning when his flight took off, and then again when it landed in Atlanta. And then a couple of hours later to send her a video walk-through of his dad’s new place. And then she’d sent him a cat video she knew would make him laugh. And then he’d asked her for a movie recommendation, and she’d asked him which dress she should wear for the holiday, and, well, so on. They hadn’t really stopped. 

She smiles as she swipes open her phone to see what he sent her.

It’s a selfie. Him, Mabel, and their dad all seated around a simple dining room table, grinning up at her from over a Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza. Mabel has her own smaller, personal pan pizza—all cheese. She’s been a vegetarian ever since the summer she got Waddles. 

Pacifica Northwest: 
Going with the non-traditional dinner, I see.

Dipshit: 
Haha yeah, dad‘s really leaning into that bachelor lifestyle I guess
How’s your Turkey Day?

Pacifica Northwest: 
Still in the prep stages here on the West Coast, but the requisite yelling has already begun 
Little ahead of schedule this year

Dipshit:
Oof, I’m sorry. How are you holding up?

Pacifica Northwest:
I’m okay. I found an excuse to get out of the house
By the way, where would one find a place to buy potatoes? Is there a potato… dispensary? 

Dipshit: 
The grocery store?

Pacifica Northwest: 
What’s that?

Dipshit: 
Are you serious?

Pacifica lets him sit with that for a second, grinning to herself.

Dipshit: 
You’re joking
Oh my god
I almost fell for that though
that was a good one 

Pacifica Northwest: 
I’m excited for this “grocery store” as you call it. I think it’ll be a fun cultural experience.

Dipshit: 
It’ll blow your mind
Ugh
I gotta go. Dad‘s getting mad at me for texting at the table
Enjoy your cultural exchange. Be safe
Call me if you need another escape later
I can fake indigestion or something

Pacifica Northwest: 
Gross

Dipshit: 
Still. I’ll do it

Pacifica Northwest: 
GoodBYE dork

Dipshit: 
Bye Cif :)

Pacifica knows Dipper was joking about calling going to the grocery store a cultural experience for her. She’s been a handful of times before: getting snacks with friends, running to grab a magazine or stuff for a picnic… But she has never experienced anything like the supermarket the morning of Thanksgiving. It feels like the entire town is here, and between the stress and anxiety permeating the air, she thinks it feels a little bit more like a refuge zone than a purveyor of food.

Okay, she tells herself, potatoes, potatoes… Where are the potatoes? 

They’re a vegetable, right? Or something like a vegetable, at least. She roams around the store, trying to avoid knocking into townsfolk, and finally does find what she’s looking for. But there’s a problem. Multiple types of potatoes. How on earth is she supposed to know which one to pick? Russet? Gold? This is too much. 

Deciding to err on the side of caution, she begins piling up her basket with fifteen of each. The pickings are slim, but she does her best to find the nicest-looking ones.

She’s reaching for her final piece of bounty when a smooth, feminine hand lands on it before hers can. 

“Oh. Sorry, Pacifica. Did you want this one?”

Bethany‘s sugary-sweet smile grows wide as she holds out the potato in question.

Pacifica works to keep her face neutral. She’s already come up with a revenge plan for Bethany’s talking about her behind her back. It’s sweet and simple. That’s the best way to do it. But, she’s gotta keep her cool about it. That’s how you land on top. Don’t let them know that they’ve gotten to you. Not that she has.

“Oh. Hi, Bethany,” Pacifica coos back, neutral. “What are you doing here?”

Bethany laughs, still saccharine sweet. “I was going to ask you that.”

There’s an implication there, some bait. She’s giving Pacifica the opportunity to go on the defensive. To get embarrassed and flustered and make an ass out of herself explaining why she’s at such a meager establishment. But Pacifica is too smart to fall for such elementary-level mean girl tactics. She was forged in the fires of snobby private schools. Please. 

Instead, she adopts an expression of innocence, bordering on dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” Bethany tries again, falling for it hook, line, and sinker. “I kind of figured that you guys had people who did all your cooking for you.”

“Oh, well, we do.”

“So what’s with you doing the shopping then?”

Pacifica frowns. “Is it weird to go shopping?”

“Well, no, I mean not for most people.”

“‘Most people’?” Pacifica keeps her voice curious and vacant.

Bethany stumbles a little bit.  “Well, yeah, you’re like…”

“What?” Pacifica asks, all innocence.

“Oh, come on Paz, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

Bethany is getting ruffled up. “You’re rich.”

“So?”

Bethany snaps. As planned. “So rich people don’t do their own shopping!”

Victory. 

“Bethany,” Pacifica says, making sure to keep her voice humoring, not quite condescending but almost—falling just within the zone of plausible deniability. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me… It seems like you maybe think I’m some sort of, oh, I don’t know, pampered princess, who isn’t able to cut it in the real world, is that right?

Bethany‘s face falls instantly. “Why would you say that?”

Pacifica shrugs. “Just something I heard.”

“From who? That’s ridiculous. I would never—“

“Oh I’m sure. I’m sure they were just awful, mean rumors. Don’t worry about it, girl, we’re all good.” She gives the other girl one last over-wide smile. All sparkling white teeth. “Have a happy Thanksgiving!” Pacifica goes to turn on her heel, feeling pretty self-satisfied. 

Like she said, the best revenge is simple. She didn’t need an elaborate plot—she just needed to knock Bethany off her game a little. Pacifica knows as well as Bethany that there were only two people present for that conversation in the park. Bethany’s two best, closest friends. And now Bethany gets to wonder which one of them started spreading the details of their conversations behind her back. Simple. Perfect. Pacifica tilts her head as she reflects. Beautiful, even. 

She’s feeling pretty good about herself as she turns to make her way towards the cash register. She’s feeling so good about herself that she doesn’t at all register the person she’s about to smack into face-first. Not until after it’s happened. 

Pacifica holds onto her precious potatoes for dear life as she goes stumbling backwards, eyes squinted shut. Instinctively, her mouth opens to tell the other person to watch where they’re going, but before she can, her assailant’s voice interrupts her. 

“Oh my god. Shoot, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—“

It’s Madison. Of course it is, Pacifica thinks. 

Stay calm, keep your cool.

“Oh, hey,” Pacifica says, trying to sound aloof as she straightens herself up. “It’s whatever.”

Pacifica catalogs the other girl’s appearance. It’s an instinct; she can’t help it. Madison is dressed casually—sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt. Hair pulled into a ponytail. Nothing like those curls she wears so consistently at school. Then again, a certain somebody is out of town, isn’t he? If Pacifica’s suspicions are correct, that’s one reason for Madison not to worry about what she looks like right now. It’s… also possible that she just isn’t in the habit of getting dolled up for the grocery store… but, no. It’s definitely about Dipper. 

“Pacifica,” Madison notes, a little wide-eyed. 

Pacifica gives her a small, forced smile and tilts her head. “Yeah. It’s Madeline, right…?”

“Madison.”

“Oh, right! Duh. Madison. Kevin‘s girlfriend, yeah?”

Madison’s face scrunches up in confusion. Weird. 

“Kevin Corduroy?” she asks after a second.

Um, who else?

“Yes…?” Pacifica says. “The guy you’re with like all the time?”

Madison blinks and then laughs a little. “Oh my god, no. I’m not dating Kevin!” Her face turns pink. “Kevin likes guys. Also, he’s like my brother. I could never.”

Ex-freaking-cuse me?

Pacifica’s brain is coming up blank. “You’re… not?”

Madison shakes her head back and forth quickly, all amusement. “No! Oh gosh no, of course not!”

Pacifica stares, begging, pleading her brain to come back online. Why would Dipper tell her that they were dating? Repeatedly? Was he wrong? Was he lying? Has something been going on between him and this girl the whole time and he was just trying to throw her off the scent?

“Oh,” she says, stumbling. “I must’ve been confused. I heard something different.”

Madison looks interested, out of nowhere. “Wait. From Dipper?”

“Um, maybe, I guess?”

“Hold up,” Madison says, coming alive. “Does Dipper think that I’m dating Kevin?”

Pacifica does not like that excitement growing behind Madison’s eyes.

“Maybe?” she says quickly. “I don’t know, actually. I probably misunderstood. In fact, I’m sure I did.”

A third voice enters the conversation from behind Pacifica. She flinches. Bethany. Again. UGH! Stupid b—

“Shut. Up. Pacifica, oh my god.” Bethany laughs, like anyone even invited her to this conversation. “You thought Madison and Kevin were a couple?”

“I misunderstood,” Pacifica tries again, going for nonchalant and cool. “I just got it wrong.”

“That’s so funny…” Bethany muses.

“I guess.” Pacifica tries to shake it all off. 

“Madison,” Bethany says, turning to the other girl. “That explains why he hasn’t asked you out yet. He thinks you’re taken!”

Madison blinks. “Oh, um—”

“Come on, girl!” Bethany continues. “Why else wouldn’t he make a move? It makes perfect sense.”

“Hold up.” Pacifica interrupts, pointing between the girls. “Do you guys know each other?” 

Bethany smiles. “Duh. Since forever. Most of us went through the same schools from the very beginning, you know?” She gives Pacifica another overly sweet smile. “Those ties run deep.”

“I’m sure,” Pacifica mumbles. 

Bethany spins to Madison again. “Mads, you gotta make a move.”

Madison blushes and looks at Pacifica. “Beth—“ She nods meaningfully at Pacifica.

“Oh my god, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Bethany begins. “Besides, he and Pacifica are just friends.” She turns to Pacifica. “Aren’t ya?”

“Well,” Pacifica stutters. “I mean, we’re not dating.”

“See?”

“I just mean—“ Pacifica says, hating how her voice stumbles. “I don’t think he’s interested in dating anyone right now. He’s like, really focused on school.”

“Eh, everyone needs a little fun in their lives,” Bethany argues, waving a hand casually.

“He’s going away for college,” Pacifica adds. “To, like, a really fancy private school in Southern California.”

“Ooh, impressive!” Bethany says, as if she didn’t already have this information. “You love LA, Maddie!”

“I just don’t think you’re his type,” Pacifica tries, turning to Madison. “Sorry. Nothing personal.”

“You can’t know everything about a guy,” argues Bethany.

“Of course I can.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Eh.”

“I do,” Pacifica says between gritted teeth.

“Whatever you say.”

“I do!” Pacifica repeats. 

“Jeez, girl, you’re not jealous, are you?”

Before she can answer, a brand new voice breaks in.

“Whoa-ho-ho! What is this, a summit of the Senior blondes?”

It’s Wendy. 

Oh my freaking god is every teenage girl in Gravity Falls at this grocery store this morning?

Wendy swings an arm around Pacifica, bordering on a chokehold. But it’s affectionate. Pacifica looks toward the ceiling, pleading for strength. 

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Wendy says, wrapping her other arm around Madison. 

“Wendy,” both Pacifica and Madison say, weirdly in unison.

Wendy releases them from her hold and boops both of them on the top of their heads in sequence. “Pacifica.” Boop. “Madison.” Boop. “Uh, third blonde girl.” Bethany does not get a boop. 

“Maddie,” Wendy says quickly, before anyone else can get a word in. “It’s so cool to see you.” She jabs her thumb at Pacifica. “I haven’t seen this one in literally ages, though. So I’m gonna steal her away.” She swings her arm around Pacifica again and effectively steers her away from the other two. “Say hi to your mom for me!”

Madison’s face is still frozen in the stunned expression she had since the beginning of the Dipper conversation, but she does give them a quick wave. Pacifica peeks over her shoulder as Wendy guides her away and sees Bethany lean in to whisper something in her ear.

“So, how are you doing, little one?” Wendy asks as soon as they are out of earshot.

Pacifica pulls back her shoulders. “I’m not even short. I’m 5’3”.” The national average is—“

“Oh my gosh, he’s turning you into a nerd, too, isn’t he?”

Pacifica blushes. “I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbles.

Wendy just chuckles and rolls her eyes. “All right, so are you gonna tell me what that was about back there?”

They’ve reached the checkout line. Wendy waves at one of her other brothers, to where he stands with what is presumably their family’s dinner, deep in another line. He gives her a nod of acknowledgment, and she turns back to Pacifica.

“Just girl stuff,” Pacifica scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“For girl stuff, I heard a disappointing number of references to a ‘he’ being thrown around. What was that about?”

Pacifica gives Wendy an obvious look. “Come on. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Wendy gives her a sheepish grin. “Okay, no more playing dumb. So, what’s been going on with you two lately?”

“Nothing,” Pacifica says. She knows immediately her tone is too cold to be believable.

“Pacifica.”

“What?” It’s nearly a groan. 

“You can be honest with me about this kind of stuff, you know. It’ll stay between us.”

Pacifica grimaces and resists the urge to stomp her foot. She’s off-kilter. Mad that she let Bethany get under her skin. Mad that Dipper either lied to her or was wildly misinformed. Mad that her suspicions about Madison’s crush have basically 100% been confirmed. 

Her emotional regulation is not at its best right now, okay?

“Fine,” she says. “Things were better. I would even say borderline good. But that girl—“

“Madison.”

“Whatever. Yes. Madison likes him. But Dipper had told me that that was impossible because she was dating Kevin.”

“My brother?” Wendy’s eyebrows furrow and her mouth turns downward. 

“Yes, yes, I know now that they’re not.” Pacifica waves her off. “But Dipper told me that they were, so that either means that A) he was just flat out lying to my face, which is super not cool and especially not right now, and also why, right, like what is he hiding, or B) that he was mistaken. Which is what Madison thinks, of course, because she likes him, and that would explain why he hasn’t asked her out. Like a reason other than that he just doesn’t like her. Because he thought she was taken, you know? And either way it sucks for me because either Dipper is lying to me or this girl has a chance or at least thinks she does, which is still super annoying and inconvenient.”

“This is sort of making my head bend a little bit,” Wendy admits. 

“You just had to be there.”

They reach the checker, and the conversation is broken up briefly while Pacifica pays for her precisely 29 potatoes. She never did get that last gold one.

Wendy follows her out front into the gradually warming late-morning air.

“Look, Paz,” she says. “I don’t think you need to worry about Madison. I’ve known that girl her whole life. She has a new crush every week.”

“Well,” Pacifica snipes. “Then she should go find someone else to crush on. Not my—”  She cuts herself off.

“Your…?” Wendy echoes, a slight smirk growing on her face.

“My nothing.”

“Do you want him to be ‘your nothing’?”

Pacifica drops her backpack of potatoes onto the ground and plops herself on a wooden bench outside the supermarket near where she left her bike. Wendy follows suit.

“I don’t know, okay?” She crosses her legs and folds her arms over her stomach. She stares across the street for a few beats, watching a happy family of four pile into a car. Wendy is frustratingly patient. And quiet. Pacifica sighs. 

“No,” she admits, eventually. “I don’t want him to be my nothing. I want him to be my something.” It comes out as a grumble. 

“What’s the problem then?” asks Wendy. “And do not say that you don’t know how he feels because everyone knows how he feels.”

Pacifica throws her head back to study to wooden beams that support the supermarket’s awning. “Well, I’m sure you know what happened this past summer, and like, I’m trying to move past that, but the trust is still hard. You know, the whole ‘he ditched me once he could ditch me again’ and all that blah-blah-blah-emotions-gross-gross-gross.” She waves a hand in front of her, then uncrosses her legs, crosses them the other way. “The other thing is that we’re just going in different directions. He’s going to West Coast Tech. I could never get in there, and even if I did, that’s not the right place for me.” She looks at Wendy. “I’m not really a tech girl.”

“Is he going there?” Wendy asks, frowning. “For sure?”

“I don’t know if he’s put in a deposit or anything,” Pacifica admits, shrugging a little. “But he should. It’s one of the most competitive schools in the country.”

“Pacifica,” Wendy begins. “There are loads of reasons to pick one college over another. And it doesn’t come down to rankings or acceptance rates alone.”

“I guess.”

“It’s true, though. Sure, quality matters, but you all should also look at the programs they offer, the student life, the size, community values, geographic location, and maybe—if it’s healthy and long-lasting and doesn’t hurt you... the proximity to loved ones.”

Pacifica examines her nails, trying to quiet the other insecurities spinning around in her mind. She knows Wendy is right, but it’s hard to feel it right now. 

“…why would he lie to me about her and your brother?” she asks instead, voice quieter than she meant it to be. 

Wendy frowns. “Do you know for sure that he did lie?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, then. Let’s make some positive assumptions here, babe.”

Pacifica snorts. “When I was little, I had plenty of positive assumptions. I assumed everything was going to go my way at every single turn. Look how that turned out.”

“Goodness, I know,” Wendy says, all melodrama. “Shopping at the supermarket. It does seem like you’ve been going through it lately.”

Pacifica glares. 

“I’m kidding,” Wendy says. She wraps an arm around Pacifica’s shoulders. “You have been going through a lot. And I totally reflect and validate that feeling. That’s not really what I meant by positive assumptions, though.” She pulls back to look Pacifica in the eyes. “I meant like between the two of you guys.”

Pacifica tilts her head but says nothing, giving Wendy the space to continue.

“Relationships get hard, you know? Any type of relationship. But especially the type between you guys… There are going to be times—possibly even for the rest of your lives—like, whatever that looks like… Well, there are going to be times when you hurt one another. That’s just part of being with someone. Again, in whatever way that looks like. And trust is hard, yeah, but as long as you know that person‘s character—and I do think that both of you could say that you do—well, it’s important to assume the best of each other. If you jumped to the worst possible conclusion every time, or assume that the other person is trying to hurt you or isn’t trustworthy or has bad intentions… well, you might find yourself feeling pretty lonely. Even within that relationship.”

Pacifica blinks, staring at Wendy and the calm, sage expression upon her face. She frowns. “When did you get, like, all wise?”

“Years of experience, young grasshopper,” Wendy says, leaning back and throwing her arms behind her neck. “You too will one day grow into womanhood and glean the lessons the universe has to bequeath upon you.”

“Ew.”

Wendy ignores her. “I am pretty proud of that advice, though. Maybe I should switch to a counseling major,” she says aloud, but more to herself.

Pacifica rises, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “Whatever.” She looks around. “Where’s your truck? These potatoes are heavy. You can give me a ride home.”

Wendy raises an amused eyebrow and looks back toward the store. “Well, my brothers—“

Pacifica plants a hand on her hip. “They will figure it out.”

Wendy snorts and rises, leading Pacifica, her bike, and her potatoes to the truck.

An uncomfortable feeling tugs at Pacifica. She frowns and pauses, putting a hand on Wendy’s arm to stop her. 

“But also… thank you,” Pacifica says, studying her shoelaces. “This conversation never happened. But thank you.” 

Wendy gives her a calm smile and takes over wheeling Pacifica’s bike. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you and your spuds home. Are you feeding a small army with these, by the way? Jeez.”

“Carlito, more turkey, please.”

“Mom, his name is Carlos.”

“Oh I know, that's just our little nickname,” giggles Pacifica’s mother. She’s been drunk since Pacifica got home. “Isn't it, Carlito?”

The man in question gives Pacifica's mother a humoring nod, but Pacifica thinks she can see the contempt buried just beneath.

“Is it truly still a turkey, Priscilla?” ask Pacifica's grandfather from his place at the head of the table. Old, mean, and humorless, he hadn’t had a nice thing to say about anyone or anything since the moment he arrived. He studies the turkey in question. “The ham seems to have overtaken it.”

He's not entirely wrong. The family’s turkey has been layered with slice after slice of impossibly thin ham. To the point where it really does seem reasonable to question whether the bird is more fowl or swine.

“Jamón ibérico, Auldman,” says her mother. “Very difficult to find in the United States. We had it flown in from Seville overnight.”

Pacifica's grandfather just looks down at the meat in question and huffs, before reluctantly carving another bite. He stabs the meat and shoves it into his mouth, chewing, as he considers. “Tastes foreign,” he says.

“Priscilla did make quite an effort—“ tries her father, but he isn’t even able to finish his comment before Pacifica’s grandfather is cutting him off.

“How are the portfolios doing this quarter, Preston?”

Her father chokes a little bit but covers it up quickly with a well-timed cough. “Splendidly father, couldn’t ask for better. I dare say we will be able to recover the mansion soon at this rate.”

The loss of their ancestral home has always been a sore subject with Pacifica’s extended family. Generations of family lies, deception, and corruption—and for what? A McMansion in the suburbs? Unacceptable.

“Yes,” her grandfather muses. “Well, I had certainly hoped it would’ve happened by now. Or preferably not at all. At least we have the future to look forward to though, right, my dear?” This last bit directed at Pacifica. 

“Of course, grandfather,” Pacifica agrees automatically. 

“I know it’s traditional for a woman to move into her husband‘s family home, but nothing would make me happier than to see you reclaim your birthright and bring up our next generation where they belong.” He gives Pacifica a look that borders on threatening. “It all rests on you now, my dear. I’m sure your parents have made that clear.”

Boy, have they.

Pacifica just nods, irritation growing low in her gut. 

This seems to appease her grandfather though. He leans back and begins cutting at his ham-ified turkey again. “How is the academy treating you?” he asks.

Pacifica looks between her parents, who both wear matching horrified faces. Her mother‘s eyes go wide, and her father begins to almost imperceptibly shake his head back-and-forth in warning. She pretends she didn’t see it. 

“Grandpa, didn’t my parents tell you?” she asks, feigning confusion. “I transferred to the public school. I go to Gravity Falls High now.”

Silence. He grandfather’s face moves between emotions in rapid succession. Disbelief, confusion, rage. He spins to his son, already red. “Preston, is this some sort of joke?” he demands.

Her father clears his throat. “Well, ah, no, father, you see—“

“This is unacceptable,” says her grandfather, little bits of ham-turkey spitting from his mouth, well-bred manners seemingly gone. “The Northwests have been going to Northwest Academy for the last 60 years.”

“Well, yes, I know, however—“

“No, no.” Her grandfather turns back to Pacifica. “Pacifica, you’re going right back where you belong. I forbid you from stepping foot in that school again. Priscilla, call the headmaster at the Academy and inform him that she begins again on Monday.”

Wait, no, no, no. She had wanted to put her parents in the hot seat, but this is rapidly backfiring.

“Grandpa, I don’t want to go back there,” she complains, hoping maybe some only-grandchild-privilege will help her out. “I like it where I am.”

“Juvenile novelty, darling. I don’t blame you for enjoying a bit of fun, but your education is serious business. Everything rides on your shoulders.”

“It’s not that Pacifica wanted to leave the academy, Auldman,” says her mother, clearly trying to course-correct. “This wasn’t a reward. It was all very strategic. Public schools are becoming very en vogue. It’s fashionable, you know, to go see how the other half lives…” 

Pacifica’s grandfather gives her mother a disbelieving look, and her mother trails off. She’s never been a very good liar. That’s a Northwest gene, but she does try.

Her father jumps in. “Priscilla‘s right, father. It won’t affect next year at all—she’s still going to Davenport. But when it’s time for her to take her place at the head of the company, she’ll earn a lot of favor with her inferiors having graduated from the public school. You know how it is, all this talk about class division and the ‘one percent.’ The poor have got it in their heads that we’re the enemy.” Her father attempts a laugh, but it comes across as more nervous than amused. “Absurd, I know, where do they think their jobs come from—Santa Claus? But we do have to play the game a little bit.”

Pacifica watches as her grandfather studies her father, searching for the lie. The silence stretches out between the four of them, and Pacifica holds her breath. She knows that her grandfather always gets his way. If he insists she be re-enrolled at the academy, she will be. Her parents will have to say goodbye to their yacht to pay for her tuition, and she will have to say goodbye to the new little world she’s been building. 

Her grandfather takes in a deep breath. “And she’s still going to Davenport?” he asks.

“Of course,” her father assures. “Where else would she go?”

“Well, you said it yourself,” he grandfather grumbles. “People are getting ideas about things…” He dabs at his mouth with his cloth napkin, then sighs. “Very well, Pacifica. You may stay.”

Pacifica feels the tension leave her shoulders. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

“Your Aunt Bunny went to Gravity Falls High School, you know,” her grandfather adds. “The last Northwest to do so. Before, well…” He gestures at her with another huff.

Aunt Bunny was Pacifica’s great-aunt, her grandfather’s older sister. She died during a safari while Pacifica was quite young. The family called it a tragic accident, but Pacifica thinks it probably had something to do with hippopotamus Bunny was in the midst of trying to shoot. Needless to say, the hippo won. 

Pacifica doesn’t have strong memories of her— just that she always wore a grossly floral perfume and never seemed to have anything nice to say about anyone, just like her brother. 

“Why didn’t she go to the Academy?” Pacifica asks.

“It wasn’t built yet,” explains her grandfather. “In fact, I dare say I might have gone to the regular high school as well if it hadn’t been for that nasty supreme court case out of Kansas. Though I suppose it ended up being a blessing.”

“What happened?”

“The government decided that they had any business telling us who could and couldn’t be allow into our own schools. So anyone with any class banded together to open our own. Our family took the lead in it, of course, since we had the most money, and Northwest Academy was born.”

Her grandfather said their family had been going to the academy for 60 years. That would put its opening date in what… The late 1950s? So that would mean… 

“Grandpa, are you talking about Brown v. Board of Education?”

Her grandfather raises an eyebrow. “Well. A little legal scholar in the making, are we?”

Her mother, who had been quiet for a while, just taking small repeated sips of her wine, chimes in suddenly with an awkward laugh. “I’m sure Pacifica would make a fine attorney, though I’d much prefer her to marry one than become one herself.” She turns to Pacifica. “It’s very unpleasant career, my dear. Think of the wrinkles. You’re much too pretty to have to resort to that.”

Pacifica just nods and pushes some food around on her plate. It’s mostly vegetables. Her mother had shot her a warning look when she had tried to reach for the stuffing. Pacifica didn’t even bother a glance toward the pie. That wasn’t happening.

It seems like everyone has an opinion on her choices and future that they feel perfectly entitled to. But god forbid she have any of her own. Maybe that’s why she’s still so unsure about what she wants for herself. She’d never been told she was allowed to consider it.

Silence descends on the table once more as the four Northwests continue their meal. Now that everyone has worked out what her plan is to be, peace seems to have been regained. 

Her grandfather scoops up a spoonful of the mashed potatoes and brings to up this his eye line, frowning. “No skin? You will have to educate your cook, Priscilla. That’s where the nutritional value is, you know.”

Chapter Text

Dipper darn near collapses onto his bed, safe and sound back in Oregon, finally. He had a great time with his dad in Georgia, but seeing as they were only going to be there for a few days, his dad had packed basically each and every type of family event he could into an excruciatingly tight itinerary. The aquarium, the zoo, the movies, multiple local restaurants, three different art museums. But Dipper knows his dad feels guilty for moving to the other side of the country and is trying to make up for lost time, so he’d done his best to keep up. Lots of coffee was involved. 

And then getting home. It was a whole-day adventure. But finally, after two flights, one two-hour layover in Dallas, a 45-minute wait while their grunkles tried to navigate the airport terminal (easy enough, but they each had different ideas about the best way to get there, which happened to be completely polar opposite to one another’s, so it added some time), and a three hour drive, he was finally back. 

He glances at the clock. 9 PM. He frowns, thinking. He’s exhausted, but there’s something he’s been itching to do since last Tuesday, and he finds he just doesn’t have the patience to wait any longer. 

Jumping up from his bed, he walks out to the landing outside his bedroom and hollers his sister’s name. “MABEL!”

“WHAT?!” comes her shouted response, muffled by a layer of ramshackle house. 

“Come up here!”

“What? You come here!”

“No, you have to come here!”

“Why?!”

“I’ll explain when you get up here!”

“Explain down here!”

“Mabel, come on!”

“Dipper, no!”

“KIDS!” bellows Stan’s voice, interrupting them both. “One of you go to the other, or don’t, I don’t give a damn, but for god’s sake stop yelling!”

“Sorry!” They call out in unison. 

A few minutes later, Dipper is back in his room when Mabel swings open his door, looking grumpy. “Fine, you win. My curiosity got the better of me.”

“Knew it would,” Dipper smirks. 

“Jerk,” says Mabel. “So what was so important?”

Dipper opens the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out the magnifying glass Ford gifted him. He holds it out to her using two hands.

Mabel raises an eyebrow as she takes it from him to inspect it. “Uh, care to explain?”

“That will let me talk to pictures. Well, talk to memories in the pictures, maybe? I’m not really sure, but I’m going to use it to talk to the kids in Juliette Fairchild’s senior yearbook.”

“So, what, this makes them… come alive?”

“I think it’s more like a window. Like I hold this above the photo, and then they ‘wake up’ and can interact and stuff. Like, a magical Skype call or something.”

“That’s crazy,” says Mabel, flipping the glass over in her hands. “And you need me here as witness so when you start running around telling people that pictures were talking to you, you’re not admitted to the loony bin?”

Dipper scoffs, snatching the magnifying glass back from her. “We’ve both seen crazier stuff than that.” He goes to grab the yearbook from his desk. “No, but Ford told me to make sure to have someone else with me. Just to be on the safe side, I guess? So that’s you.”

“Oh, so I get to watch while you do the cool stuff.”

“If you do, I’ll let you use the glass afterward to talk to whoever you want.”

Mabel considers this. “Alright, deal. I’ve got some dead presidents I need to interrogate.”

Dipper decides to let this one go. 

“Okay,” he says, pulling his desk chair out and settling in with the yearbook in front of him. He flips to the theater club page, the one where she’s on stage. It’s framed close enough to her that he thinks it’ll be effective for a conversation. 

“Don’t you think maybe we should ask Ford to be here for this?” Mabel says, sounding wary. 

“He already went to bed.” Dipper waves her off. “I don’t want to wait any more.” The only reason he hadn’t taken the magnifying glass with him to Georgia was because he was afraid it might get lost. That and the fact that he wasn’t sure what the punishment was for getting caught smuggling objects of unknown but almost certainly magical origin across state lines. “We’ll be fine,” he says. “The operation seems simple enough.”

“I don’t know, Dip…”

He doesn’t respond. It’s been too long since he had a good mystery on his hands, especially one with such personal stakes involved. He can feel the rush of adrenaline as he lifts the glass to hover over the picture of the musical and leans over to view it. 

At first, everything seems normal. The picture is slightly distorted by the curvature of the lens, just like a normal magnifying glass, but aside from that, nothing. But then subtle shifts begin. It starts with a little bit of depth developing that didn’t seem present before, subtle enough that it might be an illusion. But then the figures are appearing more three-dimensional. The picture itself begins to clear up, no longer grainy and dull, but crisp with a vibrancy that’s nearly true-to-life. Finally, the figures begin to move. 

“Whoa,” he murmurs. He turns to Mabel, amazed at what he’s seeing, but instead of awe, she looks terrified. Then he feels the push, or is it a pull? He can’t tell, it’s like a strong wind is at his back pushing him forward, while simultaneously he’s tugged by an invisible string tied around his torso. 

“Dipper!” his sister shrieks. 

His room contracts and blurs around him, a mix of colors and vague shapes. He goes to reach for Mabel’s arm, but it’s too late. With one final push and pull from the forces taking control of his reality, he’s falling forward. Somehow the image in front of him is expanding, or is he shrinking? Either way, he’s going in. It’s like falling through space for a few seconds. He closes his eyes, bracing for some sort of impact, but it never comes. 

In an instant, the falling sensation is gone. Dizziness evaporated. His eyes are still closed, but he can tell that he’s on his feet. Solid ground beneath him. 

He opens his eyes. 

There’s Juliette, right in front of him, looking every bit the same as she did in the photo. But this isn’t just a photo anymore, this… is real. Whatever it is—this memory?—is alive. 

What the heck.

Heart pounding, Dipper holds his hands out in front of him. Okay, same hands he’s always had. That’s good. He feels his hair—definitely his curls. So he’s still, him, most likely. He looks around for a mirror. He’s standing in the school’s gymnasium. It looks pretty much the same as it does in 2016. A little brighter, a little more polished, but aside from the very much still intact stage, it’s basically the same place. 

That’s when he notices his clothes. He’s wearing what look like acid-washed jeans with a vibrant, patterned button-down on top. His sneakers are bulkier and more colorful than anything he’d pick out for himself, and topping it all off is a denim jacket, almost the same color as his jeans. Denim-on-denim? Even he knows enough about fashion to know Pacifica would tease him relentlessly for this look. 

There’s a bulky old camera looped around his snack. Oh, now he gets it. He’s taking the place of the photographer. That’s why no one is questioning his sudden presence.

“Hey!” shouts a voice from somewhere around him. He can tell from the cadence that it’s an attempt at a whisper, but it’s loud enough to rattle Dipper’s chest, reverberating like a morning announcement turned up far too loud. Dipper looks around, searching for the incorporeal sound. Nothing. Even weirder, the other kids surrounding him don’t seem to have noticed at all. 

“HEY!” comes the voice again. “Dipper! Up here!”

Dipper’s eyes jump to the ceiling. There’s what can only be described as a giant window built into it. He knows that doesn’t exist in 2016. He also knows that if it did, it wouldn’t contain the giant face of his sister peering down at him.

“Dipper, I don’t think the glass works the way you thought it did,” says Mabel.

“Oh, really?” he says, not able to hold back the sarcasm. From his right, a random student gives him a weird look. Interesting, so they can hear him but not Mabel. He keeps his voice lower, hoping she can still pick up on it. “Mabel, I need you to inspect the magnifying glass. See if there are any instructions on it that I missed. Some sort of clue as to how to get out of here.”

“No way!” Mabel’s voice echoes through the gym. “I’m not touching that thing! That’s what got you sucked in!”

Okay, she may have a point. 

“Okay…” whispers Dipper. “Can you, like, just use your eyes then? Look close, but don’t touch it.”

Mabel’s face shifts out of frame, and instead he’s looking at the ceiling of his bedroom. This is so weird. 

“Okay, yes!” Mabel says. “So there’s this little tassel at the end of the handle. There’s a teeny, tiny gold charm attached to it. I’m going to see if I can blow it over.”

She does exactly that, and again Dipper seems to be the only one affected by the gust of warm breath that suddenly invades the gym. Gross. The tassel falls, the size of a thick rope relative to his space, and he ducks out of the way. The tassel stops just a few feet short of the gym floor, perfect height for grabbing on and… well, Dipper supposes he’ll find out whatever happens after that in a bit. Mabel’s right about the charm, too. It’s easier to read for him. Exit, it says, in tight, elegant script. Bingo.

“I think you need to grab onto it,” says Mabel.

Dipper’s eyes dart to the stage. “Yeah, I will… but now that I’m here…”

“Dip—“

“Just a few minutes, Mabel.”

He hears Mabel grumble. “Fine, I’ll just be here, I guess.”

Dipper refocuses on his surroundings. The rehearsal is in full swing, kids belting their hearts out in off-key enthusiasm. Juliette is front and center in her wide, flouncy skirt, but her place of honor is soon taken over by a boy wearing a black leather jacket, hair slicked back like a greaser. Around the two dance a dozen or so other teenagers. They’re all dressed up like they’re about to go to a sock-hop… but this is supposed to be the 1980s, right? Wait, it must be a dress rehearsal—everyone is in costume. He knows enough about it from Mabel’s theatrical phase. 

Suddenly, Juliette screams. Dipper’s heart jumps into his throat. Is he about to see the curse in action? Is something happening to her right now?

The music cuts out, the teens stop singing, and Juliette, seemingly perfectly fine, marches to the front of the stage. She rips off the microphone taped to her cheek. “AUGH! Mr. Knoll! He did it again!” 

A distorted, disembodied voice, presumably the musical’s director from the sound booth, fills the space. Dipper can hear the weariness in it. 

“Juliette, I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” it says.

“He did! I know he did!” She spins to glare at the boy dressed up in leather. “I swear to god, Brian, if you step on my foot one more time.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you would get off my mark sooner and stop trying to hold onto the spotlight longer than you’re entitled to it…”

“Oh please, if anything you’ve been trying to upstage me.”

“It’s my song!”

“It’s an ensemble song, and you know it,” spits out Juliette. “And we all have solos.”

“But it’s my character’s message!” argues the boy. “Conrad is the one who is trying to live it up and get the kids in on it, too. It’s my song.”

“Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold an audience’s attention. If you were any good, you would be able to do it naturally. I can’t help if I’m upstaging you because I’m better than you.”

“Oh great, here we go.” Brian throws his hands up as he walks downstage. “Little Miss Thing is making excuses for the fact that she always gets her way.”

“Can we change the subject?” interrupts another student. This one is a petite girl with short black hair teased up into a poof up top. “I still don’t think we should be doing this show anyway. Like, the entire plot is super creepy! So some sort of rock ’n’ roll heartthrob going off to the war just gets to choose whatever random teenager to be his last kiss before he leaves?” The girl plants her hands on her hips. “It’s weird. Conrad’s gotta be in his 20s at least. And Kim is only 16!”

Juliette rolls her eyes. “The script doesn’t say how old Conrad is.”

“In the movie he’s played by a guy in his 30s,” counters the girl. “And he’s supposed to be like an Elvis-type or something, right? He’s totally an adult. It’s creepy.”

“Adults play teenagers all the time.” Juliette shoots her a glare. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s a fully grown man kissing a 16-year-old!”

“Oh my god, Becky,” cries Juliette. “Will you get a grip? It’s a play, it’s just not that big of a deal.”

“I do actually think that normalizing pedophilia is a big deal, Juliette. Just because you made out with a—“

“Shut up, you little freak—you know that’s a lie!”

“That’s not what I heard. I heard that he offered to pay for your perm and that’s all it took.” The black haired girl mimes spreading her legs, a little crassly. 

“You’re so full of shit,” spits out Juliette, advancing on the other girl. “You’re just mad that we’re doing Bye Bye Birdie instead of Guys and Dolls.”

“I told you I don’t even care about that anymore!“

Dipper watches the personal drama unfold on stage. He notices that a girl is standing next to him, chewing gum with loud smacks as she jots down notes on a spiral-bound notepad. Maybe she’s also on the yearbook committee. He leans over to her and whispers. “Hey, what’s the deal with that?” He gestures toward the stage.

The girl eyes him. Dipper is momentarily distracted by her electric blue eyeshadow. “You seriously didn’t hear?” she asks.

Dipper shakes his head.

The girl’s face lights up with the delight that only comes from someone who has some juicy gossip and has just discovered she’s the first one who gets the honor of sharing it. She pauses her loud chewing as she leans in. “Rumor is that Julie hooked up with an older guy. Like, college-aged, you know? That’s why she’s so sensitive about the age gap thing.”

“Really?” Dipper asks. “Is it true?”

The girl nods. “Seems like it. Julie’s little brother overheard her arguing with their parents. He’s a little rat. He told the entire middle school, and it worked its way up here.” The girl blows a bubble, pops it, then pulls it back into her mouth to begin chewing once again. “‘Course, Juliette denies everything. But she hasn’t given a good explanation for why she suddenly has a whole new wardrobe. Like fresh makeup, hair all done up all the time. Does she think we’re total space cadets? I mean, she’s always been pretty full of herself, but her family does not have the money to pay for all that.”

“Jeez, that’s pretty messed up.”

“Yeah, it’s heavy.”

“And nobody knows who the guy might be?”

“Nope,” says the girl. “That’s the weirdest part. Big mystery.”

Crime is more like it, Dipper thinks. Younger girl hooking up with an older guy, dies mysteriously with no record? Seems pretty suspect to him.

Dipper turns back to the stage, where, somehow, miraculously, the actors and actresses have managed to get themselves back into place and have begun their rehearsal anew. He studies Juliette while he has the chance. She’s just as pretty as she was in her photographs. But he has to admit, she’s not exactly what he imagined. When he first saw her big, broad smile in her senior photo, he thought that she looked like a nice girl. It seemed earnest, but now he suspects it might be a bit of an act. Watching the way that she glares at her classmates and snipes at their suggestions leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. This is the type of girl that Pacifica might have grown up into, he realizes. Then, again, Pacifica still has a bit of that in her; he just has more patience for it because he understands where she’s coming from. So, maybe there’s more Juliette, too… 

Well, she still didn’t deserve whatever happened to her, either way, but one thing is for certain: she’s kind of a jerk.

As he contemplates this, he notices that the movements of the teens around him seem to be changing. Almost like a movie projector slowing the reel down or shifting into slow-motion. The captured memory, or whatever it is, must be nearing its end. Dipper supposes this might be his cue to leave. He had been wondering if there was any sort of time limit attached to this whole thing. 

Quickly, he finds his way to the giant tassel. It’s still descending from the window in the ceiling that leads back to his room, and since there’s really nothing else he can think to do, he grabs onto it. The effect is nearly instantaneous. The tassel immediately retracts and he goes with it, flying through the hole in the ceiling and landing in a heap on his bedroom floor. Coming out is a lot easier than going in. It seems.

Mabel squeals and jumps down to him. “Are you okay?!” she asks, a little frantic. 

He looks down at his clothes. He’s totally back to normal. Not a speck of the 80s left on him.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says.

“So, that was crazy,” says Mabel as she helps him up.

“Yeah, that was…” He looks up at her, blinking. A rush of excitement hits him. He just travelled through time. Again. Well, no, not time exactly. But something like it. “That was cool!” In a second he’s heading towards the yearbook once more. “I gotta do that again, and there are so many different pictures I could travel into.” 

Mabel puts a firm hand on his chest to stop him. “Slow down there, bud. I think you’ve had enough of that for tonight. Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you do this by yourself, and I want to go to bed.”

“Oh, come on, just one more—“

His sister gives him a serious look that reminds him of their mother. “Dipper,” she says. “We both have school tomorrow. More importantly, we’ve been on a plane for one billion hours, and I’m tired. It’s time for bed. Besides, the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner it’ll be time to get up and go to class and see Paz. Aren’t you excited for that?”

Dipper is only mildly annoyed at the little flip his heart does at that. Stupid Sister. Manipulating his motions to get what she wants… and for his own good, he admits reluctantly. She’s right, though. Bedgrudgingly, he nods. Mabel wishes him a good night and makes him promise at least two more times not to go jumping into any pictures without her. Dipper changes into his pajamas and goes through his nighttime routine quickly, eager for tomorrow to come, all of a sudden.  

He still hasn’t even told Pacifica about the magnifying glass. He hasn’t seen her for a week, which has been awful. How he went four months over the summer without her, he’ll never know. Well, he does know. It was a lot of stressing, avoidance, dreading, stressing, anxiety, hopelessness, despair, more stress, more dread…. So yeah, not something he’s eager to repeat.

Point is, he hasn’t told her about the magnifying glass because candidly he doesn’t trust digital communication to be at all confidential. This is an in-person conversation. He takes out his phone as he slips under the covers. Might as well make sure he gets the opportunity. 

Dipper Pines:
Hey, we made it home. 
Are you free anytime tomorrow? I have to talk to you about something.

Pacifica Northwest:
In private?

Dipper Pines:
Definitely

Pacifica Northwest:
I have cheer from 3:30 to 5. Right before or right after I’m free though

Dipper Pines:
That’s perfect. I have marching band at the same time. I’ll find you after.  

Pacifica Northwest:
Okay

Dipper frowns. Pacifica isn’t a super expressive texter, but this is a bit short for her. He bites his bottom lip, then decides to be brave. What does he have to lose?

Dipper Pines:
I missed you. I’m glad we’re both home. 

He watches as those three little bubbles appear, disappear, and then after what feels like an agonizing eon but was probably really only about 15 seconds, appear again. 

Pacifica Northwest:
I missed you, too. 

He ends up not having to wait to talk to her after practice, after all. The cheerleaders and marching band are both practicing on the football field today, and by some stroke of fortune, take their breaks at the same time. Dipper’s grateful, too. Pacifica had seemed off today—just a touch distant and guarded— and it’s making little spikes of anxiety shoot up his nervous system. So he’s eager to get alone time with her, not only to share everything he’s learned but also to make sure she’s okay. That they’re okay, too. 

Leaning against the chain-link fence separating the running track from the grandstands, she listens quietly as he explains his adventure from the night prior. She’s surprised and appropriately interested, but that mild aloofness is still present when he wraps up. He wants to ask her what’s wrong, but she beats him to the punch.

“So, that’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asks, frowning slightly.

“Uh, I mean, yes?” he replies, confused. “A magnifying glass that pulls you into photographs seems like a pretty worthy conversation, don’t you think?”

“No, I mean—yes. It’s crazy.” She crosses her arms. “I just thought maybe there was something else, too.”

Uh-oh. This feels like a trap. His mind begins buzzing, searching for something he might have missed. Did she change her hair and he didn’t notice? He lets his eyes scan her quickly. No, she looks the same. But he also knows he’s not good at catching these things. Mabel’s gotten about a half dozen new ear piercings that didn’t hit his radar for months.

“Um. Something, like…?” he prompts, deciding it’s better to just admit it and face his punishment. 

She scowls and turns to face him fully. 

“Something like your new pretty blonde friend and the fact that she does not, in fact, have a boyfriend.”

Shit.

“I was going to tell you, I swear,” he says, the words spilling out of his mouth. 

“So you knew!”

“Not when I told you!”

“How long?” Her blue eyes are narrow and piercing. 

“Last Saturday, like the Saturday before I left for Thanksgiving, but I didn’t know before that.”

“And you promise you weren’t just lying to me?” She leans forward a bit, aggressively, eyes still narrowed.

“Of course not!” he says, trying to push as much sincerity in his voice as possible. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

“Is that really true?”

“It is. I just hadn’t figured out what I was going to say, and I didn’t know how you would react, so I—”

“Thought you’d just figure it out later?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “So exactly what you did to me over the summer, then.”

His mind wants to argue. Well, no, it’s not the same. It’s only been like a week, first of all. Week-and-a-half, tops. Second of all, since when does he need to tell her every update he learns about his friends’ love lives? But, he also knows that’s a slightly disingenuous thought. He and Pacifica might be ‘just friends’—if that— on the surface, but they did kiss like two months ago, and their ‘vibe’ has gradually been returning, and he knows why it matters to Pacifica, and she knows that he knows, and even if she’s being a little dramatic, which she is, there was a reason he was stalling on telling her anyway, wasn’t there? So... 

“Yeah,” he admits, sighing a little. 

Pacifica angles away from him again, arms still crossed protectively over her stomach. She frowns down at her tennis shoes. He wants to reach out and touch her, turn her toward him so he can continue reassuring her that he wasn’t trying to be sneaky. But before he can she takes a deep breath and turns back to him herself, tilting her chin to look him right in the eyes. 

“Dipper,” she says, firm but level. “You have to stop overthinking these things. At a certain point, if you know you need to tell me something, but you don’t know what I’m going to say in response, you just have to rip off the band-aid and do it. Like, either trust that I can handle it, or if I can’t and get upset, then trust that you can handle that. And that we’ll—I don’t know—figure it out.”

Dipper blinks. This sounds… future-oriented. She’s upset, sure, but if she were so mad that she were done with him, she wouldn’t be talking about their relationship like this—like there’s growth to be had. 

“You’re right,” he says quickly, tucking his chin to try to look at her closer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you straight away.”

She harrumphs, then sighs, looking out toward the field thoughtfully. Dipper thinks that he hears a note of exasperated affection in it. His heart skips hopefully. 

“It’s okay, it’s… not that big of a deal, I guess,” she mumbles. “I just don’t like it.” She pauses, her eyes still on the field. “But I trust that you didn’t have any bad intentions.” 

“…Thank you,” Dipper says, watching her profile. This went so much better than he thought it would. Maybe there’s a lesson there. He clears his throat. “Um, there is something else, though, while we’re on the subject…”

She turns to him, eyes cautious but curious, and he musters up his courage. “So, when Kevin explained to me what I was wrong about them being a couple— you can ask him about that, by the way! Like, if you still don’t believe me…”

Pacifica shakes her head. “It’s okay, I believe you.”

“Oh, okay,” Dipper says. He feels his face flush as a pleasant warmth fills him. “Well, um, he also told me that Madison—uh—does, sort of, actually, have a thing for me. So… you were right, I guess?”

Pacifica gives him a self-satisfied look, almost smug.

“Oh, yes, I already knew about that, too,” she says. “But thank you for telling me. I can tell you’re learning.” She pats him on the chest, like it’s a reward. 

Dipper startles. He was only gone for a few days— how much did he miss? “How did you know?” 

Pacifica rolls her eyes. “She basically told me herself.”

“You hung out with Madison?” 

Pacifica shakes her head. “Ran into her at the grocery store. It was… a whole thing.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I’ll tell you another time.”

“Oh, now who doesn’t have the words to share something?” he says, nudging her with his elbow. Teasing is a risk, he knows, but it pays off.

She gives him a small smile, leaning forward slightly as though she’s reprimanding him. “It’s just a long story,” she says, before smirking and once again turning to face the field. “I nearly died in that grocery store, you know. I don’t know how you commoners do it…”

Dipper wonders how much longer this break will last. Not because he’s in any hurry to get back. Quite the opposite. Maybe she will excuse herself first. But, well, she hasn’t moved yet. So he won’t either. They stay like that for a minute, her observing the middle distance and him observing her. 

“So,” he begins, trying to keep his voice light and playful. “How do you feel, uh, knowing that I’m such a hot commodity?”

She looks over at him from across her shoulder, an eyebrow raised while her lips tug on one side. “One girl having a crush does a ‘hot commodity’ make.”

“It does when it makes Pacifica Northwest, Homecoming Queen and Cutest Cheerleader in Gravity Falls jealous.”

“Oh?” she says, tilting her head in a mimicry of surprise. “Is that why you were afraid to tell me? You thought I’d be jealous?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a half step forward, giving her a wry grin. “I had an idea you might. Thought you might want to retaliate. Go make out with some jock to get back at me, you know?”

Pacifica tilts up her chin, her smirk growing. “Would that have worked?”

He nods solemnly. “Very much so.” 

Now she takes a step closer. “So you admit that you’d be jealous if I kissed someone else?”

“Extremely.”

Pacifica studies him, smile never faltering, eyes mischievous. 

“Okay,” she says, running a hand along the top of the chain link fence. “Maybe you were a little right to be nervous to tell me. And maybe I was a little jealous.”

“Knew it,” he says, leaning in closer and bringing his own hand to the top of the fence too. 

“Like, barely,” she says. “I just can’t have someone taking my place as your designated blonde.”

“Pacifica. I like you in spite of the fact you’re blonde, not because of it.”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst.” She rolls her eyes, but can’t seem to manage to lose her smile completely. 

“Nah,” he says, inching just a bit closer. “I don’t think you really think that.”

“Do too.” She moves her hand forward toward his. 

“Do not.” He does the same. 

“Do— ah!” Pacifica yelps and pulls her hand from the chain link fence. She must have pinched it in the wires, because she quickly raises her index finger to her mouth and sucks on it, wincing. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just— shit—stupid cheap fences.” She looks up at him, pouting. “Hasn’t anyone here ever heard of wrought iron?”

Dipper laughs and reaches for her hand. “Here,” he says, gently, as he begins massaging her fingers with his own for a few moments. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls her index finger up to his lips to give it one tiny peck. He knows his cheeks are bright red, but he can’t find it in himself to regret the boldness. “Better?” he asks as he lowers her hand. He doesn’t let go of it, though. 

Pacifica’s cheeks glow pink, and something in her countenance shifts, goes softer, as she looks up at him. 

Dipper has the crazy idea that he could just kiss her right now. She just finished telling him that he needed to stop overthinking their interactions and trust her responses more, right? Then why not just go for it? She’s clearly still into him, and with the way she keeps her eyes locked on his, her hand still securely tucked into his own, there’s no way she’d push him away, right? He could just do it now. Just get all this back-and-forth over with and—

An obnoxiously loud and high-pitched whistle slices through the air. 

Dipper drops their hands and spins to face the offending noise.

“Pines! Northwest!” It’s his director, about thirty yards away, standing with his hands on his hips and the type of exasperated frown that only high school teachers can really summon. Next to him stands Pacifica’s cheer coach, wearing an identical expression. Behind the both of them are all their peers, apparently back from break and watching his and Pacifica’s interaction as they wait. While a few of the try-hards share their teachers’ scowls, most of them just seem pleased for the additional time to screw around, and some even seem mildly entertained. “You’re holding everyone up—come on!”

Dipper clears his throat. “Ah, I’ll let you get back to—“

Pacifica blushes deeper and takes a step back. “Yeah, me too—“

She tosses back her ponytail as she trots back over to the other cheerleaders. He makes sure to keep his eyes on her as she jogs away, not only out of instinct, but also so that when she inevitably turns to look over her shoulder—yep, right there—he’s able to give her one last grin. As he takes long strides back to his bandmates, he wonders if he should feel embarrassed about the whole thing. 

Nah. 

A quarter of their class year just saw the prettiest girl in school flirt with him. He’s feeling pretty good about that, actually. 

Chapter Text

Please don’t sit next to me, please don’t sit next to me, please don’t— oh, thank goodness. 

Dipper lets out a small sigh of relief as Madison passes by the empty seat next to him on the school bus. As one of the first to arrive and first to have his instrument case and overnight bag all packed and ready to be stored under the bus, he was one of the first on, too. Who can blame him for always a touch more prepared and organized than his peers? But he soon realized that this would mean he had basically no control over who would end up his seat-mate. He’d firmly fixed his gaze out the window the second Madison ascended the stairs, hoping the absolutely fascinating view of the high school’s parking lot in the pre-dawn light would seem convincingly captivating. 

He’d be the first to admit that he’s sort of been avoiding the Madison Issue, as he’s dubbed it. He sees her in band class, during practices after school, and on Saturdays at Kevin’s, but thus far he’s been able to dodge any possibility of them being left alone together. He’s pretty sure the three-hour drive to the state marching band competition would have ranked in his top five most awkward situations ever, had she chosen that seat. 

Ever since he found out about her crush on him, he’d been keyed in to each one of their interactions. He noticed how she laughed a little harder at his jokes than others. He noticed the small touches to his shoulder or bicep she gave if he made a point she thought was exceptionally interesting (even if it wasn’t). He saw the nervous glances Kevin gave her, too. The way the energy of the others’ shifted whenever her attention was too much on him. They were wary. Which only made Dipper feel worse. Honestly, he feels a little stupid for not having picked up on it before. Kevin was right, he’s been so focused on Pacifica and this curse, it had completely slipped his notice. 

And he doesn’t know what to do about it, frankly. He kind of thought with the way Pacifica and he have been acting lately, she would have gotten the hint and moved on. Heck, Kevin said he even told her he was helplessly smitten. But no dice, apparently. 

Admittedly, it’s not like anything crazy has happened between him and Pacifica over the last few weeks, but he thinks there’s been somewhat of a return to how things were before he got all up in his anxieties and avoided her for four months. He waits for her at the end of each class, and they spend their passing periods chatting idly about exams, gossip, plans for the upcoming winter break, just whatever comes to mind. They study together about once a week, and generally have at least a short text conversation each night. It’s nice. Easy. Like it used to be. 

Except now they both know they each think the other is hot, too. That tension is certainly bubbling just beneath the surface—a low simmer, not quite yet reaching a boiling point. He would really like to make sure that it gets there, though. Which is why it would be really great if Madison would just pick someone else to like. He knows he’s not exactly the best when it comes to handling romantic complications, after all…

“Hello, Dipper Pines!”

Dipper’s head snaps from the window to face the voice interrupting his thoughts. Candy’s smiling face looks down on him. Oh thank goodness. For a second he was afraid Madison had circled back. 

“May I occupy this seat?” she asks, pointing to the empty seat next to him.

“For sure.” Dipper scoots to the side to give her more room, and she plops down, just as the engine of the bus begins to rumble to life.

There’s a low-energy cheer from some of the kids around him as the bus begins moving to pull out of the parking lot. Dipper isn’t really under any illusions that they’ll do well in this competition. He’s been in a much larger, much more experienced marching band before, so he has something to compare it to. The Gravity Falls high kids have heart, but they’re simply not where they need to be to place. 

But still, it’ll be a fun day, and then there’s the real highlight—the awards banquet followed by what essentially amounts to a multi-school sleepover in a mid-level chain hotel. Dipper knows from experience that little sleep will be had, and that’s kind of the point. Not that he has any intention of getting up to anything untoward of course. He’s got too much anxiety to break too many rules, and he’s not about to put himself in any sort of rumor mills.

“Candy for your thoughts?” Candy asks from beside him. She’s holding out a tootsie roll, grinning. “Get it?”

“Heh, yeah, pretty funny,” Dipper responds, a little forced, as he takes the sweet from her. He likes Candy, really, but there’s no getting around the fact that she’s sort of an odd girl. He knows that’s part of her charm, but something about her eccentricity paired with his awkwardness has never been a really great match. 

Actually, that reminds him…

“Hey,” he says, rolling the tootsie roll over in his hands. “Uh, Candy. So do you remember when you had a thing for me?”

“Dipper,” Candy says kindly. “That was a very long time ago. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah. No, I know,” Dipper says. “That’s not why I— it’s just, let’s say you did still like me, but I didn’t feel the same way. Would you want me to tell you?”

Candy tilts her head, thinking. “So in the hypothetical, you know that I like you, but I do not know that you know that I like you?”

“Uh, yeah, exactly.”

“I think I would not want you to tell me. I would prefer to figure it out on my own. That way, I could avoid the embarrassment of knowing that you know.”

“So you’d rather stay in the dark?”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Huh, okay.” 

“But we do not need to worry about this, thankfully, because I no longer like you.”

“It’s not about you, Candy. I...” Dipper lowers his voice a little, despite the increasingly loud road noise drowning out the conversation. The bus is merging onto the interstate. “I found out someone has a crush on me, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

Candy furrows her eyebrows. “You cannot control the feelings of others, Dipper.”

“Well, I know…”

“But you are not responsible for them either.”

“That’s— that’s a good point,” Dipper says, feeling a little better. 

“However,” Candy says, holding up a hand. “You must be honest. You must not lead them on, or give them hope where none exists.”

“Well, that’s the problem. How do I stay friendly without accidentally letting her think I might feel the same way?”

“Perhaps next time you speak with this person, you find a way to bring up the person you do like.”

Dipper considers this. He knows Madison knows he likes Pacifica, but maybe she needs to hear it from him… “Huh, that’s not a bad idea, Candy.”

“Just tell Madison that you are in love with Pacifica. If she continues to have hope—“ Candy shrugs. “—you have done what you can.”

“Yeah, yeah, good call, I— wait. How did you know I was talking about Madison and Pacifica?”

“It is pretty obvious, Dipper.”

“But you thought I was talking about you at first!”

Candy rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “I was joking. It’s called having a sense of humor, Dipper Pines.”

Pacifica sighs and crosses her arms, leaning back in the plush seat of the charter bus the cheer team is taking to their regional competition. She saw the clunky old yellow school bus that the band kids were loading up into this morning. It’s a little bit cliché that the school gave them that and rented a much more modern one for the cheer girls, but Pacifica isn’t about to point that out. Plus, the cheer team has to travel a whole seventeen minutes longer to get to their meetup site. So… totally rational that they would get the better transportation. 

At the present moment she is trying to tune out the voice of her captain, who chose to sit directly behind her and has been loudly listing off all the boys who have already asked her to the Winter Formal. It’s not even for another month-and-a-half, but that’s not stopping Bethany from making sure everyone knows that she’s all the hottest guy’s first choice as date. Allegedly. Some of these guys have already asked Pacifica too, which she found a little bold (or stupid) given how public she and Dipper have been with their… whatever, lately. She’d said no, of course. 

Regardless, Pacifica is honestly a little annoyed with herself for not clocking Bethany as a petty jerk earlier in the year. She’d been fine toward her, and aside from Pacifica refusing to step into line as one of her minions, and the whole sorta-stole-homecoming-queen-without-even-trying thing (Oops. But not really.), she really doesn’t get what Bethany’s deal is. Pacifica isn’t trying to go after any of the guys Bethany is. They’re not in any of the same classes. Heck, they don’t even really have that many friends in common. Sure, Pacifica gets asked out by a lot of guys. And yeah, the reason they’re not in any of the same classes is because Pacifica is in all the advanced ones. And she supposes they do have the entire cheer team as shared acquaintances… but, like, who seriously cares?

Seated next to her on the bus, Mabel seems to pick up on her irritation. “You okay, Paz?” she asks. 

Pacifica tosses her head backward, indicating to the row behind them. “Fine, all that is just getting on my nerves,” she replies. 

Mabel hums and nods, keeping her voice down. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

“What has she got to prove anyway? It’s not like any of us were going to try to go to the dance with any of those guys.”

“Well maybe you weren’t.”

“Were you?!”

“Ew, no, gross. Mabel Pines will not settle for anything less than the heart of a poet. No dumb jocks for me, thank you. But, I dunno—some of the girls might’ve. I think it makes Bethany feel better to make everyone else think that they’re all beneath her.”

“That’s so lame. Who does that?”

“Um, well…”

Pacifica doesn’t like the sound of that tone. 

“What?” she asks, suspicious.

“I just mean…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Spit it out.”

Mabel gives her a look that Pacifica recognizes as you asked for it.

“You were kind of like that, she says. “When we were younger.”

Pacifica scoffs. “If I ever acted like people were beneath me, it’s because they were.”

“See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You cannot seriously be comparing me to her right now. You’re supposed to be my friend!”

“I am, and as such it’s my duty to be honest with you.”

“Please,” Pacifica says, exasperated.

“It’s true,” Mabel argues. “Look, I’m not saying you were all high and mighty like that in the same way. Not exactly, anyway. But, well, remember when you like straight up hated me?”

“…yes.”

“Why did you dislike me so much?”

“Oh come on, Mabel, I don’t want to talk about that. It’s in the past.”

“I know, and I agree. But that’s why it’s okay to talk about it now. We’ve moved past it.”

Pacifica stares at Mabel for a moment, then sighs. She knows the other girl isn’t going to give this up. “Okay… I guess it was, like… I worked so hard every single day to be the most popular and most accomplished and just like, the best, or whatever. Then you came in acting like, well, you— no offense—“

Mabel nods. “None taken.”

“And you had no problem making friends and having fun and being liked—all for just being yourself. It was weird. And I felt like it was unfair.”

“Anything else?”

Pacifica pouts. Something about Mabel always gets her to open up. So annoying. “I was scared,” she admits. 

“Of?” Mabel prompts. 

“That everyone would like you more, and realize how much I suck, and I’d… I dunno… be alone, I guess.”

“But did that end up happening?”

“No.”

“Because…?”

Pacifica sighs. “Because the Wonder Twins came along and healed me with, like, the power of friendship, or whatever.”

“And you’re welcome for that,” says Mabel, nodding. “But that was just the start. I think what really happened is that you started being yourself. You stopped caring as much about being The Pacifica Northwest, and just being you. You got confident in who you are.”

Pacifica thinks back to all those summers ago. Stuck in a burlap sack with a sweaty, smelly Dipper. Her covered in garbage. Him telling her that he sees beneath her pretty face, listing all her admirable qualities… the things she would grow to admire about herself, too. She smiles a little at the memory. 

“I guess that’s true,” Pacifica admits. 

“I don’t think this one—“ Mabel nods back at Bethany, who is still rattling off names. “—has quite gotten there yet. It’s kind of sad when you think about it. Maybe we should feel sorry for her.”

Pacifica snorts. “No way. I may be healed or whatever now, but I’m not that generous. You should have been there over Thanksgiving Break. She was all about trying to get Kevin’s friend to make a move on your brother. Like right in front of me.”

Mabel’s eyebrows shoot up, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Oh? So are we at a place where we’re admitting we want something to happen between you two?”

Pacifica feels her mouth open a fraction, but no words come out. “Shut up,” she finally manages, before crossing her arms and turning to stare out the bus’s window at the passing trees. “We’re not talking about that.” 

She does her best to ignore both the heat creeping up her neck and the amused giggles coming from Mabel beside her. 

The band competition goes pretty much exactly as expected. They do okay. The show had gone well in some spots, weaker in others. Their transitions weren’t as crisp as some of the other schools and one of their key props had apparently been left behind in the Gravity Falls High parking lot… but still, Dipper is proud of everyone. 

As he sits in the bland corporate-chic ballroom the awards banquet is being held in, watching the announcers list off the names of the powerhouse schools, his mind drifts to Pacifica. His fingers itch to pull out his phone and text her asking for an update on how her own competition had gone. They’d each shot off “good luck” texts to one another earlier in the afternoon. Hers had come with an emoji of two small pink hearts after it. Dipper knows that pink isn’t as much of a declaration of love as red, but hey, he’ll take it. 

He hasn’t heard from her since, though. His knee begins bouncing under the table as his brain begins to conjure up possible reasons. He’d like to think that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t be so anxious and needy, but right now they’re 89 miles apart from one another (not that he’d checked…) and if anything supernatural were to attack her, there’s nothing he’d be able to do about it. 

The curse has been quiet, but that only makes it feel all the more due for something. He knows it’s tied to the school, but does that apply to school functions? Can it follow her off campus? They’re all questions he knows he needs to find the answers to, but it just feels like he’s running around in circles. 

He’s pretty much exhausted everything he can get from the yearbook. Almost every night he makes Mabel stand guard as he jumps into one 1984-1985 snapshot after another. He’d even managed to step into the shoes of the school photographer taking the seniors’ portraits, hoping that maybe talking face-to-face with Juliette would prove valuable, but no matter how many times he tried to phrase the question “uh, hey, so any chance you’re hooking up with someone you maybe shouldn’t be and also what’s his name and have you also maybe been experiencing a weird number of trips, falls or other unexplained accidents this year?” without sounding like a lunatic… no luck. All he’d gotten was very familiar with the shape of Juliette’s sneer. 

He’s decided he needs to shake things up. He knows from Kevin that the curse supposedly reemerges about every thirty years. That pattern had held true between 1984 and 2016, so if he counts back thirty years from 1984, that should put him squarely in the 1950s. When he gets back to school on Monday the first thing he plans to do is head to the library to see if he can squirrel away a couple yearbooks from that decade. He’s going to have to be careful. Swiping one yearbook would probably go unnoticed, but a whole decade seems like a risk. He’s not about to lose his library privileges. For one, he obviously needs access, but for another… well, he’s gotten very, uh, fond of the library and some of the memories associated with it. 

He slips his hand under the table and into his trouser pocket, rolling over his phone in his palm. 

Why hasn’t she texted?

No, no, Dipper. Keep your cool, don’t text her, don’t text her, don’t—

Ah forget it. 

He slips out his phone and holds it down and to the side of his chair, typing out a quick “how’d it go?”

He regrets it immediately, because of course by sending the message, now he’ll be expecting a response, and if that doesn’t come, his anxiety is only going to spiral more. 

The rest of the awards banquet drags on, and Dipper begins absently-mindedly tapping out drum beats against the round dinner table, anything to keep his mind busy. When that stops working—well, when Kevin reaches across and smacks his hands, accusing him of shaking the whole table—he lets his eyes drift to the ceiling as his leg resumes its bouncing. 

“Is everything okay, Dipper?” asks Madison, leaning across the table with one hand cupping her mouth to direct the sound of her voice. 

Oh yeah, just worrying about the girl that I actually have a thing for. Dipper feels a twist of anxiety in his gut. Madison is nice. He needs to figure out a time to let her down easy. Like, soon. 

“Yep, I’m good, thanks. Just ready to head upstairs and relax, you know?”

Madison smiles, and oh no, oh no is she blushing? 

“Me too,” she agrees. “It’ll be a fun party.”

Kevin clears his throat a little too loudly, drawing a look from the table of band directors and chaperones next to them. “Yeah, should be cool. All of us hanging out. All together.”

Dipper relaxes a bit. At least Kevin is looking out for him. And for the safety of the band’s vibes, too, he’s sure. 

Just then his phone vibrates sharply. Dipper almost jumps, fishing it out from his pocket. 

Pacifica Northwest:
AMAZING, of course

There’s a selfie just below her text. Her, glittering and beaming in her uniform, clutching a respectably-sized trophy bearing the words “Third Place” in looping script. 

Pacifica Northwest:
Not first, but we kicked the butts of 34 other schools, so I’ll take it
I also killed it. Stuck ALL the landings I usually miss
It was awesome

Dipper doesn’t know what that means, but smiles to himself as he types out his response. 

Dipper Pines:
Wow, Pacifica Northwest is okay with not being first in something?

Pacifica Northwest:
I know, right? I’m either losing my edge, or maturing
Jury’s out

Dipper Pines:
I don’t think it’s possible for you to lose your edge
I mean that in a good way

Pacifica Northwest:
Well duh
What other way could there be?

“Well, that’s quite a smile,” comes the sound of Madison’s voice, again.

“Oh, huh?” Dipper looks up, feeling like he’s been caught in something. 

“You were grinning at your phone,” she says. Her tone is weird. It’s casual, but almost too much. Like it’s being forced. And there’s a question just below the surface.

“Oh, hah. Yeah. Just… texting…” Dipper feels his face heat, even though he knows he has nothing to be embarrassed about. 

Madison nods and returns to watching the awards. 

Dipper sends another few flirty congratulations texts to Pacifica, but his heart sinks a little when he realizes she isn’t responding anymore. Well, that’s okay. Maybe she’s busy having fun. She’s okay, that’s what matters. And she placed, too. Dang, he thinks. That’s so freaking awesome. He wants to be able to talk about it. He’s really proud of her, in the way that you can only really get when you feel tied to someone or something, and he wants people to know. Maybe that’s how he can none-too-subtly let Madison know he’s really serious about Pacifica. He tries to imagine how that might go. 

“Hey Madison, remember my super hot friend who also won Homecoming and has As in every one of her AP classes? Well she also just won an award for being super athletic and talented, too! Oh? Have I mentioned I’m over the moon about her and could probably never love another the same way I love her?”

He cringes. Maybe better to workshop it. 

“What are you smiling at?”

Pacifica darkens the screen of her phone and quickly stashes it in her purse, turning to face Mabel’s teasing smirk.

“Nothing,” she says, not really trying all that hard to seem convincing. “I’m, like, not even smiling.” A blatant lie. 

“Yeah, sure,” Mabel says, rolling her eyes and grabbing Pacifica’s wrist. “Come on, the girls are all heading upstairs to change. We’re about to have the most epic sleepover ever.”

As Mabel tugs Pacifica toward the hotel’s elevator bay, Pacifica reaches her free hand back down into her purse to retrieve her phone. She frowns.

“Huh,” she says, stopping short and causing Mabel to skid to a halt too. “That’s weird.”

“What is?” Mabel asks, eyeing Pacifica’s phone curiously. 

“This was totally charged like five seconds ago. Like 80%. I barely touched it today.” She holds it up to Mabel. “And now it’s dead.”

“Huh,” Mabel says, taking the phone from Pacifica’s hand to inspect it. She presses the side button, which should power it up. The phone stays dark. “How weird… I guess we can try plugging it in when we get to our room.”

Pacifica stops at that. “Oh, um, right. So I sort of forgot to tell you. My parents were not exactly happy when they found out we were staying at a hotel chain—one that wasn’t the Ritz anyway. They don’t believe in sharing sleeping spaces with the less fortunate.” The girls enter the elevator, and Mabel pushes the button for floor three, where they were assigned. Pacifica steps forward and pushes the button for seven. “They sort of upgraded us. Well, me. But you’re obviously coming with me.”

Mabel’s eyes light up. “Penthouse?!”

Pacifica wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think places like this have penthouse suites, but it should do.”

The suite will, in fact, do. Not quite as luxe as the chateaus and villas and boutique resorts Pacifica is used to staying in, especially when she was younger, but between the plush king bed, kitchenette fully-stocked with expensive snacks and brand-name soft drinks, and oversized whirlpool tub in the expansive, gleaming bathroom, she thinks she’ll survive. 

The first thing Pacifica does, even before changing, is find an outlet to plug her phone in. The little charging symbol pops up on her screen moments later, indicating that the charge is at zero percent. It does seem to be working now though, so she leaves it to slowly come back to life. Weird. 

The girls briefly discuss the option of inviting the others up here for post-dinner antics. There would be way more space after all, Mabel points out… but that would also mean they’d probably never get anyone to leave, Pacifica counters. At an impasse, they head back downstairs to join the rest of the team. 

“Where’d you two run off to?” Bethany asks basically the minute the door to Room 312, the designated party room, swings open. 

“Our suite,” declares Mabel proudly, with not even a hint of hesitation. 

Pacifica cuts her eyes at Mabel. So much for playing it cool. 

“Ooh, a suite?” asks Anna, one of the girls Pacifica overheard Bethany gossiping with in the park that one day. “That’s so cool—how’d you get that?”

“Obviously her parents paid for it,” Bethany says. “Only the best for Princess Pacifica, right?” Her tone is neutral, even sweet, but Pacifica sees the daggers in her eyes. 

Well screw this. Nice try, girl. 

“Actually,” Pacifica says, stepping forward. “It’s for all of us. Mom and Dad thought we might have more fun hanging out in a room with more space. We just came down to let you guys know to come up! Room 701.” Pacifica spins on her heel, then looks back over her shoulder. “Bring your swimsuits, there’s a jacuzzi!”

Dipper watches absently from his spot on third floor balcony of some Junior’s hotel room as kids from other high schools splash around in the fluorescent blue pool beneath him. It has to be freezing, but that never stopped teenagers from taking an excuse to strip down. It’s a pretty night, too. Crisp and clear. The moon is nearly full and sits high in the dark sky, painting glowy outlines on the few clouds in the sky, and highlighting the tops of the pine trees that scatter around the hotel’s courtyard. 

Behind him, he can hear the chorus of laughter and music coming from the hotel room where his peers are all partying. A couple of the kids had managed to get adjoining rooms, the type that have doors in the middle that you can swing open to create one larger space, and this had been quickly designated as the post-competition hang out spot. Mr. K had advised them he would look the other way so long as they promised to all back to their own beds by midnight. 

He’d been having a good time, but just kept feeling like something was missing. He was nearing his social limit too, exhausted by the sing-alongs that the kids who we’re in both band and choir kept erupting into, and being incessantly, pestered by some of his drunker bandmates to try just one beer. So he’d headed out to the balcony to get some fresh air.

He looks down at his phone, held snugly in his right palm. Pacifica has once again gone radio silent. He’s trying not to overthink it. He’s sure she’s fine. He’s trying hard not to be insecure or possessive. She’s just having fun, he can trust that she’ll text him when she’s free.

He hears the sliding glass door to the hotel room open behind him. Probably some kids coming to try to sneak a smoke or find a make-out spot.

“Hey, I was wondering where you went.”

Shit. He should’ve known better than to leave the safety of the group setting.

He looks over his shoulder slightly to give Madison a small nod as she walks up to lean against the railing next to him. 

“You having a good time?” she asks. 

“Yeah, for sure. It can just be a lot, you know. Getting kind of tired.”

She hums, seemingly in agreement, and even though he isn’t looking at her, he can sense how she shifts a little bit closer.

“You know, some of the others snuck out. Went to go explore the park across the street, I think. We could go, too, if you wanted.” She pauses. “Or maybe do our own thing.”

He has to say something. This is torture.

He clears his throat. “Well, actually, I really came out here because I was thinking of calling Pacifica.”

“Oh, right,” Madison says, and he can hear the note of disappointment in her voice. He feels bad, but it had to be done. “She’s got her cheerleading thing this weekend, too, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, they placed.” Dipper turns to face her so she can see his smile. “I’m really proud of her.”

“That’s awesome,” she says. “Good for them.” Her tone isn’t sarcastic or mean, but it is a little hollow.

Dipper turns his phone over in his hand, hoping that she will get the hint and head back inside, but she’s still lingering.

“What’s the deal with you guys anyway?” she asks, frowning a little.

Oh, okay. Guess we’re doing this the direct way. He’s a little caught off guard.

“Uh, what do you mean?” he asks. 

Madison shifts in place. “Well, it’s probably none of my business, but I guess I just don’t get your friendship.”

Dipper isn’t sure what to say to that. She’s right, it isn’t any of her business. And he certainly doesn’t want to get defensive, but he knows this is his opportunity to make sure Madison knows exactly where his heart lies, so he needs to take it. 

“I guess it’s a little unconventional,” he begins. “But she’s really special to me.”

“She seems sort of mean to me.”

Well, jeez. Looks like the defensiveness is breaking through, despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

“You don’t know her like I do,” he says.

Madison looks down at her hands. “Are you guys really that close?”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend.”

“It just doesn’t make sense to me.” 

Dipper feels a pang of irritation at that. Or insult? “How do you mean?”

“I guess I just—how did you get to be so close in the first place anyway?”

Dipper is not about to tell her the whole story about the haunting at her old mansion, or any of the other adventures from that summer for that matter. For one, he’s not sure where Madison is on the spectrum of “denial” to “enthusiast” when it comes to the town’s weirdness, but also… that story feels special. A little precious. He wants to protect it. It’s theirs. 

“We just fell into each other’s paths, I guess,” he says, shrugging. “I started getting to know the real her.”

“The real her?”

“Yeah, Pacifica can be, uh… snobby, for sure, but it’s just because of how she was raised. Underneath that, she’s funny, loyal, insanely smart…” He feels a small smile tug at his lips. “She’s the best.”

“You really like her.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning to face her again, confident and calm. “I do.”

Madison looks down again, quiet for a second. “But what if she doesn’t like you back?”

Okay, weird turn in conversation. Dipper is once again caught off guard. 

“Uh,” he begins. “I mean, if she didn’t, that would be okay, I guess…” Would it? Well, no. His heart would be broken into a million pieces. But he’d still want to be her friend. To love her in all the ways she was comfortable with. 

“I’m just worried she’s leading you on,” Madison says.

“What? Why?”

“Just something I heard.”

“You can’t believe rumors.” He’s getting annoyed again. 

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be shocking, right? I mean, she knows you like her, right?”

“Love her.”

“What?”

“I love her.”

Madison startles a bit at that, and for a second her expression looks slightly flummoxed, but she recovers after a few moments and continues her argument. 

“Even worse, then,” she says.

Dipper sighs, trying to calm down. “Look, things are complicated between Cif and I, and a lot of that is my fault, but she’s not like that.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“That’s my risk to take.” It comes out a little bit harsher than he meant it to. He sees Madison flinch. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Dipper doesn’t respond for a second, looking down at his still text-less phone instead. He knows that Pacifica wouldn’t lead him on. Any hesitation she has about them is entirely of his own making. But she wouldn’t intentionally give him a hope where none exists. 

But he also doesn’t think that Madison would just make this up out of nowhere. Obviously, she has motivation to believe it… but she doesn’t strike him as the type to just lie.

“Where did you hear that anyway?” he asks eventually.

Madison is quiet for a second. “One of her friends told me… She says that Pacifica just likes you because you’re the town hero and all that. Like, she likes the recognition that comes with everyone knowing that you’re into her, but doesn’t really have any intention of seeing it through.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“So why aren’t you guys together already then?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. But I trust her. If we’re meant to be together, we will be.”

“And if you aren’t?”

Dipper lets that sit with him for a moment. It’s a sincere question, and something tells him it deserves a sincere answer. Probably more for his own benefit than Madison’s. How would he feel if they didn’t end up together? Would he still want her in his life? Well, the answer to that is obvious. 

“It wouldn’t matter,” he says, surprised at how resolute he sounds. “I want to be with her, and she knows that. But, if it ends up not working out… It wouldn’t change how I feel. I’m sure I would try to move on eventually...“ His heart clenches; the thought makes him sick. “...but I’d still love her. She’d still be one of the most important people in my life. I’d still want to look out for her and do everything I can to make good things happen for her. None of that would change.”

Madison is quiet for a second, and just as she takes a breath and begins to open her mouth, the sliding glass door opens again.

“There you guys are!” It’s Kevin. Thank god.

Kevin marches up to the two of them and positions himself between them. He slings an arm around Dipper. “I’m pretty wiped, man. You’re ready to call it a night, too?” 

Dipper nods. “Totally, I’m exhausted.”

He catches the sharp look Kevin gives Madison as they leave, and the pout she gives him return, exchanging an entire conversation he isn’t privy to. It reminds him so much of him and Mabel that he wonders how he didn’t clock the nature of their relationship correctly before. 

“Sorry about that,” Kevin mutters as he and Dipper make their way down the hall to their own hotel room. “I can talk to her again, if you want. I really thought she’d be over it by now.”

Dipper shakes his head. “It’s okay, I think I made it pretty clear. I don’t want to make things weird.”

The boys change into their pajamas and get into bed quickly, exhausted from the day. After bidding Kevin a good night, Dipper rolls on his side to plug in his phone and check it one more time before bed. He’d forced himself to stop looking at it, finally recognizing that he was driving himself a little crazy. The old adage about watched pots must have something to it, because this unwatched phone has finally boiled. 

Dipper snuggles further under the covers, smiling to himself at the words Pacifica Northwest that now light up his screen. 

“That was so fun!” Mabel says, throwing herself onto her side of the bed and shuffling under the covers. “Pazzy, you’re getting so good at this sh-AH-ring thing—look at you go!”

Pacifica laughs and rolls over to face Mabel. She’s just finished her half-hour nighttime skincare routine and gotten into her silk pajamas, totally necessary self-care after such a long day. “It was fun,” she agrees. “I can’t believe Katy had never had caviar before!”

“Not all of us grew up in ivory towers,” Mabel says affectionately, rolling on her back to stretch out her legs above her. “But I’m glad to have friends who did. This bed is awesome. I could get used to the rich girl life.”

That gives Pacifica a little pause. There’s something that’s been nagging at her since her mother called her to inform her to check in with the front desk to get the key card to her real room. She knows from her eavesdropping that they can’t really afford this. Sure, she isn’t really complaining, but she feels a mild frustration—and guilt—at the fact that her parents keep spending money they don’t have in order to keep up appearances. She knows that’s part of why they want her to go to Davenport so badly, and she’s torn between the deep-seated instinct to want to make them happy with her and a growing indignation at the idea of being so used. But she also doesn’t want to think about that right now, not after such a good day.

“You know,” Pacifica says, grinning wickedly as another topic of conversation comes to mind. “You could have this kind of life for yourself if you play your cards right…”

Mabel lowers her legs and rolls back over, face curious. “How so?”

“Well, a certain somebody was asking about you when I went to go visit him a few weeks ago…”

Mabel gasps. “No!”

“Yep!” Pacifica grins. “I know Teddy doesn’t exactly have the heart of a poet, or whatever it was you said you’re waiting for, but he sure likes telling stories, and that’s something, right?”

Mabel pretends to think. “Hmm… he could get me my own castle, which would be fun, and there is some appeal in the whole ‘I can fix him’ kind of thing.” She tosses a hand. “Bah! But that’s not the sleepover talk I want to have tonight.” She scoots a little closer to Pacifica, eyes gleaming.  “Are we allowed to talk about you and my brother yet?”

Pacifica feels her face warm, so she tucks it into a pillow to hide it. “I guess... but it’s like you said—this is sleepover talk. Like, the highest level of secrecy afforded. You have to promise it stays right here.”

Mabel smiles, and it’s sincere. “I promise.”

“You’re coming at me while I’m vulnerable,” Pacifica cautions. “Like, all full of sugar and fun and whatever. It’s unfair.”

“I know,” Mabel laughs. “It’s a dirty trick, but I’m not wasting the opportunity.” Her voice softens, loses its teasing edge. “So… where do you guys stand?”

Pacifica thinks, then shrugs one shoulder. “The same, I guess.” But that’s not exactly true. “Well, no,” she amends. “Not the same. Better, but not—you know.”

“So, does that mean…?”

“Mean what?”

Mabel taps her lips with her pointer finger, apparently thinking. “Well, I guess I’ll start easy: have you forgiven him?”

“I think so, yes. I mean, I’m trying.”

“So you’re officially friends, again?”

“Yes,” Pacifica says, before quickly adding: “But don’t tell him that! He’s still on probation.”

“Anything more than that?” Mabel’s voice is gentle, but her gleaming eyes give away her interest. 

Pacifica feels her face heat again. “Nothing’s happened…”

“The shameless flirting I keep seeing says otherwise.”

Pacifica pulls her pillow down so she can wrap her arms around it, hugging it to her body. “It’s just flirting. It… makes me feel nice, is all.”

“Paz.”

“He’s going to leave,” Pacifica says, and she hates how her voice goes a little wobbly. She swallows, shoving down the emotion. “It’s just reality. He’ll go on to some bright future that I can’t be a part of.”

“Why not?”

“Because my future is already picked out for me.”

Mabel scoffs. “That’s bullshit.”

“Yes,” Pacifica agrees. “But it’s also true.”

“I don’t believe that. We were just talking earlier about how you know who you are now.” Mabel props herself up on her elbow to lean in toward Pacifica a bit more. “You get to pick your own future. Your family doesn’t get to do that for you.”

“It’s not that easy…”

“I know it’s not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You’re Pacifica-freaking-Northwest.”

Pacifica sighs. “I don’t know.”

Mabel studies her for a few seconds. She must make up her mind about something, because next thing she’s rolling onto her back again, looking at the ceiling for a few long beats. “Okay, well… let’s forget about reality for a second. This is sleepover girl-talk, time for daydreaming.” She shifts back over to her side, facing Pacifica once more, a sly smile growing on her lips. “If you could get whatever you wanted… what would that be?”

“To travel back in time to last Spring. I’d go down to Piedmont myself and beat him up myself for being an idiot.”

“No, no. No looking backwards,” Mabel corrects. “I mean from this moment forward. Like, magic wand, genie’s bottle, whatever—let’s say you can make any future happen. What would it be?”

Pacifica thinks. She might as well be honest. “He’d ask me out, we’d hang out on weekends, go on dates, go to Prom together, he’d—I dunno—give me his class ring or some cheesy shit.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were such a romantic, Paz.” Mabel gives her an incredibly annoying grin. 

“Shut up! You said this was a safe space.”

“I said this was a secret space. As your future sister-in-law I have a blanket right to make fun of you.”

“Oh my gosh, stop.”

“It’s true.”

Pacifica just hides her face in her pillow.

“Okay, okay,” Mabel says, shoving down her laughter. “I’ll cool it.” Her voice softens again. “But seriously, is that part of your secret daydreaming, too, though? Being, like, together forever and all that?”

Pacifica peeks one eye open to look at her. “Are you asking me if I want to marry your brother?”

“You guys would have the cutest kids.”

“Mabel!”

“I’m just stating the obvious!”

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“It could! Besides, this is magic wand time. Do you want that?”

Pacifica squeezes her pillow tighter, curling her body around it. She knows her face is hot pink. She’s already admitted so much. In for a penny, in for a pound, she supposes. 

“…Maybe,” she mumbles.

Mabel scoots closer, gently reaching forward to pry one of Pacifica’s hands from her pillow and hold it. “Then why not let yourself have what you want?”

“Because I won’t get it, and it’ll hurt even more.”

“You’re already hurting,” Mabel counters tenderly. “And for what it’s worth, I do think you’d get it… and it seems to me it’s at least worth trying.”

Pacifica thinks about this. Maybe she could just let herself have part of this fantasy. She can break her own heart when the time comes. Mabel’s right, it’s going to hurt either way, but at least she would have the memories. 

“Maybe,” she mumbles into her pillow. She looks up at Mabel. “I know you’re trying to help, either way.” She pauses, looking down at their joined hands. “Thank you.” 

Mabel scoots over more and Pacifica lifts herself so they can hug goodnight. 

Pacifica rolls over to her other side, eyeing her phone charging on her nightstand. Making up her mind, she goes to reach for it. Full charge again, thank goodness. She navigates to her and Dipper’s text thread, this time enjoying, not ignoring, the pleasant warmth that begins to radiate from somewhere deep inside her. 

Pacifica:
Hey, I’m going to sleep soon
Just wanted to say goodnight and see how your day went

Dipper:
Hey! Sorry for the late response

Pacifica:
It’s only been five minutes lol

Dipper:
Well still

Pacifica:
So how was your day?

Dipper:
Good! We didn’t place or anything, but it was fun
Some of the other schools were crazy good

Pacifica:
I’m glad you had a good time
I wish I could have seen your show

Dipper:
Same. I wish I could have seen yours

Pacifica:
I can show you sometime 

Dipper:
A private performance?

Pacifica:
If you want

Dipper:
Yeah
I would like that a lot
Like, not in a weird way
Unless you meant it like that
Shit
Please just pretend I didn’t say any of that

Pacifica:
Lol calm down dork

Dipper:
Trying lol

Pacifica:
I’m falling asleep

Dipper:
Me too

Pacifica:
Mabel keeps kicking me

Dipper:
Is it weird for me to say Im jealous of her right now?
It’s weird huh
Im sorry

Pacifica:
It’s not weird
Would you kick me too?

Dipper:
Never
Well maybe 
But I’d make it up to you

Pacifica:
You better

Dipper:
Okay
I should go to bed before I say anything more that gets me in trouble

Pacifica:
Lol okay
Talk to you tomorrow?

Dipper:
For sure
Talk to you tomorrow

Pacifica:
Goodnight dork

Dipper:
Goodnight Cif 
💕

Exactly 89 miles from one another, both Dipper and Pacifica fall asleep smiling, dreaming that the other is next to them. 

Chapter Text

Pacifica hums a familiar Christmas tune as she fiddles with the combination to her locker. There’s a lightness in her chest this morning. Maybe it has to do with the fresh dusting of snow the valley received while she was gone over the weekend, maybe it’s because winter break is only a week away and finals are nearly over, maybe it has something to do with her conversation with Mabel this past weekend… maybe it’s just all of it. She decides not to think about it too hard. 

She likes getting to school early. There’s something nice about being able to acclimate herself to the day and enjoy the peace and quiet of the hallways before the chaos of her peers descends upon it. Her old school was always quiet—prim and proper and altogether stuffy. Gravity Falls High is nothing like that, and while she does vastly prefer the latter to the former, these quiet moments are still something she cherishes.

“Pacifica!”

Well, so much for that.

Pacifica turns and is greeted with the sight of Dipper sprinting down the hallway toward her, his sneakers smacking against the linoleum floor. He’s lucky there aren’t any teachers around, she thinks. 

“Pacifica!” he says again. She barely has time to appreciate the sight of him flushed and flustered before he’s upon her. She raises an eyebrow at him as he reaches her, but he ignores this in favor of slamming her locker door shut and grasping her by the elbow.

“Come on!” he says, breathless. “Come with me. I need to show you something.”

Pacifica begins to open her mouth to protest—her fuzzy, faux-fur trimmed boots are not exactly designed for running—but before she can get a word in edgewise, he’s pulling her down the hallway in the direction of the east wing. Taking a sharp turn to his right and causing her to stumble into him, he swings open the door to the library and pulls her in behind him.

“Slow down, children,” reminds the librarian as they race past, but they’re already gone and out of her sight before she can do much. Pacifica hears her weary sigh trail after them. 

Dipper pulls Pacifica into a far corner. The library is empty at this time of the morning, and she wonders fleetingly if he has something… planned, but the expression on his face is more frantic than flirty, so probably not.

“Look, there,” he says. 

“The yearbooks?” Pacifica asks, eyeing the chronological rows. “Yeah, we’ve seen them before.”

“What do you not see?” 

Pacifica frowns and turns back to the books. She lets her eyes work backward… 2010s, 2000s, 90s, 80s, 70s, 60s, 50s… wait. 

There’s one missing. 1954 to 1955 isn’t there. “Okay,” she begins, pushing down the bubble of unease in her stomach. “One’s gone. So someone swiped it. Just like us.”

“Keep looking,” Dipper says.

40s, 30s, 20s… another missing book from the 20s. 

Another 30 years, another missing book— this one from the 1890s. 

“That’s unsettling…” she admits. 

Dipper crouches down next to the books and twists over his shoulder to look up at her. “I came here this morning to start looking through the books from the 50s—to try to figure out which was the cursed year from that era.” He looks back at the books. “I guess I have my answer.”

“Do you think someone took them?” Pacifica asks, the stirring of dread in her stomach growing. 

“That’s one idea, yeah,” he says. “I mean, best-case scenario, someone else is also trying to crack the mystery. It’s a pretty common rumor among the kids, apparently. Maybe someone else also noticed the weird stuff at the beginning of the year. Worst-case scenario… massive cover-up? The school admin might know more than they let on.”

“I don’t think that’s the worst-case scenario, Dipper,” Pacifica says, crouching down next to him. She watches him turn to her. “I’m pretty sure all these books were here before. We would’ve noticed if some were missing.”

He looks at her like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. The worry she knows is painted on her features is mirrored on his. “You think someone took them more recently,” he says. 

“What if someone isn’t trying to solve the mystery, but is trying to stop us from solving it?”

Dipper swallows and studies the books again. “Pacifica,” he says after a moment. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up to you. I’ve been thinking...” He raises his eyes back to hers. “I’m worried that this curse is targeting you. Everything big that’s happened—you were directly involved.”

Pacifica’s stomach drops. It’s not like she hadn’t noticed that either… but she had been happier pretending so. “That could be a coincidence…” she tries.

“Have you noticed anything else unusual lately?” Dipper asks, turning serious. “Even smaller things. Trips and falls? Or stuff like the deal with your phone the other night. I’m worried that we’ve been missing things. It’s been a while since something really bad happened, but I don’t think curses just go dormant.”

Pacifica thinks back. “Not that I’ve noticed,” she says. “Not unless you count the bad luck of having the world‘s worst parents.” 

She says it to lighten the mood, but Dipper is still focused on her with that same determination that always does funny things to her head. He rises to his feet and then offers her a hand to pull her up, too. “Just try to keep your eyes out for anything weird,” he says. “And then let me know.” Her heart flips at the fierce protectiveness in his voice. “If someone did take these… then I think we also need to be on the lookout for someone trying to hurt you. Do you know of anyone who might have it out for you right now?”

Pacifica scoffs. “Only like half the girls in school.” 

Dipper gives her a curious look. 

“The boys keep asking me to the dance,” she offers in explanation. 

His face falls, paling. “Wait—what? What dance?” 

She could laugh at how quickly his tone changes from one of concern to… well, a different kind of concern. 

“Winter formal, dummy,” she says, elbowing him. “It’s next month, right after break.”

Dipper looks nothing short of panicked. “Oh. Right. Yeah.” He looks around the room for a beat, then clears his throat. “Uh, did you agree to go with anyone?”

“Not yet,” she says, pointedly.

“Good!” he says quickly, then coughs. “I mean. Yeah. Good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and examines the ceiling for a second. “Um, anyway, so yeah. Maybe it is a jealous girl… it seems like a stretch, though? They’d have to know about the curse, know that you were the target of it, and know that we were working on figuring out how to stop it.”

Oh, gee. Wonder who that could be. 

“You’ve been talking to Kevin about this, right?” Pacifica asks, more so making a point than asking a genuine question.

Dipper’s eyebrows furrow. “Well, yeah—he’s the one that told me about it in the first place.”

“Well,” Pacifica starts. She’s going to have to just spell it out for him, isn’t she? “Don’t you think it’s possible that little Miss Can’t-Take-A-Hint caught wind of it and would find it super convenient if I were just out of the picture?”

Dipper had called Pacifica yesterday and filled her in about his little meeting with Madison on the hotel balcony. She’s glad he’s being upfront with her, but after they got off the phone, she’d been angry enough to think about looking up her own curses to cast.

His winces. “Okay, sure,” he admits. “But I don’t think she’d want you seriously hurt.”

“I’m just saying she’s got the motive.”

“Cif, no offense, but your family has screwed over like half the town—a lot of people have motive.”

Well… she can’t really argue with that. But she’s still pretty sure that Madison should be at the top of the list of suspects. She pouts and stares at the yearbooks. 

“You really think this thing is about me?” she asks.

“You’ve been the most affected,” Dipper says, before hesitating a second. He rubs at his neck. “And well, you do have a lot of similarities with Juliette, too. Like, you’re definitely more evolved than her,” he adds quickly. “But:—” He counts off on his fingers. “—pretty, popular, bit of an, uh… attitude.” 

Pacifica cuts his eyes at him, and he raises his hands in self-defense.

“Hey!” he says. “I like your attitude, but you have to admit you share some qualities.”

Pacifica knows he’s right. As much as she’s grown, there will always be a bit of the Northwest haughtiness in her.

A flicker of a hunch tickles the back of her brain. 

She eyes the yearbooks. 

I wonder…

She steps forward and slides out the 1953-1954 edition off the shelf—the year right before the missing one. She feels Dipper move next to her as she flips through to find the junior class pictures.

And there she is, smiling smugly with a perfectly coiffed updo and a string of pearls across her neck.

Beatrice “Bunny” Northwest

Pacifica points to the picture. “Think this is relevant?”

Dipper leans over her shoulder. She looks over at him and watches as his eyes grow wide. 

“I thought that the Northwests all went to your fancy private school,” he says.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Pacifica says. “But I found out over Thanksgiving that it wasn’t opened until the 50s.” She taps Bunny’s photo. “This is my great aunt. She was the last Northwest to go here before me.”

“And she graduated from here?” Dipper asks. “As in, she would’ve been a senior during the missing year?”

Pacifica nods. “Yep.”

“Well, you have to go see her! Ask her if anything happened the year she graduated!”

Pacifica winces. “Well, she’s kind of dead.”

Dipper gives her an incredulous look.

“Not from any weird stuff!” Pacifica adds quickly. “She didn’t die in high school. Way later.”

Dipper’s shoulders relax a fraction, but he still straightens up and takes the yearbook from Pacifica. “We need to hold onto this.” He shoves it in his backpack. “I don’t care if they start to notice that they’ve gone missing. This is clearly about you, maybe about your family even—“

“Great,” Pacifica says, rolling her eyes. “Another Northwest curse. Just what I needed.”

“It’s better that we know, though,” Dipper says, turning back to her and raising his palm to her upper arm.  The heat from him penetrates her thin sweater, and she resists the instinct to lean in. “The sooner we figure it out, the sooner we can figure out how to stop it and keep you safe.

Once again, her heart does a funny little flip at the intensity of his protectiveness, the way his brown eyes stay trained on hers. 

She takes a breath, hoping the oxygen will cool her cheeks. “Hey,” she says. “At least whoever took these gave us one clue. Assuming they’re right, now we know all the years.”

“That’s part of why I’m bothered,” Dipper says. “Whoever did this must have known that someone would put it together, but they didn’t care.”

The class bell rings shrilly, interrupting their conversation about one threat and bringing them back to the very real and very present threat of another.

Dipper turns to the front door and looks ready to suggest something stupid, like skipping class, so Pacifica speaks up before he can.

“Come on,” she says, placing her free hand over his. “We can work on this later. We’ve got finals week to get through for now.”

They show up to first period late, of course, and Coach Greski makes a frankly completely inappropriate comment about their relationship again, of course, but aside from that, the rest of the day goes smoothly. Seventh period rolls around, and it’s time for their Psychology presentation. 

They did end up studying perseverance, though had mutually agreed to make it a little less specific to their exact situation. Dipper seemed grateful. Pacifica supposes it would’ve been a little bit embarrassing for him to get up there in front of his entire class and discuss all the ways he’d messed up and his various strategies for trying to earn back trust. She’s pretty sure that even if they presented it generally, their peers would’ve been able to put it together.

The presentation goes amazingly well. They bounce off one another fluidly, building naturally from one section to the next to support their hypothesis. Pacifica can feel the pleasant anticipation of success build in her as she watches Dipper confidently wrap up their conclusion. At the end of it, their teacher hands them a grading sheet with a proud A+ scribbled across the top. 

The bell rings to signal the end of the day, and they walk together as they leave the classroom, each riding the high of a job well done and grade secured. The worries from this morning seem somehow distant, overshadowed by the relief of putting one stressor to rest. 

Like always, Dipper kneels next to her as he works the combination to his locker. He smiles up at her. “So, not too shabby.” He rests an elbow on his one propped-up knee. “One might even say we make a pretty good team, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck, Pines,” she quips back, but she knows there’s a silly grin on her face, too.

Pacifica takes her time switching out her textbooks as Dipper gets to his feet and leans against the locker next to hers.

“Where’s Mabel?” she asks.

“Went to Grenda’s to study. She says that the library dulls her creative spirit.”

Pacifica closes her locker with a click and moves into position next to him as they make their way down the hall, into the library, and back to what she’s realized has become officially, unequivocally, their spot. No one else ever tries to take it. She gives the yearbook section a wary glance as they pass by, but she and Dipper seem to be in silent agreement that, for now, worry over finals will have to take precedence.

She isn’t really sure when studying with Dipper became such a key part of her academic routine. But now she wonders how she ever got along without him. The teasing smiles, the playful jabs, it’s all become as essential to her learning as her outlines and flashcards. Like so many things, it’s snuck up on her.

The winter sun is low in the sky, skimming the tops of the trees even at this mid-afternoon hour, so the lighting in the library is soft and calm. Like she’s done so many times before, she takes a peek at her companion while he’s focused on jotting something down.

It’s not just that he’s become an irreplaceable study partner; he’s a necessary component of her life as a whole, she realizes. Those months that they weren’t talking were the worst that she’s had in recent memory. When she thinks back on them now, there’s still the echo of pain and frustration and hurt, but when she thinks about it a little bit harder, the pain she feels isn’t just for herself, but for him too. 

He freaked out because of how he feels about her. Because of his own insecurities and fears. He was hurting too. She knows that now. But he also seems determined to keep her as a fixture in his life now, too. He’s already grown so much this year from the boy he used to be, who was, admittedly, already pretty great, in her opinion. His heart is the same, and she suspects it always will be, but there’s something new there too—a burgeoning confidence.

And he’s stuck by her side, too. Followed through on his promise to make it up to her. Sure, it was a little fumbled and misguided at first. Their first couple of weeks of the school year mostly consisted of tortured teasing, but that was still just his own stupid way of trying to get her attention, wasn’t it?

She realizes with a start that she’s not afraid of him hurting her anymore. When did that change? she wonders. 

He just wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not intentionally, at least. And if he did inadvertently… she trusts he would make it right. 

“Is there something on my face?”

Pacifica snaps out of her thoughts. Dipper is looking right back at her, a curious eyebrow raised and an amused smile on his lips. 

“W-what?” she asks, voice cracking. She winces. That’s only supposed to happen to him. 

“You were staring at me.” His smile turns more knowing.

Heat creeps up her neck. “No, I wasn’t!” 

“You totally were.”

“You wish.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

The nickname stops whatever sassy retort or attempt at ego-saving might have come next. Instead, she blinks and lets her body relax into the warmth that seems to wrap around her at the endearment. She resumes her study of him, not trying to hide it this time, and then takes a small steadying breath. 

“I was just thinking,” she admits. 

He must sense the shift in her tone, because his eyes dart up to meet hers. She can see the anticipation and hope stirring just beneath the surface. “About?”

“About your original ideas for our project…” She looks down at her notes, bites her lip, and then lifts her face again. “How you were questioning the best way to build back trust. Wondering if it was better to do a big grand gesture, or smaller, consistent acts over time…”

“You hypothesized that the latter would be more effective, if I recall correctly,” Dipper says, leaning forward a little. 

“I did,” she agrees.

She watches as his chest rises and falls quietly. “So, um, have you come to a conclusion?” he asks after a moment. 

She tucks her chin and lets her eyes meet his through her lashes, then gives him a shy smile. “I think I was right.” 

His cheek color and he returns her smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

They sit like that for a moment, each taking in the other and giving one another dopey doe-eyes. Pacifica can feel her ears turning hot, but she can’t seem to look away. All she can think about is how the way his lips curl crookedly is the cutest thing she’s ever seen, how she wishes she could get closer to inspect the shades of brown in his irises, how she wants to brush back the curls that fall across his forehead, how she wants to trace her fingertips down the sides of his cheeks to his jaw and—

She shakes herself out of it. She needs to distract herself with something before she crawls over the table and does something entirely inappropriate for the setting.

She glances out the window and notices that it’s begun to snow again, a bit heavier than it was earlier in the day. 

“It’s starting to come down out there,” she murmurs.

Dipper seems to manage to pull himself from his own haze and follows her line of sight. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “We don’t want to get stranded here.”

A quick fantasy flashes through Pacifica’s brain. Snowed-in in the building, just the two of them, raiding the cafeteria for snacks and finding a cozy corner to cuddle up in…

No, no, no, she tells herself. The heat will probably turn off at a certain point, and then they’d freeze to death, or at the very least be stupidly uncomfortable. Cuddling can’t fix everything.

She stands up and begins gathering her things. “We can pick up where we left off tomorrow?” She reaches into her purse to text her driver to start heading down the hill towards the high school.

Dipper nods his agreement silently, then begins loading up his own backpack. She notices that he’s taking his time—a little more than he should, given the change in weather outside. Once done, they make their way out to and down the interior hallway, and he opens the door to the exit for her as they step out to stand on the school’s front stairs side-by-side. Just like always, they wait together for her driver to arrive, but the cold makes Pacifica quickly regret leaving the warmth of the school. It was a stupid decision; the door had locked behind them. She lets out an involuntary shiver, and Dipper, noticing, begins to take off his coat. 

“No, no,” she says, stopping him with a hand to his chest. “It’s fine. Stefan will be here soon.” She pulls her phone out to check it. “Let me just—“

She groans.

“What’s wrong?” Dipper asks hurriedly. 

She holds her phone up to show him the text from her driver.

“Stuck in the snow on the way back from picking up my mom’s dry cleaning,” she explains. “You should just go, you don’t have to wait for me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dipper says, fishing out his keys from his coat pocket. “I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” Before she can argue further, he grabs her backpack from her and swings it over his shoulder, beginning down the steps and only pausing to give her a look over his shoulder. He nods his head at her to follow. “Come on, Princess. It’s not a limo, but you’ve survived it before.”

That nickname is going to be the death of her. She’s defenseless against it. So she just swallows her smile and follows after him. 

The truck heats up quickly enough. Dipper explains that he’s been working on the system for the last couple of weeks to prepare it for the winter. 

“I didn’t know you were into cars,” Pacifica comments. 

Dipper shrugs as he shifts the vehicle into drive and checks his mirrors. “I wasn’t really. But I can’t afford anything better, so this baby‘s gonna have to work for as long as I can keep her alive.”

“I kind of like it,” Pacifica admits. “It’s classic… masculine, in a nice, non-toxic way.”

“Are you saying it makes me look tough?” He shoots her a crooked grin that makes he stomach flip. 

“Watch your ego, mister,” she teases back, before pausing a second to think. “But… a little. It’s—I don’t know…” She watches him carefully. “…kind of sexy.”

She chose her words intentionally, of course, and holds back a giggle as Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red.

He lets out a breath. “Well, that settles it,” he says. “Now I’m never getting rid of it.”

As he navigates them onto the city streets and begins heading up the hill towards the wealthy side of town, Pacifica doodles small shapes into the condensation on the inside of the passenger side window.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he asks after a few moments of easy, warm silence. 

“Shoot.”

“How come you never got your license?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Pacifica says, rolling her eyes. “Mom and Dad won’t let me.”

“What? Why not? I kind of figured they would’ve bought you some sort of Barbie pink convertible for your Super-Sweet Sixteen.”

“I wish,” Pacifica says. “No, they say that the only truly dignified way to get around is to have a chauffeur take you. I wasn’t really joking when I told Mabel that driving is manual labor—that’s how they see it anyway.” She pauses, thinking. “Well, that’s what they say. I think the real reason is that if I can’t drive myself around, they kind of always know where I’m gonna be.” She shrugs. “More controlled, you know?”

Pacifica sees Dipper’s hands tighten on the steering wheel a little bit as he frowns, but if he’s thinking any nasty thoughts about her parents, he keeps them to himself.

“Would you like to learn, if you could?” he asks.

Pacifica considers this for a second. Does she? Well, yes, she supposes, of course. She just hadn’t given it much thought before now. It never really seemed like an option. “Sure.”

Dipper’s eyes are still on the road, but she can tell from the way he chews on his bottom lip that he’s thinking. “I could teach you,” he says eventually. 

Her heart stutters at both the generosity of the offer and the hope that comes along with it. “What, really? You don’t have to do that.”

He lets his eyes meet hers, just for a second, before they bounce back out the windshield. “I want to, Cif.”

“I might be terrible,” she warns.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be terrible,” he laughs. “That’ll make it even better. You’re so good at everything—this will be something I can make fun of you for.”

“It’ll probably take a lot of time… I mean it when I say I have literally no experience. Like, even you got to drive that little golf cart around for a while. I never even had a big wheel. Mom was afraid I would crash it and get scars.”

His cheeks color a bit more. “Well, a lot of time with you isn’t exactly a bad thing in my book…”

“Oh? So not entirely altruistic then?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Okay,” she begins, a slow smile growing on her face. “Okay then. Yes, I accept. You can have the honor of teaching me to drive.”

He laughs. “Great. Then it’s settled. My truck isn’t the most glamorous, but it is an automatic so it shouldn’t be too hard to learn on.” He glances at her. “Don’t tell anybody that, though. Most trucks are manual. If people find out, I’ll lose some of my cool cred.”

“Like you had any to begin with, dork.”

“Hey, you’re the one who was just calling me—what was it—incredibly tough and sexy?”

“The truck, not you.”

“At least I can drive.”

“Well, soon I will be able to, too! And I bet once I really get going, I’ll be able to drive circles around you.” She pokes his shoulder.

Dipper looks like he wants to tease her back. She can see it in the quirk of his lips and in the sparkle of his eyes, but instead, he just smiles at her—warm and affectionate. “Yeah, I bet you will.”

Pacifica notices that they’re on her street. Something about that makes her want to keep the rest of their conversation sincere. “Thank you,” she says, softly. 

“Nothing to it.”

She looks back outside the passenger side window, smiling at the falling snow. It’s starting to let up a bit. She spots her house emerging from around the corner. 

“Pretty night,” she muses. “It should be nice for the yule log lighting.”

“What’s that?” 

She hums thoughtfully. “I always forget that you don’t know about any of our traditions aside from the summer ones. It’s a little festival,” she explains. “Some of the locals will find a fallen tree in the forest, cut it up, and turn it into a yule log, which is just like a regular log but Christmasy, I guess. We light on fire and everyone gathers in the town square, throws twigs on it to make a wish for the new year, whatever… cheesy stuff like that, you know.”

“Sounds nice,” Dipper says, turning his truck in past her gates. 

It is nice, she thinks. Dorky, yes. But it’s a sweet way to mark the end of the year. He’d love it, in fact. A thought occurs to her.

“So,” she begins, looking down at her hands. “I’ll have to go with my parents for the beginning part—they’ll want to make an appearance and play happy family and whatever. But—“ She shifts to look out the window. Dipper has pulled his truck up her driveway, right up to the front door. Parents be damned, apparently. Well, if he can be brave, she can too. “But,” she repeats. “Maybe you’d wanna meet me there? After all of the formalities and stuff are done, it could be fun to just hang out and walk around. To, like, do something sort of holiday-ish together before you leave for your mom’s. They have hot chocolate, and cookies, and just like, all sorts of cute stuff—“

“I’d love that,” he says, cutting her off. She turns to face him, and has to hold back a laugh at how eager he looks—his eyes are wild and he’s leaning forward in his seat toward her a little. He seems to notice her amusement and takes what must be a calming breath before relaxing back into his seat a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. But yeah. Yes. That would be amazing. I’m there.”

Pacifica smiles, then realizes she’s been twisting her hair between her fingers. “Cool,” she says, feeling her face flush.

“Yeah, cool,” he echoes. His is just as pink, but his grin says he doesn’t care. 

Chapter Text

“Mabel! Mabel, I need help!”

Dipper paces in his bedroom, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair for the umpteenth time. Crap, he’s messing it up, isn’t he? Another thing he’s going to have to figure out what to do about before tonight. Maybe Mabel has more of the mousse she used on him for their cousin’s wedding. That seemed to control it at least a little. But what if she doesn’t? Is he going to have to shower again to restyle it? Actually, he’s stressing so much that he probably could use another shower, anyway. But is there time? It’s already 5 PM and Pacifica said the event starts at 6:30 so—

“Man, this place is a disaster.”

Dipper turns to see his sister leaning against his door frame, arms crossed as she takes in the chaos that has become his bedroom. He has to admit it’s an overwhelming sight. His still unpacked and virtually ignored suitcase sits empty in a corner, while every piece of quasi-nice clothing he owns is thrown across his bed. It’s even worse than it was when he was panicking about what to wear to Homecoming. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathes out. His shoulders slump, and he turns to Mabel beseechingly. 

“Dipper,” she begins, stepping forward and plucking up a dress shirt between two fingers. “I told you not to put off packing for mom’s. Look, I get that you’re overwhelmed because you waited til the last minute, but that’s really not my—“

“That’s not it!” Dipper says, stepping forward and waving his hands in front of him. He hopes she sees the desperation on his face. “I don’t care about what to bring to LA. I’ll figure that out later. I don’t know what to wear tonight.”

“To the log fire thing?” Mabel looks puzzled. “Jeans? A jacket?”

“Um, yeah,” Dipper says, rubbing the back of his neck. “See, the thing is… Pacifica sort of asked me to hang out at it. And I don’t know if she meant it like a date or not, but if there’s any chance she did—“

Mabel positively shrieks. 

Dipper winces. He’s certain that whatever forest critters lurking in the woods nearby will have heard it and be wondering what’s going on at the old shack.

 “Dipper!” she cries, jumping forward and grabbing him by his upper arms. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you dummy?!” 

“Well, I wasn’t sure and—“

“Pfft!” Mabel says, cutting him off again. “Of course she meant it as a date! It’s at the very least in the category of quasi-date.” She releases him and turns to inspect the piles of clothes. “Knowing Pacifica, she probably wants you to still be the one to ask her out for your official first date—she likes to be pampered like that. Well, you know that more than anyone, probably. But this absolutely is a pre-date.” She begins sorting through the clothes, tossing aside t-shirts and flannels and smoothing out some of his nicer pieces. 

“I just don’t want to overdo it…” Dipper mumbles.

She turns to him, grabbing him by the shoulder firmly as she forces eye contact. “Oh, dear brother, you sweet summer child. It’s good that you asked me for help. Tonight is essential to your long-term happiness in life. If all goes as it should, you’ll be telling the story of tonight to your children.”

Dipper feels his cheeks go hot. “Oh, geez, no pressure though.”

“Bah!” Mabel says, returning to her sorting of the clothes. “You’ll be fine. If you look good, you’ll feel good, and the rest will be gravy.”

Dipper lets himself sink down in his desk chair as Mabel continues her analysis of his options. She studies it like he might study a new creature— examining angles, testing how changing this or that results in a different outcome, leaning back with a hand to her mouth and making minor adjustments. It’s impressive, really. He’s always been a little envious of Mabel’s natural skills. She has an artist’s eye, and he knows that whatever she ends up doing in life, she’ll excel if it has anything to do with creativity in the least. But more importantly, she enjoys it also. Dipper is good at a lot of things, but what is it that he cares about, what makes him tick? These are the questions that keep jumping up in his brain as decisions about his future loom closer and closer. The decisions that keep—

“Done!” Mabel says, jumping back from the bed and gesturing to a perfectly arranged outfit. He has to admit, it looks pretty good. Nice dark jeans and brown button-down shirt with a dark green knitted sweater layered over the top. “The brown of the shirt collar will peek out through the collar of the sweater, which will match both your belt and your boots— because it will be cold, so you need to wear those, especially if you’re going to be going on any romantic moonlit walks. Top it all off with that peacoat mom got you for Hanukkah, and you’ll be golden. Polished, but still casual.” She turns to give him a knowing smile. “Pacifica won’t stand a chance.”

“You’re really good at this, Mabel,” Dipper says, suddenly a little overwhelmed by the gratitude he feels. What will he do without her next year, wherever they each end up? 

“Eh, nothing to it. I can’t pretend I’m a disinterested party, anyway.”

“Still.” Dipper steps forward and pulls his sister into a hug with one arm. “Thank you.”

Mabel returns his embrace for a moment, and she must be thinking along the same lines as he is, because she doesn’t fight it when he holds on to her a bit longer than he normally would. 

After a moment though, he can feel her stiffen and frown into his shoulder, so he lets her go and she pulls back to examine him, all seriousness returned. 

She tilts her head. “We have got to do something about your hair, though.”

An hour or so later, Dipper, Mabel, and both their grunkles are all in the town square. Dipper is feeling pretty good about himself in the outfit Mabel picked out for him. Even Stan made a comment about him being a chip off the old block. Dipper isn’t really sure if he should take that as a compliment or not, though. 

There had been a mild bit of social wrangling when he had insisted he would drive himself (“Just in case I want to, uh, stay late or something!”), but aside from that and one other topic Dipper had been hoping to avoid, the family bonding vibes have been top-notch.

The four of them are busy building a snowman near the old church when Ford brings up the undesirable topic in question. 

“Oh!” Ford says, apparently suddenly remembering. “Dipper, my boy! I keep meaning to tell you— I heard back from some of my associates at West Coast Tech. They’d love to host you for lunch and a tour while you’re down in Southern California for the holidays. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of giving them your mother’s number.”

Dipper’s face feels suddenly cold. Well, colder. It is in the 30s.

“Oh, wow,” he starts, searching for the words. “That was really generous of you, Grunkle Ford.”

“Nonsense!” his uncle says. “I can’t wait for you to see the place. You’ll thrive there.”

“Yeah, totally, I’m sure.” Dipper tries to muster up as much enthusiasm as he can. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Mabel and Stan watching them closely. Stan rises and dusts some snow off his hands. 

“Come on, nerds,” he says. “No serious talk tonight. We’re here to reflect on the year, enjoy the moment, and most importantly— stuff our faces with Christmas cookies until we burst!”

The rest of the Pines follow suit, getting to their feet and brushing snow from their knees and hands. 

“Well,” Ford tries one more time. “I think you’ll very much enjoy the meeting. Dr. DeWitt— he’s a brilliant researcher— he said they’re really making some incredible headways in—

“Ford!” Stan interrupts again. “Come on. Let the kid enjoy the night. There’s no rush to grow up.”

“Ah yes, yes, very well,” Ford concedes, raising his hands in defeat. “You make a fair point. Plenty of time to discuss the future once you’re back from your visit!”

Dipper shoots his Grunkle Stan an appreciative look that he hopes he catches. He knows Ford means well, but he can’t help but feel that this is all going a bit too fast. He did apply to WCT—he knows he would be silly not to—but it still isn’t the only school he’s considering. Far from it, in fact. Truth be told, he’s barely any closer to narrowing his preferences down than he was at the beginning of the school year. He figures he’ll see where he gets in and take it from there. It buys him a few months of consideration, at least.

“Oooh, a gingerbread house making station!” Mabel coos. She grabs Dipper by his wrist and tugs him across the square in the direction of one of the many booths that have been set up. “Thought you could use an escape,” she whispers once they’re out of earshot.

“Thanks, Mabes,” Dipper says. “I know he’s excited, but…”

“It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees. 

“I’ll go with you on the tour— make sure you don’t get wined and dined into making a decision you’re not sure about.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling at her gratefully. “Have you made any decisions about next year?”

“Eh, not really. I’m still leaning toward that smaller design school, but the idea of a big university campus has its appeal, too. It’s so much pressure—trying to figure out what’s right. And it affects us for the rest of our lives! I know that living in the ‘summer forever’ bubble wasn’t a good call… but man, it sure sounds appealing again right now.”

“No kidding… Well, we’re still young now.” Dipper hands his sister a piece of gingerbread. “And right now, all I want to do is goof off with my sister.”

“That’s not all you want to do,” Mabel says, elbowing him and sending him a wink. “Where’s the future Mrs. Pines, anyway?”

Dipper blushes, then turns to begin working on his own bit of gingerbread. “She’ll be here. She has to go make some appearances with her parents first.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Excited. I mean, I’m trying not to get my hopes up. It’s just hanging out. But it’s really the first time we’ve done it outside of school since… well, you know.”

“You got this, brother.” Mabel pats his shoulder affectionately. “And if you end up fumbling and being a major dork, well, personally I think she’s crazy enough about you to overlook it.”

“That’s… mostly sweet of you. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The two continue working on their gingerbread house until they have something vaguely resembling a structure. By the time they’re wrapping up, a crowd has begun to gather near the stage set up in the center of the square. Dipper and Mabel wander over themselves, finding their grunkles once again. Dipper sees Wendy and some of her friends hanging off to one side and gives her a friendly wave—hopefully there will be time to catch up later. Kevin is nearby, too, and Dipper lets out a sigh of relief when he notices Madison with him, chatting closely with another guy from their school. See, he knew she would get over it eventually. Whoever is after Pacifica, he’s sure it’s more deeply rooted than jealousy over an unrequited crush. 

Mayor Cutebiker taps on the microphone on the stage. Inexplicably, he is still wearing shorts, though he does have a large, obnoxious cheetah print fur coat on which must provide some sort of warmth. 

“Seasons greetings and many happy returns, citizens of Gravity Falls! Welcome to our one hundred and seventy-second annual burning of the yule log! We’ve come a long way since that first Christmas so long ago when the yule log was not a log at all, but instead the state tax collector’s list of names and addresses of citizens with outstanding payments, but our commitment to the holiday season remains. With that in mind, please welcome to the stage, our ‘founding family’—“ The mayor says this bit in air quotes, giving the crowd an exaggerated wink. “—and still somehow the richest people in town— the Northwests!”

Mabel leans over to whisper to Dipper. “I thought they all got found out for being frauds?”

“They did,” Dipper whispers back. “But part of the ‘Never Mind All That Act’ was never minding all the fraud, too. To keep up the denial, I guess.” 

“Lame,” Mabel says. 

Dipper agrees, but he doesn’t voice it. He’s a little too distracted by the girl walking on stage. 

She’s with her parents, of course, whom he pointedly ignores in favor of taking in the sight of her. She looks a little bit like one of those porcelain dolls his maternal grandmother always puts out during the holidays. Her dress is red velvet, trimmed in green, and slightly obscured by the fitted, knee-length peacoat she wears over it. Her dress reaches down to just above her ankles, where she wears laced-up riding boots that look far from comfortable. Her hair is curled, which Dipper thinks is pretty, at least, but topping that off is a matching, frilly bonnet that must have been ripped right from the pages of A Christmas Carol. 

Her mother wears a similar, though slightly more mature dress in deep green, and her father is in some sort of Dickensian three-piece suit. Even the family dog—who trots on stage attached to a gold leash held at the other end by Pacifica—is decked out. She’s wearing her own version of Pacifica’s coat, which must have been custom-ordered because Dipper knows the local Feed-N-Stuff Pet Store does not, in fact, carry bespoke animal outfits.

Don’t her parents know the point of that story was to not hoard your wealth? Oh well. 

Pacifica’s eyes are busy scanning the crowd. They stop suddenly when they find him, and she gives him a little half-smile. His heart jumps up in his throat, the reality of tonight setting in. Alone time. Not in the library, or in class, or even on the steps of the school, or for fleeting moments in his truck. Real, honest to god alone time, that she asked for, outside in the real world, under a romantic, clear, starry night. 

Okay, calm down, man. 

Her dad steps up to the mic and gives some bogus speech about being grateful for what you have and trickle-down economics and some other consumerist nonsense, but Dipper isn’t listening to it. He keeps his eyes on Pacifica—even in what can really only be described as a Victorian era costume, she’s beautiful. The twinkling lights affixed to the shops around the square catch the shimmer of her eyeshadow, the pink of her cheeks… he thinks he could spend all night just looking at her and thinking about all the different ways she’s pretty. He’s only snapped from his observations when her father throws a match on the yule log, which erupts into flames frankly far quicker than it should. 

Stan leans over to whisper in his ear. “Might’ve doused some lighter fluid on the thing earlier in the afternoon. Who doesn’t love a show, eh?”

Dipper laughs as the crowd disperses. He notices Pacifica talking to her mother, who nods distractedly and waves her off. Pacifica smirks and turns on her heel, leading her dog along beside her. Dipper makes his own excuses and extracts himself from his family, pushing through the crowd to meet her at the stage steps. 

“Some outfit you have there,” he quips as soon as she’s at his side. “Should I expect to see you moonlighting as the ghost of Christmas present tonight?”

“Oh, you wish, Oliver Twist.” She tugs down the edge of his old beanie over his eyes. “Come on.”

Pacifica pulls him around the back of the stage, where she’s apparently stashed her backpack. 

“Here, hold Ruby,” she says, passing Dipper the leash to her dog, who had followed behind her loyally. 

Dipper looks down at the dog, who looks back up at him with what he swears is an appraisal. He’s only met her a few times prior— the Northwests don’t exactly like him coming over, after all— so he can forgive the animal’s suspicion and protectiveness over her owner. Ruby gives him a sniff, and she must decide that he’s okay, because she settles at his feet. 

Meanwhile, Pacifica is digging hurriedly into her bag. She rips the bonnet from her head and shoves it in, then pulls out her regular fuzzy boots and exchanges these in place of her tight riding boots. Then, much to Dipper’s surprise and momentary embarrassment, she reaches both hands up her skirt to yank down the petticoat that must have been hiding beneath. She tugs her own wool beanie on top of her head and her transformation from Christmas doll to… well, maybe a less over-the-top Christmas doll, is complete. 

“Ready?” She turns to look up at him, eyes sparkling. 

“Y-yeah,” he says, a little in amazed. He rubs at the back of his neck. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Well obviously we have to go make our Christmas wishes. Pay tribute to the log and whatever.”

Dipper grins and follows her back around toward the crowd, Ruby following, suddenly obedient to him as well, apparently. “I didn’t realize you were such a cheeseball about Christmas,” he teases.

She turns her nose up at him. “Maybe I just don’t want to end up on the naughty list. Got to make sure I get my presents Christmas morning, right?”

Dipper pushes away the jokes that pop up in his brain at that comment, instead reaching into his coat pocket to extract a small paper bag. “That reminds me, Mabel made these last night.” He hands her the bag and she peeks inside. “They’re just some holiday cookies. I helped, too. Well, I measured…” 

“My mom would kill you if she knew you were giving me calories.” She looks up at him, smirking. “Thank you.”

Before long they’ve made it to the front of the messy line of people. Dipper reaches forward to pluck two sprigs of pine tree needles from a basket near the burning log and hands one to Pacifica. 

“Know what you’re going to wish for?” she asks.

“Um, yeah, pretty sure,” he says, watching her. 

The first thing that comes to mind is obviously that they’ll be together in time. That he’ll be able to hold her and kiss her and tell her how much she means to him whenever he wants to, but something about that feels… not quite enough. Of course he wants to be with her, but is that really what he wants most? He watches as she turns her sprig over in her hands, closing her eyes as she makes her own wish. He wonders what she might be hoping for, what would make her happiest. And that’s just the problem. He realizes that what he wants, even more than being in a relationship with her, is for her to be happy. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine her at her most joyful— her smile, her laugh, her dancing, delighted eyes. And maybe… maybe, hopefully, he can be part of what makes that happen, too. But regardless of that, he wants her to have a fun and fulfilling life, full of the things she loves. He opens his eyes and tosses his sprig on the fire, too. 

“So,” she says, looking up at him. “What was it?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No way, I can’t tell you, then it won’t come true.”

She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout. “Spoil sport.”

“Trust me on this, princess. You want it to come true.”

He watches as her lips tug up into a small smile and her cheeks color. “Well in that case…”

Dipper gently touches his fingertips to the small of her back to turn her and guide her away from the fire so others can move up to consider their own hopes for the year to come. Ruby follows along at their side, sniffing with interest at the bag of cookies Pacifica still clutches. 

As they explore the small festival, Dipper shifts the leash from one hand to the other, intentionally keeping the hand nearest to her free. He doesn’t really have any serious expectation that she’ll make a move to hold it, but he wants to make sure the option is available should she decide to take it. The backs of her fingers do brush up against his enough times that he concludes there’s no way it’s accidental, and he enjoys the little thrills of electricity that seem to crackle between them each time it happens. 

There’s an absolutely breathtaking moment where they’re sampling some chocolates Susan has on sale. Pacifica bites into one, and Dipper swallows as he watches her glossy lips close around the treat. 

“Mmm,” she moans, her eyes rolling back a little. “This one is really good. Here, try it.” Dipper begins to lift his hand to take the rest of the chocolate from her, but before he can, she’s lifting it to his lips herself. “Open,” she says, and it’s impossible for him to deny her. She presses the treat into his mouth delicately, her fingertips resting against his lips for half a beat after. He’ll never know what that chocolate actually tasted like, because he’s far too distracted by the intimacy of the action and the way his heartbeat doubles over. 

Before long, they’ve visited all the various stalls and chatted with everyone they have any desire to. Mabel comes up to say hi but pointedly does not linger, and Pacifica’s friend Katy stays only long enough to tell Pacifica she hopes she has a “very fun” night before slipping away with a quick wink. Dipper smothers the laugh that tries to escape when he sees how pink Pacifica’s face has gone, and Pacifica simply grabs him by the elbow and mumbles something about taking Ruby further away so she can find a tree where she can do her business. 

It’s getting late, and the crowd has already begun to thin out. He knows his family left in Stan’s car about twenty minutes earlier, and he assumes the Northwests must have departed too, because he and Pacifica haven’t been having to do as much sidestepping and dodging to avoid them as they did earlier in the night. There’s only so much of the night left, and Dipper still has one more thing he wants to make sure he does before taking her home. 

They’re strolling down one of the shoveled pathways in the park near the outskirts of the event when he decides it’s now or never. He and Pacifica hadn’t discussed whether they would exchange gifts or not, and considering their friendship has really only recently begun to look anything like it once did, he figures it’s a safe assumption she wasn’t planning on it, but after the conversation about her wanting to learn to drive, he had an idea in his head that he simply could not rid himself of. He reaches up to pat at the thin rectangular package he shoved in his coat’s interior pocket earlier in the night. 

“Um, hey,” he starts. “Do you want to sit for a second? I know I shouldn’t have, but…” He reaches into the pocket to extract the carefully wrapped present. “I kind of got you something.” Pacifica’s eyes widen a fraction as she reaches forward to grasp the present with two hands.

“Oh, Dipper, you didn’t need to—“

“I know, it’s really nothing—“

“I feel bad. I didn’t get you anything—“

“Don’t, it’s just a little something. I just wanted you to have it.”

Pacifica nods and sits on a nearby bench. Dipper follows suit with Ruby trotting behind. He watches as she gently unties the bow and peels back the wrapping paper, the folds falling open to reveal the item inside.

It’s a small, lavender journal, with the words Pacifica Northwest embossed on the cover in gold. He’d found it at the craft store earlier in the week and did the lettering himself using his sister’s art supplies. 

“It’s really pretty,” Pacifica says, her fingers tracing the outline of his handwriting.

“I was just thinking—“ he begins. “About how you probably have all these things you want to do and learn— but, well, I know your family sort of likes to choose those for you. I was thinking maybe if you had somewhere to write them out, it might help you sort of figure them out in your own brain—to dream and figure out what they are, and how to make them real.”

Pacifica looks up at him, and he’s a little surprised to see that there are tears in her eyes. The water shimmers at the corners. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. “That’s… that’s really thoughtful. I love it.”

Dipper rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s nothing… I just thought— well, you know, journaling helps me sort out my head a bit. Maybe it could help you, too.”

Pacifica doesn’t say anything for a minute, just keeps looking at him while she blinks back her tears. 

“I want to give you something, too,” she says eventually. She rises suddenly, then reaches down to offer him her hand so she can pull him up from the bench. “Come on, let’s walk back toward the square. Maybe I’ll… find something.”

Dipper lets her pull him up and makes sure he only lets go of her hand at the last possible moment. “Cif, you really don’t have to. It’s no big deal.”

“Dipper, be quiet and trust me,” she says.

Something in her tone stills his worry, and slowly, the two begin making their way back toward the town center.

Dipper isn’t ready for this night to end. It went about as perfectly as it could have, and he hopes it isn’t too presumptuous that he’s already looking forward to the next time they can spend so much time together. It won’t be for a while. Winter break is two weeks long, and he and Mabel are leaving at the crack of dawn in the morning to begin the long drive down to LA. 

He’s been weighing in his mind all night whether or not to ask her to the upcoming Winter formal tonight, or hold onto it for another time. On one hand, it’s been a perfect night, and if she says yes it would pretty much cement its position as one of his favorites of all time. On the other hand, well, it’s been a perfect night, and if she says no for some reason, it would be undeniably marred. But would she say no? They’ve been flirting pretty blatantly, and he’s pretty sure she was dropping a pretty major hint when she told him that she hadn’t accepted any offers for a date yet. So no, he’s sure she wouldn’t. Oh, but what if she does? What if she says it’s too fast, or she’d rather just go as friends, or with friends, what if—

From the corner of his eye, he sees Pacifica’s face turn toward something. Suddenly, strangely, she reaches into the bag of Christmas cookies, extracting one and letting Ruby sniff it, before positively chucking it toward a light post on the opposite side of the street. 

“Whoa, hold on!” Dipper says as Ruby slips his grasp and goes chasing after the treat. 

“Oh no, we'd better go get her,” Pacifica deadpans, grabbing Dipper by the wrist and dragging him after the wayward dog, who thankfully stopped at the pole to happily munch on the cookie. 

Dipper reaches down to grab the end of her leash, and when he rises, Pacifica is looking at him head-on, standing closer than she really needs to be on the empty sidewalk. 

“Is everything—?” Dipper begins.

“Look up,” she says.

His heart flips over, somehow knowing before his brain catches up. Tilting his face up and toward the top of the light post, he sees it. A small bundle of mistletoe tied just beneath the light. 

“Oh,” he somehow manages to breathe out. He turns back down to look at her. Her eyes are clear and blue, with a determination in them he hasn’t seen in a while, but has missed dearly. 

“Close your eyes,” she instructs. 

Thankfully, his brain has just enough functionality to comprehend, and his eyes flutter shut. He feels her shift closer, and then place her hands flat on his chest. Instinctively, he leans into her touch, his own hands rising to find her waist. 

“Ah, ah,” Pacifica chides as she runs her hands up to either side of his neck. She must have slipped off her mittens, because it’s her warm fingertips that touch his skin. “No moving.”

“Pacifica…” he says, nearly a whimper. 

“This is my gift to you, Dipper,” she says, and he can tell she’s leaned in closer by the way her breath tickles his cheek. “Just stay still.”

Dipper swallows and nods, fighting to keep his hands motionless and eyes shut. The anticipation is almost more than he can stand. It feels like the entire universe has narrowed to this moment, to the space between their lips—which seems to be gradually closing if his senses are to be believed. 

She slips her hands from his neck up to cup either side of his face. With his hands still lightly resting on her waist, he can tell when she rises to her tiptoes and begins to lean in. There’s the briefest sensation of a warm exhale on his lips, and then he feels her lips press onto his, warm and solid. 

It’s a chaste kiss, especially in comparison to their last, but she lets it linger, and even presses in a little closer for an instant before slowly breaking apart and lowering herself back down to the ground. Dipper’s head is spinning. He wishes he could capture the moment and revisit it like those photos in the yearbook. Relive it again and again. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “You can open your eyes.”

He blinks them open, still feeling a little dizzy and ungrounded. His hands resting on her waist are the only thing keeping him centered. She’s back flat on the ground, looking up at him again with a look equal parts shy and mischievous— it’s an expression no one else he knows could really pull off. 

“Do you want to go to the dance with me?” he blurts out suddenly. The words really just tumble up and out of his mouth from seemingly nowhere. 

Pacifica’s cheeks darken a bit as she nods. “Took you long enough to ask, dummy.”

“Well,” Dipper begins, his brain slowly coming back online as a grin spreads across his face. “You did swear never to talk to me ever again at one point not too long ago.”

“Please, you should know better than to believe things like that.”

“So, at the risk of jumping to conclusions…” He lets one hand fall from her waist to gently tug at her hand, holding it lightly and loosely in his own. “…does this mean we’re officially friends again?”

Pacifica smirks, but there’s a warmth to it. “Well, let’s see… You ghosted me for four months. It’s been about three-and-a-half that you’ve been trying to make it up to me…”

“Three months, three weeks,” Dipper corrects. “The last week of August should count.”

“Okay, fine. Three months, three weeks… So, if we’re going strictly tit for tat—“ She pokes him on the chest with her free hand. “You still have another week to go, mister.”

Dipper leans in and gives her his best, most winning smile. “Is there anything I can do to get you to give me a freebie?”

“Hm,” she says, tapping her lips as she pretends to think. “Be my personal chauffeur? When I want to go places my parents wouldn’t approve of, I mean. Until I learn myself.”

“So just a little bit of indentured servitude?”

“Please, most guys would jump at the opportunity.”

“Oh, so it’s actually a reward, then?”

“A privilege, yes,” she grins up at him. “Don’t waste it.”

They start making their way back toward the town center once again. By the time they reach it, Dipper’s old truck is one of the only cars remaining. He makes good on his promise and takes her (and Ruby) home, driving just a little bit more slowly than he normally would—and not just because of the icy roads. Sadly, the sight of her home does eventually come into view. Pacifica kisses him again before she gets out of the cab. This one is just on the cheek, but it’s so sweet and slow and full of meaning that he doesn’t feel any sort of disappointment about it. 

Chapter Text

Pacifica pedals faster in an effort to make it up the hill on her bicycle. She’s really looking forward to the day when she can drive and use her bike just for fun and not as a necessary means of transportation. It’d be one thing if she lived in the city… but out here in the mountains, well, she’s in shape, but these inclines still get to her after a while. 

She braces herself for the gust of cold she knows will hit her face in a moment when she breaks out of the shelter of some trees. It’d be easier and much more pleasant if she could freaking see where the heck she is going, but given that it’s 1 AM and the woods of Gravity Falls aren’t illuminated by anything other than the pale moon, she supposes she’s just going to have to suck it up.

It would also be easier if her destination wasn’t at the very top of one of these surrounding hills. It’s funny actually, she doesn’t remember it feeling so high up when she was little. Weird how your perspective changes.

The road levels out a bit and she lets her mind drift back, replaying the events of the last week for maybe the hundredth time.

The kiss. Oh my god the kiss. She kissed him. She’s thought about it a lot since the night she did it, mostly in the evenings while she is getting ready for bed and tucking herself under the covers. 

A not too small part of her wishes that she hadn’t told him to stay still. If she let him move, would he have kissed her back? Well, she knows the answer to that: obviously. But what would it have been like? Maybe he would’ve touched her face gently, tipped back her head to kiss her deeper, yet still delicately. Or maybe he would’ve tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her forward flush against him, and maybe even let his hands move up and down her sides? Even better, maybe he would’ve pushed her back up against the light pole, protecting the back of her head with one hand while he pressed forward with the other and—

She shakes her head as she pedals, refocusing on the task at hand. This is not the time to get lost in those daydreams. Save it for later, girl. 

Christmas was whatever. She’d survived the standard family dinner Christmas Eve—basically a copy-paste of Thanksgiving. Her grandfather pointedly refused to ask her any questions about high school, choosing instead to focus on what her first year of college at Davenport might be like. If Pacifica had been paying any attention at all, her head might’ve been spinning at the end of the meal as her grandfather listed off the all the names of the clubs and secret societies that she absolutely must become a part of, the dorms that she under no circumstances was to be placed in, and the professors she was to cozy up to to secure the proper connections. 

Thankfully for Pacifica, she wasn’t paying attention.

Her mind was, as it has been all week, on the kiss. She had blinked absently and given her tacit agreements and nods of understanding as her family lectured her, her mind roughly a 14-hour drive south down the I-5 interstate. 

Dipper had called her on Christmas morning, and they chatted briefly, giddily, until a ring of a bell signaled that it was time for her to come downstairs for a stuffy breakfast. He hadn’t brought up the kiss in any sort of direct way, but he had made a joke about hoping that she didn’t find herself underneath any additional mistletoe while he was gone, and she assured him that she would avoid any that she came across. Not quite a definition of the relationship, but certainly a declaration of interest in defining it, right? 

In the present, her heart squeezes a bit. She’s pretty much accepted that she wants to be with him. The next year still looms like a giant, unwelcome expiration date, but she’ll just… not think about that right now. 

She stands up on her pedals once she reaches the top of the hill she’s been climbing and enjoys the way gravity pulls her down the other side. The wind whips through her hair, and the breeze feels more invigorating than annoying now that it’s an accessory to her adrenaline rush.

Her parents had left for France the day after Christmas. The tree hadn’t even been taken out yet, and they were already getting into the back of the family limousine and being whisked off toward the private airstrip. Apparently, her father had decided that the embarrassment of cancelling the ski trip that her mother had set up, which he had been so opposed to just a few months earlier, outweighed the hit to their pocketbook. 

They didn’t even bother to invite Pacifica. She knows why, too. Her absence could be easily explained with a casual wave of the hand and references to teenage stubbornness or focus on school or a busy social calendar, but if she went, that would mean an additional seat on the private jet, a second suite, not to mention all the incidentals— lift passes, dinners, and a new wardrobe, of course, because you simply cannot be seen skiing last year‘s snowsuit. 

So no, Pacifica had been left behind—not that she was complaining. She’d very much been enjoying her time at home alone, in fact. Aside from the cook’s once-a-day visit to prepare her Priscilla-approved meals, she had the place to herself. She’d briefly considered throwing a party, like all the teen movies, but decided that 1) clean up would be a disaster and she was not about to take on that responsibility without help and 2) she just… didn’t want to. Weird.

So New Year’s Eve had also been whatever, in her view. She wasn’t feeling super motivated to go out, but after a couple of days wandering around the house by herself with only Ruby to talk to, she’d started having conversations with mounted animal heads on the walls, too, so she’d thought it smart to take up the invitation to go to the house party that one of the football guys was hosting. 

That had been whatever, too, unfortunately—loud music, drunk teenagers, someone got pushed in the frigid pool. A guy from her Spanish class offered her a Jell-O shot. Hm, better not, she had thought, turning it away and thinking back to Halloween. She made sure to leave well before midnight, too. No sense in getting anyone else’s hopes up. It was the kind thing to do, really.

Dipper and Mabel sent her a selfie a little bit before midnight— their faces squished together in what must be their mom’s new living room. Mabel’s face bore her trademark exaggerated grin. Dipper looked happy too, but his smile was a little more subdued, his eyes a little anxious. Pacifica decided to file that away, but maybe she was imagining things. She responded in the group thread with her own selfies— one flashing a peace sign with a wink, and the other puckering her lips to blow a kiss. Let them figure out which is for which twin, she thought, smiling to herself. Shouldn’t be too hard. 

He called her just a few seconds after midnight. 

“Hey, loser,” she had answered. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year to you, too,” Dipper responded. She could practically hear his grin through the phone. Whatever had been bothering him must have been resolved. 

She could hear Mabel’s muffled “Happy New Year, Paz!” from the background.

“Happy New Year, Mabel!” she yelled in return, causing Dipper to yelp. 

“Hey!” he cried. “My ear is still right up against the receiver!”

“Pfft, you’ll live,” she sassed back. 

They’d ended up talking well into the early morning hours that night. By the time they finally wished their final good nights, she was cozy in her pajamas in bed and pretty sure they had each drifted off more than a couple times. When she woke, it was with a sleepy smile on her face and her phone still clutched in her hand.

But that’ll have to do for the reminiscing, she thinks, as she backpedals to slow her bike; she’s here. 

Northwest Manor is dark tonight. Her parents absolutely refuse to allow her to call it McGucket’s whatever-it-is Hut. And like, honestly, it is the home she grew up in, the home generations of Northwests grew up in. And she knows that was only because of corruption and greed and lies, sure, but it was still her home. So yeah, it’s hard for her to think of it as anything other than Northwest Manor, too. 

She had tried to do this during daylight, even called Mr. McGucket and asked to come over (“Just to, like, reminisce, you know? I’m feeling nostalgic with the new year and everything…”). She had a perfectly pleasant time, truth be told, but the old man hadn’t left her alone for a single second, following her around as she roamed and chatting animatedly about the… what was it he called it? ‘Ho-down?’ Well, whatever— talking about the party he has planned for the summer. Her parents would have passed out on the spot. 

So under the cover of darkness it would be. She has a hunch, and she needs to see it through. 

McGucket doesn’t close the front gates like her family did, so slipping through those is no issue at all. She stashes her bike in a bush and begins making her way along the brick wall, following it until she reaches the far side of the mansion. She knows there’s a kitchen window that always refuses to latch— Margo would complain about the draft in the winter, which always fell on deaf ears of course. Pacifica kneels down and runs her hand along the window frame, tugging until it gives way with a creak. Yes! she thinks. Dipper would be so proud of her. See? I can be adventurous, too. 

She pulls open the window fully and slips her lower body in until her feet hit the counter below it, then tucks in on herself to scramble in the rest of the way. The window falls shut behind her. 

She takes a second to listen for movement. The residents of the home should be well asleep by now, she thinks as she tiptoes out of the kitchen and toward the stairs leading to the ground floor. It’ll be fine, anyway, she reasons, if she gets caught. She’s not here to do anything illegal, after all. Well, aside from the breaking and entering. But she’s already gotten that part out of the way. And what’s a little B&E between friends? Or acquaintances, anyway. Whatever. 

The only light comes from the faint moonlight that falls in through the ceiling-high windows, casting shadows that loom dark in corners and along the wood floors. But she doesn’t need to be able to see for her feet to find the familiar path that leads to the sweeping, grand staircase that serves as the centerpiece of the foyer. Her tennis shoes are quiet on the worn steps as they carry her up and toward the upper floors. 

She tries not to think about the ghosts—both literal and figurative—that haunt this home as she sneaks down the dark hallways toward her destination. Generations and generations of Northwests, just like her, walked these halls and lived out their charmed lives. She wonders if any of them felt like her—stuck in a legacy, trapped by expectation and duty. Surely some of them had escaped. There must be a way. 

Lost in thought, she almost misses the large oil painting that conceals the entrance to the hidden room. It’s not the same one from all those years ago. Dipper and her had pretty much destroyed that one when they went tumbling through it, after all, but she knows it’s the right one when she tugs on one side of the frame and it swings open on a hinge. 

She looks over her shoulder one more time, then slips inside and closes the painting shut behind her. Only then does she take out her phone to turn on the flashlight feature. 

The flashlight. She remembers sitting right here, playing with a real one shortly after discovering the truth of her family’s sins. It felt like her world crumbled to pieces that night, each discovered painting documenting one painful truth worse than the next. Who was she if not another link in the world’s worst chain?

But then, a sliver of hope. A word of encouragement and a gesture of trust from a boy. The same boy who now holds so much of her heart in his hands. She feels a wave of warmth wash over her from head to toe. It feels like safety and promise. She’s been getting that feeling more and more lately when she thinks about Dipper. 

If only he could be with her here and now. He’d wrap her in his arms and hold her and reassure her that she’s her own person, that she doesn’t have to follow in her family’s footsteps. 

But he’s not here, she thinks, swallowing as the warm feeling fades away, replaced with the chill of the room around her. He’s 800 miles away, probably taking the first steps toward his future. Dipper had mentioned that his uncle had set up a tour for him to see West Coast Tech while he was visiting his mother for the holidays. 

“Oh,” she had said. “That’s great.” She really tried to make it sound sincere. 

“I haven’t made a decision, though,” he responded, sounding a little urgent. “I’m not sure it’s the right match for me. For, well, a lot of reasons.”

And she had known then that he would, in a heartbeat, give up the opportunity to attend one of the best schools in the country for her. And under no circumstances could she allow him to do that. 

But, yeah, not thinking about that right now.

Instead, she moves toward a large stack of boxes and crates near the back of the room. She’d already searched her new home high and low and, having no luck, figured there really was only one remaining place the objects of her hunt could be. 

She pushes past boxes labelled things like “taxes” and blackmail until she finds what she’s been looking for: a large steamer trunk with the initials BN engraved into a dusty gold plate on the lid. 

“Hello, Bunny,” she says, kneeling down to run her fingers over the latch. She takes a single breath, then flips it. 

The lid is heavy, but she’s able to push it up on her own with a grunt, until it falls back against some other boxes and stays upright. The contents of the trunk are like a time capsule, or some sort of tribute to her dead aunt. On top of everything is a large garment bag with a couture designer label embroidered into the fabric. Her wedding dress, no doubt. Pacifica tugs the dress out and lays it carefully on the floor. She may have moved on from many of her family’s values, but she still respects fashion. It’s not the dress’s fault her aunt was a spoiled, probably racist, jerk.

She leans in and begins shuffling through the trunk. Jewelry, letters, a sash reading Prom Queen and no fewer than two dozen blue ribbons for one equestrian event or another. All pretty typical mementos for her kind of people. And then there is it. Her heartbeat races as she wraps her fingers around the worn, cracking cover of the old book. She tugs it free and holds up her light to read the cover. 

Gravity Falls High School

1954-1955 Yearbook

Bingo.

She grins to herself. He’s going to be so proud. 

She tucks the book into her backpack, then quickly stuffs the dress and other contents of the trunk back in before lowering the lid slowly, trying not to let it slam and wake the house. A second later she’s back out through the hidden entrance, speed walking down the hall toward the stairs. But her eyes catch on a door to her left, stopping her in her tracks. 

It’s the door to her old bedroom. She knows from the other day that it’s empty. McGucket had let her roam around it a little, but it was hard to really let herself think with the well-intentioned but pretty distracting ramblings of the old man. He’d been talking about different styles of barbecue, she thinks. 

She lets her feet take her in the direction of the door, wraps her hand around the familiar, intricate knob, and twists it to push open. 

Streaks of moonlight shine in across the empty room. It was never an especially cozy place, but it had been hers, and it’s strange to see it so barren of any personality. Although, had it really had much personality when she lived there? Her furniture had been in the family for decades, her clothes had been picked by her mother, the ribbons and awards that lined the walls were all for activities of her father’s choosing. What might it have looked like, had she been allowed to decorate it herself? Would she have had books on outer space and the Egyptian pyramids instead of about ponies and English castles? Would her dolls be well-used and well-loved, instead of perched oh-so-perfectly high on display on her bookshelves? 

She’s troubled to find that she really doesn’t know. 

What would she have wanted for herself, given the chance? What does she want now?

She thinks of the journal Dipper gave her for Christmas. It sits, still empty, in the top drawer of her desk. She’d sat down with it open in front of her more than once, trying to think of what sort of hopes and dreams she might memorialize in it, but each time her mind had come up blank. 

Well, she thinks as she gives her old bedroom one last glance over her shoulder, at least she knows what she doesn’t want, even if it seems like an inevitability at this point. And… yes, there’s one thing she knows she wants, but there’s no sense living in daydreams. This year will just have to be enough. He’s got a brighter future ahead. 

Dipper lets his face fall against the passenger side window of his mom’s sedan. The cool glass is soothing, but isn’t enough to unwind the knot of dread and anxiety gathering in his gut.  

His mom drives next to him, turning the wheel left and right to follow the serpentine freeway that leads the car further into the suburbs and away from downtown Los Angeles. 

In the backseat behind him, Mabel hums a happy tune. He knows she’s doing it to keep his spirits up. 

It’s so stupid, really, he thinks. Going to check out a potential university should be exciting! He’s under no obligation to go here. He hasn’t signed on any dotted lines. So why does it feel as though his future has already been decided for him? 

He hasn’t been this anxious since New Year’s Eve, when Mabel had to talk him down from a spiral over whether or not to call Pacifica at midnight. 

“What if she’s out having fun?” he’d moaned. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Even if she is, she’ll definitely answer for you!” argued his sister. 

“It just seems needy…”

“Okay, here’s what we do. We send her a selfie from both of us, nothing else. Pacifica loves taking selfies. She’ll totally respond with one, too, and then at least you’ll know if she’s out or not.”

Even if she had been at a party, the picture she sent of her blowing a kiss would have been encouragement enough for him to eagerly press CALL at precisely 12:00:00 AM. 

“Almost there,” sing-songs his mother as the freeway around them gives way into a regular city boulevard. 

Dipper peers out the window as he takes in the city that could become his new home. It’s nice, if he’s honest with himself. It’s an older community, at least by West Coast standards. The palm trees that line the avenues here are old enough to have grown tall over the years. There are other trees, though, too. Mature oaks and sycamores on the sidewalks and in the yards of the homey, lived-in neighborhoods. Craftsman bungalows sit nestled between colonial-style homes that were probably built only a hundred years ago, max, but still evoke more character than the cookie-cutter tract homes that had come to mind when he pictured Southern California suburbs. They pass a nicer-than-average shopping district, and between turn-of-the-century brick commercial buildings, he can see the outline of snow-capped mountains not too far off at all. The city actually reminds him a lot of Piedmont, which is comforting in its own way, he supposes. 

It’s only another five minutes or so before his mother’s GPS is going off, and she’s pulling into a parking lot just off the road they’ve been traveling down. Dipper reads the large sign that welcomes them. 

West Coast Institute of Technology

His stomach flips over, from what feeling exactly, he isn’t sure. 

“Welcome!” greets an enthusiastic, if a little awkward, middle-aged man as they walk away from the parking lot and toward one of the campus entrances a few minutes later. “You must be, Mason, am I right?” He reaches forward and grips Dipper’s hand. “I’m Dr. DeWitt. It’s wonderful to have you here. Your uncle has told me so much about you.”

“Ah, yeah,” Dipper says, struggling to smile as he pulls his hand back. “It’s nice to meet you, too. This is my mom and sister.”

“What’s up, doc?” Says Mabel, jumping forward. “Nice to meet ya, pretty nice nerd temple you all have here.”

Dipper looks around. She’s right. It is a really pretty school. He had been expecting all hard lines and dim concrete—practical and dull. And there certainly are a few buildings that are clearly modern—sleek and stylish glass structures, but most of the campus is a mix of warm Spanish colonial and mid-century retrofuturism. Ivy clings to the walls of the older buildings, and as they begin to follow Dr. DeWitt further into the heart of the campus, they even come across a small garden area and pond. Students spread out in the grass, enjoying the pleasant winter sun. It’s not at all what he’d been expecting. 

Lunch is served at the faculty club, a richly-appointed building at a far corner of the school. Dipper flips through the glossy booklet Dr. DeWitt handed to him, examining the table of contents as his mother, a professor and researcher herself, makes small talk about her latest study. His eyes scan down the list of areas of study. 

Astrophysics…

Bioengineering…

Biology…

Chemical Engineering…

Chemistry…

Computer Science...

Engineering…

English…

Wait. 

English?

“Um, sorry to interrupt—“ Dipper begins. 

“Nonsense!” says the doctor. “We’re here for you. Did you have a question?”

“Well, yeah, it’s just—does this school really have an English major?”

“Oh, why yes, of course,” says the doctor, though he seems a little unenthused. “It’s usually chosen in conjunction with a STEM degree, though, with an emphasis on writing and persuasion.”

“Oh, okay. But, like, there are writing courses then?”

“Our Humanities school is small, but yes, we offer several courses. Nearly all our graduates go on to postdoctoral studies, and that requires a good deal of applying for grants, presenting studies for peer review…”

The doctor continues with his sales pitch, but Dipper has already begun to tune him out again. 

His eyes wander past the wood-lined walls of the faculty club, out the windows to the pretty, green campus beyond. He watches absently as students wander past— some alone and lost in thought, others chatting happily with friends. 

It is nice. So why does he feel so hesitant? This is probably just the type of place he might have happily ended up if he’d never been to Gravity Falls, he realizes. It’s pleasant, clean, focused, and predictable. But where’s the adventure? Where’s the excitement and surprise?

And where’s… well, never mind. She’s not here, and she’s not going to be here. There’s nothing to draw Pacifica to a school like this. She likes the sciences, but that’s always been more his thing than hers.

They continue with a tour of the various laboratories and libraries. Dipper falls back to walk alongside Mabel, who wraps her arm through his to give it a quick squeeze. 

“How you doing there, broseph?”

“I mean, it’s great.”

“But.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees, sighing. “But.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But it’s such a great opportunity, wouldn’t I be stupid to pass it up?”

“It might be a great opportunity for someone, but if you wouldn’t be happy here, I think that’s all that really matters.”

“But, maybe I could be,” Dipper says, watching a group of students circle up for an outdoors study session. “I just can’t sort my head out. I don’t know if the hesitation I’m feeling is because of the importance of the decision, or because it’s really just not right for me, or if I don’t know myself well enough yet, or if…”

“If…?” prompts Mabel, kindly.

“Well, you know. I know it’s kind of dumb to turn down something great because of a crush.”

“Dipper, let’s be real. What you and Pacifica have goes well beyond crushing.”

“Yeah,” Dipper admits, feeling a little heat creep up his neck. “That’s true.” He leans in a little closer to Mabel, whispering. “But man, could you imagine what our parents would say if I told them I can’t make any decisions about college until I get my relationship status worked out first? They’d throttle me.”

“Eh, I don’t think you’re giving mom and dad enough credit. They met and fell in love young, too.”

“And look how that worked out.”

“Nah, that would never happen to you and Pacifica. The moment you get together, it’s for good.”

“I just mean that mom and dad might not see it that way. All romantic, like you do. And… I don’t want to let them down.”

Mabel is quiet for a second, frowning a little as she watches a duck in the reflecting pool they’re currently walking beside. “Maybe,” she concedes. “But I think the most important thing for you to consider here is what’s going to make you proud of yourself, not anyone else. And, yeah, if you were some random person asking me whether they should give up on a great school because of a teenage puppy love, I’d probably say they were bananas.” 

“That’s what I’m—“

“But,” Mabel continues. “You’re not. You’re my brother, and I know you better than anyone. And what’s between you and Pacifica isn’t teenage puppy love. You trust one another. You challenge one another, but in a good way. You make one another better. You’re the happiest you’ve ever been when you’re with her. Like, lighter somehow. And honestly, Dipper, this school might be the place for you, or it might not be, and that might have absolutely nothing to do with Pacifica at all. But I don’t think you’re going to be able to make a clear decision either way until you sort out what’s going on between you two.”

Dipper lets this sit for a beat. 

“She kissed me,” he admits quietly. He had been planning on waiting until they were on the drive home to Oregon to tell her. He’d been too busy processing and playing it over and over in his head on the way down to want to bring it up yet, and he and Mabel really hadn’t had a moment of alone time since they’ve been in LA with their mother, so he assumed the drive back up would be the perfect day-long opportunity to overanalyze and answer all the perhaps slightly intrusive questions Mabel would undoubtedly have. So he surprises himself a little by saying something now; it just kind of slipped out. 

Mabel stops walking abruptly and grabs his arm once more, her grip lethal. She spins to him. 

“WHAT?”

In a tree beside them, a flock of wild parrots startles and flees their perch with a squawk. From ahead, their mother turns around, giving Mabel a look, before once again becoming distracted by whatever the professor is telling her.

Dipper has to stifle a laugh. Mabel twists her face up as she tries to calm herself down.

“When did this happen?” she hisses, keeping her voice down. 

“At the Christmas thing in town, before we left.” He rubs at his neck, smiling at the memory. “We, uh, hung out for a while longer.”

“Where?” Her grip tightens. 

“We went for a walk in the park, in the snow,” he explains.

“And?” 

“I gave her my present—the journal, you know?” Dipper continues. 

Mabel nods tightly, excitedly. 

“And she said she wanted to give me something too… and I told her she didn’t have to, of course, but she insisted.”

His sister squeaks, clapping her hands together.

“And so we were walking back,” Dipper says, lowering his voice a little more. “And then out of nowhere she made Ruby—her dog, you know—run after one of the cookies you made. Right toward some mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe!” Mabel coos. 

“Yeah,” Dipper chuckles, heat rising to his cheeks. “And, well, yeah. She kissed me. It was… sweet.”

“Well no wonder you’re all mixed up in the head about next year! You’ve got yourself a girlfriend waiting at home!”

“Well, I don’t know about that yet…”