Chapter Text
That’s when she said I don’t hate you, boy
I just want to save you
While there’s still something left to save…
-Savior
Rise Against
Of all the banks being held up in all the world, he walks into mine, Pacifica thought.
Of all the banks being held up in all the world, I walk into hers, Dipper thought.
“Hands in the air!” the man yelled, and he pointed his gun at Dipper. Better you than the kid, he thought to himself.
Better you than her .
Dipper didn’t put his hands in the air. “Sir,” he said, not dropping the megawatt grin he was sporting, “I just want you to know that this is so cool.”
Oh my god, Pacifica thought, he’s going nuts. From her perspective, the grin was a con man’s grin - loud and inviting. Why was he wearing it? Was he trying to lull the robber into a sense of security? Is he really that excited?
Oh my god if I don’t stop smiling I think I’m going to shit my pants , Dipper thought to himself. Stan had taught him the smile. He liked to think that he had perfected it more than Mabel had. She had more of a slasher smile, which, combined with a glint in her eyes, made her extraordinarily creepy.
Dipper’s smile made you want to trust him.
Mabel’s smile made you think that she was gonna dismember you.
To be fair, she usually was.
“I mean it!” the man shouted. Dipper noticed that his hands were trembling. Must have been his first bank robbery. “Down on the ground with the girl!”
“The girl?” Dipper asked, feigning ignorance.
“Yes! Her!” The robber jerked his gun over at Pacifica, who, to her credit, didn’t flinch.
“Oh, that girl?” Dipper did the what’s-up head nod. “Hey, Blondie.”
“You know her?”
“Know who?”
“The girl!”
“What girl?”
“That girl!”
“The mom? I’ve never met her.”
“ THE BLONDE ONE!”
“What blonde girl?”
The robber fired into the ceiling. The mom screamed. The kid started weeping. Pacifica’s eyes widened. Dipper smirked.
“Congratulations, dude, you know how a gun works.”
His nonchalance threw the robber off. His knees were shaking, which Dipper thought was a little cliche, but whatever. He leveled the gun at Dipper again. “Next shot,” the robber attempted to threaten, “goes through your skull.”
Dipper gave a side look to Pacifica, rolling his eyes. “Look, Mr. Robber- I’m sorry, do you have a name?” he asked. “Calling you Mister Robber just makes me take you less seriously than I already do.”
“Call me… Determined,” the robber said confidently.
Pacifica, still kneeling on the side with her hands on her head, whistled sardonically. “Hope you weren’t planning on using that as a supervillain name.”
Now Pacifica understood why Dipper mouthed off to everything - it was kinda fun. Dipper nodded appreciatively to her.
The robber - sorry, Determined - seemed embarrassed now. “Of course not!” he snapped.
“So what would be your supervillain name?” Dipper asked. Stalling , Pacifica thought. He must have already called the police.
Man, I sure wish I called the police, Dipper thought.
“Well, first of all, they would call me Doomsday,” Determined said with a tone that implied that he had put some deep thought into this, “and second, I’m not a supervillain, I'm just a guy that needs some money. And you two are the ones standing between me and my goal. So if I were you, I’d move out of the way.”
“It’s copyright,” Pacifica called.
“What?” Determined snapped as he turned to her, keeping his gun at Dipper.
“Doomsday. That name is the same as a guy at DC.”
“And this involves me how?”
“Oh, it doesn’t,” Pacifica replied, smiling sweetly. “I just wanted to keep you distracted.”
“To keep me wha-” Determined managed to squeeze out before Dipper punched him in the enormous nose.
There was a cracking noise, a squeal of pain, and blood flowing as Determined’s nose broke. With a wail, he swung the gun at Dipper blindly, slamming the pistol into his shoulder. Dipper winced as he staggered backward. The teller passed out on the spot. The mom screamed in fear. The kid screamed, “GET HIM!”
With a Xena-like yell, Pacifica shoulder-rushed Determined in the small of his back. He flew forward, yelling nasally.
The robber fired blindly, and with a crash, the entire fish tank above the door exploded, dumping water everywhere - and on Dipper. He tried to roll out of the way, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.
“Who puts a fish tank right above a door?!”
-
In the year 1837, President Quentin Trembley, for his third amendment to the US Constitution, decreed that tanks of water shall be placed above the door of each house. This was done to save money on legally-mandated fire extinguishers, despite costing more.
Naturally, this caused the national housefire average to rise into the thousands, and this policy was terminated when President Trembley “accidentally” fell into a container of peanut brittle.
Also naturally, the citizens of Gravity Falls ignored the policy cancellation because they had put, in the words of Mayor Befufftlefumper (who was one of President Trembley’s right-hand babies), “pwetty fissies in doowa!”
And that was that.
-
All of this went through Dipper’s mind, which he thought was strange. Here he was, facing a deranged, potentially deadly man with a gun, and he was thinking through history.
He felt a cold breeze flowing into his wet back, and he touched the back of his shirt, only to find it missing. He pulled his hand back and it was covered in a strange red liquid. Dipper idly wondered why, until he looked around him.
Glass, blood, water, flopping fish, and shredded scraps of shirt surrounded him on the ground. His shirt hung off of him loosely, so Dipper simply tore it off, feeling a bit like a superhero. He wondered why he felt like he was moving in jelly. Blood loss, probably.
Then Dipper saw the robber level the gun at Pacifica, and he moved.
Pacifica stared down the barrel of the gun fearlessly. At least, she hoped it was a fearless look on her face. She would hate to die looking constipated.
The robber fired.
There was a flash of blue.
And blood splattered all over her shirt.
And it was brand new too.
Pacifica yelled and punched the robber in the face.
She was pretty sure that she had just broken her thumb. Note to self, thumb goes on the outside.
Determined stumbled backwards and landed on his back in the pile of glass. He screamed in pain.
Then the rest of the fishtank fell down on top of him, and he was silent.
Pacifica wanted to say a cool one-liner, like, “And stay down,” or “Tanks for nothing,” (okay, maybe she wouldn't go with the second one,) but then Dipper groaned.
She sprinted over to him and crouched down. “Starboy! You okay?!”
Dipper didn’t really turn towards her so much as flop in her vague direction. “No.”
“What’s wrong? Break your nose or something?”
Dipper lifted up his shirt, revealing an absolutely sculpted six-pack.
Covered in a red liquid that seemed to be leaking from his side.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’ve been shot.”
“Bang,” Dipper agreed, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Pacifica’s mind raced. This is bad. Thank you, mind, for stating the obvious. Shut up, mind.
The teller was dialing 9-1-1, hands shaking. Hospital? Yeah, that’s a safe bet.
Then Dipper jerked himself up. “No hospitals,” he murmured, then went back out.
He’s losing blood , the rational part of her brain argued. Of course he needs a hospital .
The impulsive side said, Get him out of here.
Pacifica went with her gut. It changed her life, just a little bit.
She hauled him up and carried him over her shoulder. She was pretty proud of herself for doing that. Starboy was no featherweight.
“You’re so strong,” he mumbled, then giggled a bit and was still.
“Don’t mention us,” Pacifica told the teller, who nodded, pale-faced. “Kid, you alright? How’s your ma?”
“She’s un-conk-us!” the little guy said cheerfully. “She’ll wake up! Thank you!”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell the cops we were here, okay?”
“Okay! Gorney’s got your back!”
“Er, thanks.”
And with that, Pacifica hauled Dipper out the door. She plopped him into the golf cart, and made sure that he didn't slump over. She hopped into the driver’s seat, placed an arm over Dipper’s chest in the same way that a mother would with her kid, or a pizza delivery guy with his pizza, and sped off.
-
Dipper didn’t really remember the trip to Pacifica’s house, but screw him. It was Pacifica’s turn for the narrative focus!
Of course, before he totally blacked out, Dipper managed to remember to do one thing. He shifted the sweater away from his gut. There was a slight flash of silver, then blood started flooding. The pressure was gone.
Dipper managed to focus at least a little bit, and his finger started glowing blue. This is gonna be nasty , he thought resignedly to himself.
Pacifica looked over. “What-what are you doing?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
He grinned at her. “Practicing my fingering skills.”
Then he plunged his finger into the wound. It slid in with a satisfying squelch . Pacifica nearly tumbled out of the cart. “ JESUS!” she yelled.
Dipper dragged it back out, and it was covered in blood. The bullet was stuck to the end. “Top-notch,” he said, winking at her deliriously. “What’d I tell ya?” He flicked the blood-covered bullet at her in the same way that a third-grader would flick a piece of paper at his classmate.
Okay, mission one achieved. What was mission two?
Oh, right.
Dipper ignited his hand with a blue fire. Pacifica noticed earlier this time. “No,” she warned, a touch of hysteria in her eyes. “Do not. No, no no no no no no no-”
He took a deep breath, and shoved it on the wound.
The scream echoed across the town. Pacifica nearly swerved off the road. Dipper passed right out again, his still-smoldering hand laying limply to his side. His gut wound was severely black and red. The idiot had tried to cauterize himself, Pacifica realized.
-
“He what?” Gideon demanded. “He set himself on fire ?”
“Yeah, basically. He seems fine now.”
They both glanced over to the sofa. Dipper was asleep on his back. Pacifica wondered if there was a difference between sleeping and unconscious . She asked Gideon.
“Not really. I'd say he’s more in a medically asleep way instead of a normally-asleep one.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, for one thing, he passed out when he’s not tired. He’s been in a lot of pain. And he seems like a snorer.”
“‘M nat a sn’r’r,” Dipper mumbled from the couch. Gideon jumped about a foot in the air. Pacifica yelped, then raced over to kneel next to the couch.
“You’re awake.”
“On the outside,” he agreed groggily. He looked at himself. “Did I get shot?”
“Er…”
“Awesome!”
“Awesome?” Gideon asked as he walked over. “That’s pretty un-awesome.”
“What happened to the robber dude?”
“Arrested,” Pacifica told him. “The bank teller called the cops. Then we bailed.”
“Ooh, we’re fugitives!” Dipper seemed a bit more awake now. He was also out of his gourd.
Pacifica paled. “Oh god. We are.”
Gideon snorted. “Yeah, I’m terrified that Officer Tats will be busting down our door.”
“I should get another tattoo,” Dipper mused. “I mean, I’ve already got one.”
Gideon and Pacifica looked at Dipper, then at each other.
“It’s kinda got a cult-y vibe to it, though. Really drives off people.”
“It lets you shoot fire from your hands,” Pacifica said drolly.
There was a beat. “I can shoot fire from my hands?! Man, I should get shot more often!”
Gideon went to the kitchen and came back with a purple pill and some water. “This will let you shoot fire from your feet, too,” he told Dipper solemnly.
He chugged the water, then dry-swallowed the pill. “I can’t wait!”
Within thirty seconds, he was asleep. “NyQuil,” Gideon explained off of Pacifica’s glare. “He’ll be out for a while. And in that while, I have got to take a shower. Mabel will be here any minute.”
“There’s a kid that shoots fireballs out of his hands laying on our couch, shot, and he just cauterized himself. We just gave him terrible, terrible first aid. You just drugged him. And you’re more worried about a date?”
“He’ll be fine,” Gideon scoffed, then adopted a fairly-impressive British accent. “And my priorities are impeccable , darling.”
“Almost as impeccable as your stupid accent,” Pacifica said. She sat down on the blue leather chair across from the couch. Dipper was snoring - so he is a snorer - as he sprawled out on the couch. “And then there were two,” she narrated out loud.
“Mmrph,” Dipper said as he rolled over, giving Pacifica an ample view of the injury on his ribs. It… looked unexpectedly clean. Pacifica had seen burn victims before when her uncle had brought her along to his volunteer fireman adventures, but none looked like this.
Ordinarily, burn wounds looked like melted wax. If it was on a limb, occasionally the bones would be visible. On the off chance that the wound actually healed (and by “off chance”, the odds were astronomical), the black wound and crispy flesh never faded.
Pacifica also found that people with bad burns smelled like fried chicken. She didn’t quite know what to make of that.
As she watched, a blue speck of light ran up and down the wound, just barely visible unless you were looking for it. The wound seemed to pale just a bit as it returned to Dipper’s normal pale skin. The wound, in the shape of a hand, had previously covered his entire side, but had shrunk to a spot on his ribcage.
As Pacifica watched, her leg began to tingle a bit - the leg that she had wounded a week ago. It was almost poetic how first Dipper let her in to his home to heal. Now Pacifica was doing the same.
Then Dipper randomly said, “Mama, I don’t wanna go to school,” and the moment was gone.
“Whelp,” Pacifica sighed, leaning back. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.” She grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and flipped over to the news.
“-the robber was apprehended after, it appears, the bank’s fish tank fell on his head,” the reporter said into the camera. Behind him, a soaking wet Determined was hauled into a cop car, babbling incessantly.
“We have two eyewitnesses on the scene. One woman is being treated for a possible concussion, as she passed out after she saw the gun. The teller refuses to say anything.” The reporter walked over to the young boy, now grinning from ear-to-ear. “Sir, is there any chance you can tell us what you’ve seen?”
The kid - Gorney - said, “Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?!”
The reporter’s face went blank for a second, then he put his hand on his forehead. “Back to you at the studio, Tom,” he groaned. “Where’s my Advil?”
“Thank you, Jerry,” the newscaster said. “And now, time for Six Hours Of Kittens!”
A picture of a kitten popped up. It was adorable.
Pacifica turned off the TV and slumped back in her chair, exhaling in relief. They were safe for a bit at least.
Then Dipper’s pocket started vibrating. Pacifica briefly wondered if it was more magic, then realized that it was his phone. Pacifica walked over and crouched down next to the couch. “Okay, don’t be getting the wrong impression,” she sternly told the still-unconscious Dipper, and reached into his pocket. She dug out the phone.
The caller ID picture was one of a crusty old man, a pair of rabbit ears on his head and a playfully-grumpy scowl on his face. Next to him, also with a pair of bunny ears on, was a wide-grinning Dipper. He couldn’t have been more than ten.
GRUNKLE STAN, read the letters above the picture. Against her better judgement, she pressed the green answer button and pushed the phone against her ear.
“Kid,” barked the voice on the other end of the line. Stan’s voice sounded exactly how she would have imagined it based on the picture. “You alive? You missed practice.”
Pacifica stayed silent for a second.
“Your silence says that you’re either thinking of an answer or someone else has the phone.”
“Uh, this is Pizza Hut. How can we help you?” Okay, that was probably the dumbest thing I’ve tried in a while.
There was dumbfounded silence on the other end of the line. “...you’re the blonde chick from a while ago.”
“How do you know?”
“You sound like a blonde.” Unbelievable. “Anyway, is he alive?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Is he safe?”
Pacifica looked at him. The scar had shrunk even more, and he was now snoring contentedly. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s all I need to know,” was the gruff reply.
“...okay, then, hanging up now,” Pacifica said, trying her hardest to get out of the most awkward conversation of her life.
“Wait, Blondie!” Stan said before she could hang up. Absolutely. Un. Be. Lievable. “I got a favor to ask.”
“Um, sure.”
“Be nice to him, will you?” Stan asked. It was a pretty simple request, but Pacifica didn’t really have an answer. “Our favorite idiot isn’t much with people. You seem to be his friend. Do me a favor and stay that way, will you?”
“We’re not friends!” Pacifica said, way too quickly.
Stan laughed. “Is that why you’re answering his phone?”
He hung up before she could answer.
Pacifica leveled a glare at Dipper, then tossed the phone onto him. It bounced off the couch cushion and flopped onto Dipper’s back. He didn’t wake. “Your whole freakin’ family is just full of jerks! ” She stalked off to her closet to get another sweater, still complaining the entire way. Gideon was singing too loudly in the shower to hear her griping.
She flopped onto the recliner, still grumbling to herself about how We’re not friends and Senile old man . Within thirty seconds, she was asleep.
-
Pacifica woke with a jerk when the front door slammed shut. “I'm awake!” she yelped. Someone’s in the house , she realized. Gideon?
There was a thunk , and a female voiced cursed.
“Not Gideon,” Pacifica said under her breath, and picked the lamp up off of the couchside table.
Dipper was awake too, mumbling, “Hrrrgh. Whrr ‘m I?”
Gideon was already running down the hallway, dressed in a nice polo, frantically combing his hair up. “She’s here! She’s here!”
“Seriously,” Dipper said, slurring his words less. “Where am I?”
“Oh, you’re awake,” Gideon said. “Hi. Go back to sleep.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Dipper let his head fall back on the couch. Pacifica set the lamp back on the table and smacked her hand on his forehead. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Making sure you don’t have a fever,” Pacifica told him. “Now relax.”
“You’re not my mother.”
Pacifica took her hand off. “Fine. Die. See if I care.”
“ Thank you. I’m dying on my own terms.”
“Oh.” Pacifica turned around, and there, in all of her blue-suited glory, was Mabel Pines. “My. God.”
She walked up to Pacifica, and she was too stunned to react. Mabel towered over Pacifica, which was not unimpressive - Paz stood at a solid five-eight.
Her face was unreadable. Was she upset over the fact that Pacifica had basically kidnapped her brother and was letting him bleed out on her couch?
Suddenly, Mabel’s face broke out into a grin that brightened the Western coastline up. “I love your sweater!” she squealed. “What material is it?”
Paz decided to roll with it. “Gator skin,” Pacifica answered proudly, grinning right back.
On the couch, Dipper rolled off in surprise. “Why do you have a gator-skin sweater?!”
“Do you not have one?” Mabel called over at him. She threw a purple shirt at him, then turned back to Pacifica. “Thank you so much for taking care of his puny ass. I would have gotten him sooner, but-”
Pacifica quickly waved her off. “It’s perfectly fine! I kinda owe him for last time, with the-”
“With the Corgi-thing?”
“Yeah, that and he kinda saved me at the bank.”
“Please. I’m sure you saved him.”
“Well, just a little bit.”
Dipper sputtered indignantly. “A little bit?!”
Both of the girls pointedly ignored him. “So you and Gideon, huh?” Pacifica asked excitedly. “What are you two’s plans for the night?”
“Oh, just some food. I’ll have him home by-”
“No no no, keep him for as long as you want!”
Gideon stood next to Dipper as the two of them watched the girls chatter on and exchange phone numbers. “That,” he said, “is unnerving.”
The only thing Dipper could say was, “Yep.”
Finally, Mabel said, “Well, this has been fun! I’ll see you around more, I hope!”
“Oh, yeah, definitely!” Pacifica watched as Gideon offered an arm to Mabel, who, despite towering over him, took it gracefully, and the two walked off into the night.
Before they got too far, Dipper yelled from the front door, “Hey, Gleeful!” Gideon turned around. “Whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you.”
Gideon stammered, “Uh, do you want my other arm? Because-”
“Keep walking, Gideon!” Pacifica called as she dragged Dipper back inside the Shack. She slammed the door shut. “Will you leave him alone?”
“He is going out with my sister! I actually have an excuse to be an asshole to him!”
“That… is actually a slightly-valid excuse, I guess.” Pacifica took a deep breath. “Now, do you need a ride back to your house?”
“No, but you and me are gonna need a ride to the diner,” Dipper stated flatly. Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “It’s a Pines family tradition that whenever someone saves our lives, we get them food.” Dipper marched out the door. “Where’s your stupid golf cart?”
Ignoring the insult to her beloved cart, Pacifica jogged after him. “So you admit that I saved your life.”
Dipper must have realized that he walked right into that one. “A little bit. I had it under control.”
“Is that why you had a fish tank fall on your head?”
“I had it… 80% under control.”
“Oh, eighty percent. I guess I should have just left you there.”
Dipper hopped into the passenger seat of the cart. Pacifica started it up, and off they drove, still arguing.
Behind them, a nasal voice sighed. “If they don’t stop arguing with each other, this is gonna be a long couple of months.” A man with an eyepatch shimmered into existence. Waddles, who had been meandering the backyard while he waited for Dipper to leave, saw him, gave a fearsome piggy roar, and charged. Bill yelped, and with another shimmer, he was gone again.