Chapter Text
I’m a little bit steady but still a little bit rolling stone
I’m a little bit heaven but still a little bit flesh and bone
Little found, little don’t know where I am
I’m a little bit holy water but still a little bit burning man
-"Burning Man"
Dierks Bentley
The front door to the Mystery Shack and Motor Repair slammed open and startled Gideon awake. As he swatted Waddles away from his head, where the pig had been nibbling on his ear, he sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes. Had he fallen asleep while reading the Journal again?
He walked downstairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning something about carnivorous pigs - there was weirder stuff in Gravity Falls - and paused to burp. The taste of Skittles filled his mouth, and what seemed like a rainbow poured out of his mouth like a frosty breath on a winter day. It dissipated into the sun.
“I really hope that’s not permanent,” Gideon groaned to himself. It had been six days since the Corgon incident, and rainbows were still erupting from his… bodily orifices. It was kinda gross, but Mabel thought that it was cool.
He brightened at the thought of her. They had been texting daily, and tonight was a big night - their first date. He only hoped that her slightly-psychopathic brother wouldn’t find out. He really liked Mabel, and although he could be wrong, Gideon thought that for the first time, a girl really liked him.
The thought stopped in its place when he saw what the cat had dragged in. Pacifica was propping up a figure and yelling, blood covering her purple tank top. Her sweater was tied around his shoulder, looping around his armpit and his shoulder. It was stained in crimson.
“Paz, oh my god!” Gideon yelped as he helped her guide the figure to the couch. “What happened?!”
“I think…” she panted. “I think he’s dying.”
On the couch, Gideon’s veins ran ice-cold when he finally saw who it was.
Dipper Pines was bleeding out on Gideon’s couch.
THREE HOURS EARLIER
“Well, shit.”
Dipper kicked the tire of his bike dejectedly. Two hours ago, Mabel had found his bike in the woods and, in her own words, “placed it gently on the ground,” by which she meant that she had thrown it haphazardly onto the back lawn. It was covered in mud, leaves and something that looked suspiciously like squirrel poop. The red flames had gone a mild rust color. The seat, which had been freshly washed six days ago, was caked in waste.
He was not happy about this. But at least it gave him something to do, which would be a nice change of pace.
For the last six days, Dipper had mostly remained in his room, only coming out for show practice, helping with Ford, and breakfast. Heartbreak be damned, Stan’s waffles were the best thing ever.
Okay, “heartbreak” was probably too strong of a word. Disappointment? Yeah, that was a bit closer. Was he vaguely sad about the fact that the only human that he had been friendly to in six years had yelled at him to stay away from her and stormed off? Dipper was a little annoyed by that, sure.
He had finally gotten done with his moping, though, and was ready to rejoin the world. First things first, he thought to himself as he paced through the backyard. Dipper grabbed his cell phone - with a blue phone case, naturally - out of his pocket and called the repairman.
“Hey, Mister Ramirez, it’s Dipper Pines. Any chance I could make an appointment for today? My bike is, uh, a little messed up.”
“Oh, hey, dude!” One thing that Dipper always appreciated was Soos’s omnipresent cheerfulness. “Yeah, sure I can hook you up with a fixup! Just gotta call boss-man. I’ll call back in fifteen, dude.”
“Alright. Thanks, Mister Ramirez.”
“Call me Soos, dude!” The line went dead.
“Well, that went well,” Dipper said. The day was going well so far, although it was pretty short. Dipper looked at the clock on his phone. Eight o’clock. Usually, his sister would be up at 7:30, but last night, she had had her girlfriends over and they hadn’t gone to sleep… ever, now that Dipper thought about it. Sure enough, as he walked inside, he had to take a running leap over Grenda, who was knocked out at the door between the kitchen and the living room, snoring like a sumo wrestler/semi truck hybrid. Candy was draped over the couch, and Mabel had curled up on the dining room table with Sharpie markings covering her face.
Dipper smirked, grabbed a Sharpie, drew a dick on her forehead, took a picture, and strolled out the door.
It was a beautiful day. If Dipper could whistle, he would, but as it was, he just hummed the theme song to Duck-Tective.
He was dressed in his blue hoodie and cargo shorts. Dipper had combed his bangs down a bit to hide his birthmark. As he opened the door to the El Burro and sidled into a booth, a waitress walked over, not looking up from her phone. “Welcome to El Burro,” she said flatly as her fingers typed away. “It’s the greatest Mexican restaurant this side of Portland.”
“It’s the only Mexican restaurant.”
“My name is Tambry and I’ll be your server tonight.”
“Tonight? It’s 8:30 in the morning.”
“And you’re the one eating Mexican at 8:30 in the morning.” She still hadn’t looked up from her phone.
Fair point . “I'll have an enchilada, please.”
As Tambry the suspiciously non-Mexican waitress walked away, having never looked up from her phone, Dipper’s mind went back to the bike. It was obviously fixable, but his mechanical skills were worse than non-existent. That wasn’t much of an exaggeration - he had attempted to replace the motor of the boat that Stan had bought and accidentally turned the entire boat into a Transformer. One that shot lasers. And one that now roamed the lakeside, looking for Dipper for vengeance.
Dipper didn’t swim much anymore.
-
“Call me Soos, dude!” Soos said into the phone, then hung up. He whistled as he got out of bed, pulling on his mechanic’s jumpsuit. Emblazoned on the back was the letters GFM - Gravity Falls Mechanics.
Next to him, a figure yawned and rose up. As she sat on the bed, Melody rubbed her eyes and said, “Morning, babe.”
“Hey, beautiful!” Soos replied cheerfully. “Gotta get going to work. Dipper Pines broke his bike again!”
“Dipper Pines…” Melody tried to remember who that was in her early morning haze. When she succeeded, she groaned and fell back. “That little jerk.”
“You know him?”
“Know him? Everyone knows him. His family ruined my family!” She hesitated for a second. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t his fault, but I still have a grudge!”
“He’s still my favorite customer, though. Hey, isn’t he the same age as that friend of yours? What was her name again?”
“Pacifica? Yeah, they really hit it off, until Pacifica went nuts.”
“Nuts?”
One thing that Melody always appreciated about her boyfriend was his willingness to listen. As she pulled her question mark T-shirt on, she explained. “See, we fought a giant Corgi that farts rainbows together after it put Gideon in a coma.”
Another thing that she appreciated was his ability to accept those kinds of sentences as ones that were said like an everyday thing. He gestured for her to go on.
“Well, those two were really hitting it off - you know, arguing-slash-flirting. Anyway, we ended up outside his house, and then she told him to stay away from her and Gideon, then she stormed off.” She shrugged as she pulled pants on. “Dipper was as surprised as I was.”
Soos listened to her tale in silence. When his girlfriend finished, he nodded once. “I know just what to do about this,” he said gravely - well, as gravely as it gets from a ray of sunshine in human form. He pulled his cell phone out again and called Dipper. “Dipdop!”
“Yo,” came the response.
“So, problem. We couldn’t get an appointment for you, but I do have a better idea. You know the other mechanic, on the other side of town?”
“The Mystery Shack And Motor Repair?”
“That’s the one. Well, they’re free this afternoon. Any chance you could get your bike fixed there?”
There was a muffled curse on the other end. “Yeah, sure, Mr. Rami-Soos. Thanks.”
“Sorry, dude!”
“S’alright.” The line went dead.
“Mission accomplished,” Soos told Melody, grinning.
She stared at him. “You are incredibly evil.”
Soos took his hat off and pressed it to his chest. “My evilness is both a blessing and a curse,” he said solemnly.
“You know, you’re cute when you’re evil. See you tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, dude.” Soos kissed her on the forehead and held the door open for her as she left.
His phone rang again. “What’s up, dog?”
“RAMIREZ!” the voice on the other end yelled. “DID YOU SERIOUSLY GIVE ONE OF MY CLIENTS TO ANOTHER MECHANIC?!”
It was gonna be a long day at work.
-
Dipper put the phone down and groaned. His chimichanga (the waitress had gotten the order wrong) didn’t look quite so appetizing.
This was gonna suck .
As he paid for his order (he left a low tip) and hoisted himself out of his seat, Dipper tried to think of what to say. Sorry for… Wait, why the hell did he have to apologize? She’s the one who went psycho.
Right?
-
Pacifica Northwest woke up from a really weird dream and immediately swore to never, ever talk about it ever again. Ever.
The clock on her table read 9:00. She had slept in. Pacifica stretched and yawned. She whistled the tune to Duck-Tective as she pulled some clothes on. Paz had decided to wear her bright green “Hamsteriffic!” sweater and some cargo shorts. “Well,” she noted as she looked herself in the mirror, “this is certainly a fashion statement.”
She bounced her way down the stairs into the kitchen. Gideon was asleep on the couch, phone on his chest. Pacifica poked him a few times to wake him up.
“Hrmmagazzar,” he mumbled as he swatted at her hand. “I’m awake, I’m awake, I’ve never slept a day in my life.”
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Pacifica wandered off to the kitchen to make some toast, which was, by her own admission, the only type of food that she could make and not destroy the kitchen. Even making cereal wasn’t safe, and the fire department hadn’t believed her when she told them that.
“Doo doo doo, makin’ breakfast…” she hummed to herself as she plugged in the toaster. Pacifica prayed that it wouldn’t explode on her like the blender had, and was pleasantly surprised.
Gideon sat at the counter and rubbed his eyes. “Ergh. I was up all night texting.”
“You?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “Texting? Another human?”
He stuck his tongue out at her. “Yeah, yeah. A human girl , too.”
“Who - oh.” Pacifica remembered the events of a few days ago. “Mabel. She seemed nice. We didn’t really get to talk.”
“She’s really nice. A little bit psycho. You both hate her brother, so you have that in common.”
“That creep. You said he bullied you, right?”
“Yeah, but…” Gideon hesitated, but Pacifica interrupted.
“He picks on you, I don’t like him. Story’s over.”
“He’s not as bad as I thought he was,” Gideon said thoughtfully. “Dipper could have just let me die. There’s something good underneath all of that douchebagginess.”
Pacifica was about to answer, but the phone rang. “Bud!” she hollered as the toast popped out of the toaster. “Phone’s ringing!”
From his bedroom, Bud said something along the lines of, “Hrgmrmrmmmrm,” which Pacifica translated to, “Get it yourself.”
Pacifica answered the phone, set on it speaker, and said in her best impression of Bud, “Thank you for calling the Mystery Shack and Motor Repair, how can we rip you off today?” Gideon snickered.
A male voice came from the receiver. “Yeah, hi, can I talk to Bud Gleeful?” The voice was deep and hesitant, like he didn’t really want to be calling here.
It was Dipper Pines’s voice.
Ah, crap.
Gideon and Pacifica both looked at the phone, then at each other in horror. “Speaking,” Pacifica said in the same deep voice.
“I’d like to get a repair for my bike, is there any way I could schedule an appointment?” The voice sounded almost bored, but still polite.
“Of course, sir. Does 3:30 work?”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“Can I get a name for the appointment?” Pacifica already knew it was, of course, but still felt obligated.
“Dipper Pines. See you at 3:30.” The line went dead.
For the next thirty seconds, the silence was overbearing, until Gideon broke with a succinct, “Holy shit .”
Pacifica felt like swearing too, but she managed to contain it to a deep exhale. “What are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna fix his bike is what we’re gonna do,” Gideon said confidently. “We’re gonna bury the hatchet with him, and you’re gonna talk to him like a normal teenage girl.”
“Uh huh,” Pacifica said, nodding. “Hey, Bud! Is there any errands you need to do at around 3:15?”
“Bank!” came the short reply.
“ Or I could go to the bank at 3:15 and never have to talk to him ever again.”
“You can’t keep running from John, Pacifica.” Gideon said it so suddenly and so matter-of-fact that Pacifica about fell off of her chair.
“I am not running from him!” Pacifica said defensively. “I’m just… reluctant.”
Gideon faced Pacifica and looked her dead in the eye. “I get it, okay? You don’t want another incident like him. I’ve never had to live through what you did, so take my opinion for what it’s worth. John will never happen again. Getting feelings for someone else isn’t the worst thing ever. It’s bound to happen. You can’t keep trying to escape.”
“Look-”
“No, Pacifica, listen. You like someone, and that’s good. It will help you move on, help you forget. But staying stuck on him? That’s just giving him the satisfaction that he doesn’t deserve.”
Pacifica was quiet, then she hopped up and went outside in silence, leaving her half-eaten toast behind her.
-
“Does she seriously think that she’s good at imitating voices?” Dipper asked no one as he sat on his bed. He had recognized her voice instantly, mainly because she was terrible at pretending to be a full-grown man, but he had played along because he wanted to get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.
He probably could have let Ford take a look at it, but he didn’t trust the old man to not put a rocket thruster or a self-destruct mechanism or a little wicker basket on it. He shuddered at the last one.
No, Dipper needed an actual mechanic. The girl whose name he refused to say seemed like she was pretty knowledgeable at machines. She would have to do-
“Hey, kid!” Stan yelled as he barged in. Dipper yelped and snapped out of his thoughts.
“Stan! Knock first! I could have been, I don't know, masturbating or something!”
“Does ‘something’ mean listening to Katy Perry?” Stan knew that he had the kid boxed in. “You got a chair for an old man? I gotta talk to ya.”
Dipper gestured to the other side of the room, where a well-used beanbag chair sat forlornly, as if it was terrified of the elderly rear end that was about to be placed upon it. Stan plopped down and leaned forward. He was dressed in his suit, as usual, and his gray hair shined in the sunlight streaming in through the window.
“Look, kid,” he began. “I heard that you had some girl troubles.”
“Oh god.”
“Shut up and let me finish. Did you like the girl?”
“Did Mabel put you up to this? I told her to stay out of this.”
“Do you like her?”
“She was alright.”
“I knew an alright girl once,” Stan said, his eyes flashing back to when he was young. Dipper wondered how long ago that was. Fifties, maybe? Forties? Ancient Egypt? Maybe the Jurassic period? And on the eighth day, God made Stan Pines. It all went downhill from there.
Dipper told the voice in his head to shut up and listen.
“Her name was Carla. Met her when I was running naked through Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. She saw me and didn’t run away screaming. I knew it was love at first sight.”
“Why were you running naked through the town?”
“Not important, kid. We started talking, and every day, I fell a little more for her. Eventually, I bought a ring, decided to pop the question. But I was waiting for the right moment, took too long, and she met Shermie.”
“She met Granddad?”
“She’s your grandma, kid. Died a year before you and Kid Number Two were born. Moral of the story-”
“Run naked through the town until I see her and she falls in love with me. Got it,” Dipper said sardonically.
“I mean, if you think it’ll work. But don’t take too long.” He stood up with a groan. His back popped and crackled. “That reminds me, you might need to run to the bank. Your card is running low on cash.”
“I’ll do that in a few.” Stan grunted and went to leave, but Dipper said, “Hey Stan?”
He turned around.
“Thanks.”
Stan nodded and walked away.
Bank closes at five, and your appointment is at 3:30. Might as well stop by there on your way to the Mystery Shack.
“Good plan, me.” Dipper looked at the clock. It was 10:00. “Nap time!”
Dipper laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Five minutes later, he felt something crawling on his arm. He sat up and looked. On his arm was a fuzzy brown thing with bright red eyes and fangs. “What the fu-”
With a chomp , the Hampire clamped down on his forearm and stayed there.
“GET IT OFF!” Dipper swung his arm around, trying to dislodge it. It hung tight, snarling at him ferociously. Eventually, Dipper’s mind slowed, and he tried to pull the demonic rodent off. He realized that the freaking rat was gonna tear off his skin before letting go.
Dipper sighed, resigned, and walked downstairs. Mabel was checking under the couch. “Here, hamster hamster hamster!” she called, like she was looking for a lost dog. She saw Dipper and stood up. “Ford lost the Hampire. You seen it anywhere?”
In response, Dipper held up his arm. The little bastard was still hanging there. “Pretty sure it’s got my scent.”
Mabel inspected the hamster. It growled at her. “How does your arm feel?”
“Tired, kinda weak. It’s starting to get pale.”
Mabel poked it. “Does the Hampire look… bigger to you?”
Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, then the hamster. Sure enough, it was the size of a guinea pig. “That’s… not a good sign,” Dipper said slowly.
Five minutes later, Dipper and Mabel stepped off of the elevator to Ford’s lab. Dipper’s arm was numb.
“Oh, you found it!” Ford shouted from the other side. The portal was still wrecked, but he was slowly repairing it. Ford put his goggles up and jogged over. He held Dipper’s arm carefully and inspected the rodent. “It’s growing healthily, that’s a good sign!”
“Ford,” Dipper said through gritted teeth. “Get. It. Off.”
“Please,” Mabel added.
“Hmm?” Ford looked up, temporarily distracted. “Oh, right! Apologies.” He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a cross and a pair of pliers. Ford grabbed the Hampire and waved the cross around. Immediately, the guinea-pig-sized hamster let go and shrieked in pain.
“Don’t hurt him!” Mabel cried.
“Kill that thing!” Dipper shouted.
“Relax, sweetie,” Ford said, patting Mabel on the head. “Just a momentary shock.” He dropped the hamster in the same cage, which now had a conspicuous hole in the bottom. “And I can’t kill it. It’s a new species! Who knows what it could do?”
“It could amputate my arm,” Dipper said flatly as he inspected his wound. There were two little holes where it had been biting down.
“Oh please. Blood flows back!”
The Hampire clawed at the cage and roared demonically. Or at least as demonically as a hamster could roar, anyway. Mabel poked its cage. “It’s so cute !” she cooed. “Its eyes are filled with rage! Ford, can I keep it in my room?”
“Apologies, dear,” Ford said absentmindedly as he looked over Dipper’s wound. Pulling a ball of cotton and some iodine from another one of his pockets, he started dabbing on the bite. “It needs to stay down here with me for future tests.”
“What would you do with a vampire hamster, anyway?” Dipper asked, wincing. “Feed your boyfriends to it?”
“Yep!”
Yet again, Dipper made a note about how terrifying his sister was.
“Okey dokey,” Ford said as he finished cleaning up. “It should be good for now, but you might wanna get a bandage on it. I think we have them upstairs, right?”
“Yep. Thanks, Ford. I think I’m gonna need to head to the bank. You gonna need any help for the rest of the day?”
“No, but thank you. I’m sure that Stanley will want to practice your act at around six.” With that, Ford walked back to the portal.
“Bye, Ford!” Mabel called. He waved half-heartedly over his shoulder.
Back in the kitchen, Mabel stuck another smiley-face Band-Aid on Dipper’s arm. His forearm was covered in them. Dipper had started to protest, but long ago, he had learned to just let it happen. “And, done!” Mabel announced as she smacked one on his forehead. “Lookin’ fabulous!”
“Thanks, Mab,” Dipper sighed. He could peel them all off later. “See you at practice tonight.”
“No, you won’t, bro bro,” Mabel replied. “I got me a date tonight!”
“With Gideon?”
“Yup!”
“I don’t have to drop you off or pick you up or anything, right?”
“We’re walking. You don’t have to see Pacifica.”
The name sent a chill down Dipper’s spine. “I wasn’t-”
“Dip, it’s fine, really. I get that she freaked out, but sooner or later, one of you is gonna have to make a move to wreck - recon - what’s that word again?”
“Reconcile?”
“Yeah, that. As a good starting point, I would suggest being nicer to Gideon so she has one less reason to not talk to you.”
“Fair point.”
Dipper looked at the clock. Man, it was two o'clock already? “I’m gonna go work out for an hour, then run to the bank. Twin bump?” He stuck his fist out.
“Twin bump.” Mabel tapped his fist with one of her own.
-
Pacifica put down the wrench and slid out from underneath the Cabo, humming along to The Rolling Stones as it blared from her radio. The undercarriage needed washing, and while she was down there, she found that the oil pan was dented. So Pacifica decided to pass the time with an impromptu repair session.
She took off her gloves and wiped an arm against her forehead. The oil stain could be dealt with later. “Doo doo doo doo, heartbreaker,” Pacifica sang as she cleaned up the workstation. As she put the screwdrivers back into the toolbox, she kicked the jack that held the car up. It lowered itself to the ground.
Looking in the mirror, she groaned when she saw the rust stain on her jumpsuit. “Gonna have to clean that up,” Pacifica muttered. She slid the creeper back underneath the shelf and stretched. The Cabo was looking better and better every day. Headlights had been replaced, transmissions had been updated and air fresheners had been installed.
“Heartbreaker, you’re a heartbreaker…” Pacifica scatted as she turned off the radio. She took off her work boots and left them on the perch. Walking inside, she slung her nasty jumpsuit into the laundry room.
“Pacifica!” Gideon yelled from his room. “I need some advice!”
“I’m comin’!” Pacifica grabbed an apple and started heading upstairs. “You better have clothes on.”
“That’s the problem,” Gideon said solemnly as he looked in his closet. “What should I wear tonight?”
“Well…” Pacifica looked in his closet. She saw a lot of orange t-shirts and blue vests. “As your cousin, I cannot let you wear a vest on your first date. That would be against my morals. Where are you going?”
“Ace of Clubs Bar and Grill.”
“Okay, so a tie is probably too much.”
“I’ll wear anything, I just want her to have a good first impression?”
“Gideon, from the way she looked at you a few days ago, you could wear a loincloth and she’d still fall all over you. Now - do you have any flannel?”
An hour later, she had settled on an outfit for him. A red plaid button-up, sleeves unrolled, and jeans. “How do I look?” Gideon asked, turning around and looking at himself in the mirror.
“Lookin’ like a snack, cuz. Might wanna go fix your hair, though.” It was not in its usual pompadour, instead lying on his back. He had tied it in a ponytail, and with the flannel, Gideon looked like a hippy.
I don’t really have any room to talk about hippies, I am one , she thought to herself. So is my aunt and so were Mom and Dad and OKAY! MOVING ON!
Gideon ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that might take a while.” He burped, and a rainbow flew out of his mouth. “Okay, is this permanent?”
Pacifica shrugged. “Not sure, but try to keep it on the down-low. You don’t want to freak out everyone else at the restaurant.”
“Good point. You might wanna take off.”
Pacifica looked at the clock. Man, was it three o’clock already? “Alright, I’m gonna hoof it to town. Will I see you before you go on the date?”
“Yup. See you tonight!” Gideon walked down the hallway, leaving Pacifica in his room alone.
Waddles trotted into the room and nudged her leg. Pacifica sighed, picked him up, and cradled him like a baby. With a contented grunt, the pig rested his head on her shoulder.
“You wanna come with me, boy?” Pacifica considered taking him on the golf cart, but then remembered what the manager had said the last time Waddles had been allowed in the bank. He had only eaten a couple hundred dollars…
“Alright, guess not.” She sighed again. Pacifica noticed that she sighed a lot lately. Eh, whatever. She was a teenage girl, it was her God-given right to be a little melodramatic every once in a while.
“What do you think, buddy? Should I talk to him or not? Should I stay or should I go now?”
Aaaaaand now that song was stuck in her head. “If I go there will be trouble… If I stay there will be double… so, Waddles, you gotta let me know…”
Instead of being a polite piggy and continuing on with the song, Waddles started eating her hair.
“Ew! Get off!” Pacifica had learned a while ago that pigs were like cats - you could go bowling with them and they’d be fine. Pacifica dropped Waddles like a hot potato, and he rolled the ground, squealing, and sprinted out the door.
She followed him and passed Bud in the hallway. “Have you seen Gideon anywhere?” he asked. “Haven’t seen him in a while. I just saw this well-dressed kid in a ponytail.”
“He’s in the bathroom. Is it okay if I take the golf cart to the bank?”
“Yeah, sure. Keys are on the counter. Be safe, yeah?”
“Of course. See you in a few hours.” Pacifica snagged the keys and went out the door, letting Waddles out with her.
As she clipped Waddles to the leash out front, she looked around. The gnomes had mostly been in hiding for a few weeks, which made her suspicious, but at least she didn’t hear the Hidebehind stalking her anymore. For the two days after the encounter, Pacifica had been looking behind her back, expecting to hear the demented maraca sound. She was paranoid about that, and she was always checking to see if Dipper was around.
That name brought up a flurry of emotions. She knew, deep down, that it was her fault that he was driven away. Pacifica had wondered about whether it was the right thing to do. On the one hand, he was dangerous, and sarcastic, and a bully towards Gideon. On the other hand, he was brave, he had saved her life and Gideon’s, and he was protective of his family.
He was also kinda cute, which, Pacifica told herself, didn’t matter.
The bank parking lot was empty when she pulled up, which was a little surprising. Walking in, the only person Pacifica saw was an older woman and her young son, and a short man in a leather jacket and glasses. He was the first in line at the teller, and Pacifica got behind him and waited patiently, checking her phone.
Her friends back home had been texting her nonstop, asking about the town (which she said was fun), the people (which she said were fascinating) and the boys (which she didn’t respond to). Pacifica’s lock screen wallpaper was a picture of her friends and her on the ocean, all on each other’s shoulders, with her at the top, grinning.
Pacifica missed her friends, and Florida, and her aunt and uncle, but she wasn’t ready to go back just yet.
The teller asked the man in front of her, bored, “How can I help you today?”
“I-I’d like t-to make a with-withdrawal, please,” the man stammered. He sounded nervous.
“How much, sir?”
“All of it?”
“Excuse me?”
The man whipped out a pistol and leveled it at her. “I said all of it,” he repeated, stammer gone and replaced by a cold determination.
Okay, Pacifica was ready to go back to Florida now.
“Everybody on the ground!” the man yelled, firing his gun in the air. The woman and her son hit the deck, screaming, with the mother covering her son’s body with her own.
Pacifica put her hands up peacefully. “Okay, okay, relax,” she said soothingly. “You don’t have to do this. Point the gun somewhere else-”
The man pointed the gun in her face.
“Okay, somewhere other than there, please.” Pacifica’s stomach was somewhere in the center of the earth by now.
His finger started to caress the trigger.
“Okay, I’ll just get down.” Pacifica did so.
“You touch that phone, the bullet goes in your hand,” he snarled, whipping around to the teller, who promptly dropped the receiver. “Start packing.” The robber pulled a leather sack out of nowhere and tossed it at her.
This is bad , Pacifica thought to herself, panicked. There are kids here. Maybe he’ll just leave?
The front door banged open, and a familiar voice yelled, “Oh my god, am I in a robbery?! This is so cool!”
Pacifica looked at who it was. “Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”
-
At three o’clock, Dipper walked out of the gym in his sleeveless shirt and shorts. The other rats had spent a lot of the time nodding approvingly in his direction. Dipper could tell that he had won their respect, which was good, because his arm was still covered in smiley-face Band-Aids. He grabbed the bike from where he had put it at the front door and wheeled it downtown.
“Downtown” was too strong of a term. It was a few restaurants, a bank and a “gentleman’s club” that Stan often spent time at. No, it wasn’t a strip club, it was just a bar where old rich people gambled. Dipper found that out when he tried to sneak in when he was thirteen and was massively disappointed.
“I don’t know whoooo’s gonna kiss you when I’m gone,” he sang off-key to himself. “So I’m gonna love you noowww… duh duh something...” Dipper didn’t know the words, he just wanted to sing something to distract himself.
The bike was a lot heavier after the workout than it was before, and what was usually a fifteen-minute walk turned into a thirty-minute one. He managed to drink a little bit of his Caimanade (blueberry-flavored, naturally), but he still felt pretty thirsty.
First thing you’re gonna do , he told himself, is go to the gas station and grab yourself a soda or something.
He passed by the bank and was chaining up his bike when he heard it. With a bang, a gunshot went off inside of the bank and through the window. Dipper stared at the hole, then said, “Huh.”
People are in danger .
“Yeah, no kidding,” he said, rolling his eyes at himself.
You gonna help them?
A week ago, he would have walked away. But now, Dipper found himself raring to go. Helping people felt good, even when cute blonde girls avoided him like the plague for days afterwards.
Of course, he wasn’t in this solely for his own joy. Dipper didn’t dislike people enough to let them die.
“Okay, how am I gonna do this?” he asked himself. “Sneak in? Walk in and burn his face off? Talk him out of it?”
There could be kids in there. If you burn his face off, people could be hurt.
“Talk him out of it, it is!”
Dipper strolled up to the front door and with a kick that would make the guy from 300 proud, bashed it inwards. The robber was a short, bespectacled man with a large nose and a sketchy mustache.
“Oh my god,” he yelled, putting on a show of wonder and allowing a broad grin to stretch on his face, “am I in a robbery?! This is so cool!”
The man pointed the gun at him, but Dipper didn’t put his hands up. He surveyed the surrounding hostages. A mom and her son, okay. Bank teller, looking terrified, okay. The final hostage was blonde, female and familiar.
“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”