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The night was going fine until Dipper Pines showed up.
Okay, maybe a window got broken, and maybe a watermelon almost got microwaved, and maybe she almost flipped the hell out when she found her ex-boyfriend hooking up with her ex-girlfriend, but other than that, Pacifica was having a pretty good night until the cops were called and she had to call Dipper while hiding in a bush without a shirt on.
-
It was all Mabel’s fault, naturally. She and Dipper had gotten off the bus literally four hours ago, and Mabel was already bored. She had a friend who had a boyfriend who had a cousin who had a neighbor who had a dogsitter (no, seriously) who was having a party.
“Pacifica, please,” Mabel pleaded. “We gotta go!”
“We one-hundred percent don’t.”
“Why not? We haven’t ever been to a party together!”
“Because we haven’t been in the same state for about nine months.”
“Exactly! We gotta celebrate the return of the Pines!” Mabel was gesturing and pacing excitedly now. It had been about six years since Mabel and Pacifica were twelve, but sometimes, Mabel seemed like she never grew up.
Physically, sure. Mabel had topped out at five-six, had traded in her sweaters for tank tops, and had started braiding her hair when she was sixteen. But some things never change. Still loud, still excitable, still obsessed with bedazzling things.
Pacifica wondered if she herself had changed much in six years.
“Mabel, how would we even get there?” Pacifica asked. “Neither of us have cars.”
“We could ask Dipper!” Mabel suggested, but before the sentence had even left her mouth, there was a flat, “No,” from the desk.
Dipper didn’t turn around from his laptop. “Mabel, I respect the fact that you like to go and hang out with people that you don’t know while drinking a bunch of alcohol. Please respect the fact that I like to sleep all night instead.”
“And by sleep,” Pacifica said, “you mean play video games all night with a bunch of nerds on the internet.”
Dipper’s fingers stopped tapping on the keyboard for a second, then he shrugged. “Okay, yeah.” He turned around in his chair. “And acting like you don’t like to play with me doesn’t mean that you don’t enjoy it even more than I do, PlatinumPaz.”
A long, long time ago, Pacifica would have either clammed up entirely or shot back with an exceptionally nasty insult. Now, however, she just grinned. “You’re just mad because I’m better than you,” she said singsongingly.
Dipper snorted. “The last time I beat you at anything, you threatened to hire someone to break my legs. It’s less painful to let you think that you win at everything.”
“You're just lucky my normal leg-breaking guy changed his number.”
“The fact that you have a leg-breaking guy at all is-”
“ALRIGHTY!” Mabel shouted. “Dipper is a boring shut-in loser, nothing we didn't already know, so I’m going to call Chris and see if he can get us a ride. Try not to bite each other’s faces off.” With that, she left the bedroom, typing in a number.
Pacifica collapsed on the bed, groaning. “Oh my gooood , I can’t believe that I’m gonna have to go to this party.”
Dipper nudged her leg aside and flopped down next to her. “You know you can say no, right?”
“Says you. You’re related to her. You see her twelve months a year. You’ve gained resistance.”
“First we had to train you about the concept of sharing, now we have to train you to say no.” Dipper looked at her. “You sure you were the valedictorian?”
“You sure that your mom didn’t drop you as a child?” Pacifica shot back.
“Says the girl whose mom threw her at a wall.”
“You’re just lucky that you have a big dipper on your forehead and not the star sign for Virgo.”
“God, can you even imagine that?” Dipper wondered. “There’s probably some poor bastard out there with the constellation that means ‘virgin’ plastered on his noggin forever.”
Pacifica shuddered. “Poor guy. At least everyone knows that he’s a virgin right off the bat. You still have to open your mouth before people figure out that you’ve never known the touch of a woman.”
“Yeah, until I met your mom.”
“Hey, my mom also threw me at a wall, so don’t get too involved.”
They both laughed. Dipper sat up. “They added another Scooby-Doo series on Netflix. Wanna watch?”
“Does a bear poop in the woods?” Pacifica said, excited.
“No, they usually poop on Ford’s car roof somehow,” Dipper grumbled, but he turned on the TV.
And so Dipper and Pacifica watched old cartoons, and they made fun of Fred’s traps and the monsters, and Dipper tried to do an impression of Scooby that sounded more like Kermit the Frog, and it was fun .
Then Pacifica noticed Dipper put his hand behind his head as he laughed, and she noticed his bicep stand out starkly against his black t-shirt, and she thought, Oh, no, he’s hot .
The hotness itself wasn’t new. When the twins had turned sixteen, they hopped off the bus, and Dipper looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He smiled more, laughed more, and stopped wincing everytime he stood up. But, most importantly, Dipper had started working out, and he looked like he could actually drop-kick a gnome more than ten feet away.
Now they were eighteen, and he was six-one, and he wore his hair high and tight, not afraid of showing off his mark anymore. He had finally settled down into his own skin, not afraid to grow up, but not afraid to act less mature than he was if he was with his friends.
Pacifica and Dipper were friends. They texted, and they played their games, and they shared embarrassing stories with each other, but at the end of the day, the twins had their own lives going on for nine months of the year in Piedmont, and she had her own life going on in the Falls.
And sure, Mabel called her an honorary Pines, but that didn’t change the fact that once Dipper and Mabel left every summer, Stan and Ford packed up and went globetrotting until they came back. It’s hard to be part of a family when you don’t see them for nine months.
“How’re your parents?” Dipper asked, casually enough but definitely worried underneath.
Pacifica had to think. “They’re… them. We finally had that conversation.”
“Conversation or screaming match?”
“Weirdly enough, my dad took it pretty well. Me and my mom got into it, but we both calmed down by the end.”
“So what’s the final verdict?”
“I will stay with them this summer. Then, next summer, I’m on my own.”
Dipper exhaled. “That’s good.” He blinked. “I mean, I think that’s good. Right?”
Pacifica nodded. “I actually called my dad ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Father’ and he didn’t even react.”
“Wow,” Dipper said, impressed. “He’s come a long way.”
“Yeah. How’s your foot?”
“My other nine toes are still attached.” If Dipper noticed her blatant attempt to change the subject, he didn’t say anything. “Phantom limb pain’s gone away. I can balance ninety-nine percent of the time. Is that vampire wombat still out here?”
“Maybe. Some hunters say that they shot something the size of a koala with wings and fangs, but nothing conclusive.”
“Awesome. Toe- tally awesome.”
“Please no.” Pacifica laughed when she said it.
“My foot’s pretty kick ass.” Dipper was trying to think of more foot puns when Mabel came back in, beaming.
“I got the ride!” she exclaimed. “Pazzy, you’re coming with us!”
Dipper nudged her. “I’m gonna order some pizza. I’ll save you a few slices.”
Pacifica sighed. “Thanks, Dip. I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it. Mabel, when’s your ride getting here?”
There was a honk outside. “Right now!” she said cheerfully, then pulled open the window and hopped out, screaming. She hit the trampoline that she had installed a few summers ago and crashed into the ground.
Dipper’s eyes rolled to the heavens. “Lord, give me strength.” Then he turned to Pacifica. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Pacifica was honestly fine with it, she hadn’t been to a party for a few months, but she appreciated his concern. “Yeah, it’ll be fun. You want me to grab you some booze?”
Dipper grinned and reached under his bed. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a few shot glasses. “If you aren’t drunk enough by the end of the night, I’ll help you out.”
Pacifica gaped. “You like whiskey?”
“Blame Stan. He got me the bottle as a welcoming gift.” He put the bottle back under the bed. “Do me a favor and make sure that Mabel doesn’t do anything dumb and adopt anything. The last thing I need is another farm animal running around.”
Pacifica saluted. “Yes sir.” Then she dashed forward and hugged him. “Welcome back, nerd,” she said into his chest.
Dipper startled for a second, then wrapped his arms around her. “Thanks, Paz.”
“Your shirt still smells like AXE.”
“Your hair still smells like dye.”
-
“Okay,” Dipper said once they were in his truck. “Tell me what happened.”
“Well...” Pacifica stalled. She picked at the shirt he gave her. It was an old Rolling Stones t-shirt. “It’s a pretty long story and I’m pretty drunk.” That last part was a lie, she had sobered up about an hour ago, but it sounded good.
“It’s a long way back to the Shack,” Dipper replied.
Pacifica was quiet for a second. “Let me have the aux.”
Dipper rolled his eyes and handed her the cord. She plugged her phone in, and music started playing.
“Wait, I know this song. Please don’t be Californic-”
Psychic spies from China try to steal your heart’s elation…
Dipper grimaced as Pacifica laughed. “Nineties music sucks.”
“Oh, come on, you had to like some of it.”
“I liked Nirvana and, like, Creep by Radiohead, and that’s it.”
“Oh, come on, you seem like you’d love Barenaked Ladies.”
“One Week was good, but if I have to listen to Who Let The Dogs Out one more time, so help me God-”
“Oh, come on, maybe you just need to,” Pacifica said, and the song immediately matched her, “ dream of Californication!”
“God, why?!” Dipper groaned in mock anguish, while Pacifica laughed.
“You love it!”
“...well, it makes you happy, at the very least,” Dipper said, almost tenderly.
Pacifica turned away so he wouldn’t see her blush.
“So, what happened and where’s Mabel?”
With a sigh, Pacifica kicked her feet onto the truck console.
-
Mabel found Pacifica camped out in the bathroom on the second story. “Wow,” she said, looking around. “This is exactly where I’d go if I wanted to do cocaine.”
Pacifica didn’t say anything.
“Uh, you didn’t do any cocaine, did you?”
“No!” Pacifica at least looked disgusted by the accusation. “Although I saw our driver with a bag of it about two hours ago. I’m gonna call an Uber or something when we leave.”
“Or we could walk.”
“Or you could walk and carry me, because I am not walking thirty minutes back to the Shack.” Pacifica’s threats were empty.
Mabel sat down on the counter. “What’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re sitting on a toilet with a hundred hot people partying below you.”
“They’re not all hot.”
“Most of them.”
“Well, I dated one of them.”
Mabel winced. “Which one?”
Isaac was two years ago. They had met on the first day of junior year, were dating by the second, and ended up in a screaming match outside of the Shack eight months later. The only reason that Isaac had left was because Mabel threw a pig at him and Stan smacked him with a broom.
Not a pretty breakup, but at least Dipper and Mabel were there to comfort her.
“I knew I should have brought Waddles,” Mabel sighed when Pacifica told her. “He always comes in handy for something.”
“Battle Bacon would not be having a good time right now,” Pacifica managed to laugh. Waddles was getting up there in age, but he was always thrilled to be included in the twins’ various antics, as long as it didn’t involve dinosaurs.
“So, Isaac. It’s been, what, a year?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m over him and all that, but… still.”
Mabel nodded sagely. “I know how to help,” she said seriously. Then, she pulled out two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka.
Pacifica had to laugh. “Seriously? When did you turn into an alcoholic?”
“When I got snowed in for a month with only Dipper for company.” Mabel poured the drinks, and gave one to Pacifica. I SUPPORT SINGLE MOMS, the glass said in bright pink writing, and there was an outline of a stripper on a pole. Pacifica didn’t question it; she simply held her glass out.
Mabel and Pacifica did the classic “dink, sink, drink” - slam glasses together, slam the shot on the nearest flat surface, slam it down the throat. Pacifica’s face screwed up and her eye started twitching, but it faded. Mabel simply hooted and hollered, grabbed Pacifica’s hand, and flew downstairs.
-
“ DREAM OF CALIFORNICATION!” Pacifica screeched suddenly. Dipper screamed and nearly drove off the road, but managed to regain himself while Pacifica burst out howling with laughter.
“Why?!”
“Because it’s funny. Nice scream, by the way.”
“It was a… manly yelp.”
“Manly, my finely-toned ass. I think that’s what I sounded like when I was twelve.”
As the song faded to the next one, a Nirvana song with an unfortunate name from the album In Utero, Pacifica continued her story.
-
Within the next thirty minutes, Pacifica had done another three shots. With the burn of the alcohol and the lightheadedness the drinks gave her, Pacifica actually started enjoying herself. She got into a one-on-one conversation with a boy about why the recent reboot of the classic video game Uprising Underdeath was actually complete shit, when she saw her.
Amanda was… not exactly a phase. Pacifica often joked that since her choice in men was very, very general, her choice in women was very, very specific. Amanda happened to be the one that met all of Pacifica’s expectations. Maybe she even loved her. When Amanda told her that she just didn’t feel the same way about Pacifica that she used to, Pacifica was crushed, but she got it. With a hug and a promise to keep being friends, Amanda walked out of her life.
Until now.
Because now, her ex-girlfriend was making out with her ex-boyfriend. A situation which, had Pacifica been younger and dumber, she probably would have thought was hot, but Pacifica was a grown woman that simply stared in shock.
Almost on cue, someone spilled something on her shirt. Pacifica whipped around, thankful for the distraction. She recognized the spiller - it was the host of the party, an old friend of a friend named Thompson. “Oh my god!” he shouted. “I’m so sorry!” Despite his obvious intoxication, he seemed sincerely alarmed.
Pacifica told him loudly, “It’s okay! You’re good! I’ll just-” In her fairly-drunk mind, the next step seemed obvious. So she took off her shirt in the middle of the dance floor.
Thompson squeaked and turned away immediately - aw, he was a gentleman. On the floor, there were different reactions. Some guys wolf-whistled, others turned away as well, and slightly disturbingly, the greatest number of witnesses all took off their shirts as well. Before too long, the entire floor was filled with sweaty, drunk, half-naked people.
Pacifica would have highly approved if she could ever stop looking for her exes. They had managed to blend in with everyone, almost impressively.
Then someone shoved a watermelon in the microwave.
-
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what? ” Dipper asked, grinning.
“I’ll say it before God and everyone,” Pacifica swore, “it really happened.”
“Was it a big microwave or a small watermelon?”
“Both.”
“...okay, I guess I can buy it. Continue.”
-
Thompson immediately ran over, yelling, and Pacifica wisely decided to get out of the room, because burnt watermelon did not smell good. She spoke from experience.
So Pacifica wandered upstairs, with no shirt, no sobriety and no idea that her exes were banging in the bathroom.
She found out the last one pretty quick, though.
Isaac and Amanda both stared at her, neither with any clothes on. Pacifica said nothing, but her jaw dropped.
For a few seconds, there was silence, until Isaac said, “Um… hi?”
“Hi.”
More silence.
“I’m… gonna go.” Pacifica shut the door.
“Bye,” Isaac mumbled as it closed.
Pacifica stared at the door for a few more seconds, then started laughing. Then a window downstairs cracked, someone screamed something about the cops, and chaos reigned supreme for a bit.
-
“So how’d you get into the bush and away from the cops?” Dipper asked. A Pearl Jam song was playing, and Pacifica could tell that the only reason he wasn’t complaining about it was because he was genuinely invested in her story.
“Oh, you know.” Pacifica yawned and leaned back. “The usual. Crawled out a second story window, ducked into the first piece of cover I saw, hoped that no one drank and drove.”
Dipper grumbled under his breath hearing the last part (it was a pet peeve of his, if pet peeve meant “I will punch anyone who drinks and drives in the face”). “And you didn’t see Mabel?”
Pacifica shook her head. “Sorry. I’m hoping for the best, but, well…”
Dipper waved a hand. “Eh. She probably fled into the woods and hooked up with a werewolf or some dumb shit like that.”
Pacifica laughed at that as they pulled up in front of the Shack. She frowned. “I thought you were gonna take me home.”
“Hell to the no. Your dad’s got a ‘shoot-on-sight’ order for anyone that sees me on your grounds. Sorry, Paz, but you’re sleeping here.”
Pacifica thought for a second. “Fine, I guess.” She hopped out. “Just don’t expect me to take the couch.”
“What? No. Of course not.” Dipper looked genuinely baffled. “God, has anyone made you sleep on the couch before?”
Pacifica ignored the question. She didn’t mean to be such a bitch, but the alcohol had almost completely worn off, and the pre-hangover that happened when you needed to sleep was kicking in. Dipper opened the front door for her, and together, they walked up to her room.
“Both of the Grunkles are in Portland for the night, so.” He made a gesture with his hands. “It’s just us two, unless Mabel breaks in in the middle of the night again.”
“Again?”
“I literally have lost count of the amount of times she's broken in. Usually by breaking through our window.”
“...whatever.” Pacifica needed sleep .
Dipper seemed to recognize her state, and he didn’t seem offended by her bluntness. He opened the door to the twins’ room. “You can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Pacifica looked at him like he was crazy. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”
A solid two seconds passed before she realized what she said, and a solid five seconds passed until Dipper swallowed and answered, “We’re going to put that question on hold. I’m sleeping on the couch. Have a good night. Feel free to take a pull of whiskey if you want.”
Dipper started to close the door, but Pacifica stopped him. She darted forward and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said, muffled. “For everything.”
Dipper didn’t know what to do with his hands for a second, but then he put them around her. “Of course, Paz,” he said softly.
In a perfect world, Pacifica would drag him back into the room, take off his clothes, and bang him into the next week. But she was pre-hungover, he was a gentleman, and this was the real world. So Pacifica simply kissed him on the cheek and started to close the door. Before she could, Dipper said one last thing.”
“You can keep the shirt, by the way.” Dipper’s smile was tender and warm. “It suits you.”
Pacifica smiled right back and closed the door.