The said kidnapping occurred during the summer, obviously. Although technically the presence was year-round, it seemed like the supernatural preferred heat over snow, making a larger appearance throughout the months of the year where the schools were empty. This was clearly due to the absence of Mabel and Dipper during the rest of the time.
The Pines twins were sent off to Gravity Falls every summer, as obviously their parents didn’t want them at home. Pacifica didn’t blame them—a demon child was not exceptionally something to be taken with pride. But whatever. Mabel obviously liked it here better than at home anyway, although Pacifica couldn’t confirm if Dipper felt the same way, seeing as how he was now an omniscient, invisible freak.
Pacifica wasn’t sure what sort of powers Dipper had, really. She knew he was mostly demon that could still hear and see the corporeal world, albeit being unable to interact with it. He could float above one of Pacifica’s conversations undetected, tell Mabel if he didn’t like what he heard, and then Mabel could show up and either hit her or shout at her, like she had two summers ago when Pacifica had totally reasonably been bragging about being the descendant of the town founder.
To tell the truth, she kind of liked seeing the twins three months a year. At least it affirmed that that wacko summer of 2012 had actually happened, and she didn’t need a therapist.
(Also, they were friends now? Maybe? More like aggressive friends. Like: you’re the actual worse and I make fun of you in a totally not-teasing way because you suck and I legitimately believe the bad words I’m saying about you, but I don’t hate you and enjoy your presence for some odd reason. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m still going to tell you to get the hell away from me.)
Either way, they brought trouble wherever they went.
Obviously Pacifica’s plans for that evening hadn’t included getting stuffed in a sack and having her blood spilled to summon the supernatural. She had a party that night, so during the day she had gone shopping for something to wear with her friends.
Pacifica had never cared for the paranormal before 2012 (due to having her mind erased—ugh, that still made her disgusted) but she didn’t really mind it now that she was aware of its existence either way. Demons didn’t really bother her, unless they were old acquaintances of hers. Some people thought it was eerie and got sick at the idea of omniscient omnipotent beings, but it wasn’t like you spotted them walking down the street or anything. And if you weren’t stupid, nothing bad could happen. Pacifica’s only complaint would probably be the new supernatural class mandatory in all schools—just one more class to study for.
But whatever to the supernatural—shopping was on her mind now. Pacifica spotted Wendy and Mabel passing by with some ice cream cones at one point, although she couldn’t remember exactly when.
She wasn’t even sure if Wendy still worked at the Mystery Shack. Huh. Maybe she did, or maybe she was just hanging out with Mabel (and perhaps her ghost brother) because they were friends.
“So, we’re going to my place to get ready, right?” Pacifica said while hanging by the exit of the mall. She and her two friends were waiting for their ride, but outside there was no air conditioning to keep them cool.
“Oh, shit!” Cleo gasped, as sudden as if being scared from behind. “I left my shoes at my house!”
“No sweat,” replied Callie as Pacifica told her heart to calm down, and a nearby mother with her young daughter gave them a rude glare. “I’ll go with you to pick them up.”
“You guys do that,” Pacifica told them, remembering how she had to be home by six thirty so that she could see her parents off to that ceremony-thing they had; her parents’ absence was the entire reason why she was going to this party. “Just meet up at my place later.”
Five minutes later a ride came for Cleo and Callie, leaving Pacifica to idly scroll through her phone while waiting for hers to arrive.
“Come on,” she sighed after fifteen minutes. She picked up her stuff and moved outside for a minute to see if she could spot the car coming.
“You better watch your job after this incident,” she grumbled silently. She called the driver, still peering down the street to see if she could spot the hood of Bentley driving towards the mall.
Every moment after that felt unfinished, as if muffled from her memory. There were only senses—something heavy around her waist; the salty scent of sweat; the damp darkness of a bag over her head; an acidic tang in her mouth; tight plastic around her wrists; the stomach-turning feeling in her head, as if she was sick from vertigo; what the hell is happening; realization coming in waves of terror as she attempted to struggle, before being hit on the back with something heavy and blacking—
Pacifica woke up on her side in a very dark… place. Fuck. What had just—? Fuck. She stirred, but nausea made her curl up and close her eyes and wish she was home. Her fingers brushed in front of her face—it was wet. Fuck. No. Please, no.
She wanted to cry (apparently for a second time), but she felt as if life was no longer with her. Hyperventilation seemed just as good as knocking her out as a drug would be, via panic.
Her eyes rolled open again, and she met with dizziness. She couldn’t tell how large the room as… pretty damn large, probably… and it was a windy sort of cold… God, where was she…?
Minutes passed. Pacifica didn’t realized it right away because her ears had been ringing, but there were other people in the room with her (noticed when her senses stopped panicking). She couldn’t pinpoint how many there were, though; any time she tried to count the voices it felt as if she were being jabbed in the stomach and brain. Nothing except alarm could occupy her mind, the message was clear.
A pair of hands grabbed Pacifica’s forearm and hauled her upright. Shit. Her vision went spinning.
“What do you want!?” she gasped. The man didn’t bother answer her. Pacifica could spot seven other people standing in a circle a couple yards in front of her. Her eyes watered for a moment, and all she could see was a fire-like light. What the hell were those people—
She was dragged forward to the rim of the circle, where Pacifica saw the summoning circle—red paint and candles and the whole horror movie ordeal. Holy shit. This could not be happening. They had learned about this in school; don’t be an idiot, DON’T summon demons. Crap. Her arms were shaking and it felt as if the room temperature had dropped ten degrees.
“Please….” Her voice was trembling. Goddammit, woman. She looked up at the cultists, and none of them were paying any attention to her, just murmuring this incantation….
The man gripping her arm pulled out a knife and forced her hands open. The cold touch of the blade felt worse than any pain. Pacifica tried to force her hand closed, her fist filling with hot blood and anxiety.
“…Defluxit flos, te invoco. Te invoco ut facere—”
A loud noise from another room interrupted their chant; the flames in the candles seemed to shrink. It hadn’t sounded very loud to Pacifica, but then again her senses were muffled. The cultists stopped, and the man holding Pacifica gestured for three of the members to check whatever it was out. They disappeared silently.
Pacifica didn’t feel safe. She knew that there was still more time—the time it took for them to return—but she hadn’t escaped anything. If anything, she felt even worse, knowing that her time in this place was increasing by the second.
The following sound of metal against bone wasn’t muted at all.
Pacifica tore her head upwards, the grip on her wrist weakening. Standing in a doorway, facing them with hatred and anger and something like pity, was Mabel and Wendy.
Mabel pointed at the remaining cultists. “Listen up, you dogs! My name is Mabel Pines, and this chick right here is my pal Wendy I’m-gonna-kick-your-butts! You kidnapped our friend; prepare to be pulverized!”
Wendy took a step forward and swung something at the nearest cultist—it looked like part of a pipe. The cultists all backed up, and the one holding Pacifica’s wrist let go and disappeared.
“Mabel, get Pacifica free!” Wendy ordered, swinging the pipe again. Mabel nodded and made her way towards her, shoving another cultist out of the way.
“Good to see you, Paz! You can close your yap, now,” was the first thing Mabel said as she knelt beside her.
Pacifica’s mouth, which she hadn’t been aware was hanging open, closed. “Holy shit,” was all she could manage.
Mabel took out a pair of scissors and began gnawing at the plastic tie. “Where’s your demon brother?” Pacifica sounded almost as if she were pleading. “Can’t you summon him for help!?”
“Please. That kid couldn’t fight away a cockroach, much less a cult. And how on Earth am I supposed to contact him? It’s not like the supernatural have cell phones,” Mabel retorted, also muttering under her breath about how safety scissors were the most useless tools ever invented.
“And those cultists you and Wendy lured out?” Pacifica gasped her question, afraid of the answer.
“Knocked ’em cold!” Mabel replied with false cheer, struggling both physically and emotionally with the scissors.
Wendy gripped her pipe like a baseball bat and swung it at the cultist nearest to where Pacifica and Mabel were standing, knocking whoever it was over. She kicked his/her body until the cultist stopped struggling.
“Oh, God,” Pacifica groaned. “I’m going to be sick.”
Mabel took a break from her rescue attempt to allow Pacifica to throw up bile and poison. As she was distracted, Mabel grabbed her hands from in front of Pacifica and snipped the tie.
“There it is!”
Pacifica leaned on Mabel for support while standing up, although once standing she felt much healthier. Out of breath and scared out of her mind—yes, but able to put up a fight.
Of the three cultists left, Wendy was already taking one on. The other two came for Mabel and Pacifica.
Wendy kept swinging with her pipe at the cultist, who was backing up along a wall. She swung, and the cultist ducked just out of reach, so that the pipe rang against the wall and Wendy lost her grip on it, clattering to the ground. The cultist kicked the duct out of reach and landed a punch on Wendy.
Against her opponent Mabel launched the first attack, kneeing the cultist in the groin immediately. Unfortunately it seemed to be a girl, and only let out a short grunt. Mabel backpedalled out of the way hurriedly.
Pacifica saw no more of them, as another cultist grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her side. She screamed and struggled, but was obviously the weaker opponent. Blood from the cut on her hand trickled through her fingers, her hands clenched so hard it hurt to open them.
What would Mabel do?
It only occurred to her that the first role-model she’d thought to take from was Mabel afterwards, once this nightmare was over. Nevertheless, Pacifica spotted her companion fighting out of the corner of her eye, and with grim determination the blonde picked up her feet and kicked both of them backwards as hard as she could, right into the crotch of her attacker.
This one was definitely male. She fell as he let go, and as she did she spun and lashed out with her leg, kicking him across the face again.
She turned to the rest of the large room, which she could finally take in with peace. The room was a lot larger than she’d originally inferred, actually being a warehouse. The summoning circle was situated in a corner, away from an open window where cool night wind was entering and chilling the area. There were perhaps a dozen boxes lining the left wall, but other than that the area was deserted. The doorway Mabel and Wendy had entered from was actually the entrance, which meant that the three unconscious cultists were somewhere outside. There was only one other door, leading to who-knows-where—perhaps another smaller storage room. Hell is she knew.
Pacifica tested her hurt hand, opening and clenching it. Blood spilled from her grip, which she first tried to shake off but ended up wiping on her leg. She was damned if she was going to be picky about her clothes now.
Fifteen yards away, Wendy and her cultist had finally made their way back in a circle towards the pipe. Wendy tried to grab it, but the cultist was faster and closer. He grabbed it with both hands and swung, thumping Wendy right in the stomach. She fell on one knee, gasping, swearing, and choking for air.
Suddenly, Pacifica was there—like, she didn’t remember running over, or moving at all in fact, but there she was, and—
Pacifica sobbed quickly but restrained her tears as the cultist fell from her punch, delivered across the face. For some idiot reason she had used her bleeding hand to attack, and now she felt as if she’d broken all her fingers to go along with the steady flow of blood dribbling from her palm.
Wendy looked up at her. She had a nasty cut over on the right side of her forehead, and what seemed like the beginning of a black eye, but nevertheless she was grinning hugely. “Nice work,” she commented. “Thanks for that.”
Pacifica grimaced in return. Clearly out of breath but no less motivated, Wendy made her way over to the fallen pipe and picked it up; then, gripping it with both hands, she swung and hit Mabel’s attacker right behind the knees. As she fell, Mabel kneed the cultist in the face, knocking her unconscious.
The sudden silence in the warehouse was overwhelming.
“Shit!” Pacifica cried. “Holy—oh my God! What just happened!?” She laughed then bit her hand. “Oh my—wow!” She stumbled, nearly stepping into the summoning circle, and Mabel had to steady her.
“That was… something!” Mabel remarked with relief and entertainment in her eyes, and Pacifica laughed hysterically again.
There was a loud double click behind the girls. They spun and found an eighth cultist standing by the second doorway, holding up a pistol at them.
Eight.
“Guys.” Wendy stepped in front of Pacifica and Mabel as if to shield them.
“Don’t bother try to escape,” the cultist said, and while his voice trembled he wore an outrageously brave face. He licked his lips and wavered on the spot anxiously. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it: I’m going to shoot all three of you dead. You ruined this summoning, so important to us… to me—you’re all going to die.”
Mabel slowly reached down and grabbed Pacifica’s hand. She nearly pulled away, protesting that if Mabel believed they were going to go down holding hands like fucking Toy Story she must be out of her mind, and also what the actual hell she was pretty sure that hand was broken—Mabel jerked Pacifica’s cut hand upwards over the summoning circle and pried it open. Pacifica shouted out in pain and alarm—blood was spilled onto the circle.
A demon, seven feet in height, appeared in a mass of inky darkness. “W̼̬̻̺͌̏̒ͨ̍̈́̾̽H̤̩͉͈͑̂Ò̢̦̙̋̄ͩ̔͛̿̚ ̎͑̔̄̒ͧ͠҉̭̞̦̲̭̘̘H̥̠̹̱̯̞̪̒̉ͩͨ͛͞A̗͇͈͂̿͝Ṣ̢͇̘̪ͬͪ̎͊̓ͭ͊͝ ̞͇̲̝͇̫̮̜͈̿S͈̞̪̗̪̲̗̫ͦͥ̽ͦŲ̗̤̩̐̈́̿̅̋M̧̙̭̦̯̻͊͗ͥ̄̎̕M̡̤̳͍̩̦͇ͫ͛Õ̘͔̣̘͕̣͓͌̍̕͟Ň̶̳͙́͗̕ͅḚ̸̯͆̉ͥͦ̂̂͛̑͂Ḍ̨̳̘͚̀̃̎ͭ͑͆ ͔͖̬̈́̐ͫ̿͊̚M̴̟̖̱͉͇̗͇͉̠ͣ̒̔͌͂́̉Ẽ̦̳̤͖̌ͤ̈́̅ͩ͜͢ͅ?”͔̫͙ Its voice echoed loudly throughout the entire warehouse and disappeared into the night.
The cultist dropped his gun in shock, and fell to his knees either in weakness or in respect.
“Oh, demon!” Mabel cried quickly, still gripping Pacifica’s hand tightly. “My deal: this man for….” She held up Pacifica’s hand again. “The curing of my friend’s hand!”
“Mabel!” Wendy screamed.
The cultist looked up in panic and horror.
The demon said nothing, then laughed, extending his hand to shake. “The deal is done, child.”
Wendy called Stan and the police to pick them up. The stars were out, and the cell phone informed them that it was near midnight. Pacifica patted her pockets and found that her cell phone wasn’t with her—it had either been removed by the cult or left behind at the mall. She honestly couldn’t care less about it at the moment.
Because she couldn’t stand still for longer than a second, Wendy had gone to follow the road downhill to meet up with Stan and the cops halfway. She also probably needed some time by herself to think, which seemed perfectly reasonable considering what had just happened. Mabel and Pacifica were opposite to this—being all drained out—so they opted to stay by the warehouse. After they moved the remaining cultists’ bodies indoors, they sat on the cement steps leading inside in silence.
Pacifica inspected her hand. She was sure the scar on her palm would stay there for the rest of her life, but she didn’t mind. Just a permanent anchor of this day… the day that would probably lead somewhere near a psychologist’s office.
Pacifica stared off into the trees, going for a look of repulsion. “I am way too young for this sort of trauma,” she said. Mabel didn’t answer. A moment passed, and the need to say something returned.
“I missed my party,” Pacifica informed.
“Hmm?” Mabel replied.
“A party,” she repeated. “I was going to a party tonight, but I’m obviously not now. I let my girls down. Ugh.”
“…Well, look on the bright side,” Mabel said, turning slowly and without enthusiasm. “You probably had more fun tonight than you would have doing the same silly dance you always do.”
Pacifica gave her a look, but Mabel wasn’t looking in her direction, either on purpose or because her mind was on other things.
“I damned a man tonight,” Mabel continued, doing a good job of not cracking down into tears like she obviously wanted to. “I’m pretty sure that beats a missed party.”
Pacifica’s blood went cold and she said nothing. Mabel hugged her knees and stared off at nothing wordlessly. To distract her, the silence had to be filled.
Pacifica pursed her lips, thinking. “…At the summoning,” she began tentatively, regretting opening her mouth the second she had but following through anyway, “you called me your friend. Twice, actually.”
Mabel shrugged without looking her way. “That’s what we are, isn’t it? Friends?”
Pacifica turned away, exhaling in a groan. “I want to tell you to shove off,” she told her light-heartedly, “but I’m hurt and tired and bleeding—so sure. We’re friends.”
Mabel smiled for the first time and punched Pacifica on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, friend!”
“Please don’t.”
“Ha ha!”
“Oh my God, Mabel.”