Work Text:
Mabel hears an oink notification from her phone, but by the time she crosses the kitchen to check for the text, it’s started vibrating too, rhinestones clacking against the table. There’s a text from Grunkle Ford —
Hello, Mabel;
I hope your classes today have been enjoyable and informative! Stan is going to call you any minute now since I’ve just reminded him to do so;
Love, your Grunkle Stanford.
— Plus, there’s now the promised pending call from Stan, which of course she answers.
“Ya there, pumpkin? What’s the latest from my California kids?”
“It’s going good, Grunkle Stan!” she replies, waltzing back over to her tray of half-decorated cupcakes with her phone in hand. “Tell Grunkle Ford I’m doing some edible chem right now! And that Dipper — well, Dipper’s ignoring his homework to mod his sousaphone with a fog machine. Apparently for secret reasons.”
“Darn band kids. Always up to somethin’,” Stan snorts. “But hey, back to why I called — you two aren’t gonna be outta town this weekend, right? And not too busy, either? Asking for a friend —”
Immediately, Mabel’s suspicious. “Oh, Grunkle Stan, you’re not gonna mail us another sea hawktopus, are you?”
Immediately, he protests. “No, no! For once I actually am asking for a friend — you’ve gotta believe me!”
“A likely story,” she teases him, even though it makes it a lot harder to rip open the bag of marshmallows with her teeth, and hears Stan grumble even more defensively.
“Oy, kids these days! They’ll trust ya with the fate of the universe, but not with a damn scheduling question — though, uh, Mabel? Those cookies or whatever I hear ya decorating, just — try not to eat all of ‘em before Saturday, ‘kay?”
“It’s cupcakes, but I’ll do my best!” she tells him, and salutes —
And her gesture upends the now-opened bag of marshmallows. And the can of sprinkles. And the shaker of colored sugar. “Shoot! I’ll talk to you later, see you soon, love you, bye!”
“It’s not me you’re gonna be seeing soon!” Stan protests one last time — but Mabel’s priorities have shifted, as she makes a mad dash across the kitchen for the broom like a witch on the run in Salem.
“It’s T-minus thirty-five minutes until Dad has to make dinner in here, Grunkle Stan! I’ve gotta move!” she tells him, and ends the call. There’s no time to waste.
*
The doorbell rings late on Saturday morning, and Mable hustles over, pretty dang sure that either a package or a Grunkle will be waiting on their porch.
“I’ve got it!” she calls to Dipper, who gives her an appreciative grunt from his “gaming position” slumped over Waddles on the couch, and swings open the door without peeping outside first —
But there’s no one on the porch! No package or even a delivery truck, she realizes as she steps outside, scanning the area for ding-dong-ditchers hiding behind the tree or bushes— but before the disappointment sets in, she hears a voice from above.
Wait, above?
“Mabel! Guess who’s on —” A blur of red hair and green flannel falls from the branches overhead, hitting the ground with an oof but staying on her feet. “Fall break!”
“Wow! Did Grunkle Stan mail us a Wendy this time?!” Mabel gasps, and Wendy snorts, throwing an arm over Mabel’s shoulder.
“Nah, I wish! I had to buy the gas to get down here myself, but I don’t have to be back until Wednesday, so we’ve got tons of time to hang!”
“Is that Wendy?” Dipper yells from inside, and then: “Did she fall out of our tree?!”
“It was on purpose! Because it’s freakin’ fall break!” Wendy hollers back. “And you know it looked cool, Dipper, you shoulda seen it —”
“It was a very Soos pun,” Mabel teases, and Wendy socks her gently in the arm.
“Yeah, so what if I missed all your extended Pines-Ramirez family nonsense?!”
Dipper bounds onto the porch, beaming like an excited puppy and extending a hand for a high-five, but Wendy goes in for a hug instead, audibly knocking the wind out of him.
“Hey, since when are you even on, like, the same order of magnitude of height as I am?” she teases, and Dipper laughs.
“Yeah, Wendy, great to see you too — you’re still taller!”
“But barely! Like, what the hell, dude —”
“Appreciate the growth spurt while you can!” calls the twins’ father from the living room. “You’ll see, whenever that kid opens his 3DS, it’s like he reverts to the posture of a slug!”
“Of course, Dad Pines!” Wendy calls back, as if she herself wasn’t slouching at that very moment. “Are you still good with me sleeping over tonight?”
“Yep, still all systems go! You can bring your bags in if you want, we’ve got plenty of room,” he replies, making his way up to the front door, and Mabel narrows her eyes.
“Dad, were you in on this too?” she asks, and her father appears in the doorway, chuckling.
“Your Grunkles gave Wendy my email, so we could coordinate and keep you kids in suspense,” he admits, and Mabel shakes Dipper by the shoulders.
“A conspiracy in our own house, Dip-Dop! What’d you do with all your red string?”
“Mabel, you took it for your conspiracy board sweater, remember?”
“Stan wouldn’t be my go-between until I taught him how to torrent cartoons from the 60’s,” Wendy explains, in a not-so-hushed whisper to Mabel and Dipper. “Just don’t let any of the real adults hear about it —”
Mabel grins, seeing her father unconvincingly look away and plug his ears.
“Anyways,” he says innocently, “were you three going to, I don’t know, do an activity around town today?”
“I guess it would be weird if we didn’t,” Dipper replies, and Wendy pulls out her phone.
“Right. Internet said there was bowling, roller skating, I think the go-carts are still open —”
“We can’t go-cart without Soos! It would feel all wrong,” Mabel exclaims, and Dipper nods along. “How about roller skating? I guess that’s way across town, but —”
“Nah, I’ll drive for it if I have to! Gravity Falls only has sketchy outdoor ice rinks, you guys know this —”
“Ah, roller rinks. The ice skating of Californians still living in the 80’s,” Dipper snarks, but Mabel can tell he’s more genuinely excited than he is nervous about falling on his butt in front of Wendy. “It’s worth the drive, though — they’ve got skate rentals, and pretty great junk food!”
“Then to the rink it is!” Mabel pumps a fist in the air, scanning the street for unfamiliar cars that could be Wendy’s, but not seeing a single suspect nearby. “Wait, Wendy, where’d you park?”
“Down the block and around the corner,” Wendy explains, and when Dipper gives her a look, explains: “I wanted to surprise you, and I bought that van from Thompson’s mom! You guys woulda recognized it!”
“You goof!” Mabel chuckles, elbowing Wendy in the arm. “We’ve been a good influence on you!”
*
Honestly, it’s about time Wendy visited her twins on their home turf instead of hers. Growing up, she’d alternate between phases of wishing she grew up in Cali and phases of feeling superior for having not, but these days… well, these days, she kinda doubts that the Piedmont-Oakland-etc. area would’ve been for her, but she respects it for shaping the Dipper and Mabel that she knows. They’re good eggs —
And they’re growing up so damn fast, faster than Wendy felt like she was at their age — Dipper doesn’t even blush when she steals his hat or does cool stunts these days. Maybe the “time is dead and meaning has no meaning” thing didn’t end with Weirdmageddon, after all.
“Wow, I think I remember some of this graffiti. Is this Robbie’s handwriting?” Dipper asks, rooting around in the back of the van as Mabel directs Wendy through urban intersections, and Wendy snorts.
“I dunno, but probably! I’m never wiping it off, it’s like a piece of home away from home.”
She brakes at a red light, the roller rink’s neon sign finally in sight, and leans back in her seat. “So hey, what’ve you guys been up to these days?”
“I’ve been volunteering at the animal shelter,” Mabel supplies, “and Dipper’s been making AMVs!”
This time, Dipper does blush. “Don’t — don’t look at me like that! I’m in a media editing class now — it’s practice!”
“Look at this guy, already knowing what he wants to do when he grows up!” Wendy teases, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t let anyone shame you for that shit, dude. Own it.”
Mabel blinks. “Wendy, I was gonna ask how college is going, but now I feel like you’re dropping hints that I shouldn’t.”
“Yeahhh, I guess I can see why. I mean, it’s goin’, I dunno what else there is to say.” She hesitates, as the flow of traffic resumes. The last thing she wants is to paint the twins a bleak picture of their futures — for what wouldn’t be the first time — but lately, she’s been catching herself overcorrecting. Bullshitting her way through topics she knows they deserve to have presented shit-free.
So honestly, she tells them: “I don’t hate it, actually. There’s some definite perks, but I… I’m just not sure if it’s helping me figure out what I’m gonna do after, y’know? Like, so far, I’m still just going for a boring ol’ associate’s degree.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re not the only one in that boat,” Mabel assures her. “At your college, or like, in the world.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know more seniors who’re clueless than ones who’ve got it figured out,” Dipper chimes in, and Wendy snorts.
“Oh, for sure. Tambry knows she wants to be a social media manager, and that’s it for my friendgroup, man.” Most of said friendgroup, Wendy included, probably wouldn’t have ever carpooled out of Gravity Falls as a unit to the nearest community college if it hadn’t been for McGucket, founding a hell of a scholarship fund, but Dipper and Mabel know that story. She and the gang had been planning and stressing about the thing, like, half the time the twins were in town last summer.
Pulling into the lot, she does a damn good job parking, if she says so herself — it’s a miracle Dipper ever got in a vehicle with her after Weirdmageddon, but she likes to think she’s redeemed herself since. “But hey, ‘nough college talk. You guys ready to hit that rink?”
“Hit that rink! Hit that rink!” the twins chant, and in a flash, all three of them are racing across the lot, and towards the rental counter.
Being a Saturday but barely past noon, the rink’s occupied but not busy — as Wendy prefers it, actually — and they get into fitting skates in no time, listening to the Top 40 Hits of about eighteen months ago play on the radio. Dipper sings along to one, just very quietly.
“Loving the blacklights! It’s like a zombie apocalypse party up in here, am I right?” Wendy jokes, earning laughs from the twins, and a wide berth from a mother guiding her elementary schoolers across the rink.
“Shoot! I could’ve worn a glow-in-the-dark sweater!” Mabel’s trying to skate backwards, facing Wendy, but her strides are turning into some kind of haphazard but jaunty moonwalk. Though, maybe that was her intention. “If only I’d known…”
“Dude, just skate back home and grab it! Who’s gonna stop you?”
“Oh, I can think of a few people —”
“A few people who’d wanna stop her, but would they have the courage? The dexterity? Your sister’s a menace on skates, Dip, just look at her! She’s never where you expected her to be five seconds ago!”
“Nope!” Mabel agrees, doing the splits and barely catching herself on the railing before her legs fall out from under her. “Wait, Wendy, have you ever seen the secret skate trick Stan taught us?”
“You mean running out with your rental skates wouldn’t be something Stan trained you for?”
“No! Well, kind of. But what he actually showed us was —” Mabel gets down on a knee for a moment, loosening the laces on one of her skates, then bounces back up and gives herself a running start. “This!”
She kicks off the loose skate and as it coasts on alongside her, she crouches and manages to sit on top of it, lifting her legs until she’s riding on just those four wheels. “Look, no hands!”
“Mabel, the wall!” Dipper shouts, and Mabel rolls directly off the skate before it hits the other side of the rink, bouncing off the wall harmlessly. “Oh, never mind, she’s got it. Stan messed up his knee by hitting a wall when he showed us, y’know?”
“Classic Stan,” Wendy snickers, already bending over to untie her own laces. “Get your phone, I’m gonna nail it first try and show him up.”
Wendy doesn’t nail it. Wendy falls on her ass, multiple times, and Dipper doesn’t fare any better — but about an equal number of everyone’s accidents get recorded, so the net embarrassment comes out to about zero. Wendy makes two, two successful rides across the rink with Stan’s technique before an employee comes out and nervously asks, nay, pleads for them to stop —
And he doesn’t have the courage or dexterity to make them stop, Wendy’s pretty sure, but she’s been that underpaid worker corralling total weirdos herself before, so she gives in. The rink sells pop and indulgently greasy pizza, so she buys some for herself and the twins, and they sit down to eat beside a couple ill-maintained arcade machines.
Not a single pixellated character shows signs of coming to life and picking a fight. It’s more than a little disorienting, actually.
“Hey,” she says, sure to angle her head towards the twins and not towards the strangers on the rink, “how long does it, like, take you guys to get used to this again every fall?”
Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Uh. I dunno what — wait, you mean — used to, like not being in Gravity Falls?”
“Yeahhh. Like, when do you stop expecting every new day to take the new record for the weirdest shit you’d ever seen?” She sighs, and it comes out a lot heavier than she expected. “‘Cause it might just be harder for me ‘cause I grew up there, but, like. Even at college, where I know like, twelve different people who grew up there too, I keep forgetting I can’t, y’know… make a vague joke about the actual apocalypse, and have everyone understand it there? Like, that summer held all the most amazing and terrible things I’d ever seen, and I just —”
She slumps, holding the side of her head in one hand. “Like, how long am I gonna feel like I’m still living back then, and how long am I gonna have to wait before I stop feeling like everything else is speeding by without me?”
The twins stare at her, and for a few seconds, she feels super guilty for bringing down the mood of this supposedly fun and feel-good reunion trip — but then, Dipper starts speaking again.
“…Oh,” is all he says at first, before he takes a long sip of his Coke. “Yeah, I get that. We… had an adjustment period too, for sure — I guess we kind have one every year, right?” He looks to Mabel, and she nods. “But it was longest after that first summer. It helped that we had each other, and that after a while, I also just found new things to be anxious about —”
Wendy snorts. “Well, okay, if that’s the fix, then I can manage it no problem. Thanks for the advice, guys, thanks for the free counseling, but I can take it from here —”
“We still got plenty homesick, though,” Mabel cuts in. “We called our Grunkles a lot for those next couple months after.”
“Still do,” says Dipper, “just, like, less for emotional support and more because they’re our Grunkles, now. But — sometimes, still not not emotional support. Even these days.”
“Oh. Huh —”
“Yeah. They still always know when I’m having a bad enough day to need a distraction,” Mabel admits. “‘Cause I’ll call them while I’m in the kitchen, and Stan will shout his recipe for Stancakes over Ford trying to tell me a recipe he learned in an alien world in the 90’s — and I never end up baking anything Dipper or Mom or Dad will touch with a ten-foot pole, but it works! I get distracted, and don’t have to beat myself up about —” She shakes her head. “Y’know, about Bill, or about Judge Kitty Kitty Meow Meow Face-Shwartzstein, or whoever else is giving me anxiety from beyond the grave.”
Wendy leans back, taking a drink. “Huh, okay. So we’re all still a little stuck in 2012, then? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little comforting to know I’m not the only one.”
“You said it, sis!” Mabel raises her own plastic cup, and Dipper and Wendy automatically join the toast, splashing pop onto the already-sticky table. “Ford says it’s not a race to readjust to things, though. And that given what happened, it would be weirder — and like, probably really maladaptive — if we just never thought about it again altogether.”
“Ford has opinions about the Never Mind All That Act,” Dipper adds, “but he also just got his thirteenth PhD and it’s in psychology, so. He’s probably got a point.”
“I didn’t know that about Ford.” Wendy’s thumb hovers over her phone screen, indecisive. “Do you think… you think your Grunkles would be okay with me calling them? Not like, right now — just once in a while, between classes? To like… reality check?”
“I’m almost positive they would,” Mabel assures her, and Dipper nods. “You should call them sometime and ask.”
“Thanks. I’ll… I’ll remember that.” Wendy slides her phone back into her pocket and sits up straighter, the weight on her shoulders a little lighter. “Sorry for bringing down the mood, but I needed that. It’s been — it’s been a wild freakin’ adjustment.”
“Hey, anytime.” Dipper looks past her, a grin forming on his face. “Huh. Isn’t that the guy who got upset about us doing stunts, leaving the building?”
“You wanna go back to being menaces to skating and society?” Mabel pipes up, but Dipper good-naturedly shushes her, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Well, don’t advertise it before we even get a chance to! We’re gonna get kicked out!” he hisses, and Wendy bursts out laughing with pride and relief.
Yeah, maybe it’s not the whole world growing up too fast for her after all.