Chapter Text
The next morning is uneventful, Pacifica gently stirring to the sound of Mabel opening her closet, the door rolling on its rails into the wall. Her sleepy eyes make out Mabel choosing between an endless selection of cute sweaters, eventually settling on her trademark shooting star hoodie. Mabel's hair is damp and resting on her shoulders. Mabel decides to pair the sweater with some dark blue jeans and goes about slipping into her outfit at which point Pacifica decides to rest her eyes for a few more seconds before getting out of her warm cocoon, she's snugly bundled up, enjoying as the fabric of her pajamas rubs against her legs. Her calves and thighs are slightly sore from all the walking they did yesterday, but it's a pleasant soreness, the kind that lets you know your daily exercise in, not the painful soreness that lets you know you should've eaten another boiled egg. She hears Mabel walks to the side of her bed, putting a hand on her back before gently rocking her awake, Pacifica opens her eyes and sees Mabel with a big smile on her face, "Hey sleepy head, how'd you sleep?"
"This bed is really comfortable, and the sheets are really soft," Pacifica says, rubbing her forearms against the soft linen. Mabel slightly shakes her head, "You didn't answer my question, goober, did you sleep well?" Pacifica dawns a skeptical look on her face, "I did answer your question, it wasn't completely direct, but I think you would be able to extrapolate my answer, dingus-head," Pacifica replies, before Mabel has even a second to process, Pacifica sits up, "yeah, I called you a dingus, I went there," head rolling as she spits sass. Mabel lets out an impressed laugh, "When did you get so funny?" Pacifica rolls her eyes, "I've always been funny." Mabel snorts, "Oh, I know," she replies. Paz's eyes go wide, she really walked me into that one, she lets out a gasp as she puts 2 and 2 together, "Damn, you really got me." Mabel smiles again, "I know, you should wake up, Mom made breakfast and is taking us to a nail salon later." Pacifica beams, "Your mom takes you to nail salons?" she enviously asks. "Yeah, how else is she going to get her nails done?" A bespoke Austrian nail tech flying in, Pacifica thinks, thinking it better to keep that to herself, she just nods her head in agreement, "Good point," she acquiesces. "Okay get up and get downstairs, I'll be waiting down there," Mabel says before turning around to leave the room.
Right before Mabel can walk out, Pacifica stops her with a desperate, "Wait!" Mabel turns around with an expression that says What. "Is Dipper awake yet?"
Mabel smirks, "That information literally has no effect on what you're going to do next."
"Yes, it does! He can't see me fresh out of bed!"
"He absolutely can babes, that's how eyes work, now get ready before I get you ready, m'kay?" and with that Mabel walks out of the room and downstairs. So much for being helpful, Pacifica thinks, hands flying to fix her hair as best she can before trying to sneak down the hallway and slip into the bathroom. She quickly finds herself headbutting the door, the doorknob not turning, she hears Dipper go, "One sec, Mabel," before hearing the lock click and suddenly being confronted with a wet, shirtless Dipper with a towel around him. Both of them flinch and blush when they see each other, Pacifica having to make a conscious effort not to stare at the outline of his abs. And his broad shoulders that still have water droplets running down them. Okay, she sneaked a peek, she's human, give her a break. The two mumble, "Oops, sorry," Pacifica shifting out of the way so that Dipper could quickly duck into his room. After she hears his door shut with a thud, she makes her way into the steamy bathroom and practically throws herself into the shower. Mabel's collection of hair products is good, but not great, Pacifica finding herself improvising, Pacifica just hopes that her scalp won't get irritated in the half week she's here in Piedmont. After a quick and rejuvenating shower, Pacifica finds herself walking downstairs smelling of green apple, wearing a loose white and navy sundress, necklace converted into a bracelet, and holding beige heeled strappy sandals that she drops at the foot of the front door. Considering the bright sun outside, she expects she'll be more than warm on their little excursion. And boy, she's excited for their little excursion, she hasn't got her nails done since, what was it? August? Oh, yes, August, since school started. Can you believe that? Her mom made her do her nails for 3 months! Preposterous! She might as well be a blue-collar laborer doing all that work. But on a serious note, it does reflect her parents' tyrannical grip over her life, considering she wasn't allowed to go anywhere except to school and to sports events since they lost the Manor, Pacifica lets out a sigh, letting out her frustration in one big huff.
Upon arriving in the kitchen, Pacifica finds all the food put onto a small two-person table Dipper is awkwardly sitting at, probably ordered to wait for Pacifica by his mom, knowing teenage boys' propensity for vacuuming an entire table of food like it was nothing. Mabel strolls in behind Pacifica, "There you are!" Mabel yells, "Mom moved all the food to the side table because you two were taking so damn long, so you better eat quick while she's getting ready or else be hungry until Dinner." Pacifica pulls back the other chair and sits down, finding herself accosted by an overwhelming selection of thick waffles, fluffy pancakes, maple syrup, crispy bacon, and a few boiled eggs. As her eyes scan the table, she involuntarily classifies the food, no, no, too many carbs, too unhealthy, okay, good, the latter two describing boiled eggs and the avocado half she sees on the far end of the table. She checks the milk cartons that are placed off to the side, finding 2% and oat milk, I guess oat milk is fine, she thinks. While frankly, she has always been spoiled and relatively ungrateful, she does appreciate the Pines' feeding her. Well, I guess we fed Ashley when she came over, but somehow that felt different, she reasons, this feels normal, like something they'd do normally rather than having to perform in front of a guest to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Theres faint music playing on a speaker in the living room, providing a comfortable ambiance, a backdrop to the liveliness of the house. Interrupting her analysis of a normal household is Dipper, who loudly scoots his chair closer to the table, Pacifica quickly finding that his legs are in her personal bubble.
"Can you not?"
"Can I not what?"
"Your legs are literally in my lap," she says, in a curt tone.
"No, they aren't"
"Yes, they are"
"My legs aren't literally in your lap," he argues.
Pacifica rolls her eyes, "They might as well be," she says in a derisive tone.
"You want my legs in your lap? Weirdo..." he mutters, she can tell he's trying to hold back a smile.
"That is absolutely not what I said," she snaps in feigned ferocity, she looks away and crosses her arms trying to make Dipper feel awkward... and miserably failing.
"Whatever," he replies in a bratty and self-assured tone. Who does he think he is!? Pacifica peeks underneath the table and kicks his closest shin.
"Ow! What's that for?" he huffs, rubbing his shin from over the denim of his jeans.
"Your attitude"
Pacifica turns her valuable attention back to eating, grabbing a boiled egg and pouring herself a glass of almond milk, which she systematically sips on while watching Dipper devour an unholy amount of food. She counts 3 waffles, 2 pancakes, 2 boiled eggs, 6 pieces of bacon, and washes he washes it all down with 2 cups of milk. Truly an unholy meal. He gets up to get a glass of water and lets out a burp that reverberates through the house. As Mrs. Pines strolls downstairs she shouts, "Dipper! Cover your mouth." He shrugs while chugging his cup of water, letting a smaller, albeit still disgusting burp after he finishes his cup. Paz rolls her eyes, Guys. It's like he was trying to be as unlovable as possible, nasty ass burps weren't going to turn around his luck with the ladies. Suddenly guilt streaks through her whole body, he told me that stuff in confidence. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Color drains out of her face and the unmistakable mark of being a bad person builds inside her, feeling like a black hole right in her gut. Dang it, she barely went, what was it? Ten hours without being a bad person. She buries her face in her hands and claws her fingers into her face. Fuck! What is wrong with me?! Pacifica feels tears forming at the edge of her eyes. No, no, no! I can't cry now, they'll see me! She summons all her strength of soul to try and contain her emotions. What did Mabel say? Thinking you're a—
"Hey Paz, are you okay?" Mabel asks from her place in the living room. Crap! Worst-case Scenario.
"Yeah, I think my eye is having an allergic reaction or something," Pacifica smoothly lies, feeling even more guilty. The lies stream out of her effortlessly, too effortlessly.
"Come to the bathroom and wash your eyes, you can't let the contagion stay in your eye," Mrs. Pines chimes in, helping to guide Pacifica to the powder room. Pacifica opens her eyes and tries to bring it under the tall faucet but finds herself unable to keep her eyes open under the stream of water. Pacifica flinching as soon as the water makes contact with her eye. The whole ordeal helps Pacifica take her mind off her guilt, now preoccupied with keeping her dress dry, even though her make-up is definitely going to be ruined.
"Sweetie, you have to keep your eyes open," Mrs. Pines kindly instructs, "or the allergen won't wash o—, sweetie, open, here I'll hold your eye open." Pacifica pulls her head out from underneath the faucet, puts her hands out and takes a sharp breath in. She blinks several times and unconvincingly says, "I think I got it out," Mrs. Pines tilts her head, skeptical of Paz's claim.
"Are you sure?"
She blinds once more, feigning introspection, "My eyes feel better, there's no stinging, maybe it was just an eyelash or something,"
"Okay, well we're going to head out in just a minute, so you can dry your face and sit for a little bit," Mrs. Pines says, grabbing a hand towel off the rack to her side and handing it to Pacifica, who's still trying to fake feeling out her eye. Pacifica takes the towel and pats her face dry, inadvertently wiping away her make-up onto the off-white towel, leaving behind a black and pink mark, her mascara and blush, respectively. Mrs. Pines leaves the powder room and leaves back to the kitchen, barking orders to Dipper and Mabel, so the group doesn't miss their appointment at the nail salon. Pacifica examines her face, and while she isn't too insecure, she doesn't like how her brow ridge is casting a shadow on her eyes, making her eyes look darker, her blue irises shining less brilliantly. She usually uses foundation to brighten that park of her face, foundation that is now on the towel and not on her face. She brushes her eyelashes with her fingers, fanning them out, her lashes splaying like a peacock's train, bringing attention to the brightness of her eye. She quickly grabs the eyeliner out of her Louis Vuitton purse, (specifically the Louis Vuitton Pochette LV Bloom in black) she always keeps in her purse for emergencies. She's gotten really good at doing the outline of her eye, but today her hand twitches and she makes little mistake. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, You can't even see it! It's fine, she reasons, repeating this several times trying to get herself to believe the words that she's thinking. It's fine! she declares internally, stroking her hair, taking a deep breath, and stepping out, finding the twins in the footwell putting their shoes on.
"You look... menacing," Dipper starts, before quickly adding, "like, in a good way, like intimidating, you know?" Her face is a mix of embarrassment and fear, she holds in a sigh, he's going to be the end of her. Instead of spiking her cortisol, she decides to take it as a compliment, smiling and replying with a gentle, "Thanks."
Mabel jolts up and crowds Pacifica, closely examining her face, "Pacifica! Your natural lashes are so pretty!"
"You think so?" Pacifica asks, turning to the large mirror by the foyer table.
"They're really long, they fan out like one of those Chinese hand fans," Mabel explains, Pacifica giggles, Chinese hand fan?
"Alright, kids, ready to go?"
The three nod, and follow Mrs. Pines out to the driveway, where they're met by a Black Chevy Suburban in the driveway where Mrs. Pines' Prius was yesterday. Mrs. Pines swears under her breath and heads back in the house to swap the keys, she unlocks the car and the three kids filter into the backseat, Dipper on the driver side, Mabel in the middle seat, and Pacifica on the passenger side. The black leather seats are unbelievably wide and Pacifica can't help but feel impressed by the sheer scale of their SUV. I mean for crying out loud, its like an apartment on wheels. Mrs. Pines opens the door and plops down in the driver seat, adjusting the mirrors and backing out of the driveway. The ride is substantially smooth than yesterday's, the heavy car floating across hitches and potholes in the roadway. She felt like a queen being pulled in her chariot, peering down on the smaller cars that were passing beneath her. Plebians, she thinks to herself.
Mrs. Pines pulls into a small-ish parking lot and navigates the apartment on wheels into a parking spot definitely designed for cars smaller than the large suburban. The three filter out of the passenger side, because the car is too close to the car beside them on the driver side door. Pacifica gets to witness Mrs. Pines hurdling over the center console to even have a chance at getting of the car. Once they're all out of the car, they head into the nail salon aptly named, 'TK Nails,' displayed in big, blocky red letters on the small shopfront. They walk in through the glass door, hearing the bell chime as they populate the lobby, as they walk in they're immediately greeted by an oppressively large selection of colors behind the empty reception desk A Vietnamese lady walks over from the back of the shop and says, "Hello, seats for three?"
"No, no, for four"
"Four-Four?"
"No, for four people"
"Oh ok," the Vietnamese lady disappears into the backroom again and emerges with three more colleagues, two women and a man. Pacifica rolls her eyes, there's the one guy. They're asked for their preferred colors, Pacifica picks French tips on her nails and settles for white toes since Mabel gets the last light pink bottle. Literally snatching it as Pacifica reaches for it, Pacifica resists glaring at Mabel considering Mabel is always so nice to her. In fact, she's a little grateful that Mabel doesn't offer her what she wants, she wants to be treated normally for once. The four of them settle into their freshly cleaned chairs, sinking into the comfortable and plush beige cushions. From right to left, its Mrs. Pines, Mabel, Pacifica, then Dipper, who uncomfortably settles into his chair asking far too many questions, definitely annoying the living hell out of the poor Vietnamese woman who's tasked with giving him a mani and a pedi. While Dipper did try to resist colored nails polishes, Pacifica and Mabel coaxed Mrs. Pines into talking him into lavender toes. Nobody's going to see it, they said, you'll look pretty, they assured, and in the end, Dipper finally gave in, but not before threatening to leave twice. His kin blew him off, as if he was going to walk anywhere. Mabel and Mrs. Pines let Pacifica know that Dipper was kind of a diva when it came to walking. While he might have long, powerful legs, he exclusively saved them for swimming and sitting. Apparently last year, in their first year of middle school, Dipper had complained so much about having to walk in between classes his parents had bought him brand new walking shoes, so that his 'sensitive little tendons' didn't get hurt. Dipper vehemently denied this, but his reddening cheeks told another story. He shifted from denial to explanation, citing that taller people needed to keep their body in good shape, lest they need a ton of surgeries when they're older. In the end they all slotted into a nice, relaxing, and peaceful few hours at the nail salon, all while Dipper fidgeted and recoiled as he was introduced to proper nail and foot hygiene.
While Pacifica was extremely tempted to try and talk to Dipper, she felt like Mabel was watching her like a hawk. While yes, she had meant to tell Mabel that she liked Dipper, she just wishes that Mabel could perhaps mind her own business, for at least a little bit. Pacifica stayed patient and was rewarded when Mrs. Pines and Mabel get into an argument about where they should go next. While Mrs. Pines wants to take Pacifica to a park, Mabel wants to go back home so that they could do something in the night. Pacifica on the other hand could not care less, other than for the two being distracted. She turns towards Dipper and taps him on the shoulder, rousing him from his coma. He snaps awake so violently he nearly tips over his own chair, the nail tech staring him down with venom in her eyes. Anyways... He looks back towards her, mild annoyance displayed on his face,
"Are you going to get Mabel back?" Pacifica prods, speaking softly as not to draw Mabel's attention.
"What?" he responds back, an octave too loud for Pacifica's comfort, she quickly gestures for him to lower her voice, he then whispers, "what?" again.
"Are you going to get Mabel back? For dunking you into the toilet yesterday?" Pacifica asks again, trying to nudge him into the right direction, of obviously inviting her to help him. Its not that she necessarily has a vendetta for Mabel, but there's only so many things she can plausibly tag along before he starts suspecting her interest isn't exclusively platonic. Well, he is kind of oblivious, so maybe she doesn't have to be so subtle.
"Like I should tell you, you'll just tell Mabel and my plans will be ruined," Dipper responds. Pacifica feigns offense, before getting the idea for a response.
"Your plans will be ruined?" she asks sarcastically, "Who do you think—" she stops in her tracks, Dipper looks back at her confused. She has a playful remark locked and loaded, but decides to keep it to herself, probably wouldn't be the nicest thing ever to be sarcastically snarky... "—I'm not a double agent!"
He laughs awkwardly, "What was that pause?"
"I was just so offended that my brain short-circuited for a second," Pacifica easily explains.
Dipper raises an eyebrow, "The almighty Pacifica making a mistake? I'd thought I'd never see it."
"It wasn't a mistake silly, it was a calculated and immediate pivot," Dipper looks back unamused, well, more accurately he's amused but unimpressed, "Can I come with you to help?" He looks back with a blank stare, "Please Dipper."
"But why would you want to help me when you're really good friends with Mabel anyways, plus the time we went adventuring you got Mabel's face stolen."
"Well, I'm also really good friends with you—"
"That's debatable," he says dismissively.
"What? How? I literally brus—" Dipper leans over and puts a hand on Pacifica's mouth, muffling the rest of her sentence, Rude.
"Fine, fine, you can come, but please don't do anything stupid."
"What does doing something stupid even mean?" she asks, blissfully ignorant.
"That's stupid," Dipper says while slipping socks onto his newly bedazzled feet, "Pacifica its not a fashion show, its an adventure, dress appropriately." Its nighttime, far past their implicit curfew, the two agreeing in the nail salon to wake up at 2 AM, and meet ready to go in the living room. Dipper is sitting on the couch in the living, having waited about a half an hour for Pacifica to finally emerge from the girls' bedroom. And when she finally did, he'd let out a long, disappointed sigh, realizing he'd have to wait even longer, because this outfit was absolutely not going to work.
"This is appropriate," Pacifica responds, doing a 360, her outfit looks really good, she has on baggy jeans, white shirt, then an open North Face Puffer Vest, on top. For layering purposes he guesses.
"Pacifica firstly, your pants are going to catch on like 8 million things, then your jacket and shirt are going to make you so hot your going to just end up having to hold your vest," Dipper reasons, shoving his feet into his beat up tennis shoes. Yes, the same ones his parents had bought him last year, get over it. "Plus those heeled boots you're wearing are going to be a nightmare to walk on the soft underbrush with, I refuse to believe you don't have anything lighter to wear." Pacifica looks away from him for a second, probably thinking through her packed luggage. "Do you have tennis shoes?" he asks, getting the conversation rolling.
"Yes," she replies.
"Do you have shorts or like any sort of athletic pants?"
"Do yoga pants count?"
"Yes," Dipper answers in a monotone voice, "You have to have a t-shirt, right? Or are those not fashionable anymore."
"I don't like your tone, little boy," Pacifica responds, crossing her arms and immediately eating her words as Dipper stands to tower over her.
"Little boy?"
"Umm," she scratches the back of her head, her eyes following his as he rises, "do I really have to change?"
"Yes," Dipper answers candidly, "its not even that you're overdressed, its that you'll be an actual danger to yourself."
"Ugh, fine," Pacifica huffs, Dipper watches her as she walks quietly back upstairs. He sits back down and waits quietly in the living room, he can hear his Dad typing in his office, loud clicks and clacks filter from underneath his door which serve to provide some white noise relief from the painful solitude of the house. Dipper is tempted to bite his nails, but they just got done, and they look pretty good. As he splays his fingers in front of himself, he admires the glossy coat on his nail plate, the glossy sheen reflecting in the moonlight creeping in from the transom window. The day had been pretty uneventful, as opposed to the upcoming few hours, where he and Pacifica would hunt for a smelly ficus, blend it, and pour the putrid smelling liquid into Mabel's diffuser, where Mabel, and unfortunately Pacifica, would wake up to the glorious smell of death. Dipper had stumbled across a few examples in his post-Gravity Falls adventures here in Piedmont, realizing he definitely had a penchant for exploration and cataloging things. Pacifica returns downstairs, wearing a much more pragmatic outfit, consisting of a white t-shirt, black yoga pants with some high-top Nike socks overlapping the cuffs of her lululemon's. Embracing dressing like a runner, she's pulled her hair back into a ponytail In her hand are a pair of tastefully bland tennis shoes, white, brandless, and probably very expensive considering their thick sole. When she gets to the landing of the stairs she gestures with her arms out, asking Is this Good? He nods his head and gets up, heading to the door white Pacifica puts on her shoes. She gets onto her feet and squeaks her shoes against the hardwood flooring to which Dipper turns around and holds a finger to his lips, she mouths, Sorry. Dipper quietly opens the door, wincing as the gasket of the door rubs up against the frame, possibly blowing their cover. He holds still for a moment, listening for any movement in the house, when he's satisfied that nobody suspects anything, he lets Pacifica slip out the door and follows her onto the driveway. Now that they're free he leads her to the empty lot that's on the street that leads out into the forest behind the neighborhood.
"Dipper, that's really creepy," Pacifica says, pointing to the forest, "I'm not going in there," she puts her hands on her hips.
"Pacifica you're the one who begged me to come with, and now you don't want to come with?"
"I thought it was going to be some light walking on a well-lit path or something, not actual adventuring," Pacifica explains.
"Is that why you wore the other stuff first?"
"Yeah! I thought you were being dramatic, so I just went with it," she puts a finger on his chest, a zing of nervousness builds at the bottom of his heart forcing him to exhale, "wouldn't want to upset the diva inside, you know?" Dipper shakes his head, dismissing the slight.
"Okay, are you coming with me or not, because if not you can wait right here, and I'll be back in the next 2 hours or so."
"2 hours!" Pacifica exclaims, her eyes widening, "What are you going to do in the forest, get a little plant or cut down a whole tree?"
"Well, I'm not exactly sure where I last saw the ficus, so it might take 10 minutes or 2 hours," he takes a breath, "and I'm not coming out until I have it." He sees as the gears start moving in Pacifica's head, weighing up having to suspiciously stand at the foot of an empty lot, or having to ruin her perfectly maintained shoes. He sees her features relax as she lets out a sigh, "Fine I'll go."
"Yay!" Dipper sarcastically exclaims while doing jazz hands, drawing the ire of a feisty Pacifica who says, "Stop doing that," she enters the empty lot and takes careful steps navigating into the forest. Dipper follows her, unwilling to let her out of his sight, considering if the Pacifica Northwest got lost in a forest, her parents might actually have him killed. With each step, the two crunch underbrush under their feet, leaves, sticks, and even some rocks are in the line of fire as the two march deeper and deeper into the sparse, but dense forest. As they get deeper, light increasingly becoming scarce, but fear not! Dipper brought his flashlight, he turns it on and illuminates their path through the forest, the beam having a Pacifica-shaped shadow as she stubbornly stands right in front of him. She grabs a big stick off the forest floor and holds it up in the air, she points it forward and says "Onwards!" before looking back with the widest of smiles on her face. The light of his flashlight highlights her face, she nearly looks angelic as her wide smile reveals a set of perfectly white, straight teeth. Her slicked back hair glimmers in the bright light. He would literally kill to have her be slightly into him. He pushes those thoughts out of his head, She's just a friend, nothing more nothing less. His face involuntarily returns the smile, feeling obliged to return her smile with his own toothy grin, "See adventuring is fun," Dipper says.
"I never said it wasn't fun," Pacifica answers, "I just didn't want to ruin my outfit." She looks around, taking inventory of their surroundings, "Plus we haven't really done any adventuring, we've just been walking around."
"That's literally what adventuring is," Dipper says, "it doesn't have to be some grand gesture, it can be as small as taking a walk around an unfamiliar neighborhood, or going and seeing a new store that you've always seen, but never entered," Dipper takes a breath, "for me, I adventure because I like to fill in holes in my understanding, its like filling up a mental map of the world. I think its this inbuilt curiosity for the world... I don't know, I just like figuring things out, but that was probably a little too nerdy for you."
Pacifica shakes her head, "I mean it is nerdy, but," Pacifica tilts her head, "I think being nerdy is important, I'm probably not nerdy enough to be completely honest," Pacifica introspects, "I'm not sure who I am," she says the last sentence very slowly, as if having to pry the words off her lips, like having to scrape dried brownie batter off the edge of a baking pan. Dipper gets the sense this must be some deeply vulnerable confession that Pacifica is confiding in him, like his own from yesterday.
"What do you mean?"
"I feel like my constant judging and snarkiness is a cover for the fact I literally have no idea who I am, like the judginess of all the people that I deal with on a daily basis has rubbed off on me, but only me but my internal dialogue in a way that I can't even make private mistakes, or I'll tear myself apart, like I've internalized the hostile voices." Pacifica takes a shuddery breath, "I feel like I'm scared to know who I am, but that its also scary to not know who I am, who I will be, or maybe who I can be. And that its even more terrifying to let anyone else know who I am. I'm sorry, I probably sound really stupid right now..." Pacifica trails off, looking back at Dipper. Her paragraph hits him all at once, its a little overwhelming to address it all, but also overwhelming in that a wall of perfection and professionalism came crashing down in front of him so violently. It wasn't bits and pieces of Pacifica's vulnerability that she let be known to him over time, but all of it, all at once. He hadn't been expecting that, not at all.
"Umm, that's okay, you don't have it all figured out, I think that's a part of growing as a person that I've come to terms with," Dipper says, before realizing how that sounds, "I mean I'm definitely not the smartest person ever, but that how I just come to terms with myself. You're always not going to know something, and that's okay! But what's not okay is judging yourself for not knowing everything," he takes a breath, "and let me tell you, I'm a lot less nervous realizing that I don't always have to have an answer to everything," he decides to wrap it all up in a bow, "I might sound stupid, but that's okay, as long as you or I are drawing we can't be all that stupid." When he looks up, he doesn't expect to see Pacifica teary-eyed, teardrops forming at the edges of her eyes. "Aw, Pacifica, you don't have to—" she quickly closes the distance between them and hugs him, wrapping her arms around his ribcage and burying her face in his chest. He wraps his own arms around her midback, pulling her into him, he drops the flashlight and it falls onto the dirt, pointing away from them into the forest.
She lets out a few sniffles, then asks, "Do you think I'm a bad person?" her voice muffled by his shirt. He feels so bad for her, to be raised by awful people and purposely turned into a monster, and to realize you must change, but not know how. God, he doesn't even know how he would cope.
"Pacifica, your smart, you try to be kind, you persevere, I mean what more could you be," he says in a gentle tone.
"I don't know," she lets out another series of sniffles, "I could be smarter, kinder, persevere more," Pacifica says, her voice soft and raw, "its too much, its all too much, Dipper," she begins sobbing, he can feel her body shuddering as her tears roll down her face and drip onto his shirt.
"Pacifica..." his voice trails off as he realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Did you mean it when you said its okay not to know everything," Pacifica asks, looking up at him, her big, blue eyes looking into his.
He almost says Obviously, but he correctly guesses that would not be the most optimal answer at the moment, "Of course I did, why else would I say it?" she looks back down, into his chest, closing her eyes.
"People always say things they don't mean," she pauses, and after a little while continues, "people are awful," she continues quietly sobbing in his arms, then she opens her eyes and looks back up, "do you promise not to say things you don't mean?"
"I promise"
"Do you pinky promise?" she asks, withdrawing a hand from around him, and holding her pinky out towards him.
"Sure," he takes his own arm and holds it out to her, they interlock their fingers and Pacifica casts a weary smile at him, its sweet. And... intimate. The whole gesture seems intensely intimate, what is a meaningless playground formality feels symbolic and binding. After what feels like a long second, they release the grips on each other's fingers. The quiet of the forest becomes loaded and heavy, a witness to his promise and his newly established obligation to Pacifica. A weight floats over him, a fear of hurting her, a fear of twisting the knife lodged in her back any further. The sound of their breathing overlays the ambient sound of the wilderness, the chirping of a cricket here, ruffling of leaves over there. After another extended second of standing in front of each other, Pacifica perks up, "More adventure?"
"You bet," Dipper replies, with a toothy grin. The weight that floated over him being forgotten as he bends to pick up the flashlight. Even though they aren't saying anything, the quiet doesn't feel awkward, it doesn't even feel like silence. He watches as she places one foot in front of the other, watching her as she watches her footing, avoiding rocks, dips in the terrain, and the occasional puddle. After a while of venturing into the forest, Dipper sees what he's looking for, or more accurately smells what he's looking for, the horrifying, piercing, eye-watering scent of death.
"God, this thing stinks," Pacifica says, pinching her nose, "are you sure its not a biohazard?" To be honest, no. He shines the flashlight to the right of them and sees the noticeable curl of the plant. He bends down, there's about 9 of the plant, but it would be overkilled to take that many. He decides he only needs four and plucks the little plant's roots-and-all from the brittle, rocky dirt before stuffing them in a Ziploc he brought in his pocket. He tries to keep the plants as intact as possible, but kind of crushes them, not that it matters anyways since he's going to blend them soon. He then slips the now full Ziploc into his pocket and stands up, stretching his back and getting a few cracks as he straightens his spine.
"If it's a biohazard," he starts, "Mabel is sure in for a bad time," he turns around, "we should head back, I don't even know how long we've been out here." Pacifica pats the sides of her yoga pants, "Crap I think I forgot my phone," alarm flashing across her face.
"You think?" Dipper asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Okay," she says slowly, "I forgot my phone, did you bring yours?"
"Nope," he says with a self-satisfied smirk, "I never do when I'm adventuring."
"Why, are you roleplaying being Amish?" Dipper starts laughing, while Pacifica wasn't exactly unfunny, he definitely didn't expect her to crack great jokes like that, especially when they're in the middle of nowhere.
"That was really funny," he looks back at her finds a proud smirk.
"Thanks, but I think we should start, like, heading back"
"Alright," as the two start walking back the precariously unclear path, Dipper notices the flashlight begin weakening, up until it starts outright flickering, like him and Pacifica are starring in a horror movie.
"Dipper, please don't do that"
"I'm not, its doing that on its own,"
"Dipper"
"Pacifica"
She stops and turns around to face him; she points her index finger towards him with so much conviction he momentarily doubts that he isn't trying to mess with her. "Don't you lie to me."
He throws his hands up, "I swear I'm not," just then, the flashlight decides to give out, leaving the two of them in darkness.
"Dipper!" Pacifica shouts in alarm, "This really isn't funny anymore."
"Here, you try, then tell me if I'm messing with you," he hands her the flashlight, and she pointlessly flicks the power switch back and forth a couple dozen times before giving up, she slowly turns her head back to look at him, as if to say What now?
"We'll just have to walk back in the darkness, no big deal"
"No big deal? What if something tries to take us, or eat us?" A wicked smile rips across Dipper's face which Pacifica returns with confusion, "what?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what," she says with concern, "Dipper!" she hisses in a whisper.
"Shhhh," he cups his ear listening for something that definitely isn't there, "do you hear those..." What's scary? "...footsteps," he whispers. She shakes her head as a careful smile tugs on the edge of her glossed lips, "Dipper," she says again, her words softly spoken now.
He tries to contain his own smile, but fails, but even then, he still commits to the bit, "Pacifica, we need to go, now!" he says, pushing her ahead, back towards where they came. She starts running and he follows closely behind, "Dipper, you asshole," she shouts in between strained breaths, he can hear her smile through her harsh words, it warms his heart that she also finds his horseplay just as fun as he does. As they approach the clearing where they entered the forest, he notices a rogue branch just a little too late, what happens next can be best described as cartoonish. Pacifica's foot catches on the branch and she comes crashing onto the forest floor. She luckily manages to twist while she's falling so that she can land on her back, instead of her face. That's good, he thinks. In a not as great moment for Dipper, he realizes he can't just jump over the branch, lest he step on Pacifica and hurt her badly, so he instead decides the best course of action would be to just fall on top of her. Smooth moves, moron, he'd think in retrospect. His foot also catches on the branch and in what feels like slow motion, he falls and lands on Pacifica, landing in a thump. When the dust settles, the two of them are looking at the other, their faces millimeters apart.
Time stops as they make contact, They're so close, Dipper thinks. Dipper can see the small blemishes on Pacifica's skin, her individual eyelashes, and even the nearly imperceptible mistake she made with her eyeliner. Where instead of following the edge of her eyelid, her eyeliner veers just slightly back before returning to the edge of her eyelid. As they breathe in each other's faces, he smells her permanently peppermint breath, it's cool and refreshing on his skin. He gets a bit self-conscious, wondering what his own breath smells like before remembering that he brushed his teeth an hour ago.
What feels like intimately agonizing minutes of laying on each other is actually no more than 15 seconds. Abruptly, the shock wears off, and Dipper becomes all too aware of his body, and his plentiful skin-on-skin contact with Pacifica. Nervousness washes over him and paralyzes him, that is until the panic reinvigorates him into action. He pushes himself off of her and rolls to her side, "Oops, sorry about that," he says, trying to ignore the sensation of his cheeks burning.
"It's okay," she says coyly, she sits up first and tries to get on her feet before wincing and falling back down onto the ground.
"Are you okay?"
"It's my ankle, it had just healed but now it hurts again," she says, holding her right ankle. He sits up and asks, "May I?" gesturing towards her foot. She nods and he puts a hand on the heel of her shoe, and another over the toe box. He begins gently twisting her foot in, at which point Pacifica stops him by holding out her arm.
"Ow, ow, ow"
"It hurts when I roll it in?"
"Yeah, it hurts around my entire ankle."
"Oh, you definitely rolled it," he notes, before realizing that sounds obvious, "I'll help you walk back," then he realizes that too sounds obvious. He decides to shut up and stand up, holding his hand out to her, she puts her hand in his. Ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, he pulls her up, catching her with a hug. He brushes the leaves and dirt off her back and adjusts her so that she can lean against him his left side. They're not really walking back as much as they are slowly shuffling back, Pacifica having her injured leg half bent up, so that she's hopping on the good foot, stabilized by the arm that Dipper has around her upper back, his wrist lodged underneath her arm. She has her own arm around his waist, holding on tight each time she hops forward.
Her ankle isn't rolled. Her ankle doesn't even hurt; she just wants an excuse to stay close to him after their near kiss. She had debated whether she would pull him down into a kiss. Their lips were already in position, separated only by a thin layer of air and a mountain of sexual tension. The explosion of sensation in her chest in that moment was almost overwhelming; it was both exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Exhilarating because she would get to kiss him, terrifying because that might be too fast for him, honestly, even too fast for her. Plus, she didn't want to ruin their friendship. Because, she gulps, because he means a lot to her. Their walk is quiet but loaded, nothing is being said, but everything is being communicated. It's quiet, but not silent, as the soundscape is filled by crunching leaves, their breathing, and the occasional ambulance siren, faraway. After a few minutes, they unfortunately make it to the foot of his doorstep, Dipper sets Pacifica down against the wall, and punches a code into the lock, hearing the door buzz open. He pushes in the door and pokes his head inside, scoping out the scene indoors. He gestures for her to come inside, holding out his hand to help her inside the house. He helps her hop onto the couch where she takes off her shoes while he goes into the kitchen. He re-emerges with an icepack, handing it to her as he gets onto his knees.
"Are you going to help me take off my shoes?"
"Yeah, but you already took them off," he starts, "I wanted to help so you didn't twist your ankle anymore."
"You and wanting to be things you're not, first you want be Amish, now you want to be my butler, when's it going to end," Pacifica quips with a smirk, Dipper's face flushing at the conclusion of her sentence.
"Sorry," he looks away, "I just feel bad because I'm the one who scared us into running."
"It's okay, I knew there was nothing there, I just wanted to..." her voice trails off. She feels a nondescript sensation well up in her core, her face goes blank trying to process it, something like Seeing you happy makes me happy, but she can't tell him that. That's, that's too much... right now. She covers up the feeling with a smile he returns with a grin. He stands slowly, using his hands to stabilize himself as he pulls himself up.
"Well, you have the icepack and are here on the couch," he says, gesturing towards her, "so I'm going to go to sleep if you don't need anything else," he turns around to begin walking away, towards the stairs.
"Wait," she says, stopping him in his tracks, he slowly turns around.
"What's up?" his face innocently lights up; a gentle smile perched on his lips.
"You're going to leave me all alone while I nurse this injury?" she scoffs, "Some hospitality," she finishes, feigning contempt. Dipper laughs quietly and comes around the coffee table to sit next to her on the couch, kicking his feet up on the table and crossing them. He has his hands in front of him, each hand in the other, fidgeting his fingers around each thumb. She notices this as her fingers are freezing off while pushing the icepack against her 'hurt' ankle.
"Why do you just fidget all the time?"
He takes a moment to respond, "I don't really know, I just feel better when I do."
"Can you stop doing it?"
He looks towards her, "Is it bothering you?" he slows down his fidgeting.
She shakes her head, "No, I mean, like, can you, like a question of ability, rather than a command," she clarifies, realizing she sounds like an English teacher.
"I mean, I can," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "but it's kind of like holding your breath, you can do it, but it just kind of feels a little uncomfortable, like something's off."
"Hmm, that sounds kind of like ADHD," Pacifica says.
Dipper scoffs, "No way I have ADHD."
"Why not?"
"I don't know," he pauses for a second, "I don't feel like anything is wrong with me—"
Pacifica shakes her head and looks at him, "ADHD doesn't mean you have anything wrong with you, even though you definitely have things wrong with you," she lets out a little giggle, "but seriously, it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, it just means you think differently, and getting classified would let—"
"Diagnosed," he corrects.
"Diagnosed would let you get the help you need to help you think normally," she finishes.
"I don't think I have it"
"Well, do you pace around while thinking?"
"Yeah, but everyone does that," she laughs as he answers, he frowns.
"No, they don't, I don't do that for example."
"Yeah, but that's because you're soulless," he says quickly, making Pacifica recoil with a smile.
"Absolutely not, Mr. Fidgeting."
Dipper snorts, "What kind of nickname is Mr. Fidgeting?" he says, following it with a chuckle.
"Umm, a good one, duh," she bobs her head, the two are too busy bickering to realize Mr. Pines has emerged from his office and has been watching them bicker for the last couple of minutes. It's not until he clears his throat do the two notice that 1) they were being watched, 2) they've been caught staying up after curfew, and 3) this looks really really bad.
Mr. Pines points at Pacifica, "You, blondie, go upstairs and sleep," then he looks at Dipper, "we need to talk."
Zoo-wee mama!