Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls!
Title: Boom Boom!
Summary: (Teen!Delinquent AU) Mabel has some issues with alcohol that probably need to be addressed. Or; Dipper and Mabel blow up a boat.
Warnings: Explosions, alcohol abuse, and Dipper questioning his sexuality.
...
The Stan O' War II is a decent sized boat, Dipper figured; large enough to take on the biggest waves created by storms and anomalies alike, but small enough to be manageable. Of course, it's built for two men, instead of four, but Dipper and Mabel are good at sleeping pretty much anywhere, so no worries.
A loud, delighted gasp met his ears, and Dipper's heart sunk at the stars in his sister's eyes as she appeared on deck, wearing baggy pants and a tent of a jacket, covering her down to the knees. Its sleeves were long enough to smack pirates from a decent distance, or so she had said.
"I'mma look like a true fisherwoman." She'd proclaimed as she sewed the monstrosity together, tongue sticking out. "Salty Sea Dog Mabel sails into the night in style!"
Now she stood on the deck, bouncing on her heels. "I found something awesome!"
"If it's a dead body, I don't want to know." He grimaced.
"Better!" Mabel chirps.
Oh, crap. That's never good. "What?"
She lowers her voice for dramatic effect. "They've got alcohol."
Oh. Oh, no, Abort, abort! "Please tell me it's locked away somewhere."
"Nope! Not that it would change anything if it was." She stated, hands on her hips.
"Mabel, I'm begging you. Literally begging. If you fall off the boat drunk you'll drown."
Mabel's grin could power cities. "But I'd die happy!"
"No, you'd die drunk. And traumatized."
But she's already disappearing back into the cabin, giggling like a loon. "Don't worry, bro, there's enough for two!"
"Whelp." Dipper concedes defeat and plants his rear on the floor of the boat, gently rocking under the waves. The sky above is grey and covered in clouds; good anomaly hunting weather, Ford had said. No one really out and about on pleasure cruises, and they're too tough to capsize under the waves. (He's fairly sure there's some sort of charm painted on the bottom of the boat, but he couldn't tell you what it did.) "We need an intervention."
Mabel catches the words on the way back up, an uncorked bottle in hand. "Technically, death is an intervention. Yeah. I'll wait for death for intervene."
"We're gonna end up like Stan."
"You make that sound like a bad thing, Mr. "I wanna be a tough guy.""
"I just don't wanna end up in prison in a third world country, is all. Besides, they'd split us up if we did."
"Don't worry." She plopped down beside him, draping an arm over his shoulders. "They'd have to catch us first."
"And if they did?"
"'Have a little imagination, Pine Tree', as our old pal would say. Prison breaks are a thing. Explosive are a thing. Psychosis is a thing."
"We're not psychotic. Not from a medical definition."
"But it's an excuse!"
Thoroughly disturbed (and this was his sister when she was still sober), he sent a pleading look to the older men as they boarded with the last of their supplies.
Stan laughed. "That's gotta be a world record. I've never seen somebody find the stash so quick."
Ford, however, put his hands on his hips. "Didn't you learn anything from the last time?"
"Of course. That beer and vans equal fun, so long as you're not the one driving." Mabel returned smoothly, taking a swig.
"Does that fellow you left in a ditch see it that way?"
"We don't talk about The Ditch." Dipper says nervously. Mabel nods.
"The Ditch is best left in the past. The Ditch was the opposite of a fun time."
Stan sets the crate of nonperishable goods down with a thunk. "You plannin' on fighting the monster like that?"
("It's not a monster, Stanley. It's a siren. Hence the earplugs.")
Mabel cheers and lifts the bottle in a salute, almost spilling it on Dipper. "Liquid courage, baby!"
"Liquid death, is more like it." Dipper groans, hanging the back of his head overboard. "Heaven help me."
"How many times do we have to go over this, Dipper? What Heaven?"
Ford splutters in a way that sounds relatively like laughter. Stan hums noncommittally.
"You knuckleheads gone the atheist route, huh?"
"Atheist? Nah, we believe." Mabel slurs a bit; she's a lightweight, ironically enough. "We believe in world-creating demons. Endless dimensions, endless creatures; we aren't so special that we deserve a God."
Almost without meaning to, they all glanced at the older man, who rubbed his chin thoughtfully with a six-fingered hand. "Well, she's not wrong about the world-creating demons. As for God; I couldn't tell you. I always avoided that particular question."
Stan shrugged. "Might at well get some brownie points in now. We'll be six feet under soon."
"Stan, if there is a God and Heaven, then you and I are already destined to go to Hell."
"Exactly. We might hit Purgatory, if we're good. That's enough for me."
"Cowards!" Mabel laughs.
"She's a mean drunk." Dipper says, because he knows she won't apologize. Not like this.
"Runs in the family." Stan assures him, heading for the tethers. "Just try not to go overboard."
As it turns out, one does not fistfight a siren, even with ear plugs.
Thankfully, all they were looking for was someone to listen to their singing- they're very sensitive about it. They point them to the colder seas of Arctic, and they swim away in pursuit of a more attentive audience.
"I fear we may have doomed the polar bears." Ford states, seriously, soon after. "Which is why the knowledge of our wrongdoing will never leave the safety of this ocean."
They pass other anomalies as they head back to Oregon to drop them off at Wendy's place, which is, thankfully, alcohol free. Ford and Stan tell tales of meeting Nessie (a very tame, but vain, beast) and the odd giant bird swoops down for a snack. They seem to realize they're a different type from the normal humans, because they make no attempt to hide themselves. They pass a tribe of Selkies, who are just as tubby as humans as they are as seals, skin tinted with a variety of colors- they come from all around the world- and shapes, tattoos and piercings; they're as nice and playful as normal seals leave them to be.
One of them- a bulky male with a nose ring and long hair- winks at Dipper, leading him to crouch besides Mabel, face flushed.
"Oh, man."
"What? He's cute."
"I know. I'm questioning my sexuality right now. I would totally date that guy."
"Ditto. You think he's poly?"
"I think the Mystery Twins have a thing for fish creatures."
"I could've told you that." She laughed. "We're coming back again, right? On our own."
Dipper swallows and nods. "If they'll have us."
As it turns out, they will. So long as the dreadful stench is taken from the pretty girl's belly.
"I'd get sober just to hang out with you guys any day." She promises, eyes blown with alcohol and a solemn promise. "You're awesome."
They dock in California for a quick meeting with a client, which Dipper and Mabel politely skip out on.
"Quick! Get drunk." She shoves the lip of the bottle into his face, completely serious.
He wrinkles his nose. "Ew. Why?"
"Because I have an illegal idea that you'd never agree to sober."
"Mabel, this is your non-therapist recommended coping tactic, not mine." He rubs his arms self-consciously, mindful of the scars there. He really has no room to talk about this, and they know it. "Besides, isn't that all the more reason to not get drunk?"
"No way, bro-bro." She rapidly shook her head, cheeks pink with excitement and booze. "It's a great idea. An awesome adventure just waiting to be had. But you need to be more free than usual to properly enjoy it."
"Mabel," Dipper says. "That's, like, the opposite of who I am drunk."
"Just swallow the rest of the bottle, Dip. Walk of shame in style."
Dipper sighed and gave in. He'd end up regretting it, he was sure, but there wasn't a reason to say no.
The Stan O' War II is safely out in the open ocean once again when a docked boat explodes into flame.
Mabel whoops, almost falling into the waters. She's caught around the waist by Dipper, only slightly more steady, and pulled back to safety. Both of their clothes are mildly charred and torn. Mabel's gotten rid of the jacket and pants in exchange for an undershirt and jeans- they later find out they were soaked in gasoline for the sake of their little masterpiece. Goosebumps prickle her skin.
"You did this?" Stan asks, surprised and not surprised.
"Relax." Mabel replies. "No one was on board. We made sure of that."
Dipper, however, puts his head in his hands shamefully. "Why did I allow you to get me drunk and cart fireworks onto a boat?"
"You're still drunk." She points out.
"I know; the angst is setting in."
"Nap it off. You're better asleep than awake and moping."
Ford crosses his arms. "You put everything- including our dreams- at stake here. I hope, for your sake, you have a good reason for all of this."
She waved it off. "He owed us. The little jerk who owned that piece of work, I mean. Saw him showing it off to some girls. He pinned something on us we didn't do; we didn't know exactly who it was until it was too late." She frowned, remembering her- mostly- unprovoked attack on those boys, who, in the end, had nothing to do with it. "You don't get away with something like that. Not on Salty Sea Dog Mabel's watch."
"Well, congrats, then." Stan grunts, tromping across the deck, without sparing even a second look at the rising fire. "You've been officially banned from your first state; not to mention, it's your birth state. They probably got a warrant out on both of your heads. No going back now."
"Stanley!" Ford cries. "We have to do something about this!"
"What do you reckon, bro? Go to the cops? You ain't that crazy, and neither am I. Wendy'll give 'em a reality check once they cool their jets. She won't let this stand."
"We're just going to let this go unpunished?" He roars. "They'll end up in jail! Again!"
"Like either of us have any right to talk?" Stan challenges. Ford clams up. "I'm just as mad, but we have to let them figure out life on their own. They're too old for us to be making their decisions for 'em."
"Yeah, great uncle Ford!" Mabel raises her bottle in salute. "Let us live our own life, ya' old busybody!"
"I'm done." Ford sighs, flopping down next to them. "I have to be drunk to handle you two. Hand that over."
"I'll play the part of safe boatman, then." Stan calls, disappearing into the hold, chuckling to himself. "Never thought I'd see the day."
"Do you think the constellations are real creatures, like in the legends?" Mabel breaks into the silence of the night. Waves lap at the sides of the ship; Mabel's out of alcohol, finally, and sobriety is taking over.
"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest." Dipper says, half-asleep. He's leaning heavily on her side, eyes drooping.
"You know," Mabel sighs, "we ran away from home, then we got banned, and now I kinda want to run away from land altogether. It's so much nicer out here. No one to bother us."
"Except the Selkies?"
"Except the Selkies." She agrees. "Although, they're far from a bother." A pause. "I know I'm selfish, but I don't want to be a coward, too."
"Wanting to sail isn't cowardly. Stan and Ford aren't cowards."
"But that's different. We have a family. Mama Wendy'll never forgive us if we just ran off like we did to our folks." She sighed and closed her eyes. "Dipper?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. I'm mean when I'm full of booze."
"Everyone knows that." He answered, with a bit of a laugh. "Don't fall into full-blown alcoholism, and we're good."
Author's Note: To the person who said the "Burnt lil' cinnamon rolls" were getting better- sorry. Not even close. It's a start, but they're still criminals. I know I make Mabel's bad traits more obvious most times, but Dipper's got just as many issues, trust me. They're just not as easy to spot.
This AU isn't particularly focused on romance- it never will be- but it's fun to add the odd tidbit for the sake of character development.
-Mandaree1