On Wednesday, Dipper made a test vehicle out of a remote controlled car he found in the attic and half the sliver of metal. He set up his camera to record the test, as well as one of those black and white rulers that were on Mythbusters to help measure speed. He wasn't sure if that was going to help or not, but it was worth a shot. He started recording, then stepped in front of the camera.

"Okay, uh, I'm Dipper Pines and I'm performing an experiment on the mysterious metal called Mercury's Bane. In theory, it causes moving objects to exponentially pick up speed." He shuffled a little, then cleared his throat.

"Test one." He stepped out of the camera frame, then scooped up the remote. He took a deep breath, palm growing sweaty on the blue plastic. He pressed the forward button, and the car sprung to live, speeding over the wooden floor. He blinked and it was crashing into the far wall. He dropped the remote and ran over to the smoking mess of a toy car.

A few hours later, he had salvaged the car and the Mercury's Bane and started over. This had to be the solution. He wasn't about to crawl the whole way to Pacifica's house. He screwed the battery pack back into place, and set the car down at the beginning of the test track. The brunette stepped back in front of the camera, wiping his sweaty hands over his jeans.

"Test two." He moved behind the camera, eyes glued to the car as he eased his finger over the 'gas' button. The car smoothly rolled along, until he blinked and it crashed into the fucking wall again. He dropped the controller and trotted over to the mess. Maybe it wouldn't be as drastic on a larger vehicle. He took the metal out of the well made toy and turned his camera off. Dipper went in search of his helmet.

A half hour of Mabel making him pillow and duct tape armor later, Dipper was on his bicycle with a flashlight generator hooked up to the pedals and the mystery metal stuffed inside the battery area of the light. Mabel held the camera aloft and shot him a thumbs up. He filled his lungs with air.

"Test three!" And with that he started pedaling down the driveway. The breeze picked up, brushing his face gently and whipping his hair around. Not that he had Mabel's luxurious locks, but it was really starting to get too long and he should have gotten a haircut ages ago. The wind grew harsh, pelting his face rather than gently caressing it. The flashlight hummed with power. He kept pedaling, wondering how fast he was going. Trees blurred together in one solid block of greenish brown. The brunette felt that if he hit a pothole it would kill him instead of giving him a scraped knee. He prayed that he would avoid any and all such divots. The slightly bumpy ride suddenly got smooth, and Dipper realized that he had hit the road. And gone right over the road and into the woods beyond. Trees flashed before him and he tried to break, panic rising in his throat. If he hit one at this speed, he wouldn't even be able to fit in a soup can. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating.

The bike slowed slightly, then hit a ditch, the front wheel embedding itself into the muddy bank and throwing his torso over the handlebars. He hit the grass and rolled a few feet, coming to a stop with his chin scraped and bruised. He stayed still, taking inventory of how many injuries he had. Dizzy, check. Nauseous, also check. Could he feel and move his legs? He wiggled his toes carefully and also flexed his fingers. Checkity checkaroo. He gingerly sat up, face ten kinds of sore. He heard Mabel screaming in the distance. After a brief battle with the pillow armor, he sent her a text to assure her that he was fine. She sent back ten crying emojis. All in separate messages. He sighed.

The bike was salvageable, but it was also hard to wrench out of the ditch. He wrestled with it until it came loose, then dragged the damaged mud-cycle back across the road to clean it up and try again. The walk back took eons compared to the short bike ride out. He got halfway up the drive when his sister came running at him, camera bouncing on the cord around her neck. She jumped on him with such force that she knocked him flat on his ass. He muttered a few curses and cringed as she shouted about cars and how he just shot off into space like a rocket. He was a little excited by that. The plan might work!

The second bike test went well. He was able to control the speed a little better by alternating between coasting and pedaling. When he was able to keep the pace steady at thirty miles per hour, he figured it was time to try it on the golf cart.

Mabel insisted on joining him for the test run of the golf cart that Thursday. Grunkle Stan only told them to not die until he got back. The twins drove the cart to a nice flat expanse of grass that was nowhere near any obstacles or traffic. Dipper had rigged the dashboard so that at the flick of a switch the metal would start being electrocuted. All he had to do to turn it off was hit the switch again. Mabel insisted that he wear the pillow armor once more, which he reluctantly donned so that she wouldn't worry too much. She sat with the camera a few hundred yards away, cell phone in her hand to call 911 if anything bad happened. He stared up at her from his seat in the cart. She flashed a thumbs up. He grinned.

"Test Number Five!" He flicked the switch, then eased his foot onto the gas pedal. The cart creaked to life, protesting from misuse. The brunette watched the speedometer hit eleven miles an hour, then jump up to twenty two. The number climbed, and he delicately lifted his foot off the pedal until he felt more comfortable with the speed. Practicing the press and release method, he navigated the golf cart from one end of the field to the other, then back again. He tried swerving and turning. The brunette even convinced his sister to let him take the cart into the woods and drive it around there. After a few hours, and lunch, Dipper was able to ditch the pillow armor and test drive the cart all the way back to the Mystery Shack. Mabel said the trip was a little jerky, but overall not the worst car ride she had ever been forced to sit through.

If he could make it to town and back, then he could make it to Pacifica's and the library. He had been driving for eight hours straight, though, so his visit to town via magicked golf cart had to wait until Friday.

Dipper sat in the golf cart early Friday morning, cold fingers hidden in his jacket sleeves. Mabel was standing on the porch making a fuss.

"Remember to not die." Dipper nodded in response.

"Text me when you get to town." Again, he nodded at her words.

"Dipper?"

"Yeah, Mabel?"

"Your fly is unzipped." He swore, glancing down to see that she was, in fact, telling the truth. He fixed his zipper and met his sister's eyes once more.

"I love you, Dipperdoodle." Her sad smile made his heart hurt.

"I'm not dying, jeeze. Love you, too, Mabel." And with that, their final goodbyes for the day were taken care of. If he was honest, he was lucky that Mabel even agreed to watch the Mystery Shack for the day. It was supposed to be his turn to keep an eye on the gift shop. He carefully pumped the gas pedal, his brisk pace bringing him to the road. He looked both ways, ears pricked for any car noises. He heard nothing. He switched the electricity off from the metal. Birds chirped and cicadas sounded. No cars. He flipped the electricity back on, effectively cutting off all outside noise. A chill ran down his spine. He would have to keep that effect in mind. The teen pulled onto the highway, cart accelerating until he reached the speed limit.

Dipper trundled happily down the highway, carefully taking the town exit and driving down main street like he wasn't sitting in a metal and plastic death trap. He parked in front of the grocery store to pick up some essentials like root beer and green beans. He realized once inside the small shop that he hadn't texted Mabel, so he shot her a quick message and smiled when she sent back a few happy emojis and a picture of how dead the gift shop was. He popped into the nearby bookstore to get a present for Pacifica. It was just a normal day of the week, but she liked to read fantasy and adventure, and he liked to surprise her every now and again. Some cute songs on the radio reminded the brunette that he ought to make his girlfriend another mixtape for the next upcoming holiday. Thank God Summerween had already happened.

He purchased a book about two aliens who were teleported into a Narnia-like land. That seemed like an interesting enough premise. He hoped that even if it was shitty that Pacifica would like it. Warmth spread over his cheeks as he returned to the golf cart. He was blushing just for thinking about how happy she would be. He was a huge dork.

The ignition caught, and shortly after that he was on his way back home. He hardly had to think about handling the gas pedal, and his mind wandered as he carefully navigated the sparse traffic. As much as his idea was working, was it really that smart for him to have traded blood for this metal? He couldn't driveway was just as bumpy as Dipper remembered, and he parked the cart around the side of the Shack. The teen took a deep breath. The vehicle was ready for Saturday.