The heat seemed to bake the interior of the Shack's attic bedroom the next morning. Pacifica had woken up early - panicked. Nightmares.

Beavers. Giant Dinkies. Eyeballs. Geese.

Figures.

Mabel was already fully dressed and framing her redwood sweatshirt eagerly, as if it was her most treasured possession. If she wasn't already obsessed over Kevin, now she was super obsessed. The world's most luxurious wood! Just for her! From Northwest Manor! Eeek! Etcetera.

It was way, way too early. Must be what? 6AM? 6:30AM? Stupid. A stupid time to be awake. She could feel her poor, tired body begging for cool air and a hot cup of coffee - a contrast that wasn't lost on her. However, none of them felt quite like a sufficient argument to sit up. She still felt fatigued, dizzy and disorientated.

It didn't help that she kept having really weird dreams about Dipper.

Being a teenager was hell. More things to record in the diary... T-that she definitely didn't have.

She closed her eyes and groaned. If she could just get another couple of-

"Hey! You awake, miss Prissy-pants?"

The Northwest heir blearily opened her eyes to Mabel kneeling over her like an overexcited cat expecting a bowl of kibble. "...Don't call me that."

"Sorry, duchess of dorkhood!" She laughed as Pacifica pushed her off of the bed. "Owf!"

Pacifica chuckled and threw a pillow at her. "Chill out, kitten lady. What's the rush?"

"We're going to the lake!"

"Oh no."

"No, no, it's for relaxing time! We're going to take some time out and chill!"

Pacifica narrowed her eyes at her adopted sister. A Pacifica glare could be a sinister thing, and was - this early in the morning, at least - enough to make Mabel's resolve falter. "A-alright, so sue me! The Grunkles want to see the work rebuilding the tackle shop and-"

"...And?"

"And I was wondering if maybe…" Mabel mumbled, tapping her fingers together awkwardly. "If we could do something for the beavers..."

Pacifica huffed. "Right. There it is."

"I mean… it's kinda unfair, right? They didn't mean to become vengeful spirits and if we don't do something they'll just keep coming back! Peanut Brittle has to get washed away eventually! Then what?!"

"Have you been up all night worrying about this?"

"I've been up all night cuddling my sweater and drinking Mabel Juice. But yes ."

"Mabel, I get it, but what exactly can we-"

"I've already sent McGucket a message! And tagged Dipper in a status update! And then put dog ears on a photo of Waddles! This morning is proactive Mabel times!"

Pacifica blinked and giggled. "Alright, I guess-"

"You laughed. See? Proactive! Proactive Mabel!" the excitable Pines twin grinned, barreling down the stairs and leaving Pacifica to change from her pyjamas. Waddles followed her eagerly, grunting along with elation.

Pacifica rolled her eyes with a little grin on her face as she started getting ready. She couldn't deny she would be happy to right some more wrongs - but was hoping that, in some way at least, they might get a little bit of a break between. I mean, what could Mabel have in mind? Throwing beaver food onto the island?

What did beavers even eat? Could you get, like, beaver pellets at pet shops?

Whatever. It was probably minor. Probably nothing. It's not like the Pines ever got stuck into grand plans…

The lapping, glassy clear waters of Gravity Falls Lake glinted tranquilly in the early sunlight. It did little, however, to distract Pacifica from her complete and utter disbelief.

"You want to do what?!"

"I told her it was a crazy idea." Dipper said, his arms crossed.

"It is not! It's common sense! Right, Grunkle Ford?"

Ford opened his mouth, but didn't have time to say anything.

"Right! The spirits want something, so we give it to them and they go away!"

"I gotta admit I feel a little bad for 'em." Stan shrugged. "They're trapped, all alone in a strange environment, lookin' for a way out to the sea. I relate to 'em."

"You relate to vengeful spirit rodents." Ford said, incredulously. "Hairy and ill-tempered?"

"Better'n your jacket having interdimensional fleas, Sixer."

Pacifica looked at her boyfriend - then at Mabel - in complete disbelief. "You want to rebuild Lucinda?! The freakin' boat ?!"

"Brig." Stanley corrected, unloading the nails, rope, paint and toolboxes from the car's boot.

"I mean…" Dipper huffed awkwardly, rubbing his arm. "It won't take that long, it's already floating… we just want to make it waterproof, y'know? You gotta admit they got a bit of a bum rap and-"

"H-hey, I'm not saying I don't think it's the right thing to do, but-" Pacifica stammered.

"Ford and I know about everythin' there is ta know about boats, kiddo." Stan grinned. "And you need ta learn, right?"

"But where are we even going to get the-"

Fiddleford and Soos swiftly arrived in the latter's pick-up truck, laden with familiar-looking planks of vintage wood.

Pacifica stared She found it a little disquieting that this super rare wood was suddenly available in such vast quantities. "But- but where-"

"Disassembled one of mah floors!" Fiddleford grinned. "I don't need all those rooms!"

"I heard you guys were doin' boat stuff." Soos smiled as he climbed out - energy drink cans rolling onto the floor and his emergency pinata bat almost falling from the footwell. "I got you boat stickers, a cannon I found in the basement and something called Yield Seal. It's meant to, like, seal anything, dawg. I dunno if it means the animal or boats, but they both do pretty good in water."

"Let's do this." Dipper put on a tool belt and tried to spin a hammer in an awkward show of confidence. It fell out of his hand and almost hit his foot. "Uh… together."

"You guys are crazy. I've never even painted something apart from my nails." Pacifica snorted, her hand on her hip.

"Trial by fire, sweetie." Stan grinned, starting up the Stan O'War prototype's battered engine. "C'mon, sooner it's done the sooner you and Dipper can go sing pop songs or some junk."

The blonde socialite rolled her eyes, grinned and climbed into the boat. "If I get paint on this jacket, I'll sue you."

"Right, right." Stan replied with a smirk as the rest of the family climbed into the little boat, ladening it with their tools and paint. "Would only be my fourth dumbest court case."

It took longer than usual to arrive at the island, not least because the water around the island had started becoming distinctly thicker and more-peanut laden than before, as if the entire thing had been overwhelmed by a butterscotch oil slick. The fog once again parted like gossamer curtains, revealing the ever-intimidating, leering shapes of the rusting cranes and boilers.

By the time the battered little vessel had moored up, a small group of the - thankfully far less rabid, dark and red-eyed - beavers had already gathered to greet them, some still stained in a dayglo pink, attracted by the warm, rustic scent of their favoured wood.

It was almost entirely silent, the creatures watching with nary a squeak or snuffle - cocking their hands and blinking vacantly as the humans they had been intently trying to destroy yesterday arrived, now, as allies - or, at least, a sympathetically neutral party.

The tension weighed onto them. Each gingerly stepped out of the Stan O'War - immediately concerned that the stranded rodents might still hold hostility towards them. Pacifica was surprised to find Dipper acting as a somewhat diminutive human shield again - every step she took, he remained even closer than usual, guarding her against the dim-witted crowd.

She snickered. "I'm not gonna whisper into your ear every time you do that, Dipper."

"I- I know, I just-"

"Just looking out for me, huh?" Pacifica beamed, giving him a tap on the nose.

"Y-y-yeah, exactly!" He replied, trying to ignore the utterly docile looks of the blank-faced flat-tailed fauna that surrounded them. "See, they could be vicious, and-"

He trailed off when it became clear that nobody was particularly convinced. Not least because Mabel was now playing patty-cake with what - he was fairly sure - was the leading beavernant only last night.

The harbour stood much as it had been, Lucinda floating there - still dilapidated, yet distinguished, her masts and sails creaking gently in the breeze as she bobbed upon the lake's shadowy waters.

Fiddleford whistled his approval at the sight of the old vessel, laying the tools at his feet. "Sure is a humdinger. Never done boat-buildin' before. Submariner robotics, advanced robots, extra-dimension engineering, biomechanical brainwave generators and digital atomic weaponry, sure, but-"

Pacifica looked up at the wooden hulk, hands on her hips, and frowned. "There is no way we can pull this off."

"Trial by fire, blondie." Stan grinned, ruffling her hair. "Sink or swim."

"Hope the beavers are fine with that." She winced, watching as the family started getting to work.