HAT: I own not Gravity Falls, merely the OCs and plot. Enjoy y'allselves.
That had been two days ago and Pacifica hadn't said a word in all that time. The shock hadn't left her system so she barely did anything. Barely ate, barely even got up to go to the bathroom. She was a shell of her former self.
In those two days her family and friends visited her a lot. They talked with her but she couldn't hear them past the fog in her mind. Shock left her in a bubble where everything was diluted. Food wasn't appealing and no matter how much the voices of those around her choked she couldn't bring herself to say or do anything for herself. The only thing she bothered with was going to the bathroom because of whatever small sliver of pride remained through the trauma. Often she's sat up in her bed but her eyes were always lowered to her limp useless hands... hands that at one point were covered in red. At some point that first night she was showered and changed, but she could still feel Dan's sickly slick blood on her skin and under her nails. She'd washed her hands five times each time she used the bathroom because she still felt dirty.
Today started out no different. Stanley had gone home at dawn to go get ready for work and Stanford was quick to take his place. Later Fiddleford would take the night shift but that was hours away.
As of the moment Stanford is her company. His shoulders are hunched and his elbows rest on his knees as his tired chocolate eyes observe her behind glass. His fingers are laced together and thumbs are pressed together in a pause in his twiddling. He's the most silent one, leaving her with her thoughts more often than not. He sits there observing her for any signs of life as he's taken to despite the entire lack of reaction.
At some point he ends up holding her hand- as he has taken to the past two days- and he squeezes once but unlike usual he doesn't drop her hand afterwards.
His hand uncharacteristically tremors.
Suddenly he's shifting to where he's kneeling in front of her with her hand clasped firmly in both of his. There's an unusual amount of concern in his features that only grows with her silence. She's never seen him so desperate- even in this fog she can recognize that in some corner of her mind.
"Pacifica, please... say something," Stanford begs quietly. "Say something... anything, please."
He lowers his chin so she won't be able to see the tears in his eyes- not that she's looking directly at him anyway.
"Please, sweetie... say something," he begs again with tears in his voice.
And yet the silence persists...
A sob racks through his body, jarring Pacifica's leg as that's where their hands were resting near.
Slowly she blinks, the fog clearing bit by bit before her electric blue eyes focus on Stanford.
"Uncle Ford?" She croaks.
His head snaps up and he looks at her in disbelief.
She stays silent but her curious gaze was enough for him to discern she'd snapped out of her shock- if only a little bit for a little while. He can only imagine what she sees- tears on his cheeks and glistening his eyes, nose and cheeks pink and hair wild. He must look like a wreck.
"Pacifica," he breathes with hesitant relief- as if he were afraid she'd immediately sink back into her former state. He squeezes her hand once before standing and hugging her as best he can without letting go of her hand. "Pep..."
His voice is so raw with emotion she wraps her free arm around him in attempt to comfort him. She can barely recall anything of the past couple of days- it was a blur- but that doesn't matter now... all that matters is she's safe and so is her family.
It's strange to be back in her room at this point. Something in her changed- something in people always changes when one kills someone no matter the circumstances. Even if it was purely in self-defense she felt raw guilt and sickness when she thought of it. Even now looking about her room after three days in the hospital she has it in the back of her mind and she feels displaced. She doesn't belong here- surely a murderer doesn't belong here...
"Are you okay?" Mabel asks quietly.
Pacifica slowly turns her gaze to her cousin. "I'm fine."
Because "fine" never truly meant what it was supposed to. She still felt numb and disjointed. Nothing was right. Nothing felt real anymore. If she were asked to put it into words she doesn't rightly know that she could or that she would even want to.
Instead of dwelling on these thoughts she starts putting away the things that were brought to her in the hospital during her stay. It's a quick task but it's enough for her to try and stuff whatever feelings she has- or rather doesn't have- to the side.
"You know you can talk to me or Dipper if you need to. We'll listen," Mabel says.
Pacifica's chest briefly warms long enough for her to give a small, genuine smile. "Thanks..."
Mabel smiles in return and not long after the warmth in Pacifica's chest dims and becomes cold again. She wonders if this is how killers felt all the time- the cold numbing them to everything and leaving them emotionless. Maybe serial killers went around killing because the blood warmed them unlike anything else and the warmth stays with them longer. Maybe this was the only way for them to feel alive again.
She shakes those thoughts from her mind and decides to finish putting away her things- surely that will keep such unsavory thoughts away. It doesn't take long. Once she's finished she collapses on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. Mabel had left to give her privacy after sensing that there was no holding a conversation with the blue eyed girl.
Will this ever go away?
"Pep, are you hungry?"
She looks up at Stanford as indifferent as ever but she could sense a wariness to him- like he was afraid to break her by saying something wrong or being in the wrong place. She doesn't know how she knows that but she chalks it up to the way his eyes watch her. She's never seen that look in his eyes but that's about as close to the description of what it seemed to her.
She mentally assesses herself and decides that she's able to eat to appease those around her that she's alright even if she wasn't quite... right... "Sure."
She slides off the bed and makes her way over. She does her best to leave whatever it is that's bothering her at the door but there's still the lingering feeling of displacement. Stanford moves out of her way and closes the door behind her. She can feel him watching- they all watch her.
"Go ahead and make your own plate," Stanley says with her back towards her as she enters the kitchen.
Well... almost all of them. Stanley seems to be the only one that gives her space and doesn't watch her like some experiment or bomb about to go off at any moment. She appreciates that; it's the only sense of normalcy that she can latch onto.
She makes her plate with as much food as she can eat- which isn't very much. Just barely enough to not beg the question "is that all?"
She sits in her usual seat and Dipper's already seated. Mabel comes in from washing her hands and her eyes flicker to Pacifica immediately. She feels on edge feeling all of them look at her... and the silence is enough to drive anyone insane.
Stanley seems to understand what she's feeling and sets a can of soda in front of her. "You guys are so quiet. You're makin' me twitchy."
She cracks open the soda and takes a sip, relaxing as Mabel picks up on what her grunkle is trying to put down and begins to chatter. The familiar chatter sets her at ease and the others seem to finally understand that and begin talking as if the past few days hadn't happened at all. Even if she still doesn't feel like she fits into place here anymore... at least it wouldn't be so bad.
After dinner she washes dishes with Stanley who sends the others off to do whatever- more than likely watch television or do some sort of investigation. She doesn't know, but whatever they're doing so long as she's left alone she's fine.
"How're ya doin', Pep" Stanley finally asks as he dries the plate.
"I'm fine," she replies.
He makes a humming noise. "Is that so? Most people that kill don't feel quite right afterwards."
She stiffens and fights the urge to glare at him.
"You're not the only one in this house that's had to kill another human y'know."
This time she does look at him. "Really?"
"You think I'm a wanted man just because I smuggle pugs and sell faulty merchendise?" He asks incredulously. At her silence he nods. "Thought not... it's not easy... and that guilt will probably never go away... but if you need anyone to talk to that'll understand what you're going through... I'm here, kid."
Warmth builds in her chest for a long enough moment that her whispered gratitude nearly chokes her. "Thank you..."
"Anytime, Pep."
HAT: Yup, you waited all that time just for this, but I assure you it will be finished and maybe one day I'll go back and make the crap that is this story better.
McGucket: It's not crap!
HAT: No, trust me, rereading the first twenty chapters thiiiiis is crap. Now would you be a lamb and say the thing so we can go back into hiding for another year?
McGucket: Review, folks!