Chapter Two

By the time the afternoon filming break roles around, Camila has sent Dipper a lengthy email detailing both the oddities of Gravesfield and all of her interactions with Joshua Hopkins, demon hunter. Based on her descriptions of the Hopkin's behavior, the man is definitely a few crayons short of a full pack. After all, Dipper's had enough experience with demons to know that they don't come from Mars. Still, aside from the details that Camila has quoted directly from Hopkins, most of her information about the Gravesfield anomalies seems worth looking into. In particular, her description of the hyper-cognitive rats lurking behind the town's bakery appears too accurate to be fabricated. In Dipper's professional opinion, Gravesfield is worth checking out.

Unfortunately, Mr. Smith rarely agrees with his professional opinion, and this time is no different.

"We're not flying the team out to Gravesfield, Pines, especially not on an anonymous tip. Now go bother someone else."

Dipper had hoped that approaching the man during lunch would make him slightly more amicable, but it definitely did not. Apparently, the only difference between Mr. Smith during lunchtime and Mr. Smith during filming time was the amount of chicken salad in his spittle.

"But sir." Dipper realizes that he's hunching in on himself, so he makes a conscious effort to sit up straighter and keep his arms off the picnic table. That's another Mabel trick—open yourself up so people are more open with you, as she puts it. "I think this would be a good opportunity for the show. Profits tend to go up when we pursue fan-recommended monsters, and Gravesfield shows some real promise."

Mr. Smith snorts and takes another bite of his chicken salad sandwich, not once looking up from the phone in his free hand. "Trust me, kid. I've heard about Gravesfield before. You might think that what we're doing here is sham, but that place takes it to another level. Those so-called 'demons' are nothing more than myths for children. And, apparently, crazy grown men."

Dipper does his best to ignore the dig, since he's not sure whether it's directed at him or Hopkins (he suspects both). Still, his face flushes red and his hands clench into fists almost against his will. "Look, sir, can I at least bring it up to the travel director?" He should've started with her to begin with, but given the urgency of the situation with Vee, he'd hoped that speaking directly to Mr. Smith would get them out to Gravesfield sooner. "I really think…"

"The answer is no, Pines. If I wanted your input on our filming schedule, I'd ask you for it. Now, I'm not going to tell you a second time. Go. Away."

And all of a sudden, Dipper realizes that he's had enough. He's sick of Mr. Smith's arrogance, the entire team's dismissal of his abilities, all of it. He can't take this anymore. He won't take this anymore.

"Fine," he says, standing abruptly from the table. "I quit."

That, at least, gets Mr. Smith to glance up from his phone. "What do you mean, you quit?"

"I quit. If you're not going to listen to me about monster hunting—which, you know, I completed my degree in—then you can find another cryptozoologist. I. Quit."

Mr. Smith's eyes narrow, analyzing him, but Dipper doesn't wait around the be further verbally abused. Instead, he turns and walks away. His hands are shaking a little, from fear or adrenaline or both, but his movements are steady as he strides through the film set, climbs up into his rusty red pickup, and drives away.

As soon as he hits LA's standard lunch hour traffic jam, all of Dipper's bravado vanishes like smoke in the wind.

Oh God, what did I just do? He asks himself. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his fingernails are leaving little marks in the leather, and every breath feels hot and frantic as it leaves his lungs. His phone lays silenced on the seat beside him, but the screen has been flashing almost nonstop as his coworkers—former coworkers—send him message after frantic message.

"What did I just do?" he repeats aloud. "Oh man, Wendy's gonna kill me."

Wendy. He hadn't thought about his fiancee at all up until this point, which further solidifies his opinion that he's the biggest idiot in the world. We're supposed to be saving up for a house, and then there's my loans, and what am I going to tell her I can't believe I quit this job how could I be so stupid I…

The unmistakable crackle of electricity startles Dipper out of his panicked thoughts and he instinctively ducks, his foot nearly slipping off his brake in the process. When he doesn't immediately feel an electric shock coursing through his veins, he cautiously rights himself and glances around for the source of the noise.

There. Just above a nearby green sedan dances a multicolored oval of pure energy. He barely has time to wonder how on earth that got there before four humanoid creatures fall out of it and land on the sedan with a crash.

Aliens? Interdimensional travelers? Bill's friends? No, please tell me Bill's not back, not today. The next thing Dipper knows, he's throwing his truck in park and lurching out of the vehicle towards the figures. They're slowly starting to sit up on the hood of the sedan, apparently as dazed by their sudden appearance as Dipper is. As he gets closer, Dipper realizes that one of them is definitely human. A teenage girl, to be specific, with one shoe and leaves in her hair. But the other three are…giant frogs?

Just as Dipper notices this, the largest amphibian turns and stares directly at him. The creature's skin is dull orange and creased with wrinkles, its eyes are almost too big for his head, and it's wearing a set of muddy, raggedy clothes. As the frog opens its bulbous mouth, Dipper pulls his arms up to protect his face and falls back into a boxing stance that Stan taught him ages ago. But instead of attacking, the frog defies all of Dipper's expectations and speaks.

"Holy toads, Anne, we're in the human world! But what about—"

"Talk later H.P. Right now, we gotta get out of here." The one-shoed girl cuts the frog off. Dipper's not even sure she's seen him—she's too busy gathering up the smaller frogs, both of which are bright pink (poisonous, maybe?).

The biggest frog—H.P— immediately turns away from Dipper and reaches out to help her. "Here, give me Polly." He takes the smallest creature from her, tucking it under his arm like a football, and together they slide off of the sedan. Before Dipper can do anything to stop him, they're gone, disappearing into the mess of traffic.

And that's how Dipper finds himself standing alone in the middle of the crowded road, surrounded by honking vehicles and wondering if he hallucinated the whole thing.

After exchanging an awkward glance with the family in the sedan—they seem just as stunned as he feels, so maybe he didn't imagine that whole encounter after all—Dipper climbs back into his truck and shifts it back into drive. This day has been…a lot. At this point, all he wants is to go home, curl up in his bed, and maybe cry.

He gets there eventually, but by that point, the desire to melt into a puddle of tears has disappeared, replaced with the strange urge to do…something. He's not sure what. He tries to scratch the itch by hopping on his laptop and running a rudimentary search on a couple of job boards—after all, he's going to need a replacement position asap. But when that turns up nothing, he instead starts looking into flights to Gravesfield.

The prognosis is pretty grim. Gravesfield is considerably further off the beaten path than Dipper had hoped, so not only would a flight to the general area be expensive, but he'd probably also have to rent a car. Maybe Camila could pick him up. She'd likely offer to pay for his flight too, if he asked, and maybe even living expenses for a few days. Still, even if she pays for all of his travel expenses and then some, it's not going to dent his pile of debt. What he needs right now isn't an impromptu trip to the other side of the country—it's a steady, well-paying job.

Frustrated, Dipper thuds his head against his wooden desk and rests it there for a minute. There's no way he can make this work, but something about Gravesfield is lighting up his spidey sense in a big way. He suspects there's something real behind Camila's demons, and he'd very much like to find out what it is.

And then there's the matter of the creatures he encountered on his drive home today. They were definitely not from this world, which means that somebody or something has been playing around with interdimensional travel again. Combined with the Gravesfield anomalies, the entire situation is enough to make Dipper's stomach roil.

Maybe Grunkle Ford will know more. After all, Ford is the biggest expert on interdimensional travel that Dipper has ever met—and that includes all of his former professors. Dipper resolves to give his Grunkle a call as soon as he can. But first, I should probably make dinner. Least I can do for Wendy is make sure food is on the table when she gets home.

Dipper has never been a great cook, but by the time he hears Wendy's key in the lock, he's managed to whip up a passable stack of pancakes. "Hey babe," she greets him as she walks through the door. "You would not believe the day I had, I…oh." She trails off as she spots him standing sheepishly in the kitchen, his hands behind his back while the plate of pancakes steams on the counter nearby. "Everything alright?"

"I…uh, not really." He's shaking again, and he knows his cheeks are flushed, but he can't seem to stop it. Wendy's hair is tied up in a ragged bun and she's wearing her ancient green flannel with grease stains on the wrists, but to him, she's just as stunning as ever. He still can't believe she's agreed to marry him—and he hopes that this isn't the final straw that makes her go back on that agreement.

"Ok, out with it dude. Did you try to deck out the truck with science gear again?"

"Uh, no."

"Bring another lost gnome back to the apartment?"

"No, I-"

"Accidentally use the shrink ray on one of my axes?"

"What? No, Wendy, listen. I…I think you might want to be sitting down for this one."

That catches her attention the way he knew it would, and the teasing light leaves her eyes as she recognizes the seriousness in his tone. "Alright, Pines," she agrees, taking a seat at the table. "But whatever mistake it is you're beating yourself up for, I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as—"

"Wendy, I quit my job."

"Oh. Oh." For a moment she blinks up at him, not saying anything more, and Dipper is sure she's about to leave him when she continues, "well hey, that's unexpected, but good for you. I mean, obviously it's not an ideal situation money-wise, but I'm sure we'll figure it out. We always do."

"Wait." Dipper drops into the seat across from her and clutches her hand like he's drowning and she's a life raft. "You mean, you're not mad at me?"

"Nah dude." She flashes an easy smile at him, and Dipper feels like a twenty-pound weight has dropped off of this heart. "Knowing you, I'm sure you've already got a plan to pay what needs to be paid, and a backup plan, and a backup plan for the backup plan. And if you don't, well, I can cover us until you do."

"I…how are you so cool?" It's not what Dipper means to say, but the chuckle she gives him in return tells him that it's the perfect response.

"Practice. Plus, I'm honestly just glad that you're out of that dump of a workplace. Now," she leans forward and gives him a quick peck on the forehead. "Why don't we have some of those pancakes, and I'll tell you about my horrendous day, and you can tell me about yours."

So that's what they do. They drench the pancakes in syrup and butter, and Wendy tells Dipper about the brambles that clawed the living daylight out of her arms at the greenhouse she works at, and he tells her about Gravesfield and the giant frogs he saw on the way home.

"Wait, how giant of a frog are we talking here?" she asks when he gets to that part. "Like, the size of that African bullfrog we saw at the zoo a few months ago? Or, like, growth-ray levels of big?"

"Somewhere in between," Dipper replies, sopping up the last of his syrup with the final bite of his pancake. "The thing is, Wendy, at least one of them talked."

"Woah. And this was here in LA?"

"Yeah! I couldn't believe it either. I mean, for a second there I wondered if I wasn't somehow back in Gravity Falls. These things were clearly from a different dimension—I haven't seen anything remotely like them since, well, since we defeated you-know-what."

"So obviously you're going to track them down, right?"

That gives Dipper pause. He glances over at Wendy to see if she's joking, but her expression is serious as she meets his eyes. "I…I've been thinking about it," he admits. "But I figure that between finding a new job and sorting things out for Camila, I've probably got enough to worry about."

"Dipper. Babe." She reaches across the table and takes his hand, clasping his fingers warmly between her own. "We both know that you'll regret it if you don't look into this. So sure, do some job hunting, and see what you can find out for Camila. But first, you gotta do some frog-gigging dude!"

Dipper sighs, but he can't help the grin that creeps across his face. "Ok. Let's finish these dishes, and then I'll put in a call to Ford to see if he knows anything about giant, dimension-hopping frogs."

A/N: Massive thanks to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed so far-I really appreciate the feedback!