maybe you, no one else worth it

When Dipper dials Pacifica's number she answers on the first ring.

"Dipper?" she says.

"Okay, I think it's all set," he tells her. "Check your email, there's a room rented for you and I sent you the receipt."

"What? For real?" A pause. "Dipper… thanks."

"It's nothing," he says awkwardly. "You should get some sleep."

"Wait, don't go!" she says quickly. "Or, I'll call you when I get to the room."

Dipper still needs to work on what the next step is. "Um, how about I call you?"

"What are you doing?" she says apprehensively. She must know that a one-night rental is a temporary solution.

Dipper has no idea what he's doing. But he doesn't think it'll help her state of mind to hear that. "I'm figuring some stuff out."

"I still won't want to go back in the morning, if you're thinking that," she informs him.

He sighs. "Pacifica… you know you're going to have to go back sometime."

"Well it won't be tomorrow," she says stubbornly.

Dipper doesn't want to argue with her. He knows she's not trying to be ungrateful (she doesn't really have to try; she's been trained to be ungrateful by default). But she's exhausted and scared and angry and all of that is in her every word, though he's sure she's doing her best to hide it on her face.

"I'll call you back," he tells her.

"You'd better. …Please," she says shakily. "Okay, I'm going to go inside."

"You'll be fine. Just show them the email."

As soon as she's off the line any pretense of confidence falls away. Dipper is in over his head. Great-Uncle Ford was the only card he had to play. What now? Convince Pacifica to go home in the morning? It seems like the smart thing to do. It also seems like a really cruddy thing to do.

The truth is, Dipper doesn't want Pacifica to have to go home. It sounds to him like she needs to get out of her house, if only for a while. But how? Even if her parents don't object (and it seems like they won't, at least for the foreseeable future), and even if she had a place to stay, there's still school to consider. What can he do?

He's tired. He can't think. He's used up all his moves. He needs… a second opinion.

He finds himself dialing Wendy as if on autopilot.

She answers quickly and it's apparent she hadn't been asleep. "Dude, are you ever gonna call me at a decent hour?" she says teasingly.

"I know, my timing sucks," Dipper says with a tired laugh. Somehow, just hearing Wendy's voice brings him back to center. She's so unshakeable that it steadies him, too.

"Don't worry about it, I'm just watching some lame movies. Wish you were here to dump on them with me; it's just not the same by myself."

"If only we got Gravity Falls Public Access down here. Terrible as it is, I miss it." Dipper rubs at his cheek. "Actually, Wendy, I called because I've got another problem."

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that," Wendy says nonchalantly. "Lay it on me."

Dipper runs through the sad state of affairs. He sketches Pacifica's situation lightly, knowing that she won't like him talking about it; Wendy can fill in the gaps easily enough. "So now she's in a motel room all alone and she won't go back to her parents. And, honestly, I can't really blame her."

"No doubt. Thing is, Ford's cool and all, but even he's not gonna spring for a Malibu hotel every night."

"I know. She has to go back, or… she has to leave, somehow. Maybe I could get her a cab? Mom and Dad might let her stay at least a few nights; there's still school to worry about, but—"

"One thing at a time," Wendy advises.

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself. The motel was the first thing. Now, I just want to… I don't want to leave her there, Wendy. I know it's crazy, but I just can't stop thinking that she's my friend but also part of the crew, you know? Agh…" Dipper digs the heel of his hand into his left eye. "Does that even make sense?"

"No soldier left behind," Wendy says sagely.

"Yes! Exactly."

"So, what you're saying is," Wendy says slowly, "you want to mount an Epic Rescue Mission."

When she puts it that way, Dipper realizes that's precisely what he wants, even though it's completely insane. "Against all logic… yes."

Wendy scoffs into the receiver. "Logic is overrated. I say, use your gut, man. Or your heart. Or your heart-guts."

"My heart-guts are telling me this is messed up," Dipper says.

"Truth. But you remember what I said right before you left?"

Dipper thinks back to the bus stop and that moment so bittersweet he can still make himself shiver with the memory. "…That I mean a lot to you?"

"That's right. You mean a lot to me; and if Pacifica means a lot to you, then all this messed up biz means a lot to me, too. So do you trust me?"

"Of course," he says, confused.

"Cool, 'cause I got a plan. I'll get back to you in the morning."

"Uh, yeah. I'll be here," he says.

"Just hang tight, okay?"

Dipper stares down at his phone for a second after the call ends, wondering what Wendy has in mind. He hopes her plan works out, whatever it is, because he just doesn't have one. And he doesn't want to call Pacifica back and tell her that. But he did promise.

This time, Pacifica picks up before it even has a chance to ring on his end. He can imagine her sitting there, staring at her phone in a strange motel room, scared and alone. "Hey," he says. "How's the room?"

"It's okay, I guess," she says, which is more diplomatic than he was expecting from her. Then she continues, "It's not really dirty or anything. Whoever chose this wall pattern should be fired, though. And the bedspreads are so tacky. Can I tell the servants to change them? Maybe something in cerulean…"

Dipper rolls his eyes. "It's a motel room, Pacifica. You're lucky it's nice at all."

"I didn't say it was nice."

He knows she's had a horrible day, but she's not an easy person to be patient with. "It's better than a bus stop bench, isn't it?"

"It is better," she says with a note of apology in her voice.

Dipper is really tired by this point and is pretty sure he can sleep regardless of his hip. But Pacifica has never stayed in a hotel that isn't as nice as one of her houses, so Dipper ends up walking her through some of the basics. She reluctantly fills a bucket with ice ("Ew, the ice goes in this trash can?") and asks at the desk for some miniature bottles of shampoo and a toothbrush. Eventually, Dipper is silently nodding off while she critiques every inch of her temporary residence. She repeats herself a few times and then switches to talking about aspects of the room that are actually acceptable, making him realize that she's just trying to keep him on the phone. She's upset and lost, alone in a motel room, and he has become her only connection.

"Dipper? Dipper!"

He jolts back from the edge of sleep, fumbling his phone. "Yeah, I'm here."

"You're not even listening!" she accuses.

He closes his eyes again; it's too hard to keep them open. "Pacifica, it's late. You need to try to sleep."

"…What if I can't?"

"You walked a really long way today. I bet if you lay down, you'll fall asleep."

He can hear her climbing into bed, sheets rustling and mattress squeaking. "But you'll call me in the morning, right?"

It suddenly strikes him as strange that he's listening to her get into bed while he's also in bed. Talking late on the phone is one thing. This feels… intimate? It's like the staging for a movie scene Mabel would love. He feels like he should stand up while he's talking to her, as if she'll know or that will somehow be more appropriate. God, he's being weird again. It's just like before: She's all messed up and needs his help and he should not be weird about it. It's just a phone conversation. It's not like they're in the same bed or anything, even though they sort of are in a vicarious sense… (no they aren't so cut it out).

He just can't shake the thought that there's some kind of line being crossed, even if he can't define it.

"I'll call you before check out time," he tells her, "and we'll figure out what to do next."

There's a sort of settling sound, soft and muffled, and when she speaks again her voice is closer to the speaker, lower and breathy. He thinks she's lying on her side, phone cradled between her head and pillow. "You've already done a lot," she says.

He knows what she's thinking, and as useful as her guilt has been to drive her changing of self, he's not going to let it turn him away. "You're not going to get me to stop, so don't go all Northwest on me. If you didn't want to have friends, you should have changed your mind sooner 'cause now you're stuck with me."

"So this really is the worst," she says, and she's aiming for snark but she's too close to tears.

"Remember when we suited up and went in the Gobblewonker tubes?" he says.

"You think I can forget?" she says incredulously.

"Yeah, it was nuts; but we were a team, Pacifica, and it doesn't have to end there, that doesn't have to be it. Things may not be as weird out here, give or take a Boss-Lobster, but they're still really hard sometimes. So why not… stay what we were? Why should we have to let go of each other, just because we have to be far away? That's stupid. I don't want to. Do you?"

"No," she states, voice shaking with suppressed emotion.

Just hearing her so close to the edge is making his eyes prickle. He swallows hard and digs his fingernails into his palms until he thinks his voice will be steady. "Then we won't. And tomorrow, I'll talk to Mabel and we'll call you and we'll make it work."

It's not as elegant as it sounded in his head, but he thinks he got the point across. They had, all together, built something amazing in Gravity Falls (and not just figuratively), and he doesn't think it's fair to just let it go. He won't without a fight.

Her breath shudders over the line. "Okay." Then, before he can say anything more, "Can you not hang up, just, not. Just stay?"

He puts the phone on speaker and sets it on his chest. "Get some sleep, Pacifica."

She doesn't answer, but her breathing gradually steadies and then slows. Dipper can feel himself sinking in time to each exhale, until he floats away.