in the wake of giants
In the light of the late afternoon, the portable toilet certainly doesn't look threatening. There's nothing unusual about it, as far as Pacifica can tell. To be fair, she probably wouldn't know if there was, seeing as she's never used one before.
"There wasn't any noise at all?" Dipper is asking, scribbling away in his journal.
"Everything went super dark and then the door wouldn't open," Mabel says. "I didn't hear anything."
Ford stands on a ladder nearby, running one of his many gadgets over the top of the porta-potty. "I've got a reading," he tells Dipper. "It's slightly higher than expected background levels, but that doesn't tell us much, if anything. It could be the trace remnants of a dimensional rift, or I could be picking up any one of a dozen other things."
Dipper taps his pen against his teeth contemplatively. "I guess all the activity around here can work against us."
Ford descends the ladder and begins scanning the door of the cubicle. "We'll begin cataloguing the Weirdness wavelengths of whatever we encounter. We should also work backward through my specimen collection, or at least whatever portion of it survived Stanley's oversight."
"Man, if we put together a database like that, we might be able to group things by type, or even figure out if they have the same origin!" Dipper says excitedly.
"I share your enthusiasm, but it will be a long time before we have that kind of data," Ford cautions. "The sheer variety of Weirdness in the valley will keep us busy. The reading from this toilet, for instance, has no point of comparison. It could be the remnants of an aperture, or perhaps a magical curse, or some form of teleportation. Or, maybe it's just fecal matter."
Dipper blinks. "The spectrometer would pick that up?"
"When you eat local, Dipper, you're eating Weirdness!"
"You should scan the other potty," Mabel snickers. "I think Soos left a lot of Weirdness for you."
Pacifica wrinkles her nose, less than pleased at the path of the conversation. "This is gross. You're all gross."
"Come on, Pacifica. Everybody poops!" Mabel teases.
The four of them are arrayed around the two portable toilets in front of the house on the cul-de-sac. It's not quite evening yet, but the sun is beginning to dip towards the tips of the trees, stretching long shadows across the shaggy lawn and empty street. Pacifica has seated herself on the edge of a plastic-covered stack of roofing tiles, waiting for Dipper and his great-uncle to finish their examination of the porta-potty that sent Mabel on an odd adventure last night. The only reason Pacifica tagged along is the lack of anything else to do.
Well, that's the only reason she'll admit to, anyway. She'd never tell him because his head's already big enough as it is (like, for real), but there's something alluring about watching Dipper at work. The way he gets all serious with that little line between his eyebrows when he's thinking, those deep brown eyes so focused and intent.
She loves his hair, too, though she rarely glimpses its soft curls without his hat in the way. She's debated with herself before over whether he's actually attractive or if she's just nuts for this nerd, but, no, she's sure now. He's cute. He has those kissable lips and a jawline that gets a bit sharper every month, the last vestiges of rounded youth giving way to a masculinity that Pacifica finds very appealing. The new broadness of his shoulders makes her want to put her arms over them, to lean into him. She wants to go swimming again and see him shirtless at Lake Gravity Falls, where the way his swim trunks hung low on his narrow hips made heat twist through her.
She swears he's gotten half an inch taller just since summer started. Mabel is also a bit taller, though she'll probably hit her limit soon, if she hasn't already. Meanwhile, Pacifica's growth seems confined to other areas. That's nice and all—she's liking what she sees in the mirror—but she wouldn't mind a little vertical growth to go along with it. Instead, it seems like she's resigned to looking up at everyone for the rest of her life. Well, some people, anyway. At least she's taller than Candy, for whatever that's worth.
"Do you think the portal was a trap?" Dipper is asking his great-uncle.
"Difficult to say," Ford muses. He's on his knees now, scanning the base of the toilet. "It may be an artifact of Weirdmageddon, or it may be another one of the cursed doors that pop up now and again. Whatever the case, it's gone now."
"Yeah… I kinda smashed it up good," Mabel says sheepishly.
"Possibly. It's also possible that this 'glass' you encountered has simply moved on." Ford gets back to his feet, looking dissatisfied. "There are many pocket dimensions accessible in the valley, but it's rare to find a reliable way to access one. It may be that this particular entryway only appears at night, or only on Summerween… or only if the person entering has an especially full bladder."
"It's not the last one," Mabel says. "I only went in for important trick-or-treating reasons."
Ford clasps his hands together decisively. "This requires further observation. Dipper, do you know what this means?"
Dipper's face lights up. "Stakeout?"
"Stakeout! We'll need a tent, recording equipment, a spare spectrometer, and snacks. I've taken a liking to Cheese Boodles, but we can negotiate."
Pacifica doesn't like what she's hearing. It's muggy out and the mosquitos will be in full force once the sun goes down, not to mention the temperature probably won't dip below eighty the whole night; it's almost enough to make a girl miss all the Windigo's cooling storms (almost). Sweating in a sleeping bag while Dipper stays up all night with Ford isn't an appealing prospect. She'll gracefully bow out of this one.
She's about to tell them so when Mabel appears from nowhere, her hands descending on Pacifica's shoulders. "Pacifica, it's finally happening!"
Pacifica is confused. "What? Mabel, you're squeezing kind of—"
"GIRLS' NIGHT!" Mabel trumpets. She releases Pacifica and twirls in place. "I'm talkin' painting each other's nails! Ordering way more pizza than we can eat! Jumping on my bed! Jumping on your bed! Jumping on Dipper's bed! Talking and laughing and bonding like only the best future sisters-in-law!"
That's a lot of jumping. It takes Pacifica a second to process all of that. "…So, what, like a sleepover?"
"Not just any sleepover," Mabel says, leaning in with eager eyes. "The best sleepover anyone's ever had ever. Two-thirds of the Mystery Trio living it up all night long!"
Pacifica still isn't crazy about the whole 'Mystery Trio' thing, but she'll let it slide for now. "Okay, but how is that different from the rest of the time? We hang out almost every day."
"But not every night!" Mabel enthuses. "And it'll be just the two of us, without Dipper around to be lame."
"Hey!" Dipper says from somewhere behind Mabel.
Pacifica is far from being a sleepover expert—and, now that she thinks about it, the only one she's ever had was the one in Piedmont. Ones in Piedmont? Does falling asleep after a breakdown count?
Probably not.
"Yeah, okay," she says, not fully sure what she's agreeing to. But as is often the case with Mabel, it's probably easier to just go with the crazy flow.
Pacifica manages to keep her balance through Mabel's high-energy hug. She must be getting used to this kind of thing.
When the girls announce their departure, Dipper manages to get his head out of his journal long enough to give them a vague wave; Ford doesn't even seem to notice, still circling the porta-potty and calling out readings at intervals.
Pacifica and Mabel leave the boys to their gross stakeout and walk back to the Shack. The first orange tones of evening spread on the horizon behind the pines. Birdsong follows them down the gravel road, along with just enough of a breeze to take the edge off the fading heat of the day.
There's something different about the woods. But is it the forest that's different, or just Pacifica? Dipper's right. There's magic in Gravity Falls, and it's not only the literal kind. Now that she's been there—beneath the shifting canopy where footsteps fall on matted needles and the air is wild with the scent of summer—she's not sure how she missed it during all those years spent lording over the town. The town is just a landmark; it's something known in the midst of all that is unknown. There are secrets out there, in the overgrowth. Sometimes she feels like if she just waits close enough to the pines as they whisper with the wind's passing, they might share a few.
Or maybe she's just been spending too much time with her obsessive, paranoid boyfriend.
(…but there is something about this place… and it calls to her, now that she's listening.)
Mabel is chattering nonstop, talking up the sleepover like she's trying to sell something. "Bestest sleepover ever! Just me and Paz, doing girl stuff!"
Pacifica curls her lip in a mixture of disbelief and revulsion. "What?"
"Paz! It's a cute nickname, sleepover style. May May and Paz!"
"No," Pacifica says firmly. "It doesn't even make any sense. There's no Z sound in my name. It's not like you don't know that."
"How about Pacifi-riffic?"
"How about May-butt?"
"Pacifica and Mabel, sleepover BFFs for infinity plus one!" Mabel declares, abandoning her nickname attempt as easily as she began it.
With the Shack closed for the night and its two resident scientists out in the field, the only occupant left is Stan. The girls find him firmly planted in front of the television, watching Baby Fights with his tie undone and his belt hanging loosely over the arm of the chair. It's clear that he's done for the day.
"Grunkle Staaaaaa-aaaaan!" Mabel sings as she skips up to him. "Pacifica and I are having a mega-awesome girly sleepover! Can we order a pizza?"
"Do I have to do anything but hand you money?" Stan asks.
"Nope!"
He produces a twenty from somewhere in his jacket and lazily drops it in Mabel's general direction. "One pizza. And don't go crazy with the toppings. And I want my change!" he yells after them as Mabel scampers upstairs with Pacifica in tow.
In no time at all Pacifica finds herself in her pajamas, ensconced on Mabel's bed within a ring of stuffed animals. The attic is cooling off as the sun dips behind the trees, its last rays blooming against the vaulted ceiling. This is, according to Mabel, 'prime gossip time.' But the two of them have spent most of the summer together; there's not much to share when it comes to the broader topics because they were almost always both there. The conversation quickly turns personal.
"I should have just talked to him," Mabel says. She's on her back with her feet propped up high on the wall, her hair dangling over the edge of the bed to brush the floor. "That's what we always do, we just talk, but, I don't know… It was easier not to. Then the power went out and I was like whaaaaaaat…"
"You could have said something. To me, I mean," Pacifica says. She's not hurt that Mabel didn't. Pacifica understands she's very new to all this 'sharing' junk and probably isn't anyone's first choice for a confidante.
"Yes!" Mabel blindly flails her hand around until it finds Pacifica's knee. "I should have told you stuff. You know what it's like."
"Like what's like?"
"To see him fall."
"Oh." Pacifica doesn't care to reexamine that memory. "It was an accident."
"I know," Mabel sighs. "Dipper said that too."
"Well, he's right." Pacifica shakes her head. "I can't believe the power went out right when he cornered you. It's like he planned it."
"Nah, Dipper's not that sneaky," Mabel says. "It was probably that Windigo jerk."
"Forget that nerd," Pacifica says contemptuously.
Mabel rolls over on her stomach and the sudden conspiratorial slant of her smile makes Pacifica wary. "Speaking of nerds…" she drawls, a wink implicit in every word.
This was inevitable. "What do you want to know, Mabel?" she sighs.
"Everything!"
"I don't know how you aren't grossed out by this stuff," Pacifica says bluntly. "He's your brother."
"Guess I'm just a true romantic," Mabel says with an awkward shrug against the mattress. "Who can resist all that love? You guys are the cutest!"
There's that word again. 'Love.' What is that even like? Dipper is Pacifica's first boyfriend, there's no point of comparison. She likes him. She's comfortable thinking that, and she likes him a lot, as much as she's ever liked anyone. But she likes Mabel, too, and it's the same word for a very different feeling. Mabel is her best friend. Heck, she could probably say she even loves Mabel, the way Mabel loves Dipper. So, logically, Pacifica could say she loves Dipper… but she teeters on the edge of that thought, because it's not the same when applied to him; it means so much. She's only almost fourteen. What is she supposed to know about being in love? She likes Dipper. She like-likes him, if she's going to be juvenile about it. But does she love him? Are they in love?
There's a part of her that wants to scream 'YES' to the sky and ask Mabel for help putting together a scrapbook of wedding ideas. But that part of her is still small and easy to push down beneath decorum and common sense.
Of course, there's the other side of the same attachment, the one that recoils from the end of the summer, from a mother and father rent apart, from a future trapped in a place not yet known. The one that makes her feel like there's something tensile and sharp constricting around her heart. Is that also love? That ache and the burning frustration, the impossible panic. This inability to confront the possibility of leaving Dipper—and Mabel, and Piedmont, and Mr. and Mrs. Pines, and a life she has only just learned she needs—and going back to a hollow echo of what she once had and never wants again. To let go would be to lose everything she now knows is precious. She can't lose him, can't even examine the idea of it (if this is love, then it hurts).
It's all just too much.
Dipper is her boyfriend, and he's cute and hot and she wants to kiss him and hold his hand. And that's good enough for now.
The sudden chime of the doorbell saves Pacifica from having to pick which of these thoughts, if any, to share.
"I'm not getting up," Stan calls from downstairs.
"Piz-za! Piz-za!" Mabel chants, hopping to her feet and racing downstairs to greet the delivery person.
Pacifica pushes herself off the bed at a more sedate pace. She pauses before leaving the attic room, noticing the absence of a familiar weight in her pocket. She pats herself down; her phone is gone. She turns back to the bed and shoves a few stuffed animals aside, but it's not there.
She sighs in irritation and goes to ask Mabel to call her phone in the hopes the ringtone will make its position clear. But just before she leaves the room, out of the corner of her eye she spots the familiar turquoise case of her phone lying on the floor by the closet. She frowns down at it, unable to fathom how it ended up there. She bends down to retrieve it.
It moves.
"Ah!" Pacifica shrieks and leaps backwards as her phone scuttles across the floor and under the crack of the closet door.
She stands there for a moment, not sure what to do. It takes a couple seconds for her curiosity to overcome how startled she is. She opens the closet carefully, peering inside.
Her phone is still moving. It bumps up against the wall a couple times before fitting into a narrow slot at the bottom of one of the boards.
Pacifica's eyes widen as she realizes what's about to happen. "Hey!" She throws open the closet door and makes a grab for her phone, but it's too late. It wiggles and then slides through the gap, disappearing behind the wall.
"What. The. Heck," she breathes, staring murderously at the spot where her phone betrayed her.
Mabel comes back into the room with a pizza box in her hands. "The pizza guy says hi," she tells Pacifica, depositing the pizza on Dipper's bed. Then she notices that Pacifica is crouched in the closet. "Are we playing the closet game?" she asks excitedly.
"No! My phone just— wait, what's the closet game?"
"I don't know. You're in the closet so I thought we were playing something," Mabel says. "What did your phone do?"
"It ran away!"
Mabel's mouth drops open. "For real?"
"Yes! It went behind the wall." Pacifica puts her cheek against the floor, but she can't see anything but darkness. She looks back at Mabel. "Is this, like, a thing you know about? Does this just happen?"
"Wow!" Mabel crawls into the small space, blocking what little light had reached the bottom of the back wall. "Show me!"
"I can't believe this," Pacifica mutters. Only in Gravity Falls. "Maybe there's something in one of Dipper's books."
"Nah, I read the journals. I don't think there was anything about phones running away." Mabel pokes a finger at the hole, managing to get her index finger in up to the knuckle.
"You're going to get your finger bitten off," Pacifica predicts.
"Your phone got teeth, too?! That's so cray-cray!"
"That's not what I…" Pacifica stops, realizing that for all she knows, her phone might have teeth now. It might have anything. "I don't know if it grew legs or if something took it, I just want it back. I don't want some creepy thing going through my texts!"
Mabel narrows her eyes dramatically. "Pacifica, do you realize what this means?"
"I… have to get a new phone?"
"We're going after it."
Pacifica stares at her friend, but for once Mabel appears to be completely serious. Pacifica has no idea how to respond. Go after it how?
Mabel leaps to her feet. "But first, pizza. For energy!"
Pacifica just witnessed her phone gain an apparent life of its own and flee the room like an expensive turquoise cockroach; despite this, she has a very strong feeling the evening is only going to get weirder.