the steady continental seventy — vi
The bonfire blazes ahead as a beacon in the night, beckoning Mabel away from the familiar RV and the blue glow of the hot tub and towards something altogether new and exciting. Brendan leads her towards another RV at the far end of the park, right at the edge of the woods where the shadows of the trees are stamped black on the grass by the bright full moon.
Brendan's RV isn't fancy, at least not compared to some of the other vehicles in the park, but it's more 'lived-in,' as opposed to Stan's RV, which has a distinct aesthetic of 'beat up.' The bonfire roars in a firepit surrounded by chipped and blackened concrete blocks; the pit looks like something that's part of the park, not anything new. The lights in the RV are off, and the fire provides the only illumination that isn't moonlight, its burnt orange glow flickering across the trunks of the nearby trees like a jittery, out of focus film projection.
"My parents are probably asleep," Brendan explains as they approach his camp. "But they let us stay up late, so I was playing freeze tag with—"
"Gotcha!" A figure comes barreling out of the shadows behind a nearby cluster of tents and slams into Brendan, sending him sprawling.
"Benji! Get off me, man!" Brendan protests, shoving the other kid away. "Come on, we have company."
Benji is a smaller boy and close enough in appearance to Brendan that Mabel assumes they're probably family. "Where'd you find a girl?" Benji says with the kind of casual gender-aversion one sometimes finds in children; Mabel assumes his age to be eight or nine.
"Don't be a butthead," Brendan says, getting back to his feet. "Where's everyone else?"
"They had to go to bed," Benji tells him with a snotty edge of disdain. "Bunch of babies."
"You're a baby," Brendan retorts, swatting Benji gently across the head. "Okay, we're going for a walk so you should probably go inside."
"I wanna walk!" Benji says immediately.
"No. This is just for older kids."
"Why? Are you guys gonna kiss?" Benji taunts.
"Shut up, Benji. Go inside."
Benji ignores him. "I'm burning some sticks," he says, heading for the bonfire.
"Fine. Just don't go anywhere by yourself." Brendan turns to Mabel and shrugs apologetically as Benji scampers off to the fire. "Sorry. He's a brat."
"It's all good, I know how brothers are," Mabel commiserates.
"Anyway, there's an overlook just down there." Brendan points towards a path Mabel hadn't seen before. It's a fairly wide thoroughfare made of matted woodchips, and it leads off into dense woods. "It's a pretty good view, if you want to check it out." He hesitates, looking uncertain. "Uh, unless you don't want to? We could chill by the bonfire… I mean, Benji will be kind of annoying, but…"
"Hey, walking's great! Nothing better than using the ol' legs," Mabel replies. "I want to see this overlook, you sold me!"
"Yeah, cool," Brendan says, grinning at her enthusiasm.
They cross the open field and enter the gloom of the woodland. There are some posts along the sides of the trail but no lights; the moon coats the path and rustling trees with a nickel sheen. The wooden chips of the path sink slightly beneath Mabel's feet as an owl hoots somewhere in the distance. It's a bit cooler beneath the trees, and she rubs at her arms.
Brendan notices. "Are you cold? Maybe we should go back to the fire."
"Not until I get my fill of scenery," Mabel says stubbornly. "There's no look like an overlook!"
The sudden sound of footsteps behind them makes them turn around. It's Benji, running up and skidding to a halt, sending woodchips scattering all over Brendan's shoes.
"Benji! Go. Away," Brendan says in disbelief.
"Mom wants to know when you're going to bed," Benji says.
"I don't know! Seriously, get lost."
"Fine," Benji says with a great show of petulance. "Don't be such a werebear." With that, he runs back towards the bonfire.
Brendan runs a hand through his (luscious) hair and sighs. "Little brothers, right?"
"Tell me about it," Mabel says. "Calling you names and everything!"
He gives her an oddly nervous glance. "He's just being a dork; I don't know what he was talking about."
"That Werebear is the worst, though," Mabel says without thinking.
Brendan blinks and stares at her. "What?"
"What? I didn't say anything weird! I said only normal things! What?" Mabel babbles, trying desperately to cover up her slip.
But the look in Brendan's eye isn't one of bewilderment—he's hopeful. "You… met the Werebear?"
Mabel teeters on the edge of divulgence, caught between her excitement at sharing something with her attractive new friend and keeping the silence she built and practiced so thoroughly between summers. The secrets of Gravity Falls are hers to keep, not spread; she knows this. And yet, it seems like Brendan knows a few secrets himself.
Oh, the heck with it!
"Yeah, I met the Werebear," Mabel admits, mentally crossing her fingers.
"I'm sorry," Brendan says, a wide smile blooming on his (so handsome) features.
They both begin to laugh, a sound that has as much to do with shared wonder as Brendan's jab at their absent mutual acquaintance.
Brendan stops laughing first, his eyes shining in the dark. "I can't believe it!" he exclaims, spreading his arms. "When? How? How do you know? About this stuff, I mean. Or is it just him?"
"Nope, it's all kinds of things," Mabel assures him. "Gremloblins and ghosts and extradimensional lizardmen—you know, all the usuals."
Brendan resumes walking, his pace quickened with excitement. "Gravity Falls!" he says, shaking his head. "Right? Gotta be. Wait, I thought you were just visiting?"
"I am, but we put the Blind Eye out of action, so they didn't zap all that stuff out of my head."
"The who?"
"Oh, so there was this creep-o cult wiping everyone's memories of weird stuff. We made them stop," Mabel informs him.
"That explains so much," Brendan says contemplatively.
"Well, some of them are just used to it," Mabel says, thinking of Stan and all the memories the Blind Eye missed. They hadn't been omnipotent, after all.
"So, you met Chortley, huh? How'd that go?" Brendan says with a huff of scornful breath.
"We dropped a whole pyramid of beer cans on him and stole his claws."
Brendan laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes. "What the heck, that is so amazing! There is literally nothing I wouldn't give to have seen the look on his face. Chowchilla Chortley, man. What a total tool."
"He's from Chowchilla?"
"I don't actually know, but that's what some of the other— uh… That's what some other people call him," Brendan finishes awkwardly.
Mabel's mind is whirling, trying to put all the pieces together. What other people? Brendan obviously knows Gravity Falls, but he said he isn't from there. Not everything weird is in the valley—that's been made abundantly clear.
With a start, she realizes they've reached the overlook. The path comes to an end at a small wooden deck along an outcropping on a hill. The forest descends to either side, dipping into a narrow valley before rising along the next hill, the trees carpeting over the features of the terrain like deep water obscuring the topography of the ocean floor. The mountains in the distance catch the moonlight and look closer than they probably are, grey and silent, standing sentinel over the endless pines. It's a beautiful view, well worth the short walk. Mabel allows herself a moment to take it in, but she's got other things going on.
She isn't completely sure what he means by 'other people,' but she has a strong suspicion. "Soooo… by 'other people,' you mean people who are kind of… different?"
Brendan is clearly uncomfortable. "Look, you seem cool, it's just… I'm not supposed to talk about this stuff."
"I'm one of the good guys!" Mabel promises. "Really, I swear. I dated a merman! His name was Mermando. I helped him get back to his people, no biggie."
"You dated Mermando?" Brendan's face falls. "I knew you were out of my league. That guy is so suave…"
Mabel is now positive that Brendan has more going on than meets the eye. The only question is what particular form his Weirdness takes. "I'm not out of your league, I just need to know what league you're in, that's all!"
But Brendan remains unsure. "I shouldn't," he mumbles. His eyes dart upwards for a second, avoiding hers.
Upwards… at the full moon.
Mabel gasps. "You're a were-person!"
"God, I'm an idiot." Brendan smacks the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Why did I look? Why?"
"So what is it?" Mabel asks eagerly. "Not werebear, obviously. Were-eagle? Were-wolverine? Were-rhinoceros?!"
"I don't think those exist," Brendan says with a reluctant laugh.
Mabel suddenly has an idea. "Wait, I can prove I'm not a tattletale!" She quickly pulls her phone out and rapidly scrolls through her photo album. "Sha-bam!"
She holds out her phone so Brendan can see. The picture was taken last month during the hunt for the Werebear's claws. In it, Mabel is posed for a selfie with the Multi-Bear, the two of them looking, in her opinion, totally fabulous.
"Hey, the Multi-Bear!" Brendan says.
"My brother got to know him after this whole thing with the Manotaurs," Mabel explains, tactfully glossing over any reference to Weirdmageddon, which Brendan doesn't seem to be aware of.
"Oh, yeah. Those guys," Brendan says, not sounding all that taken with them. "The Multi-Bear has some kind of beef with them. He's been around forever and knows pretty much everyone."
"I think they're cool now."
"Really? I must be out of the loop," he says with an awkward laugh. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"My great-uncle is studying Gravity Falls and I know all about Weirdness," Mabel confides.
"Okay," Brendan says uncertainly. Mabel can't blame him; that's not a lot to go on. "And are you… Sorry, I can't tell if you're, uh… different."
"Nope," Mabel says with an easy shrug. "Just a regular human with incredible fashion sense!"
For some reason, this seems to make Brendan even more nervous. "Wow. That's super unusual."
"Well, regular might be a stretch," Mabel says with a playful wink.
His dazzling smile makes a shy return. "You are definitely something else."
Last summer, Mabel would have been angling for a kiss right about now. She's open to the idea, but more than that, she finds herself deeply curious as to what Brendan's deal is. Maybe Dipper and Grunkle Ford have been more of an influence on her than she realized. She is momentarily troubled by the thought that Brendan's apparent Weirdness is what makes him attractive; she doesn't want to use him. But she went off with him well before she knew he had a secret. She's open-minded, he'll see that. There's nothing he can say that will shock her.
"Mabel," he says, "will you marry me?"
Her jaw drops. "…What?"
"I know!" He throws his hands up in agitation, beginning to pace. "I'm sorry! God, I'm screwing this up. I shouldn't have said anything. I know this is crazy. Believe me, I know it's crazy!"
It's Norman all over again. Mabel scrambles to collect her thoughts. "I— um…"
Brendan sinks onto a nearby bench made from half a sawn log, his head in his hands. "I'm a werewolf," he sighs. "Nothing exciting like what you thought. Just a werewolf."
Managing to finally kickstart her brain, Mabel looks up at the gleaming full moon. "Should I give you some space…?"
Brendan wearily shakes his head. "No, it's… It only happens in December and it's not like the movies. It's lame, I just turn into a wolf, like a regular wolf. Not a monster one or anything. I go into the shed and sleep it off and that's it."
Mabel's eyes get big and glittery just thinking about it. "You must be adorable!"
That is obviously not the reaction Brendan expected. He blinks at her. "I guess?"
It takes her a second to shake off the thought of cuddly wolf-Brendan, but she returns to more pressing matters. "Okay, but why the proposal?"
Even under the moonlight she can see his cheeks turn painfully red. "Because you're perfect," he groans into his hands, "and I'm such an idiot."
"Neither of those things is true," she tells him gently.
Brendan drops his hands, though he still won't meet her eyes. "Sorry," he apologizes yet again. "I need to explain."
Mabel seats herself next to him. A delicate breeze sends a shiver through the growth, the susurrus a steady whisper in the forest. Even the trees seem to bend to listen.
"Well, you probably figured out most of it," Brendan says drolly. "I'm a werewolf, my family is part of a werewolf tribe. Uh, we're also affiliated with The Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde for normal stuff. There aren't that many organized groups of nonhumans in the states, so we kind of all know each other. I heard Mermando got married?"
"To stop a war," Mabel says with a slightly regretful sigh. "He's so dutiful."
"You, uh… still talk to him?" Brendan says hesitantly.
Mabel is quick to put that to rest. "Nope, not since last summer. I'm sure he's busy being super married or whatever."
"Cool," Brendan says with badly hidden relief. "Anyway, there's not a lot to it. The merpeople are out there having their undersea wars and stuff, but there's a lot of them. The rest of us stuck on land just blend in, mostly; there are a few places where there's a lot of us. Arkham, Bright Falls… I think there's a vampire town out in Texas somewhere, but I've never been, and vampires are kind of stuck up anyway—"
He's starting to ramble. Mabel puts a light hand on his knee. "Brendan, it's okay," she's says. "You can tell me anything! Seriously, I once dated a bunch of gnomes by accident."
Brendan briefly laughs. "See? I'm the werewolf and you're so much more interesting than me."
"I'm just a girl who loves pigs and sparkly sweaters and pigs in sparkly sweaters," Mabel says. "But I don't think that's why you asked me to marry you."
Brendan groans in acute humiliation. "I need that to not have happened. I need a time machine."
Mabel immediately shakes her head. "Time machines make everything worse! Unless you can get a time wish, but I'm not doing that again."
"Boy, this is not helping," Brendan mutters.
Mabel clasps her hands contritely. "Okay, no more Mabel-madness, I promise. I'm a really good listener!"
Brendan finally looks up, one foot tapping nervously against the carpet of woodchips. "Alright, so, this is even dumber than it sounds, but… I'm kind of a prince."
Well, well. Mabel is enthralled.
"But seriously, I'm not rich and I don't have any power. Maybe 'prince' is stupid, how about, uh… 'heir.' We're a democracy, though," he hastens to assure her.
Mabel almost informs him that she's a congressman but manages to hold her tongue at the last second. She's going to be a great listener, darn it!
"I'm the oldest, so my dad is always pushing me to be more involved, you know, so I can take over someday and join the council. Which is fine. Sort of. I don't know." Brendan sighs again. "Sometimes it's like, I can take the responsibility and other times I just don't want to deal with it."
Oh, poor Brendan. Caught up in the demands of his magical (democratic) kingdom, pressured by an overbearing father, stewing attractively in his sexy, sexy angst… If only there was some beautiful maiden nearby, maybe one with braces and amazing taste in sweater wear, who could be his loving girlfriend and confidant and soothe the pain away from his mega-handsome face.
"I turn fifteen this winter," Brendan continues. "Mom says I'm too young to worry about this kind of stuff, but I want to make Dad proud, you know? Every time there's a big meet up I'm supposed to make friends with the other kids, or… er, talk to girls, I guess," he finishes bashfully.
Mabel nudges him with her elbow, a sly smile crossing her face. "Is the prince looking for a princess to forge a noble line?"
"Man, it just sounds gross when you say it like that," he mumbles, rolling his eyes. "It doesn't matter anyway."
"Why not?"
He avoids eye contact, hunched forward uncomfortably. "I have to… I mean, I can't— or, I guess I could, but I'm not supposed to…" His hands gesture pointlessly as he stumbles from phrasing to phrasing. "I can't have a family with, you know, a vampire or something. I mean physically, like literally can't. And there aren't a lot of werewolves left on the west coast and… well, I should date humans. A human! Just one! I'm not one of those guys or anything, I haven't even had a real girlf—…"
Without warning, he stands up and stalks over to the edge of the overlook, leaning on the rough-hewn log barrier at the edge of the drop. He's talking to himself, but she can still hear him when he hisses, "You are screwing up without a parachute, man. You just met her. Stop. Talking."
She gives him a second before following, coming up beside him in the silvered air. The world seems almost monochrome beneath the moon and she stands with her back to the impenetrable black that spreads under the canopy of the trees; she faces the slate-colored mountains that rear, jagged and monumental, against the star-speckled sky. On the very edge of the overlook, it is as if she and Brendan are hovering over the dense timbers below, suspended high up in the quiet watches of the night.
"Werewolves aren't actually nuts," Brendan says forlornly, "though I don't blame you if you don't believe me."
"This is the most normal date I've ever been on," Mabel says with total honesty.
"Wow." Brendan looks at her, amusement vying with his mortification. "So… this is a date?"
"Maybe a little," Mabel says impishly.
Brendan laughs, though it's a bit strained. "I can't believe I asked you to marry me. What a freakin' goon I am. Seriously, who does that?"
"Well, I am pretty charming," Mabel says with an exaggerated wink.
"I freaked out. I thought about my dad and taking charge and finding someone and thought, here's this amazing girl and what if I never see her again?" He shrugs. "Summer vacation comes and goes. Sorry for dragging you into this and being such a dork."
Mabel does her best to make him feel better. "It's all so dramatic! All we need is a cute vampire to show up and you can fight for my honor!"
"You are totally Kris' type. Heads up, though, he's like three hundred years old."
"Oh, geez. Never mind," Mabel says, making a face.
"I just don't know what to do about my dad," Brendan confesses. "I don't think he wants me to actually get married until I'm older, but he always has this legacy in mind. It's big, and I just… I want to live up to it, but I don't know how."
When it comes to big life revelations from last summer, Dipper probably takes the prize, what with figuring out the whole becoming-a-scientist thing. But Mabel didn't walk away unaffected, or unchanged. She learned a thing or two, and it seems like it's time to share one of them.
"Have you ever had an epic summer romance?" she asks him.
"Uh, no. I don't think so."
"That's all I wanted last summer. I had this idea and it was so big and romantic, and I thought I'd meet the right boy at the right time, and it would be magical like the movies. I chased that romance all summer, over and over, and you know what?"
"What?"
"I didn't have an epic summer romance either," she says with a small shrug. "I wanted everything to be perfect, but nothing ever is. And sometimes I hurt my brother and other people because I thought the whole summer would be a waste if I didn't get that big romance. And all the coolest stuff had nothing to do with boys! There were bunkers and secret grunkles and prophecies, but I just had to have an epic summer romance because…" She stops and thinks about it, trying to separate the reasons buried in the old impulses. "…Because I made a space for it in the scrapbook. Because I thought that's what I needed to have a special summer before I grew up."
"Sounds rough," Brendan says.
"It is! That's your problem, Brendan, it's the same! Not the romance stuff, but the other stuff, the stuff that makes you want to live up to it, but you don't have to live up to it," she tells him. "You can't be what you think you should be. Not right away. You can only be what you are, and if you don't figure out what that is, you can't change it."
Brendan looks stunned. "That… is good advice."
"I hope so. I had to get all stupid before I figured it out."
"Not as stupid as I've been getting, I bet." Brendan pushes those lustrous black locks back from his face, something Mabel's fingers have been itching to do since she first saw him. "I messed up," he says contritely. "I've tried talking to regular girls before and I can't ever work my way up to the werewolf thing, it's so hard. You just seemed so cool… Then all of a sudden it turns out you already know, and that's… You're amazing."
Mabel's heart beats a little faster. "I totally get it. After last summer we went back to Piedmont and everything was so stupid normal all the stupid time! Nobody knows anything down there. It was just us."
Brendan nods. "It's like that sometimes. You just hold it all in. I wonder, it's not really that hard to find this stuff out. I think a lot of people don't want to know."
"Not me. I want to know everything," she states.
"Yeah?" he says, those dark eyes meeting her own.
They're standing pretty close together. The way Mabel's heart speeds along is expected; this is a Big Moment. Awkward, sure, but also so romantic! Just as it had last summer, she can feel the airy delight of simple infatuation giving her heart wings. Holding hands, sharing secrets, a warm kiss on the mouth to seal the deal—this is everything she's used to chasing and had, for a time, set aside in the name of more important things. But she knows herself better than she used to, and there's nothing wrong with making a match.
What catches her by surprise is the difference—there is something new. It starts as a frisson that sparks up and down her spine before settling somewhere deep inside her, buzzing through her blood. She feels hot. Not on her skin, but just under it, like her chest is a furnace. She wants to lean in and kiss Brendan; but, for the first time, she wants more. She can't even say what that is, or how to get it, but there's something about the fledgling stubble on his chin, and the way his eyes are so deep and dark, and how he smells like something sharp and masculine… There are impulses, unnamed and unsatisfied, that squirm through her like hot fudge sliding into a cold glass of milk.
She is used to the pull between a boy and a girl, sweet and uncomplicated.
She is not used to this needy, conflagratory spark.
Oh my gosh. Is this what Dipper and Pacifica have been going through this whole time?! Oh, wow. Oh, my.
She leans back a little, unable to handle this sudden rush of sensation. Brendan misinterprets her reaction and quickly backs away. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I thought, uh…"
But Mabel is nothing if not brave. "Were you gonna kiss me?"
Brendan blushes. "Yeah."
"Sounds good to me!"
Their lips meet, and it's amazing. It's close-mouthed and perfect, but Mabel can still feel that electric shiver, and what was once the triumphant sealing of a summer romance—the last and final act—has now become a first step on a blazing new road she has only begun to cautiously discover.
When they break apart, Mabel giggles with delight and puts her hands on his chest. "See? I don't bite!"
"I don't either—until December, anyway," he jokes.
Another voice rings out from the woods, making both of them jump.
"Mabel?" Pacifica calls out. "Are you hiding? If you're hiding to scare me, I will sue you!"
"That's my friend, Pacifica," Mabel says to Brendan. She yells, "I'm not hiding, I'm at the overlook!"
Pacifica's blonde hair becomes visible in the gloom a few moments later. "Oh," she says, stopping at the edge of the clearing. "Who's this?"
"Hey, I'm Brendan," he says.
"Pacifica Northwest," she replies with a touch of cold formality. "Mabel, Stan says you're supposed to come back, it's time for bed."
"Okay, just a second," Mabel says. She frantically reaches into one of her pockets for a scrap of paper and a purple gel pen. She scribbles on the paper and shoves it into Brendan's hand. "My phone number and email!"
Brendan looks simultaneously encouraged and crushed. "Won't I see you again?"
"When's the next time you're coming to Gravity Falls?"
"Crap, I think not until September. Will you…? No, huh." Brendan grimaces. "We're headed to Portland tomorrow. I—"
"I'm going to Portland!" Mabel gasps.
Brendan lights up. "For real? Do you want to meet up and grab lunch or something?"
"Yes! Text me, we'll figure it out!"
On a whim, Mabel grabs him by the lapels of his flannel shirt and kisses him again, this time with more gusto than before.
"Ugh," Pacifica mutters, turning away.
Mabel breaks the kiss with a smack. "Text me! Constantly! Wear off your fingerprints from texting me!"
Brendan laughs, that amazing smile flashing in the dark. "I'm on it."
On the way back to the RV, Mabel is practically floating. She twirls down the path, taking Pacifica's hand and forcing the other girl to skip for a few steps.
"Did you seriously get a boyfriend in the hour you were gone?" Pacifica asks.
"We haven't labeled it," Mabel says with a passionate sigh. "He's a prince, I'm his commoner true love—it's a whole thing."
"I'm sure you'll tell me all about it," Pacifica says sardonically.
Not long after, Mabel is snug in her sleeping bag, a cool breeze wafting through the screen of the open window over her head. She's tucked in the back of the RV with Dipper; he's stretched out on the floor while she fits her shorter form onto the seat. A buzz in her pocket sends her hand grasping for her phone, bringing it up into a moonbeam.
Brendan: Still have my fingerprints but it's day one
Mabel grins and muffles a snicker against her arm, beginning to type a reply.