there are rules

Dipper's condition improves considerably over the next forty-eight hours. Whatever virus briefly consumed him burned bright and quick, peaking that first night and declining shortly after. Mabel gets grazed by whatever floored him, getting the sniffles and some light coughing that's only bad for about a day. Pacifica dodges the bullet entirely, which she seems to attribute to her caution, but Dipper is pretty sure is just pure luck.

He wakes up Wednesday morning feeling weak and achy, but otherwise whole again. He looks over to see Mabel lying on top of her sheets, face flushed and breathing phlegmy. Still, she appears much better than yesterday and doesn't seem to be in too much distress. She's got her phone on speaker, letting it rest on the pillow next to her head.

"I'm sweaty and full of snot, it's good you're not here," she's saying.

"Nah, I should be there to help. I could be, like, an orderly or whatever." Brendan's voice emerges from the speaker. "You know, one of those guys at the hospital with all the white clothes."

Mabel fake-gasps. "At a mental hospital! You'll never lock me up, I'll run away and live free with the Werebear!"

"Come on, you're better off locked up than with him."

"Yeah, that's true."

Dipper stands up and stretches. Mabel sniffs and gives him a lazy wave.

"Say hi to Dipper," Mabel says to the phone.

"What's up, man?" Brendan says.

"Hey, Brendan," Dipper says loudly enough for the phone to pick it up. "Mabel, do you need anything?"

"I got a box of tissues, a bottle of cough syrup, and my phone-friend," Mabel says stuffily. "It's allllll good."

It's about ten in the morning. The weather outside is overcast and there's a strong wind that sends gusts rattling against the windows. A quick glance at his phone shows him the temperature has dipped into the low sixties and it's expected to rain starting in the afternoon. He takes some comfort in knowing it wouldn't be a good day to head out into the valley, even if he were feeling up to it. It'd be a day spent indoors either way.

When Dipper gets to ground level he nearly steps on Waddles, who is attempting to sun himself in the weak beam of light from the porch door. Dipper bends down to give the pig a quick tummy rub and glances into the living room, finding it empty. Stan and Soos are likely busy with customers. Ford is presumably in the laboratory, though the stairs down to the elevator might have given him some trouble. Pacifica will most likely be in her room, perhaps using the down time to catch up on her skin and hair care routines.

Dipper walks to the bathroom and is grateful to find it empty. It's a relief to scour away the remnants of his sickness with a shower hot enough to turn his skin red. Though the light still jabs uncomfortably into his eyes, he's standing, and he can breathe through his nose. He'll still go to bed early, but he's on the mend, and he's glad.

Refreshed, he exits the bathroom and makes his way to the kitchen. There's not much on the shelves unless he wants to roll the dice with another can of The Brown Meat (he does not). He scrounges up half a box of cereal and eats at the table, watching out the window as the low clouds go sweeping by.

Eager to do something, anything, besides lie around some more, he hurries through the living room into the gift shop. He is surprised to encounter Pacifica, of all people, manning the cash register. As far as he knows, this is a first. There are only a couple customers perusing the merchandise, but he can hear Stan's voice coming from the curtained museum entrance as he extolls one of the exhibits, and through the window behind the counter he can see Soos and Melody returning from the woodland trail in the Mystery Cart, towing a line of other carts with passengers.

Given the number of people about to flood into the shop, Dipper feels compelled to ask Pacifica, "You good with using that?" He points to the register.

"I press the buttons to add numbers together," she deadpans. "It's a calculator with a cash drawer, Dipper."

He winces, knowing he deserves that kind of response. He doesn't feel on firm enough ground with her to snark back.

He puts his hands in his pockets and makes his posture as apologetic as possible. "Pacifica, I really did want—"

Not quick enough. Stan comes strolling out of the museum with a gaggle of suckers following him like geese. "—right through here to the gift shop, folks!" he's saying with his usual huckster bombast. "Everything's on sale, just for you! And as part of our pledge to keep the tots safe, all of our merchandise is inflammable!"

This pleases several of the customers:

"Wow, now that's a deal!"

"What a relief, I don't want to burn my house down again."

"Finally, someone is thinking of the children!"

Dipper can't help himself. "Grunkle Stan, you do know that inflammable means flamma—"

He doesn't finish his sentence before Stan slaps a hand over his mouth and shoves him towards the postcard display. "It means what I say it means! Go make sure all the expensive cards are on the side facing these rubes."

Working at the Shack is the price of being in Gravity Falls, and Dipper has long since accepted that. Pacifica has been far more ambivalent about it, as she is with anything resembling manual labor, so he's interested to see her work the counter. He keeps an eye on her as he moves some of the postcards around and makes sure to add an extra zero to a few price tags.

At first, she's a bit hesitant and has trouble working the stiff mechanical keys of the old cash register. A line begins to form once Melody brings in the customers from the Mystery Tour. Stan looks like he's about to go take over when an antsy customer leans out of line as if he's going to complain; he freezes with his mouth half-open when Pacifica fixes him with a sub-zero glare. He timidly resumes his place, and after that, Stan doesn't bother to interfere. Pacifica's confidence with the machine grows and soon enough she's punching in totals and making change. In fact, within half an hour she's darn good at it. And while no one would consider her manner with the customers to be friendly, she still gets results.

"If I buy one of these, can I get the second half off?" a teen girl asks her, holding up a couple Mr. Mystery bobbleheads.

"Does it say that?" Pacifica asks pointedly.

"Um, no…"

"Then no. But you should buy them both anyway."

"Oh, uh, I was just going to buy the one—"

"No, you're not. You're going to buy both, because you want both, and you should get the things that you want."

After a short silence, the teen girl meekly places both bobbleheads on the counter.

Grunkle Stan is observing Pacifica with shrewd eyes. Dipper suspects he is realizing what Dipper is: The counter is the ideal position for Pacifica. She doesn't have to clean anything gross, she gets to sit up on a stool and look down at people, and she gets to control the money. She's the little queen of the cash register, peering down her nose at the peasants who dare to haggle.

Pacifica has gotten away with not doing a whole lot around the Shack so far this summer, mostly because she's not family and the stipend from her mother pays for her expenses. Now that Stan has found her niche, Dipper foresees a lot more of the cash register in Pacifica's future.

The gift shop empties out slowly over the next hour. The sheer number of customers is impressive, and a reminder of how central the Shack has become to the town in the wake of Weirdmageddon (and in the absence of The Tent of Telepathy). With Soos now working at a managerial level, he's been continuing to take on tours like he had while Stan was gone, and with their tandem efforts more tourists can be shuffled through and around the Shack per day than ever before. Having Melody around ensures there are no gaps in the schedule, like there often used to be when Soos had to fix something or make new attractions, or when Wendy wasn't available.

Dipper finds himself tiring quickly. His illness has passed, but his body is still recovering, and he hasn't been on his feet this long since the maze. Instead of going out to help Soos hose off the golf carts, he decides to take a break. When the last customer leaves, he waits until Stan is distracted counting the money in the till before punching in the code on the vending machine and slipping through the opening. He's just about to pull it shut when Pacifica appears and squeezes in after him.

"H-Hey," he stammers, caught off guard.

He hasn't been face to face like this with her in a few days. He's inches away from those dark blue eyes, struck to the core by just how pretty she is. He would have thought he'd have some defenses against her pulchritude at this point, but not really. She's wearing a lime-green tank top which, combined with her short hair, leaves most of her neck and shoulders bare. He knows he's not on her good side at the moment, but he can't help but wonder if she's cooled down enough to appreciate another kiss on the neck like she had during the road trip, and maybe, you know, explore that a little further…

"I thought you're still sick," she says sharply.

"I'm feeling better," he tells her, only understanding what she's getting at a moment later. "Oh, we're not going anywhere."

Her eyes narrow with suspicion. "You looked like you were sneaking out."

"From Grunkle Stan, yeah. Great-Uncle Ford has a broken leg and I'm not a hundred percent, we're definitely not heading out." Despite knowing he deserves this kind of scrutiny, he doesn't like the idea of getting the third degree from her every time he leaves her sight. "Look, I know it was wrong to leave you guys out of the expedition. From now on, I'll tell you if we have a mission, even if you don't want to come. You don't need to keep tabs on me, I promise."

This may appease her slightly—it's hard to tell. "Maybe I just want to go downstairs," she says aloofly. "You're not the only one allowed in the basement."

Dipper is not without his pride, but he is discovering that his hormones are making demands that are both difficult to ignore and run contrary to maintaining his dignity. She's just so beautiful, even here in the dim and dusty stairwell, and he desperately wants to hold her, to rest a finger against that strip of skin between the hem of her shirt and top of her shorts; to put his nose against her hair, his lips against her lips… He'd settle for holding hands at this point. It's been too long since he's immersed himself in her intimate presence and he's craving her. He's about ready to grovel, if that's what it takes. There must be something he can do to make her amenable to making out. Maybe a present? Pacifica's changed a lot, but she still has an appreciation for the finer things. Too bad he can't afford any of them.

Maybe she'll cool off if Ford can explain himself. She deserves to hear it from him, anyway.

"Alright, come on," he says, turning to descend the steps.

He half-expected Ford to be recuperating in his study, but the scientist is stubbornly puttering around the lab on his crutches, mostly cleaning up from what Dipper can see. Ford comes to an ungainly halt in the middle of the lab space when Dipper and Pacifica walk in.

"Back on your feet, excellent!" he says to Dipper. "I wish I could say the same, but I'm… managing." His impatience is evident.

Dipper is about to reply when Pacifica suddenly bursts out, "Dipper could have been really hurt! You should have told us about the new maze! You—…" she stops herself, face flushed. Her hands are fisted at her sides and she's breathing hard, but she won't meet Ford's eyes.

Dipper knows how hard it is for her to stand up to someone who is, even if only nominally, in charge. As much as he wants to stop this confrontation, he can't bring himself to undermine her.

Ford's face creases with remorse. "You're right. I should have told you, and I should have told the others."

Pacifica blinks. "Then… why?"

Ford seats his crutches more firmly under his arms and gestures with his head. "Let me show you something."

He leads them over to the Faraday cage. In the time since Dipper's been down here, Ford has redesigned the cage slightly and included some new materials. It is now possible to partially see both hearts through mesh-lined glass. They are still wriggling, kineticism undiminished by their new enclosure.

Ford leans on his crutches and places one hand on the glass. The eerie green radiance of the hearts reflects on his glasses. "Someone built these. I don't know who, and I don't know why. But someone did, and they left or lost or placed them here for reasons I am only beginning to surmise. They produce a signal, a beacon, every seventy-seven minutes. This signal is not like anything terrestrial. It's highly sophisticated, and interdimensional; in fact, it's not dissimilar to the routing protocols used by my old portal." He removes his hand from the glass. His expression is grim, and his eyes are apprehensive. "I spent thirty years moving through a multiverse which holds horrors I can scarcely recount. One of them came here, and he died here. But a multiverse of infinite possibilities is a multiverse of infinite threats."

Ford shuffles away from the Faraday shield and meets Pacifica's eyes directly. "I don't know for certain that these hearts are dangerous. But when I discovered the signal, I became afraid. I thought it was up to me to protect this world and to protect you. But fear makes us foolish, makes us forget, and in my foolishness, I forgot that it was you, all of you, who saved this world when it needed saving—and saved me. And for that, I am sorry."

Pacifica appears taken aback by the detail of his apology and the depth of his sincerity. "…Well, okay," she says quietly.

"I've hit somewhat of a dead end," Ford says; he's clearly relieved to move on and his voice regains its usual vigor. "I have the data from the cracked heart, but I'm unwilling to remove the shield to try tracking the signal, at least for the time being. I think our next step is to attempt to interface with the hearts directly and see if we can access their records."

"Should we try to isolate the waveband?" Dipper asks.

"We should try to relax," Ford says with a grimace. "We aren't exactly at full strength. As much as I wish we could get to work, I need to put this leg up and recuperate."

Dipper's disappointment is mitigated by his growing fatigue. It's not like he's up to putting in some long hours of trial and error with the hearts. He and Pacifica follow Ford to the elevator and up the stairs. Ford pops the vending machine open and swings it wide enough to make room for his crutches. On the way out, he nods amiably to a customer who's staring at him, a limp dollar in hand.

Dipper closes the vending machine so the woman can use it and sees that Melody is behind the counter. Besides the woman at the vending machine, there are only a couple other customers in the shop, probably stragglers from the last tour. The next round of tours won't be for another hour or so, which doesn't matter to Dipper because he's worn out. His joy at being out of bed and mobile has worn off and he just wants to lie down.

"I think I'm going to go lay down," he tells Pacifica.

She immediately steps away from him. "I thought you were better?"

"I am better, I'm just tired."

"You've been awake for, like, two hours."

"I'm feeling better," he insists. "I'm just not a hundred percent yet."

Pacifica does not appear convinced by his argument. Dipper raises his hand to push through the swinging door to the living room and is nearly knocked over when Soos comes through with an armful of folded t-shirts. When Dipper steps out of the way, he notices that a thick sheaf of folded paper has fallen out of Soos' pocket, and he bends to pick it up.

"Sorry, dude," Soos says.

"Hey, you dropped this," Dipper tells him.

Soos' hands are full, but he manages to snag the packet with his fingers. "Good save—don't wanna lose that!"

"What is it?"

"Just some ideas for the Shack. You know, to maximize our profit streams."

Dipper gives him a sideways look. "Have you been reading that 80s business book Mabel found?"

"For real, there's a lot of good advice in that book. Did you know fax machines are the future?"

"Yeah, maybe you should run that stuff by Melody before you pitch it to Stan…" Dipper suggests on his way out.

He returns upstairs while Pacifica goes to the kitchen (he'd join her for lunch, but his breakfast had been so late that he's not hungry yet). Mabel is now fast asleep, tangled up in her sheets and snoring softly. Dipper gets into bed with the intention of improving some of his sketches in Journal A, continuing the slow process of bettering his artistic skill. He's only at it for about twenty minutes before his eyelids become unbearably heavy and he soon succumbs to sleep.

He wakes up to a loud noise, blinking and confused. It takes him a moment to fully wake up and realize Mabel just explosively sneezed. She's sitting on the edge of her bed, yawning and stretching, and she looks a lot better. The light from the window has the orange tint of early evening.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Mabel declares.

Dipper's stomach isn't awake yet, but it will be soon enough. "I could eat."

The sound of the television echoes up the attic stairwell. Dipper and Mabel pad down the crooked wooden steps, intent on the kitchen. Dipper glances into the living room as they pass; the TV is on but no one's watching, the fuzzy colors splashed across an empty chair.

The twins rock-paper-scissors for a left-over burrito, tie, and split it. His stomach appeased, Dipper is finishing off a can of peach slices as a makeshift dessert when he hears Grunkle Stan calling him.

"Dipper! Mabel! Come downstairs!" Stan bellows.

"We're in the kitchen!" Mabel yells back.

"Then get your butts in here, we're havin' a family meeting!"

Dipper trades a glance with Mabel. A family meeting? In Piedmont, sure, but things are pretty informal around the Shack, to say the least.

"Family meeting? Are we organized now?" Mabel wonders.

"Maybe Great-Uncle Ford finally found out Stan ate those pudding cups," Dipper says.

"Oof, geez, it's gonna be ugly," Mabel predicts.

The twins enter the living room to find Ford and Stan already seated at the card table. Soos is there as well, sitting next to Stan and practically radiating happiness at being included in a family meeting. Pacifica is hovering near the employee door, her stance uncertain.

"You too, blondie," Stan tells her, gesturing for her to sit.

Though Pacifica looks less than pleased at the nickname, she sits next to Dipper. While she's getting situated, Dipper takes the opportunity to assess the mood. He's not sure what he could have done recently to warrant a family meeting. Well, besides the whole maze thing, but he's already in trouble for that.

"Alright, settle down," Stan says, despite the fact that everyone is already sitting calmly. "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why we called you in here…"

Ford sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dispense with the drama, Stan."

Stan shrugs. "Alright, fine. Me and Ford have been talkin' and there's gonna be some changes around here. It's no secret that these knuckleheads—" he indicates Dipper and Ford, "—nearly got themselves killed. And, ya know, it'd be real easy to blame Ford. Fun, too! But it's time for some responsibility."

Dipper briefly meets Mabel's eyes; she looks as concerned as he feels. He doesn't know where this is going, but he's starting to doubt it's anywhere good.

Stan's expression turns pensive. "Last summer, I lied to keep you kids safe. Didn't work out too well. But now we've gone too far in the other direction. This 'Weirdness' garbage was always dangerous, and that hasn't changed. And I don't know about nerdmeister here, but I don't wanna be the one who calls your parents when you get yourselves eaten by a monster, or turn into monsters, or get lost looking for a monster, or something else to do with monsters."

"Obviously, I don't want that either," Ford says testily.

"Good, 'cause we're gonna start acting like it." Stan straightens up and crosses his arms. "From now on, no more crazy adventures. No more going off into the woods by yourselves, no more wandering around at night, no more running after danger."

Dipper's heart clenches. "What?!"

"Ha ha! Good one, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel says with a forced laugh and panicked eyes.

Stan is unmoved. "Your parents are trusting me to keep you safe, and by Trembley, I'm gonna do it!"

Ford cuts in with a more conciliatory tone. "To be clear, we're not banning you from visiting your friends in town or from working with me in the lab, or even from undertaking expeditions, provided they are properly supervised. Stan just— we just want to know that you're safe."

"If there's yet another lousy maze out there, then me and Ford will handle it," Stan says with finality. "You kids shouldn't be caught up in anything more dangerous than a water balloon fight. Just enjoy your summer, alright?"

That's the last straw. "How am I supposed to enjoy the summer if you won't let me do anything?!" Dipper explodes.

"There's lots of things you can do! I just took you to Portland, didn't I? That was safe, that was fun," Stan retorts. "Kind of a bump in the road with the whole fight-to-the-death gameshow thing, but that wasn't my fault!"

Dipper desperately looks to the others. "I can't be the only one who thinks this is total crap!"

Everyone jumps in at once, talking over each other:

"Yeah, Grunkle Stan, we're really good at adventuring," Mabel says.

"Stan, don't you think this is kinda harsh?" Soos asks.

"You just saw what happens when we don't all go!" Pacifica argues.

"ENOUGH!" Stan roars. The room falls silent. "I don't remember askin' for a debate! I'm in charge here—"

"As am I," Ford interjects.

"—and Ford, but mostly me, and this decision is final!"

Dipper isn't having it. He stands up angrily. "Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I'll just go adventuring anyway! What are you going to do, lock me in my room?"

"I'll call your parents."

That takes the wind right out of Dipper's sails. He stares, disbelieving, at his great-uncle. "But… they'll have a bunch of questions. They could find out about Weirdmageddon, about everything!"

"You think I don't know that?" Stan's eyes are like stone. "Don't test me, kid. Not on this."

Dipper slumps back into his seat, head spinning. This can't be happening. He turns to Ford, his last hope.

"Great-Uncle Ford, you can't be serious about this. I mean, I'm the one who got us out of the maze! You can't go on anomaly hunts without me," Dipper pleads.

"Stanley is only doing what he thinks is right," Ford says uncomfortably. "I realize that this is difficult, but it won't interfere with our research, Dipper, and it doesn't prohibit every excursion. But you must understand… Stanley and I want what's best for you. Given the risks involved, perhaps it's better if the most dangerous outings are left to the adults."

Dipper just stares at Ford helplessly. Mabel is silently shaking her head in denial. Pacifica gazes at the table, posture as rigid as a statue.

Stan sighs, his slightly softer expression the first sign he's shown of sympathy. "Look, you don't gotta like it, but this is how it's gotta be. You still got run of the house, and we'll talk about camping or whatever, alright? Stop worrying about other dimensions and the fate of the world. Go have a summer vacation. Go watch TV or take the golf cart for a spin or blow up some army men with fireworks. Go be kids."

With that, the meeting is over. Stan heads into the gift shop, muttering about locking up and gesturing for Soos to follow. Ford pushes himself off the table and gets settled on his crutches; as he passes Dipper, he pauses briefly to squeeze Dipper's shoulder apologetically.

"Let me talk to him some more," Ford murmurs. "He's worried, and… just give him some time." With that, Ford shuffles away.

Soos stops near the door to the gift shop. "Hey, cheer up, Dipper," he says with empathetic eyes. "Maybe Stan will let me supervise an adventure or two."

Dipper just nods numbly, knowing that Soos definitely does not count in Stan's eyes as 'supervision.' Once all the grownups are gone, he leans his head back in his chair and covers his face with his hands, hoping he'll just wake up and this never happened.

"This won't last, right?" Mabel says with an unconvincing laugh. "They won't make it through one real adventure without us, there's no way! Maybe half an adventure, if you can call that an adventure."

"Maybe if someone hadn't run off this wouldn't be happening in the first place," Pacifica says bitingly.

She's right. Dipper and Ford's ill-conceived trip to the second maze was the catalyst for this whole mess. Feeling defeated, Dipper pushes back his chair and starts walking away.

Mabel is hot on his heels, bubbling over with indignation and ideas. "Okay, so we throw Grunkle Stan a huge surprise birthday party, right, but when he says it's not his birthday we just pretend like we didn't know and he still gets all the presents and cake—"

Dipper throws open the door to the porch and steps outside. It's raining, just a drizzle, and the wind is blowing hard across the lawn, sending a cold mist gusting through the porch. It feels good.

"—oh, oh, or we all gather around Stan's bed and wake him up in the middle of the night, but you wear a fake beard and we tell him he woke up from a coma and our punishment is already over—"

He takes his hat off and stands at the edge of the old wooden boards, letting the spray wash over him. He should probably get used to being here on the porch like this now that he's tethered to the Shack.

Mabel has ceased her spiel and watches him for a few seconds, the boards creaking beneath her feet as she fidgets. Finally, she says, "What if we—"

"It doesn't matter," Dipper says.

She stops. They listen to the hiss of the thin rain as the wind tears it into sheets that fall against the ground or fold onto the Shack.

Mabel sighs. She puts an arm around his waist and leans into him. "Well," she says, "it's not the first time we've been grounded."

Despite himself, he cracks a small smile. He puts his hat back on and wipes water from his face, suddenly feeling stupid, and melodramatic. Standing in the rain isn't going to change Stan's mind.

"Come on," he says to Mabel. "Let's go watch TV or something."

Inside, Pacifica has beaten them to it. She's got Wendy's Gamestation running and is playing Medal of Duty, her fingers deftly moving the sticks of the controller. When Dipper and Mabel sink to the floor on either side of her, she wordlessly hands them the other controllers.

They play a full round before Pacifica speaks to Dipper. "I know this isn't what you wanted," she says, which he knows is her way of apologizing for what she said earlier.

"It's fine," he sighs. "Besides, you were right."

"It's still a dumb idea. We're better at this stuff than they are," she claims.

Dipper isn't sure that's true, but it doesn't matter, because he knows that they are all better at this together than apart—he just needs to remind Grunkle Stan. And there's something else, another argument that's half-formed in the back of his head, something he's forgetting. He hopes it'll come to him soon.

For now, he's more than happy to play some videogames and just not think about it.

There Are Rules by The Get Up Kids (Quality Hill, 2011)

Author's Note

There's been a steady influx of new readers over the past few chapters, so welcome to you all. I think Disney+ is still continually bringing in new viewers to the fandom and my story has benefited. As always, I deeply appreciate any comments and reviews, and am always eager to answer any questions you may have. We are all here because we love Gravity Falls and want to keep its spark alive, and this story is my humble contribution to that collective desire.