Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls!

Title: Tremors

Summary: Dipper and Mabel return for the summer. Pacifica is overworked. Mabel gets bitten by a were-possum. Dipper's trying to organize their journal.

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The Cheese Queen (December 7th)- Thank you so much! =)

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"So, uh, how is Mabel taking it?"

"Um..." The Mystery Shack checkout counter creaked in wood agony as Dipper leaned over, a hand over the receiver, to read what his twin was jotting down in bright green glitter gel pen. A rough drawing of the were-possum featured, with the nickname "Evil Jerkface" scratched underneath. To the side of Pacifica's addendum, she had drawn yet another arrow, adding why is Pacifica's handwriting here before mine? I see how it is. It's true tho. A skull with crossbones dotted the empty page beside it. "Better than I expected, actually. This is fixable, yes?"

"Yes," Ford agreed, but it came across the line hesitantly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, it is. But-"

"I hate it when you say but, Great Uncle Ford."

"But I require the original venom. As in, the were-possum itself."

"Mabel named it Evil Jerkface."

"Find Evil Jerkface, and we're golden."

Dipper relayed the information to Mabel, who let out an agonized groan of her own and buried her face in her knees. "How are we gonna find one little were-possum in all of Roadkill County?"

"Hand that over, Ford." Stan's grizzly voice replaced his brother's as he took hold of the payphone. "And give this'un over to yer sister, you got me?"

"Aye, aye, old geezer."

"Remind me to ground you for that later, you knucklehead," Stan grunted, but his tone was fond. He'd always felt that disobedience and rebellion were key factors for growing up right.

Mabel limply held the phone to her ear, sniffing back a line of snot. "Hi."

His voice softened. "Hiya, pumpkin. How- how ya' doin'?"

"Not so great," she admitted, setting the journal aside. "My shoulder hurts. And I'm a monster now."

"Mabel, you're not a monster."

"And not even, like, a cool monster. Why couldn't I have been a werewolf? Or a were-eagle? I'm salty about my lack of noble plumage, Grunkle Stan."

"Mabel," he repeated, and she quieted down. "What do I always say?"

"Eff the cops?"

"Besides that."

"Everything is legal if you ignore societal boundaries?"

"Besides that."

"Oh," she said. "A good pitch makes a man rich?"

"Got it in three, kiddo. You gotta pitch this to yourself. Sure, maybe you're a monster. Maybe not. S'not my call to make. But, you've got some nice fur outta the deal, and weird little claw hands. Oh! And you're possibly a passive carrier of rabies now. That's pretty neat too."

"Grunkle Stan?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not helping."

Stan didn't sound hurt by that. "Understood. Sixer, science up somethin' to make our niece feel better."

"Listen, Mabel," Ford said, after some shuffling. "There's a spot in the woods that attracts small magic beings like Evil Jerkface. I'd check there first."

"How d'ya find it?"

"I'd ask your little lumber friend. She'll probably know what I'm talking about."

"And here you'll see- why, Pacifica!" Bud cut himself off mid-pitch, scowling. "I don't pay you to not wash my cars."

Pacifica glanced up with half-lidded eyes at the large man towering over her, up to her elbows in soap suds. She was still in her pjs. She hadn't gone home. Go fig. "Sorry, Mr. Gleeful."

"This is Pacifica," Bud explained to his customers, gesturing to her like she was a potential sale. "She's a Northwest. And, well, as much as I hate to toot m'own horn, I think it says mighty highly of my lil' depo that a Northwest is willin' to work here."

Of course it does, Pacifica thinks as she collects her bucket. She's not supposed to get in the way of money. It says a mighty lot about my desperation.

There's only one good thing about Bud's used car lot, and that good thing is Gideon, darting between the cars. Life just seemed to have a thing about making a former rich girl and a former perceived psychic friends. Something about the bullying and humiliation brings people together.

"Ya'll look like a possum on the side of the road, doll," he exclaimed as he sat down. "Lemme help. Regular ol' kids help their folks, and that means helpin' him with these dusty ol' chassis."

"That's a very ironic euphemism," Pacifica tells him, handing over the sponge. Gideon's face scrunches up at the noise it makes. "And I look like this because I haven't slept."

"Yer folks givin' you a hard time again?"

"Amongst other things."

He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It'll git better."

She bit her lip. It had been so easy to climb out that window and away from that house. Granted, circumstances had been ripe for it, but it was nice to be gone.

She wondered, not for the first time, if she should stay that way.

"Mabel got bit," Pacifica blurts out, trying to move herself past pipe dreams of running away. "I'mma go check up on her later. You should come with, so long as you chill it on the creep factor."

"I make no promises," replied Gideon, as if that wasn't a promise in and of itself. "But I'll rip that biter apart fer Mabel, if it makes her feel better."

They walked to the Corduroy cabin, Dipper sneaking worried glances at Mabel, who kept her hands inside her sweater sleeves the whole way.

"SHE'S AT LEE'S," Manly Dan calmly explained, after they knocked on the door and explained the situation.

"Thanks, dude," Dipper called, fingers in his ears.

"NO PROBLEM."

Lee's garage sat wide open, teenagers sprawled out on boxes and amps, old toys and scrapbooks. His parents had sold the car years ago, leaving the room to be a catchall for memories and mold, those dustwebs that collect when you turn your head away.

"It's the truth," Wendy was saying as they tottered up the uneven driveway. She tilted her Pitt Cola their way as a greeting. "I was super sick, and Marcus bet me five bucks that I couldn't eat a ball of yarn. Had to get my stomach pumped, but I have no regrets."

"Dude," Nate wheezed. "You gotta tell us these stories more often."

Wendy winked and took a slug of her soda.

"Why did you eat a ball of yarn?" Dipper pulled up a box and sat down. "And why are we discussing you eating a ball of yarn?"

"I'm oldest," Wendy answered with a teasing smile. "Gotta set an example."

"Truth or dare," Robbie supplied, sighing. "It's so boring without Thompson."

"Well, I dare one of you peoples to rub my shoulders," Mabel cut in, falling to the concrete floor with little concern for the impact. "'Cause I'm a tense son of a biscuit."

Wendy set the soda down. "I got you."

Dipper leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Mabel said the F bomb last night."

"Eyyyy." Lee sent the girl in question some finger guns, snapping them for good measure. "Congrats, kiddo."

Wendy patted the girl on the head, then got to rubbing. "Does that mean we're finally free to cuss around ya'll?"

"I guess?" Dipper shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, anyway. Mabel?"

Mabel's eyes had closed, leaning into the teen's warmth. "Ya'll could recite the satanic bible right now and I wouldn't give a darn."

"Fuckin' finally," Robbie said. "All this PG wordplay was starting to cramp my style. Yo, Dipstick. Truth or dare?"

"I don't trust you lot with a dare," Dipper replied, eyeing Robbie suspiciously. "I've seen what you do with Thompson. Truth."

Nate cackled.

Robbie didn't look all that bothered by his choice. "'Kay." He tapped his chin for a long moment, hmmmmm-ing to himself, lighting up. "I got it! Your name must be super embarrassing, right? I mean, you go by Dipper." He crossed his arms, smug. "Cough it up."

To his surprise, Dipper merely looked contemplative. He turned to his sister. "Mabel, I thought you told them my name."

She cocked her head to the side. "I thought you did?"

"You always use it around new people. It's, like, a thing with you."

"Yeah, when I'm bored. It's hard to get bored in Gravity Falls."

"Aw, man," the teen complained. "This isn't even a big deal, is it?"

"'Fraid not." Dipper turned back to him with a smile. "My name is Mason. Dipper just clicks better."

Nate squinted at him. "You don't look like a Mason, dude."

"Hence why I go by Dipper."

"Bummer."

"My turn!" Mabel butted in, frowning. "Wendy, truth or dare?"

She snorted. "Dude, I'm not a wuss. Dare."

"I dare you to ask me why I cussed."

"Sure. Why'd you cuss?"

"I got bit by a were-possum."

Wendy stopped mid-shoulder rub. Lee, mid-sip, almost did a spit-take. Nate stopped in the middle of a laugh at Robbie's expense, breathing out a hesitant, "Oh shit." Robbie stared at her.

Dipper kicked his legs. "I thought we were gonna ease them into it."

"We eased them into it plenty." She pulled her sweater down, revealing the red and pulsing wound. "Lookie."

Wendy prodded the bite mark, eyes narrowed curiously. "Do I want to know how you got bitten by a were-possum?"

"It fell through that hole in the porch."

She smacked her head. "Fudgesticks. I totally forgot about that." Wendy reached around and carefully pulled her into a hug. "M'sorry, Mabes. Once we fix this, I'll buy you ice cream."

Mabel relaxed into her arms. "Speaking of, Ford mentioned you could help us?"

"Sure. Point me at it."

"No, not that. I want to get at Evil Jerkface myself. He said something about a weird spot in the woods?"

Her face fell. "Oh. That."

Robbie handed her the soda. "Here. We don't got any alcohol."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look as the teen drained her drink. "Did I say something?"

Wendy wiped her mouth on her arm. She shook her head. "Nah. But that place is janked. My Dad won't go near it."

"There's a lot of places your Dad won't go near, dude," Nate argued. "We all remember that time he punched all the milk cartoons at the grocery store until they exploded."

"I'm serious." She jiggled the can, listening to the pit clank around, gingerly setting it down. "It snows there. Like. Always. And it's only gotten worse since Weirdmageddon. Gus went in there once and he had nightmares for weeks."

"What'd he see?"

"That's the thing. He doesn't remember."

Mabel tugged on her sleeve, forcing the teen to look at her. "Will you take us there?"

Wendy's frown deepened into a scowl. "Being a were-rodent might be better than a snowy nightmare land of death, Mabel."

"Please, Wendy." She tugged more insistently. "I jumped into the lake last night. Who knows what I'll do tonight, or tomorrow. At least, with a snowy nightmare land of death, I know what I'm getting into."

She drew out a groan, knowing she probably wasn't supposed to be giving in to this sort of thing. "We'll need an army."

"I think we've got that covered."

"Concept: me, settin' the forest on fire."

Pacifica eyed Gideon as they crept up the old steps of the Mystery Shack. His hands were held out, fingers clenching, like he was squishing an invisible possum. "That's probably a bit too much."

"Fair enough," he replied. "Better concept: me, turnin' the entire forest inta' ice. We'll catch that grimy lil' maggot by the end of their popsicle tail."

"That would wreck the local ecosystem."

"Goddamnit." He stamped his foot on the top step, unintentionally almost sending him face-first onto the welcome mat. Pacifica grabs his shoulder with her free hand. "I'll admit, I'm a bit rusty on the black magic, but I'm primped and pumped and ready to kill me some roadkill."

She gently tapped on the wood door, half-afraid of busting it. The outside of the shack had always come across as fragile to her, cracking and creaking. The feeling only lasted as long as it took for Melody to open the door, ponytail messy. "Oh. Heya, kiddos. You here to join the army?"

Pacifica blinked at her. "I'm fourteen."

Gideon elbowed her. "And what army would that be, ma'am?"

Melody leaned on the door frame, blowing a raspberry. "Hm, that army Mabel brought to the house. I guess they're gonna go hunt and skin that possum guy? It's pretty hardcore."

"Are you serious?"

Gideon looked positively smitten. "I love that woman."

Pacifica punched his shoulder, grimacing. "Hey! What did I say about being creepy?"

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." He hissed in a breath, rubbing the afflicted area. "Ow."

The Mystery Shack wound down after dinner time, so the actual storefront was barren as they stepped inside. Dipper and Mabel both were sitting on the counter, listening intently as Wendy talked. The other teens- most of whom neither Pacifica nor Gideon knew by first name- were strewn about. Soos was in the far corner, shelving snow globes and not-so-secretly eavesdropping.

"I'm just saying, it's way too late to go right now," the redhead was saying as they got closer. "I'm not kidding you guys when I say it's creepy. And probably dangerous. We're gonna need all the light we can get."

Pacifica politely cleared her throat. "What's creepy?"

They all looked at her. It was Mabel who answered, waving a sweater sleeve. "Hey, Pacifica. We're constructing a plan to infiltrate a blizzard-y circle of nightmares in the woods to find Evil Jerkface."

"Oh," Gideon said, face screwing up. "That place."

"That's what I said," chipped in Wendy.

The small boy held up a finger. "I hate to skeddadle when I literally just got here, but if we're goin' into that circle of hell, I need to practice my magic."

"Please tell me you're being figurative with your use of hell."

"I wish I was. That place is a dead spot. I heard tales from the fae of a giant deer that lives in there, protectin' those too weak to defend themselves."

"Of course there's a giant deer that will gore us if we enter," Dipper deadpanned. "That's just our luck."

Nate glanced out the window. "Yoo, dude. Sun's gonna set soon."

Mabel kicked her legs in a fit of frustration, crossing her arms in a pout. "This sucks. I wanna plot revenge."

"We've got until the full moon before this becomes permanent," her brother reminded her. "Ford said so. That's plenty of time."

"Tell that to my bruised pride. Hey, Pacifica?"

"What?"

"Is there any reason you're wearing your jam-jams?"

The blonde glanced down, then back up. "Because I haven't been home yet?"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's shirt. "Give her my half of the bed. We're having a sleepover."

"Excuse me?"

"I need a distraction, Dip-Dop. Deal with it."

"We oughta make that, like, a thing," Robbie was commenting, to Dipper's obvious displeasure, as Pacifica stumbled down the stairs in a borrowed polka dot sweater and her pajama pants, a towel draped over her shoulder, short hair hanging like a dead plant from her shower. "Let's make Mason your away-from-home nickname."

Dipper rolled his eyes, swaying on his feet. "Dude, that'd be like me calling you Robert twenty-four-seven."

"Robert isn't even my name."

"Exactly."

Mabel was still sitting on the counter, glancing at the sun and fidgeting. She leaned over to the trio- Lee and Nate were both laughing along- as if disclosing a great secret. "If you really wanna embarrass him, you gotta ask about his middle name."

Robbie's smile got wider. "Is that so?"

"Mabel, I should kill you for that."

"Tell us! Tell us!" Robbie chanted, then gestured to Lee and Nate to join in. "Tell us! Tell us!"

Mabel cackled. Dipper shot her look. "Fine, fine. I'll tell if my sister does."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I hate you."

"Is her's just as bad?" asked Nate eagerly.

"Worse," bemoaned the girl. "Much worse."

Dipper held his hands up in a 'what can you do' gesture. "My parents gave me Stanley. On account of our Grunkle being presumed dead and all. There. Got it off my chest." He slapped the counter. "Since they'd given me a quote-unquote 'diseased' person's name, they figured they'd just run with it, so my dear sister got Filbrick."

"He was such an ass," she returned, sliding down in her seat. "Grandpa and I got along like oil and water."

"He did kick Stan out of the house."

"Again. Ass."

Pacifica finally bothered to make her presence known by walking into the main store barefoot, patting Mabel on the knee as she past her, leaning on the counter. "If it helps, my name is a pun. It's not even a good pun."

"Yeah, but everybody knows that."

"'Kay, dorks, it's time for us to go." Wendy swung an arm around Robbie's shoulders, guiding him to the door. She lowered her voice. "Bring your parents' sawed-off."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm not sending a pack of kids into actual danger without guns, Robert."

"That's gonna end up sticking, isn't it?"

"It is if you don't bring the firepower tomorrow."

The kids, who'd all overheard that bit, despite Wendy's intentions of keeping it lowkey, exchanged a concerned look. None of them had ever seen the teenager so skittish before. Dipper swallowed a ball of anxiety and gestured to the vending machine. "Who wants to go first?"

"I have many ethical questions about this," Pacifica mentioned as Mabel crawled into the cage the teens had brought over, Dipper closing and locking the door behind her. "But I also recognize that I don't have room to object, given that one of my jobs is at Skull Fracture."

"I have no answers for your ethical questions, and isn't Skull Fracture a bar?"

She made so-so noises. "It's whatever the biker gang wants it to be that day. Sometimes that's a bar. It really just depends." Pacifica perched herself on one of the upraised platforms with some effort, slowly taking in her surroundings. Her face didn't flinch at the filth and rubble. "Wow. This place is a mess. Everything in this room is a mess."

"Are we included in that?"

"Of course."

Mabel stuck an argumentative finger through the bars. "Waddles isn't!"

The pig in question was chewing on her discarded boots. Pacifica slowly nodded. "He's an angel. No doubt about it. We're trash mammals."

Dipper hopped up next to her. He handed her the flower-covered notebook. "Here. Trash mammals need reading material."

The blonder girl flipped through the pages. Almost half of them were covered with writings and drawings. Some pages were more full than others, and one (simply labeled Homeworld, in thick, dark sharpie) was barren of description and explanation. "This thing is a lot bigger than I thought it was. You guys've been busy, huh?"

Dipper sucked in a breath. "You could call it that, yeah."

"Magic hates us," Mabel explained, but also didn't. It wasn't a very good explanation.

"Magic doesn't hate us. It's just... attracted to us."

"I'mma stay single, thanks."

He rolled his eyes. "Anyway. I guess Weirdmageddon did something to us, or maybe we just smell like Gravity Falls, 'cause, like, every magical creature in Piedmont is suddenly up in our business. Granted, that's far less than it is here, but that's still a lot of gnomes and shapeshifters to have to handle while school is in. It's, uh... It's a little overwhelming, yeah."

"Yeah?" Pacifica flipped the journal closed. "I know overwhelming. Trust me."

Dipper stirred around one, sitting up and blinking around the dark room. Pacifica had fallen asleep not long after Mabel had transformed, and had, at some point, stolen a good portion of the blankets. He counted it as a quiet victory that she hadn't thrown a fit about the stains on them. His sister was gnawing on the bars of her cage, letting out a periodic hiss. Waddles had chosen to sleep near her, snorking with every breath. Pacifica didn't snore. Her breathing was even and practiced. He didn't put it past her parents to put her through some sort of sleeping class.

He missed when it was simple.

Pulling out the journal, he turned to a fresh page, titling it Snowy Glen*. He scribbled in what little he knew with determined scritches of the pen. Attracts mindless small creatures. Gnomes seemingly not included- they technically have minds. Freaks out local lumberjack community. Guarded by some sort of deer-like figure. Possibly related to the afterlife.

(*Probably not an actual glen. It just sounded good.)

"Shit," Dipper muttered under his breath. He wished, not for the first time, that he had the information on hand to make an informed decision.

Author's Note: Happy holidays, ya'll!

-Mandaree1