Semi-NSFW warning.

· · ·

It was a little past midnight now, and to his recollection the rain had only just stopped, though it was admittedly hard to judge when that had happened since he'd been drifting in and out sleep. The matter with Pacifica had left him quite restless, to say the least, but he was more or less able to leave that problem to resolve itself now. He'd rather enjoy the feel of nude skin against his fingertips than think about all that, anyway.

Still though, as Preston lay naked under the covers next to his soundly snoozing housekeeper and mistress Emily, there was a nagging feeling he couldn't put to rest, no matter how much he turned his mind from his troubles. It stabbed his wakeful thoughts with inhuman glee anytime he sought to relax; he couldn't close his eyes now, nor absently run his fingernails over his lover's back. He stared at the ceiling of the dark guest bedroom, weary, desirous of sleep… but every time he thought he saw some movement. And it made him quit.

Tossing back the covers, Preston Northwest pulled free his feet one at a time, planting them on the carpet and lingering at the edge of the bed. He stared into the dark, seeing only the occasional, distant flash of lightning over the mountains as he peered out the window. The curtains were parted ever so slightly, and though he was secure in the privacy that the second floor bedroom afforded, Preston still felt a jab of fear, as though he was indeed being spied upon by someone. Something, perhaps…

"I hate this town." He whispered in the dead of the night, rising from the mattress and briskly crossing the room.

He stole a lightning quick glance out into the night to reassure himself of his inscrutability, then drew the curtains closed. Was that it? Was that what tugged at his thoughts? No. He pulled his robe over his shoulders, carefully donned night shoes onto his feet, then silently slipped out of the bedroom. Emily stirred a bit, reaching her hand out to touch empty space before sighing.

He wandered the house as though in search of some lost trinket, pausing every now and then to stare at some so-called antiquity or bauble passed down through his family line or take in the sight of a portrait dedicated to the Northwests and their decadence. Nothing he looked upon gave him peace of mind. Nor did it soothe his thoughts whenever he would glance into the shadows, sure he'd seen a glimpse of something. Maybe Preston felt as though he were being watched because he actually was being watched. He made his way to the study; the room was lit up by the desk lamp at the far wall, the favored tool of accountants and savvy businessmen perched over a pile of papers that only Preston truly understood the value of. Perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps something else, he approached the lamp, and carefully, almost timidly, reached out to tug on the chain. He stopped when he heard the distinct pop of an ember in the fireplace, turning to look at the fixture as a fire slowly and mysteriously began to stir in the half-scorched logs of the afternoon before. As the flames grew stronger they poured a dancing orange light out across the floor; when it grew long enough, the light caused a strange shadow to appear, a hovering triangle carved out of nothingness.

"Hmm, so it was you after all." Preston growled impatiently. "Just can't help yourself, can you Cipher?"

"Too much fun." Bill said calmly, though the triangular shadow on the floor disappeared into darkness with a quick shift to the right. Bill drifted silently about the room, watching the well-to-do cross his arms and stiffen his upper lip.

"Did you succeed? Cipher, is the boy dealt with?"

"Yeah, it's over." Bill mused, almost tiredly. "You won't have to worry about your princess and the Pines kid anymore."

"Good." Preston muttered. He grinned with a morbid bit of fascination. "How did you manage it, if I may ask?"

"Heh, funny you should ask…"

There was a clink behind Preston, and he turned back to look his desk over. A single cylinder was the difference between the desk of now and the desk of two minutes before, a seemingly hollow tube of glass and brass. Northwest took the thing in hand, looking at it carefully and turning it about in his fingers. After a moment, he recognized it.

"You erased his memories?"

"Well, memories were erased…"

"Pacifica's?" Preston paused, frowned, then looked into the dark where he was sure Bill was hiding. "You took my daughter's memories instead of the boy's? That wasn't what I asked of you."

"Hey now, don't take that tone with me." Bill answered with an invisible, icy glare. "You didn't specify. Remember?"

Bill manifested directly in front of Preston's face, startling the man as his body flashed with a myriad of color. After a moment, it smoothed out into a replay of that evening. It showed the very moment that Preston spread his blood over the symbols on the watch's backplate, the glow of those symbols, then the arrival of Bill Cipher as he fell out of nothingness in front of Preston's very eyes, filing down in a string of polygonal blocks bit by bit until the whole demonic little pyramid was fully made. The eye opened and the air became full of cackles and jeers.

"Preston Northwest! What a pleasure, what a delight! What can I do for you?"

"I have need of your expertise, Cipher." Preston watched himself say. "I find myself at odds with a young man who thinks himself… pay attention to me!"

As Preston spoke to the conjured creature, Bill had become bored and set to perusing the odds and ends of the study. Even just remembering the demon's impropriety, Preston ground his teeth together in frustration. The memory continued.

"Relax, old man. I'm listening."

"Good. Now, I need you to deal with Dipper Pines for me."

"Heh, oh yeah?" Bill mused, turning his attention back to Preston. "What'd Little Dipper do, Prez? Make a pass at your wife? Your mistress? Or was it… your daughter?"

"I've set my mind to making sure my daughter is as far removed from trash like the Pines family as possible. But that boy thinks he's going to change that."

"Really? You summoned me break up a teenage romance?"

"Is that too much for you?" Preston crossed his arms and leered.

"Heh, no. Not at all, actually. In fact, you can expect top notch results. But keep in mind that my price isn't cheap."

"I can afford it. Just make sure that Pines has nothing more to do with my daughter. Kill him if you have to…"

"See now." Bill said cheerfully. "Right there, at the end there. Kill him if you have to, that's what you said. Now, I tried that. Almost got away with it too. Would've been hilarious! But it didn't happen, so I went to plan B. And here it is."

Bill rattled the tube in Preston's hand with his cane, snickering quietly as he did. Looking at the unlabeled glass again, the entrepreneur sighed angrily and crossed the room to the fireplace. He held Pacifica's memory tight in his grip and stared into the flames, thinking how convenient it was that Bill gave life to a fire at the same time as he handed Preston the package that he wanted to make sure never made it back to Dipper Pines.

"Now, to be clear." Preston began, tightening his grip on the tube.

"I know what you're thinking." Bill said quietly as he watched the flames dance. "And yes, that's the memory of your daughter's involvement with the Pines boy, and a few other, interrelated memories."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Think of every time she's ever defied you, spoke ill, did anything you had ever disagreed with. Those memories are what I'm talking about." Bill whispered in his ear.

"Hmm, suits me just fine."

With a flick of the wrist, the tube was in the fire. The flames crackled around the glass for a few minutes; Preston watched for a moment or two, but as the brass began to glow he dismissed himself, strolling confidently to a shelf on the opposite side of the room. He poured himself a glass of scotch, and sipped it in self-congratulation as the glass cracked in the heat of the fire. The pop of the fissure filled the air, followed by the shriek of bursting glass and the hiss of gas disappearing up the flue. As Preston drank passively, Bill stared into the consuming flames, chuckling to himself. It was quiet at first, but as the seconds passed he grew loud enough to be heard.

"What do you find so humorous, Cipher?" Preston turned to glance at the hovering fiend out of the corner of his eye, paranoia gripping him.

"Wha…? Oh, nothing. Just remembered a funny sniglet." Bill turned about with a spin of his cane, planting it into empty air and staring at Preston with a narrowed eye. "So, that's it then. I held up my end, so…"

"I have no disagreement. I still wish you had killed the boy…"

"You can always pay me extra." Bill said with a shrug. "I wouldn't mind your daughter's soul, too."

"That would be counterproductive, I think."

"Your call, Preston. Alright, that's all for me." Bill faded away into darkness in a cloud of sparkles, leaving behind his leering, glowing eye for a moment, staring into Preston's soul in what felt like a mocking way. The eye itself faded away into darkness in time with a flash of lightning. A noise followed that unsettled Preston, far from the expected boom of thunder. Through the void came Bill's voice one last time, deep and full of dread…

"See you in your dreams, Preston…"

The fire died in a span of moments, snuffed out by unseen forces as the rain began to fall again, beating against the study window with renewed vigor. Preston felt a chill as he stared into the eerie, emberless logs, seeing the charred remnants of the memory tube where it lay and wondering, with earnest fear, if Bill was truly laughing about what he said he was. He held his glass, still half full, but could not for the life of him convince himself to take another drink; he set the glass on the desk instead, glancing once more at the papers on the desk. There was a curious addition, though… Preston reached for it, tugging at the corner of the paper that didn't belong, buried between two deeds of ownership for buildings in town. He pulled free an old photo.

It depicted the three Northwests, he and his wife standing with stoic faces with Pacifica standing between them, maybe six, seven years old at the time. He couldn't remember this photo being taken. Scanning it apathetically, he noticed that his daughter, apparently, was happy enough to smile at the time. Or maybe she thought that's what was expected? It mattered little. He dropped the photo back onto the pile before tugging on the desk lamp pull chain, settling the study into darkness again.

He was stopped in his tracks when the phone on the desk rang, piercing the tentative peace of the night. Already on edge from the unplanned meeting between him and Bill Cipher, Preston angrily turned about, eager to shout at one servant or another to answer the phone. When the second ring began, Preston reminded himself that none were present, especially since Emily was asleep in the guest bedroom and Herbert was no longer in the Northwest's employ. With a grimace, Preston lit the lamp once more and plucked the receiver from its resting place.

"Northwest." He answered reflexively, treating this call, as all calls, like a business meeting.

"Mr. Northwest." a stern, middle-aged woman's voice came through the speaker. "I'm calling from Portland General Hospital. Your daughter was brought in this evening."

· · ·

· · ·

He pushed himself off the lawn, whole body soaked by rain but not caring in the least. Stumbling to his feet with the sky still hammering down on him with heavy drops of water, Dipper hastily plodded the last fifteen feet to Pacifica's side, falling to his knees next to her with a loud slosh. He saw the flash in the dark, the blur of blue light that he knew meant one thing or another was no longer a part of Pacifica's mind. He knew this had to be Bill's doing, but he couldn't guess what had happened or why.

"Pacifica." He said gently, tugging at the memory erasure device as she held it fast. She remained unresponsive, sitting on her knees and staring absently into the night. More than scared now, Dipper pulled harder at her stiff arm and raised his voice. "Pacifica!"

That startled her. Badly. With a tiny scream and a spasm, Pacifica instinctively pulled away from his grip, falling to her side and dropping the device into the swampy grass. He dove to her, catching her by the shoulders before she crashed to the earth, but she only shrieked and thrashed about as Dipper struggled to calm her down. She caught him in the cheek with her outstretched fingers, dragging her nails across his skin with deceptive strength. He fell back with a yelp, reaching to his face as she fell to the grass. Mabel and Stan arrived then, Stan pulling Dipper to his feet while Mabel herself struggled to calm Pacifica down.

"Kid, what the heck happened?"

"I don't know." Dipper shouted as he scanned the ground. "I don't know! I saw the memory eraser in her hand! I tried to get it from her, she started freaking out! Where is that stupid thing!?"

He pawed at the ground for a moment, crawling through the murk until his eyes caught a glimmer, a fleck of blue light that couldn't belong to anything else. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and lifted the memory eraser to his face, turning the device around to look at its interface screen. He expected any number of things as he looked at the thing: Dipper Pines, Summer 2016… those things, that's what would make sense! Dipper gasped when he read the screen, and frantically began feeling the machine up and down in search for the memory tube, knowing it had to be there. All he found was the hollow space that the tube was meant to fit into; had it fallen out? He dropped the gun to the ground and set to searching again, more frantically if possible, more determined than ever to fix this.

"Dipper." Mabel said between growls as she tried to subdue Pacifica. "Dipper, what happened? What did she forget?"

He either didn't hear her, so lost in his vigorous search, or chose to ignore her. The slapping sound of his hands was all the answer she got from him, but after a minute of this behavior, he started slamming his fists into the soggy earth.

"No… no, no, no! Dammit! No!" he shouted as he punched the ground, splattering water and mud about.

"Dipper." Mabel said again. "What did she forget?"

"Somebody just… just call a hospital." He answered.

Dipper sank back to his knees, head hanging low as his hands found their way to his thighs. He couldn't say more now, it seems, not because of zeal, or active decisions to ignore her, or anything besides defeat. Sitting in the grass where he cast it aside, the memory erasure device still glowed with electronic life, spelling out in blue-green lettering the word that cast him down: EVERYTHING. And it was true to its word.

Watching silently from above, Bill clutched the memory tube in one tiny hand, snickering faintly to himself before turning to leave, fading into the black of the night as he did.

· · ·

· · ·

The waiting room was cold. Maybe it was the fact that the twins sat in their still wet clothes, but not one of the Pines' was happy about the frigid state of the hospital. Mabel was ironically the coldest of the pair, her heavy, soaked sweater proving detrimental to her efforts to stay warm. Twice she complained about it before, and twice she refused to take it off. Scratch that: three times now.

"This is s-stupid." She muttered, hugging her chest tight and shivering noticeably. "How long are they gonna' keep us waiting? I'm cold and tired…"

"Again, Mabel." Dipper said icily, leaning over in his seat and propping himself up with his elbows. "Just take off your sweater. It's making it worse."

"Nuh uh! What if my shirt comes off with it!? No!"

"No one's gonna' see, if that happens. But you will get hypothermia if you don't."

"S-says you! Also, you'd see. And that's b-bad enough."

Grunkle Stan had wandered off in search of coffee, complaining about the cold himself as he departed and griping about having to be awake at this time, hours away from home. That left the twins alone with their thoughts for about twenty minutes, but neither one of them seemed to be addressing the elephant in the room. Until at last…

"I think it's my fault, Mabel…"

"What are you talking about?" she asked through her shudders.

"I'm doing the math. I think it's my fault. It never should have come to this." He said with a sigh, leaning back into his chair and rubbing his eyes. "I shouldn't have said what I said at the mansion. What was I thinking? Threatening Preston Northwest was the dumbest thing I've ever done…"

Eyes open, Dipper stared at the ceiling, transfixed on the humming fluorescent lights, watching the imperfections of the trapped, ionized gas shimmer and glide up one end of the tube to fade away at the exit. He sighed quietly rather than continuing, but could feel his sister's eyes on him the whole time he remained silent. She had stopped shivering now.

"Preston conjured Bill, Mabel. I'm sure of it." Dipper continued weakly. "And he did it because I told him I wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop either. And it's my fault he didn't stop. Jeez… I'm so stupid. I'm just so stupid…"

Mabel looked at the floor pensively, arms still crossed over her chest. She didn't really know what to say to that… the way he painted it, yeah, it kinda' looked like it was his fault. She leapt upon the notion of how he painted it though.

"You don't know that Northwest sent Bill after you, ya' know… it coulda' been that Bill is just Bill."

"Mabel, it can't be coincidence…"

"Can't it?" She said with a sideways glance. "Can't it be coincidence? Does it have to be a conspiracy? Can't it be that a demon is just being a jerk? That makes sense to me."

She shivered again, but this time, with a growl, Mabel stood up and started tugging at the fabric that chilled her to the bone. It was an ordeal, but after much effort, Mabel started peeling the heavy sweater up over her head, getting it stuck on her thick, equally damp hair. Glancing at his sister, Dipper's face turned instantly red; as if by prophecy realized, Mabel's shirt was clinging to the inside of her sweater, and now her stomach and bra were exposed. He hastily reached out and gripped the fabric of her t-shirt, pinching it between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and gingerly pulling down as Mabel continued to yank the sweater off. With some effort on both their parts, Mabel was free from the woolen nightmare at the same time that Dipper got her shirt to lay flat across her torso again.

She dropped the sweater to the floor, and it issued a loud, obnoxious slap as it struck the tile. With a sigh and grossly tangled mane, Mabel returned to sitting, shivering again from the fresh exposure of her wet skin to the air of the waiting room. Dipper, she noticed, was sitting with his arms crossed, his hat pulled down over his eyes as if to hide him from the world. But from her angle, she could see his beat red features. She too crossed her arms, staring off at the clock silently with her own embarrassed blush.

"So." Dipper said quietly. "I notice you're wearing Pacifica's…"

He trailed off, shuffling his legs apprehensively and coughing dryly. Her eyes shifted about as she answered.

"How do you know it's not mine, huh?"

"I think I should know by… nevermind that."

"It was the first one I could find." Mabel admitted, glancing down at her dark brown t-shirt, thinking about how she was wearing Pacifica's bra. She wasn't lying; it was the first one she could find, since Pacifica had left her clothes neatly stacked in the attic while Mabel's clothing was haphazardly strewn about. She didn't think that this sort of situation would show its ugly head.

"Anyway." Mabel abruptly spoke up, shoving Dipper hard in the shoulder. "I told you that would happen! And you looked! Dirty birdy!"

"I'll pay you money never to call me that again." He said with only the faintest glimmer of a smile.

"Dirty birdy."

They exchanged a quiet chuckle, a brief thing that felt like the first one in years, and when the moment was gone they merely stared at the sweater as it lay on the floor, the barest of puddles forming around it as the water was pressed out by the weight of the soaked fabric. The trance was broken by the sound of footsteps and the appearance of a tired looking doctor, his lab coat hanging shabbily over his shoulders as he scratched his neck and stared at his clipboard.

· · ·

· · ·

They had left the hospital, taking shelter at the closest, cheapest motel that could be found at this hour. When they got to the poorly lit, almost gnarled looking two-bedroom, the Pines' were not disappointed; the front of the motel had more than prepared the trio to the grit inside. Dipper sat on the mattress that he and Stan were set to share that night, wrapped up in exhausted, near feverish thought. Mabel was already asleep, snoozing quietly in the other bed, cocooned in a pair of blankets and a soft, white robe that certainly didn't belong in the closet of such a bottom rung building; the embroidered logo was long ago torn off, but the robe was probably stolen. Probably from Morningtide Towers. Stan too had turned in, sprawled out and snoring away just over Dipper's shoulder.

Dipper, though, remained awake, rethinking his entire day, month, year, and life. Well, sometimes he'd become that dramatic. Restless and cold, wearing nothing more than his boxers but not once shivering, mostly he just thought back to the brief conversation between the doctor and himself.

"I take it you're the folks who brought the girl in? This your sweater? That's a hazard."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance, then nodded in answer to the doctor's first question. Mabel responded to his second by scooping the sopping wet garment up in her arms. He stared earnestly at the annoyed MD.

"Anyway… she had no signs of injury or trauma. We drew some blood, but lab techs won't be back until first shift tomorrow. We've sedated her and scheduled a CT and MRI for her in the morning."

"Can we see her?" Dipper had asked. He tightened his grip on the comforter of the bed as he stared at the floor.

"Visiting hours are over. Besides, she needs her rest. I'm thinking some kind of mental shock or fugue state, and sometimes that stuff clears up with a good night's sleep."

· · ·

· · ·

He was hastily tapping his barefoot against the floor as he replayed those words. They were so callous and distant; weren't doctor's supposed to have some kind of bedside manner, just a bare minimum? Or was it troubling just because Dipper was scared? He knew one thing for sure: this wasn't just Pacifica sitting there with a broken brain.

"This was all so useless." Dipper whispered as he glanced at his reflection in the plain square mirror opposite his position. "Why even take her to the hospital? There's nothing they can do. Nothing you can do."

He shook his head, weary enough at last to give up his one-sided conversation, weary enough to stand and slink to his side of the bed. His uncle's arm proved vexing, laid across the span of the bed as it was, and after lengthy wrestling with the surprisingly bulky limb, Dipper managed to toss it across Stan's chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again he'd already made his way under the covers, head heavy and will depleted. A tired sigh was his last word as his hand found the lamp switch, flicking it off and putting the room to darkness.

Sleep refused him, though. Maybe it was the creaking of the building, the faint hum of trucks cruising along the highway every few minutes, or the laser-focused, orange light pouring in through the millimeter wide gap in the heavy, ultimately useless curtains. But now that he had put himself down to rest, rest wouldn't come. He stared at the ceiling, the light of the street lamp reflecting off the mirror onto that surface, somehow. Dipper closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. How he wished he could. Anger started welling in his gut, threatening to make him roll wildly about. Even just the thought of not sleeping was starting to make him itch.

"Damn it." He whispered and pressed his hands to his eyes. "It's not fair."

"Just calm down, Dipper. No one'll catch us."

"I don't know… what if someone sees you?"

Yeah… this room was a lot like the room he and Pacifica shared for the better part of the month. Weird that he only thought of that now, though.

"No one I know will be here." She had told him. And now he was recalling it like it was just five minutes ago. That was painful to him, making him roll over and stare at the floor. His breathing was loud to him, adding another layer to the annoyance.

"Hey, wake up! Let's go do something today!"

He shot up from bed that time; that rang out clear as a bell, so much so that he had expected the morning to have already come and his family to be up and about. It was still dark though, the clock having advanced no more than a minute or two. He sighed and shook his head, thinking it nothing more than a dream. Before he could lay his head down once more, though…

"Let's go for a walk!"

In an instant he was up again, eyes searching the room for the source of the voice he heard. This couldn't have been a dream, he swore there was something at work. That was definitely Pacifica's voice. But after today, and everything he'd learned over the past few years, he knew that didn't mean it was Pacifica. He put his feet to the floor and stood slowly, still panning the small space.

"Who's there?" he whispered as loudly as he could. "Bill, if that's you…"

"What are you waiting for, Dipper? Come on."

He was blinded by light bright as day, reflexively covering his eyes for the moment it took to acclimate. He opened them again to see a grassy field at his feet. He was clothed now, or was it then…? It was all a little nostalgic, if a word could be put to it. Looking around, Dipper saw the field was bordered mostly by pine trees, but his eyes caught the sight of that old, rusted-out pick-up truck with the aspen tree growing through it.

"Is this? Huh, the field. So the platform is over—Gah!"

"Hey Dip." Pacifica said with a smile as she stood plainly in front of him. She took him by the hand and started walking him to the platform. "You're taking too long. Come on."

"Pacifica…? Wait, wait… this isn't…"

"This isn't what?"

He stopped dead, holding her hand tight enough to stop her too. Pacifica turned to look him in the eye, an expression of concern on her face, and Dipper reached out to take her other hand too. He held them close to his face, staring at her fingers as he rolled his thumbs over the skin. They felt soft to the touch, like he remembered, but still something troubled him.

"I… this isn't real, is it? I mean, it could be another one of Bill's stupid tricks." He muttered more to himself than to her. "Or is it a dream? What if I'm dreaming…?"

He lowered her hands and looked her up to her face. Pacifica lurched forward, putting her hands on either side of his head and pulled his face to mere inches away from her own. Her eyes were black pits that spanned the entire socket on either side, and her mouth was open in a dreadful scream.

"Then wake up!"

He sat up with a yelp, head pounding with a painful headache and heart racing from the burning rush of adrenaline coursing through his every blood vessel. Dipper scanned the room like a cornered animal, not sure what he just saw, not sure why. Nothing lurked there.

"Bill? You out there?"

The lack of an answer concerned rather than calmed him, but without much more to think about, Dipper swallowed the acid in the back of his throat and slumped back down. He worked hard to convince himself that was the last dream he'd have like that tonight. When his breathing finally quieted, and five minutes of silence followed, Mabel, awakened by her brother's startled cry, let herself drift off into sleep as well.

· · ·

· · ·

Morning couldn't have come soon enough. Dipper was largely restless, which meant neither Stan nor Mabel was well rested by dawn either, though he didn't wake up screaming besides that one time. The latter two had left the room for a while, leaving Dipper to rest a bit longer. They sat across from one another in the main lobby of the motel, "treating" themselves to the free breakfast. Though they both admitted to having hearty appetites, the sparse selection of gritty looking bran muffins of mysterious sources and scrambled almost-egg left them less than hungry; they stared into their cups of black coffee with dissatisfied grimaces and not much else.

Mabel tapped at the table, staring at the liquid in front of her as it roiled in time. "Bleh. Could've at least put sugar out."

"Cheapskate." Stan grumbled as he sipped his own brew, which made even his grizzled features twist. "I bet he thinks I'm just another rube he can shake down. I invented the shakedown, buddy!"

Grunkle Stan leaned over his chair and shook his fist at the bored motel manager, who only rolled his eyes and stared at the poorly mounted television in the corner of the room. Mabel chuckled a bit at this display, the normalcy more than welcome in these strange days. When Stan turned back around, he slumped down and muttered unintelligible things for a moment.

"Anyway." Stan said as he took another bitter sip. "Just to be clear, we aren't stayin' in Portland another night. Your parents even know what we did?"

Mabel only shook her head; if Dipper hadn't called and told their parents they were driving to Portland, Oregon in the dead of the night, then they didn't know, since she hadn't even thought about it.

"Of course not. Gah, you dumb kids. You never think straight."

"He's in love, Grunkle Stan."

"Or he thinks he's in love." He responded matter-of-factly.

"Well." Mabel began, pausing to stir the coffee again, watching the accumulated, mysterious substances that pooled at the surface break apart and dissolve into the inky black. "Is there a difference? Is thinking you're in love so different than being in love?"

He didn't answer beyond growling and finishing off his coffee, throwing the foam cup into the nearest waste bin and crossing his arms. He watched the news report on the television in silence until the weather report came on.

"Hmph. Looks like the rain's gonna' break up for a few hours this afternoon." He said as he glanced at Mabel. "We can stay until then, but no matter what happens, we're leaving at one o'clock. Got it? Go wake up your brother. I'm takin' you two kids out for a real breakfast. Unlike this garbage somebody is tryin' to pass off as food! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, wispy-stache!"

Mabel left Stan to his shouting, not sure what horse she should back in the race between the two grifters. And now she stood outside, watching the rain come down in renewed sheets from beneath the safety of a leaky awning. The gray, downcast Oregon morning had only just begun, but already had the appeal of a sad hipster movie. She yawned before making the lonely walk down the stained, bumpy sidewalk to room sixteen. Glancing at the parking lot, it looked as though only the Pines' and maybe two other families had stayed in this rundown, roadside motel last night. Weird, since she recalled the 'No Vacancy' sign being illuminated.

The door swung open with a sad squeak, and Mabel was met with a still dark room; she stumbled over the doorstep before her eyes had time to adjust, but thankfully she didn't fall. The door, though, closed behind her before she could find the light switch, leaving to her paw noisily at the wall for a moment.

"Aw, come on, dang it. There!" She said with a flick of the switch. The lamp flickered into life, casting the poorest of illuminations over the room.

Dipper lay where she left him earlier, still prone on his back, eyes still screwed shut as though he were plagued ever yet by nightmares. She stood over him, his frustrated features making her sad even though she could blame him for her exhaustion. It was hard hating someone when they looked like they were hating themselves. When he growled, Mabel took a half step back, but it didn't seem as though he was directing it at her. Another nightmare? She delicately put a hand to her brother's forehead, patting it gently. He didn't move, but his eyes did ease a bit. She rubbed lightly from side to side, and he let out a quiet sigh.

"Poor Dipper." She said with a yawn. "I bet you'd like to have slept more than me."

Circling the bed and sitting on the opposite side, she leaned into her knees and groaned, rubbing her eyes much as he had done last night.

"You always beat yourself up, bro. You ever gonna' learn not to?"

He snored a little, but didn't stir; Mabel stole a glance before returning to her slouch, only wanting to make sure he was still sleeping.

"I'm proud of you, though. Uncle Stan doesn't think you're actually in love. I don't know either, ya know. But I'm still proud of you. This is hard stuff you're doing."

He answered with a sleepy grumble, tossing his head a bit. Mabel took that as a sign of sorts, that on some level he was listening, but maybe disagreeing. Dumb guys, always putting themselves through such pressure. She yawned again, drooping sleepily over the edge of the bed. Taking another look at her brother, who seemed distraught again, Mabel crawled up and over to him, giving his face a long, earnest stare.

"Big dummy." She whispered, rubbing his moppish head lightly before laying her own down on his stomach. Immediately she could feel his breathing slow down. She herself dozed off a moment later.

Dipper's mind was far from pleasant; it was rife with feverish dreams, and each one seemed less pleasant than the last. But at last, relief presented itself. Empty eyes, unsettling screams, uncomfortable colors, and dreary dreamscapes melted into a blur of green and gold. It looked like an aspen grove, and it felt like he was lying lazily against a tree stump covered in leaves. Tilting his head down, Dipper spied a crop of golden hair resting on his stomach, snoozing peacefully as the world drifted by. He reached out a single, pensive hand, weary from his previous dreams, and ran his fingers through her hair.

"You awake?" he whispered.

"Now, yeah."

"Sorry." He said softly. "didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine." Pacifica said back, turning her head to look up at him. Her faint smile soothed his nerves.

They exchanged silent stares for a moment, then without preamble: "You know, I wasn't lying when I said that I'd make Gravity Falls my home…"

"Never said you were." She put her hand to rest on his thigh with a squeeze, but did little else.

"I just wanted you to know that I didn't lie…"

He let his head fall back to rest on the stump, which felt surprisingly comfortable. In his swirling, heavy mind, Dipper brought back the image of Pacifica pressed against the aspen tree, looking back at him with her tongue lolling free from its confines, eyes drowned in lust. The immediacy of the thought made him cough, and he felt a blush on his face.

"Whoa, hey there." Pacifica said with a chuckle. "Thinking of something neat are you?"

"Oh, huh, well." He muttered as she gently prodded his awakened manhood. "Just, uh, remembering our first time out in the woods…"

"Heh, oh yeah? Tell me more about that."

She prodded and pawed him through his clothes, sometimes tenderly, sometimes more aggressively, each pat and probe making him grunt a little in anticipation. When he heard the subtle sound of his zipper being draw, Dipper sighed and lifted his head up. He felt her delicate fingers fish out his hard on, and saw her golden hair shimmer and shift as Pacifica put her lips to his flesh. For his part, Dipper wove his digits into her mane and let his head fall back with a happy sigh, gently pushing his lover onto his shaft.

Mabel woke with a start, and a stiff obstruction pressed against her face. Though dazed, she was well aware of what the crown of her nose was touching and that her brother's hand was pushing her weakly toward it. Staring point blank at the tent pitched through the thin blanket, Mabel shuddered and jolted upright, swiping at her face with her sweatered hands as she stood sharply and wobbled to the sink. Three splashes of cold water later and she still felt pretty mortified. Staring at her reflection though, seeing her tired eyes and pale, frowning face, Mabel couldn't help but laugh quietly at herself. She crossed a lot of lines this month, but this still made her freak out. That was strangely comforting.

The towel she smeared against her face was, contrarily, stiff and nagging. Did wispy-stache really think cutting corners on fabric softener was good for business? When her face was dry, Mabel took one last look at her reflection. Her skin, roughed up by the off-white towel, now had something of rose hue, giving her the appearance of a fair blush. Contextually that made her feel a mite awkward.

Turning to leave, her mop of brown hair clumsily swinging behind her, Mabel wadded up the dampened towel and chucked it at her brother's sleeping form. The ball of cloth smote Dipper perfectly in the face, covering his mouth and nose; he gasped against the obstruction, swatting at it and smacking his face as he numbly flailed his hands. With a cough and sudden jerk, Dipper sat up and threw the towel to the floor, blinking his bleary eyes as wakefulness was thrust upon him.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Mabel said with fake cheer. "Get up, get dressed! We're gonna' get pancakes, then go back to the hospital, kay? Hurry, lobby!"

She was out the door before he could answer, the click of the lock nearly matching the sound of his lips as he smacked them, trying his damnedest to clear out the cobwebs and bitter taste of dry mouth. What awful timing, he thought to himself. First time all night he had a decent dream.