I do not own Gravity Falls.

Prompt: Hot chocolate

All I Want For Christmas is Hot Chocolate

As far as Dipper was concerned, there was only one drink to consume during the winter months. Even though he was born and raised in sunny California, where snow was painfully absent, there was only one beverage he would purchase when out and about. There was something soothing about hot chocolate, especially during winter. While Mabel enjoyed the sweetness of hot chocolate, it was one of the few things that he had more enthusiasm for.

Now that they spent the holidays in Gravity Falls, which turned into a winter wonderland every year, Dipper's appreciation for hot chocolate only increased. There was nothing better than curling near the fireplace, in a wool sweater and reading a mystery novel with a mug of marshmallow-laden hot chocolate by his side.

That was his plan, at least. Though it was currently being delayed thanks to a severe lack of hot chocolate in the cupboards. Dipper scowled as he rummaged through the cabinets, shoving aside cans of soup and boxes of food in search for his preferred drink.

"You got to be kidding me," he snapped in irritation. "There were four packets yesterday!"

Straightening, he stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Ford was tinkering with the radio, which had short-circuited yet again. "Do you know what happened to the hot chocolate?" he asked.

Arching an eyebrow at the fourteen-year-old's suspicious tone, Ford replied, "If you're looking for a culprit, I assure you it isn't me."

"On to the next suspect, then."

Dipper spun on his heel and made purposeful tracks to the attic, "When you interrogate your sister, do it nicely," Ford called after him.

Skipping the stairs two at a time, Dipper knocked once on the attic door before entering. "Do you know what happened to the hot chocolate?"

Not looking up from her sewing machine, Mabel replied, "Sure. We drank it."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Candy, Grenda, Pacifica and I. They were over yesterday, remember?"

"I'm not senile, of course I remember," returned Dipper. "You girls pilfered my hot chocolate!"

Mabel rolled her eyes. "It wasn't yours. It was for everyone."

"I had plans to read my book next to the fire with a mug of hot chocolate piled with whipped cream and marshmallows," continued Dipper in agitation. "Now those plans are ruined."

"Don't be so dramatic, bro-bro. Just get some more."

Dipper cast a glance out the attic window, staring at the gentle snowfall with some hesitation. "Fine," he eventually conceded. "I will."

"Pick me up a bag of peppermint sticks!"

"We'll see, hot chocolate guzzler."

Mabel's snort of, "Like you're one to talk!" was muffled by Dipper shutting the door behind him. He jogged downstairs and into the front hall, where he shrugged into his dark blue jacket and red scarf with matching mittens. Sticking his feet into his boots, Dipper pushed open the door and was immediately greeted with a blistering wind. Steeling himself, he ventured out into the snow, squinting against the snowflakes that assaulted his face.

"It will be a long, hard journey. But the reward will be worth it."

It took twenty minutes for him to straggle into town, walking against the wind and flinching from the wind chill. He eventually stumbled into the supermarket, panting heavily and completely red-faced. Yanking off his hat and mitts, he took a moment to enjoy the blast of heat engulfing his body.

"I should ask Santa for a pair of snowshoes. Or maybe a snow-mobile."

He shuffled down the brightly-lit aisles until he came upon a rather horrifying sight. The shelves in which the hot chocolate should have been were completely bare, save for a few boxes of rejected hot chocolate flavours. Dipper reached out and grabbed a remaining box. "Strawberry flavoured?" he read in disgust. "You have got to be kidding me."

He stepped out of the aisle and came upon a flustered employee. "Excuse me, do you happen to have any hot chocolate in the back?"

"Unfortunately not," he answered apologetically. "Our supplier hasn't been able to make it up with all the snow, so we're completely out of stock."

"Thanks." Dipper walked away, almost robotically. "All I want," he muttered to himself, "is some hot chocolate. Not the Hope Diamond."

He was so busy brooding that he did not notice Stan at one of the cashier counters. The man did a double-take at the sight of his nephew slouching towards the automatic doors. He let out a sharp whistle and Dipper, who was very familiar with this method of summoning, immediately snapped his head around. Eyes widening in surprise, Dipper waited for his great-uncle to join him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Payin' my taxes," drawled Stan, handing Dipper one of the plastic bags to carry. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy hot chocolate, but there isn't any. But hey, since you're here, could you stop by Lazy Susan's so I can get a cup to-go?"

"I could. But there wouldn't be much point in it, considering I grabbed the last two boxes of hot chocolate."

Dipper's eyes lit up. "Seriously?"

"Yup."

"Sweet." His happiness faded slightly as he grumbled, "Guess I walked all the way here for nothing."

"Didn't Ford tell you I was out grocery shopping?"

"Er…I didn't really tell Grunkle Ford I was leaving." At Stan's flat look, Dipper protested, "I was on a quest!"

"All right, I think we should look into signing you up for Hot Chocoholics Anonymous."