welcome home, kiddo

Dipper has always feared the possibility of this moment.

He and Mabel have done their best. They lied a little, but mostly omitted, and it's worked better than they have any right to expect. Still, the tension has always remained beneath the surface of their home in Piedmont. The compromise between the wild truth and the necessary façade is fragile.

Now his old life is colliding with his new life. And he still can't tell the truth.

He really wishes that he'd planned the excursion better. Yes, it had been a surprise to get the call from Pacifica and it had been a very spur of the moment trip (she'd sounded so desperate), but he still could have prepared for the aftermath. He and Mabel could have brought a change of clothes, maybe had Pacifica rent a hotel room for them in San Francisco so they could clean up before returning, thought of an excuse at least somewhat plausible. They got lost; they took the wrong bus and ended up deep in Oakland somewhere and their phones died. They are sorry, it was an accident, it won't happen again.

It's all so simple once separated by hindsight from the terrifying whirlwind of events and the blinding flush of victory.

Dipper is standing in the middle of the living room in the dead of night, frozen in place. Mabel stands beside him, equally still. He has a towel tied around his waist, hidden beneath his shirt, under which is a wad of gauze and a lot of triple antibiotic ointment. They are both disheveled and filthy. There's blood beneath his fingernails and on his shirt and pants and he smells like a package of fake crab meat left out in the sun.

His mother is sitting on the couch. Her phone is in her hand, her face is pale, her mouth is pinched, and her eyes are furious.

Dipper's heart is resting somewhere around his shoes. His brain is running full speed ahead, trying to find an exit, but his gut is telling him that the words which can defuse the situation don't exist.

Mabel gamely tries anyway. "So, the craziest thing happened—"

"Where were you?" Their mother's voice snaps like a whip and they both jump.

Dipper's mouth opens and closes dumbly. He's not ready to answer, he needs more time, he needs a better excuse—

"Your father is out looking for you right now. We called the police,"Mom says, her voice shaking. "You didn't call home, you didn't answer your phones, where were you?"

Mabel's hand is gripping the back of Dipper's shirt ever tighter. He can feel her eyes darting to his, searching for backup, something for her to work with. "W-we were, um—" Mabel begins to stutter.

"Mabel Pines, don't you dare lie to me."

Mabel's gaze falls to the floor, unable to hold their mother's.

Dipper realizes what he has to do.

"Your father and I have been worried sick. Do you have any idea how worried we were? Did you think about that at all? We had no idea what happened to you!" Mom says, her voice rising. "Now you had better tell me where you were and why you are both such a mess, and it had better be the truth, or you can—"

"We went to help a friend!" Dipper interjects, cutting Mom's rage short. When her gaze zeroes in on him, he sighs and hangs his head. "We went to see a friend of ours. She needed help," he mumbles.

Mabel's hand tugs at his shirt. She's clearly wondering just what he thinks he's doing. He wishes he could tell her to trust him, but he can't.

"What friend?" Mom says immediately.

"Her name's Pacifica. We met her in Gravity Falls, but she lives in Malibu." Dipper shifts uncomfortably, keenly aware of the needle he's about to thread. "She has this… Her home isn't good. I mean with her parents, they're not… They're not like you and Dad."

Mom doesn't look convinced yet, but he can see her softening slightly at the thought of a friend with an abusive family. "They hurt her?" she says, her voice more level.

Dipper rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah," he says, and it's the truth but not in the way Mom is taking it (he hopes).

Mom raises a hand and drops it against her thigh in disbelief. "And you took a bus to Malibu? I know when you left, Dipper."

"We flew there."

"You flew?"

"They have a lot of money," Mabel offers.

Mom stares at them. "Your friend hired you a ride to the airport and flew you to Malibu, and then back, to see her."

"Yes," Dipper confirms. When Mom says nothing, he tries to explain. "She was desperate. Things have been really bad lately. I didn't want to say no."

Their mother takes a moment to mull that over; every passing second makes Dipper sweat a little more. "And why, Dipper, didn't you tell us?" she says pointedly.

"Because she didn't want anyone to know. And I didn't think you'd let us go alone," Dipper says, and it's also the truth.

Mom turns her laser gaze on Mabel. "Mabel, is this true?"

Mabel hates lying. She's accepted the necessity so far, but that doesn't change how she feels about it. Dipper is momentarily terrified that she'll be unable to lie to Mom directly.

Instead of answering, Mabel sticks her hand into her pocket and pulls out their plane tickets. She holds them out to their mother.

Mom briefly looks them over. "So you flew to Malibu, alone, without telling us."

"We were worried about her," Mabel says in a voice close to a whisper.

"Then you know how I feel!" Mom shouts, and the hint of tears in her eyes makes Dipper cringe and want to disappear. Mom takes a deep breath and settles again. "So you went to Malibu—without telling us—and then what? What's all this, why are you so dirty?"

Dipper has been letting his arm hang in front of his wounded side, hoping his mother won't see the blood in the dim light of the corner lamp. "Her parents are still mad at her because they lost their house in Gravity Falls. And it wasn't her fault!" he hastens to add. "…But they blame her for it. There was something wrong with the basement at her new house and we helped her try to clean up so she wouldn't get in trouble again." It sounds at least moderately preposterous to him as he says it, even though it's a good portion of the facts. "I know that doesn't sound like a big deal to you, but it was to her. We couldn't say no. We just couldn't."

"She needed us!" Mabel chimes in, on the verge of tears. Although the sight is painful to Dipper, the most manipulative corner of his brain (the part he needs right now) knows her emotional anguish is a very useful display.

Their mother looks at them in a weighty quiet that leaves the twins squirming internally. Finally, she says, "I'm glad you want to help your friends, but I am very disappointed you didn't explain this to me before you disappeared for an entire day. Now, we are not done discussing this, and you are both going to sit down with your father and I tomorrow and we'll decide what's going to happen. Understood?"

"Yes," Dipper and Mabel both murmur, eyes downcast.

"Go get cleaned up, and go to bed. It's late."

The twins rush upstairs.

Dipper suppresses his instinct to limp until he's safely out of sight. He ducks into the bathroom while Mabel heads to their parents' room to use the shower there. Before she gets out of reach, he grabs her wrist.

"Mabel, Mom didn't see the," he bobs his head downward towards his injury. "I need a plastic bag or something, do you have anything?"

Mabel quickly runs into her room and then emerges a second later with an empty plastic bag from the hobby store. Dipper partially closes the door and then strips, stuffing his bloodied clothing and makeshift bandage into the bag and tying it shut. "Hide this somewhere!" he tells her, passing it back.

He showers with the best combination of speed and thoroughness that he's probably ever achieved in his life, gritting his teeth as the water runs over his open wound. He thinks it's probably bleeding a little. When he steps out of the steam, he raids the bathroom cabinets for more antibiotic. There's no gauze that he can find, so he grabs the entire box of the biggest adhesive bandages, the square kind for skinned knees. He keeps his towel wrapped tightly around his waist and hurries to his room before anything can seep through the white cloth. Downstairs, he can hear his mother talking to his father. He practically sprints through his door in his haste to avoid attention.

As he suspected, the towel is stained with red, leaving him with one more thing to hide. He smears ointment on the wound again and places a series of the square band-aids on it, overlapping them. Then he ties an old t-shirt around his waist, maintaining some pressure. It's not an ideal solution and he knows he's going to have one heck of a scar if he doesn't get stitches. He presses his hand to the wad of cloth and band-aids and holds it there, hoping it's all enough that he won't bleed on his sheets. It stings something fierce, but it really is just a flesh wound, like he'd told Pacifica. No major damage to muscle or bone. Probably. He's not a doctor.

Slowly, his mind begins to clear. He's sitting on his bed, shirtless, surrounded by band-aid wrappers, his heart pounding in his ears. His side hurts. He can't calm down. He's in so much trouble.

Mabel took his phone out of the pocket of his soiled jeans and tossed it into his room during her frantic rush to the other shower, and it's still lying there on the floor. Painfully, he bends down and grabs it. He almost fumbles it; he hadn't been aware, but his hands are shaking.

He's not thinking clearly when he scrolls through his list of contacts and hits dial. But if anyone would know what to do, she will, and she might be awake.

The phone rings and rings. He lets it, heart rate gradually declining as he awaits the voice mail.

Then there's a change in background noise. Rustling, and the intake of breath. "Hello?"

"Wendy?" Dipper says. "Are you awake? I mean, of course you were sleeping, sorry, I— I didn't know who call and I just—"

"Whoa, slow down, man," Wendy says, voice husky with sleep.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Dipper is appalled to hear how thick his voice is. He's choking up, he's embarrassing himself. "I shouldn't have called."

"Dipper, dude: it's totally cool." More rustling, maybe as she sits up in her sheets. "You don't sound good. What's up?"

"I… I don't know where to start. It's been a really, really weird day," he says, taking a deep breath.

"Hey, we've had some weird days together," she reminds him. "What happened?"

Dipper falls back onto his pillow and the whole story pours out of him. "…and now my parents are probably going to ground me for a hundred years, and I just… I had to lie again. I don't know, did I do the right thing?" He sighs and rubs at his eyes. "I honestly don't even know if I should have left Pacifica. I'd be in even more trouble and she said I should go, but her parents are just the worst and what's she going to do?" He falls silent, one hand against his forehead.

Wendy has let him talk without interruption. He hears her shift again and then she says, "That's pretty heavy. And that Boss-Lobster sounds serious—wish I had been there so I could have tangled with it."

Dipper smiles. "Really?"

"Dude, of course. I miss you guys every day. I can't say I've missed Pacifica, but I sort of knew her before she turned it around. But that's really cool she's still trying. Total respect for that."

Dipper makes a sound of frustration. "I just wish I could have helped more."

"You fought a huge lobster for her, man—that is friendship. For real though, you want my advice?"

"Yeah, always."

"I can't say much on the parent front except keep your head down, like, all the way; run silent, run deep. I've never met your mom and dad, so you'd know better than me, but this sounds like one of those times you just gotta lay low. I guess I'm lucky that my whole family already knows all that weird junk. The fact that you guys had to go back to where nobody knows that junk is like, mind-blowing to me."

"Maybe we should have just stayed," Dipper says, and it's hardly the first time he's had the thought.

"And I would have been so for that, but, your mom and dad, probably not so much. I can't tell you how to fix that, but I can tell you that you have to take better care of that cut."

Dipper looks down at his makeshift dressing. "Yeah, I guess this isn't the best…"

"You gotta stitch that bad boy. If you can get the stuff, I can walk you through it."

Dipper pales. "Can't I just let it scar?"

"You'll have a friggin' sweet scar anyway, man. At this point it's just about healing right. If you're gonna be out there fighting monsters—and, dude, I know you're all about that—then this is part of it. You need take care of yourself, Dipper. I can't have you coming back this summer all gangrenous."

Dipper is still stuck on the part about doing his own stitches. "You really think I can do the stitches?"

"Hey, you're the toughest technically-a-teen ever. Although, Mabel is already crazy good with a needle, so maybe you should ask her."

Dipper sighs and resigns himself to the future pain. "Okay, Wendy. I'll call you back when I get a chance and you can tell us what to do."

"It's not that bad, I promise," she says, and he can practically hear her crossing her fingers. "You went through the apocalypse. You're a straight boss: don't forget it."

Phrased like that, his day doesn't seem that weird by comparison. "Wendy, don't ever stop being the coolest."

"Hah, no way. That's just how I roll, boiii!"

He lets her get back to bed. In the quiet after the phone call he discovers that the conversation has calmed him enough that sleep seems attainable. Gradually, the aching of his side fades until he drifts away.