everything that i was afraid of happening, happened

Dipper can't sleep.

It's Friday night so it's not a huge deal, but he's tired and really wants to sleep. He's resting on his back, trying not to think about the constant low-level sting emanating from his side. It's keeping him from getting comfortable and it won't die down enough for him to ignore it. It also itches like crazy, so he's got that going for him, too.

Mabel removed his stitches a couple hours prior with a pair of nail clippers and a lot of patience. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, though it's still a distant second to getting the stitches. The wound is oozing slightly and bothering him all over again. He's got a sock taped to his hip to keep any pus from spotting his sheets; it's soft, clean cotton and it's still unbearably abrasive against the irritated skin. He wants to tear it off and knows he shouldn't. So, he doesn't, and just thinks about it instead of sleeping.

He sighs. It's going to be a long night.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration when his phone begins buzzing against his desk.

"Really?" he mutters.

He grits his teeth and slowly pushes himself up, swinging his legs off the bed. He would have been inclined not to answer it if he didn't have two grunkles in a very different time zone. He manages to get to the phone just in time and grabs it without looking at the screen.

"Hello?" he says. He makes a fist with his free hand to avoid trying to scratch his injury through the sock bandage.

At first, there's no voice. He can hear what sounds like the rush of cars on a nearby road. Then he hears someone's breath; it's wavering, unsteady. He pulls the phone away from his ear just long enough to glance at the screen.

It's Pacifica.

"Pacifica…?" he says slowly.

"It's me," she says, her voice thick and trembling.

Dipper gets a sinking feeling in his chest. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't answer right away. Her breath comes slower, as if she's trying to calm herself. "I, um," she begins tremulously. "I d-don't know what to do." She is audibly suppressing tears.

He hears what he thinks is a passing truck. "Pacifica, where are you?"

"I don't know." She sniffs. "It's by a hotel. I don't know, I've been walking for hours, I think."

Oh, man. This sounds serious. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer for long enough that Dipper begins to fear she's going to hang up. When she finally speaks, he notices how hoarse she is. "My dad came back today. He and Mom got into this big fight about something stupid that doesn't even matter." She swallows and makes the short intake gasp of someone who can't breathe through their nose. "I tried to ignore them but I, like, sorta lost it. I tried to make them stop and they…"

Dipper's blood runs cold. "They… Did they hurt—"

"No. No," she denies. "But he brought the bell out. He kept ringing it and ringing it and it was so hard, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't," she says, and it comes out like a sob but there is still so much anger in the word.

"I know. You beat it before," he says. Though he had been literally petrified at the time, he still knows roughly what had happened.

She takes a deep breath. "…I grabbed it from him," she says, half triumphant, half disbelieving.

Dipper says nothing, but his gut is roiling with tension. That can't be how the story ends.

"And then I threw it. And broke a vase."

He isn't sure whether to congratulate or sympathize.

"He was so mad. Mom just stood there with this look on her face. Like she had no idea who I was." Pacifica sniffs again. Her voice has slowly been losing power and Dipper strains to understand her. "Dad said 'if you won't obey me then you won't live under this roof.' He was… still yelling but that's all I r-remember. I just ran. And then I walked forever and I didn't know where to go and I called you because I d-don't—" Her voice breaks.

Sympathize, definitely. "Okay." He just breathes for a moment, not actually sure what to say after that. "…Okay. Where are you right now, are you safe?"

"I'm at a bus stop by a motel. On the bench."

Dipper carefully seats himself in his desk chair and boots up his computer. "Can you see the address for the motel?"

"It's by the highway." There's some rustling, probably as she looks around. "Yeah, I see it."

She tells him the address and he plugs it into an online map database. "Okay, I found the place."

"I can't go back! I just can't," she interrupts before he can offer directions back to her house.

"Pacifica…"

"I'm not going back."

Dipper takes a moment to consider the dilemma. He knows the rational, adult thing to do is advise her to go back to her place now that her parents have probably cooled off. The problem with this is twofold: He's not sure her parents are going to cool off, and if it had taken her that long to walk to where she is, it will take equally long to walk back. The second 'adult' option is to have her call the cops. But what will that accomplish? They'll either take her back home or child services will get involved. Dipper might not have cared to hear Grunkle Stan's advice concerning Pacifica, but that doesn't mean the old man hadn't been right in a lot of ways. Invoking the authorities probably won't result in any desirable outcomes. More to the point, he doubts he can get Pacifica to call the cops in the first place (or forgive him if he does).

Alright, alright. One thing at a time. He needs to address one problem at a time.

First problem: Pacifica is out alone at night.

"Do you have a credit card?" He'd feel stupid asking that of pretty much any other kid he knows.

"All I have is my phone," she says. "I told you, I just ran."

"Dang it. Okay, um…" Dipper wracks his brain. "I'm gonna try to help you, but I'll have to call you back. Okay? Just stay right where you are, don't leave the bus stop."

"I don't have anywhere to go, that's the entire deal!" she snaps.

"I know, I'm just saying. I'll call you right back, I promise."

Her short burst of temper fades in the face of his imminent disconnection. "You promise?" she says shakily.

"Yes, I promise. I have to call someone else; I'll try to hurry."

When he hangs up, he sits there for a moment trying to wrap his head around what's happening and what he's trying to accomplish. It's not like he has a lot of favors to call in. He thinks of his mom's purse downstairs on the kitchen counter, and the credit cards contained therein. Oof. He'd be grounded forever. Those are his last resort.

Instead, he looks at the clock. It's a little past midnight, which means it's probably sometime in the early morning wherever his grunkles are. He's always waited for them to call him, per Great-Uncle Ford's request. But this is an emergency.

He dials the number and waits for the lengthy connection process. He's relieved when it begins to ring; he wasn't sure this would work.

A click from the other end, then what sounds like an engine running. "Yes? Is this Mabel or Dipper?" Ford says, raising his voice over the noise.

Dipper's tension eases slightly; he's reached the right grunkle (Grunkle Stan would help, eventually, but Ford is less likely to argue about it). "Great-Uncle Ford! It's Dipper."

"Dipper? Hold on a moment. I'm below deck, it's hard to hear you." Gradually, the engine noise fades and then dims further with the sound of a shutting door. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here! Great-Uncle Ford, I—"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping? Hah! Not that I can talk, eh, Dipper? Quite a pair of night owls, we are," Ford is already saying before Dipper can continue. "You caught me at a good time, actually. I was just checking the oil levels before I prepare for the day. Something on your mind?"

"Yes, I— I need your help, and I know you said it would be better if you called us, but this is sort of an emergency."

Ford's voice turns serious. "An emergency? You aren't injured, are you?"

"No, it's not me, it's Pacifica. Pacifica Northwest, me and Mabel's friend?"

"Of course, I remember. What seems to be the problem? More Boss-Lobsters?"

"I wish. No, I actually need you to rent a motel room for me. I mean, not for me, for her."

"A motel room… Ah. This has to do with her parents, I take it," Ford says grimly.

"Yes, and I'll totally explain everything later but I promised I'd call her back as soon as I could. Can you do it? Please? I'll try to pay you back when I can, I don't know when—"

"Dipper, it's alright. Say no more," Ford says gently. "I trust that this is important. Let me grab my personal computer and you can walk me through it. The last time I rented a motel room you had to do it in person, or at least have a phone book handy."

"Thank you so much," Dipper says with utter relief.

"You're quite welcome. I'll be interested to hear the outcome of all this later. Now, how do we use the internet to acquire a motel room?"

"You'll need the address and just searching for that should get you to the site. What we need is a confirmation code, like a customer number, that I can text to her so she can show it at the check in."

"Seems this has become a more complicated transaction since I've been gone," Ford observes.

It takes a little longer than Dipper would like to get it all done over satellite connection, but at last he has confirmation of the room rental in his inbox. He forwards it to Pacifica.

"Okay, I've got it all," he tells his great-uncle. "You're the best, Great-Uncle Ford."

"I'll tell Stanley you said that," Ford chuckles. "Just be sure to let me know what happens. And tell Pacifica to stay safe."

"I will. Thanks again."

When Dipper hangs up the sudden silence is deafening. It's like he's been all over the place, just sitting in his room. The stillness is unreal when he knows that Pacifica is out there somewhere, in the night, alone and desperate. She's in the same state and yet so far away. All he has is his phone and his words to help her. No journals, no crossbows, no grappling hooks. A monster would have been easier. What's wrong right now isn't something that can be defeated, just… handled. Coped with.

He rubs at his eyes, trying to shake off the sensation that he's treading water. Has he really helped Pacifica at all? Things have only become worse. It's out of his control, he knows that. It's just so frustrating to admit this is something he can't solve.

At least he can tell her she won't have to sleep on a bench tonight. He picks up his phone to call her back.