what it takes to move forward
Pacifica is floating. Above, there is a riot of color clashing in the split seams of a sundered sky. Below, there is an ocean, so dark and terribly deep; and yet, she knows there is something in the water, something that wriggles and clacks and pulses with hunger. She is caught between the two horizons, gliding on the edge of a knife. If she closes her eyes, she falls. If she opens them, she rises. She is neither awake nor asleep. There is no decision she can make which will save her. Somewhere behind, a triangle is laughing, and she feels the tips of her fingers begin to go numb.
She turns her head to look. Her fingernails are gray. It isn't until the pallor reaches her wrists that she realizes she is turning to stone. As she twists her neck, her trajectory twists as well. She spins out of control, growing heavier. Her heart stops beating. She falls and falls and the waves rise up to meet her, and in the foam she sees a single glinting claw—
She thrusts her arms out, gasping. Her pillows tumble to the floor as she fights against her tangled sheets, panting in desperation. She has no idea where she is. She freezes, searching for movement in the corners of her eyes.
Gradually, her vision adjusts. She's in a strange room on a bed that isn't hers. A motel, her mind foggily supplies. Dipper helped her. She's safe.
For how long remains to be seen. Not that she's in any danger, so to speak. Not physically, anyway. Technically, she hasn't been kicked out: She ran away. Maybe just before she might have been ejected from the household, but it was still her decision. If she can even call that a decision. She has difficulty recreating the pattern of her thoughts in that moment, the force that drove her from the room and out into the city. 'Distraught' would probably be the word. It's very fitting.
And her dream; that bizarre imagery, the wild immediacy of it, the utter terror. Some of it makes sense, bits and pieces of her life scattered in the seething swells of her fevered imagination. There was a part of her that knew she was dreaming even as it happened. She can remember being faintly aware of her surroundings, but their unfamiliarity only seemed to feed the unease suffusing her sleep. The pillow was raspy against her cheek; the sheets brushed against her ankles, fluttering lightly over her skin in the wafting air of the ceiling fan. Her mind stayed elsewhere, deep inside herself, battered by the nightmare that kept her careening through the tempest of her unconscious.
She still feels trapped. She can hear cars and trucks passing on the highway. The sound of the ceiling fan is different from the one at home; it's lower pitched, slower spinning. The whole room smells like cleaning products, sterile and slightly acrid. This isn't home. But, where is? A mostly empty house on the beachfront? A historic mansion in the middle of a vast forest? One is hollow, the other is out of reach.
What's left?
She nearly jumps out of her skin when there's a rapid series of knocks at the door.
Her parents? No. No, it can't be. Not that they even would. The staff, probably. Don't they know not to disturb their guests? She supposes she shouldn't expect anything else from such a middling establishment. They'd better not be looking for any tips (she has literally no money, not that they need to know that).
More knocking. She pulls her jeans on irritably, still shaky from her nightmare, and makes her unsteady way over to the door. She opens it, hoping to get rid of whoever it is in as short amount of time as possible.
Before she can even register the view something excited and brightly colored flies into her. She raises her arms in self-defense, but it's too late: Mabel has her caught up in a tight hug.
"Pacifica! You're okay!" Mabel says.
Dipper is standing out in the hallway, hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets. "Geez, Mabel, you didn't even look. You could have hugged a stranger."
"And it would have been a great start to their day," Mabel says, finally stepping back.
Pacifica is stunned. She had been prepared to brush off the help, not be confronted by the Pines. "M-Mabel? Dipper? What is going on?"
"We came to rescue you!" Mabel says. "Come on!" She sidesteps Pacifica and grabs the extra plastic ice bags off the dresser. "I'll get the new ice for the cooler. Pacifica, get dressed! Dipper, don't watch!" With that, she tears off down the hallway.
"Shut up, Mabel," Dipper mutters after his sister, shoulders hunching in embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck and looks at Pacifica. "Sorry. She's been drinking soda the whole way down. So, uh, are you alright? I saw you didn't text me."
"My phone died," Pacifica says, feeling a bit chagrined. It had died because she had been so weak, afraid to spend the night alone in an unfamiliar place.
"Yeah, mine too," Dipper says, patting his pocket. "Guess we could have planned that better. You slept through your checkout time."
"My what?"
"Your checkout time. Like, when you're supposed to leave? Great-Uncle Ford is going to get charged for a second night," he says.
Great, now she's even more in someone's debt. Like she needs something else to be embarrassed about. "How was I supposed to know that?" she snaps.
"Because they told you?" Dipper supposes. "Or, you know, the sign right here." He points to a small plaque on the wall stating the checkout time, which she hadn't paid any attention the previous night.
She can feel herself flush. Stupid complexion, betraying her. "Fine, I'll pay him back. I just need to get my purse." She pauses, considering what's required. "It's in my room. Just…"
She falls silent because she knows that she has absolutely no plan whatsoever to address her situation. The previous night it had been easier to take everything one minute at a time and accept the temporary shelter Dipper had managed to wrangle for her. She'd known that the next day she would be right back in the same mess, but she had been so tired and scared and emptied out by everything that had occurred. Falling asleep had been an alternative to thinking about it, and it was an alternative she had pursued with a little help from Dipper's presence over the phone.
Blech. She can't think about that right now. It raises too many feelings that she doesn't have the space to handle.
"We need to talk about the next step," Dipper says.
"What are you even doing here?" Pacifica says, needing an answer to that before anything else.
"I just—… We, just couldn't leave you here like this. I know that going back to your parents is the easiest thing to do, but…" Dipper's jaw sets. "I don't want you to."
Pacifica doesn't either. "Then what do we do?"
"I know it's crazy and I know we could get in huge trouble again, but we drove down here to get you." He holds out his hand hopefully. "So, are you ready to go?"
She doesn't know if what he's offering makes sense or is even possible. She doesn't know if she's going to arrive in Piedmont and then have to find another motel when Dipper's parents tell her she can't be there. But she wants what he's offering so badly. It's a way out, even if it's just a moment, and it's a way she won't have to take alone.
She looks at his hand and remembers it settling on her shoulder; warm, comforting. Just because you're your parents' daughter, doesn't mean you have to be like them, he'd said. It's not too late.
This is what she wants, isn't it? What she said she wanted in the dark hours of the morning, sitting at the edge of his bed. A chance to change even more, to fulfill the promise she had made even past the pulling of a lever. If her parents won't let her be different, if they refuse to face the past or forge a new future, if they're too caught up in their own dissolving relationship to give her what she needs from them, then… shouldn't she leave? Shouldn't she take the chance, no matter how slim? She doesn't know what happens next, but maybe she doesn't need to. Maybe all she needs to know is that it's different and it's right and it's with him. A chance to get away. Even if only for a while. A chance to see if she can be someone else outside her parents' shadow.
It's not too late.
"Let's get out of here," she says, and takes his hand. If the moment weren't so loaded with meaning it would be absurd, because she's not sure if she's shaking it or holding it to be led.
He doesn't seem to know either, and a few seconds later Pacifica realizes she's essentially just standing there, holding hands with Dipper Pines.
She jerks her hand away so fast that Dipper takes a half-step forward. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, the tips of his ears turning red. "Uh, you should get your stuff," he stammers.
"Yeah, just a second," she says just as quickly, almost talking over him.
When she goes back into the room, she assesses her belongings, which don't amount to much: her earrings, her socks and shoes, and her phone. She'd arrived at the motel with nothing but what she carried on her person when she'd fled her home. It's lucky she has her phone at all; if she hadn't been texting Mabel so frequently, she probably would have left it to charge. She finishes dressing and stuffs her dead phone into her pocket. Then she stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a solid five minutes trying to do what she can with her hair using nothing but her hands. It's a largely futile effort.
She wrinkles her nose at her reflection. Her shirt is wrinkled, her hair is tangled, and what was left of her makeup after her crying jag is mostly on the motel pillow. The best she can do is brush her teeth, but she still feels gross.
She cringes at the thought of being seen like this, but she supposes if it has to be anyone, at least it's the twins. It's not like she has a lot of dignity left to lose after the conversations she's already had with them. Dipper, especially, has seen her in a worse state. It's a thought that should serve to increase her shame; instead, it makes her feel like they share an important secret. Dipper and Mabel have been entrusted with something she wouldn't give to just anyone.
It isn't until she shuts the door and follows him down to the parking lot that she realizes he couldn't have possibly driven himself, which means…
Oh, no.
Time to see how many other witnesses there are to her total humiliation.