seems like there's a show every night — v
Pacifica hopes that Dipper survives his current act of insanity, because when he gets back, she's going to kill him.
At first, everything seemed like it was going well enough. Dipper made it to the water tower and started climbing, Stan drew off the bulk of the hawks as he drove away, Wendy caught the attention of the stragglers, and Pacifica diverted the one hawk that was in Dipper's way. Victory was imminent, right up until an idiot hawk blundered straight through the top of the ladder, spinning out of control and smashing into the clocktower in the process. Pacifica took cover behind a nearby tree, assuming Dipper would climb down and join her. Then they'd figure out Plan B, which would likely involve getting to the church steeple.
Instead, Dipper jumped off the ladder and threw himself onto the back of a hawk like a complete moron.
She hasn't seen him since.
She's hiding behind the clocktower at this point, watching as the hawks close in. She's lost track of Wendy, and she thinks that the hawks probably nabbed Stan or at least ran him off the road, because a lot of them are coming back. They don't know where Pacifica is, and that won't last long. She tenses, preparing herself for a final sprint to the back gate and the forest beyond, her only chance at escape.
Then, as if reacting to an inaudible command, every hawk stiffens and assumes an identical posture, at attention like soldiers in a line. The sound of their engines ceases. They sink down on their legs like nesting chickens and lower their heads. The hawks in the sky float slowly to earth and perform the same bizarre ritual, their engines silencing as they roost.
Soon they all sit on the ground, still and quiet.
Pacifica doesn't move, not at all convinced this isn't a trap. If Dipper actually got the antenna to work despite being on the back of a hawk, then shouldn't they just be dead? It's like they're in sleep mode. Then again, Ford did say the device was supposed to interrupt the signal… Maybe this is what the hawks do when they have no connection, like her phone showing its 'no internet' page.
Wendy suddenly appears to Pacifica's left, jogging across the open middle of the park. The older girl is covered in dirt and grass stains and is missing one arm of her flannel shirt. She spots Pacifica and waves to her.
"Hey! He must have pulled it off! I mean the mission, not my shirt arm," Wendy shouts as she approaches. She stops next to Pacifica and surveys the inactive hawks. "Kinda weird they didn't all die, but whatever. I guess we can kill them now."
Pacifica just wants to sit down for a while. "That sounds like a lot of work."
"True. Better get started." Wendy produces a hatchet from somewhere on her person and starts walking towards the nearest hawk. "Dibs on the wishbone!"
Pacifica doesn't have a hatchet or any other way to do real damage to the hawks—not that she would feel like joining in even if she did. There are too many hawks to kill, unless they really are permanently disabled, in which case there's no need to hack them up anyway. She would prefer to get to the security of the Shack since the hawks might come back to life.
She's about to suggest that Wendy abandon her gleeful carnage in favor of safety when a tremendous hissing cuts through the air, along with a chorus of popping and cracking, like extra-loud bubble wrap or a pine log on a fire. The air above the vents in the bodies of the hawks begins to shimmer as they release incredible heat. Pacifica covers her nose and almost gags as the park is bathed with the waxy, caustic stench of burning plastic. Hawk heads droop towards the ground; wings go limp and thump against the earth.
The origami-hawks are melting inside, Pacifica realizes. Their circuits are turning to goop.
Slowly, the noise fades, leaving behind the smell and a park full of robots with soup for brains. Pacifica assumes the same thing is happening everywhere as the hawks die in their sleep.
Wendy puts her hatchet away. "Woof, the whole valley is gonna smell like a tire fire!" she says. "Why'd they do that?"
"They didn't… they're just dumb robots. Something made them self-destruct," Pacifica reasons.
Wendy nods. "Or someone."
It's always been a someone. Someone made the hearts, someone put them here, someone listened for the signal, someone opened the portal and sent in the hawks. It's the only thing that makes sense and yet, despite all they've learned, they seem to be no closer to understanding who it is or what they're even after. Pacifica hopes that Ford has some more answers as the dust starts to settle. She would like to know what total jerkwad is trying to ruin her summer.
"I'm going to look for Dipper," she tells Wendy.
"Hold up—let's look for Stan first. He's closer, and then we can all look together."
Pacifica really wants to find Dipper, but Wendy's plan does make sense. They head down the road, walking quickly for a few minutes until they see Stan coming the opposite way. He's limping slightly, and there's a dark bruise across the left side of his chin and jaw.
Wendy waves at him. "Boss! Hey, what happened to your face?"
Stan shrugs dismissively. "Eh, you should see the other guy. On a semi-related note, I never drove that car and definitely did not ram it into a robot. I don't know how that happened, and neither do you."
"We need to look for Dipper," Pacifica informs him.
"Now what's he done?" Stan mutters, casting his gaze upwards as if searching for patience.
"Yeah, what has he done? I didn't see," Wendy says curiously.
Pacifica feels no need to disguise Dipper's stupidity. "He jumped on the back of a hawk with that magnet gun."
Wendy, of course, just laughs. "That is radical, man, that is so him."
"Oy. How am I gonna keep this kid alive long enough to ship him back to his parents? Do they make kid-sized cages?" Stan mutters to no one in particular, rubbing his left temple like he's developed a sudden migraine.
Pacifica says, "The hawk flew towards the hill behind the park."
"Okay, we should start there because I bet he's trying to get back," Wendy says.
They retrace their steps to the park and enter its grassy expanse once more. The hawks all over the lawn give the area a new atmosphere, like it's a parking lot for space birds. The clocktower and the water tower have each taken a serious beating. The grass of the lawn is crisscrossed with ragged troughs and some of the play equipment has been damaged or smashed, the jungle gym halfway caved in.
"That jungle gym totally saved me," Wendy says, pointing to it. "Yikes. I guess I didn't see how banged up it is. That's not my fault, right? I don't have to pay for that?"
"Nah, the hawks are liable," Stan says. He's eyeing the hill behind the park with aversion. "Uh, you know what, how about you kids go up there and look for Dipper. I'll hold down the fort here, in case the hawks… unmelt." When the girls fix him with identical looks of skepticism, he adds, "What?"
Pacifica hears shoes slapping against the asphalt of the road. She turns to see Mabel, Candy, Grenda, and Brendan all running through the entrance to the park.
"We're here!" Mabel says breathlessly, coming to a panting halt. "Wow! How'd you guys make all the hawks melt? Grunkle Ford said you had a signal-whatsit, not a melty gun!"
"No, dude, they melted themselves! It was like a self-destruct, the big red button," Wendy tells her excitedly.
Grenda approaches a nearby hawk and begins trying to pry its head panels off. "I wanna see its brains pour out!"
Candy pokes the hawk's angled side with a stick. "Neon geuleol jagyeog-i iss-eo," she tells it.
Brendan pinches his nose. "Man, it smells like the whole world just shorted out," he coughs. Mabel leans over and whispers something in his ear; he shakes his head. "No, I smell things the same as you."
Pacifica is of the opinion that there's too much talking going on and not enough Dipper-finding. "Hey!" she snaps, gaining everyone's attention. "Stop messing around and look for Dipper!"
This gets Wendy back on track. "Come on, guys, Dipper went this way last we saw him."
"Went where?" Mabel asks.
"He couldn't get to the top of the water tower, so he jumped on a hawk," Wendy explains. "I didn't see it, but Pacifica says it took him towards the west cliffs."
"I hope he is good at flying, because he is not very good at falling," Candy observes.
Pacifica does not need that reminder (and judging from Mabel's expression, neither does she). The party fans out and begins marching up the hill behind Circle Park, where Pacifica and Dipper had their evening picnic. If he ends up in the hospital again, he's going to owe her about a million more picnics.
When they reach the clearing at the top, Pacifica pauses to survey the valley. There are no more hawks in the air, and she can see their dead shells glittering in the sun all over town and the festival grounds. The effect is surprisingly beautiful, Gravity Falls bedecked with scattered gems. Mostly, though, it's a reminder of just how many of them there are. Pacifica can't help but think that anyone who can send that many robots to begin with probably won't have much trouble sending more.
The group convenes for a few minutes to hash out the plan. Wendy knows the valley the best, so she's nominally in charge; however, if they end up straying too far north, they'll be in magical territory, where the ever-shifting nature of the enchanted terrain makes navigation tricky at best. If Dipper went that way, then hopefully he'll run into a manotaur or some other friendly denizen.
Everyone arranges themselves into a loose line and starts walking, trying to keep each other within sight as Wendy barks out orders to tighten up or spread out. Pacifica isn't surprised the older girl knows a thing or two about search and rescue—or SAR, as Wendy keeps calling it. They stomp through the brush and periodically call out for Dipper, sending birds wheeling into the hawk-free sky as various critters skitter along ahead. The sun dapples through the pines and shifts across the forest floor in dots and streaks, trunks and boughs creaking gently in the breeze, fallen pine branches springy underfoot. If the circumstances were different, they couldn't have asked for a better day to stroll through the woods.
This part of the forest is semi-familiar. Heading east from the approximate middle of town means they will eventually come across the elevated road to the Manor. Pacifica never explored these woods as a younger child, but she looked out across them often enough from the craggy hill that the former Northwest estate surmounts. She may have already crossed the line into what is now McGucket's property. It's hard to say—there are few fences in the valley.
She hasn't called out for a bit. She cups her hands around her mouth and yells, "Dipper!"
The forest seems to swallow the sound, and she sighs. It's not like Dipper is the only one who's doing dangerous stuff (the feeling of the Boss-Lobster's shifting carapace beneath her shoes comes to mind), so why is he the one always getting hurt? Not that she knows he's hurt. But he could be, and not knowing is making her angry. She hates this not knowing.
She's so involved in her thoughts that she nearly trips over a tree root; she catches herself with the aid of a branch, only a few inches from tumbling into a rocky creek bed. She should concentrate on getting through the woods before she's the one who ends up hurt.
A few yards ahead, she pushes through some brush and emerges in a clear area, the grass waving around her waist. It's the road, she realizes. A small hill of gravel rises upward to support the blacktop of Northwest Way (she assumes that the manor changing hands does not mean the city also changed the name of the road). The lane curves away to the southwest, gradually climbing to meet the gates of the manor house high on the hill. She looks to her right and sees Wendy walking out from the tree line; she waves at the older girl to get her attention, then climbs the embankment.
At the top, she finds a dead origami-hawk in the middle of the road, baking in the sun like the world's unlikeliest roadkill. She hears Wendy's footsteps on the gravel embankment and is about to turn around when a familiar face pops up from behind the hawk.
Old Man McGucket raises a grease-streaked hand in greeting. "Well, howdy, friends! This sure is some advanced doohickery!"
Pacifica hasn't seen McGucket since her early-summer trip to her old mansion. Over the past year, he's changed from someone clearly grappling with extreme mental illness to a man that people can more kindly deem 'eccentric.' Of course, maybe the difference between someone who is crazy and someone who is eccentric is a matter of the zeros in their bank account, but his altered appearance probably helps a lot. The dirty brown overalls are gone, replaced by a shirt and a pair of blue electrician's bibs festooned with pliers, wire cutters, and screwdrivers in all the various slots and pockets. He's got a nice set of boots and no visible bandages, and perhaps most transformative of all is the lack of his old scarecrow hat, replaced by a workman's beanie. Despite the working-class attire, Pacifica does notice one telltale sign of his newfound wealth: At some point, he paid to have his teeth fixed.
"These here ornery metal critters went and turned their circuits to molasses," McGucket says. He's managed to pry open one of the hawk's head panels and is poking around inside with a flashlight. "All that fine tech done gone to soup, that's a cryin' shame! Guess whoever machined these devils didn't want me to reversify 'em—but I might anyway, by gum."
"You think you could make one of these?" Wendy asks.
"Only one way to find out, I reckon!" McGucket pulls a pair of pliers from his bibs and extracts a glittering piece of metal from within the hawk's head. "Guess I've been slackin' off in the robot department. I might need to rustle up some murder-bots on the chance these hawks come a-knockin' again."
"Dude, sign me up for a murder-bot," Wendy says with eager eyes.
Pacifica is getting impatient. Most of the other searchers are also in the clearing by now, approaching the road. "Did you see a hawk go out this way right before they died? Like, by itself?"
"Now that you mention it, one of these fellers peeled off and went out yonder towards Shuter's Sinkhole," McGucket recalls.
Wendy frowns. "Shuter's Sinkhole? How have I never heard of it?"
"When I first rambled out here, I was just Fiddleford H. McGucket, and the ol' man in these parts was Old Man Shuter," McGucket tells her. "Must have been a hunnerd if he was a day. Only ran into him a few times, seein' as I was a mite busy inventionin' for the project, but he used to sit around the square, which is a good spot for yellin' at whoever comes into earshot. One day, he stopped comin' into town, and folks noticed since it was so much less crotchety around. They went out to his patch, and it was gone—nothin' but a sinkhole and his mailbox right at the edge. Least that's how I heard it."
"Wow. I can't believe I've never heard of this. When was all that?"
"Well, it woulda been… Uh… Well, who was that feller who was president after the other feller with the tie?" McGucket says, sounding lost.
"Yeah, never mind," Wendy says quickly. "Forget about it. I mean, don't! Remember it, but not right now, because… it's not important, it's cool—" Her eyes dart over to Pacifica, begging silently for an assist.
Pacifica cuts in. "We're trying to find Dipper; he was riding that hawk."
"Somethin' tells me that robo-critter was an ornery steed," McGucket observes. "If'n you girls need a hand, I'm happy to help! There ain't a path out to the sinkhole, not these days, but I reckon I could find it if needs be."
The sinkhole sounds like a solid bet. If the first hawk dropped Dipper into water, then there's good reason to assume the second hawk might do the same.
With McGucket in the lead (and Wendy right on his heels; having a place in the valley she doesn't know about is apparently chafing her professional pride), the search party presses onward. Pacifica might have questioned the wisdom of letting a mad-as-a-hatter hillbilly lead them through the woods, but McGucket's sanity is now less a question of its existence than just its degree. His voice is no longer as shrill, his sentences are less scattered, and his eyes convey an understanding of where he is and what he's doing, all of which is reassuring. Pacifica would be far less hesitant to touch his hand now that he looks like he showers at least semi-regularly.
More woods. Gravity Falls may be confined to the crater, but from ground level the forests seem endless. Pacifica is not immune to the coniferous beauty of the valley, but right now she just wants to know that Dipper is okay, and all these trees are obstacles.
Mabel has moved up the line and is now to Pacifica's left. She's talking to Brendan: "Shouldn't you let your family know you're okay?" she asks.
"I texted my mom, but it hasn't gone through yet. The longer I go without seeing my dad, the better," Brendan says with a sigh.
"Mm, I don't know… That's probably making it worse," Mabel points out.
"It definitely is," Brendan readily agrees. "That's why I'm going to help look for your brother and not think about it."
"Heh… I guess this isn't helping you not think about it, huh?"
"Yeah, not really."
Nobody's shouted for a while, Pacifica notes. She cups her hands around her mouth and yells, "Dipper!"
"Yeah?" Dipper answers, his voice so close it makes her jump.
Incredulous, she runs forward and finds herself at the edge of a hill that slopes down into a wide clearing, rich with wildflowers. In its center is a hawk, resting on the verdant green like a metal monument, white yarrow petals nodding against its sides. With the sun bright upon the meadow, the overall effect is to create a memorial to fallen robots—The Tomb of the Origami-Hawk.
And there's Dipper, standing on top of the hawk, looking down curiously in Pacifica's direction—looking completely fine. 'Yeah?' he says. Like she's just trying to get his attention from another room in the Shack; like everyone isn't trying to find him to make sure he's not dead. She really is going to kill him.
"Pacifica!" Dipper says, and he must be oblivious to her mood, because he appears happy to see her. He points to the hawk's torso, where the door to the prisoner compartment has been severely damaged. "Check this out: I think this hawk tried to grab a manotaur, if I'm looking at these footprints right."
Despite everything, some of her anger leaks away. Just seeing him whole and safe is enough to calm her—and he's so excited to talk to her, so intelligent and inquisitive, and these are all things she likes about him so much.
She's still not letting him completely off the hook. "I can't believe what you did back there," she snaps. "Why do you always have to do the dumbest thing? Why does my boyfriend have to be crazy?"
Dipper holds out his palms, like he's trying to calm a rabid animal. "Alright, in my defense, I had the magnet gun. It's not my fault that it malfunctioned again—"
"That was your plan? To make it crash while you were riding it?"
"No! I was trying to set off the heart while I was onboard. I only tried to make it crash when it started spinning to throw me off," Dipper says, as if that's a totally reasonable explanation.
"Dipper… you jumped on the back of an airplane."
"Okay, it was risky," Dipper admits. "But it paid off, didn't it? The hawks are stopped and I'm fine."
She wants to grab him by his huge, dumb head and shake him until he understands. "But you could have broken all your stupid bones!"
"Well… yeah. But I had to do something."
She knows he's right; she allows her relief to overwhelm the last of her anger. "Fine. Next time, do something less dumb."
He grins. "Wow, good advice. Super specific and everything."
She just rolls her eyes. "Whatever, dork. You don't get to be smart after jumping off a hundred-foot ladder." She looks around and sees Wendy at the far end of the clearing, and Mabel at the other side. "He's over here!" she calls out.
The search party convenes in the small field. Dipper climbs down from his perch and joins the group, accepting a slap on the back from Wendy and a hug from Mabel.
"So they're all deactivated now?" he asks about the hawks.
"Dead as doornails," Wendy confirms. "They melted on the inside, self-destruct style."
"We should check them all, though. Maybe some of them were too damaged from crashing to self-destruct properly," Dipper muses.
"Crashing?" Mabel says with a tilt of her head. "Whatchu talkin' 'bout?"
"When the heart signal saturated the band and made them all crash," Dipper clarifies, which still doesn't make sense.
"They didn't crash. They landed and just sat there," Pacifica says.
"Really? Mine dropped right out of the sky. I guess the proximity fried it," Dipper supposes.
McGucket has taken Dipper's former place on top of the downed hawk, examining it closely through a pair of magnifier goggles. "Might still be a good chip or two in that one," he says.
Dipper shakes his head. "The hawk went into the sinkhole. And, uh, took the heart with it."
"Aw, heck. Guess I need to rig me up a submersible 'tween those murder-bots and such."
"Murder-bots?" Dipper says, appearing concerned.
Candy draws everyone's attention when she holds up her phone. "My phone is working!" she happily reports. "Oh… many texts from my parents. 'Where are you?'" she reads. She lowers her phone and looks around the clearing. "…I don't know."
"Just let 'em know you're okay!" Grenda says, tapping at the screen of her own phone.
Brendan is looking at his phone and becoming progressively paler. Mabel reads over his shoulder and grimaces.
Having no desire whatsoever to let her parents know she survived the invasion intact (not that they have any idea what's happening anyway, which is how it should be), Pacifica leaves her phone untouched. Now that she's found Dipper, her mind is free to move on, and the enormity of the situation begins to set in.
Even setting aside the fact the hawks are from another dimension (not the worst one, but any other dimension is bad enough), the valley is full of tourists who just directly experienced an alien invasion about as up close and personal as it gets. The residents of the valley will take the hawks in stride because they're used to it, because being a native of Gravity Falls means regularly avoiding cursed doors, dealing with thieving gnomes, and running into the occasional floating eyeball. Now there are who knows how many people who saw origami-hawks drop out of the sky.
She catches Dipper's eye, kind of surprised he doesn't seem to be worrying about the same thing. "All these tourists saw the hawks. Is the valley going to be a thing now? I don't want to vacation here if it's not exclusive."
Dipper looks doubtful. "Maybe…" he says slowly, "but there's always tourists going through here. Grunkle Stan told me this story about a busload of people that saw stuff, and nothing ever happened after."
"But this is, like, a lot of people," Pacifica points out.
Mabel chimes in, "The whole festival is traumatized!"
"I know, but I've been thinking about this a lot over the summer," Dipper tells them. "Something makes people forget, or at least not talk about it. I guess some people do anyway—Great-Uncle Ford knew there were anomalies here, so it's not a total secret. Most people don't, though. And even if they did, I don't think anyone would listen."
"Yeah, but why? And why do we remember all this stuff?" Wendy asks.
"All I know is the valley hides itself, because if it didn't, it wouldn't be like this."
Pacifica just hopes whatever keeps Gravity Falls out of the greater consciousness is strong enough to stand up to a whole fairground full of witnesses, because she will not tolerate the government and the media swarming the valley to ruin her summers with the twins.
"Guess we're putting that to the real test this time," Wendy observes.
"Yeeeeeaaaaaah, so, it's actually even worse than that…" Mabel sheepishly interjects. "Brendan? You want to, or should I?"
"You can take this one," Brendan mumbles.
"All the supernatural peeps had a big meeting here today and it turns out they're kinda salty about Grunkle Ford poking around in the name of science," Mabel says.
Dipper blinks. "Wait, what?"
"Run that by me again," Wendy says.
Mabel blows out a breath, letting her lips flap with the exhalation in an extended raspberry of exasperation. "Okay, so there's a big meeting every year called the Conclave for all the werewolves and vampires and merpeople and other magical types, and this year they had it in Gravity Falls, and we sort of snuck in to scope it out and they had Grunkle Ford up on a projector and were all worried about his science biz 'cause they don't know him, which I guess is fair but way off base. We were coming to tell you about it and then hawks happened."
Dipper's eyes have been growing ever wider as Mabel talks. "But how did you know about it, unless… You—" his gaze snaps to Brendan.
"Werewolf," Brendan sighs.
"I knew something was up, I knew it—you kept distracting me!" Dipper accuses Mabel.
"Of course, Dipper, it's supposed to be a super-secret!" Mabel retorts.
"So, if you guys could maybe not spread it around…" Brendan says tentatively to the group.
"No, of course not. I just…" Dipper looks like he's trying to wrap his head around this (which should be easier, since he has a giant head and all).
Pacifica is able to take most of this new information in stride, given that she's suspected Brendan of being some flavor of supernatural since pretty much the beginning. The stuff about the meeting is alarming, though.
"Did they have something to do with the origami-hawks?" Pacifica asks.
"Hey, yeah, they do look like origami!" Brendan exclaims. With all eyes now on him, he awkwardly clears his throat and adds, "Uh, no, that wasn't them. I can't think of anyone who could even make something like that."
"The hawks came from a different dimension. I meant more, like, if they were looking for someone from your group," Pacifica clarifies.
"Oh. No idea then," Brendan says.
Still examining the deactivated hawk, McGucket says, "Naw, these critters snatchified a wide selection. That's not huntin' for nobody specific-like—that's takin' a sample."
Grenda says what they're all thinking: "A sample for what?"
McGucket just shakes his head. "Nothin' good, I reckon."
"Alright, the dead hawks can wait. We need to do something about this Conclave before they try to arrest Great-Uncle Ford." Dipper pauses, then looks to Brendan. "Can they arrest people?"
"…No?" Brendan says.
"Sorry to put you on the spot, man, but who else are we gonna ask?" Wendy says.
"Yeah, I know. I just… I don't usually pay much attention when Dad talks about this stuff," Brendan admits, slouching self-consciously. "We're not cops or anything. I mean, some of us are, but not as a group, not as a… a governing body, I guess. We don't have any authority except over ourselves."
Wendy shrugs. "So, what, they're going to send Ford a really mean letter?"
Brendan scuffs at a rock with his shoe, not meeting her eyes. "Just because it's not legal doesn't mean we won't defend ourselves."
"Fair enough, but Ford's not a bad guy."
"I know! I think you guys are cool, there's no problem here. The Multi-Bear said the same thing, he's totally on the same page. They won't listen to me, but maybe they'll listen to him. He's been around forever."
"We can't solve anything if Dr. Ford is in magic-prison," Candy points out.
"He'll get shanked with a fairy wand!" Grenda adds.
"I bet they don't know about the basement lab. Even if they do, Great-Uncle Ford can lock down the elevator," Dipper says. "Let's get back to the Shack and tell him about the Conclave."
"We already told him," Mabel says.
"Oh. What did he say?"
"He was kind of busy with hawk-related sciencing, so he was a little…"
"Distracted," Brendan finishes.
Mabel nods. "He said we'd deal with it later."
"Which is now," Dipper says. "Come on, let's go."
As the group reverse their path and move towards town, Pacifica falls into step with Dipper, and, feeling like their initial reunion was somewhat diluted by all the other people present, takes his hand.
He looks at her, his expression overwhelmed. "Extradimensional hawks and a secret supernatural society? I know we get into weird stuff on a regular basis, but it's usually one thing at a time."
"I already knew something was up with Brendan," she says.
"You could have said so," he says, his tone accusatory.
She brushes off his rebuke. "If Brendan wanted us to know, he'd have told us."
"I… Yeah, I guess," Dipper mutters. "It still would have been nice to know."
'Knowing' is central enough to Dipper's personality that Pacifica understands his pique, even if she thinks he's being kind of dumb about it. This 'Conclave' is clearly a secret for good reason, though if they think they're going to make Ford—and by extension, Dipper—stop his research then they're due for disappointment. Nothing in the world is going to stop those brainiacs from unraveling Weirdness. Pacifica just hopes the Conclave is willing to be reasonable, because she's spent the day fighting origami-hawks and feels super gross and tired and doesn't really want to fight a whole new set of whatevers.
Her thoughts are interrupted when Dipper stumbles next to her, his weight briefly tugging at her arm. He quickly recovers and notices her concerned eyes.
"I'm okay. I'm just kind of sore," he admits. "Man, I hope the Conclave don't want to fight too."
"I was just thinking that."
When they break through the trees into the clearing above Circle Park, she can see people in the streets again and assumes it's mostly the townies out and about, resilient as they are.
This quickly proves to not be the case. When they reach Gopher Road, they cut through an alley towards the main drag and find a mix of townies and tourists all crowding around the downed hawks. It's practically a block party; there are cheers ringing through the air and drinks being passed around, people posing for pictures next to or even on top of the downed robots. The festival atmosphere has not only been resumed, but heightened. Pacifica understands this kind of happy madness, the feeling of floating on the existential victory of a death narrowly averted. The entire valley is celebrating its continued life.
She also knows that this will pass, and tomorrow will look very different.
Dipper almost can't believe the triumphant mood that's taken over the town. It's like everyone is celebrating a battle won instead of an invasion survived—it's not as if any of these people had anything to do with the hawks being defeated. Not that he craves the need to be hailed as a conquering hero or anything… though a little credit would be nice…
Well, he does know what it's like to survive something; he's felt the giddy joy that can ensue. He just doesn't have time to join in right now. It's time to dust himself off and stagger towards the next catastrophe in the form of the Conclave. And stagger it is, because he's feeling worn out. He's usually a one catastrophe a day kind of boy.
Now that the group has made it to town, Candy and Grenda go their separate ways to reunite with their parents. Dipper pauses with the others at the edge of the square, waving goodbye to the two girls as the group starts to swing north to meet up with Great-Uncle Ford.
Mayor Tyler ducks out of the crowd when he spots them. "Do I even need to ask if this had something to do with you?" he says to Dipper.
Stan crosses his arms defensively. "What's that supposed to mean? Who said we had anything to do with this? Dipper, take the fifth."
Dipper ignores him. "We didn't bring the hawks in, but we did stop them," he says. This might be only a half-truth, depending on how one looks at it. But it's not like they made the hearts.
"Got 'em," Mayor Tyler says. "Gravity Falls is grateful—and also, a little confused."
"We'll have more answers later," Dipper promises.
"The good news is that the hawks can pay for the damages," the mayor tells them. "Apparently there's a lot of valuable metal in these things!"
Stan immediately reverses course. "I killed those hawks on my property, which means they are also my property under the regulations of the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife! Plus, you know, if you think about it, we killed all the hawks—so we own all the hawks, exclusively and in perpetuity."
"We'll get back to you," Dipper tells the mayor.
They're about to head north to the Shack when they see Ford already coming towards them, stumping down the sidewalk on his crutches. He pauses to wave before resuming his slow approach. They meet him halfway.
"Excellent work!" he says, favoring one crutch for a moment to clap Dipper on the shoulder. "I knew you could pull it off! Soos and Melody are alright, they stayed behind to help some of the other prisoners." He glances at a nearby downed hawk. "The anti-tampering systems were an unpleasant surprise, but we'll salvage what we can. I assume you've already taken a look, Fiddleford?"
"They made grits of their brain-circuits, but there's a whole heckuva lot of 'em. Might be one or two with somethin' worth pullin' out," McGucket replies.
"Check the ones on the lawn at the Shack; Stanley was putting the crossbow to good use. With any luck, he might have damaged some of the self-destruct mechanisms." Ford turns his attention to the rest of the group as McGucket sets out for the Shack. "I trust things went well at Circle Park?"
"Next time, I get to be the one laid up at home," Stan grunts.
"Yeah, basically," Dipper says, quickly moving on before anyone can contradict. "So, what are we going to do about the Conclave?"
"Right, the Conclave." Ford frowns. "They're some manner of ad hoc supernatural governing body?"
Everyone looks at Brendan, who wilts under the scrutiny. Mabel grips his hand in support, and he manages to work past the sudden attention to say, "There's a bunch of different groups. The Conclave is just where they meet, it's not, like… federal or anything."
"But they've reached a consensus about my work?"
"We missed that part since we left in a hurry," Mabel supplies. "But they were arguing about it. Multi-Bear put in a good word!"
"I'll have to thank him. We're lucky to have allies in the paranormal communities here; perhaps that might sway things in our favor," Ford muses.
"They know about Weirdmageddon, or at least sort of know about it. They gotta know you're one of the good guys after that!" Mabel says.
"I'll tell them you're cool," Brendan promises. "But… I'm just some kid, so…"
"The gesture is still appreciated." Ford resettles his crutches, his expression determined. "Let's present a united front to our accusers. It won't harm our chances that we just solved the hawk issue, I'd wager. That's good evidence of our intentions and capabilities."
"You want to go right now?" Dipper says, surprised.
Ford nods decisively. "If I'm to stand trial, then there's no use putting it off. Though, if given the option, I'd prefer to sit trial. My leg hurts… quite a lot."
Some discussion ensues as to the best way to get Ford to the Conclave without drawing attention, which is difficult at the moment due to the sheer number of people filling the town and festival grounds and the fact that all vehicles are out of commission. It doesn't take long to decide that the meeting should be on neutral ground, which requires an intermediary.
"Are you sure?" Mabel asks Brendan for the second time.
"I have to face the music eventually," he says, the determination of the statement somewhat undermined by the shakiness of his voice. "Maybe I can use this, you know? If I'm the one who has to call you to set up the meeting, then my dad can't kill me yet."
"It's just cruddy that you're stuck in the middle like this," Mabel tells him.
Brendan shrugs fatalistically. "Yeah, but it's useful for something. If I'm going to be grounded forever, at least it's for a good cause."
Wendy thumps a fist twice over her heart. "Respect, man."
"Yeah, thanks for doing this," Dipper says. Now regretting his earlier reaction, he adds, "And, uh, sorry for being so excited about your secret earlier; I get that you didn't want me to know and that's fine. It's your secret and I should've—"
Brendan cuts him off. "No worries, man. That's you and Mabel's whole thing, and I like that about you guys. Maybe the Conclave doesn't get it yet, but someone should be figuring this stuff out. I mean, otherwise, we'd still be in hawk city."
Mabel grins. "Maybe we should just let you talk for Grunkle Ford!"
"That'd be cake compared to convincing my dad," Brendan sighs. He straightens up. "Okay, I'll call as soon as I can."
"Come back to me," Mabel says with a fluttering of her eyelashes.
Brendan laughs. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"
"My whole life! Now, go, before I can't let you!" she says dramatically.
"Good luck, kid. Just look him right in the eye and tell him how it's gonna be," Stan says to Brendan, which surprises Dipper for a moment before he remembers that Stan knows a thing or two about stern fathers.
As Brendan hurries away, Ford sighs. "Stanley… You know that Dad—"
"Yeah, sure," Stan interrupts. "So now what?"
Dipper's clothes are still damp with a combination of lake and sinkhole water, which when blended with copious amounts of sweat makes them rather fragrant. Everyone else is in pretty bad shape too; Wendy is missing an entire arm of her shirt.
"I'm going to take a very hot shower, and it will also be very long—and no, I won't hurry up," Pacifica asserts.
"Yes, let's collect ourselves at the Shack," Ford agrees. "We have to wait for Brendan to call, and the hawks aren't going anywhere."
Wendy holds up her hands. "Whoa, wait wait! My cousin's show, remember? You guys said you'd come check it out."
In truth, over the course of the insane day he's been having Dipper completely forgot about Wendy's cousin and the off-festival show at the arcade. "That's still happening?" he says.
"Yeah, she just texted me about it. It's like a celebration gig now, she said a lot of the people who hid in the arcade are sticking around for the show." Wendy looks around at the group and finds their enthusiasm lacking. "Come on, guys. I know we're all tired and I know it's been the craziest friggin' day, but I told her we'd come, and it'd mean a lot, for real. You don't have to stay for the whole thing."
Dipper's clothes feel sticky and his whole body aches. But he did say he'd go, and they are already right near downtown… Neither Stan nor Ford appear interested, but Mabel does, and Pacifica seems like she's at least neutral.
"Well, I guess we could swing by for a minute," Dipper says.
"Yes! Dude, you won't regret it," Wendy says with a thumbs up. "Come on, they're gonna start in fifteen!"
When they reach the arcade, it's more crowded than Dipper's ever seen it, easily surpassing the attendance at the tournament. It looks like a lot of people took shelter inside, which makes sense given it's a public building. There's a lively group around the now-functioning Ho-Down Hero and most of the other games are occupied, the snack bar in full swing serving a significant line. Dipper is glad the town is celebrating like this—it keeps them from wanting answers. But they will eventually, or at least the visitors will. The townies are accustomed to the unanswerable; their lives are defined by unknowns.
The side room that hosted the tournament has been rigged into a makeshift show venue, a small riser at one end serving as the stage. The space before it is already packed with people, mostly teens and twenty-somethings, and the band is on stage checking their equipment. Wendy waves to a brown-haired girl with numerous tattoos and piercings who is standing by the central mic on stage.
"You should have asked Grunkle Stan if you guys could use the big room at the Shack," Mabel comments.
"Yeah, I thought about it, but I didn't really want him to gouge my cousin." Wendy beckons to the girl on stage. "Yo, Gillian!"
Gillian doesn't look much like Wendy in her facial features; Wendy's cousin has a round face and shoulder-length dark brown hair. But the second Gillian opens her mouth, the relation becomes obvious.
"Dude, can you believe this?" Gillian says, her voice lacking Wendy's huskiness but infused with the exact same mischievous slacker energy. "Giant robo-hawks! Man, if we were a metal band, that would be such a sick album cover."
"Things get weird in the valley," Wendy says with a 'what-are-you-gonna-do' shrug.
"I've been visiting you since forever and I don't remember anything like this, though. This is wild!"
Wendy throws a quick glance Dipper's way and makes an X with two fingers over one of her eyes. The Blind Eye aren't around anymore to steal the memory of the hawks from Gillian's brain, which is almost too bad since it would probably be hilarious to watch them lose their minds trying to deal with an entire valley full of witnesses; Dipper doubts they'd be technically advanced enough to come up with the same solution Great-Uncle Ford used on the government team.
Gillian gives Wendy a quick hug and then nods to Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica as she backs away. "Hey, thanks for coming out, guys. Enjoy the show!"
As the band takes the stage and it becomes apparent they are about to start, the crowd pushes forward, taking Dipper with it. He's never been to a show like this and hadn't been expecting the sudden crush, which places him much closer to the stage than he planned on being. He loses track of Mabel, and only knows Pacifica is behind him because she squeezes close and puts her arms around his waist, a gesture which, based on the tightness of her hold, is more about not getting separated than a sudden burst of affection.
"What's up, Gravity Falls?" Gillian says into the mic, her voice booming over the ambient noise. "Who's happy to be alive right about now?" The crowd cheers, many of the people around the edges of the room raising drinks in reply. "Alright, so, none of our songs are about robots or almost dying, but maybe you can mosh to 'em anyway. What's that?" She turns and laughs at something the drummer says that Dipper can't make out. "That was our name last week. We've been through, like, six names, so if you got a blank t-shirt, you can write whatever you want with a sharpie. Yeah, it's official. We know how to play, guys, I promise! What? Our new name? We are… The Hawkening. Except not that, something way better. These dudes in the front want me to shut up already." Someone in the back shouts something that, again, Dipper doesn't understand. "We all rule, man, we all made it! Okay, we're gonna play for you." She pulls the mic off the stand, sets the stand aside, and assumes a half-crouch, like she's about to take a leap.
The drummer knocks his sticks together four times in count and then Dipper's eardrums compress under a bomb blast of sound.
It doesn't really register to Dipper as being music until his ears grow slightly accustomed to the assault. The crowd starts to bounce, then to shift, swaying from side to side, occasionally surging forward and then backing off. He's never been in a crowd like this before—at last year's festival, they all stayed out on the open green, far back from the stage—and it's like being part of a greater organism, helpless to control the movements and yet also a part of them. Within minutes, he's lost track of Pacifica, pushed away despite her grip. He's somehow even closer to the stage now, slowly being squeezed to the side as larger, more experienced attendees move wildly around in the center.
It's absurd that this is all happening barely an hour after everyone in this room was threatened by alien robot-hawks from another dimension, which could easily be (and maybe is) the plot of one of those movies that shows up on Gravity Falls Public Access. And yet, there is an electricity in the air, a wild abandon; the crowd swells with a savage delight amplified by the roaring sounds. Dipper doesn't know if he's actually enjoying the music—in fact, if it were emerging prerecorded from a set of speakers, he's pretty sure he'd hate it. But music—and maybe especially this music—can be about catharsis, and that's what it is in this moment, in this breath after the harrowing. It's catharsis. It's the letting go of the present terror and the embracing of the freshly promised tomorrow. It's a deafening, collective roar in the face of nonexistence, a vicious clamor against the threat of ending.
He doesn't need to embrace a genre; the music is a medium. He is awake, and alive, and right here, right now. He is a part of this.
And even when he forgets, he always will be.
in this breath after the harrowing
PUNCH — Done