Dipper wiped his nose and tried to swallow his emotions. It was normal to be so upset when your girlfriend goes away for a while, right? He had toyed with the label on his vest so much that the washing instruction text had rubbed off. Not that he ever washed it, anyway.

"You okay, kid?" Stan asked. "I smuggled some brown meat in, d'ya want?"

The old grifter shoved it in front of Dipper's nose as if it was a fine gourmet cracker and cheese.

"N-no thanks, Grunkle Stan." Dipper replied, swallowing his nausea from the canned slurry. "Just…wondering what to do next."

"Miss the chick, huh? I get it. I once lost my possum when I was twelve. Worst week of my life."

"How are we gonna get out of here?"

"Kid," Stan replied, face now full of said brown slurry. "ya can't talk about these things during the day. A prison break is an evening endi- endo- endeav- thing."

"We are getting out though?"

"Ya think I'd let you rot in the slammer? I'll get us all outta here. Relax."

Ford slipped his book into his trenchcoat and stood with a grunt. "Stanley, there's not a chance of us doing a breakout with a can of mystery meat. How do you expect to pull this off?"

Stan gave a smug grin, adjusting the collar of his garish yellow shirt. "By doin' somethin' you'd never expect, Sixer."

"What could you do that would surprise me?" Ford replied, incredulously.

"Hold down a steady on-an'-off-again relationship."

"Hallooo Sweeetiesss! I caaame to give you a visiiit!" As if perfectly on cue, a friendly, homely voice echoed down the corridor. A voice that usually came with a selection of split plates or a hot cup of coffee. Or cat hair. A lot of cat hair. Oh yes, there she was. A stout, smiling woman with a lazy eye, carrying an outsized cake box that appeared to weigh substantially more than a cake was meant to weigh.

"I brought you both a caaaaaaake!" Susan beamed, wiggling her eyebrows at the old man with the lumpy nose.

"Freakin' A'!" Stan beamed as the oversized monstrosity of suspiciously hefty pastry was handed through the bars. "You're a saint, sweets!"

"A cake?" Ford wrinkled his substantial nose. "What sort of cake?"

"A special caaake!" Susan replied. "Wink! Wink!"

"Is it funfetti?!" Mabel gasped, clasping her cheeks. "Maybe prison isn't so bad!"

Durland was distracted by the appearance of a particularly unusual dust bunny when Susan leant in and whispered through the bars. "Ya jus gotta light the blue touch paaaper and stand baaack."

Stan blinked and looked to his on-and-off-again partner with a wicked grin. "You serious?"

Susan gave a benign, innocent smile. "Caaan't let you missing our daaates, handsome."

"HA! Wouldn't for the world, save for that time when I jumped outta th'window. And the other time. And that stint when Ford lost his foot-"

Susan just snorted and pinched his cheek. "Just do as I said and you'll be fiiine. The gang'll be ready about 8."

The kids stared in awe at their Grunkle having a successful social interaction - and the cake made of home-made mining explosives that now sat in the centre of the cell.

Stan chuckled and held his unshaven cheek - before his mind quickly snapped back to business. "Hey, uh, sweets - we got another problem. Blondie ain't here, she's-"

"Already been bailed? Don't wooorry! We'll get her out too!"

"You've really planned all this?" Dipper had always figured that the townsfolk - especially the likes of Susan - were somewhat on the dimmer side of the corridor. He was feeling increasingly startled by the apparent quick-fire conspiracy they'd set up.

Susan fished around in her handbag, pulled out a laser pointer and used it to distract Durland further. "Between you an' meee, Blubs gets a little bit open-lipped when he gets a glass of bourbon and an orange whip at Skull Fracture ."

"Man, Suse, you're something else!" Mabel chirped, feeling less startled and more over-excited.

"You don't live in this town for 60 years without learning a few thiiiings! Just remember, you light the paper and stand well baaack!"

"This is a terrible idea." Ford said abruptly.

"At least it's an idea." Dipper shrugged. "What are they gonna do, arrest half of the town?"

Ford looked at him in disbelief, but was forced to admit he didn't have an answer. It did seem like explosives were particularly poorly regulated in town.

Most things were poorly regulated in town.

Susan walked curtly out of the cell block and back into the main building of the police precinct, Durland rapidly following after the red dot on the floor. The Pines were left, once again, alone, surrounding the squared off, giant sponge cake, topped innocently in bright blue icing with sprinkles.

It smelt slightly of charcoal, coloured slightly darker than one would usually expect of Susan's admittedly homey patisserie skills. Ford wrinkled his nose and tapped it with his foot, sending a slight scattering of ashy black dust from its sides.

Even the rats avoided it.

"Welp, guess we better get it lit up, huh?"

"How are we lighting it, exactly?" Ford asked his brother.

"With a lighter, genius." Stan shot back. He removed his fez and fished around in it. "Didja know dad's hat has a secret compartment? I think he did some kinda baking project. Full of little bags a'flour or some crud."

Ford watched with a genuine curiosity as Stanley finally hauled out the lighter and a few packets of counterfeit cigarettes. "I spent four years researching the Order of the Mackerel and never once found that compartment."

"Can't see the wood for the trees, Sixer." Now, get back and let Stan the Man does his arson thing, huh?

"Question." Dipper piped in. "If Susan could just distract Durland with a laser pen, why couldn't she just grab the keys?"

The Pines fell quiet as the blue touch paper lit and sparks began to fly. Perhaps questions for a time with less imminent explosions, all told…