Volume 1 Act 1 – Chapter 12 | Ties That Bind
Papa Roach | F.E.A.R – Falling Apart
Dipper's eyes fluttered open. Blades of early morning sunlight pierced through the attic window, forcing him to shield his face. Groaning, he threw the covers off and swung his legs onto the floor. The light filled the attic, chasing away the shadows but doing nothing to lift the weight in his chest. Grabbing his phone off the side of the bed, he trudged to the bathroom, blinking furiously as his eyes adjusted.
He flicked on the light and reached for his toothbrush, letting the faucet run as he stared at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than usual, like bruises, and his hair stuck up in odd directions, resisting every attempt to flatten it.
He sighed and got to work brushing, but his mind drifted, pulled back to last night.
Pacifica's late-night message still lingered, her voice echoing in his head. Shaky. Desperate. Something's watching me, she'd said. It's always there. His stomach knotted at the memory. She'd been vague—too vague for him to piece together what had happened. But she'd been scared. Terrified, even. It wasn't just her words; it was the way her voice cracked, the way she seemed to doubt her own reality.
The toothbrush stilled in his hand. He frowned at his reflection, trying to push past the fog in his mind. She'd mentioned something important she needed to find. Something she couldn't explain over the phone. Maybe she just needs to tell me in person, he thought.
The running water gurgled in the sink, snapping him back to the present. He rinsed his toothbrush, then splashed water on his face in a halfhearted attempt to tame his hair. As usual, the stubborn spikes refused to cooperate.
With a resigned sigh, he flicked off the light and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The weight of Pacifica's message sat heavily in his chest, but he knew one thing for sure: she wasn't imagining things.
Dipper headed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mabel sat at the table, eating a simple breakfast of toast and eggs while she hummed to herself. In the seat beside her was Waddles, his eyes staring at her plate. Next to her plate was a glass full of a pink liquid, swirling with plastic dinosaurs and sprinkles inside it. Dipper looked at it with disgust.
"Mabel, I thought you were past the whole 'Mabel Juice' thing."
Mabel snickered, "Nope!"
Dipper made his way to the fridge, inspecting its contents to find anything he could to eat.
Mabel looked at him, seeing the bags under his eyes. She smirked.
"Someone was up late last night."
Dipper closed the door to the fridge, rolling his eyes. "Okay, and?"
Mabel's smile was devious. "Were you talking to your girlfriend all night?"
Dipper's face felt hot as he gave Mabel a death glare. "Mabel it's not like that! I already told you she just gave me her number in case she needed help with anything. Ya know, as a friend…"
Mabel squinted her eyes, refusing to believe his words. She stopped eating her toast and folded her arms. "Uh-huh."
He sighed, knowing Mabel probably wouldn't let this go, ever. He opted for a bowl of cereal as he got out some milk and a bowl. Thankfully, the milk wasn't expired. Reaching into his pocket while he poured the cereal into the bowl, he navigated to his conversations and tapped on Pacifica's name.
His eyes scanned through the conversation on the screen. After their call, she texted him where to meet up in the afternoon. He suggested Greasy's, but she immediately refused, pleading with him that she didn't want to be there longer than she needed.
He finished pouring his cereal in the bowl. Grabbing the carton of milk he had set on the counter, he filled the bowl. He watched as the cereal slowly rose to the edges of the bowl, floating around in the milk. Grabbing a spoon, he sat down on the opposite end of Mabel and began eating the cereal. As he was eating, Mabel began discussing her plans for the day with him.
"So me, Wendy, and Soos all want to go do something this afternoon since he closes the shack early on Saturday's. We were thinking about going to the mall and doing laser tag again, it would be sooo much fun! No time travel stuff this time either."
Dipper simply grunted, toning her out like white noise as he kept staring at his phone, constantly re-reading his conversation with Pacifica.
Mabel frowned, "Hey, are you even listening Dipper?"
Dipper nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great."
Mabel tore a piece off her toast and threw it at his head. Dipper looked up, annoyed.
"Hey, cut that out! I'm trying to focus here Mabel!"
Mabel shot him a glare. "I was talking to you about our plans dummy." She then looked at his phone, seeing he had been looking at his texts with Pacifica. A slight smile emerged from her lips.
"But it looks like a certain blonde has got you all wrapped up around her fingers."
Dipper looked at her, his face burning with embarrassment. He groaned as he pulled his phone under the table. "Mabel it's not like that!" He breathed out, putting on a serious tone.
"Look, I went out into the woods last night just to walk around, and then she texted me saying she needed my help."
Mabel's eyes lit up as she slammed her hands on the table, standing up from her chair.
"Oh my gosh it's happeneinggg! Dipper I need to be your bridesmaid!" She clasped her hands around her chest. "A call in the woods, it's like a forbidden love!"
Dipper face palmed, trying to hide flush on his cheeks. "It's not like this Mabel this is serious!" He stared at her, ignoring the blush on his face, keeping his eyes serious. Mabel noticed and her smile faded as she slowly slid back into her seat.
"She told me something happened, that something was… I don't know watching her? She sounded so scared, like she was freaking out. I asked her what it was, but she wouldn't tell me anything! She told me that she thinks something attacked her and she was looking for something she needed to find, and then she told me to meet up with her this afternoon."
Dipper finished his sentence, exasperated, out of breath.
Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, her teasing replaced with worry. "Dipper, you don't think her parents…"
Dipper shook his head quickly. "No! I mean... I don't think so. They wouldn't —" He stopped, the words catching in his throat.
Mabel's posture eased in her chair. As much as she wanted to tease Dipper and watch a potential romance blossom between him and Pacifica —because oh my gosh they are so perfect for each other —she knew she needed to take the situation seriously just like Dipper was. She breathed out.
"Okay so if it isn't that then what is it, another ghost? Doesn't she live in a new mansion?"
Dipper grabbed a pen of the table that Mabel had been using to doodle on some pages earlier and immediately started chewing on it.
"I don't know, it can't be the same ghost as last time since she lifted the curse. Maybe their new mansion has another ghost? Or maybe someone or something broke in and attacked her. There could also be some other things her family has done that we possibly have no idea about and—" His voice trailed off.
Mabel looked at her brother as he chewed on her pen. Suddenly, she felt like they were 12 again, trying to wrap their brains around whatever mystery they had found while he scribbled notes into the journal. She felt the naivety of their youth, how they would blindly run into the danger that Gravity Falls had to offer. She missed that naivety, those days when everything felt simple, carefree. When their adventures were just fun mysteries, when they would blindly ignore how dangerous they were. But there was another part of her, a darker part of her, that was filled with guilt.
That naivety, those actions filled with her own selfish desires. She remembered everything she did that summer. How she pushed Dipper around, how she crossed the line at certain points, how much she overshadowed him at times. But worst of all, she remembered how bad she messed up during weirdmaggedon. Hearing that word was a trigger, it would send her spiraling on the inside. The guilt hit her like an avalanche, tightening her chest with its weight. The world almost ended because she was selfish, because she was upset at how he was moving on from a life-changing summer, one she wanted to last forever. It hurt, a pain so deep inside her body that she couldn't get rid of it.
I haven't been a good sister.
She watched as Dipper's teeth squeezed the pen, his focus sharp, his mind already working through the mystery. Even after everything she had done, he still trusted her, still looked to her for support. She didn't deserve that—not yet
I can't change the past, she thought, gripping her toast.
Dipper's voice brought her back to the present. "She wants to meet me near the edge of town, should be secluded enough for her to tell us what happened."
Us?
In her mind, Mabel began doubting herself. Of course she wanted to help Dipper, she loved him and wanted to support him. But the self-doubt swirling in her mind pulled her back, dragging her back to the mistakes of that summer.
What if I messed up? What if I said the wrong thing? Or made it worse, like before? What if Dipper didn't need my help this time and I just… got in the way?
She wanted to believe she could be better now. That she wouldn't repeat those same mistakes. But the shadow of that summer still lingered, reminding her of every wrong step, every selfish choice. Dipper was already planning how to help Pacifica, already a step ahead like always. She wanted to keep up, to be part of the solution this time, not the problem. But she couldn't shake the feeling.
I'm not ready…
Dipper noticed the look on Mabel's face as she stared off into the distance. He waved his hand in front of her face.
"Mabel? Earth to Mabel?"
Her eyes locked with Dipper's, moving his hand. "Dipper look, I want to go but... I'd just get in the way, and probably mess something up. Again."
Dipper looked at Mabel in disbelief. "Mabel... what are you—"
"Last summer… don't you remember how bad I messed up? I almost ruined everything! I got upset Dipper. I wanted the summer to last forever, but I didn't think about what it cost you…" She paused, taking a breath.
"If it weren't for you, Gravity Falls wouldn't even be here. I want to go on adventures with you but…I feel like I'll get in the way." Her voice cracked, the guilt rising in her chest like a weight she couldn't shake.
Dipper took the pen out of his mouth and set it down on the table. His tone softened.
"Mabel, it's okay. Alot of stuff happened that summer, good things and bad. We both made mistakes, Mabel. It wasn't easy for either of us, but we made it through—because we stuck together. That's what matters. You don't need to feel guilty."
Mabel stared into his eyes, feeling the sincerity behind his words. They grounded her like a lifeline she desperately needed.
"Besides, weird stuff is kind of my thing anyway."
She smiled but was still unable to hide the uncertainty in her voice. "Duh, it's cause you've been weird since you were born, stupid."
Dipper chuckled. He looked at Mabel's face. The hesitation, the fear, it was written all over it. He could see she was holding herself back, believing she would mess things up if she came along. But they were the mystery twins, an inseparable duo, a package with an unbreakable bond. Yeah, Mabel could be a bit much sometimes—okay, a lot—but she was his sister. His partner. The only person who'd stood by him through every mystery, every danger. Together, they could take on anything. He just needed her to believe it too.
Mabel got up; a bright smile plastered across replacing her uncertain gaze from earlier. "So, how about I clean around the shack and get ready for Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford to come back while you go on your little date!"
Dipper closed his eyes, nodding his head. "Yeah, that sounds like —" The realization of what Mabel said hit him mid-sentence. His face burned bright right.
"Mabel! It's not like that! I'm just helping her! Also don't try and change the subject on me!"
Mabel snickered, picking Waddles up from the seat next to her and setting him on her lap. "Look bro-bro, someone has to watch Waddles. He's been eating a lot more recently and Grunkle Stan is going to go crazy if he eats something important!" She waved his legs around.
Waddles oinked, his black, beady eyes staring blankly at Dipper.
He rolled his eyes, getting up and taking his bowl to the sink. "You know I'm only saying fine to this because Waddles definitely needs someone to watch him." He put his bowl in the sink and turned around.
"Mabel, I told you it's okay tha —"
He was cut off by Mabels bright and cheery voice. "Don't worry bro, I'm fine. I promise!" She gave him a thumbs up while waving one of waddles legs at him.
He couldn't help but smile at the sight before him. "Fine Mabel. I shouldn't take too long,"
Mabel smirked, setting Waddles down on the floor. "It's okay Dip, you can spend as much time on your date as you need." She gave him an obvious wink.
Dipper immediately turned around, rolling his eyes and heading out of the kitchen. "Annddd this is me leaving."
Mabel shouted at him as he left. "You can't stop the inevitable Dipper! It is a forbidden love!"
He climbed the stairs two at a time, hoping the distance would drown out Mabel's teasing. But her words stuck with him, buzzing like a mosquito in his brain. A date? With Pacifica? No way! There is no way she would think of me that way, he thought. The idea felt ridiculous, but the blush on his cheeks remained.
Once he reached his room, he pushed open the door and began getting ready. He knew he needed to focus on what was at hand. Something had happened to Pacifica—something incredibly serious. He had never heard her that scared before. Her voice broke on the other end of the phone, trembling like she was barely holding it together. The memory sent a chill down his spine, the same kind he got when he knew danger was close. There were so many possibilities of what the reason could be, but he didn't have a clue where to start.
He felt hopeless for a moment, like there was nothing he could do. But then, those old instincts flared up, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The same rush he used to feel hunting monsters or cracking codes. He liked the thrill; he liked the sense of purpose it gave him.
As he pulled on his jeans, his eyes landed on the floor near his bed. His journal lay there, forgotten in the chaos of the night before. He remembered how restless he'd been, unable to put his thoughts into words. The sight of it now drew him in, like a siren's call.
He finished getting dressed and walked over, bending down to pick it up. His fingers hovered over the cover for a moment, tracing the familiar ridges.
Maybe…
I can find the words time.
The sun radiated off Dipper's skin. He breathed out, catching his breath. He had been walking for the past hour to the edge of town. He looked down at his phone, staring at the location Pacifica sent him. Past the water tower was a small clearing with benches and tables. He made his way into the clearing, passing by the various trees and squirrels around him.
At one of the tables near the edge of the clearing was Pacifica. She was still in her greasy's uniform. Her head sagged near the table. The bags under her eyes were too big to ignore, something not even her purple eye shadow could hide. Her right leg was shaking while she stared at a notepad, one Dipper immediately recognized. He watched her flipping though it, looking more impatient and frustrated by the second.
Glancing at his phone, he noticed he was around 15 minutes late. He swallowed, muttering under his breath.
"Please don't yell at me."
He approached Pacifica, speaking softly. "Hey…"
She snapped her towards him, narrowing her eyes.
Oh great, here we go.
"Took you long enough, Pines." Her words were strict, concise strings piercing his ears.
Dipper scratched the back of his neck nervously, hoping he could wipe away the pressure that her eyes were burning into him.
"Sorry, Mabel kind of had me hung up this morning. And it's a long walk from the shack."
She scoffed, crossing her arms. 'Doesn't your servant have like, golf carts or something?"
Dipper stared at her. "Soos. His name is Soos. And no, he already totaled two and has three to fix…" He hung his head in defeat, wiping his brow.
She looked at him confused. "How do you even..."
Dipper waved his hand. "I try not to think about it. Anyway, what we need to focus on is what you called me about, remember?"
Pacifica shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yeah…that…"
Dipper sat down on the other side of the table. Her uniform was slightly wrinkled, and her hair messy—evidence of a long, exhausting day. She had her apron undone, set on the table. He was close enough to smell her perfume, it was strong—and still smelled like champagne and flowers.
His cheeks radiated a subtle red hue as he shook his head.
Focus.
He made eye contact with her. Her pupils were a deep blue, an ocean filled with uncertainty and fear, swirling around like mixed emotions. He could see how scared she was. Whatever she found, it had left wounds that sunk deep into her mind. Wounds so wide and dark that he couldn't even comprehend what caused them.
Pacifica looked away, her head hanging back down near her notepad. Dipper eyes traced past her head and down towards the writing on its pages. It was messy, hot pink writing crossed out and scrawled with dark, black ink. His eyes widened at the writing. He looked up.
"Pacifica… what happened?"
Her body started shaking a bit, before she breathed in and out quickly. She snapped her head towards Dipper. Whatever unease and fear he saw in her moments ago was practically gone. Her jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line—a perfect mask of control. But her trembling fingers betrayed her.
"Look, what I said at the Diner about the beauty pageant ideas was a lie. I'm not okay if it isn't obvious already." She scoffed at herself, crossing her arms and flicking her hair.
Dipper knew she was doing everything she could to stay composed. He could see it behind her eyes, one wrong step and the emotions behind her mask would come spilling out, causing her to break down. He sat silently, nodding.
"Truth is, I found something in the diner. Something that made me start to realize that my parents did something… wrong to get our money back. After I found it, it felt like the diner was… watching me." She shivered. z
"Every shadow seemed alive, twisting and curling at the edges of my vision, like it was trying to reach for me. I swear the walls were breathing—watching. I couldn't even breathe right until I got out of there."
Dippers voice softened, reaching out to her. "Hey, take your time."
She looked up at him, her eyes swirling with emotion. She nodded, turning her head to look out into the trees.
She was bouncing her right leg as she talked, "Last night, I went to snoop around our mansion. I figured if there was something, anything that my parents wanted to hide, it would be in my father's study."
Dipper probed. "Then what happened?"
She rolled her eyes, huffing in frustration and tapping her index finger repeatedly on her arm. "I don't know okay! I can't even remember that much anymore…" She gripped the sides of her head.
"After I left my room, I…. I don't know. It's so hazy, like my memories are there but they aren't, and I can't remember them no matter how hard I tried."
Dipper nodded, pulling his journal out of his backpack. Pacifica eyed him as he set it on the table.
"Isn't it a bit hot to be wearing jeans and a hoodie?"
Dipper waved his hand. "It's only what, 78? Besides, that doesn't matter right now. We need to try and figure this out."
Dipper pulled out a pen from his pocket.
"Let's start with the obvious, I know you don't remember much, but what can you remember?"
She clicked her tongue. "I already told you pines, nothing! It's like I had a dumb dream or something!"
Dipper lowered his head, sighing. "Look, can you just try, please? I want to help Pacifica, I really do."
Her eyes widened. Deep down she knew he was just trying to help, but there was that part of her that felt the need to snap back. She couldn't help but make some snarky comment to him just to show him that she wasn't scared, that she wasn't weak. But she already knew that he could tell that she was scared. The way she looked at him, how he looked into her eyes. She knew he could tell she was doing everything she could to keep it together.
I really am weak, aren't I
She breathed out.
"Okay."
She closed her eyes, laying her arms on the table and resting her chin on them. Her black void that she saw seemed vaguely familiar, like she had been there before. She squinted her eyes, trying her best to remember what happened that night. The memories swirled around inside her head. They were hazy, vague but familiar. She could make out sounds, whispers. The whispers surrounded her, faint at first, then rising like a wave crashing inside her head. And that scream—a woman's scream—sharp, shrill, and gut-wrenching—echoed endlessly.
"Pacifica… what happened?"
She squeezed her eyes even tighter, trying to force the sounds out of her mind. They were screeching, scraping on the walls of her subconscious. She shook her head, floating around in the darkness, trying to swim away from the sounds. She tried to remember what she saw, but piercing through the darkness were those hollow, yellow eyes. They didn't just look at her—they saw her, peeling away every defense she had, leaving her exposed and trembling.
She thought to herself…
Those eyes—they weren't just watching me. They were waiting for me.
"Pacifica! Are you okay?" Dipper's hand was on her shoulder, shaking her. She flinched, her eyes snapping open.
I'm fine," she muttered, waving his hand away and turning her head. "I just… remembered a few things. Nothing big."
Dipper chewed on his pen, giving her a tentative nod. "Whatever it is, just tell me."
Pacifica rolled her eyes, hugging herself like it was the only thing holding her together. "Fine. But don't blame me if it doesn't help."
Her voice was steady, but her trembling legs betrayed her. "I remember these… whispers, these voices. They were all familiar but super vague. Like, they're from someone I do and don't know at the same time."
Dipper scribbled furiously in his journal; his brow furrowed.
"I also remember this… scream, this women's scream… It was so sharp, like it was cutting through me"
Dipper he looked up
"Anything else."
She closed her eyes, a huge mistake. Her stomach lurched. The eyes pierced through the darkness once more, hollow and unrelenting, diving straight into her soul. She clutched her arms tighter. "Eyes. Yellow ones. They…." Her voice cracked, and she looked away, shaking.
Dipper looked up from his journal, her jaw was clenched, and the whites of her knuckles were piercing her skin while her hands grasped her arms.
He put down his journal, his face pale. "You don't have to—"
Before he could finish, Pacifica snatched the journal and pen. He froze, staring at her in disbelief.
"Hey! That has personal stuff in it—"
Her glare shut him up instantly. She scribbled furiously on a blank page, her hands shaky but determined. Instinctively, he wanted to take it back. But he hesitated, torn between protecting his personal work and recognizing that this was Pacifica's way of processing her fear.
When she slid the journal back to him, her voice was small. "This is all I can do. Okay?"
Dipper picked up the journal, looking at the page. He froze as his stomach churned. He felt that chill down his spine, the warning of a looming danger. Pacifica had vigorously drawn deep, jagged black lines, scribbled into a chaotic mass. The lines overlapped with each other, arcing in every direction, filling most of the mass with an inky darkness. At the center, two white dots stared back at him, hollow and unblinking. Ones where the white of the page would bleed through the black ink. Dipper's hands suddenly felt cold. This was something he had never seen before, something foreign, something lethal.
"This… this is bad," Dipper whispered, the words catching in his throat.
He looked at Pacifica, who sat trembling across from him. Her eyes were shining with a fear she couldn't hide. For once, he didn't have a plan. But the worst part? He wasn't sure there was one.
The page stared back at him, looking into his soul. He wanted to tell her it was nothing, that they'd seen worse, but he couldn't. This wasn't in any of the journals. It wasn't something he could categorize or counter. For the first time in a long time, he felt small—too small to face what was coming.
He set down his journal. Where do I start? His eyes wandered around the table in front of him. He knew they were completely in over their heads. The hot pink writing stood out in the corner of his eye. He turned to Pacifica, tapping the notepad.
"So, what's with this?" He beckoned her softly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air.
"It's a list. I figured if my parents got their money back, they had to have done something to the business' here in Gravity Falls." Her voice was uncertain, but a solid steadiness was underneath it.
The notepad slid into the center of the table. The hot pink ink stood out among the scribbles, the marks of her frustration and determination bleeding through each crossed-out name. He skimmed over the names on the list, his eyes stopping over one that was familiar.
Put Hutt
Memories surfaced, resonating in his mind. He remembered the puttians, running around and trying to stab his legs with pencils and tiny swords. They vicious, tiny little terrors running around on tiny little legs. He remembered how mad Pacifica was that day, how they kidnapped her and almost killed her with that turbine. He shivered, if he and Mabel were several moments too late, then she would've…
He shook his head, pushing those memories into the back of his mind. He looked up at Pacifica, who was eyeing him with anticipation. She was growing restless by the second, fiddling with her fingernails and bouncing her right leg. He locked eyes, her iris' sprawling with fear. Her voice was impatient.
"So?"
"Sorry," Dipper said, snapping out of his thoughts. "I just remembered that day, and—" He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed her fidgeting, her shoulders hunched. She wasn't annoyed; she was bracing herself. His expression softened. "Hey, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
She groaned, whipping her hair. "Don't remind me of that day."
He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you did pretty well against those puttians. You sent a lot of them flying over the fence."
She rolled her eyes. "That's what you call those little trolls? You're such a dork, Pines."
Dipper looked a little offended. "Hey, that's what they called themselves!"
She scoffed, staring at the list as Dipper examined it, her fingers picking at the edge of the table. Her thoughts betrayed her, pulling her back to that day at the mini-golf course. She hadn't just been rude—she'd been cruel, egging Mabel on for no reason other than her own insecurity. She was envious of Mabel. Of how she lived, of what she stood for. And now, Dipper was looking at her again, and she wondered if he still saw that same person sitting across from him.
Dipper looked at Pacifica. Her expression was conflicted as she stared at the table. He thought back to that day, how mad Pacifica had been, and how she insulted everyone else. Part of it made him upset. Afterall, they hadn't done anything wrong that day, they just wanted to play some mini golf. But as he looked at her, he noticed how small she looked with her elbows on the table while her head hung low. The Pacifica in front of him now didn't seem like the same one he saw that day.
He sighed, tapping her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the sunlight.
"You know, back then you were kind of like one of those puttians—sharp and quick to fight." He gave her a small smile. "But now? You're something else. You're, uh… stronger. Like someone who's trying to figure out their own rules, instead of living by someone else's."
Her back straightened while she stared at him, speechless. Tears pressed against her eyes. She closed them, pushing them back. No… Her eyes lingered on his for a moment too long, and she felt her cheeks flush. He always had this way of looking at her—not like she was a Northwest, but just… her. It made her want to crumble and stand taller all at once.
A silence settled between them as they stared at each other. Dipper offered her a small, awkward smile, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in the air felt lighter. She gave him a soft smile back, but as the moment stretched on, Dipper became acutely aware of the warmth under his hand.
He glanced down, his stomach tightening when he realized his hand was still on top of Pacifica's. His brain screamed at him to move it, but something rooted him in place. The realization of how close they were made heat rush to his face, and he suddenly felt clammy, his heart racing like it was trying to leap out of his chest.
Pacifica followed his gaze, and the moment her eyes landed on their hands, she froze. Her breath caught, and she felt her face burn as a strange mixture of panic and longing swept through her. She should move. She needed to move. But something about the weight of his hand, warm and steady, held her there—like it was grounding her in a way she didn't know she needed.
The silence stretched on too long. Finally, they both pulled their hands back at the same time, the abruptness breaking whatever spell had settled over them.
"Sorry!" they both blurted, voices overlapping awkwardly.
Dipper coughed, scratching the back of his neck as he stared at the notepad in front of him. "So, uh… we should probably go through this list and figure out where to start." His voice cracked on the last word, making him wince internally.
Pacifica turned her head away, tucking her hair behind her ear as if the gesture could hide her reddening cheeks. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the table, her voice quieter than usual.
"Yeah… that'd be great, Pines."
Her eyes flickered back to the list. "Although, were probably gonna be here for a while. I've gone through it a bunch of times and can't think of anything." Despite this, her thoughts lingered elsewhere. For just a moment, she'd felt… safe. And that scared her more than those two yellow eyes ever could.
Dipper picked up the notepad, unconsciously taking his pen and chewing it again. Pacifica recoiled in disgust. He read over some of the business names on the list.
"Actually… I think I know where we should start."
The boat rocked gently on the dark water, the waves cutting through the stillness like a heartbeat. Ford squinted at his papers under the dim cabin light, furiously scribbling notes while muttering to himself. His equations didn't add up—again—and it was starting to gnaw at his patience. Across from him, Stan leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the table, a mug of coffee in one hand and an unimpressed scowl on his face. He was staring at a monitor with charts scrawled all over it.
"You know, if you'd stop writing every little squiggle that pops into your brain, maybe we'd already be back in Gravity Falls," Stan grumbled, gesturing at Ford with his mug. "You think too much, Poindexter. That's why you're always frazzled."
Ford shot him a sharp look over his glasses. "And you think too little, which is why you didn't notice the charts flaring up earlier today until it was practically staring you in the face."
Stan sat straight up at that, narrowing his eyes. "Hey! I noticed it just fine. I just thought it was… I don't know, these cataracts aren't easy, y'know."
Ford took off his glasses, "Stanely, I don't think you understand just how severe this situation is. I mean, I showed you the readings this isn't—"
Stan interrupted him. "I know sixer, but we haven't had the same readings since. Maybe whatever what caused 'em has come and gone."
Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stanley, I'm trying to prevent whatever that thing is from becoming our next big disaster."
Their argument was interrupted by a low, resonant groan that seemed to emanate from the very bones of the boat. It was faint at first, like the creak of old wood, but it grew, vibrating through the floor and rattling the mugs on the table. Both brothers froze, their eyes darting toward the stern.
Stan's coffee mug hovered mid-air, his grip tightening instinctively. "Tell me you heard that," he muttered, his voice quieter now, a far cry from his earlier bravado.
Ford didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the door leading out to the deck, as if expecting something to burst through at any moment. Slowly, he reached for the charts on the monitor, fingers trembling just slightly as he typed in a command. The green waves on the screen flared erratically, red spikes shooting upward in wild patterns.
His voice was grave when he finally spoke. "You were saying…"
Stan pushed himself to his feet, the coffee mug now abandoned on the table. He tried to muster his usual snark but fell short. "Great. Just great. Can't we go one week without something trying to ruin our lives?"
Ford turned to him, his expression grim. "Stanley, this isn't just something. This is… unprecedented."
Stan let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Unprecedented? Yeah, well, so was the apocalypse last time, and we got through that. Didn't we?"
Ford didn't respond, his gaze locked on the frantic waves on the screen. Whatever this was, it was dangerous. And it wasn't going away.
Ford quickly threw Stan a flashlight. "Go check the stern, hurry!"
No more words were needed. Stan caught the flashlight midair and bolted for the door, his footsteps echoing off the walls as he ran toward the back of the boat. The chill night air hit him as soon as he stepped onto the deck, a sharp contrast to the warm cabin. His flashlight cut through the darkness, the beam darting across the wooden planks.
Inside, Ford leaned heavily on the table, staring at the flickering, erratic waves on the monitor. His stomach sank further with each second. Whatever was out there, it wasn't backing off. He yanked open a drawer, pulling out a radio, and pressed down on the button.
"Stanley, what do you see?"
Stan was halfway across the deck when he fumbled for the radio in his back pocket, juggling it and the flashlight. He growled under his breath. "This was your idea, keeping these things on us all the time," he muttered, though he couldn't deny how handy they'd been. His boots skidded as he rounded the corner toward the stern, his flashlight sweeping the area.
Nothing. Just the empty deck and the steady hum of the boat. He stopped, catching his breath, and squinted into the shadows.
"Nadda! The deck's fine up here…"
The radio crackled. For a moment, there was only static, followed by the faint sound of Ford muttering—thinking, hesitating. Then his voice broke through, more urgent now.
"The water! Check in the water!"
Stan froze, his flashlight still pointing at the deck. Slowly, he turned toward the stern railing, the beam trembling slightly as he brought it to the edge. His free hand gripped the radio tighter as he leaned over the side, the water below reflecting faintly in the weak light.
"Alright," Stan muttered to himself. "Let's see what kind of monster trouble you've gotten us into this time…"
The waves bumped against the stern of the boat, soft and rhythmic, almost soothing in their consistency. Stan swung the flashlight beam across the water, its light refracting and scattering in the dark ripples. The stern was a mess, as usual—dents and scratches lined the metal, with patches of dirt and strands of seaweed clinging stubbornly to the surface. Nothing new. Nothing dangerous.
"I can't see anything in the water. Her stern looks fine though. Well, as fine as it's always looked. You picking up anything on your end, Sixer?"
Ford's reply came almost immediately, his voice low and edged with tension. "No. The charts are… dead. Silent. Like nothing was ever there."
Stan's grip on the flashlight tightened. That wasn't the answer he wanted. "Well, what do we do?"
Ford didn't answer right away. Stan could hear him breathing through the static of the radio, the sound uneven, like Ford was turning something over in his mind and didn't like where it was going.
"Any waves or noticeable ripples in the water, Stanley? Anything unusual?"
Stan looked over the railing again, his flashlight cutting through the dark water. The air felt colder now, enough to make his breath visible in faint puffs. The beam of light trembled slightly, refracting in the ripples as they bumped lazily against the stern. Just small, gentle waves. Too small, he realized, for the readings they'd seen earlier.
"Nothing," Stan said, his voice quieter now. "Just the usual waves. No big splashes. Nothing. What's the plan, Poindexter?"
Ford sighed on the other end of the line, and the static made it sound heavier than it was. "I only have one: get back to the cabin so we can start the engine."
Stan didn't move right away. He scanned the water one last time, his gut telling him there was something just beyond the reach of his flashlight. Something watching. But all he saw was the gentle ripple of the waves and the faint reflection of the moon.
"Yeah, okay," he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the cabin. "But if this thing turns out to be a sea monster, I'm making you wrestle it this time."
Stan bolted back across the deck, the icy wind stinging his face and whipping his hair into a frenzy. His boots pounded against the slick surface as he slipped through the door and headed straight for the console. His fingers moved with practiced ease over the keyboard, flipping switches and navigating through the startup sequence. The hum of the engine grew louder, building into a low, vibrating roar that reverberated through the walls of the cabin.
Even as he worked, his eyes darted around, scanning the room for Ford.
Behind him, he heard the muffled clatter of cabinets opening and the scrape of tools being shifted. Ford's voice came from the closet near the back, tense and hurried.
"Stanley, come help me with this—quickly!"
Stan glanced at the console, confirming the engine was running, then turned toward the closet. The door was ajar, and Ford was wrestling with a bulky spherical device wedged in a trunk. It was a dark, gunmetal gray, with a glowing blue strip running along its center. A metallic disk protruded from the top, faintly humming as Ford struggled to lift it.
Stan stopped short, his eyes narrowing at the strange contraption. "What in the name of gill-monsters have you done this time, Four Eyes?"
Ford shot him an exasperated look, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Now's not the time, Stanley. This thing is heavy, and I need your help!"
With a groan, Stan moved beside him, grabbing the other side of the device. His hands sank into the freezing metal, and he grunted at its unexpected weight. "What is this thing, a bowling ball for giants?"
Together, they heaved the device out of the trunk. Several tools and components spilled onto the floor with a loud clatter, but neither of them paused to pick anything up. Huffing, they maneuvered the device into the center of the cabin.
Stan straightened up, rubbing his sore arms. "Alright, I'll bite, what's your plan with this oversized paperweight?"
Ford cradled the device carefully, adjusting his grip as he kicked open the door to the deck. "My only guess as to what those readings were is that there's something in the water, and it's chasing us. This device is an Electromagnetic Wave Generator capable of emitting sound waves across every frequency imaginable."
Stan raised an eyebrow, scratching the back of his head as he followed Ford. "So… it's an electro-sound-making doohickey? Great. Real descriptive, Sixer."
Ford rolled his eyes, jogging toward the stern. "Just know it makes a sound loud enough to reach anything—natural or otherwise. If something's out there, this will flush it out!"
The icy air cut through Ford's turtleneck as he raced across the deck, the device vibrating faintly in his arms. He turned his head toward Stan, shouting over the roaring engine.
"Get to the wheel and get us moving! This is going to create a massive blast!"
Stan groaned, throwing his hands in the air as he pivoted back toward the cabin. "The things you drag me into, Ford!" he yelled over his shoulder.
Ford reached the stern and stopped short; his breath visible in the freezing air. He glanced over the railing, the dark water churning lazily beneath the boat. His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed down on the protruding disk at the top of the device. The blue strip around its center pulsed, the vibrations growing stronger as the generator activated.
Ford swallowed hard, muttering under his breath, "Please work…"
"Now, Stanley!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the cold night.
The boat lurched forward suddenly, the motion almost knocking Ford off his feet. He stumbled, gripping the railing for balance. The generator's hum grew louder, building into a low, resonating thrum that sent shivers down his spine. With a grunt, he hoisted the device and hurled it over the side.
It hit the water with a heavy splash, sinking quickly into the dark depths. Ford leaned over the railing; his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly. The faint blue glow of the device disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only the inky blackness of the ocean.
He held his breath, waiting for… something.
The boat's engine hummed steadily, the soft slap of waves against the stern the only other sound. For a moment, the water lay eerily still, almost unnatural in its quiet.
Then, it came.
A deep boom rocked the boat, rattling Ford to his core. A bright blue light erupted beneath the surface, spreading like veins through the water. He barely had time to grip the railing before a thundering echo followed, crashing against the waves.
The water behind the boat exploded.
It shot into the air like a geyser, a towering column of foam and spray. The shockwave sucked the ocean into itself, then released a massive wave in their direction. Ford's stomach dropped.
"Stanley, brace yourself!"
The wave slammed into the stern with a deafening crash. The boat jolted violently, skidding across the water. Ford's grip on the railing slipped, and he was flung backward. He hit the deck hard, pain flaring in his shoulder as he skidded across the slick surface. The cabin wall stopped his momentum with a sickening thud.
"Ford?!"
Stan burst out of the cabin, the door swinging wildly on its hinges. He sprinted across the deck, his boots sliding against the wet wood as he reached his brother. Ford groaned, struggling to push himself up, but Stan grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet.
"Golly, Ford, what did you do?"
Ford adjusted his glasses, wincing as he looked back at the water. "The blast caused a wave—one we weren't fast enough to avoid. But…" His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the unnerving stillness of the ocean. The ripples from the explosion bounced off one another, creating an uneasy, fragmented pattern. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating in its silence.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
Stan frowned. "Yeah, well, I don't wanna be tossed around like a rag doll."
Ford tore his gaze from the water and nodded. "Stanley, we should go. Now."
"Don't have to tell me twice, Sixer."
Stan helped him across the deck, both slipping as they hurried back into the cabin. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the eerie quiet outside.
Inside, the cabin was a mess. Papers and pens littered the floor, a testament to the wave's power. Ford collapsed into a chair, his mind racing as he stared at the monitor. The graphs were flat, no activity registering on the screen.
Stan leaned over his shoulder, nodding at the blank lines. "So we killed whatever that thing was, right?"
Ford's face remained grim, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "To be honest, I couldn't tell you." He tapped the screen, swiping through the data. "These readings were stronger than the data recorded from the last spike. This is… concerning."
Stan crossed his arms. "Okay, but your fancy sound device or whatever—it should've busted its eardrums or scared it off, right?"
"That was the intention," Ford said, adjusting his turtleneck. "The output frequency was set to maximum. Sound travels faster and with more energy through water than air, given the density of water molecules. It should have—"
"Ford," Stan interrupted, deadpan. "In English."
Ford sighed. "It should have worked."
"Should have?"
Stan blinked, his expression shifting to disbelief. "So you're saying… it should be fish food by now, right?"
Ford remained silent, his gaze still fixed on the dark horizon behind the boat. The ocean stretched endlessly, the faint glow of the moonlight shimmering on its surface. He tapped his finger nervously against the armrest of the chair.
"That's the theory," Ford said after a long pause. "But the problem is, Stanley, we don't know what we're dealing with. Whatever it is, it didn't behave like any aquatic lifeform I've ever encountered—and I've seen things you wouldn't believe."
Stan rolled his eyes, leaning against the console. "You've always got some cryptic explanation, don't you? Either the thing's dead, or it's not. So, which is it?"
Ford frowned deeply. "I don't know." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, laced with unease.
"I don't have enough data to definitively say what we're dealing with. But if the blast worked as intended, it should have at least injured or disoriented the creature. We might've scared it off—for now."
Stan raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. "So what you're saying is, we don't know squat. Great. Just great."
Ford shot him a look. "Stanley, this isn't an exact science. We're dealing with something entirely unknown. For all we know, it could've been a one-off encounter."
Stan shook his head. "Yeah, or it's still out there licking its wounds, waiting to take another shot at us. Look, if we can't even tell what it is, why are we sticking around? Let's cut our losses and head back to Gravity Falls. At least there we've got solid ground under our feet."
Ford hesitated, glancing back at the monitor. The flatline offered no reassurance, only questions. "You might be right. There's nothing more we can do out here. If we're going to figure this out, we'll need more equipment and better data. And we'll need to warn the town—just in case."
Stan grunted, already moving back to the console. "Finally, some sense. Let's get out of here before that thing decides it's hungry again."
As Stan adjusted their course, Ford stood and stared out the window at the still, dark water behind them. The ocean seemed eerily calm now, as if nothing had ever happened. But Ford's unease lingered, gnawing at the back of his mind.
"I just hope we're making the right call," he muttered under his breath.
The boat surged forward, cutting through the waves as they left the anomaly behind. But the silence of the ocean felt heavy, like a secret it refused to share.
At the stern, amidst the dirt and tangled seaweed, a black speck clung to the hull. It began to pulse, faintly at first, then stronger, displacing the debris around it. Slowly, it grew larger, quivering with an unnatural rhythm, before sliding back beneath the waterline and disappearing into the depths.